#and it doesn’t even make me sad. I’m so matter of fact about dying alone. I should be afraid but it’s just is…what I’ve known

[overbearingstruggles]

-

[steddieas-shegoes]

Eddie doesn’t exactly get high often, alright? He just indulges in his own supply when he’s feeling particularly stressed.

Okay, so he’s been a little fucking stressed lately. His supply is down to nothing.

And it wouldn’t be a problem, except he feels like he’s getting a cold, or a flu, or a fucking tumor. He’s been sneezing nonstop and he keeps getting hot flashes and it just doesn’t make any sense. He’s been holed up in his room for a week, not even coming out to see Wayne before he leaves for work. No way he caught something besides loneliness.

Wayne always has some Tylenol on hand, but what good does that do when he’s dying? There’s some allergy meds that Wayne always takes during the first bit of spring, but they could be expired for all Eddie knows.

So he’s dying. Alone. In his too-hot/too-cold room. No music to even soothe his soul on its way to its final resting place.

“Eds?”

Oh, now he’s hallucinating too? Great.

“Eddie!”

He turned towards his door but couldn’t find the energy to open his eyes, even when his hallucination spoke again.

“Jesus, Eddie. What the hell is going on?”

Steve was definitely not a hallucination. He was standing in Eddie’s bedroom doorway, hands on his hips, unfairly attractive scowl on his face, looking at Eddie like he was a lost cause.

He always looked at him like that when he was trying not to show he cared.

“If you don’t have drugs, leave me to die.”

Eddie turned back towards his wall and pulled the blanket over his head, regretting it the moment a drop of sweat made it’s way down his neck. He refused to let Steve see him like this. One near death experience was enough vulnerability for them.

“Wayne called and asked me to check on you. He said you were avoiding him. Any reason or you just felt the urge to see my pretty face?”

“Wayne shouldn’t have called you. I don’t know why he called you. Pretend he didn’t. Go back home. Say nice words about me at my funeral and try to mean them.”

He couldn’t see Steve, but he could feel his eye roll.

And Eddie knew he was being over dramatic. He was over dramatic more often than not. But he was having a rough week, his therapist would probably even say it was an isolation week, and now he was sick on top of it. Dramatics were his way of showing he’d survive.

“Are you sad or sick?”

“Yes.”

“Which one is worse right now?”

Eddie considered the question, considered his answer.

“Sick.”

“Stomach, head, or both?”

“Both. Everything.”

“Got a thermometer around or do I have to kiss your forehead to see if you have a fever?”

Eddie knew he was blushing. He’d never been so thankful for a comforter nearly suffocating him as he was in that moment.

“You’re not my mom no matter what the kids seem to think of you.”

“Thank god for that.”

Before Eddie could unpack whatever Steve meant by that, he felt the bed dip behind him and a hand touching his back.

“Let me check for a fever so I know what meds to get.”

Eddie hesitated. He hadn’t showered in at least three days. He was breaking out in a cold sweat. He was at his least attractive at this moment.

Letting Steve, the guy who he’d been in love with for almost a year now, see him like this? Hell no.

“Eds. Don’t make me call Wayne at work.”

Eddie sighed and pushed the blanket off of his head. He turned onto his back and glared at Steve. He ignored the fact that it took most of his energy to keep his eyes open long enough to do it.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, I got all dolled up just for you, sweetheart.”

If Eddie had felt better, he may have noticed how Steve blushed, but unfortunately, he had already closed his eyes again.

He felt a cool hand on his forehead and sighed, relaxing back into his pillow.

“Fuck, Eddie, you’re burning up! How long have you felt this bad?”

“I dunno. Last night.”

Eddie didn’t want the hand to leave, it felt too good against his burning skin. He shivered when he felt another cool hand on his cheek.

“I’m getting some Tylenol for the fever and I’m calling Wayne to get you flu meds on his way home. Were you just gonna dehydrate and suffer in here alone?”

“Probably.”

Eddie waited for Steve to argue, to tell him he didn’t need to hide away or pretend he was fine if he wasn’t. He’d heard it plenty from his therapist and Wayne and Dustin and even Max when she felt like being nice. But he was met with a drawn out silence that made him nervous.

He peeked an eye open to see Steve staring down at him.

“I wasn’t gonna like, let myself actually die.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Uhhh…”

“It’s not like I wouldn’t be here. You know I can handle it. Right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Do you not trust me to take care of you?”

Eddie opened both of his eyes to see Steve pouting. Actually pouting like a child not getting their way. Over taking care of him.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“It’s not that.”

“Then what?”

“You’re not my babysitter. I didn’t wanna bother you.”

“But I could’ve taken care of you.”

Eddie’s brain short circuited. He lost every ability to form a coherent thought.

“Eddie?”

This was too much. Steve was too much.

“Can you get me that Tylenol please?”

Eddie felt the bed adjust to Steve standing up and heard him walk to the bathroom across the hall. He took the separation as a small blessing so he could get the very few thoughts running rampant through his brain in some semblance of order.

When Steve came back with the Tylenol and a glass of water in hand, Eddie sat up in his bed.

He took the pills and chugged most of the water, ignoring the angry look Steve was shooting him.

“Thanks. You can go if you want.”

Steve, stubborn idiot that he is, didn’t go. In fact, he pushed Eddie over in bed to make room for himself.

As Steve got comfortable next to him, Eddie lay his head on Steve’s chest and splayed his arm across his stomach.

Might as well go all in if this is a hallucination.

“Just get some rest, Eds.”

Eddie let his eyes flutter closed. The last thing he remembers before slipping into his illness and medication induced sleep was a light press of lips against the top of his head.

[adhdzagreus]

curtain call

The Mechanisms are uncharacteristically quiet as they walk off the stage. Even Jonny doesn’t know what to say as the remaining eight space pirates file into the dressing room of the venue they booked for their last ever show on Earth. 

The first one to break the silence is the Toy Soldier who sniffles, gasps tremulously, and then wails, “Is all that really going to happen? With the—the black holes and the bar fights and the octokittens and everything?” 

Jonny stifles a groan. This is exactly why he’d locked it out in the first place. What’s going to happen is what’s going to happen, and they all might as well accept it. 

To make matters worse, the Toy Soldier’s sniffling has set off some of the more sensitive Mechanisms. Ivy pats it on the shoulder with a forlorn look, eyes glassy with unshed tears, and Marius’ fragile expression suggests that if Ivy starts crying, he’ll follow suit. 

Tim has his arm around Ashes’ waist, as if worried they might disappear, and though his metal eyes betray no sadness, the firm set of his mouth worries Jonny more than anything else. 

“The odds of us changing the future now that it’s been written are over three hundred million to one,” Ivy says sadly. “It’s statistically impossible that we will live forever.” 

“B-b-but we have so many more songs left to sing!” the Toy Soldier weeps. “Tales to tell! Wars to wage!” 

“And we will,” Jonny says shortly. “None of us are instantly about to keel over, are we?” 

“N-no?” the Toy Soldier says. 

“Everyone seems in decent health to me,” Marius says quietly. He holds Ivy’s hand in both of his. 

“So don’t worry about it,” Jonny says. 

“That’s easy for you to say,” Marius says. “You’re not dying for another millennia. I could get eaten by octokittens tomorrow.” 

Jonny’s stomach twists, and he wrenches his mouth open to retort, but someone interrupts him. 

“No,” Raphaella says sharply. “You will not. We know for a fact that we each die alone. I’m not letting you out of my sight, and you’re certainly not going to check on the octokittens any time soon. I’m planning to have Ivy feed them when we arrive back at the ship.” 

“It’s not the same now that I know they eat Marius,” Ivy sniffles. 

Marius’s expression shatters. “Don’t hold it against them, Ivy! They’re just hungry! They can’t help it! Don’t be sad!” he pleads. 

Jonny feels sick as Ivy starts to cry harder, expounding on the hunting habits of felines, which only makes Marius more upset. He throws himself into a chair and starts taking his makeup off with a wet wipe, trying and failing to ignore them as Raphaella attempts to comfort them both. 

“You’re being awfully callous about all this,” Tim says, still with one arm around a stony-faced Ashes. Brian and the Toy Soldier have joined the fray, and Brian’s platitudes about everything coming to an end in time are almost as unhelpful as the Toy Soldier’s weeping and wailing. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jonny snaps.

“Well, you could at least pretend to be sad like the rest of us,” Tim says. “I know you’re all excited to die, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us are.” 

“God damn it, Tim,” Jonny snaps, throwing the wet wipe on the floor. “You think I’m not sad?” 

“You’re not acting like it,” Tim replies. “Marius had a point. You’ve got a run-up and a death you’re looking forward to. Ashes here could go at any time.”

“Hey, babe, don’t bring me into this,” Ashes mumbles. 

“Am I wrong?” Tim says. 

“Yeah, you fucking are wrong!” Jonny shouts. “You think I want to die alone in some backwater asteroid bar centuries after the rest of you are gone? Yeah, I’m excited to die, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch the rest of you disappear first!” 

The rest of the dressing room falls quiet, and Jonny realizes belatedly that he was shouting. Worse, he feels tears in his eyes, and he scrubs at them angrily, smearing the remains of his face paint. 

“Oh,” Gunpowder Tim says. “I guess I didn’t think about that.” 

“You choose how you go out,” Jonny says. “I have to wait until it finally decides to fucking stick. You know how many times I’ve been stabbed in the heart? I could go start a barfight on an asteroid tomorrow, but I guarantee it won’t stick.”

“All the same,” Tim says quietly. “I’d prefer you didn’t risk it.” 

“And I’d prefer you wore your fucking seatbelt, but we don’t get to choose, now do we?” Jonny says. 

Tim flinches, and Ashes frowns at Jonny who takes a deep, shuddering breath. 

“I—I mean. I don’t want you to die either,” he says. “But we have to die s-sooner or later. And I don’t want to waste whatever time we have left crying about it.” 

Despite this, tears are dripping from his eyes as he speaks, flowing faster than he can scrub them away. No one says another for a long moment, but he feels the eyes of several of his crewmates on him. 

“C’mere, you mean ol’ bastard,” Ashes says. They spread the arm not curled around Tim’s waist and gesture for him to approach. 

“What?” Jonny says, standing up and shuffling closer. 

Ashes crushes him to their chest in a one-armed hug, and Jonny breaks and grabs both Ashes and Tim as best he can. Before he can recover, he feels someone else wrap their arms around him from behind, and before he can protest, he’s at the center of a tangled mass of weeping space pirates—colloquially known as a group hug. 

It’s awkward with so much metal and wood and weapons, but Jonny can’t even pretend to be annoyed by it. He’s too focused on not breaking down into sobs. He’ll be damned if he lets his crew see him cry anymore than they already have. 

“I love you all very much,” the Toy Soldier says happily. “Best space pirate crew ever.” 

Jonny rolls his eyes and sobs silently. Hopefully, buried as he is in a mass of bodies, no one will notice. 

“Well, now that that’s been dealt with,” DrumBot Brian says, “I would like to return to the Aurora. I am concerned our parking pass has expired.” 

Jonny sighs. “Fine, but you stay away from the damn airlock.”

“Your concern is touching and noted,” says the DrumBot. 

The Mechanisms disperse and hurriedly gather up their things. Jonny lovingly coils up his microphone and tucks it safely away, and the band of space pirates begin to make their way back to the Aurora and off to destinations unknown. 

[mx-mongoose]

I should prob write this in like a journal or something but idc. I feel so spoiled or entitled when I think stuff like this but like- all I really wanted for my birthday was to go out lunch or get coffee, get my hair cut and dyed, and then watch a movie at home. I’m not really asking for presents either since the haircut would kinda be my present in the long run.

But idk when my mom suggested that “how about you just get your hair cut and bleached there at the place, and then we’ll dye it here”, I just felt frustrated internally. Normally I wouldn’t care, it’s a money saver, and it doesn’t matter since my hair will prob come out the same way either way except the green in my hair won’t be pastel like I wanted. I normally really wouldn’t care and wouldn’t give it a 2nd thought.

But idk I just wish I felt special on my 18th birthday, be a little bit pampered just for the one day. Where it felt like my mom was trying to make the day feel special since I was turning a milestone age, and after a whole years worth of working, crying, and trying to be the best I could be would be worth it for that one day of appreciation.

Where I could forget the time she couldn’t come to my year long animation program graduation because it was too late in the day and she didn’t want to leave my siblings alone, where I could forget the time that she didn’t want to buy the professionally already taken pictures of me in the first musical I was ever in because she “didn’t know how the pricing worked” (it said right there on the website) and told me to call the studio myself or ask my dad just to buy them (but it wasn’t the photos that I was thinking about really), where I can excuse the fact that there’s only like two pictures with just me in them on the wall compared to the dozens of pictures of my baby siblings that I gotta see everyday, where I can forget that the moment my family came home from a week long trip to Michigan where I was left behind because of my transphobic step-grandparents, I got scolded because I didn’t clean a portion of the counter correctly even though I was cleaning the house for hours that day to make it perfect for them, let alone taking care of the whole house and our animals (WHILE STILL GOING TO SCHOOL EVERYDAY) for that week with no pay expect for the Wheatley plush that came like a month or two ago because I had to earn it first. Where all I got when they came was “Well i didn’t expect you to do it perfectly, i’m sorry” and then sent me to my room. Where I can forget the fact that my fucking ROOM was taken away so my sibs can have a room they’re barely in since they still sleep with my mom and its basically just a room for toy storage and a mattress on the floor.

I can forget ALLL those things if I could just be a little bit pampered and appreciated for that one day. Where I can relax at some hairstylist place and sip on some coffee. That’s literally all I want. Not asking for a car or a trip somewhere from their parents like most of my friends are. Just a day where I can be spoiled just a little teeny tiny bit by my family or my mom.

Idk im just tired mad and sad rn

[citizen-20]

Introduction

I like to dance. And, contrary to the popular belief that white girls can't dance, I like to think I’m pretty good. I like and do a lot of the things that you could probably already guess by looking at me. I like Starbucks coffee, though my achingly empty wallet limits that addiction, I like getting “white girl wasted”. I like to wear my black Uggs year round and often pair them with the only pair of Lululemon leggings I own; see wallet comment once again. All in all, I’d say I am a perfectly average 20-year-old girl with perfectly average interests. I like reading and watching movies. I enjoy shows less, especially ones with like 27 seasons and 30 episodes per season. They are just way too much of a commitment, and a movie does everything a show does in 2 hours, so. I become obsessed with most fictional guys, at least for a time, and I squeeze every ounce of serotonin possible from anything that makes me even remotely happy. Until it doesn’t really do anything for me anymore. Although I know that is not a unique experience. Pretty sure I’ve never had one. Which is fine. I kinda like being able to relate to every other person on the planet.

Sometimes when I get freaked out about dying, I just remember that everyone is gonna have to. I think about how my mom, my siblings, and my best friends will all one day die. And I know ... .that's really morbid and it’s sad to think about it, I get it; I swear I’m not a sociopath. But is it also somehow comforting? Like I don’t need to worry because literally no matter what I do or think, I’m not alone. Even when it comes to super scary things like dying. 

I got a little off-topic there. Anyway, I also really like to paint. They're not good by any means obviously. And I only ever do it occasionally, like when my feelings feel like boiling over and I don’t like crying really any more so I have to have an outlet. So I grab a canvas and randomly grab different paint colors and sort of smear them all over until I get an accurate representation (at least to me) of whatever it was I was feeling. Sometimes a certain color will speak to me and I just have to get it on the canvas. But most of the time I just let my hands do the work and don’t think too much about it. I think that’s the part that really helps, the not thinking part. I always feel like there is so much to think about, so getting a couple hours break is nice. Afterward, I can’t hang any of them up. Not because I’m embarrassed about how bad they are. But whenever I look at them I remember what I was feeling when I painted them, and I don’t always like remembering. 

Something else I feel like I can get on here and keep it to a one-page minimum is that I have a very good memory. Like an elephant. Although the things I remember are entirely useless and serve no purpose I guess, besides the fact that I found them worthy to remember. So they must mean something. I guess I’ll just have to hold off until the moment arises when being able to rap all of Eminem's “The Real Slim Shady” becomes useful.

[theroyaldarkcrow]

Will doesn’t get mad. Sure, he gets defensive, yes, but never angry, no. Instead, he gets sad. Mind numbing sad. The kind of sad that makes him feel like he’s floating on ice cold water, unable to move. He’s always the listener, the friend to turn to.

It’s made him needy. In fact, it’s made Will so needy that at times during being in a relationship with Nico di Anglo, he’d vanish for hours at a time, too scared to even look at him without wondering if he was taking up space. Bothering him by just existing.

To stop himself from thinking about it, he throws himself into his work. Will pulls all nighters for days at a time, studying new medicines or training at different parts of camp.

It gets to the point where more often than not, the blonde runs on autopilot without even realizing it.

He just wants to be held.

He just wants to be loved.

He wants someone to tell him he’s done good.

He wants to know there is nothing wrong with the way he gets.

Will gets his answer the day Nico kisses him for the first time. It was late at night, and the camp sing along was long over. He knew he should be going off to bed. Curfew was over. But lately, it was as if sleeping was like dying. He was so scared, he didn’t even want to close his eyes. Alone, the dark would swallow him. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t the only one in the room. The shadows would overtake him and eat him alive.

Will stared blankly at the dying embers of the fire, watching them flicker and fuse out. He detects movement at his side and he greets his boyfriend with a weak smile as Nico sits beside him.

“Hey,” The son of Hades whispers. “You okay?”

Will thinks about it for a beat too long. “Yeah. Are you?”

“I’m fine.”

The two boys sit there for a long time. Neither if them says a word. Will breathes quietly and slowly, trying to ignore the feeling that he should run away.

He flinches when Nico makes a grab for his hand.

Nico’s eyes widen and he pulls away. “Oh! Was I not-? Do you not-?”

“No, I’m sorry.” Will responds quickly. “You startled me..” This time, he makes a grab for Nico’s hand and the rapid beating of his heart steadies somewhat when Nico links their fingers and squeezes lightly.

Nico hums. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been all spacey lately.”

The words are slow when they leave Will’s mouth. “Well, babe, I am simply out of this world-“

It makes Nico snort. “That’s not what I mean! What I mean is-“ With the hand that isn’t holding Will’s, he reaches up and turns his face so that way they look directly into each other’s eyes.

Then the son of Hades presses his lips to Will’s.

It is so incredibly soft. It is so gentle, so unimaginable, impossible, even. The blonde melts like butter.

Nico draws a breath of air and kisses him again, and deepened the kiss, with Will assisting him by tangling his hand in that dark nest of hair and pulling him closer.

When the kiss ends, Will feels like he’s woken up from a blissful dream.

“What was that for?”

“I know how you feel, you know,” Nico mumbles, his hand still on Will’s cheek. He averts his eyes from his boyfriend’s. “You don’t have to say it for me to have figured it out. How you feel like you take up space?”

He sighs. “I used to get that way a lot with my sister, Bianca.”

Will doesn’t know how to respond. “…oh.” He says dumbly.

Nico looks at him now and smiles sheepishly, “I’m sorry you feel that way. Especially if it’s because of me.” The blonde opens his mouth to protest, but Nico stops him. “You don’t have to worry, okay? I love you. You’re lovely.”

Will stiffens ever so slightly. “I-“

“Don’t know how to take compliments?” Nico chuckles. “I am aware. Come here-“ He shifts, taking his hand off Will’s cheek and moving his body to face the fire pit, then puts Will’s head on his shoulder. “Go ahead. Fall asleep if you need to,”

“But I-“

“Sleep, Will.”

“…okay.”

Silence.

One beat.

Two beats.

Will’s whisper shatters it all. His eyes are closed when he asks, “You do realize you called me lovely, right?”

He hears his boyfriend grunt. “Tell anyone and I will deny it.”

The son of Apollo falls asleep with a smile on his face.

[starsscribble]

Stick Shift

Summary: Rick thinks he freeing Y/n. Y/n thinks she's the problem.

Tags: Angst, No comfort, Age Difference, Reader is 25 Rick is in in 40.

A/n: This was when I was on my Walking Dead kick. Finally got it edited.

But today I drove through the suburbs

Crying 'cause you weren't around

  You pulled into the post-apocalyptic suburbs; in a separate car than what Glenn and you left in. Your earlier pride of find and driving said care was gone. Now in it place was a numb type of sadness. It was stupid. You know that. Getting worked up over the fact you were driving a stick shift. All on your own. But Rick. Your boyfriend; ex-boyfriend now. He had been the one to teach you how to drive a stick shift. Before Virginia. When the group was still in the prison. When you were both still happy.

  “Come on,” his southern drawl was clear as day. You let out a puff of air. Head pushing against the headrest. “This was your idea. You gotta confess something.” You started to hate that you suggested this game, but the drive was so damn long. You didn’t have the radio to help distract you. No, it was just you, Rick, and a long stretch of Georgia backroad. The former sheriff’s right hand shifted off the steering wheel. Moving carefully as not to catch your attention. You were still racking your brain for a secret to tell. Then a yelp left your mouth. You jumped in your seat making the older man laugh. Hand retreated to the wheel.

“That’s what you get for taking so long pumpkin.” He grinned; eyes shifted from the road onto you. A hint of playfulness in those ocean blue eyes. 

“I was thinking of something!” You shot back making him chuckle before looking back to the road. 

“There’s gotta be something you have never told anyone.”

“Well,” you hummed. Readjusting in your seat. “I don’t know if this would count because I’ve never told this to anyone in the group.”

“I’ll count it.” He glances at you quickly, still smiling. Which makes you smile.

“Alright. I don’t know how to drive a stick shift.” You feel the jerk was the car spot. Rick looked at you as if you just told him the undead are all gone. Eye full of disbelief. 

“You’re joking.” He speaks after a beat and you shake your head. Nope, you couldn’t drive a stick to save your life. And with how the world was it just might. Rick took off his seatbelt as you questioned just what he was doing. “I’m gonna teach you how to drive stick. You might need it.”

“We are on a run.”

“Yep and this is the perfect time. Now get into the driver’s seat.”

  Slowly you parked next to Glenn. Killing the engine you got out as Glenn moved over to your vehicle. He smiled at you. Today was a good day. Got more food, medicine, and another car. The possibilities for cars were endless. Used for parts. Set up at protection. Used as traps. Daryl Dixon the town resident mechanic would have a field day with this car.

“I’m gonna check in with Rick,” Glenn says. You see him playing with his wedding band. Maggie’s baby bump had started to show and Glenn didn’t like being away for too long. Patting his shoulder you speak.

“Go see Maggie and your baby.” You slammed the driver’s side door shut. The dark-haired man stares at you. Willing to argue with you on this.

“Really it’s-” You raised your hand stopping him.

“If you don’t go check up on Maggie. I will and I’ll tell her how you screamed like a girl.” His eyes widen at the threat. 

“I didn’t know a group of bats would be in there!” He defended himself only making you grin at him. You both head away from the parking area. Back towards the stretch of cookie-cutter homes. You nudge his shoulder with yours.

“First it’s a colony of bats. Second, not only was the scream funny, so was your face.” You teased him. Glenn shoved your shoulder playfully. Before mumbling that he was going to check in with his wife. Leaving you with the task of checking in with the community’s newly appointed leader Rick. 

  Jogging onto his porch you knocked on the door. Eyes looking everywhere but the door until it opened. Sadly it wasn’t the male you were looking for. Carl greeted you with a soft smile. The bandages that once covered his right eye socket had been replaced with a custom-made eyepatch.

“Ahoy captain.” You tease the teenager who rolled his remaining eye. “Your dad here? Just checking in since Glenn and I got back.”

“Nope. Haven’t seen him since this morning.” Carl tells you, making you nodded. “When I see him…” He trails off because he knows you will just hunt his dad down. “I don’t know where he is.” He's lying. You know it. He knows that you know. But you just nod and quickly thank him. Tell him to kiss his sister for you before turning off the porch.

  And you're probably with that blonde girl

Who always made me doubt

She's so much older than me

She's everything I'm insecure about

  You know where Rick Grimes is. Feet carrying you down the still blood-stained street. Streets that just weeks ago were covered with the undead. You wave kindly to the people passing by. It is a mix of your group, older residents, and new people. You still feel out of place. Maybe you always will. Maybe you won't. You wonder quietly to yourself. A nice distraction. Because if you thought about where you were going. Where you had to go. You might just break. So you let your mind wander. Let your feet carry you to the destination. Everything seemed to be on autopilot. Until your using the knocker of the baby blue house. Her house.

“We should end this,” Rick says matter-of-factly. You stopped brushing your hair to look at him. He’s not facing you. Back facing you as he pulled his jeans on. 

“What?” Maybe you misheard him. Maybe it was your ear playing a trick on you. Because Rick couldn’t be breaking up with you right now.

“We should break up.” He rephrases. The words take the air from your lungs. Your mouth opened to say words that your mind can’t even come up with. The silence in the room grew by the seconds. It finally became too much for the man as he turned to face you. Jeans zipped up but not buttoned. Belt lay next to his shirt on the bed but his eyes fell on you instead. 

“Say something.” He requested of you softly. That same soft voice that he used when he said he loved you. Tears that formed in your eyes finally fell as you blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Before you looked him in the eyes.

“Is it me? Did I do something wrong?” Getting shot was nothing compared to your question to him. Because he knew you honestly thought you did something wrong. You always doubted yourself. But you were perfect. So goddamn perfect. And amazing. And young. 

“No sweetheart. It’s just…” He stops himself from going over to embrace you. Tell you to forget about it. Because this has to happen. You're 24. His 39. Even if the group. His and your family were ok with it. He heard the whispers around town. The other weren’t as supportive. 

“I think we should end this. We had an amazing run. And you're young. You’re gonna find someone else that will love you more than I ever could.” He breaks his own heart with his words. Because he doesn’t want you to find someone else. He wants to be with you until the end. When and where ever the end was. But you deserve better. You deserve someone around your age. Not an old man with two children like him. 

“I…” you stare at him. Cheeks strained with tears he caused. “I don’t want someone else.” You grab the comforter. It gets balled up as you tighten your grip on the fabric. Your mind running over everything you had done in the last weeks to get to the point. You had snapped at him a few days back because of Jessie Anderson. The blonde woman in her thirties that lived up the street. You didn’t hear what they were talking but her body language told you everything. She was flirting with Rick. And either he didn’t notice or didn’t care. Doubt played in your mind the whole day after seeing the interaction. Because Jessie was around Rick’s age. And you weren’t. You didn’t really have any life experience before the world ended. So it made sense if Rick preferred a woman his own age. As opposed to you, a 24-year-old kid in his eyes.

“I can get you a brownstone to stay in.” He said. Brushing off your comment. Which broke your heart even more.

  The door opened showing the blonde that lived there. A smile and questioning look on her face. 

“Is Rick here?” You asked, watching as she turned her head and yelling the man’s name into the home. He comes out from the kitchen; questioning who it was. The question dying in his throat when he saw it was you. Jessie excused herself leaving you and Rick alone. The former sheriff stepped onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

“Hey,” he gives you a tight-lipped smile. Which you return.

“Just came to tell you Glenn and I are back.”

“Right,” he nods. “You guys went on a run. Get anything good?” You nodded before listing off some of the supplies you got. Including the stick shift car. You heard him chuckle. Looking into his eyes you saw that same playfulness as the day he first forced you to drive a stick. 

“You didn’t flood the engine this time right?” He teased and you scoffed, punching him in the shoulder. 

“I was amazing.” You boasted. The older man stared at you and you swear you heard a quiet. ‘Ya, you are.’ 

“You don’t mind if I asked Glenn?” You roll your eyes but smile.

“Go ahead. He's gonna tell you the same thing.” He nodded. Hand going on his hips. You watch as he licks his lips. Your breath hitching as you feel your stomach twisting in knots. “I should go. Need a shower desperately.” You don’t wait for him to say goodbye or stop you. You're off the porch and down the road heading home in a few steps. 

  And all my friends are tired

Of hearing how much I miss you, but

I kinda feel sorry for them

'Cause they'll never know you the way that I do

  Maggie can’t drink. But that doesn’t mean you and Sasha can’t. Sasha, Abraham, and Rosita had come back later in the day from another run. They had been the unlucky ones not finding much of anything. But Sasha apparently found some top-tier booze in a rundown bar. The trio split it up between them. So here you were. Snacking on fresh strawberries drinking booze that would have been at least $100 for a bottle; straight out of the bottle. The three of you resting against the metal wall that protected the town from the nasty world outside.

“So,” Maggie started as she threw a strawberry stem into a bowl filled with them. “Heard someone talk with Rick.” Sasha and her eyes went to you as you grabbed the glass bottle of auburn liquid. Taking a healthy swig you felt the burn as it went down. You were far too sober to be talking about this. Talking about him. Because no one in the group knew why you guys ended it. Just one day you were a happy couple and the next you were packing up and moving into your own brownstone. Sasha took the bottle from you, making you whine. As you tried to reach for it but the former firefighter held it out of reach. Her hand on your chest also keeping you away from it.

“You can get some when you tell us what happened.” She landed down the rule and it makes you groan as you move to lay against the wall. You don't want to talk about it. You just want to wallow and let the scar form on your heart in peace.

A crack of thunder sends the trio onto the back porch of Maggie’s home. Lucky for you guys because moments after; the dark clouds opened up letting down heavy droplets that ping off the porch’s roof. Sasha is distracted by the rain. Asking Maggie if the crops will be ok. Allowing you to snatch the bottle from her hand and take another big glug. The bottle is half gone now. And honestly so are you. The alcohol works fast as your brain starts to go fuzzy. Sasha takes the bottle back slightly annoyed. But it clear the break-up has been hard. So she lets it go.

“You got your drink.” She says putting the cap back on and sitting it to the side out of your reach. “Now tell us what happened.”

“I don’t know.” You sob. You weren’t normally an emotional drunk. But with everything going on with Rick. Tonight you were. 

  And I know we weren't perfect

But I've never felt this way for no one, oh

And I just can't imagine how you could be so okay, now that I'm gone

  Maggie held you as you drunkenly cried. Sasha joined you on the other side, rubbing your back. You finally opened up about your breakup with Rick a month ago. You weren’t sure how much they understood because of the loud rain and your blubbering. But either way, they consoled you. Trying to help the only way they could. And the only way they knew how. Simply being there. Because for a month you kept this end. Kept this to yourself. So those outside of the group saw you were fine. The break-up didn’t seem to affect you. You carried on with work. Talked with Rick when it was needed. You acted fine. 

But the group knew it. Of course, they knew. It was an act. Because they saw how you were breaking. How you had a longing in your eyes when the cowboy boots-wearing man walked by. The smile that rarely reached your lips. You were faking so much of your joy because your heart was broken. 

“I just don’t get how he is so ok. Did I mean nothing?” The two women share a look at your question. Because they also know that Rick isn’t ok. Like you, he is acting. Because he is the leader and can’t break down. But the man isn’t ok. They don’t say that. Rick was the one that ended it. That was on him.

“I don’t know,” Maggie says softly as you rest your head onto her shoulder. “I wish I had the answer for you. But only Rick does.”

  Red lights, stop signs

I still see your face in the white cars, front yards

Can't drive past the places we used to go to

'Cause I still fuckin' love you, babe

  The street lights are now on. It’s still raining when you tell Maggie you were going home. Sasha and her try to get you to stay the night. Or at least until the rain lets up. But the rain isn't letting up. It was so heavy you could barely see a few steps in front of you. But you step off the back porch and disappear down the alleyway of the lined-up homes. You walk. Just walk because you don’t want to go home just yet. If you go home you’ll be lonely. And you don’t want that. Because for a month you have been lonely in that damn brownstone. Rick wasn’t lonely. He was with Jessie. His arms wrapped around her body. Damn your brain. Just because you didn’t want to be lonely didn’t mean you wanted to think about them together. 

  The rain started to ease up as you found yourself passing Rick’s house. The lights upstairs were on. As you quickly looked away from the cookie-cutter home. A shiver ran through you and shoved your hands into your soaked jean pockets. Maybe now was a good time to head home. You haven’t even turned when you heard your name being shouted over the rain. Looking back at Rick’s home you see him rushing off the porch and over to you. His dark brown jacket acting as an umbrella. He puts it mostly over you shielding you from the rain.

“What are you doing out here? You're going to get sick.” He frets because he knows how likely that is. Because after the rainstorm when the group was on the trek through Virginia you had gotten sick. “Come on.” He orders and you walk with him toward his house. 

  Sidewalks we crossed

I still hear your voice in the traffic, we're laughing

Over all the noise

  You smile at him lightly as he places a cup of peppermint tea in your hand; you're favorite. You're in one of his white t-shirt and pajama pants. Your hair, no longer wet from the rain but a hot shower. The alcohol is still in your system. How much you don’t know. 

“What were you doing walking in the rain?” He questioned taking the seat next to you. His own cup of tea in his hand.

“Was drinking with Sasha and Maggie.” You look towards him as his eyebrows knit together as the mention of Maggie and drinking. “Maggie was moderating us. She wasn’t drinking, come on. She knows better.” Rick nods bowing his head because he does know better to think that about Maggie. But his time as a cop taught him that some people just don’t care. Not about themselves. Not about others. And sure as hell not about kids. 

“Where did you get the booze from? Daryl?” You snort at him before blowing on your tea taking a careful sip. Sitting the cup down you look back towards him.

“I ain’t no rat officer.” He chuckles. You both do. A little inside joke between you both. And then the silence fell. The awkward uncertain silence of two people who didn’t know what to say next. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you stare into the tea. Rain still going strong outside, trapping on the roof of your former home.  Rick shifts beside you clearing his throat.

“Judy trying to walk.” It makes you smile a bit. 

“That’s good. Soon she’ll be running over you and Carl.” The older man chuckles nodding in agreement but you don’t see it. Head still bowed. Turning your mug as you watch the tea shift with each motion. 

“Seeing anyone?” He was trying to keep the conversation going. But there had to be another question to ask that wasn’t this. You still answer it by shaking your head.

“No. But you seemed to have moved on.” It has some bite to you. You're bitter. Of course, you are. The man you were in love with. Seemed to easily move on after he ended it. You lift the ceramic mug and take a huge glug of your tea. The warmth fills you but it’s not enough.

“Ya. Jessie, she’s…” He doesn’t know what to say. Jessie is ok. Good to have around. Doesn’t make him feel as empty. But she is just not you. All her touches. All her kisses. They feel off and he knows why. Because the hands touching him aren’t yours. Neither are the lips that kiss him. But Rick is stubborn. Even if it hurts you both, he knows you need better. You deserve the world and he just can’t give it to you.

“She’s perfect.” You looked at him. Sadness, rooted so deeply in your eyes. He wants to pull you into him. Tell you that he is sorry. That he will end it with Jessie. Come back to you. And try to make all of this right. But he already drew his line in the sand and he won’t cross it. Because the moment he touches you he knows it will be his undoing.

“She has her flaws. No one is perfect.” Except for you. He wants to add. He hears a quiet 'ya' then it silence once again.

  God, I'm so blue, know we're through

But I still fuckin' love you, babe

  You were gone when Rick woke up. His clothes lay on the guest bed since you were dried. He wondered just when you left. He wondered if you slept at all. Because he didn’t. Knowing you were in the house but not in his arms. He was restless the whole night. He sighs. Picking clothes up. It was sad that he hoped this wouldn’t be the last time. But it most likely was going to be the only time. Because how often are you going to walk in the rain drunk? He takes the clothes to the laundry room. Before he throws the shirt in the basket he lifts it to his nose. Inhaling the flowery body wash scent from when you shower last night. You must found where he hid the body wash you left behind. 

“Hey, dad!” Carl called out from the kitchen forcing Rick to dump the clothes in the basket. Entering the kitchen he smiled at his son. Judith was already in her high chair waiting for breakfast. Carl stood at the counter. The box of peppermint tea in his hands. Shit. He meant to put that up. Carl’s eye shifts from the box towards the sink. Where the mugs from last night sat unwashed. Then the young man turns to his father.

“Y/n was here wasn’t she?” He questioned but it was really a statement. It is the only reason for this tea to be out with two mugs in the sink.

“Ya,” He replied, moving towards his son and taking the box of tea from his hand. The young man sighed watching his father place the tea on a high shelf so only he could get to it.

“Why?” Carl asked.

“It was raining-”

“No,” he cut his father off. “Why did you break up with her?”

“Carl,” Rick sighed. As he pinched the bridge of his nose. If he didn’t want to have this conversation with Daryl or Michonne. He sure as hell didn’t want it with his son. But like Rick the young survivor was stubborn. He stepped into his father's past every time he tried to move around him.

“Carl,” Rick warns but the boy isn’t back down.

“No. You were happy with Y/n. Happier than I have ever seen you. Even with mom. Even before all of this.” The boy gestures at nothing but Rick knows what he means by that. Because he didn’t want to admit it. But his and Lori’s relationship was at rock bottom before the world ended. 

“So why? What happened?” Carl pressed, making Rick sigh. He wondered. Only for a second. If Michonne had put Carl up to his. But he shook that from his head. Michonne won’t do that. This is purely Carl. Because Carl loves you so much. The both of you had apparently clicked before Rick had gotten to the quarry. And that bond only grew over time. 

“It’s complicated, Carl. Now please,” Rick needed him to down the subject. And the young boy seemed to understand but is still pissed. He turns from his father. Feet carrying the young boy towards the door. “Where are you going?” He called out.

“Out!” And the slamming door let Rick know that Carl was gone. He sighed. 

  He knew everyone would move on. You would. Carl would. He would. In the far future, all of this will be just a bad memory. But right now. In the present, it hurt so fucking bad. Tears leaked from his eyes as he sucked in air. He did it to himself. He deserved this pain. And if he could he would take your pain. Allow you to be happy. To find love in someone else better than him. Because you're one of the good things in this ugly world. 

  I know we weren't perfect but I've never felt this way for no one

[l-artemisia-del-secolo]

That time of the month

Yelena Belova X reader, one shot, angst+fluff, mentions of Red Room methods of control, dealing with their consequences, overall a heavy topic

You had that feeling every month. Yelena was hiding something from you. Something very personal. Something after all this time you didn't deserve to hear. For a few days she was quiet, distant, cold. Your clingy girlfriend was turning into someone else. You didn't know that version of Yelena. That one wasn't yours. And she didn't allow you to change that.

Sometimes she was on the missions during those days. You hated yourself for thinking that was a relief. A relief from a woman you wanted to spend your life with.

You remembered vividly when this happened for the first time. Your first month together. Every time you touched her that day she flinched. Your Yelena didn't want you. And that was hurtful.

Other than these few days you had perfect relationship. You both wanted to have a home, a family, white fence. A cliche fucking fence. You wanted a life together. You two, your dogs, maybe a parrot. Who knew.

Maybe it was all your fault. You were not supportive enough, not open enough. Not dying for Yelena enough.

You met on a rainy day in a coffee shop with her colleagues, damn dark avengers, daring her to approach you. Any other person would get a cold smile and idontcarewhoyouarenoidontwanttohaveagoodtime. But you've noticed her before she even looked at you. With her weirdly low voice and a confusing laugh. And apparently with both a knife and a multitool sticking out of her vest.

On your first date Yelena brought you to a race track. 'cause you mentioned you've never ridden a bike. Sure, she had a BMW, modified by some genius. You were driving a Peugeot.

On a second date she brough you to the shooting range. Before that you shot from a slingshot once or twice in your childhood.

On a third date there was an attack on the facility. She had to go. After the attack she went to your apartment and stayed there. It's been 4 months.

You were so different, but managed to be a perfect match.

She even introduced you to her family. Weird and, well, Russian. Allowed you to walk her dog and even wear her vest.

She loved you. But your Yelena loved you. Not that distant one.

You had a guess. of course you did. But that was a vague answer. The one you didn't want to say out loud.

For 4 months not once did you notice Yelena having "that time of month". Not a single word or sign. She could have had them on her missions, while she was away. While she was saving a world. You tried to ask once, but she quickly brushed it off

Your Yelena would tell you if there was something. You were sure.

Until one day you felt a familiar pain. You could swear someone was squeezing everything inside. Luckily Yelena was near. Burning your neck with her breath. one of calmer nights or mornings rather. without nightmares or muffled screams.

You groaned. Your periods have always been so painful. First day almost unbearable.

"are you all right?" Of course Yelena woke up.

"no, I'm..." Another spasm.

And than Yelena got it. Your painkiller. It was on her side of the bed, 'cause of the recent injury.

She gave it to you. "Don't drink them, until I get you some water."

You could hear her walking barefoot to the kitchen, trying not to wake up Fanny.

Two minutes and she was with you. Stroking your hair, kissing your palms. She would always do that. Her ritual.

You took the tablet.

"I'm so sorry I woke you up." You could feel your body heating up.

"it's ok, babe. I know how it's for you. Do you want anything else?"

"No, it's fine. I guess I need to go to the gynecologist. Maybe she would recommend me something. Pain is getting worse every time"

"Sure. I'll go with you."

"maybe I should go to a different doctor. Which one do you go to?"

Yelena froze. She stopped caressing you. A familiar feeling. Those days. Cold days.

"Babe..." You kissed her cheek to get attention.

"Yeah. I was just... You know, I'll ask Kate if she could..."

"Sure. But I was asking you, babe. Where did you go the last time you did a check up? Or you have one at your facility?"

"Нет (no), нет (no), у нас нет (we don't have one)."

Something was very wrong. With you Yelena was using Russian very rarely. When she was mad or... lost. Like that one time she didn't understand your interaction with a friend and got jealous. Or when Fanny had a surgery after an accident with a bulldog.

"i... Well ... Просто (just) I don't do check ups"

"what?" You were not hearing it right. Yelena is in her top form. She has to be. Her organism has to be in perfect condition.

"мне не нужно (no need)."

"how is that possible?"

You didn't want to push her. Be nosy.

"hey, babygirl." You cautiously took her hand and stroked it. "Remember. It's your safe place."

"Yeah." She smiled weakly. "And you're my safe person."

You had this conversation before. Many times. Piece by piece she was telling you about her past. Blood on her ledgers. That's her term. At first you were terrified. But day by day, story by story you taught herself to understand her and never to judge.

"Do you want to call Fanny to lay with us?"

"No, I'll be fine."

You expected her to get up and add the distance between you two. But she did the opposite. She hugged you and started talking.

"I've told you about the Red Room. You know what I've been through. Physical, psychological torture. Humiliation and manipulation. We were mindless robots. And you know what a robot doesn't need?."

She let out a bitter laugh. "I never specifically told you what they did to us. What would be the point? Напугать тебя или надавить на жалость? (To scare you or to make you feel sorry?). Нас бы это убило (this would kill is). Well, attachments and feelings. You see where I'm going with this?"

Yelena looked you in the eyes. Hers filled with tears and sadness. She was afraid. She never told this story to anyone outside the Red Room. She lived with this. Not a burden. But rather a fact. Reality. Truth. Days of the months when she felt nothing.

You slowly nodded. Your Yelena was lost. And she was lost even when she was with you. And you didn't see that.

"They call it a церемония (ceremony). Hysterectomy. No emotions, no desires, no problems." Yelena sobbed. "I'm sorry, I didn't tell you before. You have a right to know."

You did have a right to know. Sure. But that wasn't the thing that mattered now. Somehow you already thought of that. Somewhere deep inside, barely a though but a sensation. But now, hearing it from her broke your heart, tore your nerves apart and took away your peace.

"It's.. it's not about me." You tried really hard to sound confident. "Babygirl, I... I won't say that I understand what you've been through or what you feel. But I swear I'll be there for you. It's our family, our pack, our fence. Remember, we're each others life."

How cheap it all sounded. You knew that. Yelena knew that. You took her face in your hands, touched her forehead with yours and whispered. "You're my Yelena. We're gonna go through this together. You're not alone."

"you sure you want me like this?"

"there's no like this. Just my Yelena"

[zuluc]

anonymous requested: Ahhhh I’ve never asked for something like this and if it’s an odd request please feel free to ignore it but can you write Zhongli, Kaeya, diluc, and Childe (separately?) taking care of their s/o who is very sick and in a lot of pain because of their period? (I really don’t feel good and the cramps are making me cry and shake and I could use the comfort right now😭)

pairings: childe, diluc, kaeya, zhongli x gn!reader

style & genre: bulleted; fluff

notes: anon 😪😪 maybe tmi but my cramps woke me up this morning while i was enjoying a nice sleep so i’m pretty sad and grumpy today and writing this made me feel a little better

Childe

The first thing he does is make sure that you’re eating well. Usually the constant feeling of something akin to punches collecting in your gut makes you more irritable and in need of food in your system. While you may deny him saying that you don’t have the appetite for it, he’ll sit you down, maybe in his lap with you slumping against him as he tries to feed you. Once you taste it, you can’t deny that his cooking is amazing

He still has his job to do but will always leave you with enough food in the house to eat even if you might just sleep the day off, especially if it is even worse that month. When he comes back home and you’re moping on the sofa in pain he wastes no time in picking you up and plopping you onto the bed for cuddles, after he cleans up of course

He will never deny you them for as long as he shall live and extra clinginess from you is a nice bonus for him

Will try to take your mind off the pain by talking to you about his day and what he had been doing all the while massaging your scalp if you were to get a migraine. He talks quieter during these times and he is very careful about what exactly he talks about

Speaking of, at one point your hormones were out of control and you just started bawling when he told you about “accidentally” beat up one of the fatui agents and was about to laugh until he saw actual tears running down your face

“They feel pain, Childe!”

“Y/n, you fight them almost every other day and now you’re concerned about their pain?”

Overall, if you had to be stuck with someone it would be him because of cuddles, attention, and an endless supply of food (that he himself cooks ofc)

Diluc

At first he was confused why you would always cling to him at certain times of the month until you explained the circumstances. He was a bit flustered at hearing what about what happens to your body as well as feeling concerned when you described the pain that may or may not come with it

The reason for your added clinginess is because this man is essentially a walking heating pad. Being next to him and sleeping next to him just feel amazing for your fatigued self. He sometimes doesn’t need to be touching you because the warmth from his body radiates off of him, amplified by his use of his pyro

One morning, you can’t pull yourself out of bed because the familiar pain has settled yet again for the month. You hadn’t felt this bad in a while and the fact that it hurt quite a bit made a reasonable stand for you to stay in bed. You do feel something near you and with relief you see that it’s Diluc who had actually come home early the night before. He already has a hand outstretched towards you which you assume you had been previously wrapped in if it weren’t for your constant movement to find a comfortable position

This is how he wakes up to his hand pressed against your lower stomach and he doesn’t question it when he sees your content features, so he decides to use his pyro to warm his hands to just the right temperature

Diluc most likely has all the pain killers ready and right after you let him go, he makes his way to your kitchen to make you breakfast while you stay in bed, all of course with a good morning kiss before he goes

He gets tense if you start to cry for a reason unknown to him, and in reality you as well, but will not hesitate to pull you into his arms. Though you cry even more at how warm he feels because it’s just that nice. Basically, he holds you the entire day.

“Let’s go lay in bed.”

“Let me just stay here for a little longer...”

You ended up falling asleep on him but he didn’t mind it at all

Kaeya

He has your cycle memorized or at least he’s aware of when you’re going to be on it because of your slight changes in mood and appetite beforehand. Like the person he is, he does tease you a bit if you want cuddles from him but the genuine look on your face isn’t something he can necessarily say no to, so he “reluctantly” lets you have your way but you can feel how tight his embrace is

He does go out of his way to bring you whatever you need if you can’t leave the house and never leaves you alone in the house without. Craving sweets? He’s on it. Needing a pyro heating pack? Already stocked inside one of your drawers. Need him? He’s trying his best to finish his work as soon as possible to return to you

When you’re not feeling the absolute best during that time of the month, he will ask for a day off to spend it with you. He knows that he doesn’t have firsthand experience of your pain but understands that cramps are not fun to have and can be quite painful some days more than others. In these cases, he gives massages down your lower back, very skillfully might I add with the dexterity of his movements. The massages are heavenly like your back never feels the same afterwards (massaging your lower back helps quite a bit with cramps!)

Kisses! You already get a lot on the daily but he thinks they help take your mind off the pain. He passes by you a lot when moving around the house and never forgets to place a small one on your temple, cheek, or lips. Pull him down for more and he’s indulging you in full blown cuddles

“You’re clingier than usual, darling”

“I can and will push you off, Sir Kaeya”

“Oh? Is that how it is?”

He knows you won’t but it’s so much fun to see you pout over him pulling away

Zhongli

He thinks that tea can solve everything but once he tries to get you a cup, you’re clinging onto him for dear life as the cramps overtake your body. He’s surprised but immediately hoists you into his arms to lay you on the cushions or back to your bed. He isn’t aware of what’s happening and actually thinks your dying so he rushes to get the tea 😀and maybe 

You have to reassure him that, no, you’re not, you’re very much alive and that you just want cuddles he was already halfway out the door to call for Baizhu. He may look at you questioningly but won’t ask anything so you’d have to explain what’s happening. Might look even more confused before he realizes that the main reason he doesn’t understand is because he’s not female nor is he really human. Makes sense

Still insists that tea will help so expect one to be made and ready whenever beside you when you feel particularly bad. The tea can be for relaxation, sleep, or simple energizing just in case you need to be out for the day or need to finish up work

When you get emotional, he’s immediately pulling you to him while rubbing a hand down your back or your lower stomach should you request it, listening to whatever it is that had made you so and inserting his own commentary with his very deep and nice voice from time to time to let you know that he’s listening

You know he’s the type to say whatever he’s reading out loud whilst having you on his lap. The moments when your cramps are too unbearable make this gesture even better because your face is tucked into his neck with the warmth of his hands pressed to your back, his voice like honey speaking to you. You could listen to him go on and on about whatever to get your mind off of your pain

“And so--my dear, what’s the matter?”

“So you gave me glaze lilies for that reason?”

The adoration in your eyes mirrors onto his and he smiles before pressing a kiss to your forehead

[gayshipsandanxiety]

volume 2 thoughts

ok so. byler never had to become canon in season 4. yes it would have been nice and probably would have been the better choice if they do ever end up going canon but it’s not queerbait just because they didn’t go canon in season 4.

but the way they handled will’s storyline in volume 2 makes me fucking sick. even if byler never went canon and will was another robin, is that seriously how they’re going to treat their queer characters? will giving mike pep talks about el and taking a backseat whenever mike and el are onscreen? if they make that whole-ass “you can tell me anything” scene and then don’t have will ever come out i’m quitting the show.

they’ve built up byler sooooo much over the past years, not only in the show but also in interviews and on social media. the fact that we’re still dealing with this in 2022 is fucking sickening and i’ve honestly lost all confidence that byler will become canon because of the fucking finale. “will and mike have a moment of mutual understanding and acceptance” WHERE??? WHERRRRRE IS THAT MOMENT? when will says “el will love you” and then cries? when el and mike kiss and will stares sadly at them from the kitchen??

and then they make that ONE SINGULAR robin/vickie scene at the end like “ohhhh look at us we support gay people! there are lesbians, look at them! one of them doesn’t even impact the plot but they’re there!”

fuck you fuck you fuck you

mike’s entire storyline this season culminating in him saying “ily” to el makes me want to throw up and also why did they lowkey make his love confession scene parallel his “you said yes” scene? like there was literally no reason to do that.

and eddie??? why did they kill eddie off Like That? it was so predictable and they literally showed it in the fucking trailer? they’re obviously trying to pull some “oh look he didn’t run away! he actually WAS a hero! but so sad he didn’t get to graduate!! this was supposed to be his year :(((” but that’s literally what all the eddie fans were saying this past month so why did they give him this cookie-cutter ass death? if they were gonna kill him off they could have had him sacrifice himself to save an actual person, instead of just dying alone covered in bats. and why were dustin and wayne the only ones to react to eddie’s death? steve nancy robin mike and erica all knew eddie really well. even max and lucas were on good terms with him. i get that they couldn’t show a funeral or anything because hawkins fuckin hates eddie, but they could have had a dustin-and-wayne scene for the entire group.

fuck stancy. it doesn’t matter if you think they’re cute or not all this “will they won’t they” is dumb as shit and it’s not fair to jonathan, nancy, or steve. either get them together or have them stay just friends but what they are now is fucking annoying.

russia gang was cute i liked the jopper scenes. but it feels like they took up so much unnecessary screentime?

oh and another byler thing why tf did they do that with the painting?? it didn’t have to be will and mike making out or anything but the fact that will’s gesture of love to mike ended up propping up milkvan is just cruel.

max and lucas were neat is was fun to finally see jason get his ass handed to him but wtf is up with max? it’s kinda repetitive to make her almost die twice like that. again, just kill her and get it over with or keep her alive. i truly don’t have the energy to “wait and see” if she’ll live.

all in all i LOVED volume 1. it was fun, it was scary, it was everything i wanted in a tv show and made me excited for volume 2. but volume 2 was a HUGE letdown. there were some good moments like the gang stealing the camper, the will/el hug, and hopper reuiniting with el, but other than that i kinda hated it. it felt heavy on useless running around and fighting but lacked any real character depth, and the way they handled will’s storyline was fucking cruel. i kept sitting there thinking “okay they’ve just laid the groundwork for an amazing scene, i just have to be patient enough and wait for the show to get good.” and then it never did.

i commented in the tags of somebody else’s post a few days ago that whenever we get queer representation, it’s either a stereotyped queer in a show for cishets or a well-written queer in a show for queer people. stranger things had the chance to do both, to write a story about 2 gay childhood best friends falling in love. and they fucking didn’t. i was naive for expecting good representation, and i guess from now on i’ll only watch shows if i know how the queer characters end up because i’m telling you right now i CANNOT deal with another 2 years of will’s sexuality being “left up to interpretation” and then getting a season where he kinda just hangs out and cries and never confirms anything. i fucking hate it here.

fuck netflix, fuck the duffers, fuck every single one of the cast members who teased byler in season 4, and fuck all of the social-media managers posting about byler. i fucking hate all of you.

[mayyourshipsbewithyou]

Things I loved about In the Heights

-The sounds of the city are part of the music of the opening song

-The frame story is the only way this story should be told; the story only works if it shows the results of Usnavi's decision to stay

-Anthony and Lin shaking hands

-Yay to random mixed race couple asking for directions

-“I hope you’re writing this down I’m gonna test you later” only makes sense with kids

-Showing different residents of Washington Heights provides scale

-I’m not sure about the decision to cut Camila, but if it means less Nina drama, then I love it

-I love how Usnavi has his friends’ orders all ready to go

-LOVE how Usnavi announces Benny’s entrance

-Everything about Vanessa in this movie is perfect=> she’s given so much more depth, her beauty is downplayed, she’s kind of a nerd, but has a beautiful smile

-Nina’s heels=> metaphor for her reaching for the stars

-I love the actress that plays Nina; she’s the right age and her singing voice is so sweet

-Nina’s hair is straight when she’s at school; as soon as she comes home, it’s curly=>she can be herself at home

-When Nina turns around and sees the crowd of people counting on her=> I felt that

-I love seeing Nina get her acceptance letter; I remember what that was like for my brother

-Camila must have died while Nina was at college in this version; Nina lost her mother recently which helps explain her different reason for dropping out; she feels lost

-I don’t know why Sonny is using this deep voice, but I love it!

-Whoever decided to have 96,000 take place at the pool is a genius

-The graphics at the beginning of 96,000 are good for helping regular people understand the rap

-Pete just put his arm around Sonny=> are they dating?

-Sonny yelling 96,000 as he enters the pool=> the sound design

-Pete nodding along to Usnavi=> sucking up to the family

-Usnavi is such a proud cousin-uncle during Sonny’s part in 96,000

-Vanessa making her “I'll be downtown” walk down a ramp

-The dancer doing flips is now a diver doing spins into the pool

-On stage, the lighting was dark; in the movie, it’s underwater

-The circles of people in the pool reflect the zeros in 96,000

-Lin and Chris being rivals is perfect; their bromance is everything

-Nina and Benny being together before the events of the movie means they are the beta couple and have less drama than Usnavi/Vanessa which is how it should be

-Benny joins in during “on that fire escape”=> like West Side Story

-Benny’s “Let me in” against the fence is hilarious

-Nina and Benny are FUN, not angsty like in the original

-Nina following the little girl=> following herself, following her dreams which eventually lead her to the sea; all of this is done while she’s talking about her past

-Nina and Benny instrumental™ part 1 in the middle of “When You’re Home”, Benny interrupts=> their story isn't complete yet

-Benny says he believes in her without discounting her feelings

-Everyone loving Nina=> I finally get it

-Nina is home geographically and with people who love her

-Benny is Nina’s home

-In the Heights is about how dreams are great, but the life you have now can be so beautiful

-Nina’s hair during the dinner/club scene is great

-Usnavi is wearing his dad’s hat for his date with Vanessa; he knows that she is to him what his mom was for his dad

-Family dinners are the same in every culture

-Awkwardness of long-time friends going on a date

-Vanessa offers Usnavi his first drink of the night; he thinks that’s what she wants; because why would she want him and only him?

-Usnavi whispering in Vanessa’s ear is so sexy

-Love that Benny is on Nina’s side instead of being mad at her

-I wonder if they thought 5 years of Benny working for Kevin was too much or too little since they changed that line to "all these years"

-Benny’s reactions to Vanessa dancing at the club are hilarious

-Vanessa laughing at Usnavi dancing with someone else

-Nina is always smiling and laughing at the things going on around her; not as self centered

-Nina and Benny dancing at the club=> all of the yeses

-Usnavi is too nervous about being alone with Vanessa that he un-dated himself; he wasn’t quite ready

-Love that they consciously cut all the “Usnavi, help me” parts=> Vanessa is not a victim

-Fireworks are a romantic setting for Sonny and Pete, just saying

-Usnavi/Benny/Nina talking about the fourth member of their square gives me feelings; I need more of these four in fanfic, my dreams

-“I got to wait for Vanessa”=> the stuff dreams are made of

-Benny is such a good person; he’s even better than the original which is what he deserves

-Usnavi is relieved to have Vanessa call his name

-“Don’t walk away from us tonight”=> great addition

-To give Usnavi and Vanessa some of Nina and Benny’s original lines is to see the face of God

-The first time I saw this, I’m ashamed to admit, I thought Benny was going to steal money from the dispatch; I was a fool

-Dancer with fireworks on his shoes

-Benny is smart and good; he isn’t doing this for Kevin or Nina but for the people of New York

-Abuela was able to see stars again on the last night of her life

-I’m sad Blackout isn’t exactly the same but the orchestral parts that cover up what is unsaid is so beautiful it makes up for it

-Abuela’s family is her “fireworks”; they are what light up the Heights

-Sonny came to Usnavi instead of being with his dad during the blackout; his real family

-Abuela’s smile as she looks at her family while reflecting on her childhood is the most beautiful thing there will ever be

-Paciencia y Fe as a dream sequence is how it was meant to be

-The transition on the subway from reality to memory

-Paciencia y Fe is a mixture of cultures; like Abuela’s memories

-“Wide awake”=> stepping off the subway

-The same actress played Abuela on Broadway and in the movie

-Abuela may be in a musical, but she’s still an old woman

-“As I feed these birds”=> back to the present

-Calor means heat in Spanish but in English it sounds like color

-Abuela dying during the night of the blackout is perfect

-Usnavi saying “she was just here” twice: when she was literally just there and many years, maybe a decade, after the fact

-Usnavi’s daughter is the life that goes on after Abuela is gone

-Usnavi and Nina crying together

-Those closest to Abuela are inside and everyone else is outside

-Iris was sitting on the outside and now she’s in the middle; needed comfort from her friends

-“Should we take a break?”=> we’re past the point of an intermission

-“No daddy, keep going”=> does this look like a stage production to you? It’s a fucking movie

-There isn’t a clear point for an intermission; the action stays strong over where the intermission should be; this is a movie, not a play, and movies don’t have intermissions

-Everyone’s holding candles; like the stars Abuela loved so much

-Iris called Usnavi Daddy for the first time because that was the point in the story where he needed to hear that the most

-“I thought about the people I care about the most, I thought about you”

-Anthony makes Usnavi sexy in a way Lin never could

-So many people love Vanessa, but no one better than Usnavi

-Abuela paid to have Camila's napkins cleaned after all

-Usnavi is the kind of parent that doesn’t sugarcoat life

-Vanessa listed no emergency contacts even though she had people

-“That’s senorita to you”=> yes girl, get it

-Love Daniela for getting everyone out of their asses

-“Tonteria” means foolishness=> the more you know

-How fast Carla says no to “ask me why” shows how quickly she wants to please her love

-Usnavi’s Nueva York t-shirt=> I need it

-Daniela’s first effect being on a woman whose hair is terrible

-Carla pushing that man away from her woman with a bullshit excuse

-My friend was laughing at the parts that were meant to be jokes

-Usnavi’s entrance being announced in Carnaval del Barrio; just like Benny in the opening song

-“There’s nothing holding me down”=> assuming he was rejected

-The different communities dancing with their flags

-Nina being part of Carnaval del Barrio is great

-Even Kevin, kind of an old man, can get down

-Since Nina and Benny sex scene wasn’t shown on screen (praise Jesus), I have to assume Nina told Daniela even though she knows she’s a huge gossip

-Everyone stops because Sonny, a kid, starts singing

-Vanessa and Sonny are so powerful together

-Vanessa’s hand on Sonny’s shoulder

-A kid providing Usnavi with the “flag I’ve got in my hand”

-Usnavi and Vanessa dancing together is muy romantico

-Everything about Nina’s appearance in “When the Sun Goes Down”

-“Let me just listen to my block”=> peak Nina

-Abuela wrote “for Usnavi” on her lotto ticket 😭

-They cut so many songs but kept Champagne=>I love their priorities

-The pause before “you outta stay”

-Everyone has such great chemistry; especially Usnavi and Vanessa

-The choreography in Champagne is what I’ve always imagined

-Usnavi didn’t have time to cash in because Vanessa came over

-Vanessa and Pete friendship for the win

-“Best days of my life” is said thrice=> good things come in threes

-Usnavi staring at the room where Vanessa kissed him

-Iris knows he stayed; she loves her dad so much

-Usnavi looking out his window in Washington Heights and seeing his friends on his dad’s beach

-When Usnavi talks about Kevin at the dispatch, the camera flashes to an abandoned building

-“Vanessa at the salon”=> Usnavi sheds a tear

-Vanessa being front and center during Usnavi’s decision to stay

-Hearing the sounds of the beach during the unveiling

-It’s all about Vanessa=> perfection

-Lin being at the ending is perfect no matter the context

-“Say it so it doesn’t disappear”=> the sad reality is your neighborhood probably will disappear

-Usnavi telling his daughter “you’re it” is everything

-Iris understanding all of the little details of her father’s store now that she knows his story

-Iris is the goddess of the rainbow like the light that appears when water appears on a sunlit day

-“Man, you talk forever”=> that’s so “How I Met Your Mother”

-Iris has a necklace of seashells, like the islands

-Vanessa would sooner get wet than let go of Usnavi’s hand

[harrywritingsbyme]

please write a whole smut with bestfriend's dad!harry

Such A Tease

Based Off Of This Ask

And This One

A/N: I’m sorry it’s a bit late again! But your wishes are my command. This is the first official installment of my new ‘Sneaking Around’ series. The structure of this is just like ‘A Series Of Firsts’, series of ‘random’ blurbs that are all connected. This one will have a little bit more interconnection though. Anyways, it’s a filthyy introduction to some characters🤪...Enjoy🙃

You were never one to sneak around. Nor were you one to be into older men. At least, that was the case until you met Harry. You knew that you shouldn’t have been lusting a man that was substantially older than you, let alone a man who was the father of your best friend. It’s just that neither you nor Harry could help yourselves. 

You and Christine were both in your second year of college when you two met and became instant friends. It didn’t take long for you two to become really close and rock solid in your friendship. Once midterms rolled around, the two of you two were inseparable. And the fact that the two of you were from the same place, and lived there all the way up until you both left for college (which wasn’t that far away) solidified the friendship even more. The two of you even joked that the universe really wanted you guys to be friends. 

But after meeting Harry though, you were starting to think that the universe had other plans. 

She had invited you join her to have dinner at her dads. After knocking down the lame excuse of not wanting to intrude on their father daughter time, she was able to finally convince you to tag along with her. What was the harm in having dinner at her dads house? That was what ran through your mind as you said yes to her. You were expecting to have a nice dinner with her dad, and give him an introduction to the girl who’s been hanging around his daughter. That’s it and nothing more.

To be completely frank and honest, you were expecting to find a middle aged (or close to it) man, who was about average in looks and built, and nice. The only thing you got right was the middle aged and nice part. The rest was the complete opposite of your expectations. When the front door opened, you could’ve sworn that you were met with a god. He was the literal epitome of god loves some of us more than others. You couldn’t believe that he was dad. And even though he was your best friends father, his name followed up by the categorization of dilf was going down in your book. Let’s just say that from the moment you stepped foot into his home, you were salivating; and it wasn’t because of the food. As the time passed, you were paying attention to every word that left his mouth; and every muscle that he involuntarily flexed as he finished getting dinner ready. You even made sure to say little so that he could talk to you more. To make matters worse, Harry was one of the nicest and kindest human beings on the planet. Which meant that your thoughts ranged from him ravishing you to walking down an aisle with him at the end of it. You were a complete mess. 

While you were kicking yourself for lusting after your best friends dad (dilf), Harry was doing the same. Harry was kicking himself left and right for lusting after a young woman who was not only young enough to be his daughter, but who was in fact the best friend of his daughter, and therefore a woman he could never have. From the moment he opened the front door, Harry was gone. It was like you were the opposite end of the magnet that was pulling him towards you. Ever since he and Christines mother divorced years ago, Harry had dated and slept with a good (and very healthy) amount of women. In all of that time, he’d never felt the same feeling he got from simply looking at you. He’d gotten close to it a couple times, but he’d never experienced the jolts of electricity that were firing throughout his entire body and the swelling of his heart as he looked and talked to you at this capacity before.

These feelings weren’t the only feelings you and Harry had in common though. The both of you were also hoping and praying that Christine didn’t have to go to the bathroom and leave you two alone together. But that’s exactly what happened.

“M’gonna run upstairs to the bathroom real quick and you two can talk some more. Just no embarrassing stories from when I was a kid.” She announces as she excuses herself from the table, making sure to clearly direct the last part to her father, causing you to let out a small laugh that was filled with nervousness. You were not only nervous at the thought of being left alone with her father, you were nervous at the thought of being alone with the hottest and nicest man in the world; who just so happened to be your best friends dad. After Harry “surrenders” to her request, she leaves you both in the dining room and heads upstairs.

“I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.” You whisper to him from across the table once you two are completely alone.

“And I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me.” Harry counters simply, dropping his fork and lifting his head to put the entirety of his attention onto you.

“Well you should stop.” You whisper back, looking up from your plate to find Harry’s piercing green eyes staring right back at you.

“And you should do the same.” Harry replies, as slight smirk rising up onto his face in the process; queuing the floodgates between your legs to burst wide open. What makes the gates fall off their hinges is when you feel his sock clad foot rub up against your ankle. Since Harry was a bit older than you, he could easily read into all of your reactions and body language, allowing him to know exactly what buttons to press and how to press them. “Do you mind helping me clear the table Y/n?” He asks abruptly, flipping the topic of conversation from your attraction to each other to the dishes so that you could cool off a bit. He could see how flustered you were by him in that moment so he wanted to give you a little break. 

“I don’t mind Mr. Styles.” You promptly whisper back to him. You were so grateful that the previous conversation was over. He then gives you a little nod and the both of you rise up from the table to collect the nearly empty plates and dishes before bringing them into the kitchen. The two of you then stack them on the counter by the sink before turning to go back into the dining room to collect the rest. Before you could take a good five steps, you’re being pulled back, turned around, and pinned against the kitchen counter. Harry has a hand on your waist and the other is softly nudging your chin up so that you could look at him. And before you know it, after looking into your eyes for confirmation, Harry is lowering his mouth down onto yours. This is what you both had been wanting all night long. You knew that from the outside, his lips were a pretty shade of pink (which is the same shade of pink that may or not paint the head of his cock; you were dying to find out) and they were pillow soft. That was the one of the few things you got right all night long. When his lips met yours, they were the softest and most inviting lips you’d ever felt in your entire life. And the way he was pressed up against you as he kissed you was the best. He was pressed tightly pressed against you and your hands were wound in his hair as your lips moved against each others. The thoughts of how wrong this was were blown out of your minds as soon as your lips touched. As you two continued to kiss, you and Harry began to subtly (not so subtly in actuality) rut against each other. Unfortunately, this doesn’t last long. Your kiss, movements, moans and touches were brought to an abrupt and quick halt when the both of you hear the footsteps leading down the stairs. The both of you quickly move into less compromising positions and focus in on gathering and washing the dishes. 

Once the dinner is finally over and it’s time for you and Christine to head back home, Harry gives her a big hug and kiss to the cheek and you a more friendly hug to (not be too obvious) and the two of you are on your way. As you two are heading back home, you reach into your coat pockets in search of your phone. As you’re feeling around, you stumble across a small piece of paper. When you pull it out, you try your best to look at it without turning on the light. The only things you can see are an H, a couple numbers, and a semicolon next to a single parenthesis to form a winking face. You were a little bit on the sad side (inside of course; Christine couldn’t find out about anything) because you weren’t leaving with Harry’s number. You already knew that you were going to break into Christines phone to get it, but you were hoping to get it from Harry himself. So knowing that he went out of his way to make sure you had it was really nice.

 And from that night on, the rest was history. 

You were constantly covering up bruises on your thighs and neck, and taking aspirin to numb the throbbing and sore feeling between your legs from the way Harry relentlessly (and deliciously) pounded his cock into you. You weren’t trying to hide your sex life from Christine. You wanted to share, and tell her about the amazing (if there was even a word to describe it) sex you were having but you couldn’t. And for reasons that were and are beyond understandable. The last thing you were going to tell your best friend is that you were getting dicked down by her father. Or that you were in love with him. That was a completely different story though. 

At first, the thought of getting caught terrified you. And only you. Harry was a little scared since his daughter was involved in the grand scheme of things, but his fear was nothing in comparison to yours. In fact, he instigated every situation that heightened the possibility of you two getting caught. One time, he tasked Christine with running to the grocery store to pick something he forgot. It took him less than 30 seconds after you two were completely alone for him to drop what he was doing and pull your pants down. It also took him less than 30 seconds to pull both of you guys’ pants up when he heard her car pulling up into the driveway. As the time went on though, you began to become more comfortable and willing to take risks here and there. You and Harry would always try to sneak some time in whenever you were visiting with Christine. And whenever you and Harry both had some alone or downtime, you’d drive to Harry’s on your own so that you two could spend some time together. Now even though the sex was beyond amazing, you guys’ relationship as a whole grew. The two of you were pretty much in a full fledged relationship (except for the disclosure part of course) and you both were very happy.

Fast forward about six months and everything was beyond perfect. You and Harry’s relationship was great and you two were in your own secret bubble of love and sex. And your best friend/ Harry’s daughter was completely oblivious to it all. Everything was perfect. You and Christine had just finished your sophomore year of college and the two of you were now spending time with your families. You’d been staying with your family for a little and she was doing the same with Harry. After about a week of not seeing each other  (you not seeing Christine…and you not seeing Harry) your felt that it was time for some quality time. And believe it or not, Harry and Christine were on the same page. You’d received two text messages, one from Harry and the other from Christine, begging you to come over. Hers had more of a ‘I miss my best friend vibe’ and Harry’s had more of a ‘I miss your pussy and cuddles’ vibe. So you figured that it was time to pay them both a little visit. Christine also mentioned that you should stay over for the weekend. So packed a little bag and you made sure to pack everything you’d need. Some tight and short clothes, no panties (well maybe just one pair since Harry liked ripping them off of you), two pairs of pajamas, and some toiletries. Once you were dressed and packed for the weekend, you hop into your car and you’re on your way to Harry’s home.

Once you arrive, you knock on the door and you’re immediately engulfed in an almost bone crushing hug from your best friend. After a good minuet, you’re finally released from her arms and able to breathe again. She pulls you into the house and as she does, you see Harry rounding the corner into the living room. As soon as you see him, you’re a mess all over again.

“Hey Mr. Styles.” You smile “innocently” to him, giving him a small wave to help your little act out a bit. 

“You know you can call me Harry right?” Harry replies with a smirk as he makes his way over to the couch. As he says this, all the times you were screaming his name (and daddy) as he pounded into you. It was so wrong, but it felt so good. He couldn’t wait until you two were able to get some alone time. 

“Me and my dad were just about to watch a movie and you’re gonna watch it with us.” She interjects, dragging you over to the free couch. 

“Is it the notebook again? Because if it is, then we may need to have an intervention.” You joke, dropping your bag onto the floor and plopping yourself down onto the couch. 

“Don’t blame me! He’s the one who got me hooked on it!” Christine replies, pointing her finger in Harry’s direction. 

“I would’ve never thought that you were into these types of movies.” You ponder, turning your head towards Harry as you kick your shoes off. That was a big fat lie. You knew that Harry was the sappiest man in the world. Whenever you guys weren’t running the risk of getting caught, after sex, the two of you would cuddle and watch a romcom or romance/drama movie. 

“What can I say? I like a good romance.” Harry shrugs, sending you a soft smile. He too was thinking back the romcoms and cuddles you two shared.

“Well lets get it started!” Christine interjects excitedly, pulling both you and Harry from your little moment, and grabbing the remote from the table. You pull the blanket from the back of the couch and throw it over the two of you while she starts the movie.

After about an hour, you were a little restless. You loved spending time with your best friend and you wanted to continue watching the movie with her, but you needed a little break. And the idea you had for this little break may or may not have included Harry. 

“I’m gonna take a little trip to the ladies room.” You whisper to Christine as you pull the blanket off of you. When you stand up from the couch, Harry’s eyes leave the tv screen as you walk away. Instead of going straight upstairs, you stand behind the couch you were just sitting on with Christine and you begin “phase one” of your little break.

Instead of just going upstairs and mouthing to him to come with you, you decide to tease him a bit. Get him worked up so that he’d be running to you. While his attention is still on you, you decide to just go for it and lift up your shirt, exposing your bare breasts to him. In an instant, Harry’s eyes widen and his cock stirs in his pants. He couldn’t believe what you were doing. He thought he was the one who was doing the absolute most to live on the edge, but what you were doing right now tied you both for the top spot of the wilder one in the relationship. He constantly makes sure that Christine’s eyes are clued to the tv screen and he’s not being too obvious when it came to being distracted while he took in your teasing. He watched as you squeezed your breasts and tweaked your nipples. You decided to do this for a minuet or two before lifting your skirt a little to give him a peek and ultimately tiptoeing upstairs. This left Harry’s cock completely hard, and his mind completely scrambled as he tried to figure out a plausible reason to step away. After about five minuets, he comes up with a good enough reason to step away and meet you. 

“Have t’make a phone call for work. I’ll be right upstairs.” He announces to Christine as he stands from his seat. 

“Alright. But can you tell Y/n to hurry up, she’s gonna miss the best parts.” She asks, diverting his attention 

“Maybe she’s handling something.” Harry replies, alluding to the possibility of you getting your period. All she does is shrug in response to him, prompting Harry to dash upstairs. As soon as he reaches the top of the stairs, he makes a b-line to the bathroom. Where you were waiting with your panties around your ankles. When he pushes the door open, he’s met with you standing at the counter looking into the mirror. Without saying a single word to you, Harry steps into the bathroom. He closes and locks the door before standing right behind you.

“What’s wrong daddy? Did I make you hard?” You ask sweetly, diverting your attention from your reflection to him.

“Did I say that you could speak?” Harry whispers calmly, lifting his foot to kick your legs apart. “You’re playing a very dangerous game. I’m leaning towards the thought that you want to get caught.” Harry continues, gripping onto your hips and yanking you back so that you fall against the counter and your backside is closer to him.

“Maybe.” You hum, moving your hips a little in his grasp.

“Oh really?” Harry questions, flipping up the bottom of your skirt. “Well now’s the perfect time to see if you want to get caught little girl.” Harry continues on, sending a sharp swat to your ass to make sure that you know who’s in control of this situation. “You could either lay there and moan, whimper, and cry like you do when were all by ourselves, or you could lay there and take it quietly like the good girl you’re supposed to be.” Harry offers, removing a hand from one of your hips shoving down his sweatpants and boxers down all at once. “Your choice.” He whispers finally before lining his cock up with your sopping wet entrance and slowly pushing into you. “Such a tight little hole f’me.” Harry moans as he continues to push into you.

 “So big.” You whisper as you feel his cock stretching and filling you. It felt so good to have him inside you again. Once he’s fully inside and you can feel him in the pit of your stomach. He doesn’t give you much time to adjust to his size before slightly pulling out of you, just to slam back in. He then continuously slams into you over and over again, grunting and moaning lowly behind you. His cock was constantly pushing at the deepest part of you. He was going so hard that you could feel his balls slapping against your clit over and over again.

“This what you wanted babygirl? Wanted me t’fuck you hard while your best friend is downstairs waiting for you?” He pants, continuing to fuck into you. He missed being inside you. He missed the feeling of your spongy, warm, and wet walls around his cock as he gave you everything he had. And he couldn’t wait to spend the entirety of the following week with you. He’d be able to be inside of you 24/7. That’s where he always wanted to be. 

“Oh my-“ you gasp, feeling his cock dig into your sweet spot. His cock was so good. That was all you could say. The way he masterfully maneuvered his cock in and out of you. He knew exactly how to move and slam into you and make you go numb. He was slamming into you so hard that you could guarantee that your thighs would be sore and bruised. But again, it felt so good. As he continues, Harry yanks you up, keeping the same hard and fast pace from slamming his cock into you.

“Look at yourself baby.” He whispers into your ear, pushing his hand up your tight shirt to cup your breasts in his hands. “A cock crazed little girl getting pounded by daddy. A pretty, moaning, and crying little mess.” Harry chuckles cynically, looking into the mirror to see your worn out yet pleasured face and your watery eyes. He can hear your moans as you get closer and closer to your release. He wraps his thumbs and forefingers around your perky nipples before bending you both down onto the counter. “Feel your walls squeezin’ me baby. Wanna cum for daddy?” Harry pants behind you, feeling his release nearing as well.

 “Please daddy.” You whimper. That was all you could say. Your release was coming at full speed and it wasn’t going to slow down. It was hot and tight in the pit of your stomach and you were going to explode.

“Cum with daddy baby.” He groans once more, sending one final, sharp and power filled thrust into you, pinning his cock right against your sweet spot.

 At that moment, the both of you let go. Your bottom lip was completely raw at this point, you were trying so hard to hold back your moans the entire time and it was getting harder and harder. It felt so good to cum around him, and to feel him cumming inside of you. You were more than welcoming to the warm and sticky cum painting your walls. As Harry came, he was on the verge of collapse. He was finally emptying himself into you. He let go of everything he had and it was like your walls were milking him for more from the way you were convulsing around him. You were pulsating as you came. 

Once you two are done, he pulls out of you and does his pants back up, leaving you slumped over on the counter. Before leaving, the plucks open the mirrored medicine cabinet in front of him and pulls out a bottle of aspirin. He sits it on the counter next to your limp body and just stands behind you to admire the sight. “Might wanna take one, don’t want you to be too sore. Wanna pound into you some more later on.” Harry says nonchalantly. He then brings his hand down to your exposed, sore, and a tiny bit swollen pussy to gather some of his sticky cum that was dripping out. “Might wanna put those panties back on too, don’t want any of m’cum leakin’ out. Want you to be nice and full of it once I empty more of it into you later sweetheart.” Harry continues before bringing his cum covered fingertip to his mouth. He then leans down to press a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck and unlocks the bathroom door to walk out, leaving you alone to try your best to put yourself back together. 

Masterlist

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts) 

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

*

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

*

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

*

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

*

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

[redrobin-detective]

the end is where we start from

What we call the beginning is often the end / And to make an end is to make a beginning / The end is where we start from. ~ T.S. Elliot, Little Giddings

Danny was running, he didn’t know where to all he knew was who he was running from. He didn’t know if his parents were even coming after him, guns blazing and mouths sneering but he didn’t dare turn around to look. Maybe they weren’t even going to bother chasing him, maybe they were just happy the ghostly scum was out of their house. 

He saw the entrance to Amity’s deepest woods and he darted for it. It was dark and thick and easy to lose yourself in so people usually thought twice before they entered. But people like Danny had little else to lose. The sting of branches swiping at him before he could turn intangible, giant, gnarling roots tripping him up before he could float over him. But he didn’t dare slow down because that would mean acknowledging what had happened.

Another missed curfew, another argument where he and his parents talked about but around each other. Another ghost showing up just as he got dressed for bed, another transformation to take care of it before he could get some sleep. Only the same old script flipped on itself when Mom opened the door, bringing in some tea as an apology for her harsh words just into time to see her son become a ghost. Her gun was drawn before the cup hit the floor and shattered, along with Danny’s heart.

Deep in the thicket of the woods, his human lungs burned and his living muscles ached but he couldn’t turn into Phantom now. Not when it was the stupid ghost’s fault he wasn’t welcome in his own home anymore.

‘What are you doing with my son, ghost?’

‘Mom, please it’s Danny I can explain, please would you just listen?’

‘You can’t be alive and dead at the same time! It’s impossible!’ Oh god my baby died and I didn’t even notice’

‘Mom, Dad, listen to Danny, he’s telling the truth. This is why he never-’

‘Jasmine, you’ve been deceived that’s what ghosts do! That’s what Phantom in particular is known for!’

“Jazzy, Danno, I want to believe you, but it’s a lot to take in. Let us run some tests to make sure.’

‘Danny! Danny wait! Come back!’

Eventually his human body ran out of steam, adrenaline and desperation can only take a person so far. His speeding gait slowed to a lopping jog before settling into a quiet, miserable walk. He squeezed his eyes shut and dared to look over his shoulder but, of course, no one was there. It was just him, the darkness and his own woes.

“What am I going to do now?” He asked quietly, weakly as he fought back panicked tears. All he could see was his mother’s angry, grieving face. His father’s confusion as he tried to make sense of it all while trying to keep the peace. Jazz’s frustration and futile attempts to shield Danny from the worst of the shouting.

He had nothing on his person, why would he? He’d been about ready to go to bed when his whole world came crashing down. His worn Star Wars t-shirt and sweatpants offered little protection from the gloomy October weather but Danny’s ice core more than protected him from the chill. He welcomed it if anything, it matched the ice growing in his heart. No money to escape with, no phone to call for help, no tools to contain any ghosts he battled. He hadn’t even had dinner last night, too busy fighting ghosts. For the first time, Danny was well and truly on his own. Not even dying had seemed so scary.

“I can handle this,” Danny said with false calm. It was pitch dark around him but a little ectoplasmic light brightened the area up. “I’ll just stay here for the night and then I’ll check in tomorrow. If things are still bad, I’ll grab my gear and go.” Where he’d go was a whole other question but that wasn’t important right now. He was still too raw to think about what he’d do if he actually had to abandon his human life. All he could focus on right now was the hurt pulsing through him.

He wandered around in the dark for a little while longer, looking for a suitable place to set up camp for the night. Eventually, he came upon a set of twisting trees that was perfect for his purposes. Lightening his weight, he climbed up halfway and made a little ice tent in the branches. It was lightweight but thick, covering him up and serving as a shield between him and the rest of the world. In his own little ice palace, no one else could hurt him.

“There we go, home sweet home,” Danny mumbled as he crawled inside with a dull thump. He’d left a little skylight open, so he could look up at the stars. If he didn’t think too hard about it, he could imagine he was out camping with his dad or stargazing with his friends. “No, stop it. You’re only making it worse,” he said quietly to himself as the annoying flush of sadness washed over him. He didn’t like to cry; it made him feel stupid and childish and exhausted. Jazz had lectured him about the cleansing release of neurochemicals and other junk but really he usually felt worse after crying. 

“This is fine, everything is fine,” Danny sniffled, shuddering as he curled in on himself. The only cold that could hurt him was his own. It really wasn’t a great idea to use his that much of his ice in his human form, it chilled his body too much to be healthy. That, combined with his light clothes, the chilly night and that fact that he was laying on a solid block of ice, didn’t help matters. If Sam and Tucker could see him, they’d be shoving him in the shower to warm him up and plying him with food and blankets. Jazz and her dozen kind of herbal teas that help with mood or digestion or whatever would shove one or two into his hands and hover until he drank some. Their nagging was annoying but it was helpful and made him feel so loved. Love he wasn’t feeling out in the woods all by himself in the middle of the night.

“This is fine,” he repeated, more choked up this time and gave into his desire to cry. His chest hurt from the force of his sobs and eyes burned from the salty tears. He was flushed and cold and miserable but eventually, after wiping snot away from his nose and hiccupping quietly, he was ready to sleep. He was so worn out from all the hurting and the crying that he slipped from wakefulness as easy as going ghost.

“Child, what are you doing?” Danny groaned at the vaguely familiar voice. His ghost sense went off, reminding him once more how cold he was. He barely had it in him to shiver right now. “Ghost child, awaken and explain yourself.” Cold metal poked repeatedly into his side until Danny shoved the hand away, sitting up with a miserable glare.

“Go away, I’m not in the mood,” Danny grumbled, turning away from Skulker to try and go back to sleep. “I already feel bad enough, I don’t need you making it worse.”

“That does not explain why you are in a tree in the woods,” Skulker said slowly, still hung on stupid details. “The last I checked, the human Lair you stayed in was still standing. I stopped there to show you my latest weapon but you weren’t there, I traced your signature here.”

“Congrats, pass go and collect $200,” Danny sniped back quietly, not putting any heat into it. He didn’t have much to spare.

“Why are you out here, all alone?” Skulker frowned, “humans are susceptible to the elements, I presume you’re no exception given your current state. Just this once, I will stay the hunt to return you to your human Lair and we shall resume at a later-”

“No, I can’t go back,” Danny gasped fearfully, he curled in deeper on himself. “My parents, they know about me, about my powers. They didn’t take it well, I can’t- I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“But those human children-”

“I’m not getting them involved in this, they’re already in too deep. Tucker’s still grounded from that incident with Desiree and if Sam’s parents caught me in her room at night I’d lose the other half of my miserable life,” Danny grumbled. “Just leave me alone or kill me and take my pelt. Either one, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“I see,” Skulker hummed, “stay here, Child, I will return.” Skulker said before flying off.

“Great, can’t wait,” Danny murmured as he rearranged himself on his ice block. He still felt unbearably cold but it probably wasn’t enough to actually kill him. Probably. “Stupid ghosts, stupid powers, if I hadn’t walked into that stupid portal, I’d be be safe and warm in bed right now and only have to worry about passing pre-calc.” It felt like he’d barely fallen back asleep when he was forcibly awaken by something soft and heavy dropping on him.

He phased out of the tangle only to find a bunch of blankets and heavy winter coat that looked 2 sizes too big for him. “What the-”

“Wow you weren’t kidding, babe, he looks like a trainwreck,” he heard Ember’s gruff voice say. “Hey dummy, put on the stupid coat. I ain’t had nerve endings in a while but I’m getting cold just looking atcha.”

“You bring your girlfriend to harass me in the middle of the night with,” Danny eyed the pile with price tags still on them, “stolen merchandise.”

“Shut up, we’re crashing your pathetic little pity party so you don’t die before I can off you myself,” the rock star huffed. “If that coat isn’t on you in five seconds, I’m manhandling your skinny arms into it.”

“Jeez you’re worse than my sister,” Danny grumbled even as he pulled the coat on. It was big but fluffy, the extra layer instantly made him feel a bit better. “Happy?”

“Getting there. Techy, you brought the food or what?” Danny yelped as a large amount of food dropped in through his skylight. It was an interesting mix, a jumbo bag of peanuts, dijon mustard, a jar of pickled eggs, a couple bags of chips and a box of uncooked macaroni noodles. “Here, eat some human food.”

“What?” Danny questioned as Technus poked his head into the icy tree house. 

“Oh nice place you got here child but it needs more lights and a flat screen and, oh, I can set you up with a killer stereo system over eek!” the technology ghost yelped as he was pulled back and Poindexter replaced him. 

“Hey Danny, heard you were in a bit of a bind. Thanks to you, my Lair’s school is a better place now, bully free. You can cool your jets with me if you need to fly the coop.” Danny didn’t answer and instead opened one of the bags of chips, barbeque and ranch sweet. 

“You can also stay on my island for however long you need to recover,” Skulker grumbled, like it pained him to say. “It’s no fun to hunt you when you’re so weak. I want to defeat you at your prime not at your lowest.”

“No, no, come to my lair! Everything is beeping and flashing all the time and I have a Minecraft room!” Technus interjected.

“I guess you could come to mine if you have to,” Ember huffed. “But aren’t you also buddy buddy with the Yetis bein’ an ice core and all? Or Queen Dora? Pretty much anyone will open their lairs to you with your stupid, beaten puppy dog eyes.”

“You guys, I don’t know what to say,” Danny said softly, taken aback by the show of kindness. He took in the blankets, the coat, the food, their offers. They didn’t understand, not really, but they were trying. It meant a lot, coming from his enemies. “Thank you.”

“Well, yeah, us nerds got to stick together,” Poindexter grinned.

“You’re human and an annoyance but your existence has given my afterlife quite a thrill. I’m not ready for the hunt to end quite yet,” Skulker announced.

“You’re our favorite nemesis,” Technus exclaimed, trying to squeeze his face back through the packed skylight. “We fight, we banter but we also support each other when we’re down! Whenever I’m feeling down, I come into the human world and our battles have me back up and running in no time!”

“Huh,” Danny said, looking down with a small smile. If his enemies could put aside their grudges and help him when he needed it then maybe... “Thanks again really but uh, I think I should go home, check in with my folks. Probably shouldn’t have run off like that but um, if it goes bad...”

“You’re part ghost,” Skulker said with a sharp nod. “The Zone is as much your home as it is ours. Really should get around to making a Lair one of these days. Only weak ghosts and parasites leech off of others.”

“You know the way back from here?” Ember asked. “Need an entourage?” 

“Yeah I got it,” Danny answered, triggering his transformation. Poindexter squealed with delight as he phased out of his sad little ice cave. It looked cold and lonely which wasn’t what he needed right now. “And I’ll- it’ll be fine. I don’t think bringing a bunch of ghosts home with me will help my case.”

“Farewell, Child. May your spirits be higher on our next meeting. Having the support of ghost hunters will certainly add to the challenge of the hunt,” Skulker grinned. “I look forward to it.” He flew off and the others followed. Danny smiled, watching them go for a moment before flying in the opposite direction towards his house.

He was halfway home when the Fenton Assault Vehicle careened around a corner at an unsafe speed. Danny jumped as it went past, startled out of invisibility. He made eye contact with his parents before the RV skidded to a screeching halt and then hastily backed up. The window rolled down and he met the wide, teary eyes of his mom and dad.

“Uh funny running into you in a place like this,” he said shyly, looking down.

“Oh thank heavens, Danny where have you been? We’ve been worried sick!” His mother cried, jumping out of the RV and pulling him down into her arms. His father was on the phone, he heard Jazz’s name being mentioned, along with Sam and Tucker. “Baby, you’re freezing! Is this,” she paused, pulling back and delicately touching his wisp like hair. “Is that normal?”

“Sort of,” he said, leaning back into her touch. “It’s all kind of a long story. I shouldn’t have run off like that, I’m sorry.”

“No, you shouldn’t have but I don’t blame you,” Dad said, stepping out of the car and wrapping them both in a hug. “But Fenton men always make up for their goof ups. You were headed back home, right?”

“Yeah, home,” Danny sighed.

“Danny, I still don’t understand but I, we, love you and I’m sorry if we made you doubt that. We’ll work it out, sweetie, I promise. That’s what family does,” Mom said before ushering him and Dad into the car. “Now in you get, it’s too cold and too late for this and I do not want the neighbors complaining to the HOA again.”

Danny changed back in front of his parents for the second time that evening, this time intentionally. Their curiosity and happiness at seeing him overrode their earlier fear and confusion. He settled more comfortably into the backseat, warm and happy for the first time all evening.

“Danno, where’s you get the jacket?” Dad asked.

“My other family, don’t worry, I’ll explain it all tomorrow.”

[redspiderling]

MCU Breakdown: Black Widow, Part 1

I can’t believe this is happening 😭

First of all, congratulations to all of you who’ve been here all these years. We got it. We begged for years, and it’s finally here.

For once I wasn't dreading revisiting this film to write down what I got from it. I felt more like I might not do it justice. This film is so special to me, but here it is, the MCU Breakdown of Black Widow, part 1 (of who knows how many).

I remember back when I started running this blog and talking about a hypothetical Black Widow movie that had never been announced, always "yeah, we would be happy to do it, maybe, someday in the future", and arguing that it would be important for women and girls, no matter its content. I'm so glad we got it like this. So, so glad.

The rest under the cut.

Let's start with some technical details. The film has a lot of setups and callbacks, nothing is done in chance. For example, I love how the light, and the sounds we hear when we first, and last, see Natasha in the film, are the same. We greet her in bright -birds cheeping- morning light, while she's riding her bike home, to her family

and we leave her in bright -birds cheeping- morning light, while she's riding her bike home, to her family (I'm using the term family very liberally here in reference to the Avengers for the sake of the movie, bear with me, you know how I feel about those dudes).

It's signifying new beginnings, each time, not endings. Notice how, what we see is natural light, which makes this scene pop out, and look more real because the light is coming from the sun, and isn’t artificially made on VFX software. You will notice the stark differences in colours and lighting when the emotions and the atmosphere change in this film, because there is a visual language being employed here, the director has a story to say, and she uses all the tools she has to tell it. The light is exactly the same in those 2 scenes, because Cate wants us to make that connection, even if we make it unconsciously.

Natasha is placed in such a positive way, both at the start and the end of the film. There's this discussion about how "real" their little family was, but it was the characters that muddled up that image. The reality of their lives in Ohio is presented in a happy way, that had deep rivers under the surface, for sure. This wasn't accidental, for a lot of reasons.

First of all, if you take it the literal way, they were spies, and had to present themselves as normal. If you take it the allegorical way, any girl could fall victim to trafficking, and if you take it the character way, both Scarlett and Cate wanted to showcase that Natasha is human. They also wanted to give her something that wasn't always dripping with pain and sadness. They were both parts of her life, yes, but there was also joy, and light, and once upon a time she had been a kid, playing with her sister.

Also, and this has been mentioned before but it bears repeating: I love the actress they chose for young Natasha, and I love how they presented her character. She's allowed to be a young teenage girl. She's not sexualised. She's at that gangly stage between childhood and adulthood, and there's nothing sexual about it, no provocative clothing, no excessive makeup. She's a kid.

Plus, I know Cate said the actress already had her hair dyed blue and they just decided to let her have it, but I think it works well for Natasha's character. That small act of defiance, even that early on, against the system that wanted to break her. Also, the film gives us such great character moments, because they let the camera roll and don't rush through scenes, look at Natasha looking at Melina comforting Yelena. We can see the pain, the fear, where she knows that this isn't going to last, and wonders about what will become of them once their lives begin to unravel.

We also get to see the joy on her face, the wonder of discovering the world, how often do you get to see Marvel characters do this, just live in the moment?

Bioluminescence: the production and emission of light by a living organism. Or how Natasha is a bright light, that shines from within. Not my words, Cate Shortland's words. I felt it when I was watching this scene, but it was lovely to have it verified in one of her interviews. I wish I could meet her, and tell her that everything she wanted to put on screen came through, incandescent and crystal clear. Fireflies are a symbol for Natasha, as a bright light that shines from within, and never dies.

Small details that I love, the magnet on the fridge: Don't forget, above a picture of Natasha. LIKE WE EVER COULD, CATE.

We have another setup here, where the family gathers up to have dinner together. Even the sitting arrangement is the same as later on in the film.

Notice also how both young, and adult version of Natasha, communicate so well with Melina, just with their eyes. It doesn't necessary show a deep history between them, but it does show a bone deep level of understanding. Not just of their current circumstance, but of their future, and of what it will do to them. Melina knows what's coming and she's says it "I'm sorry", but they're both resigned to their fate, Melina because she doesn't see a way out, and Natasha because, well, here she's a kid, and therefore is powerless.

The dynamics between Yelena and Alexei is so different. Yelena is young and doesn't understand, so they're speaking about completely different things. "I don't have my shoes" is what she says, and it's heartbreaking in its innocence, as Alexei is loading his gun and reading himself for battle. We can still see that he's not indifferent to her, telling her she can have "fruit loops in the car". He's not a monster, he just doesn't have a choice (or at least, he thinks he doesn't).

Also, notice how the camera angles are employed here: Natasha and Melina look each other eye to eye, Yelena looks up to Alexei, Alexei looks down on her, there is an imbalance of power and understanding in the second set of images, and the camera tells us that.

Melina doesn't let Natasha take the photo album. For one thing, it's certain that Natasha wouldn't be able to keep it. For another, Melina wanted the memories, and probably didn't want anyone else to realise/think that they cared about their little family unit.

There's just a lot of thought that's been put in the details of the script, to show us their bond, their attempts to hide it, to show the characters' personality in everything around them (notice the plants that are ever present in Melina's home, in Ohio and later in Saint Petersburg). She might seem cold, she has been through a lot, but she cares. And that care has brought her pain. And we have to see that pain, because we get the quiet moments like this one, where she stands alone in an empty home knowing that part of her life is over, never to return.

The mission, is the last thing Melina asks about. The last thing Alexei mentions, the last thing either of them cares about. First, she refused to accept that they had completed the mission and were now hunted, then she accepted it and they loaded their family in the car, and then she asked about the leaked files.

Also, notice how that shot is framed. Both images silhouetted by the light because it’s the moment and the prop smack down in the middle of the frame that’s important, now what they’re going through, emotionally, they’re not themselves in that moment, they’re nameless, tools of the trade, expendable in front of that tiny floppy disk.

Yelena is singing while the rest are plunging in despair, but still humour her and play her song.

I found this shot a bit... Jarring. I get it that for American audiences this would show that they're actually leaving "home" behind, but for the rest of us... Eeeh, I'll give it a pass because it is an American production and this is just something to be expected. I mean, Yelena's song was American Pie. We get it, you still love America, just because you're making a film about Russian spies doesn't mean you're a commie Marvel, it's ok.

But in any case, the setup for the action scene here was excellent. Happy, familiar music playing, car is on the main road, car goes off the main road familiar music gets toned down and eventually completely lost in the darkness.

Yelena knows what to do, we see it, so that we know that this 6 year old girl who holds her stuffed animal and walks barefoot has practiced for this moment.

By the way, Natasha did take another item with her along with the photobooth pictures (it also looks like a photo album with Disney princesses on it), it didn't survive the trip. We are informed of this for a very specific reason: Melina didn’t ask Natasha not to take the photo album out of malice, or just because she wanted to keep it for herself. She knew it wouldn’t survive the trip in Natasha’s hands. We also get a close shot of the image strip (and we get it again, during the credits), because it will be important, later on.

Bet y'all also forgot you were watching a superhero movie until this happened? That wasn't accidental, they wanted us to see them as normal people, this is the moment when that ends.

Natasha saved her family, even though she was a terrified kid.

I know that they did the huge titles thing to connect this film to Civil War but... Listen, Civil War needed the huge titles because that script and the way that movie was directed was a complete disaster. We needed to know where the characters were each time with huge ass title because there was NO OTHER WAY TO TELL. Between complete lack of a timeline, and the fact that you couldn't even tell what time of the day it was due to the horrible lighting, you definitely couldn't tell what the location was because it was irrelevant to the plot like, 90% of the time. Not to mention the title cards in Civil War were usually followed by dimly lit grey corridors so, yeah, give us a title so we know at least where they are, generally.

This film. Didn't Need That. For the most part anyway, there are 2 locations where the titles worked. First one was Ohio, the other I'll reveal later.

But here. Guys, they're Russian spies escaping from the US on a small plane... Where else would they go if not to Cuba?!?! This is the Black Widow movie paying for the sins of Civil War, in a small way in this instance.

Yelena tells Melina that pain only makes you stronger, Natasha cries, and they setup my heartbreak for later.

Natasha protecting Yelena, terrified, and staring men down the barrel of her gun anyway. Such a badass and heartbreaking callback.

Notice how this scene makes us look at how men view this. There's an allegory here as well, but I'll address what's actually happening in the film:

Dreykov notices Natasha's natural instinct to protect herself and her sister, and all he sees is something he can use. A tool for violence, instead of sex, in this case. But the implication is there. Not a person, or a terrified girl, just an object to be used by men.

So glad that piece of shit got blown up and never mentioned again. Any man looking for exposition on Dreykov to feel the "loss" when the villain is gone: Fuck you. Go get some therapy.

Moving on from that piece of shit, difference between Melina and Alexei: Melina apologised. Alexei lied, but he also tried to give them hope. We can see the devastation, because the soldiers never thought of them as girls like he did, and didn't blink before drugging them and taking them away.

Yet another setup, of Natasha and Yelena, drugged and powerless as they are taken away. Because it wasn't enough that they were kids, they took away all their choices, and rendered them unconscious.

What can I possibly say about this credits scene.

It's very real, probably the realest minutes in the entire MCU, and it's merciless. They don't try to sugar-coat what's happening, and there are no jokes to diffuse the drama. These are girls being trafficked from all over the world. I don't know about you but I felt the switch from true parallel to real life traffic victims like this shot that looks like footage from Interpol

to Red Room victims as being a clear shift, and I was actually grateful for it. Because here I could put my back against the fact that the red room wasn't real, otherwise I would have broken down before the credit sequence even ended.

It was a stroke of genius to create an introduction to this entire world like that. We rarely see credit sequences anymore and it's a shame, because when they're well done they tell stories in and of themselves, and this is one of the best I've seen.

Even the villain is set up here. He's pointing at girls and saying "that one, and her", like he's picking pigs for slaughter. How much more setup than that do you need, to want to murder that man dead? Not any more, that was enough.

Nobody speak to me I’m crying.

Subtle, but there. Trafficking (and traffickers) exists because it IS being tolerated by governments around the world.

Unnecessary title aside, who else says Natasha looks at herself in the mirror hear and repeats "pain only makes you stronger", as she's being hunted away from yet another family.

Then she's saying it again because it bears repeating and Natasha has been through A Lot these past few years. I love how unfiltered our first image of her is. After all she's been through, we basically see her stripped of all her tricks in a moment where she’s alone with herself and her thoughts(something we later learn she tries not to do much), and she's just a woman having a tiny breakdown in a semi-public bathroom. Again, human.

This is where I will leave you for this first part. Hey, I got through the intro, I count that as a win given just how long this breakdown has already been. If you’ve gotten this far, thank you for reading, come yell at me in my inbox whenever, see you for the next one xo

[ekaterinatepes]

Nothing but the Best

Author Notes: hello again my loves! Thank you for all your likes, reviews and specially your comments! I love it when you make questions and in general let me know what you think about the chapter. Thank you once more for all your support!

XII.

They say time heals all wounds, but there are some wounds that run so deep they refuse to stop bleeding.

https://youtu.be/s1tAYmMjLdY

A cold September afternoon welcomed the dying rays of the sun, the incandescent amber tones of the twilight illuminated the streets of Tokyo, ever so vibrant; full of life, people, delicious food, kaleidoscopic colors, laughter, children running…. Couples holding hands.

A tall man with a blindfold walked down a heavily transited sidewalk with his hands in his pockets and a small bag of pastries hanging off the side. Slowly, he made his way further away from the more concentric streets towards a park, he found a bench near a fountain and took a seat placing his bag right next to him.

The world remained the same and yet everything seemed to have changed, the days were now long and boring, conversations with people didn’t manage to hold his attention for long; missions were repetitive. Everything seemed… dull, opaque, flavorless, empty…

Everything, except perhaps his students who were the only sliver of hope he had left. Those kids would make it far in life, they were going to change the world and he was going to be there to help them along the way. A sad smile pulls at his peachy lips. You would have liked that. After all, the kids also enjoyed your company back in the day when you were still his. It was as if you had become their adoptive mother of sorts at some point. Your nurturing nature guided you to care for others.

A year ago when Yuuji was placed under his care and tutelage at Jujutsu High it had been hard for the boy. At the time the kid had just lost his only living relative and to top it off he also consumed the most powerful curse ever known to man kind.

He had so much responsibility on his shoulders Satoru couldn’t help but make the connection with himself when he was a kid his age. That’s how Satoru decided to take him home for dinner one night; he couldn’t have been more pleased with his decision. Of course, you adored Yuuji. His sweet snd enthusiastic personality, his polite manners and naiveté made him just endearing in your eyes.

Even Megumi, who barely spoke with his more taciturn approach asked about you. Satoru didn’t know how to answer. The dark haired boy would also come and visit your home to help you prepare some foreign delicacies you loved to cook. Sighing once more he ran his hands through his white hair.

***-Flashback-***

“So where’s Y/N-san? I haven’t seen her in a long time?” Asked Megumi right after Satoru returned from New York. It caught him by surprise

“She… she doesn’t live in Japan anymore” was all he said before changing the subject. Megumi looked at him with eyes wide open but decided not to pry.

Yeah… that probably was weird. Someone asks you about your spouse and you say they moved out of the country. It was pretty obvious what that meant.

***~End Flash Back~***

Sighing he opened the small paper bag containing his mochi, he loved his desert but lately he didn’t even have the will to indulge in sweets anymore. Satoru consumed insane amounts of sugar to stimulate his brain. The problem was that during the past year all that stimulation manifested in the form of vivid memories of you. Your voice, your smell, your presence. It was as if his brain chose to take him down the path to misery, as if to rub on his face what he could never have.

As of last week you were officially not Y/N Gojo anymore. He finally signed those blasted papers giving you your freedom and his capitulation.

It had been one of the worst days of his life.

After signing the divorce Satoru went straight to the liquor store where he found that exotic apricot liquor he liked in New York and bought a bottle. Once he made it back home he proceeded to get drunk out of his mind. The next morning he woke up by the pool, laying down on a tanning chair, wearing only a pair of boxers and hugging your wedding picture.

His head was killing him, at some point he had emptied his insides in the pool. A disgusted grimace reminded him he had to hire some help to take care of the house that was an absolute disaster, faithfully reflecting the state of its owner.

That morning, nursing a hangover he swore off alcohol for the rest of his life.

But hey! On the positive side he didn’t remember at all that night! Which means he ‘probably’ didn’t think about you (yeah right! As if he was ever not thinking about you) and how much he hated the fact you were not his Y/N Gojo anymore. You were not his wife anymore…

The memory made him want to cry like a baby. He lost the person he loved the most in his life because he had been one flaming idiot.

Despite all his efforts he could not forget you. Wherever he went, whatever he did… there you were, tormenting his waking and sleeping hours like his own personal curse.

He tried to get over you. He tried to be the asshole you knew him to be. He slept with so many women he couldn’t even count. But at the end of the night, in the throes of passion it was your face that he saw, your body that he craved, your flavor that he yearned and your name the one he called out when he climaxed.

He was absolutely fucked.

Revisiting memories of the last night he saw you he couldn’t believe how stupid he had been at the time. It took him so long to realize he had always been in love with you but Satoru, being well… himself, he didn’t want to see or admit that he had been head over heels, madly in love with you. He was a cynical bastard and that had cost him dearly. He chose to lie to himself thinking that THE Gojo Satoru was above all human weaknesses… including love. What an ignorant fucker he had been.

He wondered how you were doing and if you ever thought about him.

A frown made his handsome face look stern. Well… you were not alone anymore. Suguru also had stayed back in New York with you. After Satoru returned to Japan, Ijichi told him Geto Suguru wouldn’t be working out of Japan anymore. He had requested a transfer to the Americas.

Of course he did…

It had been one of the reasons Satoru fucked so many women. In his delusional mind he was ‘getting even’ with you for sleeping with Suguru. Not that he knew for a fact you were sleeping with him or not but… I mean….

Come on! It’s mother fucking Geto Suguru we are talking about here! 6’2 of pure sculpted muscles, tattoos and bad boy looks but with a Prince Charming complex. Yeah… Satoru was green with jealousy because he knew his former best friend was a better man for you than he ever was.

Looking down at his mochi bag he realized the small item had paid the price of his anger as he uncurled his death grip from the bag. Sighing he tossed the ruined pastry in the trash can to his left.

“Miss you….” He whispered to the wind.

———–

“I’m home!” You announced walking into your apartment. Setting you bag down as well as a couple of grocery bags “did you start dinner already?” You ask pleasantly surprised although you already knew the answer to that question since all the apartment smelled fantastic. Suguru walked out of the kitchen with a big smile wearing an apron that read ‘Kiss the Cheff’ nods “yes! I figured I would give you a hand tonight!” He answered as you walked to him to wrap your arms around his waist and give him a chaste kiss on his cheek “thank you Sugu. How was your mission?” You asked deciding to set up the table while Suguru finished dinner. “Not too bad actually, it was a special grade but nothing I couldn’t deal with” you returned a bright smile “I’m glad”

Your friendship with Suguru had slowly evolved into something else. You both spent all of your free time together. Your connection was deeper than mere sexual attraction. Suguru truly understood you, cared for you, shared your dreams and hopes. He was the type of poetic soul who would stay awake with you well into the night just to talk about the stars, the book you read that week that you loved, the new music you liked. It was wholesome.

On the more carnal side you desired Suguru and he desired you but you hadn’t taken what was going on between you two further than a few passionate make-out sessions and some cuddling.

After you last saw Satoru everything became worse before it got better. Suguru had been your rock, he had been there for the sleepless nights you spent crying. Without a word he held you in his strong arms and allowed you to let go. He knew you were deeply wounded, your emotions in disarray and your mental stability in peril. But Suguru never asked anything from you, he gave you the strength to go on. To take care of yourself, to keep going with your career. To have… hope.

It seemed like a dream to think that your life had changed so much in the span of a year. You weren’t able to recognise yourself anymore. Pain and duress molded you into someone new, better, more resilient, harder to hurt.

At this point, the only person you fully trusted was Suguru, he was always honest with you, no matter what happened or how much something hurt, he always remained true to himself and to you.

It was impossible not to love someone like him. He was the whole package.

Suguru was handsome, that was indisputable. But Geto was more than a pretty face. He was kind, truly kind! He did things out of the goodness of his heart, not because he expected anything in return. He was honest, Suguru Geto would never lie to you and THAT is what you loved the most about him.

He was patient.

He wanted you to be his but at the same time Suguru wanted you to heal, to have the chance to trust and love again, not as a means to forget about Satoru but because you wanted to choose a new path for yourself.

After diner you helped with the dishes and then settled on the couch. Suguru joined with a smile and two glasses of wine. He handed you one and sipped on the other one “what would you like to watch tonight Kitten?” He asked sitting next to you while picking a movie from the titles available on the screen of the tv.

“Anything you like! It’s your turn to pick” you said with a smile, leaning your head on his shoulder making Suguru smile. These tender displays of affection always made him feel so warm. Passing an arm around your shoulders he kissed your forehead.

You look up into his hazel eyes you blush. Suguru didn’t lose a second before he closed the space between your lips. The kiss was soft but meaningful, you didn’t hesitate to return it; wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to then climb on his lap straddling his hips.

The handsome sorcerer leans back, relaxing and running his hands slowly up and down your naked thighs covered only by the small fabric of your shorts, he strokes them softly leaving a path of warmth in the wake of his touch. Suguru deepened the kiss. His tongue delved in your mouth, slowly inviting yours to join the delicious dance. After a few minutes you pulled back, you are breathless. Your heart beats fast and the adrenaline was making you dizzy in anticipation.

Suguru looks at you, leaning his forehead against yours “I missed you” he ads before engulfing you in another passionate kiss, not even giving you the chance to reply. This time his lips are more demanding, his teeth nibbling your lower lip, requesting entrance. His tongue still tastes like the wine and you recognize his addictive flavor. Suddenly you find yourself laying on your back on the white couch, Suguru is on top of you and your legs are wrapped around his waist. Things are getting much more heated than you anticipated. Your hands roam the expanse of his back over hard muscles and warm skin covered only by the thin layer of his t-shirt. You know if you keep going this way you won’t be able to stop.

https://youtu.be/yBatuRGZAmA

A part of you doesn’t want this to end, you want to go all the way with Suguru. But… as much as you hate it, there is a tiny part of you that feels ambivalent about it. You wonder why is that you can’t just… do it!? You want Suguru! God! You desire him more than you can express with words, the growing wetness between your legs is evidence that you indeed were very much sexually attracted to him and yet your mind kept torturing you.

It was… complicated.

Your marriage with Satoru have been over longer than that piece of paper you got last week said. But erasing your feelings wasn’t something you could ever hope to do.

As much as you wanted to give yourself to Suguru it felt wrong that you were holding a part of yourself back. You wanted to give him everything, he deserved EVERYTHING of you. It wouldn’t be fair to just have sex with him when he deserved to be made love to.

You love Suguru, everyday that goes by your feelings for him grow and intensify, it was hard to even understand why would you hesitate and yet you did.

Your passionate kiss slowly becomes more tender until you are just sharing small pecks. Suguru pulls back with a little comforting smile; he felt the change in your body language, he knew what was going through your mind. You explained it to him before and he didn’t want to push you. He knew you needed to go at your own pace and he respected that.

“I’m… so-“ you starts apologetically but Suguru stops you with a little kiss “don’t… don’t apologize, I know baby…” he said reassuringly. Sealing his tender words with a kiss. When you separate again he asks “Alright little kitten, tell me… what’s it gonna be? ‘Dorian Grey’ or ‘Only Lovers Left Alive’?” Pulling you in his strong arms he cuddled with you on the couch, returning to the choices for movie you had.

You were so thankful for this man in your life “let’s go with ‘Only Lovers left Alive’”

With a last kiss he started the movie and pulled a blanket over you both.

He could wait, he would wait till the end of time. For you.

———-> Chapter 13/Part 1

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