#If I had a nickel for every time someone told me they were gonna take away my [identity] card

[who-is-page]

do you allow anti-endos in your community/group 'Alterhuman Community'? asking out of concern for other members of that group, because one of the members who made an intro [paruf1shh] is quite anti-endo. the first post i saw on their account after the pinned post was a reblog of a post saying that endogenic systems are not real, and they had it tagged "I HATE ENDOS" and i worry they may go out of their way to harass other members of the community/group.

I had hoped that the blurb about inclusivity and our own presence as admins (as a system who predates "-genic" terms and who find the attempts to proselytize around trauma-related "-genic" terms enormously tiring) would be enough to ward off such folks, but I suppose not everything in life can be a win.

After checking his blogs briefly myself, I've removed that individual from the group and permanently banned him from rejoining. We do not allow anti-endos, no.

[samgirl98]

Mending a Family 43/?

Prev | Next

If Tim had a nickel for every time a feral child held a League of Assassin weapon to his throat, he’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice. What was his life even?

“I won’t let you take my dad away from me,” the little kid, Danny, yelled. His eyes were glowing like Jason’s would when he was angry. Oh boy.

Tim dodged the erratic slash of the knife.

“Hey, I’m not here to take away—whoa, watch it!”

Tim barely dodged a slash to his stomach that would’ve had his guts spilled to the floor.

“Daniel James Fenton, put that knife down, now!”

Jazz appeared out of nowhere and snatched the knife from Danny’s hands.

“This isn’t a toy! You could’ve hurt Tim.”

“That’s the point,” the little boy said while glaring at Tim with green eyes. Tim shuddered; if looks could kill, Tim would be a dead man.

“Now give it back, you fink!”

The little boy levitated, trying to get the knife that Jazz had put out of reach. The little boy was meta.

“What’s going on here,” Jason asked. His hair was ruffled, and his clothes were rumpled.

“Your son tried to kill Tim.”

“He’s trying to take you away from us!”

Jason’s firm expression softened, “Danny, lad, I told you last night. I’m not leaving you. Nobody can make me leave you, Jazz, or Ellie. I promise.”

Danny’s lips started wobbling. Suddenly, Tim felt like a dick (Sorry, big bird.) even though the kid had tried to kill him. How was that fair?

“I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to leave our haunt.”

“I promise, chum, I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.” Tim believed Jason.

Danny hugged Jason and clung to his leg while glaring daggers at Tim. Tim felt very unsafe.

“Now, what did I tell you about using that knife without my permission or Jazz’s permission?”

Danny buried his face in Jason’s leg and mumbled.

“What was that?”

“To not use it.”

“Exactly. You took it out of the safe and were using it to hurt someone else. You know you’re gonna be punished for that, right?”

Danny glared at Tim again before nodding.

“Okay, Jazz and I will discuss it and decide later. Now, go get ready for school.”

“I don’t want to go to school,” Danny whined while crossing his arm over his chest, “you could leave while I’m gone. Or he can take you away from me.”

Tim scoffed, “As if I can make Jason do anything.”

“Quiet, fruit loop,” the kid yelled out. His hands started glowing green. Tim barely dodged the beam of light that was aimed at him. Where had stood was a steaming scorch mark. Yikes. Forget a knife. That was the least of Jason’s problems with this kid if he ever wanted to kill anyone.

“Danny, stop trying to kill Tim!”

Jason picked the kid up and took him to another room. Tim was left alone with Jazz. Suddenly, Tim wished for the murderous kid back. At least he knew how to deal with deadly children. He didn’t know how to deal with someone that could pick his brain apart. No wonder Bruce avoided therapy.

“I’m sorry about that. It’s hard for Danny to control his emotions even if he is technically sixteen.”

“It’s not a problem; he’s not the first one who’s tried to kill me—wait, what do you mean he’s sixteen?”

Jazz smiled, showing way too many teeth.

____

It took longer than he would like to admit, but Jason had been forced to compromise with Danny for the time being. He wouldn’t have to go to school that day, and Danny promised he’d stop trying to kill Tim and apologize. Why did Jason feel he’d gotten the short end of the stick?

Jason understood where Danny was coming from. He was scared Jason would disappear and leave him behind, but that was no excuse for attacking Tim.

Why did Jason suddenly feel like a hypocrite? Danny stared at Jason with a knowing look. He sighed. Sometimes, it was horrible that his son could read Jason’s emotions.

They left the room and found Jazz feeding Ellie. Tim was nibbling on a piece of a bagel while staring thoughtfully into space. A steaming cup of coffee was at his side.

“Danny, is there anything you have to say,” Jason prompted.

“Sorry for, y’know,” Danny gestured vaguely.

“Danny,” Jason said warningly.

“Ugh, fine! Sorry for trying to kill you! There, happy now?”

“Danny, that is not how we apologize,” Jazz said.

“‘Danny, that’s not how we apologize,’” he mocked his sister.

Tim stared at Danny, “Yeah, I can definitely see the teenager now.”

“You told him,” Danny asked, angry.

“Yep,” she said unrepented. Ellie smiled at Danny. Her mocking expression looked out of place on a toddler’s face.

“Whatever,” Danny said. He sat across from Tim and glared at him. Jason sighed. It was going to be a long day.

____

Tim hated to admit it, but domestic life looked good on Jason. He had observed the older man throughout the day. He was happier. His shoulders didn’t tense up, and he laughed—not a sardonic or mocking one, but one full of joy. Tim could tell that Jason adored Danny and doted on Ellie.

He carried the little girl everywhere. When Jazz left to go on a run, he played with her. She laughed and played peek-a-boo by disappearing and reappearing. Tim knew she had powers; Jazz had told him so, but it was a surprise to see it.

Tim digested everything Jazz had told him while watching as Jason tickled Ellie’s feet. Her peals of laughter echoed throughout the house. Danny continued to glare daggers at Tim. Tim felt prickles at the back of his neck the few times he turned his gaze away from the boy—teenager?—whatever.

Another dimension: de-aging, displacement, and finding a new family.

Watching Jason spend time with his new family, Tim knew he would never convince Jason to return to Gotham. Honestly, feeling the happiness surrounding the small family, Tim didn’t want to anymore. After all, Jason had left behind his old life and built something good for himself.

He had figured out to be happy, something Bruce and even Tim had yet to figure out. Hell, maybe the rest of the family, too.

That did leave one question in Tim’s mind: Where did that leave him and Bruce?

____

Jason wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he felt something in his chest tighten as he said goodbye to Tim. After all, here was a tie to his old family, and he was letting him go. A part of him almost felt like asking the baby bird to stay with them. To become a part of his new family.

He knew he couldn’t. Bruce would lose it if he lost one of his birds.

“I won’t tell Bruce where you are. He already forbade us to look for you. I don’t want to get chewed out.”

Tim gave a bitter smile.

“You built something great here. I’m sorry for intruding.”

Yes, Jason couldn’t let a part of his old life stay, not while it could compromise his new-found happiness.

“I know you don’t want to return to Gotham, but maybe, and I’m not saying you have to, but think about talking to Bruce.”

“I can’t, Timmy; what if he tries to take Danny away from me? What if he wants to send Ellie and Jazz away? What if—what if he sends me to Arkham?”

Tim said nothing, though Jason felt that he disagreed with him.

“Can you leave now,” Danny asked. He was still glaring at Tim. Jason sighed. His little boy really didn’t like Tim. Well, he guessed it took a while to warm up to the Replacement.

“Danny, stop that,” Danny turned his glare toward Jason, huffed, and then stomped into the house.

“Here, my number. Don’t give it to them, but you can text me.”

Tim nodded, memorized the number, and returned the paper to Jason.

“See you around, I guess.”

Tim turned and started walking toward his car before pausing.

“Before I forget, Alfred loved his birthday present.”

Jason followed Tim to his car. He got in and put the window down before whispering, “I won’t talk about your powers, either. Though I am curious.”

Jason stayed silent. He had hoped he hadn’t given any clues to Tim that he had powers now, but the little bastard was observant. He wondered what gave him away.

“Just so you know, I think Bruce would accept you the way you are, powers and all.”

He put up his window and turned on the car. Jason watched as his brother drove away.

@itsberrydreemurstuff @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit @skulld3mort-1fan @theauthorandtheartist @emergentpanda-blog @jaggedheart11 @fisticuffsatapplebees @booberrylizard @fantasticbluebirdfan @thegatorsgooseoose @cyrwrites @kjoboo91 @crystallicedart @amaramizuki666 @spekulatiusmuffin @meira-3919 @kilasmess @bubblemixer @lexdamo @wonderland-daisy @mj-arts-n-stuff @amyheart19 @dolfay @the-church-grimm @undead-essence @aph-mable @lizisipancardo @purrloin77 @writer-extraodinaire @charlietheepic7 @sinfulloccultist @nootherusernameworked @coruscateselene @chaoticchange @itsberrydreemurstuff @gmkelz11 @feral-bunny31 @paroovian @thatonegaybitch68 @d4ydr34min9 @overtherose @fandomwandererer @vipower001 @thordottir45 @blackrabbitt3t @rosecinnamonbun @bianca-hooks123 @epilepticnerd @dat1angel @consouling @flamingenchiladadragon @all-mights-asscheeks @ender-reader @fuyu-bitch @ravenswife @randomafterthought

[sathellio]

for the genloss ep 1 anniversary I'm rewatching the first vod and I have MORE THOUGHTS?? who knew this was even possible

1. hearing the music and watching the Showfall logo appear at the very beginning has me in my feels. this moment a year ago literally changed my life

2. yes, the Dr Jekyll and Mister Hyde reference is very good, but Right After that Ranboo goes "ow, my head" AND I- we already know they wake up with their arms still in the crucified position so we know this is a time loop thing and the box ending has happened before, but I haven't heard anyone notice that line?? did we just never pick up on that or am I late to the party?? either way ouch

3. if I had a nickel for every time gl!Ranboo dug into something's/someone's guts for a key I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice (bats in ep 1 and Charlie in ep 2)

4. BOO BITCH

5. during the bat cpr moment I never noticed that after Charlie said "to the rough beat of staying alive" he says "I didn't" lmao

6. Charlie's dead stare then the slow pan over to the broken urn is so funny

7. "there's, there's Nothing In the Fridge!" "goo goobie!!"

8. "es splaghebbi"

9. god there's so many good quotes

10. Squiggles says "I can't take any more Loss of these characters" and I know that's just silly goofy referencing the title, but also, all of them were doomed from the start. we know this, and Showfall knows this, but they really told us in the very beginning and we just didn't understand

11. I quote "it's an 8 hour flight" so often

12. I love the soundtrack so much oh my god

13. I also love Sneeg's sass this is fantastic

14. the lights flickering when Charlie pops out of the box is a nice touch

15. why did Ranboo blind himself with a flashlight two (2) separate times

16. *Bat*

17. why does Charlie's room have jello on the shelves

18. the way Ranboo says "I'm gonna go to bed" scratches my brain

19. also how Sneeg says "you would've known ~had you been awake~"

20. do you think gl!Ranboo was confused about finding an exact replica of his jacket in the basement box

21. I love Charlie's fighting idle motions they're so good

22. "what the fuck" *falls off tricycle*

23. man Ranboo really has a record for missing their towel throws (iykyk)

24. ugh seeing the ending of ep 1 for the first time was INSANE

I'll probably do this for ep 2 and 3 on their respective anniversaries! live laugh goo goobie

[bullet-prooflove]

Passenger Princess Prompt List

Please check the updated character list on my pinned post to see who I am writing for before submitting a prompt!

Also read the rules and do not forget to put the entire prompt into your ask!

I ain't heard you laugh like that in a long time

He fuckin' up my headboard, so I'm on my knees like "Dear lord, please pray for me"

I don't got a single problem with provocative

So, don't call in the morning 'Cause I'll already be gone

Give him one kiss, just softly, tease him 

So I'ma love you every night like it's the last night

Well, I'm sorry if I'm oversteppin' boundaries I don't mean to be, but I've just got to tell you how I feel

Why can't you love me like I need you to?

Have my way with him like that

Like the stars are in the sky You and I will find each other 

Smoky, dark, crowded room,

Say you're all mine, touch me under streetlights

I wonder if you stopped his world like you did mine just now

And our love is the only war worth fighting for

'Cause girl, it's just a matter of time until you find That the right guy's starin' you back into your eyes, right now

I know what you did last night I called you up and you declined

Nobody's promised tomorrow

'Cause you already know what you mean to me

Butterfly that's on my wrist, put your hands on me like this

Under pink light in June

I'm cut like a diamond shinin' in the rough

I smell perfume, but it ain't mine

If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you

Now I’m alive if my man is halfway dead

Tell me, how you gonna hurt the one that loves you the most?

Like the nickel on strings and your good old Gibson guitar

Come on, take a ride with me

I burn for you And you don't even know my name

If you asked me to I'd give up everything

Tears rolling down your face when I walked out that door

You pull me in and touch my neck, and now I'm dying

If he ain't holdin' you tight, if he ain't treatin' you right I'm gonna be the first one callin' him crazy 

But there was one night that I’ll never forget

I'll love you for life

Promise you’ll be my last mistake, 

Put it into drive (Uh, uh-uh-uh) Up and down my thighs 

If you ever lost someone that you love

Like the smoke and the drawl every now in the way you talk slow

I'm your favorite fantasy

Boy, I ain't the same girl I was before

If you come from where you come, then you were born tough

Pull the trigger on the gun I gave you when we met

We've been talking 'bout forever since we been together

A problem child, I was rough

If there's nothin' missin' in my life Then why (why, why?) Do these tears come at night?

But what do you do with a difficult grownup?

But you can't cure a broken man or mend his gun-hot hands

Can you feel my heartbeat? When you hit it full speed 

But I can't help it that I can't take my eyes off of you

Boy, you had your chance

More drunk on power than on liquor

He drippin' down on my bustier like ice cream

If he ever singles you up, if he's ever stupid enough I'm gonna be the first one callin' you baby

You should be mine for life, I'll be signing

And I told everybody I was fine for a whole damn year

No, I don't wanna sit and talk

[apomaro-mellow]

Dimension Hopping Part 5

If I had a nickel for every time I wrote Eddie kidnapping Steve and his parents didn't care, I'd have two nickels.

Eddie adjusted his long brown coat as he looked up to the sky. He could see the trails above of the rails like they were a cage. People touted the Transplanetary Railway like a sign of progress. And it certainly was for the fat cats able to line their pockets with stock money.

"All aboard! All passengers bound for Portales Station, the Sonoran Rings, and Mars via Flagstaff!"

Eddie boarded the train, tipping his hat down to keep a low profile in the car with the other working class passengers until the conductor got the vessel going. He gripped the arm of his seat as he felt the initial lurch of launch but soon stars were passing by with the smoothness of Mercurian butter.

He checked his watch. It was just about the time for his crew to be ready. Eddie got up and moved to one of the fancier cars. He definitely looked out of place to anyone who looked. Thankfully, rich people tended not to notice his kind until they needed something. Eddie looked for a certain face. One he had memorized while planning this heist. It was different from all the others. He and his gang were used to sneaking aboard, asking for all their jewels and coins and then going ghost.

This time it was more personal.

He didn't see who he was looking for at first, but just as he was going to move to the next car, in he came, drink in his hand, with a leisured look on his face. Perfect.

Eddie took his bandana out of his pocket and tied it to his face. Then came right up to the young man, not giving him time to react as he got behind, put an arm around his waist and held a gun to the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention please?" He knocked a man's wrist with his gun wielding hand, knocking a glass to the floor to get the car quiet. "No, your eyes are not deceiving you. It is I, Back Alley Al Munson. Now I'm gonna make off with your lil prince here and I'd like y'all to let us go quietly. All I want is to hold court with his daddy. So someone make sure the Harringtons get a telegraph asap."

Eddie grinned beneath his face covering when he felt the man in his arms try to struggle. He put a firm hand on his lower belly. The prissy upper crust weren't much in a physical fight but still, he didn't want to bruise that pretty face.

"Settle down, sweetheart. We'll get you back to your manor soon. Just follow my lead."

Eddie nudged him forward with his hips, forcing him to start walking. His target, none other than Steve "the heir" Harrington, looked to all the other passengers in disbelief.

"Is no one going to stop him!? For god's sakes, someone help me!"

Eddie chuckled and took him to the emergency exit door. "Allow me to provide assistance." He jammed his fist on the button, opening up the car to the vacuum of space. Everyone's emergency seatbelts activated as they screamed bloody murder. Steve screamed too when he was suddenly sucked out into space. Eddie went easily right after him, grabbing for Steve as they floated. Eddie counted the seconds.

1...

2...

3-

He let out an exhale as something warm washed over them, pulling them in a new direction. The weightlessness of space was replaced by a solid feeling under them. Steve pushed him off and Eddie let him. He took off his bandana and beamed.

"Told you it would work!"

"Eddie you son of a bitch!"

Steve watched as a trio of men came to them and hugged his kidnapper deep.

"Eddie? I thought you were Al Munson? Isn't he the leader of the Corroded Coffin gang?"

Eddie smirked. "My old man's name is good for something. Helps people take you more seriously if they think you're the scourge of the West Quadrant and not just his scrappy son. Jeffy my man, you did awesome with that tractor beam hat trick."

"Just don't make me do it again", Jeff wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Next time, let's splurge for the helmets."

"What do you all want from me?", Steve said as he stood and took in his surroundings. It looked like he was in the cargo hold of a shipping vessel. A very, very small one. There were crates everywhere, both open and sealed shut.

"Nothing you can give us", Eddie said. "But your pa is kickin' up dirt where he shouldn't. There's way too much land in the Harrington name and now he wants our town."

"Your town?"

"A little place on Earth. Maybe you know it? You stuffed shirts hightailed it out of there the moment you terraformed Mars though." And other places after that. Earth was considered the backwater town of their solar system. Hand been for decades.

"Why would my family be interested in Earth?", Steve asked.

"Hell if we know. We just want him to step off", one of Eddie's members, with a mop of curly hair said.

"You're wasting your time", Steve protested as they started to haul him off somewhere. He got to see more of the ship. It looked like it had been around for a long time. He was taken to a room and thrown inside. Steve had never been in a place with four walls this close together. All the room really had was what looked like an operating table coming out of the wall. Steve felt the thing cushion and realized it was probably supposed to be a bed. He let out a sigh and sat on it.

He had to think of a way out of here.

----------------------

"What do you think he meant by that?", Jeff asked.

The gang was sitting in the bridge. Eddie had taken his coat off and was simply in a shirt and dusty jeans. He was twirling his hat around. "Gareth, Grant? Care to weigh in on Jeff's question?"

The other two were playing cards. "I think he meant by Harrington saying we're wasting our time", Grant said.

Eddie thought about it. Steve "the heir" Harrington. Known as such because his father, Silas Harrington, had significant ownership holdings on several planets, their moons, and even the space stations surrounding them. He had also started diversifying and investing stock in the railways. All that meant was that when he was gone, Steve stood to inherit the universe. The wealth of the Harringtons rivaled that of the last remaining monarchies. Taking their precious son had to put a fire in their belly.

But Steve saying it was a waste of time rubbed him the wrong way. He got up and went to the mess to whip up something for them all to eat. He opened up a sealed pack of jerky, tossed some frozen biscuits to the reactor and boiled up some mashed potato powder. He plated it up and served his hard working crew, then thought about Steve. He was drinking when Steve had taken him, so he'd probably eaten already. And going a day or two without food wouldn't kill him.

Against his will, Eddie thought about the days he'd been hungry. When his dad went off on a score, leaving him alone with the barest of essentials. With a huff, he carried a plate to Steve.

"Hope you're decent", Eddie said. He used a free hand to open the door, prepared with a knife in his back pocket in case his captive got brave.

To his surprise, Steve was lounging on the cot. Eddie felt a bit too close to a servant delivering a meal to a passenger, not a hostage. He tried to ignore the curve of Steve's hip.

"Food, for his majesty", Eddie said, putting on an exaggerated voice.

Steve scrunched up his nose as he looked at it and Eddie felt a little satisfaction and giving this spoiled man a bit of ruffage he wasn't used to.

"It probably doesn't compare to the feasts you have in your ivory tower, princess." He held it out to Steve, who sat up to take it in his lap.

"Not a princess. And no, we don't really eat this where I come from." He picked up the jerky. "Is this food or building material?"

"Both. It builds character", Eddie grinned. "Where are you from anyway?"

"Venus", Steve answered before taking a bite of the jerky, struggling with it a bit.

Eddie whistled. Venus, known for its floating cities and beautiful people. Figures Steve would be from there. "I bet you've never even touched real earth." If Eddie's mother, rest her soul, was to be believed, then her sweet baby Theodore had been born right in the wheat fields. As close to the earth as you could get.

He and Steve couldn't be any more different. He put his hands on his hips, watching Steve chew on the jerky for a moment more before going towards the door.

"Well, you'll get plenty of chances to get well acquainted with all of mankind's roots. We should be home in a few hours."

Part 7

Tag Team

@goodolefashionedloverboi @xjessicafaithx @newtstabber @am-i-obssed-probably

[grimalkinmessor]

For the fic meme: 🌟, 🎨, 📚?

That first one is not on the list so I'm using my amatuer detective skillz to infer that you meant the sparkle one ✨

✨️ Out of the comments you’ve received on your fics, what are two or three of your favorites?

Well, THIS one is my all time favorite:

aND YOU CAN PROBABLY SEE WHY LMAO. It's beautifully long, it takes me on reader's commentary throughout most of the fic itself, and watching my dear reader slowly descend into the madness that has already stolen me is always always fun :D But I think about this one in particular a lot because they GOT it, you know? They got the exact vibes I was going for, they understood the intricate relationships between the characters—basically they read it exactly how I wrote it to be read. And yes many other people have likely done that but this one TOLD me about it (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡〜⁠(⁠꒪⁠꒳⁠꒪⁠)⁠〜

Another one of my favorites is this one:

Again, because it's long and thoughtful, and because it's from one of my friends whom I admire and value deeply 🥰

And last but CERTAINLY not least is this one :3

Because this one is ALSO from one of my friends that I respect and admire deeply, and because I enjoy making them go absolutely insane 💕 Mwahaha yesss go feral >:3

I adore every comment I receive, these are just the ones I hold the closest :3

🎨 If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Ooo another hard one! Hmm. The imagery that I put in Notre Dame would be beautiful, I think, because I wrote it to be that way lol. But the dark magic symbolism of Tomura and Izuku's wedding in Nickel and Silver is also near and dear to my heart. Nickel and Silver has two, actually, because the scene where they're arguing in the river is one I think has the potential to be really pretty as well!! Though the scene in Cosmic Entities where Light and Matsuda are in the elevator has the potential to be very fun too >:3

But tbh the scene on my brain right now that I would ABSOLUTELY commission someone for if I had the money to spare is one that I haven't even posted yet 😭 AFOFA ballroom dance scene my beloved 🙏

📚 Is there a fanfic or fanfic writer you recommend?

*cracks knuckles* GET READY FOR THIS.

It depends on what fandoms you're into, but for BNHA authors I recommend surveycorpsjean, terryh, lukewarmbeefstew, RayShippouUchiha, katydid, Space_Cryptid, Gentrychild, whatagoodegg, cassieopia721, and I WOULD also recc mrjengablock but she's recently taken all her BNHA stuff down due to an AI scare 🥲

Yes all of these authors are WILDLY different but these are the people I enjoy reading the most ^^ For fic reccs I'm gonna go with Candor by OwlF45, Awakening by Zyla_Sweetbean, Why Are We Here Again? by cloud_nine_and_three_quarters, Play for Keeps by supercrunch, and A Difference of Perspective by town_without_a_heart 💕

For Death Note authors I'm reccing ASmallMoon333, TrashKing, sharptoothed, tsukinousagi, sn0w_quill, neallo, foreskinsmoothie, Min Daae, and TzviaAriella ✨

Again, a lot of different topics and styles here but I enjoy all of them immensely :3 Some good fics I like are vertigo by crimesofhallowed, louder than bells by relic_crown, metempsychosis by palant1r, Behind the Lens by arcadevia, and likely many more I'm currently forgetting :'D

Harry Potter authors I'd recommend are ObsidianPen, Nekositting, Cybrid, and asterisms!

Danny Phantom authors I'd recommend are GothMoth, thevillainofthisstory, EctoplasmicSoda, GhostMalone, and passionateartist. For fics I'm reccing Flight of Defiance!

Marvel authors I'd recommend are ladylapislazuli, tuesday, feyrelay, doctorestranged, Orcusnox, SpiderKatana, and LearnedFoot. Reccing Frostbite by writer168, and The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principal for those who can handle angst :3

Aaaand I'm gonna stop there because if I list everything and everyone that I like we'll be here all day 😅

[canonicallysoulmates]

J2 Gold Panel Kansascon 2022

The panel starts with the boys being all soft for each other, so Jensen participated in the Saturday night concert, and one of the fans shouted out "rockstar" and Jared agrees that Jensen is a rockstar! But even cuter is that Jensen goes "he is a rockstar, look at this guy" 😭

And then when Jared says he doesn’t have the rockstar hair anymore that he needs to grow it back out, Jensen says he should that he personally misses Jared's hair. That they need Jared’s hair back, and his gone to which Jared says "i don't know, I like it" but Jensen finds it annoying as hell and when he says that Jared's goes “I told you that for 15yrs!” And Jensen's like “I know you told me that but I didn't believe you so now you- you proved me wrong”. Your honor, they are married.

Jared says that his hair got to a point where if they were doing a scene outside and it was windy they would have to redo the scene because the wind would blow his hair all over the place and make it look like a wind tunnel, and Jensen shares that actually happened to him on Friday. He was doing a walk and talk outside with his Big Sky co-star Katheryn Winnick, who plays Jenny, and the wind came and messed up his hair. And he grabs part of his hair to lift it up as an example and Jared says he likes it 😂 

Jared has never been to Kansas before so he took the opportunity to go to Lawrence and he ate a bunch of BBQ which led to a small conversation and debate about BBQ and who does it better because Texas has a different way of doing it- as I am typing this I am realizing some people might be like ??? about this, BBQ is a big deal in both states, and people who like it have very strong opinions about it.

Let’s get into questions, in some of the scenes where we see Dean’s man cave we can see video game controllers, what games are they playing and who is beating who? 

Jared says they're probably playing Galaga, Ms. Pac-Man, Pong, Donkey Kong, Frogger that it's probably one of those multi-choice consoles. And that what he and Jensen are playing is what they played in the 90’s so N64 Mario Kart, GoldenEye- he says that if aliens came down to Earth and threatened to blow up the planet unless someone could beat them at something he would volunteer with Super Smash Brothers on the n64. That there were some people on the Walker set talking trash about it so he's gonna take his n64 to set 😂

Jensen says they would be playing Contra because there was a year that that’s what he and Jared would play every time they would get a break on set. The moment the director yelled cut they would run to the trailers to try and beat their record on finishing the game.  x

Could Jensen share stories about Big Sky? In particular, the fan is interested in hearing stories about Reba.

Jensen explains that the show has both week-to-week cases and also the long lead stories so the cases that last the season (or longer) his character deals more with the week-to-week stuff but Reba is working more on the long lead story so they’ve only had one scene together. Only one? It's better than nothing but writers please 😭

Jared comments that it’s gotta be intimidating to be on set with Reba and Jesen replies that it is until you actually meet her and see how sweet she is that she’s like Ruth, she’s the sweetest darling of a human being. In the scene he had with her it’s an introductory scene so he's supposed to go "Beau Arlen. Nice to meet you." and she goes "Sunny Barnes" which is the name of her character and they do a couple of takes and during one of them a big airplane went over and messed up the sound so they had to do it again. So he says his line, and she goes "Reba McEntire" 😆 That she just kind of snapped into being her charming self, and- so Rex Linn who plays her husband in the show is her boyfriend in real life and he was standing right next to her and she goes "oh my stars I just introduced myself as myself!" and Jensen's not too sure what he said but it was like "if I had a nickel every time that happened".

Then that same day it was their dolly grip, Josh's, birthday and they all started to sing him happy birthday but everybody quieted down to hear Reba singing, and he leaned over to Josh to point that he just had somebody who has a bag of Grammy's singing him happy birthday. x

The next fan has been handing out worms on a string, and they wanna know what color Jared and Jensen would want. But before they pick their colors, Jared shares a story about how G is terrified of worms, and how one time when they were shooting they had to stop because she saw one- it's a whole thing but the reason I bring it up is that Jensen's facial expressions amuse me. During the story he is not amused but his best reaction comes after they've been given the worms, he's playing with his and he points out that it has eyes and Jared says that's another thing that because they don't have eyes in real life G's like "you don't know their intentions" and Jensen's reaction is as if he has heard the most ridiculous thing.

Anyways for their colors, Jared says he's going red, and that Jensen's gonna go blue. The fact that he picks both his and Jensen's colors is funny in a cute way. He says on spn his and Jensen's marks were always red and blue so the first thing he said on Walker was that he's red, that they didn't have to give him the red mark but that's where he'd be going so if they wanted his character in place to put a red mark there, and Jensen says that when he got to Big Sky he said he's blue.  x

Have they thought about doing an spn movie, like a long case?

Jensen says that’s something that he and Jared have talked about that maybe in 5yrs. They've talked about what it looks like but they don't know exactly what it looks like yet but that they definitely haven't hung up their boots for the last time. x

Can they talk about the time they first met and did they click immediately? Um, Jensen says he was actually telling the story, in the Big Sky set, about how he and Jared met I'm gonna need a minute 🥺 Him sharing stories about Jared on set gives me all the feels.

I love listening to this story but I have recapped it a couple times so for the sake of convenience I'm gonna do the speed version which is that they met on the day of their screen testing. Jensen originally auditioned for the role of Sam but he wanted to try out as Dean and asked Kripke and co. to contact him when they were reading for that character which they never did the next time he got contacted was to go to the screen testing with Jared and then they got cast. And Jared almost didn't get the role because he had done the brooding thing which is what most shows were looking for at the time but what Kripke wanted was someone smart so his manager had to call and let them know Jared's academic accomplishments, and he too the next time he was contacted was for the network test with Jensen.

So they go and they're the only ones there which is not usual, usually, there's several auditions and then when it gets to this point it's 3-5 people for each role but in this case, it was just them and they got to talking and the rest is history.

Jensen says that they didn't get a chance to run lines together or get to know each other very well before they were called in to read the scene together, that it was kind of instant the way Jared expressed himself as Sam and the way that he was playing Dean. That it was incredibly cohesive immediately ❤️

What was the best part about being part of spn? They say there’s a lot of really great parts. Jared says this: the conventions. He grew up going to conventions as a fan but he never really thought it possible to be interesting enough for someone to want to spend their time, and their money to come say hey and catch up. So knowing that what they have there in the cons with the fans is so much more than any other convention he's ever been to, that this is a family, that it doesn't feel like going to a con it's like catching up with friends and family in different cool cities and talk about a project they're all pretty thrilled with and that's pretty awesome.

Jensen brings up the saying "If you can make a living doing something you love then you never work a day in your life" and says that's been the best part about this. x

J2 Gold Panel Kansas 2022

[i-like-writing-stuff]

hurt [five hargreeves x reader]

request: Hello! Could you do a Protective Five Hargreeves x reader, where the reader get's hurt during a battle and when they get back to the academy, Five decided to confront the reader. They have an argument about the reader getting hurt and you can decide the rest of the plot.

this is set in the first ep of s3, so i switched it up a bit

summary: after a not so pleasant meeting with the sparrow academy, y/n gets badly hurt and five isn’t having any of it

“Rude!” You yelled at the girl, leaning back to dodge yet another venomous spit she tried to throw at you, “Leave my hair out of this, I come from the sixties, what did you expect?”

The girl lunged towards you with her fists ready after making yet another snarky remark at your 1963 hair, which you decided to brush off this time and instead block her attack with the nearest expensive painting you could find.

This morning you were in 1963 at a farm, trying to save the world with the Hargreeves siblings, and now you were standing in what used to be the Umbrella Academy - except that now it goes by Sparrow Academy, in 2019, trying to defend yourself from a chick who can’t stop spitting black venom at you.

“Did you also leave your boobs in the sixties?” Ben smirked, as he got thrown to the floor near you by Five.

“Oh, you did not go there!” You squinted your eyes at him, dodging the girl’s attack, maybe a bit sidetracked.

If you had a nickel for every time someone commented on your teen appearance, even though your consciousness was 58 years old... you’d have three, which is not much, but it’s weird three separate people commented on your chest even though you look fourteen.

“Y/N, focus!” Five yelled at you, blinking away from Ben, whose tentacles were ready to grab him.

“Easy for you to say, no one’s picking on your chest!” You yelled at your partner, finding the opportunity to punch Ben in the face, before leaning back to avoid the spit girl’s foot.

“She does make a valid point!” Klaus sided with you, running randomly with Diego on top of a cube on his tracks;

“I’m your daddy!” Diego yelled at the cube that was shooting lasers around the academy.

“What in the...” You wondered, looking at your friends, but before you knew it, your face was harshly met with the floor, “Son of a bitch!”

You rolled on your back, clutching your nose in pain. Blood poured from your nose, as you let out a series of curse words under your breath. Last time you broke your nose was in 1857, on a task for the Commission and it also was your was task alongside Five.

You lifted your head, watching Ben retract his tentacles with a proud smirk. So it was he who pushed you into a faceplant, huh?

“I’ve spent a lot lesser time with the other Ben, but I know for a fact I prefer him,” You said, jumping to your feet, “You’re done, asshat.”

Ben looked at the girl with a venomous spit, as she walked next to him, crossing her arms. Two on one does not sound that good, but heck, you were a trained assassin, you could handle two jerks with... superpowers...

You took your fighting stance, as Ben made one of his tentacles lunge at you, but before it could touch you, Five blinked next you and quickly got you out of there, blinking you both upstairs.

“Hey, I could’ve handled myself!” You yelled at him, watching as he rolled his eyes;

“You’re gonna get yourself killed, Y/N,” Five calmly told you, “I know you’re a skilled assassin, but these guys are ruthless and have superpowers. This is way out of your league.”

“Take it back right now before I punch you in the face,” You told Five, stepping closer to him, “You don’t get to tell me that! I fought so many times alongside you, we saved the world two times and don’t forget I have been in the Commission a lot longer than you!”

“These guys are too dangerous!” Five said, making you roll your eyes.

“Big deal, Ben broke my nose, it wouldn’t be the first time my nose breaks-” You waved him off, “What do you care so much?”

“There you went, girlie,” The girl with the venomous spit suddenly said, walking up the stairs, “Didn’t know you were a runner.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” Ben added, following her close.

You and Five exchanged looks with a sigh, before each taking on an opponent.

Ben’s tentacles had already lunged towards you, so you figured this battle was between you and him. You jumped back, picking a vase off a near table, hitting him across the tentacle, as he yelped in pain. You took this as an opportunity to attack further and planted a series of kicks and fists at him, managing to push him back.

You felt like you had the upper hand on your one on one with Ben, which made you smile to yourself. You had no idea what had got into Five, since he never acted like that around you. Granted, this was the first time in a long while since you got hurt, but a broken nose is not that big of a deal, you could handle it. 

Somewhere deep down you knew Five had his fair share of being right, it was like you were fighting one of his siblings. You had never went into battle against someone with superpowers, so maybe yeah, this was a bit too much for you, but you knew you could handle yourself.

You kicked Ben in the stomach, throwing another punch at his face. You smirked victoriously as he stumbled back, but that didn’t last long, as the venomous girl pushed you down the stairs after punching Five in the face.

“I hate these pricks...” You mumbled, unable to speak any louder as your whole body was officially in excruciating pain.

“Y/N!” Luther called out, as he had witnessed the scene, “Y/N!”

“I think we should go...” You stated the obvious, as the big guy scooped you up as fast and gentle as he could.

After you and the Hargreeves siblings made it alive out of the Sparrow Academy, you guys decided to lay down and rest for a moment in Central Park. Each and every one of you was beat up, but unfortunately you were the one that was the most exhausted.

“I can’t feel my legs,” You muttered, as Luther placed you on a bench by yourself to have all the space.

“Well, that didn’t go well,” Diego simply said, looking over the pond.

“We’ve had better,” Five said, looking over at you.

“Urgh, cracking,” Klaus cracked his back.

“You alright?” Allison asked Luther, who was staring into nothingness, clearly shaken.

“I don’t know yet,” He said, “I just never had my ass handed to me.”

“Tell me about it,” You sighed, clutching onto your shoulder, “I think the spitter put me in timeout for a while.”

“Told you so,” Five crossed his arms, making you roll your eyes at him, “I literally warned you like five minutes before that.”

“Oh, stick a sock in it, asshole,” You flipped him off, making the rest of the siblings gasp, as they watched you two banter back and forth.

“Now you might have broken a few ribs and your nose,” Five continued, “Was it worth it?”

“Since when do you care so much?” You asked, “Huh? Why do you care so much about my well-being all of a sudden?”

“You know what, Y/N? This is pointless, I don’t have time for this,” Five waved you off, “What is our next move?”

He turned back to speaking with his siblings as they were all watching the two of you baffled. It was not unlike you two to argue, but this fight was... different. Maybe you failed to notice, but his siblings knew he was acting like this because he was worried sick for you. 

Five never admitted it, but even though he respected you a lot and admired your skills in battle, each time he would see you get the tiniest of injuries he would get so worried. And now, against the Sparrows, he knew it was too much for you. 

You guys figured it would be best to lay low for now and find a place, so you decided to follow Klaus who said he knew a place.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” You asked Five, as the two of you remained behind his siblings.

Five turned to look at you clutching onto your side, unsure of what to do or say, as you were trying to keep a pace with him. He stopped with a sigh, wrapping one arm around your waist, as you placed your arm on his shoulder.

“Ever since I met you, you’ve been like this,” Five said, “Skilled both with guns and hand to hand, but easily distracted and so reckless. The Handler told me you’re one of her best, in spite of the childish way you act.”

“Each time we went on a mission we didn’t know if we’d return,” You lightly shrugged, “So why not go down in a good mood?”

“Or why not go down at all?” Five suggested, smirking down at you.

“Five,” You sighed, unsure of how to phrase it, “I’ve been with the Commission for twenty years and if I learned anything from any fight is that I’m lucky to be alive. You never know when you could die, so why not cherish every moment?”

“Well, I can’t cherish moments like these, seeing you hurt,” He mumbled, making you raise your brows curiously, “Yeah, you heard me, Y/N.”

“Well, instead of seeing it as me being hurt, see this moment as I am fine, alive, by your side,” You said, carefully snaking your arm around his, “Now I see why you got your panties in such a bunch, since you’re so infatuated with me.”

“You’re more annoying than my siblings,” Five said, intertwining your fingers, as the two of you followed the rest of his siblings to Hotel Obsidian.

[nitewrighter]

Does Hanzo ever find out what Genji went through/what he was like during Blackwatch? If so, how does he react?

I think he does eventually, like... Genji lets him know that he was in a very difficult physical and emotional place with Blackwatch, and Hanzo’s able to pick up from Mercy that “Okay no, I don’t think you understand, it was really bad”--but she’s also fairly light on the details mostly for Genji’s sake like “Hey, I’m not going to tell you any more than Genji was comfortable with telling you.” And Zenyatta hangs back for the same reasons, and also he wasn’t there so he doesn’t want to distort the details from what Genji’s told him. So the one person Hanzo can actually get the full story from... is McCree.

Also this fic references the first meeting fic so yeah!

----

“Well?” Hanzo had one elbow resting on the bar. Music was faintly playing but it blended in with the humming murmur of the other patrons. Snowflakes were buffeting the glass of the windowpanes just outside and both of them had shrugged off their heavier coats. The bar itself had a homey, lived-in quality to it. Not dirty, but with a definite age to it that seemed to lend a further brightness to the bodies gliding through it and chatting. The icy Andean wind had heightened the redness of Hanzo’s nose and cheeks well before any alcohol had. It contrasted against the cold discernment of his dark brown eyes.

“I’m gonna answer your question with a question--” McCree started.

“Which isn’t an answer--”

McCree leaned back in his bar seat, folding his arms across himself. He almost looked sagely. “Are you asking this because you genuinely think it will help you get a gauge on your shit and move forward, or are you freaking out because things are going more okay than you think you deserve and feel a need to kick yourself square in the Rocky Mountain oysters?”

“Rocky Mountain--?”

“It’s this fried--I’m talking about--” McCree sighed and sipped his whiskey, “I’m saying you’re doing... you’re doing really well, Hanzo. You’re touching base with the team, reachin’ out, you seem to be sleeping and eating better, hell, you’re clutch on missions, but now you’re asking about this, and it worries me.”

“Why should it worry you?” Hanzo’s eyes narrowed.

“Because--y’know... I care about you. You’re a part of this team and I care about you... in a..” McCree cleared his throat, “Team-y way. And... you were stuck in a dark lonely place and I ain’t itchin’ to give you the means to go back there. ”

“But you can understand that the fact that I don’t have the full story distresses me more, can you not?” said Hanzo, “As well as the fact that knowing the more the truth of it is obscured with me, the worse I can assume the situation was.”

McCree scratched at his beard, frowning. “Yeah... yeah I can understand it--but I can also understand Mercy and Zen not spillin’ the beans on Genji’s account.”

“Mm...” Hanzo glanced off and sipped his own drink.

McCree twisted his glass slowly, “Then again, sometimes I think Reyes brought me on the team to begin with because I have a pretty high success rate with the whole, ‘Beg forgiveness before asking permission’ rate.”

Ana called you a charmer, the words almost slipped out of Hanzo but he wasn’t sure how they would land, so he held them in. Instead, Hanzo only mildly gestured at the bartender to refill McCree’s glass.

“Don’t think you’re getting it just because you’re gettin’ me drunk. It ain’t exactly a pretty story,” said McCree.

“I’m prepared,” said Hanzo.

McCree studied him a few moments longer, one hand still wrapped around his glass and one corner of his mouth pulled up with indecision before he closed his eyes and exhaled. “All right,” he said, “If only to keep you from kicking your own ass over what you don’t know.”

“I want you to start at the beginning,” said Hanzo, his stare steady.

“Well t’be fair, Blackwatch was casin’ Hanamura for months, even before your old man passed--er---my condolences--”

Hanzo snorted a little. “It’s... fine,” he said a bit awkwardly. He was more disarmed than really upset at the idea that McCree may have been far better versed in the activities of the Shimada Clan than he had really anticipated.

“Gérard, that is, our UN Attaché, had this whole thing about ‘pulling everything out to the light,’---And the fella was good at it. Could sniff out paper trails and track down dirty money like no other. The initial plan was to get Genji on possession charges and drag the whole clan out behind him. Your old man’s passin’--again, condolences--threw the whole schedule off though. And then we received additional intel that the Shimada dragons might be more.... uh... what’s the word for ‘unusual’ but it’s like... more business-y unusual?”

Hanzo shrugged.

“Un... Im... Uhhh.... Anomalous! That’s the word! Might be more anomalous than we thought and ‘warranting further investigation’ or whatever,” McCree seemed to be easing into the story now, plucking up details from debriefings, “SEP and all its affiliates had been more or less shut down post-Crisis, but there were still worries about human experimentation... strange abilities, and the like. And the dragon stories had been floating around your family for decades, but only when things got destabilized did we consider they might be more than stories. Then we got word that the wheels had been set in motion that the clan would kill Genji before we could get our hands on him--Arrest mission became extraction mission, and extraction mission became rescue mission. The time frame was so sudden we had to bring the Doc along because we thought she would be our best chance at saving him--She wasn’t in Blackwatch, you understand. Wasn’t too keen on undermining the Japanese government either. But... it turns out bringing her along was the right choice.”

Hanzo seemed to be maintaining a veneer of calm, but there was an unmistakeable new undercurrent of tension in his movements and expression as he sipped his own drink.

“You know what he looked like when you left him,” said McCree, “Do you really want me to go into the details there?”

“Yes,” said Hanzo.

McCree huffed and took another gulp of whiskey. The burn of alcohol rasped the first few words of his next sentence. “So it was me, Reyes, the Doc, and a handful of Blackwatch extraction medics touching down in Hanamura that night. Apparently the Shimada clan’s forces were decentralized from the castle. We infiltrated the castle grounds. Found a handful of your security already dead. Took out one more... left his body with the others. Didn’t have time to run a full investigation, or lock anything down. Finding Genji was the top priority. And we found him. Three limbs gone. Puddle of his own blood. Looked midway between... someone had dropped him in a garbage disposal but at the same time... not right--just... gone. The limbs were gone. The wounds were too clean but still bleedin’ out.”

Hanzo’s knuckles curled in, white and shaking as he took a steadying breath. “Consumed,” Hanzo said quietly, “The dragon consumed them.”

“I can stop--” McCree started.

“Finish what you start, Cowboy,” Hanzo’s voice was steady.

McCree swallowed. “I’d seen some fucked up shit under Reyes, but this... yeah, it was new. I kind of froze up, not quite scared, but just trying to make sense of it. But then I snapped out of it as the Doc rushed to him first. I had a vantage point in case other castle security showed up. Reyes was at the opening to that big-ass balcony so he could flag down our evac. So uh, what you need to understand here is that we uh... we actually had very little solid intel as to what the Shimada dragons were capable of.”

“...but I had left the scene well before this,” said Hanzo, trying to puzzle out the timeline of his own fleeing the castle grounds.

“Yeah it... wasn’t your dragon we saw,” said McCree, “See, the Doc, she had to do this... staff... defibrillation thing? I didn’t get a good look at it but Genji, he uh...started thrashin’ and this light sprang out of him. Bright green. Never seen anything like it. He was screaming. Next thing I know he’s grabbing Mercy’s neck.”

Hanzo flinched with some alertness. “What?”

“I mean--first instinct, I’m saying to Reyes, ‘Boss, I got a shot’--like, I know the mission was asset acquisition, but light show or not I wasn’t about to let him kill Angela, but then she hollers out ‘Don’t shoot him!’ And I’m stuck there looking to Reyes like, ‘You’re gonna override that, right?’ And... and Reyes was so calm... I--I could see him doing the math. Breaking people down to resources... breaking their deaths down to trade-offs...”

“You... thought you had to shoot Genji--” Hanzo’s brow was crinkling.

“If Reyes gave me the word,” McCree shrugged, then itched at the brim of his hat, “I never thought someone would hesitate on saving the doc like he was doing right there, though. But.... then she said something to Genji. Never asked what it was, but it seemed to calm him down before he passed out.”

“And you’re saying he grabbed her neck when they first met,” Hanzo’s eyes were narrowed, “But they’re...”

“Well, he was only half-conscious and in this full-on survival mode and she had just... jammed a huge amount of biotic-whatever into his chest. He didn’t know if she was helping or trying to... y’know it was like those times you nearly punched me in the face when I was trying to wake you up from those night terrors.”

“I’m sorry for that,” said Hanzo.

“Psh. If I had a nickel for every time someone took a swing at me out of some kind of traumatic reflex...” he smiled to try and make this seem more lighthearted than it actually was, but Hanzo seemed to still be processing everything, so McCree cleared his throat. “Word of advice, though, don’t make any ‘I guess you’re into that’ jokes with the doc,” he said with a nervous laugh, “No it uh... it took them both a while. I mean, there was this thing there, definitely, but yeah, they were both neck-deep in a whole bunch of shit for a while before they really acknowledged anything.”

“Did Genji take a swing at you?” asked Hanzo.

“Not outside of a Blackwatch sparring ring,” said McCree, “But Jesus, he was scary on the training floor. Still is, sometimes.” McCree paused for a few seconds. “He was obsessed with killing you, y’know. Taking down the whole clan and killing you. Every mission where he got a sniff of you, every mission he thought you might be there and you weren’t, he’d come back snarling.” 

Hanzo blinked a few times and glanced down. He knew it made sense, given the idea of justice their family had ingrained in them, but there was still an odd sting to the idea. But I’m his brother, he thought, but then he thought, But that didn’t stop me. 

McCree seemed to take Hanzo’s silence as permission to go on. “ I’d try to distract him... try to get his head out of his ass sometimes, but a lot of the time... you see any living thing in a state like that, all you can do is give it space. Genji did give us a decent amount of intel on the Shimada clan’s bigger operations... but when it came to actually getting in there... he was always the first one on the ground. As you can imagine, it was personal for him. There were a handful of bullshit ‘stakeouts’ in Japan where Genji would ditch me... I knew Reyes wasn’t telling me the whole story, then again, it wasn’t my job to know the whole story.” McCree sipped his drink. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t know what he was doing, though.”

“...killing heads of the clan,” Hanzo said quietly.

“Can’t exactly confirm or deny that but... yeah,” said McCree. A prickle of alarm seemed to go through him. “Look, I don’t want to kick off any more brother-killing fuckery--”

“You’re not, Jesse,” Hanzo’s voice was subdued, “I was the right hand of the clan... and the destruction wrought by Genji was, if anything, a product of my own actions.”

“Also his actions--He was fucking nightmare--I mean I liked him, but he was a fucking nightmare, sometimes. Lashed out--like... you didn’t really think of him as giving a shit about you with all that seething over the Shimada clan--- but then he’d know how to say something that hurts, and he knows exactly how it hurts, and you wouldn’t know if he learned how to hurt that bad from your family or just because he was hurtin’ that bad and---” McCree seemed to catch the alarmed look in Hanzo’s eyes, then took a steadying breath before sipping his drink again, “Look... this stuff... it’s all in the past. And he is a lot better now. And he is one of my best friends. Kind of wild how someone who hurt you that deeply can be a best friend like that, but... that’s kind of how life works. Kind of how this shit works when you don’t know if you’re coming back from that next mission. We’re all fucked up here. It’s about learning to take the fucked up parts of yourself and trying to make it into something that helps the people that mean something to you. ”

“The people that mean something to me...” Hanzo repeated quietly.  He remembered McCree’s words from his second night on the watchpoint. ‘We’re all just background noise to you. You’re just here so you can stop kicking your own ass after Genji.’ Then he remembered Genji’s words. ‘Well... you’ve been traveling the world for a decade... has there... been anyone? Anyone special? Anyone you loved?’

“...I feel like I’ve let that part of me atrophy,” Hanzo said quietly. Answering Genji’s question, not McCree’s words.

“Atrophy?” McCree repeated.

“When you don’t use a muscle for a long time and... it ceases to be able to functi--”

“I know what ‘Atrophy’ means--” McCree wasn’t making eye contact, “You let... caring about other people... atrophy,” he parsed, trying to trace out Hanzo’s thought process.

“Mm,” Hanzo took a sip of his own drink, “So while I was wandering in grief, Genji was consumed by pain and rage.”

“Which... he’s told you,” said McCree. 

“Well, yes, but he didn’t go into details,” said Hanzo, “I know, this might be difficult or painful to talk about, but I really do appreciate getting a more complete picture of what happened to him after my actions.” 

McCree tilted his own glass back and forth on the bar counter, letting the whiskey rock around the interior.“I know, but...don’t heap all this on yourself. Reyes always said he wanted the cockroach motherfuckers, and he was more than happy to let Genji snap and swear and lash out and burn the house down because that suited Blackwatch’s agenda better than, I dunno, therapy? Only when we got benched after the Venice incident did he yank in Genji’s leash, because hey, it turned out having a PTSD cyborg tearin’ around the base cussin’ people out wasn’t a good look for Blackwatch.” 

Hanzo huffed a little. There was an odd comfort in that. But then he paused, running over the course of McCree’s words in his mind. “...you keep bringing up Reyes,” Hanzo said, fixing his eyes on McCree.

“Sorry--I--I know this should be about Genji,” said McCree.

“No it... it gives some perspective,” said Hanzo, “You trusted Reyes, didn’t you?”

McCree’s mouth tightened for a few seconds before he drew in a short breath through his nostrils. “Yeah... yeah, I did. He just... I mean I’d keep telling myself I was my own person, that I did things with my own style, but so did he. So like... whether it’s ‘your own style’ from fuckin’ Santa Fe or Los Angeles... is there really that much of a difference? If you still picture yourself in their boots, give or take a decade or so?”

“Hm,” Hanzo was thoughtful at this, “I imagined myself in my father’s position so long that when everything came apart and I found myself wandering the world, dodging the clan’s assassins I felt... like a stranger.” 

“Kind of liked being a stranger,” said McCree with slight shrug, “Stranger’s from nowhere. Got nothing to prove.... guess it probably hits different if you got a whole... magical crime lord prince destiny thing, huh?”

“The dragon is not magical,” said Hanzo flatly, but a smile was tugging at his lips. 

“Debatable,” said McCree, “First of all: It’s a dragon.”

Hanzo snorted and a quiet pause passed between them. Not uncomfortable, but definitely tired, letting McCree’s words and all the pain and memory that came with them drift and dissipate into the warm air of the bar.

“...I could tell you more if you want,” said McCree, after a few beats. “I do have funnier stories... wasn’t all... ‘he was fucked up.’ And--Genji did seem to be getting better-ish towards the end there, once they put him on Tracer’s strike team... but by then Overwatch itself was coming apart.” He snorted. “I guess that’s kind of a running theme with this stuff.”

“I appreciate the offer,” said Hanzo with a slight chuckle. He paused. “Tracer’s strike team?”

“Well, she and Winston probably got more stories there than I do,” said McCree, “And maybe the doc, if it’s in good faith.” He sipped his drink. “You’re welcome to run off to try and ask them about it.”

“I think... this is enough for now,” said Hanzo. After a few beats he said, “You’re not... all background noise to me.”

“What?” said McCree.

“That... you said that on the second night,” said Hanzo, “It’s... it’s not that I don’t value life, or other people--I’m just... it’s been a very long time since I’ve worked with other people, since I’ve talked to other people on a regular basis like this, since I’ve stayed in one place this long, and...”  he trailed off, then took a sip of his own drink with some resolve, “I’m afraid,” he said, letting those words sit in the air for a few seconds, “I’m afraid of lending my abilities to another organization that’s used people to hurt other people and then tossed them aside. When your only connection to other people for most of your life was this twisted blood loyalty...” Hanzo trailed off.

“I’m scared of makin’ the same mistakes too, for what it’s worth,” said McCree, “I don’t think fear like that ever goes away.”

“Redemption’s a bitch?” said Hanzo with a slight smile.

McCree broke into chuckles. “You should swear more often. I feel like that’ll help.”

“You’ve sworn plenty for the both of us, tonight,” said Hanzo crisply, sipping his own drink.

“Still, I’m gonna make it a mission to get a ‘fuck’ out of you,” said McCree and Hanzo choked and sputtered. “I didn’t mean it like that! You know what I mean!” McCree was laughing as Hanzo’s attention was split between choking and laughing and desperately looking around for a napkin after spitting his drink. The bartender swooped by with a napkin and the laughs boiled down into chuckles as Hanzo cleaned up a bit. There was another pause then, that same settling of understanding.

“Thank you,” Hanzo said after a few beats.

“You already thanked me--don’t know what’s worth thanking about saying ‘hey your brother was fucked up and so were we.’”

“Honesty. I appreciate honesty.”

McCree smiled and then shrugged.“Hey--y’know, for all the shit I give you,” McCree started and trailed off, “What I said that night about... all of us being background noise... I know that.. that wasn’t really fair. You really didn’t know any of us and, y’know, as far as the general public is concerned, we’re a whole bunch of mercenary weirdoes doing vigilante shit.” 

“And Genji was the only person here I knew, and was really...” Hanzo sighed, “I suppose, I fixed him in my mind to be my last chance at humanity--and made myself out to be a monster to all of you in pursuing that.”

“Well... you’re doing better, I can tell you that much. And... y’know folks are warming up to you.”

“Except Angela,” said Hanzo, with a weary smile. 

“She needs time on that... I wouldn’t try to force it,” said McCree, “Baby steps and all that.” 

Hanzo huffed a little.

“Hey,” McCree lifted his glass, “To baby steps and runnin’ the hell away from all our old role models.”

“Indeed,” Hanzo clinked his glass against Genji’s. Both sipped their drinks and another pause passed over them. Hanzo felt McCree’s eyes on him and looked over at him.l

“Hey just so we’re clear,” McCree’s chin was in his hand, “I didn’t accidentally kick off some huge new bloody vengeance thing by telling you all this, right?”

“You did not,” said Hanzo with a wry smile.

“Oh thank god.” 

[stevesharrlngtons]

picking out the stitches.

roman godfrey x reader 

summary: after letha’s death; peter’s departure; shelley’s disappearance; and a brutal fight with subsequent break up with roman; you escape to the empire state for college and a fresh start. though, after thinking you have been given the space to move on with your life, your father’s unexpected death sends you back to hemlock grove. there, you are forced to confront the reason for your pained departure.

word count: 14.1k (oopies)

warning: mentions of an abusive father

a/n: this is a long bitch, with a possible part two (?) if this is enjoyed by you all! (: i hope the length of this makes up for it taking so long lol. also prob ooc roman bc i love him just being soft 

please if you read this and like it, know that feedback is greatly appreciated and i’d love to hear any thoughts you have!! also im bad at editing 

Tuna, turkey and swiss, BLT. 

No option offered sounded particularly tasty. You had come in search of egg salad sandwich, a surprising delicacy from the Hemlock Grove Grocery Deli that you had been craving since your departure months ago. It felt like comfort food, a way to make being back in town bearable. 

But the stockboys seemed to be sending you a message: there was no good reason to be back in town, and no sandwich was going to remedy your pain. 

“(Y/N)?” 

You flinched at the sound of your name as sweat prickled the back of your neck. The last fucking thing you wanted was to be recognized the second you got back into town. Being forced to interact with any of the waspy bitches or rednecks that attended your high school, especially now, seemed like a personal affront punishable with only your meanest of glares and most backhanded of compliments. 

But, who you found had called your name was not only a surprise, but a pleasant one. Not a bitch or mouth breather in sight. 

“Peter?” Your eyebrows perked up as you said his name, no doubt unable to hide your complete shock at his sudden appearance. 

“In the flesh.” He smiled. That same boyish smile that he always gave especially when you needed to see it. 

Your body worked on it’s own violation as you shot yourself at him, wrapping him in a tight hug. He thankfully returned the gesture, gripping the fabric of your dress in his fingers to keep you close. Peter pressed his nose to your temple and you buried yourself deep into the crook of his neck. It wasn’t until a voice cleared behind you that the two of you pulled apart. 

“Excuse me,” A man holding a wire basket interpreted, seeming less than pleased to have been forced to witness your reunion. 

“Sure, after you, sir.” Peter said, theatrically waving the man past. 

“Stupid fucker, couldn’t even go through another aisle.” He watched the man leave with a scowl.

“Shut up about inconiquestional people and tell me what the hell you’re doing back in town!” You said with a wide smile while slapping his chest playfully. 

“I think that’s a better question suited for me to you, don’t you think? Last I heard you fucked off to N-Y-C.” Peter said, leaning against the display of sandwiches. 

“Yeah? And who told you that?” 

“Destiny.” 

You smirked and rested your shoulder against the display, “She’s got a big mouth.” 

“Big mouth? Who cares if she does! New York is a big deal. NYU, even bigger.” 

You roll your eyes at the compliment. 

“Hey, no, I’m serious! You always were the scholar out of us. Fucking valedictorian while Roman and I barely managed C’s.” He continued. 

At the mention of Roman, you sucked in a sharp breath through your nose, eyes breaking from Peter’s only long enough for him to see your pain at his name. 

“You still haven't answered my question, you know?” You said, trying to seamlessly change the subject, fiddling with the ends of your hair to keep your hands busy. 

“Yeah, well, it isn’t a happy answer.” 

“Enlighten me anyway.” 

Peter gives a heaving sigh, a signature of his, “Lynda got pinched for some shit and was transferred out here... I followed.” 

Your heart sank. Lynda had always been exponentially kind and understanding. To you, Shelley and even Roman. 

“Shit, Peter. I’m so sorry. How’re you holding up?” You placed a comforting hand on his forearm. 

“As well as I can given the circumstances. I’m staying with D, so at least that’s good.” He gives a forced smile. 

“I’m glad you’re with family at a time like this.” You drop your hand and slouch against the display, matching his relaxed posture. 

There was a brief pause between the two of you, before Peter spoke again. 

“Usually, when one party enlightens the other, they are obligated to do the same.” He leans in ever so slightly to emphasize his point. 

“That is usually the deal, yes.” 

“So?”

“My dad croaked a few days ago. Heart attack.” 

“Holy shit, (Y/N/N),” Peter interrupted, face falling into a concerned frown. 

“No, no. It’s fine. He was a piece of shit,” You shrug. 

“Still, he was your dad.” 

“Yeah, he was my dad who hit me and my mom and loved booze more than either of us.” 

“He still was your dad, (Y/N).” He reiterated. 

You purse your lips and sigh.

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to be all fucking weepy about the whole thing.” You say, grabbing a turkey and swiss from the display and pushing off to walk toward the register. 

“No one said you had to be,” Peter appealed as he followed behind you, “But don’t let everything get all clogged up in there.” 

He motioned to his chest and you roll your eyes, setting your sandwich on the conveyor belt for the cashier. 

“I promise you, the moment he is six feet under I will let all my emotions out. Mainly rejoice and relief.” You sent Peter a smile as your sandwich rang up. 

“Four forty, even.”

You reach into your purse, but Peter beats you to it. He hands the cashier a crumpled up five dollar bill. 

You give him a glare, “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Of course I did. It’s gonna be my lunch too.” He snatched the sandwich from the bagging area and saunters to the exit, leaving you to gather the nickels and dimes. 

Parked in a gravel parking lot looking over the lake, you and Peter sat in the cab of his tow truck. Both eating a half of the mediocre turkey and swiss while sharing a warm cherry Coke from the center console in silence. After a brief session of catch up on your lives over the past few months, you were both happy enough to just sit quietly in each other's company. Simply enjoying the comfort of being in the presence of someone you love. 

“You ever hear from him?” Peter spoke up, mouth full of bread and slimy meat. 

“Who?” You at least have the decency to cover your mouth as you spoke. 

“You know who. Don’t make me say his name, you got all squirly last time.” 

You sighed as you finish chewing the food in your mouth, savoring what you could of the cheap flavors as you avoided Peter’s gaze. Once you swallowed, you took a long gulp from the Coke can before answering. 

“No. He’s been out of my life since that night. Really prefer to keep it that way, too.” You replied clippedly, not wanting to talk about him any more than necessary. 

Peter belows a raspberry in response. 

You looked over to glare at him, “What?” 

“I just find that hard to believe.”

“That I don’t want to see the man who broke my heart?” You snap. 

“No, that Roman has been able to keep his distance from you.” 

“I thought we weren’t saying his name.” You abruptly look away and out the windshield once more. 

“Apologies.”

“You don’t have to sound so sincere about it.” You scoff. 

“What happened between you two, anyway? Before I left I could practically hear wedding bells.” 

“Destiny didn’t tell you?” You press your lips together firmly, hoping Destiny had just made up a lie on your behalf to tell her cousin. 

“All she said was that you and Roman supposedly got into this huge fight and you left a few days after. Nothing more, nothing less.” He explained. 

“Yeah, well huge fight is an understatement.” 

“Then what happened?” 

You sigh deeply, reclining against the headrest and wrapping your arms around your middle for some misplaced search for security. 

“It happened a few days after you skipped town. It was his birthday…” 

Music echoed around you as you placed gentle kisses along the expanse of Roman’s neck. You ran your fingers through his hair gently, collecting grease and pomade on your fingertips and under your nails as you did. He had an arm securing you tightly to his side, the other had been holding you too, but he had retrieved it to light a cigarette. 

After the traumatic week you two had undergone, you didn’t fight Roman much when he insisted all he wanted to do for his eighteenth birthday was drink, watch a movie and have you sleep over. You were happy he at least let you buy him a cupcake to commemorate the day, but wouldn’t see to any more festivities. He told you that now more than ever wasn’t a time to be merry. You didn’t blame him, no matter how much you wanted to celebrate him today. 

So, you let him share his birthday cupcake with you in the bottom of an empty swimming pool and hold you in an uncomfortable lounge chair for as long as he wanted. Fortunately, this was as calm as you’d seen him in days and you hoped that continued; at least until midnight. 

Roman lulled his head on top of yours and placed his hand on your hip, making sure every part of you that could be touching was. 

The sound of a door opening resounded in the distance and the distinct tap of heels on tile followed. You felt Roman deflate next to you as you both recognized who the sound belonged to. 

In sauntered Olivia, in a beautiful floor length gown with a sparkler in hand, painting patterns in the dark with the fire illuminating her wicked smile. 

“Happy Birthday, my darling.” She chimed, looking down at the both of you. 

You and Roman both shifted under her unwelcome gaze, neither responding. You turned further into Roman’s neck and you felt his fingers press harder into the flesh of your hip. 

“It can’t be a party with just the two of you, can it?” Olivia said, dropping the sparkler to lay by her side. 

“Well, three’s a crowd. So if you’ll excuse us.” Roman waved his hand that held his cigarette dismissively.

“One is the loneliest number, but two can be just as bad.” Olivia replied in a musical lit. 

Again, neither of you respond. You busy yourself fiddling with the collar of Roman’s tank top.

“(Y/N), darling, you do look beautiful tonight.” She turns her attention to you after the silence she received. Something Olivia knew Roman disapproved of her doing. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Godfrey.” You reply politely, glancing at her briefly before going back to Roman’s shirt. 

“Is that the dress Roman bought you some time back? I remember hearing you tell Shelley about it over dinner.” Olivia continued. 

“What is it that you want, again?” Roman snapped, making you flinch at his volume increase. 

“I have a surprise for you. In the attic.” She gestured using what’s left of the dying sparkler at the ceiling. 

“Can’t it wait?” Roman said, wholly disinterested. 

“No, it cannot, Roman. It is your birthday surprise and I would like to give it to you now.” Her voice became more stern by the word. 

Roman moves to look at you and you do the same. His eyes are inviting you to a conversation Olivia isn’t privy too. An almost psychic communication you’ve had together since the day you first met. 

Do we go with her? Or wait her out until she leaves? 

Just see what she wants. Once she’s shown you we can get back to doing whatever you want. 

Roman pursed his lips before letting out a dramatic sigh, “Fine.” 

He got up from the chair before offering you his hand to help you up. 

Olivia watched as you both climb the ladder out of the empty pool and onto the landing. 

“Let’s get this over with.” Roman gave his mother a firm glare. 

He placed a hand on the small of your back and started for the door when Olivia stopped him. 

“I’m afraid, this gift is for Godfrey eyes only.” She looked at you with weakly masked distaste. 

You felt Roman’s fingers once again probe into your skin, “She is a Godfrey.” 

“Not in name or blood.”

“But she will be so it doesn’t matter.” Roman retorted, harshly. 

This wasn’t the first time he had alluded to your future together, and at the time, you didn’t think it would be the last. 

“Well, she isn’t yet, is she? When she is, then she will be welcome to engage in all Godfrey birthday present exchanges.” Olivia sneered.

“There is nothing you could show me that she can’t-” You placed a gentle hand on Roman’s chest before he could continue. 

This fight certainly wasn’t worth it. Especially not over a fucking birthday present. 

“It’s fine. I’ll wait in your room.” You offered. 

“Off the premise.” Olivia chimed in curtly. 

“Excuse me?” Roman spat. 

“(Y/N) can go home and see you tomorrow. This gift needs much explanation and discussion.” 

“This is beyond fucking ridiculous!” 

“Ro, it’s OK. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You smile up at him. 

You didn’t want to leave him. Not now, not ever, but never with Olivia. 

“I’ll see you later tonight.” Roman stressed.

“Tomorrow would be-” 

“Let’s just call it a see-you-soon, then?” You cut off Olivia, never taking your eyes off Roman. 

He just tightens his jaw, so tight you’re afraid he might crack a filling. But he nods. 

“Fine. I’ll call you.” He says. And he says it with such sincerity that you know without a doubt he will, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

He kisses your forehead and you kiss his cheek, not overly keen on giving him the proper goodbye kiss you wanted to infront of Olivia. As you walk away, you spare Olivia a last glance and the look on her smug face is one so self satisfied it made your stomach churn. 

Roman never called you that night, or even the next morning. The calls you gave him were left unanswered; texts and voicemails the same. 

You would have called Peter, Shelley or Letha to see if they’d heard from Roman at a time like this, but all were depressingly dead ends. 

Under the circumstances that you left under the night before, you took it upon yourself to drive to the Godfrey residence and find out what the hell was going on yourself. You didn’t trust Olivia as far as you could throw her, and you didn’t put any heinous act past her. 

Your worry beat out any common sense you had to stay away and wait for Roman to come to you. 

When you arrived and knocked on the door, several times to be exact, it seemed no one was home. Though, both cars were in the driveway and you knew neither Roman or Olivia would take a cab anywhere. With balled fists you slammed against the wood of the door, kicking your foot against it as well for good measure. You had been in your knocking rhythm so long, when the door finally opened you stumbled forward. 

You caught yourself on the knob and looked up to see who answered. 

Roman stood above you with expressionless features and down turned lips. 

“What?” He asked. 

“Don’t ‘what’ me! ‘What’ you! You never called and you haven’t been answering.” You said, straightening yourself out. 

“You’re not my fucking keeper,” Roman scoffed and turned his back to walk down the hallway. 

Your face screwed up in confusion as you stepped over the threshold into the mansion and slammed the door, then followed him through the house. 

“Excuse me? What is up with you?” You exclaimed. 

Roman had stopped in the kitchen, rummaging through the refrigerator while trying his best to seem unbothered with tense shoulders. 

“Nothing is up. I just didn’t want to call you.” He spoke into the crisper drawer. 

“Since when?” 

“Since now.” 

“What the fuck did Olivia show you? Must have been really messed up for you to be acting like this.” You let a humorless laugh through your nose. 

“Or maybe I was just happy to be rid of you and now that you’re back, I am pissed.” He slammed the door to the fridge, its contents rattling inside. 

Your surprised expression hadn’t wavered as Roman glared at you, his eyes dull and unfamiliar. 

“Ok, so, yesterday you’re talking about marrying me, and today I am some parasite you’re happy to be rid of? Is that right?” You took a step toward him. 

“I was never going to marry you, you delusional whore.” His first real hit, chipping away at your weak armour. The armour he had weakened himself with his love and care for years. 

“If I’m whore, I’d hate to know what that makes you.” You spat. 

“It makes me the fucking billionaire who mistakenly kept around some boring girl with a mediocre cunt.” His second hit. 

“Wow. You’re right, Roman. I am a whore, but I must be an idiot too! To stay with such a man who calls my pussy mediocre when he can’t even fuck me right.” You provoked. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Yeah? Why don’t you? Because for as long as I can remember I’ve been faking my orgasms just to get your pathetic little prick out of me. Is that why you cry after Roman? Because you know about that weak excuse of a dick between your legs?” 

You were being cruel and frankly, spinning lies. But he was hurting you and you wanted to hurt him back. 

“No, I cry thinking about all the other guys you let between your legs. Maybe that’s why daddy hits you, huh? Hoping that one day he hits you hard enough to rattle that whore brain so hard it kills you? So he won’t have to live with the shame? Or maybe he hopes if he hits you enough you’ll finally drop to your knees and show him that head everyone in town talks about.” The last hit, and the one that broke you. 

You close the last few steps between you and strike him as hard as you can muster across the face, cranking Roman’s head to the side with the impact. The slap rings loudly through the room, so do your sniffles. 

“How can you be so cruel? How could you ever say that to me?” You scream through tears. 

“Just speaking the truth.” Roman said smoothly, his head still rotated. 

“What is going on with you? What happened last night?” 

“I came to my senses, that’s what happened. I realized that I was sick of wasting all my time on a miserable little bitch when I could be out fucking real women.” He says through gritted teeth, “Real women who don’t need so much tedious validation from me.” 

“Are you done?” You snapped, your throat thick with tears. 

“With you. Yes.” 

You couldn’t think of anything else to say. Malicious words spun in your head, ready to fire off your tongue and tear him apart, but you knew you would never be able to get them out in one piece. You would stutter and sob and shake and it would give Roman even more satisfaction at seeing you crumble. So, you turned on your heel as fast as you could, holding your hand over your mouth to silence your cries and fled the Godfrey home. 

“Shee-it.” Peter said, looking sick. 

“Shee-it, indeed.” You nod. 

“So, that was it?” 

“That was it. I was there barely five minutes when it was all said and done… then I went home, cried my stupid eyes out and packed my shit. It was always the plan for me to do online courses and stay here with him, but, y’know, things changed... So, I left.” 

“I know that feeling.” Peter says, giving the river a thousand mile stare. 

“I know you do. Let’s not forget you abandoned me, too.” You said, far more harshly than intended. The topic of the break up having brought old wounds to the surface. 

A pained expression crossed his face, “(Y/N)... Fuck, I’m sorry. I am. I just… after Letha,” 

“You don’t have to explain. I’m sorry I snapped. I forgave you the minute you left, for the most part, anyway.” You shrugged. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” You sigh and look over at him, “If I had been in your shoes I would have hightailed it the second I could have.” 

He offers you a sad smile, “But you needed me, and I left.” 

“It’s really OK. Because you’re here now. And it all worked out.” 

“New York that good, then?” 

“Better than good. I’m alone and broke-.” 

“And that’s better than good?” He chuckles.

“Surprisingly, yeah. I’m learning and figuring things out on my own. I’m finding things that make me happy without having to worry about anything else. It’s just nice.” You smile as you speak. 

“That makes me happy. Man, it really does. All I ever wanted for you was happiness. I thought I had left you with the silver you had left of it.” Peter says, resting his temple to the head rest. 

“You did what you had too and so did I. I’m sure Roman did too, in his own twisted way,” You reply, “I don’t want to focus on the past anymore. I am purley looking forward to the future from now on.” 

Peter dropped you off at home after hours of milling around the streets of Hemlock Grove in his truck. You kept asking if he had to go back to work, but he would dismiss your concern each time. Telling you that he was spending time with you and he’d worry about towing later. As much as you knew you should pressure him to take you home, you were happy for the company, especially when that company was Peter. 

His reappearance in your life was unexpected, but wholly accepted and appreciated. You didn’t know the next time you’d be able to see him again, so you were going to enjoy his companionship while you had it. 

Hopping out of the truck and brushing residual crumbs from the turkey sandwich from your dress, you shut the door. The window rolled down and Peter leaned over the console to look at you.   

“Don’t be a stranger.” He smiles at you and you can’t help but return it. 

“Never again.” 

“If you have time, come by Destiny’s before you head back up north. I know she’d love to have dinner.” He proposes and your smile widens. 

“I’d love that, I’ll keep you posted.” You start to back up toward your front door. 

“And let me know if you need anything, anything at all. I know losing someone is tough.” His smile falls slightly as the funeral is mentioned again. 

You knew Peter was worried about you and he had good intentions, but he didn’t know your father like you did. You were going to this thing for appearances and to make your grandmother happy, if you had had a choice you would have rather stayed at school. 

“Got it. Thank you, Peter.” 

You wave him off and you watch as he double takes to look at you until he is out of sight, only then did you enter your house. 

The house isn’t much and it wasn’t the home you grew up in. When your mother finally left your father, she promptly moved you both into a smaller place on the west side of Hemlock Grove that was better suited for your new family dynamic. 

It was a dated burgundy one story, with bland beige carpets and no overhead lighting in the bedrooms, but with two bathrooms. That was helpful down the line when your mother began dating again and her multiple suitors would stay for weeks at a time. You never wanted to be alone with any of them, so that meant crossing the boundary into her room to use the en suite was always out of the question. 

Your bedroom was somewhere you always found solace and comfort, even now it felt more like home than anywhere in the world. It had a small excuse of a bay window that looked out over a small and shallow creek. One of your mother’s more involved boyfriends had built you a window bench years before underneath it, upholstered in red velvet. You had run your fingers over the soft fabric so many times, certain places were now rubbed raw and threadbear. 

Roman used to sit on your bed while you sat on the bench, reading to him from a litany of novels, some for pleasure and some for assignments. He’d look at you and tell you the light from the window haloed you like an angel. You’d tell him he was just talking out of his ass to get you to stop reading and fool around. Then Roman would smirk and shrug, like he wasn’t sure who was more right. His memory seemed to be etched into every detail of your bedroom, unfortunately. 

There was the small heart he had carved into your headboard with an unclicked pen, your initials carved around it. There was your small Ikea vanity, that was stained with nail polish from the time Roman insisted he could do your nails better than you could. There was your closet, just big enough to hold you both inside; where you would steal kisses when you first started to sneak him into your room at night. There was the faded paint on the wall in the shape of a rectangle, where a picture frame of you and Roman at your first homecoming together had once been. There was your fucking duvet cover, that you and Roman would hide underneath on bright mornings. Where he’d hold you and kiss you softly, whispering sweet affections until the muggy air between you became thick and he’d push your noses up over the edge of the blanket to take in giggling gulps of breath. 

Roman Godfrey had left painful reminders of himself everywhere. There were too many for you to erase fully. His memory was like a Hydra, repress a recollection of his and two more would pop into your mind in its place.

Now, all the bench held your small suitcase that you had packed early this morning for your short trip down to Pennsylvania. Just some toiletries, a few changes of clothes, a black cocktail dress and a few textbooks. Just because your father died didn’t mean your school work would lighten because of it. 

While it wasn’t very late, you had been up early to catch your train and hadn’t expected to be out all day with Peter. You excused your premature exhaustion and decided it was best to take a shower, have a snack and then go to bed. Tomorrow was to no doubt try your nerves, so a full night's rest was likely your best option. 

After your shower, you slipped into a pair of pajamas and went down the hall to see if your mother had left you any suitable food. She was still on vacation with her current boyfriend and wouldn’t be able to make it back until Monday, a full day after you were set to leave. So, all you could hope was that there was something edible left in the pantry. 

Tussling your damp hair in your hands, you padded through the kitchen to try and make something with the odds and ends your mother had in stock. 

As you settled on a half eaten bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa, there was a knock at the door. Your mother’s car was missing from the driveway and anyone who would drop by unannounced knew she was out of town. Assuming it was a solicitor or a package delivery, you ignored it and continued on with your pre-bed snack. But the knocking didn’t let up. 

Begrudgingly, you made your way to the door in the hopes of shooing off whoever was bothering you. Though, when you opened it, you debated simply closing the door like it nothing had happened. To just shut the door tight and pretend that you hadn’t seen who was standing on your doorstep. All six feet four inches of him. 

With his back to you and a large bouquet of roses in hand, Roman glanced over his shoulder when he heard the door open. He looked about as startled as you felt when he laid eyes on you. 

“(Y/N).” He blurted out, his body swiveling like an owl to face the same direction as his head. 

“Roman.” You gave him a forced smile, cursing that you had lost your opportunity to run and hide.

“I, uh, well, wow. I, these are for your mother,” Roman whipped out the bouquet from behind him, “I heard about your dad. I just wanted to see how she was holding up. I know they aren’t close or anything, but y’know, it’s still the father of her child.” 

You took the flowers from him carefully, making sure to avoid where his fingers lay on the stems. 

“She’s not here, but thanks. I’ll make sure to let her know you stopped by.” You continued your kind facade before moving to shut the door. 

But Roman was quicker as he placed a large hand on the wood to keep it ajar. 

“I’m sorry for you too, you know? I know how it feels to lose a father. So, I’m sorry.” He said, like he was trying to keep you in his company as long as possible. 

“Wish my dad would have eaten a bullet when I was a kid. You got lucky.” You joke, once more trying to shut the door. 

And Roman continued to keep it open. 

“Well, I know things ended… bad- But! I’m still here if you need me. For anything. Have all the preparations been taken care of?” He asked. 

“Yeah, my grandma and grandpa took care of it. Nothing to worry about. But thanks, Roman.”

Roman’s eyes widened and his mouth puckered, the way he always did when he had a million things to say and no idea how to say them. 

You began to notice his attire as he loomed over you, with no seeming intention of leaving you or your front stoop alone. 

He wore a thick winter coat over a black three piece suit, tailored to perfection. His hair was parted on the right and smoothed down with gel. It certainly wasn’t your favorite look on him, but your input hardly mattered anymore. He wore Oxford dress shoes that were spotless and without a crease. You realized just then that he must have come right from The White Tower to bring the flowers to your mother, and these were his work clothes. These were the clothes and fifty dollar haircut of a fresh faced CEO.

You had known that he was set to secede the throne of Godfrey Industries once he turned eighteen, but you never gave it much thought after you moved to New York. The Roman who haunted your dreams and took residence in your thoughts was always your Roman. The boy who wanted to smoke and dance and kiss and laugh. Not a business tycoon out for blood. 

“I didn’t know you would be in town. I would have stopped by.” He said, finally finding words to give him a reason to stay. 

“You already have.” 

“I know, but I would have made it more deliberate. More to see you and not to just give my condolences to you mother.” Roman explained, his hand still on the door. 

You snort, “Yeah, well I don’t know why you’re giving her flowers anyway. She doesn’t like you. Not after I told her everything.” 

“Yeah, uh, I didn’t know that.” He laughs uncomfortably, finally taking a step away and relieving your door of his hostage. 

“Well, it was nice of you to come by. I’ll see you around, Roman.” It was clear from your tone that this incommodious conversation was over. 

Though, Roman still was outwardly ignoring your brusque attitude, “Could I come in? I would love to catch up for a moment? For old times sake?” 

“I don’t know if that is such a good idea.” 

“I won’t be long, I promise.” He bargained

You watched him for a long moment, debating on what to do. On one hand, you craved his presence. You craved him after just one sighting and wanted him to come in, to talk, to listen, to heal. Because like you said to Peter in the car earlier, you did believe that Roman had done what he had for a reason, it was just no doubt a fucked up and selfish one. You couldn’t hate him forever, you didn’t want to. It would destroy you before it did any good. 

On the other, all you could do was hear his voice echoing in your mind, explaining his disgust for you. 

But, you wanted to look to the future. You wanted to free yourself of the burden of grudges and hatred. You wanted to forgive Roman, the best you could, and leave him and his faults to fester in the past while you moved on with your life. 

So, you pushed the door open wider with the tips of your fingers and walked back to the kitchen, while Roman eagerly followed. 

“I’ll have to find every vase in the house for these,” You quietly joked.

“I could buy a big vase to hold them tomorrow and send it over if you’d like?” He was following closer than you would have liked as you searched the cabinets for vases and empty jars. 

“No, it’s alright. I think I’ll like how eclectic they’ll look in mismatched glasses.” You said, “And then I could put them all around the house. It’ll be a nice surprise for my mom when she gets home.” 

You undid the thick satin ribbon holding the bouquet together and found a pair of scissors to cut off the ends.

“Want me to fill these with water?” Roman asked, nodding to the empty vases.

“If you don’t mind.” 

Roman nodded, shedding his wool jacket and blazer, depositing it on a chair. Then, rounding the island to stand next to you to begin filling each receptacle from the sink. 

He was closer to you now than he had been in months. You could smell his woody cologne that clung to his skin, mixed with cigarette smoke and the night air. He must have been driving with the top down. You hated that only his scent could send your heart into somersaults and make your hands quiver with need. All you could think about with him in such a proximity was looking up into his green eyes and him looking down into your (Y/E/C) ones. Looking down at you with that stupid fucking smirk. Then with that smirk, Roman would place a hand on your cheek and gently press it to your lips and you would be in heaven. 

Anything Roman did to you was heaven. 

Expect when he was hurting you. Which you had to remind yourself, he very much did. 

“So, where’s your mom?” Roman asked, placing a mason jar next to faux crystal vase.

“In Florida with her new boyfriend.” You commented. 

“Yeah, I heard she was seeing someone.” 

“You know if he’s any good?” 

“Nah, just that she was seeing someone. I keep an ear to the ground to make sure she’s doing alright.” Another glass filled. 

“You don’t have to do that, Roman.” You paused cutting stems for a moment to glance up at him. 

He was already looking at you. 

“I know. I want to. It’s the least I can do.”     

You hold eye contact for a few beats, Roman’s eyes boring into yours in that hyponic way that always left you weak in the knees. 

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.” And you both went back to your tasks at hand. 

It was obvious that you were more than willing to work in silence, and it was clear that Roman wasn’t. 

“So… how’s NYU?” He prompts. 

“Good. I really like it.” 

“Enjoying your studies?” 

“Very much.” 

“And the city? Is it treating you alright?” 

“Yes, I think after I graduate I’ll stay for a while.” 

Roman only hums in reply. Like that wasn’t what he wanted to hear.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that you’re doing well.” 

“Thank you.”

The conversation lulls as the sound of water and sheers fill the room. 

Roman is chewing his cheek and bobbing his head, and you know he won’t let up his chatter anytime soon. 

“I’ve been working at The Tower. I took over a few months ago.” He says, eyes darting to you like he was looking for praise. 

“Oh,” You reply like you hadn’t already figured it out, “How’s that going?” 

“Fine. I mean, it’s a lot of work. A lot of stress, but I’m glad I’m doing it.” He sounds unconvincing as he rambles on about Godfrey Industries and Pryce’s lab while you focus on the flowers. 

“Do you ever wonder what you would be doing if you hadn’t been told your entire life that you would take over Godfrey?” You ask, somewhat out of the blue.

Roman stops talking abruptly, his hands pausing under the tap. 

“Not really.” 

“Isn’t there anything else you would have wanted to do? Like in a dream scenario in a perfect world?” You elaborate. 

Roman seems unsettled by your questioning, like these were things no one had ever asked him. Things he had never even asked himself. 

“I think in a dream scenario, I would be rich beyond my wildest dreams. And I already am, so why waste time dreaming?” You can tell he isn’t even satisfied with his answer.

You don’t reply, leaving the subject where it lay in the air to go back to working in silence. 

“So...” Roman begins again, refusing to let the conversation die down.

“You seeing anyone?” Roman tries to sound blase, but you know this question lays heavy on him. 

You barely withhold a scoff as you set your scissors down to look at him once more.

He double takes in your direction, not wanting to look at you for fear of your answer, “What?” 

“I’m just surprised you held off this long without asking the question we both know you wanted to ask the second you saw me.” 

“Not really an answer…” he murmurs. 

“Not really your business.” You counter. 

“So there is someone?” You could hear a twinge of anger in his voice. 

“Not that it is any of your business, because I want to stress that it really isn’t, but no. I am not seeing anyone.” 

“Oh.” Roman’s lip twitches into a smile that he tries to conceal from you. 

“Yeah, oh.” You roll your eyes and finish with your clippings and begin to arrange the rose into glasses. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” Roman, with his work now over, turns to look down at you, a smirk on his lips. 

“Ask you what?” 

“If I’m seeing anyone.” 

“I don’t care, Roman.” 

“Really?” He leans closer to you.

“Well, what constitutes seeing someone, to you? A one night stand? A hooker? An actual multiple date relationship? What is your definition?” You jeer. 

“How would you define it?” 

“Different from you.” 

“Oh come on,” He pokes, “Tell me.”

He was becoming far too chummy with you for your taste.

“I guess I would define it as multiple dates.” 

“By that definition, then no. I’m not seeing anyone.” 

“But if I defined it by hookers and one night stands?” You inquired. 

Roman doesn’t answer. 

You can’t help but laugh, “And you said I was a whore.” 

The air between you changes, then. It was calm, if not slightly awkward before then, but now it felt tense and uncomfortable.

“(Y/N), I…” 

“Don’t.” You reply before he can say anything else. 

“But I want to say this, I need to.” Roman persists, reaching out to grab your shoulder. 

You shrug off his advance quickly and take a few steps back from him. Roses and vases completely forgotten. 

“I need to apologize to you.”

“You need to apologize to me for what, Roman?”

“For that night, what I said-!” Roman starts. 

“No. What I mean is, are you apologizing because you’re actually sorry? Because you think that’s what you’re supposed to say to me? Or because you want what you did off your conscious?” You raise a single eyebrow. 

“Are you kidding? I’m saying this because I am fucking sorry! I hate what I said to you, it fucking eats me up!” Roman throws his hand in the air as he yells. 

“So it is option C.” You replied. 

“Jesus fucking- no! It’s not! It’s A! It’s fucking A. You think I wanted to do what I did? Huh? You think I wanted you to leave?” 

“Yes, I did. I do.”

“Then fuck you if you think that. Fuck you if you think that I wanted to say all those things. Maybe you don’t really know me at all.” Roman sneers. 

“I already concluded that.” 

He scoffs.

“Is this why you wanted to come in? Force me into conversation? Ask me if I’m dating anyone, give me a half assed apology and insult me?” You crossed your arms. 

“No! No, that’s not why I asked to come in.” Roman shot back. 

“Then why?” 

“Because I fucking missed you, alright? I fucking missed you and I needed to be near you, even if only for a moment.” 

Roman’s voice echoed in the kitchen, his words hanging in the air and ringing in your ears. You could hear them dance in your mind and slide down your back with a chill, taunting you and making your emotions tear in a million different directions.

“Roman, I think it’s time for you to leave.” You say, running your tongue over your teeth. 

“No! I’m not fucking leaving. Tell me you don’t miss me too.” Roman took a step toward you as he ran a hand through his slicked down hair, ruining it’s perfection. 

“I have to get up early, so I just really think you should go.” 

“(Y/N), tell me you don’t miss me and I’ll leave right now. You’ll never see me again, I swear.” 

You don’t respond, just cross your arms over your chest. You rub your hands over the skin of your arms, peaking your fingers beneath your shirtsleeves and gripping the fabric tightly. 

“Just tell me.”

You meet his gaze as Roman closes the gap between the two of you. He was close enough for you to feel his breath on your skin and the warmth he radiated. An unwarranted chill set through you. 

All hope of forgetting the past and moving on was gone, you didn’t care anymore. All you wanted was for Roman to leave. You wanted him to leave so you could wrap yourself in blankets and cry until you couldn’t see anymore.

“Roman, just go.” You whispered, your vocal chords straining to even do that. 

“It’s because you can’t say that you don’t.” Roman raised a hand a single finger tracing the features of your face and causing your eyes to drift shut. 

He traced your orbital bone and the angle of your nose and your eyebrow and ear. He traced your jaw and your chin and the shape of your ear and stopped to caress your lips. 

With each swoop of his finger tip, he was erasing hurt and anguish and pain. He was soothing you and giving you an old form of intimacy that you had craved. He was regaining his sense of self in your mind, reminding you that he could act like he had before that night. He was twining his roots back into your mind.

When his finger finally stopped, you opened your eyes and saw tears had gathered in Roman’s. They were threatening to breech from his lash line as he stared at you with a drumming heart. 

“Tell me why you hurt me first.” 

And Roman dropped his hand and said nothing for a long moment. 

“It’s a long story.” He replies, sniffling loudly through his nose. 

“I’ve got time.” 

“It’s not pretty.” 

“I don’t care.”

You had moved to the dining room for Roman’s story. You both sat on opposite ends of your mother’s old mosaic table that you had both eaten many meals at. It was covered in vintage tiles and you picked at the surrounding grout as you listened to him. You ground your fingernails between the titles, filing them into powder as Roman told you about his birthday and everything that had happened since the night you left him. 

Of Letha. Of the child. Of the razor blades embedded into his arms. Of his mother’s tongue. Of the bloodlust. 

Of the loss.

“This is some fucking Twilight bullshit.” You said once Roman had gone quiet.

“This isn’t fucking funny, (Y/N).” Roman replied, bouncing his knee and pinching his chin. 

“No, it’s not fucking funny at all, Roman. Not even a bit, but it is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard in my life.” You snort a laugh from your nose. 

“You don’t believe me?” 

“Oh, I believe you. After all that shit with Peter, of course I believe you. Doesn’t make it any less ridiculous.” 

Roman raises his eyebrows in understanding with a slight nod. 

“So, what? You saying all that shit to me was because you thought you were going to suck me dry, or something?” 

“Stop making jokes.” He growled. 

“I’m being fucking serious, Roman! What was it?” You stood from your chair to impose over him. 

“You deserved better. It would have been too much for you.” 

“Oh, don’t be such a martyr, Roman!” You fumed, “Since when have you ever got to decide what was good and what was bad for me?” 

“You don’t understand!” Roman pushed up from his chair with such force it tumbled to the floor, “I could barley fucking handle this, OK? I had been living a lie, I had become a monster overnight! I was fucking scared for you- scared for me. What I could do-” 

His voice began to quiver and his palms shook as he wiped his clammy palms on his slacks. 

“You would either have left me or I would have killed you. I don’t doubt that for a second, and I couldn’t lose anyone else. Not after Letha, not after Peter and Shelley. I just couldn’t.” 

“So, pushing me away was the answer?” You asked. 

“At the time, yes.”

You just shook your head, and collapsed back into your chair.

“I did it because I loved you.” Roman said, tears streaking his flushed cheeks. 

“Stop, Roman...” 

“I fucking loved you so much so I made you leave. I fucking love you more than anything.”

He spoke like he was taking his last breath and collapsed to his knees like a dying man, his bones smacking loudly against the linoleum as he crawled to you, tears still leaking from his eyes. 

“You have to believe that I’m sorry. I am, I am, I am.” 

Roman rested his head on your lap as he wept, his hands clutching your calves. 

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think or speak. All your mind could comprehend was Roman’s deep and encompassing sadness and his wayward soul. 

You could barely grasp the story he told, so it was unimaginable to you how it must have felt to live it. Your heart ached for him so profoundly. 

Of course you didn’t agree with what he had done to you, not for a moment. He had resorted to cruelty out of fear and you hated it. It was inexcusable. 

But, you folded yourself in half and covered his body with yours anyway, and let Roman cry in your lap. You let him cry out the fear and sadness and the exhaustion he had felt these past months. 

You had let Roman cry himself dry before escorting him to the door. He held your hand on the way and you didn’t stop him. When you reached the door, Roman was the one to open it and step out into the cold Pennsylvania night. Though, his hand stayed intertwined with your own as he walked out onto your porch.  

“What time is the funeral?” He asked. 

“10 AM.” You replied. 

His skin seemed to glow against the night sky, his milky complexion contrasting beautifully to the dark nature behind him. 

“I’ll be there.” 

You shook your head, but squeezed his hand, “You don’t have to, really. It’s going to be long and boring.” 

“(Y/N),” He looked at you with a crisp sincerity, “I’ll be there.” 

You didn’t know what to say, because you weren’t entirely sure what you should say. You wanted to beg him not to come and make a spectacle at his attendance. You wanted to beg him to come and hold your hand and ward off the demons your father had sewn into your psyche. 

“Please, Roman, it’s not a big deal. I swear. I’m sure you have better things to do.” 

He pursed his lips back at you, like he was deciding if arguing with you on the matter was really worth it. Or if he would win or not. In the end, he said nothing. Just nodded and glanced over to his bright red Jaguar in the driveway. 

When Roman looked back to you, you both knew a goodbye wasn’t needed. Your love-telepathy coming back just for a moment to bid each other adidu for the night. An intimacy you didn’t even know you missed until now. 

Roman was the first to step away, pulling your hands apart as he did. You felt each finger detangle from his own, until your pinkies were the only things tethering you to each other. When they detached, your hand fell listlessly to your side and Roman watched you intently as he walked to his car, got in, and pulled from your drive away. Only looking away when he finally drove into the night. 

You smoothed the dress over your hips as you smiled politely at guests entering the church. They offered you watery smiles and condolences as they spread out into the pews.

You wanted to spit in their faces and scream. Scream and sink your nails into your skin and tell them that he had painted bruises on your skin and installed his hatred for you into your heart before you were old enough to know it was wrong. 

He wasn’t a good man. He was far from it. 

But no one who was crying tears for him and shaking your hand knew this, and if they did they didn’t care. He was good at hiding what he did, what he had become. 

You felt like your head was in a fish bowl with the more people who entered. Their faces blurring and distorting before you, their words muffled and useless. You began just nodding at everyone’s words, refusing to listen to anything else they had to say about Heaven and God’s good will. You wished you had a good excuse to leave and never come back. 

It wasn’t until someone wheeled in the casket that you found your escape from the line of mourners and made your way outside. Because the second you laid eyes on the box of shiny mahogany, your stomach dropped to your feet and bile threatened to spill from your lips. 

The man you had hated your entire life, the one who had hurt you, the one who struck you, the one who had belittled you, the man who hurt your mother. That man was dead. He was in that fucking box, seperated from you and the living by a few inches of wood.

That man was your father and he was supposed to love you and now he was filled with stuffing and had waxy skin covered in blush and a heart that would never beat again. A mouth that was sewn shut and would never speak again. To never yell, to laugh, to tell you he loved you. 

It was over. 

Then why were you so sad? 

Maybe Peter was right... maybe you’d even tell him. 

As you made your way outside, you sucked in as much fresh air as your lungs could take. You let the cold air chill your exposed skin and the grey skies calm your overstimulated senses. While gulping in the breeze and pressing your fingernails to your palms to ground yourself, you gazed out over the parking lot. It was then, that you shed your first tears of the day.

Because there, all in black leaning against his car was Roman Godfrey, looking right back at you.

He’d come. 

Because he cared. 

Because he loved you. 

You didn’t think twice as he ran down the church steps as fast as your heels could take you to him, needing to feel him. Roman did the same, rushing across the asfalte to you, wrapping you in his arms immediately as you collided with his chest. 

���You came,” You sobbed into his button down, “You came, you came, you came.” 

“Of course I did.” He cooed, nuzzling close to you. 

“I needed you and you knew and you came.” 

“I’ll always come, even when you don’t call.” 

As you both went back to the church, Roman stood with you to greet people coming in. His hand on your lower back and his grandiose stature and expression keeping people from dawdling too long to speak with you. 

The service was bleak and full of lies, but you mustered through it without a scoff or outburst for your grandparents sake. Roman sat next to you the entire time, his arm over your shoulder and his temple resting against your head. He’d occasionally place a gentle kiss to your hairline or stroke his fingers over your arm as a reminder that he was with you. 

And you loved him for it.

When it was all over and your father’s casket was being rolled away, everyone dispersed. Some to follow the hearse to the graveyard, some to just go home. You and Roman stayed in your seats. You had decided you didn’t want to see your father put in the ground. Not because he didn’t deserve it, but because you couldn’t handle it. You weren’t sure exactly all the reasons why, maybe Peter would know the answer to that, too.

You both waited until no one was left in the church, just watching the sun gleam through the stained glass windows at the ceiling and enjoying each other's company. 

“You alright?” Roman asked once he was sure everyone was gone. 

“I don’t know. I’m still figuring that out, I guess.” You said with a half hearted shrug. 

“It’s OK. You have time.” 

You gave a nod before leaning closer to him, resting your head underneath his own, letting Roman sit his chin on your crown. 

“I thought I would be overjoyed when this day finally came… but I’m not. I’m not really happy and I’m not really sad. I’m just here.”

“I think that’s just fine.” Roman replied, rubbing gentle up and down your arm. 

“Thank you for being here.” You remove yourself from under his chin to look at him, “It would have been so much worse without you.” 

Roman offered you a soft smile and placed his unoccupied hand on your cheek. 

You placed your own hand over his and shut your eyes, reveling in his soft touch. 

It was so quiet and all you could hear was the sound of your heart in your ears and Roman’s rhythmic breathing.

“What now?” 

“I’m not sure,” You open your eyes to see he’s already looking at you, “Where are you going?” 

“Wherever you are.” 

You smile, “Then take me there.” 

As you walked through Roman’s front door, you tried to hide a frown. The old Godfrey mansion had been so intricate and full of character. With crown molding and warm golds and rich browns, and history in every nook and cranny. Roman’s new home… it was sterile and bland and grey. It felt cold even with the hum of the radiator. It felt large and imposing, much like it’s owner. It was the type of home that echoed with loneliness.   

“So, what do you think?” Roman asked from where he stood close behind you. 

“I like it,” You said, “It’s very…” 

“You hate it.” 

You turned to face him and he was looking at you fondly. 

“I wouldn’t say hate. Just, not my style.” 

He nods and takes a step forward, “Yeah, I sort of knew you wouldn’t like it.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You always loved the old house. Said it felt like you were in a  victorian novel.” 

Your heart fluttered in your chest at his memory, “And you always hated it.” 

“I wouldn’t say hate. Just, not my style.” He grins at you and you can’t help but smile back at him. 

“So, you decided when you moved out you’d make your new place the antithesis of it?” 

“Something like that. Anything to erase the memory of my mother.” Roman says this with the cadence of a joke, but his eyes darken at the mention of Olivia. 

“I can’t say I blame you.” You reply before he quickly changes the subject. 

“Have a seat and I’ll make us both a drink,” He says, gesturing toward his large loveseat in the living room. 

You do so, and as you sit down, you admire him standing over the wet bar. He had shed his blazer from his suit on the kitchen table, and through the fabric of his button down (an expensive silk blend from the looks of it) you could so the movement of his broad shoulders and the expanse of the muscles in his back. 

The memory of running your hands across the peaks and valleys of his back stuck you. The memory of his smooth skin under your palms made your fingers burn with yearning and twitch with need to reacquaint yourself with the velvet that was Roman Godfrey’s skin.  

Roman had finished making your drinks. Both crimson in crystal tumblers. He walked to you and handed you the beverage, which you accepted with a thank you. As you took your first sip of your drink, you couldn't help but smile as Roman sat down next to you on his couch. 

“Vodka cranberry?” 

“Like I’d forget your favorite drink,” He says, smiling against the rim of his tumbler, “Well, second favorite. I don’t really have the ingredients for a Long Island iced tea.” 

“I think this works better under the circumstances, anyway. Drinking a Long Island iced tea after a funeral feels a little morbid.” 

“Yeah, but your dad would’ve hated that you were drinking one.” Roman pointed out. 

You chuckled, because he was right. Your father hated drinks where the alcohol was masked by chasers and sugar. He deemed them feminine and embarrassing for anyone to drink, ridiculing anyone (no matter their gender) if they ordered one. 

“That is true,” You take a pull from your glass, “He would have hated that you went to his funeral, too. Because, well he hated you.” 

Roman gives a wide smirk, “I can’t say that doesn't bring me some joy.” 

You could count on one hand the number of times your father met Roman during the years you dated. Though, everytime he had, he made his distinct dislike for your boyfriend overwhelmingly obvious. He thought of Roman like most other people in town did. A spoiled, rich, entitled, sauve asshole. But, for your father, he felt like he had a personal stake in hating Roman. He masqueraded like he didn’t like Roman simply for dating his daughter, but he didn’t give a shit about you or your well being. Your father, the pathetic drunk that he was, was threatened by Roman more than any man you had ever met. He was the one person who he couldn’t intimidate and feel superior too, because Roman didn’t feel intimidated or lesser to anyone in the world. 

“Me too.” 

You both drink in silence for a moment, and you pretend not to notice Roman as he inched closer to you on the cushions. 

“Do you remember,” Roman says, swallowing a gulp of his drink, “that time we snuck into that club in Philadelphia? And you and Letha, just got, like absolutely abliderated on Long Island iced teas?” 

You smiled at the memory, your lips parting with glee the more you remembered about the night. 

“Yes! Oh my God, I had totally forgot about that.”

Roman had paid off some bouncer to let the three of you into some club downtown and it had been a spectacular night. You and Letha were guzzling drinks like it was the end of the world. Roman was only encouraging your recklessness with jokes and bankrolling the bottomless teas. Letha had danced on the bar top while singing you an off key Elton John song while you drunkenly squealed with glee in a hysterical Roman’s arms. You had never seen Roman laugh so much until that night. 

You all danced and drank and laughed and smiled. You had all hid in a corner as you had fished out cocaine from a baggy with your pinky nail, and held it to each Godfrey’s nose like you were giving them communion, before blessing yourself. 

You distinctly remember hanging off Roman like a kola most of the night. Giving him sloppy kisses and groping him in the crowd with whispered promises of more when you were alone. You remember him smiling down at you and always having a hand on your ass. You remember Letha’s happy screams and giggles and how she was twirling so much on the dance floor she tumbled. 

“That was a really good night.” You said. 

Roman nodded, “It was. It was one of those rare times I could get Letha out of her shell.” 

The mood dipped from happy memories to grief as his cousin's untimely death was remembered. It was written clear as day on Roman’s face that he was far from healed from her passing.

“I miss her, too.” You placed a hand on his. 

“Yeah. Life isn’t far, huh?” You saw he was trying to ward off a wash of emotion, not wanting to wallow in her death, because it wasn’t an easy pit to push himself out of. 

“No, it really isn’t.” 

If life was fair, Olivia would have been long deceased. Roman wouldn’t have ever been coerced to do any heinous acts. Letha would be alive. Shelley would have never vanished. 

You didn’t dare bring up his missing sister to Roman, because that pain was almost worse than the wound Letha’s death had inflicted. For the both of you. 

You had learned from Peter the previous day that Shelley was still missing with no leads in finding her. You had nodded but said nothing else and he had let you. 

You had always been close with Shelley. She was so kind and sweet, and incredibly understanding and thoughtful. You were the only two women Roman truly loved and that bonded you in a way, to be the only ones to have his unfettered devotion. The thought of Shelley, out in the world alone, scared and labeled a fugitive made you sick. You couldn’t think about it for long without your nausea sparking and tears forming in your eyes. 

“What I said to you… that night? That wasn’t fair either. It wasn’t fair of me to hurt you like that.” Roman says, his eyes cast down. 

“Roman, we don’t have to do this again. It’s fine, no worries.” You said as casually as possible. 

“No, but it really wasn’t,” Roman shakes his head and rotates his body toward you. 

“I said those things because I was scared, not because they were true. You have to know that.” 

You swallow thickly and nod. Rationally, you knew that was true. After Roman had explained to you yesterday the reason for his vicious one-eighty toward you, you knew that he was only being cruel to push you away. But the words still hurt, they were still brutal enough to feel like there was an ounce of truth to them. 

“I was wrong, I can see that now, yknow? I was really wrong for all of that,” Roman lamented, “I fucked up.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). That’s what I really want to say, what I really want you to know. And you know me, probably better than anyone in the world, maybe even more than I know myself,” He huffed a laugh, “And you know that I don’t apologize. Because I’m not wrong. I’m just not. I don’t say I’m sorry, not to anyone… but this, I gotta own up to. Because I was wrong for hurting you, pushing you away.”

You listened to Roman with baited breath. 

“You were the only person who ever really saw me. Looked into my eyes and saw past the bullshit and accepted me, loved me… and the idea of you hating me forever killed me, fucking killed me so much. But it was better than you sticking around and seeing that all that bullshit was true, and maybe I was even worse.” 

“Roman,” You rasped, gripping his hand tighter, your fingernails biting into his skin. 

“I promised to never hurt you, to protect you, keep you safe. And I failed.” 

Roman had always been protective of his loved ones. He hoarded them like a dragon with gold, prowling in front of them with bared teeth and spitting fury. You still remember the first time he pledged his devotion to you, his undying protection and loyalty. 

It was after the first time he had met your father. A dinner at the Godfrey mansion with your parents, Olivia, Shelley, yourself and Roman. It was an evening requested by Olivia to meet the parents of the girl who had bewitched her son. 

She had been her typical elitist self, turning her nose up at your middle class parents with joy. You were sure she was vibrating in her seat with happiness that she could feel so superior to your average parents. Likely hoping Roman would see this too, and kick you to the curb. 

You mother had been aimable, mostly quiet. You always thought of your mother as a very charming woman, who could talk to anyone no matter the circumstance. But, Olivia would barely let her get a word in, so she took the hint. Though, you could tell Shelley liked her, and that warmed your heart. 

The night’s conversation was dominated by Olivia for the most part, regaling the Godfrey wealth and stories of her privileged life. When she wasn’t boasting about herself, your father would be the one to chime in. Either with an offensive comment or with his poor table manners. It was like having a wild boar in the Shangri La and you felt your face heat with consistent humiliation. You could see your mother twitch uncomfortably across from you whenever he would act, and you knew she was in the same boat. 

You were already planning your apology to Roman when your father spoke up. You had been too busy stewing in your mortification to follow the conversation being had at the time. 

“Well, I tell you something, Roman. This one over here,” Your father stuck his fork over to you, “Isn’t gonna be a good little wife, not like your mother is.” 

Your father threw a smarmy grin to Olivia.

“You’re gonna have to wipe her into shape. Always wants to back talk and cross her damn arms and stomp her damn feet at you.”

Your father laughs and nuges your mother with his elbow, like he had made a joke. Like he thought this joke about you as Roman’s meek little wife would please Olivia and your boyfriend. 

Olivia laughed along and made a comment about her predisposition to wifehood because of her upbring, while Roman seethed. You could see his jaw flexing and hear the sound of his ragged breaths through his nose. You discreetly placed your hand on his lap, doing your best to calm him, but it did nothing as your father continued to make comments about your disrespectful personality, all with the cadence of a joke. 

“Why don’t you go out for a smoke?” Roman said to your father through gritted teeth. 

“Excuse me?” You father said, stopping mid sentence and glaring at Roman. 

“I said, why don’t you go out for a smoke and cool off? And when you come back, be a little fucking nicer?” 

Roman’s eyes bore into your father’s as he spoke. Your father looked furious at this teenage boy’s demand, and you were sure there was going to be a fight. Both men were incredibly hot headed, that this evening might even end in a physical altercation. But, your father just pushed up from the table and left the five of you in awkward silence. Roman relaxed once your father was gone, taking your hand from his lap and intertwining your fingers together on the tabletop. Your mother soon struck up a conversation with Olivia about the antique chaise lounge in the living room. 

Roman held your hand for the rest of the night. When your father returned, he stayed silent. 

When it was time for your parents to leave, Roman offered to drive you home. Though, the minute both you were out of sight of his home and your parents, he pulled over.

“Roman, I am so sorry about-” You began, but Roman stopped you by placing his hands firmly on your cheeks. 

“Don’t apologize. Not for that fucking man.” He said, his tone turning venomous when he mentioned your father. 

“The fucking nerve of him,” Roman spat, his hands tightening on your face, “The fucking nerve of him to speak like that about you. And to me! To me in my fucking home. I’m going to kill him, I’ll fucking kill him.” 

Roman spoke sincerely and you wondered for a moment if you asked him to kill your father, would he? 

“He’s not worth it, he’s not even worth your anger.” You sighed, placing your hand on his wrist and stroking his skin with your thumb. 

“He isn’t worth shit. That fucking cunt.” 

You couldn’t help but giggle as you watched your boyfriend speak obscenities. 

“What?” 

“You look very sexy when you’re this mad.” 

You could see Roman’s face visibly relax. You knew he was still angry, but your comment had placated him.     

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” You grinned at him and began to lean in for a kiss when Roman stopped you. 

You looked into his eyes again and you saw this serious demoaner was back. 

“I will never let him say anything like what he said tonight to you again, OK? Never. I’ll never let him fucking touch you again,” Roman came to rest his forehead to yours, “I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again. I will keep you safe forever.” 

And you believed him. You believed him more than you had ever believed a single person in your life. There wasn’t an ounce of you in that moment that could argue with him. You trusted him fully. 

“Ok.” Was all you could say with the emotion that was brewing from his confession, before he finally pulled you to his lips. 

It was the first time you realized you loved him. 

“All I have ever wanted is to keep you safe.” He said it with the same vigor and sincerity that he had in his original vow to you in his car on the side of the road. 

And again, you couldn’t help but believe him. 

“I forgive you.” You really did. 

He was swathing you with the salve of love and honesty, healing the wounds he carved into your skin with his earnest. 

“You were scared, you had just had your life turned upside down… I get it. It’s OK. I’m not blameless either. I said some nasty things.” 

Roman looks up from where your hands are connected and gives you a signature fierce stare.

The weight of his gaze on you feels heavy as he leans forward to set his glass on the coffee table. His eyes never leave yours as he does. As he moves back to the couch, he uses his movement to his advantage to seamlessly reach out to cup your jaw, as he settled back next to you, much closer than before. 

Goosebumps bit across your flesh as the feeling of his broad palm engulfed your face and his breath began to fan across your lips. Roman was smooth, he was graceful and agile in everything he did. Everything including the set up to a kiss, especially a long awaited and important one. 

Roman glides his middle and forefinger up to cradle your ear, to anchor himself to you before using his thumb on the underside of your jaw to tilt your chin. You blood was rushing loudly through your ears and all you could think of was him as Roman’s other arm came to rest across the back of the sofa and ecase you in his arms. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip before he descended for yours. 

And you felt euphoric. A warmth in the pit of your stomach that only Roman would kindle.

Roman nuzzled his lips against your mouth, the tip of his nose brushing your own. Your hands migrated to lay purchase on his shoulders as you let Roman pull you impossibly close to his body. You could feel his heated cheeks against your face and you could feel his racing pulse beneath your fingers as he tipped your face up and opened his mouth into the kiss. His tongue dipped past your lips and you accepted him with a soft whimper. 

Your sound of pleasure surged Roman on as he began to kiss you harder. Sweeter. Messier. Hotter. Just like he always had. 

Soon, you were flat against the couch cushions, Roman above you as his hands explored your body. Your legs bracketed his hips, pushing the heels of your feet against the tops of his thighs to keep him snug against you. Your hands clutched his back tightly, the very same back you had been craving to get your hands on since you walked through the door. 

Roman’s lips detached from your own to drift to your cheeks, your jaw and your neck. To bite, to suck and lick with his sinful tongue. You keened and moaned at his attentions, your back arching into him. The spit he left in his wake met the air in a chilling exchange that cooled your fiery skin. 

“My baby,” He said to your skin. 

“My girl,” He groaned. 

“Mine,” He bit the junction of your neck and shoulder. 

“Mine, mine, mine,” 

You didn’t want to be present while listening to his possessions. You wanted to let them grip you and own you and continue to make your stomach flutter. You didn’t want to have to tell Roman right now that you didn’t know if you could be his again…

“You’re mine, always, always, always,” Roman moaned against you, his voice pornographically seductive. 

“Yes, please,” You didn’t know what you were begging for, but you just knew you didn’t want the feeling of Roman to stop. 

“It’s me and you, we’re together again, it’ll all be OK now,” He says before giving you another sloppy kiss. 

“Be with me, be here. We can make it work.” 

Roman goes back to attacking your neck with his petal soft lips, but you were finally snapped from your the haze of pleasure he had accosted you with. 

“Roman, hold on,” You pushed your hands on his shoulder, “Stop.” 

“What?” He pulled away from you quickly, chest heaving as he looked down at you. 

He looked so boyishly innocent. His lips flush from kissing and his once perfect hair askew from your ministrations. Eyes wide and questioning. He was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. 

“I,” You took a pause, “I can’t stay here, Roman. I just can’t.” 

He looked like you’ve shocked him, stuck his finger in an electrical socket and watched. Roman pushed himself further up, but still hovered over you. 

“What do you mean you can’t stay?” He says your words back to you like they were a personal affront. 

“I live in New York now, that’s where my life is. I can’t just leave.” 

Roman’s jaw flexes and you watch him swallow. 

“What? So, this means nothing?” He gestures between your bodies. 

“No, of course not. Of course it means something.” You replied hastily. 

But, Roman was already getting up off of you and started to pace the length of his kitchen. You pushed up to watch him with concern. 

“I don’t know what you want me to do, I said I was sorry and I am. I really, truly am! So, why can’t you just stay with me? Be with me?” He argued. 

“I know you are! I do, but just because I know you’re sorry doesn’t change the fact that I have a life somewhere else now, Ro. I can’t just abandon it.” 

“Why can’t you? Just come home!” Roman threw his arms up in anger. 

“I don’t want to abandon it, Roman. I don’t want to leave. I like it there.” You move yourself onto your knees as you speak. 

“Jesus fucking-” Roman looked away from you and tugs at his hair, “I can’t believe you right now!” 

“Roman,” You sigh. 

“No! You know what? I have been declaring my fucking love for you for the past two days and that just means nothing to you? Because it doesn’t mean nothing to me.” 

“It means something-!” You begin, but Roman talks over you. 

“And that, that on the couch, that fucking meant something to me! Because you mean something to me, (Y/N). You always have and you always will.” He’s shouting now, if he had any neighbors you’re sure they would be able to hear. 

Your eyes filmed with tears as you watch him. 

“And fuck, while I’ve been going on like a bitch about how I love you, how I’m devoted to you, and you haven’t said shit! Not a word.” Roman’s eyes are beginning to wet as well. 

“Is that what this is? You don’t fucking love me?” His anger cracks as his voice quivers. 

“Roman, no!” You spring from where you knelt on the couch and rush to him, “I do, you know I do. I love you! I love you so much I ache.” 

You cry freely now as you try to clutch his face, but Roman brushes you off. 

“I love you, I have always loved you Roman. I always will. But,” 

“But what? How is that not enough!”

“I need you to love me enough to know there is nothing for me here.”

“Not even me?” His lip quivers. 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Your hands shake and so does your breath, “I mean there is not real life for me here. You have The Tower and that’s you life, but what about me? What could I possibly do here that would make me happy?”

Roman says nothing, just swallows a hiccup that threatened to burst from his throat.

“I need you to love me enough to let me leave.”

Roman’s face crumbles into a drastic frown as he fights tears, “I can’t. I can’t do that, not again, I can’t. I can’t let you leave again.” 

“Baby,” You choke out. 

“No! I can’t, I love you. So, please, just love me enough to stay. I’ll give you everything you could ever want, anything you could ever dream of to make it better here.”

“Roman, I love you. I do, I always will. But, maybe this will be good for us. Have time apart to be our own people. I think it might even be healthy?” You say your last words with a watery smile that Roman doesn’t return. 

“I don’t want to have time apart. I had time apart from you and I was fucking miserable.” He states. 

The thought of Roman all alone in this house, heartbroken and stewing in pity and anger makes your heart convulse with pain. You thought of all the nights you slept in your dorm room, silent tears streaking your cheeks as you held your hand over your mouth in hopes to not wake your roommate. You wondered if on the nights you cried for him, if Roman had cried for you? Had he cried at all? Or while you were pouring yourself into your studies to forget him, he was fucking whores to forget you?

“Roman, please just… I love you, just please,” Again, you had no idea what you were begging for. For him to let you leave? For him to convince you to stay? All you knew was that this day had been so catosphroticlly emotionally draining and all you wanted was to fall into his arms for comfort.

“Do you want to be apart from me?” He asked bluntly. 

“Roman, just-” 

“Answer me. Do you want to be apart from me anymore?” 

Your mouth was thick with discarded tears and phlegm. All you could do was look at him and hope he understood you. To tell him you didn’t. 

His eyes softened and you knew your mental tether was still intact. 

Roman takes a step toward you and moves his head to be level with your own, “Then we’ll make this work. I’ll convince NYU to let you take online classes from here, OK? I’ll build them some new buildings - hell! A new campus. I’ll be their new biggest donor, their new favorite fucking person. I’ll give them whatever they want as long as they give me you in return.” 

“I can’t ask you to do that, Roman.” You look down at your feet. 

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” 

You pierce your teeth into your bottom lip and look back up at him. Back at Roman with his pink, glossy eyes and hopeful gaze. 

“I love the city…” 

“Then we’ll fly up every weekend, no exceptions. I’ll buy us a loft in the heart of Manhattan.You can design it to your heart’s content. Make it will feel warm and old and us. The opposite of this place.” Roman says quickly like he knew that would be your next rebuttal. 

You gasp a sob and close your eyes tight. You feel Roman close the distance between you both and cup your face in his large hands. 

“And we will figure the rest out, whatever else is holding you back. We’ll find you your dream job or your passion or whatever you want.” 

You crack your pulsing eyes, to see Roman’s face now streaked with tears. 

“Just tell me you’ll stay.”

You knew this was a risk. You knew he was a risk. You knew leaving New York and NYU sounded naive and utterly foolish to someone on the outside of your and Roman’s relationship. You knew that you would fight with him, that you would get angry with him, that he’d work too much and that he would have to reschedule trips to the city. You knew you would get irritated with each other and you’d say something snarky and Roman would say something mean. You knew there would be nights you went to bed angry and days where you gave each other the silent treatment. You knew it would be hard. Most things involving Roman were. Expect loving him.

You knew that even with all the bad that came with a relationship with Roman, it was eons better than being without him for a moment longer now that you had him again. 

You had wanted to look to the future, to forget the past and forge a new way for yourself. Truthfully, you still did. But maybe you could start over with Roman by your side? Wash away the pain of his indiscretions and learn and grow and heal together? You hoped you could. You hope you weren’t letting your overwhelming love for the man in front of you cloud your judgements. 

So, you placed your hands on his neck and watched his face turn hopeful and said: 

“Ok.”

i really wish i could say i loved this, but i am really on the fence about if this story is even good at all? it was better in my head. but! i hope you enjoyed it anyway and pllsss if you did, gimme some feedback <3 it makes me happy :-)

[deafwestnewsies]

you tell me you love her (i give you a grin)

And I'd choose our fate a million times over.

david jacobs x jack kelly (unrequited love)

read it on my ao3!

The grass crumpled beneath his boots. His shadow left a broad dent in the shade

(his body was still a marvel- when had Jack Kelly become so strong? When did Jack Kelly grow into his wimpy shoulders and snivelling ankles? When did Jack Kelly ditch his dreams of a boy to become a man?)

that towered over a lean man who was casually basking in the weak October daylight. He frowned at the sudden loss of warmth, but his eyes danced with mirth as he gazed over his former selling partner, current best friend, and long-time confidant. “Why, Jack Kelly. I thought you stood me up.”

“I’d neva, Dave,” Jack bent down in the mellow grass next to David. “They caugh’ me onna big shipment just as I was ‘bout to leave for lunch. Tell Esther that the market’ll have a good deal on trout tomorrow.”

Their heads nearly touched at the temple, and if Jack had the nerve or the gall, he could move a miniscule inch and connect their homely skin. It would only take a second- and what is a second, honestly? A moment in time? In the everlasting universe? And Jack Kelly wasn’t a very smart man, but he knew that humans only took up a small part of the whole existence of the world and a single second of humanity could manage to be wasted on the shifting of a cold, lonely wrist to lay on the freckled arm of another-

David rolled onto his side, more interested in a patch of dandelions than the market predictions for the next day. “Besides,” scrunching his nose, as if that would clear his irreverent musings on the universe, “not all o’ us are fancy medical men with all the break time they could ask fa’. I’m the big man pullin’ the weight ‘round here.”

(And it was true, to some aspects. Jack brought home honest-to-goodness bakery bread on Fridays so they could practice Shabbat without travelling, as Mayer so liked to do. He gave Les nickels to spend at the fair and bought Sarah hair ribbons for no particular reason. There was the gas bill he had paid one particularly difficult December, and the endless hours of doing various handiwork around the house when David was studying and Mayer’s old aches came to haunt him. The Jacobs’ home was also Jack’s, not because he needed it, but because they needed him.)

(He needed it too, he supposed.)

A yellow dandelion hovered over his nose, gently twirling with the teasing hum of David leaning in so close. Jack’s teeth snapped at it.

“You can drink the milk of these, I read,” David mused.

Jack wrinkled his nose. “Dandelion salad‘s only good tha first five times. Plus, it’d turn Crutchie’s tongue yellow.”

Dropping the little flower altogether, David rolled flat on his back and turned to gently nudge Jack on his shoulder with his premature wrinkling forehead. “Jackie,” he whispered.

(“I love you,” he would go on, later in Jack’s dreams. “I’ve loved you since I met you, I love you like a wildfire, I love you so much I cannot bear it, I love you like every character in all of my books, I love you.”)

“I’ve met a girl.” There was a hint of mischief in David’s tone- and Jack didn’t recognize it. There was suddenly a gated city wrapped around David’s heart and Jack was frantically scrambling for the key; For the first time, he was locked out of David’s life. He was an onlooker upon territory he had memorized by touch, by heart, by memory.

“Yeah?” If David had been paying attention, the word would have pinged around his Tin Man heart- hollow, empty, overused. “The Walking Mouth finally has someone to use it on?”

He relished in the feel of David’s uncalloused palms shoving playfully at his tanned, muscled arm. “Don’t be crass,” the boy chided. “Her name is April.”

(Jack was born on a misty-eyed April morning, with the clouds swabbed over the sun and an ominous wind blowing throughout the emptied streets. His mother had called it a bad omen. His father couldn’t fathom why.)

The crook of Jack’s elbow was full of David’s lingering fingertips; A question he didn’t dare ask left a sour taste on his tongue. He smiled at David’s far away face, his gaze belonging to a girl,

(a girl, a rotten girl, a girl that wasn’t even Katherine because that would have hurt much less, understandable even. She was an unimportant girl and she would never be enough for Davey, his Davey)

(A girl.)

and his smile was full of thorns.

---

“I can’t believe-” the words were practically ripped from his throat. “We’s goin’ so fast!”

David couldn’t drive in the technical sense, but he was captaining a true automobile as the Earth did spin. Jack sat in the passenger seat to crow at any poor little commoners that walked along the beaten path, none of them good enough to ride in the electrical engine Mr. Ford had handcrafted himself.

It had been a graduation present from a fellow doctorate student (one with a wealthy father and ill-meaning connections), a spin in his brand-new electric carriage for his reliable old pal, David Jacobs. Jack’s eyes widened to the size of half-dollars as the man passed over the keys to David- David, who had once put the wrong shoe on the wrong foot and walked around crooked all day, too proud to admit he had made a mistake- and they tried to conceal their excitement as the engine turned over for the first time.

He was going to do it. Right here, right now, in this strange man’s car, with clunky work boots on his feet and David’s spectacles sliding down the bridge of his nose.

“I love you!” Jack roared over the engine.

“I’m going to ask April to marry me!” David practically sang into the wind.

Jack’s throat closed up, his skin was set on fire, and he suddenly wanted to see what happened when you jumped from a gadget that was moving so fast.

“Wait, what? Did you hear me?” David’s hair was beginning to grow long enough that it was wild in the gust of the automobile. “I’m going to ask her to marry me!”

(When he was seven, another newsboy- only a handful of months older than him- had asked him if his momma had ever taught him about love. No, Jack had replied, both sour about being outsmarted by a kid who picked his nose and not ever having a momma in the first place. “It’s this great big tree that grows on the inside of our tummies,” the boy went on. “And one day, someone ‘s gonna come along and pick all ‘f th’ fruit on our branches, one by one, until all you have are pretty green leaves. That’s love.”)

(That same boy would kiss him in a dirty alleyway seven years later, and Jack would crack a joke about all of his apples still being intact. The boy would stare back with blank, unrecognizable eyes.)

Jack couldn’t even be angry- he wasn’t strong enough to be furious anymore, not when his days were long and the nights were spent clutching at empty bedsheets. He couldn’t be angry at his good, unselfish Davey, the boy who rubbed at his mother’s aching feet when she spent too long at the factory lines and clumsily darned socks when his sister couldn’t feel her slender fingers. There was no resentment for the beautiful, dark-haired girl who had accidentally collided with David at the grocer’s market when they reached for the same can of something-or-other. She had been nothing but kind to the gentle giant who lurked in the shadows of David’s life, telling inappropriate jokes and interrupting their dates. April always made a place for him at their table.

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all year,” Jack called out, and watched his words dance away in the wind.

---

Katherine had struck him, hard, when he asked her to marry him.

He cradled his jaw with a shock that reverberated around his skull. “Kathy, what did I-”

“You are the most selfish, careless man I know, Jack Kelly.” Her skirts whirled around her ankles- the candy-pink cotton matching other bridesmaids’ dresses to contrast the delicate white lace of April’s wedding dress. David Jacobs was now a married man, and Jack Kelly a desperate one. “We all see how you look at him. There’s not a single person who hasn’t noticed. Get it through your thick, unfeeling skull.”

(“They say,” David’s vows were memorized. His voice never wavered. “That only someone in love would truly understand the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice: a man walks through the Underworld to save his begotten bride, to only turn around and lose her at the very last second. I’ve spent years pouring over that story, wondering why Orpheus would be such a fool, such an irresponsible, lovesick fool, if he truly loved her. But now, standing before my own darling little bride, I understand. I’d turn around for one last look at you. I’d turn every. Single. Time. I’m your fool, April. And I’d choose our fate a million times over.”)

“He doesn’t love you,” Katherine’s voice was heavy with disgust. “And I’m beginning to understand why.”

---

The train ticket was heavy in his palm. “I just don’t see why you have to go,” David whispered. “Who is my son going to learn his bad habits from? Who’s going to teach him how to hawk a headline for extra change? How to poke fun at his papa?”

“He has Les.” Jack’s voice was a barely audible rumble, rusty with misuse. He didn’t talk much these days, Jack Kelly now preferred to linger in the background of conversations, the memory of a bright young man he used to be. Those days had come and gone without much complaint, even if Jack secretly yearned to be so terribly free that he believed in a future for a gangly, fresh-faced boy and a hardened boy with the silver-tongued lies.

(There were rumors, you know. About horrible men and horrible things, about broken ribs and jail time even the Mayor would disapprove of. Jack didn’t do much to dispel the irrational stories people told about him.)

(To prove a lie is false, you must present the truth.)

(Jack didn’t have a truthful bone left in his body.)

A carefully measured silence stretched between them. “Is this about…” David’s hand instinctively reached for Jack’s rough palm- a second of contact, the flash in the pan, their moment in the universe.

He withdrew from his gentle touch, and taking a bullet to his leg

(Jack was twenty-three and alarmingly brave. David was twenty-two and studying to become a doctor. They both cried as David’s unsure hand stitched an unclean wound back together- David, tears of worry; Jack, hopelessly lovesick and falling apart at the seams.)

had been less painful. “It’s about Santa Fe, Dave. Kiss Esther goodbye for me, won’t you?”

The platform to the train was busy, flowing with New Yorkers that had somewhere to be, a place to go, or a person to meet. Jack was the lone soul that took his time to feel the cobblestone under his worn-down boots, the ragged laces dragging against the streets that raised him as their own. His suitcase, a single-handled brown leather

(the only item inside was a bundle of letters, all addressed to David Jacobs)

thing, had never seen a polish rag or repairman’s case, and he felt as if he had the weight of the world to carry with him all the way to New Mexico, where the cattle roam free and Jack Kelly wouldn’t have a broken heart to board up behind slats of wood. The train whistle blew, sharp and piercing, and Jack couldn’t resist his own dreadful hubris; He turned.

And David Jacobs had already disappeared into the swarm of faceless people with their endless inventory of needs to be met, so Jack Kelly got on a train to Santa Fe.

[according-to-the-laura]

StackedNatural Day 22: 2x03, 13x01

StackedNatural Masterpost: [x]

October 12, 2021

2x03: Bloodlust

Written by: Sera Gamble

Directed by: Robert Singer

Original air date: October 12, 2006

Plot Synopsis:

Sam and Dean encounter a vampire hunter whose obsession may get them all killed.

Features:

Impala repair, Gordon Walker, Sam gets kidnapped, reformed vampires, Dean admits he was wrong.

My Thoughts:

If I had a nickel for every time Ty Olsson played a vampire on the CW’s Supernatural, etc etc. Confused the shit out of me seeing his name pop up in the credits of a season 2 episode, haha.

Gordon is a great recurring character. I love him being introduced by brooding at the bar with a cigarette like Aragorn. The chemistry between him and Dean is wild too, I love how desperate Dean is for a connection with someone outside of his family, that he’s willing to talk about his dad after a couple hours and drinks. And then he wants so badly to be on Gordon’s side of the argument.

Sam is so sassy and argumentative when he’s literally been kidnapped and tied up, I love him so much.

This is a great moral crisis episode, especially with Sam and Dean’s conversation in the last scene. Supernatural does such a great job setting up ‘maybe not all monsters are monsters’ theme arcs; if only they would follow through on them more often. Still, chalk up another episode for the Deangirls.

Notable/Kickass Lines:

“Wow. Give you a couple of severed heads and a pile of dead cows and you're Mister Sunshine.”

“I guess there's a lot your dad never told you, huh?”

“You know, you slap on this big fake smile but I can see right through it. Because I know how you feel, Dean. Dad's dead. And he left a hole, and it hurts so bad you can't take it, but you can't just fill up that hole with whoever you want to. It's an insult to his memory.”

“You're not like your brother. You're a killer. Like me.”

“What if we killed things that didn't deserve killing? You know? I mean, the way Dad raised us…”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 8.8

IMdB Rating: 8.3

13x01: Lost and Found

Written by: Andrew Dabb

Directed by: Phil Sgriccia

Original air date: October 12, 2017

Plot Synopsis:

Sam and Dean are left to pick up the pieces following the loss of their mother, Crowley's demise and Castiel's death.

Features:

Jack’s first appearance, the beginning of the Widower arc, naked adult baby in a drive through, nougat, growing up because the world is dangerous, Castiel is Jack’s father, a hunter’s funeral.

My Thoughts:

As soon as the episode started I just started vibrating, I was so excited. In all ways including the physical I was bouncing up and down yelling “JACK JACK JACK”. That’s my boy!!

I’m gonna be honest I think this might be another personal 10/10. Jack is perfect, the widower arc is perfect, the bitchy drunk angel is perfect, the stupid teenagers at the pirate restaraunt are perfect. I am so happy.

Obsessed with how much of Cas they put into Jack. He has the same colour palette for his jacket, the lights explode around him, and he pulls the knife out after getting stabbed in his intro episode.

I don’t even have much to say about this episode, I was so delighted to be watching it that I didn’t take many notes, haha. I was forcing my friend who fell off Supernatural in like season 5 to watch and it was a TRIP trying to explain to her how we got here. “Okay so Kelly was just a woman- well no, she was presidential aide, Lucifer was possessing the president. Okay so she got pregnant from Lucifer and then they were trying to get her to get an abortion but then Jack sent Cas a message-”

Also, even though I’ve seen this episode a couple times I was NOT prepared for the sad piano music while Dean wrapped Cas for the pyre.

Notable/Kickass Lines:

“I remember when the bad woman burned. I remember the universe screamed.”

“I’m on a chair, on the floor, on the planet earth.”

“I like it. I like nougat.”

“I was scared, and when I get scared, things happen. I...I can't stop them.”

“I'm sorry. Will you tell them that I'm sorry?”

“My father is Castiel. My mother, she said Castiel, he would keep me safe. She said the world was a dangerous place. That's -- that's why I couldn't be a baby or a child. I... That's why I had to grow up fast. That's why I chose him to be my father. Where is he?”

“Jack is not evil. He -- he -- he's just a kid.”

“Okay, Chuck… or god, or whatever. I need your help. See, you– you left us. You left us. You went off. You said… You said the earth would be fine because it had me… and it had Sam, but it’s not, and we’re not. We’ve lost everything. And now you’re gonna bring him back. Okay?”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 10

IMdB Rating: 8.8

In Conclusion: Just racing the clock to finish and post this before the edible kicks in, gotta go!

<< Previous Day | Next Day >>

[duhragonball]

Cult Classic

I had a really exhausting week, so I’m going to try to chill out by writing this thing about cults that’s been bouncing around in my head since... oh, like January 6th?   For some reason?     But it’s also about my insanely long OC fanfic slash vanity project slash concept album.  Join me, won’t you?

Okay, so back in... geez 2018?   Has it been that long?   Around October 2018 I started working out the details for the big climax of the “1000 years ago” section of my fanfic.  From the start I had this idea that the Legendary Super Saiyan would be locked into a death struggle with pretty much the entire Saiyan population, led by a Saiyan King who just can’t handle being upstaged.   But I had to figure out a lot of details to make that actually work.   What I finally ended up with was the Jindan Cult. 

Why a cult?  Because I wanted my King character to be the main villain, but also be physically weaker, but also he needed to be powerful enough to challenge the heroine. I came up with all these different ways to beef up his power level without making him a Super Saiyan himself, but ultimately I wanted him to have an army of Siayans at his back.   That led me to consider some sort of magic elixir that would make them all stronger, but especially the king, since he’s ultimately in this for himself.  At first, I considered having him mind-control all of his goons, but I spent the mind control nickel in earlier arcs, and I’ll have to use it again later, because Towa and Demigra use it.   Then I thought of drug addiction, which is sort of like mind control but not literal brainwashing or anything like that.  And that led me to the cult concept.  

One major inspiration for me was the real-life cult called “NXIVM”, which made the news back in 2018 when their leaders started getting arrested, including “Smallville” star Allison Mack.   Every time I read about it, it felt like something from a movie, but it was real.   I guess the celebrity angle made it more bizarre to me, because it’s sort of like “Hey, this isn’t just some group of randos; someone you’ve heard of is in this thing.”   Not that I ever paid much attention to “Smallville”, but you get the idea.  She didn’t just join NXIVM, she eventually became one of the top recruiters.   Some of the character arcs in my fic were my own attempt to understand how a person goes from Point A to Point B. 

The big plot hole, though, in my mind, was that I came up with this whole master plan for the bad guys, but it involved sending wave after wave of Saiyan cultists to die in pointless, unwinnable battles against Luffa.    I couldn’t have them win much, because if they beat her, they’d just kill her, and the story would be over.    It struck me as fishy that these Saiyans would sign up for a war where the casualty rate is 100%, but I tried to lampshade it as best I could.   “Yeah, all those other chumps couldn’t beat Luffa, but I’ll pull it off because I’m special!”   It still seemed a bit unlikely.  

But then 2020 happened, and I guess the main thing I learned from that year was that people will accept almost anything in order to believe a comfortable lie.  The joke I’ve seen on the internet is that we need to retire the expression “avoid it like the plague”, because it turns out a lot of people don’t actually avoid plagues very well at all.   The horrifying thing about COVID-19 is how easily people will accept the climbing death tolls.   “Oh, well this person was already in bad health, so they would have died eventually anyway.”   I don’t want to get too political here, but I’m pretty sure a lot of the anti-mask, coronavirus-is-a-hoax crowd are the same people who made up tall tales about “death panels” in Obamacare.    “They’re gonna euthanize your grandma!” they would say, but now they say your grandma is acceptable losses if it means reopening bars and restaurants.

Actually, I do mean to get political, because holy fuck, Qanon stormed the Capitol Building.    Look, if you don’t believe Joe Biden won the election, I don’t know what to tell you, except please get far away from me, right now.  If you’re not familiar with Qanon, a few years ago some guy on an image board posted a bunch of cryptic messages and claimed to be an important government figure who would know about important things.    People started “deciphering” his “clues” and when he stopped posting new ones they started inventing their own “clues” and interpreting them any way that suited them.    This led to an overarching narrative that Donald Trump was actually part of this massive sting operation to arrest hundreds, maybe thousands of left-wing politicians, celebrities, and whoever else.    Any day now, he was supposed to have Hilary Clinton arrested, and also JFK Junior would somehow show up and help him, even though he’s been dead for 22 years.  Every day, these Qanon guys would add on more bizarre lore to their “theories”, and every day none of their predictions would come true.  Then Trump lost the election, which put them in a bind, because their whole mythology is based on the idea of him saving the world as POTUS, and now he wasn’t even going to be POTUS for much longer.  

I’m pretty sure this had a lot to do with the lies about election fraud.    Trump himself refused to accept defeat, and his supporters didn’t want to accept it either, so they all told each other that it wasn’t real, and they believed each other so much that they dug in their heels.   But then they’d take this stuff to court and the judge would be like “Uh, what evidence do you have of mass voter fraud?” and they would just be like “lol nvm!”  I mean, if there was proof for any of this, why would they not want a judge to see it?   But for Qanon, it was more than just being sore losers.    They needed all their whackamaroo predictions to come true, and Trump losing re-election would upset the applecart.  

So then they started telling themselves that they could win this thing through the boring certification process.   I think it was like, December 14 when all the states had to certify their results.   So they held out hope that nothing was over until then.    Then they pinned their hopes on the Electoral College, and that there would be enough faithless electors to hand Trump the victory, in spite of the voters.   I found this one amusing, since I used to see tumblr suggesting the same thing back in 2016, when they were still trying to come up with ways for Bernie Sanders to win.  

Then they decided Mike Pence could fix everything, because on Jan 6, Congress would officially count the Electoral Votes and formally declare the winner, and Mike Pence would step in and overrule the whole thing, because the Vice-President oversees that process.    Except he just oversees it, he can’t legally change the outcome, especially on a whim.    And then the riot at the Capitol happened, and I’m pretty sure all these Qanon types thought it would mark the beginning of a nationwide uprising, with all seventy-odd million Trump voters going apeshit, but it... didn’t work out that way.  

Then they convinced themselves that everything was building to January 20, because the innauguration was actually a clever trap, and once Joe Biden took the oath of office, he could then be arrested for treason, so you see, they had to make it look like Trump lost the election, because it was the only way to fool Joe Biden into incriminating himself... or... something.   But Jan 20 came and went, so the latest fallback position I heard was that there’s a double-secret REAL inauguration day, and it’s in March, and the January 20 one isn’t legitimate, even though Trump was inaugurated on January 20, 2016, but whatever.    That, or the guy we see in the White House now is actually Trump disguised as Joe Biden, or a Joe Biden android or something.   

I think I sort of understood that Qanon is a cult, but I didn’t really put the pieces together until the events of January unfolded.    Pre-November, it just seemed like a conspiracy theory, without any real timetables or prophecies, like Flat Earth.    But once the end of the Trump Administration was in sight, it really started to look like all the doomsday cults I’ve heard about over the years.  The predicted events wind up failing to come true, and they invent new predictions to explain away the old ones.   It’s not about the veracity of the claims as much as the claims themselves.    People want to believe there’s this whole elaborate explanation for everything.    They wanted to believe that Trump was this hypercompetent superheroic messiah, because the alternative is to face the uncertain reality: that he had no idea what he was doing, and real people were going to suffer for it.  

I think I sort of worked that idea into my fictional cult, but I backed into it.   NXIVM was a sex cult, not a doomsday cult, or an elaborate conspiracy theory, so I was mostly fixated on all the depraved things the cult could do to its members.   But they all share the same lure: a belief system that promises to make everything fit. I’m not sure what the hook was for NXIVM, but Allison Mack didn’t go in thinking about how much fun sex trafficking would be.   That came later, after she was convinced that NXIVM had all the answers, and one of those answers involved sex crimes, apparently.   In the same vein, Qanon attempted to explain mass arrests and executions by claiming that Hilary Clinton eats babies or something.   “Well, I don’t want babies to get eaten, so I guess breaking into the Capitol building seems like a reasonable course of action.”  

Weighed against real life, a bunch of Saiyans accepting a 100% casualty rate doesn’t seem so outrageous.   It also helps that sometimes the leaders of these groups can buy into their own hype, and think they’re infallible when they’re really not.    This week, I started reading the Darth Plagueis novel again, and I’ve seen the Sith from Star Wars referred to as a cult, but I never gave it a lot of thought until I noticed that Plagueis buys into the whole Dark Side of the Force thing a little too hard.   At times, he’ll wax philosophical about how the Jedi are the real bad guys when you think about it, and he’s not just saying that to be manipulative.   He honestly believes that the Sith can save the galaxy from decline, which is stupid and hypocritical, because they’re the ones causing all the decline.    I always got the impression that Darth Sidious understood that it was all about accumulating power as an end unto itself, and any high-minded talk of necessary evil was just to keep the rubes in line.    Rise of Skywalker plays into that idea nicely.   He somehow survived Episode VI, but he let the Empire collapse, because if he can’t rule it, he doesn’t want it to exist at all.   But he’s still playing himself, because he thinks he can win by following the same failed ideology that got all the previous Sith Lords killed.   

That’s pretty much all I have to say about it right now.    I need to move on to other topics, because Towa’s not doing a cult thing, so my fic is moving in a different direction.   But I feel better for getting this out of my head.

[waywardaardvark79]

Supernatural Rewrite: Season 1 Episode 4: Phantom Traveler

Summary: Y/N Singer joins Sam and Dean on the road. A rewrite starring you.

Pairing: eventual Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (platonic)

Warnings: language, show level violence

Word Count: 8,724

A/N: I’ll try to do at least one episode a week. No set schedule.

Dean was in that perfect middle ground state, stuck right in between being awake and asleep, everything a warm, hazy glow, and comfortable. God, was he comfortable.

He took a deep breath, the smell of strawberries hitting him, taking over his senses, his mouth turning up a little at the corner because of the images that were flooding his brain. You. You were the only thing he was seeing. He couldn't help himself anytime he smelled strawberries he instantly thought of you. You always seemed to smell like them, and he found it calming, a constant in an ever changing world.

Dean never really had anything constant, stable, in his life, not counting his brother, but even Sam had went away for awhile, leaving him spiraling for something familiar. That's why he hauled ass to Sioux Falls, South Dakota that night. He needed to be reminded that there were still constants in the world. That there was still one thing he could count on to not change, and you smelling like strawberries was it. He knew it was stupid. It was completely ridiculous that something so simple, so trivial could mean that much to a person. I mean, it was just shampoo.

It was something that he would never admit out loud, afraid of how crazy it would come off. I mean, to say that the smell of your strawberry shampoo was sometimes the only thing that kept him grounded somedays was insane, right?

He found himself dwelling on how outrageous it was sometimes, but no matter the thoughts that crossed his mind, they always ended with you. Then he would think that maybe it wasn't the strawberry shampoo that was the constant he could count on, maybe it was just you, after all. He could always count on you, and that brought a peace to him that he never thought he would have. 

The sound of the door opening pulled him from his blissful state, his hand automatically reaching under his pillow for a weapon as he turned his head to see who it was.

"Morning Sunshine." Sam said as he walked in, carrying a tray of coffees and pastries.

"What time is it?" Dean croaked out, you shifting in your sleep and tossing your leg over him.

"Uh, it's about five forty-five." Sam said.

"In the morning?" Dean asked, a little annoyed to be awake that early.

"Yep." Sam replied.

"Where does the day go?" Dean asked as he untangled himself from you so that he could sit up, being careful not to wake you as you were definitely not a morning person. "Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked once he was free of you, reaching up to move a strand of hair that had fallen across your face.

Sam watched the moment unfold before him, a feeling he couldn't place hitting him, "Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours." he replied.

"Liar. Cause I was up at three, and you and Y/N were watching a George Foreman informercial." Dean said, staring him down.

Sam scoffed, "No, we weren't." he said, knowing just how worried you and Dean were about him.

"Really? Cause I'm pretty sure I heard Y/N talking about how she would kill someone for one of those fuckin' steaks." Dean said, choosing to leave out what else he heard.

"Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV, and you know infomercials about food always make her hungry, and then she wants to order whatever it is they are talking about." Sam said, smiling a little about how you always insisted on ordering everything you saw on TV, Bobby's kitchen full of different appliances.

"Did she order the grill?" Dean asked.

"Someone wouldn't let me." you said, sitting up in bed, sleepily rubbing your eyes. "Why the fuck are we awake right now?"

"I, uh, couldn't sleep, but I got coffee." Sam said before thrusting a cup in your face.

You accepted it, looking up at him with a sad smile, "Thanks." you said, wishing there was something you could do to make him feel better.

"When was the last time you got a good nights sleep?" Dean asked.

"I don't know, a little while, I guess. It's not a big deal." Sam said as you got out of bed, making your way over to the pastries he bought.

"Yeah, it is." Dean said.

"Look, I appreciate your concern-" Sam tried to say before Dean interrupted.

"Oh, I'm not concerned about you. It's your job to keep our asses alive. We need you sharp." Dean explained.

You whipped around, powder from the powdered doughnut you were eating covering your mouth, "Hey! I think I've done a pretty good job of keeping us alive so far, but maybe you're right, Dean." you said before turning to face Sam. "I'm officially passing the responsibility of keeping our asses alive to you. Good luck with that one." you said, pointing to Dean, Sam smiling a little.

Dean scoffed, "If he's gonna need luck with anything, it's you." Dean shot back.

"Please, don't be ridiculous, Dean. I'm constantly savin' your ass. Plus, there's the fact that every time you see a pair of boobs anywhere near you, you get distracted." you said, before licking your lips to get the powder from your doughnut.

"Oh, that real cute. Especially coming from the person that told one of the cops a few cases back that she bet she could bounce a nickel off that fuckin' ass, and then if I'm remembering right...pulled a nickel out of her pocket and said wanna give it a try, cowboy." Dean said, a completely serious look on his face as he looked at you.

You threw your hands in the air, "Sue me! The man had a great ass. I was only being nice and giving him a compliment. Plus, that case was over so it doesn't count." you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Sam sighed, "I forgot how alike the two of you are. It's a little disturbing." Sam said, looking between you and Dean.

The three of you were silent for a few moments, "Seriously, are you still having nightmares about Jess?" Dean finally asked, getting back on track.

Sam crossed the room, and sat down on the other bed, handing a coffee to Dean, "Yeah, but it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job. Man, it gets to you." Sam said.

"You can't let it get to you, Sam." you said coming to sit next to him.

"Yeah, you can't bring it home like that." Dean added.

"So, what? All this it...never keeps you guys up at night?" Sam asked.

"Nope." you said, Dean shaking his head no.

"Never? You guys are never afraid?" Sam asked, reaching under Dean's pillow to pull out a large hunting knife, holding it up as evidence. "And I'm willing to bet there's one on your side, too." he said, looking over at you.

Dean took the knife back. "That's not fear. That is precaution." he said.

You nodded your head, "Yeah, I just call that being smart." you said.

"All right, whatever. I'm too tired to argue with you two." Sam said, Dean's phone ringing seconds later.

"Hello." he said, you and Sam focusing on him. "Oh right, yeah. Up in Kittanning, Pennsylvania...the poltergeist thing. It's not back is it?" Dean asked, and even though you could only hear Dean's side of the conversation you knew who he was talking to. "What is it?" Dean asked again, after a pause, eyeing you as he listened to the response. 

"Thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean, Y/N, and your dad really helped me out." Jerry said to Sam.

"Yeah, they told me. It was a poltergeist?" Sam asked, the four of you walking to Jerry's office inside of the hangar.

"Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie." one of the workers said in passing, causing you to chuckle.

"Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking. Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart. Tell you something if it wasn’t for those two and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?" Jerry asked. 

"Yeah, I was. I'm...taking some time off." Sam answered.

"Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time." Jerry said.

"He did?" Sam asked, shocked.

"Yeah, you bet he did. Oh, hey you know I tried to get a hold of him but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?" Jerry asked.

"Good." you blurted out.

"Yeah, he's, um, wrapped up in a job right now." Dean said.

"Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam. Even trade, huh?" Jerry asked, you and Dean laughing.

"No, not by a long shot." Sam replied. 

"I got something I want you guys to hear." Jerry said, the four of you now in his office. "I listened to this, and well, it sounded like it was up your alley." he said, putting a cd into a drive. "Normally, I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours." Jerry said before the recording started to play.

"Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britannia 2485- immediate instruction help! United Britannia 2485, I copy your message- May be experiencing some mechanical failure..." the voice said before a loud whooshing sound.

"Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they're saying mechanical failure, cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board, and only seven got out alive. Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh...well, he's pretty broken up about it, like it was his fault." Jerry said.

"You don't think it was?" Sam asked.

"No, I don't." Jerry said.

"Don't worry, Jerry. We'll figure it out." you said. 

"Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors." Sam rattled off.

"And, uh, any way we can take a look at the wreckage?" Dean asked.

"The other stuff is no problem, but the wreckage...the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance." Jerry said, Dean frowning.

"No problem." Dean said, you cocking your head to the side, wondering what he had planned. 

You and Sam were waiting by the car outside of a Copy Jack, Dean finally walking out as an attractive woman was walking in, the two of them taking a few moments to say hello to each other.

"You've been in there forever." Sam said.

Dean held up three IDs, "You can't rush perfection." he said.

You snatched your ID from his hand, "My perfection never takes that long." you sassed, looking down at the ID.

"Homeland Security?" Sam asked, taking his ID.

"Awesome." you excitedly said, "We haven't done this yet."

"That's pretty illegal, even for us." Sam said.

"Yeah, well, like she said, it's something new. You know? People haven't seen it a thousand times." Dean said, smiling a little at how excited you were. 

The three of you got in the car, "All right, so what did you guys get?" Dean asked.

"Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder." Sam said.

"Yeah?" Dean asked.

"Oh, fuck yeah, there is." you said, leaning up from the backseat.

"Listen." Sam said, before playing the recording, a scratchy voice saying "No survivors." playing.

"No survivors? What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors." Dean said.

"I know. That's what I said, too." you said.

"Got me." Sam replied.

"So, what are you guys thinking? A haunted flight?" Dean asked.

"Maybe." you said shrugging your shoulders, "I think it's a little early to call it just yet."

"There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers." Sam said, you and Dean both humming in agreement, "or remember flight 401?"

"Right. The one that crashed. The airline salvaged some of it's parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights." Dean said.

"Right." Sam said.

"Well, maybe it's kind of the same thing here, a similar deal." you said.

"All right, so survivors, which one do you guys want to talk to first?" Dean asked.

"Third on the list, Max Jaffey." Sam said.

"Oh, yeah." you said, nodding.

"Why him?" Dean asked.

"Well, for one, he's from around here." Sam said, you quickly jumping in.

"And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did. This is our fuckin' guy." you said.

"What makes you guys say that?" Dean asked.

"Well, I spoke to his mother." Sam answered, the impala coming to a stop in front of the gate to a building with a sign out front reading RIVERFRONT PSYCHIATRIC HOSPITAL. "And she told me where to find him."

"This guy has definitely seen some shit." you said, the three of you preparing to interview Max Jaffey.

Max was walking with a cane between Sam and Dean, Dean making sure to keep you close to his side in case any of the crazies, as he called them, got any ideas.

"I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security." Max said.

"Right. Some new information has come up. So, if you could just answer a couple questions..." Dean trailed off.

"We only need a few moments of your time, Mr. Jaffey, and we would greatly appreciate anything you could offer." you said, smiling kindly at him.

"Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything...unusual?" Sam asked.

"Like what?" Max asked.

"Strange lights, weird noises, maybe, voices." Dean said.

"Maybe a strange smell." you added.

"No, nothing." Max said.

"Mr. Joffey." Dean said.

"Jaffey." Max interrupted, correcting him.

"Jaffey. You checked yourself in here, right?" Dean asked, Max nodding his head, "Can I ask why?"

"I was a little stressed. I survived a plane crash." Max said.

"Uh huh, and that's what terrified you? That's what you were afraid of?" Dean asked.

"I...I don't want to talk about this anymore." Max said, clearly uncomfortable.

"See, I think maybe you did see something up there. We need to know what." Dean said.

"No. No, I was...delusional. Seeing things." he said.

"He was seeing things." Dean sassed.

"Mr. Jaffey, we would really appreciate your cooperation." you said.

"It's ok. Just tell us what you thought you saw, please." Sam said.

"There was...this...man, and, uh, he had these...eyes, these, uh...black eyes, and I saw him, or I thought I saw him..." he said, trailing off, your body tensing when he said black eyes, hoping he was wrong.

"What?" Dean asked, eager to know the rest.

"He opened the emergency exit, but that's...that's impossible, right? There's something like two tons of pressure on that door." he said, you shaking your head.

"Fuck." you breathed out, lost in your own thoughts.

"Yeah." Dean said before looking over at you, noticing that you were no longer following along.

"This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage." Sam said, confusing Max.

"What are you, nuts?" Max asked, Sam tilting his head at the ironic question. "He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me." 

The Impala pulled up in front of a house, Dean looking at  you in the rearview mirror as he cut the engine, wondering why you had been so quiet.

"So, here we are, George Phelps, seat 2c." Sam said.

"Man, I don't care how strong you are." Dean said as the three of you got out of the car. "Even yoked up on PCP or something, no way you can open up an emergency door during a flight." Dean said.

"Not if you're human, but maybe this guy George was something else. Some kind of creature, maybe in human form." Sam said.

"Does that look like a creature's lair to you?" Dean asked Sam before turning to you. "Back me up, Singer." he said, you  just shrugging your shoulders as you walked to the door, both Sam and Dean looking after you in concern. 

The three of you were sitting around from Mrs. Phelps, Sam looking at a framed photograph, "This is your late husband?" Sam asked.

"Yes, that was my George." she replied.

"And he was a...dentist?" Dean asked.

"Mmm hmm. He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that..." she trailed off.

"How long were you married?" Sam asked, trying to regain her focus.

"Thirteen years." she answered.

"In all that time, did you ever notice anything strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?" Sam asked.

"What about his eyes? Did they ever look funny to you? Black, maybe?" you blurted out, not able to keep the question to yourself.

"No, his eyes were...fine, never black. He, uh, he had acid reflux, though. If that's what you mean?" she said, looking from you to Sam. 

The three of you were coming down the stairs out front, you in the lead.

"I mean, it goes without saying. It just doesn't make any sense." Sam said.

"A middle aged dentist with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified." Dean said to Sam before calling out to you, "What's going on with you, Singer?" he asked.

"Nothing." you said, not looking at him.

"Hey." he said, grabbing your arm to stop you, "Come on, something is up with you. You've been weird since we talked to Jaffey, so what's going on with you?" he asked, holding onto you so you couldn't walk away.

"I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. That's it. I'm fine." you said, knowing that he didn't fully believe you.

"You know what we need to do, is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage." Dean said.

"Okay, but if we're going go that route, we'd better look the part." Sam said, looking between you and Dean. 

You were leaning against the car, feeling completely out of your comfort zone in your new wardrobe. The black pencil skirt, crisp white shirt, and black fitted blazer weren't something you could ever see yourself wearing voluntarily. The heels were the only thing you felt slightly comfortable in, wearing them to hit the bars whenever you had a night off.

You crossed your arms over your chest, waiting on Sam and Dean to come out of the store they were in. You finally spotted them walking out, each of them wearing a new black suit with a white shirt. You smiled to yourself, thinking how good both of them looked.

"Man, I look like one of the Blues Brothers." Dean said.

"No, you don't. You look more like a seventh grader at his first dance." Sam teased.

"Hey, I look like a secretary from some cheesy porno." you said, twisting your hair up into a bun.

"I think you look really nice, Y/N." Sam said, smiling at you.

"Thanks, Sam. You look really good, too." you said, before looking over to Dean to get his opinion.

"A secretary, huh? Maybe, I can see you in my office later." he said, smirking at you.

You chuckled, "Real funny. Maybe, I'll just come chaperone your dance instead." you said.

Dean shook his head before looking down at himself, "I hate this thing." he said.

"Me too." you said, adjusting your skirt.

"Hey, you guys want into that warehouse or not?" Sam asked. 

The three of you walked into the warehouse each of you flashing your badge to the security guard, who nodded and let you in.

You started to walk among the wreckage, Dean reaching into his pocket to pull out a device before placing earbuds in his ears.

"What is that?" Sam asked, eyeing the device.

"It's an EMF meter, reads electromagnetic frequencies." Dean replied.

"Come on, Sam, I know you aren't that rusty." you teased, glancing over at him.

"I know what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted up Walkman?" Sam asked.

"Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade." Dean proudly said, grinning.

"Yeah, I can see that." Sam said, unimpressed, Dean's grin fading.

You walked over to him, "Hey, I think it's fuckin' awesome. You did a good job." you said, as he ran the meter over a piece of wreckage.

"Check out the emergency door handle." Dean said, before scratching off some yellow dust, getting some on his hand. "What is this stuff?" he asked.

You shook your head, despite having a pretty good idea what it was. You didn't want to say anything until you were completely sure that you were right, thinking there was no need to cause a fuss. Especially if you were wrong in the end.

"One way to find out." Sam said, scraping some of the yellow dust into a bag.

"Shh...listen." you said, the sounds of several footsteps echoing, "Yeah, we need to go like fuckin' now." you added, the three of you quickly making an exit. 

Sam and Dean peered around the corner, checking to make sure the coast was clear, while you pulled off your heels, unable to run in them. The three of you walked casually around the corner, until an alarm started to blare, kicking all of you into high gear.

Dean took off his suit jacket and tossed it over the barbed wire at the top of the fence, Sam climbing over without a problem.

Dean started to climb over, but stopped when you didn't follow, "Sometime today would be nice, Y/N." he said, looking over his shoulder at you.

"I can't climb over in this fuckin' skirt." you said, tossing your heels over the fence. "It's so tight I can barely take a decent step."

"You better hike that thing up, or do whatever you need to do, but you better get your ass over that fence...NOW." Dean said.

"Just don't look." you said, pulling the skirt up until it bunched around your waist, checking to make sure Dean wasn't looking. "I'm serious, Dean. Close your fuckin' eyes. You too, Sam!" you said, preparing to climb over the fence.

"You commando or something?" Dean asked, managing to keep his focus on your face.

"We were supposed to go to a laundry mat, but then Jerry called, and we've been too busy." you said as you climbed the fence, quickly throwing your leg over and making your way down the other side, yanking your skirt down before picking up your heels.

"Well, these monkey suits do come in handy." Dean said, as he landed on the other side of the fence. "Hey, Singer, I think I got a nickel in my pocket. How much you want bet I can bounce it off-" Dean got out before you took off after him.

"I'm going to fuckin' kill you." you seethed, chasing after him. 

The three of you were standing inside of Jerry's office. Sam had given him the yellow substance he had collected at the scene and Jerry was now looking at it under a microscope.

"Huh. This stuff is covered in-" Jerry started to say.

"Sulfur." you finished for him, all three of them looking at you.

"Sulfur." Jerry said, still looking at you.

"How did you know that?" Dean asked.

"Lucky guess." you said, shrugging your shoulders.

"You're sure?" Sam asked Jerry.

"Take a look for yourself." Jerry said, loud banging sounds from outside catching his attention. "If you guys will excuse me. I have an idiot to fire." Jerry said before excusing himself from his office, leaving you, Sam, and Dean behind.

Dean took a look through the microscope for himself, "Hmmm. You know, there's not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue." he said to Sam before turning to you, "You want to tell us how you really knew that?"

You sighed, "I had a feeling, ok. I mean, with what Max Jaffey said about the guys eyes, and his strength, then the sulfur.  I mean, add it all up and it most likely points to one thing." you said.

"Demonic possession?" Sam asked, you nodding your head.

"It would explain how a mortal man would have the strength to open up an emergency hatch." Dean said, looking to  you for your opinion.

"If the guy was possessed, it's possible." Sam answered, instead.

"This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean, it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire plane?" Dean asked, you keeping quiet.

"You ever heard of something like this before?" Sam asked.

"Never." Dean said before turning to you. "You got anything else you want to share with the class, Singer? Any feelings or lucky guesses?" he asked, and you could tell that he was upset that you didn't speak up earlier.

"Dean, I didn't know fore sure, and I thought it was pointless to throw it out there until I knew." you said, a little defensively.

"How...how did you know?" Sam asked.

"Come on, guys. You know my dad. I was flipping through lore books before I could even read, and when I wanted to learn he taught me. It's basically an evil asshole encyclopedia up here." you said, tapping your temple. "Plus, I've worked a couple of possessions with dad, but this isn't a run of the mill possession, so...I'm not a hundred percent sure exactly what we are dealing with, but a demon of some sort is probably behind it." 

The three of you were in the motel, all busy researching after you told them everything you knew on the subject.

"So, every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right?" Sam asked, looking up from his computer.

"Yeah, Christian, Native American, Hindu, you name it." you said, looking up from the book you were reading.

"Yeah, but none of them describe anything like this." Dean said.

"Well, that's not exactly true." you started before Sam jumped in.

"According to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and manmade. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease." Sam said, looking between you and Dean.

"And this one causes plane crashes?" Dean asked, standing up from his spot on the bed. "All right, so, what? We have a demon that's evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?" he asked.

"Yeah, you know, who know how many planes it's brought down before this one?" Sam asked.

You closed your book, "Well, death and destruction is kind of their gig." you said, Dean snorting as he turned away.

"What?" Sam asked.

"I don't know, guys. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, like Y/N said, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. This is big, and I wish Dad was here." Dean said, obviously stressed.

"Yeah, me too. "Sam said.

"All right, boys, I know we are kinda up shit's creek without a paddle right now, but we all need to put on our fuckin' big girl panties and figure this shit out because I don't think this asshole is done fucking shit up." you said.

"This coming from the person who certainly wasn't wearing her big girl panties today, or any panties if I remember correctly." Dean said, his phone ringing before you could reply.

"Hello." he said, you and Sam both looking at him, only able to hear Dean's side of the conversation. "Oh, hey, Jerry." Dean said, a sick feeling over taking you. "Wha-Jerry...I'm sorry. What happened?" Dean asked.

You and Sam listened to the rest of the one sided conversation, "Another crash?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Let's go." Dean replied.

"Guess, I was right about it not being done." you said, grabbing  your jacket.

"Where?" Sam asked.

"Nazareth." Dean answered.

"And there's the fuckin' irony." you breathed out. 

Jerry was looking through the microscope again, even though the three of you knew what the substance was.

"Sulfur?" Dean asked, Jerry nodding his head. "Well, that's great. All right, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him." Dean said.

"With all due respect to Chuck, if that's the case, that would be the good news." Sam said.

"Yeah, I wouldn't count on that. I don't think the asshole is done." you said.

"What's the bad news?" Dean asked.

"Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into flight, and get this, so did flight 2485." Sam said.

"And you're sure it was forty minutes for both?" you asked.

"Forty minutes? What does that mean?" Jerry asked.

"It's biblical numerology." you replied.

"You know, Noah's ark, it rained for forty days. The number means death." Dean said, going in to more detail.

"I went back and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in." Sam said.

"Any survivors?" Dean asked.

"No, or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason.  On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP said?" Sam asked, you nodding your head.

"No survivors." Dean said before pausing for a moment to think, "It's going after all the survivors."

"Fuck, it's trying to finish the job." you said, shaking your head. 

Dean was driving while Sam was finishing up a phone call. You were in the backseat flipping through John's journal.

"Really, well, thank you for taking our survey, and if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks." Sam said before hanging up. "All right, that takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon." he said.

"So, our only wildcard is the flight attendant, Amanda Walker?" Dean asked.

"Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight pm. It's her first night back on the job." Sam said.

"Indianapolis, really?" you asked, closing the journal. "I really don't know why I'm surprised." you added.

Dean nodded his head, "That sounds like just our luck." he said.

"Dean, this is a five hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel." Sam said.

"Call Amanda's cell phone again. See if we can't head her off at the pass." Dean said.

"I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off. God, we're never gonna make it." Sam said.

"We'll make it." Dean said, pushing down on the accelerator, determined to make it in time.

Sam looked over his shoulder at you, "Hold on tight, Sam." you said. 

The three of you rushed into the airport and checked the departure board, relieved to see that you had made it in time.

"Right there. They're boarding in thirty minutes." Sam said, pointing to the board.

"Okay. We still have some cards to play. We need to find a phone." Dean said, spotting a courtesy phone.

"Airport services." the person on the other end said.

"Hi, gate thirteen." Dean said.

"Who are you calling, sir?" they asked.

"I'm trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She's a flight attendant on flight, uh, flight 424." Dean said.

"Amanda Walker. Amanda Walker, you have a phone call. White courtesy phone, gate thirteen." the PA voice announced.

"Come on." Dean said, growing impatient.

"This is Amanda Walker." she said.

"Miss Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here." Dean said, you and Sam standing back watching.

"Karen?" Amanda asked.

"Nothing serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so-" Dean got out before Amanda interrupted.

"Wh-what? That's impossible. I just got off the phone with her." she said.

Dean paused for a moment, "You what?" he asked.

"Five minutes ago. She's at her house, cramming for a final. Who is this?" Amanda asked.

"Uh, well...there must be some mistake." Dean said.

"And how would you even know I was here?" Amanda asked, you and Sam trying to stand close enough to Dean to hear what was going on. "Is this one of Vince's friends?"

"Guilty as charged." Dean said, shrugging his shoulders and just going along with her.

"Wow. This is unbelievable." Amanda said.

You looked up at Dean and mouthed, "Say he's sorry."

"He's really sorry." Dean said, following your lead.

"Well, you tell him to mind his own business and stay out of my life, okay?" Amanda ordered.

"He's a mess." you mouthed.

"Don't be like that. Come on, the guy's a mess. Really. it's pathetic." Dean said.

"Really?" Amanda asked, you furiously nodding your head.

"Oh, yeah." Dean said.

"Look, I've got to go. Umm...tell him to call me when I land." she said before hanging up.

"No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda!" Dean said.

"Fuck." you shouted, a little louder than you meant to, drawing a few stares.

"Damn it! So close." Dean said.

"Well, I guess we have one option left." you said.

Sam nodded his head, "It's time for plan B. We're getting on that plane." he said.

"Yep." you said.

"Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second." Dean said, wide eyed.

"We don't really have a second, De. We need to haul ass." you said.

"Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash." Sam said.

"I know." Dean said.

"Okay, so, we're getting on the plane. We need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets. You and Y/N get whatever will make it through security. Meet me back here in five minutes." Sam said, laying out a game plan.

You nodded your head, and grabbed Dean's arm, ready to pull him back to the car, "Hey, come on. It's gonna be ok." you said, as he stood in one spot looking between you and Sam anxiously.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

"No, not really." Dean said.

"What?" What's wrong?" Sam asked.

"Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh..." Dean trailed off.

"Flying." you finished for him before looking over to Sam. "He's scared to fly."

"It's never been a problem until now." Dean said.

"You're joking, right?" Sam asked.

You shook your head, "He's not." you said.

"Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?" Dean asked.

"All right, uh, Y/N and I'll go." Sam said.

"Ok, I'll go get what we need and I'll meet you back here. We need to get this show on the road." you said, turning to walk away.

"What?" Dean asked.

"We'll do this one on our own." Sam said.

"We'll be fine, De. Don't worry." you said.

"Don't worry? What are you guys, nuts? You said it yourself, the plane is gonna crash." Dean said, looking between the two of  you.

"What else do you want us to do?" you asked.

Sam nodded his head, "Dean, we can do it all together, or Y/N and I can do this one ourselves. I'm not seeing a third option here." Sam said.

"Come on! Really? Fuck." Dean said. 

"Flight attendants please cross check doors before departure." the voice over the intercom said.

Dean was in the aisle seat, anxiously reading the safety card while you sat next to him, Sam on the other side of you.

"Just try to relax." Sam said, taking note of how nervous Dean was.

"Just try to shut up." Dean snapped, the plane taking off, Dean jumping at every rumble and sound.

You grabbed his hand and laced your fingers with his, "You're fine." you said, Dean squeezing your hand tightly as you started to hum, laying your head on his shoulder.

"You're humming Metallica?" Sam asked.

"It calms him down." you said, resuming your humming after speaking.

"Dude, did you just sniff her head?" Sam asked.

"W-what? No, that's crazy. I-I was just trying to take a deep breath. You know, relax." Dean lied, a smile coming to your face.

He had let it slip once when he was drunk that he loved the smell of your shampoo. He said it always calmed him down, so you would often lay your head on his shoulder when he was stressed, giving him the opportunity to breathe you in, never mentioning to him that you knew what he was doing.

"Look, man, I get you're nervous, all right? You got to say focused." Sam said.

"Okay." Dean replied.

"I mean, we got thirty two minutes and counting to track this thing down, or whoever it's possessing, anyway, and perform a full on exorcism." Sam said.

"No pressure, huh?" you breathed out, feeling a little nervous that there wasn't going to be enough time.

"Yeah, on a crowded plane. That's gonna be easy." Dean said, still holding onto your hand.

"Let's just take it one step at a time, all right? Now, who is it possessing?" Sam asked.

"Well, usually they go for someone with some sort of weakness. They can worm their way in like that." you said.

"Ok, so somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress." Dean said.

"Yet, another reason for you to try to chill the fuck out. I really don't want this thing jumpin' into you." you said, Dean nodding his head.

"Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash. If I were her I'd be pretty messed up." Sam said.

"Yeah, that's true." you said, Dean humming in agreement.

"Excuse me, are you Amanda?" Dean asked the flight attendant next to him.

"No, I'm not." She answered.

"Oh, my mistake." he said, the flight attendant walking away, Dean looking to the back of the plane, "All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so I'll go talk to her, and I, uh, I'll get a read on her mental state." Dean said.

"You sure? I can do it." you said, worried about him.

"I can do it. I...I need to move around." he said, finally releasing your hand.

"What if she's already possessed?" Sam asked.

"There's ways to test that." Dean said, pulling out a bottle of holy water, "I brought holy water."

"Yeah, let's not do that just yet." you said, taking the bottle from him and passing it to Sam.

"I think we can go more subtle. If she's possessed she'll flinch at the name of God." Sam said.

"Oh, nice." Dean said, turning to go to the back.

"Hey." you said, stopping him.

"What?" he asked.

"Say it in Latin." you said.

"I know." Dean said, a little annoyed.

"Hey!" Sam called out.

"What?!" Dean snapped.

"Uh, in Latin, it's Christo." Sam said.

"Guys, I know! I'm not an idiot!" Dean said before making his way to the back of the plane.

You turned in your seat, watching him walk away, "Maybe I should go with him, back him up." you said, starting to rise from your seat.

Sam put his hand on your shoulder, "He can do it." he said, "We need to go over the rest of the plan."

"Fine." you sighed, taking one last look at Dean before turning your attention to Sam, "You got John's journal?" you asked.

"Yeah, here.” Sam said, passing it over to you.  

You flipped through the pages until you found what you were looking for, "I'm thinking this should work." you said, passing it back to Sam.

"You think?" Sam asked.

"Sorry, I'm not a fuckin' expert, Sam." you snapped, immediately regretting it, "Sorry, I...demons just weird me out. They...I just really fuckin' hate em', and I want to get this shit done." you said, Dean sitting down next to you before Sam could reply.

"All right, well, she's got to be the most well adjusted person on the planet." Dean said.

"Good for her." you sarcastically said. 

"You said Christo?" Sam asked.

"Yeah." Dean replied.

"And?" Sam asked, needing more details.

"There's no demon in her. There's no demon getting in her." Dean replied.

"So, if it's on the plane it can be anyone, anywhere." Sam said, the plane shaking.

"Come on! That can't be normal!" Dean shouted, gripping onto your arm.

"Hey, hey, it's just a little turbulence." Sam said.

"Yeah, it's okay." you said, prying his fingers from your arm.

"Guys, this plane is going to crash, okay? So, quit treating me like I'm fucking four." Dean said.

"Well, stop acting like  you're fucking four." you said.

"Yeah, you need to calm down." Sam said.

"Well, I'm sorry. I can't." Dean said, reaching for your hand.

"Yes, you can." Sam said.

"Dude, stow the touchy feely, self help yoga crap. It's not helping." Dean said.

"Listen, if you're panicked, you're wide open to demonic possession, so you need to calm yourself down, right now." Sam warned.

"Fuck, he's right, Dean, just breath or something." you said.

"Yeah, cause that has helped me. I've been breathing this whole fuckin' time in case you hadn't noticed." Dean sassed.

"God damn it." you said under your breath before turning in your seat to face him, "You owe me."

"For what?" Dean asked, confused.

"For the drastic measures I'm about to take to save your ass." you said, grabbing his shirt and pulling him to you, crashing your lips to his.

You felt him tense up for a moment, his lips not moving as if he were in a state of shock. You started to pull back, thinking that you may have crossed a line, but before you could pull away you felt his hand on the back of your neck, holding you in place.

The kiss quickly started to heat up, Dean's tongue running along your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You opened your mouth, Dean wasting no time deepening the kiss.

Sam cleared his throat loudly, "Guys." he said.

You pulled away from Dean, "Sorry, Sam." you said, before focusing your attention on Dean. "You good now? You calm?" you asked.

Dean took a long, slow breath, "I'm so fuckin' good." he said, his words coming out a little breathy.

You tapped his cheek a couple of times, "You're welcome." you said.

Sam cleared his throat again, "Good. Now, we found an exorcism in here that we think will work. The Rituale Romanum." Sam said to Dean.

"What do we have to do?" Dean asked.

"Well...it's two parts." you started, Sam jumping in to say the rest.

"The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest which actually makes it more powerful." Sam explained.

"More powerful?" Dean asked.

"Yep." you said, popping the p.

"How?" Dean asked.

"Well, it doesn't need to possess someone anymore. It can just wreak havoc on its own." Sam said.

"Oh, and why is that a good thing?" Dean asked.

"Well, cause the second part sends that fucker back to hell once and for all." you said.

Dean nodded his head, "First things first, we got to find it." Dean said before standing up to walk the aisle with his EMF meter, getting odd looks, but no readings.

You and Sam walked up behind him, you clapping him on the shoulder causing him to jump, "Ah! Don't do that." Dean scolded.

"Sorry." you said.

"Anything?" Sam asked.

"No, nothing. How much time do we got?" Dean asked.

"Fifteen minutes. Maybe, we missed somebody." you said, looking around at the other passengers.

"Maybe the things just not on the plane." Dean said, causing you to scoff.

"You believe that?" Sam asked.

"Well, I will if you guys will." Dean said, looking down as the EMF meter spiked, the copilot exiting the bathroom and heading towards the cockpit.

"Christo." you blurted out, the copilot slowly turning to face you, his eyes black, "Fuck." you whispered as he went into the cockpit. 

The three of you headed to the back of the plane towards Amanda.

"She's not gonna believe this." Sam said.

"We don't really have a choice, Sam." you said.

"Yeah, twelve minutes, dude." Dean said.

"Oh, hi, flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope." Amanda said to Dean.

"Actually, that's kind of what we need to talk to you about." Dean said, Sam closing the curtain behind you.

"Um, okay. What can I do for you?" Amanda asked.

"All right, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don't have the time for the whole truth is out there speech right now." Dean said.

"Look, we just really need you to listen to us right now, and for you to keep an open mind." you added.

"All right, look, we know you were on flight 2485." Sam said, the friendly smile Amanda had disappearing.

"Who are you guys?" she asked.

"That's not important right now." you said.

"Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure." Sam said.

"We need your help because we need to stop it form happening again, here. Now." Dean said.

"I'm sorry, I-I'm very busy. I have to go back-" she said as she tried to brush past Dean, who stopped her.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a second. I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? Listen to me. Uh...the pilot on 2485, Chuck Lambert. He's dead." Dean said.

"Wait, what? Chuck is dead?" she asked.

"He died in a plane crash. Now, that's two plane crashes in two months. That doesn't strike you as a little fuckin' strange?" you asked.

"Look, there was something wrong with 2485. Now, maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn't, but there's something wrong with this flight, too." Sam said.

"Amanda you have to believe us." Dean said.

"On...on 2485, there was this man. He...had these eyes." Amanda said.

"Black eyes?" you asked, Amanda nodding her head.

"Yes. That's exactly what we're talking about." Sam said.

"I don't understand. What are you asking me to do?" Amanda asked.

"Okay. The copilot, we need you to bring him back here." Dean said.

"Why? What does he have to do with anything?" Amanda asked.

"Oh, come on, lady." you said, frustrated.

"Don't have time to explain. We just need to talk to him, okay?" Dean said.

"How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot?" she asked.

"Do whatever it takes. Tell him there's something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit." Sam said.

"Do you know that I could lose my job if you-" she started to say before you interrupted.

"Jesus Christ, lady! You're job is the last thing you should be worrying about." you said, your patience for her gone.

"Look, you're gonna lose a lot more if you don't help us out." Dean said.

Amanda hesitated for a moment, "Okay." she said, leaving and making her way to the cockpit. 

"All right, boys. Here they come." you said, Sam pulling out the holy water, and Dean passing over John's journal to him.

"Yeah, what's the problem?" the copilot asked.

Dean punched him in the face, and knocked him down. The two of you pinned him down, you holding his legs down while Dean managed to put duct tape over his mouth.

"Wait? What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him." Amanda said.

"Relax lady." you said, struggling to keep the copilot still.

"We are gonna talk to him." Dean said, splashing holy water on him, his skin sizzling.

"Oh, my God. What's wrong with him?" she asked.

"Get her the fuck out of here, Sam." you snapped.

"Look, we need you calm. We need you outside the curtain." Sam said.

"Well, I don't underst- I don't know." she stammered out.

"Don't let anybody in, okay? Can you do that? Can you do that, Amanda?" Sam asked.

"Okay. Okay." she said before leaving. 

"Hurry up, Sam. I don't know how much longer we can hold him." Dean said.

"Regna terrae, Cantate Deo, psalute Domino-" Sam said, stopping when the demon broke free, hitting both boys until you and Dean managed to subdue him again.

Sam picked up where he left off, until the demon knocked both you and Dean off again and pulled the tape from his mouth, reaching to grab Sam by the collar.

"I know what happened to your girlfriend. She must have died screaming. Even now, she's burning." the demon said before turning to you, "And you, oh, we have plans for you." he said, Dean recovering and hitting the demon.

"Sam!" you and Dean shouted, you now trying to help Dean hold him down.

Sam recovered and began reading again. He put the book down, and helped the two of you pin down the demon, who kicked the book up the aisle.

"I got him." Sam said, the demon exiting the copilot's body and disappearing into a vent.

"Where'd it go?" Sam asked.

"It's in the plane." Dean said.

"Fuck, boys. We gotta hurry up and finish this. We're running out of time." you said.

The plane suddenly dipped and heaved violently, Sam struggling to retrieve the book as Dean splayed himself against the exit door, screaming, while you were pressed to his chest, his arms coming to wrap around you.

Sam managed to grab the book and read the rest of the exorcism, a bright electrical charge running through the entire plane when he finished, the plane leveling out soon after.

Dean was breathing heavily, holding onto you so tight that you could hardly breathe, "De...I...can't breathe." you said, Dean loosening his hold a little. 

The passengers from the flight were disembarking to an area, milling with uniformed agents, paramedics, FBI, FAA, and so on. The copilot was seated in a wheelchair, a blanket wrapped around him, being questioned by an FAA agent.

Amanda spotted the three of you across the way and mouthed thank you, the three of you nodding at her.

"Let's get out of here." Dean said, as the three of you headed to the exit. "You okay?" he asked Sam.

"Dean, it knew about Jessica, and it said they had plans for Y/N." Sam said.

"Sam, these things, they...they read minds. They lie, all right. That's all it was." Dean said.

"He's right, Sam. Those assholes will say whatever they can to get inside your head. They just like fuckin' with people." you said, not revealing that you were scared about what it had said about you.

"Yeah." Sam said.

"Come on." Dean said, urging you and Sam to follow. 

"Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed." Jerry said, shaking each of your hands. "Your dad's gonna be real proud. Yours too, Y/N." he said.

"We'll see you around, Jerry." Sam said.

"Maybe wait a little while before the next call." you teased.

"You know, Jerry." Dean said.

"Yeah." Jerry replied.

"I meant to ask you, how did you get my cellphone number, anyway? I've only had it for like six months." Dean said.

"Your dad gave it to me." Jerry said.

"What?" you and Sam asked in unison.

"You talked to John?" you asked.

"When did you talk to him?" Dean asked before Jerry could answer you.

"I mean, I didn't exactly talk to him, but I called his number. His voice message said to give you or Y/N a call. Thanks again, guys." Jerry said before walking away. 

"This doesn't make any sense, guys. I've called Dad's number like fifty times. It's been out of service." Sam said, as Dean dialed John's number, all of you crowding around the phone to listen.

"This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency call my son, Dean (785) 555-0179 or Y/N Singer (785) 555-0726. They can help." John said.

Sam was fuming as he got into the car, you and Dean both looking after him.

"What the fuck in going on, De?" you asked.

"I wish I knew, Sweetheart." he said, as the two of you got into the car, hoping that the next case would provide some much needed answers. 

Tags: @22sarah08​ @miraclesoflove​

[nodesiretogrowup]

alright y’all, time for a Melissa play-by-play. I have a theory about this episode but it will get it’s own post:

And we dive right into spy time

That statue in the fountain was very upsetting :’)

GODDAMN U LAUNCHPAD, U SEXY BEAST

I like that LP says spiffy because I use the word spiffy

DEW-ble O Duck

“What I Dewey best” God I love Dewey and his love of puns

SONG TIME!!!

Ben is a really good singer

I like how the song was foreshadowing things to come

How is she wearing earrings?

A ham on cheese sandwich sounds really good rn

“I can’t remember when I’m hungry” A man after my own heart

YOU DIED

Ok, that game is WAAAAAY too advanced. It has the whole building mapped out and those glasses are WAAAY to small and lightweight to handle all that. Is it all through wi-fi? Am I overthinking the logic of a video game in a cartoon? Probably

“I had a sassy quip and everything.” He has the makings of a superhero in him

“It’s a little too real.” FORESHADOWING! Or the game was already REALLY immersive. OR BOTH

OH GOD LAUNCHPAD IS ALREADY FEELING BAD ABOUT HIMSELF!

“Haven’t you ever wanted to plug into a high-stakes, thrilling adventure?” He’s already done the spy-thing. Though it would have been cool to see Scrooge in a sexy suit

UNCLE MCDEE! I LOVE IT

Then an Uncle Scrooge from Webby. TOO CUTE!

There is A LOT of winking in this episode ;)

“We’re a team” DEWEY IS SO ADORABLE AND WHOLESOME!

Aw, Launchpad

I didn’t notice it the first time, but I love that Steelbeak is using one of those plastic swords to pick his teeth. It’s the little things

Is the theme song gonna be the short version for every episode this season?

I really dig Jason Mantzoukas’ take on Steelbeak. He’s just so cocky yet insecure at the same time. I like his voice cracking when he gets embarrassed or excited 

And I ADORE how UTTERLY STUPID he is. I think he’s dumber than Launchpad because Launchpad is aware that he’s not exactly the smartest guy but Steelbeak GENUINELY thinks he’s smart. Plus he feels the joke. That’s just dumb and unfunny (in-universe at least. out of universe it’s great)

“The Sat-a-Lighthouse. Classic villain lair.” Well we know that’s gonna show up

Bradford’s neck bothers me. It makes my neck hurt looking at it

Intelli-ray. You guys are a bit on the beak nose when it comes to naming things

GADGET!

“Rat’s are dumb, right?” YOU STUPID BEAUTIFUL MAN

THE OTHER RANGERS! And Monterey already has his mustache

Ok how did her hair grow so fast? And did she shave her fur? How did she get a more human-esque figure? I NEED THIS INFORMATION

They Secret of Nimh’ed her!

Heron acts like an annoyed/done mom with Steelbeak and he acts like a snotty kid. It’s great

EVIL LAUGH

“Did that rat make that jumpsuit on a regular sewing machine, or did it build its own tiny sewing machine?” STEELBEAK ASKING THE REAL QUESTIONS HERE

I legit thought she was about to pull off his beak

“I’ll go. Not because you told me.” He’s such a punk-ass kid, I LOVE IT

CHOMP CHOMP

DON’T EXPLAIN THE JOKE, BRO

“I pay for the privilege of doing someone else’s yard-work?” THAT’S WHAT I THOUGHT YOU’D SAY, YOU RICH, PRIVILEGED MAN. Whack-a-Mole is actually about expressing all the rage and fury inside you

Video graphic adventures

SKEE BALL! I FUCKING LOVE SKEE BALL

That kid didn’t even take his tickets

Ticket-rich. I love it

LET’S STRETCH BITCHES

“Can’t let Dewey down. Gotta be smart, gotta win the game.” OH LAUNCHPAD, SWEETHEART

“Calm down, LP. It’s only a game.” Dewey is SUCH a GOOD friend!

“But don’t overthink it.” That’s just good life advice in general

I love how tiny Dewey is when compared to LP. It’s ADORABLE

“THEN WE GET PIZZA.” “Yes, pizza.” I don’t know why, but the way Ben delivers that line is hilarious to me

“Pad. Launchpad. McQuack. My name is Launchpad McQuack.” I love you so much

Ok, was there an actual dude there? How could’ve Steelbeak thrown a digital person?

“Yes, I do as well.” YOU DUMB HOE, I LOVE YOU

That card game was great. Truly a battle of wits. And Dewey just being like...what. Beautiful

“Well played.” “It was?”

“Look’s like you’ve been out-smart guyed.” The dialogue in this episode is top notch 

I too do not understand smanzy card games

“But how about a game of 52 pickup...YOUR TEETH!”

“THE PAIN FEELS SO LIFELIKE!”

The sound Steelbeak makes when Dewey pulls on his...hair(?) is great

One day you’ll get to quip Dewey, one day

The cuts between the game reality and actual reality are so great

Is that the Phantom Blot or the normal Funzo? Is there even a normal Funzo?

The neck cracking also made my neck hurt

All the kids gathering around Scrooge is too cute

“Not now lass, I’m on a roll.” SKEE BALL IS A GATEWAY DRUG TO GAMBLING

“I think they just have nachos.” They have pizza too

Steelbeak pecking at Launchpad...brilliant

The little pug/bulldog kid is so cute

The scream when he’s hit with the pizza is gold

That ballpit is terrifying

Yet again Launchpad falls on someone

HE FUCKING PUNCHED A KID! WTF BRO?!

“WE MADE IT TO THE NEXT LEVEL!”

Those jumpsuits are pretty nice, ngl

“Nerp”

Launchpad had the right idea, he just fumbled on the execution

Rubix cubes-shorthand for intelligence levels

She is so done with him it’s great

“We can make Scrooge SO HUNGRY, he’ll EAT all the toys!” Solid logic

“Duh, that ain’t smart.” OO, BURN

Whenever anyone/anything grabs Steelbeak’s beak I feel like it’s gonna come off

THE THEME SONG PLAYS! I LOVE IT! IT’S GREAT

How did the others get smart? Where did THEIR clothes come from?! I NEED ANSWERS FRANK!!

Launchpad is always ready to lend a helping hand

HOW DID THE GLOVE FLOAT?! I HAVE SO MANY UNANSWERED QUESTIONS!!!

“The answer was to build a tiny plane and teach a mouse to fly it?” “Yes, I figured that out.”

Is Gadget a rat or a mouse? She looked more mouse-like before she got smartified but Heron called her a rat. EVEN MORE UNANSWERED QUESTIONS! She’s probably a mouse though because that’s what she was in the original show

I don’t know why but I love when people call Launchpad LP. Maybe it’s because he has nicknames for everyone else so him having a nickname is cute

So Steelbeak was in prison in St. Canard. Perhaps he had a run in with a certain terror that flaps in the night? That would be hilarious if the two had met before but now Steelbeak is more focused on Launchpad. That would be a blow to DW’s ego

I kind of feel bad for Steelbeak. Sure he’s dumb but that was uncalled for. No wonder he snapped

“You bird-brained...” Aren’t you ALL bird-brains though? You are birds and you have brains therefore you have bird-brains. That almost feels like it could be a racist comment in this world

“I’M THE RICHEST DUCK IN THE ARCADE!” You were the richest duck in the arcade the moment you walked in

I love when Scrooge gets obsessed with something and loses his goddamn mind

WEBBY YOU CREATED A MONSTER!

“Ticket bin?” “YES!”

322 DAYS WITHOUT AN ACCIDENT. Good for them

Launchpad just LEEROY JENKENS’ed his way in

His hand is as big as Dewey’s HEAD

LP and Steelbeak have great fight dialogue. It reminds me of Megamind and Metro Man

LAUNCHPAD PUSHES DEWEY TO SAFETY! At that point he didn’t even KNOW what the ray did! But he heroically saved his best friend, not matter what would happen to him! WE STAN! 

 This episode cemented my headcanon that Chris Evans would be the perfect human LP

“I SHALL AVENGE YOU, MY FRIEND” 

This scene, the climax, and the end of the episode gave me a theory, but it will have its own post

British accent=smart?

First thing he does is slick back the hair. Classy

“That cad, Steelbeak” We should call more people cads

How did LP fit into that much smaller man’s uniform? Are they extra stretchy? Because I can totally see that being something FOWL would do. It’s practical

“I don’t know what any of those words mean.” Same

“Heavens, you don’t want them to think you don’t know what you’re doing!” My constant struggle

The supersious guy is adorable

“Well, it’s certainly proving to be bad luck FOR YOU!”

KARATE CHOP ACTION

He still calls him Mr McDee. I just think that’s cute

Dear Dewford. Aww

“I won’t let him down again.” AAAAWWWWWWW

“Can’t go out there looking like this.” You can’t fight crime if you ain’t cute (or sexy in LP’s case)

LAUNCHPAD, YOU SEXY MOTHERFUCKER

That is an old-ass phone you got there, LP

Scrooge is 2 for 2 in missing important calls. Probably should turn his ringtone on

Webby is just so done

“Ah yes, you’d like that wouldn’t you, sonny.” God, Scrooge can get downright FERAL

Blink-and-you’ll-miss-it DW cameo. It looks like Drake’s DW. Does he have merch now? Does he get a cute of the sales? Who makes the merch?

WEBBY WILL FUCKING END YOU

Dewey is SO precious this episode. His cute little bounces

“I’m actually afraid and a little dehydrated, this game is AWESOME” GET THAT BOY SOME JUICE STAT

I love when shows realistically portray sound

“No time for a...crash course” YEEEEEAAAAAAAH

How’d he get a grappling hook?

“THAT’S MY PARTNER!” DEWEY LOVES LP SO MUCH!!

“How is he doing this?” The power of sexy? I don’t know either, bro

“There goes your pal LURCH-POUND! HA! You know, because he just got lurched into that POND OVER THERE?!” “That’s technically a bay.” “I’M NOT STUPID!”

“Classic villain lair!” I can appreciate a man who knows what he’s about

Why do villains alway jump INSTANTLY to the world? You gotta take baby steps. Start with a city, then a state, then the tri-state area a country, THEN the world. Gotta pace yourself

“And Uncle Scrooge only gives us like a nickel each week.” Do they do chores to earn that allowance? I mean, probably. Do Donald and Della have to do chores as well? Give them at least a dime, Scrooge!

MORE SEXY LAUNCHPAD! DAMN YOU, YOU BEAUTIFUL MAN!

“Waaaaiiiit a minute, is that my suit?!” “It suits me better.” DAMN STRAIGHT IT DOES! LP fills the jacket out

I like Steelbeak adding on his fingers

“Your fancy speak won’t work on me, Dummy-O-Duck. Ha-ha, classic.”

“That was totally my plan the whole time” Sweetie, just...no

“I guess you’re not as smart as *voice crack* ME.” “Not as smart as I.” NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR CORRECTING GRAMMAR!

THEY’RE BACK! AND THE THEME SONG! SO BEAUTIFUL!

Again, I thought Steelbeak’s beak was coming off

I like that Steelbeak went into pray position while being shocked

I’m gonna pretend the Rangers were off on their own adventure the whole time’

“Thanks for the...rescue.” AND GADGET SALUTES BACK AND WINKS! BEAUTIFUL!

“No person could survive being that stupid”

Launchpad, always willing to take one for the team

“There’s so much more I could accomplish! Stop the evil conspiracy out to get us! Solve world hunger! Land a plane!” No matter how smart he is, Launchpad still can’t stick the landing

“Launchpad, why are you overthinking this?” “Because I want to be good enough for you!” SOB

“Of course you’re good enough for me. You’re my best friend.” SOOOOOOOOOOB

“For Dewey, and Duckburg.” He put Dewey first, daaaaawwwww

HIM CATCHING DEWEY AND HOLDING HIM TIGHT TO HIS CHEST?! SO WHOLESOME!!

First thing LP does after things go back to normal? Fix his hair. Hair is very important to your state of mind, I guess

“Was it all a game?” Life is just a game

“Wait until I tell Huey I...YOU beat the game.” AAAAWWWWWW

“I’m not playing with anyone but you.” MY HEART!!!!

Scrooge is so broken. And the ticket to prize ratio, too true

“How much money did you spend to get those tickets?” Don’t play skee ball, kids. It will ruin your life

“I don’t think we should bring you here anymore.” Donald should probably be the one picking you up because Della would TOTALLY get hooked on a game/get too aggressive and I could see Beakley falling into the same trap

The comb just sticks there

The subtitles call him Suave-Pad, I LOVE IT!

“I like purple. A lot. Ha! Man, I’m glad I got that off my chest.” A DW reference or a CODEWORD?

“WARM THEM, YOU OLD FOOL! WAAAAARN THEEEEEM! Oh, dash it all, I’m going for a soak.”

“Restoring your ‘intelligence’ as it were.” BURN

She’s on a first-name basis with him...interesting

“OR ANY KINDS OF RAYS!” No mad sciencing here

“Who’s stupid now?” Gloating is very unbecoming

There are...certain people I wish I could force to shut up like that

His muffled screaming is great

Again, Rubix cube solving proves intelligence

How did he not notice it was wet when he picked it up?

I NEED THE SONG IN FULL SOMEWHERE TO DOWNLOAD

This one was super fun and emotional. I was not expecting this to be the episode that the Rescue Rangers would make their debut in but I’m glad they were here. Dewey and Launchpad’s friendship is so pure and adorable. I almost wish there hadn’t been a b-plot but it was fun. I know other people are upset over Steelbeak/the Rescue Rangers being different but I like them. This show is different from those shows. Steelbeak was repurposed into being Launchpad’s nemesis so he needed to match him. Plus we already have a bunch of smarties in FOWL. And this Steelbeak seems younger and less experienced so it would make sense that he’s not as clever. The Rangers didn’t really change that much from their show, just got a new origin that helps them fit into the world that has already been set up. I think this episode is going in the top 5.

[waterloou]

OC EXTRAVAGANZA SATURDAY

Helloooo all! I’m bringing back oc Saturday for these trying times to showcase some brilliant ocs! If you’d like to nominate your oc or somebody else’s, feel free to shoot me a msg, ask, or tag #ocextravaganzasaturday ! Also, there’s an option to submit a blurb/moodboard!

Some of these ocs I’ve been able to have my own interact with and they are absolutely fantastic!!!!

Below are links to most things they’ve been featured in!

Binx Bolling created by @s-s-southsideserpentine

Question

Stonewall Prep was all Gothic Columns and high ceilings, first-edition books and layers of dust that were older than most of the students and staff that were lucky enough to find themselves at the old school. They were old money, still running thanks to donations from the rich parents who bought their children a full ride. Money was important at Stonewall, almost integral to a student’s survival. Most students had no problem with this aspect, their lawyer mothers and diplomat fathers could pay for their admissions three times over and still have money to pay for a new winter wardrobe to wear on the weekends when they put their school uniforms away in favor of returning back to their parents’ old victorian houses.

Bianca Bolling was different, though. Much to her own dismay. She was one of two scholarship kids offered a full-ride admissions (the second being none other than Jughead Jones himself), and she realized quickly that she didn’t belong there at Stonewall. The scholarship was offered to her at the end of her freshman year of high school, after she won a local film festival for her drunk driving PSA. The short film was a hit, showcasing a group of friends at a typical high school party before they all got back into the car that someone borrowed from their parents. The squealing of brakes and the shattering of glass was loud, with Binx setting her camera down at a skewed angle to try her best to capture the chaos and disarray of a car accident, red and blue lights blinking in the distance. The short film ended with an artistic twist, and her mise-en-scene won her first place. The Stonewall recruiters found her after the festival, a crowd around her forming as onlookers clapped hands on her skinny shoulders and her eyes darted around anxiously, needing a familiar face in a sea of people.

“Don’t let that kind of talent go to waste, young lady,” The school’s recruiter, Mr. Chipping says, handing her his contact information with a wink and a promise that she didn’t really understand. There were many fights with her family, who didn’t have the money to send her to such a prestigious school, especially not one that was across the entire state. But she fought tooth and nail to get to Stonewall and she hadn’t stopped fighting a single day in the nearly three years she’d been in attendance.

Binx was smart and she wasn’t afraid to claim it, but her monetary status quickly became an invitation for her fellow students to sling insults at her left and right. One day, in the middle of her advanced writer’s seminar, she feels the ice-cold eyes of Bret Weston Wallis on her as he turned around in his chair to sneer at her.

“Looks like your blazer’s getting a little dingy there, Bolling, what? The scholarship committee couldn’t give you a few more bucks to replace your uniform?” He reaches a bony hand to pull at a loose string in the lining of her tweed blazer and she smacks it away with a roll of her eyes.

Silently, Binx raises her hand, barely acknowledging the adolescent taunts coming from such a well-regarded student like Bret.

“Miss Boling?” The old professor lilts, his horn-rimmed glasses falling down his bulbous nose as he wiped chalk dust from his pressed slacks.

“Can I switch seats, professor? I can’t seem to see the blackboard around Bret’s fat ego…”

I’m really excited to see where we get to follow binx. Her story is fascinating and I’m very intrigued to see how the plot unfolds with her and the rest of court’s stonewall ocs. Go give her some love!!!

Bronwynn Atwood created by @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle

About 1

About 2

The bell above the door to Bronwynn’s bakery, lovingly named Risk It for the Biscuit, lets out a loud ding as the door swings open.

“Welcome to Risk It for the Biscuit, how can I help you?” Bronwynn’s deep voice rings out through the small building, but Bronwynn himself is hidden somewhere McKinley can’t see.

“Well, disembodied voice, I need a favor.”

Brownynn pops up from behind the counter with a chuckle, tray of various baked goods in his hands, “Mac! Whassup? What can I do for you?”

“I need your help,” McKinley smiles, tattooed arms crossed over her chest, “I’ve been hired to cater an extravagant mob gala, I need my favorite baker to bake me some decadent goods.”

“I suppose I can do that,” Bronwynn smirks, setting the tray down, “Cupcake?” He offers, taking one in his hand, “New flavor. It’s a vanilla bacon cupcake with ��pork belly’ caramel. The pork belly is just candied bacon layered with some vanilla and almonds.”

“Sounds ambitious,” McKinley muses, “Gimme.” She reaches her hand out for the cupcake, immediately diving into it as it lands in her hand.

“Fuck.” McKinley moans, mouth full, “That is delicious, dude.”

“You’re damn right it is,” Bronwynn beams, clapping his hands together. “Quinn helped me brainstorm it.”

“You guys make quite the team,” McKinley grins, “It’s a real shame I’m the biggest gay, or I’d snatch you away from her in a heartbeat, if it meant I got baked goods like this every day.”

“You could just come get some anyway,” Brownynn rolls his eyes, “You know I’m not gonna charge you.”

“And that, my friend, is why you are the best bro.” McKinley wipes some excess icing from the corners of her lips, licking it off her fingers.

“Don’t let Apollo hear you say that.”

“Shit, I’d sell Apollo for a dozen of those cupcakes.”

“I’d sell Apollo for a nickel.”

First off, mgk is a v pretty man, second, Bronwynn is a very wonderful oc. He’s a gang member, a great friend, an amazing boyfriend, and a fantastic baker! Go show him some love!

Estelle Ollier created by @humangrumpycat

Intro

Greek Mythology moodboard

Tsp: riot night

Underneath the surface: Riot Night, The Devil’s House

The door opens as sheriff Minetta enters the room, giving Audrey his signature glare.

Audrey jumps up, picking at her nails, waiting for Minetta to start.

‘You're free to go, miss Lincoln,' he sighs.

'I am?' Audrey yelps.

'Someone bailed you out,’ Minetta replies.

'Who?' she asks as she dusts off her skirt on her way to the bars.

'Smile!' a voice calls.

Audrey turns to the voice, followed by a soft gasp.

'Estelle-'

'This will look fun in the yearbook,' Estelle smirks.

'It's not funny!' Audrey whines, stomping her feet for emphasis.

'It's a little bit funny, Abe,' Estelle laughs. 'I mean, what the hell did you do?'

-

'You threw a Molotov cocktail at a car?' Estelle exclaims, covering her mouth to hide her laughing.

'Someone handed me a bottle,' Audrey corrects. 'And I panicked because it was on fire, so I threw it away.'

'You threw a Molotov cocktail,' Estelle squeaks.

'It was on fire!'

'You threw it at a car,' Estelle laughs. 'You couldn't throw it in the bushes, or the river?'

'The Earth is dying, Estelle,' Audrey barks. 'I'm not going to help kill the Earth.'

'I can't wait to tell Jonathan, he's going to die,' Estelle smiles.

'Oh please, don't tell him,' Audrey whines. 'Remember the see-saw incident back in freshman year? He would not shut up about it for weeks.'

'That was before he started dating me,' Estelle mentions. 'I'll make sure he'll be cool about it.'

Audrey sighs in relief.

'But first, we'll laugh at this photo,' Estelle grins, holding up the photo she took earlier.

'You told Minetta you deleted that!' Audrey yells.

'I lied,' Estelle points out.

'Never trust a journalist.'

Estelle is fierce, loyal, and incredibly smart. She’s an amazing journalist and detective(what Betty wishes she could be👀). Go give her some love!

Reyna Lewis created by @daddylorian

Meet Reyna

About

Reyna is loving, and real when she needs to be. She tells it like it is and has a real talent in things she puts her mind to! Go give her some love!

Valentina Fogarty created by @lonely-full-of-secrets

About

Valentina is so good and sweet and hardworking (and the perfect match for my oc Duckie). Once she lets herself be comfortable, she’s the life of the party! Go show her some love!