but then he crumbles it

The Dozens of Times Eddie Kapbrak Came Home, and the One Time He Didn’t

(A Story in Sonia’s POV)


–There was the one time Eddie came home angry. Slamming doors, cursing under his breath. I was upset at the language, but more worried he’d catch a little finger, or a toe in the cabinets or doors. I asked why and he pushed me away. He had always been doing that lately. Am I being too much of a worrier? Maybe I am. He’s older now, and doesn’t need me as much. As much as that hurts to admit, seventeen is old enough to be independent. 


–He came home crying again. He’d been doing a lot of that, too. Something was different. He came to me for once. I was selfishly happy, but that left me when I saw him. He had a bruise under his left eye. His lip was cut, and his hands were shaking and red, a sign that he’d had a panic attack again. Those signs used to be foreign to me until he told me those weren’t asthma like I had thought for years. I’d like to think of myself as an almost expert on them now. The only thing hard for me to tell anymore is what might cause them. He has them so often. Eddie comes to me, and sits down, panting. He looks worn down and sad and resigned, as if he’s accepted a heavy fate, or like he was waiting for a piano to fall on him. 

This time when I ask him what’s wrong, he crumbles and starts to cry again. He tells me Henry and his psychopath friends cornered him in the locker room, and roughed him up. He shows me his ribs, and I see red. Partly the dried blood, partly rage. That little freak carved the word “Fag” into Eddie’s little side. It takes everything in me not to take him to the hospital, but Eddie insists he cleaned and dressed it as much as it needed, and it wasn’t deep, no stitches needed. I prayed with everything in me that it wouldn’t scar. When I asked him why they would choose that word, he becomes silent again. He seems to be trying to find the right words to say, and eventually he does. He tells me, stuttering more than the elder Denbrough boy, that it’s because they saw him kissing Richard Tozier. I had nothing to say, and he goes to his room before I could find the right words. I did eventually, over dinner. I tried to make a lighthearted joke, and said he could do better than little Richie Tozier, and that I loved him. He did laugh, but he also cried. This time it was the good way. 


–One time he came home excited, his feet barely touching the ground as he ran upstairs. I called out to him to get the door, but he was down just as fast heading out again. His cheeks are pink and his eyes are bright, and I can’t help but to think that just a few months ago this same boy was crying in shame over what had happened. He was a lot happier in general, due in part I suppose to coming out, but mostly Richard. Richie, Richie this, and Richie that. I almost wanted to tell him I was tired of hearing it, but his happiness wasn’t something I could get tired of. Despite being a trouble maker and a bad mouth, he did take care of Eddie. I did tell him to stop coming home with love marks- unsanitary and shameless little things. I tried not to think about the fact that he still probably got them where I couldn’t see them. He may be an adult next month but he’s still my little angel.

He tells me he’s finally going out on a real date, just the two of them. That they’re going to see a movie, and he tells me not to wait up. I know I’ll try to, but he always manages to come home after I fall asleep. Sneaky little boy. He tells me he’s already left the name, address, and number of the movie theatre on the counter, and that he’ll be with Richie who can be reached as well. I have his number in my Rolodex, as I do his parents, and the rest of his friends- you never know when you might need them. He kisses my cheek and practically skips out to the beat up truck Richard drives. It has a bench seat and the driver seatbelt doesn’t work most of the time, and I cringe thinking about Richie just sitting on it so he doesn’t get a ticket for not actually wearing it. Eddie promised me he’d never drive it, so at least there’s that. 


–He came home today, silent. It’s almost worse when he does that instead of crying. Eddie was pale, and he had dark circles under his eyes. I asked if he was okay, and he just stares at me. It feels like an eternity when he opens and says “The school won’t let Richie and I go to prom together… They said if we showed up they’d kick us out.” His voice sounds so fragile and small, like he doesn’t feel like a real person. I’m furious. I tell him I’ll call the school, but he begs me not to. He says it’s okay, he knew it would happen, that this is just the way things are. I, however, will not stand this. As soon as he goes to his room, I call his principle. I can’t remember exactly what I said, though I am equal parts embarrassed and proud to have used foul language in place of his name. “Mr. Shitstain” and I came to an agreement that they may attend as long as they are within a larger group. He will not allow them to have couple’s pictures, but he did reluctantly allow that they dance together. I tell Eddie in the morning and he cries and hugs me. He goes to Richie to give him good news. 


–He comes home after prom with a photo- the whole group is in it, all holding a sign that says “Loser’s Club”. I cringed at the name, but they chose it for themselves years ago. Eddie and Richie are next to each other, and I suppress an eye roll that Richard had ripped open his shirt to reveal an exclamation point painted on his pale abdomen at the last moment. The picture is slightly blurred, and Eddie confirms my theory when he laughs and says the camera guy was startled and tried to lunge at Richard to put all of his clothes back on. Despite this, I see the stars in his eyes. He is happy, so I am happy. 


–Lately he’s been coming home with heaps of papers, college letters, essays, SATs, tests. I try not to think about him leaving. I turn up the volume on the TV or the radio when he uses the phone to talk to his friends about it. It hurts and he knows it hurts. I’ve never been good at not worrying. This goes on for weeks. I fail to keep my tears in when he’s at school or out with friends, but at the same time, I’m immensely proud. He’s such a good boy. 


–This time he comes home, and he doesn’t say a word, and I can’t see him from the kitchen but I know something is wrong. His feet are dragging and his breathing sounds funny. I drop the spoon into the soup when I hear a crash. He’s laying on the floor and crying. Despite him being curled up in a ball I can see he’s covered in bruises and cuts, and bleeding badly. I try not to scream but when I rush to him I can’t hold it, he’s been cut up badly again, more words carved into his soft belly and his thighs. I can see the word “Queer” seeping through his khaki pantleg as he sobs. This time, he does need stitches. In many places. The only thing he says to me from the hospital bed is that he is oh so tired of this town. Richard never leaves his side, growling at anyone who causes him pain or wakes him up, like a wild animal. I’ve decided that I am incredibly grateful that he is who he is. 

He’s in the hospital for three days. Night one was cleaning and stitching and recounting what happened. The police had been called to file a report. He hesitantly confesses that Henry, Patrick, and the other cretins did this to him. Chief Bowers is red with rage. I hear him in the hallway calling my son a “flamer” but that his boy was “going to get it”. This is the first and only time I’ve yelled at a cop. Richie laughs and holds up his hand for a high five, something I wouldn’t usually reciprocate, but tonight is a night of firsts. Night two was observation and tests to see how bad the internal injuries might be. He has a concussion, but they found no internal damage aside from bruises and a cracked rib. They send him home wrapped in Ace bandages and taped up like Richard’s glasses. That night he tells me he needs to leave, that he can’t take this anymore. I’m angry, and admittedly irrational. We do not speak to each other for a week. 


–When we speak again, he walks in the door with Richie, William, and Michael. Out of his friends, Michael is my favorite despite where he lives being so messy. He brings me flowers and fresh fruits and vegetables. He washes them himself, but only once he gets here so I can see it. He’s a very well mannered and intelligent man. William is wonderful too, but I feel guilt in having trouble understanding him, and he has a habit of talking with his mouth full. He’s not as messy as Richard, so at least there is that. Eddie has healed nicely so far, most of the stitches are out already, and the scars he has, though sadly legible, are hidden under clothes. His lip and eyebrow have small scars, but they are hard to notice. The boys have folded boxes in their hands. I knew this was coming, but I still couldn’t bear it. I stubbornly told him I wouldn’t help him, and that I wouldn’t watch him either. He only nods his head, looking down. 

They pack up his belongings, and I step out into the yard, smoking my first cigarette in years. I swiped one from the Marsh girl months ago, when Eddie was starting to talk about college. I thought that was the worst, but this hurts more. He’s leaving too soon, and I can’t stop him. He promised me he’d finish high school, and go to college, but that he would not live here, in Derry. Because we weren’t completely speaking, I have no idea where he’s moving, and now I’m too embarrassed to ask. When I go back inside, William hands me a piece of paper, his handwriting surprisingly neat, with Eddie’s address, and number. He was moving just outside of the city, into the matchbox apartments. With Richard. I can’t help it. When he walks out of the front door with his things, he kisses my cheek. I can’t help it. When the car drives away, their silhouettes in the windshield. I can’t help it. I sit down on the porch, and I begin to cry. I can’t help it. 


–He doesn’t come in the door anymore. Not the way he used to. No angry slams, no excited pops as the door hits the wall. No silent entries when he’s tired. No little footsteps. He doesn’t come home. He visits, sometimes with Richard, and with his friends. He calls frequently, too. He’s a good boy. Time passes, and he came to visit after graduation. He got accepted to a college in Maine. I try to hide how happy that makes me. I promise I won’t go to the dorms too much. He and Richie talk about their lease ending and moving on campus. His little group of friends are trying their best to stick together. They all got accepted to the same school, and will try to attend until their majors take them elsewhere. It’s nice knowing that he’ll have so many friends. 

He doesn’t come home, but he visits. Holidays he even stays in his old room. Sometimes. Other times he stays with William in his new house, just down the street from mine. Sometimes they visit Richie’s parents, or Michael’s farm. It’s a lot like it used to be, but it isn’t the same. I know it never will be, and while I’m sad, I’m happy too. He doesn’t come home, but he gets married in the same church I was married in. They make the paper as the first same sex couple to get married in Derry. Someone booed them as they walked to their car, but before anyone said anything, Richard flipped them off. I don’t tell Eddie, but I caught it on camera. It’s framed in my room, shameful but endearing. He doesn’t come home, but he visits often, asking for advice. We’ll have lunch together and talk about stain removal, and he’s picked up cross stitching for Richard’s anniversary gift. He’s going to make a sign that says “Tozier-Kaspbrak” for their sitting room. 


He doesn’t come home, but he visits often. Many times with Richard, and even more happily with their new daughter. I’ve always wanted a daughter, so I spoil her rotten. I try not to be so overbearing as I was with Eddie. I know it had the wrong impression on him, and I don’t want her to feel the same. I give her sweets when they aren’t looking, and I teach her all about keeping a good home, and let her watch football with me when they need a babysitter. Eddie doesn’t know, but sports are a guilty pleasure of mine. I want her well rounded, too- to know that girls can like whatever they please. Her name is Amelia Isabelle, and she grows so fast. He doesn’t come home anymore, not like he used to. And I’m so, so grateful. He’s leading a good and proud life, and I’ve never been more proud to be the mother of Edward Tozier-Kaspbrak. He doesn’t come anymore, but when he visits, it’s like he never left at all. I’ve lived a good little life, I feel.



“Sonia Kaspbrak, 65, passed in her sleep in her home of Derry, Maine. Natural causes. She leaves her son, son-in-law, and granddaughter. Funeral to be held this Saturday, July 17th at the First Church of Derry. She will be fondly remembered by all who knew her. Everyone is welcome to attend the open service ceremony being held to celebrate her life. 
Thank you, 
Richard Tozier-Kaspbrak”

I assume that whats *actually* going to happen is that we are going to see Dean grieving irreparably for 5 episodes, broken, inconsolable, empty, missing his everything, and then when Castiel reappears they will pat each other on the shoulders, fist bump, and say something like “Glad you’re back, bro,” and “me too, bro.”

But imagine what it *could* be:

–Castiel embraces Dean, like he always does, desperate, wrapping him up, hiding in his body.

–At first, Dean is just happy, just the same look he had when Castiel hugged him before he went to fight the Darkness.

–But Castiel doesn’t let go, and after a moment, Dean just… he *breaks*. The same way he did when he was wrapping Castiel’s body. His face breaks, and his body breaks, and he buries his head in Castiel’s neck.

–“Thought you were gone,” he says, so quietly. Castiel wouldn’t be able to hear him, if the sound wasn’t rumbling against his chest. “I thought…”

–“I will always come back to you, Dean. Always.”

–“But I thought…”

–“Always.” Like a growl. Castiel holds him tighter, more possessively.

–“Ok Cas. Ok.” But Dean still doesn’t let go.

–After that, Dean hovers around Castiel in the bunker. He doesn’t let Castiel out of his sight. He touches his elbow to help him up and down, when he sits in a chair or stands. He touches the small of his back when he goes in or out of a room. He sits on the arm or back of whatever chair Castiel sits on. Or on the floor, at his feet. He is always touching Cas, always. Some part of him, his hands, or his knees under the table, or his back against Castiel’s legs when he sits on the floor.

–All day, Dean is touching Cas. All day, Dean can’t stop watching him.

–Castiel understands. He lets him.

–Dean follows Castiel into his room, in the evening, when Castiel goes there.

–“But you don’t sleep,” Dean says, when they are inside and his hand is on Castiel’s waist and Castiel has closed the door behind them.

–Why has he never asked about this before? Almost a decade, and Castiel has never slept, and has never watched over him, after he asked him not to, and he never asked what Castiel does, in the night, before.

–Why has he never asked? Why? “What do you do, in the night?” Hand still on Castiel’s waist.

–Castiel looks at him. “I read. Or I listen to music. The tape that you made me…”

–Dean blushes

–“The tape that you made me. Or I rest, and release some of my grace, to power the wards of the bunker.”

–“You do that?”

–Castiel nods, solemnly. “Or I extend it to… check on you and Sam. To make sure you are ok. If you are having a nightmare, and I am… extended in that way, I stop it.”

–“That’s what you do, every night?”

–Castiel nods again. “Every night.”

–Dean looks at the floor. He shifts nervously on his feet. He knows what he wants, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it.

–Castiel understands. Dean has been touching him all day. Dean was afraid that he was gone, and that he wasn’t going to come back.

–“You can sleep here, tonight, if you want to.”

–Dean looks up at him quickly, almost startled, and his eyes are big and green and round and wet.

–“Ok, Cas,” he rumbles. His voice is like big gray stones rolling over each other.

–He doesn’t have his pajamas but he would have to let go of Cas to go get them. So he doesn’t. He toes off his shoes, his socks. He pulls off his jeans, and his flannel, while Castiel watches him, sincerely. Until he his just in his boxers and his tshirt.

–Castiel has not taken his eyes off him.

–Dean blushes, looks away. Rubs his hand on the back of his neck.

–“You too,” he says, looking at the ground, and then, still not looking Castiel in the eye, starts to tug at Castiel’s trenchcoat.

–Until Castiel understands, and shrugs it off. And his suitcoat, his tie. His overshirt, his pants.

–He stands there in front of Dean, in his white boxers and his white undershirt. His eyes are so deep where they look at Dean. So full of emotion. He reaches out and takes Dean’s hand. He raises it to his mouth. He presses a kiss to Dean’s knuckles.

–“Ok, Dean. Ok.”

–And when Dean hears his voice he crumbles, crumbles into Castiel’s embrace again, like he did in the morning. His face is wet. “Cas,” he says. “I thought you were…”

–“Shh, Dean. I know. I know, love.” And he lifts Dean, gently. Dean wraps his arms around Castiel’s neck, though Castiel only carries him a few feet. To the bed.

–He lays Dean down, so gently. He lays Dean down and climbs in after him.

–Dean turns so he can face Castiel’s chest. He buries his head there, again. “Cas. I thought you were….”

–“I know, Dean. I know. It’s OK. I’m here.” Castiel kisses the top of his head. “It’s OK. I’m here. I will always come back to you. Always.”

–“I thought… I had to dress your body, Cas. I had to…”

–“I know. I know, Dean. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

–Dean hiccups. “I thought… Don’t leave me again, Cas. Please. Not ever again.”

–“Never again, Dean. I promise.”

–Dean cries for a while longer, but Castiel holds him tight to his chest. He presses soft kisses into his hair. His thumb rubs circles into the small of Dean’s back.

–“I’m here. Dean. I’m here. I promise.” He keeps repeating it until Dean stops crying. He keeps repeating it until Dean falls asleep.

–Castiel doesn’t sleep. He holds Dean. He soothes him every time is face twitches in his sleep. He holds him and he kisses him softly, and he keeps him safe.

–And even after Dean is asleep, even when it is the full dark of the night and when it is beginning to flower with dawn, he repeats it, over and over. “I’m here, Dean. Never again. I promise.”

keith being so scared to break is the most heartbreaking thing to me. notice the way he hides his face with his hand when he’s about to crumble. how after his outburst and apologies he avoids direct eye contact with the camera on and off throughout the rest of the video. he’s trying so hard to stay composed. this is the same boy who fought countless members of the BOM and didn’t cry once, but being alone and talking himself into a corner, unwrapping himself even though it’s just for him… it’s too much for him. and that tbh.. speaks volumes for his character

OKAY

You know what makes me upset?

This:

When we wake up from the void, one of the first things we see is this man who is borderline delusional, who has murdered his friends - who shot us - and he’s holding a cane in his hands.

Damien’s cane.

Something that once represented an individual who was a compassionate, emotional, trustworthy, charming, intellectual, and a persuasive leader. He was bright; a sense of calm amidst such chaos.

Now in the hands of a good man gone mad, who believes this all to be a joke. Some kind of ruse pulled by his friends, and He calls out to the dead, leaving the last bit of sanity he has in that room with us…with that cane, ownerless and now laying on a table. We reach out and take it in our hand, gently, and after a moment, we see something change. There is a distortion and suddenly, we aren’t the one holding it anymore.


The camera pans up to a mirror, and we see a reflection. We see him.

It’s Damien, but…not exactly.

His hair isn’t smoothly combed back, parted differently, now wild and slightly disheveled. He’s missing his bowtie, his flower pin, and the mayor button. His light and calming aura is no longer present, and the color fades from him as he looks down at that cane. You can see the immense pain in his eyes; the sense of loss and confusion, numbness and frustration. It’s not just him: it’s Celine. It’s us.

That’s our body but it’s him

He raises it to the light and looks at what he once was; takes one last glimpse at a life stolen from him at a such young age. It belonges to a man who was cunning - eager to help a city - and was invited to a fun night of poker, laughter, drinks, friends. It was an invitation to smile, and to make new of old memories, but it was all a horrible lie, fabricated to take their lives.

It was a trap, and it robbed Damien of having a future. Robbed the detective, robbed Celine, us, everyone.

Damien moves, adjusting as the world around us shakes and shatters, world bleeding cyan and red. The mirror shatters, dangerous and violent as it cracks to reveal static.

We see Damien pause, closing his eyes and it seems like he’s taking a moment to listen. To hear his thoughts, and to feel this body. Feel the power of this shared consciousness.

But then he opens his eyes, and you can see the torment. The heartbreaking realization that an individual he considered to be one of his closest friends took Damien’s life from him. And in this moment - this terrible, agonizing moment - he is drowning in betrayal, bitterness, confusion, loss, and heartbreak.

It’s a moment of acceptance.

It’s when something inside him shifts.

We witness that burning anger, that seek for justice, and the Damien who welcomed us our first night at the manor - who defended and confided in us - ceases to exist. He puts down that cane as lips that once held a smile distort and bend into an uncharacteristical scowl, rage stripping the picture of Damien from exsistence and painting this new entity of 3 souls trapped within one body.

Reflected in that shattered mirror is the image of innocents who should have left that mansion, alive and untouched. It is the image of revenge, and blinding despair; one that drips of this seething hatred.

Its something from a nightmare because we see the face of a man who once had eyes that shone brighter than the stars, with such heart and kindness, only to crumble as he tries to keep the others around him sane as they are picked off one by one. We watched as he became more and more lost, emotional, and frustrated mostly with himself. He was an individual who attempted to be a voice of reason, a protector, a guide, and because of that nature, it was used against him. His body will spend the rest of eternity being puppetted by someone else, and the true Damien will be lost into something that is everything he never was.

Staring into that mirror isn’t Damien. It isn’t Celine, or Mark, or any of us. It’s a being of darkness that betrays us, leaving us in that place. It’s only then we feel that dense of abandonment, and it is crippling, because we finally understand how Damien felt. And in that moment, at least for me, I forgave them and the thing that they unknowingly unleashed.

And It is just so terrible because Damien deserved so much more.

They all did.

And it just breaks my heart.

Pairing: Dean/Cas
Length: 2.5k
Tags: Fluff, Mild Angst, Pining, First Kiss, Canon Divergent
 
Read on AO3

A special thank you to @braezenkitty for being my awesome beta <3

“You just gotta get laid,” Dean said, reseating the burger beside the pile of fries on his plate, this time with a big bite missing. “Or a decent kiss, at least.”

He crumbled a napkin between greasy fingers, tossed it to the middle of the table. Shoved his shirtsleeves up one more time as he tucked his black fed tie under the table ledge and away from the plate. “It’d loosen you up, buddy. And maybe you’d quit tryna live vicariously through horny eighteen-year-olds.”

This was because of the door-to-door canvas. The couple at the park who’d been all over each other, that Castiel hadn’t been able to stop looking at—even after the old, blue-haired lady at 512 Bakersfield Court had made a comment. “Your partner likes to stare…” like she’d never in her seventy-five years of life seen someone curious about such a thing.

If only that was the first time I heard it, too,” Dean’d smiled back from her stoop, the sharp sun cooking them both in the stuffy Tennessee heat. A marked jab to Cas’ ribs, and a walk to the nearest pub later, and Dean was bringing it up again, because, of course he was. Why talk about the case?

“I only glanced at the couple in the park,” Cas sighed. “It’s not a recurring issue. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Dean laughed, lipped his beer bottle, and took a stout drink. “Sure,” he said. “Glanced at them. Glanced at those girls holding hands last week—though, I’ll give ya that one. I gave ‘em a couple once-overs too.”

“Dean—”

“Point is, it ain’t the first time, and you’re a damn liar.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “My being, or not being with people has nothing to do with anything—”

“Has everything to do with everything when you’re touch-starved.”

“I’m not starved. I’ve been… touched.”

Dean scoffed, swirled his beer bottle. “Sure, if you wanna count Reaper-Fools-Day.”

“I’ve kissed more people than April,” Cas bristled back. “How about we talk about what you know of touch starved instead?”

Dean snapped shut, cocked his head as a follow-up comment seemed to slip from his mouth quick. He replaced the words with a couple fries and averted eyes. “Fine,” he relented around the bite. “And?”

“And… What?”

He looked back up, eyebrows jumping. “Were they any good?”

“Who? The people?”

“The kissing, idiot. Was the kissing any good?”

Cas’ heart flopped. He slipped a hand down his beer bottle, and then back up again nervously. The motion pulled Dean’s attention in a glance, so Cas tucked the rogue thing back onto his lap instead. Fingers lacing together under the shelter of the slick waxed top where no one could see. “I don’t know. Yes?” he offered carefully.

“Are you tellin’ me, or askin’ me right now?”

“No—I mean… ” Cas cleared his throat, shifted in his chair, and listened to the wood slats groan. “They were fine. They were… wet.”

“Wet?” Dean repeated. “Cas, wet is how you describe a swimming pool… Oregon in the winter, maybe… Not a kiss. Never a good kiss.”

“Then how should I describe it?”

“No, I mean… if they were wet, then they were wet—”

“No, please. You tell me.”

Dean’s face suddenly fell wide in mock innocence. “What? You want me to describe a good kiss to you right now? In the middle of a restaurant.”

“If wet is insufficient—”

“Oh, yeah. It’s like, miles of not-sufficient-ness, dude.”

Cas chewed a smile down and gestured Dean’s way. Crossed his arms, and sat back. He watched Dean waffle before finally sliding back in his chair to think. He splayed wide, elbows up on the armrests and knees hugging the corners. His face caught the dim overhead lights, and the sun-kissed healthy pink of his skin shone back like warm earth.

He had white in the creases beside his eyes where his smile lines had shaded him from the harsh afternoon sun. A little cut of tan at the bridge of his nose where his sunglasses sat after he’d gotten sick of squinting through the reflections of every bright midday door.

“Okay, it’s like this,” he said finally, tapping an erratic finger on the neck of his bottle, and pausing to worry his lip. “A kiss is a kiss is a kiss, til it ain’t. If you’re with the right person, then the tension between you’s gonna be thick enough to cut. It’s gonna feel like you’ve got a firecracker in your gut, and that other person’s just flicking the Bic. The minute the two of you kiss, the fuse lights. That bastard explosive rips up through your chest, and pops behind your eyes, and I’m talking—screw seeing colors at that point—you’ll be so wrecked, you’ll know what they sound like.

Castiel smiled as Dean came back in with a languid look, and a tongue tip between his teeth. He peeled forward, hovering over the table, so much closer than before, that there was only the dragging smell of his burger all tangled up in his woody cologne for Cas to breathe.

“That’s a good kiss,” he said slowly, and maybe it was Castiel’s imagination, but the sun kiss on Dean’s cheeks had spread to his ears now. “Sounds good, don’t it?”

“It sounds very good,” Castiel agreed. “Very surreal.”

Dean let a long, animated sigh into the room and it mixed happy with the gentle murmur of the busy forks and glasses around them. “Oh, it’s very real,” he said. “Just not very common.”

He poked absently at the pile of cooling fries, and sucked the salt from the end of his finger. The gorgeous smacking sound it made curled red ribbons in Cas’ stomach. “Still, you find someone who’ll give you that, and it’s the kinda thing that’ll right some wrongs. Know what I mean?”

Cas took a long drink, smile falling as the carbonation from his beer prickled reality back into his tongue. “Sure,” he said quietly. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Dean’s mouth thinned, and his eyes ping-ponged away uneasy. He tailed and tacked down the waitress, kept locked on her as she floated behind the counter poking something into the mounted LED screen beside the register. “Doesn’t that rub you, though?” he asked, “not knowing for yourself. Don’t you… want that with somebody?”

Cas puffed surprised, and his mouth went dry. Try as he might, the beer wouldn’t wet it. “I mean, yes…” he said earnestly, and the admission ate holes in his stomach.

“Then… how come you ignore all the waitresses I send your way? You’re never gonna get it if you don’t even try.”

Cas was suddenly, and shamefully aware of his attention at Dean’s lips, and when Dean snagged a glance at him, Cas tore his eyes away, shoved them onto the table instead. Focused everything he had on the bleed of condensation below the cool, brown bottle to his left.

“Those people wouldn’t change anything,” he said to the ring. “Colors were never meant to make sounds for some.”

Dean fidgeted the fries again, finally pushed them aside, and brushed the salt off his hand this time instead of eating it. “I guess we better head out,” he said, flagging the waitress. “Sam’s waiting.”


They paid, and headed back out into the melty summer heat. It was sunset, but the air was still laying in the city thick as a wool blanket. Shadows stretched through the streets like plastic-capped Halloween fingers, crowding up in the alleyways and turns, painting the dingy brick walls black.

Cas flared his coat to check his back pocket for his wallet as they passed a couple people with hungry eyes, but just as quickly remembered that he’d dropped his last twenty for the meal, and let the impulse to feed them drift out. Still, he welcomed the brief breeze it gave him, and he wondered if maybe it was getting time to rethink the coat. Grace or not, he seemed to be touchier to the temperatures these days, and it was starting to seem like wardrobe was becoming more important—practically speaking.

Dean shed his own suit coat as if he’d just read Castiel’s mind, and slung it over his shoulder with a hooked finger. His shirtsleeves were still shoved up to his elbows under the blazer, as if he’d put it on after dinner, distracted. “Nothing fancy,” he murmured to his feet.

“Pardon?”

“Hmm—?” He looked over quick, eyes wide, before blinking them back down. “What?”

“I just didn’t catch what you said.”

Dean shook his head. “I didn’t—” But when Cas frowned, opened his mouth to contest, Dean relented. “Oh, you mean the, uh, thing I said out loud…” He cleared his throat, added “apparently” under his breath, and slowed down for some oncoming foot traffic.

“I was just thinking about the, uh, Nichols’ story,” he said, temporarily falling in line behind Cas as a group of people passed. He touched the small of Cas’ back out of nowhere, and kept his hand there. Cas’ chest snagged. “The alibi Brent was peddling didn’t feel right.” His voice was soft in Cas’ ear, almost breathy—but brief, and when he pulled up beside Cas again, sidewalk clear, Cas grabbed a shaky glance, but Dean wasn’t watching.

“You, uh, think they have something to do with the black magic we’re seeing?” Cas asked, and his voice managed to pour out level, despite his stomach coming off that quick rollercoaster dip.

“I mean, the house was a little much for a twenty-hour a week gas-slinging gig at the local area Gas n’ Sip, don’t you think?”

It was the most they’d talked about the case all day.

“Fancy,” Cas reiterated, then, “I certainly never would’ve been able to afford that place when I worked there.” For some reason, the comment pulled Dean tight at the joints. “But I couldn’t even afford hourly motels.”

“Well… the hourlies charge more.”

Cas frowned again, started to ask why when Dean squirmed past it. “But, you’re right,” he said. “Doesn’t add up no matter how you flip the numbers.”

“So, do you suspect they’re the source of the black magic, or victims of it?”

They hopped down the curb, checking the way for traffic, and ended up on the grassy side of Spring Street, just down from their motel. Dean popped a piece of gum in his mouth, balled the wrapper, and stuck it back in his pocket instead of tossing it away.

“I suspect there’s something screwy going on,” he said, “and that’s as far as I’ve got.”

He plucked the gum from his mouth a moment later, and flicked it to the bushes, ran a hand down his face. “Sam’s doing backgrounds as we speak. Here’s hoping there’s a smoking gun in there somewhere. But, ‘til we get that, we’re pulling straws.”

The streetlamps kicked on, buzzing like fireflies in the thick night, the light falling on the street in goldweave strings as they hustled past a defunct sporting goods store—hollow bones brick and mortar now. No one missing what used to be inside.

Dean scanned the streets, watched another few strings of dusk foot traffic pass on the left while he chewed his cheeks.

“Did Sam find anything at the morgue?” Cas pressed, because the silence seemed oddly unnerving.

“No—I mean, uh, I don’t know. Haven’t talked to him.”

“I thought we were meeting him.”

Dean’s attention caught up in a little alcove at the end of the street and he gripped his jacket tighter, tucked his chin and let a heavy breath out. “We are,” he said quietly.

“Not at the morgue?”

“Um, no, he’s at the motel,” Dean said, and he sounded nervous. “Waiting to take us.”

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and we’ll find a hex bag, or—”

Dean suddenly shoved Cas’ sideways, off the street and into the alcove, shadows tangling up in the corners of it, all those long witch fingers bleeding to flat black. Castiel grunted, surprised. “What’re you—” and his throat went dry as Dean pushed him into the stuccoed brick backside of a closed Chinese restaurant, hands curling up on both sides of Cas’ jaw, but fingers combing a soft arc “—doing?”

“Nothin’, if you don’t want me to,” Dean whispered, conviction skippy at best. His body was hot against Cas. Heavy and hard. Nothing like April’s… Meg’s… Hannah’s…

The question—and it was a question—coiled in Cas’ belly like a fever dream, but an answer never had a chance of bubbling back out. Because a response would’ve been moot before it ever left his lips. Castiel’s pause was too long to be a no, and his fingers had already found their way to Dean’s waist. They were making note of the way his blue button down clung to his sides, like the tee underneath had been soaking in all that sudden, nervous heat since before they’d ever even left the bar.

And so, Dean brushed their lips together, not a hesitation so much as dipping a toe, and a rush of butterflies went right to Cas’ head without mercy. Cas whimpered without meaning to, and Dean landed the meat of the kiss, hands falling down Cas’ neck and dragging that unruly sensation through. His lips were soft and his cheeks, five o’clock gritty. He worked Cas’ mouth open with a roll of his jaw, and a flirty burst of mint graced Cas with the pass of Dean’s tongue.

Castiel melted into it, fingers curling around the back of Dean’s head as he tried desperately to get a handhold on something. Their hips rolled together. Cas stole himself a handful of Dean’s ass. Felt Dean hard against him as he moved against Cas’ thigh.

Dean’s breath went rocky, like he was fighting some kind of tightrope walk of heavy and thin, and the sound he made was dirty enough to sin. Castiel nosed him, combed fingers through his hair as Dean pulled back. His eyes fell hot on Cas’ mouth. The shadows ate the flush from his face, but not the burning heat of it.

“Now tell me again,” he whispered, voice licking at Cas ear and coming out like gravy. “Tell me again what a kiss feels like.”

Castiel huffed, tried to catch his running brain. He couldn’t help himself, hands still at Dean’s waist, he held him there. The both of them were hard, and neither of them were in a hurry to do anything about it. “I would say… green makes a helluva sound,” he whispered back.

He watched a wicked smile crawl through Dean’s face. “There it is,” Dean hummed, dragging a chill with his thumb from the skin he’d bared at Cas’ side, and chasing it to Cas’ neck with a soft breath, a kiss. “An’ I’m just getting started too.”

Then, he pulled away, the absence of his sticky heat leaving Cas bare. The gravel chewed under Dean’s heels as he headed for the street, pausing only to stoop for the jacket he’d shed at some point on the way. He shook it off, straightened his tie. “Let’s go! We’re late!”

Castiel swallowed, hand to his stomach, and peeled himself from the brick.

8

Middle Earth meme | [½] villains Sauron

↳   If [the Ring] it is destroyed, then he will fall, and his fall will be so low that none can foresee his arising ever again. For he will lose the best part of the strength that was native to him in his beginning, and all that was made or begun with that power will crumble, and he will be maimed for ever, becoming a mere spirit of malice that gnaws itself in the shadows, but cannot again grow or take shape. And so a great evil of this world will be removed.

Exordia Academy (Master List)

It’s 1980′s middle-of-nowhere, and Exordia Academy is full of its most talented class of students yet. Whether you’re looking for a place to hone your skills, develop or just fit in – there’s something for everyone within our hallowed halls. Class is in session.

Originally posted by jonginssoo


Jongin. Knowledge Absorption. Jongin was very young, when he learned to stay silent. When he learned his knowledge was alienating, his genius a burden. He learned early, knowing too much makes others fearful, since people (ironically enough) tend to fear the unknown. Until Jongin finds you. You, as it turns out, are something much more difficult to understand. 

One Shot by @kpopfanfictrash​ - [ Anomaly ]

Originally posted by intokai

Kyungsoo. Telepathy. For someone who finds solace in silence, Kyungsoo’s life is overwhelming at best. Everywhere he goes, everyone he meets is loud, deafeningly so. He never asked for this gift. To know exactly what people think, the moment they think it. Thoughts which more often than not, make him think people are jealous, self-servicing cowards. Always, he’s wished the voices would stop and always, he’s met with more. That is, until he’s alone with you and, for the first time in his life – he hears absolutely nothing. 

One Shot by @knockknocksoosthere - [ Noise ]

Originally posted by kyungsuhos

Junmyeon. Psychokinesis. Junmyeon does not touch things if he can help it. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. It’s just that nothing ever truly prepares a person for the lived experiences of objects. Touching a book means he does not get the words inside, he gets the laughter of the person who read it last. Touching a door means he is forced to live every impossible life of the men and women who have been and gone from the room. Junmyeon does not touch things if he can help it. Until he touches a dormitory wall. Until he hears you. 

One Shot by @bread-jinie - [ Replay ] 

Originally posted by tinyjunmyeon

Sehun. Invisibility. Sehun remembers the very first time he turned invisible. It was in his primary school days, he was performing Tap Solo #5 in the middle of the stage. Sehun entered from stage left, promptly forgetting the very first move. His legs faltered, mind went blank – and sudden screams erupted from the audience, when Sehun’s body disappeared. His family moved the next week. This kind of thing becomes normal, though – until the day Sehun is invisible, and you see him anyways.

One Shot by @kpopfanfictrash - [ Blue Roses ]

Originally posted by kyungsuhos

Minseok. Essokinesis. Reality has never been kind to Minseok. Always, he’s been overlooked. Always picked last, always bullied by those larger than him. Until one day, he snaps. He imagines himself towering over his tormentors, striking fear into their puny hearts and dangling them from his palm. When he realizes they, too experience this distorted reality – things begin to change. No longer is Minseok nobody. The first time he steps foot on campus, people know who he is. He sees them whisper, sees them shy away and while he finds comfort in their fear – it’s lonely. When he meets you though, he finds you don’t look away. Perhaps there’s a reason.  

One Shot by @knockknocksoosthere - [ Dark ]

Originally posted by kimjongah

Yixing. Time Travel. Life for Yixing has never been easy. It’s not that he’s from a bad family, it isn’t even that he fits a stereotype. The problem is that he fits no stereotype, and people, as kind as they can be, have the tendency to be impossibly cruel to things that seem to exist outside of society’s boxes. Yixing really doesn’t fit into anywhere or any when, until he fades. Until he reforms. Until he finds you.

One Shot by @bread-jinie - [ the week of 10 / 15 - 10 / 21 ]

Originally posted by chiuyixing

Baekhyun. Aquakinesis.  Baekhyun thinks he has control over his powers by now. Thinks he’s past that prepubescent age where his sadness brought drizzles and his anger, monsoons. All this though, is before he makes the terrible and horrifying mistake of falling in love with his best friend. You. 

One Shot by @kpopfanfictrash - [ the week of 10 / 22 - 10 / 28 ]

Originally posted by fy-exo

Chanyeol. Pyrokinesis. Chanyeol isn’t entirely sure why his parents enrolled him at the university, considering he has never presented any remotely special power. He’s a quick learner, but nothing like Jongin; he’s skilled at sports, but nothing like his friends with enhanced speed. In truth, Chanyeol thinks he’s simply average and simply human. He doesn’t mind, he’s watched his family struggle with their powers for years and thinks of these problems as a burden. But then one day he meets you, and everything inside him is set aflame. Literally. 

One Shot by @bread-jinie - [ the week of 10 / 29 - 11 / 4 ]

Originally posted by porkdo-bi

Jongdae. Enhanced Strength. Jongdae remembers the exact moment he knew he was different. He slammed the door to his room, a normal, teenage reaction but was terrified when the plaster and plywood crumbled down around him. From that moment on, he was changed. No longer his parents’ son, Jongdae belonged to someone else entirely. He was adopted – that was what they said. Now, even surrounded by people who are supposedly the same, he feels lost. Adrift, like he’s meant for something else. Then there’s you. You make him feel alive, wanted in a way he’s never understood. 

One Shot by @knockknocksoosthere - [ the week of 11 / 5 -  11 / 11 ]

Originally posted by dazzlingkai


Meet the next generation of superheroes. (Prompt from Anonymous xx)

Keith’s sacrifice and its implications

I’ve been seeing people be concerned that Keith almost sacrificing himself was because he felt like others wouldn’t care if he died but honestly? I think it’s just his strong instincts kicking in given the fact that everyone else was about to die if nobody stepped in. Instead of an emotional decision, I believe his actions are driven more by his understandings of everything he’s learned from BOM and Voltron, and how those philosophies mix into who he is as a person.

Leading up until that moment, they’ve shown him being conflicted between saving everyone he can and prioritizing the mission above individual lives. He realizes the BOM is a little different from Voltron in that sense.

The BOM episode back in season 2 has been setting up for these moments of Keith constantly having to choose between the Blade and Voltron. He faced hologram!Shiro telling him to give up the knife, and then his dad telling him to wait while the world outside was crumbling. In the end he chose Voltron, proclaiming “I know who I am.” THAT is when the Blade activates for him.

It seems like so far, we’ve seen him trying to reconcile the BOM/Voltron conflict and trying to balance both in his life. In the end it seems like they end up becoming one and the same.

So when he decides to sacrifice himself, he’s kind of combining both his BOM side and Voltron side and mixing it in with who he is as a person. He’s valuing the mission above his own individual life, understanding that in the BOM, individuals often sacrifice themselves if they can’t make it out in order to preserve the mission. But at the same time? It’s a little different from purely BOM philosophy. The risk that everyone would die and not just him is something that makes Keith, Keith. He’s a huge risk taker, willing to push his limit/luck to achieve the best possible outcome. He’s saving the rest of the world and his friends, which is exactly how he’s always been. A saving people person. (Gryffindor confirmed lol). When he decided to try and sacrifice himself, he knew it was for the greater good. It’s beyond himself and his own feelings. It’s about saving the world.

So just like how the Blade activated for him when he accepted himself as a paladin of Voltron, he found himself fitting in with both the Blade and Voltron when he decided to fly towards the sun.

All His Fault

In the large mansion, isolated from the bustling city, a place was covered in mystery, a place was covered in death. On these grounds, an atmosphere so thick laid like a blanket around the house, suffocating the people in it.

One shouts so loud that the people outside- the butler, chef, and gardener- cringe in hurt. They know what is real. They pack their backs and get ready to get out. They know what is happening. One, sadly, is still shrouded from it.


William shouts as loud as his lungs could give.

Damien? Celine? Come out! You got me! This was an elaborate prank, you got me, now, come out!”

At first, it was a call for them, come on, pleasepleasepleasecomeout. No one’s dead, right? But as time went on, it was becoming a chant. A chant of his heart, for his mind, to keep working, keep moving, keep calling. They’re not dead. They’re playing a prank.

“Come on William.” He whispered to himself, fiddling with his lenses. “Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it. D-Don’t…” He swallowed, a sharp short pain in his dry throat. “They’re not dead. Come on! Damien! Celine-!”

“William.” A voice calls from his back, and he looked at the corner of his eyes.  A cracked mirror. His friend, reflected on the smooth, jagged surface. A look of anger, vengeance, burning. “Stop.”

“You don’t understand, Mark.” He grits out in a faux happy tune, but both knew it was fake as it can get. “Those two- they were— are, my friends. For years!  And you know they love pranks. They’ve got to get out soon!”

The other man steps forward, and it was only this time did William register the familiar cane in his hands. A surge of disbelief ran through him, and blindly, as if his body knew what his mind wanted to do before it instructed him, walked briskly towards the other and snatched the cane, clutching it close to his chest.

“This- this isn’t yours. It’s Damien’s. Not. Not yours.” He stammered, not knowing why. Was it anger? Disbelief? Or was he hurting already? What did it feel to hurt? “You’re not supposed to hold it. It’s his. Mayor’s.”

“Colonel-“

“You shut your mouth!” He retaliated, hands shaking, and he felt his body drop. ‘Stop.’ He yelled desperately in his mind, a slow hysterical feel creeping in his internal voice. ‘Stand tall! At ease! Parade rest! God fucking-‘

A firm hand landed on his shoulder. A familiar touch, yet not so. It felt cold, as if owner’s anger that he was feeling was ice-hot. William blinked the tears from his eyes, and removed his glasses, drying the tears on them. And-how peculiar was that. He was on his knees. When was he on his knees? Did he do something wrong?

“Did I kill them?” He asked no one, no one in particular, absolutely removing anyone around him from his midst. He was alone in this room, wasn’t he? Or was the man behind him, no, not just a man, Mark, behind him? “No, no, I didn’t, right? Mark’s alive?”

“Yes. But-“

“Oh god. Oh god. Goodness gracious. I thought- and Celine, and Damien, and-and-and, and Y/N, right, I didn’t kill them?” He tried to stand, but his knees were too wobbly, and he had to balance himself upright. “Mark, I didn’t kill them?”

Mark didn’t answer. The anger that was projected on his face earlier waned, morphing into something drastic, pitying, hurting, all at once. “William- I, I’m trying to tell you, please, listen-“

William’s smile grew, a painful one, and his eyes, oh his eyes, filling up with hot tears.

“Mark, I didn’t kill them?!” He asked once more, and he stumbled, losing grip. He stared at the cane first before looking up at the other’s face. “T-Tell me, you’re alive?”

“I-“ Mark brought his hand up to his face, massaging his nose. “It’s hard to explain, but yes, I am alive, but- but not in the way that I used to be. William.” He bent down and gripped the steadily hysterical man. “William, listen to me. I am alive. But I- I am Celine. I am Damien. We’re both here, but- but we’re dead, William. Do you understand?”

The man stared at him, and Dark, who had been just letting his anger reign himself in, bit his lip, seeing the absolute pain in his eyes. Celine and Damien, in his conscious, struggled, gasped. Both tried to control themselves to project the man they wanted to take vengeance as.

Then they heard the ramblings. The ramblings, by god, the ramblings, they figured out, my god, where was their friend going?

“D-Damien in the body? C-Celine in the body? That’s- that’s great! They’re not dead! Mark’s not alive! That’s even greater! No one’s dead! No one’s dead! F-Fuck, no one’s dead!

However when they saw their childhood friend break, absolutely break, Dark knelt, and shed a few tears.

“William, please.” He looked at his friend. “William-“

The other man stood up, fast as lightning, and shouted upwards. “No one’s dead! They’re all alive! Hah! G-Good one, good one!” He smiled, a painstaking, hysterical, twisted, and deranged smile. “That must be pretty harsh! To be there in there! What do you call yourselves?”

In a small, but relenting voice, he whispered, “Dark.” And he winced at the bigger smile that took over his friend’s face. “William, do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“Yes!” He smiled, and- were those tears? Tears of a man so far from reality. Tears from a man who can’t accept reality and forged his own. Tears that signified the great loss of a man.

Dark stood up, and looked at him, with baited breath. Celine and Damien’s friend’s sanity was long gone. In a broken giggle, William beamed widely.

“No one’s dead! No one is dead!”


And that was the final straw for Damien. In Dark’s mind, he paced gripped his lapels as hard as he can, and grinded out through his teeth his words.

He fucking did this to him! Look at him! Fuck, Celine!” He demanded, and Celine watched his tirade, eyes widening as she saw the anger overtake him. “He took everything away from us! He took me. I could deal with that. He took you, and I couldn’t. But- but William! The man was damaged enough as it is! That fucking son of a bitch-“

“Damien, please-“

“Don’t Damien please me, Celine!” His voice was getting higher. “No matter what we could do, magic arts or not, there is no way with helping William anymore! All he sees is Dark, Mark’s face, accommodating us, and we don’t have any way to show him that we’re here. He doesn’t comprehend it!” He yelled, watching her reactions. “You cannot tell me that I shouldn’t destroy his work, his loved ones, his life! Look at how he destroyed him without an ounce of thought!”

Celine bit her lip and exhaled. “Damien. I-“

A gunshot suddenly brought them out of their reverie. Dark blinked, looking at the scene in front of him. A bullet, on the floor, punctured. William, with a gun on his hand, looking lost, like a child without their parents. His eyes wide, he turned a questioning look at the other, who smiled in response.

“You weren’t responding to me.” He laughed, and something unsettling was in his eyes. “I just wanted to check if you were still there. With me. Alive.” He put the gun in his holster. “Y-You weren’t moving, and I know I didn’t put a bullet in you, so you couldn’t have died- but you weren’t moving anymore, so I figured, why not put a bullet on you?” He chuckled even louder. “That seems to bring people alive!”

Dark chose to be silent, and Celine could only sob in her hands, as Damien stood up tall in Dark’s subconscious, unyielding, and hateful. He watched his childhood friend, his comrade, the man he had grew up with, the man he sought out in times of trouble, break as if he was just a plaything; crumble, as if his sanity was just an insignificant sand in the wind; and disappear into a pit of madness, right before his eyes. 

He commanded Dark’s body to stand, and hug the other man, whispering reassurances that he was alive. William would nod and whisper “No one’s dead” again and again, further angering Dark.

This was all Mark’s fault. This was all Mark’s fault. Mark’s fault. Mark’s fault.

And he will pay.


So. What do you guys think? Hope you like it! Comments will be appreciated ahaaaa

bleusarcelle  asked:

Oh oh oh oh!!!! For the prompt. How about a Klance video call where Lance is telling Keith all of their shows and Keith is like quiet but with a smile enjoying Lance's RAMBLING and they have a soft moment of.... Hey you are missed, u know that right? Kdksksksksikss idk.

HOLY SHIT YES. Yes i love this. Thank you Bleu for this premium suggestion


Keith’s fingers hover over the call button. He’s been doing this now every night for a week. Why is he nervous? Why can’t he summon the courage to just hit the damn button?

Just call him. Just call him. Just call him! 

He reprimands himself. His hands tremble and he sits down on his bed. 

What if he’s mad at me? What if they’ve moved on? Maybe it’s better if I stay quiet…

Keith sighs and goes to put his communicator anyway in his pocket. Just like he always does. The ship around him is silent. It’s always silent. His room is cold. 

In his gloved hands, his finger slips and his communicator screen lights up.

“Shit! Shitshitshitshit…” He grapples with the device, but before he can hang up, the ringing has stopped. A chipper voice rings out and he’s staring into familiar eyes.

“Keith?!” Lance answers. His eyes search Keith’s face and his surroundings. “Are you ok? Do you need…?”

“What? No, no, I’m fine, Lance. I’m ok.” Keith shushes. He can’t help the small smile that pulls on the corner of his lips. “I’m fine.”

“Oh thank god.” Lance sighs and rolls back on his bed. He closes his eyes. His heart still thunders in his chest. 

“You that worried about me?”

“More like I’m comfortable and didn’t want to go on a mission right now.” Lance smirks and chuckles quietly. Keith rolls his eyes. 

“So why’d you call anyway?”

This question trips Keith up. He hopes that Lance can’t see the blush that rises to his cheeks. That he doesn’t notice the way he fidgets with his hood. 

“Uh, I guess I just wanted to check in and see…” His voice trembles.

“Did you miss me?” Lance grins.

“No!” Keith snaps. Lance laughs.

“I… I dunno… I just….”

Lance hears the uncertainty in his voice. He watches Keith’s eyebrows crinkle together in frustration. Lance’s smile falters and his expression falls into one of gentle concern.

“Do you want me to tell you what the team’s been up to?” He offers. 

Keith sighs. He’s grateful for the change of subject and nods.

“Well we’ve made contact with the rebels and have been working together on some stuff. And oh my god, Keith, Keith you will not believe…” Lance sits up and excitedly talks to his communicator. 

“Keith, I swear to god, One of their captains is a dog!”

“Wait what?”

“I’m serious! One of their captains, she’s really cool by the way, she’s a straight up dog that walks around on two legs and talks and and… did you ever see Disney’s Robin Hood with the foxes?”

Keith blinks. Lance is going a mile a minute and it’s hard to keep up.

“Uh yeah?”

“It’s exactly like that! She looks like a character from that movie and everyone else is totally fine with it and isn’t even mentioning it, all the while I am freaking out because there is a race of goddamn space dogs.”

Keith laughs. A familiar warmth flickers in his chest.

“Oh! Oh! Sorry I totally forgot! We found Matt! Well Pidge did, but that’s besides the point…”

“Whoa what? You found…?”

“Yeah Pidge found her brother! He was with the rebels and she tracked him down! And now he hangs out with us and Pidge is just so happy. And Hunk has someone new to talk about nerdy stuff with. He seems cool, even if a bit delusional. He definitely has a thing for Allura and, oh man, that poor boy does not stand a chance.”

“Wow that’s … I can’t believe…” Keith sighs.

“Have you seen our shows?!” Lance beams into the camera. Again Keith is caught off guard. It takes him a moment to interpret what Lance just asked him.

“Oh!” His expression melts into a teasing smirk. “Oh… Oh I know about them. You’re quite the actor, Lance.”

“What can I say? I’m a natural.” Lance brushes his hair back and shoots a finger gun straight towards Keith.

“But they’re so much fun, dude. Like I just get such a rush from all the cheering you know? Like it’s been really amazing to inspire people and talk to fans directly. And the coalition is stronger than ever! 

Shiro’s been such a good sport about all this. Like I can tell he’s uncomfortable? But he really throws himself into it, and the fans all love him. Well of course they would, he’s Shiro. Oh! And you should see the way little girls all run up to Allura afterwards. She uses your name in the script, but these kids aren’t fooled.”

Lance continues to rant about their antics. About how they rehearse, and Lance had a fair bit of input to his choreography. About how it all ended with them actually fighting a monster in an arena, and Allura doing the sweetest backwards flip kick Lance has ever seen.

A lump forms in Keith’s throat.

“I think I needed a different outfit for my rope routine. The armour was a bit clunky, and you know… I should really give the fans what they want.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry I missed it. You’ll have to give me a private show sometime.” Keith smiles.

Lance looks at him in shock. A blush rushes to his ears and his mouth opens into a wild smile.

“Did you just…?!”

“Oh my god!” Keith yanks his hood over his face. He’s just realised what he may have implied.

“I didn’t mean…! God, Lance! Not like that!” He shouts, but he can’t help the giggles that burst from his chest. He can hear Lance’s laughter matching his own.

“Can you get me a cool Blade of Marmara outfit to do it in?” Lance chuckles. He sighs as he catches his breath.

“I don’t think I can just take one.”

“Shame. I really like them.” Lance chews his lip. “You look really cool.” 

Keith ignores the way that makes the ache in his chest throb. He shakes his head and tries to hide how flustered he feels with a laugh.

“It uh… it sounds like you guys are going really well.”

“Yeah.” Lance sighs. He brushes his hand through his hair. “We’re uh… we’re doing good stuff, but…”

A heavy silence falls between them. Lance feels the words on the tip of his tongue. He knows what he wants to say, but is suddenly embarrassed to say them. His relationship with Keith is precarious and he worries that his next word might send them over the edge. He swallows.

“But I really wish you were there.” His voice is hushed. He averts his eyes from the communicator. 

“We miss you Keith. I know you’re doing important work, and I know that you’re helping us by helping the blades, but we just…” He stammers. “I…I just…”

He accidentally meets Keith’s eyes. The reality that Keith is on the other side of the galaxy hits him like a crashing wave. 

“I’ll never replace you. We’re a team.” His breath shudders.

“Lance, I…”

“Please come home.” Lance presses his eyes closed. “We all worry. And Red asks about you and, and…” His fingers grip at his jacket. “Don’t stay gone forever. … okay?”

 Keith sighs. His eyes begin to sting and he can feel his resolve crumbling. He briefly thinks about where the pods on his current ship are located before he pushes it out of his mind. 

No. He can’t run back now. Not yet. 

“I’ll be back.”

“Stay safe,”

“I will.” Keith nods solemnly.

Lance hangs up the call and stares down at his communicator. His hands fist into his sheets and his mouth twists into a scowl.

“You’re lying.” 

3

My boy, the drama queen, the dork, th

anonymous asked:

can we get some hcs for soft boy richie??

YESS HES SUCH A FUCKING SOFT BOY

(thank you @eddiesbadbreak and @stanleyuriis for some of the HCs ily)

- God, Richie is such a hopeless romantic underneath all the bullshit he spews.

- Richie is starved for attention and affection at home, which often makes him question whether he deserves that at all. So he craves attention so much, especially from Eddie.

- When they’re not bickering or joking around, Richie is so sweet with Eddie. But he definitely has to be in that mood. When Eddie is affectionate with him, calls him pet names or says that he loves Richie, Richie pretty much crumbles.

- Tbh the first time Eddie says “I love you”, Richie almost tears up because like… no one says that to him. It means more than anything because someone actually loves him and he loves them back and it’s all so amazing.

- He’s pretty sensitive, especially when it comes to his insecurities and his family situation. He totally does not show it often though, and the only people that know the true extent of how he’s feeling inside are Eddie and Bev.

- Richie is SUCH a cuddler, and often likes to be the one cuddled. He loves being the little spoon or being the one to rest his head on Eddie’s chest instead of the other way around. He loves laying with his head on Eddie’s lap when they’re with the other Losers.

- If Eddie runs his fingers through his hair, he melts instantly. He loves that shit.

- In general, he loves being taken care of by Eddie. He’s never had anyone take care of him before, so if Eddie ever acts that way it makes Richie so happy. It makes Eddie happy too because he’s always the one being babied, so he loves being on the other side especially because he just… cares so much and has so much love to give to Richie?

- Like one time Eddie packs Richie lunch for school and Richie’s like !!! This is what true bliss is. He’s smiling all day from this small gesture.

- It’s so canon that Richie keeps a spare inhaler for Eddie.

- Any time anyone laughs at his jokes it makes him SO happy. He feels awesome if people actually think he’s funny.

- Also if anyone compliments him, he’ll brush it off or make a joke out of it but everyone can always see how happy and mushy that makes him as well. He feels so valid when he feels like the people he loves love him back.

- Secretly when no one’s there, Richie and Eddie are SO fucking cheesy with each other omg. They call each other pet names. Besides the typical “Eds” or “Eddie Spaghetti” that Richie calls Eddie, he also very often calls him “babe” (which Eddie loves), or he’ll get real creative and call him absurd things like “Snicker Doodle” or “Cuddle Muffin” (which Eddie hates)

- Eddie will often call Richie “Rich”, “Red” or “Sweetie” and Richie dies every time he always gets butterflies in his stomach

- They go on cheesy dates a lot of the time: Stargazing, Rollerblading, even sharing a milkshake with two straws. A lot of the time though, the two like spending the whole day being lazy and staying in bed and eating junk food.

- Richie is super gentle with Eddie, but Eddie is also super gentle with Richie? Especially if Richie is upset, Eddie is so patient with him and will stay up comforting him all night if that’s what he wants. They’re just really careful with each other.

- Bev sometimes paints his nails and Richie really likes the way they look. He usually only lets her do one hand, though.

- Richie also loves when Bev puts hair clips in his hair to push his bangs back. She did it for the first time when making Richie do a face mask with her, but after Richie said he thought it looked really cute she continued.

- He even started doing it to keep his bangs out of his eyes when he was doing work at home. Eddie thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. Richie also loves headbands.

- Richie has THE LONGEST LASHES and SO MANY FRECKLES HE’S JUST SO PRETTY

- In general, Richie is actually so caring with his friends? I mean of course, he’ll roast and make fun of them to the moon and back but in reality they’re the most important people in his life and he would die for any one of them any day.

- No one would expect it, but he always remembers birthdays and anniversaries. He writes such long cards for all the Losers whenever it’s their birthday, talking about why he thinks each of them individually is awesome and making long lists of all the inside jokes they have together.

- He also is the best gift giver. His gifts are so thoughtful even if they’re small. He remembers what people told him they wanted months ago, or he gives them gifts that have to do with inside jokes. Things that only he could gift.

- Richie always stands up for any of the Losers without even a second thought. After Henry and his gang are gone, it’s rare for them to get bullied, especially in High School. If they ever do, it’s all verbal. They don’t really get beat up anymore. But if anyone is being a dick to any of his friends, he ALWAYS stands up to them and isn’t afraid to cuss them out, even if it means him getting detention.

- He also comforts them after they get picked on. Even underclassmen he doesn’t know. If he sees a freshman getting picked on, he’ll tell the bully to fuck off and smile so wide at the kid, telling them they’re okay!

- Tbh everyone in High School LOVES him. They think he can be kinda annoying sometimes, but he’s a genuinely good guy and he’s super funny.

- Richie is that cheesy boyfriend that picks flowers to give to Eddie. They also put flowers in each other’s long hair and Richie takes a million pictures.

- Richie saves and pressed into a book the flowers that Eddie got him after the opening night of the school musical he was starring in. His heart skipped a beat when Eddie brought him flowers and told him how amazing he was.

- As adults, Richie is so caring about Eddie especially after dealing with losing his arm. He’s so accommodating and supporting and just loves Eddie so much. After he knows Eddie is okay, all he wants is to have a happy life with him.

- As an adult, Eddie also calls Richie “Reggie” because of one time where another radio host introduced him as “Reggie Tozier.” Like you don’t even know how funny this was to Eddie. It made him tear up from laughter for like a full week after it happened, so to tease him sometimes Eddie will call him that. Richie acts like it pisses him off but he thinks it’s pretty funny himself.

- Richie’s the type of husband that comes home with flowers and is like “BAAAABE I GOT YOU FLOWERS AREN’T I THE BEST HUSBAND EVER”

- Holy shit Richie is SUCH a softie when it comes to him marrying Eddie and later when they adopt/surrogate children. Richie cries for half the wedding and then after they get their kids he tears up like EVERY damn day about it.

- He’s just so happy to actually have a family? For once in his life? Like HE built this. It’s HIS family. He gets to come home every day to such happiness it’s like unreal to him it makes him get choked up.

- BEFORE THEIR FIRST KID ARRIVES RICHIE CANNOT STOP TALKING ABOUT HOW CUTE BABY SHOES ARE.

- HE BUYS SO MANY PAIRS OF BABY SHOES THEY’RE SO SMALL THERES NO WAY THEIR CHILD’S FOOT WILL BE THAT SMALL CAN ANYTHING EVEN BE THAT SMALL??

- BUT THEN IT IS THAT SMALL AND ITS AMAZING HE LOVES IT.

- Even as adults Richie and Eddie always go on such nice dates. They never get sick of being together, especially since they feel like they have to make up for so much lost time. When they’re back together as adults it feels like falling in love all over again except this time they can actually be together and it makes Richie thank God for real.

- It’s so fucking important for Richie to be a good dad since he knows what it’s like to have horrible parents. He just wants to do what’s right.

- Overall Richie is such a sweetheart under all those dick jokes. He’s so fucking soft and good. That’s all.

Enemies to Friends to...

Draco let out a content sigh as he flipped to the next page in his book, free hand absentmindedly playing with Harry’s messy hair while the boy rested peacefully in Draco’s lap. Being forced to share the same room together, while rough at the beginning, turned out to be a blessing. The two had gained a greater understanding of each other and developed a friendship far deeper than either one imagined possible.

Wait–

Friendship?

Keep reading

Bruised (Richie/Eddie) 7/12

Summary: It’s 1993 and the summer from many years ago is dead and gone. Many have drifted apart from the Losers club and its at the point where there is no club at all. The atmosphere is cold just like the winter months and the only blushes to be found are the ones that are caused from the piercing spikes of cold that heat skin up. Being a teenage boy is hard; especially for the two boys that now count each other as strangers. In which both boys make a plan, but both disrupt each others.

Warning(s): Mentions of past self harm, child neglect, transphobic comments !!! ( I am not transphobic, but my series on the whole is triggering and these warning(s) are here for a reason.) SLURS ARE IN BOLD

A/N: here is your angsty richie chapter - KINDA RUSHED BUT ITS FILLER

Part 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 (Soon) | …

Richie found himself alone in his car, driving home at roughly 8pm that night after his adventurous day with Eddie, his cravings for the cigarettes only growing stronger by each given second but his refusal to disappoint Eddie lurked on his shoulders. He was going to change for the better, just for Eddie.

His hands gripped at the leather wheel, his red truck gliding down the familiar roads with the faint radio humming along in the background. The melody intertwined itself through the vehicle, one of his favourite artists playing to soothe his road anxiety that he’d keep a secret.

Keep reading

Strain

He stared hard at the table, chewing his bottom lip as the team surrounded him at all sides. “What were you thinking!?” Shiro yelled, “this is by far the dumbest thing you’ve ever done!”
Lance curled into himself even more as the tension in the room increased.
“It turned out fine.” Lance muttered quietly.
“Are you being serious right now Lance?” Allura sighed shaking her head.
They were in the heat of battle. Defending another planet from Galra rule. “Lance, keep a distance. Provide cover for us.” Shiro ordered over the comms.
“Roger that!” Lance yelled back, settling into his snipers nest.
A loud explosion echoed across the city. “Buildings going down Shiro.” Hunk relayed.
“Good, that’ll flush out the rest of the Galra to the surface.” Keith added.
“Wait.” Lance said, noticing a large group of aliens rushing out of the way of the toppling building. “There’s people down there!”
He quickly got to his knees and stared down at the street. “We have to get them out of there.” He said frantically getting to his feet.
“Lance, stay in position.” Shiro order, “we’ll handle it.”
“You’re too far away!” Lance yelled back already on the move, alerting blue.
Blue quickly responded covering the citizens from the crumbling building. He breathed out a heavy sigh of relief before he was interrupted by Shiro’s yelling. “Now the Galra know that we have more than Black and Yellow down here!” He yelled.
“but-.”
“Get back in position. Now.” Shiro seethed.
“Yes sir.” Lance sighed, making sure everyone was safe before moving back to position.

“You completely jeopardized the mission.” Keith said with a glare.
“But we couldn’t just let those people die.” Lance replied meekly.
“You always do this Lance!” Pidge hissed, “It’s. Always. You.”
“You’re becoming a liability Lance,” Shiro said crossing his arms, “you really need to think about what you’re doing; and how it’s affecting everyone else.”
His tone turned cold making Lance go rigid. “The more stupid stunts you pull, the more likely you are to get someone killed.”
He bit the inside of his lip even harder, tasting blood.
“I hate to admit it buddy, but they’re right.” Hunk said with a sigh, “you’re getting selfish.”
A tiny gasp left him, his attention snapping up to Hunk. “S-Selfish?” He asked, his voice quivering.
“Voltron was created in order to save the universe, and stand as an icon of freedom.” Allura cut in, her voice harsh, “we can’t have someone who only thinks of themselves piloting one of the lions.”
He looked up at all the faces of his teammates. They all wore the same scowl, or disappointed look. He let out a shaky breath putting his head in his hands, and rested his elbows on the table. “I don’t understand.” He stated, his voice coming out hoarse.
Keith scoffed, leaning over the table. “Why am I not surprised.”
“Keith.” Shiro warned.
“Well, we’re telling him how it is aren’t we?” He snapped back.
Keith leaned towards him more. “You don’t understand because you’re arrogant, and stupid.” He said, “You’re selfish, and don’t understand why you’re finally getting called out for it.”
Suddenly Lance’s fists connected with the table, echoing throughout the room. Keith took a surprised step back. “Don’t call me stupid.” He said lowly.
“Oh, shut-.”
Lance raised his head cutting him off with a sharp glare.
His demeanour had gone cold, making the team uneasy. His posture quickly corrected as he crossed his legs and sat up straight in his chair. He glared sharply at the faces around him. “Okay, let’s pretend I actually care about what you’re going to say.” He said, his carefree tone catching them off guard, “what did I do wrong today?”
Everyone stayed silent. “Go on.”
Shiro swallowed thickly, opening his mouth. “You left your position after I ordered you to stay at a distance.”
“There were citizens in danger of perishing.” He replied cooly.
“Yes. But-.”
“Service before self.” Lance replied simply.
“What?”
“The military code. Service before self. In this case, cause before self.” Lance stated, “as the Princess stated earlier, ‘Voltron was created to save the Universe.’ The Universe includes all innocent living being within it.”
Shiro fell silent.
“That means, the need to do everything I can to save everyone I can negates your orders.”
“You revealed that the Blue lion was on the surface.” Pidge interjected.
“Oh, please. If you didn’t think we needed the Blue lion she would have been left on the ship.”
The team looked between themselves, making Lance smirk. “Will you just admit it?” He asked raising out of his chair.
“Admit what?” Hunk asked.
“You’re trying to use me as a scapegoat yet again.” He replied, “You’re putting all your frustrations on me again.”
He started laughing. “You call me selfish even though I put my life on the line today. You can me arrogant when I haven’t made any off handed comments in weeks.” His eyes moved to Keith, “and you call me stupid even though I contribute just as much to planning as everyone else.”
He took another step towards the doorway. “I am the farthest from those things as anyone on this ship.”
He turned his back to them. “You’re putting a strain on our team bond Lance.” Shiro said finally.
He paused a step before he was out the door. He half turned towards them with a small frown. “I’m not going to apologize for this. Not anymore.” He said simply before turning again, “As for the team bond. It’s been strained for a while; and I think you oughta start looking for different causes.”