#shes the only cop i approve of

[rosicheeks]

You've been so quiet lately, Princess. We love you and what you post be it a trickle or a tsunami. May you feel all the love and adoration we have for you when you read this and all the asks we send you.

[ph-cutie]

I love people Being Mean to me in disco elysium. most people in the game all treat you with a realistic apprehension. they tolerate the things you say not because they like you but because you assumedly have a gun on you. the most unreletengly approving NPC, siileng, is just scared as fuck of you and also wants to make some cash. it pisses redditors off soo bad that npcs like liz and klaasje don't super care about kissing your feet and making your job easier but that's the whole point of Being A FuckUp Cop In a PostSov Neighborhood The Game. I like isobel cause she told me I sound like I was dropped on the head as a kid and that's how the grannies I know talk. I love cindy for forcing me to oink like a pig in the communist quest. Even titus's drawn out slutty beer walk animation (you know what I'm talking about) is growing on me. every interaction with the hardies is genuinely hilarious. also, idk how to word this but I like that the game doesn't fully rely on Bad Words to show who's a villain. the fascists you meet do say slurs, that is evil of them. cuno also says them every 5 minutes but every player ends up loving him. the most soulless and infuriating character is the diplomat in a black tie who only says inoffensive propaganda pamphlet words. you have to think with every character what their background is and why they would say that to *you*, because you are a very loaded presence no matter how you play. whatever

[wileys-russo]

two wheels II l.williamson

"-so this time, i'm gonna let go." you warned as leah tensed, knuckles turning white as she gripped the handlebars like they could fall off at any second. "no you're not." the blonde shook her head frantically as you bit back a smile.

"yes lee, I am."

the two of you stood together in a vacant lot behind the adidas training centre, leah only agreeing to the lessons so long as no one would be able to see her.

you knew she’d copped a lot of schtick after the last bike incident and as much as she brushed it off and laughed and joked, you knew it got to her.

which is what lead to these little private lessons so that you could help her build up her confidence while not making it obvious she was lacking in any. your girlfriend was an incredibly proud and stubborn woman wether she wanted to admit to it or not, so you knew the only way she’d agree would be if these were kept a secret from everyone else.

there was a thin dirt road that lead in and out of the tennis courts from the rest of the complex, but most of your team mates tended to use the main paths out front so it was unlikely anyone would come through and interrupt the two of you this time of day.

the private lessons also meant leah had to skip afternoon tea which you knew she was not happy about, but none the less she’d begrudgingly agreed. even if it had also meant the entire team assuming the two of you had snuck away for some ‘private time’ but those jokes rolled over the two of you like water, you’d been together for years and leah had no issue discussing just how much she adored you.

"leah. my love you're going to be fine, you've got this alright? just pedal." you affirmed calmly, sounding leagues more confident in her than leah actually felt. her knees began to knock and her forehead was prickled with sweat, her brows knitted together in a frown of grave concern.

all the flashbacks of what happened in america were flipping through her head like an old movie she couldn’t turn off, but leah did her best to just zone in on you and your voice and block everything else out.

so finally getting the older girls cautious nod of approval you began to run, hands wrapped tightly on the cool metal of the bike as leah started to pedal furiously.

"okay lee, go!" you shouted, releasing your grip on both leah and the bike, lips curling into a smile as leah relentlessly pumped her legs.

"baby you're doing it!" you cheered proudly, launching your fists into air with a yell of approval. leahs laughter echoing around the air at the surprise that she was actually riding a bike.

the defenders face spread into a shit eating grin as she sped up, heading away hard and fast from the place you’d started in.

sprinting off after her your own laughter echoed around, bouncing off the trees and raining down around leah as a smile built on the older girls face, reality whizzing past her in a chaotic blur of greens, blues and browns as she ventured further out into the complex.

"go on, you're really doing it! you're riding a bike again lee!" you hopped onto a nearby bench and cupped your hands over your mouth, yelling out proudly after your girlfriend, who made the unfortunate mistake of glancing over her shoulder with a wolfish grin at your encouragement.

the blonde suddenly careered left toppling over at high speed, both her body and the bike skidding sideways along the road before coming to an abrupt halt.

"oh shit she's not doing it!" your eyes widened at the crash before scrambling off of the fence post you'd climbed onto and racing over.

"love are you okay?" you asked breathlessly, eyes wide with worry as you dropped to her knees beside her. "fucking hell that hurt." leah managed to groan out, pushing the bike off of her and slowly sitting up.

"well, you were riding a bike." you joked in an attempt to lighten the mood, biting down on your bottom lip to hold back a smile.

"don't." leah warned seriously, face twisted into a grimace of pain, holding her leg where a large gash had opened, training sweats ripped in bloodied tatters around her right knee.

"i'm not." you lied, cheeks sucked in to hold back your amusement as even leah's own lips began to twinge into a ghost of a smile, and with one shared look both your resolves cracked.

your combined laughter encompassing the space around you you fell onto your back, holding your stomach which was beginning to hurt from laughing so hard. leah laid down beside you laughing just as much, both of you reaching out to find one anothers hands.

"oh baby you were going so well!" you managed to get out as your chest heaved, taking shallow breaths to try and control your amusement.

"yeah till my fucking body and the ground decided to become acquainted." leah groaned out, holding her sides which burned both from the fall and her laughter. your bodies still vibrating with amusement you heaved yourself onto your stomach, crawling over to her and picking the leaves from her hair.

"i love you." you smiled, laughter ceasing into small giggles as you ducked down and feverishly kissed her, leahs hands wrapping around your back and holding you tightly.

"most of the time you would use your brakes to stop though, not your body." you pulled away and corrected seriously, leah throwing her head back with a bark of laughter and a groan as you pulled a twig off her training top.

"oh god babe please stop making me laugh, it hurts!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

before anyone sends me asks about it yes this is an edited/updated repost of mine! no it’s not plagiarised unless i’m stealing from myself

[leupagus]

Guys I Might Have Three Nickels

I've been watching "Agatha Christie's Marple" for the past few days and it's pretty good! Marple adaptations all tend to have a better caliber of actors than a lot of bog-standard mystery shows (looking at you, "Madame Blanc"), and while Joan Hickson's Marple is right up there with David Suchet's Poirot and Jeremy Brett's Holmes as "literally can never be beaten, these are the best anyone's done it," both Geraldine McEwan and Julia McKenzie do a fantastic job as Miss Marple.

Then I got to "The Secret of Chimneys," Season 5 episode 2

and guys

Guys

So there's a murder of a viscount, like there is, and this detective Finch rolls up and immediately spots Miss Marple (in her NIGHTIE! standing at the window like some kind of hussy, honestly Jane) and doffs his cap to her with that little smile that makes you go, "huh."

At this point I've watched a couple dozen Miss Marple episodes where she goes through detectives like wildfire and this guy's supposed to be a "*guru*" so I'm expecting some battle of the egos or something and like, Stephen Dillane is great! But bleh, I might have to skip this one.

Then my dude asks Miss Marple to SHOW HIM THE BODY, with a pleased little smile at her as she goes "uhhhhhhhh but my knitting?" (He even does that thing where you use someone's honorific and wait for them to give you their name, and that's when I was like "ohhh this bitch knows exactly who she is.") What follows is what I can only describe as a meet-cute in the secret passageway where the viscount was shot (and in fact the body is STILL THERE) and where Miss Marple literally asks the police equivalent of "is there a Mrs Finch" and he looks at her like this:

At which point I'm like "ohhh my dude not only knows who she is, he deliberately came here without a sergeant so he could draft her," and sure enough he just starts...handing her pieces of evidence like "hey babe can you decipher this note for me thanks love you" while Miss Marple is like, "this approval and camaraderie coming from a cop... not sure if want."

Next is a series of romantic strolls through the gardens while they discuss murder, during which Finch reveals his undying love I mean his research into Miss Marple and the "dozen case files" of her previous exploits that he's collected like some deranged fanboy. Miss Marple responds to this by BLUSHING LIKE A SCHOOLGIRL and stammering about how pish tosh it's nothing really, and I couldn't find a gif of it but he's staring at her like this:

Yeah I bet u r tempted

He also makes a half-hearted attempt at negging her "amateur sleuth" status, only to then immediately assure her that he makes like, so much money being a big fancy detective and can keep her in all the yarn and garden seed she could ever desire.

There's also a late-night tryst at the compost pile right after Finch has been (mildly) poisoned and Miss Marple is like "men are so weak" as she roots through the garbage for clues.

Not how he wanted their first date to go D:

The next morning there's another murder which: bummer, but also allows the two of them to read love letters together and for Finch to give Miss Marple the following look as she explains how secret assignations among lovers can "quicken the ardor":

Miss Marple then goes onto solve the murders and btw hands over the priceless diamond that's been literally missing for two literal decades that she found in her spare time. The entire scene features Finch looking at her like this:

After the dust settles, Finch and Miss Marple have a lovely moment where he calls himself "another one of your casualties," then super casually mentions that he's probably going to have to go on assignment to use the diamond in a daring international espionage case and I can't decide if he's asking Miss Marple to go with him or simply trying to show her that he is cool and smart and would make an excellent wife, but either way the episode ends with her turning him down and Jane, we need to talk about your priorities.

Anyway I've already written 2K about the subsequent 10-year epistolary romance these two have following this episode because I make poor choices.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Sunsweet Prunes

Ray Bradbury: submitted for the approval of the midnight society, i call this the tale of the lazy summer of youth Bradbury: long days down by the river, fishing in miller's pond, afternoons at the soda shop, ice cream sundaes with fabulous unicorn worlds built of whipped cream, nickels for a dime Bradbury: and becky miller's freckled-face kisses Bradbury: sweeter than sunsweet prunes

Bradbury: sunsweet prunes, i tell you Bradbury: the only prune that's sweeter than a nostalgic midwestern childhood Bradbury: and they come in these little individually wrapped plastic packs too King: Poe: Barker: Koontz: Lovecraft: Bradbury: I just think they're neat

Bradbury: according to my stories, in the far distant future of 2001 Bradbury: we shall travel in tubes Bradbury: we'll have flying cars Bradbury: and we'll all be eating our sunsweet prunes out of individually wrapped plastic packs Poe: wait you never said that in your stories Bradbury: i wish i had Bradbury: i would have been 1 for 3 at least

Bradbury: look, they individually wrap these sunsweet prunes in plastic Bradbury: what a world! Bradbury: its like living in the not too distant future Poe: doesn't that create a lot of waste Bradbury:

Bradbury: tearing open this individually wrapped snack pack reminds me of tearing open presents on christmas morning, snow on the ground, ma and pa taking the day off from working the farm, the whole family arriving in a caravan of automobiles, aunts and uncles and cousins by the dozen, oh my! oh my! uncles a little too loud after three egg nogs, cousins playing cops & robbers in the hay loft

Bradbury: and the feasting, the jollity! too many voices all at once, raised in laughter, in song. the twinkle in dad's eye, the red roses in mom's cheeks, grandpa's baritone chuckle. falling asleep to the sounds of bing crosby on the tombstone radio, surrounded by the warm glow of early evening King: wow these prunes sound pretty incredible King: i'm sold! Koontz: [tearing open sunsweet prune container] guys Koontz: i think my prunes are broken Koontz: i didn't feel any of that stuff ray said

Poe: ray are they paying you to advertise for prunes Bradbury: no no of course not! Bradbury: i would never accept money to tell you about the incredible health benefits of america's favorite prunes, sunsweet Bradbury: full of 12 different antioxidents King: can i buy them with my american express card

Neil Gaiman: but ray! Gaiman: using the limitless vista of your inpirational mind to advertise a mere consumer good Gaiman: such a tawdry use of the gift of imagination! Gaiman: it cheapens us as writers just as the low low prices of chipotle cheapens organic rice and GMO-free beans to bring wholesome healthy Mexican inspired fusion cuisine to the masses

Gaiman: you can't leash the phoenix of creativity to the millstone of commerce! Gaiman: she must fly free! Gaiman: free like the secret dragon sauce available now at now extra charge at your local chipotle King: neil's right! Poe: about chipotle? King: about everything!!

[david-talks-sw]

The OTHER type of Star Wars fan

We've already covered (through this longer post and this addendum) that research shows George wasn't that involved or interested in the derivative material of the Star Wars franchise, also known as the Expanded Universe (EU). Aside from approving a few points, he let Howard Roffman and Lucasfilm Licensing handle it.

He is the first to say that he ain't as knowledgeable about Star Wars lore as we fans are.

Thing is... he's also not as passionate as we are.

Recently, I was watching some Q&A videos of George R.R. Martin, the author of Game of Thrones... and it occurred to me:

Martin is what most Star Wars fans wish Lucas was.

Think about it.

He's a talented writer who likes to focus on morally "gray" characters and complex political plotlines,

who created a series of novels for a mature audience in which his narrative merely asks questions and lets the reader draw their own conclusions,

knows and engages in the lore behind his creation and will often respond to those lore-heavy questions, and has gone on record stating that canon is the glue that holds a story together and keeps it coherent.

Contrast that with George "continuity is for wimps" Lucas, who:

Wrote a movie franchise which is also, partially, political... but he makes it for kids, and he's explicit about how this is thematically a clear-cut story about how the conflict of "good vs evil" is really about "compassion vs greed",

with flat dialogue, boring cinematography,

and whose approach to lore and canon can be summed up in his answer to how Anakin got his scar:

"I don't know. Ask Howard [Roffman]. That’s one of those things that happens in the novels between the movies. I just put it there. He has to explain how it got there. I think Anakin got it slipping in the bathtub, but of course, he's not going to tell anybody that." - Pablo Hidalgo’s set diary, August 2003

And as a Star Wars fan, I will admit that some of his casual retcons felt disrespectful, growing up.

"Boba Fett is NOT Mandalorian?!"

I had the same reaction when I saw an interview of Kathleen Kennedy stating she was a fan of Star Wars... from a filmmaking perspective. That seemed like such a finagling cop-out for me, at the time.

"Just say you're not a real fan, God!"

And it's easy to divide it in two camps, like that. You have 1) the real fans, who will delve into deep lore, and 2) the average moviegoer, also known as the "filthy casuals."

But looking back on it... holy shit, that is actually a completely valid way of being a Star Wars fan.

Yes, Star Wars is a transmedia franchise, it's books, it's video-games, it's deep lore, it's lightsabers and Jedi and Sith and bounty hunters and Ewoks and Jabba and High Republics and Tython and Revan etc.

But before it was that, Star Wars was a filmmaking revolution. A juggernaut of innovation for the silver screen that inspired most of today's filmmakers.

So, sure, George Lucas isn't an avid lore-loving Star Wars fan like you and me. But he is a movie fan.

"I'm not that passionate about this story. I like it, it's fun and I enjoy doing it. But it's definitely not my life. I'm a bigger movie fan than I am Star Wars fan. I like making movies. At the end of nine years of making Star Wars, I was not ready to continue it. I was completely burned out on it. I was more passionate about raising my kids than making movies and especially making Star Wars. So I made other kinds of movies and TV shows and advanced the technology I needed. It's not a matter of passion. My passion is for filmmaking. I'll go and do filmmaking that is easier to do, where you can realise your ideas better. And nine years is a big part of your life, and to commit to another nine years, I didn't wanna do that right away." - EMPIRE, 1999

And you can tell this, when you watch the Star Wars films.

There are honestly so many homages and interesting filmmaking techniques, peppered throughout the six films, which only a nerd for cinema history like George would know how to implement.

C3-PO being based on the droid from Metropolis (1927) is a perfect example of this.

And that's interesting.

Because there's essentially this entire other dimension to the films, where it's not just the story unfolding, but to filmmakers it's also a series of techniques that make them go "I wonder how they did that!" or homages that make them go "OH! I know where that's from!" like we do when an comics characters appears in live-action.

Here's other examples:

CINEMA HOMAGES

All of Star Wars is absolutely littered with homages to cinema history.

I mean, you may already know this, but Flash Gordon is what George originally wanted to shoot, but the copyright holders said they only wanted Fellini to direct it (ironically, George wasn't artsy-fart enough for them). So he decided to write Star Wars instead.

As such, the inspiration from Flash Gordon is also present visually and spiritually throughout the two trilogies.

"It was like a Republic serial, a 1930s-style matinee adventure. The idea was that you came in, saw Episode IV, had missed the first three episodes, and wouldn't get to see the rest of it." - Starlog Magazine #300, 2002

The dialogue that a lot of people refer to as "campy" and "flat" is actually a mix of George being an experimental filmmaker who doesn't give much of a fuck about dialogue (and is by his own admission, not the best at it)...

"I'd be the first person to say I can't write dialogue. My dialogue is very utilitarian and is designed to move things forward. I'm not Shakespeare. It's not designed to be poetic. It's not designed to have a clever turn of phrase. [...] I just wanted to get from point A to point B. This film doesn't lend itself to that sort of thing because it's not about snappy one-liners.  I think that Lethal Weapon-style dialogue is overused, it's a necessary aspect of high action films where you have to have the smart retort. You have to say "I'll be back baby" and stuff. It's not my style. It takes away from the integrity of the movie. [...] I'm aware that dialogue isn't my strength. I use it as a device. I don't particularly like dialogue which is part of the problem." - EMPIRE, 1999

... which is convenient, because it helped him simulate the dialogue of 1930s matinee serials, such as Flash Gordon.

"Let’s face it, their dialogue in that scene is pretty corny. It is presented very honestly, it isn’t tongue in cheek at all, and it’s played to the hilt. But it is consistent, not only with the rest of the movie, but with the overall Star Wars style. Most people don’t understand the style of Star Wars. They don’t get that there is an underlying motif that is very much like a 1930s Western or Saturday matinee serial. It’s in the more romantic period of making movies and adventure films. And this film is even more of a melodrama than the others." - Mythmaking: Behind the Scenes of Attack of the Clones, 2002

But beyond that, literally it's everywhere.

The scene where Palpatine ascends to being Emperor as Anakin slaughters his political rivals parallels the final scene in The Godfather, where Michael becomes the Don while his goons do the same thing.

This video compiles all the tributes beautifully. Check it out.

Even The Clone Wars has whole episodes that are direct homages to cult classics. The Zillo Beast episode is a clear reference to Godzilla, the episode The Wrong Jedi is inspired by The Wrong Man, etc.

"CINEMA VÉRITÉ" CINEMATOGRAPHY

I've already written a whole post (one of my favourites) showing how his fascination with cinéma vérité documentaries is reflected in the cinematography of all six Star Wars films, and it's part of what makes the entire franchise feel so immersive.

You can check it out here:

KUROSAWA

We've gone over how he's a big fan of Akira Kurosawa, and how big an influence Hidden Fortress was on both the Star Wars trilogies...

... but so is the mise-en-scène and the way George approaches production design. The reason Star Wars feels so "lived in" is also a lesson George learned from Kurosawa, which is that by making everything just a bit off-kilter, a bit dirtied-up and imperfect...

... and yet keeping it all consistent, in a way, you manage to make the film feel grounded and immersive, no matter how alien it is.

"[It] may sound odd in a movie like this, but credibility and realism, even in the most unrealistic situation… to sorta create that sense of realism is very important to making the story work and making you feel like you’re actually in the environment that transports you and gives you the suspension of disbelief that you need in order to enjoy a movie. [...] Kurosawa used to call it “immaculate realism” which is to make it slightly off-kilter, slightly eccentric, like things are in real life. Even if it’s a very predictable situation, give it that little funny edge that takes it away from that and makes it realistic. And I had to struggle very hard, in the Star Wars films, to make them appear to be realistic, even though they’re totally fantasy." - The Phantom Menace, Commentary Track #2, 1999

POST-PRODUCTION & VFX

Another one of the more impressive aspects of the first Star Wars was the dogfights and the trench raid of the Death Star. The camera pans with the spaceship, the dynamism of the cuts. The space battles is what made George creat ILM in the first place.

He was determined to do the opposite of what 2001: A Space Odyssey had done with that opening scene where the space ship moves into frame slooooowly...

... so he gave the team a collection of WWII dogfight footage to give them ideas.

(note: this was the same approach he would take years later with Dave Filoni, when teaching the latter how to edit and craft dogfights in The Clone Wars)

The attempt to film the trench run eventually led to the creation of the first motion control camera dolly.

Best analogy I can think of, when describing George's approach to Star Wars, is the following:

An avant-garde esoteric contemporary artist - y'know, the type who puts a blue dot on a white canvas and calls it art - creates a comic.

Why? Because he wants to make this one art installment for a gallery exhibition. After that, he intends to move on to other things.

But the comic is really good! And like, its audience quickly expands beyond just gallery visitors, no, everyone likes it.

Suddenly, the comic develops a cult following, and the entirety of comic book geek culture has zeroed-in on the artist and they're all asking him to make more art! And he makes more! And more!

Then he stops for two decades, moves on to other art projects, raises his kids. Years later, he discovers new ways of drawing, and he's like "I'm making a Prequel to the comic, y'all wanna see it?"

Everyone cries out gleefully: "Oh God, yes! Finally! Show us!"

But this motherfucker makes a manga.

Why? Because he feels like it.

And of course he does, he's just creating art, right? He discovered the graphic tablet, so he's having fun with it, because he's always innovating and pushing the envelope with his art.

And the books are fine, by manga standards. But by comic book standards, they obviously suck! The comic book audience is mad. They wanted another comic book, not a manga. Why is it in black and white? Why is read right-to-left? This comic is crap!

(And arguably, they have a point... as a savvy businessman, he's made a whole lot of money off this comic, he built a media empire out of it, and instead of giving them what they want, he made something else)

But again... this guy isn't a comic book illustrator, and has been very explicit about saying this.

He's an artist who - for a very specific project - drew a comic.

Many things can be true at once:

the fact that these creative decisions didn't always hit their mark for the average moviegoer, or fans of "Star Wars, the space fantasy movies and expanded universe" (usually the lore-loving geeks like myself)...

... and the fact that they were meticulously and carefully crafted in a way that fans of "Star Wars, the revolutionary film" (aka fans of cinema and filmmaking) can appreciate.

There's a spectrum of the fandom, and there is a spectrum in the way we can appreciate Star Wars. Which kinda reminds me of that scene in Chef (2014) where Carl goes on a rant explaining the intricacies of making his chocolate lava cake to a food critic.

It's not just undercooked chocolate. It's molten.

Conversely:

It's not just flat, campy dialogue. It's an homage to the 1930s matinee serials à la Flash Gordon.

It's not just boring cinematography. It's a reproduction of cinéma vérité documentary-style camera work which effectively grounds the film.

Having considered all this, when I hear that Tony Gilroy or Kathleen Kennedy were more fans of Star Wars from a "cinema studies" side rather than the typical pop culture one, I think it's fair enough.

First of all, because like it or not, so was George. He clearly didn't give a single crap about the offshoot comics and books and their lore, besides signing off on minor plot points. He's not a "sci-fi movie director", he's an experimental filmmaker who set some of his movies in space.

But secondly, because - aside from children - it's clear the audience he was targeting was not the fans or the critics... but these very same cinema-savvy people, who get his references and homages, and who were inspired by the new filmmaking techniques he introduced.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Hiding Hugs (5+1)

Pairing: Dominique Luca x shy!fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: 5 times you find refuge in Luca's arms, and the 1(st) time you show him why.

Warnings: fluff, banter/teasing

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

A/N: @elephants-bubbles-brachosauruses I hope you like it!! Thanks for talking about Luca with me💞

When your team members on 20-David squad found out that you were shy, that was the last moment of peace you experienced. Since then, they have all found ways to push you, like it’s the highlight of their days, and it seems like there’s some challenge you aren’t aware of to see who can make you the shyest, fastest. Luckily, you’ve found the perfect place to hide, a refuge from their unrelenting attempts to make you shy. And even better, he always welcomes your hiding hugs.

1. You hug Luca to hide when Hondo and Street tease you about getting a date.

“Girl, I’m running out of contacts,” Hondo murmurs as he scrolls on his phone. “How do you feel about single fathers?”

“Sounds better than you,” you reply, quiet enough that Hondo can’t hear it.

“Ooh, are we setting you up again?” Street asks, smiling as he enters the locker room. “Since the last time went so well?”

“Then why are you still trying?” you inquire softly.

“Because it’s fun,” Street answers.

“Because,” Hondo begins, shaking his head at Street, “you deserve someone who makes you happy.”

You shake your head just before Hondo gasps.

“I found him! I found your perfect date,” he cheers.

“No, no, no, you can’t say that until I vet him,” Street argues, clapping his fingers against his palm to ask for Hondo’s phone.

“Tell me they wouldn’t be great together, pretty boy!”

You watch as Street takes Hondo’s phone. His eyes widen in shock or appreciation - you aren't sure which - before he smiles.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say it, but I think you’ve done it, Hondo.”

You shake your head, an enthusiastic argument of No, you haven’t, Hondo. Street, however, extends the phone so you can see the picture.

“He’s not a cop, so don’t worry,” Hondo begins. “He’s brainy, shy like you. You’ll be perfect.”

“Hondo,” you plead weakly.

“I’ll text him.”

As Hondo begins typing a message on his phone, Street asks you questions about your past relationships. You're growing shyer with each syllable, and you’re desperate to get out of the uncondoned date Hondo is currently procuring for you. So, you stand up and walk out of the locker room.

“No, hey, listen,” Hondo calls, taking long steps to catch up to you. “He’s a little hesitant, too, so there’s no pressure for this to be perfect. Ask anything about him to prep, I’ll help you out. He’s from Vegas.”

“Luca!” you call.

Luca spins on his heel in the hallway, and when he turns to face you, you crash into him, wrapping your arms around his waist as you hug him tightly and hide your face against his chest.

“Oh, no,” Street says behind you. “You’re going to have to get used to hugging someone else if this date is going to go well.”

“What date?” Luca asks, gently rubbing your back.

“We set her up,” Street answers happily.

“I set her up. Street just approved,” Hondo interjects. “You will, too.”

You shake your head against Luca, and he clicks his tongue.

“Sounds like the only person whose opinion matters doesn’t agree.”

“But-“

“Lay off, Hondo.”

Street smiles, and Luca quickly adds, “You too, Streeter. She told you the last time to stop setting her up.”

“That makes it sound like we’ve succeeded before,” Hondo laments.

“Boys,” Hicks greets as he passes. “Don’t make me write this up.”

“We’re good, boss,” Luca assures, his hand steady and comforting against your back.

Street and Hondo return the way you came, failing to be discreet as they discuss how perfect your date could have been.

“Thanks, Luca,” you murmur against him, squeezing his waist before you step back.

“Anytime,” Luca promises. “And no one Hondo picks will be ‘perfect.’"

2. You hug Luca to hide when he takes you for a test drive in the hills.

“I need a favor,” Luca says in the locker room.

“Sure,” you answer, closing your locker. “What’s up?”

“I just put the finishing touches on my Impala. The restoration is complete, or should be… I need to take it for a test drive and don’t want to do it alone.”

“You’re inviting me on a ride-along?” you ask excitedly.

“Think you’re up for it?”

You nod as you pull your backpack onto your shoulder. Luca chuckles before he tosses you his keys to gather his things.

In the hills overlooking Los Angeles, Luca pulls the pristine Chevy Impala into a paved overlook area. He exits the car to check everything, and you slide out of the passenger seat to look at the view while he works.

“Everything okay?” you inquire, standing beside Luca as you watch him work under the hood of the car.

“Looks like it,” Luca answers before he straightens.

“She’s beautiful. You did a really good job with this one, Luca.”

“Thank you. It was more time intensive than I anticipated, but everything seems to have turned out well.”

You nod, and when Luca closes the hood and turns toward you, you press your lips together and turn toward smoggy Los Angeles beneath you. Luca takes a few steps to close the distance between you, and the shyness you felt when his attention moved to you multiplies. There are only a few inches between your arm and Luca’s, so when you turn toward him, it only takes a step to enter his arms.

“Sorry,” you say against his shirt.

Luca chuckles as his arms wrap around you, and you smile at the knowledge that Luca will always welcome you warmly, no matter how shy you are. Even if it’s because of him.

3. You hug Luca to hide when a raid nearly goes wrong.

“LAPD!” you yell. “On the ground now!”

“20-David, movement on the two-side,” Hondo radios.

“On your knees,” you repeat, gesturing down with your gun.

The man before you hesitates then grits his teeth and raises his arms over his head.

“Dining room, south wall!” he yells suddenly.

“Bathroom, window!” the other suspect calls.

Before you can wonder what they’re communicating, gunshots fill the house. You dive to the floor as your team talks over one another on the radio, trying to find the source of the gunfire. You roll onto your back and notice the ceiling shake quickly before the gunshots begin in a different area of the house.

“They’re in the attic!” you radio. “I’ll find access. Hondo, suspect 1 rabbited toward you.”

“Copy that,” Hondo replies. “I’ll worry about the rabbit; you get our shooter. Everyone alright?”

“30-David, all clear. Suspect 2 in custody,” Deacon replies.

“26-David, good here,” Street agrees.

“25-David, bathroom’s looking worse for wear, but I’m good,” Tan says.

“Luca?” Hondo asks.

You lift your gun and turn on the flashlight as you step onto a ceiling rafter.

“Luca, talk to me,” Hondo implores.

“LAPD,” someone says. “Put your weapon down.”

You turn to the right, and your flashlight illuminates a man standing mere feet from you. The bullet holes below you are fresh, the dust still rising from his attempt to kill you and your teammates. Luckily, he left his gun on the other side of the rafter he was standing on.

Pointing your gun at his chest, you reply, “That’s my line. Take two steps toward me and get on your knees.”

He does as you instruct, though he threatens you the entire time. After you have him in cuffs, you press the talk button on your radio and ask, “Luca?”

“Clear,” Luca replies. “I got the rabbit.”

You sigh in relief and have to stop yourself from pushing the shooter through the attic access opening.

"Luca!" you yell when he rounds Black Betty.

He opens his mouth to apologize for worrying everyone, but you crash into his arms, throwing your arms over his shoulders as you hug him. This hug is different than the rest, it’s relief and a need to feel him after being so worried for him.

“Ah, so radio silence is all it takes,” Tan teases behind you. “Here I was thinking that you had to do something dashing like save the day, climb the tower.”

Your hug then melts into the feeling that Luca has grown used to. You’re using him to hide your face and be a buffer between yourself and the rest of the team. The hug before, the new feeling, is something that Luca thinks he could get used to. Without the near-death scare, of course.

4. You hug Luca to hide when Lynch asks a personal question.

“It’s not a shotgun house,” you state, leaning on your elbows to examine the blueprints before you. “There has to be another egress route.”

“There’s only one window,” Luca hums, tapping the side wall on the paper. “This isn’t even rated for fire safety, there’s no way it’s accurate. The city would’ve tagged this blueprint before it got near records.”

“Commander Hicks!” Lynch calls outside the situation room, where you and Luca are working together. “Question for you before the IA investigation next week.”

“Sure,” Hicks answers, but you can imagine the sigh he releases.

“How long has 20 squad had interpersonal relationships?”

“Uh…”

“Romantic, I mean?”

“They don’t.”

You look up at Luca, who shrugs. “I never know what she’s talking about,” he says before pointing to another window.

“You’re kidding, right?” Lynch counters. “You mean to tell me Luca isn’t…”

Luca furrows his brows but looks at you to await what Lynch will say next. You’re both surprised when she says your name and leaves it there.

“They- they aren’t together,” Hicks answers. “Not like that.”

Luca smiles at you, and you recognize the smile. He’s about to start joking, teasing you, but you shake your head. Hiding your smile, you lean forward and tuck your face against his shoulder.

Luca laughs against you as he pulls you into a proper hug.

“Maybe she has a point,” he teases quietly. “We might as well just get married after all these hugs.”

You press your face farther into his chest, and Luca apologizes before he cheers, “There’s got to be a basement!”

5. You hug Luca to hide when he compliments you.

“Then,” Luca explains, stepping slowly to demonstrate the offensive move he’s showing you. “You’re going to swing a rear elbow, but step into it. Getting distance is part of the goal, but the power you get behind the hit gets you another leg up.”

“So, I step into it, swing a rear elbow, and come back to my guard?” you clarify. “All in one step?”

“Two if you move back to the start, but, preferably, yes.”

You nod, move through the motions slowly, then step back. As you step forward, you bring your hand alongside your face, pushing your elbow up defensively, then twist and step back. After completing the movement, you look to Luca for feedback.

“That was perfect!” he cheers. “You did it on the first try!”

Luca raises his hand, and you awkwardly high-five him. He steps closer to you, going through the movements one more time.

“Wanna try it in a mini-sparring round?” Luca offers.

You shrug, which Luca takes as a yes. When he raises his guard and steps forward to start the sparring round, you match his stance, then slip away from his first jab before you try the new elbow move he taught you.

“Yes!” he cheers with a laugh. “Amazing! One more time.”

Luca steps forward to go again, but you slide your arms under his and hug him.

“What are you-“ Luca begins. He chuckles when he realizes you are no longer sparring, and he doesn’t need to wrestle you off this time. Luca’s compliments made you shy, and the proximity of being in the ring with him made his arms the only refuge.

+1. You hug Luca to hide when all you can think about is kissing him.

“Shut up! No, she didn’t!” Tan exclaims.

“She did!” Street assures, nodding quickly. “100%, on my Ducati, the girl whose name was on the warrant stopped me on the way to the raid and asked if I’d give her a ride in the shop.”

“The LBC, huh?” Deacon asks sarcastically.

“Oh, please, like you’ve never been flirted with on duty,” Street argues. “Everyone here has been.”

“No argument here, my man, but you are the only one who likes it,” Hondo replies with a smile. “Most of us just move on, we don’t brag about it, playboy.”

Street rolls his eyes, and Luca chuckles as he stands. “Anyone need anything?”

Various declines and expressions of gratitude sound, and you stand as you quietly offer to help Luca clear the table. He accepts, and Tan and Street compare stories about women who flirt with them while in uniform. Hondo shakes his head and asks Deacon about Annie and the kids before their conversations are muted as you enter the kitchen behind Luca.

“Thanks for dinner,” you tell him as you place dishes in the sink. “When are you taking the food truck out again?”

“Car show next weekend,” Luca answers.

Luca continues talking about the food truck menu and the car show he’s attending, but you can’t think of anything except how much you want to kiss him. How long you’ve wanted to kiss him.

After years of working with him, falling for him, and being safe with him, you’re sure that Luca is everything you want. Now, you can’t even pay attention to what he’s saying because your mind is racing with thoughts of him and what you could be. If only you weren’t so shy.

“You good?” Luca asks when he notices you’ve stopped moving and haven’t spoken since your initial question.

You slowly shake your head, and Luca opens his arms, inviting you into a hiding hug because he thinks you’ve grown shy. Despite not being precisely what you want, you hug him.

You’re halfway there, you realize while Luca rubs your back comfortingly. You pull back suddenly when you find the confidence you’re looking for. Luca prepares to ask what’s wrong, his brows pinching as you move forward again.

In a second, the perfect hug you were in turns into the kiss you’ve been craving and needing desperately for years. With your hands on your shoulders, you kiss Luca, and everything else fades away. You’re not shy now, not worried about anything or anyone, just wholly involved in this moment with Luca.

When your lips hit Luca’s, he freezes. It’s only a millisecond before he recovers and wraps his arms around your waist to return the kiss.

“Hey Luca, get lost on the way-“ Street jokes as he enters the kitchen. He slides to a stop when he sees you and Luca, frozen as he watches you for several seconds. When he finds his voice again, Street yells, “Hondo!”

You whine shyly as you move back, and when you hear Hondo’s rushed footsteps past Street yelling for Deacon and Tan, you find refuge where you always do. In Luca’s arms.

[silent-stories]

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝟑 𝐀.𝐌

Pairing: Eddie x F!Hopper!Reader (adopted or not)

Summary: Your dad would never approve of your relationship with Eddie, so you sneak out for a night walk in the woods with him.

00.13 a.m

"Where are you going?" Eleven's voice reached your ears as you got out of your bed trying not to make the slightest noise that could disturb the silent night.

You turned around as your bare feet touched the wooden floor, and you found your little sister sitting on her bed looking at you quizzically and half asleep, her wavy hair falling over her eyes.

You sighed, staring at the window you'd intended to jump down that night, the moonlight was filtering through the glass and reflecting off the floor as you walked over to El's bed. "Can you keep a secret like a good sister?"

She thought about it for a moment. "Am I not a good sister?"

"What? No, of course you are, it's just that... Dad doesn't have to know, okay?" You explained, whispering and hoping that Hopper in the room next to yours was snoring loud enough to drown out your voices.

El nodded.

"I'm seeing a boy."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Is he the boy with pretty eyes you were talking about last week?"

You froze, either El was a very smart kid or you weren't paying attention at all when you were talking about Eddie with her. "Yeah...yeah he is."

"Why Hopper doesn't have to know?"

"Because when your dad is a cop and your boyfriend has already been arrested three times, family dinners might get a little awkward."

El nodded, thinking silently. "Why was he arrested?"

"The first time because he caught him selling dr..." You stopped, thinking that these weren't things El should have known, cursing the thousand questions he could every time in your mind. "It's not really important."

"He's not a bad guy, is he? Hopper says he only arrests bad guys."

A corner of your lips lifted at the thought of El worrying about you. "No. Absolutely not. A lot of people think he is but...he's not. He's sweet and...he cares about me."

A smile appeared on the girl's lips. "He's like Mike!"

"Like Mike?" You scoffed. "He's way better than Mike."

She laughed, shaking her head.

"But it's very important that you don't tell dad, okay?"

She nodded. "Okay. Good luck with the boy with pretty eyes."

You giggled, bringing a hand to ruffle her hair. "You are the best sister ever."

You pulled on the boots you'd left in the corner of the room and grabbed a jacket off a chair.

El waved to you as you slowly opened the window and sat on the edge, breathing in the fresh but not too cold air of the night.

You waved back to her and smiled before jumping out the window, your boots making a soft thud as they hit the wood of the porch.

You looked around for a moment, enjoying the silence of the night which wasn't really a silence, after all.

You could hear an owl in the distance, the croaking of frogs and the squealing of some of the small animals that lived in the woods. Two bats flew over you one after the other almost as if they were playing and you instinctively ducked so as not to collide with them.

You looked around, searching for the spot among the trees and bushes where the path that would take you to where Eddie told you you would meet started.

You breathed in the air that smelled of moss and wet grass. Then, after taking one last look at your house, you went into the woods.

00.39 a.m

When you saw him, his back was leaning against a big old looking tree, he was wearing a black shirt with a red flannel over it. As soon as he saw you a big smile appeared on his face as he walked towards you.

You'd always loved the way his face lit up whenever he saw you, as if just your presence made him happier.

It was night and probably someone would have been frightened to see a figure in the woods walking towards them, in the dark of the night illuminated only by the light of the moon, but not you, you would have recognized him even without the slightest light.

"Hey, princess. I almost thought your dad caught you." He said as he reached up to you and his lips met yours in a quick but soft kiss.

"Baby, you know I love you-"

"But?" His expression suddenly turned concerned.

"But you could have chosen a more recognizable place, I walked around this fucking wood for half an hour before I found you." You chuckled before pushing him back towards you, placing a hand behind his neck as your fingers tangled with his hair. "But you're worth it."

When your lips parted, Eddie looked at the tree he was leaning against some moments bofore. "But I described this tree to you perfectly!"

You rolled your eyes. "No, you told me it looked like Treebeard from the Lord of the Rings. And trust me, even though I've read it dozens of times it wasn't that easy to find."

He chuckled as he put his arm around your shoulders and started your night walk.

"Did you just say you've read The Lord of the Rings dozens of times?"

You huffed but raised an arm to intertwine your fingers with his. "That wasn't the point."

When you felt his fingers brushing your face, you turned your head towards his hand to leave a kiss on his knuckles.

A smirk was on his lips now. "I knew my girlfriend was a nerd."

1.26 a.m

"She has hair like yours, but her ears are pointed, because, you know, she's an elf. She's kind and always willing to help her companions but it's best not to make her mad because she's also a ruthless killer who won't hesitate to cut your insides to pieces if you do hurt her family." Eddie continued to tell you about his latest DnD campaign, describing the new characters in great detail, his arm still around your shoulders as you continued walking through the woods, following the path.

When you went out at night to meet him in the woods like that, sometimes you were afraid that you would get lost and that you would never be able to get out again, but then you always remembered that you had Eddie by your side and that if something like that happened he would turn him into a another one of your adventures.

"Her eyes the exact same shade as yours and-"

"Wait…did you base one of your characters on me?" You asked with a smirk.

"Maybe?" His uncertain tone let you know that the sincere answer would be yes.

"Well, what an honor, I wonder if-"

A sudden rustle coming from the bushes in front of you made you stop, your last words echoing in the silence of the woods.

"Did you hear that?" You asked, your voice reduced to a whisper.

"Yeah." Eddie's arm was softly pushing you behind him, as if to protect you from some possible danger but you stopped him and stayed beside him even after his glare.

"What if it's a wolf?" You asked as you continued to stare at the bushes moving.

"There are no wolves in Indiana."

"How do you know?"

"I've never seen one."

"Yes, because they usually hide behind bushes like that one."

When the snout of a weird animal popped up in the branches, your grip on Eddie's arm loosened.

"Oh, it doesn't look like a wolf."

A raccoon scrurred towards you, sniffing the ground probably looking for something to eat.

"Hey Buddy!" Eddie exclaimed as if he was saying hi to an old friend.

You brought your arms to your sides. "What? Do you know the raccoon?"

"I think it's the same one who's always hanging around the trailer area. Sometimes I leave him food." He explained with a smile on his lips as he knelt down and the raccoon approached him curiously.

"Eddie, it could carry some disease."

"Oh, shut up. Look how cute he is."

"All right, Snow White, go ahed. Don't come complaining to me when you have rabies." You commented as Eddie patted the raccoon's head like it was a puppy.

Eddie Munson.

The boy that people thought was a cult leader who worshiped the devil.

The boy who tried to hide his true feelings and his soft side to protect himself, creating an armor around himself, through which only those who really knew him could see.

Eddie Munson, who was called a "freak" by almost every single Hawkings resident, was kneeling in the mud to pet a raccoon, claiming he was "cute".

When he stood up, you instinctively pushed him towards you for a kiss, his lips were warm even if the night was cool.

He smiled. "What was this for?"

"Because you are so fucking pretty."

He scoffed. "Pretty? I'm not pr-"

He didn't have time to reply that your lips were on his again."Don't argue with me."

A kind of squeak, after a few minutes, made you separate.

Between your feet, walked four little raccoons, their black and white muzzles pointed at you, as if asking what the hell you were doing in the woods in the middle of the night.

"I think your raccoon is a mom."

Eddie chuckled when one of them tried to climb up your leg, falling after a few seconds.

"Who is Snow White now?"

"Oh, shut up."

2.00 a.m

"I don't wanna do that anymore." You said as you sat next to Eddie at the foot of one of the trees around Lover's Lake.

The moonlight reflected off the water surface creating an atmosphere of complete calm and the croaking of the frogs was all around you.

Eddie turned to you with a worried expression, you could almost see his anxiety suddenly rise and you cursed your choice of words.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"No!" You exclaimed, perhaps a little too quickly. "No, absolutely not. I meant hiding."

"Hiding?"

"Going out at night, you know. I want to tell my father about us." You explained.

A gust of wind rustled the leaves and nearly drowned out Eddie's only word. "Oh."

"Is that a problem?"

"Not for me. It sure will be for him though. I don't think he likes me very much." He added the last part with a not-quite-genuine chuckle, probably thinking back to all the times he'd been arrested before.

"Eddie, I love you. So he'll get over it."

He pulled you closer to him, until you sat between his legs, and planted a kiss on your head as you rested your back against his chest. "I love you too" He murmured. "But I'm not sure your family would approve."

"Oh, my sister already knows about us." You commented, saying it like it was nothing important, but waiting for his reaction.

"What?"

You raised your head slightly towards him, your nose brushed his cheek.

"She caught me sneaking out." You explained. "But she said she's happy for us."

Eddie let out what felt like a sigh of relief.

"Good, because I don't want the little girl with superpowers against me." He chuckled.

"I would protect you with my life." You were joking, even though what you were saying wasn't too far from reality.

He giggled when you dropped a few kisses on his neck, since you couldn't reach his face from your position.

"And what about your father?" he asked after a few moments.

"He's never even given you a fine. And trust me, he usually gives a lot of them. I think he kinda likes you already."

"But he put handcuffs on me once."

"And you ran away and kept them."

His laughter echoed through the trees as his chest vibrated against your back. "I did."

"No, but seriously." You added. "I wanna tell him. And if he doesn't approve, fuck him. I'm happy when I'm with you."

Eddie held you tighter, but, as always, careful not to hurt you, enjoying the last few moments together before you both have to go home.

"He's really gonna put me in jail, this time."

You chuckled, shaking your head.

"I'll post bail."

3.14 am

You knew something was wrong when you saw that the light in your room was on.

Getting in from the window, you found yourself in front of Hopper, sitting on your bed with his arms crossed over his chest and the most pissed expression ever.

"I swear I didn't say anything!" El exclaimed, sitting cross-legged on her bed. You knew from her almost desperate tone that she meant it.

"You are up early this morning, aren't you?" You asked with a half laugh, trying to defuse.

"There are two options." He said curtly pointing an accusing finger at you. "You're either a werewolf or you owe me an explanation."

You thought about it for a moment.

"I am a werewolf?"

Not even El could hold back a laugh.

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat @michaelfuckinglangdon

[kiingkiismet]

Ok, so Joe dropped out of the race. Awesome! Next order of business—vote for Kamala.

“Isn’t she a cop/didn’t she cause damage to the ___ community??/she’s just as bad as Joe!!!”

Here’s the thing. No matter who you have in office, they will always have blood on their hands somehow, some way, as getting to a position like that requires you to step on multiple people’s shoes and worse. There is no ethical option by default. However, there’s a little funky little thing called ✨nuance✨. You are not (and should not) be voting for a candidate based on your own moral individual standing. What you need to do, is vote for the person who is going to cause the least amount of damage to those who are most vulnerable—I.e. people of color, LGBTQ, disabled folk, immigrants, and so on.

NO, it shouldn’t have to be like this, but it is. Individualism is going to be your downfall if you want to die on that hill. At the end of the day, people on the right will not care if you do die on that hill, in fact, they’d prefer if you were just dead in general to be brutally honest with you. So, on top of your protesting (which did work! Joe dropped out because of poor voter turnout and low approval), exercise whatever rights we have left to beat that shriveled up orange since this IS an alternative and arguably better candidate that we’ve been asking for. Not perfect, but leagues better and isn’t an old white man for once.

The goal here is harm reduction, that’s what this is. Get your ass out in November and beat Trump’s ass because she is better than a literal wanna be dictator who plans on stripping everyone’s rights day one. Be so real.

And before anyone tells me that I’m selfish—I am literally speaking as a disabled, transgender black dude. We are already LIVING the horrors that white people are now suddenly aware of because it’s only now threatening you. Don’t tell me shit that we’ve already been living and aware of for decades before you and HAVE told you.

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hihi, love your writing. Just sending over a request for a male reader (could be ftm if you'd life) with Hobie Brown? So basically the reader is apart of the organisation too and is a spiderman (could be possibly like a rock and/or punk based spiderman, or something completely opposite it's up to you) and it's how he had met Hobie and how they got close? I can send more details over if you'd like, thanks!

Hobie Brown x Male reader

Headcanons

I couldnt find any gifs of hobie yet, so just have this one.

Spoilers for Across the Spiderverse I guess? Reader is a Juggalo because I like ICP lmao.

You were one of the Spidermen that stood out somewhat amongst every other spiderperson around. You suit was white and black and had Juggalo features painted on the face. You wore a baggy ICP t-shirt and black shorts, maybe even a jacket or battle vest covered in patches. You wore a pair of heavy boots as well, perfect for kicking ass.

Along with that you didn’t respect the machine, aka the people in charge, as much as everyone else. You liked fighting and busting fascist and racist heads, you didn’t get involved with cops, and you were stubborn like a mule. This resulted in Miguel hating you because you were so difficult, but you were one of the best, so he kept you around.

You really liked fighting, which could be seen in the claws you added to your gloves, the brass knuckles worked into your suit, or the hard covering on your knees perfect for kneeing people in the chin. Those were only the visible ones, but you had many other hidden gizmos. This made you a bit of an outcast amongst the spiderpeople, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care about anyone’s approval but your own.

When Hobie joined the organization, it had been for Gwen’s sake in the beginning, since he himself doesn’t care much for large organizations with one leader who makes all the decisions. He puts up with it though, since its his duty to be spiderman.

Color him intrigued when one day he, Gwen and Jessica are called to Miguel’s area. When they arrive, they first see Miguel pacing back and forth rubbing his temples in clear annoyance, and second, they see a spiderman perched on the wall with little respect in his posture, roasting Miguel from head to toe.

Hobie already liked you from just that, but when you jump down to introduce yourself and he sees the anti-capitalism and anti-cop patches on your jacket? He might have fallen in love.

You, Gwen and Hobie were sent on a mission together, and you and Hobie got along like a house on fire. Gwen joked about being a third wheel the entire time, but she was just entertained about how well you two got along.

Outside of missions Hobie and you hang out most of the time, jumping into each other’s dimensions and just spending time at the others place. Hobies place is as punk rock as you can imagine, with all his instruments and an organized mess going on.

Your place is more what you’d imagine from someone who listens to rap, hiphop and ICP. You got a lot of music, casettes, cds, anything you can imagine. Lotsa posters or homemade merch stapled to the wall, etc.

When Hobie and Gwen make their band, you are invited of course, you are the singer. You can rap up a storm and speak so fast its hard for them to keep up some days. Hobie won’t admit it for a while, but hearing you spit bars makes his heart flutter.

Gwen would tease the both of you for having a crush on the other, which you both deny, because you are both cool and having crushes isn’t cool.

Gwen jokes about you two being boyfriends after you accidentally wear each other’s vest after spending the night at Hobies’ place. You both just roll your eyes at her and roast her with no actual heat, just doing it how friends would do it.

You both start dating at some point, neither of you can pinpoint when. One day you two just find yourselves cuddling on your rundown patched up couch without your masks on, cuddling and kissing.

Neither of you ever actually ask if you are boyfriends now or not, because you both know you are. It takes a while for Gwen and Pavitr a while to realize you two are together, since you don’t actually act any different.

Its only when they see you pull up his mask and your own to kiss him before going on a mission that it clicks for the both of them. They both whine that neither of you actually told them you were together.

When the movie happens you peace out the same moment as Hobie, having stolen your own tech so you two can keep visiting each other even if you aren’t part of the organization anymore.

Neither of you were ever big parts of being part of it anyways and only stayed for each other and for your friends, but seeing how Miguel deals with the whole Miles situation, you agree you need to leave.

You work together to make the watch for Gwen so she can save Miles. You two might join her too if needed, especially you, because you will take any chance to knock Miguel on his ass, maybe knock out those cheesy fangs of his.

Like I said, you hate authority. And since Miguel is authority, you hate him. Hobie follows after you because hes whipped and loves you deeply, plus he knows you can get kinda careless at times, so he has to pull you outta trouble if he needs.

You are both so grossly whipped for each other, it makes Gwen and Pavitr gag, though its fake gagging. You share clothes, instruments. You do his eyeliner and paint his nails, he does your Juggalo face paint. He always makes sure to give you a big kiss, which just wipes the paint onto his lips too.

[peaxhygirl]

𝙰𝚁𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙾 𝙰𝚁𝙴𝚃𝙰𝚂 𝚇 𝙵𝙴𝙼𝙰𝙻𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁

: ̗̀➛𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚏𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎 𝙾𝙲

: ̗̀➛𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: On the final night of an AMMO investigation their bust is blown up by an unexpected party.

: ̗̀➛𝙰𝙽: Hey y'all! This is my first time writing in a while, so it hope it doesn't suck lmao. Let me know if you guys are interested in this series cause I got lots more to come!

AMMO's newest addition to the team was Armando Aretas. That's right, the same Armando Aretas that had been a convicted drug dealer, cop killer, and fugitive.

It took some serious string pulling but Rita and Judy managed to get Armando amnesty due to his help with bringing down Lockwood and McGrath. It took a while, but they managed to get it done. In exchange, he needed to work with Miami PD.

Armando was a dangerous man, that was true enough, but he was also an asset. Better to have him on your team than to be against him. Plus, it helped everyone keep an eye on him. He hadn't quite earned the trust of those in his new life.

There was a part of him that didn't care. He'd lived this long without the approval or validation of others, so what was different? Then there was a part of him that wanted to put that behind him. His previous life was a tiresome one.

AMMO had been steaking out a night club for about a week. They'd finally gathered enough proof for them to carry out their raid. Tonight was the night, they just needed to get the green light from their UC.

"Yo, Mike. You think we could stop at that hot dog shack on the corner after this?" Marcus attempted to whisper but the small space in the truck provided no privacy. "Hell no, Marcus. Teresa just said your cholesterol was sky high and you gained about three pounds this month."

"Uh.., now, see. Did you have to put my business out there like that, Mike?" Armando shook his head. His father and surrogate uncle were admittedly the best part of his new life, even if they were annoying. "Will you two shut up?" He muttered.

Kelly and Dorn's smirks of amusement always seemed to be present whenever they were with the three men. "Hey hey hey. What's happening?"

Armando's eyes locked on the commotion breaking out on the scene. The place was getting swarmed. Their UC hadn't sent the signal so it sure as shit wasn't them. A woman appeared on screen gun drawn and shouting for everybody to get down. "Who the fuck is that?"

After the raid ended, AMMO exited their van. Armando charging over to the woman who was speaking to who he could only assume she was debriefing to. This woman was clearly police, but she wasn't with them, so as far as he was concerned-- She was out of line. The area was lit up with flashing red and blue lights, cops littered throughout the parking lot, but he was zeroed in on her.

"What the fuck was that and who the fuck are you?" His accent thick in anger at this woman who'd just blew up his mission. His first big chance at showing the team he was really with them.

"Excuse me? You better back the fuck up that's who the fuck I am. Who the fuck are you?" She was feisty that's for sure, responding to him in the same way he'd come at her. In all honesty, it'd taken her a moment to register he was speaking to her because, what?? His hostility towards her was at an all time high for someone who she'd never laid eyes on before.

"Your little raid fucked up our cocaine bust." His nostrils flared in anger as he stepped to the woman a few inches shorter than him. "Or maybe your cocaine bust got in the middle of my prostitution bust." She shot back. "Again, who the hell are you?" The low rasp of his voice was venomous. "I don't answer to you, I don't even know who you are. Let's start with that before charging over here like you hot shit or something."

Armando opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Marcus. "Hey! Ok, everyone. Let's just calm down." Marcus laughed nervously, stepping between the two of them. "Miss, I'm so sorry for Armando. You know, it's that Latin fire in 'em. Hard to turn off. Um, I'm Marcus and We're AMMO. You are?"

"Raven." Her tone softened but her eyes still blazed with anger in the direction of the young male, who was admittedly cute but clearly had her fucked up. "Vice."

[glimmeringwinchester]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

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

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

series: love was the law

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You never even mentioned them, Dad.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gracie, I didn’t–”

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What reason?” Sam scoffs. 

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[artyandink]

i like me better | cj braxton

Summary: Just two childhood best friends, going to ESU together after transferring from Boston Bay College. They’re prepped to have fun, lose sleep and complete essays. But there was a massive tiny problem. CJ’s struggling with a breakup, she’s struggling to help him and they’re both grappling with the realisation that they might be something more.

A/N - Lemme know if you want me to write more CJ! Based off ‘I Like Me Better’ by Lauv :), and this is my first reader story!

TW: Mentions of alcoholism, hurt/angst, breakup, mentions of depression, borderline panic attack(?), idiots in love, tooth-rotting fluff and cuddles, making out (lemme know if there’s anything else)

i like me better (when i'm with you)

Saturday 4th September, 2004 - 09:45 

I was gonna slap this man and ruin his perfect face.

“Hey.” CJ’s hand gripped my shoulder, gently rubbing it and staying so close to me that I could catch the warm, inviting scent of caramel and… mm, coffee. But no, I must stay strong. “C’mon, wake up.” I heard a small noise, as if he was setting something down, and his now free hand made its way into my hair, gently massaging my scalp. “Please?”

“No.” I grumbled, keeping my eyes firmly shut as I laid on my stomach, my head turned away from him as I determinedly tried to keep sleeping. But then again, you can’t force sleep. And as a college student, I know very well that sleep is something coveted. Extremely coveted. But then he started peeling the blanket off, his other hand rubbing my back, arms and over my shirt so I wouldn’t get cold. The touch soothed my tense muscles, and I resigned to the fact that CJ has powers. He could melt me with just one brush of his fingers.

“You’re not still mad at me, are you?” His voice sounded playfully upset, as his hand continued to massage my hair, gently brushing some out of the way. “Uncle Bill told me that you didn’t beat him in a game of poker last night.” My only response was a huff, which told him everything. “Look, m’sorry, sweetheart. Don’t be mad.” I was gonna be mad. I came back from a walk because he said he was attending a college party to find him face down on the sofa, blabbering in slurred words about Jen, the stink of vodka, tequila and beer stinging my senses. It wasn’t pretty, neither were the hurling sounds I’d heard the next morning.

“You broke your sobriety.” I complained into the pillow, my voice muffled by it, but I wanted to turn back around. Hug him, kiss his hair and tell him it would all be ok. Stroke his cheek, kiss his nose and call him my ‘sweet boy’, because that’s what he is. Even if Jen broke him and in turn was the catalyst for him breaking his sobriety. But he… had to learn the hard way. Right? 

“And I’m sorry, but please… look at me.”

“Uh-uh. Learn your lesson.”

“Lesson learnt. C’mon, I brought you a caramel frappuccino. As a peace offering.” At the mention of coffee, I shot up, looking to see the takeaway cup on the bedside table. I grabbed it, holding it to my chest like a baby as I took a sip, humming in approval at the taste. I saw his sparkling green eyes, those pouty lips stretched in a small smile as I accepted his peace offering. “So, you took the bribe.”

“I’m not a cop. I’ll take as many bribes as I damn well please.” I smirked a little, taking another sip and pausing when I realised that even though patience was a virtue that I needed to learn, so was gratitude, that I needed to express.

Because, if he was appeasing me, he wasn’t as mad as I thought because of my silent treatment.

“Thank you.” My voice was a murmur when I said it, because I did feel guilty for giving him the silent treatment. I always felt guilty for being mad at those puppy eyes.

“No problem, sweetheart.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear with a tilt of his head that made my bones warm up and shiver at the same time. His shaggy brown hair was combed neatly, and he wore his favourite sweater- the brown one with the buttons undone. It also looked amazing on him. Really good. “Can you forgive me?”

“You’re partially forgiven.” I muttered, taking another sip of the coffee, which felt rather like a shield. I was guilty because CJ didn’t deserve my criticism.

He was just… heartbroken.

And I wasn’t making things better, not by ridiculing him for having human emotion.  It felt like sharp rocks in my stomach- like I was feeling a pain that wasn’t even mine in the first place. Like they’d cut so deep I’d bleed through my repentance.

“I’ll take partially.” He reached over tentatively to squeeze my hand, my own feeling so small in his. “Because I don’t want you being that mad for too long. I hate your silent treatment.”

“I hate my silent treatment too, but…” I sighed, “I can’t, you know, see you like that. I know it’s selfish.” The moment I finished my sentence, I felt another bout of gentle pressure on my hand, coupled by the corner of his lips turning down.

“It’s not selfish.” CJ assured, his thumb rubbing soothingly over my knuckles. “You’re looking out for me, and that’s not selfish.”

I started to hyperventilate, short gasps coming from my mouth as I thought about how heartbreaking the scene of CJ, on the couch, crying out his heart was. His rosy cheeks shining with tears, green eyes going down the red colour spectrum and his shirt stained with the salty liquid. “What if Jen had gone about this differently? Had she not insulted you publicly? What if I’d spoken up, or helped you more, o-or-”

I was instantly drawn into his chest, his hand setting the frappe aside as his arms wrapped firmly around me. My cheek was resting against the soft fuzz and fluff of his sweater that felt like a blanket. Like he was protecting me for something I didn’t deserve protection for. I was hurting him, unnecessarily. 

“Shh.” His hand cupped my cheek, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb while the other went securely around my waist, pulling me into his lap and holding me there. “You’ve done all you can. Don’t beat yourself up over this, ok?”

“I could’ve done more-”

“Shh…” He rocked me in his arms ever so slightly, his nose buried in my hair as he inhaled the scent of my shampoo.

CJ felt like he had sharp rocks in his stomach. That weighed him down and pierced at him until he felt like he’d bleed. Jen was never a bad person. She had her flaws, as did everyone else, and she truly was good at heart. But when she dropped him with seldom an explanation, avoiding his every advance and not touching him with a ten foot pole, he wished he could hate her for it. But he couldn’t help but think it was something to do with him. Now here his best friend was, curled up on his lap and blaming herself for his problems.

He was being a major ass.

His arm tightened again, almost as if to envelop me in his comfort and protection. “It was never your responsibility to pull my drunk ass off the floor.” He gave me a kiss on my temple, his voice a low, deep murmur. “Never was, never is and never will be. Please cheer up.” He gave me a kiss on my cheek, humming a little. A smile started to tug at my lips, so he matched the warm expression and bent his head down again.

His pillowy lips pried the rain clouds in my head apart, sweet pecks on my cheeks paired with honeyed nothings in my ear. His kisses felt like stamps on my cheek, marking me as his without leaving anything but a rosy hue on my skin. To tell the truth, I was always his. Ever since I found out what the weird butterflies in my stomach meant. What the weird tingly feeling I had whenever he flashed that winning smile at me meant. Ever since I started seeing his adorable little pout when he was playfully mad and finding myself wanting to kiss him until I couldn’t breathe and neither could he.

Sunlight streamed through the dark clouds as he rubbed soothing circles onto my waist over my sweatshirt, the other holding my knee over my grey sweatpants as his hair tickled my temple from the angle where he’d bent his head to press his lips against my cheek, outlining any freckle he found until I was a sunny, happy, giggling, blushing thing in his arms. “You’re forgiven.”

“Eh, that’s it.” He chuckled deeply, giving me one last squeeze by his strong arms before cupping my cheeks and placing one last kiss on my hairline. “There she is; attagirl. Now, I was on the phone with Uncle Bill before you woke up. He wants you to stop letting him win otherwise he’ll stop betting money and replace it with dental floss.”

“Can’t have that.” I giggled, shaking my head. Uncle Bill was also like my own family at this point, and since I was a good hand at poker, we always played rounds on Friday nights that I always won and gained some cash from. But I wasn’t really in the mood to win yesterday. Not when the previous week, I’d found CJ drunk off his rocker on our couch. “I’ll go hard on him next time.”

“You better. Don’t want him getting a big head, do we?” His fingers played with mine, tracing each delicate one before lifting my hand to his lips and brushing them over every knuckle before he turned my hand over and let them tease the inside of my wrist. “Now, c’mon. We need to be productive.”

“Define productive.”

“Beating Toad on Mario Kart.”

“Yep, that’s productive.”

Monday 6th September, 2004 - 07:30

CJ groaned when he felt the light from the window burn his eyes, his hand reaching up to block it until his poor eyelids and pupils could adjust to the intense rays that blinded him. That’s when he saw a figure outlined by the light like an angel, silhouette blurry as he blinked rapidly and his head picked up. But the person standing there was no angel. To him, she was a goddess. His best friend.

“You ass.” He chuckled as he rolled out of bed, grabbing his sweatshirt as he stood up. “You take pride in seeing me looking like a hedgehog in the morning.” His voice got more low as he pulled his grey sweatshirt on, but then he walked over to me, cupping my cheeks and pressing a tender kiss to my forehead. “Mornin’, sweetheart.”

“Morning, sweet boy.” I giggled, playfully rubbing where he’d kissed. That made him let out a fake incredulous gasp, swatting my arm.

“Hey! You just rubbed off the magic.” He took my chin gently, tilting it to kiss my forehead again. “There, all sorted. Now, don’t go rubbing it, ok?”

“Fine, fine, I won’t rub ‘the magic’ off.” I air-quoted the phrase with a sarcastic drawl, which earned an eyebrow raise and a teasing smirk from CJ as he then seized me by the waist, starting to tickle my sides. The sensation almost made my knees give way as I shrieked a little, a gasp escaping my mouth as I attempted to wriggled out of his grip. “Hey- CJ!” I was breathless in between laughs, his own chuckles deep in my ear as I squirmed. “C’mon, don’t-don’t do this to me, it isn’t fair-”

“It’s fair.” He smirked before using his grip to lift me up and started walking, planting my feet in the kitchen. I pouted at him, but it slowly turned into a smirk as I began tickling the back of his neck. He shied away instantly, his neck seizing up as he backed off with raised hands in surrender. “Hey! No fair!”

“It’s fair.” I smirked as I passed by, giving him a peck on the cheek before moving to make our coffee. Behind my back, CJ raised a tentative hand to his cheek, touching the spot which I kissed as he licked his lips, biting them as they stretched into a goofy grin. His cheeks flushed red as what three words threatened to spill from his lips, but even as the expression and thought remained like it was burned there, he couldn’t understand why he had the urge to smile whenever he saw his best friend. Why he wanted to pull her closer, brush his lips over hers and maybe even make out against the kitchen counter, her hand in his hair while his bunched up the soft material of her sweatshirt and felt her soft thighs through those baggy sweatpants. Leaving a trail of fire down her neck, no match, lighter and gasoline- just his lips. Hearing sounds that he knew would be sweet as honey. Holding her in the morning, being the last thing she saw before she fell asleep and the first thing her eyes met when she woke up.

He was still hung up on Jen. But here his best friend was, with her tendency to always wear sweatpants that flattered her paired with a rope braid that always had a few strands of hair loose that he was itching to tuck behind her ear. Not to mention that she always had a twinkle in her eye when she looked at him, paired with a pouty smile on her pretty pink lips that he just wanted to kiss until they were swollen. He wanted her to kiss his lips until they were swollen.

He wanted to be hers. At least, he always was, but he wanted to add a label to it.

Wait, he wanted to add a label to it?

“Here. Caffeine fix.” I passed him a mug of steaming hot coffee that snapped him out of his reverie while I sipped my own cup, both of ours exactly how we both liked it. Creamer and two teaspoons of sugar. “Should be enough for our first day at Empire State University.”

“Orientation and everything.” He chuckled, looking up at the ceiling as he sipped his coffee with a low moan of approval. “Tastes great, sweetheart. Anyway, I doubt we’d be separated. Not after we put in special requests to dorm together.”

The statement made me giggle, his pouty lips wavering my focus for a second as he gulped down a second sip of the sweet coffee. “Exactly. Who could possibly match our energy? It’s impossible.”

Monday 6th September, 2004 - 09:24

“M’already five minutes into this lecture and I’m getting bored.” CJ groaned, leaning his head on my shoulder and inhaling the scent of my body wash as the Psychology lecturer droned and on about the basics of psychology in a monotone voice that evidently suggests that he does not want to be here. And now I’m writing an English literature analysis essay in my brain, which is not helping. Everyone had already bothered to study up on psychology basics, so the class was full of chucking crumpled notes about to make friends, and there was even a couple called Gavin and Stacey with their lips locked in the back of the hall.

It was a mess.

“Tell me about it.” I sighed, taking a long sip from my water bottle as I leaned my head on CJ’s, his cologne dizzying me for a moment. My fingers began playing with his hair, winding the soft, floppy strands around my fingers loosely. He yawned into the crook of my neck, his eyelashes fluttering as he took deep breaths and tried to focus himself but failing miserably.

“Help.” He murmured, letting out a small puff of breath as I doodled in my notebook. “M’bored.”

In order to combat his boredom, I ripped a sheet of paper quietly out of a refill book I had in my bag and placed it on the table, drawing a 3x3 table. “Tic Tac Toe?”

“Don’t mind if I do.” We played a couple rounds of it, all of which ended up with CJ winning because he insisted he started first and always pulled out the puppy dog eyes if I so much as refused. Obviously, I couldn’t protest any longer otherwise I’d lean in to kiss that pout away. My hand on his cheek or running through his silky hair, leaning in with soft giggles to get addicted to those lips and soft smiles all over again. Seeing him on top of me, looking at me with that warmth in his eyes that I always saw him look at Jen with. Hearing his groans in my ear, alone in his bed as he whispered sweet nothings to me while his lips trailed a path of sin over my skin. Clothes hitting the floor in a dimly lit room. Being the first thing he saw when he woke up and the last thing he saw before he slept.

But that’s all an unreachable, lucid dream, right?

Friday 22nd October, 2004 - 17:12

CJ and I crept up the driveway of Uncle Bill’s house, hunched over even though there was nothing to hide from as we giggled like crazy. Our pinkies were intertwined, as we both registered how stupid-ass we looked, snickering like little gremlins as we reached the door, CJ’s hand lifting to rap on the door how he usually did, followed by him putting his spare key into the lock as we opened the door. Uncle Bill’s house looked homely, cozy even, but only because CJ and I made it so because the elderly man didn’t really have a penchant for decorating. We wiped out feet on the welcome mat, grins on our faces as we hung up our coats on the rack beside the door. “Uncle Bill?” CJ called out with a chuckle, and I set down my grocery bag to take off my shoes, CJ following suit.

“Don’t ignore us, c’mon.” I giggled, and then the old man grunted from the living room, responding to us.

“Don’t just lurk in there, you two. C’mere.” We shared a look as CJ and I walked into the living room, where CJ’s Uncle Bill was sat on the sofa, elbows deep in a soap opera. When he saw us, he stood up, shuffling over with a smile. “Hey, kiddo.” He grinned at CJ, who hugged him. “Nice to know you haven’t forgotten this old geezer.”

“Oh, never.” CJ responded casually as Bill clapped the former’s shoulder before he turned his attention to me.

“Ah.” He took a good look at me. “You haven’t gotten any taller. CJ still looks like a tree.”

“A handsome tree, I hope.” CJ smirked, then nudged me. “You do look like a forest fairy sometimes.”

“Shut up, I tried my hardest. Plus, 5’ 7” isn’t bad, you 6’ 1” yeti.” I chuckled as I hugged Bill, swaying a bit. I’d known Uncle Bill since I could talk, same as CJ, so we were practically family at this point. And even though he was a grouchy ‘old geezer’, I still loved the ‘old geezer’ as if he was my own uncle. “Good to see you, Uncle Bill.”

“You too, sweetheart.” He patted my back, then took a look at us both with a proud smile. “I remember when you two were small little munchkins. Bawling every other minute. Now look at you both, all grown up. In college, together. I swear, you’re joined at the goddarn hip.” He reached up to pat our cheeks, then frowned in confusion. “You sure you two ain’t datin’ yet?”

“No, Uncle Bill, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” CJ raised a warning hand paired with a smug smirk. “I’m way out of her league.”

I picked up a newspaper from the side table, rolling it up and slapping him in the head with it. “Shut it, I’m way out of your league.” Then I turned to Bill, holding up the bag of groceries that we’d picked up for him. “Shall we?” I walked off with the elderly man, setting the newspaper to the side.

CJ chuckled to himself as he watched me walk off, in his hoodie and my sweatpants that made me look like an angel but a walking temptation at the same time. “Yes, you are.” He muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck while biting his lip. To him, his best friend was unattainable. With those dimples, eyes and those sweet smiles.

The evening was spent with rounds of poker that I won every time, Uncle Bill complaining about something or the other in his house over glasses of juice, punch and water. CJ hadn’t had much practice at poker, so he was finding it hard to keep up with the skill of the likes of regular players such as Bill and I. That resulted in quite a bit of teasing and playful ruffles of hair, and me having to kiss CJ’s cheek to appease him and take that grumpy little pout off his face.

“C’mon, boy, buck up.” Bill gruffly ordered, dealing another round. “You just need practice.”

“Let me guess…” CJ deadpanned, “practice makes perfect, don’t be sad, because it’s not about winning and it’s about having fun.”

“Wrong. It is about winning, cause you win money. It’s all about the money.”

“Yeah, Cee.” I smirked, giggling as I counted the amount of twenty dollar bills that I’d earned so far. I was sure I’d empty Uncle Bill’s pocket soon. “It’s about the money.”

“You two are addicts.” CJ huffed, shaking his head with a laugh. “You’re as bad as each other.”

“Sore loser.” Uncle Bill snorted.

“Yeah, sore loser.” I snickered before taking my dealt hand.

Hours later, we were in the middle of a round of poker when we looked to Uncle Bill and found that he was fast asleep, starting to snore. I giggled, setting down my cards and gesturing to CJ. “Pack this up, I’ll get him to bed.” As I turned my back, moving to put a blanket over Uncle Bill, CJ’s phone lit up with a text.

A clearly drunken series of texts.

Jen: I miss you

Jen: Come back

Jen: Pleeassse, CJ

Jen: Ily so much

Jen: Cmonnn, give me another chance

Those texts made everything come crashing down again. All those suppressed emotions and focusing on anything but Jen and now she was texting him, drunk. Tears welled in his eyes as he struggled to keep them down, burying himself with the task of cleaning up the cards until he felt a hand on his hair, a gentle hand taking the pack of cards out of his hands and set it down.

Next thing he knew, he was in the spare bedroom upstairs, curled up with his head in his best friend’s lap while he cried his eyes out into her grey sweatpants, leaving water stains behind as he tasted salt.

I stroked his hair, fighting the urge to cry myself as I cradled him like I did back when he had his depression spell. I whispered words of encouragement and love to him, trying to make him feel the slightest bit better as those pretty green eyes steadily turn redder by the second.

I had to stop the cycle somehow, but I wasn’t sure how to.

Sunday 7th November 2004 - 15:48

CJ and I were writing our Psychology essays on my bed, discussing ideas to reach the 3000 word minimum requirement. The room was filled with our low rumbles of conversation, flipping of book pages and the scratching of pens on paper. But his eyes kept on flicking curiously to me, his lips pursed slightly as he noted how our time right now didn’t consist of giggles, jokes and playful pecks on the cheek paired with cuddling. It was somber, almost quiet, and he could sense that with my loving glances, there was a small weight to them that he couldn’t explain, but he knew I could.

“Hey.” He reached out, brushing my curtain bangs out of my face. His head tilted as he gazed into my eyes, finding only a sadness that he didn’t like to see. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing, Cee.” I whispered, but he thumbed my bottom lip with a soft frown. His eyes looked so worried, it ached my heart and it ached his too, seeing me without my usual smile. My lips parted in a silent gasp, my breath hitching as I closed my eyes to steady myself before opening them and taking a good look at him.

I wanted to say what three words so badly.

But he was hurting.

“Looks far from nothing to me.” His thumb on my lip tried to push them up into a smile, but when one didn’t come, he pulled me into his arms. It was like we had a psychic link. Whenever one of us were upset, the other was. If one was guilty, the other would try and find any reason whatsoever to feel the same.

Right now?

I felt lost, just as lost as CJ.

I didn’t feel lost when I was curled up on his lap, my head in the crook of his neck while he rocked me gently. I didn’t feel lost in the slightest when he murmured affirmations into my ear along with little kisses. I didn’t feel lost when his fingers brushed my cheek and his lips wiped away the one tear on my cheek that dared to escape my eyes, his fingers soothing the following ones.

I knew that if he let me go, I’d feel just as lost as ever. Unsure how to help him and unsure how long we’d pass the hot potato in the form of negative emotions that manifested as per their own will back and forth like a pendulum. It was a cycle.

One of us got upset, the other cuddled with them until the sniffles went away. Then vice versa, and it would… never… stop. I just wanted it to stop.

“I’ve got you.” He whispered into my ear, kissing the spot beside it as he drew comforting circles on my back. “S’gonna be ok, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You can tell me what’s up when you’re ready, ‘k?”

“You’re hurting.” I whispered, gripping his grey Henley in a tight fist. He let out a long breath through his nose before nuzzling it in my hair. “It hurts when you hurt.”

“Sweet girl.” He whispered, sounding like he was physically pained to hear those words. “I may be hurting, but please don’t-don’t do that to yourself, ok? I’m almost over Jen, just hold out on me a bit longer, y’hear? I can’t see you like this. I just need that beautiful smile, ok?”

“Please be ok.” I whispered. “Soon. I’m so mad at Jen, but she-she’s not even a bad person, so I can’t fully hate her.”

“I feel the same way.” He kissed my hair. “But this is affecting you, so I’ll try my hardest to get better. I promise.”

“Don’t do this just for me.” I pleaded quietly. “Do it for yourself, too.”

“I’ll try.” He whispered, still rocking me. “Let’s set down these essays, and take a break. We can watch Johnny English together to cheer you up. I know I’ve been holdin’ out on watching it, but I can make an exception.”

I sniffed, looking up at him with watery eyes. “Really?”

“Really.” He kissed my cheek, then swept me into a bridal carry, his strong arms cradling me to his chest as he walked over to the sofa, laying me down. “Just lay back and relax, sweetheart. I’ll get the popcorn.”

The rest of the night was spent with loud laughs, comforting kisses as he held me close under the blanket. I couldn’t help but look at his perfect side profile as he stared at the TV with a wide grin on his face as he chuckled at Rowan Atkinson’s shenanigans on the flashing screen. His face illuminated in the dark room (the blinds were drawn) looked so peaceful, his arm around my shoulder and a few strands of hair brushing over his forehead that I wanted to move with my fingertips.

Instead I snuggled into his chest, his arms instinctively cocooning me in his embrace. CJ closed his eyes, wanting to do all of this all over again but this time with us kissing each other’s lips and telling each other ‘I love you’.

I’m in love with you.

I’ve fallen for you.

I’m hopelessly addicted to you.

The words were right there, but he choked up at the last moment.

You’re my best friend.

You’re my rock.

My everything.

It was easy to say in his head, but not so much out loud.

You’re my universe, sweetheart. Ever since we could talk.

Sunday 19th December, 2004 - 18:26

We were celebrating Uncle Bill’s birthday, so, naturally, we were over at his house. Even better for Uncle Bill, Grams, or Evie, as Bill knew her, was coming over to visit. So I’d finished dressing up in a plaid dress, putting a belt over it and letting my hair loose for once. I ran a comb through it, and I could barely remember the last time I dressed up was my graduation. I put one last swipe of lip gloss on, then opened the door and descended down the stairs nervously. Uncle Bill and Grams had their backs to me, but CJ’s eyes lit on fire when he looked up from the lively conversation to see me standing there. He instantly stood up so fast he almost toppled over the armrest of the sofa, his jaw almost hitting the floor.

“You…” A grin twitched at his lips as he made his way over to me in a daze, taking my hand and twirled me, “look stunning. My god, sweetheart. But… personally?” His lips brushed my ear and his voice lowered to a murmur. “You look even better in sweatpants.”

“Oh, shush, you.” I snickered, and then we saw Uncle Bill and Grams’ eyes on both of us with smirks on their faces. The air turned awkward, but then CJ lifted my hand to his mouth to kiss my knuckle before interlocking our pinkies as they dropped.

“You look beautiful, darling.” Grams smiled affectionately, gesturing for us to come over and sit down.

“Thank you, Grams.” I grinned.

“Like a Barbie doll, sweetheart.” Bill added, but got swatted on the arm by Grams. “What? Y’all can compliment her but I can’t?”

“That’s not what I’m saying, honey, and you know it.” She laid a hand on Bill’s forearm. “How about I go with CJ to get your cake ready, hm?” She looked keenly towards CJ, who clapped his hands and rubbed them together, going with Grams, who shuffled into the kitchen with CJ. The cake was already laid out, which planted some confusion in the poor boy’s mind.

“Was this some masterful plot to get me to talk about something?” He asked with a raised eyebrow as Grams shut the door behind them.

“You got that right, young man.” Grams gave him a smile, then gestured for him to sit on the barstool in the kitchen. He obliged, sitting his apprehensive ass down before he had the mind to complain or object. “Now, I don’t want you to deny anything that I’m about to say, because frankly, CJ, I have seen enough to know.”

“Know-?” CJ chuckled nervously. “K-Know what, exactly?”

“You are madly in love with that stunning young lady in the next room.” The fact that it was said aloud caught CJ off guard, rendering him speechless. “I have no objection to this matter, even if my granddaughter and you were quite the couple, but that isn’t the point here. I understand from William that you and that girl have been friends since you could talk. And it is quite clear to me how closeted you are about your true feelings, when all she does is reciprocate them in her own special way, which is letting you shower your affection because it makes her feel special. In more specific words, you make her feel special.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “You are a handsome boy, but you are also, as I’ve said before, someone of pure heart and good intention. I love my granddaughter, but no one is a better match for you… than your best friend.”

To say that CJ was flabbergasted was an understatement. He’d never considered that his best friend could reciprocate his feelings.

That never occurred to him once. But nah, she couldn’t. She’s too good for him.

Sunday 19th December, 2004 - 9:56

CJ walked into the spare bedroom where his best friend was staying, and found her in his favourite outfit of hers, sitting on the bed with her back against the headboard. Sweatpants. The lip gloss was still on, and still looked stunning.

He closed the door, his eyes flicking down to my lips as he walked over, desperate to kiss it off and taste it on his tongue, but he digresses. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Hey, Cee.” I smiled, patting the space beside me, which he flopped onto.

“I know I’ve probably said this a million times, but you look amazing.” He reached out, tucking a few loose strands of hair behind my ear. I blushed, my eyes flicking down to his lips before back up.

“I’m in sweatpants.”

“Exactly. Amazing.” His lips brushed my cheek, then he grinned softly and continued to press them over and over again, lips soft as silk, and I knew they’d taste as sweet as sugar. His hand cradled my cheek, his thumb stroking my cheekbone as I giggled and blushed even harder. “So amazing.”

“You’re just saying that.” I chuckled, leaning into his hand as I looked down bashfully. My lips parted slightly, fighting off the urge to smile like a goof.

“No, I’m not.” He muttered, smiling against my cheek as his nose brushed it as well. He let out a deep sigh, nuzzling into my cheek. “God, I love you.” The words slipped out, and I looked to him just as he thumbed my bottom lip, his breath mingling more with mine by the second as his pretty eyelashes fluttered closed.

“What-?”

“Shh…” He murmured, his lips pressing against mine, sweet as ambrosia as the taste of coffee, vanilla sponge cake and chocolate flooded my tongue. His gentle touch on my cheek had me melting as my own mouth found the dignity to respond, my hand tangling in his hair as I breathed in… his cologne. Cinnamon. Vanilla scented body wash. I broke apart briefly, my lips barely grazing his as a soft gasp fell from my lips as I leaned back in, tilting my head as I met him halfway.

That sweet sound, god, that sound, it almost made CJ melt. His hand immediately hooked under my knee, pulling it across his legs and setting it down so I was straddling him. His hand gripped my waist gently, not missing a beat as he pressed me against him, feeling everything he could. The way my hand slid across his chest, over his Henley, as his tongue brushed my bottom lip, a low sound of pleasure swallowed by my mouth falling from his. My fingers rubbed his soft hair, gently tugging until I got a moan from him that made me feel like I was on fire. He only added gasoline to it, coaxing more noises out of me by leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses down my neck as his hand squeezed my upper thigh as the other rubbed my hip in circles.

His hand on my thigh kneaded down to my knee then back up, gently gripping and rolling my hips down to meet his, which made us both jolt and meet in the middle again, honeyed sounds leaving both of our mouths, the hot air stealing mine while CJ’s vibrated against my neck. My head tipped back to allow him better access to me, fully trusting him. I could never not, and this right here felt like a dream. I always was his, but now, I was… his. Really his.

His hand took mine as he sweetly mouthed at my neck, breaking off to press a kiss to my knuckle and then my palm, placing that hand over his heart in a silent thank you for letting him touch me like this. The gesture made me smile, and I tilted his head back up to capture his heavenly, sinful lips again after they made me feel like the only girl in the world. He reached for my hip again, pulling me flush against him, but his elbow accidentally knocked his phone to the floor with a loud clatter that had both of us cringing and looking at the door for any signs of someone entering.

“You kids alright in there?” We heard Uncle Bill call out, followed my Grams’ voice after.

“Leave them alone, William, they can take care of themselves. Besides, I’m sure they’re… busy.”

I turned back to CJ, who gave me an apologetic grin, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and kissed my nose and then a bold freckle on my left cheek. “Sorry.” He mouthed, but I giggled instead and pecked his lips for another taste.

“It’s ok.” I whispered, brushing his hair back from his face with a smile. “For what it’s worth… I’m in love with you, too.”

The statement had him grinning like an idiot, cupping my cheeks and pressing his forehead against mine. “That’s worth everything, sweetheart.”

Monday 27th December, 2004 - 8:46

“God, Cee…”

The cool slab of the kitchen counter in our apartment pressed against my back, a contrast to the warm hand pushing up my sweatshirt. My hand was buried in CJ’s hair as his lips moved against mine like they were on fire and I was the only source of quenching it, like he was in the desert and I was his only source of pure water. His palm pressed against the now exposed skin of my waist, a low chuckle escaping from his lips.

I giggled in response, humming as his lips connected hungrily with mine once again, the taste of our morning coffee flooding each other’s mouths as he hummed back, his other hand reaching up to take the band tying her rope braid together and letting it loose, his fingers working to untangle the strands and mess it up just right. He let out another low moan that I couldn’t help but whimper in response to, especially as his hand squeezed my thigh playfully, lifting it to hook it over his hip before his lips regretfully left mine and instead descended to tease my neck in a way that had me tilting my head for him and pressing myself back into the counter to avoid getting hyperthermia; he was making me feel that much like the friggin’ sun.

CJ let out another low chuckle before lavishing more attention on my neck in order to elicit more sounds from my mouth. “You know,” He murmured between kisses, “I’ve always imagined doing this here.”

“Making out?” I breathlessly replied, also laughing a bit before it dissolved into a whine, those pillowy lips working their magic. As always.

“Oh, yeah.” He teased playfully, his hand in my hair tilting my head just a bit more, fingers massaging my scalp to soothe me as he planted a few more open-mouthed kisses on my neck, his elbow keeping my leg on his hip while his hand moved to play delicately with the drawstring of my sweatpants, tugging on it to make my breath hitch. “But now? Now, I’ve got a bit more in mind.”

TAGLIST:

@hobby27 @leigh70

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[girlystories]

L'appel du vide (The call of the void)

— pairings: Henry Bowers + Patrick Hockstetter x female/daughter of a cop/new student reader

Summary: after your parents divorce (because your mom is kinda crazy) you move to your dads hometown, back to Derry, and your cousin richie. Additional warnings: refrences of past child abuse Words: 4.1k

next chapter here

Chapter 1: Back to Derry

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑 slowed down as it stopped at a gas station. The driver's door opened, which caused [Name] to wake up. She raised her head, which was earlier rested on her palm. She blinked her eyes, trying to make out what her father was saying to her. 

"I said, do you want me to get you anything?", he repeated, his hand on the door as he slouched and his head under the car, waiting for her answer. 

"Uh," she slurred her words, yawning as she stretched her arms, a satisfying feeling passing through her body to wake her up while the sun was making it difficult for her to think of what to say. "Just some water please."

Her father gave her a thumbsup before turning around. 

"On second thought, I'm kinda hungry. Can I have a sandwich?", she called out from the rolled down window. 

Her father made his way inside, as [Name] shifted in her seat, her arms laying comfortable under her head. She sighed as she stared out the window, not focusing on anything in particular, yet caughting a glimpse of a man filling his car. 

She and her father we're making their way to Derry, Maine, back to their relatives. Despite feeling excited to see her cousin again, she didn't really approve on moving so suddenly. She would miss her friends, her school – heck, even the grumpy teachers and lousy neighbours. 

There was no way of changing her dad's mind, however, since he was so eager to start a new life. She couldn't blame him, though. She and the poor guy couldn't handle the decrease in her mother's sanity any longer. She only grew worse day by day, and it was final once she laid hands on her. Her eyes were unrecognizable, wide and furiously red, as she had her fingers wrapped around [Name]'s throat, squeezing it tight with demise. 

Luckily, she was shoved back and restrained by her father, who later called the police on her and she was taken into court when found out she was abusing drugs, finally filling a divorce and in the end she was send to an asylum. 

This made [Name] wonder if that woman even loved her in the first place. As she thought about it more overtime, she recalled the times her mother gave her the cold shoulder, or the nasty remarks she hissed – tasting like venom on her tensed dry lips. The glaring looks she gave her, feeling like piercing needles ready to strike. 

[Name] instantly wiped some tears that were forming on her eyes, placing a smile on her face as her dad made his way back, bringing with him the stuff he bought. 

He closed the door as he sat on the driver's seat, holding the bag for [Name] to take. "As you ordered, madam. Sandwich and a bottle of water," he teased. 

She chuckled. "Oh, why thank you, kind sir," she said before taking a big bite of the chicken sandwich. "Man, I'm so hungry."

"Well, you should've prepared some food from home for the ride," he said, taking a cigarette out of his new pack, placing it on his lips, and turning the engine back on – which roared back alive, going backwards and on the road back to Derry. "I told you in the morning but you ignored me." 

She rolled her eyes, not in the mood for bickering at the moment, instead changing the question. "So like, you gonna be working as a cop at Derry now?" 

"Policeman, not a cop, [Name]. And yes, I've taken care of it on the phone," his eyes were focused on the road, taking a turn. "A guy of mine was kind enough to brag about my services back home."

[Name] hummed, not particularly interested in listening to the conversation, instead taking a moment to appreciate her hunger decreasing, savoring the chicken in contrast with the sauce and the variety of spices. 

She looked out the window, trees passing as they were now driving through the dirt road. The wind blew through her hair, a breeze filling the car. 

Her father remained silent for a moment and he sighed. "Listen, sweetheart, I know it's hard for you moving away and all but I'm sure you'll have a great time there and settle down nicely," he smiled as he recalled memories of his hometown. "Besides, you'll catch up with little Richie again." 

"Well, I'm sure he's not little anymore. How many years has it been? Like five, six?", she tried to count, licking her fingers in doing so. "How old is that little prick now anyway?"

"[Name], watch your language please," her father said and she giggled in response. "I think he's about thirteen or twelve. Three years younger than you." 

"I'm sixteen, dad." 

"Thirteen then." 

"Oh my god, dad. Did you really not remember the age of your own daughter?" 

He lifted his fingers holding the lighted cigarette off the wheel in defense. "No, I didn't forget your age, honey. I'm just, really tired at the moment." 

She shook her head in disbelief. "Yeah, right."

"I mean it." 

"Whatever you say can't save you now, dad." 

He chuckled. "Really now?"

"Yes," she replied blankly, now finishing her sandwich. 

   Finally arriving, she took out one of her earplugs and pausing her music, raised her head to look around her new "home". Crippled narrow roads filled with puddles, with short trees that looked hardly standing by the constant floods and hurricanes. She almost cringed at the almost rundown looking buildings. 

What eased her nerves were the stores here and there, them being: Brew & Chew Café, Doughy Delights Pizzeria, and Smile N’ Delight. Her eyes also caught a glimpse of the arcade, and she was sure Richie would probably spend his time there, playing aimlessly like his life depended on it. Not like she planned on going there, but still. It proved the existence that people lived there and it wasn't as deserted as it seemed. 

"Are we there?" 

"Sure are," he answered, searching for his sisters house. He smiled, "nothing has changed a bit."

"We haven't been gone that much for anything to change. I mean who even comes here anymore?"

Her father ignored her remark, taking a turn and slowing down as they reached that all familiar house [Name] hang out to when she was younger. They came to a stop and he got out of the car, while [Name] did the same, yet not so eager. 

"Wentworth! How long has it been?", her father said as the front door opened, her uncle grabbing his palm and patting him on the back. 

"You tell me," her uncle replied. "You were the one who decided to move out." 

He chuckled. "Well, [Mother Name] wouldn't stop pressuring me and all. You know how she was." 

This made [Name]'s aunt's smile fade, feeling somehow remorseful. "Ah, I'm so sorry about that, [Father Name]... We couldn't believe it when you told us all about it on the phone," her eyes looked at [Name], making her smile widely, her eyes wrinkling at the sides as they widened. She exclaimed and she walked over to her with raised arms, squeezing her cheeks which made [Name] groan slightly. Yet she didn't mind it much, always appreciating her aunt's weird ways of affection. 

"Little [Name]! Ah, I can't believe how much you've grown. You're basically a lady now!", she noted, placing her palms on her shoulders and taking a better look at her, taking her time to "fix" her shirt and hair. 

[Name] chuckled awkwardly, not knowing how to respond. "Hey, missed you too, Aunt Maggie. Uh, is Richie home?" 

"Oh, yes," she turned around, "Richie, get your ass here!"

After a few annoyed grumbles, a boy with dark hair came down the stairs. [Name] noted his increase in height and glasses who seemed to be thicker than how she remembered, making his eyes appear way bigger. He still had a couple of freckles drawn on his slighty chubby cheeks – even though he had a relatively slim figure. She threw an arm over his shoulder, snickering at his annoyance and trying to get off her hold.

"How's my little blabbermouth been?", she remarked and forced him into a hug. He groaned in response, mostly by the nickname but returning the hug happily. 

"You haven't changed a bit, asswipe," he replied with the same tone. Still, his grip tightened around her. "You were still missed, though. As much as I hate to admit it." 

That made her smile, and she let go of him, "Aw," she cooed. "I'm flattered, but it's very much expected," she replied proudly. 

"Ha ha," Richie stated, his tone linked full of sarcasm. "Just make sure you stay this time," he scoffed, "I remember when you had to leave last time you were crying your eyes out. Your nose was full of snot and stuff. Gross." 

[Name] narrowed her eyes, raising her brow. "That's not true. I don't ever recall that happening."

"Well, I do," he rolled his wide eyes behind his thick square glasses, smirking. "Right, mom?" 

"Huh? What did you say, sweetie?", she asked, not listening to him in the slightest, too absorbed in the conversation with her husband and brother. 

"Nevermind," Richie rumbled. "Say, you wanna join me and my friends? Oh – I forgot to mention – remember Bill? Well, we are now in a group with two other guys and we call ourselves The Losers Club, and it's freaking awesome!" 

[Name] couldn't help but laugh. "The Losers Club? That sounds... pretty lame." 

"That's the point, genius," he rolled his eyes again. "The thing is, you gotta join us, we always have so much fun and stuff." 

"Maybe another time, kiddo. I'm pretty tired and I gotta start unpacking and I need get ready for school tomorrow. I've missed enough as it is."

Richie groaned. "Fineee. But you will come with us one day, I'm telling you." 

[Name] ruffled his hair. "Okay okay, I get it!" 

"Augh! Not the hair, man! Not cool", he tried to push her hand away, but to no avail as she wrapped an arm around his neck and continued in forcefully ruining his curly locks. 

 

   The next day [Name] was woken up but her father, completely ignoring her alarm clock at 6:30 am. She groaned and placed a pillow over her head, trying to block out her father's cheery but annoying voice through the kitchen. 

She had to get up, though, when her father made his way into her bedroom and forcefully throwing the covers off her – much to her dismay. She raised her upper body, holding her weight with her elbows. Her eyes were puffy and red, a trail of drool beginning from her bottom lip and ending at her chin. A sight Richie would definitely make fun of, but he was in the same spot, as her dad did the same, but instead chose to grab Richie and spin him around, just like the way parents played with their month-old babies. 

Richie – fully confused, and instead of cheering like a baby would – almost shrieked, his legs swaying back and forth, looking for a sturdy ground to balance himself and his arms trying to get a tight grip on his uncle. Without wearing his glasses, he wasn't able to see clearly, screaming: "What the hell is going on?!" 

[Name]'s dad, not reducing his speed in the slightest, continued, "Wake up, big guy! You're gonna miss school!" 

Richie, steadying his breath, replied, "Okay okay, I get it! Just get me down! For the love of—" 

Just as he requested, his uncle complied, a satisfied smile on his features. He slapped his nephew's back lightly. "Come to the kitchen quick. I've prepared breakfast." 

[Name] still in her bed – but not daring to lay back down, (in fear of her dad shaking her awake again) stared blankly at the wall, ignoring the commotion from Richie's room completely. She rubbed her half closed eyes, and dragged herself out of bed, choosing a simple and convenient outfit for the day, since her stuff and wardrobe hadn't been delivered in their new home fully yet. She grabbed her almost empty backpack, which contained only her pencil case and a couple of notebooks, and she slowly made her way to the kitchen, dropping on her seat feeling like a zombie. She tried to rest her heavy head on her palm, yet it fell on the table sharply. 

"Ah ah," her father scolded. "Wake up, sweetie. It's your first day today." 

She groaned in response. 

"I'll give you a ride to school, so eat quick. I have work to get to," he explained further, flipping an egg from the pan. 

"I'm sorry but how can you be so excited so early in the morning, uncle? I mean, no offense," Richie asked from the table, rubbing his glasses with his shirt. He turned to [Name], "is he always like this?" 

She grabbed a toast from the table, which was applied with butter smoothly, and took a bite, her eyes still half closed. "Yes."

"Damn."

   After a quick – and not so satisfying breakfast, Mr. [Last Name] gave the both a ride and went to work. For the first time Richie wasn't late. A rare occurance, mainly because he took ages to get ready but also because both his parents weren't able to drive him to school because of work. 

"Well, I guess I'll see you later, asswipe," Richie held up his palm for a high-five. [Name] looked at him unfazed, almost rolling her eyes, clearly not in the mood so early in the morning. Still, she didn't leave him hanging and groaned under her breath. 

"Remember, don't steal food from the cafeteria."

"Don't you mean, don't do drugs – or something?" 

[Name] walked pass him, pushing her body on the school's front entrance. "Whate—", before she could finish, she felt a heavy force colliding against her. She yelped in response, being shoved backwards.

The person groaned in annoyance, also surprised by the sudden force. "What the fu—", the voice suddenly paused. [Name] took a moment to study the person. He was tall, his blonde hair messily styled in a mullet. His blue eyes were staring back at her, also studying her. His seemengly muscular built wasn't as apparent under his t-shirt which was being covered under his denim jacket, his sleeves being pushed high above his elbows. It was more of a fashion choice than an affect to keep warm in the cold weather of October. 

She didn't know how long they kept eye contact, but it came to a stop as his features furrowed, pursing his lips. He shoved pass her, his shoulder bumping into hers while he mumbled under his breath: "Get outta my way." 

She scoffed in response, raising a brow and walking into the halls, Richie following quickly behind her. "Oh my god," he gasped. 

"What?", she questioned, looking around for the principal's office. 

"You just ran into Henry Bowers!", he explained. 

"I didn't ran into him. More like he bumped into me." 

He quickly shook his head. "That's not the point, dumbass," he walked in front of her, making her stop in her tracks to get her attention. "The point is that he and his lovely little friends have been making our lives hell for how many years now. I'm honestly surprised he didn't murder you just now."

"He what?", [Name] asked, her eyes finally widening since this morning. 

"Yeah," Richie said, beginning to walk again with her by his side, passing the other students in the halls as they chatted among themselves. "They're all complete psychos."

"How did you say his name was? Henry Bowers, was it?", she asked and slowed down when she noticed the principal's office in the corner. "Where have I heard of it before?" 

"Man, I don't know. But I'm telling you. Just don't make him mad. Ever." 

"Don't worry, I'll take care of it, big guy," she said, shifting her backpack as the school bell rang. She made herself a new goal for the year. 

Richie raised a brow. "What do you mean? I don't like that look," he noted. 

"Just, go to class, okay? I'll see you guys later," she shoved him softly, and he stumbled a bit, glancing back at her with a bit of worry, but made his way to class. 

She didn't know how and why that guy seemed so familiar to her, but she didn't care either. No one is allowed to make fun of her cousin. No one. Except maybe her, but they were family. It's understandable. But him? Who did he think he is? 

She decided to keep an eye on him and his stupid mullet. 

[Name] was about to knock the open door but stopped when she saw a lanky guy staring at the principal blankly, his mind wandering off and not paying the slightest attention to him. The principal sighed, his hand waved towards the door, dismissing him as he finished, "that's about it. If you and Bowers get send here one more time, I'll have to take drasting measures. You'll get a pass this time. Mainly because it's your first time, Hockstetter. Now get your ass to class." 

The guy in question – Hockstetter, as he was mentioned – fixed his posture at the statement, the corners of his mouth forming into a smile. He left without question, his grey-green eyes meeting [Name]'s as he walked pass the door, twinkling with curiosity. She swore she saw him lick his bottom lip just as he left. 

"And make sure Bowers actually goes to class this time!", the principal shouted and [Name] wondered if his orders even reached the guy's ears. 

So this guy is one Richie's bullies, [Name] noted. 

She decided to keep that in mind later as she walked inside. The principal held the bridge of his nose, sighing. When he noticed her, he grasped his hands together as he tried to recall her name. He remained with only parted lips as he failed in figuring out who she was. 

"Hello, Mr – uh," she trailed off, trying to remember his name that her dad mentioned on the ride. "Mr. Corbin, I'm the new student. I think my father spoke to you on the phone." 

His features softened, bringing a hand on his grey and combed hair. "Ah, yes! Mr. [Last Name], I believe. Yes, I've got your schedule prepared right here," he said, rolling back with his chair and opening his drawer, taking out a paper and handing it to [Name]. "It was pretty much a hassle trying to sort your lessons, since you arrived a bit later, but eventually we managed."

She whispered a soft "Sorry" in response. 

"How very nice for us to welcome a new student. I hope you like it here. Ah, did you move here recently, miss [Last Name]?" 

She quickly skimmed over her schedule, and looked back at Mr. Corbin. "Yes. Yesterday actually."

"I see," he replied, fixing his mustache. "Well, I hope you settle down nicely. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some work to finish," he rolled on his chair forward, placing his hands together once again. "If you need any help, don't be afraid to come to my office."

[Name] smiled at him. "Thank you so much, Mr. Corbin," she said and walked out, looking over her schedule. She hummed, feeling not so glum about it, only groaning when she saw she had to chose an extracurricular, but also hoping there were good options to chose from at the very least. She noticed a note, written roughly with a pen; locker: 74. 

She made her own inner note to check it out later. 

Now, she hurried herself to her first period, being World History. It took her while to find the class, and she was sure she'd get some nagging from the teacher. She hesitantly knocked on the door and slowly opened it. Peeking over the gap, she noticed all the students attention being on her. She stepped inside, clearing her throat. 

"Sorry I'm late, Mr –", she looked at her schedule, "Mr. Okley." 

Mr. Okley stopped writing on the board, turning his focus on her. "It's okay, I suppose," his voice indicated his boredom which were proved by his uninterested expression. "You're the new student, yes?"

She nodded. "Yes, my name is [Name] [Last Name]."

His face brightened, his blank expression being replaced by a small smile. "Ah, [Last Name]? I know your father. We used to be classmates together. Really funny fellow, I tell you," he chuckled. "Make sure to tell him I say hi, alright?" 

[Name] smiled, trying to ignore people's stares. "I will."

"We're on page forty-three. You can take a seat over there," he pointed at an empty seat next to the window. 

"I don't have a book."

"Right," he hummed, looking around his desk for a spare book. "I can't seem to find one right now. Just sit next to Victor for now and come by my office later."

The guy in question raised his head from his palm, being shaken out of his thoughts. [Name] dragged a chair and sat next to him, who scooted to the side to make some some space for the both. 

She held her hands close, feeling awkward by the closeness between them. But she tried her best to ignore it, taking notes when she thought was necessary. 

As she wrote, her pall pen started leaving less and less ink. She pressed harder, but the pen refused to work, as if it suddenly decided to go against her. 

"Shit," she cursed under her breath. She turned to Victor, who had his undoubted attention on Mr. Okley who explained about the Rise of Rome. 

"Do you have an extra pen?"

His attention was disturbed again. He shifted in his seat, blinking like he was just woken up. "Oh, yeah," he searched his bag and held one for her. 

"Thanks," she took it, smiling warmly at him. 

"So, why the sudden change or schools?", he asked. 

"Oh, you know. The usual reasons," she wrote on her notebook, testing if it worked. It was an obvious attempt of her deflecting the question. 

Victor didn't attemt to pressure her in saying anymore, turning his attention back at the lesson. 

The bell rang indicating the end of the lesson. All the students gathered their things, chatting among themselves as they made their way outside. 

Just as [Name] was about to do the same Mr. Okley called her. 

"Wait here for a moment, I'll go and fetch your book, alright?"

With that she waited, watching the classroom becoming less and less crowded. Her mind started wondering along, when she was being shoved forward. Her shoulder bumping with an all too familiar muscular one, snickering as he made his way towards Victor. Two others followed, passing her like she was nonexistent. 

Her face soured. 

Henry and Hockstetter loud vocals filled the room, shooting at Victor about who knows what. [Name] was unable to identify the other figure. He was the most noticeable large one of the group. 

With the realization that Victor was in their little group, it made the girl's disappointment more visible. 

Mr. Okley came back, holding a thick book. "This is it," he opened it, flipping through the pages. "We've covered all of these. Make sure to study them until next week. We'll be having an exam on Monday."

She scrunched her nose, which didn't go unnoticed. 

"Now now, it's not too much," he chuckled at her reaction. "It has very vague information and it's pretty easy to grasp. I'm sure you can do it."

She wasn't convinced and he continued. "If it's too much for you, then I'll guess I could give you an extra week."

"Really?"

He winked. "Just don't tell anyone," he waved his hands. "Now, run along!"

She chuckled and scooted over the door, but stopped when she remembered something. She glanced over at her classmate by the window, being surrounded by the mullet asshole and the creepy lanky guy – and the guy she couldn't recognize. He was frowning at his friends, telling them to "shut up" while they joked around. 

She sighed under her breath and turned her heel, walking over to him. She looked to the ground, avoiding their gazes as she came closer. 

"You, uh, forgot your pen," she held it out for him, only locking eyes with his as he stopped his bickering. Their laughs also came to a stop, observing her from head to toe. 

He took it, and before he could answer she swung around, storming out of the classroom. Her chest was bounding and her breath was shaky. 

She meet the Bower Gang on her first day and managed to survive.

[pinkthrone445]

~Partner in crime~ Part 3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Pairing:Melissa Schemmenti x Reader

Gender:soft, cute, young Melissa, friends to lovers, slow burn

Warnings:I don't think so, smut in the next chapter

Summary :When they send you to work back in your home town, you start to recall all your memories from your teen years involving the redhead.

The months continued to pass and your feelings for the redhead grew, it was easier and easier to identify that those nerves when she touched your hand or the way your heart beat every time she paid attention to you was because you were madly in love with her, that was how love felt.

Your little crush on the redhead grew little by little, at every step of your life and every moment you needed her she was there with you and that only made your feelings grow more.

More months passed and your 17th birthday came, and even if you weren't expecting nothing special to happen, Melissa's mom somehow convinced your father to let you go with them to a little road trip for the weekend.

The redhead's mother drove a car with her grandmother and the younger siblings, and in the other car driven by Melissa, you and the older siblings tagged along.

The trip started very early on a Friday and was filled with impromptu road games, radio karaoke, snacks and some naps, along with a few stops at gas stations so you could go to the bathroom and refill supplies.

After several hours, when the sun began to go down, you arrived at the house where you would be staying. The rooms were distributed in an organized way and you ended up sharing with Melissa and one of her older sisters, since a four-room house for eleven people was not enough for everyone to have a private room.

After unpacking the bags, everyone went out to eat a pizza.

Although Melissa's family didn't have a dad present, his absence wasn't noticeable, and even though there were a lot of siblings and they were fighting almost all the time, they were comfortable and fun to be around. They felt more like family than your own home.

After pizza and some ice cream, everyone went home to sleep early since almost everyone was tired from the drive. But you, with how much fun you were having and how peaceful it felt to be away from home, you were not very sleepy, which your friend Melissa immediately noticed and invited you to go to the backyard to see the stars since in this house there was no way to climb to the roof like you did in your house.

After taking a blanket, the two lay down on the grass, enjoying the tranquility and silence of the night, talking about random things

-"Have you thought about what do you want to study now that you are about to finish school?" - You asked and she nodded, very sure of her answer

-"I would like to be a teacher... Help those little kids that sometimes don't know where else to look for help, that's what I want to do... Well, that's my plan unless I win the lottery first" - she jocked and you laughed - "What about you?" - she turned her body to face you

-"I would like to be a cop..." - you murmured and she opened her eyes big

-"What?! A pig!? Come on! Don't do this please" - she couldn't contain herself and you frowned

-"I wanna help the helpless, I wanna be a good cop... Change the system from inside out. Protect people..."-your voice was smaller every time a word came out of your mouth, her approval was important to you, more important than everyone else's. She saw the shame in your eyes, trying to avoid looking at her because she wasn't very supportive of the idea

-"Hey kiddo...I'm sorry... You're very brave and I'm proud of you, I'm sure that everything you want to do, you will be the best at it and you will do everything right... You will be the first cop that my family actually like" - she jocked a little and you smiled again-"Come here"-She moved a little closer to you and hugged you to her chest protectively. It was a very intimate and safe moment but at the same time so fragile that you were afraid that someone or something would burst that perfect little bubble of perfection-"You need to follow your dreams, and I know it sounds cliché, but never let someone make you doubt about your dreams and goals, not even me. Support is important and I know it, but I also know that you are strong enough to fulfill your dreams even when you are alone or when you have the whole world against you... I can't wait to watch you be the best version of yourself, being free doing what you dream... I will be here rooting for you forever... I will be your number one cheerleader and your partner in crime if you need to kill someone...I will forever be by your side"-Although she was joking, what she said hid much deeper feelings. Her voice grew softer by every word she said and her arms hugged you tighter by every breath she took, like if she wanted to engrave her words on your skin and in your head so you would never dobut yourself and your dreams again, she wanted for you to know that you would never be alone again. Your eyes were watery from everything she was telling you, you carefully hid your face in her neck hugging her tightly

-"Promise?..."-you whisper with a broken voice and she nodded kissing your forehead

-"I promise" - she said without letting you go.

Without realizing it, a few minutes later you had fallen asleep hugging her. You didn't notice it until the next morning when the sun caressed your face. Slowly you opened your eyes to notice that you were in the room sleeping on the chest of the redhead who was going up and down slowly and peacefully. Not wanting to wake her up, you curled up in her chest again. But the beautiful moment was interrupted when you heard footsteps outside the room followed by a soft knock on the door

-"Ragazze... Wake up, we have a reservation for breakfast" - Melissa's mom said from outside the room and you untangle from the redhead to stretch your body a little bit

-"Okey mom, see you downstair" - The redhead talked with a raspy voice stretching behind you, you blushed a little because you thought she was still asleep when you curled in her chest-"Good morning monkey" - she said in a playful tone because how you were hugging her moments before

-"Good morning Mel... Did you brought me here last night?" - You asked and she nooded

-"Yup, I didn't wanted to wake you. Did you had a good night sleep?" - she asked and this time you nodded-"That's exelent... Now let's get ready, mom doesn't like to wait" - she got up from the bed after kissing your forehead and went to the drawers to pick something to wear.

When you were ready, Melissa's mother got in the car with you, ready to drive you to the reservation. For a moment it seemed strange that no one else from the family were on the house, but her mother explained to you that they had already left there earlier so you wouldn't lose the reservation.

After a few minutes in the car, you arrived at a small party hall with a large park and decorated tables, confused you got out of the car and Mel took your hand smiling, looking at her mother as an accomplice of something, which made you more confused. Before you could ask about the place, Mel's entire family and some of your old friends where you lived before came out of the small building carrying balloons and a beautiful cake decorated with your name on it

-"Happy 17 birthday (Y/N)!" - Everyone screamed at the same time taking you by surprise. You were so surprised that you even stood in the same place unable to react. It wasn't until your eyes scanned the crowd, that your eyes started to water so much making it impossible to stop, in the middle of it all of them you saw your grandmother sitting in a wheelchair holding a couple of balloons in her hands, with the brightest smile you'd ever seen, the same smile your mother had when she was alive. Before you knew it, you were already running and kneeling at her feet so you could hug her with all your love

-"Abu... What are you doing here? How? I missed you so much" - You said between sobs and she hugged you tightly letting the balloons go

-"My baby... I missed you so much, you look so big and pretty... Your friends somehow got a permit to take me out for the day so I could see you, this is all I wanted, seeing you again and be together on your birthday... I'm so glad to see that you have someone taking good care of you... I love you so much, you look just like your mother, I'm so proud of the young lady you have become"-she kissed your forehead and hugged you again.

After a few more moments of hugging your grandmother, you ran to hug the redhead, her mother and her grandmother thanking them for what they had done for you. You never imagined that they would remember your birthday, much less that the reason for the trip was to be able go to the city where you grow up to take your grandmother out of the residence so she could be present on your birthday 

-"How did you manage to pull this off? How did you take her here?" - You asked still with teary eyes of happiness

-"We know a guy"-that's all the explanation you got from the redhead's grandmother.

The party was full of food, games, music and people you loved, it was perfect.

It lasted late into the night, it was so perfect that no one wanted to go home and although it was hard for you to say goodbye when your grandmother was taken back to the residence, you were so grateful to have had her at your party.

You and Mel took her back and you were able to hug her a little more before saying goodbye.

Your grandmother thanked the redhead for everything she had done for you and asked her to take care of you, which she assured her she would do.

When you were about to get in the car, your face hurt from smiling so much and you couldn't avoid hugging the redhead again to thank her. But the excitement played against you, because before you could think about what you were doing, you grabbed her cheeks and kissed her.

Melissa froze for a few seconds, but when you were about to pull away in panic, she grabbed your blouse in her hands preventing you from moving away and kissed you back. You couldn't help but close your eyes enjoying her lips on you, letting your hands travel down her neck and play a little with the hair that held her tie.The redhead tried to move away from your lips a little to get some air after a few seconds of kissing, but you didn't let her and started giving small and short kisses on her lips, not wanting to be separated from her

-"Honey... What are you doing?" - she asked between kisses and cute laughs

-"This feels so good" - You said kissing her back

-"Kissing? Haven't you kissed before?" - she asked confused

-"I have, but it has never felt this good... I don't wanna stop" - You said bitting her a little bit and she couldn't avoid letting a small whimper go out. Her hands caressed your waist

-"I don't wanna stop either, you feel too good" - she said kissing you again.

[kennys-parka-jacket]

I understand why some people don't consider seasons 1-4 canon. But in my heart I can't accept that because that means erasing:

-2/3 of the kenny babies

-kenny's curse affecting him on a daily or weekly basis, as opposed to only about once annually

-kenny sacrificing his life to bring back power to a hospital

-zombie and ghost kenny

-like 90% of the mccormicks' dynamics including their focus on faith, carol's inability to cook, stuart being a jobless alcoholic, most of kevin's dialogue, a big percentage of kevin and kenny's interactions as brothers, stuart's bitterness about becoming his father, etc

-shelly's trauma about being groomed, the way she stood up for herself by getting revenge on her abuser, and the friendship she formed with eric as a result

-star quarterback stan

-stan being unable to use a gun properly because of his soft spot for animals and becoming desperate for the approval of his uncle

-most of ned and jimbo's screentime

-like half of eric's catchphrases

-most of barbrady's role as the only cop in town

-pretty much everything to do with pip

-santa and jesus being buddies

-at least 3 of the canon relationships among the main 4

-sheila committing mass murder in the name of keeping children safe from harmful media

-garrison's mr hat arc

-so much more

Like, I get it. But I just can't!!