#he’s lost everything again and it’s worse because they’re right there but at least they’re alive right?

[lovethyauthors]

AHH OK well now you’ve got me thinking, what if there is no one Reason, what if they’re just stressed and distracted from the day to day of their jobs and just don’t notice how she’s feeling? Or if they do notice they think she needs space to work it out herself? OR WORSE what if they are actually annoyed with how often she checks in on them? Not enough to not want to be with her but just needing some space?

She’d eventually drop the whole break the bond request, though not after some arguing / begging I’m sure, and pretend like it’s ok but would walk away from the conversation CONVINCED she needs to change to keep her team happy. So she sets out to be more like Johnny, minimizing her needs, trying to get by on the bare minimum.

OR she accepts that Price won’t break the bond now so she decides to distance herself to save herself the heartbreak, to make their bond weaker so next time she asks, they’ll be as ready to get rid of her as she thinks they already are.

Either way it’s not a fun time for anyone as the team starts to notice how she’s slipping away, how she’s not their sweet, comforting girl anymore.

Price is confused when days go by and she doesn’t pop into his office once, doesn’t come check on him, doesn’t remind him to take a break and eat if he hasn’t. When he gives in and just calls her to his office, he’s hurt by how she stands by the door, shuffling her feet like she can’t wait to leave, and avoids eye contact at any cost. He wants his warm and bubbly girl back who would walk into his office and plop herself down on his lap like it was her rightful place, who would steal kisses and snuggles while he was filling out paperwork and he doesn’t know what he needs to do to get her back.

Simon has never been chatty, content to always let her drone on about the little things while he listens and chimes in when needed. He doesn’t realize how much he misses her sweet voice and giggles, how much they make him feel normal instead of the monster everyone else assumes he is, until she stops seeking him out. Now, everything she says to him is monotone and soulless, and only ever related to work. She never sticks around for long after she’s said what she needed too, never rewards him with the beaming smile at the end of her words like she used to and he hates it!! He hates that she seems like she’s been turned into a shell of her former self!! He tried to remember what she used to like to talk about, tries to follow up on those conversations, asks her about the things she could’ve ranted about for hours, only to receive a shrug and short answer. Simon doesn’t remember being this anxious trying to have a conversation since he was a child, and after the third time being shut down, he decides he’s had enough and storms in to Price’s office because they need to fix this! It’s tearing their little family apart, even Soap and Gaz are feeling the effects, and he’s had enough!!

Soap and Gaz who’ve tried to be much more gentle only to have her recoil at their smallest touch, always slipping out of their fingers, always having an excuse for why she needed to leave. Soap and Gaz who are torn between watching her leave and following her, not knowing what the right thing to do is in this new world they’ve found themselves in. They look to Ghost and Price for guidance, for leadership, but they’re just as lost, only knowing that they’re loosing her piece by piece.

Mmmmmm I can’t decide if they confront her about her new behaviour and the clear effects it’s having on her (because surprise surprise sacrificing your needs to keep others happy isn’t healthy if her weak and tired state and constantly sad smell is anything to go off of). If they do, I can see her finally being angry, yelling at them that they need to make up their minds about what they want from her, and as much as it hurts them to think that she’s been acting this way because she thinks it’s what they want, they’re relieved that at least she’s talking to them again, at least she has her spark back.

Or maybe they’re too cautious, maybe they avoid saying anything for fear of making it worse, of upsetting her more so they just don’t. And then they’re sent on a mission, gone for two months as they try to save the world from certain doom, at least content in knowing their entire world is home, safe, even if she’s upset. Does distance make the heart grow fonder? Or is it a trial run for separation? Because as hard as it is, as much as each day away from them hurts her, it makes it even more clear what she has to do.

Finally they’re back home, all safe, all alive, minor injuries that don’t really mean much anymore, not in their field of work. And they’ll take her comforting presence over anything, no matter how distant, no matter how cold. What they can’t take however is her request for Price to break the bond again. Four elite soldiers, used to death and blood and war, reduced to tears because for the first time they feel hopeless. Simon secretly wonders if it would’ve been less painful to bleed out on the battlefield than come back home to this.

Hey friend. I've put off this ask a little while, because I'm sure you're tired of getting it by now, but... are there any updates on the neglected! reader (a/b/o)? I really liked that one, and though I have no issues with the second part not being done yet, a little progress update (if you want to add one) would be very cool! Thanks for writing :)

ugh i know i've been putting it off for a long time but i haven't abandoned it guys! just feeling very stuck with where the narrative is sitting rn 🥲 however, here's a little tease of the beginning of part two, keep in mind it may not be written exactly like this when i post it:

"what?" kyle mumbles, rising from john's lap to grapple with the sudden coldness that overcomes him. no one else says anything, but you can see how your words affect the rest of them: john stiffens in his seat, simon's dismissive glance has turned into a burning glare, and johnny's hand has slipped from where it was resting on his captain's shoulder, a look of confusion and panic twisting on his face.

your anxiety may have dissipated, but that doesn't make this any easier. the air feels too tense, too uncomfortable. you don't like how agitated everyone's scents became the moment you walked in, and it hurts even more knowing they didn't even try to hide it. you don't like seeing them all together here like this. you don't like that you're believing that spiteful little voice in the back of your mind jeering at you that they've been planning your departure, planning how to break the news to you that you're not worth the hassle anymore.

it only makes sense why they're all cooped up in john's office, whispering amongst themselves.

"darling, what are you talking about?" john's voice cuts through your thoughts, but you try not to find comfort in it. he stands from his seat, and you try not to reveal how much you've missed his scent despite how thick it is with stress. your omega has been quiet for a while, but now that you're gathered in one place like this, she's getting restless, simultaneously wanting to hiss at them and cling to anyone who will spare a scrap of affection.

"please, captain, just do it. i don't want to be a burden any longer." you'll beg if that's what it takes; you'll get on your knees and clasp your hands together if it means saving them from unnecessary stress and annoyance and you from further heartbreak.

the earnestness in your voice is so strong it bites at them because how could you even suggest something like that? how could they even consider their pack whole if you're not there?

but hearing his rank fall from your lips leaves a bitter taste in john's mouth and a knot forming in his stomach. it's unnatural to hear you call him that while sounding so defeated and miserable. it's scary to feel so out of control when he's supposed to be your captain, your head alpha.

to know he's let you down so much makes his alpha growl pathetically in shame; how can he even consider himself a leader?

[atlabeth]

in over my head

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: between all the arguments, you and spencer begin to understand each other a little bit more.

a/n: wauw.... out of nowhere i wrote 4k words and finished this chapter in one night... god bless spencer reid. i hope you all enjoy. r's cold heart is finally starting to defrost. title from the fray song

wc: 5k

warning(s): arguing, case discussions (stalking, murder, etc), talk of parental neglect, hurt w/o comfort then hurt/comfort. r lowkey freaking out this whole fic. the usual good time

You lean against the wall, trying to keep your breathing as quiet as possible. 

You don’t really want Spencer to know you were eavesdropping on him the whole time. You don’t really want him to see the look on your face because he defended you to your dad. 

He— he should expect it, shouldn’t he? He’s sitting out in the living room on the phone, and you’re you. It’s only natural you’d listen in on him. 

Spencer defended you to your dad— mouthed off to him in very un-Spencer-like fashion. 

Why? 

From what you’d gathered, he practically worshipped the guy. Even if he didn’t, your dad was still his superior. It didn’t really seem like any kind of good idea to talk back to him. 

But he did. 

For you. 

You thought Spencer merely tolerated you because he had to. You wouldn’t blame him, the way you treated him. So why would he do something like that for you?

You’re jarred out of your thoughts when you hear Spencer say your name. You blink back into yourself to see him standing in front of you, and you feel your face burn. 

So much for not being obvious. 

“I’m assuming you heard everything?” he asks.

You nod. You have the decency to not insult his intelligence, at least. 

“That means we can go over everything,” Spencer says, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

You frown. You expected him to be mad at you for eavesdropping, or use what he did for you as leverage for something, or— or do anything but act normal. 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts once again as you follow him back to the living room. Spencer sits back down on the couch and you tentatively sit across from him. 

“I don’t want what I said to scare you,” he says. “Hernandez may be our lead right now, but I doubt it’ll stay that way. Elle and Morgan are going to check him out, and I’ll get another call once they do.”

You blink. Of course he’d expect you to be focused on that part—your stalker, the threat against your life, the whole reason you’re in here. Not Spencer sticking up for you. 

“Right,” you say. “Do you think it’s him?”

“Honestly? No.” Spencer sighs and shakes his head. “You heard what I said. He doesn’t fit the profile—he’s a man who made the worst choices of his life when he lost everything. If he’s been released, he might have actually changed. We’re only on him because he’s all we’ve got.”

“…Good,” you say. “Strangling wouldn’t be my top way to go.”

“You need to stop talking like that,” he says. 

“I need to stop doing a lot of things,” you respond. “Any idea how much longer we’ll be in here?”

Spencer shakes his head. “We’re here until this case is solved or our cover is blown.”

You huff. “Like if this guy finds us again?”

He nods. “But that shouldn’t happen. Elle, Gideon, Hotch, and Strauss are the only ones who know about this place, and they’re obviously sworn to silence.”

“Strauss?”

“Erin Strauss,” he says. “The BAU’s section chief.” 

“Ah.” You realize you’re still holding your mug, now empty, and you lean forward to set it on the table. “What happens if we’re made?” 

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the worst case scenarios,” Spencer says. “Pessimism doesn’t just make anxiety, depression, and paranoia worse—it can raise your blood pressure, increase your chance of cardiovascular problems, and mess with your immune system. It’s literally bad for your health.” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you ask. “I’ve got a stalker and we didn’t realize until he’d been watching me for a month. Your team has only got one lead and you don’t even think it’s the right one. That sounds pretty negative to me.” 

“We’re still at the beginning of this case,” Spencer says. “It usually takes a few bodies for us to figure out what’s really going on and find the unsub in our regular cases.” 

You stare at him, and he seems to realize what he’s actually said. 

“Of course, there won’t be any bodies in this case!” he rushes. “You— you’re going to be perfectly fine!” 

“You’re really not great at reassurance,” you say wryly as you pick up your cup and stand up, “are you?” 

“Homicides only occur in two percent of stalking cases!” Spencer continues, his voice rising as you go into the kitchen. “A- and you might not even be the primary target! If anything, he might be going after your dad!” 

By now you’ve finished filling your mug again. You stop at the edge of the hallway when he finishes, leveling a tired look at him. 

“Thanks, Spence. That really helps.” 

You walk back to your room, and once again, you only close the door halfway to humor his concerns. 

If you’d lingered a little longer, you would have been able to see his frown. 

“Spence?” he murmurs in confusion.

-

The rest of the day goes by smoother than you thought it would, largely because Spencer keeps his distance and you don’t fight it. 

You busy yourself with more cleaning—you never finished it after your last outburst—and when you finish that, you read. You find Pride and Prejudice in the box of books the BAU provided, and it’s a good distraction. You’d much rather worry about the problems of the Bennets rather than your own. 

You end up cooking first, and you offer Spencer some of your pasta when you finish. He initially looks shocked at the olive branch, but you figure you owe him something for all he’s put up with. 

You don’t tell him that, of course. You just tell him he has five seconds to make a decision before you finish the rest, and he snaps out of it pretty quickly. 

(“I promise I’m capable of cooking,” he says as he spoons a helping into his bowl. “I— I just don’t have much time for it. We’re always out on cases so we go to a lot of restaurants, and I get take-out at home because I get home at ungodly hours.” 

“Just shut up and eat your food,” you say. “I don’t need to hear your opening statement.” 

“Actually, I wouldn’t call this an opening statement. It’s more of—” 

“Oh my god.” You pick up your bowl and walk off. “Goodbye.”

“I think it’s more of a witness testimony!” he calls out.)

A similar thing happens with dinner, where you pull out the old reliable of chicken and rice. Dressed up a bit with some of the vegetables that are somehow already on the verge of going bad, but still the same thing you’ve eaten a million times throughout your life. You don’t really feel like cooking, but you also don’t feel like having to hear Spencer set the smoke alarm again, so you settle for this. 

(“You know,” Spencer says as he cuts into a chicken thigh, “I should really be trying everything first. Just in case there’s poison or something.” 

You stifle your incredulous laugh. “How would there be poison in anything? You all bought and brought this stuff in.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But you can never be too careful.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. “I— I think that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said since I’ve met you.”

“I hope you’re not challenging me,” Spencer says. “Because I can beat it very easily.”) 

Between that, he calls out on occasion to make sure you’re still alive. You think it’s stupid, but it seems to ease his mind, so you play along.

He gets a call from your dad late at night, which he then goes on to relay to you—Agents Greenaway and Morgan paid a visit to Adam Hernandez, and they weren’t able to find anything suspicious. Penelope Garcia is going to comb through everything she can find on what he’s done since his release before they officially abandon the lead, but Hernandez is on parole and hasn’t violated it once—he seems to be clean. 

You don’t know whether you’re thankful for that or not. On one hand, you want this to be over. Getting lucky on the first suspect would be great. On the other hand, having a face to all of this scares you more than not knowing. You still have the chance to deny that all of this is real, really real—when they find their guy, you can’t do that anymore. There’s actually someone out there that wants to hurt you. 

The thought crossed your mind more often than not. 

Other than that, he doesn’t really bother you. Another thing where you don’t really know if you’re thankful or not. 

It’s close to midnight, and though you haven’t been able to sleep, you’re ready to accept this as another, thankfully non eventful day. 

But then there’s a huge flash of lightning, visible even through your closed blinds, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder, and your whole body freezes up. Your hands stop on the page you were on, and a chill runs all the way through you despite the layers of covers you’re under. 

Rain has been pittering against the house for half the night, and you can deal with rain. You can’t deal with thunderstorms. 

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. The absolute last thing you need to do is work yourself into a panic attack and get Spencer involved. You don’t think you could take the embarrassment. 

You attempt to go back to your book. You’d just arrived at Mr. Collins’ unsuccessful marriage proposal, but you can hardly focus. It doesn’t help when lightning illuminates your room once again, a clap of thunder sounding even quicker after, and your lamp flickers for a moment. This is actually the last thing you need—for the power to go out. 

A knock on your door suddenly sounds, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You’re already on edge and the storm’s just barely started. You hear Spencer call your name and ask if you’re awake, and you clear your throat before you respond. 

“What do you want?” You try to keep your voice as level as possible, but it wavers ever so slightly. 

“Can I come in?” 

You don’t want him to see you like this. “Is there something wrong?” 

“It’s the storm,” he says, and he doesn’t wait for you to respond. “I’m coming in.”

You have all of two seconds to make sure you don’t look as pathetic as you feel before Spencer walks in.

He looks like he just got out of bed. He’s wearing a Caltech crewneck and sweatpants, and his glasses are about to fall off his face. His disheveled appearance is in stark contrast to his usual image, with dress pants and button-ups and sweater vests galore. One of his hands clenches around the doorframe, and he uses the other to haphazardly push his glasses up as he sets his eyes on you.

“You need to come back into the living room,” Spencer says. 

“And good evening to you too.” You try not to look at him. You’ve learned that’s the best policy when it comes to him and those stupid glasses. “Why?”

“Because there’s a storm going on, and the power’s already flickered,” he says. “I don’t want to lose track of you if it does go out.”

“If the power goes out, we’re in the open out there,” you say. “If you’re so worried about it, you should stay in here.”

You expect a fight, but he just sighs and sits down in the chair across from your bed. “Fine.”

You frown. “That was easy.”

“I don’t feel like fighting with you over every little thing,” he says simply. “You might enjoy it, but I don’t. So I’m trying to take the path of least resistance.”

“That’s no fun,” you say.

“Well, you’re not very fun to be around,” Spencer says. He glances at you for a split second before his gaze goes back to the wall. “So.”

“Well, neither are you!” You don’t mean for your retort to come out so defensively, and you cringe as he looks back at you. It’s impossible to be around profilers without them knowing your every intent. You’d hate to know all the thoughts he’s had about you. “I might turn everything into a fight, but you turn everything into a drag.” 

“You’re doing it again,” he says. You expect him to go on, but he leaves it that. You find your brows furrowing deeper. 

“And?” 

“Maybe if you recognize your patterns, you’ll stop,” he says. “Sometimes people don’t realize they're doing something until it’s pointed out to them.” 

You huff. “How many times do I have to tell you not to psychoanalyze me?” 

“I don’t choose to do it,” Spencer says. You don’t miss the slight bite behind his words, and it almost makes you smile. As much as he doesn’t want to give you a fight, he can’t really help himself. You tend to bring out the worst in people. “It just happens in my brain automatically.” 

“Try to hold back,” you say. “It—”

Your words die in your throat with another crash of thunder, almost simultaneous with the lightning. It shakes the whole house, and you can’t help the full body flinch that wracks you, almost freezing completely. The power flickers again, and then it goes out altogether. You don’t even hold back your groan of annoyance. 

“Of course,” you grit out. “Of fucking course.” 

“Are you okay?” You look at him despite yourself, and even in the dark you can see the concern in his eyes. It makes your hands clench into fists beneath the sheets.

“Fine,” you mutter. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer frowns. “Of course it does.”

You scoff. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Why would it not matter?” he asks incredulously. “You— you’re clearly distressed, and holding it back isn’t helping anyone.” 

“Maybe I just like silence.” 

“Well, you clearly don’t like storms.” 

“How’d you figure that one, genius?” you mutter. You wrap your arms around yourself and pull your knees up to your chest, trying to lessen the sudden chill you feel. 

“...Normally, I would give you a real answer,” Spencer says. “But based on the lecture you just gave me—” 

“You figured right,” you snap. It only takes a second—and those stupid, soft eyes of his to dart away again—for you to feel… bad. 

He sighs and shakes his head as he stands up. “I’m going to get a candle. Stay put.” 

You tense as he walks out. Your whole body does, actually. You don’t know what it is about him or those stupid eyes that always manage to skirt out sympathy from you. 

You should feel gratified. At the start of this, you wanted to push Spencer to his limits—he’s too nice for his own good, and you wanted him to not only give you a more concrete reason to hate him, but get a reason to hate you back. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with this one-sided rivalry with the apparent saint of the BAU. 

But you don’t. You feel bad, and you hate it. You hate it more than any reasonable person should, but then again—you’ve never been reasonable. 

Spencer comes back in sooner rather than later, two lit candles in his hands. You can see the on-sale sticker plastered on the side of both, and you suppress a laugh. It’s something so small but so typical. 

“One’s vanilla, and one is,” he squints as he shifts it in his hand to read, “beach escape. What does a beach escape even smell like?” He shakes his head, then looks at you. “Which one do you—” 

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. You blurt it out before you can even stop yourself. 

This time, it’s Spencer’s turn to frown. His face is illuminated from beneath by the candlelight and it gives him an almost haunting beauty, highlighted with yellow and white along his jawline and cheekbones. The flames are mirrored in the lenses of his glasses. “For what?” 

“For snapping.” You almost snap at him again out of instinct, and you let out a long, loose sigh in an effort to try and chill out for once. “Sorry. Again.” 

“Oh.” He stands there for a moment holding the two candles, and it could be a laughable sight were you not near consumed with guilt. “Uh— it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Fine,” he says, “it’s not. Which candle do you want?” 

“Which one do you want?” 

“This isn’t where you have to start the ‘being nice to me’ thing,” Spencer says. “They’re kind of starting to burn my hands.” 

“Beach escape,” you say. He nods and sets it on your bedside table, then sits back down in his chair after placing the vanilla one in the window sill. 

“You… seem a little pent up,” Spencer says after letting the silence dwell for a beat. His shoulders have relaxed some, not hunched up almost to his ears. Small victories, at least.

“I don’t talk about my emotions much,” you respond in equal fashion. “It’s not really my thing.” 

He shrugs. “Why not start now?” 

You laugh. “Why would I ever start now?” 

“You said it yourself,” he says. “I have a psychology degree. I’m a good listener.”

“You interrupt me all the time to say stuff.”

“You interrupt me all the time too, so I guess we’re even.” Spencer shifts in his chair. “Besides, I can listen when it’s important. And this is.”

You stare at him. He stares back. 

He has beautiful eyes even in the dark, and you hate that you can’t deny it. Deep brown like the oaks surrounding this place, that shine like pools of honey in the firelight, that always seem to soften just so when he looks at you.

You break first. You have to look away. You always have to look away. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage. “I was a latchkey kid. Storms happened a lot when I was home alone and they scared me. I guess they still do. Happy?” 

“Believe it or not, your pain doesn’t make me happy,” Spencer says. 

“I didn’t think it did,” you say, trying your best to snap. 

He nods. “So we’re in agreement?” 

“I—” you pause, a slight frown creasing your brows. “I guess.” 

Spencer nods again, and he leans forward a bit. “Wasn’t that a lot better than fighting with me, getting upset, and isolating yourself?” 

You scowl. “Don’t you dare therapize me.” 

“It’s hard not to,” Spencer says. “Especially when you seem determined to make our conversations one-sided.” 

You scoff. “I do not.” 

“You act like talking to me is a physical pain.” He crosses his arms. “You locked yourself in the bathroom last night to avoid talking to me.” 

“I locked myself in the bathroom so I wouldn’t lose my mind in front of you,” you say. “Just because I know everything about you doesn’t mean I want you to know everything about me.” 

Spencer scoffs. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“My dad talks about you more than you think,” you say. “About your whole team—but especially you.”

“Where am I from?” he asks. 

“Vegas,” you say. “He mentions it every time you beat him at cards.”

“That— that doesn’t really matter,” he says. “I know you’re from Fairfax.” 

“The worst place in the world,” you say emphatically. You can’t believe you’ve been stuck in NoVa your whole life. “Doesn’t count, though. You’re an FBI agent—you’re supposed to know things like this.” 

“So it counts when you know it, but it doesn’t count when I do?” Spencer asks. 

You nod. “I’ve heard about Penelope Garcia. I’m more surprised you don’t know everything about me by now.” 

“Me too,” he says. “Garcia can find anything. Gideon really did a good j—” 

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he clamps his mouth shut. 

“What?” You lean forward, looking him in the eye. “He did a good job doing what?” 

“I don’t want to start another argument,” he says. 

“Oh, poor you.” You don’t think you could sound more sarcastic if you tried. “You don’t want to hear me talk about my absent father that didn’t have time for me because he was too busy with you.” You glance away. “You don’t know what it feels like.” 

“There’s something you don’t know about me then,” Spencer says. “Because I do.” 

“Unless your dad’s ignored you all his life in favor of his job and the stray genius he found there, you really don’t.” 

“My dad left when I was a kid because he couldn’t deal with my mom’s schizophrenia,” Spencer retorts. His words get you to look right back at him—they’re not overly sharp or exceedingly soft, just matter-of-fact. “I haven’t seen him since. So you’re right—I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I know a hell of a lot more than you think.” 

Regret hits you immediately, sour and spiny as it settles in your chest. You’ve been an asshole to him this whole time, and all along he’s held this inside of him? All along, you’ve been accusing him of stealing your life from you when he’s lost more than you have. 

For a moment, you can only stare at him, at a loss for words. He meets your eyes in equal measure. You might know a lot about Spencer Reid, but you’re quickly realizing you don’t know Spencer Reid. 

“Guess we’re a lot more similar than you thought,” he says in your silence. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you murmur, finally managing to muster up words. “That’s awful. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“No one does,” he shrugs. This time, he’s the one to look away. “But it is what it is.” 

“How can you just say that?” you ask. You lean forward, a frown creasing your brows. “How are you not just— just angry all the time? That your dad doesn’t give a fuck about you or your mom?” 

“For a while, I was.” He chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “I was angry at everyone. My dad, my mom, the adults around me— I hated myself most of all. It’s part of the reason I was so good in school. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to deal with it, so I studied as hard as I could, read as much as humanly possible.” He smiles thinly at nothing in particular. “Turns out I’m very good at avoiding things when I want to.” 

You shake your head with a scoff. “You’re a better person than I am. I would have hunted him down by now and given him a piece of my mind.” 

“It’s not worth it.” Spencer looks back at you. “He decided he didn’t want to be a part of my life. I’m not going to reward him by letting him ruin it when he’s not even here.” 

Is that what you’re doing? Letting your dad ruin your life by letting him occupy every part of it even when he’s not there? He’s influenced every part of your life, every part of you, and he hasn’t been here for half of it. Sometimes you’re surprised he didn’t miss your birth.

Another flash of lightning, another crack of thunder. You tense every muscle in your body to stop yourself from flinching as hard in front of Spencer. You think he notices anyway.  

“I’ve been angry at my dad since I was a kid,” you say once you’ve recovered. “He missed my dance recitals and my gymnastics meets and my soccer games, but he signed the checks for all of the payments. He told me to take honors and AP classes and missed the ceremonies for the awards. He was never there for anything that mattered, but—” you laugh again, and you blink back the tears— “but he waited until I was eighteen to get a divorce so I wouldn’t have to deal with a custody battle.” 

You bite down hard on your lip to force them back even harder as you look at Spencer. “Isn’t that fucked up? Neither of them have been there for us, but they’ve still shaped every part of us with their absence. We can’t escape it even when they’re not here, because them not being here is what caused it.” 

“I refuse to give him that much power,” Spencer says. “My dad left. He chose to leave. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I don’t want anything to do with him. I mean, I’m an FBI agent. I work with some of the best profilers in the world. I could find him if I wanted to, but I’m not going to waste my time chasing some pipe dream of a father that doesn’t exist.” 

“Your situation is different, though.” Both his eyes and tone soften, and something inside you stirs. “The only break I know Gideon’s taken was that six month medical leave that was practically forced on him. I think it would take an actual, life-threatening injury to get him to take another one. It’s a lot different having someone around and just… being neglected.”

“I’ve just always felt like such an asshole for it,” you mutter. “You all save lives every day. You’ve taken down a thousand sick criminals.” You shake your head with another mirthless laugh. “My dad saves women like me every day, gives them the chance to see their fathers again, and I’m mad at him because— because he won’t meet me for brunch? Because he missed my school band concerts?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Spencer says. “It’s never that simple. You don’t need to feel bad for hating him, but you also don’t need to feel bad for loving him, too.” 

You scoff. “There you go again with the psychology degree.” 

“It’s the truth,” he says. “Just because you feel rightfully angry doesn’t mean you don’t still love him. It’s part of the reason why you’re so conflicted about him.” He gave you a wry smile. “It makes everything a lot more complicated, doesn’t it?”

You shift in your bed. “Far cry from everything you told me before all this started.” 

“We see completely different sides of Gideon,” Spencer says. “I’m just… ashamed that it took me so long to believe you about all of it.” 

You huff a laugh. “I’m the one that should be ashamed. I thought you had this— this perfect life, with my dad loving you on top of it. That’s why I hated you so much.” 

He perks up. “Hated? As in, past tense? As in, you don’t hate me anymore?” 

You try to bite back your smile. You barely succeed. “Call it a truce.” 

Spencer grins and nudges his glasses back into place once again. “This might be my favorite truce since 1914.” 

“Christmas Truce,” you nod. “Good one.” 

“You know it?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “I’m a teacher.” 

Spencer blinks. “You— you are?” 

“Why is that such a surprise?” you ask. 

“You’re so…”

“Mean to you?” You chuckle. “Trust me, I’m not like this with my kids. My job is one of the parts of my life that I’m actually happy with.” 

“...Huh.” Spencer smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back, subconsciously. “You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure,” you nod. “Maybe you can tell me about everything you do sometime.” 

“You’re sure you won’t get bored?” he asks. “You might not realize, but I have a tendency to rant.” 

You laugh. “Part of our truce.” 

This time, he nods. “Cool. That— that’s cool.” 

You roll your eyes as you look away, but your smile betrays you once again. Your gaze snaps over to the lamp as it flickers back on, and you realize you haven’t heard any thunder in a while. 

“Looks like the storm’s passed.” Spencer separates two of the window blinds with his fingers and peers through. You’ve never really focused on his hands like you do now—with the way you feel your face burn, it’s probably a good thing. You look away as soon as possible. “Just rain, now.” 

“Good,” you say, and you let out a yawn. “All our talking tired me out.” 

“Good,” he echoes as he picks his candle up from the window pane. “You should get eight hours of sleep a night, and I know for a fact you don’t.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, professor.” 

“You’re the teacher here,” he says. “I should be saying that to you.” 

“And yet you’re so much more annoying than I could ever be,” you muse. 

“Does our truce include this?” 

“Naturally.”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head. He starts walking to the doorway, but you speak up before he can leave. 

“Night, Spencer.” You pause as you bite the inside of your lip, then continue before you can stop yourself. “I really enjoyed talking with you.” 

He hesitates for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorframe. Then he bids you goodnight in the same fashion, actually saying your name. “I did too.”

It makes your heart skip a beat. 

Spencer closes the door behind him, and you find yourself staring at the wood long after he’s gone. You jolt when you finally come back into yourself, and you shake your head to get out of the haze. 

You glance at the clock on your bedside table, and blink when you realize it’s almost 1:30. You really do need to get to bed. 

The smoke makes you cough as you blow your candle out, and you wave a hand around to dispel it before you turn the lamp off. You lay down and pull the sheets up around you. You end up having to switch positions at least five times before you start to get comfortable. 

But the strangest thing is plaguing you despite your restlessness. You were freezing before the storm started, even when the electricity was working, but now there’s a strange warmth attempting to permeate within you. It almost helps you relax. 

The room feels a lot smaller without him in it. 

You exhale, long, slow, and deep as you close your eyes. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air.

You hope you don’t dream tonight. 

[turtles-invoked]

“How come you can’t fly?” Jack asks Castiel randomly one afternoon. Him, Jack, Dean, and Sam sit at the long table in the library, the brothers sharing a beer, Jack and Cas just happy to be in their company.

Well, maybe it wasn’t as random as it seemed. Jack was curious about The Apocalypse after Dean’s possession. They explained it all in as much detail as they could, Sam even offering as much as loosing his soul and how that affected him, and then how it affected Cas. Which lead to the Leviathan’s and then somehow they ended up talking about their time in Purgatory which naturally lead to Naomi’s control over Cas and then Metatron’s betrayal which leaves them where they’re up to now at the Great Fall… at least that’s what they’ve been calling it.

All eyes turn to Cas. The conversation comes to a halt at the somewhat intrusive question. An uncomfortable, bubbling feeling begins to roll and churn in his stomach as his face begins to heat up.

He opens his mouth to start explaining but Sam had begun to answer for him, “because he fell with the angels.” He says it as if it was obvious, but when he looks around and takes in Dean’s frown and Cas’ squinted eyes and slight head tilt to the left he starts to doubt himself, “…right?”

Cas completely forgot that Sam was particularly unwell at the time of the Great Fall. No one ever spoke about his lack of wings after he became human and they were a little busy when Cas finally got what little of his Grace was left. Of course Sam wouldn’t know. Dean doesn’t even know it all, so how would Sam?

“No… I uh…” Cas started and looked around at all the faces watching him; Sam’s confused frown, Jack’s intrigued yet a little wary squint, and Dean’s sympathetic eyes.

“When I gave Metatron my grace…” he starts slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat, “naturally, I lost all of my powers, including my wings…”

“But you got it back?” Jack asks, still confused.

“Not all of it. What was left after the spell wasn’t enough to heal my body immediately.”

“But you said over time it will regenerate,” Jack argues.

“Correct, and it has, but-”

“Then you should be able to fly,” he says hopefully.

Cas shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat. Jack was looking so hopeful at him that it almost felt worse to crush that than it did to admit what really happened.

“Theoretically, yes…” he starts and spares a glance at Dean. The brothers hadn’t said anything more since Cas begun his story and it unnerved him a little.

“Since I never technically fell with the rest of the angels, my Grace should have healed them… but there is more to it than that.”

“Wait a second-” Sam cuts in leaning forward in his seat, “you didn’t fall with the angels?”

“No, at the time I was already human.”

Sam looks at him as if he’s trying to piece together everything but nothing quite makes sense.

Jack interjects this time, frowning as he asks, “you gave Metatron your grace?”

“He was played,” Dean says simply, a tinge of frustration in his tone.

Cas sighs in agreement, “while Sam was attempting to close the gates of Hell, I thought I was sealing Heaven…”

“You were going to lock all the angels away? Including you?” Jack interjects again.

This time Cas’ eyes snap to Dean who was staring straight at him. His expression remained stoic and neutral but his eyes were a little bit wider, more attentive, desperate for the answer too. Of course he wasn’t going to leave Dean, but they had never had a chance to have that conversation.

“No,” Cas says sincerely, then turns his attention back to Jack, “No, I was- am unwelcome in Heaven. Though, I would have stayed on Earth regardless.”

“Jack, we’re getting off track,” Sam points out waving his hands to backtrack to the original plot.

“Right, yes. I was tracking Metatron when a couple of his followers found me. I was captured an-”

“Alone?” Jacks asks surprised.

“Yes.”

“As a human?”

“No. No we found Metatron previously and captured him, however, he knew where the rest of my grace was. I was… dying… and at the time Metatron was cuffed… we didn’t- I didn’t think he could escape. He was weak but he did, and I was trying to… find him when some of his very few remaining loyalties found me. I was still weak…” he trails off becoming nervous again.

“Wait- you had Metatron, but you let him go so you could get your grace back!?” Sam asks incredulously.

Dean slaps his arm to shut him up, but Cas can feel the frustrated anger in Sam’s stare.

“For what it’s worth, I did not agree. It was Hannah who insisted. I assumed wrongly that the cuffs could contain him,” Cas feels his face flush with frustration. He was starting to lose track of his story with all the interruptions and emotions beginning to swell in his chest.

“All of this could have been avoided!” Sam exclaims.

“Yeah, and Cas would be dead!” Dean interjects for the first time since Cas started talking.

“I would not have survived much longer without it, I am sorry to disappoint,” he replies curtly and returns his attention to Jack’s big pleading eyes.

“What happened when they found you?” Jack asks softly.

“He…” Cas swallows the lump in his throat before he continues, “… he bound and tortured me…” he looked at his intertwined hands, talking to the table. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, could feel the thumping in his ears as the blood rushed through his body, the embarrassment working its way through his veins.

“He cut into me with my own angel blade, but he soon realised I would not give up Sam and Dean very easily, so he…. Resorted to more… intense… measures…” Cas swallows again… his mouth beginning to dry, and his eyes burn ever so slightly. Visions of his shirt ripped opened and bloodied, flashed through his mind. He could feel the tight, pulling, bounding of his wrists as he was suspended from the ceiling, toes barely touching the ground; the stinging of each carve into his skin. He even remembers his relief when he thought they had given up, but the devastation as he realised what they had planned to do next.

“Cas, you don’t have to talk about it…” Dean says carefully.

Cas shakes his head to try and push the memories away, “I thought when they stopped they had given up. But how wrong was I…”

He shifts in his seat, leaning back so he’s not so hunched over, his hands now in his lap, still clenched together.

“They sliced down my back… extracted my wings and-” Cas inhaled shakily before blowing it out, the corners of his eyes beginning to prickle.

“We get it,” Dean says softly. Cas looks up and meets his eyes. Dean offers a sympathetic smile while Jack looks like he may pass out. His face has paled a little, mouth hung open in disbelief,’“I didn’t think that was possible…”

“It was… excruciating. Had Hannah not found me when she did…” Cas looks sheepishly to Dean, “I would not have lasted long at all…”

“It’s okay,” Dean says in that same gentle tone.

“Cas- I-” Sam was at a loss for words, “I had no idea.”

“Of course not,” Cas replies a little too short.

“Have you tried to heal them?” Jack says quietly.

Cas gives him a flat smile, “yes. As well as Hannah and Gabriel. It appears they are damaged beyond repair…”

“May I try?”

All Cas can do is shake his head.

“Please let me try, Cas?”

At the same time as Dean says, “that’s enough,” Cas pushes his chair out and mumbles an, “excuse me,” not looking back at the table as he exits the room and heads for his own.

He can hear Jack and Dean arguing lightly with each other, but he pays it no more attention than he does the tears welling up in his eyes. When he approaches his room he shuts the door gently behind him and leans against it, sighing out deeply as the tears fall from his eyes freely.

He wipes them away and laughs to himself at his own humanity. ‘An angel crying,’ he thinks to himself. My, how far had he fallen indeed.

A knock at his door pulls him out of his self pity as well as a gentle soft call of his name, “Cas?” Cas could pick out Dean’s voice anywhere.

Cas wiped his face one more time before kicking off the door and opening it.

“You good?” Dean asks leaning against the frame.

Cas nods and tries to put on his best smile. But Dean raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms over his chest, looking straight through his facade.

Cas sighs and steps to the side to let him in, and shuts the door behind them.

He doesn’t have much in his room. His bed hasn’t been used in a couple of days, his few personal items are the books he’s snagged from the library to read while the boys sleep. Very bare compared to Dean’s.

Dean walks in and takes a seat at the edge of the bed facing Cas.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly, his hands folded between his legs.

Cas takes a seat next to Dean, hands clasped, and in his lap but he. Twiddles his thumbs, a nervous tick he developed as a human that he can’t get rid of of, “I-” but he doesn’t know what to say. Or where to start. Or how to explain it. Or if he even wants too. Because as soon as he starts to think about it again, the heaviness is back in his chest, and the warmth in his eyes returns, “-I can’t…”

He takes a moment to compose himself, to settle the heavy beating of his heart, and stares up at the ceiling. He takes a couple of breaths before looking over at Dean, his deep green eyes studying him, not judging, but observing, paying attention to every little move Cas makes. Cas looses his breath looking at him and how alluring his gaze is, so he focuses back on his hands and whispers, “I don’t believe this is something Jack can fix.”

“Why not let him try?”

“Would I be of more use to you if he succeeded?” Cas snaps before he could think and looks over to Dean again. The hurt in his eyes not gone unnoticed, but the pending answer in them tugged on his heart.

“It’s not about you being useful. It’s about you being you,” he replies in his defensive tone.

Cas sighs and looks back down to his hands. When he first lost his ability to fly it felt a lot like imprisonment. Human transportation is slow and tedious. Dean’s music and rambling did pass the time rather pleasantly, and he will admit that he does like his off key singing, enjoys it even, however it was no comparison to being able to “zap” places in a matter of milliseconds. The freedom to go anywhere in the universe at anytime whenever he wanted. Even after all these years, driving still makes him feel claustrophobic at times, something that will still probably take a while to get used to.

“Cas, you got to know you’re not here to be useful right?” Cas looks back up at him. The frown set in his brows mimicing the slight tinge of panic and worry in his voice.

Cas squints his eyes and frowns a little himself, “Of course I do,” and looks back down at his lap, “that was unfair of me to say, I apologise.”

“Good,” Dean says rather shortly.

“Besides,” Dean starts again, bumping their shoulders together, “I hated being zapped places anyways.”

Cas chuckles a little at his response, remembering Dean’s complaints of not being able to poop after they travelled together, or the uneasiness he felt in his stomach, or the one time his ear didn’t stop ringing for a whole day. Humans weren’t really designed for teleportation. But still, the weight of what he’s lost weighs heavily on his heart and mind. Always there in amongst the background noise. Deep down he knows he’s not kept around to be useful, but the guilt still lingers in the space between them whenever they have a long drive ahead, or rare ingredients to find for whatever spell they need.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“What for?”

“For telling Metatron where to find you and Sam…”

“But you didn’t…”

Cas turns to him then, “but I would have. I almost had. And for that, I am sorry.”

“Cas-”

“No Dean. I think about that moment all too often. The pain is something I will never forget, but I would have never forgiven myself had something happened to you because of my wrong doings… again.”

Dean didn’t try to protest again. Instead he places his hand over Cas’. It wasn’t until then he realises how tightly he had clenched them together. He allowed himself to relax a little, the warmth and slight clamminess of Dean’s touch grounding him.

“Can I see?” Deans voice, barely above a whisper, breaks through their silence.

“What?” Cas asks, more shocked that Dean would even want to see his broken wings than he is that he asked at all.

A blush fills Dean’s face faintly as he pulls his hand away but in spite of his obvious embarrassment he asks again, “can I see them?”

“I… it’s- they’re not… visually appealing…” he says, trying to swallow the dryness in his throat, “I don’t think you’ll be able to see them anyway…”

“So?” Dean asks, pleading green eyes begging Cas to fulfil his request.

Cas’s heart beat heavier and faster in his chest, his stomach turned a little making him feel slightly nauseated but he stood before he could talk himself out of it, because how could he deny Dean anything?

“Fine, but not here. I need more space…” and leads the way out of his room and down the hallway towards the garage.

“More space…?” He hears Dean mumble behind him.

Sam and Jack were no longer in the common areas, and for that he was thankful. Between Jack’s sympathetic need to help, and Sam’s guilt filled eyes, he’d rather not have to face either of them.

Cas opens the door to the garage and lets Dean in first. As he closes the door after him as Dean turns the lights on, but Cas immediately turns them back off, plunging the room into complete darkness, “dude?”

“No lights,” Cas says walking passed Dean towards the impala.

“Then how will you even se-”

Dean stops abruptly as Cas turns the headlights of the impala on, plunging the room into a soft yellow glow. He turns around to face him, still standing at the door.

Dean, after a moment of adjustment, makes his way over with a confused frown on his face, “oh, yeah, sure, we can’t use the free electricity, but yeah, let’s drain baby’s battery,” he mumbles under his breath, but Cas can hear it regardless of his volume.

“Humans cannot perceive an angels true form, as you already know, but you can see the shadows…” he starts, shrugging off his trench coat, folding it neatly and places it on the hood of the car.

“Shadows?” Dean asks, arms crossed while he watches Cas. He shrugs off his suit jacket and ignores the fluttering in his stomach as Dean’s eyes track his every move.

“Yes, Dean, you will only be able to see the shadows they create, not how they actually look,” he folds the jacket up neatly too and starts undoing his tie.

“Wait, Cas, hang on,” Dean says now standing in front of him, “are you-? I was asking about your scars…”

Cas freezes, stomach dropping, his fingers still on the knot of his tie, and looks into Dean’s eyes. A wave of embarrassment floods through him and warms his face and chest, definitely reddening.

“You were willing to show me your wings?” He asks incredulously, as if it’s the most sacred thing that Cas could do for him. And it kind of is. Exposing himself this willingly, and openly, is kind of intimate. He has never voluntarily showed anyone or any angel his wings without the intent of intimidating them. He imagines this is how humans would feel when they are perceived completely naked for the first time, excited but terrified all at once.

“I-” he tries to speak but his voice cracks, stopping him. How could he not have understood what Dean was asking of him? Does Dean even realise how profound it is for him to show him his wings? Would he even appreciate the weight of such an act?

“Cas,” he says breathlessly and my goodness does Cas love the way his name sounds that way, “Isn’t this… a big deal?”

Cas swallows the lump in his throat and continues undoing his tie, more so as something for his hands to do instead of standing still and awkward, “…yeah.” He says pulling the fabric from around his neck and rolls it up in his hands.

“You… are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to do this…” Dean says taking the tie out of his hands and leaning into his line of sight to catch his eyes.

Cas takes a breath and looks Dean up and down, “I trust you,” he says slowly and takes the folded tie back from Dean and places it with his other clothes, beginning to undo the buttons to his shirt.

He untucks the fabric from his pants to reach the last button and shrugs himself out of the sleeves, catching the way Dean averts his gaze when he notices Cas looking at him.

A slight flush fills Dean’s cheeks as he awkwardly runs his fingers through his hair and down to the back of his neck, “well… what do you need?”

Cas grabs him by the elbow and pulls Dean along to the front of the car, standing back to the hood between the headlights, “your patience.” Is all he says as he turns to walk towards the empty wall a few meters in front of the car, but Dean grabs a hold of his arm before he could walk away.

“Jesus, Cas,” is all he says and Cas can’t help but tense, knowing he’s looking at the pair of pink parallel scars that run down from just below his shoulder to half way down his back. From what Cas could see by looking in the bathroom mirror, they’re thick and viscous, and were nearly impossible to heal due to the angelicness of the wound.

Dean drops his grip on him and Cas takes it as his cue to continue on, so he does, ignoring the heat in his face and tingling where Dean held him.

He stands about a meter in front of the wall, just enough space for the shadows to appear higher than his body so Dean could actually see them, and kneels to the ground. He sits on his feet and place his hands on his thighs and hangs his head low, he doesn’t want to see the look on Dean’s face when he realises just how broken he really is.

So he closes his eyes and relaxes his upper body and summons his grace. He takes a moment to prepare himself before imagining his wings unfolding and extending wide, like a big stretch first thing in the morning.

His left wing opens easily, smoothly and wide. His right, however, cracks a little like the popping of the knuckles in his fingers, and pinches at the joint before expanding out. Cas only winces slightly as a shock of pain runs down the bone and into his shoulder blade as he stretches it out for the first time in months. A wave of instant relief washes over him as he lengthens them both wide and high and displays them for Dean.

A gasp in front of him has him squeezing his eyes shut and his stomach stirring. He knows they’re not pretty to look at. His right has no feathers left, just soft fur like skin covering the bone. It’s bent in the middle where the bone was forcefully snapped, and a couple of inches shorter at the end where Metatron’s followers had begun to amputate it. His left one, however, has a couple of feathers that have slowly begun to grow back along the tip of his wing, some long, some very short and some of them fluffy. Most of them fall out after a few weeks of growth, keeping their length short. Some have fallen out now as he’s opened them up, the floor to his left littered with white gold specs of a fur like substance, almost like dust, in the reflection of the lights.

The burning returns behind his eyelids and his heart stutters in his chest. Time feels like it moves far too slow as Cas kneels on the ground before Dean, as bare as an angel can be before a human. He keeps his head low and his eyes clenched until Dean whispers, “Castiel,” into the thickness of the air between them.

He can’t help but look up at Dean through his tear filled eyes at the echo of his full name on Dean’s lips. A name he hasn’t heard Dean call him since the angels fell. A name that, he’s been called for centuries, all of a sudden sounds foreign to his own ears.

But Dean’s eyes don’t meet his, they dart from his left to his right, taking in what little of his true from he can see. Wide, and curious, and beautiful green eyes sparkling in the refraction of light coming from Castiel’s grace.

He bows his head again and mutters low on his breath, “I did say they are not pleasing to observe.”

“No,” Dean says earnestly. Cas doesn’t lift his head when he hears Dean’s boots on the floor treading closer his way. Not even as Dean kneels on the floor in front of him. But two hands cup his cheeks ever so gently, as if he were made of glass, and slowly lifts his head up to meet his gaze. This close, Cas can see the blue of his own eyes shining back at him through Dean’s, bright and blue and…

“No, they’re beautiful,” Dean declares breathlessly.

Cas’s mouth opens slightly in astonishment as his eyes well up and his vision blurs softly.

“You’re beautiful,” Dean whispers as the tears fall silently from Cas’s eyes, down his cheeks, and into the palm of Dean Winchester’s hands, “thank you,” he adds and the admiration in Dean’s voice makes it harder for Cas to keep himself together, as a soft sob escapes his lips.

Dean wipes away his eyes with the pads of his thumb before pulling his hands away to rest on his own thighs and Cas looses his breath at the sight of the righteous man on his knees before him; open, and authentic, and nothing but the purest of intentions.

“Dean…” Cas starts but doesn’t know what to say, or how to express his gratitude.

Dean shakes his head, “no, Cas. You don’t have to say anything,” he says in a low hushed tone, his eyes flicking back up to the broken one.

“…Does it… hurt?” He asks timidly.

Cas nods slowly, “A little…”

Dean nods at that and squints at the shadow, brows deepening ever so slightly.

“What is it?” Cas asks tilting his head to the side, trying to get a better read on him.

“No-nothing. I- I can kinda see ‘em,” he stutters still squinting.

Cas squirms a little under the scrutiny, “how do you mean…?”

“There’s a…” he pauses, perhaps trying to find the right words, “A-a shimmer? I guess? Kinda like.. looking through water…” he says pinching his eyes as if focusing too hard put strain on them.

Cas couldn’t help but smile tenderly at the man before him. Very rare is it that a human can see an angels true form. Even a slight peak at such a being will burn the eyes right out of their socket, melting the surrounding tissue and vessels. He’s not sure whether it has to do with Dean being the chosen vessel himself, or their profound bond, but a part of him isn’t even surprised at all that Dean can see that much. He wonders if maybe he could perceive more…

“Try and touch them?” Cas suggests quietly.

Dean gapes at him, “what?”

Cas blushes and adverts his gaze down to his hands, “I don’t know if you can… but you may try.”

He chances a look back up to Dean’s face, staring mesmerised back at him, “You sure?”

Cas can only nod his encouragement. He watches Dean process his request, the way he licks his lips before gulping and taking a deep breath as he glances up at Cas’ unharmed wing. And then ever so slowly, almost like if he moved too fast he would scare Cas away, he reaches his hand up. Cas doesn’t think anything would happen, maybe a slight ripple in the current, or a slight rush of wind as he passes through the ‘shimmer’ but when Dean’s fingertips graze the surface of delicate skin, Cas gasps. Dean’s pulls his hand back suddenly and almost like an electric shock running through his body, Cas squints his eyes closed as the most intense wave of pleasure coursed a through him. He clenches his fist and squeezes his eyes shut, and steadies his breathing.

“Cas!” Dean calls out but to Cas it sounds distant and muffled. Dean calls for him again and Cas snaps his eyes open, Dean’s hand on his shoulder, the other on his knee. He hadn’t noticed he had put his hands on him, and now his face is mere inches from his, “hey, what the hell, man?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs shaky and a little panicked, “I didn’t think anything would happen,” he admits sheepishly.

“Are you okay?” Dean pulls himself back but his eyes don’t leave his face, worried for what might happen if he looks away.

“I’m fine. Are you alright?” Cas gives Dean a once over. He appears to be fine…

“Yeah, no, I’m good, I thought I hurt you…” he admits and Cas sighs in relief, glad no harm came to Dean.

“No, no it didn’t hurt…” he says, confused, remembering what he felt… “it was…” electric? Chilling? “…overwhelming…” he settles on.

Dean nods, still not entirely convinced.

“I would like for you to try again.”

“Oh- n-no, no way,” Dean says moving to stand, but Cas reaches out, his hand grabbing his thigh stopping him in his tracks, “Please,” but the sudden movement causes Cas’s wings to flow with the movement making him wince and grunt in pain, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth, at the ache running down the right side of his body.

“Cas-”

“I’m okay. I just moved to quick,” he says slowly pulling back, Dean still watching his every move.

“Cas I- I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You wont,” he says assuredly sitting back up straight.

Dean still looks unconvinced though, his brows frowned in a deep, worried, line, jaw clenched, eyes wide and watching, “stop me if I do.” It’s not a question, but a demand. He’s telling him to stop him, knowing that if he asks, Cas would probably let him go on even if it hurts. So Cas nods his agreement and braces himself, trying to keep his body relaxed, expecting the sensations this time to come.

He keeps his eyes opened this time as Dean’s hand reaches out, trembling ever so slightly, and pauses right before he makes contact. They lock eyes and Cas can see the anxiety, plain as day, in Dean’s. He gives him the smallest upturn of his lips, encouraging him as gently as he can to continue. He hears Dean suck in a breath before ever so slowly reaching forward again until his fingertips, in a feather like touch, graze Cas’s skin ever so lightly. A feeling, almost like a tickle, dances on the skin where his fingers sit before it bolts like a shiver down his spine, soft but intense, new, and unfamiliar.

Cas shudders at the feeling, as Dean applies more pressure, still soft, still gentle, and strokes up just a little. Cas can feel the feathers pull and turn under Dean’s fingertips and it sends an almost feverish feeling down his wing and into his chest. Cas can’t help but gasp at the same time Dean exhales a, “woah.” His eyes begin to prick in the corners, and his breathing picks up pace as his grace begins to quiver, a slight tremor forming throughout his body. He squeezes his eyes shut as to not blind Dean by the bright white light glowing from within them, as a faint running softly echoes throughout the garage.

Dean pulls his hand back nervously, “hey,” he says softly, “what’s happening?”

“Sorry,” Cas whispers, tensing, trying to regain control over his grace before his reaction accelerates further gaining the attention of the other occupants of the bunker. His fists clench hard against his thighs, the muscles in his arms so tense they feel like they’re burning. He tries to focus on breathing but his body feels heavy, almost like he’s being crushed. The air feels thick, as if he’s underwater, though he can feel his body shaking, struggling to contain him. He mutters a few words of Enochian low to himself repeatedly in an attempt ground himself, but it’s not until Dean’s hands, one on his right shoulder, another on his left thigh just above his knee squeeze him gently that he can feel his body calming down, relaxing once again.

“Sorry,” Cas whispers again, his face warm and wet. He wipes at his cheek and looks at his hand, expecting a crimson streak of blood, but it’s just water, tears. He hadn’t even noticed he was crying… again. He had never done such a thing in front of Dean, or ever really, and now he’s up to number three for the day alone.

“What just happened?” Dean asks pulling back and giving Cas back his space.

Cas wipes his face dry and folds his wings back away, cringing again as his broken one collapses weakly into itself and tucks away. His timing couldn’t be more perfect, as the door to the garage swings open, and in storms Sam with an Angel Blade gripped firmly in his hand and Jack standing ready behind him, “what the hell was that?” He demands walking further into the garage, looking around. Cas’ stomach sinks with anxiety, and nervous disappointed that he had created enough of a disturbance to concern Sam and Jack.

Dean stands up then, leaving Cas still kneeling on the ground. He takes the opportunity to lean into his shadow, blocking the headlights from his view.

“Um… what’re you guys doing?” Jack asks curiously taking in the sight of a half naked kneeling Cas in front of Dean.

“Nothing,” Dean says in his usual gruff macho tone that implied ‘none of your damn business’ as he steps to the side to block the boy’s view of Cas.

Sam raises his eyebrows at the sight of them, and what a sight that must be. It doesn’t help that Cas is flushed and a little out of breath either…

“Are we interrupting sex?” Jack asks amusedly, and honestly, Cas can’t even blame him for coming to the conclusion. That doesn’t stop him from leaning from behind Dean’s stance to frown at the kid, squinting his eyes slightly as if to say, ‘why would you even ask such a thing.’

Sam scoffs as Dean chokes and sputters for a response other than a defensive, “No.”

“Then what are you doing?” Sam asks chuckling amusedly, the same smirk still plastered on his face as he watches Dean squirm under his gaze.

Dean stammers for a response, clearly uncomfortable sharing with Sam what they were actually doing. Cas takes the opportunity to slowly stand from his position on the floor, brushing off the dust and dirt from his hands onto his pants. He waves his hands over his knees and within a matter of seconds, his pants are clean again.

“An exercise in trust,” Cas says walking to meet Dean at the hood of the car, reaching around behind him for his shirt.

“And the sounds just now?” Sam asks, body language becoming defensive.

“Me,” is all Cas offers up, shrugging his shirt back on and begins buttoning it. It’s mundane tasks such as this when he’d rather participate in the experience of doing it himself rather than using his powers.

Sam scoffs at his response, looking away from him, towards Jack, and shakes his head, “fine. Yeah. Okay. Good. Well just… we’ll leave you to it…”

Cas only feels slightly bad as Sam gestures for Jack to follow him, exiting the garage.

Jack looks between Cas and Dean, and smiles cheekily before waving them goodbye and following Sam out of the room.

Dean sighs in relief beside him and turns to face Cas, running a hand through his hair, “jeez, did you have to be so short with him?” He walks over to the door, leaving Cas still buttoning his top, and flicks the overhead lights on.

“Would you rather I have told him what we were doing?” Cas asks, tucking in his shirt to his pants when Dean rejoins him and turns the Impala’s lights off. He did not answer him, though Cas knew that he wouldn’t when he asked it.

Instead he deflects, “can’t you just mojo yourself back into those,” he asks handing Cas his tie.

“Thank you. I prefer the manual labour,” he wraps the tie around his neck, only a little confused on which way it’s supposed to face before the knot is tied, deciding that he doesn’t really care which way it faces, before tucking one side over the other and looping it through.

Dean huffs, and Cas knows he’s watching him mess up the knot. Suddenly aware of the eyes on him, he looses his focus and decides to undo it and mojo it on later.

“Dude, give it here,” he offers and gently swats Cas’ hands out of the way. Cas looks down at Dean’s hands, watching as he carefully measures the length of the fabric, pulling the thicker side down much further than Cas had it before crisscrossing them.

He lifts his head, looking up at Dean then, giving him a little more room at the collar to work with. This close, he could see everything so clearly, so perfectly. How long and fine his eyelashes are, how they perfectly dust the tops of his cheekbones as he focuses on the task at hand. He could see all the different shades of green that made up the iris of Dean’s beautiful eyes. All of the individual hairs that built the perfect stubble across Dean’s jaw. The slight dryness of Dean’s lips and all the fine lines and wrinkles in them. He could practically count all the freckles that glitter Dean’s face. Of course he’s familiar with every single one of them, but it’s still beautiful to be able to carefully examine them this closely. Beautiful. Dean had called him that earlier. And it had made his heart yearn for more, more of Dean, more of their connection, just… more.

Dean clears his throat then and a light flush of pink begins to spread across his cheeks and nose, as he taps Cas’ chest, signifying that he was done. Cas blinks out of his little daze and lookes down at the perfectly tied knot, “thank you.”

Dean smiles a little awkwardly and chuckles nervously taking a couple of steps back to lean against the side of his car.

Cas finishes dressing himself, shrugging on his jacket, followed by his coat and tucking his hands in his pockets and joins Dean, leaning against the frame next to him.

“So uh….” Dean starts, and chuckles nervously, cutting himself off.

Castiel remains silent next to him, allowing him the space to find the words on his own.

“How… what was it like?”

Cas glances at Dean beside him, face flushed, arms folded, one leg crossed over the other. He doesn’t look at him, just stares down at the floor in front of them.

Cas smiles to himself and looks ahead, admiring the vintage cars in front of them, “good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Cas sighs. He could practically feel the relief rolling off of Dean.

“So the…” he trails off waving one of his hands in front of him. Cas frowns at his hand, not really sure what he’s asking him but patiently waits for him to continue.

“The shaking… and the ringing…?”

“Yes,” Cas says and nods, looking at the ground in front of him. He feels his face and chest warm as the feelings rush back through him momentarily.

“No one has ever touched them before. It was quite sensitive… overstimulating, if you will.”

“So not painful?”

“No, not at all. Just… overwhelming.”

“Good… that’s… that’s good.”

“It was.”

Silence falls between them, but neither of them move. From the corner of his eye, he watches as Dean looks around the garage, his eyes darting from one object to another, yet he makes no effort to move.

“Would you like some time alone?” He asks, not sure if he’s made Dean uncomfortable or not… He’s gotten pretty well at reading a situation but sometimes, in moments like these, he’s not sure what the appropriate social protocol is.

“No!” He says quickly followed by a nervous laugh, “ah… no. But I think I need to get out for a bit…” he admits pushing himself off the car.

“Come for a drive?” He says patting the roof of his car, leaving his arm resting along the frame, “she needs fuel, and we need snacks.”

Cas nods as Dean opens the door and folds himself in.

Cas takes a breath before pushing himself off and joining him in the vehicle as Dean turns the key and she rumbles to life.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and types away at it whilst the garage opens. Once she’s finished, his shoves his phone back in his pocket and explains, “let Sam know, just in case,” and they make their way through the tunnel, down a few side streets and onto the open road.

With the windows down, whatever tape in the deck turned down low, and the comfortable silence between them, Cas doesn’t feel so trapped. The wind in his face and through his hair feels rather nice, refreshing even, cool against his flushed skin.

Dean beside him looks much more relaxed too, although, he usually always did when they were on the road. His fingers tapping rhythmically against the steering wheel, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the door, half out the window. He looks at peace almost. And he drives like this the short distance to the fuel station.

Cas gets out of the car with Dean and leans against the side while Dean fills it, “I’m thinking jerky, popcorn, and pork rinds. What do you want?” Cas thinks about it for a moment… as a human he enjoyed the tastes of sweet foods, not the greesy stuff or salty stuff Dean liked. But now that he’s himself again, food doesn’t really taste the same… nor does it elicit the same emotional enjoyment… As a human he could ignore the individual molecules, but now it’s hard to get past it. However, their last movie night, the sweet popcorn Dean made him try was rather delicious.

“What was the popped corn we had when we watched the movie with the robots?”

Dean rolls his eyes at him and groans as he hangs the pup back up, “transformers, dude! And it was kettle korn, the caramel flavour I think. Is that what you want?”

“Please.”

They walk in together, Dean stuffing his arms with different flavoured jerkies and popcorn and chips. He makes Cas grab two soft drinks from the fridge and a no sugar flavoured water for Sam and at the counter he grabs a container of plum pie and a salad bowl.

Their items are handed back to them in one big bulging bag that thankfully doesn’t bust as they walk back to the car.

“Wait Cas, before we leave,” Dean stops him just before they part ways to get into the car.

Cas turns to him, curious, but a little worried seeing the frown on his face.

He digs through his pocket and dangles the keys between them, “I want you to drive.”

Cas’ mouth and stomach drops a little in surprise, his heart thumping away heavily in his chest. Dean barely lets Sam drive the impala, and now he’s handing him the keys.

“Dean,” Cas starts but he’s at a loss for words.

“Seriously. You shared something so… so big with me and I want to do the same for you,” his cheeks flush a soft shade of rosey pink at the admission and all Cas can do is stare at him gobsmacked.

“I mean… it’s not really the same thing… but this is all I have,” he says, beginning to backtrack, “and I trust you, too, Cas. I do. So please,” he jingles the keys and Cas reluctantly takes them.

“You don’t have to do this,” is all he says as Dean already walks to the passenger door.

Cas looks down at the silver keychain in his hand and looks back up at Dean who isn’t paying him any attention, or trying not to anyway. He nods to himself and takes his new place in the drivers seat, the weight of what this means to Dean not lost on him. Cas checks his mirrors, only having to adjust the rear view, and turns the key. The car rumbles to life once more, purring under Castiel’s hands. He grips the wheel tight and slowly rolls it out of the station, carful to angle it going down the drive so he doesn’t scrape it before slowly accelerating once on the road.

“You can loosen the death grip,” Dean chuckles from beside him.

Cas becomes aware of how tense he is and wipes his clammy hands, one by one, on his thighs. He adjust his grip and rolls his shoulder slightly, trying to loosen the anxiety in him.

“Sorry…”

“Why are you nervous?”

Cas glances over Dean’s way briefly, their eyes meeting for a slow second before he turns back to the road.

“I am not accustomed to driving and this is your prized possession,” he replies as if it answers all of Dean’s questions.

Dean chuckles softly again.

They pull at a red light and Cas is glad for the break. His hands had started to become sweaty and tight around the wheel again. He wipes them on his pants and returns them as the light flicks to green. As he takes off, a vehicle flies past in front of him, running the red. Cas gasps and slams on the breaks, Dean barely having enough time to brace himself against the dash as Cas narrowly stops in time before they are hit. Cas can’t move. There’s a vehicle behind him, honking, but Cas is struck still, his breathing heavy and hard in his lungs, body rigid.

“Cas, you gotta go buddy,” Dean says to him, but it’s muffled and distant. The car eventually drives around them, honking as they continue, but Cas still can’t move.

Dean gets out and walks around to his side, “shuffle over,” he says but Cas can’t move his hands from the wheel.

Dean reaches in front of him and puts it in park and nudges his shoulder, “move over,” he says again. He gently takes Cas’s hands off of the wheel which snaps Cas back into the moment. He clenches his fists a few times to loosen them up and slides into the passenger seat, his whole body hot and sweaty, uncomfortably so.

Dean drives them out of the intersection and pulls over after they’ve cleared it. He parks the car again and turns to Cas, one hand on his shoulder, the other still on the wheel, “we’re okay.”

Cas nods into his lap as the embarrassed tears well in his eyes.

“You’re okay,” he voices again.

Cas nods into his lap again as a hand gingerly cups his cheek, gently moving his head so he can look at him.

“You are okay.”

Cas takes in a deep breath then and blinks away the tears. He refuses to cry in front of Dean Winchester one more time today.

“You did everything right. I’m not mad. You saved us from a wreck. Okay?”

‘His first near miss,’ he thinks as he huffs out a breath.

“Okay?” Dean presses once more.

“Okay,” Cas whispers back.

“Do you want to keep driving?”

Cas immediately shakes his head, “no. No thank you.”

“That’s okay… but when you feel confident again, we can try again.”

“No thank you,” Cas says turning away to face the passenger window.

Dean squeezes Cas’s shoulder before he turns back in his own seat and pulls them back onto the road, “yes. I have rebuilt this thing from the ground up more times than I can count. That back there, not your fault. And even if that dick did hit us, yes I would be pissed, but not at you. And I would have fixed it, okay. There’s been nothing wrong with my baby that I haven’t been able to fix, okay. So yes, maybe not today, and maybe not tomorrow, but I want to share this with you, okay.”

Cas looks over at Dean then. The sincerity in his voice tugging on his heart.

“Please don’t let this discourage you,” he adds as they share a brief moment of eye contact. All Cas can do is watch Dean. He can’t speak, at a loss for words once more, so he just watches him. Watches his relaxed form even after their near miss, one hand on the wheel, and the other reaches over, palm down in front of Cas. He looks down at it confused but opens both of his anyway, not really sure what Dean’s looking for. Cas looks back over to him as Dean looks over at their hands quickly and takes Cas’ left hand in his, intertwining their fingers and holding on firmly. Cas does the same and he can’t help the small smile that tugs on his lips, a new heaviness swells in his chest.

They drive the rest of the way home like this, Dean only using one hand to park the car back in the garage, and Cas couldn’t help but be amazed at how easily Dean could reverse park one handed. Dean squeezes Cas’s hand as he turns the car off, but he doesn’t let go just yet.

“You sure you’re alright?”

Cas nods, his heart still beating erratically at their intertwined hold, although the feeling is nothing compared to what Dean does next. He squeezes Cas’s hand once more and lifts his hand to his lips. Cas gasps softly as Dean closes his eyes and places a gentle kiss on the back of Cas’s hand.

Dean chuckles nervously as he releases Cas’s hand, “I bet Sam’s waiting on us,” he says low and hushed, neither of them making an effort to move, Cas not wanting their time alone to come to an end. He did forget that it was Sam’s turn to pick what movie they were watching tonight. He never did find his choices interesting, but it would be worth it to spend the evening next to Dean.

They share one last sweet smile before Dean sighs, “come on,” and they join the boys who were already sat in the Dean cave, just about to start the movie without them. Jack on a beanbag to the left of the TV, Sam in the arm chair next to him, leaving Dean to sit in the other arm chair, and Cas takes residence with a pillow to sit on in front of Dean and between his legs. Sometime through the movie, Cas leans his head back against the seat, Dean’s hands running through his hair. He shuts his eyes, and focuses on the sensations, his breathing becoming even, and all thoughts pushed to the back of his brain. And though he may not technically be asleep, it’s as close to it as an angel could get, blessed to be at the hands of Dean Winchester.

[moonlightspencie]

“good morning, baby” : “leave me alone to rot” // james potter. as a treat.

thank you for my man ☝🏻😚 i just read a best friend!james fic so… romantically charged besties it is

pairing: james potter x gn!reader (and a little bit of wolfstar because they’re collectively babygirl)

warnings: none

send valentine’s day drabble requests

You walked into James’s apartment, not caring that it was still early. You had a breakfast planned with Remus and Sirius, and you’d be damned if James was late again. Besides, he’s the fool who gave you the spare key.

You bounded into his bedroom, walking right up to his sleeping form and brushing a hand on his shoulder.

“Good morning, baby,” you cooed mockingly, kissing his cheek. “Time to get up. The boys are expecting us.”

“Leave me alone to rot,” he mumbled into his pillow.

You rolled your eyes, ripping his blanket off, causing a loud whine in protest from the man.

“You’re being dramatic,” you huffed a sigh.

“Don’t wanna be around Sirius and Remus on Valentine’s day. They’re gonna be all mushy,” he complained, squinting at you with bleary eyes.

“And?”

“And I’m single! It’s stupid!”

You rolled your eyes again. “So am I. Get over it. At least we get to do something fun today.”

He grumbled to himself, putting his face back in his pillow. You all but jumped on his back, speaking in his ear.

“If you get up now, we can come back here after breakfast and hang out all day. I’ll buy you chocolate and everything.”

You saw him smile a little despite himself, though he tried harder to hide his face.

“Not the same.”

“I’ll give you one kiss if you’re really good.”

He fell silent for a second, then glanced at you over his shoulder with a poorly concealed smile.

“Two kisses.”

You raised a brow. “You’re getting greedy.”

He turned over quickly, and you flopped onto the mattress next to him as a result. He smiled down at you.

“You spoil me. It’s your fault.”

You scoffed a laugh. “Get up and get ready or you get zero.”

He hummed for a second, then quickly pressed a peck to your lips. He jumped off his bed, yelling over his shoulder as he did.

“That one didn’t count, by the way!”

You finally got to the restaurant with James hanging off your shoulder as you sat across from Remus and Sirius. They spoke quietly to each other, but neither of you really noticed, lost in your own little world.

“They’re worse than we were before we got together,” Remus whispers into Sirius’s ear. “And that’s saying something.”

“Bet you they’re together by the end of this year,” Sirius said with a mischievous smirk.

“What do you win if they do?”

“…a kiss?” Sirius offered, as if it wouldn’t happen anyway.

“Two kisses,” Remus bargained

“You’re on.”

[achilles-rage]

thirteen crows: chapter five

summary: you’re still reeling from the past 48 hours, but you still have to go to work. buck and eddie come to check on you, and are filled with rage at what they find.

word count: 2.6k

previous chapter

series masterlist

a/n: this is more focused on buddie’s thoughts on the reader, but i like writing it lol. the start of this chapter was lowkey hard to write and idk why, but it’s fine. enjoy<3

warnings: murder (cute<3could be slightly graphic??), stalking, i make buck and eddie kiss again because it’s fun<3, no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

Work is hard without Grace, although you can’t help the voice in the back of your brain that’s telling you that it was hard when she was here too, at least, towards the end. You just found out yesterday that she was dead, for God’s sake, but you still have to drag yourself to work today.

What makes matters worse, is she’s supposed to work with you tonight, and the silence is almost too loud with you and Isaac working quietly alongside each other. Plus, with what happened last night, your brain is all over the place.

There’s no football game tonight, and there’s far less people in the bar as usual. Probably because of the murder just down the street tying back to the Thirteen Crows, you think. While you’re usually a little frustrated during quiet nights because of the lack of tips, the silence tonight is increasingly frustrating, because your head is pounding, and your thoughts about Grace and your dream-not-dream is making you want to scream.

Buck and Eddie pick up on your demeanor immediately when they walk into the bar, their eyes focused on you as they walk towards the counter. You don’t even greet them with a smile, which you do even on your worst days, and for a moment, they almost feel bad. This thought is gone almost as soon as it arrives, however, as they know that it’ll be easier for them to get closer to you now.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t even notice they’re there until they’re sitting directly in front of you, and Isaac nudges your arm. You blink slowly, your eyes finally coming back into focus as you look at Eddie, and then at Buck. You smile a little as you greet them, but they see that the smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

Seeing you like this is hell. They don’t want you to be upset, especially about Grace. Sure, they want to see you afraid, just sometimes, but never sad.

They know their actions are justifiable, and that you’ll thank them one day for making you happier than ever, but right now, they know they should feel guilty about everything. The problem is, they don’t. They know that they should, yet somehow, all they can think about is making you theirs to touch, and mark, and make scream.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Eddie asks when you finally set their beers in front of them. Your eyes flutter as you inhale a shaky breath, your gaze going unfocused again as you stare at him. Within a second, you’re covering your mouth with your hand as you let out a sob and running to the back room.

Isaac’s eyes widen, and Buck and Eddie look at each other, not knowing what to do or how to feel. Seeing the tears in your eyes for a split second before you turn surprises Buck and Eddie; you were doing so good for them all day, puttering around your house, and Buck feels his heart clench at the sight. 

They don’t notice Isaac following your path a minute later, telling them he’ll be right back as he’s already halfway to the back. Their heads are turned to each other, staring intensely as they both rack their brains for what the hell they’re supposed to do. 

“Should we feel bad about this?” Buck asks, his leg starting to bounce as his heart hammers in his chest.

“Hell no. That bitch got what she deserved. She’s just confused. She knows she wanted her dead, and she doesn’t want to admit that yet. She’ll come running to us sooner or later, and we’ll make her feel better, just like last night.” Eddie reasons in a stern, hushed voice, and Buck nods, mumbling a “yeah, you’re right.” Buck turns to look ahead of him again as he takes a sip of his beer, hoping the alcohol will calm his nerves. 

Buck’s eyes narrow, however, when you come back out a few minutes later with Isaac’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, his lips dangerously close to your ear. He feels his blood pumping through him, but now, it’s not because he feels bad. Any hint of guilt evaporates from his body, and all he wants to do at this moment is rip Isaac’s arm from your shoulders, maybe even from the socket so he can hear him scream.

Eddie smirks when he sees Buck’s reaction, and he knows he’s back on track. He wants to leave right now and plan a gruesome, bloody death for Isaac right fucking now, but he stays in his seat. He lets out a low grunt as he feels Buck’s hand latch onto his thigh, fingers digging into the flesh. He nudges his arm, trying to snap him out of his rage as he looks over at him, and it helps a little; he can feel his grip easing up, but the look in his eyes still looks dangerous.

Eddie gives you a reassuring smile once you’re back in front of them, and when you give them both a soft, tear-filled apology, Buck seems to snap out of it, and his eyes soften.

“Don’t worry about it, baby. What’s up?” Buck asks, giving Eddie a quick, knowing look. Eddie smirks and focuses back on you, leaning forward as you babble your explanation of Grace’s death.

“We’re so sorry, sweetheart. Is there anything else? It seems like there’s more going on inside your pretty head.” Eddie says, and you bite the inside of your cheek before you shake your head adamantly. 

They’re trying to figure out if you’ll say anything about your encounter with them. Working their way up to it slowly to see if you’ll break, which means they’d have to come visit you again.

Of course there’s more going on in your head, you think. Your friend-not-friend just died, and you don’t know what to think about it. And to make matters worse, rather than mourning the loss, half your time today has been spent thinking about those masked men, and what they probably didn’t do to you. And why you liked it so much.

“I’m just so scared. I don’t know what to do. She worked with me; she lived in my building.” you speak finally. You are telling the truth; you can’t help but think that it could very well be you laying God knows where, cold and soulless, but instead, you’re still alive. Buck and Eddie are about to speak, when Isaac’s voice cuts them off, and they try to keep straight faces as they look over at him.

“You don’t have to worry about it. I’ll protect you if anything happens. I promise.” he tells you earnestly, as if he actually believes it. They almost chuckle at his confidence, but their eyelids are practically twitching as they stare him down. That’s their job. And besides, no one will be able to protect you better than they can. 

The laughs threatening to escape their mouths disappear when they look over at you, and you give him a small smile. This time, it’s a real one.

You feel slightly more relaxed at Isaac’s words, and you can’t help but bury your face into his neck as you wrap your arms firmly around his torso. He shushes you softly, kissing the top of your head as he gently rocks you both back and forth. You don’t see Buck and Eddie’s reactions, but their hands are twitching on the counter, just waiting for the perfect moment to rip you away from Isaac and into their embrace.

You know Isaac can’t really promise that you’ll stay safe, but it warms your heart anyway. He’s not exactly a small man; smaller than both Eddie and Buck, but he says it with so much conviction that you can’t help the way your cheeks heat up.

They continue to talk to you throughout your shift, and while you reply to them with ease, clearly not as on-edge as before, you can still feel the pit in your stomach. Something feels off. You know it must just be because Grace is dead, but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something else.

By the time Buck and Eddie leave, you’ve warmed up to Isaac, and it makes them seethe with rage. They follow you home that night, making sure Isaac keeps his filthy hands to himself and doesn’t try to take advantage of you in your fragile state. They make sure you’re safely behind your locked door by watching the grainy image on their phone screens, and then they make their way home. They know they could easily take advantage of Isaac walking back from your house alone at 2am, but they hold back. They have something better. Something that will take away their competition and make sure that you cling to them and no one else.

A few nights later, you’re walking home from work again with Isaac. He keeps close to you the entire time, hand brushing yours, and you can feel yourself slowly starting to calm down. 

Isaac has been the best form of calm in the storm for you for the past week, and it doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes. You can’t help but feel safe around him. 

It made you giggle at first to see the way he puffs his chest out when he walks you home, almost as if daring anyone to mess with you, but now you find it endearing. He’s not nearly as vigilant as Eddie when he walked you home that one night a couple weeks ago, but it makes you smile nonetheless.

You let out a sharp gasp as two arms wrap around you from behind, one hand slapping over your mouth to muffle your screams and the other hand digging into the supple flesh of your tummy. Your eyes widen when you see the masked man beside you, grabbing Isaac by the back of his shirt and dragging him into the alley you’re passing by. 

You feel the cool mask against your cheek as the man behind you leans closer to your ear, a muffled voice being heard through the fabric.

“You think he can protect you, sweet girl?” Your blood runs cold. 

That name. You hadn’t been dreaming; they really were in your room that night. No one else has ever called you that, and if you really had dreamed it, this would be one hell of a coincidence. 

You try to scream as the smaller man starts to throw quick punches to Isaac. His nose is already bleeding, and judging by the crack you heard, you’re sure it’s broken. You try to fight against the grip of the larger man holding you hostage, but it’s no use. You try not to think about the sheer size of the man’s arms encasing you; how strong they are as Isaac falls to the ground and holds a hand up in surrender. 

You can barely see through your tears as the masked man pulls out the knife, identical to the one they dragged across your skin in your apartment, and you’re sure it’s the same one. 

You close your eyes before the knife is buried into Isaac’s chest, but the man behind you tuts, moving his hand off of your mouth and letting his fingers dig into your chubby cheeks.

“Watch, baby. Watch how easy it is for us to kill him. How easy it is to get to you.” he purrs, and you let out a quiet sob as you open your eyes. Isaac’s shirt is already covered in blood when you finally look at his crumpled form, and you watch as the knife is repeatedly driven into his torso.

Isaac’s eyes meet yours before they roll back, and you almost fall over, your knees buckling underneath you. The man behind you holds you up, shushing you softly as if trying to comfort you. You can’t help but lean back into his chest, closing your eyes as you silently sob. 

The man in front of you stands up and walks toward you, holding the bloody knife to your throat, the tip of it pressing uncomfortably against your skin.

“Look at me.” you hear, and you slowly lower your gaze to meet the black, empty eyes of the mask. 

“You’re a smart girl. What do you think I’m gonna say, sweet girl?” he rasps, and your lip quivers as you try not to look away.

“If I tell anyone, you’ll gut me.” you whisper, unable to raise your voice any louder as you quote what they said to you in your apartment. You hear both men chuckle, and you tilt your head away as the man behind you nuzzles his masked face against your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“Such a good girl, aren’t you? He was weak. He couldn’t protect you, isn’t that right?” the man in front of you asks in a condescending tone. You nod quickly, whimpering as you feel the tip of the blade press against your skin harder.

“Yes. Yes. He couldn’t protect me.” you sob, letting out a breath as the knife is finally removed from your neck.

“That’s right. Now, go home, sweet girl. Wouldn’t want anyone else to die for you, yeah?” the man in front of you speaks in a low tone, and you nod again. His head moves slightly as his gaze moves to his partner, and you can feel the man’s hesitancy to let you go. He does, though, but not before he brings a hand down to your ass, smacking it hard.

You yelp as you jump away from them, almost falling over now that his strong arms aren’t holding you up. They both stand beside each other in matching stances, their heads tilting in the same way, and it makes you shiver.

“Go. Now.” You don’t waste any more time. You turn and run out of the alley and down the street, not stopping until you’re inside your apartment. When they can no longer hear your footsteps, they pull their masks off and look back over at Isaac’s body, slowly bleeding out. They meet each other’s eyes again with smirks, and then Eddie pulls Buck in for a kiss by the back of his neck. 

“Good. You’re learning to control yourself.” Eddie rasps against his lips, and Bucks hums contently, feeling the tent in his pants grow.

You try to catch your breath as your back hits your door. Your knees finally give out, and without the man to catch you this time, you slide down the door to sit on your carpet, taking in large, shaky breaths as you try to quiet your sobs. 

You know you can’t call the police, their words swarm in your head as soon as you think about that option, and you throw that idea away. You can’t do anything. Either way, from what you hear, the cops have no leads. Telling them would be pointless, and they might not even believe you. 

Your skin is itching as you sit inside the entryway of your apartment, sobbing into your hands, and Buck and Eddie watch you through their phones intently. They’re smug with themselves; the fear in your eyes is everything they wanted, and they got to kill the motherfucker that tried to steal you away from them.

They don’t miss the way your skirt rides up your legs; their favourite of yours; the black miniskirt. When they’re finally sure that you’re not going to call anyone, their attention finally moves to the tent in their pants, cocks hard and leaking as they picture the fear in your eyes and the edge in your voice. 

next chapter

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[koralinewrites]

Okay so I’m having Lost Eden thoughts and I need to rant about it. I know people don’t like it, but Laito’s route is actually so good in this game. Something I like about it is that it shows more of the ‘family’ side of the Sakamaki’s, something you don’t really ever get in other games, besides the occasional show of brotherly love from Ayato. But okay, back to Lost Eden. There will be spoilers for the story below.

For those who don’t know, basically Karheinz dies and gives his ‘Demon King’ powers to whoever you pick to romance. The bad thing about this is that Laito wants NOTHING to do with Karlheinz or his powers; he’d rather not remember that he was related to that man. 

Something I like to think of is that when Laito doesn’t want to acknowledge something uncomfortable, he just stuffs it in a glass jar in his mind and closes the lid as tight as possible. What this results in is something that would normally be just the tiniest slip of those emotions becomes a giant explosion of everything that was pushed down. When this man breaks, he breaks HARD.

This is shown well in Dark Fate when he learns what Karlheinz did (the fact that everything — his and his family’s trauma — was an experiment and carefully planned). But I’ve already made a post about Laito’s crashout and this is about Lost Eden.

ANYWAYS, (I’m summarizing and skipping things just to get my point across, so I’d suggest reading the translations if you want the full story) Laito ends up making a deal with Kino to kill his brothers. The thought process is that ‘oh, my brothers don’t care for me so this should be fine’ or something similar.

This thought process is QUICKLY proven incorrect by Ayato when the two are facing off. It’s Laito vs Ayato, Laito trying to kill Ayato. Ayato doesn’t fight back besides defending himself, and he basically yells at Laito about how MUCH he and the rest of the brothers actually do care for and worry about him. Ever since Laito got Karlheinz’s powers, he was more irritable and worse mentally than before, and the others RECOGNIZED that. And they were worried for their brother.

This realization kinda shell-shocks Laito, enough to not kill his brothers. This part makes me so sick (in the best way) because it’s basically just Ayato shaking Laito, being like “Yes, dumbass, we’re worried sick about you because we fucking care!” And Laito’s just “…you guys… care…?”

Another example of the familial relationship shown in this game is when Yui gets kidnapped by Kino and taken away to wherever he lives. Laito is about ready to CRASH OUT at that point, and the others recognize that. So what do they do?

THEY LOOK FOR YUI.

They try to figure out where Yui is FOR LAITO’S SAKE. And Laito himself is, once again, stunned. That they’re being nice, that they care.

And the answer his brain comes up with is that “Oh, you’re just scared that I can kill you with the powers I have.”

This part is quite funny, as Ayato is like “oh, motherfucker AGAIN?!! How many times do we have to TEACH YOU THIS LESSON???? THAT WE CARE????”

But it gets better when fucking SHU chimes in with something akin to “Is that REALLY the only reason you think we’d be helping you…?” And when Laito says “duh?” Shu just… gives the biggest sigh and replies like “Y’know what, believe what you want. I’m not fighting this.”

(All dialogue is paraphrased to get the point across, seriously go read translations cause they do a way better job-)

But THIS is why I can’t hate Lost Eden. This, right here, the fact that, okay YES it’s the bare minimum when it comes to familial relationships, but it shows that they actually CARE. That they CAN be a true family, that they CAN worry for each other, that they CAN help each other. And something so tragic is that Laito almost basically refuses to see it, despite them literally yelling at him and waving big signs in front of his face.

There’s nothing anyone can say to make me dislike this game, at least Laito’s route. Because, in a route where you’re basically alone most of the time with only one or two other brothers talking to you besides Laito, these family moments are so pure and I cherish every one.

[disneyprincemuke]

my reputation's never been worse * fem!driver

her boyfriend's not made for her anger

pairings: matt x rocky (hehe)

notes: let rocky be happy challenge (impossible) LOL

(series masterlist) | (📂 2025: fall from grace)

(prev)

she whines tiredly, throwing her head back. “draw of the luck.”

matt smiles slightly and drops himself into the vacant seat next to her, popping her pepsi can open. “you probably don’t wanna be sitting next to me right now.”

“what?” the girl snorts, snapping her head to him with furrowed eyebrows. “bub, why would you even say that?”

“because you’re sitting here instead of being on the track racing with everyone else, duh,” matt chuckles, offering her the soda can. he sits back in the chair and rests his arm on the back of hers. “i’d totally understand if you’re upset about being here.”

she sighs shakily, craning her neck to look at the small tv hanging in the garage. liam’s car is on the screen, just making the sinking feeling in her chest worse.

truthfully, what a shit start to the year.

the churning in her stomach makes her want to tear the walls of her garage down, but it’s simply too early to say. at least that’s what she’s been telling herself all day since sebastian had broken the news to her.

it’s just one race.

though, the devil on her shoulder is insisting that it’s not as simple as that.

she shakes her head, lips pressed into a thin line. “it was shocking,” she whispers with a firm nod. “but i’ll be back next week.” she leans against his arm, cheek resting on his shoulder and reaches over to take his hand into hers. “i’ll be okay.”

“i know you will be,” matt mutters, putting a hand on her knee. he glances at her. “but you don’t have to keep saying that to me — i’ll be here for you.”

“you’re really okay?” matt asks softly, bending to his side to try and get a look at the girl’s face.

the girl hums with a small grin, darting all over the room to shove everything into her backpack. “why do you keep asking that?”

he sighs, sinking further into his beanbag. “because you finished outside of the points today and you didn’t race last weekend. you haven’t lashed out yet, you haven’t cried… you haven’t even said anything about it yet.”

“it’s only been 2 races,” she shrugs with a small grin, standing up straight to look over at him. “bub, i’m okay.”

“i don’t wanna go there,” he frowns, “please don’t make me go there.”

she tilts her head, “what do you mean?”

“your only crash of last year, you got into a fight severe enough that it almost shattered your entire world,” matt points out softly, truly unsure if it’s even a wise decision to bring up one of her lowest points of the previous season. “you have to at least be feeling some type of way about this all.”

she sucks in a deep breath, tearing her eyes off of him. and he has a point.

right now, it seems like throwing a tantrum over mishaps from 2 races into the season just sounds like behaviour that she could easily get lost in. that’s not how she was raised, after all.

she just takes what she can get and she’ll remain grateful even though these past 2 weeks have arguably been getting harder to cope with. not starting the race felt like the end of the world a week ago — she’s just glad she got to race this weekend.

though she swore, stepping into the paddocks with her chest feeling tighter, that she wanted to cry into matt’s shirt. but when she opened the door to her room and saw him looking at her with sorry eyes and open arms, the anger and frustration seemed to be pushed away.

she shrugs again. “it’s just simply too early to tell.”

she can’t seem to say anything else that’s not an utter lie.

it’s unusual to be woken up by the heaviest sleeper he knows. matt had been woken by snuffling and he initially assumed it to be kidnapper sniffing either of them, waiting to wake them up for some snacks in the middle of the night.

until it hits him that they’re not even in her apartment in london right now — they’re in a hotel for the race weekend. his eyes fly open as he scrambles to sit up. he finds her sitting in a chair, face illuminated by her phone screen as she bites down on her nails.

“bub, what are you doing up so late?” he whispers so as not to startle the girl. “you have a race tomorrow.”

the room goes dark when she immediately shuts her phone. “nothing, i,” her voice quivers, “it’s nothing. i just woke up to use the toilet 10 minutes ago.”

he can’t help but notice the way her voice shakes. “is everything okay? what’s wrong? feeling sick?”

she sighs and shakes her head before she realises that matt can’t see her. “it’s really nothing,” she whispers, starting to climb into bed again. she sniffles and rubs her nose on the sleeve of her pyjamas. “i’m fine. let’s just go back to bed.”

matt scrambles to sit up, swiftly reaching over to turn the lamp on before he turns back to her before she can drop herself on the bed again.

“what are you doing?” he mutters, grabbing her arm and yanking her into his body. she doesn’t do much to fight it; just softens herself up as she lands in his lap, head buried in his chest. “why do you keep saying it’s nothing? i know something’s bothering you.”

“i just–” she grabs at the material of his shirt and bunches it up in her hand. she squeezes her eyes closed as another lump in her throat forms. “i hate feeling this way. you should see the things people are saying about me right now. it’s not fair; they don’t say any of that about liam.”

“rocky.” truthfully, he doesn’t really know what to say. how would he? he rests his cheeks on the top of her head as her soft cries fill the silence of the hotel room. “you really shouldn’t be reading that. didn’t seb tell you off on that?”

“he did,” she choked, shaking her head, “but after my performance in qualifying today… i had to see what everyone’s saying about me.”

he tightens his arms around her, hoping slightly that this would help her feel better. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s not your fault my life’s like this.”

so it seems that matt’s unlocked a part of her that she hasn’t shown anybody else. there’s a certain level of vulnerability now that not a lot of people have had the pleasure, or unluckiness, of experiencing firsthand in recent years.

once upon a time, she had people to turn to when her racing had gone to shit. but realistically, she hasn’t experienced many mishaps with machinery as a driver, which is probably what’s making it so difficult to cope with her current situation.

nonetheless, her only support system seems to have taken a life of their own that can no longer accommodate her. that’s what she tells herself: oscar and logan have lives and are building relationships and there’s no more space for her in their immediate lives.

she dreaded the media pen after another finish, barely making points out of the race in p9.

to her dismay, her predictions were absolutely right. her first question after stepping up to the mic and camera was something about her ending up behind logan in the placings after spending her entire racing career typically ahead of him.

she wouldn’t have noticed if they hadn’t pointed it out and now the resentment grows as the clock ticks.

matt sighs, “you don’t really mean that; they’re your friends.”

“but i do!” the young girl shrieks, throwing her arms in the air. she paces around the room as she heaves, hands tangled in her hair as she finally sighs about her frustrations. “it’s not fair! nobody cared that logan wasn’t producing results when oscar and i were! suddenly, they’re comparing me to him? i have every right to feel like this, matthew!”

“i know.” he grabs her shoulders to stop her in place then cups her cheeks to force her to look him in the eye. “and you do. i’m not saying you don’t have the right to feel this way, but–”

“you are, though!” she shrieks, stepping back and removing his hands from her. “you don’t get it. i spent my whole life better than logan and suddenly now i’m incompetent just because he’s scoring points? give me his teammate’s car — i’ll still beat him in a race by a margin.”

“i never said that,” he argues, throwing his arms in the air. “you grew up with these guys and i understand that you’re frustrated… it’s okay, but take it easy.”

“i can’t believe you’re taking their side right now, matt,” she sighs heavily, rolling her eyes. she throws her arms in the air. “everyone’s already on their side! i need you to be on mine!”

“and i am!” matt huffs. “i am on your side — i just don’t want you to burn bridges like this! it’s okay to be angry, it’s just me here anyway. but these are your best friends!”

“you’re the only one i can be this open to! i need you to be with me!” she stomps her foot on the ground with her hands balled into fists by her side. “i can’t run to my friends and say that that should’ve been me. do you realise how fucked up that sounds?”

“i do!”

“then let me have this one! let me hate them for a couple of minutes before i have to swallow it down and pretend like i’m not fucking jealous of the success they’re all finding this year!” she opens her mouth again to say something, choking up as she tries to speak again.

she pinches the bridge of her nose as a lump forms in her throat. “i can’t say that to them, they’ve worked so hard to be there. and it’s not their fault that i’m not up there with them.”

“you’re right,” matt whispers, taking a step forward and enveloping her in his arms. “you’re right — i’m sorry. it’s just all pent up right now, isn’t it?”

“they’ve been supportive when i’m doing well. i feel like shit feeling like this towards them,” she whispers. “it’s not fair to them, you know? i have to show up for them like they did for me.”

matt calls out her name and the girl simply holds a hand out to him and walks past him in the garage. she pulls the balaclava off her head and shoves the door towards the paddocks to leave him behind.

“hey, talk to me!”

she snatches her arm back just as he grabs it, a bewildered stare on her face. her eyes are teary as she scowls at him. “just leave me alone. not now, matt, god!”

he sucks in a deep breath watching the girl storm further from him. he clenches his jaw and turns on his heel to make his way back to her garage, only to be met by a familiar face.

oscar looks over matt’s shoulder where the girl had strayed off to. “is she okay?”

“she’ll be okay,” matt grins, trying to ignore the pang of pain growing in his chest. “just needs a while to recuperate by herself.”

“are you okay?” oscar asks slowly, flashing him a knowing stare with a comforting smile. “she can get a little angry sometimes, but i promise she’s not always like this.”

“i know.” he forces a chuckle out. “she’s great. but she’ll be okay — just wants to have time to herself right now.”

every week brought around a certain form of unknowing. it’s hard to keep sane when you keep having to adapt to survive.

perhaps that’s the problem: she’s finding it too difficult to adapt.

when she gets out of the car, there’s only ever one consistent thing. it’s always meeting the same pair of warm green eyes in the garage and his arms wide open waiting to receive her.

she crashes into his body, stumbling back a couple of steps from the impact. “i can always expect one thing out of a race,” she sighs, eyes fluttering closed when she feels his hands wrap around her. “and it’s the fact your face will always be here in my garage.”

she feels a hand resting on her back. “well, i want to be here for my girlfriend, you know? she deserves that much.”

“haha, very sweet,” she giggles, pulling away with a small grin. “let’s head out to dinner tonight?” he nods excitedly. “it’s a date.”

perhaps she’s pulled the gun a little too early on that one. the evening had seemed like it was off to a great start with her feeling uplifted from the way she made it to the third round of qualifiers. the interviews and her team meeting hadn’t gone as well as she initially expected.

she leans forward on the table, cheek resting in her palms as she pushes the sole piece of carrot left on her plate. sat across her is matt, talking about something from his audition a couple of days ago.

he stops himself, tilting his head at his seemingly unresponsive girlfriend. “is everything okay?”

she lifts her eyes, lips parted with an empty stare. “yes. sorry, you were saying about your audition?”

“right,” he smiles, “i was saying that i think my audition went great. it’s a good show so if i get the part, it’s going to be–” but the lack of reaction and enthusiasm from the girl makes him stop midsentence again. he lets out a shaky breath, “nevermind. maybe another time.”

“no, matt,” she sighs looking up slightly more aware and attentive than before. “i’m sorry. i just have so much on my mind right now. please keep telling me how the audition.”

he shakes his head and drops his head to continue his meal. he would have asked what’s bothering her, but he’s since learned that she would tell him if he really wanted to, especially after he’d already asked her seconds ago. “it’s alright, bub. when you’re feeling better. what’s on your mind?”

“okay, wait up.”

matt struggles to catch up to the girl after having stormed out of the garage after briefly stepping into it for a mere second. he’d barely gotten a glimpse of her before she started stomping towards the small exit door in the back of her garage.

the girl had stormed through the semi busy paddocks with tunnel vision to the racing home, ignoring anyone and anything that tried to get between that. he had even followed up with soft apologies as she blatantly continued to ignore bigger names.

realistically, they should have taken the look of fury on her face as a clear sign. with her race, she didn’t have the energy to stop and feign a smile to make small talk.

no, because she genuinely feels the world spinning underneath her feet.

the door to her driver’s room flies open with a loud thud as it comes into contact with the wall.

and at the comfort of her floral-scented room, she stands in the middle of it, hands fisted by her side. she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as she does so.

surely the 30 second pit stop that caused her a points finish warrants this, right?

to some degree perhaps, she tries to reason with herself.

she opens her eyes and starts to look around her room for something **— anything — to keep her from tearing the walls down of the building of the team that keeps screwing her over. she keeps her eyes on the picture frame on the wall of her and sebastian from the year before in miami, champagne drenched with her trophy in hand.

at the call of her name, she feels something snap inside her.

her scream pierces through the silence of her driver’s room, followed by the loud thud of her helmet clashing against the wall decorated with a singular picture frame. the helmet falls to the ground followed by the framed picture on her wall.

she drops to her knees with another scream, quickly transitioning into a sob as her fisted hand comes into contact with the carpeted ground of her room with every word she screams. “that’s not fucking fair!”

“rocky–”

“don’t!” she pushes away the hand that hovers over her shoulder, desperate to console her. “don’t touch me!”

she’s been holding it in since the race had started — something felt wrong. every weekend she walks into the paddocks feels like a chore; the only thing constantly in her head is the question of how another race could possibly go wrong for her.

every single passing weekend seems to outdo the previous and there is only so much she can do as a driver with a car that’s uncooperative.

the man behind her can only watch, in agony, as the girl kneels on the ground. she slowly hunches forward, elbows on the ground with her sobs echoing in the empty room. her fisted hands hit the ground with a soft thud as she cries. “i’m not any better than i was every moment before this. maybe i’m not even as good of a driver as i’d thought.”

she throws her head back as she sucks in a deep breath. she breathes out, “i don’t wanna do this anymore.” she twists her body, eyes stinging from her tears and her cheeks stained. a soft sigh passes her lips as the initial bout of anger and frustration finally leaves her. “can we just go home?”

“you still have the debrief to attend,” he says softly and hesitantly. “that might really make you feel better, you know? maybe if you talked to your team about it, they could address what your concerns are and even come up with a solution?”

“please,” she whines with a heavy sigh. “i don’t want to stay here. fuck the team.”

and so he does what he can to help, against his better judgment and the image that he tries to keep around here for her. he helps her pack her bags, wraps his jacket around her and brings her back to the hotel. he’ll just call sebastian later and explain.

she lies on her side, kidnapper nuzzled into her chest as she taps away on her phone. on the other side of the bed is matt, on the phone with his agent, talking about something regarding the audition he had gone to a couple of weeks ago.

she shuts her eyes at the constant chatter filling the silence of her bedroom, irritability growing in her chest. the peace and quiet she’d been hoping for is now gone.

she scrambles up with a soft huff before quickly leaving the room, the door slamming behind her as she leaves. she grabs the throw on the couch and wrapping her body with it. she lies back down on the couch and closes her eyes, desperate to get a nap in before their flight later in the evening.

the door creaks open, matt’s head popping out with the phone against his chest. “is everything okay? you left without saying anything.”

“i’m fine,” she mutters, voice muffled by the pillow she’s pressed her face into. “i just need time to myself right now.”

she hears him sigh. “bub, i’m on the phone with my agent. i can’t do this right now.”

“we’re not doing anything,” she scoffs, lifting her head momentarily to glare at him before lowering her head again. “just leave me alone. i want to be by myself.”

“okay,” he answers, the door slamming closed.

she wasn’t going to cry, at least not until now. all day she’d been dreading leaving for the airport to fly off for another race weekend — there are only so many misfortune a person can take in an underperforming car before it takes a toll on their confidence.

but she does and wraps it up the minute she hears the bedroom door open again.

she urges matt towards the door. “please, please. you have to come up with some lie why i can’t make it out tonight,” she whines, squeezing matt’s arm.

“what?” matt shrieks, turning around to stop her from opening the door. “they’re your friends. you should be the one to tell them why we’re cancelling on them tonight.”

“i can’t face them right now, bub,” she sighs, shaking her head. “i miss them, but i also kinda hate them right now. please?”

she’d agreed to head out to grab a couple of drinks with oscar and logan tonight, especially since it’s one of the rare times that they’re all in london together. but as the clocked would down to the time that they’re supposed to pick her up from her apartment, she abruptly changed her mind.

she just didn’t have the energy to go.

“tell them i’m sick or something or that i fell, i don’t know,” she whispers. “please, do me this favour.”

“i’m back from the store!”

matt furrows his eyebrows at the empty living room. he’s only greeted by kidnapper sitting in front of her bedroom door, mewing softly. the cat turns its head to glance at him, meowing again before turning to the door.

“is rocky in there?” he asks softly, bending down to pet the cat on the head. “and you’re mad she’s not letting you in?”

as if the cat understood what he said, he meows back again with a slow blink. he hums and puts the paper bag down next to the door.

he pushes it open, greeted by a dimly lit room. he flinches back at the figure sitting at the edge of the bed, hunched over with soft sobs filling the room.

“sorry,” she mutters, rubbing her nose on the sleeve of her sweater. “i fell down a rabbit hole. i know we said i shouldn’t but i couldn’t help it.”

“hey, what’s wrong?” he coos, walking around the black cat that’s pouring into the room with him. “what happened?”

she keeps her back facing him, yanking her phone towards the top of her bed. “i read the stupid articles again,” she cries, covering her face with her palms, “i had to know what they were saying about me.”

he sighs her name, a comforting hand on her shoulder. “why did you do that? you know that isn’t good for you.”

“because it’s not fair!” she shrieks, pushing herself off the bed to stand. “i worked so hard the past 2 years to prove that i belong in formula 1 — that i worked harder than anybody else to make it here and be the first woman in the grid in decades. but that doesn’t matter anymore, no, because i’m washed. i’m a fluke; sebastian took the chance on the wrong girl.”

“that’s why i’d said–”

“that kimi raikkonen and fucking jenson button are starting to eat their words about the girl that their friend had taken a gamble on to put in a race car alongside 21 other men on the grid,” she rambles on. she throws her arms into the air. “you don’t fucking get it, matt! and consider yourself lucky that you don’t have to because this shit is fucking exhausting!”

matt sighs, putting his hands on his knees as he takes her spot at the edge of the bed. he watches her intently as she continues her rampage.

“this shit sucks! do you have any idea how i feel? i’ve fallen so far from grace — there’s no saving my career!” she shrieks, turning her back on him to look out the window of her bedroom. “nobody’s ever going to take a chance on another woman if my results keep ending up like that.”

he closes his eyes and takes another deep breath, trying to ignore the way his patience was slowly escaping his grasp. while he likes letting her speak her mind, lately, it just seems like nothing is ever going through her head.

she listens, but nothing ever actually takes effect.

“let’s go get ice cream,” matt mutters, standing up from his spot on the bed. he only has so much self-control. “would make you feel better.”

she whirls around, eyebrows furrowed. “what?”

“come on,” matt beckons her towards her bedroom door. “let’s go. and then let’s pick stubby up from logan’s and go for a walk in the park. how’s that sound?”

“kinda nice actually,” she says softly. “okay, just let me get dressed.”

it’s happened again. she got mad at something minuscule again. if you asked matt, he wasn’t even sure what had happened. he simply asked her if she needed his help, cleaning off the contents of the vase that previously sat on the dining table as decoration.

then she just lashed out.

“yes, fuck’s sake,” she mutters after he’d asked. she lifts her head to look at the black cat sitting in the seat of the dining table, head hung low at her. “and god, kid! i told you to keep off the fucking table! that’s exactly why i keep telling you that!”

“hey! that’s a cat you’re screaming at!” matt stands up from his position on the ground, previously helping her collect the water beads that she’d thrown into the vase for the flowers. “it was a mistake — it’s a one-off thing! what’s your problem?”

“i’ve got bigger things to worry about, matt.”

“oh, my god, rocky!” he puts the vase down on the table and looks at her. “do you even hear yourself right? actually, have you taken a step back and listened to yourself lately? you’re screaming at a cat for doing cat things. your cat.”

she clenches her jaw, tilting her head. they’ve never really fought before. “there’s a reason he’s trained to not be on the table!”

“he’s a cat!” matt emphasises, pointing at the cat that’s now run off towards the balcony of the apartment. “listen, okay? there are two people in this relationship. you can’t always fucking expect me to baby you like this.”

she squints her eyes. “what are you talking about?”

“have you really even tried to look at the bigger picture lately? there’s more to life than your time and results in a race car,” he states. he hadn’t expected to break now. initially, he’d been planning to sit her down and have a serious chat about her mental state. but hearing her lash out again over something that typically wouldn’t be an issue broke him. “everyone’s telling you the same thing. it’s the car. it’s. not. you.”

“yeah, but–”

“and if you’re just going to nod your head and then drag your feet to lock yourself away from everyone else, it’s not going to make you feel any better! you actually have to believe the words that we’re saying to you. you know that, don't you?”

he takes a deep breath to collect himself. he doesn’t even really shout often. he’s more on the reserved side. “if you don’t want my help, fine. but if you need me… when you decide that you finally want my help — when you’re really ready to listen and willing to get some perspective — call me. please.”

matt finally gets a good look at her, hands clasped in front of her, now standing with her head hung low. if he’d taken a second longer to scan her, he’d have noticed the way her lips quivered and the tears that filled her eyes to the brim. “i don’t like seeing you like this,” he says softly, “but i also don’t like being treated like a fucking doormat. and i tried to be there for you, bub, but you’re unreceptive.

“i keep giving you my hand to hold and you just keep fucking ignoring it. when are you going to get in your head that shutting down and keeping to yourself isn’t going to be a viable way around this?”

“matt,” she says softly, her hand reaching out to grab his.

he takes a step back before she can touch him. “this always happens, rocky. you lash out, you hurt my feelings, you apologise then i forgive you. it’s good for a couple of days and then something happens and we’re just stuck in this loop — it’s exhausting. and i love you.

“god, i love you. and i want to keep liking you too, but love just won’t cut it,” he sighs, slouching his shoulders. “i don’t want to get tired of loving you, okay?” he sucks in a deep breath and he knows that he will probably regret uttering these words to her. “i’m sorry, rocky, but i can’t keep doing this cycle with you. i need a break.”

taglist: @wcnorris @treehouse-mouse @laura-naruto-fan1998 @mindless-rock @vellicora @ironmaiden1313 @angsthology @cherry-piee @christianpulisic10 @elliegrey2803 @33-81 @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification @localwhoore @notawc @sadg3 @kazuha-pista-badam @mellowarcadefun @megatrilss1885 @peqch-pie @woozarts @meadhbhcavanagh @2bormaybenot @a-disturbing-self-reflection @mclarengf @xoscar03 @nomie-11 @green-thots @inejismywife @love4lando @louvrepool

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 5

It's Wednesday again, you know what that means! I'm going to officially start calling this Arc 2 instead of Chapter 2 because it's too long already and I only *just* get to the plot with the end of this segment.

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

First, Previous

Word Count 1.3k words

-----

Tim clenched his teeth, but allowed himself to be pulled to the counter where they ordered an obscene amount of food thanks to the appetite of four metas. He insisted on using B’s card to pay for everyone.

Sam didn’t even wait for their food to be ready before she started questioning Conner.

“What do you think of rich people?” she demanded.

“Um… What?” Conner looked to Tim, eyes wide, clearly lost as to what he should answer.

Tim just shrugged.

“What. Do. You. Think of rich people? It’s not a hard question. I’m just trying to gage your actual punkness.”

“I don’t… I mean, Mr. Wayne is cool. I’ve met him a few times and he’s always been nice to me. But Lex Luthor… He’s the worst.” Even now, Conner couldn’t help but shudder when he thought of his creator and Tim scowled into his soda.

“Don’t mince words, Kon,” Tim said. “Luthor should be shot and dropped in the deepest part of the ocean.”

Conner laughed and pointed to Tim. “Yeah, that.”

“Hmmm… It’s a start.” Sam nodded. “Really, there’s only one rule to being punk and everything else derives from that: the man sucks.”

“The man?”

And there it was. Conner was still learning a lot of slang. “She means the people in charge. That you can’t trust the government or people in authority to actually have your best interests at heart or to do the right thing.”

“Oh!” Conner’s eyes lit up in understanding. “Well, obviously! I’ve always had to look after myself. At least until I met you guys.”

Cassie elbowed him. “And now you’re stuck with us for life. You’re ours.”

“Damn right!” Bart held out a fist to Conner who bumped it with his own.

Danny laughed. “You weren’t exaggerating, Secrets. You guys really are ride-or-die.”

Tim looked over his friends and couldn’t hold back a soft smile. “Damn right we are. Just like you three.”

“Well, we know something about the ‘or die,’” said Danny.

Tim rolled his eyes. “You’re worse than Dick.”

Tucker’s mouth was open as he looked between them. “They know?”

“Yeah,” said Danny. “Tim’s known since, like, a week after the accident. And when they came by my house, my parents decided to show off the home defense system. Couldn’t keep it a secret after that.”

Based on Sam’s wince, she knew exactly what the home defense system could do to Danny. Tucker pulled out one of his devices and started typing on it. “Will you finally let me do something about that?”

Danny just rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Tucker. Sam. Tim. All of you. My parent’s inventions never work right. Or they don’t know how to actually use them. They didn’t think the thermoses worked at first, for God’s sake!”

“Right.” Tucker rolled his eyes. “Because their guns have never worked. Tim, can I have your number and email? Maybe if we all get on him he’ll listen to sense one of these days.”

“Oooh!” Cassie bounced in her seat. “I’ll help! We’ve lots of experience in that with Tim. He’s also the worst at calculating reasonable risks.”

“Great!” Tucker typed her number and email into his PDA and they started setting up group chats. Bart joined in by discussing some of Tim’s more ridiculous civilian escapades.

Tim exchanged a look with Danny. This was so not going to end well.

“Well, while they’re sorting that out, more about punk!” Sam pulled Conner deeper into a conversation about fighting for freedom and liberty and how her ultra recyclo-vegetarianism fit into her beliefs.

Tim sighed and said, “Well, at least they’re getting along?”

Danny groaned and held his head in his hands. “We’re so going to regret introducing them, aren’t we?”

“I already do.”

And then their order was called. Of course Bart was at the counter before any of the rest had even registered it was their order, but Conner and Cassie jumped up to follow and help him carry it.

Sam tried to go help but Tim held out a hand. “They’ve got it, trust me. Having more people will just make it harder for them.”

She still stood, but by the time she turned to help, the others were already returning with hands full of loaded trays. She scowled as she settled back down.

“We would’ve helped,” she said as the others set the food down.

Bart waved her off. “We got it! Sides, most of this is for me, Conner, and Cassie.”

Danny shook his head. “I ordered just as much as you!”

Tucker agreed, “And I ordered almost as much.”

Cassie shrugged as she rooted through bags and grabbed her orders. “Well we got there first. Come on, I’m hungry. Quit arguing and grab your food!”

Danny passed one bag to Sam, “One salad for you.” And a second bag found it’s way in front of Tim. “And a nasty burger for you. You’ll never want to eat a batburger again after this!”

Tim rolled his eyes, but obligingly unwrapped the burger and took a bite. He hummed in appreciation. It really was a solid burger and the sauce was quite good. “I do like it, I’ll give you that. But I still prefer Batburger.”

“Ugh, you’re hopeless!” Turning his back to Tim, Danny addressed the others. “What about you three? Batburger or Nasty Burger?”

Conner shrugged, “This is great, but it’ll always be Batburger for me, too.”

Cassie elbowed him as she finished her bite. “That’s only because you and Tim get midnight burgers there too often and you are mixing up the taste with the memories. These are clearly better.”

Bart had already finished his first burger and was licking his fingers clean. “Yep. These are absolutely better.”

Tim threw an arm around Danny’s shoulders. “Fifty-fifty split! Means we can’t make a decision until you come to Gotham and try one yourself.”

“Oh, that’s what it means, does it? And when do you think I’ll make it to Gotham?”

“Any time you want! You can stay with me. Hell, I’ll even pick you up and bring you there.”

Danny grinned. “If I ever can guarantee a break from ghost attacks, I might take you up on that.”

“Right,” said Sam to Conner. “While they’re flirting”—she expertly ignored Tim and Danny’s spluttered protests—“have you ever tried wearing makeup? I think you’d look killer in eyeliner.”

Meanwhile, Tucker pulled out his PDA and some headphones and started showing a video to Cassie and Bart who shifted to better see the screen.

Tim took a large bite of his burger, unsure what to say to Danny after Sam’s comment.

Danny didn’t seem to have the same reservations and shifted so he could press his shoulder against Tim’s. “Sorry. She and Tuck like to tease me. They’ve been calling you my internet boyfriend for ages.”

That admission made his face heat even more, but Tim tried to shrug it off. “It’s fine.” He knew from Dick that if he continued to protest, everyone would just take it as further confirmation they were right.

Danny shrugged and grabbed another container. Tucker tried to protest, but Danny ignored him. “Here, try a chili cheese fry; they’re great.”

Tim let out a breath and grabbed a fry, getting chili and cheese all over his hands as he did. “Thanks.”

Somehow, the group managed to not get yelled at for an hour as they laughed and joked in the corner booth, but eventually an employee came over to ask if they needed anything else. Danny ordered a milkshake for Jazz, and the group filed out. Night had set in fully while they’d been eating and Tim looked up at the sky. The stars really were much more visible here than in Gotham.

And that was when a large, swirling-green gash opened up in the night sky and dozens of ghosts started pouring through.

-----

Next

Sam is so going to try and radicalize Conner. Tim is just gonna let it happen. At least this radicalization is better than what he'd been exposed to previously.

Tag List Part 1

@gremlin-bot, @bonebrokebuddy, @britcision, @lady-time-lord-, @welcometosasakiworld, @akikkobara, @phoenixdemonqueen, @dolfay, @skulld3mort-1fan, @we-ezer, @markus209, @sjrose1216, @onyxlightdragon, @dragonsrequiem, @jesus-camp-the-sequel, @spidey29phangirl, @kyrianclawraith, @evilminji, @introvert-even-on-the-internet, @emergentpanda-blog, @lexdamo, @v-inari, @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit, @longlivethefallen, @undead-essence, @xye-chan, @liandrin, @seraphinedemort, @kisatamao, @schalensitzbucket, @caelestisdreamer, @runfromthemedic, @nutcase8691, @channajen, @tonicmii, @ambiguouslyominous, @vythika96, @addie-lover-of-stories, @ironicvixen, @violetfox2, @pickleking8, @mysticalcomputerdetective, @ark12, @mygood-bitch99, @squirrel-wolf, @satisfactionbroughtmeback, @sometimesthingsfallapart, @automaticsoulharmony, @d4ydr34min9, @revnantdpxdclover, @midigeria, @raginblastocyst, @feral-bunny31, @lunaria618, @ghostreblogging, @ace-aro-as-shit

[demigod-shenanigans]

Hey! I saw your recent Grace Siblings angst post and I really enjoyed it. I was also wondering if you had anything else on them? It could be happy or sad headcanons

Ask and you shall receive! Most of these are at least kind of sad (not all though) so I feel like I now owe y’all a happy Grace siblings hc post at some point in the future

-Jason’s first word was “Lia” (because baby Jason couldn’t pronounce Thalia yet). Thalia never got over that.

-His second word was “no”. Beryl was “no” basically exclusively for three months. That made Thalia almost prouder than his first word did lmao

-When Beryl left him at the Wolf House, Jason wasn’t super alarmed at first. His mom leaving him somewhere and walking away/not being around isn’t super unusual. He only started freaking out after some time passed and he realized Thalia wasn’t coming to get him. (Absolutely crushing fic that my friend wrote which features a related concept can be found here, if you’d like to be even more sad :))

-Luke was the only person Thalia ever told about Jason. It did not help his general opinion of the gods. 

-There’s a canonical short story where Thalia is given a prophecy that she’ll be reunited with her family (and, specifically, that this doesn’t mean her mom). Her and Luke meet Annabeth right after, and I’m pretty sure Thalia thought she was Jason at first glance. She’s almost the right age, and they look similar.

-When Thalia was dying (before Zeus turned her into a tree), she assumed the being reunited with her family-prophecy meant she’d get to see her brother again in Elysium.

-Thalia definitely struggles to think of the two year old brother she lost and the fifteen year old brother she gets back as the same person. (This is made infinitely worse by the fact that their age difference is only two years now, instead of the seven it’s supposed to be.) Thalia knows that they are, objectively, the same person, but the Jason she remembers was small and fragile and needed her help to do basically everything. Seeing him now as a teenager who learned not to need her at all… it brings her a lot of joy because she thought she’d never get that, but she definitely also struggles with it a lot.

-For the above reason, I feel like she’s wildly overprotective of him. Jason, who was raised to succeed and fail on his own strength, does not know how to handle this. It’s bizarre in the same way that the concept of Leo and Piper trying to protect him is, so this isn’t an isolated Thalia issue.

-Jason gets anxious when people are mad at him. This should be a terrible combination with Thalia’s short fuse, but it isn’t. The reason for that is the fact that Jason’s anxiety surrounding people’s anger is rooted in his fundamental belief that love is a thing that needs to be earned and will be taken away from him if he isn’t perfect. He can’t explain why, but it’s never felt that way with Thalia. He just knows instinctually that she still loves him, even when she’s mad at him.

-Thalia was the first person Jason cried in front of in years. This just feels right to me.

-They’re not sure which one of them feels weirder when Jason turns sixteen and is now technically sort of older than her. Thalia ruffles his hair and tells him she’s always going to be his big sister, regardless of whether she’s physically older.

[wolvndmouth]

okay so who’s gonna write the fic where logan and wade have been together for forever but shit really hits the fan in their universe (they are still fighting against paradox and other baddies along the way) and the two of them find themselves backed into a corner when it comes to not only saving their universe from being pruned again, but to save logan and cure his adamantium poisoning/slowing healing factor

and just when things couldn’t get worse, cable comes back from the future to save wade from the pruning, but he sees wade with logan and is shocked he’s moved on so he’s feeling a whole lotta “wtf he’s mine i still love you lets try this again”

cue logan reminding nathan that he made a choice to leave wade. things got too serious for nate, and he just can’t show up out of nowhere expecting wade to drop everything just for him now that he’s ready to try for real this time

cue nathan reminding logan that not only did he date his dad, but he has sabotaged almost every good relationship in his life. nate thinks its just a matter of time until logan does it again and that he doesn’t want wade to be “just another name lost in the centuries”

then cue wade feeling like shit because he never forgave nathan for leaving and both him and logan don’t have a lot of time to deal with this plus having to find a cure/save the universe

AND THEN cue complicated feelings for all 3 of them while they try to figure this shit out because logan is starting to understand why wade loved nathan and nathan is starting to understand why wade loves logan and wade is starting to catch feelings for nathan again but doesn’t want to put logan through a throuple situation after knowing how the first time went. wade is also still not over nate abandoning him and there isn’t much nate can do to regain trust again

AND THEN AND THEN there’s a big reveal where you find out that wade’s healing factor has begun to slow down as well, and his cancer has started to come back little by little. logan is convinced that in being together for as long as they have, it’s his adamantium that’s making wade sick and he’s thinking about making wade leave their universe with nate so he’d at least have a fighting chance. he doesn’t want to tell wade the real reason why he wants him to go, because he doesn’t want wade to feel sad/less likely to go/guilty about logan dying without him, so he’s starting to act different and is on the verge of wanting to purposefully push wade away to make it easier for the both of them

nate also thinks that it’s logan’s adamantium that is making wade sick again, but he’s been around enough to know that wade will get worse just being apart from logan and he doesn’t think he can do that to wade, even if it meant saving his life. he feels like he’s hurt wade enough and maybe he needs to figure out why he’s even involving himself in all of this before making moves. maybe it would be best that he leaves so no one else has to get hurt or disappointed. maybe wade being sick isn’t something he’s meant to be around for or fix

BUT THEN you have wade, questioning his decades long relationship with logan for the first time in a long time, trying to hang on to the hope that neither one of them are right; that nate is wrong about logan adding their relationship to the tallies of things he destroys and that logan is wrong about nate getting ready to leave cause wade dying is just too serious of a situation to be around for. you have wade, who has always been capable of loving everyone but himself, and is hoping that this time and at the very least, just one of the people he loves love him enough to stay

at some point in all this, none of them know if they’re gonna fuck or fight. or both. so they fight then fuck then fight some more idk dude these old guys are just slutty af in my head

…

so. who’s gonna write it cause i sure as hell can’t 🙃🙃🙃🙃

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Hemant Mehta at Friendly Atheist:

Last night was sickening. A replay of 2016. It’s hardly ancient history. We stepped on a rake years ago and we decided to do it again. This was a reminder that 2020, not 2016, was the year where the presidential election went sideways. The year of the pandemic was also the high watermark for the decade. The results are bad for church/state separation. Bad for civil rights. Bad for bodily autonomy. Bad for Ukraine and our foreign allies. Bad for Palestinians. Bad for science and the climate and common sense. Bad for just about every issue that matters to the type of people who read this newsletter. The worst people you know got pretty much everything they wanted. The people who have empathy and expertise—the people who care too much and want the best for others—lost again. A Trump without guardrails is a Trump who’s even worse than he was years ago, and he was really fucking awful years ago.

If the famous saying is “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it,” we’re about to be ruled by people who’ll do everything in their power to make sure we never learn about the past. The people who ban books, whitewash American history, and reject science have been given another chance to turn their ignorance into policy. We’re screwed in the event of another pandemic. Blue states will not be able to rely on federal funding in the event of a natural disaster because that will require Trump’s signature. When the economy collapses, Republicans will blame everyone but themselves and most people won’t know they’re being lied to. (The mainstream media can’t be expected to push back. They failed to meet the moment this time around, and they’re bound to get worse.) With the Senate now in Republican control and the presidency within Donald Trump’s grasp (the blue wall of Wisconsin, Michigan, and Pennsylvania have not yet been called), we’re on the verge of seeing at least two years of utter chaos with ramifications that will last even longer. At best, if Democrats manage to flip the House, they will still control a mere 1/6 of the federal government.

[...]

I don’t know how to beat back the firehose of misinformation that contributed to the rightward shift of the country. I don’t know what could have changed the minds of the half of the country that seems immune to reality. I don’t know what else the Harris campaign could have done to change the outcome. (There’s an argument to be made that she should have pushed back against Joe Biden’s policies, especially regarding Israel, but given the results, even if that helped her with Muslims in Michigan, it arguably wouldn’t have moved the needle everywhere else as much as she needed.) I also don’t believe Biden or a different candidate would have fared any better. It’s easy to feel like the past few months were just pointless. The debate that Harris won didn’t matter. The half-filled Trump rallies didn’t indicate a loss of support. The meandering ramblings of a man whose brain is clearly broken didn’t turn off enough people. The major endorsements for Harris—and the lack of big ones for Trump— didn’t change much. The overwhelming financial support for Harris didn’t overcome the billionaires backing Trump. The “vibes” didn’t match the other side’s arrogance. The Democratic National Convention, so full of joy, now feels like a last gasp rather than a new beginning. The Democrats’ superb ground game and the utter lack of one for Republicans still didn’t meet the “margin of effort.” Trump’s criminal indictments and impeachments and legal battles and mugshot and looming potential jail sentence (!) weren’t dealbreakers.

January 6 eventually led Trump to another term in office when it should have blackballed him from public life. Too many Americans are nostalgic for a utopia that never existed, and when they realized they’ve been conned, there are going to be a hell of a lot of conservatives eager to blame minorities of all stripes for all the problems they made worse. At the same time, as older generations of Americans understand all too well, the path to progress is never smooth and it requires constant vigilance. We knew that in 2016 and there were reverberations—in 2018 and 2020. We’ll now walk down that path again. It will likely be even more fierce this time around.

Last night’s election results were a gut punch for Americans opposed to the Orange Felon.

For the next four years, there will be horror show after horror show.

[blorbologist]

For the Spotify prompt: Ashton and either Essek or the Bright Queen with number 42 (the answer to everything)?

42. Kids Again, Artist Vs Poet

[Went a bit of a bittersweet direction with this but ohhh boy]

Ashton Greymoore isn’t an orphan. They aren’t really a ‘normal’ kid either, though. Normal kids don’t -

Wait. Hold up - maybe it’s easier to start with what Ashton is. Because Ashton is: a kid, sixteen as of a few days ago, a huge pain in the ass per his dad and the teachers, and really fucking confused.

They thought they had it all figured out. So what, they didn’t look like their old man - lots of kids didn’t! Didn’t change nothing! I mean, hypothetically he could be an orphan once - but who gives a shit about who those parents were. He has a dad.

Ashton Greymoore doesn’t know why he has the name though. Greymoore. Kids tend to match with their parents. Or at least one of them. When he asked, he just got a cryptic bullshit answer about the name being an heirloom. 

He has a lot of those - heirlooms. A wardrobe full of shit, like an old-ass helmet and a piece of yellow-painted metal. There was some cooler stuff in the dresser, but he might have gotten it all confiscated when he got caught with the immovable rod in class.

Apparently weird ass dreams are something else they inherited. Or were given. Whatever.

Except they’re popping up when he’s sure he’s awake, and when he’s fucking around with his friends, and when he’s playing hookey, and when he hears a storm overhead and when he tugs at vines on a fencepost and when he listens to howling late at night and when he sees a rat and when he’s eating cookies or scones or fish for some fucking reason -

Ashton Greymoore isn’t an orphan. They aren’t - they have a great family, and awesome friends, and all that shit. So why do they feel like they’ve lost everyone?

“Ashton!”

Of course they didn’t hear their fucking dad coming. They measure their breaths. Completely fucking fail to when the knock knock knock sounds right above their head, bounces off all the metal shit in here with them.

“I know you are in there, young man. Would you like to come out, or should I come in?” There’s a pause. “Or would you prefer I left?”

He doesn’t feel like giving an answer. Which is a mistake, because a classic fuck off would have solved his problems - but, shit, being quiet is concerning.

Dad doesn’t even need to touch the wardrobe to open the doors - Ashton doesn’t need to look up as the faint magelight flickers down. Really no point to it: his eyesight is way worse in the dark, just like how his ears are round and his skin isn’t purple.

There’s a flutter of robes as his father floats to the floor. A soft sound as he lets himself land. They’ve never been the hugging sort of father-son duo, but the quiet company is always a big relief.

“Ashton,” Essek says carefully. “I, ah. Am probably due to explain consecution to you.”

Send me a character / pair of characters / AU & a number from 1 to 100 & I'll write a little something inspired by that song!

[teecupangel]

Desmond as one of the sparkle-pires from 'Twilight'.

Desmond wakes up in a cave, thirsty and rock hard. Literally, his skin is diamond solid and when he walks out into the sun he glitters...

So obviously he waltzes into an old rundown town, realises he's time traveled, accidentally seduces three wenches, two widows, a beggar and a cat. Walks right back out because half the people in that town smelt DELICIOUS and the other half had STDs and wanted to share.

It's hard going anywhere during the day when you're in a constant state of bedazzlement...

Obviously Desmond becomes a little despondent when he realizes the only thing he can ingest is blood, he can't stand to be in the company of humans without going feral and 'again' he glitters.

Well at least he doesn't have the ability to change other assassin's into sparkly vampiric creatures.

Cause that would be terrible.

It’s me so I’m going to add more problem to Desmond by making the blood of his ancestor smells divine. It’s much harder to keep himself ‘human’ when they’re near so he deliberately stays away, takes over a small piece of land with a trash lord no one would miss. He takes care of the people in his land, gives jobs to the three wenches, two widows and one beggar that followed him, made them promise never to call him ‘god’ ever again. Simply because he sparkles doesn’t mean he’s a divine being.

This sort of thing reeks of Isu bullshit but he can’t even research freely because of his ‘conditions’.

He’s reminded of the Twilight movie he watched back in New York when he had been so bored on a day off that he didn’t even want to have (his boss insisted after he went without any day off for a while, switching with other people just to get more money for that motorcycle he was eyeing).

Of all the possible truths hidden in this world by the Templars, sparkling vampires were not even in his list of ‘possible conspiracy theories that Shaun would say could be true’.

Did it mean then that the author of Twilight had Templar connections???

Was a Templar herself?

Or worse…

Had some kind of Isu-related device or item???

Desmond would just have to make do with what he has right now.

The three wenches wanted to offer their blood to him. A rotating shift of some sort to make sure none of them would feel any severe side effect. The beggar turned out to be a doctor who lost everything after a battle between the armies of two men with too much power and money and little care for the life of those ‘beneath’ them incinerated his village and left him without a money to his name. Desmond made him the castle’s physician and he took that to mean that he could assist the wenches (ladies of the castle, there are rumors of them either being Desmond’s ‘mistresses’ or sisters) in trying to make Desmond understand that they wish only to help. The two widows stay away from all of these, taking care of the orphans in the orphanage Desmond created when he became a lord.

The cat, of course, did what cat did.

Realized they are the true master of the castle and demanded to be treated as such.

It was a peaceful life, all things considered.

Desmond could survive on animal blood. It takes bland and Desmond is reminded by the idea of eating cardboard every month when he drinks from an animal he had hunted himself before bringing back to the castle so the cook may use it for dinner.

Human food taste like nothing but he can swallow it, pretend to be normal while eating with his court.

His ‘sisters’ and the court physician.

The townspeople under his rule see him as benevolent and understanding.

They also believe that he suffers from an ailment that leaves him weak under the sun’s light.

Some joke that he is a demon but the pain and suffering they went through with the previous lord made them loyal to Lord Desmond.

If he turns out to be a demon, then they will become devil worshipers. The Church turned a blind eye on the previous lord because of the ‘donations’ he had given, after all.

The Church doesn’t like him though but they ignore him, his land being of no political or strategic value to them.

Then…

A hooded man appeared in the castle, hiding in the shadows to observe the strange lord who held no power to change the political strife plaguing across the land but having rumored to be strange.

Maybe strange enough to be hiding something of grave importance…

The Assassin believed that he had hid well, that they would not be seen.

But then…

The lord’s head immediately turned to his direction.

And his light brown eyes glowed gold with surprise, dread and…

… hunger.

.

(Desmond has been trying to find info about why he’s sparkling and if vampires are ‘real’ or if he’s an anomaly. This, in turn, gets the Brotherhood’s attention. Who the Assassin is is up to you guys. The main point is he has to be an ancestor of Desmond. It would be easy to make it Altaïr or Ezio but Ratonhnhaké:ton is also an option and he traveled somewhere where religion still has a high hold on politicians. Hell, it can be Edward or even Giovanni, tbf XD)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Speaking of twst events, what are your Top 3 Favourite game events so far? I'm genuinely curious. :'DD

Are there any events you didn't like?

[Referencing this post!]

Mmmm… I think most events are at least okayish? In general, I tend to prefer stories with high stakes or the ones that have some meaningful impact on character development, which are few and far between when it comes to TWST 😅 so their events aren’t typically my thing! You’ll notice that my favorite events in TWST actually do have story and/or character relevance.

That being said!! My favorite events would have to be:

Glorious Masquerade — This is, in my opinion, TWST’s strongest story and best overall event. It stands out against the others by having actual stakes and fully committing to it, as well as does wonders for the SSR trio’s involvement and interests in taking down the Big Bad. This is particularly true of Idia and Malleus. Said Big Bad, Rollo, is also very compelling in his own right.

Wish Upon a Star — Historically, this was the first time we saw the student’s rooms! The story itself introduced us to Star Rogue, which was pivotal to the Shrouds’ childhood (and later becomes relevant again in book 6). It was sweet to see Deuce try so hard to get Idia to come out of his shell, and even sweeter to see how far Idia is willing to push himself for his brother.

Fairy Gala: What If (NOT the first Fairy Gala; this is an important distinction!) — The edge this has over the original is that it is connected to Ortho’s growth as an individual post-book 6. He is able to discover his own take on what “evolution” is. Silver also gets a cool spotlight which demonstrates the pacifist teachings he was imparted with, serving as the bridge between fae and humans. Very pretty clothes and makeup too!!

I also liked:

Happy Beans Day I and II — This was a nice event that gave the whole cast their time to shine without feeling too bloated. It was also fun to see the different strategies and tactics each student employed; it helps show off their characters and problem solving abilities!

Ghost Marriage — I really liked that TWST parodied the fairy tale love stories and romantic events (that Disney and even mobile games in general are typically associated with). Hilarious how each of the guys tried and failed because they’re just silly high school students with no idea how to actually get a date 😂 I’m also biased for any outfit that involves formal wear.

White Rabbit Festival (Queendom of Roses hometown event) — The Alice in Wonderland aesthetic of Clock Town captured my heart 😌 It was also nice to see Deuce prove that he has turned over a new leaf to the townspeople.

The events I didn’t care for are:

Endless Halloween Night — I have very strong beef with the ending and the reasoning given for it 💀 It feels like everyone got gaslit into forgiveness… I also hated how no one held Malleus fully accountable after all the stress they were put through. Easily my most disliked event.

Tamashina Mina (Sunset Savanna hometown event) — Underwhelming ending in spite of the hype building for it. No meaningful payoff for the foreshadowing of Cheka’s guards.

Tsumsted Wonderland I and II — Nothing really happens (other than I guess the Tsums being cute)?? And it doesn’t really make an impact on anything.

Lost in the Book with Stitch — Same issue(s) as the Tsumsted events, except somehow even worse because everyone magically forgets everything they did with Stitch :/ so the experience means nothing in the long term…

Honorable mentions for my dislikes:

All Master Chef/Culinary Crucibles — I hate having to sit around and wait for ingredients and the fact that you can’t cook multiple dishes in one go. The lack of story also makes these events just not worth it for me.

Sam’s New Year Sale(s) and TWST Anniversary — Do these event count as a story event???? They’re just kinda celebratory short interactions, if anything.

[sophfandoms53]

Hi, same ‘how can I make this about Striker’ anon from before. I dont know how to feel about the ‘Satan is Striker’s father theory’ because on 1 hand I guess it could work??? But also it just doesnt sit that right with me, like I feel like if Striker was literally half sin he’d act/be more powerful than he was shown to be so far. My numerous ideas for his backstory basically change by the daily because I think about him too much but I only gave credence to the ‘Striker’s half royalty’ idea once and even then I wrote it in a way where Striker didnt know about it/had zero idea that was the case to begin with.

Not to mention that him being half-royalty would technically be a way to dismiss his (very valid) arguments about the upper class but maybe thats just me imagining the worse case scenario. For all I know it could be the most well-executed plot point ever.

If Satan isn’t Striker’s father than once we actually see the Envy Ring we’re gonna get ‘Leviathan is Striker’s father’ theories instead because they’re both snake-based. If Striker IS half royalty, than I could imagine it to be some sort of goetia, maybe, but half deadly sin? Next Striker ep appearance would need to have him pull off the most insane shit ever that a imp cant do for me to consider it plausible

I’m responding to this so late but omg anon yes you’re so right.

I feel like the only way the twist of Striker being a half blueblood could work would be if he straight up didn’t know about it and/or if they suddenly give him more power and strength that we’ve never seen from any other imp, like you mentioned. But again regardless of him knowing or not, like you also said, it completely negates his entire character and everything Striker’s said up to this point about royals and how they treat those lower than them.

Which only continues to be validated to the point where Blitz is now echoing his sentiments in canon. So like ??? It wouldn’t make sense for the show to suddenly invalidate Striker’s points after directly paralleling his words with Blitz’s.

Striker’s entire existence is to be a dark reflection of Blitz anyway. They’re two sides of the same coin. Striker is who Blitz would be if he let himself drown in his sorrows and his grief. If he let his anger control him. If he let himself do things alone. For as much as Blitz pushes people away he cares too much about others to truly let himself be alone.

As far as we know - Striker has always been alone. Or at least we know he’s been alone since he lost everything. Which is honestly the big thing people are missing when they talk about the Striker is Satan’s son theory - the entire scene where Striker voices his grievances to Stolas about his experience with royals.

This is the scene that tells us everything. And if it was meant to foreshadow something as huge as Striker being a literal sin’s child then the dialogue choice and the BODY LANGUAGE of Striker during this monologue would be insanely different.

The emphasis this scene gives to his claims of having to live a hard life, losing everything, and being talked over. That is Striker talking about his experience.

His feelings. His loss. His anger.

He is SO angry. Too angry for it all to just be about being a bastard son.

I’ve watched, analyzed, and thought SO MUCH about this moment right before he cuts Stolas’ ropes.

The pure disgust and anger on his face. The way he shakes. His eye twitches. He grinds his teeth. He growls. He’s pissed.

This is insanely personal to him. This is part of him. This is who he is. This disdain runs through his veins. He’s made it part of his identity. He was so scorned that he just cannot let it go.

This is not just anger about a royal parent or a loss of status.

This is anger from a man who was failed by Hell’s system and has not healed from it. He has not allowed himself to heal and he refuses to.

This is Striker’s way of taking back control that he once lost.

And not even mentioning the fact that Striker’s canonically a WANTED MAN in TWO Rings.

Wrath (y’know Satan’s ring) AND Pride.

Considering royalty in this universe is all about status and reputation, you’d think a sin wouldn’t want their kid just having their face plastered everywhere like that?? Cuz it’s embarrassing?? Just wanted to point that out😭

[via-the-cryptid]

thinking about Betty and Marceline in the snow queen au. Marceline’s replacement parental figure isn’t as calm, isn’t as collected, but she’s a lot more willing to take risks and get into a fight. Marceline learns that using her head and outthinking her opponent is the best way to survive. take advantage of anything and everything. never let them see that you’re weak. everything has a weak point — it’s only a matter of finding where it is. nothing is unbeatable, but some things aren’t worth the cost it would take to beat them.

in this world, Marceline gets another mother instead of another father — at first, that is.

She hears Betty talking to herself late at night, sounding sadder than Marceline has ever heard, and she’s talking to someone she keeps calling Simon. Marceline doesn’t know anyone named Simon, but she knows Betty must’ve lost someone before this, too. She keeps turning to talk to someone who isn’t there when they’re walking. Marceline recognises it because she used to do it too, before she realised there would never be someone watching over her shoulder to look at her draw, never someone walking behind her and trying to keep pace as she runs ahead.

Betty’s there now, though. Marceline is glad. it’s not her mom, but… it’s something close enough, and that’s what matters. she just wishes that whoever this Simon is, Betty could find him again, because he doesn’t sound like the kind of thing that can be so easily replaced.

(She’s not replacing her mom. Marceline could never do that. But… an empty role being filled, and a person being replaced, aren’t the same thing. Betty isn’t Mom, but she’s the closest thing Marceline’s got to a mother, and that’s good enough for her.)

Betty sees it differently.

She found a little kid in a wasteland, a girl with sharp teeth and greyed skin and a haunted look in her eyes. there’s no one following behind to watch her. she’s alone, just like Betty is.

they might as well be alone together, but Betty knows it won’t really be alone anymore — not for Marceline, at least, and once she finds Simon, they’ll be a proper family. he always did say it would be nice to have a kid someday. it’s probably not what he had been thinking about in the moment, a little demon girl in the midst of an apocalypse, but the world is weird enough right now that Betty can discount a discrepancies.

she has to be more careful around Marceline, though it takes her a bit longer than it should to adjust to that. Betty is so used to her partner being Simon, a man smarter than any she’s ever met before, clever to the point that it more than makes up for his neat-total lack of atheistic skills. Marceline, though… she’s small. she’s a kid. if Betty isn’t careful with her, she could end up hurt or worse.

(She’s left the crown in her backpack ever since she met Marceline. Betty can’t bring herself to put it down, no matter how hard she tries to chuck it into the sea and be done with it, but she won’t put it back on, either.

All she knows is that she put it on and everything went black. When she woke up again, she was laying on the ground, aching all over, surrounded by snow and hailstones and icy stalagmites with Simon nowhere to be seen. She can’t let that happen again — she won’t let that happen again.)

(She hopes.)

(But sometimes, she doesn’t have a choice.)