#which sam later describes as drowning

[townhulls]

also ! constance possessing the impala in the pilot is wild because it’s before we realize just how much dean projects his identity & specifically his masculinity onto that car. she's not just possessing his car, she's possessing a part of him. she's possessing the part of him entrusted to him by his father. she is taking the very essence of masculinity as drilled into him by john and she is turning it not only against dean but against sam as well. and when both of them jump off the bridge, dean is the one who ends up in the mud because of it.

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #56 – Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin

At the start of the year, I set out to try and read more proper literature. Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow was not a book I had ever heard of, or by an author I knew anything at all about. But it was on my local bookstore's and local library’s staff pick lists, and has a bunch of awards, and I think showed up on some list of Goodreads recommendations. So 9 months later I finally worked down the list to it and went in totally unprepared and with zero expectations or preconceptions.

The book’s well-written and well-executed, but I can’t say it really worked for me. Or properly, it absolutely was working for the first two thirds or so, but by the end just felt like it lost a lot of the touches that had made it interesting and was just drowning in its own sentimentality.

The book follows Sam and Sadie, two Californian wunderkunds growing up in Los Angelos in the 1980s. They meet in a children’s hospital, where Sam is being treated for a foot the was nearly shattered in a car crash and Sadie is visiting her elder sister as she’s treated for cancer. The two of them instantly begin bonding over playing Super Mario Brothers and begin a friendship and a creative partnership that will - as they grow up and found an artistically and commercially successful video game studio in the late 90s – define the shape of both of their lives, no matter how turbulent and conflicted it at points becomes.

For reasons that probably boil down to the audiobooks my mother played on road trips as a child, I’ve always had a fondness for books that track the broad sweep of a life or lives, zooming out and stretching across the years and decades. So I actually digested this a decent bit more easily than I do a lot of modern litfic that I’ve tried. For the first few hundred pages, it all even holds together very well, bouncing around the timeline and providing childhood episodes and context as it's relevant and making the central relationships compelling and emotionally plausible. Unfortunately a couple of experiments in form (one worked for me, one really didn’t) eat up a lot of page count in the final act, and entirely kill the sense of flow and structure. Not at all helped by the narrative voice losing a lot of its charm and the story growing wholly predictable (and a bit saccharine) in the closing pages.

I say ‘central relationships’ and not ‘relationship’ because describing the book as being about the relationship between Sam and Sadie is just, basically false advertising? Marx – Sam’s college roommate, later Sadie’s boyfriend, the business manager of their video game studio - is for most of the book at least as important a character as the two leads. He’s a much less interesting character – entirely too much of a natural saint, compared to how very flawed and petty Sam and Sadie are both allowed to be – but he’s a key part of the dynamic and most of the book is properly about different permutations of the trio bouncing off of each other. No other character gets a tenth of the focus and exploration of those three, and are really more props for narrative and to incite development than anything else.

The book has (until the end, anyway) a strong narrative voice that I really enjoyed, but which also may have caused me to set my expectations entirely wrong for what the book was actually planning. The only way I can really describe it is that the book reads like one of those New Yorker longreads that are trying very hard to convince you they’re not just rubbernecking some fascinatingly dysfunctional relationships and personal drama among some semi-notable creative figures. Your Bad Art Friends and similar. Deeply opinionated and gossipy, but making a show of seeming detached and objective, always making asides written from the perspective of the modern day and quoting interviews from years later about events as they occur in the narrative. As someone who is a slightly guilty fan of exactly those kind of longreads, it did make for a very fun reading experience.

But it also made me get my hopes up. Which is to say, the early chapters make quite a few references to how latter in life Sam and Sadie wouldn’t be on speaking terms, and how ‘something’ happened at Unfair Games in 2005. I was looking forward to something some messy and newsworthy interpersonal drama of the kind that doesn’t leave either of them (or anyone) looking good. The falling out does occur, but in a way that’s mostly just piles of misunderstandings and a stubborn refusal to communicate from both of them. The company always stays ostensibly together, and things never get much worse than quietly cherished bitterness and a refusal to speak. Which feels very emotionally believable, as incredibly frustrating as it is. The dramatic rupture that happens in 2005, well-

The book’s use of violence always feels slightly unreal. It intrudes on the narrative in ways that, like, they are things that happen, but feel so exaggerated and on-the-nose they took me out of the reading experience, at least a bit. A woman jumps off her balcony to her death and happens to land right in front of a young Sam. His mother stops her car on an LA highway to avoid hitting a dog, and he asks her something that keeps her talking and not moving for the crucial moment before an SUV slams into them, killing her and permanently damaging his foot. And the great end-of-second-act rupture that occurs in 2005 is a pair of homophobic gunmen storming into their office and shooting Marx because their cozy MMO lets gay people get married. Any one would have been fine, but combined they make the illusion of violence as random and capricious wear a bit thin and the writerly artifice underneath a bit too clear, at least for me.

As far as period pieces go – the story isn’t nostalgia bait, but it isn’t not nostalgia bait, either? It’s a few years before my time, so I suppose I just don’t appreciate it properly – the experience of growing up in and living through the late ‘80s through 2000s is one the book cares deeply about replicating. It generally does an excellent job making things feel of-the-moment, if occasionally by having the narrative draw pretty heavy-handed comparisons to what would be different in the present. The aesthetics (fashion, public art and marketing, fads and consumer trends) are all there, and the characters experience them like people to whom they’re novel and trendy. (Personally I could have done with a bit less effort spent describing every single outfit, but if I had memories of what people actually looked like wearing them I might appreciate it more.) It does similar things with LA and (to a far lesser extent) Boston – every other place the book touches on feels vague and a bit unreal, but LA is rendered with a real sense of place and love for the city and it’s little eccentricities.

The area where the book is absolutely nostalgia-bait is video games, and the whole heroic era of rapid changes and improvements to the medium where new boundaries were being crossed every year and a handful of sufficiently talented and dedicated first-time devs could create something genuinely revolutionary. The book even manages the neat trick of making almost every fake game the protagonists create a) plausible for the era and technology and b) actually seem like something I would want to play (less so the Pioneerville MMO created in the final act, as with many things). But I do genuinely want to play Master of Revels quite badly.

The book does share a common failing with what feels like almost every period piece, where by complete coincidence the major characters all conveniently happen to be on the Right Side of History for every really major (that is, from the perspective of the present, character-defining) political issues. This is made a bit more irritating by the fact that despite all being quite radical on the issue of e.g. gay marriage (or just not being even slightly homophobic) from the vantage of the early Bush administration, none of Sadie, Sam or Marx ever even conceive of it as being political.

The book doesn’t conceive of itself as really having politics at all – but again, in the way of a New York Magazine feature where having certain sets of liberal convictions is just a matter of personal decency and morality. A certain unexpressed but present sexual conservativism, a view of class where Sam’s grandparents owning and running a successful restaurant counts as being from the wrong side of the tracks, hyper-conscious of race but without much to really say about it. You’re all familiar with the style, I’m sure.

Anyway yeah, not a bad book by any means, but one that lasted long enough and ended weakly enough to expend any real passion or affection I’d built up for it.

[angelsdean]

how is dean not the same as john. in the later seasons i mean. sorry but describing him as "not an angry man" is insane to me cause dean's number 1 of getting out his emotions is anger. i love dean as well but like. you know john tried to be better too right? like i dont really understand how you extend this huge hand to excuse some of dean's angry/bad tendencies (which imo makes him that mlre interesting: the fact that he is angry and he's sometimes not a particularly good person) but refuse to extend even a sliver of this to john? obviously i get that you're attached to dean way more than john thats like common sense for us deangirls but genuinely. cas died and dean did turn into his father. its a thing that happened. i love dean and i dont understand how you can call yourself a deanlover but... erase so much of him??? like you can say he has bad qualities. thats what makes him human. john and dean are much more similar than you claim and its genuinely confusing to me why you don't see that. not trying to start a fight or anything i genuinely would like to get a piece of your mind on this

no no no you misunderstand. i am not erasing ?? his anger. he IS angry (it's just that anger for dean is rarely actually anger). i also think his imperfections are what make him interesting. i talk abt this a lot actually. about how i don't believe in flatting ANY character to prop them up as your fave. people being messy and flawed is good. the problem i have is people who do not look at dean w/ any nuance and just point blank go: he's angry therefore he's abusive and equals john without examining WHY he's angry, where that anger originates from, the fact that his anger most often is Not true anger for the sake of anger or violence. instead, his anger most often stems from fear and grief. especially during widower's arc. he's drowning in grief and as much as we love jack and can see in hindsight that he wasn't a threat at all, dean doesn't know that! we as the audience get the privilege of often knowing and seeing more than the characters! all dean sees at the time is a Very powerful being, who IS the son of lucifer, and who he believes manipulated his best friend and got him killed. he does have every right to be afraid and wary of jack. (and i'd argue he has the right to feel this way again with soulless jack, he IS afraid of him and what he might do and he's also grieving mary and that mixture of grief + fear is where his anger-but-not-really-anger comes from). like, because of the way dean was raised, because of growing up with the angry man that is john, the only emotion that was really expressed and "allowed" was anger. anger was justified. crying and sadness and fear, that's weakness in john winchester's household. but anger was powerful and masculine and good.

i also DO look at john with nuance as well. i've talked about how i don't like when people reduce john to a flat caricature or cartoon villain abuser. there's more going on, there's nuance, their dynamic is so complicated. john is Also, at first, drowning in his own grief. i think early on, john DID try, and was mostly motivated by a desire to protect his family, but he went about it wrong and imperfectly. however, where they diverge, is that john continued to let his anger consume him for the sake of revenge. he neglected his children, he put them in danger through his repeated neglect, and he did (based on various pointed insinuations) at one point or another physically abuse them, most likely dean specifically (the line abt flagstaff, also less "canon" but in the john's journal book john mentions how dean was particularly responsive to "discipline" and that john feels he's been too soft on sam)

the thing is, being angry doesn't make you a bad person. being angry is human. dean's anger imo, and the way we see it manifest--most often when what he really wants to express is grief and fear--is indicative of his internalized behaviors learned from john and past trauma that remains unresolved. this man has never had a chance to COPE or unpack not only the abusive and controlling environment he grew up in, but all the subsequent years of trauma INCLUDING his hell trauma. that's a lot. all those bottled up feelings are gonna turn into a lot of anger and frustration. he doesn't suffer perfectly. like you said, and which i agree, he is not perfect. he's flawed. he's human. but i don't think being angry and suffering imperfectly makes him a bad person. i feel too much empathy and compassion for him. i can see struggling and i want someone to help him. sometimes when people are in pain they'll say or do things they don't mean. and yes, they may hurt people in the process and those people are allowed to feel upset, but dean is also hurting. and i don't think he's a horrible person for not suffering the "right" way or not being a "good victim." and that's how i view widower's arc, as someone who is deeply hurting and suffering. it's not excusing his behavior but it's not villainizing it either. john gets similar feelings from me too, to a point. but john took things further and actively abused and neglected his young children and raised them to be soldiers and made them put aside their dreams and desires in the name of HIS revenge quest. he raised his children to live in fear and used fear and violence to control them. however, despite the fact that *i* don't particularly like john winchester, i know that his dynamic w/ his sons is nuanced and i know that dean both Loves and Hates him and that both those feelings can and do co-exist and i enjoy that duality.

dean's complicated emotions during times of intense grief and stress (widower's arc, losing mary, finding out chuck was controlling his whole life) are isolated moments but do not speak for his whole self. outside these high stress situations, where what he's really feeling is fear / grief / worry, we usually see dean to be very compassionate and patient and good with children.

this is getting very long now and i don't know if you'll take the time to read all of it but i'd like to conclude with saying my main issue with the "angry man in the house" phrase is the way it is used out of context to paint dean as becoming john and taking the place of the angry man in the house, when the original context of the quote is about being haunted by the angry man you grew up with, not becoming him. i talk more in-depth about all of that in this post.

also, just as an aside but, i generally have two "modes" of operating on this blog. one is fangirl mode where yea, dean is my blorbo specialest princess who can do no wrong<3 and then there's the other mode where i'm doing formal analysis of canon where it's more abt dissecting things and talking meta and looking at WHY characters are acting how they are. that's when i talk abt their flaws and motivations and nuance and context. also, people are often needlessly harsh or over-exaggerate things dean said or did in canon just to villainize him and in those instances yes i will go to bat for dean and "defend" him, usually by just, pointing out the nuances and additional context for his actions that many choose to overlook or misinterpret just to make dean seem worse than he actually was.

[man-moth-hook-hand]

What Mythical Creature are they?

Masterlist

Resourcess: Dwayne: Sisiutl David: Gremlin Marko: Byssus Galeto/Bisso Galetos Paul: Näcken

Dwayne: Sisitul (Native American)

Since Billy Wirth is Native, I thought researching Native American creatures was the best option. I chose the Sisiutl since it's not depicted as evil and instead a protector. I feel like this is similar to Dwayne's relationship with Laddie. Personally, I believe that Dwayne is the least "evil" of the boys, he's just more into going with the flow when finding a meal instead of toying with them. During the movie, he also neve outright attacks anyone except Sam, at the end of the movie. This can relate back to the Sisiutl being protectors since Dwayne was protecting his family.

The Kwakwaka'wakw tribe depicts the Sisiutl as a tri-headed serpent, with two snake heads on either side of a human one in the middle. Shaman believed its blood would transfer healing magic into a person. Warriors adorned the image for protection, believing that the blood would make them invincible in battle. Sometimes, the faces of the Sisiutl were carved into entrances or canoes to ward off evil spirits. Others believed that mica, the mineral found in soil and beaches, were the scales of the Sisiutl.

David: Gremlin (British/American)

David is a nasty little Gremlin throughout the film. These creatures are described as mischievous and hate the light, which is fitting for David. He is the only reason that the movie happened, without him creating these mischievous problems, Micheal would've never met Star or had to help kill Max. Also, the aversion to light is pretty aligned with Vampires. David is definitely the type to push everything three inches to the left so that someone bumps into everything.

Gremlins were seen in mainstream culture around the beginning of the early 20th century. Originally, they were blamed for the malfunctions in aircraft and later on in other machinery. There was a large prominence of "Gremlins" during WWII in posters regarding safety in the workplace. Captions such as "Gremlins LOVE to pitch things at your eyes," "Gremlins are floor greasers," and "Gremlins will push you around. Look where you're going," warned the workers about the consequences of not cleaning or doing their job properly.

Marko: Byssus Galetus (Italian)

I chose a creature from Italian folklore since I headcanon that Marko is Italian. A creator who I don't remember the name of originally headcanons him and Italian and I agree. The Byssus Galetus is a spiteful creature hailing from the Veronese Valleys in Verona, Italy. The creature has the head and body of a rooster (galetus) with wings full of thorns and a snake's tail (byssus). I chose this for Marko since they're born from spite and live that way. You cannot tell me that Marko would not go out of his way to be full of hatred and spite in his life and afterlife. Also, Marko is seen playing with pigeons in the movie, which in my mind, help connect him to the Byssus Galetus because it's half chicken.

While they're small creatures, the Byssus Galetus is an incredibly poisonous creature. They wander into houses at night and kill people with their toxic breath. The gaze of the creature can dry out and kill plants, along with contaminating water. It's said that the Byssus Galetus is laid by an elderly rooster and hatched by a snake or toad for nine years. If a Byssus Galetus sees it's own image it dies.

Paul: Näcken/Strömkarl (Swedish)

While Brooke McCarter isn't Swedish, I headcanon that Paul is. He's tall, blond, and it literally built like a Viking. The Näcken are male water spirit found by lakes, streams, or other bodies of water. They play enchanting music to lure their victims to the water and drown them. However, some believe that the water spirits are harmless and if approached properly, teach a musician to play perfectly. The Näcken come mostly from Germanic and Scandinavian folklore.

I chose the Näcken for Paul since most media depicts Paul with a rockbox or some other instance of music. If you didn't know, Brooke McCarter is a composer and has multiple songs and is listed as the composer for the documentary America the Violent. I headcanon that Paul is a really good singer and has learned to play instruments throughout the years, which leads to his love of music.

[lionydoorin]

who ARE your blorbos? give us a rundown. describe your babies.

oh! :3 since i'm in my scream hyperfixation i'll give you a rundown of my no. 1 scream blorbo, anon :))))

first of all this 👇

little guy right here is tara carpenter.

tara's dealt with loneliness from a very young age.

canon-wise, there's not much we know about her childhood, so boo canon the scream mutuals got me covered. my personal view of tara's backstory is a mix of canon and fanon so i'll just break it down the best i can.

tara was born a frail, tiny baby, and had to deal with different medical issues throughout her childhood. her dad left when she was little, following the discovery that her older sister, sam (tara's favourite person), wasn't his daughter. and her mom wasn't the best mom. she drinks and travels too much to care about her daughters. sam also left when tara was 13 — when her parents got divorced and christina became the shittiest person in the universe, sam drowned in guilt and sadness over the knowledge that her entire life was built on a lie, and thought she was the one responsible for everything (even though we all know it's not her fault, but her mom's :3), and resorted to unhealthy coping mechanisms, such as alcohol and drugs, before making the ultimate decision to move out at 18. it's easy to see why tara has abandonment issues only by taking a look at her family situation :3

after her sister left, tara had to lean on her friends a lot for support and had to mature faster than most kids in order to survive. a friend, in particular, was very special to her: amber freeman. amber wasn't particularly the nicest person; she could be very controlling, sometimes a bit explosive. she knew how to play with people and manipulate every situation in her favour, and, above all, knew how to play her cards in order to have tara in her hands. amber was also obsessed with the "stab" franchise, which, surprise, is based on the crimes committed by sam's father and other killers who took over the title of ghostface. amber also became a ghostface herself, attacking tara and killing a bunch of people she knew.

and it's tara's attack that leads her sister back into her life, sam coming back five years after she left to make sure her sister was okay. together, they kill amber and the other ghostface (richie, who was sam's boyfriend at the time). a year later, richie's family also target sam and tara wanting revenge on their fallen son/sibling, resulting in more trauma and more death and more injuries :3

anyway, you can see how hard her life has been to this point.

of course, all of these events leave tara with a bunch of trauma to deal with. not only she survived the homoerotic teenage friendship with a psychopath, but she also had to deal with multiple murder attempts, which left their mark both physically and mentally.

amber's initial attack left her with two injuries that logically do hurt a lot and affect her in the long run: her right leg got snapped in half and she got stabbed in her left hand. of course, it's horror and permanent injuries in horror are almost never a thing as far as i'm aware of, but in this tag i ramble a lot (and came to a conclusion) about how tara's hand injury, in particular, should affect her in the long run and i personally hc her with such disabilities.

tara also struggles a lot with the thought of being a survivor. while she did get treated for her physical injuries, tara has been neglecting her own mental health. in fact, she has been for most of her life. it makes sense that her mom being who she is would never put tara in therapy and tara had to repress a whole lot of emotions for most of her life, but after being through everything she's been through, girly should probably see someone lmao still. the tara we know hates talking about everything that happened and just wants to be normal at all costs — putting herself in dangerous situations, having to resort to unhealthy coping mechanisms and making somewhat impulsive decisions to seek said normalcy.

after the second attack, she promised she'd try to get better, though. we'll see how it goes :)

all in all, she's my whump blorbo and i love her so much. it makes me so sad to see how part of the fandom hates on her and doesn't get why she is the way she is in 6. people are too harsh. she's a literal teenager who didn't have anyone that truly cared about her before her sister got back into her life, and of course she's feeling overwhelmed. it's not sam's fault, sam isn't overwhelming, but tara simply doesn't know how to be taken care of and it's a process. she's learning and she's maturing.

i love how the scream tumblr fandom gives tara so, so much love though. we're the only ones that get her, guys, everyone else's opinions are wrong :3

i was going to make it about tara and about amber but i started to ramble and the post is getting too big. i have a lot of thoughts about the crazy bitch that is amber freeman, though :)

[tippedbykreider]

it's all coming back to me | c. kreider (part viii)

(Part VII ICYMI)

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: slow burn, exes to lovers, relationship breakdown, swearing, alcohol, 18+

Author’s Note: This feels like progress. Doesn't this feel like progress to you?

Summary: Chris Kreider x Reader Insert. They say that all good things come to an end, that you can never have too much of a good thing, but when Chris decided to end your relationship you wondered how anything could ever be good again. A chance meeting 9 years later drags up all those feelings you both thought you were done with. Can you work through your hurt and pain to see what it is that Chris is trying to show you? Or are some things better left forgotten?

Tagging: @laurenairay; @thebookofmags; @whatishockey; @robindrake13

~

It had been over a week.

It had been over a week since Chris had heard from you and over a week since you’d shared you were going on a second date with Sam and his disposition could only be described as sour. Chris had few smiles for his teammates, even Mika, and his temperament when it came to reporters was uncharacteristically surly. Perhaps the worst part of it all was that he’d once again found himself in a slump and despite him trying his utmost to drown out the background noise that was the internet, it was hard to ignore comments that called for his immediate trade. He wondered if you’d noticed. He wondered if you even cared.

The Rangers’ latest win against the visiting Capitals hadn’t hit the way that it should and despite the jovial atmosphere in the locker room, Chris felt anything but.

“You comin’ out for a few, Kreids?” Lindy asked as he took off his pads.

“Nah,” Chris shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“Awww, c’mon,” Trouba piped up. “Not even for one drink? If this is about the turnover in the neutral zone-”

“It’s not,” Chris snapped before exhaling to collect himself, a forced evenness in his voice as he spoke again. “It’s not about the turnover. I’m just not feeling up to it tonight.”

Mika gave Trouba a look that told him not to push.

“A’ight,” Jacob shrugged as he turned away.

Chris wordlessly removed the rest of his pads, pulling at the velcro with more force than was necessary, all the while Mika watched him with furrowed brows.

“Hey, how about we grab a quiet drink somewhere, just the two of us?” he offered, quiet enough for Chris’ ears only.

“Mika-”

“One drink,” Mika pressed gently. “One drink and I swear I’ll let you go home to mope.”

“‘m not moping,” Chris groused as he stood and grabbed his towel.

“Sulk, then.”

Chris went to protest but stopped himself at the good-natured smile his best friend was giving him and simply sighed instead.

“Fine,” Chris conceded. “One drink.”

Chris didn’t see Mika’s triumphant little smile as he turned away to head to the showers but he knew Mika well enough to know that he’d be feeling rather pleased with himself right about now. He also knew that Mika would coax out the truth about what was truly bothering him, one way or another and he knew that would mean having to talk about you, which he truthfully didn’t know how he felt about. Perhaps it would be good to get it all out, to get a third party perspective on it all, but it still didn’t change what happened and it certainly didn’t change the fact that you were clearly moving on with your life. 

The walk from Madison Square Garden was mostly silent but not uncomfortably so. Mika had found a quiet little piano bar in Chelsea that wasn’t too far and there was little chance of them running into any teammates. The pair slid into a booth near the back of the bar and shrugged out of their jackets, Chris picking up the menu and studying it intently as if that would stop Mika from pursuing whatever line of questioning he knew was imminent. Mika watched him, his usually soft eyes uncharacteristically keen while he waited. Chris could feel Mika’s gaze on him, steady and unwavering and after a few more breaths he put down the menu with a soft exhale. Better to rip the band aid off and get this over with.

“So what’s going on with you?” Mika asked.

“Wow, cutting right to the chase,” Chris remarked. “We’ve not even ordered our drinks yet.”

“Figured I’d get ahead,” Mika shrugged in reply, eyes still keen on Chris.

Chris paused for a moment and glanced around the bar, giving himself time to gather and order his thoughts. He supposed he didn’t need to start from the very beginning, given that Mika knew about you, at least in part.

“Remember when we met up after summer break and you asked me if there was a girl?”

“Yeah, which you denied pretty enthusiastically,” Mika replied, a little smile playing on his lips. “There was, wasn’t there? I knew you were bullshitting us.”

“It’s not as simple as that,” Chris shook his head.

“Sure it is. There either was a girl or there wasn’t.”

Chris exhaled.

“Remember that girl from college I told you about?”

“The one you lived with, right?” Mika asked.

“Yeah,” Chris answered, his eyes sad. “She was the only person I’ve ever loved, like truly loved.”

Mika nodded in wordless encouragement.

“And I messed up pretty bad,” Chris continued, his voice rougher than Mika had ever heard it. “I hurt her.”

“C’mon, Chris,” Mika said gently. “I know you and I know that you’d never hurt anyone intentionally.”

“Doesn’t matter if it was intentional or not,” Chris countered. “My actions hurt her. I thought in some stupid way that by doing what I did, I was protecting her but it wasn’t my decision to make. I left her behind in Boston because I thought I was doing right by her but I never even asked her what she wanted.”

“You were young, Chris,” Mika reasoned. “You made the decision you thought was right at the time.”

“Doesn’t mean it was truly the right one though, does it?”

Mika watched as Chris’ shoulders rose and fell with his sigh, giving him a moment before speaking again.

“So what happened?”

“I bumped into her,” Chris answered plainly. “In Rowayton of all places.”

“No shit,” Mika exhaled. “Did she recognise you?”

“I recognised her first.”

Mika chewed his lip for a moment while he processed Chris’ revelation.

“That’s… huge,” Mika said eventually, Chris merely nodding in response. “What happened? Did you talk to her?”

“Yeah,” Chris replied. “And we got talking and it was rough and she bolted, which is fair, y’know? But then I bumped into her again in Stamford.”

“Fuck,” Mika breathed. “Like bumping into her once? That’s nothing to really pay attention to, but twice?”

“Feels like some sort of shitty joke on the universe’s part, right?”

“Or divine intervention,” Mika offered. “If Irma were here she’d say that was a sign that the two of you weren’t done.”

“Oh, I think we’re pretty done,” Chris grimaced. “She’s been moving on.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Because she told me,” Chris said matter of factly.

“So you guys have been talking, then?”

“We met up again in person and talked more about stuff, y’know, about what happened with us. Since then we’ve exchanged a few texts here and there,” Chris confirmed. “And it kind of felt like things were going somewhere, I don’t know where exactly but… I dunno, it just felt less strained and maybe like something resembling friendship, and then she told me that she’d been on a date with a guy and that went well so they arranged a second one.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Mika asked.

“Like shit,” Chris replied bluntly. “And I know I have no right to because I’m not anything to her anymore, but…”

“It still hurts,” Mika nodded. “And it’s gonna. She was your girl, Chris. You loved her, that sort of stuff doesn’t just go away.”

“It has for her,” Chris countered. 

“You don’t really know that,” Mika offered. “You don’t know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling.”

“No,” Chris conceded. “But it’s been a decade and she’s dating and that’s enough of a sign. I couldn’t have expected her to still be waiting on me after all this time, not after what I did. So I told her I was happy for her but she’s left me on ‘read’.”

“Shit, Chris. I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is,” Chris shrugged, relieved at the sight of the waitress coming over to take their order and giving him a much needed reprieve.

To Chris’ surprise, Mika didn’t push the subject further once their drinks were ordered and conversation turned to Mika and Irma’s upcoming wedding. True to his word, Mika didn’t press Chris to stay for a second drink and the two parted ways with a hug and a goodnight, Chris taking the short walk home to his apartment while Mika grabbed an Uber. 

Somehow the apartment felt emptier tonight, hollow even. Perhaps it was simply reflecting Chris’ energy right back at him, perhaps not, but as Chris hung up his jacket and kicked off his shoes he couldn’t help but pay attention to the ache that sat deep within his chest. It had been years since he’d come home to you, so long that, truthfully, he wasn’t even sure if he could really remember just what that was like. Your apartment together always smelled so good, Chris remembered that much, always a vanilla candle burning whenever you were home, and you would always call out ‘Marco’ to him whenever he stepped through the door, eagerly awaiting his ‘Polo’ in reply. You would repeat this until you finally got eyes on him, greeting him with a “hello, Marco” and a big smile. He never truly understood why you did it, but he would indulge you every single time without question.

The hurt washed over him again, like a rogue wave and he couldn’t help the quiet sniffle that escaped him. You’d never been in this apartment, he’d never experienced the grace of your presence in this space he called ‘home’ and yet tonight it seemed so barren without you, completely devoid of any vibrancy. He wondered how that was possible, how a space could miss something it never had, how his apartment felt as if it had a you shaped hole in it when it had never known anything other than Chris. Perhaps this place had never been whole and that it was only now, in the swirling waters of his hurt and grief, that Chris was realising it. Maybe it wasn’t the apartment at all that wasn’t whole, maybe it was Chris and he was beginning to wonder if he’d ever truly been whole since the day he closed the door on your shared home in Boston for the last time.

*

It took you three days to reply to Sam.

You’d picked up your phone to do it multiple times over the 72 hour period, even getting as far as opening the text conversation on a few occasions, but each time something stopped you right in your tracks. You couldn’t deny the fact that Chris had been on your mind more often than not over the last couple of days and that in itself was equal parts maddening and confusing. You were angry with yourself for allowing your mind to wander the way that it had, angry that you had let yourself slip but you continued to tell yourself that thinking about Chris subconsciously while you touched yourself meant nothing. It was the wine. It had to be the wine.

And yet despite this, you still hadn’t rushed to reach out to Sam either and perhaps that spoke even more volumes. You’d very quickly chased away the idea that you were hesitating because of Chris, it simply being too ludicrous to give any sort of meaningful acknowledgement, but you also couldn’t think of any other tangible reason for it either. Even as you finally text Sam back, there was the distinct sense that it was forced, something you hoped wouldn’t come across in your message, and even as you found yourself agreeing to date number three, it all just felt a little contrived. A little insincere. You hoped as the days passed that the feeling would dissipate, that the thoughts of Chris would recede like fog being chased away by the mid-morning sun and you would rekindle those feelings of initial excitement at the prospect of new romance, but as you stood in front of your closet ahead of your date trying to decide what dress to wear, you felt nothing.

The kiss Sam gave you as he picked you up didn’t flutter the butterflies in your stomach like it had done before and the feeling of your hand in his as you walked from the car to the restaurant felt foreign, wrong even. You’d suggested doing something different this time, like a movie or bowling, but Sam had insisted on taking you to dinner with the promise that you could choose the date activity next time. You couldn’t help but think back to your dates with Chris, the pasta making class he’d booked where you both left absolutely covered in flour, the time he took you ice skating, the time you made a Christmas wreath together for your apartment door. All the concerts, the plays, trips to bookstores and record shops, walks in the park with kisses that tasted of coffee and cake. Those dates in each other’s dorms where Chris would somehow manage to eat a 16 inch pizza to himself and still finish strong with a pint of ice cream. You smiled involuntarily at the memory before it quickly faded at the sound of the restaurant door closing behind you, bringing you back down to Earth.

You forced a smile through dinner, socially aware enough to know when to nod and laugh in all the right places, but you couldn’t deny the overwhelming relief in your chest when the check came. You’d hoped that Sam hadn’t noticed; he hadn’t seemed to but you then questioned whether he was simply being polite. He certainly seemed like that kind of guy. You cursed yourself. You cursed yourself for living inside of your own head, for thinking about Chris, for being a bad date. After all, this was what you wanted, right?

This was you, once again, trying to move on and move forward with your life, leaving the past in the past and all you seemed to get for your trouble was a ‘nearly but not quite’ version of the man you were trying to leave behind. There was nothing wrong with Sam, of course and in any other timeline, where your path never crossed Chris’, you were certain you could have had a fourth date with him, maybe even a fifth, to see where this would lead. But if this whole evening, this whole week, had achieved anything, it had simply reaffirmed what you already knew to be true in your heart, that you’d never really let Chris go and while some men might come close, there was nothing quite like the real thing.

It was too easy to let your mind drift during dinner, the conversation that had initially been scintillating suddenly feeling a little lacklustre through no fault of the man in your company and the bottle of Sangiovese he’d ordered for the table, a wine that Chris would order every single time, had you crawling back into those corners of your mind where you’d stored away every memory of every single date you ever had with Chris Kreider for the second time that night.

The evening ended with a chaste kiss on the cheek and a vague promise to do this again sometime, but instead of the disappointment you’d expected to feel, there was instead a strange and unexpected feeling that was akin to relief. No, clarity.

You weren’t over Chris, that much was clear as day to you now and for better or worse your heart still clung to the man who had both given you so many happy memories, so much joy, and had shattered your world. It was the reason why you’d accepted and reciprocated contact after a decade, why you hadn’t brushed him off, why you’d let him back into your life, even if you had been keeping him at arm’s length for the most part. Your reckless heart still called out to his, even if your cautious head was screaming at you to stay away, to be careful, to protect yourself. You couldn’t help but let him back in, because even if you couldn’t say that you truly forgave him for what he did, you could never say that you ever stopped loving him. Not really.

All you had to do now was to decide just what exactly you were going to do next.

*

The last thing Chris expected on a Tuesday night after a game at home to the Predators was a phone call from you and he found himself hesitating for a number of reasons, not least because of the late hour. This was the first time hearing from you since you’d left him on ‘read’ and if he was being truthful, he still wasn’t over the knock to his pride. But it was late and Chris knew that he would never forgive himself if you were in some sort of trouble and he ignored your call. It was that thought that had him reaching for his phone, a forced calmness in his voice as he answered.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you answered, a slight edge to your voice that Chris couldn’t quite place. “I just… I saw the game and I wanted to check in, make sure you were okay.”

Chris’ face flushed in embarrassment and he was thankful that you couldn’t see him at that moment. The game you referenced was nothing short of a shit show and Chris hadn’t seen much of the ice in the third period, the benching he received completely justified in his own opinion, but still stung nonetheless.

“I’m fine,” Chris lied. “Just have to correct the mistakes, learn from it and move on to the next one.”

It was such a PR friendly response, one he’d throw out during a postgame interview and he was so tired that he hadn’t even tried to mask the overly rehearsed delivery with something a little more sincere. He’d half hoped you wouldn’t notice but, of course, you’d prove him wrong. You always could cut right through all the smoke and the mirrors to get to the very heart. It was one of the things he’d always loved about you.

“I’m not a reporter, Chris,” you gently scolded. “Please don’t treat me like one.”

Chris had to swallow down a scoff at that. You were right, of course, you weren’t a reporter, but Chris also wasn’t sure just what the hell you were anymore. One thing he was certain of though was that he absolutely wasn’t about to take a lecture from you, not when he’d not heard from you for so long. Not with how things were left between you both. But Chris was tired. His body was tired, his mind was tired and his heart was tired. He didn’t have it in him to get into it with you. Not tonight.

“It was just a bad night,” Chris offered lamely. “I’ve gotta be better. No two ways about it.”

“I know you will be,” you replied, a genuine softness in your voice that Chris picked up on immediately. “You’ll make it right.”

Chris sat up at that, unsure if he’d imagined the veiled message behind your words, whether it was merely a trick of the mind or if there truly was so much more that you were saying.

“I hope so,” he managed after a breath or two. “I mean, I’m trying.”

“I know.”

Chris exhaled at that, his free hand coming up to rub his face. He was exhausted and he wasn’t sure he had the energy to play this perceived game of emotional chess with you. He figured he’d cut right to the chase.

“Why are you really calling, Pickle?” he asked, voice rough. “You just… ghosted me.”

“I know,” you replied quietly. “I’m sorry, Chris. I… I don’t know why I did that.”

“I meant it, y’know. I’m happy for you, I’m happy to see you finding happiness and someone who is good to you.” The sniffle on the other end of the line was barely inaudible and had you said something, anything, Chris would have missed it. “Pickle?”

“I’m sorry,” you breathed out, fighting hard to suppress the waver in your voice and taking a few breaths to compose yourself. “I should let you go to bed. You must be exhausted.”

“I’m alright,” Chris assured, not prepared to let this drop so easily. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing-”

“Please,” he cut you off firmly. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Lie to me,” he gritted. “Don’t lie to me.”

The silence through the phone was deafening and were it not for your tiny exhale on the other end of the line, Chris would have thought you’d gone completely. He wasn’t about to let this lie. You’d been the one to call him, after all and that meant something. It had to mean something.

“I just,” you started, after what felt like an eternity of silence and choosing your next words carefully. “It just didn’t work out between Sam and I.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…”

There was another pause.

“I’m sorry,” Chris said quietly after a moment.

“It’s… It’s just the way it goes sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, I guess it does.”

Chris paused for a few breaths, caught between wanting to push further and not wanting to seem intrusive. It wasn’t really any of his business why it didn’t work out between you and Sam, not really and yet he knew there was more to it. More that you weren’t saying for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure of but felt like he needed to know.

“What happened?” he asked eventually.

“We didn’t work out.”

“So you said,” Chris replied sceptically. “Okay, let me rephrase my question. Why didn’t you work out?”

You cursed him internally, both in knowing that he wasn’t about to let you deflect and because the nature of his question meant that you were really going to have to think about the way you would answer him.

“Because,” you started on the exhale of a breath, unsure even as the word came out of your mouth where you were going to go with this. What could you say? Tell Chris that you weren’t over him? That you called time on things with Sam because he simply wasn’t Chris? Sure, it was the truth, but it wasn’t something you were certain you were ready to share, not least because you knew you weren’t ready for the consequences of that, whatever they happened to be. “Because it just didn’t feel right with him. I don’t know how else to say it other than that.”

Chris knew that he wasn’t going to get anything more out of you and he wasn’t going to rock the boat by pressing the issue further and so, with reluctance, he dropped it.

“Well, if it doesn’t feel right then it doesn’t feel right,” he replied simply. “You can’t force that kind of thing.”

“No,” you agreed. “No, you can’t.”

There was a brief silence that descended between you, filled with all the words neither of you could say and weighted with feelings that you weren’t ready to openly express.

“I am sorry, though,” Chris said finally. “Truly.”

“Yeah,” you replied hoarsely. “Me too.” You hesitated a moment more before wishing Chris goodnight. “You really should get some rest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he acknowledged, the hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m goin’.”

“Goodnight, Christopher.”

“G’night, Pickle,” he replied softly. “And please don’t be a stranger.”

You smiled at that, for the first time in days.

“I won’t. I promise.”

*

The next few weeks for Chris passed in what could only be described as a complete blur. The schedule somehow seemed more unforgiving than usual and Chris was desperately looking forward to the All Star Break where he could pause and finally catch his breath. He’d made no firm plans which, while not like him, he was content with. He’d toyed with the idea of booking a vacation somewhere warm, where he could bask in the feeling of the sun on his skin and sand between his toes, but the thought of travelling seemed like too much effort, even if St Barts was lovely at that time of the year. Perhaps he’d venture as far as Rowayton and blow the cobwebs away with fresh sea air, or perhaps he would stay in Manhattan and get lost in a good book. The latter sounded mighty tempting, especially as it had been a while since he’d spent a day wandering the city, going from bookstore to bookstore with plenty of coffee stops in between.

There might have been something else keeping him in the city, although Chris would never admit to it. He didn’t want to be that guy, the one waiting on you. He also didn’t want to just let you back in so easily. You’d ghosted him once, you could do it again. But even so, the frequency of texts seemed to increase with each day that passed and soon he found himself calling you on the way back from practice or on drives home from the airport, just as you called him on your commute home or while you were cooking dinner. It was nice, Chris thought. Nice to have you back in his life and nice to have something that could very easily fit the definition of friendship, especially after everything that had happened. Those calls soon became FaceTimes and before long it was a normal occurrence for Chris to catch up with you that way before turning in for the night.

It was the final away trip before the All Star break and he’d found himself in a hotel room in Pittsburgh. It was getting on for 9:30 and while some of the younger guys had taken themselves out into the city for drinks after dinner, Chris had been content to come back to the room, take as hot a bath as he could stand and catch an earlyish night. His book was already on the nightstand and he’d not long changed into a pair of loose cotton pyjama pants. He settled himself on the bed, propped up with every pillow at his disposal, and called you.

*

You groaned as you climbed into bed, your body aching in a way that it hadn’t for a very long time, although you supposed that’s what you got for leaving it so long to go back to the gym. The bath you’d taken had worked wonders for your muscles, that is, until it was time for you to get out and then it was as if your legs had completely forgotten how to do the whole standing thing. You’d made something akin to a nest with your pillows and scatter cushions, with your book and herbal tea sitting on the nightstand ready and waiting for you. Your phone vibrated beside the mug and you couldn’t help the smile on your face at the sight of Chris’ name on the screen, his call unexpected but welcome all the same.

You were still wearing your smile as you answered, Chris’ face soft and sleepy on your screen.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, Pickle,” he said, voice a little tired. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I mean, I think I’ve broken my legs but that’s what I get for going to the gym.”

Chris laughed softly at that, a little smirk on his face as he spoke.

“You think they’re sore now, just you wait ‘til the morning.”

“Ugh, don’t,” you groaned. “The lift is out at work too so I’ve got like two flights of stairs to go up.”

“Yikes.”

“Eh, serves me right. How’re you anyway? How’s Pittsburgh?”

“I’m good,” Chris replied with a gentle smile. “Pittsburgh is cold. The guys went out for a beer after dinner but I came back, got a bath and figured I’d get a chapter in before turnin’ in for the night.”

“You old man,” you teased. “You shoulda got yourself out.”

“Nah,” Chris shook his head. “Just didn’t feel up to it tonight, besides, it means I get to catch up with you.”

You couldn’t help the flush in your cheeks at that and you hoped that Chris couldn’t read the bashful little smile that played on your lips. Your eyes flitted to Chris’ bare chest, somehow only just noticing that he was sans shirt and the heat in face seemed to burn hotter as your thighs pressed together of their own volition

“I wish I could say I had more news for you but I lead a very boring life,” you said, trying to keep your eyes fixed firmly on Chris’ face in the hopes that it would restore some kind of order to your body.

“How’s your mom?”

“She’s good,” you replied, swallowing thickly. “She’s uh taken up knitting so there’s just yarn everywhere.”

“Yeah?” Chris smiled. “She taking any requests? I could use a hat.”

“Not planning on shaving your head again are you?”

“You saw that?” Chris grinned.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Yeah, I did.”

A weighted silence fell between you both, not uncomfortable but tinged with a sadness at the reference to your years apart. You winced internally at it, wishing you could take back your words. Chris spoke first, his voice soft and laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Well, I promise I’ve no plans to shave my head.”

“Good,” you replied, voice almost a whisper. “I mean, you can do what you want. It’s your head.”

Chris laughed then and it seemed to cut through the weird tension that had started to form, causing you to exhale a breath of relief. You smiled back at him.

“I’ll ask mom if she can make you a hat,” you added.

“I appreciate that, thank you.”

“Don’t come crying to me when she knits you some sort of beret.”

“Bold of you to assume that I didn’t want a beret,” he grinned. “I’m a very cultured guy.”

“Eating everything at a world buffet doesn’t make you a cultured guy, Chris,” you teased.

“Uhhhh, yes it does.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the silly little expression on Chris’ face and it was easy to let yourself get lost in how familiar this all felt. You’d always talk like this. Before you lived together you’d talk on the phone for hours in bed, Chris staying on the line with you until you’d fallen asleep because you refused to hang up, insisting that you weren’t tired. You wondered if he’d still stay on the line with you if you asked him to. You wouldn’t, of course, but you’d like to think he would.

“So what are your plans for next week?” you asked. “It’s the break, right? You jetting off somewhere exotic?”

“Nah,” Chris shook his head. “I thought about going away somewhere but I think I’m just gonna chill at home.”

“Sometimes that’s what you need,” you agreed.

“Yeah,” Chris nodded. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a good poke around a book store so I think I’ll take myself over to the Upper West Side and see what I can find.”

“That sounds like a really good plan, Chris,” you smiled. “It seems like the season’s been a rough one so far, I think it’ll do you good to recharge at home. Do the things you enjoy, y’know?”

“Would you um…”

Chris paused and you couldn’t help but notice the conflicted expression that had settled on his brow.

“Yeah?”

Chris exhaled.

“Would you like to maybe meet up for coffee sometime next week?”

“In Manhattan?” you asked, hoping you didn’t sound too taken aback.

“Or Hartford,” Chris rushed. “I could come to you. I mean, you’ll be working and I’ve got the time to spare so…”

“I could take some time off that I’m owed,” you offered.

“I- really?” Chris replied, a little stunned that you’d not rebuffed him.

“Yeah, then we’re not having to rush for me to get back to work” you nodded. “I mean, it’s been a minute since I’ve driven into New York so god knows how that’ll go.”

“I’ll come to Hartford,” Chris suggested. “It’ll be quieter anyways.”

“You sure? I don’t wanna put you out.”

“You’re not,” he assured. “I’m offering. New York traffic is bad enough, but when you’re not used to it it’s even worse. I’ll come to you, no trouble at all.”

“Okay,” you conceded. “Okay, yeah. That’d be great.”

“I’ll reach out when I’m back in the city and we can sort something out?”

“Yeah that sounds perfect, Chris,” you smiled softly.

There was a pause then, you both somehow managing to hold each other’s gaze through the screen. That warmth that had been in your face earlier had migrated to your chest and you couldn’t help but think how soft he looked propped up in bed. You were glad when Chris spoke again, his words stopping your thoughts from pushing the boundaries of appropriateness and straying into a territory you were trying your best to stay away from.

“I’ll let you get some rest. You look exhausted.”

“Gee, thanks,” you chuckled.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” you smiled softly. “You get some rest too.”

Chris wished you goodnight and ended the call, leaving you laid in bed with your heart racing as your mind wandered to all the coffee dates with Chris that had come before and you began to wonder just what this all was and how it would feel to see him again.

[esther-dot]

"The queen wore a high-collared black silk gown, with a hundred dark red rubies sewn into her bodice, covering her from neck to bosom. They were cut in the shape of teardrops, as if the queen were weeping blood."- Sansa(AGOT IV).

"Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman's name."- Dany(ACOK IV).

"Then a string of red tears appeared across the big man's throat, bright as a ruby necklace, and the blood gushed out of him, and Qhorin Halfhand fell."- Jon(ACOK VIII).

Rubies are associated with blood/blood drops. Could be implying Cersei death.

Martin does like to describe blood as rubies, and I suppose, depending on the method of death you expect, Cersei could have blood cover her that way? But after I wrote about it, I kinda did convince myself the function was to bring Rhaegar into the scene (link). Oh, as well as the imagery of weeping woman/weeping mothers which Martin likes. A few chapters later, Sansa has blood and tears on her face:

This time the knight grasped her beneath the jaw and held her head still as he struck her. He hit her twice, left to right, and harder, right to left. Her lip split and blood ran down her chin, to mingle with the salt of her tears. (AGOT, Sansa VI)

and Cat has some of this intermingling of blood and tears too:

Finally someone took the knife away from her. The tears burned like vinegar as they ran down her cheeks. Ten fierce ravens were raking her face with sharp talons and tearing off strips of flesh, leaving deep furrows that ran red with blood. She could taste it on her lips.

It hurts so much, she thought. Our children, Ned, all our sweet babes. Rickon, Bran, Arya, Sansa, Robb . . . Robb . . . please, Ned, please, make it stop, make it stop hurting . . . The white tears and the red ones ran together until her face was torn and tattered, the face that Ned had loved. Catelyn Stark raised her hands and watched the blood run down her long fingers, over her wrists, beneath the sleeves of her gown. Slow red worms crawled along her arms and under her clothes. It tickles. That made her laugh until she screamed. "Mad," someone said, "she's lost her wits," and someone else said, "Make an end," and a hand grabbed her scalp just as she'd done with Jinglebell, and she thought, No, don't, don't cut my hair, Ned loves my hair. Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold. (ASOS Catelyn VII)

we have it with Gilly,

He found himself thinking about Sam and Maester Aemon, about Gilly and the babe. She will curse me with her dying breath, but I saw no other way. Eastwatch reported savage storms upon the narrow sea. I meant to keep them safe. Did I feed them to the crabs instead? Last night he had dreamed of Sam drowning, of Ygritte dying with his arrow in her (it had not been his arrow, but in his dreams it always was), of Gilly weeping tears of blood. (ADWD, Jon III)

all of which connects to the varied plays on “mother” we’re getting which I talked a little about it in this ask. That’s all I got!

[fansformentalydistroyedmen]

Last Names

A Malcolm Bright x Reader

TW: mention of violence Lots of angst and comfort.

Chapter 6, Recovery?????

As I wait for the water to boil I grab a blanket and wrap it around my shoulders. I know I should hop in the shower for many different reasons, one being I’m actually freezing, but I just can’t force myself to get into the shower right now. So instead I started making a bowl of ramen, a comfort food. Soon enough the water is boiling and I have a nice cup of tea with my bowl of ramen. I sit down on the stool at my island and start enjoying all of the warm contents going to my stomach. Instantly warning up after eating and drinking I decide it’s time to shower. Against everything in my head screaming not to, I still ignore the fearful voices. I get in the shower and instantly feel the warm water running down my body. As comforting as it should be, I can't help but feel tense. Knowing already that I’m starting to freak out I quickly wash myself. I quickly get out and wrap myself in a warm big towel. I walk around, grab a sweatshirt and some sweatpants and return to my bed. I sit down on it and stare at my wall hoping to find some sort of tranquility in the colors. After a couple minutes of nothing exciting I grab my pills and take them. Then I walk over and grab some cat food from my kitchen draw. I quickly fed my black cat, at midnight, and some dinner. Then I wash my hands as midnight peacefully eats her dinner. Deciding there is nothing else I can keep myself busy with I head to bed. Turning off all of the lights. I bury myself deep into the covers knowing I have a long night ahead of me.

“Y/n?” I quickly looked over from the pot of pasta I was making.

“Yeah Sam?” I ask, looking curiously at his shyness.

“Do Mom and Dad want to kill us?” My heart stops.

“Oh Sammy, don’t worry about them.” I reply not knowing how to explain to a four year old how horrible our situation is.

“That’s not an answer.” He states blatantly.

“Our lives are complicated Sam, if we’re honest I don’t know how to describe it to you.” I honestly tell him. He goes quiet for a couple minutes as I distribute our food.

“Y/n, have you ever killed anyone?” My eyes widen as I look up to my brother.

“Sammy, why would you ask such a thing?” I feel panicked.

“You're a monster! A monster!” He screams.

“Sammy shhh please don’t cry.” I whisper.

“No! No! You kill people!” He continues to yell.

“Sam, they made me! They were going to kill you. I had to. I had to Sammy. Please don’t yell, please I���m so sorry.” I sob.

“Samuel, don't listen to her.” I look over and see my Mom and Dad standing in the hallway.

“We may have urged her to do it, but she enjoyed it.” My mom grins wickedly.

“No! No! No! I didn’t! You were going to kill him! You… you made me.” My words tremble as my lip quivers. I turn back to Sammy and grab his hands and get on my knees, so I am at his height.

“Sammy listen, listen to me not them. I did it to protect you. I would never hurt someone for fun. Ever!” I plead. I close my eyes and try to calm myself, knowing if I freak out I will feel the punishment later. I look back at Sam and gasp. Seeing moss all over his body, with water spilling out of his mouth, and his skin pale and prawny, and nothing but darkness in his eyes. I gasp and try to pull my hands away.

“Sammy, Sam please! Let go!” I yell.

“You could have saved me! I could have lived my life. You could have got us out! Could have called the cops sooner!” He says almost robotically.

“Sam please, I did all I could.” I plead. Next thing I know my dad has a hold of my throat and shoves me to the sink. Which is now full of water. He shoves my face deep down into and laughs as I struggle to get my face out. I scream and thrash around until I’m standing on the river side.

“What…” I wonder how I wound up here. I look around and that’s when I see Sam drowning.

“No! Sam!” I got to run but someone has a hold on me.

“No!!!! Let me go! Now!” I struggle and struggle until I’m thrown into the water and everything goes black.

I gasp as I sit up in bed, choking on my own tears. I pant as I try to get my breathing back under control. Putting my hand over my heart trying to steady myself. I quickly climb out of bed and flick on my lights, needing something else to ground me. I quickly wiped away my tears. And struggle to grab a cup of water. Quickly drinking it and grabbing some emergency anxiety meds. Once I sit down and let the pills do their job I grab my phone. Seeing it’s only 3 in the morning and way too early to do anything, I grab my shoes and head out the door. I Need some fresh air in my lungs to make me feel better. I wind up walking for about an hour until I wind up sitting on top of a play set I found at a park. I dangle my feet over a ledge of the play set and enjoy the quiet. I sit like this for at least an hour, listening to the crickets chirp and watching the rest of the animals start to wake up. I’m so lost in my mind I don’t even notice when someone is calling me names.

“Y/N? Are you here?” I hear a voice call. I frantically look around trying to figure out who else is here. That’s when I see him.

“Hey Y/N!” Malcolm waves and walks towards me, now standing under the ledge looking up at me.

“Malcolm, hi, what are you doing here?” I ask

“I was looking for you!” He says while he outstretches his hand holding out a coffee cup, I gratefully grab it.

“Thanks, but how did you find me?” I ask

“You shared your location with me like a month ago and it pinged that you had passed by my apartment.”

“Oh! Yeah I did walk down your street to get here, I didn’t even notice.”

“Yeah, May i?” He gestures towards where I'm seated.

“Oh yeah sure.” I watch as he quickly walks up the kid steps, skipping two at a time. He sits down next to me and dangles his feet over. He looks up at me and pushes his hair out of his face.

“Hi.” I laugh.

“So what has brought you to a random park at… (he checks his watch) 5:30 in the morning?” He asks. I shrug my shoulders.

“Had a rough night, a bad dream and I went for a walk and I guess I ended up here. I’m not sure if we’re honest. I think I zoned out while I was walking.” I replied.

“Ah yes, the old I can’t sleep so I’m going to get lost in the city.” He smiles.

“Yeah, it happens often. It's a nice way to come to my senses.” I honestly say.

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t wind up getting hit by a car or something while zoned out walking through a busy city.” He raises his eyebrows.

“Ha yeah I guess zoning out and walking the streets aren’t the best combination.” I laugh and take a couple sips of my coffee, staring at the now rising sun.

“So, you want to talk about what’s got you up here?” He asks and I sigh trying to phrase what I want to say.

“Guilt, I guess. Just lots of bad dreams kinda merged into one.” I answer.

“Like?” He questions. I look at him with pain in my eyes.

“Well you obviously know about my brother dying and my parents who abused us and killed people. So I was dreaming about them and I guess the guilt of not calling the cops before anything could have gone wrong. As well as not being able to save my brother from drowning. But, umm I.” I bite my lip trying my best to think of a gentle way of telling him. I look at him and see him offer me an encouraging smile.

“I’ve killed before, I mean like before this job.” I state slowly.

“My parents, when they knew they were going to be at a larger place to rob, they would take me with them. Sometimes they would just make me watch or carry the bags of money they stole. Other times though, they… would give me a gun. Tell me to shoot all of the people they tied up, or else my brother would be killed…. The first time I killed someone was when I was 5, the person I killed was a mother of three. She…” I took a deep breath as the tears that were steaming down my face were becoming more frequent. Malcolm reached over and turned my hand over. Gently lacing his fingers with mine. He gave my hand a tight squeeze, then looked at me and gave me an encouraging smile. I took one final deep breathe,

“The mom had guided my hand with the gun to the temple of her forehead. She kept telling me it was ok and that she would forgive me. That I should protect my brother cause I’m the only one he had. The mom kept smiling at me and telling me how we should kill if it meant to keep people she cared about safe. All she requested was that I tell her kids that she loved them. Her last words were to me, saying it’s okay to do it and how she thought I was so strong, how I was a great sister. I cried for days after that, no matter how much my parents yelled and hurt me I just wouldn’t stop crying. The guilt ate at me and the thought that I was becoming like my parents crushed me. It… it still haunts me, the fact I may end up being like them.” I cried as the past came out.

“Hey, listen to me.” Malcolm pushed my chin towards him so I was looking at him.

“You are nothing like them, and you will never become like them. You are a good person with too big of a conscience to ever become like them. You killed for your safety and your brothers.” He said strongly. He grabbed both my hands and looked at me again.

“You will never be like them, you are doing work for the good of people. Anyone who looks at you knows you are a good person, I know you're a good person.” He emphasizes. I quickly pull him into a tight hug.

“Thank you.” I whisper as I hug him.

“You don’t have to thank me for telling the truth.” He replies. Once we pull apart he cups my checks and whips away my tears with his thumb. I smile gently as we go back to looking at the sunrise. I gently lay my head on his shoulder. He stays completely still for a couple seconds until he rests his head on top of mine. We sit like this in comfortable silence occasionally sipping our coffee, until my phone begins to ring.

[perfectlyyoungtimetravel]

Music Mondays

Today I drew Sam Cooke. He was born on January 22nd in 1931 Clarksdale, Mississippi. He was the fifth child out of 8 children of a baptist minister Rev. Charles Cook (Sam added E to his last name in 1957.). Cooke was raised a baptist. In 1933. His family moved to Chicago and he attended Doolittle Elementary school and Wendell Phillips Academy High school. Cooke was in the choir of his father's church and he actually began his career with his siblings in a group called the 'Singing Children' when he was 6 years old He first became known as lead singer with the Highway Q.C.'s.In his. Teenage years he joined another group and he even befriended a fellow gospel singer Lou Rawls who was in a rival gospel group. In 1950 he replaced gospel tenor Rebert H. Harris into a lead singer of his gospel group 'The Soul Stirrers' who had signed with Specialty Records on behalf of the group., Cooke led their first recording called 'Jesus gave me water' and also recorded more songs called 'Peace in Valley', 'How far am I from Canaan', ' Jesus paid the debt', 'One more river' and etc. He also had fangirls that rushed to the stage to see him. Cooke had basically 30 U.S. top 40 hits between 1957. To 1964. And his major hits were 'You send me', 'A change is gonna come', 'Cupid', 'Chain Gang', 'Wonderful world's, 'Another Saturday Night' and one of his most popular one 'Twistin' the Night away'. He was the among of the first modern Black performers and composers to attend to the business side of his musical career. He was also involved in the Civil Rights Movement. Now he did crossovers of the souls and pop genre Which really...umm was bad for him because there was a stigma against gospel singers singing pop songs, he tried to sing under different alias but because he had a recognizeable big,velvety and expansive voice that could hit a high C note fans were like 'Hey umm that's your voice sir' so yeah. But luckily he got a fresh new start into pop and changed his last name into 'Cooke'. In 1957. He was rocking it! He appeared on ' ABC's The guy Mitchell Show', signed with Keen Records, his songs 'You send me' and 'Summertime' were hit so much so he was on the Billboard R&B chart and was on Billboard Pop.In 1958. He performed for the Cavalcade of Jazz concert. He signed with the RCA Victor in 1960. And he had more hits coming like 'Sad Mood', 'Cupid', 'Twistin' the Night away', 'Another Saturday night', 'Bring it on home to me', a year later he started his own record label SAR Records with J.W. Alexander and his manager Roy Crain, the Simms Twins, the Valentinos, Mel Carter and Johnnie Taylor, He later created publishing imprint and management firm called 'Kags'. He was becoming more and more famous and he in 1963. Signed a contract for Allen Klein to manage Kags and SAR Records and made him his manager, made a single 'Night beat' and made a famous famous album 'Ain't that good news' in 1964.Now his personal life was bad...His First wife Delores Elizabeth Milligan Cook have divorced in 1958. and was killed in auto collision in 1959. He married Barbara Campbell in 1958. And their son Vincent drowned in the family swimming pool and apparently he fathered at least 3 other kids out of wedlock and another woman claimed he fathered her son (I don't know if this is true) and he was involved in a car accident where his driver was killed meanwhile he,Cliff White and Lou Rawls were hospitalized, IN THAT SAME YEAR. And he was a central part of the civil rights movement using his popularity and influence with white and black populations to fight for the cause, he was friends with Muhammad Ali, Malcolm X and Jim Brown and they together fought for racial equality. On December 11th in 1964. He was killed. Some described him as the creator of soul music.

[neikikardartv]

The Sandman Viewing Response

In Ally Brisbin and Paul Booth's article “The Sand/wo/man: The Unstable Worlds of Gender in Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman Series”, they discuss how Judith Butler’s seminal text, “Gender Trouble” manifests itself into the Sandman series in a more accessible and relatable way.  The article describes how Sandman was revolutionary at the time in the way it portrayed the gender identities of its characters in a more realistic way that normalized “queerness” to a wider audience. While, The Sandman series came out decades later into a world where this has become more commonplace, the series still exemplifies this concept through its costume design. Brisbin and Booth write that, “The fewer distinct features an image has, the easier it is for the viewer to identify with the character it represents” (23). In every scene the ‘endlessness’ characters of Dream and Death stand out in stark contrast to the rest of the people around them through their nondescript black clothing. One example of this is when Death goes to greet a drowning ma, Sam. Sam, his wife, and the background extras stand out in their colorful clothing that are more traditional gender expressions compared to Death and Dream’s generic outfits. The juxtaposition of the costumes make it so Death and Dream are more fluid in their gender representation, especially Dream’s more shapeless silhouette. In doing so the characters become more relatable and abstract which allows them to better represent their concepts as universal. @theuncannyprofessoro

[hiddenpxpercuts]

Is that [SIMU LIU]? Oh no no, that was just [WILLIAM TRUMAN], a [CANON CHARACTER] from [WILL AND GRACE]. They are [31] years old, use [HE/HIM], and [ARE] aware that they are not actually from Washington DC. Too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.

Will has been in town for about a year now, working as a lawyer.

Will often recalls his rather unhappy childhood, growing up in the closet in a conservative WASP family. His mother has implied that she suffered postpartum depression after giving birth to Will that she would not pick him up for a year. He was mainly taken care of by their Irish housekeeper Fiona.[1] As a boy, Will performed plays during family events but his mother would discourage him, retrospectively admitting she was not prepared to raise a gay son.[2]

Grace says his brothers used to dress him up in his mother's clothes. On his 8th birthday, Will wanted a cowboy-themed party but his mom gave him a clown party instead and he had to fake smile his way through it. Since then, Will has always had aversion to birthdays.[3] He also recalls almost drowning in the neighbor's pool when his mother failed to save him because she just got her hair done. Will was traumatized by this that he never learned to swim until Jack taught him[4]. In any case, his siblings knew that Will is their mother's favorite.[5]

When Will was 9, he and his brothers chipped in to buy their parents a garden gnome for their anniversary which they named Squatsy.[6]

Will has also been described as an insecure, chubby and shiny kid who "was friends with the lunch lady and a girl with a small leg".[7] During elementary, a bully named Kevin Wolchek terrorized him that he ate lunch every day with the janitor and drank kahlua.[8] He mentions kissing a poster of the football team and being caught by the football team.[9]

In 1994, after his brother Sam's engagement to Ginny, Will told him that he should not get married because she is "morose and controlling and icy." This led to the estrangement of the two brothers, and Sam cutting of Will out of his life, splitting the family. Sam and Ginny would later divorce and Will and his brother would resolve their issues after Grace intervenes.[10]

During his high school years, he was best friends with Claire, whom he also used to date. She recalls that while driving at the beach after senior prom, she made her move on him and he panicked, crashing the car into a Dodge Dart. Although he seems to have shown hints of his sexuality early on, Will says that he was confused until his sophomore year in high school when during a game of basketball, he and Jay Barr touched stomachs, and he truly realized he's gay.[11] For his sweet sixteen party, he turned the basement into a roller disco.

Will occasionally mentions his interest in becoming a playwright even before he became a lawyer. Before he came out, he wrote a play entitled "Bye-Bisexual" about his conflicting feelings about being in the closet. It is implied that his playwrighting professor took advantage of him by pretending to take interest in his play.[18] Jack also mentions the play Will wrote entitled "If Gay Means Happy, Why Am I So Sad?" inspired by bad date.[19]

Fresh out of law school, Will worked at Getman & Denofreyo, before starting his own practice after two years[20]. However he closes down after his biggest client, Harlin Polk fires him[21] and he begins working for Doucette & Stein after Ben Doucette offers him a contract.[22] During his time there, Will manages to get Stanley Walker of Walker, Inc. as one of the firm's biggest clients.

Will is characterized as the most mature and reasonable character, with a penchant for crafts and good housekeeping. Although he occasionally seems distant and aloof, there have been many times when Will has shown his sensitive side, often going to great lengths to help his friends. In one particular instance, Will was willing to throw away his chances of becoming a senior partner at his law firm in order to take care of his emotionally devastated boyfriend.[24] It is mentioned in various occasions that Will supports Jack who is a struggling actor.[5]

Will's controlling and perfectionist personality also frequently becomes an issue with his friends and they often point it out to be the problem in his romantic relationships.[32]

Being a good lawyer, his friends and family usually comes to him for legal assistance. Will is also portrayed as a person with integrity when he decided to work for the Coalition of Justice.

" You Should Know Better. In This House. A Queen Beats A Straight Every time.": William Truman

[sir-yeehaw-paws]

Sam, Deadman and BB on Cliff's war beach 2.

Sam only understood about half of what Deadman said. "Is he some kind of architecture nerd now, too?" Sam muttered, heading outside.

Heh. Cute.

Sam has a minor flash of hurt that BB doesn't seem to remember him at first, but is attached to Deadman just fine. That's HIS baby :<.

HIS BABY! HIS!

Even if the BB had forgotten all about Sam, it's name was still Lou. Sam stroked the pod and began to walk in the direction of the sewer exit.

His babyyyyy.

As if it heard the song, the skeletal soldier turned back and looked in Sam's direction. It didn't have any eyeballs, but those empty sockets saw Sam.

What a sight eh?

Sam describes looking into Cliff's eyes as a deep drowning sensation that threatens to swallow him whole. And crush him to death.

Which is furthering the Sam has an inner poet feeling in my mind.

Interesting. I knew Lucy didn't believe in the Beach, but I don't remember if they mentioned her being born Pre-Stranding in game. It's not a huge significant detail, I just find it interesting.

President Strand loved her son. Lucy's meeting confirmed that beyond any doubt. The question was whether or not Sam perceived his mother's love.

I do wonder a little about this. We know Bridget was responsible for Sam being the way he is, and we know that she had Amelie make him a repatriate.

But was that love or guilt?

IMO, and I might expand on that later, it was both. I do think both concepts can be true, but that doesn't make Bridget's love pure or innocent. Nor does it absolve her.

But should it? Does it even need to? I want to return to this later on its own.

...Speaking of interesting.

Fascinating.

Sam and Lucy immediately have a fight shortly after this.

"What the fuck?!" Sam exploded in rage when she told him her theory. "I'm a repatriate! A fuckup whose soul gets bounced back from the seam every time I die in a horrible explosion!"

He hates himself SO much.

..I think Lucy would get along with Para Medic.

Sam kills himself in front of Lucy to prove he is what he says he is, then they hug for a long time. Lucy decides he needs connection outside and away from his family, and she resigns her position so they can date.

Death Stranding Novels LiveBlog for @c8h7n3o2 Vol 2!

Part 1

Sam the man traversing the mountains now.

Heartman was speaking at such a pace that Sam wondered if he was even closing his lips between sentences.

In most cases that'd be a fast talker, but it's eerie how we know in Heartman's case it's because of his constant physical timer.

ABJECT MISERY I HATE SNOW.

*Difficult as I'm Canadian

He passes out in the mountains, has a nightmare and wakes up surrounded by BTs.

The handprints around Sam multiplied, all different sizes and all going in different directions. Multiple BTs were searching for him. He was surrounded on this snowy mountainside. He felt like an offering being made to them in atonement for some past sin. What an ego.

Was Sam religiously inclined in youth is or is he a poet at heart. I wonder.

What kind of offering brought such destruction and calamity to the world? Offerings were supposed to be given to maintain peace.

He has frostbite now.

Oh 🥺

Maybe it was because of all the blood Sam has lost that all the colour began to drain out of Sam's world, turning it monochromatic. He kept moving forward as black blood scattered across white snow. He was like a saint, parting tempestuous seas and walking between them toward the promised land. But there were no living people following in his footsteps behind him.

That is EXTREMELY religious.

He used the last of his strength to stem the bleeding from his wrists and stitch himself up with a medical stapler.

Well that's certainly the quick way to do it.

Visiting with the sickly Geologist goes fairly similar to in game. These parts usually do. It's our first inkling of the truth behind the Death Stranding.

Saaammm 🥺🥺🥺

[scarlvtbitch]

Jealousy, jealousy

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: Tension arises between Bucky and reader when their friendship reaches a rocky road. Will they overcome it or will their bond be broken forever?

“Oh.”

“Oh, what?”

“Looks like Bucky is making a friend.” Sam paused his work and glanced from

 the piece of wood he was painting to the deck of the boat. After two missed calls—and twenty texts later, I agreed to come down to Louisiana this weekend. In all honesty I needed to get away from, well, everything. There had been a grey cloud towering over my very existence for a while now. Something was missing from my life. I just fell odd...in existing? Life was a pretty strange thing if I was being honest. Some days—the good days—I felt good about yourself, but then there were the hard days. 

The hard days consisted mostly of moping around, drowning in a big wave of anxieties and insecurities. Those were the days I chose to shield myself from the world and everyone in it. Including those I love. Which is the reason I was here in the first place.

Before Sam called, no—tricked—me to come, I was more than content in my  Brooklyn apartment. Well, studio, really. I had walls, barriers surrounding me. It felt safe. A fort, that’s what it was. No one could get to me. Or to something far more fragile. My heart couldn’t be shattered by someone’s harsh words. At least not any more than it was. Four days ago, that’s when the incident with my best friend in the whole world broke me in ways I didn’t know could happen. 

It was a Monday afternoon in a New York summer’s day. Hot was an understatement for the weather today. It felt like I was being swallowed by Satan himself. There was no better way to describe this heat then being in the deepest, darkest cave in Hell. A cave with no type of air whatsoever. I was  sweating in places I didn’t know could sweat. To make matter’s worse, the air conditioner had stopped working. That’s what the cheapest apartment in Brooklyn would get you. Somehow that didn’t matter. 

It didn’t matter that I was about to be the first human on earth who has melted like an ice cream to death, because the person who was beside me made it more than tolerable and most definitely worth it. 

“You need to take your shirt off or your arm’s going to become melted vibranium ice-cream.” We were both lying on the floor, which was the coolest place to be right now. The chilly air from the night had spread over the hard wooden floors like a blanket. Bucky’s body was draped across the middle of the living room, while you I was across from him in the same position. Lying down, gazes glued to the ceiling. Instead of laying beside him like a normal person, I had taken the opportunity to have my lower legs and feet resting on his chest, just to annoy him for my pleasure.

“You just want to see me shirtless.” 

“I just don’t want melted metal on the floor. Do you know how hard that is to clean?” That was partly true. I wouldn’t complain if he would expose his gorgeous chest and his gorgeous abs. He was already giving me a free show with his Greek god arms. 

“Have you ever dealt with melted metal?”

“No but I guarantee it’s not a trip to Disneyland.” That earns me a laugh, which makes me smile. His large hand is splayed out over my shin, rubbing it up and down. That sends a warm feeling down my stomach, but I shove any of those potential feelings in the file in my brain that reads ‘Forbidden’, put it in the drawer, lock it and throw away the pretend key. I can’t think of him in any way. So I change the topic. “How’s Yori?”

“We went to an antique store today. He got really happy.”

“Aww. I can imagine. That sounds great. I’m happy he’s happy.” I pushed myself off the floor and leaned all my weight against my elbows, glancing in his direction. He was still looking up, but I could still see his perfect side profile. Stubble making its way to the surface, baby blue eyes fixed on the paint patches in the ceiling, and the muscle in his jaw doing the lightest twitch occasionally. “But Bucky, I thought antique shopping was our thing.” I say in a sadder way than I meant to.

“It’s still our thing. I just let Yori borrow it today.” He finally connects his gaze with mine, and I desperately wished I was strong enough to look away. But I wasn’t. He was the first one to look away. Leaning back on the floor, initiating his staring contest with the ceiling once again. I saw a faint twitch on his lips, as if he was debating to say something or not. He remained silent, and I thought he wouldn’t speak again for a while. But then he said, “It will always be our thing.” Then my heart did the fluttery thing that I detested with my entire being. I grinned, feeling satisfied with his answer, and laid back down. His hand had stopped rubbing patterns on my shin. 

“I met a girl.” My heart sank. I went from feeling like i could fly to feeling like someone had hit me with the biggest truck possible.

“Oh.” Is all I could comment.

“Met her on a dating app.”

“I thought you hated those.”

“I do.”

“Then why are you using it?”

“I don’t know. I just did.” There’s something else, I could feel it in the way he spoke.

“You don’t know?” I would just keep pushing until he spilled his guts. 

“I guess I wanted a distraction.”

“A distraction? From what?” 

“From life.”

“From...life.” I deadpanned.

“Y/N...”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Why are you making a big deal out of this?”

“I’m just curious as to why you would change your perception of dating overnight.”

“People change.”  Why doesn’t he tell me? He tells me everything, from the sushi he would eat with Yori to the detailed descriptions of his nightmares. My entire mood shifted. 

“Right.” The tension piled around us until we were six deep buried in it. 

“You sound mad.”

“I am mad!” What I was trying to hold back, exploded into what was a truth bomb. “I’m mad that my own best friend doesn’t want to tell me why he suddenly likes dating apps.” I’m mad that you met someone, that you can potentially marry her and have kids. I’m mad that I can’t be brave enough to tell you how in love with you I am. 

“Y/N...” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“We are always honest with each other. What changed?” He opened his mouth to speak but I stopped him by holding my finger up and continuing my rant. “And don’t say nothing because something happened. Something changed. Or you wouldn’t be hiding anything from me. You know I don’t like lies, Bucky. We’ve always been transparent, you and I.” The whole time, he was silent. Lips pressed in a thin line. Jaw clenched. Eyes trained on the door, not daring to look at me. I have had enough of this today.

“I don’t feel very good.”

“It’s probably the heat.”

“No, it’s this. I need some space. We’re clearly in a weird thing right now. I think we just need to take a breather from us.” It’s the last thing I wanted but I knew the deeper reason behind is. I was too cowardly to tell the truth. God, I was the worst human on this planet. Here I was, being mad at him for lying to me. This is what I did. When I was mad at myself, for being stupid, I also tended to be mad at the world. If I felt bad, I had to bring down those I loved too. It was a pattern I was more than tired to have.

I was mad at myself for not telling him I loved him. I was mad that because of my cowardice, he would probably marry someone else and abandon me. I was mad that I was upset at him for not telling the truth.

“Okay.” Was all he said before he left. And that was the last I have heard of Bucky this entire week. And I was doing just fine, really. Can’t a girl love being alone without someone offering them their condolences?

It was day three of eating sugary treats, and pizza delivered from the pizza place right in front. Another pattern I had. The list of distancing myself from the world consisted of two things. Number one: read romance books that make me cry. And number two: indulge myself in nothing but junk food. I gave myself a pass of eating anything my heart desired during these days, using the excuse of a broken heart.

I was chewing on a very cheesy slice of pizza and reading “Pride and Prejudice” while the movie soundtrack played on my laptop, when my phone buzzed. I glanced to see who it was, heart drumming wildly in my chest in anticipation. Terrified that it would be Bucky and that I would have to gather enough willpower to confront him. 

I let out a sigh of relief when I see Sam’s contact on the screen. 

“Hey. How you doing?” I didn’t need to be with him to hear the sympathy in his voice. Bucky must have told him what happened.

“Perfect.” 

“Liar.” I roll my eyes and ignore the text. I go back to reading the angst between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth, deciding that I don’t want to get into whatever this is with him. Another buzz.

“I have a proposition for you.” I still don’t reply.

“I need some help down here. We can’t afford to hire any help so I was wondering, if you’re not doing anything, maybe you could come and help out? I’m asking as a friend in need. Don’t make me beg.”

“But I love it when I make Captain America beg.” It’s so hard not to tease him just a little bit. He’s just easy to mess with.

“Y/N.”

“What are the magic words?”

“I have two words for you and they’re not happy birthday.” I sent him the middle finger emoji. “Ok, fine. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Will you please come to Louisiana so you can be a good friend and help me out?” See? Easy. 

“Well if you insist. When?”

“Later tonight? I already bought you your plane ticket. I’ll send you the details.  Thanks, Y/N. You’re the best.” Motherfucker. I instantly call him. He doesn’t answer. I call him about fourteen more times before all I get is a text that says, “Oh and Bucky’s coming too.” This week could not get any worse.

Turns out, it could. I arrived to Sarah’s house last night. She was kind enough to offer me the guest room. I got there before he who shall not be named. I was very relieved when Sam told me his flight wouldn’t get in until a couple of more hours. I went to sleep around two. Even though I was still upset at this whole situation, I was worried about Bucky. He was flying alone. And he hated flying. You had flown with him a few months ago, for AJ’s birthday party. The first time he came to the small town in Louisiana he had driven his motorcycle all the way from New York.

When he confessed that he was afraid of flying, I tried to reassure him that I would be there and that he had nothing to be scared of. When that didn’t ease his worries, I added, “You do know that driving is far more dangerous than flying?” He threw a sharp look at my way and I pushed down the giggle threatening to bubble up my throat.

My walls went down for the first time in this whole stupid fight. I reached for my phone and started texted him at four a.m. to see if he was alright. Before I could hit send, I heard the front door opening and closing, followed by a deep voice that could bewitch anyone who heard it. I felt like I could finally breathe, knowing he was here and he was safe. I got two hours of sleep last night. Courtesy of Sam and his loud ass voice who should be everyone’s default alarm. He woke me up at six a.m. Something about how we needed to get started early if we wanted to finish early. I whined and argued the entire path from the house to the docks. Two hours had gone by before Sam brought the topic I had been dreading to the table.

“Wanna tell me what happened?”

“Nope.” I glide my paint brush side by side, trying to focus on the color of pale yellow. I never really noticed how pretty pastel yellow can be.

“Y/N...”

“Sam, drop the subject. Please.”

“Now who’s the one that’s begging.” I stop what I’m doing and throw a death glare his way. He puts his hands up in defense.

“You’re going to have to talk to him eventually.” He tilts his head upward in a quick motion, pointing across from us with his chin, and then goes back to focus on his painting. I swivel my head around and finally let myself look at Bucky. Because I’ve missed looking at him. I’ve missed hugging him. I’ve missed his cologne. I’ve missed talking to him. I’ve missed when he sees me without makeup and tells me that I’m beautiful with or without it. I’ve missed when he calls me when he has a nightmare and I stay over to make sure he has someone to comfort him. There’s not a single part about him or our friendship that I haven’t missed. I spin around in excitement, hoping that seeing him would give me the courage I need. Then I’m met with something I wasn’t expecting. 

“Oh.” One of my hands flies to my stomach as I feel a wave of nausea coursing through me.

“Oh, what?” 

“Looks like Bucky is making a friend.” Sam immediately stops what he’s doing to glance at the pair smiling at each other over my shoulder. They were talking real close. Bucky was flashing her a grin so big that I thought his mouth would split open. I only ever saw him smiling like that with me.  Sam doesn’t seem all that surprised at the interaction between Bucky and his sister. 

“He’s flirting with Sarah. It’s fine.” Liar, liar, liar. My brain yells at me.

“It’s clearly not fine. And he wasn’t flirting with Sarah.”

“I’m completely okay with-what do you mean?”

“He’s flirting with Sarah because I told him to.”

“Why?”

“Because I wanted him to get over someone else.”

“Get over who? What the hell is going on Sam?”

“It’s you. I wanted to get over you.” I know that voice. I love that voice, and the owner of it. I’m almost sure the two men beside me can hear my heart beating. Slowly, I turn around. If a random stranger came by, and they saw the speed I was moving in, they would think that I was standing on a frozen lake right now, afraid of ice breaking and being swallowed by the cold water. Once I fully turned around,  I was greeted by the face that I loved most in this world. I stand up from my sitting position to face him.

“Clearly I failed. Because you’re still my first thought when I wake up and my last thought before I go to sleep.” I- what?

“What?” Was I dreaming? I had to be. Without him noticing, I pinched the back of my hand three times. He was still there. And he said those words. Apparently he did notice how I pinched myself because next thing I knew he was wrapping his large hands over mine, bringing them up between us. We were standing so close to each other now. I had to tilt my neck back up to be able to look into his cerulean eyes. “No, Y/N. You’re not dreaming. This is real.” He then brought up our joined hands to his lips, kissing my fingers. “I’m sorry.” I couldn’t form words. Usually my brain never shut up. But sometimes when I was too overwhelmed with emotion, it just went blank. This was one of those times.

“Bucky-what?” 

“I’m sorry for not telling you about Tinder. I’m sorry for not being completely honest. But I’m not sorry for this.” Before I could ask what he meant, my lips had been claimed by his. It was a hungry kiss, long overdue. Teeth occasionally clashing. Trapping his bottom lip between my own. He tasted divine. I wanted to die buried in his mouth. Kissing Bucky Barnes was just as addictive as I predicted. The question is, how the hell is this happening?

After what seemed hours, he pulled away. Our foreheads pressed together while his arms were around my waist, one of his hands gripping my hip and the other buried in my locks.

“I’m not sorry for being in love with you.” He whispered against my now kiss bruised mouth. We were so close I was sure he could hear my heart about to burst. He pulled back and placed a kiss on my forehead. I just stood there, like a total fool. Mouth agape, motionless.

“I wasn’t completely honest that day. You were right. I was hiding the truth. And the truth is that I’m so in love with you it hurts. I’ve loved you since I laid eyes on you. But I didn’t want to ruin what we had. Our friendship is the best thing that has happened to me. Then I realized it wasn’t our friendship. It was you. You are the best thing that has happened to me. I’ve never been in love. I didn’t know if I should tell you because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I didn’t know if my feelings were reciprocated. So I tried to move on. Sam saw how miserable I was. He suggested I talk with someone else to try and get my mind off it. That’s why I started using those shitty apps. There were some decent women on there, despite all the crazy ones. But they weren’t you, Y/N.”

“They are.”

“What?” One single sentence took him off guard. I took off my armor. His words are the fuel for my courage.

“Your feelings. They’re reciprocated. Bucky,” I took a breath. “You have no idea how much I love you. I’m in love with you too. That’s why I shut you away. I was mad at myself for not being brave enough to tell you. So I made the dating app incident into a big issue. I was hurt that you wouldn’t tell me but I was also being a fucking hypocrite. And I was also upset at imagining you with someone who wasn’t me. I want to be the one that you love forever. I want to have that perfect white picket fence life. I want to have our small house in the country. I want to wear a ring that symbolizes my eternal bond with you. I want to give you a family. I want to grow old together. I want it all with you.” I gasped for air. I had never felt more open and naked; so vulnerable.

By the time I was done talking, his eyes were sparkling. Tears threatening to fall over his cheekbones. When he blinked, a single tear slid down. I caught it and wiped it with my thumb. He closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. When he opened them, he gave me a big grin that reached his eyes and made them crinkle.

“You have no idea how much I’ve dreamed of hearing that.” My heart did the flutter and my stomach did the flip, this time, though, I let it happen. No running, no tucking away feelings in boxes. I leaned forward and connected my lips with his in a chaste kiss. His lips were so soft it was unfair how perfect he was. I remembered something and pulled away. He started searching for my face if something was wrong.

“Wait. Why were you talking with Sarah though? You seemed pretty happy.”

“Oh, that.” He gave a deep chuckle and leaned down so that his mouth was level to my ear. “We were faking.” He smirked as I playfully slapped him in the chest. A thrill shot through me. I had the love of my life and my best friend in my arms. I had everything I had ever wanted and this was real.

[bitch-i-migth-be]

Who’s Got Time For Death, Anyway?

Crossover: Danny Phantom; Spider-Man

Summary: What the actual fudge was New York’s Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man doing in the gut’s of a G.I.W. base in middle-of-nowhere Illinois?

And in a freaking overgrown test tube no less.

Danny had no idea, but it was probably the reason Tony Stark's ghost was screeching holy murder at the end of the corridor.

Chapter 02 — LINK TO AO3

Danny had heard the news, like everyone else.

But honestly?

The news channels were always more interested in what would bring up their damned ratings than verifying their info, and the amount of shit the Daily Bugle put out by the minute was astronomic .

Danny had experience with misunderstandings and shitty news outlets both. He even had his identity exposed a pair of times, managing to salvage the secret by reverting time or altering reality.

Sam always told him he had horrible luck but also stupidly resourceful friends in stupidly good places.

Spider-Man had lots of friends too, but it seemed like it hadn’t been enough this time.

He had seen videos of the dude getting cats out of trees, helping old ladies cross the street. There was no way. No Freaking Way that he had tried to take over the world or whatever nonsense that Mysterio guy was spouting on national television.

So yeah, the halfa was firmly on the Spidey side of the situacion, even though he lacked a lot of context, but really, who but the really involved in that mess even knew what was going on for real?

As it was, Danny had found one Peter Benjamin Parker and gotten him to Fenton Works as fast as he could, deposited the teen on his bed and then proceeded to make sure that no one would barge in on him while he had a naked super teenage spider burrito on his bed.

He wasn’t feeling like explaining that to his parents, much less them finding out the truth, because that would be even worse . So better just- not do that.

What followed was, as Tony would later oh so helpfully describe, a round of fussing of epic proportions as Danny tried to get Peter as comfortable and non-slimy as possible.

It was very likely that he would need to incinerate some of his bed sheets when he was done, but sacrifices needed to be made for the greater good sometimes and it’s not like this was the first time he had to dispose of his bedding.

He was still mourning his favorite NASA set, which his parents had absolutely drowned in ectoplasm when he was seven.

To be honest Danny had thought that the intermittent glow was a nice touch, but they didn't let him keep it. Pretty hypocritical of them but well. Parents.

This seemed like nothing in comparison .

“I'm never going to forgive them for that one..” he murmured under his breath, elbows deep on his dresser while he tried to find the baggiest clothing he owned because again: Danny felt like a damn noodle.

Danny tried, he really tried, to not get distracted by the memory of the buffness.

Though maybe getting distracted by the thought of the very toned teen was better right now than allowing himself to get lost in the feeling of guilt that had been steadily growing deep on his guts since he processed the fact that Spider-Man had been trapped for who knows how long right under his figurative nose and he hadn’t done anything about it.

He cursed under his breath.

“It’s irrational to feel guilty about it..” he made his way back towards the bed and started cleaning peter’s face and whatever available patches of skin that didn’t compromise Danny's almost nonexistent heart rate the other’s modesty “I didn't even know he was missing to begin with-”  how was he supposed to know the radio silence from Spider-Man was because he was captured to use as a lab rat and not the remaining avengers closing range around the youngest of the group?

Freaking illogical, but apparently his ghost half didn't care .

Danny wondered if it was crazy to argue with your own obsession.

Was it even possible? Because that’s exactly what all this murmuring felt like.

And he was losing against it too.

“Fuck, I hate this-! Not my fault. Nope! It's not. Nonono, he was not under my protection back then so I couldn’t know, shut UP-!”

“O̸̜̩͋̑͑́̍͐͝h̶̢̠̼̳̹̆͒͗̄̌̕?̴̧̬̭̰̟̔̄͋͒͗͆̈́̎̍ ̴̡̧̟̱͔̮̏̂̇̆̑͋̽͠S̸͎̤̈̈̂̋̀́͋̕o̸̢̲̟͖̯̞͖̮̠͊̆̃͝ ̷̧͓͖͈͗̿͑͗͌͌̇̐ḩ̷̡̡͓̥͚̦͌̐͘͠è̷̩̰̮̯̗͈̈́͜ ̶̢͈͕̞̹̥̣̣͇͚̈́̌͂͝i̷͔̾͗̇̈́s̸̢̤͚̙̮̝͎̯̫̈́̏́͒̍̓̑ ̷͉̺̭͚̝͔͖̟̂̀̿̅̾̈́͠n̸̢̳̝̳̥͍̝̤̓̂ŏ̴̧̞̹̠͎͈͙̲͍̌̏͆w̶̡̻̯̩̩̳͉̯̜͓̎͒̐̈?̶̨͍͕̩̤͈͚̣͎̞͐̿́̒͒͛͘͠ “

Danny shrieked.

He wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

…Not right now, at least.

He had the right to do so because he had completely forgotten about the man, who still sounded like a damned psychophony even for the halfa. Danny had a pair of issues with those . Them being inside now was just making the sound worse.

He spun around to point a finger at the man’s faceplate.

“Don’t do that-” He hissed “Bad robot! no-!”  Even with Danny honest to god hissing it didn't seem like the man would listen. Somehow understandable. Not only because he was Tony filthy-freaking-rich Stark but because the man, most likely, couldn’t even tell his voice was practically glitching and thus wouldn't understand Danny’s reaction and request.

“No, don’t-!” Danny interrupted again, raising both arms as if he could somehow keep the other silent by waving them around. “Don’t talk , you are giving me the heebie jeebies.”

“Ë̴͖̙͔́͆͑x̴͓͙͑̚c̒̈́u̴̺̙͍̓̐͋s̴̡̺̈́͆è̷̩̰̮̯̗͈̈́͜ m͚͚͙è̷̩̰̮̯̗͈̈́͜ ??”

Oh. An indigned Tony Stark wasn't the best course of action, was it?

“Wait, hold on , just-” Danny let himself drop to the floor and then wasted no time on wiggling under his bed, and then phasing through it a little when the wiggling was unsuccessful.  “ah ha!” an ectoplasm shot.

He also had the Ecto Dejecto somewhere in here, maybe, but he figured that was too strong for a ghost who was still figuring themselves out. Danny didn't know how much the ghost armor reflected their, uh, original? counterpart so-

Considering he didn't even know what the original could do, or even how many of them there were – even with tucker gushing from time to time about them –, he definitely didn't want to find out via demonstration by a supercharged iron man ghost.

It would be cool, yeah. But painful. He didn't even want to think about the collateral damage, nevermind the unconscious teen that would be unable to dodge whatever hell was unleashed.

So an ectoplasm shot it was.

He had lots of those around the house and amity in general, just in case he needed a boost or a fight went downhill, this one would hopefully be enough to keep the armored man from sounding like the mother of glitches until they could get him into the zone.

“Ok, Come here.”

“W̶̰̤̫̎̚h̵̲͎̮͖͠a̷̔̓��̘͓̹͈̰̄t̶̳̞̰̳̂̀͊͜?̸̜͎̝̌̚̚ N̵̟͑o̷̩̻̥͛̋̄͐.̶̱̬̳̓̏ ̴̰̒̈́͛W̸̨̨̥̅̆̚̕h̵̢̼̫͗͒a̵̝̓t̶̨̢̨̛̮̓̍'̶̹̩͖͕̊͌s̵͎̙͑́̚ ̴̞̩̠̹͂t̷͕͇͋̂͝h̴͕̾̀̎͑ą̷̢͔̀t̷̖̉-̸̱͕̙͍͒̇?̶̦̰̭̳͐͋̈́̾”

“Less questions, more holding still- ..Ugh, It’s just ectoplasm, ok?” Danny sighed and conceded when the man started to look like a retreat would be his go to option. The reaction to the answer was immediate and clearly visible with the armor’s helmet disengaged

“Don’t make that face at me! Do you want to stabilize or not? We talked about this already, no one but the dead will be capable of sensing you in any way if you keep going like this- also you sound downright horrible . I hate it. Way too much. Stay. Still-”

“- Nͧ͛ͣͯ̚o y̎͗ͪo̲̼̰ū̮ͬ͗͆͛ͥͣ ̈́̍̅s̜ͯ̾t̅a̖̮͎̗ͮ̆ͫ̋̓̉ͤy̙͍̬͖̙͎͌ͭ̐͛ͬ sti̞ͦͧ̍͛ͬͥlͩͤl, k̸̬̍͝id- A͖͎͖̥̤̦̺̍ͪ̃̓ ̰̯̍͂̀͆̂̐ś͓̓͊͛̈͌ͮh̩͇͎͌͗o͂t̲̙̽ͨ͑͂ͯ?͖͐̑ͪ͗͆͑ ̲͚͕͎̩̒H̩̤̰̙͉̠̀̿̍̄͆ͭ̃o̖̟̥͕̪̓̃w̝̎̒ͥ̿̎͊ ͯŵ͉̯ͫ̃̀ö̪̟̻͑͋͌ǘ̩̘͔͓̃͂͐ͬ̓̎l̜͈̋̓ͬͩd͔̱̣̾͋̐̈́ͧ ́ẗ̫̙̺͕́̇̎͒̃hͮ͒̅a̓̉̀̂t̤͎̦̋ͨ̅̿̈́ ̇̑͗̌ͪͫḛ̫̔v̍̍͐ͫ̀ͬͣe̾͆̽ͧn͑̀̎͊ ̰ͮͬ̏̏h̝̹̿̍ͪͯͤȅ̘l̩͓͖̓̒̈́̂̀̿ͩp̺̃ͯͣ̃͋?͛͒ Y͗̊̌ô̪͉͒ṷ̯͉̃̂ͧ ͗̉j͔͚̮͖̣͍͐u͍̰̒̑s̗͙̼̲̺͂̌̓̅ͭ̂̇t̹͇̳̘͍̘ͭ͐ͯ̉ ̗͑s͍̤̖̤̬̙a̙͙̦̪̽̈́͛í͈̑̏̅ͤ͒̌d͓̞̺̪͂̃̒ͅ ̘̥̹̻͕̃̓̊ͯ̊iț̠̅ͪ͂̓̾͆͗,̳̥̤̪̔ͭͅ ̋̿Ḯͫ͛’͇̣̆ͨͫm̟̗̝̠̘͇͑ͮ̂̈̋̀ͭ ̻̺͗n̗̥̮̦̥̄̈́͒̓̓̾̏ͅō͚̓̈t̬͈͙͖̩͐ ̝̹̦̟̎͋eͧ͛̋ͪ̂x͍̫͚aͅc̟̦̥̹̖̒ͧ̾ͅt̪͙͉̎̂̍͊̅͋l͚̿͑̑̔̎y̭̦̣̝̅ͧͅ t̳̠͕ͫa͋ͥn͛̓̋ͯ̿g͊̑ỉ̠̙͌̀̃̏ͭ̎b̊ͦ̚l̤͙ͪͯe͉̳̜͚ͯ̂. ̦͉̥̳̱̊̎̏̑̆̇̚I̳͚̻͙͓̹̚’͓̖͙͎̿ṁ ̦̇͑̐ȋ̭̭̒ͧ̚n̪̜͂ ̪ͦ̈́̑́ͪa̗̤̔̆ͧ͗͂r͙̠͎̜̣̓̏ͨ̽̇ͦm̅̒̾or͕̆ͯͮ.͉̞͆̈ ͭ̈́H̽̚o͇͌̒̂ͣͨ̿̐ͅͅw ̓̓ͬ̔ͪå͔̲̤re̖͍͌́͒͆ͯ ͯy̋̏̆̔̑o̥͎͕̜̦͎̅ͪu ͤ̊̔͂̓̓ẻ̠́͒͐͛ͤ̉v̼͒ͦe̟̖̖̭͙n͎ͧ̍ ̤͈̗̥ͩ̈͌̀g̠͚̫͉ͮͪ́̚o͆̑̋̎ͪͫi̜̭͎̗̰̜̓n̯͍̎̅̌ͣ͐̌ͦg ̤̣̫̣̓̌̐ͅt̰͊͑͛̿͛ȍ͇̭̑̌ ̝̩̿i̳̺̘̼͓ñ͔̫jͭͧ̌ͣē͕͎͉̰c̏ṫ͈͇̱̹͉̫ͯ-͍ͣͩ̀̾̅”̇͆̇͒ͭ͛ͧ

Oh, well.

No one had ever accused Danny of having good bedside manners.

Never mind when dealing with billionaires.

Danny might or might not have ended up stabbing him a little.

So what?

It was a tiny bity needle anyway, and the man was already dead .

It's not like it mattered that much at this point, Danny had dealt with – and done – much worse-

“Uh..”

And it had worked, so ha!

“Told you” Danny deserves to be smug, he really does.

Tony, meanwhile, was beyond done with this death thing and he wanted to give it back right now, thanks.

“..that makes absolutely no sense”

“it kind of does actually,” when you had some years under your death belt at least, “if you swing your head to the left a little and squint just right -”

His response was a disbelieving look, a look that got interrupted midway when the man got distracted by something over Danny’s shoulder.

It didn't take long to figure out it was by the sight of one Peter Benjamin Parker, still lying pale and weirdly still on the bed. Emotions all over the place, even if his face remained mostly blank. The older superhero was looking at the teen with-

Concern.

Guilt.

Protect-

Oh .

“It’s not your fault either” Danny offered, quietly, then a thought crossed his mind and he murmured under his breath “At least I hope it isn’t ”

That gained him some indigned spluttering from the man.

That was a no, then.

“Sorry old man, nothing personal.” The sputtering stopped, but Tony still looked offended. Danny wasn't sure if it was still about the implication or because of the old thing. It didn’t really matter. “I just have bad experiences with billionaires”

A raised eyebrow. “How many do you even know ?”

“One too many.” Danny sighed. “And you, now, so that’s two I suppose”

He didn't really get a response beyond a distracted hum because Tony’s attention had gone right back at Peter. After a moment the man replied.

“It is sort of my fault.” At Danny���s little frown he proceeded “Not directly, mind you, but the Mysterio fiasco was all on me, the kid shouldn't have needed to deal with the fall out.”

And so, explanations ensued.

Danny winced through a good chunk of them.

“Yikes”

“Yeah” Tony grimaced, and then grimaced harder after catching a glance of the new bright green of his armor. He would have to do something about that later. Peter was a priority right now.

“So, after his identity got out things went tits up, the government got greedy- color me surprised- then what?”

“Do I look like I know what the fuck is going on in the head of those morons-? No, don’t answer that. I don’t. There. Short answer. Easy digestion. All you need to know is-” Tony glanced back at Peter, pretty concerned by the null signs of recovery because “he should already be better, whatever nasty chemicals they put on him are messing with his metabolism”

Umh, considering it had been the GIW then there weren't really many options, and it’s not like Danny hadn’t thought about it before this.

“Far frozen it is, then” at the questioning look he elaborated before the man got started with the questions. Again. “Allies of mine, they are good with health things. Got me out of tight spots more than a couple of times.”

And thus, Danny started to arrange things for the trip with Tony’s curse packed rambling as background noise.

“-Fuckin Ross. Fucking HYDRA. Fucking Government- When I get a grip on this and go back, and I will , they are going to try and put a damn leash around me and the kid. Oh, I want them to try, I dare them to try- ”

“I mean, you are technically no longer under US jurisdiction- is that what is called?“. Tony turned around, so Danny continued. “You know, being dead and all? Sorry, I keep forgetting beginners are queasy about that word at first. “

“Beginners..” Tony repeated the word. It didn’t make a difference. “What is this, a netflix subscription?”

“Yeah, but the free trial period never ends. It’s a whole deal around here, you get used to it” Danny winced after a pair of seconds, “sorry. Too much. I mean, you don’t necessarily have to stay here, here, to get it, but you do need-”

Tony waved him off, they could get back to that later if necessary. “You said I'm no longer under US jurisdiction. Then who’s? There’s got to be someone trying to call the shots even in death, the maniacs”

Danny nodded, a little nervous. “Uh.. there are- royals? in the zone? And the observants. But nobody gives a fuck about them- Oh, and some democracies too, but those are pretty young in comparison and most of the ghosts are ancient as fudge, so- actually, scratch that, I'm pretty sure you can find almost every type on there if you search long enough, but most ghosts just run on Anarchy Mode, the damn jerks-”

“Whoa whoa I’m gonna need you to stop there, Casper.” Once the teen seemed to give Tony his attention the man continued, “The ‘Zone’?”

“Yeah, the Ghost Zone” at Tony's look Danny remembers- “Oh man..you are new, like, really new. Of course. Yeah, ok. Since the beginning then”

This was going to take a while.

-.-.-.-

“Who were those guys anyway?”

“The G.I.W. or Guys In White”

“The what ?”

“I know, dude-” Danny sighed. “I know .”

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (June 24-25/2021) - Cow Quackity / S.U.S. Toll Company

After Quackity turns into a cow and Wilbur eats him on Bad’s chill stream, the two make a hit song together.

Later, George joins in and things become even more chaotic.

The next day, while working on “L’Wallburg” to compete with Bad’s apartment in the same area, Foolish has the idea to join forces with Bad instead of competing all the time. The two get together with Ponk to create their new tollbooth company: 

Super Umbrella Scheme

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Foolish

BadBoyHalo

-

Foolish

Captain Puffy

[Foolish’s second VOD was deleted]

---

---

JUNE 24

---

- Ponk, dressed up as Robin, notices Sam AFK by the bank. They try to get some Pillagers to attack Sam, but it doesn’t work

- Instead, Ponk pushes Sam into the spider spawner, then releases the spiders and watches Sam get eaten alive

- With Sam dead, Ponk puts his things in a chest and takes the Netherite set, leaving everything else. He goes to hide it

- Later, Ponk meets Foolish at the Community House as Robin and Batman. They go down into the basement to discuss. They may need new identities. Their crime-fighting days are over

- Ponk tells him that they are going to be Sherlock Holmes and Watson. That’s the extent of the report, so the two of them part ways

- Back at the valley, Ponk puts up a giant Foolsamponk picture and a photo of a rice cooker

- Bad and Wilbur log on. Bad notices a new structure built where the L’Sandburg tollgate used to be and wonders who’s behind it. Bad has been building up L��Sandburg’s walls in the meantime

- As Bad searches around for Wilbur in Las Nevadas, Quackity joins VC and gets a cow as a stand-in. Bad spots Wilbur nearby

- Bad tells Wilbur that the cow is Quackity and puts a leash on him, explaining that a witch turned him into one similar to how George was turned into a pig

- Wilbur asks where he can find food around here, and Bad tells him he can kill the cows in the pen. Bad tries to explain to Quackity how he is a cow. Wilbur asks Bad to tell Quackity that Wilbur wants to eat him

- Wilbur sets Quackity on fire, but Bad puts him out with water. Wilbur says Quackity looks tasty. Bad throws him bread and steak, but Wilbur refuses

Wilbur: not as succulent as him

- Bad leads Quackity over to the Eiffel Tower away from Wilbur. Wilbur opens Bad’s stream to find them

- Wilbur joins VC and Quackity asks if it’s true that Wilbur wants to eat him. They start discussing lactose intolerance

- Wilbur sets off TNT, then lights cow Quackity on fire. Bad is unable to save him and the Quackity cow drops a piece of steak. Wilbur asks for the meat 

- Meanwhile, Quackity as a human has come over to Las Nevadas. They set off more TNT

- Wilbur holds a piece of steak and munches on it, telling Quackity that it’s his meat. Quackity asks how he tastes and Wilbur begins describing it in great detail

- Quackity asks him to describe the texture and Wilbur does, again, in great detail. (I'm not going to transcribe this)

- Wilbur then walks over to DogChamp, saying he would kill the dog for another bite. They quickly stop him. Wilbur tells Bad to get him more Quackity meat. He then turns to Quackity and tells him to turn into a cow so that Wilbur can cook him up and eat his meat

- Quackity goes over to the cow pen to be with the other cows so that he can become one and starts mooing

- Wilbur kills another cow. Quackity has taken off his clothes and continues mooing

- Wilbur takes the initiative to end the bit

- They swim over to Eret’s pyramid with Wilbur repeating everything Quackity says in an American accent. They discuss what animal Wilbur would be. Perhaps a sheep. Bad finds a cod in the ocean and decides on that

- They go up to Ponk’s base and look at the photos. They notice that Sam is crossed out in one of them but don’t know why

Quackity: “Do you wanna have sex in this room?”

- Bad goes to tell him “language” and Quackity scolds him for walking in on them. Wilbur considers it, then mines the floor out from under Quackity, who falls to his death

Quackity: “Is that a yes?”

Wilbur: “I like a man who can take kinetic energy.”

- Bad gets a crossbow. Quackity has an announcement: the wine stream is still happening!

- Quackity gets back to the pyramid and falls to his death again. While they retrieve his items, they chat about fan interactions

- Quackity wants to adopt the dog that played Beethoven in the Beethoven movie and Wilbur breaks the news to him that the dog is probably dead. Quackity doesn’t want Tom Arnold on a leash, and they find out that during the filming the filmmakers apparently used a “mechanical dog-dog suit”

- Wilbur explores the Beethoven fandom Wiki

- They talk about music they’ve been working on. Bad says if Quackity keeps swearing, he will “break out the hammer”

- Quackity shows his recent project. Wilbur says it’s “bloody-muffin-fucking great”

- Wilbur and Quackity work on the song together. The sound is...beyond words

- When they are finished, Quackity says that he thinks Wilbur is giving him too much credit, and he should instead be on the feature list. He wants Wilbur to have this song

- Wilbur declines, saying he would be honored if Quackity didn’t put Wilbur’s name on the song

- Quackity thinks Wilbur should feature it as a Lovejoy song. Wilbur has joined a new band to release the song called “Placeholder,” after which he will immediately disband the band

- Quackity tells him that the song is Wilbur’s baby and he really wants Wilbur to have it. Wilbur tells Quackity that he loves him and that Quackity should have the song. Quackity says he would die for Wilbur, and that Wilbur should have the song

- Wilbur says he will name his firstborn "Quackity,” and he thinks Quackity should have the song. Quackity says he will name all his future family members “Wilbur Soot” (pronounced ‘suit’)

- Wilbur then says he will kill endangered animals for Quackity

Bad: “That’s not something you should do!”

Wilbur: “I will do it for love.”

- Bad asks if he can have the song. Quackity doesn’t say his next bit aloud

- Wilbur understands that Quackity would do that, but he would physically drown for Quackity to have the song

- Quackity says that he will get an astrophysics license, fly a rocket into the moon to get in a national story so that when they find the notepad on his phone, Quackity’s one will would be for Wilbur to have the song and release it under his name without any credit to Quackity

- Wilbur understands this, but says that he would invent a Doomsday device the likes of which the world has never seen and will never see again with which he would hold the world hostage with one message: to tell the world that this song is written solely by Quackity

Wilbur: “That’s what I’d do for you.”

Quackity: “...Okay!”

Wilbur: “Cool, alright, now we’re settled. Hey, Bad, how’re you doing man.”

Bad: “Hi! I’m so perplexed.”

Wilbur: “I’ve got a Doomsday device to make.”

- Bad befriends a pig and names it George. He leads the pig and the red sheep away from Las Nevadas. They continue chatting for a while at the Punzo Chunk

- Later on, George, “master of lore,” joins in 

- Bad shows them the heads he got from DreamXD and offers to trade Karl’s to get Ant’s, Sam’s and Puffy’s from Foolish. Wilbur asks how one gets heads, and Bad tells the story of DreamXD logging on

- Bad gives George his own head and George logs off. Bad offers Karl’s head and George returns, so Bad kills him and gets his head back. George drops a stack of nametags, a stack of TNT and a stack of levers

- Bad repeatedly murders George and sees a squid that flies

- George chases after Quackity trying to kill him with a bone. Quackity runs, setting everything on fire behind him. Bad follows and tries to put everything out. George eventually kills Quackity, then Bad kills George

- Bad accuses George of abusing his op powers to get Netherite armor as George chases him down

- Wilbur sings the Drake and Josh theme song in an American accent while George attempts to murder Bad in a pit

- George accuses Bad of turning the server off, but Bad says it’s a scheduled restart

- George kicks them from the server and un-whitelists them both

- Quackity gets back on and slays George

- The three of them continue to spar some more for fun

---

JUNE 25

---

- While Foolish works on building a room by the Punzo Chunk to compete with Bad’s, Bad logs on and drops by

- Bad tells him he’s building in Bad’s apartment. Foolish tells him he’s just making L’Wallburg

- Bad says he will charge Foolish rent to live here, but Foolish declines

- They argue back and forth about whose place it is as they work on the walls

- Foolish has the idea to join forces

Foolish: Bad what if we are landlords together

Bad: o_o

Foolish: we have been fighting for afar too long

Foolish: What if we put are talkents togerth

Bad: o_o

- Bad says he’s charging rent. Foolish asks what if he charges Bad rent. They argue about charging rent on each other

- Bad charges Foolish 850 diamonds. Foolish tells him that Bad has been on his property for five minutes, which means he must pay 9,000 diamonds

- Again, Foolish suggests they instead work together. Bad brings up the idea of taking over a central location like the community Nether portal that they can charge people for. Foolish likes the idea

- They work on the apartment some more and start bickering over who’s caused more problems in their rivalry. Foolish attempts to explain it metaphorically

Foolish: “There was once a shiny rock, okay? And this shiny rock was just trying to go to the ocean and have a good time and lay there in peace. But then, this crusty old seaweed came along to the seashore and just got up all in the shiny rock’s business. And then the shiny rock became a little more dull with the weight of death looming, Bad.”

- Bad takes offense to this and also claims that he made Foolish’s build much better by adding a tollgate to it

- They negotiate percentages of the profits and head off to the Nether portal. Foolish asks if Bad has a suit. Bad replies that not only does he look very dashing already, but the last time he wore a suit, he tried to kill a lot of people

- Foolish suggests they call it the Ratgate. They wall off the portal

- While visiting the summer home, Foolish finds out about the new building on the path. The two suspect a third party may be at play

- Foolish tells Bad about how they have a tollgate set up in Las Nevadas. Bad is offended that Foolish made him take down his tollgate but set one up elsewhere. They start arguing again over who had rightful claim to the path

- They admire their work on the new tollbooth. If people don’t pay the toll, they die

- They rehearse it. Foolish switches personas and becomes a L’manburg Llama who asks Bad where L’manburg is -- he heard they needed his help a few months ago

- Foolish critiques Bad’s performance, as Bad didn’t ask for the toll. Bad said he still got something out of it -- a nice compliment

- They rehearse it a second time, this time with Foolish as Palpatine. It ends with Bad attempting to kill him

- As they discuss how the second rehearsal went, Ponk logs on and walks through the portal while they’re distracted

- They go through after him to seek him down. If they let him get away, they would be the laughing stock of the tolling community. Foolish wonders if they’re dealing with Ponk or Robin

- They find her at the summer home. Ponk runs into his shack and they knock on the door

- Ponk comes out of the shack and they tell him that they’re vacuum salesmen. Once inside the shack, they confront him about the toll

- Ponk doesn’t buy their claims and they go back to the tollbooth. They tell them to pay with compliments

- Ponk retrieves a book from his Ender Chest and goes up one of the tollbooth towers to place a piece of TNT. He tells them that he has claimed the tower

- Ponk starts running, placing TNT all over while the two chase after to attack

- After “the Battle of the Nether Portal” subsides, Ponk gives them the compliments

Ponk: “Bad, is your nickname ‘Google?’ Because you’re all I’m searching for.”

...

Ponk: “Did you get your suit at Dollar General, Foolish?”

- Because Foolish takes some offense to this, Ponk throws him some Netherite ingots. Bad wants that compliment

- Ponk and Bad go up into Ponk’s tower to whisper amongst themselves. Ponk is going to record this and use it as part of the lore suit against Bad. Bad already has ten lawyers

- They go back down and Ponk tells Foolish that Bad said the toll doesn’t have to be paid. Bad is confused, and Foolish pulls Bad aside for a meeting behind a wall of TNT to whisper amongst themselves

- Foolish points out that they could use a third person for the tolling business, and Ponk’s the most trustworthy person Foolish knows

- They go back to Ponk with the business proposal. Foolish says if Ponk makes enough money, they’ll give Ponk a Supreme car at the end of the year

- Ponk becomes sad at this, because Bad destroyed the Supreme Fridge and that’s why Ponk is suing him and Puffy

- Bad says that Foolish allowed them to demolish it. Foolish quickly denies this, but Bad claims he has a written document signed by Foolish. Upset, Ponk asks if this is true. Bad says Puffy has it

- Ponk isn’t sure who to believe anymore

- After they spot Bad lurking beneath the rainbow, they hold him at knifepoint asking for his pot of gold

- Foolish suggests the three of them forget everything that’s happened and just run their tollbooth together. Ponk proposes they tear down Bad’s house instead

- As they explain a potential plot to toll everyone further, though, Ponk starts to come around to the idea. Foolish wonders if they should toll the prison. Bad says they should toll everything

- The next place they decide to toll is the Community House, and they start setting up gateways there. Foolish asks Bad who he would hypothetically be in an alternate Batman universe. Bad would be Alfred

- They decide on a name for their tollbooth company: 

“Super Umbrella Scheme,” or S.U.S. 

- They do another rehearsal at the Community House gate. It goes very well

- They go to the spider spawner. Bad has to leave, and Ponk speaks with Foolish one-on-one, leading him down the tunnel to the Eggpire cloak room to search through the chests. Foolish hesitantly peeks around the corner into the Egg Room...

- Ponk tells him they’ve got their next disguises as Watson and Holmes. Sam has mentioned that he’s missing a sword and wants to hire them to find it

- With that said, they say their goodbyes and leave

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

[poptod]

The Old Gods

Description: Jack has to get close to a powerful suspect. Jack also ponders upon his humanity.

Notes: genuinely didnt meant for this to get so long, my apologies, i just like writing conversations bc i never get to have them.  also! I hate myself so much for writing supernatural fanfiction in the good year of our lord 2021. its not my fault, it was the only show i could watch with my cousin that we both liked. anyway! lmk if you like it i could do a part two WC: 11k

+

The nearest library could hardly be called a library. A more accurate description would be a collection of books––a small collection––that could be read freely but never taken from the library itself. There was little need within the Winchesters to visit the library, considering they had one in their home filled with mythical lore, but the records of Kansas and neighboring cities and states were detailed thoroughly in the nearest library.

Jack knew a great many things; inherent natures and laws of the universe, the experience of power and of fear, both before him and within him. Many things he'd seen deserved to be feared, exposing him to dangers often unheard of amongst regular children.

Three months into existence, however, Jack liked to think he knew more than he did when he was born. This was because he'd spoken to more people, experienced more things, and learned select things about his mother, his father, his family, and strangers. Still, there were things that puzzled him––the age of the world was clear in his mind (4.543 billion years, four months, 22 days, 6 hours, and 52 seconds) but how humanity progressed into what they now were astounded him.

"Humans started as... these creatures with unending curiosity," Castiel explained to him, his hands folded neat in his lap but hidden by his too-long trenchcoat sleeves. "Ceaseless innovation. They started without language but they always had kindness. I think.. that's why God favored them, at least at first."

"So... kindness is a form of.. intelligence?" Jack asked slowly, his brow furrowed tight as he stared past his father.

"I believe so," he said, shifting in his seat. "Kindness drove these animals to building homes, to conversing with one another, to creating a better world for descendants they would never know. It's quite beautiful, actually."

"Am I a part of that story?"

Only half-human, only half-alive, only half the story, belonging to nothing concrete. Jack wasn't really human, leaving him alone in his species.

"Yes," Castiel said without hesitation.

Civilization first started off in a number of areas. The first book Jack found dealt with the fertile crescent northeast of Africa, where Mesopotamia brought forth a number of societies, of cultures, meshed together over the course of thousands of years. Sumerians were one of the first to build their cities, creating writing, the wheel, and the plow in their haven apart from the unpredictable and often violent wild.

But no––the next book Jack found stated that Jericho was the oldest city, west to the fertile crescent near the shore of the Mediterranean and the Dead Sea. The citystate was independent from any other power, often becoming abandoned from raids only to return to high populations, as humans flocked back to the spring water that still poured from inside the earth to this day.

Over the rest of the day spent in the nearest library, Jack learned there was no single spot in which civilization was created and then spread from. The Nile in Africa brought forth Egypt, the Indus river in Pakistan birthed the Harappan civilization, and the two rivers Yellow and Yangtze in China created the first asian cities. From there villages, towns, and cities spread like mold across the earth's surface, eventually bringing humans to inhabit every continent and nearly every environment known on earth.

There were far too many things to know, and the strain of reading on his eyes eventually forced him to retire for the day. He hardly understood anything yet, but the librarian was understanding as to his prolonged stay, and wished him a good evening when he left. He beamed a bright smile despite the strange pain growing behind his eyes, and waved good-bye.

Dean gave him painkillers when he got back to the bunker after Jack thoroughly (and unnecessarily) described his headache.

"Humans are... strange," Jack said, his brow furrowed in deep thought. He rested his elbows on the table, leaning over an empty bowl of cereal.

"Not wrong, but, care to elaborate?" asked Sam, who was sitting across from him at the kitchen table, a newspaper and pen in his hand.

"Castiel said you created the first cities out of a desire to.. to protect each other, and to keep yourselves safe. And then the first thing you do when you meet other cities is to go to war with them."

Sam sucked in a sharp breath, leaning back as he set the newspaper aside. This would take a little more concentration than a passing ear.

"People are scared by things they don't know," Sam began only to be cut off.

"Why?"

"They don't know if it's dangerous. You didn't trust us, at first, either. We didn't know whether to trust you. Remember?"

"Oh," Jack said softly.

"Yeah. But you're right," he said with a long sigh. "It's strange. We're... strange."

"Are humans inherently good?"

"I don't think anyone is inherently good," Sam said, and Jack straightened his posture, suddenly confused by his claim. "Every person – every thing, every living thing has – has the capacity for good and evil. It's really just up to the individual to decide which side they want to give into."

"Am I a good person?"

"First off, you're not really a person," said another voice from the doorway.

Sam and Jack both turned at the same time, meeting the eye of Dean, who had yet to change out of his bathrobe despite it being 2PM.

"Second off, you haven't been alive long enough to be a good person," he continued as he entered, an empty coffee cup in hand.

"Dean –" Sam began, only to be cut off.

"What? It's the truth."

The coffee machine buzzed loudly once Dean pushed a few of the buttons, setting his cup beneath the nozzle. He muttered something to himself before turning back to the kitchen table.

"Anything strange in the paper?" He asked, leaning against the counter.

"Maybe," said Sam.

He grabbed the paper again, delving into the details of a nearby missing persons case that soon faded out of Jack's state of mind. His thoughts were still absorbed in his existence, in his beginnings, and how they compared to the beginnings of humans. At least with angels he knew everything; that was how angels were born. Knowing everything.

Jack remained seated at the table when Sam and Dean left, still stewing in his thoughts that he imagined would never go away. It was half an hour later when the two brothers returned, this time fully dressed, and packed up on their way to the car.

"We've gotta go find some local records," Dean said.

"So we're headed to the library," Sam finished, and the two gave each other odd glances at the coincidental synchronicity.

"I was there a couple days ago," Jack said, suddenly perking up. "Can I come with you?"

"Sure, just don't get in the way," Dean said with a dismissive hand, already leaving the doorway.

Sam pursed his lips, letting out a bitter, almost apologetic chuckle before he followed.

He liked the middle seat. It didn't have a seatbelt, but he wasn't sure what seatbelts were for anyways, and the middle seat allowed him easy access to see both of the Winchesters. Dean never spared a glance in his direction while he drove, but Sam offered awkward, curt smiles.

Technically Jack could just fly to the library in an instant, but the drive into town was pretty, lined with the colors of autumn. Recently winds had taken up a more brisk edge, marking the absence of birds that flew in packs overhead. He scooted to one of the window seats, craning his neck awkwardly to look up and out of the glass, grinning at the ravens flying through the orange and gold trees.

The librarian showed the three men where the records were kept, directing them towards missing persons cases when they requested it. While Sam and Dean thumbed through the records, Jack returned to ancient history books, studying art and images from Vedic India.

There, amongst the carvings printed on soft paper, he found something rather odd. He stood from his position on the floor, still staring intensely at the print as he walked over to the table Sam and Dean sat at.

"Hey Jack," Sam said as he sat down, gently placing the book on the table. He scanned Jack's hunched posture before he asked, "something up?"

"I found something... strange," he said, his brow still knotted neatly above curious eyes.

"Yeah well, join the club, kid," Dean said with a groan, wiping his face with his hand.

Jack opened his mouth to ask what they'd seen, but Sam answered before he could speak.

"There's been repeated attacks, kind of," he said, waving his hand vaguely. "Once every ten years a couple of kids go missing. Always two kids, always on the same day of the year."

"And another anomaly," Dean said, reaching over to a stack of papers and slapping them on the table in front of Jack.

Big, black words displayed the newspaper title, and below it, the date of publishing. January 4th, 1967. The main article dealt with a concert happening in a nearby city, and the image printed with it displayed a number of concert-goers, most of them in their teens or early adulthood. Hidden behind several other people, a familiar face appeared––the librarian. Unhindered by time.

"Is that..."

"Big boots over there?" Dean asked, pointing with his thumb in your general direction.

You were sorting through a stack of books, but as Jack looked down, he found you were wearing rather large boots. The ends of your pants drowned in them.

"Do you think they're related?" Jack asked as he turned back to the Winchesters.

"Possibly," Sam said with a nod. "Bit early to tell. But, uh..."

Sam trailed off as his eyes focused on something past Jack's shoulder. He, as well as Dean, turned to meet your eyes that quickly darted away once all three of them were looking at you.

"I think I have an idea," Sam said.

Dean and Jack curiously tilted their heads to the side at the same time, though when Dean noticed that, he fixed himself immediately.

"I think they have a thing for you," he said in a much quieter voice.

"Me?" Jack asked, pushing his finger into his chest.

"Yeah. You could get a little closer and see if something's up."

"Are you seriously setting up Jack with a fuckin' demon, for all we know?" Dean asked flatly, earning an odd look from Sam, who had never heard Dean protest putting Jack in danger.

"Dean, Jack's dad is a demon-angel thing. I don't think it's a big deal," he said.

That seemed to shut the older Winchester up.

"Hm," Jack hummed as he debated the idea. "I also found something strange."

"Oh, right," Sam said, clearing his head with a shake. "What was it?"

"It was also... the librarian," he said with a deep frown. "In one of the books."

He pushed forward the textbook, opening it to reveal the page in which he'd found your face. The stone expression was remarkably similar to your traits, from the curve of your nose to the positioning of your eyes, and the small, polite smile on your lips.

"I found it in the history section," Jack explained. "It says it's from Vedic India."

A quick Google-search later, Sam was reading out the age of Vedic India.

"According to this it says the Vedic age was approximately around 1500 to 800 B.C., so... about 2,500 years ago."

"Wow, this fucker's old," Dean snorted.

Sam shot him a look over the top of his computer screen.

Having found the information they were looking for, the Winchesters began to pack up their belongings and their scribbled notes, shoving them into their bags or into their many-pocketed coats. Jack, on the other hand, prepared himself for talking to you, hoping his ineptness towards social situations with humans wouldn't be too obvious. He swallowed through the knot in his throat, taking a shaking breath in an attempt to steady himself.

It didn't work.

"Dean, what am I supposed to say to them?" He whispered when they were already approaching the front desk, his palms growing sweaty.

"I don't know, their job or something? Something normal," he very unhelpfully advised.

"Thanks for letting us stay for the day," Sam said with a polite smile, handing back one of the printed out records you'd fetched for them from beneath your desk.

"Not a problem. You keep quiet. I like that in a reader," you said, smiling back as you glanced between the three of them.

None of them moved, and your expression turned to mild confusion. Dean had to jab Jack in the side to get him to speak. He opened his mouth to protest, but Dean motioned something to Sam, and the two of them quickly left for the car, leaving Jack alone while they 'situated' themselves.

"I, um..." Jack started before he was ready.

The silence felt wrong, but the silence after saying something was much, much worse. Whatever came into his mind first would have to be what he said.

"I like your job," he said, keenly scanning your expression for any hint of your thoughts.

You paused, clearly taken back for a moment, before you broke out into a chuckle, looking down to your hands as your face flushed.

"I like it quite a lot, too," you said with a grin, looking back up at him. "I've always been interested in becoming a librarian. Granted, I didn't quite imagine it in Kansas, but it is pretty here."

"Where did you imagine it?"

"Greece, actually," you chuckled, and he smiled as well, his heart thumping with a sudden haste. "I was heartbroken to hear the Library of Alexandria was burned down."

"The Library of Alexandria?" He repeated, tilting his head to the side again.

"Haven't heard of it?" You asked.

He shook his head gingerly. Was he supposed to?

No matter––you explained in full what the Library of Alexandria was, when it was created, when it was burnt, and the loss it caused amongst human society. He listened intently, frequently asking questions you were happy to answer. When Jack glanced out the library window, he found the impala gone, and realized Sam's plan had, in a way, worked.

"Are there.. any books about the library?" He asked once you completed your short story.

"Yes, but I don't want to hold you folks up –"

It was then you looked out the window as well, finding the two large men had abandoned the smaller.

"Oh where'd they go?" You said in a curious, high voice.

"Don't worry about that, I... have a bus," he said, earning a strange look. "I am... I ride buses."

A beat of silence passed.

"So the Library was in Greece?" He asked, and your earlier mood returned.

You brought him––with much excitement––to one of the rows in the library filled with simple textbooks for primary school kids. Other rows of your well-tended library were occupied by old books, their bindings worn and frayed at the edges from continuous use. Pages were turned yellow and were soft beneath his fingers, but despite their age they were rather hard for Jack to read and understand, meaning his discovery of children's comprehensible textbooks was a giddy one.

Jack wasn't entirely sure what he was supposed to be looking for when it came to you. What counted as suspicious? You continued to speak with him even after the sun set behind mountains, that could be a sign you were trying to gather information on him, as well. That could also mean you liked him. Was your friendliness suspect?

"- and the Phoenicians were really only called that by the Grecians. The name came from the purple dye that they're famous for, some root word for 'purple people' in Greek is Phoenicia," you explained, moving your hands expressively despite the fact that Jack's eyes were set dead on the textbook on the floor in front of you. Paragraphs of words surrounded modern depictions of ancient people and their art.

"So what was their actual name?" He asked as he looked up to you.

"Canaanites. From the land of Canaan."

"... you know a lot," he said, looking back to the page as you chuckled.

"It's just memory," you said with a shrug.

"Can I... can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Do you know anything about mythical creatures?"

Surely this would reveal something, Jack thought––you might react poorly, in which case you could be the monster, or you might react in complete knowledge, which... could also mean you were the monster.

"A little," you said slowly. "Why do you ask?"

"I have an interest, in myths and monsters," he said, almost smiling again.

"Oh man, I have a show you're going to love."

Far in the back of the library, a hollow, steel door led to a small break room, the carpet inside being a dark, scratchy grey against his palms when he sat down. There were no chairs in the room, but an old TV sat on a cheap cart plugged into the nearest, bare wall. On the opposite side of the TV was a dull blue counter that stretched from the door to a window covered by plastic shingle curtains.

You snatched the remote off the counter, pressing a large, red button that had the television buzzing to life loudly. The screen sparked, static radiating around it as a thin line of white brought life to a Netflix loading screen.

After several minutes of waiting for Netflix to load and then typing a title into the search bar, a show called Myths and Monsters was before him. He let out a laugh as he realized what had sparked the connection––he'd literally spoken the title.

Would an ancient being or monster know how to work a TV?

Castiel could work a TV.

Kind of.

The first episode began to play and you took a seat beside Jack, crossing your legs neatly beneath you. A few minutes in, rain pattered lightly on the roof, followed by sudden winds that battered the now pouring rain against the window. Jack watched through the side of his eye as you smiled at the change in weather.

That was suspicious.

Late in the evening, when night darkened the land and heavy thunderclouds darkened the sky, he left the library. He stood in the threshold between the warm light on your desk in the otherwise dark room, and the falling rain outside. Yellow-orange streetlamps illuminated the sheets of rain and the nearby bus stop, but you still stopped him, holding the door open as you both stood motionless in front of one another.

"I have a car, I can drive you home," you offered, gesturing over your shoulder to a door in the back that led to a private parking lot behind the library. "I'm not sure if the bus runs this late."

Extended time with you would be good, and he imagined your face illuminated by dim dashboard car lights would be better than good––great. Beautiful. You had wonderfully warm features. But you couldn't know where he lived for a number of reasons; if you were the monster, that was giving away a hiding place, and if you weren't, you would wonder why he lived in such a strange place.

"Thank you, but it's alright," he said. "I like the rain."

A small smile stretched across your plush lips.

"So do I," you said, and the two of you bid good-bye, retreating into your respective dark.

He gave a thorough rundown of the events proceeding after Sam and Dean left, and the three of them––Sam, Dean, and Castiel––listened closely. Dean already filled Castiel in on the rest of the case, and the two brothers were eating at the long table in the bunker's library.

They stared at him in silence when he finished.

"Sounds like a regular kid," Sam finally said.

"Ah don't be so sure about that," Dean said, raising a single brow. "What did you say the monster probably was?"

"A – a fae, or something," he said.

"Fae's good at lying," Dean pointed out, earning a reluctant nod from Castiel.

"He's right. Fairies are remarkably good at acting," he said in his low, grating voice.

"So... what next?" Jack asked.

"We'll keep looking into the case more, and you can probably ask the librarian out on a date," Sam suggested, earning an agreeing remark from Dean. "You can keep them distracted while we search their house."

"Do we know where they live yet?" asked Dean.

"No, but it shouldn't be too hard to find out," Sam said.

Jack watched the brothers for a moment, his mind emptying of answers as to what a 'date' was.

"What's a date?"

"Oh Christ," Dean muttered, moving immediately to his feet and leaving the room.

Sam let out an exasperated sigh at his brother, turning to Jack to explain what a date was, what were appropriate date activities, and how he should act when asking you out and when being out with you.

"Okay," Jack said with a nod despite not really understanding. "What are dates for?"

"They're between people who are interested in.. getting to know each other," Castiel said as he took a seat beside Sam across from Jack.

"So... like when Dean and I went driving."

"No. Not like that," Sam quickly said. "Not like that at all. If – if a guy is interested in a girl, like interested in having her be his girlfriend, then he might ask her out on a date. It's a romantic thing."

"The librarian does seem to be interested in you, from what I’ve heard," Castiel said with a pointed look in Jack's direction.

"I think you've got a shot," Sam agreed, nodding.

Jack thought for a moment before he said, "okay."

A few days later––Dean insisted he only try a few days later, saying anything less was damaging his honor––Jack returned to the library, lighting up when he found you were still working at the small front desk, your nose buried in a large box full of papers. Large, round glasses were hanging off the tip of your nose, and you pushed them up to your eyes when they slipped further off.

The door clicked softly shut behind him when he entered, scanning the room as if there was another reason he was there. You watched him the whole time, continuing to when he approached you, something obviously on his mind.

"I was wondering..." he trailed off, losing himself in your bright, expectant eyes. When he realized he'd fallen silent, he added the first thing that came to mind––a lie. "... if you could show me where the... books are."

You chuckled before you said, "which ones?"

"Maps," he said, smiling as he came up with something actually substantial.

Of course, it wasn't asking you out, but at least it was talking to you. He would have to do that later, though he supposed he'd have to do it that day or he would be disappointing the Winchesters and Castiel when he came back to the bunker without even trying to complete their orders.

"We don't really have a maps section, but I might be able to help you if you tell me the time and place you're looking for," you suggested for him, and he nodded slowly.

"Yes. Please."

"So what are you looking for?"

"Oh. Right, uh.. Greece and Mediterranean," he said, repeating subjects from the last time you'd spoken.

"Mediterranean sea?"

He nodded.

"What year?" You asked.

"Uh..." he drew another blank, "two... hundred."

You seemed reluctant to ask the next question, but it was necessary; "before christ or after?"

"... before."

"Alright," you said with a soft snicker, moving around your crowded desk area and towards the bookcases.

Your stride slowed as you approached a certain shelf, shifting up onto the tips of your toes to reach the highest books. Jack thought of offering his help, but he wasn't much taller than you––if at all––and he didn't know which books to get down.

Four thick books ended up in your arms, and you heaved them over to the nearest table, letting them thump down heavily. You spread them out, flipping rapidly through the pages till you found the proper maps you seemed to have memorized within each of the books.

"This one's about 900 BC to 200 AD, so it's got a bit wider of a range. Includes the bigger cities. This one is.. 1500 BC to 300 BC, so a little bit within range, has a lot more cities," you said, moving from one textbook to the next while Jack stared at you, enamored by your plush lips.

He barely even noticed that you finished your explanations, nor your quick words mentioning you should probably return to your studies and leave him to it. But he reached out on instinct, grabbing your wrist and tugging gently, convincing you to turn back to him. Your eyes, still bright, retained that same patient expectancy as his previous evening with you.

"I... could you talk to me?" He asked, oblivious to the implications read clearly by you.

"About what?" You asked in return as you stepped subtly closer.

"About fairies."

You paused, your eyes widening slightly.

"The ones from Celtic folklore or... like modern media fairies?" You asked slowly, slinking down into a seat you situated to face him.

He did the same, his feet planted firmly on the floor as he watched you, a smile tugging at his lips.

"Just... the oldest versions of fairies."

You nodded, again slowly as you pursed your lips.

"Well the oldest mentions of them in literature actually comes from ancient Greece, from the Iliad, by Homer," you began, immediately using your hands expressively as you spoke. "Those weren't Celtic fairies, though. Greeks considered creatures like satyrs and such to be fairies, as well, so... generally fairies and the fae as we think of them now came from Ireland and Scotland."

"Where are they?" He asked with a head tilt.

You stuttered for a second, your eyes flying across the room until you stood, returning to the shelves. He watched with much humor as you read the book titles at a frightening pace, fingers flipping over the bindings till you pulled one down.

"Here, world map," you said, and though he didn't notice, you didn't comment on the oddity of not knowing where Scotland and Ireland were. Almost everyone knew where those two countries were; or, at least, the general area.

"In Ireland fairies are seen as simply... mythical people. Great warriors and poets, or witches, they're all considered part of the fae in Celtic culture. In Scotland, though, fairies are more dangerous, essentially being creatures that feed off humans in one way or another," you continued. "Like... banshees, those are Scottish, and jack o' lanterns."

"Jack o' lanterns?"

He'd heard of banshees before; they were mentioned a few times by the Winchester brothers.

"Not like the Halloween pumpkins," you said, but when you were met with further confusion, you slowly said, "...and you don't know what those are either, do you?"

He shook his head reluctantly.

You spent the next two, whole hours talking to him, going over any question he had no matter how much you thought he should've known the answer to begin with. Jack relaxed into that feeling, into that ease, while suspicion grew in your own mind. There was no one of his age and stature that didn't know the questions he posed. Still, you found yourself unable to pin any such wariness of manipulation onto such a polite boy.

Engrossed fully in whatever you had to say and rarely speaking himself, Jack absorbed a number of facts about the fae. About their trickery and mischief, about their magic, how different species had different thoughts on humanity. Considering the lengths you knew about other subjects, none of what you told him occurred to him as suspicious. You seemed, again, to be a dedicated––but human––scholar.

When at last he exhausted his questions, both on and off topic, he began a build-up of courage. Asking someone out for a case should've been much easier than this, or at least that's what he thought. Dean mentioned he'd done similar things for other such cases.

Jack's face scrunched up in deep thought despite the silence between you.

"Are you alright, Jack?" You asked.

"Oh. I'm... fine," he said, nodding his head in a way that didn't convince you all that well. "I – I wanted to ask you something."

You nodded, gently helping him along.

"I know we don't know each other that well, but... you.. interest me, and.." he trailed off once more. It was difficult to tell a lie that was technically the truth. "I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. On a date."

He expected a number of things from you––perhaps anger, perhaps embarrassment, perhaps shock, but you just chuckled, leaning back in your chair. His brow furrowed at your odd reaction. Were you laughing at him?

"Was that what you wanted to ask me when you first came in?" You said through your giggles, your soft skin glowing in the warm, early evening light.

"... yes," he said, huffing out his own chuckle as his eyes fell to the floor. "I'm sorry."

"There's no need to apologize," you said with a grin. “You’re the one who had to listen to me ramble.”

"So.. will you..?"

"Yeah," you chuckled, nodding. "I enjoy your company as well."

A smile made a permanent home on Jack's face as he returned to the bunker, his official mission having been successfully completed, and his hands still burning with the touch you left as he walked out the door. While most of the town smelled like baking pies and cinnamon cider, the bunker carried no such warmth, and smelled more like rotting leaves than anything else, though Sam lit a couple apple candles in his room. The scent filled part of a long hallway.

He found his fathers all sitting on a single couch, facing a television that had some sort of film playing on it through the static. Jack silently stepped round the nearest chair, taking a seat beside them, and watching on intently. A soft, high note hummed from the speakers.

Red, ratted curtains pulled way for sunlight streaming through dust-filled air. The wooden windowsill had a vase in which a single, molted flower sat, most of its petals having fallen off long ago. But that wasn't where the camera stopped; it halted above the image of two women tangled in sheets similarly worn down as the curtains were, requiring many patches over large holes. One had their face pressed to the other's neck, her nose nudging a sharp jawline owned by still sleeping eyes. Their limbs were knotted tight together, chest to chest, and a quiet, sleepy melody humming out of the smaller's pale lips.

Jack frowned. He'd never seen two people so physically close together. The nearest thing he'd seen was Dean and Castiel hugging, and even that was reserved in a way. This was pure trust––pure peace, and he found himself wondering if it was entirely fictional, or if such happiness could really exist in the world that at times felt poisoned.

Maybe it did exist if you found a way to smile that brightly.

He earned a whole other course of schooling once he announced their plan was successful. Dean clapped him proudly on the back, shooting a dirty grin that Sam countered with clean praise. Even Castiel seemed to be proud. Jack beamed at that, his heartbeat now pounding at the thought of three days from now; when he had planned the date.

In the meantime, the brothers stayed up for most of the night, though they looked much worse for wear that morning than Jack after he stayed up with them. Researching faes was actually a little easier than a lot of other monsters––there were many articles about them, and a deeply-engrained fear of changeling children had led to thorough documentation on the fae realm and its inhabitants. Jack was still a little slow at typing, so Sam captained the computer research, while Jack sped through the books in the bunker's library. Dean looked through articles and stories in newspapers searching for any hint of where they children might be kept if they weren't immediately killed.

The more he read about fairies, about their habits, their composure, and their lies, the less he could picture you as one. Originally a fairy brought to mind someone beautiful and fair, or someone like you, with dazzling eyes that could stop an archangel in their step. But the sharp teeth and wicked, wirey hair didn't sound at all like you. He'd felt your hands––once brushing over his––and there were no claws or stinging sensations that lingered in your touch. Still, the Winchesters probably knew better than him, and he pushed the feeling aside.

In the next evening, after Dean took a long day nap, Sam and Dean set to packing up their tools and tricks once more, tossing them into the back of the impala with the rest of the permanent fixtures. Jack watched as they did this, his hair still neat and clean despite not sleeping or washing up for two days.

"Can I come with?" He asked in the politest voice he could manage.

They were headed off to the library under the cover of night. After hearing about several back rooms Jack noticed during his time there, a reasonable question was posed––was there more information you could be hiding?

"Uh –" Sam began, only to be cut off by Dean saying –

"No. If we get found, that's fine, but if you're with us, we lose your relationship with her."

Before Jack could reply Dean climbed into the drivers seat, followed by Sam clambering in beside him. He had issues getting into the car at times. The engine stuttered to life, and Sam waved good-bye through the windshield as they pulled and drove the car away.

Jack frowned, his brow knitted together again.

"Bye," he said, but he was the only one to hear it.

Castiel would be back soon. He decided waiting in the library would guarantee he'd see Castiel as soon as possible, something he desired, as there were a number of new questions he wanted to pose to the elder angel. Thousands of years his senior, Castiel must've had answers––some sort of insight to some strange impulses, or simply comfort against 'wrong' thoughts.

Technically your library was private, meaning others weren't allowed to take your books away from the building, but you allowed him to take something home under the assurance of a guarantee. He would return it next time he saw you, a promise that clearly meant a lot to you going by the ease that overtook you when he said 'okay' with a signature, sweet smile. The only reason you leant the book to him was because it contained information you considered thought-provoking, thoughts about how humanity evolves, and how technological advances could change the actual anatomy of the human mind. Some of the claims seemed to him to be a bit of a reach, but others brought him interesting points.

The metal latch on the door let out a resounding click as the door swung open, Castiel standing behind with wild hair and a stunned look about him. He flung the door shut before running down the stairs towards Jack.

"Have they gotten back from the library yet?" He asked as he approached.

"No, they left..." he glanced at the clock, "a couple hours ago."

"Hmm," Castiel grumbled. "That's a long time for them."

"Should we go help them?" Jack suggested, setting your book aside as he stood straighter in his chair.

"No, we'll give them some more time. See what happens," he said before he set off, jogging into the hall.

Jack sighed as he slumped back into his seat, almost mourning the death of an easy excuse to go see your library. And Castiel left before he could ask him anything. Dean had a point, though––if they were caught and he was with them, that would ruin your relationship entirely, and that was something he, for some reason, despised.

It took another hour and a half before Sam and Dean were waltzing back in from the garage, tossing their duffel bags aside and shucking off warm, autumn jackets to side chairs. Something must've given away their presence, as Castiel was quick to reenter the main room.

"How did it go?" He asked.

"Like shit," Dean said, not even bothering to stop as he passed Castiel.

"We didn't find anything," Sam clarified. "Whole place was clean."

"Well.. maybe it's at their house," Castiel said almost gingerly, turning to keep his ever-vigilant eyes on the elder Winchester. "All the tools and... stuff."

"Yeah, that's what we're hoping," Dean said as he disappeared into the hallway.

"When did you say your date was again?" Sam asked, turning to Jack, who blanked for a moment before he answered.

"Two days from now," he said.

"Alright, well... we'll see what happens," he said with a nod, setting his hands on his hips. "Hopefully find where they might be hiding the kids."

Dean reentered with a bottle in hand, taking a quick swig as he settled down into one of the cushier chairs.

Jack's heart sped when his fingers began to fidget together, squirming restlessly in front of him. Questions still lingered on the edge of his mind, and answers from anyone would do him well, though he was well aware Dean would probably be reluctant to offer any advice to him.

"Could I ask you some questions?" He asked in the general direction of Cas, who happened to be standing right beside Dean. Castiel opened his mouth to answer.

"Sure," Dean said before he could speak. Castiel promptly shut his mouth after that.

"I know this shouldn't get in the way of the case, and it won't," Jack said as he took a seat opposite Dean. He and his brother shot each other glances. "I just have strange... thoughts, when I am around the librarian. Impulses, kind of."

Dean, who had raised the bottle to his lips, paused at those words and set it down instead, a decision that shocked both Sam and Castiel.

"What kind of impulses?" He asked in a flat voice.

"I want to... eat them," Jack said slowly, his brow furrowed deeply as he looked at the ground. When he looked back up, all three men were staring at him.

"You want to what??" Castiel asked.

"Like.. put my mouth on them...?" He tried.

"Wait – you mean kissing?" Sam asked as he shifted his weight between his feet.

"N... no, I don't think it's that," Jack said, though he was growing even less sure of himself with how they continued to gawk at him.

"You want to make out with the fairy?" Dean asked with a look that screamed 'unbelievable'.

"Maybe?" was the best answer Jack could offer.

Dean sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his free hand.

"I don't want to.. encourage these thoughts," Castiel said, "but they might help on your date."

"So I should kiss them?"

"Maybe at the end of it," Sam suggested.

"And... how do I kiss?"

"Fuckin' –" Dean muttered under his breath as he stood, leaving the room with annoyance in his scowl.

The three of them––Jack, Sam, and Castiel––watched Dean round the corner and disappear.

"Ignore him," Sam said.

Sam, with some help from Castiel, patiently re-explained the happenings and ongoings of dates, from conversation topics to activities often done on dates. Sam assured Jack that he needn't do anything dramatic, over the top, or especially original, since Jack 'wasn't actually going on a date,' a phrase that made him a little sad for a reason he couldn't identify.

A bouquet of chocolate roses lay in his hands, the neon and florescent lights of the convenience store flickering and buzzing above him. Sam insisted a good way to start a date was with a gift––conventionally flowers, but the second Jack saw the chocolate roses he was entranced. He'd never seen candy in the shape of something real. Surely you would be delighted by the art, as well. Sam was less sure than he was, but allowed him to buy it with a chuckle, muttering something about how he wouldn't need to get chocolates anymore.

"Now remember," Sam began as he adjusted Jack's collar, "blood-soaked iron is what kills them, but since we don't have that right now, I think iron should hurt them."

"Forks, fire pokers, metal pipes... those usually have iron in them," said Dean.

"And if you get into a fight, just get out of there," Sam finished.

"No hanky-panky, either," Dean said.

"Dean," he hissed, slapping his brother's arm.

"What's hanky-panky?" Jack asked, furrowing his brow.

"Nevermind, just––be safe, have fun," Sam said with a smile, patting his shoulder.

The brothers dropped him off at your house before circling the block in search of a good vantage point. He took a shaky breath as he climbed your steps, soon rapping his knuckles on the plain, wooden door. It was a bit of a task trying to swallow, but he managed to push past his tight throat and put a smile on his face.

Footsteps sounded, growing closer until the door opened, revealing your wide eyes and the olive green silk you wore, draping elegantly from your chest down to your feet. A heavyweight scarf rested upon your shoulders. The warm light of the hallway behind you illuminated the loose strands of your always messy hair, but the sight still had his lips parting as he gasped softly. He felt suddenly out of place in his simple button-down, pants, and everyday jacket, shifting his weight almost uncomfortably as he found himself at a loss for words.

"You look... really nice," he said rather awkwardly, gesturing vaguely to your outfit with a dopey smile.

"Thanks," you said, chuckling. "You look nice too."

He stared for another moment before he suddenly remembered the chocolate and foil roses in his hands.

"I got these for you," he said as he handed them to you, scanning every inch of your reaction. "Sam told me to get flowers, but I think this is better, ‘cause then you get to eat them."

"You actually can eat roses! They just don't taste very good," you giggled, fixing your hair as you took them, a blushing smile still on your face. "I do like chocolate more, though."

"Oh, good," he said, his shoulders finally falling from their tense position. "I hope you don't mind walking. I don't know how to drive."

"I like walking, actually," you said as you walked past him, trotting down the front steps of your house. He followed along, his soft brown hair flopping like a puppy's ears over innocent eyes. "I like taking walks at night, but I don't take them a lot. It's kind of dangerous."

"Why?"

"A lot of people aren't very nice, or they're down on their luck and make poor decisions. I don't want to get hurt or mugged just because I like wandering around."

"Why would someone hurt you? You're such a nice person," he said with a frown.

"That doesn't mean anything," you laughed softly.

Food wasn't a particular attraction of Kansas, but few things were. The amount of restaurants in town was high, most of them serving a very similar menu containing lots of meat, barbecue, pie, and sometimes funnel cake. None were all that classy, so Jack took you to a place that Sam recommended––a nearly 24 hours open cafe whose kitchen was always open, and who hosted quiet, live jazz on select evenings.

You and Jack spoke of a number of things while you walked, none more interesting than any of your previous conversation topics, as you seemed to want to stay on the topic of him as a person rather than the history you usually rambled about. You asked who Sam was, which he explained as one of his fathers, at which point you asked who the second was. He hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should tell the truth or formulate a more normal-person lie.

"I... my mother died in childbirth," he said, his voice uncharacteristically low and quiet, murmuring with the sureness of his trust in you. "My father, Castiel, takes care of me, with his brothers, Sam and Dean."

"Oh. I'm sorry," you murmured, and he opened his mouth to give the usual speech––it's alright, I've gotten used to it––but you continued with, "it's an honorable way to die."

He paused to absorb your words. No one had ever said that before.

"Yeah," he finally said. "I guess you're right."

"So what's your father like?"

He sucked in a breath, forced to once again decide between a truth, a half-truth, and a lie. Like with most things, he took the middle road.

"My genetic father isn't... I don't talk to him," he said.

"Oh."

"But Castiel is good. He always tries to do what's right. I'm still trying to learn about this whole.. being-alive thing, from him."

"I think we all are," you chuckled.

You ended up ordering for him when you finally got to the cafe, standing in line for only a few minutes before you were looking for a table. He had trouble understanding the menu, often asking you what things were, and eventually you had to gently push him on to let the next people in line have a turn. If this bothered you, it didn't show.

Piano and saxophone played in time with one another, their rhythms and melodies dancing around the beat of the drummer. Scant, warm light shone from above, illuminating the haze of clouds drifting from smokers, most of whom stood in the corner, nursing the embers as they watched the musicians play. Jack tapped his foot to the beat against the dark oak floor.

You joined him a moment later, two coffees in hand and your coat draped over your arm.

"Have you ever been here before?" You asked as you took a seat, casting your jacket over the back of the chair after you set the coffee down.

"No, I don't really get out much," he admitted.

"How come?"

"I don't.. really have friends," he admitted, again, though this time much more reluctantly. He'd heard that generally people respected you more if you had friends.

"That's alright," you said, leaning back with a soft smile made only more alluring by the dim, red and orange light. "I've found it's more fun to stay in than to go out sometimes. Everything becomes the same after a while. You can drink at home, you can dance at home, sing, host parties..." you sipped from your steaming cup, ".. so, obviously, I don't go out much either."

"You have friends, though?"

"Not really," you chuckled, glancing down. "Books last longer than conversation, generally."

"Then... why talk to me?" He asked, attempting to meet your eye with that knot still tucked into his brow.

"Because you came to me."

Soon your conversation was halted by a server bringing out your food. You made sure to thank him as he left, before hungry eyes settled eagerly upon your funnel cake. Unwrapping the napkin, you set the orange cloth on your lap, revealing your silverware. Jack followed your lead, copying your motions near exactly down to you rubbing your hands together excitedly.

He'd never tried funnel cake before, leaving him to melt as he took his first bite.

"Good, isn't it?" You chuckled through a full mouth.

He nodded ardently.

The crowd began to thin halfway through your meal, turning thick conversation to quiet murmurs confined to singular tables in corners and shadowed areas. Jack still had yet to find anything incriminating about you, an answer that led only to other questions, ones that flew wildly around his head.

You didn't seem human––at least, not entirely. There were things you said that hinted to something else, a knowledge within that was a little too wide for the lengths of a human mind. That and your soul; what he could see of your soul was strangely colored, florescent holographic, and warped far more than normal people's usually were––almost as warped as Sam and Dean's souls now were. Bright, yes, but warped. Something had happened to you.

But there was nothing bad within you. Darkness tinted the edges, the edges so often scraped by the world around you––the world around both of you––but the center within, where your heart emanated, was clear. It was actually rather beautiful; you were rather beautiful.

He wished he could tell you without seeming strange.

"What do you think about most, Jack?" You asked, pulling him away from his thoughts.

He instantly stuttered, as what he'd been thinking about was you, but he couldn't say that.

"Just.. uh, my, uh.. my place in the world," he said, tapping the end of his fork on the old wood table.

"Like your job, or your purpose as a human?" You asked as you sipped from your third refill of coffee.

"My purpose, sort of," he said, his eyes flickering to the ground. "I have a lot of responsibility. My father thinks I'm very powerful."

Was that giving too much away?

"What does he want you to do?"

"He wants me... to stay alive," he said, earning a soft chuckle from you that had a smile spreading across his own face. "I think he wants me to be safe and happy."

"That's a wonderful goal," you said with a grin. "And there are so many ways to achieve that."

So far he'd only found ways to achieve the opposite––how to antagonize the world by existing, how his grandfather wanted him dead, how his genetic father would use him for any power grab he posed. If you wanted to feel at risk of dying at any moment, he knew a thousand ways to do it.

"I haven't really found any," he said quietly.

You paused before you asked, "do you want my advice?"

He nodded, hesitantly at first, but sure of himself when you smiled softly.

"Always be kind to others. Mind your own business unless someone is getting hurt, and if you have to get your hands dirty, do it for only a second. Then get the hell out of there and wash yourself clean for the next hundred couple years," you said.

There it was again. A hint of something more. In passing conversations Jack heard from strangers, no one spoke like they lived history. Not like you did. And he'd wager no historian spoke with the sense of memory that you did.

"Anything specific make you realize that?" He asked, unable to stop himself from chuckling.

You looked his age––sometime in your 20's––but you spoke like an 80 year old. Something about that facade appeared humorous to him. He also looked your age––sometime in his 20′s––but he spoke like a 10 year old far more than he liked to admit.

"Family drama," you said dismissively. "I've been steering clear for a while now."

Did fairies have families?

Well, if you were a fairy, you could just be lying then.

Jack frowned. If Dean or Castiel were here, they would know what to say and think.

"I understand," was what he said instead.

The impala was still parked near the house by the time Jack was walking you home, a sight that nearly sent him panicking. Sam and Dean wouldn't want him to do that. So he clenched his fists in his pockets, his shoulders tightening ever so slightly as he tried to slow his pace in a way you wouldn't notice.

But you did. Of course you did.

"You alright, Jack?" You asked, matching his pace.

"Yeah, I just..." what was something normal to say? Something he could back up – "I meant to ask you something, but I didn't ever... find the time to."

"What was it you wanted to ask?"

He shivered as a brisk wind picked up, the dry, orange leaves on the edges of the sidewalk passing quick by his feet in the breeze.

"Do you think everyone feels this lost in life?" He asked, barely audible above the wind.

"There's a little bit of you in everybody, just like how there's a little bit of everybody in you. You're capable of the same things that a murderer is just as you are a... a hero, or a martyr," you said, taking time to think before you spoke. "Humans are remarkably similar, you come to see after a while. And even Gods face these questions, these wonderings of their origins and their purpose, if their creations are everything they're meant for or – or if they're doing something wrong, and they should be doing something else instead."

He continued to stare at the ground as you walked slowly side by side, brought out of his intense expression by something soft flopping over the back of his neck. His heart thrummed as you stopped him there, turning him to face you, and looking him in the eye as you fixed your scarf on his shoulders. The effect was instantaneous––his shoulders relaxed and the stress fell from his brow, absorbed in the warmth of your gesture.

"Whatever you're going through," you gave him a pointed look, telling him silently to not deny this truth, "is worse and better than what other people go through. It may not be the best but it's probably not the worst."

Your advice, though insightful, didn't mean much considering his problems had to do with the continued life or prompt execution of the entire universe by a bitter, old man. But the main point remained; there were more painful deaths than his, just as there were better ways to die than he would or will. He may not be facing the best circumstances, but they could be much worse, and the fact that normal humans often asked the same questions he did was more of a comfort than he thought it would be. Perhaps he really was connected to his mother in that way.

The steps creaked beneath your shared weight as you both approached the front door of your house. You opened the door, stepping partway through the threshold before you turned to him, hesitation lacing your open mouth.

Behind you, Jack managed to spot two shadowed figures running across the hallway towards what he presumed to be a back door. His eyes widened imperceptibly and he pursed his lips, quick averting his gaze back to you.

"You're special, Jack," you said quietly, scanning him with a careful look. "Don't let bad circumstances own you. You only get so much time in this world."

"You're very kind," was all he could managed to respond with. "Thanks for... going out with me tonight."

"Of course. I like talking to you."

"I'm glad you do," he said with a sheepish chuckle, one you mimicked as you fixed your hair.

"I'll see you again soon?"

"Yes, I – oh," he interrupted himself, remembering your scarf still enveloping him, "this belongs to you."

"Don't worry about it," you said, taking his arms and settling them back down to his sides. "It's kind of cold out tonight, and I'm assuming you're walking home... aren't you?"

"... yeah," he lied, blood rushing to his face at the thought of taking a piece of you home.

"Then I'll get it back another time," you said, smiling.

You hesitated to close the door again, and instead you gingerly moved forward, raising yourself to press a single, soft kiss to his cheek, the edge of it just barely touching his lips. His mouth parted in surprise, but before he could say anything you shut the door.

He walked back to the impala completely starstruck.

"I don't think they're dangerous," Jack said, restating what he'd said earlier to Sam and Dean on the drive home––he just couldn't see you as suspicious. Strange, yes, but not murderous.

"If what you say is true, though, then this is quite likely a fae," said Castiel as his eyes flickered from Jack to Sam and Dean.

"See? Facts are facts, kid," Dean said, pointing to Castiel with a smile.

"Hexbags, crystals, actual photos with them from, like, 1890? And the amount of plants," Sam continued with a slight shudder.

"How many plants were there?" Castiel asked, frowning sternly.

"Too damn many," Dean answered for him. "The point is, we gotta interrogate that thing."

"They didn't do anything wrong!" Jack said, his voice tripling without his knowledge.

Everyone in the room reacted accordingly––stiff postures and sharp breaths as the golden light faded in his eyes.

"Jack..." Castiel began hesitantly, his voice quiet and low.

He barely uttered out an 'I'm sorry,' before he turned and left, disappearing down the hallway and into his room.

It took him nearly a whole day to leave his room, having spent most of the time alone to brood and ponder over his actions, and whether or not he was being manipulated by a fairy creature. He couldn't deny the fact that there was a chance he was wrong and he was under your control, thus landing him with the only sane decision, somehow; trust Sam and Dean.

Silence surrounded him as he padded through the bunker, headed towards the kitchens after not eating for nearly 24 hours. Technically he could live without food for much, much longer than that, even without sleep, but it wasn't a particularly pleasant experience.

When he reached the kitchen he also found it empty. In fact, the whole bunker sounded empty, leaving all the cereal for him. He smiled.

Sam and Dean returned before Castiel did, though after their return they hid away doing 'private business' in the basement area. Jack tried to ask what it was they were doing, but Dean curtly brushed him off, sending him back upstairs to go clean up the mess they left in the kitchen after a quick, midnight dinner.

As he was scrubbing the dishes, a door lock clattered in the distance, marking Castiel's return. Now that the fort was manned again, he could sneak off to see you in the morning. Castiel informed him that showing up at people's houses at midnight could be seen in a very bad way. He knew you wouldn't judge him, but he still didn't want to embarrass himself, and it was only a few more hours to wait till dawn.

He could fly. He could also ask Sam or Dean to drive him (while he could also ask to drive Baby, he knew the answer would be an ardent no), but the grey clouds promised rain, and the smell of rain hitting the leaf-covered earth pleasured his mind. With your scarf wrapped around him, he could avoid the cold as well.

His feet were a little tired by the time your library came into view, though still warm in the crisp air from fuzzy, woolen socks. The frayed edges of your scarf fluttered about chaotically in the wind as he noticed something rather odd––the library wasn't open. None of the lights were turned on, the chairs were still atop the tables, and you were nowhere to be seen. He had left the bunker a little early, but you always opened by 5AM at the latest, and it was 8 now.

For several minutes he hadn't a clue as to what to do, meaning he stood motionless in silence in front of the glass door, his head tilting slowly to the side in confusion. Maybe you woke up late––that would explain it. You were perfectly safe in your bed, dozing after a good night's sleep, completely unharmed.

But things rarely worked out so easily for Jack. Your home was empty, no sign of your disappearance left as your shoes, jacket, keys, and wallet were still left by the front door. In a sudden panic at the thought of your absence, the world around him flickered for a split second before he appeared in the bunker's war room. Knowing the usual fate of the people he cared about, you were probably being hurt, perhaps kidnapped by the actual fae who'd been killing the children, or lost of your own volition in a forest you wandered too far into.

"Castiel." Jack grabbed the angel's coat sleeve, stopping him on the way to the stairs. "I went looking for the librarian and they're missing."

"Missing?" Castiel repeated with a grimace. "Did you check the library and the house?"

"Yes, I couldn't find them."

"They might be headed for the children," he said, sending a pang through Jack's heart that he ignored.

"Is... is there a way to track a fae?"

"There's no spell I know of," Castiel said, his gaze falling to the floor as he scanned his mind. "But if it's a magical creature, it may carry a sort of... a sort of scent."

"A scent?" Jack furrowed his brow, wondering if something could carry your scent.

Something you'd been around a while. Something like your books, or your bed, or –

Jack jumped after he realized he was still wearing your scarf which, despite its' time with Jack in his room, still smelled of you. He shoved it into Castiel's arms, but he only gave him a confused look.

"It's their scarf," he explained.

Castiel spared him from the embarrassment of explaining how he'd gotten it.

He held the crumpled scarf in his hand up to his nose, intaking a deep breath with closed eyes. Jack hadn't ever heard of this kind of tracking, which was odd since he inherently knew most things about angels, but he would never distrust his father. What he did distrust was the churning feeling in his chest, as though a curved knife had impaled itself in him and twisted slowly through his skin.

Doubts pervaded both angels almost immediately as Castiel followed the trail. It led near to the stairs, but took a harsh turn and went into the hallway, leading them further into the bunker.

"Are you sure this is theirs?" Castiel asked as they hurried down the hall.

"Positive," he said, earning a sigh and a nod from Castiel.

They continued, this time less sure of themselves, as the scarf continued to lead them through the bunker, trotting down stairs till they landed in the base floor. Here the walls, ceiling, and floor were made of thick cement, allowing their footsteps to echo around the empty halls.

Jack picked up the pace and Castiel followed, running after the trail that ended right in front of the dungeon door. The torture room door, where monsters were locked up, and sometimes friends as well. A sort of fury was boiling in his blood despite his earlier acceptance of the Winchester's plan. Keeping you here in secret was never something he agreed to.

Without even fully realizing it, Jack was wrenching open the handle, the door whizzing open and slamming against the wall with a resounding crack. There, in the center of a pentagram, you were bound to a chair with thick, iron chains, your molted form flanked by Sam and Dean. The latter carried a knife in his hand, one covered in dripping blood. Sam whirled around at the sound of the door opening, meaning he was the first to see Jack's glowing eyes, and the suddenly panicked expression on Castiel's face.

"What are you doing to them?" Castiel growled with wide eyes, taking long, quick steps over in front of you. Without hesitation he undid the restraints, letting you fall down to the floor.

"Cas, they're a fae," Dean said, his tone stern and curt.

"No, they're not," Castiel replied, his own voice equally as sure. "I can't.. blame you, for not knowing this. You're only human. But it's obvious to me."

Sam opened his crossed arms, waiting for the angel to explain himself. Meanwhile, Jack regained his composure after being shocked by Castiel's actions, and made his way over to you, kneeling at your side. You'd been cut in a few different places––nothing too grievous, at least not by Winchester standards––and drops of your blood painted streaks down your sweaty skin.

"They're an Old God," Castiel finally said, but the words were followed by silence.

"We're just supposed to know what that is?" Dean asked gruffly.

"I thought your brother might," he said in a quiet voice.

Dean unfolded his arms, shifting his weight as he cast a glance to his brother.

"Old Gods are... ancient deities created by wandering bands of hunter-gatherers in your past. They got their power from their worshippers, not from Chuck, which... made them very different, to say the least," Castiel continued, still keeping his voice soft as he raised his hand above several of your wounds, stitching the skin back together with his grace.

"I've heard of hunter and gatherers," Jack said as he recalled some of the books in your library. "They wandered in bands of around 50 to 100 people."

He earned several unimpressed stares.

"Well – if they got their power from worshippers, how's this one still alive?" Sam asked after a moment of silence.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "I've never met this one before."

"Okay, just because they're not a fae doesn't mean they aren't the one that killed those kids," Dean said, interrupting their short conversation.

The iron knife still twirled in his hands; the only weapon against fairies. Jack kept a close eye on it as they spoke.

"An Old God would never hurt a human," Castiel said with such an intensity that no one had any choice but to believe him. “And besides,” he turned back to you, “they would’ve lost their powers long ago when humans stopped believing in them.”

Your eyes listed open while you lay in Jack's hold, the swirling image of your friend coming lazily into view.

"... Jack?" You mumbled, struggling to keep your eyelids up.

His gaze shot down to you, eyes widening at the sight of your movement.

"Hey," he said softly, hushing you when you tried to speak. "Are you okay?"

You mustered your strength to nod.

"I'm assuming you're an agricultural God," Castiel said after a moment of watching the two of you interact. "You look to be around 12,000 years old." He looked up to Dean and Sam. "That's how old agriculture is."

"Yeah, I know," Sam scoffed, but Dean remained silent.

"Do I really look that old?" You asked, laughing through your slurred words.

"Your soul does," Castiel answered.

You hummed weakly in response, drifting back into unconsciousness, your body going limp in Jack's arms.

Jack healed what remaining injuries you had, using it partway as an excuse to touch you. His palms set flat on the cuts, and with you far off in your dreams, you didn't feel the burn or the relief of his healing. He thought first to bring to his room to lay you on his bed, but Sam gently suggested that you should be put in one of their many spare bedrooms.

Castiel and the Winchesters attempted to take his mind off of you, but it wasn't long before he was back at your side, waiting for you to wake up again. He scanned your body constantly with his mind, searching for any hidden injuries he might've missed the first time around. The case remained unsolved, the children still missing and the culprit unknown. Your disqualifying left the Winchesters with no more suspects, but Jack couldn’t bring himself to worry about a creature that wouldn’t strike again for another ten years when you wouldn’t wake up to his voice calling your name.

It took hours until you stirred again, eyes fluttering into a half-open state as they fell to Jack. He had his head hung low, his elbows leant on his knees, and his hair drooping in front of his face.

"I was created in Turkey," you rasped out through a dry throat.

At the slightest sound his head shot up, eyes widening with a spark upon seeing your soft smile.

"It's a country, by the way," you mumbled, correctly assuming Jack didn't know the country, and only knew the bird. "At a place they call Gobekli Tepe, now. The people of the land would... would gather there, and share their cultured seeds, and the magic needed to make them grow."

"Magic?"

"Simple water and sunlight," you said with a weak chuckle. "It was magic to them. Everything was."

You fell silent before you said, "I miss them."

"Were they different? From people now?" Jack asked.

"Very," you nodded assuredly. "But there are some people, nowadays, that remind me of them."

He chuckled quietly. Warmth spread from your touch when you reached forward, just barely gracing his hand with yours. He took the initiative, entangling your fingers together, and watching intently as your thumb ran over the back of his hand.

"You are a new God, aren't you?" You asked, narrowing your eyes curiously, with no sense of hostility.

"I'm... I'm a nephilim. Lucifer's son, actually, but I promise I'm not like him," he said, gripping you tighter.

"A nephilim?" You asked with a frown.

"The son of an angel," he clarified.

It was the first time he was able to tell you something you didn't know instead of the other way around.

"I've never heard of angels."

His brows raised in surprise.

"Really?" He asked.

"I haven't really kept up with the world as of recent. When did angels first appear?"

"I... don't know," he said after wracking his brain and finding no answer. "Castiel might know."

"Castiel.. Castiel, that was your father, right?"

"Yeah. The good one," he said, earning a chuckle from you that brought a blush to his face.

"He is another God?"

"Another angel, yes," he nodded. "(Y/N), I... I have so many questions for you."

"About what?" You asked skeptically, giving him a playful glare.

"About humans, mostly," he said. "I mean, I've already been asking you questions, but now I know you have a lot more answers than I thought."

"Yes, well, I do keep my memory stored in a mushroom," you muttered beneath your breath.

Jack frowned. Was that normal?

"Can you tell me about them?" He asked, just barely masking his eagerness.

"My people?"

He nodded, and you smiled softly, your eyes glazing over as you recalled thousands of years past.