#rk writes

[ladylilithprime]

Day 8: Witch's Brew

IT TOOK AN embarrassingly long time for Castiel to realize that Sam Winchester preferred tea over coffee.

He felt that he could probably be forgiven for this lapse in attention to detail. Sam was often drinking coffee when Castiel was present, and Castiel had been present frequently enough to have picked up on Sam's preferred coffee order versus what he would accept to appease either Dean's sense of masculinity or their limited budget. Even when tea was available, he did not always reach for it, though he was the more gracious of the brothers when offered tea by a witness when on a hunt, holding the delicate porcelain cups with gentle care in his large hands and sipping at the liquid politely when Dean would rather ignore it. It wasn't until the witch Rowena was living in the Bunker that Castiel had occasion to note how often Sam could be found drinking tea, even brewing it himself and seeing Rowena's pleased smile when he brought her a cup.

And Castiel had to keep from reacting with more than just a narrowing of eyes when he noticed Sam's flinch when he heard Dean muttering about "damn frou-frou witch's brew" as the elder Winchester walked past the one time he found Sam drinking tea without Rowena present.

"I'm a bit of a snob about tea, actually," Sam admitted with a wince when Castiel asked, ducking his head in shame as if confessing some great sin. "Coffee is kinda ubiquitous, y'know? And most of the time it's, like... boiled bean water. It's mediocre, cut with chicory, too bitter, or just burnt from sitting on the burner too long after being brewed. It's what I grew up with and I'm used to it, but you've already noticed I'll add cream or sugar or spices and flavored syrups to it if I can because I sure am not drinking it for the taste!

"Tea is different," he went on with a shadowed look in his eyes. "I learned how to brew proper jasmine tea from Jess, back at Stanford. She loved tea, but only when it was looseleaf and brewed 'right', and at first I learned to love it too because I loved her. And then, well... out on the road hunting, if you want tea you're stuck with whatever tea bags of cheap black tea you can get in a diner or gas station and it's no better to taste than coffee and not worth the mockery I'd get from Dean for it."

"For a professed champion of free will, Dean is remarkably judgemental about others' expression of it," Castiel replied, half in observation and half agreement.

"Only when it comes to me," Sam muttered under his breath.

He said it quietly enough that Castiel assumed he had not been meant to hear, and so he pretended that he hadn't. He did, however, "file it away", as it were, and quietly had a word with Rowena to ask for a lesson in how to brew tea "properly". The knowing look and occasional teasing comments that he got from the witch in addition to the lessons was mostly worth it when he managed to brew a two cup pot by himself. The smile he got from Sam when he brought him a cup of tea along with his own, surprised and pleased, made all the effort entirely worth it.

"Really?" Dean complained when he saw them placidly drinking tea in the library while researching. "Thought we'd seen the last of the leaf water when the witch left!"

Sam flinched, but settled when Castiel pressed his foot gently against Sam's leg under the table in support. Rallying, he said casually, "Dunno why you're complaining, Dean, it just means more bean water for you to drink."

"Yeah, I know you have no taste," Dean scoffed. "What'cha making Cas drink that shit for?"

"I am the one who made the tea, Dean," Castiel interjected blandly. "Sam is not forcing me to consume the tea molecules any more than you force me to consume coffee molecules."

Less, if he was honest. It had been a long and drawn out battle of wills to get Castiel to drink coffee at all, one he had eventually lost during his time spent human and homeless when the free coffee he was allowed to sneak at the Gas'n'Sip was sometimes the only thing keeping him awake for his work shift. He had never acclimated to the taste, however, and once he had regained his Grace and could taste only molecules again he had only kept up with drinking coffee to stem Dean's complaints.

"Cas, c'mon, man!" Dean practically whined, switching tracks. "Thought you were on my side with this!"

"I am allowed my preferences in the molecules I choose to consume, Dean," Castiel informed him pointedly. "They are no less valid for not perfectly aligning with your own. Or, more colloquially: bite me, Winchester."

Dean spluttered, either from the sentiment or from Castiel using a colloquialism. Castiel had no doubt he would "pay" for that later, but much like the effort it took to learn how to brew tea, he knew it was entirely worth it to hear the soft, choked laugh from across the table and see Sam's small, shy smile.

[ladylilithprime]

There's a long pause, during which the various members of the family look around at each other in discomfort and burgeoning awkwardness. Finally, with a soft cough, Morticia Addams reaches for a clear glass pitcher and a goblet, pouring the odorless and colorless liquid within into the goblet and holding it out to their apparently unrelated guest. "Water?"

“….Okay, are any of the dishes not poisoned?! Is there anyone at this feast who did not poison anything?!”

[pixelpaladin24]

Age 19: I love this character so much, he is my husband

Age 25: Wow, I was so fucking cringe, I am embarrassed at myself, ew, I'm glad I grew up

Age 35: .......this man IS MY HUSBAND and I LOVE HIM and I'm proud of it!!!

[edmundtheartist]

What should have happened under the conditions that Markus gets kicked out and Connor locates Jericho.

[nothwell]

Indie authors RK Ashwick, Tess Carletta, and Noah Hawthorne discuss their immortal characters and how they use immortality in their writing—from forest spirits to fae descendants and everything between and beyond. Spoilers ahead!

RK Ashwick (she/her) is the author of the Lutesong trilogy beginning with The Stray Spirit, as well as the cozy fantasy series Sidequest Row beginning with A Rival Most Vial. You can connect with her here on tumblr @ashen-crest

Tess Carletta (she/her) is the author of Kit & Basie, a queer cozy fantasy romance, its sequel collection Patchwork, and the forthcoming fantasy novel Goldheart. You can connect with her here on tumblr @tesscarletta

Noah Hawthorne (they/them), also writing as Aelina Isaacs, is the author of the queer cozy fantasy series Adventures in Levena, beginning with Phantom and Rook, and the solarpunk novel The Rebel Foxes, amongst other titles. You can connect with them here on tumblr @noahhawthorneauthor

[noahhawthorneauthor]

If you're looking to build your TBR, why not try these queer indie books by the hosts of our podcast?

Remember, you can read queer all year, not just for pride month. 🌈🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈📚

Breeze Spells and Bridegrooms (All royalties for June are being donated)

Swords and Seers

Dear Bartleby

Fella Enchanted

The Forgotten Lyric

The Stray Spirit

Phantom and Rook

This Doesn't Mean Anything

Fiorenzo

A Rival Most Vial

Kit & Basie

Right Here, Write Queer Linktree

@nothwell @ashen-crest @tesscarletta @ninawolv3rina

[thesudokukid]

Chapter Six: I Hate Her Fucking Aunt

WC: ~ 3,986. AO3

<- Prev Next

Summary:

In which Connor learns his programming is not only pretty mean but also kind of lazy, Ainsel has a breakdown, Connor enjoys his first leisure activity, and Ainsel bursts into tears. This chapter is mostly Connor POV which I figured was fair since Ainsel had almost the entire chapter for their POV.

Connor and Ainsel are watching the first half of Eleventh Hour in this one, so warnings for child neglect. Though to be clear, Connor is so upset about it I'm honestly kind of surprised he didn't go full Deviant here.

“I hate her fucking aunt,” Ainsel says. He's stunned by the fact that he actually agrees. He really thought he'd be less vehement about it.

Things to Note:

*To quote Gwelevin from AO3: "The whole discussion between Ainsel and Connor regarding Amy's character was intense, because this dialogue is directly linked to the relationship between Ainsel and Connor". Felt it was worth bringing up/mentioning if nothing else.

This is about 4,000 words making it the longest chapter in this story by far. And also about double the size of every other chapter. Enjoy! ("Future" Me here, the later ones can get as high as about 8k. The length really picks up around Chapter Eleven)

PROGRAMMING'S CONCLUSION(S)

Connor's conclusion(s).

You remain in your position on the floor as you look for one of your favorite episodes of Doctor Who. You keep half-expecting to meet the upper limit for Connor's acceptance of your autistic traits. But luckily, he hasn't tried to point out the potential "ramifications" of lying down on the floor.

You don't know whether that's his own choice or the programming's until you look over at him and see him standing there, not moving, like some kind of statue.

“You can look around,” you tell him. “You don't have to just stand there like a statue.”

Connor nods and walks away without lecturing or even a backwards glance. It seems he's more interested in taking the chance to look around while you look for something on your TV. You breathe a sigh of relief. Lecture escaped.

---

The programming readies itself to analyze the Detective while Connor does the same. More or less.

He begins by walking over to their front door. Which opens onto their kitchen.

The small kitchen provides him with little information. It's certainly possible that Ainsel doesn't enjoy cooking. But it's also just as possible they use the kitchen in their father's home, since he only lives across the street. Or that they simply prioritized being close to their family over all other concerns.

Though the second and third reasons operate on the same basic premise. That Ainsel's family is important to them and they value close relationships to their family.

"Your family certainly seems to be important to you," Connor says.

He hears some shuffling around and the sound of footsteps. Ainsel is in front of him a few moments later, still using their phone’s text to speech in order to speak.

“What gives you that impression,” they ask. "I mean it is very true. I do place a high value on the family I still have. But a lot of people prioritize their family. What I'm curious about is if there's a specific reason you think I feel that way."

PRIORITIZES FAMILY

Connor closes the popup and explains his previous reasoning, carefully allowing for the possibility of being wrong. Ainsel frowns pensively for a moment and experimentally moves their mouth as if testing whether they can say the words they need without their phone. The answer seems to be "not quite yet."

They begin typing into their phone.

"So what you're saying to me is, that my small kitchen, in combination with my living across the street from my dad, led you to the conclusion that I prioritize my family?"

Ainsel crosses their arms and tilts their head. As if to say he can do better than that and they're disappointed to see that he didn't actually try.

And they have no reason not to be so dissatisfied. Technically it was the programming's conclusion, not his own. He did not, 'personally' make an effort to come to "his" conclusion.

He simply followed a trail of what was most likely.

He thinks about what they said. Really makes an effort to think.

“You're disappointed about the lack of critical thinking that was applied and the lack of effort that I put in,” he concludes. “I only say that because you seem generally quite pleased whenever I make an effort to understand your way of thinking. Why you might have a certain line of thought. And earlier today you seemed... excited by my personal question rather than annoyed as I expected. The surface level conclusion that I came to with the scant information I had would be charming and even impressive if it came from a toddler, but not an android who's ostensibly, supposed to be, an adult."

Ainsel hesitates for a very, very long moment.

He looks at their face, the knot between their eyebrows. And then at their hands and the way Ainsel is using one to rub the back of their neck. As though they're trying to find a charitable way to agree with what he's just said.

Finally they begin typing a response, "I would have described it more as 'a bunch of shortcut conclusions stapled together' but yes that's the main idea of it."

After a pause they add, "I know maybe that seems rude but to say anything less direct than that feels like it would be lying. And I try not to lie about the things that are important to me."

"I see," Connor says. "Thank you for your honesty."

Connor looks around himself in an effort to find a more neutral topic of conversation. But it's also, in part, an effort to see if he missed anything earlier.

He'd like to make up for his previous, almost lazy, analysis if at all possible.

When he looks at Ainsel's front door, his eyes catch sight of an anime character.

A reverse image search reveals it to be Senshi from the manga Dungeon Meshi which later became an anime called Delicious in Dungeon.

The programming wants him to stop there. To leave it and drop the topic.

There's nothing more he can learn from it.

He made the mistake of trusting the programming with his last analysis of Ainsel. He won't take the risk of doing it twice.

If he's truly going to make up for his low effort analysis of why Ainsel's kitchen is small, this is almost certainly where he should start.

Besides, if Connor wants to properly get along with them, or be of any real help to Ainsel during their partnership, he'll have to understand them. And if he wants to understand them properly he'll have to dig deeper for information. And so he does dig deeper for information.

Even a brief glance at the art and fanart for Senshi from Dungeon Meshi suggests he's heavily associated with food.

The fact that Ainsel has specifically chosen a character heavily associated with food, rather than one known for losing things would suggest that the specific reminder about food is more needed.

His independent research from earlier that day suggests that many autistic people struggle with interoception. With interpreting body signals like hunger and thirst.

The sticky notes on Ainsel's work computer when combined with the anime character, strongly suggests that Ainsel is one of them.

He can't help but think it's a clever (if somewhat unconventional) visual reminder to eat something before going to work.

Strong possibility that Ainsel struggles to identify when they feel hunger.

"Is there any chance you struggle with interoception," he asks.

"Oh good," Ainsel says out loud, without the assistance of their phone. "You actually tried this time."

They immediately cover their mouth. Tears spring to their eyes. They begin crying. Their stress levels spike to approximately 86%.

They start to rock themselves back and forth. And their stress levels experience another small increase. They're up to 90% now. They soldier on and begin reciting Jabberwocky.

“’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves/ Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves/ And the mome raths outgrabe”

By the time they've recited the full poem, their stress levels have smoothed out to a higher than ideal but still manageable 55%.

Their crying has stopped but that's less important on the whole than their general stress levels. Which fortunately, have just dropped a full 35%.

“I am so sorry,” Ainsel says, still rocking. “That was a deeply unkind thing to say. And you absolutely did not deserve to hear me say that. It was cruel and unfair and that will not happen again.”

“Why would you need to apologize,” Connor asks. “The core of your earlier dissatisfaction was my perceived lack of effort was it not?”

Ainsel nods. Slowly, but they nod.

“Your method of expressing your appreciation for the effort I put in was…somewhat unorthodox and unusual, that's true. But I appreciated it for the blunt statement it was.”

They don't seem to believe him but they are at least listening. He keeps going.

“More to the point, you nearly died today. You aren't yourself right now. So I think perhaps it might be best to pursue the activity you planned earlier. As opposed to holding a mistake like this against yourself don't you agree?”

They nod and move into their kitchen, turning on the light. The first thing they do is take a box of fish sticks from their freezer. They then remove an entire BOWL of pudding from their refrigerator.

Ten minutes and a thermos of tea later, they begin putting the fish sticks in the pudding.

This is so far out of the norm for their personality at work the programming offers nothing for him to say and so he's left to come up with it himself.

“Is that a comfort food for you,” he asks. It seems like a reasonable, non-judgemental, and all-around safe way to phrase the sentiment. He isn't going to provide them with a lecture on healthy eating. They're an adult and more than old enough to make their own decisions. But that doesn't mean he's not curious.

“In a manner of speaking,” Ainsel replies, no longer relying on their phone to speak. Their stress is now at 50%.

He doesn't push them for more details or ask more questions. He doesn't want to tax their ability to speak any further. To put more pressure on them to speak “normally”.

They put their phone in their pocket, pick up the bowl of pudding (with microwaved fish sticks still inside) and begin the journey to their living room. He turns off the light as he sees them leave and then follows them to their living room.

---

A few minutes later, they're both sitting on Ainsel's couch, in front of their television.

Ainsel looks over at him while he's trying to puzzle out where to stay or go. Whether they want him to join or not.

He gets up to let Ainsel pursue their activity in peace and finds himself surprised when they reach out to stop him.

"Stay," they tell him.

He nods and continues to stand but doesn't leave. The programming creeps in and makes him stand ramrod straight. Straight and stiff as if he's presenting himself for a military inspection.

Ainsel sighs. "You don't have to..." They swallow and then laugh nervously. "You don't have to stand that straight."

Connor nods and the programming lets his shoulders relax back to normal.

"Sit down," they request. "Please. This is something I want to share with you. I looked it up for that purpose actually. I want you to try and enjoy your first leisure activity. So long as it's not a problem of course."

Now that they've officially requested his presence and participation, it isn't a problem in the slightest.

Still, it's hard to believe they're both about to watch a show Ainsel wants to share with him. That they looked up for the express purpose of sharing with him

(This is the first time anything like it has happened. His first leisure activity. The first time anyone has ever looked for anything they might be able to share with him. It’s the first time he's watching anything with anyone. He's never even seen the news. At least, not properly.)

Connor lets himself “relax”. Allows himself to lean back into Ainsel's overstuffed couch until it's just about swallow him up.

And finally, he focus on something that isn't remotely related to work. Just once. Just once. Just...once.

---

The opening scene isn't exactly interesting to him but he sees Ainsel grinning out of the corner of his eye. And then during the opening credits they start stimming, by pretending they're conducting an orchestra.

Connor wonders at the poorly maintained state of the home in the next scene as he sees the camera panning past the garden. Plants are overtaking a swing set and a bench outside. He almost wonders if the home is abandoned but then he notices a light is on inside. He corrects "abandoned" to "neglected" as the next scene begins.

Upon hearing the words "Dear Santa" he begins wondering if perhaps the building is an orphanage. And if a child might be writing a letter to Santa within.

The reveal that they're from a child in the middle of bedside prayer, just about confirms the orphanage theory. After all, his quick search on the matter suggests fictional orphanages don't seem to be the most well maintained places in the world.

His orphanage theory is swiftly crushed by the words "Aunt Sharon" being said in combination with "emergency".

He hears Ainsel mumble under their breath. "Amelia Pond. Like a name in a fairytale."

He wasn't designed with child-based interaction in mind. But even he knows a child young enough to believe in Santa is far too young to be left alone overnight.

The large crack in the wall combined with the fact that Amelia hears voices when exposed to it does not speak well of the home or the woman who's in charge of it.

In all honesty the home should probably be condemned and then vacated entirely. It's clearly beginning to fall apart due to neglect, as if the garden didn't already indicate that. The home is therefore no place for a child. Especially with safety risks like asbestos and so on to consider.

The blue box from earlier lands in the garden. He is violently reminded of Ainsel's fear for the YK500's safety last week when Amelia thanks Santa for sending someone to help her and runs out to meet her savior. Wonders if what he feels is even a fraction of what Ainsel felt then.

He continues watching on, anxious to see if "Aunt Sharon" will be woken or called for or if she's even in the house at all. If the woman is at all redeemable as a caregiver, Amelia should be going to get her aunt soon enough.

Amelia does not go and wake her Aunt Sharon. She doesn't call for her Aunt Sharon either. Both those facts put the woman in an even worse light than before. Either Amelia is too frightened of her aunt to ask her guardian for backup or a small girl has been left entirely alone. Neither of which should be true of a little girl who thinks Santa is real and hibernates from at least Christmas to Easter. Atrocious. Absolutely atrocious.

He begins first by assessing the man coming out of the horizontal blue box as a threat.

A grappling hook comes out. Ainsel's response of Shave and a Haircut goes a fair way towards reassuring Connor that Amelia isn't currently in any danger.

The person who threw it comes out of the box beaming and some of Connor's fears are further soothed. For the moment.

Whatever this man is going through, and whoever he is, he's more focused on apples than Amelia so she at least, is something approaching safe.

Connor takes a moment to look at Ainsel. He may as well not be there for all the attention they're paying him. Their stress levels are hovering at about 29%, flickering between that and 30%.

Ainsel seems to take his glance as concern for little Amelia Pond because they pause the episode for a moment and turn to him. “Don't worry, she's perfectly safe.”

He smiles, pleased that he's still important to Ainsel. That they haven't forgotten about him.

He probably shouldn't be pleased.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^

Before they continue he looks at their unusual snack of fish sticks and pudding. They have yet to eat them.

“It’ll make sense in a bit,” Ainsel tells him. They do not touch the fish sticks or the pudding when the episode resumes. They don't even begin eating during the montage of food requests. They begin eating their fish sticks and pudding at the same time the Doctor begins eating his fish fingers and custard. And then he understands their desire to wait. they probably wanted it to feel like they were having a group meal with the characters.

Ainsel's decision to put it off until that moment specifically confuses the programming to such a degree he's left with no suggestion about what to do at all.

And then of course comes the confirmation he's been dreading. As much as someone like him can dread anything.

When the Doctor makes that point about how any adults should surely be awake by now, it's basically a fact that Amelia was left all alone. A little girl like her. All alone.

It becomes even worse when it is literally confirmed on screen that the aunt is not home. And then Amelia reveals she used to hate apples until her mother began to put faces on them.

Amelia Pond is an orphan whose mother loved her enough to put faces on her apples so she would eat them. And now she is being raised by an aunt she thinks she’d be lucky not to have. An aunt who left her alone. At night. With no adult in the house. At this point he'd be surprised to learn Amelia was left with a phone number to call in case of emergencies.

“I hate her fucking aunt,” Ainsel says. He's stunned by the fact that he actually agrees. He really thought he'd be less vehement about it.

From there, it's easy to see where adult Amelia (now going by Amy) gets her personality from. The loneliness of being neglected as a child combined with seemingly everyone and their mother having heard about Amy’s “Raggedy Doctor”. As if it might be the thing she's most well-known for. The only thing about her that might matter.

Which would have just exacerbated the loneliness. And made her put more time into her (at this point quite reasonable) obsession with the miraculous night where someone actually cared about her and her safety and gave her age-appropriate respect. Which would in turn make her still lonelier. A cycle that would go on endlessly as the years performed their terrible dance.

---

Connor is honestly surprised the adult Amy Pond isn't more cold and bitter. Though when he expresses the sentiment Ainsel shrugs and says, “It seems realistic to me.”

“Do you mind if I ask why,” Connor asks.

Ainsel pauses the show.

“I’ll answer but I have my own question that sort of leads into it,” they say.

“That seems fair and reasonable,” he says.

“If we were to open my front door and go outside right now, what would you be more surprised to see, a walrus or a fairy?”

He thinks only briefly before answering “fairy”.

“We are in Michigan after all and it's nearly winter. It isn't inconceivable that a walrus might turn up outside. Highly improbable of course. But not outright impossible like the existence of fairies.”

Ainsel's grimaces and then they ask, “What do you think I would be more surprised by? Because I’ll tell you this right now, I wouldn't be more surprised by the fairy.”

He considers asking why because there's no evidence suggesting the existence of fairies. Whereas walruses definitely do exist. Connor decides he'd rather understand them than make assumptions as the programming does. So he sticks to asking his question. And tries to find a way to make it clear he's only out to understand their way of thinking. That he doesn't want to use it to segue into a lecture about the difference between fantasy in reality like the programming seems to want.

That he has no interest in scolding them for hanging onto a silly childhood fantasy of magic and fairies being real.

“Would you mind explaining why,” he asks finally.

His decision has paid off because they smile widely and begin explaining.

---

Ainsel leans back against their couch and then turns and leans forward, toward him.

“I used to read a lot of fairy tales as a kid. Actually, I’ve been reading fairy tales since I was big enough to read by myself. One of my first chapter books was a fairytale retelling in fact."

Another instance of Shave and a Haircut. A brief interlude for stimming purposes so they can release enough excitement to continue speaking.

Even then it barely works as they're clearly straining to contain their excitement long enough to speak.

Lover of fairy tales (Special interest? Hyperfixation?)

"I’ve been half expecting a fairy to turn up at my house since I was seven. Which is, incidentally, the exact same age Amy was when the Doctor first landed in her garden.”

Ainsel smiles at him again. Connor finds himself smiling back, again pleased he chose not to lecture them. Though this time it's because he didn't scold them for continuing to hold onto a "belief" that clearly gives them much needed strength. He doesn't like to think of what might have happened if he had made that mistake.

---

He licks his lips, “So you think that the reason she isn't as cold and bitter as I expect-”

“Is because she's always half-believed that the Doctor would come back. Even though she claims to have grown out of that kind of thing. Which by the way is kind of how I feel about fairies. Holding any kind of belief gives us strength. But I feel like that's especially true of the beliefs we had as children.”

Connor nods, encouraging them to continue. To speak on one of the subjects that's so clearly passionate about.

It's interesting to him to see the impact in real time. The way Ainsel folds a leg under themselves and lean closer to him. How they hook their arm onto the back of their couch. They weren't previously this relaxed with him and he finds himself not only grateful but gratified to see the trust Ainsel now seems to have in him. For their seemingly easy trust that he won't destroy them with their own vulnerability.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^

“It's important to remember she believed VERY strongly that he’d come back when she was a kid. Bit four psychiatrists because they said he wasn't real.”

They've now propped their head up in their hand. The same one they just hooked onto the couch. Their eyes close and their tone of voice goes wistful as though they're wishing for something different. Something kinder.

“All because of that one magical, fairytale night when an adult showed up and cared about her. A neglected little girl who was clearly adored by her dead parents and left to an aunt she thinks she'd be lucky not to have.”

Ainsel pulls their arm back before bringing their knees close to their face and hugging them. He’d theorized earlier that Amy’s loneliness would drive her further into her memories of that night with the Doctor. But that brings to mind another theory.

“Do you think that one of the reasons Amy clinged so hard to the idea of the Doctor being real, is because the night they met was the first time in her memory that someone cared about her and her safety? Truly cared? And not just because it was their job to care?”

Ainsel looks lost in thought. He wonders for a moment if they're thinking of the same thing. His positive reaction to their infodumping. The way they asked him if they were hallucinating or otherwise imagining his positive reaction.

Ainsel doesn't look at him when they answer his question. Connor doesn't ask why. If they want him to know, they’ll tell him.

“...yes. Yes I do think that's why she clinged to her belief as hard as she did. Because it was the first time she felt like someone actually gave a shit about her as a person and not because of her position in the world.”

And despite the use of she/her pronouns, Connor knows somehow that they were talking about both themselves and Amy (formerly Amelia) Pond.

As if in answer to that thought, Ainsel promptly bursts into tears.

[ladylilithprime]

Day 4: Birthday

SAM WINCHESTER WAS just about to turn twenty-four when he was abducted by a Prince of Hell and thrown into a death tournament which he did not survive because he refused to kill another psychic human kid like him. He was just turned twenty-five the day his brother's deal to bring him back from the dead came due and Dean was dragged to Hell by the hellhounds. His twenty-sixth birthday was the last thing on his mind the day he went to kill Lilith to stop the Apocalypse only to learn too late that her death was the Final Seal to break and ensure that Lucifer walked free. And he was only just twenty-seven when his love for Dean helped him wrench control of his body back from a Fallen Archangel and drop them both into the Cage to be sealed away again, Michael and Adam dragged along for the ride when the eldest Archangel tried to stop him.

Sam's reckoning of his birthday got a lot more fuzzy after that point, what with his soul trapped down in the Cage while his body wandered around for a year and a half without him. Dean had once confessed to a similar disorientation regarding his own age, particularly the question of whether or not to count the four months spent dead verses the forty years his soul spent in Hell. He hadn't felt much like celebrating what should have been his thirtieth birthday in the middle of the Apocalypse, and neither of them had paid much attention to birthdays in the years since then.

So it was a bit of a jolt when Dean came up to Sam and clapped him on the shoulder, saying, "Well, Sammy, the big three-oh! What'cha wanna do for it?"

"I don't," Sam said after a moment of floundering as he scrambled to identify what his brother was even talking about. "We didn't celebrate your thirtieth, so why bother with mine?"

"C'mon, Sammy," Dean almost whines, looking supremely uncomfortable. "I wasn't in a good place that time, you know that."

"Well I haven't been in a good place on my birthday for over five years now," Sam pointed out, just barely restraining the urge to snap. He saw the moment Dean, thinking back, actually remembered what had been happening on or around Sam's birthdays for the last several years. "Yeah. There's a lot of anniversaries sharing the date that I don't feel like celebrating."

Dean had backed off after that, for which Sam was grateful. He didn't think he could have actually admitted to Dean's face that one of the reasons he didn't feel like celebrating was because he couldn't see a point in celebrating the birth of Lucifer's Vessel, Azazel's favorite, the demon-blooded abomination he had once tried to convince his young parents not to even conceive.

HE SHOULD HAVE known that wouldn't be the end of it.

"Okay, so the actual day has some bad memories attached that make it awkward for you to celebrate on, I get that," Dean said when he ambushed Sam in the library of the Bunker, startling Sam and causing Castiel to look up curiously. "So what if we pick a date, like, two weeks after that without any of those negative associations and make that your new birthday to celebrate?"

"Dean," Sam groaned in protest, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I really don't care enough to celebrate at all, regardless of the date!"

"Are birthdays something important in your culture to celebrate?" Castiel asked, frowning in confusion when Dean said "yes" at the same time that Sam said "no".

"It's complicated, Cas," Sam sighed, ever the more patient one with explaining human things to their angel friend. "Birthdays and birthday parties mostly tend to be focused on young children or the elderly, marking another year surviving to reach adulthood or into advanced age. Many people also use it as an excuse to solicit gifts from others, or even just an excuse to have cake and ice cream."

"Wow, cynical much?" Dean grumbled, holding up his hands when Sam glared at him. "But see, that's kinda my point. I know we didn't celebrate my thirtieth, but it's not like hunters tend to live very long once they start hunting!"

"Hunters also tend to be less inclined to celebrate their birthdays with more than a shot or six at a bar," Sam pointed out with a roll of his eyes. "Not my idea of a good time."

"Would you prefer cake and ice cream?" Castiel asked with a curious tilt of his head.

"I'd prefer not to even bother," Sam muttered. When Castiel continued to look at him expectantly, he sighed and said, "Look, whether by accident or design on the part of any number of beings, my birthday just... really isn't a good day, and the surrounding days aren't much better. Too many 'end of the world' situations cropping up on or around it, and even when we were kids about the only person who bothered marking it was Dean. I don't know why he's so eager to celebrate this year, especially after practically snapping at me to ignore his own, but I'd just as soon not."

"I see," Castiel said in a measured tone that immediately put Sam on edge. Before he could say anything or even pray for Castiel to stop, the angel said evenly, "You do not believe that your existence is worth celebrating."

Sam got up from the table, ignoring Castiel's penetrating gaze and Dean's stricken one, and left the library.

IT WAS CASTIEL who found him hiding in his room later. The angel who was most used to bypassing thresholds to fly directly into whichever room the person he sought might inhabit showed a marked restraint and consideration for personal privacy and boundaries by knocking lightly on the door and waiting for Sam's mumbled "come in" before nudging it open enough to enter. "Hey, Cas."

"Sam," Castiel returned, coming to a stop just inside the door, as if unsure of how far he should enter the room. "I apologize if I misspoke earlier."

"You didn't," Sam sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I mean, I kinda wish you hadn't said it in front of Dean, but it is what it is and it's not like you were wrong."

"Much like Dean, you do not wish to burden your brother with the pain you carry inside yourself," Castiel murmured. "Sam... are you so resistent to celebrating your birth and continued existence because Dean has refused to celebrate his own?"

"That's... part of it," Sam acknowledged. He didn't really want to get into all the reasons he felt that celebrating his birthday was a worthless and frankly inappropriate endeavor, not with Castiel and not when he knew the number of birthdays he even had left to him once the Trials were complete would be numbered zero. That was definitely a conversation he wasn't ready to have, though, so he refocused. "I mean, celebrating my birthday while ignoring his? That's like some weird double standard of favoritism, and I don't want to encourage that crap."

"I see," Castiel hummed thoughtfully. "Sam? What is the significance to turning thirty years old?"

"Not much," Sam answered with a half-shrug. "It's a decade marker, a big round number that makes it slightly more significant to reach than just counting one year after another. Thirty, forty, fifty... it's more of a minor milestone than anything else, at least until around sixty-five or so."

"Then perhaps Dean would accept a compromise," Castiel suggested. "Dean will be turning forty in five years and eight months. If he will agree to allow you to celebrate that day, perhape you might agree to allow him to celebrate your fortieth birthday when it comes to pass?"

It was so like Castiel to try and find a compromise for them like this, and Sam didn't have the heart to admit to the angel why he knew it wouldn't happen.

"Sure, Cas," he said instead. "If Dean'll let me make a big fuss for him on his fortieth birthday, I'll let him celebrate however he wants for mine."

"May I inform Dean of the suggestion and your agreement?" Castiel asked, and left Sam's room when Sam nodded, presumably to go find Dean. Oh, well. Hopefully Castiel wouldn't be too disappointed when Sam didn't make it to summer.

THE GRANITE STONE bore the name "Dean Campbell" and the inscription "There'll be peace when you are done," along with Dean Winchester's birth year and only the most recent date of death. It had been very tempting to put down every single date that Dean had died in a column marching down the stone, but that would have raised too many eyebrows in the public cemetery. As it was, the plot was small and held a ceramic urn with the salted ashes left behind after the hunter's funeral Dean had been given. The other side of the stone remained blank, a stark testament to the fact that the space beside Dean remained unoccupied by a matching urn and with no sure plan of when it would be filled.

Sam slowly let out the breath in his lungs and crouched down before the headstone, absently clearing away a few weeds that were trying to grow up over the base. He didn't speak; there was nothing left to say that hadn't been said in a barn surrounded by beheaded bodies. No point, either, since he knew there was no one listening... no one he wanted to hear him.

With a hand that only shook a little, Sam set an empty shot glass in front of the engraved words and filled it with cheap whiskey from an old metal flask. A matching shot glass was lifted and filled, and then Sam set aside the flask and clinked his shot glass against the one waiting.

Happy birthday to me, he thought with a sad, wistful little smile. He picked up the other shot glass and poured it out over the grass where he knew the urn was buried as he downed his own shot, closing his eyes against the burn that was more from tears than alcohol.

"Sam," a soft voice called from behind him. Sam stiffened and twisted around, wondering who the hell would approach him in a cemetery and say his name like that--

His breath caught.

The vessel was different. Whether that was because the body of Jimmy Novak had been taken directly from Earth by the Empty or some other reason, it was not that familiar face and frame standing before him. Not even that stupid tan overcoat remained after that. The dark hair was similar, as were the blue eyes, but everything else was different. Softer and thinner and more like that one vessel he remebered being described from a trip back in time. And yet Sam couldn't help but recognize Castiel in the woman standing there, from the strong posture and curiously tilted head to the faint shadow of wings hovering behind her shoulders.

"Dean wishes for me to apologize for him that he cannot be here to celebrate with you," the angel said softly, reaching out a hand and helping Sam to his feet when he took it automatically. "He hopes that I will make an acceptable substitute and birthday gift." A pause, and then, awkwardly, Castiel added, "I was given a bow to put in my hair if you wish."

Sam snorted, helplessly, and then with the dam broken he dissolved into helpless laughter and pulled Castiel into a tight hug. Not the brother who had promised to celebrate with him, but the angel who had made that promise happen. Substitute, no, but gift? He'd take it.

And he swore he would keep this gift for as long as he could.

[ladylilithprime]

"Are you?" I ask, raising an eyebrow as I lean against the door frame. "Ten years by my reckoning, a dozen lifetimes by yours, and you forget the name I first gave you?"

She freezes, those fathomless eyes blown wide with the surprise and uncertainty evoked by my question. I understand her hesitancy, because her time has passed for me in the space of keystrokes and pages turned, while her own life has played out far longer than any human's meagre alottment of years.

"....Sheyla," she murmurs eventually, testing the name on a tongue that may have long outgrown its utterance and yet still finds itself at home there. "I am Sheyla."

I smile and straighten, opening my arms to welcome her into an embrace. "I am so very proud of you, Sheyla," I murmur. "Come in and have some tea, my child."

"Yes, Creator-- Mother," Sheyla breathes as she sinks into my arms, the radient Goddess at last allowed to be a child again, to rest now that she has come here, broken free of the narrative web I first spun for her. "Thank you."

How she came to be at my door is certainly a question I want answered, but it can wait. She has had a long journey, even before I sent the last manuscript of her story off to my publisher. What came after, only she can answer, but if she's here then I know she has questions about the life I gave her she wants answers for herself.

And what kind of mother would I be to deny my child the care and comfort she so clearly needs?

"Welcome home, my Sheyla," I murmur, guiding her inside the house. "It's alright. You can rest now... and we have much to talk about."

You are an author who writes for the fun of it. You created a universe set around a Goddess ten years ago, which became quite popular. You answer the door one day to find a radiantly beautiful woman. “At last I meet you, my creator. I am Goddess …”

[ssruis]

No more fic ideas. Write something for once in your life. This is a demand.

[total-drama-brainrot]

Alenoah Hypnosis AU, where Alejandro offers to hypnotize Noah, Noah says yes but makes sure that Owen + Izzy + Tyler is around to make sure that Alejandro doesn't make him do anything too embarrassing...

But Alejandro only adds a hypnotic trigger... Whenever Alejandro offers Noah a hug, Noah feels a strong urge to cuddle Alejandro... It's Alejandro own way of playfully messing with Noah... Noah hates it (but secretly enjoys the cuddles)... Owen + Izzy + Tyler doesn't stop Alejandro from adding the trigger, cause they think the hugging might help the anti-social grumpy Noah...

I know this version of the AU is weird, but hopefully it's a little less messed up then the 'Noah turns into Alejandro's puppet' AU! 🍥

Wait why is this actually kind of cute though?

It's still a little bit ethically questionable, which sort of comes with the territory, but the idea of Alejandro using his access to Noah's subconscious solely to make Noah want to hug him is actually kind of sweet. In a sort-of-messed-up kind of way.

It also implies that Alejandro already really wants Noah to hug him, which. I don't know if I prefer "already infatuated with Noah" or "incredibly touch-starved and positive attention-starved" as his motivation for doing so (though both is always an option). Either way, this lad just wants a hug from his favourite sourpuss.

And the mental image of Noah, salty pessimist that he is, physically fighting against the urge to koala cling to Alejandro at his prompt is really funny. He'd be so against the whole concept, not for any moral reasons, but because he'd find wanting to hug someone inherently embarrassing (not that he'd let anyone else know that) and "insulting to someone of his intelligence". I'm just imagining him making the most disgruntled facial expression whilst Al's grinning at him, waiting with open arms.

[nothwell]

Growing flowers out of your skin all by yourself, handsome? Plant magic, putting characters through the wringer, and sunflowers vs. lilies—Tess Carletta talks with RK Ashwick about her new queer romantasy novel Goldheart.

Tess Carletta (she/her) is the author of Kit & Basie, a queer cozy fantasy romance, its sequel collection Patchwork, and the forthcoming fantasy novel Goldheart. You can connect with her here @tesscarletta

RK Ashwick (she/her) is the author of the Lutesong trilogy beginning with The Stray Spirit, as well as the cozy fantasy series Sidequest Row beginning with A Rival Most Vial. You can connect with her here @ashen-crest

[hatchetdraws]

My Little Nightmares fixation came back full force:

So of course I’m starting a new fanfiction!!

If that isn’t cool enough on its own then here: (spoilers)

Have my Mono’s design for this AU:

[nerd-goes-blogging]

Reading goal- achieved ✅

Will be posting book reviews soon!!

[thesudokukid]

Chapter Five: Things Are Looking Up

WC: ~2,600 AO3

<- Prev Next ->

Summary:

Do you like inner monologues? Do you like Ainsel? I hope you do because everything after the first scene in this chapter is in Ainsel's POV. (I'm not gonna let them be shoved into a corner and get ignored just because they can't speak atm)

You also think losing hope one more time might break you forever. You can't afford to break. Not forever, not now when your dad has lost pretty much everyone else. You can't afford to let yourself think of Connor staying. Of how badly you want for him to stay. (You think of it anyway)

Things to Note:

* Another reference to earlier when Connor said he wasn't a "real person"

* Usage of the words "break you forever". As in losing the will to live and probably not getting it back.

* Temporary usage of "The Big Light" aka Neurodivergent's Bane.

*Ainsel uses TTS (text to speech) to speak for the length of the chapter.

Connor sits in the passenger seat, looking in the rearview mirror. Ainsel is buckled in and asleep. Their Dracula audiobook is still playing.

This seems as good a time as any to ask his question.

"Last week, when we were chasing those Deviants, neither of you wanted me to cross the highway. Would you be able to explain that to me?"

Hank is quiet for a very long moment and Connor is opening his mouth to say the man can forget it. Because he clearly wants to focus on his driving. He has more important things to worry about than Connor's irrelevant questions.

Hank sighs, "Not sure if you knew, but it's pretty damn obvious my kid's had a fuckin' big influence on you."

Connor pushes down the impulse to feel nervous or afraid. He isn't a Deviant, he isn't doing anything wrong. It is entirely normal for an android, even one like himself, to be influenced by its owner's behavior.

"How so?"

Hank looks both ways as he turns before answering, "The way that you talk. It's not about the words you use to say things, it's how you set up the words. I'll try and explain later 'cause I'm fuckin' driving but I just thought you should know."

Connor thinks it over for a moment, unsure what to say next.

Hank interrupts his thoughts with, "It's a good thing. Trust me. Means you're less likely to swear for one since they don't really do it much. Them being your main influence also means that whatever else you end up being, you'll be a good person. Hopefully. Shit, you asked me a question, what was it again?"

Connor brings the matter up again, attempting to be less formal. "Last week when we were chasing those Deviants, neither of you wanted me to cross the highway and I'm struggling to understand why."

"Most people have been...shitty." Hank says before looking at Ainsel. As if there were any debate about the person being discussed. "You've been the exact opposite of that. You caught us both by surprise with that one, I'll admit. I'm sure you know that by now. You can probably connect the rest of the fuckin' dots yourself, but if you can't? For someone as lonely and they are, being good to 'em's reason enough for them to keep you from breaking your fuckin' neck. No guarantees whoever turns up to replace you is gonna be have as nice to 'em right?"

Connor nods and allows himself to sit quietly for the rest of the journey. The programming objects to this and only stops objecting when he begins his independent research on autism.

---

You're packing up your stuff to go home and as you're doing it, you hear Connor answering your dad's question about why he's "goofy looking" and has a "weird voice."

"Both my appearance and voice were designed to make it easier for me to blend in. Cyberlife androids are designed to work harmoniously with humans after all."

You finish packing up your things and find, when you look up, that Connor is already looking at you. You think maybe he's waiting to see how you react.

That your dad is waiting for the same thing.

As you turn around to look at him, your dad raises his hand before holding out a twenty for you to take.

"Make sure you stop at a gas station for some food," he says.

You begin typing, "I don't have a choice in this do I?"

"Fuck no," he says, putting it on your desk. "You almost died today. You're fuckin' taking it. And if you don't take it now, I'll just put it under your doormat or maybe in your mailbox."

"I won't take the twenty if you don't apologize to Connor for what you just said. For calling him goofy looking and saying he has a weird voice. I don't like it when you tease people like that. It's mean. And you know I can never tell the difference between joking and teasing, or bullying. And it's not very nice of you to do that to Connor when you know he can't do it back. It's, what did you call it?"

You nod at him when the TTS finishes speaking so that he can know it's okay for him to tell you.

"It's called punching down. And you're making a good point. I am being an asshole teasing or not since he can't say anything back. It wasn't fuckin' fair of me to say it where you could hear in the first place. Especially since you got bullied for half of sixth grade and you still get nervous n' embarrassed if someone laughs when you happen to walk past 'em. But it's also just not fair of me to say at all."

You raise an eyebrow, "You know, I'm hearing a lot of 'I should apologize to Connor'. But so far you've just been making your apologies to me. And not really any apologies to the person who's actually owed the apology."

"Yeah that's fair. Hey Connor?"

Connor looks around as if there might be another person named Connor behind him. Upon presumably seeing there isn't he looks back at your dad and points at himself in confusion. As if he's not sure your dad is talking about him. It's the most human gesture you've ever seen him make.

Your dad sighs wearily and looks in Connor's general direction.

"I want to apologize to you for bein' a shithead and being rude to you the same day I made a fuckin' apology about being an asshole to you the whole time I've known you. I get it if you don't wanna accept the apology. I won't hold it against you if you decide not to believe me. Or accept it. I don't fuckin' deserve to have it accepted so easily. But I wanted you to know I think it's a good thing you're here on the team. Best way I know how to do that is teasing, you know? Giving you shit the same way I do everyone else. But that only works when the other person can give as good as they get. Otherwise it's just bullying. And if there's one thing I can't fuckin' stand it's a damn bully. So, again, I'm sorry for being a shithead and calling you goofy looking and sayin' your voice is weird. That wasn't true. And even if it were that ain't your fucking fault. You're just fine, you got it?"

You look at Connor as indirectly as you can, trying to give him space to react however feels best to him. You don't want him to feel obligated to react a certain way just because he knows that you're watching.

"Thank you for apologizing to me...Hank. I understand that you didn't initially want my presence on the team and that your kind words, in addition to the apology, are a good faith gesture you're making so as to make up for any past behavior. It's one thing to say that you'd like to change your behavior and quite another to actually begin the attempt at doing so. It's a very brave thing for you to do. And it isn't a thing everyone has the capacity to achieve. And while I don't entirely think the apology is necessary, I do appreciate the spirit in which it was meant. Consider the incident forgotten. I won't hold it against you in the future and I would ask you not to hold it against yourself either as I plan to delete the incident from my memory entirely.”

He says the last sentence with a soft smile that makes you think he's probably joking. The smile is then accompanied by a wink as if to emphasize the same.

You chuckle and smile despite yourself as you pick up the twenty your dad laid on your desk. You also ignore the warm feeling pooling in your stomach. When that's done, you look straight at Connor and then begin making gestures for him to follow you. Things are looking up.

---

“I wanted to thank you for intervening on my behalf,” Connor says. “Especially since I upset you earlier. Which I'm sorry for doing by the way. I didn't…It was not my intention to cause any unpleasantness for you.”

You're beginning to see a split between Connor and his programming.

You suspect his programming would have wanted him to apologize just for upsetting you. After all that's how his words read on a surface level.

But the way he’s structured his words means that he's not only apologizing for upsetting you. He’s also apologizing for what caused you to be upset to begin with, calling himself “not a real person”.

And he's more than smart enough to know that's what he's saying. You know he is. And you're aware how big of a risk he probably took to convey that to you.

“Thank you for your apology. And you're welcome. For the help.”

You don't bother with saying what his apology is for because you're pretty sure that both of you know.

You're sorely tempted to talk more. To explain to Connor what goes on in your head when your ability to speak shuts off but reason that if it's going to happen, it's best to do it at home. And so you don't.

It's not that you doubt his ability to multitask or hold a conversation while driving or anything. Far from it.

But what you've learned about him suggests that he'll want to give your explanation his full attention. After all, he's never been anything but laser focused on you when you speak. About anything. No matter how boring or mundane the subject matter. There's no reason he wouldn't want to continue the pattern.

And besides, he might need it someday on another assignment. With someone else. He'll have to leave one day whether you like it or not. Best to give him as much knowledge as you can before that day comes.

You're admittedly a little curious to see how much you'll be able to teach Connor before he has to leave. And more than a little anxious Cyberlife will try and make him forget everything you try to teach him.

But you have to try. You just do. You just...do. He deserves to know about life and the world and the way he should be treated. And if that means you have to be the snake in Cyberlife's walled garden, that's what you'll be. If it means you have to help Connor open his eyes, help him bite into the apple with the forbidden knowledge of good and evil, that's what it means.

You just hope he'll be receptive to what you have to teach him. Whatever decision he makes in the end... Whatever side he ends up on, you want to know that he's deciding with his eyes open. And that he understands the ramifications of his choice. You won't be able to live with yourself if things go any other way.

---

When you get home, Connor asks you where your dad lives.

"In case of an emergency," he says.

You point across the street.

"In that direction," Connor asks.

You shake your head, smiling, and type out, "No, he lives in that house. That's his home."

Connor goes into your house first after you disarm your security system and give him permission to go inside.

Any other time, you'd insist on going in first and you think he'd allow it since after all, it's your house. But today is different because you've had a near death experience. And your dad, insofar as you can tell, explicitly asked him to look out for you today.

His behavior earlier that day suggests it's also genuine concern on his part. But you can't afford to be sure. That way lies danger.

There have been too many times when you've thought of someone as your best friend when in reality they barely tolerated you.

Hurtful words are a million times more familiar to you than kind ones. You don't want to give yourself any false hope bout how much Connor means his kindness. Or let yourself believe that he'll mean it enough to Deviate so he can stay with you.

The world has granted you enough miracles for one day. No matter how badly you want him to stay, you can't ask the universe to grant you this. You just can't. You owe it too much already. If the universe grants you this miracle, if it lets Connor stay, you'll have to abandon all hope of being able to pay back the debt that you owe to it already. The thought of that scares you more than you'd like to admit.

You also think losing hope one more time might break you forever. You can't afford to break. Not forever, not now when your dad has lost pretty much everyone else. You can't afford to let yourself think of Connor staying. Of how badly you want for him to stay. (You think of it anyway)

---

Heading into your home you're all kinds of distressed to see that the ceiling light is on. The "Big Light" as a fellow neurodivergent person might say.

You sigh, because he doesn't know better and then walk inside.

You close the door behind you so the outside air doesn't rob your home of its current coziness. But after that's done, priority number one is turning on the hall light. The hall light, due to being trapped in the hall, has been rendered docile. Meaning of course that it's much kinder to your overstimulated eyes than the "Big Light" aka Neurodivergent's Bane.

When it's flipped on you carry out the most urgent, important task ever to exist. Turning off the big light.

You take your phone out of your pocket and explain to Connor why you did it.

"I don't think, in a scenario where I'm already overstimulated, that it's a good idea to have on a ceiling light."

Connor nods and he shrinks back a little. Almost as if he's expecting that you'll go off on him for making such a simple mistake.

"I'm not mad at you," you clarify. "Because you were just trying to help and you might not know where the other lights are. But I want you to know, that light there in the hall is usually enough light for me to navigate even when it's dark."

---

You suspect Connor's probably like you and Does Not Do Well when it comes to sitting idle. You decide right then and there you're going to find something to do and then maybe invite him to join you.

You're not sure what will distract him. Aside from maybe showing him one of your favorite shows. And then letting him to try to puzzle out why it's your favorite.

Whatever you expose him to, it's best if it's for families. It's, as far as you know, his first time watching anything that isn't the news. Or maybe even his first time watching anything generally. And you'd like it to be a nice experience for him. Pleasant even. You don't want to traumatize him right out of the gate.

When you've made your decision, (The Eleventh Doctor's first episode Eleventh Hour, a classic in every respect) you lie down on the floor, and start searching for it on your TV.

That "goofy-looking" comment always sort of bothered me. It's not wildly out of character for Hank but it's ALSO not out of character for him to hate bullies. Felt right for him to call himself out for being a bully.

If there was anything you liked, I'd love to hear it. Long or short, question or not.

[ladylilithprime]

Day 3: Royalty

HE WOULD PROBABLY never admit it within Dean's hearing, would probably end up nicked with a silver knife if he did, but Sam could at least admit in the relative privacy of his own head that his brother may have had a point with upgrading their personal mattresses and linens from "Bunker basics" to memory foam and 100% modal sheets and pillow cases. The fabric felt gloriously soft against his skin and the mattress and pillows cradled his body softly enough for comfort while still being firm support. It felt almost like being royalty or something! And if he ever said so, once the initial suspicions of literal bodysnatching were laid to rest, Dean would be insufferably smug.

"I promise I will not inform him," Castiel murmured, a bit unnecessarily, and Sam spared a quiet corner of his brain to be glad he was face down in the pillows right at that moment so the angel wouldn't see his blush. Not that Castiel wouldn't know anyway; relative mental privacy, and all that. At least if he didn't see it, the angel was usually willing to pretend he didn't know about the various embarrassing reactions Sam's body tended to have around him.

...Usually.

A firm press at a particular spot between his spine and shoulderblade made him gasp sharply in pain, followed by a low moan as the press moved and twisted, digging into the knotted muscle and coaxing it to release and relax. The firm and steady hands moved outward along the length of his left arm, massaging the muscles and encouraging them - and Sam along with them - to go limp with pleasure. When Castiel reached his hand he paused, then slowly lifted Sam's hand in both of his, and Sam felt heat flush from his blushing face all through his body as Castiel's lips brushed over his knuckles. A spark and skitter of Grace along his skin whispered the healing touch over a papercut Sam had forgotten he even had, now swept away by Castiel's dedicated attentions.

He breathed, grateful that his face was pressed between the two pillows so as not to smother himself, and willed himself not to squirm as he wondered what Castiel was thinking.

"I am thinking of you, Sam," Castiel said, voice low and gravel-rough above him, sending a shiver up Sam's spine. "I am admiring the strength you possess, in body and otherwise. Strength of mind in your intelligence and cleverness. Strength of heart in your care and compassion. Strength of will in your determination and that hard-won, careful control you keep over yourself...." He trailed off, fingers stroking over Sam's own and lower across the palm and then the pulse point at the underside of his wrist. "I would never seek to take that control from you, even as I desire to see you surrender it to passion and pleasure.

"I could spend centuries worshipping you, Sam Winchester," Castiel breathed in gentle reverence, bare centimeters above Sam's faintly trembling body as his fingers stroked featherlight touches up from wrist back to his shoulder. "It is exquisit torment that I am permitted mere minutes at a time, in so innocent a fashion."

Sam swallowed, choking back the moan that had nothing at all to do with the massage. Cas....

A knock on the door frame, familiar and usually welcome, interrupted the moment. Sam groaned into the pillows for an entirely different reason as Castiel sat up straighter and turned to look at Dean, though he kept his hands on Sam's shoulder. "Did you need something, Dean?"

"Just checking in," Dean said, his tone too casual. It put Sam on edge. "What's up in here?"

"Are you not familiar with massage, Dean?" Castiel asked in that curious tone Sam recognized from a different night and a different question. "It is very beneficial for continued physical and mental health."

"You might wanna try it sometime," Sam mumbled into the pillow, like a good little brother, and bit the inside of his cheek against a whimper as Castiel's thumb stroked along the line of his shoulderblade.

"You gonna give him a happy ending while you're at it?" Dean asked with an audible smirk that had Sam lifting his right hand to flip his brother off.

"Quite aside from my intention to ensure that Sam is protected from reaching a premature end to his life--" Again, hung in the brief but pointed pause. "--are you quite sure you wish to ask that question and receive the answer?"

Silence. Sam tried not to hold his breath. Castiel's thumb was still caressing his shoulderblade. At length, Dean coughed and cleared his throat.

"Dinner in two hours," he muttered. Sam heard footsteps shuffling back into the hallway, and then the snik of the door firmly closing.

"Now then," Castiel hummed as he turned back towards Sam. "Shall we continue?"

Sam moaned, and melted.