For the utterly adorable @euryalex, here is the companion piece to Swan Song - the reunion and reconciliation of Wyll Ravengard and Tara Lunarsong. Thank you so much for your patience, lovely; as always, an absolute pleasure to work with you!
Imperfect Harmony
His eyes hadn’t changed.
Still warm, still longing, still entirely focused on her, even when his expression was so filled with fear. Yet what could Wyll Ravengard possibly be afraid of? He was so much more than the mere Blade of Frontiers he had been when they had met; a hero in his own right, a leader of the disenfranchised, a protector of the needy, and now a Harper, too. Anyone who could endure life at Jaheira’s right hand should fear nothing but that sharp tongue of hers, surely.
There was fear in his smile, even as the expression faded into guilt and worry, an unspoken acknowledgement of what had brought them back together. Tara kept her own lips straight, kept the smile that wanted to welcome Wyll back into her life at bay. Even now, her time could be measured in how the people around her read her reaction to everything that was presented. And though Wyll was by her side ... he had brought with him the broken body of her incidental lover, his companion who had sacrificed his life so that Wyll could come home.
She laid her hand on Khiran’s chest one last time, her own guilt stirring for the affectionate way she had used this young man’s attachment to her. He had offered her physical comfort when she needed it most, and she had been grateful, yes. But she had never loved him, not in the way he deserved, and now he was dead, mangled in his last moments rather than allow that fate to befall his senior Harper companion.
Her Wyll.
Her hand fell to her side as she stepped back, fingers twitching with the temptation to twine with Wyll’s in this moment, to seek and give comfort over the death of a companion to them both. A man who might still live, were it not for the tangled web they wove between them. A good man, who could and should have had so much more life ahead of him.
Yet she could not keep the hope from her voice as she raised her eyes to Wyll’s, marvelling at the flame reflected in his dark sweetness looking down at her.
“Will you come to the house? We ... I would like to see you there.”
Her eyes hadn’t changed.
Still guarded in the first moments of seeing, still offering only flashes of the feeling inside, but when that feeling shone through ... Wyll’s heart felt as though it might burst from his chest. There was sadness there, of course, grief for the loss of her lover so cruelly taken from her and returned in this terrible state by a man she had likely thought she would never see again. But beneath that sadness, he saw - he thought he saw - all the warmth, all the love, all the hope they had once kindled in one another. Could it be true? Was she pleased to see him again, even in the midst of this tragedy?
He stood at her side, under Jaheira’s sharp gaze, and fought not to reach for his Tara’s hand. He could see the shake in that hand as she reached out to Khiran, as she said her final farewells under the watchful eyes of those who had also loved him for his youthful kindness and bright warmth. He wished he dared to take that shaking hand in his as she stepped back to him, yet what right did he have to offer such comfort? Khiran had died because of him; because he had shared too much with the younger man of what Tara meant to him, of what he had once meant to Tara.
Because that good young man had seen the danger first, and rushed to meet death willingly, just so that Wyll could be the one standing here, mourning him at Tara’s side.
He had wanted to hate the boy - man, he corrected himself. Oh, how he had wanted to hate him when he learned of his closeness to Tara. But how could you hate a young man whose only wish was to be your friend, to fight the good fight, and protect the hearts of those he loved? Khiran’s last act had been to extract a promise from Wyll himself, and here he was, struggling to understand how he could fulfil it.
Then she turned to him, and all he saw was her eyes, guarded and warm and inviting, as she offered up words he had never thought he would be gifted from her again.
“It would be an honour, and a pleasure. I have missed you, Tara.”
The dinner was a simple affair, not at all like the lavish feast that had marked their last meal together. Yet this was much more what they had shared in the early days of their friendship - good food, scavenged from somewhat unlikely places, cooked well by someone who cared enough to make it enticing even to an adventurer who had seen too much viscera for one day. There was no audience this time ... well, not unless you counted Yenna, who had been left with her by a weary Jaheira when the elder Harper passed through in search of her wayward underlings. Tara’s reunion with her much-missed adopted daughter had been tear-filled and angry, but ultimately they had found their balance without the complication of Wyll’s presence to lend a sense of guilt to their enjoyment of one another for a day or two.
The girl had accosted Wyll the moment he came into sight and monopolised the conversation effortlessly through every course laid in front of her, yet Tara did not mind in the slightest. It allowed her to watch him, to read the experience of their lost years in his face and manner, to understand the weariness in him through the words he gave to Yenna. She saw the favouring of his left arm, tracking it to an old injury in his shoulder; the slight stiffness in his back from walking under the dead weight of a friend for several miles. She saw the Harper, the duke, the hero, the Blade ... and finally, as he relaxed in her company for the first time in years, she saw the man, and felt her heart skip a beat at his smile.
He was here with her, home at last. Not wearing the title of companion or fiance or playing a role for the masses looking to him. He had missed her. And Tara knew, even as she smiled along with him, that she had never stopped loving him.
The dinner was pure heaven.
Wyll sat comfortably with Tara and Yenna - the women he had never stopped thinking of as his wife and his daughter - eating a meal even Gale would not have sniffed at, drinking a wine Astarion might have actually conceded was drinkable,, perched on a chair so well cushioned Karlach might have fallen asleep, sharing stories that Shadowheart and Halsin and Lae’zel would have delighted in picking apart in their own ways. For the first time in years, it felt like home, to sit by Tara’s side and listen to Yenna’s excited chatter, glad to see their reunion had gone well in his absence.
A shame, then, that it had been caused by a loss; a death he might never forgive himself for. How much more hurt had he handed down to her, in bringing back the lover she had taken only after he had found peace in the arms of Cyric’s minions? How much more pain could she take from him? And why, even after all he had done and failed to do, why could he not prevent himself from hoping that Tara might forgive him for everything that had gone before?
His hand brushed hers as he poured her fresh wine, and she didn’t flinch from his touch. Indeed, she smiled, and in that smile he found himself daring to see everything he hoped for. Had it been long enough? Had she missed him as he had missed her? Had her heart ached so much, as his had done, that she had taken the comfort offered by Khiran in that light? Or had he broken her heart once again, and she now sought to spare him that guilt?
She was so beautiful, still. Tempered by sorrow, and somehow more compelling than ever. He didn’t deserve her - never had, and likely never would. He would never be the man she truly needed him to be. He would always carry the blood of the men she had once loved on his hands.
Hands that she had never flinched from, and even now, laid her own palm upon in comforting solidarity and laughter at Yenna’s antics. Hands that longed to touch and be touched, to hold on and never let go. Hands that trembled as Yenna finally excused herself to her bed, leaving two sore hearts alone in the quiet of a little home, with too many memories unspoken between them.
Tara leaned toward Wyll as Yenna slipped away, reaching to refill his cup, drawing his attention back to her. After so much time apart, she could not quiet believe how easy it was to slide back into these comfortable, routine motions. How easy it was to read him in all his complexity and raw emotion.
“You couldn’t have stopped him.”
His eyes, dark and storm-filled, snapped up to meet her own, surprised by her words. Surprised enough that he let her hear the bitterness in the huff of laughter that escaped his lips before he spoke.
“I should have been the one keeping an eye out,” he said, recrimination plain in each word. “He should never have been in that position.”
She stared at him, so mired in his own sense of guilt and responsibility. And she knew she had to take the risk and speak her heart, or he might never rise from the depths to which he was sinking.
“No doubt people would think me very callous for this, but I cannot be sad that you live,” she said, watching his face carefully, braced for the moment when she might have to escape to protect her bruised heart all over again. “Khiran was a good man. But I am glad that we buried him tonight, and not you.”
“Tara ...” Her name on his breath was heart-stopping, even as he leaned toward her, his face a picture of confused pleasure and pained guilt. “Aren’t you angry? He died to save my life, I can’t ... I can’t bring him back. I can’t make his sacrifice have been worth it. I am still the same man I was. The same man who hurt you.”
Her own smile softened in the face of his confusion, his insistence on holding the blame close to his heart.
“Wyll Ravengard, you must think yourself a lost cause if you think I ever stopped loving you,” she said, brown eyes intense upon his, daring him to look away and miss the truth of her heart laid bare before him. “It wasn’t you I ran from. I could never run from you. But that life ... what it made of us ...” She drew in a shuddering breath, reaching out to hold onto him as the echo of that old grief rippled through her. “I lost myself long before we lost our baby.”
How could he ever have thought she hated him? How could he think that now?
He stared at her, taking in the tremble, the softness, the weary ache laid bare before him, and his own heart yearned for her all over again. Her name on his breath felt as natural as the beat of that aching heart within his chest, yet still he fought the urge to gather her into his arms. He had to know; he had to be sure he had not poisoned her against him with his accursed luck.
“I should have been there with you,” he heard himself say, itching to slide closer, opting instead to curl her hands between his own, stroking callused fingers over her knuckles, her palms. “I should have fought back against what the city wanted to make of us.”
“You didn’t know what was going to happen when we agreed to it,” she countered, and he couldn’t help the brief smile that rose on his face at the familiar sense of an affectionate argument he was not going to win. “And it was a choice we made, Wyll. You never forced my hand. Ever.”
“But ... Khiran ...”
“Is dead, and for that, I am sorry.” He heard the regret in her voice, felt it in her touch, saw it in her eyes ... and saw it overtaken by the determined rush of love he had thought he might never see again. “But I meant it with all my heart when I say that I am not sorry you live. If he had brought me your body ... I do not know what I would have done.”
“Tara ... my own dearest heart ...”
In the face of that confession, how could he do anything but take her into his arms, gather her close, let her wash his shoulder in her tears as he washed her hair with his own? This was what they had not done when the grief fell upon them; this was what had pushed them apart. Not the feeling, but the lack of sharing, the lack of time, the lack of acknowledgment. He had let the city dictate to him who and what he should be; she had done the same.
But here and now, there was no city, no people, no expectation. There was just Tara, his Tara, and a kiss that had been too long in the making.
“Tara?”
The warmth of the sun on her skin had begun to rouse her before Yenna’s unrepentant whisper completed her waking. Tara’s eyes slowly blinked open, her cheek rubbing tenderly against the warm firmness of her pillow as it rose and fell beneath her. For a moment, she found herself wondering why her covers were wrapped so close about her shoulders ... before realising that she was not, indeed, embracing a pillow as she had done for so many nights.
Carefully, she tilted her head back, an unguarded smile bursting forth to light her face as she saw her Wyll, as wrapped in her arms as she was in his. He slept soundly, mouth open, faintly purring snores filling the room, but all the while, he held on tight, beginning as he meant to go on. He had said he had no intention of letting her go again. She had promised he would never need to. Their night had been shared, as much words as caresses, learning what had changed, what was the same, how much they had both yearned for what they had let slip through their fingers thoughtlessly in the face of too many expectations. She drew her fingertips along the line of his jaw, biting down on a laugh when this drew a sleepy snort and a smack of his lips before he sank back into peaceful slumber once more.
Yenna was just barely peeking through the bedroom door, a wide, hopeful grin on her face as he took in the scene before her.
“Does this mean we’re coming home with you now?” she whispered across the room.
Tara’s smile softened thoughtfully.
“I’ll tell you later,” she whispered in response, wriggling her fingers to dismiss the nosy young woman she had missed almost as much as she had missed Wyll.
As the door closed on Yenna’s giggles, she looked back up at her sleeping lover, the only man who had ever truly held her heart with her full and knowing consent. There were many more words that needed to be said, many more questions and answers to be shared. They were different people now, however much they wanted to believe they had not changed. But for all those changes, all those flaws, the core of who they were together was truly unchanged.
They deserved a chance to play their song once more, and let those broken chords bring them together once more in a soaring celebration of their imperfect harmony.
Day 4 of B&B's (@drgarth and @starrynightdeancas) Holiday Advent Calendar Event! (Aka the one I wrote in parallel to day 3 so it's done nearly at the same time. Only this is 3k of Midam. There's still no Starbucks.)
Take A Family Photo//Ugly Christmas Sweaters//"We Wish You A Merry Christmas"
“Come on, Michael,” Adam said, using his best puppy eyes. Those worked nine out of ten times – and he could see Michael's resolve faltering already.
“Fine.” Michael sighed and changed his visage so that he was wearing a Christmas sweater over his t-shirt.
“And the hat,” Adam said, putting on his own Santa hat.
Michael narrowed his eyes at him.
“Okay okay, leave the hat.” He kissed Michael softly, then pulled away to head for the kitchen. “Now. I'm gonna go check on the cookies, can you open the door when the guys come? They should be here any moment now.”
He felt more than heard the next sigh. “Alright,” Michael called after him.
Dean wasn't sure what he had expected, but it hadn't been Michael – it took him a moment to recognise his 'visage', since he had only seen it, like, twice – in an ugly Christmas sweater. At least Cas and Sam seemed just as thrown as he was, staring at him in surprise and mild concern.
(Keep reading under the cut)
Only Jack took it in stride. “Hi, Michael,” they said, raising a hand in that awkward kind of greeting they must have learned from Sam.
“Hello,” Michael said tonelessly, then simply walked away, leaving them at the open door. A moment later, Dean heard him call: “Adam, you brothers are here. And your brother-in-law and nephew.”
Jack entered the apartment and the other three followed them slowly, none of them seeming sure if they were actually allowed to. But Adam had invited them, right? So it was cool. It was just Michael who was being weird, right?
“You know they're also your brother and nephew, right?” Dean heard Adam ask.
Jack was already following the voices, and Sam, Cas and Dean (in that order) followed them down the hallway. And man, what a hallway. Not only was it clear that this apartment was big just from how spacious it was (Dean also counted four doors leading from it and glimpsed a bedroom the size of an entire motel room), but it was also practically covered in garland. All along the walls, just above head height (or at head height, if you were a giant moose like Sam), ran a line of holly with red berries and stars on it, interwoven with fairy lights.
Dean barely registered Michael's answer to Adam (a sighed 'technically') as he took in the sight. When he finally entered the kitchen, he had to hold back a gasp. There was even more garland in here, held in blue and silver, the fairy lights illuminating everything enough that they didn't need the overhead lights at all.
The kitchen was also big, but still a bit cramped with all six of them in there.
“Hi,” Adam said, grinning. He was wearing the same kind of garish sweater that Michael did, with an apron over it.
“What's with the sweaters?” Dean asked, only realizing after it had come out of his mouth that this might not be the most appropriate greeting.
“Uh, it's Christmas. Gotta go big or go home, right?”
“But you are home,” Jack said. They all looked at them. “What?”
“It's an expression,” Michael told him. “It means to either do everything or nothing.”
“Ah.” Jack nodded in understanding.
“Yeah.” Adam finished putting a bunch of cookies into a bowl and handed it to Michael. “Put this on the coffee table. And everyone else can follow him to the living room, I'll be right there.”
Dean expected Michael to throw a fit, maybe threaten to smite Adam for being expected to follow a human's instruction – but instead, he just walked off again, the cookie bowl in hand. Hesitantly, the others followed him back into the hallway, then into the living room. Once again, Dean was struck by how much garland there was – in red and gold, here, matching the Christmas tree that was standing in a corner near the TV.
Dean whistled. “Nice. That thing must be 80 inches at least.”
“88,” Michael said, glancing between Dean and the TV while he deposited the cookies on the coffee table.
“Awesome.” Dean heard Cas sigh and saw Sam rolling his eyes, but he ignored them. A man needed to have priorities.
Adam walked in after them and gestured to the couches. “What are you standing around for? Sit.” He went and took a seat himself. “Or don't, I'm not the boss of you. But I'm not gonna stand around all afternoon.”
Michael sat down next to him. Jack and Sam chose the two armchairs while Cas and Dean took the other couch. It was surprisingly comfy.
“This place is really nice,” Sam said, sounding too surprised for it to be a platitude.
“Yeah, well. We gotta thank Jack for that.”
Dean frowned at Adam. “What do you mean?”
“Uh, they got us the place? What, didn't they tell you?”
When they all looked to Jack, they nodded. “Yeah. Michael asked me for it in exchange for his help in Heaven. Back when I still had God-powers.” They shrugged and reached for the cookies. “You know, like I got you the house by the lake. I figured they deserved something nice after all that time in Hell.”
Dean winced, and saw Sam and Cas do the same. They all felt bad for that – they really had kind of abandoned Adam to his fate. But it had already cost so much to get Sam out, and they'd been worried about accidentally releasing Michael... And okay, maybe the guy wasn't trying to kick-start the apocalypse anymore, but they couldn't have known that back in the day, right?
Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah. Makes sense.”
“Did you make these cookies?” Jack suddenly asked, beaming. There were crumbs in the corner of their mouth and they were already reaching for more.
“Yeah. Tried out a few recipes – some turned out better than others.” Adam grimaced. “Don't worry, you're only getting the ones that passed the taste-test.”
Curious, Dean grabbed a few cookies for himself. There were a variety of them, some sugar cookies, some chocolate, some that Dean wasn't quite sure. He bit into one that was shaped like a snowman. “Holy shit, this is good,” he said, or tried to around the rest of the cookie that he was stuffing into his mouth simultaneously.
Adam grinned. “Guess they passed the Winchester taste-test, too.”
“U-huh,” Dean made around another cookie.
Sam huffed and rolled his eyes while Cas looked at Dean fondly.
“Oh. I almost forgot,” Adam suddenly said, springing up from the couch to turn on a stereo that Dean hadn't noticed on a shelf before. Adam turned down the volume after the first few notes, probably so they wouldn't need to shout to understand each other.
We wish you a merry Christmas,
We wish you a merry Christmas,
We wish you a merry Christmas,
And a happy new year
When Adam returned to the couch, he sat with his thigh pressed to Michael's. Dean looked at that for a long moment, completely forgetting the comment about overdoing the whole Christmas stuff that had been on the tip of his tongue.
Michael and Adam weren't- they weren't, right? They couldn't be. This was Michael they were talking about. So maybe he let Adam talk him into wearing an ugly ass Christmas sweater, and putting cookies on the coffee table, and staying with him in the first place while also letting him use the body as he wanted and not controlling his every move-
Adam and Michael shared a soft smile.
Oh shit, they were, weren't they.
“Um,” Sam made, frowning at where Michael had just put his hand on Adam's thigh. He cleared his throat. “Um, so... Do you have anything planned for Christmas Eve?”
“There's a Christmas party at a venue Adam regularly visits,” Michael said.
“A party at a...” Sam smiled in that way that said he was completely confused, then frowned.
“It's a bar,” Adam told them, giving Michael a look. “And we both go there.”
“Technically we always go everywhere together.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “The guys have literally met you.”
“Once,” Michael specified.
“Well, I've only been there a couple times too. It's not like we've been living here for that long.” Adam put his hand over Michael's on his thigh and Dean once again found himself staring.
“It's great that you already made friends,” Jack interjected, smiling. They seemed to be the only one not weirded out by this whole... thing. Even Cas looked uncomfortable, though not especially surprised – Dean would have to quiz him on that later.
“Yeah, well. Not that hard with those guys. You buy a round and sing along to Britney Spears and bam, you're part of the gang.”
Michael huffed, but he didn't look annoyed. Actually, he looked pretty... fond, for lack of a better word. And Dean was desperately searching for a better word.
When they'd driven over here, Dean had wished that his mom was with them. For some reason, she had gotten along with Adam better than anyone else in that brief time that he'd stayed with them. But now he was glad that she was on a hunt with Eileen – she wouldn't have liked this new development either. Not after her time in apocalypse world with the other Michael.
Of course Dean knew, logically, that this was another Michael. But he'd still almost caused the apocalypse in their world, once upon a time. And just because he was apparently playing house with Adam now, didn't mean that Dean had to trust him.
“Britney Spears?” Sam asked, still frowning.
Good point – at what bar did 'the guys' sing along to Britney?
“Hey, does anyone want eggnog?” Adam asked instead of an answer, getting up from the couch again and walking towards the kitchen. “We also bought beer, if you prefer that. It's from a local brewery.”
Seemed like Adam was really putting down roots here. Becoming a regular at a bar, buying from local shops... “I'll take a beer,” Dean called after him.
Adam came back with a few bottles of beer, a bottle of eggnog and several glasses. After giving Sam and Dean a beer and Cas a glass of eggnog, he hesitated with Jack. “Uh, are you allowed to drink yet?”
Jack weighed their head. “Well, I'm three, but I look like I'm twenty-three and I'm a half-angel who was technically God for a while.” They considered it. “Also, I've had alcohol before.”
“Oh, okay.” Adam glanced at Cas, who shrugged. “Beer or eggnog?”
“I don't like eggnog. It tastes like raw egg with alcohol.” Jack made a face. Dean was pretty sure that was the whole point of eggnog, but he didn't comment.
“Beer it is.” Adam put a bottle down in front of him.
For himself, he poured a glass of eggnog, then moulded himself against Michael's side again.
“So, did you guys renovate the lake house yet?” he asked amicably. Obviously, he knew more about Cas and Dean's place than they had about his.
Cas and Dean shared a look. “We started, but it's a lot of work,” Dean said. “Might take months.”
Cas took his hand and squeezed it. “Possibly years.”
“Okay? I'm guessing from your happy faces that that's a good thing.”
Dean shrugged, suddenly feeling a bit stupid about how excited he was about the house.
“After all this time hunting monsters and trying to avert the end of the world, this is finally a project that doesn't threaten any lives and that we get to do at our own pace,” Cas said. “So yes, that's a very good thing in my book.”
Leave it to Cas to make him feel better about himself. Dean loved him so freaking much.
In turn, Adam looked surprised, but nodded. Michael was still looking at Adam, holding his hand. Dean felt like throwing up, and not from this weird beer.
“An IPA?” Sam asked, studying the bottle in his hand, not even seeming like he was reaching for something to say. Almost as if he really was interested.
Damn hippie.
“Yeah. It's all the rage now, apparently. Among beer drinkers, at least.” Adam shrugged. “I dunno, I don't know that many butches.”
“What?” Dean frowned at him.
“What?” Adam asked, and drank more of his eggnog.
“Hey, can we take a family photo?” Jack suddenly asked. They turned towards Adam. “I want to make a scrapbook, like Garth and Bess have them.”
“Oh. Sure. If everyone's cool with that?” Adam asked, and really, that wasn't fair. Now anyone who said no would be the bad guy.
“I think that's a very good idea,” Cas said, and his overly polite tone suggested that there was a 'but' coming, “but I would understand if some people were not comfortable with that.” He looked at Michael.
Michael didn't look at him, still concentrated on Adam.
Sam cleared his throat. “Uh, I'm in, but. Someone has to take the photo, right? Or do you have a camera with remote release, Adam?”
“No, my only camera is my phone.”
“I can work the camera remotely,” Michael said.
Remotely? Was he saying that he wanted to be in the picture? Jesus fucking Christ.
Dean wondered if he would wake up from a fever dream any moment now.
“How?” Sam asked in surprise, eyes glistening in that way that said 'I will write this down later man I wish I had a pen and paper right now'.
“Telekinesis. All angels are capable of this.” Michael glanced at Cas.
“Right.” Cas frowned. “I never thought to use it for taking pictures.”
“Well, what else are you using your powers for these days?”
Cas opened his mouth, closed it again. As far as Dean knew, he barely used his powers at all. They did everything by hand at the lake house, so except for him being stupidly strong and able to carry everything as long as he could balance it, Dean was rarely ever reminded that his husband was non-human.
They all lined up in front of the Christmas tree. Jack found the right height and distance for his phone, then Michael levitated it to keep it there as Jack came back to stand between Dean and Adam. Michael had his arm around Adam's waist.
“So... can we take the picture now?” Jack asked.
Then he remembered something.
“Wait. What about Bastet?”
“Oh, shit! You're right, once second!” Adam bolted from the room, leaving Michael with a group of extremely confused Winchesters (and Winchester-Klines).
“Bastet, the goddess?” Castiel asked, frowning.
“Yes, Castiel, the Egyptian Goddess of fertility and protection against evil spirits lives in our apartment and counts as a member of our family,” Michael said sarcastically, pleased when Castiel's eyebrows went up to his forehead.
“There we go.” Adam came back into the room with Bastet in his arms. They were curled against his chest, obviously eager to sleep.
“You have a cat?” Jack asked in excitement. “Can I pet it?”
“They're a bit sleepy. I just disturbed their nap, so they might not be very keen on being pet right now.” Just as Adam said it, Bastet stretched, and blinked an eye open to look at Jack. Then the second eye opened, and Bastet stared.
Bastet lowered their head and raised their butt, clearly going into hunting mode. Michael sighed and reached over to scratch behind their ear. They seemed surprised, but eventually leaned into it.
“Can I pet them now? Why are they looking at my wings?” Jack asked, bouncing on their heels.
“They like angel wings. Could look at Michael's for hours.” Adam grinned. “They tried to hunt his wings a few times, but I think by now they got that it's impossible. Maybe they think they have another chance with yours, though.”
“Aw, they're so cute.” Jack looked a bit like that emoji Adam had dubbed 'anime eyes emoji'. The one with the big eyes that were more light reflection than the black of usual emoji eyes.
“You can try petting them if you want, but be careful. They're a bit wary of strangers,” Adam warned them.
Castiel had stepped up to them, looking fond as Jack reached out and lightly brushed their fingers over Bastet's fur.
“Oh, it's so soft! I've never pet a cat, are they all like this?”
“I think so. At least when their fur is clean.” Adam frowned. “Though I guess there are hairless cats. They wouldn't have fur to begin with.”
Jack suddenly gasped as Bastet started purring. “What are they doing?”
“They like being pet. Have you never heard a cat purr?”
Jack's eyes widened impossibly further as they shook their head. They seemed to be completely overwhelmed by the experience. “Dad, they're so cute! Can we get a cat, too?”
Castiel looked between them and the cat, glanced back towards Dean. “Um. We should think that through before we commit to taking an animal into our family, Jack. We need to... read up about how to care for a cat, and make sure that we know what responsibilities we would put upon-”
“I will take all responsibility!” Jack exclaimed.
“Okay, buddy,” Dean interrupted them, “let's just take the picture now and we'll talk about getting a pet when we're home, okay?”
Jack looked between Bastet and Dean, then sighed deeply, their shoulders and wings drooping. “Okay.”
“You know, if your dads are mean and don't let you have one, you can always visit us and play with Bastet,” Adam said casually, grinning when Dean and Castiel both glared at him.
Adam was, as the humans said, 'being a little shit' – and Michael loved him so much.
@iron-man-bingo Fill: IronHusbands Changing POV
Synopsis: One minute your friends and the next you are so much more. Within that minute the world stops.
It’s weird how you can just look at someone you have looked at thousands of times before and suddenly there’s something there, a thing that hadn’t been there before. Yet when you saw it, you wondered how you’d missed it for so long.
Maybe it was just he was sitting closer right now. Maybe it was the smile of genuine humor. Or the way the light hit his brown eyes, making them look warm and inviting. Whatever it was, looking at Rhodey right now, Tony felt like he’d just found his home.
There was something about the way Tony’s eyes crinkled at the corners. It was cute. Cute. How was a word he almost never used about anything except maybe the babies of friends because no other word could pop in his head when they asked him what he thought of their wrinkly newborn goblins, would be the one he was using for Tony of all people was beyond him? It was cute though.
Maybe that was just the alcohol talking.
It was weird how not weird it felt to be this close to Rhodey. To have been able to feel the heat radiating off his skin. To be able to smell the alcohol on his breath. They’d been this close before. Tony had never been afraid of showing physical affection to his friends. People could speculate all they wanted. It made no difference to him. He knew that his friends were just his friends.
And yet, right now, maybe he wasn’t as sure as he always thought.
He really wanted to kiss him. Instead, he reached over and brushed his fingers over the back of Rhodey’s hand.
It was one of those moments where time slowed down to a crawl and everything happened in slow motion. Tony’s hand moved forward and his fingers trailed over the back of Rhodey’s hand and up his wrist. The pale of Tony’s skin contrasting against the deep brown of his own. They looked so old. The hands always showed age first and even as young as he felt and capable both he and Tony were, they had the weathered hands of men who had spent their lives using them.
Tony’s touch send a shiver up Rhodey’s arm. He leaned in, his lips parted a little. Hoping, praying to a god he didn’t really believe in that what was happening right now wasn’t just a figment of his drunk and horny imagination. Praying that Tony would bridge that gap.
It felt like Tony’s heart has stopped. Something that would normally worry him. Now though… Well, now it was just another factor of time standing still. He studied Rhodey’s face. It was one he knew so well and yet, he’d never looked at it this closely before. Each fine like. Each pore. His plump lips, parted ever so slightly, inviting him in.
He wondered how long he could wait in limbo like this just staring at his best friend. Oh god. Could he do this? This was Rhodey! His honey bear. If he did this. If he kissed him. It would change everything. What if it meant he lost the only person he'd ever been able to really count on?
If he didn't though… he could miss out on something great.
He leaned in, bridging the small gap left by Rhodey. Their lips touched and time restarted, counting off from something new.
hello:) im writing a novel currently and i don't know how to switch between the point of view of the main characters and the narrator ( me ) i suppose. help?
Hi!
Typically good times for switching POVs are as follows:
During a big event, to capture all aspects of the action (usually this is also a way to create suspense, by leaving each character’s POV in kind of a cliffhanger; however, that only works if your characters are separated)
After a big event, to show all aspects of the aftermath
When a new character is introduced, to either show the existing characters’ opinions of the new character or to introduce the audience to the new character’s mind
If (when) your characters go to sleep, they could wake up in a new POV
Any time skips or location changes
Any time your characters are separated
Specifically for character to narrator, any time you want to summarize something (for example, if your characters take a very long, very boring journey from Point A to Point B) or explain something, you’ll want to go into the narrator’s POV. Summarizing and/or explaining is the point of the narrator’s POV, and is really when it should be used.
Also, the narrator’s POV is valuable because, seeing as the narrator knows how the story is going to end, the narrator could use foreshadowing to create suspense.
(However, remember that if you want the POV to switch between characters and the narrator, it’s best not to go into the narrator’s POV very often, and when you do, to keep the narrator’s POV short and sweet. The audience wants action more than summation and explanation.)
TV shows are talk-talk-talk. Movies are walk-walk-walk.
Books are neither. Books are both. Books have the ability to get the reader right into the life of the character, “transplant” the reader’s head into the mind, heart and soul of the protagonist* but sadly, fewer and fewer books are accomplishing this.
In order to have our readers experience the guts of the character, we as writers must be…
