The show is — a bit weirdly — playing Sansa and Jon’s scenes as if they’re a romantic couple waiting to happen. (People keep doubting me on this, but seriously, compare their scenes to the way the season two scenes between Talisa and Robb were shot.)
There’s a great mammal in the ocean known as the 52-hertz whale. All year, he practices his love song for the female. Travels thousands of miles to find her. But when he finally gets the chance to serenade her, she doesn’t give him a call back. Why? His love ballad is sung at 52 hertz, a sonic signature one note higher than the lowest sound of a tuba. The average female hears at 10 to 15 hertz. So she never hears his song.
Pairing: Jeremy Heere x Michael Mell (boyf riends/Meremy)
Warnings: None unless you consider dorks being dorks objectionable
A/N: This originally started out as a headcanon so the writing style is more informal-ish towards the beginning. Also this is my first piece of actual fanfic ever so bear with me here. :’D
Jeremy still sometimes hears the Squip talking in his head. It’s so faint though, that he’s not really sure if it’s just his own thoughts or if it actually is the Squip. Either way he doesn’t tell anyone. Maybe, he thinks, it’ll just go away on its own. No, the voice says, It can’t be gotten rid of that easily. But nevertheless, Jeremy continues to live as though there weren’t possibly the ghost of a half-mad supercomputer embedded in his brain.
One day he notices his left hand moving of its own accord (to do what, he had no idea) and flips the fuck out— but regains control of it immediately after panicking and flailing it around for a second. This type of thing starts happening on occasion; usually just small actions probably meant to inconvenience him. That time he caught himself aiming a crumpled ball of paper at the back of a teacher’s head was one of the more notable ones. Oh, and that time he poured a glass of water on himself probably qualifies as well.
Jeremy realizes that he really can’t deny the Squip’s presence at this point, but it hasn’t tried to do anything super malicious, so he decides to wait things out before taking any drastic action. One day he sees his hand reaching for a pen on its own. Normally he’d jerk it back on reflex and that would be it, but he decides to leave it alone and see what happens. His hand picks up the pen and starts writing on a scrap piece of paper. Definitely not his handwriting, he notes with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. Then it stops.
Y O U R F L Y I S U N Z I P P E D
Jeremy hurriedly looks down. Shit.
After remedying the situation, he stops for a moment to direct a mental ‘thank you’ at the Squip. Hell, that’s probably the nicest thing it’s ever done for him. And so it continues. Every so often he’ll notice his nondominant hand moving of its own accord, writing a helpful (or not-so-helpful) suggestion courtesy of the Squip. The notes are brief— no more than a sentence or two. He’ll usually follow them if the advice doesn’t seem too fishy.
One day Jeremy’s at the school library with Michael, both of them studying for an upcoming math test. Well, Michael’s the one doing most of the studying. It’s not for lack of trying on Jeremy’s part, it’s just he keeps finding himself distracted by Michael. It’s not his fault that Michael bites his lip in the cutest way when he’s figuring out a tough problem, or that the sunlight dancing across his face makes him look like some kind of angel, or that his hair looks so incredibly soft and touchable that Jeremy really wants to run his fingers through it. Man, he thinks, some girl’s gonna be so lucky to have him someday.
He shakes his head and turns back to the study guide for what must be the fifth time when he finds his hand moving to write a note from the squip. It’s become a common enough occurrence that he’s not too fazed by it, but he’d really like to make some headway on this problem, so he’ll just check the note once he’s finished. His Squip-controlled hand sets down the pen and taps on the desk impatiently. In a minute, Jeremy thinks. But the Squip isn’t having it apparently, because it slides the study guide off the table. He curses under his breath and reaches to pick it up when the Squip suddenly forces him to wipe something else off the table. It’s the note.
A S K H I M O U T A L R E A D Y.
What?! Jeremy has to stifle a snort. He’s obviously not gay, as evidenced by his massive crush on Christine. The Squip must be more broken than he thought.
His hand snatches a pen off the table and scribbles on the back of the note. Jeremy thinks he can almost hear an exasperated sigh in the back of his mind.
Y O U R O B L I V I O U S N E S S I S K I L L I N G ME.
Jeremy’s face reddens a bit as he crumples the note and resumes studying. But he still can’t concentrate, thanks to the Squip’s comment. So what if he thinks Michael’s attractive? Doesn’t mean he’s gay. It’s not like he wants to make out with Michael, or hold hands with him, or cuddle with him, or…
Well it doesn’t matter either way. Michael’s probably straight as a board, and even if he weren’t, he could do so much better than Jeremy. Not that he’s jealous or anything. Just stating the facts. Jeremy’s a just another hopeless nerd, but Michael’s so cool in his own way and he doesn’t even know it. Guys like him are cool in college. Guys like Jeremy just fade into the background. But regardless, he has a math test to study for.
Less than ten minutes later he finds his hand moving to write another note. He considers jerking it away but can’t bring himself to do it.
“Dude! You never told me you were ambidextrous!” Michael practically jumps out of his chair in excitement. He leans across the table to get a better look at Jeremy’s squip-controlled hand, which suddenly stops writing and moves to cover the note.
“What— oh,” Jeremy freezes up. Sure enough, he’d been working a math problem with his right hand while the Squip wrote a note with his left, “Uh, yeah… I guess it just never came up? It’s really not a big deal.” A light blush dusts his cheeks as Michael picks up his hand and stares at it in amazement. Jeremy figures it’s probably best to just let Michael believe this whole ambidextrous thing instead of telling him the Squip is back and has taken to spontaneously writing notes of advice with his nondominant hand.
“Not a big deal?!” Michael cries, “Are you serious? Only two percent of humanity is ambidextrous, you happen to be one of them, and you’re telling me that it’s not a big deal? It’s freaking AWESOME!”
“If you’re about to say we should celebrate this by getting stoned in your basement, I’m gonna have to pass.” Jeremy deadpans as he gently removes his hand from Michael’s. Have his hands always been this soft?
“GASP!” Swooning dramatically, Michael clutches his chest and falls back into the chair “I AM HURT.”
“I’m sure you’ll survive.” Jeremy says with a laugh. Even if the Squip were right about him liking Michael, he decides it wouldn’t be worth risking their friendship. The pain of losing moments like these greatly outweighs the possible benefits of confessing— BUT there’s nothing to confess so it doesn’t matter anyway! He glances toward Michael, who has gone back to his study guide and is doing that cute lip biting thing again…
… Okay so maybe there’s a little that could possibly be confessed.
Michael gestures towards the note currently covered by Jeremy’s Squip-writing hand. “So what were you writing anyway? With that hand, I mean.”
Jeremy freezes. Just when he thought he was in the clear too.
“How do you even take two sets of notes at once?” Michael muses, “That’d have to involve some serious parallel processing capacity on your part.”
Shit-shit-shit-shit-SHIT. Jeremy lifts his hand slightly so he can see the note. Maybe it’s nothing he’d have to worry about Michael seeing? Yeah, he can probably just write it off as a note to himself for later on. It’s probably nothi—
I R E A L L Y L I K E Y O U M I C H A E L.
“Uh— it’s nothing,” Jeremy says a little too quickly. He’s sweating bullets.
“Oh?” Michael raises an eyebrow, “Well if it’s nothing, then I’m sure you won’t mind if I just—” he moves to snatch the note but Jeremy slaps his hand back over it.
“I-It’s just a memo,” he stutters unconvincingly as his face turns bright red. Is the Squip seriously trying to set them up?
“Just a memo?” Michael grins wickedly and slaps his hand over Jeremy’s own to wrestle for the note, “Gee, you’re awfully cagey about it for being something that’s ‘just a memo’.”
“AUGH— Come on man!” Try as he might, it’s a losing battle. Jeremy’s left hand seems to be actively betraying him as he struggles to keep the note away from Michael. Goddamn Squip is probably laughing it up right now. They grapple a few more seconds before Michael emerges victorious with the note. Jeremy’s face falls and he can feel a pit forming in his stomach. There’s only seconds until their friendship is ruined.
“AHA!” Michael raises it high in the air like a victory trophy. “Time to see what dark secrets—” his triumph turns to shock, and his lips part in an ‘o’ shape as he stares at the note. “…Oh…”
“I-It’s not what you think!” Jeremy laughs nervously, knowing full well there’s no way out of this. He’s awaiting Michael’s response like a prisoner waiting for execution.
“You sure about that?” Michael begins, blushing hard, “Because, I mean, this seems pretty…” he searches carefully for his next words, “…straight-forward.”
Jeremy’s sure there’s nothing he could do to make this any worse. But naturally he finds a way. “…Pun intended?” He buries his face in his hands as he realizes what he just said.
Michael just stares at him for a moment. His expression is unreadable. Then he starts to laugh softly, in that way Jeremy always thought was so cute but now couldn’t be more worrying to hear. “Oh my god… Jeremy.” He sighs as though he’s been holding his breath for a long time, “You big dork.” He says as his face breaks into a smile.
Jeremy looks up. His heart is racing a million miles an hour it’s pounding so loudly he’s sure Michael can hear it. “Wait, you’re not…” he trails off. Mad? Straight? Interested? He’s not sure what he’d prefer at this point. It feels like he’s floating, ready to drop into freefall or soar into the sky at any moment.
Michael grins, “I really like you too.”
His heart soars.
“I have for a while now.” Michael admits sheepishly, “I just thought you didn’t, uh, swing that way.”
Jeremy melts right then and there. He’s pretty sure he would’ve passed out if he hadn’t been sitting down. God, how didn’t he see it before? He can hear a faint “I told you so.” in the back of his mind but he doesn’t care. Michael likes him too and that’s all that matters. Jeremy gathers his courage and straightens up, a look of intense determination on his face, “D-Do you wanna maybe finish studying back at my place?”
@chiisana-sukima for some reason I can’t reblog that parallels post anymore, but yessssssss
Sam’s room - yes PLEASE, because your idea of it being warded like that works perfectly with the fact that it keeps changing location.
The Bunker decided not long after the boys moved in that Sam would be safe when he slept; there were too many nights when Sam would still wake up breathless, the names of lovers and lost friends and tormentors alike all dying unspoken on his lips. Too many nights where he refused to sleep until it was almost dawn, choosing to distract himself because the memories are just a little too close at hand. So the Bunker cocoons his room away every night in the depths of the maze; it makes sure to have him back before morning, though it doesn’t always quite put him back in the same place, not after Dean snuck in that one morning to play music on full blast.
It hasn’t quite forgiven Dean for what happened under the Mark. Oh, it doesn’t blame him particularly for destroying doors when he was a demon; he was a demon, he was barely the same creature. The Bunker treated him as such - it has no eyes after all - trying to protect Sam by weaving extra passages between the two of them, only letting Dean find Sam when Castiel was close enough to help. But since that last day with the Steins, with what happened in the library, Dean’s room has a habit of being slightly… misplaced in the morning. Dean hasn’t said anything. He still hasn’t forgiven himself, so why would the Bunker?
It wishes Cas would stay more. It quite agreed with Kevin (oh, the Bunker tried to commune with Kevin’s ghost, but he just couldn’t hear the Eldritch being the way Cas can) that Winchester pity sessions are annoying. Dean tends to be happier when Cas is around, and, well, the Bunker grew rather attached itself when Cas stayed those few weeks when he was ill. It tries to feel more like home, this weird amalgamation of ideas and memories of all the people who’ve stayed inside its walls, but it doesn’t quite know what Cas wants; austere hallways of light? Or dimly lit rooms smelling faintly of whiskey and leather and gunpowder. Cas doesn’t know what he wants either.
The six weeks when the boys were gone were hard on both Cas and the Bunker. He had a habit of forgetting the lights, wandering the halls in pitch black, losing himself in the grief and the guilt, trying to hide from the shadow of Lucifer.
Lucifer, now it hates Lucifer. It hates the scent of rust that trails in his wings. It hates how Sam stopped sleeping again when the boys knew Lucifer was free. It hates how Cas sometimes wanders into the kitchen expecting to see a television on the counter, and stands there staring while he remembers where he is.
But the fact that both episodes were written by Andrew Dabb doesn’t have to mean anything. What’s more, the fact that Cas did the same for Dean in 9x22 and that the three episodes were written by Dabb is pure coincidence.