#the sam dickinson one hurt.

[wehaveagathering]

how are you feeling about the flyers draft picks/activities? i don’t hate luchanko but i would’ve rather seen them trade up to the 20s for him with a future second and/or 3rd round pick (or laughton or something) + 32. i can’t believe they passed on buium so I’m hoping they knew something we didn’t about him. i’m doing my best to trust in danny but i’m skeptical of his first round.

I feel great. I feel incredible. I was pretty uncertain and definitely shocked re: Luchanko at first but I've changed my mind. Danny made the right moves and while I might be upset that we didn’t get Buium or Helenius (and I am especially upset that we didn't get Dickinson but that's on the Sharks who I am pissy at rn. I promise in like three days i will be very excited to see him in teal), I see the vision. This is long term.

Here are just some of the first quotes I’ve found on Jett Luchanko:

Guy seems to me like a power-play oriented, playmaking, speed-skating, young Morgan Frost. Suzuki, and apparently Luchanko, are net front danger zone scorers, and Luchanko clearly seems disposed to pass first, playmake, and score in exactly the same zone that Michkov likes to score in. Net front. Behind the net. Michigans. (Watch that video I just linked! Look where he scores from!) Everything I'm reading here seems like he’s tailor-made to playmake for Michkov - and if he’s not? Well, this wasnt exactly a big swing, was it? We traded back and traded away, which was THE THING I SAID WE SHOULD DO, LIKE, A MONTH AGO:

Here's that link, in case you don't believe me.

We might not have traded to a shit team, but we still got the 2025 pick. Everything I said in that post is still applicable. This was "not the draft for big swings." So we didn't take a big swing. Danny took a guy that the Flyers clearly seem to think is a fantastic possible center for Michkov, which is, and should be, their top priority. One of the main criticisms that fans had of the Giroux era was that the Flyers didn't surround him with the talent he needed to succeed, and we don't want to make that mistake this time around?

The problem is that this isn't the draft that's full of that elite talent. Some of them, maybe. The Flyers very clearly wanted to trade up for Lindstrom, but CBJ didn't bite, because they wanted Lindstrom, and I get it. Lindstrom is a fantastic center. So they took the next best center for Michkov, who turned out to be Luchanko. It was what they wanted out of this draft – Michkov's center, or at least a possible one. He wasn't the best player available – clearly, since they traded away from Buium, and gained a 2025 3rd rounder in the process (nice!) – but he is a phenomenal choice for Michkov. And if he doesn't pan out? Well, it's a good thing we didn't trade up for him.

Now, 2025. This is the deep draft. This is the draft that does have that elite talent. And we may have 6 picks in the first and second rounds.

Now that is the draft for big swings. Michkov is coming over this season. We move as few pieces as possible. Who does he work well with on the team? Who doesn't click? How does his play fit, where are the gaps, what do we still need with him on the wing? How does he feel? What and/or who does he need, personally? Three first-round picks in 2025 mean that you have a LOT OF ROOM TO WORK WITH. I assume Luchanko doesn't go to the NHL this season – haven't seen anything to suggest he will, and with the general quality of this draft being one that still needs time, it's fair to assume that he'll stay with the Guelph Storm in the OHL. So when we watch him play in Canada this year and see how he improves and how he communicates with the Flyers, and see Michkov on the ice in orange, we'll have an idea of what we need in 2025. Do we keep the PHI, COL, EDM picks where they are? (My guesses are 14, 25, 32. Quote me!) Or do we package them and trade up? That's a big swing in a deep draft full of huge talents. 25+32 to trade to 20. 20+14 to trade up to 5, or 4. Or maybe 25+32 is enough to get us up front. 10, even. And then once you have that high pick - like we saw today, anyone can fall. We saw it with Michkov last year. Imagine.

I love this draft. I think Danny cooked. I think this was a long-term vision and I'm stoked for Jett Luchanko. Welcome to Philly, bud! I can't wait.

[inhersepulchrebythesea]

I saw an old friend today (10/19/23)

I don't keep in contact with a lot of people from my undergrad, but there is one girl that I really bonded with after so many classes together and we sort of kept tabs on each other after graduation.

I met with Cas for coffee because she was in town attending a work conference. And immediately, seeing her in a nice suit and hearing her talk about her new, fancy job, I felt really bad about myself. Because I could only talk about my jobs at the campus library and the writing center and my shitty apartment. My shitty, haunted apartment.

She asked me how the town was. She had never been there before, and she wanted to know if there were good places to drink and eat. I told her I wasn't really sure since I spend most of my time working or studying.

Evelyn brought us complimentary muffins because they had to be thrown out in an hour and because she's nice. As she came by our table, she mentioned to me to see her before I headed out. She had a book she borrowed from me and more crystals.

"Crystals?" Cas asked.

"Yeah," I said. "Evelyn is, like, super into that kind of stuff. And my apartment is kinda haunted at the moment."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's okay. I think it's just a cat ghost? It's a little disruptive, but it's not causing major problems."

I didn't mention how heavy my chest still felt most mornings or how I had to google allergy medication for ghost cats. I didn't tell her about the increasing sleepless nights even with the crystals and the teas and candles. Or the growing unease.

"You know," Cas said, "Sam has a side gig as an exorcist."

"Oh."

"I can give you his number. He doesn't live far from here, and he works fast."

"How much does it cost to get an apartment exorcised?"

"I'm sure he'll cut you a deal."

"Oh... Okay."

I wanted a number upfront, but I took the napkin that had Sam's number scribbling on it. I vaguely remembered Sam from undergrad, from being in some poetry classes with him. I'm pretty sure I still have him on Snapchat.

Cas had to leave for her conference, and I walked to the front counter to Evelyn.

But when I got up to her, her face was scrunched in a little pout. An awfully cute pout, if I'm being honest.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I heard you talk about using an exorcist."

"Yeah, someone I used to go to school with--"

"Don't do it."

"Why?"

"Exorcists are no good. They overcharge and they hurt spirits."

"Okay, well, what my other options? I can't have a ghost living in my walls forever. And what if there are other things? What if there's other ghosts?"

"Then one exorcist isn't going to be able to do anything. And even so, it's inhumane. Exorcists think they're so badass for ripping souls from homes."

"Why do you have beef with exorcists?"

Evelyn was quiet for a minute. "No reason. Here." She handed me my book--a collection of Emily Dickinson poetry--and some new crystals. "These'll make it easier to sleep. It should make the spirit in your apartment chill out for a bit."

"Cool. Thanks. I'll see you later?"

Evelyn smiled, small and sheepish. "Sure."

And that was it. I went to work. I went to my night class. I went home and hung up my crystals.

[redrobin-detective]

because I could not stop for death

because I could not stop for death / he kindly stopped for me / the carriage held but just ourselves / and immortality ~ Emily Dickinson

Danny Fenton was dying, properly this time.

Somehow, in the back of his head and in his worst nightmares, he knew it would end this way: bleeding on the floor of his parents’ lab where it had all began. He was so hot he felt like his skin was on fire, blood and ectoplasm were dripping all over him and his lungs and heart were working overtime to try in vain to keep him alive a moment longer. He’d imagined at the time that there would be more screaming but death, in the end, was turning out to be a quiet little affair. A lonely table set for one.

“Danny, Danny come on, you-you gotta slow down your breathing, just relax, for me, please,” Sam moaned, more than making up for his lack of noise. She was shaking and touching him all over, his chest, his face, his hair. Normally she jumped right into action but she had to know, deep down, that there was nothing she could do. All that was left was to watch her panic and cry, it wasn’t his favorite image. 

“Vlad!” He heard Tucker scream cry into the phone, “please it’s Tucker, Danny’s dying I think. The Fentons had some new invention, something about his core, please we don’t know what to do!” 

Ugh Vlad, he was probably going to be so happy Danny was on his way out. He wasn’t looking much forward to his last images being his archenemy gloating. Tucker hung up and reached down to grasp Danny’s hand so hard it hurt. “Don’t worry dude, Vlad’s coming. He knows so much about you half ghosts that you’ll be fixed up on no time.” Right, Danny was already dead. If calling Vlad, feeling like he did something, helped Tucker move on then he’d deal with it.

Danny tilted his head to the side where Sam’s fingernails were carding through his hair. It was getting harder to see with the blood pouring out of his eyes but he looked at her, and tried to memorize her face. He’d never been able to tell her how much he loved her, that any day spent with her was a blessing. Tucker too, his best bro and a part of his soul. His best friends in the whole wide world, through thick and thin. God, he was going to miss them.

“Glurk,” he said, trying to convey those feeling but the fluids in his mouth and airway made it impossible. “Blerh.”

“Shh shh shh,” Sam soothed, “it’s okay, don’t try to talk.”

“Daniel!” He heard Vlad’s voice shriek as he materialized in front of the portal. Sam and Tucker were violently pushed out the way. Danny wanted to be angry at his loved ones being taken away in his final moments but anger was for the living, he barely had the energy to breathe. This death was too long and too short all at once. He made eye contact with Vlad who all at once lost the frantic edge to his tone and and instead knelt on the floor. “Oh my dear boy. What did they do to you?”

“What is going on?” Sam demanded, shoving her way back in. Danny was glad, he could see again like this. “Why aren’t you doing something!”

“There’s nothing to be done,” Vlad said in a flat, monotone, he picked up one of Danny’s hands and patted it gently. “His core is dying, it’s like a ghost’s heart. It contains their very essence, it is from which everything they are comes from. If Jack and Maddie somehow disrupted it then there’s nothing anyone can do to save him.”

“But he’s human too,” Tucker defended, grabbing Danny’s other hand. His human warm skin burned but the contact felt so good, he twitched his fingers closer to his friend’s. “He-he doesn’t need a core, he’s already got a heart. So, so he doesn’t have powers, we can do normal again.”

“You-” Vlad hissed before taking a calming breath. “The accident that made Daniel like this irreparably altered him. His core was as much a part of keeping him alive as his other organs, without it, his body is shutting down.” Vlad turned down to look Danny in the eye and saw true, genuine grief in those hateful red eyes. 

“I cannot imagine the agony you are going through, I’m so sorry. I’d say it will be over soon but,” a hitch that sounded almost like a sob if it was coming from anyone other than Vlad. “But you’ve hovered on the edge of death for years, son, and you’ve always been such a fighter. You have minutes at most but those minutes are an eternity when you’re suffering.”

Sam and Tucker’s sobbing blended together in the background, Vlad was saying something with a miserable, stunned expression. The swirling of the portal in the background seemed louder than anything, louder than his heart beat pounding and pounding as it ran it’s last race. 

“Daniel, Danny,” he focused his eyes back on Vlad who had a stubborn, unhappy set to his brow. “Do you want me to make the pain stop? An ectoblast to your chest will end your life instantly.”

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Sam shrieked, coming back into view and looking like she was trying to fight Vlad off. “You do anything to him and I’ll kill you!” Tucker just sat and stared at him, like he too was trying memorize Danny’s face.

“It’s a mercy, Samantha or do you want his last moments on earth to be drowning on the blood in his lungs.”

“Sam, he has a point. I don’t- I don’t think we can fix this.”

“No! No we always fix things, I’ll do it myself if I have to!”

Danny’s vision was starting to go, more black than anything else. He closed his eyes and readied himself for the inevitable. 

“Time Out,” Danny opened his eyes and found he was no longer in pain. He was standing up and apart from where he’d previously been lying. Sam had her hands in Vlad’s face and the older hybrid was snarling something at her. Tucker was midmotion trying to stand up, presumably to get Sam but the three of them were frozen in the moment. Danny turned and found Clockwork floating, looking very out of place in his parents lab. “Good evening, Danny.”

“You that short on cash that you work part time as a grim reaper?” Danny quipped out of habit. He looked down at his body and grimaced a bit, that wasn’t a pretty sight. No doubt traumatizing for Tucker and Sam. God how were they going to explain this to his parents? “Gonna ferry me across the River Styx? I don’t have two pennies but I think I have a bloodied $10 on me.”

“You’re core is dying and you have 17 seconds left in this world before all your organs give out and finish the process you began when you turned on your parent’s ghost portal,” Clockwork explained as he changed into child form. 

“O-okay,” Danny said shakily, trying to be brave even when he was so, so scared. He was going out whether he wanted it or not but he refused to leave crying. “Nice of you to come say goodbye then but, uh but unless you have something to say then you should let me go back. No one knows better than me that you can’t outrun death. Thanks but I’m uh I’m ready.”

Clockwork stared at him for a bit, not sure how long, time was weird like this but he changed forms a few times. “You’re quite the remarkable young man, Danny Fenton.”

“Uh thanks,” Danny added, once more looking at his body which had, according to Clockwork, a 17 second expiration date. “What’s going to happen? Am I going to become a ghost? Does heaven or hell exist for someone like me?”

“I don’t get to decide what happens, I merely see options,” Clockwork stated easily, taking his time. “If you die naturally you’ll become ghost, a mere shadow of who you are now and one who would fade fairly quickly. You don’t have strong enough anger or regrets to tie you in the real world for long.” Not great but okay he supposed, hell for his friends and family though. “You could let Plasmius deliver his mercy kill, destroying what’s left of your ghost core and ensuring you do not come back.” Better, probably won’t help the Fruitloop’s instability but he can’t save everyone.

“That one comes with it’s own caveat but I’ll get to that in a moment,” Clockwork explained. “There is a third option where you get up off the floor and walk away.” Danny blinked then looked back at his body which certainly wasn’t walking anywhere but into a plush casket. Clockwork opened his hands and the Ghost King’s Crown materialized in his hands. “If you accept your claim to the King’s Cown, it will revitalize your core and your life would be saved.”

Danny blinked.

“By sealing Pariah Dark, you won by proxy and established a legitimate claim to the throne. The Zone has been without a king for millennia, most have forgotten the old rules. Those who remembered were not too keen on a half-ghost child assuming leadership and kept you in the dark. If Plasmius ends your life then your claim transfers over to him, which he is aware of. It had been his plan all along to trick you into defeating Pariah so he could steal the Crown from you at a later date, a much easier opponent.”

Danny’s mind was overloaded with information, he didn’t know what to focus on first. He stared at his 17 seconds from death face and tried to process it all. Crown? Claim? Vlad?

“Of course,” Clockwork tutted, “he didn’t plan on your dying and in such a gruesome fashion. If he kills you and takes your claim, he would spend his remaining years ruling the Ghost Zone in a just, controlled fashion for your memory. He destroys all the stable portals and keeps the ghost and human worlds separate.” Clockwork became and old man and titled his head, “it’s not a bad timeline, all things considered.”

“And if I take it?” Danny asked quietly.

“You’re compassionate, brave and motivated, you have all the makings of a revolutionary king,” Clockwork smiled. “The Zone would experience and unprecedented era of peace, there would be positive interactions between human and ghosts for the first time since life and death split into two. Your name would spoken with reverence for the rest of time.”

“But I don’t want to be king,” Danny frowned.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Clockwork stated. “Which is why I am giving you the choice. If you pass peacefully there will be no one to claim the Crown and life will continue on, ghost attacks and all. If Plasmius kills you, he becomes an effective but unmemorable king. If you take the Crown, you can get the chance to tell Sam and Tucker how much you love them.”

Danny rubbed at his face, he didn’t want to die but he’d be sealing away his entire future with a move like this. He didn’t even know if the Crown would let him go with death, maybe he’d die and be stuck as the Ghost King until his core finally gave out lord in who knows how long. Eternity was an awful long time to carry such a responsibility. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, too afraid of the answer.

“Is there ever a timeline I became an astronaut?” He asked instead. Clockwork hummed, seemingly unsurprised by Danny’s non-sequitur. 

“Yes, in one of the few universes where you never walked into the portal. You never go into space what with human politics putting a halt on the programs but you work for NASA. You leave Amity Park at 17 and don’t come back save for your parents’ dual funeral.” He paused and Danny felt read down to his very bones, “from the moment you became half ghost you were always heading for this moment. The circumstances varied but it always came down to you and the Crown. Time is straining to continue, to see how this drama plays out. Will you accept it and all the joy and grief that comes with it?”

Danny looked over at Vlad, still mid-sneer but there was a scared desperation in his face. He and Vlad sniped at each other all the time but Danny didn’t really hate him and he didn’t think Vlad did either. Leaving him alone, plus making him be king was a heavy burden to put on his enemy. 

Sam and Tuck probably wouldn’t recover from this, he’d put them through so much already but he just knew that they’d never be the same. Could he do that to them? Take the easy way out and leave them to suffer? Mom and Dad didn’t deserve to come home to a dead son, the truth would come out and they’d never forgive themselves. Jazz certainly wouldn’t, she was 2 states over at University but he could already hear her angry, grief-stricken screams. 

Death, death was quiet. It was quiet and merciful and sad, but it was also easy. And Danny Fenton had never once taken the easy route. He reached out and took and the crown before shakily placing it on his head. He gasped, throwing his head back as his core swelled, taking up residence once more right next to his heart. Clockwork smiled, looking like the cat who ate the canary. 

“The Crown of Fire, pardon me the Crown changes with each core, the Crown of Ice is now yours as is the Zone. Your reign begins now but so too does the rest of your life. People are waiting for you. Time in.” Danny slammed back into awareness on the floor of his parents’ lab, the floor he’d almost died on twice. 

He sat up as cold radiated off his body, causing frost to crawl down his arms and along the floor. Sam, Tucker and Vlad, who’d been frozen up until now, jumped back to life. There was a new, familiar weight on his head that he didn’t dare acknowledge. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and said a silent goodbye to a quiet, normal life. It wouldn’t be all bad, he could be happy like this but the Crown still felt like a iron manacle around his neck. But he got used to the ghost powers, he could get used to this too. Maybe one day he won’t look at the stars and say ‘what if?’

“Danny!” Sam shouted, throwing herself into his arms soon followed by Tucker. Their warm weight, their relieved sobs, their shaky breaths in his air, now this was something worth living for. He squeezed them tightly.

“But how dude, you were at death’s door!” Tucker asked, still not letting go.

“You accepted the Crown,” Vlad said evenly, “I wasn’t aware you even knew about your claim. Who told you?”

“You don’t know everything, Vlad,” Danny sighed, sitting himself upright. Ugh his shirt was covered in blood and ectoplasm. He needed to trash these clothes before his parents freaked. And find a way to hide the floating ice crown on his head. 

“Even an old man can be surprised every now and again,” Vlad said wearily. He stood up to his full height before startling Danny by dipping down to one knee. “Then allow me to be the first to welcome my new king and wish him well.”

“I thought you wanted this,” Danny questioned.

“I do, I did,” Vlad said, unusually off balance. “To be quite honest, I’m not sure how to feel about it but, right now, I’m just immeasurably happy you’re alive, little badger. Now I best be off, enjoy your kingdom, my liege, I’ll be sure to come bother you some time soon.” Vlad disappeared in a swirl of pink leaving just him, Sam and Tucker still clinging to him.

Danny may have a kingdom, a job he didn’t want and his whole life decided in a spur of the moment choice, but he also had something very important. He squeezed his friends tightly.

“I love you guys, thank you for being my friends even though I have the worst ideas for activities. Dying? On a Sunday night? How lame is that?” Sam laughed, a bit hysterical but it was real and it made Danny feel weightless. 

“Don’t do that again, buddy,” Tucker breathed into his shoulder. “So you gonna explain what just happened and why you’re apparently the Ghost King or something?”

“Yeah, yeah I will but let’s get changed first. Mom and Dad will be home soon and I think I’m going to need to have a conversation with them about my new job.” 

[mitchelljoni]

Hey, I just read "We learned the Whole of Love" by Emily Dickinson for the first time and it reminded me so much of Emily and Sue in (there's a mile) between my heart and my head that I had to write you. I'm still processing the last update, recovering from it will take some time, I absolutely loved it, you're an amazing writer, but damn this hurt like A Lot. It's so complicated with these two, I understand where Sue's fears are coming from, but being only friends is so not an option for them, being friends with benefits is obviously also not an option which I'm not sure if Emily understands, she seems to be ahead of Sue in realizing things, but I'm not sure if she's quite there yet too. I wonder why does keep spending time with Sam? It makes Sue jealous, so much is obvious apparently for everyone around them. You've nailed all the characters and I'm so much enjoying the dynamics between all of them, it's just perfect. The company dinner was so delightful to read, I have feelings for Sue and Vinnie and their sibling like relationship, just the way all the Dickinson siblings love Sue, this is something that makes my heart swell.

How don't they see that they live like a family and they've built themselves a home for each other with each other, the domesticity of it all, Emily baking and Sue cleaning afterwards, literally everything that you've written so beautifully, every detail, all the little things, how easy it is, dunno where I'm going with this. But I love your fic so much, thank you for writing it and sorry for the rambling!

omfg the audacity of u to send me this im actually absolutely shaking. like why am EYE writing this. why dont YOU take the wheel. we learned the whole of love....i havent read that poem in such a while and going back to it bc of u has actually knocked the breath from my lungs like exactly EXACTLY

feeling very very seen by this comment...! emily also has a lot of work to do i agree! i think the sam thing is.....hmmmmm...........how you say....complex. why does anyone make a bad decision when they know it's a bad one?? surely a combination of torrid factors. sometimes we do things to hurt each other to show that we can etc. sometimes we do things to hurt ourselves to...??? show we can, because we think we deserve it, because it feels good temporarily. and so on and so forth. i believe that there are elements of these dark impulses to emily's decisions too, we just aren't as privy to them because we are so hyperaware of sue's own bad decisions and the thinking behind them, being stuck in her head. hopefully more will become clear as we go on bc im v aware that this is such an obscure response sgkljfdlkgj

the dinner scene was so much fun to write fkljgldfkjg i get STRESSED writing those kinds of fast paced multi-speaker dialogues cause feels like there needs to be a certain precision to the humour and timing. so i feel like very relieved that it felt good to read. and YES yes family domesticity etc......feeling so crazy about this ! thank YOU for this mssg. no apology needed. i love rambling. especially when it is this generous, kind, thoughtful, and so on. thank u so much:)

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

Hope is the thing with feathers–

endverse destiel

~1.4k

Cas doesn’t bother looking up when the door to his cabin creeks open, or even when it slams shut. He knows the cadence of those steps, the pounding of those worn-down boot heels. The view through the sliver of window is nice, even though it’s upside-down and sideways, and he doesn’t want to look away. The autumn leaves are red and gold; he likes the birch trees best, with their stark white bark against their bright yellow leaves. There’s a particularly lovely birch a few paces from his cabin. A few days after he lost his last feather he carved his name into its bark; CAS in stark black letters on the paperwhite bark. He’d felt the need to leave his mark somewhere, somehow. The birch seemed as good a place as any.

“Hello Dean,” he says, still watching the wind whisper through the treetops.

“Hey Cas.”

Dean’s voice is a worn out blanket. Cas keeps his eyes on the leaves, unwilling to take in the whole of Dean’s brokenness. His own is hard enough to bear.

There’s a twinge in the middle of Cas’s back, phantom pain from the wings that once were and never will be again. A crow cuts through the bit of sky he can see, blue-black wings spread wide. He thinks of the pillowcase full of feathers he’s got stuffed under the bed, so like and yet unlike those of the crow. He doesn’t know why he holds onto them. They’re only collecting dust and reminding him of a past so full of bitterness and regret he fills his now-human body with poisons so he can almost forget.

But at the moment his blood, his mind, is clear, free of the drugs that so often pull him into soothing numbness.

“Dean,” he says, and Dean must hear something in his voice, because Cas can almost feel Dean’s attention shift, feel the focus of Dean’s gaze on the top of his head. Dean doesn’t speak, but Cas knows he’s waiting as clearly as if he’d said ‘speak, for your servant is listening.’

He tries again. “Dean, I–” but his voice breaks. He clenches his hands into fists, feels his fingernails puncture the skin of his palms. He wants to speak, wants to say the words. This would be so much easier if he was high.

But when he’s high he doesn’t care enough to try.

After a few slow breaths he says, “I’m sorry I’m not better. For you.”

It’s not exactly what he means.

It’s not close to what he means.

He wants to apologize for not being able to save Sam, for losing his grace, for letting Dean down again and again. He wants to make him understand that he knows Dean could never love him, but that he’s thankful for everything Dean’s willing to give–every spoken word. Every wayward glance. Every brush of his hand against Cas’s. Every night spent frantically searching for pleasure that can never truly be found.

He knows he can never be Dean’s everything. He wants Dean to know he’s okay with being his something.

Dean doesn’t speak; if Cas didn’t know the squeak of the door he’d wonder if Dean had up and left rather than talk with him.

But no, Dean is still at the table, the outdoor symphony falls into a temporary lull, just for a moment, and Cas can hear Dean’s ragged breath. Harsh, in and out, like maybe he’s–

“Dean?”

Cas turns and looks this time; it always hurts his eyes to look at Dean, to see the man he’d stitched back together so haggard and worn, but that sound in his breath demands his eyes.

And Dean’s eyes–wet with unshed tears–are looking back.

“Cas.” Dean’s voice is rough, whiskey and gravel. It goes straight to Cas’s center, sends sparks up his spine. “Cas, you’ve given everything for me. This–what we have–it isn’t perfect.” He laughs, but it’s almost a mockery of a laugh. “No, forget that. The world sucks right now, and I hate 99% of it. But you keep me steady, Cas. I wish we could have a normal ‘hey let’s go out and have a drink and go dancing’ kind of thing, but that went out with burger joints and movie theatres. I should–Cas, I’m the one who should be better. I should stay the night–all night–and kiss you good morning.” Something in Cas’s chest flutters. Is that his heart?

“Fuck, Cas, you defied god for me. You used every scrap of your grace to protect me, to keep us all safe, and when it was gone you still flung yourself into danger without a second thought.”

Had he done that? He remembered disobeying the angels, but had that been defying his Father? Perhaps it had.

But thinking about his grace still stings. The pain in his back flares again.

Dean gets up, crouches down in front of Cas. “I’m sorry about your wings, Cas. I know they still hurt you sometimes. Come on, let me help.” Dean pulls him up, pulls him towards the bed.

This whole conversation has been so confusing, but this is familiar ground. Good. He doesn’t like losing his footing, especially around Dean.

But then he’s confused again. Dean pulls off Cas's shirt then pushes him onto the bed, onto his stomach, the rough blanket pressing into the skin of his chest and his cheek.. “Just relax,” Dean says. And then he’s straddling him, massaging Cas’s back, paying special attention to the place between his shoulder blades, the place that hurts every time he thinks of his wings.

It’s bliss. Cas suddenly has to bite back a sob; he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out at least one overwhelming stimulus. And then Dean stops, and Cas wants to cry out in a different way. But Dean’s just slipping something into Cas’s hand before he goes back to his work of taking Cas apart. “Here,” he says. “This might help.”

Cas knows instantly what it is. One of his feathers. But not from the bag under his bed; those are bent, broken, burnt–the feathers of a fallen angel. This feather is perfect. Strong. And undeniably his.

“Dean, this is–”

“Yeah,” he says. He sounds almost embarrassed. Cas wishes he was on his back instead of his stomach so he could see the blush he knows is creeping across those freckled cheeks.

“You told us you were an angel, and even with those flashy wings I didn’t buy it.” He chuckles. “You know what I was like back then. No god, no angels, I wasn’t having any of it. But a few days later I went back to that barn. I’d already seen you again by then, was already starting to believe, but I needed…” Dean’s hands on his back stop, and Cas can feel him thinking. Searching. “I don’t know what I was looking for. But I hoped there would be something. And there was.”

He stops again, and this time he climbs off Cas’s legs to sit on the floor next to the bed, eye to eye with the fallen angel. “It’s stupid. I know it’s stupid, but…” He runs a hand through Cas’s hair, and for a moment Cas wonders if his hair still feels like feathers. He used to think it did. Then his attention snaps back to Dean. “When I picked this up I could feel something. A flash. A...a power. Later I figured out it was your grace.”

“Yes,” Cas says, his voice raw. “It’s still there. Just a drop, but it’s still strong.”

After a beat, Dean says, “I know. I can still feel it too.”

Something in Cas’s stomach flips. They’ve been connected since the beginning, since he first gathered Dean’s broken pieces and wove them back together. Since Dean’s soul, bright and clean despite its dank surroundings, shimmered in Cas’s hands. Since he’d left his mark on Dean for all to see.

“No more spark,” Dean agrees, and Cas closes his eyes.

He’d known, oh, he’d known, but it hurts to hear it so plain. It’s one thing to feel broken, to feel so less than whole, but it’s another to know Dean sees him that way. But then Dean laughs, and Cas is startled into looking back at him. The intensity in Dean’s eyes ignites something like hope deep inside Cas.

“When I touch you now, it’s a fucking fire.”

. + . + . + .

SPNStayAtHome 1 || Feather

for @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen and @helianthus21

–many thanks to Emily Dickinson for the title!–

[dharmadischarge]

Annunaki chapter 1

"Dying is a wild night and a new road."

– Emily Dickinson

"Love never dies a natural death."

-Anais Nin

"We all float down here."

-Pennywise, the clown.

1

Cynthia "sam" Lynskey: was a chubby, tired librarian. Who had been looking for a fix. "I am in control,"; she wanted to tell herself, yet she knew this was a regret waiting for honesty to validate it. She is standing in the hall of a house, Out in the hills. The lights are grim with heavy shadows. Heavy contrasts of black and glowing gold highlighting whites of skin.

The preacher and his family were squatting in a dilapidated hell-hole they called home (or at least a place of business which, if we were honest, that is kind of what home is). The walls had holes from punches in the plaster with splintering cracks. Roaches that were long-dead sprinkled across the carpet that is piss-yellow from decades of nicotine stains.

A single couch in this room and a stained mattress her eyes are locked onto in the next room. That Sam is uncomfortably familiar with; she was responsible for some of those stains—over six months of talking herself down from sobriety, talking herself down from pride or dignity.

The couch was near the entryway, with a trinity of sleeping, dirt-covered "white trash." One child, the rest could be anywhere from twenty to forty years old. Sam's clean floral dress and translucent scarf aligned her with a world of, "I am fashionable even if it looks like Sunday best for the Walmart crowd."

She was waiting next to the preacher's bedroom, which in her mind meant that she would be eating out his wife tonight. "if I have to fuck two of you," she thought, "then I better get double." Out of a kind of politeness, Sam started to cough, looking at the women sitting on the couch before saying,

"you look good tonight, jenny."

The door opened to a short fat man wearing a black colored button-up shirt and a straw hat fedora before the women could respond.

"Hi, preacher," said Sam.

"hey," he said, standing to the side so she could enter.

Sam walked into the room, anxious and excited. She had been out of her meds for most of the day and agitated at a world that didn't seem to hurt as much as she did. The excitement left, however, when she saw the kid in the corner of the room. He had a nervous smile.

"who's the kid? and why is he here?" Said Sam glaring with evident frustration at the preacher, who didn't seem shaken from her exclamation

.

. "I'm, no fucking kid," The kid's voice shook.

The preacher said, "calm down, boy." then he looked at Sam, "It's his birthday."

and turning red in the face, she whispered, "so?"

"how much you have?"

"Just a twenty? but we had an agreement."

"and we still do, Just it's not me. It's the kid,"

"I'm not a kid,"

"How old is he?"

"he just turned eighteen. Now before this gets any more awkward, James, show her your id."

The kid listened and did what he was told.

"it says July 12. That's today," said Sam.

"You wanted a ladder? I'll give you that and two oxie."

"I want it in advance," Said Sam.

"no." said the preacher, but he reached in his pocket and pulled out a joint. He lit it, taking a hit, holding it out to Sam while he said, "we have a deal?"

She said nothing but took a hit off the joint held it in so long when she finally breathed again. There wasn't all that much smoke. She looked at the kid and held it out to him. His legs were shaking as he walked over to her. Then he sat on the bed.

The preacher said, "I will square it off when you're finished." then left, closing the door behind him.

She rubbed his shoulders, leaned forward, and kissed his neck. "let me see your tits." he said red-eyed. "she didn't say anything but pulled down the front of her dress. Awkward hands fumbling towards violence, pinched, and fished.

"Hey, you're hurting me." said Sam

"shut your face," Said James.

"This isn't working," said Sam, facepalming.

"Hey, come on, I'm sorry." then he stood up, unbuttoning his jeans.

"Just lay down, kid," she said. "I will do the rest."

He lay back, and she took his small sour cock in her mouth and began with eyes closed to fulfill a bargain. And when he was hard, she said, "Let's get this over with." lifted her skirt. Her pussy had stubble where she had shaven it yesterday. She laid back and guided him into her. Her distracted mind was saying, "you pull out, this isn't an all cum served buffet." he went on humping while she covered her eyes with arms. After ten minutes, she felt him squirt it off and then kiss her lips more fragile than she thought him capable of while all evidence of decency was gone when he continued to grope and play with her despite the tears.

Sam wiped his mess off of her, not hiding any disgust, and waited for the preacher to get her pills. The kid gave the preacher deliberate and obvious a self-assured smile and walked out.

"So who was he?" said Sam,

"James? He is my sister's boy. his dad thought he was a queer, and they ask for a favor."

"so what was I? his birthday present?" Said Sam.

"no, can't give away what you don't own; your more like a runt that is almost useless with its mouth taped shut so the fighting dogs can get a taste of blood." Said the preacher.

Hair frazzled, she tried to straighten it up and saw James sitting on the porch's warped stairs. He was smoking a self rolled cigarette; he didn't look at her.

"Those will kill you," she said, going by.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," said James.

"I let you do it, so don't worry about it," said Sam.

Then, as if he was trying to impress her, he looked up to the sky and said, "there are not even any stars, no sir, not tonight."

She got in her car, turning the key, a rough idle than the reverse. She saw him in her headlights, still on the front porch as she drove off into the darkness and was comforted by it.

2

The drive home was pleasant enough — the whitewashed walls of her house revealed itself through the tall grass around it. Sam's life was in the valley, where the mountains glowed on the horizon. With the majority of civilization hidden behind walls of a prison. The privately-owned prison/factories of indentured labor.

"shit," said Sam as she paid closer attention to the lights from the city hiding the stars. Dreamy, stoned eyes and a whisper of "it ain't that bad."

She saw the black cat for the first time while making her way up the creaking stairs of the porch. She did a dance of cracking the door and "shoo, shoo, I got nothing for you." trying to escape from its overt friendliness. The way it tried to rub against her shin as she ascended the stairs. Following her from the first of her "shoo's."

In a magnificent leap, it landed on her back, climbing up her dress, running over her bare shoulder, and leaping as she leaned down to pick up her keys. the door is pushing open as she reached for the black cat, Sam saying softly, "oh, damn it."

She lit the lamp and looking for any glare of reflection in the black cat's eyes, hoping it would give away the location that it was hiding in. She said, "oh fuck you," then Sam exhaled in exasperation. "You can, fucking stay, but I am getting high and going to bed." she locked the front door then went upstairs carrying the lamp to her room.

"Cynthia, why do they call you, Sam?" The voice was scratchy, calm, and with no visible source. Sam sat down the lamp on her end table and went back down the stairs.

"excuse me," she said, looking around.

Then she reached for the drawer that held the revolver; her father had owned before his passing. There she saw the black cat, sitting on the kitchen counter, staring into her eyes out of the darkness, and it started to sing. "jimmy cracked corn, and I don't care. Jimmy cracked corn, and I don't care, the monster's gone away."

Then she saw a spiral of smoke, and the cat was gone.

"Sam?" said a voice behind her. "is this what you were looking for?"

she felt the barrel push against her spine. "Maybe," she said, embarrassed that she had said anything.

The gun pulled away, and she heard a chair drag across the floor beside her.

"Sit down, please." said the voice.

Sam sat down and crossed her arms on the table. Walking casually to the chair opposite her, she saw something not human, but at least humanoid.

"I'll be staying awhile," it said. but was then noticing how wounded she seemed.

"It's for your good," then it held up the gun, and it turned to dust in its hand.

"he laced me with LSD? Didn't he," she said to herself.

"no, I am not a hallucination." said the thing,

"what are you?"

"I am a god or a monster, you could say. I'm not from here. You can call me Teki, and I am a cosmic tourist."

"tourist?" said Sam.

"If you are going to ask a question, you really should ask less ambiguously...for example. What is a cosmic tourist?" after a painfully long silence, he raised his scaly eyebrow and leaned forward as if to say, 'are you serious?'.

Sam, surprised, said, "I'm sorry; I am a little high right now."

"don't let me stop you go on ask your question."

"Why does everyone have to be an asshole, even aliens?"

"Why does everyone have to be an asshole? That is a good question."

Then he held his chin as if in deep thought, rubbing his gill-like whiskers. "maybe that is the core of tourism? I might just be looking for someone to surprise me. someone to make the whole mess worth it" then, clapping his hands together once he said, "it's settled; you will be my new passport."

"So, What does that mean?" said Sam.

"Well, my last one died, so I have been stranded for over a month in this hell hole. looking for his replacement, but luckily I found you."

"Your passport died?"

"My former one, yes, but I am hoping to replace him"

"I am a person, not a passport."

"A passport has to be a person. It is the nature of passports to be conscious and alive. Though your feeble human mind can't comprehend much, that isn't your fault. But alas, there is the downside of traveling to these obscure corners of the zoo. If your passport dies, then well, you are stuck with a serial killer monkey, for forty or fifty years."

"Fuck you."

"oh, come on, you will have a better life than here. Didn't you ever find it strange that a hundred-foot wall surrounded your whole tiny world?"

"well yeah."

"Well, now you get to go beyond the wall! Think about it; there is a universe out there, and not all the stars are artificial like in the zoo."

"can I think about it?"

"no!" he said with a smile.

"your first job is to dispose of this body," he said as he opened the closet door revealing a shriveled grey octopus creature with humanoid legs and eyes.

"Can't you make him disapear? Like you did my dad's gun?" said Sam.

"I could, but this little fella was with me for almost a century, and he deserves a burial."

"you do it."

"I," said Teki, with false pride, "am a God, and we don't do manual labor."

"well, I am tired, and that is just as good a reason," said Sam.

"Well, he doesn't have any bones...let's go burn him in the yard. Just know that your funeral will be just casual."

"he's your friend. Why am I supposed to be sniveling." Said Sam. Teki, in his first sincere moment, looked at her emotionless, and picked up the tentacled creature, and carried him out to the front yard.

After he laid the alien down, a suit appeared over his sexless body, and he solemnly closed his hands together. Him standing in his new funeral attire before his expired passport. With eyes closed. With startling immediacy, he raised his hands and said, "let there be light!" and the dead creature was in flames. Sam sat on the porch for awhile but was told by Teki, "it could take a few hours for this guy to cook down. You get some rest, and I will see you in the morning." So that is what she did, curled up under her quilt. She thought about how she would kick the preacher's ass for lacing her drugs with hallucinogenics.

[askamydaily]

This year -- put a Book on EVERY Bed

This year: put a Book on EVERY Bed

By “Ask Amy” advice columnist Amy Dickinson

10 December, 2020

Dear Readers: Every year at Christmastime, I delight in promoting a Book on Every Bed. I do so in memory of my mother, Jane, who raised her children to understand that if you have a book, you are never alone.

The idea originally came from historian David McCollough, who recounted the Christmas mornings of his youth, when the very first thing he woke up to was a wrapped book at the base of his bed, left there by Santa.

The most important part is what happens next: Family members reading together.

That’s it! That’s the whole idea!

Over the last ten years, working with my local literacy partner Children’s Reading Connection (childrensreadingconnection.org), this campaign has grown to include schools, libraries and bookstores, who have donated scores of books to families that might not have access to them. The goal – and our dream – is that families will experience the intimate and personal connection of diving into and sharing stories, the way my mother and I did throughout her life.

Over the years, important literacy advocates, such as the Librarian of Congress Carla Hayden and LeVar Burton, and bestselling children’s authors Brad Meltzer and Peter Reynolds, have endorsed and helped to spread the good word.

This year is different. So many of us are alone, hurting, and separated from family and familiar holiday routines.

All of us – not just children – need a good book on our beds.

I have broadened the scope to include specific recommendations for books spanning all ages. I’ve reached out to some of my favorite writers, literacy advocates, and independent booksellers across the country for their special picks.

Whether you purchase a book or share an old favorite, I hope you will be inspired to put A Book on Every Bed this year. It is not necessary to make a Christmas deadline – this idea is one to sustain people throughout what might shape up to be a very long winter.

Following are recommendations for all age groups.

Baby and Toddlers: From Brigid Hubberman, Children’s Reading Connection, Ithaca, NY (childrensreadingconnection.org):

“Words are the language of love for babies.  The best books for infants should be about the world they know. Parents should choose books to surround babies with an abundance of loving and delightful words.”

Baby Cakes, by Karma Wilson and Sam Williams

Haiku Baby, by Betsy E. Snyder

Shine Baby Shine, by Leslie Staub and Lori Nichols

Ages 3-5: From Lisa Swaze, Buffalo Street Books, Ithaca, NY (Buffalostreetbooks.com)

“If You Come to Earth,” by Sophie Blackall is one of my favorite picture books of 2020. This book is beautiful both visually and lyrically, and it will feel like a warm hug to any child or family who receives it.

“You Matter,” by Christian Robinson is a bright and elegant book that takes children on a journey around the world to make it clear that everyone matters, and perhaps more importantly, reassure them that they matter, no matter what they look like or where they are from.

Early Readers: From Sandra Dear, owner of The Little Boho Bookshop, in Bayonne, NJ (thelittlebohobookshop.com)

“The Suitcase,” by Chris Naylor-Ballesteros: This beautiful story about immigration, is full of heart and humanity as it teaches our littlest ones about hope, tolerance and kindness.

“Home in the Woods,” by Eliza Wheeler: This stunningly beautiful picture book has fast become a customer favorite. A story about starting over, of overcoming! A story of family, love and joy of being and growing together.

Middle Grade Readers: From Becky Anderson, co-owner of Anderson’s Bookshop, in Naperville, Illinois (andersonsbookshops.com):

“Ways to Make Sunshine,” by Renee Watson: Watson writes her own version of Ramona Quimby, one starring a Black girl and her family, in this start to a charming new middle grade series about spirit, kindness, and sunshine.  Ryan, a fourth grader, finds the positive in difficult situations and when trouble strikes. She is that character to love and bring in the sunshine!  Grades 3-6

Skunk and Badger by Amy Timberlake, illustrated by Jon Klassen: Winnie-the-Pooh and Frog and Toad meet in a fresh take on a classic odd-couple friendship.  Klassen’s illustrations add much to a story of an unlikely friendship that proves that opposites can see the good in one another. The first in a series.  Grades 3-7

“The Silver Arrow,” by Lev Grossman: Kate’s humdrum life is transformed when her eccentric Uncle Herbert brings her a colossal locomotive train, the Silver Arrow, as her eleventh birthday gift, leading her and her younger brother on a mysterious journey.  The train will remind readers of the Hogwart’s Express. A story that is environmentally aware and calls readers to action. Perfect for fans of Roald Dahl and The Chronicles of Narnia.  Grades 3-7

YA Readers: Danielle Kreger, Blue Bunny Books, Dedham, MA (bluebunnybooks.com):  "One of Us is Lying" by Karen M McManus: An edge of your seat mystery that takes place in Bayview High school during detention. Simon, a so-called "outcast," never makes it out of detention alive. What follows is a tale of twists and turns that has the reader questioning the reliability of the characters, and the secrets they keep.

"Burn" by Patrick Ness: A fast-paced young adult fantasy that begins with fifteen-year-old Sarah, who meets Kazimir – a dragon who has been hired to help on her family's farm. Still reeling from the death of her mother, Sarah finds herself feeling an intense and unusual connection with Kazimir. As the story unfolds secrets, dangers and Kazimir's true purpose are revealed.

"The New Kid" by Jerry Craft: A spot-on graphic novel about navigating a new school, new friends and identity. Jordan Banks is in seventh grade when he is sent to a rigorous private school and grapples with staying true to himself- his love for creating cartoons, how to maintain his old friends and how he fits in in a less than diverse new school. A totally lovable and relatable character!

Adult Non-fiction: From Alex George, the author, most recently, of The Paris Hours, founder and director of the Unbound Book Festival, and the owner of Skylark Bookshop, in Columbia, MO (skylarkbookshop.com)

“Wintering,” by Katherine May: This is a deeply personal, quietly beautiful book, written with grace and immense thoughtfulness. We all go through difficult times; by mulling over her responses to her own misfortunes, the author offers insight as to how we might think differently about low points in our lives. Instructive, inspiring, and ultimately profoundly hopeful.

“The Book of Delights,” by Ross Gay: This utterly charming book of micro-essays by Ross Gay, a beloved and renowned poet, is a perfect gift for – well, just about anyone. Gay set himself the challenge of finding one thing that delighted him each day for a year, and then writing about it. The result is a quirky, brilliant book that you can dip in and out of, always finding something to make you smile, and think. A guaranteed lifter of spirits.

“Intimations: Six Essays,” by Zadie Smith: I’ve always loved Zadie Smith’s nonfiction work, and this small but powerful book shows her talents at their finest. Written during the pandemic, these six pieces are sharp, and funny, and thought-provoking. Smith’s deeply personal reflections on this strangest of years is essential reading. If ever there was a book for these strange times, it’s this one.

Adult Fiction: Mark LaFramboise, Senior Book Buyer at Politics and Prose in Washington, DC (politics-prose.com)

“The Butterfly Lampshade,” by Aimee Bender: This is a beautiful story of mental illness, the bonds of sisterhood, and the liveliness of a child's imagination.  Francie is 8 years old when the book begins, the daughter of a single mom.  This is the story of her odyssey after her mother is committed to a mental hospital, and she is sent to be raised by an aunt and uncle.

“Luster,” by Raven Leilani: Edie, the young protagonist in Luster, Raven Leilani's debut novel, is daring, sexy, hilarious, super smart, and drop dead beautiful.  Her affair with a married man takes a turn for the strange when she meets and befriends the man's wife and daughter.  Edie is whip smart because Raven Leilani is whip smart and her voice propels this beguiling novel.

“What Are You Going Through,” by Sigrid Nunez: Sigrid Nunez writes so beautifully that plot feels irrelevant.  The writer's confidence and authority are apparent from the first page.  Ultimately, it's the story of a woman who is asked by an old college acquaintance to be with her when she takes her life, after a cancer diagnosis.  But, like her previous book The Friend (about a woman who inherits a large Great Dane), it doesn't matter what story she tells because her words bristle with life.

Elders: Gayle Shanks, Changing Hands Bookstore, in Tempe and Phoenix, AZ

(changinghands.com)

“Apeirogon,” by Colum McCann: Two fathers, one Palestinian and one Israeli have both lost their young daughters to violence but have decided that reconciliation, not revenge, is what they needed to seek. In the process, they became best friends. McCann describes the insanity and senseless violence bred in the Middle East, the Occupation under which the Palestinians are forced to live, but also the beauty of the country, the migration of birds, the many ways humans overcome adversity and find solace in the natural world and each other. In a series of 1001 fragments, McCann walks us through his imaginary polygon, the Apeirogon of the title, containing an infinite number of sides, an infinite number of gorgeous sentences, and ultimately an infinite number of ways to view the human condition.  

“All the Way to the Tigers,” by Mary Morris: Travel writer Mary Morris’ book, written in small chapters, was in some ways similar to reading Colum McCann's, Aperagon, also written in small bits (in his case 1001, in Mary's -- 112 chapters). Morris travels to India in search of the elusive Bengal tiger, but in so many ways she is searching for herself and her place in the world as she recovers from a serious ankle injury that leaves her debilitated but determined.  

In her short vignettes, she quotes Rilke, Wendell Berry, other writers she admires and reminds us how important it is to listen intently to others as in active listening we are rewarded with deeper understanding.

“The Chair Rocks,” by Ashton Applewhite: From childhood on, we’re barraged by messages that it’s sad to be old. That wrinkles are embarrassing, and old people useless. Author and activist Ashton Applewhite believed them too—until she realized where this prejudice comes from and the damage it does. Lively, funny, and deeply researched, This Chair Rocks traces Applewhite’s journey from apprehensive boomer to pro-aging radical, and in the process debunks myth after myth about late life. The book explains the roots of ageism—in history and in our own age denial. Whether you’re older or hoping to get there, this book will shake you by the shoulders, cheer you up, make you mad, and change the way you see the rest of your life. Age pride!  

[fxckbritts]

Black Widow || Quitt

TAGGING: Quinn Fabray & Brittany Pierce

WHEN: March 29th

WHERE: Quinn’s dorm room

GENERAL NOTES: Post mass text talking.

WARNINGS: None

Brittany: It had taken a lot of asking around and even more threatening to break wrists to finally work out exactly where Quinn's dorm room was. All of this could be a lot easier if the girl could answer a damn text message, but Brittany couldn't hold that against her. She assumed the last thing Quinn wanted to do right now was look at her phone. This whole situation was just so fucked up, and Santana was right. Brittany had to at least get over herself and check to see if she was okay. Though she wasn't a talker and she certainly didn't usually feel empathy towards anyone - she did feel bad. Hell really did freeze over sometimes.

 "Quinn.... Quinn, it's me. Open the damn door," Brittany knocked on the door, testing to no avail if the door was unlocked. Of course it wasn't. "I'll break it down.... Quinn?"

Quinn: Quinn wanted to die. Not really- but she really did want to live in this dorm for the rest of her life, or at least until her shame was gone. Maybe she'd become like Emily Dickinson, only taking visitors through the door so she never had to look someone in the eye again. Although, she might have to move home to do that, and she really would rather die than tell her parents she was gay. Sorta gay? She had no label for it.

Of course Brittany was at the door. She groaned and sat up, wrapping her comforter around her like it might hide her shame. Or shield her from prying eyes. "Just... go away." She grumbled, opening the door. She was kind of curious to see if this had effected Britt as much. "I'm not in the mood for more.. sex after it ruined my life."

Brittany: Brittany let out a low sigh. Quinn wasn’t really being too far fetched for assuming she was there for something like that. After all, the pair of them hadn’t actually had much of any conversation between them that didn’t involve them fucking.

“That’s not-“ Brittany started before letting out a long breath from her nose and resting both her palms against either side of the doorframe. “I just wanted to..... talk. See if you’re-...” she broke off and glanced down the hallway to see if there were any prying eyes. “Look, just let me in... Please?”

Quinn: Was she in an alternate universe? Brittany was seriously trying to be nice.. or something? She could follow Brittanys eyeline, and she also felt quite exposed out here. Too many people could see- and the last thing she wanted was more rumors. Reluctantly, she stepped back a little, opening the door enough for Brittany to step in.

"Fine. Come in, but its only talking." She said, pursing her lips a little, and resisting the urge to actually become one with her blanket. "I don't even see what there is to talk about- my life is over."

Brittany: Brittany was thankful that Quinn allowed her to actually go inside and she jumped at the chance, quickly slipping inside so they could shut the door behind the both of them. She turned around on her heel and gave the other girl a quick once over. Brittany's eyes softened a little at the sight of Quinn bundled up as though the comforter was bubblewrap that was going to protect her from whatever was the other side of her apartment walls.

Brittany let a slow breath out through her nose and her lips curled into a small smile. "Your life isn't exactly over. That's... A little dramatic isn't it?" She stepped forward and attempted to unfurl Quinn's cocoon. "I don't even think most people believe anything my cousin says, anyway."

She took a step back, dropping the whole coy act for a somewhat softer and more serious approach. "I'm.. Sorry. I didn't mean for any of.... This crap,"

Quinn: Quinn reluctantly let Brittany loosen the blanket around her- she was feeling a little less like a pariah with someone in the room. "Its a rumor- about me. People don't care if its true or not. Sam might still even have the photo of it." She sighed, "I didn't want people to know.. like ever. I wasn't even going to act on it, ever either."

Was it terrible to admit that Brittany was a mistake? She certainly felt bad about it. Underneath all the.. skank, Quinn did feel appreciated by Brittany. Those moments mattered. "Its fine, it's Sam's fault, really. I shouldn't have told him that it was me in that picture. At least its not as big of a deal if you're gay." She thought on her statement for a moment, deflating a little, "Sorry. Its.. not easy no matter who has to go through it."

Brittany: Brittany's eyebrows flinched into a burrow at the mention of a photo. She didn't want to know how, what or even why her cousin had a photo. With that little piece of information, it did seem like him rambling like an idiot over texts was perhaps best case scenario when it came to him fucking everything up for someone.. Again.

"Nah people know.. About me." Brittany raised her hand to brush it off before stepping back to sit on  the side of Quinn's bed, her hands tangled at the fingers between her knees. Brittany had just assumed through the whole thing that Quinn had been straight - and that was the fun part for her. Having a few wild nights with a straight girl and have it left at that. The idea that it was something Quinn didn't intent to act upon led her to believe that this had been more than that. More complicated.

"Look I-..." She started before exhaling through her nose, "I haven't really had anyone to care about that kinda shit with me so I can't relate to how this feels... Or whatever," She shrugged, looking up from her hands to access Quinn's face. Even visibly upset, she was beautiful. "But know I'm in your corner. Even if you don't want me to be," She added with a small smirk.

Quinn: Green eyes watched cautiously- Brittany wasn't exactly the most open, or the kind of person Quinn would pick as a friend/confidant, but it was oddly comforting to have her here.

"It just.. feels shit. I never want to leave this room- I don't even know how many people know. None of it is in my control." This was suddenly a lot more real than their semi-drunken moments in that Miami room, and Quinn found herself almost leaning into it. She wanted Brittany touch and comfort- and that was giving her a headache. Didn't she have enough to deal with as is? "But..Thanks. I appreciate- It's really nice of you to be here. No one else has been by to just support me."

Brittany: ”No ones saying much so I can’t tell you who knows... I think they assume I’m gonna beat ‘em up,” Brittany half shrugged with a coy smile.

She was a little surprised to hear that no one else had attempted to see her. From what she had seen, Quinn was smart, well liked and looked the way she did - not to mention the praises Puck had sung for her. The kind of person that people should be wanting to check up on.

“You know you can’t haul up in here forever,” Brittany insisted, wanting to get up to pull the comforter off Quinn the rest of the way. Would she want a hug? Would she want something else? Brittany had never really comforted anyone before, unless that comfort was fucking to forget. “And you have a nice smile. It would be a shame.. not to see that again,”

Quinn: This was weird, talking with Brittany. She almost missed the physical contact instead- so she shuffed imperceptibly closer, dropping her blanket hood completely to rest her head on Brittany's shoulder. "Will you beat them up?"

Its terrible- but it would make her feel better. She has no idea how shes going to deal with the whispers, let alone if people actually talk to her. "I want to." She pouts- but Brittany is right. Sooner or later shes going to have to face the texts piling up on her phone.

"You like my smile?" She asks weakly. Shes a pretty girl- and she knows that. Shes just not used to actual compliments, and the things her parents used to say about her appearance play in her head from time to time. Its humbling. "Maybe I'll just camp out for a few more days- it doesnt hurt to let the worst of it blow over, right?"

Brittany: "If you say the word, I'll beat anyone up," the corner of Brittany's mouth curled up into a small smile when Quinn's head fell onto her shoulder and after just a beat, she attempted to move the blanket from Quinn's shoulders to snake an arm around her.

"A few days would be fine, but any more than that.. People will start thinking I killed you like a black widow. Dragging you into my web and sucking the life out of you. The way rumors go in this hell hole of a college, it sound about the right tone," Brittany mumbled with a grimace. With the things people had said about her after the scholarship students enrolled, she knew it would only be a matter of time before the student body found some new juicy gossip to latch onto and forget all about this mess.

"Mhm, I do," she admitted, pulling back from the embrace just enough to use her hand to tilt Quinn's chin up to fully see her face. With her thumb, she traced the outline of her lower lip, the rather pleasant memories of Miami flooding her mind. "You're wonderful, so fuck anyone who will make you feel anything less, okay?"

Quinn: Okay, this was really nice having someone fully and truly in her corner. She knew that Britt wasn't doing this because of any reason but she wanted to be here. "You don't want to sound like the badass that literally ate one of the most popular girls here?"

With the arm around her, and those blue eyes staring at her, and the thumb tracing her lip, how could Quinn say anything but a whispered, "Kiss me, please." Bringing her own hand up to meet at Brittany's jaw, "Or hold me. Just... make me feel good like before?"

Brittany: "I'm already the badass that ate out one of the most popular girls at McKinley, but I don't think they wanna know the details," Brittany couldn't help the smug smile and raise of her brow. Maybe one day soon they would be at the place where they could look back at all of this and find it amusing, but it was a matter of time. Or even if that never happened - Brittany would be okay with that. With the history with everyone in her life, she had no expectations.

Her eyes softened at Quinn's plea, leaning into the warm palm on her face. This wasn't a drunken mess or a egotistical conquest and Brittany didn't hesitate for a second before replying "I can do that," Bringing their lips together, the blanket fell from Quinn entirely as Brittany maneuvered her over to the bed. She wouldn't be able to do or say anything to make things outside of the dorm room better, but this she could do. Even if it was just for a little while.

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, bellemeri

December 5-Prompt: “Don’t get blood on your outfit. We have dinner reservations at seven.” Bucky with just about anyone though I have a preference for Darcy, for @bellemeri

Written by @thestarfishdancer

Sorry for the late posting. Hope you enjoy!

“Jane. Jane. JANE.” 

The scientist finally looked up from her sciente, her brow wrinkled in consternation. “You don’t have to shout.”

“Considering I’ve been trying to get your attention without shouting for the last five minutes?” Darcy countered. “Um, yes. I think I do.”

“Oh. Fair,” Jane said, blinking and pushing the notes she’d been scouring slightly aside and sitting up straight to give her friend her full attention, a gesture Darcy appreciate. “What do you need?”

“Nothing needed, just a reminder. It’s five now, and I’m out for the day. You are allowed to science for another hour and a half, but at six thirty, FRIDAY’s putting the lab in blackout and since I’m not here and Thor’s offworld at the moment…”

“The Dickinson Protocol is in effect.” Jane grimaced. “Yeah, I don’t ever want that to happen again.”

“Hey, it wasn’t all bad. You had to have a pretty good view of America’s ass.”

“While slung over Captain’s America’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes, then dropped unceremoniously in the common kitchen in front of half the tower’s residents?”

“Yeah.”

“It is a nice ass,” Jane admitted. “But all the nice asses in the world aren’t worth it.”

“Speaking of nice asses,” Darcy segued. “I’d better be off, ‘cause I’ve got a date with another owner of a very fine ass, and I’d better get out of here fast if I’m going to have time to curl my hair.”

“Oh, right, it’s yours and Bucky’s anniversary, isn’t it?”

“One year,” Darcy confirmed. “Who’d da thunk it, that a superhero super soldier would want to stick around for ordinary me for that long?”

“You aren’t ordinary, I hope said super soldier knows how lucky he is to have you, and we will be discussing this lack of self esteem if I have to program a new FRIDAY protocol, but I’m letting you off the hook for now because I know how long it takes you to get home.”

“The commute isn’t that bad,” Darcy said.

“It would be shorter if you lived in the tower,” Jane said, then cut Darcy off when she opened her mouth to repeat old arguments, waving them away. “We can argue another time. Go. You’re eating into my ‘sciencing’ time.”

Darcy grinned, then stuck her tongue out at Jane, then headed out of the lab.

“Have good sex!” Jane called cheekily as she left.

“Always do!” Darcy laughed back, then made her way to the elevator.

A few floors down, the elevator stopped, and who should step in but her boyfriend, with Sam, Steve, and Natasha.

“Hey, Darce,” Bucky said, leaning down to drop a quick kiss on her lips.

“Hey, babe,” she smiled up at him. “Where are you guys off to? No call to assemble, I hope.”

“Nah,” Bucky said. “Just doing a quick bit of patrolling in one of the boroughs, keeping trouble at bay.”

“Well. Don’t get blood on your outfit. We have dinner reservations at seven,” Darcy teased.

“We’ll keep him out of trouble,” Sam grinned at her. “And hose him off for you if needed.”

“I packed a spare outfit for him, just in case,” Steve said, his eyes twinkling.

“Great, so my shirt will be two sizes too small.”

“Darcy won’t complain,” Nat grinned. “Give the other restaurants some eye candy.”

“Why am I friends with these guys?” Bucky bemoaned as the elevator doors opened. Darcy just laughed and waved them off, then made her way to the subway.

The line was thankfully running on time, giving her plenty of time to pop on a showercap and have a nice steamy shower, then took her time curling her hair and applying her makeup. By the time she was pulling on the great red dress she knew her boyfriend was going to love taking off later, she was feeling pretty good about herself and the prospects for the evening. She topped the outfit off with a great pair of heels, then hurried out the door to hail a cab to the restaurant.

She’d never regretted not taking Stark up on his offers to send for one of his fleet of drivers he made available to lab staff. She’d lived in the city long enough that she was a master at public transportation, and finding a taxi was usually fairly quick and easy, more so than waiting for a driver to make it to her. Still, as rough hands grabbed her hard enough to leave bruises, shoving her toward the vehicle that definitely was not the cab she planned to wave down, she definitely was having regrets.

She fought back, kicking and screaming as she reached for her trusty taser. There were three of them, though, and only one of her.  One of the thugs grabbed her wrist, twisting. The sharp pain made her lose her grip on her taser. She managed to hit one of them in the nose, and he swore as it started to bleed, shoving her roughly away from him. She heard her dress tear as the other two manhandled her into the back of the van, and another one of the bruisers hit her in the face hard enough she saw stars. He grabbed her purse, throwing it onto the pavement before slamming the doors. The engine engaged, and then they were driving her to goodness knows where.

Darcy blinked back tears and took a deep breath. Took stock. Her wrist hurt like a bitch, a burn of an ache resonating through it, but it likely wasn’t broken. She’d lost one of her shoes in the melee, and though the other did have a stiletto heel, she wasn’t sure if it would be that great of a weapon. They’d thrown out her purse, so she didn’t have her taser or her pepper spray. They hadn’t counted on her secret weapon, though: her boobs.

Not a weapon in the traditional sense, of course. But through the course of her life since puberty, she’d found herself underestimated because of her breasts, as though her cup size meant she couldn’t be a savvy, resourceful young woman. And it wasn’t that she was expecting that her boobs, as great as they were, presented such a sight that baring them would stopped several trained henchman in their tracks.

No, her boobs were her secret weapon because, since her dressiest purse was pretty small, it wouldn’t fit her taser, pepper spray, lipstick, wallet and phone, and her cup size meant there was room to tuck her phone down one side of her bra. So there, in the back of the van, she dug it out, unlocked it with shaking fingers, and called in reinforcements.

It was all over fairly quickly after that. Bucky had thankfully still been with Nat, Steve, and Sam when she called. Thankfully because she could tell from the moment she told him what had happened, he’d seen red. Nat had been able to take over the call while Bucky imitated Bruce hulking out, Sam had pulled in Tony to trace her whereabouts, and then Steve had called an assembling or whatnot, and a rescue was mounted.

Whatever the thugs had been preparing for when they’d kidnapped her, they certainly weren’t ready for a full force of Avengers dropping on them while they were still driving the van out of the city. Within ten minutes of placing the call, the van was slamming to a stop, and mere seconds later, a familiar metal arm was ripping the door of the van right off its hinges.

Darcy scrambled toward Bucky even as he came to her, launching herself into his arms and laughing tearfully. He scooped her up and out of the van, and she clung to him as he moved them away from the fray, even as she could see if was very obviously dying down. A handful of thugs were definitely no match for a team of very angry superheroes.

“Are you okay, Darce?” Bucky asked, his eyes scanning her face.

“Yeah,” she said, then amended as he looked doubtful. “I’m a bit battered and bruised, and I could definitely use some ice for my wrist, but that’s really the worst of it. Except my dress. I’m pretty sure I ripped my dress, and I am pretty bummed about that actually.”

“It’s a really good dress,” Bucky said, “but I care more about the person in it, so…”

“The person in it is okay,” Darcy said. “Shaken, yes. Bruised, definitely. But I think I handled the situation pretty well, and I’m proud of how I kept my head, so there’s that. And hey! You didn’t even get any blood on your outfit.”

“I’m afraid I can’t say the same about you,” Bucky said grimly. “I thought you said you were just bruised.”

“Oh!” Darcy said, looking down to see that, sure enough, there was blood drying on the skirt of her dress. “That’s not mine. I hit one of the dudes in the nose, and I must have got him good.”

“Good,” Bucky replied darkly.

Darcy sighed, and snuggled into Bucky. The fight was definitely over, the others sort of milling as they waited on whatever transport was going to come for the bad guys. And maybe medical to check her out. Probably some SHIELD bureaucracy was going to happen now. The thought made Darcy groan.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked alarmed. “Does something new hurt?”

“No,” she said. “It’s just… we’re going to have to spend the rest of our anniversary debriefing to SHIELD, aren’t we?”

Bucky shook his head. “They can wait. Once medical clears you, I’m taking you home.”

“Oh, good. We can order in. They’ve probably given our reservation away, and I’m honestly not feeling up for out, at the moment.”

“I figured,” Bucky said. “We can reschedule. If they give us trouble, we can sic Pepper on them.”

Darcy smiled, then leaned back into him. “I hope medical clears me quickly. I just want to go home.”

“Speaking of home,” Bucky said, his voice taking on a weird quality she’d call nervous if her boyfriend did nervous. Which he didn’t. Did he? “I know this is going to sound like it’s coming out of what happened tonight, but I was planning on suggesting it tonight, and you should know that I’m not going to pressure you, though I suspect given tonight’s events the team might insist on some changes regardless and-“

“Spit it out, babe,” Darcy cut off his rambling, though not unkindly.

“I think we should move in together. It doesn’t have to be at the tower, if you don’t want, but… I love you, and I want to keep building a life together.”

Darcy smiled slowly. “I’d… I’d like that. Very much.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said. “I love you, too, and I absolutely want us to keep making a life together. So tonight, let’s go to your home, and tomorrow? Tomorrow, we can start figuring out what our home will be.”

“Perfect. I mean, that sounds perfect, but also, our home will be perfect. Because you’re there.”

“Why Buck, I didn’t know you were quite the sap,” a voice broke in.

“Shut it, Sam,” Bucky said without rancour. “You guys about done there?”

“SHIELD’s going to be a few,” Sam said, “but Stark’s offered to give you and your gal a lift if you don’t want to wait to get out of here.”

“What do you think, Darce? You up for it?”

“With you? I’m up for anything. Now let’s go home.”

[bvrberryblues]

dont mind me, i’m just adding a bunch of new muses because i have no self control...

helena goulding; blake lively / margot robbie; ex-model and current editor at vogue. elder sister to joey and luke

slytherpuff. ambitious, driven and dedicated whole-heartedly to achieving her goals. easy to like, charming and friendly to everyone she meets, until you cross her and then you better run. daughter of an ex-football player and a supermodel, became a model herself because she wanted to, not to follow in her mother’s footsteps. tries to hide the sentimental and sappy part of her in business, but she really be one soft ass bitch okay?

beckham ‘beck’ goulding; young verse: competitive swimmer. rudy pankow. older verse: ex gold medalist, sports commentator. chris hemsworth. younger brother to helena and older brother to joey.

gryffindor. one dumb ass boy. son of an ex-football player and a supermodel. forced into sports from a young age by his dad, once he started doing well in swimming all hell broke loose. his dad saw him as a potential gold medalist and made him train like crazy. knows that he loves swimming but doesn’t know how well he can handle the pressures of going pro. the popular jock who’s a bit of a moron when surrounded by his friends, but a real himbo and actually kind of nice underneath all of that. older verse: a fun loving, caring guy who learned as he grew up that being emotional wasn’t a weakness as he had always been told. highkey marshall eriksen. 

josephine ‘joey’ goulding;  karlie kloss / lily james; ex-model and current pastry chef. youngest sister of helena and beck.

hufflepuff. open, fun-loving, proper extrovert, little bit of a tomboy. daughter of an ex-football player and a supermodel, became a model herself just to appease her mom. one of those people whom everyone just gravitates towards. you'll find yourself wondering if you've ever seen her without a smile ( you haven't ). thought that the way to her parents' heart was to be the perfect, sweet sunshine daughter they wanted her to be,  but that meant keeping anything that upset her to herself. extremely upbeat, positive person, but to a toxic point really. thinks if she’s anything other than that, the people who love her will leave.

alexandra ‘sasha’ grushetskaya; young verse: diana silvers. older verse: alicia vikander; ballerina. marci’s roommate. 

slytherdor. her aesthetic is lowkey roza diaz. has lots of leather jackets but also a closet full of pointe shoes. her father’s a russian diplomat so she moved around a lot growing up, eventually ending up in the united states. smokes and drinks way too much to cope with the stress of striving for constant perfection on stage. chill and laid back for the most part when she’s not in the studio. can come as intense and scary to people who don’t know her. 

ophelia cromwell ; younger verse: kristine froseth. older verse: elizabeth olsen. actress & socialite. twin to ransom. 

slytherin. confident, charming and ruthless when it comes to achieving her goals. has that old hollywood charm. secretive, you get the sense that you’ll never really know what she’s thinking about. has been helping her parents since their ancient, noble family ran out of money and her parents started pulling off scams to keep up appearances.

tarquin edmund ransom cromwell; young verse: college student. double majoring in history and literature. harris dickinson. older verse: writer. sam claflin. twin to ophelia. 

slytherclaw. uses his second middle name, will not respond to being called any other name. dark academia + the dirtbag aesthetic. little bit of an asshole but a brilliant writer. says he won't do commitment but ends up attached a lot. knows the actual financial situation of his family but refuses to help because he says he hates everything they stand for ( even though he utilises all the privileges that come with his last name happily ). 

marceline ‘marci’ villeré; young verse: alisha boe. older verse: lupita nyong'o. ballerina. sasha’s roommate.

hufflepuff. graceful and compassionate, a really beautiful soul. originally from new orleans, extremely close to her parents who always encouraged her to pursue her dreams. volunteers at an animal shelter on her days off. worked hard to achieve the success that she has and is proud of how far she has come. you’d think that she could never hurt a fly if you met her, but she’ll never be afraid to stand up for what she thinks is right. 

leo ortega; taylor zakhar perez; med student.

hufflepuff. the softest boy who just wants to help everyone. definite saviour complex, almost exclusively dates people who he thinks he can “fix” ( which turn into toxic relationships real quick ). someone needs to teach him to stand up for himself every now and again. 

[the-canary]

Starlight - B.B (4/6)

Summary: Mysterious, but life changing things always happen if you just let life take its course – you decided to try it for once. (Modern AU!Reader/Bucky Barnes).

Prompt: Emily Dickinson: XXI

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

A/N: This is for @abovethesmokestacks ‘s Summer Writing Challenge. Revelations! And me using that certain type of knowledge. 

Feedback is always welcomed.

It starts off timid at best, a good morning here and hello there throughout the day between the two of you though while taking into mind that there is a 3 hour difference between the two of you, as Bucky moves from Arizona and into California. The first step of more interaction is a bit before that when Bucky decides to sends you a series of photos from the Grand Canyon late in the afternoon. A huge smile is on your face for the rest of the work day that even Wanda couldn’t help but notice, as she shakes her head at your brightening attitude. You are slowly getting back into the rhythm of things and while it hurt just a little, you were used to your mother not talking to you once more.

It’s such a drastic change from a few months back that one day Wanda can’t help but ask.

“Are you seeing someone?” she asks during one uneventful lunch break, as you look up from your phone, looking away from the wildflower trail pictures that Bucky had sent you earlier in the day. Her brown eyes are curious as you look at her, but there is also a huge grin on her face -- waiting for your answer.

“No,” you manage to say, but the next thing that comes out of your mouth is a bit bitter as you aren’t sure what the hell Bucky is to you at this point, “I’m just chatting with a friend who’s traveling.”

“So, you wouldn’t mind if I asked you?” she quips with a hopeful tone, as you raise an eyebrow though a little bit fearful about what your sort-of work friend wants from you, but you would always be kind enough to listen to anyone out at least once.

“Ask what, Wan,” you ask cautiously, as she gets up from her seat and moves to sit on your desk and as much as you enjoy her company, you can’t help but lean back like a frightened cat.

“I am going on a double date in a few nights with my boyfriend Viz,” she explains and you watch her carefully from your corner of the cubicle, “And I actually needed a date for my brother. ”

“Wanda--” you say in annoyance as she puts her hands up as if trying to defend her idea.

“He’s a good guy. I think you could hit it off,” she gives you a sweet smile and deep down you know she is trying to look out for you in a certain way. Wanda is the type of person that wants to see everyone happy and in her own way and that means is she’s together with someone, she wants everyone around her to be happy together as well. It was a little annoying, but you could tell she was coming from a good place not unlike --

No romantic life either, what good are you for anyways?

“Could I think about it?” you give her the most vague response possible. Her smile wanes for a moment  before she agrees since she sprang it up on you last minute before going back to her side of the office. You take a look at your phone for a moment before ignoring it for the rest of the work day, uneasy over what had just transpired and feeling like you were doing a disservice to Bucky as well.

 It’s been awhile since Bucky has had a “bad episode” as he moves from Arizona into Southern California and he is sure that it is from the easier transition and travel he has been having since entering the state. However, as Sam liked to point out in his most recent phone call -- Bucky also had a new connection to the world around him, someone that supported him in on this new journey. He wasn’t short changing Steve, as his lifelong friend, or Sam, who had been helping him since they meet at the VA. However, with you there wasn’t any old standards to uphold nor was there any coddling because of what he was facing. You knew a different Bucky and while he had been scared to show you the side that was scared of the dark, that had nightmares or heard voices sometimes -- you didn’t turn away. You didn’t put him under an x-ray, but gently accepted him at his own pace and that’s the most Bucky had ever gotten from anyone.

It had help that you had shared a bit of yourself during those days back in Arizona, and Bucky wholeheartedly took in everything you had shared and kept it in a corner of his heart. It also wasn’t helping that every time he sent you a new set of pictures, you were ready and waiting with a cute comment even if some of his pictures were a bit blurry -- Bucky wasn’t as good with his phone camera as he was with his carry-on one. He knew that this wasn’t healthy: how he looked at your very first picture together in the front of his journal, how he wrote to you sometimes in it, how he missed your warmth in the middle of the night and the sound of your laugh when he had something funny to say.

“Have you thought that maybe you’re sweet for her, Buck?” Steve finally breaks the ice that Bucky has been avoiding during the call between Hemet and Death Valley National Park. Bucky can’t help but want to deny it, but his oldest friend knows him better than anyone else. Bucky remembers the flower trail he had just sent you a few hours before, wishing that you had been there with him smiling and laughing at just how blurry his pictures tend to come out -- but you can only do that through emojis.

“Maybe, Stevie,” Bucky’s voice breaks towards the end, as he comes to another realization, “But, I don’t think I deserve her.”

The voice rings loudly in his head one more: He’s no good. He’s no good for anybody.

Death Valley National Park, CA

Neither you nor Bucky have contacted each other in the past few days, what with you trying to convince yourself if you should go on the date as Wanda had asked and Bucky dealing with his own turbulent emotions at the prospect of falling for someone he barely knew. Yes, he knew you lived in New York just like he did, you had a growing love for astronomy and mythology from all the old stories that you read up on, and that you have anxiety plus a strained relationship with most of your family. But, he also knows that you laugh at the strangest things when he says them in just the right tone, you carry a book everywhere you go, and that you enjoy lazy mornings more than anything else.

Bucky just thinks that it’s a case of meeting someone at just the right (or bad) moment and getting attached to them. It had happened to him all those years ago with a redhead in college -- one that he had been hopelessly in love with and couldn’t see the dangers of until it was almost too late. Looking out at the vast desert wilderness, Bucky wasn’t sure what to call what he was feeling towards you -- it was deeper than an infatuation but not quite that l-word yet, but he knew give time it could be. How could this have happened to him?  

My grandma always said that the universe will guide you to what you need.

He remembers you saying that with a fondness in your voice, and he wants to believe that with all his heart. He takes a seat on the steps of the small VR that Tony, Steve’s good friend and the designer for his prosthetic, had let him use for the time being -- the man was loaded and though they’re weren’t on the same wavelength all the time, Tony knew when someone needed a breather and would gladly helped one of his friends if need be. Blue eyes stare out at the darkened sky with a drink in hand and the soft melody of a familiar song not too far away from him, as he finds the stars that lovers destined to only meet once a year -- their time having already long past them.

Vega and Altair.

And thus Bucky sends a message, desperate and lonely, not really caring about what time it might be on the other side of the coast, just hopefully that he can hear your voice once more.   

Can I call you?

Truth be told, it takes you awhile to see Bucky’s message because it’s the same weekend night that you are having your double date with Wanda, her boyfriend Viz ( it’s a nickname , she swears), and her older brother Pietro. And while he could be sweet and rather humorous, it just didn’t feel right -- it felt like you were trespassing into a tight group that had known each other for years and were trying their hardest to make you feel included. It didn’t help that deep down you couldn’t help but compared the track star to Bucky because while one was lively with grand gestures, you were more used to the reserved silence of someone else.   

Both you and Pietro know that there isn’t going to be a 2nd date, but he is happy to meet the person that his sister talks so much about and you are happy to have a new potential friend, since he seems more like a sibling that won’t stop annoying you after everything is said and done. It’s nearly 10pm when you finally see Bucky’s message and as you lay down into bed, you hope that he still wants to talk -- because oh how you miss him.

Hey! I was a little busy, but if you still wanna call I’m all ears.

You’re in bed already, trying to read by lampshade as you try to get a bit sleepy but are too anxious about Bucky’s call. While there had been several messages and pictures traded between the two of you, this would be the first time you were actually going to have a phone call. It wasn’t that you hadn’t wanted to, but you didn’t want to bother Bucky at an odd hour or if he was enjoying the moment somewhere else. You jump at the sound of your phone ringing, as you pick up to see a picture of Bucky from that weekend -- hairy sticking all over the place with a bright smile and eyes, as he laughed over something off screen which had given you the chance to take said picture. You take a deep breath before answering.    

“Hey, stardust,” he breathes out as a greeting and you can’t help the goofy smile on your face.

“Oh, that’s a cute nickname,” you giggle out.

“Well, I’m glad you like it then,” he admits, his voice not showing that he was actually quite nervous over how you were going to take said new nickname, but your reaction made him joyful, as he took a nervous gulp of water before resting on the doorframe of the RV.

The two of you trade pleasantries for awhile going over how you were doing at work and what he had seen since you had left him, though less about the details and more about he had been feeling. It should have been just like talking with Steve or Sam, but Bucky couldn’t but notice how more open he was about his feelings and you never deterred him from talking about anything that came to mind. Your laugh sending a warm feeling through his chest and he couldn’t help but get dragged into your stories over work or just random little moments in your daily life -- wishing he was there to share them with you. Eventually, you both run out of things to talk about as the clock reaches midnight and that’s when Bucky decides that he has to ask you -- to see just exactly if there is any inkling over what you might actually think of him, if he might have a chance with the star that has been shining so brightly in his life.

“Do you think everyone feels lonely when they fall in love?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.

“Wow, that’s deep, Bucky,” you murmur with a soft laugh that catches his heart as he stares at a familiar  constellation, as you admit the last part a bit more bashfully, “But, I can’t really tell ya about that, I’ve never been in love before.”

“Never ever?”

“Not that I can think of. I mean there have been dates and stuff, like tonight,” you say without much thought and Bucky swears he stops breathing for a moment, though a little sad over the idea you had never been in love before, but he could understand from what he knew about your past, “But I have never been crazy over someone like that, but maybe that’s not how it’s supposed to be.”

“You went on a date?” Bucky says as calmly as possibly, already waiting for the utter defeat of realizing his feelings too late, that you had already been taken away from him, “H-How did it go?”

“Hmm, he was all right, but I don’t think I’ll be seeing him again,” you state, as Bucky lets out a sigh of relief trying to mend together his bleeding heart, though he can’t help but be a little envious at the mysterious man that you had gone out with, “So what about you, have you ever been in love?”

“I think I was once,” Bucky explains, though clearly confused himself, “I think I am now, but it’s not the same feeling?”

“Oh, what do you mean?” you can’t but ask.

“Have you ever heard of Vega and Altair story?” Bucky explains, giving a bit more detail before going on and you can’t help but let out a sigh, though you aren’t sure if it’s due to the story or how he talks about this woman, “They’re only meant to meet once a year. It’s maddening, doll. Sometimes, it feels like she’s a dream, something I came up with in my head until I hear her voice or see her messages. But, I’m scared -- that if I tell her or if she learns about the past me, she’ll disappear and I’ll never seen her again.”  

“Bucky Barnes, you listen to me,” you exclaim, jumping in momentary anger from your bed as you let out a tirade at this mystery woman, “Any gal would be lucky to have someone like you, if she doesn’t return your feelings, then it’s her damn loss. And I know it’s hard, but don’t you ever lower yourself for another person, ya hear me?”

“You’re a little scary right now, doll,” Bucky exclaims, as for a moment your fierceness over him reminds him of Peggy, though if you only knew it was you he was talking about. It’s ironic, but he still appreciates it either way, “But thank ya.”

“Just stating the truth,” you state confidently, as Bucky shakes his head on the other side of the phone.

The conversation swings from there to all the things, mainly constellations, that Bucky can see from the outside of the RV, and you can’t help the smile growing due to the fact that it isn’t bothering as much as before, something you had worried about when leaving Arizona. A smile can’t help but appear on your face as you close your eyes and just imagine yourself being there with him. His voice, deep but soft, slowly easing the tension and anxiety you went through just a couple of hours ago being forgotten as you started to fall asleep.

“--If I turn a bit more, I can see Lupus,” he remarks offhandedly, turning to the right for just a moment though he is surprised as to what you have to say next.

“Hmm, that one reminds me of you,” you state with yawn, remembering the talk from some time back that only made you wonder now if you could be like Cassiopeia in his eyes as well.

“And why would you say that, stardust?” he says with an easy laugh that makes your heart sped up for just a moment, as you turn on your bed and can’t help but think that’s it’s missing a mass of warmth you had gotten too quickly used to. You cuddle closer to your largest pillow and let out a sigh.

“Wolves get a bad rep, but they care about each other,” you explain and Bucky is happy that you aren’t there to see the massive blush reaching down to his neck in that moment, “Loyal and protective, it all reminds me of you.”

“That’s really sweet of ya,” is all he can manage to say through his embarrassment, as you hum in response. With that Bucky comes to the realization that you are falling asleep and while he wants to spend the whole night talking to you once more, he knows that it is late in New York with the 3-hour time difference.         

“It sounds like you’re falling asleep on me,” Bucky remarks with teasing quip as all you do is give him a hum in response, “Well, I should let you go then. Sweet dreams, doll.”

“Sweet dreams, Buck,” you response in kind, the tiredness and ache of tonight and not being near him dragging you somewhere where you can be -- at least for a few hours, “ Love ya. ”

And with that you leave a very confused Bucky Barnes on the other side of the phone, unsure of what you meant with your words, but with a hopeful beat in his heart at the possibilities he hasn’t felt he was worthy of for years finally flourishing around him. And for a moment, he wishes he was back home -- back in New York where he could be close to you, but for now he had to keep playing at being Altair for a bit longer.   

Part 5

[webcricket]

An Angel’s Elegy

Characters: CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester

Word Count: 2420 (Act I)

A/N: Act I of a five-act series charting Castiel’s grief after losing the reader in childbirth. Despite her death, the reader remains an integral part of the story.

Summary: An anguishing journey about the intertwining of love and loss - adrift in a sea of grief and self-blame after losing his love, Castiel abandons hope. Leaving his newborn Nephilim daughter to the care of the Winchesters, he seeks absolution for your death at any cost. Will he ever find his way home?

Beta’d by: The Queen of Angst @willowing-love​ who has my everlasting gratitude for helping hone these words [and, I’m sure, a bottle or two of my tears stored on a shelf somewhere for her own personal amusement].

Miss an Act? Here’s the Masterlist:

webcricket.tumblr.com/post/181477590760/an-angels-elegy-masterlist

“Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all -    Emily Dickinson

Act I

Father forgive me, Castiel prays, clutching the soulless husk of your body to his chest. Through the deafening cracks of his vessel’s fracturing heart, he becomes vaguely aware of the sputtering wet cries of your newborn daughter flooding the room – his daughter. What I’ve done, it’s unforgivable, he rebukes himself, throat bobbing in a thick swallow of guilt.

“She’s…she’s gone, Cas. Let her go,” Dean’s gruff voice echoes hollow in his ears, demanding the angel’s attention with increasing insistence. “Your daughter needs you. Cas-”

“No,” Cas growls. Through a haze of desperate tears, the angel recognizes and ignores the looming figure of Sam in his periphery trying to push a loosely swaddled pink-flushed wriggling infant into his unwilling embrace. “Y/N, please-,” pleading, he smooths his fingertips tenderly across your forehead to sweep aside the sweat-dampened hair gathered on your brow. Cradling your cheeks, he wills you to look at him, “-please.”

“Sammy.” Dean flattens a palm to his brother’s shoulder, barring his efforts.

Sam’s dazed regard shifts between Dean’s grief-stricken greens, the crying babe, and the unresponsive angel.

“Not now,” Dean mouths, reaching out to take the child in his arms. “Give him space.”

Sam’s lip quivers. “Yeah, yeah sure.” He bites the quavering flesh to immobilize it. Relieved of the delicate burden of care for the creature you charged him with delivering safely into the world, emotion brims to streak his cheeks. Allowing the magnitude of what happened to sink in and seep free, he weaves his useless hands through his hair and knots them behind his neck.

“Shh, sweetheart,” Dean coos, rocking and pacifying the girl as he and Sam move toward the door, “everything will be alright. I promise.” He says it to her as much as he says it aloud to convince himself, his brother, and his inconsolable friend.

The angel perceives no solace in the remark. It’s not the Nephilim born into this world, her very conception a testament to the power of his love for you, which anguishes him now. Rather, it’s the knowledge that by loving you purely with every atom of his celestial being and giving in to his weakness by succumbing to that forbidden temptation named love, he doomed you to this fate. He condemned you the instant his eyes first alit upon you, sky blue irises churning in wonder to encounter so beautiful a soul. He understood too late why love was not meant for angels.

Grace exhausted in attempt after failed attempt to revive you, he begins to shake you. Fraught fingers fumble to set your limbs in motion. The calloused pad of his thumb brushes over your pale lips, caressing the curve of your cooling cheek to hook your chin, tilting you to face him – as if these gentle actions might rouse you from a deep slumber. Staring into the glazed far off focus of your unblinking eyes, your dull gaze looking toward horizons where he cannot follow, he shivers to see the emptiness of expression where once shone a warmth and brilliance to rival the sun. You promised him everything would be okay. He wanted to believe you. He held on to your unyielding faith and bravery those too brief happy months of the pregnancy right up until your life ebbed and slipped like water through his fingers.

The murmuring of a grief-stricken guttural growl stirs in his lungs and erupts into a deafening cry aimed at the heavens. The sound of your angel’s heart breaking quakes the foundations of the bunker, fissuring the reinforced concrete walls and shattering windows as the shockwave assails upward to reverberate utter grief upon the pearly gates of Heaven itself.

Dean,

If you’re reading this, well...

We defied the odds so many times, but this time I knew where I was going. I knew the risk and I accepted my fate because she’s worth it. This is my ending, but it’s also a beginning. This life growing stronger inside of me day-by-day – she’s beautiful. I feel her goodness in my heart. Her light will save the world. There’s no darkness anymore; no shadow of doubt – I’m filled only with hope.

You’re a good man, Dean Winchester. You and Sam, you’re the best men I know. I’m fortunate to call you brothers. I know this is too much to ask of you both. I’m asking anyway because I must. There is no one else I trust with this task. No one who would understand. No one more capable of seeing this through than you two amazing idjits.

Dean, please take care of my girl and my angel. No matter what happens next, I know you will always listen to your heart and do what’s right by both of them. Protect her with your life. Love her as your own. Raise her to be as strong and sentimental as Sammy and as selfless and stubborn as you. Don’t let her forget I believe in her and love her with all my heart.

And my angel – Dean, Castiel will be so lost. He tries to keep a brave face, but when he thinks I’m not looking I see the fear and pain in his eyes. All the love in his heart, it’s not enough to save me and I know he blames himself. With me gone, he’ll be searching for answers. Answers you won’t be able to give him. Answers he may destroy himself and others in search of. Answers he will never find until he forgives himself.

He needs you, Dean. Try to be patient with him. Give him room to grieve. Time to understand and to remember. He’s angry with himself, and you know all too well that’s the worst kind of anger. Remind him that I love him, that I don’t regret a single minute. He’s my happiness, and this miracle we created with our love – I’ve never wanted anything else.

What he needs now is Hope. Dean, you and Sam – you hold on to that hope for him until he finds his way home.

Love Always, Y/N

The handwritten letter gripped between Dean’s fingertips flutters to the table, his attention drawn to the hasty footsteps clanging on the iron of the map room stairs. Rising from his seat in the library and crossing to the threshold overlooking the room, he sees Castiel wrenching the door handle at the top of the landing. “Where are you going?” he asks, cadence coarse as he sniffles back the fresh flow of tears prompted by the discovery of your note.

The angel pauses, allowing the door to swing shut. Chin falling to his chest, he doesn’t turn to look at his friend as he speaks. “Away, Dean,” he mutters, barely loud enough for Dean to discern. “There’s nothing in this place for me but her memory.”

“You think Sam and I aren’t thinking about her every single minute? That we aren’t hurting and missing her, too?”

“It’s different.”

“How?” Dean ascends the first several steps.

“She’s gone because of me. Because I dared to love her.”

“Cas, you have a beautiful little girl that needs you here. She needs her father.”

“I’m not fit to be anyone’s father.”

Dean’s muscles seize in an upwelling of resentment; his already red-rimmed eyes discoloring further in the crimson hue of rage as his blood pressure spikes. Cas struck a chord – the Winchester has had more than enough of making excuses for absentee fathers to last one lifetime and he will tolerate no more. He bounds up the remaining stairs by twos, growling and grabbing a fistful of beige trench coat to spin the angel around where he stands. “It’s been two days. Two days!” he roars, breath bellowing hot against the angel’s expressionless aspect. “I get it, I do. You’re grieving. But you haven’t even looked at her, Cas! She’s your daughter! You don’t get to walk away from this – from her. I won’t let you.”

Two days, or an eternity; it all feels the same to the angel. Entombed in that moment, he relives those fateful minutes in the staggering quality of detail only a celestial mind can conjure. For all his promises and power, again and again he’s helpless to stanch the ebb of life from your body. Each time he blinks he sees the bright flicker and fade of light in your eyes and the glimmer of a smile ghosting your mouth upon hearing your daughter’s healthy cries. Over and over he hears that final wilting wisp of breath flutter past your parted lips – his name on your tongue in an unfinished utterance.

He refused to let you go even when there was no longer anything corporal to hold. A numb sentinel beside your hunter’s funeral pyre, sky blackened by smoldering wood and bone, acrid air permeated the fabric of his clothes and crept in to begrime the very core of his celestial being until there was no escape for his senses. What remained of you charred and flew upward in flame – upward to a Heaven where he is not welcome to tread. His fiery devotion diminished to smoke and ashes beneath his fingertips.

“Are you hearing me?” Dean jerks roughly at the angel’s coat collar.

In response Cas slams his palm to Dean’s chest, hurling him against the wall with a sickening crunch.

Dean doubles over coughing, sputtering flecks of blood, the wind knocked out of his lungs, several ribs broken.

“Everything I touch turns to ash.” No longer apathetic, anger bristling, fury gleaming white hot in his piercing blues, Cas strides forward to grasp Dean’s shoulder, forcing him upright and stooping to search his strained face. His teeth and jaw grind, punctuating every gritty word. “Everything and everyone. Do you understand?”

Snatching at Cas’ arm for a handhold, gasping for every shallow stab of air punching through his ribcage, the hunter teeters and spits crimson in the struggle to stay on his feet. “Cas-”

The angel’s vice-grip clamps deeper until Dean yelps and his knees buckle. Lip snarling, Cas lets go with a shove, warning, “Do not try to stop me again.”

“Cas, don’t-” Dean manages to choke, reaching out to catch at the hem of Cas’ swaying coat.

Cas slips away from his grappling fingers. Forcefully heaving the door wide, the metal screams in protest, straining on the hinges.

“Cas!” Dean gasps again, crawling after him. He collapses against the door jamb as a violent spasm of coughing accosts him. He kneels there, too incapacitated to intervene as he watches Cas’ retreat.

“Try to be patient with him,” your words resound in Dean’s ears, so near and so real his gaze darts sideways searching for you in the empty air.

“Patient my ass,” Dean snorts and wipes the trickle of blood from his mouth.

“Dean? Are you in here?” Sam’s voice drifts upward.

Dragging himself to his feet and staggering to the railing, leaning on it for support, Dean glares down at his brother. “What?” he rasps.

Sam carries your daughter, awkwardly extended at arm’s length, scrutinizing the diaper and onesie he simultaneously succeeded in putting on backward. “Something doesn’t seem right here.” He peers up at the landing, brow knotting in concern at Dean’s battered condition.

“That’s for damn sure.” Dean presses a hand to his bruised ribcage and hobbles down the stairs.

“What the heck happened to you?”

“Cas left,” Dean grunts. “I tried to get between him and the door.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Dean slumps into the nearest chair. “Hey, you can’t keep holding her like that, give her to me. Like this-” He lays her to his chest. “There we go, sweetheart. Uncle Dean’s got you. That’s better, eh?”

Already larger than a newborn should be, she bobs her head up from the flannel of his shirt to blink bright blue eyes at Dean and burble happily.

“She needs contact. Needs to know we’re here. That she’s loved,” Dean explains, rubbing a small circle into her back. “Ya gotta talk to her, Sam. Tell her everything’s okay.”

“Dean-”

“I know, Sammy. I know,” Dean stops Sam from saying what they’re both thinking – that there’s a chance Cas isn’t coming back, that everything is as far from okay as it gets. Coping skills set by default to maximum brood, he believes dwelling on the potential aloud is pointless. “When was the last time she ate?”

Sam runs a hand over his exhaustion-lined face and through his uncharacteristically unkempt hair. “I, uh, I thought you were making a formula run.”

“Right. Time for plan B.” Dean fishes the Impala’s keys from his pocket and tosses them at his brother. Crinkling his nose, he adds, “Better grab some more diapers while you’re at it.”

“Yeah, yeah, more diapers, check.” Sam yawns and aims his weary frame in the general direction of the garage mumbling to himself about whether fully human babies go through as many diapers in a single day as this child.

“And pie!” Dean shouts after him.

Without turning around, Sam weakly waves in acknowledgement.

A faint smile contours Dean’s lips. “Wait’ll you get your first taste of pie, princess. You’re gonna love the stuff.” Kissing the fuzzy crown of her head, his nose lingers, inhaling the perfume of her skin – soft and sweet and so reminiscent of you. “Your momma sure did. Maybe more than me, and that’s saying something. Couldn’t get enough blueberry pie with you growing in her belly. She’d sit right over there in that chair-” His regard flits to the seat occupied by a favorite fleece blanket of yours and his smile withers. He keeps talking through the scratch of sorrow thickening his throat, because if he can keep on talking maybe the bunker won’t feel quite so empty. Maybe with enough words he can cushion this innocent life he holds from the hurt. “Right there, swiveling and shoveling that gooey crumbly goodness straight from the tin by heaping forkfuls. She had Cas running all over Kansas night and day just to get more pie. And your daddy, he-” Dean’s lids squeeze shut with the effort required to will away the coarseness coloring his tone. Not completely stifling his bitterness over the angel’s desertion, he exhales a long sigh. “Well I guess he loves her more than anything else in this world, doesn’t he?”

She begins to fuss.

“Okay, okay. You’re right. Everything’s gonna be alright.” Readjusting his support, he soothingly bounces her despite the searing pain radiating through his ribs and the worry burdening his thoughts. “He just needs a little more time.”

Continue reading Act II:

 webcricket.tumblr.com/post/173228719397/an-angels-elegy

[hunterswearingplaid]

Father Troubles (Sam x daughter!Reader)

Summary: The reader is Sam’s daughter, who goes on hunts even though Sam doesn’t like it.

Pairing: Sam x daughter!reader

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: none.

Author’s Note: Sammy would be such a protective father!

You saw the name that was flashing across the screen of your phone.

Dad.

Great. You put your phone back into your pocket as you walked out of the hotel room, Benny walking out from the room next to you.

He gave you a once-over and said, “Dang, girl. I’m surprised no one asks you out when you’re dressed in those suits.”

“Hey, watch it, Winchester.” You said to him, walking in his direction and crossing him.

“I’m serious.” He said, “If only you weren’t my cousin.”

“I’m serious too, Benny. We’re on a case, so you gotta stop. If dad hears you saying such stuff, he’ll rip your lungs out.”

“You’re right.” He caught up with you as you walked to your car, ready to investigate this case.

“I’m Agent Hetfield, this is Agent Dickinson, we’d like to talk to you about Scott Johnson.” You said to the girl who answered the door, flashing her your fake badge. Benny did the same standing next to you.

The girl, Scott’s neighbour, smiled at the both of you, saying, “Oh, Metallica and Iron Maiden!”

Benny coughed. “Hm. Funny coincidence.” He let himself into the house, with you following behind him. You flicked the switch on the recorder in your pocket, making sure not to miss any of the conversation. “Scott was your neighbour, we were told.”

“Yeah, he was. I didn’t really know him that well though. Now his sister, her I knew.” She said.

“How did you know his sister?” Benny asked.

“Oh, we used to hook up in their backyard every couple of nights.” She said lazily.

“Miss Carter, do you really think that is of import in this situation?” You asked.

Jess, the girl, suppressed a cough. “I would sometimes catch Scott looking at us. Creepy dude.”

Benny began to take a look around. “Was there anything… off about him? Maybe his eyes, skin, nails?”  

Jess was about to say something before your phone began to ring. You stealthily passed the recorder from your pocket to Benny’s before excusing yourself and stepping outside to take the call.

“Hello?” You said, not bothering to look at caller ID.

“Y/N Winchester.” Your father said sternly on the other end of the line.

You groaned silently. “Hello, father.”

“Don’t ‘hello, father’ me. You said you were going to Lawrence.” He said.

“Maybe I am in Lawrence.” You said.

“GPS. Your phone’s GPS shows your location. Madison, Wisconsin?” Your dad questioned.

“Yeah. My friend Claire, you know Claire. She’s here. Needed help with… something.”

“Is that something a case?”

“What? No! You told me not to hunt! Then why would I?” You faked.

At that moment, Benny walked out of the house. “Hey, Y/N/N. Jess says that Scott was gone for three weeks before he was murdered. She gave us a location. Wanna go check it out?”

You grimaced. “Give me a minute, Benny.”

Your dad coughed. “Yeah, Y/N. Why would you hunt?”

You sighed. “Claire got hurt on a case. She needed our help. So Benny and I came to check it out.”

There was silence on the line for a few beats.

“Y/N.” Benny called.

“Shut up, Benny! It’s my dad!” You whisper-shouted.

A look of realisation crossed Benny’s face before he let you continue your conversation.

“I want you back first thing once you’re done with this case. Only this case. Does Dean know Benny is gone?” Your father said over the sound of a chair scraping the floor.

“I guess. I don’t think he’s going to be really happy about it, though.”

“I’m telling him. Remember, Y/N. First thing once you’re done. I want you back at the bunker.”

“Yeah, Dad.” You said.

“I love you.”

“I love you, Dad. Bye.”

“Damn. It feels good, being back at the gig.” You sighed, starting the car with Benny sitting in the passenger seat.

“Yeah,” Benny scoffed. “I bet Dad and Uncle Sam would like to disagree.”

“Dad sounded upset.” You said.

“Of course he’s upset. They don’t want us in this life.” Benny said.

“Well, guess it’s time to go home and face the music.”

You entered the bunker, but were greeted with complete silence. Usually there was some kind of noise in the bunker. Benny singing off-key, one of Uncle Dean’s cassette tapes playing in the background of something else; but today, none. That only indicated that Dad and Uncle Dean were out, presumably on a hunt.

“Well, at least we got some time to prepare before facing our Dads’ wrath.” You said, sliding on your socks into your room, collapsing on the bed before sleep took over you.

You awoke to the sound of the door of your room being thrown open. You blearily opened your eyes to find your father standing in the door frame, arms crossed across his chest with a stern look written across his features.

“Y/N. Y/N Winchester.”

“Hello, dad.” You said, sitting up in bed and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “I’m ready.”

“Ready for what?” Your dad asked, dropping his arms to his sides.

“For you to blow my brains out. Figuratively. I know I said I wouldn’t go on any hunts, but I still disobeyed and went.” You looked at your crossed legs, not wanting to make eye contact with him.

“Y/N.” Your dad said your name again, a little softly this time. “Are you hurt?” He asked, walking over to where you were sitting. He held you by the sides, inspecting your face for any scrapes or injuries.

“Ah, just fell over once. Grazed knee. Cleaned it up before coming. But other than that, I’m all shiny.” You said, cracking a little smile.

Your father’s shoulders dropped a little. He closed his eyes and let out a breath. “I’m glad you’re alright.” He said, taking a seat next to you.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” You said, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You told me not hunt, but I did anyways. It’s just…” You sighed a little. “It’s just that, you grew up like this, going on hunts, killing monsters, stopping evil. It’s the family business!”

“I did, baby, but I didn’t ask for this life.” He protested, turning to face you. “Did you know that I ran away from home because I wanted out and wanted a normal life, like a normal person? I hated it. I hated this life.”

“Really?” You asked, eyebrows raising up a little.

“Yeah. But I came back, eventually, to find the thing that killed your grandmother. See, Y/N, people die. All the time. And in our life, the chances of people dying are doubled.”

“Yes, but Gramma came back! People come back, too. Even you and Uncle Dean, I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve died that you’ve told me about.”

“I know. But why do you want to risk it? I’ve made mistakes in the past that have got me where I am today, and I’m not proud of them, but they’re a part of me. They’re a part of the reason that I am a hunter today.”

“Am I a mistake?” You asked softly.

“What? Baby, no! Why would you think that?” Your dad looked shocked. “Listen to me, Y/N/N. There is nothing in this life that I love more than I love you. And I don’t want you to think for a single second that you are a mistake. You are my most prized possession, and I don’t want to lose you, like I did your mother. That’s why I don’t want you to go on hunts, especially alone.” His eyes were glassy, tears threatening to spill, mirroring your eyes.

“I don’t go alone, Dad. Benny is with me.” You say.

“Yeah, we’ll see how that is going to work when Dean is done with him.” Your dad said, smiling a little.

“Well, if you don’t want me to go on hunts alone, would it be fine if I accompanied you and Uncle Dean on hunts?”

Your dad sighed, thinking a little. “Fine, we’ll see what we can work out today, okay?”

You smiled, hugging your dad tightly.

He went on, “And remember, nothing in this world matters to me more than you do. And, you hunt alone again, and I’ll make sure you never leave the bunker without adult supervision.” He said, pointing a finger at you.

You laughed, “Dad, I am an adult!”

“Well, adult plus!”

You and your dad walked out of your room to find Benny and Uncle Dean sitting at the table, a bottle of beer in each of their hands.

“Now, who wants Tacos?”

[witch-city]

5, 6, 30 😈 for the song ask:

-Kayak

oh god here we go (also this took so long to do bc i literally am obsessed with music so…yeah)

5. three songs you wish you could forget (because listening to them hurts)

1. last words of a shooting star by mitski

this one is just makes me feel empty

2. bad religion by frank ocean

for a solid like week, i could not listen to this song without sobbing violently…it was quite the time

3. everything by muna

fuck.

6. three songs you wish you could erase from history (because they’re terrible)

1. drivers license by olivia rodrigo

no. just no. first of all, this song was so overplayed and overhyped that i just can’t get behind it…also, i ‘m not a fan of olivia rodrigo & her lyrics, so.

2. peacock by katy perry

after all of the stuff that’s come out about what katy perry did when she was young, it’s kinda hard for me to like her…this song just amplifies that by like 1000x

3. chandelier by sia

this song has always brought something out in me that makes me want to claw my eyes out and go deaf on the spot

30. three songs you really want your followers to know (for reasons other than all those above)

1. a change is gonna come by sam cooke

the pain in the lyrics of this song oh my god…no, but this song is so good; it’s literally historically important. it’s in the fucking library of congress. i will never get over this song.

2. head over heels by abba

to summarize, i am an abba stan. this is their best song. fight me.

3. afterlife by hailee steinfeld

hailee my beloved…anyways, this song was in dickinson and no matter how many times i listen to it, i can’t get enough it’s so good

[ihaveneverseenvolcanoes]

hello! i was wondering if you could recommend some shows like dickinson to watch after i'm done with this beautiful thing! and also your fav episode if you don't mind :D lots of love!!!

Hey, Anon, how are you?

I’m pleased you asked, but this is a quite difficult question to answer. Dickinson is one of my favorite TV shows. I am sorry not so many people know about it.

1x02 is amazing, in my opinion. The final scene, especially. All the family dynamics, as well as the Volcanoes sequence...

I also think Split the Lark (2x06) is phenomenal. Sue singing the poem while Hailee gave one of her most ravishing performances... And yes: it was the time I realized Sue and Sam might’ve been a thing. Of course I’m an EmiSue Stan, but I have found myself in a very similar situation once - so I can truly relate. Writing a letter to Mary, respecting Sam’s marriage, but falling in love with him amidst all the confusion? “I love you, I’m in love with you, I want you... You’re the sun. But your marriage comes first - and I would never want to hurt you or your wife. I care about her too”. Crazy, huh? But it can happen - I’ll give you that.

It is a completely different kind of series, but This is Us is the best thing on television. You should try it!

[atticlights]

PART ONE

&&. announcing her royal highness, ( elizabeth joan mary stuart ), the ( 22 ) year old (  princess ) of ( scotland ). she is often confused with ( jessica alexander ). some say that she is ( sneaky + stubborn ), but she is actually ( outgoing + willing ). ( elizabeth ) is arranged to marry ( harry styles, sam corlett, taylor zakhar perez, harris dickinson, aron piper, utp ). ( ooc: kels / 25 / est / she+her ) + taking up the youngest scottish sibling wc 

PART TWO

1.  what drew your attention to this group ?

2.  what kind of music do you listen to ? rock n roll !

3.  what do you do / what do you enjoy doing outside of rp ?

4. if this ISN’T your FIRST character, what plans do you have for the character ? what can you do with them that you can’t do with your pre existing character(s) ? i have a lot of plans. I’ve never written a muse before during their rebellion years rather before or after never during those crucial years of one rebellioning to be themselves when they do not know who they are yet, but they do know what people are telling them to be is not who they want or wish to be. What I can do here is be a little sibling rather than an only child and a weight of a crown on her shoulders. 

PART THREE

who do you think are above you and who are beneath you ?

Lizzy’s hands tightened the fabric of her skirt, her mother warned her about this question. She couldn’t help but think back to miss congeniality when cheryl was asked about her perfect day and her answer left everyone speechless and not in a good way. “The catholic church and god are above me,” she whispered out, she was sure the interviewer could see the sweat dripping down her forehead. She knew her cheeks were red and being on high definition tv would only make it worse. “As for who is below me? I am not sure, i am only 22 and have not yet had the opportunity to make mistakes and see the world, or my people for who they are.”

“god,” mimi snapped suddenly, snapping the binder of documents in her lap shut harder than was strictly necessary. she tossed it aside on the the coffee table, and pressed her fingers against her temples. “isn’t this place driving you mad?” she asked, tone clipped although she wasn’t annoyed with them, just the situation. “how can war be so boring?”

The snap of the word caused lizzy to jump in a way she had not within years. The room had been so silent, and then it hadn’t been. The younger of the two licked her lips. “Because we are not out there risking our lives for what we think is the better cause. I bet the men and women out there think an hour goes by in a blink of an eye.”

“biggie, no! come back here!” rhiannon called out after her corgi had slipped out of her collar and took off running towards the nearest person, immediately jumping on them. “i’m so sorry! i promise she won’t bite, she’s very friendly…just a bit hyper at times and she loves people.” bending down, rhiannon scooped the pup up into her arms and put the collar back on her. “she didn’t snag the fabric of your outfit, did she?”

The thing about lizzy was she loved animals. While her family had enough room there never seemed to be enough animals around. She went to her knees, welcoming the dog into her arms. “Oh my goodness!” she squealed as the dog licked her cheeks and lips. “What a precious angel!” she looked up to rhi. “How could she hurt any part of me? She is an angel!” This made the princess miss her own animals more in that moment. She hadn’t allowed herself to think of her own animals back home in fear of the tears. 

PART FOUR

&&. is that ( jessica alexander )?? no, it’s just ( lizzy stuart ). she is a ( princess ) of ( scotland ). she is ( 22 ) years old and her birthday is the ( 1 ) of ( april ) which makes her an ( aries ).  she is ( willing + outgoing ) and ( resourceful + courageous. ) but, unfortunately, also ( stubborn + sneaky ). those traits just make her a ( slytherin ) and in scientific terms an ( ENTJ ). she is ( hetersexual ) and the plaza’s ( innocent one ).  her theme song is ( the monster ) by ( eminem ). her interests include ( polo + military operations ). she practices ( catholicism ) and is a supporter of ( labour party ). her quirk is ( constantly comes up with strange pick up lines ) and favourite quote is ( Spread love everywhere you go. Let no one ever come to you without leaving happier. ) by ( Mother Teresa ) because ( she sees the way people leave an audience with her mother, and she never wishes to do that to anyone, not even her worst enemy ). last but not least she ( does ) believe in true love.

PART FIVE

please enjoy her mock blog