#i had an old list going of all my dean coding so i just turned it into this

[cupids-scream-queen]

can you write a one-shot where stu and the reader hookup at one of stu's parties?

yes anon! Sorry this took so long; but at least it's done 💗

The Bunny and the Wolf

Warnings: sex. :)

Quiet. Still. It was an eerie night, something that got you nervous. The silence before the storm.

The storm that was your boyfriend, Stu Macher.

Tomorrow night was the big night. His biggest, baddest party of them all, and you were to be the star of it all. He'd even gotten you a special pink bunny costume, which you looked ravishing in. Stu hardly could keep his hands off in private, you were curious to see how he fared in public.

You had copious amounts of alcohol, shit that took you weeks to gather from your parent's stash in the basement. You had to take it slowly, as to not alert them of the missing bottles.

Stu was supplying nearly everything else--invitations, VHS tapes, drugs--the alcohol and your bunny costume was everything that you needed to worry your pretty little head over.

It wasn't a shock to you when you saw the invite list--Billy Loomis, Randy Meeks, Ram Sweeney, Jason Dean, and some chick named Heather Chandler. Damn, those were only the star invites. The rest of the party was gathered by the old word-of-mouth and the ever-popular campaign of "bring a bottle of vodka, you're allowed in".

_____

You arrived to Stu's house, which was surprisingly quiet. You had your bunny costume on under a thick black jacket, hiding your form from praying eyes. You weren't quite sure of the dress code, but something in you told you that Stu just wanted an excuse to show you off.

"There's my bubbly bunny! Ain't gonna make me skin ya, aren't you?" Stu slid down the railing of the stairs, falling at the ending. You giggled, rolling your eyes.

"If I take it off, you won't keep your hands off me," You tease, helping him off of the floor. Stu comically brushed imaginary dirt off of him before tapping his fingers on his chin, pretending like he was thinking.

"Hmm...maybe you're right, bunny," He acknowledged. "However, I'm a visual man, so I'm going to need to see it to assess the situation we're dealing with."

You rolled your eyes again, but obeyed him. You took the jacket off and threw it to the floor, revealing the pink suit that was tight around your body. Black fishnets, stripper heels, and a playful pair of ears and a tail completed the look. Stu looked like a wolf about to devour its prey.

"Excellent," he drawled out, licking his lips as he raked over your body. You could see his pants beginning to stiffen, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head. "Party isn't until 6, what do you say we bone upstairs for a sec?"

"What, and leave Billy to set everything up?" You rolled your eyes, putting your hands on your hips and giving Stu an attitude.

It was not helping his boner.

_____

It was past 9, and surprisingly you were able to thwart the hormones of your boyfriend long enough to actually enjoy the party. You almost never drank, and tonight was no exception, but you were certain of Stu drinking one or two beers.

You were in his room, alone. Staring up at a picture of Michael Myers that was taped to the ceiling, you sighed, ripping the ears off of your head and rolling over. You were tired, your social battery run practically dead and your limbs felt like they were about to fall off.

You were nearly asleep when you heard the rattling of the doorknob, and the soft but nimble feet of someone pattering along on the hardwood floors.

"Stu?" You called out, your voice weak. "Is that you?"

"Yes, bunny, it's me," Stu jumped onto his bed with you, cradling you against him. You could feel his heart beating out of his chest, his fingers gripping your arms tightly, making you believe he was going to leave a bruise.

"Stu? Baby, what's wrong?" You looked up at Stu, who was grinning wildly at you. Before you could talk, Stu put your bunny ears back on.

"I want to fuck my little bunny rabbit," Stu kissed you, hard. Teeth biting against lips and tongues swirling around together. You let out a sigh, your boyfriend taking it as consent to keep going.

He continued to undress you, making sure through everything you kept the ears on. He liked feeling like he was in control, and for the most part, he was--you simply being along for the ride. You considered doing more work, but then relented--you were providing the hole.

He was nearly everything you wanted, his dick entering you nearly as fast as you could comprehend what was going on. It was as if you had a thirty-second delay. No matter; he felt good. So, so, good. Stu filled you up to the max, stretching you to your limits with his fat cock.

No words were spoken, Stu thrusting into you and the noises of his balls against your skin the only thing besides muffled voices of your friends downstairs. He continued to thrust into you, his dick reaching every part of your pussy. He didn't mind you not doing anything, your moans filling his ears as he continued to thrust in faster and faster, chasing his own pleasure.

You came first, your pussy clenching on his dick, practically begging to be filled. Your nails on his back, scratching. Your screams of his name--his name--everything that mattered. He bottomed out, a string of curses leaving his lips as he continued thrusting, his lewd activities no doubt now prominent to everyone at the party. What could you say? You were loud.

Stu kissed you roughly, his dick still inside of you as he collapsed.

"Stay like this, bunny," he said, before closing his eyes and falling asleep suspiciously fast.

thanks for reading! If you liked it or want more, feel free to send me more requests <33

[chevrolangels]

though the stars walk backward

#24: You’re my ex but I think I still have feelings for you, 4.1k

From this prompt list

For @princessjimmynovak​  This was requested approximately a million years ago and I finally finished it!! Happy belated birthday darling 💜

Feat. Space Ex-Boyfriends who are bad at talking to each other. So, canon. But in space. (Dean has always wanted to be an astronaut, lbr)

read on ao3

“New crop of cadets coming in today.”

“I know.”

Charlie bites into her apple, munching as she scans her screen.

“Hope they’re better than the last ones. Half of ‘em couldn’t tell the difference between a spectrometer and an ammeter.”

Castiel doesn’t comment. He’s too on edge to indulge Charlie today, so he just shrugs, swiveling his chair back in front of the control panel.

Everything’s on autopilot, like always, but he likes to check the nav-console by hand, every once in a while, if nothing but to prove his usefulness. Wouldn't do to have the computer shift a few degrees without anyone noticing and end up halfway to Alpha Centauri.

“I mean, what do they think we do up here? Run pretty tests for fun?” Charlie continues. “Like, one leak is the difference between life and death.”

Castiel makes a noncommittal noise and starts typing in the complicated sequence with his stylus, the starmap projected before him, their course pulsing with gentle blue light.

“I mean, they’re gone for all that time, least the Academy can do is make sure they’re prepared.”

Castiel bites his tongue, typing with perhaps a little more force than is necessary. He loves Charlie, but her ranting is really starting to get to him. Castiel might be the best pilot this side of the Pleiades, but hey. He’s only human.

“If they send me one more programmer who asks me how to do an abstraction, I’m going to―”

“Charlie, do you mind?” Castiel snaps. “I’m trying to concentrate here.”

He regrets it immediately. Charlie does go quiet, but makes a thoroughly overdramatic roll of her chair into Castiel’s eyeline. She raises an eyebrow.

“Somethin’ you wanna share with the class there, bud?”

Castiel exhales, rolling his shoulders.

“Sorry. I just...need to focus.”

“...Right.”

A decidedly sneaky look crosses her face, one that Castiel knows spells trouble.

She leans forward, propping her chin up on her hands.

“Is it because you gotta do the whole ‘Captain Thing’ later?” She asks. “Shake hands, greet the greets, that whole deal?”

Castiel acquiesces.

“Partly.”

He quickly finishes the rest of the code and enters it into the nav-console, sinking back in his seat. Charlie purses her lips.

“And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that the teaching staff is coming back, huh.”

Castiel keeps his face carefully neutral, even as he feels the back of his neck grow hot. He fiddles with the stylus in his hands, turning it over and over again.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.”

Charlie taps her chin, looking thoughtful.

“What’s it been, two years?” She whistles, drawing it out. “Long time.”

Castiel just grunts. He should be getting up, to change into his uniform for the new batch of arrivals, but he makes no attempt to move.

“Dean’s coming back, too, right?”

Castiel snaps the stylus in half.

Charlie grins.

Castiel looks down at his hand, shoving the broken stylus into his pocket.

“If he is, I haven’t heard anything about it,” he says loftily. “And whether he does or not certainly doesn’t affect me.”

Charlie tilts her head.

“Didn’t they send the transfer roster last week?”

Castiel glares at her. She smirks back, giving him a cheeky wink.

Castiel abruptly pushes back from the console, standing.

“I have to go change,” he says shortly.

Once he gets to his quarters and the door slides closed behind him, Castiel sinks back against it, dropping his head in his hands.

Two years. Two years since Castiel chose to stay, and he chose to leave. Two years, of long lonely nights in front of the computer, of avoiding the Observation Deck, of throwing himself into his work. Two years in which Castiel thought he’d successfully ridded every last trace of Dean Winchester from his life.

After that night, Castiel had thrown away everything he’d ever given him. Every trinket, every gift, every scrap of paper―pathetic trophies of infatuation that Castiel had saved like a fool, pressed between the pages of his books.

The rest of the ship noticed, of course, because how could they not―Charlie, especially, had been particularly persistent in trying to get Castiel to tell her what happened. But Castiel resolutely refused to talk about him, and glowered sufficiently at any mention of his name that eventually people just learned to stop bringing him up.

But time marches ever onward, and the training cycle at the Academy is complete. The institution that Dean fled to in the first place is now spitting him back out, thrusting him back into Castiel’s life.

Castiel presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. How is he going to stand in front of nearly three hundred people and shake his hand? Just the mention of his name made Castiel want to throw something, bringing back all those memories Castiel tried so hard to forget. It may have been two years, but everything that made the man named Dean Winchester the best part of his life is still imprinted in Castiel’s memory, like a brand.

It’s times like this when Castiel wishes he could be like one of Charlie’s computers, erasing all information at the touch of a button. There would be no pain, no memories―like he had never existed in the first place.

Castiel exhales, looking down at his hands.

He’ll just have to make it quick. It really wouldn’t do for the captain to start a fistfight in front of the entire crew.

x

Roughly thirty minutes later, Castiel finds himself standing stiffly at the end of the receiving line of officers, the collar of his uncomfortable dress uniform cutting into his neck. Something must be off with the temperature regulators in the receiving deck, because he’s sweating, a few locks of hair slipping loose from his hat. He attempts to comb them back into place until Naomi hisses at him to stop fidgeting.

Charlie is beside him as Chief Engineering Officer. She cranes her neck above the crowd, looking at the small group that’s just disembarked from the transport ship.

“Showtime,” she says, adjusting her gloves.

Castiel closes his eyes briefly, breathing in. He can do this.

The new ones pass through first, freshly graduated, young and starry-eyed. Castiel can appreciate their eager enthusiasm. It’s important work they do here on the ship, and they need the best crew to make it possible. They shake his hand vigorously, hopefully interpreting his tight-lipped stare as stoic strength.

Then, the officers.

Hannah, who Castiel has always liked, gives him a warm smile and clasps his hands, telling him how much they missed him. Castiel agrees with the sentiment, but he can barely focus during their conversation, continually darting his eyes towards the end of the line.

The procession inches forward, painfully slow. Cain, Chief Military Strategist, is next, then Billie, and Linda Tran. Crowley, a truly despicable human being, but perhaps the most brilliant Flight Engineer Castiel’s ever worked with, passes with a slimy smile―and then, a face Castiel hasn’t seen in a long time.

“Captain Novak,” Sam says warmly, reaching out to shake his hand. “It’s been a while.”

Castiel smiles back, unable to help himself.

“It has,” he agrees, taking his hand. Despite whatever may have happened between him and his brother, Castiel always liked Sam. “I can’t tell you how much we’ve missed you during your absence.”

Sam nods, dropping Castiel’s hand.

“Believe me, we missed it here, too,” he says, smiling. “You never know how good you have it until you have to spend time way out in the boonies.”

Castiel chuckles. He remembers. The time at the Academy might be necessary, but it certainly couldn’t be called comfortable.

Sam turns, indicating the cadets behind them.

“We’ve got a good group for you here, Cas,” he says, dropping the nickname with easy familiarity. “I think you’ll be happy with them.”

“Good to hear,” Castiel replies. “I’m sure they benefited from having you as a teacher.”

Sam shrugs, ever modest.

Naomi clears her throat from behind them, not-so-subtly encouraging him to move it along. Sam smiles and gives Castiel a small little salute, moving away.

Castiel sighs, tugging at his collar. To his left, he hears a low chuckle.

“Still hate that uniform, huh?”

Castiel stiffens.

He’d know that voice anywhere.

He slowly lowers his hand, looking up into the face he tried two years to forget.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says softly, smiling.

His eyes are bright, shining, like he wants to be here. Funny. Castiel seems to remember he went halfway across the star system just to get away from him.

He extends a hand, holding it out for Castiel to shake.

Castiel clears his throat, but doesn’t move.

“Dr. Winchester,” he replies stiffly. “Welcome back.”

Dean chuckles.

“Oh, right,” he says sheepishly. “I gotta call you ‘Captain Novak’, now, huh? Sorry.”

He looks up, that soft smile returning.

“Old habits, I guess,” he murmurs.

His hand is still extended, in the distance between them. Naomi must be practically foaming at the mouth at such a lack of decorum. Castiel couldn’t care less.

Dean looks exactly the same, perhaps a few more lines around his eyes, still that perfect shade of green. Dean's eyes always reminded Castiel of Earth.

Dean seems to be thinking along the same lines. He looks Castiel up and down, gaze lingering for a moment on the few locks of hair Castiel knows must still be stubbornly escaping from beneath the brim of his hat.

“You haven’t changed at all,” Dean continues. “Even after two years.”

“And three months, six days,” Castiel says coolly.

Dean’s smile fades a little.

“Right.”

He pulls back his hand, awkwardly picking at the edge of the hat in his hands.

Castiel’s heart is beating wildly, but he keeps his face still as stone. Dean shifts uncomfortably, then seems to make a decision.

He leans in, lowering his voice.

“Look, Cas, you know I always hated this formal junk,” he murmurs. “Can we talk later, maybe?”

He sounds so cavalier, so oblivious, and Castiel hates it.

“Catch up?” Dean asks. “Away from all these people?”

Castiel gives him his coldest stare.

“I don’t think so, Dr. Winchester,” he says sharply. “Running this ship is a full time job.”

Dean blinks, and he stares at him, looking like he’s just been slapped across the face. The monster of heartache and pain inside Castiel roars with a vicious triumph.

“I have enough on my plate as it is,” he continues dismissively. “I simply don’t have time to indulge every junior officer who wants to waste my time.”

He straightens, looking away disinterestedly.

“You’d do best to remember that.”

For a moment, Dean doesn’t speak, merely staring at Castiel, his mouth open in disbelief.

Then he remembers himself, and with a glance at Naomi, he stands up straight, placing his officer’s hat back on his head.

“Yeah,” Dean mutters, lowering his eyes. “Well.”

There’s an awkward cough from Charlie to his left. Castiel ignores her.

“It’s good to see you, again, Cas,” Dean murmurs. “Really.”

Somehow, he makes it sound genuine.

He exits the platform, quickly disappearing into the crowd.

Castiel watches Dean go an uneasy curl in his throat. The brief flare of vengeful satisfaction is already leeching away, leaving him feeling brittle and hollow.

Naomi is already busy shooing the officers into the reception hall, for the welcome banquet. Charlie finds Castiel’s arm and squeezes it, her eyes sympathetic.

“Cas?” She asks quietly. “You okay?”

Castiel clenches his jaw.

“Think I might have to get back to you on that."

x

Later, after the banquet, after three hours of restless tossing and turning, Castiel slowly gets up, not bothering with shoes.

Wandering the hallways used to be his favorite pastime. The quiet, the stillness. He still does it, on occasion, when he finds sleep isn’t easy in coming. The lights that try to mimic some semblance of a day and night cycle are dimmed low, the halls empty, most retired to their chambers.

Castiel makes his way up to the Observation Deck, taking a brief look around. There’s no one there, no one to spy on the captain of their ship, stealing away in the night for some much needed solitude. He walks the ramp to the very top part of the observatory, leaning his arms on the handrail. Castiel used to spend hours here. He would sit and watch the stars turn, feeling at once very small and very infinite. He sits now, staring out at the vast darkness before him. It’s utterly quiet, the electric hum of the ship the only sound in the gloom.

Unbidden, his thoughts turn to the last conversation he had here.

Castiel had just learned he had been chosen to be the next Captain, a highly selective process that he had stressed about for weeks. The first person he wanted to tell was Dean.

But Dean had come with news of his own.

A teaching job at the Academy. Highly prestigious, second probably only to Castiel’s role―but that meant―

“Two years,” Dean said to his hands, his voice flat. “That’s how long I’d be gone.”

Castiel felt his brief taste of happiness deflate like a suit after a spacewalk.

“Two years?” He echoed, his tongue thick in his mouth. Dean nodded mutely.

“That’s…”

Castiel bit his lip.

“Wow,” is all he managed.

“Yeah,” Dean muttered.

There was a long moment where neither of them spoke.

“So…”

Castiel hardly dared to say it.

“I’m guessing you knew that when you applied,” he said flatly.

Dean nodded mutely.

“Didn’t really account for you becoming the Captain,” he muttered.

Anger flared within Castiel.

“What, because you think I wouldn’t get it?”

“No!” Dean said immediately, looking up. “God, no, Cas, of course not. Why would you think that?”

“I’m thinking a lot of things right now,” Castiel shot back.

Dean shut his mouth angrily.

“I guess...I guess it’s just hitting me how long two years really is,” he said finally.

Castiel sucked in a breath, stunned.

“You’re not serious,” he whispered. Dean dragged a hand down his face, avoiding his eyes.

“I don’t know, Cas!” He said, voice rising in the quiet. “I mean...you’ll have your job, Cas, I'll have mine...who knows if you’ll have any time for me―”

“Oh, I won’t have time for you?” Castiel repeated scathingly. God, he should have known, it’s just like Dean―shove the blame off himself and project it onto Castiel instead of owning his feelings like an adult.

“Just say you don’t want to be with me and get it over with,” he snapped.

“Cas…” Dean started.

Castiel couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

Dean sighed, breath shaky.

“I―”

Castiel looked up.

He saw the look in Dean’s eyes and he didn’t let him finish. He didn’t let him break his heart.

He ran like a coward.

Castiel wipes angrily at his eyes, banishing the memory. He can’t change the past, so he might as well not dwell on it.

He looks up, at the wilderness of the stars. They shimmer gently against the blank expanse, his constant companions. Castiel can tell you the distance between Betelguese and Rigel, can calculate the time it would take to travel to Sirius and back, but he could never navigate his own life so surely.

If only humans could be as constant as the Heavens.

Behind him, the floor creaks softly. Castiel goes still.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean murmurs.

Castiel turns, glancing over his shoulder.

Dean is standing at the end of the platform, in his sleep pants and shirt. He looks so different out of his uniform. Softer. More like himself.

“Dean,” Castiel says, unable to stop the name from coming to his lips.

Dean responds with a bashful smile, one hand twisting nervously into the hem of his shirt.

“Figured I'd find you here."

He glances out at the stars, then back to Castiel.

“You mind if I join you?”

Castiel swallows, but looks away, saying nothing.

Dean seems to take that as permission, and sits, legs hanging over the edge of the deck, next to Castiel.

There once was a time when they’d sit close enough for their knees to knock, their hands lacing over the railing as Dean told stories, weaving grand tales of the constellations and their histories, while Castiel listened, enraptured.

Now the distance of that memory feels vast, lightyears away. They’re both quiet, not speaking a word. The silence is thin, fragile as glass.

“Cas―”

So Dean will be the one to break it.

He pauses, brow furrowing as he searches for words. Castiel bristles, waiting for it.

“Look,” Dean says, turning to face him. “I get it. You don’t want anything to do with me. But―”

“You’re right,” Castiel interrupts fiercely. “I don’t.”

Dean goes silent beside him. When Castiel finally musters the courage to look up, Dean is staring at him, hopeless and broken.

“Can you at least let me explain?” His voice comes out low and hoarse.

Castiel is torn. Half of him melts, seeing Dean so desperate. But the other half, the rational part of him that remembers the danger of falling for Dean Winchester cautions him, telling him the smartest thing he can do right now is walk away, and never open his heart again.

He lowers his head, exhaling heavily.

“I can’t,” he mutters. “Dean, I just…can’t.”

“You’re angry,” Dean says softly. Castiel scoffs.

“You’re damn right I'm angry,” he mutters. “And I don’t care about any half-assed apology you have for me, not now. Too little, too late.”

He moves back from the railing, pushing himself up. Tears are starting to come to his eyes, hot and bitter, and he’ll be damned if he’ll let Dean see him cry.

“Cas, wait―”

He reaches out, grabbing his hand.

Castiel freezes, rooted to the spot. Dean is frozen too, looking down at their joined hands. He doesn’t let go, though.

“Just...slow down, will ya?” Dean says, and there’s a hint of a laugh there, the way he always sounded when he would talk Castiel off the ledge. But now, it only ignites the rage inside him, and Castiel rips his arm from Dean’s grasp, whirling on him.

“No!” Castiel yells, shattering the silence. “You left, and you don’t get to do this now, you don’t get to come waltzing back into my life like everything’s fine―”

Dean’s eyes widen, he holds up his hands.

“Cas―”

“You broke up with me, remember?”

“No, I didn’t, Cas, will you shut up for two seconds and listen?”

Surprisingly, Castiel does. He blinks, slightly stunned at Dean’s words.

What is he talking about?

“Look,” Dean says quickly, probably to prevent Castiel from shouting again. “I only applied to the stupid Academy because Sammy was too―he was freaking out about the process, so I did it with him, just to show him it was nothing. He’s the smart one, so never in a million years did I think they’d choose me, too.”

Castiel crosses his arms, huffing under his breath. Even if he does hate him right now, it always hurts to hear Dean undersell himself.

“The moment I found out, all I wanted to do was talk to my best friend about how fucking scared I was.” Dean sighs. “And then you said you were picked to be Captain, and it all just...seemed too much.”

He looks down, twisting his hands.

“I panicked. God—somehow had it in my mind that the minute I told you you wouldn’t want to be with me, that there wouldn’t be any room in your life for me anymore. And seeing your face in that moment, you were so excited, and then it just slid off your face…"

Castiel remembers. Shit, he had been so happy, so proud—and when Dean told him…

He’d never been good at hiding his feelings, not with Dean.

He turns over their last conversation in his mind and all at once it seems to click, now that he knows what Dean must have thought.

“I jumped to conclusions,” Dean admits quietly. “I was...so afraid you wouldn’t want to do the long distance thing for two years so I….kind of...let you break us up before I could.”

Castiel stares at him, a painful bubble of emotion rising in his throat. Oh.

Dean continues.

“If anything, I wanted you to ask me to stay.” He lowers his head, dragging a hand through his short hair. “Which was wrong. I get that now.”

He looks up, huffing out a feeble laugh.

“Believe me, Cas,” he says lowly. “It took me all of about an hour to realize how badly I fucked up. But by that time the solar flares were surging and we had to go.”

Dean bites at his lip.

“I looked for you. I tried. But you had locked yourself away in a meeting and I didn’t get to say goodbye. You didn’t let me,” he finishes, a sad bitter note in his voice.

Castiel cannot speak, in shock. He never knew. He’d always thought...after that conversation, that Dean had left without so much as a glance back.

“You…”

He eventually trails off. He has no words.

Dean takes a tentative step forward.

“And you know what it’s like out there. The distances are too far, so they restrict communication.” He shrugs, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. “Doesn’t mean I didn’t try, though.”

“What?” Castiel asks.

“I tried to send transmissions back,” Dean says, rushing out the words. “Every day for a month. They kept telling me personal messages weren’t allowed. I even tried to break into the control center after hours.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathes, awed and horrified all at once. “You didn’t.”

Dean chuckles.

“Nearly got myself tossed out of the airlock for that one.”

His teeth return to his lip again, his green eyes hesitant.

“Sam said I was crazy. I just told him he’d never been in love.”

Castiel's throat goes dry.

They’d never said, not even before Dean left. But Castiel knew he was. Only love leaves that big and jagged of a hole.

“That’s why,” he says softly. “Why I never heard from you the whole two years.”

“And three months, and six days,” Dean says quietly.

Castiel bites his lip.

“Yeah,” Dean says softly. “I was counting, too.”

He sighs, spreading his hands.

“So, yeah. I messed up. And I get it if you never want to talk to me again, I just―”

Dean never finishes his speech because he doesn't need to. In three swift steps, Castiel has reached him and pulled him in by the front of his shirt.

Dean makes a soft noise of surprise as Castiel presses their lips together, but he quickly gets on board, pulling Castiel in by his waist, kissing him back. And he no longer needs to dream about Dean’s warmth, his lips underneath his, the dry rough touch of his palm coming to cup Castiel’s cheek. He’s here, and he’s real, and he’s never going to let him get away again.

Dean pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead against Castiel’s

“Damn,” he breathes. “I missed that.”

Castiel tightens his grip.

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles. “So am I.”

He licks his lips, looking down at Castiel’s.

“I was an idiot,” he murmurs, and the sound rumbles through his chest. Castiel shivers.

“I should have just told you,” Dean finishes, shaking his head slightly.

“Yes,” Castiel says, bumping their noses together. “You should have.”

Dean laughs, and it’s possibly the most beautiful sound Castiel’s ever heard.

“There’s the asshole I remember.”

They both grin, just basking in their closeness, breathing quietly.

“So.”

“So.”

Castiel clears his throat.

“So, this whole time, we wanted to be with each other and we just...weren’t.”

Dean chuckles.

“Sounds like it.”

“Wow.”

Castiel shakes his head.

“We’re a couple of dumbasses.”

Dean laughs again.

“Sums up the last fifteen years of us knowing each other.” He reaches out tentatively, fingers brushing Castiel’s. “Don’t you think?”

Castiel smiles, turning his hand up so Dean can thread their fingers together. He knows they so much they still have to say, so much to catch up on to fix everything that’s broken between them.

By a backdrop of stars, Dean kisses him once more, and well, that’s as good a start as any.

[smol-and-grumpy]

EUPHORIA - Chapter 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: Implied Smut, consent is important, feelings, Claire is 19 in this story.

WC: 2461

A/N: This chapter fills my square‘titty fucking’ for @spnkinkbingo​​. Although it’s only mentioned. Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback. 

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​​​​​ <3

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She follows him, is fucking relieved that she wore boots and not heels because Dean’s fucking fast and she almost has to run to keep up with him. They go up the stairs and a bouncer opens the door into the VIP room for them when he sees his boss approaching.

It’s that easy, isn’t it?

Stepping in, it feels like a whole other world opens up for her and it welcomes her in. The air is thick. It gets a little harder to breathe. She can smell a hint of arousal. Can detect the smell of bodily fluid — the sexy kind, not the nasty ones. 

The room is quite big, could easily fit one hundred people, at least, but there were about thirty if she had to guess. There’s a long couch along both walls, stretching from one end to the other, and there are groups of sofas in the middle. Dean walks ahead and she slows down, taking in her surroundings. 

There are people kissing on the couch, full on making out. A girl grinding on someone’s lap who’s still dressed but the girl is naked, there are men getting blow jobs. One girl is receiving oral whilst getting her big tits fucked. Y/N can’t stop watching them but eventually, she tears her eyes away. She’s sure that someone is fucking right at the end of the couch in a dimly lit corner and then there’s also people engaging in an orgy right in the middle of the room like it’s no fucking big deal. While she stops to scan the room, her eyes find a familiar face. 

Claire. 

She’s sitting in a guy’s lab, while she turns her head to kiss him and there’s another woman with her face buried between Claire’s thighs. Oh wow, Y/N thought she was only a waitress. Maybe the mother wasn’t exaggerating after all. 

“You coming?” Dean returns to be by her side. 

“I— y—eah,” She stammers but can’t quite take her eyes off of the crowd. She feels hot all of a sudden and there’s something tingling between her thighs. She realizes that seeing these things turns her on so fucking much. Like, she’s never seen anything like it.

Dean chuckles and takes her by the hand to whisk her to another door but she’s still staring until they are out of that room. 

They pass a girl sitting on a tiny desk with a laptop on it as they walk along a big hallway, with rooms left and right and Dean’s still so fast, she can’t even take a real look at the little windows with light spilling out of them. Even though she’s sure that she’s not allowed to look anyway but still...

There are little red and green lights lined above the respective doors and putting two and two together if she’d have to guess, she thinks it’s to signal if the room’s occupied or free.  The guests probably have to book the rooms with the girl who runs the front desk. 

The hallway is long, and there are about two dozen rooms with numbers on them and nothing else. No description of what they could find in there. Maybe they’re just all bedrooms? She doesn’t know but she needs to find out.

He pulls her along with him until they finally come to a halt at another door. This place is a fucking maze. She wonders if she’ll find her way back, probably would need to ask Dean for a fucking map. Dean punches in a code and goes in, his hand still holding hers tight as they walk up a staircase until they reach yet another door. He goes in and she realizes that they are in some sort of office. 

Dean lets go of her hand and she takes in the room. There are several screens with security camera footage, a big wooden desk with a huge office chair. He probably saw her coming. She’s sure that the bouncer called him up.

In the middle of the room is a big couch, off to the side is a little bar. 

“Please take a seat,” Dean says and walks over to his bar to pour himself a drink, “You want anything?”

“No, thanks.” She replies, she’s not really a drinker. She usually only has one drink and that’s enough because she’s always been afraid that she’ll end up like her mother — dead.

“So,” He says, turns back to her with a tumbler in his hand, brown liquid sloshing inside, “What are you doing here, Y/N?”

“What do you mean?” She frowns.

“It’s just, I don’t think you’re the nightlife kinda girl,” He shrugs and sits down on the couch next to her. 

Well, he’s not wrong. Damn him.

“To tell you the truth,” She starts to say, thinking that it’s maybe good if she tells him what’s going on. She knows him. Dean was always straight forward with her at school, “I’ve been tipped off and now I’m investigating.”

“Here?” He cocks an eyebrow.

“I have received a call from someone who was very upset that their daughter worked here and they think that you’re probably making them do things they don’t want to.”

Dean’s face changes. He looks a little hurt. She can’t really read him though. With Dean, you only see what he wants you to see. It’s always been like that.

After a while, he opens his mouth to speak, “‘S that way you’re here? Because you think I’m a pimp?” 

“No,” She says, “I don’t think that but maybe you can clear it up, prove me wrong.”

Dean rubs a hand over his scruff, thinks about it, “You’re a journalist now, right?” Dean raises his eyebrows at her.

“Yeah,”

“Congratulations! That’s what you always wanted to do, isn’t it? You were attending creative writing, too. I remember seeing you on the playground writing under the big tree after school.”

“Well, not really what I always wanted, but writing novels apparently isn’t that rewarding,” She shrugs with a weak smile. Doesn’t want to really go into detail about the playground remark because she doesn’t want to reveal to him that the reason she did that, was because she was avoiding going home.

Dean frowns but then he changes the subject back, “Let me guess the one that tipped you off, it’s Jody Mills, right? Claire’s stepmother?”

Her eyes widened, “How do you know?”

“The woman has been raging on and on since Claire started to work here. Came by too many times to get Claire to go back with her but Claire likes it here. She loves working for me.”

“She loves being pimped out?” 

Dean throws his head back and laughs, she doesn’t think it’s funny at all. 

“Y/N,” He says after a while and she likes how her name sounds off his lips, “Consent is very important here. It’s like a mantra we use. Nothing happens without consent and my employees know that. I would never make them do anything they don’t want to do. They don’t take orders from me. They are old enough to decide what they do or don’t do.”

“Or who they do,” She mumbles and Dean has to grin.

“Look, the VIP room is what it says on the tin. It’s strictly for very important people. It’s difficult to get on that list, difficult to stay on the list. They want absolute secrecy and in turn, they play by my rules. They undergo a tough background check, they get tested regularly, and if someone behaves just a little out of place, they get kicked out immediately. The list of new people want to get a spot is so fucking long. I look out for my people, Y/N. Everyone knows the rules and knows not to cross the line. What I’m doing is legal and I have a license for it. There’s no harm in giving people what they really want and can’t act upon at home. And no, I don’t have underage girls working for me, neither do I have pedophiles on the list. Like I said, I have employed three private investigators and they will find anything unusual if there is anything to find. I like being thorough.”

“Okay,” She says, and it’s weird. She kind of believes him. Maybe because she saw Claire. Saw how the girl was smiling while she’s been eaten out, and Y/N had the feeling that the girl clearly enjoyed being sandwiched between a man and a woman.

No wonder, Y/N thinks. Perhaps she would enjoy it too, can’t lie about it. There’s still a tingly feeling between her thighs and she presses them together, trying not to be obvious.

“Listen, what I can offer is, if you still have to write that piece or article, then you at least can do it right. I will show you everything in the club. I can show you every room. I can get you alone time with my employees and you can ask them questions. I’m not hiding anything.”

“Okay, that sounds fair.” 

“There’s one condition.” 

“What?”

He smirks, “I can’t obviously show you everything tonight, because we’re open and it’s not long before all the rooms will be occupied. I want you to come in another day before the club opens, I can show you around then.”

“Yeah, okay.” She agrees.

“Great,” He says and he stands up after they agree on it and exchange numbers, waiting for her to do the same, “Come on, I’ll take you back. I have a meeting to attend.” He places a hand on the small of her back and ushers her to the door. Dean leans down to whisper into her ear, “And try not to get too aroused walking through the VIP room, alright?”

She looks up at him with raised eyebrows and flush cheeks. He chuckles. 

Dean takes her hand again, probably doesn’t want her to stall because as he said, he has a meeting to attend. He walks her to the door that separates the VIP room from the normal club and looks down at her, he’s still smirking because she’s probably more flustered than before. 

He lowers his face to whisper into her ear, “You’re turned on, aren’t you?”

Ugh, she hates that he knows. 

Y/N doesn’t say anything though, instead she looks down and gnaws on her bottom lip. 

He chuckles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear before he leans down again, “Is it okay if I kiss your cheek?”

Wow, consent is apparently really important. 

She nods her head, because there’s nothing wrong with it, right? Dean’s a good looking man, too good probably — with his suit that looks like it’s been sewed onto him — and she’s turned on, there’s no harm in kissing one's cheek.

Dean smiles, a breath of hot air hits her skin and he leans down, kisses her cheek. His lips feel soft on her skin, his scruff a little on the rougher side but it’s nice. It makes her heart flutter, the tingling feeling between her legs intensifies. 

“You’re still as cute as I remember,” Dean whispers before he stands up straight and has to clear his throat after. 

Y/N doesn’t say anything, she can’t because she’s too flustered. 

“See you soon, Y/N.” He smiles that easy smile of his before he opens the door and closes it behind her.

  Dean hurries back into his office, ignoring a woman who called out for him to join them. It’s one of his employees, he guesses, but he doesn’t look. He thinks it’s kind of stupid too, because he never did join in, what makes them think that he would now. 

Well, having a boner, yeah, maybe that gave it away, and his dress pants don’t really conceal much, he realizes when he looks down on himself as he makes his way back. 

He sits back into his chair at his desk, pulls up some camera footage to watch her over his monitor. He watches her until she leaves. 

When she’s gone, Dean sighs and bends down, leaving his forehead on his desk.

Fuck.

He never thought that he'd meet her again in his life. Never thought that she’d be the one looking out for him. And now that she’s here, he feels things that he had buried deep within himself. 

It’s a stupid high school crush, he tries to tell himself. She’s probably changed and so had he, right? 

Yeah, right. She changed. She’s even cuter now and she has something vulnerable about her. Something that wakes the protective instincts in him. He senses that there’s more to the girl with no friends in high school, more to the girl who turned him down when he was about to ask her out to prom — which he didn’t want to attend in the first place but if she would have wanted to, he would have taken her out. There’s something about her that makes him want to know more, makes him want to know what and who hurt her. If it was a guy, Dean would also like to rip that guys fucking lungs out. 

But there’s also something about her that shows that she became a strong woman. She was holding eye contact when he talked to her, something she never did while in school. He also didn’t feel like she was intimidated by him, which speaks volumes because most people are. 

She’s something he’d like to explore, he can’t lie about that. His body can’t lie about that either, apparently, because he popped a boner as soon as he kissed her cheek, which never happened and he thinks it’s stupid. He’s not a fucking teenager anymore, he thinks that he should be able to control himself better.

It’s stupid of him though, to tell her that he wants to show her everything. He doesn’t even know what to show her, where to fucking start. All he knew at that moment was that he wanted to see her again and him showing her his club was just a lame excuse on his part. He doesn’t think that her article would harm him. He told her the truth when he said that he has got nothing to hide. 

Now if he could get his dick in check when she shows up next, that would be fabulous.

Of course the meeting was a lie. He just didn’t know how he could be around her without ripping the clothes from her body. He needs time to think about his next moves. Time to train his body to not act like a seventeen years old when he’s around her. 

Chapter 3

[coolforcats]

I made a post earlier asking if anyone had recommendations for TV shows like Leverage so I could watch them with my parents. I’m listing the responses here in case anyone else wants them as well. I’ll edit this post directly if any more come through/someone wants something taken off.

1) The Librarians - It has Christian Kane, Dean Devlin (screenwriter), and I’m told good OT3 vibes. Initial google searches reveals action-adventure Librarians, thief main character and Lesley-Ann Brandt!

EDIT [05/12/2021] - A review by @mademoisellelottchen

The Librarians: It's what happens when Doctor Who meets Indiana Jones.

2) Psych - This is the one we started watching! It’s got (fake) psychic detectives! I may have sold it to my parents as “The Mentalist, only it’s a comedy with 100% less reoccurring serial killers.”. 

3) Brooklyn 99 - Another cop show, although this one may or may not have fake psychics. It has (checks IMDb and sees all the famous people)... a cast... and (checks google)...awards...and (checks google some more) ...Halloween Heists?! God that’s awesome.

4) The Good Place - Turns out the worst form of torture is pretending you’re good enough to get into heaven...

5) White Collar - Jail is a terrible place and breaking out is both hard and illegal. Good news, the FBI agent who spent years chasing you is friend-shaped and will let you serve the rest of your extended sentence helping the FBI on work-release. Bad news, he is not into heists. Featuring hats, suits, a really adorable and stable marriage, a dog and some really cool cons. I may be watching this by myself while my parents work.

6) Hustle - A group of grifters target marks whose activities are often immoral and/or illegal while displaying a moral honourable code withing their team... Yeah, it’s British Leverage. Funny story, I got my parents to watch Leverage by comparing it to Hustle.

7) Due South - A Mountie really pisses off his superiors by exposing corruption leading to a permanent posting in Chicago along with his deaf wolf. He mostly ends up helping the Chicago Police Department who just decides to roll with it after a while. He works with Ray Vecchio and from Season Three, Ray Vecchio.

8) Northern Exposure - If you think moving from a remote outpost to the city is hard, you have no idea what moving from the city to the country is like. For instance a New York City doctor moving to a small town in Alaska is probably not going to go smoothly as they made 110 episodes about it.

9) Almost Paradise - Christian Kane, Dean Devlin, the Philippines...I’m weak and it’s about an ex-DEA Agent trying and failing to retire peacefully. And while googling this it turns out that Dean Devlin wrote Stargate (1994). It’s like the universe looked inside my head and picked out all the good stuff and smashed it together.

10) Galavant - It has Timothy Omundson in and looks like a medieval fair came to life. And there’s music. Gives me serious BBC Merlin and Once Upon a Time vibes from the pictures.

Thank you very much to @agirlinthegalaxy, @richaldis, @miamatx, @jothehat, @tidalrace and @only-inthemorning who I think I may have pushed back into White Collar obsession. Sorry.

EDIT [26/07/2020] An additional list by @littlehobbit13:

11) Pushing Daisies - Ned the Pie-maker (played by Lee Pace) can raise the dead with a simple touch. He frequently uses this gift for the benefit of his Private Investigator friend to quickly solve murders, but life gets slightly more complicated when he raises a recently murdered childhood sweetheart – you see, one touch revives them, but another touch puts them to rest forever.

12) Royal Pains - From the same USA channel era as Psych and White Collar… An ER doctor is blacklisted from all major hospitals after he chooses to save a random kid’s life rather focus all his attention on a wealthy hospital donor. Down and out, his younger brother hauls him out for a long weekend in the Hamptons, where he discovers there’s a market for Concierge Medicine – old school house calls – that allows him to focus on actually helping patients (not just wealthy ones) instead of playing hospital politics. (Diversity Bonus: The core trio are two Jewish brothers and an Indian woman. Plus, Henry Winkler, reoccurring!)

EDIT: This review was edited slightly to remove the name of an actor.

13) Warehouse 13 - Slightly preceding The Librarians but very similar in premise. Two Secret Service agents are reassigned to isolated South Dakota at the mysterious Warehouse 13. The Warehouse houses artifacts whose intense historical/emotional relevance have imbued them with supernatural powers (Disney’s paintbrush, Driftwood from the Titanic, Pavlov’s bell, Julia Childs’ apron, etc). Coed cast with fun found-family vibes.

EDIT #2 [03/08/2020] A recommendation from @lianabrooks​:

14) Burn Notice - You all have a competency kink from Leverage, I have one from this show. What happens when the CIA disavows a spy? If you’re Michael Weston, you get sent to Miami. You end up doing odd jobs for people in trouble. You meet up with your ex-girlfriend from the IRA, Bruce Campbell in the flesh and end up training your mother in espionage. This show also has possible the greatest character introductions you will ever see. There’s fucking freeze-frames and name cards. It’s glorious.

EDIT #3 [04/08/2020] A recommendation from @2glassesofchianti:

15) (A Town Called) Eureka - What do you do with all of the nations top scientists? Stick them in a hidden town and let them do basically whatever they want.  Problem; Uncontrolled scientific experiments can cause...shenanigans shall we say. Enter one US Marshall Jack Carter, who accidentally finds the town and gets an unexpected “promotion” to Sheriff. This does not solve the problem, but it does make it funnier.

I did mention it to my mother and she has caught bits and pieces of it and it is Mum Approved. The highest compliment that can be reached in this house, as she is Nerd Supreme.

EDIT #4 [09/08/2020] A recommendation from @regretnothingdearest:

16) Breakout Kings: It looks like an unholy cross between Leverage and White Collar. A group of criminals make a deal with the US Marshalls to reduce their sentences by catching escaped criminals. It has Jimmi Simpson in it, who played Mary Lightly if you’ve ever watched Psych. From the pictures it looks a bit more serious than most of the stuff on this list, but I have learnt not to trust that tyype of thing.

Oooh boy this list is getting long.

[nerdlifecentral]

Unknown Secrets [3]

Summary: Y/n joins the hunt for the mysterious nephidemon, but she finds out some shocking information that brings them closer to saving this town from the clutches of Asmodeus’ child.

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, reader, Gabriel, Castiel, Mick, Ketch, Asmodeus

Pairing: everyone platonic

Genre: Angst, bit of fluff

Word Count: 3,906

Warnings: none :)

A/N: Sorry this took so long, but here it finally is! <3

I pull up next to Baby in front of the small motel. "So we meet again, beautiful." I say lovingly, patting the roof of Dean's beloved car. I walk up to room number 63. The six has a loose screw which makes it look more like a nine, so I hope it really is room 63.

My anxiety is quelled when I see Ketch open the door with a wide, relaxed smile. "Hello, darling. I hope you didn't spend all of last night trying to research just to show off,” he says while giving me a hug and playfully winks, prompting Mick to shake his head from his spot at a small table across from Sam, whose laptop is open and running some sort of crazy code.

"No, not this time. Although I have always been the brains behind the operations when it comes to you two." 

Mick let out a chuckle while Ketch simply rolls his eyes and went to lounge on the couch. Sam then gets up, somewhat awkwardly and offers a quick hug.

"So," he starts, "me and Dean tried to dig up anything extra we could have skipped over in either demon lore or any offspring they could produce." I nod for him to continue as he takes a seat and turns his computer towards me. "The only thing that could be a possible lead is the tracking spell Rowena used and there's been a history of weird weather patterns - especially lightning storms for almost forty years. So that means that either Asmodeus or his child has been here for at least forty years."

I rest my chin on my hand and think about what could explain this Prince of Hell living in my town for forty years. I mean, how have I never ran into him or seen anything weird even once?

The door opens and in walks Dean with lots of beer and various snacks, along with a pie that I assume to be cherry.

"Alright, what's the game plan guys? FBI or some basic computer research?" Dean asks, putting away his items and walking over to his bed and plopping down looking at me.

"Sam was just catching us up on the weather stuff y'all found last night." I respond, noticing Sam's open laptop. "Although I think it would make the most sense if Asmodeus was here for, let's say, twenty years, scoping the place out and getting other Hunters to believe that the storms would be normal so no one bats an eye once his child is born, and they could live here for maybe twenty more years, completely undetected."

After a short pause, Mick speaks up, "It is certainly possible and the most likely lead we have. Why else would he want to risk staying in one area for that long?" 

Sam sighs and nods in agreement and slides his computer to face himself again.

"So, y/n," Dean starts and I pick my head up and look to him, "has anyone ever seemed off to you or someone you heard of being born thirty to forty years ago?"

I snort a laugh and respond. "You named most of the folks in this town. Most people have grown up here all their lives and don't really have the desire to move away. Not many long term or consistent visitors either."

Ketch stands up from the couch and walks over to Mick snatching a notebook sitting next to him. He says, "alright, who could be the most likely candidates for being this monster, y/n?"

I rubbed my eyes and leaned back, trying to narrow down who to say, but all I could see were faces morphing into each other and names swirling through my thoughts. "How should I narrow it down?" I ask with my eyes closed for a moment, opening them only because of the sound of Sam typing on his computer and Ketch speaking.

"Let's start with anyone especially strange or out of the ordinary, people between thirty and forty who have lived here their whole lives, only children, maybe anyone who doesn't know their parents or their mother died in birth."

I take a deep breath and start naming people that fit any or all of the criteria Ketch described while explaining which characteristics they have as Ketch writes the addresses that I can remember and Sam types up the list.

It takes us a few hours of narrowing down and organizing everyone into sizable chunks and who our most likely hidden monster is. Luckily, everyone lived nearby and Dean brought back some good food choices. Well, as good as gas station and tiny grocery store food can get.

"I vote we get a move on with this list and split up a bit to cover more ground." Ketch suggests.

Sam glances at Dean as he says "Works for me. We going for FBI on this one?"

The group nods as Dean butts in saying, "We'll go through the people in these neighborhoods," he waves his hand over the section towards the east, "and you three can take the rest." He says while pointing at me.

"Alright, let's get ready and get a move on." I say, standing up and walking out to grab some gear. I can’t help but think how odd it is that I have grown up with these people and all this time one of them could be such a horrible, dangerous creature. My palms almost itch with the anticipation of making my town, and the world a safer place. But I can’t help but wonder if we’re making the right decision.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Last house will be just to the left of Willow Street.” Mick says from the passenger side, directing Ketch to our final stop before it got too late.

I don’t even know how we’re gonna find this nephidemon at this point. No one we’ve talked to all day has said or remembered anything that would help us remotely. Hopefully Sam and Dean have had some better luck, I think as Ketch pulls up to the curb across from the house.

We all climb out of the car and casually walk up to the front door, Ketch and Mick with their badges and me prepared for the endless complaints this case will earn me from the locals for bringing the feds to their doorsteps. But, if I can possibly help out Mick, Ketch, Cas, and the Winchesters with something like Asmodeus or his freak kids, then it’s worth it. The door opens revealing Fred and his wife, Josie with polite smiles on their faces.

“Hey, Fred and Josie! How have you guys been?” I ask, smiling warmly.

Josie responds for them both. “We’re doing just fine, dear. You should join us for game night next time!” 

I laugh and nod enthusiastically, about to explain and introduce the two "agents" beside me when Fred beats me to it. “Who are your friends? They visitors?” he interjects with slightly narrowed eyes and hands shoved in his pockets.

“Of course, my apologies. These are FBI agents McCullough and Morgan.” They both hold up their badges with calm expressions. “They’re old friends of mine and have been looking for someone they think might have been hanging around here for awhile. I figured you both have excellent memories and I was hoping you wouldn’t mind us taking a few moments of your day to help them find a potential suspect?” I slightly tilt my head and try to look as innocent and eager to help as possible. Fred and Josie have always treated me as one of their own children and I certainly hope Ketch doesn’t offend them in any way.

“It’s no problem at all. Very nice to meet you gentlemen. As y/n stated I am Josie Hutcherson and this is my husband, Fred.” Josie, being the polite and kind person that she is, shook hands with Ketch and Mick, welcoming us all inside.

One nice thing about living in a small town is how nothing really changes; not the people, the drama, and not any buildings save for the occasional fresh coat of paint or new lamp. Having something constant is always welcome, especially when it feels like the world is ending.

"What case did you say you were helping them with, y/n?" I'm drawn out of thoughts by Mrs. Hutcherson kindly sitting down across from Mick and Ketch, Fred still choosing to stand near his wife with crossed arms.

"They're trying to track the movement of a very dangerous criminal, they have reason to believe he stayed here awhile back and then left." 

Josie smiles at me and turns back to the "agents" to speak, but Fred says, "Uh huh. And why does the FBI want to take up your time in this what I would think would be a highly classified search?"

Fred may mean well, but words were always something he left to Josie. Hopefully he's only put off by Mick and Ketch, I would really hate for them to be hiding this demon kid.

"Y/n here knows almost every person in this town, and from what she's told us she is extremely attentive as well." Mick offers, "We were looking around aimlessly until we met her. My partner actually was interviewing her and she offered to help us look around town for a little bit." He gave a reassuring smile towards Josie and a firm nod towards Fred.

"Now, have either of you noticed anyone strange at all in the past thirty to forty years? They would be extremely charismatic but slightly arrogant as well. And maybe looked something close to this picture." Ketch asks while pulling out a picture of the current vessel of Asmodeus. Even though we aren't sure he was in this vessel when having a kid, it's the best bet we have in recognizing him at all.

Both Josie and Fred denied anyone acting out of the ordinary or ever seeing that picture before. I could tell Mick and Ketch wanted to keep interviewing Josie since she was more open, so I tried to get Fred a little ways away to get through to him better. "I know that you don't really care for the FBI and sticking their noses where nothing has happened, Fred. "He uncrosses his arms with a sigh and a reluctant nod. "But this guy is a really bad guy and they asked me who would be the most attentive people to ask about. And you and your wife were the first I thought of, that's all."

After Fred agrees to be more open to answering their questions, I smile and thank him before walking back out toward the living room where Mick and Ketch are standing up.

"Y/n, I believe we shouldn't take up anymore of these people's time. Thank you both so much for all your help." Mick says with a kind smile and handshake with Josie, then Fred.

"Thank you Josie and Fred, I'll come over when I can," I say with a wave out the door and down the sidewalk. Mick and Ketch also exit and walk back to their car.

"Anything you guys picked up on?" I question, lowering my voice with caution.

Ketch closes his eyes and with a short huff of air responds "Not really. The only odd thing Mrs. Hutcherson mentioned were the persistent lightning storms that drove everyone inside, except for this one time. There was a man and a small child who were outside in the middle of the road, completely unprotected. Just gazing up into the sky for a few hours...."

Thunder, so loud that it feels as though the earth beneath my feet shakes. I look up in wonder as brilliant flashes of lightning take over the dark sky. A warm hand rests on my shoulder, its presence keeping me focused and grounded.

I glance up to the man, who has a prideful smile and warm eyes, and I remember feeling safe despite the chaos and danger surrounding us.

The man speaks, sounding southern and calm. "My daughter, this will be our last night together, I was hoping for more time with you but it's far too dangerous." I tilt my head in question, turning to face him more. He continues, "Someday all of this will seem like a dream for you. That's when your purpose will become clear. And we will be united once again."

I feel tears starting to form, this is my father, he can't abandon me now! "But father, when will that happen? And how long after I remember will I see you again?" He bends down to my level taking both my hands in his.

"I know I will miss you, my child, but I would rather feel this heartache than know you are at risk from Hunters. They are so dangerous and you must always be careful around them. Alright?" I nod my head and hug my father, one last time. I hear him speak once more. "I love you, never forget that." And the whole world goes silent.

I faintly hear voices speaking to me but I couldn't make out what they are saying. I know it’s Mick and Ketch. What on Earth are they doing here? The entire case comes flooding back to me, the Winchesters, Asmodeus, his kid, my strange hallucination. I struggle to open my eyes met with blinding light and someone, Sam, I think, sitting next to me.

"I'm sorry Sam, but there is no way for me to understand why she fainted. She appears to be in good health, not dehydrated, having enough food and energy. I can't find anything wrong." Cas says, slightly leaning his head back from his place at the end of a bed, near a small mirror on the wall.

I try to sit up and ask what's going on, but Sam gently pushes my shoulders back onto the mattress.

"Hey, y/n don’t sit up yet, alright? You've been passed out for a while. Do you remember anything?" Sam speaks calmly and softly, as though speaking too loud may cause me to lose consciousness yet again.

"I remember helping you guys on a case," I start, realizing how quiet my voice is and how hard it is to speak clearly. "You and Dean went to interview some people and Mick, Ketch, and me did the same. I remember leaving their house and walking out to the car..." I trail off, too unsure of how much I should reveal before learning whether it's a weird vision, or... a memory? I shake my head at the thought. It's simply impossible. I glance at Sam then Castiel while saying "I think that's all I can remember, sorry."

Sam gives a gentle smile just as the front door opens, revealing Dean, Ketch, and another person. He's the shortest out of all the men but has a confidence about himself, sandy blond hair that's longer than Dean's but shorter than Sam's, with beautiful whiskey colored eyes.

"Morning, Sunshine. Feeling any better?" Ketch asks, dragging my attention away from the newcomer.

"A little. My brain is still kinda foggy though. What happened?" I ask, looking between Mick and Ketch hoping they can help me discern reality from fiction.

"Well," Mick begins, "we had finished interviewing the Hutchersons and walked out to our car. I told you what Mrs. Hutcherson had told us about seeing a man and a child during a lightning storm, and you fainted."

He explained, taking a seat on my other side. I just stared at him for a while, trying to understand what had happened. I'm not a person who regularly faints, and this simply cannot be a coincidence.

"Okay, um thank you." I say, surprised at how numb I sound. "Also, who are you?" I ask, looking at the strange man sitting at the table with Dean.

He smirks and responds "I'm Gabriel, like the Archangel." He puts his hands next to his shoulders, waving them to mimic flying.

Dean rolls his eyes while Cas stares annoyed at Gabriel's actions. I guess that sort of makes them brothers?

"Naturally. Well, I'm y/n and didn't realize you were joining us." I tilt my head at Mick slightly and he makes a point to stare at Sam across from me.

"Yeah well neither did we." Dean speaks up, glancing at Cas.

The angel sighs and faces me "Gabriel was kidnapped by Asmodeus for his grace, a little over four months ago. Ketch used to work with him and was able to get Gabriel back to the bunker." I look to Ketch who looks down, almost in shame. Then to Gabriel who simply rests his head on his hand and shrugs. Cas continues, "I called Gabriel here since he deserves to be in on taking down Asmodeus, and it certainly won't hurt to have his help."

"But enough about me," Gabriel exclaims suddenly. He looks over to Sam, raising his hands up in question. Why can these idiots never just say what they need to say rather than act all secretive?

Sam takes a deep breath and turns slightly to better face me. "Y/n, I know you're not going to remember everything. But, " he pauses, searching my eyes while being careful to not give anything away.

"But...?" I prompt, looking around only to be met with Gabriel staring with anger towards me. Which is unbelievably rude and unfair, considering how I literally just met him.

"But, are you sure there's nothing else you can remember? Any detail or generic thing?" Sam finishes, with an understanding smile. I don't know what he could mean by that though, I mean, I was passed out for a long time and I don't think people can speak while being unconscious in that sense.

I shook my head no after thinking for a moment. Gabriel let's his head fall back in dramatic fashion while mumbling something under his breath.

"Sorry my answer isn't the one you wanted, Gabriel." His head snapped up and glared at me. What is this guy's problem? "But I barely remember even walking out to the car, let alone any specific details of our last interview."

"You're lying," Castiel said from the corner of the room, a perplexed look on his face. I wanted to ask what he meant but he continued, "you woke up in Ketch and Mick's car and described something very disturbing." I try not to shrink under the angel's condemning gaze; because I actually don't remember waking up at all until being in the motel. The disturbing thing I described, I don't think I will ever be able to forget.

"I don't remember that at all. I had no idea I woke up before five minutes ago."

Gabriel stands up and snaps his fingers in one motion and I immediately find myself in the backseat of the Impala with Castiel next to me.

"What the hell was that for?!" I say trying to steady myself from falling to one side or the other.

Castiel barely spares me a look and explains "Gabriel snapped us both here to have some kind of privacy I assume."

I try to open the door handle but Cas reaches over to grab my arm, and locks the door. He refuses to let go of me whether because of my continued swaying or because he thinks I could outrun him or something.

"Okay, and what exactly are you doing here? I wouldn't think he would want privacy from you if he's saying his piece."

Castiel finally releases my arm but gives no answer, and instead, looks out the window.

I do the same hoping that Gabriel and the Hunters don't take all day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Back in the motel room)

Y/n and Cas had disappeared from the room thanks to Gabriel.

"Really, Gabe? You probably could've just asked them to leave the room for a minute." Sam says, exasperated with Gabriel already.

Gabriel takes a deep breath and slowly walks around the room, in deep thought.

Dean uncrosses his arms, letting them rest on either side of the motel chair while watching the archangel pace the room, waiting for an answer.

"What have you got to say that you didn't feel y/n or Cas should hear then?" Mick stands from the bed and asks, squaring his shoulders and walking towards Gabriel with annoyance.

Gabriel pauses his movements, stopping in front of Mick while saying, "Cas already knows what I'm gonna tell you, that's why he's with y/n right now." He turns back looking at Ketch. "She did just wake up after being knocked out for a few hours and I'd rather not be responsible for a casualty already."Gabriel brushes by Ketch to sit on the spot that he vacated. "And I doubt she would appreciate her being told how probable it is that she is this nephidemon we've been looking for."

The room falls silent as the Hunters process his words.

"And why exactly do you think this?" Sam asks Gabriel, a shocked expression on his face. "She literally volunteered to help us with this case without any kind of convincing from any of us. If she is the nephidemon, then wouldn't she want to get as far away from all of us as possible?"

Gabriel closes his eyes and leans his head against the bed's worn bed frame, "Sam, I can't put my finger on it but when I first saw her, she reminded me of Asmodeus all over again." He slowly opens his eyes, keeping them focused on the ceiling missing the spark within them. I can only assume that kind of trauma doesn’t leave a person - or archangel I guess unaffected.

"Well, try to. We have to figure this out now, or come up with a plan on testing her or something," Dean says, rubbing his temples still trying to understand how y/n could have played them all along. How she could have played Ketch and Mick for even longer.

Gabriel sighed saying, "I don’t know if this will make you feel better, I doubt she knows herself if she's related to Asmodeus. She doesn't act like him at all, and from what you've said she sounded confused, scared even by what happened when she passed out."

The group relaxes but only slightly. "How could she possibly not know?" Ketch thinks aloud, "and why would a single memory or hallucination suddenly reemerge right now?"

Gabriel only shrugs, not really being able to provide any kind of a possible answer or solution. Mick shakes his head and offers "He could have wiped her memory in order to protect her. That is why we initially thought the nephidemon would be here for so long." Dean slowly nods while Sam rubs his eyes in frustration. "And maybe Ketch describing what Mrs. Hutcherson saw triggered part of her memory to come back; why she passed out."

The men sat in silence, mulling over everything Gabriel brought up, before anyone could move to suggest anything further, the archangel snapped his fingers and slowly let his hand drop back down to the bed.

"Figured it might be smarter to ask her about it, maybe search her memory or something." He states, beginning to act a bit more normal, as they wait tensely for y/n and Cas to walk back through the door.

[orionsangel86]

“I Think It’s Time For Me To Move On”

...And Other Things That Have Destroyed Me This Weekend...

So there is this common trope within love stories which generally happens at the end of the second act in which everything goes wrong and we all think that the lovers are doomed to failure. Its pretty much standard in every Jane Austen novel, every romantic film every made, every single bloody love story. Go ahead, name one. I guarantee you the break up moment is there.

Within the epic love story of Dean and Cas, there have been many break up moments, and all have had their emotionally devastating impact on the relationship and the show...

But THIS was a different level. 

(For a nice summary of Destiel break up moments and understanding of this trope, @tinkdw​ wrote about it here.)

I didn’t think that there would be another moment within Dean and Cas’s relationship that could hit me this hard. The mixtape in 12x19, the wrapping of Cas’s body in 13x01, and the return of Cas in 13x05 are moments that I consider to be the very top of the scale in making this pairing undeniably romantic. Moments that pushed it beyond a platonic interpretation. These three moments have been the things I cling to when the show has otherwise made me doubt any conclusion to the DeanCas story, and since there hasn’t been another one of those moments since 13x05, until now I have been somewhat nervous that the story was dropped, or being forced back behind a platonic screen. 

15x03 has ripped that screen away. 

Emotional meta under cut...

This entire episode was an emotion fuelled dramatic roller-coaster that killed off three characters including our beloved witch queen in a scene that almost stole the show and practically canonised the SamWitch ship. Rowena’s death should have been by far the most torturous moment for viewers to endure, and it was extremely torturous and had me sobbing on a plane 3 hours into a 7 hour flight. That incredibly heartfelt moment between Sam and Rowena will probably go down as one of the top tear-jerking moments on this show. It was tragic in the best way - the way Supernatural is famous for.

But lets not gloss over the fact that in an episode where THAT should have been the climax, where THAT should have been the emotional highlight and end point, instead we get a further MORE dramatic stand off between Dean and Cas that pulled focus and ripped all of our hearts out just as violently as poor Ketch in the first act (a very clever and smug piece of meta foreshadowing there Mr Berens).

On a meta level, this is HUGE as a writing choice because they MUST know how this looks. This was the climax of the third episode of the finale season. The way Supernatural has always structured itself since Carver era is that the first three mytharc episodes of each season establish the direction of the story and set the foundations for the character level focal points and dramatic key notes to come. 

That the writers have chosen to end the foundation episodes with a DeanCas break up moment that was more dramatic than a Spanish Telenovela has just stunned me and left me reeling because I just can’t see how else this can go. This break up scene absolutely DEMANDS a huge reconciliation of the sort that will be part of the A plot of the season - the FINAL SEASON. Guys. Part of the reason I have been so quiet and so disillusioned with the show during late season 13 and season 14 was because they pushed any Destiel plot into non existent territory - it became kinda irrelevant and Dean and Cas just acted like friends (homoerotic friends yes, and sometimes like an old married couple, but it was mostly played as an afterthought imo), so for this to suddenly be brought to the forefront of the emotional story again is excellent news for us. 

The thing is, like with those huge moments I listed above, the break up scene is basically undeniably romantic when you break it down to its components:

1. It’s only Dean and Cas. 

Once again we have another scene of high stake emotions that excludes Sam. In a platonic reading of the show, it makes zero sense for there to be such a hugely disjointed relationship between Cas and Dean and Cas and Sam given he has known them both for so long now that if they were all “just friends” then surely Sam would also feel the impact of Cas’s choices as heavily as Dean. In a platonic reading, Dean comes across as an asshole, Sam comes across as being weirdly uncaring about his friend of 10 years, and Cas comes across as not even bothering to get Sam’s opinion before leaving. A romantic reading makes sense because quite literally THIS IS A ROMANTIC BREAK UP.

2. The words spoken. 

“Well I don’t think there is anything left to say.”

“I think it’s time for me to move on”

From Cas’s perspective at least, name one time in a piece of media where such language has been used for a platonic breakup sincerely? There have been heartfelt break up songs that use these exact words. (I should know I’ve spent the last 24 hours listening to them all).

That last line in particular is so heavy. It’s the last line of the episode and nothing about it is platonic. This is relationship terminology my dudes. “I need to move on, and get over you.” This is Cas’s bloody Adele song. My heart breaks for him, but if I was his sassy and fabulous best girlfriend right now I’d be sitting him down, sipping a cocktail, flipping my hair and telling him “Babe, you’re too good for him. Good Riddance. Let’s go out, have some cocktails, something pink and fruity. No dive bars for us darling. I’ll take you to Heaven... the fun one in London.”

In all seriousness though, from Cas’s perspective, this was him admitting defeat and giving up the fight for love. How anyone can possibly say Cas isn’t in love with Dean after this, well I just don’t know what show you are watching. This is the face of a heartbroken man who has just accepted that his love is unrequited. 

3. The many faces of Dean Winchester

On the other end of the scale, Dean was mostly silent after his poisonous words “And why does that something always seem to be you?”

Forgive the terrible gif quality I’ve no time for fancy gif work!

Look at his face here. He knows what he said was fucked up and he immediately regrets it. The way he swallows around that regret and then turns away.

and after Cas says that devastating final line and walks away? We get THIS reaction from him:

The jaw clench as he looks down. The sorrow on his face as he realises he has well and truly fucked this up. LOOK

Finally, he looks up, makes himself look up and watch Cas leave. If that isn’t the face of a broken man I dunno what to tell you. Anyone who thinks Dean is totally heartless and uncaring right now needs to reassess because this is NOT the face of someone uncaring. This is the face of someone who has just lost everything. Again. 

4. The FUCKING MUSIC

Seriously. The sweeping heavy drama of the low strings that come in right after Dean says that horrid line, that carry the weight of the look of horror and heartbreak on Cas’s face as they amplify the emotion there. As they blend seamlessly into the slow and subtle version of the Winchester family theme behind Cas’s heartbreaking speech and Dean’s stubborn stoic face hiding a multitude of emotion, until the violin dominates as Cas says “I think it’s time for me to move on” and the Winchester Theme swells to its climax, ripping all our hearts out just like poor Ketch as Dean watches Cas walk out of his life surrounded by darkness. 

I MEAN.

A friend on Twitter reminded us all of this point about the importance of this theme via @justanotheridijiton​ here which is essentially:

“The Winchester theme is not simply an aural marker to let the audience know when and how Sam and Dean love each other (any Supernatural fan knows that is the baseline of their relationship), but to provide narrative information, especially when the image and dialogue are incomplete or inconsistent with the true situation...  Seasoned fans will recognize the theme and its history of being paired with images indicating deep emotional bonding and a desire to do the right thing by the Winchester code. Here we trust our ears over our eyes to reveal the truth.”

So here is yet another key indicator that any surface read that this is actually an ending between Dean and Cas and that Dean really is just an angry asshole is utter bullshit. 

Honestly, this was PAINFUL, but it was painful in the best way. It was 13x01 levels of pain, but this time it was Cas choosing to walk away which makes all the difference. Dean’s greatest fear isn’t his loved ones dying on him after all, but of his loved ones choosing to leave him. This was exactly the kick up the ass Dean needs in order to win Cas back, classic love trope style. 

Hence my excitement at what is to come. Yes we won’t see Cas again until 15x06, but in the meantime I fully expect a good helping of angst and wallowing from a depressed Dean who has to deal with the fact that he has just lost the love of his life and it is all his fault. That he just pushed away the one person who promised they would always stay by his side. That has got to hurt. 

So yeah, this episode emotionally destroyed me, and I’ve only really covered the primary reason, let alone all my feels over SamWitch, Rowena’s death, Belphegor’s taunting of Cas over his deepest fears and then having to suffer through smiting a creature wearing the face of his son until his body was nothing but a burnt corpse... I wonder if Bobo had a bet going in the office over how much he could hurt us all? He was certainly enjoying scrolling through the Supernatural tag on Twitter and liking everyone’s reaction tweets including some brilliant Destiel related ones. I do love Bobo. Our Angst Goblin King. 

If anyone had asked me a few weeks ago what my thoughts were on the chances of getting explicit canon Destiel by series end, I would have said somewhere in the realms of 30-40%, considering it a battle of wills between DabbBerens and CW studio execs who I still feel are against it in general. I would have considered everything that happened after 13x06 as the writers getting a big NO on Destiel from the network and therefore having to pull back on any Destiel related plot points (purely my own speculation on BTS matters of course).

Now I am wondering if Dabb kept fighting the network? If he managed to wear them down into begrudging acceptance? I’m currently up to around an 80% chance of textual canon DeanCas if we continue on this path. If Dean is clearly shown to be mourning and hating himself over Cas next episode, and if this DeanCas dramatic plot line continues to be a focal point of the emotional story arcs... well...

I’m side eyeing 15x07 a lot right now. Only in my wildest dreams would I think that they might actually introduce an old boyfriend for Dean in a “coming out” episode, but the placement, timing, and potential is all there and I’m kind of once again donning the clown mask because I’m just in awe at everything that they are doing. I guess we’ll find out soon enough. In the meantime, I’m gonna paint my face in red and white and wear my rainbow wig and listen to break up songs on Spotify whilst trying to shove my heart back into my chest where Bobo Beren’s gleefully ripped it out with his hands like the demonic angst goblin he is. Wish me luck, I’m not sure I’m gonna get through this season with my emotions intact.

[jawritter]

You and Me...

Chapter 3

***SERIES WARNINGS**** Rape, non-con, male!rape, injury, violence, description of injury caused by rape, nightmares, self-harm, panic attacks, implied female non-con, language, ass hole Jensen, hurt!Jensen, dark fic, smut. If there is anything else I will add it as I go.

***Chatper Warnings*** 

Word Coung: 2464

Pairing: Jensen Ackles X Reader, Jared x reader, OFC Steve x Reader, OFC Justin x Reader. Misha x Reader, Jensen x Jared, Jensen x Misha

A/N: When I originally wrote this chapter I didn’t even know who Steve Carlson was, so the Steve in this story isn’t him lol. Oddly enough I wrote this before I even really knew he was making an album lol. Anyway, all mistakes are mine, please don’t copy my work, Feedback is golden. If you want to be added to the series tag list, or my tag list just let me know! I hope you enjoy this one. After this chapter things tend to start to pick up a little.

Summary: It’s funny how one choice you made can change your whole life. One mistake can alter your course, and set you on a path that forever will haunt you. Two people find themselves getting through one of the hardest trials of Jensen’s life, on just one small promise. You and Me. We’ll get through it together…

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!!

***MASTERLIST***

***YOU AND ME MASTERLIST***

Last night was a bad night for you. You were crushed that Jensen thought you were just some slut that likes to flirt with every married man that came through the studio because not a word of that was true. The way he was looking at you when he said it. There was no emotion in his eyes whatsoever. Just coldness. He looked at you like you were just another gold-digging whore. You don’t know why his opinion of you crushed you so badly, but it did.

It’s not like it was unusual in the industry that you were working in. Groupies came all the time to hang out and see if they could land themselves an upcoming artist that has potential, then ride that ride all the way down to music row. Steve did try and keep them at bay because he couldn't stand that part of the industry. It didn’t stop them from coming, but at least he did try.

You were no groupie, you worked your ass off to get to where you were in your job. You did it yourself through straight hard work and talent. You had no favors, no handouts, nothing. Everything you had, everything you accomplished, it was all you. 

Women are looked down on in most businesses, but in the entertainment industry, that reputation of whore seems to resound past any talent a woman might have. It wasn't usual for men to come in, and treat you the way Jensen had yesterday, but when he did it, it really hurt.

The way he jerked the coffee out of your hand, not even looking at you. Like you were nothing, trash, someone that wasn't worthy to be in his presents. 

That cut you deep.

Why did you care so much what this snob thought about you? You didn't like the way his opinion of you made you feel. The way it seemed to etch itself into you, and take root there. You whipped away a stray tear that was making its way down your face.

Most of the night you dreamed of Demon Dean. Because that's who he looked like yesterday when he demanded Steve make you bring him his coffee. 

The nightmares were vivid, more vivid than you’d ever experienced in your life. 

You used to like Demon Dean. You found it to be an interesting take on Dean's character. Now though. It gave you chills. You didn't know how you were going to face Jensen today. Still, you weren't going to let it cost you your job. You’d worked too hard, and come too far to let one man’s opinion of you destroy everything you had worked to build for yourself. 

So you text Steve back for the thousandth time just this morning telling him that you were fine and would see him in a little while. Justin and Steve knew you pretty well, and they could tell how Jensen's opinion of you had affected you. You had never walked out on a job before like that. Steve knew you weren’t just not feeling well and needed to go home. He knew Jensen had gotten to you. 

You just wish you knew why it affected you so much. You never cared what people thought about you before. It didn't make sense.

You jump in the shower quickly. Not feeling real into dressing up today, which there was no dress code at your job anyway, you throw on an old black and white Slipknot band shirt Justin had bought you years ago for a dirty Santa gift at work. It was comfortable, so, therefore, it was your favorite. A black pair of skinny ripped jeans, and a pair of black and white converse. You threw your hair into a messy bun and a light dusting of makeup. Today, that was just as good as it was going to get.

You just didn't feel pretty this morning. So you didn't see any need in trying. Yesterday you did the work, and it did not go well. Business suit, perfect hair, makeup. Still, you were just a whore that liked to flirt with married men and needed to get Jensen his coffee.

As soon as you walked into the recording room this morning Justin and Steve were on their feet giving you a hug.

 "Don't pay attention to that overpaid, spoiled fuck Y/N," Justin said, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. 

"Yeah, Jen's back today. She can pack him his damn coffee, and I hope she spits in it," Steve said through gritted teeth. 

They were a little overprotective of you, so this reaction didn't surprise you. They had become like family to you over the years. They treated you like a little sister, and they had no problem going to war for you if they had to. 

You look through the glass in front of you and see Jennifer sitting up everything for the day. She was young, probably 19 or 20, you didn't really ever ask. She was pretty though. Long blonde hair. Skinnier than you were, even though you weren't really all that heavy.  Blue eyes. 

She would probably make it far in the entertainment industry one day on her looks alone. She was dressed in her usual casual skinny jeans and tank top. You smirk at the fact that Jensen was probably gonna eat her alive today since he obviously had a problem with women. She looked a little to you like a gold-digging groupie the more you thought about it. She was a working mom though, and you respected her for that. It was hard to be a young mom, much less a working young mom.

"Has Jensen arrived yet?" you turn to Steve and ask, dreading the moment he walked into the studio already. 

Also, you were inwardly regretting your outfit choice. You weren't sure who would be under attack more, Jennifer, or you. 

"No, he's running a little late. Jared will be here again today, along with Misha Collins. He's in town for some type of charity function, and Jensen invited him to come to watch a little today," Steve said, turning to his buzzing phone, and walking out of the recording room.

You turned about to say that you hoped Misha wasn't as big of an ass hole as Jensen when you saw the group of actors walk into the studio. “Well crap, here it goes.”

"Misha, this is Y/N, and Justin, that girl in there putting out drinks is Jennifer," Steve said, and you all shook Misha's hand. He greeted everyone warmly and seemed to be a genuinely friendly guy. Jensen was looking at you with a look of distaste on his face, but there was a look in his eyes that you didn't recognize, something you hadn't seen yesterday, even if he was staring at you and snarling at you in a cocky smirk.

"What is this?" he asked gesturing up, and down your small frame. He was a giant compared to you. "Casual Tuesday? You are aware that it's not Friday yet right?" he blows off in a cocky tone. 

Misha and Jared turn to stare at him, but you say nothing. Taking a deep calming breath you turn around and start logging into the equipment. Misha came and took a seat by you, giving your shoulder a comforting squeeze. You smile at him and watch as Jennifer enters the room. “Showtime,” you think to yourself, but boy did you get the shock, and disappointment of your life.

"Well, well, I don't believe we met yesterday. What's your name beautiful?" Jensen said, turning to Jennifer.

You felt your stomach lurch, and you fraught to hold onto your breakfast. You got up and excused yourself to the bathroom. Steve and Justin watched you like you might snap at any minute. 

Well, he wants to be a jackass then two can play at this game. You were in control of today's recording session, and today wasn't going to be an easy one, for Jensen anyway. You, on the other hand, were going to enjoy this.

You walked out of the bathroom after composing your emotions and ran headlong into the large frame that was Jared. He grabbed your shoulders to steady you and keep you from falling back on your ass. 

"Sorry," he said in a rush. 

"It's okay," you retorted, turning a little red. Could you just not do anything right today? 

"I wanted to talk to you before we got started today. I want to apologize for the way Jensen is acting toward you. I've never seen him act quite like this toward anyone. He's going a divorce. It was just finalized yesterday. He's under a lot of stress," you held your hand up to stop Jared's retort of excuses he was trying to make for his friend's attitude.

"I'm sure he will be able to blow off a little steam with Jennifer on the break. Maybe if he gets one off he won't be such a dick. Now If you'll excuse me I've got work to do," you say, pushing past Jared before he could say anything and stepping back toward the recording room.

Neither of you saw Jensen leaning against the door in the hallway. He’d heard every word that Jared had said to you, and he was livid.

"What the fuck Jar?" Jensen said, making his presence known to his friend. Jared swore under his breath, turning to face a red face; and obviously pissed Jensen. 

"I could ask you the same question," Jared said, rounding on his friend. "What you do have against Y/N? She's done nothing to you, and you act like such an ass towards her every time you open your mouth?!"

Jensen stood there with his head cocked to the side. He had been acting like a dick, he was well aware of it. Still, he couldn't help it. Whether she was doing it on purpose or not she was driving him crazy, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. She was beautiful, but that wasn't it. It was something he felt deep down in his gut every time she looked at him. It scared him a little. He thought Danneel was the love of his life, he shouldn’t be feeling this way this early after a divorce. Maybe Y/N was right, maybe he did just need to get one off...

"Do you hate her or something?" Jared said, looking at his friend's dead-looking eyes with concern. Ever since Danneel had left him it was like Jensen had just shut down emotionally. He hated it. Hated seeing his friend like this.

"No, I don't hate her Jared," Jensen said, rubbing his hand through his hair, and turning to walk back into the recording room. Not wanting to have this conversation. 

"Well, you got a real fucked up way of showing it, man," Jared said as Jensen closed the door.

----------------------------------

Three hours later Jensen was about six mess ups into the same song he'd sang one thousand times. Mostly because every time you heard a note slightly off you would turn the mike on, and yell, "That's wrong, do it again". 

By now his face was red and he was getting pissed. You couldn’t help yourself though, you found it deeply satisfying. Every time you made him start over Jared and Misha would laugh hysterically behind you. Both of them thought that Jensen was getting exactly what he deserved. Jensen had obviously met his match.

"This whole house had got to be shaken.'."

"Wrong. Do it again."

"This whole house had got to be shaken.'."

"Wrong. Do it again."

"This whole house had got to be shaken’."

"Wrong. Do it again."

"This whole house had got to be shaken'."

"Wrong. Do it again."

This time Jensen had all he could take. 

"What is your fucking problem you bitch," he yelled into the microphone, and the whole room fell silent as the two of you stared at each other. Jensen was on his feet breathing heavily. His voice was slightly hoarse from trying to hit the same note over and over again. Still, he was slightly off every time, and you had every intention to make him do it until he got it right. The miss was so subtle that you would have to be listening to really hear it, most people wouldn’t have even caught it, and that's what made it fun for you. You were gonna make this ass hole lose his shit. Just like he was trying to do you. You were going to beat him in his own game.

You reached over and turned the speaker back on, staring at him, not even blinking. Everyone in the room was holding their breath. 

"You keep hitting the wrong note. You are gonna do it until you get it right. Now... Again..."

You stare at him coldly, and he looked at you like if you were a man he'd hit you. Misha started to snicker under his breath behind you, leaning over he whispered to Jared, "I like this one." 

You try to hide the smirk that threatens to play at your lips.

Jensen put his guitar back on his shoulder and began to strum the chorus again. Looking at you with a shit-eating grin on his face this time, which confused you a little. Was he enjoying this? Damn that man was gorgeous. Too bad he was a dick.

"This whole house had got to be shaken'," 

That time he hit it. He even realized when he hit it. The look of shock sat on everyone in the room's face. He finished out the chorus and you came back on the mic. 

He was standing there staring at you. A hard, yet mischievous look on his face. Something in his eyes lighting up for the first time since you met him. 

"That's a wrap," you say over the spacker, turning to Justin and Steve who were both grinning at you too. 

"Shut it down. That's enough for today," with that, you grabbed your stuff, hugged Misha who was laughing uncontrollably at the look on Jensen's face as you hugged Jared too; then left for the day more than a little proud of yourself. 

This man, he does something to you. Something you don't quite understand. He pulls a side of you out that you never knew was there, but you kinda like it. If you were being honest. You had forgotten what it felt like to stand up against something on your own two feet. 

Ever since you moved back to Austin after the death of both your parents, you had lost your fight somehow, and you hadn’t even realized it. Jensen seemed to be pulling that fight out of you, even if he didn’t mean to do it, or realize that he was doing it. 

You needed this challenge, and you sure as fuck weren’ going to let him win. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[tasmyn-pearce]

Clepto-faenia || Tasmyn & Morgan

Timing: This Evening Parties: @tasmyn-pearce & @mor-beck-more-problems Summary: Tasmyn convinced Morgan to steal some stuff from one of neighbors houses during mushroom season. Chaos ensues and both women leave with some treasures. 

It was often difficult for Tasmyn to convince people to go along with the various criminal enterprises that she so enjoyed. It was real easy when that other person was a spriggan. It was less difficult when the person was a fae. But non-fae? Very difficult. With the notable exception of Morgan, of course. Tasmyn was so thrilled at how quickly she had agreed to partake in some light robbery. She had invited her friend over to her house. After living in town for a few weeks, she had been noticing that a neighbor of hers from a few doors down had been letting its ugly little dog do its business in Tasmyn’s yard. So for some sweet, sweet revenge, she planned to steal a bunch of his stuff. It was the perfect target for her and Morgan, since he presumably had a toaster and she knew his wife had some very fancy jewelry. Giddy when she heard the doorbell ring, Tasmyn pranced over to the front door. She opened it wide and smiled even wider. “Morgan! Welcome to my home!”

Morgan wasn’t sure how Tasmyn had managed to get a house on Harris Island on a hostess salary, but the fae worked in mysterious ways, and most rich people had it too good anyway. She rocked on her heels at the door, trying to stay in the moment. She didn’t want to be thinking about what Deirdre was up to, if she was making the mushrooms last longer, if there was going to be more toasters in the garage, and if she should start giving up on having some kind of ‘normal’ ever again. Everything was spinning out of control and leaving her behind. Maybe if she couldn’t get a handle on anything, she could find a way to dip her toe in, see what more of the fuss was about. Theft from the richest of the rich was on a whole other level from messing with street signs and leaving milk out to spoil at the supermarket, but she trusted Tasmyn what she was doing. And, hey, if she could learn to hang with the fae in town better, that was a win all around, right?

She had almost forgotten that Tasmyn was on her own mushroom bender until she answered the door. She hadn’t met the spriggan woman before, but there was something uncanny, even unnatural in her wide smile that suggested she wasn’t this giddy all the time. “Uh, hey!” She said, as brightly as she could manage. “Took us long enough to meet, right? I uh…” She fished into her oversize bag and took out a succulent in a small pot adorned with amethyst pebbles. “Got this for you. And your house. Although, it looks like you’re not really hurting for decor. So, who’s our lucky mark tonight?”

Morgan didn’t look quite the way Tasmyn had pictured. Sure, she had seen actual pictures of the woman online, but she was quite short in person. Maybe she just had the natural confidence of a tall person. Comparing expectations to reality was one of her favorite things about meeting people from online. “Way too long! But here we are now!” Without warning, Tasmyn leaned in and engulfed her tiny new friend into a tight hug. She hadn’t heard from Ulfric in a while, and while she enjoyed the company of some of her co-workers, none of them were friends. It was nice to be with a friend, especially one who understood. As she pulled back from the hug she noticed the items that Morgan was holding. Her eyes widened with joy. “Oh my! You brought me gifts? Nonsense! I am still deep into redecorating. The previous owners had wretched taste.” She grabbed the small plant and immediately retreated to the living room to find a suitable home for it. “Oh! The Crawfords!” After rearranging the plant on the coffee table a few times, she finally found a spot she liked and turned her full attention back to Morgan. “They are so awful. Always looking at me funny. Letting their stupid ugly dog go in my yard. Apparently they were friends with the people who lived here before me and don’t like that I live here now.”

Morgan stepped falteringly into the house. Everything was a mishmash of aesthetic and color, so off and strange she couldn’t figure out which belonged to Tasmyn and which to the last owners. Knowing the place was stolen property didn’t surprise her as much as it should have, and she had to hand it to Tasmyn when it came to the location. “It’s very impressive here,” she said. “Do you ever feel lonely though, being in so much house all by yourself? Or--” She smiled sheepishly, remembering the mushrooms. “Is this not the time to talk about stuff? Should you just...show me around the place? Don’t wanna bore you or anything.”

“Sometimes. But, honestly I’ve lived mostly alone for … oh, about two decades. Ever since I ran away from my husband. Except for a few years when I lived with Isla. But, mostly alone. It’s not so bad! Tons of space to throw parties with friends. Not that I have enough friends in town to fill this house… but, maybe if I stick around long enough I will!” Tasmyn had started talking before Morgan had offered to not talk about ‘stuff’, and was rambling so quickly that she didn’t even really notice the comment. “Oh, Morgan! You could never bore me! But, yes - I can show you around if you want. We’re in the living room now, you came in through the foyer - OH! Lemme show you the kitchen. I just got the new table last week. The old one was made of glass and was so ugly. This one is made of strong wood, like you’d find in a forest. I wonder what kind of kitchen the Crawfords have. We’ll obviously see their kitchen when we take their toaster.”

Morgan followed Tasmyn around, inching closer to her as her story went on.”I remember you telling me a couple of things, that you might be in danger sometime,” she said. “Are you really okay right now? You know, when things get back to normal, you can come stay with me and Deirdre, if you ever need. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.” But, right. The theft. And...the toasters. “Yeah! And, you know, maybe some nice shiny jewelry. We should get something for you too. And your house. As long as it’s something you really like.” She gave Tasmyn an encouraging smile, but it felt thin. Being easy going was turning out to be a lot harder than she’d reckoned. Maybe she was the lonely one. “Where do they live anyway?”

Tasmyn cocked her head to the side slightly. Morgan seemed genuinely curious, maybe even genuinely concerned. She wasn’t really used to that, especially given this was the first time they had ever even met in person. “I’m okay right now.” It was difficult knowing that people in town cared for her. It would make it that much harder to leave when he found her. “I don’t think he’d expect me to come to America, so that’ll probably buy me more time than usual.” Almost as casually as she had first started talking, she quickly changed to the topic at hand, thievery. “Yes! I like lockets, I don’t know if they have any. But I intend to find out!” Tasmyn went back into the living room and out one of the sliding glass doors that lead to one of her many balconies. Presuming that Morgan was following her, she pointed at one of the houses in the distance. “It’s about two streets down. The yellow one.”

“More time? More time than what? Tasmyn, you can’t spend your whole life running, that’s not fair to you--” But as quickly as the words had burst out of Morgan, she realized this wasn’t the Tasmyn to have this talk with. “Nevermind. Why don’t you tell me about why you like lockets so much?” It was strange how much the lines between fae did and didn’t blur with one another. Or maybe it was just that she didn’t know Tasmyn well enough to be able to tell the differences yet. She followed the fae through the house and out onto the balcony, which was pretty magnificent, she had to admit. “No. Way. Tasmyn are you kidding me?” A breathless laugh escaped her. “That’s the dean of the chemistry department’s house. He’s a total asshole! That’s amazing! We...have to go right now. How do we do that?”

Tasmyn was done talking about her husband, and thankful so was Morgan. “I like them because they’re more personal than random jewelry. Often engraved and with pictures inside. I don’t know if you know this about us spriggans… but we tend to fixate and steal specific things.” She was admiring the target house when she let out a soft excited gasp at Morgans statement. “Juicy!! Do you hate him? Silly, of course you must if he’s an asshole. Oh I’m so excited! Okay! Let’s head on out!” She turned on her heels and retreated back into her house and pulled out a bag from a hall closet. “I got all the tools right here! Plus snacks. He’s out of town for the weekend with his family, so the place is already totally empty. I know the neighbor who’s watching their dog and managed to make a copy of the spare key. Shit… I wrote the code down for the alarm somewhere…” As she fumbled through the bag she found and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper.  “Got it!”

“Fixate? Like...how? Sorry, I don’t actually know much about spriggans. Or any specific fae species besides what Deirdre is,” Morgan said. “But I’d like to learn more.” She broke into a reluctant smile at Tasmyn’s prodding, fighting back laughs.”Hate is maybe a strong word for how little of my daily headspace he occupies but...you’re not...wrong? I mean, he’s just so pompous, overly self-assured, shallow, elitist, sexist…” It seemed like the list kept going on even as they gathered their supplies. Tasmyn seemed to have a real system going on here. “Snacks?” She echoed. “Is that traditional for robberies? I’ve never done one before.” Shoplifting, to Morgan’s mind, was different. It was more about things going out than anything going in. No one suspected you of being in the wrong place, just of your purse maybe looking different on the way out. ” She reached for the keycode paper and tucked it into her pocket. Tasmyn seemed okay, but the last  thing they needed were mushrooms making Tasmyn forgetful. “Just for safekeeping, if that’s okay,” she assured. She reached into the bag for a balaclava, twirling it around her finger. If she was gonna do this thing, she may as well go all the way.

“Spriggans like to take things! Any things, really. But many of us have a favorite thing to steal! Mine is engraved lockets. My mother liked fancy hair pins and my father liked shoelaces. We also love to cover ourselves in green tattoos! I could show you one day, but not today. We have work to do.” Tasmyn found it quite freeing to openly talk about her culture with Morgan. Mostly because she was really nice, and never seemed to openly judge her. Plus! She was so willing to go out on this robbery before she even knew they were targeting the man she hated. And boy did she have so many good reasons for hating him. “Of course snacks. Last thing you want is a hungry belly distracting you!” She zipped up her bag and threw it over her shoulder as she stood up. “Sure. Just don’t lose it.” As she flattened her shirt out, she looked up at Morgan. “Okay! Ready to go? I figure we should just go on foot since it’s not weird for me to be walking around the neighborhood and having a car in the driveway might draw too much attention.”

Morgan took one of the candy bars Tasmyn had offered out of politeness and chewed thoughtfully. Still tasted like nothing, but the blend of texture was at least a nice change-up. It was pretty generous for a lady with mushroom for brains. Morgan couldn’t help but feel endeared to her, even if this wasn’t the regular, everyday Tasmyn. She was generous, and the mischief she had her heart set on was hardly violent. “That sounds good, Taz,” she said, her brightness only a little forced. “I think an evening walk would be really great.”

The yellow house was further away than it looked. In the dark, Morgan lost track of just how long they’d been walking, just how much of the yellow siding on the cape-cod style mansion was in sight. Morgan had more questions she was itching to fill the time with, like why lockets, really? Surely there was more to it than that, right? And what did she do with them? Morgan managed to murmur, “So, you’re okay with the mushrooms and stuff? You like being this way?” As they finally neared the house, mostly because it meant the conversation could be short if she didn't like it. To call the building a house was a little grotesquely modest. It towered three stories high in grotesque rebellion against the rustic, simple style of the aesthetic. It reminded Morgan of those yellow popsicles you could get off the ice cream truck that were supposed to taste like banana but mostly tasted like sugar water. Morgan traipsed off the street and into the tall, delicately reedy grass to come up to it from the side. “So, how do you usually get into these places?”

As they walked in silence towards her neighbors house, Tasmyn’s head was racing with thoughts. They weren’t particularly liniar and largely incoherent, but that happened around mushroom season. That’s sort of why Morgan’s question caught her off guard. The question felt loaded, and she couldn’t help but think this must have something to do with Deirdre. After all, Morgan was incapable of truly enjoying the bliss of the mushrooms like her girlfriend could. “I do. It’s… well, it's a nice way to escape for a little while. My dreams are better when the mushrooms are in town. I’m not as anxious all the time. And I know, humans tend to equate it to the dumb human drugs you all have. But I’ve been around for quite some time, I know how to handle my mushrooms.” As she finished talking Tasmyn realized that they had just rounded the street and the house was now in view. There was a slight nonchalant shrug before she responded, “Well, if I don’t have the connections for keys and alarm codes, I just go old-fashioned. Pick a lock, jimmy a window, cut the power.” Tasmyn began to walk up to the house, she fumbled around in her bag and her pockets for a moment before she pulled the key out. “But, we lucked out with this one. Much easier to do with a key.”

“Around for how long?” Morgan asked, eyebrow quirked. “Or is that not polite to ask a lady?” It was strange to think of Tasmyn as being a hundred or even sixty years old. Even with what she knew of how long Banshees could live, knowing vaguely what kinds of shadows Tasmyn was running from, she didn’t seem as old as all that. She thought about the mushroom dreams, and of how she and her Mushroom girlfriend curled around each other at night in spite of all the back and forth and misunderstandings. Was she happy while she slept? Did she at least feel like she was loved then? Morgan wasn’t sure how cozy she wanted the mushroom to be in her real girlfriend’s life, or what it meant that Tasmyn seemed...almost normal, for a fae.

She followed Tasmyn to the door, impressed that she already had a key picked out and ready to go. The door opened for them as if they belonged and she stepped inside. “Geez, aren’t you impressive,” she smirked. Everything in the front rooms was shiny as a magazine, even in the dark. The outline of her shadow glistened on the polished floors. Morgan eyed the antique knick knacks, the glossy vases done up in “exotic” styles, the fancy kitchenware she’d only seen on TV. It was stupid to be jealous with all the resources she had now, but she still burned to see all of this stuff being sat on by this guy who only cared about his research and his status. “You know, I can kind of see the appeal of this…” She ghosted her finger around the curve of a copper plate. It could be hers, if she wanted. She only had to touch it, stick it in a bag. No bargains, no price, just some mild re-distribution of someone else’s wealth. Funny, it wasn’t that hard to make sense of after all. “So, where do we start?”

A small laugh escaped Tasmyn’s lips at the question. “Oh, spriggans aren’t like some fae. We live for just about as long as humans do. Theres rumors of some elder spriggans who lived to be 100, but most of us only live for about 80 years or so. I’ll be 49 this year.” Some people that she had gotten close to in her life had questioned why she never seemed to turn her back on spriggan culture despite the fact that, arguably, it is the reason for so much of her pain. The answer was simpler than most people would expect. It was the only identity she’d ever known. And growing up, when she was within the safe walls of the colony, she was happy. It wasn’t their fault that she wasn’t born with wings. She wasn’t going to let the actions of a few dictate her feelings for the many.

“Well, we start with you pulling out that alarm code you kept safe and putting that into the little box on the wall.” She instructed with a simple wave of her had towards where she had spotted the alarm system on the wall in the foyer. Her eyes danced around the house that was sprawled out in front of them. Man they could really have a field day here, huh? “Wait! First, put these on.” Tasmyn reached into the bag and tossed a pair of black gloves at Morgan, then slipped an identical pair onto her hands. “Can never be too careful. Or that’s what my dad always said.” Jewelry would be upstairs. Toasters would be in the kitchen. “Now, split up and grab whatever you like!” Tasmyn encouraged as she took off up the stairs looking for the master bedroom. People rarely took their best pieces of jewelry on vacation, which meant there had to be a jewelry box somewhere. As she rooted around upstairs, she found some really wonderful items. A ruby ring, some diamond earrings, a weird broach that looked vaguely like a bird.

After a while of grabbing random items that caught her eye, she heard the sound of a garage door opening. Was Morgan in the garage? No, that seemed unlikely. Tasmyn ran back downstairs, checking in the upstairs rooms to see if Morgan had come up there. Once she got back to the ground floor, she whisper-yelled, “Morgan?? Are you in the garage? Did you hear that noise or was it in my head?”

For some reason, Morgan hadn’t imagined that there were any fae that lived to be less than a hundred without Warden or accidental intervention. A sad pang rumbled in her stomach; even if she and Taz stayed friends, it wouldn’t be for very long, in the grand scheme of things. Then again, most of her friends wouldn’t. Whatever good moments (even strange moments) she had now were going to have to be jarred and preserved against the centuries she hoped would follow. Morgan snapped on the gloves and put in the alarm code, smiling sheepishly at her mistake. “..Sorry,” she said. But Tasmyn didn’t seem very bothered. She disappeared upstairs, smiling with glee, and left Morgan to her own devices.

Four collectible books, three toasters, two wool designer coats, and one very chic fountain pen later, Morgan was starting to feel like she could adapt to this whole thievery thing if the circumstances ever called for it. Then headlights flashed past the window. The garage door made a clicking sound, then an angry, mechanical buzz as it groaned to life.

“Shit. Taz—!” Morgan scampered to the stairs and grabbed the fae by the hand. “Definitely not your head!” She hissed. “What do we DO?”

The garage turned silent. Morgan froze where she stood. Car doors clapped open and shut. The garage door buzzed again. The family was in for the night.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…

“We need to get out of here.” She bolted for the back patio (there had to be a back patio), still clutching her fae friend. There were muffled murmurs in the garage, bickering or fighting, she couldn’t tell, either way could potentially pose a problem. Morgan wrestled with the glass door, too panicked to work out the simple lock on the first or third try, but on the fourth it ripped open with a shrill rattle.

“Honey, did you hear that?”

Morgan stumbled out to the patio. A stream of lights flashed on, strong LEDs that might as well have said INTRUDERS THIS WAY. Morgan yelped, much too loud, and fell backwards over the side of the railing.

Tasmyn could see the panic in Morgan’s eyes and it reminded her why she generally preferred to steal alone, or at least with someone experienced. Almost getting caught was normal in these types of situations. After all, that’s what part of the fun is. But she could tell that Morgan did not find this to be any fun. That made her feel bad. She wanted this to be an enjoyable experience and she had Intel that suggested the family would not be home this evening. But plans change, as they always do, which is why it is so important to be adaptable if you’re going to be a thief. And Tasmyn was very adaptable.“What do we do? We leave. Now!” Without missing a beat, she ran to the rear of the house with Morgan, looking for a back exit. Of course there was one, nearly every house on this road had a balcony. Or more than one. Given that she was the one still a bit higher mushrooms, she was surprised to see that Morgan was the less graceful of the two. Sure, the back porch lights were a bit of a surprise, but tons of things can set those off not just to cat burglar‘s fleeing the scene of a crime. Once outside, she quickly ran over to where Morgan had fallen. Grasping her shoulders with both hands, Tasmyn looked into her eyes and said, “Hey! Listen, you got to get it together okay? We’re gonna be fine. Just gotta listen to me And it will be fine. Got it?“ She didn’t really have a plan… but she was quick on her feet.

Tasmyn looked around at where they were trying to figure out what the quickest way back to her place was. Sure, they could run through the backyards of a few of her neighbors but if people noticed that would be rather suspicious. They could just quietly make their way out onto the main street, after all this was her neighborhood too. She was allowed to go on walks late at night with her friends, nobody really had to know about the stolen items in their possession. “Do you trust me?” Before even waiting for the answer, she grabbed Morgan by the arm and begin to pull her along as she made her way out to the Main Street. “ chances are they don’t even realize anything is missing this evening. That’s why you can’t take the big items, like the TV. They’ll notice that really quickly. Toaster? Won’t notice that until they try to make a bagel in the morning.“ Once out on the street she could still hear the remnants of the couples argument. They were clearly preoccupied. So the two women were able to quietly make their way back down the street towards where Tasmyn lived.

[pagetgram]

Paget Brewster, Bay Dariz, and Oliver Thompson at the 18th Annual Dance With Films Festival Opening Night Party (x)

Paget: “I had worked with Kyle and Molly before. Molly sent me the script and my first thought was, “Ugh, first-time indie director — oh man, I don’t know!” And then I read it and instantly fell in love with the story. I’ve never read anything like it. So I emailed Molly back right away and said, “What do I have to do to get on this film?”  

(full interview below)

Interview: Oliver Thompson’s ‘Welcome to Happiness’ Is the Most Original Indie You’ll See This Year

by Danny Miller, for Cinehiled

Welcome to Happiness is a wildly entertaining metaphysical drama about a children’s book author, Woody (American Sniper’s Kyle Gallner), who is the secret gatekeeper to a magical door in his closet. Strangers show up at his apartment and go through a series of questions and tests, provided to Woody by an old dot matrix printer that seems to work autonomously, letting him determine whether or not they are worthy to pass through the door. Where they are headed and what they will encounter on the other side, however, is a mystery. Oliver Thompson’s first feature is one of the most refreshingly original films that I’ve seen in a long time. It had a jam-packed screening last night at the 18th Annual Dances With Films festival in Hollywood and recently won the Outstanding Achievement in Filmmaking Award at the 2015 Newport Beach Film Festival. Welcome to Happiness boasts an impressive cast including Nick Offerman, Paget Brewster, Frances Conroy, Brendan Sexton III, Olivia Thirlby, Molly C. Quinn, Keegan Michael-Key, and Josh Brener. Just before the film’s Los Angeles premiere, I sat down with writer/director Oliver Thompson, producer Bay Dariz, and cast members Paget Brewster and Brendan Sexton III. I sat down with writer/director Oliver Thompson, producer Bay Dariz, and cast members Paget Brewster and Brendan Sexton III.

Danny Miller: I loved this movie but as I was watching it I kept thinking that no studio would have allowed you to make it. They probably would have forced a lot of changes on you because they wouldn’t have trusted that audiences would “get it.”

Oliver Thompson: Oh, they absolutely would have, yes.

Paget Brewster: This could never have been a studio film.

Oliver: I mean, those are absolutely necessary people who are just doing their jobs.

But are they absolutely necessary? I guess I’m thinking of the 22-year-old studio executives giving you pages and pages of insane notes to make the film less “challenging.”

Ooh, that’s pretty accurate.

What I love about movies like this is that they’re like Rorschach tests — I doubt two people seeing it will have the same impression of what’s going on.

Brendan Dean Sexton III: We’ve certainly heard from people who completely identify with different characters.

Brendan, I think I identified most with your character, Nyles, I’m a little terrified to admit.

Bay Dariz: When you say “challenging,” I think that’s true in the sense that the movie challenges the way audience members look at life, but I don’t think it’s some weird art film that’s inaccessible.

Right. It’s more challenging for studio executives who think moviegoers need to always have the answers and know what’s happening.

Brendan: Yeah, I think “challenging” is a good word to use. The characters in the film are challenged to make some decisions after they walk through the door and the film challenges you in terms of how you think about humanity and the meaning of life.

I loved that we didn’t see what happened when they went through that door. Oliver did you ever consider showing that more explicitly?

Oliver: Never! It was suggested to me one time by a producer but I really think that would have wrecked the film.

Paget and Brendan, you are both such busy actors and you and the rest of the cast obviously don’t choose to be in a film like this for a big pay day. What drew you to the project?

Paget: I had worked with Kyle and Molly before. Molly sent me the script and my first thought was, “Ugh, first-time indie director — oh man, I don’t know!” And then I read it and instantly fell in love with the story. I’ve never read anything like it. So I emailed Molly back right away and said, “What do I have to do to get on this film?”

Bay: Molly showed us that email, by the way, did you know that? We all said, “Whaaat?! Paget Brewster is excited about US?”

Paget: Oh my God, really? But it was such an evocative script and I think the movie came together even more beautifully than what you see on the page. The themes are just extraordinary, you don’t find that very often.

Brendan: Yeah, I thought it was a visually compelling literary script that moved really well. Not only was it a great role and a great script, it also tackled big things. Just reading a great script is such a rare thing — getting a chance to be involved with one is an even rarer treat, especially a film that really tackles the human condition.

I love all the little touches like making Kyle Gallner’s Woody a children’s book author.

Oliver: I wanted him to have a certain innocence about him. I used to be a music teacher at a small private school in Michigan — I wanted to have him involved with kids in some way. I toyed with the idea of making him a teacher or even a nanny, but then I went with a more literary approach.

I love that you showed all those children’s books that he wrote. I know they weren’t real but I so wanted them!

What’s crazy is that there’s so much more to those fake books that what you see on the screen. We show the cool front covers but they all have back covers, too, with a photo of Woody, a bio, bar codes, even prices for the U.S. and Canada. Some of those books were completely written and illustrated by Bay!

I love that attention to detail, you should really sell them! How has it been showing the film to audiences?

Before Dances With Films, we only screened it at the Newport Beach Film Festival so far. The audience reaction was overwhelmingly positive — it was just fantastic, better than we could have ever imagined.

It’s crazy that you don’t have a distributor yet but I’m sure that will change very shortly.

We’ve had some people from that world sit down with us and try to prepare us for what we’ll probably hear: “You have to cut the film down to 90 minutes! Change the title! What were you thinking starting your title with a ‘W’?!”

Why is that bad?

Because when you’re on HBO GO, it’ll come up at the end of the alphabetical list.

Oy. Do audience members try to get you to tell them what the film means?

At Newport Beach, we had a phenomenal Q&A after the film. People asked very meaningful questions about things we couldn’t even believe they noticed. We went so long that the theater finally had to kick us out because they were turning off the lights. As far as what the film is about, I don’t think I’m in a place yet to pull the David Lynch “you figure it out on your own” card, but I’d love to get to that place. I think I have to be a little more giving but to tell the truth, it’s fun to talk about that.

You should give wildly different answers every time someone asks you to explain the film.

(Laughs.) That would be great. Did you see that documentary Room 237 about all the supposed meanings behind Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining?

Paget: Oh, that was great! All these conspiracy theorists saying that Kubrick was trying to tell us that we faked the moon landing.

Oliver: Yeah, they presented several different crazy theories including that it was really about the genocide of Native Americans!

You want it to be like that Marshall McLuhan scene in Annie Hall when McLuhan appears in that movie line to tell the pretentious blowhard that all of his theories about his film were total bullshit!

Oliver: I haven’t heard any crazy theories about Welcome to Happiness yet, but who knows?

Brendan: I think the world Oliver created here is so rich and compelling it could lead to crazy theories. I think it would make a great TV show, too.

Oliver: Well, two of my biggest influences for this film were Twin Peaks and Lost. They were buzzing around my head when I wrote this script.

Brendan: You could have a new case every week or maybe focus on three different characters each season who go through the door and see how they intertwine.

Bay: Sshhh! It’s been discussed!

Just promise me you’ll have a series finale that’s less aggravating than the one on Lost!

Oliver: I don’t know. I realize that ending didn’t really answer a lot of questions but I was pretty moved by it. In my opinion, people think they want all the answers, but they really don’t.

Paget: And we’re still talking about that finale five years after the show went off the air! I think that kind of response is a lot better than an ending that is just “meh.”

Oliver: I heard director Nicolas Winding Refn say that if you’ve made something that half the people love and half the people hate, you’ve made something great. But if you make something that everyone loves or everyone hates, you probably haven’t succeeded because it didn’t really penetrate.

He doesn’t have to worry about the lack of people hating his most recent film!

The truth is, I’m very aware that this movie is not for everyone. But look at how many viewers Lost had each week. There was never a more challenging hour on TV! “What did I just watch? I have no idea what’s going on!” And yet people tuned in. I really believe there’s an audience for that kind of stuff. People are smart — they like to think. It’s just that a lot of people controlling the money don’t always realize that people like to be engaged or challenged with thought-provoking material.

Bay: One thing I noticed about our Q&As is that we don’t get a lot of those typical film festival questions.

Oliver: Right. “What did you shoot it on? How long was your shoot?”

Ugh. Who gives a shit?

That’s the thing. In this case, people got right to the heart of the film and wanted to talk about the characters and the themes. People were so engaged by what was on the screen that they didn’t care about what was behind the screen.

[incarnateirony]

S15 Remaster: Grace, Souls, Conversion; Effects of the Fall; The Journey of Man; Self-Godhood and Free Will.

Alright, so over in another thread (x) @curioussubjects​ evoked an interesting take about the effects of the fall vs grace/souls and the meaning of the two, and I remembered having an old post that was a bit of a mess from early S13 where I applied Qabbalistic concepts to SPN not long before the actual... Qabbalistic and Hermetic elements started manifesting (The Shadow, the Empty/Ain Soph, etc) and before I pretty much started flipping theological shit.

The other thread was already becoming titanic with a hodge podge of other philosophical musings between users (I think @winchestersingerautorepair​ and @thecoffeebrain-blog​ are still pending to add their additions to it once life clears them), so we sort of mutually agreed to save this discourse for another thread while I took some time to remaster and update the old talking points.

It's a fundamental point that is generally vaguely brushed over, or often has modern concepts plugged into it in streamlined media form rather than exploration: What makes a soul, what makes existence, what makes meaning in our lives.

This, in fact, is the fundamental question and exploration *of* the soul, which Dabb's SPN seems to be tackling fairly directly.

So let's explore the differences and transitional conversions of grace and soul as we've witnessed in SPN. I'll be starting with my take, but of course, as all philosophical discussions go, this is best a conversation of shared concepts.

Also uh, this post was kinda on-request but is literally ridonculously long. Fuck Andrew Dabb for being the only person on the face of the goddamn planet that can make me write infinite words about esoteric philosophy about a TV show.

So this conversation gets a bit difficult to even know where to begin. I'm going to notch a few notes for everybody to keep in mind: Season 6: Death can not destroy souls. Souls are the most powerful known force in the universe, and he who has the most Is Become God. Season 13: Only god can create new angels, they are the biological definition of an asexually reproductive species (as opposed to sexual orientation identity) -- they are unable to create among themselves, and must be created by a supreme force in command of the grace that creates them. This will passively brush over the oft-discussed topic of angel sexuality as well, but that is far from the core point. Season 14: God calls souls "complicated" to handwave away making new ones. Season 15: Yet again, Belphegor tried to consume souls to become a great power, reflecting S6/7 Castiel's arc.

Now that I've sort of dropped those as a lead-in of applicable concepts, I'd like to move forward.

Now as per my S13 listing, we've all seen this fandom turn over and try to apply human sexuality and identity labels to angels over and over again and, while I understand that and mean no offense to that in general, I feel like approaching it from that angle of the human perspective and lens makes a great deal of the substantiative qualities of SPN's discussion of the human soul vanish into the aether. How are these things related? Let's talk!

Sex isn’t the only part of this discussion. As they are wavelength lifeforms, rather than biological, they aren’t really dependent on biological functions. Many of their native elements pass to their vessels: They don’t eat, sleep, or have general body functions… normally.

Their senses are all sorts of different, too. They see in the astral, they taste and smell in molecular compounds, and especially early-vessel-claiming, they seem to have next to no actual pain response. It’s like, well, some giant wave form stuffed in a meat sack they use like a marionette more than having genuine attachment to. Early on angels could waltz through gunfire without flinching and take a knife to the chest with a very bland look of, “Really?”

When it comes to discussing angels and grace, I'm going to pull some sections from the linked post at the start of this:

We know the biblical concept that all things are made by grace; we know Chuck controls his fake construct, but not the free will of the human soul. Consider Gabriel’s constructed worlds where he can manipulate the fake people inside it and snap them away in veils of blue, they’re just pieces of a machine. “I’m the cage.” The human body is part of the sandbox, but the soul is something beyond it.

If angels are living aspects of grace, wavelengths of celestial intent for Chuck’s machinations, the programs that keep the matrix in order – and fallen angels are the rogue programs – they’re still relatively connected to being just… an animated, if intelligent rock or any other piece of the universe. To use more Matrix terms: Just more lines of code. But Castiel’s break in that was contact with his profound bond with Dean that left a mark on him, a brand, just like Balthazar’s soul claims. This tie was powerful enough to be stronger than even Amara’s connection to Dean, for example.

The human soul is the essence of the one true good, realistically – The One Thing that exists, truly, by which all other things come, the Prima Materia – “What Jack did wasn’t evil, it was the absence of good.” – this is actually a hermetic concept but that’s a whole other bag of words, that’s how I quoted that line before the episode aired from the title alone but MOVING ON

If we look at Eileen for example, her ghost is still deaf. Her body/cage/vessel in life never introduced her consciousness, her humanity, to the tactile sense of sound as it exists within Chuck’s sandbox, ergo her spirit doesn’t know it. But it is the soul, like the sleeper, seeking the meaning of its existence and where it is home that commands the body, and leaves the body, and ends up in chuck’s other matrixes of control like heaven and hell that keep people distracted, keep humans from returning to the primordial man that rivals or maybe even betters God.

That all said, human Cas for example suddenly had the full awareness of experience, rather than an autonomous sentient part of the universe chained to divine intent, free or not; that freedom and liberty came by way of the human soul. (Per metatron, Season 8 finale, “When you die and your soul comes to heaven,”)  But with his tie to Dean, and humanity, and a soul his hands laid on, the extraction of his grace also left… but what? A soul born of Dean, really.

Whenever his grace came back, that universal power and awareness, he lost those senses, but he didn’t lose many of the attributes that came with. In fact he pined for them.

Also if we go Jungian with the inky man/shadow as the primordial man or spirit of man, Anthropos, while it didn’t reflect Lucifer, Billie, or soulless Jack it reflected Castiel.

I’ve held the theory that Castiel still has a soul like the nucleus of an egg buried beneath a titanic presence of universal power.

I’d also further endorse this by pointing out while metatron cited Cas having a soul in the S8 finale, when Jack lost his, neither Dean nor Cas thought Cas could empathize as well as Sam could.

In example, Castiel is the only one the Shadow reflected, not Billie, not Soulless Jack, not Lucifer, just Castiel; I’ve even gone so far as to speculate that the smiley attempt at communication was the sort of subconscious borg having the essence of Jack’s soul trying to communicate with his spirit/mind otherwise alert based on consumed grace in the Empty. Speculation, yes, but… potentially loudly resonant.

The journey of man to self-godhood is a complex and tangled affair, traveling through facets of the self represented by a wide array of *ideas* we have begun to face in the show (including color schemes Dabb has actively employed)

If you venture into my shorthand visual post about The Shadow, Anima, Animus, and the Self (x) you'll find how the show has chosen to address this. Similarly, the masculine and feminine paths of universal progenation would be worth a cursory read (x).

Similarly, @winchestersingerautorepair​ recently sent me a chart from a 1973 book titled "The Colors of Love" discussing Hellenistic use of color in association (which, minding alchemy's growth path through time, is hugely relevant). As Maeve said, "John Allen Lee is the mvp by the way. Hes at the crossroads of psychology and LGBT concepts of love and sexuality, and has a fascinating career and life story."

Before I fully locked on to just how loud Dabb was being in his use of alchemy rather than casually tapping on it, you may remember a series of color metas I built specifically on these very colors (and, let's face it, black light doesn't exist, but blue does, and has similar psychological associations). Click this (x) to go to my color metas on tumblr regarding Optimism, which follows this path. Unfortunately my Nihilism one is either untagged or I only posted it on Pillowfort. But you’ll take note I just sort of avoided/dodged/ignored established fanon color meta in favor of other stuff, just a heads up there if you’re expecting me to follow anyone else’s pre-existing fanon -- it ain’t there.

This is all an aside to the actual question of *souls*, but an important framework to how Dabb is choosing to explore the journey of the soul through its many aspects of Being.

To defer back to what I quoted from my other post about Gabriel's universes: What makes humanity different from the moving bodies performing functions of controlled story, rather than guided elements, inside Gabriel's world? If we were to, say, drift into Doctor Sexyverse, or Cop Proceduralverse, nobody seemed to flinch or even be aware of Sam and Dean breaking the script, they continued on their own paths until Sam and Dean "played their parts". But what made Sam and Dean *different* from them?

Explaining freedom to angels is "a bit like teaching poetry to a fish," said Castiel, now bound to humanity since laying his hands on the human soul in hell that, even the S8 DVD commentary mentions, is how he has come to know, love and, as they say, be "enamored with" humanity. We have seen it now-- blank stares of confusion from breaking their course of action, their function. Their predesigned purpose that they were wavelengths of intent for within the machine. They aren't all so different from Gabriel's creations in the end, with Doctor Sexy's Nurses being not too unlike angels to Chuck. They are there for a path and a reason, and should they be somehow interrupted from that function, they seem to lose all purpose.

To convert this to another method of understanding than "matrix code", in case that isn't sinking in with anyone, think of angels as forces of nature. The hurricane means no malice, it simply exists as a function of or even result of universal laws, and often evokes great rebalancing effects that change the course of history for a huge amount of humans and other creatures that it's basically oblivious to. The hurricane does not understand your feelings much less care about them. It is here to do what it does until it is done with what it does. This very concept is why so many ancient gods are primitive archetypes of natural forces.

If we cease trying to box angels into human perceptions for the want to identify with them in such a representation-light landscape, the field opens up to something infinitely more complicated. Such as: what makes Castiel so different? I've already addressed that, of course, in this post, but let's pitch that as a conversational hook again.

"You want to know why we're meant to stay away from those humans? It's not because we're a danger to them. It's because they're a danger to us."

Now BECAUSE sexuality is the angle this fandom has heavily thrown its discussion chips into beyond the other senses, I'm going to move forward into that topical field:

Anna, talking to Dean, lists a long flurry of reasons to become human, among which sex was stapled. In later seasons, Cas comes up with a different list, but it’s more reflective of his emotive view of humanity, and doesn’t include the sex. Either way, it actually leaves interesting take on the human soul’s function (which is also a silent part of something I’ll get to later** ) as per the trinity of mind-soul-body sometimes called “The Threefold Nature of Man” in a lot of classic mysticism. **

So why would Anna include sex in the list if others can enjoy it? There’s various reasons of taking this into consideration, and I consider most headcanon potentials valid since… you know, there’s really no clear statement on this.

- Most angels have a copilot and that’s just creepy AF - It could be subliminal commentary of wanting to enjoy a native drive for it rather than a learned one, since affections and emotions are also canonically attached to the human condition (as well as the 3fold Nature discussed later). - It could have to do with gradual humanization effects (will discuss shortly) - Misc other.

Barring our specific presumption of why this hangs in the air, the detail is that it simply *does*. Perhaps the truth is between all of these, with each angel unto their own.

Anna lurked, invisibly, on earth observing men as long as she knew. Now, gradual humanization effects is a complete headcanon proposal associated around  all elements to be covered in this discussion. That is to say, most angels that have exhibited sexual behavior and enjoyment of various goods have either been fallen or in their vessels for a LONG TIME, perhaps gradually removing the disassociation from the body and gaining familiarity with its functions.

Yes, we can evoke Balthazar’s sexual activity, but we must also evoke his appreciation for wine and food and music and all of the other things that we have canonically, even mechanically witnessed in Castiel (inability to appreciate food or drink, in example, as an angel.) So WHAT makes Balthazar different that he CAN experience all of these things (beyond the potential of Plothole AF)? There is literally something he has that other angels don’t. The second Cas clicks back to angel, he can’t appreciate food anymore and beer does nothing for him, but Balthazar can enjoy alcohol? There is LITERALLY a difference of template of EVERYTHING going on here, not just sexuality. We can postulate it all we want, but the only one that immediately comes to mind is “gradual humanization”, as we haven’t the FOGGIEST idea how long he has had his vessel. Unless we assume various appreciations of his are Just An Act, but then why not assume it’s performance behavior on the sexuality too? Pick one or the other, don’t run the line on both. (Also if you want to be under the assumption that despite terminal soul dealing it was his first vessel run, I’m going to leave this as a note, and a REMINDER of his meddling in attachment to, handling, trade and use of human souls for his own means, and tuck this aside until we GET to the meaning of human souls.)

The VERY SAME can be said of Gabriel. And Gabriel we KNOW has been on earth as Gabe for a VERY. LONG. TIME. His sweet tooth is what got him busted. Again, it’s not just about his sexuality, it’s his entire composition is somehow DIFFERENT from otherwise canonical function of angels.

Again I point out there’s also a big ??????? on Naomi because again… 400 year old Crowley in Mesopotamia. We have no educated way to even ADDRESS that one because… is it a time warp? WTH??? Even Mark called this a plothole. Literally we have to headcanon how they were even there together before we headcanon what was even going on in a big old pillar of ridiculous headcanon, so I’m going to float that off in a box labeled with a question mark and admit, it’s just random AF. The “fling” is also implied and unclear. So I mean- we’ll just… note that and keep moving on why it’s never impacted my perception of this much.

How long fallen was Lucifer?

Hannah brings an obvious question to mind in challenge to all of my surrounding premises, but this is literally where “choice of experimentation within a vessel” comes into play, as with all of them. I’m human now, this seems like a fun thing to humans, let me try the thing; that’s all I’ve ever read that as. You may have your read of it otherwise, but angels try a lot of things. And I’ll bring this up during canon talk.

The concept of humanization-with-time does have some further established presence of S13. When Lucifer is still an angel but largely drained of his grace, he too begins feeling compulsions of hunger, cold, and basic human instinct he was previously immune to. Diminished power, and the closer one comes to being of Soul Rather than Grace, the more they seem to resonate. Anna carved out her grace to fully enjoy humanity and was born into it, experiencing its gifts of awareness. Cas can no longer fully enjoy humanity as an angel. We don’t know what Balthazar’s status is. And so on. But it appears that by VARIOUS METHODS, such as the depletion of grace or just being a long-assed time to attach to a specific vessel, they do end up ATTAINING various behaviors.

Preparing to speak on Humanized Angels.

What really triggered this premise to me was the recurring humanization of Castiel. And again, this goes far beyond just sexuality preferences. I’m going to do a brief break to get to that ** I marked above about the threefold nature of man before expanding.

** Mind-Soul-Body trinity:

Angels have the mind/spirit (grace) and body, but lack a soul; grace is closer to their natural body’s composition than molecular and transmits a wavelength thought into whatever sack they’re using to operate. But there’s a disconnect here in classic mind-soul-body structure (which is sometimes alternately listed as Body-Spirit-Soul, with Soul as the mind instead, and Spirit in place of the alternate listing of Soul? People swap these terms interchangeably but you’ll find a common pull). There’s multiple takes on this. For example, we’ll go with the standard accepted biblical take as a first ideation of it, considering the various judeochristian influences of SPN.

Please NOTE I’m going to list several variations of this, and have no hard cast “this is the exact model” they’re using, as much as “this is a recurring theme in religion and philosophy”, which, while SPN is rarely 100% accurate to any one specific model, they often call on.

The EXACT itterations of this vary, and there’s no real saying which exact respective “silent ven diagram” they’re using, but as if a triple circle overlapped with Mind, Body, Spirit with the balance we as humans know at the core. Removing a rung of this strips out major overlap of function.

The inner spirit, insight, will and memory reaching from spirit/mind to body by WAY of the soul, for the spirit to engage the human senses within the constructed universe

CASTIEL

Well, perhaps I’ve been down here with them for too long. There’s seemingly nothing but chaos. But not all bad comes from it. Art. Hope. Love. Dreams.

HANNAH

But t-those are human things.

CASTIEL

Yes.

To fully understand this chart, I again point to (as earlier in this post) this previous post about primordials, explaining the chain (x), Anima Animus and the Shadow (x) and also its association with the paths on way to enlightenment at the source of creation which is explored, for a particular path, right here (x)

Just another way to stack out this chart, including the adventure of Anima and Animus, as well as the id/ego/superego I’ll discuss soon; However, you can see the literal concept is the same. There’s an inner mind, a central essence of the inner court that reflects close to the aspects of Humanity Cas told Hannah, and then the “living room” of the body, and the senses. Same deal. Again, "I'm the cage."

You see a running theme here?

The Soul is essentially commonly received as a vehicle between the higher mind and the body (as well as possessing aspects of our emotion, and sense of self, such as how Sam lost parts of himself without his soul) That, without which, we are lacking various critical anchors of the human experience that we often see lacking in angels.

This therein raises the challenge, “But Soulless Sam was ALL ABOUT the sex.”

That’s where species difference comes in.

We’ll talk psychology a bit, wherein we have the psychological variances of id, ego and superego rather than just body-soul-mind/spirit. They essentially perform the same functions (base instinct drive, early personality function, learned and refined function with choices etc, to boil it down to super-simplistics).

“According to this Freudian model of the psyche, the id is the set of uncoordinated instinctual trends; the super-ego plays the critical and moralizing role; and the ego is the organized, realistic part that mediates between the desires of the id and the super-ego.” – Freud, Sigmund. The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud. Vol. XIX. Translated from the German under the General Editorship of James Strachey. In collaboration with Anna Freud. Assisted by Alix Strachey and Alan Tyson, Vintage, 1999. [Reprint.] ISBN 0-09-929622-5

A Sam with no soul has his base species survival instinct but his acting mind. A Cas with no soul has HIS base species survival instinct (in lack of sexual reproduction as much as potential learned appreciation under the above spoken methods) for an id, if any, and a curiously arranged body until other elements come into play. The ego and superego, such as the application of a soul, leaves room for the gradual inclusion of preferences to anything within this model, such as angels developing their own ORIENTATION once having a vehicle by which to come through.

There’s a few other points to notice about the transition. The Mind/Spirit is capable of questions and doubts, or faith. “I’m not a hammer, as you call it; I have questions, I have doubts.” - S4 Castiel.

The mind is capable to think and to reason, but complex emotions are a challenge to it without a soul, which also filters our thoughts and memories from upper mind into the body, wherein we gain connectivity to the physical senses and the realm we experience.

But the universe -- the wavelengths of intent that make it function -- simply can not experience itself, any more than any other code running on your computer can experience itself. It is you, the human, that experiences the results of that code, and views and understands it and reaches out to aspects of life through it. Grace, should all things be made by it and through Chuck, as the thing that creates this code/intent of angels -- it simply is, and runs, and functions.

So BACK TO THE HUMANIZATION OF ANGELS,

Castiel has humanized or near-humanized three times and we're pending on a fourth. Briefly in the hospital, he was braindead (lacking Jimmy’s brain function, but instead having his own mind) while his heart remained pumping, meaning the body/vessel was alive, but the remaining grace WAS in fact functioning in place of a mind.

CASTIEL 5.21 I just woke up here. The doctors were fairly surprised. They thought I was brain-dead. (…) CASTIEL You could say my batteries are – are drained. DEAN What do you mean? You’re out of angel mojo? CASTIEL I’m saying that I am thirsty and my head aches. I have a bug bite that itches no matter how much I scratch it, and I’m saying that I’m just incredibly… DEAN Human. Wow. Sorry.

However, it was depleted, and this is addressed in effect later on by Metatron removing grace. As grace is removed,

METATRON 8.23 And now something wonderful is going to happen, for me and for you. I want you to live this new life to the fullest. Find a wife. Make babies. And when you die and your soul comes to Heaven, find me. Tell me your story.

Now Castiel goes on to return to himself by going all cannibal and whatnot, but that’s its own story. The simple fact of it is, with the mind housed in a vessel, but the grace attached to it depleted, the body seems to generate something like, equivalent to, or equal to a human soul in its function.

Now to reflect back

2014!CASTIEL 5.04 So, in this way. We’re each a fragment of total perception—just, uh, one compartment in that dragonfly eye of group mind. Now, the key to this total, shared perception—it’s, um, it’s surprisingly physical. 2014!CASTIEL spots DEAN. 2014!CASTIEL Oh. Excuse me, ladies. I think I need to confer with our fearless leader for a minute. Why not go get washed up for the orgy? The WOMEN leave. 2014!CASTIEL You’re all so beautiful. 2014!CASTIEL stands and stretches his back, grunting. DEAN What are you, a hippie? 2014!CASTIEL I thought you’d gotten over trying to label me. (…) 2014!CASTIEL I wish I could just, uh, strap on my wings, but I’m sorry, no dice. DEAN What, are you stoned? 2014!CASTIEL Uh, generally, yeah. DEAN What happened to you? 2014!CASTIEL Life. (…) 2014!CASTIEL You want some? DEAN Amphetamines? 2014!CASTIEL It’s the perfect antidote to that absinthe. DEAN Mmm. Don’t get me wrong, Cas. I, uh. I’m happy that the stick is out of your ass, but—what’s going on—w-with the drugs and the orgies and the love-guru crap? 2014!CASTIEL laughs. DEAN What’s so funny? 2014!CASTIEL Dean, I’m not an angel anymore. DEAN What? 2014!CASTIEL Yeah, I went mortal. DEAN What do you mean? How? 2014!CASTIEL I think it had something to do with the other angels leaving. But when they bailed, my mojo just kind of— psshhew!—drained away. And now, you know, I’m practically human. I mean, Dean, I’m all but useless. Last year, broke my foot, laid up for two months. DEAN Wow. 2014!CASTIEL Yeah. DEAN So, you’re human. Well, welcome to the club. 2014!CASTIEL Thanks. Except I used to belong to a much better club. And now I’m powerless. I’m hapless, I’m hopeless. I mean, why the hell not bury myself in women and decadence, right? It’s the end, baby. That’s what decadence is for. Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out? But then that’s, that’s just how I roll.

Now, we can try to extrapolate that it’s “all the drugs,” but drugs or not, while decadence includes MORAL decline, it also is this:

dec·a·dence ˈdekədəns/Submit noun moral or cultural decline as characterized by excessive indulgence in pleasure or luxury.

And Cas doesn’t get words wrong (unless he’s trying to make an awkward conversation starter with Dean as what’s almost a routine for them, always in idioms and never in definition). In fact, he has a very on-point vocabulary. How often does someone evoke “Insouciant”?

Calling it decadence defines this as a luxury to Castiel. The entire episode is like One Giant Exposition of the differences: being breakable, prone to decadence, bang a few gongs on the way out. Yes, it includes drugs; hell, he’s now subject to being INFLUENCED by drugs, contrary to being able to drink down the entire bar before “starting to feel something” or needing to drink the whole liquor store before the grace stopped implicitly filtering it enough for him to stagger in on Sam. At some point, Castiel decided these were ALL his coping mechanisms, but this is an adaptation of some period of humanization between late 2009 and 2014.

This could be considered a one-off of Zachariah’s manipulation or whatever if we choose to ignore Edlund saying it was a real universe, but then we get the SAME THING hitting us again in season 9, if under a different, immediate scope rather than “end result.”

9.01 CASTIEL looks at his bloody palm. CASTIEL It hurts. (…) MAN How about we get you some water, hmm? CASTIEL I, uh, I don’t drink water. (…) CASTIEL It’s okay. I don’t eat.

and

9.03 CASTIEL (Chewing on the toothpaste) I’ll be moving on tonight after work. It’s time. The MAN nods and hangs up his towel. CASTIEL Can I ask you something? MAN Sure. CASTIEL walks into one of the bathroom stalls. CASTIEL Do you ever tire of urinating? I’ll never get used to it. (…) HOMELESS MAN You’re new at this, aren’t you? CASTIEL Food… sleep, or passing gas, it’s all very strange. And it’s occurred to me that one day I’m gonna die. CASTIEL and the HOMELESS MAN just look at each other curiously. CASTIEL Well… I better try falling asleep. It’s quite a process, isn’t it? (…)

Now, we’re going to take to the raw moment of Castiel and April,

She kisses him gently on the cheek, but stays close and eventually kisses him on the lips. CASTIEL seems surprised at first but then joins in.

Cas is surprised… and then joins in. Castiel did not expect this, but falls into it of his own action. No force was implied, and the moment leading into it was all of a few seconds, rather than any persistence or insistence.

A few more bits,

APRIL So, that was okay? CASTIEL Very much so. Um… what I did, that was, uh… correct? APRIL Very much so. CASTIEL (Smiling) (…) APRIL So what happens next for you? CASTIEL More of this, I hope. They smile and start making out again.

I don’t exactly get the feeling that she’s entirely leading this situation on all by herself, to the dismay of several gatekeeper ship or sexuality stans.

More elements with regards to humanity in this episode,

CASTIEL I am really enjoying this place. Plentiful food. Good water pressure. Things I never even considered before. There really is a lot to being human, isn’t there? DEAN It ain’t all just burritos and strippers, my friend. CASTIEL Yeah. I understand what you’re saying. SAM You do? CASTIEL Yes, there’s more to humanity than survival. You… look for purpose, and you must not be defeated by anger or despair. Or hedonism, for that matter. DEAN Where does hedonism come into it? CASTIEL Well, my time with April was very educational. SAM Yeah. I mean, I would think that getting killed is something. CASTIEL And having sex. DEAN chokes on his burrito for a second. DEAN You had sex with April? SAM Yeah, that would be where the hedonism comes in.

This isn’t just Castiel talking about having sex for the first time. This is Castiel acknowledging the allure of hedonism for the first time (…not minding the timewarp of 5.04, which didn’t happen Because AU.)

And here, also 9.03, before meeting April CASTIEL is once again wandering through the noise and the people. He is trying to take everything in – he glances from a hot dog stand to a woman’s breasts to a supermarket. The whole place is noisy and crowded and confusing. He is overwhelmed.

In 9.03, among this onslaught of Castiel’s change in visual, sound, sensory, and other instinctual acknowledgment of a change in the senses (see back to the 3Fold Nature and the acquisition of a human soul), we also get Castiel rubbernecking at a woman’s chest for the first time, before encountering April; the transcript doesn’t do the moment proper justice with the pure level of focus directors and editors called to it. In fact, we get slow camera pan and a rubberneck that might as well have ended with him walking-flipping into a trashcan blindside.

With all of these stacked connotations aside, I find it difficult to interpret anything but it being installed as a yet-again evocation of a difference in function.

Episodes 1 and 3, the first two episodes Castiel is in during season 9 after losing his grace at the end of season 8, DELUGE us with a current of differences of all of his sensory faculties.

Once his state is “corrected,” (for lack of a better term - Castiel seems to yearn for his humanity back through the show) the show makes a point of showing us a reversal as applicable,

SAM What? What are you talking about? CASTIEL When I was human, you know, I had to eat constantly. It was kind of annoying. SAM Yeah, a lot of human things are pretty annoying. CASTIEL But…I enjoyed the taste of food – particularly peanut butter with grape jelly, not jam. Jam I found unsettling. SAM [sitting on the table next to CASTIEL] So, what? Now you can’t taste PB and J? CASTIEL No, I-I taste every molecule. SAM Not the sum of its parts, huh? CASTIEL It’s overwhelming. It’s disgusting. [looks longingly at the sandwich] I miss you, PB and J.

Once again, paradigm shift. What he once appreciated, amidst the VAST wash of senses they told us about, just seems… null now. Something is missing, and something is different. Again, the universe can no longer experience ITSELF.

Now, I’m going to fall back a bit to cover what would possibly be framed as an argument against all of this, but frankly builds into it,

Back in season 6, Meg was UNABASHEDLY FLIRTING WITH CASTIEL and trying to prompt him to “move some furniture around,” and, in a learned “last night on earth” move, Castiel makes a motion in 6.10

Meg grabs Castiel by the neck and kisses him, at the same time removing his sword. Castiel pushes her up against the wall and returns the kiss with interest. MEG: What was that? CASTIEL: I learned that from the pizza man.

NOTICE. LEARNED THAT.

With FORWARD PROMPTING from Meg, and existing example (porn), Castiel did in fact make a move. That is to say, “learned behaviors” and “personal orientation” beyond “species reproductive instinct”. But as made clear by April, this never led anywhere particular, never completed, and while he expressed wanting repeats with April during being human, this is the only actual example we have of it.

In short: throughout the show, Castiel finds new things and tests new things. These new things become bizarre little childlike obsessions at times even. This one… obviously a little less childlike. (clears throat) But again, this is a process of “learned motion.” (though I’m somewhat disturbed that canonically Emmanuel-Cas sees her face and is absolutely horrified at her appearance, meaning this is also not likely even by nature of physical/spiritual attraction as much as personal, almost a demisexual trait with experimental curiosity which, as an independent idea beyond “holy shit she’s a demon”, is a healthy phase.)

But by way of learned motion/acquired taste and function, we then have the question of “why doesn’t Cas repeat this if he clearly enjoyed season 9?” Well, I can name a few. We can go over the fact that Cas simply doesn’t explore social venues that make it ready. Or we can mention his seeming lack of compulsion for it which ...is a topic of this post. Or we can simply reflect to the *challenges* of hedonism and what it will, in this post, continue to implicitly adventure as the cage and trappings of the human body and experience within what we call “life”, which the human soul extends well beyond.

But it leads us to an interesting series of questions about Castiel and Dean’s seemingly changed interactions in season 12, on a subliminal level.

And no, I’m not implying they’re boning. When Dean is no longer getting strung across a variety of cosmic elements to save him directly from the crosshairs of, or from himself, we’re getting this weird vibe of gruff jealousy, bickering, and infighting. As if Castiel, settling in more among them, is channeling increased humanity. Despite being an angel in some crippled capacity still, personality traits acquired from his human period are still there, leading to believe the soul element never ENTIRELY disappeared, as much as with further ding-dang-donged up grace, we have to wonder - is this almost a sliding scale? Or can both run mutually when one doesn’t overshadow the other? The exact specifics of this mechanic would be unclear.

But all of these complexities is why I find it nearly impossible to, in my head, reduce it to the simple “well some like it and-” because I have always read an intentional base-beat of differentiation between the human and angelic experience including, but not limited to, sex.

There’s a subtle hint of some osmosis of this in what I mentioned above with Hannah. “Perhaps I’ve been with them too long.”

CASTIEL

Well, perhaps I’ve been down here with them for too long. There’s seemingly nothing but chaos. But not all bad comes from it. Art. Hope. Love. Dreams.

HANNAH

But t-those are human things.

CASTIEL

Yes.

And so why I find it impossible to just address “angel sexuality” as its own topic. This may just be my brain at work, but I don’t see all of this effort in dividing their experiences, in a show that addresses theology and concepts like the human soul, to be arbitrary and random and I just see SO much beautiful complexity IN the shift of his sexual behaviors, among other operations. It’s not just about Castiel’s sexuality, it’s about addressing the complex creatures that are humans, and what builds us at a core. Frankly, from that end, it doesn’t matter if Cas is bi, ace, straight or pan – Castiel has been human, and wants to be so again. And it, along with other things littered throughout the show, have given us great insights on the soul, or the lack thereof, and all of these beautiful building blocks.

And so to roll away from approaching sexuality so heavily, and instead ball and bundle that up as part of the human experience within the body, the reflection of the human soul, I hook again: The universe can not experience itself more than Windows OS can experience itself; it requires the essence of man to experience the result of the work of grace and by which it finds many things of itself, even within the trappings of a human life.

The fact that humans are afterwards caged elsewhere is a whole other discussion me and others have been holding in the original linked post, so let's step away from that and instead go back to the concept of, far and away beyond sexuality, what makes a soul, and how is it different from the created universe.

If we were to apply these concepts -- angels, bodies of grace, as parts of the universe and how it functions -- versus the irrevocable free will fundamental to the human soul, dividing bodies from just being roving parts of the construct like Gabriel's realms -- to our dialogue in regards to Castiel as our seeming oddball with a crack in his chassis, "And the universe came to humanity, and laid hands on humanity, and fell in love with humanity to come to know it; it abandoned its own purpose and functions due to this connection to the concept of the human soul, and began to live and dream and love as a man, rebelling against its predesigned function; and one day, the orphic child of both the universe and man looked through the eyes of the universe to first see man, and itself was born from the universe unto man, to live and learn as a man and hold its dominion of both human sovereignty and creator of grace, mastering both realms." in regards to Jack's very creation, and why he is such a huge threat to Chuck's power and control of his realm.  

As a powerful creature of grace, he can take and reroute those elements without issue by authoritative command of the independent liberty of the human soul, free thinking and not just a Doctor Sexy Nurse in motion.

But the question is conversion, which we've seen in both directions, be it Castiel acquiring a human soul or Jack converting humans into angels with his command of both of these dominions. The best I could liken it to is AC/DC energy conversion. It is worth noting, however -- grace can be drained without permission, it is not tied to freedom. Humanity is the body of choice: be that humans choosing to surrender that in the name of glory and power to simply become part of universal functions, which isn't so different from choosing to burn one's own soul away in the name of spells, magic or other power; or the human spirit attached to its cage of a body and life still needing to concede and give permission to be taken BY the forces of the universe, surrendering the potential impact of their own choices within their own moving cage to what the universe would will of it.

Ironically, if you use an AC inverter to power a computer or television, the power supply in the device is converting the 120-volt alternating current into a much lower voltage direct current. The sensitive electronic circuits in these devices need low, regulated voltages to work, so you're actually converting DC to AC so it can be changed back into DC again. You can't use straight direct current without the AC to DC inverter because the device's power supply needs the AC power in order to properly step down and regulate the voltage. That is to say, in conversion parts are lost, but they can still be transmitted; so while Castiel was subject to the human experience, he still struggled with parts like dreaming. It was a young, small spark of a soul, converted from another energy form, and likely with his connection to Dean acting as the inverter.

Demons go to the empty; demons are former human souls that corrupted and lost the light that made them inherently "good." That which defines them. They have collapsed to the pressures of Chuck's universes and let their flame go out. But realistically, that's also antagonized by other human souls in hell trying to escape their own torment.

It has been seen, time and again, that the only thing that can destroy a human soul is... the human soul.

*takes a breath*

And now to explore what @curioussubjects​ has been saying about The Shadow as a recycling Bin of souls, which would predate the universe and even Chuck, I simply repeat this segment, to help master-off this post:

If we take the Shadow as the reflection of the collective soul, which then becomes the substantiative Prima Materia through which all things come (x), including even the potential of Chuck and Amara as manifestations of the primitive concept of masculine and feminine, light and dark as among the first thoughts in the cosmos. But in such by it all things are born, even the universe or the gods, in this proposed theory. It is the primitive self asking (per the far-above chart), first–well, WTF, why am I thinking, but after that – who are they, and then who am I, and then eventually who are you, before the end of the soul’s journey on its path is Who Art Thou, long ventured within the constructed realm to learn what it means that we even exist.

Those first thoughts then create the totemic pillars of creation by which it can explore the very meaning of existence, even if its own thoughts have made cages and trappings for itself in the expansion of infinite time, but those cages are themselves the vehicles of higher learning and experience, and without those cages, the rest is for naught.

This is the nature of the Prima Materia, the One Thing by which all comes which I linked above. If the soul and Prima Materia are synonymous, then while the universe comes by grace, then all things -- even grace -- come by way of the raw template of the collective soul, which then structures all resulting thought and experience through an infinite series of independent human experience that defines who were are, independent to ourselves, beyond the vat of primitive consciousness that binds us.

The question even comes, why not just reset time? But I am good with who I am. I am good with who you are. This isn't just a story. It's our lives. So god or no god, you go to hell.

And so the reincarnate journey of the man, through the many deaths and rebirths of Sam and Dean and lessons gained within the universe, begins to lock on to the meaning of the independent self in what it means in full, beyond the challenges sent by the creator that may very well be a reflection of our own primal thoughts, our doubts, our fears, our internalized challenges not too unlike the Shadow which again I raise, and point back to the above-linked protogenic discussion of the masculine and feminine paths: In this premise, are Chuck and Amara anything less than the Animus and Anima of humanity, should the Shadow be their forefather?

The path of alchemy, before it became pursuit of literal gold, was about self completion and sovereignty. The phases I have listed above, as well as a brief overview of Dabb's use of it, but if anyone wants a visual aide in these, check out these three videos (x) (x) (x) and remember that Chuck desperately wants them to believe that nothing Gold can stay, should it complete this path; because should man become Gold, they also become God, and he has no authority here. Because in the end, if we abandon the cages -- be it human bodies or heaven -- in here, in this headspace that is Chuck's, we're all just projections of the primitive man trying to find our independent meaning in life. So in here, we're all the same. So in here, Chuck's all talk. And Chuck's afraid, and even wounded by elements of his own creation fallen into the free hands of man.

And so to FULLY hook back, the effects of the fall --

To be detached in various tiers from the divine spheres of constructed intent, and surrendered unto man, or touched by man, or tied to man, or even converted unto man simply seems to be removing the lines of code that defines the constructed universe and instead leaves only the experience of soul, be it directly gained or by proxy. And with that comes many things -- be that the oft-discussed sexuality of angels or any of their other senses, but also their ability like Castiel to understand "complex" ideas like independent thought and function that is otherwise like "explaining poetry to fish" to his kin. I remind you of Agent Smith in the Matrix, who was essentially infected with the power of the One that completely started warping the laws of the universe and, eventually, left the universe, to become the body of man outside of the universe.

It is the universe falling into man, as man at some point seems to have fallen into the universe. And their child now waits beyond the universe, holding council with Death and the Inky Man over what to do from here.

The human experience is double-sided. By it we learn, experience, and exist; but as chuck designed the sandbox, so too did he the bodies as cages. So be that "hedonism" or anything else, these are limitations and bindings. It is not the limits themselves, as much as what we learn in facing them, that becomes who we are as people, and what meaning we bring to our own existence. And this, some angels themselves have chosen to convert and surrender themselves to, some more successfully than others, but the ultimate point between all of them is "Free Will", whether they like PBJ, sex, or good water pressure at the same time -- something that only comes from divorcing themselves from the divine spheres, when otherwise they're numb to bullets or a knife through the heart. The universe simply operates. Man experiences. The universe learns more of itself only by way of man, as man learns the universe.

There are those who fall that do not embrace humanity, but instead explore their creation. These are rogue programs, but still limited in their function. Be that angling out a line at a river, or just needling humanity as lesser ants. But these do not come to the same essence of humanity that those who choose to fall into it and truly experience it do. They still lack a great deal of motivation or purpose, as in breaking away from their programming without gaining genuine compulsion to want, to seek, to find, they find fascinations between their own strips of code that immerse themselves in, and sit, and observe, still not too unlike Anna before completely divorcing herself from her grace.

It is humanity, be it indirect or direct, that proxies the ability to experience, desire, and enjoy, and that more than anything is the nature of man and his power. It is the path of the Soul between Gevurah and Hesed; from the divine spheres descending, passive intellect and active intellect from the different pillars, and hidden higher learnings, reach by way of Spirit and Mind towards the individual self, strapped across passive and active emotion to learn the individual self. From the angle of man, in the material world, and the body as a manifestation of it, our ego, identity, and other evolutions of the mind TOWARDS the self of individuality lead from Tiferet, by path of the soul, into those emotions to climb the tree towards the divine self. Hell, I'll repost the chart so you don't have to scroll.

Castiel, the consciousness of the divine, with active spirit and mind, and intellect, descended towards the individual self within the realm of ego and super ego, and learned of them through Dean Winchester, while hedging at the sphere of emotional complexes and the identity of the self by which he chose to fall into the world and humanity, into and below and between the cross paths of the soul, and in those paths attained a soul. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, was lifted to explore the upper spheres in reverse, to understand the divine self gradually, and with time, as we now prepare to face within season 15.

Man is freedom. And some fall into it. But man can conquer the tree of his own ironic fashioning. The only absolute is what thou wills of it.

The rest is commentary.

Let there be gold. But all that is gold does not glimmer.

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

The Supply Run

Dean Winchester x Reader; Sam Winchester x Reader (platonic)

Summary: Dean’s girlfriend is at home sick with the flu and he promised to make a run for a few simple things. Her biggest request - go to the actual grocery store and not that gas station up the road.

A/N: A simple little story to complete my bingo card for @spngenrebingo. A big thank you to @kazosa for helping me out with this one!!

Square Filled: Supply Run

Warnings: None

WC: 2.5K

Dean stood outside of the electronic doors and looked up at the giant neon sign. He grumbled at the prospect of entering the dreaded store with its giant aisles and fluorescent overhead lights. Why he couldn’t just grab the necessities from the gas station near home was beyond him. Not like he never had to do a supply run for someone sick before. Plenty of times he had to do this for Sammy when they were kids. Why she insisted on making him go to this horror show just for some simple things baffled him. But yet, the image of the girl he loved, back in the bunker laid up alone and wallowing in germs gave him the final push he needed to take a step forward, triggering the doors to open.

He grabbed a basket and instantly felt lost and slightly intimidated. Looking around he took the first few hesitant steps towards the endless aisles in front of him. She gave him a list, but he thought it looked pretty sparse of any of the good stuff he used to get Sam. Where were the cans of Chicken & Stars soup… the marshmallow fluff… the boxed mac and cheese? All she asked him to get was oranges, Nyquil and Gatorade. 

“Not even a box of Saltines?!” he mumbled incredulously, looking at the paper again and shaking his head.

He started by the produce and found the oranges. Piled high on a display, he absently grabbed the first two his hand touched. A quick avalanche of citrus began rolling down the sides. In a panic, he dropped the basket and caught most before they crashed to the floor. Looking around to see how much attention he gained, he sighed when he realized no one saw. Carefully, Dean placed the oranges back and silently prayed they would stay put. 

Snatching his basket and quickly walking away, Dean bypassed most of the home goods aisles until he found himself boxed in by a display of everything you would need to make smores at home. Dean’s eyes lit up and he immediately grabbed one of each, tossing them into the basket, and moving along down towards the cereal. A box of Lucky Charms caught his eye, and he added it to his basket before nodding in satisfaction.

“This is what I’m talking about,” he muttered with a satisfied grin and continued through the aisles, feeling better about his trip to the big box store. 

Rounding the corner, his attention was in looking up at the sign for the next aisle. He was hoping the cans of soup would be there somewhere when suddenly the hard bump of a shopping cart rammed straight into his side. 

“Excuse you, son!” an older, gray-haired woman admonished as Dean’s box of Lucky Charms went tumbling out of the basket thanks to the collision.

“S-Sorry--” he stuttered, bending down to pick up the box and wrinkled his nose at the narrowed eye expression she was giving him. 

She looked into his basket and shook her head. “This generation… can’t even shop for a proper meal,” she mumbled as she moved along her way. 

“I hate these places,” he groaned. “Why couldn’t I just go to the Gas n Sip. Coulda got all this there…”

Two aisles later, Dean found the cans of condensed Chicken & Stars soup that was a sure-fire way to get her to feel better. Any time Sam had been sick, Dean would get all the essentials, soup included, making Sammy better in no time. If Dean was feeling fancy, he would crumble the saltines on top and Sam would think it was the best thing in the world. Smiling at the memory, he tossed a few into the basket then went on to find the sports drinks she asked for. 

The last item on her very shortlist was the Nyquil. She said it would help her sleep off whatever germs were making her feel like death. He had no doubt that it would, but she would also need sustenance; hence the variety of heavily processed foods he was lugging around in the basket. Half paying attention to where he was wandering, Dean found himself in unfamiliar territory. Thinking he was somewhere near the meds, he began to examine some of the boxes on the shelves. 

As he scanned the boxes and tubes in front of him and read the words like ‘Vagisil’ and ‘Summer’s Eve’ his head snapped up and he took a step back. Realizing he was in the feminine hygiene aisle, he quickly turned on his heel and stepped lively towards where he took a wrong turn. 

“Wrooong aisle,” he said with a nervous laugh just as he nearly ran into the same old lady he did before. 

“You lost, son?” she asked, relishing in the uncomfortable expression he wore. 

“I… um… Nyquil?” he stammered.

“One more aisle over,” she replied with an exasperated huff. “Guess this generation can’t read, either.”

Dean held back all the comments that swirled through his mind and continued on to the correct aisle, biting his tongue as he went. Finding the requested item, Dean took a moment to try and discern which variety she would want. Finally plucking the bottle of neon green liquid from the shelves, he then noticed a variety of other things he thought she may need but didn’t ask for. Stuffing the basket full, he felt a raw sense of satisfaction as he examined all the things that were nearly overflowing from it and headed towards the front of the store.

Once Dean finally made it to the checkout. He lined up all of his goodies on the belt and watched as the clerk—Keith, who’s name tag was overshadowed by a giant pin that read, ‘Be Patient with Me! I’m New!’—studied each item slowly, looking for the bar code to rake across the scanner. Dean’s impatience grew with each painstakingly snail-like pass of an item over the register, the resounding beeeep that followed chipping away at the last of his patience. 

By the time the pimply-faced teenage clerk picked up the box of tissues, then Lucky Charms, Dean heard him snicker under his breath.

“Sick kid at home?” he asked. “My mom used ta buy this shit for me when I was sick.”

Dean flashed a fake but polite smile. “Girlfriend. And she’s waiting for me, so can we speed this along, a little, please?”

“Girlfriend?” Keith snorted again just as he passed the last item, a jar of marshmallow fluff over the red laser light then held it up, shaking it in a mocking fashion. “What is she, twelve?”

Dean snatched it from his hand, threw it in the bag, and did it all with a glare of his intense green eyes. One that made Keith assume would result in his death should he speak another word. 

Continuing to stare down the very young and very nervous cashier, Dean averted his eyes for just a moment, to see a small, plush little teddy bear holding a heart and a miniature mylar ballon, also decked out in hearts, sitting on the top of Keith’s register. Making intense eye contact with Keith, Dean reached out, and added it to the belt and stared the kid down until he finally scanned it, then placed it in the bag. 

The small bit of fear reflected in Keith’s expression was enough to calm Dean’s annoyance. “Buddy,” he said, as he relaxed his gaze as he drew out his wallet, looked at the final tally, and slapped down the total amount in cash, “let me tell you something. When you finally get the opportunity to touch a woman--something I assume is still years away for you--and you find the woman that makes you realize that it's all worth fighting for... A trip to the grocery store to get her everything she could possibly need is the easiest thing in the world to do. Even if it means dodging old ladies and Vagisil. Alright?”

Keith could only nod and wait until Dean gathered his few bags up before taking the cash that resided on the metal table beyond the register. 

The cool air hit Dean’s face as he exited through the second set of automatic doors that led to the parking lot. Throwing the bags on the floor of the Impala, he slid behind the wheel and smiled a soft, thoughtful smile. It was something he did every time he was about to head home knowing she was there, without even realizing he was doing it. 

Back at the bunker, she was curled up in the fetal position in the bed she shared with Dean; head pounding and a sheen of sweat coating her skin. Though she were freezing internally, the fever that raged told her body to both sweat and shiver at the same time. Praying Dean would return soon with the few necessary items, she tried to reposition herself on the bed so she could drink water before falling back down to the mattress, exhausted.

The flu, or whatever it was infesting her, had taken its toll. She had been down for two days, and not able to do much more than lay in bed. Sam had left on a hunt a few days prior, and Dean was doing his best to make sure she had what she needed while still sending Sam support for the job at hand. 

Off in the depths of the halls, familiar sounds of footsteps were coming closer. Hoping it was Dean, she did her best to push the sweaty remnants of hair aside and adjust the t-shirt she wore, so she didn’t look as bad as she thought she did. The faint knock at the door made her look up and call out for them to come in, but the dryness of her throat protested, sending her into a coughing fit.

The door opened, Sam was coming in to check on her, but stopped in his tracks and covered his face with his hand when he saw how sick she really was. 

“Whoa. What the hell happened to you? When I left you had the sniffles,” he said, his voice muffled through his fingers. 

“The flu happened,” she rasped in reply between coughs.

“Where’s Dean?”

“Getting supplies. I hope... He’s been gone a while. Probably because I asked him to go to the actual store. Not the gas station.”

Sam laughed and nodded. “I’m sure he’s having quite the adventure. Alright, let me go see what we got in the kitchen in the meantime. You really do look like crap.”

“Gee. Thanks. Didn’t realize,” she muttered sarcastically before finally falling back to the mattress.

In the kitchen, Sam pulled out a variety of ingredients and was happy to realize he could make what he intended without having to make a supply run of his own. The soup he threw together was simmering, filling the kitchen and surrounding hallways of the bunker with a delicious aroma by the time Dean made it home. 

Dropping the bags on the table, Dean watched his brother curiously for a moment as he slipped the jacket from his shoulders. 

“What’s that?” he asked, peering over Sam’s much taller shoulder. 

“Soup. Or did you not notice the Ebola situation going on in your room?”

“I got her soup. Along with everything else she needs to get better,” he replied, rolling his eyes behind Sam’s back. 

Without turning around, Sam replied, “Let me guess. Chicken and stars, marshmallow fluff and saltines.”

“Yeah… but also Nyquil, oranges, and Gatorade,” Dean retorted with an incredulous snort but left out the part where they were her suggestions. “But, yeah, I absolutely got some other necessities. Hey, don’t knock it, they always worked for you.”

“They worked for me because after you turned around and left, I would sneak down to the closest store and get actual medicine and real soup.”

“Real--Sam… this IS real. Just add water, heat, and stir.”

Sam shook his head and turned back to the stove. “My point is, she cannot live and get better off fluff, alone. Go give her the meds and a Gatorade, this will be ready soon.”

Dean silently mocked his brother’s instructions and grabbed the bag with the few things she specifically asked for, along with a few other things he thought she may want. By the time he reached their shared bedroom and cracked the door open, he was relieved to see that she was sleeping peacefully. Her hair was sweaty and pushed back from her face which was still flush with fever, but it didn’t stop him from leaving a sweet kiss against her head. 

Placing the bag aside, he retrieved the foul-smelling medicine and poured her a shot in the enclosed cup before gently shaking her awake. As she started to come around, he readied the bottle of Gatorade so she could easily take both and then go back to sleep.

“Hey sleepyhead,” he said as she opened her eyes and smiled despite feeling like she’d been hit by a truck.

“Hey…” she pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around slightly confused. “Did I see Sam here earlier or was that a hallucination?”

Dean laughed. “He’s here. He’s making you soup.”

“Oh… that’s sweet. Did you grab--”

“I got everything on your list, and then some. But for now, take this…” he handed her the medicine, and then the bottle of fruit punch. “Then, have this.”

She did as told and once both were consumed, she laid back down on the pillow and smiled up at him. “Thank you, Dean. I know going to the store was a pain, but--”

“It was fine. As long as you got what you need.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t come back with half the store, honestly.”

“There may or may not be a few more bags in the kitchen. But for now, just get passed this fever, then we can talk about making smores with Lucky Charms.”

“What? Ewe.”

“No, it's good. Trust me. Make ya feel better in no time.”

“Hm, no. I’ll pass, but you knock yourself out,” she giggled and then closed her eyes. 

“You rest, okay? I’ll check on you in a bit. Hopefully, you’ll feel better and look a little less…” Dean trailed off, trying to find a nice way to put it. 

“A little less… what?”

“Well, you sorta look like a shifter that didn’t quite shift all the way. Kinda pale and gooey,” he shrugged, and despite her weakened state, earned him a solid punch in the arm from his girlfriend. 

“Jerk.”

“Yeah, well, you love me,” he winked and stood from the bed. “Oh, I uh, got you a few other things in the bag there. But they can wait. Just get try and get some sleep.”

She rolled her eyes, but then with as much energy as she could muster, reached for the bag and looked inside. Pulling out the small bear with the balloon, her eyes found him quickly and he felt a rush of feeling for how she was looking at him. 

“I love it, thank you,” she said and held it close to her. Once she removed the balloon, she burrowed into the covers with the bear and sighed contentedly. Dean bent down to kiss her head again, and before he turned to leave the room, she called out for him. 

“Dean, wait.” Sitting up again, she knew she only had another moment before her head dictated she lay it back down. “Thank you for everything. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but thank you for all you do for me.”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’d do anything for you. Get some sleep. I’ll check on you soon.”

He waited until she laid back down and quietly closed the door behind him. A little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he realized she was the one who could potentially domesticate him, the thought of which didn’t scare him the way it would have before. As Dean made his way back towards the kitchen, the only thing that did scare him was realizing he forgot to get any kind of disinfecting spray to bomb the bunker with. Despite how cute she may have looked cuddling the small bear and falling asleep in his bed, he didn’t want anyone else to suffer from her Ebola-like germs.

Everything Tags: @sorenmarie87 // @yallgotkik

SPN Tags: @kazosa // @wings-of-a-raven // @closetspngirl // @idreamofplaid// @screechingartisancashbailiff // @linki-locks11 // @winchesterxfamilybusiness// @spnhollis // @sandlee44 // @stoneyggirl // @clarinette07 // @negans-wife // @deans-baby-momma // @hobby27 // @breereadsthings // @katehuntington // @81mysteriouslyme // @mrswhozeewhatsis // @deathofmissjackson // @lauravic // @aomi-nabi // @akshi8278 // @whereismyangel-damnitdeanshare// @coffeebooksandfandom // @rebelminxy // @22sarah08 // @fictionalabyss // @adoptdontshoppets // @blackcherrywhiskey // @babypieandwhiskey // @maddiepants // @lefthologramdeer // @his-paradox // @unlikelygalaxygiver

[turingtestr]

mobile post of all my information for the anon who wanted a mobile rules / bio. i could make a google docs but i’m burnt out. please also note, i haven’t even GLANCED at my bio i wrote for elijah since 2018, so uh... i should probably do that. sorry if it’s bad.

ONE. due to the nature of my roleplaying style, there will absolutely be mature themes here and there on this blog. all and any mature themes that involve sexual topics of the nsfw variety will only be written with muses that are 18+. as for those people that are 18+ that follow me, i fully understand if you do not want to write any nsfw content, and if any threads lead to that we can fade to black. just ask me, i’m fairly easy going and more than happy to make people feel welcome. it is not a requirement to rp nsfw content with me and i will never force anyone to do that. !

TWO. this is a selective/private blog. i really only roleplay with mutuals, however you’re more than welcome to reply to any of my open starters if i specify that you can but just know i might not reply because i (1) don’t know your muse, (2) have zero muse for the reply and will get to it later, (3) have no interest in the thread, or (4) am uncomfortable with something on your blog. roleplaying is also a HOBBY for me. i work full time and sometimes i genuinely cannot reply fast. if you hassle me to reply to things, i will not want to roleplay with you and it will turn me off from roleplaying with you completely. in fact, if you harrass me to reply to threads, i will automatically unfollow you because i’m not about that life of being pushed to reply to things. if you spam my follow button to try and get my attention, that will result in a soft block on your behalf. please don’t test my patience. if you do not have your ooc name on your page i will not follow you, due to me thinking hiding your ooc alias is shady and sketchy af.

THREE. i love shipping and i love roleplaying so much. this is not a single ship blog and none of the ships i portray are at the same time (unless further discussed with muns, of course).MY PRIMARY CHLOE SHIPPING PARTNER IS @TURINGTESTEE, which means that if kamski mentions chloe in a verse, he's most likely talking about this chloe. if there are any verses that kamski is going to have one single ship, i will make sure to let people know that in the verse description section once i make it. otherwise, my muse is a free for all. if i do have mains, which will be listed, they are just the people i will reply to the most, however, i won't actually limit myself to only roleplaying with them and i hope my mains respect and are comfortable with that.

FOUR. tagging triggers is something that means a lot to me as i am not comfortable with NEEDLES OR PUPPETS on my dashboard so i blacklist needles tw and puppets tw. i know it’s weird but hey, we all have our things. please let me know if you need anything tagged- even if i don’t personally follow you. you deserve a clean and safe dashboard to roleplay in. WARNING.

FIVE.anon hate will be deleted on the spot. no exceptions. i don’t care about your petty feelings and i won’t tolerate them in the slightest. i’m not here to entertain horrible people’s opinions of myself. constructive criticisms are allowed, but at the respect of myself reblogging a meme asking for it specifically.

SIX. mutuals are allowed to ask for my wire or discord, since i use both and would love to rp on both. i also play dead by daylight on ps4, so if you’d be down to game as well, feel free to hit me up there too! overwatch on ps4 is ITSGEOFFREY so you can add me there too.

SEVEN. i very rarely will send in passwords, as i do not require it and i should not have to be tested on your blog to be allowed to roleplay with someone. usually if you have a password, i genuinely just didn’t think to look for it and i apologize if this upsets you but you probably won’t see any from me.

EIGHT. please take into consideration while dealing with kamski that he has high signs of NPD & a huge god complex.

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BIOGRAPHY

NAME: Elijah Dean Kamski ALIASES: Eli, Lij, Boss, Kamski GENDER: Male AFFILIATION: Cyberlife Technologies, currently retired AGE: 36

THE START

there's many days where the kamski family would have a bit of struggles, as elijah grew up. he never knew much about his father, seeing as his father passed when he was a very young boy — no more than six. he'd never grown to know too much about him, and his mother didn't overly want to share about him, so it was safe to say the woman had a reason for not telling elijah and that was that.

growing up with a single mother who had severe epilepsy, elijah tried his very hardest to make his mother's life as easy as possible. school days would be very short considering he'd go straight home from school in order to watch after his mother. some days with his mother, depending on the medication the doctors had recommended her, would be better than others. she always appreciated her son's committment to being with her and he was determined to make life easy on the two of them. using the money she got from the state, she'd try to urge her son go into extra cirricular activiies he wanted to do, however he only dismissed the ideas, claiming that he'd rather be home. he'd use the money to spend on textbooks, wanting to develop his own version of a Vagus nerve stimulation device. one that would make sure to surge with electrical pulses before his mother even remotely had to move herself to activate the device. computer engineering was his goal, and he'd stop at nothing to get through that.

as life continued on, elijah continued to shove his head into books and continuously study. he pushed through high school faster than anyone had expected, at age ELEVEN he had shown his studies to multipile colleges, showing his theories on how to better create medical devices.

THE CHANGE

the university of colbridge had been a struggle for elijah, being the youngest student there. studying medical engineering was easy, and he had decided to double major in computer engineering as well, to perhaps attempt to integrate the two. though school was difficult, the hardest part was being away from his mother. the school had refused to let him travel back and forth, saying that freshmen had to stay on campus as apart of regulations and requirements from the state. when he started college, his mother had decidded upon asking the state for a caregiver- on the off chance that something did happen. with the VNS that was already implanted in her, she was able to have a job during the day, but the caretaker was supposed to just oversee her during the nights. it settled eli's anxiety about his mother a little bit. four months into his freshman year, eli had woken up to a call from the san antonio police, letting him know that his mother had been rushed to the hospital after having a grand mal seizure and hitting her head on their marble counters. apparently the caretaker assigned to look after his mother hadn't even shown up that night. he quickly rushed home, terrified what had happened.

something, however that night had turned elijah into a bitter person. into someone against humanity. though his mother had survived the seizure, things weren't the same for either of them. after knowing his mother's caretaker had ABANDONED her, elijah had fully decided to go more into engineering to create a way for humans to be more reliable. what was more reliable than humanity? MACHINES. something that would always obey. obedient machines that had a purpose and a task and would see it through. dropping fully out of medical engineering, elijah settled for computer science and engeineering instead. the utter drive to create a better human than humans themselves was so strong that by the age sixteen, elijah had worked together with a team of classmates to create the first medical assistant androids. REVOLUTIONARY KICKSTARTER model 100, or RK for short. RK100 was born and tested on his mother, who seeemed quite uneasy, but only wanted to support her son.

ENTER CYBERLIFE

though it wasn't perfect, the ark series took off. mainly piquing interest in san diego, california. the backbones of the mega-billion dollar company that would be founded by elijah kamski and his cohorts suddenly had at least three hundred backers trying to support the small business after seeing what a success the RK100 was at being not only a companion for his mother, but also how helpful the RK was at it's job. the medical caretakers were able to do so much, and suddenly with the money that was being thrown at the group, elijah became more than enthused with power. hungry for it, almost.

making more medical related androids were being highly requested, and the team set out to create diffrent functions for androids, trying to perfect everything.

taking into consideration his mother — his finest mentor and most trusted support, and what she thought of the androids, he sought out to consult with his old AI professor, Amanda Stern, on how to make the androids a bit more lifelike. It was hard, at least for what his mother admitted, for a human to trust a machine that looked like a machine to help themselves out through life. upon her advice, eli threw himself into work, the team of cyberlife growing into a business, and then a wide scale company alongside elijah's work. no matter what, the man was the front of the company, having done the majority of the coding and research in what brought the androids to life. the company sought after targeting the cheapest land developments in the united states in order to make their headquarters and warehouses, bringing CYBERLIFE to DETROIT, MICHIGAN where it currently resides.

it takes kamski four years after founding cyberlife to come out with a brand new appearance for his androids. something human like after struggling and struggling to engineer the perfect components to theorize biological functions. this equiptment created became biocompotenents, but it still wasn't enough to make thes he was creating look HUMAN. but after all the struggles and finally figuring out a way to regulate something akin to blood into the android's system, elijah kamski in the year 2022 releases the RT REVOLUTIONARY TURING model; a personal assistant to elijah kamski that uses the alias ' CHLOE '. Cyberlife has been thurst into the spotlight and once again Elijah Kamski realizes that these advancements in the world have honestly made people envious. the public demands the rights to these androids and while he still is bitter over humanity and the lack of reliabilty that humans provide for the world, he obliges. Cyberlife goes public with their androids and the public are now able to put a price tag on androids.

THE REVOLUTION

the world that assumes elijah kamski is nothing but a greedy, power-hungry boss of a CEO for cyberlife overlooks one important fact: he still wants revenge on the world. his mother passes on at the age 43, a few years before his greatest mentor amanda stern passes. the loss of both role models awakens a vengeful force in elijah kamski. one that wants to remind the world that mortality is relevant for all. cyberlife has created over thousands of models, all for different functions and he looks upon his kingdom with hopeful eyes as well as bitterness. humanity has become less reliant. they've become lazier. androids have become the working force, for the most part, and while elijah sees that as a positive note because it is moving forward away from the laziness and unreliability of humanity — the CEO is fully aware that his androids are becoming more and more human like the more and more they develop. the deviant base code is never once touched. always overlooked by cyberlife developers who dare not touch the work of the first working android made by elijah kamski himself. while he's aware he, himself, is mortal just like the rest of humanity, seeing his creations become sentient, to rise up against the laziness and unreliable humanity that he lives among has been his goal. he just awaits the REVOLUTIONARY KICKSTARTER 200 to actually get pushed to the brink of going through his code.

now it's just a game of waiting to see who pushes who, and who comes up on top. it's always a delight to play god.

THE SIBLING ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

i'm not going to be writing a brand new biography for the gavin / elijah brothers universe, but i need to work out how they can be related with my current bio, or i might just go off of a gavin's biography. shrug emote.

[pfenniged]

I want to get started in on classic films: are there any you personally recommend?

Hey, thanks for asking! <3

So from your ask I took you wanted a recommendation of classic films that may be my personal favourites. So I’m going to go with the ones that I personally are current loving and finding the most ‘rewatchable’/ have saved on my computer, as well as ones that I do think everyone should watch/ are fantastic, but tend to be the ones I don’t reach for as often. 

This obviously does not include all the classic films that you can find online in ‘Best of’ Lists (although there obviously is some overlap), but I also tended to do straight up ‘films.’ Classic musicals are another thing entirely, so if you want my suggestions on them, just drop me another line.

My current favourite Classic Hollywood films tend to be along the film noir genre or thrillers/ murder mysteries. In case you didn’t know, film noir is defined as the following:

Film noir (/nwɑːr/; French: [film nwaʁ]) is a cinematic term used primarily to describe stylish Hollywood crime dramas, particularly those that emphasize cynical attitudes and sexual motivations. The 1940s and 1950s are generally regarded as the "classic period" of American film noir. Film noir of this era is associated with a low-key, black-and-white visual style that has roots in German Expressionist cinematography. Many of the prototypical stories and much of the attitude of classic noir derive from the hardboiled school of crime fiction that emerged in the United States during the Great Depression.

This means in terms of ‘horror’ genre movies, I tend to avoid gore/slashers (which were not a thing back in the day, but I felt I needed to emphasise that) I only watch horror movies that don’t rely on cheap jump scares, tricks, and tend to have good psychological motivations, because as Alfred Hitchcock said, the original master of horror, the mind is scarier than anything you can create otherwise.

My Current Favourites:

The Ghost and Mrs. Muir: A widower in the early twentieth century falls in love with the former inhabitant of the house she bought, who happens to be a crotchety old sea captain played by Rex Harrison, king of crotchety old crotchety characters. The film plays out as he tries to emancipate her from her ex-husband’s overbearing family, and get her to ironically accept more of life from beyond the grave. (Literally, I’m not a big romance movie person, but this is the only romance movie I will accept in my life because it involves a ghost and has other elements/ not just is total schmalz).

Alfred Hitchcock’s Rope: Two gays commit a murder and host a dinner party over it. Based on the Leopold and Loeb murders of the 1920s (Look them up if you don’t know about them; absolutely mental), the film is coded as hell (because 1940s), but is also homoerotic as fuck, acknowledged as homoerotic by everyone who worked on it, one of the main actors was gay, and it involves Jimmy Stewart being dropped in as a dinner party guest and eventually trying to solve the crime. It’s probably honestly my favourite Alfred Hitchcock, because it’s a quick watch, it takes place inside the entirely same space the entire movie (but never feels like it), and is the perfect example of a murder mystery).

The Postman Always Rings Twice: The quintessential film noir, featuring Lana Turner’s amazing outfits and honestly, a really well-rounded performance by her. I only saw this recently for the first time, and if you don’t know, Lana Turner was considered the ‘blonde bombshell’ of her time, and not much in the acting department (By word of mouth). So going into the film, I assumed she’d be a terrible actress: but she was honestly really fantastic, created a nuanced performance out of the often one-note femme fetale characters given to women in film noir, and you honestly understand her motivations and character, however flawed. I’m now a fan and am searching out more of her work.

Double Indemnity: Another film noir I saw recently, and fell in love with Barbara Stanwyck’s acting and her in general. In real life, she was an adorable bisexual; in film, and this film in particular, she’s a fantastic actress, and I’m searching out more of her work now, even into her sixties and seventies, where she did some fantastic performances in series on TV into the seventies and eighties (This monologue of her being an old woman and having a crush on a young man is both heartbreaking, pitiful, and understandable, and it’s so well acted. It gives you just a taste of her acting talent, and how hard she worked to create a well-rounded character). This is probably my favourite film noir overall, definitely because of Barbara Stanwyck and her crazy wig. xD

The Twilight Zone [Original TV Show Run]: I know this is a TV show, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention it. I love The Twilight Zone, and none of the later revamps have come close to touching it, and the effect it’s had on pop culture cinema. Some of the more ‘creative’ episodes (I.E: The awful ones with cowboys or aliens), I tend to skip, but The Twilight Zone is at its greatest when its creator Rod Serling is able to narrate about problems we all struggle with, and create a twist to really punch home if scenarios were different. Some of my favourites off the top of my head would be ‘Last Stop at Willoughby’ and ‘Nothing in the Dark,’ which are criminally underrated episodes. There’s also a great resource in this AV Club website, which literally reviews each and every plot of the original run and gives it a letter grade. I’m still not fully through the original run (because there’s 150 episodes, yikes), but I’ve watched at least half of the episodes, if not more. Plus it’s where, once you’ve watched more Classic Hollywood material/TV, you’ll begin to recognise a ton of character actors/early up and comers in the episodes, like random!William Shatner (twice), and Baby!Robert Redford (Who’s fucking adorable and I love him so much in his episode).

Twelve Angry Men: Twelve very different men are brought together on a jury to decide the fate of a young vaguely ethnic man. It’s a classic and I swear it should be shown in every school. It’s one of my favourite movies of all time, point stop, and honestly, as a J.D. graduate and someone who just needs to complete their admissions program now to become a lawyer, this is ‘my’ law-based movie (Most people are To Kill a Mockingbird, which by this point, trust me, is cliched to hear other lawyers talk about, even though it’s another fantastic movie you should watch). Even if I can’t turn off my lawyer brain at one point where something happens and I’m like THAT’S A MISTRIAL XD, it’s still one of the best films I’ve ever seen, and I rewatch it at least every two months.

Some of my Other Recommendations (That I don’t rewatch often but still are fantastic):

All About Eve (BETTE DAVIS)

Rebel Without a Cause (JAMES DEAN)

A Streetcar Named Desire (MARLON BRANDO BEFORE HE WAS CRAZY)

On the Waterfront (SEE ABOVE)

Cool Hand Luke (PAUL NEWMAN)

Sunset Boulevard

Psycho (Hitchcock)

Vertigo (Hitchcock)

Leave Her to Heaven (Gene Tierney and her fabulous wardrobe)

Hope that gives you some ideas to start with! If you need any other help, let me know! <3

[writersrealmbts]

Con Amore: Part 6

Bulletproof Melody Sequel

Description: Con Amore– A directive to a musician to perform a selected passage of a composition tenderly, with affectionate emotion, or in a loving manner; an instruction to the player of an instrument meaning ‘with love’ or ‘lovingly’. Three years with all seven of your loves, three years of relative peace. But now everything is threatened as darkness surges from the horizon.

Originally Posted: 08/07/2019

Tags: Superheroes, Ot7

Fluff/Angst: 2,823 words

A/N: Let’s get into it.

Your nose wrinkled as you entered the cafeteria. “Oh Lord.” “Back away slowly,” Namjoon instructed. “Maybe they won’t notice us and we can escape to where we can get food that doesn’t smell like…what does that smell like?” “Feet and tomato sauce,” Jin answered. “I can transport out and get us edible food,” Taehyung whispered. “Good plan.” “Nightingale!” An evil voice called out. You glared at the young man in his stupid temple travel robes looking like a cross between a wizard, a monk, and a farmer. Now everyone was looking at you. He ran up and bowed, straightening quickly. “High Priestess Cohen has sent me to represent…um…to represent…did I do something wrong, Arch—” He spluttered and spit out the mouthful of water and plant matter that had filled his mouth. You gestured for them to stop, stepping in close. “I believe one of the most intensive training programs at the temple is that of discretion, is it not?” He blinked in surprise at you, then looked a little sheepish and nodded. “Yes, miss.” “We should speak in private if you are to be the liaison between us and the temple. Does the dean know of your arrival?” “Yes, miss.” “And you’ve eaten?” “Not yet, miss.” “Follow me.” You pivoted and headed back to the elevator, feeling the curious gazes of at least two hundred students on your back. It was a good way out of eating whatever minimally edible food you found in there and frankly the smell was making you feel sick. Again. “So—” “Not in the elevator. You’re new, aren’t you?” “Sorry, yes, ma’am.” “What’s your name?” “Heuning Kai, miss.” “And you are a…” It wasn’t that you actually needed him to explain his powers, but you figured it would make him uncomfortable if he knew that you could sense his powers. Besides, sometimes it was nice to keep a power hidden away for emergency use. You certainly kept yours hidden. “Acolyte of day, messenger of the high priests and priestesses,” He replied quickly, dipping his head and making a gesture of the temple in the center of his chest. He looked at you with a little apprehension. “What does that mean?” Jimin asked, idly leaning against you. “It means he’s a light super training in the ways of the temple, and while he’s training he’s their messenger. Like an apprenticeship. You learn, but you also work to earn your keep. The temple is structured and run for supers who believe their powers give them too much…well, power. They stay at the temple to protect themselves and each other from those who would use their powers for ill. Instead they treat the sick and injured and provide sanctuary for those in need. When they do use their powers, it is after much prayer and meditation. They’re essentially pacifists that will fight if provoked in just the right way.” You explained, stumbling as the elevator made you dizzy. “I’m going to have to start using the stairs.” “Not a good idea,” Seokjin said. “You’d never get anywhere.” “I know,” You muttered poutily. “But the elevator makes me dizzy.” Jungkook wrapped his arms around you. “I’m sorry.” You sighed and leaned into his embrace until the doors opened. “Right. Let’s use one of these other rooms to set up for battle plans.” Yoongi picked a room and went in. Once inside, you hummed to make sure no one could see or listen in, then turned to Heuning Kai. “It’s safe to speak now.” “The high priestess of light sends word that our patient that was asking for you has begun recovering, and but hasn’t been able to clarify his messages from before. She also wished for me to tell you that you were right about the organization that was rising back to power, and that the temple is preparing for battle should you have need of them. I am to be at your disposal.” “Anything else?” He frowned slightly, almost indignant, but seeming to remember something before. “She said that you need to seal the doors that very moment.” “I take it that was her exact wording, she said “that very moment”?” He nodded. You frowned, trying to figure out what that could mean. There were literal doors, figurative doors, the doors to your archives, the doors to the school, the doors of transportation…there were an almost endless number of doors that could be referencing to and apparently she had decided to be vague. “Nothing else?” “I believe that was everything, miss.” “Alright. Let’s go over the ground rules while we’re at the conservatory. Do not discuss any private information about yourself, us, or the mission with anyone except me and these men. That includes me being an archivist, any relationship things you see with us…did you give them your true name?” He looked up in surprise. “They didn’t ask for it.” “Then don’t. Do you have a code name at the temple?” He nodded, but it was hesitant. “One you don’t particularly like?” “I’m called orangeade.” “Yikes. He wins,” Hoseok muttered. “Okay…well, the dean will probably just call you Acolyte…but is there some other code name that you’d maybe like to use while here?” “Well, I’ve also been called wings…” He shrugged, looking uncertain and a little out of his depth. “Wings?” Jimin asked. He reached behind him and pulled a piece of fabric. Wings spread out behind him, the white feathers connected with metal, gears working smoothly to allow them to work properly. Not quite a power, but explained that weird sense you got from him about a second power. You knew the handiwork. He likely had wings he was born with, and was refitted as a child to have these, then rescued and taken to the temple for safety. You looked at his face, seeing how uncomfortable it made him to even be called wings. “I could call you Hermes, Euros, or Zephyros.” He lit up a bit. “Hermes was the messenger god. Euros was the god of the east wind and autumn, thought to bring rain and warmth. Zephyros was the god of the west wind and spring. If those don’t sound like good names, then I can find others. And it’s only temporary.” You gave him a gentle smile, knowing you could come off as abrupt. “Just to keep you safe. This place is just as dangerous as the enemy we’re facing.” “I like Zephyros,” He said softly, smiling a little. “Okay.” You gave him a gentle smile, then turned to Taehyung. “But seriously, real food.” He grinned. “What do you want?” “Hmm, I think I want a burger,” you said. “Maybe some fries. And fruit. Strawberries. And blueberries.” “Alright, I’ll do my best,” He came over and collected a quick kiss. You gripped his sleeve. “Be careful.” He met your eyes and nodded. “I’ll take Mannaz-ah.” “You will?” Jimin looked a little indignant. “Yup.” Taehyung grabbed a paper. “Now taking orders.” The boys started giving him instructions for food, and you gestured for Heuning Kai to give Taehyung an order as well. He looked nervous to do so, so you pulled him over to where Taehyung was writing down Namjoon’s order. “Do you want a burger?” You asked after a moment. He nodded. Taehyung flashed a smile. “Come over here, I have a menu pulled up for the place I’m going to.” You gave the young boy an encouraging smile, then headed over to Jimin. “Keep your head on the swivel. I don’t care how ridiculous you might look, keep an eye on everything.” He nodded and nuzzled your cheek. “We’ll probably have to spread out tonight. You were too warm this morning. We’ll have to go back to our old routine of one or two of us sleeping with you at a time. Laguz-hyung’s neck is hurting him and Sowilo-hyung’s leg is hurting him.” “And how’s your back and neck?” You asked, gently rubbing the muscle connecting his neck and shoulder. “Mmm, Jera-hyung gave me a massage earlier this morning.” He melted into your touch anyway. “Good. You’re right. Probably only manage one of you in a bed with me, though. I’ll let you have the first night.” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed a few kisses to his lips. “I’ll need your special brand of cuddles tonight.” He smiled. “Cuddles, yeah. That’s what we’ll be doing.” You rolled your eyes. “We’ll do whatever we both have energy for.” “Mmhmm, or I could just please you,” He murmured, stepping closer and pressing a kiss to your lips. You shook your head and lightly punched his shoulder. “Raidho is ready to leave.” “Try not to worry about us,” He whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve got the check-in app going with Tiwaz-hyung.” You kissed him again, then stepped away from him so that Tae could step in and transport them out. Namjoon led Heuning Kai out of the room, talking about getting him settled in the same wing as us. You looked back at Jungkook. “Come with me to the archives?” He smiled and nodded. “Don’t let her work too hard,” Hoseok said, quickly kissing you as he pulled a sleepy-looking Yoongi toward the door. “Hey, if I give you guys a list can you lay out a plan to rescue some kids from some of the homes, make sure the organizations can’t get to them?” You pulled out a paper. “Yeah, we’ll make a plan then when everyone is back we’ll execute it,” He plopped a kiss on your hair. “We’ll also set this room up as a meeting room. I just have to tuck this one in for a nap.” You giggled and stepped in to kiss Yoongi. “Sleep well, dearest.” He visibly blushed, and looked away. You grinned and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head on his shoulder and kissing his neck. “Try to dream of me?” “Yeah, whatever,” He murmured, a little bit of his cute, flustered lisp coming out. You kissed his neck again, seeing his ears turning red. You squeezed him again, then released, letting your hands trail across his body. He caught your hand, giving it a light squeeze before letting you retreat to Jungkook. He was still looking away from you, but you knew he was watching your every move. “Come on,” Hoseok chuckled, tugging Yoongi out of the room. You hummed and pulled Jungkook through the door and into one of the archives. You had almost finished organizing the artifacts in your own way so that you could find whatever you need, but there was still one room full of artifacts that you still needed to find a home for. You relaxed once you’d sealed the entrance again. Jungkook was watching you with worry in his eyes. “You alright?” “Tired. Worried. A little nauseous. I wish I could just curl up with all of you and sleep. Not worry about another opponent.” You nuzzled into his chest as he wrapped around you lovingly and protectively. He just held you tightly. “I wish that too. I wish we could all just bask in the happiness of a baby. We’ve wanted one for so long. Been trying since Christmas. For it to come now…” “Yeah,” You whispered. “All things in due season, though…right?” “If you mean that things happen when they’re supposed to, then I guess so. Like fate.” You nodded. “Fate.” You ran a hand over your stomach, chewing on your lip. “I just…the thought of being a mom hasn’t really hit me yet, I guess. I’m used to being free and doing almost exactly as I please when I please. Do you think I’ll be a good mom? And what’s it going to be like with the baby having essentially seven fathers?” “We’ll figure everything out together. You’ll be a great mom. You’re already so good at taking care of us,” He reassured softly, smiling at you lovingly. “And when you get all big and your ankles and back hurt, I’ll carry you wherever you like.” You groaned. “Oh, I’m gonna get fat. I was just feeling like I was in excellent shape too.” “You look beautiful no matter what.” He kissed you chastely. “Now, what’s the task?” “Keeping me from doing too much while I find some artifacts that can help us that aren’t dangerous if taken by others. Then I want to seal the archives so that only I can get into them. I don’t know quite what to make of Nurya’s warning, but I do know that if I can, I should make sure these never fall into the wrong hands.” “So you’re preparing early for the occasion of your death.” He sounded upset. You shook your head. “No. I meant it when I said I’d stay away from the fighting and the danger. I just want to make sure no one gets in uninvited. Which is why I’m also making sure that if I do open it, it’s also because I’m carrying this,” You explained as you picked up an amulet with a tiger and rooster depicted on it. “This was collected by my five-times-great-grandfather, from Jeju Island. The amulet of Munjeon, a god of doors.” You held it out to Jungkook. He took it, looking it over, running a finger over the inlaid rubies and sapphires. “It looks like that peace symbol, the black and white one.” “Yin and Yang, which represents balance, not peace. Yes, it is.” You grabbed a special case from the side and started carefully picking out artifacts that could be useful but wouldn’t break the world. “Keep it safe for me. If you don’t feel like I’m me, don’t give it to me.” He watched you for a while, then slowly closed his fist over the amulet. “Okay.” He caught your waist. “But what if I’m the one that’s taken.” “It’s also a protection charm.” You kissed his cheek. “And I’ll make sure there are fail-safes. I just need to sit down with some sheet music and headphones while you guys make plans for fighting and investigation.” He nodded. “They’re probably back with food, now.” You grabbed a few more artifacts from other archives, then pulled him back into the room. Taehyung and Jimin were putting chairs at the tables, which had been rearranged into a huge meeting table that could seat all of you plus some extras. You smiled as the smell of burgers wafted to you. “That smells fantastic. Thank you, boys.” They jumped and Jimin went down behind a table in surprise. Tae recovered first. “What’s the suitcase for?” “Tools,” You explained, kissing his cheek, then going to make sure Jimin hadn’t hurt himself. “Any trouble?” “Nope, we were perfectly safe.” Jimin hugged onto you. “We have a problem,” Hoseok said, coming back in with the others, including Huening Kai and the dean. “What problem?” Taehyung asked. The dean put a device down and Yoongi projected the screen onto the wall for everyone to see. “The old church which was used by a private organization has been burning for six hours, there are no reports of anyone being in the church when the fire began, and firefighters are still working hard to put out the flames, which have extended to throughout the entire building.” The news reporter kept talking about when the fire started and all that, but your gaze was on the symbol on the burning door. “Beit mikdash lekavot,” The dean read from the simple sign. “Hope Temple.” Heuning Kai looked devastated. “That’s where the entrance to the temple of light was,” You confirmed. “Boys, we need to rescue the kids from those homes I listed. Now.” “Right. We’ll eat as we go,” Jin quickly grabbed his burger from the bag. “I’ll have some transportation students ready to assist you all.” “Huening Kai, why don’t you help me today?” You said gently, resting a hand on his shoulder. He slowly nodded and let you guide him to a seat. You gently rubbed his back. “I’m sure they’re okay.” He nodded again, but his gaze was fixed on the video that Yoongi was still projecting, obviously waiting for more details. “Wilo, you should stick with Jin,” You suggested gently. Yoongi glanced at you, then Heuning Kai, before nodding and ending the projection. The dean turned to you. “I would like to speak to you later. When it’s convenient.” You weren’t sure what that would be about, but you figured it probably wasn’t good. You nodded anyway and sat down with the laptop to monitor the separate missions of your boys, giving Heuning Kai the second and telling him what to do based on the plan Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok had come up with. You just hoped it wouldn’t be too late for the children.

~~~~~

Part 5.   Part 7.

Masterlist.  ~  Series Masterpost.  

[let-it-raines]

Unraveling the Thread

Returning home is never something anyone wants to do when they've been trying to leave for their entire life, but it seems to happen to most everyone. It's just not something Emma ever thought would happen to her. But after getting let go from her job and refusing to work in another office answering phones for the next ten years of her life, she moves back home to Storybrooke and has to deal with all of the loose threads that she left behind. 

It's easier said than done. She's still going to do it.

Rating: Mature

Found on AO3 | Here | 

A/N: Because I have a million other things to do, I obviously wrote a one-shot. I hope you guys enjoy the product of my lack of sleep 💕

Tagging my usual peeps: @resident-of-storybrooke @mayquita @wellhellotragic @captainsjedi @bmbbcs4evr @jennjenn615 @ekr032-blog-blog @kmomof4 @onceuponaprincessworld @thejollyroger-writer @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings @cs-forlife

Everything is exactly the same.

Granny’s diner still rests in the center of a strip of stores, the bright blue paint noticeably having been touched up lately to go with all of the other brightly colored stores that Storybrooke’s city council obviously thinks will pull in tourists when they inevitably roll into town each summer. If she remembers correctly, it does work. She worked as a waitress enough summers to know that her tips definitely increased once summer break started, and as much as she appreciated the money, she didn’t appreciate the people that were constantly taking her parking space or telling her that if she smiled more, she’d get more customers.

Assholes.

They would also make comments about her ass, and well, despite the fact that she has a damn good one, that’s a little thing call harassment.

It’s a miracle she never punched anyone.

There are already people filtering in and out of the diner despite it being only five in the morning on a Saturday, and she quickly drives by so no one will see her. She’s fine coming home to see her parents, but she doesn’t want to see anyone else. Not yet. Maybe later once she has a few shirts on hangers and a toothbrush in the bathroom, but not before that. She needs more time to mentally prepare herself to see everyone again. It’s only been since Christmas, but really, all she did for those three days was spend all of her time inside her parents’ living room eating sweets her mom had baked and watching old Christmas movies long into the night until even the streetlights outside turned off.

And this trip isn’t for three days. It’s for three months at least. Maybe more. She honestly has no idea, but when you get let go from the job you’ve had as investigator for auto insurance company for the past five years with nothing else lined up that actually pays the bills, there aren’t a lot of options. Living with her parents again wasn’t what she preferred, but she couldn’t take another job as a secretary or a phone operator trying to sell people weight loss pills that are probably pretty unhealthy.

Her dream job is obviously not an option.

She’s not sure if she has a dream job.

She used to want to be a cop like her dad, but that was when she was five and also wanted to be a ballerina in space. Her thoughts and wants weren’t exactly the most well thought through. And then she never really figured it out. Her parents put her on the fast track to going to college and getting a degree that would supposedly allow her to make more money and be able to get out of Storybrooke.

Considering her mom is a third-grade teacher on every committee board ever created and her dad is the sheriff, it’s surprising that leaving was ever an option.

And if she thinks about it, it really wasn’t. Yeah, she could leave for four years, get a degree, and then come back to work at a business in town that would have hired her regardless of her qualifications (nepotism is a thing). But that was the thing. She was always supposed to come back.

And seven years after leaving, she is.

Except she has no college degree.

She’s not even close to having one. She’s got a semester’s worth of credits in classes like English comp and pre-algebra and things she’s likely never going to use in her entire life. She’d made the Dean’s list at NYU that one semester too, but then, like the oldest story in the world, she’d met a boy.

She met a boy who was a few years older than her, infinitely wiser, and just as charming as she had ever known anybody to be. Neal was her entire world. He shouldn’t have been, but he was. Her mother spent her entire life talking about how love is the greatest gift in life, the greatest privilege, and how if Emma ever found it, she should hold onto it like her life depended on it.

What her mother didn’t tell her was that first loves are not always good loves, even if there’s the occasional exception.

In all fairness, Mary Margaret Nolan most likely doesn’t know that. She grew up as an only child in a small town and met the love of her life on the first day of sixth grade. The only love her mom has ever known has been her dad, and as wonderful as that as, as in love as her parents are, Emma’s learned that sometimes the lessons her mom taught her are not great lessons.

Exercise a few times a week, never pluck your eyebrows too thin, sure. Think that the first boy who tells you you’re pretty and who sleeps with you is the love of your life, not so much.

Because unlike her dad, Neal was not some standup guy who sticks around and lives by some kind of moral code that everyone should live by. Be kind to others, don’t murder someone, wash your hands after you go to the bathroom, et cetera. And it’s not that Neal was a murderer. God, she hopes not. It’s that he was a cheater who she left college for to move to Boston with because he convinced her that he could give her a better life than living in a cramped dorm room and spending her days studying. He was a cheater and also a thief, apparently fencing expensive jewelry and stolen goods to fund that better life, and she only found all of that out when she told him that she might be pregnant and he bolted in the middle of the night and the other woman who he was dating showed up at their apartment looking for him.

She found out the theft stuff later when she was nearly arrested because he tried to frame her for his crimes.

Newsflash. She wasn’t pregnant, and she sure as hell didn’t commit any crimes.

But she did give up her entire life, things that even though she wasn’t sure she really wanted, she had worked for. And as much as it’s taught her, as much as she’s changed because of it, she regrets ever leaving New York.

She regrets giving up her life because she was convinced that her love would last forever, and she would never need anything else.

It didn’t even last two years.

She never made it back to New York. She stayed in Boston, finding random jobs that would pay the bills until she got her job as the insurance fraud investigator and moved in with Anna and Elsa, two sisters who were going to freaking Harvard of all places. There she was barely scraping by, and she was roommates with people who went to Harvard. It worked, though. They were always busy studying or attending events, and she could slip in and out without really having to talk to them too much or explain why she was their age but decidedly a little lost.

Her parents weren’t talking to her at the time, and if her own parents weren’t talking to her, why would she want to talk to anyone?

But she did eventually talk to her parents again and talk to her roommates. She became friends with them actually, and even after they both graduated and moved away, she stayed close with them. With everything that has gone on in her life, she’s at least thankful that she’s gotten to be close with Anna and Elsa.

When she lost her job, Elsa had offered to let her live with her in New York, and even though it’s a big city, she couldn’t go back.

Which is why she’s here pulling into her parents’ driveway, the two of them visible in the kitchen through the front window. They’re likely drinking coffee and talking about all of their plans for today even though it’s Saturday and the perfect day to stay home. Or they’re talking about her. She’d bet that they’re talking about her.

She’s a fascinating conversation piece.

And that’s why she takes at least fifteen minutes to regulate her breathing and prepare herself for all of the fawning that her parents are going to do.

That her mom is going to do.

She loves her, but she’s not nearly as good as her dad at understanding that Emma needs her space sometimes.

It’s exactly thirty five steps from her car to the front door, and she’s barely inside the entryway when her mom is wrapping her in a hug so tight that all of the air escapes her legs and her ribcage bruises a little bit. It’s too much, but she wraps her arms around her mom’s waist and holds on as tightly as she can regardless.

“I’m so glad you’re here, sweetie.”

“Me too,” she lies. “Why are you guys up this early?”

“Because we’re waiting for you,” her dad answers her, flashing her a grin before he’s hugging her too, cupping the back of her head with his palm. He smells like the cologne he’s been wearing for her entire life, and that feels good too. “How was your drive? What’d you do? Not sleep?”

“Pretty much,” she shrugs. “Can I get some of that coffee?”

-/-

It’s weird regressing back to a teenager in her hometown over the next few weeks, March fading into April, the weather warming with each day. The exact thing she didn’t want was to work as a waitress again, to really fall back into old habits, but at least she’s not working at Granny’s. She’s working at Storybrooke Country Club as server in their clubhouse, and even though she has to deal with old men all day, at least they tip well.

Most of the time.

Some of the people who used to tell her to smile at Granny’s are these same people, and she can feel their judgmental eyes on her as she’s back at home serving them food. She’d think that people would understand someone working as a waitress doesn’t make them less of a person, but some people never learn.

The tips, she reminds herself. And it’s something to do, something to occupy her time and give her money while she tries to figure out her life. It’s something that’s not being stuck in an office as a secretary or a temp.

But it is temporary.

So she’s working as a waitress, sleeping in her teenage bedroom, and after her shifts, she eats with Ruby at Granny’s for dinner, the grilled cheese tasting just the same. She really is somehow going back to the past like Marty McFly, except this isn’t nearly as exciting. Plus, she has this weird need to ask her parents if she can go out late to meet Ruby for dinner.

She’s twenty-five years old.

She doesn’t have to ask her parents for permission even though she’s living with him.

The weirdest thing, however, is seeing Killian Jones again.

She takes that back.

The weirdest thing is seeing Killian, and Killian not talking to her.

Last week they had a particularly busy day in the clubhouse, and she picked up an extra shift to help out and to get overtime. She was tired. It was her day off. She shouldn’t have been there. But she was, and she dealt with it, smiling and asking all of the right questions to the patrons, especially those who she knows are members.

And that’s when she saw him. Except, she didn’t see him until it was far too late.

She was bringing a table their glasses of water for Ashley while she was in the kitchen, and she didn’t pay any attention to the slight flip of hair underneath a clean navy hat or the tattoo peeking out underneath the short-sleeved shirt. She didn’t pay attention to any of it, so when she saw those familiar blue eyes, the ones that she’s always remembered, she dropped the entire tray of ice cold water on the table, the floor, and his white pants.

His white pants.

That were...thin.  

That was bad enough, but then she started patting down his thighs with a cloth towel, and that caused all kinds of issued before he grabbed her wrists, looked her in the eyes for an extended thirteen seconds (she knows because she counted), and then he got up and left.

She’s seen him since then, but he hasn’t spoken to her. And she knows that it’s not because she spilled water on him and then felt him up while trying to dry him off.

He apparently works at the harbor, which doesn’t surprise her. What does surprise her is that he’s in charge of tourism for the summers, specifically making sure that there are plenty of boats to rent and that no one docks where they’re not supposed to. According to Ruby, he plans activities at the public pool, puts together festivals, and he even takes certain groups of tourists out sailing. It’s in his wheelhouse, even if it’s not what she thought he would be doing. He was supposed to go into the Navy, supposed to go straight into active duty and work his way through college with his grant. That was always his plan, even if he was delayed in getting around to it.

But that was never his fault. He’s two years older than her, and during his senior year of high school, his mom died. He’d fallen into such a deep depression that he almost didn’t graduate, and even though he did, he never went off to follow his dreams. Instead he worked down at the docks, like now, but instead of working with tourism, he loaded and unloaded cargo. She thinks it had been good for him to be able to work through things physically, especially since he avoided things emotionally. She tried to get him to talk about his mom and about Liam, but he never would.

Maybe this is his new dream.

A sob gets caught in her throat thinking about him, about how much she failed him by giving up on their friendship when she moved away. She fucked that friendship up, and there’s no way for her to work around that. She can’t change what happened.

She wishes that she could.

Out of all of the surprises about Killian, though, she’s surprised that he spends his time at a country club golfing in white pants. That’s not Killian. That’s not him at all. But she guesses people change.

Maybe if he would talk to her, she could understand.

She’s not sure if she wants to talk to him, if she deserves to talk to him.

She probably doesn’t deserve to talk to him.

-/-

Before she knows it, her three months she was planning on staying have passed and a Storybrooke summer begins, the tourists coming into town and filling up all of the hotels and restaurants, including the club. She’s nearly always working, and even though it’s not what she wants, she’s managing to save up some money for when she eventually figures it out. It’s not like she’s paying rent right now, and she can mostly eat at work.

So she’s still home, but it’s not all bad. She’s closer with her parents, even if her mom keeps deciding that she needs to go on a date with her dad’s deputy, and she’s become better friends with Ruby and Ashely, making up for lost time. Honestly, though, the nicest part about it is how much less stressful it is. It’s healing in a way to be home, to not have to constantly be worried about how she’s going to make it, about how she’s going to pay rent.

Something she was dreading is turning out to be pretty okay, even if sometimes she’s still a little bothered by not living in Boston anymore.

The small town life…it’s not all bad some days.

“You’re getting a little burned on your shoulder there,” Ashley points out as they lounge on the beach on their day off in an attempt to get a little bit of color on their skin after mostly working indoors.

“How?” she groans, twisting her head to the side to look at the slight pink of her skin. “I literally have reapplied all day. And we’ve been sitting under the umbrella too.”

“You’re fair.”

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious, Ash.” She stands from her towel and brushes the sand off of her body. “I’m going to go to the bathroom and to reapply, okay?”

“Can you stop and get some more waters from the café?”

She nods her head and reaches down to pull on her jean shorts, zipping them up and slipping on her sandals as she walks up the beach toward the docks. It’s pretty crowded today, families everywhere, and she has to move in and out of the crowds to make it to the bathroom, spending her time reapplying her lotion and fixing her braids before exiting and making her way toward the café. It’s just a small little shack that sells hamburgers and hot dogs, but the line stretches out down the docks so that it’ll be at least twenty minutes.

“Most people wear shirts when they dine, but then again, you seem to be a fan of see through material.”

She nearly drops her phone at the voice behind her, but she catches it and stuffs it into her back pocket, giving her some time to take a deep breath as she turns to see those familiar blue eyes and black scruff-lined jaw. He’s got on the same blue baseball cap, but instead of being in golfing clothes, he’s in navy pants with a white shirt tucked in, the sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms.

He’s always had nice forearms.

That’s not what she should be thinking about.

Or the fact that his shirt is not buttoned up enough. Well, she kind of likes being able to see his chest hair, but it doesn’t really scream “hey look, I’m the guy in charge of tourism.”

“He speaks,” she snarks, straightening her back and lifting her chin up, wishing that she was about half a foot taller so they’d be eyelevel. “I didn’t know that was possible.”

“The same could be said about you.”

The smile that was on his face quickly fades away as his eyes flicker down her body. She’s suddenly very aware of how much skin she has on display, and when she crosses her arms over her chest, she knows that he notices her defensiveness by the raise of his brows.

“Yeah, well, shit happens.”

He scoffs at that, his jaw tightening while he looks up at the sky, the underside of his chin now on display to her.

“Shit happens, huh? Is that why you’re home?”

“Isn’t it why you’re still here?”

“Believe it or not, love, I want to be here.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“You should.”

“I don’t.”

“Are you five?” he scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest just like her, but she can see that same tattoo peeking through the material of his shirt. She’s not entirely sure what it is, but it kind of looks like a ship’s wheel. He would.

“No but at least I don’t run away from people trying to talk to me.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what? I don’t need lunch,” he groans before turning and walking away from her, his step steady and measured as he moves down the docks and disappears into a building that must be his office.

She wants to storm off as well, to act like the child like he just accused her of being, but she’s not going to let him annoy her to the point of not getting something to drink. So she waits, her foot stepping against the wood, and eventually gets her waters before making her way back to the beach and to Ashley who is looking at her like she’s having to bite her tongue on what just happens. The entire town probably knows that she and Killian just got into an argument.

She forgot about the gossip in Storybrooke.

Nothing is secret.

-/-

“So how’s it being home? Elsa asks her as they talk on the phone while she goes for a jog around the park. “Are you falling in love with a cute little surfer boy like it happens in the movies?”

“Els, seriously?”

“What? It’s a serious question. I’ve looked up your town. It’s super cute. I feel like great romances happen there.”

“You’re the worst,” she groans, slowing down her pace a bit as her breath gets heavy moving up the hill. “No, I’m not falling in love with any surfers. We don’t even have surfing here.”

“Okay, then sailors. Are you falling in love with any sailors?”

“Definitely not.”

“That was defensive.”

“It was not.”

“It was. Did you meet someone?”

Her eyes roll as she finally gets to the top of the hill, her legs and her chest burning the slightest bit as the June sun continues to beat down on neck from where it’s exposed. “I went on a date with my dad’s deputy, Graham. He’s a very nice guy, but I don’t know. I didn’t really feel a connection.”

“Nice guys are the guys you want to be with. It doesn’t have to be all dangerous assholes.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“I’m just saying,” Elsa laughs as Emma dodges another runner, “you have a tendency to find some not so nice guys. I mean, I wasn’t there for Neal, but I saw all of Walsh and – ”

“He was an asshole,” she finishes for Elsa, thinking about Walsh and how he was always steering her away from her friends and her hobbies so that he could try to morph her into his weird kind of ideal girl. “Yeah, I know. I’m just not sure if I want to see Graham again. I’m gonna have to think about it. Enough about me, though. Tell me what’s been going on with you as I try to finish this run.”

-/-

It’s raining.

And not like a light drizzle. It’s a torrential downpour with no signs of stopping, and even though every time she goes outside she bundles up into a coat and an umbrella, she’s still absolutely soaked down to her bones. As nice as the summers here are, this is always the one big thing – rain can come out of nowhere, and it can and will stay for days.

It also seems to stop everything.

Obviously no one is spending their time at the beach or going out sailing, so everyone huddles inside at hotels and restaurants and, unfortunately for her, the club. They open to non-members in the summer, so it’s always more packed than usual. But this? This is like absolute chaos. She’s never going to be able to sit down, and her feet are going to fall off. It’s what’s going to happen as she keeps running between the kitchen and at least four different dining rooms, dealing with angry parents and restless kids who never seem to be happy with the food they’re being served. It’s insane and stressful and she wishes that she was in Boston trying to figure out if someone was lying about whether the car accident really did hurt their neck.

No, she doesn’t wish for that. She doesn’t. She likes being home, and she thinks that’s what makes this entire day and this entire situation so much worse.

“Emma, I need – ”

“I know,” she calls back to Ashely, twisting on her foot and slamming right into a solid body that has the tray of drinks in her hands falling, spilling, and glass shattering against the ground. She knows that she could probably feel shards of it in her foot if she wasn’t so goddamned embarrassed by the fact that she just spilled drinks on Killian again.

The world is a very cruel place.

She’s going to have to bandage her ankles.

“Shit,” she sputters, already bending down to pick up the tray and the glasses that didn’t break. “Shit, shit, shit.” She starts to pick up the large chunks of glass when suddenly there are hands underneath her shoulders and she’s being pulled back up to stand, Killian’s eyes peering at her. “Shit.”

“You don’t need to pick up glass with your hands, love,” he says softly, his words far too kind for someone who just had more of his clothes ruined. “And you’re bleeding. You need to get cleaned up.”

“I know how to do my job,” she huffs, not wanting him to be kind to her, “and I’m fine.”

“You have bloody glass in your skin, Emma. Someone else can clean this up with you get it taken care of.”

“I – ” she starts, the protest on the tip of her tongue, but it dies there when she looks at the blue that has always meant so much to her. He’s changed a lot, really filled in physically, but the blue is the same. “Um, okay. I’m going to go to the front office and clean up I guess.”

He nods his head and releases her arms, and as she walks away, the slightest bit of pain in her step, she realizes that he’s walking with her. She doesn’t understand why, doesn’t want to ask why, but then he’s following her into the office, somewhere he’s definitely not supposed to go, and plopping himself down on a couch while she gets the first aid kit out and starts trying to clean her cuts and make sure there’s not more glass in her skin.

“Why are you in here?” she finally asks as she takes off her sneakers to check for glass. It’s everywhere.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why?”

“Because believe it or not, I still care about you.”

“Yeah,” she says incredulously, shaking a piece of glass out of her shoe and into the trashcan, “sure you do. That’s totally how you’ve acted the past few months.”

“Well, forgive me for not always wanting to talk to the woman who left without so much as a goodbye.”

The cuts more than the glass that was in her skin. She should have known. She should have known that them being around each other, that them talking, that it would lead to old scars being brought up. Why the hell did she want to talk to him to begin with?

“Killian – ”

“No, it’s fine. I get it. It’s been years. I shouldn’t still be bitter about it.”

“You very obviously are, though.” She sits down on the edge of the desk and starts dabbing at cut on her hand that she must have gotten when she was picking up the glass. “Wounds made when we’re young tend to linger. Or at least that’s what you always said as if you were some wise old man.”

He chuckles a bit at that, and her eyes snap up at him. She missed that sound. She didn’t realize it until now, but she did.

“I’ve always had an old soul, love.”

“And an old personality, obviously considering you’re now spending your time in country clubs golfing.”

“It’s for work,” he explains on a sigh as he wipes at the dampness on his pants, a loud crash of thunder shaking the window. “I – ”

“I know what you do.” When he raises his eyebrow, she continues. “Ruby told me. Don’t act so surprised that I asked about you. I’m not this cold heartless bitch you obviously think I am.”

“I have never said that.”

“You might as well have for the way you speak to me and the way you mostly avoid me.”

He laughs again, but this time it’s not as pleasant. It’s more…dark, and she doesn’t like it. Not at all. “Again, that is entirely rich coming from you.”

Her shoulders tense, and she stops working at her hand to look at him, to really look at him. He looks tired, exhausted really, and if she looks closely, she can see that his eyes are red rimmed. And that’s exactly when it hits her, when she realizes what today’s date is. June 24th. It’s the day that Liam died. Of course he’s going to be upset with her, even if he has every right to be, but today is likely not the best day for them to get into seven years of issues.

So of course she’s going to anyways. She doesn’t want to drudge up Liam’s memory. Killian doesn’t like to. He has to be the one to bring it up, and if he needs to yell, it might as well be at her.

“I’m a shitty person,” she says flatly, even if voice tries to betray her. “I left town, and I didn’t say goodbye, I know. I didn’t answer your texts or your calls. I can’t…Killian, I don’t know why I did that, not to you. You were my best friend for a long time, and you didn’t deserve that. So if you want to hate me, you have every right to. You can hate me and slander my name and spill five times as many drinks on me as I did to you. I deserve it all because I shouldn’t have done any of that. I have excuses, but they’re not worth anything.”

He doesn’t say anything for what has to be at least a minute. He simply sits on the couch and taps his fingers against his thigh while his jaw visibly clenches and unclenches. “I came to visit you, you know? In New York.”

She nearly loses her balance at his words, her ass almost falling off of the desk, but she doesn’t. She stays still and tries to regulate her breathing, tries to dislodge whatever is caught in her throat.

“When?”

“February of your first year.”

“I wasn’t – ”

“You weren’t there,” he finishes for her, his gaze practically burning her skin. This is almost too much for her right now, but she’s here. It’s happening. He deserves to talk to her and yell at her for abandoning him for no reason other than wanting out of Storybrooke. She can’t believe he came to see her in New York. “You hadn’t answered any of my calls, obviously, and I needed to know why. I missed you, and I wanted to see you. Only there I was, ready to lay my heart out on the ground for you, and your roommate told me that you’d dropped out and run off to Boston with some guy.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. Why would you do that, Emma? Where is this guy now?”

“He’s gone,” she whispers, her voice nearly getting carried away in the rain. “He was an asshole who broke my heart.”

“And who made you drop out of college.”

“I did that all on my own.”

“Sure you did.”

“Why do you even care anymore?” she huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and hugging herself, trying to put up some kind of shield. “I’m a screw up who was careless with your feelings. You should not care about me.”

“I was in love with you, Emma,” he yells, slapping his hands against his thighs before running them through his hair as he stands up and steps closer to her. The storm raging in his eyes matches the one outside, and she can barely breathe at the words that just slipped out of his mouth. “You were my best friend, you were there for me through everything, and you just left. I was so goddamn proud of you for going to college, for making something of yourself, but then you dropped off the face of the earth. You didn’t return my calls or my emails. Ever. And then I find out that you’ve dropped out of college and run off with some idiotic guy who did nothing but use you. I had never been more pissed at you than I was right then.”

She wants to acknowledge the fact that Killian just said he was in love with her, but she can’t right now. She doesn’t know if she ever will be able to.

“You’re pissed at me because I made a dumb choice and got my heart broken?” she finally says, the words struggling to get past her lips. “I was a naïve kid, Killian. I did stupid shit, and I paid the price for it. But you don’t get to get mad at me for that. You don’t get to throw my mistakes in my face.”

He nods his head as if he agrees, but he also inches closer to her, his knees nearly knocking into hers. “Why didn’t you call?”

“What?”

She doesn’t even know why she asked what. They’ve already talked about this. It’s like running in a damn circle.

“Why didn’t you call? Why did you decide that I wasn’t worth talking to anymore? What? The depressed man with no family was no longer interesting? I no longer made you laugh and drove you around since you didn’t have a car? I didn’t have a promising career so your mom no longer approved of me? Huh? Was that it?”

“Of course not.”

He takes a step closer, the blue of his eyes nearly completely black as their knees finally knock together. She can feel his breath on her, can feel the heat radiating off of his body.

“Then why?”

“Why would you want to spend time with someone whose entire life was laid out for them when yours had just been destroyed? I had everything, and I wanted none of it. I was young and stupid and selfish, and you deserved someone better than me to be your friend.”

“We had very different childhoods, love. You grew up in a happy house full of love and opportunity, and I would never blame you for thinking differently than me, for wanting a different life than the one you had. I was – I am an idiot. I’m a hot headed idiot who doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut when it comes to you. That hasn’t changed. That’s not going to change.”

“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” she quietly admits, not knowing what else to say when Killian’s proximity to her is making it hard to breathe. “I’m sorry that I didn’t call. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry that I’ve been ignoring you since you’ve been home.”

She takes a deep breath and nods her head, her heart still thumping against her chest. This is a lot of emotional whiplash, and she’s not quite sure how to take it or handle it. She doesn’t even think they’ve solved anything or explained it well, but the truth of the matter is that she doesn’t even have an explanation. That’s how shitty she was to him. She doesn’t even know why she did the things she did.

Killian was in love with her.

And she broke his heart without even realizing it.

How could he ever want to talk to her again?

“Killian, I – ” she starts, more words of apology on her tongue when Ashley walks into the office, her eyes widening at the sight in front of her. They must look like a mess. And when the hell did her hand land on Killian’s shoulder?

“Um, Ems,” Ashely stutters while Killian sighs, “I don’t know what’s happening here, but we kind of need you back working.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mumbles, not moving from her spot. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Now would be better.”

“I’ll be there now,” she says, looking up at Killian and wondering how the black of his eyes has faded back to blue when he should still be pissed at her. “Do you want to talk some more later?”

He smiles, and even though his lips are now surrounded by scruff, it’s the same smile.

“I’d like that.”

-/-

June swelters into July, and she becomes busier than ever at work as well as helping Killian with whatever events he sets up to drive in tourism. It’s odd talking to him again, really talking to him, but after that day at the club, despite nothing really being resolved, they’ve both made an effort to try to be friends again. She doesn’t know why Killian would want that, not really, but it’s his life, and a lot can change in seven years. A lot has changed, and even though they were friends before and know the basic questions and answers of their lives, it’s kind of like starting anew again. Neither of them are the people they were. They’ve grown, changed, and it takes some time to start to get to actually know Killian again.

For one, he’s not a loner anymore. Not at all. And it’s not like he was to begin with, but he definitely wasn’t actively social. Now, though, they can’t walk down any street without Killian talking to someone and asking about their wife or their kids or something personal that shows that he knows this person. It’s the strangest thing watching him be this social guy, but honestly, it makes her happy that he’s happy. He’s always been so charismatic, and it’s kind of nice to see him use his charms and to not be holed up in his house drinking rum.

That’s one thing that has definitely changed. It’s not that Killian was some underaged alcoholic, but he did have a fondness for rum, especially after his mom died. She doesn’t know how he got it, but he did. But now, Killian doesn’t drink at all. He hasn’t outright said it, but when they go get something to eat, he always orders water or tea. She doesn’t think much of it until one night they’re walking along the dock hanging streamers for a sailing race the next day and he starts telling her about Milah.

She hates that her heart pangs when he starts talking about her because she should not be jealous of a woman who’s not in the picture anymore. She should not be jealous at all. She’s always found Killian attractive, even more so now, but they’ve never been a…thing. She’s never wanted them to be a thing, to be more than friends, but her mind is obviously betraying her.

“I loved her, you know,” he starts as he hammers a nail into a post. “She helped me through a really dark time. She made me happy, and I guess that’s why I never questioned the fact that she didn’t like going out on dates in town or why we always slept at my place. Storybrooke is not a big town, and I was so dumb to not realize. I was also too drunk. But obviously I figured it out, we got into a fight, and then we broke up. I didn’t have any interest in being in a relationship with a married woman, even if her marriage was falling apart. I didn’t want to be like my dad, you know?”

“You’re not like your dad,” she promises, hanging the string for the banner and tying it off. “You never have been.”

“I was sleeping with a married woman and drinking far too much. I was exactly like my father. So I broke up with the woman who I thought was going to be the love of my life, and I quit drinking. Simple as that.” “You and I both know that it wasn’t simple.”

He shrugs his shoulders, but his focus never strays from the task at hand. “I’ve been sober for two years. It’s not simple, no, but it’s easier now than it used to be.”

And so their nights go. They work together and spend time together just like they did as teenagers, and little by little, the threads that have been holding their secrets together unravel as they reveal thoughts and dreams and what’s happened in the past. Their threads had been cut from each other seven years ago, but she thinks they’re starting to be knit back together. It’s not something she ever thought would happen, but she’s glad that it is.

Really glad.

-/-

By the time August rolls around, she accepts the fact that she may very well actually like Killian Jones. It’s not that difficult of a conclusion to get to, not really. They basically spend all of their time together. When she’s not working, she’s usually helping Killian work or chilling at the beach with him, and when he’s not working and she is, he’s always at the club. Last week he came to her parents’ house and had dinner with everyone, and even though it’s something that’s happened before, it felt…different.

The fact that her mom’s eyes lit up and she wouldn’t stop talking about how handsome Killian is kind of nailed home the fact that her mom wouldn’t mind if she and Killian started screwing like bunnies.

Woah. That’s not where she was going with that.

But it kind of is. She’s ridiculously attracted to him, emotionally and physically, and she kind of wants to sleep with him.

She should definitely slow her roll, though. She’s not just going to jump into bed with Killian. That would change…everything. That would change absolutely everything. Besides, it’s not like he wants to be with her.

She knows that it’s a lie even as she thinks it. She knows that Killian has feelings for her, that he always has. Hell, at one point he was apparently in love with her, and while she doesn’t think that’s true anymore, she can tell. Sometimes you just know.

And sometimes Ruby tells her that Killian looks at her like she’s responsible for hanging the moon in the sky and creating the waves of the ocean. Sometimes Ashely tells her that she looks at Killian like he was the one to hang the sun.

They’re not weird celestial beings, but the point still stands.

She’s got absolutely no clue what to do with it.

But it’s not something she really has to deal with as she stays busy at work and Killian does the same, tourism in town reaching its peak before everyone goes back to school and families stop coming on vacation. Yet, like she’s living in some kind of Hallmark movie where everything magically seems to happen during a big event, on the day of Summer Fest, a very aptly named festival where all of the local vendors set up booths at the docks and beach games are held along with swimming and boating competitions, something changes between she and Killian.

It happens slowly, really, as these things do. She’s spending her day running around in goddamn khaki shorts and a lime green t-shirt that Killian made her wear as she helps him to keep things running smoothly. She doesn’t really see him more than a blur of black hair and tan skin, and that’s okay as she doesn’t really have time to talk. So their days go on, separately and yet together, and by one in the morning, everyone has left the pier, the docks, and the beach, except for the two of them as they sit with their feet dangling off the pier and over the ocean, a bucket of cotton candy between them.

“I don’t know why more people don’t come out here to look at this view.”

“Because it’s one in the morning, love,” he laughs, sticking his hand in the bucket to grab some of the fluff. “Everyone is asleep.”

“We’re not.”

“Because we’re crazy.”

She laughs at that as she twists herself a little closer to him, picking up the cotton candy bucket and holding it in her lap as their thighs press together and her head rests on his shoulder, the smallest hint of his cologne still remaining. Mostly he smells like salt and sweat. It’s not an awful combination, but it’s not particularly pleasant either. She can’t imagine what she smells like after spending the day outside. Probably sweat and suntan lotion.

“Oh I don’t know, I think we’re geniuses for getting this view all to ourselves.”

“It is a beautiful view,” he hums as his arm comes to wrap around her waist, fingers toying with the skin just about the belt loops on her shorts.

His touch is electric, like lightening bugs inching over her skin, and she twists her head up to look at him only to find that he’s already looking at her, their lips so close that if she just pressed up the slightest bit she could…

“Emma,” he whispers, somehow inching closer so that his nose presses into hers, his lips ghosting against her skin as she whines at the lack of touch. It’s so much and yet not nearly enough.

“What?” she murmurs right back, one hand bracing her against the wood while the other lands on his thigh, his muscles twitching under her touch.

“What are you doing?”

“I was kind of thinking about kissing you.”

“So was I.”

And then they are. It’s soft, gentle at first. Really, it’s as sweet as the cotton candy that they were just eating. He tastes like that too. Killian’s lips taste like sugar, and they’re far softer than she ever imagined. She has imagined it too, far more than she’d ever admit. Seven, almost eight years ago, when she left this town with no intention of ever coming back, when she screwed up her life and hurt people she cared about, she never would have imagined knowing just how Killian kisses.

It’s a good thing to know as her heart threatens to burst through her ribcage with its pounding.

She thinks that he’s going to pull back from her, that he’s going to stop the kiss, but really his hands come up to cup her face, rough callouses covering her skin with the magic of his touch, and he drags his teeth against her bottom lip, his mouth forming into a smile at the little noise that she just let out as heat simmers below the surface of her skin. It can no way compare to the way the sun felt beating down on her all day.

It’s so much better.

Her lips part to let him slide his tongue into her mouth, the slick flesh exploring her as she does the same. He’s a damn good kisser, and she could do this for hours. She might have been doing this for hours. She honestly doesn’t know at this point as her toes actually curl within her shoes and as her skin tingles.

“We should go inside. Get some rest.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she agrees, knowing that even though the two of them are going to end up in bed, neither of them are actually going to bed.

His apartment is only a five minute walk from the pier, but it seems to take them so much longer to get there as Killian keeps taking the time to push her into a wall and bury his head into her neck, hot puffs of air coming out onto her skin as he kisses her flesh. It’s thrilling and exciting, and she really shouldn’t complain with the heat that’s curling between her thighs and the way that it’s absolutely driving her mad.

But they do eventually get inside, Killian unlocking the door with his hands shaking the slightest bit, and she tries to comfort him by turning and wrapping her arms around his neck as she pays the same attention to him that he did to her earlier. His hands find her ass, and before she knows it, warm flesh is dipping below her shorts and squeezing her as he easily walks her backwards. She trusts him completely in so many ways, and she thinks that mostly shows with the fact that she never looks behind her as they move through the apartment.

She’s far too distracted by this little noise that he makes when she bites down on his clavicle anyways.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

“Is that so?” she mumbles, pulling back from him and lifting this ugly t-shirt over her shoulders so that it falls to the ground and her skin is exposed to his gaze.

“Aye. No one compares.”

“Oh I don’t know about that,” she teases, her voice lifting in pitch as his fingers work at the button on her shorts. His hands are so damn warm, and she imagines the rest of his body is as it holds the warmth of their day spent outside.

“I do.”

She looks up at him then, at the intense forget-me-not eyes, and the smile that was on her face falls at the seriousness of his. He means it. Really and truly, and she’s not going to take that lightly. Pressing her palm up against his chest, she lifts up on her toes and slants her lips over is.

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.”

It’s not quite the same, but she’s getting there.

Slowly but surely each article of their clothes is peeled off of their bodies. It takes far too long with how they’re stopping to explore every inch of each other’s skin with hands and lips and teeth. Killian is exceptionally good at riling her up, at making her want him, and after what feels like an eternity, he settles himself over her and between her thighs as he pushes into her in a thick slide of heat that makes her dig her nails into his arms, little red marks staying over his tattoo while she holds on tightly.

“Emma, God, I – ” he begins, his voice strained and yet light, as if he’s talking to that person who he thinks hung the moon. Maybe he is as he gently rocks into her, his hips deliciously sliding over hers while his lips hover just above her. “You are fantastic. I can’t – this is so much better than I imagined.”

She wants to make a quip about him imagining this, but she doesn’t. Instead she presses up to kiss him. “For me too.”

It’s slow, much slower than it ever has been for her, and it’s likely because Killian is taking the time to learn what she likes, to learn what brings her pleasure and causes her to whimper as they shift and move together. He’s brilliant at this, at making every inch of her feel treasured for the first time in a long time, and she wants to do the same to him, to show him that he’s treasured too. She wants to show him that she’s not leaving him, not again.

So she spends her time gliding their lips together, trying to coax out whimpers of pleasure from him. She does, and she wonders if she can memorize the sounds that he makes. She’s planning on doing this again, so she’s got the time. His hips snap into hers as her legs shift to allow him better access, to make him slip in deeper, and when he starts to get a bit shaky, she snakes her hand between them to rub at where they’re joined. She knows that she falls first, that her blood runs hot and that she can’t stop it as her eyes shut and Killian’s forehead rests against her collarbone. But she doesn’t want to stop it, not when this is so blissful and not when Killian is falling apart too, coming undone as the sweat on his skin falls to hers, his lips pressed against her ear as he whispers everything but “I love you” to her.

That comes two months later on a warm morning in October as they sit at his kitchen table drinking coffee after they spent the night trying to figure out what kind of job she’s going to apply for since she doesn’t want to keep working as a waitress. Killian suggests that she come work for him, and when she raises a brow at that, he shrugs and tells her that he’s serious. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s become quite adept at helping him plan events and set up for things, as well as answering calls and dealing with people who are upset that it’s raining and that their scheduled sailing lesson has been cancelled.

Plus, it means that she doesn’t have to work in an office all day, which is exactly what she’s been trying to avoid.

So the night after she figures out a way to maybe get her life on track, the man who has always been there for her even when she wasn’t there for him tells her that he loves her. She says it right back, meaning every word. She might not have deserved him for hurting him when they were young, but if there’s anything she’s learned lately, it’s that forgiveness, when deserved, is a very powerful thing.

She knows all of his secrets, all of his scars. She knows the ones that she caused, the ones that were left while she was around and the ones that were left after she was gone. She’ll get to know the ones that are left in the future.

She also knows that the ship wheel’s tattoo on his arm, the one that has his mom’s and Liam’s names inked into his skin because they were the people he loved most, gets her name inked into it three years after she officially returns home.

Because she is.

Home.

[artificialqueens]

Bad Girls Club (Branjie) Chapter 6 - Joley

ao3 link

[June 6th, 2018]

“Tradition or not, this shit gonna get our asses busted one of these days, and I don’t know about y’all, but I’m trynna haul ass outta this zip code as soon as I can.”

“God, who invited Captain Buzzkill?” Vanessa rolled her eyes. “You as fucked up as we are, Silk. So, shut up and grab a box.” She passed a box of snap poppers to Silky and A’keria and kept one for herself. Glancing over her shoulder, she opened hers up and took one of the small, wrapped spheres between her thumb and finger. “On three.”

In stage whispers, the three girls counted down from three before throwing the little balls at the stairs of their high school, giggling as the loud snaps filled the otherwise quiet night – well, quiet for that part of town, anyway. Despite the complaints, it was still one of their most cherished traditions, dating back to eighth grade when they set off the poppers at their middle school the night after the last day, ringing in the start of the summer.

The girls were so caught up in their celebration that they failed to notice the police officer walking up behind them until he cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Seriously, you guys?” He pinched the bridge of his nose as the three teenagers scrambled upright in a haphazard (and fruitless) attempt to save face. “Alright, you know the drill. Davenport, Ganache, Mateo, into the car.” And they were left with no option but to comply.

While the process was always the same, the outcome varied based on multiple factors – the type of crime, the time of day, whether or not Officer Watts was fighting with his wife – but everything was added to the books, so to speak. Tonight, it just seemed like he couldn’t be bothered to do more than go through the motions, bringing each girl home and walking them to the door, so their guardians knew just where they’d been.

Vanessa was the last stop and the officer dropped her off to her mom with the repeated normalcy as any sort of scheduled custody exchange. “Say hi to Kimberly and the kids for me!” she called out as Officer Watts returned to his patrol car.

“Don’t try to buddy your way out of this, Vanessa. I’m getting real tired of this bullshit.” Her mother’s tone was as sharp as her glare, punctuated by the sound of the door slamming shut. “I see that police car come down this block more often than the ice cream truck! It’s like you’re not even trying to better yourself.”

“Better myself?” Vanessa scoffed and rolled her eyes. “What is this, My Fair Lady?” She calmed herself as quickly as she had snapped. “Sorry, sorry… but I promise we ain’t done nothing wrong, just hanging out.”

“Hanging out doesn’t get you brought home in a cop car. Don’t you ever stop and think about your future? How you gonna apply to college with a permanent record like that?”

The sudden silence that followed filled the room with a solemn sense of unease. Vanessa sat down on her couch and picked her dog up onto her lap. “Can we stop pretending I got a chance of going to college, Mom? We both know I’m not cut out for that.”

Her mother’s expression softened as she sat beside her on the couch. “Mija, I wish you could see the potential in yourself that I see in you.” She wrapped her arm around her and held her close. “You are not a lost cause, and I’m not giving up on you.”

[Present Day]

“Do you think prison’s actually like Orange is the New Black?” Vanessa asked, her gaze drifting from A’keria to the grass beneath her, ripping a handful of it from the ground and aimlessly scattering the blades.

A’keria quirked her brow. “Why you worried about it? The whole point of this shit is us getting clean records, so we don’t go to prison.” After a moment, she sighed and rolled her eyes. “Is this about the whole prison wife thing you think Brooke Lynn was talking about?”

Vanessa looked away as she answered. “No…” She chewed on her lip. “Not just her. You really think this shit is gonna stick? That we’re gonna go to college and get on the dean’s list or some shit? This whole thing is just so they can pass the blame onto us when we fuck up and land in jail for real.” As she finished her rant, she noticed the expression on her friend’s face. It wasn’t quite anger or sadness, but it made her chest tighten. “What?”

“I just didn’t think you, of all people, would give up on yourself.”

“I’m not!” she quickly defended. “I’m just being realistic.”

A’keria turned and cornered her into eye contact. “Are you? Or are you setting yourself up for failure on purpose, so you don’t have to get out of your comfort zone?”

Vanessa huffed and crossed her arms. “Since when are you into psycho-ana…psych-analy-a…” She gestured vaguely. “You know, dissecting my brain and shit.”

“It don’t take fuckin’ Einstein to know you’re being ridiculous. Look, I’m not saying I’m not gonna drink or smoke or do hoodrat shit after this, but we got a chance at actually having futures. And if you’re gonna sit and act like none of this ever happened when we get back home, you’re a hugehypocrite for being mad at Brooke Lynn for wanting to go back to the good life she had.”

It was rare for Vanessa to be at a loss for words, but she had no way to argue what had been said. It would be a conscious choice to go back home and get in trouble again, and she would be disappointing everyone that cared about her. So, maybe she couldn’t fault Brooke for longing to escape from this situation, but it didn’t resolve how she felt about her or even in general. She lay down on the ground and stared off into space while the sun warmed her skin. “I don’t know what to say to her.”

She nodded slowly. “I knew it would come back to that. You give so much of your heart so easily, Vanjie. You set yourself up to get hurt. Hell, you might still have a shot with her if you actually stop and think about what you say instead of shooting off at the mouth.”

Vanessa pushed herself back up, shaking her head. “Nah, not with how I’ve been. She probably thinks I’m psycho now.”

A’keria shifted to her side to properly look at her. “You won’t know if you don’t talk it out. Just… Don’t slip back into your old habits.”

“What old habits?”

“Really, bitch?”

[September 3rd, 2018]

“Okay, the suspense is killing me, so I’ll bite. What the hell is wrong with Vanjie?”

Silky rolled her eyes before looking in Vanessa’s direction. Their friend was sat at the other end of the lunch table, pouting with her arms crossed, but also looking sincerely solemn and crestfallen. “Oh, that girl she been hooking up with all summer dropped her ass ‘cause she has a boyfriend.”

A’keria let out an exaggerated groan. “I told her. Didn’t I tell her? I said, ‘watch yourself with her, she ain’t in it for the long haul,’ right to her.” She sighed and shook her head, deciding to save the well-earned ‘I told you so’ for later. For now, she needed to be a comforting friend. “Alright, c’mere baby. It’s gonna be okay,” she soothed and wrapped an arm around her.

“She got me fucked up, man,” Vanessa’s voice trembled as she spoke. “She really went and said she ‘never felt like this before’ and now she’s gonna act like I don’t exist. Who does that shit?”

“Straight girls,” Silky chimed in, which got a small laugh out of Vanessa – much to both of her friends’ relief.

With the tension lifted – at least for the moment – Vanessa pushed herself up to her feet. “I’m not gonna stay stressing over this, okay? I’m good, fuck her and her greasy-ass boyfriend.” And with that, the school bell rang, and they were all off to class.

Silky walked with A’keria, trailing a few steps behind Vanessa. “Do you actually think she’s done stressing over this?”

“Not a chance.”

Much to their chagrin, A’keria ended up being proven right not a full three days later.

All it took was one house party with just enough alcohol and Vanessa was making out with her summer fling off in a corner. She had one hand up the back of the girl’s shirt, the other tangled through her hair – it was as if nothing had changed at all.

Until it did, ten minutes later.

“Where are you going?” Vanessa asked, not about to be left high and dry without putting up a fight. “It was just getting good,” she added with a discontented huff.

“My boyfriend’s here,” the ex answered in a calloused tone, reapplying her lipstick without looking in Vanessa’s direction. She fluffed up her hair and sauntered off, wrapping her arms around some lanky, awkward looking guy and effectively acting as though Vanessa ceased to exist.

A’keria got up to collect her friend. “This time I’m not holding back the ‘I told you so.’”

[Present Day]

“Are you still giving me the cold shoulder?”

Vanessa shrugged it off. “There’s a lot worse I could be giving you. Don’t push it.”

Brooke Lynn sighed and pushed herself to sit up on her bed. “Baby, I can’t fix anything if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.” She pouted and reached out to grab Vanessa’s hand, swinging it slowly.

This wasn’t fair as far as Vanessa was concerned. How was she supposed to maintain her tough resolve when Brooke was giving her puppy dog eyes and a soft, pink pout? Her weakness was being used against her – it had been at least two days of freezing her out and she had been starting to get lonely anyway. She bit down on her lip and looked down. “I’m not trynna have this heart-to-heart yet. I know you ain’t about it, so the time has to be right.”

“Then let’s not talk.” Brooke noticed Vanessa wasn’t resisting her hold anymore, so she pulled her closer and closer until the smaller girl sat on her lap. “We don’t have to talk, just let me take your mind off it for a while,” she cooed as she started to place soft, slow kisses from her shoulder all the way up to her jaw.

The temptation was undeniable and nearly every part of Vanessa’s body was urging her towards Brooke. And at first, she gave in. She straddled her lap with her arms draped around her neck. Their foreheads rested against each other, lips just barely touching before connecting in a kiss. And another one, a deeper, languid one. For a moment, she was perfectly at ease. There was no yesterday or tomorrow to weigh down her mind – there was only now and only them in a dream of their own design.

Then she woke up to the sinking feeling that this was too easy. Not every problem could be solved by kissing pretty girls, no matter how hard she may try. She pulled away, standing up. “I can’t do this right now. It ain’t even you… I just…”

“You just what?”

Vanessa was shaking her head as she backed away. “You wouldn’t understand. Sometimes it’s better to not do enough than to do too much. That’s how you end up in this shit hole.”

[June 24th, 2019]

It was the dead of night, a time where – in many places – everything would be quiet and calm. But this was still Los Angeles in the early days of summer, when the weather was nice without the balmy heat making the air hazy, the kind of heat that made walking feel like trudging through a thick slime.

The ability to walk quickly and move nimbly was imperative for Vanessa and A’keria – down one from their usual trio with Silky away visiting family in Mississippi. It would’ve taken a lot more than that to quash Vanessa’s plans.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. I swear to god, if the police don’t kill you, I will. It’s like you’re trying to invent a new level of stupid shit to try to get away with and—”

“Shh!” Vanessa elbowed her in the ribs. “We’ll get away with it if you shut the fuck up.” And with that, she had effectively tuned A’keria out as they kept walking to their destination. “Alright, this is it.”

A’keria hesitated. “You sure? Cause if it ain’t—”

“It is. Now, do you want the eggs or toilet paper?” She held up a carton of eggs in one hand and a roll of toilet paper in the other, offering up both options.

After a moment of disgruntled hesitation, A’keria sighed and grabbed the toilet paper. If Vanessa wasn’t going to come to her senses, she would at least pick the lesser of two evils on her end.

Of course, when the police arrived it didn’t really matter who was throwing what – vandalism was still vandalism. But Vanessa sat upright and indignant as she was escorted into the backseat of the cop car. Just as the car was pulling away, she stole a glance out the window, at the girl who had ignited the anger in her that drove her to revenge.

She looked indifferent – mildly annoyed at most. This infuriated Vanessa to no end. “Look at her, she don’t even care. What the fuck?”

The other girl sighed with her head against the window. “Now do you see how ridiculous you’ve been? You got your ass all worked up over some bitch that don’t give two shits about you. I keep telling you it’s gonna land you in a damn mess and look where we are now. We could catch a real charge for this, V.” She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down. There was no point in them fighting on top of everything else. “Just once I wish you’d think things through before you act, channel that passion into something useful.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Listen, I’ll take the whole rap for this. It was my fault – you tried to talk me out of it.”

A’keria shook her head with a soft smile. “Nah, they caught me red-handed too. Besides, we’re still ride-or-dies no matter how foolish you act.”

[Present Day]

“Hey… Vanessa, right? Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

Vanessa was undeniably caught off-guard when the hot, tattooed blonde that’d served her lunch plopped herself down beside her at the table. She blinked, taking a moment for her brain to connect to her mouth. “Um… Sure, what’s up?”

“You see that girl over there? With the blonde ponytail and the kicked puppy expression?” Kameron cocked her head in Brooke Lynn’s direction. “Every time I look at her, she’s looking at you. And I mean looking at you. So, I have got to know – is something going on between you two?”

That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Vanessa looked down at the table for a good few moments before facing the girl who didn’t seem annoyed or jealous – just genuinely curious, which she supposed alleviated some of the anxiety the question could’ve caused. “You could say that,” was what she decided on. “But it’s complicated, you don’t want the whole backstory or nothing.”

Kameron chuckled, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Listen, I know complicated. And I know Brooke Lynn. I promise, nothing you could say about her would surprise me.”

It certainly wasn’t the response Vanessa was expecting, but it did explain the nonchalance Kameron had. “It’s not even her. I mean… it’s kind of her. But it’s me too. I got a… bad habit of getting real intense if I start to catch feelings, and she’s got this whole life to go back to, and I shouldn’t be mad at her for wanting to go back to her normal life…”

“So, what, she told you to fuck off back into the hood?”

Vanessa laughed, but it was a laugh filled with embarrassment and a hint of self-realization. “No… I just been avoiding talking to her about it since I’m, you know, real and emotional and shit, and she’s all closed off cause she’s a hornet.”

“Do you mean WASP?”

“Like it matters. It’s like we’re speaking different languages half the time anyway.”

Kameron tilted her head and pressed her lips together, going absolutely silent. In actuality, it wasn’t more than a minute or so, but with Vanessa unconsciously holding her breath, it felt like ages. “What if I go talk to her for you? You know, serve as a middleman or something.”

“Oh, no that’s not a— oh, okay, you already going. You ain’t even listening to me.” She hid her head in her arms on the table. “Well fuck me, I guess.” It wasn’t like the situation could get any more awkward, she figured.

Meanwhile, Kameron seemed as cheerful as she had been while serving food when she perched herself across from Brooke Lynn at the otherwise empty lunch table. “Long time no see, huh?”