#in my day you got wrecked by imperfect endings and you LIKED (read: were forever scarred by) IT!

[leche-flandom]

😭

Some folks learned about heartbreak when their first relationship ended, and some learned about heartbreak watching Belle sing "When Love is Gone" to ridiculously hot even with his pilgrim bob cut Scrooge in the greatest adaptation of all time.

[cassiecasyl]

we’re making it up as we go

Note: I haven’t seen 15x19 yet, so I’mma go into hiding after posting this to watch the episode. This is just a thing I was too tired last night to finish.

Prompt:

Chuck realizes the power of love through Destiel (that moment in s4e22 when Castiel volunteers to fight an archangel so Dean can do his thing bc I always got this vibe from that scene) + paired with s15e18

Read on ao3.

“You know what every other version of you did after gripping him tight and raising him from perdition? They did what they were told. But not you. Not the one off the line with a crack in his chassis.” Broken. That’s what they saw him as. The angel unable to follow orders, the one that was always causing trouble, even if he couldn’t remember it. Having his memory wiped countless times because no amount of brainwashing would ever stick. Defiant, rebel, traitor. Human. Just like Dean, no, following Dean, he transformed from the loyal soldier to an independent warrior. 

When Castiel first laid a hand on you, he was lost. A reminder, cutting deeply, of how he didn’t fit in among his old family anymore. How they hated him, and Dean for taking him away from them, for poisoning him. His human weakness. Just like Akobel had said, how could he know them and not have fallen in love with them? At Dean’s side, Castiel had never felt lost, maybe confused though. At Dean’s side, he was found. 

Dean. Hurt, angry, fighting, hopeless. The man preaching that there was always another way was at the end of his rope. He was lashing out at everyone, furious at the thought of being controlled, caged in. “You’re not in this story,” Chuck had once told him, before he revealed himself as God, in the beginning of Castiel’s fall. It seemed like so long ago now. 

“Well, we’re making it up as we go,” Castiel had defended, because this was what Dean wanted, and this was where he belonged. Next to Dean’s side, keeping him safe. So, he had already given himself up back then, walking into a fight with an archangel with no hope to win. He’d figure it out. 

That’s how they ended up here, at this epiphany that meant the end of Cas’s life, revealing a truth, and ultimately, saving Dean Winchester. He had slipped through the lines of the story, had hidden in the subtext, and now turned it around. 

“I love you,” Castiel cried, happier than ever, as he found happiness in the being rather than the having. His very last action was a rebellion, and it was to save Dean Winchester. It seems that his whole being came down to this. Moments later, he was embraced by the empty, and pulled into its realm. He left his love behind, safe and soundly sobbing. 

It was inconvenient love, Chuck realized as he watched this defiant finale unfold. It had been growing in the little cracks within his imperfect writing, like weeds on the street, and had planted its seed in Castiel’s chassis. 

Once, he found it entertaining, and encouraged it even by resurrecting Castiel again and again. As Metatron had pointed out, it made for a good story. The angel had been an interesting play ball. But now, only frustration rose in him as he turned his perfect ending upside down, not even letting him enjoy Dean being murdered.

He’d seen it coming long ago though, hadn’t he? When Castiel was ready to sacrifice himself just to sneak Dean into a story he wasn’t supposed to be in. Chuck had seen something in the angel then, had realized his humanity that night, but had denied it. How stupid it was. It had been right under his nose and he had deemed it too unimportant to see it as a threat to his story. And now, it was slapped right into his face. 

Castiel loves Dean Winchester. It was a rule his characters set up against his will, defying their very creator. It wasn’t something he had ever planned for, that he ever thought would interfere. He huffed frustratingly. Every other version had followed their plan, but it was exactly that he didn’t what made this version so fascinating. 

So, what now? With Castiel finally gone, Sam, Dean and Jack mourning. The nephilim had to go. Of course he had survived. But what Chuck wanted was a perfectly world-shattering finale between just the brothers. Like it had started, so should it end.  

An ethereal scream disrupted his thoughts as it echoed through several dimensions. He looked up, trying to locate it. He growled in recognition then, his eyes illuminated in pure rage. How dare he? Castiel had weaseled his way into this story and now, even after his final death, he wouldn’t lay still. The Empty’s scream of pain and frustration shook his core, tucking at him in a frightening way. It was more of a vibration, though. 

Castiel opened his eyes to darkness. For a moment, he thought he could make out a little light through the all-encompassing, lethal hug, maybe a last glimpse of Dean. But, he was laying on the ground. Why was he awake? He looked around for a sign of his captor, or even his family. Jack had got him out before, hadn’t he? He’d been in full shape though. 

Hope is a treacherous thing that sinks into the roots of your very being, wrecking it. Castiel knew that. But it was also what had let him time and time again back to Dean. It was there, always at his side, sometimes barely alive, sometimes a wildfire. 

He heard it before he saw it. A scream filled the void, frustrated and tired, full of hatred. The angel flinched away from it, but there was nowhere to go. The entity manifested before him, taking from all around to form its body. “You just can’t stay asleep, can you?” it snarled, wearing Meg’s face. “Why does everyone have to make it loud these days? It’s not fun. Go back to sleep, Castiel!” 

In all his lifetime, Castiel had never seen someone so seething with rage, letting it consume its whole being, and he had met Wrath. Hell, he had spent years with Dean Winchester, known for his poor anger management. Still, he wasn’t as intimidated as he thought he’d be. The Empty wanted something from him, and he wanted out. Maybe, they could come to an agreement, like before. 

“No,” he said, and it was almost amusing how it infuriated the cosmic entity. 

It moved closer, threatening the angel with its presence. “I could crush you, angel,” it whispered into his ear, “I could throw you into nothingness so poor that your being will forever be forgotten. You will never have even existed.”  

“No,” Castiel simply repeated. 

“No? Have you listened to a word I said? I could evaporate your very being and that’s what you say? No?” The want for sleep seemed to fill the Empty’s voice more and more with every word. It was at the end of its line. It was exhausted. 

“If you could, why haven’t you already done so?” Castiel stated calmly, a strange contrast to the Empty. The living and the forever dead. Light against dark. The eternal struggle, reimagend. “You’re tired, and we both know there’s only one way to get rid of what’s keeping you up.” It growled, hating to be proven wrong. 

“Don’t wake me up ever again!” 

Castiel found himself in a blur until warm hands touched him, probing, worried, shaking in ecstasy. “Cas? Oh my God, Cas!” Dean whimpered, and Castiel blinked into the yellow light of the winter sun. He shivered, pressing closer to the hunter. They were smiling, laughing, united. “Don’t you ever leave me like that again! You hear me, dumbass?” Dean accused him, though unable to hide the grin on his face. 

Castiel laughed, feeling the picking at his exposed skin, the impossible warmth that filled his heart, the sadness, anger, everything. He was so completely human. And Dean, Dean was there right in front of him, not letting go, crying of happiness. “I love you, Dean,” Castiel said, letting the happiness in those words swirl through. This was who he was. Castiel loves Dean Winchester. 

“I know, Cas, I know,” Dean whispered back, sporting one of those rare smiles that reached his eyes. He was beautiful. “I love you, too.” 

(Chuck watched from afar, his expression unreadable yet undeniably angry. This angel, who had weaseled his way into the story, had defied death again. Following love, he wound his way into a book he wasn’t supposed to be in, tossing words aside at his will. He scoffed as the angel and hunter kissed. Loved had won, after all. Chuck hated it.)

Tag List: @nightmare-in-plaid @luciferstempest @aniridescentdreamer @gnbrules @starrynightdeancas

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Those Wedding Bell Blues

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Summary: marrying into the Harrington family wasn’t exactly easy, but damn was it worth it.

Word count: 15k

Warnings: FLUFF, maybe like two swear words, religion (I mentioned a church like once)

Author’s note: HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY! So I have to confess, I love Steve, will always come first in my heart above Billy. So, I had planned to post this fic that I had written based on this scene from Pride and Prejudice. And then I read what I had done and saw that it needed massive editing and that it was super short. So I took a fic that I had started writing at midnight last night, edited it and the original post and combined them. So this isn’t super perfect, you can definitely see the seams of where I combined them, but it’s what you’re getting.

Tag List (If you want to be added, message me!): @steveharringtonofficial @lovelydacre @flamehairedwritings @hotstuffhargrove @itstartswithhelloo (idk if you wanted to be tagged but you are now soooooo)

FEEDBACK APPRECIATED!!!

You and Steve got married on the spring of 1991. It was massive events, the biggest in Hawkins; all because Steve’s parents refused to let their only son, the heir to the Harrington fortune and the insurance business, do anything half-assed. So, they rented the biggest space in the Hawkins area, a giant hall thirty minutes outside Hawkins and invited almost the entire town and then some. Everything was detailed and perfected, a true testament to the power of money and small town notoriety.

And you and Steve hated it.

No, you loathed it. It was a complete train wreck of an event. You had wanted something small and simple and Steve, well he would’ve been happy to have just eloped.

But that wasn’t going to fly, so on the day of you stepped into the puffy monstrosity that was your wedding dress, chosen by your mother and soon to be mother-in-law, and forced a big, lipstick laden smile for the cameras.

There were really only three moments from your wedding that you loved: 1.) coming down the aisle, 2.) your vows, and 3.) coming home from it.

Of course, every bride loves to see their soon to be spouse at the end of the aisle, but you felt especially grateful. At the end of the church hall were the people who you’d fought the forces of evil with and won, all there to support you and Steve.

Nancy, Max, El, and Kali, all itching in their puffy pink bridesmaids’ dresses, the wounds of war hiding just beyond their eyes. They all seemed peaceful, calm; the threat of war gone, finally letting them sleep. The memory of Barb floated in the air, the missing fifth person to your party. You kept her in your mind that day.

Dustin, Lucas, Mike, Will, and Jonathan, all watching with their own minds whirling, thoughts beyond the moment demanding their attention. Lucas, Mike, and Jonathan stealing glances at the girls, shy smiles and secret thoughts that made them blush and avert their eyes quickly. Dustin and Will had taken to helping Steve to find the courage to turn around, the organ beginning to play the wedding march as you and your father took the first steps into the church.

When he finally did look at you, time stood still. You watched as his face seemed to change in slow motion, the nervous looks melting into one of sheer, unfiltered love. He loved you, the feeling was impossibly more clear now. And you loved him, the last strings of doubt snapping and frittering away.

That was the moment breathtaking moment you could name. It took number one on the list.

Your vows took second. You and Steve had insisted on writing your own vows, much to his parents chagrin. They knew their son wasn’t the most remarkable writer and the idea of their friends and colleagues sitting through clumsy basketball metaphors made them both sick.

But when the time came, no such thing happened.

“Y/N, I’m not good with words, but you already know that, so here goes.” He began, earning laughs from the spectators, polite smiles and little whispers to their neighbours.

“When we met, I was a mess and I really didn’t think that I could ever fall in love again. I thought I’d be alone forever. But you never seemed to let that happen. You stuck by my side, even when I forced you to go. But you came back, you always came back. You believed in me when I was sure that no one else did. You’ve been there for me every time I’ve needed you and that’s why I love you. Well, that and a million other reasons, but anyway-”

You laughed at that, the face splitting smile you wore somehow getting unimaginably bigger.

“I promise to you now that I’m gonna do the same for you. I’m gonna be by your side at all times, in sickness and in health and all that. I love you, I really, really do.”

Steve’s vows weren’t perfect-he switched topics randomly, his wording was casual and sometimes awkward. It was messy and not fully focused. And it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard.

You loved Steve’s imperfections, all the little flaws that made him Steve. You loved his goofy smiles and his bad advice and his slight obsession with his hair. You loved how big his heart was and how self-sacrificing he was. You loved how he fought for the people he cared about and how he’d risk everything for his loved ones. You loved how he remembered the tiny details and how he just wanted to make people happy. You loved his bad writing and weak basketball metaphors.

You loved Steve.

You told him all of this with tears in your eyes, promising to always take care of him. You both cried just a little, despite Dustin’s slap on Steve’s back and whispered reminder to ‘be cool’. Steve just flipped him off for that shitty piece of advice. Who the hell tried to act cool on their wedding day?

Your vows reminded both of you of the love you shared. They were your second favourite part of the evening.

After the ceremony, everything went as well as expected. All the expected problems happened: Hopper got too drunk and made an awkward speech no one asked for, your parents fought over dinner and made everything weird, the kids (now young adults) were all hormonal and messy, and Steve grandmother passed out during the ceremony, snoring loudly during the vows.  But you saw this coming.

What you didn’t see coming was how tiring it all was. Neither Steve nor you saw how quickly the fall from married bliss to exhausted boredom would happen that evening, but it happened. No less than twenty minutes into the reception, you had muttered to Steve “Can we leave yet?” and that question was on both of your minds for the rest of the night.

When you finally got to leave, around midnight, the two of you were practically falling down tired and you had taken off her heels, carrying them as she stumbled into Steve’s car. The pair of you drove off in peaceful silence back to your apartment for the night. You didn’t leave for your honeymoon until the next afternoon, so you had that night and the next morning to recuperate from the wedding itself.

Steve still insisted on carrying you over the threshold, the heavy princess dress your mother had insisted upon got stuck in the doorframe, making the two of you laugh harder than it should have. Once inside, the process of ditching the marital trappings began. You began throwing off her expensive decorations quickly, letting the puffy veil fall to the floor and the overpriced shoes lay in a pile by the door. You stripped off the dress with Steve’s help and leaving it in a pile on the floor of their tiny living room. You were left in the expensive lingerie Nancy insisted that you needed for your wedding night. But you didn’t exactly feel sexy, though Steve was looking at you like she hung the moon, what you felt instead was intense happiness.

A smile broke onto your face, lighting up the whole room “We did it.” you muttered softly, wrapping your arms around Steve’s neck, eyes locking on his. You kissed him lightly, so softly it hardly felt like a kiss at all, almost like he’d imagined it. And everything was beautifully quiet, so peaceful and calm and dark that it felt as though the world had stopped turning entirely. Not that either of you would care, you’d be happy to sit in that never-ending bliss for the rest of time. The bliss of being newly married, the afterglow left by an evening filled with exhausting, nauseating at times, selfish and selfless, love.

“We’re married…”Steve muttered into your hair, pulling you closer and holding you tighter.

You giggled softly, running your fingers threw the ends of his hair “We’re married.” you repeated, nuzzling into the curve of his neck.

“What do I call you now?” he asked, running his hands up and down her back. You made a small noise of acknowledgement, willing him to explain himself. “I always called you Henderson, but you’re not Y/N Henderson anymore.”

“You call me Y/N.” She retorted softly, chuckling to yourself “What else are you supposed to call me? I mean it’s not like you don’t call me that anyway.”

“Not often…only when I’m happy.” Steve muttered back, lifting his chin to look at you again, as though he’d lose the image if he didn’t keep staring at you, drinking you all in.

“Well…then you should call me Mrs. Harrington when you’re happiest.” You replied, raising an eyebrow just slightly, the corners of your lips stretching farther into a smile, though it didn’t seem possible that you could smile wider.

Steve pondered this for awhile, thinking to himself of all his other options-little nicknames and pet names that all seemed to lack the bounds to describe his love and affection for you. Then he nodded a little.

“Alright, Mrs. Harrington.” He murmured before kissing his bride again.

 And again.

 And again.

That was the best moment of all, bar none. You would’ve given the whole wedding away, every good moment you had that night, just to live in that moment of sheer bliss again.

[peace-coast-island]

#ChoicesCreates: “So… what’s the story behind this picture?”

Title: Kintsukuroi (Endless Summer) Rated: T Summary: Kintsukuroi - “To repair with gold”; the art of repairing pottery with gold or silver lacquer and understanding that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken. A few weeks before heading for La Huerta Kieran Akiyama (MC) finds an old music box that belonged to his mother. 

Author note: So I decided to make things a bit interesting by making my own music box tune that you can listen to. I was inspired by this comic  where you can use your phone to scan a code and it’ll take you to youtube to listen to the music boxes featured which I though was clever and cool.

“How many more boxes do we have left, Kieran?” Grandma asked

“I think that’s the last one.” I took a quick glance at the basement.

“Wait!” Diego said, pulling up a dusty tablecloth covering a table stacked with books. “I think I see one more box!” He reached under and pulled it out, revealing a wooden chest.

“Oh, I was wondering where that went.” Grandma took a cloth to wipe the dust off. “I wasn’t sure if it was here or if I gave it to one of your aunts.”

“What is it?” I asked. The chest looked familiar.

“It was your mother’s” she said. “I think I still have the key taped somewhere…“ She tilted the box over. "There it is!” After wiping more dust off, she pulled off the tape that held a bronze key.

“I wonder what’s inside.” I said, curious.

She put the key in and turned. Inside was a diary, a wooden picture frame, a pair of train tickets, a gold watch, two rings, and an old silk blanket.

Diego picked up the photo. “Was this when you were living in Sapporo?”

“Yes it was.” Grandma said. “I think Kieran was a little less than a year old in there.”

“I’ve never seen this picture before.” I said. My parents died when I was two so I don’t have a lot of memories of them. “Where was this taken?”

“Somewhere in the country, it looks like Mion’s farm.” Grandma said

“I think I remember her. She’s the one with the big garden, right?”

“That’s right. Last I heard, her oldest daughter’s graduating high school this year.” She put the frame to the side. “I’ll clean this up and put it in the living room. Find anything else interesting?”

Diego and I looked at the other stuff. An old diary with a bunch of torn and yellowed pages, some jewelry, a bunch of odds and ends. I skimmed through the diary while Diego looked over my shoulder.

“What does it say?” He asked. “Care to translate?”

“Not today.” I put the book down. “I feel weird looking at my mom’s innermost thoughts, plus I’m kind of rusty in reading Japanese.”

While Diego and Grandma were looking at the other items, I reached into the trunk to take the blanket out when I felt something underneath. I put the blanket aside and examined the ornate black and gold ceramic box.

I opened it to reveal a painted backdrop of a tropical setting that looked peaceful. The spinning figures seemed to tell another story. On a cloud stood a small blue fox-like creature with a snowflake on its paw. At the cliff was a figure that looked like a ballerina who had what looked like a sword in her hand surrounded by vines. Below her was a princess with a torn skirt next to a wrecked boat. She was surrounded by flower petals and was in a fighting stance. Beside her was a prince holding up a shield with a rose emblem on it. The music sounded like it was coming from the seashell next to the two.

(Click to listen)

“That’s an interesting tune.” Diego said. “It looks like some sort of island.”

I picked up the box and examined it closer. “It looks like it’s been broken before.” I pointed to one of the cracks that was painted in gold. “I think there’s a word that means ‘to repair with gold’ that involves fixing something like that.”

“It’s called kintsukuroi,” Grandma said. “The art of repairing pottery with lacquer. Instead of hiding the imperfection, it’s highlighted in gold.” I handed the box to her so she could have a better look. “This is definitely your uncle’s handiwork.”

“So… what’s the story behind this picture?” I asked. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“A shipwreck maybe?” Diego said.

“Your mother got it as a gift from someone she met during a trip. It tells the story of an island called The Garden of Summer.”

“I think I saw her mention that somewhere.” I picked up the diary and scanned the pages until I found the page. “Is this it?”

“There it is.” Grandma said. “Just as she told me a long time ago.”

************

The Lost Siblings of the Garden In a far away land up high in the sky was a castle made of stardust There once lived two princesses and a prince Aisling, the visionary, she who can see beyond what is there Ianthe, a child of spring, who carries flowers everywhere she went And Herrick the protective, the peacemaker

One day a fierce wind blew the castle away Bits of stardust scattered into the night sky Raining colorful lights over the Garden of Summer Down came the siblings, floating, falling Into the Garden they landed

Aisling the clairvoyant felt something was off She told the others to keep their guard up There’s something unsettling about this place An endless summer it seems to have fallen in the Garden A place to escape the imperfections of the outside world

From above lived a fox, a creation of the Garden Banned for his imperfection, hidden away for no one to see He’s seen this story play out far too many times For when the Garden sees their true colors They too will be cast away to the sea

Every day he would watch from the shadows The Garden would test the siblings for their perfection Making everything ideal, a world just for them And yet, they questioned such occurrences What good is a utopia when everything is met with skepticism?

The fox knew the inevitable would come Perfection drilled into their minds All flaws washed away by the Garden’s waters He can picture the siblings driven by the need To eliminate all that is imperfect

But the day never came Instead, the siblings grew more unsettled Why hide the flaws? They wondered Oh how boring it would be If everything was exactly as it was supposed to be

The Garden grew frustrated How could they accept such imperfections! How dare they show off these flaws with such pride! Aisling, whose mind holds too many possibilities Ianthe, who prefers wildflowers over camellias Herrick, one who sees the good in everything no matter what

Something in the Garden snapped You want flaws? I’ll give you flaws! So the vines coiled, the flowers wilted Pieces of a boat washed up on the shore Revealing the fate of the previous inhabitants

So the siblings fought back Aisling with her sword sliced the vines Ianthe scattered the petals of dying flowers into the wind Herrick with his armor prepared for the Garden’s next attack For the first time in centuries, the fox was surprised

You can’t fight forever, the Garden scolds Sooner or later you will be cast out Lost to the deep seas The Garden will be restored to its former glory And you will be wiped from existence

It was a long and hard fought battle The siblings remained true to their word Even when they are tossed into the sea Their presence will linger in the Garden For the image of perfection has begun to crack

Alas the Garden won and away the siblings were cast Dusted in golden stardust hidden under the surface Hidden to everyone except the fox Maybe, the fox thought, maybe one day The endless cycle of perfection would cease

**************

“I’ve never heard of anything like that.” Diego said

“Do you know where she heard this story?” I asked

“I remember her saying that it was an old tale from the mountains in a village called Ashmeadow. That’s all I know about it. She never spoke much about the trip but she would listen to the music box a lot.”

“Did it always sound like that?” Diego asked. I forgot that it was playing the whole time we were listening to the story.

“Now that I think about it, that tune sounds really familiar.” I said.

“She would sometimes play it to help you sleep. The music always helped calm her down when she was stressed so she figured it had the same effect on you.” Sobo said. “I’m surprised it still sounds the same after all these years.”

“It looks like it went through quite a bit.” I said “If I didn’t know, I would have thought the gold was part of the design.”

“When in doubt, fix it with gold.” Diego said. “Sounds good. Maybe I should apply that to my life.”

“I could use some magic fix-it gold to help me out.” I said. “Anything else hidden in there?” I asked Grandma.

“Unless there’s a secret compartment, I think that’s everything.”

“See?” I told Diego. “I told you that helping me and Grandma clean the basement isn’t so bad.”

“Well,” He said, “I did find a bunch of cool stuff. Plus that story with the music box was interesting.”

“Need help with anything else, Grandma?” I asked.

“You two have already done so much today!” She said. “Unless you want to help me run some errands, you are free to go.”

******

“So….” I said, probably the third time now. “What do you want to do?”

Diego shrugged. “I dunno. What do you want to do?”

“Want to…watch something?”

“What do you want to watch?”

“Umm..I don’t know. Anything you want to watch?”

“I have no idea.”

“You keep saying that.”

“So do you.”

Silence.

“So…” Diego said after a few minutes. Here we go again.

“What?”

“How long are you going to keep that music box open?”

“Wait, what?” I looked at my nightstand to see the box open, the tune chiming, and the figures spinning. I guess that’s why I was feeling so sleepy. “Oh that. I um forgot it was playing.”

“Yeah I just noticed it was playing for a while. Almost forgot it was there too.”

I reached over and closed the box. “Wanna go out somewhere?”

“Sure. Where?” We both got up.

“Um…you choose.”

“How would I know? I don’t live here!”

“Right. We could take the bus and figure out where we want to go from there.”

“Sounds good.”