#shes the only cop i approve of

[niuxita21]

I think about my former son-in-law and then I look at you, and I'm not surprised that my daughter became a lesbian. [laughs] I think your daughter was a lesbian before she met me. But thank 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

[valeisaslut]

Ellie Calvin ad buuuutttt hear me out…Reader lingerie ad, or like maybe another Calvin ad but with her pleaseibegu

FINAL POST OF THE NIGHT NONNIES PLEASE STOP I HAVE CLASS TMR AND THESE REQS ARE SO MF GOOD😭😭

BUT, IMAGINE THIS:

your victoria’s secret ad drops at 9am sharp on a tuesday and no one survives. you’re in red lace lingerie—custom made, obviously—thigh-high stockings, garter straps, heels tall enough to make god weep. there’s a velvet chaise lounge. a single red rose. lipgloss so shiny the cameraman slips trying to zoom in. you give the camera one look and say, “tell me what i deserve… or show me.”

it ends with a shot where you roll over onto your stomach and it fades into black. there’s a voiceover of you laughing. somewhere in the background, violins are playing but it’s also kinda sexy trap music.

the entire internet short circuits. victoria’s secret stocks sell out. teens are skipping school. grown adults are fighting in the comments. entire religious groups issue statements.

and ellie?? ellie completely loses her goddamn mind.

she comments from her verified, 170M followers account:

“i’m gonna bite those garter straps off with my teeth and then thank god for letting me be alive at the same time as you.”

“if you don’t wear this home i’m breaking into the warehouse and biting every single mannequin until they call the cops.”

“this ad made me crash my car, black out, and astral project directly into hell. saw satan. he said ‘i get it.’”

“that chaise lounge? i’m gonna stain it with sin. with DEVASTATION. with activities not approved by the federal government.”

“if i don’t see you in this by tonight i’m gonna walk into the ocean. with bricks in my pockets. and a girl boner.”

“gonna leave handprints on your ass so hard victoria herself comes back from the dead to rebrand the whole company.”

“you just single-handedly ended my PR training. my dignity. and my will to act normal in public.”

her finsta posts a blurry pic of the ad playing on her tour bus TV with the caption “i am not okay. she should be arrested. or married. to me. idk. i’m spiraling.”

you post a BTS pic and she comments:

“i just threw my phone across the room. it bounced. still horny.”

and the public?? completely unhinged. stan twitter changes your name to “THE Victoria’s Secret.”

a fan account makes a full edit of you and ellie using only footage from this ad and ellie’s calvin klein one with the caption “hottest couple on human HISTORY.” it gets 8M likes in an hour. the comments are completely horny and unhinged. to say the least.

your PR team tries to play it cool but rachel is foaming at the mouth backstage like, “you CANNOT comment back saying you’re gonna bite her hipbone like a peach. this is PUBLIC.”

but you do.

and ellie reposts it to stories with: “biting scheduled. 7:30pm. i'll prep the strap.”

[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

[sublightdrive]

Big post about Syril Karn, Tragedy, and Redemption. Star Wars Andor Season 2 episode 7/8/9 spoilers below:

Tragedies, I think, have a higher bar to clear than other stories in order to be good. All stories (one way or another) demand of the reader an emotional investment, and to accept the story being told as what happened, be it good or bad. But, a story with a happy ending makes it easier to suspend your disbelief. Sure some things didn't make complete sense, but it all worked out in the end, didn't it?

A tragedy without emotional connection falls flat on its face, but that's true of all stories. A tragedy that's poorly written is subject to a much worse fate: Breaking its own suspension of disbelief.

"And they die at the end? That's dumb. Why didn't she just put on the oxygen mask? Did the writers forget he's a doctor? Oh, how convenient there just happened to be a loose rock there."

The best tragedies, the truly good ones, will leave you thinking "oh if only they'd gotten there sooner. If only she'd known, if only he saw the message. If only they'd happened to cross paths." They leave you wishing things could have gone differently, but knowing the ending we got was the only way it could have happened.

All this to say, Star Wars does not have a super hot reputation in regards to Tragedy. The prequel films, ostensibly, tell the tragedy of Anakin Skywalker, and I don't need to say much about how well that worked out. Suffice it to say, most of us responded to Anakin ranting about killing not just the men, but the women, and the children with "this guy's jacked up for reals" not "oh, if only things had gone a different way".

That, and as I read in a post earlier today, Star Wars has redemption in its very bones. This is the series that said Darth Vader, a guy who is easily in the top running for greatest movie villain of all time, is worthy of redemption. Star Wars is just littered with redemption arcs: Darth Revan, Kyp Durron, Agent Kallus, Ulic Qel-Droma. Ahmed Best. Half of the Rebel Alliance were former imperials. Your favorite Glup Shitto had a redemption arc at some point.

And from the start, Syril Karn has been a prime candidate to earn a redemption.

Syril is a character who is powerfully driven by his own conscience and sense of justice. His hunt for Cassian isn't purely motivated by this (pride is also a huge part it), but when we first meet him in Season 1, his goals are understandable. Admirable, even: Two men were murdered. His boss, a consummate slacker, is covering it up for no reason besides a tidier quarterly report. The murderer is a dangerous man who needs to be stopped.

The two dead men were barely more than government sanctioned thugs, of course. And his boss's apathy was calculated: uneventful reports keep Imperial scrutiny off of Corporate Sector worlds. But that made little difference to Syril in the limited scope of his own moral code. Unlike so many other Imperial characters we meet, he isn't morally bankrupt, or ambivalent towards right and wrong. Quite the opposite, in fact. Rather, his flaw is that his sense of morals is deeply misguided.

He treats being a mid-level corpo-cop with an intensity usually reserved for the Imperial Guard. He desperately seeks approval from those above him. He truly believes the Empire to be a force for good. He prioritizes the deaths of two drunkards shaking someone down for money as an all-hands-on-deck emergency.

Even his success in identifying Cassian is only of value to the Empire by sheer luck. At the time of the killing, Cass wasn't a rebel, wasn't on a mission, and barely knew of Luthen's existence.

Syril's explosive failure to capture Cassian at the end of the first arc of season 1 is of course, the culmination of this. That failure affects him materially, costing him his position and his dignity, but only reinforces his moral judgement: Cassian is dangerous, a threat that needs to be eliminated. His behavior for the remainder of Season 1 is directly driven by this belief.

The Syril we see in Season 2 is in a different situation entirely. His relationship with Dedra fulfills his need for affirmation, his job allows him to serve the Empire. But without the hunt for Cassian, his sense of moral justice isn't being addressed.

In sending him to Ghorman, Dedra and Partigaz wield Syril's conscience like a tool.

There's real exasperation in his voice when he tells his mother to stop watching Fox Imperial News. He attends the town hall meeting with rapt attention, even though he barely speaks the language. His sense of justice, even presented in bad faith, is enough to convince the Ghorman Front he could be a true ally.

And as petty an excuse as it is, he truly believes that his goal in infiltrating the Ghorman Front is to "identify outside agitators," not drive them to violence, or dismantle them.

His final confrontation with Cassian is a farce. Syril has no idea that he's just saved Dedra's life. He barely has a reason to be attacking Cassian at all; He's walked away from Dedra, from his position, and from the Empire itself.

When Cassian, dumbfounded, asks Syril who are you, he doesn't answer. The Syril we met at the beginning of the story might say something like "You ruined my life!" or "This is all your fault!" We can practically see the words forming on his lips. But this Syril is at his absolute lowest, and although it took a literal mass-killing happening around (and partially because of) him, he hesitates. Because he's finally questioning whether hunting Cassian down was the right thing to do.

But it took him FAR too long to realize it. He had two years working directly with resistance fighters to question if maybe- MAYBE what he was doing was wrong. Two years of hearing the rumors, two years of watching Imperial soldiers occupy the city. Two years of collecting tchotchkes and doing paperwork and living his daily life among Ghorman citizens.

And that right there is the tragedy of it all. If only Syril had questioned what he was really doing sooner. If only he'd followed his conscience, instead of his need for praise. If only seeing Cassian hadn't thrown him into a rage. If only his sense of justice had led him to his realization before people were being gunned down in the streets, he'd have a chance to be redeemed. And this is Star Wars! Anyone can make the choice to be redeemed, right?

But he didn't. And he wasn't. And so he died an ignoble death, at the hands of a man he personally betrayed, in the churn of a massacre perpetrated by his lover.

And it couldn't have gone any other way.

[bowtiepasta]

MDNI 𑄹ྀི౿ SATORU + SUGURU: “LIKE A BLUNT”

imo there is no good cop bad cop dynamic in bed with these two.. sureee there’s the ‘satoru’s mean and suguru’s nice’, vice versa debate, but honestly… (cw: afab!reader, toys, teasing, minor pússy talk, mirror, petnames, poly, light manhandling, language)

“who made you come first last night, me — or suguru?” satoru coos, hot breath right by your ear, one hand fisting your hair.

suguru watches his vacant hand move from your waist up to fondle your tits through your shirt, while he sits watching on the armchair by the window. cuck.

you were suguru’s first. his first crush, first date, first kiss, first fuck. although by the time he was finally ready to ask you out, make you his — his best friend beat him to it.

now he’s eyeing you from the mirror, the one almost as expensive as the room they paid for tonight. the same one as the night before, and the night before, and.. you’ve been sleeping in a hotel for weeks.

well. maybe sleeping isn’t the word.

“don’t you remember?” satoru croons again, voice all sugar, actions lesser. his grip tightens, not enough to hurt — just enough to remind you who’s touching you right now.

suguru observes, jaw tight, fingers white knuckling his thighs. the mirror reflects it all back to him. the way your body twitches under the touch, lips parted, flushed from kisses, from the way they’d spent the week taking you apart.

you have come — more times than you can count. from satoru’s fingers, from suguru’s mouth, from the toys they took turns using on you, whispering in your ear about how good you were. how.. patient. how pretty you looked when you begged.

but that’s all they’ve given you.

satoru tips your head back against his chest so you’re forced to meet him. he smirks, and there’s a glint in his gaze. it’s only when you pant slightly, thighs pressing together, that suguru finally moves.

slowly, he stands.

“what’s the matter?” satoru’s fingers skim down your skin, teasing the waistband of your shorts, pulls them forward.

“didn’t we take good care of you?”

suguru hums, closer now, dipping his head over your shoulder. “maybe she just needs help remembering.”

satoru chuckles, clearly enjoying where this is going, nudging your shirt up to press his palm against your lower stomach. “yeah? need a reminder? I’ll make it easier for you.” his fingers press down, just below your navel. “tell him how deep it got.”

your breath stutters.

suguru stills behind you. watches the way your lashes flutter.

your attention flicks to the nightstand, where the dual-ended vibrator lay slick and spent. it had stretched you wide, buzzing so deep inside that your mind blanked — just hands gripping your hips, laughter in your ear, and the pulse forcing you over the edge before you could register whose name you were moaning.

satoru grins when you don’t answer. “right here, huh?” he applies more pressure, rubbing slow circles over your skin as he drags his fingers upwards. “could feel it when I pushed. she got so tight around it. thought you were gonna cry.”

suguru exhales sharply, but doesn’t flinch. doesn’t move when your hips shift forward, instinctive, desperate for more.

satoru’s thumb ghosts your clit. “poor thing.”

and maybe it’s stubbornness, maybe it’s exhaustion, but you force yourself to breathe out, “fuck me properly then.”

satoru’s fingers halt. suguru stares, unreadable.

then satoru laughs first, bright and mocking. “oh, sweetheart.” he bites and sucks at your neck, “that’s not very grateful of you.”

suguru closes in, heat of his body warming your back. “don’t feel full yet, baby?” his voice drops, whispering. “I think you do.”

and then he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “should we make make sure you don’t forget this time?”

satoru hums in approval, voice low. “maybe we didn’t do a good enough job. maybe we should try again. push it in nice and slow, let you watch in the mirror while it fills you up.”

“would that help?” suguru’s kissing you too now. “slower?”

the worst part is, you don’t even care if they’re bluffing.

you don’t know if they’ll give it to you.

you still nod.

romy 🐰 is typing… more dirty talk than it is full blown smut tbh, but for an intro post I don’t think it’s half bad 💔 lie to me.

© bowtiepasta: do not copy edit or repost anywhere

[sramoonlight]

Mask off

What if the batfamily had their own spider?

Content you’ll see here: Batfam, neutral!reader, subtle crossover, weird romcom.

English it’s not my first language so please be patient!

New York City was an important thing for you, of course it was your mother city and also the place that you feel more secure, let’s not talk about the rat problem or the homeless people, let’s just vibe out with it.

You and your mother weren’t people of money, your mother works on a known company, Alchemax, it’s not good paid but enough to let you survive with just a halftime job

You could ask your father for some money but… you don’t know who he is! You just know he is a rich playboy back in Gotham, anyways, neither you or your mother would ask anything from him, it’s not the way you do things

Oh! A surprise note, you’re a spidey, well not just a THE! There’s no one else like you out there, well the meta humans but they’re at cities that you don’t care much about, maybe a little but the only important thing is that they don’t make your job hard.

Speaking of which, you’re doing a great job as a hero beating the shit out of a non important villain, geez they want to ruin your dinner with your mother

Good that you just kicked their face and now they’re out

— Thank god! Okay, let’s do this quick, shall we? — you shot your webs wrapping them around their body, with an approval hum you used one web to take your backpack — Tell the cops that your friendly friend spidey did this —

You ran out of there trying to be as quickly as you can, if you aren’t quick you’ll miss the fancy dinner your mother worked for.

Swinging like you always do, you arrived at a near alley taking off your suit as you pulled out formal clothes doing your best to put them on and take off the suit without flashing anyone, not that there where someone but still

2 minutes before the curfew you entered the restaurant, fixing your hair as you sat down in front of your mother, like a clock a waitress puts a plate of food in front of you, how luxury was this place?

— You made it on time — She said with a serious expression as she started cutting her steak, you did the same — I’m getting better at this — with a chuckle you started chewing the food.

A trivial conversation started, your mom talking about some issues at work as you tell her your issues being a Spidey, after a seconds she looked at you, the smile on her face disappearing

— Love, I have something to tell you — Here it goes, you prepared yourself fixing your posture — give me your shot — You smiled at her

She took a deep breath, her face turning dark

— I need you to go to your father’s — and it felt like your life was falling apart, moving from New York? That was your city! You can’t just abandon it like nothing! — Before you say anything, I know you have responsibilities but so do I, and.. I don’t want to neglect you —

You kept your thoughts, your mother wouldn’t ask you this if she didn’t have to and that felt horrible, you nodded accepting her words.

— Good, you’ll leave this weekend — this is going to suck.

Saturday morning, you were placing your things at the back of the taxi, it felt so wrong to leave but you can’t deny that it’s for the best.

Your mother looked at you, her have filled with regret but determination, she won’t ask you to stay and that makes you sick because you know that she’ll need to this.

— I need you to be safe there, Gotham isn’t like New York — she said as long as you turned to see her, you nodded walking to her and she kissed your forehead — I will mom—

Now on the car you think, you are leaving New York with no one to care care of them, the anxiety is on your stomach as you try to think that no one would do something

Dr. Octavia is in jail, the green gobbling too and many of them are too, maybe little criminals but you want to think the cops would do their job or at least you want that.

The taxi dropped you at the airport and you took the airplane, by the night you’re now waiting for one of your father’s employees to take you out, with a sigh you type a text to your mother

“Mom, I’m at Gotham”

No response.

— Are you miss (last time)? — an old man ask you and you turned to see him, with a nod you walked to the limousine.

An awkward silence filled the car as you tried to think of something else, you do know your father has another 4 children and you can’t but think they’re going to be bratty as hell.

You took a glimpse of the streets, they’re even more nasty than New York’s

— Im Alfred Pennyworth, by the way, I know you may be curious about your new home but don’t worry, Wayne family will treat you nice — the way he talked about it made you shiver

It felt weirdly wrong to not be able to tell, your spider sense won’t tell you about social damage and that pisses you off.

A few more minutes passed and you were already at the manor, for the last time you checked your clothes leaving the limousine

You don’t know why did they send you this when it was only you, you sighed again following the butler to the living room

— You must be (reader) — a man, you recognized him as Bruce Wayne greeted you with a smile and you analyzed his looks

That… didnt looked like poor Brucie, he shakes your hand, before you could pull away he pulls you but to hug you

— Im so happy to know you — another shiver, this man doesn’t know about consent.

He gives you a tour that you can’t remember now, anyways, you’ll be there only for a weeks and you’ll be back at New York, right?

— You’ll be attending the same school as my youngest, Damian — he said smiling at you, you had to lay your head showing your confusion for him to notice

— Oh, you don’t know your brothers.. we’ll have a dinner tonight for you to meet them —

He pats your shoulder leaving you there, you looked around assuming that this is your room, much bigger than the one you have on New York but that can work, you didnt notice when your bags were there

That butler sure is good, you think before sending your mom a text

“Im at my father’s”

Maybe she’s still at work you think, yeah, that’s it

You smiled scrolling through your phone, your friends asking you if you arrived safely, you’re going to miss them but you remind yourself that you’ll be there in a couple of weeks.

…

How many hours passed? You looked at the battery on your phone.. 27%

Before you could do anything, there’s a knock on the door

— Miss (Reader), dinner is ready — you made a sound making sure he knew you heard him before getting up

You sighed, how many times did you do it? You left your room following your intuition and magically it did lead you to the dining room, there, around four people were sitting there making you feel nervous

Where could you sit? You looked for an empty place but Alfred makes his way in front of a chair pulling it out of you, you thank him before sitting down.

— (Reader) let me introduce you to Dick, my oldest — you looked at the man who smiled making you smile at him, he looks like a good guy — Tim and this little tanned boy is Damian — you followed his gaze trying to memorize the faces

Well, they’re quite different so it would be easy

Wait, didnt Bruce Wayne have a fourth child? Weird, maybe you did your research wrong, anyways.

The dinner was silence, you were but everyone keeps talking to each other about things that you don’t know but you don’t plan to guess either

— You don’t look like father — The tanned guy, you assume it was Damian, say that looking at you with a completely blank face, you had to look at Bruce Wayne to notice that indeed, you don’t look anything like him — How do we know you’re his kid? —

Ouch, you can’t blame him, he’s a person of money of course you have to pay attention to details just to about scams, but you had to thought

You’re sure exactly like your mother, like, same hair and eyes maybe yours it’s a different hair type but that doesn’t matter

You sighed, there’s nothing you can use to prove that you’re nothing but a kid sent to take care of, something you sure hate

— Im sure my mom did a DNA test, Mr. Wayne sure has it — you said chewing your meat, you can hear a cough

— You can just call me dad — this person, Bruce Wayne looks like a person yearning for being part of you life and you can’t but think that he is like this because of what he suffered as a kid

Someone seeking for attention, nothing like you actually.

— It’s okay Mr. Wayne — You refused to give this man what he wanted, instead smiling as a way to shut his words, he looked hurt and you can’t blame him not when your words sounded harsh — Im just here until my mom feels is good for me to go back home —

But instead of receiving an answer you heard nothing, you raised an eyebrow but before you could say anything

— Im sure hungry for dessert! Aren’t you, little bird? — you waited for the person Dick mentioned to reply, nothing, you realized he was talking to you

— Me? Uhm, I don’t actually eat dessert — you mentioned new to this short chat, you sure did when you had the moment to eat a fancy dinner, this sure wasn’t but whatever

— Really? Well, you have to get used to it — you still don’t understand the rich people and their actions.

The way to the school was silent, sure Damian is younger than you but only by a few years so you still had to be with him at school, speaking of which

This is nothing like the public school you used to go to, you’re sure that this place isn’t something fancy because they’re various type of students, not just the typical white students from an American comedy.

Walking through the halls as you wrote the steps you just did in your head to not forget them on your first day, sure it is a huge school but your intuition may help right.

You opened the door of the classroom making your way to an empty seat, the class didnt last long ‘til it started, you didn’t hear much of what the teacher she was saying until she started passing list

— (Reader) Wayne? — you made a confuse expression

— Here, and it’s (Last name) not Wayne — you said not wanting to be disrespectful but the idea of being placed as a rich person made you feel sick.

The teacher looked at the papers on her hands humming

— It says that you’re a Wayne, im sorry — so it wasn’t a thing she said because she knew who your father was

So weird.. maybe they did this so you won’t need of your mother, anyways, you’ll be here only for a couple of days.

The class continued like it should, the others did too so you found yourself on your way home sitting beside Damian who was scrolling through her phone

— Uhm, Mr. Pennyworth — you called

— You can call me only Alfred, miss — that sent a shiver through your back, you couldn’t

— Yeah, uh, it looks like I’m not being called by my last name on the school system —

The man stays silence before he chuckled, you assumed that it was of how weird it sounds, but you guess he would have it cover

— You’re a Wayne — Damian said, rising his gaze from his phone, you had to whisper a low “excuse me?” For him to show you something

And for second time in this week, you felt your heart going down

Alchemax, the place were your mother work exploded in an accident just the night before, how could you? Wait

The looks everyone gave you at the dinner, did they already know? But how could your mother know that it was going to happen?

Why? Why?

But the way back was silent.

[tacobacoyeet]

“JEALOUS JAKE PERALTA” 🗣️🗣️we all shout in unison. maybe a detective from another precinct hitting on Jake’s girl. Something like the 9-8 episode yknow?? I lovvveeddd the the story from the other day you did. It was so cutie

not-girlfriend | jake peralta x reader

a/n: short and stupid and sweet but i hope you like it! warnings: not my usual writing style, really short, not proofread

The briefing room is louder than usual.

The overlap of night shift and day shift has brought double the cops and triple the ego, and Captain Holt looks about one more sarcastic comment away from walking into traffic.

“Let’s try this again,” he says, tone clipped as always. “The precinct is short-staffed due to the commissioner’s inexplicable decision to approve simultaneous leave requests, so the night shift and day shift will be operating as one until further notice. That means cooperation, communication, and no turf wars.”

A hand shoots up.

“No, Detective Boyle, this is not an opportunity to suggest ‘team-building lasagna.’”

Boyle lowers his hand slowly. “Copy that, sir.”

Jake leans back in his chair, trying to look casual. He nudges your knee under the table.

“You know this is gonna be a disaster, right?” he whispers. “Night shift people are weird. They’re like raccoons. Shifty, unpredictable, probably hiding trash in their lockers.”

You grin. “They’re not that bad. And you have trash in your locker.”

Just then, the door swings open.

And in strolls Detective Cole.

Night shift. Leather jacket. Perfectly gelled hair. The kind of smile that knows it’s been complimented before. He scans the room and lands squarely on you.

“Well,” he says, voice like he thinks it’s charming, “day shift just got a whole lot more interesting.”

Jake chokes on his coffee.

Boyle pats his back.

“I got you, buddy.”

Cole ignores the commotion entirely and slides into the empty seat beside you—your usual spot next to Jake now inconveniently blocked by smirking smugness and cologne.

“So,” Cole says, turning to you with that same perfectly polished grin. “You got a name, or should I just keep calling you 'trouble'?”

You blink. You’ve barely spoken to the guy, and already he’s laying it on thick.

“Uh—Y/N. Detective Y/L/N,” you manage, trying to sound neutral. “Day shift.”

Jake snorts from behind his coffee cup. “Yeah, she’s not in the market for whatever noir fantasy you’ve got going on, man.”

Cole doesn’t miss a beat. “Relax, Peralta. Just being friendly.”

Boyle leans toward Rosa. “This feels illegal. Should we tase him?”

Rosa nods, deadpan. “Let’s give him five more minutes.”

Amy whispers to Holt, “Should we intervene?”

Holt, without looking up from his notes, replies, “Only if someone dies. Or worse, makes a pun.”

You shoot Jake a glance. He looks… not mad. Just slightly feral. Like he’s trying to figure out if 'accidentally' spilling hot coffee on Cole would be considered assault or a workplace hazard.

You turn back to  Detective Cole. “Appreciate the enthusiasm,” you say. “But maybe let’s focus on the briefing?”

Jake mouths 'thank you' at you.

Cole just smiles wider.

When the meeting finally ends, Holt dismisses everyone with a dry “Do not disappoint me,” and the room scatters.

You stand to stretch, and before you can even grab your notepad, Cole’s already hovering.

“So, Y/L/N,” he says, leaning just a little too close. “You got any plans after shift? Because I know a diner down the block with terrible service and excellent pie.”

Jake is behind you in a second.

“She does have plans,” he says cheerfully. “With me. We’re watching Die Hard and making aggressively mediocre spaghetti. Very romantic.”

You glance at Jake, confused but amused. “Since when?”

“Since… now,” Jake says, voice going high-pitched at the end. “Right now.”

Cole raises an eyebrow. “Ah. Got it. Work partners and dinner dates. Cute.”

He walks off, finally, and you turn to Jake, who is absolutely not making eye contact.

“Jake?” you say slowly.

“Hmm?” he replies, inspecting a nearby pencil like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen.

“You okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine. Not jealous at all. That guy’s hair is definitely not better than mine. Why would I be jealous?”

Boyle strolls past with perfect timing. “He’s extremely jealous.”

The rest of the day only gets worse—for Jake, anyway.

Cole is everywhere. At the vending machine when you’re getting your usual afternoon candy bar. Offering to carry files that don’t even belong to him. Laughing too hard at your jokes, even the terrible ones. He even volunteers to accompany you to the evidence locker, which makes Jake nearly implode.

"I'll go too," Jake blurts. "You know. For backup. Because some of those boxes are heavy. And emotionally unstable. Like me."

Rosa watches him tail the both of you down the hallway and mutters, "This is either going to end in a fistfight or a kiss."

By the time night falls, Jake’s nerves are frayed. He’s pacing in the break room, talking mostly to himself while Boyle nods encouragingly.

"I mean, maybe she's into that stupid hair gel. Maybe I’m just her coworker-slash-Die-Hard-buddy. Maybe I hallucinated that time she touched my arm for like three seconds straight."

Boyle hums. “You should probably just tell her how you feel, man.”

Jake stops. “No. No way. That’s ridiculous.”

But the traveling sound of you laughing at something Detective Cole said is starting to convince him otherwise.

Jake storms out of the break room, marches over, and inserts himself right between the two of you.

"Hey. Quick question," he says. "Are you hitting on my not-girlfriend? Because if you are, I have a very long and very unnecessary PowerPoint explaining why that’s not allowed."

Cole raises both brows. "Your what?"

Jake turns to you, cheeks a little pink. "My not-girlfriend. Who I maybe—definitely—like. A lot. And have for a while. And maybe want to take on a real date. If she's into that. Which she might not be. And that’s okay. Unless it’s not."

You blink at him.

Then smile.

"Jake."

"Yeah?"

"You’re an idiot. But yes."

You grab him by his stupid collar and pull him into a kiss.

Across the bullpen, Amy silently high-fives Rosa, who then walks over and slips Cole a twenty.

Boyle blinks. "What’s that for?"

"I asked him to do it," Rosa says, not looking up from her report. "Told him to flirt with Y/L/N until Jake cracked. Honestly thought it’d take longer."

Cole chuckles, folding the bill. “Glad to help. You’re welcome for the emotional growth.”

Jake gapes. "You set me up?"

Rosa smirks. “And you’re welcome.”

-----

tagging: @glennussy @larasreality

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Sacred Guardian

Requested Here!

Pairing: (platonic) Tim Bradford x fem!Cybertronian!reader

Summary: Tim and Lucy experience a number of glitches with their new shop. When Tim loses control of the wheel, he and Lucy learn that they've become involved in a fight that is not their own. You save their lives and gain yourself a new position in the process.

Warnings: angst, fight scene, canon-typical stuff, fluff

Word Count: 4.1k+ words

A/N: Here's a list of Transformers anatomy terms (in case my fight scene is confusing)!

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Good morning,” Wade greets as he enters roll call. “Does anyone know what today is?”

“Another day in paradise,” Smitty answers, drawing chuckles from a few other officers.

“I’m not sure why you’re laughing,” Wade deadpans. “You signed up to do this job and to enjoy it.”

“Right, yeah,” Smitty agrees. “It’s great.”

Wade shakes his head and continues, “Today is the day patrol gets new shops.”

Several officers cheer, and Wade smiles as he moves behind the podium.

“Motor pool has your specific assignments,” Wade says. “The city spent a lot of money, a lot of tax dollars, on these new cars. Wreck one without a very good reason and it’s coming out of pay, and probably your pension.”

“Sir, I thought the budget committee only approved replacing half of the shops,” Nolan interjects.

“That’s correct. Patrol is our priority in this; improve response times, safety records, everything the public likes to see. So, if you’re in this room and going on patrol today, you’re getting a new ride.”

Aaron raises his hand, and Wade says, “It better be about protocol and not the make and model of the cars, Hollywood.”

“Oh, yeah, I don’t care about that,” Aaron replies. “I just wanted to know if the speakers are stock.”

“You’re a cop, Thorsen,” Tim snaps. “Not going for a joy ride.”

“Who says patrol has to be boring?” he counters.

“Me,” Tim and Nyla say together.

Aaron lifts his hand in surrender but whispers to Lucy that they should play their shared playlist.

“Absolutely not,” Tim interrupts. “You’re rookies, you have no power.”

“Focus,” Wade says. “Enjoy the new shops but stay alert. You have a job to do; the cars are supposed to make it easier, not be a distraction.”

“Yes, sir,” the officers reply before standing and approaching the garage to find their new shops.

“Peace,” the radio crackles. “Through tyranny.”

“What?” Lucy asks, leaning forward to look through the front seat at Tim.

“I didn’t say anything,” he replies. “Hearing voices, Chen?”

“Ha, ha,” she deadpans, sliding into the brand-new passenger seat. “What do you think?”

“It’s a shop,” Tim says. “It hasn’t been puked in yet. I give it two days.”

“Is the glass ever half full?”

“The glass is going to get broken no matter how much is in it.”

“Wow,” Lucy murmurs.

Tim shifts into drive, and as he and Lucy leave in their new shop, they have no idea that their car is a clichéd bad cop.

“You have the right to remain silent,” Lucy recites. “Anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights?”

“Yeah,” the handcuffed woman replies. “Silence is… metal. I don’t need it.”

“Is she too drunk to lawfully accept her rights, boot?” Tim asks from the curb.

“Intoxication doesn’t invalidate a Miranda waiver if it’s made knowingly, intelligently, and voluntarily,” she answers. “But her behavior can imply her waiver.”

“So, what’s the move in this situation?”

“She’s voluntarily responding, so her response is valid.”

Tim nods once but raises his hand to stop Lucy from placing the drunk driver in the shop. “Ask if she needs to puke.”

“What?” Lucy questions.

“She pukes in that shop and you’re cleaning it up.”

“Oh, right,” Lucy murmurs.

Tim opens the driver's door while she speaks to the woman about how she’s feeling. The radio lights up briefly, and a static noise reminiscent of someone speaking fills the car's interior before the light dims. Tim watches the radio for a moment, and after Lucy places the woman in the back and slides into the passenger seat, she follows his gaze.

“Want to listen to Make Da Noise?” she asks.

“What? No,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “Just thought I saw something.”

The noise was unintelligible to Tim, but he ensured the radio remained off the rest of the day. He didn’t anticipate being the one to find a problem with a new shop, yet as he leaves after riding in it all day, he hesitates to get in his own truck. There’s something wrong with that car, he thinks as he drives away from the station.

The following morning, Tim convinces himself that the radio coming on was a glitch. Maybe the motor pool guys jostled a wire, or the radio controls were somehow moved. Attempting to ignore the odd occurrences of the day before, he begins his shift with Lucy talking excitedly about her upcoming date.

“What do you think?” she asks.

“About what?” Tim replies.

“My date! Were you even listening?”

“No.”

Lucy sighs, and Tim slows to park against the curb. As he nears the sidewalk, the lights and sirens turn on. Lucy reaches forward to turn them off as Tim opens his door to apologize to the innocent civilians startled by the sudden noise.

“Sorry about that,” he calls. “Just a malfunction with the switch. Chen, turn it off.”

“I’m trying,” Lucy defends as she attempts to flip the switch. “It’s stuck.”

Tim reaches across the wheel and pushes the switch until it finally drops and the sirens silence. He then turns the lights off, sighing as he relaxes his arm.

“I hate this shop,” he mutters.

The driver seat slides forward, and Tim jerks back out of the door and into the road just before it slams into the driver’s seat.

“Are you okay?” Lucy asks, her eyes wide.

“We’re getting a new shop,” Tim says, stepping out of traffic. “Right now.”

“Did you lock the seat after you moved it?”

“Chen,” Tim snaps. “Seats don’t lurch forward while a car is parked. There is something wrong with this shop.”

“That’s a bit dramatic,” she replies lightly. “It’s new. There are bound to be some glitches while we get used to it.”

Tim grumbles under his breath, but she’s right. Not that he’ll say it aloud. He’s a few glitches away from demanding his old shop back. As he slides the seat back into place, Tim decides to ask Nyla if her shop has had any glitches.

“Any plans this weekend?” Angela asks.

“I’m going on a date,” Lucy replies. “Tim’s going to a game.”

“How’s the new shop?” Tim inquires.

Angela shrugs and says, “It’s a car.”

Lucy looks at Tim as she raises her cup to take a drink. Tim hasn’t complained about the car over the last two days, but with only a few more hours left before their scheduled time off, he seems to be thinking about it again.

“Why?” Aaron wonders. “Your car got a little Christine thing goin’ on?”

“Of course not,” Tim replies, shaking his head.

“Wait, you know what Christine is?” Lucy asks.

Tim glances at Lucy with a look she knows means stop talking. He then adds, “Just a few little glitches at first. I’m sure they’ll work themselves out.”

Angela is about to inquire what kind of glitches they’ve experienced, but she’s interrupted by a speeding car swerving in and out of traffic as it passes.

“Let’s go, boot!” Tim demands as he stands.

Lucy says, “Bye!” and follows Tim to the shop. She slides into the passenger seat and buckles her seatbelt as Tim hits the lights and sirens. He catches up to the incredibly conspicuous purple Lamborghini and requests that she run the plate.

“Stolen,” she reads. “From a customization shop in Thousand Oaks.”

Tim speeds up, following the Lamborghini around a corner. He slams on the brakes, stopping mere inches behind the now-parked car. It’s still running, but the driver is escaping down an alley. Tim swings his door open and sprints down the alley, failing to notice Lucy isn’t behind him.

She pulls her door handle, but the door doesn’t budge. Knocking her shoulder against the side of the door frame proves pointless, too. Looking out the windshield, she sees Tim has caught up with the suspect and is attempting to get him on the ground.

“Come on,” she mutters, trying to hold the lock up and open the door simultaneously.

With no other choice, she pushes up into her seat and carefully climbs over the console to exit through Tim’s door. She’s out of breath from fighting with the door, and Tim pulls the cuffed man onto his feet when she reaches them.

“Thanks for the assist, boot!” Tim exclaims. “What was that?”

“The door wouldn’t open,” Lucy defends. She exhales and amends, “I’m sorry, Officer Bradford. I couldn’t get out of the shop quick enough to assist. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right about that. Get this guy in the back.”

Lucy takes the man’s arm and recites his Miranda rights as she leads him to the shop. The back door opens without problem, and she places the man in the backseat. Rounding the front of the car, she stops.

“What now?” Tim sighs.

“I thought I heard someone talking,” she answers, stepping closer to the hood.

“It’s our perp,” Tim says. “He’s singing. Again.”

Looking up, she sees the man in the car singing. Loudly. But that’s not what she heard. Granted, she doesn’t know what she heard.

Tim walks past Lucy and pulls the passenger side door open effortlessly. “Find a better excuse next time.”

Sliding into her seat, Lucy looks at the dash and thinks, Why do you hate us?

In an abandoned warehouse, a yellow Camaro and a Mustang so red it looks black sit parked together. A small light on their dashboards is the only sign that the cars run. But no one is close enough to worry about them, even think about them. And certainly not near enough to hear them speak to one another.

“You don’t need proof when you have instinct,” Bumblebee quotes.

“We need something, Bee,” you answer over the radio. “I heard Decepticons. I’ve felt them.”

Bumblebee doesn’t reply, listening to every soundwave in the city for a sign that what you’re saying is true. Not because he doesn’t believe you, but because if there’s a Decepticon invasion, he needs to call in reinforcements.

“Nada,” he says.

“Thanks for trying, Bee,” you respond. “I’m going for a drive. Be safe.”

He answers in Cybertronian, and you laugh as you spin your rear tires. With a sharp squeal of your wheels, you lurch forward and drive out of the warehouse and onto the crowded streets of Los Angeles. Earth is much different than your home, and the traffic that keeps you from embracing the open road is your least favourite part of waiting here, amongst the stars.

You pass a car with several children screaming in the backseat, not bothering to slow as you move back over. In your time on this planet, you’ve learned to understand the nuances of humans and the cars they make. One thing that took you a while to notice was the difference between humans being silly and a Decepticon invasion. Now, you can glide in and out of traffic as if you’re on rails without worrying about every person you see or the vehicles they’re in.

Slowing as you approach a yield sign, you hear the same buzzing sound you heard earlier this week. Now, it’s closer, and getting louder.

“There aren’t any calls right now,” Lucy says. “This is weird.”

“It’s a lull,” Tim replies. “When they start again, you’ll miss this.”

“Bradford,” Wade says over the radio. It cuts out before he continues.

“Grey, 7-Adam-100 responding,” Tim replies.

Nothing happens, and Tim passes the radio to Lucy. The light ahead turns yellow, but Tim is too close to the intersection to stop safely. He goes through before the light turns red. Down a side street, a dark Mustang is waiting to turn, and as they pass it, Tim loses control of the shop.

You tune out the Decepticon frequency and try to forget about your worries. Bumblebee checked and didn’t find anything, so you must be picking something else up. A police car approaches, and you prepare to turn behind them once the road clears. Then, time seems to slow as it drives past. You can see through the paint job on the alt form to the true colors beneath.

The motto, “To Punish and Enslave,” is written on the door, and you recognize Barricade even without hearing his Decepticon radio transmission. Accelerating, you turn behind him, your rear tires spinning out before you pull into the lane directly behind him.

Barricade swerves into the oncoming lane to pass another car, and you go into the lane on the right to keep up with him. As you try to get beside him, you see not one but two humans sitting in his front seat. Barricade would never work with the police, or upstanding humans of any occupation, so your assumption that the officers are hostages seems justifiable.

“Autobots,” you radio. “I’m pursing Decepticon Barricade.” You add your current location and request your friends do what they can.

Barricade moves toward you, and you hit the brakes long enough to drift behind him and pull to his other side. You can see the driver desperately attempting to regain control of the car. It’s pointless, so as you pursue Barricade, you hatch a plan to save the humans within.

“Tim!” Lucy yells, clutching her seat as the car slides around a corner.

“I’m trying!” Tim replies, his voice strained as he pulls the steering wheel to the left and steps repeatedly on the brake. “I can’t do anything!”

“Then maybe stop trying!”

Tim glances at Lucy, who looks as scared as he feels. Taking her advice – for once – he lets go of the wheel. It continues spinning as the car stays on the road, fleeing from the Mustang they passed nearly three miles ago.

“What is happening?” Lucy asks, leaning away from the dash.

“It’s the car,” Tim answers, shifting his hips to retrieve his phone. “Those weren’t glitches.”

“That doesn’t make any sense. Christine is fiction!”

“Look around, Chen!” Tim snaps.

His phone lights up, but the screen is covered in gray and purple streaks, unusable for calling for help. With the radio out, they have no choice but to find their own way out of this.

“What is the other car doing?” he asks, looking in the rearview.

“Chasing us, I think,” Lucy answers.

“I think- I think they’re trying to help,” Tim adds quietly.

At that, the car speeds up, racing toward a brick wall. Lucy yells, but Tim is transfixed by the Mustang moving behind them. He can’t see a driver, although that’s not the foremost thought in his mind. As they near the end of the road, the Mustang accelerates, pulling to the passenger side of the shop. It rams into the shop, hitting beside the rear wheel to execute a nearly perfect PIT manoeuvre. The Mustang falls back as the shop spins, but Tim’s relief is short-lived.

You slow after knocking Barricade off his course. As he spins, he transforms, pulling his wheels and doors into place as chest plates around his human hostages as he lunges toward you. Transforming, you stay close to the ground and reach for his cadulens. Attempting to be mindful of the scared people inside, you fight Barricade. Swinging your arm, you knock him off balance. Bumblebee speaks to another Autobot through your radio, but you switch to a different frequency.

“10-13,” a dispatcher says. “Officers Bradford and Chen last reported at…”

You can see the officers clinging to the metal around them, and something like relief flashes in their eyes at the sound of the radio before you are pushed to the ground by Barricade.

“Give up, Barricade!” you demand.

He drives a metal shard into your side plating and you grunt before raising your leg and flipping him.

“Die, Autobot!” he replies gruffly.

You rip a metal spike from a nearby fence and drag it across his exposed chassis beneath his chest plate, pinning his right arm to the pavement as you damage his paint and mar the metal beneath.

“For your sake,” he seethes, pushing against you, “I hope that was an accident.”

“Let the humans go,” you demand.

Barricade pushes you up, and you barely catch yourself as he surges toward you again. Clasping your servos together, you twist your entire body, aiming for his helm. He attempts to drive his digits into your optics, but you move faster, and the momentum of your movement knocks him off balance. Barricade crashes to the ground, and you watch his face plate for any sign that he’s faking being down.

You approach Barricade, knocking your heel strut against his skirt plates. He doesn’t react, so you lower onto the asphalt and rip his chest plate apart. The officers jump out without hesitation, panting. The female officer lays her hands on the ground as the male officer looks up at you.

You smile behind your face plate and ask, “Need a ride?”

“I… I don’t know,” the woman replies.

“What’s your name?” the man asks.

You hesitate, then offer, “You can call me Sparks.”

Turning slowly, you show the sparkles in your paint reflect the sun - the origin of your nickname. That, and how quickly you’ve been known to shove a sharp metal instrument into your foes in the heat of battle.

“I’m Tim,” he says. “This is Lucy.”

“Why did you help us?” Lucy inquires, standing.

“That’s Barricade,” you respond, pointing to your unconscious foe. “He’s a Decepticon. They’re from the same place as I am, but they conquered my planet. Their goal is universal domination.”

“And who are you?”

“I’m an Autobot. We’re constantly at war with them. Have been since the Cybertronian war.”

“Okay,” Lucy murmurs slowly. “So, what now?”

“I have a radio. Alert your commander that you’re safe,” you answer. “And then you’re free.”

“Thank you,” Tim says.

You transform back into your alt mode, letting the driver’s door swing open. Tim sits in the seat and uses your radio.

“This is Officer Tim Bradford, badge number 34831,” he says. “Officer Chen and I are safe.”

You offer Lucy a place to rest by opening the passenger door. She hesitates, then sits with her feet firmly on the ground outside.

“We’ll be back at the station in a few minutes,” Tim concludes.

“Should you get a ride for your partner?” you ask.

“I am not his partner,” Lucy corrects. “I’m his rookie.”

“My apologies,” you offer.

Lucy shifts to sit rightly, buckles the seatbelt, and closes the door. Tim closes the driver’s door, too, and you hum. They trust you, and you don’t want to jeopardize that.

“Who’s driving?” Tim asks.

“Up to you,” you reply.

“Okay,” he mutters, shifting into drive.

It’s unusual for you to not be in control. As your pistons fire and the wind rushes along your frame, you begin feeling the damage Barricade did. Tim passes a blue and red semi heading toward the road where you left Barricade, and you flash your headlights. He honks in reply, and you chuckle.

“Friend of yours?” Lucy asks, looking over her shoulder to see the semi.

“Yeah,” you answer. “A very good friend.”

Tim turns left, and your T-cog grinds painfully. He slows, but you don’t say anything.

“So, how do you like earth?” Lucy asks.

“It’s nice,” you say. “Much different than Cybertron.”

“How many robots are in LA?”

“More than I know of. Several of my kind.”

“You’ve been fighting an unseen war,” Lucy muses. “That’s terrifying and awesome.”

“I’ve heard Barricade’s radio communications,” you begin.

“The radio was working, talking,” Tim interjects.

“Yes. He was communicating with the other Decepticons.”

“There’s more?” Lucy exclaims. “In the department?”

“I can’t be sure of that without seeing them.”

“Would you?” Tim inquires. “See if there are more?”

“Of course. I can identify any others, and offer any information you may need about Barricade.”

“How do we file a report for this?” Lucy asks Tim.

“This is the one time in your policing career that I am going to say this,” he prefaces. “We lie.”

Lucy nods in understanding as Tim parks in a visitor’s spot. He closes the door carefully, then runs a finger along a deep scratch in your paint. Black and white paint chips are embedded in a few new dents along your hood, and he surveys them carefully.

“Are you okay?” Tim whispers.

You hum, rattling softly beneath his touch. He nods, pats your side mirror, and walks into the station. Lucy rushes back a moment later and says, “Stay. Please.”

Tim exits the station a few hours later, dressed in civvies and carrying a bag. You’ve spoken to Bumblebee and a few other Autobots about what happened but haven’t heard Barricade’s fate or condition yet. Tim lowers into your passenger seat, carefully setting his bag on the floorboard.

“There’s an auto shop off Wilshire, south of here,” he says. “Can you drive there?”

“Sure,” you reply. “I found no other signs of Decepticons in your garage.”

“Thank you.”

You drive to the auto shop in a comfortable silence. Once there, Tim tells the mechanic – clearly a friend of his by the way they greet one another – that he needs a few touch-ups. Within two hours, your paint job looks brand new, your axles are realigned, and your T-cog has been repaired. He avoided touching your Energon lines or your spark, seeming to understand that the parts you held out of reach were there for a reason.

As you drive out of the garage and thank Tim, your radio alights. Tim notices that the symbol differs from the one he saw in the shop. It’s the same badge you wear on your arm plate when you turn into a giant robot. He shakes his head at how strange this is and how unbelievable it would sound if he hadn’t witnessed it himself.

“The warehouse,” someone says through your radio.

“Of course,” you reply. “Let me drop off-”

“Bring the human.”

“Do you have plans?” you ask Tim.

“Now I do.”

Tim leans toward the wheel as you pull into a dark warehouse. Inside, there’s a yellow Camaro, a shiny motorcycle, and the red and blue semi he and Lucy saw earlier. You open the door, and he exits your alt mode before you transform, towering above him.

Tim’s eyes widen as the other vehicles follow suit, and when the red and blue semi transforms into a standing form that makes you look tiny, he steps back. The large robot lowers to look into Tim’s eyes.

“You are of stout heart,” he says.

“Thank you,” Tim murmurs.

“Sparks,” he says, standing to face you. “It seems you have found a human in need of a guardian.”

You glance at Tim. In the last few hours, you’ve grown to care about him and Lucy. But… “He can take care of himself, Optimus,” you point out.

Tim hesitates before he speaks. He would never admit it to his human friends, even Lucy, but he isn’t opposed to the idea. You saved his life today, and although you’re a sentient robot, and he still isn’t entirely convinced he isn’t dreaming, Tim interjects, “I couldn’t today. You said it yourself, there’s a war going on that we don’t even know about.”

“It’s an unofficial position,” Optimus explains. “She won’t always be there.”

“She seems to have a knack for knowing when to be.”

You smile, and Tim nods in reply.

“If you’ll have me, I’d be glad to be your guardian,” you agree. “It’s a sacred duty, and one I do not take lightly.”

“Any more questions you wanna ask?” Bumblebee quotes.

“Uh, no, sir,” Tim replies. “I’m Tim, by the way.”

“I am Optimus Prime, this is Bumblebee, Arcee, you know Sparks, and Ironhide is around here somewhere,” Optimus introduces.

“You’re going to love him,” you whisper.

“Where’s my backup?!” Tim demands, ducking behind his new shop as a bullet flies past.

“Two minutes out,” dispatch replies.

Tim looks up just as the armed man runs toward him. He pulls his gun up, but the man fires first. Tim drops his head, readying himself to be hit. The bullet collides with something metal before it can reach him. Moving forward, Tim takes cover behind the Good Samaritan who drove between him and a bullet. He fires over the trunk and takes down the armed suspect.

Rounding the Mustang, he glances at the new bullet hole and shakes his head. Another officer pulls in with their lights on, and Tim directs them to take the shooter into custody.

“That’s an inch away from your gas tank,” Tim whispers.

“As long as my Energon isn’t leaking, it’s fine,” you reply softly. “You alright?”

“Thanks to you.”

“Kinda my job.”

Tim pats your trunk, and you pull away. Your right blinker turns on once before you go straight, and Tim shakes his head as he smiles. Lucy never should’ve taught you to wink.

[erwinsvow]

I feel like charlie reid would be the type to baby trap you not in the tampering with pills way but in the manipulative telling you how pretty your baby would look, and how good of a mommy you'd be. And if that doesn't work then he's turning off your alarm to take your pills and moving them so you don't find them immediately if your looking for them

You let him think his little plan worked but the reality is that you stopped taking your pills months ago way before his little plan a couple of weeks after someone said pointed out that he doesn't have a ring so decided to make a more permanent connection and you end up getting a ring out of it anyway

fuck!!! yes!!!! from the minute you start dating charlie reid it's very clear what his intentions are. he wants the docile housewife type. he wants your only concern in life to be what you want to make for dinner and what time he's coming home tonight. i think it would be really fun to write this with his super young gf/wife. gets lonely being home alone all day without him (doesn't work anymore after much gentle manipulative persuasion from charlie, thinks there's no reason to spend your energy working when he can take care of you both easily.) her friends are all unmarried, no kids, working on their careers or partying. but i think this is a unique type of reader who really wants this life even if she was a little forced into it. moving in after like 3/4 of a yea, into his cute suburban house and adding a woman's touch—another activity he approves of you doing, redecorating. and i think you two would have a really set routine (his grandpa ass loves routine i bet) so one night while youre putting lotion on your arms and he's reading some report with his glasses and taking notes with a pen and putting the end of the pen in his mouth while he debates what to write next you just kind of. lose it. curl up next to him and tell him you've been really lonely recently and missing him and you don't know what to do about it. maybe you get a little teary eyed. honestly what you want is for him to work less and be home more—you and every other cop's wife in the country. what he takes away from it is you need a baby.

hence—changing up the times you guys have sex. he knows you take your birth control maybe after dinner so he starts bringing you up to the bedroom as soon as he's home. by the time he's done with you you can hardly remember your name let alone to take your pills. carries you down to the kitchen and you two eat dinner while you're sitting in his lap feeding each other bites. and then he takes you for another round and you completely forget about your pill that night. and the next. and the next. and then he moves the packet around in the bathroom. puts in a different drawer or tucks it under some toothpaste bottles in the hopes that out of sight, out of mind works. and then the conversation mid-sex about filling you up and if you'll give him a pretty baby that looks like you and has his eyes and it just really works. i mean its him. it would definitely work on me at least. obviously you're stupid for him but you're not stupid. you know you've stopped taking the pill. he's fucking you raw every night. you live in his house. you're just waiting for the big diamond and then you won't even pretend to keep caring about your birth control. it does work btw. married two months later. a baby nine months after that. he loooves pregnancy sex i can feel it in my bones

[seilnakyle]

Ok you refer to selina as the matriarch of the batfam, and that makes me curious what are her relationships with each of them? I know her an jason def have a good relationship, but besides that i know nothing

Please enlighten me

Dick - Selina has known Dick since he was 8, and at first Dick didn’t really understand her and Bruce’s relationship, or what it was about this specific woman that caused his new father figure to fall over like a Skyrim character

Batman #1 / Batman #3 / Batman #15

But Dick also got to see Selina’s good side, she saves him from the Joker in Batman #2, and saves Batman at risk to her own life in Batman #62, Dick starts to realize she’s more complicated than just “villain”

Dick goes to Selina when seeking help against Talia during the Lazarus affair. Catwoman helps him and the family during Battle for the Cowl and continues to Support Dick as Batman even when they have disagreements

Gotham City Sirens (2010) #7

Nowadays they’re still very close and Dick pretty much considers her his stepmom in all but legal writing. They’re both very protective of each other, and have a real family relationship. Here is another post of some of my fave moments -> X

Babs - I love the dynamic between Babs and Selina sooo much. I have a post on my fave moments here and here

Selina serves as a kind of role model, not just to Barbara, but to pretty much every young female vigilante. And as Selina is a complicated woman, a character you can’t fit into the box of “good” or “bad”, she challenges them world view of characters like Barbara, the daughter of a cop who certainly needs her worldview challenged occasionally.

Birds of Prey: Catwoman/Oracle

Nowadays Catwoman is someone Oracle can count on to help out when the city or family needs her. Oracle has helped out Catwoman plenty of times, and sided with her in Gotham War. Selina even gave the Honeymoon suite that would have been for the batcat wedding to Dick and Babs when it didn’t happen. I love them :)

You said you already knew abt Jason but here and here are posts about him and Selina for anybody curious, and here is one for Helena B :)

Tim - Selina meets him during the 90s and they’re an underrated duo! At first Selina is annoyed by this kid trying to get in her way, but eventually becomes protective and caring to him. She finds him adorable tbh

Robin #28

”He’s a goody two-shoes but I like the kid”

Catwoman (1993) #31

Steph & Cass - Steph and Selina first meet during War games after Bruce has fired Steph and she’s accidentally started a gang war. Selina is one of the only people to show Steph some empathy during this time.

Catwoman (2002) #34

Even though New 52 was bad, I do miss Steph being a recurring Catwoman character, and I think Selina is a great mentor character for her, and Steph is terribly underused anyway.

Steph, like Babs and most female Gotham vigilantes, undoubtedly saw a role model in Catwoman even if she wasn’t completely hero oriented. She was Batman’s equal, and confident enough to not need or care about having his approval or not, but good enough to get it anyway, of Course Steph seeks her out for training!

Batman Eternal (2015) #43

But unfortunately DC was making Selina do crime boss things instead of being Catwoman so Steph was briefly trained by Eiko who was running a training school. Selina recognized a lot of potential in Steph, and later “deputized” her by using her detective skills for a case

Catwoman (2011) #42 / #44

Later on, Eiko was planning on killing several heads of crime families, and Steph immediately tells Selina. And tearfully confesses to killing Bill Turner as well. Selina lies to make Steph feel better, not wanting her to become another lost soul

Catwoman (2011) #46

As for Cass, Selina is VERY impressed with her Immediately

Selina enjoys hanging out with her even if she’s the strong silent type <3

Batman: Gotham Secret Files and Origins (2000)

And one thing for sure, Selina will ALWAYS be there to help the girls if they need her :’)

Catwoman (2018) #45

Birds of Prey (2023) #14

Damian - Selina and Damian technically met during his time under Dick’s guardianship, but don’t really have an interaction till much later. During Bruce and Selina’s engagement, Damian asks if he’s going to have to call her “mom” Selina would never expect this of course, and assured him that he never needed to call her that, but she would always have his back as long as he has her’s. It reminds me of the way she assured Jason that he never had to replace Nocturna as a mother figure in his heart…she is just the sweetest

Batman Prelude to the Wedding #1

And of course, they bond over love of cats! Selina helped rescue Alfred the Cat in New Showcase (2018), and donated 3 million to an animal sanctuary in the East End in Damian’s name. Damian rescued Selina’s cat Otto in Legends of The Dark Knight (2013) #48

Duke - They haven’t interacted much but Selina has been part of his training!

New Talent Showcase (2017)

Batman: Wayne Family Adventures - (s2) Ep. 62 Live From New York

[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.

[detective-pancake]

Hey, so I don't want to be that guy, but when are we going to acknowledge that Akechi was right?

No, I obviously don't mean about the things he was very clearly wrong about. I'm referring to the things he says in interviews about the Phantom Thieves. I hate how many people switch up after playing through his betrayal who previously agreed with his views, because nothing he said is wrong and nothing he did changes that fact. He speaks in the TV Station on the objective facts that he should know about, and with or without the context of his form of justice those facts stay true. It's a fallacy to claim that his form of justice being universally less approved of makes the Phantom Thieves better by comparison, or discredits anything he said. I don't think the Phantom Thieves are evil, or that they should necessarily be imprisoned, but I do think that they are not morally sound. They're kids. Prior to his betrayal I think he served his purpose well, but it's easy to disregard the validity of his words when you find out that he's a murderer. With the knowledge he SHOULD have had (and that many DID have), everything he says is true. And honestly? It still can be true for basically the entire plot of the game. Mishima's confidant tests the thieves in that way. They could have changed the hearts of anyone who's not a persona user, for any personal reason. It's a slippery slope.

I'll use these three options as an example for why he's right:

"They're justice itself" is just subjective and incorrect, because justice as a concept is individualized and given how each Phantom Thief has different reasons for being one it's ridiculous for even them to say. Their first target was before they even formed a group, and Ann was ready to kill Kamoshida. The others were not even going to step in, and they were going to respect her choice either way. All the members are so different, so this is an insane claim to make.

"They're necessary" is wrong because to say they are necessary is pretty disingenuous to all "justice" that has ever happened BEFORE they existed. I don't believe that the Thieves were a necessity per say, and personally I think their actions can only be judged on a case by case basis. Some Mementos targets for example have issues that stem beyond what they have done. Now they have their desires stolen but still have the issue that pushed them to immortality in the first place, plus a shitton of guilty baggage. The Thieves only help with the atonement, but not the push. How many of those people didn't just go right back to their past behaviors? How many of them got worse in other ways? Think about Futaba, she felt so guilty for something she thought she did, she formed a palace to condemn herself to die alone. To claim the Thieves are necessary to reform society implies that their method is the most effective, and I think that's a lot to claim for something they don't understand.

"They do more than the cops" I almost agree with. Legally the police in Japan in this game anyway (yes I'm aware it extends to reality in many ways, but I'm referring to just the game right now) are corrupt and flawed for the most part, but the thing I don't agree with is that this makes the Thieves a better alternative. They're not. For the same reason Yoshizawa says later, the Thieves can only do so much as vigilantes, and to imply that society should rely on these faceless nameless flawed people to fix society is not any better than what they have now. Especially with the method being unknown, potentially unsafe, and easily exploitable. I cannot be the only one who if the Phantom Thieves were real, would be extremely alarmed by the prospect of a group of vigilantes "changing hearts" right? It's so vague, and the pattern is dystopian. At least police methods are familiar

What I'm saying is that they're kids, and it's kind of insane that this game places Akechi as the narrative foil for the Thieves in their message and then makes it so easy to disregard because "he's an assassin so how could he know anything about justice". The Thieves don't either, and Ann was nearly a murderer. If the bar is "don't commit murder when you're infiltrating someone's mind" then it's far too low. I wouldn't trust a group of adults with this power to reform society, even less a group of teenage vigilantes. I'm 19, and I find this odd. And Strikers frames them as even more righteous, and it bugs me even more in that game. At least Royal has the third semester to give a bit more nuance to how big of a responsibility Ren was given, but that's also very frequently misinterpreted.

I love this game, and I love this fandom, and I have thoughts that get weird and ranty. I apologize, but I hope you all found this as interesting as I did.

[mattslilies]

Well Behaved - M.S.

"well, i suppose i could share him..." or... the one where matt is just so well behaved for you that you just have to show him off. warnings: threesome fic! sub!matt, dom!reader, dom!reader's friend, softdom!reader, meandom!reader's friend, good cop/bad cop type dynamic, pegging (don't like don't read), vibrator usage, oral (f receiving), fingering (m receiving), edging/overstimulation combo (m receiving) word count: 2.1k a/n: my first threesome fic... lets see how this goes!

you and your roommate had a very good relationship. you were best friends, had lived with each other since college, and were closer to each other than some people in relationships.

hence why she was currently straddling your boyfriend, wiping tears of pleasure from his eyes, a devilish smile on her face as she held a vibrator firmly to his tip.

you were sitting behind matt, his head in your lap, your hand gently running through his hair, sweet praises falling from your lips, a harsh contrast to the sharp insults that slipped from your friend's.

the sight was beautiful, and you were so glad that you had proposed the idea.

your roommate had accidentally walked in on you and matt last week. it wasn't a new experience. when you live with someone for years, you're bound to interrupt a few intimate moments here and there. you'd laughed it off, not thinking anything more about it until she brought it up the next evening.

you'd been sitting in the living room, her scrolling on her phone while you wrapped up some work on your laptop, when she randomly spoke up.

"he's very well-behaved, i noticed."

you glanced over, not blinking twice at her statement. you two were best friends, after all, the topic of your sex lives had come up countless times in conversation. a proud smile made its way onto your face before you answered.

"he is. always has been. i very rarely have to correct him."

she laughed, continuing to scroll on her phone.

"i've not seen a sub so well behaved in ages. i'm almost jealous."

she had a mischievous glint in her eye, and you caught her drift immediately.

"well, i suppose i could share him."

her head snapped over, a smirk making its way onto her face.

"yeah?"

you grinned, already picturing it in your head.

"yeah. i can share him for a night. i'll talk to him about it, but i'm almost one hundred percent sure that he'll say yes. he does always love extra attention."

matt had said yes. he'd eagerly said yes, his face flushing as he thought about the idea of being shared between the two of you. he'd always thought your roommate was very pretty, and voiced as such when you'd brought the proposal of a threesome to him. you'd smiled, shooting her a text of confirmation. he'd coughed nervously, only asking one question.

"when are we doing it?"

you hadn't looked up from your phone to answer him.

"whenever we decide, baby. we'll find you when we're ready."

that was a week ago, and you'd decided tonight was the night.

matt had been an absolute angel so far. he'd dropped to his knees the second you'd both walked into your room, giving him an expectant look.

you walked around behind him, gently tugging his head back with a grip on his hair, forcing him to look up at your friend. he took it without so much as a whine, patiently waiting for instruction.

"he knows his boundaries, and his safeword. i don't expect he'll make anything difficult for you, will you baby?"

he shook his head a much as possible, giving a wordless response. you released his hair, walking away to set up for the evening as your friend's full attention fell to him.

she crouched down in front of him, taking his face in her hand and giving him a once over before letting go and standing back up.

"stand up, baby. strip for us."

he scrambled to listen, immediately getting to his feet and removing his clothes, starting with his shirt. she hummed in approval, running her fingernails over his chest, watching his skin tremble in response.

"he's so sensitive."

you nodded, knowing she was speaking to you.

"he is. it's so much fun to play with."

his face flooded red, but he didn't speak, continuing to get rid of his clothes as she watched, arms crossed.

"he's messy. just tossed his stuff on the floor. does he not know how to fold laundry?"

he took the hint, moving to quickly pick up the fabric, beginning to neatly fold it and set it on the chair in the corner of your bedroom. you laughed, shaking your head.

"don't be so mean. he's just desperate, that's all."

the way you were talking about him like he wasn't even there was so cruel, but he loved it. it only served to make him harder, precum leaking from his tip as the humiliation sunk into his bones.

"me? mean? never." she clicked her tongue as she saw matt hovering, unsure of what to do next. "get on the bed, baby. lay down, face up."

he did, eyes flickering to yours, clearly searching for approval. you gave it to him, knowing he needed to feel confident in his actions.

"good job, baby. you're doing so well for us."

he keened at the praise, enjoying the way it felt to make you proud of him. your friend ditched her own clothing, moving to hover over top of him before speaking again.

"he hasn't used his mouth much at all tonight. is he good with it?"

you smiled down at matt before responding.

"he's very good with it, aren't you baby?"

your look told him that you expected a verbal answer. he swallowed roughly before speaking.

"yes, i'm good with my mouth."

she hummed, moving to hover over his face.

"why don't you prove it?"

his hands immediately found her hips, pulling her down onto his face as he began teasing her folds with his tongue. his lips quickly suctioned around her clit, sucking hard enough to make her squirm, a hand reaching down to fist his hair.

you watched with proudness on your face as matt made your friend feel amazing, knowing firsthand just how well his mouth worked on a girl. the differences in the moans and whimpers that fell from her lips let you know exactly what matt was doing to her, exactly how his tongue was moving, bringing her to her climax a lot faster than expected.

she rode his face through it, grinding down on his nose as the shockwaves of her high set every one of her nerves on fire, nearly panting as she slowed down, pulling off of his face and staring at you.

"god, he is good."

you smirked, nodding.

"trust me, i know."

she moved down his body, straddling his waist as she picked up a bullet vibrator from the toys you'd set out, turning it over between her fingers.

"do you use this on him often?"

you shrugged.

"sometimes. sometimes i make him watch me use it on myself when i feel like being a little mean, but other times i like to watch him squirm when i set it on the highest level."

"oh, and i bet he looks so pretty." you nodded in agreement, tracing your fingers around matt's mouth.

"doesn't he always? suck, baby." you pushed two fingers into matt's mouth, the movement familiar as he immediately wrapped his tongue around them, sucking harshly to lubricate them as much as possible.

you weren't going to prep him with just his own spit, but you did love the sight of him practically giving your fingers oral.

"he's good at that."

you grinned, pushing your fingers to the back of his throat, watching him slightly gag before breathing out of his nose and recovering quickly.

"he's had lots of practice." pulling your fingers out of his mouth, you wiped them on his chest.

"you can use that on him. he can take it."

"yeah?" a cruel smile spread across her face as the vibrator buzzed to life in her hand, slowly dragging it closer to his cock. "let's see how much he can take."

she ran it up and down the sides of his shaft, watching him twitch and squirm underneath her body. you held him in place, watching him struggle underneath you as the vibrator picked up speed.

she pressed it firmly against his tip, adoring the loud whine that came out of his lips as his hips attempted to move upward, chasing the pleasure.

she tortured him, picking up the speed of it and dragging him right to the edge before removing all stimulation, wrapping a hand around his dick to stroke him until he was shaking before harshly edging him, listening to him beg.

"ngh- fuck, please, i need to- oh my god-"

tears formed in his eyes, and she wiped them away, a mocking smile on her face.

"hush, you can take it."

you played with his hair, adding to the conversation.

"you're doing so well, baby, you look so pretty. you can hold out a bit longer for us, can't you?"

you turned your attention to your friend, giving her a look.

"you're being cruel to him. he's been so good, don't you think we should let him cum?"

"please-"

"baby, be quiet. we're talking."

she softened a bit, turning the vibrator down.

"you're right, he has been good for us so far, hasn't he?"

he frantically nodded, chest heaving from the consistent denial of a release. you stepped off the bed, moving to attach your strap to your harness, setting it on the edge as your roommate moved off of him, instead beginning to make out with him.

she swallowed his gasp as you began teasing his rim, pushing a finger in up to the knuckle, the pressure tight and hot around your digit. slowly opening him up, you made sure to target his sweet spot, wanting him to feel as good as possible, knowing the uncomfortable stretch of your initial push in wasn't the best feeling.

deciding to be kind, you crooked two fingers directly into his prostate, tightening your hand around his cock and stroking it at the same pace, pushing him right to the edge. he started babbling, begging for your permission to cum.

"i-i'm gonna, shit, oh my god, i need to cum, p-please!"

you smiled, nodding at him before speaking.

"go ahead, baby, you deserve it."

he involuntarily clenched down around your fingers as cum spurted from his tip, running over your knuckles as you stroked him through it, his back arching and loud whimpers leaving his lips.

pulling your fingers out of him, hushing his whine at the loss, you slid your strap onto your body and pushed into him, not giving him much time to adjust, even with his overstimulated moans. you knew he could take it.

your roommate played with his nipples for a while before kissing him again, drinking in all his sweet noises as you fucked the life out of him. he cried from pleasure, hips bucking to meet every thrust, your hips harshly slapping against his body.

"you always take me so well, sweetie. i bet you can feel me so deep inside you, hm? i can see your stomach bulging from it, baby."

you pressed down on his lower stomach, causing him to let out a wet sob, tears clinging to his cheeks as he grew closer and closer to another orgasm. he couldn't even beg this time, his words broken and incoherent, but you knew what he wanted.

"go on, baby, let go for us. show her how pretty you look when you cum on my cock."

his back arched so sharply it could've broken as his climax washed over him, causing him to shake underneath you. you fucked him through it, only stopping when his sobs of pleasure turned into sobs of overstimulation, and you gently pulled out of him, whispering praise and kissing him to distract from the uncomfortable sensation.

"i know, i know baby. you did so well. we're so proud of you."

tears flowed freely from his eyes as he recovered, his hand tightly holding onto your friend's arm as her other hand rubbed comforting circles on his scalp.

"don't worry, we're going to take great care of you, okay? just relax, we've got you."

his eyes were glossy with tears, but also a glimmer of something else.

"you fucked him right into subspace."

you nodded, immediately moving to the bathroom to get a warm washcloth to clean him up.

"i know. he's okay, he'll come up when he's ready."

she hummed in acknowledgment, staying close to him and keeping comforting touches on his body, letting him know someone was there to take care of him. you quickly cleaned him up, grabbing water and food from your nightstand for when he was ready, and you laid down next to him, motioning for her to lay down on his other side.

"he was perfect."

she nodded.

"it's like we said. he's so well behaved. we'll have to do this again sometime."

there would definitely be another time.

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[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!!