fresh-blue-hell

[fresh-blue-hell]

Mercy No More 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, possible violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your misplaced kindness brings a dangerous man to your door.

Characters: Thomas Shelby

Note: a less popular character so I'll just post whenever.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"There's a man in the backyard."

The statement is matter-of-fact, not a hint of distress in your sister's tone as she informs you of the trespass. You wipe your forehead as you turn away from the porridge on the stove. You frown.

"A man... how? Who?" You wonder.

She shrugs, "he couldn't say."

You near her with a glower, "Anna, could you say less?"

"He's face down. He could be dead," she says. "Like old Chester."

"Is he old like Chester?" You go to the backdoor, slipping in a glob of mud. "Anna, your shoes."

"I was distracted. By the dead man."

You tilt your head wryly, "yes, you're brain does seem to be working madly to unravel the riddle."

You slip into your shoes, leaving the laces loose. You turn and go out into the yard. Sure enough, you see the man on the ground. He does look to be lifeless, though you can't be sure.

You glance back at Anna. She gives a coy grin, "I went and got water, I'm not dealing with him."

You sigh. Your father's already at the factory. It's only the two of you and it took enough arguing to get her to bring in a bucket of rain water.

The muck sucks on your soles. The man's face is smeared with mud and his hate rests next to his head. His limbs are askew in all directions. You hear him breathing as he blows bubbles into the slop.

"He's alive," you peek over your shoulder. You're talking to the door. Anna's back hiding behind the brick.

You cautiously bend and jab the man's shoulder, "sir, sir," you poke with each word, "hullo, you're sleeping in the dirt. Sir!"

You shake him. He doesn't stir. You reach across and grab his hat. A sharp pain sears in your thumb. You let the hat drop and look at the sliced pad of your finger. Rats.

Then the damp cold seeps through your stockings. The realisation trickles down your spine. Your eyes search out the sharp edge sewn into the hat. He's one of them.

You turn and march back to the door. You keep your injured hand aloft and let yourself in with other. You stomp into the kitchen and snatch up a cloth. You press it around your throbbing thumb.

"Sister, your shoes," Anna chides drolly.

You huff. She doesn't bother to ask if you're well. You hiss and grit your teeth.

"Get father's rye," you demand.

"Bit early, innit?" She snickers.

"Anna," you sneer.

She drags herself away from the table and takes out a dark bottle. She pulls free the cork and you grab it. You pour it over your thumb, shaking over the sink. You quickly cover the gash again.

"What's happened? He have a knife?" She asks.

"Anna," you face her, your heart top turns. "That man... has blades in his hat."

"Blades in his hat. Well, that's rather foolish." You stare at her and she blinks wide. "A blinder? Out here?"

You nod.

"What do we do?"

"Now it's we?" You challenge.

"It's not good, is it?"

You shrug.

"We could leave him there. Let him wake up."

"Yes, we could. But s'pose he wakes up and thinks we did leave him there. To drown in the mud," you tut. "But the alternative..."

"Wake him up?"

"He's not doing that," you clutch your hand.

"We can't carry him."

"We're going to have to," you say.

"And when he does come to, what then? He could hurt us."

"He might but I know where father keeps the pistol," you say.

"Do you know how to shoot it?"

"No."

"And wouldn't that be worse? To kill one of 'em?"

"Better than being killed," you look around. "Anna, I don't know any better than you."

"How..." she glances at the wall.

"You get one side, I'll get the other?" You suggest.

"How'd he even get there?"

"Now you're asking questions."

"Well, I thought he was a drunk or some'in."

"Oh, no doubt he is," you scoff. You wrap the cloth around your finger, securing it as best you can. You teethe your lip and dip your chin. "Right then."

You take the lead. Anna drags her feet. You go out into the yard. You near the man. He snores now.

You lift up his hat carefully and tuck it into your apron. You step around him as Anna reluctantly hovers some distance away.

"You get that arm." You point.

She whimpers but comes closer. You take his right arm and she flinches away as she reaches for his other. You grunt and grind your teeth as you try to lift him. Your sister whines, "he's too big."

"Anna, put some guff into it," you demand. "Christ be risen."

You manage to get him upright. Sort of. He hangs between you and your sister. You stagger to face him toward the house.

"I'm too weak."

"Stop, just move," you hike the man up as hold his hand over your shoulder, his arm draped around your neck. "Onward."

Your steps are teetering and uneven, lurching as the man threatens to bowl you both over. You haul him crookedly up the stairs, breathless, sweating, aching. His toes catch on the threshold and you all crash to the floor.

Your elbow pangs and your knee burns. You roll over and push the man's arm off you. Anna snivels as she crawls away from him.

"Now what?" She pulls a splinter from her hand.

"Well, he's inside," you get up, panting, and bend his legs enough to close the door. "Put a blanket over him."

"He's just gonna... lay there?"

"Better than the mud." You utter and step back, exhausted.

"What about when Da gets home?"

You give her a look, "let's pray he wakes up first."

🚬

You stir your porridge as the back of the man's head is visible just through the doorway. Anna won't sit still as she cradles her bowl and paces. Your thumb is pulsing with each bend.

The man's hat sits on the table. You did your best to wipe the mud off. You wiggle your foot, as restless as your sister but reluctant to show it.

You rinse your bowl and she gives you hers half-finished. You tisk. "Wasteful."

"Pardon me, my insides are splitting like twigs," she hisses.

You dump her bowl in the bin and wash away the oats. Anna tends to avoid things. She's always been that way. You can hardly blame her, there isn't very much worth facing in this world. Still, some things just must be done.

"Go on then, go to your room," you bid her. "I'll keep an eye on him."

"Are you certain?" She asks.

"Not truly but no use you tittering around," you shoo her with your fingers.

She makes no fuss in doing just that. Your dread mounts as you're left alone. She wouldn't be much help as it were, but are you any more formidable? Especially with a man like that?

You carry on, tidying, going through your usual toil, anything to busy yourself until your father returns. You sit and wring out the clothes by hand over a bucket and toss them in the basket to go on the line. You focus on the work, made more difficult by your tender thumb. Your joints ache from the effort, your forearms and the cuffs of your sleeves soaked through.

"Eh, Polly," the gritty voice has you sat upright. "Bring me a cuppa."

You stare at the man. He's not moving still. Just the rise and fall of his breath. He groans.

"Polly, ain't I your favourite?" He rasps and laughs, wincing at the effort.

He sucks in a deep breath and drags a hand over the floor. He pushes himself up with one arm and his head bobbles. He looks around, his nose like a beak. He gets one foot flat, still hunched, then the other. He stands and staggers, catching himself on the wall. He grunts and turns his head. He sees you before the bucket of soapy water and linen.

"You're not Pol," he limps in. "You got any tea?"

You stare at him and drop the shirt in the tub. He's entirely too calm waking up in a strange house. You stand stiffly.

"Whisky?" He hobbles past you and opens the cupboard.

"Sir," you back up. "This isn't-- we don't got much." You cross your arms and keep the chair between you. "You were out in the mud. We only brought you in to dry off."

"We?" He takes out a tin of flour.

"Hm, um, yes, the neighbour helped me," you lie.

"Aye, they did? Ya have a good laugh then? Over my drunk arse?" He accuses as he shuts the cabinet.

"No, sir. It was only--"

He moves towards you and you stumble out of his path. He swipes up his hat and pulls it on.

"Well, give ya some advice," he points at you. "You and that nosy neighbour, keep your mouths shut, eh? Don't be cheeping around with the hens."

"Sir, no, we wouldn't--"

"Know ya wouldn't." He looks around with a sneer, "it's a shithole but I'm sure you don' wan' it it in ashes."

He trips on the leg of the chair. You react without thinking. You grab his arm and the other side of the chair. He sways but stays on his feet.

You swallow as he looks at you. You shudder. "You wanted tea?"

His lips thin. There's a glimmer of shame in his irises. He maneuvers to sit on the wooden seat. He sighs and rubs his hips.

"Ole bullet casing's acting up again," he snarls. "German rubbish."

You go to the stove and put the kettle on the burner. You light it and step away. He bends forward to hold his head.

"Like I said, not much round, but I've got some bones. I could make ya broth," you offer.

He shakes and grumbles. It's not a clear answer. You grab the pork bones and put them in a pot. Your only shield is to do those things you know how to.

You brew the tea and bring it to him. He sits up and watches you set it down. He scrapes the chair closer to the table. He squints at your hand.

"Cut yerself?" He wonders.

"It'll heal up," you assure him and hide your hand behind you. He scratches the side of his head below his hat.

"Razor's cut deep," he remarks.

"They do," you affirm.

"Sorry then," he reaches for the cup. "I'll just get meself straight and be off."

"Very well, sir," you agree and grab the basket of clothes. "I'll be hanging these."

He takes a cautious sip and drones again. He wipes the moisture from his blond mustache with the side of his finger.

You leave him and go out into the yard. You unfurl the garments and pin them in place with the pegs. The gloomy sky won't dry them quickly. You go down the line as you hear Mary hollering at her husband. You've never heard her speak without yelling.

You finish and leave the basket at the door. The man has his head on the table. You go to check the broth. It bubbles but smells good enough. He groans.

You serve him a bowl with a butt of bread. He sits up with a tremour. He doesn't say a word as he draws himself in to the table and dips the rye in the broth. He eats without a care to the dribble down his chin.

He gives a contented hum when he's done. He looks up and smiles. You follow his gaze past you. You turn to see Anna before she disappears behind the doorframe.

"Well, hello, birdie," he growls.

"All done, sir," you take the empty bowl.

He refocuses on you, "didn't mention another of ya."

"She's shy," you insist as you take the dish to the sink.

"Mmm, well," he clucks. "Shy ones are sweet."

"Sir," you approach him again.

"Eh, I know what I said," he stands with an effort that makes him croak. "Yer a good woman. Won't be no bother 'round here. I'll make sure of it."

You nod as he heads for the back door. You follow him and stand in the frame as he stiffly struts to the gate. You frown. There never was any bother before him.

[fresh-blue-hell]

[fresh-blue-hell]

Stark Contrast 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, lies, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your online friend isn't who he claims to be.

Characters: Tony Stark

Sister series to Captain's Orders

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It's been a long day. Every day seems longer than the last. All that overtime is adding up. It's needling right at the base of your neck.

Unclench your jaw. You keep forgetting. The pressure makes your head hurt. You rub your eye socket and yawn as you drag your feet down the dark pavement.

You approach your building and look at the heel of your hand, mascara smeared on your skin, no doubt across your face too. Oh well, you're home. Not necessarily the perfect haven but a place to be alone.

You bob in the elevator to the music in your headphones. You step off and keep your head down in a lazy shuffle down the hallway. You unlock your door and spin inside, letting the song play out as you hang your jacket and purse. You kick of your sneakers and drift into the kitchen, mindlessly searching for something quick to eat.

You detach your headphones from your phone and take them off. You let the music drone as you mull over the effort to cook a box of processed mac and cheese. You pause the music and scroll through your feed. Nothing interesting. You let a live feed play. You never pay much attention to the new but it's good white noise. 

You pull down your notification bar. Oh shoot. You forgot to answer the last message.

You'd been chatting with Eddie during your lunch but had to get back to the grind. Those bougie middle-aged women won't find those overpriced candles themselves. Then they'll complain that the Martha Stewart limited edition is sold out. Oh, to have such simple problems.

You blink as the video plays in a little box floating over the chat. 

'Sorry. Got caught up at work. Just seeing this now. Hope you have a good night.' You send the message and pull the video into fullscreen.

He doesn't always answer at night. Or sometimes for days. He's pretty busy. An engineer or something. You met on some discord when Elden Ring dropped.

You narrow your eyes at the stream. You swear every time you see a screen, Tony Stark is on it. There he is now, giving a presser to a fawning crowd of reporters.

He claps his hand to his chest pocket and gives a subtle look down as he slides out his phone. He drops it back in and shrugs at his adoring audience, "I'm a busy guy, what can I say?"

They laugh, unbothered by his distraction. You turn back to your search for an easy meal. Oh, you still have that frozen pizza. This late, it'll make your chest burn in the morning but you don't care.

You preheat the oven and go to your phone, agitated by the murmur of the reporters and their softball questions. You don't have a problem with the man or his mighty band of Avengers, hey, they do their best. It's this whole celebrity shell around them. The sort that has half the population is a dysfunctional parasocial relationship.

You switch to a reality show that pits home bakers against each other. It's a bad choice. It stokes your already twisting hunger and sparks your sweet tooth. You never shy away from a treat. Good thing you don't have any.

The stove beeps as the subtle smell of smoke rises. You figure it's not that bad if the alarm isn't going. You put the pizza in and swipe up your phone. You pace around and check your news feed. There's a new Amiibo out. Nope, you will not get suckered into another money grab. You're save. Not for anything special, just rent. Another price hike. The next one might put you out.

You pizza finishes and your phone buzzes. You cut it into uneven slices and take a few on a paper towel. You flop onto the couch and read Eddie's response.

'I get it. Probably out on a date with a hot guy. Or lady. No judgment.'

You shake your head. He's such and idiot sometimes. 'Nah. You're awake?'

'You know I don't sleep.'

You wouldn't guess it by his erratic responses. If anything, you'd only assume he doesn't keep a routine. His bouts of activity are unpredictable.

'Let's not talk about work.' He replies before you can. The next message is a mood. 'I'm over it.'

'Sure. What do we talk about? You gonna help me co-op Starscourge Radahn? You never log on anymore.'

Your phone quakes as an audio call comes in. You nearly drop it as you opt to save the slice of pizza in your other hand first. You finally hit answer with your greasy thumb.

"Fair warning, I'm eating. I'm flipping starving," you say.

"You sound ravenous," Eddie says. "So, what's for... a very late dinner?"

"Pizza. Spinach and mozzarella."

"Order in?"

"Frozen," you mutter.

"Gross," he remarks. He's a bit of a snob. "You coulda hit me up. I'd send you some money for real food. I'm sure you've got a few shwarma places around that hellhole."

"Har har. If I'm so poor, why do you talk to me?"

"Good question. Can I think about it?" He snickers as you roll your eyes. "Look, sweetheart, I'm sorry about the video game--"

"You know, you sound like my dad."

"I do?" He nearly yelps.

"Sweetheart this. Video games. You talk like you were born in the 60s."

"I heard the 60s were pretty hip," he laughs.

"Hip? Oh you're definitely a catfish," you tease.

"How do I know you're not some desperate housewife using me for kicks?" He accuses.

"I sent you pics," you say.

"I've sent mine too," he retorts. "Alright, only solution here is to admit we're both catfish. You want me to order you good food and I want... uh, well, you're a good distraction."

"A good distraction? That's it?" You huff. "Thanks, Ed."

"I'm playing. You know I like you. I was just on my way to meet this tall blonde and I called you instead."

"Sure you were," you hiss. "You know, I had too long a day for you to be so annoying."

He cackles. You smile, just a bit. He really can be a butt. You don't know why you talk to him.

"How's the pizza? You want me to order you some real stuff yet?"

"Eddie," you sigh. It's a nice offer but you're not stupid. You don't give people on the internet your address. "That's too much."

"It's really not," he insists.

"To me it is." You drop the pizza and paper towel on the lone TV table by your ratty sofa. "You know, I get it, you're trying to be nice, but... you just kinda make me feel..."

"What? I make you feel... some sort of way, so that's good, right?"

"Ugh, don't. I get it, alright? I'm poor. Trash," you cross your arms and sit back. "Go and meet the tall blonde and have your fancy five star dinner."

He's quiet, "I was only messing with you."

"Well, maybe you should stop," you say as you sit forward and talk directly into your phone. "You obviously don't have the time for me. And a lot more important friends so--"

"Hey, come on, it's a joke--"

You hit end and toss your phone to the other end of the couch. You already know you overreacted. Shoot. Ugh.

It's just that stupid woman today, yelling at you over a bunny ornament, like the fact that is was put on the wrong shelf is your fault. You organise the shelves constantly but people don't care. They don't read either.

Your phone jitters again. You ignore and get up. You pack away the leftover pizza and put it in the fridge. That's your dinner for tomorrow, if not the next day.

God, why does he have to rub his money in your face? His super fun life. He went to Tokyo last week on a work trip.

You're a bitch. Insecure at that. It's probably best you cut free now. You wouldn't want to project all that on him. Besides, it's starting to feel like he only talks to you to make himself feel better. He shouldn't need that much help.

❤️

It's your own fault. You know it. Your worst and best trait is your crippling self-awareness. You know what you are, how you are, but it doesn't make it better.

You feel bad. You always do. Even if you're right, you feel rotten. You just don't like being like that. And what did Eddie do but joke around?

Did he have to keep offering to pay for you? Or mention that tall blonde?

Sigh. Just focus. You go back to putting the throw pillows back into the display basket. You watched a pair of kids toss them around for the last hour.

Life isn't easy and you should stop expecting it to be. That's your problem. You can't settle for what you have.

Julie, your manager comes by as you set the last of the pillows on those nearly overflowing the basket. You smile. She scowls.

"Your name tag's upside down," she points to your chest.

You look down. Oh jeez. You flip it around.

"Dress code infraction. Next time, I'll write you up." She warns.

"Sorry," you frown.

"There's customers. Smile."

As if one cue, the automatic doors open. You busy yourself with the next display, as if the napkin rings are that interesting. Julie snaps her fingers at Casey. He sniffs and tries to act like he didn't smoke up before he punched in.

"You're the greeter. Mind doing some greeting," she hisses.

"Oh, yeah," he stands and struts away from the lawn chair display, "hey, dude, like, hi. Welcome to The Home Hub. Anything I can help you-- woah, no way."

He starts laughing. You peek over your shoulder as Julie sighs. Casey coughs and clears his throat, "bro, am I high or is this dude Iron Man?"

You turn and narrow your eyes at the man. Goatee, sunglasses, a nice suit. He bears a striking resemblance to the man behind the podium at he presser the night before. You tilt your head. That's impossible.

"Casey, go to the warehouse and start downstocking," Julie sneers as she stomps forward. "I'm so sorry, sir. We-- Oh, oh. Oh my god, it is him."

She swoons and fans herself. Your eyes go wide as you give a goof smile. She's ridiculous.

"Hey, sweetheart," he purrs at her. "I'm looking for uh, a..." he takes off his sunglasses and glances around, "a bath mat."

"Bath mat? Uh. Oh, er..."

"You," he points in your direction. You turn to look for someone else behind you. "Show me."

You face him and Julie gives you a crazed sneer. You step away from the napkin rings. "Sure, uh, sir, they're in the back."

"Amazing," he winks as he approaches. There's something about his cadence. You never noticed on the screen, but it's familiar?

"Tony Stark, but I'm sure you already know," he says as he comes up next to you.

You continue down the centre aisle and nod, "yep, uh, kinda."

"Kinda?" He wonders.

"I mean, you're Iron Man or something, right?"

"Or something," he chortles. "You know what, on the second hand," he stops and checks out a silver statue of a naked Grecian goddess, "I think I came for this." He traces along her tits. "Don't make em like they used to, huh?"

He looks at you. No, he looks at your chest. You sputter.

"Bath mats are this way," you turn.

"Ah, come on, don't be like that FinchiePie."

You stop short. Your lashes flick and you gulp. How does he know your user name. You turn to look at him.

He adjusts his tie as he comes closer.

"You know, my middle name is Edward. Anthony Edward Stark."

You stare at him. No, it can't be. That's ridiculous.

"Eddie?" You rasp.

He puts his hands out and smirks, "it's a cute nickname, isn't it?"

"No."

"You left things a little tense. I don't like untied ends so..."

"It's a joke. A prank," you shake your head. "Is this what you do for fun?"

"I'm a funny guy, sweetheart, but I'm not joking right now," he comes closer. "Look, if I tell you the truth, that there was no tall blonde, that I was lying, will you give me a chance?"

You search his face. You're lost. Your disbelief muddles reality.

"This isn't real."

"You ever tried shwarma? It's so damn good."

"No, Eddie-- No, Tony?" Your eyes flit back and forth. "I... I gotta..." you spin and scurry away.

He calls your name. You can't stop. You run down the bath aisle and into the employee restroom. You twist the lock and stare at your baffled reflection.

"What the fuck?" You ask the person in the mirror.

[fresh-blue-hell]

I get it now.

[fresh-blue-hell]

On my knees

[fresh-blue-hell]

"Crime and Punishment"

Or a "child version" of what would have happened if Crowley and Gabriel had met in the series. They would have shaken Moose.

[fresh-blue-hell]

patting chris on the shoulder

(probably) touching seb’s boob

these little things make me happy

[fresh-blue-hell]

Kitty and Marie || Worst!Logan x Single Mom!Reader

summary: Logan finds a little girl who's lost in the store and apparently she's chosen him to help her

warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns are used and the reader is referred as mom

a/n: Single mom reader x logan is here rahhhhhhh. The idea was too cute not to expand on soooo here's the fic!! I want to do more I have some ideas in mind lol. Obvi its worst Logan bc I love him and I think Logan would be so funny with kids. Like bro is not a kid person but they always seem to be obsessed with him.

This...really isn't what Logan pictured what his life would be like if you had asked him a month ago. You know, pushing a shopping cart around a grocery store trying to find the specific flavor of poptarts Wade wrote in fucking crayon on his grocery list.

Yeah, a far cry from hopping from bar to bar and getting into scrap fights. Logan picks up a box and stares at it.

"Hot Fudge Sundae?" Logan scrunches his nose in disgust. He can already smell the artificial through the box. He tosses it into the cart shakes his head.

Suddenly he feels a harsh tug on his pants.

"The hell?" He looks down and to his surprise sees a little girl holding onto his pants for dear life. Tears streaming down her face. Logan looks around for a parent, anyone who might be missing their kid.

"Um. Can I help you?" He asks awkwardly, unsure of what to do right now.

"I can't find my mommy." She cries, the tears coming faster as she clings onto Logan's leg.

"Woah there," He tries to gently push her off of him but she won't budge.

"Okay don't cry, uhh..." He looks around for a worker but there's no one in sight.

"Shit." He says before quickly covering his mouth, he looks down at the little girl who was staring at him with big teary eyes.

"You didn't hear anything okay kid? Now let's go find your mom." She reaches up with her arms making grabby hands at Logan.

"I don't think that's a good idea." He tells her, trying to walk towards the front of the store to customer service.

She won't budge. Logan doesn't want to hurt the girl knowing his own strength so he just sighs and gives in to her demands. He picks her up with ease. Her tears stopping the moment she's in his arms. He carries her in one hand and drags his cart with the other.

"You're real bossy you know that?" He says with the shake of his head. She rests her head against his chest, her tears soaking through his shirt but Logan doesn't mind.

"What does your mom look like kid?" Logan asks but she doesn't answer, her fist curling into his shirt.

"A name?" Still silence.

"Come on, you gotta give me something." He begs but she won't budge. As they reach the front of the store Logan pushes another guy aside, ignoring his cry of protest.

"I got a lost kid asshole, beat it." He growls before turning to the worker.

"She can't find her mom." The worker nods and tells him to wait. Logan sees the little girl staring at the candy on the shelves under the desk.

"Attention please, we have a lost girl at the front of the store. Please come get your child thank you." The worker announces over the intercom.

"It's okay sweetie your mom will be here soon." The worker, Helen as Logan reads on her name tag, says. She smiles at the little girl and walks around the desk to try and take her from Logan.

"Thank you sir, I can watch her until her mom comes."

"Thanks." Logan grabs the girl and tries to hand her off to Helen. To his shock she bursts into tears again, screaming the moment Logan lets go of her.

"It's okay sweetie, don't cry." Helen tries to soothe her but she's inconsolable. People start to stare as she sobs loudly.

"Dammit." Logan just sighs and takes her back from Helen. Like magic her sobs turn to a quiet cry.

"I'll watch her." He tells the worker.

"Bossy." He grumbles. She cries despite being in his arms once again.

He tries to ignore it, knowing that she won't be his problem in only a few minutes but he can sense everything. From the shaky breathes, the sniffles, the quivering lip. It's killing him. He looks around for something to try and make her smile.

What the hell do kids even like these days? He would just play with sticks as a kid. He sees a few stuffed animals sitting on the shelf and he grabs one of them. He shoves it into her arms and prays it works.

"Kitty." She sniffs, wiping her eyes she holds onto the plushie which happened to be a cat one.

"Thank god." Logan mumbles. He looks back to Helen and sighs.

"Can you put the stupid cat toy on my bill?" She just smiles and nods.

"Marie!" Logan perks up at the sound of a frantic voice.

He turns around to see you looking around, panic written all over your face. The first thought in his head is how damn gorgeous you are. Then he scolds himself for even thinking that. Not the time or place Logan.

"Mommy!" The little girl, Marie apparently, squeals. Squirming in Logan's arms as she sees you.

"There you go kid, see I told you we'd find her." He sets her down and she runs to you.

You've never felt more relieved in your life than to see her. It was one second. You swear just one second. You let go of her hand to reach something on the top shelf and when you turn back she's gone. You ran through the store but you just couldn't find her. It was too damn big.

"Oh baby, never scare me like that again." You hug her tightly. Not wanting to let go ever again.

"I'm sorry mommy." She cries, holding onto you tightly.

"It's okay baby, you're not in trouble. Just make sure you don't run off again okay?" You pick her up in your arms and it feels like you can finally breathe.

"Thank you so much." You gush to the man in front of you. He looks vaguely familiar, though you would think if you saw someone like him you'd remember it more. Suddenly it clicks.

"Oh, you live with Wade." Logan tilts his head, trying to figure out how you know that.

"I live in the same building. I'm a floor below. I can hear...things." You don't know how to explain exactly the sounds that come from Wade's apartment but its never loud enough to be annoying. You had seen this man in passing. The elevator or leaving the building. That's really it. Marie must have seen him too.

"Logan." He shoves his hands in his pockets, realizing that you must be the family down below.

He could always hear a kid in the apartment below him. Especially during her tantrums. Now that he thinks about it your voice does sound slightly familiar.

"Kitty!" She says happily.

"I know baby, that's a kitty cat." You say, thinking she's talking about the plush in her hands. But she shakes her head pointing at Logan.

"Kitty!" She giggles.

"Sweetie he's not...That's Logan." You look back at Logan with an embarrassed look on your face.

"We just watched Monsters Inc the other day. I think you remind her of Sully. Plus..." You trail off, eyes drifting to his hair. They're short but the little tuffs of hair do strike a resemblance to cat ears.

"Kitty huh? That's a new one." He smiles. Reaching up and petting the plush cat making Marie laugh.

"Thank you again Logan. I owe you."

"It was nothing, she's a cute kid. Even cuter mom." He flirts boldly making your eyes widen. You try to hide your smile, it's been a while since someone's made you so flustered so easily. Especially someone who looks like Logan.

"Please, let me at least invite you to dinner." He glances down at your hand noticing the lack of a ring.

Once again, not the time Logan he scolds himself. The last thing you need in your life is a man like Logan. But dinner sounds nice. It's just dinner, nothing more.

"Pleaseeeeeee." Marie adds, her little lips forming the perfect pout. Now that Logan can't say no to.

"Alright, I'll come for dinner as long as you quit making that face." Marie scrunches up her nose and sticks her tongue out at Logan. It makes you smile seeing her so happy. She's usually shy around strangers but she must have recognized Logan from the apartment building.

"Alright miss, we have to get home. Say goodbye to Logan."

"Bye Kitty!" She waves.

"Bye Logan, see for dinner. Stop by any time." You give him a small wave, turning before he can see the stupidly happy look on your face. You remind yourself it's just dinner.

But maybe, just maybe it could be something more.

[fresh-blue-hell]

My genuine reaction to this sparkling masterpiece was a lowercase "oow"

Beaded Succulent // TheBohoBeachBum

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🦇🩸'Bon Appetit' by Sveta Shubina🩸🦇

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hear me out…

[fresh-blue-hell]

Here's a painting I made for the ImagineFX art challenge "Mystical Meets Machines".

The theme was too intriguing to pass by - especially after I got the idea of some unicorns grazing by the remnants of an ancient, mechanical dragon. Someone in the past were keen on acquiring the great powers of a dragon for themselves, leading to a bitter end. Now it has rested peacefully for centuries, becoming part of the landscape.

Lots of fun painting this one, especially all that moss!

Photoshop, April 2024. And as always, no AI used.

[fresh-blue-hell]

Gorgeous

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this is how people on tumblr talk about men they like (x)

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🤣

Castiel - Y/n has a delicious chapstick

Dean - Wait, did you two kiss?

Y/n - No, this dumbass decided to eat my chapstick

[fresh-blue-hell]

PEDRO PASCAL on Jimmy Kimmel LIVE

[fresh-blue-hell]

Soulbound Ch 2

Lazarus Rising Part 2

Dean and I are sitting at a table giving our orders to the brunette waitress.

"Be up in a jiff." She said, walking away. As she leaves, Sam enters, talking on his cell phone. "You bet," Sam sits down next to me.

"What'd Bobby say?" I ask, turning my head towards the taller Winchester.

"Pam's stable. And out of I.C.U." Sam replies, his tone a little hopeful.

"And blind, because of us." Dean huffs out.

"And we still have no clue who we're dealing with." I mumble and roll my eyes. 

Dean tilts his head a little. "That's not entirely true."

"No?" Sam questions, his eyebrows furrowing a little.

"We got a name. Castiel, or whatever." The older Winchester points out, "With the right mumbo-jumbo we could summon him, bring him right to us."

Sam's tone fills with disbelief, "You're crazy. Absolutely not."

"We'll work him over. I mean, after what he did?" Dean shrugs, glancing between his brother and I.

I scoff, looking at Dean like he suddenly grew a second head, "Pam took a peek at him and her eyes burned out of her skull, and you want to have a face to face?" 

"You got a better idea?" Dean snapped back a little.

"Yeah, as a matter of fact I do. I followed some demons to town, right?" I ask him.

"Okay."

Sam speaks up, "So, we go find them. Someone's gotta know something about something."

The waitress walks up with three plates containing pie, setting them down in front of us. I give her a small grateful smile and a nod. "Thanks." Sam mumbles and also gives her a polite smile. The waitress then plops down in a chair at the end of the table. Dean looks at her, smirking, while I look at her confusedly. "You angling for a tip?" Dean asks.

"I'm sorry. Thought you were looking for us." Her eyes go black for a moment, I glance around, seeing the cook and a man in a uniform also sporting lack demon eyes. The man in uniform gets up and locks the front door. The demon waitress' go back to normal, addressing Dean as if Sam and I weren't there. "Dean. To hell and back. Aren't you a lucky duck."

"That's me." Dean replies, a smug look on his face and in his tone. 

"So you get to just stroll out of the pit, huh? Tell me. What makes you so special?" The demon sneers at the older Winchester.

"I like to think it's because of my perky nipples." Dean smirks, making me snort softly, "I don't know. Wasn't my doing, I don't know who pulled me out."

The demon waitress looks skeptical, narrowing her eyes, "Right. You don't."

"No. I don't." Dean holds his ground.

"Lying's a sin, you know." The demon taunts him, leaning back in her chair.

Dean tilts his head threateningly, "I'm not lying. But I'd like to find out, so if you wouldn't mind enlightening me, Flo..."

"Mind your tone with me, boy. I'll drag you back to hell myself." She glares at him, her tone trying to intimidate him. Sam shifts as if to attack, glaring at the woman. My hand grabs the sleeve of his jacket tightly, not taking my eyes off the demon waitress. Dean holds a hand up and Sam stops, settling back into his seat. The demon glances at Sam and I, then back at Dean.

"No, you won't." Dean decides to test something.

"No?" The demon taunts.

"No. Because if you were you would have done it already. Fact is, you don't know who cut me loose. And you're just as spooked as we are. And you're looking for answers." The demon glances at Sam and I as Dean continues, "Well, maybe it was some turbo-charged spirit. Or, uh, Godzilla. Or some big bad boss demon. I'm guessing at your pay grade that they don't tell you squat. Because whoever it was, they want me out. And they're a lot stronger than you. So go ahead. Send me back. But don't come crawling to me when they show up on your front doorstep with some Vaseline and a fire hose."

The demon doesn't make a move, but threatens Dean anyway, "I'm going to reach down your throat and rip out your lungs." Dean smirks and leans forward, a challenge in his eyes. He throws a right hook at her, making her head whip to the side. I let out a quiet gasp as he throws another. She still does nothing but glare at them, looking more and more nervous. "okay, Dean she gets it," I mumble.

Dean nods and smirks again, "That's what I thought. Let's go, Sam, (Y/n)." We stand up, and the demon sits there, fuming. Dean pulls a roll of cash out of his pocket and carefully peels off a ten dollar bill. He holds it up and drops it on the table like an insult. "For the pie." 

~~~~~~~

Sam, Dean and I walk out of the diner and across the street, tense and quick. My instincts on high alert, my brain screaming to go back in there and kill or exorcise the demons and save the innocent people they're possessing.

"Holy crap, that was close." Dean huffs, speed-walking away.

Sam looks at his brother, "We're not just going to leave them in there, are we, Dean?"

"Seriously, don't ya think we should, I dunno, hunt them?" I raise my eyebrow at Dean, almost jogging to keep up with the taller men.

"Well yeah, there's three of them, probably more, and we've only got one knife between us." Dean points out, continuing to move farther from the diner.  Fair point.

"I've been killing a lot more demons than that lately." Sam states, a little bit of arrogance in his voice. 

"Not anymore – the smarter brother's back in town." Dean chuckles, making me scoff.

"Thank God I ain't your brother, you'd be dumb as a rock then," I playfully insult. Dean looks at me, feigning offense.

"Dean, we've got to take 'em. They are dangerous." Sam pleads, ignoring my joke and Dean's jab at him.

Dean rolls his eyes, "They're scared. Okay? Scared of whatever had the juice to yank me out. We're dealing with a bad mofo here. One job at a time." I sigh as I follow the brothers back to the Astoria Motel.

~~~~~~~

3rd Person: 

Dean is dozing on the couch with a large book open in his lap. (Y/n) is passed out in the bed, laying sideways on it, head and feet towards each side of the bed instead of the head and foot.  Sam sneaks out, checking to make sure his brother and his friend don't wake up, taking the keys to the Impala.

As Dean and (Y/n) doze, the television flicks on to the now-familiar static, and the radio starts whining as well. It wakes up the two Hunters, Dean rubbing his eyes while (Y/n) stretches a little. Dean rolls over the pull-out couch, grabbing his shotgun. (Y/n) grabs her pistol, glancing around, her and Dean locking eyes for a moment. Dean grimaces. The painfully high-pitched noise begins again, and he grabs his right ear, keeping the weapon up in his left hand. (Y/n) looks around, hearing a voice calling out to them. "Dean! What are you hearing?!" (Y/n) yells, not hearing the high pitched sound.

'(Y/n)! Dean! Can you hear me? This is important!' 

It seems to yell at them, but Dean can only hear a high pitched ring. (Y/n)'s eyebrows crinkle as the mirror on the ceiling starts to break. Dean grabs (Y/n)'s wrist, pulling her down with him. The voice is still calling out to them as he covers her body with his as the glass shatters and rains down on them, Dean clutching both ears as all the glass in the room shatters explosively. He screams as Bobby bursts into the room as more glass shatters. "Dean! (y/n)!" The two look up at their father-figure, who ushers them out the door as the high pitched ringing stops, as the voice stops.

~~~~~~~

1st Person POV: 

Bobby drives his car as Dean, in the passenger's seat, wipes blood from his face. I sit in the back, gently pulling a couple pieces of glass from my hair. "How you doin', kids?" Bobby asks, glancing at Dean, then into the rear view mirror at me. 

"Aside from the church bells ringing in my head, peachy." Dean grumbles. I look at Dean questioningly, deciding to not mention the voice, or the fact that I didn't hear the same sound that Dean did. 

"Fine," I mumble, looking at Bobby through the mirror.

Dean pulls out his phone, I can see over his shoulder that he's calling Sam. He puts it on speaker phone as Sam answers. "Hey." Sam greets his brother.

"What are you doing?" Dean asks, looking back at me, seemingly scanning me for injuries. Seeing nothing he turns back around, looking out the windshield.

"Couldn't sleep, went to get a burger." Sam answers.

Dean's eyebrows crinkle, "In my car?"

"Force of habit, sorry. What are you doing up?" Sam says, a little too quickly.

"Well, uh, Bobby's back. We're going to grab a beer. (Y/n)'s with us." Dean lies through his teeth. Bobby looks at Dean, shocked, making Dean hold up his finger as a 'hang on'. I also furrow my eyebrows a Dean, wondering what the hell was going through his mind right now.

"All right, well, uh, spill some for me, huh?" 

Dean nods, "Done. Catch you later." He hangs up the phone, a determined look on his face.

"Why the hell didn't you tell him?" Bobby asks, irritation evident in his voice.

Dean sighs, "Because he just tried to stop us."

I fold my arms over my chest and cross my legs, "From what?"

"Summoning this thing. It's time we faced it head-on." Dean gives a single nod.

Bobby looks at him in shock again, "You can't be serious!"

"As a heart attack. It's high noon, baby."

"Well, we don't know what it is. It could be a demon, it could be anything." I huff, resisting the urge to smack him upside the head.

"That's why we've got to be ready for anything." Dean pulls out Ruby's knife, the blade glinting in the moonlight, "We've got the big-time magic knife, you've got an arsenal in the trunk..."

"This is a bad idea." I sigh, rubbing my forehead.

"Yeah, I couldn't agree more, but what other choice do we have?" Dean looks back at me again, determination in his features.

"We could choose life." Bobby retorts, as if that's the most logical thing to do...which it is.

"Bobby, whatever this is, whatever it wants, it's after me. That much we know, right? I've got no place to hide. I can either get caught with my pants down again, or we can make our stand." Dean says.

"Dean, we could use Sam on this." I say, ready to pull out my phone and call the younger Winchester.

"Nah, he's better off where he is."

~~~~~~~

3rd Person POV:

Sam sneaks into the darkened diner and slips his lock-picking tools into his shirt pocket. A song is playing on the jukebox. Sam sneaks in quietly, sees the cook from earlier face-down on the floor, his hands bloody. Sam crouches and turns the man over; he is dead, his eyes burned out and drying blood caked on his cheeks. Sam stands back up, looking around.

The demon waitress tackles him from behind. They trade blows for a few moments until Sam shoves her away. She pushes her hair from her face. She too has empty, burned out eye sockets and blood trickling down her face. She looks both terrifying and terrified.

Sam looks shocked, "Your eyes."

"I can still smell your soul a mile away." She tries to sound intimidating.

Sam swallows thickly, "It was here. You saw it."

The demon waitress sobs, clearly still scared. "I saw it."

"What was it?" Sam asks hesitantly

"It's the end. We're dead. We're all dead." She continues sobbing.

Sam's voice gets more insistent, determined to get an answer out of her, "What did you see?"

"Go to hell." She says stubbornly.

"Funny. I was going to say the same thing to you." Sam steps back, plants his feet, and shuts his eyes in concentration. He extends his right hand towards the demon waitress. She gags and begins to vomit black smoke into her hand. In mere seconds, the waitress collapsed to the floor as the demon is sucked down into Hell. Sam opens his eyes and quickly goes up to the woman, hoping she's still alive. He checks her pulse, feeling nothing. Sam sighs in disappointment, "Damn it." The kitchen door opens and a woman comes out. He looks up, apparently not surprised to see her. Her hair is dark and she appears a little impressed.

"Getting pretty slick there, Sam. Better all the time." She says, crossing her arms.

Sam stands and they share a look. He looks down at the corpse at his feet, his face falling. "What the hell is going on around here, Ruby?"

"I wish I knew." She sighs.

"We were thinking some high level demon pulled Dean out." Sam says, hopeful that Ruby might have some information about what happened with his brother.

"No way. Sam, human souls don't just walk out of Hell and back into their bodies easy. The sky bleeds, the ground quakes. It's cosmic. No demon can swing that. Not Lilith, not anybody." Ruby explains, looking up at Sam.

"Then what can?"

"Nothing I've ever seen before."

~~~~~~~

1st Person POV:

Bobby and I draw a symbol with white spray paint on the cement floor. As Bobby stands, Dean looks around at the many symbols Bobby and I had put around the warehouse, determined to be ready for whatever had the mojo to yank Dean out of Hell. "That's a hell of an art project you've got going there." Dean remarks as he sets up the equipment on a metal table.

"Traps and talismans from every faith on the globe. How you doin'?" Bobby asks.

I stand up, dusting my hands off on my pants, "Stakes, iron, silver, salt, knife. I mean, we're pretty much set to catch and kill anything I've ever heard of." I peek at what Dean had set out on the table.

Bobby looks at Dean. "This is still a bad idea."

"Yeah, Bobby, I heard you the first ten times." Dean snaps slightly, "What do you say we ring the dinner bell?"

Bobby nods reluctantly. He goes over to another desk, takes a pinch of some powder from a bowl, and sprinkles it into a larger bowl, which begins to smoke. He chants in Latin, while Dean and I arm ourselves in preparation.

~~~~~~~

Dean, Bobby and I are seated on tables, swinging our legs and looking bored. Nothing immediately happened when Bobby tried to summon whatever this thing is. 

Dean groans, "You sure you did the ritual right?" Bobby gives Dean a look, making me chuckle, "Sorry. Touchy, touchy, huh?"

As if on cue, a loud rattling shakes the roof. We arm ourselves and back up to the far end of the warehouse defensively, I stand between the two men anxiously, holding a shotgun full of salt rounds like Bobby and Dean. "Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind." Dean jokes weakly. Lightbulbs explode above us, making us all flinch as sparks rain down. The door bursts open and a handsome man in a business suit, trenchcoat, and wings stalks in. Wait...wings?

The light bulbs above his head shatter in a shower of sparks as he passes them. As he approaches, all of us open fire, but the shots don't even slow him down. The man walks up to us as if he didn't just get pumped full of buckshot, standing between Dean, Bobby and I. "Who are you?" Dean asks warily.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition." The man says flatly.

"Yeah. Thanks for that" Dean grumbles as he plunges the knife into the man's chest, I'm assuming directly into his heart. But it has no effects. The man looks down, unbothered, and pulls the knife out of his chest, dropping it to the floor. Bobby swings at him, but the man catches Bobby's weapon without even looking. The man turns to Bobby and puts two fingers to his forehead, making Bobby crumble to the floor.

"Bobby!?" I yell, kneeling down next to his unconscious body, glaring up at the winged man. 

"We need to talk, Dean. Alone." The man says, turning to look at Dean, then back down at me. I stand up and he approaches me, ready to do whatever he did to Bobby to me.

"Wait! Whatever you have to say, she can hear it too!" Dean yells, making the man glance between us. 

Dean glares at him, kneeling down to Bobby and checking his pulse. "H-He's alive Dean..." I state, my eyes flickering between the man, Dean and my adoptive father.

The man nods, "She's right. Your friend's alive." He says as he looks through one of the books on the table.

"Who are you?" I ask, making the man look up at me.

"Castiel." He says, making eye contact.

"Yeah, I figured that much, I mean what are you?" Dean crinkles his eyebrows, his glare not letting up.

Castiel looks over at Dean, "I'm an Angel of the Lord." That would explain the wings.

Dean slowly stands up, "Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing."

"Dean...I think he's telling the truth. I mean, look at his wings." I stand in front of Dean, gesturing my right hand towards Castiel, who visibly stiffens out of the corner of my eye.

"What wings?" Dean asks me, squinting at Castiel. 

I give him a confused look, "dude they're fucking huge, how can you not see them?"

"This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith." Castiel turns to us, looking at Dean. Thunder rumbles and lightning flashes, making a shadow form behind the angel. The shape of wings stretch out behind Castiel, but I can see his tangible onyx wings spreading behind him, making my eyes widen. "Told you," I gloat weakly at the older Winchester.

Dean shakes his head a little, "Some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

Castiel looks down, guilt on his face, "I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that."

"You mean the gas station and the motel. That was you talking?" Dean asks, making Castiel nod, "Buddy, next time, lower the volume."

"What do you mean? I heard him at the motel just fine, he was trying to tell us something." I cross my arms over my chest, both of the men looking at me.

"And you think now is the important time to tell me?" Dean looks at me in disbelief. 

"Oh please, as if you would've believed me," I roll my eyes.

"That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage, like (Y/N). I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong." Castiel says to Dean.

Dean scoffs, "Why can she hear you? See wings that appear to be friggin' invisible? And what visage are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?"

"This?" Castiel looks down, fidgeting with his clothes, "This is... a vessel." He ignores Dean's first couple questions.

My eyebrows furrow as I look the angel up and down, "You're possessing some poor bastard?"

Castiel looks in my direction, "He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this."

"Look pal, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?" Dean asks him, unable to believe what's actually happening. 

"I told you." Castiel frowns at him.

"Right. And why would an angel rescue me from Hell?"  Dean shifts where he stands.

"Good things do happen, Dean." Castiel says, stepping closer to him.

Dean shakes his head again, "Not in my experience."

"What's the matter?" Castiel asks, his voice getting a little lower,  "You don't think you deserve to be saved?"

Dean scoffs, "Why'd you do it?" 

"Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you. But now, I also have...business to attend to with (Y/N), now that I'm aware of some things..."