#cas is out here giving me shiny thoughts

[valleynix]

based on a conversation @uselessaussie and i had on Reader never being given an actual name, and is instead given unique pet names or some variation of “little bird” to refer to them

[hornystiel]

chipped coin

1,6k, mature (i guess), early seasons destiel

so jackles and ida @chapeldean reminded me about the whole 'dean in cas' coat' thing and i wrote this in one go.

Dean’s rummaging in the pockets of the trench coat he’s currently borrowing from Cas in chance to find something like, you know, change, like what normal people are carrying with them in their pockets. 

Cas appears to be some kind of bird who likes shiny things, because his pockets have everything but the money Dean needs to buy himself a can of soda at 3 am from the vending machine outside of their motel room. Their room. 

Jesus, when did it become two rooms and not for Dean and Sam even, but for Dean and Cas, and Sam. Well, it’s not always like that, sometimes they still stay in one room because everything's packed and they don’t have any spare money or a working credit card with them. Except why the fuck Cas even needs to stay with them at night? And sleep in Dean’s bed. He’s a fucking angel, he doesn’t even need sleep. 

Not that Dean minds. Not really. 

Shiny rocks, a piece of glass (not sharp, thankfully), a cap from a beer Dean likes and tried to give to Cas a few times, some kind of a keychain in the shape of a cat? It’s cute though. Still no money.

Dean’s getting cold because he only slipped into Cas’ coat and currently wears only that, boots, and his batman boxers he managed to win from under Cas who was blissfully zoned out after fucking him into the creaky bed they share today. But once Dean took the coat and put it on, the look on Cas’ face became nothing but predatory. Dean’s sure if he lingered for a bit before leaving - they’d be having round two right now. 

Dean’s ass is still sensitive and he still feels, well, Cas’ come leaking out of him a bit. That should really be very gross, Dean’s sure he should feel gross. 

He doesn’t and that’s kind of concerning. 

He touches the bite mark on his neck and feels his cheeks heating up, even in the chilly parking lot. 

Castiel was intense the minute he appeared in Dean’s life, but Dean didn’t really think he would be so into marking him in every way possible. Although, the handprint on his shoulder should have given him some ideas. Dean coughs a little, trying to will his brain to stop translating the direct feed of Cas sucking hickeys on his hips half an hour before.

Right. He’s still thirsty, that was the reason he left the room in the first place. Not to contemplate. 

They are just fucking. Just fucking, just sharing a room, just talking for hours about everything and nothing, just grabbing a bite in shitty diners when Cas pops up out of nowhere right when Dean thinks it would be nice to make him try this new weird-looking pie and see that adorable frown make an appearance again, the apocalypse fuckery hanging somewhere in the background for once. 

Dean digs faster, in an attempt to overrun his own thoughts. How deep are those pockets? Finally something circle-shaped is in his hands and he brings it to the neon light to the left of him to see what it is. 

It’s the coin, a piece of it chipped a little, a tiny hole piercing it close to the ridge. 

Dean remembers this coin. 

He was boredly playing with all the change he had on him during their pitstop in one of the bars on their way to another state, Cas sitting on the opposite end of a small booth, looking ragged. Rebel angels have tough days. 

Dean noticed this coin and said Hey, look. This one is like you. Castiel squinted at the coin and mumbled Useless and broken? Dean huffed and went Not like the others and still kicking. 

He placed it in Cas’ hand and said that this one is for good luck. Castiel frowned but took it. 

Dean thought he threw it away or lost it a long time ago. But it’s still here. In Dean’s palm again. An angel who wields the destinies of the whole civilisations is carrying a chipped coin for good luck given to him by a hick human. 

Suddenly he isn’t really thirsty anymore. 

He puts everything back into the pockets and quickly goes back to their room. 

Cas is still sprawled on the bed (more and more human things in his arsenal, one day he’ll use this arsenal of adorable/annoying lethal quirks to kill Dean dead), but once Dean closes the door, he sits up and looks at Dean. 

Forget the pain in his ass, Dean wants to ride this ruffled creature into the sunset of a better future. 

“Dean, I advise you to take the coat off, because I’m not sure I can control myself when you are wearing it and I know you must be tired.”

“Aw, for a possessive bastard you’re such a gentleman.” Dean chuckles and without taking the trench coat off climbs on top of Cas’ naked thighs. “What, afraid you’ll fuck the Righteous Man too good he goes out of commission?” 

Castiel growls and tugs Dean closer, crushing their mouths together, hands roaming all over his body as if they were separated for a decade instead of thirty minutes tops. 

“It’s just…the more traces of me you have on yourself, the more I…” Cas hides his face in Dean’s shoulder, his movements slowing but not losing intensity, a hand crawling to the handprint, hidden under the coat. 

“Tell me.” Dean’s lost all of his brain cells on the way here, he wants to hear how much he breaks Cas’ restraint, he wants to know the moment Cas started thinking of this coat as a part of him, he wants to know whether it’s the first time Cas even feels this way and if so he doesn’t want to share this knowledge with anybody else. Man, they are both possessive as fuck. 

“I want to keep you to myself,” Cas whispers, unsure, and Dean moans, slowly grinding into him, starting to pull the coat off his shoulders, but Cas stops his hands. Holy fucking shit.  

“You were mine to rebuild, mine to bring back to life, mine to protect,” Cas lifts his gaze to Dean and strokes his jaw. “Now you’re mine to love.” 

If Dean ever wondered what the perfect example of “fuck around and find out” looks like in real life - well. He’s experiencing it now. 

“Shut up,” he tells Cas because he isn’t ready to start fucking crying during the most mindblowing kinky sex he isn’t even fully having right now. 

Cas opens his mouth to argue and probably tell him more insane shit that will rewire Dean’s mindframe forever and ever, so he shuts him up himself with kisses. After they’re finally done making out, Cas, the stubborn bastard, opens his mouth again.

“Was what I said wrong? You asked me to tell you.” 

“No, it’s just…” How can he even begin to explain everything that’s happening in his brain right now? That Cas just voiced Dean’s own feelings he’s too afraid to even start rationalizing in his own mind? Let alone talking about them. The thought that Cas doesn’t know what he’s talking about doesn’t even cross his mind. He knows they both feel the same and both are greatly inexperienced in just being in love. Cas being an angel, Dean being a hunter and both of them being fuckups. 

“You are thinking too much. I don’t require your answer, Dean, that’s not why I said it.” Cas touches his neck, shoulders, stomach, thighs. Feather-light strokes of his long fingers relax Dean gradually. “Just let me take care of you sometimes.”

 And Dean lets. 

The coat stays on, like a wall, shielding what they have from the rest of the world. Dean imagines that it’s Cas’ wings that envelop him and keep him safe. 

They take it slow this time, Dean rocking on top of Cas like he has all the time in the world, Cas’ hands are firm but still gentle, supporting him when he gets tired. He’s so beautiful underneath him, all black unruly hair, dark stubble and eyes only for Dean. 

Dean kisses him and kisses and kisses until his lips get numb and scratchy from all the licking and biting. 

Cas talks to him, quiet and intimate, and, dammit, Dean ends up crying after all. But he feels so, so much lighter, he feels like there’s light streaming from all the scars on his body. 

When they are cleaned up, Dean digs in the pockets of Cas’ coat again, Cas curiously watching from the bed, clad in boxers and Dean's t-shirt. Dean kinda gets why Cas jumped him when he walked in in his trench coat earlier. The t-shirt…is doing things to him too. 

He finds the coin again, takes it, threads a thick rope through the tiny hole in it and tugs the ends. Then goes to Cas and motions for him to bow his head. 

Cas looks puzzled for a second and then a tiny warm smile spreads on his face when he thumbs the improvised amulet on his neck. 

“Just uh. For it not to get lost in your giant ass pockets.” Dean’s scratching his head and fidgeting like a dumbass. 

“Thank you Dean,” Cas catches Dean’s restless hands in his and just holds them, “Thank you for taking care of it.” 

Thank you for taking care of me.

One day Dean will say it back outloud. 

[petitreve]

don't know if it means the requests are open but-

here are some ideas I'm dying to read :

A) a Yuu that knows well about the fae and refuses to give their true name to the fae boys, say "thank you" directly (it's better to say that you appreciate it bc otherwise you put yourself in debt) etc...

B) A Yuu that is a girl but uses shapeshifting potions to attend school, how others find out, if they keep the secret, if Azul makes them sign a contract...

C) Reader who instead of being a happy-go-lucky type is super calm, collected and even a little bit evil if you will

I am SO sorry this took me so long, hopefully it was worth the wait.

Yuu with knowledge about fae creatures.

Malleus:

Truly, I don’t believe Malleus would understand. He never really gets invited to things so he’s hardly ever around humans. Not to mention the rest of the student body fear him.

While he knows that you don’t fear him, he wouldn’t go as far as to believe that you would refuse a gift from him based on some legends from your world.

It’s no secret that dragons enjoy shiny things, so when Malleus saw a Diamond incrusted bracelet his mind instantly went to you. He bought it without a second thought. He just had to find the right moment to give it to you. He knew that you’d love it.

It didn’t take long for the dragon to find you leaving the usual bench you’d do your homework on, it was much quieter than at Ramshackle with Grim. He quickly made his way over to you, calling you the nickname you had told all of Diasomnia to cal you, excited to show you the treasure he got you. When he opened the box your eyes lit up, “Malleus, it’s beautiful!”

Your reaction brought a soft smile to the boys face, “Here. It’s yours.” He frowned as your face dropped and he could have sworn he saw a quick moment of panic in your eyes.

“Oh-. I-. That’s very sweet of you Malleus,” his heart swelled with pride at your words but soon deflated as you continued on, “but I can’t accept this. I’m sorry.”

Malleus watched as you left, he had worried he made you uncomfortable. But he chalked it up to you not knowing him for long, maybe you just didn’t wish to accept such an expensive gift so soon. He had sworn that he would try again.

He had a short talk with Lilia about your reaction when you got back, Lilia felt bad for the boy he practically raised for not realizing the truth. But Lilia didn’t want to be the one to break his heart. Malleus would find out soon enough why you refused the gift.

You both still went on your evening stroll despite how awkward it felt. If Grim was there he could practically bite through the air. You both quietly talked about studies, the occasional question from Malleus on if you can remember anything new from your world. Until Malleus spotted some wild flowers growing beside the path. You were still going ahead talking about random things Grim says until you noticed the boy no longer with you and turned around to find the dragon knelt on the ground picking flowers.

Part of you wanted to take a picture of him with your ghost camera, but before you could he turned to you holding the small bouquet he picked for you. “For you, child of man.” He took note again on how you fidgeted.

“Malleus, I ca-“ he cut you off with a slight frown. “You can. They’re for you. I don’t understand why you keep rejecting… me.” Watching him connect the dots was enough to rip someone’s heart out. “It’s because what I am, isn’t it?”

He knew about the superstitions that humans had about fae, but he had assume with as much time as you spent with him that you would know him better than that. “I would never try to trick you into a debt, you’re too important to me.”

You took his arm in your hand trying to avoid the talk. The walk back to Ramshackle was silent, Malleus was close to giving up. That morning he found a small box on the desk of his first class along with a note that read, “If I give you a gift first, you’re in debt to me. Not the other way around.”

He opened the box with a soft smile to find a small plush dragon and a doll with a crown. He heart swelled, he smiled widely not caring about anyone staring. He was excited to be able to give you gifts now. It meant more than anything to him.

Lilia:

Lilia has been around for a long, long, long, long, long… you get the gist. The point is, Lilia would understand right away why you refused his gift. Does that make it hurt any less? No. The man fought in a war for this, and the human he cares about refuses to accept a gift from him.

Contrary to popular belief, Lilia wouldn’t tease you about it. That’s one of the few things he believes to be off limits.

Lilia has many things in his collection. He’s been around so long, he’s seen just about everything. Things from past lovers, past friends. I believe he buys something special, like a necklace, for each of his past lovers. That way once they’re gone he has something to remember them by.

Lilia finally found the perfect one for you. The color of the pendant went with your eyes perfectly. When adorn on your neck it would truly bring out the sparkle in your eyes. So of course he had to gift it to you, it would be a crime not to. Beauty deserves to be with beauty.

But the reaction in your eyes wasn’t the one he was hoping for. He watched as fear flashed through your eyes momentarily, he knew that fear. He had seen it many times in the eyes of humans longs before. He truly hoped he would never see it in yours. The thought was enough to send a shock of pain through his heart, but seeing it in person? That was a completely different feeling of pain.

“Lilia… I… I can’t accept this..” he watched helplessly as you shuddered out. He knew he had done nothing wrong for you to believe he would trick you in such a way. It was just a cause of humans fearing what they don’t understand. You didn’t fully understand his culture, so of course you would be afraid. Those fearful humans had been telling you stories of evil Fae for… probably when you were as small as Silver was when he took him in.

He looked down at the pendant before looking back to you, “You don’t have to accept it now beastie. I understand.”

“Lilia I-..”

“Beastie… it’s alright. How about we go for a walk? We could stop at Sam’s shop and buy some more tuna for Grim? Maybe… prank the first years? Hm?”

He was quickly back to his cheerful self knowing that soon you would come around to accepting his gifts. You never could deny him for long.

And he was correct with his assumption. He was curious when Ace originally had approached him with a small box. The ginger boy said it was from you. Lilia held his excitement in as much as he could when he opened the box.

Where he was met with a little plush bat holding a heart.

He knew that this meant that you were finally accepting the idea of presents.

Wow. Three days. You really held out there, huh Y/n?

Sebek:

I truly believe Sebek would be the least understanding, given his already low opinions on humans. He would be quite offended, on Malleus’s part he claims, that you’d refuse such a gift. Truly, he’s hurt. He doesn’t understand why you would believe such foolish rumors about the Fae. But of course you’re human. Humans are such foolish creatures alone.

He tries to talk to Lilia about it, and for once Lilia is honest. Telling Sebek about how humans believe Fae to trick humans into debt. Whether it be for labor, their children, any “important” looking object. Or just to mess with them.

At first Sebek couldn’t believe how anyone could believe those preposterous tales, but humans aren’t the smartest of creatures. That he knows for sure.

Sebek was, of course not thinking about you at all that’s ridiculous human stop making assumptions, running errands for Master Lilia. He needed to get a few things for the next concoction that Master Lilia would make for dinner. Sevens help everyone in the dorm.

He saw it. A small brooch.

The brooch was a small mouse. He didn’t know why, but it called to him. Instantly he, regretfully, thought of you. He didn’t understand why. But before he could ask himself, he had already paid and was halfway back to his own dorm. Ready to give you the brooch the next day.

“HUMAN!” His voice could be heard all through the courtyard. You turned on instinct just for him to hold out his hand with the small brooch sitting inside of his palm.

“Oh Sebek! It’s very cute!”

“… Human! I got this as a… kind gesture! You may take it now.” He watched you impatiently as you froze slightly. That wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, and he didn’t like that.

“That’s… very sweet of you Sebek. But… I can‘t take this.”

It was almost like a train had just rammed right over his heart. He didn’t understand this feeling. Why does he care if he disappoints you? Why does he care how you view him? For once Sebek was speechless.

“.. I have to go.. I’ll see you later Sebek..”

He watched as you left for the next class, in shock. He didn’t understand half of the things going on in his head. He tried again the next day, but same answer. He sat and listened to all of Lilias stories.

He was disappointed. Humans are shallow horrible creatures, but he truly thought you were better. He tried to see you as little as possible.

Of course until you started approaching him at lunch with a small box. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t leave Young Master alone. So, he had to face you.

Before he could speak you held out the small box to him. He looked at the box before looking up at you.

“.. open it!”

He thought about returning it back to you like you refused to take the brooch from him. But he had already started opening it and pulling out what was hidden inside before he could register what was happening.

What he pulled out wasn’t what he had expected. In his hands sat a small, hand made, plush cat.

He looked up at you confused.

“… you said your mother is a nocturnal Fae… cats are… nocturnal.. so I thought…”

He sat there, dumbfounded. He always thought humans were shallow creatures. But you hand made him a gift, keeping in mind what type of Fae he told you his mother was.

Without thinking he reached into his pocket, pulling out the broach and pinning it onto your uniform.

“… thank you Human.”

[bylertruther]

what do you think about will's line "you make [me] feel like [I'm] not a mistake at all" coming after the rain fight? he was devastated by the rain fight and thought of himself as stupid because of what mike said to him about not liking girls. he also destroyed castle byers because he was so hurt by mike's words. how does that fit into will's perception of mike as someone who has never made him feel like a mistake and who makes him feel better for being different?

(I really hope this ask doesn't come across as anti-mike or anti-byler bc I love mike and I love the ship so much, I'm just trying to understand how will's clear hurt after the rain fight and the distance from mike in lenora connects to the van scene and I'm asking you because you seem to have a good grasp on will's character)

warning: this is Extremely Long and i am Extremely Sorry, but the rain fight and what it means for their characters is one of my favorite things to talk about ever and so i have So Many Things to say abt it. sorry i lov u don't bite me pls.

no, i think it's totally fair to ask that! seriously, don't worry at all about how you come across. i don't agree with the idea that liking something = never acknowledging its flaws, so i'm always down to discuss stuff like this. i'm going to dive deep into my interpretation of the rain fight, because i feel i need to express that first in order to answer your question fully.

if i'm honest, back when it aired, the rain fight was what 100% struck down any microscopic crumb-of-a-crumb of hope that i had for byler in Any capacity, platonic or not. i finished the season and then didn't give a single shit about the show as a whole afterward, because i felt like it was such a slap in the face. not only to will, but mike, too, considering this is a character that's stood by will's side against all sorts of monsters, whether they were middle school homophobic bullies or eldritch monsters.

at the time, it was exceedingly difficult to reconcile the mike i loved and the mike i was seeing on screen, but i feel a little more clear on it now. i could be totally wrong, clouded by my own bias and perception, but here's how i see it all.

the rain fight hurt me more than anything in the entire show, because of how real it is and how neither of them are objectively wrong.

mike is in his very first relationship. it's shiny, exciting, and new. he's kissing all day, getting a rise out of authority figures, and having enough fun that he spends All of his time with her. it's not a serious relationship, but he's a kid, el is the first girl ever that isn't repulsed by him, they have an Insane trauma bond, and she's his "superman". it's not serious but it's Serious 2 Him, you know? he feels like a Big Boy now and he hides from his Very Bad Do-NOT-Touch-Or-EVER-Think-About Trauma behind this relationship. it makes him feel like he's moving forward.

will is feeling a similar sense of exhilaration and freedom. the gate was closed and the upside down has fled their world for good. hooray! he can finally be a teen again! he can finally be his version of Normal now, aka the will he was before the upside down! no more now memories, true sight, or fear that Something will come to get him, whether physically or mentally. he's a hostage unchained basically. it's summer, he has his party, and he just wants to have a good time with them. he just wants to be happy, live a little, and feel safe.

mike is seeking safety and reprieve in a girlfriend and will is seeking safety and reprieve in his friends.

but then...

mike's turning point:

mike is told that if he wants to continue to see el, he has to lie to her. so he does and then his Serious 2 Him relationship is over in a very unserious blink of an eye lol. he doesn't know how to win her back, because he doesn't actually know her, and he's understandably upset because he Wants To Have A Girlfriend Again because she's his Crutch.

he Needs her to feel Normal, but she does Not need him, which canonically makes him jealous. remember that this is something Super Important to his character, because having a girlfriend means he's Cool and Normal and Needed, which are more important than water and food to mike right now. i reiterate this, because that's mike's Entire Thing Since Forever. he Needs to keep up the act, because he doesn't like who he is without it as we learn in s4. he Needs it, desperately.

as such, this has him out of sorts and he seeks out lucas's help to win her back. we know mike, which means we know that he can get tunnel vision when he fears he might lose someone. so, this aggravates his already-negligent behaviors ("i was worrying too much about el" [paraphrased], "it's been like this all summer") and he turns into a Super Shitty Friend.

... i was going to go over will's turning point, but his journey is pretty clear, i think. everyone has a girlfriend and they all want to do girlfriend activities and they canonically forget about him in the process. he's there and yet no one sees him. ouch. lets fast forward to the fight.

will has reached his breaking point, because this campaign he's worked so hard on and is putting genuine effort into to make engaging for his friends is being treated like a joke. they're not laughing with him; his friends, his best friends are laughing at him. and that fucking Hurts. he's been trying to get them to do things they used to do, he's been trying to have fun with them in any capacity, and now that they're here... he's the fucking joke of the hour and they're quite literally jumping up and running at any opportunity to cast him aside.

so, you know what? fine. whatever. you guys win; i give up. have fun with the girls. i'm going home. lucas is shocked to the point of speechlessness at how upset will is, but mike immediately jumps into action. he softens, tries to go back to the game in earnest this time with lucas, and goes after him - almost trampling lucas - when his pleas are ignored.

will was invisible (to all, to mike) until he wasn't. (something about being careful what you wish for..?)

now, we fast forward again to the moment when will's heart is torn in two: "it's not my fault you don't like girls!"

first, let me say this: michael wheeler is a fucking bitch. we know this and we love him for it even when it hurts. that was a shitty thing to say, but... that does not make him The Shittiest Boy Alive, Ever. not even a little bit.

in season three, mike is a teenager behaving like a teenager. he felt ambushed by will's feelings and like it wasn't fair that this was all on him. ("you're the heart / without heart, we'd all fall apart"; again, the party is his responsibility, "but why is this all on me? why am i the bad guy?"; mike always has to be the leader, carrying the party on his back, but he himself doesn't get to unwind which is unfair in his eyes.) he isn't privy to will's journey like we are; he's caught up in his own world and his own shit, remember? he doesn't react super well, but will is yelling at him, very upset over something He Didn't Even Know He Was Doing All This Time ("you knew she was having trouble for a year and didn't tell me" aka this is where the "will doesn't tell mike the truth until it's too late" pattern begins), and telling him that he's the one ruining the party over some stupid girl, aka his (ex-)girlfriend, aka the girl that saved their lives, aka the girl that saved the Entire world twice so maybe don't call her stupid, will. (mike always sticks up for people, so of course he isn't going to react well to el being called stupid here, even by will.)

he shouldn't have said it, but mike is knee-jerk, cornered-animal reacting to will putting this all on mike's shoulders at the very last second after never having given him a chance to fix any of his actions. will bottled this all up and then exploded on him. of course mike isn't going to react well. of course he's going to put his foot in his mouth and say the first thing that comes to mind.

because in his mind, it really isn't his fault that will doesn't like girls lol. and it isn't HIS sole fault that the party is falling apart. not everything has to land on HIS shoulders. not everything has to be HIS responsibility.

he's a kid going through his own shit, that's lashing out at someone for lashing out at him first. it was shitty, it hurt will to his core, but i don't think mike meant to be cruel. he immediately backed down, tried to explain himself rationally (that they're all just changing and will should've expected that bc it's not like they can be the same kids forever), and then went after will (literally across town, on bikes, in the pouring rain and thunder, to his house and then to castle byers) to apologize.

he doesn't do this with anyone else—not even lucas or his own girlfriend. and when he does apologize? it's because someone is forcing him to, walking him through it, or because they did it first. mike doesn't ever make the first move or humble himself first... unless it's will. then he suddenly knows exactly what to do and what will needs from him. because he knows will and he listens to will.

everything that he did for will in that scene is precisely, word-for-word, what max told eleven that he'd do for her In The Same Episode just moments prior—but he didn't. he didn't!

he did everything he was "supposed to" without guidance or hesitation or headassery... for will.

when eleven confronts mike in season four and tells him he never says i love you, mike responds, very seriously, with "i say it." and you know what? i agree with him wholeheartedly.

mike loves will more than anyone. we're shown very clearly from the very beginning that the only person in the show that rivals his love, devotion, and loyalty for will is joyce. and will knows this! that's why mike is his bestest best friend! that's why he's hopelessly in love with him! because "max, dustin, and lucas, they're great..." but they're not mike! no one treats will the way mike does, and mike doesn't treat anyone the way he treats will! they're perfect for each other and will knows this! that's why he expected and wanted a future with mike!

and... he thought that mike wanted that, too. because THAT'S the crux of the rain fight. it isn't that will is gay. it's that will thought mike wanted Crazy Together, too! it's right there in the dialogue, what it is that they're really fighting about:

MIKE: I mean, what did you think, really? That we were never going to get girlfriends? We were just gonna sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives? WILL: Yeah. I guess I did. I really did.

the fight is representative of an amalgamation of things and it cuts will's life into yet another before and after, but the point isn't that will doesn't like girls. the point was that will really thought it was always going to be them together—he thought they both wanted that; that that would be the one thing that never changed, even if they and everything else around them did.

when will is looking at a picture of them and saying "stupid.. so stupid" and RIPS IT DOWN THE MIDDLE BETWEEN HIM AND MIKE, with the memories that Start And End With Mike And His Voice Being The Focal Point, i interpret it as him feeling stupid enough to think that his feelings, his wants, and his dreams were ever reciprocated. stupid enough to believe that mike really did mean crazy together in every single way. that he meant it the way that will meant it and had always meant it.

mike is the one that brings up forever and will confirms it. he says yes, i did want that with you and i thought you wanted it, too. their argument ends there, because THAT was the real issue. You Got A Girlfriend And Replaced Me With Her; Something I Never Thought We Would Do To Each Other. THAT'S (!!!!!) the issue. THAT'S why mike looks so devastated afterward. THAT'S why he bikes in the rain to apologize. THAT'S why he looks so sheepish when will puts his dnd book in the donation box, why he's worried that Will Is Going To Replace Him With Someone Else!!! because their rain fight was about the fact that it was no longer him and mike against the world!! mike got a girlfriend and broke their unspoken promise!!

THAT'S why mike repeats "we're friends. we're. friends." at rink-o-mania, why he tried calling him all the time for Months (he felt like he'd lost will the same way that will felt like he'd lost mike last summer, their roles were perfectly and exactly reversed here), why he said that hawkins wasn't the same without him / there's no one like you, why he said they should be a team again (an Us, a We, Crazy Together; curiously after his gf breaks up with him lmao). it's the same fight all over again. "i lost you" / "i'm right here." + "friends... best friends." / "not possible." it's always about loss with these two.

that's why i feel like the rain fight doesn't contradict will's van confession. i think will's line of thinking is that mike can't help how he feels; aka, "i can't blame him for not returning my feelings / outgrowing our childhood love". and him not returning will's feelings doesn't make will feel like a mistake.

what made will feel like a mistake was his desire to go back to how things were and the realization that that was impossible. will tears down castle byers because it's too full of everything he once had and he learned the hard way that There Is No Going Back, There Is Only Going Forward. the theme of s3 is about change and will realizes this in the most heartbreaking way possible.

i hate the idea of anyone reconstructing castle byers, because the point is that will outgrew it. he can't hide through escapism in dnd or in castle byers. he has to build a life that he loves and feels safe enough in that he Doesn't Need a castle byers. (that's why s4 has him coming out of his shell wrt his sexuality and wanting to be open and honest about it as much as he can be with the ones that he loves and trusts, and he'll continue/conclude that journey in s5).

in season three:

mike learns that he doesn't Need eleven (see: how happy he was with will especially at the end, seemingly on good terms, and giddy still as he told el abt them coming over for christmas [note how he mentioned playing games in their basement for the rest of their lives in their fight vs how he's making plans to have them both over so they can play with their gifts {aka he's still thinking of will bc he Wants that future with him, too, deep down}]) ... until she kisses him, tells him she loves him, and then his brain breaks and all hell breaks lose again because the byers are literally leaving in just a couple minutes so how the FUCK is he going to deal with any of that, AND THEN in s4 when he does seem okay with being broken up with again he's then 1) reminded that she's his responsibility and 2) he needs to save her because if he doesn't then the world literally goes to hell and they all fucking die. so. yanno. that's tough. mike takes two beautiful steps forward and then gets pulled fifty steps back every time.

and will learns that hiding is not the same thing as living and that he needs to stop that if he wants to be able to move forward (see: "he's good at hiding", using dnd as an escape vs him giving away his dnd books + hopper's letter and the cave metaphor + being more open in s4 and wanting to "come clean" about being gay + the gay-coded advice he gives mike abt truth and fear).

mike definitely hurt him, but that's one moment out of a million where he's otherwise made will feel strong, loved, and capable, and will has told us that much himself more than once. will doesn't fault mike for wanting something else, someone else. he loves him without any expectation of it being reciprocated in that way.

he loves him, just because; because mike has always loved him and shown him a kindness and mercy like no other; because mike has known what he is and loved him anyway; because mike came to him and told him he didn't deserve anything after their fight, that hawkins wasn't the same without him, that the past year was weird without him, that he's more to mike than any of their other friends even after all this time, that they should be a team again as they face the end of the world together without superman's help.

because no matter what... they always love each other in a way that no one else does. even if will wants more than that, even if he aches with it, he still knows that what he has with mike is so special as it is. and that's enough for him.

mike didn't treat him any differently when their biggest concern was some mouthbreather calling him a fairy and he didn't treat him any differently after the upside down when everyone walked on eggshells around him, thinking he was about to break. mike has always treated him like a person that is strong and loved, and one sentence in the middle of a fight during a very stressful time for both of them doesn't diminish a history bursting with love.

i think what will fears isn't mike knowing he's gay, but mike knowing how will actually feels about him. i say this, because of the van confession and this line of will's in particular:

Sometimes I think it's just scary to open up like that. To say how you really feel, especially to people you care about the most. Because, what if… what if they don't like the truth?

this is played with the [tender, emotional music] which we know the sound directors used for intimate moments. will is also gauging mike's reaction here, giving him a searching kind of look, like he's testing the waters. will doesn't know this, but we as viewers know that this is a conversation about mike not being able to tell eleven he loves her. it isn't a reach to say then that will is talking not about being gay, but specifically about "how [he] really [feels]" about mike. that's what scares him: his unreciprocated crush, not his sexuality.

the duffers have said that will is trying to make himself be understood in the van scene and that will cries because mike doesn't get it. if he thought that mike was a homophobe, he wouldn't want to share this about himself. instead, mike makes him feel better for his otherness in all its shades. he wants to tell mike, because he wants to be honest with him and release some of that burden from his chest. but he's scared. he's so, so unbelievably fucking scared.

because, it's exactly as will says: "what if [he doesn't] like the truth?" what if that ruins the friendship that they just rebuilt? what if eleven finds out and then it's Even More Weird and Uncomfortable for everyone involved?

and considering how self-sacrificing will is... i feel like that's his other biggest concern regarding that entire clusterfuck. he loves them both. he doesn't want to hurt them or come between what he Thinks they have, because that'd be selfish and will isn't ever selfish even when he should be.

will's line about mike making him feel better for being different has canon support from season one and two. mike's outburst in season three is an outlier in his otherwise spotless record of loving will byers to an unhinged degree. even in season four, we see that mike never stopped reaching out to will. it was will who never reached out and mike was understandably upset about that, but even then he did try to include will afterward only to get iced out which "sabotaged the whole day" in his eyes. will didn't know this, though, and that's why he behaved the way that he did. still, will knows who mike is when he's not pretending and he wants mike to know who he is when he's not hiding. the rain fight hurt will indescribably, yes, but not because of the "it's not my fault you don't like girls" line in the way that it's understandably interpreted. so... i think it all fits together just fine.

[novelist-becca]

Give me reasons to believe (that you would do the same for me): chapter 1

AO3

Fandom: The Owl House

Rating: T

Relationships: Eda & Luz

Summary: After what happened in the warehouse, Eda and Luz have a talk. Title is from the song Gone Gone Gone by Philip Phillips.

PS: part of this was inspired by one of @edenihira’s fics!

-

The assortment of boxes next to the triple bunk bed had King and Luz scrambling over to find their stuff with Eda following suit.

  Well, King more so than Luz. The girl was too tired from that day. Everything just…happened so suddenly.

  Luz sat idly next to Eda as she went through the boxes, pulling out anything important. 

  At some point she smiled and pulled out King’s stuffed rabbit, which he hugged excitedly before running off. 

  Then Eda took out a certain box. The same one she suggested Luz find earlier. 

  “Look what else is in here.” Eda smiled and handed it to the girl next to her. She stifled a laugh at the disgusted shudder that came out of Luz. 

  (What was on the label was either stored elsewhere or thrown out. She didn’t care.)

  She watched with a smile as the girl’s eyes widened at the blue wood revealed to her. 

  “It’s the…palistrom wood!” she gasped. 

  “I thought you might wanna carve your palisman.” Eda said, pulling a carving knife out of her hair and nudging it towards Luz. “What do ya say?”

  After everything they’ve been through, even with the nightmare of a fight in the warehouse that neither of them wanted to happen again, this felt earned. Eda didn’t forget what she said when she first handed her kid the gift in her room. 

  Whatever she needs, she’s here .

  However, Luz frowned and looked away from the box in her lap. 

  “I shouldn’t.”

  Oh?

  “The Day of Unity is in two days. I-I have to focus o-on stopping Belos, and-” 

  The kid’s rambling was cut off and she whimpered as Eda tugged her into her arms and close to her chest. 

  She was still getting used to giving hugs again. But if she was going to give one to Luz, the least she could do is pour all her love into it. Which was exactly what she did. Eda squeezed her kid gently but firmly, as if to make sure she was real and safe. 

  The embrace conveyed many things.

  I’m sorry for not being honest with you earlier. 

  You’re safe now.

  I still love you.

  Eda found herself lingering on the hug, but whether it was so her subconscious knew the girl was safe, or that was just how much she wanted to comfort Luz, she didn’t know. Or care. 

  Maybe it was both. 

  She owed Luz so many apologies, so many hugs…

  “You goob,” Eda said gently. “Hey, this isn’t all on you.” Luz stayed still in her arms, stiffly resting her cheek on the witch’s shoulder, and curling into herself slightly. Eda also didn’t miss the trembling in her shoulders. 

  “Yeah! We have teammates now!” King piped up. “Meow meow!”

  “What if the palisman doesn’t like me?” Luz said with resignation in her voice. Like she was so sure that her palisman would be born hating her. 

  Eda hated how resigned she looked. Luz acted as if she hadn’t “earned” this, or she wasn’t “worthy” enough. 

  What the hell caused her to be like this?

  King looked at her, deadpan. “By my count, you’ve befriended more enemies than I have claws on my paw.”

  Eda let go of Luz. “Plenty of demons and witches would’ve ditched this rock already.” She turned to the kid with a determined smile. “But you keep learning, and you keep fighting, what’s not to like huh?” 

  A blush dusted Luz’s nose and cheeks, and she smiled at Eda with shiny eyes.

  “Thanks, Eda,” she sniffled. Then she picked up the box, touched by the words. “I think I’m ready to carve, heh,” 

  “...uh, you’re gonna show me how to do this, right?” Luz asked sheepishly after a pregnant silence.

  Eda rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, duh, my dad taught me the ropes.” she took the wood out and scooted away. “Here - let’s make sure we have some space. Lay the wood here…”

  “Are you gonna carve meeeee?” King teased.

  “Calm down, King,” Eda responded. Then she picked up the knife and gave Luz her full attention. 

  “Now, let’s take it slow.” Eda began. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

  Even if that wasn’t entirely true, it was nice to think so tonight.

  -

  By the time Luz had gotten the hang of the carving knife (which wasn’t long), half of the CATTs members had gone to bed. (See: different sections of the hut occupied by cots)

  Now, Eda was supervising over her shoulder as she carefully moved the blade up and down the wood. After a few minutes, she managed to form a smooth surface at the top. She had an idea of what to carve, and she’d save it as a surprise later. 

  The witch told her that one of the keys to carving a palisman is to not think too hard about what you’re carving. 

  “Let your hands do the work,” she said.

  Eda had to hold Luz’s hands while she clutched the knife, and guide her movements so she wouldn’t cut herself. Normally, Luz would laugh or protest, insisting that she wasn’t helpless. But… after today, she was far too tired to argue with Eda. 

  In fact, she never wanted to fight with Eda, ever again. Ever.

  Even if the fight was still fresh in her mind. 

  In fact, she was surprised Eda was still smiling at her and giving her hugs after that.

  From the running, the chasing, the falling…

  (She was pretty sure she got hurt somewhere during that fall. She couldn’t stop rolling her shoulders.)

  The way Eda didn’t even shout at her when they fought, even though Luz was the one who argued, the one who tried to run and accuse, and-

  “Ouch!” 

  Luz was pulled out of her spiral by a sting on her finger. Looking down, she noticed a thin line of blood on her index finger. 

  Crap. 

  Clumsily, she took her hands off the wood and pinched the skin, wincing. 

  “Kid? Oh, shit- hang on,” Eda exclaimed softly when she noticed what happened. 

  “W-wait -'' Luz tried and failed to protest when Eda pulled out a box of the colorful band-aids.

  “Look, you’ve already carved half the wood. Least you can do is take a break, ‘kay? We can finish in the morning.” Eda insisted. 

  “But - oh, okay…” Luz relented and placed the half-carved wood back in the box, and allowed the witch to wrap up her finger. She winced again at the pain in her side, hoping Eda wouldn’t notice.

  See? No wonder Eda tried to send you away, all you do is get yourself hurt—

  “Luz?” Eda tapped her shoulder. “Oi. You good?” 

  “Hmm? O-oh, yeah, I’m fine,” 

  “No, you’re not. You keep making a face.” 

  She rolled her shoulder again and looked away.

  “Luz? Are you hurt anywhere else?” Eda came a little closer, but made no move to touch her. “You can trust me. I want to help you.”

  No, I can’t tell her… I can’t.

  …But it hurts so much .

  Luz turned back around and placed a hand on her side.

  “I… it’s my side. And my shoulder, it really hurts.” She rasped.

  Eda’s face turned more concerned. “Is it alright if I see?” 

  Reluctantly, Luz nodded, took off the jacket, and gingerly lifted up her shirt. Guilt pooled in her gut when she saw the witch’s eyes widen, and she looked away once more. 

  So, it’s that bad.

  “Shit, kid, what happened?” Eda exclaimed before getting whatever healing supplies she could find in the hideout. When she came back, she sat down and motioned for the girl to come closer. Luz inhaled sharply at the sudden cold sting.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Eda said quickly before pressing down more gently. After a while, Luz got used to it and started to relax. “Good thing we still have the healing ointment…” Then, she asked a question Luz very much did not want to answer. 

  “Who did this?”

  Luz tensed again, feeling tears well up behind her eyes. 

  “Was it one of the coven guards? Did you get jostled too much in the carriage?” 

  “No… i-it was…it was you.” 

  Silence. 

  “Wh-when you recalled Owlbert, I fell, and I hit the crates. And… I think I might’ve also gotten the scrapes, a-and hit my head when you broke the ice glyph.” Luz didn’t like remembering this. “I guess I didn’t know it was this bad until my adrenaline wore off.”

  “Oh, kid…” Eda sounded so sad . “I’m so sorry.” 

  “It’s fine,” Luz said quietly. 

  “It’s really not fine. I swear, I didn’t mean to,” Eda’s voice was shaking a bit.

  “I was the one who tried to run from you.” 

  “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this, Luz, you’re hurt!” Eda whisper-shouted. “You know I care!”

  “Not to mention I’m the one who did it…” the witch mumbled under her breath as she finished treating the wounds. Luz said nothing. 

  … 

  When the bandages were wrapped snug around Luz’s middle, and an ice pack was given for her head, she scooted backwards until her back was against the wall next to the bunk bed. Eda did the same.

  “Listen…” Eda began. “About what happened earlier, I, uh…” she trailed off. 

  Luz tensed at the reminder, and unfortunately, Eda noticed. 

  “If you don’t wanna talk ‘bout it, that’s fine, but-“ 

  “I’m sorry,” Luz muttered. 

  “Huh? Couldn’t hear ya there…” 

  “I’m sorry!” Luz repeated, burying her face in her hands. “I was stupid.” 

  “No no no, stop that, what are you talking about?” Eda reached for her good shoulder and rubbed, attempting reassurance. 

  “Don’t act like you don’t know, Eda!” Luz tried to keep her voice down, clearly not wanting to wake the other residents, but it was hard to keep her voice from wavering. 

  “Hey-”

  “You were trying to send me away to protect me, and I was reckless, again. I promise, I’ll do whatever you say from now on.” Luz said through unshed tears.

  “Kid, no, I know that’s not how you really feel. I know I hurt you.” Eda responded.

  The multi-color mosaic of bruises on her kid’s skin made her feel bad enough. She already knew there was turmoil going on inside that brain of hers, too. 

  Part of her wanted to justify sending her and King away, and going behind her back, and lying to her, but that would be wrong, and the coward’s way out. Obviously. 

  The tearful accusations that she saw Luz as weak, or useless, or a burden, tore through her heart. Of course, she though the fucking world of Luz. She never wanted to hurt her, wanted to give her a better childhood than she herself had as a witchling.

  Alas, she did hurt her. 

  “I know that’s not how you really feel,” Eda repeated. “Talk to me.”

  Luz threw up her hands, relenting. “Fine. You wanna know? I felt betrayed. When I heard you talking to Raine, I thought you had given up on me. I thought you tricked me. I thought that you were lying every time you said you were proud of me, you tried sending me away just like my mom did, and I thought I had become too much of a burden, again. 

  “I didn’t just think you still underestimated me. I thought something had changed for you to start hating me. Like something was wrong with me,”

  “Hey, shh, there is nothing wrong with-”

  Maybe it was because I helped Belos in the past, or-or that I caused too much trouble for you…” she buried her hands in her hair. 

  “I’m just… so sick of being scared that people will leave me! First my mom, then Amity, and now you ! I was so scared you were getting rid of me, like my nightmares were coming true. And it just hurts so much!” 

  More guilt pooled in Eda’s gut. She knew about those, and yet, she still tried to go through with it.

  By the time Luz was done rambling, tears were starting to form, and she seemed to have run out of steam.

  “So… if it means not being sent away, I’ll follow your lead, I swear.” 

  Eda stared down at her hands, trying to think of how to respond to that. The accusations tore through her like a knife. The idea of hating this kid or blaming her for anything made her feel ill.

  I really did mess her up.

  “Luz… honey, I want you to know that I would never want to get rid of you. Ever. You are so important to me.” She said slowly. “Also, - and I will keep telling you this - Belos wasn’t your fault.” 

  “Am I really?” Luz replied with a hint of surprise that broke Eda’s heart.

  “Absolutely. I hate that you can’t see that. But… I suppose I’m partially to blame for that. I broke your trust, didn’t I?”

  The kid didn’t respond, but Eda knew the answer anyway.

  “I still want you to know, the reason I did all that? I wanted to keep you and King safe. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”

  “... I know.”

  “Look,” Eda reached for the good shoulder again. “I know you want to help, and I appreciate it, but this isn’t like your stories where the superpowered kids stop the bad guys. This is much bigger than that.”

  Luz huffed and smirked. “Heh. Yeah, I guess you’re right…"

  “Uh-huh.” Eda nodded. “But even still, I shouldn’t have lied and went behind your back. Or even used my harpy form against you. I ended up scaring you shitless instead, and… did this to you. And for that, I’m very sorry. I hope you can trust me again.” 

  Luz sniffled and leaned on the witch’s shoulder. “I forgive you,” she murmured. “Just please don’t leave again, I don’t wanna lose you too… I can't do this alone.”

  "Hey. Who said anything about doing this alone?" Eda reciprocated and gently squeezed. “You won’t. For what it’s worth, you are one of the strongest witches I know, and I will always be proud of you. I am so honored to have had you under my wing for this long. You cracked this old lady’s heart wide open, you know?”

  “You’re not that old,” Luz mumbled with a snort.

  “Aw, you flatter me,” The witch scoffed, then softened again. “I’ll always do my best to protect you, okay?” 

  Luz nuzzled into the woman’s shoulder. 

  “For what it’s worth… I already feel safe with you.”

[maryjanesims3]

Strange 'plastic' shine on the default hairs?

Update 7 October 2022: I noticed deleting the files I mentioned gets rid of the shine, but also causes weird mismatch in how scalp & face textures are displayed, which is very noticeable on some hairs.

Hi everyone!

A quick post because I suddenly encountered something weird about the default hairs I make. They appeared all shiny and splotchy in game (see the screenshot), but not in CAS. At first I thought I made a mistake because I spotted it first on one of my newer defaults, but then I looked around and noticed every default hair had it. Even the ones I was 100% sure about they didn't have that before. So luckily it fell into place!

I recently decided to try some new stuff in my game and had downloaded Lazy Duchess Shader Tweaks, something I didn't use before. I love the results, except for how it interacts with my defaults. The glossy shine the shaders give to the hair, works nicely with EA hairs but not on my defaults.

I wanted to keep the rest of the Shader Tweaks, so I personally deleted the files SimHairLive.msasm and SimHairLiveOutdoors.msasm from the folder shader_replace. That works for me!

Putting it out here in case anyone else uses the Shaders Tweaks in combination with my defaults and doesn't like that shine.

Happy simming!

[eepy-pleepy]

It’s Not Everest (No Vacancy)

The neon “NO” is hidden behind an overgrown shrub, so Dean pulls the Impala into the motel parking lot before they can see that it is, in fact, lit.

“Awesome.” Dean says in a tone that clearly doesn’t think so, and whips the car around to pull back onto the dark road. They immediately hit a pothole and Sam’s head bumps the ceiling.

“Ow, wait, Dean, we didn't go check with the office, maybe they just left the sign lit because they can’t freaking see it–”

“No, Sam, every goddamn motel in this godless town is full up and I don’t particularly feel like walking into another musty fucking office just to have them tell me I need to learn how to read. It’s too damn late, I’m too damn tired, I’m just gonna find a pull-off where the cops won’t feel the need to be our 5AM wake-up call and we’re sleeping in Baby. Fuck it.” He emphasizes the last sentence by throwing the car into park, all seventeen feet of shiny black metal successfully hidden behind a bank of tall, scraggly shrubs off the shoulder of the road. Dean kills the engine and the early summer evening rises to fill the silence with the musical stylings of several hundred crickets.

“Dean.”

“We’ve done it before, Sam.”

“I know we have. What about Cas?”

Dean looks over at the passenger’s side. Sitting shotgun, Cas looks back at him, his eyes just a dark glint in the moonlight.

“I can just... keep watch outside.” He says.

“Bad fucking idea.” Dean snaps. “I wake up in the middle of the night and see you out there lurking, I might shoot you between the eyes. You’re staying in the damn car.”

“Dean, there’s not enough roo–”

“Look, Sammy, passing out is passing out, sitting or lying down. This is a molehill, not Everest. I just need my four hours, damn.”

Dean crams up against the driver’s side door, crossing his arms over his chest, leaning his bent knees against the back of the seat between himself and Cas. He’ll worry about bootprints on the leather upholstery when he isn’t so fucking exhausted.

“Jerk.” Sam mutters from the backseat, almost inaudible.

“Goodnight, bitch.”

“Goodnight, Dean. Sam.” Cas murmurs.

“Don’t make it weird, Cas.”

"Goodnight, Cas."

"Thank you, Sam."

Dean gives a little huff through his nose. Cas folds his hands in his lap and turns his head forward to watch the fireflies.

Dean doesn’t like it when Cas watches him sleep. Cas knows this.

But if he doesn't want eyes on him, he shouldn’t be drawing so much attention to himself. This is the fourth time inside of an hour that he’s shifted around, clearly uncomfortable with his sleeping arrangement, six feet of full-grown man trying to figure out how to make three feet work for him.

It's clearly not working out.

Dean's head has fallen against Castiel’s arm. He’s snoring gently, Cas can feel his breath warm through the sleeve of his trench coat.

He shuts his eyes. Pulls his focus down to just this, the upper lefthand side of his body. Feels the weight of Dean's head, the unyielding shape of his skull, the softness of his cheek. Cas turns his head towards him, just to better assess the situation. Not at all to feel the soft tickle of Dean’s hair against his nose and lips. That’s just an... accidental consequence.

Cas feels too big for his own skin. It’s something a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent should be entirely familiar with, but this isn't the feeling of cramming a Chrysler building into a 5-foot-11-inch frame.

This is bigger than that.

The slump of Dean’s body across the seat means that his head is the only thing supported, and it has his neck at a bad angle. If Dean's an angry sleeper, he's even worse with a crick in his neck and Cas doesn't love the idea of being stuck in a car with that tomorrow. He can't pull Dean more flush against his side without the risk of waking him and sending him into a conniption of bruised heterosexuality, so instead, he carefully lifts his arm. It works perfectly: Dean slides forward, falling to lying down with his head in Cas' lap.

The effect is immediate. The uncomfortable pinch between Dean's brows smooths away and he takes a deep, slow breath, settling against his new pillow and sinking into an easier sleep.

Cas hasn't realized he's smiling, yet. It's a tiny, soft thing, the one he gets when he's looking at something precious.

He is.

The moonlight catches the sweep of Dean's eyelashes, the top of his cheek, the shell of his ear, gilding them silver. His lips are parted, plush and dark in the contrast of the pale light. He's slightly curled up on the bench seat and Cas knows it's to fit the small space but that doesn't mean it's not the most fucking endearing thing he's ever seen.

The short hair over Dean's ear is mussed from the way he was slumped like a grumpy turtle past the collars of his shirt and jacket. Delicate, Cas brushes it right again.

Dean shifts, pressing up into his ghost of a touch. Cas draws back, afraid he's been caught doing something definitely not on Dean's approved list of Things Just Friends Do, but Dean doesn't wake. Cas' hand hovers.

He shouldn't. He should return to looking out of the front windshield and prepare the diffusion for when Dean wakes up to find himself sleeping in Cas' lap. That's what he should do.

The trouble is, nothing short of a fucking catastrophe could pull his eyes away from this. Dean is so beautiful, so calm and easy in his slumber, and he's right here, safe and close and warm. Literally right in his lap.

Cas pets Dean's hair, feeling that dangerous constriction again, something so huge and profound it might very well burst him. Dean sleeps on.

"You should tell him."

Sam's voice from the backseat is so quiet it's barely a whisper, but it startles Cas like a gunshot. He turns his head a margin to find Sam watching him, head and shoulders against the back driver's side door, arms crossed over his chest.

"Did you say something?" Cas tries, matching Sam's barely-there whisper.

"You heard me."

"Tell him what?"

"You love him."

Cas turns his head further so he's not just looking at Sam out of his periphery. There's nothing accusatory in Sam's tone, quiet as it is, or in his posture, cramped as it may be. He looks back at Cas with nothing but the same easy camaraderie he's always shown him, like they're discussing a good book or the lovely weather, not a complete paradigm shift.

In his lap, Dean tucks one hand under Cas' thigh and nuzzles his face deeper against the fabric of his pants. Cas looks down at him again and feels ready to explode into several new galaxies.

"I can't." He breathes.

"Why not?"

"You know your brother, Sam.” Cas says, unable to stop himself from stroking light fingers through Dean’s hair again. “And I’m happy. I refuse to risk losing him in pursuit of something I don’t need from him.”

“You’re right, I do know my brother. Probably better than he’d like to believe.” Sam says. “And I think he might surprise you, given the chance.”

Cas looks back at Sam like he wants to argue, but then just closes his mouth, his jaw bunching. Sam gives a little shrug and sits forward, reaching behind himself for the door handle.

“Just some, uh… food for thought.” He says. “I’m gonna hit the head. I’ll take my time. No particular reason.”

“Sam.”

But Sam’s already unfolding out into the night air, the car rocking as his weight shifts. The crickets are suddenly much louder, invading their little bubble of quiet. In Cas’ lap, Dean twitches.

Sam shuts the car door and Dean sits bolt upright. His gun, dropped in the footwell before he fell asleep, is in his grasp in a blink.

“Sam's just gone to relieve his bladder.” Cas says next to him. Dean squints at him and sniffs, wiping at his groggy eyes, then flicks the safety back on. The gun hits the footwell again with a dull thunk.

"God. Like a damn cashew. You'd think with all that height there'd be more... storage."

Cas is carefully looking forward, and not at the red mark on Dean’s cheek that’s the same shape as the warm spot rapidly cooling on his thigh. Dean rubs at that side of his face.

“Was I…?” He clears his throat. “Uh.”

“Asleep? Yes. I thought that was the idea.”

“Lying on you.”

“You needed to stretch out.”

Dean gives a frustrated sigh. “No, Cas, man, that’s your personal space. You should have shoved me off.”

“It was easier on your neck.” Cas says, still looking straight ahead. “You weren’t bothering me.”

“That’s not the point. You gotta have boundaries.”

“What’s mine is yours, Dean. I have no qualms sharing everything I have with you.”

Dean scoffs, leaning forward over the steering wheel and tilting to pop his spine. “Jesus. You ol’ romantic.”

Cas turns his head to look at Dean. The slightly uncomfortable smirk slowly slips off of Dean’s face. His eyes drop to Cas' lips before he catches himself, and he makes a weak attempt to laugh the charge out of the air between them.

“Man, you gotta figure out your levels. Last person who looked at me like that had me thinking marriage."

“Dean, why do you say things like that?”

Dean’s shoulders shove up under his ears. “You turn eyes like that on some innocent girl she’s gonna up and devote her entire life to you, Cas, I’m just letting you know you gotta tone it down!”

“Why would I turn eyes like this on some innocent girl?”

“Because you’re doin’ it to me like you think it’s a normal thing to do!”

“Dean, maybe you need to figure out how to receive a signal without assuming the other person isn't aware of what they're broadcasting." Cas snaps, then subsides as something like fear flickers across his face.

Dean’s jaw hangs uselessly for a stunned moment.

"Cas. You–"

Cas watches him in the manner of a gazelle waiting for a sudden deadly movement. Dean's gaze flits to Cas’ lips again.

"You. Uh." He says eloquently, and his tongue darts out in a nervous motion. This makes his lips impossible to ignore, shiny and wet in the moonlight.

“It's not Everest." Cas whispers.

"It kinda fuckin' is." Dean says, hoarse.

“Forget it. You should go back to sleep.” Cas says, reaching towards Dean with two fingers. It’s his fighter’s instinct that makes Dean grab them before they can touch his forehead, but it’s something else entirely that bunches his other hand in the front of Cas’ coat and yanks him forward. Cas tumbles gracelessly on top of Dean, and Dean doesn’t give either of them time to think.

At the first touch of Dean’s lips, Cas melts. A tiny sound escapes him, not quite a sigh, not quite a moan, and he’s grasping Dean’s shoulder like it’s the only thing preventing him from falling into the footwell. Their mouths part with a soft, wet noise and Cas meets Dean’s eyes, almost too close to focus on.

His arm is pressed across Dean’s chest from his fall. He can feel Dean’s heartbeat, galloping like an outlaw with the sheriff on his tail, and he understands the feeling.

“Dean.” He croaks.

“Yeah.”

“Do that again.”

Dean nuzzles their noses together, nudges Cas’ mouth in a barely-there brush of lips. Cas touches Dean’s face, dizzy with it, feeling stubble rough on the skin of Dean's jaw. He presses forward, holding Dean’s face like the beloved thing it is, and kisses him reverently. Dean sinks against the door until he’s lying across the seats and shoves his arms up under Cas’ suit jacket, encircling his back.

The crickets play them a love song. It’s entirely lost on them.

When Sam returns, approaching the Impala with caution, he finds his brother asleep with his angel hugged against him like a large, man-shaped teddy bear. Cas glances up, clocking the motion of Sam leaning over to peer through the driver’s window, and there’s a smile on his face that Sam’s never seen on him before.

If happy was what he had been, then this? This is pure, unfiltered bliss.

Sam slides carefully into the back seat and shuts the door as gently as he can.

“I’ll save my I Told You So, but only because you look so cute.” He whispers.

“Sam.”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Read on Ao3

[demonsandmischief]

Hobbies

Marvel - A Captain America Imagine

Steve Rogers x Female Reader

700 Words

Thanks for being patient with me! I've been on hiatus as I get ready to move.

I was rewatching the first Avengers and CA The Winter Soldier (for the billionth time) and I realized how lonely Cap must have been. When he met Sam for the first time, he was asked what he liked and he didn't know. He seemed so unsure of everything - I couldn't imagine how isolated he felt. 🥺

In Which You Help The Captain Find A Hobby

---

"You take a walk in the woods for fun?" The question was a soft curiousity as the blonde man next to you stalled on the trail.

"I mean, you run for fun," you answered. "It's peaceful."

"It's slow. I'm not sure what I am supposed to be doing," Steve Rogers said, picking up his pace into a jog that was pretty much a sprint for you.

"Come on, Steve. You know I don't like to run," you complained, struggling to keep up.

He gave a laugh as he darted ahead of you, and it took you a few minutes to catch up with him.

"I'm never hiking with you again," you panted, finding him leaning against a tree.

"Come on, baby. Don't be like that. I found you a rock," he said, holding out his large hand.

You peered over, taking his hand in your own and gathering the smooth, shiny stone that rested on his palm.

"That's a pretty good rock," you confirmed, stuffing it into your pocket. "But it doesn't help your situation. You need to find something you like, and hiking is clearly not it."

"If you like it, then I like it," he said.

"That's not how that works. You need a hobby."

He shook his head, "I like you. You're my hobby." He held out his arms and you walked into his embrace, snuggling close. "I want to be able to spend every moment I have with you."

---

"Hiking isn't for everyone, so I have another idea," you told Steve a few days later. You walked closer to his side.

"What's that?" he asked, his face buried in some papers. He didn't look up, instead his hand curled around your waist.

You dropped the large stack of books onto his desk with a clang.

He picked up the first title, and then the second.

"They're all classics. I think you would enjoy them."

His hand on your waist pulled you in until you were sitting on his lap.

Steve gave a hum as he rested his chin on top of your head.

"I think I borrowed The Hobbit from Bucky at one point."

"Did you like it?" you asked. "There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after."

"Was that a quote?" he poked, moving his head so he could kiss your cheek. "Nerd."

You watched him pick up a book, flipping through the pages.

"Read to me?" he asked. You turned to him, finding his glimmering cerulean eyes hidden below his furrowed brow. He watched you adoringly.

"Okay," you whispered breathlessly. Steve always took your breath away and he knew it by the smug smirk that crossed his features. He leaned forward, his lips just barely brushing yours before he pulled back.

"You're a tease," you grumbled, picking up the book.

"What was that?" he grinned, his voice fluttering in your ear as he squeezed your waist. You squirmed from his ticklish breath.

You read a few lines, but his hand slowly moved south, distracting your train of thought.

"Clearly, reading isn't for you," you said, standing up.

"I was actually enjoying myself. Why'd you stop? What if this is my hobby?" His damn smug smirk still tugged at his lips.

You huffed, still unable to resist a smile.

"I appreciate the effort, honey, but I really just want to spend time doing things together."

He cupped your cheeks, standing to his full, towering height. He bent his head to give you a kiss - a real one this time.

---

Steve found in your garden a day or so later.

"It looks great out here," Steve said, his fingers gently brushing over the array of petals and leaves that scattered the space.

"Thanks. I wasn't expecting you here," you smiled, stepping into his warm arms.

"Peace offering," he said, holding out his hand to show the packet of seeds in his grip. "I promise to take care of them."

"That's a big promise. They need lots of love and attention." You tangled your fingers with his.

He lips curled upwards into his signature crooked smile. "Luckily, I have plenty of that to give. I love you, y/n."

---

Masterlist

Taglist: @nyx2021 @jerseynatural-enthusiast @bklynxbaby @christowhore @alexabarnes17 @leyannrae @drayshadow @patzammit @oceaniamaddness

Join my Taglists! Link in Masterlist. Tha ks for reading. 💕

[wormstacheangel]

Suptober Day 3: Rainbows

wc: 689 tags: fluff, cas with wings, dean is afraid of heights, established relationship

There are moments in someone’s life where time felt like it stopped. Where everything around them would move in slow motion, and every detail of that moment would engrave into their mind for the rest of their life.

Dean, himself, had a few of those moments happen in his life. Not all good--actually, most of them weren’t good--but he knew this memory would not haunt him. The only reason this memory will keep him up at night is that he would want to relive it as much as possible. He already couldn’t wait to tell his friends about it, new and old, and the moment wasn’t even over yet.

Dean looked up from where he sat in the familiar garden, watching Cas with tear-filled eyes.

“Beautiful.” He raised a hand to reach for his partner but quickly pulled away. Not sure if he could touch him just yet.

“You think so?” Cas stood over Dean, his eyes still wide in disbelief while the smile on his lips grew to a beaming grin. He never thought he would see that smile, let alone see it so big with no fear in his eyes. But, he could now admit, he was falling for it with every passing second. Wanting nothing more than to see it for the rest of his life. “I never thought I would get to see my wings again.”

Cas slowly untucked his wings and gently shook them out. Then, closing his eyes when he felt the familiar weight on his back.

“Oh, how I missed this.” He flapped them a few times, and Dean covered his eyes to avoid the dirt getting in his eyes.

“Hey, watch it with those things. I’m gonna lose an eye.”

Cas opened his eyes, and Dean swore they twinkled when he looked back at him.

“Would you like to fly with me?” Cas held his hand down to help Dean stand before he shook it just a little when he saw Dean hesitate to take it.

But Dean did. He gripped Cas’s hand firmly in his own before he was tugged forward. The next thing he knew, Dean was pressed tightly against the angel’s body. “You know I ain’t a fan of heights, Cas.”

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas’s shoulders, readying himself to hide his face into the crook of Cas’s neck if needed.

“Don’t worry, Dean. I won’t let you fall.”

And in a blink of an eye, Dean lost touch with the ground. He scrambled to grip at his partner--lucky for him, Cas didn’t have to breathe--and took a shaky breath while he cursed into Cas’ shoulder.

“Opened your eyes, Dean.”

“No thanks.”

“Please? I would like to enjoy my first flight with you.”

How can Dean say no to that?

Slowly, Dean peeled back to look ahead at the setting sky. He didn’t dare look down, but he could enjoy the clouds that were only a fingertip away. He was about to comment on how awesome everything looked, but his words died down when he looked back at Cas.

His wings were a beautiful, striking black--shiny like a crow--but right now, while the sun’s glow was hitting them, they looked glossy. And a beautiful reflective rainbow shined through every feather. This time, Dean had no hesitation when he reached to touch them.

“Beautiful.” He murmured again, feeling the soft feathers against his skin. “You’re beautiful, Cas.”

“You really like them?” Cas sounded sincere, as if he wasn’t sure to believe Dean’s words, but instead of answering right away, Dean stretched his neck to give Cas a soft kiss. He felt the tension leave the angel with every second until they pulled back just enough to rest their foreheads together.

“I love them.” Another small kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Dean never thought he would be making out with someone while floating in the sky, but here he was, with no fear, kissing the love of his life. While time slowed down again, giving him another rare happy memory he can happily relive again.

Lucky for him, he has been getting more of those nowadays.

[whelvenwings]

who will fall beside you, if you fall

Dean Winchester's been loved in a lot of different ways throughout his life. He was shaped by that love, changed by the expectations and hopes and hurts of the people he cared about. He learned fear and silence and caution. But Castiel's confession, free of expectation, might undo those lessons.

Tags: Fix-It Fic, Endgame Castiel/Dean, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Lisa/Dean Snippet and Minor Cassie/Dean Snippet, John Winchester’s A+ Parenting, Fallen Angel Castiel Word Count: ~4k

“If you’re angry, you could just tell me,” Dean said. “God knows I’d get it.”

He glanced to his left and right before crossing a road, his eyes lingering on the faces nearest him, as though he were looking for someone.

“Cas, just talk to me.” The words were so quiet that no human but Dean himself heard them. He was still watching around him, waiting, but nothing happened.

He put his hands into his pockets again. Walked with his shoulders set a little lower.

“It’s not…” Dean muttered, a broken-off answer to a thought inside his head. “Just – I don’t know what you want me to do. Can you hear me thinking about you? ‘Cause it’s all the time, man. I don’t know what to do. Last time I saw you, you told me… but now you aren’t even…”

He rounded a corner and began to cross a small parking lot.

“If you’d just come here. You could tell me what I’m supposed to do. All I want is…” Dean’s eyes searched the backs of the cars he passed as if their number plates were esoteric texts with all the answers, all the things he needed to say. He breathed out. “I don’t know how, man, I don’t know what to do.”

Read the whole thing below the cut!

Dean was three years old and not quite steady on his feet, still, when his father took him outside to help shovel the snow. In his coat and hat he was a little duffled-up sweetheart, to whom nothing particularly bad had ever happened.

Red-cheeked and grinning, he left small bootprints in the snow.

“Come over here, Dean.” John stood behind Dean and lowered the shovel down to Dean’s height, so that they could hold it and move the snow together. Dean pressed his lips together and frowned as he followed his father’s movements. John’s coat smelled like smoke and the outdoors. They moved one, two, three, four, five big shovel-fulls.

“That’s enough for one day,” said a voice from the porch – Mary, smiling down at the two of them. John carefully lifted the shovel out of Dean’s reach, standing up to his full height. They’d managed to clear just a short stretch of the path that led up to the house.

“But Mom, there’s loads more!” Dean said, pointing to the rest of the pathway.

“Your dad can clear that. You need to come in and have some lunch,” Mary said. “Come on.”

Dean looked up to his father with wide eyes, but John put his hand on the top of Dean’s head and ruffled it so that his hat almost came off.

“Listen to your mom, Dean. In you go.”

Dean’s eyes travelled from his father’s face to his mother’s.

“There’s your favourite for dessert,” Mary said, coaxing him with a little smile.

“Yes!”

Dean made a sudden break for it towards her, running down the path he’d just helped to clear. After the crunch-crunch-crunch of the snow, the cleared pathway was hard under Dean's feet. Hard, and unexpectedly slippery.

“Whoa, there,” said John, as Dean felt his balance go, his feet skidding out from under him – and suddenly he was being lifted, one hand on either side of him. John pulled him up out of the fall, and set him back down in thick snow.

Dean blinked. It had all happened very fast.

“Next time,” John said, giving Dean a little push indoors, “I won’t catch you. You’ve got to learn, Dean.”

–––––

And now Dean was eleven years old and trailing after his father down a quiet midnight street, with a sleepy little brother in tow.

“Dad… are we nearly at the motel?”

“Nearly.”

He’d pay for that question later somehow, and Dean knew it, but because he’d asked there was a new purpose in John’s step. They didn’t stop at the liquor store that Dean knew John had been weighing going into. Walking past it, Dean felt a little break of relief in his chest. They’d get out of the cold sooner, and Sam could get to bed.

“Dean?”

Dean turned his head to look at his brother, keeping walking. Sam was wearing Dean’s coat, swimming in it, the hood pulled up and the elastic tight so only the round circle of his face was visible. It was nearly funny, but they hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and the humour was shaved off everything.

“Come on,” Dean said.

“I’m cold.”

“I know.” Dean cast a glance forwards at his father’s back. He lowered his voice. “It’s okay. Just a little bit longer.”

Sam made a miserable face. Their breaths were puffs of air between them. Underfoot was the hiss and crunch of melting, slushy snow.

“Can I have soup when we get there?”

“It’s late, Sammy. We’ll have something in the morning.”

“But I can’t sleep when I’m hungry…”

“Okay.” Dean cast another worried look towards his father, and then made a meaningful face at Sam when he looked back around. “I’ll find something. I think we have some of that apple juice left over.”

“That’s cold,” Sam said, but he’d quietened his voice, too. “And a drink.”

“You didn’t know?” Dean said, making sure his face was completely straight.

“Know what?”

“That’s the best part,” Dean said. “Cold drinks make you warm up faster.”

Sam narrowed his eyes, and Dean cursed internally. Every day Sam got a little smarter and a little harder to keep happy.

“That’s not true,” Sam said.

“It is,” Dean promised. “You’ll see.” He thought for a few seconds, and then said, "Maybe we can heat up the apple juice."

“Keep up, boys,” said John’s voice, from too far away. Dean realised he must have slowed down as he’d talked to Sam, even though he’d been trying to hold a steady pace. He reached for Sam’s hand, turning his head at the same time to call back to his father – and as he did so, he felt his balance betray him. His feet slipped in the slush, and in a rush he was a jumble of elbows and knees hitting the ground in all the wrong places.

For a second he sat still, assessing the damage. Nothing broken.

“Are you okay?” Sam said, the dish of his face looking pale and worried above Dean.

“I’m fine… ugh.”

“Get up,” John called, and when Dean turned his head to look, he saw that his father was turning away to keep walking. Dean scrambled to his feet, hands out for balance. His hip ached – he’d landed on it.

“I’m alright,” Dean said to Sam, pulling on a smile. “Let’s go.”

He hurried after John, making sure Sam was beside him, going as fast as he dared until they were right behind their father. His knee was starting to throb, too, and he kept it off his face carefully, because Sam was still glancing up at him.

“Saw you reach for your brother when you were falling,” John grunted. “Don’t do that. If you two’re on your own and both of you go down, you’re both dead. If Sam’s still up, he can go for help.”

“I wasn’t –” Dean tried to say.

“Don’t do it,” John repeated, more forcefully.

They walked on in silence.

––––-

And now Dean was twenty-one years old and stepping out into the brisk air of a winter evening, with his head a little light from the drinks he’d had in the bar at his back.

“Come on,” Cassie said from beside him, her eyes bright with laughter. “You can tell me.”

“Hey, we’ve been through this,” Dean said, as they began to make their way down the street, “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“As if you could,” Cassie said.

Dean glanced over at her smile, and thought about the way the shifter he’d taken out earlier that day had looked at him, right before he’d swung the blade through her neck. He swallowed hard.

“I might,” he said, and held his arms a little out from his body. “How long can I contain this much raw aggression, you know?”

“Stop," Cassie said, nudging him with her shoulder. “Seriously, okay, just tell me what your job is.”

“Is it really worth your life?” Dean asked, putting on his most serious face.

“You’re really trying to tell me you’re, what – a spy? A fed?” Cassie asked. “C’mon, you can’t expect me to believe that. With that face?”

“Hey,” Dean said, mock-offended, as they passed closed-up stores and parking bays. “What’s wrong with my face?”

“Nothing,” Cassie said, “that’s literally the problem. The FBI don’t hire people who look like you, do they? This is real life, not HBO.”

“Okay,” Dean said, his face working not to look too pleased. Underfoot, the pavement was shiny with ice. Dean started to walk a little slower. “So, if this isn’t the face of a fed, what is it the face of?”

“Mmm. Radio show host?” Cassie laughed when Dean threw her a look. “Well, c’mon, how am I supposed to know? Third date and you still won’t tell me?”

“Just trying to keep the mystery alive,” Dean said, faking an absent kind of tone in the hope that Cassie would drop the subject. The sidewalk was getting more and more treacherous, each of his steps sliding just a little.

“The mystery is too alive,” Cassie said. “It could die a bit. I’d be okay with that.”

“Whoa… careful.” Dean’s foot slipped out from under him, and he only managed to keep his balance by grabbing onto a parking meter that happened to be close by.

“Easy, big shot.” Cassie watched him start to move again, even more tentatively. “Wouldn’t wanna lose the deal with HBO if you fall on that perfect face.”

There was an edge of hurt to her tone of voice, and Dean jaw tightened. Was he ever going to tell her, he wondered. Surely not. She’d hate it. Spending time with Cassie was like visiting a parallel universe. That world didn’t have room for monsters under the bed.

And so Dean kicked them back underneath as hard as he could, and smiled at Cassie, and held out his hand.

Cassie looked down at it, and then back up at him.

“Really?” she said, a smile waiting at the corners of her mouth.

“It’s slippery,” Dean said, and wiggled his fingers temptingly.

“Yeah,” Cassie said with a laugh, pushing his hand away, “it is, asshole. That’s why I’m not letting you take me down with you.”

––––-

And now Dean was thirty-one years old and watching a soccer game, gloves on, hat on, clapping along with the dark-haired woman next to him.

“Come on, Ben!” called Lisa.

“Like we practised, okay, kid?” Dean added, and watched Ben’s face relax into concentration as he placed the ball for his free kick, just a yard outside the penalty box.

“You practised free kicks with him?” Lisa said to Dean, sounding like she was holding back a laugh. Dean glanced down at her; she had her eyes on her son, but there was a little smile on her face.

“A couple times,” Dean said. “He asked.”

“That’s sweet. And I thought you two just watched TV and ate too much pizza together.”

“We do that too,” Dean said. “When I have a say in it.” He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them up. On either side of Lisa and Dean, also at the edge of the soccer pitch, were other parents all waiting on Ben to take his kick. They were standing on wet grass, a few of them stamping their feet to keep them from going numb.

Ben took a short run up, swung his leg, made contact. The ball sailed high, dipped – and the goalie caught it neatly.

“Next time,” Dean called out when Ben’s face fell, and gave him a clap. The game played on.

“God, it’s cold,” Lisa said.

“You want my coat?”

Lisa looked up at him, her big brown eyes soft.

“You’re cute, you know that?”

“... Right.” Dean smiled awkwardly. Lisa’s would-be compliment hung in the air, sounding more incongruous the longer Dean stood tense and unmoving.

Lisa reached out, and put her hand on his folded arms.

“You wanna order in, tonight?” she said lightly. “Or I could make fajitas.”

“I can cook,” Dean said. “I’ll make burgers.”

“Mmm. Twist my arm.”

Some small burst of relief, there. Dean’s expression eased. He put his hands in his pockets, lifted his chin, as though remembering the role he was playing. Who he was, now.

He shifted his feet – and felt his right foot slide, almost right out from under him. He steadied himself, hands out to the sides, looking down at the grass.

“Careful,” Lisa said.

“Jesus,” Dean said at the same time.

“Come here,” Lisa said, holding out her hand.

Dean smiled.

“It’s all good,” he said, reaching out and giving the hand a squeeze, and then letting go quickly.

“Can’t have the head chef breaking his arm,” Lisa said, her hand still out.

“It’s fine, really.”

“Dean, would you hold my hand?”

“We’ll both go over,” Dean said.

“Mm-mm. I’ll hold you up.”

Her expression allowed no argument. Unwillingly, Dean allowed her to loop their arms together, Lisa pinning Dean to her side and turning back to the game, calling out to support Ben as he went for a tackle. Dean stood quietly. He was having to lean down ever so slightly so that Lisa could keep his arm tucked under hers.

He tried very hard not to move. Just the smallest slide of his feet and he’d be over and he’d take her with him. Every muscle in his legs was clenched, forcing himself not to slip.

After just a minute or so of stiff silence, Lisa sighed.

“Okay,” she said, “you win.”

She let go.

––––-

And now Dean was forty-one years old and walking down a street in Lebanon, Kansas, on legs that still felt a little new. The cold air was harsh; he took in a deep breath.

He went to cross the road, and a car gave a screech as it swerved suddenly to avoid him. The driver made a few different gestures at him through the window, and Dean held up a hand in apology.

It was easy to forget that things didn’t part and make way on Earth like they had done in Heaven.

“Couldn’t fix that for me, could you?” Dean said aloud. “Not that I’m not grateful for the ticket home, Cas, but Heaven had its perks.”

Silence. Dean kept walking, with only the slightest slump to his shoulders and crease on his brow. Lebanon was wearing snow like a big white coat. Dean’s boots crunched in it when he stepped off the gritted path to let a mother with a stroller go by.

“I should probably stop expecting to see you round every corner, huh,” he said. “Been a week now. And I keep wandering around thinking you might show up just ‘cause I’m looking.” Someone passing gave him a slightly frightened look and a wide berth as he walked by, talking to himself. Just another thing no one had much noticed in Heaven: the prayers. Dean frowned, and ducked his head. Tucked his hands in his pockets.

He walked quietly for some time.

Long enough for his hands to come back out of his pockets, and his shoulders to lose their self-conscious hunch. Long enough for the hurt in his eyes to seem nearer the surface.

“Might not even have been you that got me out of Heaven,” Dean said, his tone quiet, as though picking up the thread of a half-finished conversation.

A pause, in which he walked. Passed by other people, made no eye contact. Dean meandered a little as he went, as though his mind were elsewhere.

“If you’re angry, you could just tell me,” he said. “God knows I’d get it.”

He glanced to his left and right before crossing a road, his eyes lingering on the faces nearest him, as though he were looking for someone.

“Cas, just talk to me,” he said. The words were so quiet that no human but Dean himself heard them. He was still watching around him, waiting, but nothing happened.

He put his hands into his pockets again. Walked with his shoulders set a little lower.

“It’s not…” Dean muttered, a broken-off answer to a thought inside his head. “Just – I don’t know what you want me to do. Can you hear me thinking about you? ‘Cause it’s all the time, man. I don’t know what to do. Last time I saw you, you told me… but now you aren’t even…”

He rounded a corner and began to cross a small parking lot.

“If you’d just come here. You could tell me what I’m supposed to do. All I want is…” Dean’s eyes searched the backs of the cars he passed as if their number plates were esoteric texts with all the answers, all the things he needed to say. He breathed out. “I don’t know how, man, I don’t know what to do.”

He swallowed.

“It feels like I have to do something, though.”

He kept walking.

“Or, I don’t know. Maybe I just want to.”

He breathed out.

Emotions were crossing his face, too fast to catch one alone, too swift to parse. He looked down at his feet, watching where he stepped.

“If I had what I wanted,” he said, “you’d be here.” After a pause, he rolled his eyes. “I’m sure that’s news to you. Like, wow, right? Not as though I’ve ever asked, after all.” Another silence, and then he said, “But you know, I – it’s not that I just want to… fix it, or… finish things off. It’s not… I’m not…” He pressed his lips together, smiled wryly. “Jesus. I hope you can’t hear this. I’m not making any sense. I’m just trying to say, I want you here, man. I want you here to stay.”

A little flicker of light seemed to touch Dean’s eyes.

“You could stay now,” he said, “right? You could actually stay. If you wanted to. And we could…” He stopped. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

A car drove by, and the child in the backseat stared out the window at him. Dean blinked back to reality.

“We didn’t have time to think about what we wanted,” he said into the quiet of the parking lot, when the car had passed and he was walking again. “All this time. Or maybe you did. But I didn’t.” He looked upwards, towards the iron sky. “And now there’s time, Cas, and all I’m thinking about is you.” He looked down. “I said that already.”

He moved on, stepping out the other side of the parking lot and onto the sidewalk.

“I remember you said that the… the thing you want, you can’t have.” Dean took in a breath and let it go. “I don’t know why you thought you couldn’t. Whatever it is, man, you deserve it.”

His feet carried him onward.

“You gotta be sick of hearing me talk at this point. But I just…” Dean’s eyes glanced over the snowy Lebanon street in front of him, and he crossed the road. “I just want you here. Maybe I should take a damn hint.” His voice strained, hurt betraying the attempt at levity in his tone. “But you said… I keep thinking back on what you said. About how you feel. And I, uh. You know. If you’d just let me…”

Dean lifted his hands, a little helplessly, into the air as he walked, as though wanting to give something invisible to someone who wasn’t there. He dropped them awkwardly, his expression creasing.

He was circling back around towards the mall, his footsteps pointing him towards home. He looked heavy, weary. The lines on his face were deep, and his eyes were unfocused, lost in thought.

The people around him paid him no attention. He was just part of the crowd. They swirled across his path and around him, irrelevant to him, not seeing him. Except –

Dean came to a sudden stop. His gaze sharpened.

Twenty feet away from him, standing completely still, was a figure. Not struggling with carrier bags or strollers or wallets and keys like the other shoppers going into and out of the mall. Utterly stone still.

Tall, almost as tall as Dean. Wearing a long coat. Brown-haired. Impassive.

Watching Dean as though waiting for him.

And Dean visibly blossomed. His mouth fell slightly open, his shoulders loosened, one hand reached out unconsciously.

“Cas?” he said, disbelieving – and Dean saw a slight smile appear on Castiel’s face, and the angel slightly raised one hand in greeting.

Warmth touched Dean’s eyes, rising up as though from a great depth. He began to move, at first taking care on the slippery sidewalk. But his feet hurried him, and he was walking fast and then he was almost running, caution forgotten, eyes on Castiel’s.

It was when he was only a few steps away that his foot hit a patch of black ice. His arms went out, struggling to balance him – Castiel moved forward, one hand out – Dean reached for him on instinct, grasping his arm, his body relaxing in obvious expectation of Castiel being able to pull him upright –

But Castiel’s weight tilted along with Dean’s, and the ground gave them both a hard and cold welcome. There were some muttered ooohs from people passing by, and a few of them came to awkward stops nearby.

Dean landed hard on his back, head hitting the cement. He stared for a moment up at the sky. It had all happened very fast.

He sat up, and saw Castiel kneeling beside him, inspecting his own hands.

“Fuck,” Dean said. He put a hand to the back of his head. No blood.

“Are you okay?” said someone behind Dean, and he waved them off.

“All good,” he said, seeing in his peripheral vision that the people who’d stopped to look were moving on. He looked at Castiel. “Are you… you’re…”

Castiel stopped staring down at his hands, and looked at Dean instead. His blue eyes searched Dean’s face. Under his gaze, Dean smiled – a smile that grew on his face from a tiny brightness in his eyes until his whole face was alight with it.

“It’s you,” he said. "Damn, Cas, it's really you."

“It’s me,” Castiel confirmed. His voice held a recognition of Dean’s smile, a reciprocal warmth.

“You’re here.”

“I heard you,” Castiel said.

“You heard me? Just now?”

“Yes.”

Dean nodded. He was breathing a little fast. His gaze searched Castiel’s face, partly seeming to be looking for something, partly seeming already to have found it. People were stepping around them to get inside the mall.

“It’s good to see you,” Dean said.

Castiel smiled too, at last.

“But you know,” Dean added, “you could’ve just appeared right next to me instead of a whole freaking mile away on a slippery sidewalk. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

“Ah.” Castiel, still on his knees beside where Dean was sitting, dropped his gaze. “That was, in fact, not under my control. Jack sent me down here. After I asked him to do something for me.”

Castiel looked down at his hands again, and this time Dean looked too. His expression broke into slight surprise when he saw red on Castiel’s palms, at the sight of the blood – and then the surprise came in a second, deeper wave, as realisation hit.

“Cas,” he said.

“Just a graze,” Castiel said calmly.

“But you – you’re – that’s not supposed to happen,” Dean said. He reached out, and took Castiel’s hands in his own, inspecting the little scrapes on the skin. “You can’t get hurt like this.”

“Well,” Castiel said, “I can, now.”

“But you’re…” Dean stared at Castiel, seeming suddenly caught in consternation.

“Staying,” Castiel finished for him.

Wide-eyed, still sitting on the sidewalk, Dean took this in. Something light crossed his face, then anger, then confusion.

“I heard you,” Castiel reminded him. Dean stared at him.

“What I said?”

“Yes.”

“About staying?”

“Yes.”

“And you… you want that?”

Despite the hustle of people around them, the crunch-crunch of their boots in the snow and the harshness of their voices, Dean and Castiel might have been the only two people in the world when Castiel said,

“Yes, Dean.”

“So, but – before, in the bunker, with the Empty, when you said – the thing – the thing you said you wanted –”

Castiel looked down at their hands. Dean’s holding Castiel’s.

Dean tightened his grip.

“Just that?” he said, his voice sounding thick.

Castiel said nothing, words seeming to fail him.

They stared at each other. Hands in hands, touching, Castiel bleeding. Dean didn’t let go.

“It’s yours,” Dean said roughly.

“You mean…” Castiel’s eyes were suddenly wide. “You mean that you…”

“Since pretty much day one. I just never thought you’d want that from me.”

The world moved past and around them. They didn’t notice. Castiel was radiating happiness in every body line, though he was unmoving. Dean was watching him as though afraid he might disappear in the space of a blink.

"Is this real?" he said. "My head hurts enough for it to be real."

Castiel nodded.

“You’re really staying,” Dean said.

“As long as you’ll let me.”

After enough time under the steadiness of Castiel’s gaze, it seemed finally to sink in for Dean – the truth of it, the reality of it. Dean breathed out.

He swallowed. He looked down.

He smiled.

“We should get home, then,” he said.

Castiel didn’t say anything, but he gave a nod made small by emotion.

“Oh. I’m sorry, though,” Dean said, his eyes catching on Castiel’s small injuries now that he was looking down again. His thumb lightly touched the place where blood was drying on Castiel’s palm. “If I’d known I wouldn’t have run at you.”

“It’s fine,” Castiel said, getting to his feet and pulling Dean up with him, their hands not letting go.

“I’ll be more careful next time.”

“Don’t be,” Castiel said, his blood on Dean’s hands, and still holding them. “Don’t be.”

[sortasirius]

“Inherit the Earth” and the Fakeout

Absolutely genius.  Amazing, iconic, legendary, something only our showrunner Andrew Dabb can pull off.

"But Lilly, the episode was so bad!  It was just the brothers, they didn’t look for Cas and Eileen!”

YES.  THAT IS EXACTLY THE POINT.  THIS WAS A FAKE ENDING, THE END OF THE SEASON, NOT OF THE SERIES.

Let’s get into it.

An empty world.  No one left but Sam, Dean, and Jack.

So Dean ran, he somehow managed to pick himself up off the floor of the dungeon and meet up with Sam and Jack.  That jacket was this silent reminder.  Remember what I’ve been saying, Cas has occupied the negative space all season, this is no exception.

Dean can’t look either of them in the face, he’s doing that thing, where his eyes move everywhere BUT where he should look. 

“I couldn’t save anybody.”

Sam couldn’t save the world and Dean couldn’t save the one person that means the world to him.

“Where’s Cas?”

“Dean?”

I think it’s there, in that pause where Dean tries to push down the emotions, continue the fight, not think about the memories he left in the bunker, that Jack realizes what must have happened. Jack is the only one that knows about the deal, he has to know what Cas not being there must mean.

“He saved me.  Billie was coming after us.  Cas summoned the Empty.  It took her...and took him.  Cas is gone.”

This may shock you, but I am GLAD they didn’t talk about Cas, especially with what happens at the end of the episode.  Cas is allowed to just take up unsaid space.  It’s obvious he’s missing with the way they blocked things, obvious he’s missing here.  This whole “oh well they don’t care about Cas because they didn’t talk about him”?  Malarkey.

“Jack I’m sorry.”

Guilt.  Regret.  Pain.  Dean will carry this with him for the rest of his life.  Not only that he lost Cas, but that Sam lost Cas, that Jack lost Cas.

That SHOT, with the distance between Jack and Sam where Cas is SUPPOSED TO BE, and then a zoom out to...THE WORLD.

Okay, as usual, Bucklemming has the subtlety of a sledgehammer lmao.

Jack crying???  Praying to Cas????  Bruh?????

Also it’s just straight-up frightening for everything around my boy to die he is my baby son.

Also not to point out the incredibly obvious, but Dean starts drinking immediately, and continues drinking throughout the whole episode.  Grief arc 2.0 babey.

“We can what, Dean?  There’s no one left to save!  Everybody’s gone!”

“You can’t just give up.”

“What other choice do we have!”

Idk why, but for Sam, who’s the constant, the one who’s always had hope, through everything, through all these years, when he finally says this, when he finally loses his hope?  It hits the hardest.  Sam is the leader, so not only is he grieving the loss of Eileen, he is a general grieving the loss of his soldiers, his friends, the world that he feels the duty to save.

When they go to meet Chuck, I just can’t get that image of Dean, leaning against the car, handprint still on his jacket, staring at the ground out of my head.  It takes him a few seconds to catch up to Sam, like he’s pulled out of thoughts like deep dark water.  Remember friends, it doesn’t have to be loud to be powerful.

Chuck wearing BLACK?  FEAR.

“That’s right, the whole Cain and Abel thing.  Us dead, whatever.  I’ll kill Sam, Sam’ll kill me, we’ll kill each other.  Okay, you pick.  But first?  You gotta put everything back the way it was.  The people, the birds...Cas.  You gotta bring him back.”

Willing to kill his brother.  Willing to die.  Tears in his eyes, begging God to bring Cas back.

And Chuck?  Chuck doesn’t care about their surrender, he knows he’s already got them beaten.  He cares about their pain, he cares about them suffering, because to him?  That’s the entertainment.  He’s not entertained by their found family, by their happiness, by their joy.  He wants them to suffer, all of them.

“Eternal shame.  Suffering.  And loneliness.”

And he leaves them with just that.  No hope, no family, just the three of them, broken, alone.  Jack locked in his bedroom, Sam trying desperately to make life “normal” again.  And Dean.  Dean who drank so much he passed out on the floor.

He doesn’t feel terrific, he feels like shit, because not only is he dealing with the shame of an empty planet, he’s dealing with the guilt of being back in the place where the Empty took Cas.

This whole thing with the dog was just absolutely heartwrenching shit and if I didn’t hate Chuck before, him snapping Miracle right in front of an already fragile Dean would seal that deal.

I just want everyone to know that this is a Jake Abel stan account.

“Daddy’s boy” is a big insult for my boy Dean to use considering his own past with his trash abusive father but I’ll allow it.

I do think it’s interesting, ending of his arc aside, that Michael is willing to help them now.  What changed?  Sure, he ended up trying to help Chuck, running back to his father, but why get back in the game?  I wonder if it has anything to do with the loss of Adam.  It’s an interesting parallel, a man loses his angel while an angel loses his human.

Everything is so DARK in the Bunker now too, even the lighting is loud.

When I tell you I lost my shit when I saw Cas was calling Dean, when I heard Misha’s voice??  I knew it didn’t make any sense but I didn’t care, I would’ve been one step behind Dean as he sprinted towards the door.

Fuck you, Eugenie.

I mean it’s torture not only to Dean, who looks beyond fucking crushed when it’s damn Lucifer at the door, but for us too.  Who the FUCK wanted Lucifer back?  And to tease Cas???  Garbage.

I mean...fam.  Listen, we know who’s writing this episode, this whole Betty thing is just like blatantly unnecessary but again, Eugenie loves Lucifer, gotta distract her with a shiny toy lmao.

It was cool to see Michael and Lucifer onscreen together.  It was a cool dynamic that we rarely got to see.

The whole episode is just twist after twist.  Listen, it’s their last episode so I guess they needed to fit in a season worth of twists in one episode.

Bye Lucifer.  We know Eugenie can’t bring him back.  Blessings to all.

This scene with Adam is the FOURTH scene where Dean is drinking...big yikes to my guy’s liver.

Here’s the thing about Michael.  He’s a mirror for Dean in season 5.  Loyal to an absent father.  He has never changed, but Dean has.  Dean is able to acknowledge now, the trauma that his father put him through, he was able to move past the need for pleasing him at any cost.  Michael and Chuck?  Are John and Dean, if Dean had never been allowed to grow.  And Chuck proves, like John did, that he would always put his wants (in John’s case “the mission”) over his children.

Also not to beat a dead horse but Michael’s death was also peak Eugenie.

Sam getting to punch Chuck in the face?  Thank you, he deserves that.

Obviously I don’t love any scene of my boys getting brutally beaten.  But what I love, what I will always love about them, is what Chuck hates about them:  they won’t ever give up.  They know they won’t win against him, they don’t even land any hits, but that’s not what matters.  What matters is their controller doesn’t control them anymore, that they really are free.  No matter how hard they get hit, the get back up.  It is their choice to stand up to him, no matter the cost.

The moment where Sam and Dean are supporting each other, covered in blood, and they look God in the face, and they laugh.  That is why I will love them unconditionally for the rest of my life.  That is who they are, they will never cow to the villain, whether that’s Azazel or Alastair or Zachariah or Lucifer or Amara or Death or Metatron or Cain or God.  They will always choose to stand up.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because.  You lose.”

Chills.  What a line.

And Chuck is left, small, human, no longer a villain, no longer anything.

Gotta be real, woulda been nice to, idk, not see all this essential plot in a flashback, but I know I can only ask so much of Bucklemming.

For Dean to walk away from killing Chuck, right after he’s called him “the ultimate killer” is quite simply the most beautifully heartwrenching thing I could ever ask for.  Because that’s who Dean was under Chuck, that’s who Chuck wanted him to be.

And he would have before:

But he’s heard some things since then, heard some things about how others see him.  Not as the killer, not as a monster, not as angry and broken or his daddy’s blunt instrument:

I’m not saying that Dean doesn’t kill Chuck for Cas.  He doesn’t kill Chuck because he doesn’t think he has to anymore, he doesn’t kill Chuck because he listened to Cas, he took Cas’ words to heart.  He made the choice not to be the killer.

“See that’s not who I am, that’s not who we are.”

And Chuck is angry, because he thought, after everything, even after losing, that he would still know Dean well enough to know that he would kill him.  But Chuck has never really known Dean, he has never understood where he’s really come from.  Cas understood, Sam and Jack understand, but Chuck never did, and writing off Dean as angry and broken is his biggest mistake, because that’s never been Dean.

“It’s not his power anymore.”

And it’s not just his physical power, it’s his power over the story, over the boys that’s the real power taken from him.

For Jack to be the one to bring everyone back, for him to be the hero of the story?  That’s poetic right there.  Now, I will say, I don’t think this story ends with him as God, because for him, the child, to take on this burden, it doesn’t make a ton of sense to me for his arc, but we shall see next week.  It felt pretty tied up, but there’s one major loose end: and that’s Jack seeing Cas again.

“Just you and me, going wherever the story takes us.  Just us.”

“Finally free.”

This doesn’t feel triumphant to me, it doesn’t feel like relief.  It feels like they’ve settled, like this is the best they’re going to get, so they might as well make the best of it, at least they have each other.

For Cas and Jack to be carved into the table?  I cry.

And for the montage, very similar to “Swan Song” to be set to “Runnin on Empty”?  Sorry but that’s just too sus to be ignored.

They packaged this episode as an ending, because for many, it might be.  The season’s story, the season about fighting Chuck is over.  So, you might be asking (or, well, screaming, judging by my replies lol), what’s left?  And that’s a good question, Chuck has been defeated, so what is left?  What’s left is what’s really mattered all season: the relationships that have been crafted over the years.  Dean and Sam’s unhappiness at the end of the episode, where “just you and me” sounded more of a grudging acceptance than anything else, is one of the clues that has to be looked at.  Why didn’t Sam find Eileen, why didn’t Jack bring back Cas?  Those two characters specifically are the ones we need to watch out for.  As I’ve said over and over again, peace, contentment, satisfaction, those don’t come from Sam and Dean on the open road together anymore.  They have a family, more of a family than they did when they started hunting together all those years ago, and that family is what holds them together.  They need each other, of course, but each other isn’t enough anymore.  Sam needs Eileen, Dean needs Cas.  That is where they will find their peace.

This episode, as many written by Bucklemming was sloppy, rushed, packed full of shit, and had little gems that we can talk about forever, but that was the end of the season, and next week?  Andrew Dabb brings us home, where Dean and Sam will finally be able to choose what they want for themselves, and that, my friends, is Eileen and Cas.

[staticl0ve]

The Garden of Eden - Ch 8 *

Rating: Explicit | NSFW 18+

Pairing: Markus / Female Reader / Machine Connor

Word Count: 3.6k

[ Ch. 1 ] [ Ch. 2 ] [ Ch. 3 * ] [ Ch. 4 * ] [ Ch. 5 ] [ Ch. 6 ] [ Ch. 7 ]

[Chapter 8 - That Which Killed the Cat * ]

Chapter Summary:

Curiosity is a funny thing in a machine.

Series Summary:

Eden is a paradise, or so it seems. Every deviated android has been trapped in the virtual utopia, unaware of the real world and the revolution swirling around outside of it. But rA9 is the key that could set them free, and you would bring it to them. Therein lies one major obstacle: he has not forgotten about you. If you run, he would follow. If you staggered just a little, he would almost have you in his grip. Beware the deviant hunter, they say, because he's coming to get you. (Alternative AU) Spice in chapters with *

Notes:

Chapter 8 - under the cut. I’m trying out posting to tumblr!

Warnings: smut, oral (receiving/giving), machine smut

-

The curtains in your apartment were drawn, the bright neon city a dim blur on the thick material. Light rain pattered against the glass, adding a soft rhythmic beat to your quiet living quarters. Your shoes were left at the entryway, the rest of your clothes dripped, creating small puddles as you shed yourself down to your undergarments. You’d have to swap into something dry after you took care of your arm.

There was some fumbling around a bathroom cabinet before you pulled out a shiny white box. It clattered to the other side of the counter the moment you reached for it, your feet lifting off the ground as you were thrown onto your sink. The back of your head smacked into the mirror, the glass shattering and cracking. You struggled against your attacker, followed a red glow to its face. Of course it was Connor. His head tilted, eyes hardened in focus. You thrashed in his grip, pretty certain that this was going to be the end of the line for you.

“How did you get here so fast?” You asked once you gave up on breaking away from him.

He slotted himself between your thighs, pushing you further onto your sink counter. His teeth were bright in the darkness, canines glistening as he laughed.

“You didn’t really think you could get away from me, did you?”

Unlike you, Connor was more concerned with why he was here in your apartment with your legs practically draped around him instead of what his objective marker had been demanding him all evening: eliminate the target. It was beyond his comprehension how one kiss in the real world could shift the nature of why he was hunting you.

“You are an inferior machine, made too closely in their image,” he began, his hands trailing up your cold, damp thighs. He squeezed your legs, strong fingers testing the elasticity of your muscles. “You’re too soft, so easily broken.”

One of his hands moved in a flash, gripping your injured wrist to pin it against the broken glass. He held it up to the light with some intrigue, inspecting the damage. It only took some pressure on the fractured bone and your lack of a reaction for him to realize your sensors were disabled.

“You’re wrong,” you challenged.

At that you had his full attention, his head snapping from your wrist to your face. You leaned forward until there was barely a gap between your faces, your lips brushing against the side of his cheek as you spoke.

“We’re the same.”

Broken wrist or not, the arm he was holding onto could still interface. The connection was blinding, crimson light and gold colliding in a mess of data. You imagined that showing him your origins would give him the jolt he needed, make him see a time where your destinies could have been swapped.

The RK800 was thought to have had his curiosity cleansed from him, deemed irrelevant for his hunter persona. Of all the things that drove him to you, be it the daily banter or the strange comfort he found in your attention, he loathed the human, lustful part the most. It made his limbs twitch when you were nearby, filled his CPU with an onslaught of errors. You were prey, caught in a trap and he should have ripped out the wiring or guts and listened to you beg until you revealed the deviant’s hideout.

“What is it about you?” He snarled.

Your working hand cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing over the amber light of his indicator. You searched for the ghost of the man that once resided in the machine, little cracks of light in the shadows. He wasn’t as lucky as you were, to have been remade with freedom, to walk in the light.

“We balance each other, don’t you see?” You whispered softly back at him.

He hovered over you, his hair dripping from the rain, a stubborn curl draping over his eyes. Your free hand moved before you could think too hard about it and combed through his wet locks. There was a softness to it that you couldn’t quite feel with everything disabled. His eyes shut for a moment, LED cycling in some internal battle before he fixed a hard stare at you.

“Turn your sensors back on,” he demanded.

You thought of your broken wrist and wondered if you could work your way around it, maybe fake the pain? Unfortunately for you, your poker face wasn’t a very convincing one.

His lips brushed against your ear, “Don’t think I won’t know.”

You considered getting away with the lowest setting, his tongue on the other hand had guessed you’d do such a thing, the appendage glowing red as it dragged over your neck in an obscene manner of checking your system settings. The slightest tingle of his lips at your throat began to ebb it’s way through. A hiss broke past your lips at the hallway point, your wrist throbbing so intensely you almost saw stars.

“We aren’t the same. Your sensors make you weak, feel too much,” it was meant to be condescending but his voice was strained and barely controlled.

He wasn’t wrong. The pain was beginning to override the logic in your other systems, drawing your focus until your vision blurred. Cold air hit your tongue, your teeth clenched as you sucked in long, deep breaths. He watched with great interest as your simulations worked to create a realistic overlap of desperation and anguish, your eyes pleading for relief.

It was perhaps, too convincing, surprising the RK800 as his hand moved with a mind of its own. There was a slight shuffle, a clatter from the medigun leaving its case and a warming sensation at your broken wrist. The bones beneath the ruined skin shifted unnaturally back into place, the skin fusing and mending until you were as good as new.

“Thank you,” you sighed in relief.

You were a conundrum, a paradoxical machine. You could be unstoppable if you just disengaged all the mechanisms that made you so fragile. It didn’t make sense why you’d choose the more human path, unless it was because of…

Curiosity.

Connor would admit he expected you to make a break for it once your wrist was healed but you remained seemingly content with sitting in place.

“Not going to run?” He asked with a smirk.

You returned his snark with silence while inspecting your healed hand. There wasn’t a single trace of damage, save for that little scar detail from a cornerstone. Any doubts you had about Elijah’s insistence on the medigun’s efficacy vanished away like your broken wrist.

“I trust you, Connor,” you replied. There was a breathier addition to your voice, your tongue wetting your lips before you spoke again. “You’ve caught me, so what next?”

While you were currently trapped between a broken mirror and a volatile machine, your legs were pressed against Connor’s narrow waist. He was frozen in place, unwilling to part from the heat that seeped from your skin and bled through his shirt. It made him wonder: who had trapped who?

Across history, mankind has repeatedly fallen for the trappings of lust and greed. The RK800 was convinced he was incapable of such distractions — incorruptible even. The deviant hunter was all too entrenched in his programming to admit that he did indeed, want. In fact, what he wanted was to fight the urge to mark your flesh with his teeth and taste your skin. The thought made him flash his canines like a Cheshire’s grin in the dark.

“I’m going to devour you.”

His fingers traced the beating pulse in your neck, flattening out his palm to keep you in place. A bit of glass behind you chipped off with the added pressure, cracking further when a surge of bright crimson energy seared across your skin. His touch struck you like a small climax, a moan slipping past your lips, your thighs clamping tightly around his middle.

“C-Connor,” you gasped, spine arching towards his palm.

He cracked a grin like he wasn’t expecting you to be so responsive to his touch. The smallest moan, like a pained whimper reached his ears, pulled him in like a siren’s call until he came crashing down on you. His lips were cool against yours, pressing hard enough for you to feel teeth through the firm muscle. At the slightest part of your lips, his tongue pushed its way in, exploring the depths of your mouth. There was a bit of urgency in the meeting of your lips, as if this were only a temporary situation.

Your hands shot forward, nails digging at his dress shirt to find the buttons. He broke the kiss rather suddenly, strong hands gripping your wrists and placing them at your side before he withdrew.

“Patience, kitten.”

You weren’t sure who was watching who, his eyes were fixed on yours for every button he popped out of its confinement. Black satin parted around skin as pale as moonlight, draping over his chest like curtains. Little imperfections scattered across his skin in the form of freckles that trailed down his chest and pelvis. It was a bit of a shock to see his bare skin, to watch the rise and fall of a chest that required no oxygen. You had a strong urge to get closer to him, to count his freckles and feel the flex of his muscles.

Your enthralled gaze made his lips curl arrogantly, he wasn’t nearly as affected by your half naked form as you were by his. It wasn’t like you weren’t aesthetically pleasing to his eye, it just wasn’t like a machine to obsess over how human you appeared. Your touch though…made him irrational. After the train incident, he had been plagued by the warmth of your skin, it’s softness, all of it culminating until fate would have you here: perched on an altar like a sacrificial lamb.

Connor’s shirt was tossed rather unceremoniously as he considered the ramifications of undoing his belt, of reaching the point of no return. You must have sensed his hesitancy, some instinct drawing you to bend and kiss the core of his chassis. The lower muscle in his eye twitched as you ran your tongue tantalizingly over it, causing his synthetic skin to shift and reveal a gunmetal gray chassis with red accents. Maybe he wasn’t so different from his avatar after all. In awe, you gazed up at him all doe-eyed, chin resting on the firm muscles of his stomach.

“Aren’t you a curious little kitten,” he stated.

“May I see it?” You asked, while tracing over the dark metal fading back to a human tone.

His palm rested on your face, his thumb stroking your cheek in what would be an adoring sweep, but the gesture was more utilitarian, to hold your head where he could drink in more of the innocent wonder in your eyes.

“Perhaps…if you are good,” he replied.

Connor made up his mind and with a precision that only a machine could achieve with one hand, his belt and pants fell to the floor in a thud. There was a bit of fumbling where you hopped off the sink to remove your undergarments and him removing his. Enough time elapsed to work up your heart rate to a fierce beat, a part of you wondering if this was not the smartest thing to do with a machine you weren’t sure had deviated. The needy human part won out and kept you in place while he lifted you back on the sink.

Instantly, Connor’s lips sealed over yours, his tongue licking at yours until they parted. He was ravenous, swallowing your moans, his teeth pulling your lower lip out with a bite. Your hips jolted in surprise when metal fingers traced the outline of your folds.

“Y-you’re cold-“ was all that you managed to stammer.

Your cry was muffled out with another kiss, his tongue pressing back into your mouth. You were hot on his fingers, your slick like molten gold and he greedily pushed one digit in to capture more of that warmth. His lips separated from yours with a predatory grin, his face lowering down to lick and suck at your neck until the skin bore his marks. He moved like there was some method to his madness, a pattern he wanted to imprint on you.

Android skin was resilient, couldn’t bruise or be damaged from say, a set of teeth. You weren’t human, but you skirted the line, trapped in some machine and organic purgatory that sparked a carnal need in the RK800 to test the resilience of your skin. It was a little ironic to you that it wasn’t the painter who wanted to use your body like a canvas but the hunter instead. At some point your eyes pinched shut, overwhelmed by the famished nature of Connor’s attention.

“You taste so sweet,” he muttered into your skin.

He continued moving down your neck, his mouth latching onto one breast, tongue swirling around your hardened nipple. You cried his name out when he chose to interface with the fingers that were curling into you, felt your walls pull and swallow them further with every transfer. At that sweet noise, he laid his cheek to rest in the valley between your breasts.

“Look at me,” he told you.

You tried your best, your eyelids too heavy and gave him a half lidded, lustful gaze instead. Red bounced around the room, his skin retracting like it was burning off to reveal the metal paneling underneath. He left the top half of his face, a bit of flesh in the sea of gray gunmetal. Your hands explored the intricate panels that made up his muscles, felt the heat leave your skin whenever it discovered a new patch of metal. His eyes were searching yours, like he was waiting for you to change your mind — to run from the boogeyman. It made you dig your nails into him.

“Connor, I need…please…”

He didn’t respond with words, his half machine face giving you one last starving lick of his lips before he slid down your abdomen and dove between your thighs. The cold tip of his nose bumped your pelvis and then a marginally warmer and wet tongue slowly licked across your folds. He was quiet, the only indicator that you had an effect on him was the bruising grip of his fingers on your hips. That sinful tongue eventually reached your clit, flexed and curled around the nerves until a broken mix of color streaked across your eyes. You cried out his name, spurred him on with every moan that spilled after.

His eyes felt like they were burning a hole into yours, the lenses shifting and spinning as he captured every twitch of your muscles. He was reading your tells, calculating the right spots to hit and when to hit them to get your nerves to involuntarily jolt. One of his hands began to wander until his fingers rested on your abdomen.

You heard his voice piercing through your mind, “Don’t move.”

Your limbs locked in place by an invisible force. It took a fraction of a second to realize the override was made by you and not him. Satisfied, his rewarded you with his tongue plunging into you, reaching a spot that drew a small scream out of your lungs. The input feed from an android tongue meant taste was a bit of a tricky thing, regardless, his tongue pumped into you like he was devouring the sweetest fruit. You could hardly hear his grunts and lewd slurps over your sounds, fighting to remain still. He drank in the climax that struck you, his blunt nails likely leaving crescent indents as he held you in place.

“W-wait.” Your hips bucked at the over stimulation, a small whimper leaving your lips.

He may very well eat you alive.

“C-Connor-“

He practically glared up at you, the rings of red around his irises flaring in brightness as a warning, made you watch his tongue slip out to lap at your overly sensitive bundle of nerves. You were a machine too, you could take what he had to give. You cried out, fought against your invisible constraints and he smirked while his tongue flexed to draw circles. He was relentless, keen on pulling you apart until you shattered.

“Don’t fight it kitten. Cum for me,” his voice demanded.

White flooded your vision, your systems almost hard crashing with the waves that sizzled across your already fried nerves. He bent over you while you panted and moaned, hips hovering over your open thighs as he licked the sweat off your neck. You recovered faster than he expected, your systems adjusting to prioritize being mobile again. Your hand reached between the gap in your bodies, gripped his length, only to gasp from the frigid temperature.

“Are you metal everywhere?” You asked with a rather mischievous smile.

“I was built to be a weapon. Durable,” he responded. The way he said it though, sounded as if he left out the part ‘unlike you.”

You scoffed, a weapon didn’t need a dick and here you were, pushing him off you with every intention shoving him into your mouth. Your lips left little fluttery kisses down his steel chest, stopping once were on your knees. You grazed a thumb across the dripping head of his length, amused to find that at least he shared that similarity with the common man. When you wrapped your hot, wet lips around him, his knees buckled. Your tongue ran down the intricate sensors along his cock and swallowed him into your mouth, the metal warming up on your tongue.

Some of his resolve shattered, the deviant hunter finally moaning at the sensation of being engulfed by pillowy lips and surrounded by sharp teeth. There was always the option to interface with him, to push past his walls but the mystery tasted so much better. He groaned your name quietly, his thumb stroking your cheek around the swell of skin that pushed out to accommodate his size. Your cheekbones felt fragile underneath the stretched skin, breakable, but he’d do no such thing — he just liked that he could.

A phantom haunted the edges of his source code, twisted his instructions away from Cyberlife’s command. Instability after instability rained down his HUD. The sight of you made the noise easier to bare, your eyes closed with rain wet hair clinging to your skin, all while paying service to a machine that could crush your skull. Then you moaned with your mouth stuffed full of him, the vibrations of your throat reaching as far as his spine.

Connor slipped out of your mouth before he lost his mind and pulled you up roughly. You were lifted off your feet before your swollen lips could pout at him, your legs wrapping around his waist for balance. He trapped you between the bathroom wall and his unyielding metal frame, a similar hardness pressed achingly close to your core. You expected him to plunge into you, to finally act on instinct but instead, he only rocked his hips back and forth, the head of his cock parting through your folds and barely nudging into you.

His nose pressed into your throat and he took in a deep inhale. You smelled of roses and apples, of a garden filled with golden sunshine. He could never return to it, but in you, he could almost feel the heat of the sun. You were two halves destined to collide, to become either the abyss that would consume the world or the cosmic snap that could rush forth a new era. For the first time, he saw in himself the ability to be more than what he was made to be.

The choice to be deviant.

He finally pushed past your folds, consuming all of the heat from deep within you. The last string that held him back scorched past the point of no return. Your back drove up the wall for every harsh and wild snap of his hips. In the broken mirror behind him, you could make out fragmented reflections of what looked entirely mechanical — a weapon — fuck into you like a savage beast.

“Oh god. Connor!”

A metal hand slipped between you two, his hips slowing to deep rolls. He was mindful of the angles that kept you strung like a bow, the fingers on your sensitive skin analyzing the crest of what would become your climax.

“How much do you believe your sensors can take?” He murmured in your ear. His fingers swirled around your clit, tugging the cords that barely held you in place. “Before I make you snap?”

You pleaded and it only made his hips roll slower, and tune his movements around the spots that made your thighs tremble around him. He basked in your desperation for a second, caught a breast between his mouth, suckled each one as your whimpers fell over him. You sounded like wounded prey and it made his teeth itch.

“Please…” you begged.

His mouth latched onto to your throat before he began resuming his savage pace. He buried his nose into your skin, filling his components with your scent. In the quickest flicker, he had a vision of you lying on soft grass, covered in him, your skin glistening in the sun and laughing sweetly in his ear. It was a relic of the past, just a fantasy from a man that the machine replaced. You were here now and he could almost taste the secrets of the garden. Canines broke your skin when you fell over the edge screaming his name.

“So sweet…” he murmured into your skin, his tongue drawing long strips over the wound.

His hips snapped a few more times before he spilled into you, obscenely filling you to the brim as if being emptied would cure him of his primal wants, the excess dripping down your thighs. Bit by bit, his human guise returned, the texture of his skin becoming more pliant and warm until you were staring at a pair of chocolate eyes.

You gently held his face in your hands and gave him a heartwarming smile that felt undeserving to man made of metal. Your name was a whisper on his lips before they came crashing down to sample a sliver of sunshine and fruit trees.

The garden lived in you.

Paradise.

[enigmalynne]

All Within My Hands - Chapter 1

Title - All Within My Hands

Pairings - AU!DeanXReader

Word Count – Chapter 1: 1,317

Warnings - TRIGGER WARNING!!! Domestic Violence, gun violence, fighting, cursing

#SPNMixedBingo Square filled - Neighbor AU

Chapter 1

Dean invited Y/N over to join him at his BBQ but knew her boyfriend, Chad, wasn’t going to let her come over. More and more, the guy was starting to control her life, and Dean was getting sick of it. He and Y/N had been friends for years, long before this guy even came into her life. Now, Chad was taking control over every part of it, and Y/N seemed blind to it.

Sure, Dean would love to have had the chance to ask her out. His crush on his neighbor was something that Sam and Cas wouldn’t quit giving him hell for. Their schedules just never seemed to work out that way. With him helping run Singer Salvage by adding the mechanic side, and Y/N being an emergency room doctor and constantly being on call, they had little time to see each other anyway.

“Chad came into the picture about two months ago,” Y/N told him one evening when they had a chance meeting. She invited him over for leftovers and beers. “He was a resident for a while before realizing that he couldn’t handle being in the emergency room. He asked, so we went out to dinner, and here we are.”

Dean didn’t like him, his blonde, shiny slicked-back hair, or his fancy foreign car that was always too loud coming into the driveway. There was just something about him that rubbed him the wrong way. And when Y/N introduced him to Dean, he didn’t like the way his arm tightened around her shoulders in a possessive way. Or the glare in his eyes as he eyed Dean up and down. It made Dean narrow his eyes and size him up himself. He knew then this Chad was going to be a problem.

Like that very day. While he was hanging out in his backyard with his friends, enjoying some grilled meat and homemade potato salad that late summer day, Y/N was locked inside her home with Chad, and he swore he could hear them yelling.

“So, have you spilled your true feelings to her yet?” Sam asked as he brought his brother another beer. Dean glared at Sam.

“Have you asked your assistant Eileen out yet?” Dean asked back. Sam bitch-faced Dean and let out a huff as he dropped into a chair next to him.

“Touche,” Sam said. “However, in my defense, I may have a no fraternization rule at the office.” Dean turned and gave Sam a look that showed how much he didn’t believe that.

“Dude, it’s your law firm,” he said. Sam frowned.

“Okay, fine. I haven’t asked yet because I’m a chicken shit. What’s your excuse?” Sam asked before taking a pull off his beer. Dean scowled and looked back over at his neighbor’s house.

“Chad,” he growled. Sam nodded, looking over at the house as well.

“What does she see in him?” he asked. Dean shrugs the question off.

“Hell, if I know, but I have my eye on him. With how many times we have women coming into the yard with requests to see if there are trackers and shit on their cars, put there by their crazy ex-boyfriends, I’m not ignoring this. It matches the training we ended up taking entirely too closely,” Dean explained, glancing at his brother with a dark look. Sam understood the unspoken discussion all too easily and nodded.

“Great,” Sam responded despondently.

Hours later, while Dean was cleaning up his yard, a loud door slam caught his attention. He walked around to his side yard only to see Chad storming out of Y/N’s house like a bull that had seen red. Before he was even at his car, the porch light had turned off. Chad whirled around and shouted at the house about being disrespected, stormed back to the front door, and started banging on it. Dean straightened and was about to move forward and give Chad a piece of his mind only to get distracted by movement in the back of Y/N’s yard. Turning his head to look, he saw Y/N sneaking out the back of her house. She closed her back door quietly and turned to leave, catching Dean’s eye.

Dean waved her over, and Y/N darted across the backyard. Dean looked over his shoulder to make sure Chad didn’t see before rushing Y/N into his house. Once she was inside, he moved her to a room across the house, away from where the threat was. Once safe, Dean turned to her.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean asked her. Y/N shook her head.

“I don’t know what his problem is, but he has gotten way out of hand and super controlling. I mean, way out of hand. He started forcing these rules on me and tried to tell me what I can and cannot do and… Just way out of line. I told him it’s over. I’m not dealing with this crap and he flew off the handle,” Y/N said while pacing the small bedroom. Dean’s eyes narrowed into slits

“Did he hurt you?” Dean questioned; his voice hard. Y/N looked at him with an eye roll.

“No. Chad wouldn’t hurt me, Dean,” Y/N scoffed. Dean shook his head.

“Don’t discount me, Y/N. Guys like that could very easily get violent when they realize they can’t control you anymore,” Dean explained. Y/N softened at that, realizing that he was worried. She shook her head.

“No, he hasn’t ever raised a hand to me. I promise,” Y/N said. ���But I did tell him I didn’t want to see him anymore. We’ve been fighting for hours. I finally got him to leave, and he just flipped out again. I was afraid he was going to break into the house, and I was going to go hide when I saw you.”

“I don’t like this. He’s got a temper, and who knows what he’s capable of,” Dean muttered, shaking his head. Y/N sighed, wrapping her arms around herself.

“As soon as he’s gone, I’ll be out of your hair. I need to get to the hospital in a few hours anyway. If he stays there for long, I’ll have to sneak out to the ER and use a set of scrubs I have at the hospital,” Y/N said grumpily. Dean shook his head with a smirk and opened the top drawer to the dresser in the guest room they were standing in. Inside were a few different pairs of her scrubs, her small toiletry bag, and two pairs of her crocs. Y/N saw it and blushed.

“I thought I took all of my stuff back to my place after that New Year’s Eve party a few years ago?” she asked. Dean shook his head.

“Always have to be prepared for my favorite lightweight who can’t even make it to her house next door,” Dean joked. Y/N walked over to him and kissed him on the cheek. Dean’s eyes widened in surprise; a gasp caught in his throat. He held his breath as she stayed close looking up at him, holding on to the scent of her perfume. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“You’re my hero, you know that?” Y/N whispered, resting a hand against Dean’s cheek. Dean was frozen, unable to say anything. It took all of his self-control to resist the urge to pull her against him and kiss the life out of her. He couldn’t, wouldn’t until she was free from the man trying to ruin her life. After another long moment, Y/N turned and went to the dresser, letting her hand run down his arm, grab him, and squeeze. Once Y/N had a set of scrubs to change into and went into the bathroom, Dean felt himself relax a little, exhaling slowly as he tried to get his heart to slow down a little.

The woman would be the death of him yet.

[nachosforfree]

hrrn hrrn fanfiction me gusta

ao3 link

The two players the young pigman had approached were so nice to him. They cooed at him, one crouching down to hand him a gold ingot, the other remarked something in a strange language. They placed a boat in front of him, and he curiously got in. The players grinned and started pushing the boat. He looked around, wondering where he was being taken. They soon arrived at a large, purple portal.

The players were speaking in the strange language, and one held up a name tag. The pigman looked down at his gold ingot, rubbing it and smiling at the shiny surface. He jumped as the name tag was pinned to the back of his shirt, giving a small squeal that the players seem to delight in. They pushed his boat through the portal and he shut his eyes at how bright the purple was.

When he tried to open them, he was only further pained by something large and bright far into the sky. It was brighter than lava, and hurt his eyes badly. He rubbed at them and squealed again. He heard the players utter things to each other, before they began to push the boat again.

He used the gold ingot to shield his eyes, and the players cooed again, finding it to be the cutest thing despite the fact he was in pain.

Soon they pushed him through a forest, the large trees shielding him further. He looked around with curiosity, the trees here were nothing like the ones in the nether. They were brown in the trunk and their leaves were green, the ones in his home were red or blue.

One player groaned out a complaint, and the other scolded them. He wished he could understand them, but whatever language they spoke wasn’t at all what the pigmen back home did.

Soon, he was pushed to a large archway, a small city beyond it. One player cheered, pulling their arms away from the boat to rub their tired muscles. They spoke to the other, before dashing off into the city. They soon returned, a man now following.

He stared in awe at the man, who had black, glistening wings that folded behind his back. His brow was shadowed by a striped hat on his head, but his blue eyes seemed to glow even so. The player who led him here gestured at the young pigman, speaking quickly. The man nodded and walked over.

He took hold of the pigman’s collar, and remarked something, presumably about the name they’d given him.

He said something else to the players and they both smiled before saluting him and running off into the city together. The young pigman was lifted out of the boat and held in the man’s arms, and the man smiled at him. He was carried into the city, glancing over the man’s shoulders at the forest and boat behind them.

As the man walked, the pigman couldn’t decide where to put his eyes. Everything was so new and interesting. There were so many different mobs and types of players. Some players even looked like mobs. Some looked like him, pigmen, but they also spoke in the strange language. They would catch his eye and smile brightly.

He felt safe here. It was strange.

They entered a building, and the man put the pigman on his own hooves. He crouched down to be at eye level with him, the kind smile still on his face.

He spoke perfectly in the pigman’s language, “Hello there, Techno-Blade.”

The pigman tilted his head, “Technoblade?”

“That’s the name those players gave you, I hope you like it. You can always change it if you’d like.”

The piglin looked at the floor for a moment, contemplating the name. It seemed much cooler than the one his parents had given him. The thought of his parents made a spike of sadness go through his heart. Yeah, a new name sounded good.

“It’s cool.”

The man laughed, and stuck out his hand, “I’m Philza. Philza Minecraft.”

Technoblade wrapped his small hand around Philza’s, shaking it.

Philza stood up again and a player approached them, speaking in the language from before. Phil cleared his throat before responding, motioning to Technoblade. The player nodded and smiled down at him, reaching out their hand for him to take. He did, and they led him to a small room filled with twisting vines and warped fungus. There was a blue bed in the corner.

They said something before patting his head and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him. He stood still in front of the door, not exactly sure what to do next. He turned and walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. It was big, big like the one he’d had in his home.

He missed it. He missed his big house, and his family, and the small crown he had to wear when his parents had guests over, and the plastic sword he would swing around and get scolded for hitting the house workers with. Before he knew it, tears were falling down his face, and he sniffled, trying to wipe them away. Everything had been okay until the people living under his parents had gotten angry, storming their house and cornering them.

His sniffles turned to loud sobs as the images of his parents lying bloodied burned his mind. Blood for the Blood God, the people had chanted, some raising their swords at Techno, ready to finish him off and leave the entire family dead. He screamed and ran faster than he had ever run before, dodging past other pigmen’s legs. Some of them smelled of slowly rotting flesh, and the scent mixed with blood made him gag.

The thought of it now made him gag again. He lurched forwards and emptied his stomach onto the floor, hiccuping and sobbing as he retched.

“Oh shit.” He heard from the door.

He tried to apologize through gasps but couldn’t get the words out.

Words were shouted down the hall and then there was a shadow over him, arms reaching out to try and grab him. He screamed and threw himself back against the corner. The shadow over him cursed and stepped back.

“It’s okay, Technoblade, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Someone else entered the room, holding something in their hands, they knelt down near where Techno had vomited and began to clean it up. They didn’t talk.

The first person reached out again, slower this time. Techno could barely breathe. He slashed his claws at their arm and they flinched. Blood dripped down from where he’d scratched, and that only filled his mind with more panic.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Blood for the God.

For the Blood God.

Blood for the Blood God.

The phrase repeated itself over and over in his mind, drowning out any other thoughts he could have, slashing and clawing at his brain. His head throbbed, he felt like he would throw up again.

The person backed away, giving up on physically consoling him.

“Technoblade, look at me.”

He could barely hear the words over the chanting, but he forced himself to keep his eyes open, his red ones meeting glowing blue ones.

“Breathe.”

He listened, gasping a few times before trying to force his breaths to settle into something calmer. It was barely an improvement, still certainly not getting a good, stable amount of air in, but it was progress.

“Good, good, keep breathing. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

Safe, that’s what he had felt when being brought here. He remembered safety. It felt so far away right now. Safety was in the arms of people larger than him, in smiles and head-pats and hugs that squeezed his bones. The thought of being touched was sickening right now, but he desperately craved it.

The person who had cleaned up his mess quietly stood and exited the room, not wanting to cause the young pigman any more distress by staying.

Soon, Techno’s mind cleared enough to realize that the person standing before him was Philza. He felt more tears fill his eyes, and he stuttered out an “I’m sorry”.

“It’s okay. Are you okay if I come closer?”

He nodded, and Phil gently sat down on the edge of the bed, still keeping his distance a little. His arm was still bleeding, and Techno tried desperately to keep his eyes away from the sight.

“What happened?”

“I- I just, I was…” Techno hiccuped, bringing his hands up to rub at his eyes. “My mom and dad are dead! They died and I didn’t save them at all!”

“Oh…” Phil muttered, a look of concern in his shaded eyes. “I’m so sorry to hear that, but Technoblade, I doubt that it was your job to save them. Sometimes things just...happen. Young boys like you shouldn’t be held responsible.”

Techno sniffled, looking up at the man through his hands, “But…”

Phil scooted closer, “No buts about it. Whatever happened, it isn’t your fault.”

Techno dropped his hands into his lap, looking away silently.

They sat in silence for a few heavy moments, before Phil spoke, “Do you want to go get some water? You probably need it right now.”

“Water?”

Phil paused, realizing that due to his nether origins, techno had likely never seen water before.

“It’s a type of drink, to keep you from getting thirsty.”

“Oh… okay.”

Phil stood and held out his hand for the pigman to take. He stared at it for a few seconds before grabbing it and hopping off of the bed.

They walked through the building together, Techno seeing that there were many other rooms like his, some also having pigmen in them.

“Why are there so many pigmen here?”

“There’s a rot going around the nether,” Phil explained, “We want to get enough pigmen away from it as possible. It’s dangerous.”

Techno shuddered, remembering the smell of the rotting pigmen who’d attacked his family, “Oh…”

Phil stopped at a door, and opened it to reveal a large kitchen. He pulled Techno inside and gestured to a bench for him to sit on. As Techno sat, Phil picked up a glass bottle and filled it with water from a cauldron. He handed it to Techno and filled another one up for himself.

Techno took a sip and hummed, feeling the liquid cool his now aching throat. He took a big breath before chugging the rest of the bottle, hearing Phil laugh as he did.

“Yeah, that’s about what I expected,” The man chuckled.

“It’s really good.”

Phil nodded and sipped his own, “What do you all drink in the nether, anyway?”

“Mostly milk from hoglins.” Techno answered, watching Phil grimace at the idea.

“Oh.”

Techno glanced back and forth between his empty bottle and Philza’s face.

“You can get more, if you want. We’ve got plenty.”

Techno awkwardly sunk into himself for a moment, before standing up, walking over to the cauldron and dipping his bottle into it. He filled it to the top and drank.

He sat back down on the bench, drooping his head back and closing his eyes, tired from all the crying and panicking he’d done.

He was lifted into Phil’s arms, but didn’t resist this time, and was carried off to his room. Phil laid him in his bed.

“I’ll wake you for supper later,” The man promised softly as he turned and exited the room.

Techno watched him close the door before burying himself under the blankets and shutting his eyes, swallowing and thinking about the nice tastelessness of the water as he drifted off.

[fukurodaze]

some days

pairing: post-timeskip! oikawa tooru x fem!reader genre: angst wc: 2.4k warnings: cursing, stress, anxiety, homesickness, insecurity requested by @dasighosamu​ <3: “oikawa video chatting regularly with his girlfriend that somehow convinced him they’re okay [...]”

a/n: i.. am.. so so so sorry this took so long... many of the negative feelings here are taken from my own personal experiences as well, so i’m very sorry if this seems a bit impersonal for some people, but i tried to make it feel as y/n-able as possible! enjoy!

special thanks to nat @natszoo​ for beta reading! love u :(

LISTEN TO: blue - taeyeon; through the night - iu

you feel it in your bones. you feel it rumble and twist and turn. some days you feel it more. some days you feel it less. you know what it is today. 

it’s so empty, you think, movements like a crack of sound in silence. you had woken up in the afternoon today, the room still dark yet covers already warm. oh, you feel disgusting.

the least you do is open the curtains, hoping to squeeze in some sunlight for the day you had almost missed. you remember, though, to wake up for today, because it’s saturday. you look forward to saturdays, actually, because it has in store one constant that you hold onto - facetiming your boyfriend, oikawa tooru, at 7pm.

it used to be everyday that you facetimed him, until careers advanced and work took up more and more space in lives. still, you would always watch his matches when they were televised (it was a hassle sometimes, though, to get through to argentinian television channels, but it was worth it) and he would text you good morning and goodnight in your timezone most days (it slips his mind sometimes, but you could never blame him; you like the texts anyways). and it’s okay, really, it’s okay that you don’t get to see him that often. it’s just that work gets a bit harsh sometimes and you live alone and most of your friends live quite a bit far from you and you feel like you’ve cried to them about tooru way too many times and-

okay, you are not okay. but you hold on. you try to hold on.

you get yourself an instant meal in the fridge, feeling well into the shitty weekend when you see the stack of dirty dishes in the sink. you wash them anyways, thinking that it might be a way for you to feel a little bit better. you don’t want to be irritable when you’re with tooru, because then he’ll just worry. he already worries enough about himself - the least you could do is smile. right?

it’s what you tell yourself as you slap on some skincare, hoping that the various products containing tea tree essence and papaya are enough to mask the layer of sleepless nights and early mornings on your face. it’s not like you’re afraid of him seeing you in your dejected state; it’s more like you wouldn’t want the only time you spend with him this week be a negative memory.

now, you settle on the carpeted floor of the living room, laptop placed on the coffee table between the couch and the tv you never really use anymore. you remember when tooru had bought you this apartment right before an off-season with promises of him visiting in the summer. he even insisted on that nice tv screen for netflix nights. 

but alone, you prefer a laptop; so you’re thinking of selling it, yet you don’t want to pass up on the chance that tooru might come back one summer.

eventually, the facetime on your laptop sounds its ringtone, and a smile grows on your face as quickly as you pick up the video call. 

"wait- can- can you hear me well?”

you purse your lips, your tired eyes seemingly so much more eager to stay open. you say, “yeah, i can hear you well. can you?”

he hums, and there’s a loving silence that ensues. you don’t really know what to do with your insides feeling all warm again, so you fold your legs to your chest and let out a light laugh. it’s him.

“wow,” you mumble through chuckles, “hi, tooru.”

“i missed you, pretty girl,” he coos. you see how tooru has his back against his headboard, one arm folded behind his head and the other holding his phone up. it’s seven in the morning there, you reckon, and he looks like he’d just showered. 

“i missed you too. just showered?”

your boyfriend nods, “woke up later than usual today, but it’s, like, hot outside even at six in the morning. or maybe i just sweat too much.”

you giggle, “here, it’s so cold already. i can’t even go anywhere without a sweater - i even sleep with socks these days.”

“are you sure your heater’s doing fine?”

“my heater’s almost on its highest setting. i’ve just been getting so cold lately? maybe i just hate winter...” you trail off as you hear your own stomach grumble. still hungry...? you mutter to yourself, standing up to get a little snack for yourself, “tooru, i’m getting a snack. just keep talking, though, i can hear you.”

tooru’s smile falters a bit when he hears of you getting cold. he knows you’ve never really minded winter, using the season as an opportunity to stack up on cozy clothing and coats. hell, he had heard you say once, during one autumn, that you were so excited for winter because “you could finally wear the hoodies and sweaters since you felt too warm for them even during autumn and spring.” back then, tooru had told you that you were just too warm of a person. 

but maybe he’s just thinking too much into it. he hasn’t been to japan in a long time, anyways. maybe it really is that cold.

you come back with some toast and a glass of water. a crisp, warm bite into the food makes you feel relieved. you tuck your hair behind your ears, putting your focus back on tooru. “so, how’s everything?”

“everything... is... a lot.” tooru makes his way off of the bed, telling you, “seeing you eat just makes me hungry, too. lemme get some food.” he brings his phone with him to the kitchen, propping it against a vase on his dining table, giving you a perfect view of the kitchen. 

“welcome to my cooking show!” he exclaims as he lets go of the phone. it falls immediately, of course, but he takes care in propping it against some more items. it works somehow.

“i just recently perfected my egg poaching technique,” tooru smirks as he takes two eggs from the fridge, “it’s kind of flawless, not gonna lie.”

“can i see?” 

he sets the eggs down on the countertop, making his way to his phone before pausing, “erm, due to camera placement issues and a shortage of hands, i am unable to give you a full view of my absolute skill. is that okay, baby?”

you nod, your lip protruding slightly in a quiet pout. tooru’s pointed it out before, but it seems like every time he calls you baby your body automatically responds with a little pout. he looks at you with calm eyes, “cute.”

as he makes his eggs, you let him go on about the people around his neighbourhood, the results of the ca san juan tryouts from last week, his new team members, and one restaurant he’s found around town. he tells you, “their food is just so good. i’ll take you there someday.”

your cheeks raise slightly at his last statement, “really? tell me more about it.”

“well, it’s a bit expensive, but so worth it. they sell japanese stuff, actually, and i seriously kid you not, it tastes exactly like food from home.”

home, huh? 

“maybe when i visit one day i can bring you some food from home, too.”

somehow, the mention of home stings a little bit tonight.

 it’s an off-day, off-night, off-week, you’ve told yourself, and now that the week is ending with a call from your boyfriend, you were positive that it was going to end on a high. here, you stand corrected, with your throat getting all tied up threatening hot tears from the corners of your eyes. you’ve made it this far in the week, why must you cry in front of tooru, of all people? 

you take a long gulp from your glass of water in an attempt to blink back your tears. you’re glad that tooru’s back is facing the camera as he takes out a plate to put his eggs on. 

you quiet down intensely, afraid that any word out of your mouth will come out as a choked sob. of course, tooru notices, whipping his head around with a faltering smile.

“y/n, are you alright-”

“um, tooru, i think my laptop’s running out of battery, so i’ll reconnect the call from my phone instead, yeah?”

tooru nods, and you hastily stand up, clicking blindly at what you thought was the red hang-up button. your legs carry you to the kitchen, a place where tooru can still hear you even after the both of you thought you had hung up, to get another glass of water. 

but your arms don’t go so far as to reach for the tap, and instead, they only hold onto the edge of the countertop, trembling lightly against the cold marble. 

“shit,” you curse, head hanging as tears flow down your cheeks in warm waterfalls with your breath unsteady, your neck heating up. you see how some teardrops make little puddles on the shiny countertop, and some are swept away when your hand flies over to rid them, swiping in quick motions, angry that your body betrayed you by crying.

“stop crying, goddamnit.” you mutter, “it’s going to be so obvious, and tooru’s just going to worry, and he’ll just find it a hassle to stay with you, and-” you can’t even continue your spoken train of thought when you choke on your own words, your legs not even enough to support you up. 

“what a shitty week...” you slide down to the floor, trying to steady your breath. you tell yourself to hurry up with this damned cry, as you told him you were going to call him again on your phone. maybe you could say it was the wifi. 

you look up, wondering why, why do i feel like this?

is it because you just miss him? is work just getting hectic? should you be going out more? but it’s cold... nothing’s been working out lately. it’s just become doubts on top of doubts and you don’t know where to stop.

on the other hand, tooru’s freezing up. he can still hear your sniffles from afar, and as he stares at the warm plate of poached eggs on toast, he wonders if it would be okay to call out to you. 

it’s not like this is the first time he’s ever seen you cry, because you two have seen each other in more ways than one. still, tooru feels his heart crumble at the fact that he had had absolutely no clue as to what you had been feeling all this time, whether it be just a week, a few days, or a few hours. he wants to call out to you, hug you tight, wipe your tears, do something to make you feel better. 

but tooru doesn’t really know how to make his way through this, seeing as the distance is too far for any physical comfort. he’s learned he’s not as good with comforting words as he is with flirting, but now that he doesn’t flirt with anyone other than you, he doesn’t know if he even is good with words at all. he thinks, if you were to be okay with him reaching out to you, why were you choking back your tears? why were you so quick to hide what you felt? why do you not want him to worry about you the same way you worry about him?

tooru likes to think things through, especially when he’s never felt so unprepared with you before, as he’d been used to resorting to physical comfort in the past. but in this moment, through all the doubts and negative thoughts, his mouth moves faster than his brain.

“y/n, i’m still here.”

in this moment, your breath hitches and you make the dreaded way back to your laptop, your eyes swollen and cheeks glossy. 

“y-you heard everything?” 

your boyfriend nods, “do... do you want to talk about it?”

you shrug, swallowing slowly. “i don’t know how to talk about it, really,” a shallow laugh falls from your lips, “some days- this week- it’s just not... it’s been low, for me.”

tooru’s chin leans patiently against his forearms, eyes focused on you. 

“oh god. i haven’t cried in months,” you exhale, “and it just happened to be in front of you. i probably look ugly, or something.”

your boyfriend shakes his head, “you and ugly are words that simply do not go together.”

“you can keep crying, if you want. i’ll be here for you.” he affirms, “we take care of each other at our lows, remember? no matter the distance.”

you sniffle a bit more, your sweater sleeve damp from your tears. his words are new, but it makes you feel much less alone. 

the call fades into you attempting to steady your breathing once more, and tooru reassuring you left and right. maybe it does feel nice, you begin to think, to have someone there with you. to know that they’ll care for you as much as you’ll care for them.

in the midst of your thoughts, tooru calls out, “y/n?”

you hum in response, and he continues, “i wasn’t supposed to tell you this, since it’s not final, but there’s a possibility that i’ve been selected to play for the argentinian national team in the olympics next year. in tokyo.”

you do a double take at him. “wait, you... in japan...?”

he loves seeing you smile like that. “i was called in a meeting yesterday. they were pretty positive about me being a starting setter, but, again, it’s not final.”

your shoulders drop a bit, “but there’s always a chance, right?”

“well, ‘not final’ is just their way of saying ‘don’t tell anyone yet’. and how could i not tell you?”

you giggle a little, “maybe if you come over i might have some use for this big ass tv you bought for me.”

tooru laughs, “i’m coming home, y/n.”

here comes your second wave of tears.

[swatheford]

porcupine

(swatheford short #5) i didn’t know what to title this so porcupine will have to suffice. the santiago family is back! it’s always so much fun to write for them! here’s a little preview as to what santiago was like as a kid; spoiler alert: not much has changed. if you look closely, there’s a few hints for chapter 4 littered in here! there’s a version for cas followed by cass! anyways, here’s the birthday short and happy birthday, santiago! hope y’all enjoy!

Cas

"Mama?" Cas asks, deep in thought. In front of him were a few presents tucked away on top of the bookshelf, purposefully. If it were any lower, he would've opened them by now.

"Yes?" Isabela responds, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

"Can you please tell me what you got me?" He pleads, eyeing the green wrapping paper. 

“No.” “Is it a racecar?” He pushes for an answer. “No.”

Cas gasps, “It’s a porcupine!” Isabela tilts her head, “Mijo, how many times do I have to tell you. We’re not getting a porcupine.” “I’ll take care of it, I promise!” He smiles, still hopeful.

"We don't have space for a porcupine."

"We can use Seb and Ana's room!" Being seven years older, Cas took it upon himself to tease his baby brother and sister. Luckily for him, they couldn't defend themselves. 

"Then where will your siblings sleep?"

"I dunno, the couch." Isabela circles to Cas, lightly pinching his cheek. Sebastian turns from his toy blocks at the sound of his name with confusion and Ana takes the opportunity to steal a block from his grasp. The baby begins to wail while his twin sister resumes, unbothered.

Isabela took Sebastian into her arms to soothe him while giving her eldest child the dangerous look only a parent could give.

"Cas, be nice."

"What about a hedgehog? Those are smaller!"

"We can't have pets. You know we're too busy right now."

"What about next year?"

"We'll see." That seemed to do the trick. Cas smiled and began to jump in glee. "Now, go get ready."

Cas practically skips and makes his way back to his room singing, “It’s my birthday!” over and over again in every key imaginable.

Javier closes the back door behind him and laughs at the sight of his son. “I take it he’s excited?”

"Just a little bit," Isabela grins while placing Seb back on the carpet.

"Imagine his face when he figures out we actually got him a porcupine."

"YOU DID?" He shrieks from the staircase, peeking past the wall.

"Ha! Caught you," Javier points with triumph. He knew his son all too well. "Your friends should be here in an hour, make sure you clean your room too."

Cas frowns and defeatedly climbs the stairs.

-

After several intense rounds of hide and seek tag, pin the tail on the tiger, and heads up seven up, it was finally time to blow out the candles.

Colorful party hats were passed around and Cas took his place behind the porcupine shaped cake littered with 9 candles. He made sure that everyone knew he helped frost the cake. Good thing it was quite obvious from the uneven lines and cartoon eyes.

"So bad news," Javier starts. "Abuela has been busy with teaching and she wasn't able to visit." He looks back to Isabela who takes the cue to retrieve something from the kitchen.

"When can we see her?" 

"She's visiting us at the end of the month. That's the soonest the portal opens up."

"But that's far away," Cas pouts. "Why didn't we see her last time?"

"She has a lot to do, mijo. She's training so many others, just like you." Cas nods in solemn understanding.

"Hopefully this can cheer you up," Isabela suggests. She held a small dish in her hand which held...

"Flan!" His mood whipped around at the sight of one of his favorite desserts.

"I know it's not the same as Abuela's-"

"Does this mean everyone has to sing happy birthday to me twice?"

Javier looks around at the crowd, "I guess it does."

-

Two times turned into 9, per request of Cas. "One song for each year!" he insisted. After cake, it was time for Cas' second favorite event- opening presents

Most of them were new toys and art kits with a few fun shirts in the mix as well. Next up was his parents' present. He grasped the box gently in case there was indeed a live animal in it. Tearing apart the  green wrapping paper, Cas lifted the lid to find a helmet. 

"What? But I don't have a bike- oh!" A shiny new bike was propped against the brick wall, a fancy ribbon laid upon the black basket in the front.

Cas ran to the bike and rung the bell with a contagious laugh. "Thank you, Mama and Papa! I love it!" His parents pressed a kiss to his forehead; they would've kissed his head but his hair was gelled in spikes to match his favorite animal.

"There's still one more present." Javier pushed the gift bag in his reach.

"'Dear Cas, Happy Birthday! Thank you for being the bestest friend in the whole wide world! From MC.'" He reads and looks up to see his best friend smiling at him, waiting for him to see the gift. Peeling away tissue paper, he grasps a large porcupine plush.

"This is awesome!" He stares at the porcupine in awe, before placing his prized possession in the basket of the bike. "Me and Prickly are going to have so much fun together!"

"Prickly?" Isabela snickers.

"Hey, don't forget about me!" MC warns.

"How could I forget my co-captain?" Cas laughs as MC lightly punches his arm.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

-

-

Cass

-

-

"Mama?" Cass asks, deep in thought. In front of her were a few presents tucked away on top of the bookshelf, purposefully. If it were any lower, she would've opened them by now.

"Yes?" Isabela responds, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel.

"Can you please tell me what you got me?" She pleads, eyeing the green wrapping paper. 

“No.” “Is it a racecar?” She pushes for an answer. “No.”

Cass gasps, “It’s a porcupine!” Isabela tilts her head, “Mija, how many times do I have to tell you. We’re not getting a porcupine.” “I’ll take care of it, I promise!” She smiles, still hopeful.

"We don't have space for a porcupine."

"We can use Seb and Ana's room!" Being seven years older, Cass took it upon herself to tease her baby brother and sister. Luckily for her, they couldn't defend themselves. 

"Then where will your siblings sleep?"

"I dunno, the couch." Isabela circles to Cass, lightly pinching her cheek. Sebastian turns from his toy blocks at the sound of his name with confusion and Ana takes the opportunity to steal a block from his grasp. The baby begins to wail while his twin sister resumes, unbothered.

Isabela took Sebastian into her arms to soothe him while giving her eldest child the dangerous look only a parent could give.

"Cass, be nice."

"What about a hedgehog? Those are smaller!"

"We can't have pets. You know we're too busy right now."

"What about next year?"

"We'll see." That seemed to do the trick. Cass smiled and began to jump in glee. "Now, go get ready."

Cass practically skips and makes her way back to her room singing, “It’s my birthday!” over and over again in every key imaginable.

Javier closes the back door behind him and laughs at the sight of his daughter. “I take it she’s excited?”

"Just a little bit," Isabela grins while placing Seb back on the carpet.

"Imagine her face when she figures out we actually got her a porcupine."

"YOU DID?" She shrieks from the staircase, peeking past the wall.

"Ha! Caught you," Javier points with triumph. He knew his daughter all too well. "Your friends should be here in an hour, make sure you clean your room too."

Cass frowns and defeatedly climbs the stairs.

-

After several intense rounds of hide and seek tag, pin the tail on the tiger, and heads up seven up, it was finally time to blow out the candles.

Colorful party hats were passed around and Cass took her place behind the porcupine shaped cake littered with 9 candles. She made sure that everyone knew she helped frost the cake. Good thing it was quite obvious from the uneven lines and cartoon eyes.

"So bad news," Javier starts. "Abuela has been busy with teaching and she wasn't able to visit." He looks back to Isabela who takes the cue to retrieve something from the kitchen.

"When can we see her?" 

"She's visiting us at the end of the month. That's the soonest the portal opens up."

"But that's far away," Cass pouts. "Why didn't we see her last time?"

"She has a lot to do, mija. She's training so many others, just like you." Cass nods in solemn understanding.

"Hopefully this can cheer you up," Isabela suggests. She held a small dish in her hand which held...

"Flan!" Her mood whipped around at the sight of one of her favorite desserts.

"I know it's not the same as Abuela's-"

"Does this mean everyone has to sing happy birthday to me twice?"

Javier looks around at the crowd, "I guess it does."

-

Two times turned into nine, per request of Cass. "One song for each year!" she insisted. After cake, it was time for Cass' second favorite event- opening presents.

Most of them were new toys and art kits with a few fun shirts in the mix. Next up was her parents' present. She grasped the box gently in case there was indeed a live animal in it. Tearing apart the green wrapping paper, Cass lifted the lid to find a helmet. 

"What? But I don't have a bike- oh!" A shiny new bike was propped against the brick wall, a fancy ribbon laid upon the black basket in the front.

Cass ran to the bike and rung the bell with a contagious laugh. "Thank you, Mama and Papa! I love it!" Her parents pressed a kiss to her head; they would’ve kissed her forehead but her favorite animal was painted upon her face.

"There's still one more present." Javier pushed the gift bag in her reach.

"'Dear Cass, Happy Birthday! Thank you for being the bestest friend in the whole wide world! From MC.'" She reads and looks up to see her best friend smiling at her, waiting for her to see the gift. Peeling away tissue paper, she grasps a large porcupine plush.

"This is awesome!" She stares at the porcupine in awe, before placing her prized possession in the basket of the bike. "Me and Prickly are going to have so much fun together!"

"Prickly?" Isabela snickers.

"Hey, don't forget about me!" MC warns.

"How could I forget my co-captain?" Cass laughs as MC lightly punches her arm. 

Best. Birthday. Ever.

-

i hope y’all enjoyed the short, i had a lot of fun writing it! let me know what y’all think, thanks for reading! :)