#it infested my brain so deeply that when i got back into the show a few months back thats what i immediately jumped into reading hahaha

[pc-9800]

1 hour, 1 layer drawing practice.

I've been too into no-one-knows AUs lately.

#i have deep memories of one i read when i was young like 15 years ago now... jeez #on ff.net. somehow still remember exact quotes of it and everything. #it infested my brain so deeply that when i got back into the show a few months back thats what i immediately jumped into reading hahaha #danny phantom #danny fenton #my art #phan art

[olderthannetfic]

It's really surprising that you're so well versed in older fandoms and yet participate in new popular ones (that cdrama, kpop) is this by design? Im in my twenties and my interest turnover is already way slower than it used to be

You know, that’s a really interesting question. I wouldn’t say it’s by design exactly in that I do tend to just follow what strikes my fancy, and I can’t force myself to want to write fic for just anything. (I find it easier to like reading fic without serious involuntary emotional investment, but writing takes more. Vidding I can do on command most of the time, but I don’t usually bother unless I have a lot of feels or I’m fulfilling someone’s prompt.)

However, me getting into BTS was 100% due to me wanting to understand BTS enough to explain to people who weren’t very interested but wanted to know what was going on in fandom lately. Under normal circumstances, I run the dance party at Escapade, the oldest extant slash con. We borrowed vividcon’s thing of playing fanvids on the wall--all of them set to dance music--as the soundtrack for the dance party. This means I’m creating a 3-hour mixtape of fannishness, which has amazing potential to make people feel in the know about Fandom Today... and equal potential to make them feel alienated if nothing they care about shows up. Only about 100-150 people attend the con, so it really is possible to make a playlist that feels inclusive yet informative--it just takes a huge amount of work.

Every year, I do a lot of research on which fandoms are getting big and look for vids from vidders people won’t have heard of, so there is an element of consciously trying to keep up with things. Generally, I only get into these fandoms myself if I had no idea what they were and then suddenly, oops, they’re my kryptonite, like the buddy cop android plot in Detroit: Become Human, which sucked me in hard for like 6 months on the basis of a vid.

(So if you’re into cross-fandom meta and associated stuff as one of your fannish interests, you tend to have broader knowledge of different fandoms, old and new, than if you’re just looking for the next place you’ll read fic. It’s also easier to love vids for unfamiliar things than fic.)

But though I was only looking for a basic primer on BTS, BTS has 7 members with multiple names and no clear juggernaut pairing, not to mention that AU that runs through the music videos and lots of other context to explain. The barrier to understanding WTF was going on at all was high enough that to know enough to explain, I had to be thoroughly exposed... And once I was over that hurdle, oops, I had a fandom.

--

In terms of old vs. new, here’s the thing: kpop fandoms in English and c-drama fandoms in English right now feel a lot like anime fandom in English did in the early 00s. I had a Buddy Cops of the 70s phase in the middle, but my current fannishness is actually a return to my older fannishness in many ways.

What do I mean about them being similar?

Yes, I know some wanker will show up to say I think China, Korea, and Japan are indistinguishable, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the way that I used to routinely meet Italian and French and German fans, Argentinian and Mexican, Malaysian and Indonesian and Filipino too. English-language fandom of SPN or MCU may have all those fans from all those countries, but it feels very American most of the time. English-language fandom of a non-English-language canon is more overtly about using English as a lingua franca.

It also tends to attract people who as a sideline to their fannishness are getting into language learning and translation, which are my other passion in life after fanworks fandom. (I speak only English and Spanish and a bit of Japanese, but I’ve studied German, French, Russian, Mandarin, Old English, and now Korean.)

Nerds arguing about methods of language learning and which textbooks are good and why is my jam. This is all over the place in English-language fandoms of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean media. Those fandoms also tend to be full of speakers coming from a Germanic or Romance languages background who face similar hurdles in learning these languages. (In other words, if you’re a native Japanese speaker trying to learn Korean, the parts that will be hard for you are different than if you’re an English speaker, but you’re also usually not doing fandom in English.)

There’s also an element of scarcity and difficulty of access and a communal attempt to construct a canon (in the other sense) of stuff from that country that pertains to one’s fannishness. So, for example, a primer explaining the genre of xianxia is highly relevant to being a n00b Untamed fan, but just any old thing about China is not. A c-drama adapted from a danmei webnovel is perhaps part of the new pantheon of Chinese shit we’re all getting into, but just any old drama from decades ago is probably not... unless it’s a genre precursor to something else we care about. Another aspect here is that while Stuff I Can Access As A N00b Who Doesn’t Speak The Language may be relatively scarce, there’s a vast, vast wealth of stuff that exists.

This is what it felt like to be an anime fan in the US in 2000. As translation got more commercial and more crappy series were licensed and dumped onto an already glutted market, the vibe changed. No longer were fans desperately trying to learn enough of the language to translate or spending their time cataloguing what existed or making fanworks about a show they stuck with for a bit: the overall community focus turned to an endless race of consumption to keep up with all of the latest releases. That’s a perfectly valid way of being fannish, but if I wanted that, I’d binge US television 24/7.

Anime fandom got bigger, but what I liked about anime fandom in English died, and I moved on. (Okay, I first moved on to Onmyouji, which is a live action Japanese thing, but still.)

Hardcore weeaboos and now fans of Chinese and Korean stuff don’t stop at language: people get excited about cooking, my other other great passion. Times a thousand if the canon is something like The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty, which is full of loving shots of food preparation. People get excited about history! Mandarin and Japanese may share almost nothing in terms of grammar or phonology, but all of East Asia has influence from specific Chinese power centers historically, and there are commonalities to historical architecture and clothing that I love.

I fell out of love with the popular anime art styles as they changed, and I’m not that into animation in general these days. (I still own a shitton of manga in art styles I like, like Okano Reiko’s Onmyouji series.) I’ve become a filmmaker over the last decade, and I’m very excited about beautiful cinematography and editing. With one thing and another, I’m probably not going to get back into anime fandom, but it’s lovely to revisit the cultural aspects I enjoyed about it via live-action media.

BTS surprised me too, to be honest. I really dislike that early 90s R&B ballad style that infests idol music (not just Korean--believe me, I resisted many rounds of “But Johnny’s Entertainment though!” back in the day). While I like some of the dance pop, I just don’t care. But OH NO, BTS turn out to be massive conscious hip hop fanboys, and their music sounds different. I have some tl;dr about my reactions in the meta I wrote about one of my fanvids, which you can find on Dreamwidth here.

--

But back to your comment about turnover: I know fans from the 70s who’ve had one great fannish love and that’s it and more who were like that but eventually moved on to a second or third. They’re... really fannishly monogamous in a way I find hard to comprehend. It was the norm long ago, but even by the 90s when far more people were getting into fandom, it was seen as a little weird. By now, with exponentially more people in fandom, it’s almost unheard of. I think those fans still exist, even as new people joining, but we don’t notice them. They were always rare, but in the past, only people like that had the stamina to get over the barriers to entry and actually become the people who made zines or were willing to be visibly into fanfic in eras when that was seen as really weird. On top of that, there’s an element of me, us, judging the past by what’s left: only people with an intense and often single passion are visible because other people either drifted away or have seamlessly disappeared into some modern fandom. They don’t say they’re 80 or 60 or 40 instead of 20, so nobody knows.

In general, I’m a small fandoms and rare ships person. My brain will do its best to thwart me by liking whatever has no fic even in a big fic fandom... (Except BTS because there is literally fic for any combination of them, like even more than for the likes of MCU. Wow. Best fandom evar!) So I have an incentive to not get complacent and just stick with one fandom because I would very soon have no ability to be in fandom at all.

My appetite for Consuming All The Things has slowed way down, but it also goes in waves, and a lot of what I’m consuming is what I did back in 2000: journal articles and the limited range of English-language books on the history of m/m sex and romance in East Asia. It’s not so much that I have a million fandoms as that I’m watching a few shows as an expression of my interest in East Asian costume dramas and East Asian history generally.

I do like to sit with one thing and experience it deeply rather than moving on quickly, but the surface expression of this has changed depending on whether I’m more into writing fic or more into doing research or something else.

But yes, I do do a certain amount of trying to stay current, often as a part of research for fandom meta or to help other people know what’s going on. Having a sense of what’s big doesn’t automatically mean getting into all those things, but I think some fans who are older-in-fandom and/or older-in-years stop being open to even hearing what’s new. And if you’ve never heard of it, you’ll never know if you might have liked it.

#fandom meta #fandom history #Anonymous

[jaskiersvalley]

I love your writing and have read through your entire blog :) hope you're doing well

Nonnie, you are a delight. Thank you, I am doing well and I really hope you had fun trawling the mess that this blog is. Here’s a little more idiocy that will hopefully be to your liking as thanks for your lovely ask.

Black Crow

There was a new witcher in town and he was really fucking annoying as far as Lambert was concerned. He had no care for the established, unspoken rules about who stuck to what territories for their contracts, ignored all the difficult contracts and took the easy ones like a selfish git. It was bad enough the he gave witchers a bad name by being lazy but people seemed to be quite enamoured with his style. All black, never showed his face, had feathers attached to some dumb helmet that hid him from view and a sleek black stallion that no witcher should have been able to afford. At first Lambert had thought it was Geralt going off on some hare brained jaunt at the urging of his bard. Then they crossed paths and Geralt grumbled about having had the easy contracts taken already and Lambert knew it wasn’t him.

Even Aiden was starting to get pissed off with this witcher dubbed the Black Crow. Oddly fitting that first there was the White Wolf and now some upstart would try and cash in on a similar moniker. They were at yet another town where the noticeboard only held stupidity and nothing more. At the tavern they were informed that the Black Crow had it in hand, a slight necrophage problem out by some caves. The bastard wouldn’t even accept a room for the night as payment, insisting on a meagre amount of coin. Cheap, foolish idiot. At least Lambert and Aiden weren’t kicked out of the tavern because there was already another witcher there so maybe not all was lost.

“I want to give that bastard a piece of my mind,” Lambert grumbled as they chucked their packs in the corner of their room. “They said his horse is still in the stable, want to check it out?”

Of course Aiden was game, he was curious by nature and this Black Crow had been a thorn in their side for a while. The idiot was more like minor pest control than true witcher, had left a griffin, noon wraiths and even an archespore infestation for them to deal with. If there was one thing Aiden didn’t like, it was a lazy bugger. They wandered out to the stable and it was pretty easy to spot Black Crow’s horse. It was sleek, black and beautiful. Aiden whistled.

“How did the bastard steal a Nilfgaardian war horse?”

Lambert already didn’t like this witcher but now he outright hated him. There wasn’t much of a standard witchers were held to but they definitely didn’t stoop as low as stealing, even if it was a fine horse from Nilfgaard.

“Black Crow took half the coin offered for the contract as long as we took full care of the horse,” the stable boy offered up the information without much prompting. “It’s rare to have such a beautiful creature pass through here, of course we accepted.”

Bastard even cared for his horse better than he cared for the reputation of witchers. Unbearable.

“We’re going to pay him a visit, come on,” he told Aiden. Together, they grabbed their swords and potions, expecting the worst. Though, given how this witcher only took easy contracts, Lambert suspected he’d be more likely to run than face off against two witchers.

Trudging out to the caves, Lambert could see the evidence of a fight. It was messy, much more like the work of a trainee freshly released on the Path than a veteran. Given how long ago the last witchers had been created, Lambert didn’t know what to think. If there were new witchers being made, he was going to have a much more difficult year, tracking down the bastards and putting a stop to more innocent boys being forced through the Trials.

“Doesn’t look like it went too well,” Aiden commented and nodded to the swords on the ground. At first glance they were standard witcher swords, nothing special. But when Lambert picked it up he frowned. It was a cheap sword, one that was more likely to break over the scales of a basilisk than pierce even a hirikka. The silver sword was a little further up towards the cave, left buried in a necrophage. There was barely any silver in it, trace amounts hastily smithed onto it and neither sword held any trace of any kind of wraith oil or all the other things witchers were taught to cover their weapons in. Something wasn’t quite right but Lambert didn’t know what. No respectable witcher left his weapons abandoned like that but then again, they had already established that the Black Crow wasn’t exactly a respectable witcher.

Pulling his sword from its sheath, Lambert pointed to the cave mouth. There might still be necrophages and a potentially hostile witcher too. Even disarmed, a witcher was a dangerous foe. Together, they entered the cave on silent feet. The only sound either of them could hear was a ragged, shivery breathing, thready and faint. At the back of the cave was the embers of a fire which Aiden threw a casual igni at, lighting up area.

There he was, the Black Crow, huddled against the back of the cave, propped up against a wall and curled in on himself. Smears of bloodied handprints were around him as he’d obviously pushed himself up.

“Well shit,” Lambert swore. Because while he had many a not so nice thought about the Black Crow, he still wasn’t able to sit by and watch another person suffer and die if he could help in. “Necrophage got you?”

A helmet covered head lifted to stare at them blindly. Lambert didn’t have time for games. “Show us. We can help.”

Slowly, a shaking arm lifted to show torn armour, a chunk missing from the arm where rotten teeth had sunk in and gashes across the torso as claws had tried to rip this idiotic witcher open.

Lambert growled. “Aiden, check for more wounds. I’ll grab potions. Where do you keep them?”

As nice as Lambert was, not killing the Black Crow while helpless, he wasn’t going to waste his own precious potions on him. There was no reply though so Lambert looked around, trying to find a potions satchel or similar.

“Lamb.” Aiden called as he helped the Black Crow get more comfortable, pulling his helmet off. More urgently he raised his voice. “Lambert!”

“What?”

“Look!” Turning back annoyed, Lambert gave the face of the Black Crow a once over, handsome enough but now wasn’t the time for Aiden to be thinking with his dick. When if was obvious that he wasn’t getting it, Aiden rolled his eyes. “Look at his eyes.”

Another glance and Lambert’s jaw slackened. Glassy blue eyes stared back at him. It suddenly all clicked into place. This was no witcher, merely a human masquerading as one. Pretty desperate measures to sink to if Lambert was asked. However, he had more pressing things to worry about - namely, potions weren’t going to help this poor fucker, only kill him quicker.

“Shit. Have we got enough for a poultice?”

Suddenly, there was a lot more of an urge to work quickly. Necrophage bites were deeply unpleasant for a witcher but not urgently in need of treatment. A human was a very different matter. Throwing together the contents of their bags, Lambert began putting together something to help a human. Meanwhile, Aiden set about trying to unravel the layers of armour and cloaks the Black Crow wore. Under the black top layer was Nilfgaardian armour, worn and patched up so often, it was almost more patches than original.

Slowly, a picture was starting to form in Aiden’s mind about just what they were dealing with. A dissident. Obviously a higher ranking one, given how all the patches were ripped off the armour and the length he had gone to to hide his identity.

The hastily concocted poultice was applied to the Black Crow’s wounds and Lambert sat back to watch as he fell into a fitful sleep. It wasn’t restful by any means but then again, necrophage bites had the tendency to poison the mind.

Just before he finally succumbed, the man looked at the witchers and managed a hoarse “Cahir” which was probably his name. It hurt to think that the man was so desperate to be known, to share one last connection with a fellow soul, that he would throw away all the secrecy he’d built just so he wouldn’t die unknown and alone.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” Aiden asked as he sat down next to Lambert, pressing their shoulders together.

“We don’t need another mouth to feed,” Lambert replied. But he’d already considered it. They’d gone to such an extent to save the life of this human when they didn’t have to. While they were in no way responsible for what happened next, both of them could relate to an outcast, someone who had nothing and had to fight to get anything from life. “Though he did prioritise his horse over himself.”

“And he tried to help people. What’s he running from that even the life of a witcher is better?”

Shaking his head, Lambert pushed to get up. “You watch over him, I’ll go clean up outside.”

By the time he was done, he had had a chance to think everything through. And he knew, that if his offer was taken up, he had not one but two guests coming home to Kaer Morhen with him for winter.

#lambden #lambert/aiden #lambert/aiden/cahir #lambert #aiden #Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach #tldr: desperate times mean desperate (witcher-y) measures

[polaroid15]

New fic :)

Hey everyone! Hope you’re having a great Sunday :) <3 Here’s a short little attempt at humor.. hope you enjoy! 

Summary:  Movie night ends just as well as anyone would expect: with Peter passed out on the floor and Tony sidestepping a Parker-induced heart attack like clockwork.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28054818

~

“I’m not wearing a Spider-Man band-aid, Mr. Stark. It’s conceded.”

Tony sighs. They’re sitting side by side on the edge of the bathtub, a blood stained cloth forgotten at their feet. Tony is holding a small box of colorful bandages loosely in his hand. “But you’re bleeding-”

“Not for long! Probably.”

“Oh my God.”

“Is there an Iron-Man one?”

Peter smiles at him with an attitude of mischievousness that Tony has become much too acquainted with. He’s holding his hand between them where a modest cut in his palm still sluggishly bleeds. For the past couple hours they had been working with sheet metal in the lab. Neither had managed to leave unscathed.

Tony hesitates. It’s enough. “There is,” Peter gasps. “I mean, of course there is. You’re Iron-Man.” Taking the box from Tony’s hand he fishes around until he finds one decorated in red and gold and holds it out victoriously. “Ah-hah!”

“You’re an idiot,” Tony says, snatching it away. “Let me do it.”

He peels off the plastic and smoothes the band-aid gently over Peter’s skin. He knows the wound will be gone by morning but seeing the cut covered and cared for calms some distant part of him he refuses to ponder too deeply. When he looks up Peter is holding the discarded Spider-Man bandage Tony had set against the tub. “You’re bleeding too, you know.”

Tony rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother fighting it. Soon enough he has a matching band-aid wrapped around his thumb where the sharp metal had cut into him and another on the skin under his pinky.

Something in his chest warms. It feels like a physical weight.

“There. Happy?”

“Yep,” Peter nods. “All better now.”

“Good Lord.”

They both stand. Tony watches fondly as Peter cleans up after them and they leave the room together, Tony flicking off the light behind them. They wander back to the kitchen, Peter in the lead, and find Happy and May standing closely together with a bag of takeout at their feet. Tony can smell it from where he stands and feels his mouth water. He realizes only now that he and Peter had worked through lunch again.

Peter lights up when he sees May and rushes forward to pull her into a half hug. Tony watches as he flexes his hand in front of her face to show off his new Iron-Man band-aid. She ruffles his hair and cuts a soft look in Tony’s direction. Happy laughs.

“We still on for a movie or what?”

“Yes!” Peter catapults himself over the back of the couch like a gymnast and lands gracefully in his usual spot. He looks back at them expectedly. “Whose turn is it to pick?”

“Happy,” May says.

“Oh no.” Peter drops his head into his hands and moans dramatically into his palms.

Happy crosses his arms, looking mildly offended. “What?”

“Look, Hap. I value our friendship. I really do- but you choose terrible movies,” Tony says.

“The worst,” Peter agrees.

May snorts with laughter but doesn’t disagree. She settles herself down on the couch on Peter’s left and kicks up her feet on the coffee table. Tony follows suit, sitting closely on Peter’s right with the same warmth in his chest from the bathroom.

It’s nice.

“This one will be good,” Happy promises. FRIDAY dims the lights in the room and the glare of the TV bathes them in an artificial glow. It glints off May’s glasses as he scrolls through a list of titles and ends on one called ‘The Deep Blue’. Everyone groans.

“Oh God,” Tony complains. “Is this a shark movie? Please tell me it’s not.”

“What does it look like?”

“Shark movies are always terrible,” Peter says.

“Shut up. It’s starting.”

Tony smiles and feels the couch move as Peter nestles further into the cushions beside him. May passes around the takeout and Tony relaxes as the warmth from his box seeps into his sore fingers. It reminds him of the Spider-Man band-aids on his hands and his smile widens without warning. He savours the feeling and uses his chopsticks to pull out a piece of ginger beef.

“That shark looks so fake,” Peter decides half way through the movie. “Why are they even scared of it?”

Happy just rolls his eyes.

Choking back a laugh for the upteenth time that night, Tony tries his best to refocus on the scene playing out in front of him. The main character, an unwise blond girl in a lifeguard’s uniform, stands on the edge of her boat and braces herself to jump into the shark infested water. Shrill, suspenseful music fills the room and Peter suddenly straightens, placing his takeout box on the table in front of them.

A piece of lemon chicken halfway to her mouth, May pauses, eyes widening with some great realization. “Oh, God Peter. Please don’t. Not again.”

Before Tony can ask what she means, the character on the screen plunges into the water. As soon as the camera shows their head underwater Peter takes in a deep lungful of air and holds it in his chest, looking determinedly towards the screen.

Both Tony and Happy share significant looks of confusion. “What the hell is he doing?”

May crosses her legs and sighs deeply, picking back around at her food. “He’s holding his breath.”

“Well, obviously. But why?”

“He likes to test how accurate the movie is. Or if he can outlast the characters. Who knows.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

Tony looks at Peter in exasperation. The boy’s cheeks are bulging with air, eyes strained but nevertheless giving them an enthusiastic thumbs up. On the screen, the character swims furiously down towards the ocean floor, kicking wildly. The shark’s shadow looms in the distance.

With every passing second Tony’s anxiety spikes. Peter’s lips remain pressed together despite the increasingly red flush in his face. “Come on, kid this is dumb. Even for you. Just breathe!”

Shaking his head stubbornly, Peter stares onward. Creases form on his forehead and he slaps a hand against his chest as if to keep it from expanding.

“Just let him do his thing,” May says loosely. “You know how he is.”

Tony looks between them and the screen, lost in the seeming normalcy of the situation. The Chinese food churns in his stomach. “She’s not even close to the surface! This is ridiculous!”

Peter grips onto the edge of the couch with his free hand, looking woozy. Tony’s eyes widen and he brings his hands up cautiously in morbid preparation. “Kid! Okay that’s enough. Tap out. Stop it right now!”

He hates how parental he sounds. He can’t help it.

Peter shakes his head again, his resolve visibly weaker. Tony feels his pulse spike as Peter sways against the pillows, his brown eyes squinting at the screen as if from a great distance.

“Peter Benjamin Parker!”

The kid’s eyes flutter and all of Tony’s nerves drop down into his toes.

“Kid!”

May yells in surprise and Happy drops his takeout as Peter pitches forward. Acting purely out of instinct Tony lunges out and just manages to wrap his arms around Peter’s chest before he knocks his head against the coffee table. The kid is dead weight in his arms and Tony’s own breath is stolen as he slides both of them to the floor, rolling Peter onto his back. His head lolls limply with the movement and Tony’s stomach does a series of Olympic-level backflips.

“Peter!” He feels dizzy as he taps on Peter’s face. The boy’s chest is rising and falling evenly but it does little to relieve the sudden pressure in Tony’s head. “Wake up!”

At first, nothing happens. Tony is distantly aware of Happy and May standing behind him and saying words that don’t quite make it through the static in his head. All he can see is his kid stretched out on the carpet, unresponsive and jaw hanging open. The suspenseful music from the TV still booms around them. It would’ve been funny if he weren’t so goddamn scared.

He’s way too old for this.

And he has heart problems.

“Underoos!”

He taps on Peter’s face again. This time, miraculously, his eyes squint open.

Tony collapses in relief, catching himself with his forearm against the coffee table as the room spins around him. “Thank God.”

“He lives!” Happy declares monotonously.

Peter’s eyes separate further, full of confusion. He tilts his head to look at the floor, the couch, then up to the TV. The character is still underwater and after a moment of delay Peter begins to laugh. It echoes against Tony’s ears and he slowly loses the will to live. “Wow. This movie sucks, Happy.”

Somehow the comment breaks past Tony’s few remaining brain cells and before he can understand it, they’re all laughing. May has tears on her face and Peter clutches at his side, still laying on the floor and bathed in blue light against Tony’s lap.

After a moment Tony finds it within himself to sober up. He ends his laugh in a choke and he pulls Peter up to lean against the couch. The boy struggles to follow Tony’s movement and sags against the cushions, looking tired and dizzy but still smiling like an idiot. “You’re literally going to be the death of me kiddo,” he says seriously. “I mean, you do a lot of dumb things but this has got to take the cake-”

“Don’ worry,” Peter breathes lightly. He holds up a shaky hand for Tony to see. “We got band-aids.”

Tony blinks emptily as Peter’s smile widens. “I need a drink.”

#i should be studying for my finals but here we are #irondad #spiderson #peter parker #tony stark #crack!fic #fluff #peter is an idiot and tony is stressed #marvel #mcu #fanfic #irondad fic #myfic

[ben10daily]

happy day 6 of gwevin week! this fic is written for the prompt of the day: camping. possibly my favourite to write, haha. thanks again to @brooken-gwevin-weeks for organising the event!

title: you paint dreamscapes on the wall words: 1,703 summary: kevin levin doesn’t play well with others. au.

In the two and a half weeks that Kevin had been attending Forever Camp, he’d made it his sole purpose to be the best at everything. He was a poor kid with a stepdad who looked straight through him, and if nothing else that had made him deeply competitive by nature.

So he ran the fastest, and climbed the highest, and pushed harder than anyone else. Kevin tied knots around knots and made a s’more that could melt hearts.

And then the camp across the lake had a bed bug infestation.

All of a sudden, swarms of kids he’d never met before were throwing sleeping bags down in their cabins, fighting over chairs in the dining hall, and, worst of all, competing for his spot as the Camp Champ. And the two people causing him the most aggravation were the Tennysons.

Ben Tennyson was a little chump who thought he was tough. A kid who tailed Kevin around like they were friends for no other reason than Kevin personally shoved him face-first into the mud-pit during tug-of-war.

Kevin beat him at games and stole his dessert, but he still couldn’t shake him.

Gwen Tennyson, on the other hand, was another problem altogether.

-

Day One:

Now dealing with an extra twenty campers to entertain, the counsellors decided to forgo ice-breakers in lieu of tiring them all out as much as possible. That meant one thing: obstacle course.

Kevin was thrilled at the opportunity to assert his dominance so early on. The kids who knew him didn’t even bother to compete anymore. He stood at the head of the line, hands on his hips, and shifted his weight from foot to foot impatiently, ready to show the rest of them how it was done.

He almost jumped out of his skin when a hand yanked at the sleeve of his t-shirt.

“Can we go first?”

She was shorter than him, this interloper he didn’t recognise, with bright red hair and a mischievous little grin on her face. Behind her stood a scruffy brown-haired boy with both arms crossed petulantly.

“No cutting,” Kevin said with a scowl.

“I told you he looked like a jerk,” the boy muttered. Kevin wanted to hit him, and maybe he would when the counsellors turned around.

The smile on her face dropped, and the girl frowned up at Kevin as she tried again. “Please? We got here late because someone,” she glared sidelong at the other boy, “had to go the bathroom. The line’s super long already, and we want to see who’s faster.”

“I’m faster,” Kevin said automatically.

The girl stared at him, and he stared back, and what ensued was a staring contest that lasted all of five seconds before the girl’s friend jabbed her in the side with his elbow.

“Come on, doofus, he’s just showing off.”

Kevin sure didn’t like that. At the far end of the course, one of the older kids raised a whistle to his lips and blew a screeching note that signalled for the first runner. “I’ll show you who’s showing off.”

He took off like a shot, running up the starting ramp and balancing his way along the wooden footholds. He pushed himself to speed up, swinging wildly across the monkey bars, dropping and running again, climbing the thick rope netting and landing on the other side without hesitation. Then the hurdles, the tire crawl, and straight through to the finish line.

Kevin’s chest was heaving when he finally stopped running, but he turned on the counsellor immediately for a read-out of the stopwatch. One minute and seven seconds, a personal best. He looked back at the starting point with a wide smirk.

The two new campers were still at the front of the line, and nobody seemed to be in a hurry to get past them. From the looks of it, they were now arguing over who would go next.

The counsellor blew on his whistle, and Kevin watched as the boy ran forward, scaled across the wooden walkway, and dropped almost immediately from the monkey bars, right into the soft mud below. No upper body strength. Figured.

Above him, the girl was clutching at her stomach in a fully belly laugh, pointing at her friend as he crawled out of the pit covered head to toe in sludge. Until the whistle blew a third time, and she finally took her turn.

She was fast, really fast, and unlike the boy she had a surprising amount of muscle to back it up. In what felt like no time at all, she was in front of him, hands on her knees as she gasped for breath.

Kevin looked at the counsellor, heart beating fast, and the older boy grinned knowingly at him.

“Fifty-nine seconds.”

-

Day Two:

Kevin watched as the two Tennyson kids pelted each other with scrambled eggs over breakfast. They seemed to fit right in almost immediately amongst the other campers, in a way he never had. Not that he wanted to.

Instead, he cornered one of the other kids, J.T., to ask what their deal was, and found out a whole bunch of useless things. They were called Ben and Gwen, and they were cousins. They fought a lot, about pretty much everything, and for a while Ben had been going around telling everyone he had superpowers.

That afternoon, they did trust exercises. Ben dropped Gwen at every opportunity, until the counsellor interceded and split them up. Kevin refused to even take a fall.

-

Day Three:

The cousins faced him together during a hostile game of dodgeball, as the last three kids on the court. Kevin’s team sucked, so he’d used them as human shields for the better part of the match.

Ben and Gwen were both quick on their feet, ducking and dodging away from all the balls he lobbed across the court. If they were smart enough to work as a team, he might have been in trouble. But they ran across and around each other instead, even trying to shove the other one into Kevin’s line of fire. And still he couldn’t hit them.

Frustrated, he pitched the ball with all his strength, just as Gwen stumbled over one of the dropped balls from earlier. She would have taken the hit right to her pretty face if Ben hadn’t leaped forward dramatically, letting the dodgeball crack him across the head. Like some kind of hero. Idiot. Loser.

Ben spent the next fifteen minutes with the camp nurse, just to check for a concussion. When she finally released him with a clean bill of health, Kevin overheard Gwen talking to him outside the office.

“So, did that dodgeball knock out what’s left of your brain, dweeb?”

Ben scoffed and pulled her into a playful headlock. “What I think you mean is, ‘Thanks Ben, for saving my nerdy little life’.”

-

Day Four:

Kevin shoved Ben’s face into the mud during tug-of-war. For showing off during dodgeball, but mostly just for fun.

In retribution, Gwen splattered him neon green from head to toe during balloon painting that afternoon. After three showers, when he’d finally scrubbed the remaining paint from his hair, it started to seem a little funny. Neither of them could be forced to apologise.

-

Day Five:

Gwen smoked him on the track during warm-ups, and then again on the soccer court when he refused to pick either of them for his team. Not his best decision, actually, because that left him with Cooper Daniels who feigned an injury fifteen minutes in just to avoid playing.

Ben tried to sit at his table during lunch.

“Get lost,” Kevin told him, which seemed to have no effect.

Ben used a fork to launch mashed potatoes at the next table over, and maybe Kevin laughed but some things were just patently hilarious. That didn’t mean they were friends.

-

Day Six:

“The map says we have to go this way.”

“You’re holding it upside down.”

“Did you just throw our compass into the lake?”

Gwen and Kevin spent five hours lost in the woods during a scavenger hunt.

It got dark outside while they were walking in circles, and she was leaning really close to him, even after insisting only babies were scared of the dark. They didn’t hold hands, no matter what the rumours said. He didn’t tell her about his real dad when they were sat back to back on a rock waiting to be rescued. Well, nobody could prove it anyway.

-

By the end of the week, Kevin was reaching the end of his tether. He was sick of Ben Tennyson breathing down his neck, and sick of following the back of Gwen’s head when she sprinted past him on the track field.

And then, like the sun emerging unexpectedly on an overcast day, a call came through that all the bed bugs had been fumigated safely. The camp was clean, and it was time to say goodbye.

Kevin looked on at the noisy campers filing back into their waiting paddle boats with a summer’s worth of luggage in hand. All sixteen of them were rowing back to their own side of the lake in pairs, shrinking into specks in the distance. Good riddance, he thought.

Ben and Gwen were the last ones left on the dock, and Kevin watched them stoically as they waved goodbye to their temporary cabin-mates.

Until, as if sensing his gaze, Gwen turned and caught his eye. He looked away first, unwilling to get caught in another staring contest, but she ran over to him anyway, fishing something small out of her pocket as she approached.

Kevin scowled at her. “What do you want?”

“Give me your hand,” she said, and when he didn’t move a muscle she reached out and grabbed his wrist herself.

“Hey!” Kevin snapped, but she ignored him, wrapping a slim pink and blue plait of thread around his arm and tying it off with a flourish. “What’s this?”

Gwen smiled at him when he yanked his hand back to study the gift.

“It’s a friendship bracelet, stupid,” she said, like he should know better. “Let’s race again next summer, too.”

#ben 10 #gwevin week #*fic #*

[junipersgarden]

metanoia 6. | Ablaze

PAIRING: Peter Parker x Superhero!Reader

SUMMARY: Arriving in Prague, the responsibility and pressure builds up, Beck gives Peter a talk, Y/N gives Fury a talk and Peter and Ned think a night at the Opera isn’t that bad. 

WORD COUNT: 5493 words

WARNINGS: Fighting (physical and verbal)

a/n: hello lovely people !! here is the next part of the metanoia series and hope you enjoy this one !! (also i suck at action scenes so sorry). 

[NOT MY GIF] 

...

In Prague, Czech Republic...

...

Tony Stark.

Of course the first thing you'd see as the bus pulls up to the hotel is an art piece of Tony plastered across a building; it's funny how even after everything, his always there to watch over you... making things now so much harder...

You notice clusters of people on the Prague streets all bundled together holding poles with light decorations attached to them, wearing glow stick accessories with buzzes of conversation and music swaying in the wind.

For the Lights Festival.

Before you realize it, the van gradually slows to a complete stop in front of an exquisite and traditional building and with everyone boarding off,  you rise from your seat cautiously in mind of your injured head and carry yourself down the bus with the others.

As all of you enter through the golden doors, audible mumbles and gasps of wonder murmur around and even yourself, you can't help but widen your eyes at the 'minor' upgrade to the previous hotel but even though the hotel was all amazement and grand, the gnawing heavy thought of what is to come is chewing away at your conscious and from Peter's hurried eyes and awkward stance, you can tell that he feels the same way.

Coincidentally, you peer over at Peter and hear his phone vibrate at the same time yours does with Peter stepping away from the group to take a call, you grab your phone out and see a singular message:

from: UNKNOWN

We're expecting you and Spider-Man.

Spider-Man has been instructed by Hill and you are instructed to place on your suit and headpiece and make your way to these coordinates as soon as possible.

Remember the plan for tonight, come on time, ready and strong.

Exhaling deeply, you shove your phone back and can't help but observe Peter from afar who is talking to Ned with a worried manner; he doesn't deserve this...

Slipping away from the group who are all immersed in conversation, you hastily manage sneak yourself back out of the main entrance and look for a place to suit up.

Your eyes meet along an alleyway and you make a run for it and as you are running, you lift your bracelet to your mouth and whisper the command.

Once in the safety of the darkness of the alleyway, ARIS complies and you feel your suit mold perfectly around your body and when ready, you fly into the night, full of fear and regret to the coordinates.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Physics is easy!" Peter exclaims with his hands in the air, accidentally letting his pencil go.

"For you! You're a science guy; anything science and you just absorb the information and understand it! I can't do that!" Y/N huffs out an annoyed breath.

"Sure you can Y/N/N! It's just about practice-"

"I can't do formulas Pete! Biology and psychology are more like terms and stuff but physics is like science math; a science for math!"

"Not really..."

"Ugh I dunno! All I know is that I'm going to fail this physics project." Y/N spins on the chair and blows a strand of loose hair away.

"That's why I'm here! You got me to help! I'll teach you physics and we can put more physics into your cute brain!" Peter's cheeks redden after he realises what he said.

"Did you call me cute Parker?" Y/N inches closer to him with her cheeks creeping into a blush.

"N-No c-cute can mean small-" Peter tries to improve his situation.

"Are you saying I have a small brain?!" Y/N gasps and dramatically places a hand across her heart.

"N-No! You have a h-huge brain! You're really s-smart! The s-smartest girl I know! I'm sorry I-"

"Petey! I was just joking! But, thank you for acknowledging my small brain." Y/N giggles as Peter chuckles with her. "But on a more serious note, do you reckon I'll pass this test?"

"Well, with that cute brain of yours-"

"Peter!"

"Parker!" Fury snaps Peter from his trance and back into reality; a reality he wishes wasn't real.

"Yes sir?" Peter answers with a quicken voice.

"That thing is going to be here in a few hours; are we boring you-"

"I don't think he's bored," Saviour steps forward with annoyance in their voice, "I think he's just thinking about how you're holding him hostage and how you hijacked his entire school vacation just so he can satisfy your needs, sir."  Saviour smugly cocks their head up to Fury and even behind their mask, Peter could tell a smirk lied on their face.

"He had obstacles... I removed them. And for my needs?  We're talking about an entire city being at risk Saviour." Fury coldly responds and Saviour's strong stance sinks a little.

"They still won't evacuate the city." Maria Hill strolls away from the compute monitors and next to Fury, directing her statement to him.

"Ugh.. idiots..." Fury shakes his head and mutters to himself. "So Parker," Fury tilts his head to look at Peter, "what's the plan?"

Mysterio, Saviour, Maria Hill and Fury all avert their attention and eyes onto Peter, waiting for him to recite out exactly what the plan for tonight is.

"I will be... in the cathedral tower, keeping watch for the Fire Monster and when that shows up, I will radio you guys, and then Saviour and Mr. Beck and I will-"

"My name is Mysterio." Beck injects and with a gesture aimed at Peter, Peter smiles widely and lets off a soft chuckle.

"That's right... Mysterio, Saviour and I will move in."

"Peter listen to me, the best hope you have, the only hope you have is to stop it here and now. No matter what the cost." Mysterio's demeanor darkens.

Peter's face has fallen from Mysterio's statement as he slowly walks toward him with only fear on his face, turning pale like a ghost.

"Move it away from civilians if you can but most importantly, keep it away from metal. If it gets too big, it'll be able to draw power from the Earth's core and after that, there's no way to stop it."

Mysterio, finishing his speech of warning and advice, Peter stares deeply and blankly at the floor as he processes the newly received information; his friends were just in the hotel not even 10 minutes away from the town square, where the Fire Elemental is set to attack.

Peter knows that he can't loose anyone else, he can't endanger his loved ones again and be the one to pay the price; the ultimate cost of Tony's life had scarred him and taught him a sacred lesson in life; life is too short and that you can loose just about anything with the snap of your fingers.

Thoughts of May, Ned, Y/N and MJ fly through his mind; even though May isn't present to be affected by the Elemental but what if her nephew fails to arrive home? What if Ned looses his best friend tonight? What if Y/N- Y/N.

Y/N L/N. The one who'd pulled him out of his depression after Tony's death, the one who understood the consequences of the hero life, the one who helped him to see his worth, the one he had fallen in love with.

What if I never get the chance to tell Y/N?

"Hey man," Peter quivers as if he is about to cry, "my friends are here, and I can't help and think we're putting them at risk-"

"You worry about us hurting your friends?! You, who called a drone strike on your own school tour bus?" Fury stands up angry and marches toward Peter.

"Stark gave you a multi-billion dollar AR and the first thing you do with it? You start blowing up your friends! It's clear to me that you were not ready for this!" Fury points his finger at Peter as Peter nods and cowers away with tears threatening his eyes.

"Of course he wasn't ready!" Saviour glides in front of Peter, 'protecting' him from Fury's blows, "you thought it'd be such a wise idea to give a kid a multi-billion dollar tactical intelligence system which you had no clue what it was or did to him, a teenager that is in mourning so you don't have the responsibility because you felt 'it was right'."

"Saviour don't-" Mysterio advises, raising his arm to gently place his hand on a shoulder to swiftly lead Saviour out.

"Don't tell me don't," Saviour shoves Mysterio back and appoints back to yell at Fury, "you're forcing him to help you and your people save a city once again, against his own goddamn will because you're afraid SHIELD is going to fail again just like how you guys somehow managed to let HYDRA infest itself without anyone noticing! You SHIELD scumbags just use people with these talents, skills and powers to your own will because you're nothing without Mysterio, without me, without him! Take a hard look in the goddamn mirror Fury because from the looks of it, you're trying to rebuild your idea... admit it Fury, The Avengers are dead. Get over yourself and this pathetic vision and focus on what's at hand instead of trying to brainwash Parker here to become another puppet for you to pull your strings on." Saviour hisses out with venom, breathing loudly from the yelling.

Fury remains silent but a cold, stern expression lies heavily on his face.

Peter, overwhelmed by everything and what is being said jumps to his feet and sprints out of the room, away from all the drama and needing to catch a breath.

"I'll go talk to him." Mysterio announces and gives Saviour a look of disappointment with a shake of his head, Mysterio hovers and flies out of the room.

Saviour pivots a foot toward the exit to follow Peter and Mysterio but stops to say one last thing: "Don't you dare turn Parker into Tony."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

A chill breeze flurries past Peter as he dangles his feet off the edge of the building, lost in thought and withdrawn from his surroundings; all Peter can do is ponder of the fight about to happen, what the consequences and outcome might be, the things Fury and Mysterio had said and even of Saviour standing up for him; sure they'd worked alongside back with each other in New York but Saviour treated him differently; Saviour was more reckless, confident and not as 'open' or 'caring' to Peter when he was Spider-Man but it seems now after the Blip, Saviour had softened to him and was more protective and willing to form a bond.

Saviour preferred to work alone; Peter knew that since Saviour had only worked with him as Spider-Man if it was absolutely necessary but Peter never knew why but until now, Saviour was always requesting for him back in New York, even if it was the smallest task or jobs that Peter knew Saviour could easily accomplish by them self.

Of course Peter didn't mind, he was just curious of this sudden change but he couldn't focus on that now; Peter needed to get his mind ready and needed to follow the plan unless his friends and Y/N could potentially get extremely hurt.

Glancing up from hearing a series of small whirring noises, Peter sees Mysterio floating in front of him and feels somewhat sad that it isn't Saviour.

"Fury asked me to come up here and see how you were doing. It's  just, he felt bad about snapping at ya." Mysterio explains.

"Really?"

"You guys do have sarcasm on this Earth right?"

Peter dryly chuckles; of course Fury wouldn't exactly care.

"How are you feeling?" Mysterio genuinely asks Peter who he can tell is deep in thought.

"Uhh... I didn't think I was gonna have to save the world this summer... I know that makes me sound like such a jerk I just- I had this plan with this girl I really like and now, it's all ruined." Peter sighs and can't help but imagine of Y/N which causes him to tear up a little.

Mysterio levitates down next to Peter as his fishbowl mask dissolves away. "You're not a jerk for wanting a normal life kid. It's a hard path; you see things, do things, make choices... people look up to you and... even if you win a battle sometimes they die." Mysterio fixates on the distance as Peter takes everything in.

"I like you Peter, you're a good kid. There's a part of me that wants me to tell ya to just, turn around and run away from all this and there's another part of me that... knows what we're about to face and fight... and what's at stake and I'm glad you're here." Mysterio turns to look at Peter.

"Me too."

"But you worry about your friends." Mysterio questions.

"Yeah... I just always feel that I'm putting them in danger..."

"Look just, get them inside and keep them in a safe place for just a few hours and it'll be alright." Mysterio nods as if he is nodding to himself for reassurance.

A silence falls between the both of them as they stare into the night sky and prepare for what is to come.

"It's nice... have somebody to talk too about superhero stuff ya know?" Peter admits.

"Anytime and hey you survive this, you have all summer to kill Brad Davis."

Mysterio gives Peter a smile as Peter returns one to him.

"See you out there." Peter gathers his backpack and just like that, leaps from the building and lands back down onto the ground, determined to keep his friends safe and sound.

Peter digs into his backpack and retrieves EDITH and places the glasses onto his face. "EDITH?"

"Hello Peter."

"Hey! Uhhh, I need to find a way to keep my friends inside for the next few hours."

"Let's see what we can do."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Good news, we're going to the Opera!" Mr. Harrington with a beaming smile announces to the class

From around the corner, you see the class all sitting around with glow sticks attached to themselves, all begin to uprise in murmurs of disagreement and disapproval as they all shoot Mr. Harrington bizarre looks.

You take the opportunity of them all invested with Mr. Harrington and his announcement to silently slide in the free space between Peter and MJ.

Peter hearing your movement, glimpses at your direction and you send him a friendly smile, swearing at yourself for feeling your cheeks turning pink.  

"Don't look at me." Mr. Dell informs the students and clearly tells them that he is on their side.

"What happened to the carnival." MJ asks the question on everyone's minds.

"Well this is upgrade living guys. Come on, the tour company just gave us these tickets. For free! Do you have any idea how much opera tickets cost?" Mr. Harrington debates.

"No. Because none of us have ever wanted to go to the opera." Flash speaks on everyone's behalf.

Overlooking at Peter's face and Ned's nervousness, you pick up that Peter is influencing Ned to agree about the opera; maybe it's a diversion?

"Uh, well I think this is going to be cultural impact for us." Ned suddenly proposes.

"Thank you Ned." Mr. Harrington points at Ned and agrees with him. "Everyone, this is maybe, going to be the best 4 hours of our whole trip."

Groans of protest arise of the discovery of the time length of the opera.

"Guys come on, I also think that it's gonna be really fun... seriously! It'll be like The Phantom of The Opera." You lead on with Ned.

Hearing some people agree with you on The Phantom of The Opera, Mr. Harrington excuses everyone to change into a nice outfit.

You along everyone else, leave your seats and enter your rooms to change and rummaging through your suitcase, you find the dress you'd been saving for; the dress was ironically black and white;  the top half was fully black and transitioned to white with patterns of black floral prints on the white to match with the top which paired perfectly with your black and white wedges.

Laying the dress onto the bed with the shoes, you undress yourself and pull the dress down onto your body and place your shoes on and critique yourself in the mirror, you decide to curl a few strands of hair and clip on a pair of earrings and finally happy with your look, you clutch your purse and exit your room and meet everyone outside as you all start to walk to the opera.

Grumbles and moans are heard as fireworks explode in the distance, lights brightly fill the busied square with everyone wishing to attend one of the world's biggest festival's instead of the Opera.

You agree with them; the Opera sounds mentally exhausting but you'd rather have your friends alive than at the hands of a fire monster; the plan needed to work because if it didn't, everything could be exposed and destroyed and you wouldn't be let off the hook.

Feeling something brush into your side, you find Peter Parker in a suit walking next to you, a red blush prominent on his face as he whips his head away from you.

Must be nervous about the plan.

Before you know it, Mr. Harrington stops abruptly which causes everyone to accidentally bump into one another as he quickly glances and reads the tickets and matches the address to the sign of the place, Mr. Harrington leads everyone in with a stride which is halted almost immediately as upon entering the Opera House.

"Here we are... looks like we bet the rush..." Mr. Harrington falters as the depressing sight of empty seats and elderly slowly move to their seat and wait patiently for the show to begin. "Lucky for us we got the best seats in the house!"

Mr. Harrington starts to lead everyone to the front row all with looks of boredom, you don't follow them but watch as they all pile into their seats, you adjust the earring with your earpiece so that you're ready to hear for the signal; tonight has to have no mistakes or flaws unless everything is done for.

"Hey," Brad Davis calls at you, you turn your nose and flatter him with a fake smile, "I'll save you a seat."

Grimacing internally at his comment, you smile at him and once he is out of sight, roll your eyes at him and lower your smile to rest.

Hearing shuffling behind you, Peter glides next to you with a nervous face.

"Something on your mind?" You ask Peter who is staring intensely at the ground and lifting his feet up and down from the ground.

"N-No... just excited about the Opera is all." Peter lies but curses at himself for the stupid and unbelievable lie.

"Yeah... 4 hours of singing that we probably won't understand... lucky us." You joke and play along with his 'love' for Opera.

Peter chuckles at your joke but the only thing on his mind is how you look so effortlessly beautiful in that black and white floral dress, eyes shimmering and battling against the brightness of the golden walls, hair bouncing and sitting so neatly... to Peter you were perfection in the flesh and yet you do it so easily, you truly astonish him everyday.

"You look really pretty tonight..." Peter mumbles at you with his eyes fixated on yours.

Peter's compliment takes you off guard; Peter Parker just called me pretty... but doesn't he have his eyes on someone else?

"Oh just tonight Parker?"  You cock your head up and give him a confused face, begging and praying that he couldn't see the blushing and flustered mess underneath your facade.

"N-No- you're gorgeous all the time- I mean pretty- I mean-" Peter struggles to say a word.

"Peter I'm only teasing but thank you... and you look pretty too..." You play with you dress anxiously.

Peter and you share a comfortable silence filled by both of your soft smiles to one another, butterflies flutter nervously inside you.

"Hey Pete?"

"Y-Yeah?" Peter's eyes gaze into yours deeply and intently, his soft brown and innocent eyes scorn your own and the words fail to come out of your mouth.

"D-Do you, I dunno, wanna be seat partners or something? Or maybe just leave and get out of here with me?"

Peter's heart dropped; Y/N was asking him, plain ole Peter Parker to hang out,  just the two of them and he was over the moon, with his response ready at his tongue and head.

"No."  Peter gingerly answers.

"No as in you just want to seat next to other or ditch or just no to me?" Insecurity manifests in your speech as you hurriedly ask mostly to yourself.

"I-I didn't mean that uh if you go ahead and I'll be your partner... we'll be a pair."

"O-Okay Parker... I'll save you a seat, next to me because... why not?"  You justify your reasoning to ease your conscious and make your way to the front row.

Peter Parker watches from afar as he rapidly presses on his earpiece to make Nick Fury shut up, Peter watches you move to the front row of seats and a throbbing pain fills his chest; he has to leave you to keep you safe, even if it jeopardizes his plan and your friendship.

Sharply turning away, Peter bumps into Ned

"C-Can you tell Y/N/N I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, yeah dude of course but Peter no matter what you do, steer the monster away from the Opera house please. We're all counting on you." Ned's voice shook with a hint of fear in his speech.

Peter's eyes looked around the room; all his friends, Ned, MJ and Y/N were in this room, all depending on him to save them... he can't let them down... not again at least.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Joyous music and fun filled the town square as the people danced and let off their lights and colours into the night, all in celebration for the Lights Festival.

Amongst being hidden by what remained in the dark, refraining from the fireworks and lights, Peter held himself against the cathedral tower and with worried and focused eyes, kept scanning and looking, observing for any sign of the Fire Elemental with his tongue at the ready to warn everyone of the monster's arrival.

"Alright I'm in position. Uh, as soon as I see something Beck I'll let you know."

"Roger that. Any sign of Saviour?"

"Negative," Nick Fury's static voice answers, "Parker, how's the suit?"

"It's uh great. It's just a bit tight- around the ole webshooter-"

"Parker!" Nick Fury barks at Peter's inappropriate reference.

"Okay I'll shut up. B-but there's still no sign of Saviour?"

"None at all. Haven't been contacted and they didn't meet up at our position." Beck radios in.

Where the hell are you Saviour?

"Energy's spiking." Fury dials in on the radio, seeing the alert.

"We have seismic activity."  Mariah pitches in.

From the tower, Peter stares at a statue, watching the metal be completely digested by magma flowing freely and growing rapidly around the statue, bystanders watching the phenomenon take place, not knowing the true identity and moral danger they are in.

Goosebumps and Peter's hairs stood on end as a  glow grew larger and larger until sounds of screams and hurried footsteps of people running filled Peter's super sensed ears; it's now or never.

"Okay he's here! Beck are you ready? You know what to do?"

"On your lead Spider-Man."

Bellowed roars erupted from the monster as it spewed out hot flames around it, causing destruction and horror to the town square of Prague, people flee in terror as cars are crushed and explosions implode from the beast.

Watching and patiently waiting from the tower, Peter spots Beck touch down onto the ground, releasing his green smoke around him and wielding his power as his weapons.

"You're up kid."

Shooting a web, Peter grabs his decoy and swings toward the Fire Elemental and whacks it hard, causing it to loose balance and focus just in time for Peter to swing to safety.

As Beck fires at the monster, Peter sees fire hydrates planted on the ground directly next to the enemy and latches a web and pulls them clean off, water spraying onto the Elemental and weakening it.

Bursting in outrage, the Fire Elemental punches the wall Peter is stuck onto, debris fly from the impact as Peter jumps onto a carousel.

Whew that was-

The Fire Elemental doesn't let him finish as it hits the carousel and Peter flies off, colliding onto the ground violently and eventually hitting the back of a Ferris Wheel.

"No Beck! He's got the carousel!" Peter yells as he sees the Fire Elemental consume the carousel and grow even bigger.

"Night- Monkey!" "Night-Monkey help us!"

Night-Monkey? Wha-

Peter turns around to find the source of the pleas for help and is met with the dreaded faces of fear from Ned Leeds and Betty Brant from the Ferris Wheel.

Panic rushing into his system, heavy thumps from the Fire Elemental's footsteps increase, inching closer and closer, it's eyes of red burning through Peter.

Peter attempts to slow the creature down by webbing it and pulling it, but as soon as he shoots his webs, the fire burns them off.

Raising its arm, the Fire Elemental goes to strike Peter, Peter braces for it.

No, no, no what do I do? What do I do? Please no-

But nothing happens; Peter opens his eyes and feels energy flurrying all around him; a black smoke shaped of a force field, a figure of black and white standing next to him with their arms extended out as if they are controlling it...

Saviour!

"SAVIOUR!"

"Hey Spidey. Miss me that much huh? You okay?" Saviour asks with a groan, busy concentrating on keeping their form.

"Yeah, yeah! I'm fine! Plan B?"

"Well it looks like- umph, Plan A isn't- ugh, working." Saviour groans as the Fire Elemental starts hitting the dome.

"We gotta hit him with something!" Peter shouts over the noise and looks hurriedly at Saviour.

"I go left, you go right.... NOW!" Saviour throws their hands away and quickly flies left as Peter swings right.

Saviour glides through the air, searching and scanning for anything to throw at the creature.

"Where's Beck?"

"Coming up behind you." Saviour spots Beck in his Mysterio costume fly next to them.

"Parker, I'll grab those kids from the wheel, you and Beck fight this crazy inferno." Saviour boosts toward the Ferris Wheel.

"Okay!" Peter runs up a wall and flips, webs a rock from the destruction and flings it the Fire Elemental, successfully damaging and stunning it. "Shoot it now!"

Beck aims his hands and fires at the Elemental, a green patch from Beck's attack glows on its chest. "That hurt him! Keep it coming!"

Peter and Beck start to work as a team; Peter stunning the creature with Beck attacking it with his blasts.

"Spider-Man! Keep your distance!"

"I'm trying!" Peter cries back.

"Can't let him get near the Ferris Wheel!"

"Parker and I are on it!"  Saviour chimes in and swoops Peter up from the ground, flying them both toward the Ferris Wheel, dropping Peter in the carriage with Ned and Betty.

Suddenly while Peter goes to shoot a web and as Saviour is flying in toward them, they both knock and feel something hard, Saviour knocks out of orbit and Peter's web sticks onto something that isn't there.

Saviour goes flying through the air, losing all control and balance of flight, heading straight toward the Elemental.

"SAVIOUR!" Peter shouts in agony as Saviour's body disappears in the flames.

The Fire Elemental hears Ned and Betty's screams and draws itself to the Ferris Wheel,  Peter tries to get Ned and Betty out before it's too late.

Saviour rockets back onto the Ferris Wheel and holds onto the carriage tightly, Peter sighing in relief.

"I'll get Buffy and Angel out of here while you web up the wheel!" Saviour calls out to Peter.

"Saviour! Need you now!"

"I- I can't I gotta get them out and I'm drained out-" Saviour starts to ramble as they lift up Betty from the Ferris Wheel seat.

"When I say I need you, I need you!" Beck continues to aim and fire at the Elemental to cease it from reaching them as Peter swings himself around, webbing the Ferris Wheel to stable it.

"Thank you so much Saviour! You're a life-" Betty starts to praise Saviour but as Saviour lifts Betty, Saviour abruptly drops her back into the seat and clutches their side.

"Are you hurt?!" Ned frantically asks.

"No, i-it's nothing... I'm good." Saviour raises their hand toward Beck and moans in pain, holding it for 10 seconds before going back to retrieve Betty.

"It's too late..." Mariah's voice utters into the piece. Oh no.

Beck turns toward them both, unveiling his mask, "What ever happens next, I'm glad I met the both of you."

"Beck! What are you doing?!"

"What I should of done last time." Beck answers Peter as he begins to summon all his power.

Saviour's hand raises toward Beck as if they are trying to stop Beck from his actions as their other hand grips weakly to the Ferris Wheel.

"Beck don't do it!" Peter cries.

Beck screams in pain as his power all starts to come out and unravel itself, ready for one last and final attack.

Beck flies forward and punches the Fire Elemental straight in the chest, his power absorbing as the beast stumbles back as Beck's power manifests it.

Saviour screams a blood curling scream before the creature lets out its final cry and falls to the ground, green mist exploding with it.

Green particles fly all around as Peter sticks the final web together and sees Beck's body lying on the ground, burnt and defeated.

Peter jumps down as Saviour stays clinging onto the Ferris Wheel, Peter approaches Beck's body with horrific flashbacks.

"M-Mr. Beck?" Peter lightly turns his body, a gasp of breath relieves Peter as Beck wearily opens his eyes.

Saviour lands beside them and helps Peter into bringing Beck back up onto his feet.

The SHIELD opearatives along with Nick Fury and Mariah Hill close in as Beck sits down with Peter and Saviour by his side; Peter standing and Saviour holding their side next to Beck.

"I thought a vacation meant being away from the work and not the work coming to us." Saviour dryly chuckles with a cough.

"That's the last Elemental though..." Beck informs.

"But not the last threat." Nick Fury strides up next to the three heroes. "Hill and I are going to headquarters in Berlin tomorrow. You should come with us." Fury looks at Beck as he speaks.

Beck stands and firmly grabs Fury's hand and shakes it. "Thank you. I might take up on that."

Nick Fury then approaches Peter Parker who stands still and awkward, awaiting for Fury's words.

"You got gifts Parker," Fury starts, "but you don't wanna be here-"

"Mr. Fury I-"

"I'd like you in Berlin too. But you've got to decide if you're going to step up or not. Stark chose you, he made you an Avenger... I need that. The world needs that. Maybe Stark was wrong... was he?"

Peter's eyes burn from the tears forming in his eyes; he has nothing to say and doesn't know what to say.

"And as for you Saviour, you're lucky I want Beck and since apparently you two are a package deal, I want you in Berlin too. But I don't want to see anymore of your efforts like tonight; you didn't bother or care to show up and look at what happened; if you followed the plan, maybe things could of turned out better, maybe you would of been an actual hero. You didn't do anything." Fury stares sharply at Saviour before walking off with Mariah and driving away from the scene.

Peter and Saviour say nothing, the silence speaks for them but Beck doesn't stand for it; Beck offers his hand to help Saviour up which they slap away and stand them self, taking off into the night without a word.

Beck walks over to Peter who is left standing still and quiet after Fury's words and places a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, let's get a drink."

TAG LIST !! < 3

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#peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #peter parker imagine #tom holland imagine #amazing spider-man #spider-man #spiderman x reader #spider-man x reader #marvel #x reader #tony stark #avengers #y/n #saviour #metanoia #ned leeds #michelle jones #mj #mysterio #quentin beck #jake gyllenhaal #zendaya #far from home

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, LIZ! You’ve been accepted for the role of PARIS. Admin Jen: Your Paris was an absolute joy to behold, Liz, so you can’t imagine how over the moon we are to have you back with him! Just like before, I am left in awe of the deep, visceral understanding you have of him and the elaborate, nuanced way with which you portray it. It’s so stark and magnetic, and the insight it offers when it comes to Priam’s thoughts and motivations is unapologetic in a way that showcases the magnitude of his character in its full, grand capacity. I can’t wait to have him blessing our dash once again, and I’m so happy to welcome you back!  Please review the CHECKLIST and send your account in within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Alias | Liz

Age | 28

Preferred Pronouns | She/her

Activity Level | With work slightly calming down, vacations over, other projects done, I’m luckily more free and able to maintain activity of 6-7.

Timezone | GMT +4

How did you find the rp?  | I’ve been wanting to come back since I left. <3

Current/Past RP Accounts | https://priam-taravella.tumblr.com/

IN CHARACTER

Character | Paris, Priam Taravella. I considered trying for other characters, but Paris has found a special place in my heart and I just have such a clear image in my head of who he is, I couldn’t let go. I love my snob prince.

What drew you to this character? | Oof, where to begin. He’s probably one of the most complex characters I’ve ever played. There’s so much going on in his head, and so much hidden underneath that sarcastic, overachieving asshole persona that people see.

Even Priam himself sometimes can’t tell where does the person he presents to the world ends and the real him begins. He thinks he’s above simple aspirations - power, money, adoration, but he’s a slave to his ego for the most part. He has money, he has power, the public sees him as a lovable bad boy, yet, Priam shows no sign of stopping. He wants to grab life by the throat and take everything it has to offer. Even though he genuinely believes he’s smart enough to outlive the pandemonium of Diverona, he’s still aware there is no escaping death, eventually. It’s like there’s an imaginary clock ticking loudly in his head and he’s constantly in a rush to achieve and do all the things.

As much as he likes to claim his parents have no role in his life, aspiring to be perfect has been so engrained in his DNA that he has a need to constantly improve himself (partly to show to his parents he can, and all on his own).

Despite playing a role of an extrovert quite well - he’s a businessman, an emissary, and winning over crowds is important (unless, you know, there’s no agenda and he can be his sarcastic self), Priam is quite closed-off. He’s prone to depression and tends to go down a rabbit hole sometimes, that there’s no meaning to anything and life is just a futile march to one’s death.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

Let the light in – As closed of as he is, thankfully, he does have some friends – the actual ones, not the kind he uses for his personal gain – I’d love for one of them to be able to break down the fortress he’s built around him and let them to take a sneak peek at his thoughts and feelings.

The Charming Devil – I don’t think Priam is evil, or good. He’s just selfish and morally ambitious and only hurts people if it furthers his agenda, not because he enjoys being evil. However, diving deeper and deeper in mob life is bound to affect him. I’d love to see whether he maintains his cynicism or will he become someone more sinister.

The Climb - This is one of the plots I wanted to pick up where I left off – him advancing through the Capulet ranks and proving himself an invaluable asset to the mob. He has brains for it, but what he needs is experience. Let’s throw this guy into some more action.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Yes.

IN DEPTH

In-Character Para Sample: I used one of old paras I wrote for him, if that’s okay?

“O human race, born to fly upward, wherefore at a little wind dost thou so fall?” ― Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy

Animals.

Priam isn’t entirely certain who he finds more abhorrent, the beasts fighting one another in the pit, or the ones bidding on them. It’s all so dishearteningly primitive. Centuries later, and violence is still a driving force of the city, pulsating, infesting every street and corner of Verona, cancer spreading in every house with total disregard for riches, power, and influence. Taravella prides himself to be above it. No, not out of the goodness of his dark, tainted heart, but he finds violence to be the outlet for the otherwise incompetent. But is Paris above of using them as a weapon if need be? Absolutely not. Perhaps his parents cut God and moral compass out of him when he was a young boy, but they didn’t plant Devil or burning hatred, either. The curse they cast upon Priam was indifference. It was that indifference that made him purse his lips in disgust, not compassion or pity, as he witnessed raw, uninhibited violence.

Tonight, though, the violence he uses as a weapon through others serves a different purpose. Not to intimidate, but rather – to charm. Young Taravella is making friends in high places and he knows the deepest, darkest desires of the powerful and privileged like the back of his hand. The prim and proper facade drops with the first strike of the gladiators in the pit and as his guests watch the match eagerly, Priam watches them. The crème de la crème of Veneto political scene. The clean-shaven, the dressed to perfection, the rich, the powerful. Priam is one of them. Hell, there are streets, schools, piazzas carrying the Taravella name. But it hadn’t been his social standing that made him feel superior, but how he, deeply believed, was above the primal urges.

That makes him the most dangerous man in the room.

“Enjoying the show?” Priam asks, a glass of red wine in hand, not taking eyes off of the scene unfolding in the pit. He got what he came here for – entertainment for those he wishes to do his bidding. Soon, and the night will be over.

#accepted #accepted: paris

[wolfpawn]

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 81

Chapter Summary -   Tom calls Danielle with an emergency with Mac leading to them talking a little again.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long.  This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe​ @wolfsmom1​

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Two days, it had been two days since the argument and Danielle leaving, and if he was honest, Tom felt as miserable about it, if not worse since then. She had not made contact with him while he was sitting in the house that did nothing but remind him of her. Her parents' clock ticking in the living room, her books among his own, even her laundry, which he brought to the laundrette as well as his own, he just wanted to know where he stood. He thought a lot about what Ben had said, he was right, he could only accept what Danielle decided, so though he wanted to know, he waited, badgering her would only end in more arguing and perhaps a wrong decision. Parking his car after meeting with the fitters for his Gucci suits and casual wear for the Milan show, he walked back into the house, bird food in hand. He thought with Danielle gone, the birds would need more food, so he had taken a photo of the food she had been using and went and retrieved some more.

When he went into the house, he noticed a large clump of fluff in front of him, grey in colour. Frowning, he looked at it for a moment, then going into the kitchen and putting the birdfeed on the counter before going back into the hall to investigate it further. To his shock, it was one of a few clumps, which seemed to be clinging to anything in their way, one at the living room door telling him that it as more than likely coming from in there. He opened the door and his eyes widened. There were several more clumps, some of grey, some of tan colour, and in the middle of them, a panting Mac Tíre, who seemed very uncomfortable. It was then, as another grey clump stuck up on the dog's back, did Tom realise he was the source of the fluff invasion. Concerned, he tried to think if Mac had ingested something on their walk earlier in the day, but couldn't think of anything. As Mac sat up and scratched, more fur came out in large clumps before he shook himself, his fur flying different directions.

Part of Tom thought to bring him to the vet and say nothing to Danielle, knowing that if there was an issue, she would only be worrying, but he knew the right thing to do, so taking out his phone, he got up her number and pressed dial.

"Hello." he was startled when another voice answered.

"Is Danielle there?"

"Sure, I'll…wait, are you Tom?"

To be honest, Tom was shocked the other girl guessed him. "Yes."

He could hear her purse her lips, "Is it important?"

Tom stared at the phone screen for a second, the girl on the other side clearly knew about Danielle's argument with him and was giving him attitude regarding him contacting her. "It is actually, yes, it is about her dog, so please could you put her on."

He heard a muffling noise on the other end of the phone as well as a voice in the distance. "He's politer than I thought," he heard the mystery girl state. "He said it is to do with the dog."

"Give me that," He heard the phone being moved around. "Tom?"

"Elle," for a moment, relief filled him at even hearing her say his name. "Hi."

"Hey." there was an awkwardness to her voice. "Siobhan said that you said something about Mac."

"Yes," Tom snapped himself out of his daze. "He is…well, I think he is sick."

"Right, what has happened, tell me what he is doing and what he did over the past twenty-four hours." her tone became serious.

"Honestly, I am racking my brain, but I cannot think of anything out of the ordinary, he's only had his usual food, he has not had a chance to eat anything in the park." Tom sounded half frantic.

"Okay," Danielle stated in her best 'paramedic in an emergency' voice, "What exactly is he doing? Throwing up, having seizures?"

"His hair, it is falling out in huge clumps."

"You mean there are bald patches?"

"No, not that I can see," There was silence on the other end of the phone, "Elle?"

"Tom," her tone was far less concerned. "Is it really really soft fur, almost like a cotton texture?"

Tom picked some up and felt it. "Yes." he was unsure what he expected to be Danielle's reply, but her erupting in laughter was not what he expected. "How is this funny?" That seemed to only set her off more.

"I am so sorry Tom." though she still had a laughing tone to her voice, she seemed somewhat remorseful for something. "God, you've been freaking out, I am so sorry."

"It's not a problem?"

"No, Jesus, I am terrible, I forgot to tell you."

"Tell me what?" He asked worriedly.

"German Shepherds shed."

"What?"

"They are nicknamed by owners as German Shedders, they have this weird fluffy undercoat for the winter, every spring it starts to shed in huge fluff balls."

Tom felt sheepish. "Really?"

"Yes, certain breeds do it, Shepherds, Huskies, Malamutes, it's awkward, annoying and hairy, but it is totally normal."

"So I don't need to bring him to the vet?"

"No, I will Google groomers, they will take what is able to be removed from him."

"How long does it take?"

"The shedding? A few weeks."

"He has the place covered." Tom looked around, in one day, the dog had infested the living room with fluffy clumps.

"I am so sorry Tom, if it is too much bother, send him to the kennels if he is wrecking the place."

"No, it's fine, it's not like he does it on purpose, I was just worried."

"You're too good." He could hear Danielle smiling on the other end. "Is he doing okay?"

"Yeah, apart from giving me a carpet I never actually wanted," Danielle laughed at that, "He misses you, obviously, but I got him a toy, a Kong, it's called, he loves it."

"They are great, I can imagine him with it. I miss him too."

"How is Ireland?" Tom asked, noting sadly how she didn't say she missed him. "You told that girl about me."

"Yeah, that's my cousin Siobhan. She asked why I came early and we got talking a bit more."

"She knew my name, does she…?"

"Yes, she knows you are you," Danielle answered.

"When did you…?"

"When I arrived, we got talking in the car, so I told her about you."

"Will she…?"

"No, she won't, she told me something, something that is seriously… God, it is just so stressful…"

"Elle?" Tom asked, hearing the stress in her voice.

"It's fine, just family crap."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I just wish I had you…" Tom's heart fluttered for a moment. "I wish I didn't have to deal with it." Though he was saddened with her alteration, he was glad to hear her slight admission, it gave him some hope. "You nearly ready for Milan?"

Shocked that she was asking him such a thing, he smiled. "Yes, yes, we are after getting the final fitting for the suits, they are quite nice, I think you'd like them."

"That's good, are they being done there or…"

"No, the measurements are sent to Milan so I don't have to drag them across."

"Very handy." There was a moment of silence on both ends of the phone. "Thank you for calling Tom."

"I was worried."

"I know, but thank you for thinking to tell me."

"I am glad I did, could you imagine the face of the girl in the vets if I rang or ran in with…" he stopped speaking because Danielle erupted in all-out laughter once more at the other end of the line, causing him to chuckle. "Yeah."

It took a full minute for her to stop. "God, I would have paid to see that."

"Yes, and God forbid if someone realised who I was."

"Yes, that would have been funny to read." Danielle's tone altered slightly. "It's good talking to you again, Tom."

"Likewise." Tom agreed, forcing himself to not say anything for a few moments, knowing what he would say if he did. "I was talking to Ben the day after you left."

"How is Sophie?"

"Ready for the baby to be born."

"I'd bet. I cannot wait for it to get here, I may have gone to the shops again."

"Jesus, you don't even know what they are having."

"I know, I may have bought a bit of both gender stuff, but let's face it, at my age, I know a few people having kids, it'll get used." She dismissed. "My final results may come during the week; if you're home when they do, could you…"

"Of course, I will put them somewhere safe."

"Actually, I was going to ask if you could call me?"

"Really?"

"Yeah, I am so anxious about them."

"Why, you worked so hard?"

"Exactly, I am terrified it wasn't enough, I know I won't be able to just wait, I will be restless."

"If I am home, I will ring you," Tom swore.

"Thank you." Danielle's genuine gratitude was obvious. "How are you?"

"Fine, yeah, just busy getting ready."

"Have you attempted the washing machine?" Tom did not respond, causing Danielle to laugh a little. "You're going to have to get used to doing it, you know."

Tom felt his heart sink at that implication. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Thank you for ringing Tom, it was good to hear your voice."

"You sound tired."

"I am, I'm not getting much sleep."

"What…?"

"My aunt, she is making things really difficult here."

"I would have thought, with everything…"

"No, she hasn't focused on anything other than…well, I don't want to annoy or bore you, let's just say it is hard work with her here at the moment, I really…" He heard Danielle inhale deeply. "Your call was actually really well-timed."

"Glad I could be of service," Tom joked slightly.

"I better go here, costing us both a fortune in international calls, thank you for calling Tom, if he has any issue, call me, okay?"

"I promise, if you need to…if you want to check on him, I can send a picture." � "I'd like that, thank you."

"Bye Elle."

"Bye Tom."

Hearing her say his name like that broke Tom's heart, she seemed so upset. He looked around at Mac, "She wants you to go to the groomers hairy boy." Mac's ears went up. "You need it."

*

Danielle looked at the phone in her hand, cursing herself for being so weak, so many times in the phone call she came too close to telling Tom she was sorry and that she wanted him there. It felt so good to hear his voice, to be able to talk to him.

"You are cracking," Siobhan commented.

Danielle looked at her. "No, just rose-tinted glasses."

"He sounds really nice."

"He is." Danielle looked at the picture on her screen, it didn't show Tom's face, but it was his back and Mac as the pair sat on a hill looking over the Welsh countryside from the time he visited her on set in Wales.

"So, why not forgive his 'booboo'?"

"Because I have to have some self-respect."

"You're so fucking stubborn." Siobhan scoffed. "You'll end up alone if you don't cop on." Danielle just looked at the phone for another moment, but before she could do anymore, Siobhan looked out the window. "Mam's back."

"Fuck." Readying herself for another battle, Danielle thought for another second about Tom before putting her phone away.

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 81 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic

[reddogf13]

Escape: To Salvation Ch: 1

Blake X Val

Summery: Blake wakes up in the hell town known as Templegate. confused and alone he must fight through both his past and present for his future. however, hallucinations of festering demons haunt him along with something else more of mortal blood. now he must fight to keep his nightmares and reality separate or succumb to the deadly wilds. however is he truly as alone as he feels in this world?  

status: complete

rated: M - fowl language, sensitive topics, and gore

Prequel/ main series: Escape: Aftermath CH: 20

next chap: Escape: To Salvation CH:2

_____________________________________

~Ch:1 Dust settles~

Blake fell to his knees and watched as the sun grew to burn the earth. The blazing sun blinding him till his eyes blinked. Opening again to the sound of Jessica's voice back in the school. He wasn't sure what was happening now, getting a sense as if he was floating. Following a path to Jessica's voice without an idea of what he felt inside. Depression, anger, Sadness? No, it was just hollow emptiness inside.

“The feeling of being dead.” the thought passed through his mind. Not even feeling any uplifting happiness seeing Jessica alive and well. He got down and prayed with her. Feeling cold and unhappy at the prayer she recited. Then everything went into the darkness. He floated without any thoughts for what seemed like an eternity.

“am I dead? … Did the world die? … What happened to the baby?” Blake thought, the questions passing through at what felt like a snail's pace. The last question kept repeating over and over. Blake was growing desperate to know the child's outcome.

“... did someone find her? … IS she the Antichrist? Is she okay? Is she alive?” Blake questions floated in the darkness. growing from moving at a snail's pace to zooming past. The darkness grew to be suffocating with an unexplained pressure building into a unbearable headache. Just as the pressure felt like his skull was going to split open, it popped. The pressure suddenly uplifted after one large burst of a painful heat, however the suffocation did not.

Blake opened his eyes to take a desperate gasp of air. Blinking for a moment, unmoving, as he gathered the world around him. No more darkness, he was back under the bright burning normal looking sun. the world partially scorched, but only by what seemed like a now long burnt out forest fire. Back in the hell town known as Templegate.

After gathering his surroundings he remembered his questions. Looking down to his arms to find them both bloody and empty. Fear rose along with panic at the baby missing. He quickly looked around for the baby girl. “maybe she just rolled from my hands. Maybe someone found her and took her away. Maybe an animal grabbed her from me for a meal.” Blakes mind raced, the baby's fate getting darker with each thought. He froze when he spotted a trail of fresh boot prints nearby. The tracks walking up to him and stopping before stepping off to the side to walk behind him.

Blake stared at the prints for a moment. Taking a breath of air before slowly and carefully standing. His legs popping and hurting as they moved. Something seemed off based from his last memory. The dirt he partially fell to deeply indented where his legs were. All the blood going across him turned brown from dryness. Some spots cracking off as Blake moved.

“damn, how long was I stuck in that position?” he thought with a wince. Taking note that the sun was now fully above in its afternoon slot when the last point he remembered was it just rising. As soon as he was ready to move he went forward. His body feeling horribly sore and exhausted. Feeling that if he sat down or stopped, he wouldn't be able to go forward again. His stomach painfully hollow with his mouth being as dry as the desert. He focused only on the fresh prints. Ignoring the vast decaying corpses he past. The smell, despite being difficult in the hot sunlight, he also ignored. Seeing that maggots had already infested the bodies. Clearing off huge chunks of meat from the bones. He only took his focus off once the prints lead into a building. Painfully stopping to look up to examine the building. It was a place made with wood with white painted shingles going down the walls. A cross standing at the pointed front of the roof.

Blake sighed, trying to regain some strength to get him moving inside. Getting up onto the small front step seeming the hardest thing in the world at the moment. Then he had to do the second hardest with opening the door. Pain shooting through his holed hand as he turned the knob. He took another deep breath as the door creaked open. Carefully stepping over the small door frame sticking up from the floor to enter.

He walked in with barely a thought to his own safety. He was in barely walk-able shape, forget about being able to fight. Even so, he would save his little girl and at least make sure she was taken someplace safe before collapsing. Hed fight if he had to, but who knows if it'd get him anywhere.

He stopped to catch his breath, recovering as well from the massive pain in his body. Looking over the darkness to try and figure out where to go next. The boot prints quickly disappearing past the doorway. leaving Blake to track whoever without any hints to where they went.

“you live?” a voice spoke from the darkness. Sounding honestly surprised at Blakes appearance. Blake would have jumped from the sudden voice if his body hadn't locked up in pain. He stood silent for a minute to process the voice. Slowly searching the darkness over for the figure. He recognized it, but in the state he was in his brain processed the information slowly. Then he remembered who the speaker was.

“val.” Blake growled in his mind. He swallowed to get ready as if he was going to yell in pure rage, but only ended up letting out a quiet voice. hoarse from lack of water for who knows how long.

“you took her … where is she?” Blake demanded to know, while trying to keep his body from collapsing. “the girl? She's long since passed in that chapel.” val answered, sounding calm but tired.

“no, the baby!” Blake snapped, he didn't want to deal with val. He didn't want to play a game of ring around the Rosie with questions.

“there was no baby.” val stated, sounding unfazed by Blakes tone. Blake remained silent for a second, confused. “Of course there was a baby. How could val say there wasn't? She- he- whatever was the one obsessed about bringing it into the world. Why suddenly reject its existence?!” Blakes mind went through the questions. Slowly processing through them.

“where'd you take her?!” Blake questioned, growing angry. Val sighed and finally moved to look toward him from a seated spot. Blake noticing her movement in the dark and facing her with an expression of hatred mixed with pain.

“there was no baby. Knoth convinced both of us though, didn't he?” val stated, anger pouring into her own words now.

“yes there was! Why else- why else go through all that?! You knew, it was obvious! You can't say she wasn't!” Blake snapped. Yelling in frustration only to stop so he could swallow a small amount of spit for his dry throat. Referring to how lynn was both obviously and heavily pregnant.

“i saw her birth it. I held her in my hands as lynn died on that torture table! Now where is she dammit!!” Blake began to roar. Tears welling up in his eyes as he spoke.

“there was no baby!! it was like every other pregnancy, nothing!! There. Was. Nothing!” val roared back, seeming just as angry with heavy disappointment underneath.

“... what? … I held her! She was there, crying. ... Knoth saw her too!” Blake argued again. Only now he was beginning to question himself. He was remembering all he went through now, including the Jessica hallucinations that seemed so real. Then there was also that moment with what lynn had said “there's nothing there” lynns words echoed repeatedly in his head.

“but, Knoth saw.” he spoke again, his heart slowly crumbling away. He saw val shake their head afterwards. “Knoth sees what he wants. She wasn't the first to bare the “Antichrist” or the first we managed to take from Knoth either. No child had been born at full term in years. It was either a early miscarriage or a false pregnancy. Killing the “birthing mothers” as the blood left them. Either way Knoth claimed he saw the devil child. Killing it after performing some false words before thrusting the blade.” val explained as Blake stood there quietly, mainly in an attempt to regain his voice.

“so … why was mine so different?” he asked.

“strange circumstance, same reason why we desperately kept her for the birth. Usually Knoth claimed someone he bedded with lust was carrying the evil. We would grab them in some cases with the event ending all the same. You and the girl however, fell from the sky into a fiery blaze upon landing. Everyone saw the whole thing. Knoth unfortunately made it there first, but that was a small misstep.” val explained, taking in a disappointed breath.

“he always came first.” the figure shrouded in darkness joked with a snicker. A remark Blake recognized as on the sexual side. Being not much in the mood for Vals forward humor on the subject, he gave a unamused look. “ … we thought it'd be different. That it was real this time. everything showed the signs it was and then … here we are. My loves had their throats slit or were crushed by the crumbling tunnels. I barely got out through the collapsed rock. i expected the world to shift, the earth to crack … but I only had the darkness take me over. I felt satisfied, my purpose complete, I welcomed the pain in the dark, then it ended. I was forced awake back into the world I felt I was past. I found the girl, recognized her body's state being like all the others, but at least it ended Knoth. He had finally lost and died like a coward. I wished it had been me to feel his warm blood pool onto my body.” Val spoke, her voice growing in disappointment. Looking toward the ground with a pause.

“Quite a time has past here before I woke. The rot has set in to be two days old on the dead. You were in that dark place a day longer than me, how was it?” val finished off with a question. Blake stood there, glaring in deep hatred. His mind going back and forth on whether val was telling the truth.

After a moment's thought he accepted Val was telling the truth. She never really lied, val never cared about that like Knoth did, but that also came with accepting the baby's nonexistence. It hurt Blake deeply, he pushed so hard to save lynn and failed. At the time he hoped to at least save his little girl, but she never existed either. He sighed in exhaustion, looking toward the dirty wood floor. Wondering what to do next. His only thought being he wanted to sit and maybe sleep for 10 years. He looked up to stare at val. Watching to see what she- he? Was possibly going to do. Val didn't seem to really move besides in taking a breath. Blake closed his eyes for a moment before gaining enough strength to move again. Walking back out the building onto the flat wood step. At this point Blake didn't care. He was too exhausted and practically went through everything already. Val didn't seem to react, staying in her seated spot. Not even bothering to look at him. Blake was thankful that val looked to be dressed again. He really didn't want to see that naked mud image right now. As he tried to move off the step his body collapsed onto the wood. Any attempt at getting up proving fruitless for his weakened body.

“val said she blacked out for two days based on how far the rot has been on the corpses. I was out for an extra day, so I was in some comatose state for three days?!” Blake thought, now realizing how desperately bad his bodies state was.

“... if I don't get up now, ... i'll die, ... but would it be so bad?” he wondered as he closed his eyes for just a second.

when he opened his eyes the sun was down, Blake had only fallen asleep this time. The next time however, it would definitely be his last if he didn't find food or water.

He looked around and didn't see Vals presence anywhere from his view into the darkened doorway of the building. He sat up with a few pops to his neck and back from the strange sleeping position. His body feeling a bit more energized, but the pain remaining.

Blake sat there for a while to debate on what he should do next. No lynn, no baby, now what? His only thought was to save himself, but there was no way he would get far in his current condition. He needed to find more bandages, hopefully some alcohol in the damned town, and some food and water while searching. “i swear if val plans to jump me.” he growled to himself. Wondering where val went and what they could possibly be doing with nobody around anymore.

He painfully stood to walk off the wood step. Squinting up at the bright moonlight. Gagging a bit at the rotten body smell mixing with a new one. Burnt flesh, it seems val had been busy doing some clean up. “fucking great.” Blake grumbled toward the smoldering body pile. He continued on slowly, looking about the town. It was the first time he was able to actually able to look at things. As far as he knew he no longer had to fear towns people with machetes or Marta coming at him. At the notice of a dark shape of a tree he stopped. discovering Knoths hanging body, or what's left of him.

Hanging from a tall almost black tree knoths organs were ripped out to be strung around the branches. All sorts of objects from glass, knifes, table legs to branches, iron bars, and barbed wire stabbed or strung all through him like thread through a cloth. His face carved up almost beyond all recognition while also being burned just as much as the others. If Blakes mouth wasn't so dry he'd probably spit at the hanging corpse.

“good riddance.” Blake thought before slowly moving again. “fuck, where the hell can I find water. No way i am drinking from the well here.” Blake thought as he carefully walked into one of the shack houses. He was fully prepared to just accept death by dehydration over who knows what in the water. Taking note of more dead bodies as he started rummaging through the cabinets for food, water, or anything useful.

“more bandages, that's one thing.” Blake mumbled to himself as he stuffed a couple rolls into his bag. The rest of the house proved fruitless, along with the next three before he found a non rotten apple in the forth. He really wanted just pure water in a bottle, but he couldn't be choosy. Taking a bite of the apple then just sucking on it to try and get a nice mouthful of juice.

“these people don't have anything. Where's all the food? In the fields? Fuck, mite just have to drink from the well. Eat some of the dead fish rotting in the lake.” he thought in disgust as he moved to another shack. “still nothing.” he sighed, slamming a fridge full of old rotten vegetables. Already he was beginning to feel exhausted again. Getting frustrated as he knew he'd only been awake for maybe 15 minutes. He preferred to find more food and water first before slipping into a sleep coma. He sighed in agitation before deciding to find a room he could close off.

When he did find one in the upper stairs of a building. He blocked the door off before sitting down on the bed. Letting out a groan of pain at everything hurting. Blake sat there for a moment till he gained a little more energy. Looking to his badly injured and bloody hands.

“maybe i'll get a miracle and the tap will work.” he thought, painfully getting up to go to a nearby bathroom. He held his breath as he turned the brass nozzle. Letting out a breath of relief at the clean looking water. He worked as fast as he could, to scrub his hands clean. Then quickly trying to clean every other part of him. He could have tried the shower, but he really didn't want to strip here and get into a vulnerable spot.

Almost all of the blood, mud, and dirt was cleaned away. Blake getting a much clearer look at the holes in his hand. Hissing a bit as they were painfully sore and still bleeding quite a bit. He tried to dry them with a small piece off the new bandage. Hoping they would clot slightly as to not bleed so much. They seemed to slowly stop bleeding as a new scab formed at the wound.

After re-wrapping them in new bandage he stared at the flow of sink water. Smacking his dry mouth. He really didn't want to drink any water in this town, but he had to drink something. So he quickly gulped down a mouthful. Giving up his resistance soon after to guzzle down mouthful after mouthful of water from the tap. His body feeling major relief at the introduction of hydration.

He gasped for air after filling his stomach to the brim with just water, shutting off the tap afterwards. He headed back to the bed to fully lay down this time. Looking toward a nearby widow with moon light pouring through the dust covered glass. For a moment the thought of maybe someone else besides val stalking the town entered his mind. Should he find somewhere more hidden to sleep? At this point though, Blake didn't care. He was far too injured and tired. He didn't want to run again, and couldn't even if he tried. while at this point death would be a welcoming away from all the pain. He closed his eyes and in seconds was fast asleep.

Blake woke up to the morning sun blazing into his eyes. Squinting before carefully sitting up with a stiff groan. He rubbed his face as he put his feet onto the hardwood floor.

“find food, bottled water, and alcohol possibly.” he thought. Deep in his mind he knew the alcohol would most likely be nonexistent in this town. Alcohol wasn't looked too kindly on in religion.

“maybe I could find a bottle of wine in the chapel.” Blake thought. His heart seized at remembering lynn was dead inside that building. He'd have to face her body again once he entered. He swallowed hard wondering if hed have the strength to even face her.

He got up to slowly work his way back to the chapel. Upon seeing her body from the doorway he froze. Staring as he held back the tears welling up in his eyes. He quickly swallowed them down into the painful pit in his stomach. Carefully walking down the mostly clear isle up to her.

He swallowed down at the painful disgusting sight of maggots swarming over her. He looked away to take a few deep breaths. Desperate to hold himself together. Looking back when he felt he was ready. He needed to cover her body before he could move it.

“wrap her up in something.” he thought, looking around the chapel. Deciding on a nice piece of curtain hanging over a window. He returned to lynn with the large bundled up curtain in his hands. Carefully covering her before slowly wrapping the thing around till she was fully bundled up in the fabric.

“at least val didn't desecrate you. … I hope.” he spoke to himself. A thought of him not being entirely sure as she was stuck with val for an entire night, although he rather not think of that.

“i need to bury her, but do I want to bury her in this hell town?” he thought. In the end having no choice. He knew he couldn't carry her far, but he could at least take her to the forest edge. Past all the rotten bodies and crumbling buildings.

“Someplace under a nice tree.” he thought, leaving her body for the moment. He wanted to dig a deep grave first before carrying her body out. He searched around a bit managing to find a nice shovel. Going slightly past the town to now find a tree. Coming across a large green pine that just managed to survive the fire. Half of its green top being singed from the flames that were now long dead.

Blake returned to the chapel with his eyes welling up the entire way. By the time he reached her body the tears were overflowing.

“i'm sorry, i am so so sorry, I should have been faster. I could have made it. You could have lived, but I couldn't help you.” he cried, trying to wipe all the tears away only for the streams to be quickly replaced. He took a long deep breath to calm himself. Hugging her wrapped body for a moment before picking her up into his arms. His whole body locked up in agony from the extra weight. He stood frozen in place with her weight in his arms and took in another deep breath. Slowly working his way toward the grave, taking deep breaths the whole way in an attempt to keep his strength up.

Once at the grave he carefully got to his knees before slipping one leg after the other into the grave. Gently setting her down and fixing up her wrappings. Tears started to heavily flow again requiring him to sit next her in the grave to regain himself. He took a few deep breaths, wiped away the tears. Giving lynn's forehead a final goodbye kiss with his hand then climbed out of the grave. Standing tall next to the grave lynn was now resting in, he looked to the sky to gather some words.

“a good friend, a loving wife, never forgotten. Rest in peace … wherever you are.” Blake spoke clearly as if speaking to a actual crowd at a funeral. He folded his hands over each other and lowered his head for a moment of silence.

“amen.” Blake said in a way to end the funeral, although the word seemed sour to him. After all this his faith was even more crippled than before. All sorts of questions on why this happened passing through his mind. He wasn't going to debate it though. He was tired of religion and if who ever existed he no longer cared. Blake was going to leave it all at that. He just wanted to move on.

Blake grabbed the near by shovel and began to slowly fill in the grave. Trying his hardest not to fall apart as lynn was covered. His body was exhausted by the time he was done. The afternoon sun now shining over head. The town actually looked remotely nice in the bright sun. not every pile of dirt or tree looking like some horrified monster ready to grab hold. Much easier to see the annoying small cacti Blake remembered from all the past needles stuck in his leg.

He grabbed a nearby small wooden cross he made out of two thick branches and a tied cloth. Setting it at the head of the grave almost against the trunk of the large pine. He smoothed out the grave and circled its edging with all the nice stones and flowers he could find. Finally adding the last touch of a handful of both pink and white flowers he plucked off a cacti.

“you didn't deserve this.” Blake spoke to the grave. Shutting his eyes tight as he took a deep breath. Opening them again once he felt like he wouldn't cry again. He looked down at the grave before turning away to search the town again for supplies.

The rest of the day was unfruitful for anything. All the food old and maggot infested with no water insight. “i guess if worse comes to worse, at least I got a maggot farm.” Blake thought. His face crinkling in disgust at the thought of eating a wriggling maggot. He sat down at the stairs of a building he just left. Looking out toward Lynn's marked grave and noticing something. Val was standing near it. Blake filled with hatred glared hard enough to try burning a hole in the back of her head.

“if Val dares desecrate Lynn's grave they're going to pay.” Blake growled in his mind. Holding his glare on the unmoving figure that stared down toward the grave. He finally relaxed when Val began moving away from lynn's resting place, but not entirely. His paranoia of maybe something small was done while he wasn't looking bringing him to look over the grave. Blake stood by with an agitated expression as he examined all over the grave for any difference. Even checking the dirt for anything drawn into it. Nothing was different on the grave or anything done to the tree either.

He sighed in relief as he was not in the mood to clean up some carving or blood painted symbols. Or whatever Val may have been wanting to do. Then he turned his attention toward the fresh tracks in anger. He hated them being near and quickly scuffed fresh soil over all the nearby tracks to rid the area of there existence.

After clearing a 15 foot area surrounding the grave he went to tiredly sit by the grave. He leaned his head back to rest it against the tree. Finding himself immediately falling asleep again. When he woke only a few hours later he saw more of Vals tracks leading near the grave and away. Blake growled out of anger at seeing the tracks. Getting up to again carefully examine the grave for desecration in any way. Again, thankfully, finding nothing. Again, like before, he swept away the invading tracks in a 15 foot area around the grave. Growing quickly exhausted, thirsty, and his stomach painfully growling. He'd only eaten a apple and hot pocket within the last 4 days. The hot pocket he grabbed before the regretful helicopter trip here. He walked away from the grave to only make it 10 feet. Looking back in paranoia at leaving the grave unguarded.

He swallowed in nervousness until his painful stomach growling made him wince. He was mentally kicking himself as he left the unguarded grave, but he desperately needed food. Blake went even deeper into the town to search new areas for supplies. Finding a few more bandages and even a few useless battery's. After Knoth died and before his black out he remembered losing grip on his camera along the way. And at this point he didn't care to search for it either. It was probably laying in a pool of bloody mud and or sewage at this point. Maybe even Val took it and burned it in the body pile, who knows.

As he walked across the open dirt patch between houses he noticed more of Vals boot prints crisscrossing over the dirt. Glaring down at them, knowing Val had already raided the houses here. “probably snatched up any supplies. Fuck, now what then?” Blake thought, looking up to the bright sky momentarily in exhaustion. Now his options being between maggot farming, or picking a floating fish from the diseased lake full of mercury.

“yay to eventually looking like the mad hatter.” Blake spoke with a huff.

“maybe there's a farm around here. There has to be, no way they could feed so many from a bag of groceries fetched from a real outside town. I ran through that corn field at one point. didn't look like there was any corn though from what I remember.” he noted in his mind.

“which way to go?” he thought, looking at the varying paths leading in all directions. From all his running around he had no idea where anything was. Running through the whole night also muddling his whole sense of direction. He got an idea to look at where the sun was. It was past noon so wherever the sun was heading down to it lead toward the west. It didn't help him much in deciding a path, but he could just barely remember where the sun was before the helicopter ride and the direction they flew in.

from there he tried hard to remember every direction he walked in since the crash. Unfortunately his memory were more like blinks. He could only get points A and B of certain places. The whole between just seemed like a black warped puddle with the flash of something fuzzy forming now and again.

He found his memory no use. instead deciding to approach the best guess option. Looking at the tree lines for a thin or cleared area. Farming wasn't exactly a small patch to clear of trees. Soon spotting a massive open area between the tree line and heading straight for it. A 10 minute walk leading him up face to face with possibly the same corn field he zigzagged through.

Blake examined the stalks as he walked between the rows. Seeing no evidence of any corn. Assuming that maybe the town had harvested and eaten it all already. He noticed a bright color orange from between the long rows as he got deeper into them. Heading toward it expecting it to be leftover corn, but instead. “ … pumpkins... ?” Blake stated out loud in the middle of a pumpkin patch. Looking like none of them were harvested yet.

“had to be pumpkins. Couldn't have been something easy like fucking potatoes, but no. I don't even know how to really peel a orange I always needed lynn to do it for me. How the fuck do I eat a pumpkin?!” Blake spoke to himself. Knowing he was definitely not a cook of out of the way veggies. Usually working with simple potatoes or the most complicated being peas in a pod.

“i've heard of diced pumpkin, so do I peel it then chop it? I know I can bake the seeds, but can I also cook the guts and eat it??” Blake spoke to himself.

“if there was ever a time to figure out my own pumpkin pie recipe, it'd be now.” Blake joked. He always joked as some kind of protection mechanism. It helped uplift his spirits when down, even just a little helped him keep going.

Blake picked up a nice sized pumpkin about the size of his head. Taking it back to lynns grave and setting it down momentarily. He was happy to see no new tracks from Val around the area. Now his new goal was to find supplies for a fire and some sort of cooking pan.

“hopefully Val wont snatch it and get her own from the pumpkin patch.” Blake thought while searching the nearby shacks. Finding a pan and a small box of matches pretty quickly. Getting a lucky find of a small clean white pouch that could hold pumpkin seeds well. Returning to his pumpkin to create a small fire pit ringed with rocks. He piled a bunch of twigs and handfuls of dry leaves into the small pit. Lighting a match to place on the dry pile. Now he had to figure out what to do with the pumpkin. His best bet was roasting seeds and collect a whole bags worth of them. They would last as long as they did not get wet.

Blake grabbed a nearby broken shard of metal off a gate. He looked it over to see if there was any strange substance on it and found nothing. Leaning it against the wall to force it into a curved hook before he brought it to the fire. Letting it sit over the flames to clean anything he couldn't see sitting on the surface. then began his task of carefully carving a hole at the top of the pumpkin as if starting a jack o lantern. Picking out all the seeds he could to throw into the empty pan.

He roasted a good cup full of seeds till they turned a golden brown. Eating a few to test them determining them worthy of being stored in the pouch. Leaving still a lot of empty space for at least 6 more cup fulls of seeds inside the bag. After the pan was cleared Blake took his chances with trying to prepare the pumpkin guts. Cutting out the annoying pile and slopping it all into the pan with a sizzle as the wet goop hit the hot metal.

He sat there watching the goop pile slowly cook. Turning and mixing it with the metal piece, but finding it hard to determine if it was done or not. Half was still raw goop and the other half was now suddenly burnt. Before the last bit of it was burnt he took it off the fire to cool. Throwing more branches into the fire to keep it going. He decided he would stay by lynns grave to keep watch with the fire keeping him warm in the night.

He mixed the oddly looking pile, at this point just playing with his food. Afraid to take the first bite. He swirled it onto the metal piece like stringing noodles. Taking his first bite and scrunching up at the burnt taste covered in half slimy texture. As the first shock of flavor past he started unhappily chewing. Deciding it was better then nothing while saving the seeds for emergency case. By the end of it he was getting a bit sick from the disgusting flavor. Thankful that it was all done and gone at least till his next pumpkin. The rest of the pumpkin he would scrape out the sides and try to cook tomorrow.

He sat by the grave to lean against the tree. Sitting there and watching the sun pass into night. Making sure to keep the fire going as much as he could to keep the area lit. who knows what Val was doing out in the darkness. Honestly he really didn't want to know after all he had seen Val do. As long as they stayed far away from him that's all Blake cared for.

“if i keep going at this pace, MAYBE, I'll have enough strength to walk back in a day or two.” he thought, the back of his mind arguing the time frame to be more like a week.

“no way i am staying that long. I'll take my chances hitch hiking in the forest. Once I get home ill recover lynns body and give a proper funeral in a nice cemetery. Have this place burned to the ground with flame throwers. Probably the only way to cleanse this area of all the pollution of disease. Especially that “quarantine” area.” he grumbled in thought.

“wonder if any of the ill survived up in the mountains? Probably not with how bad that storm was. Landslide, fallen trees, and rocks would have buried them.” Blake thought. He threw a bunch more wood onto the fire, curling up against the tree to slowly drift to sleep.

The next morning he woke to a familiar sight of Vals boot prints walking nearby before going off. “ugh.” he thought with a glare. Getting up to check the grave again. Seeing nothing still and again scuffing the prints away. The feeling of paranoia coming up as he realized how close Val was getting to him in his sleep. Maybe he should go indoors from now on. That meant leaving lynn's grave unguarded however.

“i have to let go. Cant keep guarding the dead forever.” he thought. Lynn was dead now, nothing could bring her back. So why was he so diligently guarding her grave? Wanting to feel like he accomplished protecting in some way? He wasn't able to protect Jessica, wasn't able to keep lynn safe. He failed and now the last thing he wanted to do was fail a third time. Last thing he wanted to see was lynn unburied to be put up for some satanic display by Val.

Blake looked toward the sun to get the jest of what time of day it was. The sun was up a bit past sunrise but not close to afternoon yet. He yawned and stretched his cramped body. He was feeling a little better. Still sore in the legs with pain in his injured hands, but feeling much more well rested.

Blake then recalled why he went into the chapel in the first place. He wanted to find some wine or alcohol of sorts for his hands. Maybe for everything else if he found enough. Even after the small sink bath his skin still felt stained with who knows what. Inside the chapel he looked around the front podium for some sort of small storage of wine. Finding nothing his attention turned toward a shut door to the side. Trying to open the door gave no effect.

“locked? In a town that leaves everything open?” Blake wondered. Grabbing a nearby metal bar to thrust it into the door wedge. Leaning back to provide force into the door. The door creaking as it bent in a way it wasn't supposed to before shooting open as the door broke away from the locked knob.

“geeze, some fucking lock.” Blake thought, examining the knob still attached to the lock in the door frame. “why so protective of this room?” he wondered, knowing that the common lock around here was a slider over the doorway.

“ah, now I know why.” he said. Looking at the vast fancy decorating. Nice rugs, fancy bedding, large nice wood crosses, bottles of pills everywhere, a desk covered in radio equipment and wires heading out a window near the roof. Boxes of jewelry, empty wallets, a stack of bibles.

“knoths room.” Blake answered to himself. Avoiding in touching anything. Only doing so to grab a pill bottle that looked untouched so far.

“penicillin … I mite need these.” Blake recalled with his time in the quarantine area.

“Better safe than sorry.” he said before grabbing a couple of the untouched bottles and immediately swallowing two of the pills. Thankfully the labels said they were not expired yet. Hopefully he didn't manage to catch 10 different diseases.

He looked about the room, examining the radio at first to see if he could get an outside signal for a call to help. No success as only one channel seemed active which Blake could hear the microphones outside slightly buzzing or pooling static from a broken wire setup. He quickly switched it off with an aggravated huff.

His attention was then turned toward the boxes of valuables. Empty wallets cleared of cards or anything cash worthy. The jewelry being items containing large diamonds, probably solid gold or silver chains. Even expensive name brand watches among the pile.

“Knoth needed money somehow for his drug dealers. Cash out peoples cards, use cash, trade in at pawn. Not like his people would care there cards were maxed out while living away from society with debt collectors.” Blake said to himself.

He continued looking about the room. Again being careful with what exactly he was touching or rubbing his hands against.

“score!” Blake spoke excitedly as he found a couple bottles of unopened water by the bed. Removing batteries to shove them into the bag around his waist, just barely managing to fit them. He moved onto searching the drawers managing to find more useful items.

“jack Daniels, that will definitely work.” he said, undoing the bloody bandages and quickly soaking them in a large splash of the alcohol. Hissing as they both burned as if on fire. As the pain came it was quickly washed over with relief at fully having the wounds cleaned out now. Getting another bandage out to soak it slightly in a few drops before wrapping his hands with it. As Blake finished tying off the bandage he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning quickly enough to just catch a glimpse of Val disappearing from view. He stood there frozen to watch the doorway to the empty room. Waiting to see if Val would show herself again. she definitely didn't want to be seen by him as she watched what he was doing.

“maybe val was attracted by the radio coming on, afraid Knoth may have risen from the grave. I would have checked too if I suddenly heard them switching on.” he thought. He wasn't so afraid of Val out in the day in town. It was at night when he couldn't see three feet in front of him or when he was forced into a small dark space with her when he was afraid. Val wasn't so intimidating when she was pretty much the only one left. No one to back her in a fight or jump in if she had trouble. Easier advantage in a cramped tunnel over open town space. Blake was sure that Val knew that too.

“i wonder if that's why she does nightly visits? Testing how close she can get to jump me in my sleep?” he thought as he returned to searching the room. He started looking underneath the furniture. Finding mainly dust bunnies or cobwebs. Something caught his eye under the bed however. A small perfect hole the size of a quarter. He reached over and pulled up by using the hole.

After using a bit of force he assumed maybe it was nothing. But the hole seemed so out of place for him. He grabbed the hole and wiggled it a bit. The board sliding in one direction before popping up. It surprised Blake as he fully moved the board out of the way. Seeing a small hidden space containing a small black book with a bunch of pens and nothing else. He took out the small book, crawling out from under the bed, to look inside. “looks like knoths diary.” Blake sighed as he saw all those stupid gospels he wrote. A bunch of references to the actual bible. Some of his daily writings repeating the general message of “the end is near!” on every ending page. He flipped toward the front of the book finding something new. something with the government raid on the last place Knoth and his disciples lived.

 “ DEC, 10th 1969 me and what's left of my flock are moving to new lands, someplace safe from peering eyes of the enemy who wishes to stop me. The government has already taken so much, how much more do they want? Now they mite be taking my followers faith in me. I've been getting many questions I do not like being asked. Questions of why I didn't foresee the raid, why god let over half of us be dragged away. Why my promises of protection and peacefulness were broken.

I've been managing to keep them at bay through words of “its what god chooses”. Usually i am spoken to by the lord so that I know the correct answer to such questions. It seems god wants me to do this on my own. It must be a test to make sure I can keep my flock faithful. Even with Marta by my side I can only make them fear me for so long. Marta can handle a few men revolting, but a whole mob? I doubt that despite Martas words of reassurance she'll take care of them. I don't want my whole flock to abandon my words and leave me with only a minor few. Or have Marta hang them when we should really be sticking together in these trying times to the new lands.

While Marta is my right hand, I am missing a left. Sure there is always laird who follows me without question, but he isn't so well on the eyes and can be too aggressive on those questioning me. I need someone with a more delicate touch of speaking. Someone intimidating, but soft enough to be approached, and above all highly devoted to me. I have a feeling laird won't be around us for much longer either. He's been doing his best to hide the symptoms of sickness, but I see it. After we are settled in the new lands and I no longer need his help in overlooking the work I will send him away.”

  Blake flipped through the next few pages, finding nothing else besides same old same old. Templegate founding celebration, town built, blah blah. For a moment Blake debated on burning the diary so some poor soul wouldn't get sucked into the lies and spread the evil of knoths gospel. It may have more interesting information though as it was so carefully hidden. Knoth wasn't exactly known for hiding his teachings so this book might be holding delicate information Knoth never wanted to see the light of day. looked to have pages written for each day going back over 42 years. Would be nice to know where all this madness grew from for curiosity's sake.

He shoved the book into his jacket pocket, aiming to read more later in the night. He determined he had gathered everything useful from the room. Heading out back to lynns grave. Blake stopped in his tracks at seeing multiple boot prints swarming all around the grave. All of them left by one person. Now Val was doing this on purpose. He let out a yelling growl in anger toward the sky since Val wasn't present for him to yell at.

“i am going to snap your ankles when I get the chance!!” he shouted generally into the air. Not entirely meaning it as he knew he wasn't in good condition to fight. He once again checked over the grave, finding again to be untouched although the footprints did get incredibly close to the graves edge. The prints also having a pattern of purpose. Leaving prints around the grave in a pacing motion before making rings spreading out from the grave and then turning random. However all the prints were kept within the exact 15 foot radius Blake never wanted them to be in.

he grumbled to himself about being sick of this as he scuffed all the prints away. Getting the help from a twiggy branch he used as a makeshift broom on the dirt. When he was done he tossed the branch off to the side, spotting Vals tracks heading off in a quick manner. He growled at being left exhausted from cleaning up prints again. This needed to stop, NOW, before Val took it any further. He was tired of being tired at fixing up the mess everyday. He followed after the tracks with the idea of where they lead coming into question. Would they lead to another mine? Another town building? Was Val purposely leading him somewhere? Did she even expect him to follow this time?

He came to a small cliff edge clearing able to spot Val immediately. He stopped as he saw her peering out from behind a tree, but not toward him. she was looking intently at something down the small cliff edge. He glared at the back of there head. Confused but not really caring about whatever crazy thing they were doing currently. “hey!” Blake snapped at Val. she turned to look at him as if knowing he was there the entire time. Shushing him with a calm expression.

“they're searching.” Val spoke in an ominous manner before turning back to whatever they were looking at. Blake stared confused at her before walking forward a bit. Making sure not to get too close to Val. He looked across the lower forest area till he saw the movement of a group wearing black uniforms.

“police officers?! there searching for me and lynn. our hotel probably called police since we never officially checked out.” Blake stated.

“that's not what there here for.” Val stated.

“what else would they be here for!?” Blake argued.

“strangers don't just find Templegate. They've been here before and have come to fulfill a personal goal. Just like everyone else who has gathered to Templegate.” Val answered. Blake huffed at that answer.

“well i am going to meet them and getting out of this dump.” Blake stated before turning back to find a way down.

“the outsiders are not friendly.” Val warned, turning to look toward Blake.

“what would you know?! You think everybody's the enemy!” he snapped angrily.

“I know Templegate better than you do. Their outsiders that shouldn't be here.” Val warned, When finished she turned away to head back toward the town.

“whatever. … lunatic.” Blake said with the last part only being in thought.

As Val left his sight he made his way down. Walking through the forest brush toward the group. As he drew closer he felt the need to be silent. Something felt wrong deep inside.

“pfft, Vals lunatic talk is getting to me. Its nothing. There looking for me and lynn, Vals probably afraid of being arrested. doesn't want me to rat on her to police. No where for Val to escape now. Why else would they possibly be here?!” Blake tried to reassure in his mind.

He was coming up upon the uniformed men. Getting ready to call out when he noticed the men weren't just in regular uniform. It was bulky, like a swat team uniform. Having patches on their shoulders of a strange logo with the word Murkoff underneath. Blake swallowed as he examined the group more closely. Alongside the swat uniforms they were carrying heavy military fire power in their hands. This was no longer seeming like just a search party. He moved up just enough so he could stand behind a nearby tree. Listening carefully as the group talked amongst themselves. Still unaware of Blakes existence.

#outlast 2 #blake langermann #val outlast

[captainmeowvelwrites]

You Times Two (Ch.5)

Pairing: Marinette/Ladybug | Adrien/Chat Noir Words: 5626 Summary: Ladybug knew this was necessary. She was the Guardian. He had the Cat Miraculous. But when his suit evaporated in a glow of pale green, she sure hadn’t expected him to have something far more precious: her heart. Cross-posted: AO3 and FFN

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | ...

Recap: Previously, on You Times Two… Our boy flirted up a storm with Marinette “Just A Friend” Dupain-Cheng—and whataya know, our girl’s got game and dished the flirt right back. Some pretty sweet puns flew all over the show. And much to our dismay, yet not at all to our surprise, Adrien sought advice on how to handle Kagami “Thinks I’m Her Boyfriend” Tsurugi. (He really needs to stop doing that.) Will Sunshine Boy make use of her counsel? And will Maribug avoid her kitty’s cake offering tonight? Let’s find out, boys and girls!

 ---

Chapter Five

Adrien rummaged through his duffle bag, the scent of sweat, leather and cheese affronting his nose. "Geez," he choked, retreating from his locker to suck in a breath, "I really need to clean this thing."

Inside the bag, Plagg lounged in an empty container, rubbing his full belly. "I happen to like the way it smells."

Pinching his nose, Adrien plucked a glove from the bag with his free hand. "Hmm. I wonder why." He sent Plagg a side glance. "Maybe because it's infested with crumbs of your stinky cheese."

Plagg burped. "I give you superpowers. You give me camembert. That's the deal, kid."

Adrien rolled his eyes and smiled. "Yeah, yeah." He sniffed the glove, breathed a sigh of relief, and slipped it on. "You could at least practice clean eating." He plonked on his helmet, though didn't yet cover his face, and puffed a stray strand of blond from his eyes. "Do me a favour and don't eat my socks while I'm gone. Or Kagami's cake."

At least he didn't have to worry about Ladybug's piece. He'd stowed it away in Plagg's cheese fridge when he'd raced (or rather, when his bodyguard had raced him) by the mansion to fetch his fencing gear.

A sigh slipped from his lips, his stomach looping in knots, as the events of last night flooded his mind like a river after a sudden storm. He wondered – not for the first time – how he could've upset Ladybug.

Hopefully, she really was just a fan.

A very surprised fan.

And all going to plan, he'd make everything right at patrol tonight.

But what if he didn't?

Maybe Ladybug hated Adrien Agreste.

Maybe that's why she'd reacted to his identity so frantically, scrambling for the nearest exit.

Maybe their partnership was over.

What if she didn't even show up this evening?

The groan of metal hinges tore through the room as Adrien shoved his locker shut, hoping to trap his crazy thoughts within its four steel walls.

"You seem distracted."

He shot to full height, his eyes darting left to find a geared-up Kagami, her red-hilted sabre in hand. She stepped forward, watching him intently, and placed her free hand to his cheek.

Her smile was as warm as her touch, yet the knots in his stomach refused to subside.

"Is everything all right, Adrien?"

He guided her hand from his cheek, managing a smile. "Sorry, Kagami. I just… have a lot on my mind right now."

She tilted her head, her dark hair following suit. "We can talk about it if you'd like?"

Adrien wished it was that simple—wished he could reveal his identity, his dilemma, his troubles, everything—but if there was one thing his circumstances weren't, it was simple. Would Kagami even understand?

Adrien flashed another smile, before retrieving his sabre from a nearby bench. "Thanks, Kagami, but I'm fine. Honestly." His eyes remained on his sabre, as he flexed the hilt between his gloved hands. "I just have a few things to figure out, that's all."

"I could help if you want?" Her voice was eager, assertive, and his smile came more easily.

"Don't worry, Kagami," he said, raising his hand. "There's really no need." Or rather, no way.

Her eyes flickered to the ground, an unfamiliar expression sliding onto her face. "If you're upset, isn't it my duty as your girlfriend to cheer you up?"

He stiffened at the title, reminded of Marinette's advice less than thirty minutes back. His lips parted, but only a dry croak escaped them.

When he said nothing—or rather, nothing intelligible—Kagami took it upon herself to continue. "Have I done something to upset you?"

Adrien nearly dropped his sabre. "No, of course not," he burst with conviction, guilt biting at his brain. "I mean, uhh…" Again, that advice flitted through his mind, and this time, he seized the chance to make use of it. "Hey, are you free tomorrow? After Alya's, I mean."

For a moment, those enthralling brown eyes seemed to scrutinise him. "Well," she finally said, "I can tell Mother our one-on-one fencing session is running later than expected." The makings of a smirk played on her lips. "Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking"—he moved to rub his neck, only to realise his gloves and helmet made that tricky—"maybe we could, uhh, go out for dinner?"

Kagami's smirk softened into a smile. "Did you have anywhere in mind?"

Only as his shoulders slackened did he realise they'd been tense to begin with. "It's"—his thoughts drifted back to that candlelit rooftop—"a surprise."

When her lips drew into a firm line, and she stole a glance at her shoes, Adrien worried she perhaps wasn't a fan of surprises. He bit his lower lip, readying himself for the bite of rejection.

It didn't come.

"Very well," Kagami said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I should let you know, I'm especially fond of seafood, Mediterranean, and a greasy slice of pizza"—she revealed a wry smile—"despite Mother's protests." Her hand slid from his shoulder, back to her side. "Also, I'm allergic to peanuts, but only mildly."

Adrien gaped, unprepared for that answer. It was stupid, really. She was… well, kind of his girlfriend. And even when she hadn’t been, she'd said yes to their trip to the ice rink.

A smile snuck across his lips. "Um – All right." He made a mental note of her preferences, already envisioning the night in his mind's eye—the scent of steadily burning candle wax, a sea of vibrant red roses, the freshness of tzatziki and succulent, spiced chicken. "So no peanuts and – uhh – it's a date, then?"

Her smile stretched in sync with her nod. "It's a date, Adrien."

His face brightened. "Then I'll see you at Alya's. We can head to dinner straight from there." Remembrance sparked in his green eyes. "And speaking of surprises, I have a small one in my locker for you." He winked. "I'll give you it after practice."

Kagami reached for his hand, threading his fingers with hers – at least, as much as their gloves allowed it. "I look forward to it."

At that, Adrien lightly squeezed her hand, unsure of which surprise she was referring to.

He didn't mind either way.

---

Marinette stared down her half-eaten cheesecake, a fork hanging from her mouth, as Clara Nightingale's "Big Bang" blasted through her computer speakers. From the corner of her eye, Tikki shimmied along to the upbeat choreography, and her lips quirked up at the sight.

She plucked the fork from her mouth and tapped it against her desk, a sigh sliding through her lips. Had Adrien given her this cake a week ago, she'd probably be giving a beetroot a run for its money.

Now?

Not so much.

Marinette knew she was being stupid. Sure, Kagami was getting a slice, but hers didn't need to taste so bitter because of it.

Guilt clawed at her chest.

Surely it was natural to feel some level of bitterness towards Kagami. She had captured the heart of the boy she'd been fawning over for more than a year. And on top of that, it turned out said boy was also her akuma-fighting partner.

Somehow, that fact only made the sting of jealousy all the more potent.

Marinette knew she had no one to blame but herself.

And she certainly had no right to be mad.

She'd had countless opportunities to tell Adrien how she felt.

But she'd always hesitated.

Kagami didn't.

And now he was hers.

Marinette sagged in her chair as memories of Weredad gnawed at her brain, a reminder that Adrien – in the guise of Chat Noir – had rejected her as Marinette.

For Ladybug, yes.

Regardless, that fact still stung like a sabre straight to the chest, even if it at least answered a question that had hounded her brain since the day she'd started crushing on Adrien: did he feel the same way?

When she wasn't Ladybug, the answer was clearly a resounding no; however, if the bits and pieces she did know from Chat Blanc were true, Adrien would accept her whole self in a heartbeat.

At first, she wasn't sure of how to feel about that… but as her mind continued to wander, she recalled the countless times she'd rejected Chat Noir, and the bite of rejection dulled. She cared deeply for Chat. He was one of her closest friends, someone she entrusted her life to every day—but all this time, she'd clung to the hope of one day pouring her heart out to Adrien. She'd been so blinded by her love for him that she'd never even considered her kitty beyond a few brief imaginings, all of which she'd dismissed the second she thought of Adrien.

Chat Noir was her partner and apparently, anything more between them – between her and Adrien – couldn't just complicate things; it could literally bring about the end of the world.

Her thoughts wandered to Luka, of the beautiful song he'd written her, of how he wore his heart on his sleeve, of how simple everything seemed when he was around.

Maybe, despite Chat Noir's unveiling, it wasn't so selfish to pursue Luka.

The knowledge of Chat's identity brought with it a sense of clarity, she realised. He'd given up on Ladybug – on her – in favour of Kagami. And as wounding as it was, she respected that decision.

After all, he deserved to be happy. She wanted him to be happy.

And she deserved happiness too.

With a resigned sigh, Marinette glanced at the bottom right corner of her computer screen.

8:14pm.

Just like that, she ceaselessly tapped her toes against the foot of her office chair. Only sixteen minutes until her patrol with Chat Noir—with Adrien.

Marinette set down her fork and offered the rest of her cake to Tikki.

She'd lost her appetite.

She staggered to her feet and started to pace, Tikki's quiet chews distant to her ears. "Just remember, Marinette," she muttered to herself, a hand pressed to her chin, "if the cake is for you, then oh darn, you're lactose intolerant. Unlike Marinette Dupain-Cheng." She shook her head. "Just don't say the last part out loud." Her hand dropped from her chin to toy with the hem of her black cardigan. "And if he asks if you're a fan, why yes, you are. But not a huge fan. Just a regular fan. Of his work. Not his face. So he doesn't get the wrong idea." She drummed her fingers against her temples, as though that'd drill these tidbits into her brain. "If you start to freak out, fall back on puns. If it worked this afternoon, it'll work this evening." She'd completed a full loop around her room. "And if he asks if you're on Instagram, the answer is definitely not. No—what's Instagram? Yes. Perfect!"

Tikki gave her a look from atop the now-empty plate. "Why would he ask that?"

Marinette sunk into her desk chair. "Well, if he thinks Ladybug's a fan of his, he might sift through his followers hoping to find her." She slapped her hands to her cheeks, picturing that very scenario. "Then he'd find me – the girl he already suspects – and realise that I am Ladybug. It'd be a total disaster!"

Tikki pursed her lips, as though fighting back a giggle. "You're his friend, Marinette. Of course, you follow him on social media." She paused to tap her lips, a few crumbs of cake spritzed around her mouth. "Besides, he already knows you're a fan of his." Seeing her chosen's face twist with horror, she quickly added, "As Marinette, I mean! And anyway, he has heaps of fans."

Marinette croaked out a groan, her head colliding with the desk.

Tikki settled near her face and placed a reassuring hand to her cheek. "Remember, Marinette, he's the same Chat Noir he was before. Not to mention you were making cake puns together only hours ago. Just don't think too hard and you'll be fine!"

"Y'know what?" Marinette leaped to her feet, sending her chair spinning. "You're right. I can do this!" Her eyes shone as she slammed her hands against the desk. "It's time to patrol Paris with Adrien Agreste! So, Tikki, spots on!"

---

The final fragments of day clung to the darkening sky, where bits of blue and pink and lilac slipped away with the setting sun.

After one graceful flip saw her perched near the edge of a slated rooftop, Ladybug glimpsed the time on her yoyo and stopped to admire the view. Up ahead, the Eiffel Tower set the evening ablaze with its fierce, yellow glow. And below, Friday night traffic meandered through the streets, the steady hum of car motors coating the air like white noise.

It was soothing, humbling, and yet somehow empowering… to stand on that quiet rooftop, but a tiny piece of a puzzle that formed such a striking city.

"Taking the scenic route, huh?"

Ladybug recognised that voice in a heartbeat. Thanks to the power of hindsight, she even considered smacking her head against the nearest chimney.

They sounded so alike.

"Quiet as a cat, I see." She didn't know when a smile had slid across her lips, but welcomed it all the same.

Chat Noir emerged at her side, silent as the evening breeze. "I'm nothing if not consistent." The smile he gave her was small, light, even timid, and all she saw was Adrien.

That thought seemed to hail an ocean of nerves and within seconds, her chest ached from the rising weight of it all. She pried her eyes from his, remembering the pep-talk she'd given herself only ten minutes prior.

Puns.

When in doubt, turn to puns.

Yes, she could do that.

"Consistent?" She spared a glance his way. "I think you mean purrsistent."

Chat arched a brow. "Who are you and what have you done with my partner?" The delighted lilt of his voice didn't go unnoticed, nor the way he leaned closer. Was he even aware he was doing it?

Oh, she certainly was.

Adrien Agreste, the boy she'd been crushing on for over a year, was being receptive to her jokes—to her.

And always had been.

That realisation brought with it a rush she was not prepared for.

"Your clawful sense of humour must be rubbing off on me." She snuck him a smirk, fighting the urge to jingle that silly bell of his.

"Clawful?" Chat threw his nose in the air, his pout as apparent as his sass. "I think you mean clawver!"

"Pawdon my ofurrsight." She giggled into her latex-covered hand.

"Well, colour me impurressed." He slipped her a curious glance. "Where'd this come from?"

She shrugged. "I guess I'm just feeling punny tonight."

"Well," Chat said, nodding with approval, "I'm furry much okay with that." His smile was steady, unwavering, as he turned to the Eiffel Tower, clearly content with admiring the view.

And what a view it was.

The way that fiery yellow glow illuminated every handsome inch of his face. How shadows splashed wherever that glow allowed them, highlighting the serene smile that lined his full lips, as it often did during quiet moments such as this. And least of all, those strikingly green eyes, as vibrant out of the mask as they were within it.

She turned away, drawing a hand to her chest.

"Ladybug?" Concern was clear in his voice. "Is something wrong?"

When she looked his way once more, the squareness of his shoulders weren't lost on her—like he was bracing for impact. Was he afraid of her answer?

No, that would imply he already knew it.

And he definitely – hopefully – didn't know the dangerous turn her thoughts had just taken.

She pursed her lips. No, this must be fear over her reaction last night. A reaction that, to her concern, had alarmed him so much he'd quite possibly bought her cake.

She had to remedy that.

"Adrien…"

When Chat's brows shot up, Ladybug was starkly reminded that he wore a mask for a reason. She slapped one hand to her lips, muffling a gasp, as her other frantically rocked through the air. "Sorry! Sorry! I am so sorry! I meant Chat!" She pulled her hands across her face, peeking up at him from through her gloved fingers. "I know I shouldn't say your name when you're— I – I mean, it's just… habit, I guess?" She bolted straight up, her hands slapping against her thighs. "I mean, not habit," she squealed. "That would imply I'm used to using your name, which I most definitely am not—"

"Hey," Chat cut her off, raising a paw. "No sweat, LB." He smiled, despite the way his brows furrowed beneath his mask. "Hearing my name while suited up… I just didn't expect it, that's all. It's not a big deal, honestly."

Those words gave her pause. "No sweat, Clumsy Girl," she could still hear him say, beaming her way and clutching his baton. "I'm learning the ropes too."

A small smile painted her lips. He'd always been so laidback, so supportive, so slow to judge.

So Adrien.

"Ladybug…" Chat eyed her closely, his lips twisted to one side. "Is something on your mind?"

She stared into his eyes—green, green, green—like rolling fields or mines of sparkling tourmaline. "Furgive me, Kitty? It's been a… long day."

Hold up.

Hadn't reassuring him been the plan?

Not the other way around.

His hand was on her shoulder, a wry smile lining his lips. "Hey, it's hard not to let it slide when you're making such meowvelous puns." He winked, then extended a hand toward the iron behemoth ahead of them, glowing brighter as night descended. "Shall we?"

She had to smile at that. With a nod, she spun the yoyo still clutched in her hand, and he followed suit, withdrawing his staff.

"Ladybugs first," Chat said, offering a princely bow as he flourished a hand toward the tower.

Come to think of it, Adrien had bowed like that on at least one occasion, when Great Uncle Cheng had come to stay. Did he make a habit of doing so both in and out of the mask?

Returning to the present, she hurled her yoyo at a far-off lamppost. "Don't mind if I do." And with one tug, she was off.

The whir of his staff, and the clank of metal against the pavement below, was enough to know he was close behind.

After a few swings on her end and a few vaults on his, they descended upon the esplanade of the Eiffel Tower, landing side-by-side, and attracting gapes and whispers from throngs of passing pedestrians.

"Wanna catch a ride?" said Chat, extending a gloved hand.

She clutched her yoyo close. "This ladybug stands on her own two feet, thank you very much."

He leaned in, quirking a brow. "Don't ladybugs have six feet?"

Ladybug gave an eye roll. "Of course, you'd know," she said, planting a hand over his face to shove him out of her bubble.

He poised his paws atop his extended staff. "I suppose I am an expert on all things Ladybug."

She shook her head, her smile as wry as his. "Race ya to the top?"

"I could"—he snuck her a side glance—"but we both know I'm faster."

Another eye roll. "Then winning should be kitten's play." Giving him no chance to answer, she flung her yoyo at a distant beam and launched off the pavement.

Wind whistled in her ears as she leaped, flipped and swung from one iron beam to the next, with such fluidity one would think she was running on auto-pilot.

Until a blur of black shot by, and Ladybug almost landed on her face instead of her feet.

Apparently, Chat Noir's stick could span the height of the Eiffel Tower if he so wished, given he was riding the dang thing all the way to the highest platform. He was soon leaning over the railing far above, offering a wave and a toothy grin.

Was it humanly possible to roll her eyes right out of her head?

That question hung near the fringes of her mind as she scaled the rest of the tower and, half a minute later, flew over the railing and onto the summit. "You sly cat," she called, huffing a wayward strand of dark hair from her face. "Your fancy stick did all the—"

Expecting Chat Noir, she froze at the stunning green gaze of Adrien Agreste. He sat on the ground, cross-legged and beaming up at her, between two familiar cartons and a dancing candle flame.

Her thoughts lurched back to that painfully romantic rooftop dinner, and she almost descended into an all-out wheezing fit right that second.

Yes, she knew his identity.

That very fact was never far from her thoughts.

But even so, this stark, sudden reminder was something she'd in no way been ready for.

"You took your time." His cheeky smirk seemed so out of place without the mask. "I even stopped by the groomers for a makeover," he said, flicking his perfect hair like something straight out of a L'Oreal commercial.

Frustratingly, all that occupied her mind in that moment was how that smirk didn't suit him.

Or perhaps, how the sight of it was so foreign to her.

And how she wished that wasn't so.

After a few failed attempts, Ladybug latched her yoyo around her waist, and gave the set-up a second glance. Adrien had set his schoolbag on the ground just behind him—he must've transformed while wearing it—and she didn't miss the loud chewing that came from within it.

"Sorry about Plagg." He rubbed his neck, smirk fading into a sheepish smile. "If there's one thing he's passionate about, it's Camembert."

"So I've heard," she somehow managed. Her hands threaded behind her, and her steps were unsteady as she approached. "So, um – what's all this?"

"Just a little treat from the best bakery in town." He waved a hand toward the empty spot across from him, and she wasn't sure if she'd sunk into that spot of her own accord, or if her legs had turned to jelly once she'd reached it.

Crossing her legs, she squeaked, "What bakery would that be?"

"The Dupain-Chengs." He tipped his head, his blond bangs swaying at the movement. "You've never been?"

Ladybug tensed. "Oh – Uhh – The one by that high school?" She gripped her knees a little too tightly. "Yeahhh, that's a bit outta the way for me. As – err – my civilian self, that is. 'Cause, y'know… we're clearly near there quite often as, uhh, ourselves." She cleared her throat, her lips sliding off to one side. "I mean, I do know the Dupain-Chengs own a bakery. My, uhh… mum's… uncle's… cousin's… step-son's… fiancée… She's, umm… a friend of theirs. That's how I knew about Marinette. I've very briefly met her and I, uhh… thought she'd make a good Multimouse." She could've facepalmed—would've, if he wasn't watching. "I mean, when I choose superheroes, I try to choose people I think will make good ones, but at the same time, I try not to choose someone I'm close to, y'know?" A strangled laugh left her lips. "'Cause that could – err – risk my identity and, well, we certainly don't want that."

Smooth, Ladybug.

Real smooth.

He opened his mouth, but she beat him to form words—because he probably had a bunch of questions after that little spiel, and answering any of them could very well dig her into a deeper hole. "So! What's the occasion?" She drummed her fingers against her knees, shooting glances between him and the cartons.

Adrien's shoulders went square, as Chat's had only minutes earlier, and in his lap, his thumbs ran races around each other. "Uhh… So… Well…" A hint of pink crept across his ears, steadily making its descent down to his cheeks. "You seemed a little upset last night and I…" He grabbed the top carton from the stack of two. "I guess I was worried that—"

"I – Yeah – Sorry about that." She chewed at her lower lip, only vaguely recalling her self-given pep-talk. Gosh, what perfect timing! "I – um – kinda freaked out a little last night."

The dubious look he gave her said it all.

Ladybug shrunk into her shoulders. "Okay, a lot." She barely resisted the urge to toy with her yoyo—because boy, had that turned out swell last night. "You see, Adrien… I, uhh – I'm kind of a fan of yours."

Seeing his eyes widen was enough to make her fly to her feet and pace. "Not, like, a crazy fangirl or anything. Like, I wouldn't go putting pictures of you all over my room"—she flicked her hands to one side, as if gesturing to some invisible wall—"because, well, that would be crazy."

She stilled, heat rising to her cheeks.

No no no no!

Why did she even say that?

Now he was going to think she – Marinette – was a crazy fangirl.

Yes, she kind of was.

But he didn't need to know that!

Ladybug turned away, hiding her reddening face. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong with someone having photos of you all over their room. I mean, people do that for a whole bunch of reasons. In fact, putting photos of a celebrity – especially a model – all over your wall is just, uhh… commendable? Or, erm… dedication… to the arts? Yeah, it's that."

Upon re-facing him, she realised he'd jumped to his feet. His lips were slightly agape; his brows slowly furling.

Oh great. She was just confusing him!

"But," Ladybug squeaked, "that way of fangirling—or, err… expressing an art form—just isn't for me. 'Cause like I said, I'm just arugula—I mean, a regular fan. Of your work. Not your face." She gasped. "Not – Not that there's anything wrong with your face. Your face is perfect"—the grin she showed flipped in on itself—"ly fine. Yeah, it's perfectly fine. I – uh – just didn't know how to handle the fact my kitty is, well… you." She considered throwing herself over the nearby railing. "Sorry! That came out wrong! I – I didn't mean—"

Two arms drew her close and suddenly, she found herself gawking at the lean muscles of his neck, as he eased a hand around her waist, his other settling between her shoulder blades.

Heat swarmed across her skin. His cologne was almost palpable, sweet and spicy at once, greeting her nose and making it sing. The warmth of his touch seemed to melt through her suit, soothing her frantic thoughts and replacing them with only him.

She lost all sense of time.

Had seconds ticked by?

Maybe minutes?

If there was one thing she was aware of, it was the steadily heightening thud thud thud that emanated from his chest, as though his heart was pounding and pounding and pounding on his ribcage, throwing punch after punch, trying to burst free.

The sound verged on deafening by the time his hands found her shoulders, and he ended the embrace as though doing so was a chore. The second he’d pulled back, the crisp evening air had swarmed across her suit, yet the hands that remained on her shoulders somehow kept any shivers at bay.

"Absolutely nothing has changed, Ladybug," he said, locking his eyes with hers. "I'm still the same silly kitty I've always been. And we're still the same unstoppable team we've always been"—his bangs fell across his eyes as he stared at his shoes—"aren't we?"

He suddenly seemed unsure.

It made her insides coil. She'd already explained her reaction last night. That it was all on her. Why would he think they were no longer a team?

Ladybug eased his hands off her shoulders and to his sides, and didn't let go. "Of course, we are." She revealed a small smile, but it wavered when she was met by only silence. "What's wrong, Adrien?" Her brows creased beneath her mask, and she gave his hands a light squeeze. "You can tell me, you know."

His shoulders rose and fell, unsteady as his breaths. "I'm just—" His voice cracked, and his grip on her hands tightened. "I was worried," he whispered, "that maybe you hate me."

For a second, Ladybug was speechless, as though someone had tossed a tub of cold water straight over her. "Hate you?" she wheezed, and shook her head so fast she might've had whiplash if not for her powers. "Adrien, I could never hate you!"

Adrien's eyes shot up, hope flickering within them. "You mean it? You're not, well"—he looked away, avoiding her stare as though afraid of what it might tell—"disappointed it was me?"

"What?" That single word slid from her lips, soft and breathless. "No, not at all! Why would you even think that?"

Did he really think so little of himself?

Adrien Agreste, famous fashion model.

Chat Noir, treasured superhero of Paris.

Her perfectly imperfect partner.

"I'm sorry." His voice, like his gaze, was soft with uncertainty. "I just… misread the way you acted last night." He looked away and pursed his lips, as though wrestling over his words. "I thought… maybe you were… mad at me? Or maybe…" He laughed, but the sound was tear-jerkingly hollow. "Well, let's just say Adrien Agreste isn't half as cool as Chat Noir."

Her mouth hung open, a fog of disbelief falling over her eyes. "Isn't… half as…?" That fog soon scattered, and quiet determination dawned in its place. "Adrien, that's not true at all. I'm so sorry I made you think that!"

Adrien flashed a smile. It was small, strained, as if hastily woven by a thread that had long since been stretched too thin.

It was his brave face, she realised.

An aching lump lodged itself in her throat. "Listen here, Kitty." She slid her hands from his and in an instant, her grip on his shoulders was as firm as her stare, demanding his full attention. "Tikki once told me when I needed to hear it that with or without the suit, I am Ladybug. And the same goes for you, Adrien. You are Chat Noir, suit or no suit." Her voice was brimming with quiet affection as she continued, "You're kind… brave… determined… and you care so much about others. You're one of my dearest friends and every day, I happily trust you with my life. I can always rely on you—and not just when we're battling supervillains." She slid one hand from his shoulder to cup his cheek, and heard a soft breath suck in through his lips. "I was so upset last week for leading Hawk Moth to Master Fu. If you hadn't been there to calm me down…"

Horrifying images sliced through her mind. Of her friends, their eyes yellow and empty, their identities exposed to that despicable Hawk Moth. Of that monstrous sentimonster, its stinger shattering through Master Fu's shield like it was made of glass.

All that suffering.

All because she'd failed.

But once more, her kitty was there, placing a hand atop the one that cupped his cheek… the one that now shook against his skin.

As always, he soothed her with his touch, with his warmth, with his presence. He stared into her eyes, and she into his, and those awful images vanished.

"You're amazing, Adrien," she whispered. "You're enough and more. So much more." Her other hand slid from his shoulder to cup his free cheek. "And your Miraculous does not define you. You define it."

Adrien stared at her, his body still and his eyes wide, as though her words hadn't quite sunk in yet.

But she knew the second they did.

She knew by the way he stood taller, lighter, like a wilted flower does after rain.

She knew by the unshed tears that had his eyes shimmering like precious emeralds.

She knew when he stepped but a breath away, and she felt the soft heat of his lips on her cheek, fuelling a fierce blush that no doubt matched her mask.

He held her hands in his, and his smile alone said a million thanks.

That didn't stop him from giving two more.

"Thank you, M'Lady." Somehow, his smile was both shaky and decisive at once. "Just, thank you."

And for the first time, Ladybug saw him.

Truly, deeply, clearly saw him.

Like storm clouds parting to reveal a bright summer's day, she looked at him and saw her partner... her friend... her silly, maskless kitty.

And she sensed he was starting to see himself the same way—as two halves of a wonderful whole.

Tears blurred her vision. She blinked and blinked and blinked again, if only to capture just another second of this moment—of his face and that joy and how perfectly it suited him. How she wished it was there every second of every day, pure and real and no less than he deserved.

Adrien tilted his head, a wry smile sneaking its way across his lips. "I'll furgive you, Bugaboo," he added, "for not mentioning my purrfect sense of humour."

She slid one hand from both of his and went to flick his bell. Upon realising it wasn't there, she found herself tapping his nose instead, and smiling at the way that made him chuckle. "I thought I'd leave at least some of the belly-scratching to you."

A minute later—as she savoured her favourite cake with a now-transformed Chat Noir—Ladybug realised their patrol hadn't gone at all like she'd planned.

And she was purrfectly fine with that.

#ml fic #miraculous ladybug #you times two #adrinette #marichat #ladynoir #ladrien

[carnistcervine]

Parasitic Raava AU

F-it. Everyone is posting their awesomeness. I’m just gonna go out and post this. I’ve been sitting on this AU for months. Only having the courage to write a one-shot for it for Halloween. And that was for an off-shoot of this AU! Yeah, the main AU actually isn’t about Zuko and Azula at all. That was just from a random idea I got listening to a song. xD I am working on an outline for an expansion of that idea called “Cain and Abel” but it’s heavily in the rough stages for now. ewe

The main AU just follows off canon Avatar lineage, and Vaatu doesn’t get to have any fun at all. D’: Poor Vaatu, rest in rigatoni.

Okay so the inspiration for this idea originally came from when I was listening to the song Control by halsey, and I started thinking about the avatar state. It made me start thinking about a darker interpretation of the relationship between Avatar and Avatar Spirit. Then I was looking at a TvTropes page about animalistic abominations, and I started thinking about ATLA, cause some of the spirits look like animals and then the thing mentioned that Raava and Vaatu look like flatworms and oh god the mental image, it burns! ;n; I liked it better when I thought they were carpets... But anyway, after that horrifying revelation, my brain came up with this idea- What if Raava(and by extension Vaatu) was a parasite? Like she's still (mostly) good, but it's a pretty heavy case of good is not nice.

-If I had to describe this AU badly, it would be ATLA meets Venom.

-Big note: I have not seen Korra yet, so this is almost all based on what is established as canon in ATLA. Not that it really matters, since I'm not exactly trying to be accurate to canon anyway. :'D

-One note I should make right here is that for Wan's story at least, since it takes place in an era around the beginning of bending and benders, there is no four nations yet. There are four definitive elements, and four main divisions of people. Also because this is basically before/at the very beginning of the bending age, people aren't really benders, they have been gifted with the power to control the elements, but they're still learning to properly use said powers. So instead of benders, they are known as tide-pushers, earth-shifters, fire-makers, and cloud-sitters. The water tribes are broken up along many islands, swamps and the north and south poles. Instead of an Earth Kingdom, there's the Earth Continent which is made up of many cities and kingdoms and tribes; The Mountain Kingdom, the Sand Tribes, The Great City of the Steppe, etc... What will be known in the future as the Fire Nation is known as the Volcanic Archipelago, which contains many cities and tribes. The biggest and most prosperous city is Dragon City, this is where Wan is originally from. The people of the air are a majority nomadic people, but they do have a temple up in the clouds known as the Cloud Sanctuary.

-So Raava is still the spirit of light and peace, but I'm thinking that either she and Vaatu are two halves of a whole who cannot exist independently, or something happens to her and Vaatu that causes them to be unable to exist independently of a mortal form. But either way, Vaatu has been sealed away, and only Raava roams free.

-Another idea that I got is that both Raava and Vaatu were originally sealed away due to being parasitic spirits, but Raava's seal was broken and she was released into the world. This idea would play into why no one lives in the lost wilds, as it's said that a "dangerous being" lurks there.

-Wan is an ordinary fire-maker who lives out in the lost wilds after being exiled from his home. He lives a fairly quiet life, mostly trying to avoid the creepy spirits and monsters that lurk in the lands around him. His time is peaceful until he starts to come across the withered carcasses of animals.

-The corpses are all rail thin, ribs showing, eyes milky white and sunken in, bleeding from the nose and mouth. Other than that, there is no clear cause of death, no mortal injury, or even bite wounds to indicate infection, they all just look like they withered away and died. Like something had come and drained the vitality from them.

-Wan is gathering tinder one day when he comes across a strange sight. A polarbear dog wandering about. His first thought is wondering how one of those got this far north, then he noticed just how thin the creature was. The beast was facing away from him, it looked horribly thin and gave ghastly groans, like it was in horrible pain. As much as Wan was curious as to the cause of the mysterious deaths, at the same time he didn't want to suffer the same fate. He prepares to back away when the creature senses his presence. It stops and looks over it's shoulder, blazing white eyes gazing into his soul.

-Officially freaked out, Wan makes a run for it. He can hear the labored breathing of the creature bounding behind him. He briefly wonders if some kind of animal jiang shi is chasing him down. His thoughts are interrupted when the beast tackles him. Wan tries to push the beast off of him, but as soon as he hits the ground he feels a horrible stabbing pain. Not physical pain however, a strange spiritual pain, like something is drilling it's way into his very soul. Something seems to be worming it's way into his mind. The beast flips him onto his back and gazes deep into his eyes. Under the blank, burning gaze the bear-dog seems to be begging for Wan to help it. As he makes this revelation he starts to hear a faint feminine voice in his head.

-The voice attempts to soothe Wan. It tells him to relax, that it will all be over soon. The presence invading him had a strangely peaceful aura, like it was a graceful and soothing presence, but at the same time it was forcing it's way into his body. And he quickly figured that this thing was likely what was causing all those animals to die.

-Not wanting to suffer such a fate himself, Wan fights back against the spirit invading him. However, he realizes very quickly that this is a loosing battle. The deeper the spirit digs into him, the more Wan feels his thoughts loose clarity, like a warm blanket is enveloping his mind.

-Suddenly a harsh blast of air forces the bear-dog off of him. Someone rushes in to wrangle or fight the polarbear dog, despite the fact that he's still reeling from the feeling of something worming it's way deeper and deeper into his very being, Wan attempts to stand and warn the stranger of the situation. He weakly calls out to them to beware, but soon passes out from the pain.

-When Wan comes to, he's burning up with a fever. His spirit feels heavy and there's a soft feminine voice in his head cooing soothing things at him. Trying to lull him into a sense of security and comfort so that she or it can take over. Or so he assumes at least. Outside of his head, he can hear two people talking about him.

-When Ami and Onu went out to look for Ami's beloved polarbear dog, Taki, they did not expect to find the ursine-canine in such a state, and they expected to find a sickly fire-maker even less.

-Seeing Taki assaulting someone, Onu took immediate action and sent a blast of wind to knock the beast off of the man. Onu rushed in an attempt to calm Taki, he paused when he saw just how bad Taki looked. The polarbear-dog was starved thin, eyes milky-white and sunken in, and bleeding heavily from the mouth and nose despite no apparent injuries. He could only utter her name softly as the bear-dog fell to the ground, having reached the end of her strength.

-With Onu going after Taki, Ami rushed over the felled man's side. He attempted to sit up, moaning something about danger before immediately collapsing back onto the ground. He's very pale and burning up with fever. Her worries are only compounded when she cannot get the man to open his eyes or respond in any coherent manor.

-Of course Ami's day was only about to get much worse. She glaces over at Onu and sees the state Taki is in. Ami's heart shatters into thousands of pieces seeing her beloved companion in such a state.

-Using the moisture of her tears, Ami examine Taki's chi paths. Unfortunately Taki's chi had been drained, and her chi paths had been withered and burned through. There was no saving her. Despite this, Ami insists on trying to save Taki. Onu helps her drag both Taki and the strange man back to their base camp.

-Taki passes away soon before the man starts to regain consciousness. As heartbroken as Ami is, she focuses her energies on reading the chi of the mysterious man. She isn't sure what's causing the fever, as he lacks any signs of infection. She realizes that he's a fire-maker, and his inner fire is blazing out of control which is causing the fever. But why?

-The man, Wan, as Ami soon learns, weakly cries out about something draining the life out of the living, and how it's infested him. Ami assumes that it's just the fever talking, as by all means he should be fine. Aside from the fever, there's nothing wrong with Wan.

-Neither Ami, nor Onu know why Wan is ill, nor can they explain the mysterious death of not only Taki, but the other mysterious corpses they found in the Lost Wilds. However, they figure it best to take him away from this place. They opt to take him to the Southern Island Tribe to see a proper healer.

-They do eventually make it to the Southern Island Tribe and see a healer. The healer, a grizzled elder, tells Ami and Onu that Wan's fever is not natural, it is a spirit fever caused by the battle between his own spirit and one invading his being. Wan is deeply concerned, remembering the bodies he found back in the Lost Wilds, but the elder healer tells him that she can find no evidence of his chi being stolen or damaged.

-Wan wishes to purge Raava from his being, so Onu takes the group to see the elder monks at the Cloud Sanctuary.

-On the way there, the trio is attacked by a group of dangerous rogues. Seeing his new friends in danger, and being too weak to do anything about it, Wan reluctantly gives Raava control. Using Wan's body, Raava wipes the floor with the goons. Wan collapses afterwords because channeling that much energy is exhausting. It's at this point that Ami finally believes that Wan is actually possessed and not just loopy from fever. Both Onu and Ami are very impressed by the show of strength however.

-Continuing on the journey to the Cloud Sanctuary, the trio comes across a village that has been ransacked by pirates and subsequently torn apart by seemingly malevolent spirits. Ami and Onu want to move on, but Wan insists that they help the people. He tries to help, but he doesn't really know what to do. Reluctantly, he asks Raava to help him.

Okay so some more generalized notes about the AU~ -At first Wan is completely opposed to sharing his body with Raava. However, after some time he starts to work with her and learns to live with her.

-Not that Raava has any intention of giving up her host.

-After Raava infests him, Wan starts to manipulate all of the elements. At first it's just while Raava is in control, but slowly he starts to use other elements without Raava's influence. Also, he does notice a connection to all four elements right away, he just isn't sure what to think of it until it manifests into manipulation of all four elements.

-At first Raava is only motivated by the need to sustain herself. Being one of the greater spirits, she doesn't concern herself with mortal matters. However, the more time she spends with Wan, the more she learns to see the forest for the trees and empathize with the struggles of mortal beings.

-Dragon City is ruled by a gang of ruthless thugs who hoard wealth, food, resources, and rule the populace with an iron fist. The leader of this gang is the Dragon King, Ryuusei. Sure enough, Wan and Raava eventually take this asshole out.

-There needs to be a pirates arc where someone is kidnapped and Wan has to work with Raava to save them. If I don't write this, then what's the fucking point?

-Ami is a caring, but skeptical tide-pusher, and Onu is basically the stoner friend cloud-sitter.

-Raava calls Wan her Avatar, and eventually the name sticks.

-As time goes on, Wan and Raava's spirits become fully fused together. This makes Wan part spirit, and Raava part human. Of course, Wan is mortal and eventually dies a natural death, but because Raava is eternal, she is reborn into another body and such starts the avatar cycle.

-By the time that Wan passes away, the whole Raava is a parasitic spirit and the Avatar is actually possessed fades from the public consciousness and even the Avatars eventually forget that Raava is actually a parasite. Hell they soon forget her name and identity entirely, only knowing her as the "Avatar Spirit".

-In this AU, Raava is an incomplete being. As such she cannot sustain herself, she must attach to a mortal being to live among the mortal realm. And being half of the world's spirit, if she were to leave the mortal realm, the world would fall into chaos and eventually die. So she initially tries to sustain herself by fusing with plants and animals. Neither work, as her spirit is too strong for them, which causes their own spirits to burn up and their bodies to wither away. Wan is the first human and compatible being Raava attempts to fuse with. His human spirit is strong enough to withstand Raava's own spirit without being destroyed.

-As for Raava's characterization, I'd probably describe her as being a combo of good is not nice and well-intentioned extremist. Being a spirit of light and peace, she radiates a peaceful aura that she uses to soothe her host to make them reject her less. Or before she started possessing people, she'd use it so that her potential victims would be lulled into a false sense of security so she can latch onto them. She acts nice, again using her peaceful aura and gentle voice to soothe her victims. I'd hesitate to actually call her nice because she does casually ignore the independence and self-determination of her host. Well-intentioned or not, she is a parasite after all. And no, she doesn't feel bad about it. Bigger picture- Raava fades, the world dies. Raava's host dies, nothing particularly bad happens.

-Raava can be pretty vicious too tho. If kind words and manipulation, err I mean, gentle persuasion don't work, she's gets to be mean as hell. :D Even to the point of forcibly taking control and asking her host if they really think they're in control.

-Vaatu? He's just a straight up dick. Okay, fine, he pretends to be on your side while poisoning your mind and turning you against everyone that cares about you. Why? He thinks it's funny. And yeah, he's pretty much just straight up evil. He isn't above driving his host into madness and using them as a means to cause as much mayhem as possible. But he does so subtly, and works as insidiously as possible. I also kind of picture him as being the type that messes with your head by making you re-examine the very definitions of good and evil.

-Or maybe he does have some good in him. But you'd have better luck getting a polarbear-dog to speak perfect common tongue than getting any good out of Vaatu.

#ATLA #Avatar #ATLA AU #Avatar AU #ParasiticRaavaAU #This AU is super evil and I have so many different ideas for stories and offshoots. #Like just. #Something about Raava being mean to people(especially Zuko) tickles my id.

[themoonandotherslikeit]

Something More Than What I Had- Part Five

Part Five- Proverbs

“Seek His Will in all you do, and He will show you what path to take.” Proverbs 3:6

“Hey, it’ll be fine. You trust me, right?” His fingers brushed Castiel’s. 

 “More than anything,” the young detective said with wide blue eyes. He was leaning on his partner’s desk, sitting on the edge. He was perched on there like some lovesick girl. He was hanging on every word. “It just doesn’t sound safe.” 

 “Listen, Rookie, I’ve been at this a long time. I know how to handle an undercover assignment.” 

 Castiel scratched the back of his head, his eyes focused a little too much on his partner’s lips. “I’m just worried. Captain said it isn’t safe… he said we shouldn’t go through with it.” 

 His eyes scanned the area around them before taking Castiel’s face in his hands. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, okay? You trust me, right?” 

He did. He trusted him with everything inside of him. “Yes.” He nodded quickly, and then he was being kissed. The lips against Castiel’s were warm and surrounded by a soft beard that tickled his upper lip. He’d never been good at growing facial hair, but he felt there was something dignified about a beard. His partner had so much to teach him, and he wanted to learn. 

 They were in the middle of the precinct, they shouldn’t be kissing. It was dangerous. It was one thing at home, or in their squad car. That could be hidden, but out in the open like that? Castiel would be transferred. No matter how much he wanted to be kissed, it wasn’t worth losing everything. 

 He opened his eyes and his partner was gone, his lips still tingling from his kiss. It was dark and it was snowing. Was it snowing? The young detective squinted at the sky. 

 He was outside of an unmarked police vehicle where he knew he was supposed to be staying. Listening in his ear piece, but it had gone dead already. There was just crackling in his ear. There was something deeply wrong. He knew it in his gut. So he ran.

 He turned the corner into an alley, passing a man sitting against the wall. “Change?” The man asked, jingling his cup. He passed the man in a blur. 

  I’m coming for you, hold on, he begged, but he couldn’t speak. Every time his mouth opened it felt like he was choking on the words, on the air. Shit. 

 The crackling in his ear was growing louder and louder. “You trust me, right?” He did. He did, and it wasn’t enough. “Ow, fuck.” Castiel ripped the earpiece out of his ear and tossed it to the ground, but the buzzing didn’t stop. It was like his head was infested with bees. Buzzing, stinging inside his brain. He worried they’d climb out of his eyes and his nose. 

 He coughed again, feeling a scratching in his throat. There was something in there. He clawed at his ears, trying desperately to find the source of the sound. He gagged. It was like something was climbing his throat. He coughed and coughed, leaning over with his hands on his knees. With one more big cough, he finally felt relief as something soft landed on his tongue. He held out his hand and spit out whatever was stuck. 

 The pitch of the buzzing was rising, higher, and higher. It sounded more like a scream. The scream was familiar. 

 The little golden fuzz in his hand stood up on its little legs and shook itself free from the saliva and blood that covered it. It was a bee. He opened his mouth to let out a gasp, some sort of shock reaction, and as he did, he felt dozens of tiny legs crawling up his throat. Buzzing in his mouth, stings, fuzzy bodies, wings flapping desperately. 

 The scream was his own.

 Castitel woke up in a cold sweat, Dean asleep on his stomach next to him. His back was littered with tiny freckles illuminated by the moonlight through the window. His shoulders raised as he let out a soft, gentle snore. The detective pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will the nightmares away. Every time he thought they were over, they’d come back stronger. He slid out of bed and walked into his bathroom. 

 He clicked on the light. It was harsh, fluorescent, and buzzing like the bees from his dream. He turned on the sink, the water gurgling in annoyance as it sprouted to life. He leaned down and splashed his face with cold water. It was cool, like rain on his skin. He held the edges of the sink, trying to gather his breathing. “You’re okay, Castiel,” he told himself quietly. “Don’t crack up now. Not when things are getting good again.” 

 After a few more breaths he could feel his feet against the tile, the cool marble on his fingers, the water dripping down his cheeks and off his chin. He could feel a breath on his neck. He looked up at the mirror with a smile, ready to meet Dean’s beautiful green eyes, but it wasn’t Dean.

 “Cas, get the fuck out of here!” 

 A hand twisted in his hair, slamming his face into the mirror. 

 The sound of glass splintering pulled Castiel out of sleep. He reached up to his forehead to touch the blood. He pulled his wet fingers away. No blood, just sweat. 

 “Sweetheart, you good?” Dean mumbled in his sleep. 

 “Just a bad dream,” Castiel gasped, closing his eyes. 

 “I got ya, don’t worry.” He wrapped an arm around Cas’ middle, pulling him closer. “Always gonna take care of you, Detective.” 

 He pressed his forehead to Dean’s and tried to match his breathing. “Okay,” he whispered, desperately wanting to believe him. “Okay.” 

  The next morning

 Kissing Dean Winchester was like a drug. It made Castiel’s head fuzzy and everything felt like some kind of dream. A good dream. For once in his life it felt like he’d found the cure. Dean was the cure to everything. He was the answer. He slept well with Dean holding him. If he could wake up like that every day, he would. Especially when Dean’s hand was inside of Cas’ underwear. What a fucking way to wake up. It almost felt undeserved. “Good morning.”

 “What time do you have to be into work?” Dean asked, placing open mouthed kisses down his neck. 

 “What time is it now?”

 “Ten past seven.” 

 “Now,” Castiel grumbled, wrapping his arms around him. “I don’t want to, though.” He leaned in and kissed Dean. 

 They’d been up well past three o’clock the night before, tangled together, talking about everything before they finally drifted off to sleep. They were learning each other, their bodies, their minds, their hearts.

 Dean laced his fingers with Castiel’s, their bare legs twisted together one over the other. His head was on Cas’ chest. “You always wanted to be a cop?”

  “Yes. For my whole life I wanted to make a difference. I think people deserve to be protected.”

  “So why homicide? Doesn’t that feel a little after the fact?”

  “The dead deserve justice, too, Dean. Don’t you think so?” Castiel asked, stroking the length of Deans bare arm.

  “I do,” he murmured. “Of course I do.”

 “Go to work.” Dean kissed him once more. “Solve crimes. I’ll bring you lunch around noon?”

 Castiel squinted at him. “What do you do all day, Dean?”

 “Wait to hear from you or Sammy.” He grinned. “I’m a kept man.”

 “Shut up.”

 “Make me.” 

 “Get off so I can get ready.” Cas kissed him quickly before slapping his ass, signaling him to roll off.

 “Yes sir.” Dean grinned, rolling onto his back with a yawn. “I didn’t get much sleep,” he complained. 

 “I can make coffee.”

 “God, I think I’m falling in love with you.” 

 Castiel knew it was a joke, but he liked the sound of it nonetheless. “Maybe I can see your place next time.”

 “Even though Sam will be there?” Dean gasped dramatically. 

 “He knows now, and it isn’t as weird as originally anticipated so, why not?”

 “You’re full of surprises.”

 “Surprises, as in more than one?” Castiel glanced back at him, buttoning his shirt. He still only wore his boxers from the waist down. 

 “That thing you did with your tongue.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows. “Buddy, that was a surprise.”

 Castiel’s face turn pink, he cleared his throat and turned back to his shirt, hastily working on the buttons. “You surprised me, too, Dean.”

 “Was it the thing I did with my tongue? I feel like it's a little overused.”

 Castiel shot Dean a look before looping his tie around his neck. “No, with the boyfriend deceleration.”

 “I wouldn’t call it a declaration,” Dean said awkwardly. 

 “Then what would you call it?”

 Dean climbed up on his knees before standing. He met Castiel and took his tie in his hands. He looped it, the rabbit going in the hole. “I used to do this for Sammy all the time. He’s rotten at tying ties.”

 “Dean?”

 “Yeah?”

 “Why do you want to be my boyfriend?”

 Dean smiled, smoothing out his tie. “Because I like you. You’re tough, and you kind of dress like an old man, but in a charmin’ way.”

 “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

 “Just shut up and let me do my thing.”

 “Sorry.”

 “You’ve got these eyes, Cas, wow. They’re so fuckin’ blue, it’s like staring at the sky. I can see my future in them, ya know? Like suddenly it doesn’t matter what I’m gonna be. If you’re lookin’ at me it’s all that matters. I like when you look at me.”

 “I like looking at you too, Dean.”

 “You don’t smile a lot,” he said, running his thumb along Castiel’s bottom lip. “But when you do it’s like... wow. It’s pretty fuckin’ beautiful.” 

 “You’re beautiful, too.” 

 “Put on some pants, Casanova.” Dean chuckled, pressing his forehead to Castiel’s. “Before you’re late to work.”

 “What about the coffee?”

 “I’ll stop by the corner shop on the way home. I should probably work on an article. You know, contribute to society.”

  A half hour later

 Charlie sat with her feet propped up on her desk. She was reading a comic book intently, but her eyes flickered up when Castiel walked in. She sat her comic down and hopped up, clapping wildly. “There he is!”

 “What are you doing?” He grumbled, heading straight to the coffee machine. The little sleep he and Dean had gotten was starting to hit him. The memory caused his skin to heat up again. 

 “I’m just proud of you,” she said, rushing to him. 

 “For?”

 She punched his shoulder gently. “I heard about the kiss! You went home with Dean!”

 “He went home with me, technically.” Castiel poured himself a cup of coffee and took a sip before glancing at her. “Wait, how did you hear? Who told you?”

 “Eileen, who else?”

 “Great,” he grumbled. 

 “Well, what did you expect when you were making out at a crime scene?”

 “You are way too happy about this.” 

 “I’m not even showing half of my excitement, if you can believe it.” 

 “Unfortunately, I can.” 

 “Why aren’t you happy? Shouldn’t you be glowing? Unless...” She covered her mouth. “Oh my god! It wasn’t good. Oh shit!” 

 “I didn’t say that.” Castiel sipped his coffee, to conceal his growing smile. 

 “So, you did do it? My god, this is a rollercoaster.” 

 He glanced around the precinct to make sure no one else was paying attention to him when he leaned in and whispered. “We did and it was unbelievable.” 

 Charlie grabbed his hand and started jumping up and down. “Yes!” 

 “Relax.” He laughed, shaking his head. 

 “You’re laughing at work,” Sam commented, as he approached the coffee. “Do I want to know?”

 “Absolutely not,” Charlie snorted and gave him a wink. 

 “Noted,” Sam said, pouring himself a cup. “The press conference is in an hour,” he added carefully. 

 “I know,” Castiel said with a sigh. 

 “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

 “Not a clue.” He hadn’t had much time to think about it. 

 “Maybe we should prep with Captain Singer first, I’m sure he has some things that he’ll want us to say.” 

 “I don’t know,” Charlie said under her breath. “He’s been locked in his office all day with the blinds closed. You can’t pay me enough to disturb him.” 

 “That’s literally what you’re paid for,” Sam said with a laugh.

 “Yeah, but I’m not paid enough.” 

 “None of us are.” Castiel winked at her before taking his cup back to his desk. Sam followed at his heels. “We need to assure the public that we are putting our best foot forward in trying to catch this guy. We can let them know his suspected M.O., but we need to be careful giving too many details. You won’t answer any questions. I’ll handle the press.” 

 “You aren’t alone in this, you know that, right?”

 Castiel met his eyes. The kid, the rookie, his partner was optimistic even with the solve rate they were getting with the murders. 

  “You know, if you let me, I could have your back, too. I’m actually pretty good at it. Isn’t that what partners are for?” 

 “I do know that, or at least I’m learning that.” 

 Sam had this thing about him. This unwavering ability to see good and hope in everything he did. It was a gift that Castiel had never possessed, or could hope to possess. 

 “Does Dean know about the press conference?” Sam asked, sitting his coffee down. 

 “I didn’t mention it to him. Why?”

 “Thought it may be nice to have a familiar face in the crowd.” 

 “I don’t need your protection, Rookie. I have done this before.” 

 “Right,” Sam said, avoiding his eyes. “You two have been getting closer.” 

 “We have,” Castiel agreed. “But this isn’t the time or place to be discussing or personal lives, so if you don’t mind, I think we should focus on the case. There’s a killer out there.” 

 “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.” 

 “No harm.” Cas nodded, before shuffling through his papers. 

 “Goddamn idgits!” Captain Singer shouted, as his office door flew open. 

 “Captain,” Sam said, turning to him.

 “Please tell me you’ve got somethin’. The mayor is on my case, boys. This is gettin’ out of hand.” 

 “Nothing yet. Maybe after the press conference...” 

 “Damn it,” Captain Singer sighed. “Forgot all about that fuckin’ thing.” He looked at his watch and sighed. “Winchester, have you ever been bent over a counter?”

 Sam raised an eyebrow. “I can’t say I have.” 

 “Well, you’re in for a fucking treat. Gear up, boys.” Singer said, as he made his way outside to the front steps where the press conference was being held. 

 “Hello, Bobby. Delightful to see you again.” 

 Castiel turned and groaned. The voice came from Bela, an elusive reporter, who always seemed to get the jump on the 66th precinct when they were falling short. She clicked her pen in her hand. 

 “Pleasure is mine,” the captain said curtly. 

 “Fix your tie,” Castiel said to Sam through gritted teeth. He was underprepared, and Dean’s aftershave was still stuck on his lips. Being bent over the counter would only be a fraction of what the rest of the day had out for them. 

 Sam immediately tightened his tie and flattened out his shirt before following Castiel out to the area where the rest of the reporters were gathered. There were a dozen of them, all dressed to the nines. Castiel was suddenly feeling drab in his blazer and blue tie, even though Dean assured him that it made his eyes glow in an inhuman way. Perhaps he shouldn’t glow in the wake of three murders, criminals or otherwise. He stepped onto the platform in front of the microphones. All seven were pointed directly at him, readying to catch any wrong word or slip of the tongue, ready to watch him crash and burn at any given moment. 

 “Good morning. Thank you all for gathering here today,” Castiel said into the microphone, the feedback whirring in response. His palms were flat on the podium and already sweating. “On November 11th, the club owner of Crossroads, Fergus Crowley, was murdered in the streets of New York City. On December 19th, Lucas Azazel was murdered, and yesterday, December 30th, the infamous writer Metatron was found dead. Our autopsy team is still establishing a time of death and the exact cause, but a stab wound to the chest is suspected to be the cause of death. I am the lead detective on this case along with my partner, Detective Winchester. I assure you that we have our best men on the case.”

 “Your best men?” Bela asked, stepping forward with her tape recorder held up. “On the record, Detective, do you have any leads? Have your best men made any headway on these murders?”

 “We do not have anything to report to the media at this time.”

 “Shouldn’t our citizens be afraid, Detective? There is a murderer on the loose and you have no leads.” 

 “I didn’t say that we didn’t have leads,” Castiel backpedaled, his upper lip starting to sweat despite the chill in the air. His eyes flickered from Bela’s, and there he was. Dean. He was in the back, offering an encouraging smile. He would be there, Castiel knew then, that he would always be there. 

 “But you didn’t say that you did.”

 “We are pursuing ideas,” the older detective explained. “We are waiting for forensics to come back. I assure you, we are doing all that we can to keep this city safe.”

 “What exactly are you doing to protect the citizens? Ideas? Waiting? From where I’m sitting, it looks like the police are doing what they always do. Sit around, drink coffee, and allow criminals to go free.” 

 “We are doing everything that we can!” Sam sputtered out, stepping forward to talk directly to Bela. “Detective Novak is a good man and an even better detective. He is working himself to the bone trying to catch this guy! He can’t help it if we hit a dead end...”  

 “Is is true that the killer is writing letters directly to Detective Novak?” 

 “How did you find out about that?” The rookie asked with wide eyes. 

 “What about you, Detective Winchester? Who do you have as a suspect? Do you have any comments on your brother’s reckless activity with the first victim?”

 Sam opened his mouth to answer, but Castiel cut him off. “Rookie, stop,” he said, grabbing hold of Sam’s shoulder. 

 “On record, can either of you explain what your connection to the killer is? He seems to be targeting past criminals that either of you have been assigned to. What do you have to say about that, Detectives?” 

 “I think that’s enough,” Captain Singer growled. “No comment,” he said to the reporters before pushing both of the detectives back into the precinct. 

 “What the fuck were you two idgits thinking?” The Captain asked them when they were out of earshot of the reporters, shoving Castiel out of the way. “Did you even prep?”

 “I...I haven’t been sleeping well,” Castiel admitted. 

 “He prepped,” Sam said quickly, trying to cover for Castiel . 

 “I don’t want to hear anything from you, boy. You weren’t even supposed to be talking,” the Captain snapped. 

 “It’s my fault,” Castiel said softly. “I didn’t prep him well enough. If there are any kind of ramifications, they should go onto me.” 

 “Oh trust me, they will. Now get out of my fuckin’ sight until I can think of a punishment, and for god’s sakes, solve this goddamn case. The press is gonna have a field day with all of this!” The captain turned and stormed back into his office, slamming the door behind him. The windows rattled from the pressure of the door. 

 “I’m sorry,” Sam said with a wince. “I lost my cool out there.”

 “It’s my fault. He’s right, I wasn’t prepared. I’ve been distracted.” 

 “You haven’t been. You’re the opposite of distracted, Novak. I’ve never seen anyone so focused. I know I shouldn’t have said what I said up there, but it wasn’t a lie. You’ve been killing yourself over this case.” 

 “And as sleazy as Bela is, she was right, too. I still don’t have any leads. I’m not doing enough.” 

 “Come on, Cas.” 

 “That’s enough, Rookie,” he said, sharply. “I can’t keep letting myself get distracted. Go through the case files again. Find something we’ve missed.” 

 “We’ve gone through them a hundred times.”

 “Make it two hundred, Rookie, and don’t make me ask you again.” 

 “Right,” Sam sighed and picked up the files off Novak’s desk and went back to his own desk to rifle through them. 

 Castiel needed a minute. Fuck, he needed a year. He needed a lifetime, but a smoke break would have to do. He pushed out to the back alley, his favorite smoking spot. He leaned against the wall and took a few deep breaths of the cold air before digging out his cigarette and lighter. 

 “It’s a madhouse out there.” 

 Castiel turned to catch Dean smiling at him. 

 “Hello, Dean.” 

 “Hey, Cas,” Dean said, walking toward him. “That was fucking brutal.” He laughed dryly, itching the back of his head. Castiel eyed the bulge of his bicep through his coat. 

 “It was,” he agreed. “How’d you get back here?”

 “Hopped the fence. I’m limber.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows at him.

 “I know that.” 

 “You okay?”

 Castiel inhaled a breath of smoke and closed his eyes. “I’m not sure.” 

 “That Bela is a shark.” 

 “She is,” he sighed. “She’s always had it in for us. There’s not much she won’t do for a scoop.” 

 “There should be a goddamn line,” Dean said angrily, causing Cas’ chest to feel even more suffocated, the buzz from the cigarette not helping to calm his stressed mind. 

 “I don’t know. I think I’d give just about anything for a break in this case,” he admitted, biting back the urge to smash something, or fucking weep.

 “You wouldn’t sell your soul, Cas. Not like that.” 

 Castiel turned to him, and stomped out his cigarette, frustrated. Dean didn’t understand, how could he? He didn’t hold a person's life in his hands like Castiel did. “Maybe I would if it got a killer off the streets.” 

 “What about Crowley? If it weren’t for this guy he would still be kidnappin’ girls. What about Amara? Bet she’s restin’ a lot easier knowin’ he’s gone.” Dean stepped toward him. 

 “That isn’t for us to decide,” Castiel said, anger bubbling in his already gravelly voice. He wasn’t convinced, he was just pissed off. “That’s for the law.” 

 “He was a fuckin’ creep, Cas! The law was on his side when it shouldn’t have been.” 

 “And whose fault was that? You made us arrest him early, Dean, and damn it, I’ve been so distracted by you that I haven’t been doing my best!” He wanted to push Dean, key Belas car, or maybe slam his fists into the wall. Anything to keep him from just standing there feeling completely useless, suckling a cigarette like it was a binkie.

 “You’ve been doin’ good, Cas,” Dean said gently, genuinely kind. 

 “Not good enough,” Castiel said, shoving his hands in his pockets. His shoulders were weighing him down like the whole goddamn world was resting on them. 

 “Why are you beating yourself up over these criminals?” Dean’s eyebrows came together. He reached out for Castiel, and Cas backed away from his touch. 

 “It’s my job to protect the citizens of this city whether I personally think they deserve the protection or not. It’s my job, Dean. You don’t seem to understand that,” he snapped, tired of Dean’s easy attitude, his lack of responsibility, and the way he distracted Castiel.

 He should’ve been prepping for that damn press conference, but instead he was rolling around in the sheets like some horny teenager.

 “I understand that perfectly.” 

 “Then let me work.” 

 “I just thought that...” 

 “Let me work, Dean! You may not feel the need to work, but people’s lives are in my hands. I can’t continue to squander that responsibility.” It was harsh, but like how his mother would slap his hand when he’d reach for a cookie before dinner, sometimes harsh was the only way to get the point across.

 “Fine, Cas. Work.” Dean backed away from him with his hands up in surrender. “I’ll see you later.” He turned away and hopped up to climb the fence, his fingers curling in the wire as he hoisted himself over easily. 

 Castiel watched him go, his chest aching. He wanted to call after him, to tell him to stay, to let Dean kiss away all of the pain that the press conference, the kills, and the fucking letters, but he knew that the only thing that would release the pain that was buried inside of him was catching the murderer. He wouldn’t be able to sleep until it was all over. 

 He went back inside to get some coffee, dragging himself to the coffee cart. His temples pounded from his fight with Dean, and he hoped the caffeine would keep a migraine from surfacing.

 “Novak! There you are!” Sam shouted, waving him over. 

 “You’re peppy, Rookie. Tell me you found something,” Castiel said with a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

 “Actually, I did. So, get this.” Sam brought Castiel over to his desk where the faces of all of the men were laid out. “There was the obvious connection between them because of the cases that you worked on, but there’s more.” 

 “More?”

 “I found out that there is an exclusive poker night that all three of our vic’s have went to.” Sam said excitedly. “Maybe our killer is a part of the poker night.” 

 “How’d you figure this out?”

 “I went back through all of the statements from the families. They all confirmed that the deceased was a part of a high stakes poker game every Thursday night at eight o’clock in the evening. All of them.” Sam tapped on the quote from the family in one of the files. 

 “How the fuck did we miss this?” Castiel scooped up the page.

 “We were so focused on your connection to the victims. We were too close to it. I think we just needed a little bit of space from it all.” 

 “Rookie, I could kiss you!” 

 “Hey, save it for the other Winchester.” Sam laughed.

 “I owe you a cup of coffee. Real coffee. Damn good work Rookie.” 

 “Thanks.” Sam was beaming, his dimples showing on his cheeks. He scratched the back of his head. “So, uh, how are we going to get into this poker match?”

 “Shit,” Castiel sighed, his head pounding again. He couldn’t do it. Not again. 

 “We can go undercover,” Sam offered.  

 “No way.”

 “I can do it, Cas. Give me a shot.” 

 Castiel watched his partner. The bright eyed rookie’s fingers were curled into fists and his eyes were bright and hopeful. He had a fire within him. The detective sighed before flashing Sam an encouraging smile. “You good at Poker, Rookie?” 

  Later

 “You’ve got company,” Castiel said into his ear piece urgently, as he watched two men cross his undercover vehicle. They had guns, and the sight of it got Castiel unbuckling from his set in the car. “Do you hear me, Detective?”

 His jaw was set tightly, his hand on the handle of the door. “Talk to me or I’m coming in,” he threatened. 

 Rain started to fall, the sound of it like pop rocks as they hit the windshield.  

 “I’m fine. Trust me,” his partner said into the earpiece.

 Castiel slumped back in his seat. “Thank god.”

 He didn’t know what he would do if something happened. Captain hadn’t agreed to the sting. He told them to back off the case. That it was too dangerous, but Castiel couldn’t say no. Not to him. “Relax, Rookie. I’ll be fine. Now shut your pretty mouth, so I can work. Usually I like when you whisper into my ear, but right now it distracting.” 

 “Sorry, Benny,” Cas whispered, putting his face in his hands. “Just be careful.” 

 “Heard.” 

 Everything felt fast, too fast. There was rustling. A shout. One shot, another. Bang! Castiel didn’t remember getting out of the car when suddenly he was running. Rain drops on his face. The memory of Benny’s lips on his neck. “Name’s Detective Lafitte, but you can call me Benny.” His first partner in Homicide. His mentor. The first man to look at him like he meant something. The first one since Inias, but even then they were kids. Benny was different. 

 “Don’t die!” Castiel wailed, pushing forward. The buzzing in his ear came back. It was the sound of the earpiece going dead; a dull, lifeless static. 

 He saw a figure dash around the corner and he pushed faster. Should’ve listened to the Captain. His heart pounded in his chest. The shadow of a man disappeared through a doorway, and Castiel followed him. As he crossed the threshold, his shoe caught on the rug, and he tripped inside. 

 “What are you doing, brother?” Benny asked, concerned. They were in the precinct, and Castiel blinked, disoriented.

 “What?” He looked up at the man in front of him, strong and concerned. “You’re okay?”

 “Why wouldn’t I be? Come on, pretty eyes, we have a case to work.” 

 “Right,” Cas said with a nod, even though he couldn’t remember the case for the life of him. 

 Benny brought him to the debriefing room where there was a large board with push pins, holding up dozens of pictures from the case file. Burnt angel wings, victims’ faces, bible verses, letters. “This isn’t right,” Castiel whispered, touching the pages. 

 “What are you doing, Rookie?” Benny asked quietly, slipping his hands around his partners waist. 

 Cas turned to look at him, and then he was being kissed. The blinds in the briefing room were drawn shut and they were the only two people in the office, in the world. Benny’s lips were urgent and his beard was soft. Castiel’s hands wrapped around his partner’s neck, the case quickly forgotten. Benny was like whiskey, sweet like honey and aged to perfection. The young detective wanted to drink in his mentor and learn all he had to teach. There was something sexy about how much the older detective had to offer. The experience that he carried within him was alluring. 

 Benny ran his tongue along his partner’s lips, asking for him to open his mouth wider. Cas complied, allowing him to lick into his mouth. The kiss was all passion, heat, and blood. Blood? 

 Castiel gasped as Benny collapsed in his arms. They were in an alleyway, and Castiel was on his knees holding his partner in his hands. The older detective gasped, his bullet wound pooling blood on his chest. Thick, red liquid poured from his mouth and every time he opened his mouth to speak nothing came out but a distinct gurgle. He was choking on his own blood. 

 “No, no, no!” Castiel cried. He could feel the pain in his gut. His throat was dry. “Shit, don’t die on me!” He picked up his phone, trying to dial, but his fingers were covered in blood. Everything was covered in blood.

 He looked back down at Benny, whose eyes flew open and locked with his. “You know the answer.” His partner’s hand shot to the back of his neck, grabbing it roughly. “Don’t let this happen again.”

 Castiel’s eyes shot open, his heart pounding in his chest. He was at his desk. He’d fallen asleep prepping the sting. He stood up immediately and walked to the coffee maker. He felt sick to his stomach, and he couldn’t risk drifting again. Not with all that was at stake. Not if he would keep seeing Benny’s face in his nightmares. 

 He pulled out a coffee mug as Eileen walked up to him. “Novak, I was looking for you,” she said, looking up at him. She was holding a small stack of papers. 

 “Got something, Eileen?” he asked, his temples pulsing from the nightmare, the hour, the fight with Dean. He poured himself a cup of burnt coffee. It was better than nothing. 

 “I identified the drug that was used on the writer.” 

 “Really?” Castiel turned to look at her, taking a sip. “What is it?” 

 “Morphine,” Eileen said slowly, watching the detective’s mouth to read his lips.

 “Where would someone get that?” 

 She shrugged. “A hospital most likely. It can be used in terminal patients to keep them sedated.”

 He frowned and stared into his cup of coffee. A medical professional? Someone who has access to a hospital? “Good work, Eileen. Keep up with it, and we will catch this guy in no time.”

  One week later

 Sam went under the guise of a rich heir to an empire. They combed his hair back and put him in a designer suit. “Do I get to keep this when we’re done?” Sam asked, looking at himself in the mirror. 

 “You do look nice, kid,” Castiel said, resting a hand on Sam’s shoulder. He looked at his partner in the mirror with a grim expression. “You sure you want to do this?”

 “I’m sure,” he said, smoothing out his sports coat. “I can handle it.” 

 “I’ll be on the main casino floor, listening.” 

 “I know.” 

 “How does Dean feel about this?” Castiel asked cautiously. 

 “Dean?”

 “Yes...” He shifted his weight. He hadn’t talked to the eldest Winchester since their fight behind the precinct, and with the sting in motion he hadn’t bothered to reach out. He did ask for space, after all. “You did tell him you were doing this?”

 “No, actually. I didn’t.” 

 “Why not?”

 “He wouldn’t like it. I’m sure he’d be down here insisting I be taken off the case immediately. I’m an adult. I don’t need to check in with him.” 

 “Right.” 

 “You two aren’t talking, are you?” Sam asked, eyeing Castiel in the mirror. 

 “Why do you ask that?”

 “He’s been moping around the apartment constantly for the last week.” 

 Castiel smiled to himself. He couldn’t deny the pleasure that grew in his belly, hearing Dean was miserable without him. The word boyfriend rang in his head again like a familiar tune. “Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, clearing his throat.

 “Yeah.” Sam smirked. “You sure look it.” 

 “Alright, Rookie,” Castiel said with some feigned annoyance, and Sam turned around to face him. “Do you have any questions? Should we go over it again?”

 “No, Cas. I’ve got it.” 

 “This isn’t the time to play around, Winchester. This is serious.” 

 “I know that,” Sam said flatly. “And I’m telling you that I’ve got this.” 

 “Alright, alright.” Castiel waved him off. “Let me take a look at you.” 

 Sam spun slowly so his partner could get a good look. His suit was pristinely pressed, and each hair was gelled down in the right place. 

 “You look good,” he said, after adjusting Sam’s tie. “You’ll do well, kid.” 

 “Thanks, Novak. Means a lot coming from you.” 

 “Yeah, well, don’t go soft on me now.” 

 “No chick flick moments,” Sam agreed with a nod.

 “What?”

 “Nothing. Just something Dean says to me when we’re getting a little too emotional.” 

 “Right.” Castiel’s eyebrows came together in a frown. “Well, no chick flick moments, then. I suppose it’s time to go,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I’ll see you in there. Do you remember the code word?”

 “Yeah, Poughkeepsie. I got it.” 

 “Alright. Let’s do this.” 

  Later that evening

 Sam Winchester walked into the casino like he belonged there. He played poker, betting high, with Castiel talking him through every move in his ear. He had to show off to get invited to the big players game, and he was doing fantastic. His eyes were focused, his lips unimpressed. He dished out chips after chips, not missing a hand. He was beginning to get a following, women were hanging over him, but none quite like the brunette at his side. Eileen. 

  “I’m deaf.” 

  “We know that,” Castiel said, shortly. 

  “Deaf people are really good at poker,” she explained, turning so Castiel was forced to look at her. Her fingers were producing words so rapidly that it was too hard to even try to keep up with her. “I can see when people are lying. Pick up on their tells.” 

  “We can’t risk something happening to you,” Sam said, touching her hand to get her to calm down. Not worth the risk, he signed to her slowly. 

  “I can get you in that room, Sam,” she said to him, matching his tone perfectly. “Promise.” She signed as well as spoke for extra emphasis. 

  “I don’t like it,” Novak said slowly. “But fine. We are out of options.” 

 Eileen watched the other players and would tap Sam when he should bet. Once to match, twice to go all in. They were an unstoppable team. The other women hung on his shoulders, squealing when he would win a hand. His eyes flickered around the room. 

 “Here they come,” Castiel whispered in his ear piece. 

 A man in a pair of jeans and a deep black v-neck shirt tapped his shoulder. Sam turned toward the man, who smirked at him. He wasn’t the kind of man that Sam expected at a high stakes poker game, but still. “Can I help you?” Sam asked flatly, trying to sound unimpressed, despite the bubbles in his stomach. 

 “I think I can actually help you, mate.” The man offered a hand. “Balthazar.” 

 “Berkowitz,” Sam smiled, his dimples making an appearance. It almost looked genuine as he clasped his hand in Balthazar’s. “But you can call me David.”

 “Balth, if you choose. Come with me, David, and I’ll show you were the real game is.” 

 Sam stood slowly. “Sorry ladies,” he said directly to Eileen so she could read his lips. 

 “Have fun,” she said out loud, but her hands signed, stay safe . He nodded in response, gathered his chips, and followed Balth through the crowded casino. 

 “So, where are we going?” Sam asked, trying to continue to sound casual. His heart was pounding under his skin, his blood pumping, racing through his veins. Suddenly the suit felt like a pressure cooker. 

 “A private game.” Balth knocked three times in succession on a black painted door in the far end of the loud casino. The variety of machines were whirring in angry chimes, but somehow it felt entirely too quiet. It felt like the way the sky looked right before it stormed, daunting, but not yet dangerous.

 The room was a fog of cigar smoke, and if Sam’s father hadn’t been an avid chain smoker, Sam would’ve been in a coughing fit the moment he walked in. Instead, he allowed the burn to enter his throat. He swallowed it down and kept walking. 

 “Who's the new guy?” A voice asked, beyond the smoke. 

 “David,” Balth said, his voice lacking enthusiasm of any kind. “We are down a few men, and he was getting a little bored on the main floor.” 

 “Alright, David. Let’s see what you’re made of, take a seat,” the disembodied voice said.

 Sam nodded and lowered himself into a seated position. He felt a little naked without Eileen on his arm to guide him, but he didn’t have to win. That wasn’t the purpose of the sting. He needed to vet who was at the poker match. He needed faces and names to investigate. 

 “Rookie, you doing good in there?” Castiel muttered into his earpiece. 

 “Alright, let’s play,” Sam said, almost a little too cheery to assure Cas that he was fine. He wasn’t calling Poughkeepsie yet, was he?

 “Hold your horses, newbie. We are still waiting for another guy to show up. Sorry, son of a bitch is late,” a male voice said from behind the fog of cigar smoke. 

 “You sure he’s coming?” Balth asked, lighting up his own cigar, increasing the smoke in the already compact space. “You smoke, Dave? Want one?”

 Sam's eyes flickered from the cigar to Balthazar. Would the man respect him if he didn’t take one? It was about blending in, after all. “Sure.” He remembered Dean smoking one at Christmas. “Don’t inhale it into your lungs. Just hold it in your mouth and let it go.” He held his hand out and Balthazar gave him a cigar and a light. 

 He puffed the cigar the best he could, and his mouth burned in response. He let out the smoke calmly, even though his eyes stung and his lungs begged for a cough. He settled for clearing his throat instead. His eyes were adjusting to the group. Apart from Balthazar, another man sat across the table in a maroon blazer. His hair was cut shorter than Balthazar’s, but he looked messy still with a beard that he was scratching on his chin. Sam recognized him immediately. Chuck Shurley, another famous author of a long running book series. He was known to have a god complex, but Sam wasn’t sure that he fit the profile. 

 Next to Chuck sat a woman with lightly curled brown hair and a serious gaze. She licked her full lips at the sight of Sam, because who was he kidding? He was staring. She was just as famous as Chuck, if not more so. Duma was a famous television evangelist. She ran her own show where she talked about God, Heaven, the whole nine. They’d assumed, up until that moment, that the killer was a man. It was the choice of victims, the fact that these powerful men wouldn’t be easily subdued, but perhaps she didn’t need strength. Eileen had found drugs in the system of the third victim, just enough to make him pass out. Since he knew Duma already, it would be all that she would need to get the jump on him. Maybe she had a similar set up they had missed with the other three. “Is there something on my face?” She asked cooly.

 “No,” Sam stumbled a bit. “Sorry. Eyes are just still adjusting.” 

 “Right,” Duma said, looking down at her nails. “Balthazar, can we hurry this up, or are we going to wait for Sam forever?’ 

 Sam’s heart leaped up his throat. “What?”

 “The last guy we are waiting for. Name’s Sam.” Balth shrugged. “Let's give ‘em five minutes, and then we can get started. I’ll pour you some wine, Duma.” 

 “I’d appreciate that,” she almost hissed. 

 The door clicked open, the dull light from the casino floor and the whirring of the games invading their smoke filled bubble. “About time, Sam,” Balth said with a hint of annoyance. “We were about to start without you.” 

 “Don’t get your panties in a bunch,” the voice growled. “I told ya I was comin’, didn’t I?”

 Sam’s blood ran cold. He would recognize that voice anywhere. It was the same voice that had woken him up in the morning to get ready for school growing up, the same one that stayed up late with him now watching stupid horror films. Dean. He turned and found himself face to face with his brother. Neither were able to hide the obvious shock painted on their faces. Dean looked green even in the low light. A million questions sprang into Sam's mind but he had to choke them back. He couldn’t ruin everything. Fuck. 

 “Rookie, what’s going on in there?” Castiel whispered in his ear. Cas! What was he going to think if he heard Dean’s voice in the headset? 

 Sam swallowed hard before reaching out a hand. “David,” he said forcing a smile. “You must be Sam?”

 “I am,” Dean said, tensely. “Nice to meet you, Dave.” He wore a suit, his dress shirt underneath was unbuttoned at the top. Dean hated suits. Sam's head was spinning. “Should we play?” 

 “Can I, uh, talk to you for a second? I’d love to know where you got your sport coat,” Sam stumbled over his words. He was losing his cool. Fuck, he was losing it. 

 “Sure,” Dean said curtly. “Don’t worry, Balth. We won’t be long.” 

 “Fucking typical,” he groaned in response. 

 “I should’ve brought my guitar,” Chuck complained quietly. 

 Dean pulled Sam out of the room and into the corner of the club. “What are you doing here?” They both spat at the same time. 

 Dean shook his head and pointed at his little brother. “Try again.” 

 Sam looked around and removed the ear piece from his ear, clicking it off. They wouldn’t have long before Cas stormed the place, but he didn’t want him to hear. He had a bad feeling. “We are on a sting. We think one of the players is the killer. All of the deceased were a part of this poker group. Your turn.” 

 “I’m sorry, Sam. I…I went through the case files when I was at the precinct before. Cas has been so stressed, and I just wanted to help. When I read the files I started to suspect the same that you did, and I thought there was a story. I thought there were answers ... I thought...” 

 “Dean, you thought the killer was here and you didn’t tell me? You didn’t tell Cas?”

 “No, I uh.. I wasn’t sure. Ya know? Thought I better be sure.” 

 “You’re impeding an investigation.” Sam furrowed his eyebrows. “You were here and you didn’t tell me.” 

 “You didn’t tell me you were here either, Sammy.” 

 “This is my job! I can’t tell you everything.” 

 “And this is my job. My story.” 

 “You always told me that you wouldn’t sell out anyone for a story. You’re doing so much worse than that right now. You’re risking lives by not telling the police your suspicions. Not telling me. We don’t lie to each other, Dean. Shit, man... this... this looks...” 

 “How does it look, Sammy? What aren’t you sayin’? Just fuckin’ out with it.” 

 “You look guilty, Dean.” 

 “Are you accusing me of somethin’?” Dean's lips were pressed together. 

 “You’re my brother. I know you aren’t a killer, I’m just saying what it looks like. What it will look like when Cas sends the cops in here to make an arrest.” 

 “You can’t let him come in here,” Dean said quickly. “He tried to bust you, Sammy. You’re right, this looks bad. He’s gonna be pissed. He won’t believe me. You believe me though, right, Sammy?”

 “I...” Sam looked at his brother. His pleading expression. His green eyes, glistening at the corners. 

 “I was tryin’ to help. You have to believe me.” 

 He eyed his brother. He knew who Dean was. Dean had raised him, after all. If he didn’t tell Sam about the game it was for a good reason. He thought he was doing the right thing. Sam knew that. He didn’t have to be convinced of Dean’s innocence, he knew he was innocent from the beginning. He was just angry.. “I... I believe you,” he said finally. “Just get the fuck out of here.”

 Dean nodded and offered his brother a grateful smile. He glanced around and jogged out of sight. 

 Sam put his ear piece back in, and turned it on. “Cas?”

 “What the fuck is going on over there, Rookie? I’ve got the calvary on stand by.”

 “I’ve got the names. Let’s pull back.” 

 “You got it. Meet me out front.” 

  Later that evening

 Castiel laid out the folders that they’d made up for every person in the poker game. He opened up the files, displaying photographs of Duma, Chuck, and Balthazar. “It’s gotta be Duma,” he said, tapping her smile in the picture. 

 “She’s the only one with a religious background,” Sam agreed. “And she volunteers at hospitals, so she could have access to the morphine.”

 “Maybe when she saw that her poker mates were being arrested, she thought that she should take it into her own hands.” Castiel picked up her photograph, he stared at her expression. She didn’t seem evil, but they usually didn’t.  

 “Have you seen her show?”

 “Don’t have cable, Rookie. When would I ever have the time to watch?”

 “She’s extreme, is what I’m trying to say. She has a whole thing on sinners. She seems to know the Bible front to back.”

 “Any idea if she has an alibi for any of the murders?”

 “Not sure yet.”

 “We should question her.” Castiel stretched, his neck popping. It was late, but not too late. They could get a big headstart to the case if they started right then, opposed to later. He was ready for the case to be over, and hell, he was tired of feeling like he was running in circles. Duma was the break they were looking for, she wasn’t going to get away. He wouldn’t lose another one, not this time. 

 “We will go visit her in the morning,” Sam said, eyeing Cas. “We did good tonight, Novak. Take a break, you deserve it.”

 He looked at the kid and a sense of pride settled within him. “You’re right, Rookie. You did well tonight,” he agreed. The clock on the wall had already informed him that it was too late to bring Duma in, and he had to make sure all of their ducks were in a row so they didn’t end up with a Crowley repeat. “It’s too late to bring her in. I’ll finish some paperwork...” 

 “Cas?” Sam touched his hand over the papers he was shuffling.

 “Huh?” He glanced up at his partner. The kid looked concerned, and Cas’ eyes flickered back to the papers, avoiding Sam’s gaze. 

 “You look fucking exhausted. Go home and get some rest, and I’ll finish everything up. We will do a briefing in the morning and then we can bring her in.” 

 “I’m not letting you pull an all nighter alone,” Castiel grumbled, shaking his head. He was the lead detective on the case. He was the one who kept fucking up, and the kid shouldn’t be left alone to deal with the boring part. “Not after the sting you just successfully pulled off.” 

 “Look at me.” 

 He looked at Sam with an annoyed squint. 

 “You’ve been killing yourself over the case. I’ll take breaks. Maybe I’ll take Eileen out for a late dinner, and then I’ll get all of this done. We have a damn good couch in the break room, partner. I’ll get some rest and be ready to go when you come in tomorrow. You’re no good to me exhausted.”

 “Right.” Castiel licked his lips and looked at the kid, really looked at him. The sting changed something in him, that was perfectly clear. He was confident and as Cas looked at him, he knew that the kid could handle it, as much as he didn’t want to let go of the reigns. Hell, maybe he could even get a good night's sleep before the big bust. He let out an estasterbated sigh. “Fine, but I’ll be in by seven so we can bring her in before lunch.”

 “You got it,” Sam said with a wide grin. He looked so fucking proud of himself for being allowed to take on such a huge responsibility alone. Not even Cas could deny him that, he earned it. “Oh, and Cas.” 

 Castiel turned to look at him, his coat already over his arm. He’s going to say something to make me change my mind. 

 “Since I’ll be here I won’t... uh... I won’t be home.”

 “I know that.” 

 “I’ll be here.”

 “I understand the concept,” he said slowly, not understanding what the kid was trying to get at. 

 “So my apartment will be... vacant. Well, apart from my brother,” Sam said, laying it on a little thick. 

 Castiel squinted at him again, with real annoyance. Sam was trying to butt in on his police work, insert himself more into the case, and into Cas’ love life. He had some nerve. “Understood,” he said curtly. “Make sure to get some coffee, Rookie. You’re starting to sound like a lunatic.” 

 “You got it.” Sam smiled to himself before settling into his desk. “Now get the fuck out of here. If I hear from you before seven o’clock in the morning I am filing a formal complaint.” 

 “I understand,” he grumbled, sliding into his coat. The Winchester brother’s would be the death of him, he feared. 

 Castiel walked into the cold night air. It was dark, but in the street lights, he could see the large snowflakes floating down from the sky. He pulled his coat closer together. He was glad that he lived close to the precinct since he had forgotten his gloves and his hat. 

 They’d arrest Duma in the morning and hopefully it’d all be over. He was barely thirty years old, but fuck he was so tired. He hadn’t even seen Christmas go by, it melted past him like snow in the sun. He hadn’t even bought a tree and didn’t bother with lights. What was the point when he would be spending the holiday alone? It was a lonely profession. No one wanted to stay up late with him, or see him always going, running after another dead body, another criminal. It was dangerous. It was a solitary existence, or at least it used to be, before him.  

 Castiel thought of Dean, with his green eyes and caramel hair. The freckles left by angel kisses along the bridge of his nose, his shoulders, and chest. He thought of the strength in his hands as he pulled Castiel against him when they danced. Charlie called him the guy. Maybe he could be. He was always there, he stayed up late with Cas, he held him through the night, despite the no snuggling clause. Dean made Cas feel good in a way that no one had before. There was something about Dean Winchester that felt like forever. 

 Castiel didn’t realize he was walking in the completely wrong direction until he was standing at the stoop of the Winchester’s apartment building. It wasn’t fancy, but how could it be with a cop’s salary? Cas pushed through the door and climbed the stairs, one flight, two flights, three flights, and he stood in front of Dean’s door on a welcome mat that stated: Take Out? He smiled a little at the lack of taste that certainly came from the older Winchester. 

 His fist hovered over the door. Maybe he was wrong, maybe it would all melt away, maybe Dean wasn’t the guy, maybe it was a mistake, or maybe it wasn’t. He knocked three times. His fist was still hovering over the door when Dean swung it open. 

 “You’re not my pizza,” Dean said, his eyes wide in surprise. 

 “No.” Cas stood there awkwardly. The snow was melting in his hair, he could feel the dampness against his ears. “Are you disappointed?”

 “I didn’t order a pizza,” Dean said smoothly with a shit-eating grin. “So, no, buddy. Not disappointed at all.” He opened the door a little wider for Cas to walk in. 

 The lights were off in the apartment except for Dean’s writing desk. His typewriter was set up next to a stack of books, a paper popping out at the top. “Were you writing?” Castiel asked apologetically. 

 “Just doin’ what I told Sam I’d be doin’,” Dean said with a shrug. “Don’t worry, I was due for a break anyway.” 

 Castiel stood in the door, awkward in his coat, in his skin. 

 “Take that off,” Dean instructed. 

 He raised an eyebrow. “Take what off?”

 “Your coat. I know this place is small, but we do have heat, ya know.”

 “Of course.” Castiel removed his coat and hung it on the rack next to the door. 

 “Now the shoes.” 

 “Shoes?”

 “They’re wet and covered with snow.” 

 “Of course.” Castiel’s head was spinning. He was in Dean’s apartment. It was both everything he thought it would be and nothing at all. They had books that lined the wall of the small two bedroom apartment. He could tell that they had added extra shelves just to make room for the sheer number of books. There were some photos, minimal, but more than Castiel had at his own apartment. He nudged off his dress shoes, finally noticing that even his socks were wet, but it didn’t matter. None of it did. Not when he saw Dean in the low light, in just a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. It was late, wasn’t it? Far too late for a casual visit. “Have you read all of these?” Castiel asked quickly, gesturing to the books. 

 “Between Sammy and I, yeah we have. Big readers.” His eyes flickered to Castiel. “You good?”

 “What? Yes... I’m...” He couldn’t make himself say it. They were circling in on the killer. He was so close to the answers that he thought he could reach out and touch them, but Dean reached out and touched him instead, barely brushing his fingers. Their eyes met. 

 Castiel was overjoyed about the news of the case, and the only person he wanted to tell was Dean. He wanted to tell Dean so many things. His thoughts were a hive of bees, flying around and buzzing. If he could pluck one out of the air, just one, a sentence. A phrase. Anything to say to the beautiful man in front of him. “I’m falling in love with you,” he spilled. Fuck, those were not the words that he was wanting. 

 He watched Dean’s face. He expected...something. Anything. He expected Dean to push him away. He expected Dean to shake his head, laugh right in his face, and make a joke. “Detective, don’t make this more than this is.” He didn’t expect the complete stillness to Dean’s lips, his eyes scanning every inch of Castiel’s face before they landed on his eyes. “What did you say?”

 “I said...” He sighed. He couldn’t say it again. Maybe he didn’t say it in the first place. Maybe he could back out of it. Maybe it wasn’t too late. 

 “You’re in love with me?” 

 “Falling...yes,” Castiel said as if it was the most painful thing in the world. Maybe it was.  

 Dean’s lips pulled tightly across his teeth, curling into a smile. It was a beautiful smile. The kind that lights up a dark room. “That’s a relief,” Dean whispered, reaching out to hold Castiel’s cheek. “Because I thought I was a damn fool. Dean, you can’t go fallin’ in love with some big time detective. A guy like him wouldn’t want you. He wouldn’t look twice. But you... you lookin’ twice, Cas?”

 “I’m looking twice,” he agreed, his heart tugging himself closer to Dean. He gave in and closed the space between them, their chests brushing. “But I will not be for a third time.” 

 Dean’s face wilted, his grin transforming into a soft line. “You won’t?”

 “Because this time I will not look away.” He pulled Dean’s face to his. He wanted to taste Dean’s smile, and so he did. He felt the relief flood through Dean’s body that matched Castiel’s own joy to find out that they were on the exact same page. The guy. He smiled then, too, because sometimes good things happen. He had certainly accumulated enough good karma to deserve this, to deserve Dean. He wiggled out of his wet socks, his cold toes brushing against Dean’s bare feet. 

 Cas felt Dean’s hands dance up his chest. He fiddled with the buttons, opening Castiel’s shirt, pushing his suspenders over his shoulders, his shirt falling to the floor moments after. Dean was unwrapping him like a package, quickly, but with care. His undershirt fell to the floor at their feet. His nipples perked up from the lack of clothing, despite the warmth in the apartment. He wasn’t wasting any time, and before Castiel could reach for Dean’s AC/DC shirt, it was off. Dean’s hands were back on Cas, on his chest, shoulders, back, running down his stomach. His fingers were warm, rough, and deeply familiar as they gripped his hips and lead him through the living room and down the hall. 

 He was in Dean Winchester’s apartment, half naked, going to his room, and Dean was in love with him. He felt a little dizzy and tried to think back to his last meal that didn’t consist of just coffee, but he couldn’t think of anything other than the mouth of the man he loved sucking on his chin, despite the stubble. 

 Dean’s own face was shaven clean. Who was that cleanly shaven so late at night? He remembered Sam’s pointed comments. “So my apartment will be... vacant. Well, apart from my brother.”

 He wondered if Dean received similar directions; he could’ve been waiting for Castiel all along. 

 “I’m sorry,” he gasped, as they hovered in the doorway to Dean’s bedroom.

 “For what?” Dean asked his voice low, rough, and his eyes dark with lust. Cas could feel Dean’s thumb stroke his cheekbone, jaw, bottom lip.

 “The fight.” 

 “It’s forgotten, man.” He looked Castiel over and ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “I can’t even remember what it was about. Trust me on that.” 

 A smile tugged at the corner of Cas’ mouth. “Okay.” His eyes scanned the room. It was dark, but he could make out a bed in the center of the room, the headboard pushed up against a window that held no curtains. He could see the snow piling up on the fire escape outside from the streetlights and the moon. “So, this is your room?”

 “Not really the time for a tour, Detective,” Dean said, his voice rougher than usual. 

 Castiel smiled and turned back to him. Although his boyfriend was only a few inches taller, he still looked up at Dean through his eyelashes. “Does that mean we can’t tour your bed? Looks like a queen size, but I can’t tell from this far away.” 

 Dean chuckled and pulled Cas back against him, taking him into his bedroom. He took a moment to take Cas in. His lips were swollen from kissing, his eyes a striking blue even in the darkness. Like Dean, he looked older than his age from his job. He seemed tired, his eyes sunken, thin, from not eating enough. His skin was pale, but otherwise flawless. He wasn’t hairy, like how Dean pictured a strong detective type to be, his chest was smooth. His arms strong from exercising and staying in shape. Under his belly button a small line of hair traveled down into his slacks. Dean had been there before, but somehow after the deceleration it felt different. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. 

 Detective Castiel Novak loved him. Despite his annoying habits, or his lack of true career. Despite the fact that Dean was never supposed to end up with a guy like the detective, Castiel still loved him. It was exhilarating. He’d never felt that way before. To love and to be worthy of love were not in Dean Winchester’s vocabulary, but yet. But yet there Cas was, looking up at him through full eyelashes like a fucking Disney Princess, and damn it if Dean wasn’t falling in love with him all over again. It was like a hunger pain in his stomach, like back in college when he didn’t even have money for Ramen Noodles. He felt sick from the gnawing pain inside him, but that was a pain he could fix. He was hungry for Castiel. 

 His eyes fluttered. Normally he would whisper something dirty into his partner's ear. Something truly filthy, to get them wet, or their dick twitching, but when Dean pressed his lips to Castiel’s ear to whisper I want to fuck you until you scream my name, something else came out entirely. “I’m going to make love to you.” God, he sounded like a fucking chick.

 But by the reaction from Castiel as he pressed his erection against Dean's thigh, he decided that it was the right thing to say after all. They kissed again, slower this time. They could take their time. He was determined to memorize every part of the detective. He tasted like snow, stale coffee, and cigar smoke from being at the casino. Dean knew that he smelled like his pine body wash and mint shaving cream. They were an odd pair, but that was no big fucking surprise. 

 Falling in love was learning. He was learning Castiel Novak’s habits, the way he liked to be touched. The way he liked it when Dean distracted him. The way he squinted when he wrote. The way his hand instinctively reached for Dean’s even when he was pretending to be mad. He was pretending, after all. He had to be. 

 Dean walked the detective to the edge of the bed, unlatching Cas’ belt. His fingers worked with care, knowing that they were in sensitive territory. Cas let out an audible sigh as his fingers finally reached the zipper on Castiel’s slacks, and ran his hands along the waist of the pants, tickling at the skin along the waistband. He worked the pants down until Castiel was able to step out of them. Dean put his hands on his shoulders and slowly sat him down. The bed groaned against his weight, making chills roll up Dean’s spine. He couldn’t stop the image of the detective’s weight against his own body, against his skin. There was something so much more about loving someone and wanting them to give that love back. It was a need. 

 He kneeled in front of Castiel, remembering him trembling before. He could hear the detective suck his breath in at the sight of Dean in front of him. It could’ve been a proposal, but there were many reasons to find a beautiful man on his knees. Each worthy of breathlessness. He held Castiel’s thighs in his hands, opening the detective’s legs a little wider. He placed wet, open mouth kisses across the inside of his thighs, feeling Castiel’s muscles twitch in response and tighten around his shoulders. He felt Castiel’s fingers run through his hair, massage his scalp, and fuck it was good. Not even women touched him with such gentle fingers. There was a softness that only came when someone cared. Detective Novak loves you. The words in his head were making him dizzy, his heart rate soaring. 

 He reached between the detectives legs, gently, and with caution. He ran his fingers along Cas’ balls through his plaid blue boxers. God, he looks great in blue. “Detective, you should only ever wear blue. Blue or nothing at all,” Dean murmured in lust, his lips along the waistband of his boxers. 

 “I’ll take that into consideration,” Castiel said breathlessly. “Dean I...” 

 “Shh,” he said, rubbing Cas’ balls in his fingers again, with a little more pressure this time. That shut the detective up quickly, his head rolling backwards, his blue eyes fluttering shut out of view. Dean smiled, liking being in control. There wasn’t a lot in his life that he could control, so when he found a way he had to succumb. He wanted Castiel, he wanted all of him. He hooked his fingers in the detective’s waistband of his boxers and slowly tugged them down. 

 Castiel's cock sprung out of his boxers, eager and ready for him, glistening with precum. Dean swallowed the saliva that was already accumulating in his mouth. Before he came out as bisexual, the concept of a penis was distracting, foreign, it was something unitanable. Something that he could only wish for silently. Five years previously, he would have never imagined being face to face with a dick that was as fucking gorgeous as Castiel Novak’s, but there it was. He smiled at it like it was an old friend. 

 “Dean, I...” 

 His eyes flickered up to Castiel’s, a silent question as his fingers curled around the base of the detective’s cock. He gave it a gentle squeeze, enough to feel the pulse and throb against his fingers. He licked his lips, steadying his kneeled position to keep his legs from falling asleep or aching. 

 He ran his fingers along the base of Cas’ cock a few times, adjusting  his grip before stroking the length, his eyes flickered from the head of his cock to his eyes, his lips falling open in desperate breaths. He took Castiel in his mouth just a little at first, and then deeper, running his tongue along the head, tasting him. He needed Castiel, and the detective’s fingers were in his hair, massaging, pressing against the base of his head, his temples, causing him to groan. 

 There was nothing like watching the detective, who was normally completely composed, fall apart under his lips. He felt Cas’ thighs twitch. He’d imagined being there more times than he could count, and every time he was it was better than the time before. He moved his mouth and replaced it with his hand so he could place little kisses on the detectives thighs. He nibbled a bit before sucking, leaving a trail of purple spots in his wake. 

 “Dean,” Castiel gasped. It wasn’t the same way that he said Dean when he was annoyed, or Dean when he was chastising, or even Dean when Castiel said he loved him. This was something else altogether. It was desperate and breathless, even a little whiny. The detective wanted him, and for the life of him, Dean couldn’t remember ever wanting anything more than hearing Cas say his name like that. 

 “Do you like that?” He murmured against Castiel’s thigh, his fist picking up speed, slick from saliva and precum. 

 “I want you.”

 “You have me,” he promised, glancing up at Cas. 

 “You said you were going to make love to me.”

 There was that word again, love .

 “I did.”

 “So, do it.”

 Dean pursed his lips and smiled a bit, the butterflies in his stomach beating their wings rapidly. “You got it, Detective.” 

 He kissed Castiel’s stomach, his chest, and then his lips. He kissed Castiel like it may be the last time that they could ever kiss, like it was the first time they’d ever kissed. It was a goddamn romance novel kiss. He didn’t grind against Castiel’s leg, or try to pop a feel. It was all devotion. They were dripping from desire, even the pressure from a kiss leaving them both dizzy. They would stay like that, tangled together, making good on Dean’s promise until they couldn’t take it anymore. 

  Later 

 The detective was running, his lungs burned, water droplets ran down his face. Was it rain or tears? He felt the terror twist in his gut. His shoes weren’t even broken in yet and the heel rubbed. 

 He shouldn’t have trusted that things would be okay. He made the wrong call. Bang! He hoped to a god that he didn’t believe in that Benny was okay. That he was safe. That he wasn’t dead.

 He turned the corner into the alley. He saw three men standing at the end of the alleyway. “Benny!” He shouted out desperately. “Stop! NYPD!” Castiel reached for his badge, for his gun, for anything. His fingers were trembling, fumbling, it was like he couldn’t grip. 

 Benny turned to him in slow motion, his hand on a pile of cash. His eyes were wide, in shock. “Cas, get the fuck out of here!” 

 “You’re with the cops?” The hooded figure asked before hitting Benny with the butt of his gun. 

 “No I’m…” Bang! 

 The gunshot echoed off the brick walls of the alley and right into Castiel’s soul, into his chest, and through his heart. He stopped running, frozen in place. No! He tried to shout but no sound came out. His voice was stilted in his throat. The men scattered as Benny crumbled to the ground. 

 Castitel forced his legs forward, harder, and harder. “Stop!” He cried out to the men. The murderers. Benny was going to stop them. He was supposed to expose them. Cas let him do the sting. It was his fault. His fault.

 He ran to the first man that he let himself care about, crumbled to his knees. A cloud must have rolled across the sky and over the moon, because everything was bathed in darkness. “No, no! Please!” The detective felt himself crying, his chest aching as he pulled his partner into his lap. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He turned Benny’s chin so he could check if he was breathing, so he could see his face. 

 It wasn’t Benny.

 It was Dean’s face in his lap. “Dean! Dean! Shit! ” Castiel looked down at the love of his life, his green eyes empty and unfocused. His lips were open in that same smile that he was so used to seeing. It looked like he was getting away with something. “No! You are not dying on me!” He leaned down to check Dean’s breath. Nothing. There was an empty, hollowness to his lips. It was too late. The blood was everywhere. On his mouth, his shirt, and all over Castiel. 

 The detective pulled his limp body to his chest and wept into his neck. “I’ll get the motherfuckers that did this… I’ll,” he gasped out. He felt eyes on him. Someone was watching, some sick fuck. He turned to see who was brave enough to stare him down in a moment like that. 

 A hooded figure stood over him, looking down with a tilt of his head. He looked almost inquisitive. He still held the gun that did the deed in his right hand. “You killed him,” Cas’ voice broke. He was an officer of the law, a detective with the NYPD, and yet he couldn’t move. In that moment he was just Castiel, a man who loved someone so deeply just to lose them. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, warm and wet. Or was it rain? Was it raining? “Why did you do it?”

 “I did it because you couldn’t,” the figure said. He raised the gun to Castiel.

 “Who are you?” 

 He was going to die. 

 The figure pulled his hood down to expose a pair of glowing green eyes and a smile that looked like he was getting away with something. 

 “Dean?” Castiel turned back to the man in his arms only to find a gun pressed to his forehead. The Dean from his lap turned his own gun on Castiel. He wasn’t dead after all. The detective couldn’t help feeling a breath of relief. “Why?”

 “Because you made the wrong choice. Again.” 

  Bang!

 Castiel sat up in bed, his heart racing. He looked immediately to Dean, reaching out to touch him, check his pulse. It was slow and calm. He was asleep. Cas swallowed deeply, closing his eyes. It was a nightmare. He let himself calm back down before he looked back to Dean. 

 It was no wonder he was having nightmares about Benny. He decided after the death of his partner that he wouldn’t date again. The job was his husband and his child, it was everything. He would take down the criminals, do things by the book, and get the answers. It was guilt, he knew, that brought up the nightmares. It was the peace that Dean gave him that made Benny’s face pop back up in his mind. 

 But Dean wasn’t like his old partner. It wasn’t a fascination that brought them together. It was something else altogether. It was real . Cas looked at Dean and smiled. The man was beautiful, there was no denying that. His skin was flawless, peppered with freckles, but smooth. If Castiel could have imaged the most beautiful man he could, that man would have held nothing compared to Dean Wincehster. He was on his back, his arms crossed at his stomach. The white sheet fell just above his groin, the light hair going from his belly button down below the blanket was illuminated in the moonlight through Dean’s window. He was beautiful, and Cas could watch him sleep forever. 

 He couldn’t believe that he told Dean that he loved him. It was crazy. It was too damn soon, and they weren’t a good match traditionally, but he loved him nonetheless. Castiel never allowed himself to be happy. It was too far fetched for him; it wasn’t a graspable goal, but after that night he could see it, not only professionally, but personally. He could be happy. Then looking at the sleeping man next to him, he could see it again. Dean Winchester could make him happy. 

 He glanced at the clock on the side table. It was a little after five o’clock in the morning, and somehow he was wide awake. Perhaps all of those nights staying up lowered his need for rest. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to sleep until he was able to truly make an arrest. Perhaps he just couldn’t face Benny's, empty, accusing eyes again. 

 He licked his dry lips and slowly moved his legs off the side of the bed. He was as quiet as he could be to make sure that Dean could get some sleep. He would make coffee, and maybe wake up the sleeping Adonis for another round before work. He didn’t need to walk to make an arrest, that was why he had Sam. Although it would be awkward to explain why he was so stiff. Castiel was blushing in the darkness. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss to Dean’s forehead and whispered, “Love you.”

 “‘ove ya too, Cas,” Dean grumbled in his sleep. 

 He stepped back into his boxers and slid on one of Deans sweatshirts before pushing out of the bedroom, letting the door click shut behind him. He crept into the kitchen and started the coffee maker, thankful that Sam and Dean were as big of coffee junkies as he was. He watched the machine come to life out of its slumber and start to spit black liquid out. He eagerly grabbed a mug and stuck it under the spout. He always loved the beginning of a cup, when it was hot and as fresh as it could be. The burns on his tongue were worth the buzz he got immediately running through him, waking up his nervous system, and warming his chilled veins. 

 He took a sip, and let the coffee take him over. “Mmm,” he hummed in appreciation. His eyes flickered to the living room. He didn’t get a chance to check out the apartment when he came before, so he figured there was no time like the present. He stretched his tired limbs, still tingling from his earlier orgasms, and carefully walked into the living room. 

 His eyes scanned the books on the shelves. They had just about everything. Into The Wild, Dickens, Edgar Allen Poe, and a large selection of True Crime novels. Castiel smiled. Sam had mentioned before that he always wanted to be a police officer. It was no surprise with the book selection in front of him. His eyes landed on Dean’s writing desk. He was desperate to look at what his boyfriend was working on. He hadn’t read anything Dean had written previously, and he was dying to see some of it. It was sort of a glimpse into the mind of the man he loved. 

 His curiosity got the best of him, and he slowly approached the desk, as if expecting to get in trouble, even after what happened the night before. He smiled at the desk, because it was just as disorganized as he expected. There were papers scattered about, books stacked up high, hand written notes, newspaper articles, and previously typed pages from the typewriter. 

 Castiel lowered himself to sit down in Dean’s chair. It was comfortable but firm, good for someone sitting for long hours typing away. He ran his fingers along the edge of the black typewriter. There was something unbelievably romantic about the concept of Dean typing in low light, writing love letters to Castiel. He smiled to himself. He knew he shouldn’t, but he tugged the page out of the typewriter to take a peek. 

  Dear Detective Novak,

 His blood ran cold. 

  Dear Detective Novak, 

  There are a lot of people that deserve to be hurt, Detective. Surely you know that by now. There won’t always be people that you can catch. People are devious; they’re too well versed in lying and sneaking. Don’t all of the criminals deserve to be punished? I know that you would sleep better if they were, and I want to know that you’re sleeping well, Detective. You always look so tired. 

  I am sorry that you didn’t get a chance to prosecute Metatron yourself, but he was a terrible man. He left his wife to die alone on the floor. No matter what I’ve done, I would never leave someone to die alone. 

 The letter fell from Castiel's hands. It was wrong. It had to be. It was for the article, a mock up of what the letters were like. He frantically shuffled through the pages on Dean’s desk. He turned and knocked over the stack of books, sending them falling onto the carpeted floors of the apartment. Castiel crouched and picked up the books one at a time. His fingers stalled over a black leather book. He left the others on the floor and stood slowly. 

  The Holy Bible

For Dean love, Mom. 

 Castiel swallowed hard, and he prayed. He didn’t believe in God, but damn it he prayed that the pages were in tact. He prayed that it was all a cruel joke and that there was an explanation. 

 He flipped through the pages before he lost his nerve. He flipped to a verse that he remembered, from the Crowley case. The Lord is my light and my salvation - whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life -   of whom shall I be afraid? He’d read that page a hundred times at least. It was seared into his brain, burned behind his retinas. He flipped to the appropriate place in the Bible, and ran his fingers along the crease. Along the ripped, jagged edge.

The page was gone. 

Read Part Six

Masterlist

Art by @cryptomoon

#Something More Than What I Had #Destiel #casdeanflipfest2019 #otp #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction #fic #writing #mine #supernatural au #Detective!AU #Serial Killer!AU #Detective!Castiel #Detective!Sam #Rookie!Sam #Journalist!Dean #Writer!Dean #Sam Winchester #Sam #Castiel Novak #Castiel #Cas #Dean Winchester #Dean #Sam x Eileen #Eileen Leahy #Charlie Bradbury #Benny Lafite

[dannyphantom-justiceleauge]

Animorph/DP crossover

so i’m officially on an animorph binge, fueled by nostalgia and dawning horror as i rediscover how deeply messed up an violent this series is.

for those of you don’t remember or only vaguely remember the weird book covers, animorphs was a quintessential nineties book series (and brief bad tv show) that most of us read for free-reading points when we were eight. it is a series about 5 kids who witness an alien ship crash one day and have a dying alien give them the power to turn into any animal and alien they collect dna from (a bit like ben10′s omnitrix now that i think about it, only it came out first, isn’t a bracelet and is generally horrible). new space dad also gives them, a group of 13 year old’s, the mission to stop a different race of alien invaders, called yerks, who are essentially slugs that crawl in your ears and take over your body. they intend to take over earth. the animorphs can’t trust adults because they don’t know who’s being mind controlled and quite suddenly they find themselves in a full scale war, full of moral grays and trauma at every turn along with goofy nineties slang and sometimes (rarely) the kids having fun with their ability to turn into wild animals. arguably the first book has a higher kill count than the entire harry potter series. it doesn’t pull it’s punches and, while i’m sure i have nostalgia glasses on, it’s really good. give it a read sometimes.

so, of course, i have to dump my crossover head-cannons on you, because combining these two worlds, that have pretty impressive world building is too good to pass up. (keep in mind i’m only three books into this binge and my memory is mostly hazy). strap in;

okay first of lets set the condition that ectoplasm and ectoplasm based weapons kills yerks. therefore Danny and any ghost can actually kill yerks pretty easy. it also means Danny can’t become a controller even if they try. i want to set this stipulation because lets be honest the yerks are too powerful and the hero side is already outnumbered. i suppose you could think of it as to semi sentient slimes fighting for dominance, yerks are more living and sentient than ectoplasm itself, but that’s part of what makes them weak to ectoplasm, a materiel that is a byproduct of death and that has proven to be corrosive in general. ectoplasm is less thought based and more hunger and emotion based. so it’s easy for ectoplasm to consume a yerk because as a sentient being it has emotions and mass, whereas, a yerk looking for a brain in a ghost won’t have much to grab onto.

or you could not have that caveat and make everything even darker and worse by having ectoplasm being good for yerks, similar to those slime pools they bask in. in which case, discovering the ghost portal will be a crushing blow to the humans

Danny can clear out yerk infestations, just by possessing people, but it essentially means burning a yerk alive inside someones head, which is traumatizing for everyone involved. Danny doesn’t like doing this but will when necessary

yerks, due to this aversion to ectoplasm, are actually very superstitious about ghosts and avoid ‘haunted’ places as much as possible, leaving Amity fairly safe until the larger scale plans start taking effect. 

at which point ‘let’s just wipe this haunted city off the map’ plans start circulating. (’but wouldn’t that just create more ghosts?’ ‘i won’t pretend to know’)

enter the animorphs and team phantom on different fronts. the animorphs are eager to know why the yerks are so adverse to this city that they’re willing to destroy it. is there a weapon there? is there something useful there? i don’t think even the andilites know about yerks weakness to ectoplasm (oh they would have used it) so they’re running blind, hoping to get the weapon and the information before the city is destroyed, and you know, hoping to prevent the city’s destruction

team phantom on the other hand are way blinder in general. their involvement started as Tucker hacking some government files and then accidentally following the backdoor breadcrumbs into the entire yerk system. he take’s the whole, ‘aliens are controlling our government’ thing, as more of a ‘I WAS RIGHT’ moment than a ‘oh no!’ Danny and Sam are reasonably skeptical because of this

until they find out that the city’s gonna get destroyed yet again. and then things are kinda sticky for them, because most of what they know about the alien invasion is from Tucker’s hacks and a lot of it is in an alien language that’s taking time to translate.

so of course the animorphs show up and find literal ghosts and assume aliens because they’re not far enough in the timeline for god and time travel to be an established thing yet. everyone is freaking out, because they’re being invaded by something else!? they’re already in one war, man. and the team debates are on because clearly these things are an enemy to the yerks if the yerks want to destroy them so much. we could use them (Rachel, Tobias), but we don’t know anything about this race or if they’re the lesser of evil between the races (Marco, Cassie). Ax’s only opinion is that ghosts freak him the hell out and are unnatural. i don’t think he’d be able to telepathically communicate with ghosts (except for Danny and Vlad) and that deeply scares him. Jake decides they need more information before they decide. the team quickly elects to catch a ghost and interrogate it.

which goes as well as one can expect. watching the animorphs try to fight the box ghost with all their animal forms is embarrassing, with how ineffective it is. team phantom walks in on this.

which leads to the ‘are we talking to hostile aliens’ stare down. team phantom saw enough of the fight to be like, no, and have already proven more or less that the animorphs aren’t ghosts, so alien is the other conclusion to draw.

the amount of sarcasm and banter that Danny and Marco create being in the same room together is legendary. establishing a bit of almost playful respect

Ax is being messed up by Danny’s psychic wavelength because he can hear it but there’s migraine inducing feedback

Sam and Rachel however are low key butting head in the background and that results in a fight the they break up and pretty much establish, yeah, we’re all good guys here, okay. (Sam and Rachel's sass levels are also dangerously high. in general the amount of sass in the room could fuel a teledrama)

everyone’s hesitant to share information, Danny keeps his secret initially and even though they get their rundown of the aliens and the rundown of the ghost, neither are willing to share the big secrets or trust. team phantom have this whole ‘what if they’re the aliens trying to blow up the town subplot while one of the animorphs (i wanna say Tobias but i don’t think he’s picked transformation back up yet so lets say Marco) grabs some of Danny's dna to see if they can turn into a ghost.

it goes as horribly wrong as it can go.

most ectobased life forms don’t have dna because they’re made purely of ectoplasm, that’s it. the only reason Danny has dna is because he’s a halfa and his Schrodinger's cat existence was very lucky and very unnatural. combining ectomutated dna with a power that is based purely around life is not good. marco almost dies, everyone’s really mad, even though it’s not Danny's fault. the animorphs demand that they fix him and Sam is bitter because the blame is on them for taking his dna without danny;s consent but whatever. they save him anyway because they’re the heroes.

welcome back Fenton dream-catcher, they remove the ectomutation spirit thing from Marco safely and either they have to fight the half-transformed goo monster or the thing collapses on it’s own because it’s completely unstable.

Marco, depending on how philosophical you want to get, tastes death, ectoplasm, ghost obsessions, and possibly some of Danny's memories? i guess the animorph power works a bit like copying another creatures spirit, which is one of the reason, copying something like Danny is so complicated because he is the perfect hybrid of spirit and life. they ironically can’t copy literal spirits though because they have no dna as a starting point. the whole near death experience is going to haunt Marco for a while.

oh well, life saving, monster fighting, out of the way, trust is finally established.between the teams and everyone get’s crash courses in ectobiology and animorph biology and figure out why the bad stuff happened.but  they still don’t know that ectoplasm kills yerks

this got long. i shall do a part 2! - Hestia

#Danny Phantom #animorphs #dpjl #hestiawrites

[xaz-fr]

The Story So Far

@deadpool-scar-bro @hikayelastoria @cornsnoot-fr @redlion-fr @mushroomdraggo @murdoch-fr @tales-around-sornieth @frxemriss @rainhearts-hatchery @rexcaliburr-fr @bruin-fr @starry-ampelope @plainstriderbard @reanimatedfr @voltaic-ambassador @sirensage-fr @journey-taken-fr @ally-fr (let me know if you’d like to be added to the lore pinglist)

dragons are humanoid unless said otherwise

Gemini is a Good Southern Boy™ who uses TWO ‘ in one word because that’s the sort of guy he is lololol

Home Amid the Flood Plain

He sat with his mother in their small camp. Heliconia was teaching him to fend for himself. How to hunt, how to fish, how to forage and how to find the best rocks and logs to overturn to find the best insects. He liked hunting the most. It was the most engaging for his brain. Heliconia didn't seem surprised in this. It was night and they'd hunted a toridae for dinner. Heliconia had shown him the best way to open the creature with his claws to not spill open the stomach or intestines, which could spoil the meat, and now they were laying in their camp tiredly. His mother had made a little arcane fire to provide them with some light before they went to sleep.

“Mother, where are we going now?” he asked, laying on his side, his belly full of toridae. He did a lot of the hunting because Heliconia was teaching him and sometimes they didn't always have a full meal because he wasn't very good at it. He was proud about the toridae kill.

“Where the Search takes us.”

“But what's that mean? Do you feel a call? I don't feel anything,” he frowned and let his head flop down onto the dirt with a sigh.

“You're still young, my son,” she said soothingly. “You may not be old enough to feel the pull of the Search.”

He frowned. “Father said the Charge was a farce.”

“Your father was a fool. A dead fool at that. He rejected what it was to be a Guardian.”

He looked away from his mother. “What if I don't have a Charge?”

“All Guardians have a Charge. You will find yours.”

“Do you know Guardians who have?”

“Yes. Plenty.”

He huffed,  “Okay. I want to believe you. I want to find my charge.”

He wasn't sure how much he believed in such a thing still. His father had been so adamant that there was no such thing as Charges or that if there were they did nothing but hold Guardians back because it implied they weren't complete without them. But his father hadn't had one and he'd been… unstable. What if he became like that because he didn't have a Charge? But his mother didn't have a Charge either. She was perfectly normal wasn't she? And she said she knew other Guardians with Charges. She wasn't just saying that to make him feel better was she?

He turned away from the arcane light to try to go to sleep. He had nightmares all night of being sucked into a water spout and spat out far away from where he was supposed to go. Or of flying and a strong cross wind whipped him off course.

In the morning he woke up tired. But still he got to his feet and flew away from their camp when Heliconia said. They flew across a great reed field for a bit before his mother made an abrupt about face and flew north toward the Sea. “Mother, what's wrong?” he called up to her, against the wind.

“This place is wrong,” she called back. They flew out over the cliff face and out over the Sea.

“What's wrong with the reeds?” he asked as they flew in circles above the crashing water.

“You didn't see it?” she asked him.

“See what?” he had no idea what she was talking about.

She shook her head. “Then it matters not,” and she flew east along the cliff until they came to a great waterfall. The waterfall tumbled several hundred feet down and the mouth was so wide that it took over a hundred feet before the water turned into vapor. The strange brackish mist clung to their scales and he blinked his second eyelid across his eye to protect it from the spray. They flew inland from the waterfall which strangely sounded like laughter as they flew over it. “We'll stop soon,” Heliconia called back to him.

They landed well after midday on some of the only solid ground around. The rest of the area was soggy, mud, or underwater. “What is this place?” he asked, muzzle wrinkling in dislike. Even the infested waters of the cove he’d been raised in was preferable to the mud around them.

“There’s a swamp that runs along the length of the river a ways. As we near the Hewn City it will give way to firmer ground. No one lives out here,” Heliconia said. “But it is an ideal place to rest. The most dangerous thing out here is a toridae and you’ve proved to be a more than adequate at hunting them,” she patted him a bit on the shoulder with her wing and he beamed at her. “We’ll rest, find some food and continue on,” she nodded to herself at that.

He settled down with her to rest. “Mother, have you ever been to the Hewn City?”

“No but I’ve heard of it. All sorts of things and clans live in the Hewn City. I’m sure we’ll find something there,” she said and shifted her wings around to rest after a long day of flying.

“What did you see out in those reeds?”

“I’d rather not speak of it. Rest. You will be the one hunting for us,” she said. He wanted to press the subject but was smart enough not to. He just nodded and settled down as well.

They didn’t sleep but he did feel himself dozing. He became aware when his mother put her wing on his back. He blinked into a alertness but her wing stopped him from moving too much. “What is it?” he whispered.

“Shh,” she was looking at the woods.

Faster than he could follow his mother was on her feet and drew her claw up to make a mark in arcane magic in the air. The air around them shimmered pink and fuchsia as she made a protective bubble around them. As the shield came up two arrows flew out of the trees and pinged harmlessly off the solid surface. She growled deeply. “Who’s there? Show yourself!” she barked.

To his surprise two figures stepped out of the forest. They were strangely shaped. Bipedal but not like any beastclan his parents had ever told him around. They had long tails and wings and he could see a frill of horns framing their faces. One looked like they were made from the very forest, the other wore a warrior’s breastplate. They both had bows but only the one with the striped green wings had their drawn. “Well now, that’s something you don’t see every day,” the other one said. Their wings were wide, leathery and blue with dark rosettes decorating them. Their voice was masculine and they spoke common draconic perfectly. He didn’t seem at all afraid either. “Put your bow down, Relic, jeesh, we aren’t savages out here,” he huffed at the green winged one. Slowly, casting a furtive look at the speaker, Relic lowered his bow.

He walked right up to the edge of the bubble shield. “Hey there,” he said cheerfully, smiling.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Heliconia demanded.

“Ah, now see that’s my line. You’re in our territory.”

“Your territory?” Heliconia scoffed. “No one lives out here in the swamp.”

“That’s true. We used to not be here but times have changed. This area is claimed for Cypress Hall. Now what are you doing here?” he smiled again.

“We’re passing through. We’re on our Search,” Heliconia said.

“Oh? Well alright then. Would you like to rest up back at the Hall? It’s much nicer there than out here in this swamp.”

“Gem, that’s not a-

He jammed Relic in the ribs with his bow. “Don’t mind him, he’s new. He doesn’t know how to welcome travelers to our home.”

Heliconia gave him a narrow eyed look. “Who is the leader of this Cypress Hall?” she asked.

“Well… that’s a complicated question but who runs the place is named Johanna. She keeps things in order. She’s a nice old lady. Promise.”

“He seems nice,” he muttered to his mother, coming up from under her protective wing. “Do you have beds? We haven’t slept on a bed in a while.”

“Of course,” the blue-winged thing said.

He looked up at his mother and she gave him a disapproving stare. He just gave her a pleading look. Please could they go? He wanted to sleep in a bed again. But more excitingly he could meet other dragons. They'd only seen one other clan and that had been out at Sea full of Water dragons but they had been in the middle of some ceremony. They hadn't flown inland until they'd reached the Sunbeam Ruins. His mother said it was dangerous in the Wastes and Expanse and he wasn't quite ready for the rigorous wind of the Plateau.  He'd never interacted with other dragons. He wanted to meet new dragons. Maybe one would be his Charge? Or maybe just… friends? His mother had friends. He had none. Please could they go?

Heliconia looked from him to the two figures. “What's your name?” she asked.

“I'm Gemini. This is my protege Relic,” the blue winged one said and gave a strange flourish of a bow while removing his cap. Next to him Relic rolled his eyes. “We're rangers for Cypress Hall. And who might you folks be?”

“I am Heliconia. This is my son,” she put a protective wing around him.

“Aye. Well, you should come with us. That or leave our territory immediately.”

“We'll come with you,” Heliconia said.

“Excellent. Drop your shield and we'll be off shall’n’t we?” Gemini seemed very nice and was constantly cheerful. He liked Gemini.

With trepidation Heliconia lowered the shield. She nodded at him and they followed the two beings. He didn't know what they were but he was so curious about them. To his surprise they didn't fly but waded into the woods. They didn't even have to go very far either. Just half a phase of the sun and then they broke into a island where a building was built. His eyes widened. He'd never seen anything like this except as something his mother had told him about. “Wow,” he said.

Gemini looked back at him with a wide smile. “That is North Face. Our commander is there. She'll be interested in meeting you.”

“And me her,” Heliconia said. She put a protective wing around him as they followed Gemini across the cleared island to the big building. In the distance, past some trees, he could see the top of another, domed, building and to the south a huge tree that towered over all the other trees in the area. As they neared the building it was more than big enough to accommodate Heliconia’s large form and in the distance he could hear banging and some distant loud voices. More dragons? He was very excited to meet those dragons.

Gemini showed them inside. “Go back out Relic, I’ll catch up,” Gemini told his partner just before they crossed the threshold.

“Do I have to?” Relic huffed. “There’s never anything out there.” Gemini gave him a look like he couldn’t believe the stupidity that had just come out of his mouth. He motioned at large to him and Heliconia. Relic sighed. “Right. Got it. I’ll see you out there,” and his shoulders a bit slumped he went back out across the island.

“Lazy ass,” Gemini scoffed. “Anyway, this way,” he beckoned them inside. He looked all around in amazement.

“Son, keep up,” Heliconia called when he fell a dragon length behind her.

“Coming!” he scampered after her.

“Right here,” Gemini knocked on a small door. “Johanna, boss, you got visitors,” he called through.

“Send them in,” a voice called through the other side.

“Yeah… that ain’t happening.”

There was silence and then the door was opened. “What is it Gem..ini… oh. Hello.” This being looked different from Gemini and Relic. For starters it was a lady and her wings were different, her tail more long and flexible and she had a seafoam colored gem in the middle of her forehead. Her hair was also gray which he thought was odd. Gemini and Relic’s hair wasn’t gray. They both had black hair, or a color so dark it looked black. “I’m Johanna of Cypress Hall, how do you do?” she asked.

“Heliconia, this is my son,” she motioned to him as she bowed her head respectfully and he quickly mimicked her.

“They were passing through on a Search,” Gemini said with a bright grin.

“I see,” Johanna said slowly.

“The last time I was through this way there were no clans that called this land home,” Heliconia said.

“We’re… up and coming,” Johanna said. Heliconia nodded. “So long as you mean my clan no harm you’re more than welcome to stay for a time, prepare for the next leg of your Search.”

“That is gracious. What is your price for such hospitality?”

Gemini snorted and Johanna smacked him with her wing. “There is no catch, Heliconia. We are a small, peaceful, clan out here in the backwoods. Just don’t go south to the Warren and stay away from the Field of Reeds and you’ll be welcome by any of us. The Hall is a warm place, we want nothing from you unless you’re up to trade something? But by the looks of it you carry nothing of value so you’re just our guests.”

“I find that hard to believe-

He was bored with the discussion. He could still hear the banging and loud talking some ways away. He looked up at his mother but she was focused on Johanna. Slowly he slipped away from Heliconia’s side. Johanna didn’t even look at him but Gemini noted his leaving. He didn’t do anything about it but he knew Gemini saw him leave by the tilt of his hat.

He slunk away from his mother and headed for the voices. He found them and his eyes brightened when he saw a big Imperial being positively scolded by a being barely a quarter his size. “I told you to hold it level, now look at it, it’s all crooked!” the being huffed, a feathery crest around their head flicking back in annoyance.

“Well you’re a carpenter, can’t you just fix it?” the Imperial asked. He was magnificent with patterns and colors he couldn’t even begin to fathom. Spotted and brown with wings like the sunset and a belly like the water at dawn. He stared at the both of them but they hadn’t noticed him yet.

“We’d have to start all over again,” the being said as they aggressively chewed a big splinter of wood.

“Seriously?” the Imperial sighed. The being hummed angrily at him. “Fine,” he rolled his eyes and his eyes got so big when they drew themselves up and grabbed the beam they’d been arguing around and bodily lifted it off a pair of posts it was on. As he did he looked in his direction. “Oh- hi,” he waved with one claw.

“Hi!” he said and approached them curiously.

The being looked him over. “Who’re you? I don’t recognize you.”

“Uh… I’m Heliconia’s son,” he said and became suddenly very aware he didn’t have a name.

“Who’s that?”

“My mother.”

“Where’s she?”

“Fjord- you’re literally always telling me to be nice to strangers and here you are being rude as the Great Furnace,” the Imperial gingerly put the beam down. “I’m Aten, this is Fjord. What’s your name?”

He stared at them. “Ah… I… don’t have one,” he said.

“Eh, no big deal,” Fjord said with a shrug of his wings.

“Really?”

“I don’t know why it would be. Relic didn't have a name when he showed up,” Fjord shrugged again.

“So he had to take his name too?” he asked.

Fjord rose a black-blue brow at him. “You right in the head there, kid?”

“Fjord,” and Aten nudged him hard with his elbow. It sent the being stumbling to the side. “You're so rude.”

“Watch yourself, kid,” Fjord growled back.

“Don't make me tell Shai you're being an asshole to guests. You know how she gets.”

Fjord took that under serious consideration. “Mmmm.”

“Are you going to be staying?” Aten asked him.

“I don't know. Me and my mother are on a Search,” he said. Aten gave him a blank eyed stare. He didn't know what that meant. “For our Charges,” he elaborated.

Aten looked down at Fjord, “You know what he's talking about?”

“Course I do you dumb boy,” Fjord huffed. “You need to spend time with others. I swear you're as dumb as a new kitten.” Fjord looked at him, “Most of our Guardians don't have Charges here. Don't have many Guardians to begin with so there is that.”

“Really? So they live normal without one?” he asked.

“Don't see why they wouldn't.”

A shadow fell over him. “There you are,” it was his mother. She didn't look happy. He grinned sheepishly at her. “Do not wander.”

“Sorry,” he said.

“Who are you then? His mother?” Fjord asked.

“I am. Now come along, my son,” she put a wing against him to pull him away.

“Bye,” he waved a little at Aten sadly. He didn't want to go. Aten seemed almost his age while Fjord was older and maybe that was why he was grumpy and angry. Did you just become angry when you were older? He hoped that didn't happen to him. Aten waved back at him even as he followed his mother away.

“Where are we going? Are we staying?” he asked her as they walked across the island.

“For a time,” Heliconia said. “Long enough to see if what we Search for is here.”

“And if it isn't?”

“Then we will move on,” she said.

“Fjord said there were Guardians here who lived just fine without a Charge,” he said. “Couldn't we do that?” he hoped he didn't sound frantic. He didn't want to be alone anymore. Now that he'd met new dragons and had talked to them he just wanted to stay with them. He didn't want to just wander endlessly.

“I thought you said you wanted to find your Charge,” Heliconia said.

“Yes but… do we have to rush?”

“I suppose not. It would be better if you were older. We can only go so far because you're not fully grown yet.” It had never occurred to him that they were going slow because of him. He thought he kept up with Heliconia fine. But she was going slower for him? He didn't like the idea of slowing his mother down. “We'll see if we like this place. If we do we'll stay. If not we'll go find somewhere else,” she concluded.

“Okay,” but he wasn't excited about that.

They arrived before Johanna again. “I see you found him. Good,” she looked at him and he looked away. “Come with me, I'll show you where you can stay,” and she took flight from a standing position.

He quickly jumped after his mother into the sky to follow them. They flew off away from North Face more west and south to another island, larger than North Face and covered in trees still. From the air he could see more islands too. A huge one that had been partially clear cut and covered in orderly plant growth and pens for animals and a small one covered entirely in bamboo. The big island they were going to had a twin, equally as dense with trees as the first. They landed near the shore by a large, empty, building that was barely more than a lean to. It had three and a half sides and could easily accommodate Heliconia’s height.

“This will do for now. It's just some temporary housing. Or permanent if you want to stay as you are. Our clan isn't exactly built for our born forms anymore. Everything has gotten smaller to accommodate our chosen forms,” Johanna said. “If you plan on staying long term I'm sure I can get Fjord to build something more permanent for you but for now this will do.”

“Thank you, Johanna. You are gracious,” Heliconia said with a respectful bow of her head.

“If you need anything go to the Tangle or up the coast there is Jessabelle’s trading post where you'll find all sorts of things,” Johanna nodded. “Welcome to Cypress Hall,” and she took flight again.

#flight rising #fr lore #fr lore share #lore share #cypress hall

[heartslogos]

seas who could sing so deep and strong [144]

Judge wakes up and his head is both somehow very light and pounding, heavy. Judge groans, eyes shutting against the lights of his Orbiter.

“Oh, awake are you?”

Judge turns his head and sees Chic sitting next to him, looking bored. Her hair is a vibrant eye-searing pink against the dark colors of his ship’s interior. It makes his eyes water.

“What happened?”

“You tell me,” Chic says. “How far back do you remember?”

“Uh. We were doing some exterminate missions against the Infested on Eris,” Judge says, struggling to think through the haze in his head. He scrubs his hands over his face. “Uh. Oh.”

Judge grins, “The Stalker showed up and we got War!”

Judge grins at Chic. “We finally got War!”

Kore must be so happy. He can just imagine her poring over it now, working on the modifications for it and testing her stances and everything. She’s going to be a terror on the Grineer she chooses to sharpen that blade with and he’s so excited to watch it happen.

“Right,” Chic nods, “Sounds good so far. And what else?”

Judge falters.

“Uh.” His mind draws a blank. The Infested. The Stalker. Getting War…Kore being happy? Kore being overjoyed, possibly. Judge also being very happy? “Was there something else?”

Chic just gives him a very annoyed look. “I’m beginning to realize why she calls you a fool. Here, let’s just — how many fingers am I holding up?”

Chic raises her hand up at him.

“Five?”

Chic nods once and then uses all five of those fingers to smack him.

“Ow! Hey!” Judge, holds his hand to his face. “What was that for?”

“Persephone told you that she loves you and you fuckin’ fainted is what happened. And you forgot that?” Chic replies. “Come on, let me hit you some more. Jog your memory. Maybe throw you underneath a bursa. It’ll be like when you got your memories back from cryo. Just need to knock them into you or something.”

“Stop, stop, stop, stop,” Judge holds his hands up in defense as he frantically searches his memory. “She what? I fainted? She said what about me?”

Chic raises her hand for another hit, looking deeply unimpressed.

Judge gulps.

“She said that? Really?”

“Take a long, deep look inside of yourself,” Chic says, “And then if that doesn’t work, let me knock something loose for you. Don’t worry, I’m a healer.”

Judge remembers the bright of Kore’s laughter. He remembers laughing with her.

And miracle of miracles, he remembers holding her in his arms and her just…letting him. Holding back. He remembers her being closer than he can ever recall before that, warm and smelling like leather and oil and the faint fresh crush of leaves from her experiments with flavor powder. He remembers the feeling of her heart hammering through her chest straight into his and the steady, constant pulsing of her energy. Warm. Like a heartbeat made out of solid breath and what Kore would call soul.

He remembers being so happy he was glowing, he remembers smiling and being breathless with joy.

He remembers being weightless.

And he remembers her voice, clear and distinct and green with vibrant newness, I love you.

Judge feels himself feeling faint.

Chic smacks him again.

“Ow!”

“Are you going to pass out every time you think about it?”

“Maybe! What happened after?”

“I took you back to your ship,” Chi csays, frowning. “So. Thanks. I missed out on the credits and raiding that ship. Punk and Persephone finished the mission. Just so you know? He’s been feeding me reports this entire time and it’s not good.”

“What isn’t good?”

“Persephone,” Chic says. “Who else? Something about how everything she loves dies or leaves her and how she’s cursed, I started tuning him out. He was getting annoying. I mean, I don’t blame her. You tell the person you like that you like them and they fucking faint. It’s not a good reaction, Hades. You’ve fucked up.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Judge protests, trying to sit up. “I have to — uh.”

“Right.” Chic pokes him in the middle of the forehead and pushes him back down. “Let’s workshop on that before you go off and make it worse, yeah? So. She loves you. What’s your response that isn’t fainting and forgetting the entire conversation?”

“Uh.” Judge’s mind is one silent blank. Which is…many levels of new and worrisome. Normally he can’t get his thoughts to shut up, now that he wants them to start shooting ideas at him every single part of him is stuck on complete, dead silence.

Chic covers her face with her hand. “This shouldn’t be hard. How is this so hard? Okay. What do you think of Persephone?”

“Uh.”

“Words, Hades. Use your words.”

“She…fight good.”

“Fucking Void blasted — “

“Pretty? Spicy honey?” Judge tries. He’s, also, horrified by the stupidity coming out of his mouth right now, but he can’t seem to get anything to work so he’s stuck watching himself in an out of body experience of embarrassed horror as he continues to spew out the absolute worst drivel. “Pointy sword. Itchy brain. She go fast. Sometimes mean. Punch hard.”

“Okay, and?”

“And…” Judge’s mind scrambles to get two brain cells together. “Uh. She’s Persephone.”

“This is worse than I thought,” Chic says. “Punk’s right — he can never know I said that. But he was right. We should’ve just had you two kiss this out ages ago.”

Judge’s mind completely disappears at the words kiss this out.

Him? Kiss? Kore?

Kore? Kiss?

Him? Judge? Hades? Fool? Dumbass? Space detective?

Judge feels his mouth hang open.

“Did you break again?”

“Kiss?” Judge squeaks.

“I wish I could hand you over to someone else,” Chic says, tiredly. “Hades. Judge. Judge. You’re in love with her.”

“She’s my best friend.”

“And you can be in love with your best friend.”

“She loves me?”

“Came straight out of her mouth.”

“But what if she doesn’t mean it the same way?”

“That’s a conversation you need to have with her, I’m just here to make sure you didn’t pass out straight out of living,” Chic replies dryly. “Now that we’ve established that she likes you and you like her, what’s your game plan for talking it out with her?”

Void.

“I…won’t,” Judge says and then quickly goes on when Chic raises her hand again. “Look. Persephone isn’t the type of person you talk things out with. I tried it once and she nearly killed me. I still haven’t talked it out with her about Ballas and the Sentients. I feel like theres’ other things to talk out aside from feelings. Besides, what if she doesn’t want to talk it out?”

“Oh trust me, Judge. She’s going to want to talk this one out.”

#heartsfic #warframe #punk and chic #otp: space kids

[sapphicalexaandra]

Impossibility Is a Kiss Away from Reality (8/?)

Pairing: Jace/Alec

Rating: E

Summary: “…New York shooting, the official victim count is twe-”

“Wait, what? What did the radio just say about New York?!”

Notes: Chapter 8 of Sense8 AU. The plot thickens...or it’s just angst, you decide ;)

Real?

“Jace? I appreciate your enthusiasm, but we have customers?”

Jace was yanked away from Alec, only to end up back on his seat behind the counter. Damn it.

Simon was in front of him, glaring at him as a small group of girls tried to stifle their snickers a few feet away.

Jace blinked, before covering up his confusion with a smile. “What? It’s a great song, our customers will surely appreciate it.”

He looked at the girls, and they nodded quickly.

“Yes, of course! You sang it perfectly,” one of them said. “We would…would you please sign our notebooks? We’re huge fans of yours.”

Jace’s smile became Cheshire-like. “See, Simon? Make space for the ladies.”

Simon rolled his eyes, but he did as he was told, and Jace gladly spent the next few minutes chatting animatedly and signing his name on things. That was not why he had gotten into the music industry, but it definitely didn’t hurt. He winked at his fans, making them blush, before they turned towards Simon and asked for his autograph, too. Jace just knew that Simon was going to complain to him, as soon as they left, about this being a “shop, and not your personal office!” That should shut him up, instead. Jace laughed when the girls did indeed leave, and Simon only had a goofy grin on his face.

Simon still stuck his tongue out at him, before welcoming the next customers.

It was a busy afternoon, thankfully. With a bit of luck, the shop would survive another month.

“…New York shooting, the official victim count is twe-”

“Wait, what?” Jace blurted out, after waving away the latest costumer. He looked up at Simon, who was reordering a shelf. “What did the radio just say about New York?!”

Simon raised his eyebrows at him. “That there was a shooting? Twenty victims, plus dozens of others wounded?”

Jace started sputtering. “Wha-wai-w-why the hell did nobody tell me?!”

“It’s not exactly the ideal topic before a major show, is it? And it’s been all over the news since yesterday, we thought you knew! Where the hell have you been, under a rock?”

Jace shot upright, almost knocking his chair over, before he almost ran towards the computer at the other end of the counter. His fingers flew over the keyboard under Simon’s widened eyes, but Jace didn’t care. He had opened countless pages in the next ten seconds, and he was gawking up and down at the articles, at the pictures, unblinking.

The place…the formation of the police cars…the view of the Statue of Liberty…the maniac’s face…

It all fit what he remembered of his hallucination.

“Jace?”

Jace ignored him. His hands had stopped moving, and he was frozen in place. “I – I need to go to the bathroom.”

He could feel Simon’s worried eyes on his back as he made his way, a hand firmly wrapped around his phone in the pocket of his jeans.

He swiftly took it out as soon as the door closed behind him.

Alec Lightwood, he typed on the search bar, New York Police.

And there he was. Tall, dark hair, broad shoulders. There were various photos of him in uniform, often accompanied by the blonde woman Jace remembered from the shooting. He was listed among the wounded of yesterday.

Alec…was real? The man Jace had almost got killed. The man who had shown up in Jace’s apartment half-naked, yelling at Jace that he wasn’t real. The man Jace had sang to like never before, danced with and almost kissed. The man Jace had been in the body of, as they…wanked. Yep, that had happened. Jace could still only think holy shit as he remembered it. And as he remembered all the glimpses he had caught of Alec that entire day, or when he had jumped on Alec’s bed, singing with him without a care in the world because he had been so sure it was all just a fantasy…Jace’s eyes were just about to pop out of his head.

Bloody hell.

“Jace, man, are you alright in there?”

Jace cleared his throat and got out of the bathroom. “Yeah. Sorry. I don’t know why I reacted like this.”

“Yeah, it’s so awful. I can’t believe that it just keeps happening…do you need to go home? It’s fine by me.”

Jace shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”

He needed the distraction of work, or his head would truly explode.

But it didn’t, not even when he finally got home. And the next time he saw Alec, sleeping peacefully on his bed, Jace started paying more attention.

He inspected every inch of the room, he touched every surface, and he catalogued every reaction his body received from all of that. Again, Jace thought he felt the vibrations of the objects against his skin, as if between them and him there was a thin veil that he couldn’t quite pierce…

It still far closely resembled a legitimate touch. He was in that room, for sure. A vision could never be this clear, this detailed…and Alec…

Alec drew him in more than anything else. Jace sat down next to him, and he reached for his hand like he had done at the hospital. But, this time, he didn’t hesitate to interlock their fingers, closing his eyes to focus better on that contact.

A raw energy seemed to radiate from their clasped hands. It flowed up Jace’s arm, until his entire body reverberated with it. Jace gulped, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the sensation. He felt the need to open his eyes again, but he didn’t want to let go. He studied Alec’s face more closely. How the light danced on his relaxed lineaments…

How was this possible? How could this be real? How could he be seeing Alec, be near him, feel him in that peculiar way he did? And on such an intimate, deeper level than he had ever felt anything else…

Thoughts he’d had before but he had refused to listen to came back to him.

Alec had felt like an extension of himself…a separate being, but tied to Jace indescribably. When they’d danced together, for instance; Jace had, in a way, known Alec’s movements before he made them.  And what about those doubled, multiplied, synchronous sensations that he – they? – had experienced as they…masturbated? In each other’s bodies?

It all sounded impossible, crazy, yes…but if they were both real, and weren’t imagining it…

Jace was no closer to an understanding, but, for some reason, he accepted that possibility; that what had been happening to him was a reality. He wasn’t a spiritual person, he had never been a believer; yet, something was telling him to give this a chance. And for once in his life, he listened.

He would just…treat this as an experiment. He wanted to explore the situation, he wanted to talk to Alec and see if they could make sense of it together. And he wanted to get to know Alec-the-person, as deeply as he already felt to know the…being. A sound plan to get to the bottom of it all.

Doing the part of the infesting pest, after all, was also kind of fun, he had to admit. Alec got more exasperated at his antics than Jace’s grandmother ever did, but Jace could tell, and not because of any supernatural power, that Alec was actually enjoying his presence. Jace wasn’t that delusional to think that this would be any epic, out-of-this-world romance, but he couldn’t deny neither his attraction to Alec, nor Alec’s apparent attraction to him. And if Jace were to approach the subject, Alec couldn’t deny it either, because he had been the one about to kiss Jace.

But that was probably stretching things a little too far.

Experiment. Observation to draw reasonable conclusions. Nothing more. Focus, Jace.

Amongst the things he consequently added to his mental list; according to Alec’s…sister? Alec had talked in a perfect British accent just as Jace did. That was a third party taking notice of something weird, so it couldn’t just be in their heads, could it?

Another factor was that Alec still thought this wasn’t real. That was something Jace wanted to discuss with him. He wanted to tell Alec to just look him up on the internet; literally, it would be so easy for Alec to find proof of his existence, just as it had been for Jace (once he had thought to do it, that is).

Yet, something in Alec’s expression…the way he said, “It’s been two days! I was perfectly normal before, and now I’ve gone crazy hallucinating you! Yes, this isn’t real,” made Jace bite his tongue. If Alec refused to look past the initial improbability to ground all of this in a tangible reality, Jace didn’t feel like forcing him quite yet. It had been two days. And it was not like Jace was one-hundred percent sure himself that he wasn’t living some kind of fever-dream. Better give them both more time to ease into it, he concluded; this could all very well end as abruptly as it had started, after all.

So Jace merely followed Alec – an Alec who, for all his denial, still talked to him and indulged himself in what he thought was a dream, so there was hope for him yet – to the rooftop of Alec’s apartment building in New York, all the way across the ocean for Jace, and he got to know another side of his grumpy companion in all this weirdness. Alec looked truly beautiful under the dim light of the stars, shadows playing a fascinating game on the side of his face that Jace could see. His eyes shone when he looked into the lens of his telescope, and not because of any outside illumination.

Jace didn’t forget to take note that one part of him, somehow, was truly singing in their shop’s garage to get ready for their next big show…but, apparently, his brain had so much space now that he could still give most of his attention to what Alec explained to him. And he could swear he wasn’t the only one being enraptured by it all.

“You’re late,” Imogen greeted him when Jace arrived at her house for lunch.

“Hello to you, too, Gran.” Jace grinned.

“I swear you have baggier clothes each time, aren’t you tired to always pass as a street urchin, my child?”

“I love you, too.”

Imogen’s lips turned upward as she led him inside the house.

“You didn’t tell me that you were filthy rich. Why the hell do you live in a dump?” Alec whispered into his ear, walking beside him with wide eyes as he looked around at all the sophistication Jace’s grandmother surrounded herself with.

Jace raised an eyebrow, before whispering back, careful to put a little more distance between him and Imogen, “I’m not filthy rich, that’s my grandmother. Now back off.”

Alec rolled his eyes, but disappeared.

He returned when Jace sat at the dining room table. Alec simply appeared on the chair next to him, still surveying everything with clear awe, from the rich wooden furniture to the pure silver flatware.

“How is your…business going, dear?” Imogen asked as she put her napkin over her legs.

“I’d say nicely, and we’ve booked a couple of shows this month, as intro for other bands,” Jace answered casually.

Imogen nodded, before looking at him pointedly. “If you have any problems, you do know that your inheritance is always there for you, right?”

Jace sighed. “Yes, Gran, I know. But I’m saving it for bigger things, which does not include,” he quickly added with a sideway glance, “buying a better apartment. I’m fine with this one.”

“Ah,” both Imogen and Alec echoed.

Seriously, why was Alec, an allegedly real person, so similar to his grandmother? Jace wanted to facepalm so hard at both of them.

Thankfully, lunch was served, which shut them all up for a while. As usual, it was a very grand affair of double courses and the best ingredients coming from all over the world. Imogen would literally die if she ever did anything but the best.

Even after all this time, Jace couldn’t deny that he was still a bit uncomfortable with that. He had grown up with nothing, and suddenly finding himself being the grandson of a high-borne diplomat hadn’t been an easy shift. He also knew that he could never be fine if he allowed himself to be dependent on his grandmother’s money. That was simply not who he was, yet at this point it’d be useless trying to make her understand it, if she hadn’t already done so.

Alec, though, was a whole other matter…Jace didn’t usually share personal information with anyone outside of his circle of close friends, yet there was an itch in him that urged him to share all of this with Alec. To make him understand who he was, and why he wasn’t rich.

If he could only truly talk to Alec, instead of them just accidentally finding themselves in the same room while they were doing something else…Jace was sure that if they ever did so, he’d manage to get through to Alec. If he learned more about him, Alec just couldn’t not see this for what it was, he couldn’t not see Jace as a real person!

“So, this is your grandmother…but where are your parents?” Alec asked him as if on cue.

That, however, wasn’t something Jace would’ve wanted to start with straight away.

“Dead,” Jace curtly replied, and Alec’s eyes widened slightly.

“What, dear?” Imogen inquired.

Jace cursed himself mentally. “I – I’m gonna die if I don’t taste that pork immediately.”

“Who’s the terrible liar, now?” Alec asked, but he sounded hesitant, most likely still registering what Jace had just told him.

Yeah, having Alec pity him wasn’t exactly what Jace had meant to go for. He made sure to glare at Alec to express his annoyance...but he felt himself losing all fire as soon as he met Alec’s eyes. They were indeed creased in a sympathetic way, but they also conveyed a warmth and understanding that Jace was surprised to find. Unexpectedly, Jace felt his eyes sting.

“I’m sorry about your parents,” Alec told him quietly.

Alec was a cop, he probably dealt with similar situations on a daily basis, so there wasn’t anything that personal about the honest concern Jace could hear in his voice. And those words had been repeated to Jace all his life, so there was nothing new about them. Yet, if he thought about the fact that Alec believed he was just imagining everything, and he was still this into it… Jace had to swallow down a prominent lump and avert his eyes to not get too overwhelmed by Alec’s intensity.  

He didn’t know whether or not to thank the fact that he didn’t see Alec again until much later. It was probably better that way, and Alec stayed with him either way; Jace could only put on him his sudden implacable need to clean his apartment after a long while that he hadn’t. He had found this place a long time ago, and it had always served him right, it surely didn’t deserve to be called a dumpster!  

He popped up into Alec’s apartment only once all afternoon. When he realized, however, that people he had never seen – Alec’s friends or colleagues, he figured – were visiting Alec, Jace didn’t feel like staying to investigate who they were. Better if he just kept some distance. Alec was already complicated on his own.

He couldn’t pass on family dinner, though. That was not exactly a very unobtrusive way of getting to know someone, but Alec had barged in on his lunch with his grandmother, hadn’t he? It was only right that Jace returned the favor, sitting right next to Alec as who he guessed were Alec’s mother, brother, sister and work partner came over for dinner. What did Jace have to do anyway…he was so not used to go to sleep at a reasonable hour.

He tried to place a name to each face. Mary, no, Maryse was the mother. Mat-Max was the teenage brother. Easy? No, Izzy was the sister, seated next to the blonde, Lynn…Lydia!

“So, let me get this straight, or…gay. Your partner got together with your sister?” Jace asked Alec with a smirk.

Alec reflexively turned his head towards him, and they were on Jace’s bed, Alec crossing his arms as he spoke, “Yeah. Been two years already.”

“Isn’t that a bit weird?”

“Nah…well, it was at first. They even hid it from me, thought I’d freak out…which I kind of did. But I would’ve very much preferred they told me, instead of finding Lydia in my sister’s bed. Literally, I think most things would’ve been better than that.”

They both chuckled. Jace dared to look sideways at Alec’s profile. “What about your father? Not together with your mother?”

“No. But it’s better this way.” Alec’s eyes met his for a brief second, before he averted them, clearing his throat. “I just…I’ll go back now.”

“Wait, Alec.”

Alec froze, looking back at him. Jace took a deep breath.

“Listen, I’m not saying now, but…I really think we should talk. No pressure, no nothing, but we should try to figure out what…”

Alec closed his eyes. “I already said that I don’t feel that talking a fantasy out would really do anything. I must really go back.” And he did, just like that.  

I’m not your fantasy, Jace would’ve wanted to tell him.

#shadowhunters #jalec #jalec fic #my fic #my writing #sense8 au #impossibility is a kiss away from reality