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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 15 - ao3 -

“I thought Sect Leader Wen was above visiting other sects,” Lan Qiren said sullenly, leading Wen Ruohan on a tour through the Cloud Recesses. He had nothing better to do: classes had been temporarily dismissed on account of sect business, what with the teachers all being recruited to receive the Wen sect’s retinue; at this rate, this year’s rogue cultivators wouldn’t learn anything of value, and Lan Qiren had the sneaking suspicion that it was somehow all his fault.

“I can’t imagine why you think that. Don’t I attend every discussion conference without fail?” Wen Ruohan said smoothly even though that wasn’t what Lan Qiren had meant and he knew it.

Wen Ruohan normally treated himself and his clan like the imperium, preferring to summon visitors rather than go to visit. Presumably, in this instance, it was only that his desire to bother Lan Qiren had overcome his vanity, or else perhaps he’d reminded himself that even the Emperor would sometimes summer at the homes of his lackeys, allowing them an unasked-for opportunity to pay homage to him.

Truly a very irritating man. Lan Qiren was almost entirely sure that it wasn’t his adolescent brain speaking, either, though he supposed he couldn’t discount the possibility entirely – he’d been very irritated by Cangse Sanren, too, and they were friends now.

Actually, he was still pretty irritated with her sometimes. Maybe it was just a symptom of adolescence. Or perhaps it was that strange similarity he sometimes found himself observing between them, whether it was their seeming timelessness or their overweening arrogance...

Well, when in doubt, there were always the rules: Do not disrespect your elders.

Also possibly Have affection and gratefulness, though that one had always been hard.

Lan Qiren took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, and then released it, taking stock of himself: his walking pace was steady, his hands were clasped together so that they didn’t flail, and his appearance was calm. It was just a matter of getting his emotions under control, and he had plenty of experience with that.

“You’re right,” he finally said, releasing his irritation with an effort of willpower. “You do. I was being rude, and it was uncalled for. Is there any particular part of the Cloud Recesses that da-ge would like to see? I doubt the Library Pavilion or the main buildings have varied much since your last visit, but the gardens and wild forest are beautiful this time of year.”

Wen Ruohan was quiet for a while, the two of them walking side by side in silence, and then unexpectedly he said, “Does the Lan sect use well-water or river-water as your main source of drinking water?”

Lan Qiren stared at him in disbelief. “I’m not telling you that. That’s private!”

“Is it?”

“Not everyone’s like the Nightless City, telling everyone that they rely on a half-dozen imported sources for their food and drink and challenging them to try to do something about it,” Lan Qiren said crossly, and tried to remind himself Sneering for no reason is prohibited. “I’m not actually a half-wit, you know.”

“You misunderstand me,” Wen Ruohan said, though his eyes, narrow with satisfaction like a cat, suggested that he would have been more than happy to take advantage of the situation if Lan Qiren had been so foolish. “I only wished to know whether it was the source of water they are drinking that has rendered them all blind to the treasure they hold in their hands.”

“…I’m not showing you our treasury, either.”

Wen Ruohan barked a laugh. “That’s not what I meant, either. Why don’t you show me your Wall of Discipline? I’m sure there are a few new rules since last time.”

There probably were – the rules were like water, both eternal and in a constant state of flux – so Lan Qiren obediently turned his feet in that direction.

“It’s not a work-day,” he warned. “So you’ll miss out on any carving. But the rules are there, and I can answer any questions you have about them, if you like.”

“Any question? A bold claim.”

“Any question I know the answer to,” Lan Qiren clarified. “If I don’t, I can ask one of my teachers, or look at the books in the library.”

They walked in silence a little longer, although a surprisingly comfortable one given their age difference and Wen Ruohan’s general aura of barely restrained bloodthirst. Perhaps Lan Qiren was just getting used to it.

“Have I disturbed your afternoon plans with my visit?” Wen Ruohan eventually asked, gazing at the Wall contemplatively.

“I was going to meditate in the Cold Spring,” Lan Qiren said. “But it’s nothing I can’t do another time.”

“A Cold Spring?” A faint smirk flickered on Wen Ruohan’s face. “That’s useful for the suppression of yang energy.”

“And for cultivation, and for healing, and for encouraging clarity of thought,” Lan Qiren said, and managed to keep from rolling his eyes. “Of course, if da-ge is having some trouble controlling his lascivious thoughts, he is welcome to try it out. Such requests are not uncommon among newlyweds.”

Wen Ruohan was smirking outright now. “Tell me, little Lan, has that sharp tongue of yours ever cut the inside of your mouth? Or is that something you reserve for me?”

Lan Qiren pretended not to hear him and instead pointed out one of the rules on the Wall. “I always rather liked that one.”

Wen Ruohan glanced over and saw Have wins and losses - otherwise known, colloquially, as don’t be a sore loser - and grinned. “Oh, really? I find I’m rather partial to Honor the aged and wise, myself.”

“Really? And here I would have thought someone as humble as da-ge would opt for Do not say one thing and mean another, or maybe the prohibition against praising yourself.”

“Are you saying I do not count as aged, little Lan?”

“I would never question your years,” Lan Qiren said. “But the rule does include two clauses.”

Wen Ruohan was surprised into a snicker. “Sharp and sharper! Is this more of your vaunted Do not tell lies?”

“Be of one mind,” Lan Qiren retorted. “Anyway, you enjoy it, or else you would’ve just pointed out Do not argue with your family.”

“Indeed, I am not Qingheng-jun,” Wen Ruohan said, his smile poisonous, and Lan Qiren, struck dead on by the accurate blow, could only glare at him. “My little brother can argue with me any time he pleases…and does, I find. I told you to come to the Nightless City, and you disobeyed.”

“Learning comes first,” Lan Qiren said. “I had classes. Like I told you!”

“And your father and brother agreed with your prioritization?”

Lan Qiren winced, having not told them of Wen Ruohan’s request for exactly that reason.

Wen Ruohan only smirked, though, and did not call him out on it further. “Perhaps I will take you up on your offer,” he remarked instead, and for a moment Lan Qiren had no idea what he was talking about. “Travel is always so wearying, and I’ve heard fine things about the quality of the Cold Spring in Gusu.”

Right, that.

Lan Qiren was pretty sure he was allowed to make that offer.

“Unless of course you planned to have other company there…?” Wen Ruohan glanced at him and saw his confusion. “Your little immortal’s disciple lover?”

“Certainly not!” Lan Qiren exclaimed. “Men and women do not mix like that. Anyway, she’s not my lover. We’re only friends. She’s agreed.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyebrows went up as if Lan Qiren had revealed more than he’d intended.

“Very well,” he said, sounding almost agreeable. “I’ll take your word for it.”

Lan Qiren eyed him suspiciously.

“I’d still like to meet her.”

Of course he would.

“She might not like you,” Lan Qiren warned, shaking his head. Cangse Sanren was a warm and generous person, but her views were unshakable once set, and she feared nothing; he could only guess at the monstrous clash of egos that was about to take place. “But she should be by the training field at this time of day; we can go there next.”

Wen Ruohan reached out and ran his fingers along the Wall – seemingly at random, hitting Change clothes after taking a bath and No adornments that make sound as he did – and then turned to follow Lan Qiren with a look in his eyes that Lan Qiren did not understand.

“Then let us go,” he said.

As he’d thought, Cangse Sanren was practicing alone in the training field, looking especially fierce with her hair flowing freely in the wind as she danced with blade and horsetail whisk. Lan Qiren waited until she was done with her current set before clearing his throat to announce their presence; when she turned, he pulled out a ribbon from his sleeve – he’d taken to carrying spares – and offered it to her.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you,” he said to her. “It doesn’t matter how high your cultivation is, it’s still not going to help you in a fight if the wind changes mid-move and you get smacked in the face with your own hair.”

“Maybe,” she sniffed. “But I look amazing.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes.

“This is Cangse Sanren, a disciple of Baoshan Sanren,” he told Wen Ruohan. “She has no personal name, so don’t ask for one. Cangse Sanren, this is Sect Leader Wen.”

Lan Qiren had heard rumors that Wen Ruohan had once had a personal title, but that he hadn’t liked it, and that he’d ensured that no one ever dared to use it to his face. At any rate, Lan Qiren didn’t know it now and could not use it as an introduction.

Not that Cangse Sanren would have cared, of course. She raised her hands in a salute, boldly keeping her head raised and the bow shallow enough to be insolent.

“I’ve heard of you,” she said, her eyes slightly narrowed.

“And I of you,” Wen Ruohan responded. “It’s been a long time since a disciple has descended from the immortal mountain. Tell me, are you planning on joining the Lan sect?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” she said. “Are you planning on proposing some alternative you think I might like better?”

“Perhaps I will. You never know what the future might bring.”

“Knowing the present and the past would seem a sufficient guide to me.”

Lan Qiren looked between them in growing alarm as they exchanged seemingly pleasant words in cutting tones. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected this, but perhaps not quite so quickly...

“Could the two of you maybe not do this?” he asked, feeling a little plaintive. He didn’t want to have to explain how a casual tour designed to kill time had escalated into an inter-sect issue. “Cangse Sanren, if my da-ge’s presence bothers you, we can just leave.”

Cangse Sanren broke away from the staring match she’d started with Wen Ruohan to frown at him. “You call him da-ge?”

“Is there any reason he shouldn’t?” Wen Ruohan’s voice was as smooth as the silk used to execute empresses. “He’s my sworn brother, after all.”

“Oh, I know that,” she said. “It’s only that he calls Qingheng-jun ‘xiongzhang’.”

Wen Ruohan seemed a little surprised by that. He glanced at Lan Qiren, who scowled back at him. “So what?” he said, feeling oddly defensive. “You asked to be called ‘da-ge’.”

“I suppose I did,” Wen Ruohan said, and his lips curled upwards in satisfaction.

“Hey, Lan-xiao-gege,” Cangse Sanren suddenly said, and Lan Qiren automatically glared: he didn’t like her calling him that. “Could you get me a ribbon from my room?”

“What? I just gave you –”

“There’s one in particular inside a qiankun pouch on my desk,” she said, barreling on. “You can just bring the whole thing. I need it rather urgently, and for various reasons cannot go myself.”

“But –”

“You shouldn’t deny a lady in need, little Lan,” Wen Ruohan interjected. “Don’t forget that chivalry is one of your rules. Go and return; I will wait for you here.”

“And I’ll keep an eye on him to make sure he does,” Cangse Sanren said, which was horribly rude even if he did somewhat need that reassurance. “Please, Qiren-gege? Would you?”

“…all right,” Lan Qiren said, having the distinct feeling that he was being ganged up on. “I’ll be back right away.”

There was a rule against running, but he’d long ago mastered the art of walking as quickly as he could without breaking any of the rules against haste; he was able to retrieve the pouch and return to the training field within a single ke, which he thought might have broken some sort of record. Even so, by the time he returned with the pouch, Cangse Sanren and Wen Ruohan were standing side-by-side with identical expressions of smug satisfaction that suggested that they’d accomplished whatever it was that they’d so obviously wanted him out of the way for.

Hopefully not a recruitment into the Wen sect. His brother would kill him.

“Ah, Qiren-gege!” Cangse Sanren said, and accepted the pouch. As if purposefully adding insult to injury, she tied it to her waist without even bothering to pretend to root around inside for the ribbon or whatever thing she had so ‘urgently’ needed from it. “You’re the best.”

“And you’re a pest,” he told her, but she only looked pleased with herself. He wasn’t going to get any answers out of her, and he didn’t even bother to hope for one from Wen Ruohan, who was exactly the same. He looked at him regardless: “Da-ge, are you done here? Even though they haven’t sent word, I’m sure the elders have finished preparing to receive you properly, so you can finally do whatever it is that you came to the Cloud Recesses to do.”

Get out of my way maybe, he meant, and not especially subtly, either.

“Uh, Qiren-gege,” Cangse Sanren said, grinning at him. “I’m pretty sure he’s already doing that.”

Lan Qiren refrained from rolling his eyes at her yet again – nobody would gather up their entire retinue to travel halfway across the cultivation world to see him – and turned expectantly to Wen Ruohan.

“I gave my lieutenants orders to begin negotiations without me,” he said, looking disinterested. “Your sect elders will not want me to disturb them until they have reached preliminary agreement on the main points, so as to avoid losing face for either sect in the event we can’t reach an appropriate resolution.”

Lan Qiren hadn’t thought of that. He supposed it made sense.

Irritating, irritating sense.

“We’ve already seen quite a lot of the Cloud Recesses,” Wen Ruohan added. “Why don’t we take some tea in your rooms?”

Lan Qiren thought about his rooms, which were still in a terrible state, and tensed – he’d neatened up as best as he could after his tantrum in the little time he’d had to himself, but removing all the broken things had left the space bare and uninviting. He wasn’t even sure he even had a matching tea set left.

“You should go down to Caiyi Town,” Cangse Sanren announced. “It has a thriving market full of unique goods, and from what I hear you have a new bride, Sect Leader Wen. If you don’t get her something from your trip, she’ll never forgive you.”

Wen Ruohan hummed thoughtfully, and Lan Qiren seized on the excuse to nod fervently and usher Wen Ruohan towards the gates instead of his rooms.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find something to her taste,” he told Wen Ruohan, and for some reason remembered how the man’s long-nailed hand, capable of crushing mountains, had so delicately held the bowl Lan Qiren had painted as he had drunk his wedding toasts, as if he’d been afraid of causing the slightest damage to it. “There’s plenty there.”

“I’m sure there is,” Wen Ruohan said, and to Lan Qiren’s relief they were able to spend the next two shichen wandering slowly through the market. Wen Ruohan seemed to be particularly interested in stalls or shops selling household goods, whether vases or inkstones or paperweights, or else in paintings and other decorations; he solicited Lan Qiren’s thoughts on them all, and insisted on hearing them no matter how much Lan Qiren tried to demur.

“I really don’t know how much it’ll help you to know that I personally prefer my décor to have neutral colors with abstract designs,” he said, rubbing his forehead after one particularly extended discussion with a very enthusiastic shop manager in which they, again, did not make any purchase. “I doubt your new bride shares my excessively particular tastes.”

“What makes them excessive, rather than simply a preference?” Wen Ruohan asked, strolling over to where Lan Qiren was standing and running a finger along the blanket Lan Qiren had been absent-mindedly kneading with his hands out of lack of anything better to do. It was made of multilayer silk, airy as a cloud but trapping enough heat to allow for some warmth, and some clever designer had introduced some sort of subtle pattern to the embroidery that made it feel almost fuzzy. Lan Qiren had liked it at once, although regrettably it was the sort of expensive that was beyond the reach of even his generous allowance, especially since he’d so recently depleted it; it would have required him to rely on sect credit to obtain it.

He was technically entitled to do so, especially as one of the main branch family, but it wasn’t worth the snippy comments about Do not wallow in luxury that he’d invariably get for it. When he was younger, his brother had, in a rare moment of sympathy, told him that he’d be able to do much more and allow himself far more freedom while still avoiding such criticism if only he weren’t so insistent on talking about the rules all the time, but at that age Lan Qiren had struggled tremendously with focusing on other subjects and it had seemed easier to simply give up a few privileges. Later, of course, he’d realized that he didn’t have to give up those rights at all – the rule against luxury was intended to forestall dissipation and waste, the prioritizing of self-indulgence over duty, not occasional purchases designed to make life more comfortable – but his austere habits had remained. It was easier to pretend to have a preference towards asceticism and restraint than to admit that he was just being picky again, that he’d rather no blanket than a scratchy one or that loud colors or busy designs hurt his eyes and distracted him from his studies no matter how beautiful the art.

“I don’t suppose you remember those greens they were serving, the first time we met?” Lan Qiren asked dryly. “The ones I didn’t eat? It’s a bit like that.”

“Mm, I recall,” Wen Ruohan said, which surprised Lan Qiren: the other man’s memory must be prodigious to recall such a small event in such a long life. “You cried when you tried to force yourself.”

“It was a physical reaction,” Lan Qiren said through gritted teeth. How did Wen Ruohan always manage to find the most irritating take on any subject? “I gagged, that’s all. Anyway, all I meant was that I’m picky and particular, set in my ways and preferences, and what I like doesn’t necessarily transfer to other people.”

He wanted to ask Are you planning on getting something here already, but that would be crossing the line from blunt to intolerably rude, given that Wen Ruohan was his guest and his elder. Instead, he waited until it seemed like Wen Ruohan was done talking, and then edged pointedly towards the exit in the hope that the older man would get the hint.

In the end, they returned to the Cloud Recesses just in time for dinner, in which Lan Qiren was seated next to Wen Ruohan but which, per Lan sect rules, was silent, and was happily sidelined for most of the discussions that took place afterwards, which were mostly about sect affairs. The next two days Wen Ruohan spent fully ensconced in negotiations with Lan Qiren’s father and brother, and the day after that he was scheduled to leave – he had made plans to visit the Jin sect next before returning to Qishan, a route that ever so coincidentally would make it convenient for him to unofficially swing by Qinghe on his return as well – and in the end they only had time to take tea a few more times, almost always in the company of others.

Lan Qiren breathed a sigh of relief at having managed at least one successful one-on-one interaction with Wen Ruohan that hadn’t blown up in his face. He obtained belated permission for his invitation to the Cold Spring and mentioned to Wen Ruohan that he could take advantage of it during his next visit, whenever that might be – Wen Ruohan had seemed pleased by the offer – and obediently watched the visitors depart before returning, at long last, to his classes.

There were whispers, of course, but he ignored them with the ease of long practice. His sworn brotherhood was unusual, inevitably drawing attention; that would not change, just as it would not change the existence of it, and so other people would simply have to grow bored of their gossip first.

It wasn’t until later, when classes broke for the day, that he finally went back to his rooms.

His rooms, which –

Did not look like his rooms.

Lan Qiren stared.

What should have been bare walls and a cracked table and a bed with a single sheet had been transformed: there were paintings and vases, each with the subtle designs he favored, the latter filled with flowers emitting a cool and subtle scent; the incense burner had been replaced with one of delicate and intricate copperwork, a perfect match to the copper accents that adorned the new table, made of dark wood, that had replaced the one he’d broken. Even the pillows and blanket had been replaced – and he recognized that blanket, expensive and unnecessary, with clever embroidery and multiple layers of silk –

“His taste’s a bit much, I think,” Cangse Sanren said from behind him, having apparently followed him in at some point when he hadn’t noticed. “But I suppose you can’t fault him for efficiency.”

Lan Qiren turned to stare at her. “You – you knew about this?”

She grinned at him.

“You didn’t say – you didn’t tell – !” Lan Qiren looked around. “He was shopping for me?”

“All your fault,” she said cheerfully. “Apparently you were the one who started it all, giving him a gift –”

“He was getting married!”

“Some men are unreasonably competitive, Qiren-gege. Your sworn brother is one of them.”

“I – a competition – ?!”

“Possibly he also felt bad about getting you drunk and taking advantage of you,” she said. “And wanted to make up for it somehow. Just a thought.”

Lan Qiren flapped his hands in the air, unable to form words for a while – not least because he was pretty sure Wen Ruohan didn’t do emotions like felt bad, and probably maxed out at this made you have feelings which are inconvenient for me – and then finally settled on some: “What did the two of you talk about?!”

Cangse Sanren poked at the new guqin stand in the corner, dark wood and copper as well, embedded with a few dimly glowing night-pearls, and nodded to herself in satisfaction at its balance. “Blind people with no judgment or appreciation, mostly.”

“…what?!”

“I may have also mentioned that your room was looking a bit too ascetic recently…”

“Cangse Sanren!”

She laughed her peculiar laugh, the deep one that came from her belly and made everyone around her want to join in, and took to her heels as if afraid that he might chase her. Lan Qiren seriously considered it for a moment, wanting to scold her and also to extract every detail about how she had almost certainly tried to scold one of the most terrifying men currently living, but he found himself drifting over to the bed instead, putting his hands into the comfortable blanket and already imagining how well he would sleep with it tucked tightly around him.

Fine, he thought, scowling down at it with a glare that was for no one’s benefit, not even himself. Maybe next time he writes inviting me, I’ll even go.

#mdzs #lan qiren #cangse sanren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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deans-haunted-baby · 3 years

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Okay I see there are those who are confused as to why most of us are pissed about 15x19 I will gladly explain in depth:

Let’s start off with our boys Adam Milligan & Michael. These characters have not been seen for 10 fucking years. During that time there were Adam stans like myself campaigning like mad to have him and the infamous archangel return for some much needed closure. We had to content ourselves with headcanons, fanfictions and metas based on what we briefly knew of Adam and Michael as people while they unfairly sat in Hell. You might have seen the “Adam’s Still in Hell” memes that circulated. WE WAITED OVER A DECADE FOR THIS. And finally SPN answers our prayers and returns these boys back into the story for the final season. None of us anticipated what their arc and dynamic would look like. Before we could only imagine who these two characters were/are after having been trapped in a cage so long; what their personalities would be like and if they’d be antagonistic to TFW. 15x08 was a surprise because not only were Adam and Michael likable right out of the gate but the writing for them and their dynamic was damn near flawless! And Jake fucking stole the show he killed it as these two. It’s a crime they were not featured in more episodes because the chemistry between these characters is amazing and they’re played by the same dude.

We were given so much background into both Adam and Michael’s psyches in just a short period of time. Their motivations, interests and how they viewed those that wronged them (like the Winchesters); how Hell affected/changed them both and how they viewed their families. We got to see them banter, cooperate with one another and most importantly their different personalities. With Jake Abel appearing in only a handful of SPN episodes, he still fleshed out Michael and Adam beautifully; giving them layers and complexities that most side-characters (who’ve appeared more times than they have) didn’t. The way Jake played Adam’s anger and resentment towards his brothers was brilliant because it’s more under the surface compared to his angsty teenage self in 5x18. He’d become somewhat restrained, laid-back, gentler and wiser which works because Adam displays traits similar to Sam and Dean. He’s kinder and has a sense of humor but none of that distracts from rational thought as he’s quick to analyze and dissect situations. Man, he would’ve made a great hunter/Men of Letters recruit. We know right off the bat Adam’s pissed at his brothers for abandoning him in a thousand-year-prison-sentence and didn’t lift a finger BUT that ironically doesn’t compromise his willingness to help them unlike his past self in 5x18. Jake gets the point across with this character without saying much and that’s what made him so compelling to watch in this episode.

Now Michael was even more of a mystery onion since he wasn’t onscreen as much as Adam had been in past episodes so Jake got to really build on top of this character. Going from the uptight, cold-blooded merciless celestial warrior/dutiful son of God we saw in 5x22 to someone whom despite his arrogance and regal princely demeanor was very human, intelligent, fair, mindful and compassionate. He trusted Adam and respected his opinions even if he didn’t agree 100%. Whereas most angels take over the vessel completely from their original occupant; Michael chooses to share his vessel with Adam as a mutual agreement which says a lot about who he is. He’s fascinated with humanity and wanted to explore it instead of returning to his throne in the clouds. We know that Michael was created specifically to be Humanity’s protector and guardian of Heaven and Earth so these quirks he’d demonstrated in 15x08 aren’t too far off. He holds a lot of pain inside from his abandonment issues with his father whom he loves to a fault and grief over the death of his brothers. On the surface there’s very much an abused child syndrome thing going on with him though he masks it with a domineering presence. And above all this we saw that he was capable of forgiveness. Whether or not Michael always had these traits inside to begin with, its very evident that his friendship with Adam influenced the person he became post-Hell. And that was someone who, like Castiel, chose to rebel for the sake of free will by aligning himself with the Winchesters after witnessing the evil his father had committed. He actually cared about saving the world. This is what we call character development.

What does 15x19 do? It shits all over that. We don’t get to see Adam and Michael’s dynamic at all; and this was perhaps one of (if not the first) most healthy portrayal of a relationship between an angel and its original vessel occupant in the history of Supernatural. Adam is just killed off-screen Thanos style without so much as one last word and Michael barely reacts like he gives a crap. It was just established to us in 15x08 that he’d developed an emotional bond with Adam through years of inhabiting the same body. He protected Adam while they were trapped together in Hell. They were each other’s only friend and source of comfort. They’d developed a certain co-dependency on each other while respecting one another’s space. They’d both made peace with their joint situation. All they had was each other and the writing in 15x19 basically tells us their relationship meant absolutely NOTHING to Michael based on his OOC actions in this episode. He shows up much darker and shadier now that Adam is gone and its like all those years of friendship, things like that independence, newfound strength and humility he’d gained from living with a human for so long are erased. Michael just reverts back to Chuck’s 5x22 bitchboy persona in the most ridiculous 180 shift I’ve ever seen in my whole damn life. And all because his little brother called him mean names. Pitiful. Just when he lectures Lucifer about standing up for what’s right; he betrays his own words, his allies and the rest of humanity in T-minus 2 minutes. That is total character assassination. Nothing about this motivation makes any sense.

There’s no build up to it, no foreshadowing in 15x08 or throughout 15x19 until they get to the lake. He’s completely deconstructed as a character in this episode and rendered weak. It’s like 15x08 never happened. Stripped of all his development for lousy shock value. Instead utilizing all of what he’d learned through Adam and sticking it to Lucifer by proving he could be more than what Chuck tried to mold him into; Michael becomes just another NPC in the story forfeiting the hero he was. And his reasons for siding with Chuck are never specified. Was it about about saving Adam? Was it about proving something to Lucifer (whom he’d already killed in anti-climatic fashion)? Was it all an act that he was in on with the Winchesters; cause there’s absolutely NO FUCKING WAY they could’ve predicted he’d flip on them like that for their magical plan to work. Not after everything Chuck’s done, killing Adam and Jack and leaving Michael to rot in Hell for eternity. And why would he suddenly go along with destroying the Earth when defeating Chuck would probably get Adam back (if that was his goal) which IT DID not to mention its his sworn duty to freaking protect humanity, hello? So his betrayal meant jack shit in the end as it got him killed by his fucking dad!! He’s brought back into the show only to be ruined forever and killed off in the stupidest fashion.

Moving on.

Jack Kline & Castiel. This iron-clad relationship has been in development for 4 in 1/2 years since before Jack was even born. And next to Adam & Michael its the other most healthy relationship on the show. Castiel, a million year old celestial being, spent the first 9 years of his arc on Supernatural following around the Winchesters, being torn between his loyalty to them and to Heaven. He rebelled when he was supposed to be a straight-by-the-book warrior of God. And he defied every rule in the process even when the odds were stacked against him. There was an endless rinse and repeat cycle of love, loss, betrayal and redemption when it came to his relationship with Sam and Dean. It made his character complex, interesting and layered but it still didn’t give him an arc that was his own. Castiel started out moreso being written as just the Winchester’s angel BFF/side-kick. Until Lucifer got Kelly Kline pregnant in 12x08 then things really took off. Before this, Castiel was a lost soul. His faith was broken, he was depressed, lonely, battered and rundown from years of being conflicted over the other angels and Sam & Dean. He felt he’d lost a sense of self and meaning in his life. And didn’t have a mission. Once he turned on Heaven’s orders, Castiel was a rebel angel without a cause so to speak. But like I said this changes the moment he meets Kelly.

Originally Castiel was suppose to kill Kelly in 12x19 because she was carrying the child of the devil and Nephilim are considered forbidden abominations. Told that if Lucifer’s kid was born he could unleash even more evil into the world. But instead of doing what he thought he should, Castiel decides to runaway with her. Choosing to protect her from all threats (Lucifer, demons, other angels, princes of Hell); this especially included the Winchesters. During this short time-frame the angel develops a strong, emotional bond with Kelly and her unborn son that stretches all the way to the S12 finale; to the point where it actually gave him a power-boost. From the womb, Jack appoints Castiel to be his father and protector and he’s given a glimpse into the child’s destiny that he’ll bring paradise to the world. A prophecy that the writers establish head on. This is an unusual circumstance because right here is where Castiel’s solo arc apart from the Sam & Dean takes shape. The journey of becoming a first time parent and guardian. Its a new kind of independence that for the first time has nothing to do with his friends or his family members/colleagues in the sky. Its his own personal mission that he willingly accepts, the second he connects with Jack from inside Kelly. Castiel immediately falls in love with him, before they even see each other; and adopts the boy devoting himself to keeping him safe. Making a promise to Kelly that would later become a vital plot-point in the seasons to come.

Castiel literally risks everything (Heaven and Earth) to ensure Jack’s birth and ends up dead by 12x23′s startling conclusion. Leaving the newborn infant Nephilim alone in the care of the Winchesters going into season 13; scared, confused and aged into a seemingly 18 year old boy for his own protection. And Alexander Calvert who is a fantastic addition to the cast really brings something wonderful to this role; he’s like a breath of fresh air and a bright light in the middle of a dark room. Jack’s naïve, innocent and curious about his surroundings but also as Castiel once put it “remarkably intuitive”. Right when he’s introduced his arc is intentionally paralleled with Castiel’s. Their alien-fish-out-of-water beginning is practically identical as is their adorable stoic facial expressions. Like father like son. And this helps because while the angel is currently dead in the beginning of season 13, there’s an empty void he’s left behind. So Jack is kind of his temporary stand-in. Odd enough this type of switcharoo would’ve been considered very controversial but it’s handled quite well. Alex is so likable and charming I almost wish Supernatural had introduced him sooner. I mean I really thought I was looking at Castiel’s actual mini-me and not the son of Satan. But I digress Jack’s story in the first half of this season is pretty much about discovery and reuniting with Castiel. He’s a baby so everything is new to him but he’s also one of the most powerful beings in the universe destined for greatness which makes the Winchesters very nervous.

Jack remembers choosing Castiel as his dad which is why he already feels strongly connected to him. Its a bond so powerful that it actually resurrects Castiel out of the Empty the first time. Something Chuck himself was unable to do (that was until the mess that is 15x19). When they’re finally reunited the payoff comes so naturally. Misha and Alex have such a phenomenal onscreen chemistry starting with that first hug; they really play off one another so well that it doesn’t feel like two angels interacting but a genuine father and son duo. So much of what makes Jack and Castiel’s relationship so relatable, deep and endearing is because of what the actors bring to it. But they’re not just a fascinating relationship, they’re compelling on their own too. Both trying to find their way in the world and within the Winchesters’ lives. Death is no stranger to either of them (tragic being that Jack is only a toddler). They’ve each experienced their own personal pain, traumas, life lessons, mistakes and decisions. The biggest for Castiel would be his deal with the Empty to save Jack in 14x08. While for Jack it was the consequences of said deal that would lose his soul causing him to accidently kill Sam and Dean’s mom in 14x18 as a result (something that Jack struggles with immensely to the brink of depression from so much guilt and regret that he’d rather die). Repercussions that would follow into the shows final season. What’s interesting about this deal though is that Castiel made it on parental instinct alone not as a promise to Kelly. He chose to sacrifice himself for the sake of his son as a selfless act of love and kept it a secret from Sam & Dean until his death in 15x18. That’s the extent how much this child meant to him. The other great thing about their family dynamic is that it parallels nicely with the Winchesters. Castiel and Jack share this unconditional love that can never be broken. its even greater than their ties to the Winchesters themselves just as Sam & Dean’s love for each other is greater than any of their other relationships. They would do anything for each other. Castiel would go to the ends of the earth for the little nougat baby because that’s his son.

Each time these characters were faced with danger or died, Castiel and Jack were overcome with extreme devastation and distress. That said its not just pain that binds these two its happiness. Jack is the best thing that ever happened to Castiel. Literally becoming a father to that child saved him. It brought him back to life, restored his faith and gave him a sense of self-worth and hope he’d long since abandoned. And for Jack, Castiel is the best dad he’ll ever have! He gave this baby comfort, wisdom, nurturing, strength. Was always there when he needed him whether it was to talk or to have his back. No other person in Jack’s life has ever made such an important impact nor made him feel more safe and loved than Castiel. Even when Jack had done such a horrible thing to Mary alienating himself from his family; it was Castiel’s unyielding devotion to Jack that ended up being his salvation. This was huge because once again he’d chosen over the Winchesters proving that no matter what (whether it be the world ending) his son comes first. So when Castiel’s pact with the Empty finally comes due in 15x18 you’d think it’d have an earth-shattering affect on Jack in 15x19. I mean for the first bit it does...until he becomes God. Then its like to hell with that relationship. Castiel is a complete afterthought to Jack and the rest of TFW in this episode. JACK DOESN’T EVEN GET TO GRIEVE HIM PROPERLY. And he just lost his dad because of a deal he’d made a year ago for him. A DEAL JACK HAS BEEN FUCKING DREADING WHILE HE WAS SOULLESS MIND YOU. And when he finally has the power to bring him back, he doesn’t? Jack just walks around with a conceited smirk on his face, bids Sam and Dean adieu and fucks off. I mean who gives a shit right, its only your dad that you love more than anything. This was extremely OOC given that time in 14x14 Jack nearly lost his shit when Castiel got infected with gorgon poison; the anti-venom wasn’t working so Jack resorts to using his powers putting his soul at risk.

I mean if he was so limited to helping Castiel in the Empty AT LEAST FREAKING CLARIFIY THIS TO THE AUDIENCE. This is not about shipping a certain pairing btw. Jack becoming God is not the issue its his characterization after the fact. His first instinct would’ve been to save his dad above getting in touch with the Earth. Yes we knew this transformation was coming it was foreshowed way back in Season 12. Does that justify bad writing or character assassination?? HELL NO.

This is what I’m talking about, episode 15x19 deliberately butchers these characters and their relationships. It shat all over them. No one is behaving like themselves. The pacing is wonky and inconstant. The script feels like it underwent several rewrites and I swear there were scenes cut out. The acting is off too and maybe the pandemic could be blamed for these things but it ultimately falls on the writer. Buckleming screwed up by showing us they don’t know who the hell these characters are, their motivations nor do they give a rat’s ass. And its noticeable on screen. I’ve known better fanfiction writers for SPN than these guys. It’s like they all came back to work but just didn’t care to put the effort into it. That’s why people like me are upset and we have every freaking right to be. Some of us have been with this series for the entire 15 year run. I at least expect these characters to be handled better and for things to make sense. 15x19 doesn’t and its not satisfying its just a cruel joke. The writers and Dabb should be embarrassed to have put this out there thinking we’d just swallow it and shut up. But far as I’m concerned the only thing this episode serves is to disrespect and ruin everybody while angering long-time fans.

MICHAEL. ADAM MILLIGAN. JACK KLINE AND CASTIEL DESERVED BETTER. And that’s the tea.

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

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(光与夜之恋 Light and Night) Charlie’s 5✩ Inspiration: Daytime Spiritualities [昼日疑魂] Date Translation (Prologue)

“An eligible fiancée should always be prepared to make some sacrifices in the name of love.”

*Light and Night Master-list | Charlie’s Personal Masterlist *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Join the Light & Night Discord (＾▽＾)~ ♪ *5✩ Inspirations have 5 Endings!! *CG Image used with permission from 蓝咕咕 ☆ *Charlie’s tag will be #For Night, For Paradox

Even the unluckiest soul in the world will one day meet a stroke of good luck at some odd point in time.

For example, I'd gone out to purchase some batteries last week, only to somehow win a chance to try out a new model of Home Projector. All I had to do was to give them feedback about it afterwards, and the projector was mine.

What a rare stroke of good luck! Shouldn’t I share some with the exceptional “Mr. Perfect” as well?

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Setting my mind to it, I dialled the number I knew by heart.

Charlie: How rare it is for you to be the one calling me.

MC: Cut the crap. I'm here because I need something from you.

MC: Are you free this Saturday, Charlie?

Charlie: I… probably don't have any shifts on that day.

Charlie: Ah, I know now. You're asking me out for a date? Please tell me it's not for a Saturday candle-lit dinner.

MC: Dream on. Dinner's a stretch and candles are a no-go.

Charlie: How dull.

Charlie: But, yes. You do have a point there. My presence overshadows any candlelight before me, so long as I am around.

MC: I'm starting to regret ever calling you.

MC: I'm not going to tell you what we're going to be doing so just wait till Saturday and you'll know.

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Saturday arrived much faster than I thought. I went out grocery shopping early on Saturday morning to give Charlie, "his highness", a grand welcome.

I passed the hospital on my way home when something extravagantly gold suddenly caught my attention.

A gold leaf-painted car. One with extremely showy butterfly doors. There, it stood; sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the calm serenity of the hospital.

This grandiose display of extravagance was something all too familiar to me…

Who else would do this, but Charlie?

MC: But… Why's he at the hospital today?

MC: Didn't he say that he didn't have any scheduled shifts?

Unable to restrain my curiosity, I decided to head into the hospital and have a look for myself.

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Hurried footsteps sounded inside the IPD (In-Patient Department) as people came and went. Medicinal bottles clinked, and soft murmuring came from the Doctors and Patients down in the Wards. The IPD’s corridor was already abuzz with life this early in the morning.

Yet, the door to Charlie’s office was shut tight with nary a sound.

MC: How quiet. Is he not in his office?

I gently pushed the door open, only to be stunned speechless by the scene that greeted me inside his office…

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Charlie was lifelessly sprawled on the floor. His eyes were closed, and it was deathly silent.

The fridge by his side was wide open. The enzyme drinks and the fruit and vegetable juices within were exposed to the open as the fridge expelled cool air. White sheets of document paper were scattered all over the floor.

MC: Charlie?

Said person sprawled on the ground didn't move a finger, much less make a sound.

"An Employee's Sudden Death In the Early Morning", "Inside the Medical Industry: Why Work Crazy Overtime Hours". Possible headlines started running through my head, causing my mental alarm bells to start ringing.

MC: Hey? Hey! Are you okay!?

I flung my shopping bag to the side, quickly reaching out to place my finger under his nose to check if he was breathing.

MC: Phew… At least he's still breathing.

Just as I was about to turn tail and ask for help, I felt my fingers get caught in a soft and warm hold.

Charlie: Wait.

MC: !?

MC: Are you okay?

The person on the ground reached out to pinch my trembling fingers, shaking them twice in what was supposedly affirmation.

The heart that had leapt to my throat upon finding him settled back down, but doubt still remained.

MC: How… How do you feel now?

Charlie raised his head in a daze, looking like a right mess with tired black circles under his eyes.

Charlie: %#*$&...

MC: ???

MC: Wait, were you just asleep earlier!?

Charlie was just like a lion who’d awoken from slumber. He leisurely rubbed his eyes sleepily, the action itself seemingly giving you the answer to your question.

MC: ……

I started to replay everything I’d seen earlier in my mind… Steady breathing, warmness, and even the ever so faint snoring that came out from his parted lips...

Looks like I'm truly the one who’d jumped to conclusions here.

Recalling how I’d totally been frightened out of my own wits upon finding him earlier, I suddenly felt my cheeks grow hot.

MC: But, why are you sleeping on the floor? Are you that tired that you just crashed on the spot?

Charlie: As if. I purposely chose to sleep on the floor.

Charlie paused for a second, gathering up all his documents that were scattered all over the floor before rightening himself and walking over to bask under the morning light that filtered in. However, the expression he wore was still a little out of place.

Charlie: Once you’ve tried out all of the high-end beds in the world, you’ll soon come to realize that the bed is actually a pretty inferior piece of furniture to be sleeping on.

Charlie: It is only by staying in tune with nature and reverting to primal nature that you can get the highest quality of sleep.

Charlie: And the ground is the one thing closest to nature.

MC: ...We're on the second floor here.

Charlie: I have my own manner of thinking.

MC: ……

Although it did sound ridiculous, Charlie was someone who could even the most absurd things miraculously come true. I think I've pretty much been… rendered speechless.

As I was rendered speechless, the initiator of this entire farce had settled back in front of his desk as if everything was as per usual.

Charlie: I'll have to congratulate you first, (Y/n).

Charlie: For taking the initiative to find my workplace; and advancing us a step further in our progress towards making it onto the "Guangqi City's Model Married Couple List".

MC: Sorry, but we don't seem to be married yet. So, there's no way we'll be up on that list.

Charlie: Keep at it and we'll soon qualify for it.

MC: You've got some thick skin…

Did I really need to worry about this man earlier? He has such thick and impenetrably hard skin that I don't know whether I should be pitying him or the floor his face smashes into.

MC: Still, what are you doing here on a Saturday?

MC: Didn't you say that you didn't have any scheduled shifts today?

I leaned over and stared at him with narrowed eyes.

His eyes were a little dodgy. And when paired with the dark eye circles under his eyes, it was a rare sight on this "pricelessly perfect face" of his.

Charlie: I came to the hospital today to… Ahem. To wait for my assistant to deliver the blood test report.

Charlie: Last week's report; dragged till today. I'm not one to say this, but the young doctors all have serious procrastination issues.

Charlie: If all doctors are like that, then who dares be their patient?

Charlie had his brow furrowed into a particularly deep crease at that. He turned his gaze outside the window with eyes as dark as the old senior director of the hospital, who had a head full of grey and ever so grave.

And when I moved closer to peer at the stack of documents on the table and the crooked and askew words… His face morphed into a look warmer than that of welcoming neighbours.

However, the problem here was that… Wasn't that "Ward Round Medical Records" written on top of those documents?

MC: This doesn't look like a blood test report.

Charlie: You can actually tell?

MC: If I squint at it… Your scrawl is most certainly…. Erm… Unique.

His face slightly changed at that. He swiped the document from my hand and shoved it under the table.

Charlie: Enough of that. There is no way that this can ever be my handwriting.

Charlie: My calligraphy was already level 8 out of 10 in middle school.

Charlie: This is clearly someone else's handwriting!

He purposefully angled his body so that his back was facing the documents and propped his hands on the table.

Charlie: And, back to you. Why are you in such a rush to see me?

Charlie: Come on then; let's hear it. Just where are you asking me out to?

My eyes moved to look away, the fluttery airiness in my voice no longer carrying its lilt.

MC: My house.

Charlie: ...That quickly?

There was an odd hint of hesitance in his tone, something different from his usual overwhelming confidence.

However, this minuscule hesitance of his was gone as soon as it came. Soon, the corners of his mouth lifted up as high as they could go.

Charlie: Tsk, tsk, tsk. Never thought you'd be more proactive at this than I.

Charlie: There's no need to refuse; no need to feel shy. I know.

Charlie: But still, just us alone… together? Don’t you think that’s a little too rushed? Shouldn’t you do this more romantically, at least?

MC: ...Are you still half-asleep?

Charlie raised his eyebrows before shooting me an overly enthusiastic wink.

Charlie: What do you think?

MC: If you're awake, then stop spouting nonsense.

MC: Long story short, I won a trial run of a new Home Projector model last week…

Charlie: So, you’re inviting me to your house to watch a movie with you?

I never thought that Charlie would understand what I was getting at so quickly. I hurriedly nodded.

MC: Yup!

Charlie suddenly perked up. He crossed his fingers in thought.

Charlie: I suppose that makes sense. First, a movie; and then slowly, step-by-step.

MC: ……

He “knowingly” quirks his brows at you, his lips curled into a satisfied smile.

All traces of sleepiness on his face had been wiped clean from his features. Charlie stands up from his desk, seemingly having been suddenly imbued with a burst of energy.

With a faint smile on his face, he stretches his slender fingers out to hook it around the handle of the leopard-print mug on the table.

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I was caught off guard as an oddly familiar sense of deja vu overcame my senses…

It was as if a lively, yet oddly out-of-place saxophone piece had started playing in the background of his deserted office.

And there he stood, slowly coming into the view of the lens, panning forth in slow-motion. Golden sunlight filtered in from the windows, kissing the contours of his face and highlighting his profile.

Charlie: ……

He hooks his fingers onto his tie, tugging gently at it. His collar loosens, revealing his collarbones that peek out from beneath his shirt.

The knot of his tie rested next to the third button of his dress shirt. It was undone, yet not quite.

He pushed back the stray strands of hair that had fallen out of place by his sideburns.

Charlie: Does something seem off?

MC: What do you mean?

I lifted my head to peer into his cup. I could only see his reflection reflected in the waters.

MC: Not really…?

Charlie: As it should be.

MC: ?

Charlie: It appears that I am still as glamorous as always.

MC: ……

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If Narcissus, the God of Narcissism who turned into a Narcissus, were to be reborn; then his reincarnation will be none other than Charlie.

In just a mere 2 seconds, Charlie was back to his usual pompous self.

Charlie: I'm going to get changed. Please give me a moment.

With that, Charlie briskly turns around and heads into the dressing room. He muttered lowly to himself as he went, the sound trailing after him as he disappeared into a corner of the room…

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Charlie: Charlie, I don't want to be the one to say this; but what’s the matter with you today?

Charlie: Passing out in the office! Your perfect image was almost ruined!

Charlie: Thankfully, I reacted fast enough.

Smiling, Charlie shakes his head helplessly at his own mirror image.

Charlie: Still, my posture is still so very charming, even if I did pass out cold on the floor.

Charlie: Oh, perfection; your name is Charlie.

Meanwhile, I was blissfully unaware of these small theatrics going on inside the dressing room as I waited for him outside….

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Since Charlie was out, I decided to take the chance to survey his office.

The multitude of silk award banners and certificates of merit displayed on the cabinet stupefied me. I couldn’t believe the fact that all these awards belonged to Dr. Zha, who was currently piecing himself back together in the dressing room.

Suddenly, my attention was drawn to the work calendar that hung at the door. It had Charlie’s familiar handwriting scrawled on it.

MC: Is this…

The door to the dressing room opens with a thud as Charlie appears by the window, now casually dressed.

I ended up blurting out the question that was festering in my heart.

MC: Charlie, were you… working overtime overnight yesterday?

MC: Just so that you could make time for me on Saturday?

I looked at Charlie, attempting to gauge the answer from his eyes. That was when I realized that his eyes were bloodshot.

Charlie freezes for a moment. Something clicked inside his brain as he realized that he’d unwittingly overlooked a small detail. His high spirits immediately dampened.

Charlie: Do you have to say it out loud for the entire world to hear? How unromantic.

His honesty confirmed the disbelief I’d felt upon the revelation. It finally made sense now.

Charlie: No need to feel overly moved by this. An eligible fiancée should always be prepared to make some sacrifices in the name of love.

Charlie: Of course, I have to be willing to make said sacrifice as well.

He faced me with utter confidence. The sincere look in his eyes made me think that maybe this was only right.

Looking at the childish chicken scratch on the calendar, I can’t help but suspect that this might just be how he is when he was actually being serious for a change.

Charlie: Stop standing around. Let's go.

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Charlie led me out of the hospital. The engine of the flashy golden sports car roared as it brought us to my place.

I took my keys out and moved to open the door.

Suddenly, I recalled that it had been a long time since I last cleaned my room. I feel like I should say something about it first…

MC: I’ll warn you beforehand. My room is a little messy, so I’m sorry if it offends you, your highness.

MC: Express your distaste, and today’s session will end here.

Charlie: That's all?

MC: ...That's all.

Charlie: And here I thought that you were going to say something like, “Close your eyes, I’m going to blindfold you.”

Charlie: Or, maybe ask me for the right password before granting me entry.

Charlie: What’s wrong with a messy room?

He laughs, leaning down to place his hand upon mine, which was gripping tightly onto the doorknob. He gave it a small push. My hand moved along with the doorknob under the pressure he exerted, and the door creaked open.

Charlie: I can always help you move into our new apartment if you want a bigger room to place your things in.

Charlie went around me and walked straight in.

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The lights weren’t on yet, but I could hear his voice in the dim room.

Charlie: Where's the mess?

Charlie: It’s pretty good; enough to house another person.

The embarrassment that had yet to completely set in was soon washed away by his teasing words. Relieved, I left the bag of snacks by the door and ran into the room.

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Charlie was seated on the loveseat, his hands casually resting against the back of it.

MC: Your arms are stretched so far out. Made yourself at home, I see.

I patted the hand that he’d stretched out to lean against the sofa with a smile.

MC: I think distance makes the heart fonder between us.

Unfazed, he withdrew his hand without a word.

Charlie: And this is how you treat the evaluator you specially invited?

MC: Yeah.

Charlie: Can't you be a little more professional?

MC: Of course I can. But, I’ll also have to ask this evaluator here to kindly up his professionalism as well.

MC: Don’t get any funny ideas from your own fantasies during the movie.

Charlie knowingly retracted his “I own the world” sitting posture and moved further out.

Charlie: I can obviously do that.

Charlie: But, what if the person picking out the movie has their own selfish motives and chooses to watch some romance flick?

MC: No need to worry about that. We’re watching this today.

I sat down and turned the projector on. A shockingly red movie poster flickered onto the screen. Charlie's smile immediately froze in place.

Charlie: What… What is this?

MC: "Massacre of the Spirit". This is what we're going to be watching today.

Charlie: Massacre of… the Spirit? A horror film?

Charlie: Seriously, (Y/n)?

MC: Absolutely. My hard disk died not too long ago, so this horror movie is the only thing left in my cloud storage.

Charlie didn't reply, only mutedly leaning back against the loveseat.

His lips were pressed into a thin line, and he looked a little… nervous.

MC: Charlie? Are you scared of watching it?

Charlie: ...How absurd.

Charlie: The word "scared" doesn't exist in my dictionary.

Charlie: Don't go clinging to me in fright when the time comes.

With that, he casually pulls the blanket over our laps as if it was the most natural thing to do.

I peered up at him, but he cut me off before I even had the chance to thank him.

Charlie: No need to thank me.

Charlie: I can most definitely lend you this warm chest of mine if you get so frightened that you get the chills.

MC: Heh, there's no need for that.

MC: But, thank you for the blanket.

However, just as I was about to hit the play button, Charlie held my hand down.

Charlie: Wait, wait!

He reached over my lap and quickly smoothed over all the wrinkles on the blanket. He was very swift, almost as if he was handling white mice.

Charlie: Okay. You can start now.

Why's this man acting so strange today?

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I lowered the blackout curtains and the room darkened.

The screen before us flickered twice as screams and the sound of something tearing reverberated through the room.

The movie showed an autopsy room that was lit up as bright as the day with a withered human chained to the operating table. And hidden within the darkness, was a deathly sharp bayonet that was fatally poised.

It was then that Charlie brought something up. His low voice cut through the movie's colourful sound effects and entered my ears.

Charlie: Are you not afraid to see scenes like this?

Charlie looked at me, awaiting my reply…

How should I reply to him…?

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Choose your Ending:

END 1 | Choice: Do Nothing [都不做]

END 2 + 3 | Choice: Approach [亲近] ⊹Touch⊹

END 4 | Choice: Listen [倾听] ❖ASMR

END 5 | Choice: Heart-throb [心动] ★Night★

❖☆————— ⊹ For Night, For Paradox⊹ —————★❖

#光与夜之恋 #Light and Night #Otome #Translations #Tencent #查理苏 #Charlie #For Night For Paradox #昼日疑魂 #Daytime Spiritualities

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lightsinthedistancee · 3 years

Text

Stolen Time : Din Djarin x Reader

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader

Words: 1.1k

Summary: “A hiss sounds, and then a clank of beskar hitting the ground. Your jaw nearly drops in shock. For so long, you had wanted this. For so long, you had dreamed for this. But now, you lack confidence in your movements.”

“Go ahead, mesh’la.”

Feeling Mando’s face for the first time.

A/N: So I actually wrote this a few months ago but never really got around to posting on Tumblr. I’m not sure how much of a fan of it I am now, but I’ve decided to just go ahead and post (obviously). I’ve def seen this concept around a few times before, but I love it so much still for how intimate, personal, and sweet it is, so this is my take on it. Hope you enjoy!

Tanned hands. Shiny beskar. Soft leather.

That is all you know of the Mandalorian.

Even when he has you bent over, thrusting into you roughly, he reveals no part of him. Most of the armor stays on. He conceals every part of himself from you: his mannerisms, his movements, even when he’s inside you—when he’s taking you in the most intimate way possible.

A reminder of a convoluted, volatile past that had become something more.

It started off purely on the intentions of business. He’d asked for your help on a bounty, you’d accepted. It was grueling in the beginning. He wasn’t much of a talker, and neither were you, but something about his stoicism gave you an overwhelming urge to garner any reaction out of him. After spending a few days with him, you’d begun to talk and talk and talk, just to see an annoyed squirm or gesture out of his emotionless form.

Nevertheless, he’d opened up after some time, and…well…you’d sort of simply stuck around. And that had evolved into whatever this was.

Your attitude towards him astonished yourself. For your entire life, you’d never been one to take strangers home for the night or have flings.

Yet here you were: committed to a man who you’d never seen the face of. Who you’d never kissed, never ran your hands through the hair of.

He’d told you his name in one of his few moments of vulnerability. It had been whispered in the dead of night, in the middle of the desert, after a stark reminder of his time on Mandalore had rendered him silent, haunted, and hurt. You’d coaxed a lot out of him that night: his fears, his hopes. You’d finally put a personality to the man that you lived and worked with each day.

And that was also the first night his hands had roamed your body, stripping you of your clothes, showing affection as best as he possibly could. The helmet had come off in the darkness with a soft hiss. But he never even let you turn your head despite the absence of light, never let you run your fingers remotely close to his face.

There was no denying that you were curious about what he looked like, but it was not possible with his creed for you to ever know. It threw up impenetrable walls between the two of you. You’d suggested an alternative exactly once, had asked him to let you feel his features, map out his appearance by touch.

There’d been a long silence after you’d asked, followed by a stark refusal. He’d spent the rest of the day in a foul mood.

Sometimes you believed that he wanted the same.

Like when you’d catch him staring at you, zoned out, a moment of rare daydreaming for him. You’d say his name, ask him why he was staring. His answer was always the same: that he wasn’t staring at you, and that you couldn’t possibly know what his eyes were focused on with the helmet. And you responded the same way. A surrender and a roll of your eyes that he pretended not to see.

But no matter how self-absorbed or self-assuring it may have sounded, you knew that he was always staring at you. It was always you. You could feel it. The sensation of his eyes. The raw intensity of his gaze.

And that is what you think upon as you sit in the cockpit of the Razor Crest, staring at the stars and the desert sands outside. A singular light shines dim in the small room, illuminating the files of a bounty in front of you.

The door opens behind you, but you don’t even spare a glance until the cockpit goes pitch black.

“Din, you know I’m in here, right?”

You know he is aware when he sits beside you in the other seat.

“What are you doing—“

“Shh.” He shushes you. His hand comes out, taking hold of yours, the soft leather familiar on your skin. “I was thinking about how you asked to feel my face….” His voice comes out uncertain, wavering.

You freeze. Din was nothing but certain. He was confident, assured in everything he did. And to hear his voice tremble makes your hands shake.

“B-but you said no,” you stutter out, eyelids fluttering in rapid succession despite the darkness. “You were angry the rest of the day, and—“

“I wasn’t angry at you.” His voice seems softer, even with the modulator of his helmet. Your hands grip the handle of the seat, apprehensive of what you believe is to come. “I was angry at myself. I wanted to let you feel, but I didn’t.”

A hiss sounds, and then a clank of beskar hitting the ground. Your jaw nearly drops in shock. He takes your hand once more, dragging it up towards his face. You hesitate, unsure of how to process the moment. For so long, you had wanted this. For so long, you had dreamed for this. But now, you lack confidence in your movements.

“Go ahead, mesh’la.”

You nearly chuckle. To think that he would be the one encouraging you in a moment like this would’ve been unfathomable just hours before.

And you move your hand forward. Skin…hair…breath.

His hair is soft, pleasant to run your hands through. Not extremely short, but not long either. You follow the strands. Facial hair. Some stubble along his chin. A mustache.

Along the bridge of his nose. The bone beneath your fingers. His eyelids flutter as you run past them, feeling his cheeks and ears and forehead. Whatever you can get your fingers on.

His lips are soft, and you lean in with a certain yearning. He closes it with confidence, and you cannot fathom it. You’re kissing him. You’re feeling his skin beneath yours. You’re feeling his breath on you.

And then both your hands are on each other, desperately stripping away at clothes. He lets you feel his body too. Something you’d done briefly exactly one. So briefly to the point that you remember nearly none of it. His body is firm. Muscle lines and hard ridges. Yet not hostile. His form is inviting, begging to be touched, to be caressed in a way he’d felt so few times before in his life.

He’s responsive to you, leaning into you, pulling you flush against him. You now know that he’d been restraining himself all those times before. And you match his conviction with an equal vigor. Your hands are in his hair, gently tugging at the strands that had been forbidden to you for so long.

He pulls away, catching his breath, resting his forehead against yours.

“Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, cyar’ika,” he murmurs. “I love you.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Taglist (for everything): @dark-academics-and-florals @theultimateslashgirl

If you wish to be tagged on my other Din works or any of my works for other characters, just let me know!

Thanks for reading!

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Originally posted on AO3 on 12/30/20.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #star wars #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction

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local-starry-catboi · 3 years

Text

Right or Wrong Challenge

Introduction

I had stumbled upon this challenge after seeing it pinned at the top of the One Piece Amino featured page back in April 2019. It was the first challenge I entered after actually becoming active. I decided to polish this blog a little (aka match the formatting to Tumblr, hope I don't fuck up-), to post it here as well •^•

Decided to pick the imagine-yourself-as-marine-so-which-justice-do-you-follow-for-reasons question the leaders of this challenge set up. On the one hand because it seemed interested, on the other hand because it looked like it might be one of the easier questions to answer for my 🍞 brain. After typing out everything though, I can say that it's actually tougher than it looked like at the first glance to be honest. Especially not deciding what justice and why..

The challenge question set up was

"If you were a marine, whose justice would you follow and why? Or do you have your own sense of justice? If so, explain."

Definition(s) of Justice

Many people define justice by other things, like how they know it, how they feel about it, if it's important or not, what makes a decision just or unjust.

That leads us to a spot where there are a few points to consider. So first off, it makes sense to start by breaking up the meaning of justice using three methods.

First option:

"Justice [noun], coming from the Latin word 'justitia'; refers to just behaviour or treatment, the quality of being fair and reasonable as well as the administration of the law or authority in maintaining this." - Oxford Dictionary.

Second option:

"Justice, at it's base, means 'to be just, fair'. Most commonly however, the meaning of justice is to punish a criminal that has done something wrong in a suitable manner that fits their crime." - One Piece.

Third option:

"[...] Justice will prevail, you say? But of course it will! Whoever wins this war becomes justice!" - Doflamingo during the Paramount War.

So far:

Firstly, to sum up: In the end, the first two definitions go hand-in-hand with each other. The definitions of justice are in some thing close to each other and in some things they are far apart from each other. On the whole this means that even though they both use different words, are the same in the end of the day.

Secondly, hence the Marine is actually the "good" fraction in One Piece whereas the pirates are the actual antagonists, they have to shoulder and act out their role as eyes and sword of the law, judging over those who were unjust towards the law due to criminal activities.

Thirdly, the way Doffy looks at justice is also interesting though, hence he points at the fact that those with the great power usually decide what justice is. This way the stronger fraction also decides what is right and what is wrong. I wanted to put him into this as well because his viewpoint is interesting, too, even though he's not a Marine.

But now let's get back to the topic, shall we~?

Lastly: Moreover, every single one of the forms of justice has its right and a good reason to exist. Why you ask? Because not every living being thinks the same way like another. Even animals seem to possess another sense of righteousness and justice as humans - in addition, they differ from animal to animal as well. The effect of this is that Kuzan's statement he gave to Jaguar D. Sauro back then, that "The thing called 'justice' changes its shape... Depending on where you stand." is true, too. As a result, every form of justice is true - only depending on from which side you look at it.

Despite this freedom of opinion like with this topic, the Marines' general way of justice can be looked at as some sort of 'ridding the world from everything evil existing there".

Types of Justice

Since there are multiple types of justice given in the world of One Piece, lead by the Admirals, the CP9 and other Marines, I'll explain each of them.

Akainu's Absolute Justice:

His motto regarding the Absolute Justice is the "Thorough Justice". He seems to stick to this doctrine as close as possible, yet seemingly does not to mind going against it on the other side, judging by how he reacts to Coby, deserters, pirates and the likens. If Sakazuki comes up with any issues regarding illegal activities, I believe it's better to rethink these choices and to put in at least a bit of benevolence. It's an efficient option to differenciate well between those who can be taken down without major consequences or remorses and those who can "stay".

Lucci's Dark Justice:

Supposedly the CP0's kitty cat can be compared to Batman - to a certain degree at least. He bases his sense of justice on his own personal philosophy of "Neccessary Evil". Thus, he only destroys those who go against the interests of the World Government to defend them ( = the interests). For this, he himself becomes evil to support his ideals. Besides the fact, that he doesn't seem to care much about it, possibly comes from the WG deciding what justice is for him and the other CP agents. Thus, this results in him having his reasons for choosing this type of justice.

Aokiji's Lazy Justice:

The Lazy Justice (before it was the Burning or Fired Up Justice) is the rather laid-back opposite of the Thorough Justice in my eyes. It underlines his lack of interest and relaxed attitude towards many things as long as he doesn't think about a situation worthy enough for him to intervene. This is part of Moral Justice, thus acting according to it when it's needed. It shows well how he doesn't care about much that happens around him besides the complexity of his character. The Lazy Justice could be a sign to point out that it doesn't always need a ruthless man leading the sword of justice, but can also take a more relaxed but equally capable.

Fujitora's Blind Justice:

Besides the Moral or Virtuous Justice type of motto Isshō follows, he sticks to his own ideals instead of the Marine's Absolute Justice doctrine. He acts according to what he thinks to be morally fine like bringing those to justice who act without moral or anything. All this is underlined by the fact that he took his own eyesight to never see the unjustice of corruption done otherwise. This way Fujitora goes as far as taking responsibilites onto himself which other members of the Marine wouldn't have had to take otherwise if they were in his shoes.

Kizaru's Unclear Justice:

As its name states and how he possess a neutral attitude towards the Absolute Justice, it's somewhat unclear, how to define his type of justice. Except for the fact that it's mercy what he lacks, he doesn't really show a lot of passion or anything to pursue justice most of the time, however. If things restrain him from achieving his goal he only gets slightly annoyed and that's it, unlike Sakazuki for example.

Smokers' Eat Shit Justice:

He follows his own path of justice, unlike the majority of his colleagues do. Out of most of the Marine, he appears to be the most "normal" out of the bunch. Smoker seems to act on some sort of "be nice to me or I'll kill you" codex, like it was shown back during the Alabasta Arc for example. His Eat Shit Justice may be one of the more humane types of justice. After all though you shouldn't get on his bad side then or it surely will be over as soon as it is like with the other types of justice.

Conclusion Time

Now, to the interesting part. Whose justice would I and why?

That's actually a really tough decision. I had to think a lot between three types of justice, yet all of the ones mentioned above have their pros and cons. Eat shit, Lazy and Blind were the ones I couldn't choose between first.

But behold.. In the end I came to my current point: By a high chance I would follow Smoker's ideals of justice - as long as I understood and interpreted it correctly and not completely wrong, of course.

Why I chose his one over the others, you want to know?

The answer is simple. It's partially a thing of good education, I suppose. My landlords (called ✨ parents ✨ by some others) always said I have to be nice to others unless they become rude, there's the point then to just go out of their way. Just a typical thing every little kid hears, one day after another, so nothing special. Over the last few years however (to be exactly back when I came into 5th grade, middle school), I kind of accustomed myself to not always just take diverse comments, rude behaviour and all the likens because not all of the other students of my year were nice. Since then I decided to not take shit from most others who are constantly rude and toxic, especially for no reason. That's the reason why I follow the motto of "Be nice to me and I'm nice to you. Be, constantly, a bitch to me and I'll bitch back so eat shit, you idjit.".

Outroduction

Yee, so that was the blog •3• I surprisingly won with it, although it was the first one I had ever written, I've linked the original post from OPA. Looking back now, it sort of feels like a very lame, plain and boring character analysis and by now, I'd put far more effort into it.

Credits

Treasure Cruise renders on the dividers by KaizokuJotei on DeviantArt, and edited in PicsArt.

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vanillasakura · 3 years

Text

RDRSW21 Day 5- Sharing

Title: One More Reason to Be Happy

Word Count: 2922

Pairing: Abigail/Sadie/Charlotte

Notes/Warnings: NSFW, mentions of Cal’s death

Title from Nightlights I by Nana Grizol

≿━━━━━━━━━━༺❀━━━━━━━━━━≾

This was never meant to be a bargain for your sympathy, it’s just that the world rests heavy on your shoulders

All things considered, Charlotte was taking Cal’s death pretty well.

Her heart still ached, some days it straight up burned with a pain so terrible she felt like her entire body was being torn apart from the wrath of a demon whose goal was to terrorize and break her completely. But she was getting better. Slowly but surely, Charlotte was able to find the humor in things again, able to enjoy herself and think about things other than her husband’s untimely demise. Arthur had introduced her to two wonderful women that he was acquainted with, a Mrs. Sadie Adler and a Ms. Abigail Roberts, and the two came over often, helping her around the house and acting as trusted companions to which Charlotte could tell anything.

And one day, when Charlotte had admitted that, no matter how much she tried, she hadn’t been able to have an orgasm since the last time she and Cal were together, both Sadie and Abigail agreed that something would have to be changed about that. The next time they got together, they told Charlotte about a plan that they had, and although it made her cheeks burn bright red with embarrassment, Charlotte did have to admit that she was keen to try it out, both as a way to fix her problem, and because she would be lying if she said the the idea didn’t turn her on so much that she had pleasured herself to the very thought of it as soon as her friends had gone home.

And now that it was actually happening, good god was Charlotte more worked up than she had ever thought possible.

“You doing okay so far, Charlotte?” Abigail asked, as she finished tying the rope around Charlotte’s arms. “I know this can be a lot, but remember, just say the word at any time and we’ll stop, okay?”

“Okay.” Charlotte smiled up at the other woman, nervous but overwhelmingly excited. The two had already let her have privacy to undress, only coming in once she was ready for them to start getting her ready. Knowing that Sadie and Abigail were both as kind as they were gorgeous did nothing but further reassure Charlotte that everything was going to be fine, and that she had nothing to worry about.

“Can you say the word again for us? Just so we know you didn’t forget.” Sadie kissed Charlotte’s cheek sweetly, and she sighed, feeling happy and excited and safe.

“Thimble. Don’t worry, I didn’t forget.” Charlotte smiled.

“That’s good.” Sadie dragged her thumb back and forth over the apple of Charlotte’s cheek, her touch soothing.

“Thank you for letting us tie you down like this.” Abigail joined in, finishing her work and running a hand through Charlotte’s dark hair, which she had already taken out of its usual updo earlier. “We’re gonna make you feel soooooo good, I promise you.”

“You’ll be good for us, won’t you?” Sadie asked, dragging her thumb down to Charlotte’s lips, tracing it around the edges. All Charlotte could do was nod.

“Good girl. Just relax, let us take care of you.” Abigail brushed some of Charlotte’s hair behind her ear, looking down at her with all the love in the world. “And remember, if anythin’s too much, let us know and we’ll stop right away, alright? This is all about you, and how we can make you feel good.”

“I got it.” Charlotte told the two women. “I’m ready whenever.”

“Alrighty.” Abigail leaned down and kissed her, chaste but full of meaning. As soon as she pulled away, she seemed to be almost a different woman, pushing her shoulders back and holding her head higher. “Hm, I don’t think her neck’s been kissed in a while, what about you, Sadie?”

Sadie positioned her hand so that it was around Charlotte’s neck, dragging her thumb slowly down the other woman’s jugular. Charlotte gasped, letting out a shaky breath as Sadie’s thumb continued it’s trek downwards, only stopping once she reached the bottom of the hollow on Charlotte’s neck. “Based on that reaction, I’d agree. You want me to fix that?”

“I think that would be a great idea, yes. I need to focus on something else, though, so you take care of that for now.” Abigail leaned down and kissed Charlotte’s nose, and it was so sweet that Charlotte couldn’t help but break into a smile. “Been a while since someone last kissed you like that meant it, hm?”

“Yeah, it has been a whiiile-” Charlotte was cut off by Sadie beginning to kiss at her neck, scraping her teeth lightly over the skin and using her free hands to stroke along her sides. “Oh, Sadie…”

“Feels good, right?” Abigail laughed. “She’s really somethin’, ain’t she? Always gets me gasping like that too.” Abigail nipped at Charlotte’s bottom lip, smirking as she let out a breathy moan. “I really want you to make all those noises into my mouth for now though. A woman as wonderful and as beautiful as you deserves to be kissed like there’s no tomorrow.”

Leaning in from the side, Abigail’s lips met Charlotte’s and if this was just the start of the night Charlotte knew she was in for a good time. She had thought Cal a good kisser, he had always been warm and caring and loving with her, but Abigail kissed her like she meant it, the perfect mix of tongue and lip and combined with the way that Sadie’s teeth were scraping at her neck Charlotte already felt rendered perfectly helpless, moaning into Abigail’s mouth as she began to thrust her hips upwards with reckless abandon, already desperate for more.

She felt Abigail chuckle into her mouth, moving a hand down Charlotte’s frame and grabbing at her left breast. “You really are needy, aren’t you?” She laughed, a glimmer in her eye that made Charlotte’s breath catch in her throat. “Already trying to find anything you can to give you what you need… it’s adorable, really.” Abigail cast a glance down at Sadie, who was still kissing and licking at Charlotte’s neck. “What do you think, Sadie? Do you think we should give her something more?”

Sadie pulled away, still stroking the sensitive skin with her fingers, just barely ghosting over the marks that she left in a way that had more moans leaving Charlotte’s mouth. “Well, considering how she’s just reacting to my touch here, I think it would be horribly mean to leave her like this.”

“I think so too.” Abigail kissed Charlotte’s cheek, her hand slowly making its way down to her chest, circling around her left breast with the same feather-light touch that Sadie was using on her neck. “What do you say, Charlotte, do you want a little more?”

All Charlotte could do was groan, letting a soft “Yes please” slip out of her lips.

“Mmm, good girl.” Abigail praised, letting her finger trail over Charlotte’s nipple. Charlotte keened, arching forward into the touch as Sadie mirrored it on her other side. “I’m glad you want this, because I’ve been looking at you for what feels like forever, just wanting to be able to touch for myself… d’you know that, Charlotte? D’you know how beautiful you are?”

Charlotte was about to croak out a response when Sadie interrupted her, smiling with lust clouding her eyes as she started gently rolling Charlotte’s right nipple in between her thumb and her forefinger. “You have an amazing chest, Charlotte. It’s so gorgeous, just like the rest of you.” Charlotte squealed, her hands gripping at the rope that held her in place, desperately needing to grip onto something. “Been wantin’ tah do this for a long time. Thought about it a lot.” Sadie bent down, circling the hardened peak with her tongue and Charlotte felt a rush of heat to her core. “Have you thought about this, Charlotte? Have you wanted this? Both of us treating you like how you deserve to be treated, utterly ravishing you…”

By now, Abigail had also started using her mouth on Charlotte’s breast, gently scraping her teeth over it every now and again, and Charlotte was in such ecstasy she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to form words, especially not as the two began to run their hands up and down her sides again, getting so close to where she really wanted them, but backing away at the last second.

“She asked you a question, y’know.” Abigail reminded her. “Can you answer it, Charlotte? We’ll reward you if you do, promise.”

Charlotte gasped for breath, trying desperately to get her thoughts in order so she could respond. “I… I have. I did think of it… Sadie…”

“There we go.” Charlotte felt her smile against her skin. “D’you do anything while you thought about it? What did it do to you?”

Charlotte flexed at her restraints again, biting her lip. “As… as soon as you two left the last time you came over, I-I was so worked up from the idea that I went into my room and…”

“And?” Abigail encouraged, running her tongue over Charlotte’s nipple. “You can do it, Charlotte. Neither of us are gonna judge, promise.”

Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, clenching her jaw. She had never put her fantasies into words like this before, and it was proving to be much more embarrassing than she could have possibly imagined. “I went into my room and I… I pleasured myself, imagining what you had in store. I didn’t do it again after that first time, because I wanted to stay… stay sensitive for you.”

Sadie pulled herself up, dragging her lips against Charlotte’s in a slow, sensual kiss. “Bet it was real hard to not fuck yourself while you waited, wasn’t it?”

All Charlotte could manage was a nod, face flushed red and far too embarrassed to voice her thoughts any further. Abigail must have sensed this, as she directed Sadie to go back to her chest, while Abigail took over kissing the restrained woman. “Good girl, you’re doing such a good job, you’re such a good girl, Charlotte.” Another kiss that left Charlotte breathless. “I hope we’re able to live up to your expectations.” Yet another kiss. “Is it okay if we give you more? You shouldn’t just be teased, I wanna make you feel good, and I know Sadie feels the same.”

Charlotte smiled lazily, soaking in all the love that came from Abigail’s gaze. Sadie had switched to just using her hands, kissing her way along Charlotte’s collarbone. “Yes please. I’d love that. I need that.”

“Good girl.” Abigail praised, looking Charlotte straight in the eye as she finally finally moved her hands between the restrained woman’s legs. Charlotte gasped, tilting her hips into the touch.

“Jesus, you’re soaking.” Abigail said, voice low and husky. “Wanna feel, Sadie? She’s utterly dripping for us.”

Charlotte groaned at the word dripping, a groan which turned into a high pitched moan as Sadie’s fingers joined Abigails’ in stroking along the length of Charlotte’s drenched sex. “She is.” Sadie agreed, beginning to circle Charlotte’s clit, which already poked out of its hood, begging for attention. “Guess you really do want this, huh, Charlotte?”

“I do.” Charlotte sighed, voice straining as Sadie began moving her finger faster, adding a bit of pressure.

“I’m glad.” Sadie said, leaning in and sucking at Charlotte’s neck again. “You’re being such a good girl for us, Charlotte.”

“Is it alright if I do some more?” Abigail, who had been twirling her finger around Charlotte’s dripping entrance, asked. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Yes, yes please Abigail.” Charlotte writhed against the ropes, adoring every second of pleasure she was getting.

“Say no more.” Abigail smiled, kissing Charlotte’s cheek as she slipped a finger inside. Charlotte gasped, rolling her hips against Abigail’s strokes, moaning as she somehow found the perfect spot almost immediately. “Oh princess, you make the most gorgeous sounds when you’re enjoying yourself. That feel good?”

Princess. Something about that word utterly broke Charlotte. She had never imagined enjoying being called something like that before, if anything it had seemed a bit patronizing, but something about the word falling out of Abigail’s gorgeous red lips, directed at Charlotte and Charlotte alone began to wind the coil deep inside of Charlotte’s stomach earlier than she had even known to be possible.

“Abigail, please, again-” Charlotte breathed, voice strained as all she could focus on was the pleasure being given to her from the hands of the two most beautiful women she had ever met.

“Do you like being called that?” Abigail asked, smirking. “D’you like it when I call you princess?”

Charlotte groaned, her breaths coming in faster. “Think that gives us our answer, hm?” Sadie asked, pressing a bit harder against Charlotte’s clit, eliciting a gasp. “That feel good, princess?”

Charlotte couldn’t even find words anymore, this was better than anything she had imagined. Abigail and Sadie were real and they were making her feel better than she had ever felt in her entire life and as soon as Abigail added another finger and began to move her fingers harder and faster and deeper Charlotte felt herself beginning to get close.

“What’s wrong, Charlotte? Ya’ getting close?” Sadie asked, nibbling at her earlobe. “Because that’s awfully fast for someone who couldn’t get herself to come not even a week ago, no matter how hard she tried.”

Charlotte shuddered at the dirty talk, soaking in every one of Sadie’s words. “I- Sadie- I..”

“I don’t even think she can answer, poor girl.” Abigail licked a line around the shell of Charlotte’s ear. “Our princess is far too worked up. She really needs to come. Not sure she’s ever needed it this badly… well, ever.” Abigail giggled.

“Hm, maybe we should do something about that…” Sadie sucked down on Charlotte’s neck, hard, and Charlotte felt her legs spasm and she was so close all she needed was a little more but she couldn’t even speak and tell them that…

“I agree.” Abigail said matter-of-factly, somehow moving her hand even faster. “Can you come for us, princess?”

“Please, we want to see you.” Sadie added, still kissing and sucking at Charlotte’s neck, now with more room than before as Charlotte threw her head back.

“Our gorgeous girl.” Abigail whispered, and that was all it took, suddenly Charlotte screamed out and she was coming hard and fast and her legs were spasming all over the place and she couldn’t do anything but ride out the wave as Abigail and Sadie helped her out, the former swallowing her noises by enveloping her in yet another soul-stealing kiss while Sadie ran her free hand up and over Charlotte’s sides again and again and again and good god Charlotte’s vision went white as somehow the pleasure heightened and nothing existed in this void but the pleasure that she was being given.

Abigail and Sadie were all over her the moment Charlotte’s orgasm had subsided, working at getting the ropes untied and kissing her all over her face.

“Are you okay? Abigail asked, stroking at the skin on Charlotte’s stomach while Sadie focused rubbed at her hands. “Was that too much? God, I should’ve come up with a nonverbal signal too, I forgot this is your first time bein’ tied down an’ all, are you alright, my Charlotte?”

“I… I’m better than okay. Abigail, Sadie, I…” Charlotte took a deep breath, trying her best to collect her thoughts. “That was more than I could’ve asked for.”

“Bet you feel better now that you’ve finally come, hm?” Sadie smirked, before her tone got serious. “I’ve been there. It’s hard to finish again after everythin’ you’ve been through.”

“Yeah.” Charlotte agreed, and Sadie opened her arms up to her. Charlotte accepted, lying her head down on the other woman’s chest. She felt Abigail come up behind her and wrap her hands around her, kissing the back of her neck. “It’s a huge weight off of my chest though, now that I’ve actually… you know.”

“What, you’re gettin’ shy now?” Abigail teased.

“It’s always been hard to talk about things in relation to… to sex.” Charlotte finished, hiding her face in Sadie’s shirt.

“Well, that’s somethin’ to work on. Afterall, there ain’t no reason to be embarrassed about what makes you feel good. An’ Sadie an’ I are more than happy to help you.” Abigail paused. “I mean, if you wanna, of course. I ain’t tryna assume anythin’.”

“Oh, I’d be more than happy to continue.” Charlotte laughed, pulling out of Sadie’s chest a bit. “This was great. I’d love to keep it up Assuming that I’m not intruding too much on your relationship, that is.”

“If you were intrudin’, we would never have brought this up in the first place.” Sadie reassured her. “It’s all harmless fun. Ain’t like we askin’ you to marry us.”

“That’s true.” Charlotte said, before yawning suddenly. “Listen, I hate to be rude, but quite frankly, I’m exchausted.”

“After that earth-shattering orgasm? I don’t blame you one bit.” Abigail said, rubbing her hands up and down Charlotte’s arms. “Wanna take a nap? We can leave if you’d prefer to be on your own.”

“Huh? No! Please,” Charlotte grabbed Abigail’s arm with one hand and laced the fingers on her other with Sadie’s. “Please stay.”

“That certainly ain’t a problem.” Sadie smiled down at Charlotte. “As long as you need, we’ll be here. Promise.”

Charlotte smiled in turn. “That’s all I could ever ask for.”

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thestraggletag · 3 years

Text

Silver Tongue, a Rumbelle fic

Summary: Based on this prompt. Royce Gold is determined to confess his secret feelings towards the librarian. Unable to do it in person he sits down to write a letter but a combination of liquid courage and a determination to truly unburden himself made him perhaps a bit too ardently honest. And a bit careless.

This might have a sequel.

Rating: NC-17

It had taken a long time to arrive at this point, but now that he’d made the decision Royce Gold was oddly calm, as if having made the decision had magically ended the slow-burning agony he’d been in since the library had opened three years ago. He hadn’t much thought he would be affected by the event, and had privately thought it wouldn’t last. He could not see there being any need for a library in Storybrooke, a town where most people had last held a book in high school, if even then. He had thought it would not last long, one of Regina’s many pet projects that was abandoned when it did not justify its constant spending of town funds.

He had been wrong, in the end, because he hadn’t factored in the librarian. Belle French swept into town with her high-end, short-skirted fashion and noticeable Australian accent and he thought the moment he saw her that she wouldn’t last. Too foreign for a small town like Storybrooke. He had been wrong, though. She had soon made friends with the miners, and Granny and Ruby, and even a few of the teachers from the local school. She also made sure to make the library indispensable, organising book clubs and other after-school activities for the children, offering computer literacy courses for adults and a place for the knitting club to meet, as well as regular table-game nights that surprisingly became wildly popular with certain crowds. And had made Granny an unbearably-cocky backgammon champion, two years running.

So she had stayed, and soon he had begun to notice the danger in it. The way he could not stop staring at her in the diner, or as she walked down the street. They way he got tongue-tied when in her presence, and turned softer, kinder. The way his smirks turned to smiles around her, and he laughed easier. She was smart, and learned, and had a delightful sense of humor. Dark, like his. And yet she was a being of light. Kind, always ready to help, and willing to see beyond the surface. Beyond the drunken escapades of Leroy, or the scandal surrounding Miss Blanchard and Mr Nolan, or his own sordid reputation. And it was that thing that made her so dangerous, how unafraid she was of him, and how determined she seemed to be in getting to know him.

He had been half in love with her before he realised it. The attraction he could deal with- after all, she was a gorgeous woman, and he a man with eyes- but the feelings scared the fuck out of him. It was too late to stop himself, however, so he resigned himself to being a besotted fool… from a safe distance. Only the more they interacted the less he seemed reconciled with the idea until it felt like he was choking on his unexpressed feelings.

That’s why he had decided, in a fit of uncharacteristic emotional bravery, to unburden himself. Confess his feelings, likely be politely refused, and put an end to the madness. Or perhaps, if fate smiled upon him, be rewarded with a tentative acceptance to a dinner date, and perhaps more. It was always a possibility, albeit a small one, but enough to give him the push he needed.

He had decided it would be best to write her a letter. He got stupidly tongue-tied in her presence, after all, and there was something whimsically old-fashioned about a written letter, which he was sure she would appreciate. So on Friday night, after dinner, he locked himself in his study, fished out his Waldmann Tango and his best stationary, and…

Drew a resounding blank.

It was difficult to start writing with a blank page, he reasoned, so he tried at first simply to write the opening line, immediately falling into a ten-minute debate on whether to address the letter to “Miss French” or “Belle” and what to put in front of it “Dear Miss French”, on one end of the spectrum, seemed too dry and cold, and “Dearest Belle” on the other, too forward and presumptuous.

In the end he decided on “My dear Belle”. There was no point in writing a letter declaring his feelings if he could not even bring himself to call her by her given name and the slightly possessive edge to his greeting might come off as ardent rather than off-putting.

The opening paragraph seemed easy at first: “I am writing to you in order to express certain feelings I am sure have gone unnoticed so far, given the pains I’ve taken to ensure they remained hidden, in part due to our mutual circumstances and standing in town…” yet after a few times reading and re-reading it he had the odd, sinking feeling he might be writing the slightly-more-modern version of Mr Darcy’s ‘In vain I have struggled’ speech and that hadn’t gone over well the first time around. Luckily for him, at least, Belle had no sister he could insult while he was at it. So he scraped it and tried again, but soon felt everything he wrote sounded too formal, stilted and lacking in emotion. He was laying it all down like it was a contract to seal one of his deals, and it was hardly conducive to romance, or reflective of his true feelings.

He stood up, going for the wet bar he kept in the corner of the office. He selected a half-full bottle of Lagavulin and poured himself a generous three fingers into his favourite tumbler, deciding to forgo ice altogether. He needed to loosen up and good Scotch always helped in that. He sat down again, downed the drink in one go, and took another shot at it. He wanted to sound… Passionate, he supposed. It was the whole point of the letter, after all, to confess his true feelings. And his feelings were… ardent. Powerful. All-consuming, at times. Like a small, flickering flame that had slowly built into a veritable inferno. Though he did not wish to frighten her, he did wish to unburden himself and leave her with no doubt regarding his feelings.

“There hasn’t been a day since you arrived in Storybrooke that I haven’t felt your presence in some small way. You’ve taken a permanent residence in my mind and my heart, and there are days when I can scarcely think of anything else. All it takes is a small conversation or even a passing smile and I’m rendered useless.”

He fetched the Scotch from the bar and poured himself another drink, deciding it would be best to leave the bottle nearby. He felt he was finally getting into the groove of things, building up to something that sounded less like a legal clause. He downed his second Scotch, feeling the pleasant burn as it travelled down his throat, and took his pen again.

“You need not be concerned if you do not share my feelings. I will respect whatever decision you make. I simply wanted to tell you of the warmth you inspire in me, the way you’ve torn through all the walls I’ve built between myself and the rest of the world. And yet I know you to be, above all things, kind. More beautiful on the inside that you are on the outside, if that’s at all possible. I know that I am safe in your hands, whether you choose to give me a chance or not. Thank you for treating an old beast with kindness and humanity and know that, no matter what the outcome is, you have a friend and an ally across the street from the library, if there is ever anything you need.”

He signed it simply “Yours” because it felt apt. He certainly felt hers, in any case. Below he signed his name, trying to make his signature a bit more whimsical, give it a tad more flourish. Afterwards he stretched, poured himself another drink, and read it. It was… Good. Not too dry, not too passionate. Solid. Respectful but a good representation of his feelings at the same time.

Well… to an extent. He gulped down his third glass of Scotch and poured himself another, ruefully acknowledging that the letter was not quite honest. It was a bit restrained. Or a lot restrained. It felt like the gentlemanly thing to do, to tone down some of the more unbecoming feelings, keep those more intimate urges locked up for the time being. But perhaps, he mused, he could let loose a bit, to try and see if a more emotionally-honest letter would actually be preferable.

He could tell her, perhaps, a bit more about how it was hard for him to keep his eyes off her when they were in the same room. How utterly beautiful she was, small enough to make him wanna crowd her in, whisk her away somewhere and lean over her, feeling her breath on his neck. How he adored her high heels and flirty skirts and wished nothing more than to-

He removed his tie, and scratched out that last sentence, automatically fishing for his drink to try and cool himself down. He was beginning to get inappropriate and, anyway, he did not wish to come across as if he was solely enamoured with her physical appearance. Though he very much was enraptured by it, it was her personality that had made him fall for her. Things like her kindness, her understanding, her insatiable curiosity. He wished to share everything with her. Wanted to teach her all the secrets of his trade, have deep discussions on books they mutually liked, bare his soul to her inquisitive eyes.

“In my dreams, over and over, I am a willing slave to your curiosity, your insatiable need to explore and experience. When I close my eyes I see us in every way two people can be together, entwined till it’s impossible to decipher where I end and you begin. You let me press my mouth against every inch of you, drink from your cunt till I’m satiated, but it’s never enough. I wish to vainly attempt to quench your curiosity anywhere and everywhere you’ll let me, at any time of day. Over and over till neither of us can walk and I cannot remove your scent from my fingers, my mouth, my cock.”

He stared at the paragraph, head tilted to the side. The paper looked a bit blurry, so he checked to make sure he was wearing his glasses. He was. Odd. He reached out for his glass of Scotch, surprised that it was empty. He refilled it, noticing the bottle felt surprisingly light. He re-read the paragraph, trying to figure out if it was a bit too risqué. But, he reasoned, Belle was risqué, in her attire, in her reading choices. Sure she would appreciate him being the same, going out of his comfort sort in order to convey the depth of his affection.

“I dream of fucking you for hours on end. Slowly, with the care and thoroughness you deserve, till we’re both numb and spent. I want to make you ache in places where the pain bleeds into pleasure, and convince you that only I am worthy of making you come. That none of the boys you might have had between your lovely legs were worth a second look. I want to become your favourite toy, there for whenever you might need me, eager to please, to make you sigh and moan and keen till you are hoarse.”

He was hard, he noticed, but it was hardly a surprise, though he thought he might have drunk a bit too much for his body to rise to the occasion. He thought about touching himself for the briefest second, but quickly dismissed the idea. He was on a writing roll, it wouldn’t do to jeopardise that. Instead he poured himself another glass of Scotch, surprised when he had to tip the bottle all the way. He didn’t remember drinking enough to empty it, but he must have. Shrugging, he turned his attention back to the letter.

“I want to take you against the stacks of the library, amidst the books you love so much. I want to fuck you in the backroom of my shop so your smell lingers there. I want to go down on you in my bed for ours, till the silk sheets are ruined beyond repair. I want to consume you anywhere, everywhere, knowing that I will never be truly satiated, that it will never be enough. Have you splayed across my dining room table so I could eat you out as many times as I wanted, as much as you needed. I want to do everything to you, and have you do everything to me, till I can’t scrub you from my skin, the same way I cannot seem to be able to erase you from my heart and my mind.”

It was a bit of a sappy ending, but he supposed it balanced the more physical emotions out. He signed his name at the bottom with a flourish, smiled in satisfaction and staggered to his feet, determined to make it to his bedroom. He would get a good night’s sleep, wake up refreshed, and deliver the letter personally first thing in the morning.

In the morning, once he was done throwing up and had managed to shower, he shook his head at the idea he could’ve ever thought he would wake up anything other than terribly hungover. He popped a couple of aspirin, forced himself to swallow a few bites of dry toast, and dressed himself for the day. Before going out the door he remembered the letter, wincing when he recalled specifically the second draft he had made, clearly in a state of drunken foolishness. He picked up the sheets of paper, thinking for a second about ripping them up. He stopped himself at the last minute, though. The letter might not be fit to ever be seen by Belle, but he fancied the idea of rereading it later. He folded it neatly into an envelope and fetched a second one for the original, much more suitable letter. He would slip that one underneath the library’s door on his way to the shop.

He was startled by his home phone ringing, picking up to see it was the tip on the estate sale he had been waiting for. He jotted down the necessary information, went back to his desk to retrieve the letter and was out the door a few seconds later. He hurried to the library and, before he could convince himself otherwise, slipped the envelope with the letter underneath the doors, feeling a mixture of relief and anxiety afterwards. He had done it, and though he felt unbearably nervous about the whole thing, he was proud of himself for following through.

Or he was, until he opened what he thought was the unsuitable letter and realised it was the original first draft. He had switched them up by mistake. Ice flooded his veins, and he felt like someone had punched him in the gut, leaving him gasping for breath. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him, not with Belle. The more he thought about it the more his mind recalled fragments of the letter, lingering in its uncouth language and vivid imagery. He was fucked, totally and completely.

Unless…

Maybe she hadn’t opened the letter yet. Or she had, but hadn’t gotten around to read it all. The first page or so was quite reserved. Perhaps he could sneak into the library and retrieve the rest, or swap it for the correct letter. He had the keys to the library, as it was his property, rented by the town. It would feel and likely be a terrible violation of the librarian’s private space, even though he did not intend to go beyond the library, but it would be worse to allow her to be submitted to such basic thoughts as the ones he had written down the other night.

With that in mind he took the library keys from his safe and went out into the night. Storybrooke, being a small town, was deserted at that time, which was a blessing. Less people to see him slip inside the library using the back door, or hear him as he rummaged around inside, trying to be quiet and not use his phone flashlight, lest that alert Belle upstairs in her apartment somehow. Tentatively he made his way to her office, sure she would have surely put the letter, hopefully unsealed. But when he got close he noticed light coming through the windows of the office, where the blinds were partially-lowered. It seemed that, given his fucking luck, Miss French was still diligently toiling away doing something or the other for the library. Nevermind. He would take a discrete peek, to see if he at least spotted his letter atop her desk, and if he did he would hide in some shadowy corner of the library and wait her out. If he didn’t he would cut his losses and go back home, to try and figure out how he was ever going to face Belle again.

He approached silently, drawing one of the slats down to peer inside. He spotted Belle right away, leaning back on her office chair with an ottoman propping her feet up. She was reading something and for a moment he appreciated her face, eyes focused on the page, cheeks slightly flushed and lips parted. Then he registered the rest, the shirt tossed above the desk along with her bra, the black silk camisole making her hardened nipples visible and her left hand, which disappeared somewhere beneath her rucked-up skirt. She sighed, head rolling back as she whispered something.

He didn’t know what registered first, whether it was the fact that she was saying his name or that it was his letter she was reading, clutched tightly to her right hand. There was no doubt as to what she was doing, and yet he could hardly believe that Belle fucking French was bringing herself to orgasm in her office while reading his letter. He pinched himself, unwilling to believe he was seeing what he was seeing, but the sting felt all too real. It wasn’t a dream, it was, somehow, reality. Sweet, sweet reality.

He needed to get out. As much as he burned to just burst into the office and let his mouth do what Belle’s fingers were attempting, it wouldn’t do. By some miracle she was not offended or otherwise put off by his risqué letter, but she sure would be by him breaking into the library. Offended and perhaps scared, unsafe, which was the last thing he wanted her to feel, especially in his presence. He would sneak out, quietly, and swing by the library tomorrow afternoon, right after closing time. As much as it would embarrass him to bring up his letter he would know she reciprocated his feelings, or that at least she was open to them, and that would give him the courage needed to ask her out.

It was a solid plan, a great plan. And it would’ve worked, he was sure, if he hadn’t knocked over a banker lamp as he backed away from her office. The antique bronze made a horrible noise as it collided with the floor, and the green shade shattered upon impact, making a mess.

“Who’s there?”

Fuck.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #silver tongue

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parkrstark · 4 years

Text

ladies and gentlemen, it’s too much for captain america!

wrttien for @whumptober2020 day 1: waking up restrained, shackled, hanging, Steve wakes up restrained and hanging in some Hydra den, which is fine, really. He can handle that. What he can't handle is watching them blow up his husband and son. That breaks him more than any torture ever would. 1.8k, ao3

When Steve became aware of things around him again, it felt like he had never passed out. It was like a moment had passed since one of the Hydra agents slammed a block of concrete against the side of his head, rendering him unconscious.

But he knew it couldn't have been that short of time because he wasn't where he was knocked unconscious. He was strung up by the shackles and chains around his wrists.

His feet just barely brushed against the ground, not enough to hold himself up to stop the iron from digging into his wrists.

He couldn't help the groan he let out as he lifted his neck so his chin was no longer resting against his chest.

"Finally awake, hm?"

Steve looked over at the Hydra agent speaking to him and he narrowed his eyes, keeping his jaw clenched firm.

"You've been out for quite some time. It's hard to get information from an unconscious man."

"I think you'd find it easier than getting it from me while I'm conscious," Steve growled.

"We'll see about that," the man strolled over, casually with a cattle prod in his hand.

Steve kept his mouth shut even when it was stuck in his side. He gritted his teeth through the burning pain.

"Are you sure there's nothing you'd like to tell us?" Hydra man asked after what had to be a half hour or endless electrocution and punches.

Steve didn't know what the hell he wanted, but he answered anyway. "Actually, there is something I'd like to tell you."

Steve couldn't see the agent's face behind his mask, but he bet there was a smirk. "Please share." The cattle prod sparked with electricity, only inches from Steve's chest.

“Kiss my ass.”

The Hydra Agent shoved the prod forward until it connected with his skin. Steve was not as loud as the man, but he couldn't help the grunt of pain.

Once he was done and staring up at Steve, Steve made sure there was a smile plastered on his face.

The Hydra Agent used the prod to hit Steve in the side of the head with. Steve swung slightly from the shackles and tried to stop himself from moving. Before he could stop moving, the prod was stuck into his side again and his body seized painfully as electricity ran through his body. He couldn’t help the groan he let out.

The Hydra Agent laughed. “I’d love to do this for hours, Captain. I won’t stop until you tell us something.”

The electricity was back and Steve grunted through it. Once the electricity was gone, his body sagged and he could feel drool trickle down his chin. He didn’t know how many volts they were pumping into him with each shock, but it was definitely adequate against Captain America.

He could barely lift his head.

“Change your mind yet?” The Hydra Agent cackled.

It took Steve a few seconds to even be able to get his mouth to speak. But when he did, he made sure his voice was strong as he could make it. “I got something for you.”

“And what is that, Captain?”

Steve took a deep breath and rattled off what he had memorized in basic training. "Name: Steven Grant Rogers. Rank: Captain. Serial number: 54985870.” He decided smirking down at him was a good usage of his energy. “And that's all you'll ever get from me."

With a frustrated shout, the agent pulled the prod back, ready to hurt Steve again when he was interrupted by red lights flashing in the room, followed by blaring alarms.

The Hydra Agent moves away from Steve, back to a monitor screen. He typed away until a feed was brought up and he saw outside from a surveillance feed.

There was nothing in the frame and Steve didn't understand what they were looking at until a familiar blob of red and gold came into view.

The agent zoomed in on the blob, and sure enough, it was Iron Man. He was sneaking through trees, no idea by his calmness that he had already triggered a silent alarm.

"Oh, look at this," he said. "Someone's coming to save you, huh?"

Steve didn't react, though he was so proud of Tony for finding him.

Until he heard him whisper, "Alright, Webs. You wanted to tag along, stay close. I'm not losing you too."

And then Spider-Man was sneaking up behind him. "I'm not completely incapable of handling myself."

"If I save Steve and he comes back and finds out that I lost our kid, he won't be very happy with me."

Steve's heart stopped. That wasn't something any of them broadcasted. Sure, they teamed up a lot in smaller missions, but it was never confirmed Spider-Man was their kid. And they definitely never let him tag along on big missions like this.

Tony and Peter continued to sneak through the trees, but Steve could barely focus when all he heard was the agent's cackling. It turned into loud howling laughter soon enough.

"Oh, this is just too good to be true! Just wait until the others find out. Iron Man and Captain America's kid is Spider-Man."

No. No. The world knew Steve and Tony had a kid, Peter, and now they would know that kid was also Spider-Man.

"Please. Leave him alone. He's just a kid."

Hydra Agent turned to him with a grin. "So suddenly you want to talk, huh?"

"Please," Steve begged. "Don't hurt him."

"You know we have excellent defenses around the base. One click of this button and the mines we have set up go off immediately. They'll be blown out of those suits so fast."

Steve was shaking now, trembling as he struggled against the shackles. "No! Don't kill them!"

The agent didn't even hesitate before clicking the button in front of him. Steve turned to the feed and stared, just waiting for what was about to happen.

Peter went still, he straightened up. "Something's wrong."

Tony glanced back and asked, "What?"

"Dad--."

That was the last thing he said before an explosion lit up behind them, and they both went flying, somewhere off screen.

"Oh, boy," the man laughed. "There's no way they survived that."

And the worst part was that Steve knew he was right.

He sagged in the restraints, not caring at how much weight he was putting on his wrists. All of his fight was extinguished immediately. Without his family, there was no reason for anything.

He stared down at the ground, willing himself to wake up from this nightmare. It didn't work.

He heard the man walking closer, his footsteps and laughter sounded like nails on a chalkboard. "What's a matter?"

Steve could only guess how drained he looked. He stayed silent.

"Did you not like the show? You got to see them one last time. I didn't have to give you that."

"My family…" He said, his voice so hollow and devoid of any emotion.

"Your family is dead, Captain Rogers. And soon you will be if you don't give us what we need to know."

"I don't care," Steve said, shaking his head. He looked back up from the floor and looked to the man in that mask, that coward. "Fucking kill me. Please. It will be better than living. It would hurt less."

"With great pleasure."

The prod came back again, full force, and Steve was right. That burning hurt so much less than the memory of Peter's fearful cry and then the two of them getting blown away, trying to save him.

He welcomed every blow until he was finally knocked unconscious. This time, he hoped he never woke up.

"Babe, babe, you gotta get up."

Steve couldn't help but open his eyes when he heard Tony's voice. The edges of his vision were still dark and the rest was blurry, but he'd recognize his love anywhere. "Tony."

"Thank JARVIS you're awake." Tony looked him up and down. "You're so bloody and beat up...I was so scared…"

Steve just continued staring. "Tony…"

"Yes, baby, it's me. I'm right here." He cupped his cheek gently.

Steve smiled. "I wish you were here."

"I am. I am." He glanced over his shoulder anxiously, which didn't make sense. Tony wasn't really here. He was dead. He had nothing to worry about if he was dead.

"I miss you already." His eyes started to droop shut again.

"Miss me? Babe, I'm right here."

"You're gone. I miss you." Steve leaned into the touch.

"I'm right here and we're getting you out of here." Tony started to pull at the shackles around his wrists. "Pete, get over here and hold him up while I break these."

"Petey's here?" Steve looked around for his boy. He wanted to hear his voice again when he wasn’t panicking.

Tony frowned, looking back at him. "Steve, how hard did they hit your head?"

Suddenly Peter was in front of him, holding him by his waist. "Hey, Pops."

"Say that again," Steve said. He just wanted to keep hearing him talk forever and ever to wipe out the sound of him crying.

Peter looked as confused as Tony did. "Hey, Pops…"

"I miss you too, baby bear."

"I'm right here, Pops. Not going anywhere."

Steve's wrists were uncuffed and Peter caught him easily because of his super strength.

Then he was putting him on the ground with one arm still wrapped around him while Tony held the other side. Steve looked from Peter to Tony and then back to Peter and then back to Tony.

"Wait...you're here. This isn't...this isn't a dream?"

"Finally coming back to us, big guy?" Tony asked, sounding a little worried.

"But I saw you-- I saw--."

"You saw us get blown to fucking Guam? Yeah. Well, they didn't plan on all the safety features I added to Spider-Man's suit to protect him from pyromaniac wackos like these freaks and thankfully, I was close enough to be included in that protection."

"The video-- they know. They heard you. They'll tell." Steve glanced back at the monitor, just noticing all the damage to the room he was being held in.

"I wiped their entire system. They have nothing. And there were no survivors here to spill whatever secrets they learned. Don't worry."

Steve found relief in that, and being held by his boys, who were both safe and alive.

"Hey, Tony?"

"Yeah, Winghead?"

"Remind me later when I'm not close to passing out, to kick your ass for bringing our son on a mission like this."

Tony laughed and it was a beautiful, beautiful sound. Steve was still pissed though. "Oh, Stevie. Now I know you definitely got hit in that noggin hard if you think it would have been possible for me to leave him home. That kid is just as reckless and stupid as us when his family is in danger."

Even half conscious, Steve couldn't argue that. "That kid is crazy, huh?"

"Yeah, just like his Pops."

#superfamily #hurt steve rogers #whumptober2020 #no.1 #waking up restrained #shackled #hanging #fic #tw: torture #it's non graphic but still present #marvel #stony #shannon writes

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jjkpls · 4 years

Text

crayons ‘set’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, light angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 3.8k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

>Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> prior

> next

The principle of balance.

It’s a curious concept. Like most of the things that turn people into different versions of themselves, just from an unconscious force brought to light by the sheer inner sense of competition that inhabits every single person. It’s quieter in some people. Feel non-existent sometimes. But it’s here, dormant, just waiting on the right trigger to awaken.

You didn't think you would see it in Jimmy. The little boy lacks completely self-confidence and affirmation. But a voice and a stance, easily remarkable, end up fitting him.

It turns out that you witness it quite quickly after the Progress has started. And it manifests in the most adorable and comical of ways.

It’s been a few weeks since you've met his dad. There wasn’t much to talk about with him yet. Every day, longer lingerings of the gaze, less tucking away in the far back of the rest of the group, more definite wordless participations during class -nodding and clapping along. The progress you've been wholly satisfied with but nothing so drastically different that you thought necessary to call his father in for.

Nothing absolutely astonishing. Therefore you didn’t call and what a surprise this one Thursday afternoon turns out to be when he appears at your class’s doorway.

He’s wearing very casual clothes, a simple light linen shirt and some distended jeans to pair, sneakers and his hair -you've only seen neatly tucked to the side- is floating about his forehead, freshly washed and devoid of any wax. It’s a pleasant surprise, especially with the evident appearance of calm and quiet tranquillity he’s carrying.

This man looks rather handsome when he’s on vacation, stressless and well-rested and seemingly content, you note.

“Mr Kim?”

He looks up from his son he is holding the hand of, eyes wide and bewildered as he stares a little. You chuckle, confused but amused. He’s the one paying you a surprise visit but he’s shocked when you do talk to him?

“Is it bad timing? I can come back another day...” From the look he’s giving you, or more accurately, barely sparing you, body already aiming for the corridor, you wonder if you should return the question. It'd be cruel though, to tease, therefore you choose to simply shake your head and insist on him walking in. And then it happens, the man can’t take a step inside, for some reason. He’s just paralysed, looking like a million contradicting thoughts are fighting inside his brain and he simply cannot make out the best option, if he would or not step in; and it’s Jimmy who takes the decision for him. Puffing his cheeks out in annoyance, he pushes against his father's leg, small hands pulling the bigger one towards him. It’s like watching a tiny mouse trying to drag along a giraffe. It has little to no physical effect until there’s an aggravated tiny whine of “appa”. He moves, at last, letting himself stood in front of me before Jimmy lets go of his hand.

He gives you a look you're not sure you interpret well. Dark eyes all serious, attention loud, he seems to be intrusting his father to you. A gentle smile, hiding your teeth biting back a hilarious grin, sends him away towards the very back of the room. Taking a seat next to the bookshelf, it takes Jimmy a few minutes only after you've diverted your attention from him to grab an image book and start going through it patiently.

He's so comfortable. Almost too comfortable. He looks strange, like that. Strange because different from usual but still, oddly, it fits him well. It's like a projection, a little vision of a future little boy, easygoing, at peace with himself and his environment, that won't take too long to be born again.

And it's now the dad who's acting weird. He's standing on his two never-ending legs, the tip of his fingers toying nervously with the button of his vest, his mouth keeps teasing, opening slightly, as if about to spill a word, only to shut itself right up, a lightly aggravated sigh following soon after. It happens quite a couple of times until you get tired of waiting. Tired of the eyes avoiding you, the tension heavy for no particular reason that you could decipher, you ring him awake with an abrupt overexaggerated clearing of your throat.

"Mr Kim?" He's confounded again, caught off guard somehow. "Did you mean to discuss something with me?" It's hard to make an adult talk, you realise. Sometimes children can be difficult. Put aside Jimmy's case, sometimes children are like that. Making them want to share, especially when they are at that age where they can't express themselves and their ideas as well as they wish they could, frustration, laziness at times can get the better of them and having a fairly constructed conversation with them is like pulling teeth out of a very adamant, unwilling person. But you manage. Adults, on the other hand, have never been too much of your cup of tea. There's a reason why you chose to spend the better part of your weeks with children instead of adults. You're not that terrible at getting along with them, you do it pretty well, honestly. But the reason is probably the fact that you're not difficult. You're convenient as a person, always willing to help, always trying to be positive, you do not get in people's way and most of the times, it's enough to make it through.

You don't deal with adults the way you deal with children. With great pleasure and passion, you insert yourself into your pupils' existence, try to leave a mark and help them have the better, feel the better, be the better. Adults, you don't get too involved. They sound complicated, complexed, too many compromises, too many facets. You know because you are one too.

And Mr Kim, looking all nervous and troubled seem the very embodiment of this bias you have. He looks some sort of troubles. Probably nothing that terrible. He appears too childish for it to be that grave. But he's serious about it, about the anxiety, the struggle, the uneasiness he's feeling, you can tell, just from the way he hasn't been able to look at you in the eyes since he appeared in your class. Still, whatever it is, will cost some of your time, and with that, might clog up some very much needed space you require in this busy head of yours.

It's happened before. A new neighbour trying to get closer to you, maybe because they've just moved in the city, didn't know anyone, and you looked friendly enough and they needed someone to listen to the exhaustive list of all the things that made them leave their hometown -even though, you don't necessarily care for any of it. Or a colleague, trying to get you involved in their office dramas, simply because people need the attention, the feeling of importance and support.

Quite frankly, you've never been interested in any of them. Adults sound like too much work, especially given the fact that, as filled with flaws as they are, they are a pain, and often impossible, to fix. And they say things they don't mean. And they want things that they don't need. Their words and their acts hardly ever match. They're for the most part unrecoverable and unfixable, and you don't want any of it.

But Mr Kim and his dimples -invisible to the eye at the moment, but that you realise marked your brain so strongly you can picture them exactly where they should be winking- are piquing your interest. You're ninety-nine per cent sure it is not about Jimmy but you'd like to know. Never mind that curiosity killed the cat.

“Yes, uh-“ Clearing of the throat, scratching of the neck and more clearing of the throat. “about last time...”

You're lost. For a second, your body freezes to give your brain its full capacity to wreck through the whole place and retrieve a memory that seems to have been lost somehow, somewhere. You have no idea what time he is referring to.

He seems so invested, so intensely experiencing his emotions you're left shocked and deeply embarrassed to not remember something that had that effect on him yet didn’t leave a single trace on you.

He insists then, having to face your transparent confusion. The more you stand in pure oblivion, the more awkward he gets. Stuttering more, an accent, very deep, adding rough edges to his voice, colouring his words with new shades that you've never heard before.

“Mr Kim-“

“Namjoon.”

“I’m sorry?”

“No, it’s me, I am, I’m-“ You will, later, feel terrible for it. It’s undeniable. But right now, facing this grown-ass man, usually so collected now decomposing in the most adorable red-cheeked boyish thing, you can only start laughing. It renders him speechless which in a way is almost an improvement and when you finally can restrain the giggles from bubbling straight from your belly, you start again,

“Maybe take a deep breath, take your time.” You bite your lip down to the blood, poorly concealing your grin when he actually does it. “What did you mean by ‘last time’?” You're mortified to ask, honestly, persuaded that you should know but at this point, it’s pretty mean but you don’t think you can embarrass yourself that much in front of him, not when he’s been such a mess himself.

“When we met. When I came to talk about my son.” Calmly, diligently he answers. Like a good boy answering his teacher’s question, a shadow of worry covering his usually sharp gaze.

“Oh, what about it?” Curiosity melts with confusion as you refrain yourself from pressing him further into elaborating faster, eager as you are to understand. You were sure he was not going to talk about him.

“I’d been a bit much and I wanted to apologise personally to you.”

Been a bit much?

“In what sense? I’m not sure I understand.”

“It’s just- I poured myself and our luggage on you when you’re- I know you care about my son but I shouldn’t have, I don’t know, I shouldn’t have-“

You hate cutting people off. It’s a terrible habit you are constantly trying to teach your students to drop. But here he is, struggling to express an idea that irks you strongly. Is he able to put the words he needs? Does he even know them in his own mother tongue or do they even exist? Maybe what he's trying to express are pure emotions. Unease coming from a heart shameful for having shown itself vulnerable to a stranger. You'd know about this feeling. You've experienced it plenty of times, throughout all your life. Even if it wasn’t in the form of you stripping your heart off to someone, like he did, simply showing that you cared gave you the same sense of vulnerability, of terrifying exposure you've always had a hard time dealing with.

You hate the idea that he regrets it, especially with you. At that time, you could tell he had words to pour out. You were glad, you were even enchanted to be the one helping out no matter how small you just assumed your impact to have been. And now, he's trying to say that he regrets it?

“You said you were thankful to have someone to talk to.”

“I did say that.” He mumbles, pressing the pad of his fingers against his closed eyes.

“Then don’t regret it. I don’t want you to be embarrassed about this, seriously. I had parents do way more, actually embarrassing, things in my career. Don’t even worry about it.” He’s thinking it over. You can tell your words have little to no impact on his bruised ego. “I’m not sure how appropriate it is for me to say that but if you need it, whenever in the future, don’t hesitate. I’m not a psychologist, but I’m just- I’m willing to listen if it can help. I mean me or anyone else, really, you should in general just share. It’s important. You don’t want Jimmy to mimic such bad habits like so, holding in and all.” You may be talking too much. The man just looks so eager to hear those words and it spurs you on. “You really shouldn’t feel embarrassed. I can understand the feeling, where it comes from, but it’s pointless with me.”

“You’re really kind.” You give a smile, only. It’s not much but you're pretty sure it’s the genuineness tinting it that renders it enough. Again, he seems surprised. As bewildered as last time but undoubtedly convinced. “I’m glad he has you as his teacher.”

Your cheeks burn intensely. You don’t know how conscious he is of his words. If he realises that he perfected the art of flattery and of slipping people in his pocket. He really did. Especially when he’s leaning slightly towards you, gaze intense and on you now that the embarrassment has vanished for the most part and he can bear looking at you, seemingly hanging out for any other words you may have in stock.

There’s nothing left for you to say though. It takes you quite a few attempts to skim over your brain, trying to formulate a sentence, any word, but you come out completely empty. You can’t even stutter a thank you from how utterly flustered you're feeling.

Therefore you choose the easy way out. Waltzing on your heels to give him your back, your hands reaching to the barely messy top of your desk to pretend they’re busy. You believe yourself to have been sleek enough but apparently not so -maybe it’s the fact that you're just picking up stuff to put them exactly where they belong, at the exact same place.

“Was I inappropriate? I’m really sorry, Mrs ___. Sometimes I just talk too much and I don’t realise that maybe I shouldn’t.”

“Please stop apologising. It’s fine, you’re fine. You’re just- You saying nice things that you mean,” You stumble upon the last words as if maybe you're getting over your own head to just assume and claim so loud that he must mean the sweet things he said to you but that bashful yet adorable expression he's wearing, with the eyes a bit wide and the bottom lip munched, fill you with a regain of confidence, “can’t be an issue. It’s just unexpected and- I mean you’re fine you can say whatever you want. I mean I’m not asking for more compliments, I’m just saying-“

It’s terribly unnerving. You don’t know what impression you're giving off as a teacher. Lacking so much elocution, scrambling to form sentences and turning into a messy, overwhelmed emotional mess.

“I don’t mind giving you more compliments, Mrs ___.” Here comes that curious principle of balance again. You're half-dying of mortification and he seems to be having fun, smiling kindly, with a hint of something else -amusement, maybe even smudginess.

Is he flirting with me? There’s no way he’s flirting. I think I’m losing my mind.

“It’s Miss, actually.” You swear to yourself, silently, that you're not flirting back -assuming he is, in fact, doing just that- and you just mean to be called by an accurate name.

“Oh.” He almost gasps. Looking shocked and you don’t understand what’s going on anymore. Was he really not flirting? Why does he look so shaken as if you misinterpreted his intentions and now he’s misinterpreting yours and think you're getting over your head -because you're not, you were not flirting!

“I’m not flirting with you, I’m just clarifying!”

You hate this whole conversation. You hate yourself, your life and anything and everything that may or may not have led you to this tragic instant.

You're positive you screamed a little. You get confirmation of just that from the tiny mop of hair bouncing up in your peripheral vision, as Jimmy gives you two a slightly concerned, curious look.

The tension is blatant. It's a mixture of irritation, of anxiety, of embarrassment. You couldn't have messed up any worse than you did and you positively want to simply die, right about now.

The mere thought that you'll have to live with this humiliation not only for the whole day ahead, blatantly hanging out at the back of your head, sometimes probably too close to your consciousness for any sense of comfort to ever inhabit you again, but for your entire life makes you want to throw yourself out the window. You decide not to indulge in the pressing pulsion only because you're on the ground floor, therefore, it would be pointless if not even more humiliating.

Mr Kim, somehow, helps a little. By not wearing a mask of pure revolt, revulsion or aggravation. He stares soundly, expression not giving off much to work with. Just enough to understand he is not mad, simply lost in his own thoughts he doesn't seem too keen on sharing.

A spark of sensibility blooms suddenly in your brain. You're so thankful for it, you jump right on it, grab it with your two hands and start again, as if nothing happened, as if you haven't just humiliated yourself in front of this man (and his son), "Jimmy has made a lot of progress, I've noted."

Mr Kim blinks a few times, unnaturally so. "Yeah? I mean, yes, I've noticed too, actually." He keeps staring with the same obnoxiously loud thoughts running in his mind. His brain is on full activity mode. It's obvious. And he doesn't care too much about talking about his son right this second (even though he doesn't seem to care much about sharing what's going through that private head of his either).

How disappointing. You sincerely thought the one subject that matters the most to him would successfully tear the attention away from you but you're a fool. Apparently, even the cute little bean of a son he has can't divert the attention from the humiliation you've just submitted yourself to.

"Anyway, I won't hold any more of your time, you must have work to attend to."

"Actually I'm not working today. I have the day off." Your lip now too sensitive, you attack the inner part of your cheek with your teeth -thankfully you've turned your back to him again, feigning observing with great attention something through the windows- to stop yourself from screeching. It takes him so long, so fucking long for him to decide, finally, that maybe he should leave. The longest dozens of seconds of your life. Staring outside, picturing him behind you, probably watching you wondering to himself how you can be so lame and how he could have thought you a good fit to be his precious son's teacher. "Ah, I should leave anyway. Your class is about to start?"

"Ah, yes. Well, thanks for passing by. I hope you rest well." It's the least genuine you've been with this man, and anyone for the matter, in so long. Your heart and mind are in such a shamble you don't actually remember the reason for his coming and if, really, anything positive came out of this conversation.

It's ridiculous how you feel, all bothered and nervous, aggravated with him for making you feel so flustered. You give him the most convincing fake smile you own, not taking the time to check if he buys it as you don't dare lingering your attention on him for any longer than the blink of the eye takes.

When he leaves, only after having scattered a bunch of smooches on Jimmy's face, you find yourself breathing again. It's like you've been holding in for so long, you're getting dizzy at the taste of oxygen again, heart beating furiously in your chest, sweating all over.

Fuck, that was painful.

You're such an idiot sometimes. Why do you have to be such a fucking idiot? It's not like you're asking much in this life, honestly. You're not aiming at any groundbreaking, universe shaking novelties. You're staying in your line, trying to be good and do good in your own little world. Not asking much, not taking without beforehand being offered. Is it really that much to ask to not be absolutely humiliated in front of one of your kids' parent, who happens to be a stupidly handsome man? (Yes, he is. You can admit that -to yourself. It's probably the reason why your brain stopped working properly, by the way.) You're cursed. I'm cursed, I'm cursed, I'm cur-

"Mish?" The quietest little call comes from the quietest little boy. Standing a secure meter away from you, his peculiar big black eyes staring with a silent demand in them, Jimmy waits patiently for your attention to be given to him. You offer it to him with great enthusiasm. Because between self-pitying your dumb ass and celebrating the first-ever-self-willingly-uttered word to you by this boy, the choice is not even to be pondered over.

"Yes, Jimmy?" He's holding in one hand your crayons he slowly tends your way, careful not to spill them all from his tiny fist. In the other one, there's a paper he's drawn on. Your eyes instinctively are driven to it, curious to see what he decided to draw when he felt comfortable enough to do it. He catches the line of your attention, evidently, and it takes him a second but then, finally, he decides you're allowed to see it. It's a too accurate copy of the ugly cat you made for him the other day. The colours are different, the traits a bit shakier yet, completely unbiasedly, you have to admit that he somehow made it look better. "That's a very pretty cat, Jimmy."

He looks at it, ruminates your words, trying to make sense of them, verify their accuracy. Suddenly he seems to decide that you're right and giving you another candid look, he returns to his table where he proceeds to carefully slip the drawing in his bag.

You realise your eyes are filled up with prickling tears while you sniff. You're not sure how much is due to this, how much the terrible, terrible encounter with his dad worked your emotions so intensely you're so sensitive now. In any case, it turns out for the better. It's this cute little cat that ends up making you and your day ahead feel better. You're so thankful for it.

Again, you know you're too involved but how are you supposed to do any different with them? Maybe it wasn't a punishment earlier. Maybe it was the storm before the ray of sunshine. It's probably the case. You're less aggravated, suddenly. Less vexed and probably more lenient on talking to this man again given, not the ray of sunshine, but actually rainbow that he may have helped cause to colour your day.

A/N: thanks for reading 💜

#btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #thekimlinenet #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenario #bts fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon scenario #namjoon fanfic #my writing

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dai-ou-sama · 4 years

Text

meimeng fic (pt 1)

post-canon, featuring mei hanxue coming over to sisheng peak to have a sleepover with mengmeng, and flirting (kind of).

no title yet,, just something i’ve been writing,, it’s supposed to be a 2 part fic on ao3 and this is literally the first quarter of part 1,,,,,,, but like idk when i’m going to finish writing this and I DON’T WANT TO DROP IT so i’ll put it up here as i finish it section by section hhhhh ENJOY?

“I’m sleeping with you tonight. We’re having a sleepover.” Mei Hanxue boldly declared, standing outside the door to Xue Meng’s room in his glorious, splendid silk sleeping-robes, with a gigantic bag of – what seemed like – everything he owned in his arms.

Xue Meng, too, was dressed in silk sleeping-robes, though his were a simple white rather than the embroidered, resplendent mess that was Mei Hanxue’s.

Xue Meng stared at him speechlessly. “No.”

Mei Hanxue smiled kindly and the beauty of his face was enhanced by the soft, orange glow of the fire-lamp hanging above him. “Why not? We’ve already slept together when we were children anyway, it’s like we’re reliving the good old days!”

Xue Meng’s face crumpled and he fumed, “What do you mean ‘why not’? The past is the past, and now is now. As if I’d let someone as immoral as you even come close to my sleeping quarters now - who knows what you’d do at night?! In fact, I must’ve been mad to actually have slept in the same room as you when we were kids. I really put myself in danger!”

Mei Hanxue was completely unbothered by Xue Meng’s rant. “Don’t be so paranoid, Sect Leader Xue. What in the world could I possibly do to a character as grand as you?”

Xue Meng’s frown deepened. “Who knows! If it’s you, fucking anything is possible! And don’t call me ‘sect leader’!”

Mei Hanxue’s eyebrows rose and he selectively ignored Xue Meng’s words. “Oh my, Sect Leader Xue, what dirty things are you thinking about?”

Xue Meng’s expression changed and he sputtered, “I– What– Who said–”

But Mei Hanxue’s eyes were glittering now and he cut him off mercilessly, efficiently seizing the opportunity to taunt Xue Meng, “It couldn’t be… Were you thinking of me laying my hands on you? I simply wanted to relive some old memories and play around like we were kids again, but Sect Leader Xue, were you imagining–”

“–You! Obviously not! Stop putting words in my mouth, are you crazy?! Who said I thought about– about anything!” Xue Meng shouted loudly to cut Mei Hanxue off.

Xue Meng had been the one to bring up these matters in the first place, but it was just in his nature to be loud and unreasonable like that, so Mei Hanxue let it slide. Xue Meng’s face was slightly red now and he looked very much like an agitated bird that had puffed its feathers up. Mei Hanxue was faintly delighted by the sight, but he hid his smile.

“Well then, since there’s no doubt in my decency anymore, there’s nothing to fear, is there? I’ll be sleeping here tonight.” With that, Mei Hanxue easily brushed past Xue Meng and stepped into his room, shamelessly setting his things down onto the tea table in the center of the large space.

Fuck?! What kind of fucking logic was that? Xue Meng stared at the blond-haired man in his stupid, flashy silk robes, looking left and right around his room, saying in appreciation, “Wah, Sect Leader Xue, your room has really gotten an upgrade now that you’ve become a Sect Leader now, huh. What luxury. Even my room is only half the size of yours – hm, although it is a little bit empty and dull.”

Xue Meng felt his eye twitch in annoyance. He contemplated throwing the teapot at his face in retaliation, and the urge only grew stronger when Mei Hanxue had noticed him still standing frozen at the doorway and asked gently, “Are you going to stand there all night, Sect Leader Xue? No offence, but you look a little stupid.”

Wow, Xue Meng almost threw the entire table at the man who still had a crystal droplet still hanging at his forehead despite his sleeping clothes. In his mind he spitefully (pettily) thought, ‘You look stupid with that crystal in your hair still!’

However, Xue Meng was indeed a sect leader now, and he’d gone through hours and hours of Elder Xuan Ji and Elder Tan Lang’s nagging – really, enough for him to wonder if he could really endure another second more of this etiquette training before he went mad with frustration – so he restrained his anger and simply slammed the heavy wooden door shut.

“Stop calling me ‘sect leader’,” Xue Meng said gloomily, “Why are you even here? To suddenly have an urge to have a– a fucking sleepover – have you gone mad?”

Mei Hanxue and a handful of Taxue Palace disciples had arrived at Sisheng Peak a few days ago with a letter from Palace Master Mingyue Gelou. The letter had explained that the Palace Master had heard that Sisheng peak was starting to do some reconstruction in the towns around Sisheng Peak and felt that she wanted to help as well, so she sent a few disciples over together to assist in their endeavours. Surprisingly, Mei Hanxue had been amongst this group of disciples too.

Mei Hanxue and the disciples would stay for as long as they were needed – until the towns were fully repaired, or at least, until all the ordinary civilians had a proper roof over their heads and they could resume their normal ways of living before the war between the two worlds had broken out. It was a completely no strings attached offer of aid and Xue Meng had been extremely touched by Palace Master Mingyue Gelou’s sincerity and generosity. What he didn’t understand, though, was why someone as reputed as Mei Hanxue – as much as Xue Meng resented the idea of admitting this – was here to help with such menial tasks as well.

While Mei Hanxue and Mei HanXue had come over to visit Sisheng peak rather often ever since he’d become the sect leader and having their presence around him had become quite normal, however, they usually didn’t stay long and would leave after they finished up their matters, or after a dinner together with Xue Meng.

At first, Xue Meng had thought that maybe Mei Hanxue was just here for courtesy sake and would only stay for a while to supervise his disciples before returning to Mount Kunlun. However, not only had Mei Hanxue actually stayed and gone with the lower disciples to help with the renovations, he’d also been obediently helping Xue Meng with some administrative sect matters. All in all, he’d been very helpful in the time he’d spent here, and Xue Meng had been simultaneously pleasantly surprised, annoyed, and suspicious.

He had no idea what this frivolous pretty-boy was scheming now, or if he was even doing so. But the past few days had been completely unproblematic, and Xue Meng had almost started to believe that Mei Hanxue was really here to just help out of the kindness of his heart. He’d even started to feel a little sorry for his earlier suspicions – though he would never say a word of it aloud, and thank god for that because just as he had started to feel so, Mei Hanxue had barged into his room and demanded they have a sleepover. Xue Meng really wanted to spit on any of the previous guilt he’d felt just before.

In front of him, Mei Hanxue turned to face him. He paused for a moment, and something flickered dimly in his eyes, but it vanished before Xue Meng had noticed it. Mei Hanxue smiled brightly. “After staying at Sisheng Peak these past few days, I was reminded of the time we’d slept together as kids. Then I realised it’s actually been a while since we last sat around and had a good chat, so I decided to come over tonight and reminisce with you!”

As Mei Hanxue said this, he nimbly untied his monstrosity of a bag and, to Xue Meng’s horror, pulled out a five-tiered tiffin carrier from it’s midst. A few pieces of his luxurious robes were accidentally pulled out along with it and they slid to the floor, already creating a mess in the few minutes he’d arrived. The tiffin carrier itself was a beautiful, polished black, and there were elegant gold engravings all around it – it was almost as extravagant as the dozens of pastries and desserts that were contained inside.

Xue Meng was rendered speechless once more. “You– …Mei Hanxue, that could feed six people at least. Are you actually stupid?”

Mei Hanxue shrugged and sat down, already picking one of the pastries up to eat. “Not as stupid as you.”

Xue Meng threw a teacup at him in rage. Mei Hanxue dodged.

Somehow, Mei Hanxue, with his careful words and honey-soaked voice, had managed to coax Xue Meng into sitting down and eating with him. Although Xue Meng was still grumpy at first, he soon relaxed once more. Firstly, because the snacks really were quite delicious – not that Xue Meng would admit that – and secondly, because Mei Hanxue was a master at flattery – not that Xue Meng was aware of it.

Before the little peacock had even realised, hours of chatting (bickering) and snacking had already passed, and by the time Xue Meng yawned, he was in a much more agreeable mood than he’d been in when Mei Hanxue had first arrived.

Mei Hanxue watched him quietly with his face resting against his palm. Then he smiled and said, “Sect Leader Xue, it’s getting late. We should probably rest soon.”

Xue Meng humphed and stood up, heading straight for the bed. “Don’t call me ‘sect leader’.” Behind him, Mei Hanxue laughed a little and responded with an appeasing ‘alright, alright’, then went about the room putting out the candle lamps.

Because Mei Hanxue had managed to spend the last few hours plying Xue Meng with good food and an ample amount of less-than-subtle praise about all the wonderful things Sect Leader Xue had been doing nowadays, Xue Meng didn’t kick up a fuss when Mei Hanxue slipped under the covers beside him.

For a moment, it seemed as if Xue Meng had already fallen asleep, then his eyes fluttered open and he turned to glare at Mei Hanxue warily. “Mei Hanxue… I’ll say this again: you better not try anything funny – otherwise, I’ll actually murder you.”

Mei Hanxue simply returned his glare with an unbothered curl of his lips. Something gentler was hidden in his gaze, but it was too dark for Xue Meng to notice it. The sheets shifted, then Mei Hanxue reached out and flicked Xue Meng across the forehead. “I’m not going to, Mengmeng. Now get your head out of the gutter and go to sleep.”

Xue Meng bristled and made to push himself up. The words ‘you fucker’ were already halfway out of his mouth, but then, Mei Hanxue started… snoring?

Xue Meng paused, then rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Hey.” He reached out and jabbed Mei Hanxue’s cheek with a finger. “You dog, stop pretending.”

Mei Hanxue remained motionless, his face the perfect picture of tranquility and ease. The only sound in the room was his peaceful snoring, sounding oddly elegant. Xue Meng continued to jab his cheek, pinch it, pull at it; at one point, he even shoved a finger up Mei Hanxue’s nose. In response, Mei Hanxue only frowned a little, and unconsciously swiped his hand away, but he remained asleep.

Minutes passed like that, and Xue Meng eventually gave up with a frown, the rest of his annoyance already washed away by his disbelief and confusion. He muttered to himself, “He actually fell asleep…? Is that even possible?” Then with a final, incredulous glance at the sleeping figure beside him, he scratched his head, turned and settled back beneath the blankets.

Xue Meng hadn’t realised just how tired he’d been. He fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Eventually, at some point through the night, he’d turned in his sleep and ended up facing Mei Hanxue.

Unsurprisingly, Mei Hanxue hadn’t actually fallen asleep. Xue Meng was just a little dumb and Mei Hanxue was just very committed to his act.

“I can’t believe you actually dared stick your finger up my nose, Ziming. How rude.” Mei Hanxue said quietly, his hand coming up to stroke Xue Meng’s cheek. His touch was featherlight, the lightest brush of his fingers. “What an idiot,” Mei Hanxue laughed to himself silently, then he flicked Xue Meng’s nose, causing the sleeping man to scrunch his nose a little and swipe his hand away, quite similar to the way Mei Hanxue had pretended to do earlier.

For a while, Mei Hanxue just watched the sleeping figure in front of him. Xue Meng’s features were softened by both sleep and moonlight, making him look much younger now that he was just breathing. It was only now that he was lulled by sleep, that his face looked peaceful; that it was free of worries and anxieties. Mei Hanxue felt some of the tightness that had been in his chest since he’d first seen him when he first arrived ease.

Mei Hanxue took in the paleness of his face, the inky shadows that stained the delicate skin beneath his eyes, telling of the exhaustion that now plagued his entire being. His thumb continued to stroke over Xue Meng’s cheek, perhaps in an unconscious attempt to provide him with some comfort.

The newly inducted sect leader. The foolish peacock. The darling of the heavens that nobody could care for. Dared to care for. Thought of caring for. Arrogant, and radiant, and too far out of anyone’s reach to be properly comforted. Mei Hanxue caressed his sleeping face with gentle hands, quietly hoping it would ease some of the pain that now marred the deepest part of his being. To take away some of the hurt that was hidden out of sight to everyone else who only spared him a passing glance.

‘It’ll be okay,’ Mei Hanxue said with the touch of his fingers against Xue Meng’s skin, with his gaze. ‘I’m here now, Ziming. It’ll be okay.’

oook that’s all for now; hope you enjoyed this very unedited meimeng crumb

#2ha #erha #husky and his white cat shizun #meimeng #mei hanxue #xue meng #mei hanxue x xue meng #I LOVE THEM SO MUCH I REALLY WISH MEIMENG WAS CANON #my writing ew

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 4 years

Text

Free Fallin’

“Can we, uh. Drive?”

Cas turns to Dean Winchester, amused, yet not entirely surprised. The hunter’s standing in the doorway, the line of his lips slant. But he’s got his eyebrows raised in a pleading stance, his posture as unsettled as pinkening, flustered cheeks. He is, in spite of the hesitation, to the core of his being, endearing to Cas.

But Cas rallies to stay serious. There’s a chance Dean needs that right now. “If you’d really rather. Of course.”

If you really want to avoid this.

Dean seems uncomfortable, still, though Cas just gave him an out. Cas can feel the restlessness in his guilty stare.

It hadn’t been long since Castiel got his wings back. And this was the first chance he was going to have, post completely healing, to fly - trial runs (flights?) didn’t really count, because they didn’t have any destinations, and he’s actually been looking forward to flying with someone, because it’s been a bit of an eternity since he’s done it. Been of use, like that. So ever since the case popped up on their radar, courtesy of a small-scale hunter in Maine, who acceded to keep them updated, he’s been waiting.

It’s too far away to drive, if urgency strikes. They’d have to fly. Especially now that they could.

(Sam set off for Texas with Jack six days ago - a newspaper article leading them to cremated ghosts with elite, mysterious family members, and a whole lot of them. It’s fairly tame, as far as salt-and-burns go, and Castiel trusts both Sam’s intelligence, and commitment to keeping Jack safe, enough to not have decided to follow, three days in.

Which means it’s just Dean and him.)

Cas knows he’s never been more enthusiastic on a personal level about the discovery of a vampire’s nest. And he doesn’t pin it to a hunter’s heart dripping gamelust - because he’s aware that the idea of flying across the country with Dean Winchester, after so long, is significantly more appealing than the intricacies of pretending, and ridiculous badges, when they get there.

So alright, Cas’s been waiting for this. Packing, planning and leaving. With Dean, and Dean’s familiar duffel, and his wings - it’s been an exciting thought. No matter how little time it’d take, and no matter how many times he’s flown around the vast Milky Way in the entirety of his life as an angel - this had felt like something monumental for Cas to suggest, and for Dean to agree to, through a mouthful of dinner, and several thoughtful nods. It had felt like something special.

But now, if Dean’s in enough discomfort to come out and audibly hint at it, it’s harder for him than he let Castiel believe - in the past, or even the night before yesterday. Cas knows he’d never impose on Dean. Or reinforce the multiple, exceedingly valid arguments he hadn’t had to use the first time, in favor of flying versus driving. Dean has the right to retract his agreement, his consent at any moment, and Cas instantly resolves to not let it show that this had meant something, because Dean would end up shouldering all the guilt Cas had no resolve to create, and absorbing it to the deepest crevices of his mind, to let himself fester in it.

Cas stays impassive. Ever proficient at dormancy.

Still, Dean picks up on it. Guarded walls come up to shelter something akin to fear. “You wanted this.” It borders on inflammatory. A tinge of accusation, but it doesn’t feel pointed at Cas.

“I did.”

“I’m sorry, Cas.” Dean grimaces, entering the room with a streeled step. It’s as if Cas’s earnestness knocked a few layers off his shield - and reduced the distance between them, literally and metaphorically. Truly, honesty is the strongest axe Cas swings at Dean’s unhealthy defenses, with.

“Dean, you needn’t be.” Cas assures him, and he means it, although the disappointment within him is giving way to a sullen sense of despondency he doesn’t wish to indulge in, so he deflects by concentrating on Dean instead.

Dean shifts, raises his eyes from the floor to meet Cas’s, and they linger in a stare of depthless confessions.

It’s unlike them.

So when Cas tries to render a small smile, because it felt like the silence needed to be reacted to - needed one of them to pull off, there’s no way for him to know that it’ll push them over the edge. Dean wrenches away from him, and Cas sees the strings holding him stoic, snap.

“Sonuvabitch, Cas -”

Dean storms up to him, glaring. He’s angry, it almost radiates off of him - just not, per se, at Cas.

“- we’ve all come such a fucking long way!” He growls, and Cas meets his stare uncertainly, thrown off. This is unpredictable, to say the least. Dean’s positively glowering at him - except it’s through him, like he’s been hollowed out. “We saved the goddamn world, man. Died a combined total of a hell of a lot! Sam’s gone from being an angry teenager to a kickass, new-age Bobby Singer. Dammit Cas, we lost your wings and got them back.”

We lost your wings.

Cas nods, faintly. He still isn’t sure where Dean’s going with this.

“Back then? You would’ve put two angelic fingers on my forehead, and zapped me the fuck to India, or something.” Dean grits out, edging towards his worst temper. Cas can hear him trying to restrain himself. “But now, you won’t - now, you listen, and you try - because you’ve grown, Cas. You’ve become family, and I -”

Cas doesn’t think about the fact that if Dean isn’t angry at him, there’s no reason to be yelling. Instead, he thinks about the rare haziness in intense, green eyes, and the pain in his crushed voice.

“And I haven’t fucking changed.” Dean ends abruptly, inflicting a scornful glare at the floor, and -

Oh.

“Dean,” is all Cas says, because he isn't sure Dean’s done yet. They’ve always jumped to conclusions, and realized they were wrong later, but Cas really doesn’t want to interrupt right now.

“Ten years, we’ve known each other.” Dean looks up again. There’s too much in his eyes. “Forty years, I’ve been hunting. And I’m still the goddamn same, Cas. Angry, pissed-off, worthless. The hits just keep on coming, and all I do is bury myself in the losses, and then Sam or you screws my head on straight and we pull a miracle out of our asses, but end of the day, I’m this fucked-up, hurting piece of shit, and -”

Emotions shine at the corner of Dean’s eyes; years of keeping it all down, finally overcome. With the surfacing ruinness, Dean lets out a strained sound, and lets his head fall. Chin buried in his chest, at last, he forces out.

“- and I’m still too afraid of flying.”

“Dean.” Cas loses what remained of his reticence, and if Dean has more to say, he can say it with Cas close, hovering near with his hands featherlight along Dean’s arms, wanting to comfort, but not knowing how. Cas wants to be there - but he’s never gotten a chance before. He has no idea how. “Dean, look at me. Please. It’s not like that, Dean, you’re not those things - Dean, you’re one of the best men I know, just, please -”

Cas knows he isn’t doing the most articulate, or efficient job of reassuring the volatile, shaking hunter - almost - in his arms. None of it seems to seep through, however hard he tries. It’s years of repression. Like the other shoe dropping, the facade of being okay just crumbled - and it’d been the most convincing one yet, one Dean’s been hiding under since God was sent away.

Instead of listening to Cas, Dean’s lost in his head. He scrubs his face with his hands, and then fists them in his hair, screwing his eyes shut. It hurts Cas to be so helpless right now - because no words seem to make a difference.

“I’m scared of it, Cas.” Dean repeats, voice breaking mid-sentence, and the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes.

Cas looks at him, terrified. He wishes he could hug Dean - wrap himself around him in a tight embrace, and not let go until Dean stops shaking, because right now, he’s trembling, but Cas has no idea if he’s allowed to do that. Dean is - well, from what Cas interprets of the situation, he’s having a panic attack, and Cas doesn’t want to cross boundaries.

Cas just wants to brush off Dean’s tears, which have never been there before, and run his hands through his hair, and caress his temple, and he wants to soothe Dean’s knuckles with his thumbs, and he wants to tell Dean how wonderful he is, again and again until he believes Cas, and then calmly, he wants to take Dean’s hands, and -

That’s probably exactly what Castiel needs to do.

Dean’s too out of it to register Cas gently plucking Dean’s hands from his face, freeing his hair of their assault - or maybe, he just can’t comprehend Cas holding his hand so tenderly, like it’s some kind of a precious thing, and Cas’s hands curl around his fingers, pushing Dean’s palm against his.

Dean’s hands are colder than his, so Cas squeezes till Dean’s feel warm, and he looks at Dean as he does it, and Dean’s noticed now, and he’s staring at their hands, held between their chests, and he’s looking such awe - this delicate, beautiful wonder which makes Cas demand from himself why he hasn’t done this before.

Somehow, as the seconds pass, Dean quietens.

And as Cas holds on - simply holds on, running the pads of his thumbs on Dean’s skin, Dean’s chest stops heaving. He still looks dazed, and is breathing heavy, when Cas moves insufficiently closer, swaying into Dean’s space.

“Will you let me try again?” Cas asks, in the same voice he’d have asked, do you trust me, and Dean understands it.

He keeps looking at their hands.

“Will you let me take you flying?” Cas says. “And we can hold hands, or if you’ll let me, I can hold you, and I promise it’ll be alright.”

There’s nothing, for a while.

And then, Dean’s right thumb twitches, tracing the second knuckles of Cas’s fingers, and Cas feels a shadow of solace go through him, nervousness mingling with grace in his veins.

“I’d let you take me anywhere, Cas.”

Cas feels his heart swell. Dean looks up slowly, seeking out Cas’s eyes, and Cas holds his gaze, and just like that, they’re back to saying things without any words.

You fell from Heaven. Pulled me out of hell. We’ve been to purgatory together, so believe me, I’ll go to the corners of the world with you.

“Maine?” Cas ventures, with growing confidence, for a smile - history assures him that Dean’ll join in, and he almost does. Only a wisp, but it’s there.

“Yeah, but fucking hold me, okay?” Dean huffs, and it’s such a relieving sound of mild exasperation, more than a reach for normalcy, and Cas adores it. He knows Dean isn’t alright - not yet, and he doesn’t know how long it’ll take in the long run, but he knows he’ll be there for Dean. Through all of it, and on the other end.

This is the farthest they’ve gotten, too. Dean’s hinted at these issues before, but he’s never had a breakdown in front of Cas - or anyone, and he’s never not backed off into a shell, after. This Dean is trying, and it’s wonderful. And it’d be growth, if Cas had ever looked at Dean Winchester, through the lens of an all-knowing immortal, like he’s not the most incredible being in the world, but a specimen, an experience - a phenomena to be analysed.

Cas looks on, trying to dissect the way Dean’s eyes stay glued to his, unconsciously, and trying to read Dean through them. He can sense faith, and hope, and his resolve is renewed.

“Well, we’d have to let go, first.” Cas points out, slow, and Dean tentatively does it first, ending up with his arms on his side again. Circling back to awkward, and adorable in his nervousness. But Cas doesn’t let him fold in, and retreat into himself, because now that he’s got Dean saying yes, and Dean asking him to, of course he’s putting his arms around him.

Of course, he’s putting a hand on Dean’s hip - and drinking in the subtle responses of his body to Cas guiding him closer, and his other hand goes to rest on it’s eternally demarcated place on Dean’s left arm, as he looks up at Dean with all of the admiration and reverence he feels inside, trying to coax it into his eyes, and it’s not even a fraction of a millionth which makes it there, but Dean still blushes, so maybe for now, it’s enough. And then Dean’s hand grazes against Cas’s elbow carefully - because Cas hasn’t asked Dean to touch him yet, (so he doesn’t), but oh, how he wishes he would.

“How are you, Dean?”

“I’m going to close my eyes.”

“How would you know you’re not scared if you closed your eyes?”

“How do you know I’m not going to be scared?” Dean throws back, still vulnerable, but a lot more himself. It’s a challenge, a flame disguised as a rhetoric, but Cas treats it like a question. And answers, as plainly as he can.

“Because now, you believe in me.”

It’s not a lot of words, and not the most eloquent Cas has ever been, but it conveys so much that it almost stuns Dean again. He nods, jerkily.

I’ve always believed in you.

Dean waits.

Trust is not the same as belief.

Cas decides it’s not worth this moment wasted, to stop for supplies or guns. They can circle back for them. This is it. Dean’s ready right now, and Cas wants to show him how beautiful it can be - and how with Cas, Dean never needs to fear flying.

Castiel would, and has given up his life for Dean Winchester. He’s charred, ruined, and lost his wings. Yet now, the angel shall show him how to live, on those very wings. Life is a string of poetic ironies, threaded together by choices. Love is the first pearl, and courage is the last.

“Cas.” Dean breathes out, as Cas starts to dissociate, focusing himself deep within. Dean stares openly, for Cas’s eyes are closed now, as he reaches through the realms to gather himself. “Of course, I believe in you.” Falls from his lips in an awed whisper, and the sound of his voice is still too much for the frailty of the moment.

That’s when it happens.

“I love you.” Cas lets out, because it seems far too important that Dean knows, and there’s limits to implications which can’t hold him back anymore. They’re going to fly together.

Dean’s eyes widening is the last thing he sees, before he needs to concentrate his grace again. It feels like giving in to an old habit you’ve had to live without, more than a lover you’ve moved on from - and Dean’s hands grabbing onto him don't even register as they take off. His grand, celestial wings flap, and time hurls them out of their reality.

Everything fades, and with the sounds, borders, and colors, so does Castiel - once again, heavenly. Everything goes away, stripping their hearts bare and momentum flickers on their skins, as ethereal, sky-like wings render the only one who remains, speechless.

Beholding the magnificence of his angel, love resonating through his ribs, Dean keeps his eyes open.

It never takes too long.

Dean holds on to Cas, with arms clinging around his neck, until the end. It feels like he’s gliding - but somehow also like he’s driving hands-free in the clouds, though he’s surrounded by too much of everything for it to be the sky. He’s not terrified, but he’s overwhelmed, and he’s goddamn living- hell, he’s never lived this much in a breath, because the second he’s trying to replace the oxygen in his lungs, he finds the chasm of warped space start to dissipate.

The ground under his boots returns, just like that.

He breathes in air - cold, real air, in the middle of a field which is certainly not Kansas, with a full-blown smile on his face which he’s not even thinking about. It still feels like he’s floating, to some imaginative part of his consciousness. It makes his heart slower, and shoulders lift, and he’s unjustifiably happy, and peaceful, and to hell with being afraid, he feels content.

Dean Winchester feels brave again.

Maybe it’s because of Cas’s words. Maybe it’s because his arms are still fastened around him. Or maybe it’s because, Cas. He’s everything. Dean's been an idiot to have been trying to ignore the things he feels, because if he’d gotten here sooner, he could’ve had more of Cas looking at him like that, and Cas’s hands planted warmly on his sides, and Cas just smiling at him from this close.

Now, he’s determined to make the most of the time he’s got.

When Castiel slowly opens his eyes, looking composed again - and a little proud, definitely pleased, almost too lovely, Dean doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t wait for the voice in his head to catch up, and start second-guessing what he’s wanted to do forever. Dean just lurches forward, grabbing the trenchcoat lapels to reduce the gap, and kisses him.

Cas responds almost right away, pushing back into the kiss, and Dean, with all of himself, and letting both arms circle Dean’s waist and shoulders, ending up impossibly close. Dean cups Cas’s face, tilting it towards himself, as he kisses him with everything he’s ever felt. There’s gratitude, and apologies, and need, and want, and then there’s the love, and that’s where he stops thinking.

“Cas, I -” Dean pants, running out of breath. They’ve stopped kissing, and are simply paused in the moment with their foreheads leaned into a reassuring touch. Dean’s waiting to hear himself say it, and he hopes Cas is, too. “I - god, Cas - I love you too.” He takes a full breath. “I love you so much.”

And then Cas breaks into a smile, chest heaving as well, with the corners of his eyes wrinkling, and lips pulling up, and Dean gets to lean in and kiss him again, and he gets to tell Cas he loves him, and tell Cas he loves him every morning, and every time he feels like it’ll burst out of his chest if he doesn’t, and he gets to want Cas to hold him, as they fly, and -

Goddammit, he gets Cas.

And that’s a happy ending, if Dean Winchester’s ever dreamed of one.

#destiel #dean winchester #castiel #canon compliance #spn endgame #destiel angst #destiel fluff #flying together

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tomoonine · 4 years

Text

shooting star.

[kim geonhak] — “so let’s say a shooting star passes by right now.” you point toward the sky, and his eyes follow to where you’re pointing at. “what would you wish for right now? considering that anything you’ll ask for will appear in your hands, or come true.”

Pairing: leedo / reader (gender neutral) Genre: fluff, just fluff (❁´◡`❁) Warnings: none Word Count: 1.5k words

☽. happy birthday to the love of my life (●ˇ∀ˇ●) i couldn’t restrain myself from posting off-schedule, despite my incessant need to be organized. however, for leedo i would give him the world இ௰இ so here’s a little gift for his special day!

happy reading! and if you liked this, please leave feedback and check out my other works!

“I hope you aren’t too tired yet, Geonhak.” You whisper, just as you move closer to Geonhak to brace for the chilly evening wind. Without missing a beat, Geonhak’s grip on your shoulder tightens as he guides you to nestle by his side. Not even he could handle the creeping cold, and he shivers at the feeling of the breeze prickling his skin.

Not even the orange light that illuminates the streets could provide any warmth for the two of you. And contrary to his previous assumptions, Geonhak can’t believe that the asphalt paving couldn’t trap earlier afternoon’s heat. The moon shines only enough light to guide you back, and the stars can only serve as witnesses in the night. It’s times like these that he wished the sun could shine down to keep you two company, although it’s a wish that can’t be granted. And it’s a request that would yield unfavorable conditions, since it’s only in the dark that he can be this close to you.

He’s tired. A little fatigued from exerting himself during the day, but he can never be tired when you’re here with him. So upon hearing your concerns over him and his state, he does his best to make sure you’re not too worried about him.

“No, not at all.” He reassures you, coupled with a soothing graze of his thumb on your arm. When another gush of wind passes, you try your best to listen to his deep voice against the breeze. “I feel far from being tired. Maybe a bit sleepy, since it’s so cold.”

“It’s weird.” You giggle. “You’d think a summer night would be just as warm as the day, but it’s freezing.”

“I’d offer an explanation, but science is Seoho’s specialty.”

“Maybe I can ask him later in the dorm.”

Geonhak turns his head to look at you, a quizzical expression plastered across his features. “Dorm? I thought I was taking you to the station?”

“No way am I going to go home this early.” You reply, eyes avoiding his gaze. “I haven’t even spent this much time with you in weeks. My presence right now? It’s a gift. My gift for your birthday.”

At your remark, Geonhak lets out a deep, throaty chuckle. “So the dinner you insisted on treating me to wasn’t the gift you had planned?”

“You wish! Just one dinner isn’t going to make up for the other things you’ve done for me on my birthday…” You trail off, finally letting go of your grip on him to freely walk beside him. You move your head up to marvel at the evening sky. “You deserve the world. And I wish I could give it to you.”

“You don’t have to, (Y/N).”

“And why not?” You probe, even giving his cheek a little poke. “Don’t tell me anything cheesy. There’s so much in the world you deserve, and they’re all within your reach you know. I’d do whatever I can in my power to make you happy.”

“I..” Geonhak trails off a bit, and he subtly reaches for your hand. He encases your hand in his, and his grip on your palm is gentle. “I don’t really think I need anything else. Even if it’s my birthday, you know?”

You look hesitant, there’s doubt written all over your face, although it’s a comical expression that makes Geonhak bellow with laughter. He has to stop in his tracks to catch his breath, and all it does is bring a frown on your face. As he continues to laugh, you take this opportunity to take things in your own hands. You’re ready to debate with him on his worth as a human being, and you’re not taking any lowly view of him into this conversation.

He knows exactly what your train of thought is, so before you could go on a rant, Geonhak interrupts you. “I didn’t say that I’m undeserving of any love, (Y/N). I just genuinely think I have enough right now. I need nothing more.”

Geonhak even unravels a gentle smile directed towards you, and despite the sudden acceleration of the cadence of your heart, you don’t falter. “Okay,” You begin, clearing your throat. “Let’s put it this way. And don’t think of this like I’m trying to creep deep into your mind for a possible gift. I’m just curious, you know-- Stop laughing, Hak. I’m serious. Let’s say a shooting star passes by us right now.” You point toward the sky, and his eyes follow to where you’re pointing at. “What would you wish for right now? Considering that anything you’ll ask for will appear in your hands, or come true.”

Knowing that he has no choice, he simply humors you. In silence, he gently puts your hand down and wraps an arm around you again. You feel him guide your body forward delicately, and just like earlier, you’re walking on the pavement going back to the dorms. The passing cars don’t distract Geonhak from his thoughts. And the way you delicately take his hand off your shoulder in order to hold in your grasp instead is left unnoticed. Deep in his subconscious, his mind wanders in introspection, trying to find the best answer to your question.

He’s thankful to be where he is now. An idol, and a self-producing one to an extent. Back then when he gave up and had his trust taken advantage of, he never would have imagined he would find his way back to his old passions. Though teaching was a passion of his in its own right, he just can’t believe that he’d find happiness in something he thought would no longer work out. And it’s something he owes to his family in RBW, he’s thankful for Youngjo for having him in his thoughts. He’s thankful for everyone in RBW for giving him a new home and a new opportunity to trust and love again.

So truthfully, his family in RBW is the best gift he could ever receive, and the love from every ToMoon around the country and the world is another blessing he’s deeply gratified to have obtained. The love his family showers him with is something he’s truly thankful to have, even if there are times his brother would be a little cheeky with him. So thinking about it now, every moment he experiences now is all he could ever want in the world. And as he takes a glance at you, starry-eyed as you observe the constellations above, he realizes that every moment spent with you is all he will ever need. Waking up to a message from you is enough to motivate him through the day. The precious time you spend with him regardless of his schedule means so much to him, and seeing your smile always renders his heart tender whether he sees it through pixels or reality.

He has everything he could ever want in the world in his grasp. He has everything he could ever need. He has found a home in RBW, a stronghold in Oneus, a friend in Onewe, and the love he receives from ToMoons can pull him through every wave of adversity; just as the moon and sun continuously tug the tides of the seas. He has every blessing, every gift the universe could grace him with, and he has enough love from everyone around him to the moon and back. But no star in the sky, and no other celestial body could ever give him anything or anyone that could compare to you.

“If I had to wish for anything…” Geonhak whispers, and your head whips to look at him. For a moment, Geonhak’s voice falters when he sees you staring at him intently. His feet remain planted on the pavement, and by turning your entire body to face him he’s suddenly overcome with bliss. Geonhak only realizes now that he’s holding onto your hand, and he takes that opportunity to bring your fingers to his lips. “I’d only wish to always be happy with every single gift I have right now.”

As he divulges his answer to your question, your eyes widen when you see a flash of light behind him. Briefly, a shimmer of light passes through the sky, and you can’t stop yourself from hugging him tightly. He’s taken aback by your actions, but he melts in your embrace. “Happy birthday, Doya.” You smile, nuzzling yourself closer. Words of gratitude leave his lips, and you can feel it resonating in your ears. Shortly after, you feel his hand gently cupping your cheek, his hands guide your head upward so he could plant a soft kiss on your forehead.

“But you know…” He suddenly adds. “I actually wish that the boys at the dorm didn’t prepare anything. I was hoping that since you wanted to go to the dorms, we could spend time alone talking. Though knowing them, I’m sure they planned something…”

“Ah, about that…”

“...You have something to do with it, don’t you?”

“...Happy birthday?”

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effervescentbutnotasnail · 3 years

Text

On episode 7 of shadow and bone bc I’m physically restraining myself from watching it at a faster pace.

Some thoughts I had at this point:

-Alina is wayyy more likeable than she was in the books, at least to me. Mal is too for that matter. Maybes it’s because when you can’t get her inner dialogue she doesn’t come off as whiny haha

-loving the addition of milo the goat, may actually be my favourite tv show addition.

-the storyline of shadow and bone seems to be progressing pretty much as it does in the books, so far the crows haven’t really impacted it too much. Whilst that will probably help the storyline progress and be able to still keep to future books, I find myself wanting the crows to impact it more somehow? There’s still the last 2 eps tho.

-darkling is yet another character I’m enjoying more (you can tell I didn’t really like the shadow bone trilogy, or at least I liked it far less than soc) but not enough to stan him or attempt to justify his still very shitty attitudes lol. But in the books I literally did not get the hype, whilst in the show hes a lot more charming.

-I do see what people have been saying about kaz not being that ruthless, and in a way I kinda agree bc it seems like inej is killing more people than he is at the moment. But he is very out of his element, he’s used to ruling the barrel and in the few scenes we see him where he’s in ketterdam he does seem more powerful and dangerous. Also, there’s gonna be character development of course (although I feel like there’s then going to have to almost be character regression to then make him a better person again for inej haha). Loved the scene he had with the darkling!

-Really like the build up of all the side characters. David, genya, Nadia and Marie all seem very solid and I LOVE heart render husbands (if I remember correctly this is a show specific addition which is really cool!). Zoya became one of my favs by the end of rule of wolves, and I think it’s interesting how they decided to make her canonically have a relationship with the darkling, I guess it’s an example of how he likes to manipulate and use powerful women but I’m not completely sure how I feel about it (pretty this was relegated to subtext in the books and I chose to believe he was just her mentor and she felt a lot of pride over being his star student).

-I love the attention to detail, the worldbuilding in the shadow and bone books was one of my favourite parts, and was a big part in me liking soc and ck as well, so the fact that they really did it so much justice is amazing. Everything from morozova’s backstory to the little hints as to jespers Grisha power to the gorgeous keftas to the fight between east and west ravka to the games played in the crow club to accurately portraying pretty much every faction (first army, second army, druskelle, the dregs etc). I just adore it, and it shows such a care to the source material that I don’t even care that they changed the soc plot bc I love the characters and the world so much that the crows could be building a fucking wardrobe or something and if still love it haha.

#shadow and bone #six of crows #shadow and bone tv series #kaz brekker #the darkling #Alina #Jesper

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ilikeoneshots · 4 years

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Keep Moving - Bakugou Katsuki

I had thirty minutes left on my patrol shift so I started making my way back to my agency. I hadn’t been feeling too hot the last couple days and I was completely exhausted.

I was about two block away from the agency when I heard the explosions behind me. I quickly turned and saw smoke billowing into the sky from the business district. I quickly launched myself into the sky and made my way toward the havoc.

“(H/N) in business district. Three unknown assailants caused an explosion of some kind. I don’t see any injured civies,” I call into my radio.

“Copy, (H/N). We’re sending someone in to cover you,” dispatch responded. I nodded to myself before descending upon the villains.

I dropped soundlessly behind one and rendered them unconscious with a rudimentary sleeper hold. As the man collapsed, the other two took notice of me.

“What the fuck, dude?! You didn’t say this bitch would be around!” One said to the other.

“Yeah, well, how the fuck was I supposed to know?! Just take the bitch out!” The other man exclaimed.

“If you boys are done with this little show, we can do this one of two ways. One, you give up on this sad excuse of a robbery and come away quietly without any injuries. Two, I kick your asses and make a pit stop to the emergency room before going to jail. Which will it be?” I asked, boredom lacing my voice.

“Fuck you, you stupid bitch! You think you can take both of us?!” The first man screamed at me.

“Option two it is then,” I sigh before using my speed to appear behind him. He could barely turn to look at me before I kicked him into the wall they blew up moments ago. He groaned from his place on the ground. I turned toward the other man, “Would you like to reconsider?”

He snarled at me before using his quirk to shoot something at me. Did this dude have bullets coming out of his fingertips?!?

I dodged quickly and flipped over his head and landed behind him, catching him in a sleeper hold like the third member of their party. He flailed around, sending shots around wildly from his hands before he slumped into the hold. I restrained him quickly and went to make my way to the man I had kicked when I noticed he was gone.

“Dammit!” I groaned. It wasn’t more than a minute later that the police showed up to cart the two men away, “I’m sorry sir, the third man ran off. I’ll see if I can locate him quickly,” I said to the supervising officer.

I was about to go for the sky when I heard my name being called, I look around and see a familiar head of blonde hair and sharp red eyes. I smile and wave, my smile quickly turning into a look of confusion when I saw him blasting off full speed toward me and screaming something. I couldn’t figure out what he was screaming due to his explosions. I went to look behind me when I felt something sharp hit my side.

It felt like everything was going in slow motion. I look down and see the abdomen of my suit growing redder. I look back up and see the man from earlier holding an insanely long knife in his hand. He had a crazed look in his eyes. He was quickly tackled to the ground. I stumbled a bit before feeling arms wrap around me.

“(Y/N)! Hey, hey, hey. Look at me,” his voice sounded weird. I try to focus my eyes on him.

“Katsu? Did he just fucking stab me?” I groan.

“Shut up, stupid woman! We have to get you to the hospital!” He’s yelling, fear evident in his voice. He picks me up and I groan in pain once more.

“What a dick... who just stabs someone like that?” My voice comes out in a mumble. Katsuki isn’t paying my ramblings any mind as he runs me to the nearest hospital.

My mind is going in and out of consciousness as they place me on the gurney. I look over in one last moment of lucidity and see Katsuki with tears running down his cheeks and then I’m out.

I don’t know how long I’m out for but when I come to I instantly want to go back to sleep. The bright fluorescent lights make my head pound and I groan at the feeling. I feel something grab my hand and I force my eyes open again. The image of my husband comes into view.

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?” I nod and motion to my throat, “Oh water! Hold on,” Katsuki leaves for a moment only to reappear moments later with a glass. I down in in seconds.

“Oh my God, that’s so much better,” I sigh.

“How do you feel?” He asks me in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Like I got stabbed with a machete,” I humorlessly laugh, “Okay, fill me in on what happened after they took me back?” I grunt as I try to sit up. Katsuki quickly helps me adjust before holding my hand in his vice-like grip again.

“Babe... something.. let me go get the doctor,” Katsuki said before leaving the room. I’m so confused, he’s not acting normally... I didn’t have time to ponder his odd behavior because he returned just as quickly has he left, doctor in tow.

“Morning, Mrs Bakugou. I’m Doctor Lin, I did your surgery last night,” The woman stated as she sat in the seat across from my bed, “A couple things happened while you were in surgery. Nothing life threatening but it is serious.”

I sit in silence as I listen to the woman drone on and on about what happened. She explains my wound, my blood loss, how I was lucky the blade didn’t actually hit any internal organs, but what really got me was a question.

“Ma’am, did you know you were pregnant?” I blinked at her a few times.

“What do you mean?” What did she just ask me??

“Oh, dear... I’m so sorry,” she stammered for a moment as she looked at the clipboard in her hands, “You were twelve weeks pregnant, Ma’am. I regret to inform you, but due to the blood loss, shock along with anesthesia and the surgery the fetus did not make it.”

I numbly look to Katsuki, he’s just staring at the doctor in front of us.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” she says before leaving the room. Katsuki is still frozen, staring at the seat the woman was just occupying.

“K-Katsu?” I whisper and he jumped back into reality and is holding me close to his chest, “I d-didn’t know! If only I had known! How did I not realize?!” I cry into his shirt. He’s rocking me back and forth, careful not to hurt my stitches.

“It isn’t your fault, you were doing your job. If I had gotten to you sooner, I could have kept that guy from getting away,” he’s mad at himself now... I pull away and place my hands on either side of his face, making his look at me.

“If I can’t blame myself, you can’t blame yourself,” I wipe the tears from his cheeks and he does the same for me. He kisses me softly as I sniffle.

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” he holds me close again, “I haven’t even really thought about wanting a kid, but hearing that we could have and now their gone...” I nod against his shoulder.

“I know what you mean...”

Two days later, I was discharged. The doctor informed me that I shouldn’t be surprised at any heavy bleeding and eventually I will ‘pass’ the baby. My anxiety levels were at an all time high, the thought of having to ‘pass’ my baby overwhelming.

I called my boss and informed her of my situation, we’re pretty close, and she gave me four weeks off. Enough time for the physical side of my miscarriage to end.

“Katsuki.. I know you don’t want to talk about this but...” I stop myself. I can’t bring myself to ask this, but I know I have to, “W-When it happens-“

“We’re going to bury it,” he says softly, he can read me like a book. He knows how hard this is on me, it’s hard on him too, “We can bury it underneath the cherry blossom tree in the backyard.” I nod silently.

“Do you think it would have been a boy or a girl?” I ask after we arrived home and settled on the couch, just wanting to hold each other.

“Not sure, why?” He hummed as he rubbed my shoulders

“I want to give them a name...” I say, fiddling with the end of my shirt.

He was quiet for a while and I assumed I went to far with the morbidity of the situation. I was about to say ‘forget it’ when Katsuki started to speak again.

“I’d like to think it would have been a girl. She would have had my eye color but your eye shape,” he smiled to himself as he imagined what our baby would have looked like, “I’d want her to have your hair texture and color too.”

“So you’d only want her to have your eyes?” I asked.

“I’d be perfectly happy with that,” he smiled down at me.

“I’d want her to have your smile,” I say as I turn slightly to give him a kiss.

“Sappy woman,” he grinned.

“Did you forget what all you just said?” He chuckled and playfully flicked my forehead.

“That’s besides the point, what name would you give her?” I hum as I think about it.

“We could call her Sakura, because of the cherry blossom tree,” I offer the idea.

“I do like that name, but are you sure you want to name her after the tree?”

“I know it’s not very original...” I mumble as I rest my head against his chest.

“No, I like it. We can call her Sakura,” he kisses my hair. I nod. We fall into a comfortable silence, every now and then I tense when I feel a cramp.

“I wish the other day had been different... if it had only happened an hour later... I would have been home and then we would have been able to meet Sakura in a few more months,” I say as the tears start flowing again. Katsuki rubs my back and shushes me softly.

“We can’t think about ‘what if’s. What happened, happened for a reason. It may not make any sense right now, but we can’t change it even if we wanted to. So now, we have to keep going forward and in the future if you want to we can try again,” his voice calms me.

“I love you, Katsu. I’m glad you’re with me. But, if I’m being honest, hearing you say such soft things is odd,” I admit. He scoffs at me.

“I’m not soft, I just love you,” he gently moves me as he gets off the couch, “You keep resting, I’m going to start dinner.”

It’s been almost a year since we lost Sakura. If I’m being honest, I still get sad about it. I think Katsuki does too. But like Katsuki said, we can’t change the past so we have to keep moving forward. Which is what we’ve managed to do.

“Mrs Bakugou? Are you there?” The voice called out through the phone I had dropped. I scrambled to pick the device back up.

“Y-Yes! I’m here! I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.

“I said, the results came back. You’re pregnant.”

#bakugou katsuki x pregnant reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #mha x reader #mha

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twinklysmiles · 4 years

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Emotional Release

A Star Trek Tickle Fic

Fandom: Star Trek TOS / AOS Characters: Spock / Leonard Bones McCoy Warnings: Tickling, implied smut Word Count: 2,444

Summary: The one where Spock’s hormonal balance is off, and McCoy has just the cure. (This might well be how ‘Spones’ first began.)

Dr. McCoy ran his scanner all over Spock’s body, humming and grunting cryptically at the readings, his face creased in a worried frown that got even deeper when he noticed the Vulcan, who was currently lying on the biobed in his underwear, shifting around uncomfortably.

He’d summoned Spock for an unscheduled physical, after the first officer had practically bitten his head off during one of their friendly arguments, his temper uncharacteristically getting the better of him.

“Stop fidgeting, Spock!” the doctor sighed, “I’m nearly done. Your hormones are all over the place, we’ll have to find a way of emotional release for you, and soon. Like it or not, you are half human, and constantly suppressing your emotions just isn’t healthy.”

“I thought that was what your little jibes and provocations were about, Doctor,” Spock replied, “to give me the opportunity for emotional release in a dignified and subtle way through our frequent arguments.”

“I know, Spock,” McCoy smiled kindly at his patient, “that was the plan, and it’s worked so far. But it doesn’t seem to be enough, anymore. We’ll have to find something else, something more intense.”

Sitting up, Spock looked at the doctor almost anxiously, and McCoy felt his heart going out to his friend.

“Don’t worry, Spock, I’ll think of something,” he said reassuringly, reaching out to gently squeeze the Vulcan’s knee.

Spock inhaled sharply and jerked his leg out of McCoy’s grasp as if he’d been scorched by the touch, his face flushing a deep green.

The doctor looked at him, baffled, a slow smile spreading across his face as he reached his hand out again to squeeze Spock’s other knee.

This time, the Vulcan let out a snort that sounded more like a hiccup, and desperately batted the doctor’s hand away.

“Please refrain from doing that, Doctor,” Spock said, his voice unusually high.

“Why, Spock? Are you ticklish?” McCoy grinned, unable to hide his glee at the unexpected discovery.

“I’m … “ Spock swallowed hard, “I don’t know. But it is annoying.”

“Annoying?” McCoy guffawed. “This is adorable!”

Spock’s face turned an even darker shade of green, terribly embarrassed to display such a childish human weakness.

“Are you ticklish anywhere else?” the doctor asked, starting a surprise-attack on Spock’s midsection, lightly scrabbling his fingers all over his belly, making the Vulcan let out an actual squeal and nearly fall off the biobed, as he jumped and twisted this way and that to avoid McCoy’s devious fingers.

“Please desist, Doctor,” Spock growled through gritted teeth, puffing out short gusts of breath as McCoy’s nimble fingers kept tormenting his ticklish stomach, belly and sides, “this is most humiliAHAHAHAting.”

The Vulcan couldn’t hold back any longer, when the doctor added his second hand into the assault, the wicked two-pronged attack on Spock’s ribs making him burst into bright, helpless laughter, as the unbearably ticklish sensations flashing through his body made him want to jump out of his skin.

Bahahahahahahaha! Woohoohoohoohoohoohoo! Nohohohohohoho! Plehehehehease DESIIIIIIHIHIHIHIHIST!

“Humiliating?” McCoy repeated, once he’d taken his hands away and the Vulcan’s adorable laughter had died down. “Spock! This is human. Everyone’s ticklish somewhere. You don’t know how many tickle spots I’ve discovered on our crew members over the years. Being ticklish is nothing to be ashamed of, in fact, this might just be what we need!”

“I’m sorry, Doctor?” Spock, still panting hard and giggling occasionally, looked as perplexed as a Vulcan could.

“You see, being tickled and laughing freely is a great stress relief, which also makes it a perfect means of emotional release.”

“Are you suggesting to tickle me in order to get my hormonal balance back?” Spock asked, and the doctor could have sworn he saw fear in his eyes.

“Actually, I am,” McCoy grinned, doing his trademark little bounce at the idea. “We really need to do something about those hormones, and we might just as well have some fun!”

Seeing Spock shrink back, clearly convinced that the fun would only be on the doctor’s side, McCoy asked, “Has your mother never tickled you when you were a kid? Joanna loved to be tickled, couldn’t get enough, laughing her adorable little head off.”

Spock looked at the doctor aghast.

“I remember my mother doing it to me once or twice, but ‘laughing one’s head off’ is not very dignified, and my father specifically prohibited it after seeing my reaction. Apparently, I seem to have been rather … er … sensitive.”

A little shiver visibly ran down Spock’s spine at the memory.

“Tell you what, Spock,” McCoy suggested, trying to sound all business, when he really couldn’t wait to get his hands on the Vulcan again. “Since this could be the perfect therapy for you, let’s test out your tickle spots a little more, and see if we can work with that.”

Spock swallowed, nervously licking his lips.

“What if I cannot endure it?” he asked almost timidly, and McCoy suspected that the Vulcan was way more than just a little ticklish and knew it, too.

“We won’t know unless we try, will we?” the doctor smirked, already imagining Spock cackling, squirming and writhing under his vicious fingers. “And a little struggle and belly-laugh is exactly what we’re aiming for, if we want this to work.”

“Doctor,” Spock gulped, jumping off the bed to get farther away from McCoy’s fingers, which the doctor was wiggling teasingly in the air, “I don’t think I can do this. I’m really too ticklish.”

“Oh, come on Spock, a little tickle won’t kill you,” McCoy laughed, although Spock’s face seemed to contradict.

“I am not sure that I can control myself when tickled,” the Vulcan tried.

“You’re not supposed to control yourself, Spock,” McCoy countered exasperatedly. “The whole point is to let go and get some emotional relief!”

“But I might accidentally hurt you, Doctor,” Spock pointed out.

“Well, if you’re getting too wild, we’ll have to restrain you, of course.”

Never before had McCoy seen Spock’s eyes grow so wide.

“As a last resort, I mean,” he chuckled, then added mischievously, “but I think I could always tell Jim and the others about what I’ve found out today. Maybe you’d rather be tickled publicly by them on the bridge instead of here, by me, in this soundproof room?”

Now Spock looked actually shocked.

“I promise I’ll be gentle, and who knows? You might actually enjoy it!” the doctor tried to cajole him into complying.

As much as he was looking forward to tickling the hell out of the stoic Vulcan, he really wanted to help him, and truly believed that a ticklish workout – physically as well as emotionally – would actually help restore Spock’s hormonal balance.

“Come on, Spock, let’s get started,” McCoy patted the biobed. “Be a good boy, lie down, and raise your arms above your head for me.”

And, seeming to briefly consider his options one more time, Spock complied.

********************

McCoy had the time of his life. He could hardly believe how ticklish Spock really was.

The Vulcan wasn’t able to keep his arms above his head for even a second, when the doctor just lightly touched his armpits, and instantly fell into silent laughter when McCoy’s fingers, trapped in his underarms, continued wiggling viciously. Nor was he able to keep from squirming and desperately trying to bat McCoy’s hands away when touched anywhere on his belly, sides or ribs.

Spock’s laughter was deep and throaty when tickled anywhere on his belly, and high-pitched, intermingled with squeals when the doctor clawed his ribs. Armpits, whenever the doctor got a chance to get his hands in, usually while Spock was flailing his arms trying to keep McCoy’s hands off his ribs, always rendered him completely hysterical, throwing him into immediate silent laughter mode. Quite obviously a really diabolical spot.

After a few minutes of struggling to get a good tickle in at all, McCoy switched on the biobed sensors and monitor, promising to keep a close eye on the vitals that would tell him exactly how much Spock could take and when he’d reached his limits, then asked the Vulcan to let himself be restrained, which the first officer grudgingly agreed to, the alternative being to inform the captain of this new, highly promising therapy.

“Isn’t it strange how much pain the human body can endure, and yet is so unbearably vulnerable to tickling?” McCoy couldn’t help teasing, watching Spock’s pulse readings rise immediately.

Over the next 30 minutes, the doctor had Spock practically continuously laughing. Since McCoy wanted to avoid direct skin contact with the Vulcan, not least to keep the pleasure he got out of this “treatment” from Spock, neck, ears, knees and thighs were off limits. But when he saw the poorly concealed relief in the Vulcan’s face, especially at the mention of his ears and thighs, the doctor made a mental note to have some silk gloves ready for the next session.

Spock’s whole abdomen was basically one huge tickle spot. The sides of his belly were unbearably sensitive to light, feathering touches, eliciting hysterical cackling from the Vulcan. Staccato tapping anywhere on his stomach resulted in a rich belly-laugh, probably McCoy’s favourite sound. And counting his ribs, gentle fingers drilling in the spaces in between, made the Vulcan howl with laughter.

Apart from his armpits, which really seemed to be Spock’s worst spot, and on which the doctor had to go easy, his sides just above the hipbone proved to be another excruciatingly ticklish spot, when receiving a skilful thumb treatment. Unlike his underarms, the hips at least allowed the Vulcan a few moments of cackling and shrieking before being reduced to silent laughter.

For the last five minutes, McCoy went to the foot of the bed, grinning when Spock’s face clearly showed regret for not having taken his socks off before his exam, nervously curling his toes in ticklish anticipation. When the doctor reached out to touch the twitching feet before him, the Vulcan took a deep breath and clamped his mouth shut, as if he was about to jump into deep water.

McCoy let his two index fingers slowly trail up Spock’s soles, from the heels to the base of his toes, watching the first officer desperately shake his head from side to side while puffing out short breaths through his nose. The doctor went on to play little piggy with all of the Vulcan’s toes, noticing with interest that squeezing and twiddling his middle toes made Spock jerk violently, eliciting the highest-pitched squeaks yet.

And when McCoy finally used one hand to hold back the toes and keep Spock from scrunching them up, while scratching all the fingers of his other hand rapidly from side to side underneath them, along the stems, Spock burst into uncontrollable laughter, escalating into shrieks and screams, his whole body thrashing and spasming, yanking so hard at the restraints, he was almost tearing them off. The doctor quickly let go of the first officer’s feet again.

“Sorry, Spock,” McCoy apologised to the panting Vulcan, unfastening the restraints and handing him a tissue to wipe the tears and sweat from his face. “Are you all right? I had no idea having your feet tickled would be so harrowing for you, I think we’d better skip them next time.”

“Next time?” Spock croaked unable to hide his shock, his voice hoarse from all the laughing and shrieking.

“Well, take a look at the readings yourself!” the doctor grinned smugly, pointing at the display of his tricorder and handing the Vulcan a large glass of water, which Spock gulped down greedily. “I’d say, if we do this twice a month, your anger and other emotional issues will be a thing of the past.”

When Spock had caught his breath again, and had shaken himself several times to get rid of all residual tickles and giggles, he got up, stretched, raised an intrigued eyebrow at the doctor, and admitted that he felt much better indeed.

“Thank you, Doctor. Unusual as this method may be, you seem to have, in fact, found an effective therapy for my hormonal imbalance,” Spock observed, glancing not very subtly from his own standard issue briefs to McCoy’s pants. “I can count on your confidentiality?”

The doctor cleared his throat, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks, certain that his face displayed a shade of pink easily matching the Vulcan’s green hue, when he looked at the enormous tent in Spock’s briefs, only to discover the impressive proof of the therapy’s effectiveness in his own bulging pants, too.

“Uh, of course, Spock. And please, call me Leonard,” he grinned wryly, watching the Vulcan invade his personal space with what could only be described as a slow smile.

“So, tell me, Leonard,” Spock actually purred, “did you enjoy my emotional release?”

********************

So, whoever happens to be in a quiet sickbay every other late Sunday evening, pressing an ear against the door of the otherwise soundproof examination room, might hear something like this.

“Hahahahaha! Hehehehe! Nononono! Nohohot thehehehehre! Plehehehehase not thehehehere! AAAAAHAHAHAH! Nohohot my behehehelly! Ahahahah! Plehehehease Leonahahahahard!”

“NOOOOO! AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOT THE RIHIHIHIHIBS!”

“EEEEEK!”

Long silence

“Please, leave my armpits alone, Leonard! You know I can’t take it there.”

Panting

“BAWAHAHAHAHAH! Stohohohohp! My stohohohomach is muhuhuhuch too TIHIHIHIHCKLISH! DEHEHEHEHESIIIIIIIIIST! I cahahahan’t! It tihihihickles so bahahahad! AHAHAHAHA! AAAAAAAAHAHAH!”

More panting

“No! No! No! Nononono! NOOOOO! NOHOHOHOHO! DEATH SPOT! DEATH SPOHOHOHOHOT! Desiiiist! DESIIIIIIIHIHIHIHIST!”

Hiccupping

“You are one evil doctor, Leonard.” Gasp. “How can you always hit those spots at the sides of my belly so accurately?”

Kissing sounds?

“AAAAAH! Don’t! NOOOOOOHOHO! Not thehehehre! NOT THEHEHEHEHERE! AAAAAAH! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Not AHAHAHAHAHA the AHAHAHAHAHAH hi-hi-hi-hi-HI-HI-HIIIIPS!”

Long silence

“Enough, enouhugh! ENOUGH!” Gasp, gasp. “I’ve had enough, Leonard, I can’t take anymore. And neither can you, it seems.”

More kissing sounds?

“Spock, I need…”

“Yes, Leonard?”

“Mmmmmh! Ooooooh! Yes, yes, yes, yessssss!”

“Not so fast, Leonard! Light touches, just as you like to administer to my belly.”

“Please, Spock, don’t be cruel!”

“I’m Vulcan, we’re not cruel.”

“Oh, Spock, please!”

“This better, Leonard?”

“Oooooh, yes! Mmmmmmmh, aaaaaaah, oooooooh, mmmmmmh. SPOCK!”

“Is there a problem, Leonard?”

“You son of a mmmmmmh, yeeeeeees, mmmmmmh, yes, yes, yes!”

“Like this?”

“Oh, yes! Oooooh, more, mooooore, yeeeees, neeeed moooore! Just like that! Yes, yes, more! Mmmmmmmmh! Right there, oh yes, mmmmmh, yes!”

Long silence

“Spock!”

“Leonard!”

“SPOCK!”

“LEONARD!”

“Oh God, oh fuck!”

Vulcan cursing

Heavy breathing

“FUCK! SPOCK! FUCK!”

“YESSSSSS!”

More heavy breathing

“Fucking hell, that was the fucking best!”

“Fucking agreed.”

Once a month would probably be enough, but McCoy certainly won’t tell Spock that, because he’s having far too much fun tickling the Vulcan silly and, well, dealing with the side effects.

Disclaimer: Sadly, I own nothing of Star Trek

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