#if you ever see me speak negatively about dean know that it’s because I love those things about him actually.

[quietwingsinthesky]

Irks me a little bit whenever Dean torturing in Hell is positioned as his own fault, or even really his choice to do. We get given the solid number, 30 years of torture for him and 10 inflicting it on other people (which was also more torture for him because it’s Hell, the torture evolves, it doesn’t stop), and we get told that wasn’t long enough. That John held out longer. That angels were going to pull Dean out of Hell and if he’d just held on a few years more, the seal wouldn’t have been broken.

But that isn’t true, right? We know Heaven wanted the seal broken, ergo Dean wasn’t getting saved until it was. Until it, and he, we’re thoroughly broken and usable by Heaven to achieve their own ends (ie to make him into a good (obedient) Michael sword.) So, it wouldn’t have mattered how long he held out in Apocalyptic terms because the game (that he didn’t know he was playing) was rigged against him.

But more importantly for Dean, the amount of time he managed not to break literally does not matter. Because it was never going to be long enough. Thirty years, forty, a hundred, a thousand, it does not matter how long he held out because the breaking itself is the unforgivable part to him and the breaking was always inevitable.

Anyway. There’s my Dean meta for the year. Eat up, I guess.

#despite this being brought out by that prev post I’m not like. actually annoyed or anything. #we’re all free to interpret the show however. I just think this way brings out the tragedy of it best is all. #you know it’s like. did Dean & Sam technically both have choices in s4? did they technically make the wrong ones? yes. #but at the same time. there was never a choice. there was never an option to avoid the apocalypse. especially with how little they knew #of what was actually going on over their heads. like. it really is insane to go rewatch s4 and realize how much they don’t understand about #what’s happening around and to them. and that’s the part I like best! it was unavoidable! they will still blame themselves forever! #what’s the thing called where you like both brothers. bibro? that’s me. #samgirl with bibro tendencies. #if you ever see me speak negatively about dean know that it’s because I love those things about him actually. #I like when he’s possessive and self-destructive and terrible. I just think. in this particular instance. this was not him embodying #a character flaw. so much as it was him being forced into his role in the story in a very like. visceral literal sense. #I could go into the Michael-Dean ‘what does it mean that of the two vessels it’s not Lucifer’s sent to hell but Michael’s’ thing but #maybe save that for another day. I have thoughts I’m just tired. #spn #dean winchester

[sortasirius]

“Despair” and Dean and Cas

Well well well, winning is my favorite thing.

As usual, this is going to be as long as hell. And fair warning, it’s extremely emotional.

So here it is, the thing that we have been barrelling towards for years, literally years.

Just want to point out this.  Also, I will NEVER allow someone to speak negatively about this writing group, EVER.

Team Free Dads starting off the episode is so sweet, so scary.  Cas’ calming, Dean’s fear, Sam’s desperation, really just hammering home how much they love Jack, how his pain is pain for them, how losing him is unbearable.

“I can’t stop this.  I’m coming apart.  I don’t want to hurt you.  Don’t let me hurt you.”

Oof.  If you’ve ever question whether Jack is a Winchester, this line should shut that shit down for you.

When I tell you I was PISSED when Billie sent Jack to the Empty to EXPLODE?????  PAIN.

“Yeah the Empty can’t come to earth, not without being summoned.”

Hello Bobo, clue number 1.

The fact that they only had Jack in limbo for like five seconds was great for my heart health, thank u very much Bobo.

Also Dean wielding Death’s scythe?????? KING?????

Man, Sam and Dean’s growth.  The way that they’re able to, idk, actually speak on how they feel without death looming or fear or pain.  It’s just a conversation, just an honest conversation of Dean admitting his mistakes, admitting how he felt.  Admitting that he fucked up, and Sam forgiving him for it.

CHARLIE AND HER GF CHARLIE AND HER GF CHARLIE AND HER GF

Also...hunters and their “dates.”  Two hunters who are happily together, who are happily fighting monsters.  Hm.  Sounds like a Saileen/Destiel parallel to me boys.

You ever wish Cas would look and the mirror and take the great advice he gives others?  Because I do.  He’s always tried to be “useful” for Sam and Dean, for Jack, always tried to make sure that he’s useful enough that they keep him around.  But what he doesn’t understand, what he’s never understood, is that they need him because of who he is, not because of what he contributes.

Remind y’all of anything?

And here we have Clue Number 2

And then, Sam’s realization.  Eileen.

Did I begin full tilt screaming no in my apartment when he said her name?  Who’s to say?

How can a lock screen cause me this much pain????

Okay but: Charlie loses Stevie, Sam loses Eileen.  Clue Number 3.

I feel like I don’t talk enough about how much Sam loves Eileen.  About how obvious it is that they are endgame, about how happy he is when he talks about her.  This just feels like a blow to the stomach, but we’ve barely even started.

Sam immediately shifting into protective leader mode?  He is the love of my life.

Dean’s simple nod, like it’s a given?  Enough to do me in right there.

This is another episode where it’s just so clear that Sam is the leader of the North American hunters.  Everyone knows him, everyone is willing to follow him.  He’s knowledgeable and kind and fair and just and an incredibly capable fighter.  Once again, I don’t believe his work on earth is done.

Can we also please talk about how FRIGHTENING IT WAS for Jack to kill that plant???  I don’t really have much of a comment on it because I was literally just like ?????

With Billie saying that it’s Chuck, the way that people were dusted, very similar to Becky and Amara, I honestly wouldn’t be surprised, especially with Donna getting taken off the board.  It’s like I said last week, I don’t buy that he’s taken himself off the board, he’s too invested in the unraveling of this story to take a step back.  He’s gotta break them before he can defeat them, that’s the only way.

And here we go, into one of the most painful and surreal things I will ever write about.

Dean’s speech.  His guilt, his regret.  The shame of not only trapping himself, but the pain, the horror of trapping Cas.

“I just lead us into another trap.  All because I, I couldn’t hurt Chuck.  Because I was angry and because I just needed something to kill, and because that’s all I know how to do.”

“Dean-”

“It was Chuck all along.  We never should have left Sam and Jack, we should be there with them now.  Everybody’s gonna die, Cas.  Everybody.  I can’t stop it.”

His narrative arc.  Tied up in a bow.

“She’s gonna get through that door.”

“I know.”

“And she’s gonna kill you and then she’s gonna kill me.  I’m sorry.”

Cas smiles.

Cas knows.  He knows what’ll get them out of this, and he knows that he would do anything in this Universe for Dean Winchester. The human man he fell for.

“When Jack was dying, I made a deal to save him.”

“You what?”

“The price was my life.  When I experienced a moment of true happiness, the Empty would be summoned and it would take me forever.”

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“I always wondered, ever since I took that burden, that curse, I’ve wondered what it could be, what my true happiness could even look like.  I never found an answer, because the one thing I want, it’s something I know I can’t have. 

“But I think I know, I think I know now...happiness isn’t in the having, it’s in just being.  It’s in just saying it.”

“What are you talking about, man?”

The most selfless thing Cas does in this, and he does a lot of selfless things, is to tell Dean Winchester how impossibly good he is.  To tell him that he is worthy, to tell him that he is adored.

“I know, I know how you see yourself, Dean.  You see yourself the same way our enemies see you.  You’re destructive and you’re angry and you’re broken and you’re daddy’s blunt instrument.  And you think that hate and anger, that’s what drives you, that’s who you are.  It’s not.  And everyone who knows you sees it, and everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love.  You raise your little brother for love, you fought for this whole world for love.  That is who you are.

“You’re the most caring man on earth.  You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.  You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you outta Hell...knowing you has changed me.

“Because you cared, I cared.  I cared about you, I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack, I cared about the whole world because of you. 

“You changed me, Dean.”

“Why does this sound like a goodbye?”

Dean’s greatest fear. His fear of those loving him leaving him. The terror of being alone.

“Because it is.

The head shake.  Don’t love me.  Don’t love me if it means you’ll leave me, don’t love me, everyone I love leaves me.  Don’t leave me.  Don’t love me.  Don’t leave me.

“Don’t do this, Cas.”

Just like I always thought.  One last look at Dean before the Empty takes him.

“Cas-”

“Goodbye Dean.”

And Dean is left, broken on the floor, unable to answer Sam’s calls, unable to do anything.  It doesn’t matter to him that Chuck has wiped everyone out, it doesn’t matter to him that Sam and Jack might need him.  It doesn’t matter.  It doesn’t matter, because the thing that mattered still hangs on his lips, still waiting to be said, and now he won’t get another chance to say it.

The fact that I am writing this, even with all my spec, with all my analysis of the writers’ room, of their text, of the way Dabb and co had approached this story, nothing could have ever prepared me for this.  Nothing could have prepared me for a three and a half minute, uninterrupted scene where Cas confesses not only that he loves Dean, but that he has always loved him.

I talk a lot about how these writers don’t get the credit they deserve.  Unfortunately, from most of this fandom, they never will.  We will likely never know the fights with the network they had, the steps backward they had to take, the way they had to beg and fight and claw to get this on the screen.  But they did it.  They did it for these characters, they did it for this dinosaur of a show, and yeah, they did it for us.

It was not easy, I can promise you, to get this greenlit.  They had to fight for this, they likely had to call in favors and make threats and quite literally put their careers on the line (you may scoff at that, but WB is a BIG company, especially in the TV/movie world) for this story.  This story of Dean and Cas, the man dragged out of Hell and the angel who fell for him.

I have tons more to say, and will likely have several more posts about this, but I want to leave all my babes who are worried that that was the end for Dean and Cas with some takeaways.

Sam is missing Eileen.  Dean is missing Cas.  That is no longer a fun subtextual parallel, that is it for them.  Their respective endgames are missing, and they will not know their peace until they get them back.  Chuck will not win.  That’s not the story being told, and right now?  He’s winning.  He’s broken them, left them with nothing, left them with an empty world and a hole in each of their hearts where their person (or angel) used to be.

Our show is going to end with “contentment.”  “Contentment” isn’t from Sam and Dean being filled with grief and hitting the open road.  It isn’t Sam getting Eileen back and leaving Dean with no one.  “Contentment” is Sam and Eileen, Dean and Cas.  Together.

#destiel #spn #supernatural #my meta #destiel meta #spoilers #spn 15x18 #i cannot believe this #i cant believe i wrote this #this is real #theyre really canon

[suicidalslasher]

𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒚 - 𝒋𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒅.

the one where Jason is a jealous  dumbass,  that’s it -  that’s the plot.

WARNINGS: This is a Jason Dean fanfiction, therefore, you all know what you’re signing up for. I don’t really got to tell you, twice. 

  Possessive!Jason. Jealous!Jason. Female reader, reader’s pronouns are she/her. 

Slight mention and scene of choking but it’s not graphic. A hint of NSFW but it isn’t shown. Also there’s a few mentions of blood but it’s not a lot, either. I wanted to tag that nonetheless, too. Also, Jason actually shows emotions in this which is out of character but in MY world, Jason Dean is a simp to his girlfriend and would rather die than to live a day without her. 

I may add the smut scene later on, who knows?  Not me. This is my first imagine of Jason Dean so be nice to me or I’ll be like Ghostface and gut you like a fish (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*  

If you enjoyed this story, don’t hesitate to follow and or leave me a request, as they are open. If you also like my work and or have a dollar to  spare, as it will help me write and create more stories like this one, my ko-fi is here. 

Thank you and enjoy :)

White knuckles from clenching his fists too hard, and gritted teeth from effort to remain silent, Jason bit back his words, knowing they'd be harsh and full of  poison.  He's fully aware of how much damage he'd likely cause if he spit out the words that were on his mind.  He was going to break, and he knew it wasn't going to take too long until he did so.   Yet, as the female continued to talk beside him as an attempt to grab his attention, the feelings only grew larger and he dug his teeth into his bottom lip, the metallic taste of blood trickling on the tip of his tongue.   Jason swallowed that anger when it was nothing but a fire-seed and he had forgotten to drink something cold right after, in an effort to calm himself down;   therefore, it grew in his stomach until it came out hotter than any dragon breath.... all those negative emotions that swam in his veins  and crept in the pit of his stomach exploded and all the feelings he desperately was trying to hold back came burning on the one person he loved the most, his girlfriend, (Y/N). His face was red with suppressed rage and when (Y/N)  set her finger on his shoulder, he swung around and mentally snapped, his nostrils flared  and his pupils were blown and dilated  as he snarled like an  out of control beast.  "I hate him more than I do the Heathers," spat Jason,  as he pushes his girlfriend up against the wall, the framed photograph that hung there now remained at the bottom of their feet, shattered into hundreds of pieces.   "I don't like you hanging out with him." Jason growled, his fingers curling around (Y/N)'s throat, feeling her pulse begin to quicken  as he presses his weight down onto the palm of his hand.  "Do you know how much it hurts to see you look at someone else? To see you smile at someone else? It makes me feel sick.”     "Jason... Let go of me. Let's talk. Please? You don't even know him... if you'll let me speak and tell you-"  "You love him, don't you?" Jason hisses, the sentence feeling like a slap to (Y/N)'s face as he throws out this statement.... it was a lie, that's what it was and (Y/N) desperately was trying to tell him how wrong he was but he just wouldn't listen, the arrogant  son of a bitch never listens!    "You love him more than you do me."  Before either teen realizes it, Jason is letting go of (Y/N)'s throat only for him to raise his hand up  into a fist and he's punching the only other framed photograph that was beside her, the glass shattering behind his knuckles. (Y/N) screams in horror and although she's pissed off, she - obviously - still cares about her boyfriend.  "Jason!" (Y/N) yelps, tears falling down her cheeks as she rushes to her boyfriend's side, examining his hand which was now dripping with crimson, a few drops of red landing on the now broken picture frame and the wooden floor beneath their feet. "C'mon, I've got a first aid kit around here, somewhere-" "You love him." Jason repeats, ignoring the fact she was trying to help him.  He pulls his hand back, dropping his arm by his side, not  even caring about the way the blood was falling from his knuckles and staining both his pants and shirt. The anger and venom that once coated his words were now replaced with a hint of sadness and heartbreak.  She's never seen him this upset before.... regardless, if he'd just calm down, she could explain.  "Jason, baby-" His voice broke as he looked up at (Y/N), sad eyes meeting with her confused but angry gaze. On top of those, she was sad, too.   "Go then. Go to him, if you prefer to spend your day with him rather than your own boyfriend. You don't care about me, I'm not sure you ever did."  (Y/N) sighed, shaking her head as a few more tears spill past her cheeks. "Fine. If you won't let me talk and tell you my side of the story, I'm leaving. If that's what you think and if you truly think I don't give a fuck about you, I'm gone." (Y/N) mutters, letting go of his hand as she walks back over to the door, grabbing her keys and wallet before storming out the door, slamming the door shut as she leaves.

A week passes. 

Another week following behind that.  

(Y/N) didn't bother to call or show up.

He really fucked things up, didn't he? 

Jason wasn't huge on  showcasing his feelings and putting them out on display for people to see. The only emotion he was so used to showing was anger and madness. Nothing but chaos was built and stored away in Jason Dean's body, too.  All three traits made him who he was.  People may not like him because of his temper and all the flaws he had but it was him, and he didn't plan on changing for anybody.  Expect.... of course, (Y/N). As he sat alone in his bedroom, he felt depressed. He never cried, either.  Couldn't tell you the last time he ever did cry. Did he even cry as a baby? Jason wasn't sure, nor could he tell you.  

But.... Jason cried. For the first time in forever, he broke down and cried. Couldn't help himself.  By the end of the night, there were no tears left to cry. He had run dry. His body couldn't form any more tears.   Feeling both mentally and physically drained, Jason reached over and grabbed his phone off of the night stand, dialing the one number he actually had memorized.  All he got was her voicemail.   "This is (Y/N). I can't answer the phone at the moment but  I will get back to you as soon as I can! Bye!"  Jason groaned and he was half-tempted to throw the phone out of his window but he decided against it as he left a voicemail, regardless. He wanted (Y/N) to know he was sorry. 

He wanted (Y/N) to know that despite their arguments (which weren't constant but when they did fight, it was mainly due to Jason's behavior rather than her own) he loves her.  

 (Y/N) coming into his life was the only good thing the world had offered and gave him. He wasn't going to give her up. Not that easily, anyways.  "Hey." He had forgotten he was leaving a voicemail, having zoned out for a second, the beep brought him back out of his thoughts.  "It's me. Uh.... Jason.... your boyfriend? I hope so, anyway, still.... But, yeah, it's Jason.... Jason Dean.... ha, uh.... you knew that.

  Listen, I'm sorry for everything,  (Y/N).  I'm sorry for having that temper tantrum and taking out my frustration and jealousy on you. I'm not good at this type of stuff, not so great with showing my emotions in person either, so....

 I'll talk here,  hopefully the message goes all the way through. I don't want to say this in person, again, I'm not good at the whole unraveling my feelings, especially not face to face.

 But... (Y/N), baby, you're the best thing that's ever been mine. You're my darlin', my girl, and I got jealous because I was scared, okay? 

I was scared of losing you. And I'm telling you this because it's been awhile now and I haven't seen you around or heard from you in awhile. Therefore, I may have already lost you but.... I love you, (Y/N)... and I'm sorry, okay? 

Thought you'd never hear me say that, huh? Me, apologizing? That's like... once in a blue moon. Hah.....  

But, uh... well, it's true. I'm sorry and I, Jason Dean, love you, (Y/N) (L/N). And I hope that you still love me too."   With that, Jason ends the call, hanging the phone back up on the table as he falls back onto the bed. He didn't - doesn't - know what to do if he didn't have (Y/N) by his side.   Trying to ignore these thoughts and place his attention elsewhere, he decides he needs to focus on sleeping. His body was exhausted after all that crying, plus the punch to the picture frame was still making his hand ache and throb, despite it being a few weeks since he had done it. 

He had one hell of a nasty bruise, too. He was sure it wouldn't look so ugly and scarred if he  had listened to (Y/N) and taken her up on that offer when she suggested the first aid kit...  Before he knows it, he's drifting off into a deep slumber, naturally bringing a pillow into his chest, tucking it underneath his arm as he falls asleep.   

Faint whispers of (Y/N)'s name spills pass his lips as he sleeps. He'd rather be cuddling her than a pillow but he'll take what he can get. He just hopes she'll accept his apology.  

(Y/N) gets home a little after midnight, sighing heavily and tiredly as she kicks off her shoes and strips out of her jacket, hanging the coat up first before setting her shoes under the rack. She had just finished unpacking and helping her cousin move things in his new apartment and she was exhausted. All she wanted to do was take a shower and go to bed. 

 In the corner of her eye, however, she notices her answering machine is flashing red, letting her know someone had left a voicemail.  She walks over and clicks on the button, expecting it to be for  her parents but instead she's met with a shocking fate - it was Jason.  

Hearing his voice, so weak and vulnerable, brought tears to her eyes and she bit back a sob. Especially when he apologized, that was new. 

They've said those three words to each other before, of course, but it was hearing how sad he sounded that let her know he truly did love her, despite everything they've been through and all the silly arguments they've shared over the past few months; they loved each other. 

 And nothing - nobody - could ever stand in the way of that.   Jason was still a huge dumbass, however. 

And as she grabs her jacket, sliding the thick layer of clothing around herself and dips her feet into her boots, she's quick to go and tell him that, too.  

She loves him, yes, but she needs to let him know he was a  huge fucking idiot. 

Jason, for the most post, was sleeping peacefully until he heard a loud crash coming from downstairs, along with a string of curse words. 

  He was quick to get up, throwing the blanket and pillow aside as he opened his bedroom door and creeps down the hallway, wondering who the hell was in his living room.   

He was met with.... well, not a burglar  neither his father as he would have guessed the next outcome to be but rather his girlfriend.

"(Y/N)? What are you doing here?" He asks, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands as he tried to shake off the remaining sleep that had taken over him not even a few hours ago. 

"I came here to scare you, obviously." She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she scrambles up and off of the floor, brushing her knees and arms from the fall she had taken.  "Your door was locked, couldn't find the extra key anywhere so I snuck in through the window and-"

"And... you're bleeding." Jason said, gesturing to the tiny gash on her arm.   "C'mon, I've got a first aid kit around here somewhere." He mocks, giving her a playful smile as he quoted the words she had said to him the day they got into that fight. 

 (Y/N) said nothing but she follows when Jason offers his hand out to her, anyway.   He was surprised when he did find the small box up in a cabinet.   

"It's fine. I'm fine. Nothing  a bandage won't fix, right?" 

"(Y/N). Why are you here? You never did answer me." Jason said, getting out the tiny box of band-aids, ripping one open as he presses the item down onto her arm. She was right, it wasn't a big cut, a few drops of blood, sure, but it wasn't one that'd get infected.  

"I got your voice message." She said with a shrug of her shoulders. "And I came to talk to you about it."

He wasn't sure whether or not that was a good or bad thing.

 "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. You're a dumbass." 

Oh. 

 It was bad. 

He felt his heart drop down to his stomach. He really let his jealousy get the best of him and now he was going to lose the one good thing he had in his life. 

"I love you but you didn't let me speak," She continued.  "That guy you saw... first of all, you have no right to judge him or say you hate him when you have no idea who he is. That dude I was seen with was my cousin, who, may I add, is gay.” 

“I’ve been helping him move which is why you saw me in town with him. We were getting a few supplies and picking up his furniture.” She continues.

“You got jealous over a guy who is far from being attracted to  females. And you know... he's related to me as well, so, that also plays a huge part in it. And if you didn't notice either, the picture you broke was actually a portrait of my family and his together at a family reunion. Of course, you didn't see that, though or probably even noticed but.... yeah, you're a dumbass. I love you, J.D, but you're an idiot for thinking I'd ever love someone more than I love you." 

Jason says nothing, he feels embarrassed, ashamed, but overall; he feels happy, knowing she still loves him, even if he was a total moron.  "I'm sorry, baby, I got jealous and I shouldn't jump so quickly to conclusions  and-"

"And you need to make up for it." She said, pressing her chest up against his, resting her hand on the palm of his cheek, brushing a few stray hairs out from his face as she gives him a seductive look. "And how.... exactly, are you going to make up for it, baby?" She purred. 

"I think I've an idea." He said with a smirk.

"Oh, yeah? While you're at it, can you choke me like you did, too?" 

"I'll do more than just choke you with my hand, darling." 

"To be suffocated and to choke on either your cock and hand would be a blessing, my dear." 

"Then let's go upstairs, shall we?"

(Y/N) smiled and took Jason's hand with her own, giggling as if she wasn't just talking about getting choked by her boyfriend, as if she was some saint rather than a sinner. Fuck... Jason loves how dirty she was. "We shall." He replies, nearly dragging her up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

"Going to show you how much I love you, going to treat you so good, so well, baby girl... missed you so much, love you so much..." 

#heathers #jason dean x reader #jason dean x yn #jason dean fanfics #jason dean x femreader #jason dean one shot #jason dean imagines #christian slater #christian slater x reader #christian slater x yn #my works #cierra's stories

[littlewetbeast]

some thoughts below.

i am coming to terms with the fact that i am - firstly - justified in being upset about the events of the weekend, and secondly, justified in not just being able to simply shake it off. i am still going to tag wank carefully because there needs to be limits to how much i dwell on it, but as i think more deeply about it, the extent to which it has shaken me is absolutely not something i will ever apologise for or feel stupid about. it’s not just one or two things, but the sum of a series of things: jensen’s very bad joke, j/2′s complete invalidation of cas’ confession, and large portions of the fandom that claim people are overreacting or heard the joke wrong. i am not going to get into the second part. i heard it, i watched it, i know what the joke was. if you believe differently or think it wasn’t that bad, then we gotta part ways here. it was extremely inappropriate and upsetting. secondly, while jared’s response was an absolute trainwreck and by GOD that man needs help, it does not and should not overshadow that jensen was equally complicit in invalidating cas’ confession. before jared began his word vomit, jensen had already begun dismissing cas’ love as not being about romance or lust. this in itself is extremely insulting, but is even worse after he and danneel have, at least performatively, showed support for lgbt+ communities and made a point of wanting to support for queer narratives in their new production company. it is also especially frustrating in the light of past comments, where he stuck strictly to dean’s pov (which misha has been careful to stay away from) and even implied that dean reciprocates (”dean has no taste clearly”). while i genuinely expected more of ‘dean’s feelings are open to interpretation’ (also a deeply frustrating cop out, but a more understandable one), it was shocking to hear him instead jump straight into speaking on cas’ behalf and emphasizing that it’s open to interpretation. basically, this goes beyond ‘man words things clumsily and puts foot in his mouth’, and there are no amount of circumstance (jared being there, con censorship, upbringing, etc.) that excuses it. it’s upsetting because while i didn’t expect outspoken support from him (sad in and of itself), what we got was worse than simply being a bit vague and avoiding answering things in a straightforward way. i truly am one for giving people the benefit of the doubt, and people who have followed me can testament to the fact that i have given jensen A LOT of leeway - mainly on the assumption and belief that he had grown and matured over the years. this is what makes it even more infuriating to see people dismissing the impact of his words this weekend. other than organising my thoughts, the point of this post is to say, 1) it is extremely valid of you to still be upset by this weekend and have trouble shaking it off. 2) the lengths with which jensen would have to go to redeem himself are rapidly extending to a point of no return. i mean, i hope it changes? but i’m not expecting it to. he doesn’t have a history of ever addressing the dumb things he’s said, and i don’t expect him to now. i’ve said this before, but if you can’t handle continued criticism of jensen, then i really suggest you unfollow. this includes all my mutuals and followers who i adore and i know are lovely people. i will continue to tag negativity with ‘wank for ts’ because, as mentioned, i know some people need to handle these events in different ways.

#wank for ts #op #didn't know how to tie this up but mostly a psa for those following me #and a way to organise everything in my head in one place

[teamfreewill56-blog]

Stoic is Positive Masculinity

How to Train Your Dragon is such an exceptionally family-centered movie. I can easily go into several characters but for this I want to focus particularly on Stoic the Vast. Stoic is a pure embodiment of positive masculinity and what men, what fathers should want to be. Stoic is this huge, gruff, no-nonsense leader but he is also emotional and compassionate and sensitive and these are core parts of his personality. People still treat these like negative traits in men but How to Train Your Dragon does not. Stoic loves Hiccup, he’s his son and he is protective of him, he doesn’t want to lose him (he already lost Valka). He’s hard on Hiccup in the first movie because he KNOWS Hiccup is like Valka and that scares him, Valka got taken by a dragon and was openly opposed to violence against dragons---so when he finds out that Hiccup is friends with a dragon he’s having to deal with the feelings of losing Valka again and being scared out of his mind that he’s going to lose Hiccup too. In anger he tells Hiccup that he’s not his son but as he walks out and we see his face he has tears in his eyes. And I don’t mean the little misty-eye tears. His eyes are full on wet and he is doing all he can to force them back. He probably went to face the dragon nest thinking Hiccup was going to run off and he would never see him again. Gobber says that Stoic can’t stand “what inside Hiccup” but I don’t think this is true either. It’s not that Stoic “can’t stand it”. It’s that he doesn’t understand it and is scared he’s going to eventually lose Hiccup because of this difference between them. During Stoic and Gobber’s conversation it’s clear that Stoic just wants to have a connection with Hiccup but since Hiccup takes after Valka the chieftain didn’t have the slightest idea what to do. Personally I love that Gobber admits that Stoic is not bothered by Hiccup’s stature one bit, it’s meant to be humorous but its so important because Hiccup in this scene clearly felt like his father didn’t like him partly because of his stature. Stoic is tall, muscular and gruff-voiced so be default society would go: yes, of course he’s embarrassed by his “talking fishbone son”! But he doesn’t think any less of Hiccup for not having those physical traits, he never brings up Hiccup’s stature at all! In the movie’s final fight, after he saves Hiccup and Toothless, he holds Hiccup’s hand and gently tells Hiccup he doesn’t have to fight, sincerely apologizes to Hiccup for his actions and tells him he is proud of him. No yelling, ordering, begging, just gentle words. When he realizes Hiccup is alive he sincerely thanks Toothless and touches Toothless’ face (the first time ever that he touches a dragon and doesn’t hurt it) and although we laugh at it, he glares offended at Gobber when he cracks the “Well most of him” joke. Already we see him accepting Toothless and being defensive of Toothless. In the second movie when he’s reunited with Valka we see his gentleness again, he very gently touches her face and softly tells her he still thinks she’s beautiful. As much as he wants her to come back home he doesn’t immediately assume that she will and he scolds Hiccup when he assumes such. Instead of just assuming that they will immediately become husband and wife again he invites her to do their dance, something clearly emotional and special for them as a couple. It is during this dance, when Valka accepts his invitation to dance that he realizes she truly does still love him and he then asks her to come home and not just to come home, but he proposes again. When Drago is attacking he doesn’t assume command, he defers command to Valka and asks for orders. He acknowledges that his wife knows dragons and Drago better and immediately provides his support to her by asking what she wants done. In the final movie we of course see him only in flashbacks but they prove that Hiccup gets his gooey-softness from both sides of his family. Hiccup in the flashbacks of an infant never shows signs of being scared of Stoic. When he gets caught on the stairs, he looks at Stoic and says why he’s up, worried about getting in trouble, but never scared. Both instances Stoic speaks with that soft voice and he holds Hiccup very gently. When Stoic tells him to come join him at the fire Hiccup immediately runs to Stoic and his father puts him on his lap and lets him poke the fire with him, a clear indication that this is a regular thing for them. When Hiccup asks if they’re going to get another mom, Stoic hugs Hiccup close and kisses him and then tells Hiccup an important truth about love that he doesn’t fully understand until the third movie. Before the flashback ends it is just a close up of Stoic’s face and you can just see how much he loves Hiccup. I feel like these flashbacks brought so much clarity to Stoic as a character and helped me to understand that how we thought we knew Stoic in the first movie wasn’t right at all. Stoic wasn’t a tough guy who had emotional moments, he’s an emotional guy who is only tough when he needs to be.

Movie: How to Train Your Dragon; How to Train Your Dragon 2; How to Train Your Dragon The Hidden World

Director: Dean DeBlois

Characters: Gobber; Stoic; Valka; Hiccup; Toothless; Drago

#gobber #httyd #httyd3 #stoic the vast #hiccup haddock #parenting #father

[cooloddball]

Anon asked

Hi! You don’t have to actually post this if you don’t want to, since I’m going to be talking about a specific blog. I would have come off anon and dmed you, but my dm’s are currently broken. (Thanks tumblr 🙄) You’ve mentioned that you haven’t noticed any supposed pro cockles blogs posting negative things about Jensen, so I was curious if you followed or were familiar with xxxxx? They’re kind of a perfect example of that. They’re a Misha loving blog who claims to be pro cockles, but they frequently post snide comments about Jensen. I initially followed them because I like the amount of Misha content they post, but I’m on the verge of unfollowing or blocking them, as I’m not sure I can take the Jensen bashing anymore. At first I just thought that maybe they didn’t realize how some of their more vague comments come across, but their comments have become less vague and it’s too consistent of behavior for it to be a mistake. It honestly confuses me, because I don’t understand how someone can claim they like cockles while at the same time seemingly strongly disliking half of the ship. It’s weird.

I decided to just post this ask like this so I could remove the name of the blog because I have something to say and I didn't want to bash them.

Look, one thing I know about people is that no one loves two people the same. It's humanly impossible to love people or things equally. That being said, I think in this fandom there's a level of standom that scares me. I mean yeah I can love Jensen but it doesn't mean that if I don't like someone else that he is friends with I should send that person hate. For instance, I don't know if you were here you during the j2 fallout, there was war, sides were chosen, lines were drawn, Jensen got the blunt end of the knife for something that could've been sorted out privately and here we are. Anyway, the preceding sentence is neither here nor there but from that experience I learned that some people use Jensen as a means to an end. As another anon put it, he's always in the middle. He's damned if he does and damned if he doesn't so he loses the battle even before the war begins.

For cockles I have honestly never seen it happen, yeah I know some people who ship cockles are Misha stans and others are Jensen stans but I speak for myself and the blogs that I follow. From what I have seen, no matter who those blogs stan, they seem to love both Jensen and Misha.

As for the said blog, if they post such comments I have never seen them because I rarely look at my comments or my notifications because they are usually a mess. The other thing is— and I don't mean to disparage you because I know if I saw such comments I wouldn't be happy either—they are within their right to post whatever they want on their blog but if they ever came to my blog with such comments they would definitely get the chop off my follow list.

I just feel like such people don't like Jensen because of his stance on destiel —I have addressed why he might act like that about it before. It's disconcerting because I don't think that Jensen's views on destiel have any bearing on cockles tbh. In the least, he has said Misha is one of his best friends and his pebble so I don't think one thing—destiel— has anything to do with the other—cockles— and I think that's where the disconnect happens for such people.

Anyone who is not driven by malice or their own agendas or propaganda can see how much Jensen loves Misha — platonic or otherwise— and although people who ship cockles and appreciate his love for Misha, they can't reconcile his love for Misha IRL and his views about Dean and Cas and that's where standom blurs the lines and you find such shippers end up hating one half of the ship—which doesn't make much sense tbh.

Luckily for me, I've never seen such comments on my dash because everyone I follow loves them both and no matter whom they stan, they understand that Jensen or Misha's views on the dean/cas relationship may vary but that shouldn't affect their relationship in whatever capacity.

The only piece of advice I can give you is that if you strongly feel someone makes you uncomfortable here, just unfollow them or block them because at the end of the day, this is the internet and you don't owe anyone anything. You deserve to open your blog and see the content you want to see and you never have to see anything that doesn't please you.

xx

#asks #anon #destiel #misha collins #jensen ackles #cockles #fandom wank #shipping wars #spn ships

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

“If You Fall, I Will Catch You, I’ll Be Waiting” -- Billie Dean Howard x Reader

This one is LONG. Like. Really long. But it’s Billie Dean, so can you blame me? 

Special thanks to @shineestark​ for proofing this for me and dealing with my constant worrying, and to @thatgirlintheleatherjacket​ for proofing also, but most importantly for being so encouraging and convincing me to post this after having it locked away and deeply protected. 

Words: ~20,000

Warnings: ANGST. A lot of it. You’ve been warned. Also, a teeny tiny mention of blood. 

~Enjoy, little peaches~ 

(And please go easy, because this one is literally my heart smeared down on paper)

Being with Billie Dean was a whirlwind of a life, constantly running and spinning and dancing across not only your relationship but her career, new shows getting picked up, old shows getting cancelled— the rollercoaster of emotions that came with press and premieres and red carpets and ever-changing schedules. 

It had been brilliant. She was the brightest light in the universe, and you felt lucky to be included. But the fact that she loved you? Couldn’t keep her hands off of you and was so supportive of you and absolutely worshipped you, inside and outside the bedroom? It was more than you ever thought possible. More than you ever thought you deserved. 

You took every second of it as a blessing, but about eight months in you started getting reckless with your time. Started taking it for granted and really just losing yourself in every moment. You were no longer hyper-present, taking in every minute detail of every second of your day with her, but rather you sank into the comfort of her constant presence beside you. The normalcy of her hand on your waist, the warmth of her quick kisses behind your ear every time she leaned down to whisper something to you. At first, they had all been a shock, setting you on edge and fueling your pounding heart. But now they were a comfort— a part of who you were and who the two of you were together that you could no longer comprehend your life without. 

She was always with you. Always right there when you needed her, even if she was halfway across the country or halfway across the world. Because sometimes it worked out like that. She had to leave for a week or two at a time. And you would never ask her to sacrifice her career for you. At first it had been agonizing, every minute away from her like needles in your heart. But she was always right there, calling you and Skyping you and letting you snuggle into the familiarity of her voice until the tears subsided and she was finally home. 

Things had progressed from there, as your relationship had progressed. You started getting more comfortable with those small stretches when she was away, and she started growing more comfortable with fucking you over the phone. Because sadness at her absence had turned to a desperation of want. And instead of crying during your chats, you found yourself breathlessly whispering her name, and she would always be right there, ready to give you whatever you needed, ready to catch you as you lost control and tumbled head over heels in love with her. 

It got to the point where most of your friends didn’t know you without her. Even if they were old friends, Billie had become such a constant in your life that it was expected the two of you were together. You rarely went anywhere without her, she rarely went anywhere without you. You partied together, you went home together. You started living together, so you started shopping together and walking together, and about a year in you started looking for houses together. 

A year and a half in, you found one. Bought it right there on the spot, and christened every room by the end of the night. 

You spent the next two weeks unpacking boxes, moving your lives into this new space and decorating it together. As a team. As partners. Equal thoughts and equal compromises. A life together, forever. 

The night you finished unpacking, Billie got a phone call. Billie got a job. Billie had to move to London for a year if she signed the contract. 

You told her you would go with her. She hadn’t asked. You told her you could find a new job. She hadn’t asked. You told her you could sell the house. She hadn’t asked. 

She told you to go to sleep, pressing kisses to your hair and pulling you in so close you almost couldn’t breathe. And by the time you woke up the next morning, she had made up her mind. 

You thought for sure she would turn it down. That’s just the kind of person she was. You thought for sure she would tell you that you were too important and that she didn’t want to cut a slice out of this life you were building together. You were prepared to tell her that she should go, that you wouldn’t dare get in the way of her following her dreams. But she had decided. You knew her well enough to know that she had decided the moment she hung up the phone. And there was nothing you could do. 

You could never fathom asking her to sacrifice her career for you, and yet she had sacrificed you for her career in the blink of an eye. 

A quick procedure and you were surgically removed from her life. You couldn’t go with her. She was leaving you behind. 

You didn’t comprehend it. Not really. But she had decided and it had happened. 

And then it had ended, and you were alone.

You were left with this aching, gnawing need chewing at your heart. It ate at every fiber of your sanity, picking at the strings of your being and unraveling them, one by one. 

Your life came and went in flashes, none of them linear. Tiny glimpses of moments completely overpowered and drowned by this heavy emotion that you had no name for. 

It wasn’t sadness, hurt, or grief. It wasn’t depression or pain or numbness. It was all of it and exponentially more, bound together so that you couldn’t feel one without the other, and you couldn’t feel any of it at all. 

Days went by like that, scenes cut from a movie that you didn’t recognize. Because life didn’t look like life without her. 

Without her. 

You didn’t know how to carry on without her. And that’s what hurt the most. 

You were hurting alone. 

She was the only person you wanted. Really, truly, deeply. Your friends came over and brought you food and cleaned your kitchen and sat with you while you cried. But you honestly couldn’t be sure who they were. All of them blended together, just like the days did, and with the color taken out of your world, everything sat in different levels of shadow and you honestly couldn’t even make out their faces. 

Some tried to talk to you, others let you be. But they were all pieces of a puzzle that you couldn’t connect. A glimpse of someone sitting across from you and handing you a tissue. A flash of someone in your kitchen, working at the sink. And the front door closing, over and over, one by one as they all left. The pieces didn’t fit together, but you didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to form a full picture of a life without her.

But you knew you could, if you tried. And that’s what scared you the most. Because what would that picture even look like? What would you see there besides empty space and emotion dark as tar. Sticky, thick, dragging you down and suffocating you and blinding you until you couldn’t find your way back to the surface. 

They asked if you wanted to see her. 

You said no.

Time ticked by slowly, and they kept coming over, and they kept asking. 

And you kept saying no. 

She wasn’t here. She was gone. She had left and picked up her life and kicked you out of it. Turned around and walked away and left you bleeding out onto the floor. 

Around the fortieth time they asked, you snapped, rage taking over at the semblance of thought that they would dare assume you would be fine Skyping with her when they knew, they knew you needed all of her. That you didn’t want to hear her voice, not pixelated and distorted and morphed. You didn’t want to see her. You didn’t want to talk. And they should have known better than to keep pushing you like this. 

Eventually your screaming dissolved into sobs, all of your emotions hitting tenfold as they pinched at your vulnerability like a nerve. 

You had mumbled something along the lines of “I couldn’t Skype her, I couldn’t bear it”, and that’s when you heard your friend speak. Actually heard someone speak for the first time in who knows how long. 

“No, Y/N. Not Skype. She’s back. She came back.”

You blinked at your friend for what felt like years, letting her words sink into your mind. Carefully, delicately. 

“She’s... back?” 

How much time had gone by? How long had you been sitting on your couch? How long had it been since you had showered? It couldn’t have possibly been a year already. You had lost all sense of time, but there was just... there was just no way. Impossible. 

And you were right. It hadn’t been. According to everyone else, it had only been three weeks. 

Billie had been back for two. 

Billie had been asking to see you for two and a half. 

According to everyone else, she had called them all and asked to see you. Multiple times. Every day. They had taken your phone from you at your request pretty early on, your fear of spamming her with messages greater than your need for her to call you. Somewhere in the back of your bleary, broken mind, you had realized that you needed a clean break. That realization had dissolved as want nestled it’s way into your soul, but by that point your phone was gone. Hidden. Taken. And you were utterly alone, whether you liked it or not. 

But now, with the realization dawning and your friends asking you again if you wanted to see her, you still said no. 

You had detoxed in this house the two of you were supposed to share. It was full of negative energy and hurt and loss, everything inside of you expelled in each room, the toxicity of it filling the air and seeping into the walls. You had curled into the furniture you had picked out together, clung to any remnant of her smell, of her memory. 

But you didn’t want her back in the house. You didn’t want her back in your life. 

You needed her back in your life more than you needed to breathe. 

There were a few hours spent hyperventilating, your friends stroking your back and pushing the hair from your face and getting you water. But none of it helped like Billie would. They didn’t know you like Billie had. 

They dropped it after that. They didn’t ask you again. And you settled back into your shadowed world with the realization that you had lost your chance. They had tried, she had tried, and in your attempt to salvage what was left of your heart, you had pushed them all away. 

Your friends still came over, still brought you food and inevitably threw it away, untouched, the next morning. 

Nothing really changed. Nothing really could. 

The hurt doubled, knowing that she had been back and you had said no. But according to one of your friends, she had left again. And you were right back where you had started. In this big empty house that didn’t really belong to you, with nothing but your loneliness to burrow into at the end of the night. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed. You couldn’t have known. Three weeks had felt like two lifetimes, and a day felt like an hour. The clarity that had come with your rage had dissolved back into fragments, your days pieced together in small glimpses of television and whoever was coming or going this time. 

Doors opening, doors closing. Shifting on the couch, more tears. Change the channel. Fall into a restless sleep. 

Over and over again. 

Until one day you were woken by a voice. A low, raspy voice etched with concern. 

“How long has she been like this?”

You thought it was your mother for a moment, with the way the voice broke at the end of the question. Thought they had finally had enough of you and gotten her a flight over. But no. It couldn’t have been. It didn’t sound like your mother. It didn’t sound like anything.

She was the sound of your entire universe. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for some sort of doctor. Understanding that you hadn’t eaten in ages and you were probably hallucinating. 

But it didn’t feel like a hallucination when the couch dipped by your ankles. It didn’t feel like a hallucination when fingers brushed the stray hairs from your face. 

You knew it wasn’t a hallucination when tears immediately fell at the familiarity of her touch. The warmth that always followed in her presence. The soft sound of her breathing. 

“Y/N...?” she tried softly, and you almost flinched at the way she said it. You had forgotten how special your name sounded when it came out of her mouth. 

You were buried under three different blankets, pushed down into the couch because you hadn’t been able to get warm without her. And now it was to your benefit, because all you had to do was tuck your face down, just a bit, and no one would be able to see you crying. 

Except your shoulders were shaking, just enough, and your friend, whichever one it was, noticed. 

“I think this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have asked you to— I think you should go.”

But she didn’t move. Her fingers did, tracing your hairline and moving down your shoulder, still covered with the blanket. But she didn’t move. 

“Just let me stay a bit longer,” she whispered. “Just let me... I just want to look at her a bit longer.”

And suddenly you felt like you were dead. Like you had died and stepped outside of your body and were watching your own funeral. Everyone you had loved watching your lifeless form and grieving some kind of irrevocable loss. 

Except you weren’t dead. You could still feel. You could feel the warmth of her fingers, despite how hesitantly she touched you. You could feel the way she shifted on the couch, so subtle you shouldn’t have been able to. 

And you felt her breath catch when you opened your eyes, staring at her through tear-starred lashes. 

It was blurry, the world around you, and you didn’t know if it was from tears or lack of food or the fact that she was really there. Right there. An arms length from you. 

Billie Dean Howard. 

Your head started spinning and every emotion you had felt since she left coated the next, wrapping you in a never-ending, expanding bubble of pain and sadness just waiting to be punctured and popped. 

All you could think to do was turn, eyes finding your friend, still blurry and still shadowed, despite how bright Billie had been just seconds before. 

“What is she doing here?” you managed, finding your voice through the mess in your mind. “I told you I didn’t want to see her.”

You felt Billie stiffen on the couch, and she spoke at the same time as your friend. 

“She knew I was back...?”

“We were so worried about you, Y/N. We didn’t know what to do. You weren’t eating, you were barely talking to us, you—“

And then the humiliation came, embarrassment that you had been this distraught by Billie’s leaving and she was finding out about it. She would know how broken you had been. So you lost your temper. It was the only way you could fathom protecting what was left of your heart. 

“I told you I didn’t want to see her. What part of that do you not understand? I don’t want her here. I don’t want her on my couch, I don’t want her in my house, I don’t want her in my life! You had no right to bring her here, to just show up without—“ 

A hand on your ankle startled you from finishing your sentence, and you looked down to find tears in Billie’s eyes, her perfect acrylics scratching lightly against the blanket. 

You jerked your foot back on instinct, tucking your knees to your chin as you pushed yourself up against the arm of the couch. 

You wanted to scream at her for touching you. You wanted to growl and narrow your eyes and talk to her through gritted teeth. But you couldn’t bring yourself to direct any words at her at all. Not with the way your brain flipped itself inside out and warred with you heart at the very sight of her. 

“Could you give us a minute?” Billie asked, eyes never leaving yours, and after a brief moment of your friend opening and closing her mouth, after she looked at you with an expression that you couldn’t read and you shook your head as you pleaded with her silently not to go, not to leave you, she nodded at Billie and left the room. 

A moment later you heard the front door close, and then she was gone. 

A long silence stretched, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, you could actually hear the grandfather clock ticking in the foyer. 

Time passing. A cruel joke. 

Every second with her sitting across from you felt longer than the days, weeks she was gone. And you had forgotten that time was like this with Billie. It stretched. The universe never let you miss a moment, absorbing everything, breath by breath, blink by blink. 

You stared at her from behind the safety of your knees. Watched her nails pick absently at the edge of the blanket beside her. Watched her mind turn and her nostrils flare as she swallowed down sentence after sentence. 

There was nothing to say. There was nothing to be said. 

She had said enough when she had left, telling you that you were important to her, but not important enough. Not as important as her career. Not a big enough part of her life. 

Well, big enough for her. Just not as big as you had imagined you were. Hoped you were. Assumed you were. 

Assumed. And look where it had gotten you. Abandoned in a house that was too big for your life alone. Too big for your life with her. But your relationship had always been just a little bit larger than average life. 

Another beat, and then Billie got up off the couch. Just like that her warmth was gone. Again. And you thought for sure she had given up and would leave. Just like she had done before. 

But instead she walked behind the sofa, crossing the room and opening the curtains. It wasn’t until she pulled the first set open that you realized the sun was still up. 

You had watched the light filter in through the foyer windows and then filter back out again as night fell. You could see the hallway by the front staircase from your place on the couch. 

But you had never actively kept track of the time or the days, the soft light from afar fading into the background just like everything else. 

“You really shouldn’t sit in the dark like this,” she started, pulling the rest of the curtains open. “It’s not good for you.”

A dry laugh fell out of you. “You don’t get to decide what’s good for me anymore.”

And just as you looked over at her she froze, hands hovering over the last set of curtains as her brow popped up. 

“Well well, she speaks.”

“Well well,” you spat back, eyes narrowing. “She’s not in London.”

A sigh, and then she was crossing back to the couch and kneeling next to you. Her hand came up only to fall away again, acrylics digging into the seam of the sofa. Tears welled in her eyes as they searched your face. And when she spoke, it came out strangled and broken. 

“How could I be, when you’re here?” 

You could feel her breath on your face, but she didn’t feel that close. Maybe she was panting, maybe you needed her closer. Maybe both. But she smelled crisp and dirty, like smoke and sage and something so uniquely her. And you didn’t understand how something so soft could feel so much like coming home.

That’s when the tears started. That’s when you lost hold of your composure. Because you weren’t home. She was back, she was here. The two of you were sitting alone, together, in this house you had built. Together. 

But it wasn’t a home. It was a magnet for everything that had gone wrong in your relationship, from the argument to the loss to the memories of her packing her bags and walking out the front door to the taxi, leaving you standing in the foyer in one of her shirts and a pair of your favorite socks, the world ripped from underneath you like a magic trick gone wrong. Because you didn’t stay standing. The trunk closed and the taxi drove off and you crumpled to the floor, only dragging yourself to the couch after your knees went red from the tile. 

Her hands on your face brought you back to the present, and you almost jerked away. But as soon as they had come they were gone. Your cheeks were suddenly dry and she was wiping her now wet fingers down her shirt.  

Billie stared at you, her expression so open and vulnerable and questioning, but there was a hesitance laced under it all. You had let her touch you now, but you hadn’t before. You wanted her to touch you again, but you weren’t sure how you would respond. So she watched you. And you watched her. And there was a moment where you almost reached for her hands. Almost.

But then her eyes flicked down to your lips and you shifted, swallowing as you turned your head away from her. 

“You shouldn’t have left.” 

Fingers on your knee, stroking softly. “I know.”

You pulled your leg from her grip, glancing over at her. 

“You should have let me go with you.” A pause. “I wanted to go with you.” 

And then she sighed, sitting back on her heels. Her fingers twitched over the blanket. 

“I don’t...” she tried, fingers twitching again as her brows pushed up. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

At that you turned to face her fully, looking at her incredulously. “How was this ‘doing the right thing’? You left me here, Billie—“

“I know.”

“—all alone, in this big, stupid, empty house that we picked out together. This was supposed to be our place. Our life. And we hadn’t been unpacked for five minutes before you up and left! And all for what, a job?!”

Your voice had risen and you were sitting up on the couch now, teeth bared as all of your pent up anger, all of the hurt that had melded to your bones, came boiling back up to the surface. 

Billie flinched at your words, and as her brows furrowed she stood, flicking her nails and smoothing out her pants as she walked to the other end of the couch. Distance between you. Again. Comfortable. Heartbreaking. 

“You were the one who always said you wouldn’t interfere with my career,” she started, voice hardening. “You were the one who told me to ‘do what I wanted’ and ‘follow my dreams’. So I did. And now suddenly it’s a problem.”

“Because you just left.” 

She whirled on you. “You think I don’t know that?! You think this wasn’t hard for me? For Christ’s sake, Y/N, I only lasted eight days!” 

“And then you came home.” 

“Yes.”

You swallowed, fighting the tears pricking at your nose. “And then you went back again.”

She paused, fingers flicking absently as she processed what you had said. 

“What? No— I didn’t... Y/N, I didn’t go back.”

Her head tilted and her brow furrowed, arms crossing protectively in front of her. 

“They told me—“ you started, but then she was right there, cutting you off. 

“I didn’t go back. I couldn’t go back. Not without you.”

Your heart stuttered and you forced yourself not to notice, tucking your knees to your chest again. Putting something solid between her and you and the feelings that were starting to seep into the soft places of your heart. You hadn’t known there were any soft places left. 

“I came back for you...” she tried again, her voice breaking. 

But you didn’t react. Didn’t respond. You couldn’t. What were you supposed to do? Dive back into her arms and tell her you would cross the world with her and give up everything for her? You had tried that once, and look where it had gotten you. You wouldn’t do it again. You couldn’t bring yourself to. 

So you watched her. Watched her watch you, watched her fidget. Watched that swagger that was so much a part of who she was crack and falter as her fingers twitched yet again. 

“Say something,” she whispered, her brows pushing up. And when her teeth dug into her perfectly painted lip, you found your voice again. 

“You should go get a cigarette,” you started, swallowing as you shifted further up the couch. 

She shook her head. “No. No, I’m not smoking in our— in your— in this new house. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

You ignored the way your heart fractured at her corrections, shaking your head slowly. 

“I know you want one, Billie. I can see your fingers twitching. Go get a cigarette, you’re fine. The air in here is already so fucking filthy.” 

She paused, hesitated, looked at you like she used to. You had never liked her smoking habit, but you never really said anything. Especially if she was at a friend’s house or at a party. But if you were out to dinner or over at your family’s, she always used to look to you for permission. She never asked, she simply looked at you. Always the same way. Brows up, eyes wide, tongue pushing against her cheek.

You nodded, warmth shocking your system at the familiarity of it all. 

And then she was walking away. But this time, just as the memories and the hurt and the ache returned, she paused. Stood in the doorway. And tried for a smile as she said, “I’ll be right back, okay? I promise.”

She was gone before your tears fell, sobs shaking you as you doubled over your knees. Those were the words you had been longing to hear for so long. For so long. And now she was back, and she was saying them. And she was saying all of the things you had wished she would have said in the first place. 

But dents had been made, scars had formed. And your mind had placed a nice, hard, steel cage around your heart to keep anything from hurting it, ever again. So you couldn’t feel the kindness, couldn’t feel the warmth. You were protected from her. From now to forever. And nothing would ever be the same again. 

It took her longer to come back than you thought, giving you time to get your emotions back under you and steady your breathing. You swiped at your eyes, taking long, deep breaths to clear your lungs. Ever since she had left, it felt like there was something squeezing your chest, keeping you from breathing in all the way and forcing the air out of you faster than you could get it in. It all added up to a constant feeling of suffocation, like you were dying slowly. Breaths getting slower and shorter little by little until maybe one day they just stopped. 

Except now you could catch your breath. You told yourself it was the setting sun through the window. Not Billie. Because it couldn’t be. You refused to let her have that kind of control over you anymore. You at least got to dictate your own breathing. 

Except you didn’t. 

You heard the front door open and then heels clicking against tile, and you braced yourself for her presence again. But no matter how hard you tried, nothing could have prepared you to see her face again, walking through this house again. It was almost worse than the first time, because this time you knew it wasn’t a dream. 

This time she was here, and you knew she was coming around the corner, and she looked even more beautiful than before with her signature cigarette between her fingers and the sunlight streaming against her hair from the window. 

You blinked at her as she stood against the other end of the couch again, pulling her lighter out of her pocket. You watched as she flicked it open, held her cigarette between her perfect fingers. And that’s when you noticed her nails were powder blue.  

Billie always stuck to peaches or corals. She rarely went for cool colors. And when she had left, they had been blush pink. Which meant that she had gotten them done at some point. She had changed, evolved while she was gone. Kept moving. And when her eyes flicked down your form and a sadness clouded her features, you realized that you were still in the same shirt and socks you had worn when she walked out the door. Her shirt. 

Hers.

She tapped the tip of her cigarette into the tray on the side table, and you realized again that you hadn’t moved that either. You had never had that moment where your feelings turned to anger at her, where you ran around your house and smashed everything that she had left. You never felt the need to. 

And it struck you, as you watched her take the first drag and sigh out the smoke, that you didn’t know why. Because you had been angry at her. You were still angry at her. Weren’t you...?

“I thought you were smoking outside,” you said, scrunching your toes into the couch to ground yourself. 

Billie paused mid drag, fingers stuttering on the couch. “Oh, I— I thought you said I could smoke in here, I didn’t mean to—“

“No no,” you cut her off, shaking your head and hugging your thighs. “You’re fine. You were just out there for a while so I assumed...” 

And there was that word again. Getting you into just as much trouble as before. 

A hum, and then Billie spoke. “I was telling Michelle to go home.” 

You startled, realization settling in for what felt like the hundredth time in moments. Everything was clearer now, the world dropped back down around in you in full color, and all of the pieces were starting to come together, whether you liked it or not. 

“That was Michelle?”

Billie’s brow creased. “You didn’t recognize her?”

“No I did, I just— I don’t know, wasn’t thinking.”  

Another hum. You swallowed, the sound warming you in a way that made you feel overly-exposed.

“Why did you tell her to go home?”

The corner of her mouth twitched then, but it almost seemed sad. It wasn’t in that familiar, knowing way that she always covered her smirks. It was cautious, like she was afraid to be happy. Afraid for things to go back to normal. Afraid to tell you the truth. 

The silence stretched and she sat down on the edge of the couch, careful not to displace your blanket. But your legs were still safely tucked against you as you watched her, so she crossed her legs and leaned against the arm of the couch, cigarette still smoking in her hand. 

She answered you with a soft, “I don’t think we need her between us anymore,” but you barely heard her. You were too taken with the way she was sitting on the couch. Just like she always used to sit on your couch, the way she used to smoke against the side of it as you curled in next to her. And yet still stiff. Still waiting for something to open up all the way. You didn’t know what. 

She watched you, eyes narrowing. 

“What?” you spat, automatically on the defensive. She flinched, lowering her gaze. 

“Nothing, it’s just... Are you okay?”

You scoffed, brow furrowing. “Are you kidding?”

She waved you off. “No, never mind. It was a stupid question.” Another drag. “I’m just worried about you.”

A long pause. You didn’t know what to say. What were you supposed to say? That you didn’t want her to worry about you? That you didn’t need her pity? That you were fine? All lies. So you settled on the only point in your emotional road map that you could adequately comprehend. 

“You shouldn’t have sent Michelle home.”

“Why not?”

You looked to the curtains like you would be able to see the street. Like maybe Michelle would still be out there and would intervene. Like maybe she would grab Billie and leave and you could shut the curtains and shut out the world again and go back to your sunken limbo of not feeling anything at all. It was better than the hurt and the warmth that came with Billie’s presence in front of you. 

It was easier. 

“Y/N?” Billie prompted, and you looked back to her. “Why not?”

And then something splintered inside of you, because she was prodding at you like you were a child. Like she used to when she had owned every part of you and had ultimate responsibility of your heart. But she didn’t anymore. You had grown exponentially in these last three weeks, and you didn’t need her treating you with such care. You wanted to argue. You wanted to fight. You wanted to get the last of your hateful energy out so that you could feel some semblance of peace again. So that you could quiet its incessant buzzing and bumping in your chest. 

“I don’t want you here, Billie. She was just trying to protect me. You shouldn’t have come.” 

“She was the one who told me to come over.” 

“Bullshit.”

“She did. And so did Angelica.” 

Your fingers twisted in the blanket. “Angelica knows you’re here?”

Billie nodded slowly, tapping her cigarette in the tray again. “I’m staying with her.”

Dread dropped into your stomach like lead. Angelica was your best friend. You were sure she had been over here almost every day, if your memories were aligning correctly. And the entire time, Billie had been staying at her house? Impossible.

You cleared your throat, trying to keep your expression nonchalant. “For how long?”

But you couldn’t meet Billie’s eyes, so you traded that for picking at a loose string on one of the throws you were buried under.

“Y/N,” Billie started, but you didn’t look up at her. Not until you felt her hand on your ankle again. Keeping you pinned, pulling you down into the couch. “I had nowhere else to go.”

And that’s when you lost it. The last shred of patience disintegrated and you pulled your foot away, shoving the blankets off of you so that you could really, properly get in her face. 

“Nowhere else to go?! Billie, you should have come back. I was right here. Waiting for you. ‘Nowhere else to go’ my fucking ass. You were scared. You were being a coward. You really feel so bad? Really?”

“Yes, of course, I—“

“Because you couldn’t even find the courage to drive five minutes down the road and face me yourself! You say you’re sorry, yet you’ve been hiding behind Angelica this entire time, and I’ve been here, alone—“

Your voice broke over the last word and you sniffed against your tears. You hadn’t noticed them falling, but suddenly everything was blurry again and you were so, incredibly hot.

“I wasn’t hiding, they told me not to come over here!” Billie countered, cigarette forgotten as she leaned forward on the couch. “You really think I wanted to spend two and a half weeks in her spare room?”

“Well, you said you wanted to live with me, and then you changed your mind in the blink of an eye because of a fucking job. So I don’t know what to think right now.”

“Don’t start with that again,” Billie screamed, vaulting off the couch. And before you knew what you were doing, you were right there with her, pushing yourself up and gesticulating wildly.

“I’m not starting with anything, Billie! That’s what happened. That’s why I’m upset.” 

“But I came back, Y/N. I fucking came back!”

“So what?” you growled, teeth bared. 

Billie snarled right back, stepping forward and waving her cigarette. “So what? I lost my fucking job! I gave up everything to come back here, and you’re acting like you don’t even care—“

“I don’t care!”

“Yes, you do!” Billie’s free hand caught at your wrist as you threw your hands up, and you stuttered, her perfect nails digging into the soft skin there and holding you in place. 

Time froze. You couldn’t hear the clock. All you could hear was Billie’s breathing and the pounding of your own heart. Maybe the pounding of her heart, too. She had gotten impossibly close to you in the span of your short argument, and when you looked from her to your wrist and back, you saw her eyes flick down to your lips again. 

This time, you licked them. Just because. Just in case. But she didn’t move. 

“I don’t care,” you panted, nostrils flaring as you met her hot stare. 

She shook her head lightly, curls bouncing. “I don’t believe you.”

And you were sure she could feel your pulse racing against her palm where she held your wrist. Your fingers twitched. 

“Why not?” It came out as more of a whisper than anything. You didn’t know why, but you felt the need to be quiet. Not to speak over the way your heart was thundering in your chest. It was trying to tell you something, and you wanted to listen. But you weren’t finished with your conversation. You weren’t finished with her. 

“Because,” Billie started slowly, loosening her grip on your wrist and hesitantly threading your fingers together. “You used to say that you loved me. And if you ever truly meant it, then I know that you care.” A soft squeeze. “And that you never stopped caring.”

You swallowed, staring down at your hand in hers between you. How many times had you done this? How many times had she taken your hand, or you hers? And how many times had it made you feel like you could do absolutely anything? 

“Of course I care,” you breathed. And when you looked up at her, there were tears welling in her eyes. 

One fell, and you swiped it away with your thumb before you knew what you were doing. Cupped her cheek before you knew what you were doing. Leaned into her, impossibly close, before you could think. Before you could stop yourself. 

Your eyes fluttered closed at the warmth radiating off of her and you paused just centimeters away from her mouth, noses nudging together. A beat, an instant, and then she was there, hand on your jaw as her lips met yours. 

You gasped at the sensation, so familiar and yet so, so new. She tasted different, sharper, like the first time you had ever kissed her. The quick, unthinking kisses had all melted away and you had forgotten what she felt like, what her breath felt like filling your lungs, how plush her lips were. 

Velvet, sliding and working and nipping and sucking. 

Home.

And that’s when the reality of what you were doing crashed back down around you. Just as her fingers hooked behind your ear and you felt the sticky end of her cigarette brush your cheek. Just as her other hand squeezed yours and she pulled you in closer. You broke the kiss, practically shoving her off of you. 

Her eyes were dark as she blinked at you, desperation sliced with hurt. Disappointment. Realization. 

“We can’t,” you panted, shaking your head and pressing your fingers to your temples. “We just... We can’t.”

“Yes, we can,” Billie tried, reaching for your wrist again and smoothing her thumb over your pulse point. “Please...”

“No, Billie,” you practically screamed as you yanked your hand from her grip. She startled, stepping back. “We can’t just— You can’t just come in here and act like nothing has changed!” 

She sniffed, and this time as a tear fell she caught it herself, swiping it away and shaking her head out softly before nodding. 

“Right, no. Of course.” A broken smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

You sighed, crossing your arms in front of you again and building that barrier back up. “You weren’t thinking.”

She shook her head, a sad smile making her lip tremble. “Right.”

“Just like when you left,” you added for good measure, knowing the sting would come, but that hard part of you feeling like she partly deserved it.

“Alright, I heard you,” she said again, sniffing against tears. Another fell and she swiped it away almost before you could notice. “Do you... Would it be alright if I used your restroom?”

Your restroom. Not the. Not our. Your.

You nodded, gesturing to the hallway. “Of course, it’s just down—“

She held her hand up, forcing a smile as another tear fell. “I remember, thank you.”

And then her heels were clicking and the door shut and she was gone. 

You stood frozen to the spot for a moment, ears ringing as you fought a shiver from the memory of her touch. And oh, how you missed the way her thumb always ghosted over your pulse point. The way she always pressed kisses to those sister points on your neck after whispering in your ear. The way her hand would hover over your heart for just a second too long when her fingers danced and teased and kneaded over your breasts. Always your pulse points. The most delicate part of you. The most intimate, because they led straight to your heart. It was as close to your heart as she could physically get, and her touch always got exponentially more possessive there, even in the tiniest brushes against them. As if to say, “this is mine.” As if to say, “your heart belongs to me, and I am keeping it irrevocably safe.” As if to say, “I love you.” 

And that’s when you moved. 

Your feet were dragging you to the kitchen before you knew what you were doing, throwing open cabinets and wrecking through drawers to find your phone. 

Because you wanted to know. You needed to know. 

It hadn’t been that well-hidden. Or maybe you just knew this house better than you thought you had, even after pretending for three weeks that you were somewhere else entirely. A stranger in a strange place, to protect your heart in whatever manner you still could. 

You stood on your tip-toes, reaching into a bowl on the top shelf. But when your fingers wrapped around your phone and you pulled it down in victory, you paused. One little tap to the screen. That was all it would take. And you would know in an instant if she had been telling the truth. 

A deep breath to center yourself, to re-solidify the mantra that it didn’t matter. That you didn’t really care. You had already lost her once, so you couldn’t really lose her again. 

You couldn’t lose her again. 

You tapped the screen, squinting as it lit up. And then your eyes went wide. 

Your phone was full of so many notifications that they had stacked up on each other. You didn’t even have to count. Your phone had kept track of them all, displaying the numbers proudly. Almost impatiently. 

252 missed calls. 189 voicemails. 378 texts. 

All from her. 

You did the math as quickly as you could with the way your head was spinning and your heart was hammering in your chest. 

Three weeks. Twenty-one days. Which meant... roughly twelve calls a day. Right? And texts— twenty? Eighteen? 

You made the mistake of swiping at your lock screen and opening your messages. And the last one, the last one... 

If you could only know how much I regret leaving you. I can’t live with the thought of losing you. I love you. I’m coming over. Please don’t say no.

Oh my god... 

Your head spun as her words swirled around you, and suddenly the weeks of not eating and not drinking enough and crying out every ounce of energy inside of you caught up with you. 

Black spots coated your vision, tinged and closing at the edges, and then your head grew too heavy to hold up and you were falling, falling straight onto the tile floor. 

You thought you heard someone call your name, but it was too far away and all you could think of was Billie. 

Billie, Billie, Billie.

Arms around you caught you tight, holding you up and keeping you steady. And as the world righted around you, you heard her. 

“Hey, shh. I’ve got you. You’re okay. Deep breaths. I’ve got you.”

You wanted to shrug her off of you. You wanted to turn around and yell at her that she didn’t have you. Not when you had needed her. That she had left, and it was too late. And that you could never forgive her. 

But you knew it was a lie, and your body knew it was a lie. And so the words stayed locked in your throat, melting away with every soft stroke of Billie’s hands on your arms, with every kiss she pressed to your hairline. 

“I’ve got you,” she sighed out, and you thought she almost sounded relieved. Relieved at catching you in time, relieved to have you in her arms again. Relieved to finally be able to take care of you, to help in some way after causing so much searing pain. 

Her name left your mouth in a breathy whimper, and you felt her mouth press against your ear. 

“I’m right here. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.” 

A kiss, right below your ear. Soft, delicate, directly on your pulse point. Just like she used to. Nothing had changed. 

Everything had changed.

“I’m never leaving you again,” she finished, her voice thick with tears. “I—“ 

But she cut off, her fingers tightening around you as she physically stopped her heart from speaking. You knew what she was about to say. Her “I” always pitched just a bit higher on that phrase, threading with the other words to make them sound like a symphony. 

Maybe it was because she was holding you so tight. Maybe it was because your back was to her, held against her chest as she supported you. Maybe it was because you didn’t have to look her in the eye, and you could pretend, like you had so many nights, that she was just a figment of your imagination, born to help you fall asleep. 

Or maybe it was because you had wanted to scream it at her since the second you heard her voice, and every minute of every hour that had passed since she arrived. 

The words tasted sweet as they bubbled up your throat, out of control and so, so different from all of the bitter hate you had been spewing at her. 

And then they fell out of you, squeezed out by her arms hugging you tightly to her, welcoming you home. 

“I love you, too...”

She froze behind you, and you felt her heart stop. Actually stop it’s steady beating against your back for the longest of seconds. 

Her breath hitched and the tiniest sound came out of her, and then her face was buried in your neck and she shook with sobs, hot tears falling against your skin and soaking through your shirt. 

You let her stay like that for a moment, her sobs doubling in volume as your hand came up behind you and found her hair. 

She was squeezing you so tightly, her fingers digging in as she held you to her, like you were a figment. Like you were a dream. 

And that’s when you realized that she must have conjured you up in her bed when she was away, just like you had, to help her fall asleep. That’s when you realized that you had been haunting her, just as she had been haunting you. Maybe not as much, because she was in a new place with a new home and a new job. Or maybe more, because the memory of you would have faded over time, whether she liked it or not. Smoke in a glass, tipping and spilling and dissolving into thin air. 

You didn’t realize that your heart could still break. You had thought it was already shattered and stepped on and crushed to dust. But it broke again in that moment, in a different way. 

You had assumed this whole time that she had abandoned you. That she had picked up her life and left you behind and moved on. But you hadn’t considered that maybe, just maybe, she had been hurting in the exact same way you were. And while you had to cope with being abandoned, she had to live with the knowledge that she was the one who had left. It was her decision. It was her fault. 

This time, when your heart broke, it broke for both of you. For the pain she had caused you, sure. But also for the thought of her, in a strange city, all alone and longing for everything she had lost. 

Over two hundred missed calls. She knew what she had done, and you hadn’t even been willing to try to hear her out. 

Billie was still crying behind you, holding onto you for dear life. You turned in her arms, shushing her, and she desperately cried out “no” at the movement before her fingers tightened on your waist in realization that you weren’t going anywhere. You weren’t shoving her away. 

You just wanted to look at her. 

In another life, in another world, you didn’t think you would have ever wanted to look at her again. But that world was shrouded in darkness and hurt and loss. And this world, set right, was starting to weave itself back together around you. A world of light and growth and love. 

A world of forgiveness. 

You wiped at her cheeks, ducking to catch her gaze. 

“Billie,” you tried softly, brows pushing up. 

Her eyes were rimmed red when she raised them to yours, teeth digging into her bottom lip. 

She sniffed, forcing up her wall of composure and setting her posture straight as she hummed questioningly. 

Your fingers shook as you swiped at her cheeks, trying your best to preserve her dignity. Because you knew what you were about to ask, and you knew it would change everything. 

“Would you like to stay here tonight?”

Her nose twitched and tears welled again, and before words could form she was pulling you to her, shaking her head urgently against yours and pulling her fingers through your hair. 

“Yes,” she croaked before clearing her throat. “Yes. Of course. Always.” 

You hugged her then, really properly hugged her until her breathing evened out and her grip on you loosened, just so. But when her hand came up hesitantly and ghosted over your spine you pulled away, clearing your throat and looking anywhere but her. 

“I should, um...” you tried, glancing up at her before walking back to the couch. You grabbed at the heap of blankets, piling them into your arms and moving past her once more, through the kitchen to the laundry room. “I should probably shower. Do you want to order dinner?” 

You heard her answer “sure” as you threw them in a basket, too exhausted to comprehend doing laundry. But too self-conscious to fathom leaving a mess on the couch. On all of the new furniture that the two of you hadn’t even broken in yet. 

“What do you want?” she called, and when you made it back to the kitchen, she was already typing on her phone. 

She glanced up at the sound of your footsteps, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way her lips pulled into a smirk. 

“Thai,” you both said in unison, and she nodded, popping a soft “yep” before pulling out a barstool and sitting as she continued to type. Too casual. Too normal. 

“I-I’m going to go shower,” you tried, ignoring the way her brow creased in concentration as she scrolled through her phone. Ignoring the way she flicked her bangs back into place as she pulled her phone to her ear. 

She nodded. “I’ll let you know when the food gets here,” she murmured, smiling as you passed by her. 

And then you were up the stairs and peeling her shirt over your head as the water heated up. 

You tested it as you slipped out of your socks, turning it just a bit cooler so you wouldn’t overheat. 

It had been three weeks since you had showered. Three weeks. Why your friends hadn’t dragged you off the couch and locked you in the bathroom, you had no idea. But you must have looked awful. You must have smelled awful. And Billie was still right there, eager as ever to hold you and kiss you and press herself right up against you. 

If that isn’t love. 

You brushed the thought away, relishing the warm water washing you clean. Washing all of those toxic emotions off of you, purifying your life from the outside in. A fresh start. Clean. New. Try again. 

You washed out your hair as quickly as possible, desperate to shave and unwillingly giddy at the thought of Billie waiting for you downstairs. You didn’t want to be, but you couldn’t help it. Not to mention that you were starving. 

Your stomach growled as you shaved under your arms, grimacing at how out of hand you had let yourself get when you were normally so keen on being silky smooth. It was when you felt your most confident. Your most beautiful. 

Memories of Billie’s fingers tracing up your legs danced across your mind as you shaved, the way her nails used to scratch and leave those little pink lines. Just a bit too rough, especially if she caught someone eyeing you when you were out, or after a premiere when she had to keep her hands off of you for hours. 

And then a specific memory, unbidden. The time at the Emmy’s when she had pulled you into the bathroom and fucked you senseless because you were wearing a dress that was cut too low and hugged your hips too tight, and she’d had to keep her hands to herself since morning. The feel of her mouth on you that night had been different, just like it had been different tonight. 

Her mouth. 

You cried out as the razor skipped over your skin, digging into your thigh and leaving a nice trail of red in its wake. 

“Ow, fuck, shit.” 

The water stung, but you let it run over the cut, wincing and digging your fingers into the wall. 

“Y/N?” 

You jumped at Billie’s voice inside the bathroom, scrambling to cover yourself. Made sure the curtain was fully closed. 

“Y-Yeah? What’s wrong?” 

You heard her murmur “just one sec” before she raised her voice over the sound of the shower. 

“They’re out of bean sprouts. Do you still want pad thai or do you want curry instead?” 

Your thigh stung against the cold air as you backed yourself into the corner of the shower, so you didn’t even have time to register that she remembered your order. That you hadn’t told her what you wanted. It had only been three weeks, but she still remembered. 

“The pad thai is fine,” you called out, watching the blood drip down your leg. “Just—“

“No tofu, I know,” she finished for you, and you heard her repeat your order over the phone. 

You bit down into your lip as you wiped down your cut, muffling a whimper. 

But you must not have been as quiet as you thought, because just as Billie finished with a “that will be all, yes. Thank you,” and made to leave, her heels stuttered on the tile, the clacking amplified now that you weren’t lost in your own thoughts. Now that you were focused intently on her. 

“Y/N?” She tried again, her voice infinitely softer now. “Are you alright?”

You dropped your head back onto the tile, fighting tears at the throbbing from your leg. 

“Yeah— yes, I— I just cut myself. I’m fine, it’s not that bad.” 

She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t move, either. And you could feel the tension growing between you. 

The last time you had cut yourself this badly, you had called out for her and she had been in the shower with you in a second, pressing her palm against the gash and peppering soft kisses across your face to keep you from crying. Cooing sweet nothings in your ear as she bandaged it up and got you tucked safely into bed. That had been at her old house, in her old bathroom. A lifetime ago. 

And now, she was so close. Right there. You didn’t have to call for her, she had heard you. But everything had changed. 

“Do you need help?” she asked softly, and you squeezed your eyes shut to keep your heart from cracking. 

“No, it’s fine. I just- would you mind leaving so I can hop out and get a bandaid?” 

Her heel tapped. Once. 

“No.”

Your eyes flew open. “No?”

And you could practically see her shaking her head, her shadow blurred by the thick shower curtain. 

“No,” she said again, and this time she sounded closer. “I told you I’m not leaving you again, and I meant it.” A beat. “Here.”

And then her arm poked through the curtain, towel clutched between those perfect acrylics. 

You backed away from her on instinct before forcing yourself to take a breath. She was just trying to be kind. She was just trying to help. 

So you pulled the towel from her fingers, shutting off the the water, and although her hand disappeared, her shadow remained. Just across from you. 

You patted yourself dry the best you could as you avoided the trail of blood, and wrapped the towel tightly around yourself. Made sure you were decent. Pulled back the curtain. 

Billie’s eyes went wide and you immediately checked yourself over to make sure you hadn’t left a piece of you exposed. But no, you were completely covered. 

“What?” you tried, voice wavering as her eyes pulled down your form. 

She glanced back up at you before shaking her head and averting her gaze. 

“Nothing, it’s just— Nothing.”

“No, Billie. What is it?” You prodded as you stepped carefully from the shower. Grabbed a tissue and dabbed at your cut. 

“It’s just,” she started, eyes tracking your every movement. Blurred, hazy. “I forgot how beautiful you look freshly showered.”

You felt your cheeks burn, and you were grateful that your face was ducked as you focused on cleaning up your cut. You cleared your throat against the lump forming there and threw a sarcastic, “was I really that disgusting before?” to deflect the compliment. 

She smirked, fingers twitching, and then her hands were on your arms and she was pushing you down onto the closed toilet seat with a soft “here, let me help.” 

It had been easy enough. You had directed her to the bandages, and she found them quicker than you anticipated, kneeling in front of you and pressing her hand over yours on the tissue. 

You watched her work, hand frozen under hers as she pulled at the tape with her teeth. Ignoring the fact that she was situated right between your thighs. Ignoring the fact that you were completely naked under your towel, pressed down between your thighs to keep yourself covered. Keep yourself protected. 

Billie tugged at your fingers and you lifted them before you could think. And then the tissue fell away and your breath caught because god it looked so much worse now that you were out of the shower. Puckered, angry. Blood still pooling. 

You watched Billie, her fingers hovering over the wound. Watched her mask a grimace. Watched her lick her lips. Watched her eyes track from the gash up your thigh, before she cleared her throat and reached for the gauze. You knew what she wanted. You could see it in her face. She always kissed you when you were hurt, emotionally or physically. Always brushed her lips over some piece of you to let you know that everything would be okay. 

Like she had by the couch. When she hadn’t wanted to let go. 

You didn’t realize she had already cleaned up the gash until you heard her rustling as she put the antibiotic away. Her fingers worked over your legs gently. Always so careful and delicate with you. 

Until her hands found your knees, falling there thoughtlessly, and pushed them apart. 

It wasn’t much. It should have been nothing. But you were so acutely on edge, exacerbated by the fact that you were naked beneath the thin fabric wrapped around your body. How many times had she done this before? The sensation sent a shock of heat through you and straight down to your core, memories of that hungry expression she constantly wore when she was right here, under completely different circumstances, with a completely different agenda, flooding your mind. You couldn’t think about it now. Not when she was so close. Not when you were completely exposed and she would be able to smell what she still did to you— 

Her fingers trailing up your inner thigh brought your attention back and your hand locked around her wrist before you could think. Holding it in place as you stared at her incredulously. 

She shushed you, glancing up as she gently guided your knees back apart. “I just need to tape the top, okay? Almost done.” 

And that’s when you looked down at your thigh, perfectly bandaged and nowhere near as high up your leg as you thought it had been. You were hypersensitive to her touch, too on guard. You needed to take a deep breath. 

Before you knew it you were dressed in clean clothes and sitting opposite Billie on the floor around the coffee table. Something about sitting at the dining table felt too formal, and something about sitting at the breakfast nook too casual. So when she had dropped the bags of food on the coffee table, you had simply sat down. Right there. 

It was silent, with the occasional polite “how is your food?” breaking the stillness that had settled. You were so consumed with your food that it wasn’t until about halfway through the meal that awkwardness settled in. 

You hadn’t realized you were staring at Billie’s plate until she quietly asked if you wanted a bite. And the question went right through you. Whenever the two of you ate, especially Thai food, it was more of a share and care kind of deal. Usually the plates would sit somewhere between you, you picking off of hers, her picking off of yours. Both of you too consumed in the company to care about portions and manners. And sometimes, depending on how long it had been and what kind of a mood Billie was in, her fork would twirl in your noodles and she would feed you bites herself, smirking as your lips closed around the fork and kissing you nice and slow after you’d finished. 

You swallowed down the memories with a sip of water, shaking your head. 

And Billie nodded for what felt like the hundredth time since she came back, that sad smile morphing her face and clouding her eyes. 

You ate the rest of your dinner in intentional silence, unable to meet her eyes. There were a few times, just a few, where she would reach for a spring roll, and on the way there or on the way back, her hand would hover over yours. Almost. Just barely. 

But it was always gone as soon as it came. 

Part of you wished that she would just do it. Break the wall and hold your hand so that you could know if you were comfortable with it or not. Because you didn’t know. And you couldn’t be the one to start it if you were only going to pull away a moment later. 

You watched her hands, one tapping against her glass as the other methodically brought her fork to her mouth. Her mouth. Her perfect mouth. 

You lost yourself in the rhythm of it, her nails, the way she stirred and scooped her curry. And her lips, plump and plush and swollen slightly from the spice. The dip of her jaw as she swallowed. 

Her eyes stayed pinned to her plate, and every once in a while she would shuffle herself and readjust her legs underneath her. Perfect posture, perfectly proper. Perfectly Billie. 

As much as you could’ve watched her eat for days, as much as you were grateful for the stolen glances and the long moments where you got to just look at her, reacquaint yourself with the way she moved and breathed and lived, dinner had to come to an end. And by that point, you were so tired from the day that you were almost glad to go to sleep. 

You pulled fresh sheets from the linen closet, making your way to the couch as Billie cleaned up the dishes. 

“I’ll sleep down here, and you can sleep in the bed,” you tried, fluffing the pillows and folding out the sheets. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Billie scoffed, and you almost cut in. Almost let frustration pin to your heart as you told her off about how there was no way in hell you were sleeping in the same bed as her. As you reminded her that she had gone and left you and now you could handle yourself. But she simply continued with, “you’ve been sleeping on this couch for weeks. You deserve a good night’s rest. I’ll take the sofa, you take the bed.”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to tell her the truth. That you didn’t want to sleep in that huge, king sized bed. That you hadn’t ever slept in it without her. That you couldn’t sleep in it without her. But she was smiling so softly and already pulling the sheets from your hands, tucking them into the couch and making a tiny little home for herself. 

So you left, only pausing as you hovered in the doorway, turning and watching her settle down into the couch — the same couch you had mourned the loss of her in — so delicately and uniquely her. 

“Goodnight,” you murmured, trying for the best smile you could muster. Because there was so much left unsaid and undone and it was the end of the night already. Tomorrow was a new day, and it would no longer be the day she came back. It would be the first day of sorting out your feelings and putting your life back together. 

The first day of deciding whether or not she would be included in that. 

Three hours of tossing and turning, and you still couldn’t sleep. The sun was gone and the stars were up, and you watched them through the window as you tried to get comfortable. As you sorted through your thoughts. 

But the sheets were too cold, and you were frozen to the bone, despite getting up multiple times to add more layers. 

And all you could think of was Billie. On a loop. Coming back. Kissing you. Bandaging you up. Downstairs. Right downstairs. Right there. So close. So far. 

Billie. Your Billie. 

Over and over and over. 

Eventually the thoughts grew too heavy and there was no space for anything else, not in that bloody, empty, frozen bed. 

Frozen in time. Frozen in isolation. 

Somehow, even though you hadn’t touched it since she had left, any semblance of her was gone. It didn’t smell like her. The sheets weren’t worn in yet. There wasn’t even— 

You paused, eyes tracking over her pillow again and again as they caught on something glistening there. 

And without thinking you reached up, pulling a stray hair from the fabric. 

The gold glinted in the moonlight and you ran your fingers over it absently, relishing how smooth it was. Remembering how good it felt to have fistfuls of it against your tender palms as her mouth left hot, sticky marks anywhere she could reach. 

How it had felt brushing against your neck just hours ago as she cried into your shoulder. 

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of crying yourself into some semblance of sleep. Three weeks of deep aching for Billie by your side. Three weeks of begging the universe to be back in this bed, with your Billie wrapped around you. Making deals and rationalizing and trying to compromise with an entity that you couldn’t understand for some semblance of your normal back. 

And now she was back. She was right downstairs. Directly below you. And somehow you were still here, alone. 

What were you doing?

You took a deep breath, twirling the strand of hair between your fingers. If you did this, there was no going back. If you asked, you couldn’t kick her out five minutes later. 

You could, you thought, but your heart broke at the notion. 

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to have to. The question was, did you trust her enough to think that she would respect your space and your boundaries and not try anything funny. 

This was ridiculous. You were being ridiculous. 

Your feet hit the floor a second later, crossing the room and opening the door and padding down the stairs before you could think. 

This always happened late at night. You never thought, only felt. And tonight it was amplified, your want screaming louder than any rational boundary because you hadn’t slept, hadn’t really, truly slept in three weeks. 

You finally had a full meal in you, but all it had done was set you further on edge. Made you ache for a time that was long pushed to the past. A time that was so close for your future. All you had to do was reach out and grab it. 

Whispering caught your attention and you paused just short of the doorway, inching closer and peering around the wall. 

Billie was stretched out on the couch, hands pressed to her eyes as her mouth moved over words too soft for you to comprehend. And an ache twisted at your stomach, because you had forgotten. 

You had forgotten that she talked to herself when she was particularly upset. That she would mumble and mutter and block out some of her senses until she could get her thoughts straight. It was something she had done since she was little, she told you once, the voices in her head constant and too loud, forcing her to speak her mind aloud just so that she could hear her own thoughts. 

You had forgotten. Forgotten. And tears pricked your eyes as you realized that you never wanted to forget anything about this woman ever again. 

Ever again. 

Billie took a shaky breath, a sob pushing out of her as her knees curled to her chest. She cried quietly for a moment, body shaking softly in the darkness. 

You wanted to run to her. You wanted to comfort her. You wanted to hold her and rock her and tell her that everything was going to be okay. 

Except you didn’t know if it would. And you couldn’t bring yourself to lie to her. 

Suddenly you felt like you were prying, intruding on a moment that was too private and too personal. 

So you bit your lip, taking a breath and turning to leave. 

The floor creaked under your foot. 

Shit. 

You froze just as Billie‘s breath hitched. 

“Y/N?” she whispered, and goosebumps ripped out over your skin because it sounded like a wish. It sounded like hope. 

You could have left. You could have gone back upstairs and pretended like it had never happened. You were already behind the doorframe. She couldn’t see you. But what if she heard you again? What if the stairs squeaked and groaned and she came out to see you fleeing back up the steps? 

Stupid, idiotic new floors that hadn’t settled yet— 

You heard a sniff, a rustle, a sigh, and you realized it had been too long. You had hesitated too long. 

The mumbling started up again, and something inside of you fractured. She wasn’t sleeping. She hadn’t been. She had been crying and reasoning with herself and overthinking, her brain obviously too loud for her to fall into any semblance of rest. Just like yours had been. Just like you had done for three weeks, wishing and hoping and begging that she would come back. Just for a moment. Just for an instant. 

And now she was here. 

In your mind, when she came back everything went straight back to normal. She said just the right things and the world opened back up and you ran into her waiting arms with kisses and “I love you”s and millions of promises exchanged in seconds. 

But it hadn’t been like that. It couldn’t be like that. Not after everything. So it had been like this. And you were taking it one step at a time. 

One step at a time. 

A deep breath, and you gripped your hand around the doorframe, walking slowly, quietly around the corner. 

She was still curled on the couch, fingers carding through her hair as her mouth moved around words. 

This time, her hands weren’t over her face. This time, she saw you. 

Billie immediately froze, sitting up on the couch and scrambling to wipe at her eyes, to push her hair back into place. She tucked it behind her ear, and your mind flashed back to the first time you’d ever seen her do that. Her acrylics digging through curls and tucking them back as she eased down between your thighs, pushing them open and kissing them slowly. Hot, sticky kisses and deep red marks from her nails. It wasn’t the first time she had eaten you out. It wasn’t the thirtieth. But it was the first time she had pushed her perfect appearance out of the way so that she could focus on pleasuring you. It was the first little way she had said “I love you”, let her guard down and been completely open with you. In her own way. 

And here she was, doing it again. 

You pushed the thought aside as her voice cut through the still air hanging in the darkness. 

“Is everything alright?”

It was raspy, but not from sleep. It was raspy because she probably hadn’t stopped talking the entire night. 

You swallowed hard. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you started, unsure of what else to say. What were you supposed to say? 

What did you want to say?

She chuckled, sniffing again and wiping delicately at her nose. “Me neither.”

There was a long pause, ice creeping down your skin as the words churned over and over in your head. You should ask. All you had to do was ask. 

Billie cleared her throat. “Did you want to watch tv? I can move, we can switch—“

“Come to bed with me.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them, and you didn’t even know if you had said it right. Phrased it right. It might have come across completely wrong because you hadn’t actually thought. The only thing you processed was sheer want, and your request was born of that. Want of her. Want of company. Want of everything to go back to the way it had been. Before. 

Billie hesitated, and you watched her fingers twitch against her sheets. All of this darkness, all of this gloom, and you could still see her fingers twitch. 

You were too focused on her.

You were only focused on her.

“Are you sure?” Billie tried softly, but she was already standing, pulling the sheets off with eager eyes. 

Your heart stuttered. Backtracked. 

“N-Not like that. I just— I was cold and I couldn’t sleep and I—“

But then Billie was there, crossing the room and wrapping you in a tentative hug as she shushed you. 

“I know, I know. I couldn’t sleep, either.” 

You nodded, pulling yourself from her embrace. Coughing around the lump forming in your throat. Because you had asked. And she had been willing, and there was no going back now. 

You had expected her smile to fracture when you pulled away, but when you looked up at her you realized that she hadn’t been smiling. She didn’t look happy, or relieved. She looked exhausted. 

She wasn’t doing this because she wanted to. She was doing this for you. Because you had asked. 

And as she turned you around and prompted you out the door with a soft “let’s go to bed, sweetheart,” you suddenly felt like a child. Foolish. Small. Again. 

You only made it halfway up the stairs, Billie trailing close behind, before stopping mid-step and turning to face her. 

She wasn’t looking at you, her eyes pinned to the stairs, and just as your gaze landed on her she glanced up, realizing that you had stopped, and practically ran smack into you. 

Your arm came out on instinct, holding her steady, and she offered you a weak smile. 

“I’m alright,” she tried, and then her eyes moved past you up the stairs as she nodded expectantly. “Let’s go—“

“You don’t have to do this,” you said softly. And you hated the way you instinctively chewed on your lip, fingers digging into her arm to keep yourself grounded. 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she replied smoothly, making to move past you. But you squeezed her arm, holding her back. 

“Billie, I mean it.” You stared at her. Blinked. Took a deep breath. “Please don’t do this just because you feel... sorry for me. I don’t...” Another breath. “I don’t want your pity. I just wanted some company.”

Your company. 

You expected a smirk. You expected a witty remark. But instead something like confusion etched down her brows, mixing with a flash of hurt in her eyes. 

“I don’t pity you,” she murmured, shaking her head. 

You scoffed. 

And then her fingers on your chin, tilting your face up to look her in the eye. And you were caught. Caught in her grip, caught in her stare. 

“I don’t pity you,” she said firmly, fingers tightening. “I missed you. That’s all.”

That’s all. Like it was nothing. Like you missing her hadn’t completely ripped you to shreds. Like it hadn’t taken every piece of your sanity and flipped your world into another dimension. Like it hadn’t ended your existence as you had known it. 

But there was something soft in her eyes, a depth there that you hadn’t realized was missing. And another memory came. 

The two of you on these steps. Not far from where you were now. Her hands flitting over you as you went before she grabbed you and pinned you to the wall, her hand coming to your throat for a second before fingers tucked under your chin and forced your face up. Forced your wide eyes to meet her lust-clouded ones. And the way she kissed you, like she was devouring you. 

“Mine. Such a good girl.”

Your fingers twitched on her arm, eyes flicking down to her lips. She watched you closely, calculating. And when her eyes tracked down your face, you knew she was remembering the exact same thing. 

Something hot pooled in your stomach and suddenly, suddenly, you needed her mouth on you more than anything. 

You tilted your chin up, following the push of her fingers. Licked your lips. Brushed your thumb over her arm. She was right there. Right in front of you. Inches away. 

Please.

And then she pulled away, shaking her head out and clearing her throat as she brushed past you. 

“We should— you should get some sleep,” she amended, flicking her bangs back into place as she walked. 

And you couldn’t help but stare at the way her pants hugged her hips as she went, swaying gently. 

Her pants. 

She hadn’t changed out of her clothes. 

You practically ran after her, following her into the bedroom. 

“Do you want to change?” You blurted out, and she was already halfway into the bed. 

She turned to look at you, exquisitely lit by the stars from the window. Eyes glassy. 

“It’s fine, I’m fine. You need sleep. Come on.”

She patted the bed and you shook your head, moving to the dresser and finding some sort of shirt and short set that matched. Handed them over. And the hesitance there, the way her teeth pinned into her bottom lip, everything aligned at once. 

She was afraid you were going to change your mind. 

That’s why she was rushing you to bed. 

You offered her a small smile, pushing the clothes further into her grip. 

“Go change.” A pause. A nod. “I’ll still be right here when you get back. I’ll still want you in bed with me.” 

Billie let out a soft sigh, nodding slowly. “Thank you.”

And as she slid into the bathroom and shut the door, as you crawled back into bed and pulled the covers around you, you weren’t sure if she was thanking you for the comfort of the clothes or the comfort of consistency. 

You barely had time to take a sip of water before the door opened again, and you had to physically stop yourself from staring at her legs. It had been too long since you had seen them exposed like that. You almost forgot how beautiful they were. 

You could never forget how beautiful they were. 

Billie pulled the covers all the way back, only pausing to give you a questioning look. To double check. 

You nodded. 

And then the two of you were laying down, covers tucked up to your chins and too much space between you. You stared out the window, chewing your lip at the silence.

It was so much better, and yet infinitely worse. 

“Thank you for... coming up here with me,” you whispered, fingers picking at the sheets. 

Billie hummed. 

“It’s just, the sheets are so cold and—“

She shushed you, cutting you off. “You don’t have to thank me. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Tears pricked your eyes then, at the loss you had endured, at finally having her back in your bed. At the inevitable space that separated you, growing by the second as the silence amplified. You hadn’t thought you’d had any tears left to cry. 

Stillness settled in, and you let yourself focus on the sound of her breath, rising and falling and rising again. Watched the constellations dance from the window. Thought back to buying this house, and how Billie had specifically pointed out what a great view it would be. She knew you liked to sleep with the curtains open. She knew you liked to watch the universe go by. 

A soft sigh and Billie rustled, and you thought maybe she had fallen asleep. 

A warmth threaded through you at the thought that she could do that. She felt comfortable enough to fall asleep in the midst of all of this mess. 

But just as you felt the exhaustion creep up, just as you started matching your breaths with hers and imagining her heartbeat beneath your ear, just like you had tried to do every night for the past three weeks, her hand covered yours under the sheets. 

You startled, whipping your head around to face her. 

But no, she was asleep. 

God, you forgot how angelic she looked when she was sleeping. The moonlight making her hair almost silver, her face buried in her pillow and half covered by curls. Peaceful. Soft.  

You almost pulled your hand away. Almost slid it out from under hers and turned away. But then she squeezed, just so, and brushed her thumb over your knuckles, back and forth and back and forth. And before you knew what was happening you threaded your fingers with hers, sank into the comfort of her touch, and fell into a thick, heavy sleep. 

You woke in a fog, dazed by sunlight streaming through the window and tangled up in Billie’s warmth. Her strong arms were wrapped loosely around you and you snuggled further into her chest, nuzzling your nose against the soft skin there. Her arms tightened, just so, and you blinked the sleep from your brain, running your foot up the smooth curves of her calf as you pressed soft kisses to her skin. 

She smelled of smoke and sage. Just like home, just like she always did. 

You buried your face closer to her chest, opening your eyes on bare skin streaked in gold, and a black lace bra barely containing the swell of her breasts when she was laying on her side like this. 

You hummed, groggily kissing and biting and licking hot lines up the edge of her bra as she stirred. She murmured your name, half-asleep. The way she always did when you woke her up like this, your legs tangled in hers and your mouth eager to darken the marks that had faded from the night before. 

The night before.

Why couldn’t you remember the night before? 

Nails pricked at your scalp as her fingers carded through your hair. Lazily. Absently. Tightened, just barely, and tugged you up. 

You happily obliged, tracing your fingers down her side and flicking your thumb over her bra as you kissed up her chest, sucked messy marks up her neck. You hummed again as she pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head, leaning up and nipping at her pulse point. 

And then her fingers twined with yours, her thumb rubbing lazy circles against your own pulse point as her lips ghosted across your hairline, over your eyelids, down your nose. Hovering just inches from your mouth. 

Her thumb pressed against your wrist. As if to say, “you’re mine.” As if to say, “I own this.” As if to say— 

Her fingers skimmed over your inner thigh, catching on something and sending a sting up your leg. 

Your eyes flew open, realization hitting you like a train, full force. 

Your bandage. Last night. Yesterday. All of it. 

Billie blinked slowly, confusion clouding her already sleepy expression. But she must have seen the look on your face, because a split second later, clarity sharpened her eyes and she pulled her hands off of you so quickly that you could have burned her. 

You scrambled back in the bed, pulling the sheets up to cover yourself. To put something between you and her for the millionth time in just a few hours. 

“I—“ Billie stuttered, looking around the bed and fumbling for something. And as you watched her, watched her ribs twist under her bra, you said the only think that you could think of. 

“Why the hell aren’t you wearing a shirt?!”

Your eyes were wide as she scrambled, face lighting as she found what she was looking for and leaned over the side of the bed. 

“I got hot in the middle of the night, I’m sorry, I—“ She pulled the discarded shirt from the floor, slipping it on quickly and tugging at it. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.”

“You can’t just— you shouldn’t—“ you fumbled at words, heart pounding over everything that had just happened. At the taste of her still stuck in your mouth. “You can’t just take your shirt off like that, Billie. Come on.”

“I said I was sorry!” she countered, voice elevated as her chest heaved. As she stared at you. 

You stared right back at her, swallowing hard around your pounding heart. Watched the way she bit into her lip before her mouth fell open again around her panting. 

And then you were on her, and she was on you, arms reaching for you as you launched yourself across the bed and crushed your mouth to hers. 

She pulled you so tightly to her that you thought you would suffocate, not to mention the way her mouth was clashing against yours, teeth and desperation as she sucked the air from your lungs. 

Her hands were everywhere, sloppy, needy. So unlike how she normally touched you. But yours were the same. Dragging over every inch of her just to feel her again. 

You could feel her heart pounding against yours as you raked your nails over her back, and she gasped into your mouth, giving you a break to bite at her lip and hook your fingers under her shirt. 

“Get this stupid thing off,” you panted, yanking and pulling, up, up, up. 

Billie leaned back, ripping it up over her head. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she mumbled, and then the shirt was back on the floor and she had an arm around your waist and you were being pushed down into the mattress, Billie’s thighs hugging your hips as she pinned you down. 

“Billie,” you begged, raking your nails over her arms before grabbing her by the hair and pulling her down to your mouth. 

Her lips were so soft, so urgent, and you couldn’t help but whine into her mouth, yanking at her hair and making her gasp. 

“God, fucking hell,” she breathed, kissing your jaw for a split second before moving back to your mouth. Like she couldn’t get enough of you. 

You didn’t want her kissing your jaw. You wanted her mouth directly on yours. The most intimate way to say the most intimate things. Hot and messy and broken by ragged breathing. Desperation into action. Kissing you, kissing you, kissing you. 

“I love you,” you breathed, not even sure you said it out loud. Halfway convinced she sucked the words right out of your chest. 

And she kissed you harder, her tongue pushing and fighting with yours. 

“I love you, too.” Panting, breathing, grabbing, holding. “I love you, too.” 

Something deflated at those words coming out of her mouth. Some kind of tension between you, because you hadn’t been sure. She had left and she had gone and you honestly hadn’t been sure anymore. 

But now she was back. And she was saying it. And the air lightened and the sun brightened and the last barrier lifted from your heart. 

Her kisses slowed down, tongue dancing with yours instead of fighting it, her fingers loosening on your waist and skimming up your sides. 

“Billie,” you gasped, toes curling at the sensation. 

And then she broke away, pressing her forehead to yours and nudging your noses together. 

And the way she was braced over you, taking up your entire field of vision. Taking up your entire world. 

A tear fell onto your cheek and you startled back to the present, hands coming up to swipe at Billie’s eyes before you even registered she was crying. 

“Hey,” you tried. She shook her head softly, closing her eyes. But you caught her cheeks, cupping her face in your hands. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

A sniff, and then she looked up at you, her perfect facade fractured once again. Eyes rimmed red, a flush in her cheeks from whatever she was feeling. From whatever she had been feeling just moments before. 

“I don’t know how to apologize to you,” she breathed, and her voice broke. “I’ve been over it and over it in my mind, and nothing that I could say will ever be good enough.”

You shushed her, cooing as your swiped at her fresh tears. But she batted you away. 

“Don’t—“

“Billie,” you chided, hands finding her cheeks again and forcing her eyes back to yours. Tear-stained. Glassy. “It’s going to take a long time for you to find the right words. Just like it’s going to take a long time for me to trust you again.”

She ducked her head, a sob pushing out of her throat. 

You pressed a kiss to her forehead, continuing. “But we’ll get there. You’ll apologize and I will forgive you. Eventually.” 

She dropped her head to your shoulder, body shaking as she cried. Your hands came up immediately, one pulling through her curls while the other rubbed over her back. 

“It’s okay, Billie. It’s okay. You’re back now and we can start figuring everything out. Step by step.”

A slight nod against your neck and you smiled. Because you meant it. Something had settled and healed in the warmth of the morning, and you were ready. You were ready to try. 

“Now how about we go make some breakfast, and you can start at the very beginning. Tell me everything from your perspective.” 

Billie led you down the stairs, your fingers twined with hers as she tugged you along. Your eyes tracked down her back, still bare. She hadn’t bothered to put her shirt back on. You had silently pleaded with the gods that she wouldn’t. And you thanked them now as you watched her shoulder blades roll with every step. 

You didn’t miss the way her pace stuttered when she passed the spot where she had pinned you last night. Didn’t miss the way her fingers twitched. 

By the time you had pulled out eggs, peppers, and tomatoes, and scrounged for some frozen bacon, Billie had left sage to burn in every single room downstairs. 

“Who knew you had so much negative energy to expel,” she teased, coming up behind you and pulling the eggs from your hands. 

“What can I say,” you countered, turning your head and grabbing the eggs back. “You bring out the worst in me.”

Billie let out a low chuckle, her free hand falling possessively to your hip. 

You tutted. “Hands off while I cook.” 

She groaned, resting her chin on your shoulder. “You can’t kiss me like that and then tell me not to touch.”

Your brows hit your hairline, images flashing through your mind of the hundreds, thousands of times she had done just that to you. “Oh, I can’t?” 

She laughed then, a real, full laugh that warmed you instantly from the inside out. And you popped her with your hip, bumping her out of the way as you grabbed a bowl down and cracked the eggs. 

You didn’t notice her opening the wine fridge, didn’t notice her pull down two wine glasses. You were too engrossed in cracking the eggs, not making a mess, catching the shells. It wasn’t until you were washing your hands in the sink and Billie’s arm wrapped around your waist that you noticed the wine glass in her hand. 

You checked the clock. “It’s ten in the morning, Billie.” 

“Let me cook for you, hm?” She pressed a soft kiss to your neck, and you couldn’t help but shiver. 

You shook your head, making to move back to the eggs, but her hand splayed out on your stomach and she held you against her. 

“Billie,” you warned, that familiar warmth pooling in your stomach again. And this time, you were mildly afraid of it. Because you didn’t know if you were allowed to want her. Didn’t know if you were supposed to give in to her that easily.

She pushed the wine glass into your hand and pulled you around the bar, dropping you onto a stool. 

“You just sit and enjoy your wine. Let me do this for you. It’s the least I can do.”

Half of you wanted to protest. Half of you knew she was right. And there was a small part of you, growing by the second, that was remembering how much you loved watching her cook.

You watched her over the rim of your wine glass, grinning as she glanced up at you. 

“That’s the Pact,” she murmured, her brow popping up as she busied herself cutting up peppers. 

You almost choked. “We were saving it for a special occasion.”

She smirked, licking her thumb clean. “This seems special enough for me.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the flush that burned in your cheeks. Billie dumped the eggs and vegetables into a pan, and then she grabbed her own wine glass and clinked it against yours. 

“To new beginnings,” she said softly, teeth digging into her bottom lip. 

“To my lover coming back to her senses and realizing she can’t live without me.” 

Billie laughed, her mouth falling open into that perfect smile, and you raised your glass, chuckling around your sip. 

“Fuck, that’s good,” you said after you swallowed, and you watched her eyes go wide as she swallowed her own sip. 

“Shit.”

“I told you.” 

Billie set her glass down, stirring the contents of the pan as they sizzled. “We definitely should have saved that for a special occasion.” 

You slid out of your seat, drawn to her like a magnet and refusing to be so far away from her for another second. It was like everything had melted away, with every minute that ticked by. Everything was going back to normal, and you had a feeling it was going to be a lot easier to forgive her than you had initially thought. Especially with the way your soul was responding to hers, cracking and popping and drawing your body to hers almost against your will. 

You wrapped your arms around her waist as she stirred. “What happened to ‘this seems special enough for me’?”

She chuckled low in the back of her throat, turning her head to kiss your nose. “I meant like an engagement.” 

“Ah,” you teased, brows popping up. “Should I expect a proposal?”

And then she kissed you properly, mumbling a soft “you wish” against your lips before removing the pan from the stove and setting it on the counter. 

You kissed her again as you giggled, desperate to get another taste, another piece of her affection. You had missed this, giggling into kisses and dancing around the kitchen, hands constantly wandering and pinching and flitting over places they shouldn’t. 

Billie broke the kiss, nudging your nose. “Go get the plates, sweetheart.”

And you couldn’t help your slight bounce as you crossed the kitchen, the pet name making your fingers itch. A second later and you were back, two plates in hand. Billie divided the contents of the pan evenly between the two, and you set them down at the bar. 

There was silence for a few moments, the meal from last night running through your mind on a loop. How you hadn’t taken a bite from her plate, let alone let her touch you. And just minutes ago you had been wishing she would sit you up on the counter and kiss you like she meant it. Like she used to. 

Billie cleared her throat, breath suddenly shaky. “So, should we talk now, or...?”

You swallowed your sip of wine, letting out a long sigh. Shook your head softly. “Billie...” 

She wasn’t looking at you, staring down at her plate as she absently stabbed at her eggs. “I don’t know why I left. Why I thought I could leave you. Just leave you here, alone. I don’t— I don’t know why I did it.”

You could hear her breaths quickening, the tears sticking in her throat. 

“Billie, we don’t have to do this right now,” you said softly, hand finding her knee and stroking over the dips there. 

“No,” she said firmly, and you startled. “You deserve an explanation. I just don’t have one. Not one that excuses what I did.”

“I’m not looking for an excuse,” you started, and she did look up at you then, the suave, swaggering woman who had just made your breakfast buried under the burden of her emotion. 

“I think I didn’t know how to ask you to come with me.”

You shook your head again. “Billie, you didn’t have to ask. I told you—“

“No, I know,” she sighed, fingers flicking over her fork like a cigarette. “I know what you said. But how was I supposed to ask you to give all of this up? Your life, your family, your friends, just to move across an ocean with me?”

“Just?” You repeated, brows furrowing. And now tears were forming in your own eyes. “Billie, do you realize how much you mean to me? Do you realize that I would do anything for you?”

She shook her head, swiping at a tear as it fell. “But not this.”

“Yes, this.”

“No,” she said again, her hand covering yours on her knee. Her thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Not this. Because what if it ended up being nothing? What if it was a waste of time and a waste of money, and— What if nothing came of it, and you ended up resenting me for pulling you away from your life, your job. For nothing?”

Time froze around you, ice threading through your veins. You tried to take a breath, but there was no air as realization settled down. As your heart stuttered in your chest. 

“I could never resent you,” you tried, hand frozen under hers. 

She shook her head, taking another sip of her wine. “You don’t know that.”

But no. You did know. That was the one thing you knew over everything else on this earth. Because even when your heart was shattered to pieces and you were only and solely blaming her, you still couldn’t resent her. You couldn’t, even though you absolutely tried. 

“Billie,” you breathed, still frozen in place on your barstool. 

Her thumb brushed mindlessly over the back of your hand. “And what if you came with me and you didn’t like London? Or hated your new job, or—“

“Billie,” you said again, more forcefully this time. And this time, she looked up at you. “Kiss me.”

Her eyes widened, just so. “What?”

“Kiss me,” you pleaded, tears welling in your eyes as the truth melted around you, melted into you, melted the ice in your veins and set your heart pounding. “Please—“

She lunged forward, hands on your face as she kissed you deeply, fervently, intently. And you kept melting, melting against her, hands coming up to grip her shoulders and pull her closer, closer. 

She hadn’t left you behind because she didn’t care about you. She had left you behind because she was trying to protect you. She was worried about you. Because you were her first priority. She wouldn’t sacrifice your happiness for hers. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured against your lips, and you stood, pressing yourself flush against her. 

“Shut up.” 

You kissed her hard, the new angle making it easy to take control. And when you licked at her lip, she opened her mouth easily. She tasted of wine, of nice, expensive wine, the spice of the peppers warming your tongue. You couldn’t help but hum into her, tucking your fingers behind her ears and pulling her mouth impossibly closer. 

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled against her lips, gasping as she let her teeth graze over yours. 

And then her hands were on your waist and she uncrossed her legs, pulling you between them. Her mouth hit your ear, hot and sticky and low. “You want to try that again?”

A groan fell out of you. You couldn’t help it. Not with the way her nails were digging through your shirt and her thighs were hugging your hips. 

Her lips trailed from your ear down your jaw, licking over your pulse point. She nuzzled her nose there, humming. As if to say, “you’re mine.” As if to say, “I’ll never leave you again.” As if to say—

“I love you,” she breathed, and you felt her sigh into her kisses, pinching your soft skin between her teeth and sucking over the sting.

Your fingers found her hair, raking through it. Desperate. You melted until you were burning, scorching need running from your fingers to your toes, pooling between your thighs and making it hard to breathe. You had missed that feeling. You had thought it was gone forever. But here it was, burning you alive. Back with a vengeance. 

You wiggled your hips against hers and she moaned into your neck. 

“Billie,” you breathed, fisting her hair and tugging. Her hands started wandering then, up your shirt, over your thighs, any piece of you she could find. But it was different than this morning. Something between the messy way her nails had raked over you, so needy, and the way she normally touched you, so carefully. Thoughtfully. An artful plucking of every one of your strings. 

“God, I missed you,” she sighed, pressing a hot kiss just over your heart. And then your shirt was rucked up and she was kissing down the line of your bra, tongue flicking out under the fabric as she glanced up at you. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, eyes fluttering closed as you squeezed your thighs together. “You can’t look at me like that.” 

She chuckled against your skin, fingers tight on your ribs as she held your shirt up. “Or what?”

You yanked on her hair, pulling her back from your stomach as you leaned down and kissed her. “Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?”

“It’s ringing a vague bell,” she panted against your mouth, breaths coming out in hot little puffs. And then she dove forward again, catching your mouth with hers and kissing you roughly. 

“Please,” you begged as you broke for air, hands falling to her shoulders as your thumbs ran along her collarbones. 

She shivered. You knew how that got to her. And when she spoke, there was a need laced under her usual confidence. “You haven’t asked for anything, sweetheart.”

You growled, shoving her back so she was pinned against the counter. Your mouth hit her neck and you weren’t gentle, biting hard as she gasped, her hands gripping into your sides. 

“God, baby, go easy.”

“No,” you mumbled into her skin, all of the need and want that had surfaced at her absence, the longing and pining and wishing and hoping, for her, bubbling back to surface and burning you everywhere she wasn’t touching you. 

And she read your mind, her hands tracing over your back as you marked her, sliding down over your ass and kneading. 

“Billie Dean Howard,” you gasped into that space between her breasts, biting down on the fabric of her bra to keep yourself from moaning. “You have thirty seconds to get me to a horizontal surface before I push you down on your knees right here—“

And then she was up, backing you out of the kitchen and down into the couch. 

“Shirt off, now,” she growled, ripping at the buttons as she straddled you. 

You smirked against her sloppy kisses, helping her get the buttons undone. “Yes, ma’am.” 

She moaned, leaning back on her thighs and letting her eyes rake over you as your shirt fell open. You couldn’t help the flush that crawled up your chest, that dove straight between your thighs. 

“God, I missed the way those words sound coming out of your mouth.” Billie shook her head as you bit into a grin. “How did I ever think I could live without you?” She murmured, fingers sliding up your stomach almost reverently. 

Your hands covered hers, squeezing softly before moving them up, arching your back and leading her to the clasp of your bra. 

“Don’t leave me again,” you whispered, holding onto her eye contact like she would vanish if you blinked. Because somehow you still felt like she wasn’t real. Like you were going to wake up and she would be gone. But the warmth of her fingers as she unclasped your bra proved you wrong. 

A tear fell as Billie leaned over you, kissing across your chest as she pulled your bra out of the way. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

You thought you heard her mumble something like “exquisite” as she ghosted her lips over your nipple, but then there was a loud click and the front door opened, and voices flooded your foyer. 

“Y/N, we’re here.”

“Just making sure you’re still alive.”

Your eyes went wide and you shoved Billie off of you, scrambling to re-hook your bra. 

“Shit,” you muttered, Billie fumbling with the buttons on your shirt and doing them up as you pulled your fingers through your hair. “Shit, shit, shit.” 

There was a split second before they came into the room, a split second where Billie reached up and adjusted your collar to no doubt cover a mark that she had left. A split second where you both looked at each other, fighting smiles as you settled down onto the couch, her on the arm, hand finding your thigh. 

And then Angelica and Michelle walked into the room, clearly shocked to find you sitting up, and clearly shocked to find Billie still here. 

“Should we have called?” Angelica mused, her brow popping up. 

Michelle stopped in her tracks right behind her, an impressed smirk on her face. “So, do we just not wear shirts in this house now, or...?”

And that’s when you realized that Billie was still only in her bra. 

Your heart stuttered and you glanced over at her, but she was already talking to your friends, her hand tightening, just barely, on your thigh in reassurance. 

“...honestly would have thought me not coming back last night would have been a clear enough sign that everything was alright.” 

Angelica scoffed, moving through the kitchen and stabbing at some of the abandoned eggs. “I don’t know what happened,” she mumbled around a bite of food. “You could have killed each other for all I know— Fuck, these are good.”

She took three more bites as Michelle set her stuff down on the counter and walked to the stove. 

“I’m assuming you’re going to make this bacon, yes?” 

You coughed to cover a snort as Billie’s nails dug into your thigh. 

Her mouth hit your ear. “You distracting, little—“ 

You hummed, hand coming to cover hers. “You were the one who insisted on cooking. It’s not my fault you can’t focus. I laid everything out for you.” 

“Listen—“ Billie started, lips already twitching up into a predatory smirk. But then Angelica’s voice cut through the room. 

“So you got her to eat?” 

“And shower, by the looks of it,” Michelle finished as Angelica spun a wine glass in her hand.

“And I see we’re day drinking?”

You rolled your eyes, getting up from the couch to take the glass from Angelica before she took a sip. 

“So we’re staying, right?” Angelica asked as you set the glass down, looking to Michelle. 

“Oh yeah, definitely staying.”

“Oh, no no,” you chided, grabbing them both by their arms and dragging them back towards the front door. “I don’t think so.”

“Kicking us out already? God, you two really can’t keep your hands off of each other.”

You flushed, glancing behind you to find Billie smirking as she rose to follow. 

“How about the two of you shut up?”

“How about you say thank you for taking care of your sorry ass for three weeks?”

“And for covering for you at work,” Angelica added. 

You chuckled, hugging them both tightly. 

“Thank you. Really. I don’t know what I would do without you two.”

“Probably die in a hole of self-pity,” Michelle chimed in, and Angelica nudged her. 

Your brow raised and you felt Billie behind you before you heard her, leaning back instinctively as her arms wrapped around your waist. 

“You know,” you started, thumb brushing absently over Billie’s arm. “If you two are nice to me, I might just invite you over for a thank you dinner tonight.”

“And if not?” Angelica teased, Michelle practically dragging her out the front door. 

“We’ll see you at seven!” Michelle called, Angelica shoving at her and pulling keys from her back pocket. “You’d better have wine left!”

You waved, laughing as you shut the door behind them. As soon as it clicked, you felt Billie’s hands on your waist.

“I’m not going to lie, part of me will miss staying with them.”

You turned in her arms, brow popping up. “Oh yeah?” 

Billie’s lip twitched over a smirk. “Jealous?”

“And what if I am?” You replied, breath hitching as Billie’s hands slid up under your shirt, pinning you against the door. Her mouth found your neck in seconds, sucking and licking and kissing over your pulse point. 

“I seem to remember you begging me to fuck you a moment ago,” she purred, and your eyes fell closed, fingers tightening on her waist. 

“Please,” you whined. And you felt Billie smirk against your skin. 

“So needy for me already, hm?”

You nodded, pulling her impossibly closer. “Always.” Your hand fell to her hair, holding her in place. “God, please, Billie, just—“

A loud banging on the door made you practically jump out of your skin, and Billie sprung off of you, cursing. 

“What the fuck?” You muttered, pulling your shirt down and looking to Billie for the answer. She shook her head, flicking her bangs back into place. You peered through the window by the door. And immediately rolled your eyes.

“What?!” you growled as you yanked the door open, eyes landing back on your friends. 

“I forgot my phone,” Michelle apologized, sliding past you and giving Billie a soft wave. 

Angelica sighed. “Honestly, Y/N. Against the door? We didn’t even make it down the driveway.” 

“It’s not my problem you’re a slow driver, Angie,” Billie chimed in, sidling up next to you. 

“And we didn’t have time to do anything against the door, because you two—“ Michelle slid back past you, phone in hand. You waved your finger between them. “—you two can’t seem to leave me alone.”

Angelica laughed, shaking her head. “You’d better be glad we didn’t leave you alone, or you wouldn’t have eaten for three weeks.”

Michelle slid her phone into her back pocket as Billie’s hands wrapped around your waist and her mouth found your neck. 

“You’re only alive because of us,” Angelica tried again, obviously looking for another thank you. But you couldn’t focus with Billie’s fingers sliding against your stomach. 

“I’m not waiting for you to leave, Angie,” Billie chimed in again, pressing a kiss to your neck. “It’s been three weeks. You’re lucky I kept my hands off of her this long.”

Michelle dragged Angelica away with a soft “ew, ew come on,” and Angelica rolled her eyes as she was tugged back to her car, pointing at you. 

“I did this! You owe me!”

“Mhm, yep, I’ll be sure to thank you in my next acceptance speech,” Billie called, spinning you in her arms and kissing you properly. 

You melted into her, wrapping your arms up around her neck and threading your fingers through the hair there. 

You heard the car start, and then Angelica’s voice screaming “get a room” as the engine faded off. 

Billie broke away from you then, reaching out and shutting the door. 

“If only we had a room,” she teased, pulling your hips against hers. 

You smirked. “Or two.”

“Or three.”

“Or four—“

You cut off with a squeak as Billie’s hands hooked under your thighs and she picked you up. 

“I guess the only question now is which one, hm?” 

You hummed, scratching your nails against her scalp. “Or in which order.”

Billie did thank Angelica during her next acceptance speech. It was a speech for an award she won, for a job that she had gotten only because she had left the London job. You didn’t realize, as you sat at the table with her costars and watched her shine up on that stage, light bouncing off of her smile just as brilliantly as it was bouncing off the gold statue in her hands, that this award would be one of seven. That this job that she had gotten because she had decided to stay with you would sweep her career to heights that you couldn’t have even imagined. Soon, you would be dating an A-list celebrity. Soon, your lives would change. Soon, everything would be different. 

But as you sat in that uncomfortable chair and gazed at the love of your life on one of the proudest moments of her life, absently twisting your engagement ring over your finger as you always seemed to do when Billie was on your mind, all you could think about was how lucky you were. Blessed. Utterly spoiled. 

Because Billie was yours. Billie was yours, and you were hers. Unequivocally. Forever. And no matter where this award took her, no matter what happened next, none of that would change. Billie Dean Howard had come back to you. She would always come back, be it an hour or two months. Billie would always be standing right next to you. Right by your side.

Time after time. 

Tag List: @thatgirlintheleatherjacket​ @shineestark​ @duchessfics​ @darling-dontforgetme​ @midnight-lestrange​ @nerdaroo​ @pradababey​ @mssallymckenna​ + @raleigh-ocean​ (because we’ve been talking about this for too long)

#billie dean howard x reader #billie dean howard #billie dean x reader #billie x reader #ahs #ahs murder house #ahs hotel #ahs apocalypse #ahs billie dean howard #american horror story #ahs fanfic #ahs fanfiction #ahs fandom #ahs imagine #angst #hurt comfort #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic

[thetiredstuff]

oh same here, I've blocked dozens and dozens of destiel blogs over the last few days. basically anyone wishing death or other horrible things on jensen (and jarpad, I mean, I dont like the guy either, but that is going way too far), anyone fantasizing about and plotting ways to make jensen suffer, anyone claiming he is a rabid homophobe, anyone hoping to destroy his career... and all the people gleefully celebrating that "everyone" has turned on jensen now because they've always hated jensen and always knew he was a horrible person etc.

I absolutely cannot stand that kind of gross mob mentality and I find it hilarious that they all think they're the most woke and progressive people in this fandom, when they don't have a shred of kindness and consideration between them. they're the ones who would have called for people to be burned at the sake in the middle ages (and I've literally seen them wish for exactly that for jensen and jared) and they don't even realize it.

Yeah exactly this! I also agree about the wishing (severe) bodily harm. My stance on my presence online is: would I say it to their face? And I would absolutely say all of what I've said to jp's face. But I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I wished bodily harm on someone. I'd rather they see some consequences for their actions.

Although, I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't disclose that I definitely sometimes wish for people to step on Lego or maybe fall down some stairs. Not badly but ya know. But that's the bad person in me.

But yes people have definitely gone off the rails with what happened this past weekend.

And I am sick of people coming for Jensen every chance they get. The loved calling him "fruity", which already irked me to death because that is an insult that is still not been reclaimed by the queer men it's been used against and almost all of the peopel using that insult as a "joke" had no business using it in the first place.

And then when he doesn't dance exactly like they want him to, they turn on him in an instant. Literally everyone says stuff they are not supposed to say, or puts their foot in their mouth, or encounters situations where they should have said something but didn't. Because we aren't perfect. Humans are not perfect.

But seeing how humans react to missing the mark, to putting their foot in their mouth, to not standing up when needed, to saying something they shouldn't have, that is incredibly important. And the context.

People keep coming for Jensen over his "open for interpretation" but guess what? He literally cannot confirm nor deny how Dean feels about Cas. Why? Because we never saw in the show how Dean felt.

The contracts that they signed basically boil down to: the show has ended so you cannot add to the existing material. You cannot add something of dialogue, or feelings, or stories about your character. You cannot speak in the name of your character. Which is why Misha had to stipulate during his panel "THAT THIS IS NOT CANON" He yelled it very loudly before answering about Cas in Heaven.

So technically, yes, Jensen can answer the question if he stipulates that what he is about to say is not canon. But it could jeopardize any projects with WB or in the SPN universe down the line. And it could jeopardize his potential career if he doesn't take contracts seriously.

What counts to me is that over the years, there have been so many queer fans who shared their interactions with Jensen and all of them have been positive. Haven't seen a negative one yet. Besides that, we've heard about his commitment to LGBTQ+ organizations. He doesn't do it for PR because the only reason we know about it is because those organizations or those in attendance reveal it later on.

And now he's started up a company with someone who is making waves for LGBTQ+ talent in Hollywood. Moreover, in every article mentioning Chaos Machine, it mentions the LGBTQ+ efforts of this person. A press release only ever reveals the most important information. The fact that her LGBTQ+ efforts have been mentioned in every single article means that this was not only in the press release but was high up in it as well because the information higher up in a press release is the most important one.

And about progressiveness: you cannot progress if you are not given the chances and space to do so. Being progressive is learning and unlearning. It is messing up constantly and trying to do better and educating yourself.

From the tidbits we've heard of Jensen, he genuinely seems like a nice guy. A little too nice towards jp if you ask me because he should have been facing consequences a long time ago but it is what it is because Jensen isn't the only one who is around jp's orbits so that responsibility shouldn't be solely placed on him (especially not since it seems like he no longer considers jp a friend)

Jensen has shown his willingness of learning and has altered his answers before after learning new information. People also seem to forget that he is shy. Like he might sing on stage and be an actor but he is a shy dude. He doesn't like solo panels, although he has clearly gotten a lot better at, but if you don't like solo panels, you also don't like due panels because the problem isn't being alone on stage, it's that he is shy and seems to get anxious.

Having to be perfect while being shy or anxious is literally an impossible situation. And I'm really fucking sick at all the Jensen-is-a-homophobe stuff.

When I got into this fandom, the Jensen-is-a-homophobe-stuff was so omnipresent, I genuinely thought for a second he was and it gave me just a ton of sadness. Not because I parasocialized with him but because I loved the show and I don't want homophobic actors play my favorite characters.

Jensen just can never catch a break. People are just lying in wait until he puts a toe out of the perfect mold and then the minefield they've layed around him explodes with the most vile stuff you can imagine. I'm sick of it. Also hilariously hypocritical how so many people are saying the most vile stuff about Ackles when a ton of them keep on following someone who is phobic against at least two queer identities within the LGBTQ+ community.

sorry this is so long, i kinda pop off when it comes to this subject lol.

#jensen #anon #ask

[stardancerluv]

Gotham Surviving the Pandemic 2021

Part 3

Summary: Roman feels his age

Note: squint at the implied smut…but this just angst and fluff

Roman turned off the dryer and was running a comb through his hair, when he spotted it. Going over to the door, he silently closed it.

Leaning in close, he glanced and didn’t see it. His heart began to pick up speed. Moving so he was practically climbing the black marble of the counter he found the one gray strand. Biting his bottom lip, he plucked it.

He stood back and looked at himself. He moved his head from side to side. No other ones stood out.

As annoyance filled him, making him flushed with anger. He grabbed his aftershave and patted some on his cheeks. Then he realized he could have some there too. He looked at the prickles of growth there as well.

“Roman?” Your voice called from the other side of the door.

“Yes!” His voice sounded like he was being strangled. He cleared his throat.

“Are you ok?” He could hear your concern.

“I’m fine,” He eyed the door and the handle.

“I will meet you downstairs.”

“Don’t be long, I’ll miss you!” You giggled lightly.

Your light mood cooled some of his annoyance, but it also distracted him. He tried to think. “Order me my usual!” He called out.

“Ok, I will!”

He could hear the clicking of your heels as you left. He could imagine the swish of your dress, the way your feet were your shoes. You were so young, so lovely and he was going gray. He had already known there would be a time when his age would come into play between the two of you, but it’s serious now. His annoyance came back as he brushed his teeth. He looked his face over, happy with it. At least his age wasn’t showing there.

There were no wrinkles, except when he smiled. Well, he didn’t mind those.

Dropping his towel, he walked into his closet. He grabbed a pair of fresh boxers. He remembered how you and Victor went shopping before things had locked down. This was one of the things you had grabbed, he smiled.

He had only really begun to smile because of you. It didn’t help that your smile and even more your laugh could be quite infectious.

He pulled on his dress shirt. Eyeing his cufflinks, he settled on a pair of his favorites.

He thought back, damn that was already going on a bit for the pair of you. That virus stole a year of fun and excitement from you two. But he had learned so much about you, and faced a lot of his demons.

Slipping on his socks followed by the very finely threaded slacks, his outfit for tonight was almost complete. Having looped and fastened his belt, he was beginning to feel better.

Grabbing just the right suit jacket for this look he paused. He had this one for a while. It was one of the first ones he wore when meeting you.

Reaching for his phone he dialed his groomer.

To Franco: Need an appointment tomorrow. ASAP.

Franco: You are not due for two weeks, Roman.

To Franco: I can’t wait till then.

Franco: How is eleven am?

To Franco: Good. Bring dye and the straight razor?

Franco: I thought you were enjoying your naturally dark coloring.

He had till the fucking gray.

To Franco: Just bring it.

Franco: Ok, Roman. See you then.

Roman slipped back into the bathroom. Should he wear shades tonight? He slipped on a pair. He sighed, then grimaced at his own reflection. He took the shades off and slipped them into his pocket.

*****

He slipped on his face mask as the music from the club began to greet him. He smiled underneath it as he saw that now a few weeks into being open, the stream of people coming to have a good time was steady. Seeing him, people parted and made room for him. He smiled and nodded.

He saw you speaking with someone. Your mask off since you were in a safe place. The smile across your face was as lovely as ever. The person met his eyes, they shared a nod and walked away. He came over to you and slipped off his mask.

“You look lovely.” He smiled. And you did, the dress hung just right and the heels added that little bit of height, which made it easier for him to enjoy whiffs of your perfume.

You returned the smile. “Thank you, Romy.” You gestured to the person, who walked over their own booth where they sat with friends possibly, Roman wondered. “They hired me to make a piece for their boutique.”

He rose an eyebrow, watching them whisper something to someone sitting with them. “That’s a bit garish. You’re relaxing in my club and they talked business?”

“I suppose, but things have changed greatly now that we’re back.” You sighed.

“They should know better.” He quipped. “I don’t like the idea of them propositioning you while you’re here to relax.” He let a smile spread across his face as he looked over the club.

“Sadly might happen more and more.” You shrugged.

“Be careful of them. Shall we sit?”

“Of course.” You sighed. “Are you ok?”

“Why?” One of the girls brought his drink over. He took a sip.

“You seem upset.”

“I’m not. I’m going to do a round.”

“All right.”

******

You could tell something was wrong with Roman before he even made it over to you. And the closed door. What could possibly be bothering him, you wondered.

Something was up, you watched as Roman slipped his shades on. Sitting back you twirled your ring a little on your finger.

“What’s going on with Roman?”

Victor’s voice broke into your thoughts, you jumped slightly. “Victor, I swear I will never get used to your light steps.”

He chuckled.

“I don’t know. He arrived upset.”

As Roman returned, Victor went and did an opposite round.

*****

“Baby?”

“Yes?” You replied sweetly. He rather liked how the lights twinkled in your eyes tonight. He couldn’t tell you he was feeling particularly old after seeing that gray hair.

“You’re my knock out.”

“I am.” You smiled. “You have made my heart flutter tonight.”

“Oh?”

“You just command the room. So handsome and just… I don’t know but I have always loved it, always will.”

He smirked, that made him feel good. He took a longer sip of his drink. “That’s me, baby.”

“And I get to sit here and be like, that is my fiancé while I see girls drool as you walk by.”

He rose an eyebrow. “Drool huh?”

You scooted over to him. He enjoyed how your fingers felt as they squeezed his thigh. “You better believe it.” He watched as your nose twitched, followed by a glow coming over you. You leaned in close. “You’re wearing my favorite aftershave.” He could feel as you sighed. “If we were down by the pier, I’d let you take me again.”

He chuckled. A dark sense of delight filled him, knowing he had taken you in total disregard of the statues that were supposed to be revered on that pier. He had taken you, and the cries of delight he pulled from you had made him feel very good.

******

Roman, sat down and gripped the arm rests. “Tell me you were tested, and it was negative.” He barked from behind his cloth mask.

The man nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Roman relaxed a little and removed the mask that covered his nose and mouth. He swallowed alright, “Go and look.” He resigned himself to needing to finally getting his inky strands finally dyed.

Soon, he felt Franco’s fingers rove through his strands, he gritted his teeth. Their eyes met in the mirror he set up. “Roman, it must have been a fluke. There is no other gray strands.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me.” He pounded his fist on the armrest.

“I’m not. You had the stress of reopening. The fucking pandemic. It was bound to happen.”

“I don’t-” He stopped himself before continuing. “Fine, well then I need a trim. My edges are getting ragged.”

“Roman, it’s early like I said.”

Roman just looked at him.

He nodded silently. With a swish, the razor sliced through his strands. After the comb ran through it, he looked sharp again.

*****

A smile curled his lips as he felt your fingers entwine in his hair. He had been pouring over some maps and had not even heard your arrival.

He knew by the soft sound you made, that you were pleased with the trim. Did you get a trim today?” You whispered.

“Yes, I did.” He picked you up, your heels feels to the ground as a squeak escaped your lips.

You steadied yourself on his huge table.

“Did you meet with that guy who had the nerve to book you in my club?”

The demure appearance came over your face. “Is that really on your mind?”

“Well, I do still worry about my lovely fiancée.” He laid his hands over yours, the glimmer of the ring catching his eye.

“I like that you worry about me.” You breathed.

He easily stepped between your legs. “I always will.” His hand drifted up your skirt.

You shifted. “Roman, what if Victor and Doll Face walk in?”

He leaned in close. “We better hurry then.”

@spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @nun@itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @poe-kadot26 @babydoll97-blog1 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @professionalclown @chogisss @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @blondekel77 @saphic-stories @drarrylov3r @i-cant-hear-you16 @deadlymistress24 @yesqueenofthelight @generallj @thebeckyjolene @blackmasque @mrskenobi19 @bdffkierenwalker

#fem!reader #ewan mcgregor #ewan mcgregor imagine #ewan mcgregor angst #ewan mcgregor fluff #roman sionis #roman sionis x reader #roman sionis imagine #roman sionis fanfiction #ewan mcgregor fanfiction #roman sionis x you #roman sionia x y/n #black mask #black mask imagine #black mask x you #black mask x y/n #black mask x reader #gotham survivong the pademic #part 3

[fairlyspnfanfic]

The Ties That Bind Us - Part 8

Summary: When your past comes back to haunt you, who will prevail?  Hunting had been your life since your were 4 years old.  The monsters that started you on that path were resurfacing, and you knew what you had to do.  But nothing is ever truly secret, and nothing is ever that cut and dry with the Winchester’s in tow.

A/N: This is a new one that is coming from a few requests.  I’m not going to post the actual requests because…well because it would spoil the story line and I’m pretty into this one.

Words: 2438

Warnings: Trauma, medical terminology, stress, hospital waiting room, all the angst

PART ONE  PART TWO  PART THREE PART FOUR PART FIVE  PART SIX   PART SEVEN

I hesitated to open my eyes, for fear that I’d wake up and it would all have been a dream. My lips felt warm and pleasantly swollen as I reached my hand up slowly to touch them, keeping my eyes shut.  I took a deep breath and lifted my eyelids, coming eye to eye with Dean as he lay next to me staring.  

Sheepishly, I smiled and released a small chuckle with my fingertips still glazing over my bottom lip.  “Well,” I said meekly.  “Not a dream.”  His eyebrows were still knitted together as if he was unsure as to what my reaction would be.  But the corner of his mouth twitched upward as the hint of a smirk began to spread.  

“Kinda was for me,” he said through an exhale of breath as he ran the back of his fingers along my cheek.  I leaned into his touch, relishing in the delightful feel of his skin on mine.  

“How long,” I asked him.  

“How long what?  How long have I wanted to do that?”  He paused, leaving the silence pregnant with anticipation.  He let out a quick breath, looking to the ceiling as he thought. “Six years ago, St. Patrick’s Day. I told you to kiss me cause I’m Irish. You called me an idiot and threw a pillow at my face.” I laughed at his response. “Been hooked ever since.”  

I could feel heat rushing to my cheeks as they blushed and a coy smile wound itself across my face.  

“Or did you mean how long have I known you wanted me to? Cause that’s a very different answer.”  

I ducked my head down, attempting to hide from his view, and buried my nose into the crook of his neck.  “I mean, I’d be happy to answer that one for you, too, sweetheart but I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”  His words dripped with sarcasm as he pursed his lips and left a trail of kisses from the crown of my head and down the side of my face, slowly pulling my head back up to face him.  

“See, when things weren’t looking all that great for you?  I wasn’t doing so well.  I wasn’t the pillar of strength you’re used to on the day to day.”  His face returned to seriousness now, and my eyes fixated on him.  “I kind of fell apart.  No, that’s not true.  I completely fell apart.  A world without you in it?  That’s not a world I want to be in.”  

I felt tears pooling in my eyes, but I held them at bay.  

“So, my baby brother, he decides he needs to cheer me up.  See, he yanks me up to my feet, slams me up against a wall and tells me to stop being a selfish prick.  Tells me I can help you by just keeping it together, by staying with you.”  Dean’s hand lifted as he pushed my hair gently behind my ear.  “Now I’m lost at this point.  He’s talking crazy and all I want to do is hide from the world.  But the big oaf that Sam is, he wouldn’t allow that.”  He leaned in towards me again, pressing a short, chaste kiss to my lips before tucking his chin over the crown of my head.  

“Instead, he looks me in the eye, tells me I’m a moron, and lets me go.  But not before just blurting out ‘She loves you, you jackass,’ and proceeding to lecture me about how dumb I am.”  The smile on his face is beyond genuine and my entire body feels as though it’s turned to gelatin.  “That true,” he asks me, his eyes back on mine.  The confident smirk on his face is betrayed only by the pleading desperation in his green orbs that are so focused on mine that I dare not even blink.  

Slowly, I nod my head, feeling that same blush rise in my cheeks again.  “Yeah,” I said, my voice cracking as I did so.  

“Thank god,” he breathed out as his lips once again plastered themselves against mine, knocking the air out of me as he slowly wound his arm around my waist.  He leaned into me, rolling me over onto my back as he rested his body on top of mine, his hips jutting against my own.  I could feel his calloused hands wandering; one tangled in my hair as his fingers deftly caressed my ear lobe as his other held our bodies closer together.  

I had wrapped my arms around him, clinging to him with desperation.  Dean pushed against me harder as I felt his excitement growing against my groin.  I broke our lips apart, breathing deeply as I lifted my hand to the back of his head, entwining my fingers in his hair.  He began grinding his hips against me; an act I longed for but subsequently found intolerable.  Shocks of pain tore through my abdomen in waves and I cried out, gasping for air as I ground my teeth together.  

“Fuck,” I grimaced, wincing.  Dean instantly backed away, holding himself almost as if he were doing a pushup.  

“What’s wrong?”  His panicked voice rang out as his eyes examined me.  

I removed one hand from his firm waist and grabbed for my side, desperate to alleviate some of the pain.  

“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered under his breath, looking down towards my waist.  It seemed instantaneous that I sprang off the bed and frantically searched for the remote control with the nurse call button.  A few seconds passed and the pain had ebbed.  

“Dean, I’m fine, really.”  My attempt to settle him did nothing as I spoke to his back.  He was running towards the doorway now, yelling for help.  

I rolled my eyes, knowing that he was surely overreacting.  Pulling my hand away, I glanced down and took in the sight of dark red blood pooling slowly on the sheet beneath me.  “Well, crap.”  

Dean walked back into the room, a female nurse clad in dark purple scrubs in tow.  He raised his hand and pointed towards my wound, and she immediately got to work.  My gown was quickly pushed to the side as she took a look at the damage that had been done.  

“You’ve popped a staple out.  Haven’t seen that too often!”  Her voice was cheery and calming as she smiled sweetly at me.  

“I’ll get the doctor and we’ll get you patched up again in no time.  Good as new, huh?  How are you feeling in the meantime?  What’s your pain level?”  

“I’m good,” I answered simply.  

“Are you sure, darlin’?  You look a little flushed.”  Her eyes were intent now, taking in every physical cue that she could.  

“That, uh,” Dean began with that devilish half smile of his. “That could be my fault.”  He held up a finger as if claiming victory.  I rolled my eyes in response and watched as the nurse did the same.  

She turned her head to face him and took up the absolutely accurate stance of an angry mother about to berate their petulant child.  “You do know that she’s recently had invasive surgery, yes?”  

I watched as Dean shrank under the nurse’s stare.  He nodded solemnly.  

“And that a team of highly trained surgeons spent several hours fixing her up and putting her back together again with slim odds that she’d even wake up, let alone thrive and begin healing?”  Her question was obviously rhetorical.  Dean held eye contact with her and nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.”  He’d never sounded so young and childlike.  

“So maybe, just maybe, we can pause on the hanky panky funny stuff until after she’s discharged, yeah?”  

I stifled my laughter as Dean nodded again, and the nurse exited the room, patting his shoulder as she walked by; the smile on her face betrayed the entertainment she had felt at Dean’s expense.  

Dean skulked back towards me, lowering himself into the chair beside my bed.  The laughter that I had been withholding came pouring out of me, eliciting more pain as I again held my side.  

“Geez, Y/N, you’re going to open yourself up more.”  Dean placed his hands on my arms, attempting to hold me still.  

“Yeah, well. You started it.”

His eyes went wide with incredulity.  “How do you figure?”  

“You were the one who opened up first!”  My cheesy joke landed flat.  

Dean rolled his eyes, leaning backwards in his chair as he sighed dramatically.  “Good to see you didn’t lose your awful sense of humor.”  

I smiled at him exaggeratedly.  “I’m delightful.”  

He smiled at me again, reaching over and raking his fingertips down my cheek. “Yeah,” he paused. “You are.”  

The doctors had swooped into the room, getting me all stitched back together in a blur of lights, antiseptic, and latex gloves.  The same nurse had accompanied them, insisting on administering more morphine when she did so.  

They moved me into a wheelchair as they waited for my bedsheets to be taken out and laundered.  I was struggling to keep my head up as I leaned my temple against my palm, fighting to hold my eyelids open.  I could feel Dean’s warm hand drawing comforting circles on my back, but my head was swimming.  His soothing voice rang out every few minutes, letting me know that it was okay if I wanted to fall asleep.  Encouraged even. But stubbornly, I refused, shaking my head and insisting on waiting until Sam came back.

It wasn’t too long until Sam peaked his head into my room; his long hair unkept and falling in his face.  

“Hey, Tarzan,” I mumbled, giggling at my own joke.  Both the boys stared at me quizzically as my eyes closed and I leaned further over onto the side, my chuckles growing quieter.  

“Tarzan? I thought it was Thor.”  Sam’s voice drifted in as if he were speaking through static.  

“She’s out of her mind on morphine, Sammy.  Don’t worry.”  I could hear the jest in Dean’s voice as he spoke from just behind me.  

There was a small hint of commotion as an orderly came in with a rolling tray full of food for me.  With my eyes still closed, I took a deep breath, attempting to smell my meal.  But my sense of smell reacted negatively as I breathed in the scent of hard-boiled eggs, squash and fish.  

“Gross,” I protested, grabbing at the wheels of the wheelchair I sat in and attempting to push myself away.  

“No. Don’t want that,” I murmured as I shook my head.  There was a strong hand grasping my shoulders as someone gently whispered in my ear to relax.  “Mom made me lasagna,” I groaned, as large tears overwhelmed my lids and began cascading down my cheeks.  

I felt warm fingers press against my cheeks as Dean’s familiar voice repeated my name softly.  

“Hey, Y/N.  Can you open your eyes for me?”  

I stubbornly shook my head, opting for the darkness my closed eyelids afforded me.  I could feel panic rising in my chest, and my breaths began coming in stuttered waves.  Sam’s voice was screaming into the hallway, demanding a nurse or any sort of help.  But my head was swimming.  I could still smell the garlic and tomatoes as the cheese bubbled on the top of my favorite dish.  I could hear my mother’s voice as she spoke with me. My father’s warm, teddy-bear embrace still ghosted over my arms.  But all I could see was black.  I longed for the comfort their memories had afforded me.  

“Daddy,” I mumbled out as I felt the familiar push of medication run up my arm as forced, restless sleep overtook me.  

I woke hours later.  Days possibly.  The sky outside my window was still dark and the light in the room too dim.  Running my dry hands down my face, I pulled myself slowly to sit up in the bed.  The ache in my side not entirely unnoticed.  Every muscle in my body was sore and resisted moving.  I kicked my legs out gently over the bed, glaring at my thighs as I balanced myself on them with the palms of my hands.  

“Don’t even think about it,” Dean’s voice was stern as he spoke from the chair in the corner of the room.  I watched his arms flex as he walked towards me, squatting effortlessly in front of me as his eyes locked onto mine.  

“Back in bed.”  His words were stern, but his eyes betrayed some sadness that lingered on his face.  

“Dean?”  My voice was groggy and sounded foreign to me.  

“Y/N get your ass back in bed, now.”  He sounded almost defeated; an unfamiliar tone for him.  

I acquiesced and pulled my legs back onto the uncomfortable air mattress, keeping my eyes set on his face.  “What’s wrong,” I asked him. “You seem grumpy.”  He took his seat again in the lounge chair next to me, leaning on his knees with his elbows.

A forced, quick breath leaked through his nostrils, full of incredulity.  “Grumpy, huh?”  He paused.  “Can’t imagine why.”  His eyes fell to his hands, focusing on the thin piece of fabric that he was fiddling with.  He flicked his gaze up to me, following my gaze back down to his hands.  

“It’s part of your shirt,” he explained.  “Or, well, was.”  He paused again. “It tore off in your back there,” he gestured towards my side.  “Had to dig it out on the way here.”  

I took a deep breath, attempting to steady my surprise.  “I’m sorry, Dean.”  

He pursed his eyebrows and looked up towards me slowly.  “For what?  Getting stabbed?  Not your fault.”  

I reached towards him, surprised when I watched him pull away and lean back into his seat.  “See, getting stabbed? Hurt?  Happens to all of us.  But you,” he said, holding the fabric up towards me. “You were reckless.  You ditched me and Sam and did your damnedest to be in more danger than you needed to be.”  His eyes shot up towards mine again, that same pained sadness shooting out of his eyes as he let silence stretch between us.  

“And here, in this hospital.  Some of the things you’re saying, been saying.  They’ve got me wondering.”  

I let his statement stand, wanting desperately to not discuss the topic at hand. “See, I’m wondering if there’s not something you’re hiding.  Something you didn’t or aren’t telling me. And that?  That won’t work.  That’s something else.”  He dropped his head, clenching his hand into a fist as he held onto the scrap of clothing.  “So, talk.”  

To be continued….

Part Nine

Taglist (Tag requests are open):

@vicmc624 @waywardprincesa @heyyy-hey-babyyy  @carissime72  @deans-baby-momma  @formulafun  @woodworthti666  @yetanotherreader  @crashlyrose  @hobby27  @gabby913  @jxackles  @polina-93 @supernaturaladdictsblog  @fandomoverdose666  @deans-baby-momma  @deanwanddamons  @tazzi-baby  @acertainhero  @lilulo-12 @slamminmine  @mimaria420

(Desperate attempt to get my faves to notice me) @thinkinghardhardlythinking @smol-and-grumpy @wonder-cole-reads @watermelonlipstick @that-one-gay-girl @waywardbaby @luci-in-trenchcoats @holylulusworld @cockslut-padalecki @calaofnoldor​

#supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #jensen ackles #jared padalecki #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean x reader #spn angst #spn slow burn #fairlyspnfanfic #supernatural #fanfiction #fanfic

[dtrhwithalex]

TV | Leverage (Season 1, Rewatch)

Rewatch of the first season of TNT's LEVERAGE (2008-2012), created by John Rogers and Chris Downey together with Dean Devlin and his production company Electric Entertainment.

In anticipation of the show's reboot / revival / sequel LEVERAGE: REDEMPTION coming to IMDbTV on 09 July this year, I am rewatching the original 77 episodes and writing about my favourite moments and things from each episode, season by season.

(Just a note, this first season was aired out of order, so the dates won't actually form a chronology, since I'm going with the intended order rather than the one they were aired in.)

101: THE NIGERIAN JOB

D: DEAN DEVLIN. W: JOHN ROGERS & CHRIS DOWNEY. Original Air Date: 07 December 2008.

I have lost count of how many times I have seen this episode (or any episodes of this show to be completely honest), but it holds up every single time. It is one of my favourite, if not the favourite TV pilot episode I have ever seen.

The way this pilot sets up who the main characters are and what the core of this show is, is simply perfect. The introduction of Nate at the bar being approached by Dubenich, then the intercut between him convincing Nate to do the job and the actual job happening -- just wonderful. The same goes for the individual introductions of the other players. Nate's comment about Parker ("no, but Parker is insane") which plants a thread for the rest of the show already, the flashbacks of each character to exemplify who they and what their talents are, combined with the episode then showing you those talents and what Nate can do with them -- which is, of course, his talent -- sets up this whole show so well.

So many seeds that come to fruition throughout the show are already planted right here. Nate's mentoring of Parker to become his eventual successor as Mastermind ("Haircuts, Parker, count the haircuts" -- "I would've missed that"), Eliot's role as protector, the iconic overhead shots and the gloating, the alternate revenue streams, "Hardison dies in Plan M" -- it's all already right here in this episode. A brilliant piece of writing. Hats off to Rogers and Downey, no questions asked.

Rewatching this episode made me think of what this show is about, in its essence. Yes, it is about standing up for those who can't do so themselves, taking on the bigger bad, showing how corrupt and terrible the world can be, but also how much good there is to still find in the world. But also, this show is about a lonely man being actively bullied into the family he didn't know he needed or wanted, but will eventually come to realise is the one thing, the only thing that is keeping him alive. LEVERAGE is the story of a man and his crusade to avenge the death of his child, but is is very much also the story of a man who finds a reason to keep getting up every morning in the four people who are on this crusade with him. And this pilot episode already holds the seed and the potential of all of that. And that is why this show is to this day still my favourite show of all time, because it is utterly perfect in every way.

102: THE HOMECOMING JOB

D: DEAN DEVLIN. W: JOHN ROGERS. Original Air Date: 09 December 2008.

I absolutely love how John Rogers was like okay first episode, some greedy asshole who does whatever he wants for his own gain, we'll take him down a notch. Episode two? Hmm, oh yeah, the government is completely corrupt, filled with rich greedy assholes who do whatever they want for their own gain and always get away with it. Not on my watch (I love him very much, thank you).

This episode, once again, so good. The re-introduction of every character in this new reality of Nate's crusade is just as brilliantly done as the original introduction of them all. Sophie at an audition (love the John Rogers cameo here) completely butchering it once again, Eliot beating up some thug, Parker stealing valuable art, and Hardison doing what he does best: creating a beautiful office-slash-home space for the team, putting his all into their backstories, the equipment, the behind-the-scenes workings of what they need to get the job done. My man.

The message of this particular episode is also just something I am very fond of. The rehab facility doctor's words in the beginning, and then in the end again -- "people don't just show up to help. that's not the way the world works" -- as well as Nate's ultimate answer to her, "so change the world." That right here is the message of this show. It's already right here, all up in your face, episode two.

I completely adore what this episode does for the character dynamics already. The detail Hardison puts into the other's backstories, the interactions around the conference table, Eliot sharing his knowledge, Nate explaining the money laundering scam, the whole thing about laws being in a wooden box, Sophie elaborating why she knew Congressman Jenkins was lying to her -- they don't just work together, they already start giving the others insight into their talents and their knowledge and share that. It's beautiful. I especially adore the shot of them at the end, everyone leaning against the car while watching Corporal Perry and the other veterans debating what to do with the money. They are already so comfortable and at ease with each other, leaning into each other's spaces. They're family. You can see it here already.

Absolutely fantastic episode. For a long time, whenever I thought about The Homecoming Job, I somehow associated a more negative emotion with it than with other episodes, but I don't quite know why, because this is a brilliant episode and I love watching it.

103: THE WEDDING JOB

D: JONATHAN FRAKES. W: CHRIS DOWNEY. Original Air Date: 13 January 2009.

We love Jonathan Frakes in this house and every single time his name shows up with the director tag on this show, I know that I will enjoy every last second of the episode I am about to watch. Frakes directed the hell outta this thing. The Wedding Job is an absolutely excellent episode. Dan Lauria as our main baddie Nicky Moscone is perfect casting and there are so many great comedic beats in the scenes with him and Nate. Everyone, generally, is so weirded out by Priest!Nate, but Moscone just takes the weirdness in stride. This episode holds a very special place in my heart because it contains the introduction of my favourite FBI duo -- McSweeten (McSweetheart, as we call him) and Taggert. I adore these two bumbling fools so much, and I am so glad they kept being brought back, because they are both just so lovely. McSweetheart especially is very dear to me because of the D.B. Cooper Job from the last season (where, I ask, do I start my McSweetheart for Leverage: Redemption campaign?). Overall just such an excellent episode, really. So many great moments between our main characters--Sophie and Nate and their little "relationship" problem, Hardison and Eliot talking about marriage, Parker pretending she was waiting in the screening room to have sex with Hardison, Hardison appreciating Eliot's cooking. I also absolutely adore the beginning, the four of them convincing Nate that Teresa is definitely the type of client they take on. And Nate's resigned "Yeah, okay, yeah. Let's go rob Nicky Moscone. A guy who kills people and lives in our city. Yeah, let's go do that" as if they weren't going to go above and beyond any of that in the five years they will spend together on this crusade of his. You're so precious, Nathan. Of course, the ending of this episode is beyond brilliant, and lives both in my heart and my head rent free. It is such a magnificent found family moment. Getting Teresa the restaurant back, the news footage regarding Ray's appeal, and of course, Eliot cooking for them all, and them celebrating together, all of them. It is such a beautiful moment.

104: THE SNOW JOB

D: TONY BILL. W: ALBERT KIM. Original Air Date: 27 January 2009.

I adore what the client says to Nate in the beginning of the episode: "You work hard, you play by the rules, but when you need help, you really need help? They let you hang. They let you hang and it's your kid who pays the price." This show hammers home its message so many times in such great character moments and it makes watching these brilliant people take on these greedy bastards and robbing them for all they've got that much sweeter. It is such a satisfying thing to watch. Especially because they're all so damn good at this.

This is a great episode but it is infinitely funnier if you know and speak German, because it makes the scenes between Sophie and Eliot absolutely hysterical. And the delivery of the line that Ute Ausgartner says when she discovers they replaced her with Sophie is just wrong enough to crack you up.

Again some wonderfully brilliant comedic beats -- the Frakes cameo in the hospital waiting room, Parker casually hanging off the ski lift, Hardison and Eliot arguing over who puts dye in the dead body, Eliot carrying off a pissed of Parker, and so many more.

This episode also, for the first time, really gives insight into Nate's drinking problem. We had the one moment in The Homecoming Job, but this episode starts to explore it more in depths. And something that I've always appreciated about this show is that it never glorifies the drinking, but Nate is also never vilified for it. It is a fact of Nate's life and they explore different aspects of it, and everything is done with such care (which does not surprise me one bit since this is John Rogers' show).

The ending of this episode is also, once again, so beautiful and nicely done. It is just so incredibly satisfying to watch these greedy bastards get what's coming to them, and to see the clients be compensated beyond anything they'd ask for.

105: THE MILE HIGH JOB

D: ROB MINKOFF. W: AMY BERG. Original Air Date: 20 January 2009.

Another fantastic episode (you will realise that I will say this about every single of the 77 episodes this show has)! Amy Berg wrote some excellent stuff for this show, and this episode is one of them. Always a lot of great character relationship moments, and absolutely brilliant comedic beats.

I am very fond of the fact that here, in the early days, we have the whole team present around the table during the client meeting. We see all their reactions and inputs here already, and not later when Nate or Hardison (usually) relays the information of their next job to the rest of the gang. It's a very lovely moment.

I am also very fond of the entire recon bit at the GenoGrow office. Sophie's French rave-girl act, the others having to climb stairs, Hardison's absence, the cut from Parker's bomb to the microwave at the HQ, Nate, Eliot and Parker yelling "Oh it's right behind us, it's chasing us!" and grabbing Sophie on the way out, meanwhile the security guys completely buying it. Absolutely brilliant, all the way through.

Both Hardison's adventure at GenoGrow as well as the others on the plane contain so many great comedic moments. Hardison's Spanish maintenance guy act, his interactions with both Cheryl and Steve (talking into the cupboard? His fake meeting and getting Steve to take a dive? The whole birthday thing? A+ all around. Amy Berg, everyone) and of course the reaction he has to the plane safely landing on the highway ("lord I was so scared, I wanna cry and call my momma" I love him so much, y'all). I also have big feelings about Nate's pep talk to Hardison, "you can do this, I trust you ... the only guy I can count on in a situation like this." Sir, I am experiencing an emotion alright.

The sequences on the plane are of course also absolutely fantastic. Nate and Sophie's domestic, Parker's day job and her interactions with Marissa, Eliot being a big softie who holds Marissa's hand all the way up to the in-flight bar and hugs the woman he sat down next to when they safely land (womaniser, big softie. tomayto, tomahto). Also big shoutout to the fake names Nate and Sophie have. We love our DOCTOR WHO references in this show. I love these nerds very much, thank you.

106: THE TWO HORSE JOB

D: CRAIG R. BAXLEY. W: MELISSA GLENN & JESSICA RIEDER (GRASL). Original Air Date: 16 December 2008.

This episode also holds a very special place in my heart because it contains the introduction of our dearly beloved antagonist, Mr Jim Sterling, the absolutely amazing Mark Sheppard. We love Sterling in this house, yessir (again, where do I have to address my Jim Sterling For Leverage: Redemption campaign to?). Every moment he is in is fantastic, but I especially adore the conversation he has with Nate at the race track (especially the "Nathan Ford is a common criminal" -- "Common. That's just hurtful" bit of it).

This, of course, is an episode by our wonder twins, Glenn and Rieder (now Grasl), which they ended up naming the in-universe safe company after. Always fantastic work when the two of them are involved. Some amazing character moments again here.

We get to see some of Eliot's backstory with Aimee which in turn gives us two fantastic moments with him and the women of the team. I love his interaction with Sophie at the racetrack: "I like Aimee, I do. I mean it, I like you both, Eliot. I just, I don't know what comes of chasing the past, you know." -- "Well Sophie, sweetie, I don't think you and Nate get to serve me that particular meal." Just fantastic moment between these two, who I like to call The Conference of Mom Friends whenever they are in scenes together. The other interaction is with Parker in the car: "We need you to do this. I need you to do this." I adore Eliot and Parker's relationship and this already is a very early glimpse at the dynamic they develop which will eventually lead to beautiful moments like that in the ice cave in The Long Way Down Job in season four.

I also love how it is Hardison and Parker's discussion about horses that ultimately reminds Nate of the Lost Heir con. Aldis' delivery of "Wilbur loved Mr Ed! He loved him like a second cousin twice removed" is absolutely brilliant. Unsurprisingly, however, my favourite interaction of this episode is the one Eliot has with Aimee at the end: "You're never gonna be the kind to settle down, but I'm glad you found a family." -- "Th-those guys?" Yes, Eliot, those guys. You might not know it just yet, but that is absolutely your family, and the fact that an outsider already comments on it this early is simply perfect. My deepest gratitude to you, wonder twins.

107: THE BANK SHOT JOB

D: DEAN DEVLIN. W: AMY BERG. Original Air Date: 30 December 2008.

Amy Berg on the typewriter once again (typewriter? Alex what are you talking about this was 2008...)! I really like this episode a whole lot. An excellent one for Nate/Sophie, as well as Hardison/Parker. I have a huge soft spot for my crime children pretending to be law enforcement. Any combination of them is good, but Parker and Hardison as FBI agents especially is just exquisite.

This episode is also just fantastic for illustrating some of the small town criminal activity that happens from the top down. Judge Roy's entire bit about how "these little people" will do and say whatever he tells them to do and that, because he is the law in the town, he gets to decide what is actually true and what is not. To then have Hardison fake security footage and them turning the story against Judge Roy is of course poetic justice. I adore the moment when the bank manager Frank decides that sticking with the false facts these random people have come up with is the better choice than having the judge remain in charge.

I also really love the interaction Derrick has with Sophie and then later with Parker, as well as the moment of uncertainty in-between. His "I don't know what to do with that" when Sophie tells him she's a thief is so funny and so good. The turn of "but they're criminals....then again" when he looks out of the window on the way to Parker is also just a nice moment to illustrate exactly what Parker then later says, "sometimes bad guys are the only good guys you get." Ethics and justice are such muddy concepts and especially in situations like Derrick is currently in, there is no way of knowing who is actually good, who is bad, and who is just trying their best. It is a lovely moment and once again, one of those great instances of "important message within character moment" that this show does so well.

Of course, I am also very fond of Hardison's mention of DOCTOR WHO, his "Geek power baby, stay strong" line, Eliot's fight scene with the crack dealers ("stay in the car!"), Hardison's bullshitting the demands at the bank (Hall & Oates!) and, of course, last but not least, the return of my favourite FBI fools, McSweetheart and Taggert, getting yet another win laid in their lap by the Leverage crew. This episode is filled to the brim with greatness.

108: THE MIRACLE JOB

D: ARVIN BROWN. W: CHRISTINE BOYLAN. Original Air Date: 23 December 2008.

An absolutely excellent Nate-centric episode! We finally get a bit more of a view into Nate's past, aside from the ever-present flashback to Sam's death at the hospital. I really like the relationship of Nate and Father Paul, which I think is very interesting and so well done. Through Paul we get another side of Nate, which may have stayed hidden otherwise. I am also very fond of how Maggie is introduced here. She doesn't get a voice yet, but we learn about her through Nate, Sophie and also Paul, and I quite like that. It sets up expectations for her appearance in the finale, which is really intriguing.

This episode has so many great comedic beats as well, and I barely even know where to begin. From the team's inability to deal with Sophie's acting talents (or lack thereof) to the whole "It's not Santa" gag, the amazing faces Sophie pulls when the mark tells her about Bibletopia, Hardison's "God will smite us" thing -- there is just too much good stuff in this episode.

One of my favourite interactions in this episode was on the construction site, after Grant takes what he thinks are his meds.

Sophie: What is that you just took? Grant: Xanax. For my nerves. Parker: Actually caffeine. With a dash of dextroamphetamine. Eliot: You have him speed? Hardison, shrugging: He beat up a priest!

The look Eliot gives them then with a half-shrug, an expression which cannot be described as anything but "aight, fair enough" -- just absolutely excellent.

What I also really loved about this episode, is that we get to see more of the HQ than just the conference room. We have the team meeting in Nate's office, we see Sophie picking through her mail, Hardison making space so he can build fake Saint Nick statues. Added to that, the team is setting into such a nice familiarity with each other. Eliot brings Sophie a cup of coffee to the meeting in Nate's office. The fact that they all do get mail at the office. This is their space. I love it so much.

What this episode also gives us, is a first instance of the con possibly going side-ways because of how convincing it is. I adore that their possible downfall will never be incompetence, but rather over-competence. They are so good at what they do that sometimes their talent comes to bite them in the ass. We see this again, a bit different, in The Juror #6 Job.

The ending of this episode is very dear to me. It is a very lovely moment between Nate and Paul, but also Nate and the team. It creates such a beautiful moment of intimacy between these characters, which I think is done with extreme care, and it shows. This episode also very nicely sets up a nice sort of grounded-ness for the next episode, which I think the subject matter really deserves and needs.

109: THE STORK JOB

D: MARC ROSKIN. W: ALBERT KIM. Original Air Date: 06 January 2009.

This one and the next episode are excellent Parker-centric plots and this one in particular also has some wonderful Parker/Hardison content. Nate, also, is just very good in this episode as well. Keeping the tone the last episode established especially toward the end, this episode has such a nice grounded-ness to it. Nate's first meeting with the client is so careful in a way, and we don't always see that. Generally, Nate is careful and considerate in this episode, I think. Even when Parker goes rogue, he is so good with Parker (I attribute the brashness entirely to his director role here). It meant so much that he doesn't shoot down the idea of coming back for the other orphans, he knows how important this is to Parker (and Hardison).

With this episode we learn that both Parker and Hardison have grown up in the foster system. I really adore the conversation they have at the van after they find out about the orphanage -- Hardison telling Parker about his Nana, Parker's fear that foster system will be cruel to those children, Hardison's "I like how you turned out" -- it is such a lovely and meaningful moment. This and the "we're a team" / "a little more than a team" moments are such great instances that highlight the importance of these characters and their relationships in this show. It isn't just some crime procedural where every characters is replaceable at any given moment -- this show is about people, and about these specific people.

On a lighter note, I also really adore Nate and Sophie's dynamic in this. How they coach Parker and Eliot individually but at the same time, while also arguing about Sophie conning Nate back in the day, is just brilliant. Their "delightful banter" as Hardison calls it, is so good, and I absolutely love that Nate figures out the way to con Irina is the same way he would have to con Sophie. It's just too good.

David S. Lee as Nicholas is also incredibly good, although since watching THE LIBRARIANS I always expect him to swoon over a blonde and call her Duchess any minute.

110: THE JUROR #6 JOB

D: JONATHAN FRAKES. W: REBECCA KIRSCH. Original Air Date: 10 February 2009.

The lighter of the two Parker-centric episodes, but a brilliant one nonetheless. This episode also brings us the introduction of Peggy played by the lovely Lisa Schurga. We love Peggy in this house and, once again, I ask: where do I address my Peggy For Leverage: Redemption campaign to?

This episode is great for many different reasons, one of course being that Hardison is so good at what he does, that Parker's alias has to go to jury duty. What a talent, we absolutely have no choice but to stan. I love him so much. Other fantastic things that make this episode absolutely excellent are

- Nate's "there is not some evil conspiracy lurking behind the curtain of every routine civic activity" speech which he then has to retract,

- Sophie teaching Parker about persuasion with the help of Eliot who is absolutely precious in this interaction,

- Eliot's friend Donnie, who poses as another employee from the company Sophie pretends to be from, who then turns out to be Scottish,

- Nate and Sophie sending the kids off to work at the door, with a briefcase and handshake for Hardison and a snack and high-five for Parker,

and Hardison's entire act as a lawyer. He is so good. Of course his stalling is brilliant, but the turn-around once he has to actually try and win the trial? A masterpiece. I love how he tears the doctor apart for his drunken airplane misconducts, but what takes the cake by miles is of course his closing statement. He is just, so good, and such a goodhearted, wonderful person. I love how he directly addressed Parker. Hardison is full of sunshine and I love. him. so. much.

And I would be remiss not to mention how incredibly fond I am of the rest of the team watching the feed of the jury room from the HQ with such proud looks on their faces as Parker leads the other jury members and they vote in favour of the plaintiff. This is their girl and she's done so well. What a brilliant episode. My love to Becky Kirsch, honestly.

111: THE 12-STEP JOB

D: ROD HARDY. W: AMY BERG & CHRIS DOWNEY. Original Air Date: 03 February 2009.

Another episode, another instance of me asking the question: Where do I address my Hurley for Leverage: Redemption campaign to? We love Hurley! Drew Powell is absolutely fantastic, I adore him. Also huge shoutout to Joseph LoDuca for that absolute banger of a song that plays during the intro and the credits.

This episode has some fantastic Eliot/Hardison moments that are very dear to me. The two of them looking for Hurley and fighting over Hardison's slushy spill is just lovely. The whole car bomb sequence is also just completely brilliant. It's such a step in their relationship and I love it so much. The moment of "D'you want me to kick it?" / "God, I'm gon' die" is a wonderful comedic beat in this tense situation, but it is the bit after that I really adore. Hardison figuring out how to trick the bomb and then,

Eliot: What's our margin of error here? Hardison: 'bout half a second. Eliot: Run the ba-bag of bricks by me again? Hardison: Are you ready? Eliot: No.

I am just, so fond of these two. Also the fact that Eliot's hand shakes when he reaches for the cables and waits for Hardison's signal always puts me all up in my feelings about him. I also of course adore the scene at the rehab facility with Hardison's "I'm with him. No, I am with him. See, he thinks the flirting makes me jealous, but it doesn't. But if you was like Brad Pitt or Denzel or somebody, oh girl it would be on." It love it so much.

Nate, of course, is also just great in this episode. His entire experience in rehab is another wonderful insight into his character, his issues, how he sees himself and so on. The hallucination of Sterling says so much about him. I think this also very nicely sets up how Nate behaves in the finale double episode.

I also really want to mention Parker here, because Parker in rehab is also something I am very fond of. I love the moment where she pickpockets the Koreans searching for Hurley and then so innocently comes to Nate to confess what she's done and tells him in this tiny voice "I didn't meant to, it was just instinct." I love her so much. And her, at the end of the episode, skipping along and then running toward her people, jumping on Eliot while tossing her stuff at Nate, and then going to hug Hardison, is such a lovely moment. I love how the three of them then walk toward the car arm in arm, too. I love these kids.

112: THE FIRST DAVID JOB

D: DEAN DEVLIN. W: JOHN ROGERS. Original Air Date: 17 February 2009.

First half of the first finale! I gotta say I really love the David Jobs very much. It is such a fantastic first finale. I really adore how the opening of this episode is mirrored in the opening of the second half.

Given the set-up of the previous episode, I really like how for a first time watcher, this opening sequence very much looks like Nate is completely off the rails doing his own thing getting revenge on the man who, basically, killed his son. It isn't until Blackpoole introduces Nate to 'Portia' and we see Sophie turn around that it becomes clear that we're on the con, which I think is done very nicely. Only then giving the viewer the "how we got here" part is just great.

This episode of course also brings us, finally, Maggie (yes, I'll ask again: where do I address my Maggie For Leverage: Redemption campaign to?). I absolutely love how she is introduced here as Eliot's date. I also love how absolutely terrified Eliot looks once he realises that she isn't just anyone, but Nate's ex-wife. Maggie is such an excellent character, and I adore her. I also am very appreciative that this episode holds the singular moment of jealousy Sophie has toward Maggie. After her momentary outburst as Maggie tells Nate she hasn't stopped caring about him, we never see it again. Even better, once Maggie learns about Nate's crew, Sophie and her even become friends. And it is lovely.

We also have some great Parker/Hardison moments in this episode as well. I adore Parker and her enthusiasm for their "little naked man" and Hardison being weirded out about it (and turning the little David around so Parker can change in private). I, of course, absolutely love the kiss (and Eliot's grinning question at Sophie who of the two of them Parker had kissed) and then the theft of the First David. Hardison is so in awe of Parker and it is a sight to behold.

I also quite enjoy the "downfall" in this episode. Sterling showing up (we love the bastard), the fight between Eliot and Mr Quinn, the conversation about Sophie conning them on the roof, and then of course the final confrontations on that same roof as well as the HQ. This whole thing of "and then I asked myself, what would Parker do?" / "but then I thought, what would Hardison do?" is just brilliant and lovely. It shows how far they have all come throughout this first season and how much they have learned from each other already. I am very fond of it.

I am sad about the offices being blown up, though. As much as I love both McRory's pub and Nate's apartment in Boston, as well as the Brewpub in Portland, I've always really liked the LA offices as well. It was their first home and it was lovely. I am however very happy that Old Nate made it out unscathed.

113: THE SECOND DAVID JOB

D: DEAN DEVLIN. W: JOHN ROGERS & CHRIS DOWNEY. Original Air Date: 24 February 2009.

And the last episode! As I've said above, I adore how this opening sequence mirrors that of The First David Job. Similarly, I also love how until Sophie notices Parker's laser pointer and Eliot sees Hardison, as a viewer you assume they are on the job together, which is again the reversal of the first half of the finale. Just lovely storytelling, I adore it. Speaking of mirrors, the scene in the MC Hammer mansion where Nate inconspicuously manages to get them all thinking about the con together and putting their differences aside once more, also mirrors one of my favourite scenes from the first episode of season two, where the team does the same to Nate.

This episode on the whole I also just marvellous. Eliot's awkward date with Maggie, Nate finally telling Maggie about Blackpoole's involvement (or lack thereof) in Sam's death, the team involving Maggie in the planning of the con and her, precious as she is, questioning Nate's ability to just get people to do what he wants -- it is all just so good. I love Maggie on the con, too. Sophie coaching her, how good Maggie is at it immediately. Just lovely.

Then, of course, the entirety of the con from the moment Nate shows up at the museum. Sterling hurrying all over the place trying to figure out what Nate's plan is, finding out about the mummy, the release of the gas, the evacuation, the David statue replicas, them finally getting in and finding Nate alone in the exhibit room. I adore that shot of him leaning against the display case with the two Davids still inside, only highlighted from the open hatch in the roof. It is such a beautiful shot. I really enjoy Nate and Sterling's dynamic here, too. And I am very happy that Maggie gets to punch Blackpoole just like Nate got to in the episode before. They both deserve to give this man hell.

The ending of this episode and therefore this season always has me in all of my emotions. If I didn't know there would be more after this, I would just go lie down and weep for a while after watching it. The trademark overhead walkaway shot is of course a must, but the fact that they stop, that all of them hesitate, thinking about turning around, thinking about changing their minds. And then it cuts to black, and if this had been it, we would've never known! Ah, what a show, what a first season. I am completely in love with this show, as pretty much everyone knows, but I just -- this show is so damn good. It gets me every single time. Every time.

[image taken from the electricnow website]

#tv blogging #rewatch blogging #leverage #leverage tnt #nate ford #tim hutton #sophie devereaux #gina bellman #eliot spencer #christian kane #alec hardison #aldis hodge #parker #beth riesgraf #john rogers #chris downey #dean devlin #the nigerian job #the homecoming job #the wedding job #the snow job #the mile high job #the miracle job #the two horse job #the bank shot job #the stork job #the juror 6 job #the 12 step job #the first david job #the second david job

[eisforeidolon]

Hey. I hope you don’t mind, but you seem fair. I’ve been a J2/Bibro fan for all the run of SPN. Had a blog for several years now, and I mostly followed Jared/Sam blogs because I was told they were the sane an fair ones and that all Dean/Jensen blogs were either hellers or AA’s. I just…. Need to vent? Most of these Sam/Jared blogs lately have said NOTHING but hate on Jensen/Dean and everything about them. They say the most ridiculous things about him (acting like they’re in the industry) and criticize EVERYTHING. They sound EXACTLY like all the AA’s and hellers I was told to avoid, and then they’ll find a bad Jensen/Dean fan and say “See!? See how awful they are and how much better we are?” I was a constant reblogger of their Sam/Jared defenses because they are right! Sam/Jared gets such ridiculous hate and I love him to pieces. But lately…. All the anti D/J stuff is getting ridiculous. So I went and started following a lot of D/J positive blogs and guess what? They don’t say anything negative about S/J AT ALL! I was told D/J didn’t have any good fans, and I’ve found dozens of blogs that love him AND respect and admire s/j. Of course hellers and AA’s exist in huge numbers and are a boil on the butt of humanity, but there ARE extreme Sam/Jared fans who are exactly like them. I’m tired of them, and I don’t think it’s fair they’re on some high horse thinking they’re the sane side anymore. This criticism of course excludes the very lovely Sam/Jared blogs I now follow who just love and don’t perpetuate the hate or drama

I think it's a good general rule to side-eye anyone who makes such a big deal out of insisting that only they are the [good/sane/fair/insert positive quality here] side of fandom. If someone feels the need to repeatedly tell you what they're like instead of letting their words and actions speak for themselves? Yeah, time to wonder why they don't trust you to come to the "right" conclusion from all the available evidence.

One of the reasons I got into the fandom was to see the various other perspectives fans had that were different from mine, so I sought out blogs from a lot of different fan subgroups. Which lead me to conclude fairly early on that the fans who were only into one J or the other were pretty much the same, despite protestations to the contrary. No matter which group you follow, if you look in the wrong place, you will get stuff like the following: Claiming the other side does nothing but complain about Their!J because they must be dissatisfied and bored with Other!J, followed by five posts mocking Other!J's choices. That's totes different though - somehow. The other side constantly lies about them and, oh, and by the way? That thing you literally saw their side doing with your own eyes totes never happened! Both sides have people pretending to be in the know to aggrandize Their!J and slight the Other!J. Both sides will occasionally claim that if X applies to Their!J, it's an amazing accomplishment! But if X applies to Other!J? It means nothing, was rigged somehow, or totes shows what a failure Other!J is, actually.

The only difference I've noted is the one that's bothering you - in my experience, Jensen fans that don't like Jared are generally pretty up front about it. There are, however, Jared-only stans who pretend to love both equally or be unbiased - until Jensen gets attention for something that doesn't involve Jared, and then suddenly, somehow, mysteriously? Everything about Jensen is a joke and/or obvious mistake. They'd totally call Jared out if he did something as mock-worthy, they would! It's just that he's infuriatingly perfect in every way! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (As you've seen, this is totally different and entirely superior to AA's talking the same silly, trivial shit but without having ever pretended to like Jared in the first place ... somehow.) Jared gets an insane amount of disturbingly vitriolic hate, but that doesn't justify or make me a fan of how Jensen gets treated as a sidekick/prop who needs to know his place. With them going their own ways now career-wise, it's more obvious than it's ever been.

Honestly, sometimes it does piss me off, but mostly I just try and laugh about it because we're all just over-invested fans on the Internet - sound and fury signifying nothing. In the end, if you can either read past or avoid all the stan wankery by curating your experience? There are plenty of perfectly nice fans who have a clear preference in one direction or the other. There are a lot of interesting perspectives to be found. When reading posts, I try and remember how big a part bias plays - the bias of the blog we're interacting with, the biases of their entire dash/circle of interaction, and how our own biases incline us towards believing or agreeing with what they're telling us. It's not always as easy as it sounds. Especially when it comes to people we like interacting with or things we may already want to believe.

#askboxery #anonymous #anti actor stans #long post

[cap-winter-barnes]

Talk To Me (Sam Winchester x Reader)

Request: Hey ! Would it be possible if I got a Sam Winchester fic? The reader is super nervous around him so he confronts her about it because he mistook her nervousness for fear or anxiety. Reader awkwardly confesses n then lots of fluff? 🥺

@anxiousbarnes - I hope you like it! Thanks for requesting! I did do this a little differently to the request itself so I hope that this is okay.

Warnings: blood, mentions of death

Buy Me a Coffee

Blood coats my fingers as I press my hands harder against Sam’s stomach, the wound he has sustained turning his skin a deathly shade of grey.

“Please hang in there Sammy.” My voice comes out weak and broken as I beg for him to stay alive, trying to ignore how much darker the liquid that coats my own skin is becoming. Everything moves in slow motion as Dean barrels into the room, pausing momentarily as he takes in the sight before him. He immediately removes his over-shirt and screws it into a ball as he falls to his knees beside me, pressing it gently to the source of the bleeding. It only takes a few seconds for the material to soak up the blood and Dean looks at me with complete fear in his eyes, tears already spilling down his cheeks.

Both of us know that there is only one way that Sam is going to walk away from this and the one person that can help has been missing for the last few months, hopefully now will be the time that he responds to our prayers.

Time stands still as Sam’s breathing is barely noticeable, his eyelids ceasing any movement.

“Sam, please. I can’t lose you. Please.” I stroke his hair back from his face as I feel my heart aching in my chest, so this is what it is like to be heartbroken. Dean watches sadly at my interaction, eyes red and bloodshot, his tears had stopped when he realised Cas wouldn’t be coming.

“Did you ever tell him?” Dean’s voice startles me from my trance as I look up towards him. He had always known, even since we were children growing into young adults, how I felt about Sam. Yet, after all these years he has never said a word to his brother, only giving you an outlet to voice your feelings comfortably without judgement. “Y/N.”

I shake my head as fresh tears begin to spill, my lip trembling, caught between my teeth.

“Dean, I-“ Before I can speak there is a blinding stream of white, causing the both of us to shield our eyes. A few seconds pass before the light dissipates and before us stands our guardian angel.

“De-“

“Can you save him?” After waiting for what felt like a lifetime for Castiel to appear, Dean has no patience for greetings or niceties. The angel closes his mouth, and taking a fleeting glance at the younger Winchester, he hums a response followed by a curt nod of his head.

Kneeling over Sam, Castiel begins to heal him, although it is clear that there is a struggle from within him to do so, a weakness. Dean takes my bloody hand within his own, squeezing reassuringly, a silent promise that all will be okay.

I watch Castiel’s actions carefully as he heals Sam, hoping that his efforts will not be futile, noticing how his chest is being to rise and fall more prominently than before. The dread and pain that was newly settled in my chest fading until there was only hope.

Like waking from a bad dream, Sam lurches forwards, coughing and spluttering as he does so. Eyes wide with panic, searching the area until his gaze meets Dean and I. The realisation that he is okay and truly alive has me stumbling to my feet and a nervousness seeping into my bones – I nearly lost the man I love and he could have died without knowing how I feel.

Although I know it to be selfish, I cannot stay any longer in this place. Instead, I flee to a clearing in the trees, turning with one last glance to make sure that my eyes are not telling lies, before I take my leave and stumble back to where Dean had parked Baby hours prior.

In the safety of the impala, I let out a shaky breath, exaggerating each inhale and exhale as I try to calm myself. Flowing waves of sorrow and regret envelope me as I think of how close we had been to losing him.

“Y/N, I’m going on a supply run. You want anything?” Sam’s voice cuts through the bunker’s kitchen as he enters the doorway, his body resting against the framework.

“Er, I-“ I berate yourself in my head for being so nervous around him, my stuttering unbearably embarrassing. I can feel a flush quickly spreading across my neck and cheeks under his gaze. “I, erm.”

Sam chuckles softly, yet mocking me or to save me from myself, I do not know.

“How about I surprise you, huh?” Not trusting my own words any longer, I nod my head enthusiastically, pushing a strand of loose hair behind my ear as he leaves the room. Once I am sure he is gone, I relax back into my chair, a loud exhale leaving my lips as Dean enters the room, a smug grin on his face.

“Not now, Dean.”

“You should tell him, Y/N. Tell him exactly how you feel and all of this embarrassment will go away.”

“De-“

“Trust me, what’s the worst that could happen.”

Since Sam returned to us from the clutches of Lucifer, not only has my attraction for him remained but my confidence around the hunter has lessened. One fateful night, after unknowingly and partially confessing my love for him, Lucifer had revealed himself. Never in my life have I felt so mortified and to then be belittled by the devil himself only amplified the negative thoughts and emotions in my head. And although I know that Sam is now free of Lucifer, the fear of truly being honest with Sam and revealing my love, still has me trembling, the fear of rejection too overbearing.

After what feels like infinity, I see Sam and Dean trailing back to the Impala, Dean holding back some. Even covered in blood, Sam is still strikingly handsome and my heart flutters, as always, at the sight of him. Yet, as Dean ceases his approach, lingering at the tree-line, a panic sets itself in my chest, spreading under my skin. As Sam opens the Impala door, my hands begin to violently shake in my lap.

“Hey.” Clenching my fists tightly, I look over to the younger Winchester, giving him a soft smile.

“Hey, Sammie. How ar-“

“Are you scared of me?” His question alerts me to the unease in his voice as well as his demeanour as he looks at me, concern in his eyes.

Taking a deep breath and steadying myself, I turn to face him completely.

“No, Sam. I’m not- I’m not scared of you.”

“So, what is it?”

“I-“ Never one to push too much, Sam stays quiet, the look of complete trust in his eyes spurring me on. “I’m in love with you, Sam. And, I have been for a very long time.”

Silence ensues as a nauseous feeling settles into my stomach, the expression on Sam’s face not giving me an reprieve.

“Why did you not say anything before?”

All I can muster is a shrug, my hands less shaky, but I can’t help put pull at the skin around my nails as I wait for him to say something, anything.

“Is it because you didn’t think I would feel the same way? Because, that’s so far from the truth, like you wouldn’t believe. I have been in love with you for such a long time, I’m surprised Dean hasn’t opened his mouth and-“

He is rambling now, gesticulating with every word that leaves his mouth. Looking anywhere but at you he stops and chuckles to himself.

“You love me?” I am surprised that my voice is so steady as I speak and as Sam nods his head in confirmation of his feelings for me, I can’t help but let out a lighthearted scoff. Upon making eye contact, the both of us begin to laugh and when Sam takes my hand, tracing my knuckles with the pad of his thumb, I can’t help but think that this feels right. Being with Sam feels right.

Little do we know, that in five minutes time as we drive back to the bunker, that Dean is going to set some house rules.

#Sam winchester x reader #Sam winchester imagines #Sam winchester #Jared padalecki #Jared padalecki x reader #Jared padalecki imagines #supernatural #supernatural fanfic #fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #Sam x reader #Sam imagines #winchester x reader

[hen-of-letters]

Series 15 gives all of the characters you could ever care about their worst possible endings, but presents these endings as somehow good or satisfying or acceptable.  Here's a list.

The short version: they're Chuck's endings, and Chuck is a bad writer.  

None of the characters can escape the fate set out for them or break the cycle of trauma begun by Chuck.  The show itself doesn't even realise how truly awful these endings are - it dresses up a tragedy in pie gags and pretty colours and calls it a happy ending.  And in order to inflict these worst possible endings on its characters, the narrative has to be twisted and contorted in the most absurd of ways.

So, onto the list:

Adam: Forgotten and left to languish in the pit, he's finally freed, only to suffer an anticlimactic offscreen death and be forgotten again.  Michael, his only companion for so long, is also killed off.  In the finale, blood family seems to be all that matters - and yet he isn't mentioned.

Alternate Kaia: She helps rescue Kaia from the Bad Place, but chooses to remain there to face certain destruction rather than return to earth with Kaia, Dean and Sam.  This world is so hostile to her that death is preferable.  Her horrible, pointless death stands as a powerful statement about the real harm caused by exclusion, but the text doesn't seem to acknowledge the full horror of this.  Her death isn't remarked upon; it seems to suggest that both Kaia and her double are returned to their rightful places.  It's just one example of the show creating awful endings without seeming to understand how awful they truly are.  (I rant a lot more about Alternate Kaia here.)

Amara: After being betrayed and locked away for millennia, we see Amara's initial impulse for revenge and destruction transform into an admiration for creation.  She becomes an advocate for humanity and the world.  And yet she ends up being betrayed (by both the Winchesters and Chuck) and locked away again.  She's absorbed by Chuck in a way that doesn't fit within the logic of the show.  Chuck and Amara are equals - it doesn't make any sense that Chuck could overpower her.  Wouldn't they become a blend of the two of them?  And, since their separation caused the Big Bang, wouldn't their unity end the world?  Anyway, having the cosmic feminine be voiceless and invisible is the worst way for Amara's story to end.  Having Jack speak for her, saying that they are 'in harmony' tries to make this an acceptable fate for her, but only makes it worse.

Benny:  Another offscreen death, and this one feels particularly spiteful.  It really seems like he was killed just to be a conversation-starter for Cas and Dean.  However, if his fate can be sealed by a line of dialogue, then it only proves that confirmation of the fates of Eileen, AU Charlie and the other hunters could have been given in the same way.  Just one line could have done it - "I just spoke to Eileen, everyone's back."  Instead, at the end of 15.19 we're in the absurd position of having Sam and Dean toast the people they've lost without them even bothering to check who that may or not be.

Billie: The bizarre thing about Billie being revealed as a villain at the end of Season 15 was that she was supposed to be acting in self-interest - that she wanted to be the new God.  It made no sense.  What would make sense to me, though, would be if Chuck was controlling her (as Lucifer bound Death in Season 5).  Season 15 has strong echoes of Season 4 - and Billie took on both the role of Ruby (feeding Jack hearts rather than demon blood, but nevertheless making him into a weapon, with the price being the loss of his sense of self and ultimately his life) and Heaven (persuading Dean that it had to be this way, and telling him to go along with the plan).  We only have the Shadow's word for Billie's motivation, and we know she wasn't responsible for the deaths of the AU hunters, so in the end her status is ambiguous - she really seems to be a victim of Chuck's bad writing.  She's erased from the narrative along with Castiel, when really she should have been freed from Chuck's control and fighting on the side of nature and free will alongside the Winchesters.  Supernatural also concludes with nobody in the role of Death, which is a crazy loose thread left dangling.

Castiel: His confession was a thing of beauty, perfectly summing up the truth of both his and Dean's characters.  Both of them are made of and motivated by love.  And yet after speaking his truth, he is silenced.  He never gets to hear that he is loved in return (when the previous twelve seasons have made it abundantly clear to the audience that Dean loves Cas just as much as Cas loves Dean).  His capacity for love made him the only thing that Chuck could not control; as an agent of free will, he should have had a central role in Chuck's defeat.  

In 15x13, when Cas is in the Empty to see Ruby, the Shadow says: "funny thing about [Death's] plan, though... she didn't say anything about needing you. Baby, you can't just traipse in and out of here. It upsets the order of things."  To me, this sounded so much like 4x22's "you're not in this story" that I saw it as a pretty clear indication that Cas would play an important part in Chuck's defeat.  Because Team Free Will wouldn't follow the plan, would they?  They would find another way, wouldn't they?  Wouldn't they?

However, after the confession, he's never seen on screen again.  He's barely mentioned.  Eventually we're told he "helped" Jack, so he ends up where he started: as a servant of heaven.  He deserved to complete his fall, to become human, to live as well as speak his truth.  Making him a silent, unseen instrument of heaven undoes his entire arc.  Erasing him from the narrative requires the extraordinary warping of that narrative: nothing about his death suggests that it should be accepted as a permanent 'sacrifice', when we know that there is a spell that can return angels from the Empty (and, thanks to the handprint, we have his blood for it) and that Lucifer was brought back by Chuck in 15x19.  And the idea that Sam, Jack and Dean wouldn't try everything in their power to bring him back is utterly ludicrous.

Cas' confession scene to so closely mirrors 4x01's barn scene that the narrative is crying out for the parallel to be completed by Dean rescuing Cas from the Empty just as Cas rescued Dean from hell.  However, we're never given that narrative closure - just like we are never given the reunions demanded by the scenes of Sam losing Eileen and Charlie losing Stevie.

Chuck:  Okay, so he might not make your list of characters you could ever care about, but my point about his ending is that while it's fitting, for it to really work we also needed Cas to become human, too.  For Chuck, being human is a punishment, but for Cas it would be a reward.  We really needed this balance, otherwise all we have is humanity as the worst thing that could happen to you, which is not exactly a great parting message for the show.  (Also, how precisely is it possible to make him human?)  Not only is being human the worst fate possible, but, specifically, so is growing old and being forgotten.  Again, this is a punishment for Chuck, but it would have been a reward for Dean: growing old when the story (and his own self-loathing) constantly told him that he would die young; and being forgotten, not in a negative sense, but in terms of not being a character in a story any more: remembered fondly by his friends but no longer a legend, just a man living an insignificant little life exactly the way he chooses.  

Dean: Where do I even start.  Let's be clear: ending the story with his death (by any means and in any scenario) was always going to be the absolute worst possible ending for him and for the show.

In 15x19 we have the glorious moment when Chuck calls him the ultimate killer, and Dean (heeding Cas' words from 15x18) says "that's not who I am".  Now, I mean no disrespect to Dean here (because he is, canonically, a genius) but I don't think that he was in any way necessary to the Michael double-cross plot that eventually saw the defeat of Chuck.  Honestly, if he had died in 15x18, then 15x19 could still have played out in exactly the same way.  It's as if he wasn't saved so that he could save the world - he was saved so that he could have this moment of self-realisation.  He was saved so that he could stand up to Chuck (God, and the author, and parallelled with John) and tell him that he's not the person that he tried to force him to be.  

And yet by the next episode, this revelation is entirely forgotten.  He doesn't get to continue his self-actualisation by speaking his truth to Cas.  Instead, 15x20 presents Dean as almost a caricature of himself.  Dean loves pie.  Dean loves his brother.  Dean loves his car.  All of his complexity (present right from Season 1) is stripped away.

Finally free to write his own story, he ends up giving Chuck the ending he always wanted: one dead Winchester - killed, you could argue, by his brother (Sam fails to call for help and instead tells Dean to "go".)  Told by Cas that he's not "Daddy's blunt instrument" and accepting that he's not "the ultimate killer", Dean goes right back to killing (even threatening torture) and following his father's words (in the form of the journal).  

For Dean to die exactly as the story has always told him, and as he's always told himself in his worst moments of self loathing, is brutal and tragic.  What makes it truly appalling is the way in which both Dean and Sam accept his death and say it's "okay".  For Dean to say "always keep fighting" at the very moment when he gives up and when Sam gives up on him is bitterly ironic.  (Interestingly, when Cas said "you have to keep fighting" in his 12x12 death speech, exhorting Sam and Dean to save themselves and leave him behind, Sam replied with "we are fighting.  We're fighting for you, Cas" and Dean followed with "and like you said, you're family.  And we don't leave family behind".)   

Dean has always been the symbol of humanity in Supernatural: he stood for earth against the forces of heaven and hell.  He'd rather live with pain and guilt than exist as a "Stepford bitch in paradise", and yet that's exactly what he becomes, driving mindlessly through Jack's new heaven where everyone is "happy".  Dean previously dismissed heaven's happiness as "Memorex", and after Mary's death he was the only one not consoled by the confirmation that she was in heaven and happy.  Having Dean being content in heaven is utterly out of character.  He's always fought for free will, and in heaven - where there's no agency, where he's cut off from the world - this is the one thing that he does not have.

Eileen: An interesting, complex, kickass character, Eileen deserved so much better than being erased from the storyline.  A Men of Letters legacy, I imagine her working with Sam to share the knowledge contained within the bunker whilst also dismantling the patriarchy, elitism and colonialism of its past.  Her disappearance from the narrative makes absolutely no sense - 15x09, 15x17 and 15x18 confirm just how significant she is to Sam, and yet we never see them reunited or see Sam mourning her death.  The audience's love for Eileen is totally disregarded, too - she's ripped away from us with no further explanation.

Emma: Okay, so she wasn't actually in season 15, but that's sort of my point.  I have a lot to say about Emma, but here I'll just say that her significance has grown massively since Season 7.  The narrative has shifted from Team Free Will being sons to being fathers.  Even if she wasn't brought back, just a mention of her would have been significant.  (I can't stop thinking about the massive potential of a conversation about Emma between Dean and Jack.)  She didn't deserve to be forgotten.  

Season 15 was Supernatural's last opportunity to bring back characters from the past - such as Meg, original Charlie, Crowley, and Bela Talbot - and give them better endings.  Sadly this opportunity was wasted.

Garth: He actually seems to get his happy ending, on several levels.  He finds a family; he finds happiness; he's acknowledged as a hero by the Winchesters, who had previously mocked him.  Dean's words to him about embracing happiness are powerful.  Garth lives as his full, authentic self - monstrosity now included.  It's that monstrosity that's the issue here, though - as werewolves, Garth, Bess and little Sam and Castiel are doomed to go to purgatory when they die.  Mia Vallens said to Jack that "it doesn't matter what you are - it matters what you do", but in this case the opposite is true.  It's hideously unfair, but again the show never acknowledges this.  It would have been simple to change in a line or two - just a quick mention about how purgatory has been fixed, so that only truly monstrous beasts like the leviathan are kept trapped there - but the injustice remains.

Jack:  From his birth, his destiny was either to be the monstrous destroyer or the divine saviour of the world, which is precisely why he should have side-stepped it and found another way.  He deserved to live without the weight of the world on his shoulders.  Instead, he was forced to take on the power of God - and since when has someone suddenly taking on a huge amount of power ever ended well for Team Free Will?  Then, he repeats the exact same pattern set up by Chuck.  First, he abandons his creation by walking away and disappearing off to, in the words of Bobby, "wherever he went".  Like Chuck, he ignores earthly suffering: if he's now omniscient and omnipotent, is he in fact complicit in Dean's death?  Secondly, he's controlling: he remodels Heaven as he sees fit, making it a place where everyone's together and everyone's happy, with its inhabitants given absolutely no choice in the matter.  There's also no reason why Jack had to vanish from the story - Chuck was capable of spending time on Earth.

The mechanics of the bomb plot also irks me no end.  We're told by Death that the bomb will kill Jack.  However, their plan fails, and Jack survives the blast.  In 15x19, Dean tells Chuck that all the work done to turn Jack into a "cosmic bomb" has turned him instead into a "power vacuum."  It makes it seem like a side-effect, and also that "sucking up bits of power" has been charging him up to the point where he's "unstoppable".  He's able to both absorb and appropriate Chuck's power.  However, in 15x17 Adam and Serafina explain that the bomb will create a "metaphysical supernova" that will make Jack into "a living black hole for divine energy" - which suggests that, actually, the bomb worked as intended.  

But if the plan worked, why is Jack still alive?  Billie made it clear that Jack wouldn't survive.  And "nothing can escape" a black hole - so how is Jack able to use Chuck's powers to bring back Earth's population? Besides which, didn't 15x17 reveal that Chuck himself had "orchestrated" the entire thing?  Which makes the theory that Chuck possessed Jack really the only outcome that makes sense.  (Particularly as Serafina talks about Jack making his "vessel" strong.  Jack is a nephil, not an angel - he has a body, not a vessel.  Also, the bomb is made by fusing his soul with his grace - so, the two things that make up Jack, his humanity and his divinity, are annihilated.)  Deliberately making Chuck win, however (with no tease at the end that this might be the case), makes no sense either.  My head hurts.

Kevin: As if he hadn't been treated badly enough by the story already, we find that Kevin hasn't been in Heaven since we last saw him, but rather hell.  He ends up as an untethered ghost, presumably just wandering about for all eternity.  His fate comes courtesy of a bizarre new rule that souls from hell can't go to heaven - when previously both Bobby and John have done exactly that.  Again, just one line telling us that he's now in heaven could have changed his ending.

Michael: Bringing back Adam and Michael was a brilliant move, and this version of Michael was utterly compelling - struggling with his faith in his father after being abandoned, torn between his loyalty to Heaven and his relationship with Adam.  I thought that his handing over of the spell was very similar to Cas' "just so you understand … why I can't help" moment, and it seemed the precursor to Michael becoming an advocate for humanity, even a member of Team Free Will.  However, instead Michael was doomed to play out his father's narrative: killing his brother and repeating the cycle of sibling conflict and trauma that Chuck began when he betrayed Amara.  (And we'll credit Chuck's bad writing with the fact that the battle between Michael and Lucifer that was once predicted to wipe out millions and scorch the globe can now happen in the bunker without so much as a chair being knocked over - and without wires as well.)

Rowena: She seems to be relishing her reign as Queen of Hell, but the way she's so casually condemned is jarring.  Surely her previous good deeds and her final act of self sacrifice would be enough to tip the scales in a heavenly direction?  (It worked for Lily Sunder - another woman who vowed never to be powerless again.)  They could easily have said it was Chuck's fault that she had to remain in hell - but instead it just seems like a foregone conclusion.  She deserved better.

Sam: If we're supposed to believe that having a "normal" life is Sam's idea of writing his own story, why doesn't he do it as soon as Chuck is defeated?   Instead, his suburban "apple pie" life only happens after Dean dies, which makes it seem more of a grief arc than a happy ending.  (Just as he escaped into a self-professed "fantasy" life with Amelia after Dean's death, or when he succumbed to the comfort of a fake married life in Charming Acres after the trauma of losing all the AU hunters).  

The idea that he'd keep hunting for Dean doesn't ring true - Dean had been the one openly craving retirement and domesticity for several seasons.  After all, the idea of Dean as a hunter and Sam as the brother who wants to be normal is Chuck's story.  Dean wasn't the "ultimate killer" that Chuck wanted him to be, and Sam too had been forging his own identity as a leader, a Man of Letters, and a powerful witch.  He'd also found love - and with Eileen, he could be his full, authentic self.  The idea that he would leave her is absurd, as is the idea that he would abandon his entire extended found family, who seem to have no part in his new life.  When Dean returned from purgatory, he was furious that Sam had failed to help Kevin.  Would Sam really do the exact same thing again - walk away from Jody and the girls when they are mourning both Cas and Dean and need his support?  Would he just abandon Rowena's entire witchy collection and leave the huge store of knowledge in the Bunker locked up in the dark?

The Shadow: again, dubious on a list of characters you care about, but hey - all they ever really wanted was to go back to sleep, and can't we all relate to that?  Anyway, they made the list for being one of the most frustrating open endings of the show.  What did it mean for the Empty to be "loud"?  Who is the Shadow, anyway?  Just how did this cosmic entity fit in with the mythology of Chuck and Amara?  It's maddening that the Shadow and the Empty were made central to several seasons only to be suddenly dropped.

The Wayward Sisters: my beloveds. Such a brilliant cast of characters and such wasted potential.  They're an important part of the Winchesters' family and Team Free Will, but, in the end, they're forgotten.  Claire may have gotten her happy ending with the return of Kaia, but this happens off screen.  We never see her reaction to the deaths of Castiel or Dean.

The final few episodes seem to be about stripping away all of the characters except Sam and Dean, so they are completely alone by 15x20. Phrases such as "just us" and "just you and me" and "it's always been you and me" seem to suggest that this is a good thing, but previously the idea of them being isolated and alone has seemed like the worst case scenario (for example in Season 8, when Sam and Dean are forced to give up Amelia and Benny, respectively, or in Chuck's vision of a future in which the brothers lose Eileen and Cas along with Jody and the girls, give up hope, and end up as vampires, killed by their remaining friends). 

Anyway, the whole idea of just Sam and Dean going wherever the road takes them is Chuck's story.  It's on the cover of his books.  By making Chuck the villain, Season 15 itself makes it impossible for a return to this idea to be a satisfying conclusion to the story.

In fact, Supernatural was never about just Sam and Dean.  It was always about family.  Season 1 was about Sam, Dean and John.  Bobby introduced the phrase "family don't end with blood" in Season 3 and Dean coined the phrase "Team Free Will" in Season 4.  It's an ethos that has spread into the fandom, too.  Didn't the SPN Family deserve a finale that celebrated that idea, of banding together, of caring about the whole world, of love being the ultimate expression of free will?

You can't help but pick up on a theme: characters that were forgotten are forgotten again.  Characters who were locked away are locked away again.  The same narratives and the same traumas play out again and again.  No-one escapes their miserable, predestined fate.  It's Chuck's ending.  And it's Chuck's spiteful ending.

It's the ending that kills off its beloved characters, and also destroys their whole world.  The bunker is left in darkness.  Time has moved forward by so much in order to accommodate Sam's natural death that we can't even imagine the ongoing stories of other characters like Garth or the Sioux Falls family (ironic, given the episode's title).

It's the kind of ending you get when a show is cancelled and the writer decides to kill off their characters and wreck their world so that there's no possibility of another network or another writer taking over their story.  (And yet outside of the show, there's no evidence to suggest this - you would think that the ending had been designed to make a reboot impossible, but it has already been talked about.)

If we were not going to get a sense of the world continuing, then we could have been given a more radical and satisfying ending.  We could have had Death collect on their promise to one day reap God.  We could have had a world freed from the supernatural entirely: heaven, hell and purgatory obliterated, and Team Free Will finding peace in life on earth.

Because Chuck has been the author and the narrator the entire time, it makes no sense for the story to continue past the point of his defeat.  (It makes even less sense for that story to revert back to Chuck's ideal narrative.)  So, really we should have been given a more open ending: Team Free Will triumphant over Chuck and their future left open, the author dead and the characters' stories entrusted to the audience.

Instead, in the end, it's a bizarre mix of needlessly closed-down endings (killing off Cas, Sam and Dean, and vanishing Jack) and frustrating open ones (the loud Empty, there being no Death, Kevin wandering, the ambiguous fate of Eileen, Adam, Donna and the AU hunters).  

And the final two episodes are also objectively bad.  The double-cross plot in 15x19 is lame when the resolution of the Chuck storyline should have been profound. (It invites comparisons with the Season 11 finale, which was excellent.) 15x20 feels weirdly empty and flat.  Dean's death is unrealistic; it echoes Sam's death in Season 2 and Dean's in Season 9 (which, if you think about it, would only be possible if Chuck was still writing it), but lacks the emotional punch of either.  Dean's "I'm proud of us," in his Season 9 death scene is so much more powerful than his "I'm proud of you" in the finale.  And let's not even mention that wig.

In conclusion: every single character deserved better.  The actors deserved better.  The audience deserved better.  Because the ending we were given was not the ending that the season, or the entire series, had been building towards.

The ending tries to destroy every good thing that Supernatural has ever given us - vibrant characters, the fight for free will, the value of found family, the power of love - but it fails. Ultimately the characters and themes are too powerful to be contained by that terrible, flimsy ending. So now I've gotten all of that off my chest, I'm going right back to finale denialism.

#so I've been compiling this list for quite a while and now seems as good a time as any to get it off my chest #it's also the checklist for the fix-it I'm writing so really I should go and work on that #supernatural #spn #spn 15x20 #spn 15.20 #tw dean's death

[mediocre--writing]

I saw your plea and knew this was my time to shine 😤 could you do a Neville long bottom x reader fic where the reader is confident and outgoing and he has a secret crush? I feel like it’s borderline cliche at this rate but I cant get enough of the trope 😫😫😫 I love love love your blog by the way!

Summary: Neville feels insecure compared to his longterm crush, Y/n.

Word Count: 1605

Warnings: none

Neville was shy.

This was not a secret to anyone in Hogwarts.

He blushed and hid his face at any attention, he didn’t speak loudly or draw attention to himself, and he most definitely didn’t make an effort to have large groups of friends.

But he admired those who did, Y/n, for example, was someone he enjoyed watching flutter around the great hall during meals, talking to anyone in any house, regardless of what year they were in.

She was spectacular in every way.

Her smile was unparalleled, her confidence shone brighter then anyone’s, and she thrived in large groups.

She was so incredible because she was nothing like him. Nothing compared to how pathetic he felt when he’d watch her laugh across the room, nothing like how he was unable to speak to anyone about anything, since his interests were limited and he feared other’s opinions rather than just living as he wished.

He felt the most inferior to her when they began the DA in 5th year.

Of course she would be invited, everyone loved her and she was close to Hermione grade-wise, so she would probably excel in learning new spells and dueling anyone.

Neville loved watching her talk with the other members, never catching her eye, because who on Earth would look at him when there were so many other options?

As of now, she was giggling with the twins, who were betting on Ron and Hermione’s duel. Her eyes were sparkling in the soft lights of the Room of Requirement and she felt like a magnet, drawing eyes to her without trying.

Neville was so lost in his trance that he didn’t realize that Harry had called for everyone to join in.

He was shaken out of his trance, however, when he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, he turned to face Harry, who was looking around the room for someone to practice with neville.

Because again, who would want him?

Neville felt like dying before he heard someone respond to Harry’s request for anyone without a partner.

But not just anyone.

Y/n… ‘s friend, Pepper, he believes her name is. She’s in Gryffindor, though, maybe a year older than him.

Pepper was a bit more on the shy side, like Neville, but she still hung around in large groups, with Y/n, and though Neville had never searched for her explicitly, he knew of her from watching Y/n.

It wasn’t that awful.

Really!

Neville, as bad as he was at spell-casting, was better than Pepper was, though he wasn’t sure if she was really trying all that hard in the first place.

The meeting was over sooner than he’d expected, though a part of him felt like he’d been there for years.

“So, Neville, what do you do?”

Neville looked up at Pepper, who was twiddling with her wand while watching him with a small smile, “Do you play quidditch or anything, I know you’re not on the Gryffindor team, but do you play?”

“I’ve never really had much luck with brooms,” Neville blushed, of course, “It looks fun, but it’s a bit stressful, if you ask me,”

Pepper giggled, “Well you should try to fly, you know it’s really exhilarating once you get the hang of it.”

“I guess,”

It was getting awkward now.

“My friend can teach you, she’s really great, on her house team and everything! She’s a great chaser and I’m sure she’d love to show you!”

Neville felt cornered. To be completely honest, he never wanted to ride a broom again, but Pepper seemed so excited about him doing it he felt bad saying no.

“Uhh… sure, I guess?”

“Perfect!” Pepper said, a bit loudly for Neville’s taste as a few eyes were on them now. “What are you doing tomorrow? It’s a Hogsmeade weekend but do you think you could come to the Quidditch pitch around 2-ish?”

“Oh sure,” Neville agreed, though he wasn’t sure why.

So he’d made a bed he had to lie in.

What the hell was he thinking?

As he walked down the trail from Hogsmeade, he was thinking of ways that this could go horribly wrong, he could fall, or trip, or make a fool of himself. But on the plus side, if he fell, he may just die then and there, which wouldn’t be quite as embarrassing.

Neville was trying his best to talk himself into it, though it was hard, for there was no plus side or silver lining that he could see.

When he’d gotten down to the pitch, he’d noticed a girl sitting in the middle of the field, two brooms next to her.

Once he’d gotten closer, he’d felt his heart shoot down to his feet.

It was Y/n.

The perfect, beautiful, absolutely amazing Y/n.

As if she could hear his hesitation, she turned, but had a look of surprise on her face as she took in who was standing there.

“Oh, Neville,” he didn’t like the way she sounded slightly disappointed, “I didn’t know it was you! How are you doing today?”

She was smiling, but he felt like it was fake. Like she had no motive to be here. It was probably a dare and she had to be nice to him and get him to embarrass himself.

“You ok?”

He looked up at her to see her eyebrows scrunched together in worry.

“Yeah, yeah,” He nodded and recollected his thoughts, “I’ve had a good day, and you?”

“It was alright, kind of a rough morning, if I’m being honest, but I hope it gets better from here.”

And it did.

It wasn’t nearly as stressful as Neville had been anticipating, and all his negative thoughts had begun to fade as he got more relaxed, both with Y/n and flying.

By the time the sky darkened, he’d practically been a natural, flying around the pitch with ease.

They began packing their things, Y/n grabbing the brooms and Neville got his sweater that he was wearing before he got too hot.

Walking back to the castle was silent, but nice and relaxed, no pressure and just two friends walking along the grounds.

“I need to be honest with you, Neville,” Y/n said abruptly as she turned to face him before they walked into the castle.

He knew it. It was too good to be true. She was going to admit that she was messing with him and hung out with him on a dare or something equally mortifying for him.

“...Okay?”

“I like you,” She sputtered out. “Like, like like you and I had Pepper come up to you yesterday to see what kind of person you are because I’ve had a crush on you since first year but you always seemed to be independent and you didn’t talk to many people but I always thought you were cute. And when she said she had wanted to take flying lessons today I was confused but agreed, then you showed up and I had the best time.

“I understand if you don’t like me back, but I just thought you should know.”

Neville was…

He didn’t really know what he was.

Shocked, for sure.

A little confused, to be honest.

Absolutely elated at the news, though.

“Are you serious? You actually like me? I didn’t even know you knew who I was!”

“You’re kidding, right?” She threw her head back as she laughed, “I stare at you all the time, it’s actually kinda sad that I haven’t made a move yet.”

“You stare at me?”

“No!” She shouted suddenly, “Yes, but not in a creepy way, I promise.”

“I stare at you too, sometimes,” Neville admitted with a blush.

“You’re really pretty, Nev,” Y/n commented as she brushed a few hairs out of his face, staring into his eyes.

“Thank you,” He chuckled, ducking his head down in embarrassment before she lifted his chin so they were eye-to-eye. “I think you’re stunning as well.”

She smiled, a genuine smile that he wished to see every day for the rest of his life.

She began to lean in, their eyes slowly closing as they kissed, and Neville swore his knees gave out, but he powered through and tried to kiss back without it being too awkward or doing something wrong.

It was a moment before they pulled apart, but he had never felt that happy before in his life.

Y/n agreed. She’d been silently pining over Neville for far too long and he was everything and more than she’d ever imagined.

“We should do this again,” Neville commented.

“The kissing or the date?” He smiled at her with love in his eyes, “Cause I’d like to do both, if you would?”

When Neville had walked back to his dormitory, still in a daze, Ron, Harry, Seamus, and Dean had all given him strange looks.

Neville flopped onto his bed and had yet to realize that there was a small, pinkish-red lipstick kiss on his cheek from when he’d said goodbye to Y/n.

The boys, however, saw it the second he walked through the door, and bombarded him, but refused to believe him when he’d said that he’d gone on a date with, and kissed, the Y/n L/n.

Though, the boys were shocked to see that as Neville sat down at his spot in the Great Hall, she had come over and placed a quick peck on his cheek before sitting next to him and chattering away as if they were old friends.

Who’d have thought, Neville got the girl.  

#harry potter #neville longbottom #neville longbottom x reader #neville #longbottom #x reader #harry potter x reader #fluff

[kidslovecudi]

Man On The Moon III: The Chosen - Album Review By “kidslovecudi“

Before I say anything about this album, let me say that I am so excited that Cudi is finally releasing new music! Speaking for all Cudi fans, we have all been waiting for new solo material from the moon man for the longest time and the few teasers he’s been releasing over the last year, with “Leader Of The Delinquents” and his collaborations with Travis Scott, (“The Scotts”) and Eminem (“The Adventures of Moon Man & Slim Shady”) have not been enough to fully satisfy us. With Man on The Moon III: The Chosen, Cudi fulfills on a promise to his fans he made years ago and gives us quite a lot to digest. However despite how fulfilling this record is, Cudi still manages to leave you on the edge of your seat wanting more and I personally can’t wait to see what he’s going to do next!

1. Beautiful Trip (Intro)

Produced by Kid Cudi, FINNEAS, Plain Pat, Emile Haynie & Dot Da Genius

And it starts...

2. Tequila Shots  ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ 

Produced by Kid Cudi, Dot Da Genius & Take a Daytrip

On this first track Cudi brings us back into the dark world of the moon man but this time with a new outlook. Referencing his previous works, Cudi aims to prove that he’s “not just some sad dude” and feels that despite his mental well being still occasionally being unstable he’s ready for whatever he has to face. What I loved most about this record was Cudi’s consistency. Throughout the years Cudi has mastered the art of having his own unique galactic sound that transcends through all of his music, despite the genre, and that sound is very present here. Along with his classic hums and hypnotic melodies, this track, known as the fan favorite, has the potential to be a classic.

3. Another Day ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Dot Da Genius, Nosaj Thing & Take a Daytrip

When I first heard this song, I absolutely lost my shit. Cudi started this album off swinging and I was not prepared for him to go so hard. I’ve had this song on repeat quite a few times since I first heard it and along with the beat being absolutely sick, Cudi is rapping his ass off! My favorite part is when the beat breaks down in the second chorus, and I get hype as fuck every single time.

4. She Knows This ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

 Produced by J Gramm, FnZ & Dot Da Genius                  

This song on first listen reminded me of a song by another of my favorite artists, called “The Let Out” by Jidenna but Cudi took it to a whole other level and isn’t as repetitive. Once the track speeds up Cudi goes even harder with even trippier sounds that will make you feel like you’re driving through space. One of my favorite things about this album is that a lot of the songs change in the middle keeping you that much more engaged in the whole song than to quickly digest it, like a lot of records on mainstream radio. On top of that his bars are on complete fire and it’s always great to see Cudi flex his rapping skill that a lot of people don’t give him credit for.

5. Dive ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Dot Da Genius, Anthony Kilhoffer, Aaron Bow & Teddy Walton

Dive ends the first act of the album and serves as Cudi’s goodbye to his fantasy high. The guitar riffs at the beginning of the song is my favorite part and I wish they were made a bigger part of the song. However this song is classic Cudi, I initially thought it was missing something but after listening to it on it’s own a few more times, I feel like this song is absolutely perfect. It’s groovy as fuck and  I think because it kind of ends so abruptly that it leaves a lot to be desired, but that also might have been Cudi’s intent, allowing it to serve as interlude of sorts. I loved the transitional elements through out the song, like when the bass comes in, his adlibs throughout the song and especially the echoing adlibs like, “MOVE, MOVE” “towards the end. It takes a few really good listens to fully enjoy the song as a whole, like it did for me but the more I played the album the more and more I fell in love with it.

6. Damaged ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by MIKE DEAN, Dot Da Genius & Take a Daytrip

I loved the words to this song and the overall message that Cudi was trying to convey throughout the song, but the song itself didn’t do a whole lot for me until I actually found myself in a similar dark place. It’s one of those classic Cudi records that really makes you sit and reflect on your life and everything you’ve gone through, which was exactly what the song did for me. This song is where the album starts to slow down a bit and Cudi sings and raps about his trials and tribulations of being a damaged man and that sometimes his demons still come back and he has to deal with them. A common struggle most of us who’ve ever dealt with feelings of anxiety and depression all know too well.

7. Heaven on Earth⭐ ⭐ ⭐

 Produced by Dot Da Genius, Anthony Kilhoffer & DST The Danger

This song really didn’t do a whole lot for me but what I loved the most about it again, were it’s adlibs. Cudi really showed out with the adlibs on this album and that’s what made this song enjoyable for me. The song for me just sounded too typical to me but even despite that, it’s still a great track to vibe to, just not something I’d put on my favorites.

8. Show Out (feat. Skepta & Pop Smoke) ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Dot Da Genius, Anthony Kilhoffer & DST The Danger

Easily one of my favorite tracks on the album, when I first heard this, I completely lost my my shit and it was almost impossible not to turn my entire bedroom upside down. For one beat is absolutely sick and picks the tempo right back up. Cudi, Skepta and Pop Smoke’s voices are infectious together and everyone shines on this song without any one of them over shadowing the other’s performance. Definite a track to rage the fuck out to.

9. Mr. Solo Dolo III ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Kid Cudi, Audio Anthem, Dot Da Genius & Plain Pat

This song is trippy as fuck. From beginning to end this song takes you on an absolutely journey from the chords and the keys and there are no words to describe it. I remember playing this song while I was driving home from work on my scooter at night and man oh man, the vibes this song had was incredible. It made me feel like I was traveling to another galaxy. As a loner, this song really spoke to me and it made me feel like someone else understood exactly how I felt. My favorite part was his scream after the second verse. It made me feel free and liberated and that my feelings in that moment had been validated.

10. Sad People ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Dot Da Genius & Take a Daytrip

This song is an absolute vibe. Cudi’s in his bag, back in his zone, as he said and my favorite thing about this song is the chorus. Cudi’s harmonies are absolutely incredible and my favorite part is towards the end of the chorus when the song takes on an eerie west coast like synth and it’s absolutely infectious.It’s like a dark B side to “Cudi Zone” from the first album which is one of my favorite songs by Cudi to this day. It’s songs like this that made Cudi the legendary moon man that he his, in the first place.

11. Elsie’s Baby Boy (flashback) ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by E*Vax, Kid Cudi, Heavy Mellow & Dot Da Genius

This song sounded like a leftover track from “Speedin’ Bullet To Heaven” and despite how much negative criticism that album got, I absolutely love when Cudi dives into his alternative roots and I really hope he decides to dive deeper into it even further at some point. In this song Cudi sings about his relationship with his mother Elsie and his childhood upbringings. By this it in turn gave me flashbacks to my relationship with my grandmother and my childhood memories which all brought back happy and sad moments for me.

12. Sept. 16 ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Emile Haynie, FINNEAS, Plain Pat & Dot Da Genius

What I loved the most about this record was Cudi’s vulnerability. Cudi has a few rare moments on his albums where he actually sings about love and being in love and it’s always great to hear. Cudi’s such a hopeless romantic and I love when he let’s his guard down and expresses his feelings. This song takes me back to “Kitchen” on “Passion, Pain, & Demon Slayin’“ and though I love that song more, this song was definitely cooked in the same pot.

13. The Void ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by Dot Da Genius, Kid Cudi & MIKE DEAN

The most uplifting song from the album, this song takes me back to some of the vibes from the first album, like his song “Up, Up, and Away”. That was one of the songs in my high school days that made me fully accept myself for who I was, regardless of what people said and this song is just as motivating and uplifting. On the same wave of “Reborn”, Cudi sings about avoiding all negativity on this record and only focusing on the positive. I almost cried towards the end when he thanked us, his fans, for staying with him and never leaving him. It’s a very beautiful song, but I just personally feel like this song should have been the one to end the album or close to end because to me this track is a hard one to follow behind.

14. Lovin’ Me (feat. Phoebe Bridgers) ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by William J. Sullivan, Charlie Handsome, Rami Beatz & Dot Da Genius

It took a little while for this song to set in for me but after it did, it made me want to cry. If you ever struggled with self-love or self-acceptance then this song is for you. What I loved most about this song was the message because it really hit home for me. It’s a beautiful anthem about finding happiness within yourself that I feel a lot of people will relate to.

15. The Pale Moonlight ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Produced by E*Vax, Rami Beatz & Dot Da Genius

Wasn’t feeling this one all too much, but what I loved about it most again, were the adlibs. I loved Cudi’s multiple layering of his vocals throughout the song, especially the “la-la-la-la” parts. The sounds very remiscent to some of Cudi’s earlier music and if you didn’t know any better you’d swear this was a leftover track from “The End Of Day”.

16. Rockstar Knights (feat. Trippie Redd) ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Produced by Jenius, WondaGurl, MIKE DEAN, Dot Da Genius & Take a Daytrip

I’m not a big fan of Trippie Redd but I really fuck with his contributions on this song. This is another song where I really loved the chorus and I also love Cudi’s flow once his verse comes in. Cudi’s wordplay is out of this world on this record and it’s hard not to beat your head as Cudi delivers bar for bar for bar throughout his entire verse. Cudi really shines on this record with his skills as a MC and if Cudi ever felt he had anything to prove as a rapper, he definitely did that here. As the song ends it feels like Cudi just turned the spaceship on hyperdrive and took us along for the ride as he drifted further and further into space- Totally sick.

17. 4 da Kidz ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Produced by WondaGurl, MIKE DEAN, Dot Da Genius, 18YOMAN & Take a Daytrip

A song dedicated to the “kidz” reminding us that we are not alone and this song is another song to vibe out to. With instructions from Cudi, to turn it loud if we need to, this song, on the same frequency as “love.” is another song where Cudi is speaking to us as our big brother and giving us a well needed pep talk. What I loved most about it was Cudi’s vocals on the chorus, especially the way he pronounced the “oo” vowel sounds. It was very reminiscent of a Baltimore accent which I always found comical in the best way which is one of things I love the most about Cudi. He’s not afraid to try different things or pull different things from his various influences despite the genre and on this record, he ties them up beautifully.

18. Lord I Know ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Produced by MIKE DEAN, Dot Da Genius, 18YOMAN & Take a Daytrip

Serving as the closer to the album and the man on the moon trilogy, this song is a classic Cudi hym that tells us that we’re not alone regardless of what we face in life. What I liked most about this song was the message, and that’s why I rate it so highly. In this song Cudi expresses being content with the path he’s on at life and after everything he’s gone through, it makes me happy to finally hear that he’s found peace within himself. The song/album ends with his daughter Vada saying, “To be continued” and I can’t wait to see what Cudi has in store for us next. I just have a strong feeling that all of us Cudi fans are about to eat REAL GOOD.

There’s been a lot said about this album, good and bad but I feel this album is merely a taste of what’s to come. Is this record my favorite? No, but what I can say is that it’s an ALBUM, meaning it’s not a group of songs that you can easily separate like many others. This is the kind of album where you have to play the whole thing all the way through time in and time again to really get what Cudi was trying to convey. It’s not a record that you can just play a few times and be done with, no, it’s a grower. There were a lot of songs on this record that I did not like at first, but after having some time to let them marinate, they became some of my favorites and it made me truly appreciate Kid Cudi as an artist because people don’t make albums like this anymore. There’s rare artists that are this detailed with the way the songs transitions, the interludes, and how copacetic the album is in it’s entirety. This album was truly a gift and I can’t wait to see what else Cudi has left up his sleeve.

                                          Top Favorite Songs

                                                  Another Day

                                                          Dive

                                                Tequila Shots

                                             Rockstar Knights

                                                     The Void

                                              Mr. Solo Dolo III

                                  Listen For Yourself Here!

#kid cudi #man on the moon 3 #man on the moon iii #motm3 #album review #2020 #motmiii