#need some more brothers bonding moments between this two jackasses | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pilothusband · 3 years

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fly me to the moon

Rating: M-ish (a lil spicy at the end)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Warnings: Swearing, boner mention, a douchebag, a little hint at food shaming

Word count: 2.5k

Description: You go on a date with a complete asshole. He takes you on a helicopter tour, not expecting the pilot to be the one to sweep you off your feet.

Author’s note: Probably should have edited this more but meh. This was completely self-indulgent. Unbeta’d. Let me know what you think!

gif by @pedroispunk

Why did I agree to go out with this jackass in the first place?

Your eyes were starting to feel sore with the amount of times you had rolled them throughout your date. He hadn’t noticed the exasperated movement of your eyes, too swept up in talking about the summer he spent in Ibiza with his former fraternity brothers, his medium rare, overpriced ribeye untouched.

So far, everything had felt off. The way he pulled up outside of your apartment and honked his horn to signal his arrival, the anchor cufflinks in his freshly pressed suit, paired with a pair of leather boat shoes and a salmon-pink button down. You loved a man in pink, but the rest of the outfit just felt like it didn’t fit together. Was he going to a wedding or going to party on a yacht? You had glanced down at your own outfit, a simple black dress that stopped mid-calf and hung loose, just barely hinting at your curves.

God, you hoped he wasn’t going to take you on a boat.

You had only agreed to this date in the first place because Liam, an investment banker who worked in your office building in the suite below yours, had asked you nearly every day for a month in a row. He was persistent, kind of like a mosquito, but you figured you were being too picky and needed to expand your horizons a bit. Maybe you would learn more about him and actually have a good time.

Not so much.

You couldn’t help but notice the way his brows knit together when you had ordered the fettuccine alfredo. The restaurant’s menu was pretty limited, and you didn’t recognize most of the items. This place was just too fancy for your comfort. You had wanted to call the waiter back to the table and change your order to a cheeseburger, just to embarrass him further.

As Liam droned on about how his father had taught him how to manage his finances, you let your mind wander to last weekend. You had gone out with your friends, Benny and Will, a pair of brothers who were each other’s polar opposites, yet they had a bond that was stronger than any other siblings you had ever met.

You were already well acquainted with their other friends, Santiago and Frankie, affectionately known as Pope and Catfish. Pope had a magnetic personality– he commanded the room without meaning to, sometimes to the detriment of others around him, who were trying to get a word in edgewise.

Frankie was complicated. He was quiet, a little rough around the edges, and a little gruff, but so soft at the same time. His eyes gave way to a deeply settled kind of hurt. They had drawn you in almost right away. It only took one glance at his smile, brilliant and boyish, with a hint of a dimple gracing his cheek, before you were hooked.

You had only known him for a few months now and only saw him when the guys got together, but you couldn’t deny the desire that clutched at your stomach whenever his deep brown eyes met yours.

You heard your date call your name, snapping you out of your daydream.

“You ready for part two of the best date ever?” Liam asked. His smirk was all wrong. It wasn’t soft or playful. It was polished and practiced. He reminded you too much of Patrick Bateman.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you said, pasting a smile onto your face, inwardly wincing at how fake it was. You could not wait to go home and put on your sweatpants.

Shit. Holy shit.

He was taking you on a helicopter tour. The same company that Catfish worked for. Your stomach was in knots, threatening an unwelcome return of the alfredo you had for lunch.

Maybe he’s not working today, maybe we’ll get a different pil–

Of course you had no such luck. The guide ushered you both over towards the launching pad, where Frankie stood, wearing a tan flight suit. His hair was tousled, likely from being up in the air for most of the day and he had a pair of aviators on. He looked delectable.

His eyebrows shot up in recognition. He cocked his head to the side, glancing at your date, then back at you, a grimace set on his face.

Frankie schooled his expression and walked up and gave you a side hug, his hand squeezing your shoulder gently.

“Good to see you,” he said, giving you a small grin.

“You two know each other?” Liam asked, his eyes shifting between the two of you.

“Oh, yes, Liam– this is Frankie. He’s one of my friends.”

Friends.

“Nice to meet you, Liam,” Frankie said, shaking his hand politely.

Liam gave Frankie one of his wide, practiced grins. “Likewise.”

You could have sworn you saw Liam wince a little during the handshake, but you chalked it up to pre-flight jitters. Liam slung an arm around your shoulder possessively and chuckled.

“Excited to show this pretty lady some pretty sights.” His fingers curled into your shoulder, a little too hard, and he jostled you a little, trying to come off as a cute gesture. It had you feeling like a rag doll.

The smile you gave him must have been pretty forced, because Frankie coughed, interrupting the moment.

“All right, folks. Ready to get going?”

You nodded, feeling a fluttering in your belly. Despite not wanting to be stuck in a helicopter with Liam, you were excited to finally see Frankie in action.

Frankie handed you both a pair of headsets and instructed you to buckle up. Before climbing in himself, he checked Liam’s belt, tightening it a little and then came over to your side, adjusting your belt as well. You risked a peek at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.

“All set,” he murmured, giving you a soft smile.

Before you knew it, Frankie was in the pilot’s seat and the helicopter roared to life. The blades were whirring above your heads, making your hair whip around your face. You tucked the sides of your dress under your legs, silently cursing Liam for not warning you of this afternoon’s non-dress appropriate activity.

The swoop you felt in your stomach was unlike anything you had felt before, more intense than a commercial flight. You tried not to fidget, knowing you were in good hands with Frankie piloting, but fuck, were you already high up, and only climbing higher by the second.

You briefly wondered how high up you were now, how high up Frankie had ever flown. You planned on asking him once you were all safely back on the ground.

A large gust of wind made its way into the helicopter, forcing a shiver down your spine, goosebumps rising on your woefully unprotected arms.

“You cold, sweetie?” Liam asked. “I would give you my jacket but I need it to stay warm. You should have planned better, gorgeous.”

You instantly clenched your teeth, wishing murder was legal at this very moment.

“Well, Liam, I would have brought a jacket if you had told me we were coming here,” you said, voice dripping with a sarcastic, syrupy sweet tone.

“I have a jacket in the compartment in front of you,” Frankie said, glancing over quickly. “Go ahead and put it on.”

You obliged, opening the compartment and bundling up in the oversized jacket, instantly feeling better once the corduroy material covered your arms. You wrapped it around your torso and took a deep breath, hiding your grin in the sherpa collar. It smelled like him.

“Thank you, ‘Fish,” you said softly. He didn’t respond, but you saw his dimple appear out of the corner of your eye.

“All good back there?” You heard Frankie’s voice in your ears. You looked over to him, only catching a glimpse of his hands and the side of his face, partially obscured by his headset and his baseball cap.

“Doing fan-tas-tic, Frank,” Liam whooped. You couldn’t help but wince at how loud his voice was, and how he intentionally pronounced Frankie’s name incorrectly.

“Great,” Frankie sounded unamused.

You huffed, annoyed at your date’s bad manners and looked out the window. Terrible date aside, you had to admit the bay from above was absolutely gorgeous. You looked down at the ocean, so expansive and eternally blue. Your eyes skimmed over to where water met land, at the soft sand on the beach, turning into a thick forest.

“Frankie, it’s beautiful,” you gasped.

You looked over at him briefly, seeing a hint of a smile on his face.

Liam was momentarily forgotten, until his hand snaked its way onto your thigh, giving it a little squeeze. Instinctually, you moved your leg at the unwanted contact. Liam looked over at you, an ugly scowl marring his face.

“Careful with the turns in this thing,” he said, addressing Frankie. “Our girl here ate about 15 pounds of pasta before this.”

You felt a hot wave of embarrassment wash over you, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. They streaked down into your hairline from the force of the wind around you. You had already realized Liam was a bit of a douche, but you hadn’t thought him to be cruel.

“The only thing we have to worry about bringing this thing down is that big head of yours,” Frankie quipped back.

Biting back a laugh, you looked out the window so Liam wouldn’t see your reaction.

You could tell Liam wanted to argue back, but he stayed quiet, since the man he wanted to lash out at was responsible for keeping you all alive at the moment.

The rest of the ride was pretty quiet, other than the persistent chopping of the helicopter blades. The views were beautiful, but you found your eyes wandering back over to Frankie every few minutes. The tanned skin of his hands as he deftly worked at the throttle. Every time he pulled on a control you saw the veins in his forearms strain with the movement. You wondered what else those hands could do.

Before you knew it, the bird touched down and you unbuckled your seatbelt, removing the tight headset from your ears. You had a slight headache and you could tell getting down was going to be a struggle.

Frankie seemed to have no issue, jumping out of his seat with grace and walking over to your side to help you down. Your legs were shaking, so you stumbled as your feet hit the ground, grabbing onto his broad shoulders for dear life.

“I– oof, sorry,” you laughed nervously, rubbing your nose. You had bumped into his chest nearly smashing your face into his sternum. Frankie bit his lip and chuckled in response, squeezing your waist. You felt dizzy with his arms caging you in like this. It gave you an overwhelming desire to wrap yourself around him, to feel him pressed against you.

“It’s okay, I got you.” His voice rumbled in your ear, absolutely sending your senses on a tailspin. His strong, quiet voice was doing something magical to your already weak knees.

You stepped away before you fell over, remembering your date after a moment. He was about ten feet away, arms crossed, his face pinched in an angry expression.

“I don’t think this is working out,” he said as you walked over to him.

“I couldn’t agree more,” you said, giving him a sickly sweet grin. “I’ll find another ride home.”

Liam scoffed and made his way back into the tour center to grab his belongings. You instantly felt a weight lift off your shoulders. Thank God he left.

“So, why did you go out with that asshole, anyways?” Frankie asked, a bewildered expression on his face.

You sighed, feeling embarrassed.

“I honestly don’t know. He wouldn’t leave me alone so I decided to give him a shot.”

“I can’t say I blame him for being persistent, but seriously, fuck that guy.”

You huffed a laugh.

“Seriously, when he made that comment about what you ate for lunch I wanted to throw him right out of the helicopter.”

You bit your lip and sniffed, feeling the embarrassment wash over you at the memory.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” your voice was small and you rubbed at your arms nervously.

Frankie had a hard, angry look on his face. It made you feel a little giddy, that he was so angry on your behalf.

“He should have never talked to you that way. He’s lucky you agreed to go out with his sorry ass.”

“You’re right. And God, I can’t believe he took me here, of all places,” you laughed. This really was surreal.

“Feels kind of like fate, huh?” He said, giving you a boyish grin.

“How so?”

“Well,” he stepped towards you, arms sliding up the material of his jacket. “I’ve always wanted to see you in this jacket.” His gaze made its way down your figure. His eyes were dark as he swallowed heavily.

“And I’ve always wanted to go on a date with you, though not while you’re on one with another man.” The smile he gave you was shy, searching, as if he wasn’t sure how you’d react.

“Well, I won’t be making that mistake again,” you replied, stepping closer.

Your tongue came out to wet your lips and Frankie watched with rapture.

“I’d like to kiss you now, if that’s okay.” His mouth was an inch from yours, and his large, calloused hands cradled your face gently.

“Please, Frankie,” you sighed.

His lips were soft, despite the bruising urgency in his actions. Your hands immediately tangled into his hair, knocking the cap off his head. You melted against him and licked his bottom lip, asking for permission. He immediately complied, licking into your mouth. Your tongues found a delicious rhythm, tangling together. You moaned into his mouth, spurring him on further. His hips pressed into yours. You could feel how hard he was, even through his flight suit.

“Fuck, baby” he rasped, pulling away. His chest was heaving, breath ragged from your kiss. “The things I want to do to you.”

You slanted your hips back into his, pressing into his erection. “Then do them.”

Frankie bit his lip and groaned, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re absolutely perfect for me, you know that?”

You grinned, leaning forward to capture his lips again.

“I want to do this right, though,” he said. “I’m going to take you out on a better date. Show you how first dates should go. And then I’m going to take you home and show you how much I’ve wanted you for months.”

You felt as if your heart had stopped momentarily.

“That sounds perfect to me,” you said, kissing him again.

Taglist: @tenderclio @softdin @darnitdraco @freeshavocadoooo @recklessworry @wyn-dixie @manalg14 @codenamewife @comphersjost @princessxkenobi

#frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #tw food mention

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aiyexayen · 3 years

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I haven’t known true peace since I realised that Wei Wuxian actually believes this. He’s not just saying dumb shit here, or oversimplifying things to be dramatic--he truly thought of it this way, even back then. Even though nobody else did.

This line has always confused me and maybe I just haven’t given it enough thought. Maybe it’s obvious. But everyone has such a different perspective at that section of the story, including the audience. And that’s part of the tragedy of it all, really, is how much the situation was twisted up--both on purpose, by the Jins, and by simple circumstance--to the point that nobody was on the same page. But the extent of Wei Wuxian’s didn’t really hit me until recently, when puzzling back over this particular scene.

(In my defense, it was easy for me to miss until now, because it’s mixed in with Wei Ying admiring Lan Zhan admiring the moon and followed by Lan Zhan calling Wei Ying out on his “I’m fine” bullshit before carrying him down the stairs.)

At first pass, all I could think was, “Wei Wuxian, are we even watching the same show?” He and Jiang Cheng were rivals as much as they were best friends as much as they were brothers, and frequently at odds.

They never really had a “them two against the world” vibe outside of their Twin Heroes of Yunmeng promise. Wei Wuxian loved the world, and making friends, and did so freely and gladly. He and Jiang Cheng really only ever stood together against really blatant enemies like the Wen before and during the Sunshot campaign, and by the time the Jins and the rest of the prominent sect/clan leaders were at their throats, things were definitely falling apart.

They not only had a fraught childhood together in that household to begin with, but they also haven’t been truly on the same side since the fall of Lotus Pier when it all came to a head; the slow dissolution of their close bond is a huge underlying theme of the story as we suffer through the emotional torture of watching their desperate love create a wider and wider chasm between them, littered with broken promises and unspoken words as they slowly forget how to know each other.

And they really never stood together against Lan Wangji?? Ever?

While Jiang Cheng was regarding him (and every other human being and activity) as a rival for his shige’s attention and proof of his own social ineptitude (a potential cause for worry in his earnest role as sect heir and representative of his clan), Wei Wuxian was utterly enamoured. By the time Wei Wuxian had his rounds of falling-out with Lan Wangji, Jiang Cheng regarded him as an ally who stood by his side for months and kept his hope alive while helping him scour the land for all traces of his missing brother and was really confused why Wei Wuxian was being a jackass.

In-between all this, they travel and fight together--all three of them--on more than one occasion, and even go to war together.

We’re frequently shown glimpses, scenes, framing, setups, that show us Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji standing together without or apart from Jiang Cheng as well. Because reasons.

From Lan Wangji’s point of view, he was never not on Wei Wuxian’s side when it counted. He just had trouble communicating this effectively at times, especially while Wei Wuxian was in a constant push-pull with himself and everyone else about what he should be allowed to want and have.

From Jiang Cheng’s point of view, Wei Wuxian was failing to be on his side again and again, and it was never really about his own loyalty, because he was the only one still keeping their promise.

And certainly by Jin Ling’s one-month celebration, they both seemed to be on the same page that they were coming together as Wei Wuxian’s important people, if not actively friends by then, and that they were of one mind in getting Wei Wuxian back around his family and back into society. One of the most shattering things anyone has ever had the nerve to tell me straight into the void that once was my heart is that they (along with Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan) were probably so excited to see Wei Wuxian and proudly show him how well they were all getting along.

So I, humble viewer of episodes, watch all of this happening, and then narrow my eyes at Wei Wuxian in disbelief. Who does he think he is? Jiang Cheng, always at his side? With Lan Wangji, always opposite?

Why does this moment of self-reflection even exist? When he could have taken this opportunity to have some kind of flashback about Lan Wangji and the moon, as the rest of us are? Is it just to torment me, in particular?

But then I thought of three things. One, his point of view at the time. Two, his point of view in this episode. And three, the phrasing of what he’s saying here.

The phrasing feels important. Wei Wuxian simply says he thought Jiang Cheng would be at his side/on his side/by his side, and he thought Lan Wangji would be opposite. Opposite doesn’t necessarily mean a direct rival or enemy. It can mean standing for the opposing viewpoint, or having an opposing position.

Given that he’s directly comparing it to how he feels right now, it makes sense. As of this episode, he’s just had his real first encounter with Jiang Cheng, and it was pretty horrible. He had to deal with Jin Ling and his curse, between now and then, but that isn’t really going to be what’s on his mind.

I might be like, “Ah, yes, running away from Jiang Cheng to go fuck off with Lan Wangji, typical Wei Wuxian scenario, even if I support it especially in this particular instance.” Jiang Cheng might feel that way, too, right down to “Thank fuck he ran away like he always does and didn’t call my bluff about killing him a thousand times over because that would have been embarrassing.”

But to Wei Wuxian, the circumstances are completely different. He’s not running off on an adventure after which he absolutely intends to return home. He’s leaving with what he sees as confirmation (which he was trying to avoid) that Jiang Cheng truly hates him, and the knowledge/reminder that he may never see him again because he will absolutely try his hardest not to. And he’s returning to Lan Wangji, who is his adventure, but also, increasingly, his home.

He can’t really think of it in those terms, yet, though. So he thinks about it as sides.

Even though they and Jiang Cheng are never truly pitted against each other in the present any more than Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian were ever pitted against Lan Wangji in the past (that is to say, one or two tense scenes and mostly a lot of wibbly gray areas indicating that there’s a lot more going on in everyone’s heads), Wei Wuxian sees Lan Wangji on the “Wei Wuxian Should Not Be Dead” team and Jiang Cheng sulking on the opposite shore.

Or, at the very least, the teams are “Leave Wei Wuxian Alone” and “Wei Wuxian Needs To Fucking Stop.”

Which reminds him how different it all used to be.

And even if we’re like, “Was it, though?” that’s not his perspective on it. He didn’t see all the pieces that the rest of us saw. He never knew the lengths Lan Wangji was going to in order to try and help him, the rules he broke. He never saw the punishment Lan Wangji endured for simply visiting him. Even Jiang Cheng saw Lan Wangji stand up for him publicly after the heart-wrenching scene in the rain. Wei Wuxian never did.

He only saw Lan Wangji trying his damnedest to get him to give up demonic cultivation. He only heard Lan Wangji’s attempts to convince him to get better that he never really understood. He only ever perceived resistance and disapproval.

Wei Wuxian was expecting Lan Wangji to come and personally try to stop him at Nightless City. Wei Wuxian woke up alive and took one look at Lan Wangji (and softly gayly smiled and took a second look for good measure) and took off. Wei Wuxian woke up again with all his memories and the knowledge he was loved and missed after sixteen years and asked if Lan Wangji had ever really believed him. Wei Wuxian has been slowly coming to terms with the fact that Lan Wangji wholeheartedly and unreservedly does, now. So, to him, it’s the idea that Lan Wangji has “switched sides” as it were.

And Jiang Cheng?

Wei Wuxian thinks he and Jiang Cheng were unquestionably on the same side right up until Jiang Yanli died.

Jiang Cheng was angry, was upset, was in pain. They fought. Promises were broken. But that didn’t mean they were on opposing sides, not really, surely.

They were on the same side about questionable cultivation methods not being questioned as long as it made Yunmeng Jiang strong where it was currently weak. They were on the same side about it not being anyone else’s business. Their fight was faked, even if the separation had to be real.

Wei Wuxian was still standing by Jiang Cheng’s side in prioritising Yunmeng Jiang’s political standing. Jiang Cheng was still standing by his side in caring about their home and their sister. He brought shijie, who brought soup. And something about their public break and Jiang Cheng’s account kept the other sects from piling on Wei Wuxian right at the start.

At Nightless City, while he expected Lan Wangji to be there countering him, he did not expect any of Yunmeng Jiang to be there to actually fight him. Of course Jiang Cheng was there--how could Jiang Cheng not show up? One of the great clans? And they’re not really supposed to have anything to do with one another anymore, right? Wei Wuxian was a traitor to Yunmeng Jiang, right? Of course Jiang Cheng had to show up.

But as long as Wei Wuxian was in control of the resentful energy and puppets, not a single Yunmeng Jiang disciple, let alone Jiang Cheng himself, was so much as looked at sideways.

Jin Zixuan had been killed. Jiang Yanli would never forgive him. His found family full of innocents had been slaughtered by power-hungry hypocrites. The entire cultivation world was after his soul. He was a dead man walking. He’d been hallucinating for hours. His mind was mostly gone.

And he thought, “Lan Wangji is here to put an end to me at last. It is time to fight.”

And he thought, “Jiang Cheng is not truly part of this. I must not touch Yunmeng Jiang.”

Both of these things wound me deeply. The first, because it’s demonstrably untrue. The second, because it might not have been nearly as true as everyone (including Jiang Cheng) wishes, though at least we’ll never really have to know, will we.

And then Jiang Yanli died.

We can see the story happening in stages, the various breakdowns and buildups and breakdowns again. And we always knew this ending was coming. But to him, that’s the moment everything truly, truly broke.

Though, I feel the need to point out, hysterically, he still wasn’t opposite Jiang Cheng even then. Because Jiang Cheng, he believes, wanted him dead (even if he couldn’t do it by his own hand) just as much as Wei Wuxian wanted himself dead. And Lan Wangji did not want him dead. So he stood in solidarity with Jiang Cheng one last time, did right by Jiang Cheng and Yunmeng Jiang and their family one last time, as he yanked his hand away from Lan Wangji.

Only now, in the present, are Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng truly in opposition. And only now are Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji on the same page. Supposedly.

One of Wei Wuxian’s particular character journeys post-timeskip is finally having the concept of interpersonal nuance smashed into his head in a way that still allows him to be himself and follow his own moral codes and build relationships in his own way. His assorted encounters with Jiang Cheng leading up to their reconciliation (as well as the juniors and the sect leaders and other characters) all demonstrate that nicely.

But in this scene, it really is that straightforward to him. Hell, it’s even presented such to us for a hot minute.

If for no other reason than the direct parallel of Lan Wangji finding out about Wei Wuxian’s fear of dogs and protecting him both physically and emotionally without question, and Jiang Cheng already knowing about it but using Fairy against Wei Wuxian until it triggered him into a panic-induced ptsd flashback seriously what a fucking dick move though.

So, perhaps it’s understandable, between Wei Wuxian’s misconceptions of the past and his current experiences in the present and the fact that these are the only two people left to him in all the world.

He believes the bitter irony of fate has dictated that he can never have them both. He was only ever going to have one of them and he never considered it would truly be this one.

And for just one moment, before he can be glad of his gain, he has to mourn the inevitable loss that comes with it. For that one moment, even seeing Lan Wangji so beautiful in the moonlight, so openly and invitingly waiting for him, that’s all he can think about.

It haunts me.

#wei wuxian always thought he knew better than lan wangji what was good for lan wangji #even when it was wei wuxian's death #his *trust me; you're better off without me* followed him over that cliff #lan wangji has since pieced all this together and come to terms with it #but jiang cheng is going to figure it out someday #and yell for like three solid hours #and then make fifty quarts of soup #as a side note #i love jiang cheng the most but i will never forgive him for that stunt with fairy #and honestly he'll never forgive himself for it either #by the time he works himself up to grovel about it though wei wuxian probably won't even remember #the untamed #the untamed meta #wei wuxian #wei ying #lan wangji #lan zhan #jiang cheng #jiang wanyin #wangxian #chengxian #parallels kind of #what was this post even about #i don't remember now #episode 35

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ramble-writes · 3 years

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So here comes another valentine's gift for the glorious @franks-mixtape ! If y'all remember the 2 Franks that are brothers and werewolves that I wrote some time ago, this is going from that again because I thought about it randomly and felt like I then needed more of it sooooooo yeah! If you DON’T know, the gist is being that his Frank and my Frank are half brothers. Father being a werewolf to both which resulted in his Frank being a halfling, while mine is whole werewolf due to different mothers. 19 years apart until both came to Ormond where they met up and figured out they’re brothers. So there ya go!

Warning(s): probs just standard cussing, buuuut that’s it lol

Don’t forget to like, reblog, and follow if ya wanna see more! (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

A Wednesday. Worst day for the 14th to fall on. Especially since it’s in the middle of the school week. Frank James Morrison sat there in the last class for the day, English. The teacher decided to focus on how Valentine’s day started from some dude who got executed in Rome or some shit. He wasn’t paying attention, finding it useless to learn about. Emerald green eyes lazily gazed around the room till they landed on his brother’s russet hair.

Frank Fenik Morrison was there a few seats to James’s left, amber eyes were trailing over the printed paper the teacher had passed out previously. As much as he was into literature, if he wanted to learn history on a subject of a man who was killed for trying to teach his religion to the Romans, he would’ve in his history class.

Fenik really was just idly taking his pencil to scribble a random design on a blank spot on the paper, the teacher’s voice seeming muffled in the background. Darkening some lines on the drawing, he felt a nudge in his mind, like someone nudging him with their arm. He lifted his eyes up and flickered to the side where gemstone eyes met and locked.

‘Dude. This shit is boring. Can’t we just.. skip out on this?”

‘I wish. But we can’t or shit’ll go down. Plus, they’ll know it’s us since we have the same exact name, minus the middle name.’

This made the raven-haired Frank sigh out loudly. He slightly scrunched his face up at hearing his other half chuckle both from a distance (thanks to his heightened hearing) and in his mind. Since figuring out the two had the same father, name, preference in tattoos, music, and other things, it made for the two getting along pretty easily. It resulted in a sort of bond to form. Since their father was a werewolf, it resulted in an animal like bond to form, that ran deeper than a standard sibling bond. Emotions, feelings, and thoughts were connected. It resulted in a mind link to have basically silent conversations.

‘Jesus fuckin Christ we have thirty minutes left of this bullshit. Feels like it’s taking foreverrrr!’

Fenik had to cover his mouth to stifle the laugh that bubbled up. Hearing him complain like a child made for lightening the boring mood. The internal complaining actually helped pass the time till the bell rang. Kids instantly got up with grabbing backpacks and shoulder bags alike and hurried for the door as the teacher called out that their homework from 2 days ago is due by Friday. Most likely, no one paid attention.

The two Morrisons waited at the bottom of the steps of Fairview, waiting on the other three of their odd pack in the snow. It didn’t take long for Julie, Susie, and Joey to come out. Julie adjusted her coat she has on as she hurried a bit down the stairs, being mindful of the snow-covered steps as she went over to the russet-haired Frank and planted her lips to his. This drew a very pleased growl from him as he kissed her back. Thankfully, those dreaded words to the holiday weren’t uttered.

“A’ight sluts! What’s the plan for today for shit to fuck up?” James asked, the name making Joey chuckle. “I’m lookin’ for chaos to burn down the grossness I feel from all this love shit.”

“I second that. There’s this jackass that’s been trying to feel Susie up in history when it comes to turning in work,” Julie huffed out. This made Joey look at the pinkett with concern on his face.

“And ya haven’t said anything?” Susie looked away at the tallest’s question which made him sigh. “Sus, ya gotta tell us when this kind of stuff happens..”

Her head only lowered before she pulled her hood up to hide her face. Joey had let out a sigh and draped an arm over her shoulders before looking at the other three. Amber, emerald, and brown eyes met and they all shared the same thought.

‘Trash the fucker’s place’

To cut things short, finding where the guy lives wasn’t hard. They did the standard: Egging the house, toilet paper thrown and draped over trees and parts of the house. But the brothers took it an extra step by managing to get up on the house with wadded up toilet paper, where they then shoved it down the chimney to block it up since smoke was coming out of it. And they were out as quickly as they came with a job well done.

They all split to head to their homes, hearing distant sirens meaning the house called the fire department which was sweet music to them. Of course, the russet-haired teen snuck over to Julie’s place after her father passed out for their... usual time together. Raven, as another nickname to call James rather than by his middle name like Fenik, was laying there in bed till about midnight he heard his name being called through that mind link.

‘Thought you were busy bangin’ up Jules.’

‘Shut up and get your ass out here.’

‘Fiiine. But I still wanna hear about your adventures in the pussy caaaave!’

James snickered when he bet the other was rolling his eyes outside, but he got out of bed to get dressed in his usual letterman with an extra layer underneath since it is midnight and it’s still winter. Out the window he went and onto the ground below where his brother is standing and waiting.

“Alright, whatcha want butt sniffer?”

“Don’t. Anyway, thought it be nice to hang out since school has been riding out asses with work to get us “prepared for college” which I could care less for.”

The raven-haired teen nodded. “Yeah. It’s a lot of bullshit. Ffffuck I hate being a senior.”

“I feel that,” Fenik agreed with a nod of his head. As usual, the two headed into the forest since it is their escape, and the only way that the wolves within the both of them can be let out. It’s a nice reliever since a lot of the times going out was never an option and it would make them feel cramped.

Usually, they don’t speak when out in the forest unless they do their usual practice. But for now, it was nothing but a run. Fenik in full wolf with James keeping up at an easy stride. Surprisingly, there was no clouds which let for the moon to shine bright in the sky and reflect off the snow, practically lighting their path.

They didn’t know how long they’ve been running, but they did come to a stopping point when the two Morrisons came across a big tree. It was there they stopped and flopped down at the base at the big roots, James leaning on Fenik and a hand running through the rust-colored fur in slow strokes.

“Ya know... I’m a bit jealous you can shift and I can’t..”

“Seriously? I dunno. I’d be pretty happy with just the heightened senses n shit.”

This made for emerald eyes to look at the wolf, which in return, amber looked back at the halfling. Concern was felt on both sides. Concern for how one felt left out of things, and concern for how the other didn’t care if shifting was a thing or not. James scooted himself a bit close to be able to wrap an arm around the back of the head of the large wolf and pressed his forehead to his, letting silence overtake the quiet between he two of them.

Something happened since one moment the raven-haired teen was small in comparison to the wolf with clothes on, to suddenly not and... the same size. It was like his body just relaxed for him to suddenly shift, but the realization got for the two to jump up onto their paws and look at each other.

James now was suddenly the same height, same build. Black fur made him look like a shadow o the white snow. Vibrant green eyes stood out like unknown lights in the darkest parts of the forest. The two were quiet, before sounds of excitement left them and they became nothing but giant mounds of fur and limbs with barks and yaps leaving them.

What felt like hours of nothing but romping around in the snow, they both flopped down panting with tongues hanging out of open mouths and tails swishing in the snow. Two sets of gemstone eyes gazed up at the night sky, the moon nothing but a white orb to the side of their vision.

“I hate valentine’s, but this? This is the greatest fuckin’ gift nature let me have haha!” James boofed out, letting his paws stretch out in front of him. It felt like all his limbs were sore from being contained, and finally was allowed to be out.

“Oh trust me. Being this way is heavenly. Feels like what freedom from the system should be. And now that you can shift, we can do this a hell of a lot more. And no one can stop the hell we’ll raise.” Fenik let out a chuff, a canine version of a chuckle. The black pelted one chuffed as well before rolling onto his side and laying close to the rusted pelt one and pressed close.

They were content like that, black mixing with rust, emerald and amber. It took only a nudge from Fenik to say that it’s best they get going. James got up and shook the snow from his fur, waiting for his brother to get up. Both standing, they trotted off to the edge of the forest where they shifted back to their human selves.

“This weekend. Can... we go running again? And... maybe teach me some wolf stuff since now I can shift?”

“Hell yeah man! I’ll be waiting ‘round seven. Sound good?”

James nodded with a slight smile before it fell. There was hesitation, but Fenik could feel it and brought his brother close for a hug. He melted into it and hugged the other back. They stood like that for some beats before breaking it off and headed to their homes with goodbyes through the link. Days and nights for now on were gonna be different, but they were gonna be hella enjoyable and that feeling of being left out vanished. Everything felt right, just as it should be.

#frank morrison #wolf frank #brother franks au #franks-mixtape #legion dbd #dbd #dead by daylight #my writings #HERE'S TO YOU YA TWINK HAPPY VALENTINE'S

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ghostmartyr · 3 years

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how a life can move from the darkness [7/?]

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

Summary: Two drug addicts (Eren and Historia) meet in group and decide to be roommates to make their living situation slightly less weird. From there we do the slow burn found family dance mixed in with the struggles and agonies of recovery. Heavy on friendship feels, especially EMA. Eventual yumikuri.

Eren’s first thought was that something was wrong with his taste buds.

He took another bite.

Light and fluffy, with enough crunch to be satisfying, the cookie melted in his mouth with the chocolate chips it was spotted with. Sugary, somehow warm despite living on a table for an hour, and… good. The cookie tasted good. Even with the small scorch marks.

“What do you think?”

Petra was hovering. Almost vibrating with how long she’d held the question back.

“They’re… good,” Eren said. “Really good. What did you do?”

Petra’s face flushed with joy, complete with a happy smile that warmed the whole gym like unfiltered sunshine. “I bought new measuring cups.”

Eren grabbed another cookie. “What was wrong with your old ones?”

She grimaced. “I was using my mom’s measuring cups and spoons. She never told me, but she got them from a bargain bin sale because none of them were labeled right. My father came by for a visit and pointed it out.” Petra sighed sadly and snagged a cookie off the plate, but that smile still shone on through. “That’s what I should have opened today with: the wonders of communication.”

“It’s good you got it sorted out.” Eren hadn’t planned on saying anything about it ever, but Historia had stopped taking the cookies after the last week’s made her throw up.

For him, he had the problem of food starting to taste like food again. He wasn’t sure how many more times he could have eaten Petra’s cookies without wanting to rip out his tongue.

Petra held out the entire plate to him. “Consider these your reward for supporting me all this time. No one else here is going to touch them, so you and Historia can take them home with you. Maybe use them as an excuse to drop by those friends you’ve reconnected with. Or that brother of yours,” she added. “He might have a sweet tooth to exploit.”

Eren took the plate and cut off eye contact so he wasn’t actually frowning at Petra. She’d had enough of that from him. “Aren’t you the one who said not to push everything at once? I just started talking to Armin and Mikasa again.” His thumb ran along a chip in the porcelain. “And it isn’t like everything changed anything between me and Zeke. It’s always been like this.”

“That’s not true,” Petra said, and before Eren could point out that she’d never met him so how would she know, she continued. “You used to never bring him up at all. I think you mentioned him five times today. By name.”

Eren hadn’t noticed that.

The corner with its folding table and loud clock he barely heard anymore felt cramped with just him and Petra. Historia was across the gym, suffering through Daz. Him trying to befriend the feral cats who hung out in the same alley his dealer had before their arrest had somehow turned into her problem.

She’d said she was a heroin addict today. Then she sat down and didn’t talk the rest of the hour. Apparently that marked her as accessible.

“It isn’t a recovery thing,” Eren said. Leaving out the shadow of Mikasa that lived in his mind and reminded him that he’d never gone and dealt with the dad part of what happened. People lost parents. Normal, healthy people. They got over it eventually. He didn’t need an extra boost of support just because he’d lost theirs so violently. Thinking he did was how the pills started. “Zeke’s just Zeke.”

Baseball-obsessed, hard to thank, hard to hate, hard to love.

Hard to have a full conversation with.

Their last one had probably been when he was six, and Zeke was explaining what was so great about a game where you spent most of it standing around doing nothing. He’d patted his helmet onto Eren’s head and carried him around the baseball diamond on his shoulders instead of partying with his division champion team.

Dad had offered to drive them. Zeke turned him down.

“You’re never doing nothing. You’re always waiting for the right moment, or creating the right moment. You watch your team and your opponents, and you think about the right pitch to throw, the right out to make—and if you watch them carefully enough, and practice hard enough, when that moment happens, you’re invincible.”

Eren had held on to his big brother’s buzzed head. “Mom says no one’s invincible.”

“Your mother wants you to stop picking fights.” Zeke looked up at him. “If you thought them through a little more carefully, maybe you’d win more.”

Eren remembered sticking out his tongue.

“You can’t win if you don’t fight.”

Years later, Eren glared at the plate he was holding and its chipped rim.

Petra was smiling at him with laughter dancing in her eyes.

“Recovery’s about us, Eren. Not what we did or what we got hooked on. Who we are as people. Just because it never technically broke doesn’t mean you can’t want it fixed.”

Eren didn’t know if he could have asked Mikasa, or Armin. Or Historia, because that answer was obvious and unhelpful. The question was all of the things he never should have let himself turn into, and it curled around his tongue like acid.

But he could ask Petra. He could ask the woman who’d made his mom believe in him a little by giving him the will to stick out every meeting when all he wanted was to burn everything he knew to the ground.

“Don’t you ever get tired of trying to fix things?”

Petra let the laugh out and squeezed Eren’s wrist.

“The secret to that,” Petra said, “is that’s what all those people you’ve already fixed things with are for.”

----

Eren taped a bagged cookie to Zeke’s apartment door.

An hour later, he had a text.

Outsides were a little scorched. You shouldn’t leave them in that long.

---

they weren’t even my cookies. i didn’t cook them, petra did.

what does he know about scorched

the first ones she made tasted like charcoal briquettes

these were so much better

like food

but go off i guess

In retrospect, spitting out a bunch of angry texts during Mikasa’s class hours and expecting it to help wasn’t the smartest thing Eren could have done. When his phone finally told him she saw them, he could practically hear the concerned silence reaching out his way and asking if someone needed to call someone for him.

I’m not on drugs, Eren clarified. Slightly less annoyed and remembering that Mikasa wasn’t used to non sequitur rants. Usually Armin got those. Because usually they weren’t about Zeke.

Mikasa finally type a response. I believe you.

Zeke’s just an asshole

Yes.

petra worked hard on those cookies she bought new measuring cups

[…] […] Who is Petra?

friend

Why did you give Zeke one of her cookies?

it was supposed to be therapeutic

Oh.

Eren had known Mikasa for enough years to see her eyes tracking back to the beginning of the conversation and to know she was hearing all his words in exactly the intonation he’d stamped them out with. That was why he usually texted Armin. Armin’s judgment was in quiet sighs that passed quickly. Mikasa’s stuck around with the reminder that some people had no problem being their best self every second of every day.

[…] I have time. If there are any cookies left, I could come over and take some for myself and Armin.

No offer of Eren coming over to their place, which used to be his place. He didn’t know if the tightness in his chest was frustration or gratitude.

really?

Yes. Your friend’s efforts should be appreciated.

[…] thanks i’ll let her know you love them

A grand total of one personal growth point coming from trying to reach out to Zeke, and it came from bonding with someone else over how badly it was going. Eren held his phone to his forehead and did the breathing exercises that didn’t work.

At least Petra had been right about the secret trick to it. Even if it wasn’t much of a secret. Eren’s friends had always been better than him at getting him out of the holes he dug himself.

----

“Is that real?”

“Pinch me, right?”

“No, I mean is that…”

“Yeah.”

“She’s…”

“I know.”

“I didn’t know she could do that.”

“You’re both assholes,” Ymir said. Doing nothing to change the surreal scene playing out in front of them. Her comment barely touched it. She was still bent over her bike, water bottle still held by nothing but her teeth, phone still in her hands, smiling. Genuinely. Not smirking. Not snarling or cackling or leering. Smiling.

It was one of the most unnerving things Eren had ever seen.

That covered a lot of ground.

“I thought… She’s fighting with Historia?” Eren asked.

He’d called for a break, and the first thing Ymir did after vaulting off her bike and pulling at her phone at the speed of sound was announce to the entire trail, “Eren, your jackass roommate just called me unromantic and shallow.”

Reiner was grinning like a maniac. For a guy who’d almost fallen over getting off his bike, he looked downright perky. Eren had worried he’d pushed things too far, but the bounce in his step when he flipped his water into his hands said otherwise. “She is.”

“But she’s smiling.”

“Yeah.”

“She looks happy.”

“She does.”

Someone Reiner’s size shouldn’t have been capable of giggling, but Ymir was already breaking Eren’s sense of reality. Reiner joining in wasn’t that different, and at least Reiner looking happy was something Eren could appreciate well enough for it to spread.

“What about Historia?” Reiner asked, letting his voice carry with a more direct grin at Eren. “How does her side of the fighting go?”

Eren had trouble thinking about the ongoing argument seriously without remembering tears and track marks. He couldn’t see the lighthearted moment staying if he brought that up. Ymir helped him out for once and didn’t rise to the bait. She rolled her eyes and took a sip of water by bending her entire head back instead of sparing a hand from her phone. “Historia? That’s really her name? Who hates their kid that much?”

Moment ruined anyway. “Don’t message her that,” Eren said sharply.

Ymir’s fingers had been waiting, not typing, but they stopped anyway. Her responding look saw through Eren and any past lives he or anyone in his general vicinity had lived, and Eren hated to admit it but he liked the smile more. He glared steadily back.

Her eyebrow quirked up. She tilted her head back for another drink. “Someday,” she said, “I’ll meet drug addicts who don’t have parental problems.”

“Eren likes his mom,” Reiner said, impervious to the tone shift.

“Sometimes.”

When he’d gone over to the house for dinner, she’d told him his hair was getting too long, and he should do something about it if he planned on running around so much.

“Now watch him not ask about the other times,” Ymir said.

Eren’s hackles rose. “There’s nothing wrong with my mom,�� he said. “She’s the best.”

Ymir rolled her eyes so hard they practically landed in the back of her skull, and Eren didn’t know what was going to come out of her mouth next, but he’d probably want to punch her for it, and he needed to find somewhere safe for his helmet if that was how this was going to play—but they were both interrupted.

Her phone buzzed again, and the bizarre, reality-melting snap of joy that flashed over her face made Eren feel weirdly guilty about imagining what it would look like with a bloody nose.

He flopped his damp hair out of his eyes and slumped over his bike, watching a bird hop along the trail in front of them with a deep scowl that was fake enough to only make it through the third hop and the bird pecking at a piece of bread larger than its head.

That was a kind of happiness he could get. Hunger and feasting on things he wasn’t supposed to.

Eren swiped away more of his hair and looked down at the ground underneath his feet instead.

Reiner’s feet, done stretching, padded over the dirt, and his massive shoulder nudged Eren’s.

“You work at Steady Rock, right?”

Eren glanced up, because topic changes with Reiner felt safer with eye contact. “Yeah?”

“We got our hands on some coupons and wanted to know if it’s cool if we drop by during one of your shifts,” Reiner said, leaning further into Eren’s personal space than he was used to when they had somewhere larger than a cell to roam around in. “My little cousin is really into climbing right now, and she’s coming out for a visit in a few months. Scouting out places that might keep her attention is a pretty high priority before she gets here.”

Eren asked the obvious question. “Your family’s letting you watch her?”

Reiner didn’t quite look at him, and Eren wasn’t enough of a bastard to force it. “Her parents are coming along,” he said. “We’re only getting a few hours with her. But we want to show her a good time, you know? Convince them to let her back.”

Eren had spent every moment at work since Hannes’ latest discount series wondering how hard it was not to spend forty minutes of a promised hour falling off things and screaming about it, but Reiner would at least let him get a word in before he sped up a wall and got stuck. He snapped his helmet back on and shrugged. “Customers are customers,” he said.

Reiner chuckled. “Yeah, just… you know.” He cleared his throat and the next words sounded like they came out of one of the countless recovery books they’d both been forced through before their release. “Trying to respect your boundaries.”

They both looked Ymir’s way. She didn’t snipe anything back, too busy glowing.

Eren checked his watch to see how close to ending their break time was, pausing when he saw the clock over the running timer. He looked back up at Ymir, and the glint in her eye that said whatever was putting it there was ongoing.

“Time to head out?” Reiner asked.

It was a little early, but Reiner was breathing easily, and hadn’t gone after his water like the ravenous wolf he’d started out on these expeditions. “Yeah,” Eren said, one more quick, curious frown at his watch before Reiner called out to Ymir to cut her flirting short.

Weird.

He’d figured bad weird, since neither of them really knew how to talk to people and their starting point was all the yelling Eren wasn’t supposed to do anymore.

He slipped out his phone for a fast text, then put it away and got back to work, a little spark of okay beating out the worry and lightening his pedals.

----

i can’t text you during class, but ‘melancholic genius’ crystal wick can?

She doesn’t have my number. […] She was using Twitter.

----

It wasn’t because of what Ymir said.

Not really.

He would have done it anyway, eventually. She just brought it up when he was stable enough to do something with the reminder instead of stew in sad, guilty feelings that planted visions of pills in his head.

Eren scuffed his shoes on the welcome mat.

“The Doctor is Out,” it read, a sad smiley from a waiting room pain scale next to it, “But You Can Come In!”

Zeke had bought it. Eren had whined about how much time their dad spent at the office. The next day, it was on the doorstep, and his mom was telling his dad that they’d get rid of it when it stopped being accurate. Eren had said that wasn’t right, because they never told the people who knocked on their door to come in.

His mom never got rid of it, and it was back to being accurate. The doctor was out.

Before Eren could drown himself too deeply in that and why the mat wasn’t there when he came over for dinner, his mother opened the door.

“Eren,” she said. “This is a surprise.”

She looked worried behind her welcoming smile, but the kind of worried that made him want to stomp off and find a mud puddle to splash in out of spite. That kind of worry he could handle, even if it always ended with her trapping him in the laundry room and explaining how to get stains out of his clothes.

Eren rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Sorry. I can call ahead next time.” His shoes crunched over the welcome mat. “I didn’t know if I had to. I still have my key and I’m not here to…” He sucked at this. Worse than any text to Historia about which chart smiley she’d pick out for her mood of the day. His ears hurt listening to himself.

“I thought I’d patch up my bedroom,” he said. “I was going to do it even if you weren’t here, so I didn’t call.”

His mom raised her eyebrows at him. “You never need a reason to call your mother, Eren.” Before the barb sunk in enough for Eren to come up with a retort, she swung the front door the rest of the way open. “Did you bring tools with you, or are you borrowing?”

Eren followed in, the bag he’d brought along swinging from his shoulder. “Borrowing for anything that needs paint. I thought I’d use what’s left in the garage for that.”

“And this isn’t going to be like the last time you tried to fix the house by yourself?”

Eren’s ears and the rest of him went a very fine red.

He and Armin had lost an action figure down a sink. They knew if Zeke wasn’t the one watching them, there wasn’t a good chance of anyone deciding that the toy’s fate was anything but sealed, so turning up the volume on the movie that had inspired the soldier’s sink dive, they’d searched the house for a saw to crack open the pipe they were sure it was stuck in.

Eren could still feel the weight of his soaked t-shirt as he tried to hide Armin behind him in the puddle they’d created, his mom’s hurried footsteps rushing down the stairs at their yelps of surprise.

The main puddle showed up because they’d tried to fix the first without anyone noticing. Armin had slipped and almost hit his head when he had the idea that they could probably find instructions in a book somewhere, and if they were really fast…

They weren’t fast, and they weren’t quiet, and Eren’s mom had rolled in like thunder.

“Never,” she had said, holding him by the chin while his wrench clattered to the floor and the pipe kept spewing water all over the three of them. “Eren you listen to me. You are never to use tools like this by yourself. You find me, or your father, and if something needs to happen, we will use them, or show you how. You never try something like this on your own.”

Most of his parents’ ‘nevers’ didn’t last long. Loopholes or exceptions followed Eren around like weeds.

That one stuck. For Armin. The first time they’d had a problem in their apartment, they’d called home, just to double-check, before getting to work. It stuck worse when Eren’s mother snatched the phone from his father, who’d picked up, and told them to talk to their landlord before they took another step.

Which had come up before she shouted it into their ears. But then they’d had diagrams, and measuring tape, and Mikasa loaned them a hammer, and they could probably fix it by themselves.

The landlord hadn’t agreed.

Walls weren’t so hard, though. Patch jobs were one of the first home improvement lessons Eren’s dad put him through. He’d thought the house could use fewer holes, and taught Eren early. Eren could tackle walls alone. Even if they were his, and he had to walk by a closed door that made his heartbeat hit deafening and his breathing fall short to get to them.

Five minutes in, standing in the gaping mausoleum of a room that didn’t have any of his stuff but had scars all over, Eren wasn’t alone.

His mother, recently changed into what she called her work clothes, entered the room and went for the spackle.

“Mom,” Eren said. “What are you doing?”

“Putting my house back together,” she said.

“It’s my room.”

“You don’t live here anymore.”

“Yeah, but it’s my room. My—” damage. Everywhere. The holes from the fist he’d put through the wall, the hole from Zeke’s baseball going through the wall, the cracks from all those holes spiraling out and trying to link together, the tiny bits of plaster on the floor… Eren had stopped remembering his room had ever looked another way, but he knew those things weren’t supposed to be there. That was why he was patching them up.

His mother didn’t seem concerned with any of the emotional progress being waged. “I have a right to participate in my own household chores, Eren,” she said.

“You haven’t done anything about this for months,” Eren said. “You left it out for me to clean up.”

“Because,” she approached a crack by Eren’s elbow that hadn’t come from a punch, just a bad nightmare that felt like it cracked his skull just as badly, “any man I raised should expect to have to come back and clean up his messes.”

She ran her fingers over the mark before taking her putty knife to it. When she looked up at him, Eren realized he’d stopped working to stare. He realized it a second too late to escape the nudge of her hand on his arm, prodding him along.

“I did think you’d be along sooner,” she continued. “Am I that far down your list?”

Eren’s face burned.

He could feel her smiling next to him, and he wasn’t surprised when the next nudge was his mother reaching up to tweak his ear. “Or,” she continued, “am I not on your list because I’m your mother, and you don’t think you have to apologize to me?”

“I know you like apologies,” Eren said defensively.

“And I know how much you love giving them to me,” she said.

The rebuke was as gentle as she bothered with, but it still stung. Eren’s hands stopped again, and he stared into the wall, the crack he’d have to tend after the hole acting like a window into a whole different dimension. One where the only reason he knew he saw his mother that day was because he could remember shouting at her.

“Mom,” he started, all the good intentions and work ethic bleeding out into guilt. “I really—I...”

The words felt as hollow as his room did without pieces of him taking up the space.

“Fix the walls,” his mother instructed. “Then you can stay for dinner and tell me how Armin and Mikasa are doing. They stop by even less often than you do. Or that roommate of yours; we’ve hardly spoken. Frieda seems to be the only one of any of you who can remember her social niceties.”

“Mom.”

----

Petra would tell him that there was nothing wrong with starting out easy.

He didn’t know where to start with his brother? Mother was in the same ballpark, and as long as he kept taking steps forward, he’d get to where he needed to be in the end. There wasn’t anything wrong with baby steps.

There was maybe something wrong with thinking of his mother as one. He’d never been a great son.

Eren, stinking of paint and supposed to be going to wash off before dinner, was stuck in front of the closed door marking the center of the upstairs hallway. The midway point between Eren’s room and his parents’. The office.

Otherwise known as the gateway to most of Eren’s fits when he was younger.

“But why. Dad has two rooms I can’t go in, why does he get two?”

At the funeral after-party, the door had been open. No one had bothered closing it after his dad changed his mind and agreed to come along to the MMA tournament finals. Eren had told him he needed to see it, because he was going to come in first place for the first time, and maybe after he could talk to Mom and change her mind about how rough it was because it wasn’t really that bad…

His dad was the one who decided if the door was open or shut. He’d left in a hurry, so he wouldn’t be late. So the day of the funeral, it was open.

Eren had slammed it shut with his crutches.

Baby steps. Closing up walls. Cutting off some of Ymir’s ammunition.

Eren watched his spackled, paint-covered hand reach out and turn the doorknob.

On slow feet, he took a step in.

He immediately wanted to step back out. The blinds were drawn. They were thick, wooden shades designed to tell the sun its service was not wanted, and the entire room was plunged into night despite it being the middle of the day. Light from the downstairs windows was still bouncing its way upstairs.

None of it touched the office.

It smelled like dust. Eren could feel his shoes leaving prints in the carpet.

He’d never been allowed inside without his father’s permission, so by the time he was five, he knew the ins and outs of the room better than any other place in the house. He knew before he could reach which certificate on the wall stood for which achievement, even with every inch being covered. Whenever his dad received an award, Eren would talk him through which spot of the office had the most room to put it in.

Armin had hidden under the desk with him. Hide and seek. They were willing to risk it when Zeke was sitting for them. Then he’d turned that back on them and found them the second after he was done counting.

Eren wouldn’t fit under the desk anymore. It was big enough for one man and the work in front of him. Plus the piles on either side. There wasn’t much extra space. The picture frames on it were pushed all the way to the edge of the wood.

It might have fitted more if the back of the desk was against the wall, but his dad had liked it in the middle of the room, his chair facing the doorway. Eren had figured out, staying up late and listening to all the different footsteps in the house, that he liked it that way so he could stand up and pace in front of the window.

Baby steps.

Eren breathed in through his nose, exhaling slowly. His legs wobbled like they were trying to go back to the last time he’d entered the room. He was, but not like that.

In, out, dinner.

He passed the desk and went over to the corner, where the largest filing cabinet in the room stood. Without stopping to think about it, he dropped to the floor, cobwebs and dust joining the paint. If it was the other way around he’d have to come back and wash the floors.

Back in the far corner of the shadows, there wasn’t enough light for anything to glint back at him, but he’d always had what his mother called an overactive imagination. Nothing close to Armin’s. That defense had never worked.

He reached his hand into the dark and flicked off whatever bug tried to latch onto his fingers, groping around until his palm connected with a piece of cold, round metal.

Eren almost yanked his hand back out without collecting it. A flinch wracked his body like a shiver.

He grabbed it, and pulled his arm back into his chest, the rapid thump of his heart covering up all of the other sensations that came with it. His forehead was clammy, bangs sticking to it like glue.

He stayed on the floor for a few more minutes than he meant to.

Long enough for his ears to catch a different thump.

The lamp in the opposite corner of the room flicked on, and after an aborted pause that Eren could feel, his mother stepped over the threshold.

“Eren? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No,” he lied, into the dusty carpet.

She sighed, but didn’t walk any closer. The floorboards creaked under her stationary feet. Eren’s fist clenched around the object in his hand, and he made himself push his body back up, taking a string of cobweb up with him and blinking under the new light.

His mother did step forward when she caught sight of the new collection of dust all over his clothes. “Eren.”

“I already had to change,” he said.

She shook her head and pulled a dust bunny out of his hair. “You really do need to get it cut.”

Eren would blame the environment for why the only thing that he could think to say, and successfully made it out of his mouth, was, “Dad had long hair.”

She fixed him with a look that he had spent his entire childhood rebelling against. “Yes, and your father took care of his,” she said, coaxing strands of his hair apart with the tips of her fingers. “If you don’t know what to do with it, having more is always a mistake. All that exercise you do; doesn’t it get into your eyes?”

Eren crossed his arms and avoided eye contact. Longer bangs helped.

Only the angle he put his head at meant he was staring straight at the photos his father kept on his desk.

The dust blurred the images, but he didn’t have any problem recognizing the candid shot Mikasa had taken at graduation. Of him and Zeke grinning at each other, the summer sun beating down on both of them while Eren wielded his diploma like a relay baton.

Eren’s folded arms fell to his sides, the cold weight in one starting to feel hot enough to burn.

“I wasn’t going to stay in here,” he said. The words rang. He fumbled his grip and held the object out to his mother. “I wanted to grab this. In case you wanted it.”

His mother, full of smiles and competence for him all day, froze. She didn’t need any of the seconds Eren had when he’d raged into the room and found it waiting on the desk. She recognized the polished shine instantly. The watch she’d given her husband for their twentieth anniversary.

The one he’d died wearing, while his son listened to the ticking clock and stopped trying to be sane.

The one his son had picked up and thrown into a dark place no one would ever think to look.

His mom’s hands shook, taking it out of Eren’s hands. He didn’t think she saw the cracks in its face. She couldn’t know to imagine the blood entangling its joints. She just took up the watch, and held it the same way she’d held it out to Eren when she picked it up from the store. Asking for his opinion while Eren shrugged and told her to bother Mikasa with stuff like that, it looked fine.

“It was already broken,” Eren said. “From the accident. I didn’t help, but… it stopped working in…”

She looked away from the watch and up at his face. Eren bit the inside of his jaw, staring at the picture of him and Zeke and thinking about how hot that day had been and how no one except Armin had been interested in a color that wasn’t black for their robes.

Then he wasn’t staring at the picture, because his mother’s hair was in the way, and her arms were wrapped around him. She tugged his head down to meet her shoulder, and she smelled like sweat and paint and mom.

The tears couldn’t make it past his choked throat.

“I told Frieda I couldn’t even miss him,” Eren whispered. “I was too busy thinking about myself.”

His mother’s soft laughter buzzed his ear. “You got that from him.”

Eren would have pulled away if that didn’t mean leaving the hug. He didn’t think he was strong enough to ask for another. “What?”

She laughed again, kissing the side of his head and rocking him slowly back and forth. “Your father,” she said, “was a passionate, driven man, and he’d get so caught up in what he was doing I sometimes think if he didn’t sleep better in his bed he’d never have come home at all. It was always the next step, with no reason to look back.” Her head turned towards the desk. “That’s why he never made things right with your brother. He thought he failed so badly, there was no reason to repeat it all. Instead he tried to move forward with the damaged parts they had left, and…”

She sighed so heavily Eren wished he’d been the one to start hugging her. She pulled away slightly, tenderly smoothing back his hair and curling it around his ears. “I like to think we both had a part in raising that out of you, no matter how little you enjoy apologizing to your mother.”

“Mom,” he said, “I am so—”

“Eren,” she interrupted. “You have never been an easy child.” She cradled his cheek in her hand. “It is always something, even when you’re supposedly a grown man so far above our responsibility.” She sighed at him again, displacing the glinting tears in her eyes and using her thumb to rub away his. “I can’t say I’m happy with how you chose to be difficult this time, but… your father was a wonderful man, and truth be told, I don’t know how to be without him either.”

Eren fell forward, holding her as tight as he knew how and hiding his eyes in her paint-stained shirt. “…You’re doing better than me,” he mumbled.

“I’m your mother,” she said. “That’s my job.”

[next]

#drug au #fic #mine #long post

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dorkus-mcdingus · 4 years

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The Relationship Dynamics Between Evangeline (My MC) and The Brothers

Okay, let me be clear, Evangeline's personality is what I would describe as the chaotic mom friend. Sure, there are moments where she can go balls to the wall crazy during nights out with her friends but she also looks out for all seven of these idiots almost like how a mom looks out for her kids. She's an old soul but will still be more than happy to raise Hell if she feels like it.

I'll be going by the order in which the pacts are made because I think story-wise it makes a bit more sense. Also, I do cuss a lot so expect to see that every now and then.

Maybe at some point I can do one on the undateables but I might need to think on that for a bit.

Anywho, let's begin!

Mammon - First impression, "Wow! This guy's an absolute jackass!" As much as it pissed him off at first to be tricked into a pact with her, as time passed, the two developed a bond that ran stronger than blood. These two are the definition of "Partners in Crime" (much to the dismay of Lucifer). If Evangeline is ever in the mood to let her hair down and go balls to the wall insane, Mammon is definitely the one she calls on but their friendship doesn't stop there. She knows he's kinda the person that's the butt of everyone's jokes so dispite his idiocy, she'll still give him the compassion he yearns for. In turn, Mammon will give her a shoulder to cry on and will hear out her problems (even if it's in his own tsundere-ish fashion).

Leviathan - Oof, guy was an absolute mess when he met her but funny enough, despite him being the one to say that he didn't want to befriend her, Evangeline took an instant liking to him because it always made her smile whenever he talked about his passions for different fandoms. After the TSL trivia competition, although Levi went along with the pact reluctantly, they soon began developing a strong bond like... To the point where it can rival Henry's and The Lord of Shadows' friendship. In a way, she's kinda his personal cheerleader. Always encouraging him to pursue his passions and will always be a voice of comfort and reason to him when he starts loathing himself. In turn, even though it confused Levi that some normie human girl was willing to accept a "yucky otaku like me", he's still more than happy to show her the things he's passionate about and it gives him a massive happiness boost whenever she's wowed by his skills. Whether it would be his knowledge on different games, anime, and fandoms he's part of, or his more artistic skills like drawing, making his own cosplays, or even the figurines he makes. Besides, she does owe him for his help in forming a pact with Mammon so if Levi ever needs a wingman, she'll be more than happy to vouch for him.

Beelzebub - First impression, "give the guy something to eat already" but as time passed, she grew to like the guy because of his gentle heart. If he has problems, she'd be more than happy to listen to him and try to give him advice despite being thousands of years younger than him. She also knew what it was like to lose someone you held so dear to your heart because while Beel lost his sister, Evangeline lost her father and the both of them took their deaths very hard. In a sense, Beel was very much a voice of comfort to her and vice versa. Plus, it probably doesn't help that he is the definition of protect this boi at all costs and she will give someone a tongue lashing they'll never forget if they hurt him. More or less, Evangeline's more of a mama bear towards him and if someone dares to talk shit about this precious cinnamon roll of a man, well... Needless to say that they're going to regret it.

Asmodeus - Definitely loved that he was the definition of "Fuck toxic masculinity" and was unapologetically himself. However, there was one thing that really got on her nerves about him at first... The narcissism. The goddamn narcissism. It was so much that it made her wonder, "Is this guy trying to compensate for something?" However, it wasn't until the retreat to Diavolo's palace that her suspicions were confirmed to be true by Simeon. Rather than a demon that's loved by all, he was a demon that lusted for pure, genuine love. Matter of fact, it really did hurt her that Asmo thought that only his physical beauty mattered and not so much his personality. After Solomon lent her his power and used Asmo to help the group escape from Henry 1.0, he formed the pact with her and that was really what kickstarted their strong bond together. Yeah, they'll go out on the town and go wild but the moments she really enjoyed whenever she's with him were the self-care sessions they have together. They'd just talk, joke around, and it's one of the moments where Asmo is truly vulnerable with her. The way I see their friendship, it's chaotic but Evangeline will always be a voice of comfort and reason to him and will let him know that yes, his own feelings do matter and that she likes him not just for his physical beauty, but for how sweet, caring, and funny he is and that he's more than just his lust. In turn, Asmo will be the one to defend her until the end and is more than happy to let the girl's beauty shine both inside and out.

Satan - Girl could instantly smell the daddy issues he had towards Lucifer the moment she met him. However, something that did shock her was the fact that despite being the avatar of wrath, he was the most level headed out of all seven of them. She did respect him for his intelligence and his endless thirst for knowledge and as time passed, he has shown to be a big help to her when it came to studies at RAD and will participate in harmless pranks with him just to push Lucifer's buttons a bit. She also loved that he was a massive geek towards crime dramas as well as thought that him being a cat lover was nothing short of adorable (to the point where she will meow in his ear whenever they pass by just to mess with him). Still, despite that, she is a little strict with him if the pranks towards Lucifer go too far or if he gets pissed off and unleashes his wrath. She also really didn't appreciate it when she was forced to join the "Anti-Lucifer League" just because he and Belphie wanted more people in it (Also for reasons I'll get into later). Still even with those setbacks, the two are good friends who will help each other out and support each other.

Belphegor - Really had a hard time trusting him at first especially considering that this fucker LIED to her when they first met. Plus the fact that he killed her in the other timeline really screwed up her trust in him. So much that it took quite a while for him to grow on her. Once she saw that he really did regret his actions, like Beel she subtly began to act like a mama bear towards him. If someone were to hurt him, she would give them a tongue lashing they'll never forget (not that Belphie cared or anything). Still, even though she was upset at him for breaking her trust like that, she did understand why he did it. Wrath, grief, and on top of everything, isolation was a dangerous cocktail that brewed in the avatar of sloth. Still, it really didn't excuse him murdering an innocent human girl WHO WAS TRYING TO HELP YOU DAMN IT! Again, much like his twin brother, she understood the pain that Belphie was in when Lilith died and how empty and hurt it made him feel especially since he and his sister were so close. In a sense, Evangeline was the same with her father. Once that rough patch was solved, she views Belphie as kinda like a bratty child (in an endearing way) and will partake in teasing him every now and then along with having really long nap sessions with him. Sometimes, she'll even let him use her lap as a pillow.

Lucifer - To say this girl had a crush on this guy when she met him is probably the biggest understatement ever made. From one mom friend to another, she definitely understood how difficult it was to handle a group of Hell-raising idiots. Though, admittedly, although she found him to be the most attractive out of all seven, his strict and stern nature, the ass kissing towards Diavolo, plus the extreme punishments he would come up with were enough to where she wanted to scream at him. Even though some aspects of his personality really irritated her, Lucifer was the one she worried about the most and would even try to help him with his work or at the very least, ease his stress. As the two got to know each other better, well... She ended up falling for him... Very, VERY hard and would oddly enough look forward to the moments where they can spend some alone time. Preferably, tea in his room and they'd have a conversation that goes nowhere. Those little moments where the both of them are honest with each other were something she treasures dearly. Sure, Lucifer acts like an old fashioned man and the quintessential gentleman every demon should aspire to be, but the moments where the both of them are alone and vulnerable with each other were what made Evangeline fall in love with him. Plus, it didn't help at all that he was rather charming and sweet (and it didn't help at all that she has an attraction to confident men who have a sweet side to them so Luci was pretty much her type) Still, even though she loves him, what kind of girlfriend would she be if she didn't tease him every now and then? Matter of fact, it's sort of a secret game they play to see who can make the other blush more. Plus, the fact he's the most touch starved out of all of them, only makes the cuddle session she has with him feel so much better.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obeymemc #obeymeshallwedate #relationship dynamics #obey me relationship dynamics #i'm fandom trash #obey me female mc #oc: evangeline

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split-n-splice · 4 years

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Just uhh…just a girl tryna be normal... Things will get serious soon, dontchu worry~

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

39. Whose Side – 2

Come Monday morning, Shilo found herself staring out from between the blinds of her kitchen window. Eyes narrowed in suspicion, she watched for several long minutes, anticipating a jeep to pull up and searching for the faintest trace of an invisible woman, like footsteps appearing in the frosty lawn.

Her eyes stung. She’d had a rough night of tossing and turning, an uproar of thoughts plaguing her all thanks to the oasis’s potential new residents. A fiery punch of frustration to a pillow last night had only accomplished a mess of stuffing, but it had been worth it at the time to imagine the pillow was one of her least favorite people she was pummeling. If she saw her now, she might just spit acid – plasma, actually – in her face.

Shilo was expecting Drakken’s van to come sputtering out of the dark any moment now. He’d offered her a ride to Buckley’s, despite the change of plans now that he didn’t need a bodyguard to protect him from the paranormal. As the minutes passed, she began to consider hoofing it and forgetting about catching a ride, and tried not to consider the possibility something terrible had happened to him in the night.

Donning a jacket and stepping out into the chill, she muttered reassuringly to herself, “He must’ve slept in.” She hoped that was all anyway.

Before she reached the end of the block, the early-morning peace was broken by the familiar chugging of a van on its last leg. Her lips quirked up at the corners, but she forced them into a straight line as she turned to face the van idling beside her.

The amount of white Drakken wore today was startling, and she studied him with a raised eyebrow as she buckled in. A genuine lab coat she’d never seen before hung rumpled and loose all around him, a pair of goggles worn around his neck. The getup was complete with elbow-length rubber gloves. He was wide-eyed and wired, through certain features of his face screamed tired.

“Dude, did you even sleep last night?” she remarked. What did she care for?

“Uhm…” His eyes darted to her and away, and he tried to flash a smile. “No. Not at all,” he answered shamelessly, and was quick to defend himself when she let out a sound of disapproval along with her eye roll. “Oh, don’t give me that. You wanted me to do something productive!”

“Well, what is it?” she goaded.

He shut his trap for a moment and stroked his chin thoughtfully before giving a tiny halfhearted shrug. “I’m not sure yet, but the flowers smell nice.”

“Flowers?” She couldn’t begin to fathom what he was doing with flowers. Well, one idea did come to her, a thought along the line of bouquets, but it stirred an unwelcome flutter in her belly along with it, so she rejected the notion and crossed her arms.

“Orchids,” Drakken clarified. “I’d offer you one, but they’re too difficult to cultivate to just hand out willy-nilly.”

Well, now she wished he did have flowers for her – but she stamped that stubborn thought back as well.

She kept her trap shut the rest of the ride to Buckley’s. Before she could free herself of the stuffy confines of the van, Drakken cleared his throat. “Um. Are you—? Should I—?” he sputtered anxiously before gulping and managing a complete sentence. “If you wish to hide out at the lair this evening, speak now.”

She almost dismissed the offer, but second thoughts crept up on her before she could open her mouth. Every day she didn’t hitch a ride with him was a day she risked being roped into some scheme with Buckley’s girls. “Sure. Don’t be late,” she accepted with a bit more venom than intended. “Smell ya later, Doc.”

Drakken grunted indignantly as she hopped out. “I smell wonderful, thank you very much,” he shot back.

“Pickles and flowers are not the aroma of evil,” she reminded with a wry smirk.

To which Drakken only childishly stuck his tongue out at her, and he hit the gas practically before she could slam the passenger door shut.

When she turned around, she almost regretted the exchange. If only fleeting embarrassment was the worst of it. Leaned beside the door of Buckley’s Brew was the last face she wanted to see today – and the nuisance had made the conscious decision to show it. Arms crossed and pink as ever, Priscilla wore a smug smile Shilo wanted nothing more than to punch off her face.

“You stayed with him last night, didn’t cha?” she guessed, sounding so sure of herself as if she knew everything.

Shilo was glad she had the high ground of knowing she was wrong. “Grow up,” she scoffed, determined to keep her cool. Even if she had stayed at the lair, she had her own room – but did Priscilla know that? Priscilla didn’t need to know, she decided. Priscilla didn’t need to know anything . “How did you know I’d be here?”

“Your baby brothers,” she chimed, still all but barring the way in. “Those little bigmouths told me all about how you promised to send them candy from here.” She jabbed her thumb to the storefront’s sign.

Keeping her cool was a necessity now. “I don’t want you ever going near my boys again,” she hissed as she shoved Prissy aside.

“Whatever, mom.” Priscilla stuffed her hands in her pockets and began sauntering away down the sidewalk.

Shilo was frozen in place at the door, watching the girl until she’d rounded the corner. She didn’t trust her to have left that easy, but as she began her shift at Buckley’s, counting on each jingle of the bell to announce Priscilla’s return, she let an inkling of hope shine through that the nuisance had truly left to do something useful with her time – like maybe hitting the road to head back to Go City.

Shortly before the noon rush, a short curly-haired brunette came ambling in, slinging her backpack to the floor beneath the table in the corner. Within moments, Gail had a secretly-decaf to push across the counter toward her. “Did you pull it off?” she asked the girl.

“Wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t,” chirped the teenager before taking a big satisfying gulp of her coffee.

Shilo looked between the snickering girls. “Alright, what did I miss?” she sighed.

“Jenny pranked her PE teacher,” said Gail.

“Got him good!” chortled Jenny. “The creep totally deserved it.”

“What—?”

“I replaced his eye drops with hot sauce. He didn’t see it coming.”

Gail erupted with a hearty laugh, egging her on, “And then?”

“Pulled the fire alarm,” said Jenny proudly. She slapped a knee and laughed like a genuine jackass. Small as she was, it wasn’t hard to see the Buckley family resemblance.

Shilo was inclined to grimace at the two girls who found the not-so-harmless prank hilarious, but reminded herself of a pep talk she’d overheard Chester give Jenny last week about the perverted teacher who’d looked up Chester’s skirt last year. That same teacher had taken a shine to Jenny as well this year now that she was a senior going on eighteen.

When the laughter died down, Shilo was invited to join them in mugging the blinded creep when he came back from the hospital – as a group, for a little miscreant team bonding – but she’d declined with the excuse her villain boss was waiting on her.

After several minutes of waiting out back though, Gail popped out to light up and wonder where that villain boss of her was. She didn’t want to admit he was a no-show, so she shoved off from the wall and began walking. For a block or two, she tried not to walk too fast, but it became clear the man wasn’t just running late. She groaned to herself, considering breaking out the nifty new mobile phone he’d given her, but decided not to bother.

A soak in the tub and touching up her manicure was a better use of her afternoon than waiting around for him anyway.

She still jumped up when the phone rang and rushed to it a little too hastily. She opened her mouth, ready to chew Drakken out for leaving her hanging, but the words fell short when a different voice met her ear.

“Hey! Is this Shilo?” blurted the overeager caller before she could utter a word.

“I – yeah?” she muttered in reflex. The voice was familiar, but at the same time it wasn’t. She knew she’d know it if she heard it in person and not over the telephone. Before she could ask the obvious – who is this? – the boy chuckled.

“It’s Tom,” he said blithely, and she relaxed and tensed simultaneously. Just Tom. Good old average-boy Tom. Unfortunately the same Tom she’d given her number to last Friday but couldn’t clearly recall if she’d agreed to a second date with. She hadn’t, had she?

She wound her finger around the cord, knowing exactly why the night had gotten hazy after the shoddy karaoke performance – but the spark of plasma at the rekindled fire in her blood had her holding the telephone with her shoulder so she could shake the heat from her hands.

Whether she’d explicitly agreed to a second or not, Thomas Thompson was bold in asking to meet her at the 24-Seven. She agreed with an awkward, “Uh, sure,” before she had the slightest clue what she was agreeing to. She chastised herself as she hurried to lace up her sneakers to meet him in ten.

She decided, upon seeing him dismount from his tacky moped, that maybe she didn’t need an alibi that badly after all. But then he flashed pearly whites and shook his windswept golden hair back into place and that doubt flew out the window. She could even forgive him for keeping her waiting again.

Drawing a breath to steel herself, she gave a small wave and a strained smile. Tom was a nice enough boy, she told herself as he tripped on the curb in his hurry to get the door for her. The five minutes or so he spent debating which brand of diet soda pop to pick was tolerable, even if he was still hem-hawing over the selection by the time she’d paid for her Freezee and took her first sip. She barely suppressed a groan when he gave up diet sugar-free bottled disappointment in favor of regular grape soda.

Even if she’d let herself, she wouldn’t have been able to open her mouth to comment on the angel boy’s indecision before the bell above the door jingled, followed by the clamor of boisterous girls. The voices were regrettably recognizable, and she couldn’t help cringing and turning her back pointedly to them.

“Well, well, well! If it isn’t the black sheep!” came the bubbly call of Priscilla, and Shilo knew without turning that she was the black sheep in question.

“You know her?” wondered Gail, a frequent shoplifter at this particular 24-Seven. She’d yet to be caught, even after a daring stickup Shilo herself had been involved in. Today Abigail’s interest was in a candy dispenser behind Shilo, as she shouldered her out of the way to take advantage of the malfunctioning machine that gave extra handfuls of chocolate with just the right sleight of hand.

Priscilla was pressing in too close, all but cornering Shilo. She took quick inventory of available exits – but the aisles were narrow and Mickey, Prissy, and Gail blocked the direct route to the door while Tom stood dumbfounded behind her – she just as quickly decided that leaping over the shelving to make an escape would be excessive if not jumping the gun, so she swallowed bile and swatted Priscilla’s hand away as the girl reached out to run her fingers through her hair.

“Bleach it blonde already, Shi,” advised Prissy with a sickly-sweet voice. “Then no one will be able to tell you’re going gray.”

Shilo couldn’t help smoothing her hair back in reflex, shooting daggers at Priss. Even if she did have grays – which she didn’t – blonde just wasn’t happening. Even if she did stand out like the black sheep among the crowd of blondes.

“Oh, fuck off already,” she spat, and the tiny shocked gasp behind her reminded her of Thomas Thompson and his virtuous mouth. She grit her teeth and tried not to roll her eyes.

Priscilla took no offence. “I’ve missed you too,” she shot back and plucked a soda from the shelf as she turned to beam back at Gail loading her pockets with candy. “I like it here already. Some fine dudes in this town.”

“Yeah, if that’s what you’re into,” grunted Gail around a mouthful of chocolate.

Shilo didn’t miss the cagey glance she shot up toward Mickey, who was bashfully quiet as he loomed behind Priscilla. “How much can you bench?” Gail asked the young man with a note of genuine curiosity. Shilo had to wonder how long it would take Gail to try swaying Mickey into henchwork to score brownie points with Buckley, and had to believe Mickey was above it.

She took her chance to spin around, nearly running directly into Thomas in her haste to escape the aisle while the girls chattered about Mickey Goldsmith’s physique as though he weren’t even there. She didn’t mean to stop at the door and shoot Mickey a sympathetic glance as Priscilla sarcastically called him a trophy and stood on up her toes to pinch his cheek – which he rubbed at the second Priss looked away. Shilo inwardly commended him for taking the teasing in stride.

Thomas pausing to pay for his soda and delay her escape was almost enough to make her leave without him. She’d barely taken two steps away from the 24-Seven when he mounted his moped and called over expectantly, “Alright, hop on.”

She paused and stared with curled lip at the scooter. The jeep parked on the other side was what convinced her to step back toward him, if only because it was sure to make a quicker getaway.

“Don’t worry,” he said, his bright smile faltering. “It doesn’t go very fast.”

Speed was not her biggest concern, but he didn’t need to know about the glitter of plasma coating her palms like sweat at the mere idea of sitting so close. She rubbed her free palm on her pant leg as she cautiously came to stand beside the scooter. A glance up to the storefront, and she could see Priscilla noticing she’d slipped away. She swallowed the fire swelling up in her chest and swung her leg over what sufficed as a back seat as Priss made for the exit after her.

Tom suggested she hold onto him – she opted not to – and away they went. He didn’t seem super eager to meet her friends. Ex-friends. Associates. Whatever they were.

“Um, where are we going?” she wondered awkwardly as she clutched her quickly-melting Freezee between both hands. She focused on the murky turbulent water as they crossed the bridge rather than the boy’s back or the delicate gold chain around his neck.

“The park,” he answered simply. With the merry way he said it, she would expect the sort of park one sits down to on a warm sunny day for a picnic in the shade. But the sky now was overcast again, and soon it would be dark. They might even be in for some rain. “The lake is nicer, but they’re here too.”

“Who’s here?”

“You’ll see,” he said, and she didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling.

If she were back home in Go City, a spellbinding boy suckering her into taking a ride with him and promising to take her to meet some mysterious group would be extremely suspicious. Back in Go City, it was hard to take anyone at face value when no less than a dozen villains and lowlifes wanted her and her ilk dead.

Good thing she wasn’t in Go City anymore.

Shilo took a deep steadying breath and gave her palm a long moment of consideration before letting it rest on the boy’s shoulder. She wished it didn’t take so much concentration to stay mindful enough to not burn him, and the smile on her face didn’t feel like it belonged there. Tom knew she came from Go City. Thanks to her brothers, he knew she was Shego in a past life – he didn’t have to know she was still Shego with a different occupation – but at least that meant he knew she was a fire hazard. If he wanted to take the risk, so be it. He could burn in hell, for all she cared.

Before she knew it, Tom had pulled up to a curb and cut the engine.

As it turned out, here was the riverfront park and they were ducks. Still, it took the young man dashing after them wielding a loaf of stale bread from the day-old bakery outlet to realize what they were there for.

When she wondered aloud why he didn’t buy the good stuff – his family seemed well-off enough – he shrugged and gave her some story about how he and his righteous die-hard folks would buy up discount bread and road trip to the big city once or twice a month to hand out sandwiches to those in need. Overly proud of himself for his charity, he beamed and invited her to join them on the next trip. She feigned a smile and said she’d have to check her calendar.

She didn’t tell him so, but Shego had put her life on the line more times than she could count for countless thankless civilians – therefore she wasn’t about to waste a perfectly good weekend handing out sandwiches. She’d done more than her fair share. Yet the boy’s pretty smile was almost enough to change her mind.

A date consisting of sitting on a soggy bench and tossing pinches of bread for noisy waterfowl while a motormouth went off in her ear wasn’t her idea of romantic, but each glance his way sent a sickening stirring through her that nearly set her ablaze. The least romantic date imaginable, she decided, was probably for the best.

Sparingly few words slipped past her zipped lips while the boy pried ever so gently about things that didn’t matter, like when she’d last gone to the park to feed the ducks, what was the ocean like, how she was settling in at the little desert oasis, if she’d made many friends yet.

The answers didn’t come easily. Her throat tightened up, thinking of the last time she’d gone out to intentionally feed the birds, her baby brothers in tow to throw fries at flocks of screaming seagulls. Describing the warm salty breeze and sand between her toes induced a bout of homesickness. As for friends and settling in, she had to clam up. Buckley’s girls could hardly be considered friends, she could tell him that much – but she’d already lied about knowing the one friend in the oasis she did have.

“What about those girls at the convenience store?” wondered Tom with a tilt to his head better suited for a puppy. She could at least kiss and coo at a puppy and tell it how dimwitted it was without it taking offence.

Her face flushed hotter than ever at the thought of getting quite that close to try it on him anyway, and to be on the safe side she scooted ever so slightly further away toward the end of the bench. “Just people I know from Buckley’s Brew,” she muttered. It was a good enough excuse.

“Ah,” he said with an almost sad nod of understanding. The overcast on his face cleared suddenly and he was beaming brightly at her again. “If you swing by the church out on Lavender Avenue this Sunday, I can introduce you to some of mine. Or I could pick you up,” he offered hopefully.

If it weren’t for the pink appearing in her peripheral on her other side, she might have laughed in reflex and asked him if he was joking. But instead, the beginnings of an incredulous smile fell as she turned a sharp glare away from Tom, locking her gaze on Priscilla who’d come to stand so close that Shilo could almost choke on her overwhelming fruity body spray.

Fragrant as she was, Priscilla wasn’t her usual bubbly self at the moment. “You know bread is bad for them, right?” she informed in an unusually somber tone. Tom stopped himself from tossing another slice of white bread to the swarm of ravenous fowl, but before he could question the young woman, the birds had inhaled the last of the crumbs and begun to close in on Prissy. She curled her lip and kicked out at the nearest one before jumping back. “Nevermind,” she spat. “Give ‘em the whole damn bag.”

Putting on a fake smile like her makeup in the morning, Priscilla’s bubbliness was forced as she plopped down at the end of the bench, too close and warm against Shilo’s side, all but forcing her to scoot closer to Tom. Priss reached over her, extending a hand toward him. “Nice to meet you,” she said, feigned friendliness enough to fool almost anyone. “So you’re Shi’s new boyfriend, huh?”

Shilo squeezed her heated hands between her knees to hide the sparks of plasma.

“I’m not sure about boyfriend,” chuckled Tom with a nervous smile. “But it’s nice to meet you too, uhm…?”

“Priscilla.”

“Tom.”

Stuck between them as they shook hands in greeting in front of her, Shilo rolled her eyes. “I should get going,” she said, shoving their arms away a little too roughly so she could stand up.

“I’ll give you a ride,” piped Tom. She had the sense he was proud of his scooter. She’d be more impressed if it was a souped up hotrod.

“Actually, I—”

A hand caught her wrist. “Hey! You could come help me unpack,” suggested Priscilla, practically using Shilo to pull herself up from the bench. “We can order a pizza and do each other’s hair and nails like we used to. How ’bout it?”

Tom’s raised brow and glance between them was all Shilo needed to know she’d been caught in a white lie. She weighed her options – decline Prissy’s invitation and go with Tom, or snub them both.

Priscilla tugged at her while Thomas took a step back.

“I’ll let you two catch up,” said Tom, though it sounded like an offer to let her go. How generous. The angelic boy was too amicable for his own good.

A glance toward him and his moped parked at the curb a little ways off, and Shilo made her decision. Linking arms with Priscilla and giving her a jerk she hoped hurt her shoulder, she took a big step away from Tom and forced a smile onto her face. “I’ll see you around,” she said as warmly as she could manage, though she wanted nothing more than to sock Priscilla in the nose and call it a day. “Guess I gotta help Priss. She can’t lift more than ten pounds. She has scoliosis.” It was a half-truth. While Priscilla did have a mild case and would never win any medals for weightlifting for unrelated reasons, she wasn’t that feeble.

The dig wasn’t deep, but it was enough to earn a displeased grunt from Prissy. “Nice to meet you, Tom!” Priscilla called back sweetly with far too much sugar heaped on. “Maybe we can all hang out sometime.”

Shilo was getting closer to plasma-blasting the girl regardless of Tom for a witness to the violence. “Not if you value your face,” she quietly hissed through her teeth.

Thomas Thompson waved and called a pleasant enough, “Goodbye!” to them as Shilo tugged Priscilla away to the far end of the park, not particularly caring where she had left the old jeep.

Priscilla took the opportunity to bump her hip into Shilo’s and flash her a wry grin. “He’s cute,” she noted. “Your boyfriend know you’re two-timing?”

Shilo grimaced down at the woman now clinging to her arm, despite her effort to shake her off. “I am not,” she defended with sparingly few words. She didn’t need to defend herself. She didn’t need to give Priscilla the time of day.

“So!” said Priss, changing the subject. “I ran into your work buddy when I was checking out a place, and we got to talking, and thought we could make a date of all going out and doing some donuts—”

Shilo reached for her temple and the souvenir left behind from the last time, little more than a week ago now. “Pass,” she answered before Prissy could finish.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” retorted the persistent young woman tugging her arm as she took the lead. She had a lot of nerve for someone who’d done just that for years.

“Yeah?” spat Shilo, and in a swift motion that caught Prissy by surprise, she raised a foot and kicked her in the side, dislodging her and knocking her to the muddy grass in doing so. “Watch me!”

Throughout middle school she’d been teased for having longer legs of the two, though most of that teasing had come from Priscilla herself, who never once outran Shilo in their years on track together. She didn’t let that go to her head now though as she bolted across the park, her sneakers clapping down on the sidewalk bordering the far side. Dashing through traffic and into the suburbs, she didn’t dare slow or even glance back until the streets became familiar again.

Gulping for air, Shilo inwardly chastised herself for not keeping up on her old training regimen since dropping out the team, and especially since coming to the oasis. She made a mental note to take advantage of the gym back at the lair, which she realized after some time that she was making a beeline for.

She was skulking down the unmaintained road that promised to take her out of town, hands in her pockets as she scowled at the fogline and stewed over the tedious date Priscilla, a blessing in disguise, had crashed, when an all-too-familiar engine came chugging up behind her.

Headlights washing over her, her sore feet came to a pause and she stuck out a thumb without looking back to be certain. As expected, the old white utility van rolled to a stop beside her, breaks squealing.

“Fancy meeting you here,” quipped Drakken as she climbed in.

“Get bent,” she hissed in lieu of a hello before she could think twice. She was apt to blame him, even if she knew it wasn’t fair. He’d failed to pick her up on time, and that had left her vulnerable to Priscilla. One heated glance his way and she wished she’d bit her tongue. He looked better rested now – not well rested, but rested nonetheless – and he must have taken the time to shower and groom himself, because his hair was clean and tied back and he didn’t smell so strongly of dill and flowers anymore. It was hard to fault him for taking care of himself.

Shego couldn’t help noticing the mild sting of runaway embers in her palms then, and she rubbed the tingle from her arms as she turned her glare to the windshield just as the onset of a sprinkle began to speckle the glass with droplets. She was more than ready to call it a day.

#Drakgo #Drakken #Shego #Dr. Drakken #Kim Possible #The Company You Keep fic

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couragehopelovefaith · 4 years

Text

Clary’s letter

Since we never saw Clary’s letter as a whole, I wanted to write my own version of it. The one where she said something to all of her closest ones. A few parts are the same as in the episode. English is not my first language, so there might be some grammatic or spelling errors. I have no idea why some parts turned into italicized, sorry. I hope you like it.

Jace,

I am so sorry for leaving you all so suddenly, but I don't have any other choice. By the time you read this letter, my memories of you and the Shadow World will be gone. It was the price the Angels made me pay for the runes I've created. I know that it is hard to accept, but destroying Jonathan was my own choice and I hope that, one day, you are able to honor it.

All of this started by my urgent will to find my mother. Little did I know, that I would find my birth right, my heritage, a real family. You all sacrificed everything to make it happen and I can never thank you enough. Now it's my turn to return the favor.

The moment I met you, a part of me knew that we were meant to be. Because of you I found myself the way that I didn't ever think to be possible. You and I both know that we are capable of great darkness, such as Downworlders are able to do good. Our family has been our biggest source of misery and Jonathan just wasn't able to escape it. I meant everything I said to you at the wedding. At the end of the day, you are a lonely soul, but if I was able to make the change even slightly, the way you told me I was, don't push people away. Don't cling on that perfection you were so desperate to achieve. I am counting on you to lean on to others, whenever you need that. I love you so much. Please forgive me.

Simon - we never had time to actually watch "The Fault In Our Stars", but I guess you could say this is some kind alternate universe of it. I always imagined that as old people, we would take some competitions in wheelchairs, bicker watch some of our favorite movies and talk about our graphic novel in a nursery home. It wasn't meant to be, but we got to experience some hell of the adventures of our own. From the moment I took you to the nurse after your allergy attack, I knew you would always be my best friend. I know that things got bit messy between us, but I am so grateful for your presence through it all - your support, jokes that would always make me feel better. You've been through so much and even though you used to find vampirism repulsive, I am so happy that you seem to have accepted your essence. You told me you wanted to honor your Mom by choosing to study accounting, but the best way to do that is to live your life, enjoy your music and share it with people. Since I knew you before the Shadow World, I am not sure what will become of our memories, but I will hold on to them as long as I can. Tell Rebecca my best regards, will you.

Iz - you're one of the most beautiful and strongest women I've ever had an honor to meet. You once told me that in me, you saw the sister you never had. The moment you agreed to become my parabatai was one of the happiest experiences of my life, and I am sorry that we didn't get the chance to cherish those bonds longer. But no matter how hopeless things might seem right now, I won't give up hope. Perhaps, it will come true someday. You were there for me right from the start, even during your addiction and recovery, and turned the casual tomboy into a feminine, but still badass woman - and that's really not an easy thing to do. Momentarily relapse is okay, but don't let it consume you. The worst battles are within our own minds, but I know you will conquer them one day. I am so happy for you and Simon - two of my best friends together, what more could I hope for? I know that you can love him like no other. Take care of each other. I hope you can thank Raphael and Meliorn for me as well. I am sure they both will be a great guidance for many souls - both spiritually and mythically.

Alec.. We have gone through quite a journey together, huh? If you were here now, you would probably call it quite an understatement. Even if we got on each other's nerves big time - I mean, let's face it, I was quite pain in the ass - and my actions might have seemed like a disrespect on you and the Clave, you should know that I always admired your resilience, loyalty and honesty. I have no idea how you managed to do that, but you always seemed to see right through me. Please remember that I would never blame you on anything. In the end, we understood each other and wanted the best for our family. During the process, without even noticing it, you somehow became some sort of unbiological brother for me. That's why I know that you will understand my decision. I am sorry for all the lies and secrecy I put you through, you did not deserve it. Even if you and Magnus live together now, I count on you to take care of Jace. We both know that he is able to be a stubborn jackass sometimes, but he cares about you very much. He couldn't ask for the better parabatai as far as I am concerned. I once told you that leader must do some hard decisions. And you did, multiple times, even at the expense of your own happiness. You have truly turned from that shielded boy into this caring and protective leader we always knew you could be. That's truly inspiring and I honor you deeply for that. I don't know if the angels are ever willing to forgive me, but I swear, if I ever come back and see that you have forgotten that, this little girl will kick your ass.

Magnus. I didn't get the chance to ask my Mom if she ever officially named you as my Godfather, but that's what you've always felt like to me. It's a pity that so many of our paths together were forgotten, but we got many new ones instead. In every realm, you sacrificed your happiness and safety for me, for us, probably more often than I will ever know - and I don't know how to thank you enough. I know you have tendency to carry the world on your shoulders, but I sincerely hope you won't put this on yourself. It's not your fault in any way. Your guidance through all of those ordeals has been irreplaceable. I should've been there for you more during your difficulties, please forgive me. I guess we both had to fight against our own demons. You had to crawl through hell, literally - but you came back stronger than ever and I couldn't be prouder. I will always be your Biscuit, even if I won't remember that.

You two would have deserved better goodbye, but even though I never fully understood the whole "emotions being a distraction"-thing, in that situation, that would've been quite accurate. I told Jace I couldn't imagine more beautiful and fitting couple than you, and being at your wedding was an ultimate privilege. Therefore, as my wedding gift for you, it would've been my greatest pleasure to try the immortality rune - if that's what you wanted. Sadly, that's not the case now. But there's no doubt in my mind, that you will find the way. You always do. Your love has been and will be an inspiration for many souls. Cherish it for as long as you both shall live. It's your time to be happy and at peace. Give Madzie a hug for me. Perhaps I get the privilege to meet your children someday.

Luke...blood or not, you are my father in every way. You remember how many stories you had to read for me to get me to sleep at night? My Mom wanted me to learn some historical and romantic sagas, but I was always more into fantasy and mystery. And sometimes, when she didn't notice, you sneaked me some of your favorites of that area. Once, when that freaking marshmallow got stuck into my hair when we and Simon where camping, my Mom had to cut it. I didn't want to go to school, but you had already got used to bullies that disliked my art and told me that whoever had some negative to say, had to deal with you. Whether we were on boat trip or you helped me with my homework, I always felt so safe and true. You always put me and my Mom as your first priority, no matter the consequences. You two would've deserved a happy life in Idris, but that was not written in the stars. Raziel sent her to my room, exactly where she passed away, to warn me about my runes. She was so beautiful and seemed to be in peace. She and I are blessed and happy to know that you and Maryse have a chance for the new beginning together. I just wish you didn't have to keep it as a secret, at least from me. She basically became a mother figure for us all. I hope you would tell her my thanks for her support. Give Maia my best regards, too. She will rock her position as the wolfie-leader, there's no doubt in my mind about that. I am sorry I didn't have time to tell you all this, but I am so proud of getting the chance to see you as a true Shadowhunter once more. I love you, Dad.

Thank you for everything. Whatever it's worth, I want you to know that I have no regrets. Even if I won't remember you, you will always be in my heart.

With all my love and respect,

Clary

#clary fray #clary fairchild #luke garroway #izzy lightwood #simon lewis #jace herondale #magnus bane #raphael santiago #maia roberts #meliorn #alec lightwood #maryse lightwood #shadowhunters #saveshadowhunters

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marril96 · 5 years

Text

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 15: In Sickness and in Health

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Rowena is a bit under the weather.

Editor: @wonderifshelikesroses

"Whatever you did to the wicked bitch, it worked," Crowley said, tone rich with approval. Proud to the bone. "Keep doing it."

No good morning.

No hello.

Not even a sarcastic remark.

If you didn't love him, you would have shoved him.

"Good morning to you, too," you said, earning you a smug smirk. Jackass. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sam threw his signature bitchface at Crowley and rolled his eyes. Dean seemed amused, and Castiel looked out of place as usual. As if he'd suddenly found himself surrounded by strangers and was too awkward to get away. Classic him. Meg, clutching his arm to keep warm, was smirking, intrigued by whatever drama (and it most certainly was drama. With Crowley's uninhibited approach, it could hardly be anything else) was happening.

Well, shit.

What had you walked into now?

"Rowena's sick," Sam said.

"Oh." You forced your face to remain neutral. Shoved down the concern that nibbled at you like an army of fire ants crawling over your insides. "I can't take the credit, but I'm sure she'll be fine."

She was Rowena MacLeod.

She survived.

"She picked up some nasty ailment while on your little trip to the cinema ," Crowley said with disturbing joy. "My sincerest gratitude. Granted, it's annoying to listen to her whine at home, but at least I don't have to look at her at school. And she got knocked down a peg. That's always a pleasure."

"I'm so glad I could help," you said dryly.

It wasn't like you intended for her to get sick.

If anything, the purpose of going to the movies was to have fun. To show her there was more to movies than black and white classics.

Wait…

How did Crowley know where you went? Had someone from school seen you and spread the rumor? Or had Rowena told him in a rare moment of sibling bonding?

"You went to the movies with her?" Dean said in the tone that hoped the answer would be negative.

You weren't at all sorry to disappoint. "I did."

"Seriously?"

"Uh-huh."

What did he want you to say? That it wasn't true? That he'd dreamed it?

You were with Rowena Saturday evening. Watching a horror movie. Holding hands.

Your heart swelled up with warmth at the memory. Your hand still tingled where hers held it. Where her tiny fingers squeezed with impeccable strength.

"So, what, she's your friend now?" Dean said, accusation clear in his tone.

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, anger flaring through you like lava in your blood. Why did he care? Why did any of them care? Who you hung out with was none of his business.

"Why do you care?" you snapped.

"Because she's Rowena?" he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You know, bitch, bully, dating the guy who grabbed your ass."

"I'm well aware of who she is, thank you very much," you retorted. "That still doesn't make it any of your business."

"I'm just trying to look out for you."

Noble, but no less annoying.

It was Rowena.

Yes, she hung out with bad people. And yes, she dated a douchebag. But you could handle her. Regardless of the people she was surrounded with, she was harmless.

"I can look out for myself."

Dean sighed. "Look, I'm just saying she's not the best company."

"I can make that decision for myself," you said. "Besides, we aren't even friends. We just hang out sometimes. She's my tutor."

He cocked up an eyebrow. "She tutoring you at the movies?"

"For the last time, none of your business."

He raised his hands up in a placating motion. "Whatever, dude. Just be careful."

You smiled sweetly. Too sweetly. Condescendingly. "I'm always careful."

"She got you good," Crowley commented.

"It's none of your business, either," you told him.

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Duly noted," you said sardonically.

"I, for one, am glad you guys are hanging out," Sam said warmly.

"Of course you are," Dean commented.

You ignored him, flashing his brother (who was giving him his signature bitchface) a smile. "Thank you. It's nice to take a break from studying from time to time."

"Right," Sam said, nodding, a conspicuous smile on his mouth. "From studying."

Was that disbelief in his tone? A touch of teasing?

No way.

You and Rowena were just friends.

Not even that.

Whatever Sam was implying (or you thought he was implying) would never come to be.

*****

Ms. Hanscum was going on and on about today's lesson, reminding you with each word why Math was your least favorite subject.

You yawned, exhausted, longing for the warmth of your bed. God, you hated Mondays.

You especially hated Math on Mondays.

As if it wasn't enough that you'd gone to bed late and slept badly and that your friends had all but spat on your budding friendship with a mean girl, you had to listen to numbers and formulas that you didn't understand and Rowena wasn't there to flash you that smile that wasn't as smug as it'd initially looked and give you a look that promised that later on, once she was done with you, you would understand everything. Or at least enough for a D.

You missed her.

You hated yourself for it, but, god, you missed having her in this class.

It was silly; you were well aware of that. It was just one day — one class — without her. She would be back in no time.

You'd spent so much time wishing she would go away and now that it finally came true, you were miserable.

Life was full of irony.

Ten minutes before the end of class, Ms. Hanscum started rambling about the midterm. As if a wave of ice-cold water had suddenly washed over you, you froze, chills making their way down your spine as you watched the white chalk as it scrawled over the board.

There it was — the date of the midterm.

Two weeks from now.

Two measly, lowly weeks.

Shit, shit, shit.

There was no way you could prepare for that. No way you could learn all the lessons, even with Rowena's help.

You were screwed.

When the bell rung, you quickly gathered your things and rushed out. You needed to be away from this class. Away from numbers and dates and midterms. Away from Ms. Hanscum.

Unfortunately, she had other plans.

"Y/N?" she said in her sweet, friendly voice you found yourself resenting. How dare she be so nice after announcing such a difficult exam? "Could you stay a little bit, please?"

You stopped in your tracks. Sighed. Willed yourself to push the turmoil down. "Of course, Ms. Hanscum."

It wasn't like you could say no.

She waited for the last student to leave before saying, "As I'm sure you noticed, your new friend is sick today."

"She's not my friend," you said, more out of habit than actual denial. She was your friend. Or was on her way to becoming it.

"Right," Ms. Hanscum said, not really buying it. Or not caring about the correct terminology. "I was wondering if you'd be willing to take her homework over to her? With the midterm coming, I don't want her to miss anything."

"I, uh, sure," you instantly said. No thinking it through. Instinct taking over.

You wanted to see Rowena. Wanted to see how she was doing. Bringing her homework over would be the perfect excuse.

As an added bonus, maybe she would infect you and you could miss the midterm.

Win-win on both ends.

"Wonderful!" Ms. Hanscum beamed. She handed you two folded up sheets of paper, smile never leaving her mouth. How could she always be so cheery? While teaching Math, no less. Maybe she was an alien. "Tell her I hope she gets better soon!"

"I will," you said with a nod.

You would be wishing the same thing.

*****

The last person you expected to greet you at the door of the MacLeods' house was a surprisingly well groomed old man with snow-white hair and an impressive beard.

He looked like Santa Claus who'd lost a couple pounds and replaced his red suit with a black tuxedo.

You eyed him, surprised. Crowley hadn't mentioned having any visitors this morning at school.

But then, he was Crowley. He spent more time at bars than at home.

"Hello, young lady," the man said politely. It was the kind of politeness that was learned, perfected over years. Professional. Somehow, it put you at ease.

"Um, hi. I'm here to see Rowena."

You clutched your bag to you in emphasis. And also because it was cold. Layers of clothes and boots weren't a huge help in this weather.

Winter sucked.

"Of course! Come on in."

He opened the door and stepped aside to let you in, then closed it gently but firmly behind you.

"I must warn you, young miss is sick," he said. "Seems to be the flu. This year's got it bad."

Ouch.

Lucky for you, you got your shot on time.

"I heard," you said sympathetically. "I won't be long. I'm just here to give her today's Math homework."

"That's very kind of you," the man said. "Are you the one she tutors? Her mother mentioned a girl who often comes around for lessons."

"That'd be me."

You smiled awkwardly and started following after him as he led you up to Rowena's room.

"How rude of me. I haven't introduced myself." He stuck out a hand, a kind smile on his mouth. "I'm Guthrie. The nanny."

Nice.

You'd never seen a nanny such as him.

You shook his hand. "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you."

"Likewise."

He gently knocked on Rowena's door.

"What?" came her instant response. Annoyed. Scornful. So Rowena.

You had to smile. It felt good to hear her voice.

"You have a visitor," Guthrie told her.

She sighed, purposely loudly. "Send her in."

He opened the door and motioned for you to do as told. Rowena was on her bed, sitting cross-legged, clad in cute red pajamas and woolen socks, and wrapped in a fluffy blanket. Her laptop was open in front of her, the screen bright as the light overhead. She was paler than usual. All color was gone from her face, leaving her skin ashen, white as bone. Her hair was messy, resembling a bird's nest.

It was strange to see her like this. Rid of her glamour. No makeup to hide her features. No shiny clothes to cling to her lithe body.

Just a girl like any other.

And she let you, of all people, in to see it.

It felt like a privilege. Like you'd just been granted a priceless gift.

"Hello, sick girl," you said teasingly.

She allowed a smile to graze her dry mouth. "You're on thin ice, lass."

You put your hands up defensively. "Hey, you're the one who let me in."

"I'm starting to regret it."

You chuckled. She followed suit.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"Who else would be here at this ungodly hour?"

"It's three PM," you pointed out. Your designated studying time.

She smirked. "My point exactly."

"Do you need anything, Rowena?" Guthrie asked in the soft, gentle tone of a father concerned for his child's wellbeing.

"I'm fine," she said, exasperated.

He nodded. "I will leave you girls to it, then."

With a small bow, he closed the door behind him and stalked downstairs, his footsteps echoing in the hall.

You raised an eyebrow. "Grandpa nanny?"

"Mother calls him when Fergus and I aren't home to take care of Gavin," Rowena explained. She rolled her eyes. "And me, apparently. I told her I'm perfectly fine, but apparently being sick makes me unable to take care of my brother. Like I'm a bloody invalid."

"Maybe she's right," you said, shrugging.

She glared at you. "I'm fine."

"You're sick. And she's your mom. She worries."

"She's overbearing, is what she is."

Agree to disagree.

"Why are you doing here?" she asked. "You do know I have the flu, right?"

"You look it," you teased, nodding. She narrowed her eyes, annoyed. You laughed. "I'm here on business. Ms. Hanscum sent me to deliver your homework."

"Of course she did."

You handed her the papers. She looked them over, curious.

"I take it you won't have trouble with it," you said.

"Och, darling, you know I'm a genius."

Your heart fluttered at the pet name. "Yeah, you're Einstein."

She grinned. "Is that all?"

If only.

"There's gonna be a midterm before winter break."

The words tasted foul in your mouth. Bitter. Your stomach turned.

Rowena nodded. "What do you say we start preparing for it this Saturday? I suppose my ailment will pass by then."

"Sure." You turned to her, fear straining your face. Swallowing a lump in your throat, you asked, "You think there's enough time?"

She frowned, confused. "For what?"

"For me to, you know, get everything."

"Och, aye! Don't you worry, dear. By the time the midterm comes, you will be a Maths expert. Second only to me, of course."

You had to give a small chuckle. She knew how to lighten the mood. "You're so humble." She shrugged. Your face fell. "Really, though, I'm scared."

It took a lot of courage to say it, but once it was out of your system, you were relieved. It was out in the open now. No more just your burden to bear.

Rowena's expression softened, sympathy spilling over her face. "Don't worry," she said softly. Soothingly. "You will pass this exam."

It was easy for her to say. She was a genius. One of the best students in the school. Everything came easy to her.

She had no idea what it was like to turn over in bed all night for days on end as thoughts of failure chased your dreams away.

"What if I don't?"

"You will," Rowena said decisively. She reached for your hand and squeezed it. The touch was gentle, comforting. Her skin warm on yours, sending waves of excitement, elation, through you and putting you at ease all at once. "I promise."

A new hope blossomed within you.

If she said it, then so it would be.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @gaysnakess @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @tasyahilker @a-queen-and-her-throne

#rowena #rowena macleod #rowena x reader #spn #supernatural #crowley #sam winchester #dean winchester #spn family #fanfiction #my fics #high school au

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orionsangel86 · 5 years

Text

Narrative Mirror Characters in Supernatural – An Overview for the Uninitiated.

Mirror characters have always been a classic story telling device. The purpose of a mirror character is to reflect on the main characters journey and emotional state and to provide lessons for the main character to learn. Mirror characters in TV and movies can also be used for foreshadowing purposes and encourage the audience to question the main characters path.

A famous example would be Frodo Baggins and his narrative mirror Gollum in The Lord of the Rings. Gollum is a dark mirror for Frodo in that he represents everything that Frodo could become if he succumbs to the power of the One Ring. Frodo’s present is Gollum’s past as Smeagol, and throughout the books Frodo becomes more and more aware of his fate as he grows closer to Gollum/Smeagol and makes the decision to try to save him as a reflection of his desire to save himself.

Narrative mirrors are everywhere and widely used in all forms of storytelling. To deny them, is to deny basic storytelling tropes. Sometimes the narrative mirrors are extremely, painfully obvious, and other times they are quite subtle and have only a very minor meaning in the greater story.

Supernatural is a series which has used narrative mirror characters quite extensively throughout its long history. It frequently uses mirror characters to provide an additional layer to the emotional journeys of its lead characters to encourage emotional growth. Supernatural also often uses mirror characters to highlight unspoken main character storylines which support subtextual themes as well as foreshadowing potential future plot outcomes.

Supernatural relies so heavily on its narrative character mirrors, that recently in episode 14x04 Mint Condition it gave its viewers a textual lesson on character mirrors straight from its lead characters mouths:

Gif Source: (x)

DEAN (Pointing at Samantha): She’s like your twin.

[SAM pushes his hair back just as SAMANTHA does the same.]

SAM: What? What are you talking about?

DEAN: Soft, delicate features, luxurious hair. She’s like your wonder twin.

SAM: Yeah.

[A man, DIRK, is crouching in front of the comic book stands picking up comics. He has a lollipop in his mouth. SAM points to him.]

SAM: Well, okay, if that’s me then that’s you over there.

DEAN: That guy?

SAM: Yeah.

DEAN: Yeah, we have zero in common

(The scene then proceeds to show just how much Dean has in common with Dirk)

Following this fun scene, the episode continues to show how much Sam and Dean have in common with their mirror characters in many ways, including a moving moment between Dirk and Dean in which Dirk talks about how important his friend Stuart is to him. (Stuart who was first introduced in this episode wearing a tan trench coat similar to the classic coat worn by Castiel – Dean’s best friend).

From this blatantly obvious in-show commentary, we can infer how the Supernatural creators like to present their mirror characters and how we, the audience, can keep a look out for them. The key indicators are as follows:

Similar clothing - Character clothing choices are very important in this show. The brothers are almost always dressed in plaid and what Castiel would probably call “lumberjack chic”. Castiel always wears a tan trenchcoat, formal attire, white shirt, blue tie. His mirrors are pretty much the easiest to spot. Arguably any side character wearing a tan trenchcoat is a mirror for Castiel.

Siblings – Where side characters are siblings, they are mirrors for Sam and Dean.

Parent/Child pairs – Less common, but also often a comment on Sam and Dean’s dynamic, Dean being the parent to Sam.

Immortal characters with a sympathy to humanity – usually a Cas mirror.

Tastes/interests – Like with Dirk, if a side character appears who the main characters bond with over mutual interests, the chances are they are a mirror for the main character in question.

Storylines; depending on overarching season plots – less obvious, but sometimes the most interesting. Characters that appear in standalone episodes that have an emotional tie to the mytharc plot of the season usually serve to give lessons to the main characters. Those characters will stand in for the main characters when dealing with their own emotional turmoil, which will usually be similar in theme to the emotional turmoil that the main characters are going through. Consider Ed and Harry from 9x14’s #Thinman episode - such a blatantly obvious Winchester mirror that it should need no explaining here.

By taking all these various indicators into consideration when watching any episode of Supernatural, it becomes rather easy to spot the character mirrors and depending on the actions and plot purpose of those mirror characters, we can usually conclude their purpose and the connection to the overall mytharc, or in some cases character development plot.

I’m about to pull out some big examples so you can use those as templates to go forth and find the mirrors! But my main point in this post is to argue that meta writers aren’t pulling this stuff out of our asses. Character mirrors are a story telling technique that is used frequently and with clear author intent. Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you are seeing things when you believe that characters are meant to be mirrors. It is far more likely that they ARE intended mirrors than not.

I recently came across these tweets on Twitter:

Mark Harris is a former Entertainment Weekly executive editor and author of several books on Hollywood and the film industry.

Brian Koppelman is the co-creator and showrunner of the TV show “Billions” and has worked in the TV and Film industries for over two decades.

I would hazard a guess that both of these individuals have a greater authority on the inner workings of TV show production than YOU or I or anyone else in this fandom about to scream those immortal and highly ridiculous words “yOu ArE rEaDiNg InTo ThInGs!”

But by all means, if you are going to disregard my post as nothing more than a “crazy” fan trying to claim author intent where there is none, perhaps you could first take a look below the cut, because these mirror characters in SPN are hardly coincidence, and the general motto to run by is that if some characters are definitely mirrors, then the chances are that wherever you THINK you see a character mirror, and it makes logical sense, the INTENT was for you to see a character mirror all along.

So therefore, never disregard a fan interpretation of a narrative character mirror when they see one.

If you do, you are going to look like a huge jackass.

Please keep reading for glaringly obvious Destiel character mirrors along with some nice brother character mirrors for comparison. We ain’t kidding around folks.

First of all, lets consider some examples where Supernatural has used narrative mirror characters specifically to highlight Sam and Dean’s emotional growth.

A recent and very obvious example is from 14x12.

The brothers interview Eddie, the twin brother of a murdered man in a case they are investigating. Eddie is distraught by his brother’s murder, and he says the following:

“I can’t believe he’s gone. We were close. Best friends. Alan always said he was my big brother, ‘cause he was born first. By, like, four minutes. Losing him is like losing a part of myself. I never knew it could be this bad.”

In this situation, Eddie is a clear Sam mirror character, because his emotional response to his brother Alan’s death is exactly what Sam’s would be if he were to lose Dean. Dean, in this scenario, is the one learning the lesson. He is having to witness through a character mirror the pain that Sam would go through upon Dean’s suicide. This reflects the current mytharc plot in which Dean has chosen a suicide mission of locking himself away with the archangel Michael in order to prevent Michael’s escape.

This is a simple mirror which specifically relates to the theme of the episode. However, other character mirrors have a wider lesson in mind. Another recent episode that used character mirrors for the brothers was 13x12 Various and Sundry Villains.

In this episode, the brothers come up against a pair of villainous witch sisters. The sisters are determined to bring their mother back from the dead and will stop at nothing to succeed. The sisters are dark Winchester mirrors in that they symbolise the lengths the brothers will go to in order to save themselves and their family – putting their own goals above the safety of the world. This episode took place during a season 13 mytharc plot in which the Winchesters own mother Mary was trapped in an apocalyptic universe and the Winchesters were looking for a way to save her (and Jack) regardless of warnings from Death herself that no good would come from jumping universes.

It was also a wider commentary on the Winchesters own toxic co-dependency – a theme that has been running within the subtext of the show since Season 8 which portrays the brothers co-dependent relationship as a negative force in their universe and something that they need to break free of – a theme which has been building quite nicely in these later seasons.

The episode 13x12 ends with the witch sisters horrifically murdering each other whilst under a spell in a scene which symbolically shows just what could happen to the Winchester boys if they don’t free each other from their own toxic relationship.

This was a prime example of character mirrors have a deeper message in terms of their relation to the main characters and their overall character journeys on the show.

Sam and Dean have had mirror characters established in the show since the early seasons. One obvious example was in 1x18 Something Wicked This Way Comes which prominently features a young boy called Michael who feels responsible for his little brother Asher. Michael is an obvious Dean mirror used to emphasise Dean’s loss of innocence at a young age due to the boy’s early introduction to monsters by their father.

Many of the early season character mirrors were used to provide backstory for Sam and Dean such as this one, or to provide dark foreshadowing (like used with Frodo and Gollum) for Sam particularly with the “Special Children” throughout seasons 1 and 2.

In the later seasons, character mirrors are more likely to be used to either provide Sam and Dean with emotional lessons, or highlight their co-dependency as a negative force.

See, its quite simple so far right? Would you actually deny that these characters were Winchester mirrors? You can possibly argue with my interpretation, but you can’t really argue against the mirrors themselves, that much is obvious.

Now is where it gets interesting. Because whilst you may have no problem seeing mirror characters for Sam and Dean in the show, would you feel the same way if I was to present you with an EVEN LARGER mountain of evidence for mirror characters for Dean and Cas?

Another frequent use of character mirrors within the show in the later seasons is to highlight a potential romantic partnership between Dean and Castiel. This is a controversial opinion and one many viewers of the show either ignore or adamantly deny. However, arguably you can’t pick and choose your meta in this show. If you agree with one set of thematic mirrors, you must surely admit to the same filming techniques being used elsewhere. If mirrors exist between Sam and Dean, they must also exist between Dean and Cas, and sometimes those mirrors are just as blatantly obvious, if not more so.

One prominent example (and probably the most obvious) comes from episode 9x20. Written by the current showrunner Andrew Dabb, this episode was an attempt at a spin off show with a completely new set of characters. One part of this episode included a love story between monster characters David and Violet.

Please refer to this post: http://bluestar86.tumblr.com/post/178577156431/i-cant-recall-where-but-i-read-somewhere-that-a for further detail about this character mirror. Because it’s so obvious its laughable.

The basic mirror is that David is Dean. He is the son of a powerful monster family in Chicago who is pulled back into the war when his brother Sal is murdered. “David” = Dean, “Sal” = Sam. Get it? That’s one clear mirror. The back story alone is obvious enough.

Violet is the daughter of another powerful monster family, one that is actively antagonising the others and supports the war. She spends most of the episode wearing this:

Violet is clearly our Castiel mirror. A daughter of a troublesome monster family that wants to start war, but who tries to prevent that because of her love for one of the other families sons? Its Romeo and Juliet but it is also very Dean and Cas.

The turbulent relationship between David and Violet is told using lines previously spoken between Dean and Cas word for word, but in an obviously romantic way (because heterosexual romance is irritatingly obvious even when using lines previously given to “just bros”). Seriously, go read the linked post and just TRY to deny this mirror.

One of the more recent obvious DeanCas mirrors in the show comes from season 14 between Mary Winchester and AU!Bobby. In the episode immediately following 14x04’s lesson in recognising mirror characters in Supernatural Mary and Bobby show up to put our mirror recognition to the test.

Mary has been used as a mirror character for Castiel and vice versa since she was reintroduced to the show in season 12. In terms of the key indicators, she has often been seen wearing a tan trenchcoat, or a general tan coat with white and blue clothing (her clothing is often coded for Castiel) as well as her emotional journey being tied to his in her struggle to find belonging among her family.

AU!Bobby is a Dean mirror. His story very closely compares to many of Dean’s storylines over the years, including Purgatory and being traumatised by the loss of his son (a canonical fact being that both Sam and Dean acknowledge that Dean raised Sam and was practically his only parental figure).

The romance between him and Mary is still pretty much completely subtextual, and yet people still acknowledge its existence. It has been shown through longing looks and conversations with the brothers where Mary voices her frustrations at her inability to break through the supposed communication barriers between her and Bobby (an interesting storyline which compares extremely closely with season 13’s long running miscommunication theme for Dean and Cas.)

Bobby and Mary’s current story reflects Dean and Cas’s especially in Mary’s frustrations to get Bobby to open up to her about his troubled past. There is an underlying message here which indicates Castiel’s own frustrations at Dean for not being more open and honest with him (again this was shown far more subtly as recently as 14x12 in how Dean keeps things from Cas because they are far too painful for him to address). This mirror is practically undeniable, just like David and Violet. Yet both are romantic.

The other glaringly obvious het character mirror pairing for Dean and Cas was Cain and Colette in seasons 9 and 10. Just because the story didn’t resolve itself, doesn’t mean the mirror wasn’t intended and specifically catered for Dean and Cas from the start.

Cain and Colette is a HUGE example of a mirror that was practically textually confirmed (and was actually confirmed by Jared Padalecki at a convention).

(x)

In fact, arguably 10x14 called for the audience to notice character mirrors before 14x04 did! Cain constantly reiterated that he was a Dean mirror TEXTUALLY. He told Dean that Sam was his Abel. He very clearly stated how Dean would live his life in reverse - Cain killed Abel first, then he unwillingly killed his wife Colette, before finally giving in and killing his demonic kin - the knights of hell.

He told Dean he would first kill Crowley - his own demonic kin in a sense, then he would kill Castiel - Deans... partner? Before finally killing Sam. How can I make this any clearer? Oh yeah. This:

In fact just got take a look at the source post for those gifs to see all the other ways Cas is a mirror for Colette and watch me laugh at anyone still trying to deny this: http://casclaire.tumblr.com/post/119456988024/and-everyone-you-know-everyone-you-love-they

Those were the het pairings (among many others) but Dean and Cas have also been mirrored to practically every other queer pairing in the show save one (and that was played purely for jokes for W*ncest fans).

Now the importance of queer representation is something we frequently discuss in fandom. So before some asshat decides to pipe up and accuse me I’ll just add a nice little disclaimer so said asshat can shut the hell up:

Theorising that queer pairings in Supernatural may also be mirror pairings for Destiel does not diminish the pairing or the representation in its own right. To claim it does so is utter bullshit. The pairing is still awesome and should be celebrated because hey! It’s on the show isn’t it? It’s out in the open as a canon queer pairing! YAY for US! Speculating that it could also be a Destiel mirror pairing only ADDS to the awesomeness. It does NOT diminish it in any way...

Unless you hate Destiel of course in which case... well:

So now we’ve got that out of the way:

Several of our best queer pairings in SPN over the years can also reflect Destiel and their relationship.

Charlie and Gilda is a prime example:

Gilda appears in episode 8x11 as a fairy from another realm who has been taken prisoner and forced via magic to do horrible things against her nature by a bad guy. Charlie is able to free her from her “masters” spell.

Sound familiar?

It should do, because this is basically Castiel’s story in season 8. He is brainwashed by Naomi to do bad things against his nature which culminates in Dean managing to break through to him by declaring how much he “needs” him. Isn’t it all so marvelously gay?

How about this awesome gay couple:

(x)

Honestly I could wax poetic about this episode for a thousand years, but I will just stress this: Anyone who tries to suggest that the mirror here is for Sam and Dean is clearly missing the fact that the entire point of this episode was about a BROTHER getting revenge for and mourning the loss of his BROTHER. So the Brother mirror is already well established at the start of the episode.

But Cesar? Cesar is all Cas. He’s the “foreigner” supporting his partners revenge quest regardless of his own desires. Hell, even their names are similar. Besides, their entire relationship was a lesson for the audience in how to recognise body language. All those shoulder squeezes and longing stares? Destiel was all over Jesse and Cesar. I have no doubt in that.

But if that didn’t swing it for you how about this lovely canon pairing?

(x)

The fandom coined “DreamHunter” pairing between Claire Novak and Kaia Nieves was built completely on famous Destiel moments. Longing looks, pledges of protection, “I’ll go with you”, saving each other, trying to go back for each other, mourning the others death… Dreamhunter was also still completely subtextual until recently when Jody Mills stated “First love strikes quick” a simple sentence, and it was confirmed as canon in the show.

Here’s a handy post of how dreamhunter was built on a Destiel framework:

http://bluestar86.tumblr.com/post/179549508598/tinkdw-first-love-strikes-quick-to-lose-it

Other than these obvious pairings above, there are literally hundreds of character mirrors used throughout the show’s 300 episode run so far which are put in place by the writers and the crew specifically to indicate some deeper meaning to the overall lead character emotional arcs. This has been common and frequent in the show throughout its long history. The above examples are just the most obvious ones related to either Sam and Dean or Dean and Cas. Almost every episode of this show includes character mirrors in some way or another. Character mirrors specifically linking to Dean and Cas have been particularly frequent throughout Carver and Dabb era (practically every episode in season 8 had a tragic human x immortal creature love story for example).

So for ANYONE to argue that we are seeing mirrors where they don’t exist? Well, those people are straight up wrong. I don’t care who they are, or whether they have some status within fandom or if they are just some asshole on the internet, unless the denial of character mirrors is coming from the writers or the directors of the episodes, they are wrong.

Which leads me nicely to this:

My reason for writing this long meta post was because of this. Simple enough right? We got three kids in 14x13. One is a tall nerdy boy who just seems to radiate with the same aura as Colin Morgan’s young Sam Winchester. One is a fiery young lady called Max, who wears a plaid jacket and has a shy crush on her friend - she also gets behind the seat of the Impala at one point as if that wasn’t obvious enough. The other girl Stacy we don’t know much about, other than that she is quiet, pretty, with dark hair and clearly the object of Max’s affections.

When I first watched this episode with @tinkdw and this scene came up we both didn’t even have to think about it. It was so clear to us. Nice one SPN, we see what you did there. The framing, the characters personalities, the coded clothing... there wasn’t a doubt between us that this was framed intentionally, and in a scene literally moments before Cas comes home to his family.

It was supposed to be simple, no big deal. Yet another Destiel mirror among the mountain of Destiel mirrors the show has already given us. Its not even anywhere near as impactful as one of the character mirror pairings previously mentioned in this post. Yet it was enough to cause such a huge wank storm on Twitter and have BNF accounts start a parade of abuse and blame towards meta writers for even DARING to consider that Destiel mirrors may exist AT ALL in this show, let alone with author intent!

Colour me effing surprised.

If ANYONE tries to tell ANY Destiel shipper that they don’t have a right to see character mirrors in the show, to believe that there is author intent, to SHAME them for seeing those mirrors in queer pairings specifically. You go right ahead and block those people. Because their opinions are their own no matter how much they may scream like they have some kind of authority. They don’t.

No one has any authority over the way you interpret the media you enjoy. Even me.

Don’t forget that.

So my point on this post was basically to say this.

You go right ahead and keep looking for character mirrors in SPN, because they have been intentionally included in the show since its humble beginnings. Destiel mirrors are a huge part of that. You are NOT wrong for seeing them.

Max and Stacy in 14x13 were just the latest in a long line of Destiel specific character mirrors in a show renowned for using character mirrors to the point that it has textually given its audience A. Lesson. In. How. To. Spot. Character. Mirrors.

I am not making this shit up.

At the end of the day, by believing the mirrors are intentional, and what makes this post controversial, is that it means I am telling you that TPTB are intentionally providing us with romantic Destiel subtext.

Well, that is exactly what I am saying. Because they are. There is no doubt about this. You don’t fill your show to the brim with romantic tropes, romantic character mirrors and an underlying romantic narrative C plot for at least 4 seasons without having some intentional desire to potentially make this thing an actual thing.

You just DON’T.

The writers know what the hell they are doing. They want to keep Destiel an option for endgame, so they keep it going throughout the show. Whether or not they eventually make it textual to a point that a general audience can’t deny its existence is another story, because that’s the kind of thing that need a green light from the CW suits.

But the writers, the creators of the show, everyone involved to an extent, they all know what they are doing. Anyone who at this stage would deny author intent regarding Destiel loses all my respect because frankly its insulting to the creators themselves. No one is so idiotic that they would make something look unintentionally romantic for 10 years.

The mirrors are real. Destiel is real. The creators of SPN continue to include it so they can keep it an option for endgame because (and this is the part I don’t know for sure but can at least guess because I don’t consider the entire writing team to be asshole queerbaiters) they want to make it canon as much as we want it to be canon.

Whether they actually CAN or not is the issue at this point. The debate on whether or not we “are reading into things” has been null and void since season 12. It was practically null and void since season 8 TBH.

So keep looking out for the Destiel mirrors (and the Sam and Dean mirrors and any other character mirrors you may pick up on) and you go right ahead and post and speculate and tweet and blog and do whatever the hell you want to do to voice your opinion on the topic because NO ONE has the right to police what you see in the show - especially when it has already been proven to be clearly intentional on the part of the creative team.

Finally I will leave you with this humble message from our “overlord” in case my post hasn’t already swayed you away from negative thinking and believing the deniers:

Thanks for reading. :)

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sevi007 · 5 years

Link

Gifted to @rex101111 and @fuckoland, for always listening to my ideas and giving me that last little push of confidence I so often need when writing. Thank you both so much. =D

Spoilers for DMC 5

Summary: Finding a way back to himself, back to his brother, and out of Hell - Vergil learns that those had been the easier parts of his new journey. Because redemption is not simply offered on a silver plate, and bonds take time to forge. But Nero might just be worth all of that.

Warnings: Uh, swearing, cause it’s Nero, and probbaly a bit OOC-ness on Vergil’s side (first time writing him, and he’s a difficult fella, I tell you)

Word Count: 7227

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ D ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fortuna.

Of all the places he had been to in his life, this city was not one he had expected to return to one day, with his business here finished and other goals to be chased.

Ah, but you didn’t think you would return to anything, a tiny voice in his mind mocked, sounding suspiciously like the croak of a bird. Didn’t think you would come back from this last fight, did’cha, boy?

Vergil scowled into the sky before him, banning the voice – memory, ghost, whatever it was – back into his subconsciousness. No more of this. I woke up from you.

Part of him expected a reply still. Waited for the flutter of wings, the pressure of claws on his shoulder, mocking and taunting in his ear. It didn’t come. Of course it didn’t, he told himself sternly, that part of him was gone, chased away like dark dreams in the morning sun.

The only noise left behind was the avid chatter and laughter drifting up from the garden stretched down below. People talking over each other, laughing together. The sound of cutlery being set on tables, glasses clinking and chairs and tables being pushed together to make room for everyone, interspersed with easy chats.

Below him, life continued on, as if nothing had happened. As if they hadn’t all been in danger of being wiped of this earth mere months ago.

Easy companionship. High spirits. Celebrating their return from Hell, had been said, but he had the hunch that these people did not really need a reason to sit together and celebrate, if they felt like it.

Nero had seemed at ease in the middle of things. Not as open and enthusiastic about it as the girl (Kyrie, Vergil recalled, the name not easily forgotten due to her very resolute reception of him upon his return). But still, the young man had easily greeted the various people who had showed up, accepting hugs and pats readily, striking up conversations freely.

It shouldn't have been a surprise. The boy considered these people friends, most of them family, even.

Vergil, on the other hand, must have counted for neither of those options.

He had left (not fled, never fled, he told himself) the scene at the earliest chance, when not too many people had been looking. Had chosen the highest point of the house’s roof as his refuge, to watch attentively and think.

Bright blue eyes had followed him, he knew, had all but burned into his back, but he had ignored it. If his brother wanted something from him, he would find him. Not even the deepest depths of hell or the highest point of a cursed tree had stopped his brother before. A roof would be a joke in comparison.

A deep voice started a sing-song right behind him, words full of mockery and taunt, “Vergil, Vergil, sitting on a roof, K-I-S-S-I-…”

Speak of the devil.

“If you keep that up,” Vergil warned without even turning around. “I will stab you. Again.”

“Aaaah,” Dante nodded wisely while he dropped beside his brother, legs dangling dangerously over the edge for the blink of an eye until he shifted and settled. Sprawled out leisurely, he flapped a hand at the other. “Still pissed cuz I one-upped you, I see.”

“Your counting is getting worse. I am currently leading.”

“Pfffft, sure, bro, sure.”

A fall from the roof, Vergil reflected, would sadly not do his twin any harm, even if he put all his strength into giving him a much needed push.

“Did you want something, Dante?”

Dante hummed non-committally, lounging so close to the edge it was a miracle gravity didn’t take hold of him yet. He didn’t start talking – which, probably, was the most ironic thing the more talkative of the two could have done.

Finally, Vergil’s finger already twitching as he went over the idea with the push again, Dante spoke up. “You know, I would have figured you would at least try before running again.”

Pretense would not work, not on him, but Vergil tried, anyway, eyes closing as he summoned whatever calmness he still had left. “No one is running from anything, dear brother.”

“Dear brother. You only call me that when you’re seriously out of it. And you don’t even mean it.”

“I do wonder why that is.”

“So, you’re running,” Dante ignored the comment which dripped with sarcasm, going in for the kill instead, “Because how I see it is - you’re up here, and the kid is down there, so do tell me how you guys are gonna talk this out?”

Of course. Vergil closed his eyes for a moment. Suddenly, the prospect of a trusty nightmare at his side was more enticing than having his twin here instead. Then again, there was not much difference between the two. “What should we talk out, in your opinion?”

“Hm, let me think about that…,” Dante drawled. “Right. Perhaps that he’s your son? Happy Father’s Day, by the way. I think you missed a few of those in the last years.”

“You are simply stating a fact. There is nothing to discuss about it.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Vergil, I thought we talked about this - at least give the kid a chance to get to know you, you stubborn asshole.”

Avoiding the other’s gaze when he could all but taste the disappointment in his words was no longer possible, and Vergil glanced over, feeling horribly tired. “I am not who he remembers.”

“Well, yeah,” Dante stared back at him, slightly askance, fully exasperated. “Not much he could remember, with you being phenomenally absent for… eh. All his life?”

The urge to snap And whose fault is that? was there, clawing at his insides like a living beast. Vergil swallowed it down, forced himself to think No.

He had been the one too blind, not Dante. He had been the one to jump head first, without thinking of what exactly he was possibly leaving behind.

It had taken him breaking apart to put together what mistakes he had made. He would not forget again.

One breath, two, three, and the urge subsided. He was getting better at ignoring that old, bitter part of himself which tried to convince him everything was his twin’s fault. A reflex honed over years, and not easily unlearned now. He fought to banish it, dispatching it every day a bit more, with each interaction with his… his family.

Family.

That particular word would take some time to get used to.

Dante was still watching him, expectant and accusing at the same time, he knew, yet Vergil didn’t meet his gaze. There was nothing he could say in his defense, and the only explanation for his statement was one Dante wouldn’t understand.

He didn’t even understand it fully, himself. He only knew that there was… something. Something which was his, but not quite. Memories in his mind, fuzzy things, like a nice dream he once had and now couldn’t recall clearly. A part of him that remembered a helping hand, a shoulder offered to lean on, a now-familiar becoming voice reminding him to rest, to take it easy. Remembered the relief that came with it, with having someone to count on, to trust.

There was a man who remembered Nero as something more than a stranger.

(- “V you gotta rest” - )

(- “I guess I owe you one.” -)

(- the tool, the last hope, the boy, Nero, Nero-)

(Why had his first thought upon reassembling the halves of his very being been to thank this boy, someone who had been a stranger to him then? It had been there, the words right on the tip of his tongue, stronger than the old urge to win and proof himself right. His heart had beat and beat and beat, each thrum a whisper of You remember him, you do, you do…)

But he wasn’t that man anymore. He didn’t remember. Not really. Not himself.

Tche, and not gonna do anything about that, are ya?

This time, his hand nearly twitched upwards to shove someone off his shoulder – before he noticed there was nothing to shove at. No feathers nor claws, no sharp beak pecking him for trying.

Deliberately, he lowered his hand again, balling it into a fist to keep it where it was.

If Dante had noted his sudden movement, he did not to comment on it. Instead the younger rolled around with a grunt, away from the edge, and stood in a way that somehow managed to be casual yet graceful. Stretching with a loud yawn, Dante squinted into the setting sun for a moment – only to turn and kick his brother in the lower back. Hard. “That’s for being an obstinate asshole.”

Vergil grunted, glared, but didn’t so much as budge or fight back. “Obstinate. I’m surprised you even know what that means.”

The grin Dante sent him back was more teeth than anything else, eyes a hard glint to them. “Good thing the kid is better in this whole family department than we both are, jackass. He isn’t going to let you off the hook that easily.”

It took Vergil a second to make the connection, and once he did, he nearly cursed out loud, out of character as it was. Head swiveling around, he did indeed catch sight of the young man standing at a distance, balanced on top of the roof as if gravity didn’t concern him, hands shoved into his pockets and watching the twins with a slight frown.

Nero noticed his gaze and lifted a hand in greeting after an awkward, fidgety pause. He stood ramrod straight, shoulders tense and clearly uncomfortable – but also like someone on a mission, not ready to back down a single step, jaw set and head held high.

Vergil hadn’t felt him coming, much less heard, too caught up in the presence of his twin… which probably had been the plan all along.

Much to his displeasure, Dante proved to be immune to his death glare, shrugging at him. “Told you. Not off the hook.”

“You just can’t mind your own business, can you.”

“You knew that already,” and then, all casualness was gone. Dante moved with the speed of a striking demon, too fast for the human eye, and all of sudden he was there, right in Vergil’s space, hand on his twin’s shoulder like a vice, forehead to forehead, blue boring into blue. “Listen up here, Vergil – no idea what’s going on in that head of yours, but Nero is not me. He is not you. I learned that the hard way, and you will have to learn that, too. So whatever got you all stuck up about this; get over it, and quick. You’re not gonna get an endless amount of chances, capisce? You already got a lot more than others did. ”

Instinctively and beyond his control, Vergil tried to avoid the gaze burning into his, only to find that it was impossible, partly because of the hand on his shoulder like a steel shackle, partly because of the sheer intensity in those eyes. Trapped and backed into a corner, he ground out between clenched teeth, “I know that.”

“Oh, good.”

In the blink of an eye, Dante had backed off again, rocking back with the biggest grin on his face, hands put on his hip as if nothing had happened just now. A quick glance over to Nero – the younger still kept a respectful distance, staring off into the distance now as if this did not concern him – and Dante got serious again, voice low, “Like I said – he’s better at this than we are. He’s better than you. Better than me. So get a move on and try, you deadbeat of a father.”

Then, softer, but no less stern. “He deserves it. Don’t fuck this up, Verge.”

With one last salute, mocking through and through, Dante turned and wandered off, leaving Vergil behind to comprehend everything that had been flung at him. Dimly, the older of the two noted how Dante stopped when he reached Nero, clapping the younger on the shoulder with a bright grin. A quick conversation, an eyeroll from Nero followed by an elbow into the elder’s rips, answered with a loud, bellowing laugh from the man. Then they separated again, pushing past each other gently.

Dante jumped off the roof without looking back once.

Vergil turned to look out over the city again (not much had changed, he noted, even if his memory of it was blurred and apparently the place had seen some rebuilding after demon attacks).

He made a point out of not looking, not checking what Nero would do. Cursing to himself for getting tricked into this so easily.

Quiet footsteps resounded, firm, not hesitating. They stopped next to him, before Nero lowered himself to sit beside him, feet dangling over the edge.

They sat in silence for a while, Nero’s gaze wandering down to the group in the garden, then over the city that had been his home all his life.

Then, finally, the younger spoke up, “You didn’t come over to greet us.”

Teeth grinding together for a second (not even straight to the point), Vergil tightened his shoulders, pulling himself up straight. “There were enough others to do so.”

“Right. Sure. So, what now? You avoiding your own party?”

“This party has nothing to do with me.”

“Yeah?” Now there was sharpness to Nero’s voice, even though he had tried to sound casual before. “The whole thing is about celebrating you guys getting back out of Hell alive. Would think that does concern you.”

Something cracked inside of Vergil – too many people trying to talk to him when all he wanted was silence to sort his thoughts, too many suspicious looks, too many voices in his mind not his own, too many decisions to make – and he snapped, ice lacing his words, “And me being alive is something to celebrate for you, yes?”

“After I busted my ass off to keep you dumbasses alive?” Nero’s voice had risen for a second, before he seemed to remember that there where people down there who could hear him. Obviously restraining himself through sheer willpower alone, he finished in a hiss, “Yes, dammit, it is.”

It should have made him angry, this child speaking in such a manner to him. The flaming gaze and bared teeth and balled fists should have put him on defense.

Surely, Vergil reflected, angry and confused at himself, surely this simple, angrily thrown out statement shouldn’t have made him feel relieved.

(You remember him, you do, you do…)

He closed his eyes against the heady, unfamiliar rush of emotions, willing them back, back into a heart that beat stronger and steadier than it had in years, demanding to be heard in a way he hadn’t felt in decades.

Better get this over with, before he did something stupid, Vergil thought – and took the leap. “If you have something to say, then speak.”

“I still think you’re a damn asshole.”

The words were quick, blurted out in such a rush as if they had wanted to come out of their own volition. For a second, Nero himself looked as if he was surprised by his outburst, before he frowned, turning away. He talked to the skyline instead, probably unaware of the way Vergil stared at the back of his head as he went. “I mean… fuck. Fuck, you cut my damn arm off! And you tried to kill Dante, who… who tries to kill their own brother?! That’s not even all you did – fuck, you, just – fuck you, okay?! Fuck you, for all the shit you tried to pull. But, Dante, me… You did that to your own family, you dick, you don’t just… you don’t just do that. Okay? It’s fucked up, that’s what it is. You’re fucked up.”

Silence settled between them, charged and heated, only interrupted by Nero’s heavy breathing, as if the young man had just fought a tough battle and was out of breath for it.

Then, just when Vergil had half a mind to up and leave (clearly, the boy had said what he had to say know, right, this was it, this was over) Nero breathed in deeply, a hitching sound, before letting it out again in a hiss. When he spoke, his shoulders had lost some of their tension, and he seemed to ponder something. “But… like a friend of mine said not too long ago… without you, I wouldn’t be here. You’re my family. And I know there’s more to you than all that.”

Too late, much too late, did Vergil realize that Nero’s gaze had dropped to something in the younger’s hand, gripped tightly but carefully.

All his anger evaporated as he caught sight of it - the old, slightly battered book gleamed golden in the light of the setting sun. A soft spot left wide open for all to see.

No.

Left in good, caring hands.

(- “Hold onto that until then” -)

As if sensing the elder’s gaze, Nero snapped up and around – eyes so bright they were nearly luminous, brows furrowed, the book raised like a weapon. A proof. Voice like steel, he repeated, “I know there is more to you.”

They stared at each other, blue into blue, nothing between them apart from a book and a decision. Nero looked like he dared him to disagree, to deny what he had just said.

Vergil found that he couldn’t do so.

And finally, when the denial didn’t come, Nero seemed to come to a decision. Nodding to himself, he all but jabbed a finger of his free hand against Vergil’s chest, not heading the fact that the older didn’t budge and merely lifted a quizzical eyebrow at him.

“So this is how this show is going to go from now on – you fucked up big time. And I saved your ass more than once. You owe me,” there was a hint of knowing and smugness in Nero’s expression, and Vergil had a sense of déjà-vu, since that looked all too familiar, “You said so yourself. In fact, I would say you owe me several times over, asshole. That’s one ripped off arm, at least two times I saved your sorry ass, and I’m pretty sure there’s more. Would say that means you have some redeeming to do.

And you will,” now, Nero’s voice was sharp and unforgiving, eyes blazing as he jabbed again, not minding the twitch in Vergil’s face. “Because, again – you owe me.”

For a moment, Vergil was struck speechless. There would have been a time, once, when this young one talking to him in such a way would have made him furious, would have had anger roar inside of him like wildfire.

It didn’t come, this time. Because the boy was right. He did owe him, had said so himself. If he broke his word now, Vergil knew with certainty, then he would never get another shot at… this. At getting to know Nero, the person he had caught glimpses off and had been proud of.

And that person - his son - wouldn’t let him off the hook, not that easily.

Vergil felt a smirk stretch over his face, respect and amusement flickering inside him. “Did you already plan on how this… redemption is supposed to go, as well?”

Narrowing his eyes, Nero mulled the answer over, the gaze sweeping over his opposite calculating. Finally, he snorted, leaning back and crossing his arms, chin raised. “You’re going to help with the rebuilding of Red Grave City, for starters. I don’t care how – if you send money for repairs over or fucking lay bricks yourself to rebuild, your decision. That destruction was your fault, and you will make up for that.”

His breath was momentarily knocked out of Vergil at the prospect of having to see that city again – roots of his he had believed to be unrooted now – before he nodded jerkily, teeth clenched.

Satisfaction gleamed in Nero’s eyes. He seemed to grow surer about this the longer the other didn’t disagree. “Next of – fucking stop trying to kill Dante.”

“That,” Vergil pointed out, almost mildly, “we have already stopped.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, don’t start it again. It’s bullshit, and I would just have to beat you guys up again,” Nero waved it off, clearly disinterested in hearing any more about it. Missing the way Vergil’s lips twitched into a grin for the blink of an eye. “And – turn it down with the asshole attitude. Not saying you gotta become a damn saint here, but nobody here is trying to slit your throat in your sleep, so stop acting like it.”

There was probably no point in telling the younger that he wasn’t all that sure if nobody ever at least felt the urge to do just that to him, so Vergil simply nodded mutely in response to that before, “Anything else?”

“A lot, probably,” Nero answered without missing a beat. “We will see about that when we get there.”

Vergil huffed, amused despite himself.

Nero looked him up and down again, considering. Then his posture relaxed slightly, forearms resting easily on his knees, shoulders slumping. “You’re actually not complaining about it.”

“Would it change anything?” A frown pulling at his expression, Vergil rolled his eyes. The quiet awe in Nero’s voice about that fact did not feel good at all. Had he not thought that Vergil would at least try?

“Nah. Just thought you would try to bargain at least.”

“I do not bargain about things,” Vergil frowned at the thought – well, perhaps there had been times where he should have done so. “I face what comes my way.”

“Head first through walls, huh?”

“I’ve been told I can be stubborn before, if you meant to imply that.”

At that, Nero laughed, quiet and deep. It was a surprisingly joyful sound nonetheless, and touched something in Vergil that he had thought long gone.

When Nero looked back up, past him and upwards, he was fully relaxed, eyes crinkling in silent amusement. “Hey, I just thought about something else you could do.”

Barely holding back a groan – did the younger have a list of deeds for him? – Vergil tilted his head in the other’s direction, signaling he was listening.

Nero kept his gaze on the sky above them, biting down on a smirk while he scratched his nose, pretending to think. “You know, I could use some help doing the dishes later.”

Vergil could feel his eyebrow twitching up in obvious surprise before he could stop it – the lapse in his expression clearly noted, since Nero’s smirk widened. At least his voice was still under his control, flat and cool as he more stated than asked, “The dishes.”

“You heard me.”

“You are not serious.”

“This is how I sound when I’m serious. You better get used to it real quick.” Nero must have noticed the disbelief on Vergil’s face, for he smirked, shoulders moving in what could have been a tiny shrug or suppressed laughter. “You did see how many people we invited, right? And Dante eats for three. There’s going to be a lot of dishes, and I’m not gonna do it alone.”

Vergil could only stare at this curious young man (son, family, his), who surely must be mocking him right now.

Who could have, should have put him down, should have torn into him, should have- he should have hated him.

The younger could have asked anything of him, in his debt as he was.

And he asked him to do inane chores.

“He’s better than you. Better than me.”

Was that… was that an offering? A chance?

His mind drew blank as to what he should do with this information, this turn of events.

“Don’t fuck this up, Verge.”

The rest of him, however, seemed to know, deep down. There was a mixture of warmth and something else, bright and strong, spreading through him, curling gently in his chest as if to stay there permanently.

Vergil didn’t feel like analyzing it. Not right now, at least.

He closed his eyes, tilted his face towards the setting sun. For the first time since taking this place high above the buzzing, lively group down in the garden, he felt the warmth on his face, the breeze caressing through his hair. Free enough of the thoughts repeating over and over in his head that he could pay attentions to the world around him again.

“Very well, then,” he conceded at last.

“Yeah?” He couldn’t see it, but the smirk in Nero’s voice palpable. “Alright, sweet. Counting on you.”

This time, the silence that settled between them held no anger, only a sense of calm.

Only to be interrupted from an outside source a minute later.

“GUYS!”

They both looked down to see Nico waving up at them with one arm, her free hand cupped before her mouth as a makeshift megaphone.

“What?!” Nero bellowed back.

“GET DOWN HERE, FOOD IS GONNA BE READY SOON!”

“If it’s not ready yet, there’s no need to yell at us already!”

“MOVE YOUR ASS, YOU HANDSOME DEVIL!”

“I told you not to call me that,… oh fuck’s sake,” Nero sighed, even though it didn’t sound sincere, and rock back and forth to push himself to his feet in one fluid motion. Clapping some dust off, he hesitated, gaze flickering down to where Vergil was still sitting. “You, ah. You coming?”

Gesturing vaguely, Vergil shook his head. “In a minute.”

“Suit yourself. But I’m not bringing you any food up here.”

It was a good thing Nero had already turned away, else he might have caught the little upwards twitch of Vergil’s lips in response.

Vergil, however, saw full well how Nero gingerly, almost tenderly, held the book full of poems against his chest as he made to leave, thumb caressing over the thin spine mindlessly.

It was a kind of care Vergil remembered clearly, from days long gone – days spent in libraries and bookshops, surrounded and soothed by bound pages and written words. And the books he had been most careful with had been those… Those he knew and loved.

“You read it.”

The question – statement – seemed to throw Nero for a second. He turned, gaze following that of the older back to the book, and realization dawned. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips (tugged at Vergil’s loud, demanding heart) as he ducked his head a little.

Scratching his cheek, Nero shook his head, “Didn’t finish. Missing a few poems yet.”

He must have misread something in Vergil’s expression, since he coughed lightly, scratching again, not meeting the other’s eyes. “I might have read a few of them multiple times. That takes time, okay.”

A quick glance over at the older, then Nero frowned, seeming to realize something. “What, you want it back? I mean, it’s yours, so…”

“Keep it.”

Nero halted in his movement, the hand offering the book halfway extended, eyebrows arched. Staring.

Vergil wasn’t much better off, surprised that he heard himself speak so quickly, so thoughtlessly. He clucked his tongue – at himself or Nero, he wasn’t sure – and gestured at the book between them. “Missing a few, you said. You should not leave things unfinished. It does not… seem to be your style.”

A beat, two… then something flickered over Nero’s face, the shift too quick for Vergil to analyze. Eyes narrowing then widening, before a slow, warm smile stretched over the young man’s face, growing into a crooked grin.

(It was the first time he had the younger see truly smile in his vicinity, part of Vergil noted.)

“Yeah, well,” Nero said, slowly, smile still there and softening his expression into something warm and open. He pulled the book back, safely tucking it into his jacket again. “Guess I inherited a stubborn streak from someone. Don’t do well with giving up halfway through.”

Processing that for a second, Vergil huffed, shaking his head as he turned away from the younger. “I see.”

Retreating steps could be heard, and Nero called over his shoulder. “Don’t let the food get cold.”

Vergil waited until he sensed that he had been left alone on the roof, before allowing himself to breathe out, deep and slow.

His heart beat steady and strong.

No urge to blame, to fight, to leave. No drive to chase after faraway goals.

Only quiet and peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ D ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe his disappearance hadn’t gone as unnoticed as he had thought, since there where very obvious reactions once Vergil tried to slip back into the middle of things without being seen. People fell silent in the middle of their sentence, heads turned and gazes followed him about.

Opting to ignore them, he straightened and made his way past them, keeping his attention on getting something to eat. Behind him, the conversations picked up again, yet he could feel the prickle of being watched every now and then, the hairs at his neck rising under the scrutiny, skin feeling itchy and tight due to it.

He didn’t let it show, didn’t let it deter him. Used the satisfied little curl of Nero’s lips once the younger spotted him in the crowd as his guide instead.

At least to the young man, he was welcome here. That would have to be enough for now.

He walked along the table that obviously served as the buffet, almost buckling under its load of an assortment of different food. Passing the stack of pizza cartons, smirk twitching around his lips at the sight, he halted, considered his options, and settled on some pasta, filling one of the plates at hand to the brim much like he had seen the other guests do.

For a moment, he almost forgot about the people around him, until a soft voice addressed him. “Vergil?”

A gentle hand on his elbow, the touch soft and light, stopped him in his tracks, more efficiently than any foe could ever had. He dropped his gaze to the fingers resting on him – asking for attention, not demanding, not restricting – and followed the length of the slender arm, up to Kyrie’s face.

She was smiling, eyes soft and warm with… amusement, of all the things. “I just wanted to tell you - don’t mind what Nero said.”

Alerted, Vergil narrowed his eyes at her, pondering what she could have heard of their conversation. It had not been all that personal, yet still it was… more than he felt comfortable with, to share with a stranger.

Kyrie blinked, before she laughed, raising a hand to her mouth to smother it. “Oh, no, I wasn’t listening in! I meant about the help with the dishes. Nero told me about it. You don’t have to do that of course - you’re our guest, after all.”

She didn’t mention any of the other demands Nero had made, even though Vergil was suddenly very sure that she knew about those, too. Even to him, it had been clear how close those two were, how much his son counted on the strong partner by his side, and vice versa.

Yet it was not her place to discuss those with him, and she knew that as well. He felt a sudden respect for this young woman well up in him, impressed by her loyalty to Nero.

Shoulders relaxing minutely, Vergil was about to answer, when it abruptly occurred to him that she had read his thoughts easily that, simply from his expressions. How curious and… confusing. Carefully schooling his face back into a neutral expression, voice quiet, he murmured lowly, “It is of… it is no trouble.”

Of no matter, seemed wrong, he reflected, for it felt like it did, simple a task as it was.

Kyrie examined his expression, pursing her lips – only to start smiling again after a moment. “Alright, if you say so…”

“Hm.”

“… then, thank you in advance.”

The hand on his arm squeezed lightly before she pulled away, turning to survey the buffet. Taking up a plate and selecting a menu for herself, she smiled one last time at him, looking him straight in the eye, clearly happy when he inclined his head ever so slightly at her. And then she was gone again, easily weaving through people who made way for her.

Vergil watched her reach Nero at the other side of the garden. Watched still as Kyrie rose to her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek, causing a bright smile to stretch over his face while he leaned down to murmur something into her ear, causing loud, happy laughter to echo over the little crowd. Was still watching as Kyrie picked something of her plate to offer it for Nero to eat…

Something old and long forgotten steered in Vergil’s memory –peaceful days, when father had come back home, carrying with him presents and tales. Mother’s eyes that had shone bright with laughter as her husband lifted her and twirled her around. Evenings spent curled together, four bodies all but wrapped around each other while father’s deep voice told them stories of places far away, and mother’s laughing protests when the stories got too adventurous and bloody rang out, even though the twins had fake-pouted for more.

This… this little scene he was witnessing here was a private scene, achingly familiar and yet something he was a stranger to. Suddenly feeling like an intruder, Vergil resolutely turned his back on the pair and walked away, aiming for the table that had been set up in a corner of the garden.

Much to his displeasure – at least he told himself so – Dante had already found his way to the table as well. Feet kicked up onto a corner of the wooden surface, arms crossed behind his head and rocking dangerously on the back legs of the chair, his twin grinned up way too smugly at him as he approached. “What did I catch back there? You, doing chores?”

Not dignifying with an answer what the other obviously knew already, Vergil picked a seat nearly at the opposite end of the table, getting comfortable.

“Kid must really have kicked your ass if you agreed to that.”

“He had good arguments to base his demands on. In fact, this part was the easiest one,” Vergil relented, ducking his head to hide his own smirk as Dante laughed at that. “He will make me work for it.”

“As he should. Good kid.”

Nothing in Dante’s voice gave the feeling as if he was joking with that comment, only fondness and respect audible when one listened close enough – knew him well enough.

And Vergil found himself agreeing with it. There would be a lot to do and atone for, yet… the reward might just be worth it. He considered the situation he found himself in in silence for a while, and came to a conclusion. “… I will. Work for it, that is.”

Will work to make it right, was left unsaid.

“Yeah?” Dante tilted his head to look at his twin, blinking in surprise, then grinned brightly and turned away again. “Good for him. For you both.”

“Hm-hm.”

“Would you look at these guys,” an amused voice cut between them, both twins turning as Trish approached, carrying a glass and nothing else with her. “They started without us.”

“Rude,” announced Lady, skipping past the blonde woman and around the table to look for a seat herself. “Must run in the family.”

“Okay, you take that back,” Nero shot back, snorting to himself as he observed the table. Behind him, the rest of the guests followed. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Fine, leaving you out of this one.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Okay, just to make this clear,” Dante announced, letting his chair fall back into a horizontal position and leaning over the table to accept the plate Kyrie handed him with a cheeky wink and mischievous grin. “I want a new, clean plate for every pizza I eat. No cartons. We got to give Mister Dishwasher here something to do.”

Vergil looked up from his plate just enough to send another inefficient glare in his twin’s direction. He received a toothy grin for his troubles. Figures.

“Dante, don’t be a di-…,” Nero stopped himself, eyes flickering to Kyrie who hid a smile behind her hand, before he turned back to scowl at Dante, “Don’t. Just, don’t.”

“Aw com’ on, kid…”

“No.”

“It’s just fun! Good ol’ fun between…”

“I’m going to punch you again, old man.”

Dante closed his mouth abruptly with a quiet click of teeth, leaning back with his plate and one hand raised in surrender.

The gesture of submission drew a bout of laughter from the people around them. Trish was grinning so brightly it must have hurt, and Lady was hooting with mirth. Even Kyrie was shaking with barely withheld laughter.

Morrison wiped away at tear before clapping Nero on the back, who looked up a bit perplexed, but ultimately grinned back. “Kid, I’ve never seen someone shut this guy down like that. Respect!”

“Hey, his bitch slaps hurt!” Dante protested. “Nearly killed me with that one!”

“Oh god,” Lady sniffled, still giggling. “I wish I could have seen that.”

“Nero, next time, give us a call beforehand,” Trish added, hand on Nero’s elbow as she leaned over to him. “We have to see that.”

“Sure, deal.”

“Probably went like…,” Nico imitated being slapped in the face and falling over with dramatic flailing, earning another round of laughter. She resurfaced with one hand propped on the table, laughing so hard she was nearly crying. “S-Sorry, sorry, that was just too good to pass up.”

“Okay, okay, we get it, punching me in the face is funny ….”

“It is,” Nero interrupted, eyes dancing with laughter. “It really is.”

Glowering at the younger, Dante stuffed a slice of pizza whole into his mouth, chewing near defiantly on it. The muttered “Punk.” was almost lost in cheese and tomato sauce.

“Alright, boys, no more fighting,” Kyrie announced, hands on her hips, fondness in her voice and smile on her lips. “We will enjoy our dinner together in peace.”

“Hear, hear!”

“That peace is gonna last two minutes, max.”

“The lady of the house has spoken, everybody shove some food into your mouth and shut up.”

“I can do that.”

“We know you can.”

“Was that a jab at my healthy appetite?”

“Nothing healthy about that, old friend.”

The chatter started up again easily, quips and jabs flying left and right, gentle shoves and punches being dished out while everyone laughed and talked over each other, all the while taking seats and getting comfortable. In all the ruckus, it seemed to be forgotten that one of them was more stranger than friend, the good mood and company easing any suspicion for the time being.

Vergil found himself sandwiched between Dante’s old partner Morrison, who nodded at him before turning around to strike up a conversation with Trish, and Nico, who was so caught up in explaining a new gun to Lady she didn’t even seem to notice who sat on her other side, exactly. Dante was talking with his mouth full, getting whacked over the head by Trish for it and laughing, the sound muffled, looking unapologetic to boot. A few of the children living with Nero and Kyrie were still running around the table, laughing loudly, rushing from one of the adults to the other to ask for stories about their demon hunting adventures.

It was an absolute mess, and noisier than Hell itself, but the urge to stand up and leave for peace and quiet never came, much to Vergil’s surprise. Deciding that was just as well, he tasted a bit of the food before him.

He actually had to pause and savor the bite for a second, flavors bursting on his tongue. He couldn’t remember when he had last eaten anything this savory.

“Hey, can anyone pass the pepper?” Nero’s voice rose above the ruckus, but he was still mostly unheard, everyone too caught up in something else.

It wasn’t even a conscious move, but Vergil had already reached out and handed the item across the table to his opposite before it really registered with him, making him pause in the middle of it.

Nero looked just as perplexed as he felt for the blink of an eye. Then surprise made way for a crooked grin as he accepted the shaker “Thanks… father.”

Vergil didn’t find any words to offer, mouth suddenly dry as his gaze met Nero’s, the same blue eyes as his own looking back at him without any sort of resentment – simply warmth.

There would be a lot to do and atone for, and yet… yet…

The reward would be so, so worth it.

“So,” Nico piped up, startling both men out of their silence and then drawing the attention of everyone towards her. “Are we supposed to do a toast at this kind of thing? Like, hey real neat that you didn’t die or somethin’?”

“You have a way with words,” Nero grumbled, leaning back. There was still a smile stuck in a corner of his mouth, and he couldn’t seem to stop it.

“Ah, you’re one to talk, smartass.”

“I think a toast is a great idea,” Kyrie interrupted the argument before it could even start. Raising her glass, she offered, “To Dante and Vergil?”

“Aw, don’t make me blush, kiddo,” Dante gave back, fluttering his eyelashes that made Trish snort loudly next to him. “How about – good to be back?”

“Still alive and kicking!” Lady offered, raising her own glass.

“To new beginnings?”

“To being too though to die!”

“To good food.”

“To family.”

Heads turned, surprised gazes straying to Nero, who held his glass high above his head, looking somewhere between amused and embarrassed.

“That’s a great idea,” Kyrie agreed, sending a soft smile his way that made Nero’s shoulder relax visibly.

“Yes.”

Vergil didn’t blink as all those gazes now snapped towards him, openly staring at him as if nobody could believe that this single word had just come out of his mouth. He ignored them, focused fully on Nero opposite of him as he reached over and lifted his own glass to tip it towards the younger in silent acknowledgement.

The smile on Nero’s face widened, bright and sincere, and all the perplexed staring in the world could stop Vergil from feeling his heart grew lighter than it had been since he was a child.

It was Dante who spoke next, breaking the silence and bafflement by declaring, swinging his own glass up. “Best idea I’ve heard in a long while. To family!”

That seemed to break the spell over the group, and everyone laughed, cheered, agreed with bright smiles on their faces as they reached for their own glasses. Somewhere next to Vergil, Nico announced “You guys are gonna make me cry” and Nero laughed loudly at that, head thrown back, and even Vergil smiled, unseen in all the commotion.

“To family!”

“Yeah!”

“CHEERS!”

Their combined voices, united in one bright, happy shout, could be heard over half the city.

#dmc5 spoilers #spoilers #my writing #dmc #devil may cry #vergil #nero #dante #fanfic #kyrie #lady #trish #morrison

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years

Text

Passing Through

Part three: Whiteout

A/N: Woah. This story got a little derailed. Things happened, then things didn’t happen and then all of a sudden BAM things happened again. That makes little to know sense. But Passing Through is back on track, mostly thanks to Bruce Springsteen, but also @its-my-little-dumpster-fire and @something-tofightfor and @benbarnestongue so this (and the fried rice) is for you.

Word Count: 4,569

Songs Referenced: I’m on Fire & Atlantic City, Bruce Springsteen

“Let’s get out of the city, what do you say?” You kept your hand on his bent elbow as you pulled him toward the alley between the convention center and the building next to it, not waiting for his response. He could answer when you had shelter and could actually see him standing a foot in front of you. There was a shortcut to the light rail stop on 18th that was mostly covered if you traversed the alley, and the snow had started increasing its intensity, so you dragged Ryan towards the overhang.

Under the shelter of the royal blue vinyl awning, you released his arm, slightly embarrassed for having grabbed it in the first place. Brushing snow from your shoulders and shaking it from the ends of your hair, you looked up at Ryan, and waited for his response. His quiet, curious eyes were slightly narrowed as he weighed his decision. “Well, I was supposed to stay with a friend’s brother here in the city, but…” he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small black flip phone, checking the screen. “But I haven't heard from him yet so…”

“Well, I don’t want to interfere-”

“So lemme just-”

You spoke over one another again, prompting a nervous inspection of your shoes and a small, sideways smile from Ryan.

“Lemme just give’m a call, see where he’s at.” He stepped away to make a phone call, pulling his phone out of that secret inner pocket of his canvas coat.

You used the brief moment of separation to try to collect your thoughts. Okay. Yes, he’s very attractive. He’s nice, he’s talented...I like him. He’s fun. I...yeah. Okay. But this is how it’s gonna go. I’m inviting him to stay- because it’s snowing!- and nothing else. We’ll have dinner and we’ll talk...maybe some more music. But that’s. It. Okay. Here goes. He was walking back towards you, something between a smirk and a frown on his face, puffs of vapor in the cold air emanating from his lips. “Bad news?” you asked.

He shook his head. “My buddy’s brother is stuck up in the mountains...says the roads are closed an’ he can’t get back down here.”

You nodded. “Yeah, that happens up there. A lot, actually.” He stuck his phone back into it’s safe spot, zipping the secret pocket. “So. As I was saying. I have a place not far from here.” You shrugged nonchalantly. “You’re welcome to come stay with me until you can get in touch with your friend.” We played all day together. I trust you.

He opened his mouth as if to protest, then shut it, smiled and shook his head again, giving a small scrunch of his nose. “Yeah?”

You nodded and smile. “Yeah. Don’t get too excited. It’s not the Ritz. But it’s warm and I have space and it’s not some overpriced hotel. And I’m making fried rice for dinner, so…” You winked.

“Why would you do that for me?” he asked simply, out of pure interest, and with no expectation of what your answer would be.

“Today’s a special day for me. You helped me out in the coffee shop this morning, we played together...you’re a nice guy, Ryan, I like you. If offering up a few square feet of my floor helps you out then I’m happy to do it.” You looked up at him and saw something shift in his eyes, like he’d heard something in a new language for the first time.

“Thank you,” he said, eyes on you as he bent down to pick up his things. “Okay. Let’s get outta the city, Junebug.”

. . . . . . . . . .

You’d taken the light rail from 18th back to Littleton, hustling down the snow-covered sidewalk of Littleton Blvd. to get to Jake’s. You’d hoped to catch a ride back to your complex with Missy; she lived in building B, you were in H. You also hoped to pick up a big ‘ole jug of beer from your place of employment with your discount. Just like when you were walking down the mall in Denver, you watched Ryan notice all the signs, and the stones in the foundations of the buildings, the way the snowflakes fell in the beams of light from the street lamps. It kept the cold of the storm from getting to you, even as you felt your sweater get soaked with snow. You made it to Jake’s just as Missy was shutting the lights, gave her a “pretty please” and got both your growler and your ride, Ryan stuffing his bag in the trunk of Missy’s ‘98 Malibu. In eight minutes you were home, and Ryan was hauling the bag back out.

“Home sweet home,” you gestured vaguely at the building before you, leading Ryan to your front door.

You kicked your boots one at a time against the siding, noticing Ryan’s amused smirk at your abrupt action. Once the snow had been sufficiently stomped off, you gave them another swipe on the mat, then turned the key to throw the door open. Ryan was right behind you, making sure to clean his shoes, though less aggressively than you, before stepping inside. He closed the door behind him, turning the lock. You flipped the light switch and the lone, circular overhead fixture above the table-less dining nook flickered on. It cast a soft yellow light onto the plain white walls, onto Ryan’s face. You watched him deposit his backpack and guitar case against the wall, straightening to look around, eyes narrowing just a bit before turning to you. You unwound your scarf and peeled off your soaked through sweater and hung both items on the hook by the door, setting your bag on the counter between the dining nook and the kitchen.

“You just movin’ in?” He cocked one eyebrow and tilted his head, unzipping his coat.

You let out a little laugh that was drier than the sand dunes down south in Mosca as you knelt down to untie your laces. “Four years ago.” You stood back up and stepped on the back of one heel to pull your foot free before doing the same with the other.

Ryan folded his coat and dropped it next to his things. “You leavin’ soon then?” He followed your lead and removed his own boots.

You snached up both pairs before any residual slush could soak into the carpet, and placed them on the brick flooring in front of the fireplace. Of course it looks like I’m coming or going. Who the hell has a place and doesn’t bother to fill it? ...or, re-fill it I guess… You turned to him with a shrug. “I… my lease is up in three weeks but… I don’t know, I’ll probably stay. Need somewhere to sleep, you know?” Oh shit. You realized too late what you’d just said, and your heart began to hammer in your chest.

He just gave you a sideways smile and removed his hat. “No, I don’t know ‘bout that.”

“Ryan, I-” you chewed at your bottom lip, dropping your eyes and stuffing your hands in the back pockets of your jeans. I can’t believe I said that. Your hair fell over your face and you didn’t push it out of the way, grateful for the chance to hide. “I didn’t mean anythi-”

“I know you din’ mean anything by it, s’okay,” he took a step towards you and dipped his head to look at you through your snow-soaked hair.

You looked up to see the kind smile that he was still wearing. “No,” you said, pulling your hands back out of your pockets. “No, it’s not okay. I-“

“Hey, it is. It’s okay. You’ve done so much for me today...an’ I know you’re not lookin’ at me like that…You’re just...you’re just doin’ a nice thing. And you don’t have to apologize, okay?”

You swallowed. You could tell him why that upset you another time. “Okay.”

“Okay?” he asked again.

You nodded and laughed. “Yeah. Okay. So… I’m gonna take a shower really quickly...then you can, and I’ll start dinner.”

Ryan nodded and smiled. “Sounds good. I’m gonna step out on the balcony, that okay?” He produced a hand-rolled cigarette and a silver lighter from an altoid tin he’s produced from a pocket.

“Yeah,” you pointed towards the side door. “Just out through there.” He turned and headed towards the red trimmed door, disappearing out into the snowy evening as you headed for the warmth of a steamy shower. What a day.

. . . . . . . . . .

After your shower; after warming up and sorting thoughts and trying to make something less than cosmic meaning out of the day’s events, you found Ryan finishing his cigarette, the reddish glow of the burning paper held between his fingers the only color in the all white squall. “Hey,” you called, poking your head out the door as he stomped the butt out under his boot and turned to you. “Shower’s all yours.”

He came in and you could feel the cold come in with him. Showing him where the bathroom was and instructing him on how to wiggle the handle on the shower door so he wouldn’t get stuck inside, you left him to get cleaned up while you started dinner, like you’d said.

. . . . . . . . .

Hips swaying freely and separately from your upper body, ribs and shoulders shimmying a little less vigorously than your bottom half, you rapidly stirred the vegetables and got lost in the old familiar song. You sang along; not every word although each lyric was etched permanently in your memory, alternating between singing and humming, sometimes supplementing the music with your own backup of oooooh’s and yeah yeah’s. Your phone was propped up inside of a metal 9 pan that had made its way home with you from one of your many serving jobs. A Haitian cook you worked with once who spoke not a word of English had taught you that if you didn’t have speakers, sticking your phone inside of a 9 pan was the next best thing. The two of you had bonded over your love of music, teaching each other a few choice words in English and French that were necessary in the restaurant industry: “onions”, “allergy”, “milk”, “fuck”, “jackass”, “son-of-a-bitch”, “tomatoes”... the essentials.

You switched the wooden spoon from your right to your left hand without missing a beat in the rhythm of the song or the stirring. Steam was rising from the pot in swirling, aromatic wisps, filling the air with earthy smells from the soy sauce, and spicy ones from the togarashi you were sprinkling in time with the drum beat. Setting the spice down on the off-white counter next to the few other shakers that you’d taken down from the cabinet, you grabbed the small bowl of chopped scallions and, with a flourish, dumped them into the hot sesame oil. A satisfying hiss let you know that the oil was at the right temperature, and the count you’d been keeping in your head let you know that the lyrics were about to pick back up in the song.

“Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife, baby edgy and dull and cut a six inch valley through the middle of my skull.” You never missed your favorite verse, and, eyes closed, you shook your head freely as you felt the words come from your heart to spill from your lips. “At night I wake up with the sheets soakin’ wet and a freight train runnin’ through the middle of my head.”

Opening your eyes, you noticed that the veggies were sufficiently heated through. You didn’t want to cook them too thoroughly, preferring when they retained some crunch, so you turned to reach for the cabinet behind you in the narrow kitchen, looking for a bowl to hold the vegetables until they could be added back into the pot. But you spun to a stunned stop in your socked feet when you saw Ryan in a loose fitting heather gray tee shirt, leaning against the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the dining nook. You’d been so engrossed in the song and the scallions that you hadn’t heard the shower turn off or his footsteps come down the long hall. But there he was, wet hair hanging over his forehead, light radiating from those soft leather eyes, and an amused quirk to his mouth that told you that he appreciated your performance.

“Oh!” you squeaked, feeling a slightly embarrassed grin pull up your cheeks. “Hey, didn’t hear you…” you pressed your lips together and tucked a piece of hair back behind your ear, resuming your hunt for a bowl. You found the purple plastic one that was the perfect size for what you needed and pulled it down.

“Sorry,” he stood fully and came around the breakfast bar and into the small kitchen. With the both of you in there, it felt even smaller, and you were very aware of how close he was standing to you. “Din’ mean to scare you or anythin’, just,” he shrugged, “I could tell you like the song. S’a good one, I like it, too. Play it sometimes.” He shrugged and your embarrassed grin turned into a sunbeam. Ryan looked over your shoulder at the contents of the pot: peas, carrots, bits of green beans, and the chopped scallions you’d dramatically added. “Looks good,” he nodded. “Anythin’ I can do to help?”

You weren’t used to having help in the kitchen. Even when Kevin was around, it was only ever just one of you cooking; you never tag teamed. You weren’t sure if the kitchen could accommodate two moving bodies, chopping, stirring, opening cabinets and using the sink, but you appreciated the offer immensely. “Um, can you grab a couple of bowls? This is gonna be done soon, just have to do the eggs and they’re-” you snapped your fingers and saw his eyes light up, surprised at the loud crack that the action created- “quick.” He smiled and you pointed to the top left cabinet where you kept the serving bowls. There were only three, and none of them matched. Ryan nodded and moved back out and around to the other side of the breakfast bar, reaching up and opening the cabinet from the dining nook side. He set them down on the bar- one striped with all the colors of a sunset in the desert, the other a bright green fiestaware piece, as you whisked the eggs in a measuring cup with a fork. The sound they made when they hit the pan was even more satisfying that the hiss of the scallions, and you quickly picked up the wooden spoon to keep the quickly cooking eggs moving in the hot pot.

“Where’d you learn to cook like that?” Ryan asked, back to leaning on the counter. He was behind you, but you felt his eyes on you, somewhere around your shoulder blades.

“Oh, I’ve worked in lots of restaurants. Picked up little things here and there.” You looked over your shoulder. “This one actually came from this real fancy place. Five star French inspired Cajun kitchen, but the cooks always made rice or taco dishes for comida- that’s what they called the family meal, for the staff, before we’d open for the day.” You looked back down at the pot where the eggs were about fifteen seconds from completion. “Emmanuel- friend of mine I worked with- he taught me this one. Fried rice on a budget. Frozen veggies and leftover sticky rice- oh, can you grab that for me? Should be a couple of cardboard containers in the fridge.”

Ryan stood and let his long legs carry him to the refrigerator, pulling it open and stooping down to see inside. It was relatively empty- half full carton of orange juice, the growler of beer you’d brought home, a few random condiments, eggs, and a couple of plastic tubs of leftover meals, neither of them enough to fill a hungry stomach. He reached in and pulled out two white Chinese food boxes, leftover from the lunch you’d had with Missy before your shift at Jake’s a few days ago. “These?” he asked, holding them up in his tattooed hands.

You glanced over and nodded, tongue poking out from your lips in concentration as you finished with the eggs and slid them into the bowl with the vegetables. “Yup, great, thank you.” Reaching over, you took the two boxes from Ryan, fingers brushing his and sending a sudden shiver down your spine. Oh come on with that, he’s going to be gone soon, stop with the shivers. You saw his eyes flick from the take out containers to your face and wondered if he felt it too. With a negligible shake of your head, you opened the boxes and dumped the cold rice into the pot, hitting it with a few more splashes of soy sauce. As soon as the white rice was broken up and stained a light brown, you returned the eggs and mixed vegetables to the pot and stirred until the ingredients were harmoniously combined, adding a touch more sauce and a drizzle of sesame oil. “And, voila.” You tapped the spoon against the pot as the song changed, the 9 pan carrying the bluesy harmonica of Atlantic City into the kitchen. Grabbing the two bowls, you portioned out servings for Ryan and yourself, pulled open the silverware drawer and grabbed a spoon you’d gained from an Applebee’s you bartended- they had very distinctly shaped spoons- and a fork from Pappadeaux, the Cajun place you’d mentioned. Turning to Ryan you held up one bowl, then the other. “Spoon or fork?”

Ryan pointed to the violet and orange sunset bowl. “I’ll take the spoon, thank you, looks great, really.” You watched the little birthmark under his eye become lost in a crinkle of skin as his eyes narrowed with his smile.

“Bon appetit.” With a wink and a funny little laugh, you grabbed your impromptu speaker and your bowl, and led Ryan over to the empty living room. “Gonna have to be a floor picnic,” you shrugged. “All the tables have been reserved.” You set your things down as Ryan chuckled and did the same before sitting down on the beige carpet and leaning against the wall beneath the window. “You want a beer? I’m gonna have one.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks.” You we’re glad that he’d stopped being so overly appreciative and seemed more comfortable. He’s really doing more for me than I am for him. Having Ryan in your home made you realize that it had been more than a year since you’d had anyone over. More than 365 days had come and gone since a second soul had passed through your front door. And today of all days you were grateful for the company.

You smiled, eyes flicking up and out the window before you turned back to the kitchen. The snow was still falling with purpose, glowing orange in the muted light of the outdoor lamps in your complex. The air and sky and ground and trees were all a dull, dark grayish color; the night and storm slowly swallowing the the day. You were glad that Ryan wasn’t out there, scrambling for a place to stay since his plans had gotten whited out. The wind blew against the screens and whistled down the chimney. Should light a fire after we eat, it’s only going to get colder. You reached up into the cabinets that faced the dining nook and grabbed two mason jar mugs before swinging around the counter into the kitchen to retrieve the growler of Seedstock Barn Beer that you’d brought home from Jake’s, and poured generous amounts into both of your glasses.

Returning to the couchless living room, you sank to the floor next to Ryan, offering him one of the mason mugs. “Cheers,” you said, holding yours up for hi to clink.

He held his glass just a few inches from yours, a quiet pause coming over his face. Setting his bowl down on the ground next to him, he gathered his eyebrows together and took your breath away with how he was keeping your eyes locked with his. “Today’s been really… I can tell today’s an important day to you.” You felt your cheeks grow hot and you swallowed, unable to look away from his deep, intense eye contact. “It’s been important to me, too. Just so you know. It’s…” he blinked and cast his eyes downward then, and you felt your heart fall with them. “It’s been a long time since I spent a whole day with someone...since someone wanted to spend that much time with me and...and even longer since it actually felt...right, you know?” He laughed at himself then. “I’m ramblin’. Just… thank you. An’ cheers.” He finally clinked his glass against yours and immediately brought it to his lips, filling his mouth with cold beer so more words wouldn’t fall out.

You took a sip, too, smiling against the rim of your glass as you saw color creep up and over the top of Ryan’s beard and onto the exposed skin of his cheeks. You both started eating in silence, Bruce Springsteen finishing off the last chorus: Put your hair up nice, fix yourself up pretty, and meet me tonight in Atlantic City. Through a mouthful of fried rice, Ryan cleared his throat and spoke. “You like this song a lot, too, don’t you?”

You looked up from your meal and over at him, chewing slowly before you nodded. “Yeah...yeah, I do.” How did he guess that? You’d been singing and dancing before, that wasn’t a mystery. But here you were quietly eating your dinner, leaning against the wall, not moving or swaying at all.

One cheek rose on his face. “You were tappin’ your fingers against your fork, and you had your eyes closed for a second when the harmonica started.” He answered your unasked question, and you tried not to let another shiver pass down your spine at the level of detail that he was capable of noticing.

You swallowed your mouthful and cleared your throat, too. “Yeah. I’m… my mom’s actually from Atlantic City, so the song is... “

“It’s home,” he answered, spoonful of rice halfway between his bowl and his mouth, tone completely certain and sure, understanding exactly what you felt.

You nodded, stirring your fork through your food. “Home. Yeah. It is. A lot of his music is home for me. But that song… yeah. It’s home.”

“I have a harmonica,” he said casually. “We could play that together sometime. You could play piano an’ sing.” He shrugged and shoveled vegetables into his mouth. “This is really, really good, by the way.” He indicated the contents of his bowl with his spoon, long fingers wrapped around the handle in a mesmerizing fashion.

“That would be…” Great. Amazing. A dream come true. To play that song with someone so talented, so passionate...someone that you felt so linked to… it was… “I’d like that, Ryan.” You smiled. In the dim light you noticed the inked feathers on a bird’s wing tattooed on his forearm and used it as a welcomed change of subject. “That a Hawk?” you asked, curiosity in your eyes as you pointed over at his arm.

He looked down and you saw the veins in the underside of his arm move as the muscles flexed beneath his skin. When he raised his eyes again there was a wistful gleam there. “Yeah,” he answered enthusiastically. “Yeah. Hawks always remind me of freedom.”

You were pretty sure you knew why and where he was going with that, but you questioned anyway, to keep the conversation going; he was a man of few words and you wanted as many of them as you could get. “Not Eagles, huh?” You took a sip of beer, licking some foam off of your top lip.

Ryan shook his head and a still damp lock of hair fell over his forehead. “Nah, eagles are too serious. Hawks...they float on thermals...they soar and dive and turn...they have fun. They’re free.” He finished off another mouthful. “You have any?”

“Tattoos?” you asked and he nodded, washing down the last of his dinner with a long gulp. “Yeah, a few. I have the number 26.2 on my right foot- the distance of a marathon,” you explained, “and a branch of bleeding heart flowers on my ribs.”

“You ran a marathon?” There was excitement in his eyes as he asked the question.

“I did. Do not recommend.” you laughed and he followed suit. “It was...horrible, Ryan! I have never been in more pain!” Your cheeks pulled up as you stood to take both of your empty bowls to the kitchen. “I wanted to quit so badly. I was in agony from the halfway point on. Just… just miserable.” You were laughing heartily.

He waited for you to come back to the living room. “Why didn’t you, then? If you were hurtin’ that bad?”

Your laugh froze on your face and melted slowly into a fading smile. “I couldn’t,” you stated. “I was dedicating it to my mom...she uh… she’d just passed away about a year before the race, and she...she always loved watching me run, you know. When I was a kid. She was always there, cheering. So… so I gave her one last real big race. And so I couldn’t quit.” The laugh came back. “Ended up with a stress fracture in my right knee, which is perfect, because she was so stubborn, and that’s an injury of chronic...or stubborn...overuse.” You crouched down by the fireplace, and felt the air change in the room as Ryan stood. “Today was… actually today’s the anniversary of the day she… she passed. So...so-” You cleared your throat, reaching into the fireplace to open the flue.

“Hey,” his voice was soft and warm and right behind you. You turned, not ready for the way his eyes hit you. “Hey, I’m really sorry…’bout your mom. She’d...that scholarship thing at Max’s?” You nodded. “She’d be real proud of you, Junebug. You’re...you’re a real good person.”

Junebug. Why did it sound so right coming from him? Sure, Max called you that, but that’s just because of the name of the music fund. No one else but your mother ever called you that. Not Kevin, and not any of your boyfriends before him. You’d just met Ryan that day, so how was this possible?

“Thank you.” You smiled, and he mirrored it. His smile is… it helped to lighten your heart. His smile is a song. You cleared your throat a final time, turning back to the fireplace. “We should get a fire going. Heat is kind of…” you waved one hand back and forth and you heard his chuckle. “There’s wood stacked outside, where you were before? Could you...do you mind grabbing some?”

“Sure,” you heard the chuckle’s residual lilt in his honey sweet voice. He poked outside onto the covered patio and grabbed a couple of split logs, bringing them back to where you’d had crumpled newspaper lit already.

“Perfect timing, looks like we’re about to get snowed in…”

. . . . . .

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @benbarnestongue @banditthewriter @thesumofmychoices @songtoyou

let me know if you’d like in or out on this one!

#passing through #PT #ryan brenner #ryan brenner x you #ryan brenner x reader #snow storm #fried rice is my specialty #5280 #whiteout #jackie and ryan

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bluerosesburnblue · 5 years

Photo

This very nearly became a Kingdom Key Only run because I like challenge runs like that but honestly I never felt like sticking to the Kingdom Key was ever really a hindrance

...so let’s talk about that ending, from the start of the Keyblade Graveyard to the credits, yeah?

I cannot BELIEVE that Nomura gave us the Beach Party Ending we were all hoping for just to rip Sora away at the last second. Good GOD, man, who spit in your coffee?

So I guess we should get the elephant in the room out of the way, first. I’m actually not... that upset by the ending? Like, yes, I find it extremely ironic that the game that made me love Sora more than any other character in the game would essentially kill him off, but... okay, when Nomura said that the ending would be “hard to swallow” I had two worst case scenarios in mind. And I mean “worst case” in the “Nonononono he’d better not do that if he does I’m done” way

Scenario 1: Xehanort unlocks Kingdom Hearts. Either he’s stopped or he succeeds, but either way the damage is done and he’s too far along to stop and the universe is reset. All of the heroes are alright, they survive the ending, but the world of the game is changed irreversibly, forever. It’s all one World again, the Disney worlds are gone, or they’re there but they’ve been forced together in a weird jigsaw-puzzle way. The details don’t really matter, I just didn’t want a status-quo shakeup like that that gets passed off as a happy/bittersweet ending because the heroes survived

Scenario 2: Xehanort unlocks Kingdom Hearts. Either he’s defeated but whatever he started can’t be stopped, or Kingdom Hearts is the only thing that can defeat him. Either way, Sora has to use the power of Kingdom Hearts. He keeps the world exactly as it was, but has to give up his own physical existence to do so. After all, he who opens the door will become a god in the next world. Maybe he persists as a “force” that watches over his friends, but Sora is gone for good

What we ended up getting was... very similar to that second scenario, but it differs just enough to save it for me. At the very least, knowing that Sora and Kairi are connected and that Sora’s in Shibuya in the Secret Movie gives me enough hope that he can and will come back. Which, when compared to what I was afraid we were gonna get, leaves me weirdly optimistic. I still cried a lot (NOMURA I AM TAKING CUSTODY OF YOUR SON THAT’S MY SWEET BABY BROTHER NOW FIGHT ME) but I’m nowhere near as emotionally devastated as I could’ve been

And here’s the big thing, I liked most of the scenes in the Final Battle sequence. As scenes they were (mostly) fine. The reunions were heartwrenching (even if Sora is just kind of... there for most of them), the KHUx stuff was incredible (Ephemeeeeeer <3<3<3), the locales and concepts were all interesting. My problem was actually the order events happen in

So, first off, everyone dies way too fast. WAY too fast. It’s one of the two scenes I have a problem with. Everyone arrives at the Graveyard and fights a swarm of Heartless. They walk down a crevice and see Terra. A surprising amount of people get knocked out or injured trying to take care of just Terra-Xehanort? Then another big wave of Heartless shows up and everyone just... dies? Like, the second big scene in what is a very long finale and everyone dies? Hell, Aqua just gives up!

They also blew the KHUx Union X attack WAY too early. A set piece like that (it’s SUCH A GOOD CONCEPT AND THE SCENE WAS BEAUTIFUL) and you waste it on a big cloud of Heartless at the start of the final battle? Guys... guys that’s some last minute “all hope is lost, so here’s unexpected help” stuff, you shouldn’t just have that happen that soon

And the thing is... both of those scenes would be so much more impactful if they had happened later in the finale. Ideally, picture this:

The team takes care of the first swarm of Heartless. (You could have moments in that fight where you get a different guest Keyblade wielder, one at a time, in a callback to the KH2 Battle of 1000 Heartless with the FF characters). They’re feeling pretty good about it. They just all worked as a team for the first time together and they did alright. Maybe a little shaky. After all, most of them don’t really know each other that well. They can’t know each other’s styles or predict each others’ moves. Their teamwork is shaky, but they managed and that gives them some confidence. Maybe they can do this if they work together

Then Xehanort shows up. We can’t be having any of this “friendship” and “teamwork” nonsense. He throws up the labyrinth to try and separate everybody and pair off the Darknesses each to 1-2 Lights so that they clash, but the Darknesses are at a clear advantage. Unlike in the actual game, the labyrinth is crawling with Heartless to break up the tedium of the boss rush a bit. (I liked the idea of having to choose who to rescue first in the actual game, but it didn’t actually effect anything except which order you took the fights in.) While running through the Labyrinth you encounter different friends in different sections to help you fight off Heartless, and their boss fight is at the end of their section. That would give everyone just a bit more time to bond with each other. Maybe put in a few puzzles or something that make use of them creatively, like Ven and Aqua using wind and barriers to traverse their section of the Labyrinth. Just... everyone needs more time together. Some things about the fights and reunions would need to be changed, though. I wouldn’t be adverse to changing it up just slightly so that Lingering Will shows up as a guest for the Terranort + Vanitas fight, and it takes both Lingering Will and The Guardian to wrest Terra’s body back (instead of having Lingering Will only show up for Attempt 2 of the Terranort and Heartless Tornado Kill Everyone scene and then fuck off somewhere? Never seen again?) The Saix and Xion fight is also changed up. Roxas doesn’t just... appear from nowhere, and while this seems to be Xion... something’s off. It’s not really Xion, just a puppet made to look like her using data from the finale of 358/2 Days that had, miraculously, survived. This Xion is like the second Replica Riku (and can I just say thank GOD it’s not the “Riku from the past when he was controlled by Ansem” like they thought for the longest time because that was SILLY. Though I’m slightly disappointed that it wasn’t Data-Riku’s digital heart shoved into a Replica body like I’d theorized based on the trailers). This Replica gets purged, too, leaving two Replica bodies conveniently wearing Organization coats behind at the Keyblade Graveyard. We’ll get back to that

(Also, and this is just me, but I actually like how unrepentant Vanitas is. I think a lot of people forget that his sympathetic traits and background of abuse were novel-only things and the novel canon isn’t game canon in the same way that the Harry Potter movies aren’t book canon. Game!Vanitas has never been anything other than a completely unrepentant jackass, and Sora and Ven still gave him a chance to redeem himself. He just refused to take it, and I like that. It’s refreshing to have a character in KH not even try to justify their evil. He’s evil because he wants to be. It’s as simple as that.)

So, anyway, we have the labyrinth stuff. The team is worn down. NOW is where you place everyone dying. I don’t care if you keep it the same, or the Heartless Tornado is controlled by Ansem, or even just Ansem, Xemnas, and Young Nort pick everyone off because they’re all the same person, so of course their teamwork is stronger. You all weren’t good enough friends. You couldn’t have won, because none of you had fought together before, so your friendship was a detriment as you stumbled over each other and just assumed you’d be okay. Sora is left alone. And then he’s gone, too.

And here’s where you place the Final World. I think there was a big opportunity missed here. We get Namine separated from Kairi here. So here’s what I propose: remember all the talk throughout the game about the hearts within Sora’s melding with his, but they might be able to be saved if their memories and the parts of themselves were placed in the right boxes? Fffffffuckingggg... HAVE NAMINE AS A GUEST HERE and have it be just as much about putting Sora back together as it is separating the pieces of Roxas and Xion from him. Once you meet up with Namine’s star (or just have her have a physical form, too, since she’d be tethered to Kairi, too?) she helps out because now that Sora’s in pieces, it’s just a simple matter of sorting those pieces. Putting the scattered links in the chains of memories in different chains, back where they belong. Two hearts are released, now to find everyone else’s. Chirithy is still there, just give Nami some more time

(Also, add a colored tint to the stars or something that goes away after talking to them they were so hard to see)

Anyway. Dives. Lich. I don’t hate this section, I just think the Lich fights could’ve been a little more interesting? Also uhh... maybe have the characters hearts be found in worlds that actually, like... mean something to the character thematically? I guess Aqua in the Caribbean makes sense because water but it would make more sense to have her in Arendelle because ice is also water and she’s basically Ven’s big sis and there are quite a few parallels between the two relationships? The hell does Axel have to do with San Fransokyo? And since Terra would theoretically be there in the rewrite, we’ll need an extra world so place Axel in Twilight Town. Then I dunno. Donald in the Caribbean because he’s canonically a sailor. Ven in Corona because his isolation by Eraqus has parallels to Rapunzel only a bit less evil in intent. Terra in Olympus because that was the world he learned he could be a true hero and beat the darkness. Goofy in Monstropolis because out of all the characters he’s the funniest and they use laugh energy. Mickey in Toy Box because he’s the face of a major franchise and has so many toys based off of him you have no idea. That would place Riku in San Fransokyo where his Norted Replica counterpart was and also poetically make him and Kairi the last ones saved

SO EVERYONE’S ALIVE. We return to the land of the living. There’s no weird... like, time repeats or anything. The last four Norts are... kind of shocked! But also laughing it up because Sora just abused the Power of Waking to hell and back and they know what that means. Also, the lights are still at exactly the same disadvantage they were before they got revived. Or so they think until two bright lights emerge from the labyrinth behind them. That’s right, Roxas and Xion are here, having had their hearts freed from Sora’s in The Final World and taking the abandoned Replica bodies from the Labyrinth. Now we have the Sea-Salt reunion, sans the stuff with Isa because why the hell should Roxas and Xion just be sympathetic to Saix? Save that for a scene in the finale. Doesn’t even have to be spoken, just make it seem like Saix, Roxas, and Xion are trying to come to an understanding but still awkward around each other

After that I’m a little shakier, admittedly. I know you leave Ephemer’s appearance to summon the ancient Keyblades until the very end. I’d also have given him some line like “You remind me of an old friend” or something. Just... slight reference to Player

I have no idea how to work around the Kairi getting killed stuff and still get the ending Nomura wants! That’s the second scene I have a problem with. Sora doesn’t “need” motivation, he’s already prepped to bash the old man’s face in. I dunno... maybe opening Kingdom Hearts messes up Kairi’s light or something and that’s why she disappears? I dunno, there were better ways to do that if you HAD to kill Kairi, and better scenes if you didn’t, tbh

So in summary, I like the pieces of the ending, just not how they were put together. There was a lot of cool stuff in theory, it just wasn’t executed as well as it could’ve been for a more satisfying and emotional finale. The ending’s fine, and I honestly expected it to be a bit rushed considering how much they had to wrap up in this game, but I think it was a low point in what was otherwise a really fun and enjoyable finale to the story arc

I mean... I think that’s all I have to say about the ending, so here’s some assorted thoughts:

I think it was a missed opportunity to not have a Max Goof cameo at the end when the Disney trio is reunited with their loved ones and Goofy just stands there with Jiminy. Max wouldn’t even have been voiced. Just let him show up

I’m torn as to characters’ outfits in the Final Battle. On the one hand, I like how in the end all of the trios are wearing outfits that match the other members of their respective trios. On the other hand, I would’ve killed for EVERYONE to have had a new outfit with the black and plaid/gingham theme to show that they’re not just disjointed trios that happened to come together, but a big group of companions. Everyone is a Team, it’s not just a Team made of Everyone. They made excuses for Mickey’s shirt and Lingering Will’s cape. They could totally have done some “oh weird I guess getting brought back from the dead changed our clothes isn’t that convenient” thing

Why did they “break” Lea’s Keyblade only to have it be just fine when they needed to lock Kingdom Hearts? Why was that there?

I heard someone once say that KH3 was an “obligation.” And I can see where they’re coming from. While I loved the game overall and can feel the work and love put into it, between the sheer amount of sequel hooks and the rushed resolution, it does feel like Nomura just wanted to move on to the stuff he’d thought of in KHUx but had to wrap up the ongoing arc first. I’ve been spoiled on SOME of the Secret Reports, not all of them, but the Subject X stuff and Luxu’s true role with the box could’ve easily been put elsewhere. Maybe in a game in the next arc. That would’ve freed up some time in this game for a few more things, like giving Dark Aqua more screentime (she’s defeated in the same scene she’s introduced? Really?) and just in general spread the original plot stuff out more. As it is now, I feel the sequel hooks just distract from the current plot arc

I appreciate that they tried to give reasons for the Organization members to be in different worlds, but I don’t think it was executed that well. Yeah, we get explanations, like in some they’re performing more experiments on the heart and in others they’re searching for the New Lights, but they never do anything with what they accomplish in them. I was so sure they were going to do something with Data-Sora or Data-Riku because of the “digital heart” stuff in San Fransokyo, and NOTHING came of it. Here’s an idea: Data-Sora in Xion’s place among the Norts and Data-Riku in the Riku Replica’s place. Have Data-Sora look like Xion or act like her before the reveal. I dunno, just do SOMETHING with them. Have the Norts reference the Lights they found in the final battle or something. Just don’t drop them once the world is done

That being said, the worlds themselves were amazing, I really liked the original plots in Toy Box, Monstropolis, and San Fransokyo. The character interactions in Corona and Arendelle were delightful. I also loved the design for the Ice Labyrinth in Arendelle and Galaxy Toys in Toy Box. Would’ve loved to have seen more of the town in Corona but loved what we did get to see of it. The Caribbean was... alright, but did contain my favorite party member: a shambling pile of crabs that were gifted sapience by an ocean goddess so that Sora could free her, only for her to get freed by someone else offscreen

Funny enough I actually didn’t care much for The Caribbean and San Fransokyo, but for opposite reasons. The Caribbean was FAR too open for its own good (I am NOT an open-world person and bad at navigating, so the ship, while interesting in concept, was a nightmare) and San Fransokyo was too scripted (I felt like I was locked in Hiro’s garage). I didn’t hate them, but I also 100% completed every other world and decided that with those two, it just wasn’t worth doing before beating the game. I didn’t hate either of them, and my feelings may change when I go back for treasures and lucky emblems

I absolutely killed Davy Jones with the Pirate Ship attraction. Pass up the opportunity to summon a neon pirate ship on top of a hyper-realistic pirate ship during a climactic battle? Who do you think I am?

I love how Ephemer’s name in the journal is just “???” because that’s an accurate representation of Sora’s reaction. “Who is this guy? Why is he here? Huh???” But I know. I know who the best dandelion boy is. So typical of him to swoop in at the last minute to save you and then disappear to who knows where

I ADORE that the final battle is Sora, Donald, and Goofy together and that the final attack is Trinity Limit. Sora coming back on his own from no health just for Trinity Limit was AWESOME and such a perfect end to the series, gameplay-wise

And finally, I am a little sad that the one theory I had throughout the game was wrong. I’d thought that, since Young Xehanort and Eraqus are always shown in in Scala ad Caelum, that it wasn’t a flashback but simply their spirits playing a metaphorical chess game in the afterlife. Their dialogue after the final battle seems to indicate that that isn’t the case

Also, and this is just for me, but my final death count was 5

Once to the Tornado Titan due to having a poor grasp of Airstepping and NO grasp of Rage Form, killed myself thanks to spamming Riskcharge

TWICE to the electric arena trap in Verum Rex because I am SO BAD at shooters and ejected myself directly into the Death Pit twice

Once during the ship battle portion of the Zombie Kraken fight

Once during the Union X Keyblade summoning because I was too busy reading the list of names to notice the text on the screen that said “HEY IDIOT DODGE ATTACKS DON’T JUST SIT THERE WHAT ARE YOU DOING”

But for now, I think I’m out of stuff to say about KH3. I’m sure I’ll find more once I’ve processed everything, but for now...

now we’ve just got to wait for Sora to come home

#liz's shenanigans #kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts 3 #kh3 #kingdom hearts 3 spoilers #kh3 spoilers #kingdom hearts iii spoilers #khiii spoilers #i should mention that this isn't ONLY final battle stuff #i threw some opinions from other parts of the game in there #it's just primarily about the finale

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