#like brother do not do RESEARCH on a TEXT GENERATOR its just giving you words in response to the words you said!

[bdluejay]

i try to curb my reactionary opinions on ai*, but i just heard a youtuber say "and i did some research, by asking chatgpt..." and im about to bite clean through my desk

[letters-from-eros]

Can I get some big brother chuuya hc with a little brother (or you can do gender neutral! Which ever you prefer!) that's also in the port mafia

A/N: I was rewatching AOT and realized Jean had Chuuya's VA today so yeah Chu-Chu content. This might be really really bad I'm an only child 😙

Pairings: Chuuya Nakahara x Sibling!Reader (GN)

Form: HC

Warnings: Probably shit writing, I haven't done anything in WEEKS

Beta-Readers: Wifey @bokuno-volleybabes

Mmmmmm Big brother Chuuya. Interesting.

Overall, he's a really good brother to you, I don't think you could really ask for much better tbh.

Yeah you two do bicker a lot, especially if you managed to be taller than the poor lil alcoholic, but it isn't constant unless you're the one provoking him

God the amount of SHIT Chuuya gives you if you're shorter OR taller than him god bless your SOUL, believe when I say 90% of your arguments come from the concept of height.

I definitely think hating Dazai is something that runs in the family, if it doesn't good luck having to hear all about Chuuya's hatred towards the suicidal bastard.

But!! If you do hate Dazai as much as your brother does, y'all would tag-team and roast his ass so bad he'd think he finally died and went to the fiery depths of hell. If he knew this was gonna be his punishment, he would've rethought his suicidal tendencies 💀

But anyway!! You working with him at the P.M, lets get to that.

Chuuya holds a ridiculous amount of loyalty to the mafia, and his work ethic definitely reflects said loyalty.

So he will get on you if you're not doing you're best, or just generally slacking off and neglecting the reports/paperwork that goes with working in the mafia. But like... He'll get on you super heavy while picking up like a third of your paperwork to do himself since he doesn't wanna see his little sibling stressed.

It.. Cancels out. He's an ass but you'll never forget about the fact he loves you lots.

Chuuya sticks his neck out for you a lot and isn't ashamed to let everyone know that yes he has a bias for his little sibling, the fuck are you gonna do about it?

But doesn't pull too many strings for you, y'know? The Mafia is a highly difficult job to have, and he can't have you going soft and lazy. (And this is all under the assumption you're not an executive)

But if you ARE an executive oh my god

You two would be working in the same office (either your own or Chuuya's, most likely the latter's) complaining about how much paperwork comes along with your position, probably while drinking wine too. Gossiping n shit 😭

Also, executive or not, EVERYONE knows to fear the Nakahara siblings.

Always reminds you when he's about to go out on a field mission. If you both aren't at the same place its via text, if you two are he's stopping by and ruffling your hair while telling you he's about to head out on a field assignment. It calms him down a lot plus it helps clear his head. He definitely expects you to do the same when you head out on missions, he needs to be in the know about that stuff and will get pretty upset if you don't.

God forbid you get hurt on the job. His reaction depends on how hurt you are.

If its just a few scrapes and bandages, he'll just chew you out about getting hurt and makes you give him a rundown about everything that happened on the mission, he's giving you his undivided attention.

If you're hurt sorta bad and put out of commission he's a muddy mixture of emotions he's not good at portraying.

He's scared because what if you got hurt worst than how much you already are, if the injuries were preventable he's upset with you for being so careless, plus he's angry with who ever caused you this pain.

Now... If you're in critical condition, Chuuya's literally seeing red. No one related to him is gonna be weak by any means, so its heavy stuff if you got hurt this bad.

His first instinct would be to get back at who ever hurt you if they're even still alive. But after Chuuya's after them, they're as good as dead. Afterwards, he's not leaving your side, he doesn't care if you're in a coma or what. He is not leaving you under any cicrumstances, this goes for when you're recovering too.

You two probably rarely get assigned as partners for missions, despite your relation.

I feel like Chuuya prefers going solo on missions ever since Dazai left the mafia, but if you seek him out to go on missions with you, he isn't all that against it. Always tells you "He's only doing this once" every mission because he's probably trying to build a reputation around him going solo but tbh he's coming with you whenever you ask 🙄

Its hard for him to say no to you a lot of the time, and honestly if you both start partnering on missions more than you're going solo Mori's gonna end up making you two official partners like he was with Dazai.. Chuuya's gonna be hella pissy about it, though.

Late nights researching about Arahabaki are.. Oddly personal. Its quiet and dark. The only things not making it a complete void is the illuminated screens of laptops the sound of clicks and scrolls. Maybe the occasional scribble of notes. But although little to no words are being said, its still an important time that just feels really vulnerable and personal, which is something thats usually difficult for Chuuya to display

...

He drags you to go shopping with him 💀 Chuuya lives by the rule "drip or drown" and gravity man REFUSES to drown

Dw you definitely dripped out too LMAO. If anything catches your eye he'll buy it for you knowing full well you can afford it yourself. Its useless to talk him out of it.

Shopping is probably how you both get your quality time outside of work, so even though Chuuya will semi-aggressively drag you out with him, its still a slightly pleasurable time 😭

Please don't get to arguing inside a peaceful designer store over whether or not some piece of apparel looks good or not, its gonna be hard not to but please...

People are looking at you two.

You're gonna get thrown out..

[obeyme-kaidii-writes]

Sick

Mammon x gn!MC

Words - 3275

Content warnings - fluff, crack, my attempt at humor, adult humor I guess? but no smut

Prompt/Inspiration - Mammon gets sick and MC cares for him

Summary - Mammon gets a very minor case of the sniffles and is determined to milk it for all its worth. But he doesn’t realize you know exactly what he’s up to and have a plan of your own in mind.

AO3

It’s not often demons get sick, you’ve been told. Since their bodies heal quicker and are generally more resilient than humans, they are much better at fighting off disease.

So imagine Mammon’s surprise when he woke up one morning, shivering. Yes, he sleeps au natural, but his body temp runs warm to begin with and he kept plenty of sheets and blankets on his bed to keep him nice and snug. If he bundled up right, he’d create his own little cocoon of warmth that he was always reluctant to leave.

But this morning he was cold. After a few moments of staring at the ceiling he decided he should text you and ask you to bring him something to drink.

Of course he wasn’t really after the drink.

He was after your attention.

It’s not often demons get sick after all...and he was going to milk this for all it was worth.

As you headed towards Mammon’s room with the bottle of water he requested, you were a bit annoyed with him. You couldn’t figure out why your boyfriend couldn’t get it himself, and it was way too early in the morning on a Saturday for you to get out of bed. But you figured if he was going to wake you up, the least he could do was let you climb into bed with him and steal his warmth. It seemed like a pretty fair trade.

Only when you got to his room, he didn’t greet you like normally. Instead, you heard a faint coughing sound coming from his bed. Thinking maybe his throat was just dry and that’s why he begged for the water, you headed over to him and sat down on the edge of his bed. Mammon finally rolled over partway to face you, and you immediately noticed how flushed his cheeks looked.

“Thanks,” he said, weakly.

“Are you ok?” you asked, handing him the water and reaching out to touch his forehead. He seemed a bit warm to your touch, but you had no idea what a demon fever was supposed to feel like so you couldn’t tell if he was running one.

“I’m jus’ tired. And a little sore. Nothin’ The Great Mammon can’t handle,” he replied, coughing again, before taking a sip of his water.

“Maybe I should get Lucifer?”

“No!”, he yelped, with a surprising amount of energy, causing you to raise an eyebrow skeptically.

“I mean...it’s jus’...” more weak coughing, “I’ll be fine if you’re here. Prolly just a cold ya know?” He offered you a weak smile.

“A...cold…?” Do demons even get colds? You hadn’t the faintest idea. You knew it was possible for them to get sick, but you heard it happened so rarely you honestly didn’t think you’d ever get to see it for yourself. You were about to ask if it was ok to talk to Barbatos at least, but a tiny niggling feeling at the back of your mind told you not to say anything out loud for now and just to text him later.

“Can ya just...hold me?” Mammon asked, looking at you with the best puppy dog eyes he could manage.

Ok, something was definitely up, you thought.

“Sure babe, let me just get some stuff from my room and I’ll be right back.” You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead, before standing up and leaving his room. As soon as his door closed behind you, you pulled out your DDD and sent Barbatos a text, hoping he might already be up early. And fortunately for you, he was.

"Hey Barb. Kinda an odd question but can demons get colds?” “Not usually. It would be exceedingly rare. Is one of the brothers sick?” “Mammon says he has a cold. But I don’t know enough to tell how bad it is.” “Can you tell if he’s running a fever?” “He seemed warm and a little flushed. If he was a human I would say he had a low grade fever. Nothing serious.” “Ah. He will be fine in that case. Demonic fevers run very hot to the touch. You would know immediately if there was cause for concern.” “Thanks Barb. You’re a lifesaver.” “It’s not a problem at all. You can message me anytime.”

With a better understanding of Mammon’s ‘condition’ under your belt, you felt relieved to know it wasn’t anything serious. But that still left you to figure out what exactly to do for him. Should you just pretend you were none the wiser and indulge him? Or should you call him out on it?

You continued thinking about this as you gathered up your things - a book, your DDD charger...when a brilliant idea struck you. You knew just what to do to make your poor, sick demon boyfriend feel better.

————

“Hey Mammon, I’m back. Sorry it took so long,” you announced as you entered his room, carrying a large bag. You carefully sat it down on top of Mammon’s pool table and began to unpack.

“What’s all that?”, he asked. Mammon had rolled over on his side to watch you.

“Oh just some human realm cold remedies. I thought I could take care of you like how my family used to take care of me. I’m not sure how effective some of this stuff will be, but at least it’ll make you feel better.”

You turned around and gave Mammon a brilliant smile, and he relaxed into his bed, pulling his blankets snug around him. You were such a good human, looking after him like this. He almost felt guilty for making you work so hard for his sake when he wasn’t all that sick. Almost.

“Where’d ya get all that stuff?”

“Oh Barbatos helped me out. Turns out Lord Diavolo has quite the collection of human things stashed away in his castle. Food too. I guess it was part of his research and preparation for the exchange program,” you said with a shrug.

“Barb?” Mammon tensed up imagining Barbatos talking to Diavolo, who would certainly talk about his “illness” with Lucifer. And he really doubted Lucifer would let him get away with this if he knew.

“Don’t worry, he promised not to mention it to anyone for now. But he wants me to get back to him if you’re not better by the end of the day, because that could mean it’s something much more serious.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m sure I’ll be fine by then. Just need a day ta rest is all.”

Mammon wasn’t sure how he felt about you talking to Barbatos, but it seemed that the butler hadn’t blown his cover, for which he was grateful. Now all he had to do was sit back and enjoy your undivided affection and attention. All. Day. Long.

“Give me your feet,” you said, walking towards the foot of Mammon’s bed.

“Sure babe,” he replied, wiggling his feet free of the covers so you had easier access. You had never given him a foot rub before, and he was getting excited at the thought. This was the life.

His dreams were quickly dashed though, when he felt something cold, wet, and kinda slimy pressed to the bottom of his foot as you tugged some thick, wool socks over them.

“What the hell is that?!” he squeaked, trying his best to keep his voice down and not react too much. He didn’t want to give himself away after all.

“Oh this? It’s a home remedy. You put onions in your socks and it draws out the toxins in your body so you can recover faster,” without batting an eye, you moved on to his next foot.

Mammon really did not like how those socks felt on his feet with the onion slices against his skin. But if this was something you were doing to help him, then he guessed he could let you be. You were being so attentive, he really couldn’t complain.

“Alright, there you go. All wrapped up,” you said, patting the bottoms of Mammon’s feet, laughing inwardly when you noticed him flinch at the sensation, before tucking him back in.

“So can ya cuddle now?”, he asked, making sure to punctuate his sentence with a cough. He really wanted you to hold him and run your fingers through his hair like you always did. Maybe he could even convince you to give him a neck and a shoulder rub too.

“Of course.”

You grabbed a small thermos and your book from the pool table and then returned to his bed, climbing in next to him, “Here, this should help with your throat,” you said as you offered the thermos to Mammon.

He couldn’t help but smile at your thoughtfulness. You really were the best. He wasn’t expecting to get a nice warm drink, but you had gone above and beyond what he had hoped for. Propping himself up in the bed slightly, Mammon opened the thermos and poured himself a small serving.

Yummm, warmed milk, he thought.

But as soon as he took his first sip he realized something was wrong. Very very wrong. Not wanting to insult you after you had tried so hard, he forced himself to swallow, shivering as it went down.

“Err, babe...I think there is something wrong with the milk. It tastes umm...a little funny…?”

“Oh that must be the garlic,” you replied, giving Mammon a warm smile, “It helps with aches and pains, plus it’s supposed to help fight infections.” You returned to your book, careful to position it so that Mammon could not see the stupid grin that had now spread across your face.

“Right...umm...thanks…” Mammon looked down at the portion still left in the lid of the thermos and realized he had to drink at least that much if he was hoping to close the container at all. He gulped, and then decided to just treat it like a shot and tossed it back, trying his best to prevent it from lingering on his tongue any longer than possible.

As soon as he started to put the lid back in place however, you stopped him, “You need to drink all of it or it won’t work.”

“Ha...yeah...of course...makes sense,” Mammon chuckled nervously. The whole thing?! You really expected him to drink this whole thermos?? That had to be at least 4 other servings in there. He almost felt like crying at the thought, but then reminded himself that once he was done, he could get back to his comfort cuddling. If you offered him anything else later, he’d just have to tell you he was still full.

“All...done,” he said, tightening the lid back on the thermos before handing it to you. He was so thankful right now that the thermos wasn’t any bigger. He remembered how you mentioned your family used to do these things to help you when you were sick, and immediately felt bad for your childhood self. Being sick as a human must be awful.

Hands finally free, Mammon turned over and curled up beside you, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he rested his head in your lap. Finally he was going to get to rest and cuddle all he wanted. He let out a sigh of contentment when he felt your fingers start to carefully comb through his hair. Now this was what he had been waiting for.

You peered around your book at the adorable, malingering demon resting so peacefully on your lap. You were honestly surprised he had managed to drink all of that vile milk concoction. You had thought for sure that would be the thing to make him fess up. You however, were prepared for this scenario and had one final trick up your sleeve.

But first, you were going to let your sweet demon of Greed get a bit of rest and some real cuddles in. You did love him after all, and you did enjoy cuddling with him. If he had just asked you to be spoiled for a day, you would have happily obliged him. Instead, he gave you an opportunity to tease him that was simply too good to pass up.

After a couple of hours had passed, you sat your book down and stretched your arms above your head. You had gotten a little bit stiff maintaining your position for so long, but Mammon had fallen asleep and your book was better than you had been expecting, so you hadn’t wanted to move.

As you stretched, Mammon started to stir and hugged your legs closer to himself. You smiled at him and gave him a small pat on the head, which caused him to reposition himself a little so that he could better see you.

“Hey, how are you feeling now?”, you asked.

“About the same,” he coughed a couple times before continuing, “I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it down ta lunch. Ya think you could bring my food up to me?” He gave you another weak cough, then tugged the blanket up to his chest so only his head was exposed.

“Really? You don’t think you can even make it downstairs?” you asked, feigning concern.

“Yeah,” cough cough, “It’s just so far to walk ya know? I’d probably get trapped on the stairs.” Mammon laughed weakly at his own joke, a pleading look in his eye.

“That’s starting to sound serious Mammon. I’m getting kind of worried.”

“Nah it’s fine! I’m sure. I just need ta rest. No big deal.”

“I don’t know Mammon. I'm thinking I should go get Lucifer just in case.”

“Hey, that's really not necessary ya know.”

“Well, I do have one more thing I can try,” you said, sighing, “But if you don’t want to try it then I’ll need to get Lucifer.”

Mammon thought for a moment. So far his luck hadn’t been the best with your home remedies. His feet felt awful, and he could still remember the taste of that milk. But maybe if you didn’t have him eat anything he’d be fine? If it could get him out of talking to Lucifer, then a little bit of discomfort would be worth it.

“A’ight, whatcha got?”

“It’s just medicine. Don’t worry. Nothing you have to eat,” you replied, with a saccharine sweet smile. You really wished you had thought a bit further ahead and set up a video camera, because you were sure his reaction was going to be amazing.

Mammon rolled off your lap, resting on his stomach with his arms crossed under his pillow. He watched you as you went back to your stash of things you had brought with you, and picked up a small green box and began opening the end, removing the products carefully.

“Ok Mammon, I need you to lay on your side, facing the wall.”

“Umm...ok.” Mammon rolled over as instructed, thoroughly confused as to why he had to face away from you to receive medication. Maybe it was some sort of topical cream and you were going to rub it on his back?

“Great, now I want you to pull your top leg up towards your stomach, and keep your bottom leg straight.”

“Alright….” He was starting to get a little anxious now. This position seemed really odd to him, and sorta vulnerable. In fact, it vaguely reminded him of a sex position. Which was silly, he thought, it wasn’t like you were going to try to make a move on him when he was supposed to be ill.

“Perfect,” you said, as you started pulling down the blankets and sheets to get a good view of Mammon’s ass. As soon as the cool air hit his backside though, he became very concerned about what was about to happen next.

“Wh wh wh what are you doing back there?” he asked, trying to crane his neck so he could see you, which was very difficult to do from the position he was in.

“I’m prepping the suppository. I just need to apply a bit…”

“THE WHAT?!” he yelped, slapping his hands over his butt as he scrambled to sit upright in bed.

“The suppository,” you replied. It took all of your concentration to keep a straight face at this point.

“I I I I...really don’t think that’s necessary. In fact! I’m feelin’ better already! See?” Mammon flexed his arms, as some sort of show of strength, “Look, even my cough is gone.”

“I don’t know Mammon, I really don’t want to take any chances. If you’re not comfortable with this, I’ll just go get Lucifer, it’s ok.”

“NO! Uhhh... really, I’m feeling much better now.”

You could hear the panic rising in his voice, and the sadist within you laughed in glee. Oh this precious, precious man. How boring would your days be without him?

“It’s fine. I’ll just get Lucifer,” you said, standing up and heading towards the door.

You barely made it a single step though before you felt Mammon grab your wrist, as his confession started pouring from his lips…

“imnotsickpleasedontgetlucfierpleaseimfineiswearimfinenobuttstuffnoluciferpleasepleasepleaseplease.”

You couldn’t contain your laughter any longer, and just started... cackling . There really was no other word to describe it. Tears fell from the corners of your eyes as you laughed and laughed, completely doubled over.

Mammon blinked in confusion. That was not the reaction he had been expecting. As he stood there watching you struggling to compose yourself, he became aware of the fact that he was still completely naked, and not only that, he was standing in his onion socks and the feeling was...not pleasant.

He couldn’t decide if it was safe to let go of your wrist yet, since he had no idea why you were laughing as hard as you were. Would you make a break for it if he tried to grab some shorts to cover himself? Or should he just pick you up and crawl back into bed so he didn’t have to stand anymore in these disgusting socks?

As he was weighing his options, you finally seemed to be calming down, and after taking a few deep breaths you turned to face him.

“Ok...I’m good...I’m good now...phew…” you wiped the tears from your eyes and continued, “Mammon, I know.”

“What do ya mean ya…?” realization started to dawn on him, and Mammon’s cheeks flushed crimson, “But all th th that stuff?”, he stammered out.

“Just some old wives tales and folk remedies.”

“Why…! You…! I drank THAT! That disgustin’ rotten milk!”

You tried to stifle your laughter with your free hand, but were not very successful.

“And...the socks! These nasty slimy socks! You…!”

It was getting harder to contain yourself again as Mammon kept pointing out all you had put him through. Watching you struggle not to laugh made him blush even harder, which only left him more annoyed.

“That’s it ya brat,” he said, and without any warning, scooped you up in his arms.

“Ack! What are you doing?!” you yelped, as you quickly wrapped your arms around his neck to steady yourself.

“We’re goin’ to take a bath and ya scrubbin’ my feet ‘til the onion is gone.”

“What?! Why do I have to do that? You’re the one who faked ill!”

“Th th that’s besides the point…!” he stuttered out, while walking towards his bathroom, his socks making a sickening squishy sound with each step.

You wrapped your arms a little tighter around his neck, giving him a hug, as you laughed softly to yourself. He really did keep your life interesting.

[obeymeluv]

Red String of Fate

Something a little different! Drabble lead + headcanons! I really like the idea of being connected to someone, so have this~

Also: very long, so I only did a few of the brothers. I tend to do them in order but I tried to jump around for variety’s sake since I published a partial post the other day.

Features: Lucifer, Mammon, and Asmo (short-ish, but for a reason. Makes sense when you read the lead-up),

I have to get to bed. Need to get up early for studying + a morning class. Really love this idea so I’ll be working on something unique for the rest of the bros :)

Casual conversations about soulmates and bad dates inspires Asmo to find your one true love. He swears up and down there’s a book that can do it. Being a lover of love and feeling like it’s his duty to see you off into the best of hands—the hands made to hold you!—he sets out to find the book. Legend says Cupid pricked his finger while writing out love lists with his enchanted quill and threw the dirty pages away, deeming them unusable. Instead of being discarded, they were salvaged by another and turned into a book that would answer any love-related question the reader had.

All it would cost is a drop of blood.

Cupid, who was very serious about his task of uniting hearts and forging bonds, felt insulted by the book. He felt cheapened and could not see the joy it would bring before his arrow was destined to arrive. In a fit of rage he threw it from the heavens, assuming it would disintegrate before landing in another’s hands.

He was wrong.

The book circulated for centuries, making its way through humble and haughty, poor and princely. Some say it even inspired the most romantic of playwrights. It was kept by a family of matchmakers for generations before their home was pillaged and burned by a spurned heart. Traded out of guilt or in a desperate moment for silver or food (Asmo didn’t remember which), it ended up in the hands of a scholar. He sat with his crush and read the book, the two asking it hundreds of questions and finding themselves quite content with each other.

After the two got married, they were convinced it was a lucky charm of sorts and passed it along to their friends. Once those friends found their true loves, it started a chain of giving. When one family had all of their children married off, they would pass the book on to someone else. The book spent a fair amount of time collecting dust when one person lost their soulmate too soon and didn’t open it for about five years, convinced it would stay blank. A new love came into their life and they were so moved by the magic, by the joy, that they donated the book to a thrift shop.

Asmodeus lost the history after the thrift shop. Too many people went in and out of it, too much time had passed. All he knew is that it ended up in the hands of a witch who made serious money off of love potions and romantic divinations. One of her grandchildren—a quarter succubus and three-quarters human—had donated it to RAD’s library.

He should’ve just texted his friends about the damn thing instead of researching it like Levi does his events. Should he be proud of all the effort? You could be, but he was kind of put off by all the work. It was shabby and beaten, hardly bigger than a typical planner. Definitely unassuming and definitely looked like it’d seen some things. Asmodeus was expecting something gorgeously gilded and velvet.

Hopefully a peek into your future would make up for all the disappointment. “I bet it’s me.” he touched a finger to his soft lips with a giddy smile, little ring glinting in the light. He practically skipped out of the library and back to the House of Lamentation. At the very least, he’d get to go on and on about how he found it and how grateful you should be that he cares for you so much to do so!

Asmodeus whisks you away into his room, the bed already set with pillows that were both aesthetic and luxurious. Nothing too out of the norm for him, but he wanted something that complimented the romantic undertones of this little endeavor. He coddled the two of you in a plush pink blanket before cracking it open and guiding your finger along the edge of the page. The red soaked in, ink blossoming in a faint pink that turned a brilliant scarlet.

The book grew warm, almost burning as the scarlet began to sear and shimmer on the page. You heard him hiss and grabbed the book as he started to squirm and scoot out from under it. You’d barely grabbed the book when pinky-red smoke exploded violently in your face. It didn’t burn or have a taste but it was surprisingly thick.

“What? No names!” Asmodeus had finally swatted away enough of the smoke to see a blank book. “It’s supposed to be names!” he scowled, kittenish fangs threatening to poke at his lower lip.

“Maybe there’s been a revision,” you blinked distractedly, talking more to yourself than him. Nope, still there. You wagged your finger at Asmodeus, showing off the bright red string tied around it.

His oncoming rant receded immediately, eyes shining a gorgeous and unmistakable pink. “Let’s see where it goes!”

To Lucifer:  

He’s in the middle of doing paperwork (shocker) when he finds a vibrant red string tangling in his pen and catching on the lines

Tries to shake it off (very undignified, glad no one saw it)

Puts his pen down to pick at it and untie it. When that doesn’t work, he slips the opposite glove off with his teeth and lets his demon aura come out just enough to turn his fingernails into claws

That didn’t work either

Physically tries to pull the string off and begrudgingly stops when he realizes his finger might come off first

A huffy, annoyed man

Takes an awkward pic with his D.D.D and sends it to Diavolo, wanting to know if it’s a prank

Diavolo swears it’s not and Barbatos suggests it could be the red string theory, that thing some humans believe in.

Could it be true? Does he have a soulmate? Could he, being a fallen angel? Demons had soul mates?

All the questions swirl and he just leans back in his fancy padded chair to absorb it all. There’s something beautifully sad and...comforting...at the thought of demons having a soulmate, someone made just for them

Lucifer doesn’t really think that a soulmate’s at the end of the string, but he tells himself it’s a walk for the sake of his health, to stretch, and sets off to find the string

The eldest is quite surprised to run into you and Asmo, the string clearly tied around your finger.

“A bit overboard, don’t you think, Asmo?” Lucifer’s a little aggravated by it. What is this, a set up?!

His little brother swears against it, holding up a beaten book not even Mammon would waste money on.

Apparently, the string disappears when the soulmates touch their fingers together. Lucifer rolls his eyes and tries to soften his scowl as he presses his finger to yours.

You’re both surprised when the string thickens until it resembles a ribbon, kinking in the shape of a heart before disappearing in a burst of pinky-red smoke that has your fingers tingling

Lucifer says nothing, silently stunned and heart yearning at the tingling in his finger. It’s warm, like your love.

To Mammon:

IS IT ONE OF THE WITCHES?! IS THIS A TRACKER?!

First reaction: “OI! What the hell?!”

Also shakes his finger

Immediate second reaction is to chew on it and try to get it off

Ends up sucking on his tender finger like a baby because he basically chewed on himself instead of the string

Texted all the sorcerers and witches he knew. They all deny hexing him or mentioning him in potion-making.

He’s surprised to find he can still move around with the string. It’s not straining or limiting him, so he goes in his closet of magical seals, peeling a few back to reveal a sizeable hoard of stuff he’d stolen over the centuries (including some stuff he had on him from the Fall).

He tries daggers of all sizes and types. They don’t cut the string, either

When nothing seems to work, he marches towards the source, wrapping it around his fist with a grumble.

He pulls on it at random just because it’s a minor inconvenience and he couldn’t get it off.

Mammon notice that it runs under Asmo’s door and he yanks on it really hard, hoping he’s tearing thread off of a sweater or something. Annoying ass little brother!

When you yelp he freezes. Brain hasn’t quite kicked in yet and he yanks it again to check the reaction. Another yelp, and a thick thud behind the door.

Sounds like you’re involved somehow. Oops.

Turns out you had a hard time coming out of the room because he wound the string too quick (and weren’t strong enough to tug it back to yourself)

Asmo’s in the middle of lecturing him as he squishes your poor little face, scowling and lamenting that MAMMON is your soulmate. MAMMON, of all people, who’d been smacking you against a door for the last few minutes!

Now Mammon’s interested and needs the story

Gets a biiiig shit-eating grin when he realizes what’s happened.

Takes your hand with his usual fanfare of ‘’Course I would be! I’m their MAIN man! Their BEST man!”

The string seems to tie your hands together for a brief moment before exploding in a burst of smoke and Mammon’s still grinning like an idiot.

He doesn’t let go of your hand

To Asmodeus:

He’s waving that smoke away when he feels a new, subtle weight on his finger

Whatever it is, it’s flitting and ticklish. He can feel it catching on some of the fashion rings he wears

Asmodeus doesn’t know whether he wants to purr or squeal. He did something that hurt your human ears though.

Didn’t realize it hurt your ears until after the noise bottoms out to a lower pitch, and immediately cups his hands over yours ears, sliding them up into your hair while he showers the crown of your head in apology kisses.

Makes a video clip to send to the bros in a group chat and has to redo it several times because they can’t really hear his words over the smug purring and clicking

It warms his heart to know he has a real soulmate. Asmodeus really struggles with the concept of genuine, non-sexual love.

He figured the most he could ever get was platonic love or brotherly love, but this is a whole new thing for him and he’s honestly blown away

For a brief moment he feels like Heaven’s Jewel again, so treasured and special. It almost makes him cry

He’s lowkey crying.

100% takes advantage of the fact that your fingers are tied together until you touch fingertips. You guys giggle quietly and cuddle close as he loops the string around his finger so you put your arm around his neck

“You don’t need a string to make me touch you, you know.” you tease him, wrinkling your nose in that cute human way you have

“I know,” Asmo gives you an Eskimo kiss that turns into a few butterfly kisses on your mouth, leaning over you and into you.

Totally uses the string as an excuse to cuddle you and turn down any activities the bros want you to go to. (”Can’t, they’re kind of tied up.”)

Let this baby bask in his sure thing, okay? He really needs it, and you know he’s good for it

Gives you hand kisses and cuddles into you

Gets the bright idea to try to bottle the smoke that’ll erupt when you touch fingertips. Sacrifices his most beautiful perfume bottle to immortalize this moment

Catches the littlest bit, so thin that he has to hold it up to the light to see it.

Complains about probably swallowing most of it during that attempt

Is now even more shameless about demanding his cuddles and attention because you guys are destined lovers.

[walpurga-nacht-academy]

“Any practitioner of magic that’s received even a modicum of training in the field has, at one point or another, heard of the term ‘grimoire’. Its origins are shrouded in mystery, its purpose unknown and the power that it possesses inestimable. However, their prevalence is also fading. 

As magic studies become more and more accessible to mages of all walks of life, it is considered futile for witches and warlocks to keep personal tomes of spells and hexes anymore. The uniformization of magical practice has brought about an age in which collaboration between our kind is considered not only beneficial, but also ideal. The practice of taking apprentices is no longer an individual choice that each magician makes for themselves, and thus the need for secrecy - the fear of others invading our most personal matters and thus robbing us of our knowledge has become quite absurd.

Nowadays, grimoires have started to gain a reputation as old-fashioned magical tools, relics of the past or tools of forbidden lore. Less than 200 remain still, collected by the Ministry of Magic’s illustrious archivists and kept in many museums across Twisted Wonderland for easy access to those that seek to expand their knowledge. Yet despite their heavy efforts many of these crucial tomes fall prey to the passage of them, deteriorating as their magic fades away. Preventing the loss of these books is quintessential, if not for us, then for future generations. Thus, many countries have launched conservation projects in order to salvage what is left of our inheritance.

It is due to these projects that my own efforts have not been in vain. For years I have searched all over the world to recover and preserve the eight grimoires which had once belonged to the eight great witches of the Bald Mountain, figures shrouded in such mystery that these books are considered the only valid proof of their existence. They are thick volumes, averaging about 1,000 pages each, something quite unusual for that period, and written in codes and foreign languages that have long passed into obscurity. Translating them required intensive work and research, and even so I was able to conquer only sixty percent of the original text. The rest will be lost to history, I am afraid to say, for there are few people able to interpret the original dialects and signs of these spellbooks. 

I hope that in the future there might be somebody more courageous and ingenious than me, who will decipher these tomes in their entirety. There is precious knowledge to be learned from these pages, power that has been lost over time, and power that might help the future. It is thus my request that for every person who reads this book detailing the journey I have taken since I decided fourteen years ago that I must resolve this mystery and prevent it from slipping through the cracks of progress, that you think to dedicate a little bit of time and money to the eminent researchers that still struggle to maintain their memories alive.   

In this regard, I would like to dedicate this book to the many people and organizations that have made possible the publication of this volume. First, there is of course the Magical Research Board, The Ministry of Magic and the Magic University who have kindly and dutifully supported me financially. The research grant that they have awarded me with has helped me carry my investigation through several countries, as well as access resources that would have been otherwise impossible for me to make use of.

I would also like to express my gratitude towards the ruling families of the Afterglow Savannah and the Valley of Thorns, for their generosity in allowing me to study the history of their kingdoms in order to better understand the social and political dimensions to two of the witches’ that are said to hail from these places. 

I would also like to thank all the translators and historians that have taken time out of their busy schedules to help with my manuscripts - pointing out translation errors, mistakes regarding historical dates and events, or even my continuous use of the word “mystery” of which I am guilty even in my opening chapter I must sadly admit! Thus, I would like to mention among many Miss Line, and her lovely daughter Safia, whose generosity saved my life when I was to drown at sea; 

my Lord Duban of the Land of Hot Sands, who enchanted me with tales of viziers and street rats who court princesses; 

Nefu, whose knowledge of the low town in the Savannah rivals none, I am sure of that; 

Lord Himalia of the Land of Pyroxene whose heart is as great as the acres of land he owns; 

old, wise Louisa who welcomed me in her hut before her beloved Cockatrice managed to tear me to shreds; 

my dear friend Daphne, whose courage is greater than even the rage of a Kerberos breed when it sees its owner attacked; 

Thursday, who proved to the world that despite their short stature dwarves should not be taken lightly after all; 

and General Vanrouge, whose skill with the sword is as unmatched as the knowledge he possesses. To all of them, I would like to express my sincerest, heartfelt gratitude for the help they have given me. It is truly unmistakable that good friends are more valuable than a thousand golden statues!

Though they are departed, I wish to thank my parents as well, for having instilled in me such good morals and values. I am eternally grateful to all your guidance and love, and hope that you rest safely above in the sky.

Last, but not least, I would like to thank my dearest Alkin, who is first among familiars and friends alike. His companionship and experience has proven to be invaluable to me during my travels, and there are no words to express the warmth with which I regard my beloved brother.”

- Introduction to Of Grimoires and Pledges: A Study of Eight Texts that Shaped Our Understanding of Modern Magic

Grimoire of the Rose 

In the sea I used to be a poet.

You do not believe me. That is alright. I understand. My speech is stilted. My pauses are long. My mind, once sharp and swift as the marlin’s gait, now always searches its corners for words that came easily before. I have forgotten them all now. I glance around with wild eyes. The vastness around us scares me. 

You think, ‘Ah, this woman is not well.’ And perhaps you are right. 

You think, ‘She must have suffered greatly.’ That is not so.  

Please do not pity me. I do not deserve it. 

As all fools I’ve made peace with myself. 

As all wise men I wish to warn others. 

Forgive me. Speaking in your tongue is hard for me. But please bear it. I would like to tell you my story. It is not long or sad. Just short and silly. You will surely laugh as you read it. That is alright. I wish you would laugh. It eases my soul when I hear others laugh. It reminds me of the ocean.

But I wish to tell you my story. Please listen.

It starts with a beautiful princess born in a wealthy kingdom.

No, that princess is not me. I was born on the shore, among the sand and shells, under the great night sky. I have never seen a palace, nor worn a gown. I have heard that they are beautiful. Princesses wear them at balls, with golden slippers and dance away the night. This princess must have worn one too. She must have been very beautiful. And loved. All beautiful women are loved. 

No, I do not know what made her beautiful. I have never seen her. But I like to imagine it must have been so. It helps me rest. 

As I said, my story starts with a princess born in a wealthy kingdom. She was her father’s only child, a sweet, delicate girl with fair hair and golden eyes. 

Yes, I am lying now. For I never laid eyes on her. I say these things because it helps me rest. 

I am repeating myself? Forgive me. Your tongue is difficult for me. I wish to tell you my story. Will you listen? 

My story starts with a beautiful child, born to a widowed king, who paid three gold pieces to the undertaker to build a temple over his wife’s grave, where he went to pray every evening. I do not know why humans built temples. My kind does not. 

I have asked him, but he did not know either.

He loved her too. They all did. She was beautiful. All beautiful women are loved. I was loved too. I was beautiful too. 

My story starts with the birth of a beautiful child, whose father built a temple ashore the land where my mother had borne me. It was the darkest night she had ever seen, and the stars shone bright. My mother cried as I came out, small and pink and weeping. I was so small I fit in her arms with ease. She was frightened I would die of cold. She bundled me up and ran to the sea. 

You think it’s strange. That is alright. Forgive me. I will explain.

My mother ran with me to the sea, for my father was giving chase. She reached the waters before he had a chance to grab her. That is as well. For if he did, he would have pulled my mother’s skin away. 

Yes, my father loved my mother. All men love us. They cannot help it. It is their sin.

He found her upon the beach and took her to his hut and made her his wife. She bore him sons, I don’t know how many for I never asked, and then me. My father’s world came crashing down upon him. My mother wept with joy. When I came she knew Mother Sea would welcome her back. She bore me upon the shore so that Mother would bear witness. 

When mother’s feet touched the water, she had already been gone. I do not know if my father followed. I think he must have not. Mother Sea does not welcome his kind. You cannot breathe when Mother holds you. That is very pitiful. 

Forgive me. Your tongue is difficult. 

There are no men among us. It is only us and Mother. She loves us deeply and we love her. And the men that Mother hates also love us. It is a difficult love. No, I do not know if we love the men too. We must love them. We swim every year to the shore to take our skin off and be like them - the human women that they love. And they love us too. Because we are more beautiful than their women.

Forgive me. 

They love us, and they desire us. They take our skins and bring us to their sheds and take us in their beds. We bear them sons and mend their clothes and curse the land we live on and love them dearly. We cannot help but love them. No, it is not love. It is love. Your tongue is very difficult. 

We love them and we love them. We must, for Mother no longer loves us when we love the men. She does not recognize us anymore. She cannot hold us when she doesn’t know who we are. She is frightened of us then. So we love the men because we cannot love Mother anymore. We miss Mother. But she doesn’t miss us. 

It is very pitiful. 

When we are human we cannot love Mother, so we wait for daughters to be born so she will love us again. No, only daughters. Never sons. Mother does not love our sons. They cannot see or hear Mother. But daughters - us - we can. I heard Mother before I had been born. She sang to me of the sea foam, and the waves and of my mother’s skin and where my father hid it. I told my mother this. She dug the chest buried underneath the juniper tree with her bare hands as I sang to her. She was crying because she heard Mother’s voice in mine.

I do not know what happened to my father. I have never returned to that shore. I have never met my brothers. I do not wish to. Mother does not either. She told me to be careful. She held me to her breast as we watched the angelfish, and told me to never go to the land of men and take off my skin. She told me to keep away. 

But it was a waste. She knew this. We must go to the shore every year. We must take off our skin. 

My mother did so the next year as well. I never saw her again. She must have been found by another man. That is as well. I would soon follow in her footsteps. 

My story starts with the birth of a fair child, beloved by all, and especially by the young poet who wished to marry her. He was a handsome man, but he was poor. This is unfortunate in your land. Forgive me. 

Why did he love the princess? Because she was beautiful. All beautiful women are loved. 

Yes, all beautiful things must be loved.

Why?

Because they are beautiful. That is all.

The poet loved this princess because she was beautiful, but she did not love him because he was poor. It is a pitiful thing. 

Yes, I loved the poet too. Because he was beautiful. No, I did not love him. I loved him. Your tongue is very difficult. 

I wish you could understand. 

He did not understand either. Though he was a poet. It was odd. He told me he could not hear me sing when I spoke, and did not hear me speak when I sang. But Mother hears us. She hears me and my sisters as we sing-speak and speak-sing to her. Only Mother can hear us. 

But still I loved him.

Yes. No, I did not love him. Please understand. 

I sang to him under the night sky and he kissed my lips. I spoke to him about love and he kissed my cheeks. He loved me on the shore until dawn. No, it was love, not love. Forgive me. 

When Mother released the sun from her hold, he kissed my eyelids. He had beautiful lips. I loved them dearly. He was a beautiful man. All beautiful things must be loved. 

He did not take me for his wife. He loved the princess.

‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Forgive me,’ he said.

I am repeating myself. Please understand.    

‘You are taking my skin,’ I told him. ‘You are taking my skin. What will I do without my skin? Mother won’t take me back without my skin.’

‘Forgive me.’

He spoke so sweetly. Do you understand? All beautiful things must be loved.

‘The princess of this land - I love her dearly. I wish to marry her. But I am poor. I am not worthy. I wish to be worthy. The princess - she wishes for a coat more beautiful than the sunrise. I have searched this land - from the mountain to the sea, from the fields to the hills, but I have not found a coat more beautiful than yours.’

‘I cannot give you my skin,’ I told him. ‘You must take me as your wife. I cannot give you my skin for another. I must have my skin to return to Mother.’

‘Forgive me,’ he said. He kissed my lips, my cheeks, my eyelids - and then he was gone. He took my skin to the princess. She loved it dearly. She loved him dearly. They were to be married within the year. She wore my skin as her veil. It was a beautiful veil. It was a beautiful wedding.

All beautiful things must be loved.

I gave chase. Yes, I did. I followed after him - my husband. 

I called to him. But he did not stop.

I wept for him. But his heart did not yield. 

I wept for Mother. But she could not hear me. 

I wept for our Master. He said I was a fool to trust the word of man. He thundered. He roared. He drove me away with arrows made of fire and spiteful words. He did not care. He did not listen.

Please listen. 

I wish to tell you my story.

There was once a child born upon the land where a temple was built with just three gold coins. This child was so beautiful that when she spoke, the birds would listen to hear her song. When she danced, the ground would soften underneath her feet so no harm would come upon her. When she smiled, the sun bowed so it would not deter from her beauty.

He loved her. She scorned him. He was poor. It is a pitiful thing.

I loved him. He loved her. I loved him and loved him. 

Your tongue - forgive me.

She came to me upon the shore. 

All beautiful things must be loved.

My husband - he left me upon the shore. He took my skin and left. He loved the princess. I loved him.

I wanted to return to Mother. But Mother did not love me anymore. She did not hold me. She could not hold me. I wept. Mother’s arms - they seemed to wrap around my throat. I could not breathe.

She came to me upon the shore. My Lady.

My sisters - they tore away their skin. A leg, an arm, a breast, an ear - they had sewn it all together. They gave the coat to me. They said Mother would hold me now.

She did not. She could not.

I loved Mother. I loved and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved Her. 

She could not love me. He did not love me. She did not love him.

They were to be married within the year.

It was a beautiful wedding. 

It was a beautiful veil.

‘My skin,’ I said. ‘My skin, my skin, my skin - You must take me as your wife.’

‘I do not love you.’

‘You must. Mother does not love me anymore. You must.’

His roots went deep. They touched her mother’s grave. They touched my mother’s grave. 

He loved her. She loved him. No, not love. Love. 

Please understand. 

All men love us. It is their sin. We must love them too, when Mother no longer loves us. 

Please understand.

‘My child, my rose,’ she spoke. Her eyes were so sweet. I wept. She kissed my eyelids. She kissed my tears. All beautiful things must be loved.

I loved him. I let him bloom. I gave him light. I gave him water. I fetched it every day from the well and watched him grow. My husband.

It was a beautiful wedding.

‘My child, my rose, my sweetest heart.’

She held me. Mother could not hold me. She held me and kissed me and loved me. 

Your tongue is very difficult.

‘I do not love you,’ my husband lied. ‘I cannot love you. I do not want to love you. Please understand.’

All men love us. It is their sin. 

It was a beautiful veil. 

Forgive me.

I am repeating myself.

Forgive me.

Forgive me.

Forgive me.

They take us from the shore into their huts and into their beds. We bear them children and mend their clothes and curse the land we live on and love them dearly. And wait for daughters to be born.

Every year he gave me blossoms. I crushed them underneath my feet. He fed on my blood. 

I loved him. And I loved her. And I loved Mother. And I loved her.

‘My child,’ she kissed me. ‘My rose,’ she kissed me. ‘My sweetest heart,’ she kissed me.

I sheath myself in wicked thorns and sing of my Lady’s love. 

Please listen. Please understand.   

My mother’s grave. Her mother’s grave.

He took her into his hut and into his bed. He took her into the garden and stripped her of her skin. He hid it underneath the juniper tree where mother heard me sing.

All men must love us. It is their sin.

She was a beautiful child. He was a dutiful king. He paid three gold pieces for the temple. It was made of stone and wood and the bed inside it was warm.

They take us from the shore and into their beds.

I loved him. He died in spring. I burned him. I kissed the ashes.

Mother would not listen. 

Mother could not understand.

It was a beautiful veil.

Forgive me.

Your tongue is very difficult. 

I wish to tell you my story.

Please listen.

Notes

“Translating this introductory part of the grimoire has proven to be by far the easiest part of my endeavour, as there has not been much to translate at all. It seems that unlike her sisters, the Witch of the Rose wrote in the common tongue of that time, which fortunately for me is not very different from our current one. Line tells me this might be because the language of the selkie has no written form. In fact, its complexity is so great, no written form could properly capture its beauty.

It is an interesting notion to me, a student with meagre interest in languages, at the very least before I become employed in this project. There is no proper way to prove this, however, as according to what Line tells me, she can barely remember even the few things she picked up from her grandmother. It is so with every selkie that lives on land for too long - slowly they forget the tongue of Mother Sea (an ancient pagan deity, I believe) and learn the tongue of their husbands. Line herself seems to remember mostly old songs that she teaches to little Safia too so she can remember her ancestors even a little. She tells me they are the last ones. 

Line’s great-great-grandmother was taken from the sea by her husband as well - a practice which was considered normal back in the day - and as she never managed to have any daughters was forced to live the rest of her life on this foreign land. She tells me this story with a sort of melancholic detachment as she brushes her daughter’s long, golden hair. This is standard for their species it seems - all daughters have golden hair and golden eyes which makes them look terrible and inviting to the men that come across them.

Line also tells me that the selkie language has over 34 words to express ‘love’. She says that the witch must have been trying to capture them all as she wrote down her confession, but she can only remember a few of the ones her grandmother taught her. Thus, there is ‘love gleaned from above the sea foam’, ‘love that is realized by the stroke of midnight’, ‘love which blooms only at the wake of dawn’, ‘love which burns one as they feel it’ which is different from ‘love that scorches one as they let go of it’. She does not know the word for the love felt for one’s husband, but she tells me that the love for one’s daughter is translated as ‘love for a budding flower which blooms on the bottom of the ocean’.    

She tells me all this with a mournful look - the expression of a woman who knows that when she passes there will be a little less of her legacy left. The grimoire that I show her has a shell accessory on the cover that when opened produces the most beautiful melody in the world. When I showed Line this she started weeping and once she calmed down she explained that it was the same song that her grandmother used to sing when she was little. I believe it must be an old folk song, though she cannot confirm it for me, since she admits that there are barely any words that she recognizes. Though she can tell with some certainty that it is a song of forgiveness - that the witch is begging her mother to welcome her back to the sea. Little Safia listened to the song as well, but I could tell that beyond the soothing melody nothing stuck out to her at all. It broke Line’s heart.

I stayed there for almost two months learning what I could about the selkie. It did Line good too since she felt that even if she were to die, little Safia and her children would not be robbed of her heritage. I was touched by this sentiment - so much that I swore that once I have finished my business collecting and translating the grimoires I would make sure to amass in one volume the entirety of Line’s teachings during the time they graciously let me stay there.”

-  Of Grimoires and Pledges: A Study of Eight Texts that Shaped Our Understanding of Modern Magic

“It has now been more than ten years since I have made that promise, which I have managed to keep after all. If you were to look in any library right now, dear reader, you might spy tucked away in one of the shelves a little book of no more than 100 pages, more than half filled with illustrations and drawings, while the other half is full of songs and poems and little phrases that Line shared with me as we sat huddled around the fire at night. I’ve been told it is a commercial failure - that nobody but the most dedicated anthropologists give it more than a glance. But it does not matter to me. It took four years for the 100 copies to sell. I have recently ordered 100 more. 

To others these books might be nothing more than curiosities, oddities, a change of reading material - but it is not so. Not in the slightest. These are the words and experiences of a woman whose ancestry has been erased almost entirely and plunged into obscurity. By no means can I simply let her life or history be disregarded in such a manner. Especially now since I am the only one left fighting. 

It was two years after I departed from Line’s house that I received a letter from the young lord who oversaw the village she lived in. I was in the midst of a lesson with Old Woman Louisa when I was informed that due to a tragic accident little Safia lost her life at sea, followed three months later by her mother who died of grief. I was left numb by the news - barely registering it at all and inconsolable for weeks after. I had to leave Louisa’s abode as my mourning made the beasts under her care uneasy, and with no goal in mind simply proceeded forward to the Isle of Lamentation. A fitting spot to vent my grief.

I have had the good mind to send the young lord a letter asking him to keep the hut in which they lived in good condition, and returned there two years after my travels ended. It is now a museum, my dear reader, dedicated to Line, Safia and all the women who suffered at the hands of their destiny by being taken from their home to live on these strange lands. The last that will even suffer this destiny, for Line and Safia’s deaths did not mark merely the loss of two great souls and hearts from the world, but also the loss of an entire species. There are no more selkie that roam the ocean, and if there are any on land they must have long forgotten they even were. 

To them I wish to dedicate this small volume that I have compiled, relying on the memory of the most wonderful woman I have ever met in my life, and the innocence of the sweetest little girl that I have had the good fortune of knowing.  

May their souls rest among the stars, free of pain and suffering, curled in Mother Sea’s bosom.”

- Songs of Mother Sea: A Short Guide to the History of Selkie Culture Through Poems and Music

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

previously on...

Chapter 3 is finally here. Sorcerers need their shopping done, too. Beyonce/Wong platonic ship (joking)! And finally some action, more witchy stuff. Bucky whump because I have a saviour complex. Stucky cuteness moment. Some blood/gore in this chapter.

My insides clenched, seeing the yellow and blue notice taped to my door - the building manager rarely left notes, so whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. I had managed to wind myself up into an anxious frenzy by the time I had gone inside and locked my door behind me, immediately thinking I would have to exhaust myself by turning to magic to keep a roof over my head.

For once, the news turned out to be positive: a neighbor was being evicted and turned in to the police for stealing packages. The building manager urged the tenants to report any missing items and apply for a refund when possible, apologizing for the inconvenience. I wondered what prompted this, basically unheard of in NYC, act of kindness as my altar stared at me with mocking amusement, pointing out the obvious by its mere presence.

Grinning to myself, I texted Odette - predictably, she was happy for me, happy that my protection spell had turned out strong and steady, and added a few tips of her own for my spell to stay that way. It felt like I'd grown invisible wings, those days, with all the possibilities open - and never once did I let myself entertain a thought of getting back at an enemy of the past for longer than five seconds.

Sure, it was perfectly human to consider making the cheating ex go bankrupt or make sure the college professor, that failed a couple of students each semester as a 'reality check', trips and face-plants at least once a day... I mean, who wouldn't experience a malicious sort of joy from petty revenge?

But I found my powers were best applied with a positive result in mind. My friend's cat was the first test rat- I mean, living creature I had practiced my healing spells on. The eleven year old kitty was struggling and both me and my friend loved the critter dearly - so the short, but tiring spell I performed yielded exactly the results I was expecting. Odette said something about genuine love backing up the magic, and- well, Dumbledore much?

On humans, it turned out, it wasn't nearly as simple. I didn't know what I had expected would happen after performing nothing short of a whole improv-performace type of ritual right in front of my very puzzled but hopeful friend with chronic asthma, but it wasn't the sheer exhaustion that ran bone-deep and left me bedridden for a whole day.

Odette visited my dingy apartment with her signature enormous purse full of vials she spoon-fed me and trinkets she strategically placed in and around my immediate sleeping area. "There, there," the woman patted my head as I pitifully moaned at the ear-splitting headache. "The first one is always the most challenging. After all, if it would be easy, everyone would do it."

I understood that. But at the same time, it felt unfair that no good deed went unpunished. I told Odette so, raising my voice to the best of my ability as she rummaged around my kitchen.

"Nothing in this world comes out of thin air, whatever you decide to give has to be taken from somewhere," she explained patiently. "People like us are considered hedge witches. We do solitary work and draw most of our energy from the Earth, from mother Nature. We cannot perform miracles, however, the cost of our spells are very low," I felt an immediate peak of interest at the simple yet effective explaination she gave me. "We remain mostly human. Gaia* is kind and generous to the ones who pay respect," Odette continued over the clatter of pans and pots. "There are other kinds of witches - who take from other people, who take from the dead. But taking something by force always leaves scars and taking something from the dead means bringing a piece of them back to places it should not be."

I pondered the words as Odette brought the kettle to a boil, the whistling shriek piercing through my skull like a sharp projectile. "What about Voodoo practitioners?" I couldn't hold back my curiosity.

Odette cleared her throat. "What is left of them is mostly not human. Their gifts are great but the costs are greater. They can live far, far longer than the average witch but their souls will know no peace, just like the souls of the dead they anchor to themselves over time," Odette entered the room with a bowl of tangy, creamy liquid that smelled like pumpkin soup. "We do not bestow any judgement upon our brothers and sisters but it is our duty to inform the young." She cast a pointed glance towards me, passing me the soup and a wooden spoon I didn't know I had. "This should help you recover. Take tomorrow off if needs be."

She left shortly afterwards and I hadn't much strength than to use the bathroom, wash the rune-engraved spoon and curl up in my bed, only waking up when the meager light shone over my face from the window. Sleepy and fog-tinted, the early morning NYC was damp and windy as I stuck my head out of the window to soak my sleep-heated head in the cool air.

As uneventful as the day at the café was, I still wasn't up to 100% energy-wise, but the long walk from Jeremy's to Odette's was pleasantly invigorating. I didn't find the cold autumn moisture displeasing; the small raindrops kept me awake and alert. Odette nodded in muted pleasure as I clocked in and returned the special spoon back to her. The runes on it were interesting; I had taken a picture of them for research purposes, fully intending to craft myself something similar.

"Odette has taken on an apprentice," Wong's voice had me take in several deep breaths in preparation for the inevitable fuck-fest on my patience. "She has been avoiding me. And the girl is painfully slow."

I didn't hear the answer of Wong's companion over the rustling of the boxes I was hastily shoving in their places before the Asian man's temper grew foul. More foul. Ugh. The sharp ding of the bell had me yelling a, "Just a second please, I'll be right with you," while trying to keep my tone polite.

Wong's sour face and a list of items required greeted me as I flew out of the backrooms, noticing the locked doors of Odette's office on my way out. Wong's companion stood at the far end of the store - his robes quite different from the ones I'd seen people of their kind wear, his lithe, tall figure seeming strangely familiar. I squinted my eyes at his back. "Is this all you need?" I waved the list around, increasing the volume of my voice.

The tall man turned around and I could only gape. He, in turn, also froze, the stern, unfriendly expression losing heat and giving way to perplexed wonder. "I had placed an order, for sorcerer Strange," Tony's boyfriend eyed me somewhat sheepishly under Wong's concerned gaze.

I nodded, eyeing Wong in turn, letting satisfaction nestle a warm ball in my chest. Stephen's look of displeasure had turned onto his... Colleague. By the time I finished retrieving Strange's order and packing up the items on Wong's list, the Asian man had left, leaving Stephen to sheepishly pretend to examine the books on the furthest shelf. I waved the paper bags as he took long strides towards me, his fancy, large necklace glimmering under the lights.

"So, how long have you been working here?" Sorcerer Strange asked after I told him the total.

The cash register beeped loudly, coins clattering on the desk as I counted out his change. "Some time now," I shrugged noncommittally. I felt his magnetic eyes gloss over my adornments, the star necklace, the various rings; I could practically feel him coming to his own conclusions. "Long enough for your colleague to get an attitude with me," I had to make sure he knew I would be taking no bullshit from him - or anyone else, for that matter. Odette's opinion on his kind was firm and I was heavily inclined to agree.

"Hmm, I see," Strange was equally as keen on hiding his curiosity. It was a funny thing, really, that we, being adults that we were, treated this encounter like some sort of a dirty secret. "Don't take it personally. Wong is like that with everyone," The man briefly scratched his beard with a gloved hand before pocketing his change and picking up the bags. "Except Beyoncè, maybe," the wink he threw me was positively mischievous as it caught me off-guard, giving him a fox-like appearance.

I sighed as the door shut behind him. Pretty white boys - the ultimate human disasters.

I had no time to dwell on them, however, as something - or someone, hit downtown with all the malicious intentions to wreak havoc on the innocent civilians calmly going about their day. Mutants and people who knew Odette came in hordes, scrapes and bruises and strange wounds that required imminent healing.

My boss was no rookie, she dutifully accepted each and every single soul, looking worse for wear with each minute. Not being able to withstand seeing her drain herself, I simply took over the simplest tasks - and she said nothing, just gave me a nod, instructed to use whatever I needed and write it down somewhere along with the name of the person who required the healing.

As the battle raged, the crowds thinned but the ones who managed to come to Odette's spouted more serious wounds, obviously a result of them fighting back. Mutants covered head to toe with coats and hats and robes, for me to swallow my shock when they undressed - horns, tails and weird skin textures were on the far end of the normal. I dutifully extracted small pieces of information from each and every person I treated.

Yes, the Avengers were winning. No, there aren't many people hurt, most of the damage is cosmetic. Yes, the villain of the week is as stupid as usual. It was like a mantra. Odette poked her head into the spare room every now and then, her eagle eyes briefly scanning over me to make sure I wasn't exterting myself.

As I applied the healing salve to a tiny, pink-skinned woman, bandaging up her hands, my boss entered and closed the door behind her, setting down on the creaky chair with a loud thud. "Just got the news, the Avengers apprehended the terrorist," she sighed long and slow. "We've done all we could, the next few days I'll be handling house calls so you'll be here on your own. I'll probably see you in a few days, don't hesitate to give me a call if something comes up," Odette seemed to be barely standing up, yet when she tore off a few pieces of her jewelry and chucked them into a big tin can under the sink, the glossy sheen in her eyes melted away.

"Okay," I mumbled under the watchful eyes of the mutant woman. "Will there be more people coming in today?"

"No," the woman in front of me snorted. "SHIELD is prowling the streets. They are not fond of us, they always say we intervene unnecessarily even though we willingly do their dirty work so our children could be safe," the bitter, harsh tone took me off-guard.

I had to admit, there was reason behind her words. "Will you be able to get home safely? I have a puffy coat and a hat you can borrow." Figuring an expensive taxi ride would be a better alternative to something terrible happening to the woman, I offered her my winter clothes.

She smiled at me, razor blade teeth and large, red eyes the kindest I'd ever seen on a person. In the end, she took the clothes, promising to bring them back in a few days and Odette gave me a parka that was too small for her frame - despite it smelling like someone's grandma's attic, I found it to be quite lovely vintage. The puffy knitted scarf she added felt like warmth and safety - she had to have knitted it herself, for I knew, handmade items carried a significant amount of energy in them.

The shop was eerily quiet as I cleaned and scrubbed the stained, dirty floors and disposed of the bloody clothes and bandages in the tiny, odd fireplace in Odette's office - that was a thing most peculiar, it burned everything I put in it, but had no chimney, no place for the smoke to exit. Magic.

Something banged loudly against the entrance door. I let out a startled shriek, broomstick falling out of my hand and adding to the sudden cacophony of noise as the figure behind the stained glass slowly slid down the door, a deep, male voice groaning something incomprehensible loud enough for me to hear.

Grabbing a large serrated knife we used for mincing the bones of small animals, I made quiet steps towards the door, seeing a large, obviously humanoid figure helplessly lean on the door. The man's arm glinted chrome black and gunmetal grey in the low light. "Sargent Barnes? Bucky?" I whisper-shouted, carefully plying open the door.

He lifted his head, blood dripping down from it, his face looked like someone went to town on it with a meat mullet, his eyes were unfocused and couldn't keep a straight line. His flesh arm leaned heavily on the door frame, the prosthetic hanging limply, dragging his whole body to its side. It must've weigh a ton.

"Я должен найти капитана Роджерса," he whispered.

I didn't understand Russian at all but I could make out the name of his boyfriend. Which made sense. Bucky looked severely concussed - I idly wondered what exactly they had been fighting, what could have given a freaking super-soldier such a brain-leaking injury. "Sargent Barnes, follow me," I put on my big girl shoes and used my momma bear voice, towing the man behind me.

He, too, weighed a ton, as I stumbled, helping him into the chair in the spare room that became my healing station for today. The longer I looked at Bucky, the less lucid he grew, eyes falling shut as he murmured something in jagged Russian, slurring his words.

There was no time to think about the consequences of exposure of my witchcraft; mortar and pestle, herbs and salves flying everywhere, I assembled a healing spell and memorized the according ritual in what felt like record time. He was bleeding all over the chair, fresh crimson blood pouring out of his nose and mouth and it was all I could see.

I hadn't known true terror until the blood that poured out turned black. Whatever it was in him, it was poisonous - my protection charms grew hot, scalding as they left marks on my skin; powering through the pain and unable to turn my eyes off the convulsing Barnes, I finished the chant just as the flow of vile, tar-like liquid suddenly ceased. It pooled around his feet, dripped down the armrests and matted his long hair. It reeked, too, of copper and putrid meat.

Bucky had passed out somewhere mid-spell, the slow, steady breathing bringing me my own sense of calm. To say that I was drained would be an understatement - my vision swam and my world spun on it's axis as I unlocked Odette's office to messily rummage through a cabinet for the emergency tonic I knew she kept there. I chugged the vial, an avalanche of almost anxious, jittery energy hit me like a freight train - exactly what I needed.

I bought myself a couple hours of time. Cleaning up the sludge around Bucky's feet and removing the outer parts of his gear was easy as he remained as relaxed as a cooked spaghetti noodle. The amount of weapons he had on him was impressive, but those weren't what I was looking for - his phone. It was dead, so I plugged it in, waiting for the 5% to show and bringing it to his fingertips, hoping he used the print recognition instead of the password option... And I lucked out.

"Hello, this is Star, I found a Bucky. Tell Dr. Strange to come get him, he knows where I am." I texted the "Stevie ❤️" contact, my inner fangirl self squealing at the dorky name of his boyfriend's contact in Bucky's phone. Shortly afterwards, I went ahead and snapped a picture of myself next to sleeping Bucky, figuring out some actual proof wouldn't do any harm in this bizarre situation.

The answer didn't let me wait long. "10 minutes" came the first text, and shortly afterwards - "Is Bucky okay??????". I had to snort at the amount of question marks before honestly replying "He will be ☺️" and putting the phone back in Bucky's pocket. I cleaned up and attempted to lift Bucky up, succeeding in waking him up into a half-lucid state, probably courtesy of decades of training and whatnot, to at least drag him to the front of the store. I wasn't particularly comfortable with strangers seeing the backrooms.

Bucky leaned with his back against the counter, ass flat on the floor and a towel with a cold compress pressed to his head when the doors all but flew open, revealing Captain Rogers, still in uniform and Stephen Strange, arguing with his boyfriend, both still suited up and bloody and grimy.

"Uhh," I blinked owlishly, causing the men to stop bickering and stare first at me, then at Bucky. "I think he hit his head," I offered weakly, backing up slightly at the amount of burning eyes staring at me.

"Shortcake, that you?" Tony's eyebrows rose as he surveyed the bodega, the items on the shelves, the black and red blood stains on my previously pristine, yellow shirt.

"Now is not the time, Tony. Go with Rogers, make sure the medical is prepared for Barnes and disable his arm," Strange barked out authoritatively, shooting me a puzzled but compassionate look. "The portal is open. I'll talk to Star, find out what happened." He advanced towards me as Captain picked up Bucky bridal-style as tenderly as he could while making sure the compress stayed on.

"Keep that tone fo the bedroom," Tony's voice was more than displeased as he shot me and Strange a hurt look, but followed Steve into the golden circle right outside the door before it sparked shut.

"Now, now, what happened here?" The sorcerer's voice lowered into a soothing drawl as I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. My shoulders sagged, fingers twitching with anxious energy. The man extended a gloved hand, briefly squeezing my shoulder. "It's alright, take your time."

Damn, did I look that bad?

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

[cappymightwrite]

ASOIAF & Norse Mythology

PART 2: The ‘Long Night’ and the Fimbulvetr

In PART 1 of this meta, from looking at just a few fan question answers, it seems rather clear to me that GRRM has more than just a passing interest in Norse mythology. One of the most fascinating and haunting myths in the Norse canon is the lead up to and resulting fallout of Ragnarök. In the show, the ‘Long Night’ appears to be just that, one night, and not even an awfully long one. In the books, however, it seems likely this will play out very differently. As a Norse nerd, the similarities to Ragnarök are just too obvious not to sit up and take notice, in particular, the similarities between the ‘Long Night’ and what is called the Fimbelvetr — which in my Old Icelandic dictionary translates to ‘the great and awful winter.’

Before I really get things rolling, lets take a moment to go over which Old Norse-Icelandic sources are traditionally used by medievalists to reconstruct the pagan conception of Ragnarök:

The Eddic poems Völuspá ‘The prophecy of the seeress’ (st. 40–51) and Vafþrúðnismál ‘The lay of Vafþrúðnir’ (st. 44–53) — these two poems provide us with quite a lot of information, with some sections being more comprehensive than others. Additionally, other Eddic poems, such as Lokasenna, Hyndluljóð, Grímnismál, and a few others hint at motifs, stemming from the ideas of Ragnarök.

In the Gylfaginning section of the Prose Edda (ch. 51–53), Snorri quotes many of the relevant stanzas from Völuspá in support of his own writing, though he also adds information that is unknown to us from other sources.

There are also a few skaldic* poems which give us minor hints regarding the incidents that will take places during Ragnarök.

NB: Eddic poetry is the term given to the poems primarily contained within the Icelandic Codex Regius manuscript, known as the Poetic Edda (written c. 1270, but arguably containing remnants of an older oral tradition). These poems are of unknown authorship. As for Skaldic poetry, these poems were written by known Icelandic skalds (ONI: skáld, ‘poet’), often in the courts of foreign kings, typically Norwegian, praising their patrons in exchange for royal favour; they span approx. c. 800–1300, so in some cases predate the recording (though not necessarily the composition or oral origins) of the Eddic poems.

According to Jens Peter Schødt, the Gylfaginning and Völuspá ‘are certainly the most extensive’ written sources we have on the Norse myths, as they ‘have played the most crucial role in the history of research.’ It is quite possible that GRRM has read much of the available textual sources on Ragnarök to help inspire his own work. That being said, if I had to bet on one being the touchstone source for him, it would be the Gylfaginning, since not only does it include detailed prose accounts of the events leading up to, during, and following Ragnarök, it also includes relevant Eddic poetry (notably Völuspá) in order to authenticate those descriptions. It really is a one of kind, unique source.

So, how about we begin with chapter 51 of Gylfaginning, where it is asked outright by Gangleri (aka King Gylfi) ‘what is to be said about Ragnarök?’ to which High answers:

There are many important things to be said about it. First will come the winter called Fimbulvetr [Extreme Winter]. Snow will drive in from all directions; the cold will be severe and the winds will be fierce. The sun will be of no use. Three of these winters will come, one after the other, with no summer in between. But before that there will have been another three winters with great battles taking place throughout the world. Brothers will kill brothers for the sake of greed, and neither father nor son will be spared in the killings and the collapse of kinship.* So it is said in The Sibyl’s Prophecy:

Brothers will fight,

bringing death to each other.

Sons of sisters

will split their kin bonds.

Hard times for men,

rampant depravity

age of axes, age of swords

shields split,

wind age, wolf age,

until the world falls into ruin.

The above translation is by Jesse Byock from the Penguin Classics Prose Edda — the translations in square brackets are his and included in the text, and he also uses a translated title for the Eddic poems, in this case, ‘The Sibyl’s Prophecy’ in place of Old Norse-Icelandic: Völuspá.

Several things are striking about this passage, chief among them, the fact that the precursor to Ragnarök is the Fimbulvetr, ‘the great and awful winter’ or ‘Extreme Winter.’ But before that, ‘another three winters’ in which much social upheaval will take place, circumstances that feel quite at home in ASOIAF. I would be hesitant to argue that GRRM is using the above description as an exact blueprint, but that being said, some of the circumstances described do feel very familiar to readers of his series:

‘Brothers will kill brothers for the sake of greed’ / ‘Brothers will fight’

This is perhaps suggestive of the Baratheon brothers, Stannis and Renly. Although, I’d say that the motivations/cause of the latter’s death is a little more nuanced than just ‘greed.’ But this is worth noting: the Norse source might offer us the seed of an idea, but it is GRRM who then “waters” it, effectively imbuing these dynamics with a deeper meaning and complexity.

Also, if we think of ‘brothers’ in a less literal sense, this could also apply to the ‘killing’ of Jon Snow by the black brothers of the Night’s Watch.

‘Neither father nor son will be spared in the killings’

Ned and Robb Stark fit into this category quite well, as both their deaths are gut-wrenching moments in the series. But also, more generally, this highlights that anyone, even beloved family, even heroes, can fall.

‘The collapse of kinship’ / ‘Rampant depravity’

In his footnotes, Byock observes the word sifjaslit to mean ‘the breaking of kinship bonds, but there is also the connotation of incest.’ In my ONI dictionary, sifja-slit translates to ‘adultery,’ since it is a compound of the nouns sifjar ‘affinity, connection by marriage’ and slit ‘rupture, breach’ — the latter most likely derives from the verb slitna, meaning ‘to break’ or ‘snap.’

The breaking of marriage bonds is present in ASOIAF, as in the case of Robert and Cersei’s respective adulteries. But we could also view Robb Stark’s marriage to Jeyne Westerling as a breaking of a betrothal bond as well.

Overall, I would say that there is room for both interpretations, and as we know, GRRM is pretty found of incest, prime cases currently present in canon being Jaime and Cersei Lannister, as well as the Targaryens.

‘Wolf-age’

Wolves feature a lot in Norse mythology, so it is interesting that the Starks, who are really the heart of ASOIAF, are so heavily associated with them.

Furthermore, the provisional title for the last book in the series, A Dream of Spring, was A Time for Wolves. The phrasing of this is just another way of saying ‘Wolf-age’, as found in Völuspá. But to potentially understand GRRM’s change in titles, it should be remembered that wolves in Norse mythology are often associated with war and violence — see, for instance, the kennings ‘wolf-wine’, ‘the river of Fenrir’, ‘the warm ale of the wolf’, which all mean blood. As someone familiar with Old Norse poetry, A Time for Wolves suggests to me a period of violence, whereas A Dream of Spring offers more hope and the potential for rejuvenation, perhaps paralleling the events that follow Ragnarök, as described in the Prose Edda and Völuspá (which I might get into further down the line).

‘Until the world falls into ruin’

It is strongly predicted, and alluded in the text itself, that the Wall will at some point fall, an event that will act as a precursor to the second ‘Long Night.’ The Wall is also considered by some people to be the end of the known world, so its destruction is strongly linked with the collapse of the social structure of Westeros as a whole.

As we can see, certain parallels can be made, though it is also worth noting that there are instances where they can’t be. For example, ‘sons of sisters will split their kin bonds’— I can’t really think of a relationship to compare this to in ASOIAF, unless it hasn’t happened in the text yet, and then who would it be? Robert ‘Sweetrobin’ Arryn and…Bran Stark? There are obvious similarities and ways in which we can link these descriptions to GRRM’s text, but we should be cautious to avoid shoehorning.

Indeed, it is fun to make these comparisons, but I think the main take away from this chapter of the Gylfaginning is that during the time closely preceding the Fimbulvetr, there will be ‘hard times for men’ with much social upheaval, including bloodshed, betrayals, and incest. In my opinion, the ‘Long Night’ has been heavily inspired by the Norse Fimbulvetr, and this is reflected in the way ASOIAF characters describe the ‘Long Night’, closely paralleling its Norse source.

To summarise from the above quotation, during the Fimbulvetr:

‘Snow will drive in from all directions; the cold will be severe and the winds will be fierce.’ (Gylf)

‘The sun will be of no use.’ (Gylf)

‘Three of these winters will come, one after the other, with no summer in between.’ (Gylf)

In ASOIAF, the earliest mention of the ‘Long Night’ is in AGOT, Bran I, in which Bran recalls the ‘the hearth tales of Old Nan’ detailing the apparent savagery and cultural difference between the northerners and the wildings, noting that ‘their women lay with the Others in the Long Night to sire terrible half-human children’. This evokes the above quotation from Völuspá, the reference to ‘rampant depravity’ in particular. But it is later, in Tyrion III, that we get the first real parallel between the Long Night and the Fimbulvetr:

Lord Mormont moved to the window and stared out into the night. “These are old bones, Lannister, but they have never felt a chill like this. Tell the king what I say, I pray you. Winter is coming, and when the Long Night falls, only the Night’s Watch will stand between the realm and the darkness that sweeps from the north. The gods help us all if we are not ready.

From the description in Gylfaginning, we know that the Fimbulvetr is preceded by three winters, ‘one after the other, with no summer in between’. Without taking it too literally, this description at the very least suggests that a move towards cold weather will herald the coming of the ‘Extreme Winter’, as this is foreshadowed as early as AGOT in this Tyrion chapter when Jeor Mormont states that he has ‘never felt a chill like this […] Winter is coming’. Directly following this statement is the foreknowledge that the Long Night is indeed on its way.

The reference to a ‘darkness that sweeps from the north’ is noteworthy too, as although most often associated with freezing weather, the Fimbulvetr is also crucially connected with the disappearing of the sun (‘the sun will be of no use’, Gylf). Indeed, the very name the Long Night suggests much the same phenomenon, as explained to Bran by Old Nan later in AGOT, in Bran IV:

Fear is for the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a hundred feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the north. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children are born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move through the woods.

[…]

Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and hard and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their hovels. Women smothered their children rather than see them starve, and cried, and felt their tears freeze on their cheeks.

I mean…this might as well be a description for the Fimbulvetr, it is THAT similar! Indeed, as we know, in the world of ASOIAF the seasons work a bit differently, as alluded to by Old Nan when she refers to ‘a night [i.e. a winter] that lasted a generation’. Similarly, the Fimbulvetr is unusual in that it is preceded by ‘three winters’, which suggests an extended winter lasting up four years, culminating in the ‘Extreme Winter’, aka the Fimbulvetr. It seems likely that the timespan of ‘a generation’ has been exaggerated for the sake of myth making. That being said, we would expect the Long Night to still be noteworthy in its duration. So, perhaps it is possible that, were GRRM to emulate the Norse source, his Long Night could potentially last for a similar amount of time (four years). Either way, I think we all expect it to last longer than it did in the show!

In conclusion, the way in which the Fimbulvetr is described in the Norse sources bears a striking resemblance to the descriptions of the Long Night in ASOIAF. Futhermore, and most interestingly to me, it seems entirely possible that, like the Fimbulvetr, and like the first Long Night that went before it, the next Long Night will include the disappearing of the sun...an important feature that I will discuss further next time! So stay tuned!

References/Bibliography (excluding ASOIAF):

Snorri Sturluson, The Prose Edda, trans. and intr. by Jesse Byock, (London: Penguin Classics, 2005)

Jens Peter Schødt, ‘The Ragnarök Myth in Scandinavia’, in Finding, Inheriting and Borrowing?: The Construction and Transfer of Knowledge in Antiquity and the Middle Ages, 2019, Vol.39, p.365-384

END OF PART 2…

I haven’t quite decided if I will include my stuff about the sun disappearing in Ragnarök and the ‘Red Comet’, or if I’ll give it its own separate part...we’ll see! I would also like to talk a bit about the significance of storytelling as a way of recording history in ASOIAF... Basically, I have a lot of thoughts on things!

[magicrowiswritingstuff]

Part 2: “Dead Trickster” – Gabriel x female!reader

Part 1 | Part 2 (you’re here!) | Part 3 | ...

Summary: This is the second part of “Dead Trickster”! So it ties into its story line which now takes place roughly during Season 2/3. The Reader is sure that the trickster couldn’t have been defeated so easily. Even though nobody believes you, you decide to keep an eye out just in case. It seems for a good reason when strange occurrences start to happen around you.

Warning: swear words, violence/fighting mentioned, slight suggestive themes (if any)

Category: general rating

Words: about 4.000

Note: I’m so sorry for not posting anything and my general inactivity. I’m having a very rough time and trouble concentrating on writing. 2020 is an absolute shit year and I feel like I’m constantly having a mental break down for the last couple of days. Fun :) On a brighter note, I finally managed to finish this chapter and the third is already in the works. Let’s pray I can get my shit together.

Note 2: Also! We almost hit 100 Follower ... I really can’t believe this. Thank you all so much for enjoying the little pieces I managed to post. Now I feel even more bad for not being that active ... Should I do something if we hit the milestone? I feel like not many people are activly responding to my writing so I’m asking directly: Is there something you want me to write? Something I can focus on to stop my thoughts? Just let me know ...

_________________________________    

Part 2 “Dead Trickster” – Gabriel x fem!reader

It has been many months now, maybe about half a year, after Dean had killed the trickster in that school and even though you had been so sure about it then, you slowly doubted if he really was still alive. Nothing out of the ordinary happened since then. Maybe he really did die that day. Or he was really good at laying low. You had stopped actively looking for any signs and just concentrated on the current hunts with Sam and Dean because you noticed you would get very grumpy after staying awake nights on end, trying to find any signs that weren’t there.

At the moment you were stuck in some small town in another motel room with Sam and Dean sharing the one next to yours. Apparently, there was a ghost in town that forced people to kill themselves just like the ghost had. You had stayed behind in your room researching the towns history, trying to figure out who the ghost might be while Sam and Dean had drove to the latest killing scene. You weren’t really in the mood to leave the small room so you had volunteered to stay behind. You texted Dean the last bits of information before turning off your laptop, setting it down on the coffee table and walking to the small bathroom. You refreshed your face with cold water, it was too damn warm in this town. You had bought some ice cream -another reason why you stayed behind today, you wanted to eat it without worrying Dean would steal it- and you were more than looking forward to it. But when you opened the small fridge you found nothing but the empty packaging there. Furrowing your brows, you froze. “What the hell” you whispered, grabbed the packaging and threw it in the trash. So much for your ice cream. Had Dean found it after all? But how?

Your phone rang before you could think more about it. You looked at the name on the display. “Perfect timing” you laughed and accepted the call. “Hey, (Y/N). Quick question: Are you sure-“ Dean started but got interrupted by you. “Dean, did you eat my ice cream?” you asked and sat down on the small couch. “What?” Dean sounded genuinely confused. “The ice cream I hid in the motel fridge?” you pressed. “You had ice cream? And you were hiding it from me?!” So, it wasn’t Dean then. “Dean, give me Sam” you demanded, interrupting his playfully offended speech. “Alright, but I’ll remember this, (Y/N). I won’t ever share my fries with you again, this is treason.” You chuckled: “Yeah, yeah. I’ll remind you when I’m stealing them again.”

Then the line went silent for a few seconds before you could hear Sam’s confused voice. “(Y/N), what’s the matter?” “Did you eat my ice cream?” you came straight to the point. “Ehm, no. What ice cream?” Sam also sounded genuine. How could it not be one of them? You paused. How could anyone steal your ice cream when the only time you left your room since you bought them was when you had gone to the bathroom just now? Sweet-tooth … “Never mind” you slowly said and absentmindedly stood up from the small sofa. You rotated around your own axis, inspecting the whole motel room. “Call me if you need me there” you canceled the phone call after that, completely forgetting that Dean had called to ask you a question (but he seemed to have forgotten it too) and put your phone into your pocket. Just when you thought you would never find any prove …

“I know it was you, trickster” you spoke into the empty room, feeling only the slightest bit silly because of it. Tricksters were sweet-tooths and how should have anyone else stole your sweet snack right under your nose when you had been in the room all day. “I knew you weren’t dead” you said, not able to suppress the smirk stretching your lips slightly. You waited a few moments but nothing moved, no one spoke up. But you knew it was the only plausible option. And even if you wouldn’t catch him now, he would show up again. He was a trickster after all and he wanted to play. You just had to wait.

 _______________

  “So, where exactly is the supposed vampire nest? Not just in the middle of this town, right?” you asked Dean. He had got a phone call from a hunter earlier that day who had told him that a new vampire nest had settled down somewhere here. The older Winchester shook his head. “No, it’s in a barn a few miles from this city” he explained and left the car without another word. You looked at Sam who only shrugged his shoulders and also got up to follow his brother. You sighed, grabbed your backpack and were about to leave the car as well when you felt the ghost of a hand on your shoulder. Flinching you spun around. But there was no one there since you were in the backseat. Furrowing your brows, you hastily jumped out of the car, trying to shake your paranoia off. You were here for a vampire nest and not a ghost hunt. You must still be a little spooked by the last one. You had seen many ghosts in your hunter life but that one had been the most terrifying looking yet. You shook your head, trying to get rid of the images. “Why are we here then? And not searching for the barn?” you asked after you had closed the car door behind you, jogging after Sam and Dean. “I need something to eat” Dean explained. You laughed when you caught up with them. “I should have guessed.”

The three of you walked into the dinner Dean had been eyeing all the time. The establishment was rather full but luckily someone left his seat just when you were standing in the door. They brushed past you which made you look up at them, meeting their golden gaze. You froze, letting the small backpack fall from your hands and to the ground. Your eyes followed the sound and when you looked up … he was gone. You looked around but he was nowhere to be seen and the door leading outside was untouched, still closed and no bell sound signaling that someone had just left. But you hadn’t imagined this. No, it had been him. You were sure. You remembered those eyes. “(Y/N)?” You tore your gaze away from the windows and turned to face Sam who gestured you to sit down beside him. You grabbed your bag and forced your feet to move. “Please tell me you saw him” you begged when you had sat down and suppressed the shivers of your body by tensing up. “Who?” Dean asked, looking up from the menu he had snatched from Sam. “The trickster!” you whisper-shouted. Sam and Dean shared one glance before looking at you again. “I saw him, I swear. He just left!” “I think you’re still spooked by the last hunt. There weren’t any alien sightings for months now, (Y/N)” Dean chuckled, putting the menu back on the table. You threw him an angry glance. “No!” you huffed. “I know what I saw. I told you that he wasn’t dead!” “Order some food and relax, (Y/N)” the older Winchester pushed the menu out of Sam’s reach and over to you. “You’ve been on edge ever since we left that school.” You rolled your eyes, shoving the menu to Sam and put your head on your palm, looking out of the window. You opened your mouth, about to give Dean a piece of your mind when you paused. A wide grin flashed threw a crowd of people, honey colored eyes starring right at you and the only thing you were able to do was to stare right back with your mouth wide open. A few people walked by the window and when they were gone the brown-haired trickster had vanished once more. Pressing your lips into a thin line you moved away from the window, muttering angrily under your breath. “Bullshit.”

“Not so happy to see me? I thought you were keeping an eye out for me.”

You flinched, looking over your left shoulder but the only one near enough who could have said something was the waitress walking to your table. But that hadn’t been her voice, you knew that cheerful tone that had whispered in your ear. When you glanced at Sam and Dean, they seemed unbothered. They hadn’t heard a thing. Oh, so that was how he wanted to play? Making you lose your mind trying to convince Sam and Dean about his presence when they weren’t able to see and hear him. You bit your tongue. “Fuck you” you whispered under your breath. “What?” You turned around to face Sam and waved him off. “Nothing. Just tired.”

The vampire nest had been dealt with the next day. They hadn’t begun turning the people yet, so it was rather easy to get rid of them all. Now you were back on the backseat of Dean’s car with your arms crossed before your chest and looking bored out of the window. The three of you had been on the road for about three days again. “Found anything interesting yet?” you asked Sam and leaned forward, putting your arms on the back of his seat. He slightly turned around in his seat. “Not yet, but you can help me if you want?” You eagerly nodded, anything to keep your mind occupied. You grabbed the newspaper Sam had bought at a gas station and was now handing to you. You leaned back in your seat again.

“What about these three deaths? Only a few days apart and all in the same part of a town” you suggested but Sam shook his head. “Already checked that one. They all died differently. No ghostly activity anywhere near there, no vampire nests or werewolf packs. No witchcraft or anything else” Sam threw the papers he had been reading on the floor and grabbed another newspaper. “Just ordinary deaths.” You sighed and got back to reading. Nothing really caught your attention so you just read an article to not get bored again. You don’t even know what it was really about, only paying half attention to the words on the paper. That was until one sentence suddenly stopped. Wait, hadn’t there been an article on that page? You blinked. The whole side was white. You turned over a page and then another and another. The whole newspaper was white and empty now. Except for one sentence. “Having fun yet?”

Your mouth fell open and you let the papers fall to the ground. You didn’t even notice that you were mumbling something until Sam turned around in his seat to face you with one eyebrow raised in question. “Did you find something?” You looked up from the newspapers whose pages were now covered by that one sentence. Shaking your head, you swallowed hard. “No-o” you cleared your throat. “Nothing unusual.” The younger Winchester only nodded and turned back around. Your eyes wandered almost automatically back to the papers on the car floor.

“Having fun yet? Having fun yet? Having fun yet? Having fun yet? Having fun yet? Havin-“ The words seemed to blur in your mind, hugging your knees to your chest you sticked out your tongue.

“Oh, I’m starting to have fun, sugar.”

You flinched, looking over your shoulder but just like the last time there was no one there. Maybe you shouldn’t have challenged him so openly.

  _______________

  You weren’t having fun. Not at all.

The next prank he played on you made you shiver only looking back at it. For a good week almost every water bottle you opened would have a surprise for you. The most frequent was salt water but not limited to it.

The first time it happened you opened one and took a big sip (you had been running around all night because of a hunt) you immediately spit everything out, coughing for five minutes, leaving behind a huge mess in the impala. Dean had stepped on the breaks in an instant. With terrified faces, thinking the witch they had just killed had cursed you, they turned around to look at you. “It’s salt water!” you shrieked still coughing and handed Dean the bottle. He looked at it confused but took a sip. His eyes immediately darkened. “It’s regular, old water, (Y/N).” You shook your head in disbelieve and snatched the bottle back, warily taking another small sip. Your eyes widen in horror and confusion. “Tha-that’s not possible” you shook your head. “It was salty only seconds ago, I swear!” But Dean was right, it tasted like regular water again. The older Winchester looked at the water on the backseats and sprinkled on the front window and console before turning his gaze back to you. The death glare Dean had shot you made you shrink down in your seat (he made you thoroughly clean Baby the next day). Furious you looked at the bottle, while Dean sped up again, cursing the trickster under your breath until you saw something strange written on the label. “You’re the salt to my sugar, honey.” You cringed, opened the car window next to you and threw the bottle out while Baby was driving on full speed down the empty highway. You ignored the irritated glances from Sam and Dean.

This prank repeated over and over again though. Sometimes it was salt water, other times it was the most disgusting liquid you didn’t even dare to describe because you didn’t want to think about what might have been in it. Rarely it was normal water. You thought you were going insane because whenever you made the Winchesters try it, the water was completely normal again. You grew more frustrated the more it happened. On top of that the golden-eyed trickster had the audacity to show his face to you on more than one occasion. You could always see only a glint of him whenever you were in a town. Sometimes he even brushed past you but whenever you would turn around, he was already gone. And Sam and Dean were still unable to see him. It annoyed your greatly. You cursed yourself for calling him out for his illusion back in that school. Why hadn’t you just shut your mouth and waited for something to happen in silence? You could have kept an eye out for him without announcing it to him but oh no, you just had to make it obvious.

“Oh, I’m starting to have fun, sugar.”

You groaned. His words still echoing in your mind after weeks of pranks and annoyances. You weren’t having fun. You could barely concentrate on the hunts you were on anymore. Just like the one you were on now. Sam had gone into a library, searching for information about the old alleged haunted house of the city, while Dean and you questioned three teenagers who were the last ones to step a foot into the house. “I swear I saw something take Beth down the stairs!” a blond boy said, looking at his friends for reassurance. A dark-haired girl nodded: “I saw it, too.”

“What exactly did you see? A man?” you asked, still playing your FBI role. “A ghost!” the boy yelped. “A … ghost?” you slowly asked and looked at Dean knowingly. Normally you couldn’t really trust confessions about a ghost-sighting because there was always the change that it was just a shadow or their imagination filling up the gaps but since a girl had vanished two days ago after going into the house with her friends you had to believe them just for her sake. “Yes! Please, you have to believe me” the boy begged. “I saw it drag her down the stairs to the basement but-“ “But when we went down to look for her there was nothing in there” a dark-haired boy interrupted. “The room was empty!” “So, where exactly is that ‘haunted’ house?” Dean asked, sounding unconvinced by their statements. The girl of the group stood up from the bench she was sitting on and pointed down a street branching off from the market place you were at, at the moment. “Down there, the very last house.” You nodded and smiled sympathetically. “Thank you, when you remember anything else just call me, alright?” You handed them your number and then turned to Dean who was already walking back to his car with his phone in his hand, probably calling Sam. You were following him, passing through a crowd of people when you heard the voice again. “They can get your number, so what about me, sugar?”

You spun around to see chestnut-colored hair vanishing around the corner of a house. Without thinking you took one step in that direction but were stopped by a hand on your shoulder. You turned to face Dean. “What are you doing? We have to get to the haunted house.” You freed yourself from Dean’s light grip and nodded. “I just-“ you looked back at the corner the trickster vanished behind. He was probably long gone already. Sighing you turned and walked past Dean and to the car. “Never mind, let’s go. We need to get to the girl.”

You and Dean managed to distract the ghost while Sam dug up its body in the house’s backyard (the ghost was already so old that when the person had died his relatives just buried him there). Or rather, Dean fought against the ghost while you searched for the entrance to a secret room in the basement Sam had read about in the library. If the girl was still alive, she should be in there. However, searching for it in the darkness of the basement -the lights were broken down there and the ghost had flung you around the room and you must have lost your flashlight at some point- was hard. You let out a frustrated growl as you paused and held your head between your hands. “Where is the most plausible place to hid the entrance?”

“Need some help, sugar?”

You jumped away from the voice with a yelp, hitting the shelve to your right with your hip. A pained groan left your lips as you bend over, rubbing the sore spot that would definitely bruise. When you looked up you met the honey-colored eyes of the trickster, illuminated by your flashlight he held in his hand. “What are you doing here?” you asked confused, completely forgetting your frustrations with him. “Giving you a hint” the trickster said and walked past you to the desk that was standing next to the shelve you had hit. Taking a step back you tried to get more distance between you and him. “Why?” In the small light of your flashlight you saw the trickster roll his eyes and mutter something under his breath. “Because Dean is lying unconscious on the floor upstairs, Sam isn’t done playing ‘Where’s the pirate’s treasure?’ with a dead body and the ghost will be here soon to get his next play buddy.” “Who?” you asked, eyeing the trickster suspiciously. The brown-haired man turned around to face you. “You of course, stupid!” Your eyes widen and your cheeks grew hot as you crossed your arms before your chest. Just when you were about to give him a piece of your mind you heard the door to the basement open and the heavy steps of the ghost. “Shit” you mumbled and locked eyes with the trickster. “What now?” The trickster grinned at you and snapped his fingers, making the table move away from the wall and revealing a secret wooden door, barley large enough for you to kneel down and crawl through. There was no one there once again when you turned to look for the trickster, only your flashlight was lying on the floor. But you had no time left to curse him now, so you just grabbed your light and pried the door open, crawling through. On the other side you saw the girl sitting on a chair, her body slumped over on the table in front of her. You rushed to her and took her pulse, begging to not have arrived too late. There it was, faint but present. She was still alive. You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and heaved the girl from the chair. You had to get her out of here but how? Panicking you looked to the hidden door. The ghost would be here any second and there was no other exit. You looked around, trying to find a sign, a weapon or exit, anything. But the only thing your eyes found in the dim light was the trickster standing next to you. Biting your tongue, you tried to stifle the yelp that would have escaped you other ways. “Need a lift?” Before you could answer he grabbed your arm. And after a few blinks you realized that you were standing on the porch of the haunted house with the girl still in your arms and the trickster next to you. Furrowing your brows, you looked at him questioningly. But when you opened your mouth, he only winked at you and then disappeared. For a few seconds you just stared at the spot he had been standing on before shaking your head. You carried the girl to the car and laid her down on the back seat, taking her pulse once more to be sure that everything was still fine. Then you spun around and ran into the garden, helping Sam with the body.

Half an hour later you were standing in front of the city’s hospital, Sam and Dean beside you. You had burned the ghost and then drove there. The girl was immediately brought in for examinations but you were reassured that she was just very dehydrated and would be fine in a few days, at least physically. Now you stood there, leaning against the wall and just took a long, deep breath. “How did you get out of there with her?” Dean questioned after a while. You looked up at him and Sam, asking yourself if you should tell them the truth. But would they even believe you if you told them that the trickster had helped you? You didn’t even really believe it yourself and you were the only one knowing that he was still alive. “I dragged her up the stairs and laid her down in the car” you lied instead. Maybe you should get at the bottom of this first before you put the trickster back on Dean and Sam’s radar. “You didn’t run into the ghost?” the older brother pressed. You shook your head. “Nope, he must have been busy throwing you around” you joked, hoping it would lead to the questions being dropped. Why were you covering for the trickster? Why were you lying? You didn’t want Sam and Dean to get hurt because of you, you told yourself and nodded to reassure yourself. You had to figure out what his plan for you was before you might bring Sam and Dean in even more danger. You let your eyes wander over the street with a sigh only to catch a glimpse of chestnut-colored hair that disappeared immediately. You gulped and forced a smile on your lips as you shifted your attention back to the two brothers. “Let’s just go and find somewhere to sleep, alright?” You wanted to leave this city as fast as possible.

        To be continued: Part 3 is here!

_________________________________

[qqueenofhades]

I’ve been backreading your blog and history posts about TOG for the past couple of days and loving it so much! You are so great at explaining the context around these fictional characters to understand them so much better.

I read your post about how sodomy was sort of a lesser sin that someone should fast with bread and water for, especially compared to like magic and stuff, and I was wondering if you knew anything about how medieval Muslims viewed it? Like at a similar magnitude, or not a problem or highly frowned upon? I’ve read fics all over the spectrum, so I’m wondering if you have any actual historical/research insight you could bring?

Thanks! 💜

Thanks so much!

I will say that I work on gender, social, and queer history in medieval Europe, so by nature I know more about medieval Christian views on sodomy, but I do know something about medieval Islamic views as well. I answered this ask, which has a fairly decent list of scholarly work on queer premodern (and some modern) Muslims. (It also has a list on Muslims in medieval Europe more generally.)

I will also reinforce that obviously the views of sodomy as a sin in medieval Europe changed over time, but at the time period that I most often get asked about in regard to TOG (i.e. the First Crusade/eleventh century) it was indeed a fairly venial sin that wasn’t singled out above others. This changed as the twelfth century went on, and it became more harshly stigmatized, at least in ecclesiastical and clerical opinions, but this doesn’t necessarily coincide with a broader social stigma. (See Peter the Chanter complaining bitterly about how much queer stuff is happening in Paris at the end of the twelth century; the continued valorization of homoromantic bonds, which got even MORE valorized as chivalry developed; etc). There was never a time where medieval people we would identify as LGBT were accepted uncritically at all levels of society, but there sure as hell aren’t any times now either (and modern homophobia is often a lot more stringent, explicit, and exclusionary than any medieval variants thereto).

Anyway, about Muslims. Khaled al-Rouahyeb has written a very interesting-looking book (which I note I have not personally read yet, but I want to) entitled Before Homosexuality in the Arab-Islamic World, 1500-1800, which argues essentially that the category of “homosexuality,” i.e. specifically male/male sexual activity and identity/orientation, didn’t really exist in premodern Islamic sexual polemics and ethics, at least as we would define it. Instead, the narrative centered on whether the sexual partner was active (penetrating) or passive (penetrated), and like other cultural taboos around mlm sex, being the active/top partner in penetrative sex (since you were the phallic/manly partner) was generally okay, but being the penetrated person coded you as female and therefore inferior and suspect in your manhood. (Obviously, in mlm anal sex, someone has to be penetrated, so someone always ends up as the morally suspect half in that scenario.) This fits with medieval Islamic attitudes toward sex more broadly. The ghazals, or Arabic love poems, often contain intensely homoerotic images and themes as well as male/female ones. Probably the most notable in this regard was Abu Nuwas, an eighth/ninth-century Persian poet who has occasionally been viewed as a little TOO risque for general consumption. This doesn’t mean, again, that queer activity was a-okay across the board, but it existed in a complex and culturally and literarily negotiated sphere and there were certainly areas where it was practiced rather openly, just as it was in the medieval Western world. As I talked about in the long ask I answered, the twin cultural correlation of “Saracens” and “sodomites” (just like “Muslims” and “gays” in right-wing paranoia today) in medieval Europe also reflected a belief that the Islamic world was more accepting of non-heterosexual behavior, and that this was therefore, in the Catholic Christian institutional view, a Bad Thing. I take care to specify that since as we’ve seen, plenty of medieval Europeans themselves didn’t give a rat’s ass what the church said and carried on being queer anyway.

Also, Sultan Mehmed II, the conqueror of Constantinople in 1453, was pretty openly bisexual; he slept with both men and women, and one of his lovers was allegedly Radu the Fair, the brother of Vlad Dracula. In other words, at least for a late medieval Ottoman sultan, he could do whatever he liked in the bedchamber, with whoever, and judgments on the gender of his partners didn’t really enter into it. This gave rise to a certain brand of hysteria in Western Europe. The propaganda surrounding the fall of Constantinople contained an element of painting Mehmed as even more of a threat because of his liberate sexuality. In short, to put it bluntly, it was “the scary Muslim sultan will rape your children, including the boys,” which is pretty recognizable from its almost exact use in right-wing fearmongering about the evil pederastic gays today. Mehmed’s identity as the Muslim conqueror of the most important Christian city in the world, and someone who was known for being flexible in his sexual preferences, made it very easy to construct him as a hysterical boogeyman.

Obviously, most Arab/Islamic countries today have strict legal and official policies on homosexuality, but that doesn’t mean gay Muslims don’t exist (quite the contrary) or that these attitudes are universally accepted just because they happen to be the law. (Just like Americans disagree, often vehemently, with their government’s official policy.) Nor does it reflect anything about the complexity of homosexuality or mlm acts in the premodern Islamic world. (Anyone who calls medieval Islam “barbaric” has absolutely NO fucking clue what they’re talking about, take it from me.) So basically, Joe, as a queer/gay Muslim, experienced the same broad spectrum of attitudes, texts, and views on his preferences that Nicky would and did as a western European, and there was plenty of room for tolerance, tacit acceptance, literary celebration, or clerical condemnation of such, depending on when and where we’re talking about, and this varied by culture, society, and geography.

Thanks for the question!

[itoldsunset]

ok here are some of the highlights, translated! it’s really long so i put it under the cut.

4:22 RC asked p’boss how billkin was able to cry that hard at the end of episode 4 and p’boss said that prior to filming the scene he had already workshopped and explained everything to billkin, but when it came to actually shooting the scene it was up to billkin’s instincts in terms of how heavy the scene would turn out. but they helped each other build the emotions by thinking about what experiences they’ve gone through, and that resulted in the scene we got in the end. p’boss said for a lot of people it might seem like too much or maybe too little, but for p’boss it’s real. RC teased, “you mean pp and billkin are real?” and p’boss said, “the scene, the acting.” [l o l] and RC said he likes that billkin doesn’t hold back while crying even when there’s snot everywhere and p’boss said “he goes by the feeling in that moment.”

10:07 khunpol said: “actually this day was the first cue that i ever shot for this series, and the first lines i ever spoke. so i was really, really tense and nervous that day, because there were a lot of friends/classmates in that scene, and a lot of cameras and people for the first time, so i didn’t know how to act.” RC said, “but it doesn’t look like it’s your first time at all.” <3

10:34 RC asked p’boss, “why did you create this scene?” p’boss: “i think bas is a character who tends to be shy, doesn’t really talk about his feelings. but when he does speak, it’s going to be something really meaningful and earnest. he also represents an lgbtq+ person who is clear and upfront, if he loves someone he’ll say it, and he’s not embarrassed to say it. which links back to teh and his feelings, because if it were teh, teh wouldn’t do this, and [the fact that bas did] causes a reaction in teh.”

12:20 RC asked, “why did you have to confess in front of the class? why not when it’s just the two of you in the car?” khunpol: “in the past four episodes, bas has been with oh-aew the whole time, bas has seen when oh-aew is troubled, what his problems are.” p’boss: “to have the confession here [in the class] isn’t equal to having the confession be just between the two of them, it’s a way of saying ‘i’m not embarrassed of you, if we’re going to love each other i’m proud to have you with me.’” RC asked p’boss if he was in a relationship because he seems to have a lot of understanding about love, and p’boss said no, it’s from research, he’s single.

17:49 RC said it’s like second lead syndrome in korean dramas, and p’boss said “yeah to make it hard on the audience.” RC compared it to my ambulance where you’re choosing between peng and chalam.

18:14 RC asked khunpol: “in your life, have you ever had a partner*, ever since you were alive, since you were born? [op: the phrasing is deliberately over the top lol] how old are you?” [*op: “fan” is the thai word that we use for romantic partners and it’s gender-neutral so partner is the best translation]. khunpol: “17.” RC: “do you want to know my age?” khunpol: “how old are you?” RC: “i’m 27.” khunpol: “27?” RC: “why do you have to be that surprised?!” RC: “so have you ever had a partner?” khunpol: “well actually the first time i ever had a partner was in anuban 2... it lasted about a day and then it ended.″ [op: anuban is like 3 years of preschool/kindergarten, so anuban 2 is like when you’re 4-5] p’boss: “you liked them?” khunpol: “they pursued me.” RC: “what kind of love do you have in anuban 2? do you trade milk bottles?” khunpol: “it’s like there’s a spark between you two and you see each other and you’re like, ‘do you want to play together?’”

19:18 RC asked p’boss: “is it the same house all the time?” p’boss: “yes except the noodle shop part of the house is at a different location.”

23:58 RC asked khunpol: “i want to know, as someone who’s 17 right now, how do teenagers today think about same-sex relationships between men?” khunpol: “i think in my generation, it’s a lot more open, and i have friends who are lgbtq+. it’s also a time that is coming of age, where you’re finding yourself. for me, i think that it’s really a normal thing in this generation. it’s more like feelings that you have towards a person, not a gender.”

24:53 RC asked kru jeab: “as a mom, if your son came up to you and told you [that he’s gay or he likes boys], in this generation, what would that be like?” kru jeab: “this was the question i got the first day of the workshop for the series. they asked, what would you do, how would you feel? i can’t say how i would feel as a mom, but i would educate myself so that i understand. for someone who’s a mom, you have to grow alongside your child, and in the future you don’t know who they’ll grow up to be. that’s how i answered the question and i cried. would i really be okay? i don’t know, the day that you get asked that question, you don’t really know if it’s wrong or right, how you’d act, as a mother, but i believe that we have to grow alongside them.”

26:06 kru jeab said, “i wouldn’t be able to play hoon’s character, he’s so good. he’s the performer who listens to everything but doesn’t take any of it, like if you take it you’d be like me [crying], if you see another person cry, how would you hold it in? how would you keep it together to comfort them? how would you be the more mature one? how would you advise him? hoon is the kind of character that’s ready to have children. i would lose it at the first sentence, if my kid is crying, i would start crying too. i thought his role was well-designed, because there needs to be someone who’s there to really listen to your problems, so that there will be some relief.”

27:00 RC asked p’boss what he intended to communicate to the audience with teh’s coming out scene, and p’boss said: “teh has been keeping it inside for a long time, and with the overall context his character is confused and doesn’t know what he’s going through, what his feelings are. and it’s like one day someone we trust, someone we love a lot opens the door for us, asks us what’s wrong, and their concern for us makes us brave enough to say what we’ve been keeping inside. and it unlocks teh’s character because it’s something he thought he couldn’t tell anyone, but in the end when he says it, no one actually rejects him, they’re ready to support him. i think there’s a certain time in your life when you’re a kid, you’re born and you think as a guy you can only like girls, and one day you like someone of another gender, and you wonder is it wrong? and it’s not wrong, but it’s something you slowly learn and come to accept. and today maybe he tells his brother as the first step, in the future he may have the courage to tell his mom, or maybe not, but he’s continuously growing and developing.”

31:38 RC asked p’boss, “whose dog is tuty?” and p’boss said the dog was cast for the role.

35:53 RC asked khunpol how the crying scene outside teh’s house was for him, and khunpol said, “for me, it was very difficult because it was a drama scene where i had to portray someone who just lost the person he loved. it was very difficult because at first, the feelings just didn’t come out, it was stiff, so p’boss tried to brief me on the emotions. he explained that it’s like you’re about to lose someone, but it’s not like you’re sad and you cry it out all at once. you know that that person is about to go to someone else who’s better for them, that they would be happier with this other person.” [the text on the screen pops up: second lead DNA!] khunpol continues: “so i shouldn’t show my sadness to him, i have to try to keep it in and contain it. it was difficult where i had to cry, i’ve never done that before. i had to think about parts of my life where i’ve lost something or someone--like a dog that i loved, a close relative, a close friend--and the memories we once had together, and that if it was all going to end on that day, how would i feel. and that’s how it came out in that scene.” RC: “because you’re only 17, so your experiences don’t always match up with what’s in the script, right?” khunpol: “yes.”

37:37 p’boss: “actually, tarn has never not loved teh, same with teh. the whole time, they really loved each other. it’s just that one day, those feelings changed. tarn’s intention was to bring this drawing [of yongjian] to confess her love for teh, but it turns out teh says he wants to be friends. and it becomes a moment where tarn has to ask herself, ‘am i willing to continue being friends with him? or do i not want to be friends with him, in which case i won’t have the chance to see him again?’ tarn feels that no matter what they are to each other, as long as teh is in her life, that’s good. she still wants teh in her life. so being friends is a conclusion they can both be okay with.” RC: “i used to date someone where i also thought i didn’t want her to disappear from my life, sometimes i think i want a happy ending. but the way that it happened, in real life, the other person didn’t have that happy ending with me. but when i watch this [teh and tarn’s scene], it’s a happy ending in its own way, that’s also endearing.” p’boss: “i think in tarn’s future, it’s possible she might still be heartbroken one or two years from now, and for the rest of her life she might never forget teh. but in the end she wants him in her life, so being his friend is better than not having him in her life at all.” RC: “in the end it is a coming of age, like a memory from that time/age in your life.” khunpol: “for me, it’s uncomfortable, like i wouldn’t know what to do. but i like the way tarn said in the end we can be friends. because the truth is you do like that person and you want them in your life.” RC asked, “let’s say you’re hitting on someone and something like this happens [they ask to be just friends], what item would you give them?” khunpol: “anything from when we first met. for example, i like photography, so if i took a photo of them, i’d print that first photo i ever took of them and give it to them.” RC: “now i know why you got to be the second lead. it’s so right, the DNA is so right.” kru jeab: “this character [tarn] has a lot of self-esteem. i don’t know if anyone has said this yet, but it’s like the world could be falling apart, but you know what value you have in yourself, and you still see yourself having that value, and you can give it to other people too. for tarn, the line where she says ‘no matter what happens to you, i’ll be your friend, i won’t abandon you.’ to say that to someone who just rejected you, i feel like that’s a value that--not just women, but anyone at all--needs to find in themselves, without waiting for someone else to give it to you. as long as you know you have that value within yourself, and one day you can give that to someone else, it’s a remarkable thing.” RC: “it’s very valuable.”

47:00 RC said, “i’m happy! i don’t know, from watching episodes 1-4, and i was sad the whole time. when it came the ending, i really didn’t think it would be happy.” tewynn: “i didn’t think you [p’boss] would let them get together, i thought someone was going to die.” p’boss: “i’m not that cruel!” RC: “i heard you’ve already done that before.” p’boss: “it depends on the story.” RC: “but it’s so good, it’s really good. like how we guessed about the title, ‘i told sunset about you,’ there really is the sun at the ending of the story. so good.”

47:31 RC asked about filming the final scene and why they didn’t see the sun when they first got to promthep cape. p’boss said: “actually, according to the script, they’re supposed to see the sun when they’re at the top [of promthep cape]. but on the day we shot the scene, there was no sun. so i was like, crap. but we ended up adjusting the script right there, and p’yong helped. he said it’s okay, that just means the final shot will be a special, magical one. like giving the characters hope in the moment, and we hadn’t lost hope, we were waiting on how it would turn out when we got to the tip of the cape. and it really was magic.”

48:24 RC said, “i want to know one more thing. i feel like people were guessing a lot about the songs. like for example skyline has the lyrics ‘if we are separated by the skies,’ what were you [p’boss] thinking for skyline?” p’boss: “the songs were released alongside the feelings in the series as it was happening. so it opens with skyline because they start off separated with a lot of different obstacles between them, and the song ends with a question about destiny. and in the end we get the answer that they’re going to beat destiny, right? and in episode 2, he [teh] really can’t translate what his feelings are. and finally in the end, we get ‘so special.’”

48:58 RC asked, “for part 2, is there going to be like a second-year student loves a first-year student dynamic? since they’re in two different places, is someone going to drop out?” p’boss: “really, it’s going to be about the next stage of their relationship. the first stage in part one is that they’re friends, they don’t know their own feelings, and ends with them getting together. in part two, they’re a couple, at university, in bangkok. you have to wait and see.”

49:19 RC: “what about my son, khunpol? how will he evolve in part 2?” p’boss: “you have to wait and see.” RC: “he’s still going to be there right?” p’boss: “i don’t know, they’re still working on the script, they’re still editing and making changes, so you have to wait and see.”

49:50 RC asked kru jeab: “as one of the performers in the series, how do you feel? are you proud of it?” kru jeab: “yes, i’m extremely proud of it. proud that i had a role in it, that i got this opportunity. it’s not that i’m a teacher and i can just come in, i had to go through the casting process, send my tape. and i got feedback, came to the workshops, and i learned about this work the way that any performer had to learn about this work, at every step. i feel like it’s a coming of age as a whole, not just the characters. i feel like i was coming of age too, when i came to the first day of workshops and goy and natty asked me what if one day my son was gay. i wasn’t prepared to answer that question, so i had to think about how i would be in that situation, since we really don’t know what will happen and how we’ll be, especially as parents.”

50:49 RC: “khunpol, as one of the performers in this series, how do you feel? are you proud?” khunpol: “i’m proud, and i’m happy. i feel like, i’m doing this for the first time, so this is a learning experience for me at this age. it’s a time where i’m finding myself and where i want to go in life. so i’m learning from the experiences i have on set, the people and social life i’m seeing outside of school, outside of afterschool class. seeing everyone on the team, my friends, my seniors [op: just as in people who are older than you]. it feels like it opened my world, for someone who’s my age, 17. it’s like i got to learn about what i can improve, and i got to experience things that most kids don’t get to. i feel like i received something really great and i really have to thank nadao, p’boss, p’yong, and p’aom who cast me.”

51:51 RC asked khunpol, “so you don’t know the script [for part 2] at all, right? for part 2, what would you personally want to see for bas, in what direction?” khunpol: “if i’m looking at how part 1 ended, and teh and oh-aew love each other, so i want the series to keep focusing on teh and oh-aew. but i’m confident that since there’s a part 2, there has to be a conflict, so there has to be something going on with these two. and the person bas is closest to between the two is oh-aew, so oh-aew might come back to confide in me, like he might call or we might meet up and he might cry and talk to me and i would comfort him, something like that.”

52:35 RC told khunpol to say something to teh: “if you could say something to teh, what would you say?” khunpol: “you’re so stupid. what’s the matter with you? anyway, take care of oh-aew for me.” RC: “a true second lead!”

52:58 RC asked p’boss: “when people threaten to put you up on a billboard, how do you feel?” [op: i’m not sure if i translated that right, but basically it’s about all the fan threats that p’boss gets if itsay were to have a bad ending] p’boss: “honestly, afraid. it’s not that i’m not afraid, i am. there are so many variations, ever since my ambulance. people would call, send letters, it’s all happened... people would call and ask how it would end, please don’t end it this way, it’s all actually happened. so burning down my house might not be all that strange, it might be possible.” RC: “but nadao has insurance, right? if not, nadao might need to get on that. if not with this series, then the next one.”

[mcgrillzdumpinc]

Meeting with Masks

Summary: Nie Huaisang is beyond excited when he is invited to a Jin party including Carnival masks.  He doesn't expect to catch feelings at the party, but it's not so bad. Written for day 7 of SangCheng Month - First Meeting!

ao3 link

Pairing: Sangcheng, mentions of NieYao Rating: T Warnings: Mentions of queerphobia Word count: 1811

“The Jin invited us to a party.”

Nie Huaisang looks up from his phone just as Nie Mingjue tosses a letter on the dining table.  The envelope is crisp and cream, the flap decorated by gold filigree.  Nie Huaisang pulls out the invitation, which matches the envelope perfectly, and reads.  The party is actually a ball being hosted at the main Jin mansion, intended to celebrate Jin Zixuan’s twenty-first birthday.  Dress code is formal, drinks will be served, blah blah blah.  What really interests Nie Huaisang is the text at the bottom of the invitation, several font sizes larger than the main text and bolded to emphasize its importance—

Bring a Carnival Mask!

Nie Huaisang lets out a low whistle that quickly turns into giddy laughter.  “Da-ge!  Update the scoreboard!  The Jin are less crappy than the Yao now!”

“Because of the masks?” Nie Mingjue guesses very correctly because he is the best big brother ever.

“Yes!  Oh my god I’m going to have so much fun making your mask, da-ge!  Do you want to go intimidating?  Sexy?  Mysterious?”

“All white,” Nie Mingjue replies as he takes a black dry-erase marker to the scoreboard on the refrigerator.  “This party is stupid, anyway.”

“Booooo!” Nie Huaisang declares as he stands up, arms thrown into the air in protest.  “You’re boring!  The most boring da-ge!”

“I still get ass,” Nie Mingjue says with a smirk.

“Gross!!!!!”

~~~

Thankfully, the Jin (probably only Guangyao) had the foresight to send the invitation a few weeks in advance, so there was plenty of time for Nie Huaisang to research Carnival masks and start making one of his own.  To Nie Mingjue’s great pleasure, there was even a mask that fit his boring requirements.  So on the day of the ball, the Nie brothers arrive in hand-made and impeccable masks.

“Do you think anybody will recognize us?” Nie Mingjue asks as he readjusts his cape.  Yes, cape.  Nie Huaisang made him a bauta mask and Nie Mingjue, in his full jock-nerd glory, decided to wear the full historical garb, tricorn hat and cape and all.

Nie Huaisang rolls his eyes.  In contrast to his nerd brother, Nie Huaisang has opted to dress a little slutty in tight-fitted dress pants, a crisp white shirt unbuttoned to the middle of his chest, and black corset vest.  His neck, fingers, and wrists are decked out in green and gold jewelry, all polished to shine in the light.  He’s decorated his white mask in a similarly lavish fashion—gold lips, black eyes, gold and black filigree at the sides and top, and below the eyes is a series of gold hexagons that lead into teardrops.  “I hope not,” he responds to his brother.  “It’ll be way more fun surprising people.”

Together they walk up the many, many steps into the main Jin mansion.  After temporarily removing their masks to prove their identities, they slip inside.  The foyer is already alight with revelers, most of them likely entertainment hired to hype up the guests.  It’s only 7 p.m., after all, and only a select few people would be this drunk so early into the evening.  Unless the food or drink is spiked, in which case Nie Huaisang needs to find out for himself before he lets Nie Mingjue have a taste.

“Be careful with the food,” Nie Huaisang advises as he takes a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

Perceptive as always, Nie Mingjue replies, “A-Yao knows the diet my doctor recommended.  He wouldn’t poison me.”

Maybe in the past he would have, but Nie Huaisang is pretty sure Jin Guangyao has a more vested interested in his Nie Mingjue’s health now that they’re dating.  Hopefully.  It’s hard to tell when it comes to the Jin.

“Still, be careful.  Yao-ge could’ve missed something.”

Nie Mingjue stares at him.  Even beneath the heavy mask, Nie Huaisang knows his brother is giving him a disbelieving look.

“You never know!” he defends as the duo reach their destination.

The ballroom is massive, large enough to house the entire population of a small town during a natural disaster.  True to pompous Jin nature, Jin Zixuan is seated at the far end of the ballroom on a stage.  Nie Huaisang knows it’s him because of the way he sits—the body posture of somebody who absolutely does not want to be there.  Twenty-one years and the poor guy is still not used to the way his family does things.

Nie Huaisang can sympathize.  He’s pretty different from the rest of his own family, too.

“I’m going to go find A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue speaks up over the orchestra music.

“Okay.  Make sure he taste-tests your food!” Nie Huaisang exclaims as he raises his mask to take a sip of champagne.

“Shove off!” Nie Mingjue scolds good-naturedly.

Nie Huaisang waves off his brother before heading into the crowd.  Looking around, there’s nobody he immediately recognizes.  There’s one guy in bright red wearing a plague doctor’s mask that keeps catching Nie Huaisang’s eye, but he quickly decides that tonight is not the night to bother with the crazies.  It’s generally good advice to follow when in Jin territory.

In time, Nie Huaisang finds himself a wallflower.  He’s not the most easily sociable person.  Friendly, sure.  But he’s never been good at approaching strangers.  He would have gone up to Jin Zixuan, but Nie Huaisang has no idea if the guy would lose it the second he saw a friendly face.  Which would be an entire headache if that did happen.  So, wall.

It’s been at least thirty minutes since he finished his champagne and he’s not feeling even slightly drugged, though.  So that’s good news for his brother.

Just as he’s considering finding the buffet, a stranger joins Nie Huaisang at the wall.  The stranger is tall, at least 8 centimeters taller than Nie Huaisang, and cuts an intimidating figure with broad shoulders and large hands.  Their loose, black hair is long, falling to about their shoulder blades, contrasting starkly to the orchid purple button-up shirt they wear.  The waistcoat they wear is a darker purple with black buttons.  Slung over their right arm is a formal jacket that matches the waistcoat.  Interestingly, their choice in bottoms is a pair of orchid purple pants, with the left side covered by an ankle-length black skirt.  Nie Huaisang finds himself smiling at that detail—as a person who’s still questioning, he can appreciate a challenge to the gender binary.

He looks up to meet the stranger’s eyes.  The stranger is looking back at him with a lovely pair of brown eyes.  It’s a shame that the rest of this handsome stranger’s face is hidden by what Nie Huaisang would call the creepiest of the traditional Carnival masks—a moretta.  Pitch black and perfectly round, it’s like a void has replaced the rest of the stranger’s face.  In the bright lights of the ballroom, Nie Huaisang cannot see any ties keeping the mask up, so the stranger has opted for the traditional way of wearing the mask—a button between their lips.  Even if they can talk, they have rendered themself effectively mute.

Still, though.  Nie Huaisang likes a challenge.  He introduces himself with a bow.

The stranger bows silently in return.

Nie Huaisang laughs to himself.  “Are you enjoying yourself?” he asks.

The stranger rolls their eyes.

“Yeah, Jin parties are like that for me, too.  They care way too much.”

The stranger raises their champagne glass, as if to say Cheers to that.

Nie Huaisang finds himself smiling.  “You know, I really wasn’t expecting a moretta mask, of all things.  It’s unique.”

The stranger doesn’t respond.

“Not a bad thing,” Nie Huaisang clarifies.  “But I’m curious.  Join me for a trip to the buffet?”

The stranger nods.  Nie Huaisang offers his arm and, after slipping on their jacket, they take it.  Together, they leave the crowded ballroom for the crowded hallways and manage to get themselves lost a few times before finally finding the buffet.

“Why the hell would they put it so far away from the ballroom?” Nie Huaisang grumbles as he moves to wait in line.  He hears the stranger laugh.  “I hope you remember the way back.  I’m terrible with directions.”

The stranger reaches up to remove their mask.  Underneath the void is a strikingly handsome visage, with sharp cheekbones and shapely lips.  Nie Huaisang very much wants to ravish them immediately.  “Don’t worry, I do,” they say with a rumbling, deep voice.

“Fuck you’re sexy,” Nie Huaisang utters with absolutely zero forethought.  Realizing his mistake, he slaps a hand over his mask’s mouth.  “I’m so sorry!  That just came out!”

The stranger looks equally flustered, their eyes avoiding Nie Huaisang’s as they mumble, “It’s okay.  You don’t seem like a creep.”

“I promise I’m not,” Nie Huaisang says as he removes his mask.  “Which I know sounds exactly like what a creep would say, but scout’s honor!  Not a creep!”

The stranger stares at him for a long second before saying, “You’re not so bad-looking yourself.”

Nie Huaisang manages to hide his fluster by announcing, “I better.  It took twenty tries to get this eyeliner right.”

The stranger snorts.  “Jiang Cheng, by the way,” they introduce themselves.

“Oh, shit.  You’re pretty important, huh?”  The Jiang hold a near-monopoly in all water-based trade in and out of their city.  Nie Huaisang’s parents have pretty regular contact with Jiang Fengmian and his wife Yu Ziyuan in the interest of not losing some important trade negotiations.  But, last he heard, Jiang Cheng was the Jiang’s son.  “Can I get your pronouns?”

“Any,” Jiang Cheng answers.

Ah.  “So the moretta mask is pretty symbolic, huh?”

“I’m out as genderfluid, but I’m not supposed to talk about it,” Jiang Cheng tells him with a notably flat affect.

Nie Huaisang frowns.  “That sucks.  I’m still questioning, but my family is pretty supportive.”

“My siblings are, too.  Supportive, that is.”  The duo reach the banquet table.  Nie Huaisang receives Jiang Cheng’s mask as the other starts preparing two dishes of food.  “My parents are trying, but you know how some people take queerness these days.  Anyway, should I not refer to you with he/him?”

“I’m still comfortable with those pronouns,” Nie Huaisang easily responds.  “Oh, get me some sausage.”  Jiang Cheng obliges.  “Honestly, I might just be on the gender-nonconforming side, but I’m not sure yet.”

Jiang Cheng smiles.  It brings an ethereal softness to their features that Nie Huaisang would love to kiss.  But he keeps his hands to himself as the two of them reach the end of the buffet table and hurry to find a spot to eat.  “It takes time,” Jiang Cheng says as they trade a plate of food for their mask.  “Hey, after this, want to dance?”

Nie Huaisang offers them a smile in return.  “Absolutely.”

[midnightactual]

Yoruichi and Co. & Kaien (Part 2)

Last time, in Part 1, I seemed to have exhausted Tumblr’s ability to nest images in a text post. So, let’s finish this up on this go-around:

Rukia & Kaien and the Hōgyoku

@mysteriousshopkeeper​​ had a post fairly recently entitled Urahara’s Motive, Means and Opportunity for Suppressing the Hōgyoku, about why Kisuke chose Rukia as the host for the Hōgyoku. Within was the conclusion that she was chosen because, “I think she was most likely just a target of opportunity.” Our thinking (as we discuss these things regularly) has somewhat advanced since then (as evidenced in the post His Research), but given all the above, it has an even simpler explanation, given in chapter 268:

Rukia is—quite simply—Kaien’s final disciple, inheritor, heir, successor, protégé, or whatever else you want to call her, and thus the most recent and also purest of them. (It’s easy to see that Yoruichi and Kisuke, given the demands of the Onmitsukidō and 2nd Division, were likely at least partially corrupted, tainted, or compromised by their experiences, in a way which Rukia would not be.)

If you take it for granted that Yoruichi was heavily influenced by Kaien (which I think has been well-demonstrated), it would make sense that the same be true of Kisuke. If that was indeed the case, his selection of Rukia on the basis of her holding Kaien’s heart would make complete sense. But what other proof of this do we have...?

Kisuke and Yoruichi & Ichigo and Rukia

As early as chapter 48, during the fight with the Menos Grande, Kisuke indicates he already conceives of Ichigo and Rukia as a team:

Rukia’s efforts to try and save Ichigo here are, incidentally, another parallel with her trying to save him in the way she couldn’t save Kaien (as are her efforts to involve herself in the Grand Fisher fight, and her efforts to save him from Renji and Byakuya). However, Kisuke prevents her from doing this not just so that she can witness Ichigo’s growth, but so that she might grow herself. This will ultimately only be fully realized when Ichigo saves Rukia from the Sōkyoku, but you can see that he had already placed tremendous faith in them. Why?

It doesn’t make much sense... unless you accept that he believes that together, they are the true inheritors of Kaien. (The Sand and Rotator mimicking what Kaien promised, if you will). This is most obviously affirmed with his infamous ‘deathbed speech’ in chapter 666:

But other examples of it abound. Most (if not all) of these are focused on Ichigo, such as this example from earlier in chapter 48 (where Kisuke notably completely ignores Uryū, much as Yoruichi earlier ignored everyone but Ichigo):

Or this example from chapter 518:

Where Kisuke rebukes Chad (and Orihime, who is notably silent and thus seems to share his doubts about Ichigo) for not believing in him sufficiently.

Yoruichi’s input on Ichigo is more limited (and she has none on Rukia, which is bizarre given their similar history) but she clearly goes along with Kisuke’s general plan, and she articulates her thoughts directly to Renji during Ichigo’s bankai training in chapter 137:

Her rather carefully chosen and almost hesitating words here lead one to believe that what she’s saying is something of a cover, don’t they? Even still, note her words, “I believe in him.” Yoruichi never says that directly of anyone or anything else.

Taken together, I think it’s very hard to refute that Kisuke and Yoruichi have an unshakable belief in Ichigo and Rukia (even if it’s rather unstated in the latter’s case). A belief that they will do the right thing—like Kaien would’ve.

Rukia and Ichigo

So what do Rukia and Ichigo believe in anyway? What makes them, as @mysteriousshopkeeper​ put it, Kisuke’s “Chosen Champions”? The answer given would suffice: “And what do they have in common? Compassion. Ichigo is fiercely protective to those who can’t protect themselves, and even wants to reform Soul Society.* Rukia believes it is a shinigami’s duty to protect every conscious soul.” This is true enough, and they tell us as much in chapter 2:

Ichigo makes it clear that he doesn’t believe Rukia just helped him out of duty (and likewise, it’s clear she didn’t just help him because he resembled Kaien), but doubts his own commitment. (This is the same commitment Chad questions later in the manga, which Kisuke believed in absolutely.) Ichigo gives a few additional remarks in chapter 48:

These demonstrate the degree to which his desires to protect had expanded even by then, thus reaffirming Kisuke’s trust in him (and Rukia) in the same chapter. And it’s this same desire which Byakuya will identify after their fight, because Soul Society inherently endangers people. This is also what Kaien believed in... and imparted to Yoruichi, Kisuke, and Rukia, among others.

Kaien & Aizen

So, you might be wondering what all Kaien has to do with opposition to Aizen. I think that Aizen’s choice of threat to Ichigo in chapter 388 is more than literal:

Because Aizen goes on to mean it, more than literally, in chapters 410 and 414:

Aizen wanted to kill Ichigo’s friends to try and provoke Ichigo’s growth, to use him as a kind of yardstick for his own. This seems significant as Kaien tells us, in chapter 268:

It can be inferred, given Karakura is in Soul Society at this time, that were Ichigo’s friends to be killed, their deaths would be permanent... and they would die alone. Aizen’s threat to “rip out [Ichigo’s] heart” is, as I said, more than literal: he’s seeking to destroy Ichigo’s bonds with his friends in so far as possible.

In this regard, and in his more general behavior (such as his desire to “stand alone at the top”) he is not opposing Kisuke... but Kaien. So when Aizen angrily berates Kisuke, in chapter 421:

We can say that Aizen has simply failed to see what Kisuke (and Yoruichi) are trying to achieve through Ichigo and Rukia, in the image of Kaien. This is because Aizen is seemingly incapable of seeing beyond oneself as the primary actor in effecting change: he doesn’t see Kisuke immediately taking steps, so he assumes Kisuke accepts the status quo. It is plainly evident from his words elsewhere that Kisuke does not do any such thing.

It would seem that Aizen is apparently unable to even understand truly trusting in others, and it is this which makes him Kaien’s opposite.

Yoruichi & the Shiba in CFYOW

And on that note... we come to another core motivation of Yoruichi’s. I don’t really like or rate Can’t Fear Your Own World for a host of reasons (I think it’s rather like trying to turn the Appendices of Lord of the Rings into the 7th and 8th books of the series, featuring almost none of the main characters from the first 6 books), but I do think it provides some interesting insights into Yoruichi (although I disagree with some of its characterization of her).

In Chapter 2 of Volume 1, we have the following:

Shiba Kūkaku is both a pyrotechnist on the surface as well as behind the scenes, all involvement with Squad Zero and such were declared “side jobs”. It is for this reason, that there exists a curious big-shot like air about her, even if Hisagi, as Vice Captain of Squad 9, ranked higher in terms of station; many among the Vice Captains view her with a sense of respect.

In fact, although they are currently a fallen house, the Shiba clan is a respectable family that once produced a number of seated officers and Captain ranks, they were a family of good social standing to the degree that they were known as one of the “Five Great Noble Clans” alongside the likes of the Kuchiki and Shihōin clans.

For that matter, Shiba Kūkaku herself, who is standing before him, is also a considerably powerful person.

He has heard that she struck down one of the mighty gatekeepers of the Seireitei with Kidō alone; in Hisagi’s eyes, she wasn’t merely a pyrotechnician, but a figure of great influence hidden in the depths of Soul Society.

and also:

“…I wonder if big brother knew something.”

This brother he speaks of is Shiba Kaien who served as Ukitake’s lieutenant before the collapse of the Shiba clan.

Although they were ousted from their position as nobles due to his death and the disappearance of Kurosaki Isshin who belonged to a branch of the main house, Ganju still considered his big brother the pride of the Shiba clan even now.

Recalling the face of her older brother who was no more, Kūkaku cast her eyes down to her sake cup whilst forming her words.

“…Who knows. The Shinigami are only alert to external threats all for the sake of protecting Seireitei.”

...

“Just like it was with that Aizen bastard, when it comes to the Shinigami, they may just wind up becoming all kinds of thick-skinned against the scoundrels created by the Seireitei itself.”

We see in this that the Shiba remain movers and shakers, and are reminded of the relation that Aizen had with them (notably, having indirectly killed Kaien with the experiment of Metastacia, and having indirectly lead to Isshin deserting). We then get the following in the Epilogue of Volume 1:

In response to Yoruichi’s easygoing manner of speaking, Tokinada gave a wry smile, then his expression turned serious and he began to broach the real issue at hand. “I’d like to revive the five great noble clans… or in other words, I intend to propose a restoration of the Shiba clan.” At those words, Byakuya was still expressionless, Yoruichi raises one eyebrow ever so slightly. The Shiba clan were once part of the five great noble clans, but a man who was a descendant of that house and serving as captain of squad 10 at the time - Shiba Isshin - disappeared into the Human World, as a result they were stripped of their noble standing in the form of bearing responsibility for it. Members of Isshin’s household who were the branch family were broken up, and head house members Shiba Kūkaku and co who had taken up residence in Rukongai from the very beginning, were completely expunged even of their status amongst the five great noble clans which was already a mere title in name only at the time. As an outcome, they were formally prohibited from travelling in and out of Seireitei. But naturally, in Kūkaku’s case, she would later infiltrate the court by force accompanied by Jidanbō, the gatekeeper of the Hakutōmon* (* White Road Gate) in the west of Seireitei. As the two waited for him to continue with the conversation, Tokinada went on. “It’s true, Shiba Isshin’s departure is an act that can only be described as a betrayal towards Soul Society. However as a consequence of that, Isshin’s son… despite coming from the lineage of a branch family, Kurosaki Ichigo a descendant of the Shiba clan, defeated the king of Quincies. Don’t you think that meritorious service is enough to clear their name?” Because it was a view that was more earnest than what she could have imagined coming from him, Yoruichi in turn was suspicious of what Tokinada was thinking. Meanwhile, Byakuya’s facial expression remains as undisturbed as before, with a nonchalant air he spoke of his own thoughts. “I agree about Kurosaki Ichigo’s meritorious service, but Kurosaki Ichigo will not accept the status of a noble or anything of the like.” “That’s true. For that guy things like status and prestige are simply not regarded as a reward. Rather it only appears to be a nuisance to him at best. If you’re speaking for the sake of entire Shiba clan it may be better received, but neither Kūkaku nor Ganju are thinking of returning to nobility again.” After listening to Byakuya and Yoruichi’s words and quietly nodding in understanding, Tokinada gave a weak smile as he replied. “So, it’s true Kurosaki Ichigo is that sort of man. If that’s the case, then how about we make his two younger sisters nominal clan heads? They won’t need to be involved in any practical duties. It’ll only be a formality so there’s no problem.” “You’ve investigated even as far as Ichigo’s family members huh?… However, I don’t see what you’re getting at. Why are you so fixated on restoring the Shiba clan?” A look of vigilance was playing on Yoruichi’s face, at her question Tokinada replied with honesty. “Ah, for the sake of valuing justice. I have no problem forcibly getting things done with the might of the Tsunayashiro clan, but that will only create a breeding grounds for future problems amongst the people of Soul Society. They would think they were under my dictatorship wouldn’t they? For this reason, I want it to be known the world over that the Seireitei operates through just procedures.”

“……?” “So long as the five houses are all present, and we’ve acquired the Soul King’s formal consent – – the five great noble clans will have a position equivalent to that of the Soul King Palace and can become Seireitei’s decision making body surpassing the Central 46. Perhaps, the Central 46 at the time decided to decimate the Shiba clan in order to prevent a situation like that.” As he stifled his laughter, Tokinada continued even further. “In any case, have you never thought to question it? Why, out of the five great noble clans, it was the Shiba clan that were met with a cold reception from the very beginning? Supposedly, it’s because they took up residence in Rukongai in order to set up a Shiba clan secret cannon there. However, before they were stripped of their position amongst the five great noble clans, the Shiba clan received treatment no better than a bunch of poor people from lesser nobility. Aren’t you curious about both the Shiba clan and why it was deemed acceptable?” “Who knows, when looking at value alone, the Shiba clan residence was in no way inferior to the ordinary noble’s, perhaps they simply felt that was enough. However, I’m surprised by your arrogance, you go as far as to call even nobles, poor people.” Although it was a matter that was certainly on her mind, Yoruichi replied as if she wasn’t going to tread to deeply into that topic right now. She concluded that going along with Tokinada’s ideas here will only serve to stray further away from the truth instead.

Bold emphasis is mine. Notice Yoruichi’s suspicion here. Yoruichi will go on to have a verbal sparring match with Tokinada in Chapter 11 of Volume 2, but it isn’t immediately relevant. What is relevant is Chapter 16 of Volume 2:

Yoruichi held out her hand, displaying the contents. In her hand, stood a small columnar glass case, containing a human foetus fused with Hollow parts.

"This thing was lined up along with others in the Visuals Department. A bit incongruous for this department, don't you think? I don't recall seeing anything like this down here before. It would be nice if I could take it to the Central 46, but for the time being, I guess Kyoraku will suffice. Children are easier to manipulate as puppets, aren't they?"

Tokinada listened to Yoruichi, a sneer playing upon his lips.

"I don't disagree with the last statement. But is it really okay for you to reject my proposal regarding the Rei-o and the House of Shiba? The chat the three of us had the other day, you, me and Byakuya.."

"I don't know about li'l Byakuya, but I don't want any more trouble for Kukaku."

"Hoh?"

Tokinada smirked, looking interested. Yoruichi folded her arms and looked at Tokinada.

"I could still tolerate the idea of Aizen standing atop the heavens, but you, my friend, are a different story altogether."

"I see, I see. It is such an honour to be treated as a greater rogue than Aizen."

"Did you not hear what I just said? I meant that you're a sleaze-bag."

Yoruichi re-phrased her statement. Tokinada laughed aloud.

"Ahahahaha! Indeed! There is a big difference! But it is strange to hear such words from you of all people. You too belong to the Four Great Noble Families."

"I'll say it again and again. I don't care about my ancestors. I don't care about head-ship. Your family lineage and past deeds are irrelevant to me. I don't give a damn about the will of your family."

"That's right, yes. You don't care about our family, but you do care about Byakuya. Not that I'm envious, mind you. Yes, even the House of Kuchiki that commands the greatest respect. It stands firm like a tall tree, but if you start peeling off the bark from the outside, the core is just like ours. They are just as corrupted as we are. Still, the House of Kuchiki acts as a pillar supporting the Seireitei, unlike the House of Tsunayashiro, which is rotten to the sprouts rather than the trunk."

Bold emphasis is again mine. Yoruichi’s personal disgust with Tokinada aside (and it’s notable that she holds him in even greater disgust than Aizen), her main concern throughout seems to be the wellbeing of the Shiba, particularly Kūkaku. It’s also interesting that Tokinada is so fixated on why the Shiba were treated poorly “from the very beginning.” The answer as to why is obvious: because they fought Soul Society’s laws—something which Yoruichi herself has carried on doing, as this essay has hopefully made clear (and which is also hinted at in one of the bolded sections).

You come away with the sense that, although Yoruichi is a Shihōin by blood, by heart she’s practically a Shiba, and I feel this is echoed with her actions and choices throughout the actual manga.

Summary & Conclusion

I would hope that after all this some core takeaway ideas have been substantiated, at least in part:

Yoruichi obviously had a close personal relationship with Kaien

Yoruichi accepted the bulk if not the entirety of Kaien’s value system

Directly or indirectly by either Kaien or Yoruichi, these values were also passed on to Kisuke (and Tessai)

Yoruichi, Kisuke, and Kūkaku all recognized Ichigo’s similarity to Kaien in their own way, not just Rukia, Jūshirō, and Byakuya

Yoruichi (like Rukia) achieved what Rukia failed to do with Kaien by saving Ichigo

Yoruichi (and Kisuke) refute Jūshirō’s logic, which got Kaien killed

Yoruichi (and Ichigo) thus turned Jūshirō to insurrection as well

Yoruichi (and Kisuke), much like both Ichigo and Kaien, is involved in fighting the laws of Soul Society 

Kisuke (and Yoruichi) saw and believe that Rukia was Kaien’s rightful heir

Kisuke (and Yoruichi) believe in Rukia and Ichigo as a unit standing in for Kaien in the scheme of opposing the rules (and history) of Soul Society

Kisuke and Yoruichi moved forward on a plan to change Soul Society which revolved around Ichigo and Rukia acting in Kaien’s stead

Rukia and Ichigo’s ethos, ethics, morals, and philosophy (their “will”) are a continuation (and possibly expansion) of Kaien’s

Kaien’s will existed in direct opposition to Aizen’s, although they had an ultimately similar objective (fighting Soul Society’s laws)

Yoruichi is in large part motivated by Kaien’s will and identifies heavily with, and is very sympathetic to, the Shiba clan

Anyway, thanks for reading if you made it this far in!

[justreadingfics]

Looking For a Heartbeat (17/?)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Series Summary: You and Bucky used to be in a relationship. Feelings were hurt, you left.  It’s been two years and you’re back. You both will handle the reunion well, won’t you?

Chapter Summary: New bonds.  

Word Count: 5,2K

Warnings for this chapter: fluff again (don’t get used to it), children, mutual pining.  

 A/N: @suz-123 is my angel and I love her. Here I am writing fluff again. I suspect this is why I’ve taken longer than most times to write this chapter, lol. I can’t wait to hear your thoughts.  Links are ruining posts, you can find the masterlist link on my description.

 It´s been four weeks since Bucky has shown up unannounced to the ultrasound appointment- that he discovered by himself after some private research, he told you- and you still can’t shake off a stupid smile from your face.  Without a doubt, these have been the best weeks of your pregnancy so far. Everything seems to be great with the baby, who, according to Doctor Nadine and her team, is healthier than normal, developing better than expected. It seems to be so because the serum Hydra has used on Bucky altered his genetics system and its goodies have passed to the baby.

Bucky has been present in all of the appointments, right at your side the entire time, listening carefully and asking every single question he had.  His presence, soothing and grounding, keeping you steady throughout the whole thing. You know he had been worried to death about the possibility of being responsible for any complications to the baby. The news that everything was ok was a huge relief for him too, despite you still sensing in him a deep worry about how the enhancement on its system would affect the baby's life in general.  A concern you both share.

However, for now, you both have been trying to stay positive and focusing on finding a pace – the right one- to reconnect and shape your relationship as parents of your child. Aside from the appointments and some occasional times he drops by to see how’s everything with you and the peanut, you have also been talking on the phone, whether through voice calls or text messages.  Not a day goes by without you talking to each other.

You’re not gonna lie, it still feels awkward at times. You’ve never been friends to Bucky. Before your intense and passionate relationship, you two were nothing but acquainted co-workers. And after that, you’re not sure what the two of you have become. Now, on top of that, it’s not like you two can just turn into friends. You’re going to have a kid together, for God's sake. Yeah, it’s still awkward.

The conversations have been centered exclusively on the baby and anything that concerns them. That's why you don’t know if something has changed between him and Anna, if they have talked or anything. You prefer it that way. It’s a sensitive topic to him, but it’s the same for you. You’ve taken the part of trying and being the bigger person, saying you didn't blame her, that you understood her point of view, giving him advice about his relationship with her… and it was in good nature, but… thinking about him and her together has never been easy and you suspect it never will be.

Oh, well… It's hard. Something you should discuss more with Heloise in therapy. She gave you a strawberry lollipop saying it was positive reinforcement for your civilized conversation with Bucky. You wonder what she would have in store for you when you truly become able to talk about and live through the jealousy that takes over you every time a thought of him and Anna together pops into your mind. 

You continued going to the support group encounters, you feel like you’re not completely alone anymore, but the group, giving justice to its name, has truly become an important support system for you. Plus, it’s an easy way for you to see Harry regularly, who was pleased to know about things taking a turn to a better path with you and Bucky. You and Harry ended up going to the Hot-Dog trailer next to the group’s place - the one you missed because of the car accident - and then you scheduled for you to finally meet his kids, which you were excited and anxious about, you had heard so much about them you felt like you already knew each one of his little chipmunks, like he called them affectionately.  

You had planned for a picnic in their favorite park, but the rainy day forced you to move the party over to the common room at the Tower’s living quarters. Wanda has helped you set everything up, moving the furniture to place the big cloth in the center of the room, spreading pillows to accommodate everyone as you prepared the snacks with all the goodies Harry had told you the kids liked. You also put some toys and games for the kids – and for the adults, who are you kidding? You live amongst children.

That’s where you are now, along with Harry and the vivacious Luna and Jon, the three year olds that make sure to remind you every five minutes that they are turning four in a week. Luna is the spitting image of her father with her dark curls falling graciously over her big brown eyes laced with curiosity as she keeps them glued on you. Jon must’ve taken his looks from his mother, with a lighter tone on his straight short hair and his eyes are green with shades of blue. He seems quieter than Luna, who takes the lead and asks all the questions and tells all the stories, allowing her brother to make a comment or two. In his shyness, he reminds you of his father.

Wanda joins you, and soon so do Steve and Sam, who had arrived from a mission the day before. Tony’s absent on a solo mission of his own, much to the kids' disappointment, which is reinforced by the Iron Man images on both of their shirts. Crazy for kids as much as she is, Nat is there, but she has mostly been giving you the silent treatment lately, as a result of your decision of making the baby’s sex a secret. You can only wonder what she’s been putting Bucky into.

You keep a huge smile on your face as, right in front of you, across the picnic cloth, Wanda uses her powers and the red mist to make moving drawings in the air, prompted by all sorts of excited and loud requests from the kids, whether it’s a dog, a sheep- no, a bigger sheep, an elephant, Iron Man fighting that big purple monster, or daddy with those colored swords he likes…

“They’re called lightsabers. God, how many times do I have to tell you this, guys? Show some respect…” He sighs at your side, looking at you and shaking his head in frustration as he’s completely ignored by his kids, who keep the row of requests to Wanda. 

You chuckle; prompting him to smile at you, “They’re really awesome,” you whisper, bumping his sides with your elbow, as everyone else around the cloth seems drawn by the kids energy and interested in Wanda’s little performance.

“They are, aren’t they?” He beams at you, “Thanks for this by the way, they’re having so much fun.”

“Oh, no. I’ve been wanting to meet them for so long,” You dismiss him with a wave, before grabbing a handful of popcorn. Chewing on it, you cackle at Wanda’s latest art:  a Chihuahua pulling The Falcon by the wings while Captain America tries to catch them. Sam shots some protests, but the burst of belly laughs from the kids is undeniably contagious.

When you look back at Harry, you’re still laughing as the others, but he is not. Instead, he’s observing you while holding a half smile on his lips, “What?” You frown at him.

“You look happier. I like it. It’s a great look on you.”

You offer him a wide grin as you feel a wave of warmth overcoming your chest… and rushing to your cheeks.

“Daddy,” the high-pitched, but sweet voice makes you both turn to Luna, now directing her narrowed eyes and full attention to both of you as she stands on her knees over the pillow.

“Yes, chipmunk?” He says, bringing a plastic cup of orange juice to his mouth. 

“Is Y/N the girl you’ve been talking to on your phone all the time and then stay with that funny smile on your face and does like this?” She exaggerates a deep and long sigh to show what she’s talking about.

Harry chokes on the juice, as all eyes snap to the direction where you two are seated. Wanda hides a laugh with her hand and Nat sips on her coffee, but you glimpse the devilish smirk on her lips. Sam and Steve pretend to focus on the little checkers board they’ve been playing with when you glance at them.   

“Luna!” Harry shrieks, trying to glare at the little girl between coughs.

You frown at his embarrassment, a disproportionate reaction on your opinion.

“What? What have I said wrong?” Luna pouts adorably and stands on her feet, crossing her arms in front of her little body.

“Daddy didn’t want us to know, yet, Luna.” Little Jon whispers loudly, pulling the hem of his sister’s shirt.

Wanda laughs fully and loudly while Nat sports a proud smirk at the two siblings, probably pleased by the spying skills the kids are showing.

“Jon!” Harry exasperates, eyes roaming around everyone in the circle, before turning to you, dumbfounded and red as a pepper, “That’s not-this isn’t-”

“Calm down, Harry.” You laugh, placing a hand on his shoulder.

You’re sure you’re not the girl the kids are referring to, that’s not what your relationship with Harry is about, but he hasn’t told you anything about someone that makes him sigh and now you’re curious, especially because he’s acting like a deer caught in the headlights. Before you can torture him with teasing you hear someone cleaning their throat, catching your look. 

Bucky stands by the door, with a bag in his hands and an unreadable expression on his face.

“Bucky,” you exclaim, feeling the inevitable tug at the corner of your lips, but trying to ignore your heart skipping a beat. How long has he been there? Has he heard anything? As happy as you are to see him, you can’t help the hint of apprehension at the  pit of your stomach that makes your heart falter, you know he still has reservations towards Harry and you really don’t want him to assume anything, which is bullshit, of course, you and Bucky have nothing and if you wanted you could date whoever, of course, that’s definitely settled between the two of you. Was the room this hot before?  

Bucky nods timidly at you and at the others, who chant their greetings all at once:  “Hey, Buck,” “Hey, Man,” “Barnes”. 

“Come on in, we ́re having a picnic,” You wave him in from your spot, swallowing down any trepidation and kicking the inner rambling off of your mind, focusing on his presence only.

“Oh no, it's ok. I can come another time,” He answers in a small voice. Recoiling his shoulders, he presses his lips in a tense line. 

The protests from everybody – except from Harry, who seems to be trying to make himself invisible at your side- resound around the place while the kids fasten their curious eyes on the new person in the room.

Knowing damn well how uncomfortable Bucky is capable of feeling when he’s in the spotlight, you raise your brows at Wanda, which is enough to make her promptly go back to entertaining the kids, now lifting the food over the cloth to the air. The sounds of bewilderment coming from the tiny little creatures distract everyone else as you get up, using the sofa behind you as a support for your growing body.

“Come on, Barnes, you made a pregnant woman get up from the floor just to drag you by the ear. I’m a mom now, I can do that,” You taunt, getting closer to him, twisting your expression into a mocked scowl.

Letting out a heart-fluttering smile that ignites one of your own, he relents, stepping into the room and shooting that fondly look at your growing belly, like he does every time he sees you.

“Hi,” you softly say when he stands inches from you.

“Hey, I called you a couple of times, and you didn't answer my messages, I got worried,” He cringes.

“I must’ve left my phone in my room, but it's ok, Bucky, you don't need an excuse to drop by,” You assure in a teasing manner, before your eyes drop to the bag in his hand, “What do we have here?”

“Oh, on my way over, I saw this and I couldn't help it.” With a broad smile on his face, he pulls the object from the bag.

Your eyes go round and you practically squeal, grabbing the little colorful unicorn, “This is amazing, Bucky, so damn cute. And fluffy.” You squeeze the soft little stuffy against your chest.

He chuckles, brushing a lock of his own hair behind his ear, “I bought it for the peanut, but I suppose you can play with it, too.”

You roll your eyes and pull your tongue out playfully.

“Hello.”

At the tiny voice who takes you and him out of your little bubble, you see his eyes going comically round, before he lowers his head to follow the sound. Luna stands beside him, with her hands laced behind her back and mischievous interest plastered on her sweet features.  

“Hi.” His stumpy answer is a bit more than a whisper.

“I’m Luna,” the girl says her name proudly to him, “I’ll be four years old in a week. What’s your name?”

“Bucky.” He replies shortly.

As little Jon runs to stand beside his sister, you choose to remain a silent observant of the scene with great curiosity, and from the corner of your eyes you catch the rest of the adults in the room doing the exact same thing. 

“This is Jon. He's my brother.”

“We’re twins,” Jon announces.

“But I’m older,” Luna reminds him.

“And that’s daddy.” The boy points at Harry, who quickly and shamelessly looks up to the ceiling, trying to cover up the fact he’s been watching them.

“Ok.” Bucky purses his lips and nods, seeming ready to bolt away from the interaction.

In fact, you can’t recall having seen him talking to a kid before, except for maybe Clint’s and Scott’s kids, but he always preferred to remain at least one arm’s length away from them. You know this has everything to do with the fact he still struggles to think children would want anything to do with him...   

“Your hand is shiny.” Luna states straightforwardly. 

As you feel Bucky freezing beside you decide to step in, but probably not in the way he would want you to, “His whole arm is shiny, Luna.” You whisper, leaning down and half covering your mouth like you were telling her a secret. You choose to ignore the betrayed look you receive from Bucky.  

The information makes the little girl gasp and stare longingly at said arm, covered by the long sleeve of his Henley.

“Oh, you ́re the Winter Soldier,” Jon yells, pointing at Bucky with astonishment  as  his jaw drops.

The nickname Bucky used to dread so much, but which in time - as he formed his name as an avenger - got a different and more positive meaning to everyone else, sounds nothing but adorable in the kid’s soft voice when said in such an enthusiastic way. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you the phantom of a smile that threatens to curl Bucky's lips.

“Oooo, I know you,” Luna grins, bouncing on her little legs, “You're Captain America ́s boyfriend.”

 “Oh, my God! Luna!” Harry mortified attempt of reprimanding his daughter is muffled by the thunder of loud laughs filling the room, including one of your own.  Horror twists Harry’s features as Bucky and Steve share widened staggered looks.

“Don ́t laugh,” Luna turns to the party, putting her hands on each side of her waist and stomping her little foot to the ground as the laughs are swiftly held back at the respect the small figure imposes, “Daddy said it’s ok that boys date. And girls, too.” Her features turn into a scowl.

You glance at Harry and you glimpse the pride which his daughter’s words brings to his expression being swiftly replaced by apprehension when he spots Steve.

“And your daddy is right,” Steve straightens up his posture for Harry’s relief and then putting on his Captain voice, he turns to Luna again, “But Bucky and I are not boyfriends, we’re buddies.”

You think Sam will explode when he puts his hand over his mouth to hold back the laugh even harder.

“Maybe it's a secret, Luna. Just like dad ́s.” Jon innocently shrugs and that's what kills everybody’s strong will and the sound of multiple laughs bubbles into the room again.

Even Bucky has given in and sports a small but beautiful smile on his face as his head shakes slowly and warm heartedly. You smile right back at him when your eyes meet and you notice how much more at ease he seems.

“Aright, alright. You two get back here.” Harry commands.

“Ok,” Luna answers and starts to move towards the party again, but not before she laces her chubby little hand with Bucky’s metal one to pull him with her, being followed close by her brother.

When he looks back at you, being pulled by the girl, there’s no plea for help or embarrassment on his face; he only keeps smiling and shrugs. Your stomach flutters inside you as you take a deep breath in. 

Luna makes Bucky sit in the middle of her and Jon, as you sit where you were before, beside Harry, placing the little unicorn between you and him. Everyone catches on conversations or eating and drinking.

“Oh, Bucky. Have you met Harry, already?” You ask, trying to act cool, especially about the fact he has seen him before at Steve’s party and not mentioning all the times Bucky has asked you about your relationship with Harry.

“Hey,” Bucky nods and extends a hand, leaning over to catch Harry’s from across the cloth, “We’ve seen each other before, but I think we haven’t been introduced yet.” He says, pressing his lips in a polite smile.

“Hi, yeah, that’s right,” Harry answers in a matching polite tone, “It’s such a pleasure, I’m a huge fan, of course. I’m sorry for my chipmunks-”

“Ugh, daddy.” Luna, huffs.

Before any of the grown-ups could add anything else both the kids launch on Bucky. Leave it to kids to dissipate any kind of awkward situations… 

“Is your arm heavy?” Luna leans on Bucky’s shoulder, resting her chin over her hands there.

“A bit, yes.”

“Are you strong, Mr. Bucky?” This time Jon asks from Bucky’s other side.

“Of course I am.”

“Stronger than him?” Luna cocks her head towards Steve, who snaps his look up from the checkers board.

“Sure, he’s all jacked now, but deep down he’s nothing but a skinny little angry man…”

The super soldiers make a face to each other and you chuckle.

“What about him?” Jon points at Sam.

“Kids, please…” Bucky’s eyes roll as he lets out a smug snort.

“You wish, tin can,” Sam shots a handful of pop-corn on his direction.

“And them?” Luna points at Wanda and Nat.

“Well…”

Attentive to the scene so far, you spot the red mist Wanda casually pours from her elegant hands as Nat cracks her fingers, staring blankly at Bucky.

“Definitely not.” He turns widened eyes at Luna, enticing a little giggle to come out of her lips and a laugh of you.  

“You’re not stronger than Iron Man.” Jon affirms, rather than ask.

“Hey!” Bucky playfully yelps, as the boy places his little hand on his chin, furrowing his eyebrows as if he’s concentrating real hard to come up with Bucky’s next challenger.

“Oh! Are you stronger than daddy?” He finally yells, partnering up with his sister as the two people who made her father choke on his juice that day. 

“Ahm… I don’t know-I,” Bucky fumbles with his answer as Harry keeps struggling for air.

“I know how we can find out,” Luna swiftly raises her hand, looking excitedly at Jon.

You pat Harry’s back as he coughs harder.

“Daddy can lift me and Jon on each arm, I bet you can’t.” She cocks a daring eyebrow at Bucky as Jon eagerly nods his head and gets up.

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky raises his eyebrow back at her, before turning his eyes at Harry asking for permission, which is granted with a nod and a smile. Now that the latter knows Luna’s idea doesn’t involve him getting his ass kicked he seems a lot more relaxed.

Then, with an exaggerated grunt, Bucky grabs and lifts the two little creatures by their feet using only his metal hand. The squeaks and giggles bubbling out of their lungs mingle with Bucky’s groans as he tosses the twins around as if they weigh nothing.

“Who’s the strongest person in this room, huh?” He challenges, as he holds them by their behinds and presses them into the air as a couple of dumbbells in each hand. 

“You, Mr. Bucky,” They both yell in unison between little screams and loud giggles.

Your heart melts and the smile on your face is wide when you realize that, just like that, he also becomes their favorite person in the room. You totally get it, who can be better judges of character than kids? Besides, falling in love with Bucky is that easy and inevitable, you're one to talk...

The kids keep themselves glued on Bucky’s side all the time, asking questions, proposing games that he promptly accepts, offering him food, telling him stories about themselves and about their father – to Harry’s very dismay… They even get him to show them part of his arm, gaining claps of admiration from Luna.

At some point you reach for the jar of juice to find it empty, but before you even think of standing up to go grab some more, you feel the jar being promptly stolen from your hand.

“I got this,” Bucky winks, getting up, as Sam and Nat finally get a bit of the kids attention, doing some magic trick with a few cards for them as Harry watches.

“It’s ok, Bucky-”

“Na-ha. You stay comfortably there.” He gets up, glaring at you to show he means business.

You let out an annoyed huff – only a stunt to hide how you’re secretly loving the attention coming from him. Wanda calls on your bullshit aiming you a teasing smile that you choose to not indulge.

“Steve, get your lazy ass here and help,” Bucky calls, walking inside the kitchen, as the kids giggle at his choice of words.

~~~

Bucky places the jar on the sink and, before he could walk to the fridge to grab more oranges to squeeze, a wall of enhanced muscles captures him in an impossibly tight hug.

“Ugh, what’s that for, punk?” He grunts, but promptly hugs his friend back.

“You’re gonna be a dad,” Steve croaks out.  

Bucky lets out  a quiet laughter. He hadn’t seen Steve yet, not after the ultrasound when Bucky’s real feelings towards the news became clear. He guesses his friend wasn’t really sure of what his decision would be to actually congratulate him and express his emotions about it before, “And you're gonna be an uncle.” Bucky beams.

Steve only whimpers and tightens the hold around his friend.  

“Alright, alright,” Bucky pats his back and let goes. “This is why everybody thinks we're a couple.” He adds, without taking the smile off his face.

Steve chuckles and shakes Bucky by his shoulder, with his eyes clearly red, the Captain wipes a tear with the back of his hand “You deserve this,'' he says.

No more words need to be said as Bucky’s smile falls but his eyes remain soft and he only nods as an answer. The two friends exchange meaningful and watery gazes before they move to go grabbing the oranges and the necessary utensils, forming a team side by side by the sink to slice the fruits and squeeze the juice using the squeezer. 

“I know Y/N has banned you from telling anyone what you two are having, but you won't deny this information to your oldest pal here, are you?” Steve nudges Bucky as he slices the oranges.

“By the image on the screen, it sure looked like a kid.” Bucky keeps squeezing the oranges, unaffected.

“Ah, come on, Buck.”

“Not a chance, pal. If I didn´t give in to Nat, you won’t make me talk, either.” He turns to Steve, “And stop with the damn puppy eyes, you’ll have to wait, like everyone else.”

“Spoilsport,” Steve grunts his displeasure of being kept in the shadows about the baby’s sex before the smile comes back to his face, “You´re happy, aren´t you?” He softly asked after taking a good look at his friend.

“Like I’ve never thought I would be. Not even back in our days. It’s funny…” Bucky’s eyebrows furrow as a small breathy laugh comes out of his lips, “A couple of days ago I had no idea this kind of feeling, this sweet agonizing happiness, existed. Now it’s all I feel, all the time.”

“Sounds intense,” Steve chuckles, clearly pleased, “You and Y/N? What’s the deal with the two of you now?”

Bucky clears his throat and bites the insides of his cheeks, “We agreed we should focus on the baby. Let go of what happened before in the past.” He keeps his eye focused on the task of squeezing oranges.

“Oh…and how ́s that working out for you?”

“Good”

Steve stops what he’s doing altogether and turns to face Bucky, placing the hand holding the knife on his side, “Are you lying? Is this something we do now? Lie to each other?” He waves the knife on the space between them, “You couldn’t even be around her before, it can ́t be changed all of a sudden.”

Bucky shakes his head as he huffs. The damn punk…  “It’s… I don´t know,” He turns to face Steve as well, “A mix of heaven and hell. Fighting with her was easier, to be honest.” He snickers, “I could handle that. And now, we talk, actually talk without fighting or anything… I get to be around her without jumping on each other’s throat and now I can really, really see her. She’s still her but, I don’t know…different,” He turns back to the sink, grabbing another half orange to squeeze as he talks, “She seems more content, level headed, elegant…” He sighs, “She looks even more beautiful each day that passes… fucking sexier…” His whisper is barely audible as his eyelids close for a moment, “It must be the pregnancy, I don ́t know, haven't you noticed it?” He looks back at Steve to find the latter holding back a smile.

“Seems the same good old Y/N for me,” Steve shrugs, “Maybe a little more… joyful?” He asks himself, “Yeah, but what do I know, I ́m not in love with her.” He resumes slicing the oranges, acting nonchalantly.

“Stop it.” Bucky glares at him.

Steve throws his arms to the air and scrunches up his chin as a sign of resignation.

After a few moments more of silence as they work together, Bucky briskly stops and turns to his friend again, “It's just, it's complicated,” His eyes shut as he scratches his eyebrow, “With the baby, and all.” He sighs, looking down, “I don´t wanna ruin the peace we’re finally achieving between us by trying again with her, but God…” He looks up to the ceiling before and his eyes close before he looks down at Steve, who has stopped his work to pay attention on the man beside him, “I have to physically restrain myself from kissing the fuck out of her every time I lay my eyes on her, every time she comes closer and I smell her perfume...goddammit…” He confesses for the first time out loud, before turning to the sink to lean his hands on the marble taking in a deep breath, “She said we didn ́t work as a couple, and she’s right, isn’t she…” He murmurs.  

Steve places a kind hand on his shoulder, “I know the way it ended was rough and then everything else that happened after that, but everyone could see how you two loved each other, Bucky…” He softly says as Bucky remains silent, staring down, “And I don ́t know, you both seem like growing from the place you’ve been, when you’ve hurt each other…”

Silence lingers between them as Bucky feels his jaw clenching. He loves you. Of course he does, he always has and everything he did to try and deny this only resulted in pain.  And that’s what scares the shit out of him. He knows you two agreed on trying to not focus on each other as anything more than parents, and as much as he agreed on it, the all-consuming love he feels for you only grows each day he stays at your side, each time he talks to you and he watches you becoming the mother of his child…

Fuck, he doesn’t want to ruin everything. Not again.  

“Buck, everything will be alright, I’m sure,” Steve seems to hear his thoughts as he tries to comfort him.

Bucky forces a smile at his effort and squeezes the last orange, before wiping his hand with a knapping hung on the wall. Giggles coming from the living room catches their attention.

“Do you think there's something there,” Bucky tentatively asks, eyes stuck on the door that leads to the living room, “With Harry, I mean.” He clarifies in a low voice, when his eyes meet Steve’s.  

Steve sighs before shrugging, his forehead creasing, “They seem close.”            

Bucky nods slowly, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, “I heard his little girl,  Luna, asking if Y/N was the girl he’s been-” He sulks down a harsh intake of breath, “I wouldn't blame him…” His lips form a taut line.

When Steve presents him with silence and something that resembles empathy in his eyes for him – old Steve Rogers’s style- Bucky clears his throat and moves to pour the juice on the Jar.

“Come on, I’m gonna say goodbye to them, I have to go.” He adds, turning  towards the door with the Jar in his hand.

“Where to?” Steve cocks his head, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m gonna meet Anna in a few.” Bucky mutters as his shoulders round downwards, “I called her yesterday.”

“Oh.”

“You think I shouldn’t.” Bucky states.  

“No, not at all.” Steve shakes his head. “I just wasn’t expecting to hear this now after-” Steve licks his lips and nods once, “I do think you should talk to her, though, Bucky. Set things straight. I know how important she’s been to you and I know it hurts you how things played out between the two of you. Now that you cleared your head a bit, maybe it’s the right time to really listen to her and tell her how you feel, too.”

Steve… always the voice of reason. Of his reason.

“I know.” Bucky nods. He needs to set things straight once and for all.  

~~~

Chapter 18 coming soon. 

[kickingitwithkirk]

Happy Coincidence Chance Discovery

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Piper, Jared Padalecki x Piper,

Characters: Dean Winchester /Jensen Ackles, mentions of Chad Michael Murray 

Word Count:4367

Warnings: cursing, kissing, nudity, implied sex/genital fondling/teasing 

 *Jared and Jensen are single.

A/N: for @idreamofplaid​  Thanks for the Memories Challenge #plaid and the memories  HAPPY BIRTHDAY JARED🎉

Prompt: Season 11, episode 4, Baby

A/N: Baby is my favorite episode but every time I’ve watched it I kept wondering; Sam’s hook up with Piper the waitress? So this is my fill in that blank with a Jared twist.

Divider: created by @writeyourmindaway​

*No beta all mistakes are mine

Dean drives into the parking lot of a roadhouse just after dusk and Sam looks at the marquee shaking his head in disbelief.

“Are you serious? Dean, it's late, I’m exhausted and..and.. and starving.  And this place. I mean, even Swayze wouldn't come to this roadhouse.” Sam groused.

“First of all, never use Swayze’s name in vain, okay. Ever.” Dean chastises his brother for such a sacrilege, “Second, you don't remember this place? You don't remember Heather, the hunter we worked the wendigo case a couple years ago?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam partially smiles, remembering that night of fun.

 “Yeah, exactly” Dean taking the same trip down memory lane.

“What, she’s here tonight?” Sam asks, perking up a bit.

 “I texted her, she's working a rugaru case in Texas.” Dean says.

“Actually, she never texted me back. That's not the point, the point is that we have a ton of driving left to do just to go to a town where it's not probably a case.” Dean points ahead, “But in there, good times.”

 “Uh...” Sam hedges looking at the building.

 “But time heals all wounds, especially good times. What do ya say?” Dean looks at his brother hopeful.

 “I say... knock yourself out.” Sam answers with his usual reply and Dean looks away, “I'm gonna find a diner and dig into the lore like Cas did, see if anythings ever happened where we’re headed.”

“Ah man, you really got to learn to have fun.” Dean’s reply was full of disappointment in his little brother.

“Seriously. It’s pathetic.” 

They both climb out of the Impala. Sam grabs his bag from the backseat and starts walking back towards town as Dean heads into the roadhouse. 

***

Sam had walked over a mile looking for somewhere to eat. Being Saturday night he thought there’d be more open but that’s small town living, the streets roll up at noon on the weekends. 

He was about to give up and hike back to that mom & pop gas station he passed for a microwave burrito, preferably bean to get back at Dean, when he happened upon a small, local place, Mak’s Diner. 

Hitching his bag up, he pushed open the door expecting the usual greasy spoon Dean's unerring sense navigates towards and stops just inside the front door.

It was an older establishment, obviously one of those passed down from generation to generation places but to his surprise it was well maintained, despite the C on the marquee being burnt out.

“Evening, have a seat anywhere and I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice called out from the kitchen. Sam walked past the counter smiling at only other occupants, an elderly couple having coffee and dessert, heading towards the back where family seating was located. 

As he passed the next to last booth he noticed a closed laptop, several open books with notes scrawled around their margins, highlighted paragraphs and a few notebooks scattered on its tabletop.

He dropped the bag on the seat and shed his jacket before sliding into the booth, fishing out his laptop and the legal pad that he had started making more notes on earlier.

“Hey there, what can I get you?” 

Picking up the menu laying by his elbow Sam glances through it, “Coffee and the Cobb salad, thanks.” He orders closing the menu and looking up to hand it to the waitress. She is differently not what he would have expected to find in a backwater burg like this one. 

Her makeup is understated, nails painted a neutral color and her copper hued hair is pulled back in an elegant chiffon, not a high ponytail or hastily bobby pinned up-do, held in place with a real silver clip, the type that’s handed down as an heirloom.

“Just the Cobb salad?” She asked looking under the tabletop, taking in Sam’s long legs somewhat stretched out under it, boots bumping against the other side of the circular booth. Her blue/grey eyes slowly travel up appraising his body till they meet his.

“Big boys like you need more than a few leafy greens for stamina.” 

Sam felt himself blushing like he was seventeen again. Waitresses blatantly flirt with Dean and vice versa all the time so he’s taken aback by this woman's more than blatant appraisal of his physique.

“I, um, yeah, ju..just the salad.” Sam stammers out.

“Okay, be back with that coffee.” Her smiles genuinely, not that faked for the customers sake one he’s used to.

Sam appraises her retreating figure like she did him. She’s not wearing the nurses white or black rubber soled shoes that’s usual waitress gear he’s seen but a brand of tennis shoes he knows are out of the typical income of career restaurant staff. 

The fifties style, yellow uniforms color is completely unflattering, not fitting her right, way too tight around her bust and hips and far shorter than it should be, her mile long legs on display.

Sam shifts in his seat and tries to discreetly palm down his spontaneous erection but not so little Sam is putting up a fight, making it known it's been way too long since he’s gotten wet and he wants to enjoy her junoesque attributes. 

***

While he is waiting for a page to load Sam hears the elderly couple preparing to leave. He watches as the husband helps his wife into her jacket and gently takes her hand, resting it in the crook of his arm as they slowly make their way to the exit, feeling the pang of loneliness that’s his constant companion.

“Mr. Reynolds’s, hang on a sec,” the waitress calls from the kitchen emerging with a white cake box tied shut, “Auntie wanted me to make sure you got this before leaving. She’s sorry she missed your anniversary party.”

“You tell her we missed her, needs to hurry up and get well.” Mrs. Reynolds remarked as her husband took the box with his free hand. She glanced back towards Sam, “Sweetie, you gonna be okay here with the likes of him?” 

Sam kept his expression neutral, waiting to see how this plays out. He knew people found him intimidating because of his size and being a stranger in a small town, he definitely stands out but not many were that blatant about it.

“He ordered a Cobb salad, I think I can handle him,” she jested winking at him.

The couple bid her goodnight and she went back into the kitchen, Sam realizing they were now all alone. Sighing, he starts reading the info again trying to figure out what exactly their hunting is. Or not.

He was so focused on his research like usual he didn’t acknowledge the waitress standing there with his order.

“Kmm hmm,” Sam’s head snapped up, “must be something really good if you don’t notice the likes of me.” She chided him setting down a coffee decanter and cup.

“Sorry, guess I was kinda caught up.” Sam moves the laptop and notepad over as she sets down his salad and two types of dressing. “Figured you might not be a ranch type of guy so I grabbed the vinaigrette too.” 

“Thanks, I prefer vinaigrette, don’t usually get offered it.” 

“I’m pretty good at reading people which is why I also brought you this,” she set down another plate with a lettuce wrapped, curiously colored and, by the smell, not meat burger with all the fixings, a generous helping of baked sweet potato fries and a green colored milkshake.

“I didn’t order this.”

“I know but it cooks night off and I’m trying some new recipes. Seeing as you're the only other one here, you've been conscripted as my guinea pig.” She slid into the other side of his booth where an identical plate rested, “I wasn’t kidding about you needing more than just a salad. Besides, I hate eating alone, you wouldn’t believe how often it happens. Fuck, where’s my manners, I’m Piper.” She stuck her hand out across the table.

He takes her preferred hand amazed how it fits perfectly in his, “Sam.” 

“So Sam, figure out what you're hunting yet?” She asked nonchalantly as she picked up her burger, “Cause, not being judgey, but that’s some really random shit you got there.” She takes a bite, watches as his expression bounces between startled and incredulous.

“How…”

“Saw your Tarsus 99 when you took off your jacket. I had one as a kid, then daddy got killed on a hunt and I got sent here to live with Auntie, she doesn’t cotton to hunting.” 

Piper picked up a fry pointing it at him, “But what I really wanna know, where the hell did you get that demon blade, ‘cause I’ve never seen one like it before.” 

Sam hesitates, “That’s a long story.” 

“Don’t close till one and I’ve got nowhere to be after.”

Sam decides to deflect instead of answering. “So what is it you do, because you're definitely not a waitress.” 

“Officially, I’m an antique appraiser. Unofficially, I’m helping a wayward hunter who graced my door with something he can’t figure out.”

***

Sam and Piper, after closing the diner, stayed another three hours hashing out the research for his case were now taking their time walking back towards the roadhouse. 

“I’ve been wanting to ask, what’s with that name tag?” Sam noticed early it read Maggie.

“Came with this god awful uniform. Auntie insists that we all adhere to how her daddy ran the place. So when I came back to temporarily help out after her surgery, Maggie decided she was not gonna take orders from someone younger, quit and I got stuck with this. I told Auntie it wouldn’t fit, even with letting out the hem. Maggie was like five-four and I’m over five-ten! 

Ugh! I keep popping these stupid top buttons and can’t freaking bend over without showing everyone my C U Next Tuesday.” 

Sam smiled that nervous smile he got when unsure how to respond to an answer he wasn’t expecting.

“I normally wear this to cover it,” moving her pocketed hands in the light weight, knee length sweater she had put on when they left the diner, “but I have to confess,” Piper turned around, walking backwards, “I took it off when I saw you come in, thought what the hell, been long time since a really cute guy has walk through my door so...” She bit her lip, turning back around as they continued down the lane in companionable silence.

Sam mused over her confession admitting to himself he was interested in her too. He enjoyed sharing different theories and bouncing ideas of what they might be hunting back and forth with her, surprising him with her unique take on things.

Piper might not have been the type he consciously steered towards since Jess but she was comfortable to be around, didn’t feel his usual awkwardness he normally had around most women. 

They arrived at the roadhouse a few minutes later and Sam led her towards the Impala.

“Damn, you brother is a fucking artist, how many times has he rebuilt her?” Piper asked walking around the car, running her hand over the Impalas pristine exterior. 

“To many.” Sam replies, putting his bag on the front seat. “Can I have a look?” He turns to see Piper standing by the trunk. “Um, sure.” Strolling over he unlocks it and lifts the interior wheel well exposing the car's hidden armory.

“Is that a grenade launcher?”

“Yeah, Dean found it at the bunker.” Sam laughed remembering how excited Dean had been when he discovered it. 

Piper shook her head shutting the trunk and hopped up on it, “What’cha wanna do now, go in,” gesturing at the bar, “or hang out here for a while longer?”

“I think I’m good hanging o...”

Piper grabbed his jacket dragging him between her spread legs and kissed him.

It took Sam all of five seconds to process what was happening before his hands grabbed her hips and tugged her to the edge of the trunk, her short skirt riding even higher as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer.

Sam jerked back as headlights flashing over them, a patrol car drove into the parking lot. He lifted Piper off the trunk and led her to the car's back door dragging  the green cooler out of their way.

Piper climbed in as he hauled it to the trunk and grabs the army blanket Dean keeps then gets in depositing it and his jacket over the front seat.

“Where were we before being rudely interrupted?” Piper asked, sliding onto Sam’s lap and leaning in to resume kissing him. 

Sam tangled his long fingers into her now loose hair pulling to halt her, “What about that patrolman?”

“Won’t be back till closing, around six A.M.”

“That means Dean won’t either,” he says closing the space between them, heatedly attacking her lips.

***

Piper ran her hand over his bare chest, “How long is your refractory period?”

Sam shifted to look down at her, “umm, around twenty minutes.”

“Hmmm, I’m gonna have to see what I can do to shorten that ‘cause we are so doing that more than once again.”

“And how are you gonna do that?” 

Piper stared at him slowly trailing her hand down his torso. Sam’s breath hitched as she lightly teased her fingers across his lower stomach, running through his treasure trail and over to his hip.

Shifting further down his body she continued running her fingers over the top of his left thigh feeling the hard muscles flexing under the skin. She placed both of her hands in between his legs shifting his left one off the seat and bending his right leg back placing his foot flat on the bench seat. 

Piper kneels in the space between Sam’s spread legs continuously moving her fingers in random patterns over the insides of both tights, touching him everywhere below his waist.

Sam closed his eyes groaning loudly, dropping his head back against the window as her fingers played over his balls feeling her other hand travel behind them teasing over his...

“You fell asleep in the fucking car!”

His eyes snapped open startled. Blinking rapidly he sees Dean leaning through the open car window looking at him. 

“Dean what...where’s Piper?”

“What’s a Piper?” He growled out, “Dude, we wrapped twenty minutes ago and I’ve been looking for you, got worried cause you weren’t answering your fucking phone Jay!”

He took a good look at Dean. His foggy brain finally realizing its mistake, taking in the headset hanging around his neck and the ball cap he likes wearing when directing. “Jen, sorry, guess I’m still in Sam headspace, got disoriented for a sec.”

Jensen laughed, “You find one grey hair and suddenly you're getting memory loss and needing naps? I’ll have to remember to have you in bed by nine, old man.” 

“Your fucking hilarious Jack.” Jared shoots back sliding across the seat getting out, “Man, I had the weirdest dream.”

“From the happy noises you were making that was far from weird. And speaking of happy,” Jensen's eyebrows went up as he pointedly looked down.

Jared glances down thinking he’s drooled all over himself only to see the prominent bulge in his jeans.

“Bob’s called a meeting in five but I think we’re gonna be late.” 

***

“I’m telling you it was so real! She was tall with coppery blond hair, tasted like chocolate peppermint and has this tattoo above her...” Jared paused grinning, keeping that specific location to himself, “I’ve never in my life had such a vivid dream like that.”

“Dude, you like petite brunettes.” 

“I know..so why would I make her a redhead?”

“Hell if I know, it’s your giant melon. Maybe all that sugar ribbon you eat is finally getting its revenge.” Jensen snarks as they enter the meeting room.

They were greeted by Bob’s gruff voice, “About time you two showed up. Alright, now that everyone is finally here, we need to get everyone up to speed. We’re having to make changes to the filming schedule.” He pauses looking at him notes, “Jared, don’t need you to come tomorrow for those new promo shots with, what was that new character again?” 

“Y/N Y/L/N, Sam’s new love interest.”

“Right, anyways, writers scraped that idea. As some of you heard, several of our exterior locations got flooded with that last storm and it’s taking time to find new locations so instead of doing blocking we're gonna do a quick read through of the new episode.”

Jared opened his copy of the new script to episode 4: Baby.

Reading the opening scene he experiences deja vu, quickly scanning the first two pages: bunkers garage: Dean washing the Impala, Sam having a possible case in Oregon. Next scene: interior shot Impala, Sam gets a protein shake out of cooler, Dean wants to know about the beer. Next scene: pulling in roadhouse parking lot, Dean trying to get Sam to join him, goes to eat instead, shot from Impala view watching Dean walking. Next scene: daybreak continuing from the view of the car...

“Fuck me.” Jared whispers, catching Jensen's attention. “What’s wrong?”

“This is how my dream started.”

Jensen pulls a yeah right face.

Jared shifted in his chair leaning closer to Jensen, looking directly into his green eyes, “I’ll prove it. Next scene: Dean gets in the car at daybreak and a naked waitress pops up in the backseat with a voice-over from Sam. Dean gets out peeping in the driver's side back window at her getting dressed. Cut to next scene: Sam climbs into front seat buttoning his flannel as he apologizes for having sex in Dean’s car. Dean, happy his brother finally got laid drives off quoting Bob Sager lyrics, playing Night Moves and Sam changing a lyric. 

Jared continued to lay out the entire episode from memory as Jensen flips through the script following.

“Bullshit Jared, someone snuck you a copy of this script, you're totally fucking with me.” 

“Jensen, not this time.”

***

Jared walked back to his trailer aggravated that Jensen won’t believe he didn’t get an advance peek of the script. He can’t shake this unsettling feeling that he was forgetting something important.

He was two steps into his trailer when his phone vibrated. Chad left a voicemail instead of texting, weird.

“Jay man, you gotta do me solid. A friend of mine got the part of Y/N on your show and I don’t know what the fucks happening up there but she flipped the fuck out on me! Need you to check on her, she’s outside one of the guest trailers. And have her call me back after she’s calmed the fuck down!”

Jared snorted, another woman pissed off at Chad, shocker. “The fuck you getting me into this time Murray.” Jared mutters to himself as he heads over to the guest stars trailers and hears a somewhat familiar voice outside of one.

“What do you mean there’s nothing you can do? I get here and now they're telling me they’ve dropped the story line.”

There was a pause in conversation as Jared walked closer to hear more clearly over the lot's noises and was shocked when he saw her sitting on one of the trailer's steps.

“But I signed a contract...what? I don’t remember seeing that in there. So they can just arbitrarily drop the part with no notification, that’s bullshit! I’ve never had a clause like that in one before. I gave up my job and apartment for this!” She gets up and paces around not noticing him. 

“They're giving me the bit part of the waitress in this episode, have a five am call for hair, getting a blonde rinse so I look more like a Dean type girl. I don’t know what the fuck is with these writers, it’s like they don’t get Sam, should’ve left him like Kripke originally created him.” She paused, “paying me what? At scale! That’ll just cover my petrol for the drive back to L.A. Wait, what about my six month lease? Could you check on it.” 

“Oh, giving me two nights at the Hilton. How magnanimous of them,” she sarcastically replies, “can I still get that part on Arrow...cast someone else.” She abruptly ends the call and sits back down on the step slumping over her knees.  

“So, how much of that fucked up conversation did you overhear?” She asked not looking at him.

“Um, almost all of it.” Jared confesses, “I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping but I got a voicemail from Chad,” she looked up staring in disbelief at Jared, “he’s worried and wanted me to check on you.” 

“Fanfuckingtastic, can this day get any better? I’ve completely humiliated myself in front of Jared Fucking Padalecki!” 

Jared can just make out her blushing in the still dimming light. “I wouldn’t say completely, I mean, you could drop your pants and yell Pudding.”

She blinked at him before doubling over in laughter, “Alright, point taken. Still, it’s a crock of shit you don’t need to be bothered with.”

“Chad’s kinda made it my problem. Look, I don't know all the details but maybe I can help, I can call casting..”

“Oh hell no! Thanks but no thanks. Bunch of assbutts on social media were already speculating about how someone like me got the part in the first place. Last thing I need is more ammo for the haters, they’ll tweet something like I had a three way with you and Ackles because I was desperate to get the part back.” 

Jared cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair embarrassed to feel turned on by the imagery she conjured up in his mind. 

 “Mmm, that’d be my wet dream come true, but not the point, they’ll just come up with some random shit.”

Jared understood being all too familiar with the anti whatever’s having been the target himself.

“Okay, how about we go to my trailer,” she gave him a skeptical look, “where you can have some privacy to call Chad back. I’ll get de-Sam’d and we can talk some more or grab a bite if you're hungry.”

“You don’t know me from Adam, what if I’m some psychotic serial stocker nut job?” 

“If your friends with Chad, you absofuckingloutley are Ms. what's your name.” Jared sarcastically remarks given her a mischievous grin.

“Touché, and it's Piper,” Jared froze at her name, “and you’ve been friends with Murry longer than me so I know you’re straight up batshit crazy.” She smarts back standing up, “lead on, oh gallant knight.”

***

Jared walked out of the bath toweling his wet hair sees Piper lounging on his couch still on the phone with Chad.

As he crossed over to the kitchen's fridge he couldn’t help but notice her low rise jeans had ridden lower, revealing the top half of the tattoo just above her..

“Dude, should’a told me Padalecki has a tattoo kink,” Jared tripped over his feet before catching himself embarrassed at getting caught, “Yeah, that was your boy.” She winked at him, “No way in hell I’m ever showing it to you perv.” Jared loudly laughs at that. “Hey, when I get back I’m PA’ing for you till I get another gig. Don’t you dare argue, you got me into this so it’s that or I’m on your couch for a month,” Piper rolled her eyes at Chad’s response, “Yeah, yeah, talk to you later.”

“Is that how you met Chad, working as a PA?” Jared inquired coming over to sit down next to Piper handing her a beer. 

“Yeah, paid the bills while doing auditions, was starting to pick up a few bit parts around LA.” Piper starts nervously fiddling with the bottles label, “I heard about the casting call for a new Sam girl and Murry talked me into trying out for it, so I figured unless I kiss Crowley I don’t have a shot in hell and holy fuck, I got it.” 

She stopped talking but kept playing with the label. 

“Hey, whatever it is you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Jared says gently touching her shoulder in a reassuring manner.

She took a long pull of her beer before continuing. “My Auntie died and I inherited everything, including her debts. I negotiated a smaller settlement but it wiped out all my savings.” She paused draining the rest of her bottle. “I figured it was serendipity..”

Jared is half listening, feeling that uneasy sensation again at that last word.

“...gonna be Sam Winchester’s...”

“If we’re meant to meet again,”

“.. weren’t killing her off after three episodes but then they decided to drop that story line...”

“we will.”

“...I should be going. Thanks for the beer and letting bending your ear, I’m gonna get out of your hair.” Piper gets up heading for the door.

Jared finally remembers.

“I believe in serendipity..maybe you can too.”

He quickly jumped up moving between her and the door blurting out, “I know you said you didn’t want my help but you can’t go, not yet.”

“Okay, why not? ‘Cause any other time I’d be up for some wham bam thank you ma’am but so not in the mood right now.”

Taking a deep breath he goes for it, “So, get this, after we finished filming today, I fell asleep in the Impala and had this dream…” 

***

Jared sat on the couch nervously chewing on his thumb watching as Piper paces back and forth mulling over his story.

She abruptly stopped and sat down on the table in front of him. “So here's the deal, I will believe everything you've told me,” Jared opens his mouth to say something but Piper reached out laying her fingers on his lips, “if you can answer one question.” 

Jared took her hand remembering how it felt so right in his, “Okay.”

“Since you’ve seen it in your dream, what does my tattoo mean?”

“In Japanese, it means happy coincidence,” Jared confidently says sitting back as Piper climbs onto his lap, “but that's the first line, the second one is chance discovery.”

Jared pulls her in, brushing his lips against hers, running his tongue across them so she’ll part them , allowing him access. He can taste the beer they’ve been drinking but there’s that sumptuous flavor of her underneath he finds intoxicating..chocolate peppermint..thinking to himself..

Serendipity.

[wizardessheart-sideb]

[Image ID: A chapter image done in the style of Wizardess Heart. A large, off-white imagine with a guy on it. He’s wearing a dark gray uniform. There’s a lavender bar over him that reads “Tsukasa Kuze.” The rest of the text reads “Main Story” and “Chapter 10-1: Hunting” /End ID]

Chapter summary: With little options, I have no choice but to go with Azusa and try and avert disaster.

I’m not doing well, so I won’t be attending classes today. I’ll see you after class. Love, Tsukasa.

The Magic Note came in as I got dressed. My stomach felt so sick reading it. He… He’s not ever going to get better, is he? Not unless we get that medicine. Or Azusa or I make a contract… What would I give a demon to make Tsukasa better? Heck, what would it even ask for? A lock of my hair? Some blood? My first-born child?

I walked into the kitchen. Aika and Isabelle were at the table, bowls of cereal in front of them. There was nothing on the stove and Dorian was nowhere in sight.

“We’re on our own for breakfast this morning,” Isabelle informed me.

“Where’s Dorian?” I asked.

“He’s looking for Azusa,” Aika said.

“Still?!”

“I guess?” Aika shrugged. “I don’t know. Dorian left around four this afternoon and he called me a few hours later and told me he couldn’t find Azusa so he was going to look for him.” My stomach knotted itself up.

“He might be at the Spring of Unicorns, but I don’t know why he’d be there now,” I told her. “He seemed so hellbent on having me help him and he told me we weren’t going to go there until four am.”

“I know Dorian looked around the dorms, but I don’t know if he’s checked the main building or not,” she said.

“He better not get too much attention,” Isabelle piped up.

“Dorian’s great a stealth. There’s no way he’s gonna be caught,” Aika reassured her. “I’m more worried about him not being able to find Azusa.”

“If anything, you’ll know where he is this morning,” I said, trying to look on the bright side of things.

“Yeah, but it’d be better for us to catch Azusa before he does anything,” Isabelle pointed out.

“I’ll call Dorian and give him the tip.” Aika quickly got up and left. Isabelle sighed, folding her arms across her chest.

“Are you really going to go through with this? Helping him… You know…” Her thumb made the throat-slitting motion.

“I mean, I don’t know. I don’t want to kill anything. But I don’t know if we can convince Azusa otherwise.”

“If worse comes to worse, Dorian can restrain him and you can make a contract with a demon or magical creature or whatever you want to save Tsukasa,” Isabelle said.

“We really depend on Dorian for everything, don’t we?” I sighed.

“Well, yeah. He’s taken care of Aika since she was yo- They were young. We joke about it, but he really does take care of us. He insists on it.” She took a sip of her coffee.

“Have you ever summoned a demon or a magical creature before?” I knew Aika and Dorian were into that sort of thing. Maybe Isabelle had experience with it. But she just gagged on her coffee.

“What? No. Summoning isn’t my specialty and the price of a contract is… Something that would open up a lot of mental wounds for me. How come?” she asked.

“I’m just worried if I have to do it. I don’t know what I’d sacrifice in order to save Tsukasa. I’d give anything to save him, but when it comes to picking that...”

“I get it,” she said with a nod. “It’s a big decision, you know? If you want my opinion, I’d do some research first and decide what kind of creature to summon first. If you do chose a demon, there’s a lot of subtypes. Incubi generally make contracts for firstborns or a bit of your soul, although I’ve heard some are really flexible with payment.”

“I don’t know if I’d want to summon a demon like that…” I don’t want to make a contract like that and besides, I don’t think Tsukasa would appreciate it if I made a contract like that even if I was willing.

“Personally, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Azusa’s stubborn, but he loves his brother and I’m sure Dorian will get through to him.” Isabelle smiled warmly at me.

“Yeah, but I don’t like depending on others,” I admitted. “Dorian shouldn’t have to do anything. I should be able to do everything on my own.”

“Oh, same,” Isabelle nodded. “But you have to realize this is something big. I feel like if you have someone willing to do the work for you or help you out, you should take it. No one should have to do things alone, you know?”

“But I’ve been depending on people ever since I got here. I haven’t done anything for myself,” I reminded her. Isabelle’s brow furrowed.

“What are you talking about? Of course you’ve done things on your own. Do you honestly think that other people have been doing your work for you? Even if people are helping you, your accomplishments and your growth are your own.” She sighed, taking another sip of coffee.

-----

I’d gotten used to walking to class on my own. But as I got to the elevator, I paused for a moment. I wondered how Tsukasa was doing. Usually he sent me a Magic Note in the morning, but it just occurred to my that I hadn’t heard from him. My body immediately started to move on its own. I needed to go check on Tsukasa.

The door to his room was opened slightly and I immediately pushed it open, only to for it to meet resistance.

“Don’t open it more. You’re going to knock me over.” Tsukasa’s voice came from the other side.

“Tsukasa?! Are you okay?” I wiggled through the small opening and found Tsukasa sitting on the ground, clutching a trash can to his chest. I immediately knelt down beside him, pushing his hair out of his face. He heaved and stuck his head into the can, vomiting. I hurried over to his desk, grabbing the box of tissues and pulling some out for him. He took them and cleaned himself up.

“Sorry, I’m staying home today,” he said.

“Don’t worry about me. Do you need me to take you to the infirmary?” I asked him.

“No, it’s fine. I just need a moment.”

“Are you really sure? I don’t mind helping you down there.”

“Really, it’s fine,” he insisted. “Azusa told me he’ll be getting another batch of my medication and I’ll be fine in a few days time.” He gave me a soft smile, hand reaching out and cupping my cheek. Despite the comforting gesture, nausea came over me. “Don’t worry about me. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I know. Everything’s going to be okay.” I spoke the words, trying to believe in them. I wasn’t going to let Tsukasa die. I had to do something to save him. I was going to do something to save him. Tsukasa leaned against me, snuggling into my side. “What if I stay here with you today?” I posed the question carefully, glancing over at him.

“I’d like that, but are you sure? Is it going to stress you to skip classes today?”

“I’ve been doing a lot better in classes. I’m sure its fine.” I put my arm around him, trying to snuggle closer to him. He put the trash bin to the side and grabbed my hand.

“I’m really grateful for you. I hope you know that,” he told me. My heart melted.

“And I’m grateful for you. I’m so grateful we met.”

----

I glanced at the clock on the wall. If I was going to meet Azusa, I’d have to leave right now. Tsukasa and I had been laying on his bed for the past hour or so. Glancing down at Tsukasa, I saw he was still fast asleep. If it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest, I would’ve worried… Carefully, I climbed over his legs and got out of bed. As quietly as I could, I sneaked out of the room. Tsukasa would probably be upset when he realized I left, but this needed to be done.

Classes were still going on, so the hallways in the dorm were silent and empty. At least that was nice. I didn’t have to worry about getting caught playing hooky. In fact, everything seemed empty and quiet as I made my way into the forest and to mine and Azusa’s meeting spot. It was as if the whole forest was empty. There were no owls crying out, no insects making wretched sounds. Nothing.

As I approached the meeting spot, I could see a dark figure in the moonlight, a flashlight in its hand.

“Azusa?” I called out.

“What?” he responded, irritated. I sighed a breath of relief.

“Sorry, I couldn’t tell if it was you or not,” I told him.

“Whatever. Let’s go.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the spring. I wrenched my arm out of his grasp.

“You don’t have to hold onto me. I’m fine,” I told him. He said nothing. “Look, I’ve been thinking about this, and I have an idea. If the unicorn won’t give us a piece of its horn, I’m willing to make a deal with a demon -”

“A demon?” he interrupted. “You’re seriously saying you’d rather try and strike a deal with a demon than just killing an animal?”

“But we wouldn’t have to kill anything!” I protested.

“Why are you still hung up on that? I’ve already told you… Ugh, I’m not having this argument again. I hate repeating myself.”

“But it just makes more sense! Do you want to keep coming back here and killing unicorns every couple years or make a deal with something and have it done forever?”

“… You wouldn’t understand it,” he muttered. “I’m not going to rely on someone or something else. The only reason I brought you into this is because Tsukasa says you’re good with healing magic and I would assume you want him alive.”

“You don’t want to rely on people?”

“I just told you I hate… Are you trying to piss me off on purpose?!”

“No, no! That’s not it at all! I… I get it. I really do.”

“You’re so weird,” he said dismissively before heading into the spring. Was this how I looked to other people? Stubborn and leading myself down a difficult path for no reason? Not listening to reason? Even if Azusa refused to listen to me or anyone else, I knew how he felt.

I wasn’t sure if the feeling comforted or worried me. Uneasy, I stepped into the spring. A unicorn was already by the water, but I couldn’t tell if it was the same one Azusa and I talked to.

“Hello?” I called out.

“Ugh, you two again,” the unicorn sighed. I guess that answers that question. Jerk. “If you’re here to bargain with me, I stand by what I said earlier.”

“Are you really okay with letting someone die when you could have saved his life?” I challenged it.

“Do you really think I’m going to believe two strangers I just met? You’re probably lying,” he said dismissively.

“But do you want to take that risk? Do you want blood on your hands? Er, hooves?” I corrected myself. Azusa groaned.

“Be quiet. I’ll take care of this,” he told me, grabbing my shoulder. “Get ready to back me up if needed.”

“Azusa?!”

“Stand back or you’ll get caught in the magic circle,” he ordered.

“The what?!” He grabbed my arm and threw me away from the spring. I stumbled over my feet and fell to the ground. “Ow! Azusa, what the heck?!”

“封! (Fuu!)” he shouted, writing a symbol in the air. My stomach dropped as faint markings in the ground started to glow. It was happening. This was really happening.

“Azusa, stop!” I screamed at him, scrambling to my feet. There was a blinding light and I shut my eyes as I grabbed Azusa around the waist, hiding my face in his back.

“Get off me!” he yelled.

“No! Please don’t kill it! Just take part of the horn, please!” I pleaded.

“Stop being a baby,” he ordered me callously. “I’m taking care of everything. Just stand back and if I need healing, do it.”

His fingers dug into my arms and he wrenched my arms opened, pushing me away from him. The magic circle on the ground faintly glowed, and from some of these lines stood what looked like large slabs of glowing crystal. The unicorn was desperately rearing back, crashing onto the slabs, trying to break it. Azusa leaned down, taking his backpack off and leaving it at my feet.

“Get ready to help me with the butchering. I can’t do that alone,” he told me. Bile rose in my throat at the mental image. Azusa approached the crystalline cage and I was scrambling to my feet, reaching for my wand. But as I raised to attack Azusa, I froze. What if Azusa was right? What if this was the only way?

… No, this isn’t the way…

Tsukasa’s medicine only kept him healthy for a few years. If we went down this road, Azusa would have to kill unicorn after unicorn after unicorn. And what if we couldn’t get access to one? What happened when we killed the last one? What happened when we had no medicine to give Tsukasa? This wasn’t sustainable. This wasn’t a long-term solution.

“O sacred water, become a piercing arrow! 'Sagitta Aqua!'" I cried. A large arrow of water went flying through the air and hit Azusa squarely in the back. He cried out in pain, stumbling forward. He froze, then slowly turned to my. My stomach churned as his rage-filled face glared at me. I tried to stand my ground. “I told you, we’re not killing it.” My voice shook. Azusa took one step towards me, then another. I stumbled back.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you,” he said, voice dangerously low. He lifted his hand, starting to write something in the air. I readied my wand, ready to bring up a shield. “炎! (En!)” A bolt of fire came roaring towards me.

“Suctum Aqua!” I quickly brought up a shield and stood my ground, digging my feet into the ground. The flame pushed against my shield, but I kept it up. Even if they were getting extinguished from my shield, seeing flames right in front of your eyes was terrifying.

Suddenly, the flames disappeared and I heard Azusa scream. My shield dropped and I saw Dorian, arm raised, entering the clearing, Aika and Tsukasa following behind him.

“Tsukasa?!” Through my shock, I somehow managed to run over to him, taking him in my arms. “What are you doing here?! You need to be at home, resting!”

“Aika told me what’s going on. I couldn’t let them come for you on their own,” Tsukasa said, pushing some hair behind my ear.

“Tsukasa…” As glad as I was to see him, I couldn’t help but worry about his health and how he was feeling right now. Dorian put his arm down and Azusa choked for air, chest heaving violently.

“Our baby Unus transfer told us everything and we told Tsukasa everything. Let’s talk this out, Azusa,” Aika said gently, approaching him.

“There’s… There’s no other way…” he insisted.

“This isn’t sustainable. What happens when we can’t find a unicorn? We need another solution. Please, if you won’t listen to me, listen to them!” I begged him.

“None of you understand what I’ve been through!” he shouted. “If killing a unicorn is the only way to save Tsukasa, then so be it!”

“Hey, we’re all here for you,” Aika said gently, grabbing his arm. “We can all put our heads together and figure something out.”

“Shut up!” he screamed. She trembled and immediately took a few steps back, body shaking. “I’ve tried everything and this is the only thing that will work!”

“Oh, really? You’ve really gone through every possible solution? I find that hard to believe,” Dorian called him out, crossing his arms over his chest. Azusa glared at him.

“Oh, you’re really going to be like that?” he asked dangerously. He raised his hand and I moved in front of Tsukasa, ready to throw up another shield. But in an instant, Tsukasa moved in front of me, storming over to Azusa.

“That’s enough!” Tsukasa yelled.” They’re just trying to help you! We’re trying to help you! You’ve always been like this, insisting you can do everything by yourself. You’re so stubborn! Can’t you just accept our help How will it hurt you if you get help from us?”

“How many times do I have to repeat myself?!” Azusa roared. “There’s no other way. It’s you or the unicorn! And I’m not losing you! You’re all I have left! You have no idea what I’ve been through! I don’t care if I have to kill every unicorn on this damn planet. I will save you. I won’t let you die again!”

Everything froze.

Die… Again…?

Azusa’s face crumbled. He took a few steps toward Tsukasa, who stepped away.

“What are you talking about?!” Tsukasa demanded, voice shaking. Azusa remained silent. “I… Azusa, what are you talking about?!”

“I promised our parents I would do everything to keep you safe. I couldn’t let you die. I couldn’t let you stay dead,” Azusa said quietly.

“You’re crazy! You’ve completely lost it!” Tsukasa shouted. His shoulders started shaking. I hurried over to him and embraced him. His knees buckled and his full weight dropped into my arms. Carefully, I sat down with him. Azusa sprinted over to us, kneeling in front of Tsukasa and I.

“The past doesn’t matter,” Azusa said. “You’re alive now and I’m going to do whatever it takes to keep you alive. Even if you hate me, you’re still my brother and I’ll do anything to keep you safe.”

“Why... Why didn’t you tell me?!” Tsukasa demanded.

“I thought it would be best if you didn’t know,” Azusa replied. Part of me couldn’t fault him on that, seeing what was happening now.

“But it’s my life! I deserve to know what’s going on!” Tsukasa retorted.

“You want to know the truth?”

“Yes!”

Azusa sighed, sitting down by us. Defeated. Exhausted.

“It happened when you caught cholera,” he began. “I tried everything to save you, but when you…” He swallowed hard. “I couldn’t accept it. You were just fourteen. I’d promised our parents I’d keep you safe and I failed. So I searched for a way to bring you back. A merchant had a unicorn carcass on his hands and I was willing to shell out for it. The horn and some magic I learned from a visiting Gedonelunian woman did it.

“You came back to life. All I had to worry about was giving you your medication. As long as you were taking that, you’d stay alive. But then we moved and I thought things would be easier here for us. I’ve been trying to get bits of unicorn horns to give you the right dosage, but… I haven’t been able to. And without the medication, your body’s shutting down. That’s why we need to kill this unicorn. You’re dying and I refuse to lose you again.”

“Azusa…” Tsukasa whispered. We fell quiet. Tsukasa quietly sobbed and I just… I didn’t even know what to think. But Azusa’s desperation made even more sense now that I knew the truth. Even though I was relieved to hear Tsukasa wasn’t sick, it wasn’t like it mattered. Somehow, his body shutting down was worse. Illnesses had cures. Dying like this had very few.

“… Dorian,” Aika spoke up quietly. “I want to break our contract.”

[captainscanadian]

Star Crossed | Chris Beck x Reader (Fly Away)

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Summary: Just when you had thought that you were ready to move on, you were reminded that your heart would always belong to a certain flight surgeon. 

Word Count: 2100+

Pairing: OMC Tudor Hartland x Reader, Chris Beck x Reader (not much of him in this part, but it’s still relevant to the series...) 

Warnings: Heartbreak, Angst (just a little). 

A/N: The concept was inspired by @baezen​‘s It’s Time (seriously, go read it!). Dedicated to my darlings @nasabeck​ and @dramadreamer14​! This one shot came to be when I found myself thirsting over another man (who shall remain nameless) and felt as though I was cheating on Seb (who will always have a special place in my heart). I DON’T DO TAGLISTS! 

Your hands were clammy as you clutched tightly onto the steering wheel, feeling the brisk New England breeze that slipped through the rolled down windows of your car, trying but failing at calming your nerves. 

A part of you wanted to turn the car around and drive back to your apartment, but you knew that you would be in for a rather stern lecture from Amy. After all, she had spent the last two hours helping you get ready for this date when she could have been doing something much more worthwhile of her time. 

Besides, she would certainly give you a piece of her mind for having wasted her time like that, along with blatantly expressing how much you had disappointed her by not making it to your date on purpose. Even she had lost faith that a certain someone would ever return from his travels in space, and she hated to see you wallowing in your own loneliness. She believed that you deserved a second chance at love, even if it meant that it wouldn’t be with her brother. 

You owed it to her for going through with it. 

Not to mention having to face your own conscience for having texted this man for a few weeks before agreeing to meet him, only to stand him up at the very last minute. You could never forgive yourself for leading him on and not even having the common decency to go on one date. 

What the hell were you supposed to do anyways? Your mind was telling you that you were ready to move on, but your heart was telling you to keep waiting for the man whom you knew was never coming back. He was too far gone, a few million miles to be exact. 

Christopher Beck was the star crossed love of your life, the one that got away; you were never meant to be. He was definitely not the right one for you, and you knew that by now. You both wanted different things in life; you wanted to be confined in a lab and fight against deadly diseases, while he wanted to fly away. 

Sometimes things end up not working out for a reason, and you had to accept that. Or so, you had convinced yourself as you arrived at the Yale Center for British Art. 

You had met Dr. Tudor Hartland at a medical conference in Boston a few months ago. While you had taken the stage to present your research, he had watched you from the front row and approached you for what was meant to be a purely academic discussion - but it had turned out to be anything but. 

The conversation had started with you butchering one of his recent articles on neuroimmunology, but it had somehow ended with him recommending what kind of artisan chilli jam from Britain could go well with the vegan cashew cheese that they were serving at the conference. While your fellow medical scientists from Yale had claimed that there were sparks flying all around the two of you during that wine and cheese event, you had begged to differ. There was no such thing, right?

Okay, maybe that was a lie. You had found his British dialect and his keen intellect rather attractive. By the time the conference had come to an end, you had exchanged numbers and promised to keep in touch - a promise that had been kept since then. 

You had agreed to meet when he would be moving to New Haven in the near future - which happened to be last week. As his sixteen year old sister, apparently a prodigy of some sort, had been pursuing a Master’s Degree at Yale’s Graduate School of Art, he had ditched his position as Head of Neurosurgery at Massachusetts General Hospital to purchase a private practice in New Haven so that he could keep an eye on her. 

If the intelligence or the accent wasn’t as attractive as it was, the protective older brother part was definitely a selling point. 

“I almost thought you would stand me up.” Tudor remarked as he walked over to greet you with a soft kiss on your cheek, his hand resting at the small of your back before he pulled you into an embrace. “But I’m glad you made it, love.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the way he spoke, his deep voice soothing your nerves and letting you accept his arm and enter the venue. “I could have let you chase me around for another month or two, but I couldn’t resist saying no to a night at the gallery.” 

“I’m sure Eleanor really appreciates that you could come.” He admitted, referring to his younger sister who was having her work featured in tonight’s exhibit. 

You knew that his sister had most of his attention for the night, but you could not complain about it at all. You adored the kind of relationship that he had with her, which certainly made you find him much more attractive. You liked a man who had strong ties with his family.

Once the exhibition had ended, Eleanor had requested that her brother take her home for the night. The rest of the artists who had been featured that night were going out for drinks to celebrate, but since she was only sixteen years old, she couldn’t really join them. Perhaps that was the downside of being a graduate student at her age, you had no idea how you would have coped if you had been in her place when you were sixteen. 

After a whole night of chatting about what art really meant for the two of you - which came as an interesting debate as you were both medical scientists by profession, Tudor had walked you back to your car to bid you farewell for the night. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to join Eleanor and I for our little movie night?” He asked you for the umpteenth time that night. “My place is not far from here and I hate to cut our date short like this.” 

You chuckled softly and shook your head. “No, it’s fine. I had a wonderful time tonight.” You admitted, leaning against your car as you crossed your arms against your chest. “Tudor, I really don’t mind. Your sister needs you for tonight, and you are going to be in town for a while, right? I’m sure we’ll see each other some other time.” 

“So… does that mean that I have a shot at scoring a second date?” He asked you, his lips curling into a smirk. “Or are you going to have me chasing after you for six more months again?” 

“I’ll call you.” You replied, grinning widely at him. “And maybe even visit you at work during your lunch hour, bring you some clam chowder to beat the cold.” 

“Hm… I do like the idea of that.” He whispered, leaning towards you. 

“Oh do you now?” You teased, your hand making its way to run your fingers through his curly hair. 

“Kiss her, you idiot!” You heard a rather high pitched English girl exclaim, causing you to laugh softly as you looked over the man’s head to see Eleanor groaning from his car on the other side of the parking lot. 

“I’m so sorry…” He apologized, looking over at his sister and shaking his head. “She may be an artistic genius, but she’s still a teenager.” 

“No need to apologize.” You reached down to grab his jaw and gently pressed your lips against his. “She’s not wrong.” 

Tudor looked a bit surprised that you had kissed him like that, but he chuckled softly as he leaned in for another kiss. “No, she’s not.” 

You felt your cheeks heat up once again as you pulled back. You had to cut it short, even though you did not want to. Damn this man and his British charm. “I should get going. I have an 8 am lecture in the morning.” 

“Oh that’s right, Professor. I shouldn’t keep you here too long.” He grinned, cheekily. 

“Goodnight, Tudor.” 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

You had been smiling from ear to ear during the car ride home, blasting an old Taylor Swift song from your college days in your car and singing along as though you were still that twenty-two year old girl. You could not wait to get home and tell Amy all about your date with Dr. Hartland, and you felt giddy just thinking about everything. 

But when you got home that night, you had been greeted by the aroma of Amy’s famous one pot pasta and her startled reaction to your return. 

“Uh… I wasn’t expecting you to be coming home tonight?” She kept her eyes on the pot, which she was stirring constantly. 

“Tudor had to take his sister home, so we decided to call it a night.” You responded with a shrug of your shoulders, slipping into one of the stools by the breakfast bar. “What’s got you cooking up a storm at this time of the night?” 

“Uh… no reason.” She replied, quickly, but it was way too obvious that she was lying. 

It took you a moment to hear the sound of running water, making you raise your eyebrow at your best friend. “Wait, I didn’t know you had company tonight. You know, I could get out of your hair if you want me to. I don’t want to be a bother.” 

“Oh no, it’s… not a bother at all.” She shook her head before biting down on her bottom lip. “Y/N, I’m… I’m so sorry.” 

Just then you heard the sound of running water come to a stop, and you looked over at Amy with a rather confused look on your face. “Amy, it’s fine… really, I can go if you want me to.” 

But it was too late, as it was Chris Beck who had gotten out of the shower and made his way towards the kitchen. 

“Man, I missed your cooking so much!” He called out to his sister as he dried his hair off with a towel, stopping suddenly as he came across you once he entered the kitchen. 

Your eyes glazed over at the sound of his voice that echoed through the corridor to reach your ears, and you found yourself looking over at Amy in utter shock. 

You knew that he had been back on earth after his second mission to space and was currently preparing for his third one - this one was to Mars as part of the Ares III crew. 

But you hadn’t been made aware of his sudden return to New Haven, which you had assumed was because he wanted to see his family before he left on this incredibly time-consuming mission. 

A part of you wanted to scold Amy for not telling you that Chris was here, but the look on her face had been enough for you to know that she didn’t know beforehand either. If she did, she would have at least warned you before you had left for your date with another man. 

Chris hadn’t seen you since that dreadful day, when he had bid you farewell the way that he had before he had left Hartford for good. He wondered if you remembered his last words to you, for you had been unconscious in a hospital room, barely aware of your own surroundings let alone his presence. 

He remembered Amy telling him that you hadn’t wanted him there, yet he had showed up because he had loved you as much as he loved the stars. But you would never know. 

Unbeknownst to him though, you had loved him just as much. You knew that you loved him, which was why being in his presence had now tugged at your heartstrings. A part of you felt guilty for ever convincing yourself to move on, for all it took was just the mere reminder of his existence to bring you back to the harsh reality. You could never move on from Christopher Beck, as your heart would always belong to him. 

That was probably why you wanted to curse the stars for playing with your heart like this. For a moment, you had been the happiest you could ever be since your break up with Chris. You had felt as though you could finally have a second chance at love. You were willing to take the chance on Tudor. You really did take a chance on. 

But your heart, it was still longing for Chris. It was longing for him to eventually return to earth for good, in hopes that the two of you could someday have the happy ending you so rightfully deserved. Perhaps that was why you never called Tudor back; you just knew that it would be unfair to him if you dated him, all the while still being in love with your beloved flight surgeon.