#GOOD OLD FASHIONED CROSSES AND HALLOWED GROUND AND THE WORD OF THE LORD AND SUCH. OMNIPRESENT AND YET POSSIBLE TO AVOID

[sporesgalaxy]

i have been sitting here. VEXED by the idea of a one piece cowboy AU. because i want it so bad. but on land, what exactly has the same omnipresence and-yet avoidability of The Ocean, to serve as a devil fruit weakness? the same capacity for providence AND destructiveness? Sand, theres too much sand, we dont Love it the same, and you don't sail over it the same way, no no, and sunlight, that changes where you'd fight too much, I don't want everyone to be running into cave systems to fight all the time. BUT THIS MORNING IT HIT ME LIKE A TON OF BRICKS. CHURCH

[kittyspring-creates]

teaser fic, here’s a tease on what I’m working on

(after chp 321)

That was it, with the appearance of class 1-A. There whole plan was shattered. But no one could really be mad about it. In retrospect it was a terrible plan. Using some 16 year old kid as bait for a league of villain's that had effectively shaken and killed many hero's. That had been escaping them for over a year. It was a bad plan. Everyone involved could tell. Just by sharing glances that they all thought the same. Another mark on their ever growing failure. This was the end. No more running around trying to lure them out. It was time to go back to plan B. General search. Even if it was going to be worthless. But for now they needed to go home. Tired and dirty from living in cars for the passed month. Sleep deprived from the constant moving and lack of trade off for the drivers seat.

Best Jeanist drove through the town, his passenger seat taken up by Hawks. The skinny man no longer needing his oxygen tank. But the device still sat by his feet. Rattling every know and again when the number three would turn or hit uneven asphalt. The blond did nothing to stop it. His marked eyes, bare of his usual makeup, heavy with each blink. Instead of resting against the glass he just stared out at the passing scenery. In the back of the drivers car sat the number one hero. Taking up his whole back seat, hunched over with his wrists on his knees. The man stared down at the dirty floor. Freshly cleaned from all the garbage that had collected but still looked filthy. His expression was unseen, though it was obvious what he was thinking about. Not just how their plan failed, but how he let down his son once again. Always chasing the acceptance of his youngest but always messing it up. This time was harsher then the rest. Because he had kept Midoriya from the teen. Had allowed him to put himself in danger and push himself till he was wrecked. Bloody and torn. Till he no longer looked like a hero. Solidifying the youngers notion that he had to do everything alone. It seemed there was no coming back from that mistake in his sons eyes.

The blond man turning the cars wheel let out a loud exhale. Presenting his own turmoil to the others if they were paying attention. That everything was for not and all they did was worsen an already bad situation. That the man was at a loss of how to fix anything. His friends, his own status, society. The car stayed silent till they reached the vacant street in fukuoka. The small man blinked with recognition as his brain processed the scenery. He sat up to stare out the window shield. Waiting till they arrived at his rather large house. Except he couldn't see it where ti was suppose to be. Best Jeanist halted the car rather harshly, jerking his passenger's. But they weren't annoyed by it. The three hurried out of the car. Hawks was the quickest, sprinting to his stone gate. The sight shocked him, erasing any exhaustion he had been fighting in the vehicle. His sing with his name was torn off the wall, but he barely noticed. To busy staring up at the burnt structure that barely stood soundly. The inside black and hallowed, majority of the building laid in rubble and ash on the property. He walked onto the pieces. Barely recognizing what was what. What use to be his living room, his kitchen, his mothers side of the house. His bedroom. All of it was gone. Left behind was just a shell, an outline of what once was. Decorated with spray paint. Words aggressively stating 'fake' 'not a hero' 'hero's don't kill' 'die' 'we don't need you' and 'killer'. He stared at them, his expression blank. Though it was clear the words hurt. How could they not, when he gave everything for the people and they threw his mistake in his face. Destroying what life he had built.

He kicked some wood lightly. Setting his hands in his pockets. "Good lord, I never thought anyone would resort to this. Burning down your own home" Jeanist muttered, shocked and speaking his mind rather then to the man. Hawks let out a long breath, his shoulders sinking. "Hawks" Endeavors deep voice called out in the dark. "It's fine, it never felt like a home anyway. It was more for my mom then anything. But...she's gone now so it almost seems fitting" the blond stretched then turned to the two with a smile on his face. "Well looks like I'm crashing at a motel or Jeanist's car again" he spoke lightly, a laugh in his sentence. But it did nothing to reassure the two that he was really ok with losing everything. "Was there nothing here of value to you" the fashionable hero asked. "Hmm no, just some cloths. Which I guess I'll have to buy some now. Eh needed a new wardrobe anyway" he continued to smile. As if it was nothing. As if his life wasn't just torn away and left with the smell of burnt in the air. Endeavor looked up at what was left of the place while the other man looked down at the ruble under their feet. "Come on, dwellings no fun. Take number one home, I'll find a motel or something" the small man spoke. Waving off their worry. He dug his hands in his pockets then started heading to his gate. Seeing the burn marks let on the inside.

"I don't think that's wise, not because your feathers still haven't grown back but I don't think its a good idea for any hero to be wondering on their own right now" Jeanist told, his voice slightly muffled by his collar. "Hakamada is right, it's not a good idea for anyone to be alone right now" Endeavor echoed, crossing his arms over his chest. The blond in front of them just smiled, hiding his reaction to their concern. "Aw you worry about me that much big guy" Hawks joked. Instead of his usual reaction to the man jokes, number one glanced to the side. A memory playing in his head of the three of them in Jeanist's car. They were fallowing a petty criminal, searching for any trouble along the way. As usual the large man was seated in the back. With the smaller hero beside him. His rough hands laid on a laptop keyboard, unmoving as the blond snored silently. His head rattling against the window, his oxygen mask hiding his face. Endeavor remembered thinking it was the first time he had seen the man sleep since he left the hospital. His makeup long gone, showing bruises on his face from the recent battle. A growing tiredness form on his skin. The expression changed drastically as the blond jolted awake. Eyes blowing wide as eh tossed the laptop. With no warning he pushed open the door of the moving car and barreled out. The movement so fast the other two barely had time to react. Jeanist hit the break and swerved the car by accident. Endeavor put the lap top on the now empty seat then hoped out of the car himself. To late he concluded. The blond had torn off his mask and was now vomiting on the ground. Shaking as he held his knees. It was a jarring scene for both hero's having to watch. Waiting for their college to finish empty his stomach until they could hydrate him. It was also the last time he had noticed the man sleep in their month long car ride.

Endeavor meet the mans golden eyes, the color nearly useable in the dark. No street lamp to illuminate them, just the hidden stars from the cities pollution and the dim moon. "Get in the car Hawks" he ordered. "Geez so bossy, aye aye sir" the blond chuckled. But it sounded so hoarse, like it was alot of effort to do so. The three walked back to the car. Trying to figure out what to do next.

[estrangedaframian]

Ninety-Nine Percent Better

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Word Count: 1,589

Summary: While hunting for a Whisper (aka were-pire) with Castiel, Reader must contend with their social anxiety. Fluff and mixed-feelings ensue.

Prompt/Request: Castel x Reader with Social Anxiety by @fandomsthatkandiceloves

Rated: PG. Mild language, mentions of violence.

A/N: This marks my first-ever ‘reader x’ story, so please let me hear your thoughts. I tried to keep the reader as inclusive as I could, while still providing a bit of a lovey edge to her/him. That said, the love can be perceived as either romantic, or non-romantic. Whichever you like best, or feel... Great for boils and ghouls of all ages! (The use of Y/N has been replaced with a double-underscore.)

~ Enjoy!

(gif credit on watermark)

You were a hunter who preferred staying indoors, and that made you a walking, stalking— shooting— paradox.

Castiel, as it happened, was a paradox of biblical proportions. And so naturally, you two got along swimmingly. You liked the Winchesters well enough, but they were also bleak in that very human way— though if it hadn’t been for their flanneled hospitality, you wouldn’t be here, after all— maybe alive, maybe dead— but certainly not in a bunker in Lebanon, Kansas, sitting comfortably as an honourary person of letters in the vein of Henry Winchester and Josie Sands…

Your buddy Cas, on the other hand— despite his Neo-Noir good looks and according hint of aftershave— was never truly apart from his Precious Moments milieu. The Angel was at once the essence of everything you felt was missing in humanity; as well as the too few parts you loved about it.

As the harvest sun settled, a cornucopia of cumulus hanging low, the muddy earth gripping the soles of your boots— the supply store came into view. The storefront was brick, capped off by a bright red awning, an inexpensive vinyl-like material printed with bold black lettering: WE SELL AMMO.

Your partner for this particular hunting trip was none other than Castiel. He wore one of the same number of coat-and-tie combinations he always did, but something about the sky and him on this evening… You couldn’t describe it, but it appealed to you. He appealed to you. Much so. That kindness, that raw power. The manner in which the wind tousled his humble haircut, teasing his put-on-backwards tie to the point where it flapped like a lame-winged bird, and how he almost seemed to be the causal force of such wacky yet refined weather.

His proximity to you was meticulous, one step behind you—two or three, if you got excitable— and his feet made no more disturbance over the crisp forest floor than a squirrel’s paws might have. Less perhaps, for Castiel wasn’t the least bit squirrelly.

“There,” he spoke, his voice hushed, almost hallow, and he placed a hand on your shoulder, pointing you in the direction of the store.

“… That place? What about it, Cas?” The present and ongoing pursuit of a ‘Whisper’ wanted you to be tense, but you couldn’t be; not while God’s grace disguised as a private dick was THIS close to you.

Generally, Castiel’s expression remained unchanged from that of saccharine and matter of fact, but as his ocular oceans sank down to his shotgun’s empty barrel, you knew he was feeling heavy-hearted about something or other.

“I’m out… and I know you are, too.” Intense light poured from a sliver in the Angel’s wounded cheek— slashed early on in the hunt by the elusive ‘were-pire’ which was your prey of the hour, as it were. Watching your back, he simply had not the time nor strength enough to fix it. “Speak not of your condition, __.” Cas raised his hand from your shoulder (you were amazed at how long he let it linger there), and began rummaging in his coat’s inner pockets. “I saw it in your heart— ”

Your breath hitched in your chest as he spoke— interrupting his serene, severe thought process— your aforementioned organ thumping inside you to the beat of an ill-tuned drum. For his sake, you mostly kept your composure.

“Wait. What do you mean? You lost me, buddy,” you said, your attention torn between Castiel and the ominous dead-end surplus in the foreground of where you and Cas both stood by quietly.

“Social anxiety.” He blinked, completely non-judgmental, his face awash with all the caring and stone of a Churchyard. This face— Castiel’s face— would be the death of you, you thought, struck again with the duality of the earth Angel you cherished above all others— Angel, and non.

You wanted to speak, wanted to explain yourself.

“You thought I was going to ask you to go into there… I was,” he confessed plainly. “With my vessel as it is, I thought our ‘luck’ at getting what we need approximately ninety-nine percent better at your behest.”

Forever befuddled, you allowed yourself to slump to the ground in an exhausted, marginally comfortable, sitting position. Castiel followed suit, assuming a gargoyle crouch at your side.

“I can’t lie to you, Cas— Yeah, the place rubs me the wrong way. Same as every public place does, except this one has the element of cobwebs and surprise! Has anyone even been inside there in the last…  decade? Doctor Doom could be our cashier, for Christ’s sake!” Sorry, Lord’s name in vain. You grimaced out your apology, but Cas made no acknowledgement of either your slur or your sorrow.

In a manner he was as perplexed by your nature as you by his; he was hung up on your reference to comic villainy and improbable passages of time. You were a fool in the grand scheme of things, but you were his fool to protect.

Cas was now sitting alongside you, his transfigured legs stretched out in a sequence similar to your own. When did this happen? It seemed, as usual, his segueing was too fast for your human eye to conceive, and you cursed yourself for always missing out on strange little moments like these.

“If… Doom were the cashier,” Cas started slowly, way too deep into postulation, “that would be fortunate, wouldn’t it? The man wears much silver… We could fell him where he counts the change, and melt down his armour, and fashion it into new silver bullets.” He stared at you, his steely gaze fishing for a battle plan, his pink mouth not bent to any one emotion. It reminded you how helpless he was, all things considered.

Leaning, you pressed a tragic-hero type kiss to his brilliant wound, half imagining that your true love would seal it up ‘magically’. Alas, the blinding grace continued to shine from within Castiel’s cheek, and you still felt like shit thinking of how you would approach the employee lurking behind the blazing OPEN sign beyond.

“No matter,” Cas resumed, “I’ve thought of something. My angel blade— we shall pawn it for ammunition. Silver blades, in any case.” Belatedly, he raised an eyebrow in response to your PDA, but said nothing of it.

You sprang to your feet in protest. “No way!” Crap. Looking around, you lowered your voice. “I can’t let you do that over my stupid anx… What, Angel blades don’t work on Whispers?” You groaned, prompting Castiel to rise and subsequently embrace you. It was, in reality, his idiosyncratically tight grip on your arm, a silent ‘Get yourself together, man’. But you would gladly accept it as a hug.

“—They don’t. And it’s like you said, no one comes here. We can return for the Angel blade later,” Cas assured you. “I wouldn’t dream of letting it lie around for long. In the wrong hands… it’s suicide.”

“You’re really insisting, aren’t you? Well, at least let me put something over your grace… �� With several layers to spare, you reached for your thinnest shirt, and with a healthy tug— you tore off a portion of cloth. In a jiff, you fixed the makeshift bandage around Castiel’s head, taking advantage (inconspicuously if not innocently) of the chance to feel up his stubble and jawline. When you were through, the Angel looked passably pathetic— a regular ol’ guy after a regular ol’ hunting accident.

“There. Good as old!” Beaming, you admired your work. You didn’t even mind that Castiel forgot to laugh at your funny.

“Thank you… I won’t be long.” He handed you his everyday knife, hoping it would give you at least a little extra protection while he left you unattended. “We should continue down that way,” Castiel flagged the southwest of the store’s exterior, proceeding towards the entrance. “Wish me luck?”

“I love you, Cas.”

That’s when the door chimed. A moment later, you thought you could hear a peaceable back-and-forth between Castiel and the mystery worker, but perhaps that was the former’s powers putting your mind at rest. You wouldn’t know until he emerged— an arm through a thanks for shopping plastic bag heavy with goods, and the other arm wielding his angel blade.

“The cashier wasn’t Doctor Doom… ” Castiel informed you, as the both of you (now a kosher distance from the eerie place of business), continued walking. “He was a Whisper. THE Whisper.”

“WHAT? Why didn’t you shout, or send Angel... signals… or something?!” It was concern forming your words. That, and being bummed out at losing another shot at proving you could defend your star-crossed constant companion (that’s what you wished he was, anyways— your constant companion). “How did you… know?” He’d told you all the details before, but you’d never seen one in person. And though you got the gist of hybrids, the specs. were still very much above your understanding.

“He asked me when’s the solar eclipse,” Cas explained.

“And you killed him? Jesus!” Whoops. “Lots of people are interested in eclipses, and it doesn’t mean they’re a were-pire!” Dammit, Dean had all but drilled that title into your skull. “It’s probably the only thing someone like him— being someone from around nowhere— has going for him.”

“I told him it was today, and then he attacked me… ”

“Oh… Guess I owe you an apology. Sorry, Cas.”

“It’s tomorrow.”

*** END ***