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notsowrites · 3 years

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No Place Else I Could Be (But Here In Your Arms)

A 3x10 Malex Coda

I got an anon prompt asking if I could write the couch sex. This is not that... well, not exactly. There’s sex, just not that specific sex. So I wrote this, and then in typical fashion, worried about it until I remembered something someone told me once: "in the time you're spending worry about it, they've already taken their pants off.”

{AO3 Link)

So here ya go, enjoy! <3

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Michael wakes slowly, acutely aware of Alex sleeping next to him. Legs tangled, Alex has his face buried against Michael's shoulder, tiny exhales as he sleeps blowing cool air across Michael's skin. They'd somehow managed to fall asleep on the couch afterwards, the afghan pulled over their naked bodies.

He’s beautiful, he’s perfect, he’s home, Michael thinks as he watches Alex sleep.

Last night had been different from anything that had happened before between them. Michael had made the decision, especially after everything with Alex the last couple days, and particularly in regards to trying to learn how to let go of his anger with the past, to finally tell Alex this is what he'd been working towards, this had been the mission he'd referred to the night he'd kissed him at the Pony. To finally be able to answer the question Alex had posed in the song he'd sung a year ago, to finally be able to say he was home.

Max, Isobel… Dallas - they were family. He knew he'd only just met Dallas, but after their talk on the pier, he wanted to get to know him more. To explore that hope Theo had expressed that they would form their own triad.

It's all broken without three, Max had once slurred out in the midst of a bender on their 21st birthday. And maybe Michael hadn't realized it at the time just how true that statement actually was. Because he had a triad, he's had Max and Isobel since the moment they emerged from the pods. But he also had another triad in Isobel and Dallas, one that was brand new and he couldn't wait to explore more.

Alex had been right, he did need to start letting go of his anger about his childhood. But he's relied on it for so long, it's been a constant companion to him almost since the moment they came out of the pods. It's not going to be easy, but he had realized today he needed to start putting in the work. And in the bunker, Alex had listened as he'd broken apart, giving him the details he'd never shared before about that part of his life. As the tears had fallen down his cheeks, Alex had been there to wipe them away. To remind him that the past didn't define him. He'd rolled up the sleeve of his jacket, exposing his arm and the faded scar of a long healed burn. Alex had reached out, fingertips tracing along the skin.

I'd thought it was just a junkyard accident. I never asked.

Michael also knows that before today, he never would have answered with the truth.

He'd seen his own pain reflected back in Alex's eyes, a kind of tether between them he still didn't fully understand. Because it wasn't the first time he thought it appeared as though Alex was able to feel the pain he was experiencing, though it's the first time he thinks to explore it and understand it. It was one of the reasons, on the list of many, that had kept him awake at night over the last decade, curious about their connection, about what it meant and how to exactly describe it.

Cosmic had fit the way no other word had. The vast reaches of the universe, the galaxy, the cosmos. There was too much of it, it was impossible to truly put into words, to quantify - and that's how his connection with Alex felt.

Indescribable and infinite.

Dallas had asked, afterwards. He's more than the guy who fixed our parents' machine, isn't he. Michael had, at first, been floored by the recognition. That Dallas had picked up on that already. But for the first time he's eager to answer in the affirmative, to be able to say that, yes Alex is more than that to him. It's the way you look at him.

He'd told Alex later as they'd sat here, how easy they were for everyone else to read. And he'd watched as Alex had smiled as he spoke, staring back at him with a bit of a knowing look. You should ask him about it, next time you talk. At first, he hadn't understood the meaning, why he needed to ask Dallas how he knew, why it mattered. But as the night progressed between them, it wasn't until they were skin to skin, coming down from their orgasms, that it hit Michael.

Dallas has his own Alex.

He hears the change in Alex's breathing a moment before Alex is pressing his nose to the skin of his chest, slowly waking up himself.

"I love the way you smell," Alex says, the words spoken against his lips. "Like after a rainstorm, but with a hint of motor oil and grease. The rain always makes me think of you."

"Every time it rains?" He knows Alex has mentioned the smell before, made a joke about it that day they'd been investigating at the Long Farm. But no one else has ever said anything, commented on the way he smells before - well, about the grease and motor oil they have, sometimes a comment about how he would smell better if he showered more. But Alex is the only one to mention a rainstorm.

Alex nods, propping himself up on Michael's chest so they can look at one another. Michael reaches up, pushing Alex's hair back off his face, watching as Alex leans into his palm.

"In a way, I was glad it doesn't rain very often in the Middle East. It meant something of you didn't follow me to distract me."

Michael smiles. "I'm a distraction?"

It's the way Alex smiles in return, it's the way he leans forward and pushes their mouths together, pulling Michael's lip between his own. It's the way Michael has his arm wrapped around Alex, his hand resting on his back, slowly moving up and down against his skin. It's the way Alex trails a hand down his chest, fingers dancing across his chest hair as Alex continues kissing him.

Alex wraps a hand around his dick, palm against the sensitive skin, their lips still moving together, and Michael can't stop the gasp that escapes at the sensation. He reaches up, his hand going to the back of Alex's neck, pulling him in and closer, closer, closer as Alex's hand moves. Their foreheads stay pressed together, they breathe the same air as Michael feels his dick harden under Alex's careful motions.

It disappears in the next moment though, Michael opening his eyes just as Alex is pushing up and off his chest. He's about to protest, about to ask what Alex is doing, when Alex straddles his hips.

"Alex," he whines, hands immediately moving to Alex's hips, fingers pressing into the skin and muscle. He watches helplessly as Alex reaches behind himself, a second later feeling Alex's hand on him again, his dick pressing against Alex's hole. He's about to protest, because he would enjoy nothing more this morning than being able to finger Alex open, to hear his particular moans and groans, when Alex pushes down, because Michael is unable to focus on anything except the feeling of tight muscle and heat, and Alex.

Closing his eyes, he gives himself over to the feelings, fingers tightening slightly on Alex's hips before he feels a set of hands on his face. He opens his eyes to see Alex in front of him a moment before their lips collide, their foreheads pushing together. He kisses back, pulling Alex's lip between his own, sucking on it, running his tongue along it. Slowly, Alex starts to move, small gyrations of his hips, and Michael slides his hands down to grab onto the flesh of his ass, urging him, encouraging him, to move faster.

But Alex keeps his dizzyingly slow pace, their lips pressed together, and Michael goes. He gives himself to the heat building low in his belly, the way he can feel his balls tightening. Focuses on Alex's lips against him, Alex's body against his, until he can't take it anymore.

He pushes up, guiding Alex with him, and gently flips their positions on the couch. He pulls Alex's legs up around him, and pushes back into him, sealing their lips back together as he thrusts forward.

"Michael-"

He doesn't answer, not with words, just holds himself above Alex as he chases every feeling that is building up inside him. Michael feels his arm shaking again, they'd done the same thing last night when he'd been overwhelmed by everything happening as he’d held himself up above Alex. Because it's been months upon months since he's had Alex like this. And if he's being honest, also never quite like this. Everything feels better now, he doesn't have the impending sense that when this is done, when they're sated and letting their bodies cool, that it won't mean one of them is planning their escape. Because he's home, and neither of them are leaving now. There was last night and waking up this morning and Michael knows that there is going to be a tonight as well.

A future.

He leans down, pressing his lips to Alex's chest, to the space near his heart where he'd been injured by the crazed bootmaker. Michael slows his thrusts enough to find the scar - small and barely visible but another constant reminder of how close he came to losing Alex forever - and kisses it again. He doesn't know if Alex knows what he's doing, until Alex slides a hand up his neck and into the hair at his nape, guiding him up to kiss him again that Michael thinks he does.

"I'm right here," Alex breathes against his lips, short kisses over and over, their foreheads pressed together tightly. "I got you."

His hips jerk faster, and he feels Alex tighten around him as he spills onto his stomach. Michael presses down towards him, keeping their foreheads pressed together, catching every sound that escapes Alex’s lips. He feels Alex’s hands on his back, gripping his ass, fingers digging into the skin and muscle, urging him on. It doesn’t take much longer before Michael’s own orgasm hits, ripping through him with one final thrust, Alex holding him still as he spills into him. He chokes out an embarrassingly loud moan into Alex’s mouth, overwhelmed by everything he is feeling, before sealing his lips around Alex’s own.

Neither moves right away, and Michael feels Alex’s hands on his back, fingers tracing patterns along the skin as their lips continue to brush together. Gently, he falls forward, his arm no longer caring to support him, and he tucks his face into Alex’s neck, pressing a kiss to the underside of his chin. Alex shifts his arms, one hand moving up to bury itself in his curls, and Michael leans into the touch.

He doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to stop touching Alex, not yet. Maybe not ever. But there’s cum cooling on Alex’s chest, and Michael allows himself to be pulled back to the present, that they should probably clean up first.

But it's that thought which has him thinking about last night again, and this morning, and how eventually they're going to get dressed, and they're going to have to face whatever the day brings. But tonight, when it's all said and done - he won't be going back to the junkyard to an empty trailer. No, tonight will be different. Tonight will mark their new beginning, new steps forward in their relationship.

On the coffee table, his cell phone buzzes from where he'd left it last night. Whatever and whoever it is can wait a little longer, he thinks. He has something - someone - more important to take care of first.

#roswell new mexico #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #notso writes fanfic #hope you like this anon <3 #itried.gif

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dothwrites · 3 years

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2020 Writing in Review

Well, it’s been a shitshow of a year, ain’t it? The one bright spot in this year was that it left me a ton of time for writing! With no further ado, here are the fics I worked on the year of our lord, 2020.

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the blood which we drew | Rated: M | Word Count: 7335 | COMPLETE

Castiel bears the Mark. And for a few months, it's fine.

It's fine until it isn't.

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ramble on | Rated: E | Word Count: 26,875 | WIP

A series of Season 15 codas, crossposted to tumblr. Tags, Warnings, and Rating may change, based on source material.

(Technically started this in 2019, but I added to it this year, so I’m counting it)

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protect and serve | Rated: E | Word Count: 49,953 | COMPLETE

Police officer Dean Winchester's next assignment seems easy enough: a protection detail on Assistant District Attorney Castiel Novak, who's been receiving death threats in conjunction with the case that he's prosecuting. Dean's assignment is to keep ADA Novak safe, alive, and in one piece so that he can start his trial against Dick Roman, notorious CEO charged with the death of at least eight people.

With threats that quickly spin out of control, a missing teenage genius, Dean's attraction to Novak, and Novak's mercurial attitude towards Dean--Dean Winchester's next assignment is anything but easy.

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what stays (and what fades away) | Rated: E | Word Count: 64,421 | COMPLETE

Cas Novak’s life is perfect. He has a job that he loves and friends who support him. Most importantly, he has his husband, Dean Winchester, and his two adopted children, Claire and Jack. With them, nothing could ever go wrong.

That is, until he starts having flashes of a life that isn’t his and meets someone who shares his husband’s face but not his personality, someone who insists that he’s someone, something, different altogether. Cas’ life shatters when he’s dragged into a world that he doesn’t belong to and doesn’t understand.

Dean Winchester’s life was already shattered when he lost Castiel.

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thunder road | Rated: E | Word Count: 20,883 | COMPLETE

After Chuck is defeated and the Winchesters settle into life without God, Dean Winchester is bored.

OR: Dean and Cas take a road trip and figure out some stuff along the way.

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alone together | Rated: E | Word Count: 74, 239 | COMPLETE

Like the rest of the world, Dean Winchester’s job sent him home with the supplies necessary to work from home and a vague farewell of “We’ll see you when this all blows over”. Unlike the rest of the world, Dean Winchester is entering into a quarantine with Castiel Novak, his incredibly hot and incredibly uninterested roommate. How is Dean supposed to concentrate on his job while Cas is just a few feet away, being...well, Cas?

Castiel Novak was already working from home, so the news of social distancing doesn’t affect him that much. What does send him into a panic is the knowledge that Dean Winchester, his stunning and straight roommate, will also be working from home for the foreseeable future. After spending so long trying to distance himself from Dean, Castiel now has to face a future where Dean is present. All. The. Time.

They’ve got food, Internet, and all the toilet paper they need, but neither one of them is prepared for quarantine.

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for a sinner released | Rated: E | Word Count: 8,800 | COMPLETE

Testing his theory, he runs his fingers over the soft skin of Dean’s wrist, until his thumb is pressed firmly against Dean’s hammering pulse. Cas pulls, gently but inexorably, until Dean is forced to take a step forward. The shift in positioning pushes the barrel of the gun into his forehead.

Cold metal touches overheated skin, and Cas inhales sharply at the contrasting sensations. The gun is unforgiving, relentless, beautiful.

It’s like Dean.

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and all this devotion | Rated: M | Word Count: 10,572 | COMPLETE

Dean’s not stupid. He’s seen the looks Cas has aimed his way, when Cas thought he wasn’t paying attention. He’s leveled his share of looks back at Cas when the angel’s attention was elsewhere. More than once, he’s been caught in the act. At this point, they’re both dancing around the same elephant, too scared and caught in their ways to make the first move.

OR: Dean gets hurt on a hunt. Cas takes care of him. There's only one bed. Confessions ensue.

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lost in translation | Rated: T | Word Count: 3,720 | COMPLETE

Cas bites at his lower lip, looking uncommonly shy. Worry starts to stir in Dean’s gut, which is only compounded when Cas says something else in soft yet clear Enochian. As the new phrase doesn’t have the word stupid anywhere in it, Dean doesn’t have the slightest idea of what Cas is saying. The guilt squirming in his stomach gets worse when Cas looks at him, with gentle anticipation, as though he’s expecting a reply. Dean does what humans have been doing since the beginning of time when confronted with a language they don’t understand and smiles, wide and sunny, at Cas. Cas’ forehead creases but he returns the gesture. His eyes are still brimming over with emotion and the sight does something to Dean.

Dean begins to suspect that he may have started something which he is not equipped to finish.

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a new song about a new life | Rated: E | Word Count: 21,282 | WIP

There is no happily ever after. Mostly because there is no after. Life is just a series of days and nothing ever really ends. It just continues on, even after the curtain closes, and while the struggles might not be epic, they're no less impressive. Domestic life isn't without its pitfalls and trials, but at the end of the day, Dean and Cas still have each other and in the end, that's enough.

A series of timestamps detailing the small adventures of Dean and Castiel. Will contain teensy amounts of angst and a heap of fluff and domesticity.

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angel in black | Rated: E | Word Count: 95,325 | COMPLETE

Bounty hunter Castiel Novak has simple rules for how he conducts his business. Get in, get out, deliver the fugitive, and do it all with the least amount of effort possible. Never become emotionally involved.

When he takes on the job of hunting down Sam and Dean Winchester in order to bring them to justice, his rules start shifting. Threatened by supernatural forces as well as his attraction to Dean, Castiel soon has to decide what he’s willing to stand for…and what he’s willing to die for.

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ghosts that we knew | Rated: E | Word Count: 89,411 | COMPLETE

Dean can’t help it. Castiel’s laugh is infectious, washing over him and sweeping him up in its tide. His throat and stomach ache with the feel of it, unfamiliar muscles worked past their endurance. He hasn’t laughed like this in weeks, maybe years.

Cas doesn’t stop laughing, and Dean relishes it. It’s such a good sound, deep and throaty. It rumbles over him the same way that Baby’s engine purrs, to where he can almost feel it in his gut. Dean’s giddy, the kind of happy that hunters don’t get to feel, and if it weren’t for the ceiling, he thinks he might float away. Cas’ eyes crinkle when he laughs, and his smile goes wide and gummy. He’s so brilliant, so alive—

But you’re dead, Dean thinks helplessly. But you’re dead.

---

Castiel Novak is one of the best hunters Dean Winchester has ever worked with. He's witty, whip-smart, and has enough knowledge about the supernatural to rival an encyclopedia. He's got humor dry enough to put the Sahara to shame and he's pretty easy on the eyes as well. All in all, he's the best partner Dean could have hoped for.

Too bad he's dead.

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the best of things | Rated: G | Word Count: 2,494 | COMPLETE

There’s something.

This is significant because, for as long as Castiel can remember, there’s been nothing. --- Castiel finds a way out of the Empty.

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freedom | Rated: G | Word Count: 4,804 | COMPLETE

Freedom.

Dean rolls the word around on the tip of his tongue and tastes how it feels. Freedom.

It’s a strange concept, especially since he always assumed that he was. Ever since Apocalypse Version 1.0 was averted, Michael and Lucifer locked in the cage, thanks very much, he’s always assumed that he was the one calling the shots. No matter how badly he fucked up (and he fucked up a lot), he could at least take comfort in the fact that those were his choices. No one’s hand up Dean Winchester’s ass, no siree.

And then Chuck came and ripped that certainty away from him in one quick motion and then...everything was suspect. Sam, Mom, Jack...Cas. Every word, every action, every emotion... He couldn’t trust anything, so he trusted nothing.

--- OR: Dean makes a choice.

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at the end of the world | Rated: G | Word Count: 4,631 | COMPLETE

Rebuilding Heaven is slow work, but time doesn’t really mean anything here. It’s delicate to rebuild the walls separating billions of souls so that nothing collapses. Castiel works alongside Jack, making suggestions as his mind trips along to potential problems.

Though it’s never said aloud, Castiel knows why Jack is working tirelessly. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the knowledge sits that Sam and Dean are going to die. One day, they will pass from the earth, and come to Heaven, and on that day, Castiel wants everything to be perfect for them. He wants to show them a true paradise, a place without walls or barriers, a place where emotion is genuine and not just a manufactured memory. Rebuilding Heaven is his last chore, the last of his penance to be performed.

--- OR: Team Free Will gets the soft epilogue which they deserve.

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let your heart be light | Rated: M | Word Count: 31,651 | WIP

It's Dean and Cas' first official Christmas together as a couple. What could possibly go wrong?

Just Cas' weird family, his own personal hang-ups about Christmas, Dean's persistent belief that the miracle of Christmas can heal all wounds, and meddling friends and family.

Have a Merry Christmas.

#dothwrites #long post #2020 masterlist #i did not realize how long this was #good lord me #i'm a long-winded little SOB

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echo-bleu · 4 years

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let them turn into a river

I've said I wouldn't write any more codas. Yet here I am. This works through some of my thoughts about Alex this season, which may not be everyone's cup of tea.

This also fills two prompts I got: "being given an unexpected hug, and stiffening, then melting into it" by @daffietjuh and "Alex has a breakdown over something mundane like what type of tuna to buy" (I think the original prompt was by @meneatyoghurt, and @rensbaratheon gave it to me).

[PTSD flashbacks, panic attack, mentions of abuse, discussion of possible dub-con (2x06)]

I'm fine. I'm completely fine, Alex repeats to himself as he wanders down the supermarket aisle in search of pasta.

It's not untrue, not exactly. He's certainly functioning a lot better than he was when he first got back from overseas, and his leg is doing rather well these days, even if it's now twinging in pain from the long day he's had. It's just that...he's had nothing but long, exhausting days in what feels like months. It's just that he's really, really tired.

And now he's in the store on a Saturday evening at eleven pm because the really, really nice guy he was hoping to try dating isn't willing to put up with his baggage. Alex can't blame Forrest. He wouldn't put up with it if he had a choice. He spent hours just staring at the bottom of his glass after Forrest left, until Maria slammed a bottle in front of him to get his attention and invited herself to lunch tomorrow.

“It's been a while since we really talked, Alex. I almost feel like you're the one avoiding me now.” The little progress Alex has made−according to his therapist, anyway−on setting his boundaries and asserting what he wants must have evaporated sometime during that night, because he didn't manage to say no.

Which means he needs to figure out what to cook. It's going to have to be meatball pasta, Alex decides. It's the only thing he can think of right now that's suitable for a guest but doesn't require a lot of preparation, and he has no wish to spend hours in the kitchen. He grabs his usual brand of pasta, grateful that he knows where it is by heart, and moves down the aisle to the sauce area.

The whole section of tomato sauce cans stares back at him.

Alex takes a step back to encompass the whole thing with his gaze, curses as the move twists his prosthesis enough for a sharp spike of pain to travel up his leg, and closes his eyes to center himself. Breathe. Everything's fine.

There are cans and boxes and bottles. Tomato sauce and pulp and juice. Several brands of each, with added flavoring and different sizes. How can there be dozens of different options? Alex is just looking for something to put in meatball pasta, it shouldn't be complicated.

He peers at the labels again, trying to wake up his brain enough to decide. But there's prices to think of, and ecology−what's better again, metal cans or cartons?−and so many different types and some of them are written in fucking Italian and he cannot choose. He stays frozen, two feet away from the shelves, vaguely rocking on his heels.

He can't breathe.

He can't breathe and he can't read the labels anymore because everything is suddenly out of focus. Fuck. He blinks, and inspires−and chokes, and wheezes, and shit, this shouldn't be so hard, why is he having a fucking panic attack in the middle of the deserted supermarket at 11 pm?

But he is, and thinking about how this should be simple, and why is he such a failure, is definitely not helping. He reaches out, tries to grab a can at random, and only succeeds in miscalculating and knocking several cans off the shelf. The noise they make hitting the floor is deafening.

Alex flinches, hard, and falls backward when it triggers another spike of pain up his leg and back. He hits the shelves at his back, probably knocking more things over−but he doesn't hear them fall over the buzzing in his ears. He feels the pain, though. The pain and the lack of air and the blackening at the edge of his vision.

Breathe.

He closes his eyes tight, letting himself fall on his ass on the floor and curl up. With his left knee under his chin, his right leg extended, he digs his nails into his palms. I can't do this. I can't.

He can't have Maria over, and pretend everything is fine. He can't talk to her about her relationship with Michael and about his own failed date. He can't look at her and forget about her kissing him, about the mess of limbs and emotions that followed, about how he can't feel anything but disgust toward himself ever since.

He can't.

Today has been a roller-coaster already. The elation he felt at the paintball park is long forgotten, replaced by wave upon wave of shame. At everything, at the mirror of himself he glimpsed in his father's eyes, at the way he froze with Maria, at the uncontrollably fear that gripped his gut when Forrest leaned in for a kiss, when he'd thought−he doesn't know what he'd thought. Only that in that moment, he felt a hand around his neck clearer than he has in months.

He feels it still, as he gasps for air. He spent every second in the hospital, from the moment his father first lost his temper, waiting for the hand to close around him. And yet he couldn't stop himself from catching his dad when he stumbled, even as he expected him to lash out. Why can't he even fucking put a stop to that? Let go of this monster for good, cut him out of his life?

Because he's a coward, that's why. He presses his back into the shelves until it hurts so much he gasps out. Pain. Focus. Breathe.

He's a fucking coward, so of course he's not good enough for someone like Forrest. Just like he'll never be good enough for Michael.

Michael. His mouth on him, again, after months of fantasizing about that. His warmth, his unique scent, his breathing−but they're not alone, and it's too much, too fucking much, that's not what he wants. Alex's skin crawls like that day, and he scrapes his nails at his palms, like he wants to rip it off.

No, no. No. He can't think about that again. He's in the middle of a fucking supermarket, for God's sake! He can't go down that hole.

Get a fucking grip.

Tomato sauce. That's what he needs. Nothing else. He can put everything aside, like how he's going to have to spend hours alone with Maria in his house tomorrow. After being touched by her that way. After watching her touch Michael that way.

He can't even get a handle on his thoughts long enough to remember the tricks his therapist gave him to get out of a panic attack. Counting. Right. One. Two.

No. Counting backward, or in threes, or the brain just takes over. But where to start? Twenty? Is that enough? A hundred? This is too much. How do you count in threes anyway?

Fuck.

Vaguely, he realizes the hand tightening on his throat is his own, his body desperately clawing at itself to breathe. Did his father mix his meds on purpose today? He wouldn't put it past him. But what would his purpose be?

Alex hates it. Being put in this position, the only son in town who is supposed to care for his ailing father. He avoids his childhood home as much as he can, but he's still the contact listed for him at the hospital. He hates watching Jesse Manes struggle to move around and feeling empathy he doesn't want, how somehow this is one more thing that brings them closer instead of separating them. Dammit. His dad in this position because he tried to kill Kyle, after torturing aliens−people−for decades. Alex shouldn't be feeling empathy for this man. He should have watched him fall on his face today, and not even moved a muscle.

Like his father watched him fall too many times after his injury.

Manes men don't show weakness.

Why couldn't he? Why is he such a coward that he can't separate the need to keep his father close, to monitor his actions and find out more about Project Shepard, from his own feelings?

Why can't he let the shadow of his father's abuse behind?

Making out with a hot guy in public is only made hotter when it pisses off all the bigots and the homophobes.

Alex wants to retch in shame.

“Alex!”

Alex can't tell where the voice comes from, but he feels someone coming close and that's what pulls him out of his panic. Reality brutally refocuses. He goes right from foggy, breathless dissociation to cold hypervigilance. He stills, releasing his left leg to be able to use it to swipe at someone's legs, and looks up very slowly.

It's Kyle, crouching down in front of him, frowning in worry. He may have called his name several times already, Alex doesn't know. He's surrounded by fallen cans of tomato, and one of them has burst and send red sauce flying everywhere.

Alex flinches away when Kyle tries to touch him. Breathing burns his lungs, but he forces the air in. Pain doesn't matter. Pain is good, right now, making him focus.

“Alex, what happened?” Kyle asks, like he's speaking to a small child. Or maybe Alex is imagining that. Everything is slow, unreal, his body unfeeling except for the pain.

He tries to make his mouth move to answer, but he can't. He shakes his head in frustration.

“Okay, okay, I won't touch you, alright? It's okay, there's no threat here. Do you know where you are?”

Alex nods, and dips his head, avoiding Kyle's eyes. Coming back to reality just means more shame. He's sitting in the middle of a supermarket, pants stained with tomato, panting and−for God's sake−crying. He's ridiculous.

“Good, you're with me,” Kyle continues. “Was it only a panic attack, or is there something medically wrong with you?”

Alex just stares at him, uncomprehending. He can't put the words together enough to make them make sense.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Kyle reformulates.

Alex shakes his head, and wills his hands to stop trembling.

Without taking his eyes off him for more than a second at a time, Kyle starts to pick up the intact cans of tomato off the floor. Giving him space, Alex understands. When he crouches down again, Alex feels stronger, more anchored, even if his whole body feels like cotton candy.

“Think you can get up now?” Kyle asks.

“Yeah,” Alex rasps out. He holds out a hand, though, rather than try to stand up by himself in the mess of tomato sauce. He wouldn't trust his leg with that on a good day.

Kyle scouts over, puts Alex's arm around his shoulders, and hoists him up.

“What about−” Alex gestures to the mess, and his own dropped groceries.

“I'll tell a clerk, it's okay. Let's just get you home, alright?”

“'Kay,” Alex murmurs. He doesn't have the brain space to think about it beyond his embarrassment, anyway.

Kyle lets him lean on him all the way to the checkout counter, and quietly explains what happened to the wide-eyed girl sitting behind it. Alex doesn't listen to her answer, his focus still shot. He stares vaguely at a the packs of gum behind her instead.

“Let's go,” Kyle prompts him to move again.

Alex wants to make it out under his own power, or some variation thereof. He takes his arm back, but he stumbles at the first step, and he has to catch himself roughly on the counter. Rather than make a big deal about it, Kyle simply hooks his arm into his, providing discrete support.

Sometimes Alex wants to hate him for how considerate he is. Right now he doesn't even have it in him to be anything but thankful, though.

The store is just two blocks from Alex's house, so he came here on foot, but there's no way he's making it back. His leg aches something fierce, and his steps are uneven, awkward.

Kyle guides him to his car in the parking lot without a comment, and takes the time to make sure Alex is comfortable in the passenger seat before he drives the thirty seconds to his home. There seems to be no end to Alex's shame tonight, and yet Kyle somehow manages to make it as painless as the situation can be−physically and emotionally. He gets Alex into the most comfortable armchair in his living room, pants and prosthesis off, with minimum fuss and as much privacy as possible.

“Thank you,” Alex murmurs when Kyle finally sits down on the couch across from him.

“I can go, if you tell me you're going to be okay,” Kyle says. “But I can also stay.”

Alex bites his lip. No, he doesn't really want to be left alone with his thoughts. “Not the night,” he says. “But maybe for a minute?” He doesn't like how whiny his voice sounds, but he's exhausted. He curls up in the armchair, propping his right leg on the arm rest and tucking his left foot under him.

“Okay,” Kyle nods, though it's almost midnight. Alex feels bad for asking that of him, but he did offer. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There isn't much to talk about,” Alex shrugs. “I'm sorry. I was just...tired.”

Kyle raises his eyebrows. “You're allowed not to talk about it, but please don't downplay it, Alex. This wasn't you being tired.”

“No, you're right. This was me freaking out over what tomato sauce to buy. But mostly, it's been a long day. Long week. Long...everything.”

“Your work?” Kyle asks.

“Not really. Not mostly. I've been, uh, taking on side projects, researching Project Shepard and Caulfield, helping you guys. And...my superiors were on base yesterday. My boss. And my boss's boss. And for about half-an-hour, I thought they were here to arrest me.”

“What?”

“It turns out that it was unrelated, but people are asking questions. Not my team, but I'm just a Captain, I still have to answer to people. And recently, I've had to cover up a shit-ton of things. Things that I could be court-martialed for and spend my life in prison several times over. You know this, you did the same.”

“Well, I'm risking my medical license for sure, maybe being sued by the hospital, but probably not jail,” Kyle says. “I didn't...honestly, I don't think any of us realized what you did for us.”

“For them,” Alex corrects him. “You're an outsider to them as much as I am. Tied up by shitty legacies and unwanted feelings for people who don't want us back.”

“You're right,” Kyle sighs. “I told Liz, before the surgery, I told Liz once that was over, I was done. But we all know it's not true.”

Alex gives him a commiserating smile. “In any case, Michael, Max and Isobel risk much worse just by being alive. I'm okay with doing my part. I have to admit that I started seriously questioning that when I learned that Liz decided to go ahead with the heart transplant when she thought you wouldn't be able to keep Max alive, because I had to pull in a lot of favors to get you that theater. That's when people started asking questions.”

“Wait, she didn't tell you beforehand? I thought she told you, or I would have.”

“I don't know if you've noticed, but Liz tends to get tunnel vision,” Alex shrugs. “Rosa told me.”

“Not Michael?”

“Nah, he was wrapped up in his family. We didn't talk.”

“What's going on with you two, anyway?” Kyle asks. “At Caulfield, you were basically flirting the whole way there, and now he's with Maria?”

Alex swallows. “Our...timelines didn't align,” he says. “My family destroyed his. I can't blame him for keeping me at arm's length.”

“That's bullshit, Alex. You're not your family.”

“And yet I brought so much pain into his life,” he sighs.

“So you're just giving up?”

“He's made it clear over and over that I'm not the one he wants. So yeah, I'm giving up.”

Kyle tilts his head. “There's something you're not telling me.”

Fuck. Either Kyle has become even more observant than he was or Alex is still so rattled that he's letting things through. Probably the second option.

Alex ponders it for a moment. He hasn't talked to anyone about that night. He hasn't seen his therapist in months, not since the nightmares and flashbacks Caulfield brought back up abated, and he doesn't exactly have a host of other friends to discuss things with. It's been a weight on his shoulders that doesn't live, that permeates everything. But then...this is Kyle. Is he really someone Alex want to talk about this with?

Actually, yes, he decides. Kyle has something of a unique perspective.

“We had a threesome,” he mutters. It's even more awkward coming out of his mouth than it is when he thinks the word.

“I'm sorry, what did you just say?” Kyle has his mouth hanging open. He's heard perfectly well.

“Michael, Maria and me,” Alex says. “After, uh, Maria and I went to see this boot maker, and he attacked us, stabbed me and went after Maria. She knocked him out and he's in custody,” Alex add hurriedly when he sees Kyle's expression become murderous.

“He stabbed you,” Kyle states.

“Just a little,” Alex shrugs. It's healed just fine, it will probably barely scar. “I'm fine.”

“You got stabbed, and instead of, I don't know, calling me, you had sex with your ex and your best friend. Your female best friend.”

“She initiated it, it's not like we came onto her or anything,” Alex raises his hands.

Kyle blinks. “Yeah, that's not what I'm worried about, Alex.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

Kyle works his jaw several times, trying to find his words. “Let's put it like this. Why are you telling me about it?”

“I...don't know,” Alex shrugs. It weights on his mind, and it needs to get out.

“How did it feel?”

Alex swallows. “Not great. I didn't...I didn't enjoy it. I thought−” he trails off.

“What did you think?” Kyle prompts him.

“We were coming off an adrenaline rush, and being with other people, with them, it felt...safe. I didn't want to leave. When Maria started to−I thought I wanted Michael enough that it would be okay, that I could handle it.”

“'Handle it',” Kyle repeats. “Alex, are you even hearing yourself right now? What would you say if one of your partners said they could 'handle' sex with you?”

“I'd back off right away,” Alex sighs. “But it wasn't like that, we were all consenting.”

“You'd just been attacked. You were injured. I'm assuming you'd been on your leg for a long time. Am I getting the right picture here?”

Alex shrugs. He can't deny it, but it doesn't feel right. Maria and Michael didn't make him have sex with them, he did it of his own free will. Sure, he should have left, but he hasn't been known for making the best decisions for himself, right?

His hands are shaking again.

“I could have left,” he says, his voice trembling. “I didn't want to, but I should have.”

“Okay,” Kyle says, physically backing off. “Don't spiral out again, it's okay.”

“I tried to go on a date, today,” Alex says after a few deep breaths.

“What happened?”

“Nothing. The guy is great. I just...he tried to kiss me, and I couldn't.”

Kyle frowns. “Why−oh, in public?”

“Yeah.”

“Does he know about your father?”

“No,” Alex shrugs. “Does it matter? We all have our bad coming out stories.”

“Your father is a little more than that, Alex,” Kyle raises an eyebrow, like Alex doesn't know that.

“It doesn't change anything. He's not ready to date someone who's not out and proud.”

“Except you are, Alex. You are out and proud. And honestly, with what you've been through, it's amazing how open you are. So maybe you don't wear glitter or dye your hair blue−”

Alex snickers.

“What?”

“Forrest has blue hair,” he says.

“The guy?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Well, my point stands. You're not in the closet, you just have baggage. Heavy baggage, maybe, but it's not the same.”

Alex tilts his head. Kyle is not wrong, even if he hadn't thought of it that way.

“You think I'd look good in glitter?” he asks, because he needs to stop getting in too deep with his emotions.

“Alex, you'd look good in sack. Glitter, rainbows, crazy hair colors? You'd definitely pull them off. Green would look good on you. Or purple.”

“I think I'll stick to black, thank you,” Alex laughs. “But maybe I'll think of getting my ears pierced again. What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You suddenly seem to be awfully interested in queer fashion.”

Kyle actually blushes. “Um, I...I might have taken to hanging out at Planet 7,” he mumbles.

“You?” Alex asks in shock.

“I wanted to get away from Liz. And anything alien. Actually aliens, I mean. Not that it worked.”

Alex frowns. “Michael was there?”

“No,” Kyle shakes his head. “Not him. Fuck, I shouldn't have told you that.”

It takes Alex a few moments to catch up. “It can't be Max, so...Isobel? Really?”

“I didn't mean to...out her or anything.”

“It's okay, I'm not going to go shout it from the rooftops,” Alex says, because Kyle really looks worried. “Though you should definitely be careful who you tell.”

“I will.”

“What about you?” Alex asks.

“What?”

“Are you trying to tell me you're not as straight as you thought?”

Kyle hides his face in his hands. “I don't know, maybe? I don't...I'm really not sure. I never thought about men that way, but when I see the couples there, or the people who hook up...I don't know.”

“It's okay,” Alex smiles. “It's okay not to know. You don't need to have a word that fits right away.”

“Thanks,” Kyle nods.

“Anytime.”

“I was so horrible to you in high school, this would be a perfect opportunity for payback. Just goes to show what a good man you are.”

All the levity that this conversation has brought Alex goes right down the gutter, leaving him ice cold. “I'm not a good man,” he says through gritted teeth.

“You are. You're a good friend, Alex. A good person. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Alex sighs and lets it go. It's not a conversation for one in the morning. “You should go home,” he says.

“Are you sure you'll be okay?”

Alex stands up slowly, wishing he had his second crutch for the trip over to his bedroom. “Look, I'll call my therapist, okay? I promise.”

“You do that,” Kyle says, standing up as well. Then, before Alex can completely process it, he opens his arms and closes them around him, careful not to make him lose his balance. Alex stiffens, unused to the contact, but it feels good. Safe. He relaxes slowly, bit by bit, and awkwardly pats Kyle's back with his free hand. “We'll grab a beer sometime this week, okay?”

“Sure,” Alex nods in Kyle's shoulder. “Would be nice.”

“I'll text you tomorrow.”

Kyle lets him go and fishes out his keys from his pocket, turning to leave.

“Hey, Kyle?” Alex calls after him quietly.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for tonight.”

“You're very welcome,” Kyle smiles sweetly.

Despite his exhaustion, Alex doesn't fall asleep for hours, and when it does, it's to restless slumber, full of vague nightmares. He drags himself out of bed at nine, two hours past his usual wake-up time, and spends the morning trying to force his aching body into submission with a mix of PT exercises and yoga, that turns too easily into a punishment. A hundred push-ups, for being so weak. The voice in his head is his father's.

As he stares at his counter come eleven, an hour before Maria is supposed to be there, he remembers something. He still doesn't have tomato sauce. Or pasta, for that matter, since he never got to pay for his groceries last night.

“Fuck this,” he murmurs to himself, almost smirking at the joke that is his life. There is nothing he wants less than to spend the day with Maria. He doesn't have anything to cook her, and the Crashdown is closed on Sundays.

No. He's not going to do this.

He eyes his phone, thinking of coming up with some bullshit excuse to Maria. He can think of a dozen that would work well enough off the top of his head, though she's sure to give him hell for it later. At the thought of even seeing her later, Alex grimaces.

No. He sticks his phone in his back pocket and grabs his wallet, his keys and his crutch.

Right before he leaves, on a whim, he grabs a pen and a pad of sticky notes and writes SORRY. HAD SOMETHING TO DO. in capital letters. He sticks the note on his front door and sets the alarm.

Maybe this is his breaking point.

Forrest looks truly surprised when Alex shows up on his doorstep. He had to look up the actual address, since Forrest doesn't actually live in the barn where they met, and the Longs have several properties in the same area. He wouldn't want to knock on an random door and run into Wyatt.

“Hi,” Alex says.

“Is that voice in your head already gone?” Forrest asks.

“Not exactly. I just...thought you should hold all the cards.”

Forrest stares at him for a moment, thinking. “Alright,” he says. “Come in, then.”

The house is really more of a cabin, small and wooden all around. The inside is very different from Jim Valenti's cabin, though, and it screams Forrest. It seems this man really is what he shows to the outside, an open book.

The opposite of Alex, in a way.

“Sit down,” Forrest says. “I was just making coffee, you want some?”

“Sure. Black, please.”

Alex sits down on a comfortable couch covered with a patterned comforter while Forrest pours them both mugs in the tiny kitchen area.

“So, what did you want to say?”

Alex takes a deep inspiration. Despite his coming here being a heat of the moment thing, he's tried to practice his words in his car. He's not good with words, but it all comes down to what Kyle said last night.

“You asked me about my PTSD triggers, yesterday,” he says.

“Yes,” Forrest agrees carefully.

“You know, the funny thing is that no one's ever asked me that before. Beside my therapist, I mean. Most of my friends don't know I have PTSD, and the one who does usually doesn't need to ask.”

“Alien guy?” Forrest asks curiously.

“No. My relationship with Michael is more complicated. He has his own issues.”

“Okay. So you want to tell me about your triggers?”

“How they relate to what we talked about,” Alex says. “Being closeted. It's not that I don't want to come out. Sure, I wasn't out in the Air Force during DADT and that was hell, but here...I haven't been in the closet in this town since early high school. Everyone who knows me here knows I'm gay, and I'm fine with that.”

“Then what is it?” Forrest asks.

Alex bites his lip, then takes the plunge. “The last time I really pissed off a homophobe, it didn't end well for the guy I was with.”

“What do you mean? Did you get assaulted?”

“Yeah, you could say that. He went at my...boyfriend's hand with a hammer.”

Forrest covers his mouth with his hand in shock.

“I was seventeen,” Alex continues. “It was my father.”

“Fuck, Alex, I−”

Alex waves it off. “Don't apologize. I just...I wanted you to know. I'm not in the closet. But ever since that day, I haven't been able to be with someone and feel completely safe.”

“Of course,” Forrest murmurs. “Was your father generally abusive? Or did he snap?”

“He didn't start hitting me until he figured out I was gay, but he basically raised us−me and my brothers−as if we were in basic training,” Alex says. “After the...accident, he made me enlist, and I didn't come back to Roswell until a few months ago.”

“That's, wow, that's a lot. I thought my family was bad.”

“There's no comparison to make,” Alex shrugs. “You're brave enough to be proud of who you are in spite of them. I...I'm trying to get there. But it's hard.”

“I get that,” Forrest nods. “I understand it better now. Something didn't quite make sense about you.”

Alex thinks of Michael, of aliens and the secret lab and his classified work. He thinks of his father in the hospital, and being unable to just let him fall. He thinks of last night in the supermarket. “I don't make a lot of sense,” he says. “Which is why I completely get that you don't want to try something with me. I just wanted you to know.”

Forrest pauses and looks him up and down. “You know, maybe...I've put my standards very high, because I've been burned too many times, but so far you met everyone of them easily, except for this one. Maybe it's unrealistic. Maybe I shouldn't let you go, just because you're not quite ready to kiss me in public.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I like you Alex. I really like you, and I'm guessing the fact that you came all the way out here means you feel the same. So maybe those standards were just me closing myself off from opportunities. Maybe I should give this a chance.”

Alex smiles.

#roswell new mexico #alex manes #kyle valenti #forest long #forlex #2x08 coda #anti malexa #trying to tag appropriately #tell me if i miss something #rnm s2 #rnm fanfiction #mine #echo's fanfiction

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theta8 · 3 years

Text

One Last Prayer, a 15x20 Coda

Part 1 of I’m not sure how many. The finale had me feeling a way, so I’ve decided to reject canon and write this instead.

AO3 will be added in the morning.

Word Count: 1380

Summary: This is the end of the road for Dean. He’s fading fast, and with his dying breaths reaches out to someone who he believes is dead. Little did he know that prayer would be answered.

Dean felt the cold metal slide easily into his back. He didn’t move, barely breathed, for fear of it being his last. He wasn’t much of a doctor, but he was pretty sure this is what a punctured lung felt like. He couldn’t quite catch his breath.

Sam had walked over, tried to pull him off. He said no. If he moves now, he won’t get to say what he needs to say. It’s too late. He can already feel a cold numbness crawling up his legs.

His mouth was moving and words were coming out. One at a time, the great Final Speech he’d always thought he’d give one of these days. Who knew it would be so soon after everything.

His mind raced, still coming to terms with killing God, losing Jack, and…

Oh, Cas…

He’d never gotten the chance to find a way into the Empty. He told himself that he’d do it later, that he just needed a moment to rest and bask in his true free will. The truth was that he was afraid. The empty wasn’t an easy place to get into, and he was afraid of losing himself over not finding a way to get Cas back. He didn’t let himself think about it, of course, because he would end up spiraling. If he lost himself in that hole, then he would never climb back out. So he ate pie instead, hunted monsters, and apparently hung from a rusty nail in a barn.

Sam had started crying. Dean wasn’t sure when that had started thanks to his fading vision. He was trying to focus, trying to articulate himself in one direction while his mind followed a different path entirely. In between hitching breaths and broken words, he made a little prayer.

Cas, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m going to try anyway.

He felt the rod pushing against the inside of his chest.

It looks like this is it for me. Didn’t last too long, huh? So much for that open road, I guess.

Sam was telling him to hold on, but the cold had already grabbed his fingers.

There’s something I gotta tell you, Cas, before I go.

His breath hitched as he felt blood rise in his throat.

What you said to me in the dungeon, before you were… I hope you can hear me, Cas.

Sam’s hand was pressed against his own, telling him to rest. Damn, a nap sounded amazing right now, but he had to finish something first.

You have always been there for me, but I was never there when you needed me, and I’m so fucking sorry Cas. I should’ve found you before this. I should’ve told you then and there.

He felt his grip fading as a tear rolled down his cheek.

Cas, I love you. Good bye.

Just as Dean felt himself slipping into nothingness, a crack of thunder shook the wooden structure. Despite his blurring vision, Dean’s eyes snapped open. He focused on Sam’s face, fear and pain evident as his eyes scanned the room. The barn doors blew open, wood splintering across the floor. Dean looked out of the corner of his eye, but his tunneling vision prevented him from properly seeing whatever was walking towards them. Sparks suddenly rained down as bulb after bulb blew over head. Sam took a few steps back, his mouth saying something that Dean couldn’t hear. The buzzing in his ears was oppressive, and all he wanted was to go to sleep. He couldn’t, of course, because Sam was still in danger.

Dean wasn’t stupid. He remembered the last time he witnessed an over-the-top entrance like this. This angelic douchebag had the nerve to walk in here just like Cas had more than a decade ago. To say Dean was pissed wouldn’t cover the half of it. He mustered all of his dwindling strength, trying to focus on the figure that was skirting the edges of his fading vision, and yelled out the best he could.

“Hey, Dickless, ya got a problem?”

He may not be able to do much, but Dean was absolutely going to be a distraction for Sam. He was dying anyway, so Sam might as well get a chance to run. His blurring vision found Sam again, and his brother was smiling. He looked relieved, almost, as he said something to the intruder that was still just out of sight.

Before he could even question his brother’s sudden mood shift, his vision filled with an ocean of blue. He felt a pressure on his chest as warmth and comfort flooded his entire being. Then he was coming off of the nail, steadily being pulled forward into someone’s arms. A hand found the hole in his back, warmth erupting there and coursing through his entire being as he felt it heal. Slowly, he brought his hands to the back of the being holding him. He found a familiar fabric. He blinked his vision clear and saw that it was the back of a person in a tan coat. The ringing in his ears finally quieted as the warmth dispersed throughout his body, slowly fading.

“Hello, Dean,” a gravelly voice whispered in his ear.

“Cas,” he breathed back, barely believing that this was happening. He pulled himself away, not entirely wanting to but instead needing to. He had to see him.

And there he was. Dark hair, twisted tie, and eyes that were the most beautiful blue he’d ever seen. Castiel was here. Castiel was alive!

Dean, barely able to hold himself back, dove back into the angel’s embrace. “Cas, man, I thought you were…” He didn’t want to finish the thought.

“With Jack being the new God, he was able to raise me from the Empty. They’d come to an understanding, I believe. He repairs the Empty’s realm in exchange for angels.”

It took all of Dean’s willpower to not laugh then and there. Their kid had done good.

“Say, Cas,” Dean pulled away, looking back into the angel’s eyes. “How’d you get down here so fast? Were you tailing us?”

“I was actually in Heaven, working on the new changes, when I heard your prayer. In addition to reviving many of us, he gave us our wings back. I flew down here as quick as I could.”

Dean was blushing now. Cas had heard everything? That he hadn’t expected. Then again, he also didn’t expect to be alive still. “Then you know?”

“Yes, Dean, and you know how I feel.”

In that case… Dean leaned forward, easily pressing his lips to Cas’.

Somewhere he thought he heard Sam yell, “Fucking finally!” Dean couldn’t worry about that now. He was here, kissing his angel, and finally free. Unquestionably free to do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted.

Whoever I wanted, he thought as he pulled away from Cas.

“Dean, that was--”

“Cas, hang on a minute. I got something I want--need to say.” Just out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam getting the two kids out of the barn. Even though it was obvious he had just been crying, Sam looked truly happy. Dean smiled to himself, trying to forget those few minutes he spent hanging.

“Cas, you are the most caring, selfless, loyal angel I know. You abandoned Heaven several times for me and Sam. You devoted your life, even when you were human, to trying to save this planet. And I, being the dumbass that I am, never thanked you enough for that. I may have changed you, but you let me see that I wasn’t just a killer. You are not just a soldier with a crack in your chassis. We can be anything we want to be. But, and this is the important part, we can be together. Castiel, angel of the lord, I love you!”

Cas smiled, wide and bright and genuine. The last time Dean had seen him this happy, the Empty had ripped him away before Dean had any time to even process what he had heard.

Not this time. Not ever again.

Dean easily laced his fingers with Cas’. “So, after we get the kids somewhere safe, howzabout we head on home?”

“I would like that very much.”

#spn #destiel #15x20 coda #One Last Prayer

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raywritesthings · 4 years

Text

Fade In, Fade Out: Coda

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Earth-2 Laurel Lance, Earth-2 Oliver Queen Pairing: Earth-2 Laurel Lance/Earth-2 Oliver Queen Summary: Now that Black Siren has brought back her doppelganger, there's not much left for her to do on Earth-1 or Earth-2. The multiverse provides an alternative. A follow-up to Fade In, Fade Out. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

She was kind of pissed off about it, actually.

Laurel had kept an eye and ear out for any Star City news, just in case Diaz had had men follow her or realized her deception in restoring her doppelganger to the world. But she’d barely gotten through more than five articles at a computer terminal in Mumbai before coming across a headline detailing the capture of Ricardo Diaz by federal agents after a building collapse.

A building collapse. She had just… walked right in there and done it? Ugh, other her was so perfect it was sickening.

A few tabloid-style publications had picked up the story that Felicity Smoak had moved out of the city as well, and that Oliver Queen seemed to be spending a lot more time with his old flame instead. Laurel decided to stop paying attention to the Star City news after that. The her from this Earth could go on and have her perfect life with her living dad and Oliver. It didn’t matter to her. They’d never been hers to begin with, no matter their lame and halting entreaties to the contrary.

But where did that leave her on this Earth?

She laid low for a while, on the move constantly. She stole only what she needed to survive, because anything bigger would get her noticed. By the authorities or by the next strongman to come into her life. She was so sick of being the bitch on a leash for one of them. Maybe she was just getting old, but she was so tired of it all. It wasn’t fun. It just sucked.

What if she could have been the good girl, the hero like her other self? It wouldn’t have worked here; she’d burned too many bridges, pissed off too many people. She kept expecting Dinah Drake to jump out of the shadows with some corny line about how she was putting her down for good. And she hadn’t even wanted to kill Vince.

Home would be no better. Assuming she could even explain where she had disappeared to for two years, people had seen her face while fighting for Zoom. She’d be rounded up and tossed in a cell, though at least that would hopefully mean regular meals. In either direction, she was facing a pretty meager existence.

It was these thoughts that had her sprawled across the crap mattress of a cheap motel one morning, too unmotivated to bother getting up, when the wall beside her bed suddenly rippled with bright light. Laurel rolled off the bed and stood in one fluid movement, reaching for the gun that she’d stored in the bedside table, but she stopped when a man stepped out of it.

“Oh, it’s you.”

“Yes, it is me,” said Oliver. He was dressed in jeans, a sweater and jacket and had boots on that would be suited for hiking. Must’ve been a day off from all the politicking.

“Okay, what are you doing here? I gave you your bird back, what more do you want?”

But he shook his head, a smile blooming on his face as he slowly walked around the bed. “No, Laurel, it’s me.” He reached out to cup her face. “It’s Ollie.”

His eyes were different, his voice, and it was calling back to her through the years.

She froze. “Ollie? That’s not — you’re dead.”

“I’m not. I should’ve been, but then…”

“Then what?” She stepped back, ripping out of his hold. “If this is some kind of trick, so help me—”

“It’s not, I’m just trying to find the right words,” he said, one hand raised in the air palm-up. “I was going to drown, but then I was saved by… well, basically some kind of god. His name’s Novu.”

“What?” Her face scrunched up. That wasn’t even a name.

“He’s also called the Monitor. And his job is to stop this thing called Crisis that’s coming for all the Earths. Since I was supposed to die, that made me the perfect candidate to be his agent of sorts. I’ve been traveling the multiverse, helping prepare the heroes on each one for Crisis.”

“So, you’ve been out there this whole time,” Laurel began, struggling to wrap her head around this. “And you never once thought it might be nice to tell me you weren’t dead?”

“I know.” He hung his head. “I haven’t been to Earth 2 in over ten years. I didn’t know what was happening back home. Believe me, I was not happy with Novu when he finally told me some of what you’d been through.”

“You mean what I’ve done.” She looked down, her eyes feeling hot and heavy with tears that threatened to spill. Laurel had always told herself that at least her Ollie had never had to find out what she’d become over the years, and now he was here, telling her he knew? How could he even look at her?

“A lot of what you have done is survive. You’ve been so alone, Laurel, and how were you going to decide to be some kind of hero if you had nothing to fight for?” He was approaching her more slowly this time, giving her plenty of opportunity to back away again. “Not everything I’ve done for Novu would be called heroic, either. But I know you, and I know you can turn over a new leaf if someone gives you the chance.”

“My doppelganger’s dad gave me one, and I ditched,” she pointed out.

“After bringing his daughter back to life. And really, Laurel, I think deep down that wasn’t just the selfish action you think it was.”

She wasn’t used to someone knowing her like this. It had been so long since she had seen him, and she had assumed that if she were to ever somehow meet her Ollie again that he wouldn’t recognize her. But he was here and telling her he did.

“Why are you here now? I mean, why wait so long?”

“It took me a long while to realize what I was doing for Novu was necessary, and not just to save my own life. But I’ve proven my worth and earned his trust. He felt I could do more with a partner. I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone but you,” he told her, grinning again in a boyish sort of way that took some of the years off him and made him look even more the way she remembered. “And now that you’ve brought back this Earth’s Dinah Laurel Lance and inadvertently restored some of their timeline, you don’t have to remain on any one Earth either.”

“So… I’d be traveling the multiverse for this god-guy?” If not for the fact that she was literally standing in a parallel universe, she would have never believed it.

“With me,” Ollie added helpfully.

“With you,” she repeated, her voice soft. This was still so unbelievable. Since when did she get this kind of lucky? “Well, in that case… how can I say no?”

What the hell? She didn’t have anything to lose. And if this wasn’t some bizarre dream and it really was her Ollie, she was never letting him go again.

Laurel launched herself forward. He caught her in his arms, but she stilled because something was weird with his left one. Laurel pulled back and took his hand, realizing it wasn’t actually flesh and blood, but some kind of prosthetic. “What happened?”

He let out a soft laugh. “Uh, yeah, it’s gotten complicated along the way sometimes. Long story.”

“You’re gonna have all the time in the multiverse to tell me. And this is just proof this Novu guy should’ve brought me on earlier.” She was never letting him get hurt like this again.

“Yes, it is, pretty bird,” he agreed readily. Then he leaned in, and Laurel closed her eyes as she felt his lips on hers for the first time in over a decade. This, she knew, couldn’t be faked.

When they parted, he took her hand in his regular right one and gestures towards the weird ripples in the wall. “Shall we?”

Laurel smiled. A real smile, not a fake one for undercover or a smirk or a sneer. “We shall.”

So maybe her doppelganger had gotten her hero’s happy ending after all. Laurel didn’t mind that so much anymore.

#lauriver #laurel x oliver #arrow #black siren #laurel lance #oliver queen #my writing

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gii-heylittleangel · 4 years

Text

SPN Coda 15x08 - “Our Father, Who Aren’t In Heaven”

Hey peeps, how are you? Excited for the holidays? I know this took a while to be posted but I really had no time or energy to do it. But, hopefully, I’ll be back to writing and posting some more during my vacation. I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think of it. :D

Read it on AO3 or keep reading it here!

Dean watched as Adam walked away, his footsteps echoing throughout the hallway and his words in Dean’s head; Since when do we get what we deserve? If Dean didn’t know any better, he would say that Adam knew there was something between Dean and Cas if the look he gave the two of them was anything to go by. It was Cas’s footsteps that took Dean away from his thoughts, causing him to turn and see Cas walking towards the rift.

He hesitated as Cas got closer to the rift, not sure what to do; he knew he should follow Cas as both of them needed to go but he didn’t want to. Going back to Purgatory wasn’t something he wanted either, especially at that moment; the memories were too difficult to bear and he was afraid Cas would leave him once again when they get there—it wasn’t Dean’s place to think that as if let Cas walk away just mere weeks ago but he couldn’t help himself. Also, what if Eileen and Sam came back and they weren’t there? Maybe someone should stay back, just in case.

“Dean?” Cas turned to him with a brow raised in question. “Is everything okay?”

His mouth opened and closed but no sound came from it. He was being childish, he knew that, they only needed to go and get the flower, it wasn't going to be more than twelve hours, but it was still hard for Dean. He sighed as Cas frowned at him, a curious look in his eyes.

"Maybe… Shouldn't one of us stay here? Just, just in case Sam and Eileen come back before the twelve hours?"

"Dean, it'll be faster if we're both there. And going alone is practically suicide. Surviving alone there is…"

Dean's expression made Cas trail off, the words dying on his lips, and Dean knew he was probably thinking the same thing: of how Cas left Dean to survive alone there eight years before.

Grabbing his phone, Dean texted Sam a brief explanation about where he and Cas were going. "Fine, let's go then. Sam will know what's up when he reads the text."

Cas nodded slightly, eyes avoiding Dean's. Dean checked himself for his angel blade, putting it under his waistband, and walked until he was by Cas's side. He raised his hand and waited until Cas raised his, and they both touched the rift at the same time.

It was just like when they went to the Apocalypse World; it seemed like all of his cells were being ripped off of his body and then being glued together somewhere else. It wasn't painful but it was uncomfortable and Dean would be more than happy if he never had to do it again.

When he opens his eyes, it looks just like he remembered: everything was darker, a smell of death and blood was in the air, and nothing seemed alive. It made Dean shiver with old memories in his mind and his first instinct was to reach for Cas's hand. He stopped himself halfway but knew that Cas noticed it.

"You're not gonna disappear, right?" He tried to keep his voice angry but it came out desperate; just as he felt.

Cas stepped a little closer to him, close enough for Dean to feel the warmth radiating from him, and shook his head. "I won't."

Dean let out a quiet sigh of relief and went for his angel blade as Cas went for his. They walked slowly, head snapping back and forth to check all the angles. Everything seemed quiet, almost too quiet for Dean's taste, and all that Dean could hear was his and Cas's breathing.

They didn't make for ten steps before everything changed; four monsters jumped on them out of nowhere and Dean didn't even have time to turn and stab at one of them with his angel blade while he tried to hold the other away from him. Cas only seemed annoyed at the ones on him, stabbing one with one hand while he used his grace to kill the other.

Show off, Dean thought as he tried to roll away. The monster—a werewolf from the way it growled—followed him, trying to pin Dean's hand on the ground. Dean squirmed under the weight until he managed to bump his elbow on its arm and throw its balance off. Dean turned them and pressed the angel blade on top of his heart.

"What do you know about a Leviathan blossom?"

The werewolf growled and stopped squirming when Dean forced the blade down until it broke the skin.

"I won't ask again," Dean said through his teeth.

Cas walked to them, staring down with bored eyes and crossed arms. The werewolf looked at both of them, still trying to take his hand from Dean's grip, until a chuckle grabbed their attention.

Dena turned to see Benny with a machete resting on his shoulder, a brow raised, and a smirk on his lips.

"Looks like you can't stay away for too long, huh, chief?”

***

“Alright, the rift’s there.” Dean jumped over the body on his feet, turning his head to make sure they weren’t being followed. “We just need to cross it and then we’ll be home.”

Benny was ahead of them, Cas right behind him and Dean behind Cas, a few feet between them. Dean looked around them with his angel blade raised up, ears and eyes open for any sound or movement. It seemed like they had finally managed to foil the Leviathans that were behind them; who would’ve known that a flower could be so freaking guarded?

As they got closer to the rift, Dean started to think they would finally be able to get out of there, that they would finally be back home and one step closer to getting rid of Chuck, but everything went wrong in a matter of minutes; Benny was practically at the rift, the Leviathan blossom was secure in Cas’s hand, and there weren’t any monsters around them. Benny turned to Cas and Dean with his permanent smile on his lips.

“I’ll see you on the other side.”

Dean managed to smile at him before Benny crossed the rift and disappeared. Cas walked to it as Dean kept his back to him, looking around to make sure no one would try and take on Cas. It was at that moment that everything went wrong; six Leviathans circled them, separating Cas and Dean. Tightening his hold on the angel blade, Dean spun on the place, trying to look at all six at the same time.

“C’mon, fellas, it’s just a flower. I’m sure you can just find another one.”

Neither of the six said anything, just growled at Dean, one of them opening its mouth and showing its horrible pointy teeth as it snarled. Dean shuddered with the thought of being eaten by it; it certainly wasn’t going to be pretty and it would be painful as hell. He saw Cas hesitating at the rift, right hand white as he held the angel blade tightly and the left one closed around the flower.

The Leviathans didn’t seem to notice Cas until he stepped forward to kill one of them. When they noticed the flower in Cas’s hand, they completely forgot about Dean; the six of them went straight to Cas, mouths open and snarling. Dean’s watch beeped and he knew they didn’t have enough time; Cas had to go and he had to go now.

Dean ran to the Leviathan that was closest to Cas, angel blade pointed to its neck. Dean knew it wouldn't do much but at least he would give time for Cas to run away; time enough for him to cross the rift and get to the safety of the bunker.

He managed to throw the Leviathan to the side as he pulled the blade, turning to the other on his right. Cas was frozen in place, staring at Dean as the rift started to close behind him.

"Cas! Go! The rift's closing."

Cas seemed to get startled by Dean's scream, turning to look at the rift. "You need to come with me, Dean."

Dean shook his head as he tried to keep the Leviathan's teeth away from his face. "Go! You have the flower, you can beat Chuck. I'll be fine."

Cas opened and closed his mouth, head snapping back and forth, and Dean could see the suffering and hesitancy in Cas's eyes. Managing to push the Leviathan away from him, Dean rushed to Cas and pushed him to the rift.

"Go! We can't lose this one, Cas, I'll be fine."

Cas stumbled backwards until he got close to the rift, his right hand letting go of the blade as he tried to hold Dean's hand. A Leviathan pulled Dean just as their fingers brushed and Cas finally got sucked by the rift, Dean's name dying on his lips as the rift closed, leaving Dean in the hands of the Leviathans.

There were three more now and Dean did not see a way out where he would still be alive after the fight; the only thing he thought was that he was finally going to find out how it felt to die being chewed by those ugly teeth.

Cas, if you can hear me, Dean thought as he stabbed the Leviathan holding him, just kill Chuck. I've found my way out once, I'll do it again. Another Leviathan threw itself on top of Dean and he blindly tried to find the blade that Cas had dropped. But if I don't, I'm so sorry, Cas, I really am.

Two more Leviathans joined the one on top of him and he saw as another one kicked the blade away. Okay, Dean thought as he tried to keep the teeth from his face, maybe I won't find my way out this time.

#littleangelwrites #destiel coda #spn coda #spn spoilers #spoilers #15x08 #spn 15x08

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profoundnet · 4 years

Text

Profound Member Post - November/December 2019

Header by @cryptomoon and is available on merch from her redbubble store. You can use all those fancy emojis (and more!) on our Discord server!

The Masterpost is open for all creations by ProfoundBond members which are posted in their entirety during that month.

MEMBER CONTRIBUTIONS FOR NOVEMBER/DECEMBER 2019!

Masterpost below the cut.

JessJessTheBest - @saywhatjessie - JessJessTheBest

Forgot all prayers (of joining you)

Dean had forgotten how real and close emotions were when he was here. When he was this close to Cas. When there was nothing between them but time. He wasn’t saying any of this right. His words weren’t working. He couldn’t make his mouth cooperate. But maybe… Or Dean prays to Cas in purgatory. (s15 e08 coda)

Tags: s15 e08 coda, Dean Winchester prays to Castiel, Mild hurt/comfort

SFW

One Hell of a Pilot

He leaned again to get close to the pilot. “This is a rescue. I’m helping you escape.” He took a deep breath, letting it sink in for just a moment that he said those words. That he was doing this. There was no going back. Or Cas is a reformed Stormtrooper, Dean is a rebel pilot, and this is the story of their escape.

Tags: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Star Wars: The Force Awakens Spoilers, It's literally just the first 36 minutes of TFA, Poe!Dean, Finn!Cas

SFW

The_Madness_Linked_To_A_Hat - @the-madness-linked-to-a-hat - The_Madness_Linked_To_A_Hat

Happy Holidays Cas

Where Dean and Cas follow a seasonal tradition.

Tags: Mistletoe, first kiss, happy holidays SFW

Isangelousdenim - @isangelousdenim - Isangelousdenim

Wishful Drinking

It started with Dean drinking on a case. It escalated to Dean drinking everywhere.

Tags: TW: Suicidal Thoughts, Violent Thoughts & Alcohol Abuse Character Study, Season 15, Heavy Angst

NSFW

Co-written by: Bumocusal

goldenraeofsun - @goldenraeofsun - goldenraeofsun

Head Down, Walk with Reason

As an omega, Castiel is ineligible for the throne after his father dies. When his uncle takes the crown, Metatron's first order of business is to arrange a betrothal with King John for the hand of his firstborn son, the Crown Prince of Terra.

So Castiel flees. His first night on the run, Castiel stumbles into a band of outlaws just at the border. Injured and wary, he has no choice to stay with them. And although he had planned to return to his own kingdom once it was safe, home might not be the place he left, but instead with Dean, their alpha leader that took him in.

Tags: a/b/o, medieval au, royalty au, omega cas, alpha dean, secret identities, angst with a happy ending, castiel and meg friendship NSFW

MaggieMaybe160 - @maggiemaybe160 - MaggieMaybe160

A Thanksgiving Feast

Dean Winchester's dirty prayer before Thanksgiving dinner leads to some shenanigans under the table. Tags: Food Kink. Top Cas/Bottom Dean.

NSFW

One Night

An accidental one night stand between Castiel and Dean leads to whispered confessions and miscommunications.

Tags: Internalized Homophobia. John Winchester's A+ Parenting. Angst with a happy ending. NSFW

followyourenergy - followyourenergy

Christmas in July

When Dean Winchester follows a service dog who won’t leave him alone, he finds Cas Novak, passed out in a stairwell with a Christmas tree on top of him. A Christmas tree? In July? Who does that? Turns out that Cas does that. And once he gets to know the snarky, independent, handsome man, Dean can’t help but fall for him. A story about being seen.

Tags: Christmas, fluff and angst, pining, blind Castiel, service dogs, snarky Castiel, sweet Dean, falling in love

NSFW

Nickelkeep - @nickelkeep - nickelkeep Pillowfort

Talk to Me Now

It started off simple. An ad on Craig's List: Looking for a Roommate, 700/mo, Utilities included...

Tags: AU - Roommates, idiots to lovers, pranks and practical jokes, misunderstandings, comfortably bisexual dean, queer castiel

NSFW

Stuck in the Middle With You

"Fine." Cas slid his right pointer finger into the trap and almost instantly felt the trap snap around their fingers. "That's not right." Dean looked up at Cas. "What did you do?" Cas attempted to pull his finger out of the trap. "I didn't do anything."

Tags: canonverse, cursed object, idiots to lovers, homophobic language, everyone ships dean/cas, love confessions

NSFW

What I Thought I Knew

Dean rolls his eyes and turns to go back to the kitchen when his eyes lock on a guy across the room. He has dark, messy hair and eyes that cannot possibly be so blue. He stares for a moment, ripping his eyes away only when he realizes the other guy has caught him staring. Dean blushes and rushes back into the kitchen. Tags: AU - Modern, Strangers to Lovers, One-sided Enemies to Lovers, Objectification, Miscommunication, Dub-con Kiss

NSFW

Slice of Your Pie

He pulled up the Casual Encounters section of Craig's List and was surprised to find out how right Gabe was. Many people were offering their services for Thanksgiving company. As he scrolled through the ads, one with an interesting title caught his attention. Alone on Thanksgiving? Want to stop the ‘Why are you still single?’ questions?

Tags: AU - Modern, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dysfunctional Family, Crush at first sight, pre-Dean/Cas, Homophobic Language, Sexism

NSFW

Shiver

"I wouldn't leave it there. I grabbed the most important things and left." Dean shook his head vehemently. "Are you sure?" Sam's face started to crinkle up in an 'I told you so' expression. "Did you really get everything before you ran and asked to crash with your baby brother and his wife?" Dean glared at Sam. "I don't want to go back. It can't be there."

Tags: AU - Modern with Magic, Witch!Cas, Witch!Dean, Blizzards, Car Accident, Getting Back Together, Angst with a Happy Ending

NSFW

Angel

Overcome by a moment of whimsy, Dean walked down the stairs and stepped into the middle of the yard. He looked towards the sky and closed his eyes, letting the snowflakes gently kiss his skin. Tags: Canon Compliant, Fallen!Cas, Snow Angels, Marriage Proposal, Established Dean/Cas, Short and Sweet

SFW

Chandeliers of Hope

"You seriously Christmas themed our D&D game?" Dean rolled his eyes in disbelief. Charlie walked over and patted Dean on the cheek before taking some of the candlesticks out of Cas' arms. "Of course, I did. You said to write what I wanted, I wrote tonight's campaign. It's a one-shot, and it's going to be a lot of fun, I promise." "Gonna hold you to that, Red." Dean pointed at her accusingly before looking and smiling at Cas. "And I'm going to hold you as an accomplice."

Tags: AU - Roommates, Christmas Party, Characters playing D&D, Recreational Marijuana Use, Alcohol Use, Mistletoe Kiss, Cas/Dean First Kiss, Idiots to Lovers

NSFW

A Cold, Dark Winter’s Night

Charlie pulled out a small gift bag and handed it out to everyone. "Secret Santa!" Cas rolled his eyes as Charlie came to stand in front of him, gently shaking the bag. He reached in and pulled out a slip of paper, waiting until Charlie moved to the next person. He flipped it open, and butterflies fluttered in his stomach. Dean.

Tags: AU - Roommates, Christmas Fluff, Idiots in Love, Secret Santa, Everyone Ships Dean/Cas

NSFW

Twas The Night

“It’s Christmas Eve!” “Uh, yeah.” Dean got up from his bed and walked down the hallway to Emma’s room and leaned against her doorframe. “You gonna tell me something I don’t know, Kiddo?” “We need to get started!” Emma was sitting on her floor with her back to the door. “It’s Cas’ first Christmas with us, and I want to make sure he enjoys it.”

Tags: AU - Modern, Timestamp, Domestic Dean/Cas, Established Dean/Cas, Christmas Fluff, KidFic, Marriage Proposal

SFW

You Make it Feel Like Christmas

"Well, considering I haven't had a chance to go Christmas shopping. How about you?" Sam zipped up his bag and did a second check around the hotel room. "I already took your bag out to the car." Sam crossed the room to the motel door and headed outside. Dean stood in silence for a moment as Sam closed the door behind him. Shopping, on Christmas Eve?

Tags: Canonverse, Last Minute Christmas Shopping, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Happy Ending

NSFW

Auld Lang Syne

"She's cute. You ask her out yet?" Dean stabbed his pie with his fork and shoved another bite into his mouth. "Uh, no. Why?" Dean winked. "Means she's available, right?" "No offense Dean, but you don't have a chance. She has standards." Cas took a sip of his tea and looked at his roommate. "Ouch. You wound me, Cas." Dean rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his knuckles. "Bet you I can get Meg to go to the New Year's Ball with me."

Tags: AU - Modern, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Oblivious Castiel, Eventual Dean/Cas, Dean/Cas First Kiss

SFW

Leafzelindor - @leafzelindor

Artwork for On The Road Again

Artwork done for the DCBB fic "On the Road again" Tags: destiel, fluff, au

SFW

For On The Road Again by @hekate1308

Artwork for Life is But A Dream

Artwork done for the DCBB fic "Life is but a Dream" Tags: Destiel, AU

SFW

For Life is But A Dream by @crowleyhasfeels

Jdragon122 - @jdragon122 - Jdragon122 Pillowfort

from stardust to stardust

~ from stardust to stardust ~ The art prize for the lovely gii-heylittleangel ;) who won the Destiel Artists United 500 follower giveaway! They asked for Castiel and wings XD my favorite lol. I was happy to comply <3

Tags: N/A

SFW

Jemariel - @jemariel - jemariel

Human Error

Cas is human now, and things aren't going to plan. (Not that Dean had a plan. Nope. No plans of any kind.) Anyway, what's a Winchester to do when everything he tries seems to blow up in his face? Go hunting. Obviously.

Tags: Human!Castiel, Alternate season 9, Casefic, Only One Bed, Mutual pining, Miscommunication, Sex under the influence of alcohol, Canon-typical violence, Wendigo, Injured Cas

NSFW

Sarasaurussex - @sarasaurussex - sarasaurussex

Don’t Mess with Dean’s Alpha

Dean and Castiel are enjoying a relaxing night out, until Cas gets hit on by another Omega.

Tags: Omega Dean x Alpha Cas, Possessive Omega, BAMF Dean, Jealousy, Fluff

SFW

The Wendigo

Dean has a lot of baggage from his childhood. Castiel wants to help, if Dean will let him.

Tags: PTSD trauma, parental abuse trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Healing, First Kiss, Confessions

SFW

Destiel Christmas Sweaters, Part I

I had some funny Christmas sweater ideas and couldn't resist dressing up the boys. Dean is not amused. Tags: Destiel, Crack, Humor, Christmas

SFW

Destiel Christmas Sweaters, Part II

More ugly Christmas sweaters for the boys ;D Tags: Destiel, Crack, Humor, Christmas

SFW

Miracle on Lebanon Street

The bunker gets an unexpected visitor on Christmas morning, and it’s not Santa! (Contains Destiel and Sabriel)

Tags: Ugly Christmas Sweaters, White Christmas, Gift Giving, Christmas Feast (it’s pie), Mistletoe, Fluff SFW

vaudelin - @vaudelin - vaudelin Pillowfort

of mundane things

“You never told us,” Dean hisses, during a muted conversation carried in the protective depths of the kitchen. “You got hitched to a djinn? Since when?” “I did tell you,” Cas growls back. He slams on the faucet, filling the glass with vigor. “It’s not my fault you weren’t listening.”

Tags: Alternate Season/Series 14, dream walking, Dean in Castiel's Dream, Getting Together

SFW

a tale that can’t be told

Black leather and oil scent the air around him, a welcome change from antiseptics. Impala, Castiel thinks. Baby. Except he’s not allowed to call her that. A flash of brown panelling slides through his memory, rattling on a rusted truck bed with wood for bed rails. Outside the car, the brothers are quietly arguing. Castiel cranes to listen, but he only picks out a partial phrase from Sam: Since when was he losing his powers? The snippet from Dean is even more troubling: Is Chuck fucking with us by giving him a factory reset?

Tags: Alternate Season/Series 15, Castiel Losing His Powers, Human Castiel, Memory Loss, Dean's Top 13 Zepp Traxx Mixtape, Castiel's Missing Brown Truck, Getting Together, Sharing a Bed, Hopeful Ending

NSFW

low voices in the library (are appreciated)

Sam moved, though in which direction Dean couldn’t yet tell. Not the library, Dean mentally begged. He didn’t want to deal with the scene Sam was about to stumble into, let alone its know-it-all aftermath. Tags: Library Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex

NSFW

a handful of seeds

Dean paused in his chopping. He swiped the green pepper chunks into a neat pile on the cutting board. He was running out of excuses to make. Weakly, he asked, “Where would I even keep a garden?” Cas, sensing victory, rose up in height. “Behind the bunker entrance, in the patch of earth lined by mulberry bushes.” Dean cursed, caught out. “Why’d you even bother to ask, if you already knew?” Softening, Cas gave a small smile. “I’d like to add to it, if that’s okay.”

Tags: Mary Winchester Feels, Gardens & Gardening, Domestic Fluff

SFW

LanaSerra - @lanaserra - LanaSerra & Spandwiches - @spandwiches - spandwiches

300cc

300 Complementary Characters: a forum on Kansas City University’s student website. You can write whatever you want, but it has to be 300 characters or less. Dean is crushing hard on Sam’s TA, but it feels different than it has before; it feels like he needs to do it properly, to have a grand declaration and to prove that romance isn’t dead. What better way to profess his feelings than posting a poem on 300cc? Castiel is torn. There’s no mistaking the poem is for him, but who could be posting them? Despite being very tempted by the very attractive new light and sound engineer that will be working on the play he has written, Castiel can’t ignore the feeling that he and the anonymous Poet are meant to be together. A comedy of errors, mutual pining, and erotic poetry.

Tags: college-au, two person love triangle, explicit poetry, fluff, the boys fail to use their words while using ALL of their words, consent is sexy, POV switching, explicit, minor Sam/Eileen

NSFW

MittensMorgul - @mittensmorgul - MittensWraith

This Must Be The Place

Seven years after their profound meeting, Cas knows he's exactly where he was always meant to be. (a sequel to Lifetime Piling Up, but can be read as a standalone)

Tags: Doctor Castiel/Tattoo Artist Dean, Established Relationship, Marriage Proposal, Fluff

SFW

On This Night

Something goes terribly wrong while hunting a djinn. Newly-human Cas had never considered what the effects of djinn poison could be for a human, and struggles to remember why everything seems just so slightly off when he wakes up back at the cabin he and Dean had been staying in during the hunt. The cabin has been transformed with holiday decorations, and Cas wonders just how long he'd been unconscious. Only when he tries to get answers from Dean, reality comes crashing back in on them both, in the best of all possible ways. Tags: Canon case fic, Christmas Fluff, snowed in, first kiss, POV Castiel, djinn dreams

SFW

firefly124 - @firefly124-writing - firefly124

Making It Up as We Go

Dean’s not entirely sure what he’s looking at, but he’s almost sure it’s a message from Chuck.

Tags: mentions of past (temporary) MCD, spoilers through SPN 15x06

SFW

Something Bright to Dispel the Gloom

A road trip to Salina had sounded like a good idea when Dean had suggested it. Cas hadn’t been back for long, though, and this was shaping up to be the world’s most awkward road trip ever.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07

SFW

Crumblin’ Down

Dean’s feeling nostalgic. Cas is mystified. Sam is oblivious.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07

SFW

Overdue Explanations are Overdue

If Dean thought this day had been a rollercoaster ride before, he didn’t know what to compare it to now.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07, reference to past (temporary) MCD

SFW

Faith, Hope, and Maybe Something Else

Castiel figured he’d probably just ensured that the Empty would never come for him.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07, reference to canon character deaths

SFW

The Choices We Make

Castiel takes a moment to reflect on the choices he has made as well as those others have made, and is presented with a new one to consider.

Tags: spoilers through SPN 15x07

SFW

Wargurl - @wargurl83 - wargurl83

Christmas in the Bunker

Join TFW as they discover a little bit of the magic of the season. Tags: Cannon-Divergent, holiday shenanigans

SFW

#member masterpost #members masterpost #profoundnet monthly masterpost #November masterpost #December masterpost #profoundnet #deancasreclist #member art #member fic

6 notes · View notes

sortasirius · 4 years

Text

Unloveable

Pairing: Dean/Cas, as per usual lol

AN: A 15x03 Coda which definitely stems from my Personal Issues that are going on, but what can I do but write? This is very very very VERY angsty and there’s no way around it lmao.

Warnings: A G N S T, John Winchester’s shitty/physically abusive parenting

Words: 1580

Up on my AO3 here.

Dean had known a lot of different kinds of heartbreak. He’d lost his mother, his father, his friends, his brother, his first love, his youth, his innocence, but he never thought, really, that he’d lose Cas.

This wasn’t the heartbreak he had felt when Cassie had dumped him. That was a sharp pain, like someone was stabbing him with a thousand tiny needles. It wasn’t the heartbreak when he had left Lisa and Ben. That was a ripping sensation, like his heart was being torn in half, two pieces fluttering to the floor. As Cas’ footsteps faded, it was more all-consuming. An all over ache that he couldn’t shake, like someone had taken his heart and squeezed a little too hard.

This was his fault though, right? He had finally pushed Cas away, pushed him so far away that he couldn’t come back. Unloveable. That’s what John has always spit at him when he had made a mistake. Whether that was on a hunt or by not making Sam breakfast, that was John’s go to word for Dean. And Dean believed him. Everyone he had ever loved had either died or left him, pretty clear evidence that he really was unloveable.

He had operated under the assumption that what John said was true most of his life. He never stayed long, had no relationships that really lasted, and he was okay with that. Better leave before they got attached and realized what he was and beat him to it. He hid who he was in one-night stands, leaving before the sun rose every time, because if anyone saw who he was, who he really was, they’d run as fast as they could.

And then he had gone to Hell. And Allistair’s torture wasn’t just physical, though physical would have been more than enough. With each cut, snap of bone, drop of blood, it was punctuated with things that Dean had never told anyone, but Allistair could see right through him.

“Unloveable”, he would sneer, sticking a knife into Dean’s heaving chest, “Your daddy really hated you Dean. And why not? What have you ever done? You break everything you touch. You’re unloveable.”

Allistair had taught him how to break others with precision, and he spent ten years hating himself while the destroyed others on the Rack.

And then, when he was 30, Castiel had entered the scene; with cracking lightning and bright blue eyes, he had stood too close to Dean, essentially not moving for eleven years. They had been through everything together. Allistair, the Apocalypse, Sam losing his soul, Cas’ betrayal, the Leviathin, Cas’ death, Purgatory, Naomi, Cas’ death....again, Metatron, Amara, Lucifer possessing Cas, the Mark of Cain, losing Cas again, raising Jack, losing Mary, losing Jack.....the list goes on.

Dean felt the pressure in his chest tighten, like he had been running a race, he felt out of breath, tears sprang to his eyes of their own accord, falling down his face as the echo of the bunker door rang in his ears. He thought of the awful words that he had hurled at Cas, playing on the things he knew would hurt the worst. Like he wanted Cas to leave. But he didn’t really, he had never actually wanted Cas to leave.He had never thought that Cas would actually walk out the door.

And now he had proved John’s point correct. He had proved himself unloveable, even to Cas.

He stayed where he was, gripping the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white and his fingers going numb from lack of circulation. He wanted that numbness to spread all over his body, calm his aching beating heart. He was still so angry. Angry at Cas, at Chuck, at Belphegor, at Rowena, at Sam, at Mary, at John, at the whole goddamn world for making him the one that had to save everyone, that Chuck had dictated every single second of his life and made him fall so in love with a stupid angel with his black hair and his blue eyes and his broken wings.

It was Chuck’s fault that he had torn himself apart from the inside out because of how he felt about Cas. How guilty he had felt about wishing he could bridge the gap between them and take and touch and possess and that was all Chuck’s fault. He didn’t want to be like this, he didn’t want to be in love with Cas, he didn’t want to be in love with any man, and it was for Chuck’s amusement, all of it. John had beaten the shit out of him for Chuck’s amusement, he had cried in a gas station bathroom when he was seventeen years old after having to leave the first boy he’d ever kissed in Spokane, Washington, and the shame that rose in his throat? All Chuck.

Dean wished, not for the first time, but certainly the most desperately, that he couldn’t feel at all. That his soul would be dragged out of him, thrown in a box and tossed to the bottom of the ocean, because this pain made him feel like he was being turned inside out, pushed and stretched and ripped and torn and there was nothing left of his already shattered heart to give to anyone else. Not that anyone else would ever want him. He could drown himself in one night stands, get lost in neon lights and drunken touches that slurred like the words in their mouths. But that wouldn’t fix the shredded thing in his chest, only numb its presence, and he didn’t know if that would make it worse or better.

Unloveable. The word echoed in his head.

How long did he stand there? Minutes? Hours? Long enough for Sam to come upstairs and ask the words Dean knew were coming:

“Where’s Cas?”

Dean let go of the table. His fingers ached, circulation long gone.

“Moved on.”

Sam looked at him, not comprehending.

“Moved on? From what?”

“Me. Us.”

Sam was breathing hard, tears in his eyes again, but he stepped back when Dean took a step towards him.

“He’s gone? What did you say to him?”

“It’s his fault Rowena’s gone. His fault you had to-“

“You’re an idiot, Dean.”

“I-“

“I don’t even want to hear it,” Sam said, turning his back on Dean, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Cas? Hey man, can you,” Sam’s voice shook and Dean hated himself very much for what he had done, “Can you just come back? Can we talk about this? I know you couldn’t have gotten far and I’ll come look for you. Please Cas, just come back.”

Sam turned back to Dean, looking smaller than ever even though he was a foot taller than Dean, had been since he was sixteen.

“Why would you do that? Send him away?”

Dean longed to tell Sam that he couldn’t be around Cas when what he felt for Cas was fabricated. He wanted to tell Sam that he was broken beyond repair, that whatever was left of his heart couldn’t be salvaged, it lay in pieces on the floor, that this hurt him more than almost anything else, because he knew that he had fucked up, that this was wrong, but what was the alternative? Longing glances when the thought Cas couldn’t see? Touching himself at night and thinking of broad shoulders and dark hair and stormy blue eyes? Longing forever for something that Chuck would never allow him to have, that, even if he was in control, he didn’t think he would let himself have? It was better to be alone. He didn’t need attachments, when he and Sam had started this whole thing, when he was 26....so young, that was who he had been. He could go back to that. He could be alone. Because what the hell was the alternative?

“It was his choice,” was all he could say, and the words sounded hollow even to him. Sam shook his head.

“This isn’t his fault, mom, Jack, Rowena. That’s not him.”

Dean looked at the ground, he couldn’t say anything.

“And you know it,” Dean met Sam’s eyes. He could never hide anything from him. Not really.

“I-” he was scrambling to find an answer, not that he really had one, “All we need is family-“

“Cas is family, Dean, when are you gonna get that through your thick skull? I’m gonna go look for Cas.”

Dean didn’t even try to stop him. He heard the tires of the Impala pull out of the garage and he tried really really hard not to collapse to the floor.

Sam came back hours later, empty handed. He wouldn’t even look at Dean, but went straight to his room, closing the door behind him.

Dean’s own room was like the planet of Tralfamadore to him. He didn’t recognize anything in there anymore. He collapsed on his bed, drunk on his thoughts and the half a bottle of whiskey he had drank and he thought of Cas. Cas’ smile, his laugh, the way he touched Dean when he healed him. The way his face lit up when Dean started to sing in the car. His questions when they watched one of Dean’s favorite movies together. His hands. His hair. His eyes.

Dean was numb off the whiskey, but the shards of his heart still ached, knowing they would never be whole, because what was he but unloveable?

#supernatural #supernatural fanfic #spn fanfic #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #deancas fic #dean winchester #castiel #my writing #spn

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bytheangell · 5 years

Note

could you write a fic about clace and izzy comforting alec right after magnus gets taken? i love your writing so much btw, thanks!

The Dangerous Spark of Hope(Read on AO3) (3x20 coda, spoilers ahead)

Alec isn’t certain how long he kneels on the cold, stone floor. There’s a dull ache in his knees from the impact of his collapse… because that’s exactly what it was. He fell, losing not just the ability to stand but the will to. With Magnus locked away behind the rift that seals itself shut with flashes of blue stitching themselves across a sky of red, Alec can almost feel the physical disconnect of that separation. Like a piece of his soul was ripped away from him.

Maybe this was how Magnus felt without his magic. The loss of something that, in such a short time, became intrinsically bound to his happiness, his very sense of self.

He doesn’t know when he started crying again, only aware of the sobs that shake his body once he feels the hands of Isabelle and Jace on either shoulder, rising and falling with each shuddering breath. No one says anything for a while. What could they possibly say? What could comfort him in that moment, when they all know the reality of what just happened.

The horrible weight of the sacrifice Magnus made for them.

For him.

“Alec…” Jace speaks first, his voice quiet and rough, choked with barely hidden emotion at the sight of his brother like this.

Alec doesn’t look up at them. He doesn’t see Clary’s own arm reach around Jace to comfort him as he comforts Alec, or the panicked look asking for help that Jace shoots at her over Alec’s head. But Clary can’t make Jace feel any better about this situation with a touch as much as Jace can’t for Alec, and Isabelle is at just as much of a loss as the other three.

It’s Alec who speaks next.

“He’s gone.”

Alec looks down, unable to lift his head, only to catch sight of the glimpse of silver on his left hand that wasn’t there mere minutes ago. He brings his right hand over to touch it, fingers resting on either side to twist it ever so slightly in place, not wanting to risk it falling off and certainly not daring to remove it entirely. The cold metal beneath his fingertips grounds him.

His gaze finally lifts back up to where the rift in the sky was, but no longer is. The last traces of Magnus’ magic fade from the sky but the ring on his finger still feels warm with the the undercurrent of it.

“I’m so sorry, Alec.” Isabelle says with a squeeze of pressure on his shoulder.

“Me too,” Clary adds. “What he did…” her voice trails off, unable to find the words. She tries again. “Are you alr–?” but winces, cutting herself off. ��Of course you aren’t. I’m sorry…”

“What can we do?” Jace cuts her off, thankfully. Alec would never fault her for just trying to help, for trying to comfort him, but she was digging herself a pretty deep hole the longer she spoke and he doesn’t think he’s in the frame of mind not to snap at her if she says the wrong thing.

“What do you need?” Isabelle asks.

The questions are exactly what he expects from his siblings. They know him - they know that he doesn’t want to talk about his feelings, but rather the problem at hand and fixing as much as possible as quickly as possible. Alec’s always been a doer: he doesn’t want to talk about why he feels helpless, he wants to find out how to stop feeling that way.

He has to.

“I don’t know.” And it’s true. For the first time in a very long time, he has to plan. No strategy. He closes his eyes and instead of the perfect course of action manifesting behind his eyelids all he sees is a dark void.

“What Magnus did - it saved all of us. We can take care of the demons that are left without any more taking their place.” Jace hesitates, considering his next words carefully, before adding them. “You know as well as I do that if he stayed he just would’ve died along with us.”

It’s blunt, but that was always the way they got through to one another in moments like these. Honesty, however painful, to put the situation into perspective. It’s exactly the sort of thought that snaps Alec out of his previous wallowing haze.

He knows he can’t stay on the ground forever and leans back onto the balls of his feet before pushing himself upright. Jace and Izzy’s hands never leave his shoulders, supporting him when he gives the slightest waver on the way up.

There are still fresh tears escaping no matter how hard he tries to keep them back, and the moment Isabelle catches sight of them she wraps her arms around him and buries her head into his chest, dampening his shirt with her own tears. He resists for just a moment or two before ducking his head down, burying it in the soft, floral scent of her hair, taking comfort in it as the air around them fills with smoke and ichor.

Izzy’s just as tough as he and Jace are - more so, probably, though you’d rarely think to realize it, because where her brothers remain stubbornly stoic she always knows the exact moment to drop the facade and let some of those emotions through. This is exactly what Alec does. He was trying to control it, trying to keep the worst of it at bay so he could stand up and snap himself right back into dealing with the problem at hand. Except the problem at hand, for him, is no longer just the demons in Alicante.

His problem is the whole of Edom and the fiance he has trapped there. And it feels so much more important than cleaning up this mess even though he knows it shouldn’t.

So he gives in to Izzy, indulging the both of them by allowing himself this moment to properly break down now that Magnus is gone and no other Shadowhunters are in sight besides the four of them. Jace wraps an arm around them from the side, and Alec’s breathing steadies with the comforting pressure of his siblings’ arms around him.

They only break off of him when he shifts himself back and forth a bit to signal he wants to move again. His eyes are still wet, the skin around them red, but no new tears fall. His shoulders rise and fall with slightly strained breaths, but no longer shudder with sobs.

“You’re going to be alright, Alec. We’re here for you.” Jace promises, and while Alec isn’t so sure about the first part he doesn’t doubt the second part for a moment.

“Thank you,” he says, knowing the words aren’t enough. But just as much as Izzy and Jace are finding it impossible to find the right words to comfort him after his boyfriend sealed himself into the demonic realm, Alec finds it impossible to find the words to thank any comfort offered to him that isn’t Magnus back in front of him. He can’t process that he’s gone despite saying the words earlier. He can’t accept that this is it, that this is the only way to close and hold the breach.

“We’ll get him back, Alec. Don’t worry.”

His head snaps over at Clary’s words. She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand how these things work, still new and learning about the Shadow World despite all the power and influence she has over it. He knows he can’t blame her for realizing that Magnus can’t just portal back from this without the rift re-opening behind him, but he does. For a moment, he starts to get angry.

“It isn’t that simple, Clary-” Jace starts to explain, but Alec cuts him off.

“Just because you keep showing up and waving your stele around with today’s latest Mystery Rune to fix whatever problem–” but the words stop themselves short. He thinks of her rune to summon Lilith from Edom. He thinks of her portal rune. Of her resurrection rune. He thinks of every rune Clary’s ever been given a vision of that seemed impossible at the time…

…and for the first time since Magnus left, he thinks there might actually be a way to get him back.

“Sorry. I-” Alec starts, but Clary’s already shaking her head dismissively.

“It’s fine,” Clary says, meeting his gaze hesitantly. “If it wasn’t for me, you could’ve stopped Jonathan sooner. And I helped him get the sword, and now…” she sighs. “I’m going to help you fix this. Whatever it takes, alright?”

They’re looking out at the demons still attacking in droves, but Alec knows when Clary looks back at him with the smallest nod of a promise that she isn’t just talking about helping him rid Alicante of the demons.

Alec nods back.

“Let’s go. We have work to do.”

And this time when his hand reaches over to touch the ring on his finger, it doesn’t flood him with the sorrow of loss, but rather a spark of hope that courses through him like magic, fueling his first determined steps forward out of the room.

#alec lightwood #clary fray #jace herondale #isabelle lightwood #shfanficnexus #shadowhunters #malec #I accidentally got a bit too into Alec's head and a bit less with the actual comfort bits SORRY #his thoughts always run away from me once I get going jdfoashjaskld #but I hope you like it!!#elle writes a few deadbeat lines

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gemsofgreece · 5 years

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Hi there, a big goal of mine is to become fluent in Greek. Do you know of any good sources that could possibly set me on that path? Thank you!

Hey! Well, I never needed to look into it so I’m not sure what would work best. I assume you mean Modern Greek. Here’s a video of a Belgian man who learned Greek and he now speaks fluently (not perfectly but impressively well) so the method and the courses he followed may be helpful to you too.

youtube

Since I can’t help much with sources here’s some general advice on what to expect, what’s easier and what’s harder. I agree with everything the man above says except maybe for one detail:

Like the Belgian also says, Greek is challenging but NOWHERE as hard as it is stereotypically believed. I’d say, Modern Greek is like difficult German that sounds like ancient Spanish (whatever that means lol). Maybe rated 3,5-4 max out of 5 in difficulty. Definitely not a 5.

If you watch youtube lessons, DON’T watch lessons by Non-Greeks or Greek Americans etc. Always opt for native Greeks otherwise you’ll never get accurate exposure to Greek pronunciation and accents. English speakers traditionally have a hard time using correct pronunciation in Greek no matter how well they know the language and vice versa. These two languages have entirely different phonetics. Greek sounds more like Spanish or Italian. Watch a lot of Greek TV shows and movies. A lot is available on youtube.

Greek is an easy language to learn on a basic level in order to communicate but quite hard to master (that’s where the notorious difficulty rumours are earned) . After you learn the alphabet and a few basic rules about double vowels and consonants and you have a lexicon next to you, you are ready to pronounce, read and understand everything. Piece of cake. Next step is listening. People think Greeks speak very quickly which is not true but it is a misonception until learners understand how syllables with open codas work in Greek. Greek words are somewhat long with usually a consonant-vowel succession and they usually end in vowels which confuses people as to where a word starts and ends. The moment you get the hang of this, the language slows down rapidly and listening becomes also very easy because Greek is spoken very clearly. Next comes syntax which is easy yet a little tricky when you have to use it yourself. Modern Greek syntax is very flexible and has no strict structure at all. You can change the place of the words based on what you want to emphasize. The tricky part is that you still need to make sense and change words accordingly with what you are trying to focus on, not just start mixing words randomly duh. Next level: vocabulary. Medium difficulty. Many words in other Indoeuropean languages derive from Greek so you’ll find similarities and it’s gonna be entertaining. Fun fact: Greek students find Vocabulary to be the easiest thing when learning other european languages exactly for that reason. What truly makes Vocabulary hard like the Belgian Greek speaker says will be my last note.Tip: when you learn a new greek word, a long one, always check its etymology. Trust me. Next level: Grammar. Okay, no lie here, you will have to work. You will have a lot of things to memorize and get used to. Greek Grammar is very similar to German Grammar, their philosophy is the same, only the greek one is more complex and harder. But both languages function in a similar way and Modern Greek has a way more flexible syntax than German. Last level: dictation. RIP. Which is why it’s much easier to understand, read and speak Greek than to actually write it. Greek dictation is a beast and most courses will probably force you to memorize all of the vocabulary with its weird as heck vowel combinations. Let me give you an example: take a word that means (he/she/it) “realises”. The word is pronounced: sinithitopií. However, it’s written “συνειδητοποιεί”. Imagine having to memorize dictation for this and words like this. However, here’s why in order to get used to greek dictation you need a good understanding of etymology and grammar. Third person verbs that end in “ee” always are written with an “ει”. From the etymology you can understand that the word is formed from the word pií which means “does”. Pií is written as ποιεἰ so if you know this simple word you can then conclude how words that derive from it are written. Same with the first part of the word but it is a little more complex so I’m not gonna go there. In short, my advice: don’t be discouraged at all by the alphabet, reading and listening, read as many books and watch as many shows as you can (preferably with subtitles like Το Νησί (To Nisi) - The island TV show in yt) and when you start comprehending how the language works and learn words, then start delving deep into the grammar and start becoming more fluent. Lastly, Greek language does not have many irregularities and it is based on logic. Everything makes sense and has an explanation even if it initially looks weird. If you have any question on why something is like that, google it. Google is full of very good databases on greek grammar and etymology. Most sites I’ve seen are reliable. What is not at all accurate are the accent and pronunciation courses. Remember!!! ONLY Native Greek videos!!!

#greece #greek #languages #greek language #modern greek #indoeuropean languages #no idea if I helped at all #anamericanpastoral #ask #mail

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why-this-kolaveri-machi · 5 years

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Fic: Come As You Are (1/11)

THIS IS FINALLY HERE OH MY GOD.

Summary: A series of codas/tags/missing scenes to every episode of the first season of TItans. In the first episode, our protagonists are moving towards each other, but first, they each navigate the existential nightmare that is their own mind.

Warnings: SPOILERS for the whole series, some swearing, lot of dense parenthetical nonsense and fancy formatting. Dick and Rachel marinate in their own anxiety. I’ve also taken the liberty to fill in some gaps that were left by canon.

this is meant to be a companion series to my episode recap series. i’m in the midst of my worst writer’s block ever--it took two whole months just to write this chapter; i’m still far from happy with it, but if i looked at it anymore i was going to scream--but i hope to finish both the recap series and this fic series before s2 airs this fall.

(s/o to @cautiousamber whose continued love for the show and for what it's doing delights me always)

Come As You Are

1.01

Strange things live inside Rachel’s head.

When she was little, people around her would come to her in her dreams in coloured silhouettes, glowing and wailing, ripped into pieces by monsters that lurked in the shadowy corners of her mind. As she grew, the figures grew more refined, more recognisable, but they never stopped screaming; when she heard words, it was only the monster that spoke.

I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU, RACHEL

The years passed, and the dreams started to leak into the real world: she would see strange, fresh scars on Melissa’s arms while trembling in her arms after another DREAM; hazy, coloured halos followed people she knew and horrible things happened to people she hated; the monster would stare back at her in the mirror now, eyes inky black, leaking venom into her veins. TRUST ME, the monster would say, calm while everybody else screamed, and Rachel, well. After a point, she forgot to scream, too.

Then one night, she dreams of a little boy on the trapeze who watches his parents fall to their deaths, and the monster does something it has never done before: it laughs.

“Master Dick, I trust you received the package I sent you last week?”

Dick idly doodles a large ‘R’ on his notepad while wedging his phone between his shoulder and his ear. “I did, Alfred, it came in just this morning. Thanks. I, uh,” he makes the edges sharper, the ends like knife blades, “I should’ve called to let you know earlier.”

“Yes,” Alfred says crisply, “You should have.”

He twists the pad until it looks like the R is in motion, bounding across the page. Two tables over, Detective Oyode flings a casefile onto his desk in disgust. Across the room, Johnson is eyeing Dick with suspicious disdain. The air is heavy with the smell of stale coffee; there’s a lingering whiff of cigarette smoke from the balcony where Carter, Takashi and Mulligan take smoke breaks twice every hour, on the dot. The floor buzzes with steady chatter, the clicking of computer keys and ringing phones. Dick’s active cases tray is screamingly empty.

“I’ve been busy,” he says. “Settling in, and all that.”

“I see.” A pregnant pause. “And I suppose your new responsibilities as a police detective is the only reason you requested that I send over your modified batarangs?”

“Birdarangs,” Dick says, without thinking.

“Ah. Yes.” Alfred’s voice turns fond. “It’s been well over a decade since you came up with that convention, Master Dick; I must confess that it is good to hear it again. More than anything… it is reassuring to see that you haven’t decided to retire Robin altogether.”

A knot of anxiety tightens somewhere behind Dick’s sternum. This is about as secure a line as he can get without actually using the comms in his Robin suit, but it’s still jarring to hear someone just—just say it aloud like that. Especially after—

Dick’s grip on his pen tightens and he scores across the ‘R’ with such ferocity that the nib tears through the paper. Johnson’s put his coffee mug aside and is starting to walk in his direction and if Dick tenses any more he’s sure he’s going to do something he’ll regret. “Sorry, Alfred,” he says. “Something’s come up; I gotta go.”

“Very well, Master Dick. I hope that you will continue to keep in touch.”

“Bye.” He slips the phone in his pocket, gets up, and tosses his ruined pad in the wastebin. He neatly sidesteps Johnson, swipes the abandoned casefile from Oyode’s desk, and hurries out of the precinct.

(it’s all right. you’re beautiful.)

Now that (she’s) put some distance between (her) and (her) attackers (hot metal projectiles where there should be nothing but fire, but she can’t—she can’t—), the molten panic that’s been fuelling (her) escape abates, just a little. (She) slows to a walk, pulling (her) coat close.

(it’s cold, but she’s known colder.)

The further (she) walks from the woods, the less desolate it is. There are more buildings here and more people, turning to look at (her) as (she) walks by them. Almost on instinct, (she) turns into a gas station and makes (her) way into the bathroom, coming to a stop in front of a grimy mirror. (She) is all edge and glorious skin, shining and sharp.

(beautiful. you will know it. and more importantly, they will too.)

(She) empties her purse to find documents and keys and a dozen little opaque clues as to (her) identity. (She) is Kory Anders, and the name is both everything and nothing at all. It is everything because it fits, slots into place effortlessly in her mind like she’s known it all along, but doesn’t trigger a cascade of memories, or anything other than flashes of light and bone-deep cold (and unimaginable pain).

No matter. She is Kory Anders, and this is as good a starting point as any. Besides, she is sure that the real her has a taste for adventure.

When the fight’s over, Dick changes into regular clothes a couple of dead-end alleyways over and limps back to his car, trying very hard not to think about Batmobiles, or Batcaves, or anything bat-related whatsoever. His shoulders ache with tension and his knuckles feel pulverised—he isn’t quite used to being the ones delivering all the punches yet. There’s blood and glass in his hair and the acrid stench of used smoke pellets lingers around him like a miasma; he’s stuffed his costume and weapons back in the case, but there are still red smears around the lock and—

—he’s not even entirely sure he’s managed to leave the site of the fight clean; or if he’s gotten all the security cams in the alley; it’s been so long since he’s done this and even longer since he’s done it alone—

(All right. Deep breath. Deep breath. Another one. And another one.)

Everything feels even more absurd when, later in the night, he’s stuck in downtown traffic, trying to breathe past bruised ribs and the bite of glass shards in his fingers. It wasn’t supposed to be like this; moving this far from Gotham was supposed to be the start of a clean break. He’d been slowly working up to visiting Wayne Manor one more time (one last time, but he can’t—he can’t bring himself to—) to return the Robin costume, trying to reconcile the memories of safety and comfort he had under Bruce and Alfred’s care with yawning isolation of that gigantic mansion, the stomach-dropping terror that he would be abandoned (again) if he failed (again), and the anger that never seemed to stop simmering regardless of how much he punched, how much he cried, how much he laughed.

Being Robin without Batman feels like something vital’s been cut out of him, but just being Dick Grayson isn’t enough for all the evil in the world.

Dick stumbles into his apartment building, trying very hard not to make carrying a giant silver briefcase in the dark seem suspicious. He enters his apartment—dangerously open to the world but devoid of shadows—and lets himself slump onto the sofa. He’s going to (clean his costume and equipment, scrub the security cam feeds, clean the car of bloodstains and evidence, destroy the copy of Oyode’s file that he’d made, type up a report for his personal log) but for now he closes his eyes and—breathes.

Just—

Just for a minute.

The city is drab and cold in ways Rachel is entirely unused to; for some reason, she thinks of old white bedsheets turned grey from use and wear and repeated washing over years and years. Melissa ripped one of them into rags the last time Rachel DID SOMETHING STUPID, knocked over a vase, cut her hand on the shattered pieces, and dripped blood all over the kitchen floor. Melissa’d spent an entire afternoon scrubbing at bloodstains, refusing to answer to Rachel’s tearful apologies. (The voice told her to break the next vase over Melissa’s head, which made Rachel want to vomit.)

Melissa had washed the blood out of those rags as thoroughly as she could, leaving them even more dirty-grey than they were. That’s what the city looks like: wrung of colour, washed and washed again into grey submission—

“We’re here,” the officer in the front seat of the car says, dropping Rachel abruptly out of her thoughts. She’s taken into the precinct and asked to sit inside a windowless room; it isn’t until the officer that’s trying to get her attention touches her shoulder and she flinches, light and sound and terror rushing in, that the numbness abates and the voice snarls KILL HIM!

can’twon’tdon’t—

The officer looks shocked for a moment before his expression softens and he backs away. “Somebody will come talk to you now, okay?” he says, and leaves. Rachel waits and picks at the fraying edges of her sleeves, wishing—not for the first time—that she’d brought her phone along. It’s not like she has anybody to call, really; she just wants something to do that’s not staring at the walls (of an interrogation room, this is an interrogation room) and trying not to think about how desperately alone she is right now.

A few minutes later, Detective Dick Grayson walks in and introduces himself. Rachel jolts at the sight of him; she can hardly hear what he’s saying over the chorus of holy shit! holy shit! that’s taken over her mind, because holy shit—this is the little boy on the trapeze. He glows blood-red, and every movement of his leaves behind smudges of light and colour and life in this otherwise cement-grey room.

She holds his hands, tells him, you’re the boy from the circus; he frowns, but doesn’t tell her she’s crazy, or stupid, or BADWRONGEVIL. Dick Grayson promises to help her, and for the first time since watching her mother fall to the floor with a bullet hole through her head, Rachel feels hope.

Kory Anders is on a plane to the United States.

Twelve hours ago, she didn’t know her name; now she not only has an identity, but a destination, a purpose (a mission). Everything from swiping cards to speaking a dozen different tongues to summoning fire to her fingertips to the clean, beautiful effortlessness of throwing an asshole across a hotel room has been… intuitive; she thinks as she does, moves as she feels, learns as she touches. She doesn’t know what she will find when she lands (knows without really knowing that where she is going is both impossibly vast and comically small) but she’s going to start with looking for the girl in the photo and see where that leads her.

(--to a bubble suspended in infinite nothingness, shackles around her wrists and feet—)

And if that means burning up a few more entitled assholes along the way, so be it.

#titans #my fic #dick grayson #rachel roth #koriand'r #alfred pennyworth #*flops around exhaustedly*

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spockfallsinlove · 6 years

Text

Episode Coda for “The Man Trap.”

Ao3.

Spock hesitates before stepping close enough to the door to trigger it opening. His feet had taken him to sickbay, where he knows undoubtedly Dr. McCoy currently resides, on almost a whim. His brain hasn’t quite caught up yet. Hands clasped firmly behind his back, he continues to stare at the grey granules of the door, faltering.

He knows that this borders on unprofessionalism; emotionalism. But in his mind’s eye he sees the captain: sitting in a chair, immobilized, with the creature’s suctioned hand on his face, normally vibrant eyes staring ahead unseeingly, devoid of life…

It’s a powerful enough image to jolt his body into action, mind made up, emotions firmly pushed back into their rightful place.

The doctor looks up as the swish of the door announces Spock’s entrance. McCoy is bent over a desk, placing his writing utensil down onto a thick folder of paper. “Well, Spock,” he says slowly, “didn’t expect you to be here at this hour. What can I do you for?”

Spock stands in front of the doctor at parade rest, feet planted. “I wished to discuss something with you, doctor.”

“And it couldn’t wait until a more logical time of the morning?”

“Since you are, currently, working both the night and day shift of sickbay and are consequently here at early hours, I saw no reason that you would be disturbed by my request.”

McCoy seems to bite back a glare with an impatient smile. “Why don’t you tell me what you need, Spock, so I can get back to my work.”

“Very well.” There’s a voice nagging in the back of Spock’s mind, one that has a familiar Vulcan somber tone. It says to let it go, to leave. He ignores it and pushes forward. “I want to discuss the way you handled yourself in your quarters; when that creature attacked the captain.”

McCoy’s complexion darkens. “The way I ‘handled’ myself?” he repeats.

“Yes. The emotionalism you displayed was unprofessional and not to mention, dangerous.”

Advancing forward a step, McCoy’s voice goes low and quiet as he demands, “Explain what in the hell you mean, Mr. Spock.”

Spock refuses to be deterred. “The captain was in mortal danger, and still you stood by and hesitated for long moments while the creature began to kill him. A starship cannot have a crewmember lets his or her own weaknesses get the better of them in a dire situation. Especially not where the captain is concerned. Therefore, I suggest—”

“All right now listen, you green-blooded hooligan,” McCoy cuts in, jabbing a finger in Spock’s face. “I’ve kept my mouth shut up till now. Jim keeps ranting about how great you are—so I’ve kept my thoughts to myself. But now you’ve gone just too far.” He steps forward and Spock sees the skin under McCoy’s left eye twitch. “My weaknesses? You mean compassion for another life? You think I’m some cold-blooded killer that can pick up a phaser and kill a creature, just like that?”

“When the captain’s life is in danger, yes.”

“I wouldn’t have let Jim die! You could stand to learn a little bit about humans, Spock. It’s natural to have hesitation before taking drastic and violent action against something.” McCoy narrows his eyes. “Or does that not compute in that perfect, cold and unemotional brain of yours?”

Spock raises an eyebrow. That callous comment felt uncalled for; but he doesn’t acknowledge it aloud.

“That creature was the last of its kind,” McCoy continues, “and was lonely. Desperate and lonely. Do you even know what that feels like?”

Spock thins his lips, retorting, “Loneliness is an emotion.”

McCoy to bursts out a sigh. “Of course. You wouldn’t get it, so why do I try to explain it.”

“Doctor.” Spock’s voice has an edge to it that he unsuccessfully tries to suppress. “The subject of emotions and whether I feel them is As someone who should have the captain and crew’s best interest in mind, you ought to acknowledge that your actions could have resulted in a very fatal end for the captain.”

“Whaddaya want me to do, Spock, rip my own heart out so I never feel anything again?”

Spock impatiently grips the edge of the desk beside him. “Doctor—”

“Or maybe you want everyone to be as emotionless and heartless as you, and not even think about the value of a creature’s life!”

“Enough!” Spock’s fist causes the desk to creak as it bends, warped, from his grip at the same time that his voice raises. It seems to echo in the empty sickbay as McCoy stares at him, astounded.

“I find this conversation circular and unfruitful,” Spock says through barely unclenched teeth. “I just wanted to express my worries at the past situation, and advise you not to do it again.”

McCoy crosses his arms against his chest, staring at him challengingly. “Or you’ll do what?”

Spock’s hands grip themselves enough to bruise as he places them against the small of his back. “I assure you that if you endanger Captain Kirk’s life again in any way, I will see you that you are off the Enterprise.”

McCoy replies, almost sneering, “And, Mr. Spock, if you endanger Captain Kirk’s life with your unemotional behavior, I’ll see that you are kicked off of this damn ship.”

Spock allows his eyebrow to twitch minutely before spinning on his heel to exit. The door barely gets its chance to open before he storms out of sickbay. He can hear McCoy’s curses while Spock walks quickly down the hallway in the direction of the lift.

During the ride to the level of his quarters, he keeps his mind carefully blank. Meditation will solve what he feels; cool his thoughts. He never should have acted out in emotionalism to see McCoy in the first place. It was something about the way that the Captain’s life teetered at the edge, and Spock could do nothing about it from his position. That he was useless to help his Captain, his—

Spock’s fists clench against the thought. Meditation. It will solve this.

He is nearly to the door of his quarters when he hears his name.

“Mr. Spock, do you have a moment?”

Spock takes a breath to steady himself, then turns to face the concerned captain. “Of course, sir.”

Captain Kirk takes a breath, opening his mouth but pausing, as if not sure where to begin. “I just had a comm from Bones. He was pretty upset.”

“I see.”

“Amidst all the swear words, I heard your name quite a few times.”

“Indeed?” Spock asks cooly.

Kirk slowly nods. “Something about… professional harassment?” His eyes search Spock’s impassive gaze. “You wouldn’t happen to know what he’s talking about, do you, Spock?”

Straightening, Spock fixates on a point past the Captain’s eye level. “I merely relegated my concerns to the doctor of his emotional display this evening, that put many people in potential danger.”

“Ah.” Kirk stares at the ground, chewing his lip in thought. When he looks up at Spock again, his eyes are disarmingly somber. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Spock. Bones is cut up as it is about the whole situation. And yes, I know you don’t agree with human emotionalism—but Bones is a good man. You can’t fault him for a faltering moment, on his part.”

Spock, thoroughly disagreeing, nods slowly. “Yes, Captain.”

Kirk smiles gently. “I know you don’t believe me. But perhaps one day you’ll understand, being half human yourself.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes to the ceiling at the comment, Spock nods again.

Kirk reaches out and claps him on the shoulder. “Well, it’s been a long day,” he says. “Time to get some sleep.” He turns on his heel, begins to walk toward his own quarters that are directly next to Spock’s.

The word is out of Spock’s mouth before he can stop it. “Captain…”

Kirk turns; green eyes catching the artificial light of the hallway. “Yes, Mr. Spock?”

For a moment, Spock wonders how it would feel: to not only acknowledge his relief at the fact that Jim is now alive, but to also tell his captain that he felt that way at all. To succumb to this impulse to act as though Jim were a friend in a human way; it would be thoroughly un-Vulcan. And yet, for a moment, Spock couldn’t care less about what is Vulcan or not.

But it’s only for a moment. Straightening his spine and clasping his hands behind his back, Spock assumes a professional parade rest. “It is nothing, Captain. I will report to you on the Alpha shift at 0600 hours.”

Captain Kirk pauses, looking at him strangely. A smile dances on his lips. “Very well. Goodnight, Mr. Spock.”

Spock finds, inexplicably, that his meditation is tumultuous that night.

[lovely people tagged under the cut. let me know if you want to be added or removed.]

@ialwayscomewhenyoucall @boldlygoingnovvhere @logic-is-a-little-tweeting-bird @sehunada-e-starkada @mer-yan @ahsokastars @staarmunch @prismakakkerra @lookthatway @ryeisenberg @thylaforever @soyraktajino @snabulous @yourea--stubborn--man @heyndrix @jedimagneto @owyheewinds @somesuchnonsense @therainbowshideout @cuteasafrog @galaxystiel @its0nlyanorthernsong @wintergreen556 @sunshine-captain @somesuchnonsense @therainbowshideout @cuteasafrog @musicmandy1991 @picturelyuniverse

#tos coda fics #aklsdjfas #i am so nervous to post this!!#i hope it doesn't flop and people like it #i am enjoying going through the episodes a lot #more angst and pining to come #kinda just setting the stage right now ;)#spirk #spock/kirk #spock #jim kirk #star trek fic #my fic #my-fic

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ninemoons42-lestallumhaven · 5 years

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(you know what? I have three days off, I have fannish things to do, I have time to write, and I have things I want to write. also, I have exactly 99 fic/lets in my Quick Fic Pick tag. you know what that means: this is the century fic!)

(qfp 97: sky’s the limit, promptis, brotherhood-era AU) (qfp 98: threw away ten thousand songs, igyx, canon-compliant AU) (qfp 99: map out the clouds in your eyes, promnis, coda to the game)

(I’ve already done a little rambling to @voxiferous about this particular musician AU. if you want visual inspiration, look no further than this spectacular live version of heart of sword by T.M.Revolution!)

Quick Fic Pick 100: cross into distant dawn

Not the first time he curses his luck: and he knows he can’t say this out loud, not around the other guys, not where they can hear him or at the very least read what he’s sending into the chat room and then they’d both have words with him, and he’s not going for that right now, he’s got a rare night off and there’s no one to go out with, and there’s nowhere to go -- so he cracks open another beer, and seriously considers rolling himself a joint, but then there’s a different notification popping up onto his tablet and he squints, tilts his head, and he’d ignore the URL entirely, except that it’s been sent to him by Monica and he tends to trust her tastes, fanatically eclectic though that might be.

So he drinks half of the beer and clicks on and --

He nearly jumps off his beatdown couch in surprise because it only takes the flourish of the cymbals, the long low shriek of the bass guitar, the shivering rising challenge of the melody played on the keyboard -- three measures, four at the most and he knows exactly what this song is and who’s performing it. The people who composed it, the people who’ve made it one of their signature tracks, one of the group’s favorite encore performances.

Luna and Aranea and Gen and Noctis -- Riotfeathers -- and the song is called “Against the Dying Shadow”, and they’re four angry beautiful voices rising in rage, rising in protest, and they’re playing to a tightly packed basement, and Prompto actually knows all the words to the song, mouths along as they shout out the third and fourth verses and -- then he clicks out of the tab entirely.

Here’s the thing, with Riotfeathers -- they’re not around any more. Ignis had called them a meteor of a band and -- Prompto still agrees with that assessment, now, even though he sort of hopes he’ll run into Aranea at least, because she’s still kicking around with a lot of the other performers in the scene and it’s still a small world, when it’s a world of soundstages and groupies and stadium tours, and then maybe he’ll have a snowball’s hope in hell to hear the actual story and reason why they suddenly dropped out.

(Family has its perks, he supposes, even though there is no tie of blood that could possibly exist between him and her. Just ink, and signatures on a legally binding document, and for them it’s been enough.)

The flat’s too small for him, suddenly, missing Aranea and wondering if the others are faring any better on this forced hiatus, and he leaves a voicemail on Monica’s phone -- Are we ever getting fucking Crackshot back on the road? -- and then he throws on his jacket.

Finds himself walking to the exact same club that Riotfeathers had been playing -- one of their last performances ever -- and his face is enough to get him through into the somewhat more barricaded section of the club, the narrow snaking mezzanine and its never, ever, ever safe railings.

Nodding at vaguely familiar faces in the gloom of the alcoves, and shaking Lightning’s hand when she holds it out to him, and then Prompto heads for the last table and -- it’s taken, too. Silver-sequinned clutch, and a long trailing strap in rainbow-stripes, and he allows himself a snort and -- he’s already steeling himself to head back down the stairs -- he might as well head back to the flat, too, as there’s nothing for him here -- and he turns.

Freezes.

She’s not so very tall, is the first thought -- dumb as it is -- that drops into the front of his mind. She certainly looks like she has super long legs, and she certainly dresses to show them off, in the shiny thigh-high boots with their tops folded down, and her lace-draped shift that covers her throat and her shoulders and her wrists but stops a full couple of inches above the tops of the boots. Silver chains threaded into her hair, far shorter than it had been in the video, and her face wiped clean of makeup, so he can see not just the beauty mark to the right of her mouth but also the faint remnants of the bruise ringing her left eye.

He wonders if the shiner hurts worse, considering the piercings in her left eyebrow.

Noctis. The girl who’d been the drummer for Riotfeathers, the girl who’d been wearing a ripped-up pinstriped suit in the video, fraying edges a startling contrast to the branch-lines of her hair ornament, gold gleam underneath the harsh stage lights.

Noctis, here?

“Noctis,” he says.

“Prompto,“ she says, and it’s a surprise that she knows his name, and it isn’t -- and she pulls her gloved hands down from her mouth. “You wanted the table.”

“You obviously got here first,” he says, and tries on a smile.

“Why, is there a rule that says I can’t share my -- that table?” And she’s smiling, too, lopsided and sharp. “Especially when you’re -- in a situation I know. Fairly intimately. Sick and tired of it, intimately.”

“How did you know,” he says, and he knows he’s being difficult and she knows it, too, if the way she rolls her eyes is any indication.

He sits, and she reclaims her purse, and when he pulls the flask out of his jacket she’s offering him one, too.

“Trade,” he laughs, in the end, and the firewater in her flask tastes like plums and cream and kicks him right in the head on the second swallow, and the world dances around him, loopy and dizzying.

“That’s rough. I like it,” she declares, and he woozily watches her throw back another swallow from his flask.

“Keep it,” he mutters. “If you like.”

“I’d ask you to keep mine,” he hears her say, “but I’m too attached to my booze. Gods know when I’ll be able to buy another bottle.”

“What is it anyway?” he asks, and the world is still spinning around him, wild tilting arcs that make his eyes hurt.

“It’s a slivovitz,” he hears her say.

“Pretty name, but I’m not sure it’s finished kicking me in the head yet.”

“It does that -- may I?”

“Yes, what?” And he blinks, because Noctis is leaning over the table to him and she’s -- kissing him full on the mouth.

He’s left staring at her as she pulls away, covers her mouth again with her hand -- but he sees her jawline moving and why does that make him think of -- her licking her lips?

Why does the thought make him go hot and cold all over and -- he gets to his feet and the words fall out of him before he can even think: “Where can I go to buy some? Spot you a bottle.”

He expects her to -- reject him gently, reject him sharply, laugh at him and reject him, laugh at him and make everyone else laugh at him --

He’s not expecting her to -- haul him up from the table and he can see the lace clinging to the muscles of her shoulders, of her arms, moving as she pulls on him -- as he gladly follows her -- someone in the mezzanine whistles encouragement and the moment they’re out on the street again Noctis is turning around, and looking at him, and she’s oddly gentle and shy for all her hand is still clasped tightly around his wrist.

So he grins, blinks away the slivovitz-haze, and mutters, “May I?”

“Yeah,” she says, and she laughs, and he pulls her into a kiss, and her hands are tangling into his hair, and he’s making fists in her lace, and pulling her frantically closer --

#quick fic pick #fic: mine #music and lyrics #pairing: promptis #character: prompto argentum #character: noctis lucis caelum #rule 63 #ffxv rule 63 #riotfeathers vs crackshot au

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katsidhe · 6 years

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Fic: camaraderie, 13.18 coda

Set just before Sam's, uh, "inspiring" speech in 13x18.

Read on AO3

The rip in the fabric of the universe pulses steady and golden.

There’s a trembling restlessness in Sam's legs. It’s almost a relief, after the molasses-thick weight of lethargic hopelessness that’s kept him moving as if through deep, black water. It would be a relief if it would stop spreading upward, infecting his heartbeat with a steady staccato panic he can’t shake.

The grim uncertainty is making him sick. If Dean never shows, what then? Sam can’t assume he’s dead. He’ll never assume that again. Sam won’t let the portal seal. If it starts to close, he'll jump straight in. Cas will have to drag them all back. Sorry, Cas, I didn’t tell Dean to split the party.

Sam pictures his future: wandering a gray apocalyptic wasteland forever, dust in his mouth, while Dean and Mom and Jack all suffer under Michael’s hand. He survives, he stumbles on. He never finds them or any living thing, he just searches forever, not knowing if they’re screaming and cursing his name, or if he’s breathing in their ashes.

Maybe he should keep Gabriel’s grace, instead of giving it back. A part of him wants to. Hell, Gabriel doesn’t even seem to want it, yet. But, Sam can’t. It's not his to keep. That would be cruel, even for Sam, to withhold such an essential part of Gabriel, especially when he’s hurt, when he obviously needs every bit of strength he can get. He flinches too often, it’s making Sam even tenser. Sam thinks of Cas with his grace stolen, sick and shivering and dying.

A voice in his head he doesn’t want to name whispers, Ah, but our motives aren’t exactly pure as the driven snow here, are they? Gabriel can't help us if he’s cowering in the corner like a bitch scared of its own shadow. And okay, fine, a full-powered archangel on their side, indebted, with Lucifer still out there? That’s... a very nice thought.

The archangel blade still sits heavy on the table. That’s a nice thought too, a sharp one. Sam feels his eyes land on it, from time to time, but he doesn’t let his glance linger. Hope can hurt more than despair.

Sam looks at the rift again. The twining yellow light fills the room with an eldritch glow, the torn and bleeding edges of reality. He wonders if he’s getting some kind of radiation poisoning.

He shakes himself. Time to check up on their houseguest.

Gabriel’s hunched into himself on the bed. His beaten face stays stiff and pale as Sam enters.

Sam sets a glass on the nightstand. “Gabriel? You want some water?”

No response. Still not talking. Well, his lips have been sewn shut for who knows how long. Sam wouldn’t feel up to talking either.

Sam clears his throat. "Or, um, we’ve got some Coke in the kitchen.” Why, Sam has no idea, no one in the bunker is really a soda drinker. Blame Dean’s overzealous grocery runs. Sam pulls a chair to the foot of the bed.

Gabriel, surprise surprise, doesn’t react.

For a few minutes, Sam just sits, providing some kind of weird uncomfortable moral support. He's not very good at it, not when looking at Gabriel makes Sam's stomach curl in sympathetic recognition. The marks from the stitches are hard to look at. The perfect Enochian sigils laid out across all the walls are hard to look at. Where’d Gabriel even get the Sharpie? Unless he just clicked his fingers and the markings appeared, and doesn’t that image set Sam’s teeth on edge.

See, Sam is intensely aware that no matter how broken he’s acting, Gabriel is a fucking archangel. Not necessarily a friendly one, either. Sam's moved on, but he isn’t ever likely to forget Mystery Spot, even with all the nightmares since. He may be low on power, but Gabriel can still vaporize Sam with a gesture.

Which brings him back to what he’s been wondering all night: how the fuck did a B-lister like Asmodeus get his hands on an archangel? Gabriel hadn’t elaborated, in the writing on the wall, and he’s sure as hell not saying anything now.

How do these awkward overtures of comfort feel, to Gabriel? Back when Sam wouldn’t talk, Lucifer would cajole and coax until he came back to himself. Sam doesn’t know what kinds of games Asmodeus played, or if he cared for anything other than breaking his prisoner to harvest power. Maybe Sam’s making it worse, offering a sympathetic ear.

Gabriel just sits, blank and empty, offering no helpful ideas. Too bad, because Sam’s fresh out.

The only thing Sam has to offer is that he gets it. Sam gets Gabriel, gets him enough it’s making his shoulders stiffen. He gets feeling like running, feeling like hiding, feeling like shutting down and shutting up and curling up into a ball and hoping if he’s small enough, the pain will leave him alone. But Gabriel needs to learn that there’s no such thing as being left alone. Running and hiding are just illusions. You gotta learn to cope, you gotta adapt, you gotta learn to live with it, take the horrible parts and make them bearable. It’ll be better sometimes, it’ll be worse sometimes, but it won’t change. It won’t end.

Sam’s made his peace. It’s Sam and Dean and Cas against the world, Team Free Will, spitting in the face of fate. Except, that is what they’re fated to do, isn’t it? Sam’s destined to stay and fight no matter what. How many times has Sam been dragged back? From death, from his mind, from his own mistakes? From his own selfish escapism—Amelia, Jess, all the way back to Bones, that first time he’d tried to run away. Sam’s learned, by now, safe and boring is worse than a pipe-dream: it’s betrayal. The universe doesn’t need to teach him that particular lesson, not anymore. This is his life. He’s making the world better. He won’t try to run.

Sam lets out a breath and gets up, but as he touches the door, he pauses. He turns around and takes a breath.

Gabriel needs to know: as long as the world needs him, he can’t run either.

#sam winchester #gabriel #cage trauma #referenced torture #13.18 #my fic #coda

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pherryt · 6 years

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can you do a destiel fic where cas finds out that dean killed himself in season 13 episode 5

Hullo! So this is sort of a continuation of my Sam Finally Gets It coda (which means I’m ignoring 13.06 right now.)This is nearly identical to another prompt I got on my other blog so instead of writing the same story twice, i’m answering it here. (and i’ll link to it on the other one. Hey, I don’t know, you might even be the same person?)

This wraps up at almost 3k words, so I put the majority of it behind a cut (though picking WHERE to put that was HARD)

Supernatural, Destiel, angst, mature, implied smut but nothing graphic, feels and confessions

Cas could tell something was off. It didn’t take a rocketscientist – as Dean might say – to see that. Dean was putting on a cheerfulface and he smiled every time he saw Cas, but there was a desperation behind itthat Cas could not only see, but feel.

Thelonging and fear every time Cas was out of Dean’s sight was overwhelming. Thefirst time it happened, Cas had rushed to Dean’s side, thinking something washorribly wrong.

Dean’srelief was immense when he saw Cas in his door frame, the feeling of it washingthrough Cas like a balm, though Dean’s face was as calm and Dean-like as itever was.

Cashesitated. “Good morning, Dean.”

“Morning,Cas. You, uh…sticking around, right?” Dean fidgeted with a shirt, pulling on abutton up flannel over his dark grey Henley.

“Ofcourse, if I wouldn’t be a bother,” Cas said carefully. He wanted to stepinside, to reassure Dean with a touch that he wasn’t leaving, but he still feltunsure of how welcome this invasion of personal space would be, now that a fewdays had passed. He felt sure that the level of panic Dean had been feelingwarranted such action, such reassurance, but the mask Dean had slipped onseemed to push Cas away again.

Itleft him as confused as he always was where Dean was concerned. Not as much, hesuspected, as Dean was, constantly being at war with himself.

“Pfft,you’re never a bother, Cas.” Dean clapped a hand on Cas’s shoulder and, throughthe light button up shirt Cas wore – “Cas take off the goddamn coat and stayawhile, will ya?” I keep thinking you’re about to bail on m- us, man!” –Cas could feel the warmth of Dean’s hand like a brand.

Notunlike the one he’d once accidentally left on Dean.

Emotions,raw and hurting pushed its way through the contact and it took Cas’s breathaway as it always did, though he betrayed nothing on his borrowed face.

No,that wasn’t completely true. Not anymore.

Itmay not be the whole of him, his broken wings stretching restlessly behind him,unseen by mortal eyes as usual – oh what he wouldn’t have given to have beenable to show Dean their full glory and not the shadows of what they were, butnow even that possibility had long since passed. Cas wanted no one to see thebroken, burned husks of his slowly healing wings - but Jimmy’s body wasno more and this vessel was a vessel no longer, belonging solely to him.Created new and stronger, more capable of holding not only him, but an Archangel– something that should have been impossible. Jimmy Novak would never have beenable to contain such power, or Michael and Lucifer wouldn’t have worked so hardto get Dean and Sam as their vessels.

Andeach time Cas was reborn, he settled more into his body more completely, morecomfortably, his ability to express emotion via tone and look coming easier andeasier while it also became harder and harder to maintain his composure, or tohold his nightmares at bay.

Especiallyaround Dean.

Sohe stood there before Dean and hopedhe wasn’t betraying to Deanexactly how much the hunter was giving away. He didn’t want Dean angry about aninvasion of privacy Castiel just couldn’t help.

Thepain and hope, love and fear that Dean emitted was stronger than ever. Guilt, too,pulsed through their connection, though Cas couldn’t begin to fathom what theguilt was about – unless it was continued guilt over his grief drive resentmentand treatment of Jack.

Caswas still quite upset about that, though he had – somewhat – understood it. Butit had been the beginning of Dean pulling back just when Cas had thought…whenhe’d thought that maybe they could move forward, together. Something he’dwanted for so long, just waiting for Dean to be ready.

“Dean,are…” Cas stumbled to a halt, unsure of what to ask.

Deanraised an eyebrow. “You okay there, sunshine? Cat got your tongue?”

“Thereare no cats in the bunker, Dean.” Cas sighed. “Are you all right? Youseem…troubled.”

“I’mfine, Cas. Never better. We’re all alive and safe and sound. You’re back,Jack’s not the anti-Christ, the BMOL are dust…never better,” Dean repeatedwhile giving a weird little half shrug. He moved to leave, brushing past theangel as he did. “C’mon, let’s get some coffee.”

Dean’shand hovered over Cas’s arm for a few moments before he visibly gulped, hishand moving forward in a rush and coming down on Cas’s bicep. Dean tugged athim, only letting go once Cas obliged him by following along.

Casfollowed along, resolving to talk further about what had happened with Deanwhile he’d been gone. Dead, he reminded himself firmly. Andnot for the first time. I’m not sure why I keep coming back against allodds…but I don’t want to waste another chance. He stared after Deanlongingly, wishing he could have that open (touching, emotion) that they’d hadmerely days ago, when they’d reunited. Had been on the verge of becoming theirthing before it had been ripped away from Cas so suddenly.

Again,not for the first time. He restrained a shudder at the thought of when he’dlost his grace, masquerading as Steve.

Inretrospect, he’d understood the rock and a hard place Dean had been in, but hestill wished it hadn’t gone down that way. That Dean had handled it better.

They’dnever talked about it. Not really.

Casthought that might have been a mistake, but it was too late now. Too long ago.Water under the bridge, or something along those lines.

Hedidn’t have a chance to talk to Sam that day, or even the next. Unless he wassleeping, Dean didn’t let Cas out of his sight. Not for long. Constantlychecking if he was still there. Refusing to do a supply run unless Cas wentwith him because he’d need the extra hands. Even volunteering to do researchand help catalogue the bunker – things he hated doing – merely because Castielhad volunteered to help Sam.

Finally,desperate, Cas texted Sam under the table, asking the hunter to stay and talkto him after Dean had gone to bed. Sam texted back swiftly, a simple andemphatic “Yes!”

Despitehaving lived millennia, despite angels learning patience early on, it felt likeforever before Dean went to bed.

“Sam,what exactly did he do? You implied upon our return that Dean…was not himself.Did something happen?”

Samraked a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Cas…It was bad. He was really bad.”

He paused and Cas peered at him intently. “You’ve said. Sam…”Cas trailed off, holding his breath as Sam nodded.

“God, Cas, I’m a horrible brother. I didn’t even notice. That itwas different, that this…I mean, I figured he’d be upset. We both were, whatwith you and mom gone. Hell, we’d just gotten her back againstall odds – not just once, but twice! And then you…” Sam sighed and sank into achair, Cas sitting beside him and leaning forward, his eyes not once leavingSam’s face, determined to understand everything.

Sam’s voice dropped to a whisper. “He gave up, Cas. He didn’t…hewasn’t giving the fights his all. Going through the motions, letting me seewhat he thought I wanted to see. Refused to believe that there was hope formom. We didn’t see her die. She could still be alive, but every time I offeredhim that hope, he shot it down.”

Cas’sheart sank with every word. “You believe she’s still alive?”

Samnodded. “Yeah, well, after Lucifer killed you, she charged him, knocked himback into the rift and then he grabbed her and pulled her in after. Then itclosed. Not sooner, when it could have done us some good, but then.”

“But he didn’t…he didn’t care?”

“He didn’t believe,Cas. He got ugly, a few times, kept throwing you in my face like it was a counterargument.It was, one that I wasn’t comprehending…”

“Sam, it’s not like – “

Sam raised a hand to forestall him. “Save it. There’s somethingthere and I don’t know how I could have missed it. But you wanted to know whathappened while you were gone, so…” he took a deep breath. “Just before you cameback…I thought this was it. I thought…I thought I’d lost Dean for good.”

Cas found himself pinned in Sam’s gaze as the hunter looked upand locked their eyes together. “He said it was for the case, and yeah, we’vedone shit that stupid in the past for a case but…but he was just so willing to do it. I didn’t even know hewas carrying the thing on him, like he’d been waiting for an out.” Samswallowed and his eyes filled with unshed tears. Cas’s heart constricted,certain he wasn’t going to like what he was about to hear, what he suspectedSam was about to impart.

“He killed himself. And he almost didn’t come back.”

Cas sucked in a harsh breath and closed his eyes against thepain of it all, though he’d had an inkling this was where Sam was leading. The ideathat he’d come back almost too late. Or that if Dean had succeeded in what he’dtried, too late wouldn’t have even begun to cover it.

Without even realizing it, Cas was standing at Dean’s doorglaring at the room number even as he pounded on it. “Dean!”

The door opened under his fist to a startled Dean rubbing hiseyes. “Shit, Cas! What’s wrong? Are you –“

Cas glared at him and pushed past Dean, slamming the door behindhim. “You killed yourself? How couldyou – is your life so worthless to you that you’d just throw it away?”

“It…was for a case,” Dean protested weakly, his eyes almostcomically wide, but Cas wasn’t in the mood for laughing. He could feel theguilt pouring off of Dean, the shame.

“Don’t lie to me, Dean,” Cas growled.

“I’m…I’m not lying!” Dean’s eyes shifted away. His arms crossedover his chest defensively. Cas hated that he was seeing Dean like this, butthe anger was only dulled, not gone and Cas stalked forward, crowding Dean againstthe door.

He didn’ttouch him, but he glared up into Dean’s eyes for long moments. Dean’s arms hadshifted down to brace against the door, his fingers twitching as he stared backat Cas.

“God dammit, Cas, you were gone!” Dean finally exploded. “Again!You left me, alone, again!”

“You had Sam,” Cas pointed out.

“It’s not the same, and you damn well know it!” Dean’s voicebroke. “I know we can’t, I know I’m not…but dammit, life just…doesn’t mean muchwith you gone. Every time you leave me hurts like a sonuvabitch, okay? Youhappy now?” Like with Sam, tears had gathered in Dean’s eyes, though they hadn’tyet begun to fall. The words were cutting into Cas hard.

“And I mean every time,” Dean whispered. “Every time knowingthat there are things you’d rather be doing then stay here with me and my…myunwelcome feelings-“ Dean bit at his lip and closed his eyes, but the tearsstarted to fall past his squeezed eyelids anyway. “But to lose you socompletely…It’s getting harder and harder to keep going every time I think ‘Thisis it. He can’t come back from this.’”

“Dean…” Cas said softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” Hecupped Dean’s cheek in his hand and a single, harsh sob broke through as Deanleaned into the touch. “They were never unwelcome. I thought…you never said…I wastrying to give you what you wanted.”

“What I wanted?” Dean blinked his eyes open and stared disbelievingly.

“Personal space, Dean. Privacy. Not to invade your thoughts. I triedto act as if I didn’t have the knowledge of your longing, your…your love.Waited for you to tell me yourself, in your own time.” Cas tentatively leanedforward, touching their foreheads together. “Was going crazy in the meantime. You’dthink one thing and present another and…I didn’t know what to think, what todo. You drive me crazy.”

Dean laughed weakly. “I knew you had to know. God, we’re morons.I thought you didn’t say anything or make a move because…because you weredisgusted that a human would dare to fall in love with an angel. I wasdetermined that I’d just enjoy being your friend if I couldn’t have more.”

“You are my friend. Thevery best I’ve ever had. And more. I’ve always wanted more. But Dean, you haveto promise me…” Cas took his face now with both hands. “No more throwing yourlife away. No more risky maneuvers. We’ve both beaten the odds, beaten death somany times. But our luck can’t hold out forever. And I don’t want to lose you either.You are worth it, Dean. I chose you along time ago.”

“You can’t mean that…” Dean whispered. “I’m just a stupidhunter. A…a grunt.”

“And I’m just a soldier. Built to obey the orders of Heaven.”

“No, you’re more than that,” Dean protested fiercely.

“And so are you,” Cas insisted.

Within seconds, faster than even Cas could parse, DeanWinchesters lips were on his own. The warm feeling of it spreading through hisbody, Dean’s fingers coming to grab and clutch at Cas and pull him in closer.

Cas easily went into the pull, Dean knocking back against thedoor again. Their kisses weren’t gentle things – there’d be time for thatlater. Right now, there was desperation and a need for assurance behind thekisses being doled out ungrudgingly between them. The dam had been broken andthey were both being swept away by it.

Being with Dean, so unreservedly for perhaps the first time inever, Cas was surprised by how fast things progressed. He didn’t quite recallmoving towards the bed, or their clothes being removed. Though he certainlyremembered taking his time to worship Dean’s body, determined to make thehunter understand how special he was.

If it took a lifetime to do it, Cas would. And if it took eternityto convince Dean, Cas would gladly and willingly hang up his wings and followDean to his heaven.

He had no doubts about the depth or truth of his feelings, or ofDean’s, and now that everything was out in the open, Cas would spend everymoment he could with the man he loved. The man that had made Cas more than the angelhe’d been.

They came together in a sweaty tangle of bodies, their pleasure allconsuming – for its newness, for its depth, for all it conveyed. Cas wiped andkissed the tears from Dean’s face as they rocked together, hands clutchingtightly, both of them yet afraid that it would all go up in smoke, prove to beyet another dream of things they wanted but could never have.

“Stay with me, Cas,” Dean begged softly, his words muffled inthe meat of Cas’s naked shoulder, as they lay on the bed catching theirbreaths. They yet remained tangled together, each of them unwilling to let theother go.

“Always. I love you Dean,” Cas said, angling down to once morecatch Dean’s lips in a kiss that was less searing and was instead gentler, moreexploring, than it had been earlier.

Dean whimpered at the kiss, gasped at hearing Cas say thosewords that Dean had tried to say so long ago but had lost the courage. Cas knewthat Dean had come close, back in the crypt, what seemed so long ago, now. Deanbroke the kiss long enough to whisper them back - to finally say aloud what he’dbeen screaming in his head loud enough for Cas to hear for years, even breakingthrough to him in the crypt - thendove back in for another kiss.

It was new, and a little scary, but at the same time everythingfinally felt so goddamned right, like everything had finally fallen into place.

Like everything was finally the way it should be.

“Your life has meaning, Dean. With, or without me in it,” Cassaid softly.

“But without you, I don’t want to live, Cas,” Dean’s breathhitched again.

“Dean, promise me that you will. Don’t ever give up. Don’t everstop believing in us. We’ve beaten the odds before. How many times have both ofus died? One day, it may take…but please…” Cas’s breathing stuttered now too,his heart beating too fast. “I can’t stop thinking about how you died the verysame day I returned. How I was almost too late…Don’t turn us into Romeo andJuliet. Please…” Cas clutched at Dean. “I know it’ll be hard but please…?”

Cas felt how Dean tightened his own grip, attempting to pull theangel closer. They were already as close as they could be, but Cas knew it didn’tfeel like enough to either of them.

“Okay, Cas,” Dean whispered, shuddering in Cas’s arms. “Okay, I’lltry.”

Kissing Dean’s tousled hair, Cas accepted it. They liveddangerous lives. To promise more was impossible. But to know that Dean wouldtry lifted a weight off Cas’s heart, and he relaxed into Dean’s arms.

And though he was still an angel, and it maybe should worry himhow easily Cas fell into a comforting sleep, Cas couldn’t bring himself tocare. Being in each other’s arms felt so good, so right, that he didn’t want itto end. Dean eventually turned over, nestling back into Cas’s chest, Cas’seyelids growing heavy as he curled around the hunter.

It was absolutely perfect.

#season 13 spoiler #supernatural #destiel #13.05 coda #mature but not graphic #feels #angst #writing prompt #Anonymous

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