#rip Alastair

[denkilightning]

just wanna say ive been obsessed with alastair having an entire post canon epic of his own dealing with yanluo and diyu and the concepts of souls and i technically could write a fanfic about it but itd take so much thinkinggg powerrr

[yennao]

Oh yeah you guys can have my Warden too here you go

[ashpkat]

alastair has two hands for both sarah and constantine. and i curse the day i made sarah and alastair divorced in sons of darkness and stars bc I COULDVE HAD A BANGER THROUPLE PARENTING CALL

[edwin-paynes-bowtie]

Listen yeah okay. Alastair was mean at school. True enough, I don't care, I think he was funny, but it's true. I just wish that those who were mad at him cited "partially responsible for a prank that resulted in a student dying" rather than "called our friend Goatface" as the reason they didn't like him. Because that way they'd have, like, actual valid ground to stand on

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

I have a request: Can you do a story where the reader, along with Sam and Dean, are captured by demons and sexually assaulted in front of her brothers?

Warnings: SEXUAL ASSAULT !!!!!!!

A/N: I get a lot of requests like these because many of you say they are from personal experience with SA. I hope I can continue to write these and help you all cope with your situations. If anyone ever needs to talk, you can always message me. Requests are open.

You woke up to your head pounding. You groaned and went to grab it in pain when you realized your hands were stuck in place. You snapped your eyes open in panic and realized you were strapped down to a table. Your legs and hands were tied down and there was a strap covering your lower waist and chest. You were naked and those straps were providing you the only amount of privacy you had. In the midst of your panic you didn’t notice your brothers restrained in chairs beside you and you didn’t hear Sam trying to calm you down.

“Hey, hey, hey, Y/N/N, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re going to be be okay.” You heard Sam’s voice reassure you. You looked at him completely terrified.

“Wha-“ You stuttered, panicking even more and frantically yanking your limbs hoping to free yourself somehow.

“You’re going to be okay, you’re going to be fine, okay?” Sam tried reassuring you again, but he looked sick to his stomach. You let out a sob.

“Sammy.” You whimpered, realization hitting you.

“Nothing is going to happen to you, you’re going to be okay, alright? Yeah? You’re going to be just fine.” He said trying to calm you down, but you knew. You knew what was about to happen to you. Dean wasn’t even looking at you. He had his jaw clenched with his eyes squeezed shut and had his head turned away from you. You let out another sob.

“De?” You cried, looking at him. He immediately collected himself and snapped his attention to you, hearing you cry his name.

“Hey kid, I’m not letting anything happen to you alright? You’re going to be just fine, okay?” He said strongly. He bit back bile and in another fit of rage he tried breaking free of his restraints, but again had no luck.

“Son of a bitch!” He seethed in anger and you slammed your head back down on the table. You were staring at the ceiling trying to prepare yourself for what was about to come when the door to the room creaked open. A man walked in with a sickly smile.

“If you touch a hair on her fucking head you’ll be so damn sorry, I swear to God!” Dean shouted, struggling against his restraints. With every step the man took towards you, your body trembled even more.

“You see Dean, Alastair taught you how to torture someone and I can’t torture you if you already know all of our tricks! But…” He trailed off, “luckily for me, you don’t! He didn’t even get to the best parts. So now this is how I’m going to torture you.” He smirked, flashing his black eyes and trailing a finger down your body.

Your breath hitched, “please no, don’t!” You cried, begging him not to.

“I’m going to rip you to fucking shreds!” Dean screamed.

“That’s fine! You can rip me to shreds after I rip her to shreds first!” He said, pointing to you. You let out another sob and he turned his attention fully to you.

“Oh baby, don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good!” He said, before putting his hand on your upper thigh. You heard your brothers yelling and struggling to escape their restraints. You thrashed and thrashed, trying to get his hands off of you but he gripped you tight. You felt hopeless. This was it. As he got on top of you and started kissing your neck, you looked towards your brothers with tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Please don’t watch,” you whimpered.

“I’m going to fucking kill you!” Dean screamed, his veins bulging out of his neck. Sam locked eyes with you.

“You’re going to be just fine, alright?” He said trying to give you hope and and sending you a soft nod. He was trying to give you some sort of comfort to help you through this. You saw right through him though. You knew you weren’t going to be alright and you knew that he knew that as well.

“Don’t watch!” You cried and Sam looked away, shaking his head with tears strolling down his face.

You felt the demon kissing you all over your neck and you bit your lip feeling the shivers rake through you. You started to taste blood because of how hard you were biting and before you knew it the demon crashed his lips to yours. You struggled and tried to turn away but he held you in place. He reached under the strap that was across your chest and started groping you. You cried into the forceful kiss and he squeezed you harder. You felt him leave your chest and trailed down below. His hand lingered on your inner thigh before it started trailing up. You let out a strangled cry and broke loose of his kiss.

“PLEASE NO PLEASE!” You screamed, crying. Just before he could make his next move, his weight on top of you disappeared. Dean had thrown the demon off of you. You were sobbing and saw Sammy starting to get himself free with what Dean had used. You looked back towards Dean and saw him fighting the demon. You felt hands touch you and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Please, no! Please, no more!” You cried.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, it’s me, it’s Sam, I’ve got you.” He said taking his knife and sawing through your restraints.

“Sammy?” You whimpered.

“Yeah bug, yeah, I’ve got you.” He said softly, working on getting you free. As soon as your hands were released, they instinctively went up to cover you. Sam was already two steps ahead and had his jacket off, ready to cover you before he started cutting through the thicker straps that were covering your body. He cut the first strap that was around your chest and took his shirt off to let you wear it. You threw it on and moved his jacket to cover your lower half. Sam cut that strap and then went to your ankle restraints. While Sam was working on setting on your bottom half free, you looked towards Dean and realized that the Demon was now dead. Sam set you free and you weakly sat yourself up and adjusted the shirt. Sam was really tall so his shirt ended up covered you to your knees. Dean made his way over to you as you shakily hopped off the table. As soon as your legs hit the floor, you felt like jelly and started to collapse. Dean grabbed you before you could hit the floor.

“Okay, that’s alright kid, that’s alright, I’ve got you.” He said as you whimpered in his arms.

“I’m sorry kid, I’m so sorry.” He said as he carried you out of the building.

He slid you into the car between him and Sam and you clung to both of them. Dean drove as Sam tried comforting you. You felt really weird. It was a feeling you couldn’t explain. A mix between disgust, embarrassment, discomfort, uneasiness, and shamefulness. You arrived to the bunker and shakily got out of the car. Your whole body was trembling and felt like jello so you clung to the side of the impala for support. Your brothers glanced at each other and knew they had to be cautious with their next steps.

“Do you want some help bug?” Sam asked softly.

“No, no, no, no, I’m good, I’m good.” You said softly. You already felt so weak, you didn’t want to look even more pathetic than you already were.

“Okay yeah!” Sam encouraged you. Both of your brothers knew you were on the verge of a mental breakdown which was more than justified, but they didn’t want you to get even more hurt in the process of it. You took a deep shaky breath before you moved your legs to start walking inside. Dean sent Sam a silent nod and Sam went for the door while Dean stayed close to you so he could easily grab you incase you collapsed again. You pushed your way through and inside the bunker and you felt your brothers eyes on you.

“Y/N/N-“ Dean started before you cut him off.

“I’m going to go get a shower real quick!” You smiled at them, trying to fight off your emotions that were pushing their way inside of you.

“Okay.” He said gently, unsure if he wanted to leave you alone in that moment, but Sam sent him a pained face and shrugged.

“Let us know if you need anything bug.” Sam said softly before you turned off and made your way to the bathroom.

As soon as you turned the shower on, your emotions poured out. You were sobbing. You felt disgusting. You felt like you were so physically dirty that you had to scrub your body. You didn’t wait another second even for the shower to heat up before you jumped in it with Sam’s large shirt still draped down on your knees. You let the water hit you and your tears mixed with the water as you continued to cry. Sam’s shirt was now soaked and weighing you down. You looked down at yourself and felt disgusted. You grabbed the bar of soap and started scrubbing your legs. You stumbled over your feet in your manic episode and slipped. You slammed down hard on the bottom of the shower floor, but you didn’t care. You sat there and continued to scrub your legs, sobbing. Your tears turned angry and you let out a strangled cry as you scrubbed your body raw. You didn’t feel the pain or notice your legs turning reddish pink until you felt someone reach out to stop your hands from causing any more damage. You let out a strangled cry from being stopped and looked up to see Dean. He held your hands tight in his hands as you flailed your limbs trying to escape his grasp.

“Hey, Y/N/N! I need you to relax kiddo please, I need you to calm down!” He pleaded with you. In the midst of your struggles, Sam jumped into the shower to hold you. He grabbed you from behind, sat down and pulled your back into his chest. The water was still on, soaking Sam and partially Dean. Dean still had your hands held tight in his.

“Kiddo please! Look at me, please! I need you to relax for me kid!” He pleaded again, squeezing your hands a little hard to try to snap you out of your breakdown. You relaxed and stopped flailing your limbs everywhere. All three of you were now soaked. Dean gently let go of your hands and went to turn the shower off. You brought your hands to your face and screamed into them, crying. Sam held you closer, trying to calm you down.

“Shhhhh, shhh, I know sweetheart, I know. I’m so sorry.” He said painfully. Dean clenched his jaw and pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t believe that this happened to you and he felt sick to his stomach. He felt so much rage bubbling inside him so he turned around and punched the wall. You flinched and whimpered, cowering into Sam’s chest.

“Dean.” Sam said, trying to snap him out of his rage with no luck.

“Dean!” Sam shouted and Dean looked over at him breathing heavily.

“You’re scaring her so you need to go take a walk and calm yourself down,” Sam said calmly. He understood Dean’s anger, but Sam has always been the level headed one with emotions so he needed to deal with both of his siblings. Dean’s face immediately softened when he saw your frightened face and trembling body. He looked back at Sam trying to figure out what his next move should be. Sam nodded with soft eyes and Dean walked out of the bathroom. Your sobbing had stopped, but you were struggling with trying to catch your breath.

“I need you to take a deep breath in for me,” Sam said softly. You nodded and tried to suck in a deep breath, but it kept hitching.

“That’s it, that’s alright bug, just breathe.” Sam whispered, encouraging you to work through it. After a few minutes of Sam talking you through breathing, you finally got yourself to calm down. Dean walked back in with multiple towels and clothes for you. He placed them on the bathroom counter before squatting down in front of you.

“Hey kiddo, let’s get you out of that wet shirt okay?” He asked softly, seeing you start to shiver. You nodded and stood up from the shower. Sam stood up after you and Dean tossed him a towel before turning back to you.

“Did you want to finish your shower or do you just want to get changed?” He asked.

“I’ll finish my shower,” you answered softly. You needed to wash your hair and finish washing your body. You just wanted to feel clean overall. Sam left the bathroom to go get himself cleaned up since he was also in soaking wet clothes. “Alright kiddo, let me know if you need anything.” He said sending you a soft smile.

“Thanks De.” You whispered as he walked out, shutting the door behind him. You showered and got changed into the clothes Dean gave you. It was his sweatshirt that went down to your knees and his sweatpants you had to roll up six times. You looked in the mirror and hugged yourself. You felt safe and comfortable in Dean’s oversized clothes. You brushed out your hair and finished your routine before stepping out of the bathroom. The bunker was quiet and you suddenly felt terrified being alone. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat.

“Dean!” You shouted for him. You felt paralyzed in fear and didn’t move. What if the demon came back and was in the bunker. What if the demon got your brothers. What if the demon was back to finish what he started with you. The irrational fears were swirling in your head. You knew Dean killed the demon that did everything to you, but you couldn’t snap yourself out of it.

“Dean!” You cried, tears now falling down your cheeks. Just as you let out a sob, he turned the corner into your room. You let out a strangled sigh of relief before rushing into his arms.

“Wow, wow, hey, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” He said pulling you into his chest. He held the back of your head with his hand and gently swayed you. He could feel your heart pounding through your body. “I’ve got you, you’re safe,” he soothes.

“I- I thought the de-demon got y-you.” You stuttered.

“He’s never coming back kiddo, he’s gone. He’s gone and no one will ever put their hands on you like that ever again. EVER.” He stated. You nodded into his chest. You stood in his arms until Sam walked back into your room, fully dried and changed.

“Can you both stay with me tonight?” You asked weakly, terrified to be alone.

“Of course bug.” Sam replied as you hopped into bed. Sam trailer behind you and you knew by the look on his face he had something serious to say.

“We’ll get you the help you need okay? If you need to talk to someone, we’ll get you someone to talk to. If you need to join a support group, we’ll find you one. Whatever you need bug we’ll get it for you.” Sam said, staring into you.

“I just need the two of you.” You said, looking between your brothers and sending them a smile.

“We love you kid.” Dean said, kissing the side of your head.

“I love you guys too.” You smiled.

[icaruspendragon]

remember in 1x12 (faith) when dean has the conversation with the faith healer and he says, "why? why me? out of all the sick people, why save me?" and the healer answers, "well, like i said before, the lord guides me. i looked into your heart and you just... stood out from all the rest." and dean asks, "what did you see in my heart?" and the faith healer answers, "a young man with an important purpose- a job to do. and it isn't finished."

and then remember when in 2x13 (houses of the holy) when sam asks dean, "why can't you even consider the possibility?" and dean says "what, that this is an angel?" and sam says "yes. maybe we're hunting an angel here, and we should stop. maybe this is god's will." and then dean says "okay. all right. you know what? i get it. you've got faith. that's -- hey, that's good for you. i'm sure it makes things easier. i'll tell you who else had faith like that -- mom. she used to tell me when she tucked me in that angels were watching over us. in fact, that was the last thing she ever said to me." and sam says, "you never told me that." and dean responds, "what's to tell? she was wrong. there was nothing protecting her. there's no higher power. there's no god. there's just chaos and violence. and random, unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere and rips you to shreds. so you want me to believe in this stuff? i'm gonna need to see some hard proof. you got any?"

and then remember in 4x01 (lazarus rising) when dean meets castiel and asks "who are you?" and castiel says, "i'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." and then again dean asks, "who are you?" and castiel responds, "castiel." and dean says, "yeah i figured that much, i mean what are you?" and cas says, "i'm an angel of the lord." and dean says, "get the hell out of here. there's no such thing." and cas shows him the fearsome wrath of heaven and later dean says, "look pal i'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?" and cas says, "i told you." and dean says, "right. and why would an angel, rescue me from hell?" and cas tells him, "good things do happen, dean." and dean says, "not in my experience." and cas asks him, "what's the matter?" and then tells him, "you don't think you deserve to be saved." and dean asks, "why'd you do it?" and cas tells him "because god commanded it. because we have work for you."

and then remember when in 4x16 (on the head of a pin) when cas is talking to dean in the hospital and dean asks, "is it true? did i start all of this?" and cas has to say, "yes. when we discovered lilith's plan for you... we laid siege to hell, and we fought our way to get to you before you --" and dean cuts in to say "jump-started the apocalypse." and cas' gaze turns skyward as he says, "but we were too late." and dean asks, "why didn't you just leave me there, then?" and cas, with eyes still upward says, "it's not... blame that falls on you, dean. it's fate." and cas turns his gaze downward once more as he says, "and the righteous man who begins it is the only one who can finish it." and then he turns to dean, looking at him for the first time, and says, "you have to stop it." and dean asks, "lucifer? the apocalypse? what does that mean?" and cas looks away from him and says nothing so dean says, "hey. don't you go disappearing on me, you son of a bitch. what does that mean?" and cas is staring resolutely forward as he says, "i don't know." and dean exclaims "bull!" and cas once more says, "i don't." before looking at dean again and saying, "dean, they don't tell me much. i know... how our fate rests with you." and then dean, with tears in his eyes says, "well, then you guys are screwed." and then he says, "i can't do it, cas. it's too big." and then he says, "alastair was right. i'm not all here. i'm not -- i'm not strong enough." and then cas looks back and dean and dean looks away from cas for the first time since the conversation started and says, "well, i guess i'm not the man either of our dads wanted me to be." and cas looks away and dean says "find someone else. it's not me." and the tears dean has been trying so hard to hold back finally fall.

anyway. i just thought all of that was kinda interesting.

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 15

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

AN: Thank you as always for the lovely responses on the previous chapter! It was a long one, so thank you for sticking through with me. We're about to lighten up a little with some Christmas spirit! ❄️🎁

**Also, if you're a fan of The Boys (and Soldier Boy), there's an awesome book you can check out, called Supes Ain’t Always Heroes: Inside the Complex Characters and Twisted Psychology of The Boys.

If you want to learn more about the book (including cast interviews and a character study on Soldier Boy), I wrote a review about it here!

Otherwise, on to some more firefighter!Dean!

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, fluff, tinge of angst, hurt/comfort, lots of feels.

Part 15: “The Good Part”

“How many damn arrests does that make?” Daniel asked. He gripped his pool cue with both hands while he leaned on it.

His son stood at the other end of the pool table, lining up his shot. He paused to think.

“Six,” Nick replied. His cue released, and it knocked two of his balls into the pocket.

“Six,” Daniel repeated, while Nick came his way to find an angle for his next turn.

Daniel shook his head. His lips were angrily pursed. His eyes might’ve been on the pool game, but he was playing chess in his mind. He had underestimated John Winchester for far too long, it seemed.

The man was stubborn as all hell. And he’d been busy lately, getting “Azazel’s” men busted for all manners of bullshit.

“Alastair’s mole says Winchester’s been calling in favors from his old friends in Narcotics, trying to bust our small fries,” Nick reported. “Getting them on everything from petty theft to drug possession, with intent to sell. But it’s nothing we can’t pull ‘em out of.”

“Time, money, added risk,” Daniel cited on his fingers all the reasons why John Winchester was a pain in his ass. “It’s only a matter of time before they get a warrant to rip apart Savage & Co., sweep the whole damn building. For forensic evidence, our files, all the jazz.”

Daniel’s fingers drummed thoughtfully against his chin. “A damn cop thinks he’s being cute.”

Nick missed his second turn. His hand fell against his thigh in annoyance, but he looked up.

“Dad, it’s your move.”

Daniel rubbed at his chin. His eyes were no longer seeing the board in front of him. Eventually, they slid up and met his son’s gaze.

“We’re going to start from the beginning,” he said.

Nick’s face gave away his confusion. “What? What do you mean?”

Daniel just smiled.

It was Christmas Day, and John was late. Sam and Dean were used to that drill, so they weren’t expecting him until dinnertime.

Meanwhile, it gave you a chance to find your footing as you got to know Eileen. She had helped you bake the pies that were now cooling on the counter (pumpkin and berry crumble), and a few of the side dishes for dinner. Sam had covered cleaning up the rest of the house, while Dean tackled his favorites: the ham and the mac and cheese.

Now the guys were in the living room watching football while you and Eileen were still in the kitchen, decorating some gingerbread cookies you two had made. She enjoyed it; doing holiday crafts with her students had been bringing out her artistic side, she told you. You were happy for the help and the conversation.

You later tried to cover up your snort of laughter as she finished telling you the story of how Dean once dared Sam to wear women’s underwear for a whole week.

If he managed it, Dean had promised to do all the household chores for three months. If Sam couldn’t make it the whole week, then he would face the consequences: Dean would tell their dad about the bet.

“How old were they?” you asked.

Eileen scoffed. “Sam was a senior in college.”

You burst out laughing again. “So too old, is the answer… Did he win?”

Eileen gave you a mischievous smile.

“He did,” Dean said, as he appeared in the kitchen doorway with a familiar smirk. “I’ve got photographic evidence. It was a cheetah print thong, in case you were wondering.”

Your eyes widened on a laugh. “Oh my God.”

Cheetahlicious, you couldn’t help joking in your mind. Even if you’d rather not think of Sam wearing a pair of Victoria Secret’s best.  

Eileen giggled with you. Dean’s amusement gave way to curiosity as he eyed the little gingerbread men you two were icing. You warned him off with your eyes, but it took Eileen batting his hand when he tried to steal a cookie.

“Hey! Wait ‘til after dinner,” she said.

Dean pouted. “Come on, don’t be stingy.”

Rolling her eyes, Eileen sighed.

“You’re like one of my kids,” she said, while signing with her hands. But she caved and handed him a cookie. “Here. To tide you over.”

Dean smiled and signed back to her in ASL, Thank you.

“That’s why you’re my favorite,” he said. He leaned down to kiss her cheek in a brotherly gesture.

He shot you a wink before taking a bite of his prize. You shook your head at him, even though you were smiling. He came around to your side of the table. His hand rested on your back and he bent down towards your ear.  

“I actually came over for you,” he said. “Got a minute?”

Your brows rose, but you turned to Eileen in askance. “I’ll be right back. Is that okay?”

She nodded and made an “OK” gesture. “Of course.”

You smiled and let Dean lead you out of your chair, and even out of the apartment. He made sure you both grabbed your coats by the front door.

“Where are we going?” you asked. While you put on your coat over your sweater and jeans, you didn’t notice him grabbing two sets of keys.

“Just downstairs. No big deal,” he said, hefting on his own leather jacket.

You eyed him with some suspicion, but you walked with him down to the elevators and let him keep you close to his side. He smelled like the cologne you bought him for Christmas, and he was already wearing the new watch as well.

You’d struggled to find him the right gift. Nothing felt quite enough after everything he’d done for you the last few months. He’d assured you that he was grateful for both gifts, and had even tried to say the watch looked too expensive. (You’d shut him up with a kiss.)

Now, you had to wonder what he was up to as he led you into the parking lot, but not toward Baby. Instead, you two stopped in front of a shiny silver Chevy parked in a guest spot.

“Dean, what’d you do?” you asked, both excited and worried. He shot you a grin and dangled the keys in front of you.

“You like her?” he asked. His eyes were dancing. “You could keep her, if you ask nicely.”

Your face slackened. You looked between him and the sleek looking car.

“What?” You covered your mouth with both hands. Even after a few moments, your brain was still having a hard time computing. “No…what? Oh my God!”

You grabbed onto his jacket, just in case your legs failed you. Dean laughed and gathered you up in his arms. By the time you peeled your eyes away from the silver beauty to look up at your boyfriend, there were tears already swimming in your eyes.

“Dean, this is really too much. Where’d you find—”

“Bobby had it sitting in his garage for years,” he explained. His hand came up to brush your cheek, and the tears there. “I cleaned her up, dropped in a new engine, safe-proofed with new tires, new airbags, the works. Got her purring like a kitten.”

Your eyes grew a little wider with every admission. Then you softened, gripping the edges of his jacket while you bit your lip to keep it from wobbling.

“How much did he sell it to you for?” you asked. Dean dropped his head back with a sigh.

“Don’t you wanna take a test ride before we start hagglin’?”

You lightly smacked his chest. “Hey. How much?”

He let out another heavy sigh, but you eventually got it out of him. While the price wasn’t as bad as you might’ve expected, you still shook your head.

“I still have a decent chunk of insurance money left. I’m giving you at least half,” you said.

Dean shook his head. “This is my gift to you.”

Your lips pursed, despite the smile that wanted to peek through.

“Nice try,” you said wryly. “You already got me perfume.”

“That was just the decoy.” He grinned, and held you a bit tighter against him. He nodded towards the car. “She’s the main event.”

You wanted to sigh, but this conversation wasn’t over. You were definitely not letting him buy you a whole new…old car. You turned to look at it again.

“What model is this?” you asked.

“2002 Camaro Z28,” Dean rattled off. It sounded impressive, but you didn’t know much about cars.

He let go of you so you could get a closer look. Your hand passed over the hood, but didn’t touch, as if you were afraid of staining the paint with your fingerprints. He had to admit, he’d waxed it up good and managed to get rid of a lot of superficial nicks and scratches.

What he said was true though; Bobby had given him a frankly ridiculous deal. Because when Dean had told him what you’d been through after the car accident, dealing with your grandfather’s passing, and now your ever-mounting expenses, Bobby hadn’t let him walk away from Singer Salvage with anything else but this car. He’d even helped Dean get the new parts he needed to fix it up.

“Is it automatic or manual?” you asked, trying to peer through the driver’s window. “I haven’t driven stick in a hell of a long time.”

Dean came up from behind you and his warm hand found your hip. You let him draw you back into his arms, leaning against his chest.

His lips were close to your ear when he said, “I think you’re damn good at driving stick.”

It took you a second, but the heavily laden innuendo in his deep voice was hard to miss. You uttered a laugh and swatted his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said. You were still smiling when you turned and twined your arms around his neck. Then you leaned up for a kiss—one that kept getting deeper with the full force of your gratefulness, and your love for this man.

“It’s an automatic,” he answered, between kisses. You giggled against his lips.

You barely felt the chill on the air. Your heart was beating fast, even when you pulled away from him. Your eyes slowly opened and met his. He smiled down at you and curled an errant strand of hair behind your ear. As usual, you had most of it clipped up.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he said. His voice was quiet, but steady.

You let out a shaky breath. Emotion was clogging your throat, making your tears burn anew.

“This is a bit more than a Christmas present,” you said. He gave a more self-deprecating smile.

“Well, it’s also kind of an apology,” he said. “For getting you mixed up in my ‘family business.’”

He still felt guilt beyond belief for putting you in danger. For your life being threatened. For being the reason you couldn’t go home.

You just shook your head. Your hand raised to press against his cheek. Your thumb drew tenderly along his chin.

“I thought you said you were part of my family now?” you said. “We’ll figure this out together, like everything else.”

Dean’s eventual smile lightened you, and his kiss warmed you down to your toes. 

“If you want, let’s go for a ride after dinner,” he said.

It was your turn to smirk. Your hands migrated under his jacket and teased at his belt.

“Well, I’m certainly down for a ride,” you said.

Dean laughed and squeezed your hips. “All right. I’m puttin’ you on my naughty list.”

When John finally arrived, the brothers welcomed him in first with big man hugs and good-natured ribbing for him being so damn late.

In Sam’s words, Upholding a Winchester family tradition.

John had taken that with a chuckle. “Smells damn good in here.”

“Yeah, food’s been done for an hour,” Dean prodded at him again. His grin betrayed his teasing, however. His welcoming hand stayed on his dad’s shoulder until they reached the living room, where Sam had set up a longer fold out table and chairs to function as the makeshift dining room, since the table near the kitchen only seated three.

There you were opening a bottle of Jack Daniels. You smiled up at John.

“Figured you were more of a whiskey than wine kind of guy,” you said. You were a bit nervous to see him again, no doubt with flour in your hair and frosting staining your hands. He clasped your shoulder with a hint of a smile.

“You’d be right. Good to see you, darlin’,” he said.

“You too,” you replied. Despite the fact that the first and last time you two had met, it had been in front of your house as the police rifled through your life, looking for more explosives. He graciously didn’t bring that up as he greeted Eileen next.

Once dinner was on the table, there was a lot of catching up between the brothers and their father while you and Eileen continued talking, even through dessert.

“This really is amazing,” she told you, pointing her fork at her slice of berry crumble. “I can see why you went to culinary school.”

You blushed as Sam, Dean, and even John echoed her praise. All three men had generous slices of both pies. 

“Well, thank you. I’m glad you guys enjoy it,” you said, and your smile was genuine.

You loved making good food, but you loved feeding people even more. Whether it was a simple hearty soup or a rich dessert, you liked putting smiles on their faces and giving them a good experience; one they could share with their family and friends. Even better if it was your family.

Or as Dean would say, Your people. 

To you, that was life.

“I’m tellin’ you, if you opened up a bakery you’d make a killing in this town,” Dean said. He nudged your hand with the one that held his fork; it held a precarious piece of pumpkin pie.

You shot him an amused look.

“Don’t you look at me sideways, I’m serious,” he said, laughing a little, but his gaze was steady.

Your cheeks warmed against your will. He believed in your dream, even when you couldn’t quite let yourself.

“Hey, if you ever want to look into applying for a loan, I could help,” Sam said, earning your attention. “I have a friend who works at a bank.”

Your brows raised. “Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah, we were pre-law together back in college, but he figured he was better with numbers.”

You smiled. “Well, it would make it easier knowing I was dealing with your friend.”

“Yeah, his name’s Brady. Let me know if you want me to call him,” he said.

You bit your lip, but you nodded. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

Maybe they were right. Maybe you should start to believe in yourself, just a little bit more.

“This was all real delicious,” John said to you, when you came back from bringing the leftovers to the kitchen.

Sam and Dean were already arguing about who was doing the dishes and who was drying them. Meanwhile, Eileen was putting away the food (and probably rolling her eyes).

“Yeah, it was a team effort for sure,” you replied. “Dean’s actually a really good cook.”

John chuckled. “Yeah, well, he didn’t get that from me. I can barely boil a damn egg.”

You smiled to yourself; you could imagine Dean got it from his mother then.

Meanwhile, John was watching you stack the empty plates as he grew more contemplative. He’d always been proud of his sons. They were good men, with strong heads on their shoulders.

He often looked at Sam and saw that he seemed happy. Despite the demands of his job, he was learning to balance that with the life he led with Eileen. As a father, John looked forward to the day when they made a firm foundation, taking the next step towards building a life together.

But Dean had seemed to him, a little unstable. John was still proud of his eldest, but while he’d seen a glimpse of it that day at your house, he saw it even more today. Like his son finally had an anchor, tethering him to dry land.

Even so, he couldn’t help heaving a sigh. And he asked you something he knew he shouldn’t.

“Have you given any more thought to filing a report on Nick Savage?” he asked.

You paused in your plate and cup stacking. You looked up at him with a frown, but you thought about your words before you said something rude.

“Yes, I did,” you replied. “I decided my life and my peace were more important.”

He let out a short sigh. “I understand—”

“I’m sorry, John, but I don’t think you do,” you said. Your words were matter-of-fact, if a tad more sharp than you meant them to be. Your hands were starting to tremble.

You crossed your arms to try and steady yourself, but Dean ended up doing just that, by joining your side and resting a hand at the small of your back. He was frowning, glancing between you and his father.

“Tell me you’re not talking about what I think you are,” Dean said, addressing John in particular. “Not on damn Christmas.”

“Like you said, it’s her decision,” John replied. His gaze once again focused on you.

You let out a breath, mostly of exasperation.

“I’m going to bottom-line it for you. If I report that man, and you can’t guarantee me a job and safety until it’s all over, then I’m not poking the bear,” you said. “I plan to keep my head down until I can find another job. Until then, you can have at him all you want. Just leave me out of it.”

Part of you felt selfish. You knew what John was trying to accomplish, and you knew how personal this fight was for him, and for Sam and Dean for that matter. You just couldn’t shake your gut instincts here. You knew Nick far too well by now, and you didn’t want to underestimate him again.

“I agree,” said Dean. You gave him a grateful look.

John conceded with a nod, but all of you knew he wasn’t satisfied. It became a bitter ending to an otherwise brilliant day after he left for the night.

In your mind, it wasn’t quite over yet though. You had a plan up your sleeve for one Dean Winchester.

Sam and Eileen had their own time together while you and Dean went for a drive in your new car. You’d have to transfer your plate and registration and insurance, so it was technically an “illegal” drive, but it was already late and traffic was scarce.

By the time you pulled back into the parking lot, you were smiling from ear to ear, and Dean was giving you that smug grin that said, Aw yeah, I did good.

You couldn’t even fault him for it, because he did exactly that.

Even when you and Dean were getting ready for bed, it didn’t quite feel real. You were living with your boyfriend of just a few months, you now had a new car, and a crime lord had threatened your life.

You chose to focus on the new car. And on your boyfriend, who sat on the edge of his side of the bed, rubbing his right shoulder through his shirt. You knew it must still be sore, though he likely wouldn’t admit it.

Hence, you were about to enact Phase 1 of your plan…

You hadn’t undressed yet from your jeans and sweater, but you crawled across the bed to come up behind him and drop a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“How’s your slugging arm?” you asked.

Dean quirked a smile at you over his shoulder. “Just fine.”

“Dean,” you said. Your tone was gentle, but warning. No downplaying.

You pressed your lips against the side of his head and soothed your hand along his shoulder and down his arm. Still, he was resistant.

“I’m fine, sweetheart,” he said.

You hummed. “Okay. I guess you don’t need a massage then.”

He paused. His head tilted just so, once again turning to you over his shoulder. You spied the edge of his piqued interest, his grin.

“Well, if you’re offering…”

You withdrew your hand from his arm, but you spoke close to his ear.

“Are you asking?”

He let out a small sigh, despite his lingering smile.

“All right. Will you please give me a lil’ massage?” he asked.

He couldn’t see your triumphant smile, but you happily kissed his cheek.

“I sure can,” you replied. You laid gentle hands on his shoulders, however briefly. “Stay right here. Don’t move, but take off your shirt.”

“All right, Miss Bossy,” he grumbled. You knew he was teasing by the amused look he threw your way.

“I thought you liked that,” you teased back.

You climbed off the bed before he could playfully grab you, and you giggled all the way to the bathroom. There you began Phase 2 of your plan. 

First, you collected a few different bottles from your designated drawer under the sink. Then, you made a quick wardrobe change, after popping back into the bedroom to grab something from your nightstand.

You also connected your phone to the speaker on his nightstand and put some music on a low volume. It was a playlist he’d made and shared with you a while ago, with songs he thought you’d like. The Eagles’ “Take It to the Limit” was definitely on the list.

By the time you returned to Dean, he was indeed shirtless, still in his sweatpants, and checking his watch.  

“I’m here, I’m here,” you said. You climbed across the bed with your small haul—a difficult feat with your hands full, but you managed.

Dean turned to look at the bottles of moisturizer you dropped next to him on the bed. He rose a brow.

“Twilight Woods. Japanese Cherry Blossom. Appletini. Are these my only options?” he asked. His face was half bemused, half reluctant.

You almost burst out laughing. “Which one strikes your fancy?”

He scratched the back of his head. You opened the second bottle first (your personal favorite), so he could smell.

“Not bad actually,” he muttered. You bit your lip so you wouldn’t giggle, but you managed to open the other two for him to get a whiff.

“Eh, the first one I guess,” he said.

Japanese Cherry Blossom. AKA: a classic from Bath & Body Works.

You finally had to laugh. “Just kidding. I’ve got this.”

You held up a jar you’d been hiding behind him. Its logo said: Massage Oil.

“I just wanted to see which girly moisturizer you secretly wanna slather all over yourself,” you said.

Dean shot you a wry look, but only then did he see what you were wearing.

“Oh, hold up,” he uttered.

Your hair was let loose, how you knew he liked, and you’d teased it out a little. You’d had to give away the red lingerie you’d bought, to rid both of you of its lingering memories of your work Christmas party. Instead, you’d found something in a vibrant emerald green: satin and lace.

Dean’s hand reached for your waist, probably to bring you closer. But you playfully slapped his hand.

“Eh-eh! Not yet,” you said to his surprised face. You smiled. “I have a plan for you tonight.”

Slowly, he smirked. His eyes still dipped to take in the rest of you, from your pretty face, to exposed skin and cleavage, to shiny satin that clung to your curves and draped down to mid-thigh. 

“I can see,” he said. His voice was a notch deeper. “Merry Christmas to me.”

Despite your blush and growing smile, you turned him back around by his shoulders.

“Just relax.”

You let your hands drift up the back of his neck to slide your fingers through his hair. There you began with a slow, gentle massage of his head. You felt him take a deep breath.

You couldn’t see it, but Dean’s eyes had closed at your ministrations. He secretly really liked the feeling of your fingers running through his hair. It made his shoulders loosen; with tension he didn’t know he had releasing from the neck down.

Aside from the rigors of his job, he also had to work out and condition his body to keep up his stamina. He probably didn’t spend as much time as he should on this aspect of things, making sure he wasn’t overtaxing himself.

He appreciated what you were doing though. He knew you cared about him, that you loved him. But he liked that you were also a caring person, who tried to take care of him. Dean hadn’t really had that…from anyone before. Sometimes, it was hard for him to let you.

…Damn, we really got too much in common, he realized.

When you migrated back down his neck, your hands left for a moment to gather up some oil. It was warm against his skin when you started between his shoulders, digging with the heel of your hands.

He groaned deep, surprising even himself.

Behind him, your brows were furrowed. “You’re really knotted up here. When was the last time you had a massage?”

Dean chuckled. “Never.”

You frowned. “Hmm. Okay, we’re definitely doing this more often.”

“No complaints from me,” he said with a grin.

Of course, you gave special attention to his right shoulder. You were gentler there, asking what was tender and what felt good, or too much. By then you had an easier time getting the truth out of Dean. He let you know when the pressure was too much, and you even helped him stretch out that arm until the muscles and joints were warmed up and the pain was gone.

You encouraged him to lie on his stomach in the middle of the bed, so you could start on his back. Your hands glided down planes of muscle and smooth slopes while you straddled his thighs. The only sounds you heard from him were occasional moans and rumbling, pleased sounds. That was also what let you know that he hadn’t fallen asleep.

“Okay, turn over,” you said, smiling when he groaned in protest. “I haven’t even gotten to the good part.”

“What the hell’s the good part then?” he asked. His voice was muffled in the mattress, but when he turned around, flopping onto his back, his eyes once again took in the green satin and seemed to remember what your real intentions were.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. His grin was lazy, now that he was beyond relaxed, but his hands found purchase on your hips. You smiled down at him.

You let the remaining oil on your hands glide up his chest, until you lowered down for a kiss. It was unhurried and sweet.

“I love you, you know?” you said.

Dean swept his fingers through your hair, tucking a few strands behind your ear.

He smiled. “I’ve got some idea, yeah.”

You both laughed, soft and true. Your hand rested against his cheek as you pressed your lips to his, soft and slow at first, but soon gaining in both passion and urgency. You felt his grip on your hips tighten, grinding your center against his growing length.

He groaned. No goddamn panties on. Good.

You kissed your way from his lips to his neck. Your teeth grazed his ear while you rolled your hips into his. It was a tease for both of you, but not for long, as Dean grew impatient enough to slide his sweatpants down, followed by his hands slipping under the satin covering your thighs. They traveled further still, squeezing your breasts and rolling hardened nipples under the pads of his thumbs.

Your breath hitched, and your pleased hum was music to his ears. By now you were bracing yourself against the mattress, but you used his shoulders as leverage to raise yourself up.

You took his hands and encouraged them to bunch up the satin and pull it over your head. Dean sat up with you still in his lap, and once his strong arm wrapped around your waist, it was skin to flushed skin.

You held his face and brought him down to you for another fierce kiss. He held you tightly against him, hands splayed across your back and tangling in your hair. His arms were a cage you never wanted to escape.

But you did press away from him, just for a moment, so you could reach down between your bodies to take a firm hold of his cock. You guided it to your entrance. There was already a small flood between your legs, and your core ached for him.

There was almost no resistance when you slowly sunk your hips down and down, until he was buried deep inside you.

You both made sounds of pleasure, with labored breaths as Dean’s hand cradled your cheek. He laid open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, teeth grazing down your neck.

You clung to his shoulders and began to move, slow in the way you let almost the full length of his cock escape you, before you slid back down. Dean moaned into your skin, and you let out a shuddering sigh.

You pushed at Dean’s chest until he was lying back, and you continued rolling your hips against his. He helped you create a steady rhythm on top of him, but he was being treated to a feast of the eyes as well as the pleasure rocking through his body. He watched the way you swept your hair back. The way your eyes closed and brows furrowed in concentration as you bit your lip.

But he couldn’t stay still for long; he knew he was close enough to practically taste his end, but you had some miles to go. He gripped your thigh with one hand while the other glided up between them, to further part your folds. His fingers found your clit, circling insistently like it was a button. It had your hips stuttering.

“Oh, God,” you uttered. “Dean—”

He managed to smirk through panting breaths. “Right there, right baby?”

You nodded, unable to speak. You continued to move as steadily as you could, but the feeling of him deep inside combined with his talented fingers playing you like a five-string guitar—it finally made you tighten on him, shuddering deep inside. Tingles broke across your skin, zipping up your spine as you gasped.

Dean helped you with the last few hard thrusts that brought him along with you, and you felt his warmth spilling inside you.

It was a heady feeling, and you needed a moment just to recover. Even though you were on birth control, every time he came inside you still felt like a dangerous, delicious game.

But after you slid off his lap and practically rolled into his side, him welcoming you with an arm wrapping around your waist, it did make you think, as you caught your breath.

It made you think about the first time you and Dean slept together. It had been the first and last time you’d asked him to wear a condom. The next morning, he’d made a remark that still hung in the back of your mind…

“You like kids, huh?”

The thought still rattled through your mind now, after you and Dean shared a quick shower, ridding you both of the oil clinging to your skin. The thought remained when you slid into bed, under fresh sheets and thick covers, and close to your man. He cupped your cheek and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You closed your eyes at the feeling.

Contrary to what this night had been, the whole “moving in together” thing hadn’t been all that easy. You two had bickered about the way he often left drawers and cabinets open and dirty clothes on the floor.

He had made remarks about your hair products taking up too much space in his drawers. Not to mention how morning routines needed to adjust because Dean liked to shower in the morning, but you needed the mirror not fogged up in order to do your makeup.

Right now, however, you had peace. You felt safe here, and you weren’t alone in a huge house filled with far too many memories.

“Can I ask you something?” you said.

Dean’s lips lingered on your forehead. “Hmm?”

“I know this situation is sort of temporary, me living here,” you said. “So much has happened that we haven’t really talked about…what we both want, down the line.”

He pulled back enough from you to see your face. His face betrayed a thread of confusion.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean like…” you hesitated, but you realized you were probably going to have to be direct. “Are you a marriage and kids kind of guy? Is that even something you’ve thought about?”

Dean met your gaze. It took him a moment, but he let out a short sigh.

“You wanna know what made me want to start dating, for real?” he asked.

You blinked; you hadn’t expected that, but you nodded.

“I started thinking about what would happen if something happened to me on the job,” he said. You frowned, but before you could say anything, he raised a placating hand.

“I thought about what I’d leave behind,” said Dean. He quirked a wry smile. “It’s not much, besides my car.”

You frowned in earnest. Your hand flattened against his bare chest.

“That’s not true,” you said. “You have your brother, your father, and your friends. That’s plenty, Dean.”

He conceded that with a nod. “You’re right. But I just started thinking, maybe I want more. Like uh…like what my parents had, when they were happy. The house, each other, me and Sammy…a family.”

You couldn’t be certain in the near total darkness of the room, with only the moonlight filtering through the blinds and casting a glow behind him, but you thought you saw a shine in his eyes. Your hand crept up from beneath the covers to find his cheek. It was rough with stubble, yet you tenderly swept a thumb back and forth.

“I think that’s beautiful,” you replied.

Dean paused. He then huffed in amusement. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, hoping he could see it. 

“Then uh, is that something you’d be into?” he asked. You were amused by his tentative approach. 

“With you?” You pretended to think. Your fingers slipped into his hair. “Yeah, I think I’m into that.”

He chuckled. “Okay, then. Good to know.”

He grasped your wrist and turned his head to press a kiss into your palm.

And he spoke into the dark. “I love you too, you know.”

Your smile deepened as you rested your head against his arm. You whispered into the small space between your faces.

“Yeah, I’ve got some idea.”

AN: All righty, how'd you like that fluff overload?

...Ready for some more drama? 😏

Next Time:

But the more you thought about what you’d heard, and Nick’s ominous threat about a cop, you found yourself scrolling lower in your contacts. You called John Winchester.

It rang a few times, and all the while you made silent, fervent prayers. Pick up, damn it! You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

“Winchester,” he answered.

“John, it’s me,” you whispered. “Azazel’s here. Or, he’s not here, here, but I know who he is. Well, I mean kind of—”

“Okay, wait. Slow down,” he said. “What about Azazel? You know who he is?”

Keep Reading: PART 16

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List (Part 1):

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb

@vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann814 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[petercapaldi-press]

Reposted from @dawnlestaffs [Original post here.]

INTERVIEW

May 30, 2009

[transcript under the cut]

Out of the Loop

He went from pop star to pop has-been, Local Hero to zero, Oscar winner to TV-show extra… But it took the role of a foul-mouthed spin doctor in the BBC’s hit political satire The Thick Of It to transform Peter Capaldi’s fortunes

As the frerocious spin doctor Malcolm Tucker in the biting BBC political sitcom The Thick Of It, Oscar-winning actor Peter Capaldi has demonstrated a talent for swearing that would make Alf Garnett blush. In person, Capaldi, whose talents have found a wider audience following the success of the recent big-screen spin-off In The Loop, barely cusses at all. The air only really turns blue as he warms up to a rant about the world of politicians.

‘Politics is a whorehouse,’ he says. ‘It’s a brutal world where there’s no place for the thin-skinned. I’m not saying that all politicians are awful. I don’t know any of them well enough to say whether they’re awful or not. But almost every day you find out something about them that’s appalling. Maybe we shouldn’t be surprised any longer. But it’s still a shock to find out about Damian McBride sending emails filled with very unpleasant allegations about members of the Conservative Party. Like everyone else, I’m tired of all this. It’s a terrible way to behave, a completely disgraceful way to conduct any kind of business.

‘It shouldn’t be encouraged. There’s nothing smart about it whatsoever, but it’s part of the mechanism by which things are achieved in politics. Whatever anyone pretends, it’s not just McBride behaving appallingly and it’s not just Labour. It’s going on all over the place. The idea that David Cameron and George Osborne are going to come in and clean all this up is, frankly, laughable.

‘Forget it. Because it’s going on already. You can’t blame anyone for being cynical about politicians. I wish someone like Obama would come along and say, “Believe in me.” We’re in dire need of someone with a sense of honour, because I don’t see any honour out there. Personally, I have as little to do with politicians as possible. The ones I’ve met I’ve found very boring. They’re extremely egotistical, incredibly self-important. If I can help it, I try to stay as far away from them as possible.’

As he admits, this has become increasingly difficult since he introduced Malcolm Tucker to the world in 2005, when The Thick Of It first hit our screens. Directed and co-written by Armando Iannucci, the show followed a team of government ministers quaking under the rule of Tucker, a spin doctor with an Oxbridge degree in foul-mouthed intimidation. To ensure Tucker’s lines are as sharp and obscene as can be, a special swearing consultant is kept on the payroll. ‘He’s a mysterious chap called Ian who possesses a genius for creating grotesque insults,’ says Capaldi.

The show was hailed as both a brave new chapter in political satire and the funniest thing on TV since The Office. By the time it had been extended to two hour-long specials, Tucker was being wildely discussed as belonging to the pantheon of classic British comedy creations, alongside Del boy, Alan Partridge and David Brent.

Everyone involved with The Thick Of It has maintained that Tucker is a composite of several government spin doctors. Even so, Capaldi’s character is frequently compared to Alastair Campbell, Tony Blair’s communications director, who is famous for his Tucker-esque short fuse and use of industrial-strength language.

Campbell himself seems to have few qualms about being associated with a character so profoundly monstrous that he’s at his most courteous when telling a special adviser, ‘If you don’t go and get me some cheese, I’m gonna rip your head off and give you a spinedectomy.’

While acknowledging Tucker is ‘a devious, lying, bullying, truth-twisting, warmongering psychopath,’ Campbell has also conceded that he is ‘to an extent, based on me’.

Given that Capaldi might sooner settle for a ‘spinedectomy’ than endure the company of politicians, imagine his delight when he attended a Channel 4 political awards ceremony last year and found himself sharing a table with Alastair Campbell.

‘It was a very strange evening,’ says Capaldi. ‘I had no plans to sit next to him and the first I knew about it was when I arrived. It was extremely rude of Channel 4 to have set it up that way. Equally, it would have been rude of me to have walked away from the situation. I never wanted to meet Campbell, because I knew he’d be very charming.

‘It was very entertaining to watch him in action. He provided a running commentary on the night’s proceedings which had its Tucker moments. Certainly lots of swearing. It was a riotous sort of night. Having attended comedy awards, which involve drunken losers getting more and more horribly drunk, I thought I’d seen the worst kind of bear pits. Nothing compares to being in a room full of politicians screaming abuse at each other all night. It’s hilarious but also a bit terrifying.

But Capaldi has come closer to the centre of power than that. While making The Thick Of It, he spend a day filming at 10 Downing Street. There, to his grim bemusement, real-life Malcolm Tuckers queued up to have their photo taken with him.

‘Number 10 could not have been more welcoming,’ he says. ‘They threw open the doors to us and gave us the grand tour. We ended up sitting in the Cabinet Room, thinking how bizarre the whole experience was. They all seemed very happy to have us around. The real-life Tuckers weren’t nearly as colourful as ours, but obviously they were all on their best behaviour.

‘It might seem odd that the find the show so funny. Maybe the spin doctors all see themselves as victims in some way. They work under tremendous pressure. Unlike most other office workers, the fruits of their day’s work have far-reaching consequences for all of us.

‘There are no health-and-safety regulations for what they do. Nothing is laid down in terms of how they should treat people. There are no restraints. Essentially they’re gatekeepers, the tough guys who ensure that politicians are protected from the media. Their position in the chain of command is not defined, but it’s understood that their task is difficult and vital. As such, they enjoy enormous liberty in the corridors of power. They’re free to dish out random b*****kings nd make them as savage as they like. If anyone feels that they’ve overstepped the mark, they can’t go to a tribunal and claim they’ve been abused.’

But not all politicians have seen the funny side of the satire. Conservative MP Michael Portillo has dismissed In The Loop as ‘exhumed satire, hopelessly dated, deeply boring’.

‘Portillo’s reaction was extraordinarily angry,’ says Capaldi. ‘It should have reminded us how much we all hate the man. He’s been through an interesting cycle. We all used to hate him and, to the fierce delight of a generation, he lost his seat in 1997. Then he became a lovable TV personality. Now we can hate him all over again.’

The film has a stellar cast, including Steve Coogan, Gina McKee and Tom Hollander. But none is more impressive than James Gandolfini in his first film since his eight-year run as Tony Soprano came to an end. For a hardened Sopranos fan, working with Gandolfini was the thrill of a lifetime.

‘Waiting for him to arrive, the anticipation was electric,’ says Capaldi. ‘Then he walks through the door and his charisma fills the room. I kept thinking that this is what it must have been like to spend time with Sinatra: everywhere he goes he’s recognised and everyone wants a photo or an autograph. He’s incredibly gracious with everyone he meets.

‘We finished filming in New York and an end-of-shoot party had been arranged at this fabulous steakhouse in Brooklyn. It’s very hard to get a table there and there’d been a miscalculation. The actors had been put with the producers, but make-up and wardrobe had been put in a separate room.

The maître d’ was very resistant to the idea of putting us all together, explaining that the table we needed was occupied and it would be bad form to ask those people to move. When James arrived I explained the problem to him, but even he couldn’t persuade the maître d’. But James became aware that the people at the table were looking at him in complete awe. So he walked over to the table and, of course, they were happy to do anything he asked, so long as they could have their photo taken with him. The way he dealt with it was so cool. He’s a real class act.’

Capaldi is no stranger to working with screen royalty, beginning with Burt Lancaster, with whom he starred in 1983’s Local Hero. ‘The thing I remember most about Lancaster is that he was a great swearer. It was my first film and I was a gauche 24-year-old. Meeting him for the first time I was nervous and doe-eyed. I asked him how his hotel was and he barked, “The hotel’s fine, but the woman who runs it is a ****.” At the end of the filming he turned to me said, ‘You have a good instinct for acting, but I can’t understand a f***ing word you say.”’

Before his acting career took off, Capaldi had a brief stab at rock stardom, singing in a Glasgow punk band with future US chat-show supremo Craig Ferguson on drums.

‘Originally we were called the B******s from Hell, but we figured that a name like that would prevent us from becoming as big as the Beatles. So we changed it to the Dreamboys, possibly the worst band name of all time. It made us sound like a bunch of oiled-up musclemen who stripped off at hen parties. We did manage to put out one single, though, which was called Bela Lugosi’s Birthday. The definite highlight for the Dreamboys was playing third on the bill at the Camden Palace to three rows of skinheads who kept threatening to kill us.’

He came close to missing his shot at an acting career. Having failed to win a place at drama school, he enrolled at Glasgow Art School, where he studied graphic illustration. One evening he came home drunk to find his landlady, a costume designer, chatting with director Bill Forsyth, then riding high on the success of 1981’s Gregory’s Girl. Forsyth decided there and then that Capaldi would be perfect for the role of Danny in Local Hero.

This lucky break would prove to be the first of Capaldi’s false dawns. He moved to London, confident that plum roles awaited him. Instead he spent much of the next decade working in repertory theatre and landing bling-and-you-miss-them parts in shows as diverse as Rab C Nesbitt and Poirot. Then, in 1995, he won an Oscar for directing his short film, Franz Kafka’s It’s A Wonderful Life. Suddenly it seemed that Capaldi had arrived yet again.

‘The feeling of success was very short-lived,’ he says. ‘Collecting an Oscar in front of my heroes, people like Steve Martin and Robert De Niro, was unreal, like being on an acid trip or something. For the next couple of weeks, I was invited to every big Hollywood party. But it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. I’d find myself at some swanky do being introduced to Al Pacino and finding I had nothing to say to him beyond, “I really admire your work.”’

Returning to London, he kept plugging away at writing scripts. When Miramax expressed interest in a piece he’d written called Moon Man, Capaldi once again thought his ship had come in.

‘I flew out from Heathrow having being assured that this was a goer. Unbeknown to me, the project was cancelled while I was up in the air. I landed in New York and took a cab to the company’s Tribeca HQ, imagining the popping of champagne corks and the handing over of a very large cheque. I gave the cab driver a massive tip and marched into the building. Within 30 seconds I’d learned that it was all off. So I got back into the cab. The driver felt so sorry for me that he handed me back the tip. Then I returned to London to direct dog-food commercials.’

For the next ten years he worked mainly as a journeyman actor, putting in solid but uncelebrated performances in TV shows such as Foyle’s War and Judge John Deed. By 2004, he chances of Capaldi landing a career-defining acting role seemed to have finally eluded him. Then Armando Iannucci happened to see him play a hot-tempered professor in an episode of Peep Show and invited him to audition for the part of Malcolm Tucker.

The Thick Of It was officially an ensemble piece, but the main star of the first series was Chris Langham, whose role of bumbling minister Hugh Abbot completely revitalised a fading career and won him two Baftas.

Then, in November 2005, Langham was arrested as part of an investigation into internet pornography. He was subsequently found guilty of possessing child pornography and sentenced to ten months in prison. Though his character has not officially been written out of the series, the actor did not appear in either of the two specials.

Capaldi is the most charming and accommodating of interviewees until the subject of Chris Langham is brought up. Asked to confirm whether the Langham case is the reason for the BBC not showing repeats of The Thick Of It, he says firmly, ‘You’d have to ask them; I don’t know.’

Iannucci is on record as saying that he’d love to have Langham back on the show but he realizes that it would be an impossibility. When asked whether he shares this view, Capaldi’s mood visibly darkens and he fixes me with the flintiest of stares, saying, ‘I’d rather not discuss that.’

The moment passes and he brightens up when discussing how the role of Tucker has transformed his career. After years in the wilderness, he is currently one of the most in-demand actors around. He’s recently starred in Skins, The Devil’s Whore, Torchwood and Doctor Who. So high is his stock at present that, after a tortuous ten years, he’s just received the green light for his pet project The Great Pretender, about the making of a movie about Bonnie Prince Charlie, starring his friend Ewan McGregor.

Our time is almost up. Capaldi is off to begin filming a new series of The Thick Of It and hints that this could be the beginning of the end for Malcolm Tucker. ‘I think this could be the last series with the present cast in it. Labour aren’t likely to be in power much longer. The show needs to reflect the times. So I imagine we’ll soon be gone. Of course I’ll miss it. Most of all I’ll miss getting into the character of Tucker. It’s always such a challenge for me. I’m incredibly mild-mannered and he’s the opposite. I’ve only lost my temper big time on three occasions. I’ve got a long fuse, but when I do go off on one it’s nuclear.

‘It takes weeks to get into character. Before filming I can be found ranting and raving, swearing like a demon in my kitchen, while my wife and daughter cower in the living room. I hope the neighbours realise I’m being Tucker and not simply losing my mind. When Tucker’s gone, I won’t have that outlet. Hopefully the writers have a colourful exit planned for him. A heart attack, maybe, or perhaps they could finally silence him by bringing him down with a nasty stroke. That would be nice.’

[denkilightning]

rip alastair carstairs and raphael santiago you wouldve loved each other

[ohagiwrites]

✧･ﾟ:* I Know Your Face *:･ﾟ✧

TW: Violence, light gore

The figure that stood across the field was, panting, feral, covered in blood, and absolutely nothing like Atlas. Not like the real Atlas, Alastair’s mind added. No, this was but a shadow of Atlas – a ghost of who Alastair held so dearly. And yet, even with Atlas tearing through the grass, barrelling towards him like a wild animal, Alastair could not move. Even as Atlas’s hands gripped his neck. Even as he was slammed back into the ground.

The only part of Alastair that moved were his eyes. They were flighty and desperate, searching for any signs of recognition in Atlas’s blood smeared face. He found none. Alastair didn’t fight; he didn't struggle while Atlas’s finger’s dug hard into his throat, cutting off all air. Alastair gasped and choked but he didn't fight. He couldn’t fight Atlas. It didn’t matter that Atlas was crouched over him, teeth bared in a snarl and his eyes reflecting nothing but pure hatred. No. He would rather die. And if he were to die in that moment, he would be glad that it was by Atlas’s hand.

Alastair’s face was blue and swollen as he reached up. His arm trembed. When his palm met the side of Atlas’s face, he held it there, brushing his thumb across Atlas’s cheek and smearing the blood there.

Tears welled in Alastair’s eyes and rolled down his temples, further obscuring his already blurred vision.

He wished he could see Atlas’s face in better focus. He would like it to be the last picture in his mind as he went.

“Atlas…”

It was a horrible croak that died in Alastair’s throat with the last of his breath.

* * *

Jeremiah’s heart plunged into his stomach and then leapt up into his throat when he saw the outline of the body that savage was crouched over. His eyes were overflowing with tears before his scream even made it past his lips — guttural and horrified. Bile rose to Jeremiah’s mouth and he forced it down again. Not him. Not Alastair, please.

He tore off into a run but was just as quickly yanked back. He didn’t have the sense to recognize whose arms he was pulled into nor did he have the strength to rip away.

All Jeremiah could do was scream and sob out a torturous mantra of Alastair’s name as he watched that Eden scum slowly back away from Alastair before turning and running, leaving the limp body on the ground.

Jeremiah’s screams did not subside even as he was dragged away from the battlefield. In the last few moments that Alastair’s body remained in his sight, Jeremiah swore vengeance. He swore to rip that animal apart from the inside out. For Alastair.

Atlas is owned by @oros-ash3s

[oros-ash3s]

Takes place in the RIKIYO GEUN arc

.༉‧₊˚

Atlas struggles with his mental health very heavily by the time he is 20. He is a man who is in many ways still a boy, having been thrust into a war before he could even properly speak, given no time to develop, to grow into himself. He has been groomed into this since he was 5-years-old, having all of his ideologies and opinions influenced by those who had superiority over him. By the time he is 16 he has not shed these beliefs, even if he has abandoned Eden. He carries them with him every single day, viewing Wren and Alastair as his duty as a protector first, and his friends second. He simply doesn’t know any better.

By the time he is 19 he has been kidnapped, tortured, and stripped of his memories. His identity is a huge part of who he is, and it’s one of his main struggles throughout the story. He has lived his entire life putting up a persona of who Eden wanted him to be, and when he has his memories entirely removed, he is left to wonder who exactly is he? Even after he recovers from his amnesia he doesn’t know the answer to this question, a hollow spot left inside him from the damage that Eden ensued.

Enter the Rikiyo arc.

As much as Atlas has tried his best to recover from his time under Eden’s command, it's difficult for him to properly do this when he doesn’t have any access to professional help or a strong adult support system in his life. He’s in the middle of a war that he did not have any decision over being a part of, and as something such as a war is, he is not allowed to rest for very long.

Just after he turns 20 he is called on his first big mission in over two years. He, Wren, Alastair, and the two leaders of the Alliance, Kokoa and Kau’i, are sent to infiltrate one of the Cardinal’s temples and gather intel about the Congregation of the Chosen. They’re supposed to free any humans that are being kept, and destroy the temple.

The mission is a disaster.

It in many ways is what leads to Atlas and Alastair’s inevitable fallout. Although things had already been tense between the two after Alastair’s month-long stay with a certain scientist, but this is the final nail in the coffin.

Unlike many of the other foes the trio faced together, Rikiyo is nothing like them. Because Rikiyo has her sights set on one thing and one thing only: Alastair.

Atlas is used to being the centre of attention. From the minute he was taken to Eden he was treated as this important figure, told over and over that he’s a hero. He still believes this at 20 years old, even if it is a very black-and-white way of thinking. People have always wanted something from him. Whether it be Eden, who wants him for his powers and strength, who wishes to mold him into a weapon to turn the tides of the war. Or it be the AOM, which held him to very high regard when he first arrived with Wren and Alastair. Wren and Alastair have always looked up to him, seen him as their leader. He has this notion that he still needs to be their leader, even if he’s…. changed.

But Rikiyo doesn’t even acknowledge him.

.༉‧₊˚

It is Atlas’ voice that cuts through this scene of horror: “Let me take his place.”

He is standing still, jaw set. There is a fiery light present in his eyes, a flash of foolish bravery that these four walls don’t see often. His fists are clenched and he has his chin pointed, danger flickering across his face. He stares at the woman looming over Alastair as if she is an ungodly beast — which is in a way completely true. He stares at her as if he is only seconds from marching over and ripping her limb from limb.

Alastair stiffens, an ugly feeling washing over him. He lets out a grunt of protest, a sort of angry desperation shining in his eyes, “Atlas, you don’t know—”

“Free him.” Atlas cuts him off sharply, still staring straight ahead. There is a tenseness in his brows that Alastair knows all too well, this stubborn look in his expression that tells him all he needs to know: Atlas has made up his mind and there’s nothing they can do to stop him. “Free him and take me instead. I’ll be your prisoner. You can do whatever you want to me, as long as you let him go.”

Rikiyo doesn’t bat an eye. “No.”

Her words are clipped and sharp, as if he is a lowly bug, an annoyance that is doing nothing but interrupting her from her fun. Her golden gaze is still fixed on Alastair, piercing through him as if he is a prize, or, perhaps, her next meal. She won’t turn to look in the other boy’s direction.

Atlas’ expression wavers, his anger quickly dissipating at the harshness in her answer. He blinks, his calm composure beginning to fade. It is as if he has never heard these words before, as if he didn’t even consider the idea that Rikiyo wouldn’t accept his offer. Sacrificing himself was the only option. It was what he did, what he had always done. He is supposed to be the saviour; the hero. If he is not the one enduring the suffering, then what is the point? What is his use?

“What?” He croaks, suddenly nervous. Surely he misheard her. Surely there has been some sort of mistake. There had to be. He’s supposed to save Alastair. He needs to. “I said I’ll take his place, I’ll be your servant instead—”

“And I said no.” Rikiyo doesn’t allow him to finish. Her back is still turned to him, not allowing him to even try and decipher what she’s feeling. What she’s playing at.

A small noise escapes Atlas’ throat, desperate and confused. He swallows hard, his usual level-headed tactics and calm defiance not the thing that next leaves his lips, but instead a horrified question. “Why?”

“Because,” Rikiyo cards a single slender hand through Alastair’s hair, her smile gloating; cruel. The boy shivers underneath her grip, terror freezing him in his spot. “I don’t want you.”

She says it like the answer is obvious, like even an idiot could have pieced it together. But to Atlas, it couldn’t make less sense. She’s supposed to want him. He’s stronger than Alastair, he’s more of a threat. He’s powerful. He has so much to give her.

So why doesn’t she want it?

And why does he…. Wish she did?

.༉‧₊˚

Atlas doesn’t know what to do when he isn’t wanted. He as a person has been shaped by the mentality that he needs to be wanted, needed, used, at all times. He needs to have a purpose, needs to be serving someone.

But it is the Rikiyo arc that he is completely tossed to the side. Every act of defiance is met with complete indifference. For once he is not the thing being used against others, but instead on the receiving end. If he acts out Alastair will be punished, killed.

And it is this long, tiresome month at Rikiyo’s temple that Atlas has the realization that he isn’t needed. Eden doesn’t want him anymore — he’s defected, useless. He’s no help to his friends. He can’t lead them or protect them like he used to. He’s impulsive and unstable, driven by fear that he previously thought he didn’t hold.

He isn’t a hero, or a saviour. He isn’t a good person at all. He’s a lonesome man with the blood of hundreds on his hands. He can’t do anything right, can’t even do the one thing he has always known: Fight.

He has no purpose.

.༉‧₊˚

You're free to have everything you can see

All that you want from me

Free to be all that you want to be

Do what you want with me

— Step On Me by The Cardigans

taglist \\ @ohagiwrites @bloodinkandashes @corinneglass @icantthinkofablognameatm @vesanal @inky-anathemata @bioniclechronicles @seastarblue @gr3yhellh0und @aalinaaaaaa @shadow-of-tea-and-tea @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @sugaredparchment @lunaeuphternal @ifmasonbasonwasawriter @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @blackboxwarrior-mkultra @lancedoncrimsonwings @sharkblizzardblogs @nightmaricwriter @scoundrelwithboba @cepheusgalaxy @cacophonyofwords

[profoundbondfanfic]

The Angel of Emetgis V

The Angel of Emetgis V by kayliemalinza || @kayliemalinza Rating: Teen and Up Word Count: 29k

Emetgis V is a broken-down space station with threadbare life support systems, backbreaking work, and a mixed bag of crewmates. Alastair's a creep (with plausible deniability), Kevin's inches from a nervous breakdown, Meg's weird, and Casey is --well, Casey's kinda cool, even if she can't do anything about the crappy food. Then the angel shows up, and Dean's job gets a whole lot harder.

Dean and Kevin work on a space station, trying to repair the containment chamber, a place that has been ripped apart by the previous worker, Frank, who rambled on about angels and the end of the world. On a spacewalk, Dean discovers an angel in its true form, a glowing ball of light with tendrils spilling all around. This angel wants the chamber fixed as well, so it urgently pushes the men to complete their work.

One of the greatest strengths of our talented fanfic authors in the Destiel fandom is the ability to perfectly characterize our boys in any setting or situation. Cas is not named in this fic, nor is he able to speak English, but the glowing orb is so clearly and perfectly Cas. The ball of light even manages to do a classic head tilt in this form. Dean interacts with Cas just as would in canon, though there are a few more tendrils involved. Watching Cas and Dean's relationship build and change with few words spoken between them is a testament to the author's skill at showing rather than telling. Also, the supporting cast— Meg, Casey, Alastair, Kevin, and others— are all true to their canon selves and fit perfectly into the alternative universe. 

The author’s sci-fi world building is wonderful in this fic. The opening scene out in space is perfect at establishing setting. The author’s exploration of what it would be like to work in a no gravity environment immerses the reader in the world. Once the reader reaches the breathtaking conclusion to this fic, they will need a few minutes to remember that they are on Earth, not hovering far away in space.

Or, like me, the reader is not quite ready to return to land. Well, good news! Once you've finished this fic, the fantastic sequel, The Vessels of the Peregrine, is waiting for you!

[edwin-paynes-bowtie]

RIP Matthew Fairchild you'd have loved spending your entire day Evil Booping Alastair Carstairs after Thomas stole his smartphone and turned on the boop-o-meter

[issdisgrace]

CLINGY

WARNINGS: Fluff, Jamie is clingy

Jamie has been very needy for the last couple of days. When I tried to inquire about his neediness, he changed the subject. Deciding that he’ll tell me what’s wrong when he wants to. I drop it, letting him cling to me as I do stuff around the ranch. He stays out of the way for the most part only occasionally getting in the way. As the third day of him clinging to me drawn on, I could see Jamie getting more and more tired by the minute. We rode together as I checked for any breaks in the section of fence that Rip had asked me to check. It took an hour to check the whole section and as we rode back to the ranch. I realized that Jamie had fallen asleep in my arms. I smiled and kissed the crown of his head, making sure to take it easy. I’m really glad I insisted he rode in front of me instead of behind me. When we made it back to the ranch, John and Rip were standing on the porch talking about something. I ride up to the porch.

“Can one of you put away Alastair for me?”

“Sure.” Rip says.

I carefully dismount from Alastair, making sure Jamie doesn’t fall off. I then gently pull Jamie off of him and lift him to carry him bridal style. Rip comes off the porch and takes Alastair to the barn, John silently watching the scene with a smile. Walking up the porch steps. John says,

“He falls asleep on you, too?”

“Yeah.”

“He used to do that when he was a kid. He’d fall asleep on me or his mom all the time, but he stopped when he was 7 when we finally got him his own horse to ride.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Yeah it was.”

“What was Jamie like as a kid?” I asked, looking down at his sleeping form in my arms.

“He was quiet, very curious, and clingy.”

“Well, I guess the clingy part never went away, because that’s all he’s been for the last couple of days.”

“He’s probably stressed out. He always got clingy when too much was going on or when big things came up. So please take care of my son,” John says brushing strands of Jamie’s hair that had fallen out of his eyes as he smiled softly down at him. 

“I will always take care of him. You have my word.”

“Thank you, Y/n.”

“It’s no problem John, I love him with my whole being. But right now I should probably get him inside now.”

“You probably should. Here, I’ll open the door for you.”

John holds the door of the house open and I step in. I slowly make my way upstairs with Jamie to our bedroom. Still being passed out cold and not wanting to wake him up. I take off his clothes myself before tucking him and giving him a kiss on the forehead.

“Sleeptight Jamie. I love you.” I say as I turn our bedroom light off before leaving him to rest as I finish up my work for the day. 

It took 3 hours to finish what I needed to get down and by now it was 5:00pm. I was in the living room with everyone else watching Jurassic Park as it was Tate’s night to pick what we watched before dinner. As we watched it, I heard a very tired Jamie call out for me. Getting up, I go to find Jamie, finding him at the bottom of the stairs. Still in just his boxers and a tee shirt trying to rub the sleep from his eyes.

“Y/n.” He mumbles out as he sees me. 

“You sleep well Jamie.” I ask, knowing the answer. 

“Mmm, still tired.” He says, stumbling towards me practically falling face first into my chest. Catching him, I chuckle at just how cute he is when he’s tired. 

“Alright, big boy. How about we get you back upstairs so you can sleep some more? Dinner won’t be for an hour. “

“No.” He says, shaking his head.

“Alright then. You think you’re awake enough to walk to the living room or do want me to carry you?”

“Carry me.” 

“Alright.” I say, picking him up, his legs quickly wrapping around my waist and his arms wrapping around my neck. I carry him back to the living room, his head resting in the crease of my neck. No one says anything as I enter and sit down with Jamie wrapped around me. Well everyone except for Tate.

“What’s wrong with Uncle Jamie?”

“Uncle Jamie is just really tired right now.” I responded back to the worried boy. 

“Oh, ok,” He says happy with the answer before turning back to the tv. I rub Jamie’s back as I turn my attention to the tv. 

“This is going to make good blackmail.” I hear Beth say as a camera click is heard.

“You are not going to blackmail your brother. He’s tired and stressed.” John reprimands Beth. I pay no mind to it and just continue my watching of Jurassic Park.

[thehollowwriter]

I love thinking of scenarios of Silas coming to NRC (literally the only way of getting him on the surface is through Finn lol) because I get to think of his human form and other stuff that comes with it.

This man does not care for fashion nor does he have any sense for fashion lmao. He probably just wears jeans, sneakers, and a white shirt and calls it a day.

I have mentioned it before but for those who are a new or don't know: due to his disability, Silas is an ambulatory wheelchair user in human form! (The damage to his tail from being shot transferred to his legs) He can stand up and walk around with a cane, but it's incredibly painful and the chair is a lot better.

Silas does not like that he has no claws in his human form and will stare at his nails in annoyance sometimes. He keeps all his black markings and scars, which puts people off more often than not, which is fine by him because they leave him alone.

He barely knows anything about land outside of what Morrigan, Finn, Ezra and Alastair have told him and though he is keen to learn, he's very out of his depth and that frustrates him a lot.

NRC is a rampless nightmare and Silas just wants to see his son ok why do you people have so many stairs. He needs to see the headmaster and rip his head off have a chat but he can't do shit if he can't even get into the main building without walking and ending up in excruciating pain later down the line.

If you know Silas well, you'll notice how his whole demeanour flips like a switch when he sees Finn lol. He's very happy to see Finn and that's mostly expressed through headpats.

Silas wants to meet Finn's friends and it's ok he'll only judge everything they do and say for a few minutes tops/hj. He probably goes to Savanaclaw since it was Morrigan's dorm (and stares at his portrait for a while...) and to Mostro Lounge since he's heard so much about it from Finn (Azul is quaking in his shoes/J)

Anyone who realises Silas is Finn's dad are just like "That explains a lot" lmfao (Ace especially XD)

Silas interacting with other parents would be absolute chaos but also hilarious lol.

I'll probably think of more stuff another time but I needed to yap

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @sillyslipperybananapeel @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @moonyasnow @skibidibabygirl @quartztwst

@yuizenihaswriten @devosin @oya-oya-okay @b0njourbeach

@kirans-wonderland @coffinkissez @idikeis

[dancing-in-the-rain-1104]

RIP Alastair Carstairs you would have loved “the smallest man who ever lived”