#don’t think i’ll ever be over it honestly

[opheliasflora]

Title: The Dance (Joel Miller/gn!Reader)

Rating: Teen

Word count: 872

Warnings: Ain’t nothing but fluff, but Ellie’s here so there’s an f-bomb in there. And a bit of making out. (No use of gendered pronouns; no Y/N; Joel calls Reader “honey”. Reader is suggested to be slightly shorter than Joel, but it’s not definitive.)

Notes: Written in about…ten minutes, just inspired by that photo up there. It’s what Joel and Ellie deserve, not what they actually get. Completely un-betaed and honestly…I didn’t even reread it after writing it. This is about as stream-of-consciousness as something could be.

For @ladamedusoif.

(Dividers by @saradika-graphics.)

You’ve never seen Joel look simultaneously so relaxed and so terrified.

He’s been your neighbor since he and Ellie moved to Jackson; the little yard shared between the backs of your houses a space where you slowly learned about the man and his girl that otherwise mostly kept to themselves. Conversations over garden work turned to nights over drinks; Ellie’s presence faded a bit as she made friends, leaving you and Joel alone under the stars more often than not.

Now, though, he sits across the room from you, eyes reflecting the little fairy lights strung overhead. His hair is longer than it had been when you met, despite his sister-in-law’s best attempts to convince him to let her cut it; his clothes fit a bit better now that he’s eating more regularly.

His gaze is trained on his daughter — not his by birth, he’d informed you one late night, but his daughter nonetheless — as she laughs and dances with Dina in the middle of the floor. “I think she’s in love,” he’d told you a few days earlier. “I hope she’ll tell me.”

“She will,” you’d replied. “At her own pace.”

You can empathize with Ellie.

Something drives you to stand up, to move across the room and drop a hand gently on Joel’s shoulder. “Hey.”

“Hiya,” he says, lifting his eyes from Ellie to you. There’s the ghost of a smile on his lips. (Ellie once told you you’re the only person she’s ever seen him smile at besides herself and Tommy. You feel blessed.) “Was wondering when you’d come say hi.”

“You could have done it,” you tease, your fingers playing at the collar of his jacket.

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

You grin brightly. “C’mon, Mr. Miller. I want to dance.”

Joel’s dark eyes narrow. “I don’t dance, honey.”

“I’ll show you how,” you reply. You’re not taking ‘no’ for an answer. You slip your hand down his arm a little and tug him upright. “Let’s go show Ellie and Dina how it’s done.”

He hesitates, but slowly, he follows you as you lead him out, your fingers around the meat of his palm. Ellie meets you, then looks at Joel, her own softer brown eyes shining.

They’ve been fighting more. You assume it’s the normal teenage thing; Ellie is sixteen now, making friends, falling in love, discovering herself — you remember what it was like with your own parents when you were her age.

But there’s still love in both of their faces, regardless of disagreements. It’s undeniable.

Joel nods, just slightly, to his daughter as Ellie does the same. They’re so alike, you think.

The music changes to something slower, easier, and Dina immediately wraps her arms around Ellie, who looks shocked for only a split second before easing right into it. There’s another glance at Joel, who finally offers a real smile, and they’re off, spinning into the night.

You slip your hands up and lock your wrists behind Joel’s neck as his broad hands fall to your waist. He doesn’t need any guidance, it turns out — he’s got an easy, natural rhythm and you keep in time with his movements without a thought.

“Feels weird being able to do this, doesn’t it?” you say softly.

Joel looks into your eyes. “A little.” He glances towards Ellie and Dina before meeting your gaze again. “I’m glad she gets to have it, though.”

“What about you?”

He shrugs, his fingers pressing a little harder into your body.

“I’m glad you get to have it,” you offer instead. “I think maybe… You need this kind of normalcy.”

“Don’t know if I deserve it, though.”

Joel’s always like this. Believes his past defines who he should be now; even though he’s never gone into too much detail, you’re willing to believe he didn’t do anything worse than most of the people living in Jackson now.

“We all deserve this, Joel.” You catch your fingers in the curls over his collar. “Even you.”

The music swells and in turn, he spins you slightly, making you giggle. For the moment, he’s completely focused on you — not Ellie and Dina, not Tommy and Maria who have joined in a few feet away.

Just you.

“You’re too kind to me, honey.”

You shake your head. “No, I think I’m just the right amount.”

Joel’s lips curve again, and he pulls you just a bit tighter against him. You take the opportunity and rest your cheek against his heart, listening to the strong, steady beat as he sways you around. You don’t miss the wink from Tommy as you pass by, or the way Ellie’s eyes shimmer as she swings past you.

You’ve always liked the Miller family, and it seems like the feeling is mutual.

You’re even more sure of it when Joel’s got you pressed against the front of his house, his lips on your throat and his hands under the hem of your shirt.

“Get a fuckin’ room!”

Ellie’s laugh echoes across the front yard as you feel your face get hot. Joel, on the other hand, simply laughs into your skin and his fingers press a little harder against your spine.

“Should we take her up on that offer?”

[buckysgrace]

Hi. You’re amazing!

Do you ever write fluff? Like if you found out you were pregnant with Billy’s baby and at first he’s upset and doesn’t want anything to do with you but after you have the baby ( a little boy with blonde curls like Billy) he gets all emotional and wants to desperately be a better father than his dad was to him 😭

Hello! Thank you so much <3 I absolutely will write fluff!

CW: Mentions of abortion, mentions of child abuse, lots of Billy being scared and a lil mean.

Billy's son is also referenced as having blonde curls and his nose, but the rest is ambiguous!

He was scared.

Billy honestly didn't know what he was going to do. There had been many arguments with you about it, but you seemed fairly determined. You were going to have this baby, whether he wanted to be a part of the baby's life or not.

It wasn't necessarily that he didn't want to be involved, but he could feel a crushing fear spreading through him every time he thought about being a dad.

His relationship with his own dad was strained. Things weren’t the best between them. He never really had a positive father figure, someone that showed him how to stay calm even when he was frustrated. The last thing he wanted was to end up snapping at his own child.

He couldn’t be a dad.

“Not mine,” He said once you showed up with the ultrasound, the bloodwork and everything. Denial was all he could think about, all he could process. He couldn’t fuck up your life and this child’s life if he wasn’t involved. It was that simple, “I didn’t knock you up.” 

“Uh huh,” Was your dry answer, your eyes looking less than amused, “Do you want a paternity test then, William?” Came your snarky response, because you both knew the truth. This baby was his, there was no doubt in Billy’s mind about that. And it terrified him. 

“Don’t call me that.” He said as he pushed his hair off of his forehead, feeling sick as it continued to wash over him. He was going to be a dad. He was going to end up just like Neil. 

“Then don’t act like you weren’t a part of this.” You said, looking just as fearful as what he felt. He sat down on the edge of his bed, tapping his foot rapidly as he thought about how good a smoke sounded right now. He’d need a lot more to make him relax. 

“It’s still early, right?” He questioned at last, turning his attention back to you. He watched the way your eyebrows furrowed tightly together and then relaxed again. Your eyes softened, telling him what he already knew. 

“I’m not getting an abortion,” You said at last, “I’ve made up my mind. You can make your decision, but I’m not letting you walk in and out of our lives whenever you see fit. You can be a part of this baby's life or we can end this. Whatever you prefer.” You were gentle with him, setting out the options softly like you always did. You understood him better than anyone else, made him feel safe. It made him sick to think about how he was hurting the one person he really cared about. 

“Can I think about it?” He asked at last, feeling like there wasn’t anything else to do. He didn’t have an answer yet and he didn’t want to end up saying the wrong thing. He was growing angry at himself. He could only imagine what Neil would say once he found out. 

“Yeah,” You replied gently, eyes softening as you nodded your head, “But I can’t wait forever. I need to know your answer soon.” Your voice slightly wavered but he looked away, not wanting to see you so upset. 

“Yeah,” He responded as he nodded his head and placed his fingers tightly together, “I’ll let you know.” He said at last, staying put until you left. Everything was falling apart, breaking down around him. He couldn’t deal with it right now. 

Ignoring you was harder than he’d thought it would be. He looked for you everywhere he went, even though he knew he couldn’t have you. That was his own fault regardless. He’d made up his mind. It would be easier this way.

Yet, when the invitation for your baby shower arrived in his mail he felt his walls caving in. They crashed into him, making him break down as he stared at your handwritten notes on the card. He could tell just by reading it that you were excited, not afraid. He wished he could be more like you. 

In the end, he decided to go. He needed closure, as he was sure you needed to. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to stand living in the same town as you, knowing that his child would never know him. Somehow, that made him feel even worse.

He felt lonely as the months drew on. He had no one to confide in for his problems; especially Neil and Susan. He didn’t know what to say when they questioned about your disappearance and he felt even more at a loss when they asked him if you were pregnant. A shrug of his shoulders was his answer. He really didn’t know. 

The walk up towards the little gymnasium felt odd, like he didn’t quite belong as he stared at the little balloons and elephant decorations that were spotted throughout the room. There were familiar faces; your friends and family. Some other people that weren’t quite as well known. He still felt awkward, like everyone knew that he was the one who had knocked you up and ran. 

“Hey,” You drew out as you approached him, your palm flat against the bump in front of you, “I didn’t think you’d be here.” You said slowly, literally glowing as you stood in front of him. You had a sundress on, your cheeks were warm and forehead a little sweaty. He wondered if it was from the baby. 

“I didn’t think I’d come either.” He admitted at last, hating how horrible that sounded. He just felt like he was in a rut, buried deep inside of a hole with no real way of coming out. You were like sunshine through the dirt, warming his skin as he watched you. 

“What does this mean?” You asked him at last, tilting your head as your eyes softened over his features. He wished that he had a real answer for you, to tell you how he felt. He was in love with you; deeply. He just didn’t want to hurt you either. It was complicated. 

“I really don’t know yet,” He mumbled, “It just felt right.” He decided on, unable to tell you just how much he missed you. He was nearly desperate enough to fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness. He would if you pushed him hard enough. 

“Billy,” You drew out in exasperation, “I can’t have you doing this, being so wishy-washy. What do you want?” You asked him seriously, looking like you were close to cracking too. He wanted to reach out and touch you, to hold you. He needed to apologize. 

“I just want to be better,” He replied slowly, “I want to be here. For you and for-,” He stalled for a moment as he looked down at your baby bump, feeling like he was at a loss once again. He wasn’t sure if you wanted him in his life or not. 

“Him,” You said quickly, “We’re having a little boy.” Your eyes were glazed over in tears, your lips pulling into the tightest smile. You were clearly emotional, making him feel awful as he reached his hand forward. Your fingers met slowly, molding against one another. He felt sparks traveling up his arms, leaving him resentful of the past few months he’d wasted. 

“That’s-, that’s good,” He answered after he cleared his throat. He was already scared to be a dad, but to have a son? He feared that even more. He was sure he was following directly into Neil’s shows, “Have you decided on a name?”

“I kind of like Cash,” You stated as you rubbed at your belly, “Just feels right. C’mon, you can open the presents with me.” You explained as you tugged him along, leaving him a little jittery. He thought about pulling out a cigarette, but figured it wasn’t the right place to do it.

He felt a little lost but slowly grew more and more keen on what was happening. It was still a lot to process, but it felt right being there by your side. You were clearly excited despite everything that had happened. He was grateful that you were so open, that you didn’t hold a grudge against him.

“Where are you living at?” He asked instead, curious as to whether your living situation had changed or not. You were still living at home the last time he checked. He was slightly nervous, wondering if someone else had slipped into his spot. 

“Still with my parents,” You admitted as you shrugged your shoulders, “They were upset, but they’ve come around.” Your lips were pulled into a smile, looking less than worried. Apparently things had been fairly well for you.

“They probably hate me.” He said a moment later, sure that it was true. He couldn’t see how they wouldn’t. He had practically left you. You snapped your eyes up towards him. 

“Hate is a strong word,” You told him quickly, “But yeah, they’re not the happiest. Especially dad.” You explained slowly as you continued to rub at your baby bump. 

“Great,” He mumbled as he placed his hands in his pockets, “I’m really sorry.” He breathed out slowly, knowing his apology was more important than everything else. He meant it too. He shouldn’t have pushed you away. 

“You just disappeared,” You started slowly, “I thought you were gone.” Your voice was soft, full of hurt and distress. He felt his throat tightening, burning as he thought about how much he missed you. He was a fool to ever stray away from you, to leave you on your own. 

“I thought about it,” He told you honestly, knowing there was no point in lying, “I don’t want to be like my dad.” He replied at last, getting down to the root of the issue. He didn’t want to accidentally lash out at you or at your future child. He never wanted that for him. It would be better to be alone. 

“You won’t,” You told him quickly, sternly as he exhaled deeply, “You’re not like your dad. I promise you.” You cupped his face softly, your hands smooth and gentle against his skin. He leaned against you, craving the feeling. 

“What if I lose control?” He asked at last as he drew his eyes over your features, taking in the way you were watching him. You sighed deeply as you rubbed your fingers across his skin. You looked deep in thought as you pressed your nails gently against his stubble. 

“You never did that at your swimming classes,” You reminded him, “You should come stay with me. Move in. It would be good for our baby.” You moved your hands to his neck, then to his shoulder and down to his hands. You gripped them slowly, pressing them against your growing tummy.

He stalled for the longest time, blinking slowly as he felt like the world was freezing around him. Underneath your skin he could feel your baby moving. He gulped, eyes wide as he felt the smallest smile curling against his lips. He exhaled deeply as he looked towards you again. 

“I don’t know.” He replied nervously as he felt his heart hammering roughly inside of his chest. He chewed on his bottom lip, thinking that it would be easier. He’d be closer for you, for the baby. If he was really going to do this, he needed to be near you. 

“You don’t have to marry me or anything,” You started, “Or be with me if that’s what you want.” You said sheepishly, looking embarrassed as you quickly looked away. He felt his heart shatter a bit again, worried that he had truly hurt you. 

“You have someone else?” He asked at last, worried that you had moved on. He had done wrong, but he really did love you. You were the only one he was passionate about. He wasn’t sure how to move on if you had found someone else. 

“No,” You responded with a smile, “But I just want you to be happy. Even if it’s not with us.” You nodded your head, but looked like that was hard to admit. He didn’t want you to be alone. Not anymore. 

“You make me happy,” He said at last, “We’ll work this out. I promise.” He said as he brought your hand up to his lips, savoring the feeling of your skin against his mouth. He closed his eyes, feeling very regretful. He wouldn’t lose you again. 

When he returned home he felt odd, but not like he had in the past few months. He didn’t drink away his feelings, or drown his anger out with music. Instead, he worked on packing. He wasn’t going to be like Neil; not at all. He was going to be there for you. He was going to be there for his son. No matter how scared he was. He couldn’t let either of you down. 

“Where are you going?” Neil’s voice made him jump, surprising him as he paused with the article of clothing in his hands. He turned slowly, looking at the way Neil was leaning against the door frame. He had his hands crossed tightly over his chest, his eyebrows furrowed together tightly. His features were stoic, like he was deciding whether he should be angry or not. 

“I’m moving out,” He said as he turned away, shoving the clothes back into his bag, “I uh, found a place.” Billy replied slowly as he finished zipping up his bag. He wondered how much he’d really be able to take with him. Probably not much if his dad got angry. 

“You moving in with that bitch?” Neil tilted his head up as he spoke, like he was trying to make himself taller. His eyes were sharp, cold as his gaze cut into Billy. He felt sick as he gulped harshly, trying to keep his tone at bay. 

“Don’t call her that.” Billy responded hotly, feeling defensive of you. You weren’t anything like that and you were letting him back into your life; just like that. You were everything and more to him and he wasn’t going to let Neil speak ill of you. 

“Is the kid yours or some little bastard?” His lip curled up in disgust as he spoke, his features filling with disappointment. Billy didn’t care. He was going to be happy with you. He wouldn’t be like Neil. Not ever. 

“Mine,” He said roughly, “And don’t you ever call him that.” He snatched up his bag, taking his few items with him as he moved forward. Neil scoffed as he shook his head, irritated as Billy pushed forward.

“She’s going to ruin your life,” He grumbled as he gripped Billy’s shoulder, holding him in place for a moment, “And don’t even think about crawling back. I won’t have you.” He said threateningly, like he might change Billy’s mind.

“I won’t come back.” Billy promised, stern with his answer as he walked past him. He wouldn’t let his son suffer the same way he had. They both deserved better than this. 

The rest of the months passed breezily, making him come to terms a little easier as your due date approached. He had done a lot of ass kissing, pleading and groveling until he got back on your good side. He brought you flowers every day, rubbed your feet after work and gave you plenty of kisses.

You complained about how you looked as the final weeks approached, but he thought that you looked beautiful. Stunning. In his opinion, you were glowing. He loved rubbing your tummy too, feeling like he got a deeper connection that way.

Your labor was messy, a little chaotic. Billy was terrified something would go wrong, but stayed close to you regardless. By the end of it, his hand was numb and his wrist aching from how tightly he’d been gripping you.

“Look at him,” You breathed out as you held the little boy in your arms, “He’s so cute.” You sniffled, looking like you were seconds away from breaking down again.

He stared and stared, memorizing his son's features as he came to terms that he was a father. He had a little boy, someone to take care of. He looked so fragile, so tiny. It made him nervous. He was fearful that he’d accidentally hurt him by holding him wrong, or by dropping him. He wasn’t sure how his rough hands were supposed to hold something so soft. 

"Billy," You breathed out quietly, making his throat grow raw as he stared down at the little boy. Soft blonde curls and the same sloped nose he had. Everything else about the little boy reminded him of you, "Are you crying?" You asked gently, making him feel even more emotional as he shook his head. 

“No,” He said hoarsely, doing everything in his power to keep from breaking down, “S’just a lot.” He mumbled as he wiped at his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose as he tried to calm himself down. His hands were shaking, his heart thumping roughly inside of his chest. 

“I know,” You replied softly as you sat up a bit, gesturing the bundle in your arms towards him, “C’mon. You’ll feel better.” You reassured him, but he still felt hesitant. He pressed his fingertips together before he nodded, accepting the little baby from you.

Names hadn’t quite been figured out yet, but that didn’t matter at the moment. He looked healthy, his cheeks full and fists clenched together as he stretched his arms out. Billy felt a small chuckle leave his neck, fighting over the sob that was threatening to burst free.

He suddenly couldn’t remember why he had been so nervous, or scared. As his son curled against his arms it felt natural, like he already knew what he was doing. He savored the warmth, the way the little baby cooed as he adjusted him in his arms. Everything felt right suddenly.

“I won’t let anything bad ever happen to you,” He promised as he kissed his little head, sighing deeply as he snuggled his little son towards him, “Not ever. I promise.” 

[lynzishell]

Prev // Next

reference post for book

Transcript below the cut:

SFX: Crickets chirping, the intermittent sound of cars driving by on the freeway, music and laughter in the distance.

SFX: Music and laughter drowning out the sounds of the night. Dawn [offscreen]: Atlas!

Dawn: What are you guys doing out here? Atlas: Just fucking around. What’s up?

Dawn: I finally got Aspen to sleep. Phoenix and I are getting ready to head home. Do you want to— Atlas: Oh yeah, yeah, let’s do it.

Lex: Alright, that’s my cue, I think. I better get to sleep anyway. I’ll see you in the morning, boys. Asher: Goodnight. Atlas: Night, Lex. Lex: G’night. And congratulations again, Dawn. Dawn: Thank you. I’ll see you soon.  

Phoenix: Are you ready? Dawn: Almost. We have something for you first.

Phoenix: What’s this? Dawn: Just open it.

[Phoenix unwraps the gift, revealing a children’s book. When he reads the title, Juju Goes to Jupiter, he is overcome with emotion and slowly sits down on the sofa.]

Phoenix: [running his hand over the cover, over his mom’s name printed along the bottom] Is this… Dawn: Yes. Phoenix: [looking up, tears shining in his eyes] How? Dawn: I typed it up after you told us the story. Asher and Iris did all the artwork. And then Atlas put it together and had it made into a book. Phoenix: I don’t know what to say. [slowly turns the pages, traces the lines of the illustrations with his fingertips and looks to Asher] You did this? Asher: [nods] Yeah. Me and Iris worked on it together.

Phoenix: It’s perfect. Thank you so much. Asher: You’re welcome. I was happy to, honestly, you’re like a brother to me, always listening and giving me advice. I’m just glad I could do something for you, y’know. Phoenix: [wiping his eyes] Where’s Iris? Asher: She’s already in bed. Phoenix: Will you thank her for me? Asher: Of course.

Phoenix: This is the most amazing thing anyone’s ever done for me. Atlas: It was all Dawn’s idea, but we were happy to help. I really appreciate everything you’ve done, for us and for my sister, there’s no one else I’d rather have as my brother-in-law. Phoenix: Me too.

[hugsandchaos]

Danielle + PenPals AU = Confusion

It started when Phantom asked Gerald and Evelyn if your enemy makes a clone of you using your blood or ectoplasm and only yours, is she your daughter or little sister, and they were both like “that’s actually a good question”. Then they paused and ask him why he asked them that. He just sits there for a moment then smiles and goes “I think you know”. They instantly need to meet her.

Ellie was nervous at first, and she held onto Phantom’s hand when first meeting them. She’s around 11 years old in this AU, and Alex is 9. They get along pretty well! When they first meet, Ellie tells them that she’s not sure if their relationship makes them father-and-daughter or siblings, but she definitely knows that she can count on him to keep her safe and happy. She goes to him when she has a question or gets hurt, but Ancients forbid Ellie ever gets attacked because as well as she’s doing with her powers in training, Phantom is twice as protective of his loved ones as people he doesn’t know.

Like Ellie tells Phantom that during one of his ghost fights, Skulker tried to settle for her instead of him and the room suddenly gets really cold and quiet. Phantom does one of those creepy slow head turns and asks her to repeat herself nicely, but that just makes the situation even more terrifying. Ellie casually tells him where he went and Phantom goes “I’ll be right back. Evelyn, Gerald, would you two mind keeping an eye on her for a bit?”

The town got a view of what it’s like when the fight is a lot more personal. A bunch of not-so-child-friendly threats and Phantom slipping into ghost speak over and over sheerly from how pissed he is. Rest In Pieces, Skulker.

He gives Ellie the thermos with Skulker inside and tells her to shake it as much as she wants. Skulker is staying in there for a long while.

Also, Phantom’s 100% the type of hero that shouts “Parents, do me a favor and cover your children’s ears real quick! I don’t want them hearing this!” during a fight before he cusses at whoever’s fighting. Honestly, they shouldn’t be near the fight, but oh well.

[reigningqueenofwords]

Merry Christmas

Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: 2,061 Warnings: Slight angst

Read on AO3

“Screw you, Dean!” You yelled over your shoulder as you stormed through the bunker. You had a bag in hand, stuffed with your clothes. A smaller back was on top of it with your shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and a few other miscellaneous things. “Stupid Winchester.” You grumbled as you heard him following you. 

Sam raised an eyebrow at the commotion, getting up to go see what was going on. “Y/N?” He asked. “What’s up? You okay?” You were a close friend, and he didn’t want you upset. 

You stopped and let your head hang back for a moment before looking at him. “You’re brother is an ass, that’s all.” You said, sounding a bit bored, like it was old news. “So, I’m leaving.” You shrugged. 

“Come on, babe.” Dean half whined as he came in. “Can we just we just talk about this?” He asked, giving you the puppy dog eyes that you were sure Sam learned from him. 

“Do I want to know?” Sam asked, a bit unsure about what the pair of you were fighting about. 

Sighing, you thought before speaking. “We’d been fighting over whether or not we were going to celebrate Christmas. I wanted to. We’ve been together for four years, and I wanted something simple. Nothing like a full on Christmas in the movies or anything. He wouldn’t budge. Nothing I said made him change his mind.” You explained, making Sam nod that he understood. You both knew that Dean was stubborn as all hell. “So, I woke up before him this morning, and I tried waking him up. I was rubbing his back. You wanna know what he said?” 

He made a face. “I’m not sure.” 

“Merry Christmas, Lisa.” You shot Dean a look. “Fucking Lisa. Won’t celebrate Christmas with me, but dreams about it with her.” You spat. “Out of all the things he could have said.” 

Sam’s eyebrows shot up at that. He hadn’t heard that name in ages. “What the hell, Dean?!” He asked, crossing his arms, angry for you. Sure, they hadn’t really done Christmas since the whole pagan Gods thing, but he would have agreed for you. How hard was it to just have a little holiday joy for someone you cared about? Especially in the life that they led.

Dean sagged. “I said I’m sorry.” He said softly, swallowing. 

“I’ll be in touch, Sam.” You sighed. “I’m not saying I’m going forever, but I can’t sleep next to him right now.” Which hurt, a lot. Rarely did the pair of you sleep apart. “I’ll text you to let you know I’m safe, okay?” You added, knowing that would be the next question out of his mouth. 

He gave you a sad smile and a quick hug. “I hope you have a Merry Christmas, Y/N.” He said softly. 

You glanced at Dean, hurt in your eyes. “See you, Dean. I do love you. Even if you are an ass.” You told him, your anger softening to more hurt than anything. Would you never live up to her? 

Dean’s heart ached at the look in your eyes, knowing that he was the cause. “Come home soon?” He asked, his voice full of emotion. “Please?” He added, wanting to rush over and pull you into his arms. 

Nodding, you licked your lips. “I just need time to think.” You said honestly before heading towards the door. You willed your tears to not fall. Not yet. Not while you were still so close to the man you loved. He was your home, and he was who you ran to when you hurt. Having him be the reason your stomach churned and you felt like crying was one of the hardest things you’d dealt with.

As soon as you were out the door, Sam crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Dean. “Really? Lisa?” He asked. “Out of anyone? She knows that’s the closest you’ve ever come to an apple pie life, and she can’t even get a tiny Christmas with you?!” He was pissed. 

Dean sighed. “I know. I know.” He groaned. “I don’t even know how to start fixing this. I don’t want to lose her because I’m an idiot who, for some reason, dreamt of Lisa. I don’t even remember the dream!” He tried to defend himself. “One minute I’m asleep, the next I’m being hit with a pillow.” 

“I don’t blame her.” He shook his head. “Does some part of you miss Lisa and Ben? Do you miss being out of the life?” Sam asked, trying to work through what was going on in his brother’s mind. “Do you want that back?” His voice was softer, like he was afraid to speak it into existence. 

“No.” He said easily. “I don’t. I haven’t even thought about them until she mentioned her name.” He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I know that life isn’t in the cards for us, so why would I want it? It wouldn’t last.” They both knew that was true. They’d both had first hand experience with that. “I don’t know why I had a dream of telling Lisa that. I have no idea why she would be in my dream to begin with. Now, can we not focus on that and focus on getting Y/N home?!” He pleaded. “Seriously, if I were to ask for anything for Christmas, it would be that.” 

“Which is funny because you not wanting Christmas with her is a big reason we’re in this mess.” Sam muttered as he passed Dean. “I’ll wait to hear from her before I try to think of anything.” 

Dean let out a sigh as he was left alone. “Shit.” 

It was a few days before you told Sam you were settled in for the holidays. Christmas was two days away, and you just wanted to spend the day relaxing. You’d found a little rustic cabin, and enjoyed how it was covered in snow. On the way through town, you’d stopped to get enough food for the next few days, a book, and some wrapping paper. 

Even if they were late getting them, you still wanted to give the boys their gifts.And they would look as perfect as you could get them. You’d gotten Dean a personalized knife, a cool science kit where he could build his own radio, a cookbook, the Lord of the Rings trilogy on Blu-Ray, and a new bag for his weapons. For Sam, you’d gotten him a new laptop bag, a few books you had seen him eyeing, a new jacket, and a pair of nice headphones. You had literally shopped all year for this. Sometimes you’d order things online, sometimes you’d grab things after a hunt. Either way, you got what you needed. 

Thankfully, wrapping presents gave you a much needed distraction. You’d been pushing everything down since that morning. It was going to catch up to you, and you knew it. Once you’d finished wrapping, you set them all on the table in front of the window. Snapping a picture, you sent it to both of them. Merry Christmas. You sighed, watching the snow fall outside. Slowly, your walls came down, too. Sniffing, you wiped your nose. 

Everything hit you at once. You were feeling insecure for the first time in your entire relationship. Sitting on the floor, your back was against the side of the bed as you cried. You’d be spending the ‘happiest’ time of the year alone, and ringing in the New Year alone for the first time in years.

Dean quickly looked at his phone, hoping you were saying you were on your way home. However, he saw it was a stack of presents and sighed. Even with everything, you’d gone to all that trouble. There was no tell tale signs of where you were. All he knew was that you were somewhere cold. Getting up, he shuffled through the halls to find Sam. “Hey, Sammy?” He asked, leaning his head into his room. 

“You get the same picture?” He asked, glancing at him. 

“Yeah, I did.” He sighed. “Anyway you can track her phone? I want to drive out and surprise her. Get her some stuff along the way, got some stuff in mind, actually.” He admitted. “Please, Sammy?” 

Sam looked unsure. “She made it clear she wants to be alone, Dean.” He pointed out. “What if we get there and she tells us to get the hell out?” It wasn’t like he was saying ‘no’ outright, but he wanted to be sure that Dean thought this through. 

“Okay, I’m sure she wouldn’t tell you to get the hell out.” Dean started. “Just me.” He shrugged, leaning on the doorframe. “And, if she does, then I guess I’d find a nearby motel.” What else could he have done? “I have to at least try.” He added softly. 

“Fine.” He sighed, caving. “You do realize that tomorrow is Christmas Eve, right? And that stores are going to be hell?” He got out of bed. 

He nodded. “She’s worth it. Oh, and find out if the animal shelter is open!” He beamed, glad that Sam agreed. He was honestly hoping having Sam go with him would up his chances of you letting him stay. 

It took a moment for Sam to realize what his brother had said, making him follow him out into the hall. “Animal shelter?!” He furrowed his brows. “What the hell are you getting her?!” He called out, not getting an answer. Now he was very curious.

Your hair was up in a messy bun as you relaxed with the book you had grabbed. You had your feet on the coffee table (that had seen better days), and a cup of cocoa on the end table next to you. You furrowed your brows and looked towards the window when you could have sworn you heard Baby. It seemed to fade after a moment, so you shook your head and went back to the book. Not even two minutes later, however, it was louder. “What the hell?” You muttered, putting in a piece of paper as a bookmark and getting up. Your eyebrows went up when you saw the Impala parking in front of the cabin. Moving to the door, you shivered as you opened it. The snow was coming down harder now, making the boys a tad hard to see as they got out of the beautiful black car. 

They both rushed towards the door, arms full. You stepped aside to let them in. Hearing a small bark, you stared at Dean. He gave you a bashful smile as he set some things down and uncovered the small dog in his other arm. “Merry Christmas.” He said lovingly. “You’ve been wanting a dog. So, I got you a dog.” His heart soared as you took the puppy and instantly melted. “His name is Bailey. That’s the name the shelter gave him.” He reached out to scratch behind his ear. 

“You let a dog in Baby?” You asked, giggling as Bailey licked your cheek. “Just because I wanted one? You always said no ‘dirty’ dogs in Baby, and that you didn’t want a ‘damn dog’.” You teased. 

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I was hoping this shows how sorry I am.” He shrugged. “I mean, Sammy’s been wanting a dog for years and I’ve never caved for him.” He chuckled. 

Sam shook his head. “I won’t argue. He’s cute.” He motioned to Bailey. “He’s a French Bulldog, and they said they don’t bark excessively.” He watched as you set him down. Instantly he was sniffing around, his entire backside moving as his very small tail ‘wagged’. “We got other presents for you, too.” He motioned to what Dean had set on the bed. 

“I didn’t need anything, guys. I just wanted a nice Christmas with you two.” You pulled them both into a hug. “Please tell me you brought food. I only bought enough for myself.” You laughed. 

“Of course.” Dean nodded, kissing your cheek. “Now, let’s exchange presents!” He beamed, honestly a bit more excited about the entire thing now. 

“Let’s.” You nodded. “I’ve been buying all year for you two.” You admitted with a light blush. “So, I’m hoping you guys like everything.” 

Dean grinned. “I know we will, babe.” 

[wakeup01]

I don’t think it’s on here, but I’m pretty sure you wrote a body swap story featuring a guy named Reece, and just wanted to say it’s probably one of my favourite things I’ve ever read 🥵

Honestly I’d happily let you change me however you’d want after reading it

The one involving an office jockey getting swapped into the body of a chav? Them becoming a dim building site workie as their identity is sucked into a silver necklace and replaced? Yes, that was me.

Maybe I’ll get around to posting it on here eventually. There was more to the idea that I never got around to finishing. It involved giving him his old personality back but his body still acting as the chav. So he’s forced to witness and do things without control, but over time his thoughts slowly start to align with his body. There was also a boyfriend that came looking for him and…well, the building site coincidentally gets another pair of diligent hands to help out.

Perhaps you’d like to join them? There’s always room for more labourers, and I have a fit young lad willing to swap bodies. The pay is virtually non existent, the hours are long and your brain cells would be in the single digits. But other than that, it seems like it would suit you perfectly. I already have a chunky chained necklace waiting to have your name engraved on it. But it’s up to you, you can continue your dull life, of questioning yourself, feeling inadequate. Or you can embrace blissful ignorance, and be content at being just a simple minded workie for the company.

Yes that’s it, put it on, free yourself of complex ideals and surrender your old personality for my ever growing collection.

Good thicko. And? Don’t just stand there blockhead, start fucking working.

[velvetchrry]

━━━━ PRETTY LITTLE BIRDS (3)

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x reader

2.4k. you go to work and run into some familiar faces.

“Seriously?! You played darts and he drove you home — that’s it?? Not even a steamy make out sesh in the car?!”

You shrug, nibbling on another little bite of your sandwich. “Maybe he’s just a gentleman. I mean, he did walk me to the door.”

Sasha snorts. “Yeah, or maybe he really is gay.”

“A loss to women everywhere, if true,” you add absentmindedly, looking out to the guys currently occupying the track. Most are running at a good pace, but some are off to the corner stretching. The sound of gunshots barely reaches your ears here from the range.

“Well, at least Jessica will be happy that you didn’t bone him.”

You jerk your head in her direction. “So she is pissed at me?”

Sasha shrugs. “More like embarrassed. I think she could have handled the rejection a little better if five minutes later you weren’t coming from the bathroom with Simon fucking Riley and heading straight for his table.”

You gotta give her that one. Hell, roles reversed — you might have been pissed at you. “Got me there.”

You like Sasha. She’s only a few years older than you, one of the nurses here. You hit it off instantly when she learned you were a nurse before — but especially when she learned you worked the ED for most of your nursing career. She, along with most of the other nurses, now prefer to come to you for things because you get what it’s like to be in their shoes and you have a little (quite a bit) more power than they do.

“Jess is a barracks bunny. She’ll get over it soon enough.” Sasha’s eyes go wide as saucers in realization of what she just let slip. She smacks you lightly on the arm. “And don’t ever, ever, ever, repeat that.”

“Barracks bunny?!”

Sasha shushes you and looks around before half-whispering. “She gets around. And guys like Simon? Well they’re untouchables, top of the bunny list. Nobody has ever heard of him sleeping with… well anyone. I was wondering if you might be the first.”

“And you?” you ask her.

“Nah, not for me. Don’t get me wrong, there's plenty of fit men here I would sleep with. But… I don’t really think I’m cut out for it.” She waves her hand around. “I don’t wanna end up falling in love with one of them and then worst happens. No, I’ll take a nice, boring job for my next man. A mail carrier maybe?!”

A chuckle escapes you listening to Sasha. Honestly, you hadn’t been here long enough to really start thinking like that. All your patients that had been in recovery from various accidents had nothing major. You go back to nibbling on your sandwich, enjoying the nice breeze that the day has provided. It’s very much Springtime, but smells reminiscent of Summer are in the air, and they always serve to lift your spirits.

“You know, speaking of Jess,” Sasha points towards the track, “I think she’s already over it.”

You follow her finger to see a blonde in blue scrubs that is unmistakably Jessica, talking to a few of the soldiers stretching near the track. You and Sasha burst into laughter, trying to cover your giggles with your hand in order not to draw too much attention.

“Anyway, I gotta split,” Sasha stands from where she was sitting next to you, brushes off the grass from her scrub pants. “Catch you later?”

You nod up at her. “Later, Sash.”

The rest of the afternoon flies by in a blur. You have a few routine physicals to clear soldiers for active duty, two combat-related injury managements (one bullet wound and one particularly nasty stab wound), and four family medicine exams — all for kids that live near base with their parents. A couple of routine vaccinations, one surprising case of springtime influenza and one broken bone.

By the time you finally slink out of your office from updating chart after chart, the sun is already starting its descent past the horizon. The base has quieted down considerably from this afternoon, other than what seems to be an impromptu soccer game on one of the fields. Football, you remind yourself.

You’re tempted to go over and watch… you’re pretty sure Monday nights are the ones where food trucks park past the first security check point — but you're bone tired. Bed sounds good, you think.

“What’re you still doing 'ere, dove?”

A voice from behind draws you out of your reverie, startling you slightly. You turn around to see Simon, clad in dark jeans, a black zip up hoodie and balaclava, same as when you first met him. He walks over, his long legs carrying him to you in just a few steps. “You working overtime?”

A sigh releases itself from your chest. “Busy afternoon, and I wanted to finish charting before I left for the night. What about you?”

He nods to the game happening just north of the two of you. “Soap’s playing. Figured I’d grab a bite and hang around, harass him a little.”

“Soap?” you ask, brows furrowed together.

He lets out a low chortle. “Johnny.”

“You call him Soap??” A slow smile graces your face.

“You saw him at the bar. Slippery little bastard.”

You can’t help it when a belly shaking laugh escapes you. The kind that causes you to cover half your face with your hand and hope to whatever deity that you don’t snort right in front of him. Simon chuckles along with you. “You eat yet?”

You shake your head no.

“Wanna join me?”

The tension in the air is suddenly thick —or maybe it’s the lump in your throat — but you can feel it. You can’t put a name to it but there’s something on a molecular level, brewing, buzzing, building when he’s around. Something that sings to your skin, electrifying it. You never been one to believe in soulmates; how could you, with the countless divorces you witnessed as a child? But this feels… tangible, real.

You shift your weight back and forth beteeen your feet and chew on your lip. Exhaustion is hitting you like a ton of bricks. Fuck it — what's that saying? You can sleep when you’re dead?

“Only if there’s a taco truck.”

You swear he's smiling under the mask. He holds out an arm to you. “There is.”

You both get some food, and find a good place away from the main crowd of spectators to sit down and eat. Simon takes off his sweatshirt and lays it on the grass, his broad arms looking like they’re about to pop out of the hem of his gray t-shirt. You take notice of the tattoo sleeve he has on one arm. “Sit,” he directs, pointing to his sweatshirt.

“Oh, I can sit on the grass…” you start to counter.

“Sweetheart,” he says a little sternly, almost like he’s reprimanding you. “Sit.”

You can’t help it when you stick a fraction of your tongue out at him playfully and sit on his sweatshirt. After taking the first bite of your taco you unintentionally let out a moan. “Fantastic.”

Simon has his mask rolled up to his nose and is stifiling a smile when you look over at him. You swear the speed in which he inhales his tacos is superhuman. He carefully rolls the mask down while you still have half of your food left.

A comfortable silence settles around the two of you. The game is rowdy, and you would expect nothing less. You easily pick Johnny out of the group of men playing — he’s on skins, not shirts — and keep an eye on him as you finish up your food. Once you’re done, you ball up your trash in stick it in the little baggie.

You pull out two sticks of gum and hand one to Simon, pointing at his twitching fingers. “A new oral fixation might help you if you’re trying to quit.”

His head whips in your direction. You blush, unsure if you said something wrong. He studies you a moment longer before clearing his throat and slowly taking the gum from your outstretched hand. He doesn’t speak until it’s in his mouth and the mask is rolled back down once again.

“How’d ya know?”

You give him a sheepish smile. “You mean, besides that it’s in your chart?” You pause, looking back over the game. “My dad was a smoker, rolled his own cigs and everything. I know the signs.”

He clears his throat again, shifting in his seat on the ground. “H..Have any suggestions?”

“Well, usually nicotine gum is better than this. But I’ve known things like lollipops, tic tacs or mints can work for some people. You just have to find the right thing for you that occupies your mouth.”

Simon shifts again, his stare burning a hole through you. You’re about to break the silence with something when Johnny runs over to you, absolutely drenched with sweat. “Glad to see parta me fanclub could make it!”

That serves to get a chuckle out of you. “Fanclub? Oh no, actually I’m here for him.” You point to a random guy in a shirt.

Johnny clutches his chest in an exaggerated fashion, and pretends to start sinking to the ground. “Breaking my wee heart, lass. Least I got LT.”

“Actually Johnny, I’m here for him too.”

Simon going along with your bit really makes you laugh, and you clutch your stomach and almost fall backwards at the face Johnny makes at the two of you. Simon splays his hand across your back to keep you upright until your giggles subside.

Johnny is getting called back to the field by someone. He points at the two of you while he jogs backwards. “This isn’t over!” he jokes.

“You guys always been close?” you ask after Johnny’s well out of earshot, peering up at him. He’s even tall just sitting next to you.

“Pretty much… he’s a good kid,” Simon settles on.

“Seems like it.”

Simon taps you lightly on the arm. “Just don’t tell him I said so, or I’ll never hear the bloody end of it.”

You smile at him. “Deal.”

It’s dusk now, and with it comes a slight chill in the air. Your eyelids are dangerously droopy as you try to keep focus on the game. You and Simon keep up a nice little chat, but neither of you are afraid to let a little silence settle in between you either.

“So…” he starts. “Any plans for the weekend?”

You purse your lips, eyes still tracking the ball and Johnny. “No, hadn’t thought about it yet. You?”

Simon takes a breath. It’s now or never. “Yeah, got a wedding on Saturday.”

“Oh! That’s fun! I love weddings,” you say absentmindedly.

“Yeah… they’re alright. I actually… erm… don't have a plus one yet… and I’m in the wedding party so…”

You stop watching the game and turn to look at him, wetting your lips with the tip of your tongue. “You need a date?” You shyly smile.

“Yeah… do you… would you like to come? As my… my date?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Okay. I'll be your date, Simon.”

“Lovely. Thank you, dove.”

•·················•·················•

Simon’s not a good man, despite the fact that he’s somehow led you to believe otherwise.

He tells himself the listening device he put in the trees at 0500 this morning was well intentioned. For your safety. Only to be able to listen in if any creeps tried to approach you on your lunch break. But now he’s been listening to you and your coworker chat since she sat down 20 minutes ago.

Simon knows a good man wouldn’t do that.

He also knows a good man wouldn’t camp out near your office to see when you leave for the day. To be fair, he had meetings with Price later this afternoon and Johnny did push him to bring you as his plus one for the wedding. He wanted to give you a fair heads up since it was this Saturday. What if he’d asked you later in the week and you’d decided to go out of town?

He wasn’t sure if you’d accept his offer to hang out after you were done working. Hell, he was just going to leave if you didn’t — he loves Johnny like a brother but he’s got better things to do than watch the bloody base footie game. Things to prepare.

“A new oral fixation might help you if you’re trying to quit.”

He’s instantly hardening hearing you say that, mind running a thousand miles an hour. Oh, he would love a new oral fixation, and he definitely has one in mind. He’s been craving a cig since he sat down but he figured you probably wouldn’t be into it, and the last thing he would want to do is turn you off of him.

He shifts how he’s sitting, trying to not make it obvious what he’s thinking. If you looked down, you would know. Lucky for him you don’t, but he knows that his lack of response is making you feel like you did something wrong. So he takes the gum.

“You just have to find the right thing for you that occupies your mouth.”

Fuckin’ hell love. Now he can’t think straight. How is he supposed to just sit here with you like normal when you say these things to him? He’s painfully hard now. His skin is on fire under the mask.

He sees his saving grace when Johnny starts running over to the two of you. Your playful banter with him helps take his mind off it… a little.

He’s nervous. So fucking nervous. It’s a new emotion for him — he’s always so confident, so sure. Has never cared enough to be worried about the sting of rejection before. You can’t say no to him, because he’s not sure he’ll recover.

And… you don’t. You don't say no. Even though he fumbles a bit with the ask. Even though he can barely get the words out himself. You say okay. You say you’ll be his date.

“You just have to find the right thing for you that occupies your mouth.”

I think I already have, little dove.

[blood-mocha-latte]

obscene, obedient, fine + speirton? :)

the fact that it took me MONTHS for me to get to this… honestly a crime. thank you for bearing with me, hope you enjoy <33

—

Carwood couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the stars so clearly.

In Bastogne, and Foy and Noville and Rachamps after that, the sky had always been clotted by smoke: by artillery, by snow, by storm.

Now, in Germany, he had forgotten just how bright they looked.

He believed that Ron may have forgotten, as well.

“You’re not cold?”

Ron looked over his shoulder, when Carwood spoke up: hair messy, eyes warm. His legs were crossed under him, the pads of his fingers tapping against the wood of the windowsill he perched on. It made the moonlight light him up like a candle, like an obscene god.

Carwood wasn’t used to seeing him like this. Soft, almost gentle. Not as a weapon. The stars seemed to catch in Ron’s eyes, shining back at Carwood with the green of them.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be cold again.” Ron told him, leaning back slightly. The window was open, breeze none-too-warm floating through and into the room. Ron’s curls moved with it, soft, almost like a halo. Carwood took a step towards him.

“Alright.” He said, moving closer when Ron held out a hand, palm upwards. “Don’t fall out of the window, then.” He wrapped his fingers around Ron’s own, and the other used that grip to pull him closer, until Carwood stood.

His knees hitting the top of the windowsill as Ron leaned into him, almost swaying. Up closer, his expression looked more nauseous than anything else.

Carwood gave easily to the urge to run his fingers through Ron’s hair, tugging lightly at one of the curls and pushing back a gentle smile when Ron huffed, batting his hand away.

He was still drunk, Carwood thought, as Ron pressed his temple to his heart, resting his head against his chest. Granted, Carwood not even sure when Ron started drinking; certainly before they’d learned the war was over, in Europe, maybe even before he’d gotten up to the mansion.

They weren’t in the mansion, anymore; it had almost made Carwood’s skin crawl and although he hadn’t spoken on it, he knew that Ron felt much in the same. Though still rather extravagant, the lodgings now was not nearly so golden, more small and comfortable and, more importantly, isolated.

Ron’s fingertips floated upwards, tapping against Carwood’s jaw before running along his scar, up to his brow.

When Carwood looked down at him again, meeting his gaze, hand still in his hair, his expression was open, more bare faced than he thought he’d ever seen him, eyes almost pale, glassy.

“You’d look good with a beard.” He said, entirely too seriously as he leaned further into Carwood, who huffed a laugh.

Definitely still drunk.

“C’mon.” He murmured, tugging on Ron’s hand while the other slipped from his hair, curling fingers into Ron’s hand while the other slipped from his hair, curling fingers into his undershirt, at the small of his back. “Away from the window.”

Ron grumbled something that Carwood didn’t catch but tilted into his hands obediently, pushing away from his window and wrapping an arm around Carwood, dropping his forehead to his shoulder as soon as he stood.

It was hard to imagine a time when it wasn’t like this; when Ron didn’t give under his palms and everything was warm and soft and quiet. It was hard to imagine, but it had been only ever a month, and it still struck Carwood all the same; that he was here.

That he was allowed this man, as soft as glass and just as sharp, his edges shattered and cracked and gentle, gentle.

As if sensing his train of thought, Ron’s hand at his waist found its way under the hem of his undershirt, spreading rough and calloused fingers against the skin he found there, mouth pressing to the bare skin of his shoulder.

The sensation made Carwood huff a laugh, turning his head to exhale it into Ron’s hair, smiling against his temple as he shuffled them both towards the bed.

Ron dropped down to the mattress with a gentle oomph, landing on his back, a hand shifting to cover his eyes as he hummed again.

His shoes were already off, only in his trousers and undershirt, and the visage of him made something twist in Carwood’s chest; warm and gentle and loving.

To compensate for it, he kicked off his own boots and sat down on the mattress beside him with a huff, breathing a laugh when Ron’s hand reached out to blindly pat at his shoulder.

When he twisted at the trunk, swinging his legs onto the bed, Ron shifted along with him, arms found around his waist, forehead pressed to his bare bicep.

It was quiet, after that, save for the way that Carwood’s thoughts ran, near blank and absent and ever-present. He released a breath he didn’t even notice he was holding when Ron’s fingertips tapped against the jut of his collarbone, almost a gentle reminder.

For all that he thought it would be, VE Day was much more quiet, than he expected.

Though not even nearly as drunk as Ron, he could feel the familiar thrum of whiskey and tequila and whatever else through his chest, spreading through him easily and making his fingertips warm.

A celebration, maybe of everything, but it still came after a thought of fleeting worry that devolved altogether into a fading smile and a buckets worth of maybes.

Maybe it was actually over. Maybe there wouldn’t be anymore blood on his already cracked open hands. Maybe he’d survive the war, in the end.

Still, as most things did, all maybes led back to Ron.

He was already half asleep. Carwood could tell; the way he closed his eyes in slow blinks, like a cat, the way he was warm and still and near-pliant against Carwood as Carwood rolled over onto his side, thumb along his jaw and press a fingertip to the corner of his mouth before pulling back again, hands going instead to Ron’s shoulders, where the other still laid on his back.

“Roll over?” He asked, and at Ron’s groan, Carwood couldn’t help but laugh, thumbing over the knob of his shoulder. “C’mon.” He wasn’t sure, exactly, just how drunk Ron was, but found it better to be safe than sorry.

It ended up easy, anyways, as Ron just turned his head, letting Carwood pull him to his side, pressing his face to his hair.

“Can I tell you something?” Ron murmured, against his bare skin, and Carwood closed his eyes, maybe just to listen to him.

He just hummed, felt it rumble in his lungs; newly torn apart and freshly healed. Ron was quiet, for a heartbeat, his hands near his face at Carwood’s heart, almost stilled.

“I don’t know what to do after this.” He said after a moment, near vivid. Carwood pressed his cheek to the top of Ron’s head, curls soft against his skin.

“You will.” He said, quiet, sure. “You always know what to do, eventually.” Ron didn’t respond, for a moment.

His fingertips traced the shape of Carwood’s collarbone, traveling up his throat and back down with a careful sort of tracking.

“Not in things like this.” He said, after a moment. He sounded off, voice slightly twisted. “It’s easy, here. I don’t… I don’t want to lose that.”

And Carwood was thinking about that, too. About them. About the idea that it could be over, now. Almost no reason for them to… be, whatever they’d been. Since Rachamps. Since everything after the church.

He came back to the present, as easy as the ocean at the tide, when Ron’s fingertips, calloused and soft and warm and cold, ran over his temple, trace the shape of his lips.

“No.” Carwood heard himself say, against the pads of the others fingers. “I don’t want to lose that, either.”

When Ron tilted his head back to meet Carwood’s eyes, his gaze was heavy, slightly cloudy, face soft and open and so unlike him and so painfully Ron at the same time that it makes Carwood’s chest ache all over again.

He almost couldn’t help it, nosing Ron slightly, gently, into a kiss that’s so unbearably gentle that it didn’t really feel like a kiss at all.

When Ron pulled back he huffed a laugh, lips almost red, eyes bright and almost glassy.

“I’m drunk.” He murmured, sounding some version of vaguely amused. Carwood huffed his own laugh, felt like steam in his lungs.

“I know.” He said back, amused. When Ron hummed, it seemed half asleep.

“Tell me about West Virginia, when I’m not.” Carwood could almost smile, pressing it into the crown of the others head as he made a soft noise of protest, pulling back. “You’re laughing at me.” He said, maybe baleful, but too light to be an accusation.

“I’m not.” Carwood protested, still half-smiling. “I’m — it’s a fine idea.”

Ron made a face at him, half-shadowed by the darkness but nonetheless amused.

“A fine idea.” He repeated, maybe like a mockery, tracking his nose against Carwood’s. “Well, I think so too.”

“Mm.” Carwood said, watching Romndrom so close that his eyes were almost blurred. “Go to sleep, and decide if it is after that.” Ron watched him for a second longer, maybe supposed to be a challenge.

“Alright.” He murmured, cheek pressed against the bedsheets, eyes dark. He reached out, before Carwood could react, callous-torn fingertips pressing to the seam of his lips absently before dropping. “Thanks.” He added, quicker than before, more solemn.

Carwood watched him back, wondered about things changing, about the future and things ending. “Yeah.” He murmured. “Thanks.”

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

hi, yeah, still not over castiel confessing that he loves dean and then tossing him out of harm’s way only to leave a HANDPRINT on dean’s SHOULDER in the SAME SPOT he did when he first pulled DEAN outta HELL!!!

[northwestofinsanity]

Multi-Band Dynamic Incorrect Quote/Scenario 1: “Sick of Your Bickering”

-This scenario (more action than dialogue here) features The Who, Pink Floyd, and Supertramp if they lived in the same house together-

-Context: Everyone in the house is sick, or recovering from being sick, and those who are feeling better are attempting to start moving things back to normal-

Keith Moon: *Knocked out on the couch after trying to take an excessive amount of cold medicine to see what would happen*

John Entwistle: *Warily, and wearily watching over Keith* *Looks absolutely exhausted, as one who hasn't quite bounced back all the way, but can’t rest when half of his bandmates have*

Roger Hodgson: *Comes in through the front door, arriving back from the laundromat with three big bins of comforters, quilts, and sheets, and upon going over to the coffee table to start folding things, is struggling to try and separate it all out and fold the sheets before the wrinkle up*

Pete Townshend and Roger Daltrey: *Having a heated argument on one end of the living room about whether or not to open windows and get fresh air in the house while multiple housemates are still sick*

Roger Waters and David Gilmour: *Having an outright screaming match on the other side of the living room that somehow started over cleaning out a vacuum cleaner filter*

John Entwistle: *Glances between Keith beside him, Roger Hodgson struggling to untangle and fold the sheets, and his bickering bandmates and housemates* *Sighs* “CAN SOMEONE HELP ROGER FOLD ALL THIS LAUNDRY?”

Pete and Roger Daltrey: *Stop arguing, look at each other and back toward Roger Hodgson with sheepish looks, and come over and start helping by sorting and separating out their items*

Roger Waters and David: *Stop arguing, scowl at each other before looking pointedly away from each other, then come over and help, too*

Roger Hodgson: *Frozen in place with a half-folded fitted sheet hanging off his hands by the inverted corners and blinks* *Is speechlessly bewildered*

[unmooredpoet]

just put myself into a gender crisis at… 3 am i need to go to bed!

[priestfrommidnightmass]

he could absolutely break my heart eventually. and i genuinely couldn’t care less

[rosicheeks]

Unfortunately relatable. I grew up in the church and have a lot of Christian trauma from that. I show up for special occasions for my parents… sometimes. But it’s uncomfortable from the moment I step through the door. Bigoted pastor, the self-righteousness disguising the prejudice, the political comments from the altar. Shots at young people left right and center as if the hell on earth wasn’t caused by the same older generation 90% of the congregation belongs to..

I miss being young in the choir and the youth groups and not struggling with it. It’s wild to look back at the younger version of me who was unshakeable in his faith and honestly just saddening.

I was texting my sister today about it and she said

“I 100% think ALL of us have a ton of religious trauma and everyone else in the family just doesn’t realize it cause they’re still drinking the kool-aid.”

I ran out of tag room and didn’t want to delete any 😭 seriously not lying I could write a book about all my thoughts and experiences

[phoenixkaptain]

Will not at any point be getting over Harry Mason and all the parts he walks into disturbing places without saying a word, the beginning of the game when he saw a strung-up dead body and just kinda went “Weird, really weird, time to find Cheryl,” the fact that he fought a weird ass lizard monster in a bloody room with a girl on fire in the middle…

And then he finds himself in the boiler room and goes “What the fUCK IS THIS A BOILER ROOM????”

[seilon]

oh since it’s past midnight uhh. happy one year on t to me i guess

[iloveyoumorethansoup]

I think it’s time for some good old fashioned journaling since I can post again