#she also tripped and possibly permanently fucked up my ankle

[sunmoonandeddie]

feelings are fatal (23/24)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, past steve rogers x reader

word count: 3,018

summary: After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

chapter warnings: swearing, violence, funeral

masterlist

a/n: this little chapter drop!!!

The funeral was three days later.

You’d taken it upon yourself to stay in the Stark cabin, licking your wounds and mourning the loss of the man you’d spent almost a decade of your life with. You’d mourned losing him before, but this was different.

This was permanent.

There’d be no more chances to go see him in Buffalo. There’d be no more watching him paint in his home studio, seeing the life he built for himself.

You hadn’t seen Bucky since you left the hospital.

You had walked out of Steve’s room, tears rolling down your cheeks. It felt like a death march as you had to face his family, had to face Peggy, the daughter that was named after you. “He’s gone,” you’d said, hands trembling. “I…”

“Oh, honey,” Peggy had whispered, moving to hug you as her own pain welled up in her eyes.

“I have to go,” you had insisted as you quickly slipped out of her grasp, speeding down the hall. You’d left the members of your little family in the waiting room, knowing that they’d gotten to talk to him before he’d passed but still feeling so guilty because you were the last one he’d seen. The last one he’d talked to.

You hadn’t even stopped when Bucky and Wanda had called out your name. You had the car keys in your hand, since he’d given them to you at some point in the blur of the day.

You’d left him there.

The pain was unbearable.

You’d spent the past three days at the bottom of a bottle, blasting all the playlists that Tony had saved. At some point, it had switched to a playlist full of old jazz music from the forties.

You’d thrown the bottle against the wall and watched it shatter.

Sweeping it up while absolutely plastered had been… an adventure. You had the bandages on your feet to prove it.

But you’d gotten it all swept up and into the trash before moving onto the next bottle.

You’d turned off your phone after the fourth phone call and the eighteenth text.

But Bucky didn’t show up. He didn’t come banging on your door like you hoped he would, swooping in and kissing you like the prince in a fairytale.

It was monumentally disappointing.

When you arrived at the funeral, you’d thrown the car into park and then sat in the lot outside for at least forty-five minutes. You’d shown up early entirely because you knew that you’d need time to gather the courage to go inside.

You’d had to order a black dress and heels with express shipping, since you hadn’t exactly thought to pack them when you and Bucky had gone on your little vacation and you didn’t really feel like going out to go shopping.

Your mistake.

It had taken a lot of effort to actually shower and do your hair and makeup. Your ankles felt like they’d give out any moment as you slammed the car door shut and headed inside.

“Hello.”

You almost tripped over your own feet as you heard a feminine voice call out to you. “H-Hi,” you said as you finally came face to face with the woman who had your name. “I’m—”

“I know,” she said, before getting a weak laugh. “Me, too. I’ve heard so much about you. My dad… uh… He really, really loved you.”

“Thank you,” you said, voice a little stiff. You hadn’t done much talking the past few days, unless screaming out lyrics counted.

Yeah, it counted.

Sorta.

“Um… H-How is Peggy—I mean, your mom—doing?”

“She’s handling it about as can be expected,” she said with a smile as she glanced to where the Brit in question was. It was strange, seeing the woman that was named after you. She was older than you by a few years, and had a few gray hairs. But she looked so much like the perfect mix of Steve and Peggy… “But dad was getting up there… more so than any other man. They both knew it was coming. I just don’t know if mom will be able to hold on without him much longer.”

Great. Because that’s exactly what you wanted to hear.

“Here, let me introduce my siblings!” She said, calling them over before you could say no.

By the time the actual service started, you’d met far more Rogerses than you had ever wanted to.

It was exhausting. They were all so… kind. Despite everything, despite the fact that you were literally their father’s ex girlfriend, despite the fact that you were the last person their father spoke to before he died, and not his wife.

“My husband, Steve, has always been what his best friend called him. A punk,” Peggy said as she stood up before everyone, letting out a weak laugh as she glanced back at the open casket. “But he was so many things. Brave. Outspoken. Generous. Stubborn…”

Your eyes stayed on her, even though you stopped hearing what she was saying. You didn’t have the energy to listen to a eulogy.

That is, until she said your name.

“Huh?” You said, suddenly on high alert. Some part of you was aware that your team was sitting in the front row, including Bucky. You’d been too busy speaking with Steve’s children to talk to them, not that you minded that. You weren’t sure if you were ready to face them.

“Would you please come up and say a few words?” Peggy asked gently, getting down and holding out her hand to you.

“I…” Fuck. You couldn’t say no. It was a god damn funeral. “Okay,” you said after a long moment, placing your hand in Peggy’s and letting her lead you up to the podium. The sea of people staring at you made your blood run cold, your hands trembling as you gripped the wood. “Um… H-Hi…” You introduced yourself, you voice cracking. “I’ve known Steve… since I was eighteen years old. And we were together for almost a decade.” You snorted, shaking your head as you glanced back at the casket, your heart stopping for a moment when your eyes rested on his face. “I know… most of you are probably wondering why the hell I’m up here. Why the hell anyone would want their husband’s ex girlfriend speaking at their funeral, but uh… Steve helped make me the person I am today.” Your heart was hammering inside of your chest, threatening to break your ribs. “He taught me when to push myself, how to trust my instincts.” Also all things that Bucky taught you. You could feel his seafoam blue gaze on you, pinning you in place. “I know it’s cheesy… But he taught me what it means to do the right thing, even when it means standing up to someone you love and telling them so. He taught me how to keep going even when my world was crumbling.” Your heart was shattering as your eyes met Bucky’s. “He taught me to chase after what I want the most in the world, and to accept nothing but the best.” Tears were starting to roll down your cheeks. “Steve was a bright light in the world, even when he was in his darkest moments.” You gave a watery smile, your hands clammy. “Steve was not the shield, and those of us who knew him personally know that. The shield was Steve. He made it into the symbol that it is. A symbol of what every person can be, what they should be. What we should all aspire to be.” Your throat was starting to close up. “But he was showing us that even before the serum, wasn’t he? Because it doesn’t matter how small you are, or where you come from. You can make the choice everyday to make the world a little better.” Sniffling, you swallowed around the lump in his throat. “And I know I’m rambling, but I really didn’t expect to be speaking here today, so please forgive me, but I just… I never thought he’d die like this. There were hundreds of missions where I thought… this is it. This is where I lose him. I always knew he’d fight until he couldn’t anymore. The fact that he got the honor of passing like he did… what feels like a million years old and surrounded by his loved ones in a hospital… just like any other man… I can’t think of a better happy ending for him.” You took a deep breath. “But there’s someone who should be up here more than me. Someone who knew him from the beginning. From playground to battlefield and beyond, right?”

Bucky’s entire body was trembling as he slowly got to his feet and walked up to the podium. But before you could leave, his hand slipped into yours and squeezed, a silent question being asked.

Stay?

And how could he ever think you’d leave him?

You squeezed his hand back, staying by his side as he slowly started to speak. He spoke about the first time they met, all the fights he broke up.

Until the end of the line.

You guessed it really was the end. The grand finale of a life that wasn’t always easy, but was always worth it.

Watching Steve’s casket being lowered into the ground felt like a hallucination. How could it possibly be real?

The feeling that you’d gotten in the hospital was washing back over you like a tsunami. The overwhelming feeling of despair, of disbelief.

Of anger.

You wanted more time. There wasn’t ever enough time and now he was gone.

You slipped away after the funeral ended, getting into your car and just… driving. You knew you’d eventually make it back to the cabin, but you needed to roll the windows down and just feel the icy cold wind in your hair, on your skin.

Making you feel alive.

When you got back to the cabin, the sun had set, stars twinkling overhead in a brilliance you’d never see in the city.

You held your heels in your hand as you stumbled into the house, tossing them to the side as you headed for the kitchen. “FRIDAY, put on some music,” you said quietly.

“What playlist would you like?”

“Read the room, Fri,” you said simply, sighing as you grabbed a bottle of wine from the kitchen. She started to play music throughout the house, and you bit your lip as she started to play a blend of your favorites. Mostly Black Pumas and The Teskey Brothers. “Fri, can you turn on the fireplace?”

Warm light filled the living room and kitchen, flickering softly.

You didn’t bother changing as you collapsed onto the fur rug with just your wine and your bottle opener. “Dumb… cork…,” you huffed as you worked to get it open.

You were about halfway through the bottle when you heard a car pull up, followed by the slam of the door. Your mind was fuzzy as you watched the front door open and Bucky walk in. “Hi.”

He stopped in the entryway, still wearing the all black suit he’d donned at the funeral. “Hey,” he breathed out. He couldn’t help but snort as he saw the bottle of wine in your hands. “Yeah… It has been that kind of day, huh?”

When you held it out to him, you couldn’t tear your eyes away as you watched his pink lips wrap around the bottle and he took a swig.

Fuck, you had it so bad.

“How are you feeling?” You asked as you watched him stand by the end of the sofa. “It’s been… a rough day.”

“I’ve been better,” he said simply as he took another drink. “But I know I’ll feel better once you and I are speaking again.”

Your heart squeezed inside your chest as your eyes met, your cheeks flushing. “Right… I… I think we were both… frazzled… But I’m so sorry.”

Pain and Misery by The Teskey Brothers started to play over the stereo, filling the house with soothing R&B. It was one of your favorite songs in the whole entire world.

“I've been in love, honey, you know it's true… Was since that day I first laid my eyes on you…”

“Malen’kaya,” he said as he set the bottle on the coffee table, holding out his hand to you. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Could you forgive me for how I acted?”

“Love is a crazy game, baby… It's how I feel… It makes you oh, so high, but it takes so long to heal…”

You nodded after a long moment, slipping your hand into his and squeezing as he tugged you to your feet. “I can. I do,” you said, the wine making your head fill with bubbles.

“So, please, yeah, yeah… Won't you stay with me? 'Cause since you gone, it's all pain and misery. Honey, please, yeah, yeah… Won't you stay with me? 'Cause since you gone it's pain and misery…”

Something inside of you clicked back into place as he pulled you close to his chest, the two of you immediately starting to sway. Falling back into step with him was as easy as breathing, you were finding.

Perhaps even easier.

“Sometimes I curse that day of when you came along… I was happy but it's been pain now for so very long… Oh, I'm begging you, honey… Please, won't you stay? 'Cause I been so lonely since you gone away…”

“I don’t like not talking to you,” he said quietly, his lips pressing to your forehead. “Feels so wrong… Like I can’t breathe.”

Funny how you’d just had almost the same thought.

“Everyday is pain… In the end, it's hard to see… Every fateful day is oh, so sad, now that I've lost the best friend that I ever had…”

He was so warm, so comforting. Like a teddy bear.

“I don’t like not talking to you either,” you admitted as you nuzzled closer to him, breathing in the musky scent of his cologne. It was intoxicating. “Can we please never do it again?”

“Honey, please, won't you stay with me? 'Cause since you gone it's all pain and misery…”

He grinned against your forehead, his hand moving from your hip as he slid his arm around your waist to pull you even closer. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Honey, please, whoa please, won't you stay with me? 'Cause since you gone it's pain and misery…”

“Jamie…,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you tried to gather the words you wanted to say.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” He asked, resting his head against yours.

“Hey, I'm begging you, honey… Whoa… I want you to love me… Yeah, I want you to love me… I need you so bad…”

“What does this mean?” You asked as the song ended and it shifted to another. “For us, I mean?” You were starting to panic, anxiety welling up in your chest and causing you to word vomit. “Because I can’t do this back and forth, I can’t. I won’t. I won’t survive it. I can’t keep pretending like we’re just friends and that the way you make me feel doesn’t make me… doesn’t make me…”

“Doesn’t make you what?” He asked quietly, not letting you move away from his secure embrace. “Please… Because I can’t keep acting as though you’re not my everything.” He held the back of your head, his fingers gently massaging your scalp. “Please… Please, tell me you love me. Because I…” He rested his forehead against yours, a tear rolling down his cheek. “The love I have for you has rewritten every piece of DNA in my body,” he said. “It’s in my blood, my bones… You are written in my heart, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. And…” He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “And if you don’t love me the way I love you, that’s just fine. As long as I have you in my life… I’ll be whatever you need.”

“Jamie…,” you said with a weak laugh. You were openly crying, though you weren’t sure when you had started. “Oh, Jamie… Do you really think I could ever not love you?” Your nose nudged against his as you wrapped both of your arms around his neck. “If you don’t kiss me, we’re gonna have a fight.”

The smile that split open his face was blinding. The kiss he planted upon your lips was absolutely filthy. A mess of teeth and tongue and grins and giggles, a tangle of feelings pent up for so long that you were sure you’d never get them all out. You’d spend the rest of your life unraveling all the ways he made you feel, and you’d do it with a smile.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much,” you said as you pressed yourself against him. “I never wanna be without you ever again.”

“You never have to,” he breathed out as he nipped at your lower lip. Without further ado, he reached down and slipped his arm under your thighs. You let out a squeak as he scooped you up, carrying you bridal style up the stairs. “I’m gonna love you so good,” he said with a growl.

You almost hit your head on the door frame as he carried you into the guest bedroom you two were occupying, squealing as he tossed you onto the bed. “Jamie!”

“Yes, malen’kaya?” He asked as he shoved off his suit jacket, toeing off his dress shoes at the same time.

“Nothing,” you said, giggling as you started to strip down, too. “Nothing at all.”

When you two finally finished hours later, the wine had worn off, and he was asleep. You’d curled up on top of his chest, his cool vibranium hand resting on the small of your back, helping you cool off.

“Jamie?” You murmured, testing if he was asleep. When he grunted, you smiled, intertwining your fingers with his flesh hand. “I love you…”

“I love you more, baby.”

[downwiththeficness]

In the Blood-Part 12

Pairing: Brasa/Female OC

Word Count: ~1600

Warnings: Bloodletting

A/N:  Okay, so this is more of an epilogue than anything else. Just something to wrap up the end of the story. This will very likely not be the last time I work with these two characters, but I wanted to give the main story line a nice ending (spoiler: I don’t generally believe in writing unhappy endings).

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven

Lilah was staring at him.  She knew it.  He knew it.  She didn’t much give a fuck. He was working late, again, and she was trying (and failing) to read on the couch across from his desk. The novel held no appeal, though she’d been interested in it maybe an hour before.  Her brain had snagged on a thought and it wouldn’t let her go.  She’d tried to suppress it, but even she knew it was a losing battle.

Apparently, Brasa knew it as well.  She heard him push back from the desk and circle around it to the couch.  He lifted her feet off the cushion, sat down, and placed them in his lap. Then, he fixed with a look that said, ‘spill’.

Tossing the book to the floor, Lilah chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to phrase it in the least offensive way.  After a few long moments, she decided that there was no way to say it nicely. She would just have to say it and hope he didn’t get angry.

“What did Richie mean, when he said you were taking your time?  You know, that you hadn’t seen to me?”

The memory of that interaction popped up in the silent moments, when she was near sleep or doing something innocuous like showering or standing in the elevator.  She couldn’t get her mind around the way the air seemed to have been sucked out of the room, the cold that Brasa had exuded. It irked her that Richie knew something she didn’t. That, and the stupidly smug look on his face as he’d said it.

Fingers that had been drawing errant circles on her ankles paused, “The simplest explanation could be that we hadn’t had sex.”

Could be.

“But,” he continued, “He meant it as a jab about how I hadn’t finished the bond.”

The bond. It was the thing that they circled around almost constantly. Brasa had alluded to the depth of it a few times, when she’d pressed him about how they’d shared visions all those months ago. Even now, if she concentrated, she knew where he was in the building, knew that she could reach out to him, if she really wanted to.

A few day’s previous, she’d been out shopping and had felt him ask her to come home.  He was missing her.  Lilah had paid for her purchase, a lovely bottle of wine highly recommended by the shop owner, and had made the trip back to the bar.  Brasa had been waiting for her as she stepped off the elevator. He’d leisurely walked her through the many doors between the bar proper and his bedroom, and then he’d not so leisurely undressed her and pulled her into his plush bed.

Sitting up, Lilah swung her feet to the floor and scooted over to him, laying her head on his shoulder.  “Why’d you get so mad about it?”

His jaw worked, “I wasn’t mad.  I was insulted.”

Lilah tugged on the sleeve of his shirt, smoothing a wrinkle, “Insulted by what?”

He took a long time to answer, choosing his words carefully.  Lilah knew that he didn’t like to talk about his home, what he had done before her, what he might be forced to do to maintain status and control, should he be challenged. She also knew that he would let her in on the details he felt should be shared with her, if she had patience with him.

“It would be expected that I would have tied you to me as soon as possible, made it impossible for you to get away.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Why?”

Looking down at her, Brasa slipped an arm around her shoulders, rubbing a hand down to her forearm, “Its in our nature, Lilah.  Xibalbans are all...possessive, selfish beings.  To have a bondmate all my own is the epitome of fulfilling every basic need I’ve ever had. For most, it would be insanity to wait to finish it, to assume the ownership that is my due.”

Lilah’s head swiveled so that she could look him in the eyes, “You don’t treat me as a possession.”

The was true.  He didn’t. When she’d asked to return to work, he’d helped her find a few jobs that paid well and supported her going out to do them—though he’d been firm on overnights.  Brasa wanted her home, sleeping in their bed, at the end of the day. He’d even let her pull Chewie in on a few jobs, when the need called for it.

He leaned down and kissed her briefly, “The reality of the situation is quite the opposite.”

She smiled, “Look at you. Such a sweetheart.”

He rolled his eyes good naturedly, “Only with you.”

“As it should be,” she replied primly.  Then, “So what does it mean, ‘finishing’ the bond?”

He sighed, reaching over to grasp her hand, toying with her fingers, “Its a blood exchange. Yours for mine.”

“You’ve had mine—a lot, if you’ll recall.”

He was always so very careful about his bite, checking in with her for pain afterwards.  But, once he sank his teeth in, injecting her with venom, it was over.  He’d drink deeply, holding her down, sometimes with just one hand.  The other might be holding her open to him if he was between her legs, or guiding her hips against him, if he’d taken from her neck.  In any case, Lilah would usually end up crying out her orgasm, her mind completely blank.  It might take her a moment to come back, but she usually opened her eyes to his proud, affectionate gaze.

Brasa laughed lowly, leaning over and kissing her temple, “I recall.”

“But, you don’t want to give me yours?”

He shook his head and, in a quick movement, dragged her legs over his thighs, pulling her closer, “Its not about want. Blood bonding is permanent.  What I want is for you to know what you are doing.”

Lilah’s head cocked to the side, “Do you think I don’t?”

Another shake of his head, “No. But, I don’t think you know what eternity means.”

She frowned, “What does that have to do with it?”

“I told you,” he said, tucking her hair behind her ear, “It’s permanent.  One life bound to the other. I’m Xibalban, Lilah, we don’t die.”

Ah. Well, that explained the hesitation.  Lilah pressed her forehead into the curve of his neck, watching as her threaded their fingers together, palm to palm.  She thought about what that kind of bond would mean.

“If I asked you, right now, to finish the bond, would you?”

He hummed in the affirmative, and she felt him warm beneath her, a sure sign of his agreement. He was always hottest when he wanted something, skin burning with it. Lifting her head, Lilah caught his eye with a meaningful look.

“Are you sure?” He asked, dropping her hand to cup her jaw.

“I’m definitely abiding by policy number two.”

Brasa searched her face for dishonesty, apparently finding none.  Then, saying nothing, he kissed her forehead and helped her up, guiding her to their bedroom.  With careful hands, he set her on the bed and sat next to her.  From somewhere on his person, he produced a blade.  

“Give me your hand,” he commanded gently.

She did, watching with wide eyes as he tipped the metal to her skin and pressed it firmly.  Her face must have shown her confusion, because he smiled wide.

“We both know that will happen if I use my teeth.”

Fuck, but she knew exactly what he meant. If he bit her, it would be over, no question.

Lilah blushed, “You’ve been thinking about this.”

His smile held, “Of course.”

Bringing her fingers to his lips, Lilah watched as he touched his tongue to the little pearl of blood. Her heart kicked up as her drew the digit into his mouth, sucking and rolling his tongue around the tiny wound. With a wet pop, he pulled her free.  Then, without preamble, he nicked his forefinger and offered it to her.

Lilah felt him tremble as she licked the droplet clean from his skin, her mouth filling with a familiar copper taste.  She marveled at the way the wound closed almost immediately, the skin knitting together with nothing left behind.

“It is done.”

Her eyes flicked up to him, “Just like that.”

“Just like that.”

She huffed out a breath, “Well...that was remarkably easy.” Then, “I don’t feel any different.”

Tilting his head to the side, he answered, “It’ll grow with time.” Then, “The more blood shared, the more the bond will grow.”

Lilah huffed a little laugh—always so careful. She looked down at her finger, the wound clotting, a little pulsing pain remaining.

“Still, that took nothing to accomplish,” she said as she returned her attention to him

One side of his mouth lifted, “I expect its meant to be—to encourage more bonds.”

That made a lot of sense. A difficult or painful process would lead to less bonds. Although she’d been confident when she’d asked him to move forward with it, Lilah didn’t know if she was ready to contemplate eternity. Probably best that she didn’t.

Taking a deep breath, she asked, “What do we do now?”

He shrugged, “Whatever you want to do.”

The options were, literally, infinite. They could do anything. Go anywhere. And, as long as they kept their people in check, they wouldn’t be bothered by anyone other than the brothers Gecko to maintain the treaty. The feeling was as intriguing as it was odd.

She was silent for a while, then, “How do you feel about breaking and entering?”

[metaphysical-human-being]

Roman

A/N: I wrote more fic because polotics and because the bees made me

Warnings: transphobia, horrible parenting, Remus being Remus, t-slur, swearing, crying, purposeful misgendering, tell me if there are more!

Ships: none

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

Roman checked his bag one more time. He needed to make sure he had everything. 

Shuffling through his bag he let out a long sigh before rushing into his bathroom. He was forgetting about toothpaste and toothbrush. 

"You sure you got everything? And you remember the code to use if it goes bad?" Jasmine, Romans best friend, said over the phone.

"Yeah, Jazz. I triple checked everything." Roman announced, placing his toothbrush in his bag along with his toothpaste. 

"Good, did you forget your sword?" Jazz asked. She knew how much he loved his sword.

"Nope! In my bag. Along with my keys, my masculine clothes, my binder -thanks for that, again. You're amazing- brush, shampoo, school stuff, my charger, toothbrush and toothpaste." He checked off. 

The girl chuckled. "Good. Can't forget that shampoo. I would let you borrow mine but my kinky ass hair shampoo is not gonna work with that white-boy hair you got." She said, smirk evident in her tone. 

"Oh ha ha," he mocked. She was always doing that but he didn't actually mind.

"Now," she got serious again. "Tell me the plan one more time."

"Okay," he took a seat on his bed. "I'mma put my stuff in my car and come out to my mom after dinner. If she reacts badly then I text you the code word-" 

"Which is?" She interrupted.

"Chicken butt. Then I drive to your house and stay at your place until my dad gets back from his trip. Then I tell him. If he reacts the same as my mom then I stay at your place. If he reacts how we think he will then I can just stay with my dad permanently. If my mom reacts well then I just stay at my place and tell my dad when he gets back." Roman explained, one more time. He knew this plan to heart, they've been planning it since he first told her when he was thirteen that he wasn't a girl. 

"Good. Good luck out there, soldier. I gotta go prepare your room in case she reacts the way we assume. Love ya, bye!" She hung up. 

Roman let out one more sigh before he heard a knock on his door. He looked up and saw his younger brother, Remus, standing there. 

"What do you want, peasant?" Roman asked, earning a glare from the younger boy. 

"Two things. One; what's that stuff on your bed? Two; dinner time." He said in his sing-song voice.

"None of your damn business and okay. I'll be down in a sec." Roman shot back. He didn't want his brother to know anything. He'd tell his mom immediately and the plan will have to happen early. 

"I would be nicer to me if I were you or I'll cut off your boobs, slice them up, bake them in a pie and feed it to you." The 12 year old hissed before flipping him the bird and running off downstairs. 

Roman grabbed his stuff and went downstairs, passed the kitchen and outside to his car. He got it from his dad when he first turned sixteen a couple months ago. It was old and not the best but it was his most prized possession for he knew that his father had been saving up the money since Roman was eight so he'd be able to have it for his sixteenth.  

Quickly, he placed his backpack in the passenger seat and briskly walked back inside. 

"Why'd you go outside?" His mother, Aleiya, asked. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised as if asking him what he was up to this time.

Roman looked down at his phone in his hand. "I just left my phone in my car." He lied through his teeth. He's gotten good at it, being an actor and all. 

His mother just gave him a slight nod before telling him to go hurry up and wash his hands. 

After a quick prayer the family started eating. Remus went on and on about his day, saying a lot of… questionable things. 

"-and I was sitting in class thinking 'hey? What would it be like if I tied up my teacher by his ankles and shove chalk so far up his a-"

"Okay! That's enough out of you." His mother pointedly stared at Remus. Remus just shrugged before going back to his food. 

"Roseanne, sweety, how was your day?" His mother asked. Roman just shrugged before shoving more food in his face. He was too busy going over all the different scenarios in his head to answer. 

"Oh! Mom! I wanted to tell you something!" Remus spoke up once more. His mother turned to her youngest child and told him to go on, although to keep it pg.

"Y'know that dick RoRo wants?I know where we can get him one. I know a guy," He said, simply. His wide, kinda-but-not-really innocent smile on his face. Absolutely no idea about what he had just done.

Romans eyes widened while his mothers darkened. 

"Remus, sweety," she asked, so sweet it was sickening. "What do you mean by that?" She asked, venom dripping in her words. Roman tensed up. 

"Y'know? The dick that Roman wants. I know where we can find one!" Remus said, pointing at Roman. 

His mother's face twisted into something down right nasty.

"Remus, sweety ...who's Roman?" She asked, glaring daggers at Roman just across the table. 

Remus giggled as if this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

"You're looking at him, silly….oh, wait. He was gonna tell you after dinner, right? That was the plan you and Jazz band were talking about...hm, oh well." He rushed, shrugging it off as if it were that simple. Roman kinda wished it could be. 

"Anyway, can I have a worm and Beetlejuice shake for desse-"

"Rose." She said, voice hard and angry as she cut off Remus. 

"Is what Rem saying...true?" Roman just opened and closed his mouth, looking like a fish out of water.

"Is. It. True!" She yelled at him, standing up from her seat and slamming her hands down on the table. Remus flinched. Roman looked at his food.

"Yes." He murmured. That's where shit hit the fan. 

"Get out of my damn house." 

"What?" Both Roman and Remus squeaked. Remus didn't know this would happen. He….he thought he was helping. Not getting his older brother thrown out. 

"You heard me, tranny. Get out of my damn house. This ain't no pride parade. Get your shit and leave!" She spat, sitting back down and glaring at Roman.

And with a huff and a glare, Roman left the table.

Remus stared as his brother shoved back the seat and stormed out of the house, making sure to slam the door as loud as possible. 

Everything went according to plan. Roman texted Jasmine and went to her house, struggling not to cry on the drive over. The minute she opened the door he was in her arms, sobbing. She rubbed his back and told him to let it all out. 

That was the first night Remus cried himself to sleep.

- 

After a few days, Romans dad came back home. Roman texted him, asking to meet at a coffee shop so he could explain why he wasn't at his mother's. 

Remus had told him that their mother refused to even acknowledge she had another child so their dad was really confused.

"Hey, dad! Over here!" Roman called, waving to his father when he saw him enter the shop.

The man in question, Paul, walked over to the table and took a seat right across from him.

Just looking at the pair you could tell they were related. Roman got most of his looks from his dad. He got his dad's dark brown eyes with specks of gold. He also got his dad's light brown, almost blonde hair. He got his tan, sun kissed skin and his splatter of freckles. The only thing he got from his mom was his smile. 

He gave Roman a politeful hello and asked how he's been. They had a small conversation before his dad asked the big question. 

"So ..why'd your mother kick you out?" His dad asked, setting his phone down on the table. Roman took a gulp before he started to explain the events of a couple nights ago. His dad didn't say a thing while he talked. He only nodded his head and let him explain. 

"So…." His father started when Roman was all done explaining. "What I'm hearing is that whole thing when you wanted to be called Roman….that wasn't a phase?" His father asked, pressing his lips together. 

Roman nodded his head. 

"Well ...okay then. So, your name is Roman now and you're a boy?" 

"Uhm..well yeah. I mean, I guess I've always been a boy really," Roman rubbed his neck and looked down at a stain on the table. " I guess I just realised that I was one." He said, a small smile on his face as he looked back up at his dad.

"And when did you realize this?"

"Uhm, when I was thirteen, I think,"

"Geez, kid. Thirteen? That's some time.."

"Heh...yeah…"

"And that's why you've been buying all those guys clothes-"

"Yep"

"And acting more suspicious. Never letting me see your phone or anything-"

"Uh-huh"

"Wow," his father sighed. "I….I don't know what to say,"

"Look, dad," Roman started. "I know it's weird and new and stuff but I need you to know that I'm not gonna just stop being trans. This is who I am and...if you don't like it then...well then I guess you won't see me for a while." Roman said, putting on a brave face even though he was absolutely petrified. 

His father's eyes widened before he started shaking his head. "Kid! Of course you're not gonna stop and I would never make you! I….I know I'm not the most...what's the word? Uhm-"

"Educated?" Roman tried, hope blossoming in his chest. 

"Yeah. I'm not the most educated person on the planet but...you're my kid. I'm not gonna stop loving you just because the hospital got it wrong," his father smiled, tearing up a bit at the thought that his da-...son would ever think he could ever not love him.

Roman smiled from ear to ear, practically vibrating in his seat at the amount of joy he was feeling. He launched himself into his dad's arms, crying happy tears as he thanked him over and over. People in the coffee shop who had been overhearing beamed at the father and son as they both laughed and hugged. 

After Roman pulled himself together they left, both grabbing a pastry on the way out. 

-

After that Roman decided to stay with his dad for the rest of...well, as long as he stays at home. They had to get his mother's permission but all she said was;

"I don't fucking care what the hell you do with that bitch! She's not my 'son'. I had a daughter, not whatever that is. Do whatever you want with her! Throw her in a garbage can and let the rats have at her, I don't care. Now stop asking me."

Let's just say, there was no argument and Roman was legally allowed to stay with his dad full time. Soon after, though, Remus came along. He says it was because his mom became a bit bitchy and annoying after he told her he was gay, and that was a big reason but he had been planning to runaway and live with his dad ever since Romans mother kicked him out. 

Life wasn't perfect and Roman still had his days, but with the help of his dad, brother, and friends he was able to get through it. 

(He even got himself a boyfriend, but that's a story for another day)

[bagels-and-seagulls]

can we get some davenzi angst

how about some angst and a future fic? bc it’s all i can think of right now

David dialed Matteo while he was cleaning off the counter. He hadn’t made anything super fantastic for dinner, just rice and vegetables, since it was all he really could cook without Matteo or Laura watching over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t screw anything up, but somehow Matilda and him still managed to get what looked like half the box on the floor and all over the counter. The phone rang two times where it was in between his shoulder and his ear before it connected with a shriek on the other side. 

“Daddy!” Sofia squealed, and David had to quickly take the phone away from his ear in fear of permanent hearing loss in his right ear. His daughter had always managed to hit decibels he never thought possible. He tried to crack his neck. 

“Hey, sweetie. How are you?” He asked and leaned back against he counter, crossing his ankles. 

“Good! We’re having so much fun, Daddy! We went to this museum thing, and Papa showed us all of this old stuff. That wasn’t too fun, but then we went to the lake for Great-Grandma’s party, and that was, like, super fun! Great-Grandma gave us these little candies wrapped in wax paper and played with us until Grandpa told her to stop,” she rambled. 

“Did you get to go swimming?” David asked as he started to pace around the kitchen. 

“Nooooo,” she whined. “Grandpa said that that’s not a lake you’re supposed to swim in, but when he wasn’t looking, Papa let us dip our toes in. So you’re not supposed to tell him that.” 

“I won’t tell,” David laughed. 

“Micha, stop poking meeee. I’m talking to Daddy,” Sofia said loudly, and David pulled the phone away from his ear again, already forgetting his mistake from last time.

“Does Michael want to talk to me?” David asked. 

“He says yes.”

“You can put it on speaker. Get Papa to do it.” 

There was some shuffling and a couple of low murmurs that he couldn’t really hear, before he heard his son go, “Daddy!” very similar to the way his sister had done a minute before. At least this time, someone was holding the phone away from their mouths, so it was bearable. 

“Hey, pumpkin,” David greeted and couldn’t but help to smile. He didn’t realize how much he missed them until he was putting Matilda to bed and walking down the quiet and empty house, wondering when everyone was coming back. Whatever the answer was, he knew it was going to be too long. “Sofia was just telling me what you did today.” 

“Oh! We went to go look at some statues that are supposed to be really important, and it was super cool because they were huge and, like, so detailed and stuff. And then we went to meet all the cousins with Papa and Grandpa at the lake, and that was cool, too. Great-Grandma was really nice and told stories to Papa and then Papa told us,” Michael rambled off a similar story. 

“Did you like all the cousins?” David asked, pushing his toe into the ground. He had been worried about this trip since Matteo brought it up, a family reunion in Italy for his grandmother’s birthday. David didn’t know if going was too good of an idea. Matteo hadn’t gotten along with that side of the family for a while, longer than he probably understood. His father hasn’t even come up to visit them since Matilda was born, not that David bothered too much. He was a cold man, Matteo’s father. But David knew how important Matteo’s grandmother was to him, and he knew that he would be crushed to not see her. And he also knew that she had been hounding him about meeting her great-grandchildren. 

“I mean, I guess. They couldn’t understand us,” Michael said, and David imagined that he was shrugging. It was better than nothing, David supposed. 

“They kept saying the same thing over and over again,” Sofia added. 

“What’d they say?” David asked, not really believing that.

“I don’t speak Italian, Daddy,” Sofia whined. “You know that.” 

“Then how do you know they were saying the same thing?” David teased. 

“Yeah,” Michael added, and David just shook his head, trying to hold back a little laugh. 

“Time for bed,” David heard a little muffled. Matteo must have been on the other side of the room. He sounded just far enough away for David to get a taste, but not too clearly to satisfy, like a dream almost. 

“Papaaaa,” Michael drug out. 

“We just started talking to Daddy,” Sofia said, most likely with a pout. 

“Yeah,” Michael repeated. 

He heard a couple sounds, and David started wiping a towel over the counter just for something to do while he was waiting to see how this played out. He already knew who was going to win, but he was still interested. “We can call him again in the morning, but it’s time for bed now.” 

There was some vague whining noises where he’s sure the twins were pulling off the best puppy dog eyes that haven’t worked since they were toddlers before Matteo said, “None of that. Off you two go.” There was some more muffling. “I’ll be right back,” Matteo said, and it sounded like he wasn’t on speaker anymore. 

“Alright,” David said with a little nod, not that Matteo could see it. 

He waited for a minute or two while he was rearranging the papers on the fridge, some of Michael’s drawings, a picture of Sofia from her last gymnastics meet, one of Matilda’s school reports that she insisted they put up because it had a sticker of a ladybug on it, a picture of Matteo and David from their wedding day, looking sharp in complimentary suits and holding hands while both of them pretended like they weren’t crying. 

“Hey,” he heard. 

“Na?” 

“Na,” Matteo sighed. 

“How’d it go today? You went to a museum?” David asked. 

“Yeah, an art thing, just to kill some time before meeting the family.” 

“Was it fun?” 

“It was alright,” Matteo said simply and didn’t elaborate, not like the kids. He sounded tired, David thought, and not the kind of tired he usually got corralling the twins by himself all day. That one David could tell right away, and he would usually laugh, and kiss Matteo’s nose, and tell him that at least they’ll be asleep by ten. No, he sounded like the tired that was down to the bones and then a little bit further, one that was saying a hundred different things at once and none of them good, the tired you couldn’t really get rid of with sleep. 

“Everything okay?” David asked a little quietly. 

“Yeah,” Matteo responded quickly. “Yeah,” he repeated a little smaller after a minute. “I just miss you. And Matilda.”

“We miss you, too. All you guys. The house is too quiet.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” David asked, not wanting to push, but not convinced that this was just a little thing like missing home. 

“It’s just,” Matteo stopped himself, and David could hear the way he was swallowing something down. Something heavy sunk into his gut, and he sat down on the kitchen floor, knowing where this could be headed, and not liking it already. “I just don’t know why I bother trying,” Matteo said through his teeth, and David imagined him pulling at his hair, and scrubbing at his face, and trying to pretend like the world wasn’t getting to him even though it was and did and will forever. 

“What happened, baby?” David took a deep breath to prepare himself. He already disliked most everything about Matteo’s father, knew it from the first time they were still kids and trying to figure life out, when they still had things like school to worry about and social status and how to pay for alcohol, and Matteo told him out on the balcony with a joint in his lips that his dad had run off without a second thought, and good riddance, too. Matteo didn’t need that prick. Not one bit, he said. Somehow David knew that he was going to really start hating him by the end of this conversation, if it was possible to hate him more than when Matteo called him to tell him that Matilda was coming home with them, swaddled in Matteo’s mama’s arms, and Matteo’s father told him he would call him back. And then didn’t. 

“Just-” And Matteo cut himself off with a heaping breath, and David wished more than anything to be there right now, to hold his face in between his hands and tell him that he would protect him from the rest of the world if he would just let him, to squeeze him tight until all the sadness drifted out of him like smoke. He curled an arm around himself in consolation. 

“They were so mean,” Matteo said with a sob. He sniffled, and David gripped onto the side of his shirt hard, his nails digging into his palm on the other side. “They were saying all these things behind my back, all of them, about my kids. My kids, David,” he heard Matteo sniffled hard. “And Sofia and Michael didn’t even know because how could they. They just wanted to play with the others. And they were just so cruel. To children. My children.”

“What did they say?” David asked through gritted teeth. He tipped his head back to push the crown of his skull into the cabinets behind him. 

“That they didn’t look like me, weren’t ours. That they were going to frow up messed up. That they weren’t really family. That they were adopted by a couple of-” Matteo stopped. He sniffled again and then swallowed hard enough for David to hear. “And the kids were looking at Sofia and Michael and said that they didn’t want to play with them and just repeated back all the shit their parents were saying.” 

David was mad as fire. No- madder than fire, he was a volcano ready to erupt, a pittbull with rabies and a t-bone on the mind who had been locked up a little too long for his own good, a tsunami that has been pulling back from the shore for hours now, wanting to see the sea floor to rise. He was ready to get in a car and drive all night and all day if he had to to go give these people a piece of his mind, tell them to fuck off, that they were ignorant bigots who had nothing better to do than pick on people who were blissfully unaware. With the sound of Matteo quietly crying to himself half a continent away, away from where David would comfort him and tell him he didn’t need those bastards anyways, and trying to pretend like everything was fine because the walls were thin and the kids could understand this conversation just fine, David finally figured out how mad you had to be to contemplate murder. 

“What did your dad do?” He asked. 

Matteo huffed a breath. “Nothing, just stood there.” 

“I’m coming,” David said suddenly and picked himself off the floor, fully convinced to find his suitcase and start shoving his clothes into it, anything really, already thinking of how to pay back Laura for watching Matilda for the rest of the weekend. 

“No, David. Don’t,” Matteo said quickly. 

“I’m going to kill him,” he responded. 

“It’s not worth it.” 

“The fuck it isn’t!” David yelled and then pinched the bridge of his nose to remind himself that Matilda was sleeping. “They have not fucking right to talk about them that way, talk about us that way. If they have a problem, they should say it to my fucking face.”

“David,” Matteo chocked out. “I just want to come home.” 

“Baby,” David said, calming down. “Just- get on the first train tomorrow, or a plane, or a bus. I don’t care. I’ll come pick you up if you want me to.” 

“No, I don’t want the kids to think something’s wrong.” 

“Something is wrong.” 

“They don’t know that,” Matteo said. “You heard them. They had a blast.” 

David sighed. “Then cut it short. Don’t come tomorrow, but the next day. Say Matilda got sick, or that something came up and I had to go out of town and you have to watch the kids.” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I’ll look for flights.” 

Matteo sighed. “Okay.” 

David scrubbed at his face. “I’m sorry this happened, sweetheart. You don’t deserve it.” 

“Whatever,” Matteo mumbled. “Grandma loved them. Said they were her favorites.” 

“Did she?” David asked, trying to see a bright side after his vision just went black and white. 

“Yeah, right in front of my cousins. Said they were the cutest and most well behaved kids she’s ever seen. She asked for a picture of the family.” 

[kayistiredt]

Here’s something I wrote about my roommates

"Hey, can everyone NOT leave a bunch of fucking dishes and food out in the open? So we won't get ran out of our own house by a bunch of fucking gnats? Is that possible for everybody? Can we all agree we don't like gnats?" I'm standing in the middle of the living room. Shouting all of this. It's a bright day. Maybe people look down on those of us who wake up a few hours past noon, but at least we wake up just in time to enjoy the day and the sunset. That's not bad. I know everyone who lives in this house is home. I continue to shout, "I think we all don't like gnats all over everything so from now on, lets do better."

 There's more authority in my voice than anger. I'm commanding. This isn't really up for debate. I'm not even sure what the debate could be. For gnats? For not cleaning? I can understand within your own personal room, hell there's garbage bags in my room that have collected colonies of gnats of their own. But Jesus, how can you stand it? They're just buzzing around, on any and everything. You can't look anywhere without seeing not just one, but two or three. How could you possibly look at the sad pile of a rag on the counter, holding God knows how many and just ignore it? I can't. I'm sick of ignoring. Of not speaking out for things that make my skin crawl. I'm coming into the realization that I just may be more powerful than swallowing my disgust. I walk around the corner to Genesis' room and bang on the door. Her six-foot-something dreadhead boyfriend could answer the door and I anticipate that, squaring my shoulders and clenching my jaw. I need to see the child in him. I need to see through him to the child in him and scare that child. That's how you intimidate a six-foot-something boyfriend. Easier said than done, but I'm powerful enough. I realize that now.

He swings open the door and I meet his eyes immediately. "I'm going to clean the kitchen. I need these bags on the porch out of here. Call up who you gotta call up, do what you gotta do. I need that shit gone. Asap." He's stunned, I think. I don't give him time to respond and turn around in the tight hallway to round the corner into the kitchen. I suppose I'm taking a pretty big risk. This man has a shotgun or rifle or something in the room, I've seen that. There's also a machete that I'm not sure is real or fake. I know they get up to some fraud activities but I don't know how much violence they get up to. My hands should be shaking but they're steady. I'm grounded. My guides love to see me in my power so why wouldn't they assist me as I stand up for my space? It's actually our space. You would think I would be appreciated for putting my foot down and insist that we all take care of it. In any case, it doesn't matter if they appreciate this move or not. I’m in control. I've had enough of feeling uncomfortable in a space I used to claim as my own. 

Sure, I'm leaving soon. I've resolved myself to that fact. I'm leaving. I'm getting out of here and although I cherish and value this space for all that it's given me, it's time to let it go. So that said, should I really make such a big fuss over all of this? 

"You fucking tripping," he says. High pitched in disbelief. I take a deep breath and call on the most powerful, intimidating spirit that wants to see me do well in life. I feel the power surge from the ground up. My footsteps sound like thunder as I step back around the corner. I feel taller than the man in front of me as I say: "I want the patio cleared. I want the trash gone." His eyes widen and he doesn't seem to be looking at me but something taller than me, which feels incredible. "If y'all had just taken the trash out instead of piling it up out there in the first place, I wouldn't have to do all this." I take a few steps back and turn around the corner to open the glass doors to the back patio. "Let's go!" I say, in a voice that doesn't sound like mine. A sound that booms out of my chest and seems to make the floor vibrate. He walks quickly around the corner, stepping outside in his socks to start putting garbage bags in the cardboard box that managed to make its way out there.

I know where it came from and decide that since I haven't felt the power drain out of me yet, I'd tick something else off my to-do list. I trust in whatever entity is currently with me to pull the reigns if I get carried away. I bang on Cynthia's door twice. She opens swiftly. Most likely standing nearby and fiddling nervously as she listened in, knowing that she dropped off a giant cardboard box and a few garbage bags of her own at the make-shift landfill just yesterday. According to her, her ankles are weak due to a disability, so maybe she just couldn’t find it in herself to do more than walk the four or five steps from her room to the back patio door. However, since I’ve seen her walk to the front door, which is a considerably longer distance, I’ll call bullshit on this behavior. Darion, the boyfriend, knows all of this too, but he's too scared and confused to argue and continues to work with his head down.

It feels like my energy is spreading through the room. In my mind I can see the tendrils of powerful energy spreading across the walls and floors. Maybe it'll even reach the second floor and my neighbors will stop throwing themselves around like test dummies. 

Cynthia opens the door and the sight of her brings a reaction so visceral out of me I have to keep myself from lunging at her. She's trembling. Good. I want to scare her. I want to repel her. I want her energy as far away from me as possible. Whoever this spirit is agrees. The way she attempts to befriend me after having threatened to get me arrested and sued is irritating to me. No apology. Just trying to skip right to the part where we’re good roommate-buddies. I resent her for even thinking that’s a possibility. 

She brings out the shadowiest tendencies from me. I've had dreams that I've screamed at her. Threatened her. I was hostile. I kicked her. I'm practically a bully. Yet, I can't help but feel it's warranted. Not just because of what she did to me, but the way she was so sure in what she was doing. I don’t trust her whatsoever. But, I do hold a certain empathy for her. I don't know what the rest of her life holds but it feels bleak. It feels full of disadvantage. Strife. You could understand why I'd want to keep that away from me. The fact that she tries so hard to impose or connect herself to me just feels like confirmation. My energy is probably very tempting for her. Maybe she brings out the dark sides of me ego as well.

"Stop putting your trash on the patio. Put it outside the front door." My voice is level but strong. Again, leaving no room for argument.

"Okay. I will do that," She says. The way she speaks sounds stunted. If you heard her speak, you would think she definitely had some kind of developmental disability. She has that kind of speech impediment that makes her R's sound like W's. Together, she sounds like someone that most people would assume couldn't match them intellectually. But I give her more credit than that. I'm sure there's certain things she can't control. She's middle-aged. There's things she's grown into that'll be hard to break. But I know that she has more critical thinking skills than people think. 

I nod my acceptance of her answer. She nods in return and takes a meek step back to close her door but I step forward and push it back open. "I want you to hear this." I step back. "If y'all see the trash can empty and there's no trash bags in sight, just use one of the trillion plastic bags in the laundry room." I could say more about how there's no reason to put trash in an empty can with no liner. That it just makes life difficult in the long run. About how idiotic it is to throw trash in an empty can when there's plenty of bags that will hold trash. But this energy doesn't need to be elaborated on. I don't need to hear an answer of compliance. I know they'll listen. They watch as I walk around the room, spreading my energy around to every corner. Claiming the space. Reclaiming it, rather. I walk back to the kitchen entrance. Genesis is standing in her doorway. Eyes wide. I feel bad for her in a way. I'm not sure what her own personal aspirations are but I'm sure this can't be it. I relate.  "I need to borrow the car to make a copy of the mail key." I push my energy onto her and stare through her to the little girl cowering in fear. The energy softens. "I need to have a mail key to turn in when I move out." For some reason, the mail box locks got changed. My key hasn’t worked for months. I don’t expect mail often anyway. She nods and turns back to get the keys. I make a mental list of other errands I need to run while I have a set of wheels. 

While I wait for her, I turn to the kitchen and get to work, spraying every non-edible surface down with bug-spray first and foremost to kill all the gnats that have settled on the various surfaces. It was all getting cleaned anyway. She comes back and puts the keys on the counter then pauses. I notice and straighten up. The spirit I called hasn't left yet. I wonder to myself if maybe this was a permanent fusion but get reassured otherwise by a thought that doesn't seem to come from me. "Listen, we're sorry we let it get out of hand," She says, smile easy-going. A tone I had heard before. I wasn't in the mood to put on the act of tolerance. 

"You should be. Y'all spend the most time out here. But I wasn't exactly sparkling clean when you moved in so there's only so much to say." I must have surprised her face into a non-reaction, like she was browsing for the appropriate reaction and parked her face in Neutral. "And just so we're all on the same page," I said as Darrion passed by the both of us, I'm assuming on his way to put on shoes, "I realize y'all still haven't paid me back for my Playstation. I'm telling you right now, if you move out of this apartment without paying me what you owe, you'll never make anything of yourselves for the rest of this lifetime. And you'll have to work damn hard to do something with yourselves in the next life." 

I felt the universe confirm what I said. I felt in my gut that they believed me. Whether they were willing to admit that or not was none of my concern. "Trash can needs a liner. I'm cleaning out the fridge when I get back." I take the keys and walk to my room. I still need to get dressed. I close the door behind me and take a breath. This would normally be the time a person would collapse after such a long display of power. But I feel clearheaded. All of this is for nothing if I crumble behind closed doors. I glance at myself in the mirror hanging from my door. No visible changes. I just feel different. Interesting. 

When I step out again, ready to brave the outside world, I notice the quiet that still lingers even through the rustle of the trash bags Darion is gathering and the water running in the kitchen as Genesis rinses dishes and loads the dishwasher. "I'm not mad. Just so y'all know. I'm just tired of looking at trash and battling gnats in the kitchen. Somebody had to do something." They nod like reprimanded children. Hopefully this part will ease the fear I struck in their hearts earlier. I don't want to traumatize people. They just needed to be scared into some discipline. "Wait," Darrion calls out as I open the front door, "I need the car to run the trash." The spirit spun me around faster than I could think. "No. You don't," I said lowly. Energy flaring out of me in what felt like a bright flash. The man took a step back. Thoroughly intimidated. I may have been imagining it, but I could've sworn I heard confused thoughts as to why he was so afraid. I spun back to the door and walked out of it. It may have been petty to make him walk the trash to the dumpster. Chalk it up to character building. I had errands to run.

[glorious-spoon]

one of those new wave boys

Title: one of those new wave boys Link: On AO3 Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Gen; Steve & Robin friendship Warnings: None Other tags: Platonic cuddling, Bed-sharing, Nightmares, Insomnia, Mild hurt/comfort, Friendship Summary:  Steve and Robin go on a road-trip, drink, listen to music, and look after each other. And yeah, maybe there's some cuddling involved too. 

Written as part of the Fandom Supporting Migrants fic exchange for @alessandriana, who donated to Border Angels.

*

Steve lets the strap of his duffel bag slither through his hands to land with an ominous thud on the puke-green carpet.

“So, uh,” he says as brightly as he can. “This is nice.”

On the upside: there are in fact two beds. The broad wink the clerk tipped him when he asked for two queens instead of a king had him a little worried on that count. The bedspreads are the same puke-green as the carpet and bear ominous stains, like maybe they’ve been used at some point to roll up a body in the trunk of somebody’s car, but there are two of them. Robin ducks her head into the bathroom, makes a quietly horrified exclamation, then crosses the room to drop herself and her suitcase onto the bed closest to the window, then flops backward with a sigh.

“I don’t even care,” she mumbles. “Oh my god. Why are we doing this again?”

“Hey,” Steve says, tossing his duffel bag in the general direction of the other bed. The walkie-talkie clanks again when it hits the headboard, and he winces. If he breaks that, Dustin is going to actually murder him in his sleep. “This is your roadtrip of self-discovery. I’m just, like. The chauffeur, or whatever.”

“I regret everything, let’s just sleep in the car.”

“The room’s not that bad, come on.”

“I think someone died in this bed,” Robin says, pushing herself upright, shoving her hair behind her ears. A worn-down road-trip sleepiness around the corners of her eyes. She dozed most of the way through central Indiana, but it was around dawn when they headed out and exhaustion is settled into their bones. Steve can feel it dragging at him, a dull lassitude.

“I’m sure they clean them,” he yawns. “What time is your campus tour?”

“Three? Or, wait.” She flops forward to pull her bag to her and dig through it, finally coming up with a sheaf of papers bearing the University of Chicago logo. “Three-thirty.”

“That’s like two hours from now, plenty of time to nap,” Steve decides, kicking off his shoes and falling backward against the mattress. It creaks ominously beneath him, but the bedspread doesn't smell like anything worse than bleach and stale cigarettes. He shoves his hair out of his face, closes his eyes, hears Robin snort out loud. “Wake me up when it’s time to go.”

“You’re unbelievable,” Robin sighs, but it sounds amused. Possibly even fond.

Steve sticks his thumb up without opening his eyes. “I think you mean charming and generous, and oh, also, thank you, Steve, for giving me a ride at ass o’clock in the morning, something like that.”

“Thank you, Steve, you’re so charming and generous,” she parrots in the snidest tone possible, and he can’t help grinning. There’s a suspiciously giggly-sounding snort, and then the other mattress creaks as she stands up. “I’m going to go find something to eat. You want anything?”

“I’m good,” Steve yawns, and waves her off, listens to the sound of her footsteps on the carpet, the creak of the door. Peels his eyes open just long enough to make sure that it’s locked, then lets them slip shut.

He doesn’t actually mean to doze off, but sleep has been proving elusive in the past few months.

Oh, who the hell is he kidding? He hasn’t been able to sleep reliably or well since Christmas of 1983, when a horror from another dimension slithered out of Jonathan Byers’ ceiling and tried to eat his face. Nightmares are par for the course these days, and getting his face pounded in by Russian intelligence officers was really just the icing on that particular shit cake.

Anyway, no nightmares this time, or at least not any that he can remember. He comes awake, groggy and disoriented, when the door to the room creaks shut, and then there are footsteps on the floor and Robin leans down to press something cold to his belly where his shirt has ridden up. Steve yelps, flails, opens his eyes. His cheek is sticky with drool, the comforter beneath his face damp. He tugs a hand through his hair to find it flattened and disheveled.

It’s probably just as well that Robin was never going to consider sleeping with him no matter how appealing he is. Or isn’t. His mojo seems to have taken a permanent hike since high school.

Point is, one of the many nice things about Robin is that she doesn’t give a shit. It takes the pressure off. She waits for him to clamor upright, then holds out a can of Coke. “Time to go. I got you a pop.” She eyes him for a moment, then adds, “Pretty sure I could score some cocaine if that’d work better. You look like shit.”

“Very fucking funny,” Steve sighs, taking the can. It’s icy cold and beading condensation against his palm, and he cracks it open, chugs half of it in one go, burps. “Thanks.”

“It’s a complete mystery to me how you’ve ever gotten anybody to sleep with you,” Robin says. Steve thinks about pointing out that he’s still pretty sure he’s doing better on that count than she is, but that seems kinda mean, all things considered.

“I’m a man of many talents,” he says instead, raising his eyebrows significantly. She snorts and rolls her eyes, and he finishes the pop, slides off the bed, and goes to see about making himself more or less presentable.

*

He drops Robin off at the edge of campus near the admissions office, where all the wide-eyed future college students are congregating. Most of them have parents in tow, heavy backpacks slung over their shoulders, bright, hopeful expressions on their faces.

Robin offers to let him tag along for the tour to see if he can manage to pick up college girls who haven’t seen him slinging ice cream in a sailor suit, but he waves her off. Lately he’s been in a state of what Dustin likes to call persistent ennui—it’s like an exhaustion of the soul, Steve, stop laughing at me, I’m serious.

Anyway, tagging along with all the smart nerds like Robin who are heading into their bright new futures seems like a depressing way to spend an afternoon, and they passed by a record store on their way in. He has his boombox with him, and browsing for new tapes sounds infinitely more appealing. Especially with the prospect of the horrified faces Robin is probably going to make at whatever he ends up getting.

The shop is small and dusty and smells like patchouli and pot. Nothing seems to be organized in any particular kind of way, and Steve passes a pleasant couple of hours there, wandering under the tacked-up posters of Bob Marley blowing smoke at the camera and Bruce Springsteen’s denim-clad ass in front of the American flag, Aretha Franklin pinned up next to him as regal and elegant as a queen. Nobody else comes in while he’s there, and the wizened old hippie at the counter ignores him completely until he comes up to the counter with a stack of tapes, and for a while after that, too.

“Hey,” Steve says eventually. “Can I buy these?”

“Sure, I guess, if you want,” the guy says, rusty and so indifferent that Steve can’t even be offended. Just gawks at him, half-amused, while he rings it all up on an old-fashioned register and accepts the cash Steve hands him in knotted hands, nails yellowed with nicotine.

*

Robin does make an appalled face back at the hotel, sitting on the floor with their heads tilted back against the mattress and passing a bottle of illicitly-acquired vodka back and forth between them. “Oh, my god, you actually bought these?”

“What’s wrong with Mr. Mister?” Steve asks, not even bothering to hide his grin.

“I don’t have time to give that question the kind of answer it deserves,” she says, reaching for the next cassette. Then she pauses. “Okay, David Bowie, that’s surprising. You’re forgiven.”

“Thanks,” Steve says, digging a cigarette out of the crumpled pack at the bottom of his bag. He lights it aod offers it to Robin, who takes a drag and then hands it back. Smoke curls up in the yellow lamplight. “Why’s that surprising?”

Robin hesitates, pulling her bottom lip in between her teeth like she’s thinking, then she shrugs and pops the cassette into the tape deck. “No reason. I’m just always surprised when you have good taste. In anything.”

He kind of feels like that wasn’t everything she meant to say, but the speakers are crackling through the intro to It’s No Game, and instead of asking he tilts the bottle to his lips and passes it back to Robin, takes a slow drag on the cigarette and blows smoke out into the hazy dusk of the room.

Maybe, just maybe, he’ll actually be able to sleep tonight.

*

Lights flash above him and there’s the wet stink of rot all around, growling in the distance as his feet pound the forest floor, the nail bat slippery in his hands. Something catches at his ankle and he goes down hard, and the monster is springing onto him, slamming him to the ground, its face opening up like some sick toothy flower.

Someone screams his name. Dustin, Dustin is screaming his name, and it’s Billy Hargrove above him suddenly, straddling him and laughing and his fists are wet with blood, and Nancy says, “Bullshit, it’s all bullshit,” and the floor is falling away beneath him and he’s in freefall—

Hands on his shoulders, warmth and the sudden jolt of it, and the room is flooded with light. “Steve. Steve!”

He shoves himself away, scrambles backward, heart pounding and hands grasping for a weapon, and hits the headboard. It rattles with the impact of his shoulders, and he finally opens his eyes.

The lamp is on, the motel room filled with dusty yellow light. Robin is sitting on the edge of his bed in cut-off sweats and a baggy Hawkins Marching Band t-shirt, messy hair, wide eyes. Her hands are up, palm out.

Steve lets his head fall back against the headboard with a groan and closes his eyes. “Shit,” he sighs. And then, “Sorry.”

“Nightmare?” Robin asks cautiously.

“What gave you that idea?” he says, but it doesn’t come out as light as he means it to. His heart is speeding, and he can feel his hands start to shake as the adrenaline rush leaches out of him. His voice is shaky too.

So much for a quiet fucking night of sleep.

He opens his eyes in time to see Robin lift one shoulder. “You were yelling.”

Steve grimaces, scrubs a hand through his hair. “I uh. I don’t get them that often anymore. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s fine,” Robin says. He opens his mouth, and she says, “Steve, it’s fine. You think I don’t get them? The Mind Flayer, or that fucking elevator, or—”

“Yeah, yeah, more than enough trauma to go around, I get it,” Steve grumbles, but he actually feels a little better. “Still. I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Shut up,” Robin says gently. “Look, do you want to just—watch TV for a little while, or something?”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, because there’s no way he’s going to sleep anytime soon and that sounds a hell of a lot better than talking about it. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

He expects her to go back to her own bed after turning the TV on, fiddling with the rabbit ears until a grainy rerun of M*A*S*H comes in, but she doesn’t. She drops onto the mattress next to him, flips the lamp off, and elbows him in the side. “Move over, dingus.”

“What?”

“Move over.” Robin’s chin is up, and there’s something challenging in her eyes, like she’s just daring him to say something. Steve knows better than to pick a fight with Robin when she looks like that, though, so he just shifts over until she has room to settle against the headboard next to him, the press of her body a comforting line of heat against his side. He can smell her drug-store shampoo and the lingering hint of menthol smoke and he breathes in as she settles her cheek against his shoulder, lets the scent fill his nose and drown out the memory of that tunnel, the rotting stink of animate vines. “Klinger was always my favorite.”

“Huh?”

“Klinger,” Robin repeats. Her breath is warm against his neck, and he can feel the shape of her jaw against his collarbone as it moves. It probably should feel weirder than it actually does. Like, yearning, or something, some kind of heartbroken synonym from Nancy’s thesaurus. It’s been months since he’s let himself think about Robin like that, though, and that crush seems to have died a quiet, peaceful death while he wasn’t paying attention. It’s just—nice, having someone here, a warm human point of contact. He can feel his muscles start to unwind, that shaky adrenaline feeling dissipating. “I always liked him.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. On the TV, Klinger is plopped down in front of Col. Blake’s desk in a tall hat and lacy gloves. The image warps for a moment, then settles as Blake says, ‘Uh, Klinger, the rifle makes me nervous. Actually, the purse does too’. “Yeah, me too.”

“I knew there was good taste buried in there somewhere,” Robin murmurs, and Steve laughs against her hair, finally allows himself to relax.

He dozes off to the sound of a staticky laugh track from the TV and wakes to the thin gray light of dawn coming in through the blinds and the sound of snoring. The TV is dark; Robin must have gotten up and turned it off at some point after he fell asleep, but she’s not back in her own bed. She’s pressed up against Steve’s side instead, curled in a ball with her knees digging into the outside of his thigh. Her hair is loose across her face, moving slightly with her soft snores.

It should probably be weird. Steve’s never slept with anybody that he wasn’t, well, sleeping with. It isn’t, though. He feels warm and comfortable, pleasantly drowsy in a way he hasn’t in a while, no lingering nightmares fading from his mind. He shifts slightly until Robin’s knee isn’t digging a hole in his leg, and she snorts, rolls away, and opens her eyes.

“Whazza?” she mumbles, and then, “Shit, sorry,” and starts to sit up.

“Go back to sleep,” Steve yawns, burying his face in the pillow. It’s early. If they’re going to be awkward about this, it can wait.

Robin makes a soft sound like a snort, or maybe a laugh, and then the mattress shifts as she lays back down. She pats him clumsily on the shoulder with one hand, then leaves it there, a warm point of contact as he slips back down into sleep.

[awfully-sadistic]

Evidence

Kids are crafty. But they can also be blunt and honest. But Dot was grateful that her kids were perfect. As any mother could tell you, their kids were perfect too but Dot truly knew that hers were actually perfect.

But that didn’t mean they didn’t do bad things sometimes.

For example, the Daycare room in the Nursery wing of the Haus was absolutely splattered with a colorful combination of who-knows-what consisting of sticky, flour-y, and liquid constitution. It looked like little starbursts or fireworks in pattern, reminding Dot of a colorful addition to the wallpaper.

“Holy f--shoot, what the hell happened in here?”

Dot turned and came face to face with Nero. He was a tall hybrid that towered over her and had to often duck into the room in order to get inside. That wasn’t news as everyone who lived within the Haushold or visited it often had to duck into door frames. He also had a youthful punk appearance and sentry eyes that was currently looking around before he tacked on, “Where are the children?”

Nero often came down to the Nursery to help look after the children and interact with them. It was his only other “job” besides the demon hunting thing he does alongside his Uncle Dante. He often gave the rewards he had accumulated to Dot in order to spoil the kids with new toys or anything else the Nursery might need--which really wasn’t much considering the state of the Haus. However, Dot appreciated the sentiment no matter how many times she had to give his treasure back. She often told him it was enough he played with the children and if he wanted to bring them new toys, he was always welcomed to do it.

So Nero had started to come in with his arms filled with presents instead of raw gold like he had used to. It wasn’t any different to Christmas when Nero walked in the room with toys for the children.

His arms were full now and Dot had to reign in her smile because there was still the issue of the “make-over” the Nursery had undergone. She was in serious mode.

“That’s what I was wondering,” Dot said and then gestured to the nearest table. It was kiddie sized, of course, which meant it only reached their ankles. “you can go ahead and put those there. Maybe I can entice the babies out that way.”

Nero did as was suggested. Dot half-expected the clatter of kids’ toys to lure the children out but was surprised when not one little face peered around the corner to spy on what the big adults were doing.

“Huh.” she mused, looking around in perplexity. “I was sure that would have worked. And I know my babies.”

Nero had his head turned down to look at Dot then swept his gaze around the empty nursery again. The amount of splatter on the walls was staggering. He tipped his head back as he seemingly followed some sort of trail. 

“How’d it get on the ceiling?”

Dot sounded half-preoccupied as she responded deep in her thought process, “Little Laura has an arm on her. I think it was all the practice she got in throwing things at my brothers’ fat heads. But that’s if I thought the kids did this...”

Nero laughed but it cut off short as he took in Dot’s last statement. “So someone else is responsible?”

“Yep, has to be. I don’t think my babies can do Momma wrong like this.”

Nero’s hand landed on the small of Dot’s back and he leaned down low enough so that his head was level with Dot’s. He asked in a conspirator whisper, “Do you think whoever is responsible is still close?”

“For their sake, they better be across the world.” she whispered back. “But that still leaves me questioning where my babies are...”

It seemed Dot didn’t have to wait much further for that answer. There was a clamor of chattering and the echo of tiny children voices carried into the Nursery. Both Dot and Nero watched as Beau led in two rows of very well-behaved children who were holding hands; it was obvious they were using the buddy system and had been on a “field trip” somewhere. Beau looked like he was dressed as some kind of conductor. Trailing behind was Armand, taking in the rear and dressed as a female flight attendant.

Beau looked surprised as he spotted Dot and Nero and finally, the state of the Nursery. “Wow, did you guys redecorate?”

Dot hmm’d before saying, “Well, it wasn’t Beau. He’s honest to a fault.”

Armand’s mouth was open and he was looking around in amazement. That also struck him off Dot’s suspect list.

“Armand’s too innocent to do anything bad, ever.”

By then, the children had broken up and were surrounding Dot and Nero, excited to see them both and regaling them with their tiny adventures with Uncle Beau and Uncle Armand.

“We saw Africa!” Laura stated proudly, tugging on Dot’s shirt. Dot laughed, knowing that Beau and Armand couldn’t have possibly--she paused as she took in Armand’s outfit again.

“Wh-what?” she laughed nervously, hoping someone would elaborate. But Alma and Alessa held up two twin drawings of something that looked like the Eiffel tower and Big Ben done in crayon. She took both drawings and took a closer look at them, praising the girls for their jobs well done; it was simultaneously both the cutest and most frightening thing Dot could have received right then.

Surely... the children were not just flown across the world...

Nero had picked up Remy, peering down at a tiny little name tag stuck to the toddler’s chest. “You guys spelled Remy wrong.”

“What?!” Dot asked, looking over. “R-E-A---REAMY!?”

“What?!” Beau parroted, walking over to take a look for himself. He yanked it off Remy’s chest and crumpled it into a ball. “We didn’t spell anything. We took the kids to the museum to see culture and maybe some dinosaurs.”

Dot felt her heart rate slow as she released a breath, “Oh?” That explains... everything except Beau’s and Armand’s clothes. She felt she didn’t need an explanation for that at the moment, perhaps later, cause they did look to be the cutest damn things; after the children, of course. Now, with her assurances that the children didn’t just get zipped across the country but rather into town, she knelt and listened to each and every one who wanted to share something with her. 

For the moment, the state of the Nursery was forgotten. It was easy once a whole bunch of children were babbling on and on about the things they had seen, learned, and the stories they came up with their vast imaginations.

To her amazement, the group had been bigger with the addition of the ones who permanently resided in the Nursery. Consisting of the children who lived in town itself and occasionally visit the Haus, the Nursery had been the initial meeting spot. 

But Beau had explained that it was cleaned before they left. 

“Yeah, this is the strangest fu--flippin’ thing.” he said, looking around. “Who could have made this mess?”

Nero frowned deeply, “Could someone have infiltrated the Haus?”

Dot frowned even deeper. “...No. Impossible. The Nursery is the most protected area in the Estate. Someone would be able to break into the Main Haus first before getting to the Nursery if they can make it that far. It has to be someone from the Haus and when I find out, Momma’s not going to be happy.”

The girls, Alma, Alessa, and Laura, looked at each other, “Oooooooh.”

“Someone’s in trouble~” Laura said in her adorable sing-songy way. Dot pressed a kiss to her forehead before replying, “Yep, you’re absolutely right, angelface.”

Alma and Alessa giggled. 

“We can help, Mommy.” Alessa said in a good-girl way with horrible, scary implications behind that innocent appearance.

Alma simply smiled behind her wealth of hair. It was enough to make Beau shudder and laugh nervously. He was glad HE wasn’t the one in trouble. Dot tickled Alessa’s cheek and then gave them both a kiss for their offer. She had to admit, it was tantalizing. It was tickling something in her own sadistic streak but she wanted to deal with it herself. Perhaps if she felt whoever was responsible needed the extra punishment, she would enlist the girls’ to give them awful nightmares or something. 

But first, she was going to hunt them down and make them clean up the Nursery. If she was in a good mood, she might give them cleaning supplies.

“Thank you, babies, but that’s alright. Uncle Nero brought you guys some toys. Why don’t you play with those.”

That was able to take the children’s attention away as they turned on Nero, all smiles and gasping wonderment. Nero was great with children; he loved them and was amazingly, one of the few people Laura had not kicked or “tortured” for getting too close to her Mommies. Very much like Dot, he put the children first. There was alot to ask about why he felt strongly about the children but the opportunity hadn’t come up. It wasn’t that dire to know or so Dot figured. As long as the children were taken care of and weren’t mishandled, she wasn’t going to ask WHY he loved children. It was obvious why anyone loved children--it was weird why people DIDN’T.

“Yo! They’re in here!” A new voice shouted from the doorway and Dot looked up in surprise to see Dillon. It put a smile on her face which immediately dropped as soon as Jax entered.

“What the hell are you doing here?!” she asked, of course meaning Jax.

“wHaT tHe hElL aRe YoU dOiNg HeRe?” he parroted in that annoying... little brother way.

“Oi, that ain’t why we’re here, Jax.” Dil nudged his partner-in-crime directly in the ribs. Dot was watching the exchange with skepticism mainly because Jax was involved. Dil, while far from being able to do anything wrong, was still a troublemaker in his own right; with Brothers like Ewan and Vaughn and a raised setting like the ClubHaus, it was inevitable. He’d become a hellion in his own right. But when paired with Jax, those two... often went on rampages that put the whole Haushold through hell in their wake. From annoying the older Alphas to flipping off the Haus roofs and doing “stunts” and experiments that often find themselves going viral, they were prone to doing just about anything ridiculously fucking stupid together. In fact, the two had looked like they had been up to something right now. Both were caked in colorful splatter--

It was at that moment Dot put two and two together and something clicked in her head.

“JAX, DID YOU FUCK UP THE NURSERY--”

“YOU HAVE NO PROOF!”

“YOU’RE COVERED IN IT, YOU FUCKING MOON MOON OF THE SEA--”

“THEN WHY DID YOU ASK!?” a pause and then--

“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU JUST CALL ME!?”

Nero, Beau, and Armand had to escort the children away from the Nursery with their new toys because as much as people try not to curse around the children, it... still happens. It might be a moot point moving them at all considering who the children happen to be but it was still practiced around the Haus. Especially when things were about to get violent, they often wanted to “spare” the children the sight.

“Awww, come on. I want to see Mommy kick his butt!” Laura softly whined, trying to peer around the door.

“Don’t worry, we’ll see the aftermath,” Nero grinned. And if it’s any indication of the Nursery, it was going to be messier.

[slasherlove420]

Can you do a joker (2008) imagine where the reader is a old friend of his who he kidnaps but the reader dosnt realise that it is him till the end

The Joker|"Long time no see..."

It was just going to a quick trip to the bank, nothing more nothing less, but ofcourse living in Gotham is also living in Hell but worse. Y/N now stuck in the middle of a bank heist,a gang of men in clown masks stormed in and demanded everyone to get down, y/n felt like not dying that day and hit behind a desk, gunshots were heard once in a while they peeked through the safety of the desk to see only two clowns remained.

"Let me guess they told you to kill me?" One of the men said in a sarcastic tone.

"No I kill the buss driver" said the other clown "Buss driver!?" The minute he said that a school buss crashed it running over the first thug killing him instantly. The clown shit the buss driver he quickly turned to deal with a banker he had a gun but the clown easily took care of him y/n could barely believe this was happening but ofcourse anything is possible in Gotham City.

The clown too off his mask now showing a face caked with make up bright red lipstick showcasing his lips and his scars;it made his face stay in a permanent macabre smile. "I believe that what doesn't kill you simply makes you, stranger " "that voice" y/n thought "I know that voice... But from where?" They didn't have much time to process the voice for the clown stared right at them "Well Hello beautiful.." the words slurred from his mouth as he licked his lips and tamed his wild green hair "No time no see my dear" "huh?!" It was all they could get out their throat before the clown grabbed them by the hair and dragged them towards the school buss "Wait! Agh! Why are you doing this??" They cried trying to free from his grip but the clown only tugged harder making their scalp feel like taring from their skull.

"Hush darling the pigs are coming" he hissed hurling them to the buss climbing in as y/n hit the metal floor "Sorry I had to do this my dear but I can't have you foiling my morning" "wha-" WHACK!!! the clown hit them with the back of their gun knocking y/n out almost instantly "Don't worry love your safe with the joker~" the clown whispered in their ear before everything turned dark.

"fuck my head hurts..." Y/n slowly gains back counsiousness their eyes heavy they try to move but no bail they can feel rope around their hands and ankles, the room smells like gasoline and gunpowder making their head spin "Well that's no way to greet your host" the lights turn on revealing the joker "wha-" he claps their mouth shut shushing them "Now now darling you can asks questions later I just wanted to get a good look at ya' before I leave, it's been so long since I've had the privilege to look at your pretty face" his hand goes under their jaw,making y/n face him directly,they try to speak but the joker's grip is strong and nothing but muffled sounds come out.

Days? Weeks? Months? Pass and y/n still can't recall from where she knows their kidnapper, Everytime he came into the room they'd ask the same question but he would ignore them and babble about anything that happened that day, his encounters with the Batman,how annoying the mobs were, people calling his custom suit cheap ECT...

The one thing he enjoyed talking about were his scars. Everytime he would tell them a different story y/n had to admit he was creative and oddly handsome- "no no no no" they would tell themselves trying to get the thought out of their head,but it wouldn't work each day they'd start to care less about if they could ever escape. Y/n started to enjoy hearing him talk,rant, anything that came out of his mouth felt like a nostalgic song, the sound of the joker's voice became comforting even when he talked about bombing Gotham.

The door creaks y/n's head turns to face him "Did the bat give you a hard time J?" They asked casually "aren't you gonna repeat the same old question like always y/n?" He chuckled, he was quite pleased with the fact that you'd dropped asking questions about him "Well I wanted to know how many bones the B man left unbroken" they laughed,he rolls his eyes "aren't you curious dear? Don't you want to know who I am? Don't you want to apeace that howling feeling of wonder in your pretty little head?" He taunted waiting for a reaction "Nope" they said simply.

"I already know who you are"

"you do?"

"Yes you're the joker." He laughs again "Oh darling... Giving up so quickly? Don't you got more fight in you?" "I don't need to know you I already know,why meat someone twice?" They said "do you really not want to know?" He said it was almost a whisper "Only if you want to tell me but I'm content with just knowing you. The joker" he chuckled.

"Maybe this will give you a clue..." he crashed his lips into y/n's it was harsh,he bit their bottom lip making them yelp in pain, giving him access to their mouth he slid his tongue in their mouth deepening the kiss, the shock still lingered in their head but they kissed back, the kiss was sloppy but passionate it went on until they lacked oxygen, the joker steps back wiping his mother smearing his lipstick even more,he starts giggling, y/n gains their breath back as something clicks inside their head,they lift their head to look at him "you..." " I missed you darling.." his laughing stops,he takes out a knife and cuts off the ropes freeing y/n from the chair, he pulls them towards him embracing them tightly "I missed you too Joker..."

[quarterfromcanon]

Gradation

Heather & Valencia - Femslash February - Day 7 - Nail Polish [2,503 words]

Home Base was in one of its periods of flux. The late lunch crowd shuffled out while the early dinner customers ambled toward their usual seats. Heather was in the final stretch of her scheduled work hours and expected nothing special from such an unremarkable Thursday. So, when Valencia stepped out of the glaring sunlight and swept in through the door, the surprise visit made for an especially welcome turn of events.

Heather’s excited expression dimmed, however, when she noted an all-too-familiar shift in her companion’s appearance. Valencia’s hair was pulled into a messy bun that looked as though it had been worn up overnight for at least seventy-two hours; her shirt appeared to be a forgotten garment from her high school years, and the legs of her sweatpants pooled around her ankles. Her purse strap was held together by duct tape. Heather had already noticed the discrete Facebook relationship status change the previous week but, even without that prior knowledge, she was familiar enough with Valencia’s dejectedly single fashion sense to recognize it on sight. 

None of the Gurl Group members knew what happened. Right now, Rebecca was only aware of whatever news from the outside world was brought to her on visiting days, but Paula and even Heather herself were kept similarly in the dark. Heather anticipated a severe fallout in the wake of the split from Beth, but witnessing it firsthand was another matter entirely. The sorrow was more physically profound this time than it was after Josh. Valencia’s eyes were ringed by dark, sleep-deprived circles and she was unusually pale in a way that made her seem ill. Several passing patrons corrected their course across the room just to allow her a wider berth. She reached the bar and pulled herself onto a stool. 

Heather waited for a moment, but Valencia did not speak. Her gaze flicked briefly in Heather’s direction and darted away again before there was any risk of eye contact. Instead, she settled for staring at the shiny surface of the bar.

“Hey, stranger,” Heather greeted when several minutes of unbroken silence had passed.

“Hi,” Valencia rasped. Her voice was feeble and scratchy from lack of use, coupled by what Heather guessed had been multiple days of frequent and heavy crying.

Valencia hugged her torso, still not quite able to regard Heather directly. As Valencia rubbed shaking hands up and down her arms, Heather noticed that her fingers were sporting chipped polish in a variety of hues. Heather was momentarily surprised that Valencia indulged in applying paint to her nails, but then it dawned on her what day it was.

“I like your Pride colors,” she told her.

Valencia laughed humorlessly with tears in her eyes. “Happy National Coming Out Day to me.”

She blinked rapidly before splaying out her fingers to examine what remained of the days-old coat. “Beth did these for me, before...” Valencia faked a cough but didn’t finish the sentence. “We decided that since I’m still Official Identity Pending, a rainbow was the right call for my first year being out. She taught me what they meant, too.”

Valencia turned the backs of her palms to face Heather and wiggled each finger as she identified its color symbolism. “Sex, life, healing, sun, nature, the arts, harmony, and spirit. Fitting that the life one ended up on my middle finger since its favorite thing to give me is a resounding ‘Fuck You.’” She shook her head, clenched her hands into fists, and tucked them under the crooks of her elbows. 

“What are the white ones on the ends?” Heather asked tentatively.

Valencia whispered to conceal a break in her voice. “Clouds.” She cleared her throat and chanced a quick look at Heather’s face. “I’m sorry. The last nine days have been hell. I only left the apartment because I didn’t think I could stand being surrounded by the memories any longer. I don’t mean to keep sounding fragile and melodramatic but those are my only two modes right now. Please, ignore me.”

Heather leaned over the bar and brushed her fingers along Valencia’s forearm in a concerned gesture. “Valencia Perez never wants to be ignored.”

Valencia looked into her eyes for the first time and had to visibly choke down a sob. “You’re right. That’s not what’s going to help me. To quote one of the godawful conversation t-shirts she and I saw while we were shopping online together: I’m here. I’m queer. I need a beer.”

Heather gave her a gentle smile. “I’ll take care of you.”

She turned her back and began preparing a glass, but Valencia’s voice stopped her.

“Heather?”

“Hmm?”

“The beer thing was just for the sake of the rhyme, so--”

“One finger of bourbon? I kinda assumed and already started pouring that.”

“Perfect,” Valencia confirmed. “Thanks. You’re the best.”

Heather brought the drink over and set it down before her. Valencia took a sip and shut her eyes. She cupped the beverage on either side and slid it back and forth between her hands. 

“Hey, my work day is done in, like, two minutes. Nobody’s gonna care if I ditch early. I’m basically their boss now, anyway. Do you wanna maybe come outside with me and sit at one of the tables?” Heather suggested.

Valencia twisted around to consider the rest of the clientele, then peered beyond them through the window at the warm glow of the setting sun. “Yeah,” she agreed with a little nod. “That sounds nice.”

“Cool.”

They left the bar and found a spot far enough away from the doors that they were unlikely to be disturbed. Valencia put her drink down and faced the horizon, her back to Heather who was seated opposite from her.

Heather lightly tapped her hands against the rusted tabletop. “The breeze feels good.”

“Autumn’s settling in,” Valencia remarked. 

“Sweatshirt weather.” Heather rocked forward and back on the bench and tapped the toes of her shoes together.

“You can ask if you want to.”

Heather frowned and leaned on her elbows. “I don’t want to make you face something before you’re ready, V. But, if you wanna talk to me, I’ll listen. To anything, really. Not just about this.”

Valencia took another drink. “It’s okay. I’ve been wallowing in it for long enough. I think I can at least get through telling you the basics.”

“Okay.” Heather gripped the crosshatched metal under her fingers and waited patiently.

Valencia took a deep breath. “Beth asked me to come with her to New York,” she announced on the exhale.

“To visit? Didn’t you just go on a weekend trip not that long ago for her parents’ anniversary?”

“Yeah, we did. And no. Not to visit. To live. Permanently.”

Heather’s stomach lurched at the thought. “Oh.”

“I said no.”

In spite of herself, Heather’s heart gave a relieved throb. “How come?”

“It just wasn’t right for me. I tried to keep an open mind. I swear to God, I did. Beth and I had fun on the visit and I could see how much she lit up to be back around familiar places and people. I’m all she really had out here. But New York is so big and crowded and confusing. It swallows you whole. I just kept remembering what Rebecca said on the party bus, the day you and I first met. To me, it looked and felt just like she described. That city may be home to some people -- it clearly is to Beth -- but, as far as I’m concerned, I’d side with Rebecca on this one. Much as this place annoys me and pisses me off, I’d take West Covina over NYC any day.”    

Valencia polished off the last of the alcohol.

“So, she’s going back?” Heather cautiously filled in the blanks. “...Without you?”

“Yeah.” Valencia swung her legs over the bench so she and Heather could be eye to eye. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave my life behind. My family’s here. Everything I know. And my friends... I finally have those, for the first time in so long... possibly ever... real friends, and I just got them. Was I supposed to put a whole country between myself and the happiest I’ve ever been, go back to just being somebody’s girlfriend who doesn’t really fit in with their crowd? Should I have done that?”

The teardrops she’d been keeping at bay thus far spilled down her face in two winding trails that reached her chin and then plummeted to the cement underfoot.

“Beth’s one of the most caring, patient, and kind people I’ve met in my entire life. I never wanted to hurt her. But the move would’ve destroyed me. I knew she wouldn’t want me to lie to her but, God, telling the truth broke both our hearts.”

She folded her arms, dropped her head onto them, and then began weeping in earnest. Heather climbed up and over the table to sit beside her. She pulled Valencia into her arms and held fast while her best friend shook with bereavement.

Heather rocked from side to side and rubbed circles on Valencia’s back. Her own throat was burning with sympathetic emotion that she could barely keep in check. “I’ve got you,” she murmured, distraught by the inadequacy of the only sentence that would come to mind.

Eventually, Valencia quieted to sporadic shudders and an occasional sniffle. “Your poor blouse. It’s sopping wet now.”

Heather pulled back and gripped Valencia’s arms. “I don’t care. It’ll air dry.”

“I’ve kept you with me so long,” Valencia said apologetically. “You could’ve been home with Hector ages ago.”

Heather tensed and let her hands fall into her lap. “Um, yeah, he’s not worrying about me, so... it’s fine.”

Valencia detected the evasiveness in her tone. “What do you mean?”

“He kinda moved out. I kinda encouraged that... by calling if off between us.” 

Valencia’s brow furrowed. “I don’t understand. Also, how long were you going sit there and let me rattle on about myself without telling me what happened?”

“As long as you needed.”

Valencia’s expression softened. “Well, now I need to be able to return the favor. So talk to me.”

Heather ran both hands over her tied-back curls and sighed. “He didn’t do anything bad. He’s a great guy. We got along super well. I think he might be the first time I ever felt like I was dating a friend.”

Valencia shook her head, perplexed. “Then what changed?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay, I’m lost.”

“Yeah. So was I.” Heather lifted her shoulders helplessly. “That’s the problem. I know I’m not a big planner -- that’s your specialty -- but, even for me, I got into bed with Hector way too fast. Literally and figuratively.”

Valencia grimaced but smoothed her features once more and patted Heather’s knee. “Go on.”

“He was reliable and accepting and a total sweetheart. We were getting used to the flow of our routine and building up a new life together,” Heather continued, “but, it was like you said about New York: it just wasn’t right for me.”

Heather met Valencia’s gaze for a moment but then fiddled with the shoelace on the foot she was resting atop the bench. “Not to make Rebecca’s jail time sound like a good thing -- because it’s not, at all -- but without her around, I got a taste of what a future with just me and Hector could be like. I couldn’t find anything wrong with it... but nothing felt right.” She fidgeted and kept her eyes downcast. “Anyway, we sat down at the table one night and had a really long talk. There wasn’t any yelling; it wasn’t over-the-top. Just really sad. But we came to an agreement that this was for the best. He’s crashing with WhiJo now.”

Valencia nodded and gave herself time to absorb the information. “Wow.” She trailed her fingertip along the edge of the bench. “Why’s it so painful if we made the choice?”

“I don’t know. I just know it fucking sucks.”

“Hear, hear.”

They both sat in silence for a minute while the breeze tousled their hair.

Valencia slapped her hands against her thighs. “Enough of this. I need a distraction. I think you could use one, too.” She adjusted the taped strap over her shoulder. “Why don’t I paint Pride nails for you? I still have a few of the bottles in the bottom of this purse.”

Heather thought it over for a bit and shrugged. “Okay.”

“You’ve got to go back to the other side, though, so I’ve got room to work.”

Heather dutifully clambered over to her previous bench, the awkward process of which made Valencia laugh for the first time in weeks. Heather smiled too and, once she was settled, fanned out her left hand across the table. 

Valencia rummaged through her bag and produced three colors: pink, lavender, and blue. “That’s the order, right?”

“Yeah, you’ve got it.”

Valencia unscrewed the first lid and took Heather’s hand in hers. She applied the pink in small, delicate strokes. “You know, I really didn’t thank you enough for coming out to me when I was struggling to come out to myself. You showed me a side of the journey that I don’t know if I could have pictured otherwise. You’re so confident in your own skin, so at ease with who you are. Sure, I saw some of that with WhiJo being so openly gay while we were growing up, but it all has a way bigger impact when it’s coming from someone you trust.”

A flicker of pain crossed Heather’s face, but Valencia’s focus on the task prevented her from catching it. “Glad to help,” Heather said simply.

Valencia opened the lavender bottle. “You always do.”

Heather’s senses felt heightened and the touch of Valencia’s fingers beneath hers left subtle bumps along the sides of her arms. 

“All right, one blue and this hand will be ready,” Valencia declared.

“Looks good.” Heather gulped and turned her attention to the sun, which had now disappeared halfway behind the crest of the land. “The baseball field is actually kinda pretty at this time of day.”

“Surprisingly, yes,” Valencia agreed. “But I’d better hurry. If I don’t wrap this up, the sky will match your nails and I’ll be painting the right hand in the dark.”

She finished the blue fingernail and brought Heather’s hand close to her lips. “This one’s ready to dry,” she explained, and then began to blow on the polish. 

Valencia’s breath tickled across Heather’s ring finger and she shivered. “Thanks for doing this. You were right about it being a distraction. It helps.”

“My pleasure. I’m glad it’s working for you, too.” She locked eyes with Heather again. “I want you to know I’ll always be here for you.”

Heather’s pulse thrummed against her ribs. “Thank you. And you know you can count on me too, right?”

Valencia ran her thumb across the backs of Heather’s fingers and smiled. “I do.”

[whispersandwhiskerburn]

A Promise

Summary: Dean and Y/N end up hunting each other in the bunker when something goes terribly wrong on a day off from hunting. Pairing: Dean x Reader Word Count: 2,405 Warnings: Suspense, description of blood, some tension. Nothing really. This is SFW. Author’s Note: This was a writing exercise meant to break me out of a writing rut that I’ve been in. It turned into a small fic instead of the small drabble I meant it to be, so I thought I’d share it. Props to my bestie, @waywardjoy, for helping me tie the pieces together. Hopefully you all like it. :) Feedback is, as always, appreciated.

“Dean, what are you doing?”

He walked closer, his eyes strange, the knife in his hand dark and bloody.

“C’mon, Dean. It’s me. Put the knife down. Talk to me.”

You backed away slowly, putting a table between you and your lover.

What the hell was going on here?

You had been in what Sam liked to call the bunker’s “war room” and you’d heard a crashing sound coming from one of the storage rooms. When you’d gone to investigate, you hadn’t found anything—but when you’d come back out to the main room, there was Dean.

Your brain worked furiously trying to fill in the blanks while the adrenaline pumped through your system and your eyes stayed locked on that bloody knife.

Dean didn’t seem to be wounded, and the only other person in the bunker right now was…

“Dean, where’s Sam? What happened?”

Still no answer, just the predatory walk as he stalked you around the furniture in the room. You didn’t dare turn your back and run for it—you knew Dean could out pace you in a straight sprint, and could overpower you in a physical fight.

And if the blood on that knife belonged to Sam, then Dean definitely wasn’t in control right now.

“Excorcizamos te, omnis immundos spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii— “

There was no reaction from Dean, not even a flicker. It couldn’t be a demon then. It had been a long shot—Dean still had his tattoo, and Crowley wasn’t that stupid.

No shapeshifter or leviathan could have gotten into the bunker. And they would have been nearly indistinguishable from Dean, not this creepy terminator version of him.

You tripped over the leg of a chair and nearly hit the ground, your heart hammering in your chest as you managed to catch your balance.

Dean had closed the distance between you—but not as much as he should have done. He hadn’t taken advantage of your stumble. Whatever was controlling him, it wasn’t as smart as Dean; it hadn’t recognized the opportunity, keeping Dean moving at that same steady pace.

You backed away again, your mind spinning through the different options.

“Dean, it’s me. Y/N. You have to fight whatever this is. Tell me what happened. Where’s Sam? Is he hurt?” You refused to think that Sam might be dead. There was no way that could happen. Not here. Not today.

You had the fleeting thought that Dean had promised today would be a day off from the supernatural.

So much for a vacation.

The most likely remaining possibilities were ghost possession, a spell, or a cursed object. The bunker was warded against ghosts, but the veil was overstocked and a lot of the old rules didn’t apply anymore now that Death was…well, dead.

You needed iron…or salt. You eyed the entrance to the kitchen, but since it was also the only exit, cornering yourself right now didn’t seem like the best idea.

“Okay, Dean. When I get you out of this, you are so going to owe me a nice dinner.”

You turned and ran for it down the hall, hoping you were right and the whatever-it-was controlling Dean wouldn’t seize the chance to catch up with you by using Dean’s speed.

You made it to your and Dean’s room as quickly as possible, sliding to the floor next to your hunting bag with your heart pounding in your ears. You ripped the zipper down the track, reaching in and to the left, your hand automatically locking on your sawed-off.

Thank Chuck you always kept it loaded with salt rounds. They wouldn’t permanently hurt Dean, but it should knock any ghost out of him, if that was what was wrong with him.

You turned, aiming it at the door frame, feeling like a rabbit trapped in a burrow with the wolf closing in.

He wasn’t there.

Shit.

You grabbed some extra cartridges, then lurched to your feet, your pulse hammering too hard for you to hear his footsteps. Hurrying to the door, you leaned against the frame with the shotgun level and steady in your hands.

Taking a deep breath, you settled your nerves, then swung around the corner.

To face an empty hallway.

Fuck. What if whatever was controlling him had made Dean leave the bunker? Lebanon, Kansas wasn’t exactly a booming metropolis, but still….

“Dean? Where are you, babe?” You pitched your voice to echo through the hallways, trying to draw him out.

Cautiously you made your way down the hallway towards the main room, clearing each room as you came to it, unwilling to let Dean come from behind you.

“Deeeaaaan. Come out, come out wherever you are…” A part of you wanted to laugh as you said the childhood hide and seek chant, but mostly you were starting to get a bit afraid. Up to this point, your hunting instincts had been in control, but now as it started to sink in, you were worried. Not just for your own physical and mental safety, but about the brothers. Sam was out of the game, either hurt or worse, and there was no telling if you’d be able to save Dean in time or not.

The hair stood up on the back of your neck—a warning that had saved your life many times in the past.

You rolled forward just in time, feeling the blade of Dean’s knife cutting the air where your upper back had been moments ago.

You came up on your knees facing back the way you had come to find Dean, your Dean, walking towards you with that strange blank look on his face, his eyes dark and dangerous, the bloody knife at the ready.

“Dean, one more step and I— “

You fired, Dean too close for comfort.

The rock-salt rounds blasted into his chest, pushing him back and off his feet. He fell, his head connecting with the hard floor with an audible sound that made you wince.

You popped the barrel down with practiced movements, pulling out the shells and reloading from your pocket, snapping the gun back into place and holding it level with your hip as you stood, eyes on the man you loved lying on the floor.

He was breathing, but not speaking yet. His eyes were closed, but his face wasn’t at rest, so he wasn’t unconscious.

“Dean? You back with me, babe?”

You hadn’t seen or felt a ghost disappearing. Not much in the supernatural world enjoyed salt though, so it might have worked even if it hadn’t been a spirit.

You cautiously moved forward, your gun trained on his chest, ready to blast him again if necessary.

“Dean?”

His eyes opened then. He looked up at you with the same dead-eyed expression, and his right hand on the far side of his body came up holding the blade.

You moved fast, stepping in and slamming the butt of your shotgun against Dean’s temple.

He collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut back to the floor.

You stepped around him, kicking the blade far down the hall in case he was playing possum.

When he remained motionless for half a minute you let out the breath you had been holding and lowered your gun, backing down the hallway towards your room. You couldn’t drag the big lug far, so you’d have to settle for zip-tying him until you could figure out what the hell was going on here.

Dean’s call to wakefulness was a full glass of cold water splashed in his face.

“What the— “he blinked and spluttered, clearing his vision.

He wasn’t in his bed, though. He was tied to a sturdy chair, with zip-ties for each wrist and ankle. A part of him immediately started figuring out which knife or pick he’d be able to get to in this position to get out of his restraints while he looked around the room.

“Welcome back, Dean.”

Sam was sitting on the Men of Letter’s table two feet away, the empty glass beside him. Dean relaxed a bit—if Sam was sitting calmly, the danger was probably already past.

His head was killing him. And his chest was sore.

Then he noticed the bloody gash in Sam’s side—wide enough with a large enough stain to require stitches. There was also a swelled gash on the side of his face.

The anger that washed through him was equally as strong as the worry. Where was Y/N?

“Sam, what happened?”

His bitch-face was still intact. “Excellent question, Dean. Care to share?”

“What? Where’s Y/N? How bad are you hurt?”

Sam’s eyes were narrowed.

“I’m right here, Dean.”

Dean’s neck swiveled and relief swamped him as she made her way into the room, passing him and heading to Sam’s side with a cloth and her suture kit. Y/N was easily the best at stitching of the three of you, but Dean was selfish enough to admit that he preferred when she only played doctor with him.

He shook his head to get rid of that errant thought, then quickly regretted it as pain shot through him. Definitely at least a slight concussion.

“What did I miss?”

He wanted to follow that with a few other pointed questions—like why the hell they weren’t untying him, and who the hell had hurt Sammy, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the answers to those questions were connected.

Sam peeled off his shirt and Y/N pulled up a chair to look at his wound, her attention focused on cleaning away the blood instead of acknowledging Dean.

That did not bode well.

“What you missed was your, ‘How to Not be a Dumbass’ Class. Remind me to re-enroll you at some point. Ow— “

Y/N had perhaps smiled a tiny bit as she poured the alcohol over his gash, catching most of the bloody liquid on the rag and avoiding too big a mess.

“Sam, you know he didn’t do it on purpose. You’re just bitter he got the drop on you.”

Dean saw the glare Sam leveled at the back of Y/N’s head, but Y/N was pointedly ignoring him and her voice rang with smugness.

Dean was getting more confused by the moment, which wasn’t helping his headache.

“Could one of you please— “

“You picked up a cursed object—a knife in one of the storage rooms you and Sam were poking through. You stabbed Sam and he knocked himself out on a bookshelf on the way down. When I came to investigate you thought you’d try to stab me as well.

“I decided not to let you.”

Dean didn’t remember a knife. He did remember going into the storage room with Sam and working their way through the first two shelves.

He looked down at the way he was tied up, then guiltily realized he had put the two people he loved most in horrible danger.

“I’m sorry, both of you. Y/N, I didn’t hurt you too, did I?”

Sam chuckled a bit, then winced as it pulled at the few stitched Y/N had already managed to put in him.

“Dude, she kicked your ass. I came to and went looking, not knowing what I’d find—did not expect to see you hog tied in the hallway with Y/N walking in with a curse box.”

He flexed a bit as Y/N finished up the job, then nodded his thanks as she began to clean up.

“I helped her tie you to a chair in case you woke up still cursed.”

Y/N walked out to the kitchen, carrying her bloody gauze and rag towards the trash can. It worried Dean how quiet she was being, the way she still hadn’t looked at him. It wasn’t like her.

Sam came over and used his pocket knife to slice through the restraints, grunting a bit as he bent over and stood up again to release his legs.

When he next spoke, it was in an undertone. “I think you scared her, man. She’s been quiet like that since I woke up. You’d better go talk to her.”

Dean nodded and got up, rubbing at the tingling in his wrists as he made his way into the kitchen.

Y/N was standing at the sink, washing her hands clean of Sam’s blood, her shoulders stiff.

Dean came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her. She startled a bit and he cursed himself internally.

“Y/N, I’m sorry if I startled you, sweetheart. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

She shook her head no, and Dean’s worry only increased. Why was she being so quiet?

“Then what’s wrong, honey?” He spoke softly, his head beside hers. She turned off the water then hugged his arms around her waist with her damp hands.

“It’s just… I’ve fought a lot of monsters, Dean. I’m used to them having horrible faces and forms. To have you be the monster…. I mean, I know you’ve been a demon, and you’ve told me about when you had the Mark of Cain, but it’s different seeing it firsthand….”

Dean’s mouth was grim as he remembered the monstrous forms of himself—demon, marked, torturer, vampire, shapeshifter. This business had a way of rewriting who you were.

“I’m sorry. You know I would never willingly hurt you though, right? I’m sorry if I scared you…”

Dean felt her body shake slightly and he froze, worried she was crying in his arms. What the hell? That wasn’t like Y/N—

Then he heard the breathless laughter and he turned her in his arms to see her trying to hold back her giggles.

He thought he’d been the one to take a blow to the head.

“Dean, you didn’t come close to hurting me. I can take care of myself.” Her laughter slowed and she looked up into his eyes as he returned her grin helplessly. “It wasn’t the idea of you managing to hurt me that scared me—it was the thought that I might not be able to get you back.”

Her hand reached up to trace the side of his face and he leaned into her touch.

“I’ll always come back for you, Y/N.”

She laughed at his cheesy line, and this time Dean couldn’t help but join her with a chuckle of his own.

Then he bent down to seal her mouth with a kiss, acknowledging to himself at least, that this was promise he would always keep.

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Season 2 Episode 4: Baby, baby, baby, you’re out of time (and other stories)

A health and safety nightmare.

Ahem. I got distracted by the familiar face and somehow the fact that a man in distress just ended his life has been glossed-over. So to reiterate: this guy has just thrown himself into the river, and that's quite a harrowing beginning for a children's show. ANYWAY, here comes the Tardis, inside which the Doctor is tutting and faffing around the console. Apparently, something is ‘not clear at all’, but we don’t get to find out what’s gone wrong because at this point the rest of Team Tardis comes in, asking where they are now and hoping it’s somewhere quiet. Susan enthuses about the possibility of a holiday, which makes me sad, because she’s about to take a permanent holiday if you catch my drift. The Doctor reckons the scanner (which I thought was broken?) might be showing running water, and Susan reckons the instruments are showing Earth readings! AND OH BACKGROUND (WELL, FOREGROUND) ACTING! Wordlessly, Ian and Babs look at each other; Ian grins at her; Babs moves over to his side of the console. MY SUBTLE DARLINGS. Well, what are they waiting for? They all traipse outside the Tardis, and I’m assuming Jacqueline Hill legit trips on her way out because it’s not addressed in the script. And OH look at them all they’re all standing by the river like it’s the end of The Empire Strikes Back, the preciouses. The humans made it home, the long way round…which I didn’t realise was something Moff nicked from this serial. The next time I watch The Day of the Doctor, I shall have a few extra tears. The Doctor, in a rare moment of modesty, claims it was more luck than judgment.

Presented without comment.

Susan looks a bit morose (BECAUSE SHE’S NOT READY TO SAY GOODBYE), but the humans are excitable even though the Doctor complains about it being a horrible mess; as Twelve would say, ‘London: what a dump’. Ian hollers but to no avail, and things get meta when he speculates that it’s ‘probably Sunday’, which is of course how they got all those shots of deserted London in the next few episodes. The Doctor wonders about the time factor, and, as the InfoText remarks, ‘[d]espite Barbara’s evident happiness, though, Jacqueline Hill’s performance subtly pulls focus onto something wrong—the small tree she’s fiddling with’. Because urban decay. Nice one, Jackie. Babs, however, is still delighted because it’s still London. Also, I’m glad Ian says a couple of years either way wouldn’t bother them, because spoilers. Susan, meanwhile, has decided to climb up a wall/bank/thing because she is a short-arse and usually doesn’t get to climb up stuff the better to see what’s going on. The Doctor talks about neglect and decay, but Ian, like Babs is having none of it—construction work is always messy. Babs tells the Doctor not to be a spoilsport, but the Doctor assures her he 'wouldn’t spoil your homecoming for all the worlds'. At this point, Susan falls off her perch; Ian is exasperated. THIS IS PARENTHOOD, IAN. According to the InfoText, in the first draft, Susan is startled by an owl; I feel like ‘topple, startled by an owl’ is right up there with ‘exit, pursued by a bear’. Babs is sympathetic and clucky, but the Doctor chides her for always dashing about being far too curious. WOMEN WHO DISPLAY OVERT CURIOSITY GET THEIR ANKLES SPRAINED AS PUNISHMENT. Poor, infantilised Susan. Ian gives it all the kiss of death by saying it could’ve been worse, at which point the entire bridge collapses. The Team bundles Susan and her sprained ankle out of the way just in time, but OH NO the way into the Tardis is barred by a fallen girder! The Doctor gives Ian a Chesterton Neck Pinch in his chagrin.

There’s a wonderful moment when Ian reckons they’ll need help to shift the crap that’s fallen onto the ship and the Doctor reminds him this is London and people will be curious and want to know what they’re doing trying to break into a police box…which is pretty much what happened in that junkyard when Babs and Ian followed Susan home. Once bitten, twice shy! But seriously, I do love that being home (even home in the wrong time) presents its own set of challenges. Ian reckons he needs a cutting flame, spots a warehouse, then decides (much like the Space Bae in The Reign of Terror) that he can sort this all out with a crowbar. The humans do get so enthusiastic about crowbars. The Doctor is gorgeously amused at the optimism of his Space Bro. Ian once again displays his thorough grasp of the Rules of Classic Who:

The Doctor gazes on in fierce approval at his Space Son-in-Law's good sense, observing that 'it's intelligent' and 'that's good'. Can't help feeling that the 'it' in question is in fact Ian. However, the Doctor has a feeling/intuition they’re nowhere near the 1960s. Ian hopes not, but the Doctor reckons it’s just too uncannily quiet. I don’t know if you’re meant to be able to hear Big Ben from where they’re meant to be, but the Doctor seems to think its absence is odd. Maybe this is why Big Ben doesn’t exist in the 28th Century (as our crestfallen humans discovered in The Sensorites). At this point, Babs helps Susan hobble over, declaring no bones have been broken, and the Doctor continues to be a dick to his granddaughter by essentially blaming her for their current predicament. I mean, yes, she did pull the bridge down, but it WAS an accident. Ian seems to think this is all a jolly lark and informs the ladies that he and the Doctor will be off on an adventure to the warehouse; Babs looks miffed and asks why they can’t all go. Apparently she is default babysitter, because Susan’s ankle is still too bad to walk on. Then this thing I somehow managed to erase from my mind happens:

THE ACTUAL FUCK, DOCTOR?!? Oh, apparently this was William Hartnell’s unscripted contribution to the scene (THE ACTUAL FUCK, BILLY?!?), which may explain the expressions on the faces of the rest of the cast. Ian contributes to the general infantilisation of Susan by ruffling her hair as he exits. UGH this is the WORST. Susan is being treated like a wayward child; even if she is actually fifteen and not whatever the Gallifreyan equivalent of fifteen is, fifteen is way too old to be talking about a jolly good smacked bottom. Assuming that you believe that this is even an acceptable way to discipline your child, as it apparently was in the 1960s. Vom, vom, vom, vom, VOM. Babs goes off to wet her handkerchief in the DISEASED RIVER so Susan can bathe her ankle; Susan (POOR SUSAN) punches her own leg in frustration. SUSAN DON’T APOLOGISE, THAT BRIDGE WAS SO STRUCTURALLY UNSOUND IT FELL DOWN JUST BECAUSE ONE TINY PERSON TOUCHED IT, IT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN AT SOME POINT. ALSO THE DOCTOR IS BEING THE WORST. There are some gorgeous shots of the warehouse and a crane swinging in the breeze looking derelict, and then we are treated to a scene I am reluctant to love because of the whole Famous Five ‘the girls should stay behind’ vibe, but oh my goodness the Space Bros are just too endearing when they’re off adventuring:

Gifs by cleowho.

I’m dying. Mostly because the Doctor isn’t even crotchety when he tells Ian’s he’s not a halfwit, it’s just sarcastic as hell. I love it. Back at the river, Babs has spotted the sign about it being forbidden to dump bodies, and frowns to herself; returning to Susan with a filthy, river-soaked handkerchief, she tells Susan they’re not in her time. And my heart breaks. Susan asks what makes her say that, and Babs breaks my heart again:

Oh this scene. It’s so subtly done (well, not Susan's ankle face, but the rest), with little looks, and Barbara’s busying herself with Susan’s ankle but you can tell she’s crushed because she knows her home and it isn’t like this. Right place, right city, wrong time. Having been happy to the point of just standing there and fondling a plant, she’s now disappointed and businesslike. Then this happens:

SUSAN: Well, off we go again. (Barbara looks pained.) I'm sorry, Barbara. Is it selfish to want us all to stay together? BARBARA: No, of course not.

I am feeling feelings I haven’t feelinged since Marco Polo: two homesick people realising how far they still are from home, and Susan desperately clinging to the stability of her new Space Family even though she knows how it feels for Barbara to be far from the home she loves (oh and I’ve strayed into Fiddler on the Roof... Actually, if the ending of this serial had been more like this song, I'd have maybe been slightly less pissed off. It would still be an insulting end to an insulting character arc, but at least Susan would have some agency.) Then something weird happens, which makes me wonder whether someone skipped a line of dialogue: Barbara thinks it’s ‘ridiculous’ (that word creeping into proceedings again—careful, Babs) that they still haven’t heard anything, to which Susan responds thus: ‘Things have to stay as they are, don’t they? Can’t change.’ Well, that’s disconcerting. I’m going to assume that what’s actually happening here is that both women are lost in their own trains of thought: Barbara is once again succumbing to the absurdity of being in the right place but at the wrong time, while Susan is rather scarily musing on how things have to stay the same…either because she wants them to or in spite of what she wants. It’s quite poignant, actually, given that we know she leaves at the end of the serial: on the one hand, Susan (or at least the Susan of Marco Polo) wants something to change insofar as she doesn’t want to be a wanderer forever, but she doesn’t want the change that would come of her Space Parents leaving her to wander the universe with only a man who thinks she needs a jolly good smacked bottom for company. But anyway, this amount of discussion about Feelings isn’t British, so Barbara breaks my heart yet again by making a joke about how they’re probably done away with noise altogether, determinedly changes the subject to Susan’s ankle, then makes some bullshit excuse about her handkerchief not being wet enough, presumably so she can go back to the river and weep silent tears of fury or something. I jest, but I love the way both these actors are playing this scene: Jacqueline Hill in particular is being properly subtle about it, to the extent that what was probably written as a bullshit reason for Barbara going offscreen (seriously, a handkerchief is either wet or it isn’t) so that Susan can appear to have vanished in the next scene (spoiler alert) to rack up the dramatic tension feels like an exit that’s true to character, whereby Babs has made up said bullshit excuse just to get away from this conversation and have a moment to pull herself together. I have written many words about a very short scene, but I will never not devote blogspace to Good Acting. Meanwhile, the Doctor and Ian are spluttering about in the warehouse…and OH LOOK IT’S SUSAN’S FUTURE HUSBAND! I know, I know, spoiler alert. But everyone knows what happens at the end of this serial. Anyway, he’s lurking dramatically.

Ian goes to the window and spots Battersea Power Station but with a nuclear reactor and some missing chimneys, which means this is defo not the 1960s. The Doctor finds a calendar dated 2164 (exactly 200 years in the future), WHICH HAS BEEN STUCK ONTO A LITTLE NOTEBOOK WITH SOME SELLOTAPE OH MY GOD THIS IS THE BEST THING SINCE THE FAST RETURN SWITCH. I don’t know whether the year is actually 2164, because if the Daleks (oh come on, everyone knows the Daleks are in this) have indeed been terrorising the Earth for a while, I doubt anyone has been printing new calendars. Still, they can at least say it’s the 22nd Century. Meanwhile, Babs is dipping her hanky in the river (and getting rat-piss disease all over her hands) when…THE HORROR! She spots a corpse floating in the water. It’s Noah! I mean the guy from the beginning who face-planted into the Thames! Apparently this was considered particularly gruesome by the TV critics of the time (thank you, InfoText). But oh there’s worse! Scurrying back to her Space Daughter, she discovers that Susan has gone! Panic ensues! And OH WHO IS THIS! A man jumps into shot, demanding whether Babs wants to get killed; Babs jumps behind some smallish tree trunks (presumably so she can use one of them as a staff, Little John stylee) demanding to know who this shouty bloke is and what they’ve done with Susan. Apparently some guy called Tyler’s got her, and Babs now has to get out of her and follow him. Babs knows a moment of crippling indecision, yells for him to wait, drops her handkerchief (on purpose?), and apparently decides that making sure Susan is ok is her top priority and that the Space Bros will have to fend for themselves. Because Barbara Wright is a grown-ass woman who don’t need no man and she will follow the shouty guy through this dystopian hellscape. Back at the warehouse, the Doctor finds a dead guy in a cardboard box. He and Ian speculate as to the purpose of the dead guy’s headgear, and after discounting Ian’s suggestion of some sort of medical whatsit for a fractured skull, the Doctor decides it’s like an extra ear for picking up high-frequency radio waves. Apparently Terry Nation had something smaller in mind. Ian asks whether this means they’ve invented some form of personal communication, and I’m just chuckling away because I would love to see Ian in a story with wifi. At this point, I become distracted, because Ian has found a whip, and I’m too busy laughing at the idea of wholesome Mr. Chesterton in a Fifty Shades scenario that I can’t read the InfoText, which at second glance tells me that originally the Doctor speculates that whatever shit went down did so in the 1970s, which is why this London looks so much like it did in the 1960s. Which would have been neat, actually. But would have ruled out the Tardis landing on Earth anywhere between the 1970s and the 2160s later on in the show, because it would be an alternate universe in which those 200 years were under Dalek rule. Insert satire here.

You're welcome, Chesterfans.

OOH and the InfoText keeps on giving: when speculating about the plague, apparently the original dialogue had Ian assume it was germ warfare between the USA and the USSR, ‘but Doctor Who points out that this would be suicide’. TOPICAL COLD WAR SHIT IS TOPICAL. Which makes sense, given that Terry Nation also wrote the neutron bomb into The Daleks. And OH they’ve zoomed in on the knife that’s stuck in the dead guy and he’s very obviously breathing. Bless him, he has just been tumbled out of a cardboard box. They explore a bit more, and end up in a storeroom (where Ian mercifully discards the whip he’s been brandishing like that map in The Sensorites), and then Ian manages to go through a door that leads to a room without a floor. Then this happens:

Ian: No one can get through that way. Doctor: Except you!

Sweet Lord I will never not appreciate the Doctor sassing his Space Bro for his Charlie Chaplin shit. Essentially the Doctor has realised that they are the Space-Time Continuum’s answer to the Chuckle Brothers and they should quit while they’re ahead and get back to the others; Ian agrees. Susan’s future husband peers in from between some petrol cans. Peeringly. I mean, I know we don’t know who he is yet or what the threat to the Earth is yet or who this man is yet, but I still like to foreground the fact that this loitering creep is the man to whom the Doctor will eventually marry off what I’m going to assume is his only living relative. Also, apparently Shell made it to the 22nd Century. We now have a gorgeous sequence of Babs running after the shouty man through a derelict landscape which the InfoText informs me was a disused Tube station, though Terry Nation’s suggestion that they use an old bomb-site reminds me of what I’d forgotten—that there were indeed unreclaimed bomb-sites still knocking about London in the 1960s. Post-war Britain is post-war. Also, Jacqueline Hill must be boiling in that jumper. And uncomfortable in that pencil skirt. And feeling the terrain in those thin, flat shoes. Susan, however, is being carried, so congrats to whoever’s jogging down the stairs with her in his arms, because that is a surefire way to fall and twist your ankle, and we don’t need two hobbling people in this episode. The sequence ends rather comically with Babs coming up against a wire fence and melodramatically Hulking out on the bars before shouty guy comes up and points her in the right direction.

Back to the Space Bros, who have heard a noise…AND OH IT’S A WOBBLY FLYING SAUCER THAT LOOKS LIKE A BIT OF CARDBOARD SANDWICHED BETWEEN TWO COINS ON SOME STRINGS AND IT’S THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING I’VE SEEN SINCE THE CARDVOORD. OH but this is a GORGEOUS shot: Tyler carrying Susan and then Babs running after them in an underground station-type place and the lighting gives them these fantastic long shadows. Beaut. Oh and then Babs trips over a can. Which serves no narrative function, so I’m happy about finding it entirely relatable. Oh and here’s the little button saucer again. Also, according to the InfoText, the reason it’s so wobbly is because they used lateral strings rather than vertical strings which people automatically look for. Meanwhile, Susan and Babs are arguing with the mysterious Tyler about going back for Ian and the Doctor, and pretty-much have to lump it. Speaking of the Space Bros, they have arrived back at the Tardis to find Susan and Barbara have gone. And Ian, whose exasperation that nobody else has worked out that THEY’RE IN A TV SHOW WITH RULES, DAMMIT continues to delight me at every turn, has only this to say:

The Doctor, however, seems less convinced that the womenfolk are engaged in a conspiracy to wind Ian up and suggests that their disappearance may have something to do with the gunfire they heard over the river earlier. But seriously, the sooner Ian accepts that the women will never, ever do a thing because he told them to, the happier he will be. I mean, Terry Nation established pretty early on that Babs doesn’t always do what Ian says, and any filthy-jokey blonde aliens who try to mock her on the subject can expect disdain and/or sexual tension for their trouble. But oh, what’s this? HOO-FUCKING-RAH, we have some actual character development for Ian! And William Russell has clearly quite literally taken a leaf out of Jacqueline Hill’s book, because he too has taken to using the foliage to ramp up the subtext. Indeed, Ian is anxious as hell given the way he’s shredding the local plant-life, and is clearly preoccupied by the thought of the body in the water and what it might mean for the other two. Then this happens:

Gifs by cleowho.

THIS. This is brilliant. Terry Nation, I had forgotten how much I like the way you write Ian. He’s anxious, and he's crotchety, and then he opens up: he admits, without mincing his words, that he wants to get away from here. Like Barbara, he feels this right-time-wrong-place thing is horribly, horribly wrong. He’s scared, he doesn’t like it, and he doesn’t mind admitting that he is all for running. It’s not just that he isn’t curious, it’s that this is the future—his future—and he doesn’t want to know what’s coming. He just wants the family back together and for them to get out of Dodge. Don't get me wrong, Ian gets bothered by stuff all the time, but he generally mucks in in spite of things—last week, after all, in that cut scene, we essentially had Ian’s philosophy in a nutshell, which is ‘fight the world we’re in [and] make something of it’—but this week we finally find out what freaks Ian out apart from being separated from Barbara: it’s not the past; it's not unknown worlds; it’s the future. After a pregnant pause, Ian flings aside his mangled bit of foliage and snaps: ‘Where the devil are those two?’ The answer to this question would appear to be some underground location, where a poster of an elephant has been ‘VETOED’. I freaking LOVE those ‘VETOED’ signs. Can’t remember what they mean, but it’s gorgeous world-buildy stuff. Tyler (where has the shouty man gone?) bangs on the wall, and David (Susan’s future husband) climbs out of a secret wall-chute thing with a knife, demanding to know who these people are. Obvious confession time: I dislike David. Violently. Do you know one of the many reasons why I dislike David? Because he introduces himself to Barbara like this:

FUCK OFF YOU SEXIST ARSEHOLE, THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE THE 2160s AND YOU HAVE JUST ASKED A STRANGE WOMAN WHETHER SHE CAN COOK FOR YOU LIKE THIS IS LIKELY TO BE HER ONLY FUCKING SKILLSET? EVEN THOUGH YOU HAVE AT LEAST ONE KICKASS WOMAN (OF WHICH MORE IN FUTURE EPISODES) IN YOUR RESISTANCE? EVEN THOUGH THIS IS BARBARA FUCKING WRIGHT WHO ONCE TOOK ON THE DALEKS WITH HER BARE HANDS, A ROCK, AND SOME MUD AND WON? HAVE MEN FORGOTTEN HOW TO COOK IN THE 22ND CENTURY? DIE IN A FIRE. DON’T YOU EVEN TOUCH SUSAN. Ahem. Barbara, who is from the 1960s, politely affirms that she can indeed cook. David ignores her attempt to question him and tells Tyler about how the warehouse is compromised or some shit and then it is established that he did indeed see Ian and the Doctor but thought they were enemies. Because…no fucking reason, I mean they clearly weren’t Robomen but whatever, David. Enter a dude in a wheelchair, who nearly mows Barbara down and who wants to know what’s going on. His name is Dortmun and he's Sciency and he is determined that they’ll be ready for whatever’s in the saucer…this time. He also has a chip on his shoulder about being as active as everyone else, unsurprisingly, and Tyler isn’t a dick about it, thank god. He’s excited about the two extra pairs of hands, and David yells about how Barbara can cook, way too enthusiastically. DAVID, LEARN TO COOK. IT’S NOT FUCKING HARD. Then he asks Susan what she does, and it's fucking beautiful.

YES SUSAN! FUCKING YES! REMEMBER THAT THIS IS THE BASIS OF YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH THIS ARSEHOLE AND ON NO ACCOUNT FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM. David, still lightly smoking from the burn Susan just delivered, decides to go and find Ian and the Doctor. Yeah. Fuckity-bye. Dortmun wants to know whether the two down by the Warehouse are MEN, and seems pleased when this is the case. Also die in a fire. Dortmun mentions some attack plans, but won’t tell Susan what they are, and wants to know why she’s sitting down. Tyler takes the women off to what I’m going to assume is the kitchen, which Dortmun stays on watch. With a knife. Not a gun. They did not give the guy with mobility issues a gun. Maybe they don’t have guns. Meanwhile, the Doctor and Ian are still kicking around by the river (and haven’t noticed Barbara’s hanky…which wouldn’t help them, but I just want someone to notice it…oh and look they find it in the camera script, according to the InfoText). Ian has, however, spotted the big sign about dumping bodies in the river. Which the Doctor proclaims stupid on account of the fact that nobody’s going to read it down by the river. Well…it’s not that stupid, Doctor, if the river is where people are dumping the bodies. Makes sense to have it by the actual river. Which Ian points out. Ian also mutters stuff about bringing out your dead, and suggests that there’s been some sort of plague in town. And oh shit. David has spotted them, but he’s also spotted a patrol of robomen! Yikes! Meanwhile, the Space Bros are worried. Ian reckons the saucer landed over the river, but the Doctor is more concerned with the plague, and from what I can work out appears to be concerned that either Babs or Susan has in some way been in the water and been infected? I’m not sure. Ian says it’s unlikely they’ve drunk any, but clearly the Doctor still has Barbara and the Sugar Puffs on his mind. Anyway, they decide to go further afield…but find their way blocked by Robomen! David is hissing ‘run!’ from the shadows, unheard by them, but would clearly be the ideal viewer for this show, seeing as how he seems quite invested in their plight. The Doctor suggests they swim for it, but Ian is lovely and suggests they try talking first; the Robomen raise their whips threateningly. Ian—and I’m paraphrasing wildly—says ‘when I say swim, swim’, but OH MY GOODNESS WHAT’S THIS COMING OUT OF THE WATER?

IT’S ONE OF THE MOST ICONINC MOMENTS IN CLASSIC WHO, NAY THE ENTIRE WHONIVERSE, THAT’S WHAT! A DALEK IS COMING OUT OF THE WATER AND IT’S BEAUTFUL AND SCARY AND YES WELL DONE THAT SHOW. Ian and the Doctor are about to do a synchronised swimmer dive into the shallow Thames, but when they turn around…THEY ARE STOPPED IN THEIR TRACKS BY THE SIGHT OF A NIGHTMARE FROM THEIR OWN PERSONAL HISTORY, RIGHT HERE ON EARTH! SKARO COMES TO LONDON! THE DALEKS HAVE ARRIIIIIIIIIIVED! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH WILL THE SPACE BROS BE EXTERMINATED? WILL BARBARA AND SUSAN NOW HAVE TO SPEND THEIR LIVES COOKING (AND EATING) FOR THE HUMAN RESISTANCE? WHAT HAS HAPPENED TO THE EARTH? HOW DID THE DALEKS GET HERE AND WHAT ARE THEIR DASTARDLY PLANS? IS THIS BEFORE OR AFTER THE EVENTS OF THE DALEKS? SINCE WHEN HAVE DALEKS BEEN WATERPROOF? Summary (as applicable to this episode)

Does it pass the Bechdel test? With flying colours. Is the gaze problematic? Nope. Is/are the woman companion(s) dressed 'for the Dads'? Nope. Save the girl or save the world? Whose decision is it? N/A. Though Babs has a variant thereof, insofar as she has a 'go with the girl or wait for the bros' dilemma. Does a woman fall over/twist her ankle (whilst running from peril)? Yes indeed. Susan does her ankle in falling off something she climbed and has to be carried, while Babs trips over several things (possibly unscripted), once when coming out of the Tardis, once when running after the guy in the underground. However, only Susan's fall is a plot point. Does a woman wander off alone for the sole dramatic purpose of getting into trouble so she can be rescued later? Hmm. The group splits up along gender lines but it seems this is for the dramatic purpose of the men being rescued later, which I appreciate. Is/are the woman companion(s) captured? Not exactly, but Susan is pretty much carried off by the resistance. Does the Doctor/a man companion/any other man have to rescue the woman companion(s) from peril? Babs has to run after Susan to make sure she's not been carried off for nefarious purposes. Is a woman placed under threat of actual bodily harm? Mostly the Doctor and Ian this week from the Robomen. Does a woman have to deal with a sexual predator? Nope. Just a few asshats. Is/are the woman companion's/s' first/only reaction(s) to peril gratuitous screaming? No. Does a woman faint at the sight of peril/horror or generally lose consciousness (discounting normal sleep)? Nope. Does a woman companion go into hysterics over something reasonably minor? No.

Is a woman 'spared' the ordeal of having to do/witness something unpleasant by a man who makes a decision on her behalf/keeps her deliberately ignorant? Nope. Does a woman suffer in silence (to further the plot)? Nope. Does a man automatically disbelieve or belittle something a woman (companion) says happened to her? No. Does a man talk over a woman or talk about a woman as though she isn't there? David talks over both the women. One of whom he will end up marrying.

Does the woman companion have to be calmed/comforted by the Doctor/a man companion/a man? Nop.e

Is a woman the first/only person to be (most gratuitously) menaced by the episode's antagonist(s)? Nope.

Is a man shamed into doing/not doing something because the alternative is a woman doing/not doing something? No.

Does the woman companion come up with a plan? No.

Does the woman companion do something stupid/banal/weird which inspires a man to be a Man with a Plan? No.

Does a woman come up with a theory and is it ridiculed by the Doctor/a man? No.

Does a woman call the Doctor out on his bullshit? No, but Susan does protest against her telling-off from the Doctor.

Does a woman get to be a badass? Running alone through a post-apocalyptic wasteland is pretty cool.

Is the young, strong, straight, white male lead the person most often in control of the situation? Ish.

Is there past/future/alien sexism? AND HOW.

Does a 'present'-day character call anybody out on past/future/alien sexism? SUSAN. Ish. Does an past/future/alien person have the hots for a woman companion and is it reciprocated? Right now David and Susan seem to have taken a violent dislike to one another.

Did a woman write/direct/produce this episode? No/No/Yes.

Verdict I despair at the twenty-second-century sexism, but I love Susan for having precisely none of that shit. Speaking of Susan, it is infuriating how she is continually treated like a wayward toddler. Maybe she’ll leave the show having grown into her own agency in a way that will have nothing to do with Dickhead Dave or the aggressively stifling control-freakery of her Grandfather. Pfffft. Barbara and Ian have some beautiful, subtle character development, while the Doctor is generally delightful…when he’s not threating to spank his granddaughter or just generally being the patriarchy. Thrilled that we got to see some proper Ian stuff this week for a change, too. Good job, Terry Nation.

[misadventuresofblinx]

BLINX GETS RAPED

Ok so I didn’t really get raped, but it’s kind of how the story evolved. It was more of surprise, drunk sex. It was during my time at Lesley College and every night was basically the same thing. Me and Ryan would leave work, head to the liquor store, and go to Lesley. Now I had made a few friends there but no one I was exclusively seeing or anything. That would basically defeat the purposes I had in mind. Now this night is a bit scary and funny so it wasn’t a total loss, but it’s the night that made me learn to be a bit more cognitive of things when shit-faced. Every night Ryan and I would chose our best case and worst case scenarios of who we were going home with that night. Now the best case was usually the one that would take some work and attention to go home with and that would involve being somewhat coherent so that didn’t usually pan out for me seeing as I liked to be drunk. My worst case scenario was always this same girl, a permanently stoned, hippy girl named Libby. Unfortunately for me this night was different. There were probably about fifteen or so of us hanging out on the stares in the quad drinking like any other Friday night when a few girls joined us. There was a Russian girl who for the life of me I can’t remember her name so we will call her Jessica. Then there was Kat, a larger (read fat) gothish girl who was wearing a corset with her tit’s spilling out. Well Ryan’s best case scenario had changed to the Russian girl who he failed miserably with due to the fact she was into girls. My worst case scenario had changed due to the fact I was shitfaced and didn’t remember my name anymore to the girl with the mess tits and the belt size that was greater than mine. So the night continued with my usual drunken jackassery and I made a fool of myself which included almost getting into a fist fight with the NA of the floor I usually stayed at (remember I don’t go to this school) who had a chip on his shoulder. It also didn’t help he was Irish and I kept making fun of the IRA. At this point Kat is allowing people to grab and test her breasts. They are magnificent. Never before and never since have I ever met a fat chick with tits quite as nice as these and it made me curious if it as possible that they were real.

The drinking went on for god knows how long and Ryan had a brilliant idea of me chugging the last bottle of Smirnoff black cherry vodka. Now I wasn’t in the type of condition to make good decisions so what do you think I did?? I downed that bitch. Now I was no longer able to stand under my own power and it was time to go to bed.

Me: OK ladies and Gentlemen, where can I sleep tonight?

Some slight murmuring and giggling went about which if I was able to recognize the signs of a plan like I can now I would have slept in my car.

Me: No where? I bring you booze and I can’t have a comfy floor or empty bed?

Kat: You can sleep in my room, my roommate isn’t around.

Giggling ensues again however I am not wise.

Me: Ok, Lets go

We walk through the building towards the stairs and she is guiding me from going on random adventures into closets and from falling down. We walk up some stairs, down a hallway, down some stairs, and she falls. She actually tripped over nothing! It will turn out later she was heavy enough to break her own ankle under her weight. Oh dear god.

We finally get to a door which she says is her room, but I’m confused because it looks more like a closet between two other rooms. She opens the door and I suddenly understand the joke. There is only one bed, one computer. I believe at this point that she ate her roommate but my yearning for sleep decides that I need to enter this room.

Me: Where’s your roommate’s bed?

Kat: Oh I don’t have a roommate I have a single

Me: ok, that’s cool I’ll just sleep on the floor.

Now as I decide to do this I start to walk and my trip to the floor was much quicker than I would have liked because I actually trip over her printer, fall, hit my head on what I believe to be her cpu, and then nothing. I wake up at an unknown amount of time later with no pants on, bleeding from the face, with her naked on top of me riding like a bad mechanical bull. I have never been ridden like this girl rode me. She was bucking up and down, gyrating, and sliding, reaching back to grab my balls. I mean this girl had either been genetically engineered to fuck, or been with a lot of guys. I decide that since I’m here I might as well go with it. We go at it for a while and I enjoy her tit’s quite a bit. I am still drunk at this point and last longer than I would have liked. I look down and at this point see the most horrifying thing any guy will see. I had at this point not even thought about if she put a condom on me, but I realized she had and that it was currently shredded because there was just the ring on me. I panic

I knock her off of me and she asks whats wrong and just tell her to finish me. She does, I pass out. Now I wake up to see the sun starting to come up. She’s still asleep but I am sober enough to realize what the hell happened and that I need to get out. Luckily at this time I owned two phones so I could pull off this next little trick. I reached down, grabbed one and tossed my pants aside after raising the volume on the other one and putting it back in my pocket.

I dial my number and pretend to be asleep. I let it ring and ignore it. Kat has woken up and has the rage of an angry bear.

Kat: who’s calling you this early?

Me: I don’t know, just ignore it. It’s probably Ryan wanting to go home before work.

The phone stops ringing and I hit redial. It starts ringing and she’s not happy

Kat: Just answer it and tell him to fuck off.

I pick up the phone

Me: hello? What!? Why the fuck are you even up this early!? Ok I’ll be there in 20 minutes.

I hang up the phone and tell her that my sister was stranded in the middle of no where and I have to go get her. She offers to come and I tell her that she’s sweet but there are people with her and I might not have room in my car.

I get out with my life and somewhat of some dignity because there was no way I wanted to do the walk of shame out of that girls room with people awake. Luckily this one time Ryan actually took his own car so I was able to go home and rest before I had to be at work. When I got to work everyone was applauding me and I was referenced as a single Pigmy tribesman trying to take down the elephant alone. My balls have never hurt as much as they did that morning, and I’ve actually bruised a testicle.

It was a funny night and looking back the act was worth the story, but not worth the torment I got until I fucked a cute chick again.