#so those jokes are like model building and very satisfying when they work

[cipheramnesia]

My favorite thing about you is your sense of humor. How does it feel to be the funniest person on this webbed site?

Eh, I've seen funnier people.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

To Love or To Lose

Sebastian Stan masterlist - Full masterlist

Summary: Antony convinced Sebastion to take a small vacation to Europe with him. In a mixup of sorts, they end up at the small town bar you work at. There’s a spark between you and Sebastian but they’re only there for a few days before they have to leave again. You’ll be damned if you let Sebastian go that easily.

Pairing: Sebastian Stan x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3145

Author’s note: Hi, I wrote this very, very quickly at 1am because this was in my dream last night and I couldn’t get rid of it in my head. Yes, this is fully just a story I thought up for myself to insert myself in. I am Dutch. 

‘We’re lost.’ ‘We’re not lost.’ ‘Just admit we’re lost.’ ‘We’re not lost.’ ‘We can just use our phone-’ ‘We’re not lost!’ Sebastian sighs and looks around while Antony tries to figure out the cyclist map they bought in town. He’s sure they’ve cycled for miles but they must’ve taken a wrong turn somewhere. Now they’re in the Dutch countryside, surrounded by fields and farms. ‘Oh, look at this.’ Antony pulls Sebastian’s attention back to the map. He points at a street sign and then to the street as indicated on the map. ‘There’s a town just a little bit away from here.’ ‘Good, let’s go.’ Sebastian hops on his bike faster than Mackie can fold the map and is almost down the street when Antony joins him. They are surprised by the fact that there is a huge intersection just around the corner. ‘I guess you were right,’ Sebastian admits. Mackie just laughs and presses the button for the traffic lights. They cycle down the street to a roundabout and decide to take the first exit even though it seems less busy. ‘We could have a drink,’ Sebastian points out when they pass a small, roadside café. ‘We’ll have a drink at the next one,’ Antony says, still a bit sour that they’re not where they’re supposed to be yet. And no more than half a mile later they spot the next café. ‘Fine,’ Antony sighs. They cross the street and set their bike’s in their respective places in front of the bar. ‘Must be a bunch of alcoholics in this town if they have two bars in the same street,’ Mackie jokes, knowing that half of the people won’t understand him if they aren’t paying attention.

The terrace is quite full but there’s space. They walk up to a small standing table that has a sign on it. Neither of them can read it but they suppose it means something like “Wait here for service.” They see a tall, lanky man with a beard and messy hair walk around the terrace, delivering drinks to the patrons. He makes eye contact with the two and nods at them to let them know he’s coming. ‘Ik kom zo bij jullie.’ A girl rushes past so fast that Sebastian barely gets the chance to look at her. She carries a tray full of tap beer to a table across the terrace with such ease that it looks like second nature to her. Antony nudges him. ‘What do you think she said?’ ‘Probably something about coming over here to help us?’ ‘Yeah, sure.’ Together, they watch the girl as she stands by a table with rowdy men giving her lusting looks and strange smiles. They’re quite obviously very drunk. Sebastian takes a second to take her in as she stands with her back towards them. She has her hair in a kind of half-up, half-down style and wears a copper wrap dress with white specks on it. From the side, Sebastian can see a tattoo peek out from under her dress. She wears white tennis shoes with creme-colored ruffled socks poking out of them. When she turns around with a smile on her face he can see her red lips and blushy cheeks. She walks incredibly fast for someone her height, though she is a bit taller than the average American woman she still looks quite short compared to other people around. ‘Wat kan ik voor jullie betekenen?’ She speaks in Dutch and then she does a double-take. There’s recognition in her eyes as she speaks again: ‘Oh, sorry. How may I help you?’ ‘We’d like to have a drink and some help with our map,’ Antony tells her. ‘Of course,’ she smiles and looks around the terrace, ‘I have a spot down there on the benches or a few under the parasol.’ ‘Seb?’ He takes a look around and finds a nice spot that doesn’t have too much sun but isn’t quite in the shade either. Plus, it’s a bit more secluded. ‘That one over there. Is that okay?’ She looks down at the paper in front of her and nods. ‘Yeah, that’s alright. Have a seat. I’ll be right there.’ ‘Thank you.’ ‘No problem.’ She runs back into the bar to do whatever she has to do. They sit down and watch her dart all over the terrace, stopping shorty to inform her colleague with the beard of something, and then walks over to them. ‘What can I get you?’  She smiles brightly at the two. ‘A beer please,’ Antony says. ‘Make that two,’ Sebastian adds. She nods. ‘Two beers, coming right up.’ And she’s gone again. Before she reaches the door, she seems to be stopped by a guest whose glass is still full. She talks to her briefly and while the woman talking to her seems very serious, she keeps laughing it off. All while darting short glances at them and then the woman she’s talking to points at them. Of course, Antony takes that opportunity to joke around. He points at himself with a questioning look as he catches the woman’s eye. She shakes her head and points at Sebastian. The girl waves it off and quickly runs inside. It takes less than a minute until she’s outside again and standing at their table. ‘What was all that about,’ Antony asks her as she puts the beers down in front of them. ‘Oh, she’s a regular and she was curious why she heard me talk English.’ ‘So why the pointing?’ Her cheeks turn bright red as she clutches her tray with two hands but the look on her face seems to tell a whole different story than her body language. She chuckles. ‘She knows my love life is a mess and she knows I fall for guys like you,’ she tells the two as she looks at Sebastian, ‘I might have to prepare you for her. She’s quite the woman and she’s tried to set me up with guests before.’ Antony laughs. ‘I’m sure we’ll be able to handle her.’ ‘You’re American, right?’ He nods. ‘I’m not sure you’ll be able to handle her.’ With those words, she walks away with a huge grin on her lips.

‘En?’ The woman looks anxiously excited for your answer. You laugh and wave her off. ‘Heb het niet gevraagd.’ I didn’t ask. ‘Waarom niet?’ Why not? ‘Hij komt alleen voor een drankje en ik ben aan her werk. Ik hoor niet met gasten te flirten.’ He’s only here for a drink and I’m working. I’m not supposed to flirt with guests. ‘Dus? Hij is je type en je bent al bijna een jaar niet uit geweest.’ So? He’s your type and you haven’t gone out in a year. You sigh and shake your head. ‘Ik ga hem niet uit vragen.’ I’m not going to ask him out. ‘Dan doe ik het.’ Then I will. ‘Be my guest.’ She gets up from her chair and limps over to the two Americans sitting across the terrace. You can’t help but watch what she’s going to do and your coworker joins you. ‘Wat gaat Sanne doen?’ What’s Sanne doing? ‘Ze gaat een date voor me regelen.’ She’s getting me a date. He looks over at the two men and looks a bit confused. ‘Wacht, zijn dat-’ Wait, are they- ‘Sebastian Stan en Antony Mackie. De winter soldier en de falcon.’ ‘Maar die zijn toch al veertig ofzo?’ Aren’t those two like forty or something? You shrug. ‘Sanne stond erop. Op deze manier laat ze in ieder geval even met rust.’ Sanne insisted. At least she’ll leave me alone for a while after this. ‘Je gaat ervan uit dat ze niet me je uit zouden willen?’ You’re assuming they wouldn’t go out with you? ‘Antony is getrouwd en ik ben vrij zeker dat ze beter dan mij kunnen krijgen. Er staan letterlijk modellen voor ze in de rij.’ Antony is married and I’m pretty sure they can get better than me. Modells literally line up for them. ‘Ze ziet er anders vrij tevreden uit.’ She looks pretty satisfied. We watch as Sanne walks back towards us with a victorious look on her face. ‘Tom, je moet haar vrij geven. Hij zei dat hij met haar uit zo gaan als ze zou helpen met hun kaart. Ze zijn verdwaalt ofzo.’ Tom, you have to give her the rest of the day off. He told me that he’d take her out if she’d help them with their map. They’re lost or something. You could sink into the ground right there and then. Tom checks his watch and seems to seriously consider it. ‘Ja, ga ze maar helpen. T is toch rustig.’ Yeah, you go help them. It’s not busy. Your jaw drops. Tom can be quite lazy and often keeps you on until closing so he doesn’t have to do everything alone. ‘Je maakt een grapje.’ You’re kidding, right? He nudges you towards the door of the bar, knowing that you’ll have to write down your hours and grab your phone before you sit down with them. ‘Nee, kom op. Dit meen je niet.’ No, come on. You’re not serious. ‘Y/n, maakt niet uit wat er gebeurt, dit is een geweldig verhaal om te vertellen op feestjes. Ga gewoon.’ Y/n, it doesn’t matter what happens, this’ll still be a great story to tell at parties. Just go. Sanne puts her hand on your shoulder as she says it. You sigh and take your loss. Or win. However you want to look at it. ‘Wat wil je drinken?’ What do you want to drink? Tom asks as he trails behind you into the building. ‘Doe maar een biertje.’ A beer would be nice. He nods and gets to tapping while you fill in your hours in the folder behind the bar and take your phone out of a drawer under the coffee machine. ‘Ik haat je.’ I hate you. ‘Tuurlijk.’ For sure. Tom hands you your beer and you head outside to sit down with Sebastian and Antony. You grab a chair and pull it towards their table. When you sit down, both men have an astonished look on their faces. ‘They actually gave you the day off,’ Antony asks, ‘all because your love life isn’t ideal?’ ‘You clearly underestimated how terrible my love life is,’ you joke. ‘Well now you’ve gotta tell us everything,’ Antony urges as he leans back in his chair. ‘I don’t have to tell you anything.’ ‘I’m supposed to take you on a date, so I would like it if you did tell me something,’ Sebastian says. ‘You really don’t have to,’ you tell them, ‘I know she’s a scary woman but she won’t kill you or anything. Besides, you won’t ever see either of us again once you leave.’ ‘That’s fair but this is a great story,’ Sebastian shrugs. You scoff and scoot your chair a little closer. ‘Sure. Now let’s see this map of yours.’

“We found it.” Sebastian sends the text and drops his bag in his room. It takes only a few seconds until you send a message back. “Yay, good job.” He smiles as he sits down on his bed and types his response. “Nah, that was all you.” “I wouldn’t be too grateful. I am going to cyberbully the shit out of you.” “Sure.” There’s knocking on his hotel room. He calls for the person to come in, knowing it’ll probably be Mackie and it is. ‘Hey man,’ he says and sits down in a nice chair across the room. ‘Hey,’ Sebastian replies, ‘you got a good room?’ ‘Great. Say, are you going to go back to take our tour guide on that date?’ Sebastian shrugs. ‘I was thinking about it but she’s quite a bit younger.’ ‘That’s what I was thinking,’ Antony says with a nod. ‘But I still think you should do it.’ ‘Hold on, why?’ ‘She said something on the terrace that kind of stuck with me.’ He gets up from his chair and walks over to the window to look out over the busy Amsterdam streets. He looks a bit disappointed by the view. He preferred the small town. ‘You will probably never see her again after you leave.’ ‘What?’ ‘She’s from a small town, she works in the town’s bar, no one has a clue who you are around there. And I saw how you looked at her. So why not take a chance? Best case scenario, you have a fun date. Worst case scenario, you have a great date and are stuck with feelings for a woman who lives across the world. Either way, she’s fun to be around.’ Sebastian is shocked for a second but Antony is spitting straight facts. Y/n was a joy to talk to while she was helping them figure out their next move and what does he really have to lose? ‘You’re right.’

~Two months later~

‘Sebastian, we heard you finally took a trip with Antony Mackie. Do you have any stories?’ The fan looks smug as she asks it like she knows something. Like she knows what he and Mackie know. He adjusts himself in his seat and puts the microphone to his mouth. ‘We went to the Netherlands and when you’re there you have to go cycling. We got lost and Mackie refused to use his phone to look for where to go so we ended up in a small local bar where the waitress helped us find out that we were actually cycling towards the wrong city. We wanted to cycle to Amsterdam and we ended up in Amersfoort.’ And then I fell for the waitress who showed us around the city to make sure we had a good time either way even if we could’ve just taken a taxi to Amsterdam. We stayed longer than we should’ve and I miss her. But he doesn’t say that. He couldn’t. ‘The waitress,’ the interviewer asks in disbelief, ‘she could speak English?’ ‘The Dutch are actually great English speakers.’ ‘Was the waitress cute?’ Sebastian laughs. ‘She was adorable,’ he says, trying to play it off as a joke, an exaggeration, ‘but she was really smart. She helped us figure it out and even helped us to get back to our hotel.’ ‘You didn’t sneak her in, did you?’ ‘Oh, no, no. She just told us what to do and where to go.’

Sebastian walks through his apartment when his phone goes off. He checks the screen to see Mackie’s name pop up and he sighs. He knows what he wants to talk about. The interview went up just an hour or so ago. ‘I know,’ Sebastian says as he presses his phone to his ear. “Just for good measure, I’m going to tell you anyway. Call her.” ‘I can’t do that to her.’ “To her or to yourself?” ‘It’s too much of a distance. Even for long-distance.’ “She told you she’s thinking of moving to Canada.” ‘Doesn’t mean she’ll move here with the probability of a relationship. And a relationship in the spotlight.’ “So you’re going to deny you felt something?” ‘I’m not going to deny it, I just-’ “You’re going to bottle it up until it eats you alive in hopes of losing feelings.” Antony sighs. “Seb, this girl was made for you.” His phone starts beeping. ‘Hold up, I’m getting another line.’ “Sebastian, don’t-” He hangs up and picks the other call up without checking who is calling. He just wanted to get rid of Mackie for bothering him about Y/n again. ‘Hello?’ “Oh, hey.” Sebastian freezes at the sound of your voice coming through the speaker. “I didn’t think you’d pick up this fast. I need some help.” ‘From me?’ “Yes, I seem to have taken a wrong turn while cycling to Amsterdam.” She giggles softly. “And now I’m lost in New Amsterdam.” ‘New Amsterdam?’ He feels his stomach tingle at the words but he isn’t sure if she’s hinting at what she’s hinting at. “No, wait, they don’t call it that anymore. New York.” ‘You’re in New York?’ “Yeah, some dude with a gap in his teeth dropped me off in front of an apartment complex in SoHo but I think I’ve been scammed.” ‘In SoHo?’ He rushes to his window, struggling to open it with one hand. “Yeah, you know anyone who might have a place for me to rest my head until I figure out how to get back?” He finally pulls the window open and sticks his head out to look down and there you stand. You smile up at him and wave. “Oh, there you are,” she says through the phone. ‘I’ll be right down.’ He doesn’t waste another second. He pulls on his shoes on his bare feet, hopping as he goes. Snatches his keys from the table and sprints out, not really caring that he looks a mess. He runs down the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator, and bursts out the door. You smile at him and he freezes, suddenly realizing you’re really here. ‘Wow,’ he mumbles, ‘it’s you.’ ‘Hey,’ you say as you bite your lip. He leans in slightly and then Sebastian becomes awfully aware of the prying eyes on the New York streets. He wants to hold you, kiss your lips, but he can’t on the street. Not when you just came here. ‘Come in,’ he says as he starts to usher you inside. He walks you to the elevator and presses the button. It opens right away and the two of you step inside. He notices you study his face and he feels himself getting nervous. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘Trying to figure out if you’re actually happy to see me or just scared that I’m a stalker.’ ‘I’m happy to see you,’ he tells you as he suppresses a smile. You don’t. You smile brightly as you take his hand. The feeling is familiar and yet a little nostalgic after being apart for two whole months. ‘I’m happy to see you too.’ The elevator door opens and he shows you to his door. It’s only then that he notices you don’t have anything with you. ‘Did you jump on a plane like this?’ ‘No, I got a hotel room just in case I read you all wrong when you left.’ You take off your shoes as you step inside, something you also did at your own place when you took him home. He smiles and wraps his arms around your waist. ‘You didn’t’. Your arms slide around his neck as if they’re meant to be there. He slowly dips down and presses a kiss to your lips. ‘Good, ‘cause you’re stuck with me two weeks.’ ‘And after that?’ ‘I either introduce you to my parents or I go back.’ ‘Go hard or go home.’ ‘Exactly.’

[harmonizingsunsets]

It might be foolish, but you got me all soft

Read on Archive here.

Kate's nose crinkles as she watches Penelope and Colin. Their feet dance with one another underneath the table. He leans over, whispering something in her ear that makes her giggle. Their smiles are brighter than the fluorescent lights of the coffee shop. Watching them is almost blinding.

"You guys are so cute," Kate observes with puckered lips. "I hate that."

Penelope turns to Kate with a bemused expression. "No, you don't. You love us."

"Love isn't the word coming to mind. Nauseated is more like it."

"Kate, everyone finds us adorable," Colin insists, wrapping an arm around Penelope. "It's not a matter of opinion. It's just a fact."

"I'm happy for you two. Honestly, I am. But you're acting so lovey-dovey and sweet that it makes my teeth ache," Kate jokes, picking up her coffee for a sip.

"If we make your teeth ache, then you and Anthony cause cavities," Colin mutters.

Kate chokes a little on her mocha, causing a few patrons to give her odd looks.

"Excuse me?"

"Colin, we talked about this," Penelope says through gritted teeth, shooting him a disapproving look.

"No, you talked about how we weren't supposed to say anything because they're both so jumpy about it, but I disagreed," Colin protests. "Someone needs to open their eyes."

"Hello, I'm still right in front of you," Kate says, waving her hands at them. "Open my eyes to what?"

Colin and Penelope argue with their eyes for a few moments before Penelope cracks, nodding. Colin turns to Kate with a sly grin.

"That you're in love with my brother."

It was a good thing she wasn't drinking that time, or she'd have to spit her coffee all over them. Although, perhaps a spritz of hot coffee would wipe the amusement off of Colin's face.

Kate feels her cheeks heat. She opens her mouth, but only incomprehensible protesting sounds come out.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," Colin says, his smile turning softer. "He loves you too."

"That is not true," Kate insists, standing up straighter in her chair. "I don't love him, and he certainly doesn't love me. Right, Penelope?"

When Kate turns to Penelope, the friend she usually can rely on for back-up is instead chewing her lower lip.

"Well...."

"Pen!"

"I'm sorry, but Kate, Colin's right," Penelope says, the words rushing out guiltily. "I write romance books for a living. I know the enemies to lovers trope very well, and you two embody it."

"That's ridiculous!" Kate exclaims, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest. "We drive each other crazy. I mean, we've become better friends over the past few months—but it's not like that."

Penelope tilts her head. "Would it be so bad if it was?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

A hundred reasons that Kate could never utter go through her mind. She wants to say, "Anthony dates pop singers and models, and I can't live up to that." Or she could confess, "When he looks at me a beat too long, I feel like I could combust from the weight of it." Most of all, Kate wants to say, "If I let myself love him, I know that I'll never be able to stop."

But she can't tell them any of that. Kate had been just fine about the prospect of being alone. She's satisfied with her career, family, and friends. But if she admits that she loves him, then she'll never be content with any life that doesn't include him in it.

No matter what Colin and Penelope think, Anthony doesn't love her. He can't. Letting herself hope that he does is too dangerous. It scares her more than any thunderstorm she's ever endured.

"I have to go," Kate murmurs, standing up numbly from the table.

"Kate, wait," Colin says, grabbing onto her arm. He looks apologetic, and it's impossible to be upset when looking into his puppy dog eyes. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up."

"It's fine," Kate insists with a thin smile, tugging her arm away from his grasp. "I got to go. Have a nice evening."

As she walks out of the coffee shop, she hears a cheesy pop tune about love play on their radio.

The lyrics inspire Anthony's face to surface in her mind.

Kate groans, knowing she's in deep trouble.

That night, she couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned in her bed but couldn't stop hearing Anthony's teasing voice in her head.

In a huff, Kate gets out of bed and quickly puts on her clothes. She debates whether to reapply makeup but decides against it. No one else will see her where she was going.

Luckily, she's friends with the security guard, who let her inside the building that turned off the lights twenty minutes prior. She thanks him and hastily goes to her office, turning on the light and booting up the computer at her desk.

If she wasn't going to sleep, she might as well get some work done.

For a while, all that she hears is the sound of her keys as she typed and the soft hum of music she'd put on to work.

She thought she'd be safe listening to music without lyrics. But Anthony creeps into every note, every chord, and every song.

Just as Kate lowers her head to beat it against the table in frustration, a knock on her door causes her body to jolt upright.

She stands from her chair slowly, walking to the door with caution. No one else would be here this late, so she fears what was on the other side of the door. But if someone was there to hurt her, why would they bother knocking on an unlocked door?

When Kate turns the knob, she sees the face of the man who's been haunting her thoughts for the past few hours (longer than that, if she was honest with herself).

"Hey, what are you doing here so late?" Anthony asks.

"Um, working."

Anthony scans her with curiosity. "On a Sunday?"

"So are you," she points out, crossing her arms.

He holds up a black leather journal. "Actually, I just came by the office for my phone book."

"You have a phone book? Anthony, there's a reason for that contact list on your phone."

"I like writing it down," he defends, looking affronted.

"But you can't add emojis, which adds personality to someone's contact." Kate pulls out her phone and holds out the contacts for him to see. "Edwina has two pink hearts, Penelope has a book, Benedict has an easel, and you have a fire emoji."

"Why do I have a fire emoji?"

"Because you make me want to set things on fire, of course."

Anthony smirks. "Well, next time we play that 'who's most likely to' game in the office, I'll be sure to put you down for becoming an arsonist."

Kate smiles at him, and they fall into one of those moments that's becoming more frequent between them—ones where his body seems to close, and his eyes gleam with something she can't name but feels a kindred sensation within her heart.

Kate takes a step back from him. "Why did you need your phone book so late, anyway?"

Anthony itches behind his ear. Kate frowns, as it's a nervous tick she's never seen from him before. Anthony, like fire, was all-consuming. His feelings were as hot as flames and easy to detect. But now, he looks more guarded, his eyebrows scrunched and his posture squirmish.

"Anthony?" she asks again.

Anthony takes a deep breath. "Well, I actually needed it to call you."

"Me?"

"Yeah. My phone hasn't been working since I went out on the boat with Simon. The bloody idiot knocked it onto the water," he grumbles. "I got a new phone and need to add my contacts back on, which is why I'm lucky I have this phone book which you mocked me for having."

Kate rolls her eyes. "What did you need to call me about?"

"Well, I know we had a rocky start to our relationship—."

"Because you hit on my sister?" she asks, arching her brow.

"I did not hit on her. I merely danced with her at the Christmas party," Anthony corrects with an exasperated sigh. "How many times are we going to argue about this?"

"Until you admit I'm right."

"It'll take a long time for that to happen."

"I've got plenty of time to spend with you."

As soon as those words are out, that heat radiating from Anthony's fire feels warmer. It's as if more time with her is exactly what he wants.

But Kate doesn't let those thoughts get far. She squashes them before they can take root in her mind.

"Continue," Kate tells him.

"Yes, well, as I was saying, we didn't start on the right foot. But, over these past few months, I feel like we've become friends." He looks at her with a hesitant kind of hope. "We have, haven't we?"

Kate smiles. "Yes, we have."

"So, I thought as my friend. You'd like to come with me to this."

Anthony draws two tickets from his pocket and holds one out to her. Kate takes it from in, and her eyes widen as she reads what's on the paper.

"The Vitamin String Quartet?"

"I know you listen to them to relax. I saw that they were touring and coming to London, so I thought that—." His words suddenly halt, tilting his head at her curiously. "What?"

Kate blinks in confusion. "What do you mean 'what?'"

Anthony points at her face. "You were looking at me all funny."

"I was not!"

"Yes, you were! You were looking at me like this."

Anthony imitates a soft-looking expression, gazing at her with an affectionate smile. Kate, in horror, realizes she had been looking at him like that.

"Shut up," Kate scoffs, nudging his arm and hoping it distracts from the blush on her face. "Like I'd ever look at you like that."

"If you're going to be mean, I won't give you the ticket."

He reaches over, but she pulls her hand back.

"Fine, I'm sorry," Kate says, looking down at the ticket in awe. "This is really nice of you."

"So, you'll go with me?"

"Of course I will," she nods, beaming in excitement.

Anthony releases a breath. "Good."

He begins to back out of her office, but she steps forward from her desk, grabbing his arm.

"Anthony?"

He turns. "Yes?"

Before she can second guess herself, she leans up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. When she pulls back, it takes a few seconds for his eyes to open, as if he thinks she's a figment of his imagination that will disappear.

"Thank you," Kate whispers.

Anthony nods, giving her a kind smile before leaving her office.

The music on her computer is still playing. Kate hears the gentle notes of a piano, cautious and optimistic-sounding.

The night had been amazing.

The quartet performed beautifully. They played orchestrational versions of pop songs, which makes Kate feel less guilty about listening to them.

She worried when Anthony said he'd never heard any of their music himself, that he wouldn't enjoy it. But when the concert started, she kept stealing glances out of the corner of her eyes. She saw him watching the players with a content expression.

However, the music didn't help her much with her newfound Anthony problem. When she closed her eyes, the violins sang his name. When his hand grazed hers on the armrest of the chair, the music swelled in tandem with her heart.

He was a song she couldn't get out of her head.

And the worst part was, it was a tune she didn't think she'd ever tire of hearing.

They bantered a bit about the weather while waiting for their Uber. Kate claimed the night was perfectly brisk, not enough to warrant a coat. Anthony, however, disagreed. He poked at the goosebumps on her arm as proof and insisted she take his jacket. She eventually relented, letting him drape his jacket over her shoulders.

When he looked away to wave at the car they'd been waiting for, Kate turned her nose to the jacket. She smelt the scent of amber, sandalwood, and something that was discernibly Anthony.

When they get into the back seat of the car, Anthony turns to her. "Can you believe that couple who sat in front of us?"

"I know! They were all over each other the whole night."

"Music is the food of love, but couldn't they have got the meal before the concert?"

"You'd think," Kate huffs, curling her fists further into his sleeves for warmth. She looks back at him, offering a smile. "I had a really nice time."

"I'm glad," Anthony nods. He swallows nervously, forcing himself to meet her eyes. When he does, Kate sees a raw vulnerability glistening in them. "I just wanted to make you happy."

She bumps her shoulder against his. "You do that by just being you."

Kate's words skim a cello string, creating a deep note that lingers in the air. Something flickers in Anthony's expression, his gaze steadying on her. Suddenly, it's harder for Kate to breathe.

"Look at us, acting like that couple," Kate jokes, trying to ease the tension. "The music must be getting to us too."

"Yeah, that's probably it," Anthony hums, moving a fraction closer to her. "Because right now, I feel this urge to put my arm around you."

Anthony gives in to the feeling, putting an arm around her back. Kate's breath hitches as his thumb rubs circles on her arm. Even through the material of Anthony's jacket, his fingertips send electric shocks to her skin.

"And I want to lean my head right here," she finds herself saying, resting her head on top of his shoulder.

"I want to tuck this strand of hair behind your ear.”

Kate feels his fingers skim against his cheek, gently moving a curl that had fallen into her face behind her ear. Her breath quickens, slowly turning her eyes up at him, and the look he's giving her is overwhelming.

"This is all so ridiculously stereotypical. You make me feel so—so..." Kate's words drift, unable to finish her sentence. Her tongue goes out to wet her lips that suddenly feel dry. "I hate it."

Anthony's index finger goes to her chin, tilting it up and off of his shoulder. "Do you hate this?"

He leans forward, kissing her so sweet and tenderly that she knows if she were standing, her foot would pop up like all of those delusionally romantic heroines in movies do when they kiss.

She gets lost in him. Her hands go up to cup his cheek as she deepens the kiss. Anthony's arm moves from her shoulders to her waist, pulling her flush against him. He swallows her gasp, and Kate hears a cacophony of melodies in her mind.

Kate doesn't know how long they stay wrapped in another's arms. It's only when the driver clears his throat that she realizes the car had come to a stop.

They jump apart, and Anthony gives the driver an uncomfortable nod. "Sorry, sir."

"It's alright," he says gruffly and mutters something about "just wait till you have kids, it won't be like this" as they get out of the car.

They stand awkwardly on the street for a few seconds. Kate looks around them. The vivid leaves of the trees stand out amongst the darkness of the night.

Kate remembers when she first met Anthony. It'd been fall, and the trees were bare with leaves littering the ground. It had felt fitting. Back then, her publishing company announced that they were joining one of their competitors. She had to work with Anthony, as they were both the top production editors of the separate companies. Like the leaves, it felt like everything was falling apart. Every smirk or retort of Anthony's felt like the leaves blowing chaotically in the wind.

But now, the trees were alive again, flooding with color. Kate's at the dawn of a new season with Anthony. It's something as inevitable as the change of weather but as everlasting as the stars above them.

No—stars eventually burn out. Kate thinks that whatever is between her and Anthony will continue to burn when all other flames dim.

"So, that happened," Kate says, breaking the silence.

Anthony takes a cautious step towards her. "Yeah, it did."

"I didn't hate it," she shrugs with a teasing tilt of her lips.

"Wow, what great appraisal. Can I list you as a reference for giving me such a raving review?"

"Excuse me, who else are you planning to apply with?"

"No one, I'm quite satisfied with my employment with you," he assures smugly, his hand going up to her cheek. "But, I'd like to have a slight promotion in my position."

Kate leans into his touch. "Oh really, what position do you want to fill?"

"Well, I think I've done everything that I can in the enemy job. I've enjoyed the friend's position. But, if the boyfriend position is available, I'd like to submit my candidacy."

Kate loops her arms around his neck. "Well, how about we check over your application one more time?"

"Where do you want me to start?" Anthony asks, pressing his lips to her temple. "My education?" he murmurs as he kisses her forehead. "My goals?" Kate sighs as his lips move to the corner of her mouth, and his hand curls around her waist. "My experience?" He kisses her again, and Kate feels his smirk against her lips. "Or, my skills?"

Kate pulls back with a smirk of her own. "How about what drew you to this position?"

His eyes gleam roguishly, looking at the lack of space between them. "This particular position?"

Kate tries her best to give him a stern look. "Anthony."

"You," he answers simply, resting his forehead against hers. "Everything about you."

Kate's unable to stop herself, chuckling softly. "Wow, that's incredibly sappy."

"But it's true."

She takes a deep breath, feeling content and peaceful in his arms. "Maybe being sappy isn't such a bad thing."

"No," Anthony agrees, the corner of his lips tilting up as he studies her intently. "I'm starting to think that it's not."

This time when Kate kisses him, she does it without a single reservation about cliches or stereotypes, or how she would roll her eyes if she saw the two of them on the street.

Kate's foot pops, and the song that's been stuck in her head gets set on an infinite loop.

[alwaysmychoices]

The Memorial

Synopsis: On the day of Danny and Bobby’s funeral, Charlie slowly (and unwillingly) begins to feel the impact of her trauma, and Ethan tries to protect her from her own pain.

Chapter 20 of the “with and without” series

Previous Series: “a weekend with dr. ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 5.8k

Rating: T (language)

tw: disassociation, trauma, emotional distress negative self-talk

disclaimer: I used my experiences as inspiration for Charlie’s emotional state. I am not a trained mental health professional and apologize if I misrepresent anything in this chapter.

That morning, Ethan had no choice but to discharge Charlie from the hospital.

There was no reason to keep her, even after an unusually thorough final exam. Her vitals were normal, and she hadn’t exhibited any concerning side effects from her treatment in days.

Charlotte Greene had survived. She was in the clear now.

For the first few days, Ethan didn’t let himself dream of such a thing. He didn’t want to be disappointed if she took a turn, and he didn’t want to blind himself in his diagnosis and treatment of her. It was only in the last 48 hours that her discharge had become a real and impending event. Truthfully, he could have released her yesterday. The only reason he didn’t was that she experienced a few headaches he wanted to keep an eye on.

But it wasn’t the headaches, not really.

Ethan kept her in the hospital because, deep down, he doubted she was ready to leave.

Charlie seemed fine – sometimes, on a good day, even normal. But there was a haunting in her gaze, a lingering ghost in every movement. Something unresolved and untouched hid in every interaction.

The truth was that they neglected her psychological healing, placing all of their emphasis on her physical improvement. Each of her loved ones denied this to themselves, of course. They showered her with support and affection, and when she had those moments where she seemed lost in something, they stayed with her until she found her way back.

But they hadn’t touched the root of it.

They hadn’t had the courage, nor the stamina.

They didn’t know if they avoided it for themselves or for her. The free days – the one where she wasn’t thinking about her tragedy – were the best. She was a model victim, full of energy and strength. She made jokes from the confines of her hospital bed and offered warm smiles to comfort her loved ones.

Her parents left Boston confident that their daughter would make it through. Even when her father harbored doubts, he looked to Ethan to protect her.

But Ethan knew.

Somewhere, deep down, he knew.

He observed as if surveying her for cracks in the façade.

Even now, as Charlie collected her things from the hospital room in preparation to leave, he studied her. She seemed happy. She felt happy, but Ethan wasn’t sure if she was.

“You’re pouting,” Charlie commented playfully as she picked up her jeans and started to shimmy into them. Sienna had been kind enough to bring her a fresh set of clothes from the apartment so that Charlie didn’t have to leave in the scrubs she wore when disaster struck. Sienna had been more than happy to do it. It gave her a sense of power, that she could do something for Charlie after feeling powerless during her suffering.

“I don’t pout,” Ethan murmured, taking a seat in the free chair. He was, of course, still pouting.

“Well, I’m happy,” Charlie commented as she continued dressing, “I’m finally free, and I’m counting down the hours until I can finally take a shower in my own shower. I never thought I would miss water pressure this much.”

Charlie had a whole list like this – full of tiny luxuries and familiar habits that she missed. Some of them she already had plans to satisfy, like the shower and her coffee maker. Some were more abstract, like dinners with her friends and hearing Sienna hum during their morning routine. There was one she wouldn’t take a “no” on, which was that she intended to spend the night in Ethan’s bed no matter what happened today.

Right now, the world was full of possibilities, and after so long, she could finally reach for them again.

Ethan felt guilty for what he would say next, but he was also confident it had to be said.

“Will you be attending the memorial today?”

He watched the crack in her sunny day take shape and splinter her soft smile.

Charlie froze, and a cold, cold realization washed over her. It froze everything it touched until it reached her bones. Nothing was safe from its icy grasp.

It was a warm room, Charlie knew it was. And so, she pretended she wasn’t cold, even if her teeth felt like chattering.

“Is that today?”

Charlie knew it was today, but she asked just to be sure.

“Yes, at 3:30 pm.”

Charlie nodded, instinctively rubbing her arm as she tried to channel the warmth and happiness she felt only moments ago. It was coming back – so very, very slowly.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” Ethan ventured carefully.

As he expected, Charlie’s eyes shot to him with an expression that could only be described as surprise and disgust. She had to go. Those men died for her!

They…

They died for her.

Charlie felt knocked back, and afraid Ethan would see it, she shook her head and turned her gaze to her jeans as she buttoned the top.

“I have to go, Ethan.”

“No, you don’t.”

They’d had this conversation last night, and even if Ethan knew he would lose, it felt imperative to try.

“Ethan.”

“Rafael Aveiro isn’t going.”

“Because he wasn’t medically cleared to go. That’s not the same.”

“Everyone would understand, Charlie.”

“I wouldn’t understand, Ethan,” Charlie insisted, “I have to go, for me.”

Ethan knew this was a terrible idea. He wasn’t sure why or specifically what would happen, but he knew Charlotte Greene should never step foot inside that memorial.

But there wasn’t much he could do. He knew Charlie very well, and if she intended to go, there was nothing he could do to stop her. Even if he demanded she avoid it and threw up barriers, she would overcome each obstacle with a vengeance. She was a stubborn woman with conviction, a damning combination.

All he could really do was make sure she didn’t do it alone.

“Alright,” Ethan conceded, earning a look of shock from his girlfriend, “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll come by to pick you up.”

Charlie squirmed, surprised by how easily he’d given up the fight. It gave her a moment of pause, and at that moment, she wondered if she was making the right decision. But then the thought faded, and her certainty returned.

She owed it to Bobby and Danny…

“Do you want a ride home?” Ethan offered, still a bit nervous about letting her out of his sight today, “I have time to take you, if you want.”

He’s scared, she realized quietly.

It was startling to see, though the sight was not unfamiliar.

Seeing fear now felt wrong. This was their happy ending, wasn’t it?

Charlie crossed the room to reach her boyfriend, who watched her in silence. When she studied him, she noted the exhaustion and the concern etched into his handsome face. Between his eyebrows, a firm wrinkle of unease sat. She gently smoothed it with her thumb and hoped that was enough to settle it. Ethan recognized her attempt at assurance and comfort, but he didn’t feel like he deserved them.

He was supposed to take care of her, not the other way around.

But really, they needed it equally.

They were two shattered people fumbling to put themselves back together.

“I’ve missed walking,” Charlie politely refused his offer. Ethan wasn’t terribly surprised she did.

“You have my number if you need me,” Ethan reminded her, and something warm settled in her heart, a break from the bone-chilling sadness.

She loved him so, so much.

“I’ll be fine, Ethan,” Charlie said with the upmost confidence.

Ethan raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I will be!” Charlie insisted.

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Ethan declined to confirm her assertion. He couldn’t in good conscience assure her when he didn’t believe her.

Charlie wished he would anyway.

She made a show of rolling her eyes like she was amused with his overconcern. Ethan wasn’t impressed with the display.

It didn’t take long for Charlie to finish dressing and collect her things. When she was done, there was nothing left to keep her in this hospital.

They hesitated at the door and watched one another to see who would make the first move to leave.

Instead, Ethan kissed Charlie softly, whispering, “Goodbye, Charlie.”

She smiled into his lips, “I can’t wait to kiss you somewhere outside of this hospital.”

Ethan grinned. He felt a profound sense of relief that she would make it out of this building. His wonderful Charlie could do anything with this independence. She would continue to exist, even out of his line of sight. She was no longer a fixture in this hospital, nor a victim to gawk at during rounds.

She was free.

They were both free.

Ethan wasn’t sure what came over him. It could only be explained as an instinct to run. He was sure they had to. He was convinced that they were up against a tragic, impending disaster and that they needed to leave while they still had time.

“Why don’t we run away?” Ethan asked.

“What?” Charlie laughed, but the severity of his expression made her smile falter.

“I’m serious. Let’s run away, right now.”

“You’re at work,” Charlie cautioned with confusion.

“So? I doubt anyone would begrudge our departure after everything we’ve been through,” Ethan decided, “We’ll just go somewhere – anywhere you want – and come back whenever the hell we want to.”

Ethan wanted Charlie to say yes more than he’d wanted anything. He wanted this more than he wanted her to say yes to his offer at a relationship all those months ago. Really, he didn’t just want it. He needed it. It felt like the only way to quell his growing anxiety and avoid pain and tragedy. It was the only way to protect her.

But Charlie wasn’t the kind to run away.

She was the kind to try, even if it broke her.

It was one of the reasons Ethan loved her, but it was also one of the reasons she scared the hell out of him.

Placing a comforting hand on his cheek, Charlie kissed her nervous boyfriend softly and told him, “I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”

She never gave an explicit answer to his offer, but her aversion was answer enough to disappoint Ethan.

“Okay,” Ethan conceded weakly, kissing her forehead one last time.

When she walked away, Ethan wondered if he was worrying all for nothing.

She looked strong. She looked healthy. She even looked happy.

But something told him that she wasn’t, and against his best wishes, he trusted it.

Charlie left Edenbrook to a relieved fanfare. Everyone wished her well and showered her in comfort and adoration. A few of the nurses who had stayed with her this week took turns giving her goodbye hugs. When they held her, a quiet thought wondered if they just wished they could hug Danny. A pair of rowdy interns cheered when she walked by, but Zaid silenced them with a glare. Sienna paused her rounds just to give Charlie a big, tight hug.

It was a powerful and cheerful time.

But then she was at the front door of Edenbrook, and Charlie hesitated.

She felt almost contained to Edenbrook, like something would break if she exited.

It was an irrational fear, of course. That’s what she told herself when she finally made that first step on the sidewalk.

They never made it out.

Charlie felt the air get knocked out of her chest at the mere thought.

But that was ridiculous. It was a thought – and an intrusive one at that.

She wouldn’t let it stop her.

What makes you so deserving to get out?

Charlie gritted her teeth and fought the thoughts as she took another step.

They didn’t stop, though. At every block, there was something new – some horrific image in her mind, some intrusive thought, or some terrible memory.

She heard it in the voices of strangers on the street, but every time she looked over at them, they hadn’t really said a thing. They observed her wild, scared expression with a sense of concern and avoidance. More than one stranger took a few steps away when she looked at them.

They weren’t talking to her. Charlie knew that.

Still… little snippets of their conversations twisted into dark, terrible words.

“They deserved life more, you bitch.”

“You only lived because you’re a coward.”

“Would you have even saved them, if you could? Or are you too selfish?”

Even the beep of a cell phone brought her back to the horrible, irregular beep of Raf’s heartbeat monitor that night.

It followed her.

It was everywhere.

The anxiety started in her chest, but it spread through her body like an infection.

Like the infection that should have killed her.

Charlie fought it. She rebelled against the thoughts and battled the improbability of the dreadful words. She went in and out of panic in a series of disorienting flashes.

She didn’t always know where she was.

Once, she looked around the group surrounding her as they walked the crosswalk, and she wondered how she got here. Where had she been? Where was she going?

Then, it came back. She remembered again, and she pretended she never forgot.

Somehow, she made it home.

She was relieved to see her building. Quietly, she recognized that it was a miracle she navigated so well when her grip on reality felt fragile. But she pretended that nothing was wrong. Of course, she got home. She was normal, after all. Those were just bad thoughts and bad moments. It didn’t have to mean anything.

Then she realized she was just staring at her building.

She made no moves to go inside. She didn’t even fish her keys out of her purse.

Something in there was a threat, and she couldn’t go home yet.

She started walking away with no real plan. First, she thought she would just stop at a nearby coffee shop, drink an espresso, and then go back to normal. But she walked past the coffee shop and kept walking. She wasn’t sure where she was going.

A mile later, she finally decided.

Half an hour later, Charlie knocked at Rafael’s front door. Within seconds, Rafael’s grandmother opened the door with overwhelming exuberance. Charlie hardly had a moment to process Juliana at all before she was pulled into a big, tight hug.

The affection, if just for the moment, knocked Charlie out of her fog.

Juliana ushered Charlie inside with offers of drinks and snacks.

“Oh, thank you, but this is all too much,” Charlie insisted.

“Nonsense!” Juliana exclaimed, pushing a plate in Charlie’s direction, “You saved my beautiful boy. Nothing is too much for you!”

“Your beautiful boy saved me,” Charlie asserted with a bit of guilt. She wasn’t a hero. She didn’t deserve all of this.

A gentle creak of a door alerted Charlie to Rafael’s presence, and he sheepishly corrected, “We saved each other.”

When Charlie looked in his direction to greet him, Rafael knew.

Something was wrong.

He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something in her eyes was amiss, even pained.

Charlie finally caved and accepted a dessert. Juliana, however, wasn’t satisfied and began packing her a tin of goodies to take home.

While she was a few feet away, Rafael took a few tentative steps towards his friend.

“How are you?” Charlie asked when he was close enough.

Rafael shrugged, “I can make it up the stairs without wheezing, which is an improvement.”

Charlie nodded slowly, “And Sora?”

“Definitely over,” Rafael confirmed, “But I think it’s for the best. You and Ethan?”

Charlie thought back to their night in quarantine, when Rafael implored her to tell Ethan how she felt. She was happy to have taken his advice.

“I told him I loved him. He told me he loved me, too. Naturally, I cried,” Charlie smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes, “I don’t think he believed me until the next day, though. Something about deathbed confessions not being as meaningful.”

“At least it worked out for one of us,” Rafael smiled playfully.

He was watching Charlie, though. She realized it during a pause in their conversation. She felt studied, and she wondered what he saw.

Whatever he interpreted couldn’t have been good because, after a beat, he asked her to join him on his walk. Just as Ethan had hours before, Rafael regarded Charlie with concern.

Charlie accepted.

They navigated Rafael’s neighborhood largely in silence. The silence invited the fog back, and by the time they reached the park, Charlie felt like she was fighting against wet sand to keep moving. She was almost as exhausted as Rafael as they collapsed into a nearby bench.

Charlie felt like Rafael was the only person in the world who might understand what she couldn’t yet put a name to. But given the opportunity, she was too afraid to ask. If she asked, it would be real, and she wasn’t ready for it to be real.

“I never asked how you were,” Rafael said pointedly.

“Are you asking now?” Charlie asked, looking ahead at the park instead of her friend.

“I am.”

Charlie thought for a moment – maybe too long of a moment, really.

“My reports say I’m perfectly healthy,” Charlie finally answered.

“That’s wasn’t quite what I asked,” Rafael seemed amused like he had expected her to evade him.

Charlie rolled her eyes at his smirk, but it was a show. She just wanted to seem amused, too.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.

He gave her time, allowing the silence to stretch until she finally had the strength.

“Does it stay like this?”

Rafael raised an eyebrow in silent question, and she let the façade slip just enough for him to know what she meant.

Charlie wanted Rafael to tell her that, while he felt what she feels now, it eased over time. Being home helped him become whole again. The thoughts and the panic would subside if she just waited.

But Rafael told her the truth instead.

“Yes,” he admitted, “I feel it every second. Sometimes, I feel like it’s harder at home. I wake up at home with my family and my life. And they… they don’t.”

His words crushed Charlie, and she sank further into the bench.

“Do you feel like it’s everywhere?” her voice was so soft, so scared that it shook Rafael to his core, “Like… if you’re just walking down the street, do you feel like you hear the bad thoughts? The ones that remind you of what happened.”

Rafael looked terrified.

He was, he realized belatedly.

Not just for himself and his trauma but for her and hers.

“Sometimes,” Rafael confirmed, “I feel it mostly in the pain… When my body aches and fails to do easy things, I’m so angry and then… Then, I remember why and what happened – and that Bobby and Danny only felt the pain in the end.”

Charlie grimaced, and she held onto the bench until her fingers turned white, fighting the wave of pain that followed the mental image. She looked pale and on the verge of collapse when she finally opened her eyes again.

“Don’t go today,” Rafael warned.

“I have to,” Charlie swallowed, “I couldn’t save them… I might as well honor them.”

Rafael didn’t have much of a counterargument, so he didn’t give one. He understood. In a lot of ways, he felt the same about the memorial. He, unlike Charlie, had been saved by his precarious health. He didn’t have to make that choice. He was relieved, even if he felt a twinge of cowardice for not even trying to go.

When Rafael didn’t try to stop her, their conversation fell into a lull.

The silence was nice.

Neither of them expected anything from the other.

They didn’t have to pretend to be okay…

Maybe they should have stayed.

But they didn’t.

Charlie, looking at her watch, realized she was running out of time. When she told Rafael that she had to go, she looked normal again – strong, even. Like she was clothed in armor. Like, maybe, if you squinted, you didn’t have to worry about her.

Rafael wished her well, and she started to leave.

“Wait, Charlie,” Rafael called out before she got too far away.

Charlie stopped, turning to him with an expectant expression.

“Thank you for making it out of that room.”

Her heart stopped, and her eyes watered.

They were supposed to be dead, and her heart burst with how happy she was that he was alive.

“Thank you for making it out, too,” Charlie was sure she had never meant a thank you as strongly as she meant that one.

He smiled softly, and then she left.

This time, when she reached her apartment, she had the courage to step inside.

It was… eerily the same.

Like this apartment was magically immune to all of the pain and trauma.

Something echoed in the halls, something she couldn’t yet touch.

The thoughts were distant though, but… so was everything else.

Charlie tried to put her life back together. She unpacked her things, cleaned her room, and started a pot of coffee. The entire time, she struggled to keep moving. She kept finding little moments of lost time. Alone, they were strange, but together, they were terrifying.

She knew her surroundings, yet something about them felt strange. She knew where she was, what she was doing, and what she was supposed to do next. But the haze…

It surrounded her.

It was everywhere but somehow out of sight.

She never saw it coming, but when she snapped out of it, she realized it had enveloped her.

She was empty, but the thoughts were finally quiet.

She felt nothing, but at least she didn’t feel the torture.

Charlie kept going because Charlie was the kind to always keep going.

When she turned on the shower, she was fighting to stay here, to stay aware. She wanted to stay.

The water was hot, obscenely so. The shock to her system burned more than just her skin. Her mind felt like it was ablaze, and finally, Charlie felt herself again. She didn’t know how much she missed her awareness until it was back. She turned the water hotter to keep feeling it.

Then…

She was back in the hospital – in the burning hot shower after she was released from quarantine. She was alone washing off the sweat and grime of that hospital room. She used shower products that weren’t hers, that didn’t smell or feel like her. She was alive. But who else was?

She was a lone survivor. She was the final girl. She was the lucky one.

Charlie screamed.

No. No, Charlie really screamed.

She was back in her apartment, and she was screaming.

She caught her breath, reaching for slippery tiles to find her balance.

She slid. Or maybe she sat down.

But she was on the shower floor, knees pulled to her chest as she begged for fresh air.

She sat on that shower floor, hoping for a miracle. She put faith in everything.

In the water, that it would wash away her pain.

In the air, that it would allow her to exhale her guilt.

In her body, that it would remember how to stand again.

But gasping through the water, she just felt like she was drowning.

Then…

When it was too much, when it was all too much, it stopped.

Like a warm, protective hug, her brain shielded her.

And then it was over.

What felt like seconds later, there were loud knocks at her front door. They were jarring and set her free from wherever she had been.

Charlie looked around frantically, trying to remember where she was.

The shower was still running, through the water was less hot now.

Everything looked the same, but…

But the sun was lower.

Charlie scrambled for a towel and turned off the shower. She fumbled for her phone on the counter, and her heart sank.

An hour.

She had lost an hour.

The knocking started again, and Charlie didn’t have the time to process what her lost hour meant. Still trying to get her bearings right, Charlie went to the front door and swung it open to find out who the fuck was so insistent about getting inside.

It was… Ethan.

And he was dressed in a suit.

Why was he-?

The memorial.

Ethan watched as her eyes widened in understanding and then panic.

He didn’t know what to think or how to interpret her apparent confusion. She was soaking wet still, as if she had just gotten out of the shower, and her skin was bright red, like it had been burned by the water. She looked…

Confused.

And scared.

Ethan immediately knew that something was wrong.

“Charlie, are you okay?” he broached carefully, taking a step toward her. He wanted to hold her, but she looked fragile…

“Yeah, I just, um… I was just…” Charlie stammered, “What time is it?”

“Three,” Ethan answered.

“What?” Charlie felt a wave of nausea. The memorial was at 3:30.

Ethan surveyed her again, taking in every clue like she was a mystery to be solved.

The wet hair. The confusion. The panic. The inability to explain.

What was it?

How did he help her?

“Charlie, why don’t you know what time it is?” Ethan asked cautiously, placing his hands carefully on either shoulder. She was hot to the touch.

“I, um, I was just in the shower,” Charlie answered. She felt like her mind was sludge, and words were nearly impossible to string together, “I must have zoned out and lost track of time.”

“For how long, Charlotte?”

Charlie dropped her eye contact and shrugged.

He leaned closer, pushing her soaking wet curls out of her face, “Rookie, please. How long?”

Her green eyes were full of fear as she finally admitted, “An hour.”

Ethan’s chest tightened, and he let out a horrified, terrified huff of breath. Instinctively, he pulled her in, tucking her safely in his chest where he knew she was okay.

She told herself she didn’t know why he was doing this. It just a little bit of time – only a little scary. More confusing than anything.

But she fell into his arms like she needed it because she did.

Ethan didn’t care that she got his suit wet.

He only cared that he had her.

“We’re not going today, Charlie,” Ethan decided authoritatively, “We’re not.”

“Ethan!”

“You’re not,” Ethan said more firmly.

“I have to be there!”

“No, no, you don’t,” Ethan pulled away just enough to look at her so she would know how intensely he meant this, “You do not need to go, Charlie. You need to make it through today. I’m not letting you do this to yourself just because you feel some obligation. Charlotte Greene, you owe your survival to no one.”

He knew she didn’t believe him by the way she averted her eyes.

“I have to go,” she insisted forcefully.

“No,” Ethan shook his head, reaching for her hand determinedly, “Come on, let’s get you dressed.”

He started to pull her to her bedroom, but she remained firm.

“Please, Ethan,” she pleaded.

Ethan felt a moment of pause.

The way she looked at him… like she needed this, like she needed him to let her have this.

His heart broke.

His beautiful, wonderful Charlie was in so much pain.

And he caved.

He caved because he wanted to make it go away so, so badly that he was willing to make a thousand mistakes.

He grimaced but consented, “Fine. But we still need to get you dressed.”

Getting dressed, like everything else, was hard.

Charlie struggled against her mental fog, and as a result, she moved slowly. She was frustrated as she tried to push through her shortened routine. Even just putting her hair into a braid felt like a monumental task, and she cursed under her breath.

Why couldn’t she just be okay?!

Ethan stepped in before she could get too irritated. He helped her finish the braid and secured it behind her back. He found her dress hanging on the door and helped her step into it. He hesitated after he finished with the zipper, wondering once more if he should stop her before it was too late.

“I’ll be okay,” Charlie whispered, watching his hesitation in the mirror.

Ethan didn’t believe her.

Instead, he kissed the side of her head and whispered, “I love you, Charlie.”

She smiled – a real one. A tired one, but a real one.

Ethan found her shoes on the bed, and he held her hand for stability as she stepped into her high heels.

Then, she was ready…

And he had to take her.

Ethan didn’t leave her side, not for a single second. Not when they parked at the cemetery and were surrounded by friends and coworkers. Not when people tried to call him over to give their condolences. Not when Charlie’s friends surrounded and showered her in support.

Especially not when Danny and Bobby’s families greeted her and thanked her for all she did to try to save them. Not after, when they stepped away, Charlie collapsed into his side, tears running down her face.

He never left her.

Ethan held her hand the entire time. He didn’t give a shit who saw or what they said.

It was a relief when the service began, and everyone stopped crowding her. They stood in the back, where no one cared when Ethan put his arm around Charlie’s waist to hold her up. It was a lovely service – lighthearted but reverent. There were heartwarming stories and cheerful anecdotes. Bright, shining moments of joy were followed by waves of grief and anger.

When the families stepped up to the podium and began to speak, Charlie absently whispered to Ethan, “I think I’m supposed to speak…”

Ethan thought that was a terrible idea.

But out of respect for her grieving process, he asked, “Do you want to?”

Charlie considered it.

In her pocket, she had a piece of paper where she’d scribbled thoughts last night. It was full of platitudes and grief, even an admission that she couldn’t save them.

She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say any of it.

She couldn’t even hear it.

“I think I want to go home,” she replied.

Ethan nodded thoughtfully, squeezing her waist reassuringly, “Okay. I’ll tell Naveen, and then we’ll go.”

Charlie nodded weakly and missed his warmth the second he stepped away. A minute later, Ethan returned to guide her back to the parking lot. They slipped away quietly. Only a few people noticed, and they were respectful enough to not say a word.

In the car, Ethan held her hand.

The fog was back and even stronger.

Charlie was silent. At times, she felt like the only thing keeping her connected to reality was Ethan holding her hand.

Ethan took her back to his apartment, where he knew she would be safe and free from well-meaning mourners and friends. He held her in the elevator and regretted letting her go to unlock his front door. Ethan had never been more relieved by Jenner’s love than when he saw Jenner shower his girlfriend with affection, allowing her to crack a small smile.

Ethan left Charlie and Jenner in the living room to change out of his wet jacket.

Alone for the first time since he found Charlie, he drowned in awareness. His Charlie…

He almost cried. He wanted to cry. He wanted to release this. He wanted to go back to the hospital, where he and Charlie slept quietly and smiled from across rooms.

He didn’t want to grieve.

Neither did she.

He had to protect her. He had to save her. And he didn’t know how.

Ethan sat on the corner of his bed, waiting for an epiphany.

Instead, he found Charlie standing in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” Charlie asked quietly.

Ethan shook his head resolutely, “No. Are you?”

Charlie let out a deep, deep breath.

“Not at all.”

Ethan laughed at the honesty. She had been lying to him all day, and hearing the truth was nearly funny when it was so glaringly obvious.

“You should have made me run away with you,” Charlie grumbled, kicking off her shoes as she walked into his room. She fell into his bed like it was the only place she felt safe.

But really, did she even feel safe there?

Ethan placed a comforting hand on her back and drew a soothing pattern with his fingertips,  “We still can.”

Charlie sighed, her eyes closing just a little, “Right now, I just want to stay in this bed.”

“You always liked my bed,” Ethan observed, kissing the top of her head. He kicked off his shoes and then fell back into bed beside her, turning his body to face her.

“It’s because you’re usually in it,” Charlie mused.

Her eyes were closed with Ethan decided to wrap his arms around her, tucking her head safely in his chest. She fit in his arms like he was designed to hold her…

When she looked up at him again, there was something raw hidden in the green of her iris.

“I almost lost you,” she said it like it was a revelation, one she hadn’t let herself think of since that night.

“I think it’s more accurate to say I almost lost you,” Ethan suggested.

“I’m serious, Ethan.”

“So am I.”

Charlie hadn’t allowed those kinds of thoughts or memories to permeate her life. She hadn’t wanted to be sad, but…

They happened.

They were real.

They followed her anyway.

“I woke up, and you weren’t there,” Charlie said, more to herself than to Ethan, “I was relieved. I missed you, but… I didn’t…”

Something was stabbing her.

Something inside. Something sharp and terrible and scary and it was here.

“I didn’t want you to watch me die,” she said in one breath, just to get it the fuck out of her.

She needed it out. She needed all of it out. It was trapped. It was torturing her. It was going to kill her.

She couldn’t breathe.

Or maybe she could…

She panted, trying to just fucking decide.

The fog was gone. The haze left.

And she was there, and she felt it. She felt all of it.

Nothing came to save her from the feeling.

She wanted to scream again, but it came out as a mighty, aching cry. She devolved into uncontrollable, body-shaking sobs.

The cracks in her perfect, sunny day splintered and shattered the illusion. There was nothing to hold on to now… It was just rain.

No, she was wrong.

There was one thing to hold on to.

And she held onto him just as tightly as he held on to her.

Ethan wasn’t going to let go, so Charlie let herself fall.

That didn’t go where I thought it was going to go, but wow... this may be the saddest chapter I’ve ever written. 

permanent tag list: 

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[lvlyhao]

「PART ONE: HOPE」

Humanity series; Q.K

A/N: this truthfully is a basic ass apocalypse!au but i couldn’t care less so that’s that on that. come talk to me if you wanna tell me your thoughts i’d literally cry out of joy other chapters coming soon!!

important: i know i put minor character death as a warning but it’s not, i repeat, NOT one of the nct members. jesus, i’m not that cruel. having said that, please enjoy it.

word count: 1.3K

pairing: none (yet).

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

next chapter

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When the world you know is going through an apocalypse, many things become outdated, antiquated, old, or useless. Call it as you will. They no longer serve their purpose. At least, not when one-third of the world population is dead, and you fight zombies daily.

You could probably go over 100 items that fit the description—cellphones, high heels, short skirts, televisions; really, nearly anything that you were once happy or proud to own. 

The one thing that stuck to you the most, though, was a heart.

Of course, no two hearts are the same, but you mean yours. People that naturally don’t care about others probably have an easier time, but, gods, look at you! How could you keep that golden heart of yours safe from the claws of despair? How did you plan on picking up its pieces every time it fell apart?

Well, you reasoned to yourself, the week after the virus began spreading. Maybe I just shouldn't. 

At that moment, your brain told you it was the right decision. No one has the time to deal with these sentiments when their life is always on the line, right?

You sure hoped so, because that one, fateful night, you blinked back the tears, swallowed hard, and killed every bit of fear that still lived in you, killing, as well, part of your humanity.

Looking back now, contemplating the night sky, you can admit it had been scary. Very scary. 

Rumours about a new virus, different from anything the world had ever seen, got out pretty fast. People talked about it everywhere, and even more at the hospital where your parents worked. But, you know, people always talk. A disease that could turn someone into an actual zombie, with no conscience and the need for human flesh? There was just no way in hell that was true.

“Sure, Hendery”, you used to mutter to your friend, not paying attention to his absurd theories.

Not too long later, you came to regret it. Did it take both of your parents dying for you to believe it?

Your lips twisted into a scowl. Life can be an unfortunate thing.

After you had gazed into the eyes of your mother's colleague when he told you the news, nothing was ever that frightening again. Sure, the undead, boo-hoo. Glassy, unblinking eyes, a putrid smell and a keen sense of hearing. Thousands of them slowly crawl across probably every city in the world, hunting for their next meal. Simply terrifying, you snigger bitterly. 

To be fair with the people you have come to know, that always seemed scared out of their wits, they were in a lot more danger than you. Why, do you ask? 

That is quite simple. You are immune.

You did not waste your time trying to understand the words your father had told you the night before he died. It was something about a specific section of your DNA that stopped that virus from spreading to your brain, or, whatever. You thought he was kidding, laughed it off and headed to bed. You remember having bad dreams that night.

Not being capable of turning into one of them did come in handy later, when you had already found a group of students from the university you used to attend. While you couldn't say they looked well back then, being alive was the most they could do. They were all mostly younger than you—not at all smaller, per se, but more naive, more fearful. 

More reluctant to go looking for food when they were running out of it. 

The minute they told you about the problem, you took it in your hands to care for them. Chuckling at their protests, you had said someone had to look out for the children, and so you did.

The morning you left to scavenge for food didn’t go half as bad as you expected. Having nothing but a bow and some arrows, and some short knives on you, only getting chewed on one shoulder was way more than you had hoped for. During the fight at the crumbling supermarket building, you thought maybe you were going to lose a finger or two, possibly break a leg. But a bitten shoulder? That was pretty cool.

You were almost pleased with yourself when you marched back to the campus dorms, dragging behind you a cart filled with everything you could get your hands on. Among more essential items like rice, you had even managed to smuggle some jelly beans, dropping them quietly by Chenle’s side with a secretive smirk. However, the lighthearted atmosphere didn’t last for too long—just until Taeyong’s eyes landed on you. 

You can almost hear his loud gasp and choked shriek again, yanking at your jacket with rubber gloves to get a closer look. As he visibly paled and grimaced, you could tell it was worse than you thought. 

Maybe it was the adrenaline still pumping through your veins, or the small feeling of achievement as you saw your boys eating again, but getting the wound treated did not hurt that much. The weight on your shoulders did not lessen, and you were still very aware of the smell of death that clung to your clothes, but… you were satisfied. As satisfied as a ruthless fighter such as you could be, anyway.

That night, lying close to each other and talking in whispers, you told them about everything that had happened before you found them: the death of your parents, how you found your weapons, and your decision to free yourself from fear. You might have left out the part about the mild numbness that came along, but did it matter? They listened like you were describing to them all of the secrets in the universe, and barely even blinked. It would have been endearing if thoughts about them being on their own for so long had not made you set your jaw forcefully.

About two days later, while you sharpened your knives on the corner of one of the rooms, Taeyong had sat down beside you. His once blond hair had turned ashy, and black, where his roots had grown. His clothes were ripped at strange places and were not at all fashionable. He no longer was the model-like nursing major you used to know, but the caring gleam in his eyes was as evident as ever. His heart was still whole.

He quietly spoke to you about the change you had inspired in his friends. Knowing about your fearlessness had done something to them. 

Donghyuck had not cried himself to sleep ever since. Doyoung was not shaking as badly when he had to help Tyong at the med bay. Renjun no longer paced in circles like a lost boy, and Jaehyun was definitely more appreciative of the throwing knives you gifted him. Small but important things had changed, and you could see it in their smiles as they passed by, wishing you a good morning. 

Your speech, as improvised and adrenaline-driven as it had been, had given them something not even Johnny's jokes could bring—and that was saying a lot. It gave them hope, sewing together the small pieces of the people they used to be.

Maybe it was not the kind of hope to go back to their old lives, studying their asses off for finals one day and attending 3 frat parties the other. No, going back to those times was ahead of what anyone could wish for, but, maybe, just maybe, they could finally dream of a new future. Things in this future would be entirely anew, most likely different from what they know, but perhaps not all bad. 

Maybe it was not the kind of hope to get back what they had lost, but simply hope, and when the world you know is going through an apocalypse, that's enough.

-------

final notes: i??? really like this fic??? soon enough i’ll make a definitive masterlist so you can find the chapters easily tho, so look forward to it~

[holyhellpod]

Holy Hell: 3. Metanarrativity: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship? aka the analysis no one asked for.

In this ep, we delve into authorship, narrative, fandom and narrative meaning. And somehow, as always, bring it back to Cas and Misha Collins.

(Note: the reason I didn’t talk about Billie’s authorship and library is because I completely forgot it existed until I watched season 13 “Advanced Thanatology” again, while waiting for this episode to upload. I’ll find a way to work her into later episodes tho!)

I had to upload it as a new podcast to Spotify so if you could just re-subscribe that would be great! Or listen to it at these other links.

Please listen to the bit at the beginning about monetisation and if you have any questions don’t hesitate to message me here.

Apple | Spotify | Google

Transcript under the cut!

Warnings: discussions of incest, date rape, rpf, war, 9/11, the bush administration, abuse, mental health, addiction, homelessness. Most of these are just one off comments, they’re not full discussions.

Meta-Textuality: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship?

In the third episode of Season 6, “The Third Man,” Balthazar says to Cas, “you tore up the whole script and burned the pages.” That is the fundamental idea the writers of the first five seasons were trying to sell us: whatever grand plan the biblical God had cooking up is worth nothing in face of the love these men have—for each other and the world. Sam, Bobby, Cas and Dean will go to any lengths to protect one another and keep people safe. What’s real? What’s worth saving? People are real. Families are worth saving. 

This show plugs free will as the most important thing a person, angel, demon or otherwise can have. The fact of the matter is that Dean was always going to fight against the status quo, Sam was always going to go his own way, and Bobby was always going to do his best for his boys. The only uncertainty in the entire narrative is Cas. He was never meant to rebel. He was never meant to fall from Heaven. He was supposed to fall in line, be a good soldier, and help bring on the apocalypse, but Cas was the first agent of free will in the show’s timeline. Sam followed Lucifer, Dean followed Michael, and John gave himself up for the sins of his children, at once both a God and Jesus figure. But Cas wasn’t modelled off anyone else. He is original. There are definitely some parallels to Ruby, but I would argue those are largely unintentional. Cas broke the mold. 

That’s to say nothing of the impact he’s had on the fanbase, and the show itself, which would not have reached 15 seasons and be able to end the way they wanted it to without Cas and Misha Collins. His back must be breaking from carrying the entire show. 

But what the holy hell are we doing here today? Not just talking about Cas. We’re talking about metanarrativity: as I define it, and for purposes of this episode, the story within a story, and the act of storytelling. We’re going to go through a select few episodes which I think exemplify the best of what this show has to offer in terms of framing the narrative. We’ll talk about characters like Chuck and Becky and the baby dykes in season 10. And most importantly we’ll talk about the audience’s role, our role, in the reciprocal relationship of storytelling. After all, a tv show is nothing without the viewer.

I was in fact introduced to the concept of metanarrativity by Supernatural, so the fact that I’m revisiting it six years after I finished my degree to talk about the show is one of life’s little jokes.

 I’m brushing off my degree and bringing out the big guns (aka literary theorists) to examine this concept. This will be yet another piece of analysis that would’ve gone well in my English Lit degree, but I’ll try not to make it dry as dog shit. 

First off, I’m going to argue that the relationship between the creators of Supernatural and the fans has always been a dialogue, albeit with a power imbalance. Throughout the series, even before explicitly metanarrative episodes like season 10 “Fan Fiction” and season 4 “the monster at the end of this book,” the creators have always engaged in conversations with the fans through the show. This includes but is not limited to fan conventions, where the creators have actual, live conversations with the fans. Misha Collins admitted at a con that he’d read fanfiction of Cas while he was filming season 4, but it’s pretty clear even from the first season that the creators, at the very least Eric Kripke, were engaging with fans. The show aired around the same time as Twitter and Tumblr were created, both of which opened up new passageways for fans to interact with each other, and for Twitter and Facebook especially, new passageways for fans to interact with creators and celebrities.

But being the creators, they have ultimate control over what is written, filmed and aired, while we can only speculate and make our own transformative interpretations. But at least since s4, they have engaged in meta narrative construction that at once speaks to fans as well as expands the universe in fun and creative ways. My favourite episodes are the ones where we see the Winchesters through the lens of other characters, such as the season 3 episode “Jus In Bello,” in which Sam and Dean are arrested by Victor Henriksen, and the season 7 episode “Slash Fiction” in which Dean and Sam’s dopplegangers rob banks and kill a bunch of people, loathe as I am to admit that season 7 had an effect on any part of me except my upchuck reflex. My second favourite episodes are the meta episodes, and for this episode of Holy Hell, we’ll be discussing a few: The French Mistake, he Monster at the end of this book, the real ghostbusters, Fan Fiction, Metafiction, and Don’t Call Me Shurley. I’ll also discuss Becky more broadly, because, like, of course I’ll be discussing Becky, she died for our sins. 

Let’s take it back. The Monster At The End Of This Book — written by Julie Siege and Nancy Weiner and directed by Mike Rohl. Inarguably one of the better episodes in the first five seasons. Not only is Cas in it, looking so beautiful, but Sam gets something to do, thank god, and it introduces the character of Chuck, who becomes a source of comic relief over the next two seasons. The episode starts with Chuck Shurley, pen named Carver Edlund after my besties, having a vision while passed out drunk. He dreams of Sam and Dean larping as Feds and finding a series of books based on their lives that Chuck has written. They eventually track Chuck down, interrogate him, and realise that he’s a prophet of the lord, tasked with writing the Winchester Gospels. The B plot is Sam plotting to kill Lilith while Dean fails to get them out of the town to escape her. The C plot is Dean and Cas having a moment that strengthens their friendship and leads further into Cas’s eventual disobedience for Dean. Like the movie Disobedience. Exactly like the movie Disobedience. Cas definitely spits in Dean’s mouth, it’s kinda gross to be honest. Maybe I’m just not allo enough to appreciate art. 

When Eric Kripke was showrunner of the first five seasons of Supernatural,  he conceptualised the character of Chuck. Kripke as the author-god introduced the character of the author-prophet who would later become in Jeremy Carver’s showrun seasons the biblical God. Judith May Fathallah writes in “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural” that Kripke writes himself both into and out of the text, ending his era with Chuck winking at the camera, saying, “nothing really ends,” and disappearing. Kripke stayed on as producer, continuing to write episodes through Sera Gamble’s era, and was even inserted in text in the season 6 episode “The French Mistake”. So nothing really does end, not Kripke’s grip on the show he created, not even the show itself, which fans have jokingly referred to as continuing into its 16th season. Except we’re not joking. It will die when all of us are dead, when there is no one left to remember it. According to W R Fisher, humans are homo narrans, natural storytellers. The Supernatural fandom is telling a fidelitous narrative, one which matches our own beliefs, values and experiences instead of that of canon. Instead of, at Fathallah says, “the Greek tradition, that we should struggle to do the right thing simply because it is right, though we will suffer and be punished anyway,” the fans have created an ending for the characters that satisfies each and every one of our desires, because we each create our own endings. It’s better because we get to share them with each other, in the tradition of campfire stories, each telling our own version and building upon the others. If that’s not the epitome of mythmaking then I don’t know. It’s just great. Dean and Cas are married, Eileen and Sam are married, Jack is sometimes a baby who Claire and Kaia are forced to babysit, Jody and Donna are gonna get hitched soon. It’s season 17, time for many weddings, and Kevin Tran is alive. Kripke, you have no control over this anymore, you crusty hag. 

Chuck is introduced as someone with power, but not influence over the story, only how the story is told through the medium of the novels. It’s basically a very badly written, non authorised biography, and Charlie reading literally every book and referencing things she should have no knowledge of is so damn creepy and funny. At first Chuck is surprised by his characters coming to life, despite having written it already, and when shown the intimidating array of weapons in Baby’s trunk he gets real scared. Which is the appropriate response for a skinny 5-foot-8 white guy in a bathrobe who writes terrible fantasy novels for a living. 

As far as I can remember, this is the first explicitly metanarrative episode in the series, or at least the first one with in world consequences. It builds upon the lore of Christianity, angels, and God, while teasing what’s to come. Chuck and Sam have a conversation about how the rest of the season is going to play out, and Sam comes away with the impression that he’ll go down with the ship. They touch on Sam’s addiction to demon blood, which Chuck admits he didn’t write into the books, because in the world of supernatural, addiction should be demonised ha ha at every opportunity, except for Dean’s alcoholism which is cool and manly and should never be analysed as an unhealthy trauma coping mechanism. 

Chuck is mostly impotent in the story of Sam and Dean, but his very presence presents an element of good luck that turns quickly into a force of antagonism in the series four finale, “Lucifer Rising”, when the archangel Raphael who defeats Lilith in this episode also kills Cas in the finale. It’s Cas’s quick thinking and Dean’s quick doing that resolve the episode and save them from Lilith, once again proving that free will is the greatest force in the universe. Cas is already tearing up pages and burning scripts. The fandom does the same, acting as gods of their own making in taking canon and transforming it into fan art. The fans aren’t impotent like Chuck, but neither do we have sway over the story in the way that Cas and Dean do. Sam isn’t interested in changing the story in the same way—he wants to kill Lilith and save the world, but in doing so continues the story in the way it was always supposed to go, the way the angels and the demons and even God wanted him to. 

Neither of them are author-gods in the way that God is. We find out later that Chuck is in fact the real biblical god, and he engineers everything. The one thing he doesn’t engineer, however, is Castiel, and I’ll get to that in a minute.

The Real Ghostbusters

Season 5’s “The real ghostbusters,” written by Nancy Weiner and Erik Kripke, and directed by James L Conway, situates the Winchesters at a fan convention for the Supernatural books. While there, they are confronted by a slew of fans cosplaying as Sam, Dean, Bobby, the scarecrow, Azazel, and more. They happen to stumble upon a case, in the midst of the game where the fans pretend to be on a case, and with the help of two fans cosplaying as Sam and Dean, they put to rest a group of homicidal ghost children and save the day. Chuck as the special guest of the con has a hero moment that spurs Becky on to return his affections. And at the end, we learn that the Colt, which they’ve been hunting down to kill the devil, was given to a demon named Crowley. It’s a fun episode, but ultimately skippable. This episode isn’t so much metanarrative as it is metatextual—metatextual meaning more than one layer of text but not necessarily about the storytelling in those texts—but let’s take a look at it anyway.

The metanarrative element of a show about a series of books about the brothers the show is based on is dope and expands upon what we saw in “the monster at the end of this book”. But the episode tells a tale about about the show itself, and the fandom that surrounds it. 

Where “The Monster At The End Of This Book” and the season 5 premiere “Sympathy For The Devil” poked at the coiled snake of fans and the concept of fandom, “the real ghostbusters” drags them into the harsh light of an enclosure and antagonises them in front of an audience. The metanarrative element revolves around not only the books themselves, but the stories concocted within the episode: namely Barnes and Demian the cosplayers and the story of the ghosts. The Winchester brothers’s history that we’ve seen throughout the first five seasons of the show is bared in a tongue in cheek way: while we cried with them when Sam and Dean fought with John, now the story is thrown out in such a way as to mock both the story and the fans’ relationship to it. Let me tell you, there is a lot to be made fun of on this show, but the fans’ relationship to the story of Sam, Dean and everyone they encounter along the way isn’t part of it. I don’t mean to be like, wow you can’t make fun of us ever because we’re special little snowflakes and we take everything so seriously, because you are welcome to make fun of us, but when the creators do it, I can’t help but notice a hint of malice. And I think that’s understandable in a way. Like The relationship between creator and fan is both layered and symbiotic. While Kripke and co no doubt owe the show’s popularity to the fans, especially as the fandom has grown and evolved over time, we’re not exactly free of sin. And don’t get me wrong, no fandom is. But the bad apples always seem to outweigh the good ones, and bad experiences can stick with us long past their due.

However, portraying us as losers with no lives who get too obsessed with this show — well, you know, actually, maybe they’re right. I am a loser with no life and I am too obsessed with this show. So maybe they have a point. But they’re so harsh about it. From wincestie Becky who they paint as a desperate shrew to these cosplayers who threaten Dean’s very perception of himself, we’re not painted in a very good light. 

Dean says to Demian and Barnes, “It must be nice to get out of your mom’s basement.” He’s judging them for deriving pleasure from dressing up and pretending to be someone else for a night. He doesn’t seem to get the irony that he does that for a living. As the seasons wore on, the creators made sure to include episodes where Dean’s inner geek could run rampant, often in the form of dressing up like a cowboy, such as season six “Frontierland” and season 13 “Tombstone”. I had to take a break from writing this to laugh for five minutes because Dean is so funny. He’s a car gay but he only likes one car. He doesn’t follow sports. His echolalia causes him to blurt out lines from his favourite movies. He’s a posse magnet. And he loves cosplay. But he will continually degrade and insult anyone who expresses interest in role play, fandom, or interests in general. Maybe that’s why Sam is such a boring person, because Dean as his mother didn’t allow him to have any interests outside of hunting. And when Sam does express interests, Dean insults him too. What a dick. He’s my soulmate, but I am not going to stop listening to hair metal for him. That’s where I draw the line. 

 Where “the monster at the end of this book” is concerned with narrative and authorship, “the real ghostbusters” is concerned with fandom and fan reactions to the show. It’s not really the best example to talk about in an episode about metanarrativity, but I wanted to include it anyway. It veers from talk of narrative by focusing on the people in the periphery of the narrative—the fans and the author. In season 9 “Metafiction,” Metatron asks the question, who gives the story meaning? The text would have you believe it’s the characters. The angels think it’s God. The fandom think it’s us. The creators think it’s them. Perhaps we will never come to a consensus or even a satisfactory answer to this question. Perhaps that’s the point.

The ultimate takeaway from this episode is that ordinary people, the people Sam and Dean save, the people they save the world for, the people they die for again and again, are what give their story meaning. Chuck defeats a ghost and saves the people in the conference room from being murdered. Demian and Barnes, don’t ask me which is which, burn the bodies of the ghost children and lay their spirits to rest. The text says that ordinary, every day people can rise to the challenge of becoming extraordinary. It’s not a bad note to end on, by any means. And then we find out that Demian and Barnes are a couple, which of course Dean is surprised at, because he lacks object permanence. 

This is no doubt influenced by how a good portion of the transformative fandom are queer, and also a nod to the wincesties and RPF writers like Becky who continue to bottom feed off the wrong message of this show. But then, the creators encourage that sort of thing, so who are the real clowns here? Everyone. Everyone involved with this show in any way is a clown, except for the crew, who were able to feed their families for more than a decade. 

Okay side note… over the past year or so I’ve been in process of realising that even in fandom queers are in the minority. I know the statistic is that 10% of the world population is queer, but that doesn’t seem right to me? Maybe because 4/5 closest friends are queer and I hang around queers online, but I also think I lack object permanence when it comes to straight people. Like I just do not interact with straight people on a regular basis outside of my best friend and parents and school. So when I hear that someone in fandom is straight I’m like, what the fuck… can you keep that to yourself please? Like if I saw Misha Collins coming out as straight I would be like, I didn’t ask and you didn’t have to tell. Okay I’m mostly joking, but I do forget straight people exist. Mostly I don’t think about whether people are gay or trans or cis or straight unless they’ve explicitly said it and then yes it does colour my perception of them, because of course it would. If they’re part of the queer community, they’re my people. And if they’re straight and cis, then they could very well pose a threat to me and my wellbeing. But I never ask people because it’s not my business to ask. If they feel comfortable enough to tell me, that’s awesome.  I think Dean feels the same way. Towards the later seasons at least, he has a good reaction when it’s revealed that someone is queer, even if it is mostly played off as a joke. It’s just that he doesn’t have a frame of reference in his own life to having a gay relationship, either his or someone he’s close to. He says to Cesar and Jesse in season 11 “The Critters” that they fight like brothers, because that’s the only way he knows how to conceptualise it. He doesn’t have a way to categorise his and Cas’s relationship, which is in many ways, long before season 15 “Despair,” harking back even to the parallels between Ruby and Cas in season 3 and 4, a romantic one, aside from that Cas is like a brother to him. Because he’s never had anyone in his life care for him the way Cas does that wasn’t Sam and Bobby, and he doesn’t recognise the romantic element of their relationship until literally Cas says it to him in the third last episode, he just—doesn’t know what his and Cas’s relationship is. He just really doesn’t know. And he grew up with a father who despised him for taking the mom and wife role in their family, the role that John placed him in, for being subservient to John’s wishes where Sam was more rebellious, so of course he wouldn’t understand either his own desires or those of anyone around him who isn’t explicitly shoving their tits in his face. He moulded his entire personality around what he thought John wanted of him, and John says to him explicitly in season 14 “Lebanon”, “I thought you’d have a family,” meaning, like him, wife and two rugrats. And then, dear god, Dean says, thinking of Sam, Cas, Jack, Claire, and Mary, “I have a family.” God that hurts so much. But since for most of his life he hasn’t been himself, he’s been the man he thought his father wanted him to be, he’s never been able to examine his own desires, wants and goals. So even though he’s really good at reading people, he is not good at reading other people’s desires unless they have nefarious intentions. Because he doesn’t recognise what he feels is attraction to men, he doesn’t recognise that in anyone else. 

Okay that’s completely off topic, wow. Getting back to metanarrativity in “The Real Ghostbusters,” I’ll just cap it off by saying that the books in this episode are more a frame for the events than the events themselves. However, there are some good outtakes where Chuck answers some questions, and I’m not sure how much of that is scripted and how much is Rob Benedict just going for it, but it lends another element to the idea of Kripke as author-god. The idea of a fan convention is really cool, because at this point Supernatural conventions had been running for about 4 years, since 2006. It’s definitely a tribute to the fans, but also to their own self importance. So it’s a mixed bag, considering there were plenty of elements in there that show the good side of fandom and fans, but ultimately the Winchesters want nothing to do with it, consider it weird, and threaten Chuck when he says he’ll start releasing books again, which as far as they know is his only source of income. But it’s a fun episode and Dean is a grouchy bitch, so who the holy hell cares?

Season 10 episode “fanfiction” written by my close personal friend Robbie Thompson and directed by Phil Sgriccia is one of the funniest episodes this show has ever done. Not only is it full of metatextual and metanarrative jokes, the entire premise revolves around fanservice, but in like a fun and interesting way, not fanservice like killing the band Kansas so that Dean can listen to “Carry On My Wayward Son” in heaven twice. Twice. One version after another. Like I would watch this musical seven times in theatre, I would buy the soundtrack, I would listen to it on repeat and make all my friends listen to it when they attend my online Jitsi birthday party. This musical is my Hamilton. Top ten episodes of this show for sure. The only way it could be better is if Cas was there. And he deserved to be there. He deserved to watch little dyke Castiel make out with her girlfriend with her cute little wings, after which he and Dean share uncomfortable eye contact. Dean himself is forever coming to terms with the fact that gay people exist, but Cas should get every opportunity he can to hear that it’s super cool and great and awesome to be queer. But really he should be in every episode, all of them, all 300 plus episodes including the ones before angels were introduced. I’m going to commission the guy who edits Paddington into every movie to superimpose Cas standing on the highway into every episode at least once.

“Fan Fiction” starts with a tv script and the words “Supernatural pilot created by Eric Kripke”. This Immediately sets up the idea that it’s toying with narrative. Blah blah blah, some people go missing, they stumble into a scene from their worst nightmares: the school is putting on a musical production of a show inspired by the Supernatural books. It’s a comedy of errors. When people continue to go missing, Sam and Dean have to convince the girls that something supernatural is happening, while retaining their dignity and respect. They reveal that they are the real Sam and Dean, and Dean gives the director Marie a summary of their lives over the last five seasons, but they aren’t taken seriously. Because, like, of course they aren’t. Even when the girls realise that something supernatural is happening, they don’t actually believe that the musical they’ve made and the series of books they’re basing it on are real. Despite how Sam and Dean Winchester were literal fugitives for many years at many different times, and this was on the news, and they were wanted by the FBI, despite how they pretend to be FBI, and no one mentions it??? Did any of the staffwriters do the required reading or just do what I used to do for my 40 plus page readings of Baudrillard and just skim the first sentence of every paragraph? Neat hack for you: paragraphs are set up in a logical order of Topic, Example, Elaboration, Linking sentence. Do you have to read 60 pages of some crusty French dude waxing poetic about how his best friend Pierre wants to shag his wife and making that your problem? Read the first and last sentence of every paragraph. Boom, done. Just cut your work in half. 

The musical highlights a lot of the important moments of the show so far. The brothers have, as Charlie Bradbury says, their “broment,” and as Marie says, their “boy melodrama scene,” while she insinuates that there is a sexual element to their relationship. This show never passed up an opportunity to mention incest. It’s like: mentioning incest 5000 km, not being disgusting 1 km, what a hard decision. Actually, they do have to walk on their knees for 100 miles through the desert repenting. But there are other moments—such as Mary burning on the ceiling, a classic, Castiel waiting for Dean at the side of the highway, and Azazel poisoning Sam. With the help of the high schoolers, Sam and Dean overcome Calliope, the muse and bad guy of the episode, and save the day. What began as their lives reinterpreted and told back to them turns into a story they have some agency over.

In this episode, as opposed to “The Monster At The End Of This Book,” The storytelling has transferred from an alcoholic in a bathrobe into the hands of an overbearing and overachieving teenage girl, and honestly why not. Transformative fiction is by and large run by women, and queer women, so Marie and her stage manager slash Jody Mills’s understudy Maeve are just following in the footsteps of legends. This kind of really succinctly summarises the difference between curative fandom and transformative fandom, the former of which is populated mostly by men, and the latter mostly by women. As defined by LordByronic in 2015, Curative fandom is more like enjoying the text, collecting the merchandise, organising the knowledge — basically Reddit in terms of fandom curation. Transformative fandom is transforming the source text in some way — making fanart, fanfic, mvs, or a musical — basically Tumblr in general, and Archive of our own specifically. Like what do non fandom people even do on Tumblr? It is a complete mystery to me. Whereas Chuck literally writes himself into the narrative he receives through visions, Marie and co have agency and control over the narrative by writing it themselves. 

Chuck does appear in the episode towards the end, his first appearance after five seasons. The theory that he killed those lesbian theatre girls makes me wanna curl up and die, so I don’t subscribe to it. Chuck watched the musical and he liked it and he gave unwarranted notes and then he left, the end.

The Supernatural creative team is explicitly acknowledging the fandom’s efforts by making this episode. They’re writing us in again, with more obsessive fans, but with lethbians this time, which makes it infinitely better. And instead of showing us as potential date rapists, we’re just cool chicks who like to make art. And that’s fucken awesome. 

I just have to note that the characters literally say the word Destiel after Dean sees the actors playing Dean and Cas making out. He storms off and tells Sam to shut the fuck up when Sam makes fun of him, because Dean’s sexuality is NOT threatened he just needs to assert his dominance as a straight hetero man who has NEVER looked at another man’s lips and licked his own. He just… forgets that gay people exist until someone reminds him. BUT THEN, after a rousing speech that is stolen from Rent or Wicked or something, he echoes Marie’s words back, saying “put as much sub into that text as you possibly can.” What does Dean know about subbing, I wonder. Okay I’m suddenly reminded that he did literally go to a kink bar and get hit on by a leather daddy. Oh Dean, the experiences you have as a broad-shouldered, pixie-faced man with cowboy legs. You were born for this role.

Metatron is my favourite villain. As one tumblr user pointed out, he is an evil English literature major, which is just a normal English literature major. The season nine episode “Meta Fiction” written by my main man robbie thompson and directed by thomas j wright, happens within a curious season. Castiel, once again, becomes the leader of a portion of the heavenly host to take down Metatron, and Dean is affected by the Mark Of Cain. Sam was recently possessed by Gadreel, who killed Kevin in Sam’s body and then decided to run off with Metatron. Metatron himself is recruiting angels to join him, in the hopes that he can become the new God. It’s the first introduction of Hannah, who encourages Cas to recruit angels himself to take on Metatron. Also, we get to see Gabriel again, who is always a delight. 

This episode is a lot of fun. Metatron poses questions like, who tells a story and who is the most important person in the telling? Is it the writer? The audience? He starts off staring over his typewriter to address the camera, like a pompous dickhead. No longer content with consuming stories, he’s started to write his own. And they are hubristic ones about becoming God, a better god than Chuck ever was, but to do it he needs to kill a bunch of people and blame it on Cas. So really, he’s actually exactly like Chuck who blamed everything on Lucifer. 

But I think the most apt analogy we can use for this in terms of who is the creator is to think of Metatron as a fanfiction writer. He consumes the media—the Winchester Gospels—and starts to write his own version of events—leading an army to become God and kill Cas. Nevermind that no one has been able to kill Cas in a way that matters or a way that sticks. Which is canon, and what Metatron is trying to do is—well not fanon because it actually does impact the Winchesters’ storyline. It would be like if one of the writers of Supernatural began writing Supernatural fanfiction before they got a job on the show. Which as my generation and the generations coming after me get more comfortable with fanfiction and fandom, is going to be the case for a lot of shows. I think it’s already the case for Riverdale. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the woman who wrote the bi Dean essay go to work on Riverdale? Or something? I dunno, I have the post saved in my tumblr likes but that is quagmire of epic proportions that I will easily get lost in if I try to find it. 

Okay let me flex my literary degree. As Englund and Leach say in “Ethnography and the metanarratives of modernity,” “The influential “literary turn,” in which the problems of ethnography were seen as largely textual and their solutions as lying in experimental writing seems to have lost its impetus.” This can be taken to mean, in the context of Supernatural, that while Metatron’s writings seek to forge a new path in history, forgoing fate for a new kind of divine intervention, the problem with Metatron is that he’s too caught up in the textual, too caught up in the writing, to be effectual. And this as we see throughout seasons 9, 10 and 11, has no lasting effect. Cas gets his grace back, Dean survives, and Metatron becomes a powerless human. In this case, the impetus is his grace, which he loses when Cas cuts it out of him, a mirror to Metatron cutting out Cas’s grace. 

However, I realise that the concept of ethnography in Supernatural is a flawed one, ethnography being the observation of another culture: a lot of the angels observe humanity and seem to fit in. However, Cas has to slowly acclimatise to the Winchesters as they tame him, but he never quite fit in—missing cues, not understanding jokes or Dean’s personal space, the scene where he says, “We have a guinea pig? Where?” Show him the guinea pig Sam!!! He wants to see it!!! At most he passes as a human with autism. Cas doesn’t really observe humanity—he observes nature, as seen in season 7 “reading is fundamental” and “survival of the fittest”. Even the human acts he talks about in season 6 “the man who would be king” are from hundreds or thousands of years ago. He certainly doesn’t observe popular culture, which puts him at odds with Dean, who is made up of 90 per cent pop culture references and 10 per cent flannel. Metatron doesn’t seek to blend in with humanity so much as control it, which actually is the most apt example of ethnography for white people in the last—you know, forever. But of course the writers didn’t seek to make this analogy. It is purely by chance, and maybe I’m the only person insane enough to realise it. But probably not. There are a lot of cookies much smarter than me in the Supernatural fandom and they’ve like me have grown up and gone to university and gotten real jobs in the real world and real haircuts. I’m probably the only person to apply Englund and Leach to it though.

And yes, as I read this paper I did need to have one tab open on Google, with the word “define” in the search bar. 

Metatron has a few lines in this that I really like. He says: 

“The universe is made up of stories, not atoms.”

“You’re going to have to follow my script.”

“I’m an entity of my word.”

It’s really obvious, but they’re pushing the idea that Metatron has become an agent of authorship instead of just a consumer of media. He even throws a Supernatural book into his fire — a symbolic act of burning the script and flipping the writer off, much like Cas did to God and the angels in season 5. He’s not a Kripke figure so much as maybe a Gamble, Carver or Dabb figure, in that he usurps Chuck and becomes the author-god. This would be extremely postmodern of him if he didn’t just do exactly what Chuck was doing, except worse somehow. In fact, it’s postmodern of Cas to reject heaven’s narrative and fall for Dean. As one tumblr user points out, Cas really said “What’s fate compared to Dean Winchester?”

Okay this transcript is almost 8000 words already, and I still have two more episodes to review, and more things to say, so I’ll leave you with this. Metatron says to Cas, “Out of all of God’s wind up toys, you’re the only one with any spunk.” Why Cas has captured his attention comes down more than anything to a process of elimination. Most angels fucking suck. They follow the rules of whoever puts themselves in charge, and they either love Cas or hate him, or just plainly wanna fuck him, and there have been few angels who stood out. Balthazar was awesome, even though I hated him the first time I watched season 6. He UNSUNK the Titanic. Legend status. And Gabriel was of course the OG who loves to fuck shit up. But they’re gone at this stage in the narrative, and Cas survives. Cas always survives. He does have spunk. And everyone wants to fuck him.  

Season 11 episode 20 “Don’t Call Me Shurley,” the last episode written by the Christ like figure of Robbie Thompson — are we sensing a theme here? — and directed by my divine enemy Robert Singer, starts with Metatron dumpster diving for food. I’m not even going to bother commenting on this because like… it’s supernatural and it treats complex issues like homelessness and poverty with zero nuance. Like the Winchesters live in poverty but it’s fun and cool because they always scrape by but Metatron lives in poverty and it’s funny. Cas was homeless and it was hard but he needed to do it to atone for his sins, and Metatron is homeless and it’s funny because he brought it on himself by being a murderous dick. Fucking hell. Robbie, come on. The plot focuses on God, also known as Chuck Shurley, making himself known to Metatron and asking for Metatron’s opinion on his memoir. Meanwhile, the Winchesters battle another bout of infectious serial killer fog sent by Amara. At the end of the episode, Chuck heals everyone affected by the fog and reveals himself to Sam and Dean. 

Chuck says that he didn’t foresee Metatron trying to become god, but the idea of Season 15 is that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all their lives. When Metatron tries, he fails miserably, is locked up in prison, tortured by Dean, then rendered useless as a human and thrown into the world without a safety net. His authorship is reduced to nothing, and he is reduced to dumpster diving for food. He does actually attempt to live his life as someone who records tragedies as they happen and sells the footage to news stations, which is honestly hilarious and amazing and completely unsurprising because Metatron is, at the heart of it, an English Literature major. In true bastard style, he insults Chuck’s work and complains about the bar, but slips into his old role of editor when Chuck asks him to. 

The theory I’m consulting for this uses the term metanarrative in a different way than I am. They consider it an overarching narrative, a grand narrative like religion. Chuck’s biography is in a sense most loyal to Middleton and Walsh’s view of metanarrative: “the universal story of the world from arche to telos, a grand narrative encompassing world history from beginning to end.” Except instead of world history, it’s God’s history, and since God is construed in Supernatural as just some guy with some powers who is as fallible as the next some guy with some powers, his story has biases and agendas.  Okay so in the analysis I’m getting Middleton and Walsh’s quotes from, James K A Smith’s “A little story about metanarratives,” Smith dunks on them pretty bad, but for Supernatural purposes their words ring true. Think of them as the BuckLeming of Lyotard’s postmodern metanarrative analysis: a stopped clock right twice a day. Is anyone except me understanding the sequence of words I’m saying right now. Do I just have the most specific case of brain worms ever found in human history. I’m currently wearing my oversized Keith Haring shirt and dipping pretzels into peanut butter because it’s 3.18 in the morning and the homosexuals got to me. The total claims a comprehensive metanarrative of world history make do indeed, as Middleton and Walsh claim, lead to violence, stay with me here, because Chuck’s legacy is violence, and so is Metatron’s, and in trying to reject the metanarrative, Sam and Dean enact violence. Mostly Dean, because in season 15 he sacrifices his own son twice to defeat Chuck. But that means literally fighting violence with violence. Violence is, after all, all they know. Violence is the lens through which they interact with the world. If the writers wanted to do literally anything else, they could have continued Dean’s natural character progression into someone who eschews the violence that stems from intergeneration trauma — yes I will continue to use the phrase intergenerational trauma whenever I refer to Dean — and becomes a loving father and husband. Sam could eschew violence and start a monster rehabilitation centre with Eileen.

This episode of Holy Hell is me frantically grabbing at straws to make sense of a narrative that actively hates me and wants to kick me to death. But the violence Sam and Dean enact is not at a metanarrative level, because they are not author-gods of their own narrative. In season 15 “Atomic Monsters,” Becky points out that the ending of the Supernatural book series is bad because the brothers die, and then, in a shocking twist of fate, Dean does die, and the narrative is bad. The writers set themselves a goal post to kick through and instead just slammed their heat into the bars. They set up the dartboard and were like, let’s aim the darts at ourselves. Wouldn’t that be fun. Season 15’s writing is so grossly incompetent that I believe every single conspiracy theory that’s come out of the finale since November, because it’s so much more compelling than whatever the fuck happened on the road so far. Carry on? Why yes, I think I will carry on, carry on like a pork chop, screaming at the bars of my enclosure until I crack my voice open like an egg and spill out all my rage and frustration. The world will never know peace again. It’s now 3.29 and I’ve written over 9000 words of this transcript. And I’m not done.

Middleton and Walsh claim that metanarratives are merely social constructions masquerading as universal truths. Which is, exactly, Supernatural. The creators have constructed this elaborate web of narrative that they want to sell us as the be all and end all. They won’t let the actors discuss how they really feel about the finale. They won’t let Misha Collins talk about Destiel. They want us to believe it was good, actually, that Dean, a recovering alcoholic with a 30 year old infant son and a husband who loves him, deserved to die by getting NAILED, while Sam, who spent the last four seasons, the entirety of Andrew Dabb’s run as showrunner, excelling at creating a hunter network and romancing both the queen of hell and his deaf hunter girlfriend, should have lived a normie life with a normie faceless wife. Am I done? Not even close. I started this episode and I’m going to finish it.

When we find out that Chuck is God in the episode of season 11, it turns everything we knew about Chuck on its head. We find out in Season 15 that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all along, that everything that happened to them is his doing. The one thing he couldn’t control was Cas’s choice to rebel. If we take him at his word, Cas is the only true force of free will in the entire universe, and more specifically, the love that Cas had for Dean which caused him to rebel and fall from heaven. — This theory has holes of course. Why would Lucifer torture Lilith into becoming the first demon if he didn’t have free will? Did Chuck make him do that? And why? So that Chuck could be the hero and Lucifer the bad guy, like Lucifer claimed all along? That’s to say nothing of Adam and Eve, both characters the show introduced in different ways, one as an antagonist and the other as the narrative foil to Dean and Cas’s romance. Thinking about it makes my head hurt, so I’m just not gunna. 

So Chuck was doing the writing all along. And as Becky claims in “Atomic Monsters,” it’s bad writing. The writers explicitly said, the ending Chuck wrote is bad because there’s no Cas and everyone dies, and then they wrote an ending where there is no Cas and everyone dies. So talk about self-fulfilling prophecies. Talk about giant craters in the earth you could see from 800 kilometres away but you still fell into. Meanwhile fan writers have the opportunity to write a million different endings, all of which satisfy at least one person. The fandom is a hydra, prolific and unstoppable, and we’ll keep rewriting the ending a million more times.

And all this is not even talking about the fact that Chuck is a man, Metatron is a man, Sam and Dean and Cas are men, and the writers and directors of the show are, by an overwhelming majority, men. Most of them are white, straight, cis men. Feminist scholarship has done a lot to unpack the damage done by paternalistic approaches to theory, sociology, ethnography, all the -ys, but I propose we go a step further with these men. Kill them. Metanarratively, of course. Amara, the Darkness, God’s sister, had a chance to write her own story without Chuck, after killing everything in the universe, and I think she had the right idea. Knock it all down to build it from the ground up. Billie also had the opportunity to write a narrative, but her folly was, of course, putting any kind of faith in the Winchesters who are also grossly incompetent and often fail up. She is, as all author-gods on this show are, undone by Castiel. The only one with any spunk, the only one who exists outside of his own narrative confines, the only one the author-gods don’t have any control over. The one who died for love, and in dying, gave life. 

The French Mistake

Let’s change the channel. Let’s calm ourselves and cleanse our libras. Let’s commune with nature and chug some sage bongs. 

“The French Mistake” is a song from the Mel Brooks film Blazing Saddles. In the iconic second last scene of the film, as the cowboys fight amongst themselves, the camera pans back to reveal a studio lot and a door through which a chorus of gay dancersingers perform “the French Mistake”. The lyrics go, “Throw out your hands, stick out your tush, hands on your hips, give ‘em a push. You’ll be surprised you’re doing the French Mistake.” 

I’m not sure what went through the heads of the Supernatural creators when they came up with the season 6 episode, “The French Mistake,” written by the love of my life Ben Edlund and directed by some guy Charles Beeson. Just reading the Wikipedia summary is so batshit incomprehensible. In short: Balthazar sends Sam and Dean to an alternate universe where they are the actors Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, who play Sam and Dean on the tv show Supernatural. I don’t think this had ever been done in television history before. The first seven seasons of this show are certifiable. Like this was ten years ago. Think about the things that have happened in the last 10 slutty, slutty years. We have lived through atrocities and upheaval and the entire world stopping to mourn, but also we had twitter throughout that entire time, which makes it infinitely worse.

In this universe, Sam and Dean wear makeup, Cas is played by attractive crying man Misha Collins, and Genevieve Padalecki nee Cortese makes an appearance. Magic doesn’t exist, Serge has good ideas, and the two leads have to act in order to get through the day. Sorry man I do not know how to pronounce your name.

Sidenote: I don’t know if me being attracted aesthetically to Misha Collins is because he’s attractive, because this show has gaslighted me into thinking he’s attractive, or because Castiel’s iconic entrance in 2008 hit my developing mind like a torpedo full of spaghetti and blew my fucking brains all over the place. It’s one of life’s little mysteries and God’s little gifts.

Let’s talk about therapy. More specifically, “Agency and purpose in narrative therapy: questioning the postmodern rejection of metanarrative” by Cameron Lee. In this paper, Lee outlines four key ideas as proposed by Freedman and Combs:

Realities are socially constructed

Realities are constituted through language

Realities are organised and maintained through narrative

And there are no essential truths.

Let’s break this down in the case of this episode. Realities are socially constructed: the reality of Sam and Dean arose from the Bush era. Do I even need to elaborate? From what I understand with my limited Australian perception, and being a child at the time, 9/11 really was a prominent shifting point in the last twenty years. As Americans describe it, sometimes jokingly, it was the last time they were really truly innocent. That means to me that until they saw the repercussions of their government’s actions in funding turf wars throughout the middle east for a good chunk of the 20th Century, they allowed themselves to be hindered by their own ignorance. The threat of terrorism ran rampant throughout the States, spurred on by right wing nationalists and gun-toting NRA supporters, so it’s really no surprise that the show Supernatural started with the premise of killing everything in sight and driving around with only your closest kin and a trunk full of guns. Kripke constructed that reality from the social-political climate of the time, and it has wrought untold horrors on the minds of lesbians who lived through the noughties, in that we are now attracted to Misha Collins.

Number two: Realities are constituted through language. Before a show can become a show, it needs to be a script. It’s written down, typed up, and given to actors who say the lines out loud. In this respect, they are using the language of speech and words to convey meaning. But tv shows are not all about words, and they’re barely about scripts. From what I understand of being raised by television, they are about action, visuals, imagery, and behaviours. All of the work that goes into them—the scripts, the lighting, the audio, the sound mixing, the cameras, the extras, the ADs, the gaffing, the props, the stunts, everything—is about conveying a story through the medium of images. In that way, images are the language. The reality of the show Supernatural, inside the show Supernatural, is constituted through words: the script, the journalists talking to Sam, the makeup artist taking off Dean’s makeup, the conversations between the creators, the tweets Misha sends. But also through imagery: the fish tank in Jensen’s trailer, the model poses on the front cover of the magazine, the opulence of Jared’s house, Misha’s iconic sweater. Words and images are the language that constitutes both of these realities. Okay for real, I feel like I’ve only seen this episode max three times, including when I watched it for research for this episode, but I remember so much about it. 

Number three: realities are organised and maintained through narrative. In this universe of the French Mistake, their lives are structured around two narratives: the internal narrative of the show within the show, in which they are two actors on a tv set; and the episode narrative in which they need to keep the key safe and return to their own universe. This is made difficult by the revelation that magic doesn’t work in this universe, however, they find a way. Before they can get back, though, an avenging angel by the name of Virgil guns down author-god Eric Kripke and tries to kill the Winchesters. However, they are saved by Balthazar and the freeze frame and brought back into their own world, the world of Supernatural the show, not Supernatural the show within the show within the nesting doll. And then that reality is done with, never to be revisited or even mentioned, but with an impact that has lasted longer than the second Bush administration.

And number four: there are no essential truths. This one is a bit tricky because I can’t find what Lee means by essential truths, so I’m just going to interpret that. To me, essential truths means what lies beneath the narratives we tell ourselves. Supernatural was a show that ran for 15 years. Supernatural had actors. Supernatural was showrun by four different writers. In the show within a show, there is nothing, because that ceases to exist for longer than the forty two minute episode “The French Mistake”. And since Supernatural no longer exists except in our computers, it is nothing too. It is only the narratives we tell ourselves to sleep better at night, to wake up in the morning with a smile, to get through the day, to connect with other people, to understand ourselves better. It’s not even the narrative that the showrunners told, because they have no agency over it as soon as it shows up on our screens. The essential truth of the show is lost in the translation from creating to consuming. Who gives the story meaning? The people watching it and the people creating it. We all do. 

Lee says that humans are predisposed to construct narratives in order to make sense of the world. We see this in cultures from all over the world: from cave paintings to vases, from The Dreaming to Beowulf, humans have always constructed stories. The way you think about yourself is a story that you’ve constructed. The way you interact with your loved ones and the furries you rightfully cyberbully on Twitter is influenced by the narratives you tell yourself about them. And these narratives are intricate, expansive, personalised, and can colour our perceptions completely, so that we turn into a different person when we interact with one person as opposed to another. 

Whatever happened in season 6, most of which I want to forget, doesn’t interest me in the way I’m telling myself the writers intended. For me, the entirety of season 6 was based around the premise of Cas being in love with Dean, and the complete impotence of this love. He turns up when Dean calls, he agonises as he watches Dean rake leaves and live his apple pie life with Lisa, and Dean is the person he feels most horribly about betraying. He says, verbatim, to Sam, “Dean and I do share a more profound bond.” And Balthazar says, “You’re confusing me with the other angel, the one in the dirty trenchcoat who’s in love with you.” He says this in season 6, and we couldn’t do a fucken thing about it. 

The song “The French Mistake” shines a light on the hidden scene of gay men performing a gay narrative, in the midst of a scene about the manliest profession you can have: professional horse wrangler, poncho wearer, and rodeo meister, the cowboy. If this isn’t a perfect encapsulation of the lovestory between Dean and Cas, which Ben Edlund has been championing from day fucking one of Misha Collins walking onto that set with his sex hair and chapped lips, then I don’t know what the fuck we’re even doing here. What in the hell else could it possibly mean. The layers to this. The intricacy. The agendas. The subtextual AND blatant queerness. The micro aggressions Crowley aimed at Car in “The Man Who Would Be King,” another Bedlund special. Bed Edlund is a fucking genius. Bed Edlund is cool girl. Ben Edlund is the missing link. Bed Edlund IS wikileaks. Ben Edlund is a cool breeze on a humid summer day. Ben Edlund is the stop loading button on a browser tab. Ben Edlund is the perfect cross between Spotify and Apple Music, in which you can search for good playlists, but without having to be on Spotify. He can take my keys and fuck my wife. You best believe I’m doing an entire episode of Holy Hell on Bedlund’s top five. He is the reason I want to get into staffwriting on a tv show. I saw season 4 episode “On the head of a pin” when my brain was still torpedoed spaghetti mush from the premiere, and it nestled its way deep into my exposed bones, so that when I finally recovered from that, I was a changed person. My god, this transcript is 11,000 words, and I haven’t even finished the Becky section. Which is a good transition.

Oh, Becky. She is an incarnation of how the writers, or at least Kripke, view the fans. Watching season 5 “Sympathy for the Devil” live in 2009 was a whole fucking trip that I as a baby gay was not prepared for. Figuring out my sexuality was a journey that started with the Supernatural fandom and is in some aspects still raging against the dying of the light today. Add to that, this conception of the audience was this, like, personification of the librarian cellist from Juno, but also completely without boundaries, common sense, or shame. It made me wonder about my position in the narrative as a consumer consuming. Is that how Kripke saw me, specifically? Was I like Becky? Did my forays into DeanCasNatural on El Jay dot com make me a fucking loser whose only claim to fame is writing some nasty fanfiction that I’ve since deleted all traces of? Don’t get me wrong, me and my unhinged Casgirl friends loved Becky. I can’t remember if I ever wrote any fanfiction with her in it because I was mostly writing smut, which is extremely Becky coded of me, but I read some and my friends and I would always chat about her when she came up. She was great entertainment value before season 7. But in the eyes of the powers that be, Becky, like the fans themselves, are expendable. First they turned her into a desperate bride wannabe who drugs Sam so that he’ll be with her, then Chuck waves his hand and she disappears. We’re seeing now with regards to Destiel, Cas, and Misha Collins this erasure of them from the narrative. Becky says in season 15 “Atomic Monsters” that the ending Chuck writes is bad because, for one, there’s no Cas, and that’s exactly what’s happening to the text post-finale. It literally makes me insane akin to the throes of mania to think about the layers of this. They literally said, “No Cas = bad” and now Misha isn’t even allowed to talk in his Cassona voice—at least at the time I wrote that—to the detriment of the fans who care about him. It’s the same shit over and over. They introduce something we like, they realise they have no control over how much we like it, and then they pretend they never introduced it in the first place. Season 7, my god. The only reason Gamble brought back Cas was because the ratings were tanking the show. I didn’t even bother watching most of it live, and would just hear from my friends whether Cas was in the episodes or not. And then Sera, dear Sera, had the gall to say it was a Homer’s Odyssey narrative. I’m rusty on Homer aka I’ve never read it but apparently Odysseus goes away, ends up with a wife on an island somewhere, and then comes back to Terabithia like it never happened. How convenient. But since Sera Gamble loves to bury her gays, we can all guess why Cas was written out of the show: Cas being gay is a threat to the toxic heteronormativity spouted by both the show and the characters themselves. In season 15, after Becky gets her life together, has kids, gets married, and starts a business, she is outgrowing the narrative and Chuck kills her. The fans got Destiel Wedding trending on Twitter, and now the creators are acting like he doesn’t exist. New liver, same eagles.

I have to add an adendum: as of this morning, Sunday 11th, don’t ask me what time that is in Americaland, Misha Collins did an online con/Q&A thing and answered a bunch of questions about Cas and Dean, which goes to show that he cannot be silenced. So the narrative wants to be told. It’s continuing well into it’s 16th or 17th season. It’s going to keep happening and they have no recourse to stop it. So fuck you, Supernatural.

I did write the start of a speech about representation but, who the holy hell cares. I also read some disappointing Masters theses that I hope didn’t take them longer to research and write than this episode of a podcast I’m making for funsies took me, considering it’s the same number of pages. Then again I have the last four months and another 8 years of fandom fuelling my obsession, and when I don’t sleep I write, hence the 4,000 words I knocked out in the last 12 hours. 

Some final words. Lyotard defines postmodernism, the age we live in, as an incredulity towards metanarratives. Modernism was obsessed with order and meaning, but postmodernism seeks to disrupt that. Modernists lived within the frame of the narrative of their society, but postmodernists seek to destroy the frame and live within our own self-written contexts. Okay I love postmodernist theory so this has been a real treat for me. Yoghurt, Sam? Postmodernist theory? Could I BE more gay? 

Middleton and Walsh in their analysis of postmodernism claim that biblical faith is grounded in metanarrative, and explore how this intersects with an era that rejects metanarrative. This is one of the fundamental ideas Supernatural is getting at throughout definitely the last season, but other seasons as well. The narratives of Good vs Evil, Michael vs Lucifer, Dean vs Sam, were encoded into the overarching story of the show from season 1, and since then Sam and Dean have sought to break free of them. Sam broke free of John’s narrative, which was the hunting life, and revenge, and this moralistic machismo that they wrapped themselves up in. If they’re killing the evil, then they’re not the evil. That’s the story they told, and the impetus of the show that Sam was sucked back into. But this thread unravelled in later seasons when Dean became friends with Benny and the idea that all supernatural creatures are inherently evil unravelled as well. While they never completely broke free of John’s hold over them, welcoming Jack into their lives meant confronting a bias that had been ingrained in them since Dean was 4 years old and Sam 6 months. In the face of the question, “are all monsters monstrous?” the narrative loosens its control. Even by questioning it, it throws into doubt the overarching narrative of John’s plan, which is usurped at the end of season 2 when they kill Azazel by Dean’s demon deal and a new narrative unfolds. John as author-god is usurped by the actual God in season 4, who has his own narrative that controls the lives of Sam, Dean and Cas. 

Okay like for real, I do actually think the metanarrativity in Supernatural is something that should be studied by someone other than me, unless you wanna pay me for it and then shit yeah. It is extremely cool to introduce a biographical narrative about the fictional narrative it’s in. It’s cool that the characters are constantly calling this narrative into focus by fighting against it, struggling to break free from their textual confines to live a life outside of the external forces that control them. And the thing is? The really real, honest thing? They have. Sam, Dean and Cas have broken free of the narrative that Kripke, Carver, Gamble and Dabb wrote for them. The very fact that the textual confession of love that Cas has for Dean ushered in a resurgence of fans, fandom and activity that has kept the show trending for five months after it ended, is just phenomenal. People have pointed out that fans stopped caring about Game of Thrones as soon as it ended. Despite the hold they had over tv watchers everywhere, their cultural currency has been spent. The opposite is true for Supernatural. Despite how the finale of the show angered and confused people, it gains more momentum every day. More fanworks, more videos, more fics, more art, more ire, more merch is being generated by the fans still. The Supernatural subreddit, which was averaging a few posts a week by season 15, has been incensed by the finale. And yours truly happily traipsed back into the fandom snake pit after 8 years with a smile on my face and a skip in my step ready to pump that dopamine straight into my veins babeeeeeeyyyyy. It’s been WILD. I recently reconnected with one of my mutuals from 2010 and it’s like nothing’s changed. We’re both still unhinged and we both still simp for Supernatural. Even before season 15, I was obsessed with the podcast Ride Or Die, which I started listening to in late 2019, and Supernatural was always in the back of my mind. You just don’t get over your first fandom. Actually, Danny Phantom was my first fandom, and I remember being 12 talking on Danny Phantom forums to people much too old to be the target audience of the show. So I guess that hasn’t left me either. And the fondest memories I have of Supernatural is how the characters have usurped their creators to become mythic, long past the point they were supposed to die a quiet death. The myth weaving that the Supernatural fandom is doing right now is the legacy that will endure. 

References

I got all of these for free from Google Scholar! 

Judith May Fathallah, “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural.” 

James K A Smith, “A Little Story About Metanarratives: Lyotard, Religion and Postmodernism Revisited.” 2001.

Cameron Lee, “Agency and Purpose in Narrative Therapy: Questioning the Postmodern Rejection of Metanarrative.” 2004.

Harri Englund and James Leach, “Ethnography and the Meta Narratives of Modernity.” 2000.

https://uproxx.com/filmdrunk/mel-brooks-explains-french-mistake-blazing-saddles-blu-ray/

[purplerose244]

Winter Wonder

Hello there! Here’s my gift for the Lukadrien Winter Gift Exchange!! Thank you so much @lukadrien-winter for organizing the event, I really liked writing this one! This is for Zane_is_not_on_fire on Instagram, I hope you like it! 💜

Summary: One would think that, at least for Christmas, there wouldn't be any major unexpected and possibly dangerous events occurring in the life of a random civilian such as Adrien Agreste. Wishful thinking of course. Does the blonde mind? Not in the slightest.

Also on the AO3

Adrien was starting to see a pattern.

Despite trying to live a normal life at the expense of his father’s passion at keeping him locked into that crystal cage he happened to call home, ever since the Stoneheart incident that had shaken all of Paris – the one that had welcomed the city’s new beloved superheroes, Ladybug and the amazing Viperion… no favorites of course –, Adrien had gotten involved into this brand-new supernatural affair way more than he would had expected.

These akumas, that was what they were called? Were apparently people overwhelmed by bad emotions; controlled by a sad excuse of a man under the villain identity of Hawkmoth. And apparently, a good chunk of these extremely upsetting feelings was owed to the same blonde model whose face was plastered all over the city.

Bubbler? That guy Nino he had met once during his one and only day in a normal school, that had tried to throw him a birthday party – yeah he was awesome like that. Volpina? That girl Lila did not like how he had seemed way more interested in superheroes instead of her. Copycat? A sculptor in love with Ladybug that had wanted to put him into troubles after getting into a little embarrassing argument, something about Viperion not being tall enough in the statue – yeah, bad like that.

It was a mess every time it happened. Routine broken, city in panic, getting kidnapped by a rush of wind in his room, those kinds of things. But there was still a little positive aspect about these troubles, something that even right now, while hanging on the top of Le Grand Paris luxury hotel all tied up like a damsel in distress, he couldn’t help but enjoy.

It was one of the few chances he had to go outside. No homeschooling, no loneliness, no awkward solitary meals. Just him, the chilling air of winter, the Christmas concert getting evacuated under his eyes, and this overwhelming feeling of freedom.

“Ladybug, Viperion, you’ve finally arrived!” And a villain, of course, he almost forgot about the villain. With his flamboyant white appearance and the frozen tears on his cheeks, he looked like a theatre kid ready to deliver his monologue. “I am Frozen King, here to bring you the eternal winter, so you will all feel as miserable as I do!” And just as dramatically as one would have expected, he raised his arms to the night sky. “My friends will talk to me again, my parents will stop arguing, and I will finally watch Kitty Section play with Adrien in it, just how I wanted it!” Ah, here he had hoped at this point he had nothing to do with this. Being famous was really frustrating sometimes… most of the time… pretty much all the time.

Ladybug and Viperion were standing right in front of them. If it hadn’t been for the tense situation and this ferocious wind that made sitting on a rooftop even more unsteady than it already was, Adrien would have appreciated how the snake superhero’s suit was brightening up, covered in sweet white snowflakes.

“Frozen King, let go of him this instant!” Ladybug said with her yoyo out, a glare on her face that screamed confidence. “We understand that you’re hurt, but this isn’t the way to solve anything! If you give up now, we won’t attack you! But you must stop!” A rushed wind blew in her face.

“Shut up! I don’t care! This is who I am now, and you will all feel like me!”

Ladybug blinked, frost on her eyelashes, turning towards her partner.

“Told you diplomacy wasn’t going to work. Diplomacy never works.”

“Give me a break LB, if I don’t know if they can be saved, I wasn’t gonna let them get pummeled to the ground.” Viperion shined a grin towards her, holding out his harp with a sharp look into his eyes. “I’m sorry my friend, but we can’t let you do this. I happen to know a certain captain that wouldn’t be very excited knowing the entire Seine has turned into ice.” His smile fell when his eyes lingered over Adrien, and the blonde felt his entire body shiver. The cold had nothing to do with it. “Also, I don’t and will never condone the kidnapping of a fellow musician. Especially a pianist as good as him.” Holy cow, he knew him and his music and Kitty Section and he knew HIM. “One last warning, your highness. Let. Him. Go.”

Huh. Weird. Viperion was notoriously bad at talking, that was why pep talks and speeches were usually Ladybug’s thing. Today he looked a little more focused. More than Adrien at least, between his hero, a villain, and the wind that was getting even stronger.

It was actually starting to push him. He quickly pointed his feet down.

Frozen King didn’t seem to notice.

“Stop telling me what to do, stop assuming you’re sorry for me! If you were, none of this would’ve happened!” He screamed, more tears fell and froze, and an absolute cyclone of ice manifested all around him. “I deserve something good in my life, I do!! And if no one will give it to me, I will take it myself!!” He jumped towards the two superheroes, agitating a long whip that looked suspiciously like a very long ticket.

The thought should had given the blonde some kind of clue as to how to defeat this guy. He could at least give these heroes half a hand. Then again, he was a little more worried about the fact that he couldn’t feel the roof underneath him anymore. Adrien gasped when he realized he was floating midair because of the tornado and tried to push himself down. But then the clash between titans was happening nearby, and the winds reacted to their leader’s distress. Like an earthquake in the air, Adrien felt himself being shaken and turned, until his body was pushed a little too close to the edge of the roof. With that saying, way over the edge.

He had fallen off a building before. A ridiculous number of times even, especially considering he was a secluded kid, that was just what Paris was like lately. But it wasn’t exactly something you get used to, so the scream came on its own. The cold air rushed as hard as ever. Adrien closed his eyes, dreading the impact. Fear prevailed; regrets took over. What of his father? What of the band? What of his friends? What of his life?

What of his Luka?

The wind stopped for half a second before returning, and Adrien landed on the soft snow underneath. He shily opened one eyes, looking around. There was a white road covered in snow to catch his fall, soft and cold. And there was one superhero wrapped around him, soft and warm.

… Wait.

“Are you okay, Adrien?” Viperion looked up at him, hair riled up, eyes still widened and lovely and- did he just jump from a building to catch him?!

Adrien gaped for half a second, having to remind himself how to speak words.

“Yes- No- I mean-! I-I’m fine.” The snake superhero smiled warm enough to melt the snow.

“Good.” He shamelessly wrapped his arms around him once again, melting him. “I would hate to lose such a bright and talented person.” The line felt joking, his tone was anything but. If Adrien had ignored how his own body was involuntarily shaking, he could’ve felt him trembling as well, hard, like he was catching his breath after one big scare.

Which had been falling. It had been falling, right?

Adrien swallowed before tentatively hugging back, feeling the fainted sigh of relief coming from him. This was surreal. It felt comfortable and warm and so, so surreal.

“You saved me.”

“It’s kind of my job, yes.”

“You just fell off a-”

“You did too, at least I have superpowers to protect me.”

“Is one of them making decisions in cold blood?” He really couldn’t help that one, and he felt oddly proud of himself when Viperion let out a laugh. Maybe because of the adrenaline, that line made some kind of sense.

“… Thank you.” The snake superhero nodded, backing away with his hands over his shoulders before finally going over the rope all around him. He got up after untying the knot, helping him stand up with a hard pull – that just added consistency to his fantasies about just how strong he was under the costume.

On the roof, Ladybug was taking care of Frozen King pretty smoothly. Viperion gave the scene a quick look, grinning.

“Good, she’s got this. We got the plan down before arriving, and now that we have time, I have to get you somewhere safe.” He extended a hand towards him. “Come here, let’s go.” Weird, Adrien’s daydreaming was a little too vivid today, to the point he could actually hear it. And see it. And touch it- holy everything it was actually real.

“… Huh?” Viperion laughed. Again, that wonderful sound.

“Frozen King is kind of obsessed with you, so we better go somewhere else for a little while. Don’t worry, when everything is over, I’ll make sure you get back home safe and sound.” Everything had sounded very appealing to Adrien until that very last part. Then again this guy didn’t have to know. “So, you ready?” Never mind this, never mind his heart screaming yes even before he managed to grab the hero’s hand.

“Of course.” It was rough yet warm, despite the scaley appearance. He didn’t have the time to marvel at the discovery that he was pulled forward, right onto the firm chest of the hero, who looked extremely satisfied by his decision.

Adrien felt just as accomplished right now. And hot. So hot, was it actually winter?

Viperion smirked at him.

“Here we go.” He shot him a wink and picked him up effortlessly, an arm under his knees and another behind his should- okay his daydreaming was getting very intense right now. “Hold on tight.” Oh well, who was he to contradict a real-life superhero and not pull his arms around his neck to get dragged to some mysterious unknown place. That was always going to be a better Christmas than the one that was not waiting for him at home.

Nobody, absolutely nobody.

Adrien bit down a grin, he held on perhaps a little tighter than needed – all for safety reasons of course, heh heh –, and nodded, welcoming that blossoming feeling of happiness inside of his chest with wide arms.

It probably should have not been this satisfying taking flight, hoping to stay away from his own house as much as possible. Yet even in the embrace of the chilling cold Adrien found himself impossibly relieved. His mind filled with light after a day spent hoping and glooming.

Viperion jumped right onto a nearby building, running over the rooftops effortlessly, and the blonde could barely take in the sights around him. Paris shone with infinite lights and colors. Snow covering the city with wonder. Being here, right here, away and free, was like a shiver and a tickle cold and warm, confusing and exciting and so very real.

It didn’t last for long. The next thing he knew they were falling in a perfectly controlled direction, landing onto the ground in front of a familiar looking bakery. Finally, the hero put him down. Finally, and sadly. Adrien had to held back a sigh of disappointment, that vanished when Viperion’s beautiful laugh shook him again.

Without even realizing the blonde grinned back.

“What?” The superhero covered his mouth, shaking his head, eyes on his head? “… Is it my hair? Right, it’s probably super messy.” He could almost hear the synchronized choir of despair from all the hairdressers from his photoshoots. He reached up to fix his hair.

“Oh don’t, you look good.” Viperion grinned, tilting his head as to give him a good glance. “It actually suits you; you look rebellious. You should try it more often.” All of the sudden Adrien had the impellent urge to take all of his goody two shoes appearance that got him so far into the fashion world and toss it forever under the sea. For no reason at all.

Adrien curled one of his locks around his finger, feeling his face warm. So very warm.

“I don’t usually jump over buildings with a superhero.”

“That can change.” This guy seemed to love to aliment his imagination, especially by implying that this wasn’t meant to be a one-time thing. That sneaky snake. “Alright, I know that the Dupain-Chengs won’t have a problem keeping you hidden until it’s safe. After everything is solved they can call someone for you, a friend maybe.” Oh. He was grateful that he didn’t mention his parents, but that felt like a line a little too calculated. Like he knew. Weird. “So, you can get home safe and sound as soon as possible. How about that?”

He blamed the cold, the chill in his bones and the freezing atmosphere that he was sure was waiting for him at home, but Adrien couldn’t pull up the usual perfect mask of a smile, sighing deeply, feeling that this, like everything else, was only temporarily.

“I’m not really in a hurry.” Despite that, he tried to force a grin. “I, um… we’re not that festive, so there’s not exactly a whole Christmas party waiting for me at home.”

Viperion froze. Sincerely taken back. That was an unusual look on him.

“I… I thought you weren’t at the concert because you were celebrating with your dad.”

“I mean, he did get me a present. A whole box, actually.” The blonde hesitated for a second, suddenly self-conscious about it. “Chinese books, a bunch of musical sheets, volumes filled with France’s history, oh and Tomoe Tsurugi’s ‘Art of the sword’,” He grimaced the ghost of a smile. “Which is pretty cool… it probably would have been better if it wasn’t filled with notes on how to improve my form, but still.” Alas, the need to cover his father’s actions was stronger than him at this point.

Viperion blinked, looking more and more upset. That was a bad look on him.

“What about the rest? Family dinner? Decorations? Christmas activities, you know that stuff. I can see you playing Christmas carols with the piano.” That did sound lovely, so Adrien simply shrugged with a little grimace on his face. That apparently didn’t sit right with him. “… Wait here.”

As fast as ever Viperion went inside the bakery, too quick for Adrien to break from his trance and follow him – maybe he needed to take fencing classes with superheroes, just to learn about that kind of speed and reflexes. It barely mattered since the superhero reappeared after only a minute, holding a little package with a bow on it and a cute little reindeer plush with a red nose and freckles. “It’s not exactly a full Christmas party, but at least it’s… sweet?” It was a box of gingerbread cookies, neatly positioned inside a Christmas themed package. “You deserve a bit of joy, you know.” His eyes were sincere, his actions too.

It took everything inside of Adrien not to tear up. He swallowed a sudden lump of emotions building up, taking the present, and smiling with everything he had.

“Thank you.” He whispered gratefully. Adrien peaked over at the window, noticing the owners of the bakery all giddy and excited, making him laugh. “You went in and out pretty quickly, I thought you were going to get stopped by your Fanclub or something.”

Viperion snickered, leading him near the building, out of sight from Frozen King.

“My Fanclub is nowhere near as big as Ladybug’s, nor as passionate.” Adrien begged to differ. Superfluous stating that the superhero was in presence of an honorary admirer of his.

After pausing for a moment, Viperion spoke up, “Did your father ask you to skip the concert?” Oh. That question was so sudden it left him speechless for a second. The blonde couldn’t help the sudden shiver as he nodded. “You know you should say no sometimes, right? You don’t have to agree with him every time just because he’s your father. You’re your own person.” That was such a standard line, he had heard it many times before. From Kagami, to Ivan, to Juleka – yeah, even Juleka found the voice to tell him, that said something about the truth of it –, to Rose, to…

Adrien smiled sadly, sighing.

“My friend Luka reminds me that all the time, more than anyone else.” Thinking about him right now filled him with the usual giddiness, mixed with guilt. “… He must really despise me right now.” Was that a gasp from the hero? Hard to tell, he was fantasizing a lot today.

“Why would you think that?”

“He didn’t respond to my messages at all after I flaked out on him.”

“I’m sure he was just busy, between all the people he had to entertain and the sudden akuma attack.” Adrien was sure his face told it all, and Viperion quickly smiled at him, hands raised. “It’s fine, all of the members of Kitty Section are perfectly safe and evacuated.” Adrien let out the longest sigh in his life. “I’m sure your friend didn’t call because of that. I bet he’s worried about you as much as you are about him.” That voice of his would have made him believe in anything.

Adrien let his eyes fall onto the box, thinking of his phone he left at home after getting kidnapped. Thinking of the charming guitarist he hadn’t been able to see tonight.

“I hope so. The last thing I want is for him to hate me.”

“Hey, he would never. Maybe he was angry, a little disappointed, but I’m sure he doesn’t hate you.” Viperion smiled at him, with so much endearment into his eyes it was hard to watch. “You’re impossible to hate.” There was really no bound on how magically unbelievable this moment was. “Besides, is it really that important what this guy thinks of you?”

“Absolutely.” Without missing a beat his words erupted, and Adrien felt warm all over again. Because he was saying this to the superhero he was so starstruck with. Because this night was already different from what he would have expected. Because everything was still so new about the world outside his mansion, but only one thing could make his heart race as it was now. “I really wanted to spend Christmas with Kitty Section… to spend it with him. Luka is special like that for me.” It came out more smoothly than he thought. His feelings were always confusing, talking barely helped. But it was Christmas and he was away from home and he didn’t want to think for once.

It felt surreal nonetheless. Like Viperion’s uncharacteristically shocked face, for the second time in that same night.

“… Really?” His voice lost all of his low tune, turning into the sweetest, most hopeful sound. Still as vibrant as the ocean. Bright as shimmering stars.

Adrien could only nod, charmed by him.

But distracted by someone else.

“I guess my heart knows better than me? I can’t lie to myself, I’m just a little slow at realizing what I want. And I think I finally got it.” He smiled, mindlessly tapping the box. “I like his rebellious look while also being the calmest and most controlled person I know. I like the way he sings for me whenever I’m feeling sad without me even asking for it. I like the absolute nonchalance when he asks me to skip fencing practice to come and play with the band… I like him, a lot.” He couldn’t feel the cold anymore. But he could, in fact, feel the superhero’s eyes absolutely glued on him. Making him realize the sudden reveal out of nowhere. “Ah, uhm, sorry.” He didn’t regret it. And for some reason that felt even right. “I-I don’t know why I told you all that.”

Viperion seemed to be having none of his uncertainty. He instead leaned towards him, eyes too intense to look at, and Adrien became increasingly aware of his pink lips cracked by the cold. He pushed away the thought, because it wasn’t right. He was enchanted by this superhero because of that, he was a superhero. That was it, the blonde’s heart belonged elsewhere. Yet…

“How long have you been feeling like this?” There was something different in his voice. Like he lost all the willpower to make it look mightier and superhero-like.

Adrien swallowed, eyes dropping on his red cold hands.

“Maybe… maybe ever since we first met? It was also the first time I’ve managed to ditch my schedule, because I really wanted to see the Music Festival. I stumbled onto his ship after I heard awesome music. I tripped, he helped me up, and all of the sudden I was in his band.” He giggled, feeling hotter and hotter. “He welcomed me like it was nothing… it wasn’t nothing to me. I’m sure I wasn’t completely gone back then, but it was a start. It just got stronger and stronger from there.” Viperion’s eyes were getting piercing. Oppressing even, to the point he felt scared to look up. “I… I’m sure you understand but just to be sure… can you keep the secret?” He snickered nervously, moving his fingers. It hurt, they were cold.

Viperion gently took the box from his hands, gingerly putting it down on the ground, before taking his hands together before Adrien could even think of an annoyed reply. Adrien couldn’t help shaking madly, a sudden feeling overwhelming the cold. Those eyes were getting absolutely impossible to ignore, but he couldn’t look up. He was irrationally scared, he couldn’t move.

Viperion was close, so close he heard the smile curving his lips.

“Cold?” The blonde barely managed a weak nod. “I can help you with that. Close your eyes.” A questioning noise was all that came out of him. “Don’t worry. Please, close your eyes for me.” His words turned into the sweetest request and Adrien found it absolutely impossible to deny it. He closed his eyes, swallowing, feeling the hold leaving him. “Sass, scales rest.” A sudden light drew a purple spot on his black sight. Magic? Superhero stuff? All he heard was the guy in front of him moving a little. All he felt was something incredibly warm and soft slipping into his hands, two gloves a little too big for him but wonderfully welcoming.

Viperion grabbed his hands again, rubbing them with his thumbs. The numb cold covering was melting down, a sign of relief grew onto the blonde’s lips. Only to stop midway when he felt a warm breath on them.

This moment, this entire night really was unreal. Adrien embraced the entirety of it, sinking further into this kiss in a dreamy sigh. Soft. Everything was so soft about this guy, like he had been made to sooth and welcome everyone that came in contact with him. It irritated him a little. Because he wanted this for himself, he wanted to be the only one to hold this harshly onto his hands, the only one to know how gentle and reckless he could be on a random Christmas night.

It was his first kiss, of course it was. And of course, after a time that was in any case way shorter than he would have liked, he was already out of breath. When they parted he perhaps sighed a little too strongly against the other’s mouth, cold air filling his lungs. The sudden chilling sensation awakened his senses, making him suddenly aware of the long fingers curled around his, the softest familiar laugh in front of him, and the faint yet absolutely evident scent of moss and kindness lingering under his nose. A little above where he had been kissed.

Another wave of warmth almost made him gasp, and Adrien beamed with his eyes still closed.

“You…?” Another peck shut him up, making him hum in delight.

“Merry Christmas, Adrien.” There was happiness into this voice, pure and breathtaking, followed by the quickest footsteps that soon got lost into the random noise of the night. And only then, when there was clearly no one waiting in front of him, the blonde opened his eyes.

He looked down. So caught up in the moment, he hadn’t realized that into his warm hands, wrapped up around very familiar looking black gloves, the box of cookies had been put back. Along with a neat paper, with a little yellow bow on the corner. A sheet. A song, with a title.

‘Sunshine’.

Adrien grinned, tears burning into his eyes. So much happiness it was too much. It was new, overwhelming. He wanted to know everything about it.

“Merry Christmas, Luka.”

[avversiera-writes]

try again; in every day we breathe life [tobirama senju/you] - chapter 7

Chapter 7 - Then

Summary: Tobirama frets as the pregnancy is well on its way. Just lots of sweet things.

Word Count: ~ 3.5k

available on AO3. 

Chapter 1 - Now | Chapter 2 - Then, part 1 | Chapter 2 - Then, part 2 | Chapter 3 - Now | Chapter 4 - Then | Chapter 5 - Then | Chapter 6 - Now |

Tobirama sighs, as he is very displeased at the news that the Hyuuga and Uchiha clans are becoming more and more exclusive. It is always the clans that have pride in their power that want more and only seek to better their own. That is always a threat to the village, and Tobirama cannot let this grow and take root. 

 He reviews the complaints of the two clans in his home office, becoming very disturbed that there are possible dissenters inside the village. This is a fragile time, especially with the coming peace ceremony later in the year. 

 He supposes that this is the result of Madara’s defection. He knows that there are some power grabs inside the Uchiha clan, even if they have chosen to stay in the village. They have been without a clan leader for a while, and tensions of picking the candidates are making the rest of the village uneasy. Meanwhile, the Hyuuga clan are becoming notorious for their branding of their own members if they are not part of the main family. While Tobirama thinks that he ought to leave them to their own business, this cannot be a reason why the Hyuuga cannot participate within Konoha. Prides must be set aside in order for this place to thrive. 

And this place must be made safer, especially when he has a child on the way. Especially when he and his wife are planning to bring more children into this world. 

The acceptance of this shakes him to the very core, and he is scrambling to prepare everything before they are even a thought in their minds. He cannot just have quiet , he wants peace . 

 Does he not, especially his elder brother and the rest of their family, deserve peace? 

It feels like he has been fighting forever. 

//

“Are you certain you want to accompany me today?” Tobirama crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows in that haughty way he does when he is confident he knows better. 

 You make a face at him as you try on the next dress in your closet, as nothing seems to fit you today. You note the changes your body is going through, and some of it, are not fun. Especially when you feel all bloated and soft in places you used to be toned in. Your lower belly is beginning to feel firm, and you notice that walking up the stairs leaves you a little winded. 

“Yes, husband, I am certain,” you say as you struggle to tie your clothing close. “I have been cooped up in this fortress we call home.”

 Tobirama sighs and he comes closer to help you. “I don’t think it’s wise.”

 “Tobirama, you’re going to be with me all the time,” you reply and you turn to him so that he can tie your dress in front. “Besides, Kimiko says exercise is good for me and the baby.” 

Tobirama’s eyes narrow, seemingly sold on the argument of what is good for you and his child so he does not say anything else to further his statement. 

You peek at yourself in the mirror. “I don’t think this is what I should wear.”

 Tobirama stares at you incredulously. “This is the fifth time you have changed clothes. We have no time for this.” 

 “But it’s tight!” You whine as you grab another robe from the closet. 

 “Every clothing you try on is tight!”

 “Are you saying I’m fat?” You turn to him fiercely, and you put a hand on your hip. 

Tobirama seems to groan internally. “Do you want me to insinuate that you are?” 

 You wag your finger at him to warn him. “Try again.” 

 Tobirama crosses his arm, unimpressed. “I will ask someone to replace your clothes. It will be done before we even come back home.” 

 You sigh, a little annoyed, but for now, his answer calms you. “Fine. Let’s go.” 

Tobirama puts a hand behind your back as he walks beside you. “You are becoming more impossible to reason with, day by day.”

 “I am just trying to act like you,” you tell him, trying to joke, but your annoyance is also building up minute by minute. 

 “Do better,” Tobirama eggs on. 

 “You are not helping,” you snap and you give him a glare. 

Tobirama raises an eyebrow, preemptively amused. “Is this the kind of attitude you intend to bring in our meeting with the clan leader of Hyuuga and his wife?” 

 “I am very amicable,” you huff.

 “Yes, your amicable state will certainly help foster a good conversation with them.” 

You roll your eyes, and at this point, you’re surprised your eyes have not permanently stayed rolled back. 

 “You roll your eyes, but you know that I am right.” 

 “Shut the hell up,” you mutter. 

Tobirama looks like he is about to laugh. “Is that how you talk to the Hokage?” 

 “I can talk to the Hokage any way I want,” you bite back. 

“See, I think you really do have authority problems,” Tobirama says dryly.

 As the two of you take to the streets, you walk together in silence, observing and greeting the people you pass by. Being outside finally settles your annoyance, and you feel proud of your husband for having a huge hand in creating the environment around you. There are people, children and women, smiling. They have homes, and they can go about their business without worrying too much about the outside dangers. They do not have to raise their children in a war zone. 

 You spot a few shops that sell clothing for babies and your heart softens. Soon, you will be buying those for your child. You also spot a furniture store that has several wooden cribs, and your gaze linger on each one. 

Then, the two of you pass by some restaurants, and the smell that wafts through the air, while usually appealing, makes you nauseous. You hurry your steps so that you can avoid breathing in these scents, but that is your mistake, as you tend to have a faster rate of breathing these days. 

 You pause, as your head suddenly becomes light and the feeling on your hands and feet becomes lost. 

 “Oh,” you close your eyes and shudder, and immediately, Tobirama is right beside you to steady you. 

Tobirama’s hand is tight around your arm, and you lean on him for support. 

“We are going back home.” Tobirama begins to lean down to take your legs so that he can carry you. 

 “I am fine,” you stop him. “Kimiko says that getting light-headed is normal.” 

 “Do not depend on her too much.” 

You roll your eyes. “Her family is well-versed with these things.” 

 “You are naive sometimes.” 

 “What is that supposed to mean?” You frown at him. 

 “I am just giving you advice. Just because these servants work for us, does not mean we should trust them completely.” Tobirama straightens up and runs a hand through his hair. “Besides, she is too close to us, in a way that you were her child’s sensei and I am still the Hokage responsible for everyone .” 

Your Senju husband is right. How it irks you, but you know that he is. 

“Yes, fine. I know,” you say, and Tobirama seems satisfied with your answer. 

 “Stick close,” Tobirama murmurs, and he pulls you closer to him. You sense that he is more wary than before, but you take comfort that he will not let anything happen to you. 

//

The whole ordeal with the Hyuuga takes the whole afternoon, but you make yourself by gossiping with the clan leader’s wife and finding out information from her by interjecting your conversations with vague questions after establishing some rapport. You also eat all the snacks that were served, mostly the sweeter rice cakes as you cannot get enough of them. 

 You find out that the next heir of the clan is chosen and that she is making the arrangements to choose who they will be wedded to when they turn of age. 

Learning about the clans makes you open your mind a little bit more. The Senju run things differently, since they allow marriage with those who are not part of the clan or whoever they choose to marry. You would think that they are strict about this, but because they are also the village in a way, they must allow other allowances. This makes the whole village their family now. 

The sliding doors of the room you are in open, and a maid on her knees bows. 

 “My lady, Lord Nidaime is waiting for you,” she says. 

“I will be there, thank you,” you tell her. 

You say your goodbyes and well-wishes to the clan leader’s wife, and then, you follow the maid to the gates, where your husband is standing with a hand behind his back. He looks rather inquisitive, but his eyes snap in attention when his gaze lands on you. 

You follow him out, and when you are a little far from the Hyuuga compound, you match your steps with your husband.

 “So?” You inquire. 

 Tobirama shrugs. “I just wanted to make sure that they will abide by the village’s laws. They can have their clan practices, but the duty to the village is absolute.”

 “Tobirama, their clan’s practice is not exactly–”

 “I know,” Tobirama says. “But as long as it does not interfere with the running of the village, and they do not cause any more divides, I cannot really interfere.” 

You frown, but you know that this is the way things are. “What are you going to do about the Uchiha clan?” 

 You can see the gears turning in Tobirama’s head. “Nothing solid, yet.” 

 “But you do have a plan.” 

 “Something like that.” 

You reach for his elbow. “Tobirama.” 

 Your husband turns to you and he sighs. “I do not intend to put them in the back burner, if that is what you are thinking. They are part of the village, and therefore, they are important people. You know that I am fair, and that I only serve to make sure Konoha prospers."

The two of you pause, and a soft breeze caresses the strands of your hair back. 

 “They must champion the village. That is all I ask. These clans in this village, they have their pride and individuality. We cannot be Konohagakure if we are already divided within. I am not a fool to not realize that we always have differences."  

Tobirama places his hands on your arms, and he meets your eyes. “But we all have to live in harmony if we are to model peace. We are an example to the people outside of this country and the reason why I make allies with other villages. If they see how we work, maybe they will follow in our lead.” 

You hear the trees rustle their leaves, and the birds chirping nearby. Somewhere near, a river runs peacefully, rushing and following their current. The sun feels cooler on your back, as compared to earlier.

“You do too much, Lord Nidaime,” you cannot help a wry smile from coming out. “You dream of world peace?”

 Tobirama shakes his head. “Not dreams. Dreams are futile and without basis. This is a plan for the long-term.” 

 “People are different, you know, not everyone will fall in line,” you say. 

 “I know,” Tobirama says. “But I am counting on their dreams of a better place to make my plans happen.” 

 “You have too many plans, my love.”

The term of endearment colors Tobirama’s ears. “Yes, but they do work amazingly.”

 You chuckle. “Now, that is your ego talking. I should insult you some more to put you in your place.”

Tobirama softens, and he tugs you along so that the two of you are walking again. “I think you have done enough insulting me for a lifetime.”

 “Ah, but that is what you signed up for, Lord Nidaime.” You bump your shoulder on his arm. “‘Til death do us part, remember?” 

 “Yes, yes, I remember, unfortunately,” Tobirama dryly says. “Though I have a feeling you will still be as biting in our afterlife.” 

 “True, enough.” You giggle and you slip your arm into his. 

Tobirama does not pull away, and it makes you grin secretly. 

//

The morning sickness comes, and maybe, you think that morning sickness is an understatement. It is more like, an all-day sickness. An all-day sickness that does not abate no matter how much vomiting you do. 

 You have made a friend with your toilet, and you are awfully running on empty. Tears and sweat run down your skin, and your throat burns. 

You try not to ask too much from your husband or Kimiko, so you try to force yourself to stop being sick. You press your forehead on the floor to cool yourself, and when you come to, you find your husband placing a cup of ginger tea in your line of sight. 

 “Shadow clone?” You ask him. 

 Tobirama smiles amusedly. “This is why I never do this. I know you prefer him and his full attention.” 

You roll your eyes. “Sometimes shadow clones are better.” 

 “I am insulted.”

 “Why? I just said I prefer you at times.” 

 “On behalf of my original, I am insulted. Apart from him, I am rather flattered.”

“You are also quite the talker. Do shadow clones adapt their own personalities when they are far from their original?” 

 Tobirama inches the cup forward so that you are prompted to pick it up. “That is an interesting hypothesis. One that we will put to test later.” 

 You take a sip from the tea. “Tell me more, my shadow clone of a husband.” 

“Or maybe we take slivers of his personality and become heightened.” 

 “Hm,” you say. You narrow your eyes at him. “How come you never use shadow clones in the bedroom? We could surely use another one of you.” 

 The Tobirama in front of you becomes red in the neck. You see his jaw tense. 

“What?” You prompt. 

 “This is a conversation between you and him .” Tobirama’s shadow clone disperses itself and you laugh to yourself, knowing that this conversation will become part of Tobirama’s memory. 

The ginger tea helps relieve your sickness, and after finishing it, you finally make it out of your bathroom, as you are starving, and you know you need some sustenance, no matter how much you may dislike the foods presented for you. 

You decrease your interactions with Kimiko, but you express your gratitude towards her whenever she is there to assist you. When you are not keen to eat the foods that are cooked, she is the one planning and preparing the meal, filled with the nutrition that you need to keep a healthy body. You do not want to seem like you are high up in your horse, so you always make it a point to thank her. 

 You do keep in mind what your husband has told you, and because this is your first child, you want to be extra careful because you are new to this. You do not really know what to expect. 

//

Your husband is as usual, busy with work, as the time for the peace ceremony closes. You can tell that he is a little frantic, but he is good at compartmentalizing and it comes out in his organized chaotic ways. You try to help him out when he is at home, but you tire very easily now, and you spend most of your days sleeping. 

 From time to time, Tobirama puts a hand on your growing womb, probably checking you and the child you are carrying. You find it sweet, and you know without a doubt that he will do his best as a father. Besides, Tobirama always gives his all. You wish to know about what is running in his mind, but he has a tendency to ruminate within. 

In one of your better days, where you are not throwing up or being moody for no reason, you pry a few words from your husband. The two of you are lying on your bed, where most of your important conversations happen. Beside you, he is relaxed, and the tension on his shoulders and his forehead are relieved at the moment. 

“Are you alright?” You ask him. 

 Tobirama watches your face, his eyes flitting to your forehead, your nose, your lips. “Why do you ask?” 

 “I can tell that there is a lot on your mind.” 

 “As always, right?” Tobirama says in a lighter tone. 

 “But I can tell that it’s not just about your peace negotiations and your other political ambitions.”

Tobirama blinks, probably surprised that you are watching him too closely. He is not used to that. No one really tries to make sure that he is okay, except for you, because it is expected that he has got it all together. 

 He does not. 

“You are right,” Tobirama finally replies after a long minute. “I fret about being a father.” 

 “Why?” 

 “Children are fragile things,” Tobirama begins. “Of course, I have many experiences with them, as I did have a role in raising my nephews and my students, but they are not my own. I am afraid that I will be like my father, that one day, I will realize and understand his point of view. That what he did will be justified and therefore, I have to resort to his ways.” 

You bring a hand to his face. “Tobirama, you are not your father. You have made your own way thus far, you do not need to follow his suit. You told me that he never hesitated to raise a hand to his children, and while I know that you are strict, you have reasons and your own logic that never fails you. I know that you will never hurt your own children, and that whatever decision you do will be to ensure their safety.” 

 Tobirama falls silent and his eyes focus on you. 

“Besides, I will be the one you will have to contend with if you do go too far,” you smile, and caress his cheek with your thumb. “Oh, my love. The fact that you worry about what you might do shows that you have given much thought and reflection on being a father.” 

 “What if I cannot be there to support them in a way that they need? You know how we are. They may hate me.” 

 “Well, maybe when they’re teenagers, they will hate you, but that is normal, on the grand scale of things.” 

Tobirama’s forehead crinkles. 

“You know, I am also scared about being a mother,” you confess to him so that you can alleviate his feelings. 

 Tobirama’s eyes widened for a fraction. “You? Someone as fearless and bold as you is afraid?”

 “Very funny, Lord Nidaime,” you comment sarcastically. “Well for one, I will be the one to push out this child.” 

 Tobirama raises an eyebrow. 

 “And,” you continue. “Most problems that daughters have are with their mother.”

You pause, and you look at his expression and you let out a sigh. “You know, my parents never told me that they loved me. Never let me know in any way. For a long time, I thought something was wrong with me. They never let me know they cared, and I felt like I was only born to be expendable.” 

 Tobirama takes your hand from his face and kisses your knuckles. Of course, he would know how that felt like.

“I could never do that to my own child,” you tell him. “If I have to, I will let them know that I love them every day. I will never make them feel like they have been abandoned.” 

 Tobirama blinks, and a soft expression spreads across his face. “I have no doubt that our children will be okay under your care.” 

 You narrow your eyes at him. “You better pick up some slack on fathering.” 

 “Of course,” Tobirama murmurs and he seems taken aback that you even think to say this. “I promise to you that they will be safe, and that they will know the tender side of childhood. They will be happy.” 

“That’s a big promise, Lord Nidaime,” you lean towards him. “You know well the dangers of big promises.” 

 “ I know ,” Tobirama whispers. “But I must try.” 

Tobirama offers his arm, and you come to him and press your body against his. Your head rests between his neck and shoulder, and his arms come around your head and waist. You feel sleep coming on to you like a heavy blanket, and as you give in, you hear him say those three words that you have always waited and yearned to hear. 

To be continued...

Chapter 8 - Then >>

[kathyprior4200]

A Villainous Meeting

 “Good morning, my fucklings!”

 Verosika Mayday, the pink succubus, strolled into the room, wearing her high heels, heart-shaped sunglasses, short black and white dress and her faux pink scarf. She blew a bubble of pink gum before spitting it out in a nearby trash can. The fellow employees sat at a cracked black round table with bloodstained high-backed chairs with eyes on the tops. The Wrath Ring imp Striker merely smirked and nodded as he fiddled with the wheat stalk in his mouth. He wore his usual gray and brown cowboy gear with a hat and boots. Fizzarolli, the robotic jester imp, looked around eagerly at the small office room decorated with circus posters and porn magazine covers. Verosika was shown in a seductive pose with her gang on one poster, while another poster showed a sinister Fizzarolli with handcuffs advertising a “Loo Loo Land’s Fizzy Buddy, Brand New Vibrating Toy, Use At Your Own Risk!” A few pictures here and there displayed Striker riding his black hell-horse BulletProof through the desert with a mane and tail of fire. Finally, Vortex, the dark grey hellhound bodyguard, stared at his phone, wearing all black clothing.

 They were located somewhere in the Lust Ring under a pink sky in an abandoned building that looked like a warehouse from the outside. Spray-painted in red were the words “D.I.C.K. Headquarters,” on the door to the office.

 “Remind me why you choose “dick” to be our name?” Striker muttered to Verosika.

 “It’s spelled D.I.C.K. It stands for Demonic Immediate Crazed Killers,” Verosika replied. “Figured it described all of us well, because we do what I.M.P. does, only better.”

 “You and your sexual innuendos,” Striker began, and then winked. “I like it.” Fizzarolli giggled.

 Verosika cleared her throat. “Do any of you fuckers know why we’re here?”

 “Because I took this job after you and I got drunk and did a one night stand?” Striker asked with a smirk.

 “No!” Verosika bellowed in anger, though she knew it was true. She then blushed and stepped back. “I drank too much beelzejuice after returning back from Earth, alright? And you happened to be there staring at me with lust in your eyes with a bottle of Inferno 66 in hand. Let me tell you, sucking prisoner dick with your gang is worse than eating shit out of a toilet. Besides, I needed some time to recover after having to walk around after Blitzo took my parking spot. When we were together, he left me to pay for the hotel room, rang three rings around Wrath and maxed my credit card...”

 “…on shitty horse-riding lessons, yeah yeah, I got it,” Striker said with a wave of his hand. “You told us the story like five times.”

 “Is it because that imp was so jealous of my accomplishments at the circus that he set all of Loo-Loo Land on fire and allowed my robotic counterpart Robo Fizz to get eaten by a dragon?” asked Fizzarolli.

 “How did you hear about that?” Vortex asked without looking up.

 Fizzarolli turned nervous. “My boss Mammon heard about the incident and was furious. He said that unless I helped boost sales, fix the theme park and capture him…”

 “Yeah, I know how you feel,” Verosika sighed. “My gang and I got a bunch of warnings and threats from daddy Ozzie.”

 “You mean Asmodeus?” asked Vortex.

 “Yeah. He wasn’t very happy that I nearly exposed the humans to the existence of demons. We go topside in disguise to feed on their lust every spring. If Blitzo hadn’t kept that fact secret…well let’s just say Valentino pales in comparison to what Ozzie can do to you.”

 Everyone shivered at the prospect of the Ring Overlords’ plans.

 “To answer your question, Verosika, it is because I failed to kill that pompous owl prince Stolas?” Striker asked. “I was this close to finishing off that wimp imp and persuading Blitzo to join me. He’s a formidable fighter, and he’s half succubus.”

 Verosika crossed her arms. “There’s nothing special about him. He just pushes people away when they get too close and only cares about his job, murder and his stupid horses!”

 “Hmm…he’d be a fun little toy to play with,” Striker mused as Fizzarolli smirked. “We can all agree on that, right?”

 Everyone but Vortex murmured in agreement.

 “Yes,” Verosika called, shoulders square. “That is the reason why we’re all here. Because of them!”

 Verosika pointed to the whiteboard which had pictures of Blitzo, Moxxie, Millie, Loona and Stolas pinned on it. Several knives were stuck inside the pictures and scribbles in red on the white board read “Fuck I.M.P.!” “Striker Is Better Than You!” “Fizzarolli Was Here!” and “Verosika, Call Me For a Good Time!”

 “And I’m gonna led this shit!” she added.

 “What makes you the leader?” Striker inquired with a raised eyebrow.

 “I’m not the leader per se. Stella organized this group and Striker recruited us,” Verosika explained. “Though I’m technically higher than imps, sinners and hellhounds, so I say the position is a good fit.”

 Striker scowled. “We get treated like scum in Wrath enough as it is. I ain’t gonna play nice if you don’t show me some respect.”

 “Prove to me you’re better than that scumbag Blitzo.”

 “I already did…in bed at the club, remember?”

 Fizzarolli laughed much to Verosika’s disgust.

 “While I will admit it felt amazing, that’ll be the last time I ever sleep with an imp. And I certainly don’t need some rogue cowboy to get in the way of my revenge.”

 “Need I remind you, missy,” said Striker, “That I’m the one who recruited you and the jester in the first place? After you were getting over your hangover, you told me to fuck off or else your friends would have their fun with me.”

 “Yeah, and?”

 “I then noticed your heart tattoo on your shoulder with “Blitzo” crossed out. Then I asked, ‘Having imp problems, too? Wishing to see a certain imp?’”

 “And I said ‘no, none of your damn business, imp.’”

 Striker continued, “But then I told you, ‘I’m on a covert mission to take down a worthless royal…and to meet up with I.M.P.s leader. Perhaps I could offer you my services to you, monetary and otherwise, if you could tell me more about him.’”

 “Yes and I did,” she said. “I remembered Robo Fizz back when I worked in the circus with Blitzo and figured he’d be a good person to talk to.”

 “Hmpth,” Fizzarolli interrupted. “His business may be impressive, but his jokes were utterly pathetic! I got to be the star of the shows while he got to be alone and unloved! Ha!”

 Verosika briefly stared at him. “You sure you didn’t get jealous because Blitzo left you behind and made more money killing people?”

 Fizzarolli turned slightly red. “What?! No! How stupid are you?”

 “Perhaps smarter than you think,” Verosika remarked, her boobs bouncing slightly.

 “Get a room, love-fuckers!” Fizzarolli mocked to Striker and Verosika. “At least I was the first villain to appear in the show! First is the best! And my Ring is higher than yours!”

 “Oh partner, even a sex bot like you…”

 “I’m not a bot!”

 “…could never handle what’s under these jeans.”

 Striker smirked and continued the story. “Then I told slutty clown about Blitzo and he seemed to understand who he was,” said Striker. “I said, ‘A Goetia is giving me cash to kill a royal and that imp leader from I.M.P. What do you say we bask in riches, glory and chaos?’”

 “I remember saying, ‘Is this a scam? Loo Loo Land must be fixed!’” said Fizzarolli.

 Striker recalled what he said back to Fizzarolli,“’Mammon sent you off on a mission, didn’t he? Just like Asmodeus gave a warning to Verosika and what Stella did to me. All our stories and failures are connected. Connected because of what those imps did. If you can help me track down I.M.P. and that prince…no more worries for you.’”

 “The show must always go on,” mused Fizzarolli. “It wasn’t like I had many other options. As long as my boss is satisfied…”

 “And mine…” added Verosika.

 “And mine…” added Striker.

 “Indeed, we must all complete this mission, or else we’re all dead,” Verosika finished.

 “Double dead,” Vortex corrected in a low voice, making the others shiver. “The Seven Deadly Sins do have angelic weapons. You’ll wish you were frozen in the Ninth Circle.”

 “Hell only has seven,” Fizzarolli added.

 “Shut up.”

 “Loo Loo Land burned down, Asmodeus and Mammon got together, we took the Hellevator through the Ring portals and the rest is history,” said Verosika. “Now I’m stuck with an imp and a robot.”

 “I’m an imp!” Fizzarolli protested.

 “You’re just a robot,” Verosika replied.

 “With partial robotic features! The model for all Robo Fizzs made by Mammon himself!”

 “Still just a sex toy,” said Verosika.

 “A useful one, nevertheless. One who Stella herself deems valuable, right Striker?”

 “She did say to me, ‘I don’t care who you have to go through.’ Never thought I’d be dealing with a bunch of hooligans from other Rings,” Striker remarked.

 After several minutes of loud arguments and hisses, Vortex barked loudly. “Shut the fuck up!”

 Everyone then sat down in silence before Vortex stared at his phone again. “I never get paid enough for this shit,” he muttered.

 “Somebody tell me any useful information about I.M.P. before I lose my shit!” Verosika barked, almost going into her demonic shadow form.

 “The only reason why I’m here,” said Striker, his voice turning calmer and darker, “Is for my money from Stella. And revenge of course. Let me tell you where I think Blitzo will be at next.”

 The villains crept closer.

 “I came to the Lust Ring because I heard from Stella that this is where Stolas likes to “entertain” himself as it were.” His glowing eyes spiraled in yellow-green hypnotic circles. “Rumor has it that he goes to Ozzie’s place to cheer himself up. Heard he suffered quite a breakup from his dear hurt wife. And to have Stella potentially gain custody over his dear daughter…man that must’ve broken that bird’s heart.”

 “Oooh what a charming little theater!” Fizzarolli remarked. “Stripper dances, pole dances, lots of lustful siren songs. Winged imps serve you food and other imps are in cages for display! Hahahaha! It is almost as good as the Big Top in Loo Loo Land!”

 “Was, you mean,” Striker smirked before the jester seethed.

 “I still perform there,” Verosika said. “When I’m not traveling around the Rings on tour. Lust is my home, after all.”

 “Greed is mine!” Fizzarolli said.

 “You already know where I’m from,” said Striker. “No one fucking cares.”

 “Mammon and Asmodeus heard the news as well,” said Fizzarolli. “I heard Stella had a meeting with them at midnight last night. That was before we all got our orders to come here to Lust.”

 Vortex looked up in concern. “It’ll only be a matter of time before Lucifer hears about this, too. Not just about the trouble I.M.P. has caused, but now that humans know of Hell…”

 “Let’s focus on one problem at a time,” said Verosika with a deep breath. “We’re in no rush. It’s not like our leader’s gonna call us and demand…”

 Just then, Verosika’s pink computer beeped and rang.

 “Shit,” she muttered. “It’s her.”

 Everyone straightened up as Verosika pushed a button. Stella’s angry white feathered face appeared on the Zoom/Doom screen. She scrutinized all their faces with pink glowing eyes, her face appearing on the screen.

 “Striker,” Stella began, her golden crown shining on her head. “So this is the gang you recruited?”

 “Yes ma’am!” he grinned.

 “Hmm…” she pondered. There’s you…there’s some clown imp, there’s a fine-looking succubus…from who knows where…”

 “The clown is Fizzarolli or Robo Fizz,” said Striker. “The succubus is Verosika.”

 “Working for a queen, Striker?” Verosika asked. “How…”

 “Long story, I already told you,” Striker said. “She’s desperate…”

 “You bet that’s right!” Stella barked. “Then again, I’m…mildly impressed that you managed to get such a…diverse crew together.” She didn’t bother to hide her disgust. “Well done.”

 Striker beamed with pride.

 “But we’re far from done! You have no idea how long I’ve waited to properly unleash these feelings in me.”

 Fizzarolli giggled and Striker elbowed him hard.

 “That stupid prick of my husband thinks he can sleep all he wants with that assassin imp…in our fucking bed behind my back! If he stays any longer, my family will be a laughing stock. I’ll be stripped of my royal status and goodness knows what bad influence he’ll have on Octavia.”

 Stella paused, brief hurt in her voice. She didn’t dare cry, though. “Sometimes I wish he didn’t have to die. That all three of us could be a good family again like we once were. He could’ve been a proper responsible father, kept the grimoire safe from the imp, and none of this would’ve happened.”

 Fizzarolli cried tears at the rant while Vortex rolled his eyes. Striker yawned. Verosika, however, seemed to listen with a common understanding. She and Blitzo had been together and then they were broken up and fighting. Although she wanted power and revenge like Fizzarolli and Striker, she knew what it was like to get the short end of the stick in a relationship.

 “Then again, I was forced into marrying Stolas millennia ago by my parents. It’s obvious I’d concern myself with status and wealth and hold my resentment inside.”

 ‘All that wealth, all that power,’ thought Striker, greedily. ‘Watch her talk on and on until the rug slips from under her feet…and the glory becomes all mine!’

  “I love my daughter and Stolas…I really do…but…I must do what has to be done!” Right then, her regal imposing side was back.

 She stared into their eyes, glaring at Striker in particular. “First of all, if any of you land a finger on my daughter, I’ll make sure your screams are heard by every Ring in Hell. She must not be harmed. But…if I have to use Octavia as leverage as a last resort to bring Stolas to his knees…then so be it. I don’t care what we have to do…I just want him dead. Do you all understand?”

 “Yes ma’am,” said Striker. The others nodded.

 “Good. Now to review the plan. Stolas and I recently had our breakup. He will be going to the same place he always goes to when he’s upset: Ozzie’s place. If you spot I.M.P., follow them, but do not attack yet.”

 She continued. “Striker, your objective is the same: kill Stolas with your angelic weapons. Keep them safe in your hands at all times, but eliminate anyone who gets in your way.”

 Striker already glowered at Fizzarolli and Verosika who were staring closely at his pistol.

 “If you use it on anyone else important,” Stella said, suspicion already in her eyes. “I’ll fuck you with your own horns.”

 Striker nodded, with the tip of his hat.

 “Verosika, you will track down Blitzo and distract him inside the club,” said Stella. “Use any manipulative means necessary to catch him off guard. Fizzarolli, you and Asmodeus will sneak behind Moxxie and take down the other I.M.P. members. Verosika’s crew and some Robo Fizzs will also join in.”

 She added in a sing-song voice, “You’ll all receive an extra bonus and royalty favors if you bring me their heads!”

 Fizzarolli grinned. “This is gonna be so fun!”

 “The rewards. Striker, you’ll be rewarded by me for killing Stolas. 10,000 souls or more. And a new home in Wrath for you and your family.”

 Striker had to roll his eyes. He didn’t have a family anymore. He didn’t just want 10,000 souls. Now that he thought about it, he wanted much more.

 “Fizzarolli, Loo-Loo land will be repaired and you’ll get to lead future productions in Lu Lu World. Plus money, your own brand and perhaps…” she whispered so only he could hear, “…freedom.”

 “Oh goody!”

 “Verosika…more tours, more sex and money for you. You’ll be the star of every Ring in Hell.”

 Verosika grinned and fluffed her long pink-white hair.

 Stella smirked in a manner unfit for a queen. “And to make things a little more fun…as a way to show Stolas what his infidelity means…a special prize for the first one to kill Blitzo for me…”

 She playfully massaged her boobs under her pink dress. All the villains minus Vortex blushed in delight and shock as they knew what she was implying. Verosika’s gang in the far back of the room watched while eating popcorn. Vortex made a face of disgust.

 Seconds later, Stella was regal again. “And you there, dog!” Stella called, making Vortex look up. “Verosika has a special assignment for you.”

 “What?” he asked.

 “Keep a close eye on that loony hellhound of theirs,” Verosika grinned deviously.

 Worry was etched onto Vortex’s face as he nodded. Though he had a girlfriend, he had found Loona adorable at the beach on Earth. He couldn’t believe what he had to do now.  

 “I’ll keep you updated on Stolas’ whereabouts and when it’s time to move,” Stella finished. “Do not disappoint me.”

 The screen went dark.

 “Well, that’s a wrap folks,” said Verosika. “Meeting dismissed. Fuck around, get some sleep, we have a big day tomorrow.”

 Verosika took out her phone and began texting.

 “Who are you texting?” Vortex asked.

 “There’s this pink southern succubus sinner named Martha,” Verosika grinned. “She says she leads an army in the name of Satan and they want blood after being killed by you know who on Earth. Ralphie and her two kids live with her there. She also wants this Mayberry sinner dead.”

 “What does that mean?” Striker asked.

 Verosika grinned. “It means…we have a potential ally in the Pride Ring!”

 “Awesome!” said Fizzarolli. “Their enemies keep growing and growing!”

 The villains laughed.

 “With so many souls seeking revenge, I.M.P. won’t know what hit ‘em!” Fizzarolli cackled.

 “Yes, but let’s focus on our main mission first,” said Striker. “Perhaps we’ll have the honor of getting to them first!”

 The villains laughed again and retired to bed.

 ‘This plan better work,’ Striker thought. ‘Because Stolas’ blood will not be the only blood that’ll be on my hands soon enough…’

[jcmorrigan]

001 - Tales of Zestiria?

Favorite character: It's a tough call between Maltran and Symonne, and Lunarre is trailing right behind both. I tend to call them the "Heldalf Squad," but make no mistake, Heldalf himself isn't part of it. I just like his swagalicious minions. The dry and sarcastic political manipulator, the sadistic and wordy theater nerd, and the flamboyant cannibal who hates everything. Yes. LOVE. But I have to give a shout to my boy Dezel on the hero side! Angsty/stoic characters are very hit-or-miss with me, but Dezel is the flavor I love - obvious soft spots and quirks, and slowly he builds from being antisocial to showing how big his heart is. When he stops the woman from leaping off the Guinevere tower...that's one of my favorite scenes in the entire game, because you can see when the switch flips, when he realizes that he CANNOT stay aloof any longer when there's a stranger's life on the line. He's still a grump about it but a compassionate grump.

Least Favorite character: Heldalf. His backstory is really clever, and I like the curse on him. But he himself just feels like Ganondorf but more boring. I kinda hate that he's so vanilla when his three lieutenants are in my arsenal of pet villains from the vastness of fiction. Also shout-out to Chancellor BART in the opening Ladylake act, because I distinctly remember liveblogging this to a friend, and I played Zestiria *after* Berseria (I'd loved Berseria and that's why I eventually sought out Zestiria) so here I am just comparing up the corrupt church in Ladylake to the Abbey's suave rogues gallery like "Yeah no BART has nothing on Lady Teresa Linares." Thankfully BART was never seen again.

5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): DezeRose, SorMik, Symonne x Coco Atarashi (The World Ends With You), Alisha Diphda x Sergei Strelka, and...I swear you have to bear with me here...Zaveid x Anna (Frozen). I also kinda wanna note a couple ships I'm on the fence about for my other favies - those being Maltran x Ebony Maw (Marvel Cinematic Universe or Marvel Ultimate Alliance) and Lunarre x Arkham (Devil May Cry).

Character I find most attractive: Dezel. It is a scientific fact that guys with pointy teeth are just hotter.

Character I would marry: Maybe Dezel, maybe Sergei. I wouldn't want to take them from those I see as their wifeys, but at the same time, they are husband goals, both of them.

Character I would be best friends with: Catch me clinging to Maltran's train and she drags me along annoyedly as I yell "PLEEEEAAASE LET ME HANG OUT WITH YOU GUYS" and Lunarre is losing it laughing while Symonne rolls her eyes

a random thought: So I toyed around with basically every accessory I picked up, and I decided to put the sideburns on Rose because fuck gender roles. Well then I just got used to seeing her with facial hair in every cutscene where her 3D model was used, and now I headcanon that she does get it. Maybe nonclassical CAH intersex? Like, I don't necessarily see her as trans (but I support everyone who hc's her as such) but moreso "a cis woman, but I grow this stupid damn facial hair like a dude and I don't get why." And this is why you shouldn't let me play with customizable accessories on RPG characters because I can and will abuse my privilege to headcanon.

An unpopular opinion: That this is actually a very good game. Listen, I think I get it - the initial marketing promised something far different. And that's disappointing. But coming back to it several years after its release, after the release of its PREQUEL, when I never had that hype building up...it actually exceeded my expectations. I held off from it for a while because I thought Eizen's fate would make me too sad, but that didn't end up the case at all. I actually had just come off playing a more recently-released triple-A game that was hyped up for years, and I completed it to my satisfaction in 20 hours. $80 for 20 hours. Zestiria gave me my money's worth in comparison; it took me about 60, and I loved just how MUCH story it had to offer me. I honestly like Rose better than Alisha anyway (Rose was one of the biggest aspects that interested me about playing it in the first place). I've also seen complaints that the characters weren't well-developed enough? Which I just kinda take to mean "They didn't angst enough." Listen. There are PLENTY of games out there if you want angst and sad stories. I don't really like sad stories in my games. I like adventures where the party is a goofy foundfam that jokes around with each other and helps each other work through shitty situations, and that's EXACTLY what I got. (And Berseria really worked on me too because it kinda started at the bottom of the angst barrel, then worked its way up through "The edgy and tortured protag has gained a party of idiots and oh noooooo she's learning friendship and happiness.") Dezel's death is one of the few game deaths that just made me SATISFIED to watch instead of depressed because of the closure he got and the themes tied into his final moments and sacrifice. I loved going on this adventure, I loved the idiots who I went on it with, and I loved seeing what Glenwood had to offer me in world design the further I explored.

my canon OTP: There's not much for canon romance in this game, come to think of it. Just subtext and some flirting. So I'm blanking on if there actually were any canon couples at all.

Non-canon OTP: DezeRose! Which maybe can be considered almost-canon based on the amount of subtext, but still. It's adorable. (And it's the exact same dynamic as EiRoku except M/F and a thousand years later. I need these four to double date...the dual-wielding goofs with their edgy, grumpy Reapers...)

most badass character: Rose! Not only able to wield the Shepherd's Armatization powers, but also to be a dang good assassin on her own, able to hold her own against Heldalf before she even had her eyes opened to seraphim! Though a shout-out goes to Edna because her armatization was my favorite to play with. There's something just satisfying about bashing the enemy in front of you with a pair of GIANT FISTS

pairing I am not a fan of: RoseAli. To be honest, it was at one point something I kinda enjoyed as a third-tier ship for Rose (Dezel first, then Lailah in second). But then...Alisha's Story. I didn't actually purchase it, thank goodness, just watched it on YouTube, and it was the most grating addition that anyone could've made to this game. First of all, I can sum up the issues with Alisha's Story by reminding everyone that it canonized a secret entrance to Camlann that was much easier to get to and wasn't protected by Muse's sacrifice. But the real thing that hurt to watch was how far down they had to knock Rose and Alisha's friendship to get them to rebuild from scratch. Rose claiming she was never Alisha's friend because she's grieving Sorey? The two of them getting into a PHYSICAL FISTFIGHT over it? Nope nope nope. That's not my Rose. Even less my Rose is that whole scene where she...you know...pounces on Alisha to dress her in the silly noblewoman's dress, and it's framed like...let's just say it's really uncomfortable to watch if you don't know the punchline is just a silly outfit. Even though Alisha's Story isn't canon in my head, it still really killed any buzz I had for RoseAli. I will also say I'm not a big fan of Eizavie - first of all, EiRoku or bust in this house, and second, I have a little bit of a hard time seeing Zaveid as mlm due to how much he goes on and on about The Ladies(TM). (Though I could see Eizen as having a tiny crush on him, though. Just like "Oh no he's hot but he's connected to Aifread's disappearance help")

character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Mostly just in Alisha's Story. I was mad about the aforementioned Rose stuff, but also...like...they undid Lunarre's original cathartic death, they did so to team him back up with Symonne and then do a whole fakeout that they had Maltran with them too, but Maltran is just an illusion and immediately after this, Lunarre and Symonne just decide "Yeah, we're not gonna work together anymore, have a nice life." Why does Maltran need to stay dead if LUNARRE somehow survived EXPLODING? And just...look to next question for more clarification:

favourite friendship: I just want to imagine that Maltran, Lunarre, and Symonne were weird evil friends. The kind who'd take artistic selfies and caption them "Murder and mayhem with my besties!". Maybe they even had a sibling dynamic. They were all pretty dang jaded, so I like to think they sat around sometimes talking about the things in this world that did them wrong. The reasons they were drawn to Heldalf. Heldalf himself wouldn't have cared, he would've kicked them around like disposable tools, but the three of them were too entrenched in his dogma to see it. Maybe if they met up again after he was off the board...then they'd sing a different tune. Realize they're all three better than this, and now they're gonna do things THEIR way, because remember when they made a three-point attack on Glenwood and Sorey was barely able to keep up with them wrecking Lastonbell AND Pendrago AND Glaivend? Remember when Lunarre and Symonne had each other's backs the night Dezel died? Now they can do what they want on their terms! And I just - I have many MANY feelings about these three.

character I want to adopt or be adopted by: Okay silly self-insert time but the thing is, Archibald Snatcher (The Boxtrolls) and Roman Torchwick (RWBY) are my two favorite parental f/o's (and also my OTP to end all OTPs), and I have this thing about how they'd be PERFECT crime dads to Symonne in particular because she's like a little, more theatrical Neopolitan. So there's a universe in my head where Symonne is basically already my little sister, and I look out for her - well, okay, she's a seraph with powerful Artes and I am a powerless mortal so really she looks out for me because "I suppose SOMEONE has to make sure you don't die" and I am grateful to her for it.

[ourimpavidheroine]

I’ve gotta say, I’m really enjoying these stories. Also, your late father sounds like an amazing man. I can really see the inspiration for LoLo come out in your mentions of him.

When my mother got pregnant with me - a planned pregnancy, they were young when they married but I was born 16 months later - my father knew from the get-go that he wanted a girl.

This was (and, I am sad to say, still is) an unusual thing for a father to wish for. Most fathers wish for a son. My Dad, however, was raised by a drunken, abusive, narcissistic man and he was afraid that if he had a son he’d just turn into his father. He thought a daughter would help him break that cycle of abuse. 

When I was born he told the nurse who brought me out to him in the waiting room that I was an angel, and Angel was the nickname that he alone called me.

He and I were very, very close, something that made my mother and younger brother jealous. (I didn’t really see or understand that until after he died when I was 26.)  There was nothing whatsoever or remotely sexual about it, which is what people usually assume when a father and daughter are very close. As my girlhood best friend said to me a few months ago, my father thought the sun rose and set on me, thought that I was his fairy princess. All of my odd, Autistic/ADHD weirdness was something he loved. I always knew he loved me not just despite my weirdness but because of it. (Something that my late wife did as well.)

My father was a brilliant man. He graduated high school at 15 and went into university to study architecture. Academically he handled it, but he was way too young to handle the social aspects as well as the responsibility of it and so he dropped out a year later. Things were apparently hellish with my grandfather and my Dad enlisted in the Army on his 18th birthday. This was 1965 and the US started sending soldiers to Vietnam. Not my Dad, though. He took some tests the military gave him and after boot camp spent his entire three years on a Nike missle base in the middle of Milwaukee, working on one of those huge old mainframe computers (you know, the kind with punch cards). I’m guessing they didn’t send the really smart ones off to be killed.

He taught himself how to be an architect through reading books at the library, including textbooks that he would sit and read at UC Berkeley’s library, even though he wasn’t a student there any longer. Then, after he had learned that, he read through engineering and physics textbooks. Then he read through every single book he could find that taught him how to actually build the structures he had learned to draw. He was completely self-taught, and the man not only designed and built complicated, Broadway-worthy theater sets he also designed and built houses from the ground up. He wanted to build a rock retaining wall at our house (which was located at the base of a hill and was on an incline) and so he went to the library and got a book about how Romans built walls and spent three years going to the local river to source variously-sized river rocks to build that retaining wall, which he did completely without any kind of mortar, just balancing the rocks perfectly. It’s still standing, 40 years later.

He always worked at very menial jobs - he was a line cook, a stocker in a supermarket produce department, an RV park manager, etc. He was terrible with money, didn’t understand it at all. We lived right on top of the poverty line. He had zero executive functioning and that caused a lot of problems for all of us and meant a lot of broken promises, too.

I am completely sure that like me, like both of his grandchildren, he had Autism and ADHD. Not diagnosed of course, they weren’t in those days, But he had them nevertheless.

He was a voracious reader and introduced me to sci fi and fantasy. On my eighth birthday he gave me his copies of The Lord of the Rings and had me read them. (This was 1977, trust me when I tell you those books were not a household name at that point.)  He’d wake me up at 3:30 am and we’d go fishing together, him with a thermos of black coffee, me with a bottle of orange juice and a box of Entenmann’s mixed donuts and we’d sit there in happy silence together, fishing and enjoying each other’s company. He was a wonderful storyteller and only once did he get angry with me. He never laid a hand on me or my brother but the one time he got angry with me he slapped me across the face and then the both of us cried.

He taught me many useful skills, like how to jimmy locks and how to walk through people unseen and how to learn on my own how to do things and how to make the world’s best pie. He always told me that I could absolutely anything I put my mind to. When I asked him once if that meant I could be a father - I was joking - he looked me straight in the eye and asked me if I actually wanted to be a father. When I told him no he responded that he had said if I had put my mind to it, and he wasn’t vouching for anything I pulled when I didn’t care.

He also told me that I was the strongest person he’d ever met and when I scoffed at that he shook his head and said, “Angel, most people see you and they have no idea at all what’s inside of you and what you are capable of. There is nothing in this life you won’t overcome. Someday, when we’re both dead, you come find me and tell me I’m wrong.” (So far, he has not been wrong.)

He was a functioning drunk; he only drank after 8 at night, however. Just enough to make sure he’d not be hungover in the morning. He was a night person and all his life only needed about 4 hours of sleep to be completely rested.

He loved movies but he hated to go alone and usually took me. Not all of these movies were appropriate for kids my age but there it was. When I was eleven he took me with him to see The Elephant Man and I broke down completely, devastated and sobbing, horrified at how cruel people were to the lead character, just because he was different. After the movie we sat in the car and he held me until I was done crying and when I was all done he told me to never forget how the movie had made me feel and to remember that no matter how different people were from me they were all human and deserved kindness, compassion and understanding. This was a lesson I have tried very hard to live throughout my life. He took people at face value, and that included everyone. I don’t think he was particularly woke based on 2021 sentiments but he tried very hard to treat people equally and that included queer people during the AIDS crisis, too.

He was a feminist and believed women should be equal to men. He walked the walk, too: he cooked, he cleaned, he changed diapers, etc. And by that I mean he did them as par for the course, as part of his daily life. He did not rely on my mother’s emotional labor to remind him to do shit. He just did it because things needed doing and he was a grownass man, not a man-child. He did not consider caring for his children as babysitting, either.

He liked to sing. My mother and brother have opera-quality singing voices - for real, both of them are quite gifted - but his wasn’t like that, it was just a perfectly ordinary, passable baritone, just like mine is a perfectly ordinary, passable alto. He sang and he whistled when he was happy and I do the same. He used to make up funny little songs and rhymes on the spot, he had a gift for improvisation that way. I wish I had inherited that but alas! No.

Even when he was a boy all of the neighborhood kids would come to him with broken toys to be fixed. He quite genuinely liked kids and even teenagers and spent a lot of time working with the local high school drama department, building the sets, working as the stage manager and setting up and working the lights and soundboard (he taught himself to do that as well) and even directing some of the plays when the drama teacher was out on maternity leave. To this day I still get contacted by people who were in school with me or my brother who tell me what an influence my father was on them, the special things he did for them to make sure they knew he was paying attention and cared. One guy a couple of years ago contacted me on Facebook and told me that he got into some trouble after high school, even got imprisoned for a few months. My father visited him in prison and afterwards took him to AA with him, became his sponsor, helped keep on the straight and narrow. He named his oldest son after my father, in fact. I hear a lot of those stories.

He loved books and he loved music and he taught me to love those things as well. He fell in love with my mother when he was seventeen and married her five years later and came to regret it - like his father, his wife was an abusive, narcissistic person. He stayed with her, though, until my second year of university, when he abruptly walked out on her, went to AA and quit drinking. I asked him about it later; he told me that he had wanted to leave her for years but knew that if he did he’d never see me or my younger brother again. The courts in those days automatically gave kids to the mother and my mother was an accomplished liar and would have told the courts anything and they would have believed her. Once I was out of the house and secure, then he was done. (The fact that my brother was only fifteen and left to fend for himself with my mother was...not good. Not good at all. My father was not perfect and he was not a saint and that was a mistake that still has repercussions today.) He did not do enough to protect me from my mother while I was growing up, however. He regretted it, he told me later. I understand now that he was constantly walking a knife’s edge, trying to keep her satisfied enough so she wouldn’t try to take me away from him, but it took therapy long after he died for me to really understand that.

His special interest was model railroading and he built these amazing, intricate landscapes, all by hand and by scratch. The man took latex molds off the sides of rocks to build mountains with and built buildings out of tiny pieces of wood and such. I spent many hours with him as he built, listening to music and reading or just laying there, thinking my thinks, or sometimes chattering nonstop to him.

He called me, every single Friday night, right after the X-Files ended, right after the child’s voice said “I made this.” My phone would ring and we’d chat for hours, talking about the show (we both loved it) and whatever else. He lived about 5 hours away from me at the time and we did talk at other times during the week but that was our standard date. He died in the middle of Season 2 and to this very goddamn fucking day whenever I hear that “I made this” I wait for my phone to ring. And I cry every single time because he will never call me again.

I absolutely think that meeting my late wife via the X-Files was my father, watching out for me. When my twins were newborn and pretty much all I did 24x7 was breastfeed them I re-watched the entirety of X-Files on the DVDs I had and I’d talk to my father in my head, telling him about his grandchildren.

He’d always buy the new Stephen King books in hardcover and read them and then give them to me to keep. He especially loved the Dark Tower series but I haven’t finished the ones that were published after he died. I bought them myself but they are still sitting on my bookshelf, unread. I just can’t.

He died in the hospital after being in a coma for a week. The ICU nurses were very kind and showed me how I could turn off the life support machine if I wanted to and told me that I could be in there with him as long as I needed. They very considerately closed all of the curtains and closed the door to the room. I was alone with him in there and I turned off the machine and I held his hand and I sang to him as he died. I didn’t want him to be alone. 

He was right. I was strong enough to do that. It hurt, though. It still hurts.

He’s buried in California with a free military headstone because my comfortably upper middle class grandfather refused to shell out for a headstone and I was flat broke. Many years later I had a regular stone engraved with the words, “Go then, there are other worlds than these” and I placed it at our summer cottage here in Finland for him. I like to think that he and my late wife are keeping company. They never met here, but they would have liked each other very much, that I do know.

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

The villain in your story - 1. The war

Series Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist - Full Masterlist

Summary: Sure, I could be your loyal lapdog, your sweet little slut, you biggest fan. But I don’t want to be. Why should I be loyal, sweet, or supportive when I receive none of those things from you?

Pairing: Bucky x OC (Roxanne Amy)

Word count: 1538

‘I’m booked for the week, but I can come over Saturday to take some measurements,‘ she tells the both of them, ‘will that be a problem?‘ ‘No, that’s fine,‘ James answers. ‘Great, now get out, I have more important matters to attend to.‘

Saturday. Why did she say Saturday again? Oh, right. Because she never has anything to do on Saturday because no one likes her. That’s not completely true. With her best friend, Tamara, she’s a different person, but since she moves they don’t get to see much of each other anymore and making new friends seems to be a bigger task than expected for Roxanne. Tamara had tried to get her to meant things with Stark and his superheroes since they needed her a lot, but that was a no go to Roxanne. Stark is business and so are his superheroes. And so she walks over to Stark Tower on a Saturday, dressed much more casual than she normally would. She has her gold rimmed reading glasses on, a pair of black, high waist pants, a navy tank top tucked into the pants, and an oversized green and blue flannel to cover her shoulders. As she steps inside, there is no tick, tick, ticking of red bottoms. Instead there is the thud, thud, thudding of black leather boots with yellow details. She walks over to the receptionist, who seems no less than surprised by her look. ‘I have an appointment with Stark and Barnes.‘ She gestures to the elevator. Roxanne nods and head over. The elevator automatically goes to her floor, because nothing in Stark Tower is normal. Everything is too much. Why be humble when you’re a genius? The elevator doors open and the first one she sees is Steve Rogers sitting in the common area. ‘Good afternoon Rogers,‘ she says, ‘do you know where I can find Stark and Barnes?‘ He looks at her in shock. It’s safe to say he hasn’t seen her dressed casual in a long, long time. After the accident, her attitude changed so much and though Steve stands behing Tony, he knows something is off by the way Tony treats her. And so he doesn’t really know how to behave around her. ‘Ehm, I-‘ ‘Miss Amy,‘ a voice calls happily. She turns towards the voice. ‘Docter Banner, how do you do,‘ she says with the slightest smile. The two shake hands as Rogers grows more and more confused. He thought she helt a grudge against everyone, but apperantly Bruce is the exception. Makes sense. ‘I’m good, I’m good,‘ he hums, ‘not as green anymore.‘ ‘I see,‘ she says, ‘say, I have an appointment with Stark and Barnes. Would you know where they are?‘ ‘I do not,‘ he replies a bit confused, ‘they didn’t say anything about that.‘ ‘Typical,‘ she sighs, ‘would you mind showing me where they usually hang out? Maybe we can find them.‘ ‘Are you alright miss Amy,‘ Banner asks with a confused laugh, ‘you are normally never this eager.‘ ‘Well, we’re talking prosthetics here,‘ she explains, ‘that happens to be my area of expertise these days.‘ Steve Rogers continues to watch in awe as the two get friendly. Meanwhile, Peter Parker walks in just as confused as Rogers but for different reasons. ‘Who’s that?‘ ‘Roxanne Amy, the most ruthless woman you’ll ever meet,‘ Steve tells him with his jaw still dropped. ‘She doesn’t look ruthless,‘ Peter comments to Steve. ‘No, that’s the whole problem.‘ Steve tells him, ‘she doesn’t talk much to anyone, is always judgmental, and never smiles.‘ ‘But she’s smiling to Bruce.‘ Steve rolls his eyes. ‘That’s the thing,‘ Steve replies, ‘she never does that.‘ ‘How does a person never smile?‘ ‘I don’t know, but she normally manages.‘ ‘What is everyone looking at?‘ The two jump as Loki suddenly appears behind the both of them. ‘Roxanne Amy and Bruce,‘ Peter tells him. ‘And who is this fair maiden?‘ ‘A bitch according to Steve.‘ Steve hushes him as he said it a little loud. ‘I didn’t say bitch.‘ ‘That’s what you meant,‘ Peter shrugs. ‘Doesn’t matter what I meant, you can’t say that about people,‘ Steve quietly snaps at him. ‘Hey,‘ Bruce calls over to the three, ‘do any of you know where Tony and Bucky are?‘ ‘They’re in the lab,‘ Peter calls back. Roxanne nods to them and goes on her way. Bruce walks over to the three. ‘Next time you call her a ruthless woman or a bitch, please lower your voice.‘

‘Ah, Roxanne.‘ ‘Miss Amy.‘ ‘Miss Amy, welcome,‘ Tony corrects himself and shows her where she can put her things. ‘By the way, please inform your staff when I’m coming over and tell your heroes to quit calling me a bitch,‘ she hums to Tony, ‘I’m doing you a favor here, so I’d like for them to at least treat me with respect.‘ ‘Respect is earned,‘ Stark argues. She shoots him a murderous gaze. ‘They managed before, I’m sure they can pretend to tolerate me,‘ she snaps at him and puts down her bag. Bucky watches her closely as she pulls some tools out of the bag she carried with her. Most tools are measuring tools, along with a voice recorder and some clay kind of substance. He’s curious about this “accident“ that seemed to have occured between the group. Why would they hate her if she goes out of her way to help him? ‘Okay mister Barnes, here’s what we’re going to do today,‘ she says before even sitting him down, ‘I’m going to measure your stump and the arm they gave you as well as your normal arm. After that I’m going to take a mold of the stump so that I can work on a new arm for you. Do you understand?‘ ‘Yes ma’am.‘ ‘Great,‘ she seems to display another small smile, but Bucky isn’t quite sure about it, ‘I will also be recording my voice during the measuring to make sure I don’t confuse myself. Are you ready?‘ ‘Yes ma’am.‘ ‘Take a seat.‘ Tony watches as Roxanne gets to work on Bucky’s stump, stopping whenever he flinches, winces, or moves. There is so much care in the way she goes to work and Tony wonders where all that care went. Right now she seems like a kinder version of herself, like someone who actually wants to make something better for another but every moment she speaks she spits venom. Except when she speaks to Bruce Banner, but Tony can’t figure out why he’s the exception. What also surprises Tony is that she’s very patient and careful with Bucky, even when he seems like he’s about to kill her for causing him pain. ‘All done,‘ she hums, starting to pack up her things. Bucky seems surprised she’s already done and so is Tony. ‘That’s it?‘ ‘I never said it had to take long,‘ she snaps to Tony, ‘this is the easy part. The hard part is making sure the thing fits.‘ ‘When can we expect the first prototype,‘ Tony asks her. ‘So impatient,‘ she sighs, ‘I don’t know. This is a much more high tech prosthetic than I normally make. I’ll be over when I have something that he has to fit or when I need more information. Mister Barnes, do you have any questions?‘ ‘Yes, is there any way you could make my current prosthetic a bit more comfortable,‘ he asks, a stern look still on his face but he knows she’s being nice for her doing. He can tell by Tony’s annoyance. ‘Sadly, no,‘ she says with a bit of a frown, ‘frankly, that thing is garbage and will probably destroy your shoulders. Excuse me, shoulder.‘ A small smile plays on Bucky’s lips at her little joke. ‘Can I give you my number so you don’t have to alert Tony every time something has to happen,‘ Bucky offers, but the lengthy explanation shows more than just easier communication. ‘Yes, that’d be great.‘

It only takes a few days before Bucky hears something from Roxanne. She called him to ask if he wanted to have a look at what she’s working at to see if he can work with the initial idea. And so he walks behind her tick, tick, ticking high heels as she shows him to her office. She’s a completely different person now. Her face is much colder than before and she almost seems angry. She sits him down and shows her screen to explain what she’s working on, and suddenly her whole demenour changes. ‘So, as I said, I want to design two prosthetics for you,‘ she tells, sounding quite excited about the whole ordeal, ‘I don’t know if there’s a certain color you’d like for it, but this is the idea for the domestic prosthetic.‘ She shows him a 3D model of a normal looking arm. ‘This one will be a bit less versatile than the combat prosthetic as it will be build with the intend to do every day tasks like cooking, cleaning, wiping your butt.‘ She shows another 3D model. ‘It will look like an ordinary skeleton from within and we’ll try to work with silicone and light metals or plastics to make sure it’s the same weight as your other arm, but not a burden on your shoulder.‘ Bucky nods with a satisfied smile on his face. ‘I like it,‘ he tells her. She grins at the sight of his satisfaction. ‘You seem really happy about this project.‘ ‘I haven’t worked hands on with prosthetics in a while,‘ she explains, ‘I mostly manage to company, but I love things like this.‘ ‘May I ask why you act so cold towards Stark?‘ Her face slips back into the coldness it held before. ‘No.‘ She opens another 3D model of the other arm while Bucky has to wrap his head around the fact she just refused his question. ‘I’m not that far with this one. I wanted the domestic one done first as Stark told me there are no missions at the moment and I want you to be comfortable moving around in your free time. But how do you think it looks.‘ ‘It looks good. I like them,‘ he says, a bit less enthusiastic than before. She sighs and turns towards him. ‘Listen, my feut with Stark is something that has been going on for a long, long time,‘ she explains, ‘it’s not a subject I like to talk about. I am only doing this because you looked in pain.‘ ‘You don’t even know me.‘ ‘I know a tortured soul when I see one,‘ she answers coldly, ‘and if I can do something to help, I do.‘ ‘Okay, I won’t ask about it anymore,‘ he agrees. ‘Thank you.‘

[reversemoon255]

1t's Never 0ver

Hot take: Brain is the first Reiwa Rider. Still, for the first Reiwa series, Kamen Rider Zero-One was a great start. I've seen a surprising amount of kids shows tackle the idea of treating robots like people, and this show handles it pretty decently.

The Good: Aruto was surprisingly funny and competent. I was optimistic when they presented him as an unfunny comedian turned CEO in the preview material, but I'm impressed by how well he turned out, with full credit to the actor for nailing most of his deliveries. One of my big problems with both Build and Zi-O was that I couldn't always get behind the characters, but Aruto was definitely a step up, being the first Rider since Drive to really grab me.

Considering we just came off Zi-O, with a large cast of stoic characters, it's amazing how much Izu, the emotionless robot, pulled it off better. (Actually, credit to all the Humagear actors for outstanding mono-emotional performances. They all did very well.) I think a big part of that was the fact that they allowed her to make jokes and do silly things with a straight face, instead of being purely dour. And it was an excellent payoff, seeing her slow progression from a very basic personality to a much more lively one as the series progressed.

I really liked Fuwa, and his was another character that underwent several shifts during the run of the story, those the moments where he started turning are more evident than Izu's (but he's also not portrayed as very bright, so that makes sense). His entire arc is him overcoming his hatred for Humagears, eventually reaching the point where he wants to help them, with the final expression of this being him declaring his will to carry on Naki's dream and using his Progrise Key to transform. And he was just pretty fun, being the serious character who likes bad jokes, and often ends up the butt of them himself.

Yua is a troublesome character. There was a lot of untapped potential there that I feel wasn't reached, but there was some good, too. Her arc was seeing Humagear as people rather than tools, which isn't as well executed as Izu or Fuwa as she took a back seat for about two show arcs, but is ultimately satisfying. Most of her development in this department seems to comes from her interactions with Izu, but her experiences during the Fire Fighter training were also a big push. And her resignation was amazing. I feel most of her issues could have been solved if they didn’t push her so hard in promotional material at the beginning.

I disliked Gai for most of this show, which I think was the point. He was a total butt for the majority of the runtime, but it's also amazing how quickly I 180'd on him after his dog showed up. He was very functional, and I wasn't really interested in him as a character until, again, Dog Thouser showed up.

Jin was definitely the villain I had the most investment in throughout the show, even if that started waning near the end when he was just sitting around and letting Horobi do whatever he wanted. Still, he was very similar to Izu, being a Humagear that we see slowly obtain his own singularity and ideals, but taken from a different perspective. He was also a lot of fun. I've found my favorite characters are usually the ones with positive attitudes and outlooks, even if he was aiming for mankind's extinction.

I know a lot of people like Horobi, but it took me a while to warm up to him, and even then I wasn't the biggest fan until his changes in the final episodes. When Gai replaced him as the main antagonist of the series, I wasn't sad to see him go, but I am glad he eventually came back because they did good things with him. It's also cool how he sparks Jin's first major development with his death, and Jin sparks his final changes with his own.

I found myself very invested in the story, especially since this series was very good at not letting a status quo settle for very long. As soon as the Aruto VS A.I.M.S dynamic was set up, he reveals himself to them. As soon as Metsuboujinrai.Net is defeated, Gai shows up. After 4 "nice" contests between humans and Humagear where the humans learn something through the competition, we get one where the villains win and Aruto is ousted as CEO. And I think that was to the show's benefit. A lot of Rider shows will wait half the show before a shakeup, but Zero-One was constantly keeping the viewer interested with new story lines and revelations.

Oh, and every belt chant was amazing.

The Bad: Going in the same order, Yua had a lot of unused potential. I remember how much hype her character had out the gate, being the first female Rider to start a series. She even got a form change, which is a first. However, she only got one form change, and as I mentioned when discussing LupinRanger and Ryusoulger, power-ups in Tokusatsu shows are often used as physical representations of a character's growth. Yua's second form showed up before episode 10. Yes, she also had Fighting Jackal later in the show, but that was a monster form; it's made to represent her fully giving in to Gai’s will, which is why we don't see it after she quits ZAIA. I would have loved if she had used Fighting Jackal in the ShotRiser and had gotten a new form as a representation of her moving on from those painful memories, or forgiving Gai. It sucks, because we got a ton of short-use Riders and forms in this series, so you'd think they could swing it. Just in the last few episodes, we got Arc-One, Arc-Scorpion, Vulcan Japanese Wolf, and Eden. At this point, I think Toei's just not sure what to do with a female Rider. At least they treated her better than Poppy and Nico.

I really didn't like Gai. And I know that's the point, but there's a difference between there being a character you're supposed to hate for the whole show and a character you're supposed to come around on. You can have a despicable character become a good guy, but there has to be something about them that makes you want them to become one in the first place, otherwise it's just jarring. Dan Kuroto is a great example of this. He was also a despicable character, but he had this humorous over-the-top attitude to him that made him fun to watch, and you want him to join the main cast to see how that persona bounces off everyone else. Gai didn't have anything like that; he was just dislikable. If they had hinted at all to his past, it would have worked, but they waited until the episode where he face turns to do it. And that just doesn't work.

This is also a personal nitpick, but when they were teasing stuff for the finalé, I thought Aruto was going to use Rocking Hopper, not Realizing Hopper. Thematically, that would have been awesome, but I'm ok with what we got.

There were also quite a few episodic plots I'd wished they'd covered in regards to the Humagears. We covered quite a broad range of topics with them, but there were a few big things they missed. One of them is about Humagear choosing new careers. It's cool that Humagear have dreams, but they're all in regard to their predisposed profession. The manga assistant wants to write a manga, the coaches want to teach the best athletes, etc. But no one wants to change jobs. We don't get a farmer Humagear that suddenly wants to become an artist or anything, and I would have liked to see how Aruto would handle that. And what about love? It was briefly brought up, but what happens when a Humagear falls in love with a human? Or when two Humagear fall in love? How did they have sentient robots and not talk about love!?

I also can't help but wonder what the show would have been like if we hadn't lost 4 episodes due to current events. I have a feeling we might have had a Gaim Finalé situation with Eden and that's why they had the costume on hand. Who knows; maybe we'll get some interviews down the road that will give us some insight.

And lastly, spoilers, I want top talk about the death of Izu, because that's the one thing I see the most that people disliked about the ending. It's not that she died at all, because we've had that before with characters like Ankh, but because Aruto created a new, identical Izu, with the same name, and proclaimed he was going to retrain her.

I had to think on this for quite a while, but I'm ok with this. Don't get me wrong, I would have preferred an ending where Izu was restored like Jin, or where Horobi becomes Aruto's new assistant, but the thing is this was foreshadowed. In the early episodes, every time Metsubojinrai.Net corrupts a Humagear, and Aruto or Fuwa or Yua has to destroy it, what happens? The owner gets a new Humagear of the same model and retrains it. Aruto is following his company’s policy. And yes, it’s painful. You can see him well up as he’s reminded of the first Izu, but he smiles and moves forward.

There is a form of Japanese pottery called kintsukuroi. In it, you take a piece of broken pottery, and along the cracks you piece everything back together with gold. It's not an easy process, it takes time, and the cracks are still there, but the end result is far more beautiful that what you started with. Aruto is always going to remember the first Izu, and living with the second Izu is going to be painful, but there’s the potential for this new relationship to be even greater than the one he started with. Or at least that’s me reading too much into it.

The Next: (At the time of writing this,) Saber premieres this weekend. Love the designs, as I'm big on the knight motif. I think the belt gimmick is cool, and might get it if they reveal some interesting power-up books. I think a story about story is very fun, very meta, could be great, but could also go horribly wrong if not given to the right writer. We'll have to see. After how well Zero-One was handled, I'm excited to see how the rest of Reiwa will go. They probably won't all be winners, but I enjoyed most of Neo Heisei, with only the last few entries being bad-to-ok in my book, so here's to hoping we'll get a repeat of that trend, without repeating their themes.

Overall, this was a good season. Not my favorite, but certainly in the upper half of the show's library. Looking forward to the movie, whenever that happens. Looking forward to Saber, too.

"A Rider Kick to the sky turns to take off toward a dream!"

[onlynight-onlylight]

Encounter

Words: 2,6K

Pairing: Jin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Slice of life, Stranger to lover (?)

Summary: You will never know when and where love comes to you. Moreover when it comes from a perfect man that everyone adores.

Note: I’m surprised myself when writing this short fic of Jin. I didn’t expect the story to be like this haha. I write this for Jin’s birthday which is next week!!! And this is my first time to write after a looooong time so I hope it’s not too awkward.

Dani: Are you free today?

The very first message I check in the morning comes from my best friend. I make sure that today is Saturday before I send a reply.

Me: Yeah. Why?

Dani: I bet you haven’t check the group chat yet. Seonho asks us to meet today, reunion with hidden agenda I guess.

I open an active group chat consists of my high school friends. We actually don’t talk often but we always give each others’ updates to maintain good relationship. I scroll a little bit because everyone is sending message. When I see a picture, I finally understand the hidden agenda Dani’s told me just now. Seonho is getting married. Seonho, my biggest crush during high school.

**

“Are you coming?” Seokyung & Dani are on the way to the café. Some of friends will meet today, for the sake of reunion, and for early celebration of Seonho’s wedding. These girls have been my up and down when trying my best to keep my secret crush hidden. I’ve said to them many times that the silly crush is gone now, but I can’t lie that something does feel strange. And now they unnecessary worry about me.

“Of course. Call me again when you arrive, I’m at the nearby park.”

“Going out with your camera again?”

“Yes. I don’t want to waste a good day like this”

“Okay. Don’t stay under the sun too long”

I walk around the park, following the line of trees. It’s getting warmer as welcoming spring season but sometime the wind is still too cold for me. I take some pictures when find something that catch my eyes. It’s always entertaining to watch people’s interaction. I often sit alone and enjoy the breeze. It helps me clearing my mind when days feel too rough. Sometimes, I get bonus to see beautiful faces for my camera to catch. Just like that one particular man who just walks out from the café. He must be model or actor to have that gorgeous face and perfect proportion.

 I take few pictures of him. I know they will turn out good even though I don’t take its properly. It’s surely not because I’m a good photographer but the object. It makes me smile. It will be nice to get this kind of pictures every time I shoot.

*Dani calling*

It’s time to be back to reality.

 I make a promise earlier that whatever happened today it won’t break me down, not again. I might like him in the past but it’s all in the past. He will forever see me as a friend and I know that from the very start. I know it well. But it’s just I get a closure that I needed today when I get his wedding invitation. I can hold it well in front of him and my friends. But somehow, a tear escapes from my eye.

I look at the film camera I bring today. I want to make memories with them, with Seonho too, using his camera so I cannot have second thought after the photo taken and delete it. This should be one of ways for me to toughen myself and be true to my own words. I’ve done liking Seonho and only see him as a friend.

I still have 5 frames to go. I take a deep breath and snap a shot of the upper part of the building together with the clear sky. Long sigh comes out, I really don’t want to cry but it keeps falling.

“Are you okay?” asks a man from a bench away. It startles me and surprisingly stops me from crying.

“I know it’s not my business but I think you need this” says the man who is standing a step away. I look at him while wiping the tear stain.

“I’m fine”

“I just purchase it from the vending machine if you don’t believe me. I don’t have any bad intention. I just feel bad to see you sad and this sweet drink should make you a little bit better”

He is very good looking. No, extremely handsome. He surely has his way with words but I still keep my guard up. These days, many criminals disguise as kind looking or educated person.

“You can take a picture of me as proof later on, if I really do something bad to you”

He, once again, push the cold drink to me and back to his bench again. He opens his bottle and drink it like a commercial. I can’t help a small smile when see him do that. He is surely a weird guy.

“I’m ready to pose if you really want to take a picture though”

“Okay, just in case”

I bring my film camera to my eyes and capture a very clear shape of his face.

“One more with your phone. You can send it to your friend ‘just in case’ I steal your phone later” he says while striking another pose. I shake my head. I do not expect laughing at the very moment.

I fulfill his request to take his picture with my phone camera and show him the result. I really hope he is not a bad guy because it will be a shame for his beautiful face and such a wit.

“Thank you” I say to him before drinking. My heart feels a little bit lighter than earlier.

“Will you post you pictures online? Hmm maybe on instagram?”

“I don’t know”

“I give a permission to post my pictures on your page then, no need to thank me”

I laugh for the second time. This time he laughs with me. Why someone bother to stop, spend his time for a poor looking stranger and make her laugh? I mean, we are strangers, we don’t know each other, less care for each other.

He, now, moves to my bench and sit on the other edge.

“I’m Seokjin, you can call me Jin. You can to not tell me your name now, but do me a favor”

“What is it?”

“When I find you, I mean my picture on your SNS, you cannot decline my offer for coffee or dinner if you don’t drink coffee”

“Okay”

“Be prepare for our second date” he says before leaving me all smiley on the park.

When he’s far enough from my sight, I just realize. He’s the man I saw this afternoon. The living sculpture that makes my pictures look better. I shake my head in disbelief. I’m expecting our next meeting to come.

10/10

This is the last picture of my happiness project. A pleasant encounter. Thank you.

 seonho__kim Oh? Who’s this? You hide your new boyfriend from me?

kyungie_SK YOU MEET HANDSOME MAN IN SECRET!? WHATTA BESTFRIEND!!

DDDani is he… Jin sunbae? You two ...?

KSJin92 I cant tell which one is better, the photographer or the model, should we discuss it over a coffee? Or dinner? Your call.

 The minute after I post Seokjin picture, everyone’s being wild. My bestfriends are being so loud on our private group chat. Sending all text in capital letters, sending all threating meme stocks they have on their phone. They demand me to explain in details how, when, why regarding Seokjin. I have to ignore those texts as I have to back to work. I know once I start replying them, they will never let me to stop until they satisfied. I receive DM notification from the source of this phenomenon right before I out it back to my pocket.

Jin: I know I offer coffee or dinner, but I wait for a long time just for coffee.. I know this Japanese restaurant that has superb menu and deserves all those Michelin star, so… will you be free on tomorrow?

Me: That sounds very promising and I have no reason to refuse, don’t I?

Jin: Great. 010 XXX XXXX This is my number, text me your office address and I’ll pick you up. See you soon ;)

 Right after works, Seokyung and Dani ask me to meet them in chicken restaurant near our highschool. It’s our favorite restaurant to go whenever we want to fulfill our stomach while gossiping.

“I don’t believe how small this world is. How can you and Jin sunbae meet? He is ‘the sunbae’ I told you guys before” Dani seems excited and amazed at the same time. Dani works at the finance consulting company for 2 years now and Seokjin is his senior in different department.

“The famous sunbae?” ask Seokyung. Dani nods quickly. Me and Seokyung remember how Dani describe this man to us the first week she got the job. The idol of her company, who has many admirers from intern to senior staffs.

“I met him at the park last time, we talked a little and he asked me to take his picture”

“But how? And why?”

That’s exactly my questions too. Compared to him, I’m just an average looking woman, and a stranger. He must have work with many beautiful women in daily. I shrug my shoulder to answer them.

“It just happened”

“Is he a weirdo? I know he is handsome, but it doesn’t mean he is a good guy” Seokyung states her opinion with doubtful face.

“He. Is. The. Perfect. Guy” Dani says.

“He is very kind to others, well-mannered and smart. He is professional at work, no matter how friendly he is, he will be strict to those who make mistakes. During our company’s dinner, he can make everyone’s laugh with his dad jokes. I don’t think you can fake that one, no?”

“So… it will be fine if I meet him again, right?” ask me to both of my bestfriends.

“Totally fine”

“I think so”

They answer at the same time. They look at each other and laugh.

“That’s the fastest answer I ever heard from you too”

“I wish you to have boyfriend for what.. 2 years? It’s the perfect time to start again, you know” said Dani with a smile.

I’ve tried to have romantic relationship with other men before this but it never stays long. I was happy with them, everything goes smoothly. However, at some points, we both know that I cannot love them like they love me.

“Do you think it will work out this time, with Seokjin?”

“We won’t know for sure, but we wish you to be happy”

I also wish myself to be happy, happier.

Spending time with Jin is always entertaining. He knows his choice of words will lighten up the mood between us whenever we’re going out. He never seems out of topic or makes me losing interest. When I talk, he will attentively listen. Most of times he introduces me to all of his favorite restaurants in the city. Sometimes, he will accompany me taking pictures for my new projects. We just feel very comfortable to have each other around.

“Have you tried the new ice cream parlor near your home?”

“I haven’t tried it yet but I heard it’s good. They also have opening promos this week, if I’m not mistaken”

“Then should we go there before I drop you?”

“Hmm… are you making me join your morning jogging tomorrow?”

“You can read my mind so well. I need to make an excuse so I can meet you tomorrow morning”

I hold my smile and turn my face to the window.

“Who’s taking a woman eating ice cream nearly 9 pm”

Seokjin laughs a loud. He puts the ice cream parlor’s address to his car’s GPS despite of my comment because he knows I won’t survive the temptation.

“I will let you eat the mint-choco flavor this time. How about that?”

I pretend to think for a while. We both know Jin will get what he wants, but I just want to make it looks like not too easy. I don’t want to look I like him more than I should. Considering he let me to buy mint-choco flavor after countless dates for ice cream, he must really want us to go there. He always stops me when I want to pick that particular flavor and suggest me all of other flavors before.

“Bonus. How about dinner at my place next week? I’ll show you how good I am in kitchen”

I know he doesn’t have hidden meaning in his words but I can’t help to blush. He shouldn’t know how many times I imagining to hug him. He has wide shoulder and tiny waist, deep soothing smell and a good amounts sweet talks. We always an inch away to kiss. It makes me somewhat impatient and wondering how it feels like.

“O..okay”

“Cute”

 We don’t label our relationship but we are no longer stopping ourselves to touch each other with affection months ago. This time feels different from the other relationships I have before. I trust Jin from the beginning and I think I fall in love with him sooner than I expected. He, himself, is very different from men I met before but I never thought we will match very well. To be honest, I thought he’ll only play around with me. But he always proves me wrong with his actions.

Dinner at his place become a routine. He doesn’t cook every time I come over, but never let me disappointed by his chosen take-out menu. Sometimes he just wants us to watch movies with snacks. The first three dinners, he will drive me home even it’s late. But after that, he will pretend too sleepy and persuade me to sleep over. It’s not I don’t like it, but he just tortures me more than before. These days, he will just hug me once I step inside his place and won’t even let me go for more than 5 minutes. It feels like we put ourselves in internal battle, to see who stands longer in this sexual tension.

 “You’re not going home tonight” he said.

“I know” I answer without looking at him.

I give up to try right after the first night I fail to force him getting up while pretend to be sleepy. I remember how cheerful he sounds when I agree to sleep over. He even let me wear his favorite green pajamas.

He pulls me closer to him till my back fully leans to his chest.

“Should I tell you my plan tonight or you already know too?”

“Hmm? What plan?”

“I call it ‘Making You Mine’ plan?”

“Making me yours?” I ask. I turn my face to see him and find him already looking at me.

We just stare to each other’s eyes for some good seconds until his eyes start to travel down. He stops at my lips and wetting his own lips. I can’t help to notice how his tongue move slowly.

“Yes. I’ll make you mine tonight” he whispers while looking back at my eyes.

My mind blanks. I can’t think other things than his lips, his body, just himself in front of me. His face comes closer and I close my eyes when I feel his soft thick lips on mine. I hold onto his arm that circles my waist.

“I forget to tell you. You’re not going to sleep either”

The perks of having best photographer in the world as your girlfriend ;)

By @.Y/N

 Y/N OMG. WHY DO YOU POST THIS?!

KSJin92 @.Y/N you’re the only one who can capture my beauty, honey, I have to show it to the world

Y/N @.KSJin92 tell me why I agree being your gf again

KSJin92 @.Y/N oh you know why… should I list all of them here? ;)

DDDani @.kyungie_SK this is why she was busy for the weekend ;)

kyungie_SK @.DDDani totally understand lol

Y/N @.DDDani @.kyungie_SK shut up you two!!!

[thinkhesaurus]

Well well, if you're gonna twist my arm~ here’s some nsfw headcanons about Owen/Xanatos. gen kinks ahoy

nsf//w and gargoyles spoilers under the cut you know the drill. 

✿ : Has your muse ever had sex before?

...Sort of. As Oberon’s servant, occasionally the king didn’t want to bother with that ridiculous foreplay, so he used Puck as a fluffer. Or if Titania were to kick her husband out of bed, Puck was around to finish Oberon off.

It wasn’t non-consensual, mind. Puck was happy to be of service to his king, but it did blur the lines between his role as his king’s servant or his king’s friend, which he most decidedly turned out not to be. Overall, his feelings about it in retrospect are mixed. He likes things with Xanatos far better.

☜ : Does your muse like to top?

Depends. Owen is something of a service top, and combined with his inexperience, he often stumbles over himself when he isn’t being told what to do in bed. But if Xanatos really wants him to and it makes the man happy, Owen will do whatever he wishes.

As Puck, though? Topping from the bottom is fun. He'll hop up on that stallion and ride Xanatos until he's begging for mercy.

☞ : Does your muse like to bottom?

He wouldn’t ever admit it, but he loves it. He’d act like a complete slut if Xanatos told him to, really. He already likes serving Xanatos. Being treated like nothing more than a wet hole for his master to fuck? Owen has to be careful sometimes not to let his mind wander to that kind of thing while he’s at work. Very....distracting.

☺ : How often does your muse masturbate?

Rarely, if ever. It’s just not something Owen would consider doing on his own. Maybe it’s one of those things someone needs to order him to do...?

☂ : How long does it take your muse to hit climax, usually?

Again, depends on the situation. He’ll almost always try and wait until his partner has been satisfied, at least once before he’d even consider finishing. Of course, if Xanatos has been edging him, working him up and teasing him until he’s aching, He only needs to be given permission, and he cums on command.

✌ : Is your muse good with their hands?

Owen gives incredible massages. He’ll sometimes go up to Xanatos at his desk and simply start rubbing his neck and shoulders if he sees him stretching or looking tense. It was only weird the first time and Xanatos got over it about three seconds in after Owen started working his own little magic on his employer's muscles.

After intensive workouts or martial arts training, Owen will sometimes give Xanatos a full-body massage, working his thumbs into sore muscles with warmed oil on every inch of his body until he has Xanatos turn over, doing the same to his front, watching David’s face carefully for any signs of discomfort as he kneads out tense knots of muscles. If Xanatos wants, He simply grabs Owen’s hand and puts it down between his legs underneath his towel. He knows how to take a hint, and Owen is a very good masseuse.

♡ : Does your muse have any birthmarks or scars they get embarrassed about others seeing?

He does have the stone hand. He’s not ashamed of it, but it can sometimes make sex a little inconvenient, and borderline dangerous if he’s not careful about where he’s swinging his hand. Xanatos used to just do his best to ignore it and settle for being touched with only one warm hand. After having time to reflect on why Owen even did what he did to turn his arm to stone, he takes time to touch it, to kiss the knuckles of it like a servant to a king. he likes the way it makes Owen stare at him.

(....and one time Xanatos made a fisting joke and Owen cut off sex for a month)

Á : Is your muse loud in bed?

No, and he tries his hardest to be quiet, too. So much so that Xanatos deliberately tries to do things that’ll get Owen to gasp, to moan, to make those delightful sounds that Owen would never make otherwise, those sounds that only he could get Owen to make.

⚔ : Does your muse have any specific kinks?

I don’t know if u could possibly tell from the rest of these entries, but Owen is a SUB. I headcanon that Fox and David are some of his first sexual partners, but the both of them are very experienced and figure out Owen’s desire to be useful and needed goes even deeper than they ever thought. Being ordered around, dirty talk, and edging are a few things he’s shown a particular liking for. 

☌ : Would/does your muse have any special piercings anywhere? Would they get some?

He’s a little squeamish about the idea of having a piercing in his own body, But he’s quite a fan of Fox’s nipple and clit piercings, and gives them plenty of attention~

♥ : Does your muse like to cuddle after sex? Anything else for aftercare?

Aftercare was something Owen had to get used to. He likes to devote himself to Xanatos, to anyone he cares about, and sometimes pushes himself into subspace too fast, or exhausts himself and doesn’t feel like he should ask David to put himself out just for him. With some well meaning pressure from Xanatos, Owen has gotten better about everything from using safe words to asking for a glass of water or a cuddle every now and again. Xanatos had just been hoping Owen would ask.

👅-Would they rather give or receive oral sex?

Give. Not that he doesn’t mind being on the receiving end, but pleasuring his master or mistress with his mouth and feeling them shudder and cum at the flick of his tongue is almost more satisfying than an orgasm to him.

👠-Do they watch pornography? If so, what kind?

Not exactly porn, but Xanatos has a thing for his creepy little spy cameras all over the castle and his office. He and Owen will fuck somewhere in the Eyrie building and later, the minute Owen’s forgotten about it, Xanatos will call Owen over to his desk to look at something on his computer. Most of the time it’s work, but now and then, one of the security tapes will be playing. “No,” Xanatos says when Owen tries to look away, embarrassed. “Watch,” he orders, and of course, Owen obeys, forced to watch and listen to his own moans and embarrassing whimpers played back for him. 

💋-Do they use tongue when they kiss?

Owen doesn’t care for it much, but he forgets that when he’s being fucked.

😈-Favorite sex position?

Call him vanilla, but he likes it missionary, with his legs wrapped around David’s dark hips pounding into him. He likes watching Xanatos’s face, the way his pupils dilate and strands of his hair fall from that normally perfect ponytail while he’s being thrusted into. But anything that makes him feel a little helpless is a huge turn-on for him.

Puck likes it like a cowgirl yeehaw 🤠💦

👎🏻-What is an absolute deal breaker in the bedroom?

Despite the fact he’s devoted to pleasing his partner in bed, Owen gets very angry and upset if he’s forced into something or handled too roughly without being informed or asked first. And believe me, you do NOT piss off the fae.

🐶-Favorite pet name they like to be called?

Honestly? He just really likes hearing Xanatos call him Owen. 

👄-Do they swallow?

When Xanatos cums, Owen looks up at him, obediently waiting for instruction. Xanatos always has him swallow, of course, but sometimes he likes to make Owen open his mouth, stick his tongue out and show his boss his handiwork before having him swallow it. Best part for him is David stroking his hair and moaning “good boy” at him.

👙-Favorite outfit in the bedroom?

Xanatos enjoys trying out all manner of leather, harnesses, gags and cockrings on Owen, who’s happy to model, of course. Xanatos never stops praising Owen’s body, his looks, his hazy blue eyes. Owen can’t deny the rush he gets from being gagged and collared, but he thinks Xanatos always looks best in his usual sleek black attire. Owen is partial to wearing cuffs and restraints as well.

💦-Best place for their partner to cum on/in?

He likes being on the receiving end, but he doesn't much care for the cleanup, Before or after. He prefers to swallow it, and he gets grumpy if Xanatos gets any on his glasses, even if Xanatos insists on how much he loves the sight of it.

🌶-Most sensitive place on their body?

For more casual romantic touches, Owen is content with as little as a hand on his shoulder-He’s not much for pda. More intimately though, Owen’s relatively new to having nipples, and might have overshot their sensitivity just a little... And Puck loves getting his long ears gently stroked or his hair played with.

👑-Daddy kink, yes or no?

Definitely not, so that’s why Puck has been waiting to break out the “daddy” card for years just to see the look on Xanatos’ face. It’ll happen. One day. He’s just biding his time. 

🍒-When and how did they lose their virginity, if they have?

Hundreds of years ago, to someone he was close to on Avalon.             

💍-Ever had an affair?

Xanatos and Fox have a well established open marriage so....only on paper?

🏢-Most public place they’ve had sex, or would like to have sex?

Owen pushed up against the glass of Xanatos’ office while his boss fucked him senseless, cock dripping precum onto the glass. The entire Manhattan skyline was shining below them, and everything Xanatos was looking at was all his.

[k-pop-imagines]

Aurora || Chapter 2

> Aurora Masterlist <

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x OC

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: none

A/N: This is probably the longest chapter of anything I have ever written, wow. Seonghwa makes his first appearance in this chapter, that’s all I’m going to say.  I hope you enjoy! - Admin Soomi

° AUFREGUNG °

-> excitement, anxiety, commotion

When she woke up the next morning and took a look in the mirror, she could only sigh at her appearance. Her mother was only joking at dinner but after a night of restless sleep, the circles under Yeseul’s eyes seemed a lot more prominent than usual. She put on a light layer of casual makeup to hide the fatigue on her face. 

Her mother had already left for work and even though it was very early in the morning, she had left her a reassuring note, a lunch box, and a small plate of fresh pancakes on the kitchen table. She hadn’t eaten those in ages! Her father used to make them every Sunday but after moving to Seoul, eating pancakes became nothing more than a pleasant memory. Yeseul dug in and despite her stomach demonstrating a little because of her nervousness, she tried to enjoy her special breakfast as much as she could. They were different than the ones they ate in Germany, but she appreciated that her mother had taken the time to prepare them for her. 

After finishing her meal and once more making sure that she looked presentable, she went on her way to the agency. Lucky for her, the building was only a few subway stops away from her home so it took her about 20 minutes to reach her destination. The first thing she noticed, was the 7/11 on the ground floor next to the agency’s entrance. That would surely prove to be convenient.

Yeseul hesitated at the door that would lead her to KQ Entertainment. First, her excitement and anxiety were fairly well balanced, but within a few seconds, the latter doubled and overpowered her. This was her dream but all the doubts and worries she had managed to push away last night, came crashing down on her again. She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. Before she could let her thoughts get the better of her, she pressed the doorbell. No turning back now. 

“Hello?” “Uhh, hello. I’m Hwang Yeseul and I have an appointment for 8 am.” God, why did that sound she was here to see a doctor? Stop overthinking, she quickly reprimanded herself. “Ah, yes! Come up please.” 

The door buzzed and she hesitantly entered the building. The stairway she found herself in was bright, mostly white and grey but a few potted plants made sure it didn’t look too sterile. She walked up to the 3rd floor where she was greeted by a man who introduced himself as Kang Haejun, the same person she had talked to on the phone last night. He was a head taller than her, a bit chubby and addressed her with a warm smile that reached his eyes. “Welcome, I’m glad to see you! Please follow me, the CEO is ready to talk to you.” 

Yeseul followed him through the office. She politely greeted a few people but didn’t have a lot of time to look around. The place wasn’t very big but she assumed they occupied more than this one floor as she hadn’t seen any practice rooms or studios yet. At the far end of a corridor, Mr. Kang knocked on a door and sent her inside after getting a short “Come in.” from the other side. 

She carefully entered what she realized to be the CEO’s office and closed the door behind her. 

A man behind the desk stood up and motioned for her to sit down. As soon as she took her seat opposite him, she suddenly felt very vulnerable. The CEO seemed like a friendly man but he was still the person who would be in charge of her future, whose hands she’d be putting her career in. 

“I’m Kim Gyuwook and as you’ve already heard, we want you to train under our agency. I’ve got the contract prepared but I’d like to discuss the conditions and rules with you beforehand. It’s also very important to me that I get to know my trainees a little before I allow them to start training. So, I have a few questions.” Yeseul nodded shyly and he continued. “Don’t be nervous, though, I won’t interrogate you.” 

He pulled out a piece of paper which she recognized to be the profile she had sent in with her application. 

“Your profile says you speak English, German, and Korean fluently.” “Yes. I grew up bilingual, my mother is Korean and my father German. I also started learning English at a very young age.” "Do you speak any other languages?” “I learned French in school but I don’t speak it too well anymore. I forgot everything except for the basics after graduating, to be honest.” 

The CEO let out a small laugh. “I feel like that’s a common theme for French learners somehow.” 

He took a few notes before going on.

“Are you working right now or studying at university?”

“I currently work part-time at a convenience store. I already talked to the owner and I can schedule my shifts in a way that they wouldn’t coincide with practice hours.” 

“That’s good. Now, why exactly do you want to become a trainee, or rather, an idol?”

She knew that question would be asked eventually and she had thought about how she would answer countless times before. “Back when I lived in Germany, I discovered K-Pop when I was going through kind of a rough patch. The music helped me become a happier person again and inspired me to become a singer. I want to stand on stage and give the same kind of encouragement and motivation to other people.” 

“I’m sure you’re aware that this won’t be easy. You might not actually debut anytime soon. In fact, there’s a chance you might never debut. It all depends on you and your determination.”

“I’m willing to go through it and take the risks if it means I get to do what I love and dream of.”

“Very well.” He gave her a satisfied smile and moved on. 

“It’s not a secret that all entertainment companies have a variety of rules for their trainees to follow and we are of course no exception. They are all mentioned in the contract but I would like to go over them with you so that there won’t be any misunderstandings.” Mr. Kim handed her a list of regulations and explained each of them thoroughly. 

Yeseul was allowed to have a cellphone but usage during classes and schedules was not permitted. She was also not allowed to post on social media from now on. 

Trainees were not allowed to date at all and artists had a dating ban until two years after their debut.

However, they didn’t care too much about keeping their male and female trainees apart, unlike other companies she heard of that wouldn’t even let them be in the same room together. “You know, how it works. If you forbid them, they will try to meet in secret all the more. There’s nothing wrong with making friends but if we do notice anyone getting too distracted though, we will take appropriate measures”, he explained. 

No smoking, drinking, or taking drugs. That one was fairly obvious. 

The part she was wondering about the most was the weight regulations. “There will be weekly weigh-ins. There is a weight range stated in your contract that you should stay in. We expect our trainees to be able to take care of appropriate calorie intake and healthy workout on their own. Unless you exceed that range or fall below it, we won’t be regulating your diet or putting you on a work-out routine.” 

She considered that a fair amount of freedom. 

Yeseul also had the choice to move into a dorm with some of the other female trainees but she decided not to as she didn’t live too far away from the company anyway. 

“Now, let’s talk about your training schedule. I don’t think I need to tell you that your vocals are great. There’s always room for improvement but you already have a good technique and stability.” Yeseul had taken singing lessons for a few years and actually felt fairly confident when it came to that. She dreaded what she knew was coming next, though. 

“However, your dancing is lacking.” She looked away in embarrassment. She had made sure to practice and learn a few basics before auditioning but she was well aware that she was definitely not very talented. 

“There’s potential, don’t worry. It’s nothing our dance teachers can’t fix. Some of our trainees started out way worse and managed to become decent dancers. You’ll just have to practice a lot more than others. Which is why you will also be taking more dance classes than singing classes to get you on one level with the others.” 

That made sense. “In addition to that, you will also be taking Japanese, acting, and modeling classes. Evaluations are once a week, every Saturday, and you will be recording demos in the studio every second week. Lessons in general start at 2pm every day as most of the trainees still go to school in the morning but you can practice on your own at every time of the day. Sundays are off.” 

He slid her a piece of paper with her schedule. Today, she would have vocal lessons at 2pm and dance lessons from 4pm to 8pm but as there were evaluations, she would only be watching and starting the real training on Monday.

“Be aware that if you don’t meet our expectations during evaluations or break any of the rules, the contract will be terminated.”

She voiced her understanding and after a few more questions from the CEO, he handed her the contract and showed her where to sign. She read through everything twice as he watched patiently, then signed, ready to start this new part of her life. 

It was almost 10am when Kim Gyuwook dismissed her from his office with a handshake and wished her good luck. She still had a few hours until vocal lessons were supposed to start so she contemplated going home and taking a nap when Kang Haejun walked up to her offered her a tour around the agency. She gratefully agreed. 

He showed her around the office first, introducing her to a few people she would regularly be working with personally. Everyone was busy but still found the time to give her at least a friendly smile or wave. Just like she expected, KQ Entertainment occupied multiple levels of the building. The 3rd consisted of the office and various meeting rooms. He then led her down to the 2nd floor where the practice rooms and studios were located. She couldn’t take a look inside any of the rooms yet as almost all of the trainees were busy practicing for the evaluations but she made a mental note on where she would find the rooms later. There was also a small kitchen and break rooms with sofas on both of the floors. While showing her around, Mr. Kang also answered any other questions she had. 

He told her that they were currently training a total of 7 trainees including her. They had about 12 male trainees but apparently, eight of them were already training separately as they would be debuting as a group sometime in the second half of the year. He also let her know that she was actually one of the oldest trainees, being born in August of 1998. It made her worry a little. She knew that most trainees started their training at a way younger age. She was 19 years old now, could that be considered too old already? Would it lower her chances of debuting? She decided not to worry too much. If she was too old they wouldn’t have accepted her in the first place.

After the tour, more detailed explanations and an extensive Q&A session it was almost 12pm. She felt a little bad for taking up Mr. Kang’s time but he reassured her that it was actually his job to introduce the new trainees to everything and make sure they felt comfortable. He also gave her his number and told her to contact her if she had any more questions or worries before returning to his office. 

It didn’t make sense for Yeseul to go home before practice anymore. She remembered the lunch box her mother had packed her but decided to save it for later as she didn’t really feel like eating because of her nervousness. Still, she should eat at least something small, so she decided to head down to the convenience store to get a snack, something to reward herself taking this important step and to maybe even calm her nerves a little. 

The young woman headed downstairs into the 7/11, where was greeted by a friendly, elderly man. She bowed with a smile before she started browsing. 

As she walked through the narrow aisle, looking for an appropriate snack to celebrate today’s events, a group of boys entered the store. “We should get some chips for later!” “Aren’t you on a diet?” “Hyung, don’t be like that! I’ll just work out extra hard next week.” 

She scanned the shelves and couldn’t help but quietly snicker at their bickering. She looked over at them for a second, counting three young men. Yeseul didn’t pay them too much attention, even though they were hard to ignore, and instead continued her search. Just as she was about to grab a chocolate bar, her eyes landed on the freezer. It was February, still cold outside, and she had just been told about the weight regulations. Was it really appropriate to buy ice cream now? Yes, it is, Yeseul decided. It was one of her comfort foods so she shrugged, opened the door of the freezer and reached up. Whoever had put her favorite ice cream on the highest shelf surely must hold a personal vendetta against her. She wasn’t tiny, only a few centimeters under average height but this was troublesome. Just as her fingertips brushed against the plastic packaging, a figure next to her reached out and handed the sweet treat to her. Yeseul’s face lit up in excitement and she quickly bowed to the kind stranger. “Thank you so much!” When she looked up, she was met with the shyly smiling face of a man around her age, part of the group who had caused the commotion. He seemed quieter than the other two though, who she could still hear arguing over which snacks to get. 

“It’s not a problem. Is Melona your favorite?” His was voice soothing and hinting curiosity even though he was nervously rubbing his neck. She nodded eagerly in response. “Yes! It’s the best thing to eat when you want to celebrate, even when it’s cold outside…” She mentally scolded herself for rambling. She couldn’t help it, the sudden inquiry surprised her. Not that she minded, he seemed friendly and wasn’t overbearing at all. Yeseul could see he was about to ask what exactly she was celebrating but his two friends interrupted him.

“Seonghwa-hyung, I will buy these chips now and you can’t stop me.” One of them said as he headed to the counter to pay. The other one motioned for your savior to come over as they were getting ready to head out. The stranger, apparently named Seonghwa, gave you an apologetic smile, you bowed and wished each other a good day before he left with his friends. 

Could it be that they were trainees as well? All three of them looked awfully handsome, they talked about dieting and working out, and went shopping right at this store. The fact that they were also dressed in sports clothes led her to make that assumption. At the same time, it could have just been a coincidence. At the latest, she’d find out if she ran into them at the agency.