#and maybe Claire can just see ghosts it be like that sometimes

[athetos]

Rn I’m reading dead silence by s. A. Barnes and I’m hooked… basically a space crew on the way back from repairs finds the spaceship version of the titanic that disappeared decades ago, and after much discussion they go on board to find the black box (and stuff to sell, since some of them have a need for money more than respect for the dead) and they find out that whatever happened is way more horrifying than they could have expected. I think the characters are pretty standard archetypes but they’re fun to see interact but the protagonist is really cool because she has ptsd + I can definitely see her being autistic as well and I like how she’s written. And like you gotta wonder is there something actually paranormal going on? Are the hallucinations she had as a child actually real? I wanna get answers soooooo badly

[raethereptile]

"You use a scalpel, I prefer a hammer."

I am having so many thoughts about this line because sure Ethan is a scalpel but like no he's not he's...well ok let me try and meta for a second

Because Mission Impossible 1, he's a scalpel. By god is he a scalpel. He manipulates and deceives and seduces and tricks and betrays and sets people up and pulls off these delicate and precise maneuvers and leaves without a trace and he shows people what they want to see whether that's being flashy or subtle or dumb or smart or

And he survives the worst time of his life by using all of these skills as they're being used against him and he hates it

I think thats why I'm fascinated by his interaction with Max, because they're using the same playbook and they are aware of what the other is doing so they have a little fun with it. Like, Ethan is living through hell and he's desperate, and he's pretty scared of Max underneath that boyish grin. But it's fun. They're both being a good sport about it. Because it's mutual. But it's mutual in a very different way to Jim/Claire's manipulation of him is mutual. I'm not sure I'm expressing this well.

He hates it, just a little at first, and then by the end I think he hates it a lot because

Mission Impossible 2 happens and (if memory serves right because I haven't seen the film in years) he's trying so fucking hard not to be a scalpel. He's trying to be a hammer.

And he's rough and abrasive and reckless and little bit feral. He's split lips and bruises knuckles. He hits hard and expects to be hit harder, because he's punishing himself and punishing the world and it shows. He learns violence as a tool and learns how to use it. And he hammers his way through the problem because he can't stomach the thought of being a scalpel anymore.

And then, slowly, through mi3 and beyond, we see him walk the path back to being a scalpel.

He'll never forget what Jim and Claire did to him but maybe he doesn't let the wound fester anymore and let's it start to heal.

But he can never be a scalpel again.

Because he's learned the advantages of a hammer too.

Sometimes you need to be a ghost but sometimes you need to make a scene.

Because a scalpel could never fight the way Ethan fights. To the bitter end, blood between his teeth, and not necessarily his own. Would never drive a car off a building to get to the bottom faster, wouldn't drive a car post drowning to death, wouldn't crash a helicopter on purpose. Could never do the most extreme of the stunts that Ethan pulls off.

I mean, he's better at them because he can be a scalpel while doing them. But to do them at all...

But a hammer could never put on a mask and become someone else. Could never seduce a target. Or interrogate someone without them ever figuring out they were interrogated. Or break in somewhere to steal what they need and leave without a trace.

Walker could never have done what Ethan did in Paris. Because Lark and Walker weren't two different people. They were the same person with part of themselves hidden behind a vail so they could blend in. But Ethan. Ethan thought "I need to be Lark" and then became him. Dead eyed stare and "I slaughtered women and children with smallpox" and the White Widow trapped in his gaze terrified down to her marrow. A hammer couldn't do that. Only a scalpel.

Ethan swings between scalpel and hammer as needed and becomes something of the two combined, becomes something terrifying

It's what marks him, out of all the IMF, as the living manifestation of destiny. As the mind-reading, shapeshifting, incarnation of chaos. The one they tell stories about, the stories that surely can't all be true

So Ethan's not a scalpel. And he's not a hammer. I'm not sure what he is. And maybe Ethan wonders about that sometimes too.

Side note: I would like to invite the king of mission impossible 1 meta @deanwinchestersfloralwallpaper to way in, since I'm sure they'll be able to articulate all of this much clearer than I have

[kirnet]

1.4k words. read on ao3

Rust Cohle lies in the dark and dreams of women.

He has since his wife, since his daughter, since the drugs and shell casings turned his neurochemistry into a nuclear holocaust. He sees things - the soft curve of Sophia’s flushed cheek, her lips stained purple by juice - in oncoming traffic, the headlights burning his eyes to the point of tears. Strands of hair dancing in the field of his vision against neon signs, soft laughter hidden in the beat of bird wings. Always intangible, always romanticized.

He doesn’t need to tell himself they’re not real. He knows.

He lies in the dark and thinks about women, the mattress springs digging into his bare back, watching the shadows under the crucifix nailed to the wall morph until he’s had enough. He’s not getting to sleep tonight, not anything deeper than a fluttering of his eyelids and the lucid dreams waiting in every corner. Pulls himself out of bed, lights a cigarette and sucks it down like oxygen as he stumbles through the blue light that fogs his hallway.

Catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, he pauses, but it’s just the small mirror nailed to the wall holding his askew reflection. He stops, leans forward, falls deep into the pit of his own gaze until he can feel the bottom. Good, there’s still a bottom to feel.

Realizing the cigarette between his lips has burned to nothing but a stub, he pulls back for another one, vertigo stretching his nerves to their thinnest as the air around him repressurizes. Fields of wheat sway in his vision, and for a moment he’s back in Texas, Claire’s fingernails tracing shapes in his arm as the truck stumbles down that dirt road-

He whips around. There is something there, not wheat, but a woman, her blonde hair tumbling down her front. A faux modesty, covering her breasts as she stands nude only a few steps from his mattress. The blindfold is still wrapped around her eyes, though he knows they’re an overcast blue, and the thorns and antlers are still tangled up in her scalp. They stand in silence, Rust trying to blink her away, but the murdered woman remains, the stab wounds in her stomach weeping congealed blood that drips to his floor. Her lips part - half smile and half scream - before they move, sounding out three silent syllables.

Rust narrows his eyes, steps closer, can feel the ice of her stare dripping down his spine when he can’t return it. “What?” he wants to ask, to grab hold of a ghost and get her to speak. But she just raises her arm to the side, burned dirt still trapped under her fingernails, her wrists bruised a midnight purple, and points to the wall.

When he turns to follow her gesture, all he finds is the simple wooden crucifix, the only adornment in a plane of impersonality. He knows she’s gone before he even looks, the smell of ozone lingering, but he still drops his gaze to the carpet, tries and fails to find dotted wine stains.

He checks his pulse. Doesn’t like what he feels.

-

She follows him around, a funeral procession for the living, always in late hours. Fluorescent bulbs at the station catching moths and buzzing at a frequency that makes him taste copper. He washes it away with coffee and another cigarette. She usually doesn’t pass the threshold through the front doors, doesn’t like all the noise or all the cops, Rust isn’t sure. But she enters when people begin to trickle out, keeps him company when Marty leaves to see his secretary. Or maybe it really is Maggie this time.

He knows her name now, Dora Lange, knows how she looked on her prom night, knows the gap-toothed smile she had when she was Sophia’s age. Right now she’s blue, bloated, her blood stuck in her legs when she was made to kneel. Her wounds have turned black, the once calligraphy-thin rivulets of blood staining wide marks down the length of her naked body. Sometimes he feels like a haruspex, studying the gore oozing from her gut as if it holds any answer, or sometimes he watches that strange swirl in between her shoulder blades long enough to make it move. It could hypnotize a lesser man.

Still can’t see her eyes through that blindfold, still doesn’t know what her voice sounds like. And maybe that’s a blessing, an interruption to whatever chains her to his side, something that stops her from haunting him completely. But Rust doesn’t believe in God or ghosts, so he ignores her, focus turned to the statements in front of him. Canvasing photos, her husband, her friend Carla. “Yesterday upon the stair, I met a man who wasn’t there… He wasn’t there again today.”

He can hear her antlers scrape against the window blinds like a bird trapped inside. He has to remind himself that they are an addition, a defilement, not a thing naturally growing out of her skull. She’s a hallucination, an unreality to file away with the rest of the women he knows the names of. Nothing more than neurons misfiring.

“I wish, I wish he’d go away.”

Her father wouldn’t bathe her.

The temperature drops as she nears. She smells like pine and salt, an Alaskan chill fogging his breath, but it’s really just a cloud of cigarette smoke curling lazily in the air. Twists, bends until it's a jagged spiral. A rudimentary shape. Primal. Something a child would draw in crayon. A pictogram etched into a cave wall.

There’s breath on his ear, three short bursts - and then she’s gone.

-

He knows it’s the right church the moment he steps out from the car.

Even with his back turned towards the structure, his hair catching the breeze off the lakes, he knows. The blackbirds erupt up together, flock, whirl in turn into a spiral that he sees every time he blinks..

It’s Lange’s body sketched in his ledger, her wounds and marks. It’s her history printed out in color and taped up in his apartment where she first appeared. He stares at her and thinks, eyes darting from the two dimensional copies to the decaying corpse a few feet away, a beer in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. Flies buzz and land on her antlers, but she doesn’t bat them away, she just waits.

Sometimes he forgets the shape of Sophia’s nose. He can draw Lange’s lips from memory.

“Devil nets” is what that pastor had called the bundles of sticks they found Lange with. “Bird nets.” Catch the Devil before he gets too close. Trap a girl while she can still sing. Something to tie together to keep the hands busy. A cross. A cage.

She’s in the back of the car, leaking out all over the interior, not that Marty notices as he slams the door closed and strides to the husk of the church’s foundation. It would almost be funny, the way this woman made of smoke and vapor has to stoop to fit her antlers in this physical space, but Rust is too filled with electricity to care. He follows behind Marty, his ledger buzzing underneath his palm, the very fabric of the universe opening to welcome him in.

An owl waits in the charred rafters, watching the men below with half lidded eyes, some sort of angel above the sad mortality of men. Rust can feel Lange’s burning interest in the creature, jealousy maybe, before it spooks and flutters away, utterly silent. Marty doesn’t notice as he toes away at some debris, can’t smell the thunder-crack static in her hair even after she’s been tailing Rust for weeks. Lange pulls her blind but seeing eyes away, her bare feet gliding over splinters and nails, and points. Her jaw works, a fish gasping in oxygen.

She’s not real. They don’t talk; he won’t and she can’t. But there’s a trust there, a knowing in his ancient hindbrain that this is intuition, that this must be the religion that Marty and the other cops yap about. A truth that burns away any darkness.

She can’t talk so Rust does it for her, calls Marty over before he’s even started to move towards the mess of vines. She can’t touch, so he pulls the foliage away, revealing a crude charcoal figure drawn in the exact way she was found in; kneeling, naked, hands bound. But it’s faceless, no mouth given shape on the worn concrete.

Dora Lange’s mouth opens, and Rust cannot tell if she is laughing or screaming.

[totallynotthedarkreunion]

kaidou

Okay I have many many many many ideas about this boy I don't think you understand what you're getting yourself into

I'd like to start off with the idea that he's a Ghost fan (mainly because I love self projecting but also), not like a die-hard fan but he listens to them because they're edgy. Same with MCR, Linkin Park, and maybe a little Metallica tho he's mostly into like early 2000s stuff

He probably got a lot of his accessories at Claire's

In the show his eyes are like a reddish-brown color and honestly I've had debates with my brother over whether they're red or brown but I think we both know the real answer is he wears cheap red contacts to make himself look spooky and they're not opaque enough so you can still see his eyes are brown.

He has desperately tried to learn how to skateboard but he can't do it to save his life.

He's a FNAF fan.

He's a reddit user.

I like to think he's a little jealous of Hairo sometimes too, like you know how Hairo does all that stuff to help people and he's super athletic and strong and like basically a superhero. And then when he tried to help it went wrong, like how they thought Nendou liked little girls and he was like "we need to stop him >:(!" But then it turned out he was just visiting his dead dad's grave. He probably looks at Hairo and is like aw man I wish that was me. And he was happy to bond with Hairo over exploding the metal bowl in the microwave.

His mom made him learn how to play the piano.

That's all I have for now, I might come back hsjdhdj

[supersapphical]

sooo i'm not sure who first posted about claire x patience but honestly it's been rattling around in my mind ever since so a lil drabble about them would be amazing!! <3

YESSSSS Claire x Patience, let's do it!

This is a liiiiiiitle bit longer than a lil drabble because apparently I have no self control when it comes to rarepairs but please enjoy established relationship Claire/Patience on a hunt (also Missouri is alive and well).

Read on AO3 or under the cut.

“You ready for this?” Claire asks.

Claire’s hand grips Patience’s hand tightly as Patience nods resolutely. Claire’s other hand carries a duffle bag full of supplies.

“Okay, let’s do it.”

Claire leads her in through the backdoor of the house, which had clearly been broken into before. Patience raises an eyebrow.

“What? It’s an abandoned, haunted house,” Claire shrugs. “Who's gonna care if I break a few locks?”

The air inside the house is noticeably chillier than outside but, other than that, it seems like any other building that’s fallen into disuse. Dust covering the surfaces, a bit of a stuffy smell, nothing that overtly indicates a haunting. And yet, as soon as Patience steps inside, she can sense the spirit’s presence. It’s nothing she can feel, hear, smell, taste or touch. It’s simply sure knowledge that invades her brain, sending shivers down her spine for no good reason.

Claire must notice the change in her demeanor because she asks, “Your extra senses already picking something up?”

“Yeah, you’re right, there’s definitely a ghost in here,” Patience says.

“You ready to get to work?”

Patience nods. Claire gives a final squeeze to her hand before letting go so she can get to work setting up a salt circle around Patience.

“Most ghosts don’t tend to be active during the day but just in case,” she says as she dumps salt around her.

“What do you want me to look for, specifically?” Patience asks.

“Anything you can pick up on that might help me see what’s keeping the ghost here.”

“You already torched the remains?”

“Cremated,” Claire grunts as she heaves the last of the salt onto the floor.

“All set?” Patience asks.

Claire pulls two iron crow bars from her bag and hands one to Patience, “As set as we can be.”

Patience takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She grips the crow bar more as a grounding technique than with any real intention of actually using it. She knew some basic self defense even before taking up the life of a hunter and she’s been taking more in depth hand-to-hand combat lessons with Jody but a deep psychic reading will require all of her focus.

“You should come spar with me sometime, I’ll show you how to actually use that thing,” Claire teases her lightly, indicating the completely unthreatening grip Patience has on the crow bar.

“Quiet,” Patience hushes her but it does give her some encouragement to realize she knew exactly how Claire was gesturing without even opening her eyes. She’s really starting to get good at projecting her consciousness outward.

Or perhaps she’s just gotten too familiar with Claire’s body language.

Patience shakes the very distracting thought of Claire’s body out of her head and tries to center herself again.

“It could be useful, you know, practicing some fighting techniques,” Claire continues.

“You really want me to come beat you again?”

“That wasn’t a fair fight! You cheated,” Claire huffs.

“Anticipating your movements and reacting to them is just what fighting is,” Patiences says calmly, her eyes still closed and breathing even. “That’s not cheating.”

“It is when you’re psychic,” Claire rolls her eyes.

“Do you want me to focus or not? Reading the energy in this room is taking longer than it usually does.”

“Maybe you just have to have some patience,” Claire smirks.

Patience groans, “Your dad jokes are getting worse than Dean’s.”

She says it mostly to shut Claire up and it works because Claire stands there with her mouth gaping open, clearly taken aback.

“You love my dad jokes,” Claire eventually mutters, her arms crossed and an offended look marring her face.

Patience tries to clear her mind again. She’s been honing her gift through lessons with her grandmother, Missouri, who assures her she’s been getting better but focusing her powers still takes her a tremendous amount of energy and concentration. She wishes all visions could come to her as easily as the unprompted ones do. She frequently wonders if she’ll ever be able to access her powers with complete ease, the way her grandma seems to do. Her grandmother tells her (without her ever saying her fears out loud) that it will come with time and practice. Until then, she guesses she just has to struggle through.

With another deep inhale and a slow exhale, she sends her consciousness outward, into the house. Tapping into the house’s strange energy, she follows along in her mind to every corner and cranny, searching out to see if any object in the house has sentimental meaning attached. Sentimental objects always have a different aura.

She startles a little as she bumps up against a strange energy she’s not familiar with. It’s something dark and dangerous. This must be the ghost. It’s strange, to try to connect with the energies of a house and suddenly be connected to a sentient spirit but she supposes it must work differently with dead people. When she connects with the energy of a space, she is feeling out the memories of all that has happened there. What is a ghost but a memory that can speak for itself?

She tries to unobtrusively follow the spirit’s energy, searching for its source in the house. Her consciousness moves through room after room, trying to feel out where this specific energy is strongest.

She’s feeling out a long forgotten upstairs bedroom when suddenly she’s hit with a powerful wave of desperation. Being in this room is torture, being in this room is suffocating her, being in this room is killing her. She tries to quickly retract herself from the room but she can’t, she’s stuck there and she’s being filled with feelings of despair and grief and pain that don’t belong to her.

In the room where her body stands, the atmosphere is changing. The temperature is dropping and a strange wind that seems to come from nowhere is picking up.

“Patience?” Claire asks, lifting up her crowbar so it's ready to swing.

Patience can’t answer. Her voice has been stolen from her. She can’t even nod to let Claire know she’s alright. She can see her own body in the salt circle that Claire had made for her, but everything she is is trapped in the upstairs bedroom.

A shaky apparition appears and Claire swings through it, banishing it but only for a moment before it rematerializes on the other side of the circle. Claire lunges for it, swinging, and banishes it again only for it to appear on the other side of the room.

The room downstairs becomes more and more hostile as Patience tries to escape the bedroom and bring herself back to her own body. Small debris starts circling in the wind as Claire works to keep banishing the apparition every time it appears.

“Patience! Are you alright?”

If Patience had the ability to speak, she’d only scream.

Claire is desperately fending off every attack with her crowbar as the wind picks up, howling louder and louder. Patience knows that Claire is in trouble, she’s a fighter but even she can’t fight off something undead forever. She can hear Claire struggling, fighting as hard as she can to keep up with something that doesn’t even have a living body to tire out. Logically, she knows she needs to move, to help but she’s so outside of her own body, she feels only distantly aware of the danger they both face at this moment.

“PATIENCE!”

Patience hears Claire’s frantic shouting over the sound of the roaring wind but she can’t respond. She can see in her mind’s eye that the wind is wearing away at the careful salt line keeping her safe but she’s too overwhelmed by misery and heartache to move.

Claire is wildly swinging her crowbar at any apparition that appears and Patience is no longer trying to hear she is overcome with the need to be heard. The feeling is strange, it’s such a powerful need that it fills her up until she might burst but it doesn’t feel like a part of her.

She thinks back to the breathing techniques her grandma taught her and tries to bring herself back to her physical body. It’s only doing this that she realizes that this urgent need she is feeling isn’t her own emotion, it’s the ghost’s emotions.

Tears are streaming down her face now as she finally has enough control over herself to quietly whisper to the howling wind, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

She projects these feelings towards the being she can sense in the house, she tries to send them all of her compassion while repeating over and over again, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

She closes her eyes tight and focuses all her empathy towards the tormented spirit. The wind starts to die down, bits and chunks of debris clattering back down to the floor. The air is less chilly now, the energy less hostile. The only sound now is Claire panting for breath, still clutching her crowbar.

“I should bring you on all the ghost hunts,” Claire says breathlessly, eyes continuing to search the room for any hidden threat.

Her eyes wide open now that she’s back in her body, tears are streaming silently down her face and she can’t bring herself to answer. Claire looks over at her in the silence.

“Hey, hey,” Claire says, walking up to her. “It’s okay, we’re both okay.”

Patience gasps in deep as if it's the first breath she’s taken since she connected with the spirit. She’s trying to remember her grandma’s rules. Ground yourself, keep yourself breathing, keep yourself calm, keep yourself aware.

Claire reaches up and gently cradles Patience’s face in her hands, “Patience, are you okay?”

Patience manages to nod this time.

“Good,” Claire says softly, wiping some of Patience’s tears away with her thumbs. “Are you coming back to me?”

Patience is still unable to answer, her own heart several armies worth of battling emotions.

Claire lets her forehead fall against Patience’s. Claire takes deep, slow, deliberate breaths, her hands still tenderly cradling Patience’s face and shuffles closer until the toes of their shoes touch. Patience closes her eyes again but this time, instead of spreading her awareness out further, she narrows it to only the points where Claire is touching her. The warm place where their foreheads rest together, Claire’s hands around her face, Claire’s work boots pressed up against her own soft sneakers.

She follows Claire’s breath, matching her own breathing with it until she feels like she’s entirely back in her own body again.

“What happened here?” Patience breathes out but then almost immediately says, “No, never mind. Don’t tell me. There’s a—”

She steps abruptly away from Claire and Claire’s hands fall down to her sides, looking almost dejected in the way they hang. Patiences looks around the room helplessly, unable to believe that when she first walked in here, it had looked so ordinary to her. Now she sees it for what it really is: a prison.

Patience takes a deep breath and then says, “There’s a loose floorboard upstairs.”

“Something hidden in there?” Claire asks, still eyeing Patience carefully but willing to take the cue that Patience just wants to keep working. “Well, let’s go check it out.”

Claire takes the duffle and easily walks upstairs and to the bedroom. Patience has a much harder time forcing her physical self to cross the threshold of the bedroom but she follows Claire anyway, knowing that there will be no relief for the spirit she felt if they don’t find a way to release it.

Claire gestures to the room and Patience points to the floorboard she knows holds secrets.

“Huh, actually get to use this thing as a crowbar,” Claire says happily, prying up the floorboard with the crowbar.

Patience drops to her knees, reaching into the hole to find that the floorboard holds dozens of letters, yellowed with age.

“What happened here?” Patience asks again.

“Are you sure you really want to know?”

Patience nods.

“Daughter of a family that lived here in the early sixties, she committed suicide.”

Patience takes this information in. It feels right but also…not.

“The story goes that she went insane so the family had to keep her locked up,” Claire continues. “They kept her locked in this room so she wouldn’t hurt anyone else.”

“No, that’s not right,” Patience says and she’s not even sure where the words come from, only that she’s sure they’re true.

“That’s what all the neighbors said,” Claire says. “But most of it was just rumors, I think.”

“She loved someone and her parents didn’t approve,” Patience says, her fingers lightly tracing the letters. “They locked her away so she couldn’t run away with him. These are the only things she had with her, to give her hope.”

A breeze stirs in the room and Claire is on high alert again, tightly gripping her crowbar but Patience doesn’t feel any threat in the spirit’s action, only affirmation.

“We don’t have to burn all of them, do we?” Patience asks.

Claire’s silence speaks volumes. Patience gathers the letter to herself, holding them close, her thumbs running gently along the worn in folds.

Holding the letters tenderly, Patience quietly says to them, “You must have loved him so much. It’s not fair that you have to stay here.”

Claire bows her head, hands clasped together in front of her so tightly that Patience can see bright red splotches contrasting with too pale points where the blood hasn’t been allowed to flow to her fingers properly.

“I’m so sorry this happened to you. It isn’t right and it isn’t fair. It’s also not right for you to be trapped here even after death, so it’s time to say goodbye now,” Patience says to the letters and the house and anyone else who may be listening.

Placing them carefully on the floor, Patience looks up to Claire expectantly. Claire reaches into the duffle bag by her feet and digs out the salt and matches.

“Do you want to…?” Claire asks, offering her the materials.

“I’ll do the salt,” Patience says. She takes it from Claire and carefully spreads grains of salt on to each letter, making sure the salt passes over all the folds and creases, before gently setting them down on the floor again.

“Ready?” Claire asks.

“Ready,” Patience says quietly.

Claire strikes a match and it sounds startlingly loud in the quiet of the room. The flame burns bright and illuminates Claire’s fair face in an almost ethereal glow as she bends down to let the fire catch on the letters.

They watch in silence as the letters are reduced to ashes.

“Come on, let's get out of here,” Claire says, offering Patience her hand. Patience grabs Claire’s hand and uses it to sling Claire’s arm around herself, nestling close to Claire and snaking her own arm around Claire’s waist. It’s a little awkward, Claire a little unbalanced because of the heavy duffle in her other hand but Patience needs the reassurance, the warm body pressed to her side as confirmation that Claire is still right here with her, very much alive and reachable.

“You’re getting really good at that stuff,” Claire says.

“Yeah,” Patience says, fiddling a little with the zipper on Claire’s jacket because it’s the only thing within her reach to fiddle with.

They walk back to the car in silence, still glued to each other. Patience dreads the moment when they’ll have to separate to get into the car, even if it will be the briefest of moments before they can touch each other again.

Claire throws the duffle in the trunk while still attached to Patience but then they walk to their separate sides of the car, Claire to the driver’s seat and Patience to the passenger’s seat. After they’re settled, Patience reaches out a hand and Claire’s is there to meet her. There’s a heaviness hanging over the car as they both sit silent and still.

“Do you regret coming out here, doing all this with us?” Claire asks her suddenly.

She says the word us but Patience hears what she’s really asking. Do you regret being with me?

“No,” Patience says firmly. “It’s hard sometimes. A lot of the time, but there’s no place I’d rather be.”

Claire smiles at her and starts the car.

“Me, either,” Claire says and she throws the car into drive and points it towards home.

[viktorenthusiast]

actually my tags on this post had me thinking and i think it’s really interesting dividing the siblings up into more emotion driven vs more utilitarian esp in season one and looking at the main conflicts of that season. i think 1, 3, 5, and 6 tend to be more on the pragmatic/logical/less emotional side and 2, 4, and 7 are largely driven by their emotions and you can kind of see how that plays out throughout the season.

the conflict between luther and diego is driven by the fact that luther operates by the idea that #1 = leader, which puts him at odds with diego, who it seems takes being number 2 personally. while i don’t think killing is necessarily a super personal thing to diego, he does spend the season trying to avenge patch. he lets his emotional attachments get in the way of arguably better judgment (the argument to keep grace on, leaving his siblings to fight cha cha, attacking hazel when he came to se five). whereas luther would argue he should put the team first and that’s why he’s not number 1.

the allison/viktor conflict revolves a lot around leonard, and you can really see how they each view each other’s actions completely differently. of course it was wrong of allison to break into his house and look him up with the the express purpose of finding dirt on him. but to her it’s a means to an end, just like rumoring is. it’s just something that must be done to achieve the desired results, which will ultimately benefit her. however we do see too in season one that she can be more emotion driven—she did argue to let viktor go, and didn’t shoot him when she had the chance. maybe it’s because it’s viktor, maybe that’s her trying to change, which is a big part of her character in season 1. viktor on the other hand takes literally everything personally he’s so emotion driven it’s not even funny. can we please bring back the fact that his emotions literally control the weather please i’m begging. anyway. he’s literally spent his entire life being left out, neglected, put on what’s most likely pretty strong benzos or just straight up barbiturates i mean can you imagine the emotions he must have felt once he finally stopped taking those. but his killing is always personal (he’s the one who always cried when they stepped on ants as kids!), it’s just his power is so strongly tied to his emotions that it’s an apocalyptic world-ending kind of thing.

ben spends the whole season with klaus, and we never really get to see what he was like as a kid. we know he hated killing people, and his power, and actually id argue that he was more emotion-driven as a child (just a little quieter emotion than others) but as he’s stayed stuck with klaus has become more detached from that emotion and has played a more pragmatic role. he is not exactly the gentlest when it comes to klaus’s addiction, and sometimes i’d call him mean. while i do think his issue with klaus stems from personal feelings, his approach is very much you should be grateful to be alive, i died as a teenager yet you sit here and waste your life as thought it means nothing, without much acknowledgment of what klaus has also been through. klaus is also one of those characters that’s so emotion driven it’s almost weird to think that yes he also grew up training with the academy. i mean in the story allison tells claire, he’s over making friends with the museum ghosts. but really the scene of him with reginald is exactly the difference in pragmatic siblings vs emotional siblings. it’s klaus’s “we were just kids” to reg’s “you were never just kids”.

finally fives conflict is pretty much him vs everyone. if viktor is the extreme end of emotion, five is the extreme end of utilitarianism. the handler literally says herself that he’s a first rate pragmatist, and he is. he’s ready to up and kill random people if it means saving the world his family, which even luther is against (which makes sense, as again luther operates on #1 = leader = everything must be for the good of the team, and a good leader wouldn’t let a member of his team go rogue and kill someone because some math said it would save the world). you can argue that him being hell-bent on saving the world has more to do with his family than the good of humanity, and i don’t think that’s an incorrect argument, it’s just that ultimately his pragmatism wins out. he does just what the situation calls for. he does say that they need to be prepared to do whatever it takes to stop viktor, but would he have argued in favor of keeping him in the basement? was it necessary in that specific situation? or was it unnecessarily making an enemy? who’s to say? not the writers i guess i think it’s interesting that he actually has the idea to take viktor with them and “fix him”. because this is where i think the handler was wrong about five—yes he’s killed, but he’s not a killer in the way that she meant it. killing is a last resort. he was willing to kill for the commission to escape the apocalypse, he killed when he was cornered at griddy’s, he was willing to kill someone if it meant the apocalypse would be averted, but (and we see it in season 2 and 3) he doesn’t want to. if the apocalypse can be avoided, but viktor can still be alive, he will take that option—and it’s basic utilitarianism. viktor surviving and the apocalypse being avoided is the outcome that is the most good for everyone.

and one last thought from me: the scene of viktor being locked in the soundproof basement room—look at who’s arguing here. diego and klaus, two emotion-driven siblings, against luther, the pragmatic one. like i said earlier allison is a little bit of a variable; with her power, she’s pragmatic, as she tries to live without it, she becomes more emotional. and in this scene, she has no voice, no power, so she operates on emotion (and as the show progresses, she does seem to have become more emotion-driven, and it’s interesting to see how she’s changed a lot as a character, but that’s an essay for another day)

[alba8688]

Chapter 5

Word count:1166

Ever since i found out Eddie wasn’t dead and was in a coma in Hawkins hospital I've gone to visit him every single day at the hospital right after school .

I spend a few hours with him then  go back home and spend the rest of my time with Eddie's ghost or spirit whatever he was .

He hasn't disappeared from me anymore .

Now he follows me around even to school .

"So don't you get bored being here with me at work?" I asked Eddie  I was on my lunch break and I had told Claire I was staying in to grade test but in reality I just wanted to spend time with Eddie .

"Honestly I don't but you're the only that can see me and tolerates me All i know is that when I'm not with you is like I don't exist ,but when I'm with you ,you make me feel alive you make me want to keep going to fight for my life .But sometimes I want to give up I've gone to the hospital and tried to go inside my body to see if I wake up but nothing ."he stands up from the desk he was sitting in and walks over to me kneeling down ."I-I can't do this alone Ari." He looks at me with those beautiful eyes .

"Are you asking me for help ?"

"Look you have two realities to choose from first one being a freak metalhead coming to your life in a very unconventional way and he happens to need your assistance the second one is that your a crazy hot teacher talking to yourself in your classroom ."I chuckled at the second one

"I think I prefer the first one ."

"Ok ,it's settled, you're gonna help me wake up ." He stands up and sits on the desk picking up a pencil .

He was getting better at that and it scared me because what if that meant that we were losing him.

"So you think I'm hot ?" I asked him shyly

"Yes,super you burn me just by being next to you ." He exaggerates

"Oh come on Eddie I'm not that hot ."

"Sweetheart, I wouldn't lie to you ." He knelt down in front of me again .

I felt my heart start beating faster and if it weren't because Eddie was a ghost I would have closed the gap between us and I hate to be the one to ruin the moment right now but I have too,because I know if someone walks in I'm gonna look fucking weird staring at nothing with heart for eyes.

"Eddie ." I said softly ,I want to ruin the moment but Eddie kept getting closer and closer to me. Our faces were inches away. If he was here for real I would have felt his breath on my face but all I felt was that tingling sensation.

"Hmm." He hummed looking down at my lips ,the tension was growing and I really wanted to kiss him .But I knew it wasn't possible .

"You have very pretty eyes ." I told

Him again for the millionth time

"So ,I've heard ." He whispers

"Do you want to get out of here early and go visit you ?" Yeah I had to ruin the moment

"Yeah, let's go ." He gets up suddenly and disappears leaving me in my classroom alone finally able to breathe .

At the hospital

"Eddie." I whispered, yelled, opening the door to Eddie's room in the hospital.

"I'm here ." He responds ,I close the door behind me and walk slowly over to Eddie's bed where he is still unconscious.

But no sign of Eddie's ghost or soul I don't know what to call him .

"Eddie."I whispered again

"Here ." I heard him again

"Where are you ?" I whispered

"I'm Here ." I looked around the room inside the restroom but no signs of Eddie .

"For the love of God Eddie, stop hiding !!" I whispered yelled again

"I'm not hiding ." He suddenly sits up ,he was inside his body .

"Jesus Christ !! " I covered my mouth

"Sorry I was trying to wake me up ." He says looking down at his body .

"No luck ?" I ask ,seeing the obvious that Eddie's body was still there unconscious .

"No." He huffs standing up next to his bed and looking down at his body.

"I need to find a way to put myself together again." He suddenly says

"Ok, great, how do we do that ?" I asked confused

I really want to help but I have no idea how .

"Maybe if I do this again ." He lays down again inside his body

I turn to the screen next to me to check this heartbeat and I see something different .

"I think something is happening, I think it is working!" I said excitedly

"Yeah." Eddie stands up from his body and looks at me then at the machine "No ,I don't think so let me try again ." He lays back down on his body .

"Ok ,this time really focused inside there okay ." I tell him, trying to  help him however I can .

Eddie starts moving his arms up and down but nothing happens .

Why is it so hard to wake up?

"Is not working I'm Not sticking is like I'm

No longer connected to this body ." He sighs frustrated.

Suddenly I get idea.

"Alright ,alright ok turn around ." I tell Eddie

"What ?" He asked

"I-I just wnat to tried something."

He raised a brow and turned around facing the window ."Are you gonna jerk me off ?"

"Eddie ,no just don't turn around okay ."

I lean down touching his hand caressing it with my thumb rubbing small circles ..

"I can feel That." He says looking down at his hand then turning around .

"Ok,don't turn around yet !!"

"Okay ,okay if you need a minute with my body just tell me ." He chuckles

"You're such a perv ." I lean down slowly, my heart beating loudly in my chest ..

"What are you doing ?" He asked annoyedly but I didn't respond and leaned down until my lips touched his cheek pecking it  .

"I-I felt that ." He touches his cheek and spins around to look at me.

"You see you're still connected to your body."

"But the monitor doesn't agree ." He says his hand is still brushing his cheek where I peck his cheek .

"Machines don't know everything Eddie ." I walked slowly towards him.

"Then why am I not waking up ?" He looks down at his hand

"I don't know Eddie but I know that right now we are having this conversation and I know there's hope ."

Eddie steps closer to me, his hand slowly raising, wanting to touch my skin..

I leaned in closing my eyes trying to feel his warmth but all I feel is the tingling sensation..

"Thank you for helping me ." I open my eyes and look at him.

"It's my pleasure Eddie ."

"I think I'm gonna stay here for a bit longer ." He tells me

"I'll see you at the apartment ."

Next chapter

[revisitingstoneybrook]

#9 The Ghost at Dawn’s House: Chapter 10

Another babysitting chapter and it’s just Jamie Newton being annoying.

Babysitting entry from Claudia! Or should I say babysiting entry. This is an early book, so her entry is actually readable and not the garble it became in later books. She does manage to spell ‘babysitting’ right...then loses one of the t's the next time around. I think it went along with the 'e' at the end of 'the' and the 'h' in 'night' that she also forgets. Lucy is also an angle...is she acute? 

Claudia says she was trying to get Jamie in bed because there was a program on tv she wanted to watch and I'm guessing she didn't want him to see it? Probably Loveline; I caught one of my babysitters watching that when I was supposed to be asleep.

I can the Newtons in small doses, but Jamie sometimes gets on my nerves. This is one of those times. Claudia arrives and is greeted with three “Hi-hi!”s in a row. And it's now gotten to the point where Claudia says it back to him. Claudia says Jamie's bouncing up and down like “a yo-yo in blue jeans.” Get that boy some Ritalin!

Jamie says he's learned a new song and sings the first verse to Claudia. It seems to be the only verse he knows because Mr. Newton cuts him off before he can repeat it. The song is “I'm in Love with a Big Blue Frog.” I know I've heard that somewhere before, so I went looking on YouTube. And, sure enough, I saw it on The Muppet Show:

Maybe it's a good thing Mr. Newton cut him off, because one of the verses made me do a double take: The neighbors are against it, and it's clear to me And it's probably clear to you They think value on their property'll go right down If the family next door is blue

Anyway, Lucy is already asleep, Jamie already had dinner, all he has to do is go to bed, so Claudia pretty much has it easy. WRONG. Jamie seems to have switched personalities with Claire Pike because he's bouncing off the walls and refuses to go to bed. Claudia now has her work cut out for her. The minute his parents leave, Jamie starts stalling. He tells Claudia he has something to show her and starts pulling out his old toys and asks to wear his pajamas that are already in the wash.

Maybe we underestimated Jamie, he's a sneaky little smartass. He tells Claudia he can get changed himself (after whining that his farm pajamas are babyish...did Stacey babysit for him last?) and tells her to face the wall and not peek while he gets changed. Well, he pulls a fast one on Claudia (then again, how difficult would that be to trick Claudia?) and runs downstairs to the playroom. Claudia gives him the full name treatment (James Anderson Newton) and tells him to march his butt upstairs. But Jamie's not done with his tricks yet! He says he needs to brush his teeth, then go to the bathroom, then get a glass of water. Claudia tells him not to move a muscle and gets the water, comes back and finds him pretending to be frozen. Of course.

She then offers to read him a story...did she bring a pop-up book, or is she going to read Pat the Bunny? She suggests Harold and the Purple Crayon, Jamie wants Make Way for Ducklings because it's longer. Claudia decides not to argue and reads Make Way for Ducklings, which takes longer because Jamie keeps asking questions. She finally finishes and he asks for another glass of water. Claudia has nerves of steel. She finally leaves him to fall asleep then goes down to watch the show that's apparently too hot for Jamie to be around. Five minutes in, Jamie shows up with another question about the book and wants more water.

[hgficrec]

AUs

never gets old  Author(s): brawls (brawlite), ToAStranger 7 Chapters - 78,246 words Falling in love with a cam boy named KingSteve isn't the smartest thing Billy Hargrove has ever done, nor is it the most healthy -- but the good choice is rarely ever the fun choice, and Billy is all about living life fast and loose.

When I R.I.P  Author(s): hellstrider Series - 3 works - 8613 words and there's perks to being an influencer, billy knows that - free drugs and free ass are never in short supply, and despite the fact that all that glitz and glitter was just covering pools of sweat and tears and vomit and worse, billy put up with it because the payout was always the sweetest when you suffered more for it.

Gonna light up a candle (for the patron saint of jerks)  Author(s): OurLadyOfPerpetualWallflowers 1 Chapter - 2474 words  It’s been a month of Thursdays since Billy’s seen S. Harrington of Apartment C32 and it’s making him a little crazy.

And they were neighbors (oh god they were neighbors)  Author(s): OurLadyOfPerpetualWallflowers 1 Chapter - 765 words Steve is tired and just wants the guy in the next apartment to turn his music down. When he obliges, Steve gets a whole different soundtrack that he wasn't expecting.

try one more time tomorrow  Author(s): abigailcathleen 1 Chapter - 1379 words When Billy gets home from work, Steve is curled up on the couch and Claire is making Starbursts.

It’s one of those days.

You’ll Be Alright Tonight Author(s): prettyboyporter 1 Chapter - 11,187 words “Hey,” Steve said. There were still snowflakes on his cheek - one melted.

“Harrington,” Billy said. From somewhere deep down, he pulled out that million-dollar smile -- the one he normally had reserved for charming women when he’d wanted something, a smile he hadn’t summoned in months.

“Can I get a coffee?” Steve asked. He leaned forward as if he were telling Billy a quiet little secret.

Billy’s eyes flicked down to Steve’s mouth, then back up to his eyes. “Lotsa cream, lotsa sugar?”

“How’d you know?”

“I pay attention.”

Billy heard Jack quietly slip out the back door.

(you can call me names if you) call me up Author(s): thecopperkid, eternalgoldfish 1 Chapter - 21,369 words “Why are you even here, anyway?” Steve says. “If you think it’s such a fucking shithole.”

And Billy can’t really tell Steve the truth about that.

He was going to have to drop off Max and her friend anyway, and he was even thinking of dipping right then, going to see Rebecca instead -- but then Max had been in the backseat, telling El how Dustin had texted that he’d apparently talked Steve into staying at the theme park tonight, and well.

Maybe some of the reason Billy’s here is just because he wanted to see him again. He hasn’t seen him in forever.

Sometimes he almost misses Hawkins High.

So this is like a pit stop. A nearly twenty dollar, several hours long pit stop, on the way to get his dick wet.

your tongue is sharp, but i miss the taste of it Author(s): thecopperkid 1 Chapter - 7683 words Billy looks sweaty as fuck. Abandoned his denim jacket, drenched through his thin t-shirt. He’s like, unbuckled, rolling around in the seat, all hunched in fetal position. Grabbing the crotch of his fucking pants.

Then he really fucks with Steve’s shit.

Says, “I need to come, I think.”

Billy had one job -- don't take off the scarf. / Science is probably not Steve's strong suit, but he's really trying to make sense of why Billy's suddenly found him so appealing.

getting better at becoming a ghost Author(s): thecopperkid 1 Chapter - 4511 words “What? You’re not scared, are you?”

“No,” he answers, indignant, but he doesn’t even convince himself. “No, I just --”

“You know what they say about fear, right?” the voice asks. “That it’s almost indistinguishable from arousal. That your body can’t tell the difference.”

“They don’t say that,” Steve says, poking his head out the door and looking left to right. He’s just fucking exasperated. “Nobody says that.”

“I say that.”

Steve gets a Scream-style call while he's babysitting the kids on Halloween night, and right now would be a really good fucking time for Billy to get home from work. // Billy likes masks.

i could call you princess (if that’s what you’d like) Author(s): thecopperkid 1 Chapter - 3987 words Steve’s eyes blink, squinty and quick in the dark, eyebrows knitting together. He looks all pissy for a second, hates being woken up, usually. Will bitch and complain if Billy jostles the bed too hard, or if he accidentally leans his elbow on Steve’s long hair and pulls it when he’s out cold.

But right now? God. It takes a second, but his doe eyes flutter again, blow wide, and he instantly fucking moans, wanton, desperate, fucking sinful.

“Jesus. Yeah. You with me, sweetheart? Still with me?”

There's only one way Steve wants to wake up, and who can blame him? // Billy grew up thinking that proposing was going to be his thing.

break up with your girlfriend (‘cause i’m bored) Author(s): thecopperkid 1 Chapter - 15,604 words @umissedconnections: Bambi eyes. m4m. i was rippin cigs in the sae p-lot. u made urself puke 2 make room 4 more beer. incredible? ur my hero PLS say ur into guys

Steve finds he has a secret admirer who's continuously hitting on him via his university's Missed Connections Twitter account. // Tommy and Billy are the worst roommates ever.

what a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you Author(s): grabmyboner 1 Chapter - 3040 words Billy doesn’t get it. Steve and he are good together. Their chemistry is undeniable, everyone can see they just click. But, they’ve never been more than… Friends.

They’ve never been more than an arm resting on a shoulder, a hand patting a back, the occasional manly drunk hug that ends in someone trying to lift the other off the ground.

But, there was that one time, when they were wasted and someone kissed someone, and they kept kissing until they fell asleep in Billy’s bed. Then Billy woke up alone.

And Billy doesn’t get it.

-

billy likes steve more than a best friend should.

It’s true, I’m a sucker (for you) Author(s): grabmyboner 1 Chapter - 452 words “You’re a big boy, Harrington. Don’t need Daddy to walk you to the kitchen.” And everyone laughs and Steve’s cheeks burn and he huffs and pushes the plastic cup against Tommy’s chest.

“Asshole.” He retorts,

Killing Boys Author(s): boltplum 3 Chapters - 9076 words Steve is kissing Tommy.

Billy stands at the mouth of the stairs, stunned and watching them. There’s like, tongue and shit. Billy hates it. He fucking hates it.

He wants to throw up.

let’s talk about sexts (baby) Author(s):hoppnhorn, Ichigata 1 Chapter - 10,919 words If Steve wasn’t sure about his bisexuality before, he was now. The dick on his screen, once he has the balls to look at it again, is pretty.

He finds himself staring, his skin still damp and the steam in the bathroom clawing at his throat, and realizes his mouth is watering. Like someone has just put a treat in front of his face and waved it.

Like, here boy. Get the snack.

Once his eyes adjust, and he’s not utterly stunned by his discovery, Steve’s examining the photo. Looking at the details.

It was taken exactly five minutes before he’d walked out and found it.

broke a finger knockin’ on your bedroom door Author(s): elysiumwaits 1 Chapter - 13,030 words Steve tries to send a risque picture to Robin to fulfill a bet, and accidentally sends it to Billy instead. There are consequences. Sexy, sexy consequences.

--

"I sent it to someone else!" Steve thrusts the phone at her, bats her hand with it until she uncovers her eyes and snatches it from him, pointedly looking up and very much away from Steve.

At least, until she sees who he sent it to. "Oh my god, you sent it to Hargrove?"

mistletoe and other holiday propaganda Author(s): brawls (brawlite), ToAStranger 9 Chapters - 54,648 words Everybody wants something for Christmas.

It just so happens that the only way for everyone to get what they want is for Billy and Steve to pretend to be dating over Christmas break. It's really the only option.

I Only Wanna Be With You Author(s): flippyspoon 1 Chapter - 9345 words Billy is absolutely not going to fall for the yuppie kid in the GAP jeans who loves Hootie and the Blowfish and Steve is absolutely not going to fall for the bitchy barista who loves Guns N' Roses. Absolutely not.

way we get by Author(s): brawls (brawlite) 1 Chapter - 2580 words Billy isn't exactly sure what to do when Steve has a panic attack while they're baking together. Their friendship is still fragile, still rocky -- he doesn't want to make a misstep and ruin everything. But, the least Billy can do is not leave Steve alone though, right?

Bittersweet Author(s): abaddxns 1 Chapter - 4967 words Steve gets so tired of Nancy scrolling through his possible matches and asking him which famous Chris he finds hottest - they’ve all got different aspects he likes so he doesn’t have a favorite anyway, but that’s not good enough for her - that he matches with the first cute girl he finds on his Tinder feed, just to shut her up.

Or: Steve gets pushed back into dating and things don't turn out the way he planned

such a fool for you

Author(s): oephelia

1 Chapter - 3900  words

The feeling still hits sometimes, the late night loneliness when his roommate’s asleep and he can hear voices down the hall, voices through the cracked-open window. It makes him want to scroll through dozens of iterations of Billy’s face, Benjamin-Buttoning back towards Hawkins and a strange-bitter nostalgia for something he doesn’t think he should miss.

Billy Hargrove is online.

Steve closes the tab, snaps his laptop shut.

(or a love story for the digital age)

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

happy birthday, dean winchester <3

"Cas?"

Dean knocks once and opens the door a little, only enough for him to stick his head through. At first sight, Cas is sitting at the edge of the bed, holding his phone. At second, he's smiling.

"Dean," Cas looks up, smile broadening. He's so beautiful. "Would you like to come —"

"Nah," Dean grins back. "Not right now. Heading to bed." He leans his head against the doorframe, and winks. "Kind of a long day."

It was Dean's birthday.

And the rest of the Winchesters had planned the hell out of it.

There'd been Winchester Supreme breakfasts (for everyone, which yes, meant that Sam had had a tiny aneurysm) a midday Scooby Doo marathon (venue: the Deancave) a party in the evening with balloons and actual birthday pie, and karaoke after dinner. Jack had gotten him one of those 3-in-1 boxed board games (Monopoly was the only thing on the cover he recognized), Sam and Eileen, a leather journal because "you can finally start writing your own story, chuck-free," and socks, and Cas had apparently been responsible for the (friggin' awesome) pie, and had then surprised even the other three with a ridiculously soft, green cardigan during gift giving.

Dean had not just gotten to spend time with all of his family — and he's talking Jody, Donna, the girls, Garth, Charlie, everyone — but actually gotten to see all of them hang out after so long, and be happy, and celebrate, under the same roof — it'd been so perfect, it feels like a dream even in hindsight.

There's really no way to describe it except as one of the best days of his life.

"I believe it was." Cas says, eyes twinkling. His eyes flit back to his phone, and Dean's follow — his breath hitching in his chest when he sees a picture of him in the pink, polka dotted birthday hat. (Garth's idea, though really, everyone's.)

Cas had been —

He'd been smiling at Dean.

"Yeah." Dean feels a little winded. "Awesome, though."

"Goodnight, Dean." Cas looks up again, wearing the same, happy smile. It does things to Dean, really.

Makes him feel the same kind of way Claire and Donna (and later, upon Claire's insistence and everyone else's cheering, Kaia) partnering up to sing a way too dramatic cover of Jingle Bells at him (in January) did. Or Eileen and Sam Night-Moves-ing him, giggly together on 'stage' in a way they'd definitely deny having been the next morning. It was the kind of feeling you get when you're really happy, and there's (finally, finally) no reasons not to be.

And all of it, reconjured by a single gummy smile.

It's sometimes kind of staggering how stupidly in love he is.

"'Night, Cas." Dean manages, a floaty feeling in his gut, and he closes the door. He stays right there, though, hands clenched into fists and breathing slow.

His head's a whirlwind of feelings, insides fluttering like they decided to pick up from the example of the butterflies that at this point, he's stopped trying to control around Cas.

It's like somehow, suddenly, he's been cut loose. All these years, all the repression — all the not-yet's, and he-can't's — all of it, it feels like it's fading. Cas makes him happy. Cas smiles at awful pictures of Dean, and then smiles up at the real Dean like he doesn't even have to hide it anymore (then why does Dean?) and bakes him pie, and saves his life, and buys him sweaters that match his eyes and proceeds to point it out — and makes him happier than he's ever been.

Cas is family, and Cas is home. And he's the love of Dean's life, and maybe he doesn't have to keep it in anymore — because he sure as hell can't.

Like he's floating on a cloud, and the chains binding him are rendered needless, and fall to the ground, it suddenly hits Dean.

Dean Winchester's free.

The enormity of it sinks, or tries to, as he licks his lips. Force of habit. There's still the faintest taste of sugar. And maybe he's just really drunk and can't tell, but there's really nothing holding him back anymore, is there?

(And it is his birthday, after all.)

Before he can second-guess himself — which usually happens right about now — he barges through the door again.

Cas is standing now, and his eyes widen when Dean scales the distance between them in a couple of fast, desperate steps. Puts a hand on his hip, the other cupping his face.

Tilts it up, and Dean's thumb trembles dangerously close to the corner of Cas's mouth.

What is he scared of?

It's Cas.

His voice is barely a whisper.

"Can I —"

Cas jerks his head in a stilted nod, and Dean closes the gap between the in a single movement, tilting his head the other way. Their lips meet, Dean's moist and Cas's soft, and Cas leans into it — leans into Dean, and oh, it's perfect — and Dean's other hand leaves Cas's waist to come up until he's holding Cas's face in both his hands, ignoring the tears pricking his eyes, as he squeezes his eyes closed and lets it fall, and kissing Cas harder.

It's years and years of buildup, but everything's worth it for the devastated sound Cas lets out when Dean pulls back, wide-eyed and gasping for breath, and Cas inadvertently chasing his lips even further into his personal space.

It's always been Cas.

"Dean." Cas breathes, chest heaving.

Only now does Dean notice his hands on Dean's waist, when a ghost of a touch sends a shiver up his spine.

He just kissed Cas.

"Hey, Cas." Dean bites his bottom lip, voice as shaken as his knees feel. Cas leans up a little, and Dean closes his eyes again when their foreheads touch. He can feel their breaths mingling, but it's the closeness that gets him. "It's my birthday today." He adds, something almost coy in his tone, for the sake of saying something, 'cause how can he not breathlessly ramble the silence away?

(Dean still can't believe he just kissed him, but hell, is he glad he did.)

"I love you." Cas returns.

"I'm pretty sure the saying goes, happy birthday." Dean tells him with a shit-eating grin, hooking his arms around Cas's neck. He's half expecting an eyeroll, more probably that patent reserved-for-Dean frown, but what he gets is another kiss. Less fleeting, less chaste.

Dean all but melts.

Always and forever, Cas.

"So be it." Cas mutters, looking up at Dean with a smile dancing in his eyes, but lips pursed. And it's about to be midnight again, so it's the last wish of Dean's entire forty second birthday when Cas says it.

"Happy birthday."

(Dean hears it loud and clear.)

"I love you."

[goldenraeofsun]

Day 27: Darkest Hour

November 12, 2020

I’ve dreamed about you every night for the past week. Just like last time. What kind of fucked up is it that I know what it’s like to love you and lose you twice?

Fuck this.

November 16, 2020

Sammy started going to a therapist, probably in some passive-aggressive attempt to get me to go along and talk about my feelings. Joke’s on him, though. It’s never going to fucking happen.

If Mia walked into the room looking like you, I’d probably stab her.

Then again, I stabbed you when we first met, and that didn’t turn out so bad.

Or maybe it did.

December 1, 2020

I told Claire what happened to you. It only took a month. She clocked me right in the face and then started crying. I’ve dealt with so many crying moms, daughters, wives of people I couldn’t save. I used to be so good at it, telling them it was alright, that we’d get the monster responsible, offering them tissues and listening to them babble on about the dead guy’s best attributes.

It was different with Claire. She had nothing nice to say about you, and it hurt.

I know she loved you - or else she wouldn’t be so goddamn angry.

December 3, 2020

I still dream about you.

Every fucking night, I save you. I fight the Empty until it gives up. I pull a spell out of my ass that banishes the Empty forever. I push you out of the way.

I’ve saved you 28 times now, except when it really counted.

How the hell is it worth it to “love” as much as I do if everyone I love leaves? I’d rather feel nothing at all. At least JD gets that.

December 5, 2020

Turns out, Sammy wasn’t going to therapy, the fucking liar. He was researching ways to get you out of the Empty.

He did the spell today and only told me hours later that it didn’t work. Obviously.

I never thought you’d come back before now. But, for a split second, as Sam was telling me about the spell, I thought you both pulled it off. That you were hiding just out the door, waiting for Sam’s signal to make your grand entrance because you’re both dramatic bastards sometimes.

I threw a beer bottle at Sam’s head.

Luckily he ducked, but he’s gone to live with Eileen. He said he’d call when he got there, so at least there’s that.

And then there was one.

December 18, 2020

I found the Christmas present I bought you. Why the fuck I was Christmas shopping in August I have no

Right, you weren’t the type to ever tell us about what you liked. I had to keep an ear to the ground instead, just in case you mentioned this game or that TV show. I got you a record player and a few Joni Mitchell vinyls. She came on the oldies station while we were in Harlan dealing with all those ghosts, and you turned the radio up.

Anyway, you always kept your trap shut about what you really wanted. It was so annoying.

God, if only I knew how true that was. If it was annoying then, it’s goddamn devastating now.

December 24, 2020

The Circle Game can go fuck itself.

I can’t believe I’m crying alone in my room, listening to Joni Mitchell, writing in my diary - or love letters to you. It doesn't matter how you spin it - on Christmas Eve.

If only Dad could see me now.

December 26, 2020

I spent Christmas with Sam at Eileen’s. I thought about giving him Joni, but swapped them out at the last second with some New York Times bestseller I picked up at the bookstore on the way there. I don’t think Sam noticed.

49 times I’ve saved you now.

1 time I failed.

Sam got me another notebook. I didn’t think he even noticed I was doing this.

Anyway, I’ve barely made a dent in this one. Who knows if I’ll even have enough to say to fill it all up. I don’t exactly have a lot of thoughts lately, except for one.

January 3, 2021

Sam just asked me what I wanted for my birthday. It was a solid minute before I could think of something that wasn’t you.

He’s still worried about me.

January 9, 2021

Would a crossroads demon even want my soul anymore?

January 11, 2021

Nobody showed. Big surprise.

January 17, 2021

Sam somehow found out about the deal and didn’t listen when I told him I was pretty certain it wasn’t going to work.

According to Sam, that wasn’t the point.

He locked me out of the goddamn Bunker. Said I should take a last road trip and use that time to say goodbye to you.

But what the fuck did he think I’ve been trying to do for the past three months?

And then there were none.

January 19, 2021

How the hell can I say goodbye when you’re always with me? Just waiting until I fall asleep - and you’re there, about to get sucked into an oblivion. Until I stop it.

And then I wake up in a shitty motel, and you’re stuck in the Empty.

January 21, 2021

I ran into Claire in St. Cloud taking out a ghost. She’s looking better. Gives all the credit to Kaia. They’re together, if you can believe it.

I told her I was proud of her for not waiting a solid decade and change to man up.

She said, “Thanks for your input, Roger Moore,” but I could tell she was pleased. Even the worst James Bond is a step up from Hasselhoff.

January 24, 2021

Florida in the middle of the winter is pretty damn awesome. The locals say it’s too cold, but it’s perfect. In the mornings and evenings, it’s cool enough for jeans, in the afternoon, boardshorts.

Sometimes it feels like I’m on vacation (not that I would know what that’s like), and you’ll still be at the Bunker when I make my way back.

And if I never phone home, you’ll always be there for waiting for me, right?

February 1, 2021

Texas barbeque is like Heaven - better than, actually. Did you know there’s a place that’ll comp your meal if you eat a whole rack of ribs, a 12 oz steak, half a bird, a plate of pulled pork, baked beans, and coleslaw?

I didn’t eat for the next day and a half, but it was totally worth it.

February 14, 2021

Happy unattached drifter Christmas.

Hard to believe the last time I was alone on the road was while Sam was at Stanford. Fifteen years ago.

God, I’m old.

February 26, 2021

I think I might be a horse whisperer. Jesse and Cesar say nobody’s ever taken that quickly to Mercury.

He’s standoffish and prickly, but goddamn if he isn’t the most magnificent horse on the whole damn ranch. He’ll warm up to me if I just keep trying.

Not like I have anything better to do with my time.

March 9, 2021

Luna had a foal! Kind of gross but not worse than any standard monster hunt.

Jesse let me name her. I was tempted by Blondie, but I went with Joni instead. I was going to fuck up their horse naming system anyway. Thought I might as well choose something you’d like.

March 12, 2021

It was time to move on.

They’re so happy retired together, I had to leave before I hit something.

It was fun at first, learning how to take care of the horses, making dinner for more than just one. But the way they touched each other, it just got to me. Jesse always has a smoke after dinner at the table. Cesar doesn’t like the weed smell, but every time he leaves, he squeezes Jesse on the shoulder on his way out.

Once, he kissed the top of Jesse’s head instead.

I took Mercury on an hour-long ride at ten o’clock at night just to get out of that room. But it’s like you were right there, at my heels, the whole time.

March 20, 2021

Alaska is fucking cold in March.

March 27, 2021

Call me sentimental, but I’m going to head back to that barn in Pontiac. Maybe if I say goodbye there, where we first met, it’ll stick.

We outsmarted the Empty for the 141st time last night, and then I woke up alone.

April 2, 2021

It was nice to save you in broad daylight for a change.

Thursday, April 15th

Dean gave me this journal, apparently a “regift” from Sam, to document my life acclimatizing to being human again.

I’ve never written anything before, but Dean says it will help. While I was in the Empty, he said he started keeping his own journal.

However, when I asked to see it, as an example of what kind of writing is appropriate, Dean just changed the subject and started singing “Big Yellow Taxi.”

I had no idea he liked Joni Mitchell.

[paperpocalypse]

the first.

50 Cliché Tropes and Prompts: 7. “Good morning, beautiful/handsome”

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Word Count: 1,035 words

Warning: Swearing

[A/N: AU where the original timeline is restored after S2 and the siblings get back home :)]

He feels strange when he wakes up.

Five opens his eyes just a crack, then squeezes them shut immediately after, breathing in as he buries his face halfway into his pillow. God. He feels really strange.

The blankets are heavy and warm over his body. An ache – a half-pleasant ache, the kind that brings relief through every muscle once you stretch – lays gently along his shoulders as he rolls onto his back, reaching up to rub his eyes. Then he opens them again, more fully this time.

The curtains are drawn, and the sun paws at them with soft fingers. A gentle, yellow glow from the gap in between them falls across his eyes, and as he blinks, adjusting to the light, Five feels you shift next to him.

He looks over at you. You gaze back at him through sleepy, half-open eyes, and even though the bottom half of your face is obscured by the blankets, he knows that you’re smiling.

“Good morning, handsome.” Your voice is raspy and muffled. “Why’re you up so early?”

Five hooks his fingers over the top of the comforter, pulling it down so he can see the rest of your face. Your nose wrinkles at the cool air, and the ghost of a smile flits across his lips. “You realize that the sun’s up, right?” he murmurs.

You shift again to lay on your stomach, hugging your pillow. “That doesn’t mean anything to me anymore,” you say.

He raises his eyebrows as you yawn. “And why’s that?”

“Because the world isn’t ending,” you drawl, stretching out a hand underneath the covers to find his, “and we have curtains.”

Your tone is matter of fact. Five lets out an amused huff as you close your eyes, absently stroking the back of his hand with your thumb. Every once in a while since April 1st, you remind him that the apocalypse is no longer coming, sometimes in passing like this, other times more directly. And although he has never admitted it to you, he’s been needing those reminders – stopping the apocalypse had been his priority for decades, and now that it’s finally gone, he has to force himself to think about a future that lasts more than ten days.

A future that, thankfully, includes you.

“Did you sleep well?”

He hums, gazing at your peaceful expression. “Yeah,” he replies, and he’s being honest.

“Seems like you did.” You let go of his hand to brush his hair out of his eyes. A small grin graces your face. “You’re usually grouching around the room before your coffee.”

“Believe me, I’ll need it eventually.”

“You’ve been drinking less of it, though. That’s good.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think I’ll fully kick it,” Five mutters. He reaches for your hand again, not completely unaware of his action. “It was one of the only things keeping me sane during the whole saving-the-world shitshow.”

Your grin grows slightly cheeky. “Oh?” you muse. “And what were the other things?”

“I can see your head swelling already.”

“Indulge me.”

He gives you a flat look, then rolls his eyes, letting you kiss his knuckles. “Fine,” Five concedes, his voice softer. “You also kept me sane, some of the time.”

“Aw, Five, I’m touched.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You press your lips to his hand again, and Five instinctively pushes down the strange, pleasant feeling that it sends through his chest. But then you hold them there, and you just look at him, and he swallows down the thought that he should pull away because he doesn’t want to. Because it feels nice. Maybe he should start getting used to having nice things, like Klaus and Allison had said.

… Jesus, he’s taking his siblings’ advice now. Something’s wrong with him.

When you withdraw, the distant ringing of a bell filters through the door. Five frowns.

You sit up reluctantly as he turns away from you to check the alarm clock. 9:34. Huh. Everyone must have slept in. It’s understandable; the previous night had been quite eventful, after all, with Claire’s birthday party at the mansion.

“I guess we didn’t sleep through breakfast,” you remark, stretching as he pushes the blankets off the two of you. “I wonder what Grace whipped up.”

Five swings his legs across and over the side of the bed. “Well, it’s Saturday, so she probably made pancakes.”

“Really? I was thinking waffles.”

The ringing gets louder. Klaus is heading up the stairs, Five thinks while the two of you pull the covers over the pillows. About thirty seconds from now he will open the door, swinging the bell around and telling Five and you to wake up. As per usual. Five finds himself looking forward to it, in the exasperated, fond kind of way reserved for his brother. It’s like old times.

(Better, actually.)

“Five? [Y/n]!” Klaus’s singsong voice cuts through the sound of the bell. The door creaks open and he pops his head in, pausing his clanging around for just a moment. “Wakey, wakey, lovebir – oh, you beat me to it. Less work for me.”

“We’ll be down soon,” you tell Klaus, smoothing out the comforter on your side.

“Oh, excellent. We greatly look forward to your presence at the table.” The man provides a sagely nod, then points the bell at Five. “You, not so much.”

Five sends a sharp, narrow smile his way. Klaus merely returns it with a mock grimace, unruffled, then resumes his ringing as he disappears from the doorway.

As his brother makes his way back down the hall, Five turns back around to meet your eyes; eventually, you break out into a chuckle as he deadpans. You move towards the curtains nearest to you and pull them open, letting the light in before joining him.

“Well,” you say, “we can’t leave them waiting, can we?”

“They’re used to it,” he responds.

Unhurried, Five walks with you over to the door, ushering you through before leaving the room himself. He leaves the door open.

Morning has broken, and his siblings and niece are downstairs. You are right beside him, alive and well, no longer touched by the ashes of the apocalypse.

Everything is just as it should be.

[poohkeepsee]

I was going through my AO3 bookmarks, and I wanted to organize them a little bit. These are my Dean/Cas canon-ish fic recs.

season 5

canticles  by  2street2car Words: 10,311     Chapters: 1

“But you know something? If I couldn’t get you laid, at least I gave you a good first date.”feat: footsies at a Ruby Tuesday, stargazing, the recreation of an iconic "Dirty Dancing" scene (no, not that one—the other one), and practicing for When You're With A Girl.

FTBYAM MY BELOVED

post season 6

Someone Who's Feeling For Me  by  ellispark  Words: 45,876     Chapters: 1

Dean sees her for the first time in nearly six years in some no-name town in Idaho, and it's panic at first sight.

Lisa Braeden, the one woman Dean ever actually had a shot at a real life with, back from where he buried her in his mind. And her hand is on Cas's arm like it's no big deal, like it belongs there. Cas, Dean's dorky, sweet, badass, angelic best friend, and he's just standing there next to Lisa and not moving her hand away.

Dean feels the jealousy rising, and it's not directed where he expected it to be. Because it takes this exact moment for Dean to realize he's in love with his best friend. He's in love with his best friend, and Lisa is looking at Cas like he's the best thing since automatic rifles, and Dean is utterly fucked.

post bunker

Sun Can't Set Until Nine  by  LeverDrift Words: 67,939     Chapters: 16

Cas moves into the bunker as his powers start to fail. Dean doesn’t know if the arrangement is as permanent as he wants it to be. He's also not sure why he keeps dreaming about his friend. All he knows is that he wants Cas to stay. Overall warnings: canon-typical miscommunication & Dean having self-hatred issues.

Life Skills  by  ilovehowyouletmefall           Words: 26,052     Chapters: 3

After Metatron steals Castiel's grace, and Cas comes to live in the bunker, Dean spends a lot of time with him, sharing all of his favourite things. Dean can't help it if sharing things with Cas just makes everything better. Besides, it's Dean's job as Cas' friend to introduce him to the joys of human life. To teach him how to be human.  And if one of the experiences they end up sharing is sex with women, well... that's just part of Dean's job as Cas' friend too, right? The desire is triangulated, the rituals are intricate.

Sam Stole My Boyfriend  by  sobsicles    Words: 8,445     Chapters: 1

“Dude, you’ve been staring at me a lot lately, like even enough that Sam noticed. More than usual. So, like, what’s up?” Dean pauses, purses his lips and reconsiders. “What did I do?”

Cas knows that would be a perfect time to confess to Dean what exactly happened and what he was thinking. Maybe, Dean had some insight into the situation or even some kind of comfort to offer. But, the longer that he sat there, he realized that he could not tell Dean absolutely anything. So instead, for the first time, Cas fumbled.

“Um,” Cas mutters and abruptly stands. “Freckles?”

Dean blinked up at him as Cas pivoted and left the room. There was only one remaining option he had and unfortunately, it involved Sam.

Aching in the Absence of You  by  sobsicles Words: 95,090     Chapters: 10

Brittle and battle-worn, Cas looks at him over coffee one morning and says, "I need to go," and Dean instantly knows that he's not coming back.

He's not really sure how he knows it, but he does. It settles into the pit of his stomach, curling hot and tight like something he instinctively wants to tear out with his bare hands. He takes a breath, and it gets stuck in his throat, hitching there. It hurts, hurts, hurts when he finally exhales.

"Yeah," Dean says, "of course you do," and he nods jerkily as he looks down at his phone. He doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't look up from the screen when Cas gets up and leaves the room. He doesn't finish his coffee, or move for a long time.

By nightfall, Cas is gone.

'Communication'  by  JustAnotherSamlicker Words: 11,656

The same story told from two perspectives.

Dean bought a house and he and Cas fix it up.

Is Dean moving out? Is Cas moving in?

Should they just talk to each other already? (Yes they should)

Build a Home  by  domesticadventures Words: 20,102

After they save the world, Dean expects Cas to come back to the bunker with them.

He doesn't

season 10

The Most Important Thing  by  NorthernSparrow Words: 94,462     Chapters: 14

Jimmy Novak remembers nothing of the last six years. Reunited with his troubled daughter Claire, he's struggling to raise her on his own. The most important thing is to make Claire happy. But why does he keep having these dreams of wings, and of two men in a black car? (Canon-divergent from S10E11, when we first met Claire again and Dean was still struggling with the Mark of Cain. Takes places several months later).

season 12

Heroes for Ghosts  by  pantheon_of_discord Words: 42,922     Chapters: 7

Canon-divergent from 12.08

After Sam and Dean are arrested, Castiel is left alone and scrambling to find them. He knows they’re locked away in a government facility, and he’s still able to hear their prayers, but no matter how he tries Castiel can’t seem to track them. He chases leads and even attempts to hunt on his own, but Mary is AWOL, Crowley refuses to help, and Castiel’s options are running out.

Weeks pass, Castiel’s hope dwindles, and through it all Dean prays, keeping them connected. His voice is comforting, frustrating, and occasionally annoying, but in his solitude Castiel comes to cherish it. But then one day, without warning, Dean stops praying, and Castiel is forced to confront some uncomfortable truths about his feelings.

season 13

i want to do with you (what spring does with cherry trees)  by  sobsicles   Words: 74,173     Chapters: 8

Dean keeps going back.

When he arrives, it's always to blooming flowers and a windmill in the background, not too far from a brook, the sun painting the plains.

He likes it there. He likes to stand in front of the makeshift urn and check that it's still where he put it, switching out the flowers when they wilt. He likes to listen to the sound of birds chirping, insects singing, the faint sound of water trickling in the distance. He likes to turn his face up and feel the sun on his skin, wondering if Cas would do the same if he were here, somehow knowing that he would.

He likes to talk.

There's never a response, but Dean feels the breeze rustle through his hair and watches the flowers bob when bees come to them and stares as the windmill keeps turning, turning, turning. And he imagines that Cas is replying—the windmill is the tilted head, the bobbing flowers are a gentle smile, the breeze is whatever words Dean wants to hear at the time.

Sometimes, it's almost like he's there.

Trial and Tribulations of Raising a Nephilim  by  Sickandtiredofyou Words: 14,910   Chapters: 6

Dean has far too much on his plate, losing his mom, his best friend and now being a single parent to a newborn nephilim.

In which Jack is an actual newborn instead of a teenager.

post season 13

dumbassery, denial, doing (the three d's to the destination)  by  sobsicles           Words:     108,427     Chapters:     4

Freedom is just one adjustment after the next.

Cas hums again. "I think you already have. It's been months since everything settled. All that's left to do is...get used to it, and perhaps—" His voice stalls out, uncharacteristically, and his gaze roams Dean's face with intensity. When he speaks next, his tone is a little raw. "Perhaps what one does with peace is...whatever they want."

"What if I don't even know what that is?" Dean grumbles, arching an eyebrow in challenge. "'Cause I know damn well you don't just mean good food and a good bed and time in Baby, not simple wants like that. You mean—ya know, the big things, the wants we didn't get to have before."

"Yes," Cas agrees. "If you're not sure, figure it out."

"Easier said than done."

Reasons to read this:

Dean reads a story that ends like despair and his reaction is FUCK THAT

Cas wears Dean's hoodie

Jack is a toddler

The Jack and Claire sibling energy we deserve

Eileen being awesome and pulling pranks with Dean while Sam thinks she's an angel

Sam knows

YOUR HONOR THEY'RE IN LOVE

First Date  by  aeli_kindara Words: 8,968    Chapters: 1

“We should go on a date. You and me.”

Castiel wishes he could see Dean’s face. He wishes he had any idea what to say.

“I’m asking you out, Cas.”

Also known as the Dean Winchester makes the first move fic.

season 14

Broken Road  by  thegeminisage Words:     109,629     Chapters:     7

A 14.13 Lebanon rewrite. When Dean uses a wish-granting pearl to try and kill the archangel Michael before he can escape the cage in Dean's head, they instead wind up with a newly-resurrected John Winchester.

It's been more than a decade since John died, and a lot has changed: Mary is alive, Sam and Dean have what passes for a proper home in the Men of Letters Bunker, and they're living with angels. John doesn't know angels are real, he doesn't know about the fragile new relationship between Dean and Castiel, and most of all, he doesn't know that Dean said yes to Michael, or that Dean's plan to defeat Michael would send him to a fate worse than death.

Now Dean must contend with both his father asking questions he can't answer, and his loved ones learning about the darker truths of his childhood, all while constantly battling the archangel trapped inside him. But Dean coming to terms with his history may be the difference between this being the beginning of a journey—or the end.

post season 15

fools and pilgrims  by  lagaudiere Words: 31,904     Chapters: 2

Claire shows up at the bunker a day before Dean was planning to leave, with her hair cut short and a fresh tattoo on her left arm under a bandage. Chuck is dead, Jack has given up his godlike powers, and Cas is back from the Empty, which doesn't make it any easier for Dean to talk to him. Suddenly finding himself in a world without monsters, supernatural forces, or any need for hunters, Dean's solution is to go on a road trip. Claire tags along.

Dean-Claire mirror fic post Despair

what's missing is found (our souls can exhale now)  by  sobsicles Words: 27,403

It's not the first time Claire has ever gone missing. It is, however, the first time Kaia panics about it. Dean's dragged into the mess, but he soon finds that it's the best thing that could have happened to him.

canon(?) au  (Hunters and Men of Letters)

Dean Winchester's Secret (Angel) Boyfriend  by  reluctantabandon, Winter_of_our_Discontent Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean Winchester isn't exactly a team player. So when he starts mentioning a new Hunting partner, Ellen and Jo Harvelle aren't sure whether they should be worried or relieved.

But they're starting to get the feeling there's something important Dean's not telling them about Cas...

Shot Through The Heart  by  peanutbutterjelly-pie (Aleakim) Words: 11,191     Chapters: 1

Dean is a hunter.

Castiel is a Man of Letters.

And even though they have to work together on a regular basis, there is not much sympathy between them. Castiel thinks Dean too brash and reckless while Dean in return sees nothing more in the other man than a rude asshole with an obsessive love for books and a truly terrible fashion sense.

But fate clearly has a funny way of throwing those two together over and over again.

And somewhere along the way feelings change into something neither of them would have expected.

[milfcodeddean]

Memento Moratus Sum

Emma Haunts the Necklace- The Fic <3

Starts more post/concepty and becomes a fic bc I did not plan on this it was stream of consciousness!  I have not seen all of the later seasons and it was hard to keep track of what plot points to mention even of all the seasons I have seen!

AO3

Emma dies and Dean keeps her necklace to have something to remember her by, partly out of grief for what could have been partly as an act of emotional self flagellation. He wears it under his shirt, a secret, just like any thoughts he has about his dead daughter. 

Emma is a ghost because she didn’t do enough to be a monster and earn her place in purgatory but she isn’t human enough for heaven and she’s anchored to the necklace.

She follows Dean around silently, quickly learning enough about ghosts to know if she reveals herself too soon or ever really then Dean is going to burn the necklace.

During season seven Dean is haunted by two ghosts, Bobby, who is actively reaching out for him, and Emma, who is a silent observer. I think Emma hides from Bobby, he’s a hunter and she doesn’t want him to tell Dean about her, OR Bobby sees her before she knows ghosts can see other ghosts and they talk and he pities her but agrees to not let Dean know

Dean is wearing the necklace when he goes to purgatory. Emma is still a ghost here but it’s different, and she’s been watching this man for months now, he’s her world now. She keeps some of the monsters away, she makes him wake up when there are threats at night, she watches him befriend a monster and burns with pain at the knowledge that maybe she could have had that. Maybe she didn’t need to kill him, maybe he would have loved her not just as a dead hypothetical but as her.

Dean comes out of purgatory with an extra extra passenger. She watches with a sense of smugness as he rages at Sam, she pretends he’s also mad over her. She doesn’t like Sam’s attitude towards Benny either. She gets to see her great grandfather and she sees him die. She talks to his ghost, he calls her granddaughter (forgetting the great) even after learning she’s an amazon, before he gets reaped.

There’s an empty room in the bunker she pretends is hers. She moves objects in there, never quite decorating, but practicing telekinesis where Dean won’t see it and making up a fantasy of a life she could have had. She still never minds being tethered to Dean, especially now as he doesn’t sleep around and spends less time in bars where she’s left uncomfortably watching. She likes going to the grocery store, she likes watching him cook, maybe a few times she’s kept a pot from boiling over or a bag from falling. She’s learning to live from watching Dean, he doesn’t know it, but he’s teaching her life skills. She doesn’t know the names for the dishes he teaches her to make or the parts of cars or guns but she etches the motions he makes into her mind. She likes Charlie, she wishes she could meet her, and she likes larping. She imagines herself as an Amazon warrior of antiquity, armored in bronze.

She tried to wake Dean and Charlie out of their djinn dream but nothing worked, she tried to fight the djinn to no avail either. When Dean and Charlie hugged she wished she could be in their embrace too.

She’s glad it’s Bobby’s ghost they use for the trial, she’s so glad she never revealed herself.

Sam is slowly growing on her, she doesn’t love him but he means enough to Dean that she would try to stop him from dying.

She knows about Gadreel. She hides harder now, afraid too of the new angel in the bunker. Castiel she likes, Castiel she watched in purgatory and she watched beat her father bloody in the crypt and she understood brain washing and the control of authorities. She almost reveals herself and her knowledge of Gadreel when Dean kicks Cas out of the bunker, but her hesitation lasts too long.

She’s tethered to Dean so she isn’t there when Kevin dies. Kevin had been another one she enjoyed observing, she envied him his mother in so many ways, Linda had been everything Lydia hadn’t been. When Kevin dies he’s haunting the bunker too. It’s almost like having a friend. He pities her, but she’ll take anything, he’s sort of her age in some ways and she teaches him how to be a ghost.

Crowley almost gives her away. He knows she’s there, but he saves her presence as a bargaining chip against Dean, a surprise tidbit to bring up later.

The father of murder can see her too. Cain keeps his eyes on her father most of the time, but the spark in his eyes and smirk when he sees her and her bloody pink shirt cut straight through her.

Her father dies. She wants to run to him, to fling her arms around him and greet him with her bloody lips and stained shirt and tell him she forgives him and she loves him and she’s sorry he’s dead but can she at least spend some of eternity with him and she wants to teach him to be a ghost and she wants to tell him so many things she’s noticed. But Crowley does something that locks her voice and powers and keeps her from the room.

Demon dean leaves the bunker with Emma’s necklace ripped off and dropped beside a bedstead.

Sam picks up the necklace. Emma hates him touching it but it’s all she can hope that he doesn’t destroy it. She doesn’t know if he recognizes it, but he doesn’t throw it away, and brings it out to show Castiel as evidence for Dean’s absence. Castiel names it as Amazon gold, recognizes it as Dean’s, but does not know it’s origin. Emma has to hear her story from her murderer’s lips. She almost shows herself, but she’s afraid Sam will cast the necklace into a fire. If they could do that to Bobby, they’ll do it to her. But she doesn’t feel like a vengeful uncontrolled spirit, perhaps it’s the Amazon magic, but she feels calmer than she ever was during her days of life.

Her necklace stays in the bunker, she watches demon Dean from a distance at first, she tries to comfort him strapped to the chair but he calls her a hallucination and lets something between a sob and a laugh out before turning away. She tries, she wipes his brow, she begs him to become human again or to die, she tries to keep the devil’s trap intact. Still she is called a hallucination. It’s almost nice to be important enough that he’d hallucinate her.

When Dean, normal human dean, is back, he fixes the necklace with pliers and holds it staring at it in his hands. He’s alone in his room. Emma gently puts her hands over his where they are clasped around her anchor to him. She doesn’t know if he can feel her. Her name comes from his mouth in a breathy whisper, wet and rough, a word unused to being spoken. He bends over himself, weeping with the necklace pressed to his mouth. Emma weeps as well. He would not weep if he did not love her, but he is a hunter and she has to chose between this silent spectatorship where she can pretend she is living in rooms beside him, or the knowledge that if he knew she was haunting him, he would burn the necklace to send her on.

She doesn’t know if there’s another afterlife for failed amazons, and from what she understands of Heaven, hers would be something pathetic like the day she met Dean before she died, or an eternity as a ghost watching him weep.

She hates watching Dean with Amara those few days. She hates the burning wretched envy risking corrupting her as he holds a baby girl that isn’t her. She hates that Amara loves Dean. And she hates even more that Amara brings back Mary instead of her.

She never realized that she wanted to be brought back and resurrected so badly and that it was even an option until she watches Dean reunite with Mary.

Dean mentions her to Mary- almost - he says he had a kid, and the cut off gesture to the necklace means her. Emma stopped minding that Dean never spoke about her. She didn’t want him to talk about her with Sam, and she quickly realized he didn’t talk about his grief with anyone. But he did wear her necklace, and sometimes he took it out from under his shirt and rubbed his thumb over the metal and she would pretend it was his thumb stroking the back of her hand. Dean didn’t talk about her and she didn’t need him to. But now he had, and with his mother. And he implied he had thought about what he would want for her, that he wouldn’t want his life of violence and moving for her.

Emma likes Mary as a warrior woman, but can’t help but understand Dean’s pain when she leaves. She understands being the surprise child older than a parent wants too much.

She tried to help Dean as she always has, but the British Men of Letters terrify her. She knows they would either keep her to study or destroy her and she can’t trust anyone to keep her secret from their spying.

Later it seems the world collapses again. Cas dies. Angels don’t have ghosts, she can never meet him. And Kelly has eyes only for her son until she is reaped. Emma wishes she could comfort Dean or that she could truly leave him to his grief. She turns away as he ties Castiel’s body with yellow curtains. She stands beside him watching the pyre.

She doesn’t understand Dean’s attitude towards Jack. She’s watched jealously how Dean interacts with Krissy, with Claire, with the orphan boys at the home, and she has her fantasy of how Dean would have treated her had she lived. The jealous part of her doesn’t want Dean to like Jack, but most of her wants Dean to go back to acting like how she expected him to, she wants the man she could pretend was being her father. And she watches Jack enough to be afraid of their similarities. To see herself in him. And if Dean hates him, would he have hated her. Does he only wear her necklace because she’s dead.

She watches silently when Dean finally breaks, confronted, and tells Sam that he sees her in Jack. She hears how he loves her. She watches Sam realize the enormity of his crime and apologize. She accepts the apology, even if it wasn’t meant for her ears. Dean doesn’t see her, but she sits beside him on the opposite side of Sam on that floor.

Something has changed.

Sometimes, it seems like Dean is glimpsing her out of the corner of his eye. He stares at the steamy bathroom mirror while he’s shaving, right at the red smear on the pink of her shirt. He nicks himself, swears, and swipes a hand through the steam, through her image. He does double takes in the rear view mirror, glancing twice at the backseat where she sits, pretending she’s part of his road trips.

Jack brings back Castiel. Jack has powers beyond what Emma could have imagined. And Jack is both nice and not fully indoctrinated into hunting ways. Emma also likes Jack, she understands so much about him, and she likes the shows he watches, she likes the way he’s nice, and in her elaborate fantasy of what if she was alive, she decides he’s her brother.

It’s hard to find a time when Jack is alone but near enough to Dean and the anchoring necklace that she can talk to him, but it happens.

Emma focuses everything she has into appearing, a heavy grounding feeling she hasn’t felt since Dean was a chained demon. The words catch in her throat, unpracticed at speaking, but she blurts out to Jack that she’s his sister, the words spilling fast, that she’s Dean’s dead daughter, she doesn’t tell him that Sam killed her, she’s seen Sam with him, their closeness she can’t decide if she envies or not. She tells him she’s an Amazon, how she’s dead but anchored, how she doesn’t have a heaven or purgatory or hell, how she wants to come back. She tells him that she likes his shows and she tells him she loves Dean and Castiel and she finds things she likes about Sam. He doesn’t look at her with pity. He looks at her with a bright spark to his eyes.

But he doesn’t resurrect her. At least not right away. Apparently he’s been too recently warned off from the idea of asking for forgiveness rather than permission. He thinks she should reveal herself to Dean first, before they decide. Emma hates the idea, she spent all of these years afraid of Dean destroying her anchor, and now she’s afraid of his rejection, what if he resents her watching him all the time, what if he blames her for not doing more. What if he wants her gone instead of brought back.

The Amazons,in their scant days of raising her, taught her to be brave.

Jack asks the family to stay after dinner.

Emma takes a deep breath, more for the instinctive motion than for a need for air, and materializes.

There’s a beat of silence and then a mess of noises. Dean drops a mug, Sam’s chair skids, everyone one is talking at once.

Emma can’t find words to say to Dean, she wants to stare at him as she always does, but she can’t bear to see rejection on his face. She waits and Jack opens his mouth to introduce her but then her name comes from Dean’s lips. It’s like that dark night where they wept in his bedroom again. She has called him many variants of father in her mind in several languages, but it is the most childish “daddy” that slips out.

No one else in the room matters, he looks at her, meeting her eyes instead of the gorey wound, and she gets eye contact without having to pretend she is what’s in his sight line.

He doesn’t ask if she’s a ghost or if she’s dead or any of the silly civilian questions. He only manages “how” before fumbling for the necklace, and she nods confirmation. She wonders if he’s planning on burning it.

He asks how long and suddenly words spill forth, she tells him she’s been here the whole time, watching, she says she sorry about Bobby and Kevin and Charlie and Kelly and Cas and Benny she tells him the ones she helped with being a ghost, she tells him about watching the others move on, she says she’s sorry she couldn’t do more when he was a demon and something in his expression breaks, she says she’s sorry she never showed herself.

He holds up a hand, stopping her before she apologizes again, and says he remembers her when he was a demon, that he had thought she was a hallucination, she nods and cries anew.

She wants to tell him that she’s watched him and loves him and even if it’s embarrassing she wants to say she’s pretended to be alive with him, and she wants most of all to ask if he loves her, to hear it said to her face.

Instead he asks weakly why she’s here now.

She says she wanted to come clean about haunting him, says she’s thought about it for years and was scared he would burn the necklace, says she’s learned about ghosts from him and she’s never felt vengeful, she doesn’t feel corrupted, and maybe it’s because she’s a monster. His face twitches at that word.

Jack interrupts, changing the air in the room and suddenly both she and Dean remember their audience. Sam’s eyes are wet and he looks something close to afraid. Emma hopes the look on Castiel’s face is softness for her too and not just Jack.

Jack offers to bring her back, tells Dean that they didn’t want to do it behind his back. Emma turns invisible again out of the sick swoosh of anxiety that overwhelms her. She barely hears through her ringing ears that Dean desperately agrees and says yes, fumbling to take the necklace off and pass it to Jack.

She’s going to have to wait a few days. Jack is going to bring her back where her body is, and that’s more than 24 hours of driving away, and Dean wants to be there.

It’s a weird car ride, they know she’s there, and she sits between Castiel and Jack in the back of the Impala. They had her pick a set of Jack’s clothes to replace her bloody shirt, they have food and water for her. Emma doesn’t have a name for the emotions she’s feeling and they’re almost overwhelming.

They don’t have to dig her up to bring her back, Jack’s powers allow for that at least, and Emma is glad, she’s watched Dean dig up enough graves to imagine what she’ll look like.

Then Jack’s eyes glow bright gold.

It’s like what she imagines being born feels like. Overwhelming and dark and bright and both blissful and painful. And then she is gasping with real lungs and the sunlight is bright in her eyes and she can feel the textures of her clothing and the grass.

And then arms and hands are on her, Dean is pulling her to her feet and into his embrace in one motion.

She’s never been hugged by him, and it’s better than her jealous imaginings when he held others. She never wants to let go, she feels safe and warm and loved and his hand is on her hair and she can smell him and feel his heartbeat.

He finally lets go and steps back to look at her, keeping a hand on her shoulder and cupping her cheek with the other. There are streaks of tears matching her own on his face. His hands leave only to be replaced by Jack.

Jack’s hug is different but enthusiastic, there are no tears, he is beaming, part proud, part delighted, she can’t help but smile back. He calls her sister and she accepts him as brother.

Castiel does not embrace her, but his greeting his warm and his eyes match his smile. He clasps her hand between his and Emma’s heart swells.

She knows Sam doesn’t know how to look at her or how to talk to her. She doesn’t know what she wants from him either. She knows hes sorry, she’s heard it from his own lips, not to her, but to the only other person to whom it would matter. She smiles hesitantly at him, instead of glaring, and waves.

Then she slips her hand back into Dean’s and lets him pull her into another hug. She feels light and giddy and afraid this is all a dream. If she died and this is heaven then she would accept that too.

But it’s real, she changes out of her bloody shirt and into a blue one of Jack’s, she drinks water for the first time in years and eats fruit snacks from a packet pulled from Castiel’s trench-coat pocket, and a cereal bar.

A few hours later they stop at a nicer diner than Emma usually sees them eat at, and Dean tells the hostess it’s his daughter’s birthday and Emma gets to order foods she’s been curiously watching people eat for years off the menu. The restaurant gives her cake.

Emma’s cheeks hurt from smiling, and Dean’s eyes have not lost their cheerful crinkle and Jack is beaming and even Sam and Castiel look endlessly pleased.

Later there will be harder talks, about the things she’s witnessed, later she’ll talk about haunting their steps, about the years of questions built up, later she’ll realize she doesn’t remember how to sleep and Dean will sit and try to stroke her hair and talk softly and it’s nice but not enough. Later it will be Castiel who explains how to become human, how to adjust to having a body, how to sleep and how to tell if you like a food or not. Later she will argue with Dean about her usefulness on hunts and he will tell her how scared he is of her dying again. Later Mary will come back and die. Later Jack will die and a demon will wear his corpse and she will hate and fear it, later God will tell her she is an interloper in his story.

But for now Emma has a family and a piece of cake and a table of smiles.

[in-tua-deep]

Hey, hope you don't mind me asking, I don't want to pressure you, but I was wondering about your narnia au, love your writing, and hope your having a good time

narnia au is something that I ever so occasionally add to whenever I’m in a sentimental and wistful mood - which I have been watching an unreasonable amount of call the midwife lately lmao

so here’s a snippet - 

--- “We all have ghosts, Five.”

“Klaus can literally see ghosts. I think if Dad was hanging around, the whole house and half the city would know about it by now.”

Susan gives him a disappointed look that makes him look away, out the window. “You know that isn’t what I meant, and you know it.”

“If anyone has a monopoly on ghosts, it’s my brother.”

Susan sighs, reaching up to cup Five’s cheek in her hand. Her skin is soft, it doesn’t feel like tissue paper against his cheek but it feels delicate, fragile. He can feel the way her fingers shake ever so slightly, stabilizing against his jawbone. “Oh, love. We don’t choose the ghosts that haunt us, and how we live with them until we can put them to rest.”

“My ghosts are my own fault. I was the one that killed people. I was the one who said that my siblings were more important than anyone else, than anyone else’s siblings.”

Susan taps her fingers against his cheek, “Oh? You killed your father? You hadn’t told me that one yet. Good, bastard deserved it.”

It’s enough to draw a startled laugh from his throat, “No! I mean, maybe I should’ve, but Dad died thanks to his own stupidity not mine, thank you. That’s one thing I won’t take the blame for.”

Susan hums, leaning back and taking her hand from his cheek to reach down and grasp his hands between them again.

Fire hesitates, looking down at their entwined hands so that he doesn’t have to look at Susan in the eye. “Sometimes I wake up and I forget, just for a minute. I wake up thinking that I have to get up, because Dad hated us being late for breakfast. He’d give us a swat with a ruler for every minute we were tardy. Allison always teased me about being late even though I could jump, but he was always twice as mad when I did that.”

“It must be a relief to realize you can lie in.” Susan smiles, but Five can’t smile back.

“No. There’s a moment in the morning when I think Dad is still alive, and that’s terrible, but in the same moment I think I’m going to go downstairs and my siblings are going to be standing at attention around the table. I think that I’ll see Klaus trying to kick the back of Ben’s knees without Dad noticing, that I’ll see Vanya hiding a book in her cardigan, I’ll see Luther’s stupid judgemental face even though Allison was late more times than me and she never got his stupid faces. And then I remember all over again, and I lose them all over again.”

Susan looks at him with sad eyes. 

“Is that why you moved to America?” Five asks, shaking his head to try and ignore the stinging between his eyes, “So you wouldn’t get stuck in memories so much?”

“Sometimes.” Susan says slowly, “I won’t say that it wasn’t a factor, that I didn’t think about it. That I don’t think about the English countryside and think of Lucy with mud on her face and Edmund trying to put tadpoles down the back of Peter’s shirt.”

“Klaus put spiders in our beds when he was mad at us. It only ever scared Luther, though. I think Vanya just cried because she thought she squished one by accident.” Five whispers, and Susan graces him with a smile. “I thought about that, in the apocalypse. I ate spiders, sometimes, when I could find them. I always thought of Vanya crying when I did it.”

“Lucy scolded Edmund something fierce over it as well.” Susan shakes her head at the memory, “She was in tears when Edmund pointed out that people ate frogs, but I think they were more angry than anything else. He had a bruise for weeks where she thumped him, yelling about how we didn’t live in France.”

They spend a little while in silence, taking a moment for themselves to remember their respective siblings. 

Susan pats Five’s hands gently, “I was a bit like you, you know, when I came back the first time. Not right away, when we were at the professor’s house, but when we went back home. I hadn’t realized how much I’d forgotten.”

“Forgotten?”

“About home! I went back up to my room, and there were all the things I’d forgotten. My collection of hair ribbons was still on the dresser. My favorite ones were a royal blue, I’d thought I looked so distinguished with them in. I’d forgotten all about them, until I saw them on that dresser.” Susan pats his hand, looking faintly wistful.

“My room looks the same as well.” Five admits, “Exactly the same. It threw me off, at first. It was all rubble in the apocalypse, I didn’t even think about it until I had to go upstairs to get my uniform. My books were still on the nightstand.”

Susan nods sagely.

“At least, I think it’s exactly the same. I don’t remember, is the problem. If - if my siblings moved stuff around, or took anything away, or - or anything like that, I don’t think I’d know. I think it bothers me, that I don’t remember.” Five shakes his head, “It’s been so many years. There’s so much I might have forgotten, but how will I know I’ve forgotten it?”

Five can’t help the affronted look that settles on his face when Susan just shrugs. His mulish expression must be terribly amusing, because it makes Susan’s eyes twinkle with laughter.

“It’s important to remember the past.” Susan tells him gently, the twinkle never fading, “But I think it’s equally important to forge the future, to make new memories. I left England because it was painful, yes. But I also left because America was new, and brilliant, and exciting. Because I wanted to.”

Susan squeezes his hands gently, he isn’t sure if she can squeeze much harder anyway. Her strength seems to come and go like the tides these days.

“Change isn’t a betrayal of what came before, love. Sometimes change is necessary.” Susan hums, “I threw out those hair ribbons, when I came home. Edmund and Lucy swapped rooms entirely. I learned how to put on makeup - they didn’t have red lipstick in Narnia, I can tell you that. It was different, but different was good. Less painful.”

“Allison’s been talking about painting.” Five offers. “She wants to set up a room for when Claire comes to visit. I can’t imagine her in the mansion though. She always sounds so happy, on the phone. Claire, I mean. So carefree. I don’t think we were ever that carefree.”

“If your home isn’t one you can imagine happiness in, perhaps you should ask yourself how you can change that.”

Five snorts, “Doing away with the wall art would be a start. Daily reminders on exactly where to stab each other with our silverware.”

“How ferocious.”

[adsosfraser]

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Eleven

Read on AO3

They had been so careful. On the supposedly most fertile days of her courses, they had, well they had done other things. She religiously took her vial of posies and fennel each day and used the protection provided from her twentieth-century life. For months now. Still, it wasn’t enough, and she knew the only one hundred percent assured prevention was abstinence. She felt the ghost of a flutter in her womb. 

 Jamie found Claire on the floor next to their bed, her cheeks stained with tracks of tears and snot crusted against the deer pelt that her face was squished into. The chamber pot full of her sickness had been shoved away from her on the wood in her dejected anger. 

“Is it true Claire?”

 “Can ye..” he swallowed thickly. “Yer wee herbs can ye-“

 “No, that’s the last thing I want Jamie! God!” Her palms rubbed into her eye sockets. “I just wish- there wasn’t so much uncertainty. I could never survive- Jamie promise me, if it ever came down to it, you would save the child, not me.”

 “Claire,“ he levelled a determined gaze at her. ”That will never happen. Ever. That I will promise ye.”

 “But it might. You made me promise, should the time come, that I’d go through the stones. Of course, I was reluctant, but I did give you that promise. I followed through on it. Now you promise me.” 

 “Aye Claire, I’ll save the bairn, but it’ll no’ come to that.”

 “I’m going to instruct you. On how to help me. No matter if it goes wrong or the delivery is perfect.”

 “Ye wouldna prefer someone else? A woman?”

 “You’re the only one that I would trust.” She smirked in anticipation of her next words. “And you’re the one who did this to me, you can see it through.” 

 “Ye seemed pretty enthusiastic, if not overly pleased the many times I did that to ye. And I seem to recall the many times ye were the one clawing at me.” 

 She laughed at the big goof and then sighed into his embrace, relieving her stress and worry into him. 

 What if the baby never even made it long enough to make its true presence known? What if Jamie did have to follow through in his presence? Would she be able to survive the birth? She’d never given birth to a live, full-term baby yet. Or, even worse, would she be a terrible mother? When her mind drifted to these thoughts, she shook her head out of the daze. Stress wasn’t good for the baby. And if she constantly worried about her child’s health, her thoughts may very well become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

 It was March, and flowers and trees were slowly crawling out of their hibernation. Claire’s pregnancy felt… off from how she carried Faith. It didn’t raise alarm for her baby’s health, but she did have her suspicions.

 “What is it Sassenach? Ye’re smiling so hard I fear yer lips will fall off.” 

 “Well, I have been a bit… bigger than usual.” 

 “Aye, yer round wi’ my bairn. And I’m no’ complaining one bit. Wi’ yer fine plump arse even bigger than usual.” He grasped a healthy amount of said body part and smirked.

 “Well, I think I’m carrying twins.” 

 “Ifrinn!” All the colour drained from his face. “Two bairns? Two bairns! Sassenach!” He gripped her in his arms as joyous laughter rumbled through his chest and her feet left the floor. More words of love in his native language rumbled out and her eyes crinkled with her smile. 

 When she was absolutely sure it was twins, Jamie’s daily ritual of one kiss to her belly each morning and night turned into two kisses on either side of her stretched skin. 

 Not only did one life depend on her at once, but now two. She was terrified. Even with constant reassurance from Jamie that the bairns kicking in her stomach were braw, a twitch of doubt seeped into her mind. 

 To ease her worry, she thought of something that could reassure her. She traced the design onto the back of a discarded pamphlet. A pinard horn. So Jamie could hear the strong heartbeats of the babies tumbling within her belly. Fergus laboured hard on the project immediately, while his ‘milord’ was off working the lands of their croft. It was expertly crafted, even with her rudimentary designs. 

 Jamie manoeuvred the hollow horn over the expanse of her belly, brow furrowed in concentration. He paused over one spot and nearly fainted. 

 “Ah Dhia!” His eyes widened in fascination. “He’s really in there!”

 “Yes, they are.” She placed her hand over his on the pinard horn and slid it across where she thought she felt the other heartbeat to be. 

 His hands were shaky now and he choked on his tears, almost painfully bursting with joy. “Two braw bairns. Wi’ wicked thumping hearts.”

 They felt more concrete to him now, actual people instead of the imaginations of what they could be. He spoke every day to them in Gàidhlig, when Claire said they should be able to hear now.

 It was bittersweet. She was carrying them for over seven months now, longer than her other children. She was constantly caught between unflagging joy and unrelenting grief. Sometimes it felt like a betrayal to be so happy. But she carried through, with her husband and son by her side, and the promise of the future tucked under her heart.

 The day after Jamie’s birthday, she started labouring. Jamie commented on the decency of his children to not eclipse his day with their own arrival. It was as difficult as any other birth, but thankfully there were no complications. Claire had gripped, clawed, and screamed at her husband. She’d scream the promise to have him castrated many, many times. While she paced around the room, Jamie tried to assure her or crack jokes to lighten the atmosphere, but every word he said she turned it against him. He was silent after that, but then Claire would call out for him as each contraction ripped through her body. He stood behind her squatting form above the straw and she dug her nails into his arms as she bore down. A beautiful squalling boy was born after nine hours of labouring. William Brian Beauchamp Fraser. While she felt distraught placing the name Brian within the middle, Jamie assured her it was to not only honour his father, but now the child that they had lost, and she warmed to the idea as well. His brother met the world soon after, almost a quarter of an hour apart, looking exactly the same as the brother who beat him out of the womb. Henry Alexander Murtagh Fraser. Beautiful healthy boys, both with tufts of the same brown downy hair and slanted Fraser cat eyes. 

 They opted to have their sons sleep in their bed that night rather than the cribs Jamie had carved, tucked in securely between their parents. Neither of them could sleep and Claire was watching the steady rise and fall of each small chest. 

 “They’re real.” She whispered, brushing her pinky across William’s cheek. His lips tugged up into a smile, just like his father’s did. 

 “Thanks to ye Claire. Ye were braw.” He squeezed her hand, their arms hovering over their sons. “But I dinna wish to ever see ye like that again.”

 “Is it wrong to feel so happy? To rejoice in my sons while-?” 

 “They’ll be happy fer their brothers. I ken it. And they’re watching o’er them as their angels now. Lord knows how much these lads will need it. These two will be trouble, I can feel it.” He affectionately patted their bums. 

 Claire finally let her exhaustion take over and curled protectively around her son as she drifted off to sleep. Jamie never slept that night, too preoccupied with the sight of his wife and the children she had blessed him with. His wife learned just how real her sons were in the middle of the night when they would scream their lungs out unceasingly until attention was paid to them. Jamie insisted she rest and recover, and leapt up at every cry to take care of it, but was instantly horrified at what he found in the cloth swaddling Willie’s bum. 

 Fergus was elated the next day to meet his new brothers. Jamie and Claire had already spoken many times about how the new babies wouldn’t change anything about how they felt for him, but they could still sense some worry. 

 “Would you like to hold your little brother Willie?” At the indication that it was true, he had a little brother, all his worries vanished.

 “Oui maman.” He was so gentle with them with so much adoration in his eyes, and it made Claire cry just to see her boys together.

 He traded for Henry next and Jamie pulled Claire into his lap. 

 It was six weeks after the birth, and Jamie and Claire were equally ravenous. Both the babies had finally fallen asleep together, being unusually generous to their parents.

 “I need my wife.” He crawled over her. 

 “You still want me? After seeing all that…?” Her confidence has waned slightly. She was still pudgy around the middle and there were new scars lining her belly. There was also the fact that he had seen her sweating, cursing, and wailing like a cow on their bedroom floor before the fire, and had taken multiple peeks down there to check her progress. It was apparent, however, that he wanted her desperately despite of and maybe even because of that fact. 

 “I could never stop wanting ye Sassenach.” He peppered kisses across her abdomen and paid special attention to the fading purple streaks on her skin. The burns on her stomach had long since faded and were barely even noticeable unless one were to look very closely, as her husband was now. She let her knees fall to the side and a moan escaped her lips when he ducked further down. 

 “Now, as much as I love yer wee noises mo nighean donn, ye’ll have to be quiet tonight.” He covered her mouth with his, silencing the cries that he brought out of her body.

 When they both had finished, laying boneless on the sheets, Jamie pulled Claire’s back close to his chest and she curled back into him. Henry began to cry, waking his brother as well and throwing them both into fits of hungry wails. Jamie silently walked over, wrapping his kilt loosely across his hips and placed a baby in each of his arms. The sight made Claire want to ravish him with a sudden ferocity, even though they had just joined together moments ago. But, her babies’ hunger won over and she placed one on each breast. Jamie watched fascinated, as he always did. The babies hungrily gulped down their meal and then slumped against their mom, tired from weeks of growing, crying, and eating. Their tiny fists laid on top of her skin and Jamie slowly adjusted himself to hold Henry. He fell asleep, Henry’s body rising and falling with each of his father’s breaths. Willie stirred again, inquisitively staring up into his mother’s eyes. Claire stroked Henry’s cheek eliciting the same smile she loved so much, and then reached for Jamie’s as well.

 “God, I love you, Jamie. So much.” Her attention shifted down to the babe on her breast. “You have such a wonderful father, don’t you Willie?” She spoke down to her captive audience. “And I love you.” She kissed his small nose, then leaned over for Henry’s “And you.” She pulled on Jamie’s bottom lip. “And God how I love you.”