#like a softer version of ptsd or something

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 39: Life

Summary: Something begins to throb in your chest as you lay there. Something thrums deep within you, something you haven’t felt in weeks.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,194 words

Warnings: Angst, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, illness, language, slightly graphic imagery, very slight violence, rumination, lots of feels, and yes finally some comfort

A/N: Yes, it has finally arrived. The time has come. We are now in the comfort. This very much is a good place to end things for the next month. If you haven't seen my post then I'll say it here, I will be putting the fic on a brief hiatus for the month of October. I have Kyletober planned and trying to do CRCB at the same time will be too much. So this will be the last chapter for a couple weeks while I focus on other things and just give my brain a little break from CRCB. It's been eight months of just pumping out long chapters every week, or almost every week, so I need a little break to focus on other things. I'll still be writing and posting things here (and Ao3 of course) but there won't be another CRCB chapter posted until November.

But anyway, I hope you enjoy this one and the comfort starting and I'm super excited for what's coming next month (can't believe it's almost October)

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

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“I need you to be brave.” Christine says, staring up at him. 

His heart thumps in his chest. How bad is it that not only did she summon him down here, but she’s asking him to be brave. He knows you’re sick, that you’ve fallen ill after your moment of anger earlier. She had informed them over dinner as she made some broth that you came down with a fever. 

They had all been worried, sharing glances at the news. John looked like a dog that had been scolded. It was his fault, after all. 

If anything happens to you, it is his fault. 

Johnny swallows the lump in his throat, nodding slowly as he stares down at Christine. “I can be brave.” 

Christine stares up at him for a long moment before nodding. She pushes the door open, leading him inside your room. The scent in the air is thick, tainted by the bitter scent of anxiety still lingering in the air, and the sour scent of illness. He misses the fresh scent of strawberries, he has missed it over the last few weeks. Your scent had taken on a bitter edge ever since the cameras were revealed to them. It’s only gotten stronger recently after the events that transpired. 

All of their scents have been off lately. 

It’s dark in the room aside from the bedside lamp. It casts a soft glow around the room, elongating the shadows in the corners. They loom threateningly, and his fingers twitch to turn on the overhead light. 

You don’t like the overhead light. It’s too bright. 

You always prefer softer light. Is it an omega thing, or is it just a you thing? He’s not quite sure. 

How little they really understand you. 

The lamp illuminates a pile of blankets on the bed, stacked one on top of each other to create a lump of soft fabric. You’re underneath that pile, he knows it. You’ve always liked blankets, always carried one with you in the barracks, eternally cold in the harsh world they existed in on base. This many blankets though? It was excessive even for you. 

He approaches the bed slowly, scared at what he might find. Images of you laying in a puddle of blood, cold and stiff fills his mind. Images of a skeletal figure reduced to nothing but skin stretched over bones has his heart racing. What will he find on the other side of that pile obscuring you from his vision? 

He swallows down his fear, reminding himself that he’s a soldier. He’s seen dead bodies before, he’s killed before. So why is he so scared now? 

This isn’t war. It’s you. 

He steps up to the side of the bed, looking down on you. You’re shivering, trembling under the blankets. Sweat beads on your forehead, skin dewy and clammy in your fever. You look more alive than the skeletal figure he had pictured in his mind, but you don’t look well. 

You look near death. 

“I’m worried about her.” Christine says, closing the door behind her. “She needs someone from her pack close. You’re making the most effort right now, and if anyone might get through to her, it’s you. She needs...someone.” Christine sighs. “Someone who can offer what I can’t.”  

“She needs a member of her pack.” Johnny says, easily putting together what Christine was saying. 

He knows what she’s asking. He’s scared. He’s not sure how you’ll react. The last people you want to see right now is your pack, including him. How will you react to having him so close? 

“Exactly.” Christine says, stepping up right next to him.

Her fingers wrap around his wrist, and he lets her guide his hand to your cheek. It’s hot and clammy against his palm, a fire blazing under your skin. You let out a shuddering breath, the air fanning weakly against his wrist. Your head turns just slightly, pressing into his hand. It’s a good sign, despite the delirium you have to be stuck in. What are you imagining is happening right now? What is your brain telling you? 

“Touch her, talk to her.” Christine says, releasing his wrist. He keeps his hand there, pressed against your cheek. “We need to try and get her back before this gets worse.” 

Before they lose you. 

She won’t say it out loud. 

She doesn’t need to. 

Johnny nods, turning his head to look at Christine over his shoulder. She looks exhausted, and not just because of the late hour. She’s done so much over the past few weeks watching you and caring for you. Maybe it is time one of them tries to step up and help her. You can’t avoid them forever, no matter how much you might feel like trying. 

He has to try. For you. 

“I know what tae do.” He says, his eyes flickering to the books stacked on your dresser, the ones Simon and John picked up. 

Christine squeezes his arm. “I’m just across the living room if you need me.” 

“I’ll try not to.” He says. 

She stares up at him for a long moment before nodding. She understands. He doesn’t have to say much else. She leaves the door cracked and he doesn’t mind, moving away from you to look through the books on the dresser. A handful of them are new, or at least ones he’s never seen you read before. A couple are ones he knows are in your collection at the barracks. He picks one of those, some fantasy novel he’s seen you read more than once. 

He looks between the bed and the chairs. He could pull one over and sit by your side. 

No, Christine said it was better to touch you. 

Instead he climbs onto the bed, sitting close enough he can feel the heat from your body. He cracks open the book, flipping through to the first page. He clears his throat, staring down at you for a moment before he begins to read. 

Rain batters the roof, coming down hard outside. The wind is blowing, whooshing past the house, rattling the shutters. The storm blew in from the sea, dumping rain by dinner and then the wind picked up by the time they were all getting ready to settle in for the night. 

It feels fitting, a storm blowing in at a time when a storm is brewing within their pack.

The storm he blew into their pack. 

He lays there in bed, listening to it rage outside. It’s quiet in the house, Simon and Johnny already settled in, and so are you downstairs. Kyle is beside him, but not asleep. He’s laying awake again as they have done since their arrival. He can feel the heat of Kyle’s body against his arm as he lays on his back, Kyle on his side facing away from him. 

“You just had to do it, didn’t you?” Kyle asks quietly, breaking the silence. “Can’t even go a week without trying to apologize knowing full well she won’t forgive you.” 

John stays silent, having expected some kind of reprimanding for his actions. He really was selfish for what he did. Kyle is right. You won’t forgive him, no matter how many times or ways he tries to say sorry. 

“You’re just making it worse.” Kyle huffs out. “You’re the last person that should try apologizing right now.”

“You’re right.” He finally says. “It was selfish of me to do that. I just wanted her to know-” 

“She knows.” Kyle snaps, cutting him off. “She’s not stupid and oblivious. She knows we’re all feeling guilty, she knows how sorry we all are. She won’t let us apologize until she’s ready. Shows just how little you actually understand her, trying to do that.” Kyle pushes himself up to sit. “She doesn’t want words. She’s had words spewed at her, her whole life telling her what to do, how to feel, how to act. She wants actions. She wants us to prove to her that we do care, that we are sorry, that we’re making an effort to make things up to her. She wants us to prove that we’re putting her first by putting her first.” 

John knows he’s right. Words won’t solve a situation like this. None of them know where to start, though. How do you try and make things up to someone when you’re not even sure that person wants you to try? 

“She’s sick now, because of what you did.” Kyle continues. “If anything happens to her...” He trails off, shaking his head. 

“I’ll let you take the first shot.” John says. “I know. I’ve been a miserable excuse of an alpha. It’s easy when you have the confines of the military to hold everything in place. When those expectations dictate your life and how to run a pack. It’s easy, when you can exist as a pack with those set routines and structures. The facade that makes everything seem like it's working.” He shakes his head. “We never would have worked outside of those confines.” 

Kyle’s head turns slightly towards him, but his gaze is still on the far wall. “No, we wouldn’t have. None of us would have chosen this in the first place.” 

“Probably not.” John agrees. “Then we got an omega added, an outsider that showed us just how weak we really were.” 

“We were crumbling long before that.” Kyle says. “We weren’t ready for an omega, we shouldn’t have ever had an omega.” 

“I should never have been head alpha.” John says. “Being an alpha is different from being a captain. It shouldn’t have been me.” 

Kyle snorts. “He would have never agreed.” 

“That delay might have saved us.” 

“Or it would have made things worse.” Kyle says. “Shepherd wanted us to bond with her right away so his control over us would strengthen if he had to use that power. If those bonds weren’t put into place when they were, they might have tried to force it.” 

“That would have only destabilized things further.” John says. Kyle isn’t wrong. Who knows what lengths they would have gone to, to ensure what they wanted would happen. “They were watching us from the start. They knew exactly how to play all of us.” 

“Simon was right all along in his suspicions.” Kyle says, laying back down on the bed. Their shoulders are touching. It feels nice, having him close again. They’ve been close for the last few days, forced together by their sleeping arrangements, but it feels different now. 

“He’ll be a better alpha than I ever could be.” John says quietly, almost speaking to himself. 

“I think she will come to forgive you eventually.” Kyle says, turning his head to look at John. “You just have to give her time. A lot of time. You have to figure out how to prove yourself worthy of that forgiveness.” 

“I want to take her to the beach.” John says. “Once she’s recovered.” 

“If she recovers.” Kyle had pieced together the worry in Christine’s voice combined with her words. They all had. 

“She will.” John says, sliding his hand across the sheets. “She’s a tough little thing. She’s not going to give up just like that.” 

“I hope you’re right.” Kyle says. He doesn’t pull away as John’s fingers brush his hand. 

“I may not have the best track record with being right currently, but I’m confident in her and her strength.” John turns his head to look at Kyle in the darkness. The storm is calming outside, the wind dying down and the rain lightening. “She’s stronger than all of us combined.” 

The corners of Kyle’s lips twitch. “You are right about that.” 

It smells good. 

There’s a rich scent in the air as you begin to wake. It smells like Christmas, like spices and citrus. Warm gingerbread and cider. Freshly squeezed orange juice on Christmas morning just like every year. It had been your favorite, though you never understood the lengths your mother went to, the early morning and the hours spent in the kitchen on Christmas slaving away to make everything perfect. Everyone got something they wanted, something they loved. You never appreciated that effort until now. 

Oranges. Spices. Warmth. 

You know that scent. 

It’s hot in the room, sweat soaking your skin as you lay on your right side. Heat surrounds you like a cocoon, just like the scent. Warm and soft and too much. You try to wiggle out from under the blankets but you can’t move, so instead you shuffle them off. Some of them hit the floor with soft plops, the others just barely hanging on the side of the bed, trapped under your body. You’re still stuck, still hot as you lay there, a comforting weight around you. The scent floods your nose, fills your body with a pleasant feeling as you lay there, breathing through your nose. Oranges, spices, warmth. 

Someone is baking a pie.

It smells good. You want to bury yourself in it, press yourself into that scent until it’s the only thing you can smell. It brings you a comfort you didn’t realize you were missing. Something fills your chest, a weight beginning to press down inside of you.

Your hair sticks to your face as you lay there, tempted to get up and see who is baking and why. There’s weight pressing down on you from the outside as well. You can’t move. You’re stuck. 

The weight around you moves. 

No, it’s not pie. 

It’s Johnny. 

That’s why you know the scent. That’s why it feels so familiar, so comforting. It’s Johnny. Johnny is pressed up against your back, his arm tossed over your waist. That’s why it’s so hot, his body putting off warmth like a heater. 

You should be angry at the breach of your clearly placed barriers. You should be upset that he would come in here and just climb in bed like this. You should be pissed that one of them would try something like this after your outburst yesterday. 

You shouldn’t be crying. 

Not out of relief. 

Oh how you missed this. 

Something begins to throb in your chest as you lay there, crying quietly in Johnny’s arms. Something begins to thrum deep within you, something you haven’t felt in weeks. Life? Hope? Happiness? 

You should be upset. 

You can’t be. 

Johnny grunts quietly behind you, his arm leaving your waist as he stretches. He’s awake now, or maybe he hadn’t been at all and had been waiting for some sign of life, some movement from you, something to try and give him a hint at what you must be feeling. He doesn’t say anything, laying still as you sniffle in the silence. No one else is up yet, despite the blue light of dawn coming in through the gap in the curtain. 

“Johnny?” You whisper, even the quiet sound hurting your sore throat. You’re thirsty, desperately so, but that’s a problem for later. 

“It’s me, kitten.” He says hesitantly, the pet name making a sob tear from your throat. 

“Johnny,” You cry, the tears falling in a cascade. You can’t stop them. You’ve lost complete control as you lay there sobbing. “Hold me.” 

He doesn’t say anything else, his arms wrapping around you and tugging you close against his chest. He locks you in his embrace, holding you tightly against his chest as you cry. It feels good. Life and energy flows through you again for the first time in weeks. That empty space in your chest begins to fill slowly, warmth blossoming in your body despite the sweat soaking you both. Johnny offers no complaints as he presses his face into your hair. 

How you missed this. 

How you need this. 

You seem more relaxed at dinner. Despite your angry outburst the day before, and your sudden illness, you look significantly less miserable than you did your first attempt at joining them for dinner. The yelling did a number on your throat, but even now it’s nothing compared to that first day. You’re having soup again, and this time there’s a side of mash and peas next to the bowl. 

You even walked to the table without the crutch. 

Simon sits beside you again, all of them taking their respective seats at the table. They’ve assigned themselves these seats, even when you don’t join them for a meal. You’re at the head of the table as you were the first time, Simon and Chrstine on either side of you. Kyle and Johnny are seated next to them, and John is across the table from you. You’ve been avoiding looking at him. You haven’t even so much as glanced up at him. 

Simon is watching you carefully out of the corner of his eye, trying not to make it obvious. If you’ve noticed, you haven’t shown any disapproval. He’s ready in case he has to act fast again, but you are far more steady than you were that first time. There’s no tremble to your hand as you bring the spoon up to your mouth. 

The others look happier than before too. Johnny has stopped crying. Not even a sniffle from him ever since this morning when he emerged from your room. None of them had said anything about it, though they have an inkling of what had happened, judging by Christine’s lack of reaction to it. Kyle looks happier too, sitting straighter like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. It probably has, with the lightening of the mood. Whatever happened with Johnny this morning, it’s made a huge change already.  

John has never been much of a religious man, but god bless Johnny for whatever magic he worked this morning. 

You don’t even look feverish as you sit there, spooning soup into your mouth. A lingering low-grade fever, Christine had informed them earlier that afternoon, but significantly less concerning than things had been yesterday.  

He’s glad to hear it. He’s always glad to hear Christine’s updates on how you’re doing, how well you’re healing, at least physically. The body heals easily. Mentally...there’s still a long way to go. Healing physically will help mentally, but with all the trauma, years and years of trauma, it’s going to take a long time to heal from that. 

The clink of your spoon in your bowl draws him from his thoughts and he glances up at you. 

“Getting full?” Christine asks as you take a sip of your water, wincing slightly as you swallow it. 

“Can I have some tea?” You ask. 

“Sure,” Christine says, going to push her chair back, but John is already standing.

“I’ll make some.” He says, not offering any room for argument as he turns his back on the table to head for the kettle. 

You’ve been drinking more tea lately, likely to soothe your throat. He never thought he’d see the day, given your determination to stand with Johnny on the side of coffee. It’s a bit late for coffee, but he does know it wouldn’t keep you awake in the slightest. You love your sleep, as most omegas do, and nothing will get in the way of it. Not even some late evening caffeine. 

He sets mugs out on a tray, deciding to make tea for everyone. At least that way it’ll make it seem less targeted at you. He’s not doing it to try and impress you or win your affections back. He just wants to help take the load off of Christine’s shoulders. She’s done so much for you, for all of them, already. 

He steeps the tea before bringing the mugs to the table along with some milk and sugar. He knows at least Simon and Kyle will drink some, and he will as well. He brings the kettle over, filling the mugs with tea. All of them sit there watching him, waiting tensely for what will happen next. Will you take the mug of tea he offers? Or will you refuse. Even if you threw it in his face, it wouldn’t make him mad. It would be horribly painful, yes, but he would deserve it. 

Perhaps him doing this was a mistake. 

He stares at the sugar and milk as he grabs one of the mugs. Do you like sugar or milk in your tea? He’s not sure. He doesn’t even know how you take your tea. He knows you like creamer in your coffee. But how do you take your tea? 

What a sad excuse of a human being he is. 

You don’t look at him as he sets the mug next to your water glass. You’re still eating your soup, your hand trembling just slightly now. Your scent is tainted still, a whiff of it filling his nose. Displeasure, a hint of burning anger. 

This was a mistake. 

He sets the milk and sugar next to you first, letting you finish making your tea. He won’t push that boundary and risk making it wrong. It would only add fuel to the fire, make it more obvious that he knows and cares so little for you. He doesn’t even know how you take your tea. 

He takes his seat again as the others help themselves to the tea, even Johnny taking a mug. Whether he’s doing it because he wants to make the moment feel less awkward, or because he genuinely wants some, John will never know. 

He made a mistake in doing that. 

Still, despite the awkwardness, it felt good to do that. 

Maybe that’s how they get closer to you. 

The little things, things that take some of the pressure off Christine. She has to be getting tired, going nonstop all day. Anything they can do to help, they should. Things seemed to go well with Johnny, so maybe the others can have some success in their attempts to gain your favor once more. 

John will have to stay away for now. Distance is what you need from him. 

That’s alright. He has other things he can do. 

He tries to hide the small grin on his face as you pick up the mug, taking a sip of the tea. 

They’re fighting. 

You stand at the back door watching them throw punches. They’re solid punches, nothing held back, no pulling them. They’re all breathing heavily, two of them watching the other two fight. 

Simon’s fist meets Kyle’s shoulder, Kyle’s fist going for Simon’s head but he’s too fast, ducking before he drives his shoulder into Kyle’s stomach. Kyle hits the grass, disappearing from your view. 

John steps forward, pulling Simon back and speaking to him, but you can’t hear from this distance. 

“Still out there?” Dr. Keller asks, stepping up beside you. 

“Yep.” You say, watching as Johnny takes Kyle’s place against Simon. 

“John did say it would be good for them.” Dr. Keller says, wincing as Johnny’s fist hits Simon’s ribs. 

“They’re gonna start a real fight.” You say, watching as Simon starts to get more aggressive. You can tell because you’ve been in that position before. You’ve seen when that switch starts to flip, when the alpha starts to take over. He was never this aggressive with you, but perhaps even his alpha could be rational given your obvious size and strength difference. 

And the fact you’re an omega. 

“Well, that’s their problem.” Dr. Keller says. “As long as they keep it out there.” 

“They might make you patch them up afterwards.” You say. 

She lets out a snort. “There’s ice packs in the freezer and a first aid kit in the bathroom.” 

You try to hide your smile as you watch John get in between Johnny and Simon, speaking to Simon again. Maybe it will be good for them to get some of that pent up energy out. They’re all used to being so active and always having something to do. Being stuck inside has to be driving them stir-crazy. Simon has been going on runs in the morning, and you know John has been going on walks every so often. 

You’re starting to feel a bit stir-crazy yourself. It’s taking you back to the days shut up in the barracks, unable to go anywhere or do anything, having to entertain yourself for hours while they were gone. At least there you had space and room to move around, even when you were being trailed, one of them constantly following you around. They might not be hovering quite as obviously here, but it still feels suffocating, like you can’t truly have a moment to yourself. 

“I want to go for a walk.” You say, shifting on your feet. The likelihood of you going very far is slim, at least right now. 

How far you’ve fallen from your running days. 

“I suppose you could go for a little walk.” Dr. Keller gives you a sideways glance. “Might be good to help get your strength back. I doubt they’d let us go without one of them, though.” 

“Probably not.” You agree, knowing they won’t even let you sit out on the porch without one of them watching. If you left the house without even telling one of them, all hell would break loose and you’d be condemned to your room once more. 

The thought makes you wince. 

You almost wish you could go out there and throw some punches at one of them. That might make you feel a bit better. Hell, line them all up and you’ll take turns beating the crap out of all of them. Maybe that might heal some of the anger and pain still stuck inside of you. 

That’s an idea for a different day, though. 

It’s oddly warm out today, or at least that’s what Ashley said. Soon the weather will turn, though, and the cold rain will come. Lots of rain. 

Your eyes flick between Ashley and Dr. Keller. The three of you are seated in a circle around a table outside, steaming mugs of tea in front of you. Neither of them are staring at you, instead focused on each other as Ashley speaks. 

Dr. Keller has a crush. 

It’s not hard to tell. Her eyes are focused on Ashley, a smile tugging at her lips. Her gaze only flicks to you when you shift and move in your seat before she’s staring at Ashley again. You can’t blame her. You can hardly bring yourself to look away from Ashely too. 

It makes you almost miss Kyle. 

They have the same soft brown eyes and the same bright smile. They’re both perfect, like they were chiseled out of marble and brought to life. They even laugh the same, a genuine chuckle coming right from the chest. 

It makes you want to laugh, even if you have no clue what was being said. 

How has Kyle been handling this? You’ve hardly paid him any mind. His connection to John puts him too close to the source of your anger and rage and pain. Johnny cries, Simon is a brick wall, John reeks of guilt and misery. Kyle...you don’t know. He’s been a blank spot, a hazy figure in the distance. 

It almost makes you feel bad. You’ve completely cut him off, isolated him. Has he cried? Has he been sulking? How miserable does he feel about everything? Does he feel guilty or miserable at all? He has to. They all do. 

Good. You think. They deserve it. 

“You do get stuck in your head, huh?” 

Your gaze snaps up, looking between Dr. Keller and Ashley. They’re both staring at you quietly, a small smile on Ashley’s face. You did get lost in your thoughts again, stuck in your ruminations as you usually do. Lately it hasn’t been a problem, as you’re alone or with Dr. Keller often. You’re supposed to be thinking and processing. It just happens at the worst times. 

Simon would hate it still. 

“Something specific on your mind?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You probably shouldn’t say anything. How would you explain how your mind went from Dr. Keller crushing on Ashley to hoping the guys feel guilty? You’re not even sure you should reveal that you know about Dr. Keller’s crush, especially if she hasn’t said anything yet. You don’t think she has. They’re not...close in the way a couple would be, a distance still between them. Does Ashley feel the same way? It’s hard to tell since you don’t know her quite as well yet. 

Maybe that can be your goal, besides healing. Something to focus on, something to distract from the constant emotions and pain. Get Ashley and Dr. Keller together. 

They’d be perfect for each other. 

“Not really.” You finally say, looking down at the book in your lap. You’re about halfway through it. It’s fine. Nothing to write home about. 

“What do you think of the book?” Ashley asks, sensing your end to that discussion. She doesn’t push. You like that about her. 

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Kinda slow.” 

“They are spending a lot of time on character development.” Dr. Keller says. 

“We should keep a tally of how many times the phrase “his dark eyes” gets mentioned.” Ashley says, making you laugh. 

“It’s good to hear you laugh.” Dr. Keller says, smiling at you. 

“It...feels good to laugh again.” You say. “It’s nice to have something to laugh about.” 

“Well then I’m going to make that my mission.” Ashley says, taking a sip of her tea. “Get you to laugh as much as possible.” 

You don’t think you’ll mind that one bit.

“There’s something we need to talk about.” 

You don’t turn to look as Dr. Keller sinks into the seat next to you. It’s raining again, the rain pattering against the window as you sit in front of it. They won’t let you go out in the rain. 

“Something that is rather important.” She continues. “Something you should know.” She clears her throat, not waiting for a response. She knows she won’t get one. “When you told John that he left you there to be tortured...is that what Graves told you? Did he tell you they left you behind?” 

Her words have something sinking in your stomach. Your insides are squirming, your intestines tying themselves in knots. You haven’t even thought about that. You’ve been so caught up in the emotions, swept up in the anger and devastation. The memories of what happened are still blurry, still stuck in the recesses while your body heals. 

That pit in your stomach continues to drop as she stares at you, waiting for an answer. 

You don’t want to answer. 

“Hey,” She says softly, leaning to try and stay in your line of sight as your eyes begin to drop to the side. “We need to talk about this.” There’s a serious look on her face as your eyes slowly lift to stare at her again. “Do you believe they chose to leave you behind with Graves?” 

Tears prick behind your eyes as you stare at her. Of course you do. Why wouldn’t they? They’ve left you behind so many times, what’s another? They don’t care that you were being tortured. They never cared that them leaving you before was like torture. Why would they waste the chance to go after Shepherd before he found a place to hide? 

The job comes first.

“Yes.” You breathe, a tear sliding down your cheek. You want to say it, let all the thoughts rushing through your mind pour right out of your mouth but the tears choke you, keep you silent. 

The serious mask on Dr. Keller’s face melts away to a sympathetic look. It doesn’t surprise you. It’s the look she often wears when she looks at you. 

“Oh, honey.” She says, reaching out, but you withdraw yourself further away. “They didn’t leave you behind. They were doing everything they could to try and find where you were. John about blazed a path across the US to find you.” 

You don’t want to believe it. It sounds too good to be true. Her words stir the bitter pot in your stomach, the anger at them and at yourself. You let yourself believe that they would care about you, but they led you to believe they cared. They left you so easily and you never said anything to them to try and keep them with you. They left you behind when they knew it was dangerous, and you believed Phil when he told you they had abandoned you. 

Why would Phil tell you the truth? He wanted to torture you, wanted to take out his anger on you. It wasn’t your decision, nothing was your decision, but in the end the mark on your shoulder sealed your fate. You’d never belong to him. The more he could tear you and your pack down the better. The more hopeless you felt, the more you hated the members of your pack, the more satisfaction he would get. 

He wanted to drive the wedge between your pack, and you fell for it. 

Tears glide down your cheeks as you turn to face the window. They mirror the droplets of rain sliding down the glass. Your fingers curl against the fabric of the chair, your breaths starting to come in gasps as reality begins to settle in. 

“You’re okay.” Dr. Keller says, kneeling next to the chair. “I was there with them, I saw just how desperate they were. They wouldn’t leave you like that. Trust me.” 

Can you trust her? Can you trust any of them? Part of you would like to. The part of you that wants things to go back to the way they were, when things felt fine, when you still believed your pack loved you. Back when you could be delusional and believe something good could come of this entire situation. 

Now you’re stuck with a pack that never wanted you. Now you’re stuck with the trauma of the last few weeks, trauma you should have never faced in the first place. Not if your pack truly cared about you. It was always a risk, but you always believed they would take care of you, they would keep you safe. 

Now look at you. 

A sob tears from your lips as you sit there, the thoughts quickly growing to be too much. Dr. Keller reaches for you but you pull away, pushing yourself up to stand. You move towards the bed, grabbing one of the plush pillows. You bring it to your face, letting out a long, muffled scream.

The scream dies in your throat as you jolt awake in bed. The book that had been in your hands when you fell asleep drops to the floor with a quiet thud as you jerk up into a seated position. You’re breathing heavily, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you try and calm your racing heart. It’s beating hard like it might beat right out of your chest. You’re shaking, your hands clutching at the baggy shirt you’re wearing like you’re trying to cling to some hope that it was all a dream, that you’re awake now and this is real life. 

Sweat beads on your forehead as you sit there, shaking in the darkness. You need someone. The shadows are closing in around you, your nightlight unable to keep them completely away. You need someone to fight them back. You need someone to reassure you that it was all just a dream, someone that can wipe the tears streaming down your cheeks and whisper softly to you that it’s all okay. That it’s all over. 

You need Kyle. 

Where is Kyle? How do you get to him without waking the others? You could go upstairs but what if they think you’re an intruder? You don’t even know which room Kyle is in. You wish you had a phone. You wish you could call him. You wish you could just telepathically reach out and tell him you need him and only him. 

You’ll wake them all anyway trying to find him. 

You suck a breath in, your hands still shaking as they cling to your shirt. You have to do it. It’s the only way to get them all down here, to get Kyle down here. 

You take a couple deep breaths before you scream. 

Within seconds the house is alive, footsteps racing across the living room towards your room as others thud from above. 

The overhead light stings your eyes, forcing them closed. It’s too bright, intrusive even with your eyes pinched closed. You can still see it behind your eyelids, harsh and too artificial. Just a price you have to pay to get what you need. 

Dr. Keller’s hands are soft as they peel your hands off your shirt, your fingers trembling with nothing to hold on to. They open and close, seeking out something to grip, something to give you an anchor to reality. You’re still panicking, your breaths shaky as you shit there, trembling in fear. 

“You’re alright,” She tries to soothe you, brushing your sweaty hair back. “It was just a dream.” 

You wish it was. 

“Kyle.” The name comes out as barely a whisper, stuttering out of your trembling lips. 

“What was that, sweetie?” Dr. Keller asks, leaning in closer. 

“Kyle.” You whisper louder now, the name shaky in the tense silence of the room. 

“Kyle,” Dr. Keller repeats, standing up straight. 

Quiet, hesitant footsteps approach the bed. Your eyes are still pinched closed against the harsh overhead light. You can’t bring yourself to be brave enough to open them, to face that harsh light. It might reveal the truth, that it was all just a dream, that this is still just a dream. 

It might not be Kyle approaching the bed at all.

You can’t know. You don’t want to know. You’re afraid to open your eyes. 

There’s a click as the lamp is turned on. You still can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. It’s supposed to be comforting, the soft light, but it could be used against you, giving you a false sense of hope and security. 

You flinch as the overhead light is turned on, still too afraid to open your eyes. Your hands have closed around the blanket pooled at your waist, gripping it so tightly your fingers are aching. It’s real. You’re touching it, you can feel the texture of it in your hands. It’s real. 

It’s real. 

Your breaths are shaky as you breathe in and out, trying to catch a scent. Any scent. Something to tell you that you’re really awake, that it really is Kyle standing next to the bed. 

“I’m here.” A soft voice says, something hovering in the air next to you. 

Kyle. 

You know that voice. You’d know it anywhere. 

You finally crack your eyes open, tears brimming as you turn your head to look up. Kyle is standing there awkwardly next to the bed, his hand raised as if he was reaching out to comfort you, but thought better of it. You’re glad he did. You might have spiraled into another panic if he’d touched you before you knew it was him. 

You stare at his hand for a moment before you peel one of your hands away from the blanket. Your hand is shaky as you lift it, reaching out towards his own trembling fingers. 

His fingers are warm and rough, just as you remember as they close around yours. You’re still shaking, a cold sweat forming on your skin as fear trickles down your spine. 

What if this is a dream? What if this isn’t real?

“I’m here.” He says, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles. 

You want to believe him. You really do. 

You pull his hand closer, pressing your cheek against it. His skin is warm against your cheek, and like Johnny, he makes no complaints about your sweat smearing on his skin. You’ve been that close to them before, sweat mixing together, slicking skin. How far things have fallen since then. 

Your tears drip onto his skin as you hold him there, just breathing him in for a moment. He smells like the sea, but with that soft, light scent underneath. You missed that scent, more than you realize you did. 

You let out a quiet sound as you rub your cheek against his hand, almost like you’re trying to embed his scent under your skin. 

He doesn’t say anything as you lean against his hand, tears still streaming down your face. The lamp is pushing some of the darkness away, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. You can still feel the eyes from the dark corners of the room, the shadowy figures just out of view threatening to reach out and tear you away. 

A shudder runs down your spine, your fingers squeezing around Kyle’s in what has to be a painful grip. 

“I’m here.” He says again, pulling you from the dark thoughts plaguing your mind. He’d know if someone was here. He’d know if anything threatening was nearby. 

It’s his job. 

The job. 

The thing that’s kept you so separated from them, kept you at a distance. The thing that put your life in danger, that exposed them all as liars. The thing that’s left you an empty shell.

Maybe having him down here was a mistake. 

But the shadows...

You tug on his hand, pulling him closer to the bed. He sinks down on the edge carefully, still a bit hesitant. You don’t blame him. It’s not like you’ve been the most welcoming of them. For good reason. 

You need him right now. That need for safety and security far outweighs the conflicting emotions battling in your brain right now. 

“Stay.” You say, the word tumbling out from your trembling lips. 

“You’re sure?” He asks, his thumb still stroking your knuckles. You’re not sure if he even knows he’s doing it. 

You nod, tugging him closer as you scoot over in bed. He lets you guide him, laying on top of the covers.

You try not to think about it too much. 

It’s nice having him close. The shadows don’t seem quite as dark, the threats in them silent now that he’s here. He’ll keep you safe. He’ll protect you from the silent threats. That’s why you want him. That’s his role to play in all of this. They all have roles, they all have their places in the pack. They all have a part to play, not just for you but for each other. 

They’ve been struggling. 

They’re struggling because you’re struggling. 

The silence is loud as you lay there listening to the hum of electricity. You’re not quite sure what to say, how to break the silence. What is there to say that you haven’t already conveyed by your silence? What is there to say beyond what you’ve conveyed in your anger? They all heard your outburst, they all know the source of your anger and what they did to cause it. 

What’s left to say when you have nothing tying you together anymore except a claim and a half-broken bond? What is there to say when saying the wrong thing might fray that bond even more than it already has been? 

“I’m sorry.” Kyle says, finally breaking the tense silence. 

Of course he’d start with that. 

You let out a huff, turning on your side to face away from him. “I know you all are. You don’t have to keep saying it.” 

He lets out a sigh. He knows it. He’s not apologizing to you, for you. “Nothing can change what we did and we know that. We just...want you to know that we’ll do whatever it takes to help you and support you. We don’t want to push that boundary too far, but we’re all here if you need us.” 

You let out a hum. You already know that too. That’s why Johnny came so willingly, that’s why he stayed. That’s why they all tiptoe around you and stare at you like you’re a wild animal that may strike at any moment. 

Part of you wishes they wouldn’t. 

Part of you wants to go back to the way things were. Part of you wants to pretend that everything is normal again, that you love them and they love you just as much. You want to go back to that comfortable, seamless flow of one around the other, the way they all moved in sync, aware of each other without even needing to look. You want to insert yourself into that flow again and let them guide you along with them. You want to trust them blindly again and know they’d catch you if you fall. 

They proved they won’t though. They proved you can’t trust them to catch you. You’re on your own again, forced to catch yourself, forced to save yourself. You have to make that rope to catch yourself with. 

Yet, a deeper part of you yearns for that connection. Your omega screams for it, for your alpha, for your pack. You want them back with you, you want the bonds to heal and to be stronger than they were before. You want them to do as they said and prove to you that they’ve changed, that they're putting you first. 

The omega should be first. The omega should be the center. The omega should be the sun they gravitate towards, revolve around.

That’s what the book said. That book that’s sitting on your desk in the barracks. That book you read over and over, convincing yourself that it was true and they were a good pack like that book said. 

They’re not. 

We all make mistakes. 

They’ve never had an omega before. How are they supposed to know how to have an omega in their pack if they’ve never had one before? None of them came from big packs. John is the only one who’s ever even dated an omega before. They’re just as new at this as you are. 

You probably know more than them. 

You spent years learning how to be an omega in a pack. You read the books and wrote the essays and did the research. You read that book. 

Simon read that book too. 

Yet he did nothing. 

“Why did you want me?” Kyle asks softly, pulling you from your ruminations. 

You turn your head to look at him, staring into those soft brown eyes. Brown eyes you’ve missed. Tears trail down your cheeks as you stare at him, wetting the paths of the ones that had slowed to a stop in your rumination. 

Why did you want him and not Johnny? 

Johnny was the one that came for you, that comforted you, that got you through your fever. Johnny was the one you asked to hold you, to give you that support you’ve been so desperately clawing for. 

So why did you ask for Kyle?

You turn onto your back again so you’re laying side by side, your shoulder brushing his. He’s warm, and you just want to nuzzle into him and never let him go again. 

Another tear slides down your face as you stare at him, at that concerned look on his face. “I need you to tell me it’s going to be okay.” 

That concern morphs into understanding as he shifts slightly, reaching out for you. You let him, you let his thumb brush the tear sliding down your cheek away. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at you as you lay there in the warm light of the lamp. The shadows don’t seem so close now, so threatening with him here. The things that lay in the darkness waiting for you to sleep so they can seep into your mind and stir up the horrible memories lying there in wait are at bay for now, fought off just simply by his existence in this room. 

His thumb continues to brush your cheek, your skin tingling along the path it follows. “It’s going to be okay.” He says softly, quietly. 

You’re not sure if he’s convincing you of that or himself, or perhaps both. You don’t know what he’s feeling, what he’s been feeling. You’ve been ignoring him, pushing him away out of fear that if you looked too closely, you’d break down. That bond will never break between the two of you, held tight with steel simply because of that claim your alpha and his alpha has on the both of you. No matter how much you hate John, that bond can’t be broken. It can’t be cut. It can’t go away. It can’t be denied. Not completely. 

A small smile tugs at Kyle’s lips, a reassuring smile. His words are stronger this time, spoken with more conviction and surety, like he’s speaking it into existence, manifesting it for the future when things perhaps can be different. 

When things are better. 

“It’s going to be okay.” He says, cupping your cheek, staring right into your eyes as he speaks. “We’re going to be okay.” 

NEXT ->

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[shotgunbunny]

─ ⋅ ─ ✩ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ─𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞─ ⋅ ⋅ ─ ✩ ─ ⋅ ─

WC:9K Dividers are by @f-loqweres

[70s!Dark!Corrupt!Cop!Leon x 70s!Innocent!Neighbour!Reader.}

[warnings!!! This fic is for 18+ only! Not proofread.]

[This can be applied with any version of Leon too!]

[Contains: Violence/Smut/degradation/praise/spiked condoms/baby trapping/ oral(f receiving)/manipulation/corrupt cop/yandere Leon/non con somno/panty sniffing/jerking off to you while you're asleep]

You lived at home with your parents and your older sister still, not because you had to, but because you wanted to. Life was sweet and happy in this household, a happy family of sorts if you didn't look too closely at your mother's drinking and your father's health issues and PTSD. It was simple, it was sweet and you never felt like the world could harm you. And it definitely helped that your neighbour across the street was a hunk of a man. His constant brooding atmosphere would make you squeeze your plush thighs together.

But today was special, today was your first day on the job as a waitress at the nearby café down the road that you adorned. They served the best strawberry milkshakes there and would always give you extra cream and a stripy red straw, so applying for the job there was a no-brainer. You smile brightly as you wake up, the birds singing to you in the trees on the street. You push back your soft pink bedsheets and slip out of bed before walking down the stairs, dressed in your cream white pyjamas that consisted of shorts that had pink bows and a vest that had a bow in the middle.

You walk into a kitchen and pull a bowl out of the cupboard and then head to the pantry and pull out a box of cereal. You turn around and bump into your sister, you smile even brighter as you gaze at her. "Good morning!" you chirp, only to be met by her grunt. She was never a morning person, and you could only assume it was because she was up all night on the phone talking to her boyfriend. You giggle to yourself at the imaginary idea of her fingering and twirling the phone cord around her finger as she kicks her feet and babbles to her boyfriend.

You head to the counter and pour your cereal before manoeuvring past your sister and putting the box back in the pantry. You skip to the fridge and get the milk out and pour it, and then put the milk back. It seemed mundane as any other day, but you were buzzing with excitement of finally working and wearing your cute uniform that was provided. You were excited to serve friends and strangers and

give them the best milkshake and fries ever! Or at least serve it to them with a sweet smile. You dig into your cereal and beam brightly when your dad walks in, he ruffles your hair before sitting across you at the table. He sits down with a huff and pulls his newspaper put. "You excited, kiddo? First day of being an official adult." Your lips curve into a much bigger smile, and you nod excitedly at him

Before continuing to eat eagerly. You were in your 20s, but that never took away from your wonder and naivety of the world. ’S going to be awesome dad! Even the sun is shining, so that's proof it's going to be amazing!" You manage to squeak out with a mouth full of cereal. You slurp the milk and then quickly head to the sink to wash it up.

You skip up the stairs before kissing your mums cheek as you skip past her, you open your door and quickly shower. You dry your hair and sit at your vanity, You giggle and style your hair, bringing it into pigtails and tying two pink bows around it. You apply some mascara and lip gloss. Your eyes looking bigger and softer and your lips shining, adding even more to your charming smile. You pull your

white lace bra and panties on. Your good luck set, whenever you wore them something good would happen. You pull on your frilly ankle socks on, and jump up.

You make your bed up before you forget and open your closet and pull your uniform on before putting it on. It was a cute white flowy skirt with pink polka dot hearts on it, all matched with a pink gingham strap top. Your breasts were hugged nicely

By the top and the skirt only just went to your thighs. It was a little revealing, so you pulled on your pink shorts on underneath. You pull your cute white shoes on and complete the look with pink

heart shaped glasses. You grab your bag which had your purse and open your window and then skip down the stairs, waving your family goodbye before you go outside.

As you step outside, the door closing behind you, the sun shines down on you, making your glow as bright as your smile. You skip down to the café, not noticing the eyes on you from across the road. Leon was absolutely entranced by you, you were a vision to behold, something he wished to hold. He was dressed in his tight black top and his police pants. He lets out a soft laugh as he watches you go, the sun seeming to shine even brighter to him today. He hops into his police car and heads out to his job today, turning the radio as he drives, humming softly to a Led Zepplin song.

It was 4pm now, and your shift had been extraordinary. All your friends stopped by, and you even managed to sneak an extra cherry into each of their milkshakes and got to chat with them before continuing to serve other customers. They adored you, your look, your smile, and how sweet and talkative you were. It was magical the effect you had on others, how you drew them in with your every word like a cute pink magnet that they all couldn't help grin back just as wide. You had even made new friends, some of the girls were so sweet that you couldn't help but get along with them. Complimenting how breath-taking they looked, and they returned the compliment which led you to sparking up conversations with until they eventually had to leave.

You had two hours left on your shift, so now you were happily sweeping the baby blue chequered tiled floor, you moved your hips slowly to the music that was playing softly from the jukebox in the corner, it was a soft sway, and you couldn't help but indulge yourself in being swept away in the groove and the lull of your feet. You hum along happily, dazed in your own world of sweet treats and delights, when the doorbells chimes and snaps you out of your moment. You snap your gaze to the door and your eyes go as wide as a cherry pie. There stood in all his magnificent glory was your neighbour, the most loved cop in the town, Leon. You blink a few times before a smile pulls at your glossed lips, and you wave at him.

He chuckles, and the deep rumble sends shocks to between your thighs, "Well, well, well, if it isn't the sugar fairy that lives across from me." He says, pronouncing every syllable so easily that the sound nearly knocked you off your feet. You chuckle shyly in response, "Mr. Kennedy, I’m surprised you even knew who I was!" You say before you can hold yourself back. You blush at your idiocy, how could you ask such a dumb question. Of course, he knew who you were, you were his neighbour, and you would often share a wave or a nod when you saw each other in the morning when getting the mail. He chuckles again, "How could I ever forget my favourite sunflower. I heard from your father it's your first day, How's it goin' honey?" He coos to you, and your eyes go starstruck at the pet names before you snap out of your admiration, and you grin widely at him. "Oh, it's going wonderful, Mr, Kennedy!" You chirp excitedly at him.

You wave your small hand at him, ushering him closes. He takes a step towards you and bends down so he can hear, assuming you were going to gossip or tell him a secret. "Go on, honey. Tell me," He says expectantly. You lean up on your tiptoes and cover his ear with your hand, "I managed to give all your friends extra Cherries for their milkshakes! But don't tell Mr. Wesker, he might get mad!" You whisper sweetly, your charm oozing off you. Trapping Leon in a state of desire and affection at how adorable you were.

"Say doll, if I ordered one, would you manage to sneak an extra one in for me? I've had a hard day keeping the streets safe and you." He coos down at you again. You nod quickly, and he laughs at your eager actions. He stands up to his full height of 6'4 and smiles down softly at you as he towers over you. "Of course, Mr. Kennedy! Thank you for keeping everyone safe, including me!" Leon's heart swells at your compassion. "Doll, call me Leon." He says in a gentle command. "Okay, Leon!" You chirp his name out, loving how it sounded and tasted in your mouth. "What kind of Milkshake do you want?" You ask, tilting your head curiously at him. "Hmmmm, what do you suggest, Doll? What's as sweet as you?" He asks, keeping his blue eyes locked on your pretty face. "Well... I'd suggest maybe a chocolate sundae or even the caramel drizzle! But you can't go wrong with a strawberry milkshake!" You babble to him.

He absorbs every word, listening intently, but he can't help but wonder how you taste. Your kisses have to be sugary sweet and your pussy would definitely be as pretty as your glossed lips, so maybe it would taste of pure delight. He stopped his thoughts and coughed, he angled his body away and adjusting his half hard cock for a moment before grinning down at your innocent face.

"I'll take a strawberry milkshake. With an extra cherry." He says smugly as he winks down at you. He moves his large frame to sit in one of the booths, and a few seconds later your angelic form appears holding a milkshake. You place it on the table in front of him and reach into your cute little apron pocket and pull out a cherry. Leon gently takes it from your hand before he smirks at you. "Seems like I've just taken your cherry, doll." He says, his eyes darkening at the innuendo. You nod, clueless to the interaction. He laughs, "Doll, Just so you know. Your cherry is mine. And mine only. So don't give out any more, or I'll have to arrest them. Understand, doll?" you gaze at him, looking deep into his blue eyes. The usually bright and sweet baby blues were now dark like a vast ocean. Reckless, strong and unpredictable. You could tell he was serious, but you didn't understand why he was acting like this over...cherries.

You shake it off and smile confused at him but nod, "I mean it, doll. The cherry between your legs is mine." He says darkly. Giving you a serious look. A warning. You blush but nod, finally understanding his innuendo. "C-can I ask why?" You stutter out. He snickered, "Because doll, I have my eye on you. I'm gonna court you. I've seen you gazing at me from your window. Your curious little eyes eating me up. Bet I was a delicious little meal for you to rub to, huh?" You turn red and pull away whimpering in embarrassment at being found out, Leon's big hands wrap around your dainty wrist, and he pulls you back.

"Ah-ah-ah, no doll. Nothing to be embarrassed about. I did the same," He reassures, but still you remain distant from him and lets out a sigh. "'M sorry, doll, I didn't mean to tease. Please sit down, share my milkshake with me? I promise no more teasing, I'll go slow baby. Promise." You gaze at him shyly but sit across from him. He grins like the cat got the cream and offers you the straw, you happily accept. You pause for a moment and stare at him, only to find his eyes already trained on you.

You cough and wipe your lips, "So um- are you sure? That you want to court me? You're kind of a wanted bachelor, you're the cool rich cop that everyone wants. I mean, I've heard through the grapevine how everyone wants you. You're smart, strong, You have a car, a house, a good pay, and handsome. You're charismatic. So why?" You ask him, your eyes big and round, desperately searching his face for answers with desperate puppy dog eyes. "Because doll, you're perfect for me. I'm a broody guy, I need my sunshine. Need you to sweeten my bitter taste. Look at you, you're my sugar fairy and Goddamn, I want cavities." He asserts. He was firm on you. You giggle and bite your lip, "Okay." You say, submitting to his command unknowingly.

He smirks. "Good girl. I'll drive you home after your shift." You cough out some of your milkshake, your eyes wides. "But my shift ends in-" Leon cuts you off, "An hour and a half. I know you finish at 6, doll. I made it happen." You blink at him and gaze at him confused, "What?" You mutter, Leon scans your face before huffing, "Well, doll. You seemed bored with staying at home all the time, so I pulled some strings. Got this job opening, made sure you git it, But I didn't want you working 'til 8. Can't have that, honey. You come home at 6 to make dinner and wind down." Your brows furrow, but before you can speak, Leon interrupts you, "I want you, doll. I want you to be my wife. But I don't want to trap you, so I thought you'd like this job. Do you not like it?" You quickly shake your head, "No! I-I want it. I just- 'S a bit controlling?" You murmur. Leon chortles, "Don't you want someone in charge? Someone who helps guide you?" He coos and you gaze down thinking about it. It was nice, having someone guide you. But not like a parent, rather like someone trying to help you so you didn't have to think so hard about the things that confused you in life.

You nod at him, "I guess you're-" Leon cuts you off again, "No guessing, fairy." You nod, "You're right." You say firmly and Leon beams, his pearly whites being revealed like a predator who caught his prey. "Good. My little Bambi. Go on, go back to work, I'll be doing some police paperwork while I wait, okay?" You stand up and brush down your apron. "Okay." You nod. He pulls you to him as he's sat down. He taps his cheek with a cheeky look in his eyes, and you lean down and kiss his cheek. Leaving a lip glossed stain on his cheek. "Good Bambi." And with that praise, you bounce back to work even happier. Your good luck underwear really paid off.

You and Leon had now been dating for 3 months, and it was all magical, He'd pick you up every day after work, he kept some of your makeup and other small charms in the passenger seat storage area of his police car. It wasn't a typical police car, he had an undercover Red Chevy. You knew it made the girls crazy, but Leon was absolutely stuck on you. His eyes would always be on you in any room, and it boosted your ego beyond belief. You had shared stolen kisses and every single one took your breath away, but lately Leon had become more handsy, it was welcome, but you were shy, you were a virgin, and you knew Leon wasn't. You didn't want to disappoint him when he had so much experience. Regardless of this, he was still keen on you.

Nearly everyday he would cross the street and knock at your door, He'd greet your parents and give your mother flowers and would talk to your father about his arrests and everything. He fit perfectly into your family, He was pulling the strings perfectly after months of studying you and your family, he was finally starting to act. He had been in your room, staying over for a night. He teased you about the view you had of his house, and how you would probably hump pillows in thoughts of him soaking your pretty white frilly pillow cases over the mere thoughts of him. And when you fell asleep that night cuddled up in his arms in hour princess bed, he snuck away for a moment and pulled out your panties from the day from the hamper. He groans quietly as he helps the soft panties in his hand.

His cock stirred as he brought the panties to his face and took a deep breath in, smelling your underwear. He quietly unzipped his pants and pulled out his throbbing cock, it was aching with need over the idea of your virgin cunt squeezing his cock as he's deep inside your heat. His hand wrapped around his dick, pulling the foreskin back and rubbing the tip. He moves closer to the bed, where you were fast asleep. He begins to slowly move his hand with a tight grip, trying to resemble how tight you would be. He licks the panties against his face, his eyes rolling back at the musky taste, the scent invading his head, and his eyes darken. He begins to fist his cock eagerly before pausing and smirking. He moves and straddles your sleeping form on the bed.

There was no chance of you waking up, after all, he had drugged your drink before bed with sleeping pills he had swiped from someone he had arrested that day. He groans softly as he goes harder. Soft 'plaps' echo in your cute little bedroom as Leon's cock gets even harder at what he's doing. He gazes down at you, sniffing your panties intensely. "Just you wait- gonna fuck your tight little baby cunt so good. Gonna make you cry on my cock, show you how good a real man can make you instead of your stupid fuckin' pillows." He growls as he moves his hand even faster he hunches over you, a hand over your head while his other hand holds your cute frilly panties against his face.

"Fuck baby, gonna fuck you dumber than you are. Gonna make sure you get knocked up too. Then your parents will have to let you marry me. A shotgun wedding, but it's gonna be fuckin' perfect. God, just know your cunt is perfect, look at how pretty you are, Just know it's divine. Gonna ruin it too." He hisses his vile words down at your peaceful form. He could feel his climax mounting, and he can't help but lean down and let his cock graze your little pouty lips. His eyelids flutter and his ass and thighs tense as he cums hard. He paints your face. He pants and gazes down at your groaning at the beautiful sight.

He comes down and moves off the bed. He cleans his cock with your panties and throw them back into the hamper. He gets a towel and cleans your face. He returns into bed next to you and smirks. He kisses your forehead and falls asleep happy, and you were none the wiser.

Tonight, you were finally going to sleep at Leon's. You had showered, shaved and were now sat on your bed putting talcum powder on your legs to make them even smoother. It wasn't that you were insecure. It's just you wanted it to be perfect. You wanted to impress Leon, wanted your first time to be one from fairy tales. You brush your hair and stray some perfume that smelled of vanilla, strawberries and cherries. You look through your underwear and bite your lip, your brows furrow as you run your hands over the lacy garment before finally deciding on the classic white lace lingerie.

You gaze at yourself in the mirror and race your hands to your flushed cheeks. You were blushing so much, you needed to cool and calm down. You puff your cheeks out and pull on your frilly ankle socks and then your cute bloomer shorts, topped with an oversized pink sweater that Leon had bought when you went shopping uptown. You sigh at the memory, how the warm air ran through your hair, how big Leon's hand was compared to yours. You brush your hair one more time and then gaze at your reflection one last time. It was a cute and comfortable outfit, and most importantly easy to take off. You hear a knock at the door and your heart races.

You skip downstairs and open the door, Your big eyes gazing up at Leon through your lashes. Leon's heart swells at the sight of you, "Bambi, you look perfect." He breathes out. You giggle, some of your nerves calmed down. "I haven't got my shoes on, so you'll have to wai-" A squeal leaves your lips as Leon picks you up, holding you bridal style. Leon chuckles at the thought that crosses his mind at how he's carrying you. Soon you really would be his bride, and he'd carry you over the threshold just like this, except you were gonna be round with his child.

He steps into your house still holding you, he pops his head into the living room and beams his charming smile at your family. "I'll take care of her and bring her back tomorrow after work. Don't worry, her uniform is already packed and ready." Your dad nods his head proudly at Leon, and Leon returns the gesture. He then turns and walks to his house across the road, carrying you like a prized possession which you are. Leon opens his door and places your door. Your sock clad feet touching the hard dark would, you venture further, admiring the dark rustic aesthetic which Leon had around his house.

Leon kicks his shoes off and closes the door, you turn and tilt your head. Leon mirrors your actions, "What is it, Bambi?" you poke his chest, "You lied to my dad. I don't have work tomorrow." Leon throws his head back, snickering. "Bambi, baby, y'know I've lied to your dad more than you know. But I want as much time with you as possible." You smile at him, the rest of your mind drifting over his first words. You gaze up at him shyly, and he can sense your nerves, he took a step closer. His figure looms over you, but his hands are gentle as he rubs your arms. "There's no rush, baby. We can take this at our pace, okay?" He murmurs sweetly.

When he doesn't get a response, he tilts your chin up, gazing down at you, his blue eyes scanning your face. "Words, Bambi." He commands softly. You gulp down all your fears, "Okay," You whisper. A smile cracks on his lips, "How about...we cook dinner? Or I let you cook, show me how good of a wife in training you are?" Your eyes lighten up, and you skip to the kitchen. This was a test for you, but you didn't know. Leon wanted to see how good of a home-maker you were, you were eager to please and serve which already made Leon swoon, but you also had his heart and if you asked he would serve it to you on a silver platter sprinkled in sugar with a side of strawberry ice cream.

After cooking a lovely dinner and eating it with Leon, you were left full and happy. Leon had thrown so many compliments your way that had made you blush and squirm, you could no longer contain the blush on your cheeks. Every few moments when you were both eating, Leon would let out a groan of pure delight. His sharp eyes stuck to your faces, adoring the cute blush on your cheeks and the effect that he was having on you. You were going to be the perfect wife if this was only one of the dishes you could make, it was delightful and pure heaven for his taste buds.

But even if you weren't good at cooking, Leon would have still married you and still have eaten everything you made. How could he not, you served him his meal with the brightest smile and the most innocent eyes that craved his attention and his praise. He smiles softly at you after finishing his dinner, he watches as you stand up and collect the plates and bring them to the sink. His brows furrow, a small wrinkle of confusion settling between his brows. "Bambi baby, what are you doing?" He asks curiously as he approaches you from behind. He wraps his strong arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, his hulking figure draped on you like a blanket.

You hum softly at the domestic actions you're both sharing. You clean the dishes in the sink, "'M just washing up. 'S best to be on top of it all! Trust me! One time, I didn't wash up for like 6 days - and wow! When I finally did wash up, it was like I was in a restaurant back washing up! There were soooo many dishes!" Leon melts at your babbles, you had him in the palm of your hands. He may have planned everything, but he hadn't planned how much he would truly love you. Of course, he knew he'd love you, he just didn't expect it to be this strong. He was at your beck and call, and if you wished for him to cook instead he would, if you wanted anything it was certain that he would get it for you. Do it for you. How could he ever not love you when you were so perfect.

Leon tugs at your hips after you've finished washing up and drying your hands with a towel. You giggle, "Bambi baby, c'mere." He mutters in a deep rumble. You allow yourself to be pulled away y him, He turns your hips gently so you were facing him. His eyes peer down at you, affection and adoration gleaming in them. You feel your heart racing and his big, rough, calloused hand cups your soft cheek, and he leans down slowly, pausing just as his lips graze yours. His breath his your lips and you whine, he sniggers at your whine, "Oh what's wrong baby, you want a kiss?" He teases and your hands clutch at his top, your hands scrunching the fabric at his chest. "You want it, baby, you gotta ask." He asserts. Your big, doe like eyes stare up into his dangerous ocean eyes, "Please? Can I have a kiss? Want you, want tonight to be perfect." Leon turns to a puddle, his thumb rubbing your cheek.

"If you're here, Bambi, everything is already perfect." He mutters firmly before he presses his lips to yours. You sigh happily and begin to move your lips against his. Slowly, softly and sweetly. It felt perfect, Leon's strong frame holding you so gently as you kiss. Leon takes it a step further and pinches your hip, making you gasp, and he eagerly shoves his tongue into your mouth. His tongue licks against yours and the explores your mouth, you can't help but moan at his casual dominance in a kiss and Leon eagerly swallows your moans. He breaks away, a line of spit connects you, shining in the kitchen light. Leon wipes it away from your lips, and you mewl up at him. He smirks. "Do you want more Bambi? Do you want me to finally take your cherry, hmm?" You blush again and nod before you remember his command. "Y-yes." Your heart races as you watch Leon's lips tug up into a large grin.

"Good girl." He coos at you, remembering his command. He turns your hips in the direction of the stairs and pats your ass. "Go on, baby, I'll meet you upstairs." He mutters into your ear before kissing the shell of it. You eagerly skip up the stairs, and Leon takes a deep breath in the kitchen. He adjusts his half hard cock and pulls out his box of condoms in the kitchen drawer. He pulls one out and stabs a few tiny holes through it. His plan was going into motion, and he was going to knock you up. Tonight.

You gaze at his bedroom, admiring how sleek and moody it was. The bed was a king-sized with a dark wooden frame, with navy blue sheets on the bed with matching pillows. On the dark wooden floor were deep fluffy red carpets, a black dresser and wardrobe. It seemed so…empty but full at the same time. You take a shy step further into the bedroom and gaze around, you see the en suite bathroom joined to his bedroom and glance around the room looking for a scrap of a personal item rather than his police attire and life that was on the dresser table. Leon's footsteps are heard padding up the stairs before he appears behind you, His arms wrapped around your waist and cranes his head down to kiss and nip at your neck. You sigh and sink into him. You let out a squeak at the feeling of his teeth scraping against your pulse point, he presses a soft kiss against it before he sucks and sinks his teeth into it, leaving a hickey into his wake. He smirks as he sees you panting hard. He turns you again, your body weak and easily to move compared to his strength and determination.

His hands play with the hem of your pink sweater, "'S cute baby, always looks so damn cute. Now, I'm gonna see what's mine. Can't believe you've been hiding my little treat under pink fabric, teasing me all the time." He mutters as he pulls the sweater up, and you raise your arms obediently. He pulls the sweater fully off you and throws it on the floor. "Fuck." He hisses out as he gazes at your lingerie clad torso. "Sit on the bed. Now." He demands, and your pussy feels a wave of delight wash over it at his dominance. You sit down on the bed and watch as this mountain of a man fall to his knees in front of you. He pulls your cute little socks off before trailing his hands up your legs, his hands feeling the smoothness of them as he slides them up to your thighs. He tugs at your bloomer shorts, "Lift your hips up Bambi baby." He mutters and you do as he says. He quickly tugs the pants from your hips, and you can sit back on the bed as he pulls the bloomers fully off.

He gazes up at you with wonder, his eyes devouring you as you sit in your white lace lingerie. It clings to your body like a second skin, the thong sitting comfortably on your hips your breasts were cupped by the lace, making them seem even more beautiful and erotic to Leon's needy and lustful eyes. Leon kisses from your ankle and all the way up to your thighs. He spreads your legs, and you lay down on the bed, biting your lips as you blush. His hands slide under the sides of your thong, and he smirks. He knows you're expecting him to slide them off, but with how you look, it's like you're a gift waiting to be unravelled, and he knew exactly how to unravel you. A tearing noise is heard as Leon uses his brute strength to tear your thong off. You gasp, "Leon-" He cuts you off immediately, "I'll buy you a new one, let me see my gift." He mutters darkly. He spreads your knees, and gazes down at your silky, wet pussy. He groans, the deep rumble making your pussy drool more.

He leans down and nuzzles his nose against your clit, and you let out a stuttered gasp. Leon lets go of his control and licks a long stripe up your cunt. He lets out a shuddered moan of his own, like you do. "'S like fuckin' heaven. It's like the sweetest honey." He mutters to himself, his pupils fully dilated as he gazes at your heat, his eyes nearly black with lust. He burrows his head between your folds, licking eagerly like he was dehydrated, and you were the only water available. He moves his head up to lick at your clit, abusing it with his desperate tongue lashes. One of his hands slide up your thighs to your folds, he slides his fingers up and down your folds getting them soaked. He sucks your clit into his mouth as he eases two fingers into your cute little hole. Leon's eyelids flutter as he listens to your melody of moans and how tight you're gripping his fingers.

He begins to thrust them in time to his tongue lashings. He lets his other hand slide up your stomach and slide under your lingerie bra. He squeezes the fat of your breast, his finger flicks over your nipple before he circles it. You squirm and whine at the sheer pleasure coursing through your body. Leon continues his eager lapping at your pussy as he crooks his fingers against your g spot, and your eyes widen. Your hips shift up and your thighs shiver, you tense up as you cum hard. Leon groans in a deep growl. He pulls away from your throbbing cunt, and he spits on it, he pulls his fingers from you and smiles, "My cunt. Understand, Bambi?". He brings it them to his lips and licks them clean. "'S like the sweetest thing I've ever goddamn had. Wanna taste you on my tongue forever." Leon crawls on top of you, his large body hovering over you with an animalistic look in his eyes. He tears your bra off just as easily as he did your thong, and he lets out a growl as he gazes at your body. "Look at these beautiful tits. Can't believe you hid them from me. Stupid slut, I was always gonna see 'em. Was always gonna have them." He hisses down at you.

He pulls away and eagerly strips, revealing his muscular body. His cock is throbbing and standing tall. He leans down and pulls the condom for his pants. He tears it open with his teeth and smirks. "You wanna roll it down on me, Bambi? You wanna feel my cock before it ruins your little baby pussy?" You blush but nod. You sit up and shyly take the condom and slide it down his strong, veiny cock. You gasp at the feel of it, "'S so big, 's not gonna fit." You whimper out. Leon takes your small hand off his cock and pins you down on his bed. "I'll make it fit." He hisses dangerously. He slides the tip of his cock between your fold before he presses it against your entrance. He begins to slowly push in side before he quickly slams his hips against yours. He grabs your thighs, you lay with your jaw is slacked, and your eyes are closed tightly in shock at the sheer feeling of the stretch. He had taken your virginity.

You didn't have a hymen, having broken it when you were riding your bike when you were young. He wraps your thighs around his waist before he slowly begins to rock his hips, his pubes rubbing against your clit, making you moan. Leon begins to thrust more now, faster and harder now that you were feeling pleasure. He can't help the filth that rolls off his tongue as he fucks you, "Such a sweet cunt. 'S so good. Gripping me so good. Fuckin' knew it would. Your little cunt was made for me. Such a fuckin' whore that your cunt accepted me so eagerly. Fuckin' perfect little Bambi, saving your little pussy for me. Feel how tight you're gripping me? Can feel every vein of my cock?" He hisses down at you before he presses his lips against yours. He kisses you sloppily and desperately, the sounds of your soaking heat echoing through the room, as well as Leon's balls slapping against your ass. Leon growls as he pulls away ad looks down at your blissed out face. Leon grabs your knees and bends them to press against your chest, Leon fucking you even stronger, all his control out the window.

Your bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat and his eyes were closed as his groans joined into the song of your moans. He pants as he watches your thighs tremble beneath his grip, your eyes fly open and you arch your back. You let out an earth-shattering moan a which turns into a squeal as you cum hard, squeezing him impossibly tight. He lets out a whimper at how tight you're gripping him and his hips stutter as his muscle tenses and he cums too. He stays on top of you, keeping you folded in half. He pulls out of you slowly and smirks as he sees some of his cum dripping from your heat. He walks to his bathroom bin and throws the condom in, and grabs a wet towel. He returns and gently cleans between your thighs.

"Did so good, baby. You were perfect. Let me take care of you now, okay?" He coos down at you, and you nod lazily, wiped out. Leon pulls out a pair of his boxers and gently tugs them on you, and then one of his oversized T-shirts. He smiles as he sees you already fast asleep. Leon continues around the house, turning the lights off and double-checking that the doors locked. He walks back up and into his room. He picks you up and cradles you in his arms as he gets into bed and tucks you close to his chest, pulling his sheets over you. He kisses your forehead and drifts off to sleep beside you, keeping you close to him.

That night truly was perfect and the morning after was something born from fairy tales, Leon’s soft kisses lingering against your neck before travelling up to kiss you cheeks then your closed eyelids and then finally your forehead. You hum softly as you woke up, your lids fluttering open to see the beautiful man you called yours perched above you. His strong arms caging you in under him in a protective pin almost like he was tying to hide the world from seeing your beauty this early in the morning. “Mornin’ Bambi,” He coos down at you in a whisper, his voice sleepy and deep making him almost growl. You lean up and kiss him softly to which he eagerly returns the action, his lips pressed against yours, his body pinning your further down to the bed as he lowered his weight down onto you. He pushes your head down with his own as he kisses you, making you rest your head back against the plush pillows. He pulls away a deep rumble of satisfaction leaving his throat. He nuzzles his nose against yours and you finally speak in a small whisper, “mornin’ Leon.” A grin spreads across his face at that, loving hearing your sleepy voice as always. It was like a lull to him, a melody that was as beautiful as your moans. Any sound you make, Leon would rejoice in it. It was magical and enthralling to hear his beloved speak, something that would pull him from the grave and fight wars for.

“I gotta go to work, baby.” He mumbles down to you, an apologetic look on his face. Your pleading eyes meet his and he presses his lips to yours again in a sweet, little kiss. “Don’t leave the house though baby, want you well rested after our night. Understood?” You nod agreeing with his command. It was easy to obey him especially in the sleepy, love struck state you were in. Leon knew best, he was the talk of the town, a police officer and everyone loved him. Leon raises an eyebrow down at your relaxed face, one of his hands move to stroke your cheek, “Words, baby.” He mutters and you nod again, “Understood.” You murmur and Leon’s grin soon returns. He presses one finally kiss to your forehead, nose and the lips before pulling away and getting ready for work.

You watch him as he pulls his boxers on, admiring how well the fabric shapes his ass and how lean and muscular he is. Your eyes scan his back, admiring the long scratches down them which you had left on him. He pulls his black t shirt on and then his pants, he pulls his belt through the loops before tightening them. He turns to you, a smile painted on his lips. He gazes at you, admiring the way your hair is sprawled out on the pillows almost like a halo. Your sleep hazed eyes staring at him, he can’t help but move towards you. He leans down and kisses you again, “My Bambi baby, I promise to take care of you. Just stay home, get familiar with my house. It’ll be yours too one day, you know.” You can’t help the flutter in your chest at his words, all cation thrown to the wind about it being too early. You were in love. And he loved you back. What could be more delightful than that.

That blissful morning was now 5 weeks ago and something had changed, Leon had become a lot more protective and clingy. You now spent nearly all your time at Leon’s only ever returning home on a Sunday. You didn’t know that it was because Leon had gone to your family that blissful morning and offered to step up and be your provider, that and a generous wad of cash presented to them which they eagerly accepted. But Leon would never tell you that, not unless you found out and to which he would fixate on the fact your family had sold you off. That to your family, you had a price tag but to him, you were priceless. He would never give you up or trade you off. You were his.

Not only that, but Leon had also bribed your boss, making sure that he kept a close eye on you and that during your shifts, which had changed from 5 days a week to now 3 days a week, you were only ever to speak to men when necessary. If you were to try and start a conversation up with a man, regardless of who it was, Mr.Wesker would instantly shout your name and demand for your to go back to serving behind the counter even if no one was there. But that was just the tip of the ice berg. Leon had paid quite a few people to keep an eye on you, to ensure you wouldn’t speak to another man and to make sure you were safe.

Soon he had began taking things from your room and integrating them into his house, slowly at first. He didn’t want you frightened off. He took clothes, a few panties and tops and skirts and folded them nicely and tucked them into his dresser beside his clothes. He then began to convince you how much easier it was for you to have your stuff at his house. How accessible for it was for you and you had eagerly agreed with his observation. With that little push you had begun to move your clothes into his dressers. Then he pushed for you to start brining the thins you found comfort in, your books, plushies. And of course, you had done it again. Eagerly following his commands disguised as suggestions.

The main thing that Leon kept secret was when how dirty his job had become. He had started to abuse his duties ever more than ever. Of course he had abused them when he first started pursuing you, checking any and every file he could get his hand on. From school reports to resumes. He had been learning about you since the day he first saw you, and now that he had you he was doing a lot more. Now he had been hunting down any old boyfriends that you had and when it was dark he would either set them up with a life charge by smuggling drugs on to there person. However sometimes, if he had learned that they had kissed you he would adorn a mask and break their legs. No emotions on his face but joy in his heart for punishing those who had dared touched what was his.

He sometimes went even further, hunting down bullies or people who had done you wrong in a minor way and threatening them with ears in prison for ever hurting you or your feelings. If they even dared to stand up to him then he would go after their families, sending letter after letter about the laws that they had ‘broken’ and how they would have to pay or go to court. And every time they would back down. Leon had it all set out in motion.

After every time he had punished someone, he would head home and bury his face into you cunt, lapping happily at your sweet nectar until he would roll a spiked condom on and fuck you mercilessly until he came. He’d always take care of you after, cuddling and cooing happily at you making sure you knew how perfect you were in his eyes. How wonderful it was to even be in your presence.

Whilst Leon was keeping his dark desires a secret, you also held a secret. For the past 2 weeks you had thrown up every morning and your appetite had changed drastically. Leon never noticed the vomiting as he was always fast asleep in the morning, but he had noticed your appetite had changed and he was worried that you had changed your diet or that there was underlying health issues or body issues. He had encouraged you to go to the doctors and you did. Which was yesterday. Now you had the knowledge that you were pregnant. You were in shock, Leon had used protection every time after your first time, there was no way unless…unless the condom broke. You gulp down the anxiety coursing through your veins. How were you gonna bring this up to Leon? You wipe your sweaty palms on the apron that was tied around your waist. You shake your head and focus on the dinner you’re making for you and Leon. You pause and gaze down at the apron tied around your waist, pink and white with frills. Your brows furrow, Leon never owned this. Leon didn’t have anything pink in his house, you tilt your head up and gaze around and see the small things he’d added while you were on autopilot in the honeymoon phase.

You were so blissed out all the time that you didn’t see the golden cage that you were lured into until now and now it was too late. The cage was closed and locked and you had no means of escape. You gulp, how could you let this slip by? And now you had his child inside you, you were truly trapped. You continue to cook around at the pink oven mitts and tea towels, it wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t like he was evil. But it felt sneaky to you, like he’d almost trapped you as a housewife. But what was the worst that could happen? He would never hurt you, he was a provider and your family was directly across the road. It wasn’t so bad, it wasn’t even close to bad. And the more you voiced these thoughts in your head the more you started to shake off his sneaky actions.

Soon enough, You hear Leon park his car I the drive before unlocking the door- wait when did he even lock it? You shake those thoughts away again and listen to him wiping his shoes on the matt. He closes the door before approaching the kitchen smelling your cooking. He leans against the doorway, a frown on his face. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He mutters, his eyes piercing you, demanding an answer. “Tell you what?” You ask confused, you watch as he pushes off the door frame with his shoulder and strolls over to you. His frame towers over you, he reaches a strong hand out and rests it on your stomach. Your eyes go wide as you gaze up at him, “H-how did you know?” You mutter, but Leon’s gaze is firm and cruel. “No, Bambi. My question first. Why didn’t you tell me?” He nearly hisses at you. “I- I just didn’t know how to. I was scared and I’m still wrapping my head around it. We used protection every time and I don’t understand how!” You nearly sob to him.

His demeanour softens his large, rough hands cup your soft cheeks, “Baby, ‘s okay. Sometimes these things happen. I’ll be here, we’ll get through this. But we’re keeping this baby, I’ll provide and protect you.” You sniffle and nod, you couldn’t just get rid of the baby everyone would look down on you and disown you. Leon tilts your head up, “I know it’s a lot baby, that you might not be ready, but I promise we can do this. Okay?” His voice lowers softly until he’s whispering his reassurance to you. Your eye search his for comfort and when you find it in his ocean eyes, you open your mouth and whisper “Okay.”

And just like that, your fate was sealed, you didn’t go back and ask how he knew, but he would have given a well thought out lie that would have calmed your anxiety and worries. In reality he had gone to the doctors today after you didn’t answer him yesterday. He bribed that doctor and got his answer and his dream. The ruined condoms had worked, the very first one had worked. Leon had you under his thumb and now all he had to do was to chain you to him with a simple ring that would link you to him forever and he couldn’t be happier.

He pulls you into his arms, laughing happily, “We’re having a kid Bambi!” He sings down to you joy gleaming in his eyes. He was overjoyed and he couldn’t help but rain kisses down upon you. You giggle at the kisses, he tilts you head up and presses his lips to yours eagerly before pushing your body up onto the kitchen counter, he stands between your legs as he kisses you more desperately. His hands slide up under your dress, pushing the skirt up and pulling your panties down in one quick flash. Your lips stay glued to each other, you can feeling fiddling with the zip of his pants and belts between your legs.

Soon the sound of his pants hitting the ground echoes in the kitchen, and Leon rubs his cock between your folds. He growls at the feeling of your juices coating his cock, he leans forward and you wrap you legs around him. With a push of his hips you both moan, Him at the feeling of your tightness and you at the delicious stretch. He begins to hump into your cunt, his lips pressed against your ears. “Can finally fuck you bare. Nothing hiding your perfect little pussy from me any more. Can you feel my cock, yeah? ‘S fucking perfect baby.” You whine and he fucks you harder, the tip of his cock bullying your g spot. You nuzzle your head into his neck crying with pleasure. He smirks before he groans feeling you tighten, “Already gonna cum on my cock you slut? Just desperate for my cock ain’t ya?” You nod desperately to him before you cum. You thighs shake and you whimper biting at his neck. Leon humps pathetically into you before he lets out a whimper of his own and cums deep into you. “So good baby, so good,” He whispers.

This was the perfect life to him something which he had scraped tooth and claw for planning. Finding the perfect girl that would fit him, his need, his life, his soul. He’ll never forget the day he saw you across the road, dressed in your cute little shorts and vest and bunny slippers too early in the morning. And he knew, that he was going to have you. So he would slowly start his plan, mowing his garden shirtless, watching your window inconspicuously waiting for your eyes to peek out and see him. And when you finally did he set his plan into action. And now you were to have his child and marry him. What a perfect dream. The white picket fence and you would never have to worry about money or love, anything. All you had to do was be his good little wife and who were you to deny one of the most beloved men in town.

You were settled in now, this was your life. You were pregnant with his baby and his house was now fully redecorated to fit both your tastes. The spare bedroom filled with baby things and Leon was working hard in the nursery. A lovely ring was in your finger and life seemed easy, calm. You were finally happy in your golden cage even if you didn’t know the truth of the bars that trapped you in forever. And you would forever remain blissfully unaware. Leon made sure of it.

[glimmeringwinchester]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 – grace winchester has spent her life searching for approval from her father. when she and her brothers find themselves up against a nest of vampires, she realizes its okay to let bridges stay burned.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒) – canon typical violence, ptsd, mention of anxiety, implied panic attacks/anxiety disorder, mentions of childhood abuse, additional violence, protective dean and sam, gracie finally stands up for herself, dean is serious when he says john will never hurt his sister again, fluff/comfort f you squint and really take it in, oc au

series: love was the law

Grace Winchester hasn’t been the same since finding her father, or, her father finding her. Even with him gone again, she flinches at every loud noise, recoils into herself at any innocent touch, and has somehow gotten quieter than she already was. She sits beside her brother at a small table, scrounging for another case to work and monster to kill. Sunlight falls into the diner from every angle, and it catches in her tousled hair somewhat angelically. She’s not paying attention to anything around her, entirely absorbed in the newspaper clippings she has between her fingers. 

“All right, dude, not a decent lead in all of Nebraska.” Dean’s voice is gruff and gravely, but it hardly breaks through the focus Grace has found. “What do you got?” 

“Well, I've been scanning Wyoming, Colorado, cd.   Dakota. Here – A woman in Iowa fell ten thousand feet from an airplane and survived.” Sam read off of his laptop, though even he didn’t sound too enthusiastic about that lead but it's all that he’s been able to come up with since opening his web browser. 

Dean shakes his head, hands clasped together as he abandons his paper for a while. “Sounds more like ‘that’s incredible!’ than the twilight zone.” 

“Yeah.” Sam sighs, and his fingers move against the keypad, evidently beginning a search for something else; something real. Grace stays locked into her newspaper, green eyes scanning the pages intently. 

“Hey, you know, we could just keep heading East – New York, Upstate. Could stop by and see Sarah again. Huh? She’s a cool chick, man. Smokin’.” Dean taunted, his smile broad and jesting. “You two seemed pretty friendly. What do you say?” 

Sam laughed, scratching at his head as he kept his eyes down and on the new webpage he’d pulled up. “Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe someday. But in the meantime, we got a lot of work to do, Dean, and you know that.” 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Dean sighed acceptingly, turning his head to Grace who hadn’t shared any potential leads, but looked too interested in the paper to have not found something. “What’d you get, Gracie?” 

Both brothers sigh when they realize she’s not even listening to them, and tenderly Sam reaches out to put a hand on the newspaper. His heart breaks when Grace flinches, eyes wide and alert as she looks between Sam and Dean before eventually shrinking into herself and setting the paper down entirely. “Yeah?” She asks softly, not even slightly aware of why they want her attention. 

“Find anything? Sam and I got squat.” Dean asks again, only this time his tone is softer. He hates that for nineteen years, this was the only version of his sister that he’d ever known. He didn’t think she was capable of being any other way, but then she’d come back from Stanford and she’d been situationally bubbly and sharp witted. He hadn’t had the chance to realize that John drained the life from her when they were kids, but he knows now, and he hates that he can’t have everything. He can have John, but then he loses Grace. He can have Grace, but then he’s out of the only parent they have left. What Dean Winchester hates the most, is that he’d trade his father for his sister any day. 

“Oh, um, yeah. Daniel Elkins of Manning, Colorado was found mauled in his home. I know the name, I just can’t figure out from where, but it looks like the cops don’t know what to think. At first they thought it was some kind of bear attack, but now they found signs of a robbery.” Grace explains what she’d found, her voice as quiet as a whisper but she hasn’t been much louder since they’d connected with John. 

Dean rummages through his bag to find John’s journal, the name apparently sounding familiar to him too. Grace watches him intently, not because she’s interested, but because she’s been on edge for days now. “Here. Check it out.” Dean hands the journal to Grace once he’s found something relevant, and the youngest Winchester takes it into her hands with narrowed eyes. 

“It has to be the same Elkins.” Grace mumbles after a beat, looking up at Dean who nods agreeingly. 

“How can you be so sure?” Sam questions, pulling the journal into his own hands and out of his sisters. He misses the way that Grace’s eyes flicker downward with uncertainty, but Dean doesn’t, and he sighs internally. Grace hadn’t questioned her capabilities as a hunter when it had been just them out on their own. The eldest Winchester hates that someone he still needs can ruin everything good in his life just by being around. 

“It’s a Colorado area code.” She explains hesitantly, and Sam’s eyes soften when he realizes that she’d interpreted his genuine confusion as critical doubt. This had been the version of his sister that had shown up on his doorstep over a year ago. This was the version of his sister that he’d left behind without looking back. He doesn’t know how he left her so easily back then; not when he can finally see just how broken down she’d been. He misses the way she rolls her eyes whenever he questions her, and how she used to contribute to their conversations. He’d spent nineteen years not knowing that his baby sister could be somebody entirely different, but now that he knows that, now that he’s seen that version of her and had gotten to love her, he doesn’t want this. He hates this. 

“Alright. Manning, Colorado. Let's go.” Dean threw a crumpled up napkin on the table, beginning to pack away all of the books he’d pulled out from his bag. Sam doesn’t hesitate to follow his action, closing his laptop and reaching for the leather crossbody he refused to wear correctly. Grace grabs the paper she’d been reading, folding it in half before she stood up, waiting by the corner of the table for Sam before she turned to follow Dean. 

He held the door open for Grace, and the youngest Winchester whispered a soft ‘thank you’ as she passed. Dean shook his head, making eye contact with Sam before they followed their sister to the Impala. Daylight was precious and quickly fleeting, so after bags had been thrown into the trunk, all three siblings piled into the car and headed straight toward Colorado.

-

By the time they reached Manning, darkness had fallen over the town. Grace Winchester fought off a yawn as she crawled out of the backseat of the Impala, evidently not having won any measure of rest despite her prolonged silence that left the backseat quiet and still. She stumbled into Sam unintentionally, and her entire body seized with fear instinctively. Her firm-chested brother stepped away from her sadly, wondering what it was going to take to pull her out of her shell again. He hadn’t been much help the first time around. He knew too much, felt too much about her to ever think of intentionally provoking her. Jessica had been the one to breach her bubble of solitude. She’d been the one to drag Grace to parties and study groups. She’d been the one to spend hours in Grace’s room in silence, but eventually that silence became lively conversations that kept Sam awake when he was trying to get rest in before an exam. He might’ve had a little sister for the last twenty years of his life, but he doesn’t know the first thing about girls in general. 

“Gracie.” Dean calls for her quietly as he stands in front of the open trunk. He’s scrounging for weapons, but he has a flashlight already extended toward her. Grace takes it quickly, testing the battery before she nods and steps away, putting unnecessary distance between them. 

Dean throws one at Sam, not as cautious about his brother's reaction as he was about his sisters. If it was two weeks earlier, he would’ve thrown one at Grace without warning her, but it’s not two weeks ago, and his sister isn’t the same as she was then. It’s a realization that keeps hitting the Winchesters like a heavy punch, and each time it crosses their mind is as devastating as the first. 

They creep through the blanket of darkness with precision that only comes with practice. Grace is sandwiched between her brothers, the shift in attitude not enough to derail their routine. She stops behind Dean when they approach the front door of Elkin’s house. Insects chirp from all around her and her skin crawls, but at the very least she takes their presence as a sign of good things. At least it's not eerily quiet. They cross over the threshold with careful footsteps, shining their lights against surfaces in the distance. There isn’t much on show in Elkin’s property, but Grace supposes that fits the script of any hunter that she’s known. They all have a lot of things, but most of those things aren’t sentimental or personal. For a moment, Grace considers what her own home would look like if she ever found a way to have that small privilege. She thinks, at the very least, she’d display all of the childhood pictures they have. 

They creep further into the house until they find what was once Elkin’s study. Grace grimaces at the evident signs of a struggle, the sight unsettling given Daniel Elkin’s capabilities and knowledge. Something had happened here, that much was obvious. 

“Looks like the maid didn’t come today.” Dean commented sarcastically, sweeping his flashlight against the desk to his left. 

Sam peels away from his siblings to kneel by the door, his fingers trailing over whatever was thrown across the floor in a thin layer. Grace trailed farther away, shining her flashlight against the walls in the farthest corner. She craned her head when Sam called out, his voice even but laced with curiosity. “Hey, there’s salt over here, right inside the door.” 

“You mean protection-against-demon salt or ‘oops, I spilled the popcorn’ salt?” Dean didn’t even bother to glance back, too busy rifling through papers that Elkins had scattered around the place. 

“It’s clearly a ring.” Sam mused, brushing off his fingertips before he stood up, shining his light in Dean’s direction. “You think this guy Elkins was a player?” 

“Definitely.” Dean hummed with unmistakable certainty. His younger siblings frowned at his tone of voice and crept closer until they could look over his shoulder at the papers he was flipping to. They weren’t just random papers like Grace had assumed they were, but rather a spiral ring journal that held a striking resemblance to something they all knew. 

“That looks a hell of a lot like Dad’s.” Sam noted, his flashlight shining against the paper, bringing the black ink to light that was otherwise near perfectly concealed by the darkness of midnight. 

“Except this dates back to the ‘60s.” Dean informed his younger siblings of what he’d read on a page toward the front of the journal. There wasn’t time to waste. Whatever attacked Elkins could very well still be in the general area, and with that in mind, Dean grabbed the journal before he backed away from the study, crossing over the salt-lined threshold to find another area of the house. 

All of the other rooms held the same level of physical distress, which had the baby hairs at the nape of Grace’s neck standing up straight. Furniture was broken, glass was shattered, salt was scattered – it wasn’t a good sight, and all three of the Winchesters knew that. 

“Whatever attacked him, looks like there was more than one.” Dean muttered beneath his breath, creeping toward one of the far corners in the room while Sam and Grace crept toward another. “Looks like he put up a hell of a fight, too.” 

“Yeah.” Sam agreed, sounding breathless as he swept his gaze across all of the destruction that had occurred. Grace could remember what their motel room looked like at times when John got too involved in a case, and she couldn’t help but wonder if some of this had been a result of that same all-in dedication. It wasn’t the farthest fetched theory in the world, but it didn’t take away from the obvious struggle, so she kept it to herself. There was no point in sharing if what she had to say didn’t add any value to the case, John had taught her that when she was seven. 

Grace was rummaging through a pile of papers that looked like they could be leads for a case when Sam piped up a few feet behind her, his attention aimed on Dean. “Got something?” He inquired hopefully, and Grace’s head snapped to her brother immediately, her full attention on whatever it was that Dean was looking at. 

“I don’t know. Some scratches on the floor.” Dean mumbled, his fingers ghosting over the scratches that from where Grace was standing, looked to be surrounded by pools of blood. 

“Death throes maybe?” She questioned lightly, and Sam nodded in agreement, looking back at Dean who was already considering the possibility. 

“Maybe.” He agreed, but there was something beneath his eyes that had Grace looking in a different direction. She made a soft sound of understanding when Dean reached for a blank paper on the desk, grabbing a pencil and lowering it to the floorboard. She hadn’t even considered that as a possibility. Maybe she was getting dull, losing that only thing that made her valuable. “Or maybe a message.” Dean’s eyes widened as he pulled the paper away from the floor, the sliver of light that brightened the room falling against it at just the right angle. He held it out to Grace, “Look familiar?” 

The young woman reached for it curiously, familiarity crossing her features within the first handful of seconds. “Three letters, sex digits – the location and combination of a post office box. It’s a mail dorp.” She breathed the realization, her eyes wide as she trailed her gaze to the door. 

“That’s just the way Dad does it.” Dean didn’t think before he said it, but it’s as if he can see every wall his sister has let slip come right back up into place. He sighs with conflict that can’t be resolved right now, dusting off his hands as he makes his way back toward the Impala. Grace followed quickly, her footsteps falling into step with Dean’s unintentionally. Sam’s lips curved slightly at the sight. Their lives had been anything but traditional, but in his sister there was still an innocent little girl. For years she had followed Dean around everywhere, emulating his attitude, mimicking his movements. Their lives might’ve changed, but somewhere within them all were the kids they’d once been. 

-

 Grace stayed in the car when the boys ran in to retrieve whatever had been stashed at the post office box. She hadn't wanted to travel too far from the car in paranoid fear that they’d been tailed to the location, and neither Dean or Sam had been willing to fight her on the subject. It wasn’t really a three person job anyways, but as they rushed back to the Impala with a semi-crumpled envelope in hand, Dean couldn’t help but feel like something was missing; someone. He hopes whatever rut Grace had fallen into would end with time and patience, because he doesn’t know how to lead a hunt when she isn’t behind him keeping him in line. There might’ve been hunts when she was away at Stanford, but even back then he’d missed her. 

The door slammed as the eldest Winchester fell into the driver's seat of the car. Sam was hardly any different, and Grace swore her bones rattled at the force of metal meeting metal ahead of her. “J.W. – You think? John Winchester?” 

“I don’t know. Should we open it?” Dean questioned, his voice gravely with concern, but their attention was short lived as knocking on the window shattered their found sanctuary in the leather detailed car. Grace flinched into the farthest door, her eyes wide as they looked up to meet the reflection of her father. She’d known that they weren’t alone, but her heart still hammers in fear as she sweeps her gaze over the man she’s least expected to show up midway through a hunt. “Dad?” Dean called out, breathing heavily as he pulled away from the window just enough to see out of it clearly. 

John didn’t say anything, instead, he peeled open the back door and slid in right beside Grace on the leather seat. The youngest Winchester tried to remain unbothered, forcing her shoulders to drop and her hands to remain uncurled, but there was no way for her to completely rewire the instinctive reaction that happened whenever her father was close enough to touch. 

“Dad, what are you doing here? Are you all right?” Sam craned his neck to look back at John, but his green eyes found his sister instinctively. Grace was settled as close to the passenger side door as she could get without looking like she was trying to escape her fathers reach, and her shaking hands lay upright on her thighs like she’d been taught all of those years ago. He can still remember the first time John had backhanded her because she’d clenched her fingers into fists when he’d been ragging on her ‘disobedience’ and his heart lurched at the violent memory of blood dripping from her cheek after John’s ring had sliced her skin. He’d do anything to switch places with her, get her out of armshot from John, but he can’t. Instead, he can only hope that their fathers not here to antagonize her further. 

“Yeah, I’m okay.” John nodded, keeping his eyes on Sam, not allowing himself to even glance at Grace. The youngest Winchester doesn’t know what to make of the situation, but she knows that it's too early to rest entirely. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d flipped at the drop of a hat with no warning. “Look, I read the news about Daniel. I got here as fast as I could. I saw you two up at his place.”

Dean’s eyes trail to Grace, her insistence that she stay at the car while they went inside making more sense now than it did only moments ago. For once, she’d had a right to be on edge, and he hates that he hadn’t trusted her instincts more, but it was hard to know when her anxiety was trustworthy. She’d spent the better portion of the last week away from John looking over her shoulder without reason. “Why didn’t you come in, Dad?” Sam frowns, pulling Dean’s attention back to the conversation at hand. 

“You know why.” John huffed, his voice even and without any care for the wellbeing of his children. “Because I had to make sure you weren’t followed… by anyone… or anything. Nice job of covering your tracks, by the way.” Grace could scoff at the excuse. They would’ve been safer had he been in there with them, even if she wants nothing to do with him, he was the one that taught them that there was safety in numbers, and yet he’s always the first to be missing from a fight. 

“Ah, that was Gracie.” Dean shook his head, knowing he’d caught John in a trap. He wouldn’t take back what he’d said, no he was far too interested in keeping his pride intact to backtrack on his words so obviously, but the sour grimace that crossed his expression said everything that he wouldn’t. Had he known that Grace was the one to cover their tracks initially, he never would’ve praised her efforts, but he’d already done it, and for once Grace Winchester was getting validation for her efforts, even if it was muddled by the disgusted expression that fell upon their fathers browline. 

Unconsciously Grace pulled at the seam line in her black leggings, her bottom lip caught between her teeth tightly as she tried not to focus on how her father was so close she could feel the warmth radiating off of his skin. “Knock it off, girl.” John snapped when he became aware of the anxious movements his daughter was making to his left. The young woman, who still hadn’t even celebrated her twenty-first birthday and was really only a kid pretending to understand an adult world, stiffened at the reprimand, stilling her fingers on her thighs and straightening out her posture. 

“Wait, so you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?” Sam frowned, and all three siblings bristled at the realization that they would never be enough for their father on their own. Something else always came before them, whether it was a hunt, or apparently a fallen friend. It shouldn’t sting anymore, they should be used to it, but Grace’s eyes still flickered to her lap in a moment of weakness. 

“Yeah.” John sighed, but there was no ounce of apology in his whispered words. “He was – he was a good man. He taught me a hell of a lot about hunting.” 

Grace frowned at that, knowing that most everyone John crossed paths with was brought up in some capacity. Whatever John learned, they learned to, and Daniel Elkins was not someone that Grace remembered from passing conversation. “You didn’t tell us about him.” Not everything had gone back to the way that it had been, because if it did, Grace never would’ve opened her mouth at all, let alone to question John’s relationship with another hunter. 

“I don’t gotta tell you shit, girl.” John’s eyes were ablaze with anger as he snapped his gaze toward his youngest child, and Grace didn’t hesitate to push herself closer to the door, her eyes wide as she stared back at her father whose short temper hadn’t gotten any better since she’d left home. “You better watch who you're talking back to. You got that?” He seethed, leaning closer until his breath fanned across her face and she was effectively pinned between the car door and his body. She wouldn’t be able to bail before his hands caught the fabric of her shirt, but her hand reached for the handle regardless. 

She nodded frantically, her breath hitching when his hand shot out to grab the fabric of her top. He pulled her closer, close enough to tell that he’d definitely had a drink sometime recently if the stench of beer on his breath was any indication of his alcoholic habits. “I said. You got that?” 

“Yes sir.” She forced the words off of her lips, hating how they felt like a mouthful of dry sand, but evidently that was enough to break through some of the anger that clouded his eyes with something dark and unwelcoming. He didn’t release the tight grip he had on her shirt however, and nervously Grace glanced down at the crumbled fabric that was one sharp tug away from tearing. 

“Dad, hey–” Dean called for John’s attention, and suddenly that anger melted away into something else, his gaze softening once it fell upon his boys. He shoved Grace away from him with more strength than what was necessary, and the young woman's head thumped against the window from the unexpected force of her fathers hand shoving her backward. She winced, but pursed her lips together to stop the audible pain from passing into the air and giving him another reason to put his hands on her. She was getting restless, anxious, her eyes were darting between all three men in the car, and whether she noticed or not, tears blurred in her waterline as her breathing hitched to something familiar and worrisome. “What happened with Elkins? Why did you never mention him?”

“We had a– we had kind of a falling out. I hadn’t seen him in years.” John’s voice softens, his eyes only on Dean as he speaks. Grace hates that even after years, he can’t even look at her without inflicting harm and pain. She doesn’t know what happened between them, can remember sparing moments when he hadn’t been horrible, but that was as far gone as Mary Winchester. It was like one day, he’d suddenly realized he hated her and had never tried to reframe his way of thinking. Even if she hated him, wanted nothing to do with him, it hurt to know that the only parent she has left doesn’t love her the way he was supposed to. “I should look at that.” He nods toward the envelope in Dean’s hand, and the eldest child doesn’t hesitate to hand it back to him. 

John peeled the envelope open carefully, unfolding the paper with a level of cation that he’d never applied to his own flesh and blood. With his gruff hands occupied, Grace raised her own to the collar of her shift, rubbing against the wrinkled fabric and where the neckline of her shirt had rubbed against sensitive skin harshly. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to have fabric burns on her body, but as she presses her fingers over the reddened and irritated skin, every memory comes rushing back to her at once. “‘If you’re reading this, I’m already dead.’ That son of a bitch.” 

Dean’s eyebrows furrow, and Sam leans closer to the backseat, curiosity evident in his own green eyes. “What is it?” He questioned carefully. John had never treated him the way he’d been quick to treat Grace, but he’d taken his anger toward them out on her, and so the middle Winchester acted with caution. 

“He had it the whole time.” John shook his head, but that didn’t give any of his children anymore insight. 

“Dad, what?” Sam asked again, and Grace was already sick of them having to ask the same questions multiple times just to get some semblance of a straight answer from him. She doesn’t know why he still treats them like they’re not good enough to be involved in the hunts that he’s chasing, but with every passing second it gets on her nerves more and more. He was the one that dragged them into this life unapologetically. He was the one that had sent them coordinates and essentially led them on a wild goose chase, and yet he’s the one that keeps that an arms length away whenever they're together. 

“When you searched the place, did you see a gun–” 

Grace’s posture straightens even more, and despite everything she’s come to learn about avoiding John’s anger, she finds herself speaking up, filling in the blanks of his sentence the same way she’d fill in Dean’s. “An antique colt revolver?”

John’s gaze snapped to her, his hard eyes filled with anger and violent passion, but he didn’t comment immediately. Instead, he inclined his head, demanding more than what she’d already given; giving her permission to say more. “The gun wasn’t there, but the case was.” 

“For the love of god, girl!” He bellowed in frustration, and within seconds his hand was jutting out to make contact with her face. Grace squeaked when the stinging pain registered in her mind, her fathers handprint warm and throbbing against her cheek, but she didn’t recoil into herself like she wanted to. That would only fuel his anger more, and it seemed like in the years since she’d run away, he’d lost any kind of handle on it at all. 

“Dad, what the hell!” Sam yelled, his eyes looking straight at Grace who only shrugged off his concern. Dean’s nostrils flared with anger, his jaw locked with a protectiveness Grace remembers being more controlled, but he didn’t comment, didn't want to test the theory that John would still punish her further if they intervened in any way. They weren’t children anymore, him especially, but somehow he thinks John will always treat them like they are. 

“They have it.” John didn’t even bristle beneath the heated glares his sons were throwing at him, and realizing that harboring any ill feelings wasn’t going to get them anywhere tonight, Dean drew in a deep breath, trying to push the protective anger out from his rough exterior. 

“You mean whatever killed Elkins?” He asked calmly, but his eyes stayed on Grace, not unaware of how she was falling into a panic attack the longer John sat beside her. Her eyes that had once been so clear and green were glazed over with a dark fear that sent a chill down his spine. He still needed his father, still needed advice and direction, but he’d spend the rest of his life lingering in feelings of uncertainty if it meant keeping her safe and unharmed. 

“We got to pick up their trail.” John’s eyes flashed with urgency, and before any of the siblings could unpack the use of ‘we’ in his sentence, he was climbing out of the backseat and into the cold Colorado air. The youngest Winchester let out a sigh of relief she hadn’t even realized was collecting in her chest, deflating into the passenger side door as she finally brought her hand up to hold where her father had struck her. The skin throbbed and burned beneath her touch, and without even seeing the damage that had been done, she knew her eye would bruise from how his fingers brushed right beneath her waterline. Her lip quivers in an automatic response, but she refuses to cry in front of him – refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d just broken yet another piece of her slowly dying heart. 

“Wait.” Sam called through the open window, both him and Dean leaning toward it. “You want us to come with you?” 

“If Elkins is telling the truth, we’ve got to find this gun.” John sighed, leaning into the window so that he could see both of his sons; the only two people he even cared about just slightly. Grace was just another box to check, or at least, that’s how she felt a majority of the time as she sat in her brother's shadows. It was hardly fair. John expected perfection from her, and yet he never gave her an ounce of what he did her brothers. The odds were always stacked against her, but somehow she’d survived this long. That had to count for something. 

“The gun? Why?” Sam continued to press for information, for a reason to put his life on this line for just another weapon, but John refused to give into the valid questioning. 

“Because it’s important, that’s why.” John argued, but for once, Sam wasn’t backing down to his bullshit excuses. If Grace wasn’t terrified of being dragged out of the car and beaten into a bloody pulp on the gravel road, maybe she would’ve said something too, but the sting against her cheek kept her firmly where she already was. 

“Dad, we don’t even know what these things are yet.” Sam tried to make their hesitancy known, but John was never the kind of man to take excuses of any kind. He’d give them just enough information to assure they weren’t going in completely blind, but nothing entirely helpful. Grace thought it must be some kind of sick game to him. There was no other explanation for his secrecy. 

“They were what Danny Elkins killed best… vampires.” All three siblings visibly recoiled at their fathers words, a combination of shock and fear filling their eyes as they craned their heads to look at their father. 

Dean’s eyes widened considerably, his gaze set on John firmly. “Vampires? I thought there was no such thing.” 

“You never even mentioned them, Dad.” 

“I thought they were extinct. I thought Elkins and others had wiped them out.” John hangs his head for a second, accepting his son's disbelief and concern. Grace doesn’t even want to consider what John’s reaction would’ve been if she’d been the one to question him on this. “I was wrong.”

Grace sighed quietly to herself as she sank deeper into the backseat of the Impala, itching to grab the blanket that was crumpled into a ball on the floor, but fighting against it. Instead, she listened to John prattle on about everything that he knew about vampires, her brothers giving him the same attention. “Most vampire lore is crap. A cross won’t repel them. Sunlight won’t kill them and neither will a stake to the heart. But the bloodlust – that part’s true. They need fresh human blood to survive. They were once people, so you won’t know it’s a vampire until it’s too late.” 

He didn’t say anything else other than that he’d tail them to the motel they’d scouted out a few miles West. The thought of him spending the night with them in a cramped motel room made her skin crawl, but there was no getting out of this. This is what Dean pulled them away from Stanford to do – find John – but Grace hadn’t realized just how much she’d begin to sacrifice just to see through these endless hunts. When he was far enough away to no longer hear the way that rocks and leaves crunched beneath his boots, Dean rolled the window up, starting the car with evident irritation in his posture. 

He didn’t pull away from the post office immediately, instead he turned toward the backseat, ushering Grace to come into view where the lights shone brightly over the center console. “Come here, Gracie. Let me see you.” 

“I’m fine, D.” The youngest of the trio whispered, tears still prickling her eyes as she cradled her cheek protectively. She sounded small, scared, and Dean hated that this was his fault. He dragged her back into this, he brought her into the search for John. Even if he hadn’t been the one to strike her, it felt like he did as he sat with the guilt of being the reason she’s here at all. 

“Gracie, let me see.” He insisted, reaching out for her. He hates that she flinches, hates that her eyes that aren’t so soft anymore pinch together in fear of another strike, but eventually she caves, leaning closer until her face is illuminated by the glow of the lights inside of the car. “He got you good, huh?” His thumb strokes across the visible mark of where his fathers palm had clapped against her soft skin, and Grace sucks in a breath between clenched teeth at the sting that comes forward with the continuous prodding and poking. 

“When doesn’t he.” Grace hummed humorlessly, and both of her brothers seem to deflate at the reminder that she’s used to this. They know that she is, know that she can handle constant pain and soreness, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow when they’re essentially helpless in the situation. “I’m fine, Dean. Nothing that hasn’t happened before.” 

Dean, for once in his life, doesn’t see John as being his entire world, and softly he tries to make that known to both of his siblings, but more so Grace who seems to only be holding on by a thread. “I can tell him to get lost–” 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Grace huffs, pulling away from his touch to slouch against the backseat. Dean wants to say that she’s handling this well, that she’s coming back out of her shell now that John’s no longer in sight, but he knows that it's only the adrenaline of having to be on her a-game that’s fueling this conversation right now. He knows that the second they pull away from this gravel road, she’ll become nothing more than a shadow of herself as she tries to keep everything that wants to come falling out inside. “Just… don’t try to get between us if something happens, okay? It’s not worth it.”  

“I sat there and did nothing for nineteen years–” 

“Yeah, because the one time you did say something, he held a machete to my throat and said he’d kill me!” Grace snapped, tears falling down her face as she finally broke. “This is not about you, Dean! This isn’t about either of you! It’s about me! About how he hates me so much that he’d rather threaten to kill me than apologize for hitting me so hard he fractured my ribs! You wanted him back, well guess what, here he is. Now can we please stop acting like this isn’t normal. Like you didn’t know this is exactly what would happen when you showed up at Stanford asking for help finding him!” 

“Gracie, I didn’t–”

“Yes, you did. Don’t even try to say you didn’t think this would happen again. It’s fine, Dean. Can you just drive, please? Before he comes out here again.” Grace melted into the leather seats beneath her weight, her arms crossed over her chest as she let her tears fall silently, not possessing the energy it would take to shut out her overwhelming emotions entirely. Sam sank into the passenger seat with a sigh, his eyes trailing to Dean who held the wheel tightly, tears glimmering in his own green eyes. Truth is, he did know this would happen, at least some buried part of him did. He’d been hopeful that things wouldn’t end up like this though; been hopeful that for once he could just have his family together without violence. He was stupid to think that grudges and anger would be so easily overcome, and he hates that he pulled Grace away from something good just for her to end up where she’d started. 

The engine revs as he pulls away from the post office, tension thick in the car as neither of the siblings say anything else, nobody knowing what to say. 

-

Despite the motel that they’d rented a room at, Grace hadn’t gotten so much as a wink of sleep in the hours that had elapsed from night to early morning. She couldn’t rest knowing that her father sat only a few inches away from the end of the bed that she shared with Sam, and she knows that he knows that despite doing her best to act like she wasn’t wide awake with her eyes closed. She shifts slightly beneath the heavy blankets, curling her hands into fists beneath the pillow as she hears the faint static of the police scanner hum to life and him grab his jacket that had been thrown against the chair he pulled away from the table. She barely keeps her body from flinching when his hand bats at her ankle that's beneath the covers, apparently mistaking her body for Sam’s as he calls for her brothers to get up. 

“Sam, Dean, let’s go.” He demands, but all her brothers do is groan in response as they try to cling onto sleep. Grace doesn’t have the same privilege, and quickly she slips out of bed, putting her sock-covered feet into the tennis shoes she’s had for nearly two years. Her heart hammers in her chest when she remembers how Jessica had skipped an entire day of classes near finals just to drag her to the mall and take advantage of all the year-end sales that were going on. It had been so long ago now that the laces that were once a shade of pink, were now muddied and twinged brown. Grace would do anything to go back to a time when she could tell that they were pink. “Picked up a police call.” 

“What happened?” Sam questioned, his voice filled with exhaustion as he peered up at John. Instinctively his hand reached out to feel Grace beside her, and when he came up with only warm sheets, he sat up fully, searching for her until he found her beside the nightstand separating the two beds, reaching for one of Dean’s jackets that she’d stolen weeks ago. 

“A couple called 911. They found a body in the street. Cops got there. Everyone was missing. It’s the vampires.” John explained gruffly, his gaze trailing to Grace when her realized that she was the only one ready to go. His posture stiffened, his eyes hardened and every last piece of Grace’s heart nearly broke as she watched him throw daggers at her. She would never be able to please him, but a small part of her still tries to show up her brothers hoping for scraps of his validation.  

“How do you know?” Sam questioned, finally throwing his feet over the side of the bed, meanwhile Dean still hadn’t moved an inch, his sleep-filled eyes riddled with conflicting emotions. 

“Just follow me, okay?” John huffed, already heading towards the door. Dean groaned, swinging his legs off of the bed and standing up finally. Grace didn’t avoid his quick glance intentionally, but it still cuts Dean as he sighs to himself. 

“Vampires.” He tries to downplay his obvious hurt, chuckling beneath his breath as he stuffed his bag full without any rhyme or reason. “It’s funnier every time I hear it.”

Grace and Sam rolled their eyes, both throwing their duffles over their shoulder and heading toward the door. Grace’s cheek wasn’t as inflamed as it had  been the night prior, but beneath her eyes was a purplish bruise that ached deep in her bones. Sam grimaced as the light caught on the undertone of yellow in the wounded flesh, and comfortingly he slung as arm over her shoulder once they passed through the threshold of the motel room. 

“Get any sleep last night?” He asked her softly, aiming his words for her alone to hear and take in. 

Grace sighed, shrugging his arm off of her and stepping the slightest inch ahead of him, creating distance that only isolated her breaking heart further. Regardless, she looked over her shoulder, a smirk of indifference resting against her bitten lips. “Nope.” She threw her ponytail over her shoulder as she continued toward Baby, not willing to let her father read any kind of emotion in her appearance. 

Sam sighed, craning his head to look at Dean when he finally emerged from the hotel room. “She’s gonna be fine, right?” It felt like a cheap question, one that undermined the severity of Grace’s experience with John, but Sam was desperate to hold out hope for his little sister bouncing back the second they could cut ties with John… if they ever cut ties with John. 

“This time Sammy… I don’t know.” Dean admitted with a reluctant sigh, hanging his head as he stepped forward, leaving Sam to follow after both of his siblings who were beginning to lose themselves into the roles that John Winchester had demanded they play over a decade ago. The soldier and the shadow. Sam knew exactly where he fit into that, and nausea pooled in his stomach at the thought of ever falling into the mold that John Winchester had crafted for him. 

-

“I don’t see why we couldn’t have gone over with him.” Sam rolled his eyes as he leaned his weight against the Impala, watching their father stalk back across the dirt road after what looked like a hostile chat with the town's local officers. Grace wasn’t all that bothered by essentially being benched from the game, but she stood at full attention beside the hood regardless of her personal feelings. It didn’t matter what she wanted, only that she was perfect and quiet. 

“Oh, don’t tell me it’s already starting.” Dean rolled his eyes in the same exasperation that Sam felt, turning his back to the crime scene as he addressed his little brother and willed his gaze not to trail to Grace who still hadn’t uttered as much as a word to him; not that she’d even said more than five words since climbing into the backseat of the Impala. 

Sam furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, both hands stuffed into his pockets as he looked at Dean. “What’s starting?” 

Grace rolled her eyes with a silent huff of annoyance, knowing exactly what Dean was referencing even if Sam was otherwise clueless. Neither sibling had time to fill their brother in though, stiffening their shoulders as John approached with his hands shoved into his pockets despite how he’d always reprimanded Grace when she was trying to seek warmth in the biting cold. She can still remember how he’d sliced at the seams of her coat pockets with an army knife when she was eight, rambling on about how he’d cut her hands off if she was just going to waste their usefulness to him. He’d shoved a shotgun at her seconds later, and she could grimace at the memory of being forced to shoot her first spirit with frozen and trembling fingers. 

“What do you got?” Dean questioned, stepping just slightly in front of Grace when he turned back around to face John. It wouldn’t do much if he tried to step toward her, but it was something at the very least. 

“It was them all right. It looks like they’re heading west. We have to double back to get around that detour.” John didn’t beat around the bush, but like always, didn’t give his children anything of value to hold onto and make their own conclusions about. Grace dug her toe into the dirt, not taking her eyes off of John as she listened to more of his bullshit with an expression of neutrality. 

Sam frowned, tilting his head to the side as he tried to unmake John’s reserve. “How can you be so sure?” He pushed, not willing to back down on getting the specifics. Grace was glad at least one of them had the gall to question him, because it certainly wasn’t going to be her, but she couldn’t help but think this was only making the situation worse for them as his questions started to chip away at John’s willingness to be civil. 

“Sam–” Dean sighed, trying to stop a fight from brewing so soon, but before he could try and disarm his younger brother’s irritation, Sam was raising his voice to be heard over the interruption. It seemed that both of their brothers didn’t know how to act around their father, but she didn’t either, so the insult that was forming at the tip of her tongue stayed unmoving and half-formed and she kept herself a silent observer to the chaos. “I just want to know we’re going in the right direction.” He clapped back at Dean and not so subtly made a dig at John, something that definitely would’ve gotten Grace into hot water with their old man. She’s surprised he hasn’t called her out for something already, but she doesn’t think he’s stupid enough to get on her case with the police just a few feet away. For now, she’s safe. 

John, surprisingly, didn’t bristle beneath Sam’s weak interrogation, but a quirk in the corners of his lips told Grace all that she needed to know. He thought this was funny; though dragging them around in the dark was some kind of power move. Over a year later and he really hadn’t changed all that much, if he did at all. “We are.” He assured in an unreasonably condescending tone, and thankfully, Sam wasn’t quick to take the bait of his reassurances. Grace couldn’t stand the slowly rising tempers, or more specifically feared the consequences of rising tempers, but a small part of her was glad that somebody was finally trying to stand their ground to John Winchester.

“How do you know?” Sam fired back, his eyes hard and slitted into thin lines that didn’t hold as much malice as he thought they did. 

“I found this.” John sighed, pulling his hands out of his pockets to hand Dean what looked to be a fang. Even though she still stood behind Dean, the glimmery of something white caught in the corner of her eye, and she knew enough about the case to make an educated assumption of what had her father so certain of where their next destination should be. 

“It’s a vampire fang.” Dean frowned, looking down at the tooth that was pinched between his thumb and forefinger. 

“No fangs – teeth. The second set descends when they attack.” Grace took the words in carefully, slightly disturbed by the mental image of an entire set of teeth emerging from what was once a human's gums that second they attacked their chosen victim. She’d been in this life a long time, had grown a thick stomach to a lot of things, but that mental image was beyond what she could stomach so early in the day. “Any more questions?” He directed his gaze to Sam, who looked to the ground in defeated annoyance but didn’t say anything else, letting his silence speak for itself. 

“Let’s get out of here. We’re losing daylight.” John took control like he always did, and Grace was the first to follow that order. She shuffled to the car door quickly, placing her hand on the silver handle as John walked back toward his truck. “And, Dean, why don’t you touch up your car before you get rust? I wouldn’t have given you the damn thing if I thought you were gonna ruin it.” 

Grace couldn’t help but roll her eyes, wondering where her father got the nerve to think so highly of himself and so horribly of them. She didn’t say anything in Dean’s defence, but when John had his back to them, still stalking toward his truck without even inquiring to gauge Dean’s reaction to his criticism, she looked toward her eldest brother with a grimace of sympathetic understanding, silently clearing the air that had grown tense and cold between them. Dean hadn’t done a lot of things right leading up to this moment, but at the end of the day he was still beneath their fathers thumb just like she was. 

Sam, however, smirked in amusement, not quite realizing the true sentiment of John’s words and what they were armed with. He never had understood how the petty digs cut the deepest for his overlooked siblings, but Grace was simply glad that he’d never learned to question his worth based on materialistic accomplishments. She’d deal with his crooked smirk if it meant sparing him the pain of coming to terms with how you're not good enough for the one person who is supposed to love you unconditionally without something to show for it. 

John pulled out around them, his engine revving as he pulled off onto the road. Sam was on his tail within seconds, one hand resting on the wheel as the other fell beside him. This wasn’t like old times, that much rang true, but Grace couldn’t decide if it was any better than their childhood had been when they weren’t even talking to each other like they used to. She wanted to talk to them, wanted to just be with them, but the paralyzing fear of it somehow getting back to John kept her silent and anxious in the backseat – the perfect little shadow. 

The car was silent for a while before Dean piped up from the passenger seat. “Vampires nest in groups of eight to ten. Smaller packs are sent out to hunt for food. Victims are taken to the nest, where the pack keeps them alive, bleeding them for days or weeks. I wonder if that’s what happened to that 911 couple.” 

“That’s probably what Dad’s thinking.” Sam hummed critically. “Of course, it would be nice if he just told us what he thinks.” 

“So it is starting.” Dean craned his head to look at Sam, his eyebrows raised in recognition. 

“What?” Sam looked back at him, his jaw clenched as he flickered his gaze between the road and Dean’s exasperated expression.

“Sam, we’ve been looking for Dad all year. Now we’re not with him for more than a couple of hours and there’s static already.” Dean didn’t comment on the silence falling off of their sister, but nobody was going to breach that conversation when this was how it had always been. Sam considers himself lucky to have gotten to know who Grace is without John’s influence in any capacity. 

“No.” Sam denied, “Look, I’m happy he’s okay, all right, and I’m happy that we’re all working together.” He admits, his words hanging heavily in the air before Dean ruins the stretched thin silence with a petulant mumble of ‘good’ beneath his breath. Grace shifts uncomfortably in the backseat, knowing that Sam’s words are only true to an extent, but she’s still unable to shake the uncomfortable weight of knowing that her brothers are enjoying this time spent with John in any capacity no matter how small. She hates that she can’t enjoy it too, hates that she’s so filled with fear she never fully leaves fight-or-flight mode. She’d love to sit here and say that in moments where things are good, or at least tolerable, she’s happy to be a family again, but that’s not the truth for her, and it never has been. She’d be perfectly fine never seeing John Winchester again and the weight of that breaks her heart for the little girl inside of her that worshiped the ground he walked. “It’s just the way he treats us like we’re children. He barks orders at us, Dean. He expects us to follow him without question. He keeps us on some crap need-to-know deal.” 

“He does what he does for a reason.” Dean defends their father like he always does because at the end of the day, it’s the only way he knows how to keep them all safe. Grace’s heart hurts for herself, but it hurts for her older brother who has always had to carry the responsibility of making sure they all come out the other side alive and relatively unscathed. She knows how much he’s sacrificed for them, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to inflict the most unimaginable pain on him when he gets into the mode of ‘Daddy’s Soldier’. Two things can be true at once, Grace knows that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. 

“What reason?” Sam scoffs. 

“Our job! There’s no time to argue. There’s no margin for error, alright? It’s just the way the old man runs things.” Dean’s correct to an extent, but so is Sam, and Grace can see both sides of the battlefield as she lingers on the sidelines. She hates these fights, hates when neither of her brothers' sides are the right one to pick. Dean’s an extremist, but Sam’s too eager to find defiance. John Winchester is a horrible person, but at the end of the day he taught them everything they know, and he does know a thing or two that they haven’t ever needed to consider. 

“Yeah, well, maybe that worked when we were kids, but not anymore, alright?” Sam shook his head, his voice softening as he kept his gaze bouncing between Dean and the road ahead of them. “Not after everything we’ve been through, Dean. I mean, are you telling me you’re cool with just falling into line and letting him run the whole show?” 

“If that’s what it takes.” He admits, and even if Grace knew that he’d say that, it still hurts her to think that he considers her being slapped for something out of her control as ‘what it takes’ to complete a hunt. 

-

There hadn’t been much discussed between the siblings in the hours that had elapsed since the sun was positioned in the sky to when it had fallen beneath the trees to touch down on another piece of land somewhere far and hopefully less haunted by evil. But the silence that was becoming normal was abruptly dismantled by Dean’s phone ringing in his jacket pocket. Grace didn’t have to crane her neck to look at the caller ID to know that it was John, and with evident disinterest she sank further down in the backseat, listening to Dean’s end of the conversation. 

It was short, but her head perked up as he nodded in the passenger seat. “Yeah, Dad. Alright, got it.” He pulled the phone away from his ear, flipping it closed before he turned his head to Sam. “Pull off the next exit.” 

“Why?” Sam questioned, and this time Grace couldn’t help but sigh out loud as she let her head hit the window. 

“Cause Dad thinks we got the vampires trail.” Dean filled in the blanks, but there wasn’t really much information in the explanation. Grace understood the frustration Sam felt, but she was getting real tired of his sour attitude toward them both. 

“How?” There was a venom in Sam’s tone that Grace didn’t think Dean was blind to, but rather didn’t feel the need to play into anymore. 

“I don’t know. He didn’t say.” Dean shrugged, and Sam’s jaws locked as he revved the engine, speeding around the truck and jerking the wheel until both cars were stopped in the dead center of the road. Grace sighed, sinking further down into the seat as Sam charged out of the car seething with frustration that he couldn’t suffer through anymore. “Oh, crap. Here we go.” 

The car jerked with the force of her brothers slamming the door seconds after one another, and despite every instinct telling her to stay in the car, to let them hash this out on their own, she couldn’t just leave them to face their father without her, so she stepped out of the car seconds later, ensuring that distance was kept between her and John. 

“What the hell was that?!” John came storming out of the truck, his nostrils flared and chin raised as he stomped his way toward Sam who didn’t back down at the show of confidence. 

“We need to talk.” The middle-child seethed, his chin raised all the same as Johns. 

“About what?” John spit, his eyes filled with a fire that was usually directed toward Grace. The youngest Winchester took a step back instinctively, stumbling into the Impala with a near soundless thud. Dean reached out tentatively, pulling her closer by her elbow if only to offer the smallest semblance of comfort. It didn’t do much to settle Grace’s nerves, but she appreciated the sentiment of it regardless. 

“About everything.” Sam’s voice was filled with fury, and Grace can’t think of a time when she’d heard him so beyond mad. She’s always hated conflict, but there’s something about seeing her calm, always level-headed brother so worked up that has her reeling for something to ground herself to. “Where are we going, Dad? What’s the big deal about this gun?” 

“Sammy come on, we can Q&A after we kill all the vampires.” Dean stepped forward, his breath fanning across the air as it dawned on Grace how truly cold it was. The mountains didn’t care about seasons, and the near frozen temperatures only showed that fact. 

“Your brother’s right. We don’t have time for this.” 

“Last time we saw you, you said it was too dangerous to be together. Now, out of the blue, you need our help. Now obviously something big’s going down, and we want to know what!” Sam was seething with anger, his jaw clenched and every muscle in his body rigid as he refused to back down. Grace shifted on her feet, inching closer to the chaos despite every instinct in her body telling her to stay away and keep distance between herself and her fathers fists. 

“Get back in the car.” John demanded, nodding toward the Impala. 

“No.” 

“I said get back in the damn car.” John stepped closer to Sam. Maybe it was seeing her brother in the position that she’d always been in, or maybe it was just finally her breaking point. Whatever the reason, Grace found herself pushing past Dean, pulling at Sam’s arm until she could position herself between her father and her brother. 

“He said no.” She growled, adrenaline rushing through her body as her fingertips buzzed with a sudden energy she hadn’t possessed before, or ever. “You cannot keep doing this! You cannot keep treating us like children and expecting us to act like soldiers! We’re not soldiers, Dad! We’re grown adults! Adults that are only here to help you! So why don’t you get your head out of your ass for one fucking minute to tell us what the hell is going on?!” Grace flinched when John’s hand came hurtling toward her already bruised face, but in a moment of confidence, or maybe stupidity, she caught his wrist between her ice cold finger tips, her hard eyes narrowed into thin daggers that looked a lot like his. “I am not a child that you can manipulate and abuse. Not anymore.” 

Grace doesn’t know when his wrist slipped from between her fingers, but she recognizes the sting of pain before she even realizes he’s reeled back to hit her again. Her nose pulses with every beat of her racing heart in her chest, and a trail of something warm and thick dirties her upper lips. She doesn’t have to wipe at her nose to know that it’s blood, and even though every part of her wants to fall to her knees and cry about how she’s back in this position when she’d promised herself the night she ran away that she’d never come back to this, she doesn’t so much as bristle as the breeze trails past her damp face. 

“I’ve had enough of your damn mouth.” John seethed, stepping forward to strike her again as Grace becomes increasingly aware of Dean’s raised voice beside her; the ringing between her ears finally dwindled down to silence as the shock of his previous blow ebbs away. 

“That’s enough! That’s enough, Gracie.” He pulls her back by the loose fabric of his jacket around her torso, but before she can shrug his hands off of her and step up to John again, the satisfaction of finally standing up for herself an addictive sensation, Dean is slotting his body between them, his shoulders squared and rigid. “That goes for you too. And I swear, if you ever put your fucking hands on her again, it won’t be her that fights back. You hear me? Do you hear me!” He raises his voice, but John doesn’t answer. All he does is scoff and shake his head, already making his way back to the truck. 

Grace huffs, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. She barely flinches at the blood that smears across her palm and the sleeve of Dean’s jacket, retreating back to the car with pent up anger weighing her down. She slams the door behind her, grumbling beneath her breath as she leans between the seats and sets her eyes on Sam. 

“Set my nose.” She demands gruffly, her eyes glazed over with residual anger and stinging pain. She’s not fully here with them, that much Sam can tell as he searches for glimpses of sweet green in her dark eyes. He doesn’t know how to handle the situation when he’s never seen her so… Sam doesn’t even have a word to describe Grace’s attitude at the moment, but it scares him to no end to consider how after an entire lifetime of abuse, tonight was her breaking point. Pride ripples off of his shoulders – pride in her, pride in himself – but he’s otherwise frozen as he looks at the young woman who bears no resemblance to his little sister at this moment. “Sam, set my fucking nose!” 

“Come here.” Dean’s voice is gruff as it washes across his two younger siblings, and Grace snaps her gaze toward him instantaneously out of learned instinct. She hadn’t heard him get in the car, hadn’t registered the door slamming shut or his presence in the slightest, but as the seconds pass her by and the engine in the truck revs beside them, she’s beginning to fall away from the front of disassociation that had tried to save her active mind from the trauma of confronting the man who scares her more than any monster or spirit ever could. She leans her head into Dean’s hands, already knowing what lies ahead of her as she pinches her eyes shut and nods her head in acceptance of the pain that’s to come. Dean doesn’t give her a countdown, but he feels around her nose for a couple of seconds before he’s gripping both sides of it and straightening it out. She groans, recoiling backward instinctively as another stream of blood falls above her lip. “You okay?” 

“Peachy.” Grace huffs, but as Sam straightens out the car and lets John pull out in front of them on the road again, she deflates entirely, suddenly feeling the weight of her exhaustion as she rubs at her swollen eyes. “You stuck up for me.” She muses softly, pulling at the tips of her fingers with anxious uncertainty, the invincibility that had washed over her when adrenaline was coursing through her veins slowly dissipating the longer she sat with the memory of recent events playing like a highlight reel in her head. 

Dean scoffed out a breath, but he nodded his head regardless after a handful of seconds passed by. “Yeah, yeah.” He shrugs her comment off, but her eyes are burning holes into his shoulder, and he can’t avoid the conversation despite how he wants to. Dean Winchester had never been good at emotional displays, but Grace very rarely gave him the choice of backing away from them. “I meant what I said Gracie, I did think this time would be different. The way he talked about the both of you when you were at Stanford – I just thought he’d at least try to turn a new leaf. Can we cut the chick-flick shit?” 

“No, because I am a chick. That rule only applies to Sammy and you know it.” The youngest Winchester huffed, uncrossing her arms only to drop them at her sides like they weighed too much for her to carry. “You know that wasn’t the first time he broke my nose?” 

For once, Dean didn’t try to shut down the conversation. For once, all he did was try his best to actually listen to Grace as she opened up her heart to him. He craned his head to peer into the backseat, comforted by the sight of her sprawled against the leather seats. She hadn’t sat like that in weeks, she’d been keeping herself closed off and small, but a piece of Dean’s heart heals as he keeps his eyes on her now. 

“I don’t remember him ever breaking your nose before.” Sam frowned, evidently paying more attention to the conversation than either Grace or Dean had first thought. Frustration and anger was still rolling off of his shoulder in waves, but he’d always been good at keeping his feelings away from Grace. Even if she wasn’t aware, she had been both of her brother's soft spots for as long as they could remember. 

“Because you weren’t there.” Grace says softly, her eyes saddened and brimming with tears. “Whenever Dad took me on hunts… they were never as long as he told you they were. Sometimes we’d be gone a week, but the hunt itself would only take two or three days. One time–” Grace looks down, her hands beginning to tremble at the memory that plays at the forefront of her mind like it had been burned there by someone sadistic and cruel. “One time, when I had the flu, he took me out to South Dakota to kill some pissed off spirit. Shit went wrong, and he just– he just flipped; finished the hunt himself and dragged me back to Bobby’s. He must’ve hit me a few hundred times. That was when he was the worst. When he didn’t have to worry about you asking questions, when he didn’t have anyone there to stop him. At, uh, at one point he punched me so hard that I fell over, and then he just kept kicking me. I don’t remember much honestly. It’s like… glimpses, flashes. All I really remember is that he kept throwing rocks at me, telling me to get up, yelling at me to get up. I tried, but I couldn’t and I puked all over myself. That pissed him off even more, he grabbed me by my shirt, pulled me up to my feet. He, uh, he had his hand around my neck. It was one of the first times he said he’d kill me and I actually believed him. If Bobby hadn’t gotten back from his own hunt, I really think he would’ve killed me that night.” Grace, despite herself, smiles sadly at the memory. She can’t look up at her brothers. She doesn’t want to know what they look like. But, she’s not done. Somehow, there’s more to the story that isn’t really a story at all. It’s her life. The tragic and twisted existence of Grace Campbell Winchester. “Bobby brought me inside. I didn’t think anything was broken, I tried to tell him that, but he wouldn’t leave it alone. I’ve never seen Bobby so scared, so terrified for anyone. The way he looked at me… I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. He looked at me like one wrong move would be enough to finish what Dad didn’t. He set my nose back in place, but I can’t even remember how Dad broke it. If it was his fist or his foot or one of the rocks he threw, I– I don’t know. I just know that I stayed with Bobby for a couple of days after that. Dad went off to do another hunt, or I don’t know, maybe he just got wasted at a bar and got a motel room somewhere. I just– all I remember is that four days later he showed up, told me to get in the car, and we drove back to that crappy ass motel he left you at. Before we got inside he told me not to tell you, that if I said anything, he’d have no problem killing me for real and making sure it hurt.” 

“Gracie, look at me.” Dean pleaded tenderly, his voice thick with tears as he searched for the only pair of eyes that could make him question doing something stupid and reckless but she refused to look at anything besides her blood stained hands in her lap. She doesn’t know what had changed her mind about sharing that specific encounter, but she doesn’t think she feels any lighter in the aftermath of its exposure. “Look at me, sweetheart. Please.” 

Grace’s bloodshot eyes trail up to meet Dean’s after a beat of thick silence, and her bottom lip trembles as she sets her gaze on his crestfallen green gaze. The green gaze that they share. The green gaze that is so entirely Mary it almost hurts Dean to even look at his sister and see someone so broken down they're hardly even recognizable. Mary would hate what they’ve become. Hate what John simultaneously made of them and unmade of them. Sometimes, he doesn’t even feel like a person. He’s got such a misconstrued sense of his own autonomy that life or death doesn’t feel like such a weighted gamble of cards. What Dean Winchester hates the most is that the two kids he gave his own childhood up for – to raise and nurture when nobody else was around to do it –, have the same troubles embedded deeply in their instincts. “You don’t have to say anything, Dean.” Grace deflated sadly, wanting to just move on, to focus on the hunt and maintaining pleasantries with their father who is undoubtedly stewing in his wild anger only a car ahead of them.

“No, I do. I do, Gracie. I should’ve said something to both of you a long time ago.” Dean shakes his head, so often forgetting that he hadn’t willfully been a silent observer of the abuse. Grace hates that he blames so much of her suffering on himself, but she’s guilty of the same fate when there’s nothing else to keep her mind busy. “I’m not going to let him lay another finger on you, and if does, if I’m not there to stop it and shit happens, you come and find me, and I’ll deal with it. You hear me, sweetheart? He so much as grabs you too tight and I’ll handle it. I’ll finish him.” 

“You know I don’t blame you right? Either of you.” She asked softly, her voice wavering as she breathed through her mouth, her nose still throbbing at the center of her face. She’d need ice and Advil whenever they had a chance to dig through their duffles, but for now, she could live with the reminder that she’d finally stood her ground in some capacity. “The only one I blame is Dad, and it looks like we’re stuck with him for the foreseeable future, so can you stop trying to dig your own grave? And can you please stop looking like you’re going to tear his head off? This is what you wanted, and maybe it didn’t turn out the way you hoped, but we still have a job to do and I cannot be the only one thinking straight. I mean, we’re up against fucking vampires, you should be bouncing off the walls and you should be stressed beyond belief because halloween came early.” 

“Halloween did not come early.” Sam huffs, a small smile cracking his stoic expression as he threw a glare at Grace over his shoulder, his grip on the wheel loosening just slightly as he let her words wash over him. He couldn’t promise his best behavior, but he could certainly try if it meant keeping her happy. 

“We’re literally up against Dracula and his evil family, Sammy. Halloween basically came early.” Grace rolled her eyes, feeling more like herself as she taunted her brother and his eternal hatred for anything related to the tail-end of October. 

“Freaking vampires, dude!” Dean bellowed, and that was all that it took for peace to be restored amongst the siblings, John’s presence no longer so daunting now that Grace knew they had each other's back in any circumstance. 

-

Grace stood between her brothers in broad daylight, concealed by only a couple of overgrown and intertwined branches as they scooped out the vampire nest from a distance. John stood only a few inches away, his eyes memorizing the terrain that they’d stumbled across intently. Dean grumbled at her side, shaking his head as he watched two vampires engage in a rushed conversation before slipping into the abandoned barn. One lingered by the doors, sweeping his gaze across the expanse of trees and shrubbery before he disappeared too. 

“Son of a bitch.” He muttered beneath his breath, “So they’re really not afraid of the sun?”

“No, direct sunlight hurts like a nasty sunburn. The only way to kill them is by beheading them.” Grace’s nose scrunched at the violent nature of their only true weakness, and subtly she was reminded of her reset nose when an ache ran deep through her bones. She stepped just slightly to the left, her forearm brushing against Dean’s as she created distance between her fathers body and her own. She could talk a big game about carrying on with the hunt and letting the past take up residence on a back burner, but instinct was something harder to control. Dean nudged her with his elbow, nodding just slightly to convey his watchful eye. He meant what he’d said. John Winchester would never lay another hand on her if he had any say in the matter; and he’d make sure he got a say this time around. “And, yeah, they sleep during the day. It doesn’t mean they won’t wake up.” 

“So I guess walking right in’s not our best option.” Dean assumed, and Grace was inclined to agree that walking right into a vampire's nest was a dumb play, but John’s reaction insinuated the very opposite. 

“Actually, that’s the plan.” He mused, nodding toward their cars parked a few feet away in a clearing not visible to the barn doors. They followed him cautiously, stepping over twigs and branches that would give away their position if even one of the creatures heard something suspicious. 

She pulled the trunk of the Impala open, her eyes training over the stuffed bear she’d taken possession of all of those weeks ago in Kansas. A saddened warmth spread through her chest at the memory of Mary burning before her own two eyes, but she pushed it aside. Now was not the time nor place to unpack her boatload of parental traumas. 

“Dad, I’ve got an extra machete if you need one.” Dean called over his shoulder as he looked to John who had his own trunk open and was scrounging through his collection of weapons for something specific. 

“Think I’m okay. Thanks.” He replied drying, unsheathing a machete that glimmered beneath the overcast sky. Its blade was impressive, not something that Grace had seen before, and the irony that he suddenly had a weapon of that nature in a hunt like this didn’t leave her entirely. For someone who said he’d never hunted a vampire and thought all they were all extinct, he certainly had the weapons and knowledge to disprove that. 

“Wow.” Dean hummed, turning back to the trunk. Grace’s fingers were curled together in a pattern that Dean hadn’t seen since his teenage years, but a broad smile broke across his lips as he shook his head. Years ago, they’d created a silent code for the times when their father was being nothing short of an arrogant dick. It was one of the only ways that they could get anything beneath his nose, and still Dean found humor in it, even if this time his smile was drawn from the stirrings of nostalgia that blossomed in his chest. 

“So… you boys really want to know about this colt?” Grace could only roll her eyes at the fact that her father refused to acknowledge her, but she didn’t say anything. Truth was, they did want to know, and she was willing to sacrifice her pride if it meant gaining precious insight. 

“Yes sir.” Sam replied, his attention snapping to John instantaneously. 

John sighed, and for a second his eyes lingered on Grace angled between his boys so perfectly that it looked like something natural. John couldn’t remember a time when his kids had been so at ease around him, and even if their shoulders were still rigid with tension, there was something about their closeness that struck him deeply. “It’s just a story… A legend, really. Well, I thought it was. Never really believed it until I read Daniel’s letter. Back in 1835, when Halley’s comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made a gun… a special gun. He made it for a hunter – a man like us, only on horseback. The story goes he made thirteen bullets. This hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. ‘Til somehow, Daniel got his hands on it. They say– they say this gun can kill anything.”

“Kill anything like supernatural anything?” Dean questioned, astonishment laced within his tone. Grace stood straighter at the realization, her gaze falling upon that hidden corner of the trunk where she’d tucked her precious bear in between a pocket knife and the first aid kit Dean kept. 

“Like the thing that killed Mom.” Grace whispered as she trailed her gaze back to John, looking at him with so much confidence he almost didn’t have a clapback for her direct mentioning of Mary. Almost. He opened his mouth, probably to threaten her into silence, but she stepped up closer, her voice even and calm as she raised her chin. “You do not have the right to take her away from me. Maybe I don’t remember her, but she is still my Mom. The only one I’ll ever have. So why don’t you just get on with it instead of wasting any more time that we don’t have.” 

John, for once in his life, listened. “Yeah, the demon.” He licked at his lips, shifting his gaze to Sam who stood in the same state of shock as Dean. “Ever since I picked up its trail, I’ve been looking for a way to destroy that thing. Find the gun… we may have it.” 

Grace nodded, looking directly at her father, no longer afraid to so much as meet his eye without explicit permission. “Well let’s go then. I’d say it's about twenty years overdue.” 

-

Grace climbed through a window after Sam, standing on piles of hay that sank beneath her weight. Dean was right behind her, and softly he closed the boards up after he’d climbed through, drowning them in near complete darkness before their eyes adjusted to the change in light. John was ahead of them, but what else lay ahead of them was incredibly daunting. At least four vampires laid asleep in makeshift hammocks, their arms folded over their stomachs as they assumed the same near identical positions. 

She kept close to Sam, and Dean kept close to her. They had each other's backs, and that was as much comfort as Grace was going to get before they managed to secure the gun. As they stalked through the barn, it became evident that it wasn’t just four vampires that surrounded them, but over a dozen, and chills crawled up her spine as she grimaced internally. She snapped ehr gaze to Dean when teh toe of his shoe clashed against an abandoned bottle of beer, his shoulder jostling the hammock that a vampire rested in soundly. Their eyes widened, and both siblings froze to gauge the reaction that was to come, but when nothing happened and the vampire settled back into sleep, Grace breathed a silent sigh of relief. 

“Dean, Gracie.” Sam whispered for their attention, crouched beside a woman that Grace could only see half off. She crept closer, blood stains coming into view. Sam was already busy trying to untie the ropes that bound the woman, but Grace and Dean snapped their gaze to the far corner of the room when they heard a muffled sound. 

“There’s more.” Dean whispered, and Grace nodded, already back on her feet and heading in the direction that they’d heard the slightest commotion from. Dean grabbed onto a metal lever, putting both of his hands around the cold material to dampen the noise, but a clanking squeak still echoed around the barn and Grace kept careful watch of the vampires surrounding them. One of the guys shifted in his sleep, but thankfully he remained that way. 

The quiet didn’t last long, and Grace flinched into Dean when a near demonic sounding scream came from the woman bound to the pole in the center of the barn. All at once the other vampires woke, bouncing to their feet as they took in the sight of intruders around them. 

John smashed a window in the corner of the barn, his eyes wild as he looked over his shoulders to locate his children; all three of them. “Kids, run!” He threw out the order, and they listened, but Grace faltered when her eyes caught something silver in the distance. She stumbled on her feet, but didn’t go back for the gun that caught her attention. There would be another opportunity, their had to be.

When sunlight broke across her face, she squinted at the intrusion of bright light, running through the wooded area where the calls of her brother's voices created an audible path. “Gracie! Dad!” 

“I’m right here. God, I’m right here, stop fucking yelling you idiot!” She groaned, batting her hand against Dean’s shoulder when she got close enough to reach them. Dean rolled his eyes at her attitude, but stopped calling for John, realizing that he was essentially giving their covered position away. “They have the colt.” She told her brothers, confirming that they were chasing the right lead for more than just a police scanner call. 

“They won’t follow. They’ll wait till tonight. Once a vampire gets your scent, it’s for life.” John panted as he came running up to them, and Grace could only roll her eyes at the fact that he was only thinking to tell them that small detail now. 

“What the hell do we do now?” Dean threw back at their father, evidently less than impressed with that simple answer. 

“You got to find the nearest funeral home, that’s what.” Dean reared back at the cheap solution, his eyes widening for a brief moment before he schooled his features. 

-

Grace stood beneath the cover of nightfall only a few feet away from where Dean had parked the Impala. There’s a crossbow at her side, arrows from John already loaded into the weapon. She doesn’t know what they are, but she doesn’t really care. All she knows is that he’d sent her and Dean out as bait, but not without shoving the weapons into her empty hands, demanding that she prove she hasn’t lost her worth in the years that it had been since they’d seen each other. She doesn’t want to think about how his eyes had flashed with something genuine as she nodded to the instruction, but she can't help but consider that maybe she doesn’t know him as well as she’d thought. Regardless, his sudden care for her wellbeing doesn’t change her opinion of him. If anything, it only pisses her off more. She doesn’t need him anymore; doesn’t want him. She’s long since abandoned the desire to win his affection and praise. All that she cares about is doing her part in keeping her brothers alive. 

She waits for the perfect moment before she reaches for the weapon, letting the arrows cut through the darkness of night only when she’s certain that she has the perfect shot. Both arrows pierce through the hearts of the vampires, and they crane their necks to face the expanse of trees behind them. Her heart is hammering, unable to recall the last time she’d even held a crossbow, but the knowledge that after all the time that had elapsed and she was still a perfect shot had her jogging toward her brother without concern. Sam and John were right behind her, and Grace couldn’t pinpoint when they’d arrived, but she smiled cheekily at Sam over her shoulder, wiggling her eyebrows tauntingly. For a second, she was just the girl he’d started to know at Stanford, and Sam had never been so glad to see that stupid smile in his life. 

“Barely even stings.” The woman calls over her shoulder, looking straight at Grace who still holds onto the weapon of choice for the night. She can only shrug, but John has more to say.

“Give it time, sweetheart. That arrows soaked in dead man's blood. It’s like poison to you, isn’t it?” Grace’s gaze trailed down to her fingers, suddenly aware of the fact that she’d touched both arrows to lace them into the weapon. She could roll her eyes at John’s inability to ever be truly transparent, but she pockets the complaint for a later date. The woman’s eyes began to grow heavy, and in second both vampires dropped to the ground. “Load her up. I’ll take care of this one.” 

The last thing Grace saw before she turned to help her brothers was John slicing the head of the vampire off with one clean blow. 

-

“Toss this on the fire. Saffron, skunk, cabbage, and trillium – it’ll block our scent and hers until we’re ready.” John hummed, a fire burning bright beside Grace as she stood in the middle of the woods beside her brothers. 

Dean coughed, pacing the rough terrain with understandable restlessness. “Stuff stinks.” He commented, and Grace could only shake her head at his reflection. 

“Well, that’s the idea. Dust your clothes with the ashes and you’ll stand a chance of not being detected.” Grace didn’t have to be told twice, mostly because it wasn’t her jacket she was ruining by spreading ash across her chest and sleeves. She shot Dean a cheeky smile, flaunting his ash covered jacket in a silly spin that had him chuckling and shaking his head. She’d never been so light in the presence of John, had never been so light in the presence of Dean, but new leaves had been turned since he’d punched her, and fear was something she muddled through so intensely. She could only hope it lasted, but if this was all that she ever got of ‘peace’, she’d take it as a win. 

“You sure they’ll come after her?” Sam questioned, looking back at John. 

“Yeah. Vampires mate for life. She means more to the leader than the gun. But the blood sickness is gonna wear off soon, so you don’t have a lot of time.” 

“Half-hour outta do it.” Dean hummed, stepping up to the conversation with Grace on his heels. 

“And then I want you out of the area as fast as you can.” Grace frowned at the ultimatum, or, direct order. She’d been thrown enough orders in her life to know when something was optional, and John’s direction to leave town was definitely not that. 

“Woah, Dad. You can’t take care of them all yourself.” Dean fought back, but John shook his head. 

“I’ll have her and the colt.” He tried to reason, but all Grace heard was bullshit masculinity and its inability to let anyone else help. She hadn’t thought for a second that things with him would be any different, but somehow she didn’t expect this. 

“But after, we’re gonna meet up, right? Use the gun together, right?” Sam questioned, his voice laced with something that Grace couldn’t determine. His words were pointed, level and directed, but there was still something else lingering in his civil tone. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you? You still want to go after the demon alone? You know, I don’t get you. You can’t treat us like this.” 

John looked toward the fire before his gaze swept back to Sam, who’d thrown his promise to the wind, but for once, Grace was right behind him, not bristling at the conflict that was beginning to rise between them. “Like what?” 

“Like children.” Sam snaps, the same argument eating away at him each time it slips away from focus unsolved and unaddressed.

“You are my children. I’m trying to keep you safe. All of you.” John looked right at Grace, and there was that genuinity again. She stepped back instinctively, her body partially concealed by Dean as she tried to make sense of his sudden care. She hated this. Hated that she’d finally been ready to cut her ties with him and this is how he acts; like the father she’d wanted when she was seven.

“Dad, all due respect, but that’s a bunch of crap.” Dean sighed, not willing to stand out in the cold and let their father lie to their faces to save his own ass another time. He’d endured this treatment for years, but he’d finally reached his limit.  

“Excuse me?” John recoiled, and both Grace and Sam turned their gaze to him, jaws hanging slack as they watched Dean make good on his promise that wasn’t solely aimed at the youngest Winchester. He’d meant what he said about sticking his neck out; not letting history repeat itself. But, he hadn’t meant it only for Grace. He’d meant it for Sam too, but more importantly, he meant it for himself. He didn’t want to be a soldier anymore; he couldn’t be. Not when he’d finally seen what could become of him if he just acted on his own impulses every once in a while. 

“You know what Gracie and Sammy and I have been hunting. Hell, you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can’t be that worried about keeping us safe. I mean, fuck Dad, you’ve never been worried about keeping Gracie safe at all. That was my job. My responsibility. So why don’t you let it stay that way.” He prattled on, and Grace could only dip her head down at the mention of her name. She knows what he gave up for her, but she desperately wished he hadn’t had to. It’s not her fault that it happened, but that doesn’t lessen the guilt she carries. 

“It’s not the same thing, Dean.” John shook his head, but that only further frustrated his children who were damn near fed up with being kept in what seemed like eternal darkness. 

“Then what is it? Why do you want us out of the big fight?” 

“This demon… It's a bad son of a bitch. I can’t make the same moves if I’m worried about keeping you alive.” He relented, but even with his spoken word, little was actually revealed to the siblings. John Winchester just had a way of being elusive without even batting an eye. 

“You mean you can’t be as reckless.” Dean snapped back, going toe-to-toe with their father, tired of just being the little boy that listened and obeyed blindly. He’d played that role for twenty-six years, he couldn’t stand to fill the shoes for another second. 

“Look, I don’t expect to make it out of this fight in one piece. Your mothers death… it almost killed me.” Dean looked away at the mention of Mary, and John shook his head, growing teary. “I can’t watch my children die, too. I won’t.” 

“What happens if you die?” Dean’s voice wavered with the slightest indication of vulnerability before it grew cold and detached, his jaw clenching as he spoke. “Dad, what happens if you die and we could have done something about it? You know, I’ve been thinking. I think maybe Sammy’s right about this one. I think we should do this together.” He was pleading at this point, begging with John to let them see this through with him. Grace couldn’t admit it, but a piece of her yearned for the same thing as her brothers. She may hate the man, may despise his presence next to her, but she couldn’t be an orphan. She still can’t even begin to handle the fact that she’s already down one parent. “We’re stronger as a family, Dad. We just are. You know it.”

“We’re running out of time.” John nodded, entirely bypassing the point that Dean had been trying to drive home. Grace deflated behind her brother, taking a step away in wild defeat and discouragement. She hates the thought of being around John, but she wants to have a hand in righting her mothers death. It’s not fair that even after all of this, John still dangles any kind of closure over her head. Every part of her knows that he’s incapable of change, but a piece of her heart breaks as she realizes that nothing about them will ever be enough to get him to stay. “You do your time, and you get out of the area. That’s an order.” 

She scoffs as she shakes her head, turning her back to her brothers and her father as she made her way back to the Impala wordlessly. She’d fought for John to love her for years, she wouldn’t let herself waste anymore time on someone that had never been what he should’ve been for her. 

The door slams behind her, and she sinks into the leather seats wearing a pout of frustration. When Sam and Dean sink into the seats up front, a beat of silence passes before the engine roars to life and Dean pulls out onto the road like a bat out of hell, the timer already running out of time. 

-

Grace crawls through the window after her brothers, silently landing on the bails of hay that are stacked up against the boarded wall. She brushes her blood stained clothes off, grimacing at the hay that still sticks to her and sends prickly sensations down her spine whenever she moves. She creeps through the hallways wordlessly, grinning beside Dean as they sweep a coin off of the desk and listen to it clank as it hits the floor. She slips into the hallway, gripping tightly to a machete that conveniently is perched against the wall of the barn. She doesn’t let herself think about the irony of this nest of vampires housing the very weapons that can kill them, focusing instead on the plan at hand. 

She holds her breath as a vampire stalks through the barn searching for the cause of the sound, and when he’s just a few steps ahead of her, Dean pops out from the sideroom, a grin on his lips as he whispers, “Boo!” The vampire didn’t even have a chance to spin on his heels and search for Grace before she was wielding the machete with practiced ease, slicing his head clean off in a second. 

“That is either the coolest thing I’ve ever done on a hunt or the most disgusting.” She grimaces as blood drips down her face and further stains her clothing. She can’t tell what’s her blood or his anymore, but the satisfaction in knowing she’d killed the evil they stumbled across eased the disgust pooling in her belly as warm blood began to cool on her skin. 

She wiped a palm down her face, wiping the blood into the fabric of her pants as she followed Dean. When he had what he was searching for, he nodded toward the window where Sam was waiting with a machete from the trunk, having taken the role of lookout reluctantly. 

“We’re going back for him, aren’t we?” Grace questions as she lands on the ground, brushing off her clothes again as dirt and hay stick to her. 

“Obviously.” Dean retorted and Grace nodded promptly, not having it in her to argue about what their next move should be. Their father couldn’t handle what was coming his way, even if he didn’t know that, Grace did, and despite herself and every self-preservation tactic she’d learned since childhood, she couldn’t get herself to be the kind of person to walk away when showing up mattered most. 

-

The headlights from John’s truck shone brightly in the expanse of darkness as Grace and her brothers rushed through the wooded area toward the gravel road. Grace wielded a crossbow with elegance, hardly bristling as she aimed for the chest of a woman and shot blankly, the poison coated arrow piercing directly through the vampire's sternum. Sam was only steps ahead of her, but before Grace could make a move to shoot the approaching vampire, he’d gained the upper hand and wrangled Sam into his grip. 

“Don’t! I’ll break his neck.” He warned dangerously, hooking his arm around Sam’s neck with a threatening tightness that had Grace lowering the crossbow just slightly. Grace’s gaze trailed to Dean as leaves rustled beside her, and she found her brother gripping at the handle of a blood soaked machete with genuine fear shining brightly behind his green eyes. “Put the blade down.” He only tightened his grip when Dean looked to contemplate the ultimatum, and Sam began to gasp for air as his windpipe was crushed ruthlessly and slowly. 

“Dean!” Grace called, shaking her head as she dropped the crossbow fully, allowing it to dangle at her side as she looked back at Sam whose cheeks were beginning to redden with the lack of oxygen. 

The vampire, a man that Grace had no interest learning the name of, stared straight at Dean as the machete clanked at the impact of thin metal meeting the rough ground. “You people. Why can’t you just leave us alone? We have as much right to live as you do.” 

“I don’t think so.” Grace hadn’t even noticed her father pick himself up from the ground, but her gaze snapped to him at the sound of a gunshot firing. The colt glistened beneath the moonlight, one of its carefully crafted bullets slicing through the air before it embedded itself in the creature's head right between his deep eyes. Grace didn’t take another moment to take in the sight of blood slowly slipping from the wound, instead, she rushed to Sam, the crossbow forgotten in the clearing of brittle grass as her sneakers padded against the ground bringing her closer to where Dean held Sam upright by his shoulders. 

Sam shrugged Grace’s concerned hands off of him as he turned to fully watch the vampire succumb to his injury. Light flickered from the hole in his head before he dropped to his knees on the gravel, groaning in pain before everything became still.

“Kate, don’t!” Another vampire called when a girl cried out in distress, attempting to rush toward her fallen leader before she was held back protectively. It was only a handful of seconds later that car doors were slamming shut and the vampires that remained sped away, their headlights shining bright in the darkness before they ebbed away. 

Grace Winchester took one look at her father before she shook her head, abandoning the fight and turning toward the direction of where the Impala was parked in the near distance but out of earshot. The leaves crunched beneath her feet, but she said nothing as she sought out escape. 

-

Grace’s hair was damp as she sifted through clothing that her brothers had somehow strewn across the room in the few hours that they’d actually occupied the motel room. She’d finally washed the blood off of her body and traded in her soiled clothes for new ones, but even with the seven minute shower she still felt heavy and out of sorts. She sighed as she threw a flannel at Dean, deciding against stealing it for herself when she noticed the grease stain smeared along the left side of the thin article. She stood in only pink pajama pants and a Stanford t-shirt when the motel door creaked open again, her father finally making his presence known. 

“So, boys…” Grace could only shake her head in exasperation when her father entirely bypassed her existence, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care that much as she continued to sift through the random garments within reach. She threw a t-shirt on top of Sam’s duffle bag, wondering how they’d created such a mess in the first place when all they’d done was steal a handful of hours of rest. 

“Yes, sir.” Dean cleared his throat, turning around to face John fully. Sam stepped up beside him, unintentionally shielding Grace from John’s sight. The youngest Winchester didn’t notice, but the eldest did, and John squared his shoulders at the realisation that he was being barred from looking at his own daughter. 

“You ignored a direct order back there.” John continued, deciding that now wasn’t the time to breach any kind of conversation pertaining to Grace. 

“Yes, sir. But we saved your ass.” Dean made sure to highlight what mattered, and Grace could only manage a smirk as she settled into the realization that it wasn’t just a one time promise. Even if it would take time to truly separate himself from everything that he’d been blindly following for years, Dean was putting the effort in where it mattered. 

“You’re right.” John relented, and Grace frowned at the simple resolution, turning around to witness the conversation as she pulled an old hoodie over her head. She can’t even remember the last time she’d seen Dean wear a hoodie, but now wasn’t the time to question why he was still holding on to the tattered thing. 

“I am?” Dean questioned skeptically, taking a step closer to Sam when he caught the slightest glimpse of Grace moving in his peripheral. All three Winchesters were on edge, knowing exactly what kind of treatment Grace would be subjected to taking had this occurred only two years ago. Dean wasn’t going to let it happen now, but still he worried about not being able to prevent it. 

“It scares the hell out of me. You…you three are all I’ve got. But I guess we are stronger as a family.” Grace bristled at the words rolling off of John’s tongue, unable to picture a reality where her father ever admitted that she was worth bringing along. She hates that this is what she’s wanted for her entire life, and now that it's falling at her feet laced with sincerity, it feels wrong and misplaced. She hates that John is willing to step up, be the man he should’ve been albeit still with faults and ridged edges, but she’s already moved on. It’s too little too late. “So… we go after this damn thing…together.” 

“Yes, sir.” Dean and Sam nodded but Grace couldn’t just let that be all that was said after years of torment and abuse; after he’d just broken her nose and backhanded her like she was just an insignificant child. He’d burned the bridge to her heart a long time ago, and there was no way to restore scattered ashes. 

“I’ll help you, because she is my mom, and this is my fight as much as it is yours, but you are not my family. You will never be my family.” She spat uncaringly, slinging her dufflebag over her shoulder and heading for the door, stepping around her father and her brothers. The light from the lamps fell upon her face, catching on the swelling around her eyes and the bruising to her cheek bone. 

John Winchester might be ready to finally accept his only daughter, but Grace Winchester has no obligation to forgive the years of anguish he’d inflicted on her.

[catwouthats]

Young Justice (98’) and their ACCENTS because it drives me insane

Bart Allen: Internet/game accent with a southerner twang (plus, speedsters process the world around them differently, including language, so I imagine there is a sort of “speedster accent” since he’s not used to speaking slow)

Anita Fite: Bayou, Haitian, and slight Jamaican accent (probably got not as strong after less time with her relatives. Btw her dad is Jamaican. Also, where did she move to with her dad after gma’s death? Bc that would influence it too)

Tim Drake: Gotham accent (NY or NJ. Mid-Atlantic) kinda privileged white boy version.

Kon El: I hc him as speaking in a “charming” city/suburb way (Delaware aka metropolis), while trying to hide that ever so slight rural mid-west accent from slipping out at certain words

Cissie King-Jones: A suburban east-coast accent (She is from Pennsylvania) but add the fact she goes to an all girls school (groups can form their own dialects)

Cassie Sandsmark: suburban east-coast accent mostly. (mixed slightly with NYC style accent)

Slobo: he’s from another planet, but if ya interpret how they spell what he says mixed with his personality you get rough city-southern (slurred speech with some consonants spat. Harsh, gravelly voice.)

Secret: She grew up in Rhode Island (suburbs I think?), so New England accent. Also, based on how they show her speech bubbles/text: soft spoken, week voice, strained

More languages headcanons:

- Kon tries to avoid saying words like “dog” around his friends and crushes. When he does have to say it, he’s very conscious of how his pronouncing it and will pause a moment before saying it slightly slow.

- Because of Bart being neurodivergent, he picks up accents easily. And his accent can fluctuate occasionally into the accent of who his speaking to. (This is technically canon)

- A Valley Girl moved to Cissies school and infected the whole school with her accent. She then has a slight valley accent for a bit (never fully goes away)

- Bart Allen confuses the FUCK out of other southerners since he speaks so fast with a slight southern accent.

- Bart’s voice is fucking weird in general bc he had to get used to speaking 10x slower than normal (bc VR world n shit)

- It’s canon that Cassie says “like” a lot, and I just wanna point that out again

- They all mock the way Tim speaks

- Nobody mocks the way Bart speaks (some of them want to but literally don know how to since his accent is so weird)

- Slobo’s accent is slightly softer than Lobo’s (genetic runt n all). He tries to force it to be harsh most of the time though.

- Secret is so soft spoke with a strained voice bc of her ptsd. After she becomes human again she is slightly better, but the way she strains her voice hurts her now since it’s a solid body.

- Not exactly a hc, but did Anita smack Kon after he mocked her accent? Bc if they didn’t show it in the comic, I hc she did. Kon tried to be better after mocking her accent that one time though (This is canon. She pretended something he said once was a racist thing and he got so scared. She laughed at him for it and said she was just messing).

- Strangers sometimes stare at Bart and Slobo talking to each other bc their accents are so odd. When one of them notice, they silently signal to the other, and then they both suddenly stop talking to turn ominously to the person looking. (They also later let Anita in on their trick bc they noticed that some racist people occasionally shoot her weird looks. They love scaring bigots with this trick.)

- After all her parents died, Anita noticed her accent start to slip and that frustrated her, so she made sure to make sure to have her Haitian accent prevail (visits to her hometown, etc.)

[delusional-fantasising]

I Do Love You P2 (Soldier Boy x GN reader)

Okay this originally wasn't supposed to have a part 2 so it's may seem a bit clunky. The first part was just supposed to be how I see Soldier Boy's healing process and how it should go if he were to get a new love interest since I don't believe he would be able to move on from his traumas. I wrote something that I'm not the most proud of but if I wrote it the way I do want and envision I would have to write a multi chapter fanfic. Something I don't got the motivation to do since I am writing a few at the same time for other fandoms.

Summary: Reader tells him 'I love you' weeks ago and after a therapy session he decides to make the first few steps to overcome his trauma

Warnings: Mentioning of trauma, PTSD, clunky writing, and a different view on Soldier Boy (More vulnerable and softer version)

Word Count: 1181

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“Benjamin, I want you to explain how you feel this way. Explain what happens.”

Soldier Boy was quiet as he tried thinking of all the feelings coursed through his brain when you told him ‘I love you’

His therapist was trying to help him find solutions to cope with his trauma of the betrayal that led to 40 years of torture. The supe was lying on his back staring up at the ceiling, a calculated stare that was emotionally distant. It’s been a month since the incident.

“I just feel… overwhelmed like when I’m going to have an episode. I- this is stupid,” He said as he got up and grabbed his coat, his therapist asked, “Do you love them too or is this a way of you avoiding your problems? If you do this you may distance yourself to try helping them but you will hurt them if you try pushing them away.”

Soldier Boy froze, his hand hovering above the door knob. Close enough to leaving but he remembered how much The Boys were making him go to therapy to cope with trauma in ‘healthy’ ways instead of just getting stoned all the time.

“Just after Crimson Countess, after her I don’t feel safe in a romantic space anymore…” He muttered, lowering his hand turning away from the door. Forcing himself to look in the eyes of the therapist. They questioned as they scribes notes about how Soldier Boy felt, “If you are so scared of loving or being loved why are you dating then? Do you think it’s a good idea leading someone on if you don’t love them?”

“No! It’s not that I don’t l-l0- you know the L-word. It’s just that what if they betray me like-”

“But they aren’t Crimson Countess though. Why not give them the benefit of the doubt, let them in. Talking about how you feel to loved ones helps many people,” His therapist spoke calmly, making him think of the possibility of opening up to you but he didn’t like being vulnerable not again. But he had to remind himself that you are your own person, you are nothing like Crimson Countess.

…

You were baking a surprise for Soldier Boy as a way to apologise for triggering him, you felt like you crossed one of his boundaries with the whole ‘I love you’ incident. Remembering how much he complains that the Apple Pecan pies today are too sweet and back in his day they tasted amazing, you did some research and found a recipe that was made around the time he was a teenager. The pie was almost down, you were squatting down in front of the oven watching through the window at the rising pie. The smell filling the air, making your stomach twist and growl. It was that strong urge to take the first slice made you feel guilty to want to indulge. Self control…

Soldier Boy entered the base not expecting the sweet smell of pie, freshly baked and he had stopped by a small flower shop to get a few of your favourite flowers while rehearsing a phrase over and over again in his head for you. His therapist told him that if he wants to show you how much he cares and likes you romantically he can’t be avoiding the 3 big words. He entered the kitchen and he froze when he saw you. You were sitting on your haunches staring at the pie slowly yet eventually rising like how he used to when he was younger before all the trauma. The immature unbridled joy in your eyes as you still haven’t notice him watching you till he let out a cough into his fist.

“OH!” You yelped as you spun around to face him, you start rambling and going on but he wasn’t paying attention he was in his own world. The world where he spent time just staring at every small feature like it was going to be the last time he will ever see you. His gaze unusually soft and he knew that this was no longer time to be stuck in the past but explore whatever the present and future throws at him because you were never anything like Countess.

“I just want to say what I said awhile back was going over a boundary and I am sorry. I understand if you hate me-”

“I don’t hate you though,” He stated abruptly as he knew what he had to do, he walked over. The sound of the plastic covering on the flowers crinkled as he tightened his grip. He never wanted you to hate him, ever since what happened to him he became more aware that if he gives a person a reason they will abandon him or stab him in the back.

Paranoia and the muscle tension going taut coming it’s to the peak till acceptance came over.

“Benjamin I just know that I want too far though and you probably felt rushed at the time. I understand what she did to you and I know that you are still struggling with that trauma,” You rambled, fidgeting with your fingers and your eyes dropping to your floor. He set the flowers onto the counter, grabbing your hands standing close to you. “It’s alright, I just want you to listen to what I need to say. Please…”

You went quiet to listen whatever he needed to say. The look of vulnerability peaking through, something rare that he has never done in awhile ever since an altercation with his son before the death of his only son.

“I know I can be an asshole. I know that I say shit that may hurt you or my actions hurt you but I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t mean to come off that way when you told me what you did… but I don’t hate you. It’s hard for me to love you but I do, I do love you but I need time. I need time to go slow,” Soldier Boy blurted out as his voice quivered when he admitted his feelings for once as if finally coming to terms. His eyes refusing to meet yours for the whole confession till the silence hung in the room for a painfully long time.

The silence was cut by the egg timer.

…

Soldier Boy is a man of his word…

-

Most of the time.

Billy and Hughie came back from a tiring mission, Hughie smelled pie and followed the scent. The kitchen was playing some old tunes from the 1940’s, he stands and pauses in the doorway wondering if he should just come back later.

Soldier Boy had his arm wrapped around your waist and his lips pressed against your forehead, slow dancing with you in the middle of the kitchen while the pie was cooling from being taken out of the over a few minutes ago. The soft swaying and him talking to you lovingly like how couples in old movies spoke to each other.

In love.

______________________________

@spnfamily-j2 @red22wolf

[striderthefrog]

Scratch McGee and repressed trauma.

First off I’d like to preface this by saying I am not an expert on mental health this is an attempted analysis of a cartoon character through the lense of mental health for the purpose of entertainment.

TW: Discussion of mental health/ptsd

Scratch has been one of the most complex characters in tgamm. He starts off as a grumpy hermit, but as the series progresses we begin to see that he has a softer side. However he is trying to escape a traumatic past and is scared of forming attachments.

In scaring is caring it is revealed that Scratches worst fear is losing Molly. Although they’ve only known each other for a few months these two have become the closest of friends and we see that Scratch is deeply afraid of losing her even though he shouldn’t have to be worried about that.

Then we get to season two, this is when we really start to see where the possible trauma originated. In A soda to remember we see Scratch and Molly try to get a soda he had as a kid to help him remember his past. This could be seen as a trigger for his trauma, something related to it that starts to bring up those feelings/memories.

Scratch confesses to Molly that he is scared of his past, he doesn’t know if he wants to remember, part of him wants to forget it for good. He ends up deciding that not knowing is the worse end so he takes a sip and we get a peak into his childhood.

Here we see that Scratch had a friend that moved away. We hear a sad version of the friendship motif which has been used with Molly and Scratch’s bonding moments. Scratch looks up from the soda directly at the screen showing the most raw emotion we have seen of him yet. He does not tell Molly about this for a while.

Finally we get to All in the mind, an entire episode delving into Scratches past memories and trauma. The form of these memories coming back takes the form of bubbles fizzing up. A fitting way to show that he can’t hide from his trauma forever. Now Scratch seems to be depicted with some form of ptsd/cptsd albeit a more simplified cartoon version. These can be triggered by very small things sometimes seemingly unrelated however the brain usually has come to associate some things with the traumatic memories causing it to trigger.

It seems possible due to the correlation with Adia that being around Molly is causing Scratch to remember things and face his repressed trauma. The better he gets to know her the more he feels a connection similar to his one with Adia.

Once we dive into Scratches mind we see many things such as childish cardboard ship in a bottle of the same soda. And we also see many food related things. Including a taco “of his past.” In his mind we see a brief scene where Scratch is in a chair across from a monkey very clearly like he would a therapist. Scratch clearly has something mentally going on.

Later in the episode Scratch is finally able to stop running for a bit, he talks through it with Molly and although still scared he’s going to try and confront his past. We get an even deeper look into his mind and see him and Adia discussing their plans to travel the world, while in a cardboard boat.

We get another look at the scene of Adia moving away but this time we see scratch look down at his hands where the soda is.

Scratch has begun to dig up his past trauma although it seems we have yet to see the source. At the end of the episode we see a massive bubble come up with Adias face in it distorting the end music and the logo.

Scratch still has his biggest traumatic memories to deal with.

It’s been confirmed that Scratch would have been about 9-10 in the flashback scene we got. When someone goes through trauma they often will act in a way reminiscent of the earliest time they had before said trauma. We consistently see Scratch acting like a child, throwing fits, and talking about things like a 9-10 year old would.

All this seems to point to Scratch having un processed trauma and memories. The show seems to be leading towards the final straw being something happening to Molly as Scratches biggest fear is losing her, like he seems to have lost Adia.

On that note I’d just like to add that trauma takes many forms, and many different things can lead to childhood trauma. One persons will not be like someone else’s necessarily and traumatic experiences happen much easier when one is a child as the brain is still forming. Please feel free to critique anything I’ve said. Hope this has been interesting.

[nevermore-ocs]

[Dating Reed Abbott Headcanons!]

-Let's get one thing out in the open and clear as fuckin water here-

-The initial meeting the two of you had was probably the most AWKWARD encounter in the fuckin galaxy I am so sorry

-God bless him, but undergoing crippling paranoia and PTSD that hardened you into a selectively mute person doesn't exactly make him a Casanova in any version of the word

-He probably accidentally bumped into you at the store or something, and you startled him more than the swap of it cause of him always being on edge

-And when he realized that his big fuckin self almost did indeed bulldoze someone over, he lowly mumbles out a one word apology which can seem uncaring, I know, but he's really doing his damnedest to express that he's full taking the blame for that

-He even passes you this sweet, thin, little smile on his lips to further cement he's genuinely apologetic about it all

-And that was about it for that entire meeting, and then the awkwardness following of the two of you standing next to each other at the store

-Not speaking

-Til inevitably one of you wretched the bandage off of the wound and left first

-But it was only ever like that that first time

-As the reoccurring times continued of the two of you by chance greeting one another in the same spot in the store for the things that you both required for your day to day life, you were probably the first one to crack a joke about one of you two stalking the other that brings out this real laugh out of him, it was louder than he's ever been, and this flash of true elation that crossed his face certainly was worthy of those beats your heart skipped over

-The conversations with him that followed after that prior first chance meeting flowed unbreaking, smoothly, Reed's a natural listener who harked to every single word that you vented, that you dumped onto his shoulders, the very syllables of them, he clung onto with a steely grasp, he'd be able to recall some beginning, fleeting one off thoughts you'd murmur out to him, unexpectant of him to ever draw back to it, but he always could, and did

-Reed never really talks about his previous life, one mention of his last name was enough stress that he was going to drive you away from him - and even reassurances from you weren't enough to inch out some more to alleviate the stress on his heart and mind, but anything that you'd try would really never be enough

-You'd also find out that this 6'4" man that was kicked out of police ranks cause of his legally classified weapons he has for fists almost ended a man's life, is, actually softer than what he appears

-A past-time that quells his stress away for that night would be Animal Crossing on his Switch, or Stardew Valley or something

-YOU ABSOLUTELY KISSED THIS MAN FIRST

-HE'S BEEN SHELTERED SINCE 10, THIS MAN DOES NOT KNOW THE SPECIFICS OF KISSING SO YOU'RE TEACHING HIM

-Reed is VERY TOUCHY, due to this urge to keep what's most important to him safe, so, expect his arm to be around your waist, your shoulders, a hand on your waist, his much big palm enveloping around your hand

-CONGRATS YOU HAVE A FUCKIN WALKING HUMAN ATTACK DOBERMAN AS A BOYFRIEND, this man would literally break the arm of someone else to make sure you were untouched and unharmed

-Again he struggles in the whole department of, just, being in a relationship so asking for things like cuddles, and kisses, and the everyday just exchanged things in a couple, it's a challenge for him to ask from you but is always more than happy to give them to you the very second you ask

-He's also the kind of, stay at home date, kind of dude, but at your place since he figures just having an artillery just embedded throughout his house isn't exactly the most romantic, comforting thing in the world

-His cuddling type is also something likeeee this

-A human blanket, assurance, on both of your parts, that he's right there within your grasp at a moment's notice whenever you need him and that you're right there, a reality, and not a wishful dream his damaged mind can soundly retreat to as a fruitless endeavor to flee the harsh present day he's begrudgingly had to grow used to

-You're his life now, and he refers to you as such with that nickname of "his life", and he's willing to die for you, to kill for you, either for him, what bliss

[graphic-hawk]

How different is Anti in ‘He’s coming for you’ from your other versions of Anti in your other books? And if it’s no problem what are your headcanons of the other septic egos?

Well it depends if you mean Anti OR Antisepticeye since there’s two of them. If you mean Anti, he’s more of the softer version that’s discovered what love and family can feel like and wishes to protect his loved ones at all costs even if they don’t like him. Antisepticeye, however, has no ties or wishes like that and is just the embodiment of evil wishing for death and destruction of all the septic alters/egos.

And really the headcannons for the other egos vary because I tend to change them a bit with every book I write. In this book for instance:

Chase was honorably discharged from the military. He was excellent with a gun and always hit the target but he couldn’t kill another person. He has trauma with guns currently and tries to soothe his ptsd and anxiety with making YouTube vids making trick shots and sometimes drinking. Until Stacey leaves him, taking his son with her to her sister’s house. Chase is very protective and the most fatherly one out of all the other egos. He likes to cook and play games.

Jackie is a vigilante who get repeatedly arrested but doesn’t care as long as he was helping someone. He gets his powers (in this book) from a mask Marvin made but in other realities, he was born with his power. His older sister is a lawyer and she has a son named Benny who draws Jackie as a superhero in red. He loves games like Chase but the difference between them is that he’d kill if he thought it necessary. He’s physically the strongest of the egos and the tallest. He also always has his hair pulled up in a small pony tail.

Henrik is a medical doctor but always wanted to be more. His knowledge is vast and eventually he peruses his dreams and creates Iris. The others forget a lot of the times that Henrik is actually very rich, too and owns a mansion they later call the Septic house. He married a scientist like himself and had two children. He is fatherly and protective like Chase but also very stern and more mature than the other egos.

Jameson was a performer who loves putting in puppet shows. He lost his voice when Antisepticeye cut out his tongue. He had always loved a dancer named Emily but was very shy and couldn’t even talk to her when he had a voice. He loves to collect clocks and take pictures. He loves to dress up dapper and keep a groomed mustache because it fits in with the nature of his shows. He learned sign language very quickly so he could talk to his friends but upon meeting the others, Marvin had cast a spell on them all so they could all understand him and his signing without having to learn it for themselves.

Marvin didn’t know he was a magician until another one had found him and helped him learn. Marvin had worked at a bookshop and always dreamed of owning his own store and doing something big with his life. And then he met Evan, his trainer and now boyfriend. He always had an addiction for learning cool and new things but then that addiction expanded to him learning magic he shouldn’t which led to him finding the other egos in the other universes. Marvin loves to learn new magic tricks and spells and spends his time making potions or collecting weird things or spying on others through his crystal ball like a creep. He keeps a lot of secrets but eventually tells everyone what they need to know when the time is right.

The Anti head cannon changes the most in every book but in all of them, Anti acts tough but is actually soft. He loves kids, games and being around others. He hates being alone and he is secretly a little scared of the dark. He is the most immature one of the egos next to Chase. He is strong in most books like Jackie and in half of my books, both Anti and Jackie share the same kind of powers. Anti is also always the shortest septic ego. He loves pop tarts and other junk food.

Antisepticeye is different in that all he knows is killing and death but he also likes similar things like Anti like games and pranks. However he is still also the shortest like Anti. He also loves food in general.

Let me know if you have any more questions and I’d love to answer them! This was fun :) if you haven’t read the book or its sequel, I highly recommend it as there are a lot more insights in it than I can give in one post lol

[cosmicangst]

im of two minds with the whole joel being softer in the tv adaptation thing. on one hand i do like the game’s rendition where joel doesn’t completely soften until the “baby girl” moment (🥺) because during the spring section it becomes really stark the difference between joel and ellie when they switch roles in that joel is blatantly making an effort to be warm and affectionate especially after the trauma of winter has made ellie become a little quieter and less forward in their dynamic.

the core of the bonding throughout the game is mainly made via combat (ie protecting ellie) whereas the tv show by virtue of its medium replaces that with added scenes of explicit relationship development like bantering, joking, sharing info about themselves with each other (which are also in the game but in smaller doses like in moments where you can “trigger” optional convos with ellie)

so on the other hand i do like this “softened” joel who seems less vicious only because i think it’ll make his moments of absolute mercilessness even more severe. game!joel is the “joel of 5 years ago who would have destroyed that kid in ep 4” that tv!joel was referring to. game!joel wasn’t even thinking about tommy in the beginning. at the end of it, game!joel utilizes his viciousness because he’s found a greater purpose (ellie). tv!joel relearns his viciousness because he has a new reason to be scared (ellie). both versions overlap in certain ways and both versions work in so far as it explores the theme of how love can strengthen and corrupt people in extreme circumstances.

and wrt the people complaining about how they’ve softened joel to butter viewers up to his seeming “incompetence” or “lack of foresight” in the events of the second game, i don’t agree with this take at all. i think tv is a completely different medium from a video game and is more “human” in a sense. video games are wired w a higher suspension of disbelief because it’s integral to the enjoyment of the medium. we shouldn’t bat an eye that a 56 year old is really killing tens of people in a succession of chokeholds without even getting winded because otherwise how is the game going to be fun if we have to pause every time joel has to rest or deal with ptsd attacks (that he would absolutely realistically have?)

i think these critics are more concerned about the machismo fantasy of an unstoppable one-man army than they are about the humanization of the game’s characters and its world. every time they’ve changed something from the game to the show, i always ask myself “does it serve the story and its themes?” if the answer is yes (and so far it’s almost always been a yes), there should be no reason to view any of it as vestigial or untrue to the original source’s spirit

[pastorfutureletthembe]

A guide to make up your mind once and for all about LCLA

Why is it fun to watch?

News cases, new characters, new adventures, new feels!

Very interesting new secondary characters, such as Qiao Ling's parents and co-workers, Cheng Xiaoshi's therapist/friend/mentor and Lu Guang's master.

Have some of ✨Lu Guang's backstory✨ my friends. He's even more shady than usual but he obviously gets softer because Cheng Xiaoshi is just too dorky not to.

Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi's relationship. CXS starts off admiring him and trying to prove he can be his worthy partner, then Lu Guang starts to see him as more than just means to meet an end. Lu Guang even teases him a lot and Cheng Xiaoshi always makes a deer caught in headlights face when he does haha. They are the best, honestly, they are growing to be the pair we know. CXS ends up challenging him and making him into a more functioning human person. LG learns to enjoy and lives in the moment.

Lu Guang and Dr He's actors are kinda charming men and have lots of tension going on. For reasons. It's just so entertaining to watch.

We see a lot more of Qiao Ling's life, which makes her a stronger female character.

There are some actually funny scenes the donghua is missing of. Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi are a fun duo, and find themselves in stupid situations more often than not.

Cheng Xiaoshi's post-earthquake's PTSD and anger towards Lu Guang are a lot more realistic and heartbreaking.

You're going to cry. There are some very heavy topics such as dub-con, virtual harassment and mourning. And they really dive into it with taste.

I was put off at first but in the end I'm still going to point this out as a good thing: the whole mechanic of their power is different. No shiny eyes for Lu Guang and they have to speak out loud on both ends to communicate in dives. Those are just examples, there is more to it but I'll let you see for yourself. I think it adds something interesting that they actually don't know how to navigate their powers.

The song credits is a BANGER. Even when an episode is boring, once I hear the song, I want more 😂

What is there not to like?

Cheng Xiaoshi's ponytail. Actually, everyone has normal hair but him. Don't worry though, they know it's bad and cut it off-screen most of the time, you'll forget it's even here. He's cute with a cap though! Silver linings!

The initial settings are different. Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi meet for the first time and learn to work together. People might miss the relationship they know and love. They quickly grow closer though 💕

Slow pace. The cases or storylines take more than one episode to resolve, and the main plotline is secondary to them. It's an unusual way to tell a story, if you're not used to Chinese drama, you might feel frustrated.

Cheng Xiaoshi si too dorky. The actor is kinda cute and he does lots of things with his face, but I personally think the camera isn't doing him any favors.

As a person who studied and loves cinema, I believe the show itself is badly filmed. The shots don't leave us time to really see and digest emotions on the actors' faces outside of heavy scenes. We miss out on their body language too, which is just too bad because a lot is happening. CXS's actor is the one who deserves pause the most and doesn't get enough.

Cheng Xiaoshi's character isn't too bad on its own, but he isn't exactly how we might picture CXS (to be fair, every version of CXS is different, he's more awkward in the Chibisodes and sweeter, more sensitive, in the manhua). He misses the over confidence from the donghua/chibisodes that makes him stupidly charming or the cleverness that saves us all when a situation gets impossible. He's adorable with his big sis' tho, that's them 100%. He gets better as he challenges Lu Guang's authority, but we're still not there mid-season. He's still one of the best things about this live action, so be patient with him. His hero complex is well written, I think.

In the end, it might depend on what you expect and are used to more than what actually happens on screen. This show is interesting on its own, but as always when facing all live actions, you might be put off by the little things. All in all, the characters are all worth your time and the differences might be the show's stronger points in the end.

I'll invite all of you to comment on this post about what you loved and what you disliked about the show, so fans have a better idea on what to expect.

Give it a chance!

[words4bloghere]

Cathartic Venting, no assistance required. Just needed to get it out.

I don’t think I’ve ever realized how completely I was destroyed by my last relationship. We’ve been apart for longer than we were together and yeah, part of that is the fantastically toxic Bipolar + BPD mental cocktail I’ve got going on but I’ve A. gotten better as I’ve gotten older and from that B. my five year relationship didn’t mess me up this bad and that was from 15 to 20.

Thinking about him will still bring me to my knees and we haven’t even spoken since January. 

I always hate contextualizing this. I hate how my mental health has to be brought up when I talk about his shitty behavior. But it’s been gaslighted on me for so long, I have to.

I was not a good partner.

Having BPD, I fell into all of the sinkholes. I was jealously paranoid, I was needy, I was desperate, I couldn’t control my freakouts and would spiral constantly, I tested him. Look, if anyone was in that relationship they would be totally right to leave.

Only, he didn’t leave. He stayed and he pushed me. Literally and figuratively. He shoved me when he was drunk, he called me horrible things within the first month of us dating because HE is paranoid, he would take things I told him and use them in the next fight we got into.

He would feel guilty, maybe, I don’t even know anymore. Did he just always say things he thought I wanted to hear? Was he ever sincere in any of the nice things?

Like, that’s what fucks me up. I can’t tell if he was lying the entire time or if he made the conscious choice to destroy me with things he had promised to help with.

I don’t know which of those options is worse.

God damn it he fucked up my kid.

He told me he wanted. jesus christ. He said he wanted to stay in our lives even though he wasn’t the biological father. He had known my son for three years, from 2 to 5. 

Did he only say that to make sure he could stay in my life and ruin me?

Because three years later, he told me what he did for my son was charity.

Did he lie before? Or did he choose to say the worst possible thing in that moment to make sure he obliterated me?

Which is worse?

I think this has messed me up more than any other relationship I’ve run into the ground because maybe I didn’t do that this time. Sure, it ended because I had a psychological break, threatened suicide, and had spent a long time in an unstable (financially, emotionally, and psychologically) place. But, jesus, there were so many nights when I wanted to talk and he got defensive. That someone, by me saying he was doing bad things that he was a bad person.

Would that have even happened if he hadn’t been systematically breaking me down for years?

I thought he was a good person. I thought he could get better.

But now, I think he enjoyed hurting me.

I know for a FACT he enjoys it when his exes think he’s a bad guy. Because he gets to scoff and talk about how crazy they were. 

But I’m starting to think he finds broken people and grinds them down so that they can hurt him. I think he’s a fucked up person who didn’t want to cut himself so he used other people to do it for him.

He doesn’t want to be the victim, he wants to be the person to triumph over victimhood. 

I cannot admit that the man who danced with me in the living room, who held me as he whispered he loved me into my hair, who fucking told my child.....

I cannot admit to myself that he only did that because it gave him that anticipatory high. He built me up for the sole purpose of getting a hard on when he dragged me down.

I want him to tell me he really loved me, and that everything just got so messy. That he was wrong for what he did and that he is so sorry.

But when he thinks of me, I know it’s only to think about how shitty my life still is. He loved talking about how fat or dumb or worthless his exes were. He loved it when he got proof that he was the best thing that happened to them.

I haven’t dated since we broke up. I haven’t wanted to be touched.

I don’t know how to deal with this. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be better.

[thesunshineriptide]

Adventures in Babysitting

Overblot Club

“A Potion to Heal your Internal Struggles!” The Mystery shop advertised, “Guaranteed to bring your inner self out!”

Despite the obviously shady phrasing, it seemed as though many people on campus were incredibly interested in this particular concoction. A Scarabia student took it and passed all their tests for a week with flying colors. An Ignihyde student drank it and found the food confidence to ask a girl out.

Nothing bad had happened yet, it seemed, and it surely peaked some interest. Maybe nothing bad would happen.

Healing Your Inner Child

Characters: Riddle, Trey, Cater, Ace, Deuce, Jade, Floyd, Yuu

Cw// dark subjects. Riddle’s Childhood Typical Subjects (childhood trauma, implied past abuse, responses to past abuse, potential ptsd, panic, fear, crying,) hurt/comfort, children, a little angst, fluff, spoilers for Matilda

The person who oh so lovingly slipped this particular potion into Riddle’s morning tea was not the dreaded braincell duo, nor a Heartslabyul student simply trying to get their dorm leader to relax. No, this particular betrayal came from the closest right hand man of Riddle. Trey Clover, the big brother of Heartslabyul, was the culprit of this horrendous fuck up.

“Trey?” Riddle asked, staring at the child in front of him.

“Yeah?” Trey responded, not sounding nearly nervous enough.

“Who is responsible for this?”

“Well, technically speaking, your mother and father.”

There, sat with watery eyes in the Heartslabyul lounge, was Riddle Rosehearts, aged nine.

For a nine year old, Riddle was awfully and wholly too small. His whole frame was petite, and his already delicate features looked so much softer with the puppy fat adorning his cheeks (and only his cheeks).

“A-are you me?” Asked baby Riddle, staring wide eyed at the fully grown 17 year old version of him.

“I…” Riddle was at a loss for words, staring at his younger self, “I suppose, yes.”

Little Red Riding Riddle stared with an expression that hadn’t crossed his face in a long time. Absolute and unadulterated wonder. “Whoa. I get so tall!” He grinned.

Trey covered a chuckle with a cough, looking pointedly away from Riddle’s burning gaze.

Little Red slowly moved off of the loveseat, standing in front of his older self. “You look so powerful.” He said earnestly, staring up at him, “You look like the Queen of Hearts herself!”

This, this very second was the moment that Ace and Deuce decided to run through the lounge, holding…something. And who should follow suit but Jade and Floyd Leech, followed then by Cater and the Ramshackle Prefect.

Riddle sighed, straightening his posture. “Trey, this is your problem. Deal with it while I go see what those two idiot freshmen have done.”

If Riddle noticed how his younger self’s face crumpled at his words, he made no notion about it, instead marching off to yell at…someone.

Trey looked nervous, watching as Riddle walked away before turning to baby Riddle, who looked…numb. Terrifyingly so. What a moment ago was an expression of joy now was something reminiscent of older Riddle. A gaze full of nothing, a face set in solemnity.

“Hey.” He said, crouching down in front of his little friend, “I have some strawberry tart in the fridge. You want some?”

“Mother says that would practically be poison.” Riddle responded monotonously, “And the last time I ate some, I was punished. I don’t want to break Mother’s rules again.”

Trey felt his heart clench at the words, and took little Red’s hand, “Your mother isn’t here. I guess I have a lot to explain, don’t I?” He laughed before leaning down to lift the child up, carrying him instead.

Little Riddle let out a yelp in surprise that melted into peals of laughter, “Wait-! Wait, won’t I get in trouble?”

Trey shook his head, jostling him a little to get him to laugh again, “No, no. We’re at Night Raven College. In the future, you’re the dorm leader of Heartslabyul. It’s a dorm based off the queen of hearts,” he explained, smiling a bit. “You’re in charge, so you can do what you want. Within reason, of course.”

Little Riddle stared wide eyed, “D-does mother know?”

Trey nodded, “Yes, she knows. She’s proud of that progress, I think.” He set Riddle down on the counter before rifling through the fridge to find…

“Ah, here it is.” Trey grinned, producing a perfect strawberry tart, “Would you like a slice?”

Riddle, despite remembering what he was told, shook his head, “I can’t. Mother wouldn’t like that.”

“Yes, but she isn’t here.” Trey stressed, trying to entice him, “C’mon, just one bite?”

“No!” Little Riddle shouted, hopping off the counter and running at breakneck speed.

“Hey! Wait-!” Trey yelled, setting down the tart to chase after him, “Riddle!”

Little Red, in all of his panic, managed to get far away from Trey, only to find himself lost in the maze that is Heartslabyul.

Luckily, or possibly unluckily, he was found by two very reliable and reputable students.

No, no, not Cater and the Prefect, that would be silly.

No, I mean Jade and Floyd Leech.

“Eh~? What’s…?” Floyd looked down, only to be met with a shock of bright red hair and teary, silver doe eyes staring back at him. He crouched down, “Hey there little fishie, are you lost?”

Jade tilted his head in contemplation, crouching down as well to meet Riddle’s eyes, “My, my. You look shockingly similar to Housewarden Rosehearts.”

Little Riddle squeaked, staggering back, “Who are you two?”

Floyd held out a hand, “Hey, don’t be scared. We don’t bite. What’s your name, little minnow?”

“Riddle.” He stuttered out, tentatively taking Floyd’s hand.

Both twins shared matching looks of shock, then of pleasure.

Jade smiled warmly, “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Jade. This is my brother, Floyd.”

“Hi hi~” Floyd chirped, guiding Riddle a little closer, “It’s not every day we get to see a baby goldfishie, eh Jade?”

Jade hummed, watching as Little Riddle’s face lit up red.

“I’m not a goldfish! I’m a boy!” Riddle said, chest puffed in indignity.

Floyd laughed, barely remembering to cover his mouth so as not to scare the child. “I know, I know. ‘s a nickname, that’s all.”

Riddle relaxed a little, smiling the tiniest bit, “Oh, if that’s all. People give friends nicknames, right? Does that mean we’re friends?”

Floyd raised an eyebrow, “Yeah, we’re friends. Have you never had a nickname before?”

Riddle shook his head, expression going back to carefully neutral. “My mother doesn’t approve of other children my age, so I spend most of my time with adults.”

“Still, she didn’t give you any nicknames?” Floyd continued, “Or your dad, nothin’?”

Riddle shook his head again, and Floyd frowned. He turned to Jade, who gave him a similarly sad and concerned look, before both turned back to Riddle.

Riddle was busy studying their shoes intently, both as a distraction and out of genuine curiosity. “They’re so colorful.” He muttered, staring directly at Floyd’s shoelaces.

Floyd looked down, then back to Riddle. “You like ‘em?” He asked.

Riddle nodded, then looked back up to smile at Floyd, “I don’t see people wear bright colors like that often. Did you pick them yourself?”

Floyd nodded, “I like brighter colors. They make me happy.”

“They make me happy too,” Riddle said, “I like pink, and red. And I like bright green too, like the color of trees, and like…like sunflower yellow!” His posture relaxed, finally, as he began to describe the view from his bedroom window, and every flower inside his home’s garden.

Floyd, for his part, tuned out. Flower stuff isn’t really his thing, though he did enjoy seeing Riddle so animated for once.

No, this is where Jade’s time to shine began.

“There are these pink and yellow mushrooms that grow in the fall under the cherry tree outside, they’re really pretty.” Riddle said, a dreamy look on his face as he recounts it.

“Do you know what those are called?” Jade asked gently.

Riddle shook his head, looking at him, “No, sorry.”

Jade laughed softly, “Oh it’s quite alright. I’m familiar with them myself, actually. They’re called Rosy Maple Mushrooms, and they grow only in very special conditions. They’re edible, and are said to have a sweet and earthy flavor to them. They’re also quite helpful for medicinal purposes.”

Riddle beamed as Jade talked, eager to learn and to please, “Whoa, that’s so cool! Do you know about other plants?”

The three of them stayed like that for a while, until finally the braincell duo found them.

“A-ah! Dormhead!” Ace yelped, “We finally found you! Oh- you’re so tiny. What happened?”

Deuce elbowed him, “You never pay attention. That’s his younger self.”

Riddle turned to look at the two, a mix of apprehension and panic painting his face. He had just gotten used to these two giants, now there’s two more people?

Floyd gave him a little pat on the back, “Goldfishie, don’t worry. They’ll take good care of you.” He said, voice dropping lower as he made eye contact with Ace, “Isn’t that right?”

Deuce nodded, “Yes, Floyd, Sir! We would never let anything harm him.”

“Maybe you wouldn’t.” Ace mumbled, earning another elbow to the ribs, “Ow!”

Jade piped up, finally standing after quite some time, “I’ll remind you, Ace Trappola, that this is a child. If you find yourself endangering him…” he tilted his head, letting a smile that just barely showed his teeth grace his face, “Well, I suppose you’ll find out if that happens, won’t you?”

“I’ll squeeze him real good for you, lil Goldfishie, just gimme the word.” Floyd promised, holding his fist out for Riddle to bump.

Riddle, confused, gently placed his hand on top of it with a confused expression.

Floyd looked between him and their hands, laughed a little, then said, “You’re a good kid.”

Riddle smiled brightly at him, giving him a little princely bow, “Thank you, sir!”

In lew of the adorable reaction of the small Victorian child, both twins took it as their cue to finally leave with only one more tiny threat to Ace’s life.

Deuce was the one to step up this time, hand held out to Little Riddle. “Come with me, okay? We’ll take you back to older you.”

Riddle frowned, but took Deuce’s hand. “I don’t think that would be wise. I…I was supposed to stay with Trey.” He said, fear creeping into his voice, “Older me will be mad, won’t he?”

Deuce frowned, opening his mouth to say something but was cut off by Ace.

“Yeah, probably.” He said, in what was probably meant to be a joke.

Riddle ripped his hand away from Deuce’s, eyes wide, “N-No, please, I don’t- I’ll be good! Please-“

Deuce stepped forward, crouching down, “no, No, hey, it’s alright. Oh…uh, uhh….”

Riddle turned and began to run again as Deuce stared at him, dumbfounded by the reaction.

“Hey, wait!” Ace called, beginning to chase after him, “Wait, please!”

Little Riddle’s luck seemed to run out as he barreled past Cater Diamond and the Ramshackle prefect.

“Hey!” The prefect called out, chasing him down and finally managing to grab him, “Hey, Riddle, are you-“

They stopped when they saw fearful tears streaming down the child’s face, pitiful whines creeping from his throat.

“Please don’t be mad at me, I’ll be good! I’m sorry for running! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-!”

Yuu gently wiped away his tears, “Shh, shh, hey. It’s okay, nobody’s mad. Are you okay?”

“Th-that boy with the heart on his eye, he said- he said that-“

Yuu let out a tiny sigh, “Hey, don’t listen to Ace. He get’s in trouble with big you all the time. And,” they continued to wipe away little Riddle’s tears, “He’s still around. And Ace has broken way more rules than you. Okay?”

Riddle sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve, hiccuping as the last of his sobs die out. “I’m sorry…”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, little red.” Cater said, approaching carefully, “It’s okay. You were scared, and you reacted. It happens.”

“Besides,” Yuu added, “It’s not a rule that you can’t run. Just…not advised. If you got hurt, we wouldn’t know where you are to come help you.” They said gently.

Little Riddle nodded and wiped away the last of his tears as Ace and Deuce finally caught up.

“You found him!” Deuce said, letting out a sigh, “Thank the seven, I was so worried.”

“Yeah, how could we-“

“Ace Trappola, what are you doing scaring a child?” Yuu scolded.

“Yeah, right after the twins told you not to.” Deuce added.

Cater let out a spluttering laugh, trying to hold back his amusement, “You-“ he snorted, “You scared the shit out of little Riddle right after you saw the twins? Jeez, you’ve got some bal-“

“Language!” Deuce yelped, covering Cater’s mouth.

Riddle stared as this all went down, letting himself be ushered into the prefect’s arms.

“I didn’t mean to scare him.” Ace defended, “I was trying to tell him I was joking but he ran off!”

Yuu gave an unimpressed look before turning to Riddle. “Big you isn’t going to be mad at you, I promise. And even if he is, we’ll protect you.”

With an affirmative answer from everyone present, Riddle finally let himself relax again as they walked back to the kitchen of incident.

There, looking halfway to a screaming match, was Trey and Riddle.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t-“

Yuu coughed, getting their attention. At their side was Tiny Riddle, who looked even smaller as he tried to hide behind Yuu’s legs. His hand was clasping tightly to theirs as he stared, looking scared shitless.

Riddle stopped his tirade to look back, quietly apologizing to Trey.

Trey stepped forward, crouching down to meet Riddle’s eyes. “Hey,” he said gently, “I’m sorry for scaring you earlier. I should have listened to you.”

Little Riddle went wide eyed, murmuring, “B-but, I’m supposed to apologize to you.”

“Huh?” Trey raised an eyebrow, “Why’s that?”

“Cause you’re the adult, and I disobeyed.”

Trey shook his head, “No, Riddle. I scared you, you just reacted. And, for the record, it was a completely normal reaction. I-I thought giving you something that I know older you likes would help you to relax while we figured this out, but I didn’t think about the fact that…well, for you, you’re just a kid, and you don’t have a lot of context. I know when I was a kid, I was told not to eat random things people gave me.” He said, “I’m actually very proud of you. You protected yourself, even if I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Little Riddle began to cry again, flying directly into Trey’s arms for a hug. This shocked everyone in the room, even 17 Year Old Riddle himself, who turned away with a red face.

Cater piped up after a beat of two, “Hey, Riddles, do you guys wanna watch some movies? It’s Friday night, we don’t have anywhere to be. I’m sure there’s some stuff you never got to see as a kid, right?”

Little Riddle looked up with hopeful eyes, and while he said nothing, it was clear by the longing on his face that he loved Cater’s idea.

“I have homework to finish.” Riddle said firmly, eyes boring into the floor like he wanted it to swallow him whole, “If you all wish to watch film, then you have my approval. Just try not to be up all night.”

Little Riddle’s expression went blank again as he tried to stamp down every want a child has. “I-I should-“

“No way, Housewarden!” Ace jumped in, “You gotta join the fun. You have all weekend to do homework. Just…” He looked between the kid and Riddle, “c’mon. It’ll be like an experiment.”

“An experiment?” Riddle asked dubiously, an eyebrow arched, “Of what, exactly?”

“Of whether or not you can have fun.” He mumbled to himself, “Eh, the uh.”

“The creative merits of Children’s entertainment.” Cater cut in, “You can analyze it from a storytelling perspective. Is children’s entertainment on par with adult content?”

Riddle scoffed, “Well, clearly it isn’t, it’s meant for children.”

“You’d be surprised.” Cater baited with a grin, “Some of the highest acclaimed shows out there right now are directed at kids.”

Riddle crossed his arms, but the look on his younger self’s face made him finally cave. “I suppose it would be alright. So long as it’s something appropriate, that is.”

Cater gave a little cheer as he scooped up baby Riddle. Little Riddle yelped in surprise and began to squirm to be put down to no avail, instead being brought to the Lounge’s couch and surrounded by teenagers.

“Ooh! Ooh!” Deuce said, “There’s this new movie out, it’s…what’s it called…Wolfwalkers! It’s s’possed to be about some old folklore. We could watch that.” He suggested.

“Eh, what about a classic? Up is always a good choice.” Cater suggested.

“Oh sevens, it’s so depressing though.” Trey groaned, patting little Riddle’s head, “Maybe something softer? We could watch Klaus.”

“That’s a Christmas movie, it’s not the right season.” Deuce protested.

Ace finally piped up, “What about Matilda?” Everyone turned to look at him, including both Riddles. “What? It’s a classic. A little mischief, a little hard work…”

Trey shrugged, “It’s not a bad suggestion.”

Little Riddle just stared, face blank, at each of the older kids near him. He had no concept of these movies, both since half of them weren’t out during his time and also because he wasn’t allowed to watch them.

Older Riddle looked over, noticing his younger’s nervousness, and simply said, “Ace’s suggestion seems sound. Cater, will you turn on the movie?”

With the decision made and things falling into action, there, surrounding the tiniest version of their queen, the card soldiers sat watching a children’s movie.

Riddle was wrapped in a blanket, a small bowl of popcorn in his lap. Trey sat to one side of him with Deuce on the other. Ace sat on the floor in front of Deuce, his fluffy hair dancing every time he moved his head, while Cater sat on the opposite side, doodling into a notebook (Riddle made him put his phone down)

Little Riddle stared in wonder at not only the sight of adults (well…) watching a children’s movie purely for entertainment, but the sight of his older self doing much the same. He was curled in an armchair, alone, but overall seemed pleased.

Little Riddle couldn’t shake the feeling of rejection that came from seeing his older self be so alone, nor the fact he was repeatedly referred to as ‘the problem’ by him, but…

“Hey You!” The mother rushed up to Matilda, “Hey, c’mon, we’re leaving, let’s go, get in the car. Hurry up.” The tea plates clashed and clanked against each other as the mother stuffed goodies into her purse, “Let’s wrap up these cookies. C’mon, we’re leavin’ now.”

“I’d be happy to walk her home.” Miss Honey said pleasantly, hand still outreached for the plate the Mother took.

“Well nobody will be there, we’re moving to Guam, c’mon.” Zinnia replied.

“Guam?” Miss Honey asked breathlessly.

Zinnia pulled Matilda from her seat, dragging her toward the run down teal car. “Yeah. Daddy’s not gonna be in the auto business anymore-“

“I don’t want to leave!” Matilda cried, pulling away from her mother.

“We’re goin on a permanent vacation!” Zinnia said with false cheer.

“Yeah, and we gotta beat the speedboat salesman to the airport.” Matilda’s father cut in.

“I love it here! I love my school, it isn’t fair.” Matilda said, stamping her foot, “Miss Honey, please don’t let them take me!”

“Get in the car, Malinda.” Her father said as both parents took their child’s hands.

“Matilda!” She corrected. Miss Honey followed behind.

“Whatever.” Her father said dismissively.

“I want to stay with Miss Honey!” Matilda whined.

“Well Miss Honey doesn’t want you. Why would she want some snotty disobedient kid?” The mother growled.

“Because she’s a spectacularly wonderful child and I love her.” Miss Honey said firmly, causing everyone to stop in their tracks.

“Adopt me, Miss Honey!” Matilda cried, running over to her, “You can adopt me!”

“Look, I don’t have time for all these legalities.” Her father tried.

“One second dad, I have the adoption papers.” Matilda cheered, running to the car to pull out a bundle of paper.

“Hey! Where’d you get those?” The mother asked, eyes narrow.

“From a book in the library. I’ve had them since I was big enough to xerox.” Matilda said with a smile. “All you have to do is sign them.”

“I could be an only child again!” Matthew cheered from the car.

“Shut up!” The father exclaimed, “ugh, I can’t think with all these sirens around.” He turned to his wife, eyebrow raised. “What do you think, pumpkin?”

The Mother stared down at Matilda. “You’re the only daughter I’ve ever had Matilda. And I’ve never understood you, not one little bit.” She sighed, holding out her hand, “Who’s got a pen?”

Both parents stood impatiently, signing the adoption papers in blue ink.

“And doing perhaps the first decent thing they ever did for their daughter, the Wormwoods signed the adoption papers.” The narrator spoke. Gentle music played as Matilda’s face lit up, finally free of her parents. When they had both finished signing, Matilda ran to hug Miss Honey, and they all lived happily ever after.

Little Riddle stared as tears welled in his eyes. He refused to let them be shed, but it was clear to everyone close by just how much that scene had hit him.

Perhaps there was nothing wrong with being a problem, or being disobedient from time to time. Maybe he wasn’t the one to blame for every punishment he endured, every heartbroken moment from his youth.

Riddle, the older one, stared in silence as the movie finished playing.

The room was quiet, save for the tiny sniffles erupting from both Riddles.

Ace was the first to react, reaching up toward the tiny Riddle with an outstretched hand. “Hey, little dorm head,” he said quietly, “it’s just a movie.”

The tiny boy nodded, wiping helplessly at his eyes, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Ace soothed, “You’re allowed to have feelings. You’re just a kid, you shouldn’t be so shut down.”

“Ace…” Trey said in a warning tone.

“What? It’s true. He’s just a little kid. He acts just like our grown dorm head does, maybe a little more impulsive. He shouldn’t have to feel like that. Heck, nobody should.” He declared. “Listen, Little Riddle,” he said, making eye contact, “I’m sorry about everything. You have it rough, don’t you? But…” he paused, tips of his ears heating up. He could feel the older Riddle watching him with interest. “But just cause it’s rough doesn’t mean you gotta go around feeling nothin’, okay? You gotta be brave.” He said, voice dropping to a whisper, “You’re strong as heck, little dorm head. You can handle being a kid, right? It’s one of the hardest things you’ll ever have to do.”

Little Riddle stared at him wide eyed, nodding slightly, “Yeah. I can do that!” He whispered back, finally giving him a smile, “Thank you, Ace.”

Ace flashed him a winning smile, then pat his head. “Hey, maybe it’s time you got that tart, huh?”

Little Riddle perked up, then looked conflicted. “I won’t be in trouble?”

“No.” Older Riddle said, voice calm and confident, “You won’t be in trouble. Come with me, Trey made one fresh just yesterday.” He came over to his younger self, hand out for him to take with the first smile that had graced his lips since the arrival of the mini him.

Mini Riddle took his hand, finally perking up and letting the sunshine inside of him light up the room around him, “Okay. Thank you.” He said in his sweet little voice.

Cater cooed, taking a video of both Riddles walking hand in hand to the kitchen. He would surely get yelled at for it later, but it was simply too precious to pass up.

Riddle guided the little him to a seat by the kitchen, smiling as he took out the strawberry pastry and finally cut him a slice. He plated it perfectly and found a fork, sliding it to the child before patting his head in a very stilted but equally as affectionate way.

“I’ll make us some tea.” He said softly.

Little Riddle smiled. He hesitated for a few moments before finally taking the fork given to him, cutting off the tiniest bite of the tart and slipping it into his mouth.

He continued to take tiny bites while Riddle was in the kitchen, but as soon as he had returned with two cups of tea and a slice of tart himself, the child relaxed again.

“Eat.” Riddle encouraged, “I know how much you’ve wanted a slice. I assure you it’s delicious, and I promise you, nobody will punish you for eating it.” He smiled at him, finally finding a piece of empathy for the young child.

Little Riddle finally took a slightly larger bite, eating it with a dopey little grin. “Are you sure this is okay?” He asked between bites, “I don’t want to be a problem.”

Riddles eyebrow raised, “You’re not a problem.” He assured. “Your arrival was…unexpected, but you aren’t a problem.”

The tiny child let every piece of fear slip from him as he drank his tea and ate his tart. The two finished in near silence, soft music floating into the kitchen from the lounge area.

Just as Little Riddle finished his last sip of tea and his last bite of tart, he said in a painfully earnest voice, “Thank you for spending time with me.”

Older Riddle looked up from his cup to see the child beginning to glow and grow transparent, looking more like a golden ghost than a person. He began to panic, “A-Are you alright?!”

The child simply smiled serenely. “I feel a lot better now. Thank you. I’ll see you again sometime.”

And with that, he disappeared into thin air.

Riddle’s panic began to subside, though he patted himself over a few times to make sure he was still there.

Trey came in from where he was standing in the doorframe. “Is…”

“He’s gone.” Riddle confirmed, silently taking the plate of the child, “Disappeared.”

There as a disappointed, almost grieving air to Riddle as he cleaned up the impromptu tea party, scrubbing at the dishes with softer, distracted movements.

“Are you okay?” Trey asked, watching him nervously.

Riddle nodded, “I feel…”

Trey arched an eyebrow, watching his friend snap out of his daze.

“I feel better now.” He finished, “Thank you, Trey.”

[thesoulesscollection]

Valiant Together (Request; Stickvin)

Request: So Charles x Henry, with the Valiant Hero timeline, but with a small twist

Basically, Henry remembers the different timeline endings and had gone through the Valiant Hero ending before, so he's just going along with it until they get to the Escape Pods. Henry seems to freeze and stands there for a bit till the Tophats get there (the one that dragged Henry out of the Pod and.... ya know) and once he hears them he immediately shoves Charles into the pod and shuts it. Henry does survive cuz I do want some happiness and not just endless angst

I had two different versions from that point in my head, and I'll just throw them out (you don't have to use either one, just givin' it out) which are this: 1. Charles actually grabs Henry and pulls him into the pod as well before the doors close, or 2. Henry gets into another pod in time.

Tw/Tags: Valiant Hero Au - Charles Survives, Henry Stickmin Knows About Alternate Timelines, Henry Stickmin Has Ptsd, Supportive Charles, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, & Hopeful Ending

As the loud fiery explosion of the Toppats orbital station settled down to a light sizzle in the empty vacuum of space neither man managed to say much during their descent back to Earth.

"That. That wasn't the greatest of plans…" 

Taking in deep, shallow breath, Henry shakily nodded, turning to face the man who sat on the opposite side of the pod with him. 

"It wasn't. At all" Rubbing his scrunched up face over and over again Henry shook off the awful nagging feeling bubbling up in his stomach. "Are you alright?" 

"Oh yes. I am. I'm totally fine. Don't worry about me" Charles weakly smiled, lazily swinging his legs. 

"You were right though earlier. That wasn't the smartest move on either of our parts… We could've gotten hurt or died back there. We almost did…" 

"But we didn't, did we?" 

Dropping his hands onto his lap with a soft thump Henry slipped a frustrated sigh past his lips, "Still. It matters. What if something bad were to happen to you and I couldn't do anything about it? I wouldn't be able to live through that pain again"  

"Again? Henry... I don't understand?" The pilot stood up and he struggled to stay still due to the pod's natural shakiness, "I know you're scared. I am too. Shitting bricks to be honest" 

Somehow managing to walk over without falling was a success in Charles' book as he plops down beside Henry, placing his hand delicately on the man's lap. 

"You can talk to me. We have time before we land" Looking at Henry with big puppy eyes, he knew it was working in making the ex-thief relax. 

"It's difficult to explain" Immediately he grasped at Charles' hand, squeezing it lightly to ease his nerves, "Well, I've been having these… Recurring nightmares… They're mostly about you. You dying in situations like this and I couldn't do anything to stop it" 

Swallowing the sickeningly bile down his throat Henry stared out the clear window unable to bear the thoughts swimming in his mind. "The most recent…" Now he was struggling to find the right words that for a split second he grew tense, voice croaking at the next sentence, "... It was like this. You were left behind. I was stuck here… I can only help but to watch helpless as you die in that exact explosion" 

Serious in a way Henry had never seen on Charles before when he turned to face the pilot, he was uncertain whether what was said was the correct move, "I'm sorry you have to deal with that, Hen. The only thing I can say is that we're here. Safe and still kicking. And I won't go anywhere, I'll make sure. You can never ever get rid of me"   

His stern facial expression then changed dramatically to a softer look that Henry was much more familiar with, fonder if he puts it as he nudged a bit nearer, "Good. I wouldn't know what to do in the case you leave. I care too much about you" 

Allowing to rest his head on Charles' shoulder Henry slumped his exhausted figure against the man, eyelids were growing in growing exhaustion. 

"You're everything to me, Char. I have dreams too with you in them. I wish they were real. They feel so real" He yawns in his hand. 

"Hm. Is that so?" Charles tiredly hums, seemingly exhausted as well yet somehow stays awake wrapping a protective arm around him drawing them closer, "I like you too. Maybe if you want when we get back to Earth… We can possibly do something together? After we get sorted, that is and get a good night's rest in you"

"Yeah. That would be so nice" 

"Good. That's a date then" 

[gentleeclipsey]

May i requests lockdown and Optimus?

Gonna assume this is TFA as Lockdown in IDW looks like a bitch and in Bayverse that is 1000% the UGLIEST version of Ld I've sadly ever laid my eyes on:

PrimeDown? LockOp?

Lockdown is obsessive. Like he has a shrine pretty much dedicated to Optimus as Op's entire being is something he wants to keep as a trophy. He's very taunting and flirtatious, and Prowl is very openly not happy Lockdown is after Optimus.

Optimus is very much terrified of Lockdown, and doesn't very much enjoy the company. Of course that is until Ld becomes a bit less creepy, he's a bit more friendly in a less I-want-to-own-you-and-everything-you-are kinda way. He's gentler, speaks softer, and isn't as touchy as before as Ld begins to recognize the signs of PTSD in the Prime and lightens up. Of course Ld will still shank whoever comes between him and Optimus, but he's more subtle about that!

[mulderscully]

"liv has grown so much without elliot." this keeps coming up in the tags of my edits and in peoples asks and it's driving me a little insane. i have watched every season of this god damn show and i feel like it's such a simplistic way to look at olivia both in the classic episodes and the newer ones.

one, the idea that liv didn't grow at all in the first twelve seasons is absolute horse shit. she says this to nick because the svu writers who took over after s12 actually hate stabler. it is not true and it's unfair to her.

two, yes, she did grow a ton in the last ten seasons. a lot of things have also happened to her. a lot of traumatic and horrible things happen to her and we almost never see her actually get to process them. she just straightens her back and carries on as the strong lieutenant/captain/mother. is this growth? or is it liv repressing her feelings?

elliot, her best friend, abandons her and then liv is abducted by a serial rapist and held hostage for days, assulated, her brother dies of an overdose, her son is abducted by his biological grandmother who she had thought was a friend, barba becomes her best friend and then ALSO leaves her, tucker marries someone else and then kills himself... and when do we have an in depth exploration into any of these things? never. we scratch the surface - like we did on last weeks episode. because we have gone from "liv" to "captain benson" lately.

elliot coming back gives liv a chance to just be a person again instead of just filling a role. she deserves to face and process all of these things starting with elliot leaving her. whether or not you ship them romantically (and i DO think they have always been in love) she literally said elliot was the single most important person in her life, and she absolutely has not healed from him leaving. she could barely talk about it without her voice breaking.

her anger and hurt still exists and are being space to exist, but she knows elliot is in a very fragile state. she can't push him away because if she does and he dies she will regret it forever, like she did with simon and tucker. and elliot wants to be back in her life but he also wants to push her away so she doesn't become a target. this is painfully obvious to me and yet people somehow are missing it and acting like he's just being an asshole for the sake of it and not actually going through a major mental health crisis. elliot has definitely changed as well and become softer and less confrontational in all the ways that matter, but he is also going through something very intense. we are only four episodes into something that is really an exploration into changing this big macho, toxic persona that elliot had. it will take time.

so yes, liv has grown and changed - in a lot of ways for the better. but that doesn't mean that growth will disappear if she is there for elliot or if she lets him back into her life. maybe helping him process his ptsd will finally give is some insight into her own. their reentry into each other's orbits was bound to be rough, and it would be disservice for it not to be - but maybe they can heal and grow together into newer and better versions of themselves and come out stronger in the end. not everything has to turn out negative. let us enjoy this.

[yanderemommabean]

Have you ever written about the mechanics/ingredients of good Yandere before? Asking for science or SoMeThInG <3

Well there’s a bunch of recipes for people with different tastes in Yandere! I’m into more softer versions (who, if in a fandom, still manages to stick to some of their characteristics and attitudes)

So for me a good Yandere is someone who

-Doesn’t want to abuse me just for fun. They see me as someone they can protect and pamper, love unconditionally because they know I’m also that sweet hearted and kind. Someone who knows how to work at a slow pace but do so with all their patience and heart

-Someone not so hot headed around me but will snap someone else’s neck if I start crying or gently pick me up and rub my back as I hug them because I’m anxious and need someone to just BE THERE for me as I go through the attack

-Someone who manipulates my enemies with fear and intellect, not always having to be physical to get their way

-Obsessive and possessive but not in an annoyingly fake way. Someone who looks at me like the stars in the night sky or storm clouds on a soothing autumn day (corny I know HUSH IT )

-Someone who is calculating and thorough

-Personally a perfect ingredient for my Yandere is a Yandere who is a service top, ya know, they get off only after making you get off a few times because they think you looks so hot and breathtaking when they break you apart

-A little bit of a smug asshole with chaotic energy. Someone who knows how to make me laugh with their antics but also playfully pick on me, teasing and what not

-a collector with almost no boundaries, ya know stealing my clothes or obsessively trying to get my scent on them or vice versa

-loves to kiss me and mark my skin with kisses and love bites. Possessive and making a claim

-Someone who isn’t afraid to just lock me up with them and show me how much they can’t hold back anymore, threatening to kill anyone who tires to stop their love and come between us, and showing me the blood on their hands from doing so

I like softer yanderes because of a bunch of childhood and young teen trauma, so while some readers prefer to be degraded and slapped as a way to cope, it makes me uncomfortable and in some situations have PTSD

Not saying people who enjoy that are bad! Not at all! It’s kinky and a way to cope so you do you! But there is no real perfect concoction of characteristics and mannerisms to make a flawless Yandere, it’s all about the readers preference and tastes!

Some prefer fast paced and instant while others prefer slow and methodical, and so on! (Me, personally, I favor both methods I just have to be in a mood for one or the other)

Sorry I rambled! I don’t get to be in a “bottom” space a lot, I hardly get to tell peeps about what I like when I’m able to be in that headspace UwU

(Of course as is known for us adults THIS YANDERE STUFF IS FICTIONAL AND PURE FANTASY AND IF YOU CANT TELL THE DIFFERENCE then I don’t know what to say, you’re stupid. That’s it that’s the word for people who think that way.

-Mommabean ))