#it will be very funny if it's another dream/different plane of reality situation | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

youdontknowe · 1 month ago

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Happy Thursday everyone!!

1. Rufus!!

2. Ehehe Bobby reading parenting books and rufus doing the classic uncle thing of don’t tell your parent I did that

3. Well I guess the winchesters can’t find you if it’s gonna take a plane to get to you 🤷🏻

4. I hope that last little bit of Jo can just stay a part of her (pls I’m begging I can’t do that again that HURT)

5. Ohhh I’m thinking the way this demons talking very accented is making me think Crowley

6. Awh no it’s just this prick again

7. I swear it’s the worst demons that just won’t die. Like damn cockroaches

8. Rattling the bars of my enclosure cus what does the sky want???? It’s happy she’s a lil crazy???

9. Holy crap also lil blue flowers for jo?

10. The silver reminds me kinda of like anger with depression? I find personally if I’m in a lower mood or grieving I get angry easier (too personal?)

11. “Every soul spilled on the ground around you is a little dented and tainted, but it’s beautiful.” She’d make a good god just cus of how appreciative she is of people

12. Oh how the irony of fate works

13. After that one shot yesterday I’m glad you mentioned Sam sending emails atleast (that boy is going through ANOTHER forced divorce era 😔 ) also in a reality where Dean and princess for whatever reason make Sam pick a parent I wonder would he pick mum or dad?

14. “they will bow at your feet for all of time to come, and you will never be a toy to those vile fucking animals again-“ oooooo I hope this is foreshadowing cus I cannot wait for her to start kicking some serious ass and making everyone scared 🥰

15. Ohhh lil theory time. she’s right tho cus it’s stated from the start they just can’t seem to stay angry at each other or even avoid each other without being miserable

16. And maybe deans different because he’s eventually micheals vessel which maybe be a mix of the righteous man and there aren’t really any other people born to be vessels (I think?)

17. lol cowboy obsessed Dean is so cute like that man is hyper fixated as fuck on them

18. Girl is HORNY

19. I can’t blame her about getting all hot n bothered by him literally talking about the wholesome version of a cream pie

20. Oh fuck not this guy again (where are these guys getting the funds to trail her over goddamn europe??)

21. Ugh she’s too damn good I would have left that assholes soul decorating the cement

22. John Winchester when I catch you.

23. “He mutters into your skin. “‘M your cowboy.” Im going feral

24. I can’t wait for them to figure out the dreams are them actually seeing each other (they should have figured that out from the hell situation but they’re already whipped without banging)

25. Bad feeling people bad feeling

26. I’m gonna get scared every time I read the words bad feeling just cus there’s never a bad feeling without something bad happening

27. I lowkey forgot about lucifer for a solid minute. But his description is so cool for a evil fucker

28. Quite the way to word it Dean “Some bullshit about Michael wanting to use me as a condom-“

29. This HAS to be Gabriel only that little freak(affectionate I find him funny) talks in riddles and flirts

30. I wonder if most angels (the nicer ones in the show) just have a soft spot and they seem to feel bad about her position especially cas and now gabe (?)

31. End note : yeah I’m definitely confused in a good way cus I get to ✨theorise ✨

32. Also how far ahead to you plan/write chapters before posting? Genuinely curious. And I loved this chapter as always both heartbreaking and thought provoking! I also really liked the whole creation thing she has going this chapter, which is leaning me more into the angels are waiting for her because she’s the new god. also that whole a little more self love comment from the archangel is dragging me further into once her and Dean can properly love each other, she’s gonna light up like the new year in the supernatural world.

Chapter 21 - If You Want To Survive

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: This week on Babylon - long distance relationships!

Chapter Title from Dog Days by Florence + the Machine

Word Count: 18.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You run, and Dean waits. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 20 - Chapter 22

Read on A03!

“You’re doing it wrong.”

You know you’re doing it wrong. Your feet are dangling off the edge of the bench, and your fingers are still a little swollen from when you slammed them into the door, and you’re trying but you don’t know how to do it right-

“Hey. Breathe.” Rufus grunts your name, prying your hand from the strings of the guitar. “Nothin’ bad about to kill us right now. This ain’t life and death, it’s a fuckin’ guitar-“

He cuts himself off, scanning over your open face with a long sigh.

“Don’t tell Bobby I swore at ya. He’s been reading a bunch of parenting books. They’re all sayin’ swearing is bad for kids.”

“I’m not a kid-“

“Yeah, you are. Or at least he’s tryin’ to let you be.”

“That’s why he won’t let me do hunts, isn’t it.”

Rufus snorts, shaking his head. “No, you’re not allowed to hunts cause no kid should be doin’ hunts.”

“What about the boys staying at home?” You raise your chin, narrowing your eyes. “John’s sons. The older one hunts. I heard Bobby complaining to you about it.”

“You eavesdroppin’ on us now?”

“I- No-“ You get a pointed look, and bow your head to frown at your feet.

You’d liked these socks. They were fuzzy and covered in little rainbows, and you’d always kept them at Rufus’ because they made you feel better. You show up at his doorstep covered in a bit of dirt, with everything prying apart in your body and something dark in your body trying to seep out of your skin into the world, but it’ll be okay. Rufus will help you inside and make you some food, you’ll get a long bath, as much chocolate as you want, and your fuzzy socks.

But it doesn’t stop hurting.

It’s never fucking stopped hurting.

“I- I was.” You swallow, grinding your fingers further into the strings of the guitar. “I’m sorry.”

Rufus only laughs. “I don’t give fu- crap. Good you got away with it, too. Doin’ better than a lot of other hunters already.”

Your eyes widen. “Other-“

“Your family is hunters. You’ve got hunter in your blood.” Rufus sighs, running a hand over his face. “If we get say in it, you’re not gonna need to hunt. But Bobby don’t listen when I tell him that might not be his choice. But-“ Rufus’ voice turns firm, his eyes locking onto yours. “Don’t try nothin’ when you still can’t touch the fu- freakin’ ground.”

He bumps your feet with a small grin, and you return it, even if it’s toothless and nervous.

And you don’t have hunter in your blood. Rufus knows that you don’t have anything but insanity in your blood. But he’s never treated you like you’re anything less than Bobby’s daughter.

You wish you were. That you’d come from him rather than the darker, twisted horror you were born into, with too clean floors, never enough food—despite the sheets being silk and the floor being marble, you’d never had enough food—and no fuzzy socks.

Still, you didn’t know how to just wait. How to just sit in the fucking pain like it had to be a given—it might be—and wait for your feet to hit the ground. You don’t think they understand how much it hurts. And how if it doesn’t hurt, you’ll make everything else hurt instead. How you can’t be trusted anywhere, and you might not deserve this kindness, and you still have nightmares about big and smooth hands wrapping around your throat and telling you it’s time.

“John Winchester’s sons have hunting blood.” You mumble, glaring back to the carpet, and Rufus sighs, giving you an almost amused look.

“You ain’t droppin’ this, are you?”

“It’s not fair-“

“Nothin’ is fair. And those boys shouldn’t be huntin’ at all.”

“But they do-“

“Only when their Daddy’s got no one better.” Rufus mutters, and you frown at him. “John drops ‘em with Bobby when he’s not looking for company on a hunt. And if he is, he takes Dean like the boy ain’t thirteen.”

Dean. The big one is named Dean.

And somewhere through the swirling fog of the world, there’s an iridescent light that whining and howling and aching. It’s hurts almost as much as the Darkness does.

Did.

You’re a little dizzy, and you know that when this happened, Dean was nothing more than a name. You think he was nothing more than a name. You might have felt the White rolling and humming for him, even then.

“I’m not that much younger-“

“That ain’t the point-“

“And John takes both of them hunting all the time! And I’d know more! I have all the lore memorized, and I- I could fight-“

“You can’t shoot.”

“I could try-“

“No, ya couldn’t. I remember when you just saw Bobby’s gun, kid.”

“But I’d get over it- And if the Winchester’s can do it-“

“It don’t matter what those boys can do. You’re not like ‘em.” Rufus mutters your name, the look on his face almost sad. “And John- You know Bobby don’t want you near him for a reason. And I agree. Even if we were pro baby-hunters, you know you can’t be out there.”

“But- I- I can’t- I don’t-“ You take a shaking breath, the dark thing starts to twist around in your body, all your skin itching with the pain of keeping it down. “It hurts-“

“I know it hurts.” Rufus sighs, guiding your fingers back to the guitar strings. “That’s why we’re doin’ this.”

You shake your head, trying to curl back into your body. “I don’t wanna-“

Rufus grunts your name, giving you a firm look. “We keep doin’ this, or I tell Bobby ‘bout the door.”

You’d swallow, your eyes wide on his and he lets out a long sigh.

“There are ways to deal with it that don’t hurt, kid. I’m just tryin’ to find you some.”

“Ways like drinking?” You wrinkle your nose at him, and Rufus lets out a dry chuckle.

“Nah. I’m not a preacher, I don’t gotta practice what I’m sellin’. Go back to g-cord.”

You shift your fingers, but pause, staring ahead as the light turns in your body.

It still hurts. Everything always hurts, and you feel small, and you’re safe here but it still feel like you’re being ripped in half. And you love staying at Rufus’, but it hurts, and it doesn’t matter that if you go back home you might get more hurt. You’re already hurting, and you- You don’t know what to do with all this fucking pain-

“I wanna go home.” You whisper, your eyes starting to sting, and Rufus only sighs.

He’s used to the swings. To the way it becomes too much, and you grow small.

You wish you could control it. Be better. Be more than a sick fucking problem, but it’s all you are. All you’ve ever been. And you want to go home.

“I know,” Rufus mutters, squeezing your shoulder carefully. “But you can’t, kid. Not until it’s safe.”

The world starts to shift, the fog around you glowing and bathing everything in a softer light, and your feet can touch the ground again.

When this had happened, Rufus meant safe for you. That you could go home when it wouldn’t end with John Winchester putting a bullet through your brain.

Now John was long dead, and you-

You were still so fucking sick. There wasn’t hunter in your blood, there was power. Power and a long, long line of horrible, wrong creatures that even Heaven hated. You may be holy, but it might be the way the plagues of Egypt were holy. Wrathful and awful and vengeful. Sick and destructive and wrong.

You’re so fucking wrong, so home isn’t safe from you.

Nothing is safe from you, and the horror you bring.

And you want your feet to go back to being too small. To having little blisters on your fingers from holding the guitar, instead of whatever put them there now. You’d only read books because it passed the time, and you didn’t think twice about the notes you were writing, and home was somewhere you could return to.

You want to go home.

To return to not knowing that John would’ve been right. Being afraid of him was always so much easier than being afraid of yourself. It would be so nice to go back to this. It was lonely but simple. You were filled with sickness, but it poisoned only yourself.

But Rufus would’ve always said Dean, and you would’ve always felt the White howl.

You miss him most of all.

“Where are we?”

You sigh, dropping your head to the side on his shoulder. It’s always a little like you summon him, and then he’s there. Warm and Golden and almost real.

Almost.

“I’m learning how to play guitar.” You mumble, strumming a smooth key that comes out twangy and weak, because that’s how it had sounded when this actually happened.

Dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Wow. You’re kind of shit at it.”

“That’s the learning part, Deano.” You twist to prop your chin on his shoulder, and his grin is wide. Strong. Happy. “Hi.”

His grin grows, a hand rising up to hold your face. “Hi, Princess. You look good.”

“You always say I look good.”

“Well that’s cause I’m not a liar, sweetheart.”

You snort. “Shut up.”

“So bossy,” he hums, tracing his thumb over your cheekbones, and everything but Dean is fading into the background. Even your memory of Rufus is being painted in Gold. Just to remind you.

Dean isn’t here. Not really. But you still love him. And it’s still all the way down.

“How do I look?”

You scan over his face, with heavy bags until his eyes and a slightly swollen cheek.

When you reach up to trace a hand over it, he doesn’t flinch. Dean just lets out a soft sigh, and leans into your touch.

“Tired, De.” You whisper, and he chuckles.

“Haven’t been sleeping good. Fighting with Sammy again.” He pauses, his voice growing a little hoarse. “Miss you. Wish Cas would tell me where he dropped you, so I could come carry you home.”

“I know. I- I do too.”

And you do.

Because if Dean tracked you down and tried to carry you home, you’d never fight it. You’d always just go, because you love him, and it’s not indulging or making it about you if Dean’s demanding it.

“I miss you.” You mumble, and everything is starting to wash away. Leaking with a light that hurts to look at, the bench and Rufus flickering in and out like a mirage on water.

There’s a loud, blaring sound, coming from far, far away, and you have to go.

Dean must know it too, because his grip tightens. “Come home. I- So much shit is happening and it’s all freakin’ insane, and you’d know what to do. You always know and I fuckin’ miss you, baby, please come ho-“

The alarm rips through the world, crashing through everything you can see, and Dean vanishes.

You shoot up in your bed and let out a loud groan. The frame is so fucking small, and your legs are cramping, and the sound is still fucking going-

“Fuck.”

Your mumble is mostly to yourself.

There’s no one else to hear it anyway.

The month since you left hasn’t exactly been spent making friends. It’s been research and moving and finding ways to keep yourself afloat.

Cas had dropped you in Rome, and apparently didn’t stop to consider that you don’t fucking speak Italian. It had helped that most people here spoke English, but after about a week you’d gotten sick of not being able to read anything, and gotten—technically stolen, with Dean’s voice in your head humming I thought you weren’t a criminal, Princess—an Italian for Beginners book.

It’s mostly been tourist phrases. Where is the bathroom. How do you say taxi. I do not speak Italian.

You’ve used that last one liberally.

And you don’t talk that much, all together. There seems to be a drastic shortage of monsters to hunt and a beautiful plenty of books to read, so you’ve focus all your energy there.

On looking for answers.

About anything. Lilith. The seals. Heaven. The Magdalenes. Witches.

You.

Everything you learn about yourself is something you had to teach. You can’t feel anything holy, but you can’t really feel a lot right now. It’s all just a lot of fucking pain. And as you force yourself out of bed for the day, your gaze falls to your hands, and you can still see it.

Pastel blue. Glistening and crystallized on your fingers. The Gold has faded slightly, but the Blue is still clinging to you. Whenever you wash your hands, you’re afraid it’s going to run away with the water. When you wake up, there’s a dread in the pit of your stomach that you’ll glance down, it will fall off like an icicle from a roof. Maybe it will have been wiped away in your sleep, stained on the sheets, never to be returned.

And then it’s there, and the dread shifts to just more fucking pain. Your eyes sting, and you freeze on the edge of the bed as you stare at it. The last bit of Jo, bled onto you when she-

Bile rises in your throat, and you swallow it back down.

You don’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to be sad when you did this to her. Made Jo nothing more than a little bit of a mark on your fingers that no one else can see. Ellen didn’t get a little bit of Jo to carry all the time.

Ellen didn’t even get to be there when it happened.

Jo wants you to tell Ellen something. And you’d cut her off, because you’re a fucking parasite, and you’d been so sure you could fix it. You would’ve done anything to fix it, but the Sky wouldn’t let you, and now she was gone-

A weak, sniffling noise escapes your throat, and this time there’s no bile. It’s only a heavy, crushing weight around your skull, and a searing feeling as your nails dig into your skin.

You need to move.

Most mornings, it takes too long to remember how.

And it’s never anything spurring you into action. You’re numb and hollow and breathing only because you have to, and then it all settles down and you move.

It’s mechanical. Sleep shirt off and in the backpack. Top. Bottoms. Socks and shoes and jacket. Your knife, spin it once in your hands just to move, then tuck it against your body.

Go.

You have to move and go, because you promised you’d be okay, and turning to stone is no way to be okay.

You don’t remember how to be okay either.

But you’ll get through it.

You always do.

You’d had to leave the city within a few days. There were too many people, too many colors, all of it bleeding together like a kaleidoscope or supernova and making you dizzy. Too many not-smells, giving you a migraine. The countryside was better. Quieter. Sometimes there was golden light reflecting in the rivers, and you got to pretend you could grab it and keep it.

And there are less people to hurt, if something goes wrong.

Because something always goes wrong.

Even when your day is just reading and scratching notes in the corner of a library, something will find a way to go wrong.

Maybe that’s part of the Magdalene curse. Maybe angels and demons can’t kill you, but the world just shifts and rots around you from your presence. You are made of the same thing as Lilith, and she made things as wrong as they could possibly be. Maybe this ends with you either destroying the world, or imploding onto yourself.

You’re closer to the second. You’re tired, and your teeth hurt, and every shadow is longer than you thought possible. The pencil is heavier than it should be in your hand, and you can’t tell if there’s something in the air or if your lungs simply can’t figure out how to breathe anything but iron. Your skin feels wrong on your body, but you can’t remove it or that final bit of Jo in the world will vanish.

You miss Dean. You miss him all the time. There’s no one here to hold you until you sleep, no one to calm you down when the souls start to swarm around you, and it’s like you’re being drowned. Nobody is making you drink water or eat through the grief, and some days you’ve just been forgetting until you stand up and almost fall over.

Then you have to steady yourself, but no one is as good at steadying you as Dean is.

You love him. And every time you wake up from a dream—just like this morning—you could swear you could fucking smell him. On the air around you, stronger than the cotton and dry wood of your room. You’ve stopped wearing perfume, so that it can linger on the edge of the air through the day.

But you’ve stopped doing a lot of things.

It’s why, when something goes wrong, nothing riots in your body to warn you. The most you get is a faint tug from the right of your chest, and then it’s too late.

“Look at what we have here.” A taunting, male voice crows over your shoulder, and your blood goes cold.

You don’t have to turn to know that it’s something evil. You can hear it in the drawl of his words. Fucking smell it, metallic and rotten on the air, like blood and-

Sulfur.

Fuck-

Two hands close over your shoulders, pinning you down to the chair, and a cold breath fans over your neck.

“Took me so long to find you. Don’t move an inch, darling. We’re just here to have a conversation, and I might not be able to kill ya’, but I don’t think you can kill me either, can you.” The demon laughs. “I think you might be havin’ some performance issues.”

You swallow, trying to force your voice to stay even. “Would you want to bet on that?”

The demon laughs. “Why don’t we find out? I’ve been dyin’ to get my hands on you, princess.”

There’s a prickling, burning, white-hot feeling on wrong over your heart.

Only Dean calls you that. Only Dean is allowed to call you that, because he says it with a teasing voice, but there’s always something under it that makes your body relax and the Spiderweb glow. It’s made of something soft and a little intoxicating. He says it as if he believes it. As if it’s not just a joking nickname that stuck, but a title.

The demon says it like he knows how wrong it is. Like he’s slicing you open and driving a poker right into the Spiderweb, then laughing as it whines for something you both know it can’t have. Dean’s across the ocean, and you’re not a princess. Dean might look at you and see more than a monster, but the demon isn’t fooled.

He knows what you are.

Like him.

Worse than him.

Demons are turned from years of torture. Demons are evil, but at least they were once human.

You’ve never been anything but sick. You were born twisted. And you’d never asked Cas if Lilith’s daughters were born before or after she became a demon.

You don’t really want to find out.

“Calm down, sweetheart. Can fuckin’ taste your fear.” The demon sneer in your ear. “And there’s no need to get hysterical. You get to be special again. For once, I ain’t here looking for that delicious panic and pain.”

You don’t want to be special. You just want to go home.

You just want Dean.

“What- Why are you-“

“I just thought I’d come see what all the fuss is about.” The demon hums, rising back up. “I’ve heard so much about you. And darlin’, the stories aren’t doing you justice.”

The demon rounds the table, and your nails dig into the scar on your palm.

He’s like Lilith.

A little darker of a gray, but smooth. Refined. Nothing bursting out of where he wants it to be, and he’s fucking hideous and hateful and wearing it like a badge. Every shift of him is like a raised chin and a sneer.

You recognize him. You can’t place how, but you do.

“Dean needs to get better at tellin’ stories.” The demon hums, and even his vessel is twisted in a horrible, crude smirk. “Even all his fawnin’ and whinin’ didn’t manage to capture just how perfect you are.”

It’s so fucking wrong. In a way worse than Lilith, every fiber of your existence knows this demon is fucking wrong. And the Spiderweb hates him. It’s crawling and twisting in your body like it’s trying to fucking hide, stinging and whining as if just the demon’s presence makes it feel sick.

And he’d said Dean.

He knows Dean.

You do know him.

The pieces snap together in a second, and you’re moving the next. Grabbing your knife out of your jacket and flying across the table, driving the blade right into the Alistair’s chest.

Nothing happens. Alistair just laughs, pulling the knife out of his chest and examining it with a smirk.

“This that knife Dean got you, isn’t it.” Alistair raises his brows at you, and sighs when you only glare at him. “I’m tryin’ to have a conversation with you, you know-“

“I don’t want to have a conversation with you.” Your words are spat, and Alistair just rolls his eyes.

“There’s those dramatics I’ve heard about you havin’. Always so emotional,” he hums your name, sliding the knife back across the table. “I was building up to a compliment, sweetheart. Dean had good taste. I can feel a lot of anger and fear on that thing.”

The bile is back. It’s spilling into your voice. “What the fuck are you here for. I’ve stopped interfering-“

Alistair scoffs. “I don’t care about that. I woulda preferred you stick around, but Lilith said it wouldn’t work out in our favor if ya did. Shame. I was really lookin’ forward to killing Dean in front of you, then seeing what type of pain you’re really capable of causin’.”

“I-“ There’s something tight and horrible around your throat. “I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are.” Alistair smirks, scanning you over once more. “You want to know Dean’s worst nightmare?”

You really don’t. You’re only clinging to your knife like maybe it will summon Dean to your side, trying to wait Alistair out.

The only other option is stirring deep, deep in your body. Starting to pick up and roll around. Shining bright enough to split through that gaping, infinite void of too much and nothing at all that seems to follow you with death.

And you can’t use the other option. So you just have to fucking hold on, and last through this new, awful thing.

“That boy has always been a little more creative than is good for him.” Alistair smiles, almost fondly, and you want to punch out his teeth. “Made him a beautiful subject, and a perfect student. But sometimes he’d get cold feet. All sad and whiny ‘bout hurtin’ people. But all I’d have to do is show him that nightmare of his. Dragged it from his head after about a year, and- Well, why don’t we just look together. Brace yourself, sweetheart. It’s a good one.”

Alistair reaches up, and before you can stop him, his hand is pressed to your brow.

You’re back in Hell. The screams and heat and colors running below your feet.

Not your feet.

Lower than your feet.

You’re suspend, on the same rack that you’ve seen before. And Dean’s right there. Golden, but tattered and mauled and frozen. Just staring at you, as something gray and horrible runs over your body, and you want to scream but you can’t breathe, and Dean’s still not moving.

The Gold is rioting, but Dean’s not moving.

Alistair laughs in your ear, and the Gold seems to be trying to press out, to get to you, but then it hits an invisible barrier, and Dean doesn’t move.

You don’t think he can.

When the library comes back into focus, you’re panting. Every breath is too fast and short, your grip on the table driving splinters into your hands, and you can’t fucking breathe-

“Warned you.” Alistair hums, and his voice is driving right into your fucking brain.

All you can see is Dean. Frozen, watching you with fear.

Dean was never afraid. He was angry and worried and stressed, but you’d never seen him look only afraid.

The Spiderweb is almost whimpering, shimmering with a soft light and still trying to bury itself deeper than Alistair can hurt it.

But the Silver-

It’s starting to move. To wake up.

Fuck.

“I’m gonna tell you a secret, darlin’. That little nightmare? It always was fun to feed, but it’s never gonna be the plan. I’m thinking, when we win and I get to take you home, we’ll find wherever the reapers stored sweet little Jo, and pull her out. To join the party, you know?”

The Silver rears its head. And you’re drawing blood on your skin, but your nails are short and chipped, and you still can’t really breathe-

“And then I’ll give Dean a choice. He can either torture Jo while you watch, or I’ll make his nightmare come true.” Alistair laughs to himself, and the Silver is starting to climb up.

Or curve in. Building up by caving in. Like a fucking black hole, crushing down so it can-

“And he’ll choose you. He’ll hate himself for it, but you’re his girl. His Princess. He ain’t gonna do anythin’ that’ll hurt you. Not on purpose.”

The Silver is so close. But there are people here. People and animals, and a- You saw a fucking teenager, and she had a walk that kind of reminded you of Sam’s-

“But here’s the kicker,” Alistair says your name like you’re old friends. “After he finished chopping up Jo, I’d freeze him just like in his nightmare. And I wouldn’t touch you. That’s boring. If I’m makin’ art like this, I’m making it the right way.”

It’s going to fall out of your mouth. You can’t fucking control it, and all the Silver can feel is the pain of the Spiderweb, so all it knows is something’s wrong and you can’t stop it-

“No, here’s what I’ve got lined up instead. Good ol’ Sammy will be walkin’ around up here, well,” Alistair laughs. “His body will be. But point is, can’t use him. And I think what I’m left with will work better anyway.” Alistair’s smoke moves back into that ugly fucking smile, and the Silver reaches a stasis. A silence.

A split second before the storm.

“I’ll drag good ol’ Daddy Winchester out to play. Let him do whatever he wants, while Dean’s watchin’. And maybe it’ll just be what Dean did to Jo, but you never know.” Alistair smirks. “Those men of god never could resist a Magdalene.”

Everything stills. Moves to match the stasis of the Silver, and it’s almost serene. You’re everything, and it’s all waiting for you. The walls will fall to shield you. The wind will turn to a hurricane to protect you. The grass outside will grow and flourish to protect you.

And the Sky is smiling at you. You can feel it, and not just watching.

Over you. Shining with praise, because this, this is that holy wrath you’re supposed to have all the time.

You don’t fucking want it.

You just want to go home.

Alistair smiles at you again, a second before you lose control.

“There you are.”

You don’t know how he gets away in time. You can’t tell through how you’re everything, and you can’t see anything but the blur.

All you know is that you explode.

Detonate.

Destroy.

The Silver razes through all it can reach.The building turns to ruin, rivers of blood run under your feet—although, as far as you can see, there are no bodies—and the forests and walls start to bloom with flowers and plants you’ve never seen before.

They’re beautiful. Strangely shaped and delicate, glowing softly and filled with an iridescent light.

But it’s all beautiful.

The apples hanging from the ceiling are beautiful. The small, condensed bits of life floating through the room are beautiful. The countryside, now littered with pastel blue roses, is beautiful.

And the souls stained on the walls are beautiful, too.

And you have to go.

The angels will be here soon.

That must be the real reason Alistair was looking for you. He’d taunted you right to the fucking edge, then pushed you over. Forced you to lose control, and send up that loud, neon signal telling Heaven I’m here! Come and get me!

And you’ve been so fucking careful not to draw attention, but it’s not really up to you anymore.

Because the Silver’s been like this since Jo. Dormant and silent until it’s forced to move, and then reactionary. Worse than a live wire, worse than a sickness, worse than a monster.

Damnation.

That must be why the angels are still after you, even though you did what they asked. Even though you left.

Zachariah had said to muzzle you.

And you weren’t muzzled.

You were feral.

And now you have to run again.

But you don’t want to be the sickness. You don’t want to be what the Sky keeps demanding of you. Blinking down over you and asking doesn’t it feel good, to have this kind of might in your body, to not be burdened by things lower than you are?

Nothing is lower than you are. They might not be talking to the Sky, but it’s lonely. Higher than anything else, but that seems to be more of a curse than a gift. And all the things it keeps telling you are lower are made of more than the Sky is. Every soul spilled on the ground around you is a little dented and tainted, but it’s beautiful.

It’s all so beautiful.

You need to go. It’s not safe for you to stay.

But you do. For longer than you should allow, you grab every soul you can and shove it back into its body. And you can’t heal them. Can’t fix whatever damage the Silver has done, because you can’t call it forward to mend what it broke. They’ll be alive, but maybe different. Maybe completely morphed, maybe just a little cracked, maybe shattered beyond repair. But they’ll be alive. And even if you could fix them, the Sky might decide you were overstepping again, and rip them right back out.

It never stops you from cleaning, though. From finishing your little ritual. It shines in warning, but you flip it off.

“You’ve got something you want from me,” you hiss, narrowing your eyes. “Come and get it your fucking self.”

It doesn’t.

It just keeps watching.

So you run.

You don’t stop until dusk. Until you’re sure you’re far enough away that whatever angels Heaven sent won’t find you.

And this is how it is now. You move from town to town like some sort of phantom. You miss Dean every second, but you can’t go home. You dodge angels and read in the dead of night, staring at your phone and willing it to-

You jump out of your skin a little, when the screen lights up.

Possible Spam.

You’ve never picked up the phone faster.

Dean’s shouting your name through the speaker, when the call connects. There’s something strained in his voice. Almost distressed.

You raise your voice, just enough to get through to him. “De-“

“Oh, thank fucking- Son of a bitch, sweetheart, I- Are you good? Safe?”

“I’m fine.” You draw your knees up to your chest, trying to make your voice sound light. “It’s just- Long day-“

“I know about Alistair.”

You freeze, and Dean’s voice grows a little hoarse.

“He admitted it. Told me he’s seen you. It’s- We’re working one of the seals and he’s here, and I- He said-“

“He didn’t hurt me.” You whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. “He was just taunting me. Trying to make me- You know. Do the thing.”

Dean’s silent for a long, heavy second. “Happened again, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Any progress on-“

“No.”

Dean lets out a dry laugh. “You didn’t even let me finish talking.”

“I-“ You swallow, a heavy lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m sorry-“

“Hey, wait, don’t- I’m teasing you, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is so gentle. You can almost see the slightly panicked look on his face. “Don’t cry, it’s okay, you’re good-“

You’d been trying not to cry.

You really had.

But you miss him. And you’re so fucking tired.

It’s impossible to swallow the choked sounds or whimpers. The sniffling as you wipe your nose with your sleeve, or the heavy breathing as a weight pressed onto your chest. You don’t want Dean to hear. You know he’s still dealing with the seals, and an angry Bobby—although Dean won’t admit they’re fighting about you, you know they are—and a Sam that’s still working with Ruby. He doesn’t need to hear you cry when you’re the one who fucking left. You’re the one who wouldn’t stay.

You’d hated Dean so long for leaving you, so many years ago.

But then you fucking left him.

And he’s staying on the phone with you. Not speaking, but humming low and deep as your head drops to your knees, and your breathing evens out.

It’s steady.

Ragged and impossible, but steady.

“De- I-“ You swallow, wiping your cheeks with your palm. “I wanna go home. I miss Bobby and Sam and I- I don’t know what to do. I miss you, and I can’t sleep, and I-“

I love you.

You’re not allowed to say it.

So you just strangle yourself on the sound, and hold the phone as close to your ear as you can.

“I know.” Dean’s voice is a rasp through the speaker, and it makes a new wave of tears fall. “Just come home, Princess- I- Fuck, I’ll call Cas and he’ll come get you right now-“

“I can’t.” You whisper. “You know I can’t.”

“But-“

“Please. Don’t.”

Dean can’t beg you to come home.

If he does, just as always, you’d listen.

“Did-“ Dean clears his throat, and you’re grateful. He listened. “What did Alistair say to you? To set it off?”

You can’t tell Dean what Alistair really said. He’d drive himself mad about it. Doing something reckless, get himself hurt. And all of this is always just so Dean doesn’t get hurt.

But you can’t lie to him either.

“Jo.” You mumble, leaning back and rubbing at your wrists. “You. Sam. Just- What he’d do, if they win.”

“Fucking bastard.” Dean mutters, and you smile into the air.

You miss his glare. The firm one that he’s always aim at you, but never hurt you. It was always a glare that wrapped around you. Told you he was angry because he cared, and didn’t know how to do anything with it.

He still cares.

Dean knows what the past month has been for you. Nightmares and explosions, souls staining the ground and painted over your hands—although they always fade fast, as nothing but Jo seems to be clinging to you longer than it has to—and never getting more control or answers.

You only find more questions. More reasons to stay away. And Dean should give up on you, but that’s not what he does. You know how pissed he is at Sam, but he’s not giving up on dragging him away from Ruby. He wouldn’t.

Just like how he’s only ever held you when everything became too much. Only ever gone to help, whenever Sammy called. Had held you and tried to make you stay, after Jo.

And he still picks up the phone. Still calls you, even when you know that—wherever he is in America—it’s an unreasonable hour. Talks to you like nothing has ever gone wrong at all. Asks you to come home like it’s not ripping out and healing your heart all at once.

“You know I’d never let that happen, right?”

You blink, frowning at the wall. “What?”

“Alistair.” Dean mutters. “No matter what happens. He’s never gonna touch you.”

I’ll drag good ol’ Daddy Winchester out to play.

You know. You know I love you, baby.

“I know.” You whisper, even though you both know that’s not really up to Dean. “How was your day?”

“Kinda shit. You?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Kinda shit, too.”

“You could come home, and our days could be shit together-“

“Dean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Alright. Had to try.”

He did. He always does. And he’s nothing more than a voice in a box, but the Spiderweb still lights up under his attention. Still thrives from just to sound of Dean saying your name and telling you about astral projection, and you could fucking swear you smell spice-

“It felt fuckin’ weird,” Dean mutters your name, and you can hear something moving in the background. “I was solid, but it was soupy.”

You smile into the air. “Soupy?”

“Yeah, like chowder-“

“Those are two different feelings, De.”

“No they’re both globby.”

“Globby-“

“It works- Sammy!”

You hear Sam’s voice grumble something in the background, and wait patiently.

“Being all ghost-like felt globby, right?”

“You sound insane, Dean.”

That breaks through, and you giggle.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice is a little firmer. He’s talking to you. “I heard that. It’s not my fault Sammy isn’t a poet like me-“

Sam snorts in the background. “I heard you say soupy before. Are you talking to-“

“Yes.” Dean snaps. “She’s mine, Sammy. You can’t have her.”

He means the phone. You know he means the phone.

It still makes the Spiderweb fucking shine.

“I just wanna ask her about a seal-“

“Call her later.”

“But-“

“No. Back off, or I’ll shit on your bed.”

“That’s so gross- Dean-“

A door slams on Dean’s end, and Sam’s voice goes muffled.

“Sorry about that, Princess. Don’t know who let Bigfoot into my hotel room like that.”

You hum, smiling like an idiot at your knees. “You know, one day he’s really gonna get sick of you doing that. It’s the third time this week.”

“Nah.” There’s a pause. “Are you getting sick of me, Princess?”

Sam’s right. He’s insane. “No.”

“You sure? Not finding some other guy with a sweet ride-“

“I’m not looking, De.” You whisper before you can stop yourself. “And nobody’s got a better ride than you, car boy.”

"Thanks.” Dean mumbles, clearing his throat. “I’m taking care of the Firebird. Drive her once a week-“

“He.”

"What?”

“My car. It’s a he.”

Dean pauses. “You, uh- You named him?”

“Not yet.” You shrug. “I’m brainstorming.”

“How about Dean Junior-“

“No.”

You only get a laugh in response, and this night doesn’t hurt as much as the others. You talk to Dean until the sun rises, and he mutters that his phone is about to die, and Sam will kill him if they’re not on the road early tomorrow. You don’t say goodbye, when you hang up. You never say goodbye.

Instead the line goes dead, you shuffle out to find coffee, and return to your room for the rest of the day. You’re in no rush. You’re safe—for now—and all your work lives in reading and researching. Going over the emails Sam has sent you and responding with what you find. Combing through your own books for some sort of fucking clue. How many other Magdalenes there were. What they brought. How they controlled it, if it was something that could be controlled. So far all you have are a big do not attempt warnings on burnt pages, a bunch of fake Magdalene spells—like plastic knockoffs of what you’ve found in the book, and made yourself—and the Sky watching you.

Nothing ever mentions the Sky. And it’s not like you’ve found anything explicit about Magdalenes. But you’ve learned to spot patterns. Clues. Draw timelines and pour over history books until you passed out, Dean called you, or something went wrong.

It would be lovely and simple, if you’d taught yourself that.

But it isn’t. And you didn’t.

“I heard you killed an angel.”

You’d spun around, and there she’d been. Standing in the corner of your room, smiling at you with that awful affection.

“That’s impressive, little one.” Lilith had hummed, her smiling growing. “Even I could never have done that, even at my brightest.”

“Cool.” You’d mumbled, rubbing at your wrists as you watched her. “How did you find me?”

“We are the same.” Lilith had shrugged. “You might be more, and but I can still know. You’d know too, if you just thought about it. And it took a little extra effort to find you, but I had to. You put on quite a show, almost locking all the seals. If those fucking uptight featherdicks hadn’t interfered, you might have succeeded. I mean, maybe if I’d sent the cavalry, too. But Ruby was begging me not to send Alistair himself. You did quite a number on her.”

“Ruby-“

“That’s not for you to worry about.” Lilith had waved you off like it was nothing. “I’d be concerned with yourself, little one. The angels are starting to look for their master, and mine- He will be here soon. And you should be ready. And I am reaching my purpose, but I can’t wait to learn, one day, what you do”

“I-“ You’d shaken your head, walking back to the wall. The Sky had flashed out the window.

If Lilith could see or feel it, she didn’t show it.

“I don’t- I’m not going to serve-“

“No, you won’t.” Lilith had hummed. “If you’re smart, they will bow at your feet for all of time to come, and you will never be a toy to those vile fucking animals again-“

“I-“ Your voice had been so small. You’d pushed through. “I’m not a toy-“

“Not now, little one. But you’re still attached to Dean Winchester. I can see him all over you.” She’d shivered. “You’ll get through it. We all have. Even I had a Dean, but- It doesn’t matter. Men of God. Doesn’t matter which one you chose, they are all the same in the end.”

And there it is again. Your hand freezes over your notes—a mindless scribble of Dean’s name in Enochian half-written—as the memory echoes, and you put it together.

Men of God.

Alistair had said it. So had Anna, before you crushed her like some sort of bug.

And Anna had been an angel. She knew enough to know your name was written in places in Heaven that Castiel has never seen.

Lilith had spoken of them like they were everywhere. She’s said that all of you had one. That yours was another case of being special—more complicated—but you still needed to be stronger. That they always promise freedom, only to try and cut you up and morph you and put you in a cage.

Dean would never do that. He’d set you free.

He was waiting for you.

You’d worry about that later. Right now, for the first time since you left, you had something.

It’s a good thing Europe is full of churches.

The months start to blur together, the longer you’re away. You didn’t expect it to be immediate, but it has to be something. Lilith, Alistair, and Anna wouldn’t all say Men of God only for it to just be some kind of weird Heaven and Hell phase. It’ll only take time. And you’ll comb through every library and visit every church and do whatever the fuck you need for just one answer.

And it does seem to be a marker. Every Magdalene you’ve found—Lilith had been right, you’d just had to try, and it would call to you like some distorted song—has had someone in their orbit. And there has to be a reason. Even if no one can place what the Magdalenes are outside of danger and change, even if there’s no idea for how you were made or why you exist, it can’t just be a coincidence.

Dean says there are no coincidences in this life.

He’s usually right about this kind of stuff. He’s usually right about most stuff.

And whatever Men of God are, Dean isn’t one. Not the way Lilith says, at least. He’s yours, but the Magdalenes you’ve found always ended up betrayed or abandoned by theirs. Dean would never do that. Even if he doesn’t love you, he just wouldn’t. That’s another thing he doesn’t do.

Run away.

He’s stronger than you are. It’s why, whenever you run, he really has been always so good at catching you. At wrapping you up and keeping you safe, when he should’ve put you down.

And Lilith had said the one you chose.

Dean’s never been a choice. He just is. You love him because he’s Dean, and that’s better than anything. He’s never been just one star you picked from the sky.

He’s been full of gravity, like a planet. Not a flower from a garden, but a strong, unbreakable tree that could be split with lightning and still be the prettiest thing you’d ever seen. Not a rock from the ocean, but an island that you’d always returned to, because there’s nowhere better to rest.

And there are more differences—between you and the other Magdalenes—the longer you look. Some of them have been labelled as crazy or hysterical, but none of them are ever mentioned talking about all the colors. None of them ever claim to see demons and angels.

Not one mentions the Sky.

That seems to be another horrible, awful, exhausting thing that’s just for you.

And time keeps passing. You keep reading and reading and finding something that’s really nothing, and nothing that looks like something, but it’s just a trick of the light. Things keep going wrong—a woman grabs your wrist in a coffee shop, you walk into a church and the stained glass begins to glow, you see an angel on the street and wipe them out with the whole block—and the Sky keeps watching.

It doesn’t seem to mind you looking for answers. It almost seems to hum whenever you find something. A tattered page in a church catacomb, that’s a similar—but less detailed—to your own notebook. Colors and names scribbled in a French, like a personal guide. And then there’s the half-burnt, Portuguese version of the Book, and another Magdalene buried Florence, Italy.

You can go to Florence.

You can raid a grave, to see if her bones are made of anything that tells you how she controlled it. If she left you anything. She must have.

She did.

Maps of Heaven and Hell. You don’t know what you’re supposed to do with them, or how she got them, but you know the Sky is happy you have them.

Lately, the Sky only ever seems angry when Dean calls.

You always pick up anyway.

“Hi, De.”

“Hey, Princess. You still in-“

“Nope. Nice try, though.”

He sighs. “Had to take the shot. How was your day?”

You smile into the air. “It was… long.”

“Did you eat?”

You’re silent for a second too long, and Dean snaps your name.

“Goddamnit, you need to-“

“I know.” You sigh. “I just- I got distracted, I promise. I got a new book, and it’s just regular witchcraft, but maybe Cas could use it-“

“Actually, uh-“ Dean clears his throat. “We kinda lost Cas.”

“You- How?”

“He’s a human again. We’re working on it, but Sammy-“ Dean lets out a long, heavy breath, and you sigh.

“Is Ruby still-“

“Yeah.”

“Did you tell him-“

“He won’t listen.” Dean mutters. “Thinks you must have misunderstood, or that Lilith was just messing with you.”

“But-“

“I know, Princess. But- I- Can you talk? Please?”

You swallow, staring up at the ceiling. You’d told Dean, what Lilith had mentioned about Ruby begging her. You’d hoped it would be some sort of evidence, to prove to Sam that Ruby can’t be trusted.

But Dean says he went a little off the deep end, after you left. That he thinks he should’ve been stronger and not gotten knocked out, or been more cautious about the ritual, or done more so you didn’t lose Jo. So you didn’t leave.

Whenever you talk to him, he never mentions it. That you left. And it’s not in the way Dean does, where he just knows you’ll come back. It’s a little hollow. His voice sounds heavier all the time, but more determined all at once.

Dean just sounds tired.

And it rips the Spiderweb in half.

“What do you wanna talk about, De?”

He lets out what might be a long breath of relief. “I, uh- I don’t know. What did you do today?”

“Read. A lot. I started looking at a map-“

“A map?” You can hear Dean’s frown in his voice. It’s adorable. “What, you hunting for treasure without me?”

“It’s a map of heaven. And,” you smile into the air, and you hope he can hear it. “I’d never hunt for treasure without you. There is no one else I’d rather treasure hunt with.”

“Damn. Not even Bobby?”

“I don’t think Bobby would be all that good at treasure hunting.” You shrug. “He’d get bored, and say that this kinda shit is pointless anyway.”

“Yeah,” Dean’s soft laugh is a little muffled through the phone. “You’re right about that. How about Sammy?”

“He’d be fine. Do you not want to go treasure hunting with me, Deano?”

He snorts. “Princess, if I ever go treasure hunting with anyone, I’d want it to you.”

“Thanks.” You mumble. “Why?”

“Cause you’re smart, and you’ve seen a billion of those freakin’ treasure movies. You’ve studied, sweetheart. You’re a nerd.”

You scoff. “Well, if I ever need to commit crimes for the good of the community, I’ll call you, Cowboy.”

“Aw, you think I’m a Cowboy-“

“Dean-“

Dean cuts you off with a tsk, and suddenly you can see him. It’s just in your head, but it’s so close to real. Standing in front of you with a boyish, cocky smirk, his eyes alight on yours, every bit of him so fucking Golden, and all focused on you. Handsome. Always handsome. His hair a little spiky and out of place, his nose a little more crooked than the last time you saw him, but his body just as broad, and-

You can feel an ache between your legs, and it only deepens when he drawls your name.

Shit.

“I gotta tell you a secret, Princess.” Dean hums, and you swallow. “Our job is doing crimes for the good of the community. And you’re the best damn criminal I know.”

You flush, and the ache gets worse. “Shut up.”

“Bossy-“

“And I’m not a criminal-“

“Yeah, you are.” Dean laughs. “But it’s okay, we’re all criminals. You and me would’ve run the wild west, sweetheart, I’ll tell you that much.”

Your ditzy, slightly stupid smile is back. “Really?”

“Hell, yeah. Sammy would be the sheriff, and Bobby would run the bar, and I’d be the awesome, lone cowboy passing through the town. I’d stop at the bar look for a drink but instead I’d find you-“ Dean cuts himself off with a cough. “And Bobby. And instead of just passin’ through, I’d plant my roots, and team up with the sheriff to take care of the town.”

He might be the most adorable person on the planet. “You’ve thought about it. Sam might be right about that cowboy fetish, De-“

“It’s not-“ He groans, and the sound doesn’t help your situation. “They’re cool. They’re really freakin’ cool, and they’ve got awesome hats. Is it so wrong to like something?”

“No.” You hum. “But that’s a fantasy, Winchester. You have a cowboy fantasy. And you call me a nerd.”

Dean’s silent. For a little too long, Dean’s silent. And right when you’re about to ask if he’s still there, he mutters your name. “’S nice to have a fantasy, Princess. Something to want. Bet you have them too.”

You do.

You have two.

The first one you think of is the one that always slams into you like a blow to your gut. It’s made of Jo. Of what you’d told her, the last night she was alive. Of a world where her fantasy was reality. And that’s what you think of there, and you break down on the phone with Dean—again—and he stays on the line through it.

The second one makes you feel like a piece of fucking shit. Because you sob to Dean about how you miss Jo, and you want to come home, and you’re still looking for answers but everything still fucking hurts—it always fucking hurts, it never stops hurting, the only way to stop hurting is to stop being and you’ve never figured out how to do that—and then he goes. With a soft reminder to call him tomorrow, or text if you can’t, Dean has to leave and deal with human Cas.

And you’re worse than a monster.

Because when you’re done sniffling into your pillow, your head wanders back to Dean’s words.

Bet you have them too.

His voice had been so deep—and it’s always been deep, but it only seems to get deeper—and a little like a lullaby. A low, soothing promise that’s vibrated in your bones when he’s held you, and still sparks in your blood whenever you hear it.

And you can still see him, in your head. Broad and strong, soft in all the right places and grinning at you. Always grinning at you, and touching you. Dean’s touched you. He’s had hands skimming right under your shirt and resting on your hips, and he’s held you by your lower back so often, but never on bare skin.

It lights you on fire.

And you have fantasies.

You might have a lot of fantasies.

They’re all made of the memory of Dean’s lips on yours, and his taste on your tongue, and the warmth and Gold of him being everywhere. It would feel better than heaven, if he’d hold you right against him, his palm splayed over your lower back, his voice moving right through your body as you grind down onto his thigh. Calling you Princess and his and teasing you until you’re scratching at his back, and he’s just chuckling.

C’mon, baby girl. Just a little more, I’ve got you, you’re doing so good. That’s it, scream my name-

“Dean!”

You cum with a shaking body, and short, shallow gasp.

When your eyes fly open, you realize that scream wasn’t a part of the fantasy. That was loud, for anyone to hear as you’d orgasmed, grinding onto the sheets and pretending your hands on your breast were Dean’s.

The pricking, sickening shame hits you so fast. Jo’s still gone. Dean’s not even here, and you’re turning him into something he might not even want to be. Not for you. He’d been looking for comfort, and you’d made him your fantasy.

But he is your fantasy.

No matter how you try to push it down, now that the idea has crossed your mind, before you sleep you think of Dean.

Something must be wrong with you. Your days are spent staring at books and rubbing at your wrists, looking over your shoulder to make sure there’s no one behind you. No one to try and hurt you, only for their soul to end up splattered all over the ground. Someone tries to get your attention on the street again, and a redwood shoots out of the ground in Germany. You see a man that looks an awful lot like Ketch in a cafe—already putting you on edge—and then a little blonde girl with the same eyes Jo has starts crying, and a Javan tiger is seen running through Austria.

You don’t know how you’re doing it. Only that the Silver detonates, and everything is destroyed and remade all at once. You can’t find any records of that happening to other Magdalenes—or, really, at all—but you’re still looking.

You��ve found that Men of God is seeming to be a loose term—maybe a title—more than a solid rule. And when the trail runs dry on Magdalenes, you shift back to witchcraft. It’s easy, even without the Silver, and it makes you feel like maybe you’re being useful.

Not just running and destroying and sitting in the dirt near a river, staring at the blue on your hands.

Jo would like it here. She would like all the sun and beer, and she would like how the hotel shampoo smells, and she would love all the stray animals and stupid, fancy wines. She would drawl that all wine is wine, but this tastes like rippin’ off rich idiots.

You stole a bottle for her, and poured it into the river. Then you just sit there. Ignoring the Sky over you, pretending that when you stand up things will be better.

They won’t.

Jo’s still gone, and it’s still so fucking hollow. You’re trying to eat more, for her. Trying to sleep more too. You’re getting better at it, as the time passes. At not dying from self-neglect.

And she would’ve wanted you to talk to Dean. To let him convince you to come home, so he could hold you until it hurt a little less.

You don’t want it to hurt less. When it hurts it means you’re thinking about her, and if you stop thinking about her—sobbing on the riverbank, watching your fingers because one day the blue will fade and you don’t know what you’ll do—then who will. Someone has to be in pain for this. Someone has to pay, you’d already killed Anna, and Zachariah seems pretty fucking occupied with Sam and Dean.

Pain, numb and hollow and vast and fucking crushing—pressing on your lungs and head, faint in the background until it slams into you and breathing becomes a labor—is a price you deserve to pay.

So the days pass, and they’re lonely and repetitive, as the Sky keeps watching.

But your nights are spent collapsing on the bed, and calling Dean.

“Are the souls different? Wherever you are?”

You smile at the ceiling. “I mean, they’re different soul to soul.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, sweetheart-“

“They’re the same as home, De. All souls are the same.”

“Huh. You, uh,” he clears his throat. “You see any other golden souls?”

You can’t stop your laugh. You’ve never seen another golden soul. Not like Dean’s. And even if you did, no soul is made of the same primal, pure thing his and Sam’s are.

“What’s funny-“

“Nothing, it’s-“ You shake your head. “No. I haven’t seen any other souls like yours.”

Dean grunts, and you can picture his pouting scowl. “Alright. Good. But- I still don’t get why you were laughing, Princess.”

“It’s a soul joke. You wouldn’t get it.”

“Can you help me get it?”

“Dean-“

“C’mon. I show you stuff all the time. Taught you to drive stick, showed you how to clean a gun even though you never use them, explained all the work I did on the Firebird-“

“I didn’t ask you to do that one.”

“Yeah, but you were listening. You liked it.”

You had liked it. But that had been more to do with how—when he’d been talking—he’d been covered in grease and wearing a really tight shirt, smiling at you like there was never anything else to do and bouncing around like there’s never been any pain at all.

Dean doesn’t need to know that.

“I- Souls are really complicated-“

“I don’t care. Just-“ Dean pauses, sighing into the speaker. “I wanna hear you talk, Princess. It’s been a long fuckin’ week, and I- How about this. If you tell me about souls, I’ll teach you whatever you want, when you get home. Pinky promise.”

You swallow, and suddenly there’s a very clear image of Dean above you, his hand in your hair and his lips curved in a wide smirk as he guides you up and down his-

Fuck.

“I, um,” You pause, trying to regain control over your voice. “What do you wanna know?”

“I dunno. Explain the joke?”

“It’s- It’s not really that funny, I’m just tired-“

“You been sleeping?”

No. You’ve been talking to Dean and drinking coffee and you’re pretty sure you can feel every single nerve in your body, but that’s not the point. “Yes.”

“Lie. You need to fuckin’ sleep-“

You cut of Dean’s snap of your name with a sigh. “Are you sleeping?”

There’s a beat, and his response is so low you almost don’t hear it. “No.”

“Then shut up and stop telling me what to do.”

Dean chuckles. “So bossy, b- Princess-“

“Do you want to hear about the souls or not?”

“Yeah, alright. Go.”

You don’t explain it all. You tell him more about how souls tend to move and blend together, twining with other souls and staining each other in more and more colors until it’s almost kaleidoscopic. You mention the elements, but you’re vague—only that they all made of different things, not that you know what those different things are—because if you explain too much, Dean will ask what element he’s made of, and you’re not even sure what an honest answer would be.

To be fair, you never explain it all. You tell Dean you’re getting more leads on Magdalenes, but not a word about the Men of God, because he’ll freak out. You’ve explained all your outbursts, but never told him about the Sky. You never tell anyone about the Sky, because it makes you sound fucking crazy. Even in this life, saying the Sky is watching me and it hates when I talk to you, Deano would end with a strange look. Just like when you were a kid, telling your mother that the Sky is watching me, and making me promises, and I don’t want them. I don’t. I’m scared and I want to go home.

“Is it ever- Can you turn it off?” You can hear Dean’s frown through the phone. “I mean, that sounds like you’re being shoved into one of the carnival funhouses all the damn time.”

“That’s… Not far off.”

“But it’s gotta hurt your eyes or some shit-“

“I’m used to it,” you mumble, running your thumb over your palm. “I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to-“

“Dean. It is what it is.”

“Yeah, but- It shouldn’t be.” He lets out a long breath, and tears start to prick at your eyes. “There’s gotta be something that helps.”

You. You help, Dean. You’re so Golden it’s impossible to think about anything else.

“Maybe start looking for that?” Dean hums, and the lump starts to form in your throat. “How to control the soul-vision shit?”

“Soul vision?” You smile, even though it’s crushing over your ribs. “Creative, De.”

“Shut up. You love it.”

I love you. “I don’t hate it.”

“Good. Maybe work on-“

“But I don’t want to turn it off.” You glance down at your hands, and your voice is far too soft. Dean with be able to hear. “I- I can’t turn it off, Dean.”

He mutters your name, and you shake your head.

“I- I can’t. She’s still on me, her soul is still on me, and if I stop seeing it, she’s gone.” You’re breathing too shallow. You can’t stop. “I can’t let her be gone like this too, I couldn’t- It’s all I’ve got left, it’s the only piece of her left and only I can see it- And if- I- She can’t be gone, Dean, I can’t let her be gone-“

“I know.” Dean mutters, his voice so low and soothing, even through the choppy speaker. “I know sweetheart, I’m sorry-“

“I wanna come home.” You whisper, and Dean goes silent. “I miss you, and I don’t-“ I’m scared. I’m scared and I want to go home. “Dean, I don’t know- Please.”

You don’t know exactly what you’re asking for. But somehow, Dean does.

“It’s gonna be okay. I promise it’s gonna be okay. I’ll send Cas out for you right now, if you want-“

You make a strangled noise, and Dean’s voice gets stronger. Firmer.

“Or we can just keep talking. You wanna keep talking, ba- Sweetheart?”

You nod, and even though he can’t see you, Dean still knows. Still understands. It rips another small, weak sound from your throat.

“I ate some pie, yesterday.” Dean hums, his voice still low and careful, and you let out a soft laugh.

“You eat pie every day, De.”

“Yeah, but this was cream pie. You’d like it, it had a bunch of chocolate on the top, and it was fucking full of that stuff they put in the donuts-“

“Cream?” You smile at the ceiling, and you don’t know how he does this. Every single time, even when he’s just a voice, Dean brings you back down. “I think it’s just cream, De.”

“Alright, whatever. Point is this thing is stuffed with cream-“

He can’t be doing this on purpose. You wouldn’t put it past Dean to do it on purpose, but this is the kind of thing he would talk about to see Sam get uncomfortable. But all you can think about is how even his voice is fucking pretty, and he keeps saying stuffed and cream and filled, and your skin is prickling with an aching, pleasant warmth, your thighs starting to press back together.

And Dean does eventually have to go. Once he’s satisfied with your lack of hyperventilation and the steadiness of your voice, he mutters that he has to go deal with Sam.

“Get some rest,” He mutters your name, and you swallow. “Or I’ll track you down and make you.”

The line cuts off before you can respond, and this is the part where something is wrong with you. You’re a fucking mess. Your cheeks are still stained with tears, and you’d been sobbing less than half an hour ago, but now you’re wet. Dripping. Your fingers trail between your legs, and over and over the sound of Dean saying you’d like the cream pie, Princess, replays in your head. The one time in his life that Dean wasn’t making an innuendo, you’re losing your mind with hunger for him.

And there are the fantasies.

Dean over you in bed—you don’t really care which one, as long as Dean is there—and his fingers shoved into your cunt as he kisses all over your face. And you’re breathless and clinging to him, but he’s holding you just as tight, and when he buries himself fully inside of you, he lets out a low groan right in your ear-

I’ve got you. I love you, baby. You know I love you.

You don’t. Dean’s never said that. But Dean’s voice has. And it spoke with a long drawl and soft affection. Your mind is taking that and running with it.

You cum with another gasp of Dean, your back arching off the bed, and you try not to think about it when you roll over and gather the blankets until they’re in a vague shape of Dean for you to hold all night.

And the Sky doesn’t get to see it. You always close the curtains when Dean calls, because you’re going to keep picking up the phone.

You’ll keeping missing him, too. And loving him.

And dreaming of him.

You never stop dreaming of Dean.

“No wanderin’ off.” Bobby grunts, scanning around the room.

It’s big. Almost as big as the rooms in your family’s house. There’s something different about it, though. Even though the air is colder, there’s a warmth to the walls and a comfort to the floor.

You don’t tell Bobby that. Not because he wouldn’t want to know, but because he already has enough to worry about.

“I’m not gonna wander.” You mumble, picking at the skin of your nails. “Promise.”

Bobby snorts. “I wish I believed you, kiddo.”

“Bobby-“

“I trust you.” He says your name carefully, holding your gaze. “But you like exploring and testin’ my fuckin’ blood pressure. I told you not to get distracted by the house, and what did you do?”

You pout at your shoes. “I sang on the staircase.”

“And why don’t we wanna do that.”

“Cause there’s an ubume running around.”

“Cause there’s a-“ Bobby pauses, frowning at you. “A what?”

“Ubume.”

“I ain’t sure what that is-“

“It’s the spirit of a woman who died in childbirth.” You mumble. “They’re not usually violent, but sometimes they try to steal children. And they like rocks, and there are all those rocks outside.”

Bobby blinks down at you, and shakes his has. “Fuckin’-“

“I’m sorry-“

“You’re righ-“ He cuts himself off, frowning down at you. “The hell are you sorry for?”

“I- I don’t-“ You swallow, the Darkness starting to turn out and press under your skin. “I don’t know.”

“Wel, ya shouldn’t be.” Bobby shrugs. “You’re right. The kids have been gettin’ the worst of it, so- They’re called ubumes?”

You nod, and Bobby sighs.

“You’re not in trouble, kiddo. You can relax.”

“But I- I wasn’t supposed to get involved with the hunt-“

Bobby runs a hand over his face. “I told ya that cause I didn’t want you tryin’ to take on this shit yourself. But if you know somethin’ I might not, always say it. Deal?”

You nod nervously, and Bobby extends his hand.

“C’mon, kiddo. If we can wrap this up by the afternoon, I’ll let ya go back to the staircase.”

Your eyes widen, even as you take his hand. “But the family-“

“They ain’t home. What they don’t know ain’t gonna hurt them.”

“Who aren’t we hurting?”

You blink, and turn to see Dean next to you.

Once again, you’re a little taller than before. And Bobby seems completely unaware of Dean’s presence, still running through the script of the memory as you walk through the house.

“A rich family from California,” you explain, Dean trailing behind you. “Bobby heard about their haunting, and he decided to take care of it while they were out of town. I got to come because Rufus was busy, and I’d been having a lot of freak outs, so he didn’t want to leave me alone.”

“Huh.” Dean nods slowly. “Why are you holding his hand?”

“Because right now, I’m eleven.” You pause, and extend your free hand to Dean.

He takes it without question, falling right into pace at your side and leaning down to whisper in your ear. “Where are we going?”

“To kill the ubume.”

“What the fuck is an abummy-“

“Oo-BU-me.” You hum, and when Bobby settles in the families kitchen—where you’d been keeping all the books and weapons—your hand doesn’t leave Dean’s. “Dead pregnant lady ghost.”

“Huh. And you killed it?”

“Bobby killed it.” You shrug, watching the younger version of Bobby shuffle around the room, asking you questions that in real life you’d answered, but in the dream are only met with an echo of your words as you keep talking to Dean. “I wasn’t allowed to leave the salt circle.”

“Why-“

“She was napping kids. I was a kid.” You sigh, resting your head on Dean’s shoulder. “And if he tried to take me, I would’ve lost it. And if I lost it, I probably would’ve had an even bigger freak out about losing it.”

Dean hums, keeping your hands interlocked as he slings an arm over your shoulder, pulling you right into his side. “Did you? Lose it?”

“Not today, no. This hunt ends with the ubume ganked-“

Dean smirks. “You said ganked.”

“Shut up-“

“Bossy-“

“You gonna listen, Winchester?”

“Sorry, baby.” He’s still grinning, leaning down to press a kiss to your brow. “Keep goin’.”

Baby. I love you, baby.

Fuck.

“It’s not important.” You mumble. “I get to sing the Goodnight song from the Sound of Music on the stairs.”

“Oh, I remember that.”

You frown at him. “You-“

“You told me about it. When we worked that mall case. You said you wouldn’t sing for me, cause you wouldn’t kill for me.” Dean leans down, his lips brushing over your ear, his voice sending a shiver up your spine. “Would you kill for me now, Princess?”

“I-“ You swallow, turning your head to meet his gaze.

Mistake.

He’s so close. And even though you know this is a dream, he still looks so fucking real. Golden and pretty. All you’ve ever wanted.

All you ever could want.

“I think I would’ve killed for you then.” You whisper, and he blinks.

“And now?”

“I’d do anything.” You can tell him that. This isn’t real, so you’re not breaking any rules by telling him. “You’re- I-“

“I know.” He mutters, and he doesn’t kiss you on the lips. Dean just wraps his arms fully around your body, pulling you right into his chest and combing his fingers through your hair. “Me too. I- I miss you, Princess. I need you to come home.”

Your fingers curl in his shirt. “I want to, De. I- I’m so tired. And it hurts. It always hurts. This fucking sucks.”

He lets out a dry laugh. “It really fucking does. But life’s a bitch, sweetheart. Always gonna hurt. Better to have each other for it.”

“Alright.” You giggle into his body. “When did you get so wise?”

“When I started missing my girl all the time.”

You sigh. “She misses you too.”

“I know. But I hope she knows-“

There’s a bang on your door, and it rips you away from your dream. Away from Dean.

And the Silver is stirring. Nothing has happened but another loud, almost violent knock, but the Silver is already starting to hum and writhe.

That can’t be anything good.

You lay flat on your back, holding your breath until you’re a little light-headed. If it’s nothing, and the Silver is just going haywire, the knocking will stop. Whoever’s on the other side of the door will give up and move on.

But you’ve never been that lucky.

A bored, taunting voice says your name, and the sound is muffled through the door, but you still recognized the fancy, stupid accent.

Fuck.

“We know you’re in there, darling.” Ketch hums from outside. “It’ll so much easier for everyone if we cut to the chase, and you let us take you in.”

You stay silent, but your hands move to your wrists. You’ve been rubbing them until your skin was a little red and raw, and it stings to the touch, and the Silver is starting to turn and turn. It might not be the worst thing to explode on Ketch and whoever else he’s brought. But you’re in a cheap inn, and you’d passed a family when you were checking in. You won’t be in enough control to stop the damage from hitting them too.

But if Ketch tries to grab you, you’re not going to be able to stop yourself, either.

If you were a little better of a person, you’d let Ketch take you. You should be locked up. Contained. Kept where you’ll never hurt anyone, ever again.

But you’d never see Dean again, either. And you’d vanish, and he’s think you’d abandoned him. That you’d given up, or really run away, when it was supposed to be all the way down.

You’d promised Dean all the way down.

You’d promised Jo you’d be okay.

So you can’t go without a little some sort of fight. You’ll try and keep the Silver down, but if Ketch thinks this is going to go in his favor, he’s disgustingly wrong.

God, this is still going to suck.

Ketch repeats your name, and you take a long, steadying breath.

You can do this.

“You’re just dragging it out,” he calls. “We’ve got you surrounded, and we’re well prepared. You won’t be getting away this time. I promise, darling, it will be better if you come quietly.”

You almost laugh.

He has no fucking idea what he’s in for.

“I’m busy!” You call, slowing pushing up out of bed, your knife already in your hand. You’ve been sleeping with it. Just in case.

Plus, it reminds you of Dean.

“Can you come back later?”

Ketch laughs, and Jesus, it’s not a pretty sound. “I’m afraid we’re quite busy later. And you are not the type of girl one wants to take a rain check on. You might lose her after.”

You roll your eyes, spinning your knife in your hands. “I think you’ll find that you’re going to lose me anyway.”

“Wrong. We lost you last time because you left our jurisdiction. But now? You’re in our territory. And we’ve been watching you.”

“Of course you have,” you mutter. Your jacket is on, your bag is packed, now you just need to get out.

“You’re quite the fascinating little creature,” Ketch drawls your name, and you wonder—if you punch him hard enough—if you could make all his teeth fall out. “If we can figure out how to tame you, I think Mick would be right. You’d be quite the addition to our organization.”

Organization. You’d guessed they weren’t just a team of fancy fuck hunters, but that confirms it. “I think I’ll pass. But thanks for the offer.”

“I’m afraid it’s not an offer, darling-“

“Oh, well in that case,” you swing the door open, and give Ketch a wide, mocking smile. “I’ll just say suck my dick.”

It’s good to see that he hasn’t fully recovered from the ceiling you dropped on him. He’s holding his gun differently than before, and there’s a slight, forced slump to his shoulders.

He’ll probably get better eventually. But you hope it’s a long, grueling journey until he can fully throw his shoulders back again.

“You always have been so vulgar.” Ketch sighs. “We’ll work on that.”

“No.” You shrug, keeping your smile plastered on your face, even as the Silver grows. “I’m going to recommend you let me past, Ketch. It’ll be easier for all of us.”

He laughs. “Always so overconfident, too. I told you, we’re ready. I’ve got snipers trained on you, in case you try to use that cute little blade. This place is warded, darling. Your magic tricks are useless.”

“Oh no.” You drawl. “It’s warded. What am I going to do.”

“Well, you-“ Ketch’s eyes narrow. “You are being sarcastic.”

“I have never been sarcastic in my life-“

Ketch snaps your name. “You are not working this in your favor, by being uncooperative.”

“I think you’ll find I’m being incredibly cooperative.” You shrug. “I’m trying really hard not to kill you all.”

“Oh, are you-“

“Yep.” Your eyes narrow. “Stand down. Now.”

“I think I’ll pass.” Ketch says, his voice bored, and you sigh.

“Alright,” you swallow, glancing up to the Sky.

Silent. Uncaring. To it, Ketch is nothing more than a firefly. More than just a bug, but still disposable.

“Your funeral.” You give Ketch a grimacing smile. “Let’s dance.”

There’s a moment—as you watch the men behind Ketch raise their guns to your head and your spin your knife in your hands—where you think you might be able to get out of this the normal way.

Then Ketch grabs your wrist, and you’re gone. Tearing through the world once more, growing out and out and out until the Silver is satiated, and the ground doesn’t want to move up and protect you.

It crashes back into you, the blur clears, and it’s such a fucking mess. Another building in ruin. A fucking jackalope hopping around in the strange, black and golden flowers, and a white stag prancing on the high way.

When you sweep the damage, it looks like you got lucky. Most people were out for the day. There’s only a rose-pink receptionist to hold and push back into her body, all of Ketch’s men—they might have had guns aimed at you, but they’re still people—and Ketch himself.

A muddied orange on the pavement. And you could leave him. Dean would tell you to leave him, that he’d tried to kill you and kidnap you, and he has tortured you, so it’s not unjustifiable to just leave him for the angels to find. And they will find him. You’ve already lingered too long, and the angels will be here soon.

But you can’t stop thinking about Jo, draining of all her blue. Growing hollow, just like how Ketch’s body is passed out on the ground.

Before you can think about it too hard, you’re grabbing Ketch’s soul, and shoving it back where it belongs.

You might regret that. You know you’ll regret that.

But it’s done. You aren’t going to take it back.

And you have to go, and not look back.

You’re getting better at not looking back.

Except with Dean.

You’ll always look back for Dean.

He hasn’t seen you yet. Dean’s attention is all focused on John. Shouting at him and raising his hands, high enough that Dean flinches, but never landing a hit.

Dean looks young. Younger than you remember knowing him. His face is softer, and his nose is still crooked but his hair is a lot lighter. While John yells, he’s bowing his head in a way you’ve rarely seen before. There’s no fight in him. He seems to be absorbing every verbal blow John throws at him, only fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves as he waits for it finish.

“He could be hurt, you fuckin’ dumbass- He could be goddamn dead and it would be your fault. I give you one fuckin’ job, and it ain’t makin' him happy-“ John groans, running a hand over his face. “If you don’t tell me where the hell your brother ran off to, Dean, it’s gonna be your fuckin’ head-“

“Why is he mad?” You whisper in Dean’s ear, and he starts slightly.

“Son a bitch, Princess. You scared the shit out of me.”

You grin at him. “Aw, are you jumpy-“

“I don’t get jumpy.” He grumbles, and before you know what’s happening, Dean’s arm is looped around your waist and his face is buried in your neck. “I’m tough, sweetheart. Just didn’t think you’d be here.”

“Right.” You let your fingers wander up to his hair, glaring as John just keeps shouting like nothing’s different at all. “Of course you’re tough, Deano. You’re a cowboy.”

“I know.” He mutters into your skin. “‘M your cowboy.”

“Yeah. You are.” You sigh, glaring at John over his head. “Why is he yelling at you?”

“I let Sammy have a sleepover, while Dad was on a hunt. He got back early. He wasn’t happy I let Sam out of my sight at all, but then I refused to say where he went. That made him pissed.”

“You lied to your dad?”

“Sometimes, yeah. When I had to.”

“This was a have to?”

Dean grunts into you. “Was a sleepover with a girl. Sammy had just turned sixteen.”

You laugh. “Right. Obviously.”

“And I lied to Dad for you, too.” He grumbles, his arms tightening around you. “Never told him about our hunts.”

“I- Why?” You ask before you can stop yourself, and Dean just shrugs.

“He woulda stopped me seeing you. Never wanted to stop seein’ you.” He takes a long breath. “You always smell so good. Drives me fucking insane.”

Jesus. “I don’t smell like anything, De-“

“Wrong. Smell like fucking heaven, I don’t even- Wish I could figure out what it was. Spent so much time trying to figure it out.”

“You lied to John to smell me?”

“Kinda.”

“Oh.“ You swallow. “Did you ever lie so you could have a sleepover?”

“A sleep- You mean to fuck someone?”

He’s so all around you. It’s just a dream, but Dean’s still Golden and surrounding you and almost folded over your body, and you’re not sure how you remember to speak. “Yeah.”

“Never needed to. Only to see you. And I didn’t get laid for that.”

“You didn’t ask to get laid.” You mumble, and Dean chuckles.

“Would you have said yes, baby?”

Baby. I love you, Baby.

“Don’t answer that.” Dean mutters before you can even open your mouth, pulling back with an almost sheepish grin. “Already know the answer.”

You don’t think he does. Even the Dean in your head doesn’t seem to know that you love him. That you’d do anything for him. But he’s holding your gaze, and he’s your Dean again. A little taller, small scars littered on his face that make him look even more like that Cowboy, skin more tanned and eyes far heavier. When his hand lifts up to trace over your features, it’s calloused and rough, and his lips have gone chapped, but he’s still so pretty. And his Gold is still strong.

“I think I woulda run away with you.” He murmurs, and his voice is like a spell. You couldn’t move away if you tried. “Met you a year after this, and- Son of a bitch, Princess, I wish I’d stayed, that night. Pushed my luck with the smartest, prettiest girl I’d ever seen. Missed you then, too. Always missed you. Shouldn’t have listened to Dad. He- I knew he didn’t like me, but I never thought he’d hate me that much. Taking you away from me.”

You let out a slow breath, and shake your head. And you hate John. You hate him more than anything, for what he’s done to you, and Sam, and Dean. But you never want Dean to think anyone hates him. If Dean thinks John did all this because he hated him, Dean will make it his own fault. Make himself a failure, when it was John who failed him. And John—in his own, horrible, selfish, fucked up way—had cared about Dean. You wish he hadn’t.

But he did.

“He didn’t hate you, Dean.” You whisper. “He was just a piece of shit, and he hated me. There’s a difference.”

“Yeah, well, hating you is hating me. You the awesomest part of me.”

You flush, and Dean’s grin widens. “Awesomest isn’t a word.”

“Could be.”

“No-“

“There’s no a better word for you, Princess.” Dean swoops down, kissing your cheek and squeezing your hips until you giggle. “And I don’t care if Dad hated me. You like me.”

“I do.” You whisper, your stupid, ditzy smile returning. “I really do.”

You wake up slowly. Blinking as light seeps through the windows, your blanket still wrapped in your arms as a crude mockery of Dean.

And the better days are like this. Moving slowly through your gathered books—often finding nothing, but sometimes coming across a new spell or ritual or empty clue—and picking at your food, Dean’s voice in the back of your head humming eat, Princess. You need to eat.

You really have gotten better at it, over the months. You register when you need to go to the bathroom, and don’t fight it until it’s unavoidable. You eat less than you maybe should, but enough to not grow dizzy when you stand up. You keep water next to you all the time, and when your hand starts to cramp, you let it rest a little longer than one flex. You’d promised Jo you’d be okay.

And you’re not. You’re still tired, and breaking down, and you want to go home. But at least nobody will look at you, and see a girl that’s really more of a ghost.

Today is one of those better days. Good might be too far a stretch, but it’s better. Simple. Read and eat and drink, go for a walk because fresh air is good for the pain over your skull, take a shower because it’s nice not to feel grime on your skin.

And you could swear the Sky is growing brighter.

All day, it seems to be somehow building brighter and brighter.

And growing. It seems insane, but the Sky seems to be fucking growing until it’s wrapped around more than you. Like it’s bracing you for something you don’t understand.

But everything is peaceful. No demons crashing into your motel room. Nothing from Ketch or his organization since your last detonation. The grass shifts easily in the wind, but the flowers seem to be holding their bloom. You haven’t seen a bird all day. You’ve seen people, nothing else. No bugs, no rabbits, no spiders.

Only a snake in the flower bed, and a dog who whines as he passes you.

It’s strange. Eerie.

Wrong.

Something is, in a way you don’t know how to articulate—but sits and shifts deep in your bones and intestines—wrong.

The Sky is so big. It’s still only watching, but it still seems to be reaching for you.

Not to swallow you.

To veil you.

Hide you.

When the sun sets, the Sky is still shining. Nobody can see it but you, and it’s not making the world luminated, but the Sky is pure white and glaring with danger.

You don’t know from what.

But you know that the Silver is waking up. Nothing has even happened, but the Silver is rolling around inside of you. And you know Dean’s not picking up the phone. You try him, when you can’t sleep under the white of the Sky, but he doesn’t pick up.

He always picks up.

You’ve called him when it was the dead of night for him, and he’s answered with a muffled grumble and sleepy grunts. You’ve called him in the middle of a hunt, and he’s picked up just to tell you he’ll call you back. Once you called him during a movie, and he turned it off to talk.

Dean always picks up.

Something is really fucking wrong.

You try Sam, and you know he’s been put in the panic room for demon blood reasons—although you’re still worried about how long the infection will take to clear his soul—but maybe he has phone privileges-

Nothing.

Bobby. He always picks up after three rings, but this goes all the way to voicemail. You’ve never heard Bobby’s voicemail before. It’s brisk and says nothing more than if you’ve got this number, you know what to do, but Bobby has never been anything if not efficient.

You didn’t leave Sam a message.

You leave one for Bobby.

“Hey, It- It’s me.” You mumble your name, drawing your knees up to your chest. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been calling more, but I thought you’d be mad at me for leaving. I know you’re mad at Dean about it, but he was just trying to- Please don’t be mad at him. I miss you, and-“ You swallow down a sob. The point. You need to get to the point. “I think something’s really wrong, Bobby. It’s- It’s just a feeling, but somethings wrong. And Dean’s not picking up the phone, and I’m really worried, so please just call me back and tell me everything’s okay. I need to know you’re okay, and I- I’m sorry-“

“Fifteen seconds left.” A cool, automated voice hums, and you take a sharp breath. You’re going to fucking cry again.

“I’m sorry. I miss you and I’m sorry and please tell me you’re okay. Something is really wrong, Dad, and I need to know you’re okay, I’m so-“

The machine beeps. You wipe your nose with your sleeve as the message sends, and the feeling of wrong only grows, the Silver pushing up with it. It’s shrinking, like it’s trying to hide in the darker corners of your body, but still gnashing with sharp teeth for when things go wrong.

Things are going to go wrong. Something so fucking primal is rolling over your every nerve, telling you something is wrong. And the wind is howling a warning, and the earth is pressing up to try and guard you like the Sky, and when you turn on the tap water, it’s singing you a soft song. It’s almost soothing. Not like a sedation, but a comfort.

You hole up in your motel room, closing the curtain to try and block the Sky. You pray to Cas and he doesn’t answer, and you try Dean two more times with no luck. Your knife is clutched in your hands, and you’re curled right against the wall, and the water is still singing in all the pipes through the building, and it hurts but the comfort seems to be an anesthetic, and-

You’re not sure where you are. Only that its’s dark and cold and lonely. And high. You’re so fucking high up.

Or low.

You can’t actually tell.

The whole word seems like it’s folded into itself. The sky is at your feet but it’s also above you and at your side. Like an illusion, keeping you contained with smoke and mirrors and light.

There are shadows, creeping forward and trying to touch you. But something always makes them recoil, as if you’re a toxic or poison or feral or-

Silver

It’s the Silver.

You’re only the Silver, and the shadows can’t stand it. They hiss and sneer at the feeling of it, but still try to touch you. Then after they retreat, they try again, Like maybe this time, they’ll be strong enough.

Or you’ll be weaker.

But you’re not growing weaker. The more the Silver is poked at, the bigger it gets.

The bigger you get.

You are the Silver, and you’re more than glowing. You’re bioluminescent and blinding, but still filled with every space between the starts and all the colors colliding and shimmering through you.

Somewhere in the shadows, there’s something red. Bloody, electric red and shining like a black light.

It has more eyes than you can count, and a billion fists, and a million wings. But it’s not made of fire.

It’s made of the same gleaming, wrathful light as Sam and Dean.

And when it smiles at you, the earth shakes.

“Wow. You’re prettier than he deserves.” It hums. “Don’t worry. I can help you fix that.”

You swallow, but before you can respond, everything splits open. All of it. A crack leaking through the mirage, filling with light.

The light of the Sky.

“This is me.” The Red smirk at you. “I’ll see you soon. Don’t worry. We’ll have a lot of fun.”

The Red bursts up, and then it’s gone.

But you don’t move. You’re not trapped. You could follow the Red thing through the crack, but you don’t know how to move. You’re all Silver, and it’s too much. There’s nothing to tether too. Nothing to shrink back into. You just everything and nothing all at once, and it’s as if you’ve been turned into mist and filled with iron all at once, then told to run.

You don’t know how to do anything but sit here. The Sky is watching you, through the crack, and you can’t tell if it’s urging you to move or demanding that you wait for it to grab you by the scruff of your neck-

It yanks you out of the paralyzing sleep. The blaring sound of some screaming part in a Led Zeppelin song.

Sam and Dean don’t to ringtone, but they’re also both legally dead and criminals. You’re a ghost. You don’t run scams, and as far as the government is concerned, you’re a stale missing persons case.

So you get to do ringtone.

And you’ve never been more grateful for that than now.

You grab the phone and answer without checking who it is. You already get to know.

“Dean, fucking- God I was so worried-“

“You were worried about me, Princess?” Dean rasps, and you don’t miss the exhaustion leaking through his voice.

“Of course I was worried about you.” I love you. “Are you okay?”

He sighs. “I’m in one piece. So is Sammy, and Bobby- He will be.”

Will be.

Your stomach twists.

“Something happened, didn’t it.” Your voice is barely a breath, and leaving was a horrible idea. You know something’s wrong, and breathing is starting to become a labor as your skin itches off your body, but there’s no one here to hold you.

Dean’s not here to hold you.

“I-“ You take a shaking, unsteady breath. “I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s wrong. I know something’s wrong, Dean, I can feel it-“

“I know.” Dean whispers, and your hand moves up to hold your throat.

The Silver is dormant. But it’s still too much, and old habits don’t decay when you don’t know how to plant anything new.

“It’s- We- Son of a bitch.” Dean clears his throat. “We kinda fucked up.”

You can’t breathe. “What?”

“We failed.”

“Dean-“

“The cage.” Dean mumbles. “It’s open. He’s out. Shit it- It’s bad, sweetheart.”

“Oh.” You whisper. “Fuck.”

“Yeah. It’s- Son of a bitch, you were right,” he mutters your name, his voice almost hushed. “It was Ruby. She’d been working with Lilith the whole time, and she tricked Sammy, and he’s such a fuckin’ idiot but I’m worried about him-“

“Dean.” You whisper, and you wish you could touch him. Move his face into your neck, like in your dream. Maybe fold yourself around him and be that damnation for him. “Are you okay?”

“I- Yeah. We got out, everything intact. Something sent us away. We lost Cas for a minute, but turned out something wanted him to stick around. Some demons went for us in Bobby, and he got hurt-“

“Bobby-“

“He’s fine, Princess. Gonna be fine. Stable. We’re actually about to go see him right now. And Sam’s fine too. Detoxing. He’s angry, and we’re- We’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” You take a shaking breath, keeping your eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Dean?”

He grunts, and try not to let the strain in your whole body grow audible.

“Are you okay?”

“I told you-“

“You told me Cas and Bobby and Sam are fine. I’m asking about you.”

There’s a long moment of silent static, and you know by now to wait. The line’s not dead. Dean’s just thinking.

And when he speaks, his voice is barely a rasp.

“I- I need you to come back.” He mutters your name, and it’s too soft. “Son of a bitch, I- I can’t keep worrying about you and doing this.”

“Dean.” You sigh. “You know I can’t, they’ll-“

“I don’t give a shit what they do. Heaven or Hell or any of them. Demons rip me up and the angels will just pull me right back out. They need me. Some bullshit about Michael wanting to use me as a condom-“

“What-“

“Long story.” He mutters. “But I don’t fuckin’ care what consequences there are, Princess. Come home.”

There’s another silence as a lump forms in your throat, and you need to speak but words feel far away-

“Please.” Dean’s voice is so low and exhausted. “I need you.”

There it is. What you’ve been asking him not to do for months.

He needs you.

Dean needs you.

And you don’t think you could say no if you tried.

“Okay.” You whisper. “Is Cas- Will he hear me?”

“Think so. Are you-“

“I’m coming home.”

You can hear Dean’s sigh, and it’s filled with relief.

You’re really don’t think there’s anything you wouldn’t do for him.

“See you soon, Princess.”

“I- Yeah. Bye, De.”

It’s quick, to pack up. Most of your possession now are old, fragile books that better fucking survive angel travel, or you’ll punch Cas in the face. You don’t pray immediately, though. While there was no destruction, whatever had happened last night—Lucifer escaping, you’d been responding to Lucifer escaping, and you don’t know what the fuck that means—the wall are covered in vines and a little waterfall has formed from the window edge, falling down on to the floor-

Ground. You’re standing on the ground. Grass and flowers and tiny trees, and it’s buzzing with life below your feet. Like a little ecosystem, confined to your room.

That’s something the angels will probably be able to track.

You can’t call Cas here.

It’s a short walk than usual, and you stop at a Church. If the angels are sweeping the area, they probably won’t think to find you here. It’s hiding in plain sight.

You close your eyes, and pray.

Cas. Help. Please.

There’s a whoosh, almost immediately.

But it’s not Cas’ low, gravelly voice that comes from behind you.

“You should be careful, sweetheart. Praying in a church.” The bright, almost cheery voice laughs. “You might attract some unwanted attention.”

When you turn, the voice belongs to a shorter man, with longer, blond hair and bright eyes.

But that’s not what makes you stumble back a step.

He’s blue.

He’s so fucking blue.

Like the blue of Cas, turned up to a million. And he has an uncountable amount of eyes shoved into two, a billion fists curled into the same, and a million wings pressed to his back-

“You’re an archangel.” You whisper, and the Blue laughs.

“Wow. That was fast. You know, everything I’ve ever heard about you said you’d be pretty, but smart? Don’t think he planned for that. In for a big surprise.”

You swallow. He can’t smite you. Or hurt you. Zachariah said nothing was allowed to hurt you.

So you raise your chin, and hold the Blue’s gaze.

“What do you want?”

It doesn’t seem to faze him at all. “Damn. Moxie, too? They don’t know what they’re getting with you! A little spitfire.”

You frown. “Moxie?”

“Sorry, forgot you’re only what, thirty?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Shit. Even younger. Basically a fetus.” He shrugs. “Well, kid, moxie means you’re headstrong, little bit sassy-“

“I know what moxie means.” You mutter, rubbing the scar on your palm. “And that’s not correct. I just haven’t heard anyone use the word seriously.”

“Who says I’m serious?” The Blue winks. “I’m the fun one. I’d ask if you wanted to see, but I don’t think that would end in my favor. Already pushing it just by bein’ here.”

“I-“

The Blue cuts you off with a tsk. “I’ve got something to say, sweetheart. Something you’re gonna wanna here, before you do anything stupid.”

Your eyes narrow. “I’m not doing anything-“

“You’re trying to go home.” The Blue shrugs. “And it is stupid. I know what tree you’ve been barking up, sister, and it’s not the right one.”

“Sister-“

“No.” The Blue cuts you off quickly, shaking his head. “Just a nickname. You’re not my sister. That would be…” He wrinkles his nose. “So fucking gross. Like, we’re a fucked-up family, but not that fucked up. There’s gotta be a line, y’know? I think it’s there.”

The Blue speaks in circles and riddles, and it’s worse than Cas. At least Cas is amusing, and simply doesn’t know better. This guy just seems to be trying to set you off-

“That won’t work.”

You blink at him. “Wha-“

“Your little magic trick. The bam.” He makes a crushing gesture, raising his brows. “Afraid you need to have a little more control and self-love than you’ve got now, to take me out. I mean, the other thing you’ve got, the boom-“ Another gesture. “That might work, actually. Not sure. Let’s not find out.”

Now you’re just too confused, and you’ll hand it to him. The Blue’s vagueness seems to keep the Silver only brimming in your body.

“Look, I’d love to talk with you forever, but we’re kinda on a timer.” The Blue sighs, his tone suddenly falling into something serious. “That tree? The one where you’re trying to work out what you are and how to control it? Stop it. Stop barking.”

“I-“

“You don’t understand what you’re doing.” The Blue says your name, and it’s a little distorted. Louder. Musical.

Enochian.

“You’re changing things. Things that shouldn’t be tampered with, let alone moved around and rearranged however you want.”

“No- I-“ You shake your head, your hands drifting up to rub at your wrists. “I left. I stopped interfering, I promise-“

“You already interfered.” The Blue sighs, giving you an almost sympathetic expression. “Just your existence, just by letting them into your orbit, you’ve done more than you can-“

“But I stopped.” You’re almost pleading. You’d left to stop. To make sure nothing you did hurt anyone you loved. That was the fucking point, you’d stopped-

“Look.” The Blue run a hand—hands?—over his face. “We’re behind schedule, because of you! Little Sammy Winchester actually held on longer against Ruby and the blood, because you planted a little extra doubt in his head! Because he and Dean were fighting, but they fought all the time! He just knew you’d always end up with Dean, and he didn’t want to lose you with his brother, so he held on!”

“I- I don’t-“

“They’re ahead, too! Sam and Dean aren’t fighting as much because of Sam trying longer, and Dean’s thinking about what you would do! And you turned sweet, hopeful Castiel over to their side too soon, and now they’ve got some extra steps on everyone, which is going make this drag. People are gone that should’ve stuck around, and some of them are early, and you’ve made a mess that’s going to take forever to get in order!”

The Silver is still silent, as the Blue throws his hands in the air.

You wish it would turn in, and rip you to shreds.

“I didn’t mean to.” You whisper, your hand returning to your throat. “I promise I didn’t mean to-“

“I know you didn’t.” The Blue shakes his head, and there’s that fucking sympathy again. “But you’ve gotta stop, kid. You’re making this even more complicated than those chuckleheads ever could.”

“But I- I want to go home.” You sound like a child. You don’t care. “I’ll just lock myself in my room, I promise, I but I- I need to go home-“

“Sorry,” The Blue says your name, in Enochian once more. “No dice. He’s looking for you, and that’ll make this all worse-“

“He-“

“My brother.”

“Oh.”

The Sky flashes over you.

The Blue doesn’t seem to see it.

“It’s better if you get some sleep, I think.” The Blue frowns, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “Yeah. Sleep will be good for you.”

You don’t want to sleep. You need to get home. Back to Dean. You’d told him you’d come home, so you need to come home-

“Probably won’t hold, but it’s better than the other option.” The Blue raises one of his bursting, electric hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it feel good. Send you someone nice.”

You want to scream, to run, to fight, but the Silver hasn’t built itself up, and you’re frozen.

And before you can call for Dean, the Blue presses to your brow, and the world goes dark.

“What don’t you think is real?”

You blink at Dean in the dark of the Impala, and a little bit of chocolate milk is smeared on his upper lip.

He’d grabbed a beer, insisting that he didn’t want anything else. But you’d grabbed two chocolate milks, because you know him.

Love him.

Miss him.

You know this is a dream faster than usual. The whole world—even in the dark of midnight—is bathed in gold, just like when you dream about Dean without you. You remember what’s supposed to happen here.

You don’t really want to stray from the script, though.

You love this one.

“What do you mean?” You reach up to wipe the milk off Dean’s face, and he grins at you.

“Y’know. Some of this shit has to be fake.”

You hum, watching him carefully. “Like what?”

“Unicorns.”

“Unicorns are real-“

“I- No they’re not-“

“I’ve seen one.”

“Ah.” Dean grumble, taking another large drink of his chocolate milk. “Of course you have.”

You giggle, scooting a little close to his side to grab the jerky from his lap. His arm goes around the bench. Your shoulders. Casually keeping you pressed against him.

It had never even crossed your mind to move.

“What don’t you think is real?” You ask, and he shrugs.

“I believe what I can see. What I can kill. Monsters, ghosts, me, you-“

“Me? Should I be worried you’re going to kill me?”

“No.” He scowls. “You know that’s not what I meant. And I’m being serious-“

“I know you are, Deano.” You give him an amused look, reaching up to wipe the milk off again. “Do you believe in me?”

“Course I believe in you-“

“Do you believe in Sam?

“I-“ He sighs. “Just say it, sweetheart.”

Okay. You’re being dramatic.”

He’s almost pouting. “No, I’m not-“

“Yes, you are.” You sigh. “It doesn’t matter what might be real or not. I’m real. You’re real. This,” you poke him, and his gaze never leaves yours. “Is real. And I know it.”

“You know it?” Dean shakes his head. “How-“

“I just do. Do you know I’m real?”

He sighs, and nods. “Yeah. Guess I do.”

“Oh, you guess-“

“Shut up.”

You giggle, and Dean grins at you again.

“I’m glad you’re real, Princess. Would suck if you weren’t.”

You smile up at him, and you look stupid, and nothing has ever felt better. “I’m glad you’re real too, De.”

What you want to say—what you always want to say—is I love you. Dean Winchester, you perfect, Golden idiot, I could never love anyone but you.

But you can’t be allowed to. Not even in a dream.

So instead you just lean press your face into his chest, breathe him in, and hope that this moment lasts forever.

End Note: introducing new lore mechanics is always very special to me because I get to share about something I’ve been keeping secret for MONTHS and also you guys get to be confused.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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expshared · 5 years ago

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this season was kind of whack, but at least we had Eizouken

Heya Camp is just kind of a lazy reminder that Yuru Camp exists, and will continue to exist in the future. You remember these characters?? OK good, just making sure. That said, did I immediately feel the tension release in my entire body when I heard the OST? Duh. Did I sing “it’s coffee time” to the ending not knowing these were the incorrect lyrics? The entire time.

I don’t know what to do with Isekai Quartet because like, objectively, I should hate it. I do not enjoy like 2.5 of the shows involved, and the addition of Shield Hero was not a welcome one. Turns out it doesn’t matter anyway because it was just Isekai Quartet and also Naofumi is Sometimes Scowling in the Background and that’s about as much of him as I want to see anyway. And yet? I do enjoy this Disney Channel Original Crossover. There’s something inherently fun about watching these characters from disparate shows interact with each other, and no matter what the original stakes were in their respective series, they’re all just doing homework and getting part time jobs and that shit’s funny when a big skeleton man is doing it.

After its first episode, Asteroid in Love was kind of a slog. This is your typical seasonal CGDGT show, and apart from that, I really can’t think of anything to say about it. I didn’t learn anything about the Extremely Niche Topic these girls are doing, and it wasn’t even that gay. Disappointing.

I was really looking forward to Toilet Bound Hanako-kun because I am a big fan of the source material, but I was pretty let down by this adaptation. It seems that they prioritized the art style and the color scheme above everything else, but that essentially just meant the entire project ended up being colored manga panels. I wanted to see them move around! There was not a single moment of animation that justified it being an anime. You might as well have been watching a PowerPoint. I can’t think of anything nice to say. Let’s move on.

Bofuri is my power fantasy. I want to play a video game so cluelessly I break it into tiny pieces and bumble into being the most powerful player in the world’s nicest MMORPG. Maple turns powercreep into powersprint. What Bofuri lacks in character development or plot, it makes up for in outrageous Maple feats. She holds the entire world in the palm of her hand and she doesn’t even know it. She named her OP pet turtle Syrup and then turned into an alien abomination unknown to the world and went on a killing rampage. This anime was Maple Crossing Online. Love you, Maple. Wreck shit, Maple.

If My Favorite Idol Got Into Budokan, I Would Die walks a thin line and what separates it from being a slobbering idol otaku engine preaching how Cool it is to Be an Otaku and an Idol Show Watamote is the fact that Eripiyo is a girl. That’s it. If you took her and replaced her with your average Joe Schmoe-san, this show would be insufferably creepy. Every time I was waiting for it to topple over, Jenga-like, it managed to right itself and straddle the tightrope. It’s not a particularly subtle piece of media, nor does it do what I was hoping it would do and engage in any sort of conversation about the obsessive nature of idol otakudom, but you know what it does a good job of doing? Portraying being an idol as a job. Just some adults putting on underground shows and selling the same CD of like two songs over and over again. I was also hoping it would address what happened to Eripiyo, maybe talk about why at the beginning she’s dressed like an office worker and apparently gives that all up to follow this kinda-shitty idol group, why this fanatic escapism is preferable, or even maybe address how gay it is? Not in the cards, though. Honestly Budokan was, despite itself, pretty enjoyable? There are some great background lesbians. Also can we talk about how consistently good the production values were on this show? Why did this have such great dance sequences? Why did this look better than Love “Has More Money Than God” Live? Actually no I take everything back this show was kind of just Idol Otaku Watamote

Hey, let’s talk about the other idol show airing this season: the completely unhinged 22/7. This show is Whack. This show operates on an entire different plane of reality. I know nothing about the actual band, so I came into this blind and oh my god. Hey guys, the plot of 22/7 is that a Wall tells some girls to form an idol unit. A sentient Wall whose orders absolutely must be followed. Why? Dunno! What happens if you don’t follow its orders? Never elaborated on. (Actually, is this a reference to Pink Floyd? I have no fucking clue.) In any case these eight girls, summoned by a letter from the Wall, are all invited to become an idol group, and then they’re magically an idol group. It’s unclear how they become successful, how they book gigs, who’s keeping the lights on at the agency, how they’re getting paid, who HR is, how their gorilla man agent found this Wall and determined that all its directives Must Be Followed, but shit, man. What follows in 22/7 is a one-member-per-episode serial that quite frankly stumbles far more often than it succeeds. One girl’s grandma died and that’s why she came to Japan. One girl had a traumatizing experience where she got lost in the woods for a week and it broke her family apart and now things just suck forever. These things are equal. One poor girl’s entire episode was about how she didn’t want to put on a bathing suit for a photo shoot and how uncomfortable she felt about it, but in the end she was made to apologize for dragging her feet for so long and takes her photo for a pin up. Yuck. Gross. Bad. The only valid girl is Jun, end of discussion. None of this even holds a candle to the finale-- wherein the girls are directed by the Wall to disband, and, defying an order for the first time, the girls return to their agency and throw shit at the Wall until it breaks down. It’s revealed that the Wall isn’t supernatural-- behind it are tv monitors, photos of the girls as children, records of their activities. A person or people are behind this. Why??? Are they being groomed?? Is the Wall a metaphor for the Industry? I’m so concerned. The girls aren’t, though, because after a little side eyeing, they ascend a staircase and wow! A Stage! Our fans are all here for our reunion tour! And then they’re fine and I guess their idol group is back together or something? Did I mention the stage where they perform? It’s at a zoo. I can’t tell if this is the most scathing condemnation of idol culture I’ve ever watched or just completely oblivious. The characters don’t engage in any sort of thought about what they’re being put through, but they are performing their final song, the lyrics of which are about how life is just too hard to keep on living, at a zoo and I don’t think you can have that sort of thing happen unless you’re trying to make a point. Right??? RIGHT?!? Dance and sing, monkeys.

Smile Down the Runway was another show completely divorced from reality. So you got your main character, Chiyuki, whose thing is that she’s Too Short to Be a Model at her father’s very prestigious modeling agency. Which, like, is valid! Let’s see some variation in the modeling industry. Let’s shake it up. Let’s lead the charge for alternative models with bodies outside of the very narrow requirements of the fashion industry. What’s that, Chiyuki? You have no interest in that? You want to be a Hypermodel? I don’t know what that shit is, I think you made it up. Our other protagonist is Ikuto, the destitute, put upon, bobcut boy with a dying mother and 3 younger siblings who is trying to pursue his dream of becoming a fashion designer. Are you beginning to sense the problem here? There is a fundamental imbalance in the presentation of these characters’ goals and situations. Also? Emotions are at an eleven, always. Characters are always acting as if they’ve just seen someone get murdered in front of their eyes even when it’s like. There’s a messed up seam. They are constantly being mortified, crushed, and having their dreams ripped away. One time, two different assholes offered Ikuto magical mom-fixing blood money when he was struggling to come up with funds to pay off his medical debt at the cost of giving up his spot in the fashion show. Wildin’

Haikyuu didn’t exactly come in like a lion, but I’m sure it’ll be more organic upon rewatching. We were laying the groundwork for much of this season so I’m expecting it to payoff later, but the beginning definitely lagged. Every time Haikyuu hints at a women’s volleyball tournament, I want a volleyball anime with girls. Man, those ten minutes we got with Kiyoko? Those were great.

I don’t have too much to say about Somali and Forest Spirit. Abe’s “Make Children” agenda feels at least a little more like a narrative choice in this anime, and I enjoyed Somali and the Golem’s relationship and their travels were in equal turns harrowing and heartwarming. And I did tear up at the end so you got me there, anime.

In/Spectre has some balls being an anime. It’s existed as a light novel and a manga and those are both superior mediums for it because let’s put all our cards on the table here-- In/Spectre is a show about talking. Five whole entire episodes take place in a car. The finale is winning an argument in an anonymous 4chan chatroom. That said, I have such a fondness for In/Spectre. I think Kotoko rocks. I think a show willing to do nothing but talk at you for two hours is badass. Sitting through this anime is like watching a podcast. I think the show engages in some great dialogue about human nature and how we prefer stories that are theatrical, narratively-driven, and have a logical cause-and-effect, instead of the truth, which is more often than not grim, and disappointing, and illogical. I like that Kotoko’s only function, in-story and out of it, is to bullshit so hard she invents alternate realities. Anyway In/Spectre is good.

There’s no praise I can lavish on Eizouken that hasn’t already been said. It’s powerful, it’s strange, it’s energetic, and it’s packaged with such love. It’s repurposed the CGDCT template into something deeply affecting. It’s an anime for people who love animation. I hope everyone watches Eizouken.

#animoose and mango #chitchat paddywhack #long post /

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badchoicesposts · 6 years ago

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Don’t Dream It’s Over Chapter 6

Series Summary: Liam and Ali thought that their relationship was perfect, but their whole world came crashing down when Constantine called him back to Cordonia. Four years later they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party, determined to make things between them work even if it isn’t always easy.

In this AU, Liam and MC (Ali Moonessar) dated for a year in New York while Leo was still crown prince. They broke up when Constantine asked Liam to come back to Cordonia, but they meet again at Liam’s bachelor party before the social season. The story will contain flashbacks, which will be italicized, of their relationship and follow them as they try to navigate the season with Ali as a suitor. I’ve messed around with the timeline a bit so that it fits the story better. I’ve also added in a few OCs of my own.

Pairing: Liam x MC (Ali Moonessar)

Word Count: 3,665

Song Inspiration: Old Money- Lana Del Rey

DISCLAIMER: Some of Bertrand’s dialogue is taken from TRR Book 1 Chapter 4. I’ve also changed up the timeline of the social season a bit to fit my story better. I based it off of some research I did on the British Social Season.

Taglist:@flowerpowell, @kingliam2019, @ao719, @emceesynonymroll, @hopefulmoonobject, @dcbbw, @qammh-blog, @liamxs-world, @drakesensworld, @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @timmagickfrog, @lauradowning29

A/N: This is my first time ever posting a fic. Please let me know if you enjoyed it and would like to read more. I thrive on validation, lol. Thanks for reading!

Catch Up: Masterlist

Ali and Liam were two very different people. There was no doubt about it. They were crazy about each other regardless, but at first glance anyone would believe that they had absolutely nothing in common.

Liam rivaled Luca for the title of the most well-rounded person she had ever met. He was tall, well dressed, and well respected by everyone he met. His blond hair was always annoyingly perfect, even when it had been slept on for the full seven hours of sleep he got every night, and he was good at everything he tried to do. He worked out five days a week and had a natural charm that drew people towards him wherever he went. Liam slept on silk sheets, drank expensive liquor and, worst of all, was a morning person. He was always up early, eager to start his day and be productive. He was typically easy going, but he could take action and control a situation effortlessly when he needed to.

Ali, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. She barely reached five feet tall in the right pair of heels and spent most of her time in sweatpants or leggings because of the insecurities she had about her body. Her workout routine consisted mainly of walking everywhere she needed to go, and she had terrible social anxiety. She had no constant sleep schedule, and at this point, she was practically nocturnal, only being able to get in small amounts of sleep during the day due to her insomnia. She had found her current bed sheets from the discount bin of a department store, and the most she ever spent on alcohol was twenty dollars for a bottle of tequila. She had perfect grades, but she was still constantly stressed about them.

Liam was put together, and on most days she was a hot mess. When she says the words “trust me, I know what I’m doing” there’s about a seventy-five percent chance that she has no idea what she’s doing. However, when he said the same words, she never once doubted him. That is until he decided he could repair the clogged drain in his kitchen sink on his own. Her suspicions were confirmed as she watched the Prince of Cordonia, his nice dress shirt soaked in water, fiddle with a pipe, determined to be “normal”.

“Love, maybe you should just call someone,” she said, raising her voice slightly so he could hear her from where the upper half of his body was lying under the sink.

“I can do this,” he called back, irritation evident in his voice.

“Sure you can,” she mumbled under her breath, taking a seat on a stool in the kitchen. “Have ever even looked at a pipe like that before?”

The banging noises she heard from under the sink was her only response, and she rolled her eyes as she texted Drake to tell him to contact the building’s superintendent. A few minutes passed by in silence before there was a sudden popping sound and Liam’s angry voice filled the room. Ali looked up to see him emerging from under the sink soaking wet, while more water pooled onto the kitchen floor. She wanted to be mad that he had made the situation worse and not given up when he realized that he didn’t know what he was doing, but the sight of him before her made her burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny,” he said, sending a glare in her direction.

“Yes, it is,” she replied when she had finally managed to calm herself down.

He narrowed his bright blue eyes at her, trying his best to stay mad, but he knew that it was a losing battle. He knew that he looked ridiculous.

“I guess we can cross chef and plumber off of your list of potential jobs,” she said, starting to giggle again as she remembered their first date where he tried to cook for her.

“Now stop the water and clean up that mess. The super will be here in the morning.”

Liam watched as his girlfriend ran out of the room before he could get another word in.

~~~

Ali frantically walked back and forth between her bed and her closet, Lana Del Rey’s Old Money playing softly in the background. It was 12:57 AM and Liam’s plane would be leaving in less than ten hours. She had been packing and unpacking her suitcase for the past two hours. Every time she made up her mind to go, something told her to stay, and every time she made up her mind to stay, something told her to go. She looked down at the text on her phone from Maxwell giving her the flight information and started piling things into her suitcase again. She was just about to close it and try to get a few hours of sleep before the flight when she looked over at her nightstand and saw the framed picture of her and all of the Larson siblings that she always kept there. They all had their arms wrapped around each other and were smiling happily into the camera.

“Nope, not going,” she mumbled to herself, hastily pulling things out of the bag and dropping them on the floor.

The sound of a throat clearing behind her caused her to stop what she was doing and turn around.

“Oh, hey, Luc. I didn’t know that you were still up,” she said.

“Yeah, I was just about to turn in for the night when I saw your light on. I assume by this mess that you haven’t made a decision yet.”

“I’m not going,” she tried to say firmly.

Luca sighed and made his way further into her room.

“You should go,” he said softly.

“I should?” Ali asked, sitting down on the bed.

“If a part of you didn’t want to then you wouldn’t be having such a hard time making the decision. If it all works out you could have everything you’ve ever wanted. You owe it to yourself to go.”

Ali groaned and dropped to her back, her legs still dangling off the side of the bed.

“What if we’re too different? It’s been forever since we were together. What if it doesn’t work out? What about everything here?” she asked, staring up at the ceiling.

Luca walked over to her and grabbed both of her hands in his before pulling her back up into a sitting position.

“You worked so well together because you were different. You balanced each other out. You made each other happy. Besides, if things still don’t work out, you’ll always have a place to come home to,” he said softly.

He kissed her forehead lovingly before leaving the room, the door closing behind him quietly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ali was clutching the handle of her bag tightly in her hand as she ran as fast as she could through the airport, cursing herself for being so out of shape. After speaking with Luca she still hadn’t been able to properly make up her mind until the last possible second and now there was only five minutes until the plane left. She caught sight of Charlie’s red hair and sighed in relief when he turned around and saw her.

“I knew you would come,” he said, a bright smile breaking out across his face. He was standing next to Bastien, both dressed in grey suits.

“Yeah,” she huffed out, trying desperately to catch her breath, “Back on duty, I see.” She motioned to his uniform with one hand, the other clutching her side as she gasped for air.

“Yes, but we can talk about that later. There’s someone waiting for you on that plane,” he said, motioning for her to board the plane.

“Right,” she said, taking a deep breath and beginning to walk slowly.

Bastien and Charlie were following closely behind her, and the reality that she couldn’t turn back was now hitting her. Upon entering the private plane she saw Drake, Ben, Maxwell, and Leo all lounging casually on large leather seats. Liam had been anxiously pacing up and down the aisle but had immediately stopped at the sound of their footsteps. A large smile broke out over his face at the sight of her.

“You came,” he said.

“Yeah, I did,” she said, fighting her own smile as she launched herself into his arms.

He held her tightly and for a moment all of the doubts she had about leaving New York disappeared. Leo and Maxwell shared a pleased look as the two took their seats next to each other. The plane began to take off, and Ali felt surprisingly calm as she looked out the small window.

“Are you excited?” Maxwell asked her happily, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Um, yeah… that’s one word for it,” she said awkwardly.

“You’ll be amazing,” Liam said, bringing her hand up to his lips and gently kissing her knuckles.

“You two are disgusting,” Ben joked, prompting a laugh from the group.

They were well on their way to Cordonia now and Maxwell took the opportunity to begin explaining to her what would be happening when they arrived.

“For the next few weeks you’ll stay at the Beaumont estate in Ramsford with my brother Bertrand and I,” Maxwell said.

“Is your brother anything like you?” Ali asked him.

Drake scoffed slightly, causing Ali to raise her brows in question.

“What Drake means is that Bertrand can be kind of… strict. He’s not exactly happy that I’m bringing in a suitor that doesn’t know anything about court or nobility,” Maxwell said with a cringe, “But that just means that we’ll have to spend the next few weeks turning you into a proper lady of the court.”

“Sounds like fun.” Ali tried to force a smile on her face, but it came out as more of a grimace.

“That’s the spirit!’ Leo laughed, ending his sentence with a good-natured clap to her shoulder.

“Once the social season starts, we’ll be spending most of our time at the palace. Most of the nobility live there during the season, including the ladies vying for Liam’s hand,” Maxwell continued.

“Yeah, living under one roof makes it easier to attend the rose ceremony later,” Drake mumbled under his breath.

Ali snorted before stopping to pull herself together.

“Sorry, that probably wasn’t very ladylike,” she said sarcastically.

“You’re no lady of the court,” Drake said.

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she said.

“Trust me, it is.”

The two locked eyes for a moment, having a silent conversation. Drake had played a part in convincing her to come, but she also knew how he felt about court and the people there. He always said that Liam was the only one of them that was worth a damn. She knew that Drake wanted to protect her, but there was also a certain edge to his voice as he said those words that she couldn’t quite place.

“Drake,” Liam said, a warning tone in his voice. Ali looked between the two for a moment before Maxwell broke through the tense silence.

“As I was saying, the social season typically lasts for about five months. There are usually a few large events like balls that the entire court attends and there are some smaller events like dinner parties that are invitation only.”

“Not gonna lie, that sounds like… a lot,” Ali said.

“Trust me it is,” Drake said, running his fingers through his hair.

Everyone began to break off into their own conversations and Ali turned to Liam to find him already looking down at her.

“Liam, I’m kind of scared,” she said, chuckling half-heartedly.

She looked down at her hands and began anxiously picking at the skin on the side of her nail.

Liam tilted her head so that she was looking up into his eyes before moving his hand to cup the side of her face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek.

“I know, but I meant it when I said that you’ll be amazing. This is a big adjustment, and I’m afraid I may not be able to be with you as much as I would like to, but you will always have my support. You are the strongest and most capable woman I know, Ali. I don’t doubt for a second that you’ll do great things,” he replied.

Ali smiled and leaned into him as their lips met in a gentle kiss. She rested her head onto his shoulder and felt her eyes closing before falling into a dreamless sleep.

She opened them a while later to the feeling of Liam shaking her awake. Her head was still on his shoulder and their fingers were entwined together. At some point during her nap he had removed her glasses and was now trying to hand them to her.

“We’ll be landing soon. If you look out the window you’ll see Cordonia,” he said with a smile.

She turned her head sleepily and gazed out the window at the land below them. In her still half asleep state, she could just make out twinkling lights against the landscape.

“Wow.”

“Home sweet home,” Drake sighed, looking out the window as well.

Ali groaned as she watched everyone begin to exit the plane one by one. The position she had been seated in had put a strain on her back, and as she tried to stretch it out, the pain only intensified.

“Maxwell, can you give us a minute alone please,” Liam asked politely, pulling her out of her thoughts as she continued to stretch. The other man, who had been waiting for his new friend, nodded and exited.

Even though she knew they were alone, the thought of everyone else just a few steps away gave Ali the feeling that she was being watched. She didn’t have much time to ponder on this fact, however. Liam grabbed her hips and pulled her so that her body was pressed flush against his, all thoughts of the rest of the group automatically leaving her mind. His lips crashed roughly into hers, and she found herself grabbing onto his arms to steady herself. She moaned softly against his mouth as she felt his tongue against her bottom lip.

“Um, guys?” Charlie said hesitantly.

They jumped away from each other immediately, Ali’s hand going up to cover her mouth as she looked anywhere but at the red-haired man in front of her and Liam loudly clearing his throat. Charlie stood there uncomfortably for a moment before speaking again.

“We need to head out.”

With one more gentle kiss and whispered ‘I love you’, Ali got into the large black car with Maxwell and stared at Liam’s retreating form.

“You’ll see him again,” he said, patting her shoulder in a comforting manner.

“Yeah,” she said, staring out the window at the passing trees, “I know you said your brother isn’t exactly excited that I’m going to be representing House Beaumont, but what exactly am I walking into with him?”

Maxwell seemed to ponder her words for a moment.

“Well, Bertrand’s been a little more stressed than normal lately, so it may take some time, but I’m sure he’ll warm up to you eventually.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t exactly make me feel any better.”

Conversation with Maxwell flowed easily. Even though she had only known his for a few days, Ali found herself completely comfortable with him, and she felt as if she could tell him anything. The car ride passed by in a series of laughs and before she knew it, they were pulling up to the large Beaumont Estate.

“Wow,” Ali found herself saying for the second time in an hour, “Maxwell, this place is gorgeous.”

The grounds of the large house definitely looked like it was fit for nobility, and Ali stepped out of the car trying to imagine what the inside looked like. Maxwell had already made it to the trunk of the SUV and was trying to somehow carry all of his bags and her own at the same time.

“Yup, that’s home,” he replied, his voice strained as he tried to support the weight of their things.

“Max, you know I can carry my own bags, right?” she said with a laugh, making her way over to help him.

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I let a lady carry her own bag?”

Ali playfully rolled her eyes and took her luggage from him.

“I promise I won’t tell anyone,” she said sarcastically.

The large front doors of the house were made of intricately carved wood and pushed open to reveal a large foyer. The ceiling rose high above her head, and an antique chandelier kept the area brightly lit.

“Follow me. I’ll show you to your room, and then we can find Bertrand,” Maxwell said and began leading her up the large staircase.

As he led her through various hallways, Ali had to mentally keep track of every turn that they took so that she wouldn’t get lost later. However, as large and spectacular as the home was, she couldn’t help but notice that there were no people in sight.

“This is my room,” Maxwell said, gesturing to an unopened door as they passed it, “And that’s yours.”

He pointed to a door that was right down the hall from his and allowed her to walk ahead so that she could open it.

“Oh my god,” Ali said, taking the large four poster bed and the bedding that probably cost more than she made in a year at the bar.

“Yes, I’m sure the room is probably quite spectacular for someone of your tastes,” came a voice from behind them.

Ali turned around, not sure whether or not to be offended. The man who had spoken looked like every boring history professor stereotype that she had ever heard combined into one. He was covered in tweed from head to toe and had large, leather elbow patches on his jacket. There was a scowl on his face as he looked her up and down.

“He doesn’t mean anything by that,” Maxwell said quickly, trying to cover for him. “Bertrand, this is the one I was telling you about… Ali!”

“This is the girl you’ve chosen to represent our house?” Bertrand asked.

A skeptical look crossed his features, and Ali suddenly became very aware of the fact that her curls were ruffled from sleeping on the plane and that she was wearing an old hoodie that she had taken from Cole and was probably three sizes too big. She tugged at the hem of it self-consciously and smiled awkwardly at the man in front of her.

“Yep! Nailed it right?” Maxwell said, smiling widely. “Ali, this is my older brother, Bertrand.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Bertrand,” Ali said politely.

“The proper way to address a duke is ‘Your Grace’,” Bertrand responded stiffly.

“Oh, right! I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” Ali said, her cheeks heating up. She hadn’t even been in Cordonia for an hour and she was already making mistakes.

“At least it looks like you can be trained.”

Ali clenched her jaw at his words.

“Trained? I’m not your pet!” she said, anger rising in her voice.

Bertrand met her gaze and the two stared at each other for a moment.

“Maxwell, a word in private,” he said, turning and walking out the door.

Maxwell shot her a strained smile and followed his brother, shutting the door behind them. She could just barely hear their voices through the door, and although their words were muffled, she knew that the conversation was about her. Ali sighed and looked up at the ceiling, wondering what she was getting herself into. The door reopened, and a flustered Maxwell and a red-faced Bertrand reentered.

“It seems that we’re stuck with you,” Bertrand says, once again looking her over.

“If me being here really is that much of an issue I can just go, and your family can choose some other girl to sponsor,” Ali said, crossing her arms.

She didn’t expect things to be easy. She knew that there would be people who didn’t support her in Cordonia, but Bertrand was supposed to be her sponsor, and she was getting tired of his attitude. They had only known each other for five seconds, and he was already saying that she wasn’t good enough.

“No! You can’t go. We’ve already chosen you, so if you leave we’ll have no one. Besides, you could be Liam’s only chance of finding actual happiness. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. You’re the only person that he’s ever loved,” Maxwell said, pleading with her.

Ali uncrossed her arms and sighed, her features softening at his words. These actions didn’t go unnoticed by the duke who was now looking at her curiously.

“Perhaps Maxwell didn’t fully explain this to you, but if our house puts forth the Prince’s choice, we’ll win fame and recognition,” he began.

“Something we could really use right now actually, ‘cause we’re kind of broke,” Maxwell finished.

“Maxwell! You overstep,” Bertrand said angrily.

Ali looked between the two brothers.

“There’s no shame in being broke,” she said softly, “Do you guys get money if I marry Liam?”

“Not… directly, but we can leverage the prestige to great effect. It would be a scandal if word got out of our financial ruin,” Bertrand said.

Ali could tell that they were in a difficult situation, and although Bertrand only seemed to be concerned with her marrying Liam so she could help with their finances, she could tell that Maxwell had pure intentions.

“I love Liam and want to be with him, and I want to help you guys as much as I can. So, if that means not talking back to Bertrand and learning how to be a lady of the court then fine. I’ll do it,” she said.

#the royal romance #trr #the royal heir #trh #liam x mc #the royal romance fic #trr fic #liam x mc fanfic #liam #king liam #my fics #choices fics #choices #playchoices #playchoices fic #king liam fanfic #the royal romance fanfic #liam fic #playchoices fanfic

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decandantfics · 6 years ago

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Only One Will Do

Dec sighed tiredly as he quickly made his way into the massage parlour. He knew paparazzi were lurking pretty much everywhere he went these days, and he really didn't want them to snap him here. I'm a Celebrity...Get Me out of Here! 2018 was drawing to a close – only a few more episodes remained, and Dec was utterly exhausted. Yes, the series had definitely been a success so far – the press were branding it a triumph, even – with the public falling in love with Harry Redknapp (surely he was the clear winner – no one else stood a chance!) and seeming to enjoy Dec's repartee with Holly. But no matter how successful the series had been, it had taken its toll on Dec. He felt utterly done in, emotionally and physically. This series was always tough due to the irregular schedule requiring a ridiculously early start to the day and a very early bedtime.

It always took a while to adjust to the sleeping schedule – never mind recover from the jet lag – and this year had been no different. In fact, it had been much, much worse than usual. Not only had Dec and Ali's baby daughter, Isla, come along with them this year, but Dec had also had to cope with the stress and worry of forging a new onscreen partnership. Now, Dec loved Isla dearly – more than words could tell – but her sleeping schedule left much to be desired. Of course, of course, she had to take after her dad when it came to her personality, Dec thought to himself. His mam had always told him how much he fussed and cried as a baby, and would almost never sleep through the night. Well, surprise, surprise, Isla was exactly the same. Ali, bless her, always took the night shift with Isla to try to let her husband get the rest he so desperately needed during the series, but a 3-month old screaming in the middle of the night is quite difficult, if not impossible, to sleep through. So here Dec was, at a massage parlour, because Ali said he looked tense and needed to relax. Truthfully, Dec was in desperate need of a massage – he had been suffering from severe tension headaches over the past few weeks, brought on by stress and fatigue, and the muscles in his neck and shoulders were unbearably tense. Not that he would ever admit it to Ali.

As he absentmindedly changed and lay face down on the massage table, Dec let out another long sigh, trying not to give in to his mind's tendency to wander onto emotional territory. It was never really a good idea for him to be left alone with his thoughts these days. The massage therapist began working gently on his scalp – Dec had decided to be honest on the client questionnaire in the hopes of getting some relief – slowly digging in and finding pressure points that began to ease his headache. As the therapist moved on to his neck and shoulders, Dec found himself beginning to relax as the tension he had been holding for so long began to ease. His relief was short-lived, however, as his mind suddenly decided that relaxation really shouldn't be on the cards for today. Who knows why, but he abruptly found himself thinking about the days leading up to the first episode of IAC this year. He was so, so nervous about working with someone other than Ant, even though it was an old friend in the form of Holly Willoughby. And strangely, he felt guilty in a way – like he was cheating on Ant, even, which of course sounded utterly ridiculous as soon as he thought it, but there it was.

Never in his professional life had he considered working with anyone other than Ant – all of their ideas were for the two of them, and neither one ever felt the desire to move away from the partnership and find work elsewhere. He and Ant had discussed the decision for Ant to take the rest of the year off at great length, and at the end of the day, it really did just make so much more sense for Ant to wait to come back until BGT in 2019. To be honest, it was still a bit surreal that Ant actually was coming back at all, as it had all seemed so hopeless and entirely impossible only a few short months ago. But still, still, Dec felt guilty about partnering with Holly. This odd feeling of betrayal was encouraged in no small part by the press crowing every chance they got that the public didn't actually want Ant back – they wanted Holly to partner with Dec permanently on IAC, or so the press claimed. And then the rumors started that ITV were considering axing Ant from IAC, or perhaps would bring Holly back and have three presenters on the show. I mean, seriously, how would that even work?

Dec could feel himself getting worked up, the tension and anger rising in his body as all of the horrid stories run by the tabloids over the past 9 months came flooding back into his mind. It was basically impossible to avoid the headlines, no matter how hard he tried, and some of them really, really hurt. He tried desperately to stop his mind's gleeful rush back through the world of pain he had endured, but it was too late. The damage had been done.

One headline in particular came crashing into his mind, taunting him and causing barbed wire to wrap around his heart: "Joyous Declan Donnelly laughs his face off in Florida as best mate Ant McPartlin languishes in rehab." He remembered that night in Florida so well. The stress and sleepless nights had been relentlessly wearing him down, and now with jet lag on top of that, Dec was not at his best. Worse than that, he couldn't stop thinking – and worrying – about Ant. Ant was in hospital, receiving the best of care, but his court date was only a little over a week away. He couldn't bear the thought of Ant having to go to court and face the sea of hateful media who would surely pounce on him the moment he arrived. And what would the outcome be? This whole situation was such a nightmare, it still didn't feel real. Thankfully, the hearing had been postponed until 16 April rather than taking place on the 4th – yesterday – allowing Dec to finish the series of SNT and then disappear on holiday before the media storm took place. Not that it really mattered, given that there were even paparazzi following him around in Florida now – he thought surely he might get a little respite from their constant stalking while he was in the States, but clearly he had assumed wrong.

He was sitting outside at a restaurant with a few members of their production and management teams, halfheartedly trying to follow their conversation, but not really managing to pay attention. He was miles away, thinking about Ant and this whole mess they found themselves in. How could he not have realized that Ant was on the brink of self-destruction? Deep down inside, he knew that he knew something was wrong with Ant, but he had trusted Ant to tell him if something was seriously wrong. To be fair, they had had a few conversations about how Ant was doing - and they had established the fact that Ant was struggling - but their talks were never very productive, and they were so incredibly busy with the show that it was hard to find time to have a proper conversation about anything outside of work. But Dec knew in his heart that something was off with Ant – Ant had even admitted to him that he didn't "feel right" about a week before it happened – and he wished more than anything that he had been able to prevent it from happening.

This was such a nightmare – every day, he still woke up hoping it had all been a bad dream, but there it was again, reality staring him down and making his life so unbelievably dark and hopeless. He knew he needed help, there was no denying that, but he was completely swamped in work and did not have the time or energy to seek counseling. There was no doubt in his mind that as soon as he got back from his holiday with Ali, she would send him off to his psychotherapist. He didn't like to admit it to anyone, but he had needed help multiple times over the years to cope with various issues in his life. Counseling always helped –just someone independent to talk to, who wouldn't judge him for his insecurities and emotional turmoil. To be able to unload all of his worries and pain onto an understanding person who wasn't a part of their day-to-day life was what helped the most when he was feeling overwhelmed. And boy, oh boy, did he need counseling now. He didn't know how to deal with the endless swirl of emotions inside of him – despair, hopelessness, grief, loneliness, helplessness....The rest of the world might not notice it – in fact, he was really hoping he had perfected his professional fake smile enough that people wouldn't notice his pain – but Declan Donnelly was falling apart inside.

His train of thought was interrupted by the arrival of Stephen Mulhern at their table. Stephen looked excited, eager even, and motioned with his head for Dec to follow him. Reluctantly, Dec stood and tiredly ambled behind Stephen, who seemed anxious to get him away from the rest of the customers at the restaurant's outside tables. Finally, they reached a somewhat secluded spot next to the building, and Stephen launched into a hilarious anecdote of something that had happened on his and Scarlett's flight to the States with the Place on the Plane winners. Stephen had a knack for telling a story in a very funny way, and for the first time since before Ant's accident, Dec found himself genuinely laughing. For a few precious minutes, the cloud over Dec's head lifted somewhat, and he found that he was able to smile without having to force it. His mirth didn't last long, however, as he soon spotted paparazzi hiding in the bushes bordering the restaurant's outside dining area. His laugh and smile immediately became more careful, guarded, and reality flooded back in again. Stephen hastily finished his story when Dec subtly indicated the presence of paparazzi, and they quickly parted, Dec ducking away towards the interior of the building with the excuse of needing the restroom, while Stephen made his back to their table to join the team.

For his part, Dec did actually need to use the restroom, but he needed the solitude it offered more. He slowly rested his palms on the lip of the sink, his head leaning down dejectedly as the emotions rushed in yet again, crowding out the relief his brief moment of euphoria with Stephen had offered to his fractured mind. The truth was, he didn't know if he could cope with this, live with this nightmare his life had become. It seemed there was always someone stalking him, invading his privacy, capturing his moments of misery to sell to the tabloids for the next day's "news." It was bad enough having to face the pain and loss he was feeling at being wrenched away from Ant, but as a very private man, it was extremely unsettling to never feel like he could let his guard down. He hated to think how long the paparazzi had been hiding out there – did they get photos of him while he was dwelling on his misery? His face must have been a picture. A deep sigh escaped him as a lone tear rolled down his cheek. He hated this, he was reaching the end of his tether, but there was no end in sight. As soon as his short break with Ali was over, he would be confronted with the problem of the BGT live shows. And after those were out of the way – he shuddered to think about having to do 6 shows in the space of one week, all on his own – then he would have a bit of time off. But still, I'm a Celebrity... would be hanging over his head.... Another tear rolled down his cheek. This was undoubtedly the worst time of his life, and he honestly wasn't sure if he would make it through....

Startled out of his distressing reverie by the sound of his own choked-off sob, Dec became vaguely aware of the massage therapist quietly asking him if he was all right. It was only then that Dec realized he was crying, the pain and hopelessness of the year bearing down on him and breaking him into a million pieces once again. So much for a relaxing massage, he mused bitterly, as he attempted to calm himself down using the breathing technique taught to him by his psychotherapist. Dec always became more emotional when he was overtired, and now was no exception. The massage therapist was now silently working out the knots and trigger points in his lower back, clearly resigned to just letting Dec empty his emotions in silence with no explanation.

Although the massage felt heavenly, Dec realized that what he really needed right now, more than anything else, was Ant. They had been keeping in touch over the past few weeks while he was away, and it definitely helped to ease the loneliness and heartache at being separated yet again. They had spent loads of time together in the weeks before Dec left for Australia, both feeling the need to spend as much time in each other's company as possible given their imminent separation. Dec tried to play it down to Ali, but he missed Ant terribly here in Oz. Every day there were never ending reminders of Ant's absence. Whether it was amusing happenings in the IAC camp that he knew Ant would find hilarious (they never talked about the show during their chats – it was too painful for both of them), or simple things like going to the beach and being reminded of the fun times they had had there over the years. He hadn't played any golf at all this series. He couldn't bear the thought of frequenting the same golf courses they had played at for years without Ant by his side. Reminders of Ant were everywhere, and it was so very hard to just pretend that he was okay when he was, in fact, hurting inside.

Mercifully, the massage was close to being over now, with the therapist doing some reflexology and working some acupressure points on his feet. Clearly, they had caught on to the fact that Dec was feeling emotional – however did they guess that? – and were trying to help balance his energy before ending the session. By the time they were finished, Dec had forced a smile back onto his face and thanked them profusely for the wonderful massage. He briefly wondered if he should apologize for his little breakdown, but then decided against it – he really didn't feel like answering any of the questions that might arise from even acknowledging it had happened.

After getting dressed and paying for the service (giving the therapist a generous tip in the hope that they wouldn't break privacy laws and sell the story of "Declan Donnelly Breaks Down During Massage" to the tabloids), Dec emerged back into the bright sunlight of Australia, squinting against the light. His obvious tiredness hadn't dissipated at all – if anything, it had been worsened by his emotional trip down a very unpleasant memory lane – and his headache had actually intensified in the end, rather than getting better. And then Dec spotted him – a paparazzo snapping away, recording Dec's every move for all the world to see. It had come to this – he couldn't even go for a massage without the world knowing about it.

He felt so exhausted, emotionally and physically, that he couldn't be bothered to school his expression into one of stoic indifference or to paste a fake smile onto his face. He stared sadly at the ground, completely lost in his own depressing thoughts, as he walked towards the café where Ali said she would be waiting for him with friends. He really didn't want to go to the café and hang out with members of their team. There was only one thing he wanted – no, needed – right now, and that was a long chat on Skype with Ant. He missed him so, so much, and even though they were thousands of miles apart, it always comforted him to hear Ant's voice and see his smiling face. Dec was more excited than he would ever admit that the series was almost over. He wanted nothing more than to be back in the UK, despite the miserable weather there, because being back home would mean he could spend time with Ant.

Finally arriving at the café, he was annoyed to notice that the lone paparazzo had followed him the whole way there, and was busily snapping yet more photos of Dec, his wife, and their friends. Fury at the man's utter lack of respect coiled deep inside him, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Ali looked up at Dec with a soft smile which quickly turned sad and then concerned as she noted the still-obvious lines of tension and exhaustion on his face. Maybe a massage hadn't been as big a help as she had hoped? Their eyes met, and she immediately realized what he was pleading with her for with those big, green-blue puppy eyes of his. Unable to deny him anything after the year he'd had, Ali suggested that maybe she needed a nap after a long night up with Isla, so she and Dec were going to head back to their apartment. Dec smiled at her gratefully as she stood and took his hand as they wandered back to their Australian home. They walked in silence, no words needed as both were lost in their thoughts.

Ali was still worried about Dec – there was no doubt the psychotherapy had helped him to cope – but she had still noticed how his face would sometimes cloud over with an expression that she could only describe as unbearable sadness. She missed Ant, too, of course, having known him just as long as she had known Dec, but, truthfully, she had everything she needed right here: Dec and Isla made up her world and she was never happier than when she was spending time with them. But she knew it was different for Dec - even after nearly 20 years of knowing the boys, she still found herself marveling at their deep bond with each other. Watching them together was fascinating – all of their unspoken communication through glances and soft touches telling more than words ever could just how deep their love for and understanding of each other was. And she knew just by the look in Dec's eyes what he was hankering for right now: Ant.

Eventually, they reached their apartment, and Dec unlocked the door, holding it open for Ali to pass through. Once inside, he breathed a sigh of relief – finally, finally he could relax and let his guard down now that he was out of sight of any skulking paparazzi. It was only early afternoon – that day's bushtucker trial had ended early for once – so although it was a bit late back in the UK, Dec knew Ant would still be awake. He murmured to Ali that he was going to call Ant, and she replied with an equally quiet, understanding, "I know." This earned Ali an appreciative, affectionate peck on the lips as Dec smiled and moved into the lounge while Ali decided to actually take that nap she had mentioned earlier – their nanny was taking care of Isla for the afternoon to give them a break – and softly closed the bedroom door behind her. She suspected Dec might be joining her in her slumber later on – he was clearly exhausted – but wanted to give him as much privacy as possible for his chat with Ant.

An affectionate smile graced her lips as she settled down on the bed to the sound of Dec's laugh echoing in the lounge. Even a few rooms away, Ali could hear the genuine smile and happiness in his voice as he chatted away to his best friend. She shook her head in amusement as her eyes closed. Not many women would be as understanding of their husband being so utterly interdependent with his best mate, but after so many years of working with the boys, she understood they could never be truly happy without each other. Their love for each other knew no bounds, and rather than feeling jealous of her husband's affections, Ali fell into a light slumber basking in the love and happiness she could feel emanating from their lounge.

About an hour later, Dec quietly entered their bedroom, tip toeing over to the bed and softly wrapping himself around Ali, pressing a chaste kiss to her neck as she continued to sleep soundly. He let out a contented sigh, a small smile on his face as he reflected on the conversation he had just had with Ant. His mind had been put at ease with the realization that his Ant, the one he had lost for a couple of years, was finally back. Funnily, he felt more relaxed now than he had at any point during that disastrous massage, as the echo of Ant's hearty laughter rang in his ears. With Ant's loving smile and reassuring words spreading warmth through him and filling a cherished spot within his heart, Dec finally fell into a deep, restful sleep, dreaming of a future with Ant that was brighter than ever before.

#ant and dec #declan donnelly #ant mcpartlin #ali astall #fiction #decandantfics

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impishnature · 7 years ago

Text

A Step In The Wrong Direction

AO3

Sentimentality

Rating: T

Summary: Grifting Stars AU. After thirty years of work, thirty years of effort, Stan is finally ready to open the portal. Unfortunately for him, the world has never been fair.

AN: Guess who got me back into Grifting Stars AU? You guessed it @sightkeeper with their lovely art here. Just a note to all the lovelies following along with the stuff we sometimes do together- this is a little bit different. This isn’t a collaboration c: Not that we don’t love doing them! We just had different ideas on how this story would go- and decided, well- why not surprise each other for a change as well then? ^o^

Part 1: Damned If I Do...

"Grunkle Sta-"

Stan blinked, a gasp of air escaping him as the world around him shifted abruptly.

Everything was suddenly off kilter. Disconcerting and jarring. Tilting dramatically with every small movement as if it might as well fall entirely away from him, no longer as real and tangible as it had once been. His stomach fell instead though, sinking through the floor in a wave of apprehension, an alarm bell that pounded inside his head along with his pulse even as the fizzling sense of weightlessness sparked in his extremities.

His mind went blank, his body limp as it resigned itself to an unknown fate.

He wasn't entirely sure what was happening, or how it had happened, everything had become a confusing blur, inside and out- a terrible, broken mess that he wanted to blink away from his retinas and convince himself couldn't possibly be real.

Everything was slipping through his fingers, a congealing mass of what ifs- what should haves and what would haves- mixed up into a scenario he hadn't even dreamt of, not even in his worst nightmares.

It had all been so fast. A split second decision. The cold metal bar slipping from his grasp. The energy of the portal crackling out in a wave across his back, snapping through every nerve in his body-

All he knew in that strange time defying moment, was that his mind couldn't seem to stay on one solid track. Couldn't focus, couldn't stay on task. His mind snapped to and fro, whiplash fast, diverting down branches and branches of connecting lines, on a runaway train that was doomed to crash and there seemed to be nothing he could do about it. No desperately needed brake to pull himself out of the mess he'd created for himself.

All that registered amongst the turbulent storm inside his skull, was that the ground was getting further and further away from him. He couldn't help but glue his eyes to the floor as it slipped quickly out of reach.

As everything slipped out of reach.

...That wasn't supposed to happen, was it?

Not usually at least.

There were laws about this kind of thing, he remembered that much. Physics, and science in general, telling him in cold, deadpan, textbook voices that this couldn't possibly be happening. He remembered late nights reading, struggling, through his brother's copious books and journals, large and unyielding things whose words never seemed to quite sink in, running long and foreign across the pages. Remembered contradiction after contradiction in every turned page, squinting through the headaches they brought on to figure out how exactly Ford had achieved what he had, when every single book he held in his library said it was completely and utterly impossible.

Your science project is going to be the death of me, Ford. How am I meant to figure it all out when I didn't even finish high school? How am I meant to know what to do, when even you don't seem entirely sure how some of the parts work-

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong- if all the science in these books is wrong, why did you keep them?

You weren't supposed to do this. This wasn't supposed to be possible. If it wasn't supposed to happen in the first place, how do I fix any of it? How do I bring you home?

It was funny how similar his thoughts sounded in hindsight. His age old shouts and cries that had rumbled aeons ago through this very room and flitted through his skull, might as well have been screaming out of him as the portal cracked and fizzled behind him, surprisingly muffled, whistling through his memory as much as his senses.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

That one mantra, whizzed its way round and round his head. It cut short any slight chances, any reasonable, practical thoughts he might have at actually fixing the situation he'd found himself in before they had even truly begun to manifest.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

It wasn't the science behind it all that was getting him this time though, wasn't that that stopped him in his tracks and left him fumbling late at night, trying to ignore the fact that he was attempting to rebuild a seemingly unbuildable machine. He was fairly used to all that by now, in a weird way. This was Gravity Falls, after all- they might as well write on the sign 'Where the impossible happens!' with everything he had been privy to over the thirty years he'd called this place home. Truth be told, it wasn't even the first time that gravity had shifted abruptly while he was getting to work on the portal either.

No, he'd learnt to prepare for every jump and shift that the portal dragged out of the surrounding area, set up alarms and noted where best to be when they occurred, learnt what to say if anyone brought up the strange anomalies.

Heck, he'd even used the shifts to his advantage earlier that very same day.

No, it was the fact that this time he'd been so prepared that was making this unseen circumstance so much more of a shock to his system, a flood of cold ice that doused his thoughts and locked them in place. He'd been so sure that he had thought of and knew every possible outcome that he couldn't pull himself out of his head and into the present where he needed to be. The shock had him spiralling down memory lane and crisscrossing from connecting dot to connecting dot that didn't give him the full picture. A mess of puzzle pieces that had scattered across the floor and no longer fitted together as they should.

He hadn't prepared for this.

The shift in gravity had never taken him by surprise before-

No, that's not true.

His mind snapped away once again, careening down another tangent. Off to another time, as if his precarious predicament didn't actually require his full attention. Those more pressing matters, unheeded and unheard even when they'd been vying for the top spot, were abruptly nudged just out of sight along his peripheral, his focus instead given over to an age old memory. The memory. The one that had kept him fighting through every obstacle the world threw at him for the last thirty years.

He hoped he could be forgiven for that moment of shock, that first lapse in preparation. He had never seen the portal before or what it could do- of course the gravity twist had taken him by surprise. Of course, he hadn't expected that pushing his brother backwards would result in-

Is this what it felt like for Ford?

A small trickle of clarity dragged him back, his wayward thoughts screeching to a juddering halt. It put everything back in line again as the world around him sharpened back into reality.

The 'why' and 'what if' of the scenario didn't matter. What mattered was that it was undeniably happening.

He'd been caught unprepared and he was paying the price for it, sucked up into the portal he had desperately spent years trying to rebuild.

His mind raced back to the present circumstances, realisation forming into a distinct sinking feeling in his gut that didn't really correspond with his floating status.

He wasn't going back to the ground again anytime soon.

This was it. The culmination of his labours.

This wasn't what was supposed to happen.

This wasn't the moment he'd been dreaming of for nigh on thirty years.

No, this was something that played out more in his nightmares than it did his dreams, a weird twisted parody of a memory that his mind would play for him in his darkest moments, when the weight of all his actions threatened to crush him under their unceasing scrutiny.

At least Ford had you to blame for what happened to him. You've only got yourself to blame, Stan.

The world slowed to a sickening crawl, as everything laid itself bare before him. He knew that it hadn't, was sure that the portal didn't affect time in the same way it did gravity, but in that moment it felt like he could see so much more than he'd ever been able to before.

The storm inside his head fizzled out as the world stilled before him, leaving behind everything he needed to know. The puzzle pieces reconnected from the far flung places they'd scattered to, but the full picture that he'd been expecting for this day was nowhere to be seen, leaving only a reality that was painfully overwhelming and despairingly bleak.

It became a photograph left behind on his retinas- scarred deep the same way as other poignant memories, so that it would never truly leave him- showing him where all of his terrible mistakes had led him.

Is this what they mean by your life flashing before your eyes? A single moment where everything that went wrong connects into a big old domino effect to show you why you are where you've found yourself?

He tried to ignore the depressing thought as a crackling, sparking heat made itself known at his back. It was probably his inability to move- held aloft by a force that had no place in their plane of existence- that made the world feel that much slower in that moment. The weight of all his actions piling up around him, on the other hand, had always been there, no matter how much he tried to force them back.

Maybe, instead of his life flashing before him, it was more likely that as his body was now weightless and adrift, his actions were dropping like stones around him, right where he had more chance to see them in all their repugnant glory.

Because that's all they were. Reckless action, upon reckless action that had led him to this unexpected turn of events.

It was all so unreal, so different from every single outcome that he had been waiting for that he couldn't even pretend for a moment that it was all just a nightmare. It was too vivid, too twisted and as unbelievable as it was, more off kilter than his own vulnerable, floating form.

It was almost funny. Terribly, devastatingly, funny.

A gigantic cosmic joke.

He felt like laughing, that was for sure.

He kind of felt like crying too.

Things had kept going wrong. Throughout every single step in his plan, something had pulled him up short. He had pushed and pushed, regardless of every set back, torn himself apart to get to this moment, right here, right now, no matter what obstacles the world threw at him.

And even then people kept getting in his way- why did they have to keep getting caught up in it all? Why couldn't they just let him try?

Why did they all have to get involved? Why couldn't they leave him be?

He only had one chance, one shot to fix everything and he had done so much to get here- everyone had tried to ruin it! His big break, his moment to right all the wrongs he had made and they couldn't stop ruining it!

...They had ruined it.

No... He'd ruined it.

A million mistakes ran through his head, a million answers to a million questions, but disappointingly all in hindsight. Questions that should never have had to have been asked in the first place, ones he should have thought of before they even came about. Excuses, lies, every trick in the book- he was good at all that, everyone said it was all he was good at, yet the moment he'd needed those talents the most he'd squandered them.

Just once. Just this once he wanted to do something right.

Just this once, he'd wanted this moment to go exactly how he'd planned for it to.

Was that so hard an ask?

Apparently, according to the universe- Yes. Yes it was.

"Grunkle Stan!"

Time shifted again, his ears popping as the world rushed in to greet him once more, a maelstrom of movement that snapped back into action.

Everything clattered back into frame like a disjointed roll of film.

Escaping from the agents. Running, through the town and woods, darting this way and that to keep anyone from following him or stopping him to ask questions.

Stumbling down flights of stairs, ignoring the elevator because there wasn't time, he couldn't stand around and wait- he had to be there, he had to be right there when the portal finally opened after all these years-

The kids. The kids weren't meant to be here. They were poised over the emergency cut off button, eyes suspicious and betrayed and his heart felt like it had stopped beating, his body ice cold as Soos agreed with them over him.

No time. No time. This can't be happening- please-

They didn't understand! He hadn't had time to explain what with everything that had happened. And he still didn't have time. He just needed them to believe in him, trust him- needed them to understand that this was all for their benefit, for their family's benefit-

Another gravity shift, he'd forgotten- he'd slipped up, too busy trying to figure out what to say-

And Mabel- Mabel was still so close to that button, she couldn't- he couldn't- he had to stop her-

He'd somehow managed to dodge Soos as he propelled himself at him, ducked under Dipper as he followed suit, shouting all the while at his sister to shut it all down, and in amongst the chaos found himself holding onto the same metal bar that Mabel was gripping tightly too.

She followed his movements, eyes scared and lip wobbling as she flinched away from him.

And didn't his chest tighten painfully at the prospect that she was afraid of him.

"Grunkle Stan. I don't even know if you're my Grunkle. I-I wanna believe you but..."

Stan's face fell, eyes locked with Mabel's as her voice hitched and her trust in him faltered.

He was a terrible person.

She had so much faith in him and he'd pushed too far, even for her.

The portal pulsed, a wave of energy crashing out around them. He held tight to the bar, heard more than saw the other two get pushed back by the wave, leaving just the pair of them, locked in a bubble at the heart of the storm.

And Mabel's hand still rested above the button, determination plastered across her tight lipped face.

"Mabel, I- please-" He waited until she was looking at him again, trying his best for once to be as genuine as possible. "I know I'm not the best person- heck I'm not even really a good person but- do you really think I'm a bad guy?"

"I- I don't- that's not-" Her expression wavered, another tear slipping past as her hand shook above the button.

Stan desperately wanted to hug her, but he couldn't risk the move being seen as hostile, couldn't risk her flinching and bringing her hand down on everything his life amounted to.

"Everything I've done, I've done for this family, I swear-"

Her face twisted, uncomprehending confusion furrowing her eyebrows. He'd never had the chance to explain and there was only so much time they had now. How could he tell her everything that had led up to this moment? How could he get her to understand that someone important, the most important person in his world, was on the other side of that portal and he had to get him back-

And even if he did, would she believe a word of it? Or would she decide he was spinning a story to convince her and take it as undeniable proof that he could never be honest even to save his own life?

He hated it, hated to see her so conflicted, she wasn't meant to look like that-

And in that moment, he knew exactly what to say and do. Even though it hurt so much. Even if it was a risk, one that could very well unravel everything he had done, could break down everything that he had tried to achieve, and it scared him more than anything, his heart pounding in his chest at what the repercussions might be.

But it was a risk he knew he had to take.

"It's OK, Mabel."

Maybe it was time to let someone else make the decision.

Mabel had blinked at him, eyes still completely drenched in tears that were fast soaking into her hairline.

"Whatever you choose to do- It's OK. I'm not going to stop you. But I just need you to know that I am your family, and I would never do anything to hurt you. Not now, not ever."

Her expression wavered further, her head turning to the portal behind her and back to him again as if desperately searching for something there.

He wasn't sure if she found what she was looking for but her expression softened.

"I trust you."

His heart broke at the sad, soft voice, a rush of relief mixed with guilt swirling as Dipper shouted in defiance behind him.

They'd get it. Soon enough they'd all get it and everything would be OK.

It hurt for now, sure, that his little shooting star couldn't look him in the eye as she said the words but soon Ford would be here and he'd apologise for all the lies, for everything that had happened, and they'd be a happy family again, just with an addition-

He watched as Mabel's hand shifted, pulled back from the button as she relaxed. As she gave in to the need to believe in him just one more time, and in the same moment her other hand loosened, her grip on the metal bar slipping entirely.

Her eyes widened as her hold vanished, fear flooding through her as her body began to lift, her flailing arms not near enough to regain their grasp.

Stan didn't even think, he just moved. He propelled himself forward, grabbed her tightly and used his momentum to push her back towards the bar, watched her latch onto it before spinning back towards him, arm outstretched-

But it was too late.

There was nothing any of them could do now as the counter clicked to zero and his tailspin pulled him out of reach.

"Grunkle Stan!"

Mabel's tears were drifting up to meet him, her eyes wide and shocked as she reached out a desperate hand against all odds, found himself reaching back blindly as well, her expression enough to make him try at the very least.

"Grunkle Stan!"

"Mr Pines!"

Other voices mingled in with her's, his eyes darting across the room to where Dipper was stuck struggling against the wall, his face shocked and guilt ridden as he struggled against what held him bound to the other side of the room.

Apparently, concern had won out, their fear for his well-being upsetting the balance of betrayal and hurt that had led them to this point.

They're good kids.

Something in him broke. The fear fell away as the heat from the portal turned suddenly cold just as his back hit the surface. He found himself smiling sadly down at the panicked girl before him.

What did it matter what happened to him? She was safe. He'd made his decision.

As long as they were safe, maybe he hadn't made the biggest mistake of his life, after all.

His vision turned abruptly white as his head sank through the surface of the portal, the cascading colours sharpening to a blinding point.

I hope they don't blame themselves like I did.

The portal was almost more than he could handle, his view of reality warping and shattering into meaningless drivel as he careened ever onward.

It was dizzying, a spinning kaleidoscope of shapes and colours that made so sense, he wasn't even sure some of the colours existed, had no words to put to the things that he was seeing as he hurtled on through. It had a texture he found, a heat, his hands scraping through thick tar and sharp static that made his body spasm as he continued to spin out of control.

He had no sense of direction, his ears crackling with the pressure of it all, he could have been flying upwards still or crashing down for all his body could determine of the funnel he was being forced through.

He closed his eyes against the onslaught, focused on his breathing and the kids, trying to settle the nerves and tremors that wracked his body. Tried against all odds to keep himself from splitting apart at the seams and falling through the cracks in the vortex he'd unwillingly entered.

Whatever happened, he needed to be in one piece wherever he found himself once the ordeal was over. Mind, body and soul had to be intact if he was ever going to find Ford and get them both back home to the kids.

He paused in his thoughts as the tension eased, the roaring in his ears becoming ever so slightly quieter.

Was he slowing down? Was this it-

Something heavy and unyielding hit him in the back, his velocity coming to an abrupt jarring halt that punched through him in a blinding white shock of pain. The collision came with a loud crackling boom, a blast of heat that seared along what little he could still feel as his world became abruptly silent all at once.

When he came back to his senses, he knew for a fact this time that he was falling, the whistle of the wind brushing against his face as he tumbled down.

He landed on solid ground with a thud and a deep pained groan, his knees giving way as he collided with the earth like a tonne of bricks.

His crash-landing was marked by something else falling with him, a resounding grunt hitting down beside him as he fell to the side and found himself staring up at a vast, ever changing sky, a blinding array of colours that made his stomach lurch and his eyes squint. It was neon, bold and brash and loud, with no light source in sight and yet everything seemed to glowed in a surreal irritating itch right behind his eyes, grating painfully against his retinas.

The very air seemed to be making his skin burn and tingle, a pressure that continued down his throat as he took gasping breaths in. His mouth in turn tasted of ash with a tang of something he really did not want to identify, curdling solidly inside his stomach like he was breathing in more than just air with every lungful. His ears rang with a cacophony of strange warbled sounds, reminiscent of echoing screams amidst crackling white noise. Exiting the portal had sounded like an explosion, a crack of unexpected sound that burst inside his skull and ricocheted around until there was nothing left but a hollow cavern where his mind had once been.

Wherever he had found himself, he was pretty damn sure no human was ever meant to see it.

He wasn't quite sure he'd ever regain his senses completely. Everything was too bright, too loud, too much. He didn't want to move, the sheer amount of everything overwhelming as he lay and tried to just breath through it all.

Trust his brother to make a portal that led to this hellscape. Why on earth would he want to travel here of all places?

Stan grimaced, that thought bringing up unbidden thoughts on what else may be lying in wait out there.

...None of this should have ever been meddled with, that much he was certain of.

And if he could reason that out so easily, he was hard pressed to come up with a reason for his genius of a brother not realising it too.

Speaking of his brother, a shadow abruptly impeded his view of the hellish land he had found himself in. A very familiar figure in fact, a lot older, but familiar none the less.

He wasn't sure anyone could scowl at him quite like his brother could.

Stan huffed, a sigh echoing past his lips at the dark piercing glare.

Of course Ford was angry with him. When wasn't he angry with him?

He couldn't bring himself to move as he lay blinking dazedly up at his twin. He could see his mouth moving, as rapid fire as his darting eyes but he couldn't seem to catch a word of it. Not that it really mattered, he was sure he got the gist of it. Reckless, useless, worthless- take your pick, he'd heard it all before, what did it matter if he didn't actually hear it this time over?

He closed his eyes against it all, let himself sink into the floor and wished this strange new world would just swallow him up whole. Maybe then he could pretend this was all just a bad dream. Maybe he had a fever, maybe he'd eaten something he shouldn't have and all of this was just nonsensical gibberish that his mind had conjured up to torture him with.

He groaned as hands found his shoulders, shaking him violently. Stan found his eyes popping open, his gaze focusing once more on Ford's face as it contorted downwards further. There was a sliver of annoyance peeking through the haze now, an irritation fizzling in amongst the nothingness that hated the fact that Ford wasn't happy just let whatever anger he was directing at him wash over him entirely.

Couldn't he have this? Just this once, couldn't he sink into the numbness and pretend for once in his life he hadn't ruined everything?

Wait, was that some concern mixed in there? Stan blinked, gaze suddenly sharper as his eyes darted around Ford's face. There was a desperate edge to the anger, his eyes wider than they should be, the set of his shoulders high and tense as if he was afraid. But surely not, Ford wouldn't be concerned- there was no way-

It was that thought more than anything that made his ears pop, the cacophony of sounds somehow becoming louder. He hadn't even realised his ears were ringing, he'd just assumed this world sounded that way, yet now - that was definitely screaming in the distance, echoing pain filled gargles and hissing spitting shrieks-

He tried not to focus on the nauseating noises, his eyes on Ford's lips as he struggled to hear through it all, as he raised himself onto his elbows and Ford's face shifted ever so slightly into relief.

What was even more perplexing were the fingers grazing through his hair, as if checking for any signs of injury- did he really seem that out of it?

Maybe. Stan blinked again, not entirely sure his brain and his body were wholly connected anymore, but it still didn't make sense at all for Ford to be caring.

"Stan? Stan, can you hear me? Of all the reckless, stupid things you could have done-"

Stan almost flopped back down onto the ground in defeat as the words made it through the tar-like substance in his skull. All that effort to listen, all that effort to bring himself into the world and it was to hear exactly what he had hoped he wouldn't have to. Why did he have to listen to Ford when he was just saying the things that circled around his head on a daily basis?

"What on earth were you thinking, you knucklehead- hey, hey, stay with me, keep listening to me."

God, this place was awful. Not only did he have to deal with the new glaringly painful sensations, he also had to deal with the whiplash his brother's words were causing.

Couldn't he just make up his mind where he hated him or cared about him? It would be a lot easier for the both of them. Half his words made sense, the rest felt weird coming out of his mouth, like Stan's expectations and hopes that always refused to become reality.

He wished he'd never fallen through.

Stan's eyes widened in an instant as the world crashed around him once more. He wasn't even sure how much time had passed since he'd fallen through. It felt like he was moving through molasses- had he hit his head on entry, was that it? Either way, everything became clear in a jarring moment, the world sharpening to a point but somehow less painfully than before.

Ford. He'd found Ford. The portal.

He had to get Ford through the portal. Get him home.

Get to the kids.

How had he forgotten all of that? How had he been ready to sink into oblivion and give up when they were waiting for him?

He pulled himself to his feet in one movement, wondering how moments ago he'd felt like he'd never move again- perhaps it was the adrenaline moving him onward now, but whatever it was, he'd take it. He ignored his brother as he scuttled up with him, his words a distant memory again as he turned to face the way he'd fallen, eyes casting around for the familiar glow, hand tight in Ford's sleeve, ready to drag him kicking and screaming if he had to-

"It's gone, Stan. The portal's gone."

No. It couldn't be.

Stan continued to ignore him, his gaze still darting around for any sign, that crackle of energy, that fizzle to the air that made all of his hair stand on end. Maybe it was fading, that was all, now invisible but still there enough for them to slip through. He looked further afield even, turned in a full circle. Maybe he'd been wrong about where and how he'd fallen, maybe he'd been propelled further than he'd initially thought-

He paused in his musings as his eyes found a myriad of groaning, strange creatures, each one struggling to their feet- if they had feet at all- he almost felt for them, if he didn't have bigger things on his mind.

"Stan. It's gone, I made sure of it."

And just like that, everything fell around his ears.

He rounded on Ford, eyes bright and sharp in a way that seemed to only make Ford angrier again but he couldn't bring himself to care. "You did what?"

"I was making sure nothing followed me! But when I jumped through, I hit you coming the other way- honestly, what were you thinking, coming through the portal?"

"I didn't exactly mean to, you know! And what do you mean, follow you?"

"I mean-"

"Well, well, well. What have we got here?"

Stan suddenly realised, he probably didn't want to know the answer to that question anyway.

He found his eyes going past his brother's shoulder, the strange, intriguing creatures from before now far more unsettling and hostile as Ford's words sunk in through the anger.

Ford froze before him, his face paling in fear. In an instant he was moving again, Stan stepping back from the frenzied movements without a thought as he patted himself down. He watched silently as Ford looked all around them in juddering quick jolts- but for what Stan had no idea, the floor around them barren and burnt- before he cursed, eyes once again wide and wild as he grabbed onto Stan and tugged him forward forcefully.

"We need to go."

"But the portal-"

"There's no time, Stan! There's no way through anymore, it's gone."

He wrenched away from the hand on his arm, his eyes desperate as they found Ford's.

"But we need to get back to the kids!"

"Kids?" Ford reared back at the word, his face disbelieving and shocked before he shook himself, glancing over his shoulder at the group steadily regaining their footing. "Alright, OK, not an outcome I had envisioned- but not something we can take care of now." Stan opened his mouth to retort but was caught in the breath as Ford snapped back to him, hands wrapped around both his shoulders as he gave him a quick shake. "Stan. There's nothing we can do. But if we get out of this mess we're in right this moment- maybe there's a chance we can figure out something later. If we stay here, we'll never get- home."

Stan didn't like how the word sounded wrong coming from Ford's mouth, how he had faltered and grimaced as if he didn't believe any of it himself.

"Aww, come on, Sixer, the party's only just begun. And I've been looking forward to meeting your twin for a very long time."

Something close to protective flitted across Ford's face so quickly, Stan almost missed it. If it wasn't for his grip on his shoulders getting painfully tight, he might have believed he imagined it.

But even if it wasn't there, self-preservation was a hard taskmaster to ignore. He'd learnt the hard way a long time ago to listen to his gut, and a disembodied voice knowing who he was and wanting to meet him set off more alarm bells than he could count.

It still didn't stop the guilt-ridden thump of his heart as he finally pulled himself away from where he assumed the portal had been, the feeling of betrayal thick and heavy on his tongue as he thought of the twins waiting for him.

"OK, what do we do?"

"Run. Do as I say, when I say it and whatever you do- Do. Not. Look. Back."

#gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls #grifting stars au #stanley pines #stanford pines #grunkle stan #grunkle ford #dipper pines #mabel pines #soos ramirez #bill cipher #A Step In The Wrong Direction

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wingshead · 6 years ago

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headcanon / meta post based around de-constructing the thematic qualities in the five-part series man out of time by mark waid.

Bucky: What about you, “Rembrandt?” You oughta start makin’ plans. Steve: If my country wants me to keep serving, I’ll serve. But they might not. Seriously, what purpose does Captain America serve outside of combat? I wouldn’t be surprised if they took the suit and shield and sent me home with every other soldier. Bucky: Ha! They’re gonna have you be the first man to break the sound barrier! First man to climb Mount Everest! Heck, you’re gonna be the first man on the moon! Steve: You think? Bucky: That’s my two cents. So I ask you back: Is that what you want? Steve: I’ll do whatever needs doing. Bucky: That’s not an answer. My brother, you have been running a mile a minute since they shot you up with the super-soldier serum. There is not an American alive who doesn’t owe you (and me) a thousand times over. So, what? Do? You? Want? Steve: Honestly? I just want to sleep.

So right off the bat in the first few pages, it’s pretty clear from the beginning of this mini series that we’re getting a look at a side of Steve that we don’t see very often in the comics, and it directly deals with Steve’s exhaustion & uncertainty. For all his boosting the morale and fighting on the front lines, Steve has an exhaustion with the war and the fact that he for as long as he fought in it, he never stopped working, fighting, and obeying orders the entire time. He has never once complained, other than when he was frustrated in the beginning at not doing more. Minus obeying orders (seeing how for a good portion of his run with the Avengers he’s been the de facto leader/ co-leader of the team), Steve continues on the same way now in the future. He’s strong, he’s fast, he’s got enhanced stamina and agility and an eidetic memory. He’s dedicated to the cause : both as a man wanting to do the right thing, and as a soldier wanting to serve his country.

And Steve is very much a soldier, he may have only fought in World War II for a number of years, but he’s fought in many other wars afterwards, and fought alongside other men as well - both as Steve Rogers and Captain America.

But unlike the other GIs and men out in the battlefield that had something or someone to come back to, Steve didn’t. Even back then. He didn’t have family left to go home to : didn’t have a girl. Didn’t really have any friends either. He’s fully immersed in Captain America: the man has become the symbol, and without the symbol, Steve’s not sure who the man is. The question Bucky asks him, ‘what do you want?’, is a difficult one to answer for Steve, because for all that Stevewants peace in the world and the war to end, he doesn’t know what he’ll do in the absence of having a war to fight. A purpose. Despite the fact that it was a pretty god-awful movie, the line ‘God’s righteous man, pretending he can live without war’ in regards to Steve is a pretty accurate one. Steve is constantly at war : with the world, and with himself. He hasn’t known life without a battle or a fight for most his life. The idea of peace and normalcy is a tempting one, and it’s Steve’s goal, but he doesn’t know what his role would be in a life where he’s no longer needed to be Captain America anymore.

Throughout the five part series, Steve’s thoughts are shown in a recurring type-face in the form of a mission report. It shows his distrust with the people and the world around him, and the fact that even in completely new terrain, Steve’s first instinct is to think like a soldier still in a war, & act like he’s behind enemy lines. The last thing Steve remembers is being thrown from a plane armed with a bomb that Zemo had set, and now he’s waking up to strangers in strange costumes. He fought with the Invaders, and super-beings are not new news to Steve : he’s fought with them, and against them. Considering the last thing Steve remembered was being in enemy terrain, he’s suspicious still of the Avengers at first, and Steve tries to maintain a cover that no longer exists. That never existed. He’s still reporting to his higher up. Steve is using his inner reconnaissance report as a crutch : trying to hold onto something familiar, even though it’s not real.

And then there’s the whole issue around his hallucinations, the people and fantasy that he makes up in his head to cope with the reality he’s faced with. This one…kind of speaks for itself. The fact that Steve on the outside looks very composed and calm with the situation, when the panels seen through his eyes show a very different and more disturbing story. His cavalier attitude freaks a lot of people out, both Rick and the medical staff that Steve sees after being shot, but despite the fact that Steve ACTS like he’s fine waking up in the distant future, the fact that we can see that he’s replacing people in the present with people from his past shows that he’s really, really not dealing with what’s happening to him. it’s obvious that waking up and being faced with a time that’s not his own isn’t something that Steve can readily or easily accept, and it’s traumatized him to the point where he’s had to make up an entire world around him to compensate.

But it’s not only limited to the hallucinations. A few times in the comics Steve has what’s known as the thousand yard stare. A blank, long and limp look that isn’t directed at anything. The thousand yard stare was coined in WWII to correspond with war veterans where the intense trauma they faced had left them haunted, and not all there. It’s reflected in their gaze. The dissociation. And dissociation is exactly what Steve is going through right now. He couldn’t possibly be in a more dissociate state at the moment, with everything and everyone he knows gone from his life forever.

Dr. Dysart: Hang on. You can’t just leave! There’s paperwork and payment and – Steve: Alright, I’ll play along. Call this number. This man will clear everything. Dr. Dysart: There’s only six digits … Wait. President Roosevelt … ? Steve: Tell him I said hello. Dr. Dysart: Son, stop! What did you mean when you said “even here”? Where do you think you are? Steve: Huh.

The issue, and the tail - end to Steve’s conversation with Doctor Dysart really hits home the extent of Steve delusions here, and its only expanded on when he meets Rick on the streets of New York. Steve has deluded himself into believing he’s in a dream, because it’s easier for him to accept the future and the changes if he thinks his mind is making it up and he’ll wake up from it soon. But despite this, he still keeps up appearances, showing that while he’s trying to convince himself all of this isn’t real, a part of him deep down can understand that it isn’t, and he can’t freely give away classified information.

Another one of Steve’s hallucinations, and another way for him to compensate for his loss and not face the reality of it all. He sees Rick, a young kid & a friend of the Avengers, and his mind immediately turns him into Bucky. Bucky, who last he’d seen, had been on top of a plane that had blown up. Bucky, who Steve had asked about when he’d 'woken up’, and didn’t get an answer for. ‘Bucky’ looks the same age as he did when Steve last saw him in 1944, despite the fact that in this 'dream’ of Steve’s they’re decades in the future. “It’s good to see you, partner. I was worried about you.” he tells Rick-Bucky.

The guilt and the fear of admitting that the possibility of Bucky being dead is not something that Steve, at that moment, was equipped to handle.

He chooses instead to use a coping mechanism, replacing Rick’s presence with the image of Bucky’s. But during the entire conversation with Rick, despite Steve seeing him as Bucky, he can hear what Rick is saying and understand clearly how it doesn’t fit in with what Bucky would say. Steve understands this, but he chooses to ignore it. He tries to keep playing along with his little game, and keep up the illusion as long as he can. Desperation, maybe, to see when the 'dream’ will end, how far he has to play along before he can wake up.

And yet.

Yet, despite the fact that Steve believes he’s in a dream, he still remains ultimately unchanged in one of his biggest character traits:

The first thing Steve did when stepping back into New York was rush to the aid of a young woman getting robbed. Despite Rick calling him crazy, and Steve believing he’s in a dream - therefore whatever he does should logically have no real consequence - he decides to help Rick in finding the Avengers.

The illusion doesn’t break in the face of everything that his 'brain’ keeps coming up with – the internet, females as Doctors, foreign languages, modern slang, etc etc – until he’s faced with FDR’s death. It’s what makes the illusion snap inside of Steve’s mind and it breaks him out of his trauma induced delusion forcibly. He ends up leaving Rick and going after the man they’re after himself.

And when Steve finds out it’s an alien, when he’s faced with yet ANOTHER oddity that he couldn’t possibly come up with, faced with the reality that he’s really in the future and Bucky’s not here, faced with his world crumbling around him – all Steve can do is laugh. He laughs. Like it’s funny, because it’s the only thing he can really do. The only other option is cry and grieve and face the fact that he’s lost EVERYTHING.

Despite snapping out of the hallucinations and coming to terms with the reality of things, Steve remains vehemently determined to find his way back home. Despite being impressed and overjoyed w/ the future’s accomplishments, he wants to go home. but despite his stubbornness to go home, he listens to the President’s orders above all else. Bitterness possibly at Tony, for exposing him to all this information, knowing he wouldn’t be able to go home afterwards because of it. Steve’s silent breakdown by the foot of Lincoln’s statue, a small figure in comparison to the cold marble, all by himself with his head in his hands, cuts a very solemn and tragic figure. The juxtaposition between both Steve’s current attitude now - solemn, sad, beaten down - to how his attitude was just earlier in the issue - awed, inspired and impressed - as well as Steve sat hunched in front of the Lincoln Statue, which sits tall and proud, is pretty remarkable.

Steve was impressed by the future but from an outsider’s point of view : like sitting in a class, watching a documentary play. What you see astounds you, but it’s a documentary and it ends, and you go back to your own life. Steve expected that. He expected to go back to his life. The future held many remarkable things but it wasn’t, in his opinion, his time. It wasn’t his world, no matter how much better things seemed. Then you have Steve sitting in front of Lincoln’s statue : two larger than life figures that dedicated themselves to their country. Both etched in time, both someone many people know of. Only Steve’s not standing still in time : he’s just out of it. He’s out of place.

It’s in the fourth issue that you really start seeing the shift in Steve’s attitude. He’s downtrodden : he feels beaten down, lost, and at a crossroads with no clue where to go. Thor’s words, while probably meant in a good natured way, didn’t help. The next few pages show even more examples of the juxtaposition that Steve embodies : he fights alongside the Avengers and accepts his duty, given to him by his President and country, but he doesn’t stop searching for links to his past either. He tries to find evidence of Bucky and Peggy’s existences, and eventually visits his commanding officer, General Jacob Simon. A man from his past, who opens Steve’s eyes to all the corruption and cruelty of the world, when Steve had been shown only the good and the progress by Tony, a man from the future. There’s a clear divide shown, between Steve fighting for peace, justice, and good both on his own against what General Simon tells him about as well as with the Avengers, and Steve being crushed by the weight of all the evil, the injustice, and the cruelty of the modern day world. Being exposed to the horrors.

He feels even less, and less like he belongs, despite having a spot on the Avengers, and while he shows his disgust and disappointment with General Simon, he hides his feelings well from his teammates. He’s distant to them, as seen when Iron Man tells Hank Pym that he barely ever sees Cap anymore. Steve is silently grieving: for his life, and for what he’s woken up into, something he fought to protect and create that’s not as great or beautiful as he thought it would be.

The entire issue is very much reference to the opening conversation between Bucky and Steve at the start of the series: Steve, being tired and wanting to sleep but doing what he’s asked to do, being where he’s needed. Only now Steve has a home he needs to get back to, but the war he’s fighting is more internal and impossible that it’s one he’ll never really come back from, one he hasn’t come back from even in today’s comics.

When Steve is finally, finally transported back to his own time by way of Kang, at first he’s shocked. But shock gives way to relief. Not joy ; not excitement ; relief. Steve is relieved to be back home. But throughout the issue, his expressions mainly seem too serious, too somber to match the eagerness and impatience he’d displayed earlier in the series about getting home. A man even asks him, “How’s it feel to be back home? Pretty terrific, I bet!”

and Steve pauses for a bit before answering with a ‘it’s good’. But Steve’s not smiling, despite having said he’d missed this just a few seconds earlier, Steve is showing anything but happiness. He’s finally back in his own time, and catching up on things, but – his perspective has changed. Most telling of this fact, is that slowly over the course of the first seven pages, the color fades. It fades so that everyone in the background is in black and white, but Steve stays in color. It’s a total juxtaposition to the first two issues, where Steve hallucinated and imagined everyone in the future / present to be someone from his past. The only difference now is that the people in black and white are the people from his past. The only people in color are the images of his teammates he sees on a circus poster, in place of the actual carnies. The people in the 40s are the ones that Steve knows. Except now Steve knows more. He’s experienced something extraordinary and new : and he’s changed because of it.

Steve has, for all his emotional displacement in the future, adapted mentally to the cultural and societal shifts that it offered and gave. It causes a rift between him and the 1940s, where things are different from what he’d seen in the future, where progress hasn’t yet been made, despite all the issues and problems that had been created in the future, something important happens in this final issue.

Steve realizes that even when he’s home he has no one, nothing to stay for or come back to. It’s shown in his worry and constant thoughts for the Avengers, because they are in the future and they are something he has to go back for. Bucky is not there. Steve feels he can do for the Avengers what he couldn’t for Bucky : Save them. And he does.

Steve: It’s odd. All I wanted was to be back home, Noonan, and now that I am…I don’t feel ready to put down roots. Why is that? Noonan: Eh. We all gotta get readjusted, am I right? Don’t be sad, be proud! We fought the good fight, and the job is done! Steve: It’s not that simple for me. I have…I had these friends…And the last time I was with them, they were in trouble. I couldn’t help Bucky…And now I’ve failed them, too. Noonan: I don’t know what you mean by “failed 'em”, but if it’s that important…there’s nothing you can do? You know what Captain America says, Rogers: “there’s always a way.”

Steve realizes how he doesn’t belong ; not to the future, and not to the past anymore either. Most people when they think of Steve, and hear the words “man out of time”, tend to only associate it with him being a man of the past in the future. And that is true. But that’s only half of it. Steve is a man out of time in all regards. He says it himself in several different medias, in the movies, in the comics, in different eras : he never fit in, even in his own personal life. He always stood out. He didn’t want to, but he did. But the past is what Steve knew: it held his life, and his potential for a normal one after the war. Now Steve is enlightened, he’s seen the future. He’s lived in it. This issue is showing that even when he DID go back to his own time, and had every opportunity to stay, he couldn’t. He didn’t fit in. It didn’t fit him. Steve lives in a future where it’s very much the same, but he actually serves a purpose.

This goes back to the fact that Steve is a man who fights for peace but is at constant war – and is made for it. However much he dreams of a normal life, it’s not in his cards. We can come full circle here, and draw back on Bucky and Steve’s conversation in the beginning: Steve doesn’t know what he wants to do after the war is over. Captain America is what Steve knows best. Fighting the good fight. Living in the 40s, after the war is over and peace reigns is certainly a tempting thought for Steve, but it’s not a realistic option for him. Not anymore. Not with everything he’s learned, and not with how he is. He goes back to help the Avengers because that’s what he’s always done: help. The Avengers gave him a PURPOSE. Steve may not fit in, and he feels a lot of disassociation with the world and the people, the current culture, but he’ll protect it.

#& 〉 ooc.#〈 ˟ YOU MAY NOT BE INTERESTED / BUT WAR IS INTERESTED YOU.﹥ headcanons. 〉#reposting this here because man out of time is such an amazing look into steve's character #and his coping when first waking up to the modern world #what an honest to god must read .... sad as it is #a lot of people think that steve hasn't gone through trauma / doesn't suffer through ptsd #that he just kind of soldiers on without much problem #like yeah things get to him but he's steve rogers: he's infallible. unflappable #but then you get to issues like man out of time. or issues dealing with dimension z #even the early captain america issues in the 1960s #and you realize...that is not the case #this man is just incredibly talented at stuffing those emotions and trauma down so far back #no one really notices #except for sam / sharon / bucky #and god bless their souls for that

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gurguliare · 7 years ago

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hey i’m putting this whole dumb mariner’s wife maunder under the cut because tumblr’s glitchy apostrophes really bother me, thanks

One thing I love about "The Mariner's Wife" is that it's as close as Tolkien gets to like, utopian drama, in that no one in the story is making decisions based off immediate need---poverty, war, et al obviously still exist, but they aren't the kind of threats they are in any other part of the legendarium. Even Valinor! once Morgoth is released. to quote Andie’s meta that I personally slid her $20 under the table for, "very few choices made in Numenor would lead to evil. Probably the worst thing that would happen due to bad human choices in Numenor were mass accidents." All external pressure, positive and negative, (let's say Middle earth’s tempting resources vs Sauron) is at a huge remove, enough so that the characters have almost perfect freedom in how they want to deal with it---except that that their actual reach is limited, and the combination is paralyzing, of course.

I really enjoy the fatalism of Tolkien’s base worldview as applied to the problem of maintaining rather than restoring peace: it’s one of his bleaker stories exactly because it’s ~pre-Fall, post-another-Fall, and tearing itself to pieces while worrying about, essentially, the wrong problem---“what weapons do we need to face the crisis that’s surely coming” rather than “what tools can we give our heirs?” Say that the usual conflict in utopian narrative is “how does the utopia survive,” with the added caveat that the utopia needs to preserve its identity plastically, and not become super-resistant to change---or, put another way, the utopia has to avoid being compromised by “realism” without sealing itself off from reality. Which can be the outside world, but which can also be the strains of rupture and change already present within the utopia, part of its heritage, and naturally produced within it as a society of actual people.

And it seems revealing to me that this bubble is the precondition for Tolkien writing, also, a domestic drama, knowing as we do his mixed opinion of character-driven literature (“stage-plays”). Obviously Aldarion and Erendis are each deeply concerned with How To Save Numenor: and although they're sort of obvious mouthpieces for transformation and conservation respectively, it’s not black-and-white---Aldarion recognizes the need to offer aid and tend old alliances in Middle-earth, but Erendis is the one aware of fissures within Numenor and the ripeness for conflict between unequal groups: men and women, shorter- and longer-lived Numenoreans, and, yes, elves and humans. These are problems that demand serious intervention, even with a status quo in all other ways worthy. So like... there’s enormous scope in which to work, despite the appearance of equilibrium there’s tons to do to keep alive the body paradisiac, and yet it’s exactly this relative innocence and freedom that makes it easy for the characters to suspect one another of perversity, and insincerity, in their respective choice of causes. Everything is equally urgent, and everything is also equally, secretly unreal. Erendis hates the sea and loves trees to spite me, thinks Aldarion; Erendis assumes that Aldarion’s voyaging is born of discontent with Numenor (but really boredom with her). Because Numenor is, in the moment, perfect---because the stakes are semi-abstract and it’s incredibly easy to dissociate intellectual possibilities from present risk if you don’t already feel the threat on an emotional level---it’s the most natural thing in the world to accuse the person with different priorities of playing games with facts, out of pure self-interest.

Hence Erendis’s speech about men; hence also why Ancalime thinks her parents fight for the “promise of sport,” not for considerations ideological or personal. In part because Aldarion and Erendis both consider themselves objective and think that objectivity alone will serve to carry the day eventually, they’re totally unable to communicate their respective visions to their heir, and they only ever get a partial glimpse at one another’s. Which sucks! Like, part of the tragedy of the Tree Subtweets is that Erendis herself represents something as irreplaceable as the trees: a loving devotion to the land and its people that needs no rational basis, precious exactly because rationality is in some sense inadequate to the momentous task at hand. Aldarion is a good steward of resources because he’s personally farsighted and has a basic grasp of logic---but he can’t make his descendants into equally sensible stewards, or rather, he can’t do so simply by being perceptive and expecting the same from others. Insert joke about cult of priests devoted to scaring people away from nuclear waste zones in the far future... but that’s the thing, right: some information is safer culturally embedded than it is passed down literally. Aldarion is born in the wrong time for even his longest-term preparations to be relevant, meaning that if he wanted any control whatsoever over the future, he needed to be forming close, trusting relationships within his own family, for even a hope in hell of continuity.

Which... it’s interesting, right? Tar-Meneldur does it; he abdicates because he lacks Aldarion’s perspective on the situation in Modern Middle-earth and because he (Meneldur) recognizes that action or inaction on his part are both choices he simply doesn’t have the moral license to make. But the thing is, that generosity doesn’t teach Aldarion, in turn, to be generous. I think we’re supposed to understand the abdication comes too late. The feeling I get from both Erendis and Aldarion is that part of the reason they’re so convinced of their own superb rationality is because, for their whole lives, their parents have been telling them how proud and willful they are, without regard for actual progress these stiffnecked children have made toward thinking adulthood. (Note: we see less of Erendis’s side but what we do get is the wayyyyyyy more concentrated version of this, unsurprisingly. One other big problem here is that Aldarion identifies Erendis as an equal opponent with all the same weapons he has, and she isn’t. But this post is already so long) ...The fact that Erendis and Aldarion are proud doesn’t make them deluded, and they know that; they have evidence no one else has, they see things no one else sees. They’re so smart! But then they take pride in pride, moreso as they’re scolded for it; they both develop this protectiveness toward the “right” to pride itself, because despite all the warnings, despite the condescension and doubt from outsiders, this burning self-reliance led them to the most important things in their respective lives (until, coincidentally, it became the most important thing in their respective lives). Ouch.

And pride without purpose (except self-protection) is the one thing that descends to Ancalime, and that sense of alienation persists in the Line of Elros without any final antidote. The one institutional takeaway is the wrong one: “don’t marry outside the Line” wedges open the split between Numenor’s “levels” of reality, again, if we say there’s a utopia-within-the-utopia---the changing present inhabited by its people and the dream of eternity, political and later personal, that haunts the kings.

...I would speculate here about the parallel to the Valar’s handsoff approach to “advising” Numenor but that would get boring fast! And isn’t really fair, or indeed, interesting---the thing that gets me is this entirely human plane of action, even the wasted potential of which is going to change the world. The point is, Tolkien does a really good job setting up personality cascades, and it’s funny. I could ... man I want to talk a bit more about the parenting thing because it’s obviously also connected to, uh, Meneldur and Almarien and Nuneth’s relationships to Numenor! and Numenor’s hypothetical future. But this post is so long and meandering and unedited already and I’m sick of it. GOD. SORRY. GOODNIGHT.

#somehow the shorter of two non-essays i started yesterday at walgreen's #silmarillion #aldarion #erendis

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deliverydefresas · 7 years ago

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masters of the scene

it’s been months, i know and im very much the sorriest! this is the penultimate part y’all, so be prepared to either love or hate me more than you already do, lmao (it is shorter than what i was working on, but the next - and last obvs- will be longer i promise)

thank you for being patient with me, i appreciate it a lot! ((not proofread ok))

ALSO: today’s article is in the middle of the part bc,,, a little surprise

in case you’ve missed any part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 + 6.5 | 7

AU: Matteo Balsano is a famous singer who has been crushing on this one girl he saw every day behind a window many years ago, back when he first started recording his debut album and inspired his first big hit, Princesa. Luna Valente, professional Olympic skater turned actress is at a local (and very popular) talk show to promote her breakout movie. This is where it all starts.

“Luna, c’mon, you can’t keep avoiding everyone.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone, Nina.” She replied from her side of the door, scrolling through her e-mails on her laptop, looking for one that was due to arrive that day. As soon as she recognized Tamara’s username, she opened it, sighing as she read her message. ‘It’s done.’

“You aren’t not avoiding anyone either, Luna.”

“A double negation Nina, really, you?”

“It’s been days, L. You can’t possibly keep on sulking, it isn’t healthy. Please.” Luna groaned loudly, tossing her covers to the side as she stood up to open her door. Seconds after, she was engulfed in Nina’s arms.

“You act like you haven’t seen me, Nina. I was out of the room for breakfast this morning.” Her words were mumbled on Nina’s shoulder, who hadn’t let her go yet.

“Well, I haven’t. This… sulky person isn’t you, Luna. You don’t run from your problems, and you don’t shut me out when they appear.” She was almost sure Nina had a scowl on her face, which meant she was truly upset on her behavior, as her best friend didn’t get mad that often.

“I’m not sulking, Nina, I’m just… thinking.” Luna pulled away from the hug, turning to sit on her bed, expecting her friend to follow. She did.

“If you were ‘thinking’, as you say, you’d talk to me, because that’s what we do. And yet, you aren’t. So, you’re sulking.” Her brown eyes showed her worry, her tone turning a lot softer, she wondered, “was it that bad? Whatever he said, was it so bad that you’re here, secluded in your room, avoiding your friends?”

She was deliberately avoiding saying his name. “I don’t know if bad is the correct word, but it was so incredibly awkward, Nina! He- he- he said Princesa was written – well, inspired by me. He spent God knows how long watching me from afar and wrote a song about it, said his label was pressuring him to write songs and when he saw me supporting Simón he used me as inspiration. And now finally he, after years, decided to talk to me and it’s- it’s nice but, I don’t know. It’s all a mess up here.” Luna pointer to her head, falling back to lie on her pillow.

“Why does it bother you?” Nina asked cautiously, as if she was choosing her words carefully. Luna frowned.

“What do you mean?” Quietness.

“Why does it bother you that he wrote – or, well, got inspired by you to write a song? Simón’s done it countless of times before; Valiente, Vuelo, Siempre Juntos, Andaremos. They’re all about you, but it doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“Because Simón is my friend, he didn’t write them by watching me through a freaking window and imagining scenarios in his head, not bothering to get to know me or speak to me.” She hoped the look she threw Nina reflected the incredulity she was feeling at the moment.

“What about Eres?” once again, Nina was cautious with her words.

“That’s different.” She replied quickly, trying to dismiss it.

“How?” Another ‘are-you-being-serious’ look sent her friend’s way. “Luna, he wrote this love-song about you, when you weren’t best friends, but mere acquaintances, having spoken a total of fifty-ish words to each other. He literally says in it that you’re – and I quote- ‘the cause, the reason of my songs’. I’m just trying to understand how that doesn’t make it awkward when it comes to Simón, but it does when it comes to Matteo.”

Luna frowned. “Simón had a crush on me, Nina.”

“And Matteo wouldn’t?” Silence. Then her best friend sighed. “I’m not trying to defend Matteo, Luna, and I don’t want you to feel like it needs to be awkward with Simón because of what happened years ago, but I do think you’re making this sound worse than what it actually is. To me it just sounds like he was obviously going through a bad patch and you – the idea of you- helped him get out of it. The guy didn’t stalk you, he never appeared on your window to watch you sleep, he just wrote a song about finding someone he could fall in love with. You just happened to be the face for it.”

Luna pondered her words. Was Nina, right? Was she exaggerating the situation more than she had to? Maybe he hadn’t meant for it to be creepy, but a small part of her still thought of it that way. There was nothing wrong with feeling this way, was it? Her feelings were her feelings, and she didn’t want to dismiss them, but she could acknowledge that this wasn’t just her situation, but Matteo’s, too.

Finally, she asked; “you think what he did is right?”

“No, I just don’t think it’s wrong.” Nina smiled softly. “I understand it bothers you, though, so I’m not going to push you to talk to him, or to see things the way I do, but-”

“But you want me to see your perspective, too and take it in mind.” Nina’s smile got a little bigger.

“Exactly.” She reached out to grab her hand, squeezing just a little in support. “I see the way he looks at you, Luna. I know, in the farthest of your mind, you’re wondering if his interest is made up by the idea he had of you then. But I- we all have seen him when he’s around you; he just, he gravitates towards you, like you’re the sun to his earth, and he just can’t help it; his eyes follow you everywhere, smiling when you do the smallest of things, and he beams when you give him the smallest of attention. And I’ve seen you, Luna, the way your eyes search for his, when you lean in his direction to let him know you care about what he’s saying, when you smile at him hoping he smiles back; and, even now, I see you worrying over all of this, when, if it were another person, you would just dismiss it and try to act flattered. You’re the moon to his earth, you gravitate around him, too. Think about it, yeah?”

“I will.” She promised, gaining her another smile from her best friend. “Can we drop it for now, though? I feel like all we’ve done lately is talk about him.”

“Of course. I’ve been meaning to ask you if you were in the mood for travelling soon? I’m not sure where yet, but my camera has been calling my name and I have a couple ideas for Felicity’s new book.”

“You just launched one a month ago and you’re already thinking of the next one?” She joked, knowing well her friend was just planning ahead.

“Not soon-soon, but I like to reserve the plane tickets by at least three months, you know that.”

Luna laughed. “Yes, I know, I’ve been going with you for years.”

“So, you coming then? I want to make a special feature on Felicity’s best friend now that you’re done with competitions.”

“Of course, though, I might not be able to stay for the whole trip this time.” She apologized, sitting up to look at Nina’s face, who looked confused. She decided to explain, “you know how my dream’s always been opening my own rink, right?”

“Of course, I know! What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t? Don’t tell me, it’s happening?!” she gasped excitedly, covering her mouth with one of her hands, letting a couple of squeals out.

Luna nodded, beaming at her happiness for her. “I’ve just begun looking for potential places, and Juliana e-mailed me a couple of addresses to check out around here, so, if everything goes nicely…”

“You’ll have to be in town to coordinate, of course. That’s amazing, Luna!”

“You’re not mad, right? I will travel with you for a week or two, I promise-”

“How could I be mad? This is your dream, L! I knew one day this would come eventually, and I couldn’t be happier for you right now! Maybe this could be the best friend feature, if you agree? That way you wouldn’t have to travel at all.”

“No, no, I want to go with you for a couple days, really. You can make the feature about the rink if you want but travelling together is something I don’t want to miss with you, it’s our thing.” Nina grinned, reaching out her arms to hug her.

“I would love that! But only if I get to see how your dream builds into reality; I want to capture it all in pictures for us to see in the future.”

“Wouldn’t you need to stay in town for that? I can’t ask that from you, N.”

“I never said we’d travel to the other side of the world. The countries around are lovely, and they’re perfect of a weekend-long trip.” Nina shrugged it off as if it were nothing to be worried about. Luna wasn’t as sure as her friend and voiced her reluctance.

“Nina…” Her friend was having none of it.

“No, Luna, it’s alright, I want to do it, okay? You’d do the same for me if the roles were reversed – hell, you’ve travelled with me for years, renting rinks to practice for competitions around the world when you could’ve stayed behind and not worry about schedules to be there for me. Please let me do this for you?”

She sighed out, smiling with the gratitude she was feeling for having someone like Nina with her. “Thank you for doing this for me, N. I love you.”

“You’re welcome, I love you too.” She chirped out, giving her another hug before turning to her laptop, “is that from Tamara? ‘It’s done’ – is that about the deals you had left to break with the sponsors?”

“No, there’s a week left for that.”

“Then?”

“I agreed to do the interview with Jazmín.” Nina froze at her words. It was funny, really, since she was in the middle of grabbing one of her pillows, so her arm was left hanging in the air.

“You did?” her voice was back to being cautious, as if she’d get angry at her for questioning her. It made Luna frown.

“Yes. Tamara and you were right, and it’s a great idea; I owe it to the fans to explain in a more-personal-way and tell them it was something I decided on my own, for my own good.”

Nina nodded. “You’ll do it alone?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, maybe you could bring someone along? I think Delfina said something about Ma- he being there?”

“He won’t. I asked them not to, I want to do this for my fans, since it’s about my career. If Jazmín asks about him, I’ll just tell her the truth.” Nina pursed her lips, looking worried for her.

To be honest, it was getting on her nerves now. Nobody had to tip-toe around her, as if she’d break if they added pressure to the wound. Sure, it’d hurt as fuck, but she wouldn’t break. She was strong enough to bear it.

“If you’re sure…”

“I am.” She reassured her, smiling, trying to calm Nina’s worry. “Now, how about we go out for dinner? I’m craving cochinita, what do you think?”

“Only if you pay.” Nina gave her a small smile.

She returned it with a grin. “Deal.”

BREAKING: MATTEO’S LITTLE PROBLEM!

If you don’t know who Matteo Balsano is, you’re probably lying.

Italy’s most famous singer has been everywhere for the last seven years, from T.V. shows, to magazines and newspapers, his face is engraved to our minds and hearts! And how could it not, when his enormous talent, outgoing personality and good looks are more than enough to make girls and boys swoon all over the globe?!

Now, you’re probably wondering, then what’s the problem you read in our headline? Well, Matteístas, you might want to sit down because this is nothing except Shocking. With a capital S.

Rumor has it our Italian Casanova is a small bean… down there.

And no, we’re not talking about a slightly smaller size than the average. Oh no, we’re talking about a true, peanut-sized member. Because yes, we really meant that.

Matteo Balsano has a micropenis.

You heard it here first, folks! And we know you, you’re probably wondering if this is an early April Fool’s joke, or if we were hacked by aliens. The answer is no. We were able to talk to one of the friends of one of Matteo’s physician’s (ex) nurse and… it’s legit info. She told us; “he’s tried to keep it secret from his fanbase. He doesn’t want his image to be affected by this, or the opinion people have of his music to change so he keeps it quiet, even more so than other patients with the same problem.”

We tried to attach some pics, but, unfortunately, we gotta keep this magazine non-porn for your innocent and pure minds (sorry). But, trust us, it was absolutely, and undoubtedly, a peanut!p with Matteo’s face. It even makes us wonder if this is the reason our little (hehe) heartbreaker doesn’t last with the girls he’s seen with?

Ámbar Smith and Sol Benson offered no comment on the matter. (NDA’S? You bet your wig that’s a yes!)

Matteo, if you’re reading this: Rock that bean, baby! Us, real fans, will love you anyway! ♥

Want to know more? Visit our website!

No lo puedo entender, ¿cómo no te has dado cuenta? / Lo mucho que te quiero pienso no es normal / Pero tengo miedo de pensar, que no te vayas a enamorar / Y que me digas que te olvide, que es complicado intentar /

He tried the words out, his fingers moving on its own as he thought the melody and hoped it would translate into reality as he played the keys on his piano; writing the notes he liked on the music sheet he had in front of him. His eyes lingering on the crossed word of the third lyric. Too soon, his brain kept replying, so he shook his head and sighed, deciding it was enough for the day. He had made a great progress the last couple of days, so a break wouldn’t hurt. In fact, it was probably the smartest idea.

Composing usually brought out his true feelings into words, and he wasn’t ready to read them all just yet when he hadn’t prepared himself to deal with them.

“MATTEO!” Gastón’s shout was barely audible on his studio, but he could tell it was an urgent one. There was an edge in his voice that had him worried.

He stood up quickly, racing to the living room. Gastón had shrugged off his coat, lying on one of their couches. In his hand, he was holding a newspaper.

“What is it?” he asked anxiously; his friend pursed his lips, and dropped the newspaper on their coffee table, motioning for him to pick it up. He did.

He almost sighs in relief when he saw it wasn’t related with Luna. However, as he started reading, and his brain started making sense of the words, his jaw dropped open. Matteo must’ve been dreaming. He had to. This couldn’t be happening to him, Delfina wouldn’t dare.

“I found it laying outside our door.” Was the only thing Gastón said, crossing his arms, waiting for him to speak.

“She wouldn’t dare.” He repeated his thoughts out loud. His best friend grimaced.

“I told you, you had to be careful.” He got closer, to pat his back comfortingly. “On a bright note, your fans don’t seem to buy it.”

He buffed, grabbing his phone from his back pocket. “She wouldn’t dare!” The phone only rang twice before Delfi picked up.

“Hello?”

“What the fuck, Delfi?!” He exclaimed, throwing the paper to the ground, loudly.

The woman sounded bored as she replied, “oh, it’s you.”

“Of course, it’s me! What the fuck is the meaning of this?” Gastón mouthed to him to calm down, but he flipped him off. How could he speak of calming down? Wasn’t he seeing what was happening right now?

“I see you finally received my gift. You’re welcome.”

“I’m not thanking you, Delfina! What the fuck is wrong with you?! Your job is to protect me, not to- to defame me this way!”

“I warned you, Matteo. I told you not to make any rash decisions that could put you and Ámbar in trouble, but what did you do? You acted like a spoiled brat and did it anyway!”

“I didn’t mean to! How was I supposed to know the workers there would run their mouths off to the media?!” he defended himself, his fingers gripping the sides of his phone tightly. Matteo was finding hard not to scream things he knew he’d regret later.

“How long have you been in the spotlight Matteo? You aren’t a fucking newbie, you know to need to behave, no matter if you’re in a public place or a deserted island!”

He finally snapped. “That’s the shittiest bullshit, Delfina! And even if I didn’t behave like the little kid you want me to, your fucking job is to protect me, I don’t pay you to start stupid rumors that could ruin me!”

She was quiet for a moment. He was about to throw his phone, thinking she’d hung up on him, when she spoke again. “Have you read the footnote, you dick?”

“What?”

“The footnote at the end, you haven’t read it, have you?” she sounded amused, her laugh loud enough to alert Gastón something was on. He mouthed ‘footnote’ at him, pointing down at the discarded paper on the floor. His friend was fast to pick it up, and scanned the article, grimacing as he read the very end of it.

“What does it say?” He asked him, both anxious and scared of what was awaiting him. Gastón passed the paper, pointing the text to him. ‘Gotcha! Consider this a warning; don’t mess with my patience, Balsano! Next time I’ll be sending this to Miss Luna Valente and, trust me, she’ll drop you and your micropenis faster than you can say pasta. – Delfina. P.S. In case your little brain doesn’t get it: yes, it’s fake, you idiot.’ “Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh’.” She laughed again, unable to stop herself.

“I’m sorry, Delfi. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” He sighed out, begrudgingly. “I still don’t appreciate your joke, though.”

“I would never purposefully, much less publicly ‘defame’ you, Matteo, and frankly, I’m offended you believed I would.” She truly sounded offended, so he apologized again. “I accept apology gift-cards, only. Oh, and a pay-raise.”

He snorted. “I gave you one less than two months ago.”

“Couldn’t hurt to try. Also, I’m glad you called me. I have news.”

Matteo’s brows raised. “Good or bad?”

“I’ll let you decide. Tamara called me, she told me Lovergirl agreed to do the interview with Jazmín.”

“You mean Luna?” He could picture his manager rolling her eyes at him right then.

“Yes, Luna. Anyway, back to what’s important: she wants to do it alone. I tried to persuade her to let you go with her, but she refused, saying that silence was the best way to refute any rumor. She’ll only speak of her reasons to quit, and nothing more. If – or, well, when Jaz asks about you, she’ll say you two have never been anything other than platonic.”

So, she was still avoiding him. He knew it shouldn’t shock him, he was expecting it to happen, but, it still hurt him. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry, Matt. I tried my best, but she seems set on avoiding public contact with you.” Delfi sounded apologetic, her voice turning a bit softer.

“I know, it’s okay. I’ll just have to figure out another way.” He replied quietly. He was reminded of Gastón’s presence in the room when he put his hand on his shoulder. ‘Everything okay?’ he mouthed, Matteo nodded.

“She also asked me if I was willing to give her a couple of classes on how to deal with Jazmín. Maybe you could be a student t-”

He interrumpted her. “No. I don’t – I don’t want to force her to deal with me. Whe – if she comes around I want it to be because she wants to, not because we are forcing her to come. I owe her space.”

“You sure? Some people need just a little push in the right direc-” Delfina tried talking him into it, but Matteo knew he couldn’t do it anymore. He’d pushed his way many times, sometimes bordering creepiness, and he didn’t want to do it again. It hadn’t turned well, if his actual situation was any tell.

“No, Delfi. It’s best if we give her some time. Look where my pushing lead me to.”

“Okay. If you change your mind, though…”

“I’ll call you.” He promised, and then turned the conversation to a professional one, anything not to keep talking about her. He had a meeting with his label soon, to check up on his composition progress, and discuss possible collaborations with other artists. As soon as Gastón felt he didn’t need him, he excused himself saying he was going to shower.

Inwardly, Matteo sighed as Delfi started babbling about the candidates for collaborations, his mind going far away from it.

When had he reach this point? The one where all he could think about was her? She consumed his mind, his thoughts, and if he was brave enough to admit to himself, she consumed his heart, too. And yet, he couldn’t have her. He’d scared her off his life.

A part of him wondered what would happen if he tried forgetting her. There were millions of girls out there, surely there was at least one he could fall in love with. Maybe it was time for him stop lying to himself. He couldn’t keep on feeding his own fantasies any longer, the more time it passed, the more it hurt him.

She’d been right when she told him they barely knew each other, as the time they’d spent together was minimal, and, truthfully, most of it had been completely platonic; she’d barely, if ever, given him the ‘interested’ vibe. She’d treated him as nothing more than a friend, she was freaked out when she found his secret, and she was avoiding him.

There were no maybe’s in his mind now.

He had to accept she wasn’t meant to be his.

He had to accept she wasn’t interested.

He had to let her go.

#soy luna #lutteo #luna valente #matteo balsano #my sl au #my sl ff #my lutteo ff #what more did i tag here???? cant remember #ah yes #queued bc why not

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financiallymint · 7 years ago

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Students, Please Take a Gap Year

Tired of college? Take a gap year

Yes I know, a gap year is traditionally known as a gap between high school and college. But more and more often now, people are taking gap years in the middle of their college years and before getting a job. I think it’s pretty awesome (yes I did take a gap year).

So what exactly do I mean by gap year? No matter when you’re taking it, it normally involves not studying for one entire academic year. This means you have one year to go out and experience the world. Some people go to a completely different country to work, some go traveling, some do volunteering, etc. It varies from person to person; you choose to what to do for an entire year!

Gap years shake you up a bit. They throw you into the real world, into a world where Mum and Dad aren’t always there to fix your problems and help you meet people. A world where you have to feed yourself, wash your own laundry and find a place to live. An exciting first step into the adult world.

Here are some other reasons every student should take a gap year:

It’s a break from studying

You’ve just spent around 13-18 years sat on a chair staring at a wall. It’s time for some movement. And I don’t mean getting up at 6 am to go for a hike – I mean getting out there. Getting out of your comfort zone and leaving your house, your town and even your country behind.

Studying hardens the mind. You get accustomed to learning through books, lectures and tutorials. You believe that there is one way to study and educate yourself and that’s what will get you your degree, your job and your future. Well nope. Education doesn’t just come from books, it also comes from people, from culture, from places. And taking a gap year helps you realise that there is a lot more to life than just studying and working.

You get to see the real world

My trip to China was the first time I ever left Europe. At first I was extremely excited: I was finally free and traveling the world. Then I got to China – everyone looked different, no one spoke English and I knew nobody. For the first time, I got scared. Fast forward 5 months and I made an amazing group of friends, spoke a bit of Chinese and had could use chopsticks like a ninja.

What I’m saying is that a gap year that throws you into another culture is the best way to get a good look at what the ‘real world’ is and compare it to your own culture. It’s like a reality wake up call.

Wait, not everyone eats with knives and forks? And not everyone cares about the Holocaust (there are Nazi symbols everywhere in China)? And people earn that amount of money in the corporate world?

When you start to understand that different people live in different ways, you realise you don’t have to be like everyone back home. You realise that you don’t even have to follow society’s standards if you don’t want to. Reality is that everyone’s different, and there is no ‘right’ way to live.

This is great help if you do your gap year after college – it will give you more ideas on your future, what you see yourself doing for the next 5 years and what it is you actually enjoy doing.

Develop cool skills

Not only could you learn a new language and some cultural knowledge, but learn some great social skills.

Before my gap year I was this shy, insecure girl who had a lot of pent up frustration, sadness and ignorance inside of her. I had no idea what I was doing, what I wanted to do, what was right and what was wrong. During my gap year I learnt how to talk to strangers, how to make good friends and survive completely on my own.

Moving to another country to work/travel/volunteer helps you build the skill of adaptation, of coping with language barriers and making new friends. You need to learn how to deal with this new currency, new living arrangements and different type of work. You suddenly realise you need to go out there and meet people. At first it’s scary, but then you realise that they’re just like you: trying to make friends.

This helps build confidence. You know how to talk to strangers, how to have a conversation and build a relationship. A very valuable skill, no matter which degree or job you’re going into.

Learn about the stranger

Who’s the stranger? You.

I knew nothing about myself before taking a gap year. I didn’t care, I didn’t want to know, a part of me was even slightly ashamed I existed. Traveling and working for one year taught me more about myself than the 17 years of my life.

Why? You learn how you respond to different situations and how you deal with them. You learn what kind of people you’re attracted to, what you appreciate in a culture and what gets you excited. And best of all, you learn what you want/need to improve on. ‘Oh, so I get awkward talking to other young people on planes. Next plane ride, I’m doing it!’

All these years of school separates the student from their identity. Too many times you’re just a number, a person who will get x grades and will graduate on x year to then go and work at x job. But you’re much more than that; you’re someone who has thoughts, opinions, ideas and dreams. And taking that gap year will help you develop those.

I didn’t know I was into finance until someone I met in Shanghai recommended me a book (Rich Dad Poor Dad), which I then read in one night and immediately proceeded to change my life. What if I hadn’t gone to Shanghai? What if I hadn’t taken a gap year? This website wouldn’t exist, and neither would many of my current ambitions.

And you know how important it is to get to know yourself: you are the person who will be getting a job! You are the person who will have a life and enjoy it! Better get to know that person before it gets old and doesn’t care.

Stand out

You’ve developed all these amazing skills, you’ve seen amazing places and you now know what you want to work/study in. You can’t say that won’t be attractive to an employer.

If you were working/volunteering abroad, it will look great on your CV. It demonstrates that you have developed the skills I mentioned before: ability to adapt, ability to try something new, ability to be different. These are all skills companies value and will take into account. And if you feel they won’t, I wouldn’t apply for that company in the first place (boring!).

More and more people are taking gap years in the UK, so you may be thinking ‘how do I stand out if everyone else is doing them?’. That’s the beauty of gap years: you get to choose how to do it. No two gap years will be identical – everyone will learn different lessons, will develop different skills and will come back a different person. So don’t worry about not standing out.

Amazing relationships

The last but not least amazing thing about gap years is the relationships you will make.

In my case, it was with other expats. We’re all trying to survive in this unfamiliar country with a completely different language, habits and writing. It creates very strong bonds with people, and I’m still in contact with many of my friends from over there.

No matter what you decide to spend your gap year doing, you will meet a huge variety of people, because you’re traveling! This huge variety means that you’re more likely to meet someone you get on really well with, creating a long lasting friendship.

The strange situations you find yourself in, the funny experiences, these are all things that build strong relationships with people. And these are the friends who help you get to know yourself, who will help you develop your opinions, ideas and dreams. And they may even go on to help you find a job (#networking). Keep those friends.

have friends so you can take cringe pictures like these

I haven’t met a single person who says they regret taking their gap year. Everyone gets something valuable from that year off, whether on purpose or not. You finish that year refreshed, with a new set of skills, a better understand of what you want to do and with great memories and friends. For this reason I say: PLEASE take a gap year. Do it for yourself – you’ll be forever grateful.

Did you take a gap year? Are you considering taking one?

Read more like this over at Financially Mint

#gapyear #financialeducation #university

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themadvigilantist · 5 years ago

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dantalion - all of the following original info is from (here) and i’ll just end up making references to this (I ALREADY HAVE PAST ME and i put a small edit there but, everything else?? solid. but i mean the version of dantalion i play as??? won’t mention any of these because he does what he wants so all of this, for the most part. he should because this is a great resource if there’s just not enough lore about solomon’s lesser key demon!!eventhoitsnotofficialbutilikeit) so my commentary is [like this]

“Who is Dantalion you may well ask… and it shall be answered” (…)

Dantalion - Spirit of knowledge, empathy, passion, love, emotions/intellect, Demon of mind.

Abilities (Generally, he can teach you everything that each human in this world has thought about or known, but of course these are his main job)

He knows thoughts of all people and can change them at his will - and also can teach you how to do this (also telepathy) [time lords are perfect hosts]

He teaches all art & sciences (ya know this before, but I wanted to classify it) [time lords are perfect hosts, specifically prydonians/patrexes]

He teaches how to achieve alternative states of consciousness (OOBE, Lucid dream, higher states, past life reading, hypnosis etc.) and he can accompany you during them. [time lords are perfect hosts.]

He can help you open astral senses or knowledge of something that you want to know (but better be ready, cause your brain may take a break for a really long moment…) [time lords are perfect hosts!]

Teaches persuasion, manipulation, lies, flirt, good speeches, relations, mind control, generally all social skills. [time lords are perfect hosts!!!!!!]

He can heal/or help you with low self-esteem, negative thoughts, neuroses, depression, other coded wounds in the subconscious. [time lords are perfect hosts: missy vault scene? just eps centered around bill’s mind?]

He can suddenly put in a state of deep peace and relaxation, and show you how to do this with your mind (He also knows a word which makes your mind calming down). [time lords are perfect hosts: see episode LISTEN]

He shows similitude of any person including your person (it’s for empathy skill, when you want to more understand others or people you may like) [time lords are perfect hosts: any new who and yes, shalka is new who fight me]

He can cause love or other emotions (but remember, it’s not like someone who never knew you will love you automatically, but he/she will have more positive thoughts/attitude towards you) [this why he hates it]

Causes obsession, illusions, fear or hallucinations. [this is fun to him]

Causes lust (No, he’s not a nerd who is sitting on the armchair and reading his book with a moral look of your catholic aunt. He knows what is sex and he knows it very good) [WELL OK THEN]

Finds persons similar to themselves and causes them to unite (even if your other half is in the beyond) [time lords are perfect hosts: see the introduction of missy/danny pink arc]

Knows secrets (knowledge, but not only) and reveals secret councils. [all those secret councils??? he’ll expose if you bad.]

Can show you other aspects of your personality and makes you more charismatic/or who you want to become. [time lords are perfect hosts: that entire rose arc and no, the moment is not part of that arc. sorry! but, the moment herself said she aint rose tyler. so technically she took the form of the first incarnation of the TARDIS’ heart, second being 9th (in books she took the form of war doctor) and 3rd being idris (involuntarily)]

Causes people not paying attention to you ( so you can secretly work) [time lords are perfect hosts: the earth not knowing the doctor/timelords exist plotline...I MEAN]

Preferences (you probably saw lots of other planets/elements/zodiac assigned to him and you were wondering what’s going on - these depends really on aspects, that’s why I mentioned a few, best suited to his nature)

Zodiac - Pisces(venusian), Aquarius (saturnian) Planets - Venus/Moon, Saturn [and this is why dantalion knows venusian aikido] Elements - Water/Air (perfect harmony between the intellect and emotions) Number - 9 [he think he funny w/ that upside down 6. he aint] Quarter - North (north gate) Time - Night time/morning (generally before noon) Color - Gray, red, purple, green, (dark green or dark purple) blue, black. [can you believe that i sure didn’t know about this until i stumbled on this??? a muse meant to be OKAY!!! all those years rping and i was guessing oN A WHIM??? that demon must have told me: do me justice because !!! ] Candle color - Green, purple, generally dark shades (u can also use white) Tarot card - 9 of chalices. Stones - Pearl, emerald. King - Paimon (he’s one of his dukes) [note: formally]

Offerings Raspberries, cherries, tea, honey, whisky, classy wine, flowers - dandelions, roses (especially with passionate colors - he’s a romantic guy) nuts, your love.

Scent - Sandalwood, honeysuckle, jasmine, rose petals.

Appearance Usually shows up as a robed man with women’s and men’s faces and with the book in his right hand (sometimes replaced with a mirror). But he’s a shape-shifter, so he can take any other form. This spirit can look like a man you may personally know (or not) or even he may look like you. You can also see him as a black cloaked figure, black mist with eyes, gray cloud or floating face. He usually appears as a tall and slim man, in style of gentleman or businessman. ( I (the author) usually see him as a man dressed in dark robes with pale skin, black long hair decorated with jewels tied back and with crown) [TALL SLIM MAN ok sure]

Voice Most often dark and deep. Can also be as whispers or male and female alternating voices. Often speaks quite poetically (but he also knows nice slangs) [thanks 15.ai!Tenth Doctor. you right on the money]

Energy (how to recognize) His energy is very strong, focused and deep. You can feel the multidimensional planes of his being and it’s very characteristic. It is very penetrating, surrounding you from all sides and you may feel like your mind is a bit underwater. Generally, his energy is quite psychedelic and the effects are different. After, you may feel on high (like after good marijuana) have a headache or just feel weird. If you look closer, you will also feel great calm from his essence. [time lords are perfect hosts: the matrix]

Personality Just remember one word - COMPLEX. You will never really know how he will behave, because he’s like chameleon - he adapts to people, situations and places. For one, he will be a nice guy full of heat, and for another a dark tricky spirit. He may look cold and serious at the beginning, associated with his “knowledge aspect” (air) but he’s also very emotional spirit. He’s impulsive, determined and it’s quite easy to offend him. He has these two aspects connected (intellect/emotions) with whom empathy and healthy thinking can exist. If he behaves quite dark/annoying/arrogant that’s usually because he wants to protect himself (it was a bit like empath complex - the most openhearted and sensitive people are used by others the most) So he seeks balance and tests people. In reality, he’s a very generous spirit, patient and forgives quite quickly, but also he trusts hard and always needs control (he must see everything).

Dantalion is a spirit who is focused on human bonds, so you may see him talking about ethics/morals or knowledge which opens people to the truth about their nature - that people are the same. We will always be individualists but our needs are very similar - we want to be loved, appreciated and satisfied with our actions. People may create stereotypes, hierarchy, determinants of coolness but no human will create your face and never see through your eyes.

Dandelion (sounds familiar to Dantalion, it’s not a coincidence) is a symbol of this unity. Seeds of this plant may flew away with the wind but they’re still a part of this plant with which they have formed the whole before.

Tips for working

Take it slow. This spirit can make you very obsessed (u feel these nights when you were searching the entire internet to find him and you didn’t know why?) [AHAHAme] Look through your thoughts and set your clear goal - if you want to find him try invoke him or meditate, but don’t rush. Follow your goal not obsession. Dantalion will not run away from this world.

If you want to start relationship with him, prepare for patience again. At the beginning he’s formal, cold and not very emotional. He must find a place for you and adapt. (he’s a real thinker) Show the heart, he will show it too.

Get ready for a tests - he can test your intellect or your transparency in thinking.

Speak directly. He has sense of humor, don’t worry, but sometimes he takes words a bit too literally…[he do tho]

He doesn’t like work alone. If you’re this type and you prefer sit and wait when the spirit will end all his work, this may take a long time (except when these aren’t big things, then no problemo) Otherwise, He may start to make sure you’re still planning to pay him, and everything will be slower. (He non stop must watch what’s going on)

He usually works quick but he sometimes has a several episodes when he’s a bit more limited (idk maybe he has this delegation again) and he answers for a few days. Just wait 3-4 days and if nothing happened try again.

As I said before, it’s easy to offend him. He has big ego. Know your way and know what you want but unnecessary words can cause an awkward atmosphere. Get upset, but continue anyway with determination. Let it be rational and intelligent talk.

Other asks

When you did invocation/prayer and you don’t feel his presence that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. He usually sees everything with his eye and even he may already work with you but you don’t feel it consciously. He likes working behind the curtain.

Sometimes he acts weird and unexpected. People do strange things, your cat began to like him more than you, one time he wants to talk and the other he prefers to sleep, he walks on the wall, whispers strange things and this day he prefers eat pizza than classy alcohol. Can encourage you to play. It’s just his complex nature. [yep]

He’s not a demanding spirit. Just give him something from your heart or what you think is valuable.

He’s a good guardian when it comes to safety with people.

This spirit has equal gender. Dantalion is both female and male. Here I prefer call him “he” because that was my experience and this spirit’s attitude. [time lords are perfect hosts]

Dantalion is a djinn, demon, fallen angel, dark angel - he’s everything. Name as you want. [he prefer demon/fallen angel because he was an angel]

He may look nice and with good heart but he also HATES. He really gets pissed off and can destroy your life very hard when you think you shouldn’t give him what have you promised earlier (and then there’s no empathy at all …) [time lords are perfect hosts: i did make vin his host for a time for a reason...didn’t think that i end up being true to that character......]

He’s [used to be] a very loyal boy if your work was successful. He can come back to you even after a year without contact.

His attributes/symbols are - eyes/eye, faces, crown, books, the speaker, the judge, Judge’s stuff of high social rank, scepter, psychedelic waves/smoke, dandelions, brain, mask, mirror, water, clouds, the priest (absolutely not about religion but more about education and speaking to people) [EMOJIS]

#mv: reference #mv: decretum #c: dantalion

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ac-jarl-vahlia · 8 years ago

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Hale

Hello everyone! This is my first time writing a fic, please bear with me OTZ To anyone who’ll give it a try, I’d like to apologize and thank you beforehand... Comments and suggestions are welcome :)

This is an AU in p3p where Miki is alive, Aki is a big baby, and Shinji is the mother goose who could foresee the future -- heads up for a lot of cursing, OOCitis, and MinakoxShinjiro.

Oh, and P3P is owned by Atlus

Anyway, here goes! :D

Bright red flame. That was now all he could see on the place that they once called a home. He couldn’t quite process what exactly happened, but he knew that it was really terrible. All he could do was stare dumbly at the burning orphanage, as the scene is now shrouded by the hysterical cries of everyone around him. The most deafening was Aki’s, who was now kneeling beside a body which he recognized to be Miki, and that was when Shinji started bawling himself.

Shinjiro tried to wipe his tears though he couldn’t stop them from coming, and the moment he opened his eyes again, the vision of the growing fire disappeared. He was then by himself, standing on a blank plane with nothing but blinding light.

“Don’t cry, Shinji,” a gentle voice called out to him.

He turned toward its direction. Standing behind him was a girl with crimson eyes, auburn hair, and a calming, new, yet seemingly familiar face.

Wiping the tears on his cheeks, she leaned down and repeated herself, “Please don’t cry, Shinji.”

“B-but… Miki and Aki, they-“

“Don’t worry, Shinji. It will be alright.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I’ll make sure everything will be right this time. I’ll protect them, I swear. I’ll protect you.”

Her gentle smile slowly reassured Shinjiro, and when she patted his head, he was finally lulled.

The moment he woke up, Shinjiro remembered the nightmare. He tried to look for the girl who even swore that she’ll protect them, but all he saw were the other kids at the orphanage, still soundly sleeping.

It was a good thing that the siblings, Aki and Miki, heard him suddenly bawling like a baby and got up to go by his side. They tried to comfort Shinjiro, but he couldn’t help himself from crying even more after seeing Miki. His panting and sobbing then continued, but not until Akihiko laughed at him, saying that ten year olds don’t wet their beds.

The dream kept him terrified the whole day and Shinjiro knew there’s something he had to do to keep that from happening. No, he knew what he must do, so when they were on an escapade and Miki reminded that it was already time for them to go back to the orphanage, Shinjiro insisted to stay and continue playing. As he expected, Miki refused, so Shinjiro went on to execute his foolproof plan. He began crying and rolling on the ground, begging to not return yet, and then the deal was sealed.

After playing way past their curfew and arriving at the farthest train station that Shinjiro swore he knew in the area (or second nearest, in actuality), they have finally agreed to go back as Akihiko complained for the tenth time of how hungry he is and looked about ready to punch or bite Shinjiro, whichever comes first.

Moments later, Shinjiro found himself in the same situation that he had in the dream.

The orphanage was burning down, and Aki was crying hysterically. Mouth agape, he fell to his knees, knowing everything was almost like the scene in his nightmare. The only difference this time is that Miki is standing beside her brother, weeping with him.

It has been a month since Shinjiro started having those dreams that ended up as reality the following day. At first, he got so excited and even blurted out that he could see the future. Aki and Miki were also amused, but later didn’t mind and shrugged it off as a kid’s random story, while the others never took him seriously.

Shinjiro has long known that those dreams were precognitions, but since that day when he managed to save Miki, he knew that it was an incredible gift meant for great things, like playing tricks on Aki, and yeah, other great things.

Though, as expected from a kid, it became hard for Shinji to take matters on his own hand, let alone answer the questions that he had in mind. First, he couldn’t figure out the identity of the girl who would always appear at the end of his dreams. As he was thinking carefully about it, Shinjiro was tall compared to the other kids of age ten in the orphanage, but the red-haired girl was still a lot taller than him. Who knows how many years older she is than him?

…Wait, she’s very pretty, and she was really nice to me, so if she’s an old hag, then she could be a goddess!

Another thing that Shinji didn’t anticipate since the incident was the fact that in his continuous dreams, Miki was still dead. The first time he realized this, he didn’t know what to do. It was like a different world, much darker than where he is now. Every time he had the chance, he always asked the goddess about it, but all she ever did was smile and say, “I told you, we’ll make it right this time.”

It took too long for Shinji, about a year of mishaps between him and Aki, to piece it all together on his own and somehow conclude that he had actually created an alternate reality from the one in his visions.

On his first week in middle school, Shinjiro had been fully aware that he has altered a lot from the occurrences in his dreams. They were all still together; Miki was alive, and Akihiko didn’t have a reason to be obsessed over getting stronger. Heck, the other world’s Aki was doomed as fuck, far from the naïve, cheerful kid who’s always beside him, but even after Shinjiro had learned of his dreams as mere fragments of a reality parallel from theirs, he couldn’t help but overthink and get paranoid.

Everything was a lot more peaceful than in his so-called precognitions, which made him more nervous and confused.

The visions are basically useless now, what the heck am I supposed to do? Should I really relax, now that everything isn’t the way they’re supposed to be? Besides, she’s not even answering my questions… so much for a guardian goddess.

Taking his usual route to school, his train of thought was then broken by a hand that hardly patted his back.

“Hey, I told you to wait for me this time.”

Shinjiro sighed in exasperation, “Then you shouldn’t have eaten all those rice bowls, Aki.”

“I’m a growing man, I need calories.”

“Whatever.”

“Come on, Shinji, what are you acting all tough for?” A grin then sprawled on the gray haired guy’s face, “are you hoping for a middle school debut or something?”

“I’m a delinquent, you won’t get it,” Shinjiro immediately blurted out, which caused a laugh from the other boy.

“That being said by the guy who used to pee on his bed. A lot.”

“Shut up, Aki.” Feeling uneasy, and knowing that the vision-Shinjiro’s personality is finally rubbing off on him, he tried to divert the other guy’s attention. “Hey, have you joined any club yet?”

…I know I’ve altered a lot, and I don’t know why I’m hoping this, but please be in the boxing club.

His hope was broken by Akihiko’s response, “I’m in the soccer team.”

“…well, never would’ve pegged you for one who plays soccer.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“What? …wait, do you even know how to play?”

“Nope, not a clue.”

“…You’re an idiot.”

“Shut up. What about you? What club are you in this time?”

Shinjiro’s smirked slipped as the answer escaped his lips, “Home economics.”

Weeks later, Shinjiro learned through his visions that Akihiko being in the soccer team and not in the boxing club was an extreme wrong turn. When Shinjiro told her about this, the goddess even teased him, or threatened, he wasn’t sure, she was always just smiling, “you have led us halfway to our doom,” then proceeded on flashing her ever glorious laugh as Shinjiro panicked over what he should do next.

In order to get back on familiar grounds, or prepare them for everything, Shinjiro spent the following months fretting over making Akihiko stronger and pushing him to join the boxing club instead, but as expected, the guy adamantly refused, which made Shinjiro frustrated and once again try to get matters on his own hand, thus training Aki on his own.

What’s a better way to get back the guy’s damn speed and reflex other than throwing things at him randomly? Smashing stuff at him also worked, and was also so damn fulfilling. By the start of the second semester, Akihiko was finally able to foresee, dodge, and even counter all of his attacks. This made Shinjiro proud of the kid, but not enough to make him stop entirely.

The following year, however, when Miki entered as freshman on the same middle school and decided to join the boxing club, Akihiko followed suit. In the end, Shinjiro thought, he shouldn’t have fussed over the brat. Whoever the hell knew that the siscon will solve it himself?

“I’m moving out.”

Akihiko’s statement that one evening on their third year in junior high didn’t surprise Shinjiro at all, contrary to how Miki initially reacted to her brother’s sudden declaration.

A few more minutes of trying to calm her down, Miki finally replied, “Well, I’m not mad, Aki-nii, but why is it so sudden?”

“Relax, Miki. Maybe your brother just got hitched or somethin’,” Shinjiro teasingly interjected.

Miki nudged him and pouted, “Not funny, Shinji-nii.”

“Well, not immediately, but,” Akihiko sighed in defeat and sat down beside Miki, “I’ll be graduating this year, I mean, I have to prepare ahead for high school, so I’ll move in to the dorms and—“

“Man, don’t try bullshitting your way outta this,” Shinjiro laughed.

“Dammit, Shinji.”

This time, Miki was the one who heaved a sigh on both of them, “It’s fine, Aki-nii. Just… take care of yourself, okay?”

“Yeah, of course I will,” her brother finally smiled, relief evident on his face.

“And if matters turn to worse, remember that Mama Shinji will save the day, okay?” she said, winking at Shinji.

“What? How is he my problem still? Anyway, I ain’t gonna stop you or anything.” I pretty much already know where you’re going and why. Heck, the other world’s Shinjiro was guilty of only joining SEES because that Aki did. “All I gotta say is—“ How the hell did you even get a persona this time? To be recruited to the team, that was the major requirement. So. How? “…crap, nevermind.”

“Aaaaww… Are you embarrassed, Shinji-nii? Come on, say it.”

“Don’t worry, Shinji. I’ll miss you too.”

“Fuck you, Aki.”

Dark sky, green moon – the Dark Hour. They were sent out on another mission to defeat a rampant shadow and secure the area. In this case, there were two bystanders, a woman and a child, and Mitsuru has once again reminded them that their safety is the top priority of the group. As such, she immediately instructed the civilians to hide on the alley behind them and reminded both him and Aki to keep an eye on the two.

Of course, things went smoothly as Mitsuru has planned. They have figured out that the shadow’s attack and defense were pretty low, and though it can control minds in close proximity and summon lesser shadows which proved to be problematic ticking time bombs triggered through physical attacks, they have learned that its endurance and ability to do so is limited.

Since Caesar and Castor both depended on brute force, Mitsuru was the one who handled the summoned shadows while the two guys focused on using their personas to inflict damage on the summoner.

As the explosions became weaker, Mitsuru assured them that the shadow’s endurance is near its limit and after another Spirit Drain, she instructed them to execute an all-out attack.

At the corner of his eye, Shinjiro even saw Aki smirked at him, and he knew full well what that meant. They were about to wing this. What they didn’t anticipate was the instant that Castor missed to land a blow on the shadow, which in turn was able to gain momentum on the little time that it had and once again use its tricks. That was when everything went downshit.

A couple of bad decisions and Akihiko attempting to use his persona to shield everything led them to this state minutes later, wherein Shinjiro was cursing under his breath and everything Mitsuru was saying at the moment sounded like self-righteous nags to him as he struggled to once again get back to the shadow.

“Shinjiro, you have to be careful! Need I remind you that this shadow can manipulate minds? Close combat is not advisable for—“ Mitsuru was reminding him from the sidelines, but Shinjiro tuned her out.

“I got this!” he shouted back, still trying to close the distance between him and the shadow, that was desperately trying to move around on a fast pace.

We almost did it. One last hit and it’s over.

“Use your Persona!”

“Dammit, Mitsuru! Aki used his, look what that got him!”

Akihiko, pinned on the ground, visibly winced at what he said. Mitsuru, on the other hand, was looking after him while trying to exterminate the lesser shadows summoned earlier.

‘trustmewecandothissummonme’

A static voice rang in his head, but Shinjiro ignored it. Bet the guy’s just itchin’ to hit something again.

‘listencanfeelittrustme’

Shut up, Castor! You missed earlier already! Don’t mess up now!

Shinjiro kept on following the shadow no matter where it went, not letting it escape from his sight and reach.

“Shinji, don’t let it buy time!”

I know, dammit!

Finally cornering the shadow on an alley, Shinjiro couldn’t hide his smirk as he lifted his axe, preparing to give the last blow, until he felt a pang on his back. As he peered behind him, the last image he saw was a woman with dead eyes, holding up a shard at him, and then his vision went blank.

The searing pain on his back was now replaced by the screeching in his head. Anguish, desperation, fear – several emotions rushed through Shinji, which was severely amplified by the panicked buzzing in his head. Shouting, calling his teammates and asking for help, probably rolling on the ground – he tried everything, but not even clawing his head or trying to rip it off from his body was able to stop the pain that he was feeling. The torture seemed to drag on for far too long that even Shinjiro wished for the shadow to just slash him dead already.

After what felt like hours before the pain dissipated and his breathing returned to normal, Shinjiro’s sight finally returned, but the destruction he saw made him wish it never did.

His teammates—his friends, were now lying on the ground, beaten and defenseless, all the while looking at him with desperate concern on their eyes. Shinjiro ran to them as fast as he could, but stopped on his tracks the moment he spotted on the corner of his eyes what he dreaded the most.

The vision that night ended just like how it all began.

Another lifeless body was right in front of him, but this time, it was all Shinji’s fault.

…

This time, as he was dragged back to the blank room, he was again crying nonstop in front of the goddess, just like how he did years ago.

“You saw how it all happened, Shinji. Trust yourself, and trust in Castor. I know you can do it, you just needed someone who’ll believe in you,” reaching out her hand to touch his cheeks, she looked at him in the eye, which made Shinji return in kind.

Why is it that whenever Shinjiro has a dream-induced breakdown, those striking eyes would always get to him? Damn, the goddess really had him whipped.

Shinjiro continued crying like a baby, until she hugged him in her arms saying, “It’s fine, I know you’ll be able to make it right this time.”

“Not gonna say ‘I’ now, would you?”

He felt her chuckle, which somehow lightened him up as well, “How about ‘we’?”

“Fair enough,” Shinjiro buried his face on her shoulder and placed an arm around her, which made the goddess hug him even tighter.

The moment he woke up, Shinjiro was filled with determination. Maybe, just maybe, he’ll find a way through this. He went out of his room and ran straight to the lounge that morning, where he saw Mitsuru sitting on the couch. Shinjiro cleared his throat, running through his resolve a couple more times in his head before voicing it to their leader.

He approached her, and Mitsuru then looked up at him with questioning eyes.

“My left hand hurts. I’m gonna ditch the mission tonight, ‘kay?”

“…Shinjiro, you know that I am the student council president, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“And you’re aware that the use of illegal drugs is prohibited in our school?”

“Wha—no! The hell? I just can’t go, okay?”

“Just what are you saying?”

“Oh… nothing.”

“That is highly suspicious, but I won’t ask you any further. I’ll… pretend this conversation never happened.”

Shinjiro thought of proceeding to plan B, but as he saw Miki snickering at the front desk, who obviously witnessed the exchange between the two, he decided to jump to plan C.

“Are you sure you want to spar with me?” wrapping his hand before putting on his boxing gloves, Akihiko asked him one last time.

It was already after school, and club activities have started. There was no reason for Shinjiro to back out of this.

“Dammit, told’ya that already.” Besides, that was the plan. Break a hand, hopefully the left one, and instantly have an excuse from tonight’s mission.

“Don’t you have club activities today, Shinji? Those pancakes ain’t gonna cook themselves, you know?”

“What, are you mocking me and my club?!”

“No, I just wanna eat something. Pancake sounds nice.”

Shinjiro tried to punch him, but since he was not yet wearing gloves at the moment, and Aki just swatted his hand with one, Shinji finally got what he asked for.

After all the trouble that he went to, Shinjiro still had to drag his ass to that night’s mission. Aki, Miki and Mitsuru were with him, and upon analyzing their surroundings and the shadow at hand, Mitsuru and Miki started strategizing.

Earlier that evening, when the alarm went off on the dorm and Ikutsuki-san has oriented them of the situation, Shinjiro was sure that he could stay out of it, but Mitsuru insisted that they needed more manpower and Shinjiro’s “injury” wasn’t enough to consider him as a liability to the team. Regrettably, Shinjiro could also swear that his actions earlier that morning made Mitsuru wary of him, as she evidently eyed him suspiciously the moment they all heard the alarm.

Focusing back to their mission, Shinjiro recalled the dream that he had and compared it to the situation at hand, noting what he must do to avoid the outcome. One, don’t be a dick. Two, Miki’s here, so they got higher odds of winning. Three, trust in Castor.

Easier said than done. Shinjiro became too conscious of his actions that he was only on defense the entire time. His plan also backfired, as he couldn’t shift the weight of his axe from one hand to another like he normally do. And he knows he had to trust Castor, but would he really gamble it now? I mean, it all started when the guy missed a hit.

As Shinjiro was preoccupied, what got his attention back to reality was a scream that came from the sidelines. The horror flashed on his face as he remembered the woman whose death he had foreseen. Turning to where it came from and seeing that what he heard earlier came from someone else entirely, however, didn’t cause him relief either.

The one who was struck this time was Miki, which finally snapped him to his senses. Enough is enough.

Shinjiro finally called out to Castor, and never before had he heard his persona clearer than this. The connection he sensed as he finally reached out to Castor was indescribable, as he felt replenished and the weight dragging him down disappeared. This time, Shinjiro realized that he was not just commanding Castor to fight, he knew that they were protecting each other.

“You did it,” the goddess smiled brilliantly at him that Shinjiro couldn’t help but wonder, how could she possibly shine even more than she already does?

Smiling back, Shinjiro impulsively hugged her this time.

The shadow was defeated, Miki was fine, and so were the bystanders that they later found out to be mother and child. After all that happened, Shinji deeply wanted to thank the woman in front of him, his goddess, for guiding him and staying by his side.

The moment she hugged him back, Shinjiro admitted to himself that he was filled with contentment and bliss, and wished to stay that way with her. The urge to say so crossed his mind, but as he was about to open his lips, she spoke up.

“That was the last trigger. You can relax now.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve saved them, and you’re safe as well, as promised,” she chuckled.

“Heh, then nothing bad’s gonna happen now, right? We can relax now, yeah?”

Cupping his cheeks, she laid her forehead on his, “Yes, I assure you, everything will be fine. We’ve done everything we could, so if anything worse happens, it could be beyond our control, but please don’t give up, Shinji.”

All he did was nod.

“You’re the strongest, bravest person I ever met, I’m sure you can do that.”

Laughing, he replied, ”Don’t patronize me, and besides, you’re always there for me, right?”

There was a long pause before she said anything, which made Shinji lean back and look her in the eyes.

“Shinji,” sighing, she finally replied, “it was really great to be with you again.”

Shinjiro was surprised from what the goddess said, but he got startled even more when she suddenly kissed him on the forehead. Dumbstruck, it took moments for Shinji to make up his mind and tried to reach out to kiss her, but before he did, he finally woke up.

Anxiety was all he felt the whole day, and if he could, Shinjiro was ready to pass out even in class, as he desperately wanted to see her again. So the second he stepped into the dorm, he went straight to his room and tried his best to catch his sleep.

As he started to dream, the precognitions continued, but the visions of her stopped.

Two years have passed, but he never saw her again, not even the place where he assumed she dwelled on and he had grown to call the blank room, though blank plane seemed more appropriate. Shinjiro knew that there was no way her memories would slip from his mind, but he figured, he just had to live with it, because life goes on, and the very core of what she imparted on him was to never give up.

Needless to say, Shinjiro focused on the Home Economics club, to the extent that he even encourages everyone to join cooking contests and initiate tours to further develop their knowledge in different cuisine.

Aki and Miki more or less figured out back then that he might have been heartbroken, and though he denies it, Miki insists on helping him find someone and dragged her sibling to tag along with it.

Miki kept on setting him up on dates, but later didn’t bother when Shinjiro insisted on his specifics and turned down every girl he had talked to. Shinji thought Miki finally gave up, but it turns out she just passed the baton to her brother in finding the woman suitable for Shinjiro. Thankfully, the only time he ever bothered Shinji was when he was on a one-week tour in another city and Aki suddenly called him out of the blue, only to talk about a promising new member.

What Shinjiro didn’t expect was that as he was still on the tour, one night, he finally saw her again, not on the blank plane, but on the dream that was supposed to happen the following day.

Akihiko called him out to the hospital, said he got injured from the last shadow operation. He was about ready to leave, when more visitors came in to Aki’s room, and the goddess, real and alive, was one of them.

The next day, Shinjiro rode the first train back to Tatsumi Port Island. On the ride home, he texted Miki.

‘is aki on a hospital right now?’

‘(O-o) no… y?’

‘please push him off the stairs for me, am on a train home’

Unfortunately, Miki didn’t follow suit.

Arriving back later that evening, Shinji was preparing to ask a favor from Aki, but as he opened the door to the dorm, he dropped all of his stuff, seeing the new SEES member at the lounge, staring back at him.

All she did was smile, and his step turned into a full-on run.

1I really have no idea how this thing works... This has been sitting on my laptop for months and I never really intended to post it, being the lurker that I am, buuuuut going 37 hrs without sleep and a dead-end thesis made this sound like a good idea. Welp.

#shinjiro aragaki #minako arisato #p3p femc #persona 3 #fanfic #p3p au

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sarahaltmanposts · 6 years ago

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Mission Completion

June 17, 2019

We did it! Sixteen months later and we finally completed a goal that was years in the making. And it surpassed all expectations!

We made it to Disney World!

I know, in the wake of beating cancer, small potatoes, right? But not for me. And not for my family.

We originally had our trip planned for May of 2018. After the diagnosis in March, we knew there was no way we’d be able to pull that off, so we postponed. Finding a time to reschedule was tricky. It was like a big puzzle, piecing together everyone’s schedules and commitments. Between my older son’s school schedule, my younger son’s gymnastics competition schedule, my husband’s work, and my health, it seemed an impossible task. But we landed on a date in December- a few weeks after my last chemo treatment, but before the holidays.

Then the choir recital popped up. And another gymnastics competition. And did I really want to take this trip so close to finishing chemo? Intuitively, I knew it was not the best time, but I also knew that broaching this with my husband would send him into a tailspin. Sure, he wanted to take the trip at an optimal time, but in his mind postponing translated to canceling.

I shared my rationale behind pushing the dates of the trip with my husband and he begrudgingly agreed. I tried to lighten the blow by reassuring him that I’d already locked down an alternate date. We’d leave the day after my older son’s last day of school in June, which was also when my younger son was clear of competition season, and I would be strong and healthy. But that seemed like and eternity away and I saw the doubt in my husband’s face. He was defeated. His doubt just made me more determined to make this trip happen.

Fast forward to a few weeks before our trip. My husband’s work had slowed to a snail’s pace. Discretionary income was limited, at best. We had many late night discussions about the feasibility of taking such an exorbitant, indulgent trip at this time. I was scared, but I didn’t budge. I held our vision, strong and clear. I set intentions, I lived in the belief that the trip will unfold with grace and ease, and as I asked for assistance, it appeared.

The day had finally arrived. For such a long time I’d had visions of the moment I would finally let go. I pictured us seated on the plane, seat belts fastened, ready for takeoff! I saw myself taking a deep breath and as I exhaled all the trials and tribulations of making the trip a success would be released and I could sit back and enjoy the ride.

Spirit has a funny way of reminding us about being clear with our visions.

We all sat on the plane, seat belts buckled, ready to take off. I was just about to let out that big breath when the captain announced that when we were pushed back from the gate, the plane’s front tire had been damaged. We were all asked to exit the plane so that the pilot and mechanics could determine next steps. OK, not the optimal way to start a trip, and I must admit, I was feeling a little uneasy. But I kept telling myself it was just a small little hitch in the plans. So we grabbed some pizza and enjoyed a nice meal in the terminal…until my husband bit into something and a big ‘ole honking piece of his tooth came right off. Yeh.

I felt a moment of overwhelm and sadness as I was being pulled down with the fear that our long-awaited trip was now in jeopardy. But lately I’ve been doing a lot of energy work and I was immediately aware of a choice available to me. I could succumb to the negative energy of the situation and follow in an old pattern, or I could tune in to that heightened energy of hope and trust, knowing that not matter what unfolded, it was all going to be just fine. I centered myself, acknowledged the old programing, (sent a couple texts to family members for support) and promptly re-programed myself to the positive. I used some of the tools I’ve been learning about raising our energy and tapping into the unknown future and I allowed myself to be pulled right back up. Not to be deterred, I held on to my vision. Only this time, I included the vision of us enjoying ourselves in the theme parks!

Eventually, we were all told to re-board the plane. My husband’s tooth was jagged, but not painful. We could do this! Our seat belts were buckled, we took off, and I had a long, joyful sigh of relief.

On our first day in the Magic Kingdom, I stopped to get a celebratory pin. Disney World offers pins for people celebrating birthdays and anniversaries, but they also have blank pins to fill in other things you may be celebrating. I wrote one for myself: I’m Celebrating Beating Cancer. I wore that pin with such pride through our entire experience. It became a symbol, marking the end of what was a very tough year, reminding me how very much we have to celebrate, every. single. day.

We’ve been home from the trip for about a week now and it kind of feels like it was all a dream. Our vacation was perfect in every single way. Sure, it was ninety degrees, sticky and hot every day. Sure there were meltdowns. But through it all, I felt myself lifting and experienced things differently than I had in the past. My positive visions continued to pull us forward through any perceived challenge. If I felt the tug pulling me down, I reset myself. I chose not to indulge in conflict. I chose joy. I chose happiness. It’s almost like I could physically see the different choices I had to make in each situation and with the power of strong intention and some of the new skills I’m learning, I chose my experience. It was amazing.

It occurred to me that I may be experiencing some of the whole ‘new lease on life’ thing that people talk about when they’ve survived something that threatened their life. I’d imagined survivors singing along with the birds and walking with a spring in their step; that they experienced unending joy and delight every moment of the day.

Maybe some survivors do have that experience, but it’s different for me. I don’t feel an elated appreciation for life every moment of the day. But I am experiencing feelings in a much more heightened, vivid manner. I had more moments of intense happiness and joy in those few days at the theme parks than I’ve had in a long while. And on more than one occasion, I found myself weeping, the kind of weeping I just can’t control, as a result. Watching my boys play in the rain storm, seeing a child sleep in their parent’s arms, eating a soft serve ice cream cone, watching the fireworks as they sync up with music and a message that encourages us to believe. I mean, what could be better than that?

We’re back to reality now. No more Mickey to remind me to believe. And as I feel the heat of summer slowly descending, I also feel myself being pulled downward. But that’s ok. I’ve got my own internal song playing every day, reminding me that anything is possible.

My job is to simply listen closely, hold a clear vision, be kind and compassionate, remind myself that I have the gift of choice and trust that it’s all unfolding perfectly. And love, love, love that I get to be here to experience it all!

In loving,

Sarah

“When you wish upon a star

Makes no difference who you are

Anything your heart desires will come to you

If your heart is in your dream

No request is too extreme

When you wish upon a star

As dreamers do

Fate is kind

She brings to those who love

The sweet fulfillment of their secret longing

Like a bolt out of the blue

Fate steps in and sees you through

When you wish upon a star

Your dreams come true.”

Songwriters: Leigh Harline / Ned Washington

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briangroth27 · 8 years ago

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Legion Season 1 Review

FX's Legion, based on the X-men character, brought a fresh flavor to superhero shows last season; absolutely key to keeping the genre alive with so many series airing at once. All the acting was solid, the characters were likable, and it had enough classic mutant/human relations to feel like an X-men story even without the prejudice metaphor as a major presence. The production design was distinct and perfectly “off-kilter cool,” placing the show anywhere from the 60s to the not-so-distant future in the same way Batman The Animated Series blended the 30s and 90s. The direction and editing were masterful, seamlessly blending reality, memories, the astral plane, fantasies, and nightmares into an easy to follow narrative (if you paid attention; Legion refused to be a show you just have on in the background while doing other things). There were times the editing came off as just a bit confusing, with flashbacks, flashbacks within flashbacks, memory-jumping, hallucinations, and the like all happening at once, but that uncertainty served to put us directly into David Haller's (Dan Stevens) fractured frame of mind.

Full Spoilers…

As clever and ingenious as the visuals and editing were, however, I don’t think the story itself is was mind-blowing or groundbreaking as a lot of reviews have said. The first three episodes covered well-trod superhero ground: a shadowy government organization chasing/studying David, a “school” where he’s taken to learn about and control his powers, a mysterious villain who wants to use him for its own nefarious purposes, etc. It felt a lot like the setup of the first X-men film, swapping jumbled memories for confused flashbacks and the Demon with Yellow Eyes (Quinton Boisclair) for Sabretooth/Magneto (with Stryker’s military attack force from X2 thrown in for good measure). Once the show got to episode four, however, the focus on the villain and their unique plan of attack spun the show in another, much more original direction. It seemed to really take off at that point and didn’t stop till the finale.

David Haller is a compelling lead and brought a good balance of fun (though not one-liners or laugh-out-loud comedy) and bewilderment to what was going on around and within him. Stevens made what could've easily been a campy or "kooky" performance feel real, but not like he was asking for our pity. I also thought he was a good romantic lead and his relationship with Syd (Rachel Keller) felt real, even though we only saw them together for a short time. When he needed to be—when the Shadow King is in control—he’s also very unnerving, slaughtering Division 3 agents left and right with a smile. I will say David never seemed crazy to me. Maybe it’s because I knew he had telepathy and wasn’t just hearing voices, but outside of an inability to keep a handle on when "now" is he seemed relatively healthy. Perhaps that’s because mentally ill people in shows are often portrayed more over the top than David was. For a good chunk of the season, I thought this might be the story of how he goes insane. I later thought Lenny was sticking around because he was absorbing the powers and personalities of the people around him (providing the comics’ David’s multiple personalities with different abilities), but it doesn’t look like the show is going that route yet. I’m glad they never made everyone a personality of David’s, though; it seemed like that would be too easy and maybe of a waste of all these new characters. They did, however, homage that with David talking to his rational side in a great nod to his comics’ dissociative disorder (and his British accent!), giving us his origin story and the backstory on the Shadow King via animation. Now that he’s free of Farouk, I can’t wait to see how David responds to being alone in his head for the first time in his life.

I called Shadow King/Ahmal Farouk as the main villain after the first episode, but was thrown off the trail for a while since one of the few things I knew about comics Legion is he’s got dissociative identity disorder; I thought the Demon with the Yellow Eyes might be a different personality of David’s. Nevertheless, this was my favorite depiction of the Shadow King so far and I loved how creepy they were willing to go with his various personas, particularly the World’s Angriest Boy in the World (Devyn Dalton). I’ve wanted a Shadow King appearance in live action X-media for years and this was an excellent introduction! Aubrey Plaza was fantastic as his favorite form, Lenny, and her ability to pinball from friendly to insane to creepy to funny was a highlight of the series. I loved that his backstory was more or less taken directly from the comics, and Xavier’s destruction of his body made revenge via stealing David’s the perfect plan. They did a great job giving David, who has so many powers, more than an equal as his nemesis. I did expect more from the Shadow King trying to fight for David’s body in the finale, but now that the internal conflict has been made external, I can’t wait to see what he does next. His escape from the facility, leaping from body to body, reminded me of the 90′s X-men Animated Series. I hope he’s off to track down Xavier next season.

The supporting cast felt authentically "off" and not like they were trying to be quirky or "insane" or anything. Over the course of just eight episodes, it was difficult to find time to explore most of them in great depth, but I enjoyed just about all of them and loved that the show never shied away from the presence and use of their powers. It was great that they used them in concert to free themselves from David’s mind; I love the X-men movies, but the times when their specific powers are needed and fit together to save the day have been few and far between. Thematically it’s stronger if your pseudo-family unit is the only one that can help work you out of whatever situation you’re in, rather than just any strong guy (sorry, Guido).

The best-developed and most likable of the supporting characters was Sydney Barrett. I loved Syd explaining how she sees the world and her concept of the soul thanks to her ability to swap bodies with people. It's always fascinating to me when superhero stories show us how the characters' outlooks are changed by their powers, so this was gold to me. Her talk with David about being in each other's bodies was fun and sweet, and allowing them to be intimate on the astral plane was a clever workaround to her inability to touch anyone. The one issue I had with Syd’s character was that it was a little unclear how her body-swapping worked, particularly when it appeared that her physical form would snap back to wherever her swapping partner was, rather than just her consciousness jumping back and forth.

I initially thought Carey (Bill Irwin) came off as crazy for the sake of being crazy, with him saying random words to "himself" that confused David, but I eventually enjoyed the unorthodox relationship he had with his other half, Kerry (Amber Midthunder). Kerry not knowing about the most basic components of human existence because she spends so much time inside Carey felt like a classic bit of X-men weirdness. The personality difference between them also felt note-perfect, as if Kerry took all the fight and assertiveness while Carey housed all the brains and trepidation from a single personality. Once Kerry decided she didn’t want to go back inside Carey, their relationship got even more interesting!

Jeremie Harris’ Ptonomy Wallace and his cool, calm attitude was a smart balance to the near-insanity of the other characters. His Inception-like dream navigating powers were cool and, given their low-tech application, allowed the show to use them often. I would’ve liked to get to know him better, so hopefully we will in Season 2. Melanie Bird (Jean Smart) was a solid Xavier stand-in for this mutant cell, but I wonder if her comment about humans being dinosaurs and going extinct in the face of mutants’ rise wasn’t just bravado, but a hint at something darker. I wouldn’t mind a twist where this team ended up being more in line with the Brotherhood than the X-men, or occupied a gray area between the two. Bird’s strained relationship with her husband Oliver (Jemaine Clement) was a tragic addition to the show and I hope that gets explored further next season. Oliver was an unorthodox delight, having spent so many years locked on the astral plane that he’d lost touch with reality. His interactions with everyone were fun, and I can’t wait to see him and Aubrey Plaza share scenes now that Farouk is in his head!

It was clever that all the heroes’ powers reflected the Shadow King in one way or another, but I wonder why it wasn’t made a bigger deal. We could’ve at least had a conversation between David and Carey/Kerry about living with another consciousness inside you. Maybe we could’ve gotten Kerry's perspective on being the other consciousness. Oliver being trapped in the Astral Plane as opposed to his body paralleled Farouk nicely and foreshadowed their eventual bond. Syd swapping bodies also reflected Farouk, so his opinion of her take on the soul would’ve been interesting to get. More importantly, her history with her mother’s boyfriend was a lot darker than I expected, and it’s essentially the same thing Farouk has been doing to David: stealing a body for his own purposes. Is it any better that Syd’s heist was only temporary? Ptonomy having the power to jump into other people's memories and the freedom to bypass boundaries could’ve given us insight into Farouk. Perhaps David will look for ways to get inside Farouk’s head next season and these parallels can be utilized then.

While the main mutants were engaging, if a little unexplored due to time constraints, the humans didn’t fare nearly as well. When she was kidnapped, I wasn’t concerned for David’s sister Amy (Katie Asleton) at all; her rescue seemed inevitable and I didn’t feel like I knew her well enough to be invested beyond “she’s a human in danger.” The government bad guys felt like stock X-men bad guys, and while that was fine for the pilot, they never really came together as a real threat or sympathetic on their own merits. David’s effortless thrashing of the entire Division 3 when he went to save his sister (and later, another squad of them at the end of the season) proved they aren’t any threat to the mutants. The Eye (Mackenzie Gray) was suitably imposing (if underutilized), but unless his power is “sensing astral projections,” I couldn’t tell you what his ability was. I wish they’d done more with him; killing him felt like a waste. Clark’s (Hamish Linklater) last-minute catch-up while we watched him heal from his injuries and learned about his family didn’t endear him to me (it was just too little, too late). I also don’t buy at all that we’d been watching David with the team for the several months to a year it must’ve taken Clark to recuperate from his injuries; it felt like the season happened over the course of maybe two weeks. Still, Clark agreeing to help the mutants against Farouk was an unexpected and enjoyable moment of common sense. I admired his rationality in that moment. I wonder if they’d spin mutant/human relations in a much less antagonistic direction then we normally see in X-men stories. In their earliest adventures (and First Class), at least some government agents were willing to work with them, so perhaps that’s where this is going.Maybe with more time to get to know Clark and his family, he’d be more sympathetic.

All in all, this was a solid season that really became something unique after episode 3, so I'm absolutely down for season 2. Using a typical superhero “recruit the hero, save the girl” setup to springboard into a battle for David’s psyche was a genius twist and propelled the show into unexplored territory. Few shows have the guts to go completely bonkers and still (a) make sense and (b) fully commit to the insanity, and this one absolutely did. Every single week my sister would text me going “why is Legion so WEIRD?” and she was absolutely right, in the best way. There were some standout sequences, like the noiseless horror film-inspired exploration of David’s childhood home and the silent film escape from his brain. I can't wait to see what Shadow King—and Legion—does next!

The eight-episode first season is on Hulu, and is definitely worth checking out!

What’s up with the orb??

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ocelysium · 8 years ago

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Make It To Me

Summary: Two very different people with very different views of the world meet under a very unique situation. So unique, that one may even call it fate.

Type: Fluff

Warnings: Injuries, hint of violence

Word Count: 3869

Tags: @schninner-writes-some-stuff @the-singing-canary @schninner-writes-some-stuff @melyaliz @dc-comics-imagines @royslittleharper @cuddles-for-cassie @saramdeuli

Song: Make It To Me by Sam Smith

MASTERLIST

My mind runs away to you

Lily realized long ago the world was a funny place, a place that was everything and nothing, yet it was still so incredibly small. There were millions of different worlds all existing in the same dimension, only through the eyes of another. One may see the sunshine and the bright azure sky above, with emerald hills stretching on for miles and miles beyond the horizon. Another may see the darkened sky as grey clouds gathered, growling at one another, threatening to strike. Someone may see a gorgeous meadow, the scent of herbs and flowers filling their nostrils as birds hidden in the trees chirped merrily. Someone else may see the potential of the land, what resources could be harvested and used, what could be built and how the land could be used for their benefit.

The most peculiar thing about it all was the fact that none of it was incorrect, it was simply the fact that one failed to see another dimension to it, a dimension which someone else may see. The world revolved around perspective; how it was perceived. We see life in the form of time and built our society around it. Facts and figures weren’t really facts and figures, it was merely how humanity saw the universe. They came up with the most logical explanation to natural phenomenons yet everything came from a human mind. It wasn’t written in stone, when they came into this world there was no instruction manual.

Despite the chaos and tragedy that struck the world, Lily fought to keep her head leveled and her mind rid of demons, both outer and inner ones. She believed the world was beautiful, and it would always be beautiful in her eyes because of the millions of worlds that existed in it.

With a thought I’d hope you’ll see

Jason knew the world wasn’t a pretty place. He used to see some good in it, despite the criminals and monsters that infested the planet. He used to see the potential and how great it could’ve turned out, but after he had his life sucked out from his cold, dead lungs, only to breathe it back in again, he saw everything differently. After all, crawling your way out of hell does that to you. In the eyes of a scarred man like himself, the world was not rainbows and sunshine, the world was dark and unforgiving and inhumane, incredibly inhumane. People were selfish and would do anything to get what they want. It didn’t matter who was hurt and what damage was caused in the process, to those soulless creatures it was all the same.

He knew some didn’t see it that way. Some could always see the goodness in any heart, no matter how cruel or murderous that heart may be, no matter how many sins had been committed. He didn’t understand how one could view the world like that, like it was such a wonderful place. It wasn’t. Everything was built on lies and deception.

It was an unforgiving place and humans were only bred to survive. There was no way to live in this pandemonium. It was impossible. How can one find happiness in a place that feeds off despair and tragedy? Every time it looks like everything was okay, something happens that fucks it all up and all that’s left for you are… the remains of your hopes and dreams. The earth that everyone was standing on was the graveyard of unfulfilled ambitions and adventures that never happened. It was a complete mess and Jason wanted nothing to do with it, but unfortunately he lived on the shitty planet so he had no choice but to make do with what he had.

Can’t see where it’s wandered to

Warmth flooded through the small plane window as the sun descended outside. Hues of scarlet, orange and gold were blended together as if it was the manifestation of an artwork. Lily shook her head; no, artworks were a replica of these grand moments of nature, unappreciated unless it was documented onto a piece of canvas that did it no justice.

Day transitioned into night flawlessly. It was as if an omniscient being drew a midnight blue curtain, decorated with sparkling specks of silver, across the sky, shutting away the light and calling forth the darkness and along with it, the silver moon. The sight made Lily smile, it wasn’t every day that she could truly appreciate the beauty of nature, even something that occurred as often as this. People were so blinded by the darkness of the world they forget to see what the world could be without humanity’s infestation.

Resting her elbow on the arms of the luxurious seat, her mind drifted to the strangest thoughts. She wondered what would be the redeeming trait of humanity. After all, everything was created for a reason, so what was humanity’s? To thrive? To destroy? They couldn’t exist simply to… exist, could they?

She fiddled with the antique locket dangling from her neck--a piece of her mother, perhaps the only piece she had left. Feeling the cool surface against her warm fingers, the answer came to her.

“Love…” She murmured to herself as she lifted the locker up, entranced by how it moved about.

Humans weren't the only creatures who loved, but they were unique. Despite the different worlds everyone lived in, there was always one thing that they had in common, and that was love. It was a driving force for most of the human race, whether it was for better or for worse. Corrupt businessmen loved their money, hopeless romantics loved their idols, and the everyday person had a possession or someone they cherished. While animals may exist to survive or reproduce, and some may even love, humans have produced entire galleries, thousands of books and countless musical pieces all derived from that one emotion. Love may be the cause of much darkness in the world, but a simple being such as a human created something timeless from this one emotion.

That was humanity’s redeemer.

But I know where it wants to be

The smog was not something to enjoy, especially when it obscured any light provided by the universe and plunged the large city into darkness. The little light that broke through the dense layer of pollution was barely strong enough to make a notable impact on the ground, or anywhere for that matter. However, though Jason hated the view and the heavy combusted odor of the city, it was a consequence of residing in this city.

As he jumped from roof to roof with effortless grace and precision, he took note of everything wrong occurring at the very moment. Two large, scruffy men were trailing a clueless woman as she journeyed home but they wouldn’t attack her because on the opposite side of the street a motor accident had given the pavement three unmoving bodies and painted the road with thick, crimson blood. Flashes of red and blue illuminated the small street but alas, it was a poor neighborhood and these ‘heroes’ that were meant to save the day were nothing but corrupt little weasels, always sniffing for money and following the trail like how the children followed the Pied Piper to their doom.

Shaking his head in disappointment and anger, he stepped back, not bothering to intervene as he knew this wasn’t going to help. They would only retaliate and shoot mindlessly at him and he’d be forced to fire in return. He would rather keep out of the front of newspapers, knowing not only will it cause himself trouble but the others would be outraged. Besides, there was always the risk of him getting shot, meaning his blood would be at the crime scene. No, there were too many faults to engaging them, so Jason merely turned around and ran the other direction.

He didn't hate the world, this cruel, relentless palace of torment and torture. He hated the people in it. Humanity had destroyed the world completely. If the world existed without humans, it would be so much greater. Without the cities and bloodshed and all the misery humans brought with them.

He wondered what made humans so… pathetic. Humanity and the human mind had so much potential, what went wrong? When did it all go wrong? What was the one quality of humanity that made them ruin this planet?

As he stopped at the sight of two people screaming at each other, one with tears and the other with a scowl, the answer appeared in his mind.

“Love huh?” He mumbled, continuing his patrol.

The idea of love was pure and fantastical, but that was all it was, a fantasy, a figment of the imagination. In reality, love was poison. Something with such burning passion brought out the worst of people. It was destructive in on itself as well. In the end, love would die out and all that was left were forgotten memories.

No, love was what ruined the human kind.

I’m waiting patiently

“Hey Alex?” Lily called out to her brother.

“Hm?” The older male turned and stared at her expectantly. She had been strangely quiet since she returned home to Paris.

“Do you think there's anyone out there, anyone who we’re meant to be with?” She asked, not shifting her gaze from the opened book on her lap.

Alex frowned and went to sit next to her. “You mean, like soulmates?”

“I suppose.” She sounded distant, a tone she reserved specially for when her head was filled with imaginative thoughts.

Alex closed the book and made her look at him. He had a smile on his face, a kind one, the one he kept for her. “I believe that love just happens, to anyone, at any place, at any time. This idea of being tied to one person is a little silly in my opinion.”

“You think everything but your job is silly.” Lily giggled, standing up to put the book back.

“That is not true.” Alex rolled his eyes at her unfair accusation. He then sighed. “What caused you to ask such a question?”

“I'm just curious.” She answered slowly, “and admittedly, Gotham is very lonely. I just… wondered if I’ll meet someone. It seems everyone else here has, even you.”

“Is that what it's about?” Alex laughed, “you're jealous of my girlfriend?”

“Oh please.” Lily shook her head at her brother's ego. “It's not you, it's everyone. When I came back it seems everyone has their significant other. I don't want to be the kind of woman to be obsessed with romance but… it's nice to have someone who will always prioritize you.”

“Hey…” Alex murmured gently, “when the time comes, you’ll find the one. Maybe you already found that person, but remember you find love at the most unlikely places and at the most unlikely times.”

Though time is moving slow

Dick looked over Jason’s shoulder and gasped. “Paris?! You’re going to Paris?”

Jason’s palm found Dick’s face and the vigilante was forcibly pushed away. “Stop snooping around.” He shoved the plane ticket into his pocket but the others already heard.

“Why are you going to Paris?” Damian questioned with suspicion.

“It's none of your business.” Scoffed Jason, trying to get away from his prying family. He only needed a location for the delivery service to go to. Now that it was done, he needed to get the hell out of the manor.

However, it was too late. He was being bombarded with relentless questions. He had to give in.

“Fine! It’s for a mission.” Jason snapped, highly irritated by his curious brothers. “A mission that I have to prepare for, so beat it.”

“A mission in Paris?” Tim stated slowly. They took a minute to process their thoughts because firing questions at him again at a speed faster than the Flash.

Jason groaned and covered his face--this was going to be a long day.

I have one vacancy

There was one thing Lily loved about being home, and that was the beautiful location of her home. Apart from the fact that it was situated outside the city, surrounded by nature and a sea of leaves, the property itself was something from the Renaissance, a work of art that even Leonardo da Vinci wouldn't be able to recreate.

The bougainvillea created a magenta canopy above the path she took, only leaving several small spaces untouched for the sunlight to break through. Rows of colorful dahlias, vibrant irises, indigo salvias and tall alliums created a wall on both sides of the stone path. The scent of the flowers danced in the air, mixing and blending into one pleasant aroma that made her skin tingle.

She took a seat on the cold rock beside one of the many ponds on the property. The clear water reflected the light, causing it to seem magical. She dipped her hand into the water and was pleased to feel that it was cool between her fingers. She didn't think she'd ever get sick of exploring the grounds of the manor. There were still so many secrets, so many unexplored places and adventures awaiting to happen. All she had to do was look.

“You should get out, see the city, you know?” Lily turned her head and saw her step-sister, Kamille, approach her with a tight smile. In the sun, her wavy, golden hair shone with life, her blue eyes seemed like gems.

“There's enough to explore here.” Lily responded cautiously, leaning back and resting her palms against the rough surface of the rock, propping herself up. She heard Kamille sit on the grass beside the rock, and they just stared into the distance together, in silence.

Kamille spoke again, “the city is beautiful at this time of the year.”

“Is it?”

Kamille stood up and place a hand on Lily’s shoulder. “Just… go.”

And I wanted you to know that

The job was simple really. He was to take down the leader of yet another criminal organization involved in human trafficking and prostitution, a fairly easy task that he had no trouble doing, considering the sick woman was kidnapping young children as well. He shuddered at the thought of how they’d be treated. It was disgusting how apathetic people were.

Paris was packed with people as usual. He didn’t notice it before, but now he saw just how many people were roaming the streets. It was easy to see how people would disappear. With a heavy sigh, he began to explore the city, taking in every little detail. He didn’t know where their base of operation was but if he could catch one of theirs, with some creative interrogation methods he may just get them to talk.

He scanned the streets for someone suspicious, for someone that seemed like… well, seemed like a kidnapper. However, everyone was hurrying around trying to get to their own destinations. Each mind had an agenda, meaning it was difficult to even navigate around. He hated crowded places, especially during investigations and this was no exception.

A kid ran right into him, small and innocent, and obviously pampered. The boy looked up fearfully, and before Jason could even open his mouth the father was shouting at him, shoving Jason away as if he was a contagious disease. Though he had an intimidating exterior, this seemed a bit much.

However, he simply sighed and continued walking, but not even a fucking minute later someone bumped into him, a middle-aged woman on the phone. She turned to glare at him, muttering some curses in French before hurrying away. Jason almost flipped the bird in her face but with the amount of people between him and her there was a likely chance someone else would take it the wrong way.

Damn, this mission was really testing his self-restraint.

You’re the one designed for me

“Is this really necessary?” Lily grumbled as she watched the people pass by. She could imagine her brother rolling his eyes, muttering how the American culture had ‘changed’ her, turning her into this indoor creature that lacked sunlight. The truth was she just didn’t want to go out, it was too crowded nowadays, and the streets haunted her with unwanted memories.

Alex gave her a judgeful look, one that told her she had no choice. “You lack human interaction Lily.”

Lily wanted to make a snarky remark about his fancy wording of her behavior but she bit back her response, deeming it as too childish. Besides, she didn’t want to anger him even further. When she was younger she tended to anger a lot of people because of her responses, she learned to keep her mouth shut and judge when it was right to be sassy and when not to be.

Instead, she simply sighed and leaned against the cool surface of the window, thinking of how to go through with this. Alex had practically dragged her out of the spacious manor to see the city, using Kamille to get her because he knew she found it difficult to refuse her older sister. He seemed disappointed by her lack of enthusiasm of returning home, even when they had both been glad to see each other. He wanted her to be more active, more social like him, but she wasn’t like him. She was close with her older brother, very close, but there were some things he would never understand.

The thought was something she hated to think about. It seemed everyone had someone who understood them completely, as if they were made for each other. The closest person to her was her brother, but even he couldn’t grasp her conflicts at times. She wondered when she’d meet that one person made for her, if that person even existed or if she’ll meet them.

It seemed almost pathetic to keep hoping, the world was cruel and always messed with her, but that didn’t mean she would stop.

A distant stranger than I will complete

Finding a member of the organization was easier said than done, but Jason miraculously located one and had interrogated her, and now he found himself sneaking into their base of operations hidden just outside the city.

“Who the fuck even situates their base of operations outside the city, makes transportation harder.” Jason grumbled to himself. He had been waiting for a little over an hour now but security was tight and the guards were heavily armed. He wondered how loyal they were to their leader but he better not test his luck. He had to kill then get out quickly.

“Man, it would be so much easier if Roy was here.” He said quietly to himself, knowing the archer could easily kill the mastermind from afar with a single arrow. But Kori and Roy were occupied with their own business, and he’d rather die again than bring one of his brothers along. He didn’t need more to worry about.

After a few more enduring hours of waiting, Jason saw it--the chance to strike. The coast was clear and he knew that their leader was unguarded. After all, they’ve closed their gates and who would expect someone to already be inside?

Tightening the grip on his gun, he braced himself.

I know you’re out there, we’re meant to be

After a day out in the city, it was safe to say that Lily was more than exhausted. She was defeated both physically and emotionally. She loved France, she did, but she wanted to explore and go out there in her own time. No matter how much she loved something, if she was forced to do it she wouldn’t like it as much anymore.

Feeling sorry for herself, she strode onto her spacious balcony. As soon as she exited her room, the bitter cold air cut her skin, causing her to shiver. The moon shone brightly, more brightly than it could ever shine in a city, especially Paris and Gotham. The stars also twinkled brilliantly around it and the very sight made her smile. It was such a gorgeous sight, one that she always missed when she was in the city.

“Um… Madam Lillian?”

Lily turned her head and spotted the anxious maid peeking into the bedroom. She was new, one that Lily didn’t recognize. The woman must’ve been employed after Lily left for Gotham.

“What is it?”

“Your father wants to see you.”

Lily nodded, quickly following the young maid before she grew even more anxious. As she entered her room, she hastily pushed the balcony doors shut, not entirely worried if it was shut properly or not. The premise was well-protected so she didn’t need to concern herself over security.

Besides, who would try to break into the home of the de Sauveterres?

So keep your head up

Maybe the job wasn’t as easy after all, but Jason couldn’t afford to waste any time or attention on regret, especially with several dozen armed men and women chasing after him.

He took care of their leader fairly easily, but apparently her followers were more loyal than anticipated. They were hunting him down like a prey.

He cursed at the luck he had. He was already injured–several shots to the arm and torso and a few broken bones at least–but no matter how painful it was to run, not running would mean certain death, and he was not planning to die a second time.

Jason released a breath of relief when he saw a large wall. Not thinking twice, he skillfully climbed over the it.

“Woah.” Jason stared at the sight in front of him. He must be on the property of an aristocrat of some sort, because the estate was spacious and gigantic, and it screamed wealth.

Shaking his head, he limped his way to the building. He scanned the mansion and spotted a balcony.

Usually, Jason would be more careful than this but his head was spinning and his body was aching, so he didn’t take much caution as he climbed onto the balcony and stumbled inside, shocked that it was unlocked. Judging by the size of the manor there would be countless of unused rooms and this could be one of them.

And make it to me

He found himself in a bedroom, but unlike the manor it was simple and less extravagant. He made his way to the couch and rested there for a moment, just breathing deeply.

Glancing back, he didn’t see the criminals follow him over. They wouldn’t attack the estate, would they? Though, that wouldn’t be too bad either. Rich people like these were corrupt and used their wealth selfishly, and they usually gained it by robbing from the poor.

He closed his eyes and attempted to catch his breath. Soon he’d have to scavenge the place for anything to use to treat his wounds. But for now, he’d rest...

“May I help you?”

Jason’s eyes flew open in an instant. He turned his head and saw a gorgeous woman standing at the doorway, looking at him with a frown.

He didn’t even hear the door open.

Shit.

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