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dclsbaby · 3 years

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traitor - Dominic Calvert-Lewin 🦋

Summary: you reflect on your relationship, realised you've been wronged and should've trusted your gut

Warnings: mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2.1k

masterlist

Brown guilty eyes and,

Little white lies,

I played dumb, but I always knew

That you talked to her, maybe did even worse

I kept quiet so I could keep you

It’s his green-hazel eyes that dissipate every logic, every sense of reason you had. It’s the way he would roll over to your side of the bed each morning to savour another 5 minutes before he has to leave, that made you feel yearned for and wanted. It’s the lingering kisses on your neck, on each shoulder and collarbone, that convinced you you’re the only one. It’s the grand dreams shared with you about your future together, filled with kids and their tiny jerseys, that made you believe his little white lies.

You had ignored the tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach that felt nothing like the butterflies you experienced on your first date with Dom. The feeling told you to succumb to your suspicions and unlock his phone, scroll through his messages and social media interactions. No, the feeling demanded you to swipe his phone, lock yourself in the bathroom, overstep boundaries, and find evidence of another woman. But that wasn’t who you are. You respected boundaries, and decided against it. You loved him enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.

The paranoia began to grow when you noticed the little things, such as the way he would put his phone screen-side down on the counter, or the way he brought it everywhere like it’s a part of him, even in the bathroom, or that he wouldn’t leave its sight when it's being charged. Then, these signs started getting stronger and more frequent. He’d get phone calls when you’re having dinner and every time you ask who it is, you’re always met with, “No one important enough to take me away from you,” and a kiss to suppress your suspicions.

Does he have anything to hide? You often ask yourself. Do I really want to know? Another voice asks.

You knew, deep down, that your gut was right. You knew what was happening behind your back.

It’s always the girl they tell you not to worry about.

You were first introduced to her one evening at a club event. Dom referred to her as the ‘girl with the magic hands’, to which you cringed at the innuendo. That was the first warning sign you ignored. Although shortly after exchanging names, you learned that she works at the training ground as a masseuse. Magic hands, makes sense, you thought. It did not make you feel better though.

You could see her appeal. You could imagine Dom and his teammates steal a glance, their eyes lingering much longer than they should. You could hear the locker room talk, words of adoration spilling from their mouths. Her charm is magnetising. She’s bubbly, she’s awfully kind. But did she really have to look like she could be on the cover of Playboy circa 2004 too? Though her beauty’s not your lack, it did not help with your brewing paranoia.

You can’t help but think she’s the reason he’s been staying back late at the training ground, why he comes home wearing a different shirt to the one he left with in the morning, and why he doesn’t talk about his day much anymore, as it probably mostly consisted of being lathered up in oil and getting sensual massages by a hot masseuse. The thought always made you sick to your stomach.

The overthinking had convinced you he had been seeing another woman right in front of you this whole time. But pretending that everything’s alright was so much easier than the inevitable confrontation, the accusation, the fight, the ending. So you kept quiet so you could keep him, and live in the false fairytale you try so hard to become reality.

Until you couldn't anymore.

—

And ain't it funny how you ran to her

The second that we called it quits?

And ain't it funny how you said you were friends?

Now it sure as hell don't look like it

You and Dom stayed friends after your relationship ran its course, for the first couple of weeks, at least. The days leading up to the break up were plagued with arguments over the little things like missing dinner plans and not keeping the room tidy, which led to bigger fights where you accused him of not being in love with you. Of course, he vehemently denied this, but you thought he didn’t fight for you enough. He didn’t push back, he didn’t give you a reason to stay, and that was enough for you to know that your relationship never stood a chance. You could handle disagreements and a few fights, but when you’ve been led to question your own worth—it’s done.

In the end, it was a mutual break up. It made sense, he needed to focus on his football and the constant fights weren’t helping his concentration. It was hard for him to leave each morning knowing you both went to bed angry, and although he would spend the drive home practicing his apologies, he would come home to find you fast asleep in bed before he could even make amends. As for you, well, you had to look for love elsewhere.

All seemed well until he turned more and more sour by the day. Sure, you didn’t expect to be glued to his hip at all times, or be the best of friends—you two broke up for a reason. But what you did not expect were the bitter remarks, the one-word replies, the sarcastic comments that portrayed the antithesis of who he was when he was with you.

Now you bring her around just to shut me down

Show her off like she's a new trophy

And I know if you were true

There's no damn way that you

Could fall in love with somebody that quickly

It all made sense when you began receiving texts from your friends attached with a photo of him with a young fan. You thought it was odd, why were you sent pictures of your ex with a fan, of all things? But there she was, in the background of the photo. Of course. Of course it was her.

More pictures started coming through of both of them in his black Range Rover driving around town, having coffee at your favourite coffee shop. You curse at him, now you have to find a new place to get your coffee. The pictures that stung the most were of the pair of them driving to the training centre together. Imagine the sight of a new couple in town pulling onto the Finch Farm carpark. You knew it wasn’t just a friendly carpool. She’s been staying on my side of the bed, you thought. Meanwhile, you’re still seeking the warmth from his side of the bed.

It dawned on you how much of a fool you’ve been. You feel angry for not trusting your gut, for letting yourself get played, for letting yourself take the beatings from people who had accused you for being with him for his money when it was you who was taken advantage of. If the love he had for you was true, it wouldn’t have taken him that quickly to find someone new.

—

You sat on your sofa for hours. Waiting to feel something other than numbness, the tingling sensation on the tip of your fingers from the shock is no longer there. The numbness eventually turned to chills, so you reach for a blanket in the woven basket next to the sofa. You wrap yourself into a cocoon, though all you wanted was to be a butterfly, spread your wings, and fly away. Pathetic. Even my metaphors remind me of him.

Feeling sorry for yourself, you sluggishly stood up and dragged your body to the kitchen and pulled out three different bottles of alcohol from the cupboard—ignoring what a senior had told you in uni to never mix alcohol unless you want to get absolutely wasted. You grab the glass from the top shelf, a cocktail shaker that came with the set your friend had got you for a secret santa gift, and make yourself a drink. One drink turned to two, to three. Then, you started watching recipe videos on YouTube on how to make a pornstar martini, which led to another two. 5 drinks in total. Lucky number 5.

After making a mess on the kitchen island, feeling delirious, you stumble across your flat, bumping a table on your way back to the living room, leaving a bruise on your hip that will hurt in the morning. The alcohol running through your veins giving you the urge to belt out a ballad and pour your heart out, so you somehow managed to open your music and play a song.

Don’t you think I loved you too much to be used and discarded?

Don’t you think I loved you too much to think I deserve nothing?

You belted every word, not caring if your neighbours could hear you drunkenly sing the words to a depressing ballad about not being enough for a boy.

Realising with what’s left of your consciousness that your balance is becoming unsteady, you stagger your way to your bedroom, extending your arms, careful to not run yourself into any walls.

Upon reaching your bedroom, you undress yourself into just a bra and underwear and dive face first into your made up bed, curl up under the warm covers, and blankly stare at the ceiling. The lights appear as though it’s duplicating with every blink—you could’ve sworn there were only two.

With each passing second, you begin having flashbacks of him. Images of the bedroom you once shared which looks nothing like the room you’re in now tattooed in your brain. Whispers of “I love you,” and “you’re the love of my life,” haunt you as you try to shut your ears with your hands, desperate to rid of his voice. You feel angrier and angrier by the minute, waves of sadness taking over your body. You wanted him to know how you felt. You wanted him to know how badly he’s hurt you, something your sober self would never admit.

So you do what your gut tells you, no sense of reason in the way to stop you from unlocking your phone, scrolling until you’ve reached ‘D’ on your contact list, and clicking the name you’re looking for.

*ring*

Pick up.

*ring*

You asshole, pick up.

*ring*

Fuck this, I—

“Hello,” a hoarse voice answers. You inhale a sharp breath.

His voice. The exact voice you hear every morning at 6:45am as he kisses you goodbye.

“You, you betrayed me,” you slurred as you made your way to your bedroom. He takes the phone off his ear to look at the Caller ID again, squinting at the bright light. “(Y/N)? Are you okay?” Dom jolted at your voice, the concern in his voice ever so clear, afraid that you might not be okay.

“And I know that you'll never feel sorry for the way I hurt,” your speech slows down with every syllable, ignoring his question. The sound of his breath tickles your ear, making you squirm a little. On the other line, there he was, awake from his sleep, listening silently to your drunken voice, his heart breaking all over again. “(Y/N), have you been drinking?” he asks, though he knows the answer.

“You talked to her when we were together,” finally throwing the accusation you never would’ve said to his face. He finally put together why you were not yourself towards the end of the relationship, you were convinced he was cheating on you. “I never—it has always been you, only you,” you ignore him. “I promise”, he whispers softly, trying to convince you with what’s left of his heart. He wants you to believe him so badly, but he doesn't know what else to say. Pain revisits him each time he tries to convince you that you’re the only one he’s ever been in love with.

“Loved you at your worst, but that didn't matter,” you laugh humourlessly, remembering all the times you wanted to be assured, to be convinced that you were the only one, but his actions suggest otherwise and your paranoia ate you alive. He didn't fight for you even when it was the last straw.

“You gave me your word,” alluding to each time he would tell you that no one else compares to you, each time he made promises about your future together. “It took you two weeks to go off and date her”, you accuse him. “I’m not with anyone,” he says under his breath, knowing you’re too drunk to remember what he says.

“(Y/N)?” Dom asks when he couldn’t hear anything from your end. “Please, can we talk, I—“ “God, I wish that you had thought this through,” you cut him off, your eyes getting heavier by the second, “before I went and fell in love with you”.

There it was. The sentence that ripped him to shreds. The idea that you might have regretted him, regretted being in love with him broke him to bits. He hadn’t realised the damage he’d done during your relationship, and what he did after your break up was unnecessary. He knew what it would look like, to be seen out with her. But he did it anyway to hurt you.

After consuming way too much alcohol, your body feels it’s full effect as your phone slips from your hand and you cave into your tired body.

He hears a loud thump on the other line.

“(Y/N)? Are you there? I—I still love you, can you hear me?”

Line’s dead.

Guess you didn't cheat, but you're still a traitor.

#dominic calvert lewin #dominic calvert lewin imagine #dominic calvert lewin imagines #football imagine #dclsbaby

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thekyraalexandriablog · 4 years

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Kyra’s Top Albums of 2020 🎧

Despite a tragically hectic year, some of my favorite artists managed to release some phenomenal projects in 2020. Here are my top picks (in no particular order):

Girl Eats Sun—Hope Tala • R&B

Tala’s third EP is a picnic on a Spring evening—breezy and warm. I absolutely adored her first two projects, so it’s been a joy hearing how she’s continued to develop her unique style. On Girl Eats Sun, she masterfully serenades you through the different phases of love from dizzying happiness to aching longing. The little things are what elevate this project, from the strings on the wistful Easy to Love Me to Sky’s high-pitched, flowy vocals on the chorus of Mulholland, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention my special appreciation for when Tala’s pitch dips and she’s in that pleasant moment between rapping and singing—hello verse two of All My Girls Like to Fight. Despite the title, Tala’s latest project brings the sunshine out for me every time I listen.

Ungodly Hour—Chloe x Halle • R&B

If you somehow managed to miss Chloe x Halle being the darlings of R&B this year, then please allow me to be your introduction to one of 2020’s few must-listen albums of the year. There’s no other way to describe Ungodly Hour than as a treat for R&B fans: from the variety of tempos (there’s the breathtakingly beautiful ballad Wonder What She Thinks of Me as well as the certified party bop Do It), to the timely range of topics from relationships to self-love (the lyric “I had to learn to love me lately” felt especially pertinent in a year without the usual social distractions); the album takes you on a ride. And of course, the whole time you’re wrapped in the surreal pleasure of their talent for unique harmonizations. If you’ve yet to queue this project on your streaming account, do it.

Holy Cow—All Cows Eat Grass • Electronic

Now here’s a group I’ve missed! ACEG projects always excel at layering dreamy synths with smooth beats, and Holy Cow fits right into the herd. One of their slower projects, tracks like Fly and Pillow Talk would easily fit into a summertime playlist with their simple, fun melodies. There’s also great storytelling in the lyrics of this project from the palpable excitement of the VIP section of a nightclub on About Us to the visceral shock of hearing “thank you” in response to “I love you” in a complicated relationship on Pretty Ladies—ouch. There are so many melodic gems on this 35-minute project; welcome to the pasture.

Ice Cream Clones—ROMderful • R&B

I must admit I was late to the party that is ROMderful’s music. I first encountered ROM last year via Twitter where he would post short clips of miniature duplicates of himself playing the various instruments of the track; the full videos can often be viewed on his YouTube channel. Since then, I’ve been enjoying the pleasant rabbit hole that is his Soundcloud (he’s had releases on Soulection) and production credits (he’s worked with artists like DUCKWRTH and Rayana Jay). A talented multi-instrumentalist, ROM’s music is full of fun sounds and soulful melodies, and his social media presence is just as joyful (his current Twitter name is ROMderTHICC). This project is full of very short tracks with infectious hooks. It’s a quick listen, but one I’ve returned to often.

Rumble Pack—Button • R&B

Button is the collaborative union of Allen Love and Bobby Earth—one of my absolute favorite independent R&B artists, and the reason I gave this project a listen. I’m very glad I did. Rumble Pack is brilliantly bizarre: funky synths, blazing features, all interspersed with random gaming commentary. Fans of The Jet Age of Tomorrow (Pyramid Vritra and the Internet’s Matt Martians) and ROMderful (who has a Rumble Pack feature) will surely appreciate the groovy eccentricity of this one. Thanks to this fun, soulful project, I’ve decided I may be a video game fan after all.

Cosmic Lips—Momocurly • Smooth Jazz

If the phrase ‘easy, breezy, beautiful’ were an album, this would be it! Momocurly is Japanese pianist and vocalist Momo Otani and French guitarist Christophe Pannekoucke. Together the two crafted an exquisitely mellow medley of melodies. Cosmic Lips is everything I enjoy in jazz: relaxing, mid-tempo and smooth. Otani’s voice is unique, high and light, and she glides over the tracks like Pannekoucke’s guitar. This project transports, it’s otherworldly.

with HER - EP—Crush • K*R&B

Because I believe Crush is one of the most talented R&B crooners making music right now, I was completely unsurprised to find that his latest project is smooth and soulful. Only five tracks, it’s a short one, and the concept is incredibly cute—each track is a duet with a different woman vocalist comprising a project of unique love ballads. The different vocalists mean each track has a unique sound and lyrically the project is full of heart-warming quotables and seductive one-liners. with HER is a project to fall in love to.

DPR ARCHIVES—DPR Live, DPR Ian, & DPR Cream • K*Rap/K*R&B

Ahh DPR, the eye candy that makes ear candy. DPR, initialism for Dream Perfect Regime, a South Korea-based art collective, blessed fans with this collection of both new and previously released tracks from DPR Live, DPR Ian, and DPR Cream. Though they collaborate extensively, each artist has a distinct sound that diversifies the collection overall—where I would call DPR Ian a pop artist, I’d call DPR Live a Rap/R&B artist, and then there’s DPR Cream whose contributions are purely instrumentals ranging from smooth and R&B-tinged to piano solos. For fans or those dipping their toes in for the first time, the ARCHIVES offer much to enjoy. (Also watch some DPR videos if you haven’t yet, both the men and the art are exceedingly visually pleasing.)

Peace Is Not a Dream—Senpu & ROMderful • R&B

And ROM makes another appearance! This time on a collaborative project—he has quite a few and I’ve enjoyed them all so far. Senpu, who I am less familiar with, contributes production and vocals to this project. Unlike Ice Cream Clones, these tracks feel more fully fledged out, with a verse or two in addition to the chorus. Between the memorable melodies and vocal harmonizations this project is certainly dreamy.

Rare Changes—Mayer Hawthorne • Soul

If you know anything about me, you know Hawthorne is one of my favorite blue-eyed soul artists, and Rare Changes is a lovely retro addition to his catalog. This album is from the seventies, I’m convinced: from the mid-tempo disco grooves to the doo-wop style background vocals. Rare Changes demonstrates Hawthorne’s adeptness at balancing nostalgia with the best parts of modern music, queue this one for a mellow night of slow dancing and slow sipping.

Honorable Mentions (there’s some bops here, but overall the project didn’t move me):

It Is What It Is—Thundercat • Funk

Whimsical & free-flowing as is his style; lyrically musing & haunting, the last track is an absolute clincher to the project.

The Slow Rush—Tame Impala • Alternative

If age-ripened weariness had a soundtrack you could bop to at a festival; Breathe Deeper instantly brings a smile to my face.

Shabrang—Sevdaliza • Alternative

Sevdaliza is one of the few artists who consistently leaves me breathless—her art is daring, thought-provoking, and absurdly beautiful. Shabrang is no different in its presentation and lyricism, though it is musically more traditional than I might expect.

Sin Miedo—Kali Uchis • Reggaeton

I already think Spanish is a beautiful language but Kali just makes it even more so. I’m not the biggest fan of reggaeton (I’m sorry to say it starts to sound repetitive to me after awhile) but the slower songs on this project are lovely: R&B melodies with her breathy, unique vocals. I definitely enjoyed the listen!

SLINGBAUM ONE—Slingbaum • Experimental Jazz

Voyage-19—Bilal x HighBreedMusic • Experimental Jazz

For fans of experimental jazz, get into SLINGBAUM ONE and Voyage-19, both projects are odd in the best sense: more about vibes and transitions than the traditionally cohesive album—I bought both and I’m still enjoying exploring them.

SAWAYAMA—Rina Sawayama • Pop

Future Nostalgia—Dua Lipa • Pop

Pure pop is not my usual fare, but SAWAYAMA, a fun, dance project is truly special—it is genre melting and Rina’s strong voice transforms to expertly complement each new vibe. Also, PLEASE watch the video for XS, it was one of the few things that energized me this year. And then there’s Future Nostalgia, a fun disco-inspired project. Only a couple of the bass lines & melodies caught my ear, but the visual/aesthetic roll out was spectacular.

The Album—Teyana Taylor • R&B

This was my first time sitting down to try a full Taylor project, and while I overall found the tracks repetitive, The Album has some bass lines I enjoyed and Taylor’s voice is beautiful.

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scribbleb-red · 5 years

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i like your face - a morning au

“I’ll get the drinks,” Neil says as soon as they walk into Eden’s.

Andrew raises an eyebrow.

“No one needs to get stabbed tonight,” Neil says. “It’s Hapless Sam on the bar.”

“Spoilsport,” Andrew mutters, but doesn’t move with Neil when he heads to the bar.

Hapless Sam is the new barman helping Roland, stepping in for a few months whilst Ebony, the usual yin to Roland’s yang, is off to have surgery.

Hapless Sam is also the bane of Andrew’s life. He never gets a drinks order right. He constantly peppers them with bad one liners. He also once tried to pick up both Neil and Nicky and Aaron in one night - only stopping when Aaron suddenly duplicated and Andrew stuck a blade under his chin. After that, Roland stepped in.

But the bar was overrun tonight and if Andrew had to so much as look at Hapless Sam - well, someone is going to prison and someone is leaving in a body bag. And you don't need to be a genius to figure out which.

So Neil goes to the bar and Andrew keeps an eye on him - on the red of his hair, the sway of his hips, a new quirk that he had to know drove Andrew crazy. It should be illegal for someone like Neil to have any kind of rhythm - but Neil wasn’t a bad dancer. He was sinuous and unreal, if a little self conscious, and Andrew really really needed a drink before that happened again.

Because it will, promised the voice in his head. Nicky will never rest until Neil dances again. Even if it killed Andrew. He suspected it was partly because Nicky wanted him to dance too.

Neil came back an achingly long time later. There was something odd about the way he looked at Andrew, half a question hovering right beneath his skin.

He set down the tray and Nicky chitters, Aaron glowers, Kevin reaches forward expectantly.

But there’s a yell from the bar and Andrew looks up to see Roland’s furious face, Hapless Sam’s horror.

He catches Roland’s eye and the frantic look there - the way he's turned to stare at Andrew tells him everything.

“Don’t fucking drink anything,” he says to his table.

Aaron puts his glass down. Kevin looks torn but relents under Andrew's stare. Nicky frowns and leans back.

Neil however sways on the spot. His eyes are blown wide, two black pools ringed with the finest circle of ice blue. Andrew reaches for him and Neil reaches back. He looks sad and confused.

"N'drew..." he slurs, "Did I do su'thin bad?" There's a tinge of British in there, a twirl of French.

Andrew tugs Neil down beside him, stomach hollowing because he doesn't know what Neil's taken but it's clear he's taken something. Rage pools in the empty cavern of his chest. He goes to push Neil at Nicky - Roland clearly knows something and he wants answers - but Neil makes a noise in his throat and catches hold of Andrew's sleeve. Even high he's not crossing lines. Andrew aches with that knowledge.

"What did I do?" Neil asks again. "I don' have none secrets."

It takes a moment for Andrew to realise Neil thinks this was his fault. That in some part of this idiot's head, he believes Andrew would drug him again.

"It wasn't me," Andrew says, voice low. "You're okay Neil."

"Stay with Nicky, I'll talk to Roland." And probably gut Hapless Sam, whose fault it inevitably is.

Neil makes that whining noise again and Andrew wishes they didn't have an audience. "Don't wanna kiss Nicky."

"Who said anything about kissing?"

"Not Nicky. Only you."

Nicky's guilty look sets Andrew's teeth on edge.

Andrew needs to talk to Roland but can't leave Neil with the Monsters. Fortunately, Roland comes to them bearing a new tray of drinks and a harried expression.

"Fucking hell guys, I'm sorry. None of you drank those, right?"

"Don't worry Sammy's been banished to the kitchen, he's not doing anything like this again and--"

Andrew is up and in his face within seconds - pinioning Roland against the wall, arm across his throat, knife pricking his side.

"What has he taken?"

Roland notices Neil, gulps.

"It's a new syrup - they call it Goblin Juice and it looks just like lime cordial - Sam thought it was lime for the soda. Fuck Andrew do you need the knife? Ow fuck fuck fuck okay stop, it's made using shrooms. Non addictive. Just meant to make you happy - kinda soft."

But of course Neil was the one who drank it. If it had been any of the others, perhaps no one would have even noticed - maybe even celebrated the free high.

But Neil...

Kevin and Aaron are helping themselves to the new drinks when he lets Roland go. Nicky looks pale and nervous and is holding a shot but not drinking. Neil has flopped back on their sofa and is staring at Andrew, a wide smile on his face that Andrew immediately hates.

"I really like your face," Neil says when his brain catches up and realises Andrew is paying attention again. "You have a good face."

Andrew shoots daggers with his eyes at Roland and the barman flees, promising free drinks for the night and the next, forever, whenever.

Neil smiles and reaches for Andrew again as he comes back.

Andrew is not drunk enough for this shit, especially when Nicky coos. "Oh he's so cute. He should have gotten high sooner."

Andrew wants to warn his cousin to back off but Neil has wriggled around and nuzzled his face against Andrew's shoulder. It's heedlessly distracting. It's dangerously adorable.

"Do yous like my face Nyandrew?" Neil says. "I really really like yours. Look at your face. Hey is my head still attached?"

Andrew sees the way Neil is teetering, wraps his hand across the back of Neil's neck and tugs him close. It's not a hug. It's for the idiot's own safety that's all. However, apparently for sky-high-Neil, silence and gestures isn't an answer.

"You don't like my face?"

The slight tremble in Neil's voice is what makes Andrew swallow his frustration and reply. He can't stand that tremble. "I like your fucking face." "I like yours too." And then Neil's finger boops Andrew's cheek.

"Nose," he says. "Good nose."

For. Fucks. Sake.

But it's kind of hilarious (and ruinously cute) as Neil - gentle as a moth wing - strokes over Andrew's cheek and along his temple, finds the bridge of his nose and the swell of his lips.

"Good face."

Andrew contains himself by a miracle. He's fairly sure Aaron is filming this.

"If that footage goes anywhere but the trash, I'll fucking stab you."

"If you were going to stab me, you would have done it a long time ago brother."

"No stabbing," Neil says. "Too many witnesses. Oh hey, look at the fireflies."

Neil lifts one hand to the empty ceiling. There are no fireflies. This is Eden's. Andrew wants to take Neil home but doesn't think putting him in a car is going to do much good right about now.

"You like my face," Neil sighs and sits back. "Even all of this."

"Yes," Andrew says. "Because of all of this."

It's not the scars, it's because Neil survived. That he should have broken and yet still held himself together by tooth and claw.

"I didn't drug you," Andrew says, close to the shell of Neil's ear. "I promise."

"Okay," Neil says. "Good. I don't wanna kiss Nicky."

And there it is again, the second time Neil has mentioned this. Andrew looks at his cousin, who has escaped with Kevin onto the dancefloor.

They'll have a little chat later, when Neil isn't on another planet.

"You're the best," Neil says. "I'll kiss you."

"Not tonight."

Because even if Neil is warm and flush against him. Even if Neil is soft and pliant and willing. This is a man who has been drugged and cannot give consent. Hell, he's watching fireflies that don't exist and stroking Andrew's chin, like he's forgotten Andrew has teeth. Neil is not okay.

Aaron leans back in his chair. "If it's molly, he could be flying for hours."

"It's some kind of shroom shit."

"So even longer then."

Andrew's fingers tighten on Neil's shoulder. "So we can't wait this out?" He should have asked Roland that.

"Probably not, no. Take him home. I'll bring the others."

And for once Andrew decides to trust his brother. He gathers Neil and his loose limbs and leaves Aaron to manage Kevin and Nicky. It’s a one of the hardest things he’s ever done but Bee’s buzzing voice tells him it's time to let Aaron prove himself, standalone.

Neil is awful as they leave - smiling at everyone and everything, even things that aren’t there. His eyes shine and every time he looks at Andrew, there’s a draw of breathe like he’s never seen him before.

“You are,” Neil says, “the best thing. The abs’lute best thing. Hold me up and keep me sage, no safe. Mean safe. You me safe.”

And Neil cannot sing but his voice is sing song and full of wonder.

Andrew is going to gut Hapless Sam like a fish from chin to pelvis.

They drive home - slowly because Neil keeps getting distracted by things Andrew is doing, like blinking (your eyelashes are so white, like snow flakes Andrew) and breathing (but look how you move, so amazing). But Neil is so soft and happy and obsessed, it’s hard to be angry.

Columbia is dark, their house musty with absence. They’ve not visited for a while and Andrew had been hoping for something slightly different tonight.

Neil apparently had too. “Yes? Andrew? Yes?” He says.

“No,” Andrew says. And he never thought he’d hate seeing Neil obey - not with this - but there’s hurt and confusion and concern and a thousand layers of emotion on Neil’s face when he hears it this time. All the feelings Neil must usually keep tucked away when it isn’t always yes for Andrew.

Andrew relents, “Just this,” he says as he settles onto the sofa, guiding Neil down with him. Neil’s reaction is instant - dopey smile and arms that snake around Andrew in a loose but escapable hold.

“Warm,” he says. “Strong.”

The hours tick by in highs and lows - Neil is happy in phases, then almost crying in others. He tells Andrew things that cross his mind, about Andrew, about the Foxes and exy. He hides in Andrew’s hoody when he sees shadows crawling and is convinced they’re from his father.

Andrew does his best to soothe and protect - it’s all in Neil’s head and Andrew isn’t a soft man, but he keeps Neil close and lets him talk. A few years ago he couldn’t have done this. But a few years ago he and Neil were new and still cutting each other on their sharp edges.

Aaron herds an unhappy Nicky and an almost paralytic Kevin inside. Aaron seems sober but that could just be in comparison.

“Our cousin,” Aaron tells Andrew, “is a fool. But you care about him and shouldn’t kill him for doing what you asked.”

“What did he do?”

Aaron shrugs. “Just a kiss I believe. But might explain a bit more why your nut-job boyfriend knocked himself out that time.”

“That was cos imma liar,” Neil chimes with all the confidence of the truly seshed. “Liar liar liar.”

“Not anymore.”

“Yeah. Not with you.”

There's water and toast and Neil naps at one point but Andrew doesn't because he knows what's next - and he's right. Neil is sick for what feels like hours but isn't. Aaron brings more water. A small part of Andrew wonders if his twin actually likes seeing Neil so ridiculous.

Turns out he's right about that too.

Aaron tells him when Neil is hurling up his guts that seeing Neil like this, seeing Andrew with him like this, makes more sense than anything he's seen prior.

"You're everything to him." Aaron doesn't say that Neil is everything to Andrew but the implication is there.

And when Neil is finally in their bed, safe and asleep, Andrew calls Roland and leaves a warning. Hapless Sam had better be fired or there wouldn't be an Eden's Twilight.

He stays awake and stays awake. He falls asleep around 6am.

Neither of them stir until well into the afternoon and when Neil does, he buries his face in the pillows and groans.

"Oh my god. Andrew I'm so --"

"Shut up." Andrew doesn't want apologies for this. He sees the embarrassed pink of Neil's ears, the flush on his neck. "Stop."

Neil groans again and Andrew knows he must feel like shit right about now. That he's mortified. That he's worried. That Andrew has the power to make it right.

Something wicked flickers in his gut.

"Hey junkie," he says. "I like your face."

-The End-

Notes:

#morning au #andreil #aftg #andrew minyard #neil josten #post canon #all for the game #absolute fluff #even if there's accidently non-consensual drug use #it's not deliberate #no one is an asshole #neil is very soft and sappy #he really likes Andrew's face #eden's twilight #very very fluffy

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adultswim2021 · 3 years

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Harvey Birdman, Attorney at Law #31: “Identity Theft” | October 23, 2005 – 11:45PM | S03E12

Why didn't the deadly duplicator make a Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman reference? I was bracing myself for it! Come on!

In this episode, Lewis Black returns as the deadly duplicator, though on DVD this is his debut, which makes slightly more sense. In this episode he works at a xerox place and is somehow duplicating not pages, but PEOPLE! doubles, triples, and EVEN MORE of Birdman keep showing up, as well as dupes of just about anyone else who happens to wander on screen. It's just such a fucking mess. Way too much. Does it make for a good episode? Well, yeah this one is alright.

This one also has a trial: it has to do with various Shaggy clones that littered Hanna Barbera's roster of Scooby-Doo-esque shows. They are suing each other for identify theft.

Now, I didn't laugh. Of course. But: I did one of those Robert De Niro grimaces as if to say "not bad!" Because there are some pretty fun visuals in this one. I REALLY admired the gag where towards the end they just kind of unceremoniously dispose of the copies of each person, all of whom we've firmly lost sight of who the original is. What is this, Ricky Morty??

MAIL BAG:

Referencing yesterday’s MAIL BAGS

If I remember correctly the version of the mouse and the mask that had zorak at the beginning was sampling him from that one episode of the brak show that was bad and stupid with the rapping so him being cut out may have had something to do with that? I don’t know I’m just recalling my memories from when I was 15 and autistic. I also remember you talking about that episode on the older version of this blog because I also read that when I was 15, and autistic

I did not ever investigate the music shit Adult Swim did, ever. The only songs I like are the ones that play in movies but aren’t on the soundtrack album. I buy every soundtrack album just so I can pick out the songs that aren’t on them and make it my business to like those songs!

Welcome to the fold Squidbillies. Honestly, it's a pretty cool show but starts out rough. If you haven't kept up with it I think you will be surprised. Right when Aqua Teen was kind of wrapping up I think it really started to hit off.

I think I weirdly watched all of season 3 but very little of the other seasons. I’m not sure that’s right, but it’s a vibe. That’s a thing kids say now. “It’s a vibe.” I don’t even know what it means. I don’t even GET IT.

KON WRITES:

I remember Squidbillies first being announced when AS was like, still brand new. Based on what I've read, I think Squids was originally going to be a shared creation of the Williams Street staff, but it went nowhere until Dave Willsmith took over and made it his own vision. The pilot ep kinda has that feeling of a troubled production, like they were trying to get SOMETHING down on paper that could kinda work. Not a great pilot, but will it make a great show? (No)

I do not remember that! But, I trust you and appreciate you and cherish you, my friend.

#adultswim2021 #adult swim #harvey birdman attorney at law

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tunnelofdusk · 3 years

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MDZS, WANGXIAN, dark dimension travel:

The birds are quiet when Lan Zhan wakes up to see a man looming over Wei Ying. The war had never stopped for them, and both resentment and spiritual energy surges with no delay between slumber and awakening. The world narrows down to this man that dares to invade their home.

Bichen shines a bright blue in the darkness as Lan Zhan’s fingers twist in a sword seal. Greasy resentment trails after the flashing sword trail.

The stranger’s sword flashes blue in return, and Lan Zhan sees himself in the stranger. “Fuqin,” he says, cutting through the silence. He is wrong, of course.

The familiar stranger slowly shakes his head, sword hand still raised in a parry.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying begins. He stands tall in his rumpled sleep clothes, red marks peeking over the edge of his collar. The stranger looks at Wei Ying in a way Lan Zhan finds too familiar.

“My name,” the stranger says, “is Lan Zhan.”

Oh...so this is how Lan Zhan must have looked in his 13 years of mourning. Grief transforms his features into those of his father. Even Xiongzhang in his seclusion and grief has yet to match Fuqin’s severe features. Grief had hollowed out Lan Huan but grief had sharpened Lan Zhan and his father.

Wei Ying does not want to recognize the grief in this duplicate’s face. Like a bird fluffing up its feathers, he stands in front of Lan Zhan and raises his dizi upwards and forwards, forestalling the man’s attempt to step closer. “You’re not my Lan Zhan,” he says.

The man flinches, and his mouth is a harsh slash across his face. “You,” he condemns, “are not my Wei Ying.”

And it’s true. A dead man in another dead man’s body. Wei Ying’s mouth twitches in both a frown and a smile. It hurts. His body isn’t his and while there are days where looking into a mirror doesn’t disorient him, there are an equal amount of days where he cannot recognize himself in the mirror.

Lan Zhan sidesteps Wei Ying and the man, Lan Wangji, follows suit, eye to eye with each other.

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Ying protests. He peeks over Lan Zhan’s shoulder and stares down Lan Wangji. Sure, he would hesitate at hurting a man who looked like his husband, but Wei Ying knows he cannot trust this duplicate. There is something wrong with him that disrupts the natural flow of resentment in the world. He is a boulder in a river.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says quietly, a wealth of meaning in his words.

Wei Ying is stricken by the enormity of Lan Zhan’s love. All those years wasted on misunderstandings when their souls had always resonated so clearly.

There is a disquieting look on Lan Wangji’s face as he observes this exchange. He does not look jealous; he looks lost, cast adrift in waters he had once found familiar. Wei Ying knows about drowning, the shock of waters deeper than previously thought. He knows about the desperation that makes a drowning man cling onto another and force them to sink as well.

Lan Wangji lets his sword fall down into a resting position. “I mean you,” he says quietly, “no harm.”

Lan Zhan keeps his sword raised. “How did you appear here?”

Wei Ying watches the twitch of Lan Wangji’s fingers, wrapped around the hilt of his sword. He thinks Lan Wangji did not expect to appear here either.

“A talisman malfunction,” Lan Wangji answers.

There is no satisfaction to be found within Lan Zhan at this answer. His own reticence stymies him. “What was the purpose of the talisman?”

If the man before them truly is Lan Zhan and has appeared here via talisman, then it must be time travel or travel between worlds. This Lan Zhan does not have the timeless air of an immortal. Tales of Baoshan Sanren speak of a presence so heavy and palpable that it almost seems tangible. What sort of talisman could bring this pale shadow of Lan Zhan here?

“Time travel,” Lan Wangji answers.

—

Lan Wangji meets Lan Sizhui, and the grief already carved on his face deepens. “A-Yuan,” he says softly. He reaches out with a hand, only to pull back at the last moment. His hand clenches into a fist at his side.

Sweet boy that he is, Lan Sizhui darts a worried glance at Wei Ying and Lan Zhan. He can almost understand the shape of the grief Lan Wangji carries.

When Lan Sizhui leaves to join his fellow disciples, Wei Ying opens his mouth to voice a question that he does not want to ask. But Lan Wangji forestalls any questions by speaking first.

“I found him,” Lan Wangji says. “He was so small. He did not understand what was happening.” The smooth timber of Lan Wangji’s voice roughens.

Yet Wei Ying still cannot help the disquiet that festers within him when he observes Lan Wangji. He thinks that this sort of persistent grief is dangerous. Lan Zhan has never known how to let go and this Lan Wangji clearly does not know how to either.

“He was so small,” Lan Wangji repeats.

Lan Zhan rarely repeats himself; his speaking style never demands repetition, not when he captures attention so easily with his terse eloquence. The divergences between Lan Wangji and Lan Zhan grow.

—

Lan Qiren shakes his head when he meets Lan Wangji. “Silly boy,” he murmurs, and Lan Wangji flinches. “What have you done to yourself?”

Disapproval is how Lan Qiren expresses his affection, Wei Ying thinks wryly. Lan Wangji’s mouth firms into a straight line as he listens to his uncle reprimand him. He must find it too familiar, longing for his own home, surely.

“Shufu,” Lan Wangji says. He says nothing else, and he no longer looks at his uncle. A blank gaze dull the gold of his eyes, and his eyelashes shadow them further.

—

Lan Wangji does not meet Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen is in seclusion.

Lan Wangji is not surprised.

—

The days go by and Lan Wangji becomes Lan Zhan’s shadow. By extension, he becomes Wei Ying’s shadow too. Such a dour man, Wei Ying will think, and he will coax Lan Wangji to walk beside them. (He does not want Lan Wangji at his back.)

—

“It was never time travel,” Lan Wangji whispers. His breath ghosts across the shell of Wei Ying’s ear.

Wei Ying flinches. The hands around his wrists tighten, and he reaches for resentment. He finds nothing, and he stiffens as Lan Wangji lets out a short laugh.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji says with an awful tenderness, “why do you always walk such a crooked path?”

Wei Ying had never thought of a Lan Zhan who would dare to walk on the crooked path. He wonders why this Lan Zhan uses resentment when his golden core is stronger than that of his own Lan Zhan. Resentment has corrupted Lan Wangji—the classic example of why demonic cultivation is so heavily warned against. It is not meant to coexist with righteous cultivation, and this instability corrupts.

With a scoff, Wei Ying says, “Then why do you walk the crooked path?” He twists his head to peer at the thin smile on Lan Wangji’s face.

“Demonic cultivation is only demonic cultivation when it uses human lives,” Lan Wangji answers. “I am beyond that. You know that everything in the world has the potential for resentment.”

The world? And if it is not time travel that has landed Lan Wangji here—

“What happened to your world?” Wei Ying says. A shiver works its way down his spine and the chest behind his back presses closer.

“I wanted to understand the world so much that I unraveled it. I wanted to understand how there could be justice in a world you died in.”

“When you used your world’s energy—”

“Wei Ying, my world is no more. Like a loose thread in a tapestry—”

“—you pulled.” What an awful thing it is to understand this Lan Wangji as easily as his own Lan Zhan.

“I pulled,” Lan Wangji agrees easily. “I have no regrets.”

The enormity of this loss is incomprehensible. Wei Ying does not understand how Lan Wangji can so casually speak of the death of an entire world. The Lan Zhan he knows is a righteous man who would rather die before letting innocents die in his place. His Lan Zhan is so, so good, and disgust wells up within Wei Ying as he stares at that thin, twisted smile. This man does not deserve to be a Lan Zhan in any world.

“Your Wei Ying was lucky to die then,” he spits out.

Lan Wangji laughs again, and it is nothing like Lan Zhan’s low, rare laughs. It has none of the warmth that Wei Ying associates with it. It is a cold, soulless sound that hollows Wei Ying inside-out.

“You ruined me that first night you came to the Cloud Recesses.”

“Don’t you dare blame me! You’re a monster!...You’re no Lan Zhan of mine and I’m not your Wei Ying! I could never be!”

“You ruined me,” Lan Wangji repeats softly. “Have I turned into my father?...I think worse…” And his hands let go of Wei Ying’s wrists to grab at Wei Ying’s face instead.

Wei Ying chokes on the tongue in his mouth. It is not a kiss; it is a violation. It is punishment from a man who never learned to grieve properly or proces his emotions in any other way than repression and subsequent force. This Lan Zhan knows nothing of tenderness. He knows only of pain.

—

“What did you do to my Lan Zhan?”

“I am your Lan Zhan.”

“Tell me...please…”

A quiet hum of satisfaction. “He wanted to save you but he could not save himself.”

The hot sting of tears futilely blinked away.

—

Lan Wangji hums a song and Wei Ying wants to vomit. His body wants to love this man but his mind knows better—knows worse. He has never associated cruelty with Lan Zhan, and he hates this man for defiling his love with this crude mockery.

“Isn’t it enough?” Wei Ying asks. The rasp of his own voice surprises him.

He does not recognize himself, and he does not recognize this Lan Wangji.

#mdzs #wangxian #lan zhan #wei ying #dark lwj #fanfic

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hufflepuffhollander · 4 years

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metempsychosis: t.h. series (part 2)

a/n | get ready for alll the flashbacks today, kiddos. it’s cute. it’s chaotic. it’s heart wrenching. i’m so in love with this story it’s not even funny. am i allowed to admit that out loud?

synopsis | A young couple whose lives were both lost in a tragic accident are reincarnated as new people. As they collide as strangers in their second lives, they must try to make sense of the innate connection they feel.

cw | reincarnation au. awkward meet-cute fluff, language, very vague allusion to death, flashbacks. 2.9k words.

Read part 1, join the taglist

Metempsychosis (n.): the supposed transmigration at death of the soul of a human being into a new form of life.

Nobody likes to admit it, but there are forces flurrying around the universe that we just can’t hope to understand. The kind that control fate when humble, kind people are taken from this world too soon by the sloppiness of human nature, one thing that can’t ever truly be accounted for; that give those good souls a second chance at making the world a better place just by being in it. The universe decided it wasn’t their time yet, and in its infinite power sent them back down to earth, to start over, to live again. No, it doesn’t always seem like the universe really has a plan when it conjures its magic. But it seems all too coincidental that they would come to meet again this way, doesn’t it? Being in just the right place at just the right time, maybe—well, this will sound crazy. But maybe it was made to happen this way.

Tom arrived the next day flustered after a long night of overthinking and not enough sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about the artist he’d met, the way just her stare made him weak in the knees. He overslept, rushed into the studio in sweatpants, and to make things worse, he couldn’t recall a single dream. No teeth falling out, no high-speed car chases where you’ve lost control of the wheel...and no angel singing him to sleep. He hadn’t gotten a single new lyric down that the producers had asked him to have finished, and that fucking E string broke again. He was already having the worst day and it was barely 10am.

He flew into the meeting he was supposed to attend at the last possible second, and the door had barely shut behind him when he felt icicles pinpricking his skin. His eyes floated around the room until they landed on a familiar face. It was you again.

The meeting started and ended, neither you nor Tom absorbing a single thing that was said. You couldn’t rip your stares away from each other, speaking in confused, concerned, nonplus silent expressions and barely breaking eye contact for the whole hour.

You seared into his pupils. Who are you?

He scrunched his eyebrows. Who am I? Who are you?

I know you from somewhere, don’t I?

You do?

I don’t know, do I?

You weren’t needed again on set for another few hours, but you weren’t sure you could wait that long to talk to him, to try to make sense of the appalling amount of deja vu you were experiencing. And what if he left, and you never saw him again? You couldn’t live with all of the unknowns, so you tugged at the strap of his guitar case as he tried to leave the conference room, forcing him to follow you somewhere quieter. Once you were finally alone, you were ready to start firing the interrogation questions until he turned to face you, stare burning a hole through the back of your head.

“Would you-- stop that!”

“Stop what?” Tom looked at you puzzled.

You swallowed hard to keep the butterflies from floating up through your windpipe and out of your mouth. “You- just...looking at me like that!”

He cocked up an eyebrow. “Me? You’re the one who won’t stop staring,” he huffed, trying to keep his vision from duplicating. Thankfully, when you blinked hard and looked away for a moment, he was able to ground himself. You had no idea that you were making each other sick out of sheer nerve.

“Look, I just- I felt, like, this really weird vibe yesterday when you helped me with my painting, and it just freaked me out, I- we must know each other, right? You know me from somewhere?”

Tom really got to listen to your voice for the first time then, and it shook him to his core. He could’ve sworn on everything holy that he didn’t know you, he’d never even seen you in passing; he would’ve remembered if he had. But your voice was slick with familiarity, like he’d heard you read him the world’s longest novel three times over. He’d never been so perplexed in his life.

“Um, hi?” he snapped out of his thought as you waved your hand in front of his face, still waiting for a reply. “Earth to...whoever you are?”

“Uh, it’s- it’s Tom,” his cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He stuck his hand out as a formality, but you didn’t take it.

That name. You knew that name. You looked away in your own bubble of thought, smiling and silently laughing at a fond memory.

“Sorry, what’s so funny?” He was secretly glad you hadn’t taken his hand, because he was positive it would’ve been sweaty.

“No, nothing, just your name,” you said, smiling still. “My childhood cat was named Tom.”

“Oh, that’s cute- like, for a tomcat?”

You thought about what he said for a moment. “Uh...no, actually. But that is clever. No, I just, I loved the name. Always have. I don’t know why.” Tom just reflected your small smile.

“That’s a funny name for a cat.”

1993

{ He wanted a dog his whole life, but his parents would never let him get one, so he told himself every day that he would go to the shelter and get his own the day he moved out. By the time he finally got around to adopting a pet, though, they had moved in together, and she only wanted a cat. So they’d compromised and got a kitten. He was never very good at saying no to her.

“I want to name him something funny, like Socks!” he said.

“No, no, we gotta name him after my Uncle Scott. It would be his birthday today, after all. And he always loved cats.”

“We can’t give our cat a person name, love.”

“Why not?”

“It’s weirdly formal. When was the last time you came across a cat named Kevin? Or a dog named Michael?”

She took the kitten out of his hands and tucked it into her chest defensively, eliciting a small purr from the animal. “I think those are all perfectly fine names, actually.”

“Sweetheart, if you ever get a cat all on your own, you can give it a weird, old man name. But we’re not naming our kitten Scott.”

“Agree to disagree.”

They’d landed on the name Snickers, but she always called him Scottie when nobody was around. }

Tom spoke again. “Well, what do I call you?”

“You don’t already know my name?”

“I promise you that I really, really don’t know who you are,” he pleaded.

“It’s y/n,” you respond. But he just wanted you to keep talking. Not only did your voice sound like butter to him, but you had to be the most unbelievably beautiful person he’d ever seen. “...Are you okay?”

He realized a second later that he had forgotten to reply yet again, and he racked his brain frantically trying to think of something to keep the conversation going.

“So you’re doing the paint?”

“What?”

He internally smacked himself. “Sorry, like, you’re an artist, right?”

You gave him a weary smile, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Um, yeah, that’s what they call me.”

“Cool.”

You motioned to the guitar slung around his back. “Singer?”

“No. Well...yeah, kinda,” he gave you a nervous glance as he tried to stammer out a complete thought, his chest feeling immersed in flames. “I write the songs- I’m a lyricist. I sing them, but not really out loud. I’m the voice behind the voice, I guess.”

Your eyes flicked up to his mess of curls, finding the state of complete abandon they were in almost endearing. “Cool.”

Just then, Cameron called out, beckoning you into another meeting. You gave Tom a half smile. “I, uh, have to go.” As you turned around and hurried away, you weren’t sure if the sudden loss of nerve stimulation was something to be celebrated or missed. You hadn’t gotten any questions answered, but you just couldn’t think straight when your whole body felt as if it had been dunked in an ice bath.

Tom sat and brooded over his notepad for hours, writing a line and crossing it out, playing a riff on his guitar and cursing at the broken string. His mind was completely blank. This had never happened to him before, and it couldn’t when he was under as much pressure to perform as he was. After a frustrating and uneventful brainstorming session, he packed up his stuff and followed the long way out of the studio so he could pass by where he thought you might be, one more time, just in case you were still there.

You saw him appear as you walked across a ledge, and tripped over a wire, falling down. He rushed over to help you up, and unfortunately, you really did need the assistance.

“Hey, hey, you okay?” He leaned down to extend an arm, and you gratefully rested your hand on his jacket sleeve to pull yourself up. His other hand reached for your free one, and no sooner had his skin touched yours did you feel a shooting pain at the point of contact.

“What the-” you pulled your arm back quickly, searching your hand for an injury, but there was nothing there. “What was that?”

Tom was staring at his own palm, flexing his fingers back and forth in confusion.

“Are you covered in static electricity or something?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course not,” you were visibly anxious now, waving his hand away as you tried standing on your own. But without your cane, that godforsaken cane, you still needed his help. You braced yourself as you took his hand, and when you went to look into his eyes again, they looked hazy- almost splotched with dots of red and blue.

He looked at you as you rose to his eye level and felt the interminable urge to wrap you up in his arms and hold you, like you were a long lost friend he hadn’t seen in years. But all he did was graze your wrist with his fingertips as you pulled away from his grip, and was confused when he didn’t feel a small raised bump on top of your wrist bone. At that thought, Tom almost lost his own footing. Why did he expect to feel something there?

{ She was wrestled to the ground on her back, each arm pinned on the floor by one of his. Lost in a fit of giggles, she couldn’t escape his grip, and stuck her tongue out at him. “This still doesn’t mean you win.”

He rolled his eyes and let his body weight drop onto hers so he could plant a gravity-inspired kiss on her lips, staying there as she slinked her tiny arms around his torso.

“Ouch, babe, your bracelet,” he said, wincing as it dug itself into his shoulder blade.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry.”

“Why do you always wear that thing? We’re in pajamas and nobody here is expecting you to be dressed up,” he asked, propping himself up on one arm and moving to rest beside her on the shaggy carpet. She shifted the smooth metal around her wrist nervously.

“Oh, well...it covers up this birthmark I have,” she said, clamping the jewelry tighter.

“What birthmark?”

“See? The bracelet is doing its job,” she chuckled.

“Darling, let me see it.” He slid her hand away and unclasped the bangle to reveal a small, dark raised bump right where her wrist met her hand. She looked away in disgust.

“I hate that thing. I always have. It reminds me of a bug.”

He looked at her with his eyes full of concern at her discomfort, and raised her arm to his mouth, lightly kissing her wrist. She stared at him in awe.

“Well, I think it’s beautiful.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s part of you, and I signed up for the whole package, remember? Bugs and all.”

She sent him a loving look. “What cheesy rom-com did you waltz out of, huh?” }

You both stood still, unsure of how to end the encounter. But neither of you were ready to simply let go of the ever-confusing mystery that was the nature of your relationship. You didn’t think you could focus on anything other than the buzz in your brain in that moment, and Tom caught on.

“Are you feeling alright, y/n?”

You didn’t feel the need to lie. “No, not really. I feel dizzy. But I need to drive home.”

Tom immediately felt the need to take care of you, stowing away that feeling to break down and process later. “I can take you.”

You looked up at him disconcertingly. “No, you don’t have to. I’ll get my assistant to help...” you did a full 360 looking for Cameron, but he was nowhere to be found. God damnit.

Tom leaned down to take your supply bag from your hands. “Please, it’s really not a big deal. You shouldn’t be driving if you feel like this.”

You reluctantly released your grip on your bag and followed him to his car. As he pulled out onto the road and the darkness was only being skewered by the choppy headlights, you started to feel a panic well up inside of you. Your eyes darted around the interior, looking at the radio, the dashboard, the blinking check engine light, and the heartbeat in your chest became palpable. You felt flighty, like something bad was about to happen. Of course, you’d never been in Tom’s car or seen any part of the inside, but you could feel something in its air. And it creeped you out to no end. You sat rigidly in your seat, hands clasped tightly together, and pressed them into each other hard every time someone’s high beams careened past you on the other side of the highway. Tom looked at you each time, hearing your subtle gasps.

“Nervous passenger?”

“Sorry, I just don’t like driving at night,” you stuttered out. You’d always been inexplicably petrified of it.

It felt like an eternity had passed by the time Tom pulled into your driveway, and you thanked him, shot out of the car and rushed inside all in one breath. You leaned hard against your front door as you closed it, infinitely confused and disturbed by the unchecked waves of fear rolling over your body.

1995

{ They sang their hearts out to the newest Mariah Carey hit that came on the radio, paying little attention to the cars around them. It was a cold evening, the car had just warmed up, and clearly, so had their vocal cords.

“I’m so excited for tonight, love,” he said, reaching to lay a hand on her thigh, which she laid her own on top of. “It will be so nice to see all of our friends again after such a nasty cold season.”

The car dinged and made them both look up, seeing an orange flash coming from the dashboard.

“Shit, the check engine light,” he muttered, hoping she hadn’t seen it. She’d been nagging him for weeks to take the car in for a steering fluid change, and he had a nasty habit of putting it off.

“I told you to get that fixed weeks ago.”

“I know, I know. I’ll get it done this weekend.”

“Do you know how dangerous it is to be driving over black ice without a properly working car, babe?” She was visibly annoyed. He gave her thigh a gentle squeeze.

“Don’t worry about it, baby, we’ll be just fine. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” He pushed the thought out of his mind as they arrived safely to the party, and with a sigh of relief, she forgot all about it, too.

Of course, they hadn’t known what fate was waiting for them on the ride back home. }

No less than two minutes later, you had barely composed yourself when you heard a knock on the door. You opened it to find an embarrassed Tom at the entryway.

“It seems that I ran over a nail on my way here, my tire’s gone completely flat.” He averted his eyes from your gaze. “Mind if I stay in here til the tow truck shows up?”

You moved aside to let him pass through, really wanting nothing more than just to lie down and rest. But the rush of blood you felt to your head as he grazed by awoke your senses; his throat went dry as he stepped through the air around you. You tried to push the preeminent, sleepy visions of flashing lights out of your brain and watched him settle in on your couch in a very idiosyncratic way; curling up all the way to the right side, tucking his left leg under him, and placing a pillow on his lap.

Why did you know he would do that?

#metempsychosis #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland imagines #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland blurb #tom holland blurbs #tom holland one shot #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you

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guessimjoiningthespidermanfandom · 4 years

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Blessing in Disguise

Peter Parker x bisexual!reader

Peter Parker x fem!reader

Peter Parker x black!reader

Peter Parker x villain!reader

Warnings: Hospitals, Explosions, depictions of pain, allusions to mania and depression, self harm/unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of death and the dead, gambling, potential underage drinking, theft, guns, gun violence, depictions of bullet wounds, and drunk people.

Word Count: 3.4k

Songs: All the kids are depressed- Jeremy Zucker, Everywhere- Chloe x Halle, Middle Child- J. Cole, She Knows- J. Cole, Breezeblocks- alt-J, Pussycat Doll-Flo Milli, It’s Been So Long- The Living Tombstone, Take me to Church- Hozier, Good Kid- Kendrick Lamar, Death of a Bachelor- Panic! At the Disco, Them Changes- Thundercat, Detention- Melanie Martinez, Recess- Melanie Martinez, Something for your M.I.N.D- Superorganism

A/N: I actually hate this chapter because I feel like the writing doesn’t flow. I feel like it’s to jampacked with things that don’t do anything to push the story forward. Anyway I hope you still read it anyways.

Series Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

I did the hand sign stating I’d stand. I knew I won for sure this time because I had a perfect hand of 21. The two other people playing against groaned as I was declared the winner yet again.

Swiping the chips for the 3rd time since I’d been at the casino. I decided to take my wins and make my way to the bar that our “target” was residing.

I had a hunch on where Carmen was but had no actual idea. I’d just text her. In the meantime I had this grown ass man to make a move on.

I was like 97% sure I had the right guy anyway. I looked much older than usual tonight due to Carmen being a makeup goddess and I gotta say flirting can get you a long way.

“Hey,” I spoke, sitting on the bar stool next to the man.

He looked up at me mumbling a quick hey.

“You expecting someone?”

“Nope,” He popped the ‘p’ “What about you?”

“Same as you,”

“Now I don’t believe someone as beautiful as you is here alone,” He moved his arm that much closer to mine. I pushed out a smile and giggled.

“I could say the same about you,” We made eye contact for a second “But no seriously, I’m just here with a girlfriend. It was my birthday yesterday but she wasn’t free so we came out today,” I lied.

“How old did you turn?”

“Twenty Two,” He nodded seemingly content with the answer.

“So you’re not around here are you?”

“Either you’re a genius or I’m just very bad at blending in, no I’m from New York,”

“Ah, I have some friends in New York, which part?”

“Harlem actually but I recently moved to Queens,” I lied again.

“Oh I don’t many from those cities,”

“If we're being honest I don’t know many people from Queens either my life’s been more hectic ever since I moved,”

“I hear you,” He informed me, leaning on the small backing the stools had.

We talked for about 15 more minutes, him explaining the switch between New York to Nevada. Then Carmen walked up to me and feigned drunkenness signaling she was done with her job. I made my way back. To the man who’s name I still hadn’t learned.

“As much fun as I was having talking to you, my friend is way too drunk to be out in public so we should probably head back to the hotel.” I sat back on the barstool turning my legs towards the man batting my eyes

“Could I possibly use your phone to call an Uber mine is dead?”

“Yeah of course you can…” His sentence fizzed off at the end in place of where my name would be.

“Ciara,” I filled in “And you are?”

“Jim” He started handing me the phone.

I used his phone for an entirely different reason than I’d claimed. The project Carmen had been working on was melting the wires together to fix the flash drive that works inside of phones. It hadn’t worked in years.

It took about a minute to duplicate the phone's data. I stuck the flash drive in my bra before going to give the phone back.

Just as I started moving a loud argument broke out, by the drunk accents I could tell it would soon get violent. Seeing as I had many experiences with an aggressive drunk. I wasn’t going to take my chances and began turning towards the main exit.

I heard the first shot echo followed by another. Soon everyone was shooting. Including Carmen who I think just wanted an excuse to shoot at people passing it off as “protecting her friends”.

She was closer to the exit than I was so she slid me the gun and I was able to ward off anyone shooting in our general direction. Not for long though. A bullet lightly grazed my dominant arm’s shoulder; it still dug in enough to do some sweet damage.

Fuck

What’s up with me? I haven’t been on my A game lately.

We were also out of bullets. Mostly because we weren’t actually expecting to have to fucking shoot at people. I ducked back down behind the bar trying not to get caught on the broken glassware.

“I think it would be a good time to do that thing?” I asked.

She rolled her eyes

“You know I hate doing it,”

“Well I’m literally bleeding out,” I dramatized pointing to my shoulder. “So if you want to get out of here not in body bags, do the thing,”

“Alright, just this one time,” She begrudgingly made her way out from behind the bar and away from me.

I covered my ears and closed my eyes as the glass around me rained down and the bar shook. I could slightly hear the cries from beneath my hands. Once she moved back over to me

“See that wasn’t so bad, birdy,” I scrambled up to my feet ignoring the pull in my shoulder.

I made my rounds grabbing Jim’s phone, cash, wallets, watches, and anything else that looked expensive from pockets and the ground.

I stood awkwardly staring at my feet as I slid from side to side with my butt planted on my skateboard.

“Hi,” I heard squinting my eyes looking up revealing a equally nervous looking Peter

“Hey,” I nodded at him.

The conversation wasn’t as awkward as I thought it’d be he’d apparently asked Liz to prom and he said yes. Which I was definitely super happy about because why wouldn’t I be?

Anyway who cares about that anyway. Props to Peter for not bringing up the whole ghosting everyone thing for like a week thing. Because if he didn’t bring it up I was going to act like it never happened.

We talked about everything and anything. From favorite candies or colors to our beliefs about life after death. I’d found out his favorite candy were skittles, favorite color: red and that he was Jewish but not necessarily religious and didn’t believe in heaven or hell but he believed in the eternity of a soul.

I’d told him that my favorite candy was F/C, my favorite color being pink and that I didn’t know what I believed in. I believed in a higher power but not that they were inherently good because of all the suffering on earth. I’d told him if they weren’t good and had abandoned us while alive. Why would they care or have any plan for us into the afterlife? I think that part is up to us, and what we believe. I’m trying not to think about death.

Then like clockwork he had to leave before 9 which is funny because it’s like he wasn’t even trying to hide his secret identity. He’d told me he lost the internship and normally his excuse to leave was the internship.

I just guess that means he no longer has Stark’s backup. He only had it for a while anyway he’d be fine without it again. Actually when I think about it, from his behavior he’d exhibited as Spiderman in the short few months I’d had the displeasure of knowing him as ‘Thorn’ he’d be weak. He was unconfident, relied on his tools far too much. Couldn’t see himself without the suit. So maybe he was really just going home. So he’d be fine.

I’d also be fine. No matter how much it didn’t look like it at the moment. I’d be fine. I was always fine. I was fine without my mom, without Rose, without my dad, without Olivia and any one else I’d ever been stupid enough to get attached to. I’d bounce back. I always did.

It’d taken Carmen much convincing to not sit around and babysit me 24/7 because of my shoulder. She was sure that I’d do something dumb and it would get infected.

I was sitting on MJ’s bed getting ready for homecoming. My neck jerked again as Bri attempted to detangle and braid my hair.

If I hadn’t spiraled into the Vulture, Kingpin and SHIELD, rabbit hole I probably would have taken better care of myself and my hair.

“Stop moving,” She tsked.

“Stop trying to rip my head off my neck,” I hissed back.

Bri did my nails back when we were still at her house waiting for MJ to pick us up. She actually did pretty good. I think she would do great at a cosmetology school. She's pretty much into everything: hair, nails, makeup the whole nine yards. She did all of that for me.

The make up was very simple, but I was still able to get my signature winged eyeliner. Winged eyeliner is something very dear to me mostly because Rose was the first to put me on it and I wore it everyday since. It kinda felt disrespectful to stop at this point.

The only thing left was the dress MJ had gifted me. Her mom bought her a dress but she still refused to wear dresses so she returned it for this one, she opted for a very nice pantsuit she already had. Then Bri's outfit of course matched her boyfriend’s.

I’ve never really liked school dances they’re always so overhyped, but I go to them all anyways, because then I get in on all the drama. It helped me build up my arsenal of knowledge about everyone.

I was sitting at one of the round tables near the entrance with MJ, Bri, and Olivia. We had a bottle of “Gatorade” open and out for anybody who wanted to drink it. I was about to drink from it when I saw Liz enter alone.

I made my way over to her.

“Where’s Peter? I thought he asked you?”

“I don’t even know he just ditched me,” She let out a deep breath.

“Aw I’m sorry,” I wrapped my good arm around her shoulder.

“Well don’t think about that asshole, you’re way out of his league anyway,” I assured her to which she let out a weak laugh.

“Come sit with me and my friends,”

A girl with knockers dancing all along her head came up to before speaking

“Why are you crying?”

I sniffed pulling my head from my arms.

“I miss my mom,”

“I miss my mom sometimes but I like my grandma too,”

“Where’s your mom?” I asked.

“I don’t know my grandma says she’s sick,” She shrugged. “Where’s your mom?”

“Well my grandma says she’s in a better place now but I know that just means dead,”

“Yeah my dad is dead too so I know what you mean, I’m Rose. What’s your name?”

“Y/N,”

“Y/N, that's a pretty name,” She smiled. “You wanna come sit with me and my friends Y/N?”

“Y/N!”

I jumped a bit at the voice before matching it to MJ

“What?” I asked in a harsher tone then necessary.

“Jeez sorry,” She reeled back “Someone is asking for you named Carmen. They said it’s important,” She waved her phone around.

My face dropped and I hoped no one caught it.

I grabbed the phone exiting the auditorium.

“Okay what’s up?”

“You know Liz’s dad whatever her name is but yeah, He’s gonna rob that plane that’s moving everything from the Avengers tower,” She rushed

“What!?”

Holy shit

That must be where Peter’s went. So he figured it out too. Kid’s smarter than I give him credit for.

“I’ll send you the location on your phone,”

“Why didn’t you just call me from there?”

“Because you never answer it,”

“True,”

“Y/N?” She whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Be careful,”

“Always,” I smiled.

I rushed out of the building not thinking about how I could get caught. Near the buses there was the new Shocker lying unconscious.

I took the webshooter I found next to him. Then made a run for it. Stopping to hot wire the nearest car, I sped to one of the locations that I knew Vulture’s team kept their weapons at. I was throwing everything in the same pile. Getting ready to destroy them.

Then the door creaked open.

I felt the bed dip as my brother sat next to me.

“Are you coming?”

I pulled the cover off my face

“Why should I?”

“Because you’ll regret it if you don’t,”

“No I won’t leave me alone,” I pulled the cover back over my head.

“You gotta eat something,”

“No I don’t leave me alone,”

“Y/N…”

I knew what he was going to say and I didn’t wanna hear it.

“She would want you to eat something,”

“Fuck you! How would you ever know what she would've wanted? No one here knew her and now one will ever get the chance to again so just leave me alone,”

“Y/N-“

“Don’t Y/N me, get the fuck out of my room,” He sat there for a second, stunned “NOW!”

As soon as the door closed and I flipped back over

I was shaken back into the present only to find that I was pinned under the man who’d entered the room before I zoned out. He reached for the nearest weapon. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was. Which is rare. I have a whole weapons catalog in my brain. Unfortunately for him he couldn’t grab it without giving me leeway to get from underneath them.

Unfortunately for me I put too much pressure on my arm in the seconds I took to grip my shoulder recuperating myself. The man had fired the weapon he had at the pile of weapons that I stumbled back towards.

The weapons then emitted purple light before exploding leaving me caught under some wood and concrete as the ringing in my ears only got louder and louder.

The fire around me crackled loudly and I bit my lip.

The smoke was only getting more plentiful.

I started coughing which only got more and more painful.

When I came to myself, I wasn’t choking anymore and the fire around me had died down. I was able to push myself from underneath the rubble holding me down. Not without lots of pain though.

The dress I was wearing was torn completely, holes big enough to see what I was wearing underneath it already.

So I just took it off.

It wasn’t like I was completely naked I was wearing boxers. Not like I haven’t left the house in a bra and shorts before. Also who gives a fuck I just almost died.

It was like 35° but I wasn’t cold in the slightest. I was actually kind of hot.

If my phone was accurate the plane had already made it near the edge of Queens and Staten Island. Rushing there I was seconds late as I saw the plane crash after I saw two figures fighting along it.

There was fire everywhere but I wasn’t thinking. I was just running because I couldn’t make out Peter’s shape and if he was dead-

I swear to fucking God if he was dead. Not again. I couldn’t handle another death.

Peter was saying something. No, pleading as the Vulture stood tall with his wings still intact. He was talking about how it was a nice try and he doesn’t know what he’s messing with.

Peter might not but I knew what this was. I also knew I wasn’t letting him get away with it.

The wings started producing visible waves of heat. Then it hit me, what Peter was trying to say. The wings were gonna blow. I got a head start and lunged towards the man. The element of surprise was on my side. That was until he used the wings to lift himself off the ground.

Now I was fine with parkour and other activities, but being lifted off the ground by someone else, someone who’d never interacted with me ever, is where I draw the line. Then Peter was shooting a web at the wings. To which Vulture dropped me to go after him.

Oh hell no.

“Give it up Peter,” He continued to get closer and closer as the webs were continuously cut through.

You know how people say they see in red when they get angry? Well the opposite of that happens to me I just see black. Remembering very little to nothing.

Last thing I remembered was fire just fire. From my fingertips, arms, head. It destroyed the wings in seconds, before they had a chance to blow up on their own.

Peter webbed up the man before moving out of my sight.

How the fuck do you get fire coming from your body.

Literally what the actual fuck.

I couldn’t breathe.

That’s what it was, I was dying, I was probably in some coma and this was a weird hallucination my brain pushed out in its final moments.

Okay this is it. I was dying suffocating in some coma.

Or even worse this wasn’t a coma and I was going to die with my body lit on fire literally.

“Oh my God,” I gasped trying to get air into my lungs.

I closed my eyes and when I opened them Peter was in front of me in a torn up ripoff suit.

“Y/N,” He moved trying to catch my eye.

“Y/N, Y/N breathe…”

I couldn’t really process his words. My mind was clouded with fear, fear and anger.

Before I knew it I was hitting my head so I wouldn’t hit anyone or anything else. It’d been a coping mechanism I used ever since I was 3.

Peter reached for my arms reeling back after his hands came into contact with my boiling skin.

“Y/N you have to calm down,” He moved in front of me.

I stopped moving my hands but it was still difficult to breathe.

The monitors beeped all around me and if I closed my eyes and concentrated hard enough. I could convince myself they were birds.

I could tell from the patter of the knock on the door that it was Rose.

“Come in!” I called out.

She picked up the clipboard examining it. As she did every time she visited. Luckily for everyone there was no nurse she could bombard with questions and criticism.

“How are you feeling?” She asked.

“Itchy, like my guts are on fire,”

To which she replied by singing the chorus to Girl on Fire.

“Anyway,” she brought us back after our laughter. “I got you pizza today since I’m sure you’re tired of McDonald’s,”

“I don’t mind McDonald’s actually, anything is better than hospital food. Well actually, their chicken strips aren’t that bad,”

She placed the box down on my lap. I lifted up the lid and was hit with the smell of the many herbs. I pat by my legs signaling she could sit down. She wiggled into the spot that the bar of the bed allowed.

“What are we watching today?”

“Uh…” I clicked on the TV “Vampire Diaries?,”

“That show is still going?

“Yeah, I don’t think it’ll ever end,”

Somehow the show turned into us dancing around the cramped hospital room.

We spun like the ballerinas in the broken jewelry box I got from my mom. Arms flailing around. The air conditioner made a rattling noise and a half eaten pizza on the bed. The situation was probably extremely weird or unpleasant from any other perspective, but because it was her it was perfect.

It was like the moment in rom coms where the camera zooms into the main characters dancing as the rest of the characters are put out of focus and they stare into each other’s eyes. I closed my eyes.

When I opened them I saw Peter’s eyes above mine.

His hands were immediately on my face making my look straight at him.

“Are you okay?” He breathed out.

I sat up feeling a pounding in my head and a pull in my lungs. I was met with the fact that I was definitely not on the ground. I was actually very far from the ground on some ride on the pier. My mouth was dry so it took me a minute to get the words out and when I did it hurt my throat.

“Yeah ’m okay jus’ tired,”

“Okay, well don’t go back to sleep because I think you have a concussion,”

“You’re acting like I died or something, how long was I out dang,” I joked I always hated when things got too serious.

“Uh probably...30 minutes? I don’t know I don’t have a watch,” He sniffed and that's when I realized he’d be crying.

“Were you crying? I knew you cared about me,” I smiled “It was only a matter of time before you fell in love with me, I’m irresistible”

He laughed weakly wiping his eyes “This isn’t funny,”

I looked up at him and started uncontrollably giggling. Soon Peter was laughing too.

The moment was interrupted by a squad of police cars pulling up. I absolutely did not want to get down but my tired muscles betrayed me. I was extremely exhausted. I literally could not move. I just had to go wherever Peter decided to take me. I honestly think I might have a few broken ribs. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before though. We stood off to the side watching as Vulture was stuffed into the back of one of the cars.

“So Spiderman?” I smirked.

“Uh.. no?” He said as if he’s questioning himself.

“It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone I’ve known for a while now,” I twisted my body to face him hissing as a sharp sting shot through my body “You're not very good at hiding it,”

“Hey!” He cried out “But seriously you can’t tell anyone,”

“I already said I wouldn’t, but if it makes you feel better I’ll pinky promise you, and everyone knows you can’t break a pinky promise,”

“Alright,” He sighed.

I tried to move closer again and was stopped by the pain in my sides.

“Okay well, the offer still stands, you’re just gonna have to come over here,”

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@tomdiddlyumptious

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

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Supernatural Crack🩹tober

Day 16: Hair Swap

He returns on a Tuesday. Walking through the door, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and spinning his keys on his fingers. Cas sees Dean at the map table, back facing him. Short hair sticking wildly at all ends, hunched over as he watches a video on Sam’s laptop. Shaking with silent laughter. The sight makes his heart swoon, Cas falling deeper in love despite the previous record set yesterday when Dean called because he texted a frowny face. They spoke well into the evening, until Cas fell asleep.

Dean has not heard him yet, so Cas uses it to his advantage. Silently descending the stairs, he creeps towards the other man. Runs his fingers through Dean's hair and drops a small kiss along the crown. “Hello, Dean.”

It wasn’t Dean.

Sam’s face comes into view, an earbud falling out. “Cas!” he says, slamming the space bar, “What are you doing?”

Cas pales, blinking. Looking from the younger Winchester’s face, then at his hair. Nothing adds up. “Sam?” he says, “you’re not…”

“I’m not what?”

“You’re not Dean.”

He snorts, turning fully in his seat. Languidly stretching, boots propped across a nearby, unoccupied chair. “Thought it’d be obvious,” Sam starts, lips pursing, “I am the more attractive brother. For a second I thought you broke and finally admitted your attraction to me, because then I’d have to awkwardly turn you down and hope it wouldn’t ruin yours and Dean's relationship.”

“I…” There’s a lot he said that Cas needs time digesting. He still hasn’t gotten past the hair. Nor Sam’s lazy smirk that reminded him of someone else. Before he can think more on this, he hears another person approaching. Deep timbre achingly familiar. “Dean? We’re in here – Dean!”

Dean steps into view, hair pulled tight in a bun. Smiling, like nothing was out of the ordinary. “Cas!” he says, striding forward with a glass of green liquid in hand, “I thought I heard you. Didn’t think you’d be back this soon, though.” He kisses him, free arm looping around Cas’s shoulder.

Cas hugs reflexively, nose scrunching in distaste. “You reek,” he says. And, as his hand trails across the damp planes of his shirt, Cas adds, “sweaty, too.”

Chuckling, Dean pulls away. “Yeah, I hadn’t showered yet. I was on my way, too, honest. Don’t like stewing in my yoga sweat for long.” He gestures at his outfit, the loose cotton t-shirt and shorts sticking at odd angles, toes flexing on the hardwood floors. “But I had to make sure someone was doing their research like he promised.” The pointed glare aimed at Sam strikes, the younger boy switching tabs with a rueful pout.

He hadn’t left them for more than three days. How did this happen? “Are you feeling all right?”

“Yeah, never better actually,” Dean says, “why do you ask?”

There were many reasons. Given how ordinary the brothers treated this situation, Cas opted for a simple lie. “It’s just… yoga?”

“I know,” his hunter sighs, leaning on map table. Tapping on his glass. “I normally do it every other day, but it was raining all morning and I didn’t feel like running in it. But I’m keeping with my juice schedule!”

“Your… juice schedule?”

Sam snickers, nudging Dean’s thigh with his elbow. “You know, Cas, it’s the thing Dean drinks that tastes like raw sewage and not… y’know, good?”

Dean needles him back, flicking his temple. “It is good. Good for you.”

“Chunky vegetable water isn’t good for me. Burgers are,” Sam stands, collecting his things. He offers a tiny salute in Cas’s direction before swaggering through the exit. “Which I’m gonna go ahead and make. Hopefully regain some of my appetite along the way. So long, bitches!”

Glaring at his retreated form, Dean sips at his juice. “Jerk.” Then, Dean downs the entire contents while Cas watched helplessly.

His mind ran through a number of possible scenarios. Dean and Sam were being possessed. Replaced by versions of themselves from a different universe. Under a spell. Touched a cursed object. Were playing an elaborately staged prank on him. The list grew infinitely. Stopping only when Dean snaps his fingers, drawing Cas out of his mind. “Hey,” he says, running a hand down his arm, “you okay?”

“Fine,” he answers, throat scratchy. He stumbles backwards, giggling. “I… it was a long trip. Guess I’m pretty – I’m tired.”

“Tired, huh?” Dean asks, grinning. Reading far past the shallow waters of his excuse. “Yeah, I guess I’m pretty beat, too. My body was such a tight knot, like I haven’t stretched in ages.” Or ever, Cas mentally tacks on. “If I wasn’t so filthy I’d collapse onto our bed and…” Dean demonstrates, shimmying onto the table and dropping. Legs helplessly kicking as they dangle over the edge. “Whoops,” he says, “give me a hand?”

Cas inches close enough he can grab Dean and lift. As he does, the hairtie holding the other man’s hair breaks and a waterfall of hair cascades across his shoulders. He gapes at the magnificence, unsure if Sam’s hair ever looked like that. Or was that long when he left.

“Dammit,” Dean growls, picking up the former accessory. Frowns at the broken circle, now a sad line. “I’m running out of these… oh well.” He tosses it blindly, tugging Cas into the space between his legs in the same breath. “Cas,” he says, “I thought you said you were tired?”

Cas winces, pants incredibly tight since the threadbare exercise shorts allow Cas to feel everything. “I did.”

“I was tired,” Dean sings, looping fingers around Cas’s wrist. Dragging the hand up, guiding it into his hair. “But if you want, I’m game for whatever. Better before I’ve showered than after, right?”

“Dean, I…” His protests still, Dean’s hand covering his and squeezing. Cas’s fingers threading through soft locks, a newer sensation that makes fireworks explode behind his eyes. He claws at Dean’s hair again, tighter. Those same bursts happen within Dean’s green gaze. “You like this?”

“Of course I like it, Cas. I love it.”

“No, no… I mean this.” He pulls Dean’s hair harder, a gasped moan stolen from his lips, “Having your hair pulled.”

Dean furrows his brow, playfulness waning. “Well, yeah. But it’s not like I’m the only one who gets off on it.”

“Hmm?”

“Cas?” Dean asks, pushing his arm away. Frowning, “Are you okay?”

In that instant, Cas makes a decision. Maybe not the best, but he sees it through. He places both hands on Dean’s scalp and grabs his hair, one after the other, in quick succession. The pupils of Dean’s eyes widen, and his adam’s apple throbs. Better yet, Cas’s leaking dick spasms. He did enjoy this. “Sorry,” Cas smiles, guiding Dean’s face towards his. Their lips hovering nearby, barely touching. “This hunt, it got me all turned around. But I can tell you about it after, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean kisses him, ankles crossed above his ass. “Less talk about work, more this.”

“Gladly.”

🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹🩹

The next day, Cas sits with the Winchesters at the table as he explained the strange circumstances. “Apparently, when touching the finger trap,” he tells them, “it caused your personalities to switch… among other things.”

Sam sighs, brushing his bangs from his face. Hairstyle returning, the ends curling below Sam’s chin. “Thanks for figuring that out, Cas. Being Dean for two days was more than I’ve ever wanted to be.”

“I don’t think it was enough,” Dean snorts into his coffee. “Maybe if it was a week, my stunning personality would’ve rubbed off on you. Maybe then you'd be less of a wet blanket all the time.”

“Really, Dean? You wanted to drink those disgusting juices for a week?” At the mention, Dean’s stomach gurgles loudly. Dean shudders from the memory of happily inhaling those tinctures, cheeks tinted green. “That’s what I thought.”

“Whatever.” Dean stands, circling the table. Placing a sweet kiss atop Cas’s head. “Just glad you put everything back to normal.” He pulls on the hair tie at his wrist, quickly gathering wavy, chestnut locks and folding them into a messy bun. “I’m making omelets. Any requests – that aren’t vegetables, Sammy.”

“You're supposed to put vegetables in omelets!”

“Meats and cheeses only!”

Cas sighs, sipping at his own coffee while they bickered. Glad that both brothers were themselves again. At least, almost.

When researching the cause of Sam and Dean’s strange behavior, and after finding the cursed object responsible for it, Cas happened across a spell that could undo the finger trap’s effect. Returning what had been swapped. As he read through the ingredients, he kept flashing back on the wondrous night Dean and he shared together. The feel of his fingers through that long hair. Cas would miss it when Dean’s old hairstyle returned.

But, hidden within the margins, Cas found a scrawled note from Men of Letters past. Deciphering that faded chicken scratch, the writer added extra instructions. Variations of this spell that could change its effects. In the example given, a beauty mark stolen could be duplicated and shared between the donor and recipient. Cas wondered if it would apply elsewhere.

“Cas?” Dean calls, bundle of hair bouncing while he cooked. Dean swaying along with an imaginary song. “Cas, what do you want in your omelet?”

He stood, drifting closer. Wraps his arms around Dean’s waist and burying his nose in his hair. “I’ll have what you’ll have.”

“Two kitchen sinks then,” Dean grins, nipping at Cas’s lips. He shoots a stale glare over Cas’s shoulder, “and one pussy vegetarian.”

“Dean,” Cas nuzzles his cheek, laughing, “watch it. If you're not careful, some of your hair might fall in.”

Sighing, Dean focuses on his cooking. Extra cautious with how his bun flopped around. “You know,” he whispers, “sometimes I think I might be better off with a buzzcut...”

“Really?” Cas digs his fingers into Dean’s hairline, scraping it. Catching loose strands in his efforts. “You think so?”

Chuckling, Dean melts into Cas’s embrace. “Nah… short hair’s lame, and so not me.”

“You’re absolutely right.”

(Day 15 - Impala Alternate Paint Job)

#supernatural #spn #cracktober #profoundnet #destiel #deancas #dean winchester #long hair dean winchester #sam winchester #short hair sam winchester #castiel #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic

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hovercraft79 · 4 years

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Don’t Cry Out Loud

Chapters: 1

Word Count: 8,093

Fandom: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)

Rating: Teen

Warnings: smoking and the difficulties in quitting

Summary: Hecate Hardbroom is used to being alone. She prefers it that way. At least, she thought she did until Ada Cackle returned to the Academy. Opening herself up to someone new carries great risk, but it might bring great rewards. Feelings bring laughter and tears – and something she didn’t realized she’d been missing so much.

Notes: This fic covers the prompt 5 Times and completes the first trilogy in the set (what I’ve affectionately dubbed The Kitten Chronicles because I haven’t been getting enough sleep).

The title comes the Melissa Manchester song, which includes the following lyrics if you aren’t familiar with it: “Don't cry out loud, just keep it inside, and learn how to hide your feelings.” Could these words describe Hecate Hardbroom any less? I think not.

Once again, Sparky has done her level best to curb my wayward commas and semi-colons.

Bleary-eyed and chilled from the flight, Ada touched down at the edge of Hecate’s garden. Shivering in the moonlight, Ada glanced at the pinkening sky and decided she had time for a cigarette before reporting for duty as Hecate’s laboratory assistant. She cast a light warming spell and summoned her cigarettes. Within minutes she was halfway through her first smoke and the day was looking much brighter indeed. Her mother had insisted she give it up, calling it a ‘filthy Ordinary habit,’ but Ada had found it difficult to do so. Instead, she’d reverted back to childhood and had taken to sneaking away and hiding whenever she could no longer ignore the craving.

Speaking of cravings, Ada thought she’d kill for a coffee right about now, but that wasn’t going to happen. There might be a hundred tea sets in the castle, but there wasn’t a coffee pot to be found. She doubted Hecate had one either.

She finished her smoke as the sun peeked over the horizon. Time to head inside. Casting a quick shower spell to dispel some of the cigarette odor, she ambled to the door, nearly tripping over a strange broomstick.

Ada looked closer. Not a strange broomstick – her mother’s. Wide awake now, Ada wondered what on earth her mother could be doing at Darkwood Cottage. She knocked on the door and stepped inside when it opened of its own accord.

Hecate and her mother were at the kitchen table, heads bent together over a tiny bundle between them. Quietly, so as not to startle, Ada walked closer.

“It’d been three days, so I’d hoped the mother would accept her, but this morning she’d been pushed out away from the others,” Alma said softly. “She was cold – maybe too cold. I hoped you might be able to help.”

“She’s very small, Mrs. Cackle, I don’t know if there’s much hope.”

Ada edged closer. A tiny kitten, wrapped in a kitchen towel, lay on the table between them. Hecate looked up at her, face wrinkled in sympathy and sadness. As they watched, the kitten, which had been feebly moving her paws, grew still.

“I knew it was a long shot,” Alma sighed, as she started to wrap the kitten in the towel.

“Hang on…” Ada picked up the wrapped kitten and began vigorously rubbing it through the towel. After a few seconds she checked the kitten again. Nothing. “It worked on 101 Dalmatians.”

A tear slipped down Hecate’s cheek. Then another. “What if I try…” She placed the tip of her finger on the kitten’s chest and loosed the tiniest stream of magic. The kitten jerked but nothing else. She did it again. This time the kitten jerked and then let out a very weak – but very angry – meow. “It worked!” She wiped more tears away with the heel of her hand. “Place a warming spell on the towel, Mrs. Cackle.” She leapt to her feet and hurried over to one of the cauldrons that had been set up for making the kitten inoculations. “Miss Cackle, if you’ll please gather some dried milk thistle… some echinacea…” She thought a moment. “Some burdock, I think.”

Ada was already collecting jars. “How about some dandelion to stimulate her appetite?”

“Very good.” Hecate already had the cauldron heating by the time Ada dropped the jars on the table. She summoned her mortar and pestle and began grinding the dried herbs into a fine powder.

“An infusion?” Ada asked, marveling at the speed with which Hecate’s hands flew.

“Eventually, when there’s proper time for it. For now, a decoction. It will be ready faster.” She measured out the ground herbs and added them to the cauldron. “We’ll need milk replacement. I can—”

“I’ll go have Mrs. Coriander make some up, if she hasn’t already,” Alma broke in. “I’ll transfer it back to you.” As she left, she pointed at Ada with her glasses. “You’d be wise to learn what you can from this one. See if you can talk her in to getting her credentials while you’re at it.”

Ada and Hecate looked at one another once Alma was gone. The soft bubbling of the cauldron was the only sound in the cottage, save for the occasional weak mewling of the kitten.

“Are you all right?” Ada asked. “It looked like—”

“I’m fine. Truly.” Hecate sniffed and tapped her spoon against the side of the cauldron. She waved a hand and cut the heat. “I just… I hate to see such a small animal suffer because its mother rejected it.”

“Her. Her mother,” Ada gently corrected. “Mother said she was a girl.”

Hecate wiped her eyes one last time before she ladled out a few ounces of the decoction. “Will you fetch me a dropper, please? Do you remember where they are?”

Ada nodded, thinking there was a lot more going on inside Hecate Hardbroom’s head than an abandoned kitten. “In the second drawer on the left.” She grabbed a dropper and joined Hecate on the sofa where she now sat cradling the kitten against her chest. “She’s a beautiful little girl, isn’t she?”

“Let’s hope she grows into a beautiful cat.” Hecate took the dropper and filled it with the decoction and then cooled the mixture with a spell. “Here we go, little one,” she cooed. “This will make you feel better.” Drop by drop, Hecate coaxed the liquid into the kitten. Ada watched as the serious young woman transformed into a fluffy pile of cuteness as she cuddled and coddled the kitten.

A glass jar appeared on the kitchen table. “There’s the food. Do you want to give her some now?” Hecate nodded, so Ada went to get it. She couldn’t help but smile as she watched Hecate feed two droppers of food. Finally, she tore herself away and set about turning one of the garden baskets into a kitten bed.

Hecate lingered over the kitten, adjusting and readjusting the blanket until she was satisfied that the kitten would stay warm. Finally, Ada placed a hand on Hecate’s shoulder. “You’ve done everything you can do for her,” she said, comfortingly. “Why don’t we let her rest and get started on the potions for the rest of the kittens.”

Hecate nodded and let Ada lead her back to the worktable.

-----

The ache in Ada’s shoulders burned straight to the bone. She couldn’t stop stirring, though. The kitten inoculations were at a critical stage. Stir too quickly or too slowly – or less than the required one hundred anti-clockwise turns of the ladle – and the potions would be ruined.

Gritting her teeth, Ada risked a glance at Hecate. The woman radiated exhaustion. Right now, she was measuring out ground snail shells while holding a bottle for the kitten balanced on her knees. Thankfully, the kitten had survived for four days now. Unfortunately, that meant Hecate was up feeding her every two to three hours. Most of the time, she schooled her face into its usual serious expression. Now, though, when she didn’t know Ada was looking, the tiredness couldn’t be missed.

At last, Ada counted one hundred. She dropped her arms at once, bringing her hands up to rub her deltoids. “I’m going to feel that tomorrow,” she said, though she knew Hecate wouldn’t hear her. She cut the heat from the cauldrons and left the contents to cool.

“Let me have her,” Ada said, reaching for the kitten.

Hecate started, blinking rapidly before she handed the kitten over. She leaned over and looked in the jar before she frowned and dumped the ground snail shells back into the pestle to measure again.

“Leave it, dear. Come have a bit of tea and a rest.” She squeezed Hecate’s shoulder before moving to settle onto the sofa.

Hecate looked at the mismeasured snail shells and the slight tremor in her hands. “Perhaps for a moment…” She waved her hand and the tea kettle started to whistle. In a moment she had two cups of tea poured. “I believe you take…two sugars?”

“Three.”

Grimacing, Hecate added another spoonful and handed Ada her cup. “We’ve made good progress,” Hecate said, mostly to have something to say. It was harder now, she realized, dealing with people. Gwen had encouraged her to make friends as though it was something easy, like a duplication potion or transference.

Thinking back, it was easy with Indigo – when the adventure and excitement of breaking the rules had cemented their bond. Of course, she’d been Joy then, a completely different person. It had been harder with Pippa. She’d been determined to endure her punishment alone. For reasons she still didn’t fully understand, Pippa had been even more determined that she wouldn’t. Pippa hadn’t been put off by her silence or awkwardness. It didn’t matter if Hecate didn’t know what to say – Pippa kept talking until she did. She wouldn’t let Hecate retreat into silent solitude, not too much, anyway. And Hecate had loved her for that – enough to set her free in the most unequivocal way imaginable.

Ada didn’t do that, at least not as much. For some reason, Ada seemed to want to hear what Hecate had to say, even when Hecate didn’t know what that would be. She didn’t seem to mind the quiet though, and gave Hecate however much time she needed to work it out.

“Hecate?”

“Mp?” Hecate leaned forward, her eyebrows rising in question. Ada had asked her something. She had no idea what. “I’m sorry…”

“I asked if you were all right. I think I have my answer, though.” She stroked the black fur on the kittens back. “You’re overtired.”

“I’m fine.”

Ada raised an eyebrow. “I can smell the Wide-Awake potion from here. You need to get some proper rest. It’s not healthy to go without sleep for so long.” Try as she might to avoid it, Ada could hear her mother’s voice in every word.

Hecate raised a brow of her own. “And I can smell the cigarette smoke from here. You’ve promised to stop. It’s not healthy to smoke.”

Ada held her gaze, keeping her expression stern for a good thirty seconds before dissolving into a fit of giggles. “At least I know you won’t be blowing the smoke up my arse because I’m the Headmistress’s daughter.”

“I’m so sorry!” Hecate said, dropping her head into her hands. “I don’t know what came over me!”

Setting her teacup down, Ada placed a hand on Hecate’s knee. “You’re exhausted. We’ve been working all day on the potions, and you’ve been up all hours taking care of this wee one.” She stroked the sleeping kitten’s back. She pulled her hand back. “Why don’t you let me take her tonight? I’ll see to it she gets fed and you can get an honest-to-goodness real night’s sleep.”

Ada watched the battle between sleep and responsibility play out across Hecate’s face. She decided to try and tip the scales. “You’ll be more efficient tomorrow, you know.”

Finally, Hecate’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “I’m sure you’re right.” She glanced down at the kitten. “You’ll feed her every two hours? And keep her warm?”

“Cross my heart,” Ada said, both relieved and suddenly nervous. She knew how seriously Hecate took her work. She’d only realized yesterday how seriously she took caring for the kitten. Ada had made the mistake of asking Hecate if her familiar would help care for the kitten. Hecate had quietly explained that she didn’t have a familiar. That her familiar, Warwick, had been confiscated after her first infraction. He’d bonded with a girl a couple of years below her, and Hecate had never had another. Ada wasn’t sure if that was due to lack of desire or if it had simply been another part of her ridiculous punishment. “Tell you what, why don’t I finish bottling up the potions from today and get set up for tomorrow. You can finish whatever you’re working on and we can both start fresh tomorrow.”

“That would be… very kind of you.”

At first, Ada thought the early morning sunlight was playing tricks on her. She leaned forward, increasing her speed. She felt the kitten writhe against her stomach; she didn’t like being squashed. Blinking against the wind, Ada realized that it was smoke she was seeing rising above the trees. Exactly where Darkwood Cottage sat tucked into the forest. Green smoke, Ada could see now, definitely a potions accident. She flew even faster, skidding to a stop at the edge of the gardens.

“Merciful Merlin!” she exclaimed when she spotted Hecate sitting on the ground outside with her knees against her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. Leaping from the broom, Ada raced to Hecate’s side. “Are you hurt?” She knelt beside Hecate, checking her for injuries. Other than red, swollen eyes, Hecate seemed to be unharmed. “Can you see?”

“Well enough to watch weeks worth of work go up in smoke.” Hecate’s words seemed to claw their way out of her throat.

Ada tried to place a hand on Hecate’s cheek, but she jerked her head away. “Shhh… let me see.” Gently, she pulled Hecate’s head around so she could get a better look at her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. Ada had no idea if they were caused by the smoke or the frustration. “Keep crying, dear. It will flush out your eyes.” She summoned the pitcher of water that usually sat on Hecate’s kitchen counter. “Tilt your head.” Ada boosted herself onto her knees and carefully washed Hecate’s eyes. Finally, Hecate waved her away.

“I’m fine,” she croaked before taking a drink straight from the pitcher. “Such a waste.”

“Do you know what happened?” Ada shifted until she was sitting cross-legged beside Hecate. The smoke streaming out the windows was beginning to thin. At least there didn’t seem to be any structural damage. “Here, someone missed you.” She handed the kitten over to Hecate, who immediately cradled it under her chin. “You’re going to have to give that kitten a name soon.”

Hecate shook her head, tears spilling anew. “That’s a privilege that belongs to her new mistress.” She kissed the kitten’s head, nonetheless. “It destabilized when I added scales from an adder. I believe the scales to be correct; however, it appears I miscalculated when choosing the species.”

“We’ll sort it, Hecate. Don’t you fret. You know I’ll help however you need me to.”

Hecate wiped fresh tears away. “I know. Thank you. Ada.” Perhaps this friendship thing wasn’t so difficult after all.

-----

A week had passed, and Ada and Hecate had fallen into an easy, comfortable working relationship. Thankfully, the damage to the cottage from Hecate’s lab accident had been minimal and they hadn’t lost much time. Once the smoke had cleared, they’d spent the morning cleaning out the spare bedroom, scrubbing the cauldron and casting cleaning spells over everything else. The astringent smell had lingered for a day or two, but they’d managed. Hecate’s eyes remained red and watery even longer, but that had faded as well.

No, the physical damage had been minimal. The toll it took on Hecate, though… Ada sighed as she felt Hecate hovering again. “Any problems?” she asked, forcing brightness into her voice. She couldn’t fault her for being overly cautious, but the constant monitoring was beginning to wear.

“I’m sorry.” Hecate stepped back. “You know everything is correct. You don’t have to humor me.”

Ada smiled, genuinely. “Of course, I do. You’ve only just now stopped looking like you have distemper. I don’t blame you for being extra careful.”

Hecate arched a thin, slightly scorched eyebrow but said nothing. Instead, she walked over to the storage shelves to get more swampweed.

It wasn’t there.

She ran her hand along the neatly labeled jars. St. John’s Wort, starfish, stevia, tarragon, toadflax… She checked the list again. “Do you have the swampweed?”

Ada kept her eyes on the immunity boosting potion as it simmered. If it boiled too fast, it would lose effectiveness, leaving the familiars susceptible to a particularly nasty immunodeficiency virus. A familiar with the virus would be unable to resist the effects of stray magic, not so dangerous once the cat – and its mistress – were fully grown. It could be devastating to a young cat surrounded by young witches with poor control, though. “No… I think it was one of the ingredients damaged by the smoke. Absorbed it, as I recall.”

Hecate remembered now. She’d have to gather more before they could make the last potion. Sighing, she turned back to Ada. “We’ll have to replace it before we can brew the next batch of the immunity potion.” It would put them even further behind, but it couldn’t be helped.

“Tomorrow then?” Ada cooled the cauldron a bit. Behind them, angry mewing rose from a basket near the fireplace. “Someone’s hungry.”

“Someone’s always hungry.” Hecate summoned a bottle of the kitten’s food and set to feeding her.

Ada’s stomach growled in sympathy. Hecate wouldn’t allow her to smoke in the cottage, so she’d put her mind to quitting. Now all she thought about was having a cigarette. Or sweets. She’d never had much of a sweet tooth before, but the lack of nicotine left a vacuum that cakes and biscuits were filling with a vengeance.

“Ada! She’s opened her eyes!” Hecate held the kitten up for her to see. “Look at you, little blue eyes,” she cooed. “You’re getting to be such a big girl.”

Shaking her head, Ada added one sliver of cat’s claw root to each cauldron. No one would ever believe that the stoic Miss Hardbroom would ever talk baby talk to a kitten. Even watching it happen, Ada wasn’t sure she believed it.

She knew the kitten wasn’t out of the woods yet, but it had been more than a week now and she was still alive – growing even, though she remained far smaller than the other kittens. Ada certainly hoped the kitten continued to thrive. She shuddered to think how Hecate would react if she didn’t survive.

At last, the potion turned clear and Ada could cut the heat entirely and leave the cauldrons to cool. She glanced out the window, eyeing her smoking log with longing. She settled for broken biscuit pulled out of her jacket pocket instead.

“I have more nutritious food, Ada.”

“I’mpf shurr you doo,” she said around a mouth full of biscuit. She swallowed. “I don’t want anything nutritious, though.”

Hecate looked up from where she’d been wriggling her fingers in front of the kitten’s eyes. “I expect you want one of your loathsome ciga-rrrrettes.”

“More than you can imagine, thank you for reminding me.” She decided to let the overly dramatic rolling of the ‘r’ in cigarette pass without comment. Ada scratched at her scalp with both hands, making her already wild hair even wilder. She needed to change the subject. “About the swampweed… What do you say we go gather more tomorrow? This time of year, there should be plenty at the south end of the lake. I could stand to gather a few other plants myself. How would you like to make a day of it?”

“A d-day?” Hecate looked behind her, as though Ada might be talking to someone else. “I don’t… I can’t imagine you’d enjoy spending the day with me.”

Ada’s face softened. “Then you need to broaden your imagination. I’d like nothing better than to get out of these four walls and into the sunshine and enjoy the lake, a bit of nature, and perhaps even a picnic. And I am quite certain that I will enjoy all of those things even more whilst in your company.”

Hecate wanted to argue, to demur, to make some sort of excuse… But in her head she could hear Miss Bat saying – very clearly – not to overthink this and simply say yes. “Very well.”

“Splendid!” Ada clapped her hands. “Meet me in mother’s office just after dawn. We’ll let her kitten-sit for the day.” She saw Hecate hold the kitten closer. “You can leave her detailed instructions.”

The sun had been up for ten minutes, and Ada was beginning to think that Hecate might not come. Had she pushed her too much to take a day off? She moved to the window, scanning the tree line. She stole a glance at her mother. She’d expected to find her irritated, both with the hour and with Ada. Instead, she sat serenely at her desk, sipping her tea.

“You’re going to worry yourself into a right state, Ada. She’ll be here.” Alma summoned a pastry and nibbled at the edges. “I’m so glad you ordered from Cosie’s. It’s been ages since I’ve had one of their butteries.”

“That’s why I ordered double.” Ada forced herself away from the window. “You don’t think I pushed her too hard about it?”

“It’s possible. It’s also possible I’ve been so keen to give her privacy that I’ve allowed her to isolate herself.” She conjured a plate and placed her pastry on it. “Don’t think of it as pushing her in a direction she doesn’t want to go. Think of it as pulling her along an unfamiliar path.”

Before Ada had a chance to respond, Hecate transferred into the office, appearing with a soft pop. “Apologies, Ada.” She held up a woven basket with one hand and a bulging satchel with the other. “I underestimated how long it would take to feed the kitten and gather her things.”

“Aye,” Alma said, shooting Ada a knowing look. “Children will do that to the best laid plans. It doesn’t matter how furry the child in question may be.” She took the basket from Hecate and peered inside. “She looks a great deal better than she did last time I saw her.” Alma eyed the satchel. “Are you sure you brought enough supplies? She’ll be here most of the day.”

Ada tried to stifle a snort with her hand but failed miserably. Hecate colored. “I didn’t know what she’d need.”

“Never you mind, Miss Hardbroom,” Alma said briskly. “I’ve tended kittens before. Get on with you then.” She gestured towards the door. “Have a good time.”

Ada transferred them to the front gates before summoning their brooms. In no time they were airborne, skimming over the treetops. Hecate’s hat sat smartly atop her head, but Ada had left her auburn hair loose and she relished the feeling of it streaming behind her. There would be hell to pay later when she tried to brush it, but right now she didn’t care.

She grinned across at Hecate and was rewarded with a full smile. The younger witch sat easy and relaxed on her broom – her form was impeccable. Ada remembered seeing Hecate’s name on more than one trophy for broomstick aerobatics. She noticed Hecate slowing and pulled up herself.

“We’re nearing the edge of the Academy grounds,” Hecate explained, looking embarrassed.

Ada circled around and pulled her broom alongside Hecate’s. “Can you feel it? The boundary?”

Hecate nodded. She didn’t like to talk about it, but she didn’t sense any malice from Ada, only curiosity. “When I get too close there’s a… thrumming… in my chest. The closer I get, the more powerful it becomes.” And more painful, she thought.

“We want to avoid that, then.” Ada thought for a moment. “Have you ever tried it?”

“Tried what?” Hecate asked, even though she knew exactly what Ada was asking her.

“To leave the grounds.”

Half a dozen times at least, she thought. “Once or twice. It isn’t pleasant.” She remembered the first time she’d tried it, less than a week after the sentence had been imposed. Her skin felt like it had been on fire, while her muscles spasmed and her head felt like it had been stuffed with an angry hornet’s nest. She’d been immediately transferred into Mrs. Cackle’s office, sobbing and gasping for breath. She didn’t know what she’d expected when she’d looked up into the Headmistress’s shocked face, but it hadn’t been getting helped gently to the sofa or the tea and biscuits she’d received.

“No, I don’t imagine that it is,” Ada said softly. “I’m sorry if you don’t care to talk about it. I’d just rather learn about it from you. But please, dear, don’t hesitate to tell me to mind my business.”

“I – I don’t mind. Really.” And Hecate was surprised to find that she didn’t. Ada might be curious, but she didn’t make Hecate feel like a curiosity. “We should get on with it, though. The swampweed can be gathered at any time, but it’s most potent if it’s picked at noon.”

“Quite right, Hecate, quite right.” Ada glanced at the sun, which still hung low in the sky. “We should be able to restock our sneezewort, slug’s eggs, and ninetailed mushrooms before we head to the pond.”

By the time they made it to the shady end of the lake, Ada was more than ready to roll up her trouser legs and wade into the water. “It’s a bit warmer than I expected.” She stepped into the cool water. The morning had been most pleasant, save for an unfortunate incident with the sneezewort. They hadn’t talked much, but the quiet had been comfortable. Ada had watched Hecate’s shoulders loosen, and she’d smiled more as the morning progressed. Once, Ada thought she’d heard her humming to herself as she’d picked a basketful of mushrooms. “I don’t know about you, bu – bu – BUCHOOO!” Ada sneezed for the umpteenth time since she’d stumbled into the patch of sneezewort. “Bloody hell, will it never stop?”

“It should wear off… eventually,” Hecate smirked. “I told you that you were trying to carry too much at once.” She magicked her skirt into a pair of shorts and followed Ada into the lake.

“So you did.” Ada spied a particularly robust growth of swampweed and waded over to pick some. “Be careful, the bottom is a bit mossy o – o – OOOCHOOOO!” Ada’s sneeze knocked her off balance, sending her teetering on the edge of falling, arms flailing, basket of swampweed flying into the air. With a great splash she toppled onto her arse in the water.

“Ada!” Hecate hurried over, slipping and sliding, nearly losing her balance herself.

Trying to stand, Ada slipped again, this time tumbling headfirst into the swampweed. She came up sputtering, her hair sopping wet and hanging in her face. “Bugger all,” she wheezed.

“Are you hurt?” Worried brown eyes roamed over Ada’s face as gentle hands flipped her hair back so she could see.

“Only my pride.” Ada wiped the rest of her hair out of her eyes. She looked Hecate up and down where she stood, thigh deep in the water beside her. “You’re too dry.”

“What? I don’t know what you—” Too late, she saw the mischievous glint in Ada’s eye. “No, no, no!” She tried to scramble away but slipped as well, plopping into the muck beside Ada.

“There you go! That’s better, isn’t it?”

“Hardly,” Hecate groused, splashing a face full of water at Ada. Belatedly, she realized what she’d done. “I’m so sorry!”

Ada carefully plucked a bit of swampweed from her cheek. “Oh. You will be.” She splashed Hecate back. Within seconds the pond erupted in all-out war – water and muck flying as each woman squealed and tried to inflict as much damage as possible.

Each time Hecate tried to stand, Ada would push her back over. Finally, Hecate retaliated by dunking herself and grabbing Ada’s feet, tipping her over and dunking her before she retreated to deeper water, Ada in hot pursuit.

Ada tried to catch up, but Hecate was faster. She beat Ada to the bank, scrambling up and collapsing in a fit of laughter. Finally, Ada managed to crawl up beside her, flopping on her stomach in the sun.

“You… look… like an… absolute… bog witch,” Hecate gasped, laughing so hard she was crying.

“Have you seen you?” Ada said, giggling as she pointed at Hecate’s mud-caked knees and what was left of her bedraggled bun.

Hecate looked down at herself, causing the rest of her bun to flop forward into her face. She laughed even harder, tears streaming down her face. She tried to wipe them away but succeeded only in smearing more mud across her cheek. She shifted until she was on her back next to Ada. Still giggling, she turned to look at her. “Thank you for inviting me, Ada. I needed this.”

“We both did, I think.” Ada closed her eyes, basking in the sun. “We both did.”

-----

They were everywhere. Moving, writhing… meowing. “How on earth are we meant to keep them all straight?” A quick check over her shoulder told her Hecate didn’t share her concerns. In fact, the younger woman looked quite serene, save for the tiny, bemused smile on her lips. “There’s something about all this that you aren’t telling me.”

“Have you really never done this before?” Hecate couldn’t believe it.

“I told you, we weren’t allowed.” She fussed with the cuffs of the long-sleeve denim shirt Hecate had recommended she wear. “The one time Mother allowed us to help, Agatha had them so riled up before we’d even started that she called the whole thing off for the day. Needless to say, we were shuttled far away each time after that.”

“I would think so,” Hecate said, smirking.

Ada rolled her eyes but said nothing. It had been four weeks since they’d begun brewing potions for the kittens, and now it was time for their first doses. Ada had no idea how to manage it. Hecate had been seeing to it for the past several years and had been subtly teasing her about it.

Hecate hadn’t been as open and free since that day at the lake, but she’d seemed more at ease with Ada. She smiled more often, laughed occasionally. Rarest of all were the times Hecate would gently tease Ada. Even her mother had noticed the change. Speaking of… Ada thought.

“Mother did say she was coming, didn’t she?”

“Not exactly,” Hecate reminded her. “She said she’d send reinforcements.” A plaintive yowl sounded from the doorway. “And I believe said reinforcements have arrived.” She knelt down and rubbed the ears of Alma Cackle’s crotchety old familiar, Astra. “Good morning, Mr. Astra. Don’t you look handsome today.” Astra rubbed his head against Hecate’s palm before turning and biting her thumb. “Ouch! That’s enough of that then.” Hecate stood up and cast a quick healing spell on the bite marks. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

Ada watched the exchange, puzzled. “She sent Astra? How… what… We already have enough cats!”

“If you send for Pendle, he can learn to help as well.” Hecate opened the box holding the phials and droppers. “Wouldn’t hurt to be prepared for when your mother retires.” Hecate looked up at her and raised an eyebrow. “She will you know, like it or not.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ada said, sighing.

She picked up the nearest kitten and carried it over so Hecate could squirt a dropper full of the first potion, then the next and then the last. By the time the third dropper came ‘round, the kitten wanted no part of it. Ada struggled to hold it still enough for Hecate to administer the dropper, getting rewarded for her efforts with a handful of scratches. She healed them before picking up the next kitten.

Slowly, they made their way through the kittens. Ada tried to keep track of which ones they’d dosed but was lost by the third one. “We should have marked them,” she said.

“If we didn’t have Astra, that would certainly be true.” Hecate turned to Alma’s cat, who sat in a square of sunshine, lazily licking his leg. “Would you please fetch the next one?”

Alma watched as Astra slowly climbed to his feet, stretched magnificently, and ambled over to a kitten that was busy chasing its tail. He gave it a sniff and a lick before grabbing it by the scruff of the neck and dragging it over to Ada.

As the morning progressed, Astra dragged kitten after kitten to Ada. Almost every time the routine was the same: a sniff, a lick, and a grab followed by Hecate dosing and Ada bleeding. She’d drain her magic dry healing scratches before the day was over. At last, only one dose was left.

“Where’s the last one?” Ada asked Astra. Unsurprisingly, Astra didn’t answer. “Twenty kittens, twenty phials, correct?”

“That is correct.” Hecate turned to Astra, waiting with her arms crossed. After a moment, he hopped off the table and went to stand near the corner. “I should have guessed. Thank you, Astra.” She turned to Ada. There’s always one that manages to hide away in the far corner. I’ll be right back with it.”

Hecate crouched behind the table before crawling under on her hands and knees.

Just as Hecate disappeared, Geraldine Gullet stepped into the kitten room. “Potions day for the little ones, hey? That’s quite the job. You should have asked me for help.” None to gently, she nudged a kitten aside with her boot. “At least you don’t have that Hardbroom girl with you – strange one, she is. What sort of a witch doesn’t have a familiar?” She lowered her voice and leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “I tell you there’s something not right about that one. Mark my words. You’d do well to give her a wide berth.”

Ada’s eyes narrowed. “While I appreciate your concern, I believe I’ll keep my own counsel as far as Miss Hardbroom is concerned.”

Geraldine shrugged and made her way back to the door. “Suit yourself, then, but don’t say I didn’t warn ye. Anyways, if you see her, tell her Mrs. Cackle is looking for her. She’s got a visitor – that same stuffy old toff that comes every year about this time to meet with her. Don’t know what that’s about, but it can’t be anything good. Mind yourself, Miss Cackle.” She closed the door with a click.

Ada hurried to the corner as Hecate slowly rose to her feet, holding the recalcitrant kitten. “She’s right you know… you would do well to give me a… wide berth.”

“Nonsense. I’d be a poor witch indeed if I took Geraldine Gullet’s advice over the evidence of my own two eyes.” She waited for Hecate to dose the last kitten. “About that woman…”

Before Hecate could find the words, the door opened again. This time it was Alma, followed by a woman Ada had never seen before. She certainly fit Miss Gullet’s description of a stuffy old toff.

“Miss Hardbroom,” the woman said, stepping in front of Mrs. Cackle and lifting a hand to her forehead. “Well met, Hecate. It’s been a while.”

“Well met, Mistress Hagsmet.” She glanced quickly at Ada before turning back to the woman. “I believe it’s been a year.”

“Yes.” She smiled gently. “Shall we take a walk?”

“As you wish.” Hecate handed Ada the empty phial and followed Mistress Hagsmet out of the room.

Once they’d gone, Ada turned to her mother. “Who is that woman?”

“Eudora Hagsmet. Remember when I told you that I’d retained a counselor for Joy after the incident?” Ada nodded. “She’s the one. She’s been seeing Hecate since she was thirteen years old. Several times a week to start, then weekly, then monthly. Now I ask her to come once a year. On the anniversary of the day Indigo turned to stone.”

“Today?” Ada wrung her hands together. “She never said a word.”

“Would she?” Alma cocked her head and regarded her daughter. “Aye. I think she would, eventually.” She gestured towards the door. “Come, daughter. Let’s go have a spot of tea.”

As the afternoon crawled along, Ada alternated between sneaking out for cigarettes and going through the motions of sipping tea and nibbling biscuits with her mother. For her part, Alma dutifully ignored the faint odor of tobacco smoke while trying to keep up conversation in fits and spurts. A thought occurred to Ada during one of the bouts of silence. “Is this the tenth year? Since it happened?”

“Eleventh.”

Ada nodded. At least there was that. Ada couldn’t help but feel as though a significant anniversary of it should have been marked somehow. She felt the magic shift as Mistress Hagsmet transferred into Alma’s office.

“I thought I’d take my leave, Alma.”

Alma pushed herself out of her chair and met her in the middle of the room. “Thank you for stopping by, Eudora. How did she seem to you?”

“Now, Alma… you know I can’t discuss our session. How has she seemed to you lately?”

Alma considered her answer. “Less isolated, I suppose. To be honest, you’d do well to ask Ada, my oldest daughter. She and Hecate have been working together on inoculations for the familiars all summer.”

“That may explain it, then,” Mistress Hagsmet said, not unkindly.

“Explain what?” Alma didn’t like the way that sounded.

“As I said, I can’t go into the things we discussed during our session.” She smiled gently at Ada. “I can say I’m pleased that Hecate is increasing her social interactions.” Her smile faded and turned sad. “She could use a friend about now.”

Ada didn’t need to be told twice. She cast out her magic in the direction she thought Hecate to be. Finding her hunch to be right, Ada transferred out of the office.

She appeared at the edge of the clearing where Indigo stood, frozen in stone. She found Hecate lying face-down on the ground. One arm cushioned her face while the other one stretched out over her head, her hand resting on Indigo’s foot. Where she stood, Ada could hear her sobs.

Ada crept closer, careful not to startle Hecate, but not wanting to disturb her either. When she was close enough, she sat cross-legged on the ground. She was close enough to touch Hecate, but she didn’t. Instead she simply waited, letting comforting waves of magic roll off her body. She knew Hecate would feel it.

After a while, Hecate lifted her head and turned her red, puffy eyes on Ada. “I forgot today was the day. How could… What kind of person forgets something like that?” Sobs wracked her body even harder.

“A good person. A person who’s been grieving a long time.” She shifted until she could rest a hand lightly on Hecate’s forearm. She gave it a light squeeze and settled in for a long evening. As long as Hecate was here, she would stay beside her.

-----

“I do wish you’d consider it,” Ada said as she stoppered the last phial of the last dose of Anti-Hex potion for the new familiars. “Just because you have your teaching credentials doesn’t mean you’d have to use them; you’d simply have another option available to you.” She couldn’t miss the dubious look in Hecate’s eyes.

She held the sealed phial in front of the kitten, allowing her to sniff, then lick it. Still small for her age, the now six-week-old kitten had taken to sitting on the edge of the table like a tiny black sentinel, watching them work and occasionally meowing her approval – and once, hissing at Ada when she’d picked up the wrong ingredient.

“Ada. You know… why I’m not suited.” Hecate shifted her eyes to packing up the vaccinations. Tomorrow they’d give the kittens their third and final round of potions.

“Nonsense! Who better to instruct young witches on the importance of adhering to the Code than someone who understands the temptation – and the consequences?” Since the anniversary of Indigo’s turning, Hecate had been more open with Ada about it. She almost seemed relieved to have someone to talk to besides Mistress Hagsmet. “If you’re worried about moving back into the castle, I assure you that wouldn’t be an issue. You could live here in the cottage, but you’d have a full potions lab at your disposal as well as all the ingredients you can’t get as an individual.”

Hecate rolled her eyes as she snapped the satchel closed. “You’re pulling out the large cauldron, I see. That’s hardly sporting.”

“Perhaps not. It makes it no less true, however,” Ada said, thinking back to the incident in question.

It had been just over a week ago when Ada had arrived at Darkwood Cottage to find Hecate in something of a state. After some gentle – but persistent – inquiries, Hecate had finally summoned a letter, which she angrily shoved into Ada’s hands before shutting herself away in the spare bedroom she used as a lab. The letter, from some bureaucrat whose name Ada didn’t recognize, was little more than a form letter denying Hecate’s request to order more adder scales. They were very sorry, but Magic Council regulations required anyone ordering restricted ingredients to fill out a standard form detailing the requester’s background, credentials, and intended use of the requested item. Ada had seen it before; in fact, she’d filled several out while restocking the potions stores for Cackle’s.

She’d knocked briskly on the bedroom door before opening it and letting herself in. Inside, Hecate sat on a stool, leaning over the scattered ingredients of a potion in progress. Compared to the ordered brewing stations in the living room, the overturned jars and disorderly equipment spoke volumes about Hecate’s level of distress. Though Hecate hadn’t said so, and Ada hadn’t asked, Ada was certain that this lab was reserved for Hecate’s most important work: searching for a potion that would restore Indigo Moon.

“Have you tried filling out the form? I’ve done several. I could help.”

Hecate had looked at her with utter despair – despair for herself and despair at Ada’s apparent stupidity. “Do you honestly think I would pass the background check? A witch with a lifetime confinement for misusing magic?”

Embarrassed that she hadn’t realized it herself, Ada snapped back, “Well you got them before! How did you manage it the first time? Or should I not ask?”

She’d seen the change at once, the way Hecate had stiffened and her eyes had shuttered. The way her face smoothed into an emotionless mask. “I’m sorry,” Ada had said at once. “That was uncalled for on my part. It was stupid of me not to realize the problem, and I hate being stupid. I shouldn’t have barked at you, though. It was inexcusable. How can I help?”

“You can’t.” Hecate had whispered.

They’d spent the rest of the day working in strained politeness; Ada cursed herself every time she saw the wariness in Hecate’s eyes. At the end of the day, before she’d mounted her broom to fly back to Cackle’s, Ada had grasped Hecate’s hands and apologized once more. “I am truly sorry, Hecate. I hope that I will be able to earn your forgiveness – and your trust again. Meanwhile, I know how I can be of some small help: let me order the things you need. I know you need more adder scales, but make me a list and get on it straight away.”

It had taken two more days for the wariness to leave Hecate’s eyes and another three before things felt normal. Yesterday, Hecate had shyly given her a list of ingredients that required a permit.

“I suppose you could simply order me to do it,” Hecate said, quietly.

Ada looked up sharply. “What?” Lost in her thoughts, Ada realized she had also lost the thread of the conversation.

“I said you could simply order me to do it. To get my teaching credentials.” Hecate’s voice sounded even, but the rigidness in her posture gave her away.

“I most certainly could not! You may be confined here, Hecate Hardbroom, but that gives me no more authority over you than anyone else.” The tension visibly left Hecate’s shoulders. “I can’t tell you what to do, Hecate.” She grinned ruefully. “That doesn’t mean I won’t tell you what I think you ought to do, though. Apparently, I’m a bit of a busybody. According to Agatha, it’s my worst flaw.”

A smile crept across Hecate’s face. “She’s not wrong.” She summoned a small blue box and held it out to Ada. “But since it’s a flaw I also seem to possess… I’ll try to overlook it. I wanted to thank you for… everything you’ve done for me this summer.”

Ada knew Hecate meant more than just the potions. “It’s been a pleasure.” She took the box, admiring the fanciful bow tying it shut. “You needn’t have…”

“Oh. I needed to, believe me.” She gestured for Ada to open the box. The kitten walked across the table and sniffed the box, gingerly batting at the ribbon with a tiny paw. “That’s not for you, little one.” Hecate scooped the kitten up and scratched behind her ears.

“She can have this part,” Ada said, pulling the ribbon free, shaking it in the kitten’s face, and then dropping it to the floor. She waited as the kitten half climbed, half fell down Hecate’s skirt to chase after it. “She’s definitely a spunky little thing, isn’t she?”

“She’ll make some lucky girl an excellent familiar.”

Ada looked up in time to see a stricken look pass swiftly across Hecate’s face. “Indeed she will,” Ada murmured, as she slowly recognized what had been in front of her for weeks. “In fact, I’d say she—”

“Please, Ada… just… open the box.” She reached over and lifted a corner of the lid, forcing Ada to finish the job or risk having the lid flipped to the floor.

Inside the box sat thirty small doses of a potion Ada didn’t recognize. She picked up one of the phials and uncorked it, sniffing its contents much like the kitten had sniffed the box. Brilliant blue, it smelled faintly of flowers and smoke.

“It’s to help you stop smoking,” Hecate supplied. “You take one phial each day, in order.” She turned the bottle in Ada’s hand so she could read the label: Day Seven. “I mixed lobelia to mimic the nicotine, mugwort to negate any jitteriness and to help you relax. It also contains passion flower to ease the symptoms of withdrawal, like your cravings. Perhaps you won’t need quite so many biscuits.”

“Hecate… I can’t… you made this? I mean, you came up with the potion? For me?” Ada couldn’t even begin to imagine the time Hecate had spent on this. On her.

“You’ve been… kind to me… No.” She shook her head, frowning at herself. “You’ve been the first friend I’ve had in years. I’d like to keep you around.”

“Stacking the odds in your favor?”

“Bringing out the big cauldron,” Hecate replied, grinning broadly now.

Ada tucked the phial back into the box and replaced the lid. “I’ll start it first thing in the morning.” She leaned over to pick up the ribbon but saw that the kitten was busy wrestling it into submission against Hecate’s foot. “I think I’ll just leave the ribbon here.”

Hecate’s smile faded. “I’ll bring it tomorrow when I come to dose the kittens. I’ll bring her too. It’s time she joined the others to get ready for her new mistress.”

“Hecate,” Ada said, gently. “She has a mistress.” Ada leaned across the table, bending down enough so she could look up into Hecate’s eyes. “You.”

“My familiar was confiscated.” Hecate wiped a small tear away as it slipped from her eye. “I – I couldn’t choose another.” A second tear joined the first.

“I understand. I’d never be able to choose another if something happened to Pendle. But sometimes it’s not up to us. Sometimes, it’s the familiar who does the choosing.” She gestured down at the kitten who was now waging a great battle against the hem of Hecate’s skirt. “You, my dear, have been chosen.”

Stifling a sob, Hecate bent down, picking up the squirming kitten with as much reverence as possible. “You’re sure?” She paid no attention to the tears tracing down her cheeks and dripping onto the kitten.

“Positive. Now, it’s high time this little girl had a name. What’ll it be?”

Hecate held the kitten up in front of her face, staring into eyes that hadn’t quite yet decided if they would be green or yellow. “Morgana. Her name is Morgana.”

“An excellent choice.” Ada reached out and scratched the kitten’s haunches. “Well met, Morgana Hardbroom. Well met, indeed.”

#hackle summer trope challenge #tww2017 #hackle #hecate hardbroom #ada cackle

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