#he's stubborn and Chooses enemies and friends and there are always lines to cross but he understands context | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jishyucks · 3 years

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Eight Count ‣ lmh

‣ genre: fluff, enemies-to-lovers, hogwarts!au, I think it's a slow burn

‣ wc: 10.8k

‣ summary: "There's honestly no way Minho would like me. And me of all people would know that." ; in which fate decides to be an ass and make you and Minho dance partners

‣ an: I'm sosososo sorry @ whoever requested this bc of how long it took. I didn't mean for it to be so long but it kept going and uni is to blame bc all of the work :(( but anyways enjoy !!

You feel the beat of your heart quicken as you maneuver through the maze of corridors that you had begun to approach. Time was ticking. The first classes of the day had already started about half an hour ago, and here you were, racing down the stone hallways, tardy and a bit dazed.

It had only been a mere five minutes since you had woken up in the dormitories in pure panic, the realization that everyone had left and you were still cuddled up against one of the pillows in your bed driving you to act quick. You could accuse your housemates of not even bothering to check if you were alive, but you soon decided to place the blame on your body's restlessness and inability to go to sleep when you wished. You wouldn't call it insomnia, but your sleeping patterns weren't normal either.

Approaching the dance room with a quiet sigh of relief, you tug at the wooden door and peek in, hoping that you weren't barging in at such a humiliating time.

Scattered around the rather room, students were paired in twos. Each couple's bodies had been facing each other, hands sitting awkwardly in the other's while their faces were turned towards the dance instructors, Professor Shin and Professor Na. By the look on Professor Shin's face, it was evident that she was about to continue speaking, but the door swinging open had caught her attention.

"Ahh Y/N, nice of you to finally join us," she clasped her hands in genuine excitement, passion towards dance obviously bubbling up inside of her.

You grinned crudely and bowed your head, "W-what should I do, Professor?" Spotting your best friend Felix within the group of students, he tried his best to send you a look of 'we were supposed to be partners'. You shot him an apologetic expression back before turning your attention back to both professors.

After a brief pause in thought, Professor Na's face lit up, "Ah yes! Lee Minho lacks a partner as of now!" Following the eyes of your teacher, they brought your line of sight to the far corner of the room where Minho had been sitting. At the mention of his name, he raised his head to see that everyone had been gaping back at him in what seemed like total silence.

A sharp intake of air through your nose had replicated a gasp, eyes growing wide, "P-pardon?" Out of all the boys in the class, an amount you couldn't keep track of with your fingers, you had to end up with Lee Minho? The human embodiment of a wet sock?

Minho was… unbearable, to say the least. It wasn't that he had done something for you to hate him, which made you seem like a bad person, but in all honesty, your guys' personalities didn't seem to match. He was too arrogant, in your opinion. He has this energy that he carries that really didn't sit well with you, and by the looks of it, the feeling was mutual. It was as if you both ended up on the opposite bc end of everything.

It really doesn't help that you're a Hufflepuff, and he's a Slytherin. For some unknown reason, they always loved teasing the people from your house, though Hufflepuffs chose not to return their actions.

"Mr. Lee is the only student remaining with no partner."

You gulped and slowly approached him, only because your professors had motioned you over to him. If you could protest, you would, but what was holding you back was the attention given by the entire class and the teacher's who seemed too excited for their own good.

Minho pressed his tongue against his inner cheek, eyes lighting up in wrongly-fueled happiness. He hopped from the upper bench and down across from you. You blinked back at him dryly, maintaining calm yet trying to speak to him with your eyes.

Crossing his arms, he leaned forward and smirked, "Why the bitter face? You should relish in your luck for ending up with me."

"Stop talking, dead cells are coming out of your mouth… Luck my as–"

"Now! That everyone has a partner, I'd like you all to stick with these individuals until these classes are finished," Professor Shin had announced. It was quickly followed by groans and whining from many of your classmates. Though you hated your partner and wished you had arrived earlier and paired with Felix, you stood quiet, isolating the anger within your chest.

"And before we begin once again," Professor Na added, "I'd like to point out that this is still a class. We will be holding a class particularly focused on evaluation and your grade will be heavily based on participation over the length of this course." Once again, a chorus of grumbles had flooded the room.

You hear Minho curse under his breath, only because he was now two steps too far into your bubble, "This is utter bullshit."

This time it was your turn to taunt, "Why? Are you scared or something? Can't dance? Can't keep up with everyone?"

Narrowing his eyes, he scoffs, "Oh, shut your mouth, bumblebee. Just wait and see."

ii.

"Get up!" Felix tugged at your arm, voice sounding louder than it actually was. When you hadn't shifted at all in your bed, he sighed and tugged once more, "Y/N!"

"Wha– Felix you're not allowed in here!" You kicked at your blanket and sat up.

"We need to get to dance class," he clicked his tongue, "Let's go~"

"I really don't want to go," you whined, "I'd rather fail a class than hold hands with Lee Minho for an hour and a half." Felix dragged you out of your bed to see that you were already dressed in your robe, only your yellow and black tie had been carelessly tied.

"Wait, did you not change out your clothes from yesterday?" Felix jumped back in exaggeration, alarmed and slightly grossed out. His nose scrunched while he judged you through his eyes.

You glared at him and scoff, "Of course I did, you idiot. And don't act like you haven't done that." You take this as your victory as it was true, Felix had gone two days without changing, and it was a bit nasty considering all the places he's gone to in a day.

This time it was his turn to glare at you, "You shut your mouth! Now let's leave before Snape sees us roaming the halls once class starts."

Minho winced slightly, trying not to let your feet ruin the simple waltz routine that the class had finally run through, "If you step on my foot one more time, I'm shoving yours up your arse." His teeth were gritted in frustration, looking down at you with narrowed eyes.

"Then stop stepping on my feet," you muttered back, hoping that no one else, especially the professors, were hearing you two bicker.

It had only been about two lessons into the class and that amount of times that Minho had purposefully disrupted the routine… as if it were good, to begin with.

The two of you found it difficult to fall in sync with each other. It was always either going too fast or too slow, someone making an 'accidental' mistake, and Minho's favourite, holding your hand and hip with a tight and stubborn grip. It wasn't evident whether he was doing it on purpose, either, but you had pointed it out plenty of times, and he never seemed to loosen them.

"I'm not stepping on them," he pushed you back a little too early in the dance, causing you to stumble on your own feet. This caught the attention of those around you, though they carried on almost immediately after.

"Tell that to my bruised toe," you argued back.

As if you were being blessed, the music had finally come to an end. You promptly retracting your arms and to your body and taking a step back from Minho. He had done the same, going an extra mile to turn away from you and to the professors.

"Perfect! Perfect!" Professor Na's face lit up from excitement, "Now that we have learned this simple routine, next class we are moving on to one of the actual dances done in the Yule Ball as tradition. I hope you all are excited as I am!" Very few students had taken time to let out a "whoop" while everyone else, including you, chose to retrieve their books at the seats.

Felix approached you with a pitiful smile. He already knew what you were going to say, patting your back gently, "So how was it?"

Exhausted, you just shook your head and shrugged. Being partners with Minho honestly had been completely draining for you, mentally and physically, which was unusual as you could often live through such situations without feeling the need to scream.

"What else do you think?"

Felix nodded apologetically and puffed out his cheeks, "Is it as bad as the potions exam we had in fourth year?" He shuddered subtly and led you out of the classroom. Just thinking about that exam made Felix want to claw at his brain. If there was a way to take a particular memory and make it disappear from the chamber of long term memories, he would. Maybe then he'd be able to get a few more hours of sleep.

"Yes," you replied simply. The test was equally as horrible for you, but a test didn't force you to 'create chemistry' with a certain Slytherin.

"You're lying… can't be that bad," Felix laughed lightly.

"Easy for you to say," you sighed.

From behind, you feel someone bump your shoulder and pass by you, "Oops," he snickered, walking backwards to watch your reaction. The only thing he was missing was popcorn.

You turned to see Minho and rolled your eyes, "Ha-Ha, you're so funny, Lee Minho." Such a childish joke and you guys were almost leaving Hogwarts.

Though your reply had been dripping in sarcasm, Minho's wit had dodged it entirely, "Well thank you very much," he bowed, more like a manly curtsy, before he ran off, leaving Felix slightly puzzled at what just happened.

"Don't you see how much of a dingbat he is? He constantly chooses to pick on me just to get a reaction out of me," you utter, "He should be glad I was raised to be patient, if not I'd be hexing him like the world was near its end."

"I see a pattern," Felix hummed. The expression on his face looked as if he had come to an incredible epiphany.

Making a face, you click your tongue, "What do you even mean by that?" What pattern? Green, white, green, white? Minho and his constant need to be the crow to your crops?

Felix patted your head, "You're slow sometimes, you know that right?" He puffed his cheeks up and raised his brows as he looked down at you as if you were a kid.

"Can you just spit it out?" you narrowed your eyes at him before you physically pried his hand off your head.

"Minho does all of that just to get a reaction out of you," Felix presses his lips into a thin line, slowly forming a smile.

Finally arriving at the next classroom, you groaned, "You basically repeated what I said earlier…"

"If you didn't know this already, boys love getting attention from someone they are attracted to," Felix plopped into his seat. You followed right after, "I should know… I'm a boy."

You almost laugh at the tone of his voice. The confidence and the look he gave you to emphasize his statement; was all too funny, "So what you're saying is… Lee Minho has a – and god forbid– crush on me?" Felix nods like a young child, with eyes wide and a tight-lipped smile.

"Bollocks," You burst out laughing, "Felix, I love you, don't get me wrong, but you've never said anything more rubbish in the years I've known you."

"The chances are never zero," Felix put his index finger as if he were saying it in 'a matter of fact'.

You lean forward and sit your chin at your folded forearms. You eyed the teacher as she made her way into the room, "You're right there, Lix, but there's honestly no way Minho would like me. And me of all people would know that." You locked that statement in, feeling your words and emotions contradict.

Right?

iii.

"And then Y/N had the audacity to step on my foot," Minho kicked at the bench across from him, frustration released after what seemed to Seungmin was years of ranting. He didn't mind though, in years of being in the same house as him, he learned how to block him out yet still know what was going on when Minho asked for some sort of reply.

Minho tapped the end of his pencil against his textbook, eyes drifting off elsewhere in the grand hall. Students were clumped at their respective tables, studying for whatever class they had. Minho was trying to do the same, but his state of mind was not in the mood. But he was trying, he was pushing himself, that's what mattered in his opinion.

Turning his attention to Seungmin, who was seated next to him, he jumped, seeing that Seungmin's eyes were wide and directed at him, "What the hell!?"

"What?" Seungmin shifted back forward, facing his own books. In a sense, the scene was hysterical. He acted as if he hadn't done anything wrong or out of the ordinary, but Minho still tried to push an explanation out of him through looks.

"What do you mean what? Why were you looking at me like that?" Minho put his pencil down and closed his book on it.

"I was trying to see something," the boy shrugged and got back to his own work.

Again, Minho furrowed his brows at Seungmin's lack of detail in his response. What in the world was he even trying to do? "Trying to see what? If you don't answer me properly–"

"Okay! Okay!" Seungmin exclaimed a little too loudly, earning looks from other wizards in the room, "You know that saying that if you're in love, you start to glow?"

"No? What type of nonsense are you saying?" Minho scoffed, "Love? Are you sick or something?" Roughly, Minho brought the back of his hand to Seungmin's forehead, which Seungmin had thrown off almost right away.

"You've been talking about Y/N this entire period, you haven't stopped until moments ago," wiggling his eyebrows, Seungmin whispered his reply to Minho, making sure no one would be able to hear him this time.

Minho's face had contorted into one of disgust and confusion, "And?" Where was Seungmin even going with this? He was just relieving stress. It's not that deep.

"My point is that they're the only thing you've been talking about lately," Seungmin scribbles his pen at the top of his paper to get it to work, "Even if I start the conversation, it somehow just shifts to Y/N. Normally I'd be mad, but since you're in love, I'll let it pass."

"In love?" Minho's jaw dropped, a mixture of emotions swimming around inside of him, "In love!?" Trying to find words to perfectly reflect what he was saying, he fails, shoving Seungmin off the bench. Actions spoke louder than words, right?

Seungmin smirked and chuckled, unfazed, "What? Cat got your tongue?" He gets up, dusting his robe off before sitting back down, "It's because I'm right, aren't I?"

Minho gulps, "Will you quit it? You're…"

"I'm…?"

"You're confusing me. Quit it," Minho huffs, gathering all his things as he was planning to return to the dormitories. This was a different way of playing with emotions. There was a zero per cent chance that he liked you, or worse, loved you. That word was way too strong, dangerous like amortentia.

"I take that as a yes!" Seungmin stood his ground, just letting out a genuine laugh.

Minho held a finger up at Seungmin, who still laughed, unbothered. He didn't like you. And if he did, it wasn't wrong to do so. It was an ordinary mortal thing to have feelings. But that didn't matter right now because he didn't like you, not even a tiny crush.

But that slight state of unfamiliar panic in his heart says otherwise.

iv.

The muscles in your arm were aching from the horrible fact that Minho had been purposefully letting his arm go limp while he was holding your hand, which somehow led to you holding up his arm with your arm. You frowned at him, tempted to let your arm fall in the middle of the routine.

"Can you actually put in some effort?" you whispered through gritted teeth. Squeezing Minnho's hand, you directed a look of annoyance that only returned with an amused look. Underneath his robe, you could tell he had been intentionally dragging his feet, causing the both of you to slowly hold those partnerships behind you up.

"I'm not wasting energy on this," he shrugs quietly, "It's ridiculous."

"What don't you find ridiculous?" you rolled your eyes, "You Slytherins and the lack of interest in anything but yourselves. Where's the excitement in that?" No, you didn't want to generalize the entire Slytherin population, especially since you had family members from that house, but you knew exactly how to rev up Minho's engine. Just by the way his face twisted, you knew damn well you hit the right spot.

"Shut your mouth before I spin you a little too hard…" he said a little bit louder, "I don't find it ridiculous, I just find that us being partners is ridiculous… who in this entire school would want to be partners with you?" Before you could even reply, he had caught you, "That's not from your house."

"Jokes on you, I know plenty of people who would be partners with me," you scoffed, and it was true. There was Jisung who had somehow been sorted into Gryffindor, Hyunjin and their seniors, Bang Chan and Changbin. And there was Jeongin, who was a Ravenclaw. You could list a handful more, but that's beside the point.

"Silence is deadly," he stifled a laugh which had driven you to 'accidentally' stumble over your own feet. This caused him to stumble himself, only he wasn't prepared for it, "I'm blaming you for ending up being my partner. I was hoping someone else would've entered the room. But no, it had to be you."

"You're blaming me? For this?" You shake your head out of disbelief, not noticing that your voice had gone louder. You were catching the attention of those around you and the professors at the front of the room, "You could have found a partner you wanted in the first place but you probably decided to stay back and wait for someone to go up to you. No one wanted to be partners with you, which is why you ended up alone in the first place."

Minho's eyebrows furrowed, eyes almost on fire at what you had just said, "You know what?!"

Before he had been able to continue the banter, Professor Shin had cleared her throat. The glares that they both were sending your way had caused the both of you to stop with the squabbling, "Y/N, Minho, I know we've never talked to the two of you about your constant bickering, but it is simply interrupting the atmosphere of my classroom."

Taken aback, the both of you had stumbled over each other's feet, falling to the ground and causing a domino effect among the rest of the students.

Flustered, you turn to Minho, "That was all your fault, Lee Minho." You huffed and attempted to get up, failing once you noticed that Minho was practically lying on your leg.

"Oh be quiet," he rolled his eyes and dusted himself off, "That was all you! You and your two left feet." The rest of the room was silent, regardless of the incident. All ears and eyes were on the 'love birds,' not entirely sure whether or not they should blame you both on what had just happened.

Sliding out from underneath him, you scoffed, "Don't speak so highly of yourself, Minho."

Minho cackled, "Highly? Of myself?!"

"Stop this instant!" Professor Na had finally mustered up the courage to intervene, anger bubbling in his stomach, "Enough!" The two professors began helping the students up, scolding both of you as they did.

"Five points deducted from your respective houses," Professor Shin said sharply, "And you both are now in charge of polishing the floor every Friday for the following three weeks."

"But professor–"

Minho was cut off, "That, or ten points off for your houses…" And without another word, you both chose to polish the floors after all classes were done for the day.

Day one of polishing the floors was practically the most difficult. Not only did the professors restrict using magic to finish the chore, but the overall idea of doing something alongside Minho aggravated you, which was why you hated dancing with him so much. The comments he'd make, the taunting looks he'd give you, the jokes that were obviously uncalled for, they all were honestly bringing you to the point of near insanity.

At first, both of you had decided to start off on the same side, almost the same corner. But the moment you noticed Minho constantly glancing your way in the corner of your eye, you decided against it, "How about I start at that end."

"Whatever floats your boat," he mumbles, "I don't care."

The tone in his voice hadn't matched yours, which you assumed was polite enough not to spark some type of that energy in him, but it did.

"Whatever," you make your way to the other end, sliding your robe off on the way. You let it hang off one of the benches, making sure it wasn't touching the floor. You rolled up your sleeves and started polishing the further end of the room, a bit relieved that Minho wasn't hovering anywhere within your line of sight. It was better that way.

The second day, you were hoping that you could get through a period of cleaning without hearing Minho's ungodly voice. He had been moving back and forth from one corner to the other, feet squeaking seemingly endlessly against the floor. You wished that the volume of the music could be turned up louder.

"I'm doing more than you are," Minho pointed out. You turned to find that he was standing in the middle of the room, hair messy and beads of sweat lining his hairline. His collar was out of place, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows just as yours were. Did he, for some reason, look attractive, or was it the lack of light in the room? Probably the latter.

"What do you mean you're doing more than I am?" you feel your eyebrows knit together in confusion, "I'm doing the same amount of work as you." And you were, but you were working just a bit slower than he was. He had probably sped through his area with the idea that the sooner you both finished, the sooner you were able to leave.

"Just hurry up," he groaned. Minho dragged his feet over to a lone stool, pushing it against the wall before plopping into it. The music continued to play, drowning out the shuffle noises of his feet.

"No," you replied, keeping your speed consistent. It wasn't like you wanted to stay longer. It was the fact that Minho couldn't leave until you were finished that was making you act this way. Maybe if he did his job well, he wouldn't be sitting around doing nothing.

Tile by tile, you continued to carry out the chore given to you, not paying mind to the pair of eyes that were burning holes into your back. You ensured that the areas you had worked on were basically spotless, reflection or not, you assumed that shiny meant clean.

Minho had been humming along to the somewhat catchy tune, foot tapping to pass the precious time he believed you were wasting. Nonetheless, he leaned back and sighed, hoping you could finish in time, so he had time to nap before dinner.

"Why do they even need classes for dancing?" He sighed out. At first, you weren't quite sure if he was speaking to you or if he was just thinking out loud, "I feel like we'd be fine either way…" You turn to look at him, seeing that he was already staring at you down.

"I mean it's going to look nice at the Yule Ball,"

You replied.

"Yeah but not everyone's going… it's a waste of time," Minho had a point, yet you still found it somewhat amusing that the school would want to organize such things.

"I don't see why you don't just skip class if you find it a waste of time," you moved onto another spot and sighed, "No one's stopping you."

"Yeah but who'd be your partner then?"

Not knowing how to react to his question, you keep quiet. Minho decided not to follow up on the problem, thinking that he had said something out of the ordinary.

The sun had reached the horizon when you finished your portion of the room. You stood up to stretch, hearing the joints of your knees and back pop out of exhaustion. It was satisfying to see the difference between the used, scruffy floor and the clean, polished floor.

"Okay Lee Minho I'm finished," without taking a glance at the boy, you made your way over to the record player. You lifted the needle off and picked the record up, slipping it into its sleeve. It didn't occur to you that Minho hadn't shifted in the past thirty minutes, silence filling the room because you turned the music off.

"Minho?" Finally turning to him, you found him sleeping with his head sat back against the wall. His mouth was wide open, practically becoming a makeshift trap for bugs that happened to be flying around. The rest of his body was limp, legs spread out beneath him. It was surprising that he hadn't fallen off yet.

You walked up to his sleeping figure and laughed lightly, wishing you had a camera to capture this moment. It would've been great blackmail. Maybe then he'd start being nice to you. Naturally, your eyes followed the slope of his nose, then to the two front teeth that stuck out from underneath his top lip.

He had bunny-like features, and you didn't mean that in a wrong way. His face was still sculpted nonetheless. Anyone with eyes would have to admit that he was attractive.

"Done staring at me yet?"

You screamed and jumped back, pressing your hand up to your chest as if to calm you down. Looking back at Minho, you find that his eyes were still closed, yet a smirk had replaced his gaping mouth. The number of curse words that threatened to leave your mouth was countless, the embarrassment creeping up to your cheeks. He finally lifted his head to look at you, eyes still a bit droopy from his nap.

"I-I wasn't staring at you," you denied, shaking your head a bit too aggressively, "Well I was… but because I was laughing at how foolish you just looked."

An offended look surfaced Minho's face, scowling at you as he stood, "I have this feeling that you're lying, bumblebee… Anyways, this is where I leave. Finally, after years." He shook his rolled-up sleeves so that the cuffs slid back to his wrists. You let him leave without another word from the two of you, still in a bit of shock at what just happened. You knew he was never going to let you forget that.

You slumped next to Felix as dinner was being served, an expression almost as heavy as your posture. He looked down at you, debating whether or not he should interrupt the mini montage you were probably playing through your head.

"I want to ask you how the cleaning today was but I think I already know just by looking at you," he stated, sliding a piece of roasted chicken your way, "Unless you do want to speak about it. Just eat and the day's over."

You gave him a grateful smile and gestured for him to eat too, eyes lighting up slightly, "I'm actually not tired from cleaning that stupid dance room, but it's just… this thing that happened. It was beyond embarrassing."

Felix snorts and stuffs his cheeks with food. His words came out muffled as he still chose to reply with a full mouth, "What happened this time?"

You glanced towards the Slytherin table, eyes scanning it quickly to get one quick look at Minho before you whispered, "Minho fell asleep waiting for me to finish cleaning. He looked idiotic as he did so I sorta just—how do I say this— stared at him? But it wasn't like I was admiring him, it was more like I didn't want that stupid look on his face to go away. It was amusing."

"And?"

"In the middle of that he went, 'are you done staring yet?' It was like he had a sixth sense or something," you muttered, "Now I feel like he's making fun of me."

"Doesn't he always make fun of you," Felix had yet again stuffed his mouth, so his words were still muffled, "Why does it matter this time?"

"It's different. It's not some useless situation… it was genuinely embarrassing," you poke the food before taking a bite of your own, "He's going to it against me, I already know."

"Don't worry, I'm pretty sure he'll forget it sooner than you will."

"Hey remember when I caught you staring at me?" Minho's voice echoed faintly throughout the room. He stood up to stretch before he crouched back down.

"I never stared at you," you sneered, "And why are you talking about that as if it happened years ago. That was literally last week."

"That's long enough in my book," he retorted, "Good times." A small reminiscing type smile appearing on his lips.

"Can you not start? I sorta want today to be stress-free and you're literally ruining it," you roll your eyes and move onto the next tile on your side. Minho had decided to choose a different record to play today, one the professors had never played in class. It had been hidden behind all the other records being used, and it took Minho a good five minutes to rake through all of them just to get to it.

The songs were more upbeat than the waltz music you were forced to listen to, which was actually much more perfect for cleaning to. It made it a bit more bearable than the last two times you had to clean.

Minho didn't reply, though you didn't see how he switched glances between you and the mechanical polisher in hand. The track had shifted into a faster song, something that was easy to dance to. From where he stood, he could see your knitted eyebrows, eyes dropping from the slight fatigue blanketing over you after a long school day.

Upon awareness that his shoulders were slumped, he straightened himself and sighed. This week had indeed been a long week, and it was evident in some way in both of you. This was the last of the week's labour before he could go and relax while mindlessly saving his homework for Sunday.

The music had been tempting to let go earlier than he should for the week, the steady beat and the catchy melody filling the room.

Putting the polisher and the rag down, he took a few steps towards you, still contemplating whether he should do what he was thinking or not. He was unsure whether it was bizarre for him to pull such a thing. But you did say you wanted a stress-free day, so he thought he should switch up a bit.

He started moving his body to the rhythm of the music, head bobbing as it took over him naturally. It was easier dancing alone than with a partner, that's for sure, but he wanted to invite you.

"Y/N!" He was freestyling, arms flailing and legs bringing him across the room with a swift movement.

You sighed, "What now?" Turning to Minho, you find him in the middle of the dance room, doing what the room was made for. He had a foreign smile on his face, not the usual smirk you'd find him sporting.

"What the–"

"Join me!"

You went through several different emotions in seconds, confusion, amusement, joy, contemplation… how were you supposed to react to a goofy Minho?

"Join me!" He repeated. This time he approached you, hands out in invitation, "C'mon it's fun!"

"Minho, we have to finish this so we can leave, remember?" You tried to keep a stern look on your face, yet you couldn't hold back the smile that had been forcing itself out. Minho suited this look; It was happier and carefree. You didn't know that his eyes would light up when he smiled a somewhat gummy smile.

"I know, but let's take a break," being the impatient boy he was, he took hold of your hands and pulled you up. He led you in a dance that probably wasn't considered a partner dance. He just pushed your arms back and forth like those scenes in the movies.

"Minho!" You finally let out a laugh, feet unable to keep up with his. He was sidestepping left, then sidestepping right, then back and forth, all unplanned. You stumbled, letting out joyful laughter that was rare around Minho. He laughed along with you, eyes disappearing the bigger his smile got.

When your legs had gotten worn out from constant movement, you tripped over one of them, sending you and your dance partner to the ground. Instead of erupting anger that would have usually washed over you, fits of laughter fell in its place, echoing throughout the room.

Before you could ask if he was okay, you hear footsteps enter the room, a confused Professor Shin staring the both of you down, "What are you two doing?! This is not polishing the floors!" The exasperation changed the normal hue of her skin into a shade of crimson.

Quickly apologizing, you get up and return to your so-called 'stations,' not being able to say another word about what had just happened to each other.

You wouldn't admit it out loud, not in front of Minho at least… but that was the most fun you've had in weeks.

Little did you know, Minho felt the same way.

There was a part of you who had gotten used to Minho's horrible dancing after two weeks of dancing classes. After what happened last week, there was a tiny sliver of toleration that had surfaced from both of you. It was mutual. But obviously, neither of you were going to admit it.

Though Minho was starting to get somewhat bearable, there were still days when he'd begin to act up, smirk pinned tightly on his lips while he mischievously pranced about in the dance room. Today was one of those days.

When Professor had slipped the record onto the play, dropping the needle onto the very edge and starting it, Minho had chosen to let his body go heavy, relying on you to haul him around like a giant, weighted ragdoll. You knew he wasn't tired, just judging by the look in his eyes.

"Give it up," you tugged him roughly in one direction, then again towards another, feet hardly following the steps the class was taught the past few weeks. If Minho let his body grow just a bit limper than it already was, his head would have fallen directly onto your shoulder. If you were being honest, you didn't want any attention from anyone else in the room, "Lee Minho, I'm not in the mood for this today, okay?"

Minho's ears perked at the foreign tone that had slipped from your lips, sensing that you were being serious. You would tell him to quit it most days, but never with that tone; It was no fun if you weren't fighting back. Sighing quietly, he had picked his body up and started to follow the eight-count that Professor Shin was practically yelling out.

This minor change didn't go unnoticed by you, feeling his body grow lighter just moments after you'd ask him to quit it. Did he just…?

Other students in the room were surprised that you two were going more than thirty seconds without arguing like a married couple. Many sets of eyes didn't bother leaving the both of you, watching what would happen next in the twist of events.

Minho's feet carried his body swiftly; for the first time, he was guiding you like he was supposed to, but his eyes were glued to his feet, not wanting it to become weird if he were to make accidental eye contact with you. He didn't like how quiet it was between the both of you. The music didn't even do its purpose by filling the silence.

"Are you going to the Yule Ball?" Minho asked awkwardly. He twirled you as part of the dance. He recognized that look on your face which was basically a wordless reply, "That was probably a dumb question." Shaking his head, Minho mentally slapped himself. Never in his life did he fail with words.

"Of course I'm going," you replied rather expressionless, "Why would I not?" You were almost as confused as earlier. Minho trying to make a civilized conversation. Who the fuck was this? It wasn't Minho.

He shrugs, "I don't know… I guess you have a date…?" Minho, what the fuck. He squeezed his eyes shut as if the stone floor would swallow him wholly to take him away from this situation.

As puzzled as you were, you still decided to keep the conversation as it was, "Nope… I think I'm just going with Felix for fun." You tried to keep your tone calm when really you were freaking out. The only thing was you had no idea why you were freaking out, "Y-you?" Facepalm.

"No one."

None of you chose to speak after, not knowing where the conversation was going. The song was slowly reaching the end, which you had wished came sooner. Minho's hands were growing sweaty, and you wanted nothing more than to wipe your hand off. It was getting hot in the room too. Your collar was growing tight, throat itching for water.

Minho's heart was beating a bit too fast for his liking, but it was probably because he was growing tired from the moving. He wondered if you could feel how sweaty his hands were getting. Embarrassing.

"Final counts!" Professor Na called out before the static of the record player replaced the music. The two of the professors had clapped in adoration, overlooking all the students in the room.

Professor Shin had a broad smile on her face, "Beautiful! Gorgeous! Best one so far!" She twirled in place, "Thank you everyone! The Yule ball is in two weeks so I am very pleased with the effort you all are putting into this class! Remember we still have the final class in which you are graded, which I'm sure you all will ace."

"I couldn't care less," Minho mumbled, only so you could hear.

You turn to him, squinting your eyes and tilting your head to express your slight frustration, "You know I'm your partner right?"

"Oh no~ really?," he stuffed his hands into his pockets, "And?"

"And? I don't want to fail this class, even though I'm forced to dance with you," you stated, "So don't you fucking dare fail us both." That tone in your voice was evident once again, catching Minho off guard. The only reason that it had this effect on him was that he was so used to you choosing to fight back. It was like some sort of reminder that everyone around him was getting old, and soon all those around him were expected to be serious.

Nevertheless, Minho shrugs to annoy you, "Whatever."

Instead of answering, you eyed him once more. Your dancing just a few moments ago says otherwise.

You had practically sighed out the total capacity of your lungs as you hung onto Felix's arms on the way out the door.

"What are you sighing about?" He chuckled.

"You already know," you elbowed him.

Felix rolled his eyes and sang, "I saw you guys dancing earlier~."

You pushed him away gently, shock littering your face and posture, "What the bloody hell are you on about now, Lee?"

"You guys actually look cute together when you aren't babbling and all," he grinned innocently. Your heart had the audacity to skip a beat, startling you just as much as Felix did.

"Cute?" You scoffed, "First you said you think he liked me, now this? Are you his wingman or something? Are you trying to get me to like him?"

Felix skipped in his step, "I don't even talk to Minho, Y/N, don't be ridiculous… wait… did you basically just say you're starting to like him?" He gasped, hand slapping over his mouth, which had fallen in shock.

"No," you say flatly.

"Liar," Felix poked at your rib, "Liar. At least confess that you find him less bad."

"Sure, whatever makes you happy, Felix."

When you had fallen out of Felix's line of sight, you let the corner of your mouths turn up slightly. He said we looked cute, you think, only followed by you flicking yourself in the temple.

"I thought you were staying here until it closed?" you frown at Felix, who started gathering his stuff. You both had planned on cramming everything in for a test the next day, but plans didn't go as planned when Felix was eager to go back to the dormitories to sleep until the morning.

"My eyes are going to fall out of their sockets if I don't go and sleep, Y/N," he pats your head as if he were talking to a young child, "You can stay if you want. I know how much you hate studying in the common room." He double-checks his area to ensure he hadn't forgotten any of his belongings before patting your head once more. He grins and turns towards the door of the library, leaving you sitting alone at the table.

"Felix ~" You called out quietly, only for him to wave with his back facing you. You sighed and slumped back in your chair, resting your arms on the handles. Libraries were so much better when you had company.

The words in the textbook were starting to turn into blobs of ink, and for a second, you were thinking about following in Felix's footsteps. After moments of consideration, you shook your head and sat up. You'll stay, even if it was against the will of your fatigue self that had been prompting you to leave. This was all your fault anyway. Procrastination was a cruel thing.

Hunching forward, you let your eyes trace over the words, trying to process the information. You rewrote the info you wished to remember carelessly. Your notes resembled chicken scratch, but at this point, you didn't care because it was simply supplementary to your studying. The sun was close to its horizon, and the library was close to empty. It was somewhat more motivating.

Slowly the information had started to get more interesting. It was easier to run through the key terms and ideas listed in the textbook, and you could feel the exhaustion simply leaving your body. I'll finish this one last chapter and then save the rest for lunch tomorrow.

Your focus on the book had hindered your peripheral vision that the presence of another wizard floating over your shoulder went unnoticed. It was only until they had sat down next to you when you finally noticed.

You jumped in your seat, eyes growing wide. You had luckily suppressed your scream with your hand, which you had, out of defense, swung forward, slapping the person in the chest.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"You don't sneak up on people like that, Minho," you rolled your eyes at the Slytherin, shifting away from him before turning your attention back towards the textbook. He scooches closer with intentions of irritating you, pushing his face towards your book, "What are you doing?"

You push him away and stick one of the thicker books between you both, "What does it look like?"

"Studying?"

"You're smarter than I thought, Lee Minho," sarcasm dripped from your voice as you glared at him. Attempting to continue with the final chapter, you miserably fail when Minho interrupts your concentration by tapping his fingers loudly against the wooden table.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" you say numbly, voice muffled by your robe, "I was literally just sitting here and you decide to do this."

Minho shrugs and uses his arms as a makeshift pillow, "I was bored, saw you, here I am, I'm here to stay."

Your eyebrows furrowed at the fact that Minho decided to 'spend time with you upon seeing you. You had no idea whether to feel flattered or irritated, but you knew you were confused. He could've just gone back to the Slytherin dungeons to sit with his housemates, but he saw you and decided to sit with you.

Staring blankly at the bookshelves across from you, you huffed out the corner of your mouth, blowing a stray strand of hair by your cheek. You did say you wanted company. You just weren't sure if it was Minho's company that you wanted. Glancing down briefly at him, and looked back up to the bookshelves.

"Fine," you say after pondering about the idea.

Minho's ears perked up, raising his brows, "Fine?"

"Just don't be loud."

Minho's head tilts in confusion, though he still complies, sitting next to you patiently. You continued to read through the final chapter, which you had underestimated in length. The chapter was a good half a centimetre in thickness. Though it didn't seem as much at first glance, the pages were practically dipped in ink, words covering it from one corner to the other.

You could feel your eyes grow heavy as you delve deeper into the chapter. Your bed was calling for you, but there was no way you were going to give. Not until this chapter was finished.

The library had been silent except for the occasional click of the pen from the librarian's desk. You had been mentally counting down the number of pages left to skim over, eager to feel that feeling of satisfaction you usually get once you finish a task. It was the same feeling as crossing or checking off a chore on a to-do list.

Minho had settled his eyes on the centre of your book, keeping them steady even as you flipped the pages. He felt the lids of eyes gradually get heavier as each page went by, and by the time you shut the book in delight, he had fallen asleep.

"Again?" You furrowed your eyebrows, remembering the last time he had fallen asleep in your presence. You darted your eyes away from his dormant figure, not making that same mistake twice, "Minho, wake up."

He stirs right away, head rising from his arms. This time he says nothing, pushing himself off of the library's chair before stumbling over his own feet as he makes his way to your side. He looked like a toddler, and it was admittedly adorable.

"Why didn't you just go straight to the dorms if you were tired," you snorted at his dumbassery. Some students still littered the halls even if curfew was nearing. Instead of parting from your side at the library's entrance, Minho stuck by your side.

"I wanted to spend time with you outside of class," he grumbles. He blinks at the long corridor in front of you two, eyes barely staying open from exhaustion.

Feeling your heart skip a beat, you tried to pick out if he was joking or not, but his tone screamed, 'I'm tired.' Any other emotion was hard to comb out, so you sighed and shook your head, pressing your lips into a smile, "Sleep that cheesiness off, Lee Minho."

Minho continued to walk next to you, silent and confused about what you just had said. It wasn't like he was drunk. He was well aware of what he just said. Nonetheless, he subtly walked you to the kitchen corridor, parting ways with you with an uttered 'goodbye.'

vi.

Sitting against the stone wall, you watched the rest of the class carry out the dance routine, formation changes and all. You ran through it with them, only mentally as your partner was nowhere to be found, and the class was halfway done.

There were barely any classes left before the final graded run through, and Minho really thought it'd be funny to skip? You would have let it pass if you guys weren't the worst duo in the room, but you guys are the worst duo in the room, which made the situation different.

"Professor Na," You asked quietly, "Has Lee Minho been excused from today's class. Is he ill?" You didn't want to jump to conclusions, keeping in mind that people did have their own reasons. Maybe he had caught a cold or was doing a missed exam that was far more important than dancing.

"No word from Minho, Y/N," the professor hummed back.

You frowned and thanked him, turning back to the main dance floor, students moving in sync. Where was he?

Just as you had finished your train of thought, the door had swung open just like it probably did on the first day of class. Minho stumbled in, hair a mess and a rather sheepish smile stamped on his lips.

"I apologize Professors," he bowed deeply, following the perimeter of the room. He bowed again as he reached the two instructors at the front of the room.

Professor Shin stopped her counting, "No need to apologize to us, apologize to your partner." She gestured towards you, already looking back. Minho nodded and approached you, though when he did reach you, he didn't apologize.

"And?"

"And what?" Minho ridiculed.

"Aren't you going to apologize like what the Professor asked?" You tried not to laugh at how Minho had been acting.

Minho let out a cackle, “No? Why should I? Can you stand up so we can start dancing or something?" His hand was itching to reach out for yours, feeling like he should pull you towards him, but he hindered himself from doing so, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Instead of pushing the apology out of him, you decided against it, not wanting to waste any of your time, "Why are you even late?"

The two of you followed the crowd, joining in at the perfect time. Minho smirked, "Worried about me or something? I know I'm in your head twenty-four seven, but I didn't expect you to be so obvious about it."

Tightening your grip around his hand, you gritted your teeth, "I wasn't worried about you, nitwit."

"Then why are you asking?"

"Because you made me sit, doing nothing for nearly forty-five minutes?" You reply as if you were pointing out the obvious, "So why are you late and coming to class looking like a mountain troll?"

"Wow, ouch," he sighed, "I slept in. Am I going to hell for doing so? Because I can recall you did the same the first day and got us into this mess."

"This is about you, not me," you applied pressure onto his hands, causing him to stumble back slightly, ruining the rhythm he had built up. He furrowed his brows at you and did the same, only you were somehow ready for it.

"Oh please," Minho rolls his eyes, "You've done the same so you shouldn't even be mad at me."

"I'm only frustrated, not mad, there's a difference," you point out, "And I'm frustrated because we have that graded dance next week. If we fail, it's going to be your fault."

"It takes two to tango," he quoted, "And you already know where I stand on that. I don't ca-"

"Shut up, the professors are looking," you warned, flashbacks to the three weeks you had to polish the floors.

Minho laughed slightly, letting air blow out of his nose. He let his eyes drift down at you, keeping them there for a little too long.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, spinning you along with the other students, "You just looked way too terrified." The next move had the two of you closer than the initial space between you.

"I don't want to be spending an extra three hours with you after classes polishing the floor," you retort sharply. Instead of holding eye contact with him, you stared at the Slytherin crest on his uniform.

"I know you liked spending time with me, don't lie," he rolled his eyes teasingly.

"I'm not lying."

"You staring at me says otherwise."

"Oh hush about that already, I literally told you that I wasn't staring at you," Inwardly cringing, you felt relief once the music had stopped. You stepped back and eyed down the boy in front of you, "Why do keep bringing that up?"

Before Minho could give reasoning, Professor Na had spoken up from across the room, reminding everyone that the next class was the graded class. Though they wouldn't be strict with grading, he still wanted to see the students' effort 'flowing'. After a chorus of groans, class ended, allowing you to avoid Minho and find your way to Felix.

Someone tapping your shoulder had woken you up, head jolting up as if you were frightened.

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Chaeryeong gasped sheepishly. She was hovering over you slightly, eyes wide. She was changed into her nightwear.

You sat up, only now realizing you had fallen asleep in the common room, "It's alright. What time is it?" You didn't even remember how you fell asleep, but you sure did have a good sleep.

"It's almost midnight," she replied, "I needed to grab water from the kitchen, then I saw you here and figured it'd be more comfortable for you to go to sleep in your own bed rather than this tiny couch."

You grinned, "Thanks Chae… I'll probably get something from the kitchen as well."

She nods and mumbles out a quick goodnight before disappearing to the girls' dorms. You return her farewell before standing up, eyes drawn to the wrinkles your nap had made on your robe. Attempting to straighten the robe and yourself out, you stumbled towards the Hufflepuff house entrance, exiting promptly.

The fireplace had been lit, a few house elves roaming about and carrying out their own duties. They paid no mind to you, as midnight snacks weren't out of the ordinary for Hufflepuffs.

You asked for what you needed, then was given it with no delay, "Thank you." The house elf nods before turning away with a grunt.

You sit at one of the tables, zoning out as you stared at the blazing fire across from you. School was getting a bit more stressful than it usually has, which was probably the reason why you had fallen asleep without knowing. You remember coming back from a long library visit. Maybe you collapsed on the couch once you did.

You made mental notes on the work still yet to be done before the following week, spontaneously creating a headache. Standing up, you figured it was best for you to go back to sleep. Slipping the dish into the sink, you started making your way back to the dorms.

You rubbed your temples and shook your head as you closed your eyes. It probably hadn't been a good idea to be wandering with your eyes closed as you had immediately bumped into something firm.

"Y/N?"

Looking up, you came face to face with Lee Minho, who was just as shocked as you were. He had been dressed down in a knitted Slytherin sweater and pyjama pants.

"Minho? What in the world?"

He backs up after noticing how close you were to each other, "Could say the same 'bout you."

"My dorms are right there," you point just down the corridor, "While yours is in the dungeon…"

Minho blinks before he tries to move around you, eyes avoiding yours.

"What are you doing here?" you grab his wrist, eager to find out why he was roaming the halls. It wasn't unusual for students to be breaking the rules, especially Minho, who loved living up to the stereotypes of a Slytherin. He smirks at the skinship, which prompts you to let go of him, heat rising up to your cheeks without warning. You're suddenly glad it's dim around the two of you.

"I was… taking a walk," he successfully pushes past you and into the kitchen, a glass of water already there for him. He thanks the house elf, leaving the glass, before turning back to you. By the looks of it, it seems like he's been doing this before, like a routine.

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed, "Taking a walk? You're painfully awful at lying." And the pause in his speaking gave that away. You followed behind him, expecting an honest answer as if you deserved to know.

"Weren't you just leaving?"

"But my question is unanswered," you shrugged.

"I answered you, I was taking a walk," he pushed the answer. Putting the cup down, he turned to you, "I have… sleeping problems."

"You just lied again," you nonchalantly, "Just tell me the truth. No judgment. A Hufflepuff's promise." You weren't usually one to push an answer out of someone, but this situation was different.

"You say no judgment but I already know how you're going to react to the truth," he takes another sip of water.

"So you were lying!" You raised your brows, "I knew it!"

"You don't deserve the truth," he sighs. Finishing the cup of water, he starts to make his way out, not even turning to look back.

"Lee Minho!" You groaned. Maybe it was your fatigue self or the fact this felt like some sort of game, but you weren't holding yourself back, "When I said I wouldn't judge, I won't. My mind's open to whatever you're going to say."

Minho spins around to face you, stumbling backward a few more steps before he halts, "I was practicing the dance steps."

No judgment.

The flat expression on Minho's face indicated that he had no intentions of lying this time. He had his hands hiding behind his back, eyeing you just to see if you would live up to your promise. Instead of his expected reaction, he finds you smiling, something he'd only see when you were around your friends.

"Wipe that smile off of your face, bumblebee," he mutters.

"Didn't you say you didn't care about that class?" you quoted, a smirk slowly replacing your smile, "Why are you practicing the steps?"

Minho licked his lips. He was at a loss of words, nothing but the truth occupying his mind… Why the hell not?

"Because you care."

You blinked back at him, lips parting and meeting several times as you tried to find the right words to say. The silence was deafening. "What?"

"Because you care," Minho repeated. He kept his expression still, eyeing you, trying to figure out how you were taking this in.

How would he further explain it? He didn't know. All he knew was that ever since that specific moment between the both of you the other day, he took it upon himself to better his partner dancing. He didn't want anyone else knowing, not you, and especially not his housemates, which was why he chose to stay up late to do this; it was the real reason why he had shown up late to class.

You weren't sure if it was because it was quiet, but you could easily hear your heartbeat as it quickened. You try to cover up the fact that you wanted to freak out, "I don't know whether I should laugh or–"

"Yeah, whatever, shouldn't have told you in the first place," he mumbles. For some reason, he felt his heart lub-dub in a way that it shouldn't. He frowned and sighed, "Just forget it."

"Wait, Minho," you call quietly. He stopped in his tracks and turned, partially facing the wall and facing you. He stared back at you with a vacant look, waiting for you to say something. If you weren't going to be saying something nice, he didn't want to hear it after exposing himself like that.

"'Because you care?'" you frowned, "You can't just say that and leave." You already made up a possible answer to the countless questions through your mind, but it was still unclear whether or not that was it.

"What else do you want me to say?" Minho stuffs his hands into his pockets.

"I just want you to explain it," you reply quietly.

Minho glanced out the window sitting by you both before sitting down on its pane, "Remember that other day… when I told you I didn't care?" You nod and move closer to where he sat, unsure whether or not you should sit next to him or not, "I don't know… you were really serious back then… I guess I wasn't used to that. So I figured…"

There was a quick moment of silence before he huffs, almost sounding defeated.

"Did you know that I genuinely don't dislike you as much as you think I do?" He says out of the blue, throwing you off. You wanted to tell him to sleep it off again—why did moments like this always happen at night?

"I don't either," you say back, "At first I did… but I matured."

"I only ever argued with you out of amusement. You're the only person outside of Slytherin that could out-talk me and it bothered me for some reason," he laughed as if he recalled a memory.

"Me intimidating a Slytherin? Just wait til the others hear about this," you joke. He glanced towards your direction and saw a clever glint in your eye.

"Don't you dare," he holds back a smile before standing up to face you directly, "Or…"

"Or what?" You challenged, "Imagine how Seungmin would react! Donghyuck and Renjun? What about Yeosang and Wooyoung?" You start listing the other well-known Slytherins off of the top of your head, holding back a laugh as you watch Minho's face crumble into an expression that looks far too close to fear.

Minho recollects himself and shakes some sense into himself, "Or I'll make you go to the Yule Ball with me." He hadn't planned on asking you today, but the timing was perfect. It fit with the situation. If you were to react unfavourably, then he could just joke about it.

His question shut you up. Your eyes widened at him as you processed what he had used as a threat, "What if I want to go to the Yule Ball with you?"

Minho takes a step towards you, a smirk appearing on his lips. His confidence was skyrocketing, and you can tell, "Then I guess it's a date?"

Rolling your eyes, you let a smile grace softly onto your lips, nodding, "It's a date."

Bonus:

"I told you to wear something with gold," you whined jokingly as you were greeted with Minho, who had completely dodged your request. Instead of the black and gold look you were going for, he decided to wear a black suit that had traces of emerald. As much you wanted to match with your date, you had to admit that he still looked as handsome as ever in the attire. He looked like a prince.

"And look like a Hufflepuff? No thanks," he scoffed teasingly. He pulls out a corsage, one that matches the clothes he wore, tying it gently around your wrist, "You look very beautiful."

"Well, you look very handsome."

Minho laughed as he sticks out his forearm, a brow raised in your direction. Music being played by the live band had been spilling out of the ballroom; the voices of everyone attending gave the ball more life. It was exciting.

"Minho!" Seungmin had called. Felix, who had slipped from your side the moment Minho approached you, was standing by Seungmin, smiling brightly. He had been hyping you up the entire night, telling you that there should be nothing to worry about.

He was right.

"Shall we?" Minho asked. It was cheesy, but it worked.

"We shall."

Hope you enjoyed it! A like would be appreciated <3

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westwingwolf · 3 years

Text

In this post, I go into a long, defensive character/ship study for reflection after New Blood so for the sake of not clogging the tag and anyone who doesn’t want to see it or doesn’t want to be spoiled, it’s under the cut.

I think if you are looking for Tim to apologize for some of those early days, you are going to be disappointed. At least for a while. Because Tim sees a lot of what he did as practical training methods he’d use on any other rookie. Whether that’s right or wrong in your opinion, doesn’t matter. It’s how Tim sees it and therefore how the writers intend for him to see it. For all else, any time Tim crossed a line: he was called out, acknowledged it himself, apologized and/or thanked Lucy for her help.

A lot of those things were what Tim was going to do to any rookie if he thought that was the type of training the rookie needed. Tim says he is a show type of guy. He isn’t just going to tell a rookie the wrong or right method. He is going to create a scenario in which they learn it the hard way but in a safe, controlled environment. He was going to kick Jackson out of the car if he got the answer wrong, but Jackson got it right. And when he realized Jackson needed a different type of training to help him get over his fear of gunfire or quit or else Angela would get fired, he changed his tactics. And both times literally end up saving his own life. Lucy knew exactly where she was when she radioed that Tim had been shot. Jackson ran down the armed guy shooting at Tim because Tim said if he couldn’t get into the fight to stay in the car, so Jackson found a way around that.

The way Lucy words it, it doesn’t sound like she believes that Tim tormented her all through the job. Just that first day (well, and the second but I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt that those first 2 shifts can be treated like a first day) and some time after. Because the next thing she mentioned as a month later is the bathroom incident. That happened the day Tim came back to work after being shot. In between time which she spent an entire shift with Officer Wrigley(?) who was nice and treated her like a rockstar, and was boring because he wouldn’t take interesting calls. She is stuck with that until Tim questions if she is just going to let a criminal get away when she can do something about it. She called him a pain in her ass which he responded was the job. In that moment you can see that Lucy is not going to back down, and that Tim sees this as how to best train her. Their reactions of each other shows a mutual understanding of the other and the start of an acceptance. And maybe Tim does torment Lucy a little all through the job just to keep her on her toes.

As to the bathroom incident: in Amber, Harper made a point of saying how important it is to find a proper bathroom so that’s obviously something they teach at the academy or veterans learn through experience. And Lucy knew to secure the bathroom which she did. Just not enough. And Tim knew that would probably happen so he took advantage of that. Just as he would if any other rookie who needed that type of training had done that. This happened before he got the call about Isabel. The things he did after, intentionally starting a fight with the biker gang, that was out of line because he was upset about Isabel. And Lucy called him out on that. Just as she has done every time since Tim has stepped over the line.

I don’t believe Lucy actually gets triggered when she walks into a shoe store. Exaggeration to prove a point through humor. I laughed anyways. Especially since I’m sure the things that actually trigger Lucy are more like complete darkness and locked in confined, tight places. Does he say boot more than anyone else? Yes. Does that change depending on the outward image Tim is trying to convey? Also yes. The hardass Tim was those first few days/weeks/months (depending on which timeline we are going with) is not who he truly is. And Lucy knows that. She sticks up for him more than anyone. She calls him out on his shit, but also reminds him he is a good person. That side of him only comes back out when he truly fears not being tough will cause a setback. Such as when he yelled at her for having something in her gun hand other than her gun after Chris was shot and his TO pointed out that he told him how to proceed and his rookie didn’t listen. And Lucy wasn’t even mad at Tim about that because by then she knows him and what he is like. All her anger was at Emmett for stepping in where he shouldn’t. Because Lucy can handle herself, and she can handle Tim. Which Tim knows perfectly well and has said so. If Lucy was truly so upset by all that Tim has done, she wouldn’t insist that they are friends. Yes, she was eager to get out of training, but she also took the time to ensure that they had proper acknowledgment as to the closure of her training. And an acceptance that they would be friends from this point on was admitted by both of them in that “see you tomorrow.”

I’ll grant you the lessons can go overboard, but they actually work. When Lucy was in that bomber’s house after he set a bomb, she told Harper to get clear of the house and radio for help. Why? Because she learned that radio frequencies can sometimes set off bombs. She never forgot that lesson. And used it as payback for Tim later so double bonus.

So here is where Lucy can differ from any other rookie trained the same way by Tim. She learned those lessons and remembers them later when she is more or less by herself. It’s not just something that can be told and hope you remember when the necessary time comes. It is something lived through experience, again in a safer and more controlled environment, that she remembers. Maybe not all rookies would, but she did. And where she differs is how she gets Tim back anytime she feels he needs payback: stealing his money clip, giving him her bar tab as an evaluation, giving him his own powder bomb, etc. Things no other rookie would dare try, and he lets her get away with it. Because I think he actually likes that he found someone who can match his diabolical ways. Honestly, if these two weren’t such good people at heart, they’d pair up to be the world’s greatest supervillains.

Jackson called Lucy out on why would she want Tim to torment someone else if she hated how he treated her. So either she didn’t have that big of a problem with it or she doesn’t like the implication that it was something wrong about her that Tim felt warranted that kind of treatment. Yes, Lucy needs praise. She has always needed praise. Especially from authority figures. (Yes, I know the implications of that from a shipping POV, but if you are already shipping Chenford, you’re either ignoring it or waiting until it’s no longer an issue or both.) It’s clear from her relationship with her parents that she at first tried to get it from them. That’s why she studied psychology. To please them. And once she found what she wanted and stuck with it, she thought they’d be happy for her and she’d get that praise but she didn’t. She is still looking for it in her life. So she looks at this situation as there must have been something wrong with her and somehow the new rookie is better. Which Tim disproves. It wasn’t about her being less than; it’s about her being different and needing different training tactics. And her differences are actually things Lucy values, and Tim values too (clearly as he is tried to get Barnes to see policing as helping people and not as engaging enemy combatants. Plus take a look at how Tim treats people in the community even ones he previously arrested. He still tries to help them.) But Tim recognizes Lucy also needed a different perspective even if her perspective still ultimately wins out. Which Lucy acknowledges in Resolutions. She still chooses to be a cop in her own way. She still values empathy and compassion first and foremost. Seeing the world as the scary place it can be just rounds out her perspective, but it doesn’t overwhelm it. And Tim stopped pushing that perspective after Lucy found out just how scary the world can be. Because Lucy has been though all of that, gained perspective but still stayed true to herself, she is a good cop. Again, something Tim acknowledged. He disavowed her of the idea that she was somehow less, explained his position, and complimented her with probably the highest compliment he could give someone: the respect of being a good cop.

That difference in how Tim & Lucy approach things is what made them such a great partnership. Tim sees things with suspicion first, compassion second. While Lucy is compassion first, suspicion second. They both quickly adapt to either, but also help the other with finding the necessary POV. So they hardly ever miss anything because if one doesn’t see it, the other will. They are complimentary but not so stubborn in their own initial POVs that they force the issue making things worse. If one is passionate in their belief, the other will follow their decision.

So here is my point: whatever they went through before, good and bad, does not have a drastic effect on discouraging their friendship (and possibly romantic relationship). All of that is more or less fond (okay not so fond) memories. They understand each other, have forgiven each other (Lucy more than Tim because Tim crossed more lines), accepted their faults, encouraged each other, acknowledged each other, and basically formed a lasting bond that is more than TO/rookie and even more than most friendships can be lucky to have. Perhaps even more than most romantic relationships get. And frankly, holding any past mistakes over each other’s head to the point of disgruntlement would not lead to a healthy relationship. Which is why I don’t think Lucy truly holds what Tim did against him. I think it was as it appeared: wondering why the new rookie was treated differently and if that is a reflection on her. Which it wasn’t in any negative way. But to make her point about the differences, Lucy had to list the ways Tim handled everything in their early days. And to make his point, Tim clearly explains the differences and what necessitates that difference. An apology for any of that would negate the point he was making. If Lucy was truly upset in any lasting way, she wouldn’t have immediately worried about Barnes, and she wouldn’t have been so happy at Tim’s compliment.

Will Tim ever apologize for the early days? Maybe. Maybe not. Does he need to? I don’t think so. Not for me anyways. Because Tim is a show me type of guy, and he has shown Lucy in so many ways how much he values her. And Lucy has shown that that means more to her than anything.

#chenford #Tim Bradford #Lucy Chen #Lucy x Tim #The Rookie #the rookie theory

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dekatsu · 4 years

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how does the wonder duo talk about each other on tv/in interviews? (bonus if one of them accidentally slips that they're dating xP)

Let me just apoligise for how late I am. I had a lot to deal with.

[INTERVIEW WITH PRO HERO DEKU]

Since we last met, you formed a duo with pro hero Ground Zero. How do you feel about teaming up with your childhood friend?

I’m not sure how to answer this, to be honest. I mean, it feels natural to work together. I know most of everything about him and the same is true for him so we don’t have to be reserved with each other and can openly discuss what we plan to do, even if the ideas seem ridiculous. We also don’t feel the need to hold back on pointing out just how ridiculous the idea is. It’s reassuring to know Kacchan will have my back in situations where I find myself overtaxed. I value his opinion.

Working as a duo must be quite different than working independently. Why did you make that choice?

I believe it was overdue. We were working together most of the time, so much so that his team would work with mine even on missions we weren’t involved in. It seemed like the next step to take.

Who came up with the idea of forming a duo first?

The credits for this go to Pandora. She was quite fed up with having to play intermediate between our agencies and eventually confronted me with the idea. Even though she’s Kacchan’s intern, she always butts heads with Kacchan and felt like just her bringing the idea up would result in him denying it out of spite. I think that’s why Kacchan keeps her around, her spirit is not far off from his.

What makes working together the hardest? In turn, what makes working together easy?

Trying to decide how much man force is appropriate for the mission at hand is probably the hardest it has ever been. Kacchan and I always fight with our team and than with each other because we believe that we can take care of things. Yet, our team has truly come together just to make sure we have more than enough backup, should something go wrong. I truly appreciate their worry, but we can handle things, most of the time.

As for the easiest, it’s probably getting Kacchan to strategies with me. Before, even on missions we teamed up for, he would mostly keep to his own strategies but now that we are a duo, he shares his insights and listens to mine. It’s another wall taken down.

Since you two became a duo, your efficiency has gone up by quite a lot. What's the secret behind your teamwork?

I guess Kacchan and I have always been together, one way or the other, so we can predict what the other is thinking to a certain point. We can come to agreements even if we disagree with each other, mostly because we know what we went through to get here. I saw him at his strongest and at his lowest. And he knows me better than I know myself. It makes giving each other the respect we deserve in our work rather easy.

We heard that you two moved in together. Was it because of your team up?

Ah, well. Not really. We moved in together quite a bit after we started working together. That was a decision we made based on mutual agreement, independent from our work.

You two have a lot of history together. Any funny anecdotes you can share?

The most recent thing that comes to mind is paperwork. Kacchan knows I hate doing it, so he comes up with increasingly ridiculous ways to dump more on me. The most recent one being me not doing the laundry, so I had to do his share of paperwork since he did my share of housework. I protest this strongly, though. Private life and business life should not be mingled together. I hope Kacchan grows up soon.

Your support items changed since your team up. Any you can disclose to us?

I have taken to carrying a few of Kacchan’s grenades around. specialised to detone after a certain time has passed. Against long ranged enemies, kicking them proves to be indispensable. A few other tweaks have been made on my costume here and there, to secure my safety in close combat while Kacchan uses his quirk.

A lot of your fans say your dynamics are quite funny to observe. Any idea why that might be?

We are not business partners. It’s impossible to switch off our relationship and in our downtime, while patrolling or in-between missions, we tend to bicker about small stuff. It might be that.

You two worked together with a lot of people over the years. Who else would you consider for a duo, if not for pro hero ground zero?

I would be happy to work with any of my former classmates. We worked together many times and I’m familiar with their thinking, strengths, and weaknesses. But I feel obliged to choose Uravity. She’s my shoulder to lean on and when I fight with Kacchan, she knows just what to say to encourage me to talk to him. It’s been rough on her and I truly appreciate her. She can read me like a book.

The things that people can expect from your team-up?

We are heroes who win and rescue. We will double our efforts to make our world safer. We are here.

And lastly: anything you would like to share?

Many people have been worried working together with Kacchan would be detrimental to me, since he is quite headstrong and intimidating for some. But there is nothing to worry about. If nothing else, I’m quite as stubborn, if not more. We know how much we can push and how much is too much. We do fight, we are too close not to fight but there is a line neither of us will cross, not since we got back together. And we work together; sometimes so well that we creep our own team out.

So, there is nothing to worry about.

does this read like a love letter? No? Very good, Deku tried hard to hold it in.

#bkdk #Anonymous #rn #mine #interview

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lavendersuh · 4 years

Text

“how much do you hate me?”

pairing: fuckboy!mark tuan/reader

genre: college!au, childhood neighbors, enemies to lovers, fluff, mild angst

word count: 2.3k

a/n: you should know how much i love enemies to lovers ok i really really love it,,,, this is based off the drabble prompt “how much do you hate me?” “not enough to say no immediately what do you want” enjoy! xx

“How much do you hate me?”

The question came from behind you, as you sat reading a textbook and munching on an apple between classes. You spin around to see Mark Tuan, resident fuckboy on campus, smirking down at you.

He wasn’t just the resident fuckboy, but he was also your childhood neighbor, the boy that you watched grow up beside you. It still baffled you that somehow you both had managed to choose the same college. You, for the creative arts program, and he, for the fraternities. The lives you led were different, yet somehow had always paralleled each other.

You were never really friends with Mark, despite your mothers putting you in the sandbox together at a young age. Pulling your pigtails at the age of six didn’t necessarily leave you with the best first impression of him, and that animosity followed you as you both grew up. Arguments ensued throughout the occasional dinners your families would hold together. It always left you frustrated, wishing you had a grumpy old man as a neighbor rather than the increasingly attractive boy you were stuck with.

Awkward teen years and the constant bickering warranted a bit of anger when you realized he chose the same college as you. Would you ever escape this man?

You close your book slowly, as he sits down next to you. It’s early on a Saturday morning, so the library is mostly empty.

You narrow your eyes at him, “Not enough to say ‘no’ immediately,” you say, “What do you need?”

He beams at you and you notice how much he’s changed. You have only seen him in passing glance in one of the dining halls since arriving on campus, and his hair is more blonde since the last time you saw him in the beginning of summer. He wears a hoodie with his frat logo on it, with sweatpants and a hat.

“You know me so well, Y/N.” he says, “I need you to kiss me.”

You immediately recoil, “What the hell?”

He laughs, “Not right now, but tonight at a party my frat is hosting. I’m trying to hook up with this girl and I want to make her jealous.”

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” you exclaim, before pausing, “What’s in it for me?”

“The satisfaction of knowing you helped one of your lifelong, childhood friends get laid by a senior?” he throws you a convincing smile, “The fact that you’ll have kissed your high school crush?”

You go to stand up, packing up your books into your bag, “I am not helping you seduce a girl, I don’t care if she’s a senior.” You look back at him, “And I didn’t have a crush on you! Where did you get that dumb idea?”

“Your mom told my mom,” he mentions, “You know how they love to gossip.”

It was true, your mothers both were quite the little gossips. But the fact that you did, indeed, have a crush on Mark was something you never told your mother. It was a secret you would keep to the grave. He would never had let you live it down.

He goes to follow you as you descend the stairs, leading out to the Quad. You continue to bicker with him as you make your way back to your dorm hall, and it feels all too familiar. Arguing with Mark is a sport, and you were a pro.

“I do not support using manipulation to get someone into bed with you. Just tell her you want to fuck! What is with guys and zero communication these days, Jesus.” you huff.

“If I do that she might think I want more than just a one time thing!”

“Then communicate that you just want to hookup!”

You reach your dorm hall and just as you are about to slide your ID and open the door, he slides between the door and you.

“Ok, listen, what if I sweeten the deal?” he reasons, “How’s $10 and some free booze?”

You sigh. He has always been stubborn.

“How about $30?” You’ve always been stubborn too.

He rolls his eyes, but holds out his hand, “Fine, deal, be there at nine, okay?”

You grasp his hand in a firm handshake, “Can’t wait,” the sarcasm drips off the words.

It would certainly be an interesting night.

By the time you got to the frat house at ten, the party was in full swing. People littered the front yard, and as soon as you walked into the house, you were met with heat and smoke. You’d never been to this house before, but the kitchen was easy to find. Grabbing a beer from the coolers lining the wall, you cracked it open, wondering where Mark was.

You wandered around a bit before seeing a head of blonde hair coming toward you.

“Hey, you made it! I honestly didn’t think you would show up,” he chuckles, a beer in his own hand.

“I came from the booze and the grocery money,” you grin at him. You never were a lightweight, but the taste of alcohol already begins to loosen you up a bit. “So, where’s this girl you’re trying to make jealous?”

“Not sure yet!”

You whip your head around to look him in the eye, “What? You don’t have someone specific in mind? Why am I even here?”

He laughs, guiding you through some of the crowds of dancers, “I’m trying out a new technique. You know how chicks get jealous.”

Your face morphs into disgust. Of course he thinks like that.

“Have you always been this shallow? This inept?” you ask.

“Hey, look who’s following along with my plan, eh?”

You huff, and take a few more swigs of the beer in your hand. Mark stays next to you, nursing his own drink, watching you curiously. It’s been so long since you’ve really talked to Mark, yet the bickering dynamic feels like you talk everyday.

It takes a few moments, of drinking and taking in the sights of the party around you, before you come to a decision. Taking the last gulp of your last drink, you muster up your courage and look at Mark.

“Alright, I’m starting to get tipsy, I'm kind of curious to see if this will work. Find your target, let’s go.” you tell him.

He grins, “Give me ten minutes, I’ll meet up back here.”

With that, he’s off, and you go to grab another drink. At least there’s booze, you think. You find your spot back along the wall and try to find Mark in the crowd. Eventually you spot him, talking up a pretty brunette, who isn’t as into it as he would probably like.

Watching him flirt relentlessly with the girl brought back memories of high school. Of hugging the wall at parties, watching him flirt and go for the girls in other classes. It was odd watching the shy neighbor boy transform in such little time.

Whenever you crossed paths with Mark nowadays, it always made life interesting. While he constantly drove you insane, you also felt nostalgic for the simple high school days of dumb arguments.

While you are caught in your own thoughts, you don’t notice Mark approaching you. He swoops his arm around your waist, taking you on a trip through the crowd. He nuzzles his nose next to ear, sending a chill down your spine.

He whispers in your ear, “Let’s find a place to start the show, eh? She’s hanging with her friends in the living area.”

He leads you through the house, finding a bookcase in the back of the living room. As he spins you around to lean against the bookcase you catch a glimpse of the brunette he had been talking to. You can’t help but stare at her, as she takes quick looks over at the two of you.

Mark moves in close, his arms coming to rest on either side of you, “Hey,” he catches your attention, drawing your eyes from the girl, “if you get uncomfortable or something, let me know.”

Was Mark being caring? Since when? Wasn’t this the fuckboy that would tease you for paying attention to your studies rather than finding friends? Wasn’t this the very man using you to get in another girl’s pants?

You nod, catching the dark look overtaking his eyes. He glances down at your lips, before leaning in, capturing your lips with his own.

A warm feeling spreads through you, as he grips your hips and you bring your hands up to encircle his neck. His mouth is warm against your own, and you find yourself not hating this as much as you thought you would.

You’re still curious, wondering whether the girl is looking over at you, but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes and check. Might as well just live in the moment, right?

You don’t know how long it is before Mark is removing his lips from yours, but as you open your eyes, he rests his forehead against yours, staring directly into your eyes.

“Not bad, neighbor,” he comments, sending you a smirk that could probably leave you swooning if not for your pride.

“Ditto,” you reply, through it comes out as a sigh, as you still try to catch your breath.

He pecks you on the lips once more before fully retreating from you, “Time to see if the plan worked,” he mentions, stepping away.

You clear your throat, suddenly sobering up, from both the alcohol and Mark. “Right, go get your girl.”

He throws you another smile before sauntering casually in the direction of the brunette. You look away, suddenly feeling sick at the thought of watching him hook up with someone.

You weave your way back into the kitchen and manage to score a glass of water. You aren’t really sure how much longer you want to stay. You vaguely recall Mark owing you $30, but you don’t care all that much.

Deciding you want to leave, you abandon the glass, walking towards the door. Why, surrounded by so many people, do you suddenly feel so alone?

You stumble out of the frat house and into the cool night. It’s quieter out here, despite the background sounds of the bass and the occasional holler from someone on the lawn.

The walk home is sobering, to say the least, as you make your way back to your dorm. It’s never been fun walking home from parties, especially when you are all alone and not very drunk anymore.

You pass other parties, and crowds of people laughing, but you just want sleep, you just want warmth. Coming out tonight was not your finest idea, but you’ve found when it comes to Mark, things always shift from what you planned.

You aren’t sure why you suddenly feel so sad. Is it because Mark is so easily able to find someone to spend the night with? So easily able to talk to others and make connections?

Deep down, in your traitorous heart, you fear it isn’t Mark’s people skills you want, but Mark himself.

You sputter, shaking your head to yourself. That’s crazy, you think. It’s Mark.

By the time you make it back to your dorm hall, you finally accept that it probably is just Mark. You shove that down though, suppress it. That would never happen.

You laugh to yourself, walking up the steps to the front entrance. Blaming all these ridiculous thoughts on your tipsy mind, you don’t hear someone calling out to you until they get closer.

You spin around, only to find Mark staring at you from the sidewalk. He looks out of breath, like he just ran here. He climbs the steps, two at a time and before you know it, he’s standing in front of you, winded and with a wild look in his eyes.

“Mark?” you ask, confusion evident in your tone, “What are you doing here?”

He’s still breathing heavy, and looking at you like he doesn’t even know the answer. “The girl- she- I don’t know, I can’t stop thinking about- and then-” he pauses, taking a deep breath, collecting his thoughts.

He tries again, “She wasn’t what I was looking for.”

Your eyebrows knit together, “Oh, so you want me to help again? I’m kinda tired-”

“No! No, I-” he cuts himself off again, “Jesus, I’m so bad at this. I finally got her all alone and it didn’t even matter. I didn’t feel like kissing her, or doing anything.”

“Why?” you ask quietly.

“She wasn’t you.”

You are startled at his words. Shell-shocked. You wonder if you already made it up to your dorm, and were fast asleep, dreaming up this whole situation.

He steps in front of you, taking your hands gently in his.

“I know we have fought for as long as I can remember.” he tells you, “But kissing you felt right. Tell me you didn’t feel the same. Tell me to stop and I’ll go; I’ll never speak to you again.”

“I-” you can’t find words as you watch him lean closer and closer.

Because the truth was, something about it did feel right.

“How much do you hate me?” He asks, tilting his head as you feel his breath dance across your lips.

“Not as much as I want to,” you whisper back, pressing your lips to his, letting the emotions of hate and anger flow away has he kisses you back.

You think back to the days of your adolescence, when your mother would tease you about your bickering with Mark, saying you acted like an old married couple, joking about how eventually the two of you would start dating. You used to think your mom was crazy. But now, with Mark leaning into you, and fireworks exploding in your chest, you wondered if she’s been right all along.

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deans-haunted-baby · 4 years

Text

Why I don’t think Michael will side with Chuck in the End

I know there’s theories floating around that Michael may have been deceiving the Winchesters in 15x08. Its true we have no idea what his agenda is or if he’s that interested in playing nice with TFW. They did trap him in Hell with their half brother for a long time so he’s not exactly warm & fuzzy about that. However this isn’t the psychotic, sinister version of Michael from the alternate universe nor is he the same steel cold obedient soldier back in 5x22. He’s changed massively. There’s more humanity in him now than he’d like to admit. In spite of what we’ve seen from Michael in the past, I don’t think he’s interested in harming Sam and Dean, at least not currently. And I just can’t see him running to Chuck, not after receiving all that alarming information. So I'm going to present the following reasons for why he probably won’t turn on the boys. Number 1 being the most important. Adam Milligan.

For however it happened the archangel bonded with a human. The formally resurrected 19 yr old illegitimate son of John Winchester. All those years spent in the cage these two managed to forge an understanding between one another; an unusual strong connection. They're friends and allies. Michael listens to and respects Adam’s opinions even if he doesn’t always agree. Allows him freedom to control his own body. And despite being the ruthless warrior that he still is, Michael’s been shown to be much more merciful, patient and compassionate compared to when the boys last faced him. Because of his relationship with Adam, Michael’s developed a newfound appreciation for humanity similar to his aunt Amara aka the Darkness. He truly cares about Adam and protects him. Like at the diner when he smote Lilith for posing a threat. Then instead of killing the witnesses in front of Adam, Michael chooses to spare their lives by erasing their memories. He even defended Adam to the Winchesters further demonstrating that he does consider his feelings. That’s beyond the person he was when he told Dean “Adam isn’t home right now” all those years ago.

So I have no doubt Michael will do what ever means necessary to keep Adam safe from Chuck, who is hell bent on destroying the world which Adam is part of. Even if that means siding with some old enemies to take him down so be it. As the old saying goes “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”. Of course that doesn’t mean Adam shares any love for Sam and Dean. Hell no. He made that pretty clear at the diner. He has every reason and right to hate them after ten years of failure to save him from Hell. Every reason to make them suffer. Adam deserves to be pissed at the Winchesters and the world for doing him dirty like that. But...for better or worse, Sam and Dean are still his brothers. Its for that reason and that reason alone that I don’t see Michael threatening to go after them later. He knows Adam wouldn’t want that unless (he really is a scheming crazy person deep inside) Michael’s friendship with him is just smoke & mirrors which I don’t believe for one second.

And Adam’s been presented as being a very forgiving, kind soul despite all the pain he’s been through. Revenge wasn’t even on his mind the moment he got out of that cage. It was human food on top of wanting to go back to school or get a job. Meaning he cared more about getting back to some sense of normalcy. Then when Castiel and the Winchesters pulled him and Michael into their crisis, Adam was willing to hear their side and attempted to convince Michael to help them. Why go through that whole charade if Adam just wanted Sam and Dean hurt or dead? They had every opportunity to double-cross TFW while being held captive but instead Michael & Adam chose to put aside their grievances, at least for the moment, and give the Winchesters something useful. Now whether or not the spell actually works (I doubt it’ll be that simple) is the mystery. However this definitely not the last time we’ll see these two characters which brings me to point number 2. Jack Kline.

This is a big one. Why you ask? Well lets go over that scene in 15x08 where Castiel shares his memories with Michael and Adam. There was so much foreshadowing in this moment (from Michael/Adam’s return down the road, to Michael’s unavoidable confrontation with Chuck and finally his eventual encounter with the young Nephilim himself) based on how that scene was shot and edited. The primary objective was Michael watching Jack die at the snap of Chuck’s fingers and reacting to it along with all the other nasty business his dad’s been doing behind the scenes. Talking didn’t seem to be enough to get through to Michael and neither did antagonizing him. His stubbornness and arrogance wasn’t surprising being he is the Prince of Heaven and has a blind idealized devotion for his father as his loyal son. So in order to open Michael’s eyes and get him to see the truth, Castiel focuses his energy on the most ruthless, evil act Chuck has ever committed. Murdering his grandson and Michael’s nephew.

Doing this Castiel shatters that righteous image Michael has had of his father forever because Chuck/God (father of all creation) is suppose to be the embodiment of light, love, hope, peace and benevolence. He created Michael to be his champion of humanity; the guardian protector of Heaven and Earth. Its Michael’s sworn destiny to defend good against evil. And Chuck crossed the line, several in fact. He represents everything Michael was born to oppose. Trying to mess with free will, attempting to destroy everything he created all out of spite because the Winchesters refused to play his games anymore. But above every horrible thing he’s ever done there’s no sin greater than taking the life of his own flesh and blood. A child born of a human (God’s greatest creation) and an archangel (Michael’s younger brother Lucifer whom, despite their conflict, he loved immensely). That is unforgivable. No matter how much he may still love him, Michael has absolutely no reason to trust his father; not after all those centuries of deception. And Chuck has shown he has no regard for human life let alone the lives of his own family which Jack’s death all represents.

Now Michael chose to leave at the end of 15x08 after giving our heroes the spell to trap Chuck and showing them the door to Purgatory. But what’s interesting about that is his reference to the Darkness. It’s unclear if Michael even knows Amara has been released and neither Dean or Castiel ever mention it. I wonder if he can sense her energy. So the question is where is Michael going? Is he planning to seek her out or leaving to confront his father (which I doubt since Chuck is preoccupied with Sam and Eileen at the moment)? What we do know is Michael and Adam can’t avoid the inevitable. They’re as much apart of this fight as TFW whether they like it or not. It all depends on which side Michael ultimately chooses. Will he align himself with the Winchesters or is he going to be on his own side? It’ll be interesting to find out when the show returns in 2020! And I’ve been thinking a lot about what Michael’s interaction with Jack will look like when they’re finally reunited because if its anything like what we saw with Gabriel (or better) that could be a good sign for Sam, Dean and Castiel.

Out of all his paternal family members Jack’s so far met his biological dad (that didn’t go over so well), his grandfather (that didn’t go well either) and one of his archangel uncles. He’s yet to encounter his great aunt Amara the Darkness or his most powerful famous warrior uncle. The original Michael. Those are interactions I’d very much like to see happen before the show ends. But for arguments sake lets say Michael does consider turning on the Winchesters. Not that he would or might but what if he still has doubts. Jack could be TFW’s best chance at gaining Michael’s trust, cooperation and alliance. He could tell his uncle that Castiel and the Winchesters had been raising him as their own; protecting him since he was born. Things I’m sure Michael might appreciate. Or Jack could confide his biggest regret (accidently killing Mary Winchester) as a means to bond with Michael and help him understand the Winchester brothers a little better. Reminding Michael and Adam of redemption and forgiveness. That any pain the Winchesters might’ve caused them has no comparison to what Jack took from Sam and Dean and yet they’re still a family.

It’ll be fascinating to see how they go about the dynamic between these characters considering what happened with AU Michael in S13 and S14. Jack may be a little hesitant of his uncle at first and Michael may be hostile (since he probably knows Nephilim are forbidden) yet curious or a combination of both. Or maybe their first encounter may be a bit softer than expected what with Adam in the middle of things. Michael could become very taken with Jack and protective of him. He was very distraught after seeing those horrifying images of his father killing his nephew. And I could see Adam being their ice breaker (oh the comedic possibilities of this!) he’s a very laidback, likable chill dude not to mention Sam and Dean’s half brother. Yah that little detail is probably going to be the most shocking for Jack since Adam’s never been a blip on the Winchesters’ radar.

Moving onto point number 3. Heaven. It’s dying which is why Jack was manipulated into creating new angels to power it up. After all the damage done by Metatron, Lucifer and the Entity it’s left in ruin and without proper leadership. We know as of right now Michael has no intention of going back there. He’s severely withdrawn since learning his brothers are all deceased and probably feels like a failure and a fool. But none the less he’s got unfinished business back home. By the time Supernatural ends someone’s got to be left in charge of things up there, my moneys on either Amara or Michael since he’s the heir to the throne of Heaven. It would be a fitting ending for either of them. Maybe Michael will somehow restore Heaven’s power (with Amara and Jack) and reopen it for the all the earthbound souls. Or maybe in the aftermath of the final showdown against Chuck, Michael will just hang around with Adam and whoever else is left standing on Earth. And finally we reach my last point number 4. Amara.

What do we know about Michael’s complicated history with his aunt? Not much either than the fact that he and his brothers were ordered by Chuck to seal her away centuries ago; with no intention of ever releasing her. Something tells me Amara wouldn’t harbor any kind of affection for Michael, not after what we saw with Lucifer. And we have no idea if she still shares that same connection with Dean as she did in S11 (though rumor has it they got an upcoming storyline together in the back-half of S15) or if she’s even interested in lending a hand in the Winchesters’ business of saving the world. However Amara has been shown, like Michael, to have developed a love for humanity. She’s having the time of her life vacationing all over and taking advantage of her freedom. I don’t think she’d be too thrilled knowing her brother plans to destroy all he’s accomplished and he’s not exactly her favorite person to be around. She’s completely done with Chuck’s crap. He’s alienated her to the point where she wants to be as far from him as humanly possibly.

And if she does still view Dean in a favorable light after what he’d done for her, that could be what persuades Amara into helping TFW. Michael would have to be an absolute moron to attempt an attack (if he decided to make them his enemies) if Sam and Dean manage to get the Darkness on their side. Its canon that she’s far more powerful than the archangels which is why it took all of them combined to lock her away. That said I don’t think Michael’s character is being set up as a villain. We already had AU Michael, been there done that. Nor do I see him and Amara at odds specifically because of their deteriorating ties to Chuck. Could their reunion be pretty heated and violent? Possibly. Its hard to say where they’ll stand with each other when they cross paths, there’s some bad blood between them for sure so they’ve got some family issues to sort through. But as of right now, what’s happening is bigger than both of them and their angst. Ironically Michael and Amara got more in common with each other than they realize.

Both of them were abandoned, lied to and used by Chuck on top of being imprisoned for many years. And they actually care about the world they're currently inhabiting which Chuck wants to end. That’s got to be worth more to them than some old discrepancies in the past. Enough for them to want to put aside their differences and work together to stop Chuck. Imagine how awesome this storyline would be, former enemy family members coming together because of a common threat they’re all facing. Michael and Amara along side TFW, that’s a pretty badass team. I WANT THIS. I want to see Michael get to be a good guy. Become an ally and the honorable hero he was meant to be. Saving humanity whom he now cares about with his human best friend. We deserve to see this version of Michael come into fruition before the show ends.

Anyway those are my thoughts on the Michael/Adam situation. I hope it comes true or most of it anyway. I know Supernatural is building up for a big finish. It would be nice if they didn’t waste two characters we haven't seen for ten years. I want to believe that they have plans for Michael and Adam that don’t include killing them off for shock value and/or villainizing them at the last second. They deserve better than that. 15x08 was a perfect example of how to utilize and develop these characters into the plot. They have so much potential and story left to tell. Lets hope the writers know what they’re doing.

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danddymaro · 4 years

Text

Trusting | Steve Rogers x Reader

PT 1 : Wanting compromise

A/N: This will be a 3-4 Part. Quite enough to fit a bit of drama I suppose. This starts off in Civil war goes through to Endgame.

warning this one is lengthy,

Word count: 4224

Wanting compromise

“ Steve,” (f/n) said firmly, staring at the said man straight on, her (dark/bright) eyes filled with determination, unwilling to back down, being just as stubborn as he had taught her to be.

Fiercely glaring with stern (e/c) orbs, she held her chin up as she spoke to him, attempting to push down everything else that wasn’t reasonable understanding, stepping over her own sentiment to meet him halfway and go just beyond that point if it was necessary.

‘I’m willing to do anything...anything to stop this,’ She thought to herself.

She was more than willing to come to a comprise, hoping he’d do the same, desiring nothing more than to have him return the same effort.

" You need to stop this...Stop before it escalates any further...before it gets any worse," she said soberly.

‘If that’s even possible…’ she thought to herself, adding onto her words, but keeping the snide thought silent.

‘No...I’m not here to play the blame game...’ She rationalized with herself, knowing that it would only invite more resentment to surface if she stayed on those cracking grounds.

" You don't want to do this…" she continued on lowly, cautioning him for what was to come.

‘I know if I can get through to him, then it won’t come to it... We won’t have to fight,’ She reasoned, knowing that the only other way to stop him would be with force.

But she detested the thought, just thinking of raising her hand at him made her insides bubble. However, she willed herself, knowing that there were only two roads she could take....

‘Whatever it takes, I can’t be the one to back down,’ she thought with a harsh swallow.

If it wasn't possible to reason, she wanted to show him she wasn’t afraid to stand in his way, that she wasn’t willing to let him just trample over her and everything they had built.

Because It wasn’t just about her...

It wasn’t just about Bucky either...

There was just too much on the line, so much to lose to simply let him walk away.

‘Not like this,’ she thought stubbornly, knowing every action in which he had taken had only caused a greater rift between every member of the once united Team.

And it would only get worse if she didn’t take action,

‘We were once a team...And there's still plenty to salvage,’ she thought with hope, accompanied by a nod of assurance.

‘we won’t come to it...To the fall of the Avengers, ‘

It hadn’t ever crossed her to believe they’d ever be on opposing sides, almost as though they'd never been friends... partners… and perhaps something more.

‘ No No No No No, ‘ she chanted, ‘I’m here as just a friend,’ She reminded herself, because any other way would complicate things.

Any other way would bring the rotten bitterness she’d been trying to swallow down right back up.

"You know that I’ve always had your back,” She told him, “I always have… and will continue to,” she added, speaking earnestly. “ I'm always at your side... so please, don't treat me like the enemy," she pleaded him, her eyes softening, her mask of hard ice melting for a moment to give him sight of her true inner turmoil, exposing it for him.

“I don’t want to fight you,” she said quietly, the words not reaching him, but with his focus on her, he could read her lips as they moved with each uttered word.

“I wouldn’t ever want to hurt you,” she added, forcing up a smile, her hand going out to him.

“So Please,” she said to him, her eyes glittering with hope, “Please take my hand,” and stilly, he stared at her open palm.

He stared at her gloved hand, his fingers twitching as they responded to the action that had been repeated so many times in the past.

He had become used to taking it, after training, after sparring, after battle...

But this time all he did was stare on, motionlessly.

She took a hard swallow after clearing her throat of the knotted ball formed within it, " Steve, “ She started, her voice reaching him once more, sounding sturdier. “I've known Tony for the longest,” she continued on, her ties with the other man being just as strong as the ones she believed to have with the blonde.

“He sees you as a friend. And I know at times he can be hard-headed,” she mused, “ But let’s face it… you are too,” she added with a soft chuckle being forced out from within her chest.

The two of the most important men in her life were hard-headed mules, which in itself was a struggle. And it was even more troublesome when the two often clashed, causing her to be pinned in between.

She was often stuck choosing between the man who was, and had been her best friend for years, and the man who she not only had formed a solid bond with, but also coincidentally admired and loved.

“But regardless of that, I just know he'd do whatever it takes to help you out,” she told him, nodding, believing it to be true. “ I just know he will...because he’s your friend.” She assured him. “And I’m your friend too,” she reminded him.

“So is Nat, “ she added with a secure nod. “And we’ve all been through too much together to let this cause us a rift.”

“ Right now, you have to understand that things aren’t looking good for Bucky.“ She explained to him, hoping he’d turn over. “And I know you love him. I know how much you've struggled to get him back. We understand. We really do...but you have to come to reason as well.” She said to him. “ That if anything, it’s better to stay together. Because that way, we can get through this. Trust me,” she urged him, stepping forward a step, still holding her hand out for him to take.

“ We can do this...together,” she assured him.

Hearing her out, his jaw tightened, something she caught sight of and with a shuttered breath, she took a step back, her hand coming to her chest.

She retreated shaking her head at him as her eyes rounded, being stunned by that one simple twitch.

She then strayed her gaze away from him, growing disillusionment notable in her (e/c) eyes, because he had already made his mind.

He had already known what he’d have to do and was willing to push forward...

He had found it easier to face her, all the while she’d simply wasted her breath, strummed on false hope, naive enough to think she could break through to him.

The decision which would have torn her apart was one he had already made, taking the path to no return.

“ I see, ” she said softly, drawing more space between them.

“You know...You're standing in front of me, holding your shield so tightly within your hand. Your muscles are all tensed... Steve, I can see it…” she informed him, “ And if you could only see the way you look at me right now... you’d understand why it hurts…” she told him. “After all, it’s the same way you look at your enemies…” she said with a dry chuckle rousing out from her to mask the hurt residing within her chest.

“ I would know... Because I've stared at you enough times to know. I’ve been at your side enough times to have memorized it,” she said sadly. Looking around, she let (e/c) colored her eyes gazed over to see their friends fighting among themselves, the entire airport a battleground, ensuring more destruction than what had already let loose.

“ This is tearing us apart, but I guess you already know that, huh?” she told him, a seldom smile slowly growing over her face as she lived through their final moments of peace together.

“ And as much as it pains me,” she shuttered, her body running cold with what she was going to say, “ I’ll have to stand in your way, " she warned him, lifting her hands from her sides, her feet elevating from the ground, levitating her body off the concrete by only a foot, ready to confront him straight forth.

“ Because I have no choice if you don't back down,” She informed him.

His stubbornness, though at times annoying, was a trait she had admired. She had always found respect in his steadfastness, his devotion in what he believed to be right, something she wished she had more of, something she’d striven to be like.

What made him a hero wasn’t the power he had gained from the enhancing serum, it had been his determination, and much more that only Steve Rogers had. His will was just as powerful as his fists, able to go against greater powers than his own in order to protect, that was his strength.

‘Damn it...’ She thought to herself, because even then, all while she was ready to go against him, she found herself admiring his drive, stunned by his love for his longtime friend as well.

Far from within, she began to question whether or not she was on the right side,

‘ I’d wreak havoc for you,’ She thought to herself, understanding him, uncertain if she was doing the right thing by opposing him because she too would go against the world to save him.

But then she remembered Stark, she remembered his words, his own reasons.

His own pain...

“Just answer me this...” she breathed, “Why?” She questioned him. “ Do you not trust him?” she asked. “Does his word mean nothing?”

“Steve...Are we not friends?” She asked him.

‘What did we do wrong?’ She wondered. ‘Just say anything... something,’ She pleaded, having received nothing but silence from him all along.

“ I won't let anything happen to Bucky, “ He informed her, making those his chosen words.

“ I won’t take the risk,” he added, “And even if I have the whole world going against me, I have to do what’s right,” he informed her. “ Because even if someone is telling me that something wrong is right...even if the world is telling me to move... ” he continued on, drifting off towards the end, securing a direct lining to connect his blue eyes to hers as he continued on, “ No...I won't move,” he said with assertiveness.

“I won’t be the one to move aside,” he told her. “I’m sorry (f/n),” he told her, his lips pressing together tightly afterward.

She had her answer, but shaking her head rapidly, she still couldn't accept it,

“There’s another way!” she persisted.”You know there is!” she said out loud. “we can come to an agreement!’ she argued frantically, nodding her head furiously.

“Don't you get it? There is nothing to compromise!” he fought back, “ I can't trust anyone else to do this. I can’t trust him, and I can't trust -” he stopped himself mid-sentence and bit his tongue, holding back his words.

His fists tightened at his sides, his face whipping itself towards another direction, anywhere else but her way.

He hadn’t wanted to say that last bit, and yet, it slipped past him.

And then it dawned on to her…

‘of course...’ Of course, it all made sense.

Her chest tightened in pain, making her breath hitch.

She immediately tightened her own jaw, teeth clamping tightly together, grinding against each other harshly to the point it became painful. “ Finish what you were going to say... go ahead…” she rasped, feeling her blood boil, bubbling like scathing water.

She urged him to continue, but instead, he stayed silent, not willing to repeat his words, nor continue on where he stopped.

“ You don't trust him...and you don't trust me either, “ she said finishing for him, her hands balling. "Is that it?" She asked him, her voice rising with viciousness.

It stung, striking her right at the center of her chest when he revealed that he had no trust in them. It pained her to know he hasn't been filled with the same sentiment she had been, because she had been certain they had grown to be true family, one where they all fit together.

She HAD been convinced of that.

“You don’t trust me…” she repeated, feeling a stabbing pain within her chest. “I’ve taken so many bullets for you,” she reminded him, “ I was so sure you’d do the same for me,” she admitted.

“ But no...of course not, " she murmured to herself.

‘You’re such an idiot... a complete moron,’ she berated herself. ‘He never had...’

"....But you trust her right?" She asked through clenched teeth, venom spitting out from her mouth. She couldn't help but show the bit of green that had festered within her. She tried to press it down the entire time, but his sudden revelation made the thought of HER rise...

“You trust her enough to have her sneak all your gear out for you, right? “ she asked darkly. “You trust her enough to talk to her, don't you?” she continued on. “ You trust her enough to meet up with her, and conspire," she spoke with envy, her fists tightening to the point they shook.

He looked at her with surprise, and he asked himself what Sharon had to do with anything, what role she played in the woman's agitation.

"I ask you one final time Steve," she said with a long breath, her heart gearing up, it's pace fastening as she already knew his reply.

His blue eyes shut tightly seeing her so visually hurt, but even then he couldn't back down. He rolled his shoulders, steadying his stance, and it was a wordless signal showing his final decision, one he hadn’t been considering to change since the start.

One she hadn’t been able to accept...

Her vision blurred slightly and with a frustrated grunt, she quickly swiped her arm over her eyes.

"I hate you...I hate you so much," she rasped, rising up higher before shooting towards him like a quick bullet, her right arm clenched back.

From her mouth words she'd never dream of uttering to him with wholeheartedness had escaped. However, as she claimed to hate him, it wasn't the case.

The female avenger spoke out of heartbreak, out of betrayal.

She had spoken as a wounded woman...one who felt betrayed and scorned.

No…She didn't hate him, she had just become disenchanted with him, the pedestal she had placed him on breaking down as though the foundation had been nothing but cheap wood.

Had their friendship been nothing more than a cheap mess?

Had she been stupid enough to think there was anything more there as well?

And of course, there was the question that haunted her, ever so present in the bitter moment,

‘Why Sharon...Why her?

Why not me?’

As her right fist struck him, he fell back, rolling into a safe land, his own right hand taking hold of the ground to stop himself.

His blue eyes glared right at her, sternly looking towards her with confusion, absolutely stunned.

Without hesitation she went towards him again, her other fist colliding at the star center of his shield as he raised it up before him.

His right leg was placed further in front of his body while his left stayed behind him being dragged back as a result, digging into the cement ground as she pushed forward.

A cry of frustration left her as he pushed his body forward, adding a jut to the vibranium made guard in his possession, successfully pushing her back.

Falling back herself, she dragged along the hard floor before wordlessly lifting herself from it, her rage-filled face unaffected by the aftermath of his opposing strike.

With a mocking grin, she cackled out with laughter, her head inclining back as she displayed dark amusement. She felt her eyes sting as little pricks jabbed and prodded at her already wounded heart,

“Don't hold back now!” she cried out, running straight towards him.

The damage had been done, by that point it was an insult to pull punches, and she saw it nothing more as cruel mocking.

‘If you see me as an enemy then fight me as one,’

" I always trusted you! " She said angrily, her eyes beginning to glow, going from their normal (e/c) glimmer to a glowing white brilliance.

Beneath his mask he showed obvious concern, his eyebrows creased with worry as he looked on at her,

‘Somethings not right,’ He thought to himself, knowing it wasn't normal for her eyes to change.

It wasn’t normal for her to have such physical force either, something he’d noticed from the start.

" I Looked up to you! " She continued on, pushing him back with a straight kick, snarling as he once again blocked it with his shield, pushing her back as he had before.

Stumbling, she fell back, both her tightened fists slamming onto the concrete ground, cracking the floor with two craters.

And yet again, he was left stunned...

Stepping back, he eyed the formed hallows with caution.

She choked up, hating the wetness that fell from her two eyes, and with another harsh wipe to them, she forced herself up. She stood up with stiffened muscles, breath coming out from her parted lips in harsh pants.

With quick steps she went towards him, her left arm sweeping over to him, and with that a blue, cylinder container came from behind her, shooting towards him with incredible speed.

Whipping his own arm right he sent the object hurling another direction as it bounced off the metal shield in his hold.

Immediately afterward, knowing he’d parry the attack with his guard, her right arm whipped aside, picking up the large metal piece once again, and aimed it back at him.

Mercilessly hitting its target, it struck him right at his midsection, a huff leaving him as it knocked the breath from him.

" I thought you cared, " She seethed, watching him be hit, both her arms raised high above her, a strained heave sounding out from her. He could hear her struggling, pushing herself until she tore herself from within,

“ Are you alright? “ he asked her, placing a hand at her upper back, kneeling down with her. Nodding enthusiastically, she beamed up at him, giving him a dismissive wave, “ It’s nothing,” she assured him, not convincing him in the least bit, and he was about to argue back, but another voice cut him off.

“It’s not ‘ nothing ‘,” Tony interjected, the metal armor he wore giving away his approaching figure before he had even spoken.

He then offered her a hand, his brows creased with concern as he lifted her up, forcing her to stand on wobbly legs. Leaning onto him she gave a deep sigh, (f/n) looked over at Steve, watching as he raised himself from his crouching position as well.

“Ok, so it’s not just ‘nothing,’” she admitted sheepishly.

“Meaning?” Steve said with a question filled tone.

“Meaning,” Tony started, “ She’s not able to go on all day like you can,” he informed the first avenger. “ She can overexert herself if she’s doing too much,” he continued on, making (f/n) grimace.

“I know it’s stupid,” (f/n) admitted, smiling tiredly, “ Don’t get me wrong,” she said strengthening her back, “I can pull my own weight, “ she assured him, “But i have my limits,” she admitted.

“I’m just as human as anyone else, “ she reminded them, “Just with a special talent,” she added.

“One that I have to control... or it could very well kill me,” she murmured with a dry chuckle, the last bit meant for herself, something true and grave, but amusing to her.

" Dammit! I loved you!" she said out loud, her voice ringing clear as day as she said it.

And at her final words, his eyes widened, growing as large as they could as even she seemed surprised at her confession.

It had been caused by the slip up she had made in her frustrated state, something she hadn’t wanted him to know, especially not then when she begged him to stay.

She hadn’t wanted him to know, not when he clearly showed he hadn’t felt the same either.

She felt pathetic, even moreso as she caught sight of the look he gave her.

He stared at her like she was a kicked dog like he felt bad for her.

But it made sense to him now...

All the missing pieces fit snuggly and he began to understand many things.

“(f/n)...” he started, stopped by her frustrated cry.

With a snarl, she shook off the look she wore, erasing the traces of heartache worn over her. Instead, she dashed towards him again, her face shifted to anger, the only feeling powerful enough to hide everything else.

But as she advanced, she was stopped by a barely visible wall created by red magic, causing her to be frozen just a couple of feet from the blonde man.

Staring dead on she swallowed hard, seeing him gazing right at her, his eyes hardly blinking.

Her (e/c) eyes then moved to find the Chestnut haired enhanced female, glaring at her as she felt her red magic begin to shell over her body, coaxing over her. Wanda's fingers moved against each other, her face filled with focus, teeth pressed together as she encased the other woman in her red aura.

Resisting, (f/n) put her own power into use, gaining function in her movements in a manner of seconds. "Little red.. you're a long way from being able to take me on," she warned her friend.

She had always used the loving nickname given to the other female as a show of care, but in her agitated state, she spat out the words with vice, making it seem like it held a disgusting flavor in her mouth.

Wanda Maximoff was undoubtedly a hell to be reckoned with, and (f/n) was sure she'd rank the strongest of the Avengers... but that was only with more years to go, only with more time. unfortunately, the teen had yet to fully manipulate her powers, and the elder could see by the pained expression formed over her that she was exerting far too much energy at attempting to stop the (h/c) haired, more experienced telepath.

(F/n) had years of practice in hand, born with the talent, so it was only natural.

“You can’t possibly believe you can, Right Red?” (f/n) said lowly.

"I know," Wanda replied back, half-heartedly smiling as she looked on towards the other woman with sympathy, because all in all, they were friends. Not only could she see the visible pain within her (e/c) eyes, she could feel it.

There was a ridged darkness to her typically kind face, one that made her seem like a completely different person.

But there was no mistaking her...

Wanda was certain it was the same (f/n), simply muddied by darkness, too hurt to see with anything but hazy eyes dimmed with spite.

"... I'm only drawing time," Wanda revealed.

With a short gasp (f/n) looked back towards the first Avenger as he threw his shield at her, striking her right at her chest, and with its force as well as Wanda's own she was sent back.

Sighing and wiping off the sweat formed over her forehead, Wanda trained her eyes on the First Avenger as he held up his hand, waiting to grab his shield.

" You hesitated too long," she complained.

"I know," Steve replied back with a heave, worriedly looking back to where the woman had crashed.

Enveloped by cold metal the (h/c) young woman wheezed, partially wedged through a parked plane’s outer wall. Tears bubbled from her eyes, the pain induced wetness seeping into her parted mouth, the taste-making her huff.

“I...I have to...” she groaned, using both her strength and power to free herself, ungracefully falling to the cement ground in a filthy heap. she continued to weep as she lay there, her eyes glued to the man that stared back her.

From afar, Rogers stared over to the woman, clenching his teeth as he saw her lay still.

“You said to not hold back,” Wanda told him, “ Take your own advice,” she offered him, making him nod, pressing his lips together with a tightened smile,

“ Yeah your right,” he replied, tearing his sight from (f/n).

It was hard to do so, and it pained him, but he did.

"come on," he said afterward, beginning to run off, "we have to leave," he told her and as Maximoff watched him pick up speed, she trailed behind him.

Meanwhile, (f/n)’s hands balled tightly over the cement ground, shaking as she tried to force herself up.

Her legs wobbled as she walked forward, her eyes glued to the fleeing man, and only him. Her left hand then went to clutch her aching heart, right at where he struck her, knowing she’d hold the pain far into her future.

Her vision was hazy, unable to see fully well, but even then she trudged forward, her (e/c) colored eyes glued to the blue blur.

“It hurts...It all hurts...” she said to herself, slowly moving, her hand still resting at her heart.

Next : Getting through it

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advena87 · 4 years

Text

OC study!

This is OC game that which I found >> HERE <<

You can play it in the traditional way or in my way because I decided to modify it a little bit. Because, let's face it, if you have your OC then you would like to answer these questions. Even if no one cares, just make those answers for yourself to have ready headcanons for your OC. It can always be useful when you writing.

So choose a few of your OCs (I suggest no more than three but it’s up to you) and answer the following questions for them. For variety, make a portrait of them in any picrew that you like (I chose this one) and write a few words about them - who they are, for what fandom they were created, why you chose them for this presentation.

Then tag a few people who will enjoy making these answers. I also tag a few people at the end, but I know it's big and time consuming, so if it's too much for you, please ignore it and forgive me for bothering you with the tag.

So let's get started!

All my OCs come from my fanfic Granda (only in Polish but someday I will translate it. Somehow…). The action takes place in the witcher universe (mainly games, but also books), after the events of the Wild Hunt. Probably, at another time I will do it for my OCs from another fanfic, but for now I introduce you three men from Granda.

Aiden - he is not entirely my OC, he is mentioned in the Witcher 3, but considering how little we know about him, I had a lot of freedom in creating him. So I treat him like my OC. And I love him, he is my precious boy. Aiden is a witcher from cat school, and for some time he was considered dead after his path crossed with Jad Karadin/Bertram Tauler and his hansa.

Vadim Ormond from Ellander - After The Thanedd Coup, he was mage at the court of duke Hereward. For unknown reasons, the duke banished him from the principality and no one knew what was happening to Vadim. Unexpectedly, the sorcerer appears at the headquarters of the new Brotherhood of Sorcerers asking for support in the investigation of the coup d'état in Ellander.

Solomon Landrau - he is a mage from Lan Exeter who has extensive connections in the capital. Although the townspeople fear respect him, he doesn’t have a good opinion. Unofficially, he is rumored about his shady business.

questions below

1. Is your oc easily bothered by things?

Aiden - it depends. Aiden most of the time is rather carefree and solves all problems by violence or ignoring them until they bite his ass.

Vadim - No. Vadim is very difficult to upset or distract. He is usually focused on his goals and prepared for all adversities. But trust me - you don't want to piss him off.

Landrau - He is the thing that bothered others.

2. How easily does your oc make friends?

Aiden - he usually makes a very bad first impression, but he gets better on closer acquaintance. Despite the fact that he is a witcher, it is easy for him to make new friends. I mean, he made friends with Lambert. This is a high bar.

Vadim - he knows how to make people like him and consider him a friend. He is very sociable, polite and eloquent, but that doesn’t mean that his friendship is sincere.

Landrau - let's say it's much easier for him to make enemies.

3. Does your oc go beyond what they have to do or do they usually do just enough work to get by?

Aiden - He always says that he will do only as much as necessary and nothing more than that. But he always does more.

Vadim - Sometimes he does more, sometimes only the necessary minimum. It depends who he does it for.

Landrau - When Landrau does something extra, it means it's time to be scared.

4. Is your oc respectful of others?

Aiden - He respects those who respect him. He is always polite to those who treat him good. Those who don’t respect him don’t end well.

Vadim - Vadim is a diplomat, he always treats others with respect, which doesn't mean he really respects them.

Landrau - I don't know if there is a thing or a person he would respect.

5. Is your oc imaginative or more down-to-earth?

Aiden - Carefree on the one hand, and very down-to-earth on the other.

Vadim - Down-to-earth

Landrau - He firmly sees the world in his own way, but I wouldn’t say that he is imaginative. His mind just isn't working properly which distorts his perception of reality.

6. Is your oc comfortable with themselves?

Aiden - like most witchers, he has some problems with that, but usually he is comfortable with himself.

Vadim - Very comfortable with himself.

Landrau: Ugh… it depends on his mood swings, but most of the time he considers himself superior.

6. Does your oc plan things and stick to it or do they make it up as their go?

Aiden - he is a witcher from cat school. Does he look like a guy with a plan to you?

Vadim - Oh, he's definitely a guy with a plan. And that's a good plan.

Landrau - Yes, he has plan. Simply these plan is... weird.

7. Was their life eventful before the start of the story, or was it more dull?

Aiden - eventful

Vadim - eventful

Landrau - dull

8. Do they have the habit to insult other people?

Aiden - Most of the time

Vadim - Usually not, but if it offends someone, it is a high-class insult

Landrau - He doesn't bother insulting other people, he just destroys them.

9. Would your oc be described as “the life of the party”?

Aiden - Yes

Vadim - Yes, but in a completely different way than Aiden.

Landrau - No

10. Are they critical of others?

Aiden - No

Vadim - It depends

Landrau - YES

11. Do they like art? what is their favorite type (paintings, songs, fashion, etc)?

Aiden - He likes music. He has good musical hearing and a good sense of rhythm, also he can sing quite well. He likes obscene sailor songs the most.

Vadim - he appreciates art and likes it very much, mainly painting. He also sketches a bit.

Landrau - he lacks sensitivity to understand and feel art properly. He likes beautiful objects, but they don’t arouse any emotions in him.

12. Are they more accepting or more controlling of the people in their life?

Adien – Accepting

Vadim - Vadim accepts a close group of friends and people he considers a family. He doesn't pay attention to strangers until he has a purpose in it. Then he starts controlling them because he wants to use them.

Landrau – Controlling af

13. Is your oc a good listener?

Aiden - When the people he cares about are speaking - yes.

Vadim - Oh he is an excellent listener. And he can read between the lines. He will hear more than you want to tell him.

Landrau - He listens perfectly when you talk about something that interests him.

14. Are they opinionated or more willing to change their minds?

Aiden - Aiden is as stubborn as a mule. Even when he understands his mistake, he can still insist on it because he doesn't like to give up.

Vadim - He is flexible, if someone has a better idea, he sees no problem to use it.

Landrau - If someone thinks he is always right, why would he want to change his mind?

15. Are they the kind of person who’s always on the defensive?

three times no

16. Do people like hanging around them? Do they have a positive, friendly energy?

Aiden – yes, most of the time

Vadim - He is like a chameleon, if he wants to be friendly and positive then he will be.

Landrau - NO.

17. Is your oc a procastinator? if they are, what’s an example of how much?

three times no

18. Do they tend to panic in certain situations or are they more calm?

three times calm

19. are they vengeful?

Aiden - Most of the time, yes

Vadim – Vengeful af

Landau - Yes

20. What are some skills your oc has a talent for and what are some that they worked for?

Aiden - he is left-handed and this automatically gives him the advantage in sword fighting. He worked hard for his agility, he can climb and jump like a parkourist.

Vadim - he has a lot of personal charm, knows how speak to people, he is a natural diplomat. He had to work hard to become a wizard, he had no natural talent for magic. He had to study a lot.

Landrau - he is intimidating and knows how to benefit from it. He is also a magical self-taught person.

21. Are they more socially awkward or socially confident?

Aiden - it depends on the company, but usually he is socially confident.

Vadim - socially confident af

Landrau - socially awkward but he can deal with it.

22. What is something really dumb that irritates your oc a lot?

I don't know if this is really dumb, but this is what undoubtedly irritates my OCs

Aiden - he hates when someone commands him or tells him how to do something. Even if these are good tips he just doesn't obey.

Vadim – he doesn’t believe in gods and he is annoyed by public manifestations of faith.

Landrau - he is a pedant, he doesn't like dirt and mess.

23. Do they tend to see the good in people?

three times no

24. What does it take for your oc to trust someone?

Aiden - if someone proves his loyalty, if someone helps him in need without expecting favors.

Vadim - he trusts the facts, so if you are honest with him, there is a good chance that he will trust you.

Landrau - he trusts only himself.

25. Do they have a lot of mood swings?

Aiden - it happens to him but not often.

Vadim – no

Landrau – yeah, when he is in bad mood you better not approach him.

26. Do they like to be the center of attention or do they prefer to be in the background

three times background but from diffrent reasons

Aiden - because of bad experiences he prefers not to be center of attention. Witchers and especially witchers from the cat school are not liked, so he avoids attention.

Vadim – he can do very well when he is in the spotlight, but he prefers to be in the background because then it's easier to implement plans and manipulate others

Landrau - he usually stays in the background because it favors his shady business but he likes when the focus is on him.

27. Do people think they’re pretentious?

Aiden – no

Vadim - he can sometimes give such an impression

Landrau - YES

28. Is your oc detail oriented or do they focus more on the big picture?

Aiden – detail

Vadim - big picture

Landrau - detail

29. Which highschool movie stereotype would they fit best?

Aiden - The Rebel.

Vadim – hard to classify. Paradoxically, he is both a Loner and a School Diva.

Landrau - The Misfit / Outcast

30. are they good giving advice?

Aiden – oh god, no

Vadim – yes

Landrau - don't even try

31. Which one of the 7 deadly sins fit your oc more? do they see it as a flaw?

Aiden – envy and pride. He sees envy as flaw but not pride

Vadim – wrath. He thinks that he can turns his flaws into advantage, so no. Everything can be a tool for him.

Landrau – in fact all except maybe gluttony and sloth? His morality is highly debatable, so what is a flaw for someone can be an advantage for him.

32. Is your oc more likely to keep their feelings to themselves or to share them?

Aiden - He speaks about his feelings only to people he trusts and there are not many of those.

Vadim - he keeps it to himself

Landrau - what feelings?

***

I tag @marbienl13 @metalhead-nerdling @mothelia @witcher-not-quitter @1orweth @inkprintedfox @queenxxxsupreme @dravenxivuk

but only if you want to.

and also anyone who sees it and wants to do it. Please tag me if you do it, let me see your OC study!

#oc meme #oc game #oc study #oc question #picrew #aiden #witcher aiden #my oc #granda #fun

27 notes · View notes

capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

Playing Pretend (3)

Requested by @calkesttiss | Prompt:

Hi! I just watched isi & ossi (rich girl and poor boxer boy AH) on netflix and now i cant stop thinking about cal and fake dating. Do with that what you will 😂

Cal Kestis x Reader

1 | 2 | Next: Part 4 | Masterlist

3 of ?

The next morning, you’ve slept in. The first thing your puffy eyes see was Tazha sitting by your dresser stool and touching every single bottle on the table. You sat up but that still didn’t get her attention.

“Since when have you been here?”

Tazha turned her head to you, she exclaimed as if she was surprised to see you awake.

“Well, good morning, sunshine!”

You lay back to your bed but Tazha prompt stood up, marched towards you and pulled away the blanket from your body.

“Ohhh no, you’ve been asleep for far too long!”

Your eyelids shot up and flicked to Tazha.

“What time is it?”

Tazha snatched up the clock on your nightstand and showed the time right in front of you. You groaned and rubbed the bridge of your nose.

“What’d you do last night?”

She wasn’t expecting you to smile and scoff through your nostrils. Tazha tilted her head in confusion as she studied your expression.

“Crazy night, I’ll tell you more in a bit,”

You stood up to go to the bathroom and wash your face. By the time you came back out to rejoin Tazha, you narrated everything that happened right after your conversation via the holotable ended. She is the only person who knows your nightly escapades. You mentioned your run-in with your new friend.

“Well, it sounds like you two had fun kicking the asses out of those muggers,”

“He was probably judging my fighting techniques. I was still sloppy,”

Tazha stands up from your bedside.

“Come on. Our dads are downstairs, they’re probably working on the party that you told me about. Get dressed.”

The conversation was indistinct but audible from your bedroom in the second floor, both you and Tazha arrived in the living room where her father and yours were discovering over business matters. You didn’t last long in the living room, you dragged Tazha away to the smaller dining hall where you usually make your own food. She sat by the barstool on the center island, watching you rummage and fix up something to eat.

“Why don’t you call one of your cooks to do it for you?”

“No, it’s fine. Not everything I need has to be done by someone else,”

When you settled down on a seat opposite Tazha, she immediately saw the firm expression painted all over your face.

“What have they talked about so far, Tazha?”

“I’ve only heard much,”

“Like what? Start from the very beginning,”

Tazha started off with the part that obviously her family is invited to your father’s party, she got to the better and relevant parts—one of which is that she had picked up a name from their conversation earlier while you were asleep.

“They’ve invited the Ithrels. Your dad said something like sponsor or something,”

“He’s made the Ithrel family his sponsors,” you deduced.

“You make it sound like that’s a bad thing,”

“Just a feeling. Thanks for covering for me, Tazha,”

Today was a busy day for your parents. You were left alone in the dark as you watch them confer with one another and with different people via the living room holotable. As a child, it was something you never understood, it was also the reason why you felt estranged from them—despite giving you what you could ever want and need or both.

Why did they always choose to speak with projections of people through a machine over their own daughter in the flesh who is always watching them from the door?

There was very little interaction between you and your parents. Perhaps the only interaction you’ve had so far from either of them was your mother calling for you to go to the atelier room. When you got there, five people who introduced themselves as designers lined up in front of you. Beside them was a mannequin wearing a dress of their making.

“I had them called here because I want you to pick out a dress for your father’s banquet.”

None of the dresses seemed to impress you. You approached every single one, each designer either smiled at you or stiffened from nervousness—probably because your approval was their prize, a ridiculous competition.

Your fingers felt the fabric of each dress, your hand slid down to the skirts’ lengths, and then you move on to the next dress. They were beautiful indeed. But you’ve no need of them, other girls could’ve felt like royalty for a night in dresses like those. To spite your mother, you twirled to face her and give your verdict.

“Sorry, but I believe I have more than enough dresses for a party like this,”

You crossed your arms. Wrinkles appeared on Yasina’s forehead upon hearing your answer. The designers were just as confused themselves.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Mom, there’s so much dresses in my wardrobe that I practically need a warehouse! I think I have enough to choose from in my closet instead of this. Send them back. Have them make a dress for you if that makes you feel any better,”

It all happened so fast for your mother, you walked out and headed for your room, realizing that there isn’t much to do in your own house.

“They’re probably too busy to even care that I’m gone,” you muttered it to yourself with great scorn, lousily tying your hair in a messy ponytail and then proceeded to march out of the house.

You were on your way to downtown again. You put on the hood of your poncho and suddenly you were one of the common faces in the crowd. The destination was your favorite pub, back in the Tipsy Taun-Taun.

The Balosar barkeeper greeted you as soon as you entered.

“You’re early,”

“Whatever, I’m a paying customer.”

“Just sayin’.”

He said he’ll be whipping up a glass of Merenzane Gold for you, but you stopped him there and ordered a glass of Meiloorun Juice instead.

“Aww, so the little princess got a hangover?” the Balosar jeered.

“No, I didn’t!”

The keeper proceeded to make your drink, you searched for a seat; the place is so much quieter in the day than in the night. Nonetheless, you enjoyed it either time of the day. When the drink was ready, Balosar called your name and you stood up from your table. As you were about to reach for the drink, another patron—a Devaronian—snatched it and finished it in a single gulp. It all happened in a flash that you still took a minute to process what he just did.

“That was my drink!”

“Tab’s on you, missy,”

You whipped out your blaster from the flap of your poncho, you clicked the safety and pointed the barrel at his nape. His chuckle sounded more like a grumble.

“Ooh, I’m scared. What’s the little princess gonna do with a big boy’s gun?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, ass-wipe?”

That struck a chord on the hulking Devaronian, he swung his arm and flicked away the blaster from your hand. He raised his arms in a charging attack at you, you dodged soon enough that his clenched fists landed on a table, partially shattering it in the middle; you got your blaster back and attempted to aim the blaster at him, but your hands were trembling so much that the shot merely grazed his waist. He howled in pain but immediately shrugged it off.

You were doing well in dodging the enemy’s blows, swinging his left and right arm alternately which you cleanly ducked from.

“Stay still and let me claw that pretty little face!” he roared.

A large glass bottle shattered on the back of the Devaronian’s head. The impact wasn’t hard enough to render him unconscious, although it stunned him enough to lower his defenses. When he turned around, much to your surprise, it was Cal.

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” he casually said despite the mood of the predicament.

“I strongly agree,”

Once again, you two were a tag team. It was now two against one. Normally, a Devaronian thug could take two humans no problem. But apparently that urban belief betrays the Devaronian. He was bombarded with your kicks, using anything around you as a weapon against him, Cal wasn’t using his lightsaber but his fists and he threw them so hard that you could hear the impact land on the enemy’s cheek.

Cal was the one to deliver the last blow. The Devaronian fell to the floor, the barkeeper leaned over the bar to check the knocked-out patron.

“Yep, he’s out cold, alright!”

“Thanks… again,”

“You’re welcome… again.”

A brief pause between the two of you, and the Balosar is just there standing awkwardly.

“Let me buy you a drink,” you gently tapped Cal on the chest with the back of your hand, then you turned to the Balosar. “The last one isn’t on me, understood?”

You ordered the same drink for the two of you. Like last night, both of you talked over anything that you could think of.

“Where did you learn to fight?” he asked after taking a sip.

You stammered, “Oh, uh… I had a trainer but only for a short while. Then I picked up some more moves by myself—it’s been like that ever since,”

“Hey, there’s room for improvement,”

“Was I sloppy?”

Cal shrugged and avoided the question by chugging all of what’s left of his drink. Your lips pursed a smile. You finished yours as well, you tossed a credit to the barkeeper.

“Follow me,”

“What?”

“Come on!”

Both of you left the bar and Cal followed you to the backstreets one block away from the pub. You scaled the buildings and ended up in the rooftop.

“What are we doing here?”

“I was hoping you’d teach me, since you fight better than I do.”

“It’s gonna take some time,”

“I don’t care,”

Cal saw that there is no other way in getting around with you. You were your own brand of stubborn, but he felt that you got spirit. The rest of the day was spent with Cal training you basic combat moves in case of street fights and cantina brawls like yesterday and today.

“So, where you from around these parts?”

Your fighting stance softened when he asked that question, you knew you had to make up the vaguest possible answer quick.

“Oh… a little far from here,”

“Do you hang around here more often?”

“Yeah,”

He stopped asking questions and continued giving you pointers on how to dodge, take the upper hand, and exploit an enemy’s weakness. The session lasted until dusk, you didn’t even notice the time pass. You hurried to leave the rooftop, leaving a confused Cal watching you run away from his vantage point.

“And there you go again,” he muttered under his breath.

“Boo-woop!”

“Yeah... I guess she’s kinda cute,”

A small smirk curled at the corner of his lip.

35 notes · View notes

cinaja · 4 years

Text

Before the Wall part 9

An acotar fanfic that takes place during the time of the War. For the summary and the entire fic, click here

Disclaimer: The world and the characters in acotar belong to sjm

---

When Rhys opens the door, the first thing he notices is that he isn't alone in his room.

His hand shoots to his dagger, he mentally checks his shields. In the Illyrian camps, a few of his fellow soldiers liked ambushing him and the others and Rhys trusts the High Fae of the Hewn City no more than the Illyrians.

"Who's there?", he calls into the room and pulls the door shut behind him.

"Me", a soft voice replies and Az steps out of the shadows.

Rhys curses. "Shit, Az. You want me to have a heart attack?"

"Your father can't know I'm here. He forbid me from seeking you out."

Rhys frowns. "Is everything alright? Are you..."

"I'm fine", Az says, but there are shadows in his eyes that weren't there when they last saw each other. What is his father forcing him to do? Az continues, "It's you I'm worried about."

"Why?", Rhys asks, a cold knot forming in his stomach.

"Your father. He feels threatened by you - by us. You are almost as powerful as he is, and with us as your friends... He fears you might try taking the throne."

Rhys nods slowly. He should have seen it coming. He pushed his father too far - their argument a week ago was likely the last straw.

"What about you, then? Mor and Cass? Is he after you too?"

Az shakes his head. "I'm too... useful." He practically snarls the word. "He won't harm me. And Mor is safe on the Continent. I don't know why, but that emissary, Miryam, has taken an interest in her and your father won't risk crossing her. Cass might be in danger, though."

Rhys nods, relief and worry warring in him. "What can I do?"

"Keep a low profile", Az says, "You father will likely send you and Cass to battle at the coast. Whatever you do, don't draw any more attention to yourself."

Without another word, he vanishes, leaving Rhys alone in his empty room.

----

Three days after Drakon's council voted in favour of joining the war, their decision remains secret, both to their allies and enemies.

Drakon sits next to Sinna and watches another group of soldiers try out for the army

With the looming war, there are plenty of volunteers who wish to fight and support Erithia's standing army. (An army that, on its own, is rather impressive already. Not the biggest on the Continent, not by far, but well-trained and sizeable enough to be significant in this war.)

"That one's good", Sinna comments and gives an approving nod to a soldier who just completed his trial flight.

Neither Drakon nor Sinna are strictly needed for this, but as Prince and General of Erithia, they are expected to watch at least a part of the proceedings. Besides, they both have a personal connection to one of today's participants.

Steps approach and Drakon turns around to find his emissary standing behind him. The male bows and says, "Ravenia sent another letter demanding we choose a side. And the Alliance wants to send an emissary. They heard you are raising your armies."

Drakon sighs. "Can you delay them again? We only need two more days."

"Not without reason. You know the Queen."

Yes, Drakon does. He thinks of the statues on the mountain where the Seraphim honour their dead, of the family he lost.

"Why does she even want to marry me?", he asks, "Honestly, I don't get it. She doesn't even seem to like me - which I take as a compliment - and I never made a secret of my opinion on slavery."

His emissary just shrugs. "I don't know, Your Grace. But I could...", he hesitates. "If I let it leak that you have trouble controlling your council, it could work, but it would..."

"Make me look like an incompetent fool in front of the entire Continent?", Drakon asks wryly, "Do it, then."

The idea doesn't sit well with him, but at least the impression won't last long. Because in two days, if all goes well, they will take the Callian Pass from Rask. It is one of the only passages across the mountain range that divides the Continent and easily one of the most important strategic locations in this war. Unfortunately, it has belonged to Rast for the past eight centuries.

So they are really going to need the moment of surprise on their side.

Drakon has already written the letter declaring war on the Loyalists and asking the Alliance to be allowed to join as well as a rather personal and insulting note addressed to Ravenia, but they won't be sent until the last moment.

His emissary bows and leaves. Drakon turns back to the try-outs.

"Have I told you already that I love your plan? Taking the Callian Pass from Rask by attacking without warning", Sinna says, "Insane, but sneaky. Hard to believe you came up with it."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence", Drakon mutters.

Truth is, he doesn't really feel good about invading Rask without warning. It's not the honourable thing to do. But, as Sinna told him in her usual brisk style, honour doesn't win wars, especially if your enemy has none.

They watch the next would-be soldiers in silence, until Sinna says, "You know, now that we are officially going to war, we should probably try to cut any unnecessary drains to our resources."

"Such as?" Drakon has a bad feeling about where this is going.

"Such as having our spies look for that slave girl you talked to once. If I didn't know better, I'd say the rumours are true and you have a thing for her."

Drakon glares. "She was a child and completely terrified of me. Do you honestly think..." He cuts himself off and shakes his head. "I just want to thank her. Because, you know, she's the reason I'm not married to Ravenia right now."

He can imagine the girl won't be terribly interested in ever seeing him again. But Drakon needs to know she's alright. After that, he's going to leave and never seek her out again.

"Well, regardless, looking for one half-Fae female without even knowing her name is both hopeless and a waste of resources."

"Fine", Drakon snaps, "I'll lower the priority of her case." He nods towards the try-outs. "How long until it's Nephelle's turn?"

"Two more", Sinna replies, suddenly tense.

Nephelle wants to join the army - wants to fight for her country and for human freedom. Badly.

But the harsh truth is, she would never have even made it through the examination that precedes the try-outs. She is too short, her right wing too small to pass the physical requirements. So Sinna asked Drakon to pull some strings for her lover. (Abuse of power, technically. But Nephelle is his friend and it isn't a big abuse. Still morally wrong. Why does he always end up in these situations?)

"She's going to make it", Sinna says, a stubborn set to her jaw.

Drakon nods, even though he knows Nephelle's chances are slim. It's not that he doesn't believe in her - Nephelle is probably the most strong-willed Seraphim he ever met - but Sinna told him that she never managed to reach the requirements in training. Not once.

She still wants to try, though.

Drakon watches as the a group of competitors exit the ring and claps politely. Nephelle steps into the arena with the next group. She holds her head high, wings drawn tightly to her body.

The beginning of the try out goes fine. Nephelle hits the centre of the target each time, surpassing the requirements by far. But then, the main part of the try out begins. Flying two miles, carrying weapons and a Seraphim shield.

Nephelle is barely able to take off with the shield. Once she is in the air, her smaller right wing can't support the weight and she keeps almost falling out of the air.

It is almost painful to watch. Because Nephelle refuses to give up. Even as her feet almost brush the ground, even as everyone but her has long finished, she refuses to give up.

"Come on", Sinna whispers.

But Nephelle doesn't make it. She doesn't even reach the end of the race. Two rounds before the finish line, her right wing gives in and she falls to the ground. Sinna is on her feet in an instant, rushing for her.

Nephelle just drops her shield and weapons and walks out of the arena, wings lowered and dragging over the ground behind her. Sinna runs after her.

The arena is silent. No one laughs. Not a single person.

Drakon wishes he could run after Nephelle and Sinna as well. But he has to stay at least a moment longer. He is the Prince and can't just leave whenever he feels like it. So he remains to watch one more group. Then, he thanks all participants and excuses himself.

He finds Sinna and Nephelle in a small room behind the arena. As he enters, Nephelle just withdraws her hand from Sinna's.

"All I want is to fight for what I believe in and I don't even get a chance!"

Nephelle is crying, he realises with a start. He doesn't think he ever saw her cry before, not even when some people whispered 'cripple' behind her back. (Not that anyone ever called her that twice, at least not when Drakon or Sinna were around to hear.)

Drakon knocks on the door and the females dart around to him. He smiles at Nephelle.

"If you ask me, you'd be wasted in the army, anyways", he says.

Nephelle doesn't smile back at him. She looks so... hopeless. "Yes, maybe I can wash the soldier's clothes. That's about all I'm good for."

Sinna opens her mouth to object, but Drakon beats her to it, "Come on, now, you don't believe that. You know more about nature and geography than anyone else and I've seen your drawings. You're brilliant."

"So I'll just draw our enemies to death?"

"No”, Drakon says, "I was thinking you'd be exceptionally well-suited to being a cartographer. For that, you need some prior experience because, believe it or not, it's actually harder than wielding a sword, so we've had a hard time finding people for it. Maybe you can help us out."

Nephelle blinks at him. Then, slowly, she begins to smile

"Yes", she says, "I think I'd like that."

"Great", Drakon says, "saves me the headache of finding anyone else to do the job."

It's good to see that sometimes, his plans actually work.

----

Miryam barely manages to talk to Jurian the day after the battle. Well, they talk plenty, but only about the camp organisation.

So after spending the next night trying to figure out the 'Language of the Universe' (which makes Continental politics look easy by comparison) she invites herself along on a patrol she knows Jurian is leading.

They aren't exactly alone, but the nine soldiers wo accompany them are kind enough to keep their distance. Miryam with her Fae heritage can still hear their conversation, but she doubts they understand what her and Jurian are talking about.

"Did you know that Mor started training?", Jurian asks.

Miryam nods and leans forward to pat her horse's neck. "She told me. She thinks that you're an excellent teacher."

"I could teach you, too", Jurian says a bit too casually. She`d bet that he only brought up Mor to suggest training again.

"It's a nice offer, Jur, but I neither want nor need to fight."

Miryam does carry a dagger, but that's just to keep Jurian from worrying. He hates that she doesn't know how to defend herself, but she hates the idea of killing another person. (There are a few people she'd make an exception for, but she doubts that she'll ever be in the position to kill Ravenia or Artax.)

"We're in the middle of a war", Jurian says drily.

"And I'm a healer. And a member of the Alliance's council, an emissary. There are several ways to contribute to the war effort and not all of them involve wielding a sword."

Jurian sighs. "I know that. You think I don't know? And I don't want you to fight in battles, but... learn to defend yourself. Just in case." When Miryam still hesitates, he adds, "Please."

How can she say no to that?

"Alright. But just the basics." At least it means she gets to spend more time with Jurian.

"Great. Let's meet at dawn each day. One hour."

Miryam smiles in spite of herself. "You really did plan that, didn't you?"

"Never go to battle unprepared. I even had two back up plans prepared." Jurian laughs. "You agreed more quickly than I thought."

Miryam smiles. Cauldron, she really missed him. (If she's being honest, it's not the camp that has become home, but rather the man besides her. She wonders if that's what love feels like.)

At that moment, she notices a movement in the bushes next to them. She lightly pulls at her horses' reins to get it to slow down and slides out of the saddle. Something is hanging between two trees, something that's moving, but she can't quite make it out.

"What's that?", Miryam asks.

Jurian frowns. "I can't see anything."

For a second, Miryam thinks that this is her magic playing tricks on her, that she once again sees something that no one else can see. But then, she remembers that she can see much further than Jurian thanks to her mixed heritage and he likely just can't make out the movement she noticed.

Without another word, Miryam rushes off into the bushes. She can hear branches snap behind her as Jurian follows her. After a few steps, she reaches a net, hanging between two trees. Inside, a falcon is caught, its feather a beautiful shade of burnt red.

"It's a trap", Jurian says from behind her, "Likely set up by some peasants."

Miryam nods and draws her dagger. Carefully, she approaches the falcon.

"Easy", she whispers, "I want to help you."

"You'll get your eyes hacked out", Jurian warns.

But the falcon holds perfectly still as Miryam reaches out, although its amber eyes remain fixed on the dagger as she carefully begins to cut through the net trapping it. As more of the strands come loose, the falcon begins to sway. It screeches and tries to flap its wings. Hastily, Miryam holds out an arm for it to hold onto. (Not her best idea. She's sure the falcon doesn't mean to hurt her, but its claws still cut through her sleeve and into her arm.) Miryam grits her teeth and cuts the last bit of rope

"What now?", Jurian asks, "Its wing is broken, it won't be able to fly or survive like this."

Indeed, the falcon's left wing is hanging in an odd angle. Miryam bites her lip. The idea of this bird never being able to fly again is horribly sad. (When Miryam was younger, she dreamed of growing wings and flying far away.)

"I'm taking it back to the camp. Maybe I can heal it."

She shoots the net a mournful look. What if the person who set is up is close to starvation? She finds a gold mark in her pocket and puts it on the ground next to the ruined net.

Jurian shakes his head. "You're incorrigible. Here." He pulls off one of his leather gloves and hands it to Miryam. "Put that on or you won't be able to hold a blade tomorrow for training."

"How thoughtful." Miryam grins at him.

She puts on the glove and lets the falcon climb on her other arm. She can tell the bird is trying to be careful, but it still hurts when it pulls its talons out of her arm and hops on her other hand.

"It must have been trained", Jurian says.

Miryam is sure it isn't. But it's better if Jurian thinks so, so she just nods and turns back towards their horses, the falcon surprisingly heavy on her arm.

----

Rhys didn't think he'd be this nervous. After all these years of training, after everything he survived in the Illyrian mountains, he never thought his first battle would scare him this much.

Cass is nervous, too. Rhys doubts any of the other Illyrians in their group notice, though. Because Cassian is all brave words and laughter. He jokes around and makes light-hearted comments. But Rhys knows Cass well enough to see that the louder he is, the more nervous he feels deep down.

It is not Rhys who leads this assault, but Devlon. And although Rhys knows that this was meant to be a slight by his father, ha thanks the Cauldron for it.

His first battle. He could not imagine being the one leading it.

A whistle sounds, warning them that a group of enemies is approaching.

"Remember to keep your head down", Rhys whispers to Cassian, Azriel's warning ringing in his ears.

Cass presses his lips together in annoyance. Rhys can see he hates the idea of not fighting to his fullest, of risking their companions' lives in doing so. But he nods.

From their waiting place on the mountain side, Rhys can now see the enemy approach, walking through the valley in neat, organised lines. They wait until the soldiers are well below them. Then, a horn blast sound, giving the sign to attack.

Rhys flares his wings and leaps into the air.

His first kill is a High Fae male from Spring, who looks almost surprised as he collapses. (It is not really his first kill, of course. He killed plenty during the Rite. Still, battle feels different. More chaotic. Both more and less horrific at the same time.)

Rhys drops deep into battle calm. Any emotions become distant, irrelevant. But even as he kills his way through battle lines, even as his power is a roaring ocean beneath him, he keeps a tight hold on his magic. Doesn't use it beyond basic shielding.

The first minutes go well. The Illyrians outnumber their opponents and they have the moment of surprise on their side.

But then, the tide starts turning.

The Hybern Fae have magic - more than their spies reported and far more than the Illyrians. One High Fae lifts his hand, grey power flares and a dozen Illyrians turn to dust. Rhys creates shields, uses his magic to protect as many soldiers as he can. But still, he doesn't use it to smash their opponents to dust. Still, he uses nothing but his sword to attack.

Do not draw attention to yourself.

Around him, the corpses add up. Loyalist Fae, but just as many Illyrians.

Cassian makes the decision a second before Rhys does.

His siphons flare, red power blasting a hole into the enemy lines. A second later, Rhys follows. He stretches out a hand and darkness leashes out. Soldiers start screaming.

It is over in the span of minutes.

Over the corpses, Rhys exchanges a look with Cassian. Both of them are wide-eyed and panting.

Rhys spends the following hours helping with the wounded, collecting the dead. He wonders how many of these soldiers might still be alive if he had acted sooner, if he had not tried to avoid his father's wrath. He tries to memorise the faces of the dead. He is sure they will haunt him for the rest of his life.

And silently, he swears to never let his fear of his father stop him from doing what's right again.

----

Miryam names the falcon Kiel, because that's what its cries sound like. (Helion tells her that the name means 'free' in Old Landian and Miryam nods like she knew that already.)

It is the middle of the night. Miryam once again lit her candle and sits perched over the book. Kiel is watching her, his amber eyes glowing in the dark. Miryam feeds the bird a strap of meat she got from the kitchen.

"What do you think?", she asks, "Should I do this?"

"Kieeel", the falkon replies, which could mean anything ranging from 'Why are you asking me, you stupid human' to 'I want more meat'. Miryam feeds him another strap of meat and gets up

"Wish me luck", she says. (At this point, she truly hopes that animals understand her. Otherwise, she is making a complete fool of herself.)

The spell is easy, the book claims. Well, it is still second grade, because the book's former owner deemed first grade spells too simple to write them down. Miryam has memorised the words, the instructions. The book claims that for a spell as simple as this, no one with witch blood would need anything but the words, but Miryam would rather not bet her life on that so she follows the instructions by the letter.

She takes out a bit of chalk and uses it to draw a circle on the ground, symbols lining its edges. Then, she puts up four candles and adds a few bone shards for good measure.

She steps into the circle and lights the candles. Then, she begins speaking.

The words taste strange on her tongue, burn in her throat. All around her, the strings start glowing more brightly. New ones appear, wrapping around her.

And suddenly, Miryam understands why they call it 'Language of the Universe'. Because it is the language of the strings and each word Miryam speaks makes them move, like she is giving them orders. Her power is thrumming through her, light dances through the room and creates a net wrapping around the tent.

It is beautiful.

But Miryam doesn't mean to actually set up a ward around her tent - it would be hard to explain - so she starts reciting the second spell, the one that's supposed to break the wards. Indeed, the net begins to loosen, lines withdrawing with her every word. It is far easier than she thought. Just like that, the wards are gone.

But her power still rises. The fabric of the tent starts flapping on a fathom wind, Kiel shrikes.

Miryam panics. She tries to call her power back, to clamp down her hold on it once again, but it won't obey her. The flames of the candles flicker higher, until they almost reach the tent's ceiling, trapping her in a ring of flames.

"Stop", she whispers, "Please, stop."

It doesn't. Miryam feels like she's standing in the middle of a river, her magic tugging at her like a strong current and she cannot make it stop. She pushes against the magic. It pushes back and for a moment, Miryam thinks that she's going to lose this battle.

But then, her magic gives in.

It rushes away from her in a wave, further and further until Miryam can breathe again. The candles flicker and go out. She lets herself slide to the ground.

Her head hurts, but at least she doesn't feel like her body is on fire. At least it went better than that first time. Miryam is almost relieved.

Until shouts start ringing out all through the camp. She scrambles to her feet, stares at the circle on the ground, undeniable proof of what she did.

She grabs the candles and bones and shoves them into a bag that she flings under her bed. Hands shaking, she puts the book back into its hiding place and wipes away the chalk. Then, she rushes out of her tent.

Soldiers are running around outside. Miryam catches one of them by the arm. "What happened?", she asks

"I don't know, but there was this tremor. Really creepy." He shakes his head. "Magic really is a curse."

A good summary. Miryam lets him go and runs off to the centre of the commotion, which is where she'll likely find Jurian. Indeed, he is standing in the centre of a group of soldiers, trying to calm them. When he sees Miryam, he waves her closer.

"Thank the Cauldron, you're here", he whispers, "Someone shattered our wards, the soldiers are panicking. I need you to help calm them."

Only then does Miryam notice that the strings forming a net over the camp are gone.

Oh Mother. She did this. And the worst part is, it wasn't even hard.

----

A/N: Let me tell you, trying to keep to canon is hard! Like the fact that Drakon is looking for Miryam for three years without ever finding or meeting her (which I'm having a bit of a hard time explaining, but hey, just about a year to go)

Well, anyways, this part was rather slow. Next time: Rhys has trouble with his father (what's new), Mor gets used to life on the Continent and Drakon goes through with his plan

@starswhoanswer

#miryam #jurian #drakon #morrigan #mor #before the wall #the war #fanfic

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pokemagines · 5 years

Text

thorns. (dimitri x reader)

@akumas-stuff: “can i request some after the time skip dimitri angst from an s/o that went the black eagles route ?? 💕”

a/n: this rlly isn’t dimitri x reader/byleth it’s more uhhh unrequited love dimi x reader/byleth and implied el x reader/byleth.... felt like giving a lil more introspection into that scene at the end of the crimson flower route. h*ck yeah its sad hours boys !!!! --mod touko

SPOILERS FOR THE CRIMSON FLOWER ROUTE !!!!

tw: violence

the rain pours down on the battlefield, chilling you to the bone. conditions are miserable, with some of your most elite soldiers having to retreat in order to lead away the ambush by the beasts that had suddenly appeared on the battlefield. the sword of the creator strikes true even despite the conditions, cutting through anything that happened to be in its path, determined to see dimitri one last time.

(later, hubert would confide in you that one of those said demonic beasts was actually your old friend dedue. it stung thinking of how loyal he was, up until the bitter end.)

you hear edelgard’s shouts as she pushes through the fray, following you towards dimitri. her heavy armor makes her sink into the mud, slowing down her pace. ignatz, your adjutant, implored you to wait up for the other troops who had been commanded to go in after the more sturdy units had taken out the first line of defenses. his advice falls on deaf ears, as you continue to cut your way across the battlefield, unbeating heart fluttering when you think of confronting your old friend here.

this was nothing like facing claude. claude knew when it was time for his final act in fodlan, and surrendered after a rough battle with his alliance forces. he had more cards to play, a birthright in another kingdom that he had been banking on returning to if all failed here. he exited gracefully, promising to return the kindness that was sparing his life with a pained smile and a quick kiss to your knuckles. you knew that wasn’t the last you’d see of claude, no matter what he said.

dimitri, on the other hand, had nothing else to lose. he had lost his family, his friends, and was on the verge of losing his kingdom, he had no other choice but to fight. either him or edelgard was going to die here, there was no other option. the two siblings were unyieldingly stubborn -- el had come too far in her beliefs to give up now and dimitri was playing the last card in his sleeve.

one last enemy soldier stands between you and dimitri, and ignatz hits him between the eyes before you have the chance to strike.

dimitri’s eye meets yours, and you feel frozen in place. white-knuckling the sword of the creator, you take a step up to the last piece of ground he was holding. it was over already, even dimitri seemed to know it. all around him were the sounds of his troops breathed their last.

“was this what you wanted?” dimitri grits his teeth, “we could’ve carved our own path together, professor.” the way he spits your title stings like no wound could ever. “but you chose the way of a tyrant, how many graves had you had to tread over to get to this point?”

“it’s no use dimitri,” you know arguing with him would get you nowhere. “we both have different ideals...” you swallow the lump in your throat, ignatz’s call that edelgard was approaching alerts you that time was running out. “i wish... well, it’s too late now. we will see who’s ideals carry them through today.”

dimitri strikes first with areadbhar, so strong you lose your footing. his fighting style was so different from the boy you met all those years ago. it’s almost funny, you think, back then you were so close to choosing the blue lions house. had it not been for bernadetta timidly asking if you would pick her class because hanneman scared her, things could’ve turned out so much differently. one simple action had changed the course of history forever.

every blow from dimitri’s lance is one that is aiming to kill. he pays no attention to any wounds that befall him when you get a stab in, and instead keeps bringing down his lance with all of his might. it’s not until ignatz shoots an arrow into his calf that he slows down any, edelgard finally meeting up with you.

she shoots you a bittersweet look, a quick slip of her mask reveals just how conflicted she is emotionally about doing this. but, as she turns back to dimitri, her resolve is back. you had won.

this is how the story would end: edelgard was crowned the emperor, and dimitri was crowned a martyr. she steadies aymr right above his neck, but he isn’t looking for pity. even now, he puffs his chest out and meets her eyes, as if challenging her to do it. el doesn’t back down.

she raises her blade, and you feel dorothea squeeze your shoulder as if she’s imploring you not to look. but you can’t turn away, this was the path you chose to walk. you would have to live with the horrors you had created. the sounds of edelgard and dimitri arguing pulls you out of your head.

dimitri, left with nothing, not even a lance in his hand, finally looks over at you. you can almost visualize the thorns digging into his head as he musters up his final words. “professor...” he says it gentler this time. you feel an arm around your waist securing you to your spot: whether it was ferdinand’s, or hubert’s, or dorothea’s you didn’t know. “will they stop now... will i finally be free after i--” your heart sinks, he’s talking about his hallucinations. dimitri had come to you in the middle of the night at the monastery more than once after being plagued by them. he seems to gather himself again for his final words to you. “i wanted you to be by my side, always. if... if i am granted another life, let me be with you.”

aymr cuts through the night, a sickening slicing noise as she beheads the prince, ending the blaidydd bloodline for good. like father like son, the gruesome thought crosses your mind. edelgard lets the rain wash the blood off of aymr, then slowly rallies her troops.

you walk back to garreg mach in silence, the only sound being the pouring rain and the sound of the strike force’s footsteps. edelgard’s trembling hand grips onto yours like you’re her lifeline.

“thank you,” she whispers it so that not even hubert, who was standing on your other side could hear. “for choosing to walk with me. i-i... would rather not imagine what would have became of me if i didn’t. you really have saved me, in more ways than one.” you squeeze her hand tight.

#dimitri #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #edelgard von hresvelg #edelgard #dimitri x reader #dimitri x byleth #edelgard x reader #edelgard x byleth #angst #ficlet #fe16 #fe3h #imagine #mod touko #oop

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mattzerella-sticks · 4 years

Text

You Do, a Sam-centric, Dean/Castiel coda for 15x06 “Golden Time”, 4.9k

Sam feels like he's the only one that cares about defeating Chuck. Dean, while physically present, cannot bother to lend a hand. And Cas is willing to help, but would rather do it on his own.

After Cas lets slip that the reason for his voluntary exile begins with the letter 'D' and rhymes with Mean, Sam puts Chuck on the back burner to deal with the more pressing issue of reuniting Dean and his best friend. Only with how stubborn Dean is avoiding research, it'll be ten times worse to make him talk to Cas.

Luckily Sam has a few new tricks up his sleeve now that he embraces an aspect of himself he never allowed himself to try. Will he help his brother do what needs to be done? Or will his plan bring forth an entirely unexpected outcome?

Sam waits until Dean leaves to sag against his seat. He scrubs a hand down his face, hoping he can wipe away the pent-up frustration caused by Dean’s visit. Unfortunately its roots sunk deep and cannot be torn so easily.

The worst part was Dean barely did anything to warrant such powerful irritation.

Dean strolled in for all of five minutes, robe sweeping behind him, asking where his slippers were. Sam glanced away from the page of his book to find his brother barefooted. Toes wiggling underneath the wide curtain of his cowboy print pajamas. A welcome change from the hot dogs glued to Dean’s legs, except Sam can’t stare at the pants for too long without blushing. Always stumbling across one cowboy or another that looked inappropriate.

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam said, “Why don’t you check the last place you wore them and start from there?”

He thought that would drive Dean elsewhere. Instead Dean took his suggestion as an invitation, lounging across the table from him with a bag of chips on his lap. Forcing Sam to listen while he checked off every memory with his slippers present in them. Chomped on his snack with crumbs spewing every couple of words, a few shooting so far ahead they land on his book.

A blood vessel in Sam’s forehead twinged with the need to burst. “Dean,” Sam cut him off, interrupting his retelling of when he used one of his slippers to kill a spider in the dungeons. “If you hadn’t noticed, I’m kind of busy…”

“You are?”

“Yeah,” he said, wagging the book, “Research… to take down Chuck?”

A dark shadow crossed his expression, surfacing briefly only to disappear in the next moment. “Right…”

Sam arched a brow. “Y’know, you could forget about the slippers and join -”

“I think I just remembered where they are,” he said, standing. “Thanks for the help, Sammy.” Dean shuffled towards the exit, a cowboy riding a stallion with back arched in pleasure the last thing he saw.

He marks the page he was on, shutting the book. Too bothered to continue researching. Pointless even trying since there’s a more pressing problem that persists, an obstacle better dealt with before facing Chuck. Because if there’s any chance of beating God, Sam needs his brother and not the sad, soft shell wearing his clothes and eating his food.

Eating all their food. They don’t have the money to support Dean’s void-like stomach. Sam almost purchased an array of healthy snacks during the last grocery trip. Only rejecting the idea when he imagined how bad of a fit Dean would pitch if Sam returned with peapods and gluten-free wafers. Or, worse, his brother accepting the food with indifference.

Dean’s spiral spun so far down Sam wouldn’t put it past him. It frightens Sam to see his brother like this, especially since he figured it was over after their milk-run to Rowena’s. After Sam broke past Dean’s walls with his plaintive speech and offered a hand to help him out of his darkness. Like he did for him when Chuck’s betrayal and Rowena’s death were still fresh wounds.

But where Sam let Dean pull him to safety, it seems Dean left Sam hanging.

“I don’t know what to do,” Sam confesses, his soft voice echoing in the cavernous library. He taps his fingers on the book, gnawing on his lip.

There were only so many options to choose from, and Sam exhausted most of them. Space only gave Dean’s depression room to grow. Confronting it hadn’t worked either. Giving Dean a target to focus his anger, confusion, and sadness failed for the first time in a long while. And Sam’s Hail Mary never answered his messages.

Still… Sam looks to his phone, wondering. The next call could be the one. That spark of hope pushes him to grabbing his phone and redialing Cas’s number.

Unlike every other time he tried, Cas picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Cas!” Sam sighs, an ounce of relief pouring into him. “Cas, man, it’s so good to hear you.”

“It’s… nice to hear from you as well.”

“Where have you been?” he asks, “It’s not like you to go so long without at least checking up. We were worried about you.”

“I… I’m sure you were worried, Sam,” Cas says, tone immediately curdling the relief in Sam’s stomach. “I was away. After everything with Chuck and Jack and De… and it all, I needed some time to myself.”

Sam nods, frown marring his face. “Understandable. Wish you could have told us -”

“I expressed my intentions clearly to Dean,” Cas says, “Has he not told you?”

“Now that you ask…” Fear plucks a frightful chord across Sam’s heart. “Dean hadn’t mentioned it at all.” Thinking back, Dean doesn’t talk about Cas anymore unless prompted. Gone were the hours he would spend telling Sam pointless stories of times he and Cas were together. Mentioning the angel when something reminded Dean of him. Staring at his phone with a tiny smile on his face, in deep conversation with Cas.

“Of course.”

There’s an empty space Cas tiptoes around, an event not mentioned. “What -”

“So,” Cas interrupts, “Chuck is picking up where he left off?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “But -”

“But we will do our best to stop him,” he finishes for him, “I’m already on my way towards Heaven, to see if there might be anything there that he forgot. That might detail a weakness of some kind.”

“That’s a good idea,” Sam shrugs, “but I could really use you here…”

A harsh breath blows through the speaker. “I… I’m already halfway to Heaven’s gate, Sam. Turning around now would be… it would be a waste of my usability.”

“That doesn’t matter Cas,” Sam tells him, “Right now Heaven can wait. You’re more important. What with you leaving so suddenly after the hellmouth, we never got the chance to check in.”

Silence. Sam waits for Cas’s response, checking every now and then to make sure the angel didn’t hang up on him. “Sorry,” he says after a while, “I… I was distracted. You want to know how I’m feeling?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m… fine .”

“Really?” Sam arches his brows so high they fly off to Missouri. “ Fine ?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because none of us are fine,” Sam scoffs, “I wasn’t for awhile and Dean, he…” He pauses, expecting Cas to jump in and demand he continue. Only it never comes. “Dean, he,” Sam fumbles awkwardly, “He’s kind of let the whole thing get to him and… it’s bad over here.”

Cas hums over the line. “I see… this call wasn’t about Chuck. It’s about Dean.”

“Cas -”

“If Dean truly has need of me ,” he says, voice wet and thick, hoarse from keeping something at bay, “than Dean should be able to call and express this himself. But per my last conversation with him, Sam, I highly doubt I’m the solution you seek. I’d probably just… make everything worse .”

“What? No - Cas -”

“I have to go, Sam,” Cas sighs, “there are patrol cars lined up along the highway, and I’d rather not be pulled over for talking on the phone. Goodbye.” He hangs up despite Sam’s protest, a flat beep ringing in his ears.

Sam taps the end button, mulling over the conversation. Uses the few minutes spent with Cas to shed light on weeks observing his brother. Rethinks his earlier judgments about the root of his problems. Whenever life slights Dean he focuses all his anger and fury on it. It helped them countless times during hunts or facing powerful enemies. Except if Dean’s target is himself, all that destruction turns inward.

Which explains absolutely everything about Dean’s behavior.

“Dammit, Dean…” Sam tugs at his hair, annoyance flaring up at his brother’s actions. Whatever they were sent fissures into the foundation of his and Cas’s relationship. The shockwaves wrecking everything else around them. Worse, Sam only realizing too late.

Now Dean haunts the Bunker’s hall, the only ghost left, and their friend keeps his spirit tethered with his anger.

“There’s got to be a way to fix it…”

Sam knows what has to happen, and how unlikely it will come to pass. Dean would rather spend twenty hours surrounded by books than take steps towards repairing his mistakes. Even with the years of growth under his belt. Because when it comes to Cas, Dean is too short. And Cas followed his lead.

Meaning neither have ever finished a fight, preferring to drop it and sweep a rug over what happened. Neglect the necessary fixes until, apparently, the wood under their feet rotted through and sent them crashing into the shit they buried.

“Not this time,” Sam says, standing, “This time they can’t ignore it.”

His passion wanes when he thinks about forcing two of the most stubborn people to do things they aren’t ready for. While he may have wounded God, Sam lacks the necessary power to switch up the script.

“Or,” he thinks, glancing at a nearby box, “maybe I don’t?”

It’s not any of the stuff they carried in from Rowena’s study. Instead one of the two they scrounged from the truck where the coven they ganked hid. Sam digs through the hex bags and books to find what he needs. A needle. String. Buttons, hay, herbs, and lots of tarp.

There’s one ingredient missing though. Sam sneaks over to Dean’s room, hoping his brother hadn’t nested there yet. Luck shines on him. It’s empty save the empty cartons, bags, and bottles scattered around the room. He quickly sifts through all of it for a single hair on Dean’s pillow. Then Sam races back to the library to set to work.

Unfortunately with all the technical knowledge, Sam isn’t the craftiest witch. His thread zig-zags unevenly in the overstuffed doll’s body, and the button eyes are placed crookedly on the ‘face’. One of its arms are longer than the other, and the legs disproportionately half the size of the body.

“That’s not important,” he says, scanning his handiwork, “it’s a vessel for the spell. Nothing more.” Clutching the doll tightly to his chest, Sam moves onto the next stage in his hastily thrown together plan. Find Dean.

If not in his room, Sam knows the only other place he will be.

Peeking into the kitchen, hidden by the shadows, Sam sees his brother chomping on a massive sandwich. Headphones affixed to his ears, another break that lessens the difficulty of Sam’s work.

Sam brings the doll to his lips, almost an inch of space between it and the head. “Dean,” he says, “eating isn’t going to fix anything. You’re being a stubborn idiot, hurting Cas and yourself in the process.”

Dean stiffens, cheeks puffed out with food. Swallowing, he looks at the sandwich in his hands. Then places it on the dish in disgust.

Smirking, Sam continues. “You can’t do this anymore, pretend that you’re okay. Because you’re not. There’s only one thing that can fix this - Cas . Don’t be afraid, anymore, Dean. You know what to do… now give it to him.”

A slight rustle in the kitchen forces Sam to press himself against the hallway, doll smothered in his stomach. With the limited vision he has, Sam watches Dean shuffle towards an exit. His .

“The other way,” Sam suggests to the doll, “go the other way!”

Dean pauses, brows scrunching for a moment until they disappear with a turn. His brother retreats the other way, Sam breathing a sigh of relief.

With the kitchen abandoned, Sam claims the space for himself. Wraps Dean’s grotesque creation to preserve it if he wants and grabs a beer for himself. Takes Dean’s place and drinks in victory.

When the bottle hits the table Sam feels an unnerving stare tickling his chin.

The voodoo doll stares at him from its resting place, reminding him of the steps taken to achieve success. Without annoyance or excitement distorting his thoughts, Sam reviews what he did with a clear mind. How he used magic to influence his brother’s actions. His brother who confessed how much he struggles with identifying which were his own choices and which were those of a higher power.

His beer tastes flat. “What did I do…” he sighs, leaning on the table. Sam cannot stop Dean, probably on the phone with Cas. Helped across the final obstacle with Sam’s magic.

“It’s all for the best,” he reminds himself, “it was a one-time thing.”

Unable to take the judgmental glare from the expressionless doll, Sam snatches it and heads to his room. Hides it in his nightstand drawer and leaves for the library again.

Hoping his ‘help’ didn’t drive the wedge deeper.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

All day, Sam stalked Dean’s every movement. From breakfast in the morning to cautiously snooping around the corner when he went to the bathroom. Curious to see if his suggestion from yesterday carried over. However nothing seemed too bizarre.

Actually Dean fell into normalcy, yesterday’s magical shove exactly what he needed to climb from the hole he wallowed in. Dean changed into actual clothes and set about doing chores. Cleaning floors, folding laundry - while it wasn’t research Sam took the signs as symbols of recovery. Dean moves at his own pace, and will research when he feels ready. Given the unburdened state of his shoulders, it could be any day.

By the time night rolls around, Sam lulled into easy comfort.

Suddenly the Bunker door slams open with the force of a hurricane, echoing throughout the cavernous building. Sam, on his way to the kitchen, spins on his heel. Drops his book to reach for his gun. Freezing only when he notices the recognizable figure gazing down at them. Chest heaving with words he stutters to speak.

“Cas?” Dean asks, hold on his gun limp, “Cas… what are you?”

“Did you mean it?”

Dean stiffens in his seat, cold metal of his weapon clattering to the floor. Sam, thankful it was on safety, finds his nerves fraying further after noticing the tense way Dean holds himself. “What?” he asks, breaking his and Cas’s stare.

“Did… you… mean it?” Each step carries a blow more powerful than any amount of Heavenly wrath. Dean flinches with each point of contact between the stairs and Cas. Retreats into his shell the closer Cas flies.

Sam rushes between them before Cas lays a hand on Dean. His mind races with an apology, heart sinking at how his plan soured. “Cas, it’s -”

“Quiet,” he tells him, “This doesn’t concern you.”

“But -” “Dean,” Cas says, softer now. Like they’re in the eye of his storm. “Dean, you left me a message. Did you mean it?”

His brother drags the answer out. Rubs his neck, then his shoulder, and finally squeezes his cheeks and releases a puff of air. “Look,” he starts, “if you’re reacting this bad -”

“That’s not what I asked.” Cas’s lip trembles when he asks again, “Did you mean it ?” A shine catches Sam’s eye, and at first he thinks it’s his friend’s blade. Only, on closer inspection, he realizes it’s Cas’s phone. “Dean, please -”

“Yes, I did.” Dean keeps his lids closed shut, wrinkles layered over each other on his face while he braces for impact. “I… I always did, Cas,” he admits. A whisper Sam strains to hear.

“Dean…” Cas pushes past Sam and lunges for Dean. Sam shouts, lost in the clatter of the chair and the other’s yelps. He strides over to pry Cas off his brother, and nearly trips over his own feet when Sam sees Dean’s arms wind tight around Cas’s midsection. Hears the familiar sounds of an almost-not fight that makes his ears burst into flames. Peeking at their faces, Sam confirms his suspicions.

They’re kissing. Through tears, smiles, and laughter, they kiss. Cas pulls back, gasping for breath. Forehead against Dean’s, he asks, “All this time?”

“Of course,” Dean says, “I might not have known it but… looking back, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Aware of how their lips drift toward each other again, Sam clears his throat. Dean tears his gaze away and remembers Sam’s presence. He sits up, Cas in his lap, and smiles with too much innocence. “Hey Sam…”

“Hey,” he says, looking between them, “so…” “So…” Dean shrugs, “so this is a thing?”

“Apparently…” “My apologies Sam,” Cas says, standing. Offers a hand to Dean and when he rises to full height does not let go. “I was a little… focused on my mission.”

“Your… your mission,” Sam frowns, ache surfacing from the depths of his consciousness to nudge at his temple. “You mean to Heaven -”

Cas flushes a worrisome crimson. “I… I almost forgot…”

“Forgot what?”

“I had parked outside Heaven’s gate when I noticed my phone,” he turns to Dean, “after listening I forgot all about Chuck, about -”

Dean shushes him, gently running his thumb across Cas’s cheek. “It’s okay. You can go to Heaven some other time. Right now it’s more important you’re here and we can…” His gaze briefly flits over to Sam. “We can discuss what was said… in private?”

“Private?”

“My room,” Dean clarifies. The words hissed under breath as if speed could muddle their intention. Sam and Cas understood regardless.

“Of course,” Cas beams. Twitches while he tries to measure the amount of joy he shows on his face but unable to fight the curl of his lips. “Much more important things to talk about.” He follows Dean out of the room, Sam left behind with an upturned chair, Dean’s gun, confusion, and a phone.

Cas’s phone.

Sam snatches it without hesitation. Righting the fallen chair, he opens the phone with no hesitation. Concern for his friend’s privacy very low on his radar, overpowered by the burning curiosity to figure out what Dean said to inspire an action like Cas’s embrace. And why he returned it.

Since Cas doesn’t have a password protecting his phone, it takes a few seconds to find the evidence he needs.

Sam hovers over the play button, conscious finally kicking in. Wonders if he truly needs to hear an obviously intimate conversation that, in the grand scheme of their life, does not involve him. But then he thinks about the voodoo doll he has sitting in his dresser, and begins the voicemail. Knowing that none of this would be possible without his interference.

He listens, and sees the whole picture for what it is.

“Hey Cas, it’s… it’s me, Dean. I’m - uh… I’m calling because I, well, because I thought about praying and then I thought about how Chuck could listen in on that like some perv…” Some shame oozes into Sam. “But this, it feels like a prayer. You’re probably feeling a little twinge, right now, aren’t you? Probably not now, because you didn’t answer the phone. But whatever you’re doing you might… and prayer or no prayer, Chuck seems to know what goes on in our lives anyway so… I guess I got to get over it. It’s not like this is a dirty secret. Even though I’ve kind of… kind of felt like it was. For a long time. Too long. When I… when I should have been not doing that.”

“Cas, I… I love you.” The bombshell explodes without prompt, Sam nearly losing the rest of Dean’s voicemail in the whistling fallout. “I don’t really say it and when I do, I… it comes out all wrong. Because you look sad afterwards like I don’t mean it the way you think I do. But I do. I love you in the purest sense of the word, man. For so long I’ve been afraid of you knowing that and of… of loving you, but I shouldn’t be. If I’d said all this sooner I… maybe you wouldn’t have left. Or it would have hurt more when you did. Don’t know how it can hurt more than it is now… I already feel like there’s a crater in my chest because when you moved on you took my heart with you. Even though I tried to not let that happen. Thought that us, everything that happened was because of Chuck because you’re his kid and… you have to admit, it’s a hell of a story…” A wet chuckle rasps over the line, followed by a labored breath. “S’why I kept you an arm’s length away during the ghost-pocalypse. Why I’ve been struggling since then I… I don’t know what’s real and what’s your Dad. Figured I could sort my life out but Chuck putting himself back on the board sent my already shaky sense of self into a tailspin.”

“But him being back also… I think I’ve gotten a sense of how he writes us. On what he forced on us. Everything he ever wrote has been about bringing the maximum amount of pain. All geared towards driving our family apart. Every cruel act and lie and whisper into my head to do the wrong thing were him. And of that list, Cas… you’re none of those things. You make us whole - make me whole. That… Chuck doesn’t want that. The fact we keep finding each other after all we’ve been through, what tries to keep us apart, from demons to God, that’s all the proof I need that we’re it for each other. We… we’re real. ”

“And I let Chuck feed me a crock of shit and I spiraled. Been spiraling since mom died and Jack… I, I can’t blame Chuck for all of it, though I’d loved to. He threw all of that at me and I swung exactly like he planned. I’m sorry, Cas, for not treating you the way you deserve. Showing you exactly what you mean to me. I can’t change the past but I want to fix the future, so you’ll be in it. It might be too little too late… and for once we can’t make all the pieces fit like they used to. Knowing that, I don’t regret telling you I love you. Because if we’re gonna be able to beat Chuck, we need all of us together. Working as a unit. A family. I won’t be much help to anyone if I can’t be in the same room with you, choking on all these feelings. After he’s gone, if you still want to move on… I won’t blame you. All we’ve been through, you deserve happiness the same as us. If it’s with someone else… then they’re a right lucky bastard or bitch, whoever they are. So… yeah, that’s it. I’m gonna, I’m gonna hang up? Yeah, bye -”

It cuts off, the answering machine’s voice speaking over Dean’s about how there’s no more room left on Cas’s phone for the rest of his message. Not that it matters since everything that was supposed to be said found its way out of Dean’s mouth.

Sam wipes at his eyes, smiling at the phone. Chest filled with happiness for two of the most important people in his life. That they were able to wade through the never-ending flood and reunite again. Cards laid fully on the table, nothing in their hands.

With a little help. The voodoo’s vacant stare flashes in Sam’s mind, reminding him of how he whispered into it to bring about this confession. His stomach churns at the thought. The guild he swallowed down returning with a vengeance. But then it all settles as he considers his exact command.

Worded with no intention of romance, Sam wanted Dean to grow up and realize Cas held no fault in what went down with Chuck. But his brother went the extra measure, shoveling part of his repressed, forty-year old bullshit into the furnace as a grand gesture to show his angel that there was more than one endgame to be had.

Laughing, Sam places the phone down and stands. “Dean and Cas…” he says, years of memories coloring themselves anew given the necessary context. “How could I’ve been so blind…” He squints, lips thinning. “Chuck… that’s why.”

He flattens his palm against his wound, the skin dully flaring giving Sam the impression that his nightmares will be extra bloody tonight. “At least one of us will have sweet dreams,” he sighs, shuffling to his room.

Sleep is far from his mind, especially given what awaits him when his head hits the pillow, but Sam walks with purpose. To tie up the last loose end of this misadventure.

The voodoo doll hadn’t moved since he used it last. Resting against a well-worn spell book, awake. Sam picks it up and pinches the thread tying it together.

“Nothing’s ever going to control our lives again, Chuck… you hear me?”

The string stays where it was, the doll still whole. Sam rubs it between his thumb and finger, wickedness striking in the final hour before the doll’s demise. An impish grin unfurls across his face. “After this,” he amends, “After tonight… I already helped Dean make one healthy choice, who’s to say I can’t suggest a few others.”

Sam replaces the doll in his hand with the spell book, reclining on his bed to wait. Reads until the clock ticks closer to midnight and then beyond. When his eyes can barely hold themselves open any longer and the neon green numbers glow in single digits, Sam grabs the voodoo doll of his brother once more. Whispers the prank in a scratchy voice, mirth poking through. Finished, he sets both items down and readies for bed.

Looking forward to sleep and what awaits him in the morning.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam stretches on his path to the Bunker’s exit, readying for another late morning jog. A road block appears, however, in the form of his brother in similar dress. Yellow hoodie snug over his chest and a pair of sweatpants with dried stains by the pockets. Sneakers Sam wasn’t sure Dean owned tied tight over his feet. “Dean?” he starts, “you going out?”

“Hey,” Dean says, eyes brightening, “I’m glad I caught you.”

“You are?”

“Yeah…” His brother rubs at his neck awkwardly, a ketchup-colored blush staining his cheeks, complimenting his mustard hoodie. “Yeah, I… I wanted to see if you’d let me come jogging with you?”

“You… want to go jogging?” A question not really framed like one. Sam already knowing the answer.

Dean nods, “Yeah, I… I don’t know. Last night, Cas and I had this talk about unhealthy habits and what I could do to stop them. When I woke up I… I guess it bled into other aspects of my life, because I couldn’t get the idea of jogging out of my head!” He chuckles, dipping up to gaze at Sam for a brief moment. “Weird, right?”

Sam finds it the exact opposite. Because after giving his brother and angel a few hours of privacy, he snatched the Dean voodoo doll from his nightstand and whispered a few things to it. Incepted the idea of wanting to jog with him into his mind. Still he agrees, since Sam didn’t expect there to be a logical narrative supporting his prank. “You’re always welcome to jog with me, Dean,” he says.

“Perfect.” They continue their trek, Dean mirroring Sam’s stretches with a few second-delay.

At the foot of the stairs, Sam stops them again. “Wait, did Cas want to join us?”

Dean shakes his head, giving Sam hope his other message wormed its way in. “Sent him out on a grocery run. Had the strangest craving for, uh… veggie bacon.”

“Veggie bacon?” Sam gasps, “In the Meat Man’s kitchen?”

“Shut up.” Dean shoves him, stomping up the steps, “That was so dumb… regret ever telling you that.”

Sam follows with a doggish grin, “At least you realize it now!” Dean flips him off, exiting the Bunker. He watches the door slip close, trailing behind at his own pace.

His brother’s voodoo doll sits in his hoodie pocket, weighing him down. While Sam’s actions were only to Dean’s benefit or boyish pranks, thinking about what he did still makes his skin crawl. His gunshot tingles with a whirlpool of energy. A reminder that he acted somewhat like the very being they want to take down.

“But that was it,” Sam promises, “After breakfast I’ll explain to Dean what I did.” An argument might occur, and he will accept whatever words Dean will throw his way. It won’t be a huge blow up, Sam thinks, since Cas is there. Cas is there and it’s because of Dean. Sam prompted his brother but in no way did he imagine the voicemail Dean would leave. The feelings that he poured into his message. That was all him. Like they’ve done their whole lives, they’ve taken what they were given and fit the rules around them. No matter who tries to break their team apart the three of them come back together stronger.

“Sammy!” Dean calls for him, “You tired? We haven’t even started, man!”

He chuckles, leaving the Bunker. “Says the man who is jogging for the first time today.”

“It can’t be that hard.”

Sam smirks at him, “Just be lucky it’s cold out.”

“Why?”

“Because when the weather’s warm I like to jog barefoot.”

The implicit threat goes over Dean’s head, stranding him in his confusion. “... Why ?”

“Y’know,” Sam claps Dean on the shoulder, “If you decide you want to stick with this after today… I can show you.”

Dean huffs with a familiar grumpy expression, although a twinkle of curiosity glistens in his stare. “Maybe,” he says, “Let’s see how this first jog goes.”

“Your call, man. Your call.” They run, Sam leading ahead of Dean. Not going too fast so he can stay with Dean. Out of breath, bouncing, and at points - between light-hearted jabs shared between brothers - soaring .

#Supernatural #Spn #Spn15 #15x06 #Golden Time #Coda #Supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural coda #spn fanfic #Sam Winchester #Witch!Sam Winchester #Dean Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfic

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homenum-revelio-hq · 4 years

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Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix, Ellie!

You have been accepted for the role of SEVERUS SNAPE! With two applications, it’s always a difficult choice! We love the way you showed Severus as toeing the line in everything he does, which really brought to life his “greyness” that we see so much in the canon novels. We could hear his voice as we read through your application! We’re so excited to have you join us!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME & PRONOUNS: ellie, she/her.

AGE: 20+.

TIMEZONE: GMT.

ACTIVITY LEVEL: i’m not a very fast writer tbh, but i don’t have any other hobbies or rl obligations to keep me from rp atm, so i should be able to maintain more than 3 paras a week.

ANYTHING ELSE: nope.

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Severus Dynastes Snape.

Severus — severed. Cut off.

Dynastes — dynastic prince.

Eileen was not subtle when naming her son. Even in such a matter she let her spite lead her way. Severed prince, indeed.

AGE: 21.

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: cis male, he/him, demisexual & biromantic.

BLOOD STATUS: half-blood.

HOUSE ALUMNI: Slytherin.

ANY CHANGES: nope!

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Severus Snape has the personality of a sentient pack of razors and the looks to match. Everything he picked up since he was young he used as a weapon: his wit, his words, his mind, his spells, his potions, his silence, his secrets. He feels more at ease surrounded by enemies who think him an ally and who would set untold violence upon him should his true colors reveal themselves than he does surrounded by friends and family. He values his solitude and his privacy above all else and will defend it with great hostility. He is a liar and a cheat who holds himself to a high standard of dignity and honor.

His disposition never inspires friendliness, and hardly invites approach. He prefers being left to his books and his potions, unless there is a task to complete or a matter that requires his urgent attention. Snape is viciously clever, scrutinizing, observant, and patient. The full brunt of his focus is sharp and piercing and nigh unbearable. He has a scholar’s heart and the drive to follow it through to the end, wherever that end may be. He entered the race, as he sees it, late and heavily disadvantaged, and has thus operated and continues to operate with the understanding that he is the lowly underdog, that success only comes to those willing and ready to fight for it. And he fights, and he fights, and he fights.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, Snape is loyal to a fault. His loyalty is difficult to earn, but impossible to lose. He has a thorough, comprehensive, all-or-nothing approach towards loyalty — you either have it or you don’t. All of him or none of him. He will give you his soul – his strength, his work, his honor, his dignity, his life, his word – or he will give you nothing. Thus far, the only person who has his loyalty is Lily Evans.

Another thing about Snape that’s often lost under all the bluster and barbs and sharp edges is that he holds his honor to exacting standards. He takes his debts with the utmost seriousness, and his promises, once made, are kept. His word matters to him, as does his loyalty. When James Potter saved his life, Severus acknowledged the debt, and paid his due. He raged and simmered and boiled over with hatred, but his word he kept, and the secret of the werewolf was not revealed by him.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Eileen Prince was a true daughter of her line, and carried the worst of the traits of her family with her: she was stubborn, proud, obstinate, and filled with such vicious spite there was hardly room for anything else within her.

Despite this, she loved her son. Yes, he was the reason her secret and exciting teenage dalliance turned to lifelong imprisonment, and that was enough reason for her to never look upon him with open affection. Yes, he was a halfblood, and not the proper sort with a good family name and upbringing good enough to overlook his blood status. But he was HER son, HER blood, and that mattered to her still. She watched the boy complete every task, from taking his first steps to tying his own shoes to skipping stones by the river, with all the intensity of focus and full-hearted diligence expected of a Prince. She watched the whelp pick fights with kids twice his size for perceived slights, watched him lose more fights than win and still go back to school the next day with his chin tipped up in defiance, back straight and eyes forward, ready to take on anything. She watched, and felt a wave of such fierce pride over this boy that was half a Prince, this boy that was her son.

She taught him everything he needed to know about magic. Everything he would need to know to fight the currents, knowing this life she gave him would be unkind, an uphill battle from the beginning to the end. She taught him the rules of their society, the names of the families that mattered and the families that didn’t. She taught him his spells and his potions, his letters and his numbers, his history. Her son, the half-blood whelp, will claw his way back up from where she’d fallen, she will see to it herself.

Tobias fought her on this, as he fought her on every other matter that had anything to do with magic. And she fought him just as hard: their shouts shook the walls of their little house on Spinner’s End, sent the neighbor’s lips aflutter with excited gossip, and sent their son scuttling beneath the bed or the table or out in the park until the shouting stopped. But she fought: her son would not meet the vipers unequipped.

Severus grew up knowing two things above all else: that he was less-than, and that he must earn the right to be treated with respect. These were the two overarching lessons of his childhood, but they were not the only ones: Nothing comes for free. No one will give you anything without expecting something in return. There’s no inherent value in someone that will grant them happiness, there’s simply luck, and lack thereof. There’s wanting things and taking them. You take what you want and you make your life better, or you don’t. You fight for your improvement or you take the punches laying down.

Severus never stayed down for long. He knew what he wanted — or thought he did — and what he wanted was to be better than everyone else. And that meant fighting for his place, and fighting to keep it. He wanted his mother to be proud of him — desperately, more than he dared to admit — and that meant drinking in her every word with rapt attention, and taking all her lessons to heart. And he did.

Eileen was the predominant influence in Severus’ childhood, but she was not the only one. Tobias Snape spent most of his days at work, or at the pub, or at a friend’s house: anything to keep him away from the trap that was his wife and his son. He made no secret of who he blamed for the unsatisfying course his life took, shouting it loud enough everyone in the neighborhood knew his every secret desire and every selfish thought: that he wanted an obedient wife, that he wanted a proper lad who played sports and carried wood like a real man, that he was trapped in a marriage with a lying cheat and a useless son. The truth of the matter was that Tobias Snape felt inadequate: his wife was a witch who came from money and prestige and had to settle for a wretch like himself. She did not need him to provide for her or care for her, she did not depend on her husband like a wife should. His son, the wizard, who grew up in the same dirty clothes and sketchy neighborhood that his father did, looked down his nose at his father’s craft. Little pauper held himself like a little prince, like Tobias and Spinner’s End and honest work and playing ball and carrying tools was all beneath him, like this was all simply a prelude to a better life up ahead.

Severus knew since he was very young that he could never be enough for both of his parents. That pleasing one meant angering the other, that he had to choose whose approval he’d have to chase (and chase, and chase) and whose displeasure he’d weather for the rest of his life. It was not easy. But it was, in the end, a much simpler choice than some might expect.

OCCUPATION:

He works in an apothecary down in Knockturn while he studies under a potions master to complete his mastery. The potions master he works for and studies under is an affiliate of the Dark Lord, and has agreed to take Severus on as a student following the recommendation of Lucius Malfoy. Severus does everything from stacking ingredients, brewing potions in the backroom, and experimenting at his mentor’s side with new potions using procedures that follow no code of ethics or safety recognizable to any text. Severus was granted access to his own lab in Malfoy Manor that he uses to make whatever his Lord asks of him, and where he conducts his more private experiments with a few adjustments to safety regulations.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

To newly minted death eater Severus Snape, the order of the phoenix was a pathetic gang of fools who thought they could defy the dark lord and not only survive, but win. He crossed wands with and interrogated captured members of the order for information, particularly in the earlier days of his induction when he still had a lot to prove.

Presently, as a fully integrated member of the order and certified double agent, he’s certain that they’re all bloody stupid. Although, he supposed, so is he now that he counted himself among their number. While the driving force for his change in loyalties was Lily Evans, she was not the only one. By the time he approached Emma Vanity with his peace offering, Severus was already thoroughly disillusioned with the Dark Lord and his cause, tired of the violence that served no purpose, and aware of his own desire for a proper legacy that didn’t include a body count.

This war was never about doing the right thing for Severus. Or at least, it wasn’t, before. It was always about doing the smart thing: join the winning side, rise through the ranks, prove yourself to the right people in the right ways. This stance has become increasingly more difficult to maintain as of late — he may not be a bastion of moral purity, but even he balked at the mindless murder of a hundred innocents. Regardless of where he stands in matters of blood status and politics, the Dark Lord was a madman on a rampage, dripping with bloodlust and power and self importance. He must be stopped. Severus is more determined now than ever to help bring him down. The order, while lacking in many ways, are the most equipped to do so. He has also come to view them as comrades, as brothers in arms, in a way that he never did his fellow death eaters — perhaps being judged for the things he’s done rather than the circumstances of his birth had helped warm him up to them more quickly.

He spies for the order while pretending to spy for the death eaters. It’s a tricky balance. He carefully picks and chooses what to give to which side, when, how, why, and what to keep to himself, while keeping up the image of a loyal, competent death eater and invaluable member of the order. The margin for error is rather slim.

Beyond spying, Severus also lends his expertise in potions and spell crafting to the order. Mostly healing potions, using his own modified recipes that tend to use less expensive and more readily available ingredients than the original. He also crafts countercurses to the new finagled murder and torture spells death eaters have been using (that he created in the first place, but who really needs to know that?? Not his new goodie two shoes friends, of course, he’ll keep that lil nugget of knowledge to himself) he’s careful, of course, not to craft a countercurse to every spell and not to do so in a suspiciously timely fashion. He doesn’t want to lose his standing with the dark lord and be accused of incompetence at best, disloyalty at worst.

Another thing they don’t know about him: he’s a master legilimence. The order’s inner circle know he’s an occlumency master, good enough to lie to the dark lord to his face and get away with it, but his legilimency he’s kept to himself. He’s been skimming the surface thoughts of order members from the start like a bad habit he can’t quit. Not that he wants to.

Conversely: the dark lord thinks the order members know he’s a legilimence. This is very helpful in restricting what Severus can or cannot find for his lord at any given moment, since he can’t just pick it up from someone’s mind without running the risk of blowing his ‘cover’. Then again, the dark lord is also under the impression that Severus’ occlumency and legilimency skills are far below what they actually are, so. Sucks to be him? He’s a bit out of the loop there. Busy with bigger people than Severus, just as the spy prefers it these days.

SURVIVAL:

A few things that kept him alive thus far :

1) Compartmentalization. Severus can pack feelings, thoughts and personal moral scruples like a lunchbox and put them aside for later, focusing on the here and now and the whys and the why nots of his actions. This helped him keep his cover in many, many occasions where otherwise his first instincts would’ve compromised him.

2) He can keep a secret. Information is a very important currency in a secret war, and Severus understands the weight of an off-hand comment or an innocuous gesture can tip the scales in favor of one side or the other.

3) He’s a prodigy. He is highly skilled in multiple delicate and dangerous disciplines like potions, spell crafting, and warding. This, as well as being an orphaned, hungry, ambitious halfblood without a family to see to his own best interests has made Severus a gift that fell into the dark lord’s path unwittingly.

4) He’s in the dark lord’s pocket. Seemingly. Severus lives in a tiny apartment above an apothecary in Knockturn, owned and run by the potions master whom he’s been apprenticing under to achieve his mastery. His potions master, a brilliant man with a rather loose definition of ethics, is an affiliate of the Dark Lord and answers to the man’s every word with due diligence. That, along with the promise of a Defense Master ready to take him on as a student in the vague future tense, Severus Snape is well and truly in the dark lord’s pocket. His future is in the man’s hands. Even when he was first offered this chance, he knew the underlying implications of owing so much to one man and having so much of his life not truly within his own control. But it was a way forward, and so he took it. He is aware every moment of the risks he is taking, what he could lose if he was even one step out of line. But this is precisely what makes the Dark Lord more inclined to trust him.

RELATIONSHIPS:

There’s only one relationship that really matters to Severus these days, and that’s his friendship with Lily Evans. Everything and everyone else can come and go as they please — and they’re often in a hurry to go, he’d not grown more approachable since he switched sides — but Lily’s friendship was the most important part of his life, for most of his life, and losing her trust and her affection had been nothing short of devastating.

He knows the crack in their relationship had been his doing, that it’s been so long that she could hardly be expected to care about her old once-friend now, that they both chose different paths. But he desperately wishes to reconcile with his oldest friend, nonetheless. He wants to prove to her that he’s not the lost cause they all thought he was. That she was right to believe in him against the word of so many, that whatever good she saw in him when they were young was still there. That he could still be the good friend she deserved. He knows it won’t be easy, but he’s determined to prove himself — to the right person this time.

Severus was not eager for new friends, even before he switched sides and the need for secrecy and distance rose tenfold. He has his guard up at all times, suspicious and dry, everyone else kept at arm’s length. Despite this, he still warmed up to some of his comrades within the order, as much as he is ever capable of warming up to people. That is to say, he sneers less, and his jabs are without teeth.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS:

Snape is – resistant to romance on a good day, and it hasn’t been a good day for a good few years now. so it’s not something he’s open to, but, well. shit happens anyway so i’m open to it as long as there’s chemistry.

ships i tend to gravitate towards are lily/snape and remus/snape. i don’t have any anti-ships specifically.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Severus maybe has a drop of privilege over muggleborns, being a halfblood, but not by much. He’s not the acceptable sort of halfblood, with a distant muggle grand- or great-grandparent and an otherwise magical upbringing and a magical family name to hide behind. Purebloods could not pretend not to know of his unfortunate parentage: that Severus was cleanly cut down the middle, the son of a muggle man with a muggle name and a disowned pureblood woman who faded into obscurity decades ago. Severus could not hide that he was muggle-raised no matter how desperately he wanted to. And for some, that was enough to want him dead.

It was a good thing his mother drilled into him the inferiority of his blood since he was young, and impressed upon him the importance of proving his worth and rising above his lowly status. Otherwise, he would not have been prepared to face the scorn of his housemates and peers. And Severus was ready, spitting venom and shouting curses before even stepping off the train, fighting to prove himself from the onset all the way through to his graduation, and beyond.

Being a victim of such prejudice didn’t stop him from acquiring and cultivating biases of his own. He is yet to admit to being a victim, as such, is yet to see there was a crime committed in the way he was taught to see himself and others like him in the world. Married to a muggle or not, disowned or not, his mother was a born and raised pureblood witch of high society. She abandoned her family and her money for the child she carried, but not her ideologies and her privileged way of thought: those she passed down to her half-blood son, pathetically eager to learn of his magical heritage and hungry for any scrap of information about the world he desperately wanted to belong to.

By the time he graduated Hogwarts, Severus picked up every flavor of bias the magical world had to offer, against muggleborns and half-bloods and half-breeds alike. He still believed there could be exceptions — he and Lily, and the odd muggleborn and halfblood that actually try to be worthy of their magic — but he still thought purebloods were, on average, better than the rest.

It didn’t take long for Severus to be disillusioned. Pureblood grandeur is not so grand once you stand shoulder to shoulder with the scions and heads of every house, take their measure one by one, and find them wanting. Fighting side by side with the privileged and the powerful, Severus came to understand how little true power any one of them held, how many of the boys he held in such high esteem couldn’t stomach the front lines long enough to do what needed to be done. Purebloods were, on average, spoiled rotten and entitled and no more deserving of their privilege and power than the average muggleborn was of their magic.

This put his low esteem of muggleborns and half-bloods in a rather awkward position. An awkwardness that it held for years onward, unexamined, shifting and simmering in the back of his mind with every act he committed in the Dark Lord’s name. A voice like Lily’s hums and purrs and shifts, something dark and heavy coils and uncoils beneath his breastbone.

Joining the order did not help him shed the squirming and writhing discomfort. Guilt knocks against his ribcage like a persistent guest, and no matter how much he tries to put it aside, it stays and grows more and more by the day, heavy and leaning. Perhaps some long held beliefs bear examining.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

honestly? this group feels more like a group of writers committing to writing one cohesive story than it does a group of roleplayers writing one interaction at a time. i’ve been in plenty of marauders era rpgs in the past, and most of them tend to rely on the suspense of disbelief and sacrifice story elements in order to facilitate interactions between roleplayers, regardless of whether or not these interactions should be plausible in the current setting and political environment. That’s not exactly a bad thing, it’s just something that rubbed me the wrong way before. It doesn’t seem to be a problem here: characters fall out of the spotlight and into the background when needed, and brought back to the forefront as needed by the story.

Reading through the plot drops and figuring out the hows, whys and whats of Snape’s motives and actions throughout the story has been very exciting, and I’m looking forward to seeing him grow as a person and start to fight for the order for the right reasons.

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

I would love to see Severus’ beliefs put on the spot. He’s been growing more fond of the other order members, and has been learning (subconsciously) to see other half-bloods and muggleborn as comrades instead of lessers. I want to see him pushed to acknowledge his shifting perspective on blood status, choosing to fight and make sacrifices for others instead. He’s a lot more invested in the order than he’s admitting to himself. I would love to see him reach a point where he warns the order about something he shouldn’t, thus risking his position within the Death Eaters, and prompting him to re-examine just how much he cares about their cause, and why, and how much he’s really willing to risk for them.

ANYTHING ELSE?

my mockblog is @sectumsmpra ! thank you for reading my app, it was a pleasure to work on <3

#homenumaccepted

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cat-scarr · 4 years

Note

A friend of mine highkey just fucking implied that BenKai is healthy because they "negate each other". As in Ben is the only one that can handle Kai's bitchiness and Kai's the only one that can reign in Ben's ego. Not paraphrasing. She really said that. And I was like, bitch, put it up That's Ben Tennyson abuse ma'am you're going to jail—

Oh no. No no no I hate this argument. Prepare yourself. I’m about to go off…

First of all, Ben probably has the most humble “cockiness” I’ve ever seen.

We all know those people (or at least have run into them at some point) that act as if they’re entitled to the entire world for no reason.

Ben actually has a reason to be proud of himself, but does he ask for any more than a little credit? No.

He doesn’t demand fame and fortune in return for risking his life everyday. He barely even demands respect (that he deserves)!

He called himself “adorable” once (he’s right) and everyone somehow got it into their heads that his “ego” is extremely inflated.

So much so that now they think he deserves to be stepped on - metaphorically and literally - in order to be a better character somehow. It’s just as bad as people who think that Ben has to actually lose someone close to him, like Max, in order to “really” mature.

Anyway, the reason Ben can handle her “bitchiness” is BECAUSE HE’S TOO GOOD FOR HER.

How many times has Ben had to cooperate with people he didn’t particularity like or agree with in order to reach a common goal?

How many times has Ben forgiven others and given them second chances even when they didn’t seem deserving?

He literally made peace with aliens who previously wanted to kill, not only him, but EVERYONE IN THE UNIVERSE. He even made friends with one who was spitting insults in his face practically half of “Alone Together.”

He’s all about saving lives. Do you people know what that entails?

What do we do with criminals?

Either one of two things: punish those whose crimes are unforgivable, or attempt to correct their mindset, outlook, and behaviour in order to reintegrate them into society.

Considering Ben’s “second chances” philosophy, which one do you think he leans towards more whenever reasonably possible?

(Ben 10: Alien Force - “War of the Worlds Part 2″)

What I’m saying is that proves it’s in character for him to be cooperative rather than begrudging and vengeful.

It’s the begrudging and vengeful attitude that drives his enemies to keep coming back in attempt to end him. But as we know, it’s not productive.

Holding a grudge implies being stuck in your ways. And, because Kai’s attitude towards Ben hasn’t changed much since they were ten, even after he saved her multiple times, in a sense, she is stuck in her ways as well. She’s stubborn.

And that is another argument people like to bring up to validate this pairing - that both Ben and Kai are stubborn. They have “similar flaws”, apparently.

But Ben is a different kind of stubborn. He never backs down but he’s always fighting the good fight.

Kai, on the other hand, is fighting the good guy.

I think the silliest argument I’ve heard in attempt to validate the claim that Kai is a good match is that she “fits” into his action lifestyle. Basically, unlike Julie, Kai doesn’t seem to have an issue with Ben being a full time superhero, so that automatically makes her more “suitable.“

But shouldn’t that be expected of someone dating a superhero?

By supporting your significant other’s passion, you are doing what you should be. It’s literally the bare minimum of being decent.

Am I supposed to be impressed by the bare minimum??

Besides, just because two people are in the same field of work doesn’t automatically mean they have chemistry. Being in the same line of work just means they’re in the same line of work.

And, going back to my point about Ben’s second chances philosophy, they definitely wouldn’t work together so well if Ben wasn’t cooperating in the way he always tries to.

The argument that they "negate” each other heavily undermines Ben’s character in order to attempt to place them on an equal level.

Did Kai ever attempt to redeem herself for her “bitchiness”? No.

It just became a character trait.

The truth is that everyone has flaws. And that’s not inherently a bad thing. A character having distinguishable flaws allows them to feel fleshed out. Flaws are a significant feature to focus on because they often stem from something deeper. The beauty is that, through character development, having flaws gives the character something to attempt to improve when their storyline and interactions with other characters provide them with chances to do so.

You could see this with Kevin’s redemption, for example. Or even what is referred to as Ben’s “ego” throughout the continuity.

But when Ben continuously gives Kai chances to be better, and she shuts him down, she ignores her own flaws.

Notice that Ben doesn’t ignore what others perceive are his flaws.

I say it like that because flaws are arguably subjective. But regardless, all those moments throughout the OS and UAF which show characters like Gwen, Kevin, Max, and even Azmuth critiquing Ben on his character actually did make an impact. Whether I think it was right or wrong is irrelevant to the fact that, by Omniverse, we had him explaining to an imaginary crowd what it actually means to be a hero.

(Ben 10: Omniverse - “Malfactor”)

“It’s about making a difference."

In front of nobody but himself, where he could have just indulged in the fantasy, he put his “ego” aside to display the integrity of his character development by that point.

If his ego was really so bad that it desperately needed to be squashed, then he wouldn’t be out here believing time and time again that everyone deserves a chance to be better.

(Ben 10: Omniverse - “Parallel Paradox”)

Perhaps it’s because he has always taken that chance himself, knows the benefit of it and wants to see others improve as well rather than being vengeful or begrudging.

Kai is a…tragic case, tbh.

The fandom likes to daydream about her “potential” and what she could have been. But truth of the matter is that the writers chose to present her this way. If they wanted to have her some other way, wouldn’t they have done that?

Whether it was to make her somewhat interesting by being a source of drama, I don’t know. All I know is that they crossed the line between dramatic and toxic very quickly, and possibly without realizing.

In conclusion, it also pisses me off is that these kinds of claims just gloss over the abuse.

It’s not something to make light of just because Ben can "handle it.” I know he can handle rough treatment. That’s what his literal job entails.

It’s not what his relationship should entail.

If anyone else reading this still doesn’t believe me, please. Go get stepped on and belittled constantly and tell me that shit is romantic. Because I’ve had my fair share of experience with mistreatment and it hurts terribly. I can’t imagine having to deal with that on top of all the selfless manual labour he already chooses to do everyday.

#sorry if it sounds like I'm yelling at you #I promise I'm not #I'm just setting the record straight #for certain clowns #u know #ben 10 #ben 10 omniverse #ben tennyson #kai green #benkai #ben 10 alien force #ben 10 ultimate alien #anti benkai #essay files

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paradise-of-guilty-pleasures · 4 years

Text

Shattered Reflections {13}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 12. Homemade with Love

13. An Odd Request

Knock Knock Knock

Knocking at this hour was quite odd, it was too formal, Elsa and especially Olaf tended to head in unannounced. The only person who came by and actually knocked was the Doctor, but they'd already checked in not too long ago, so whoever was behind the door didn't customarily come visit. "May I come in? I wish to have a word with you." called a familiar voice.

Hans shifted a bit on the bed, still in mass amounts of pain, but doing his damnedest to get past that. "Please do, distract me from the stab wound." He remarked airily. And god did he need a distraction from that. Still, in his usual stubborn fashion, as his guest entered, he made an effort to push himself up into at the very least a sitting position, in spite of the pain. It felt weird to lay down and let people address him from the ceiling. It was awkward for everyone involved and he wanted none of it.

The door opened and in came a familiar well built man. It was the Captain of the guard. Bandaged and scratched up himself, but in far better shape than Hans. "'Evening, Prince Hans," he greeted with a nod, choosing to omit the 'good', knowing he was probably not having a good evening being bedridden and in pain.

"So it is, you can omit the 'prince' part too, Captain, if you must pick a title at least use the one I earned." Hans joked, holding his wound but offering a wry smile through the pain. "I'd say I owe you my life for fetching Elsa and the doctor last time, are we even now?" He joked gently. "Come on then, sit and have a chat. It'll be refreshing to talk to a working man again, like my crew. I'd suggest we get drinks, but the doctors disagree with that suggestion. Or they did for me, maybe you got lucky and missed that directive." Hans spoke with the Captain like they had been crew mates for years, and on equal terms. None of this prince or prisoner business, just working men in his book.

" You jest, and yet I truly think we are even," stated the Captain as he brought a chair to the bedside, the back of the chair facing Hans. "One of the reasons I've come to speak to you is indeed to thank you, for undertaking my responsibility of protecting the Queen, when I failed to do so in battle. I guess I made the right call saving you, after all." He half-jokingly quipped back, taking a seat in the chair backwards.

"I'm glad to hear it, if nothing else, a traitor makes for a good sword-stopper, may as well use that fact while I have it." He suggested dryly, gesturing to his wound. "I'm sure my reasons for what I did at the coronation never got back to you, I'd try to reassure you, but after the original traitorous events I'm afraid it wouldn't matter much to explain myself, I've rather a liar's reputation. I'm afraid that one I can't make even no matter how many scars I earn in the process, but I've nothing better to do but try, anyway. Here, if we're to gossip, I ought to know more than just your title?" He checked his hand for blood before offering it to shake. Holding his wound as much as he had it, it was worthwhile to check.

" I guess, a proper introduction is at hand," he agreed, accepting Hans' offer to shake. "Name's Kristofferson, Johannes Kristofferson. Friends call me Johan."He gave Hans a firm handshake. The Captain was a man many years Hans' senior (by a decade, at least), approaching middle age, but not quite old enough to be his father. He had a rather large bulbous nose, dark hair and sported a thick mustache.

"'Johannes'? Johan it is, I'm deeply sorry for the alternative nickname." Hans remarked, mingled amusement and apology on his face, as he knew that meant they could have shared a nickname. No doubt friends wouldn't call anyone in their country 'Hans' for a while without starting a fistfight. "Good to meet you properly, Captain. Her Majesty is planning to get some retraining for the guards, I'm expecting to be assisting in that-- mostly teaching your men to be careful with tricky bastards like me. I know enough thieves, fought enough pirates, and lied enough times I think we could get a few solid exercises going." He tried to keep a conversation running.

"Likewise," said the Captain, releasing the grip from their shake. " Even if it hurts my pride to say so, as Captain of the guard, it's become painfully obvious," he briefly lifted up his bandaged arm. "Pardon the pun-- that we are in dire need of retraining."

"Jokes aside, I do wish to speak of you about your involvement in the retraining process," He explained. "I heard you took charge during the attack, directing men in how better to do their job. I guess it's to be expected, from an Admiral after all. A man from the Isles, such as yourself, is better equipped for battle than anyone in Arendelle. It saddens me to say that Arendelle has been far too sheltered for years and we haven't exactly adapted with the times either. You on the other hand are quite experienced in tactic and technique." He momentarily paused. "I've spoken with the Queen and that's why Her Majesty as well as I myself believe you might be best fit, in overseeing the retraining yourself...Heck, you might even manage to teach an old dog like myself a new trick or two." He slightly chuckled, but turned serious again. "...Though that's not all I wish to discuss with you, I have a more... personal request, I wish for you to undertake as well."

"It comes with experience, as an admiral and a littlest brother, I've learned to hold my own in fights." He chuckled a little, though perhaps wryly. "A request of me? Gladly, Captain. Anything I could be useful for. What troubles you sir?" He wondered what the Captain could possibly want of him, but he would be more than glad to help, given the opportunity to.

"This might sound like an odd request coming from me, but I think it might be in Arendelle's best interests," He began with a deep breath. "I don't know if you already took note of what I'm about to tell you, but you do seem to be a perceptive lad, so I'm sure it didn't cross your keen eye undetected. Anyway, before I was overtaken by the enemy fighting alongside the Queen, I noticed something about Her Majesty's magic or at least how she was using it. She was mostly using her ice powers to shield rather than attack. I know she's cautious about using her magic aggressively, especially against and around people, yet considering what happened with Her Highness, it's completely understandable. What I'm getting at is that she doesn't have a way to defend herself if she refrains from using her magic. So what I ask of you, I say out both concern for Her Majesty's safety, as well as, the confidence I see she holds in you." He took a long glance over at the ice blade laying on top of the bureau. "I know it's our job to protect her, and I may be speaking out of line, but I never want to leave her alone and defenseless ever again. So I request you try to convince her to learn how to wield a weapon, teach her how to use a sword, as a preventive measure, so she'll have a way to protect herself without relying solely on her ice magic."

Hans blinked a bit, surprised by the rounds that conversation took. He paused to consider it. "You know she'd never draw blood if she could help it." He pointed out, but he was still clearly pondering the suggestion. "I'll see what I can convince her of. Perhaps if she can at least be convinced of a snow army or some other defender she can create, she might be protected. But I will try to convince her to take up a weapon. God knows, a man of the Isles is a good one to teach it, us with our refusal to give up anachronistic ways. We might need a guard presence during any training. I don't think you or I or anyone else wants to see me holding a sword at Her Majesty even with wooden blades for sparring. The Princess might decide to strangle me with her bare hands." That was only mostly a joke. "Well, I hope I can heal quickly. It seems I have a lot of work to do, yet. ...What blade do you think she should learn, then? It's a loaded question, but I want to know what you think." He nodded a little toward the blade on the bureau. His own sword was a bastard sword; not usually the weapon of a lady-- but certainly one that would kill well enough if need be. "I've seen her fight, she can be dangerous, but she'd never kill, I suspect if she gave a man so much as a paper cut she'd hold the scar as her own. As much as I agree that she should be protected, I can lead a horse to water, but even I cannot command it to drink."

"Yes, of course there’ll be a guard," The Captain nodded, before adding: "Though, I'd assume that you'd be using ice instead wood, should she accept, knowing she can disintegrate it at will." "Hm." He looked back at the sword."Rapier or Smallsword, perhaps." "I know," he sighed. "Her Majesty has a kind heart." The Captain looked back at Hans. "Thank you for at least hearing me out."

He nodded. "Of course. I'd say I'm a rather captive audience, even if I may or may not be a prisoner anymore." He laughed and shrugged a little, then cringed. "I'm not going much of anywhere with a stab wound." He shifted to lean back on the bed, visibly blinking back pain. "I'm not convinced she'd always remember that she can do that. Remember that time she couldn't unfreeze an entire kingdom? I doubt I'll ever forget it." He pointed out, a dry amused tone, but an expression that definitely didn't hold amusement on it. He still only felt shame about that. "Almost a shame, I'm better with bastard sword technique. 'Bastard for a bastard', as we joked in the isles, though none of us are. It's a better killing tool than a rapier, but it wouldn't suit her style." He seemed pensive, almost wistful a moment. "Perhaps a Sabre. I'm skilled with those and they're light and quick enough for a lady, if pressed. A good middle ground, enough metal behind it to disarm. Or, indeed, to dis-arm." He chuckled wryly. Lopping off an arm was one way to diminish a threat. "No promises, but I'll see what I can do. If nothing else, we'll work on some better defenses. If I must be Her Majesty's bodyguard as well as her fool, I'll do that, too." He didn't mind. He was simply whatever they told him to be. "Out of curiosity, what do you think of me? I imagine from an outsider's perspective, this must all be very strange to you. I won't take offense, use all the rude words you like." He laughed dryly.

The Captain nodded along as he listened. "What do I think of you? That's a bit of a conundrum. It really depends on when exactly you're asking, because right now my opinion of you is that you're a brave but foolish boy, that I believe is truly trying to make amends. If that weren't the case I definitely wouldn't have asked for your assistance. The Queen has a kind heart, but I don't think she'd give you a second chance, unless she saw something in you worth saving.

"If you are looking for rude words that would probably be my opinion of you after the eternal winter and when you first set foot back in Arendelle. Thought you were a real bastard to show your face again, after what you did. I was actually surprised you didn't choose to take a similar route like the Duke and enact your revenge.

" With that said, as 'an outsider', as you put it, I have a hard time wrapping my head around the whole debacle. Mostly because things didn't seem to add up, you seemed like a genuinely kind, caring, character throughout the eternal winter, helping Arendelle however you could, it was truly a shock to all of us to hear you turned traitor. Especially considering you went through all the trouble to climb the North Mountain to retrieve the Queen unharmed, and brought her down just to--" The Captain shook his head. "Anyway, I think that pretty much abridged what I think of you."

Hans smiled a little at being called a 'boy', amused and understanding. "A bastard with a bastard sword. One of several reasons I picked it." Hans joked wryly. "None of us are actually bastards, of course, by lineage, but it doesn't stop us joking." He rubbed his wound gently, trying to soothe the pain. "I didn't want to, if you want to know the story. I did it to give the ladies a villain for their story. True love's kiss wouldn't have worked, I'm no fool. So what, I'd have kissed Anna, nothing would have happened-- what then? Anna would have found a way to blame herself, died miserable, and where would the Queen be? Out on the fjord, ready to die? It wasn't a good choice, but easier for me to be the villain than the Queen." He shrugged, a bit of a sigh. "Bastard is a good descriptor for it, yes. But bastards can do good deeds too. Remember that-- and a good man can be a bastard just as easy if they've a mind to be. Good men are driven to it, lesser men simply walk."

" I remember you telling the Queen something like that in the Throne Room when you first arrived. I definitely doubted you then, but now it seems to make sense and I'm more inclined to believe that was really your reasoning." replied the Captain. " It's a lot easier for a good man to go bad than a bad man to turn good."

"On the contrary, I think." Hans mused. "It depends how good one is, I suppose. I know of many thieves. One married Her Majesty's cousin, small world as it is, two of my brothers worked with him. All three were bad, one turned out to be good because he met a girl. My brothers remain right bastards, but they'd still be there if my father wasn’t dying, and call my brother Eduard 'little fox' with affection. As they say, even evil men love their families. Or bits of them, at least. One of my brothers prefers the company of men, and the church calls him evil-- yet he's sweet through and through, helpful to those in a rough place, and would never bother somebody who doesn't want his company. Now, who is better, he or the brother in the clergy who says that brother and I are both damned for our sins?" Hans shrugged, unwilling to offer his own opinion. "Bad men have soft spots, no matter how bad. Good men who harden, though? I'd fight a thousand men alone rather than get in the way of a good man who steels for war. If her Majesty ever draws a sword to do battle willingly, by god's hand, run." That was not a joke. Hans knew the Queen wasn't violent, but if she ever decided to be? It would not be Arendelle changed, but the world.

"I guess you're right, there's a fine line between good and bad men. It's the way they lead their lives that makes all the difference." He responded. "May God have mercy on us all, if her Majesty ever lost her kind soul."

"Cheers to that, and God save us if we should make the wrong choice of who to side with in the chaos. I'm spoken for, I'm afraid." He nodded to his blade of ice. "Come heaven or hell, that's an Arendelle sword meant to hang at my hip. Either I use that, or I pray I never need a sword again. The Isles are curious about sword traditions, I think I'm beginning to truly understand them, now."

"Cheers!" The Captain played along. There was a brief moment of silence between the men. Just as the Captain was going to open his mouth to state he might not be the best company to entertain the Prince with words, the door suddenly swung open. Catching both men by surprise. The door swinging open was accompanied by the loud proud voice of a determined Feisty Princess: "Hans of the Southern Isles, I've got a bone to pick with you!"

#Helsa #Frozen #Frozen Fanfiction #Fanfiction #Shattered Reflections

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