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remmushound · 3 years ago

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Beyond the Bay chapter 7: Mutant Town

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @digitl-art-monstr @scentedcandlecryptid @selfindulgenz @ilo-artistry

Mikey fell, and he screamed all the way down. A large pile of garbage softened his fall— in fact, it was more like a mountain than a pile. A mountain that he tumbled down like a tossed rock, and once he pulled himself into his shell to escape the tumbling whiplash, he even resembled a rock. The slope of his shell ensured that he landed on his plastron, and only once he was still for several moments did he crawl back out of his shell and look around the environment.

The first thing he noticed, with a wave of relief, was that it was night. The next thing he noticed was the wall; a great, big wall of wire and metal sheets around the perimeter that stretched several feet taller than the highest trash peak, and along the top of it were tangles of barbed wire that made the place look almost like a prison yard. No, not a prison yard— a junkyard! And a pretty big one at that! Mikey couldn’t see much from where he was, expansive walls of junk blocking his view and giving him the sensation of almost being in a giant maze.

Mikey struggled to his feet. He was unstable but, as long as he had the wall to lean on, he was sure he could find his way. The cold, tickling tingle washed over him, but he forced his way through the cloud of misery. He tested the steadiness of the wall before he dared to lean his whole weight into it; at his size, even the most sturdy of things were at constant risk of collapse. The wall supported him just fine, and he was thankful as he used it to guide his way while his other hand cupped around his stomach. Mikey made his way down the first walkway. Trash, trash, and more trash was all he saw, packed together so tightly together that their integrity surpassed even some of the houses back in Mikey’s city.

“Man, and I thought my New York was dirty!” Mikey whistled. He was sure this wasn’t actually a part of his counterpart’s city, but the joke helped him to not completely shut down. “Raph? Leo? Dee?”

No response came. To the left of Mikey’s path was a disturbance that made him yelp and grab his nunchaku expecting a threat; the perceived threat was, in fact, a giant rat running down the side of one of the closer hills. The rat ran over Mikey’s feet, bolting down the path while its pursuers, three very fat cats, were hot on its tail and seemed to take no interest in Mikey.

Mikey practically squealed. “Kitties!”

Mikey hurried after them as fast as his still-stiff body could carry him. For as long as he could remember, he had always wanted a cat! The ones back in his world always seemed to run from him, but maybe these ones could be different! If he was extra quiet, maybe he could even pet one!

“Here kitty kitty. Pspspspspsp…” He fell to his knees when he caught up to the cats; they were all crowded around a small hole in the trash, too small for them to fit through, batting through the opening with sad mewls. “Aw… hey kitty kitties…”

One of the cats almost immediately responded to Mikey’s calls, the other two still too focused on trying to get the rat to care about the mutant. The cream tabby, tail held high, trotted over to Mikey with all the confidence in the world and pressed his face against the mutant’s finger, immediately starting to purr as he danced around Mikey’s hand. Mikey gasped out a sob and started to cry as carefully deft fingers began to massage the tom cats cheeks and head, and in response the cat squinted his eyes closed and started to knead his claws into the dirt; he was even drooling a bit!

“Oh my god…” Mikey sniffled and, on impulse, slowly scooped the fat cat into his hands. The cat didn't seem to mind, so Mikey picked him up and held the cat securely to his chest. “I never wanna leave…”

“Babies!” A voice echoed through the junkard and immediately both Mikey and the cats were at alert. “Babies babies babies!”

The cat kicked himself free of Mikey’s grasp and took off running toward the voice; the other two cats snapped out of their trance and ran just as fast. That voice had been close, really close, and Mikey certainly didn't want to stick around and see the human that it belonged to. In his mind, he still saw the hate in the eyes of the officers that had cornered him and his brothers. He saw it so clearly, and he felt that same fear, and that same sense of smallness like the humans were growing and he was shrinking and he was alone and—

Mikey had to hide. The footsteps were approaching, and the only place to escape to was behind an old, rusted car, and that was exactly where Mikey went. He covered his mouth to hopefully hide the fact that he was breathing so heavy, and he saw the shadow of the stranger as they passed by on the other side of the car. Mikey held his breath. The shadow paused. Surely they didn't know Mikey was? How could they know?

The car gave a groan and Mikey soon realized that it was being moved. Lifted, as if it was nothing more than cardboard, and to Mikey’s horror he looked up to something tall and definitely not human. White eyes were the only part of the creature that wasn’t cast into shadow, two massive claws clicking together in a threat. The stranger was completely covered in thorn-like spikes, and when his eyes focused on Mikey, his lips curled into a sneer.

“Whatchu doin’ crawling around down there?”

Mikey screamed. It wasn’t a very long scream, more like a high-pitched yelp, but it was enough for color to flood back into the other mutant's eyes as he kneeled, looking far less threatening now he was at Mikey’s height.

“Hey hey, it’s okay.” The mutant waved a claw in what was intended to be a deescalating manner, “Don’t scream, kid, I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

Mikey was able to see more of the mutant now that they were closer. His skin was purple and he had dark hair with streaks of aging gray. His outfit was simple, a stained white t-shirt and a leather jacket, both torn by the jagged spikes that littered his body. Around his waist was a belt that looked like it could have once been the collar of a junkyard dog, black with silver spikes, though it wasn’t holding anything up because the mutant was without pants.

“Didn't mean ta scare ya kid…” The mutant offered a claw and Mikey slowly accepted it, standing with the help of what he now recognized as a praying mantis around the same height as Donnie. “Jus’ wonderin’ why you’s pokin’ around is all.”

Mikey swallowed what little spit was left in his mostly dry mouth. “Hey… you’re a mutant!”

“And uh… so’s is you.” The mantis smiled and pointed at Mikey.

“I didn't know there were other mutants here!” Mikey’s voice did that thing where it went loud without intention, but he didn't care. “Oh my god that is so cool!”

The mantis laughed jovially. “Man, where have you been that you don’t know about other muties?”

He swung his arm around Mikey’s shoulders and prodded the tip of his claw against the turtle’s plastron with nothing but friendly intention. He started to guide Mikey down the path and Mikey was more than willing to go with him.

“Uh…” Mikey rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m… pretty new in town.”

The narrow path they had taken opened up to show a wide, mostly-clear area in the heart of the junkyard. The first thing Mikey saw, much to his delight, was a congregation of fat, happy cats feasting on a large assortment of food laid out for them

“Well, let me be the first to introduce you, then. I’m Repo Mantis...” Repo motioned to the area beyond the cats, “Welcome to Mutant Town.”

“Wha…?” Mikey’s mouth fell open. The longer he stared, the less he could believe what he was looking at.

What was once junkyard opened up into what could almost be mistaken for a town or, more accurately, a village. The space wasn’t particularly big. And from what Mikey could see of the layout there was only one road, but to him it was the most beautiful thing. Mutants— lots of them! Mammals and reptiles and birds too; Mikey could have almost mistaken it for an actual street if not for the colorful creatures that called it home instead of humans. Then Mikey realized that the structures that filled the area were meant to be houses! Some of them were cars, hollowed out and filled instead with personal items and sleeping spaces, while others were more innovated; ramshackle sheds out built of scrap metal acting as small houses. There were tarp canopies that covered outdoor sleeping spots, and there were tents, and there was random furniture scattered around for shared comfort space. He even spotted a few shipping containers that had been renovated into small hotels with four or five rooms side by side.

“Woah…” Mikey almost forgot to breathe.

“Cool, innit?” Repo smiled, laughing once more as he gave Mikey a playful shake. “Come on! I’ll show you around!”

The mantis led Mikey deeper into the compound. For the first time in his life, Mikey was able to walk down a road, in front of people (more or less) without being stared at! It was him who was doing the staring, his awe getting the better of him the more he witnessed of the small town and its occupants. Mutants of all shapes and colors and species—young and old and skinny and fat and small and big! There were some so large he had to crane his neck to actually look at them.

“This is incredible…” Mikey breathed.

“This is everyday in this city.” Repo snickered, beak wrinkling, “Seriously kid, no worries! You’re among your own kind here!”

“Wow…”

A sudden and unsteady klunk klunk klunk caught the attention of both mutants. They looked further down the trail to see what looked like a tin can running after them! No, not a tin can, Mikey quickly realized, but a tiny cream kitten with a tin can stuck on his head. With every step the little kitten took, he wobbled and stumbled and fell, making very little progress in his search for help. It was like he had four left feet!

Repo clicked his tongue and calmly shook his head, helping Mikey to rest on a couch before heading over to gather the kitten up in his claws.

“Aw, sweetie.” Carefully, his claws started to work the can off of the kittens head until the young cat was free. “How do you keep doing that, sweet thing? Aww…”

The kitten reared its head up to encourage the gentle petting of Repo’s sloped claw, tiny paws dancing in the air while purrs sounded off in quick succession, more than loud enough for Mikey to hear.

“Awww kitty!” Mikey stuck out his bottom lip as he made desperate grabby hands.

Repo gave an amused smile at the turtle’s antics and made his way over, guiding Mikey’s grabbing hands into more of a cradle before carefully placing the kitten in Mikey’s arms. Mikey melted under the warmth and the pleasant vibrations. It was as if his entire body was jello and the only thing keeping him in one piece was the solid mass of happy energy in his arms. He was terrified to move, so went as stiff as a statue, not daring even to blink.

“Oh my god I love him…” The kitten pressed against Mikey’s hand and gave him no choice but to massage the fluffy face with a delicate touch; all the while the kitten was still wobbling unsteadily back and forth as if some invisible force was jerking him along. “Why is he so wobbly?”

“Wobbly kitten syndrome.” Repo said with a sigh and shake of his head, “Normally they’re euthanized but eh… he seems to be handling himself alright for now.

Mikey sucked in a shaky, sobbing breath, “He’s the most beautiful baby boooooooyyy…”

***

“Incredible…” Donnie said breathlessly, adjusting his goggles once more to get an even closer look inside the compound, “It’s like a whole town of mutants down there!”

“It’s not called Mutant Town for nothing.” Leonardo smirked, leaning against the taller turtle like he was a fence post.

“There must be dozens of them!”

“Thirty-four currently, to be exact.” Donatello said proudly, “And we just so happen to know the guy who runs the place, so let us do the talking, kay?”

“Kay.” Leo entertained with a slight nod.

“But you talkin’ us back for a tour the second we get the time to spare.” Raph rumbled, flashing teeth to show his joke.

Donatello took the lead of the group as they descended upon the compound, to a grand door just below a sign reading ‘Beware the Repo-Mantis’ with the ‘tis’ added on with spray paint. Leo felt incredibly small under the sharp watch of the guards on point, two large and particularly nasty looking mutants hidden among the wires, but he stayed quiet as had been requested of him. Quiet, but alert. Donatello rang the bell that said “Ring For Service” and it wasn’t very long at all before the gates were opening, and out from the community stepped a seven foot praying mantis with a sneer on his face; a sneer that faded quickly when he saw Donatello.

“Donnie!” Repo Mantis wrapped his arms around Donatello and heaved him up in a powerful grip, “Shit, man, how the hell are ya?!”

“I can’t complain!” Donatello mused, slipping out of Repo’s grasp faster than the laughing mutant could catch him again, “Pizza’s still a’flowing, and Foot’s still a’kicking, so you know…”

“Business as usual?” Repo offered.

“Exactly!” Donatello clicked his tongue and winked, whisking Repo away for a private chat, “But there is a minor issue.” He gave the mantis man a quick rundown of the days affairs.

Repo considered, and then nodded. “Ah. Sounds like you got’s your hands full. Well, glad to say I can help ya wit’ at least one of your problems. Wait here.”

Repo disappeared back into the compound. Donnie leaned over to whisper in Donatello’s ear.

“How do you know him again?”

“He tricked me, I bug zapped him, he nearly trashed my tank in a Demolition Derby, you know how it is.”

Donnie really didn't know how it was, but he didn't want to ask. Repo returned soon, this time with a six foot tall box turtle in tow.

“Mikey!” Three brothers swarmed the youngest.

“My son.” Splinter raised a hand to touch Mikey’s face, then hesitated when he saw a tiny bundle of orange in his sons arms. “Oh…”

Mikey sniffled as he held the tiny, ginger kitten in the palm of his hand, petting his fingers through the happy tom cats fur. “Repo said I could keep him. I named him Klunk. With a K!”

Michelangelo gasped. “CUUUUUTE! Also, hugs!”

Michelangelo penetrated the wall of muscle to give Mikey a hug, which Mikey returned with a weak arm.

“Mikey, we can’t…” Leo started, but a sharp glare from Donnie made him hold his tongue.

The family started to usher Mikey away, now acutely aware of just how exposed they were out here; the rapidly rising Sun was doing them no favors. Mikey showed no resistance in following, and the rest of the turtles joined the congregation as they passed.

“I’m gonna give him so much cheese…” Mikey sniffled, not bothering to wipe his tears.

“Weee have cheese.” Donatello commented with a nod.

Leonardo laughed and gave Mikey a firm pat on the carapace. “Welcome to paradise, hermano. It’s great to have you back.”

#mutant town!#every Mikey deserves a Klunk #repo mantis has been busy #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #bay turtles

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aislingeu · 4 years ago

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hello!! i’m kq ( aka kelsey quinn! ) i’m twenty five, livin in the est, usin she / her pronouns!! much like the good buddy who turned me on to this rp, i don’t know a ton about percy jackson!! but mythology was one of the few subjects that held my attention in school, so i hoe i have a good handle on it! :D for now, i manage a comic book store from thursdays - sundays, so i’m scarce those times but i’m usually on discord!!

⟨ ABIGAIL COWEN. CIS FEMALE. SHE / HER ⟩ though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, AISLING DUNN is actually a descendant of H Y P N O S. it’s still a question of whether or not the TWENTY-THREE year old PAINTING MAJOR from DUBLIN, IRELAND has taken after their godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite CLEVER & COARSE.

this got way longer than i intended im so sorry...

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃

she was born on march 12th, 1997 to a pair of irish musicians ( conor and dierdre dunn ) and, unwittingly, one greek god ( hypnos ) in dublin, ireland. her parents met and married shortly after her conception and neither of them suspected that conor wasn’t aisling’s father, until she was claimed.

as an only child, her parents didn’t have much to compare her too in terms of overall strangeness. for years, they wrote off her abilities as kids just sayin’ the darndest things. they remained blissfully unaware of the impact of their daughter’s words, rolling their eyes fondly, when she told them about the man in the cave, who came to her in dreams. they smiled and laughed, when she strangers at the supermarket that she thought erwin was a fine name to give a teddy bear, no matter what anyone else said. how were they to know that she was unearthing the fond childhood memories that passersby had almost forgotten?

when she enrolled in primary school, they realized that she was... strange, if not special. she was recognized as a bit of a space case, often staring at nothing in particular, while her teacher droned on. her worksheets were seldom turned in complete. instead, aisling began gifting poorly drawn family portraits on the blank sides of her papers, likenesses plucked from the memories she explored when her mind wandered, in class.

eventually, after her skill had developed and people stopped writing off the stick figures as ‘coincidentally accurate’, people began to truly take notice. they speculated that she was a medium, silently communing with the dead and painting their pictures as she did. how else could she know what her art teacher’s late father looked like? and what color tie he always liked to wear? she had to be a psychic. recipients of her art were always so focused on their perception of the little girl with the gift of sight that they hardly even realized what she had tweaked, brightening up their darkest memories, just so they wouldn’t have to hurt anymore. she hardly even realized, herself.

without a reason to believe otherwise, she told the man in her dreams that she was a psychic, but he knew differently. he told her that that wasn’t so. she was special, yes, but not in the ways that the world thought her to be. hypnos let her in on the secret he’d been keeping for the past twelve years and, just like that, aisling could make sense of herself. once she knew the truth, she chased sleep. she spent as much time as she could, communicating with the one person who understood who she was. he saw her hunger for belonging and pointed her in the direction of the camp nearest to her hometown.

after a summer away, she came home faced with a challenge in morality that she’d never considered, as a child. she came home to a world where she could no longer fit. her party tricks had lost their luster the moment she realized that true value of a memory, however sad, was worth far more than the cheap smiles that her alterations had afforded. with that realization, her art took a darker turn. unable to shift the memories she saw into the light, they haunted her. she now saw their fears and heartbreaks for what they were: unchangeable. and, now, they lived within her, too. putting them to paper was the only way to get them out. but, pieces like those weren’t the kind that could be sent home to mom and dad. pieces like those were the kind that got her meetings with guidance counselors and haunted, fleeting looks from those whose memories she’d never meant to disturb. after a year of that, aisling went back to camp, full time.

once she was a year round resident of the camp, she found herself more comfortable around people who understood; there was nothing she had to hide, among those who were like her. each one of them was fighting an uphill battle of their own. they didn’t have to hide it. even if she never allowed herself to get too close, aisling never felt all that far away, at camp.

at eonia, aisling spends most of her days painting, sleeping, or working. raised by a pair of mortal musicians, finding a job at fireside records felt like a natural progression. where her godly parent thrives in silence, she finds her comfort in noise. it’s easier to block out the things she doesn’t need to see when there’s something immediate for her to focus on. at the other end of that spectrum, aisling finds her mind most open in visual arts club, trying to keep her other creative skills sharp, while she keeps her primary focus on painting. in search of inspiration, her mind reaches out in tendrils, dipping into another’s until she finds something she can work with. she only needs to leave the room before they’ve realized what she’s borrowed.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

aisling is a naturally empathetic person, always wishing she could do more to help those around her. unfortunately, she knows that she can’t always honor that instinct. her abilities and self-imposed limitations have left her with a hardened exterior that isn’t easy to break through. those who pass through her walls see a softer side: a steadfast friend, always there to put a peaceful end to their sleepless nights or calm their worst nightmares, with a gentle run of her fingers through their hair. but sometimes, she’ll wall herself away from even those she’s closest to after she finds herself in the middle of a particularly harrowing memory. because of this, maintaining close bonds for long is a difficult thing. given her propensity for accidentally rifling through the fondest and most fearsome parts of peoples’ pasts, she’s been known cut them out of her life when she sees something that she has the urge to alter.

𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒

MEMORY RETRIEVAL — for as long as she could remember, aisling knew things that she shouldn’t. at first, her parents just dismissed her gift as imagination and observation combining in a perfect, creepy storm. it wasn’t until she started attending school, picked up her finger paints, and started to draw out moments from the pasts of strangers that people started to truly take notice. sloppy scenes from the librarian’s wedding day graduated into well sketched portraits of her bus driver’s dalmatians. she liked to take those happy moments, immortalize them in art, and hand them off to the owners of the memories. she liked to make people smile. sometimes, she took that a step further. too young to see the value in sadness, aisling would tweak the memories that were harder to bear; even if she couldn’t bring someone happiness in the present, she hoped she could bring them comfort in the future. it wasn’t until she was claimed that aisling saw the flaws in her intervention. it wasn’t until she was taught the consequences that she knew she had to stop. although the memories came to her unbidden, they didn’t belong to her and she had no right to change them. instead of focusing on the alteration of memories, aisling opted to try to learn how to shut them out. like her other powers, though, there’s a direct correlation between her emotional state and her ability to keep a wall up. when she’s feeling something strongly or hasn’t gotten enough sleep, she sees things that she doesn’t mean to.

HYPNOKINESIS — you are getting very sleepy… what proved to be a fun tool at sleepovers had more practical applications than aisling knew possible. the skill of inducing sleep was easy enough to come by and influencing dreams was as simple as altering memories. and while ( without intending to ) she’d been known to cause visions when tensions ran high, refining those visions into ones that took the shapes she wanted them to took practice. even more difficult than that was learning to astral project, but that became a necessity, coming hand-in-hand with building her mental walls. when the uninvited memories start to weigh on her, she’s learned that it’s best to remove herself from the immediate vicinity. even if she’s only technically leaving in her head.

OTHER ABILITIES — ( levitation ) a skill she only possesses in sleep, predominantly when her dreams are eliciting strong emotions. ( seeing the gods in dreams ) this is how she formed and maintained a relationship with her father, despite her parents being unaware of their daughter’s godly lineage. on occasion, she’ll encounter gods that she’s less familiar with and, in most of those cases, she’s been known to force herself awake.

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

there are so many cool, fun things runnin through my brain right now!! i think it would be lovely for her to have forged a friendship with an insomniac or maybe someone prone to nightmares that she could help! and those fun customer service relationships with record store regulars!! or maybe a former friend or significant other, who aisling left behind? maybe even altering their memory slightly, if the parting of ways was ugly! who knows! the possibilities are endless!! and i’m always up to hearing other peoples’ ideas because the Sweet Lord knows i am not the most imaginative person in any given room!!!

thank u for reading ilu!!!

#euintro #death cw //#i think i covered everything!! if u have any questions lemme know!! i can clarify probably!!

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imagine-loki · 5 years ago

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The Slutty Web One Weaves

Title : The Slutty Webs one Weaves

Chapter NO. 7 of 10?

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki’s Asgardian wife learns women write fanfiction about him on a trip to Midgard. She’s edgy for the duration and lets him have it when they get back.

Author: lokilover9

Rating: M

Astrid apologized, agreed to everything and Thor lead them to a location to hide their vehicle.

"Loki will be pleased to know your helping."

"I should have thought to from the start." She regrettably admitted.

Frigga hugged him. "Thank you for agreeing to take her back should this fail." ***** For eight days, their plan worked until her Father paid the palace an unexpected visit.

Odin was in the front courtyard boasting to some Einherjar about beating an Embassador at charades, when their commander, Nedvar, interrupted. "Ignoramus at twelve o'clock, Sire."

The King groaned. "Splendid. It's Rodderick the dipshit."

"Give the word and we'll pitch him over the wall."

"Tempting, but what do I tell my daughter in law?" Odin hated the occasionally unkempt Lord who preferred perfuming to bathing and greeted him from behind a hedge. "Welcome Roddy. I look so forward to your unscheduled visits."

The disdain was mutual with Roddy feeling Astrid could've done better than wed whom he considered a criminal, Prince or not. "Greetings, Heiness. Might you be so kind as to share the knowledge of when your son intends to return?"

Astrid's parents had two daughters, her being the youngest and known to the Royals as her Father's least favorite.

"That depends on whom you miss more. Asgards lovely Duchess, or my son? Her beloved pardoned Prince. I can give either a message."

"Miss? Impossible as Astrid's practically taken up residence again. Should I relay you wish she ceased luring her Mother from bed crying, or send her home to disturb your sleep?"

"I wasn't aware she'd returned from Midgard. Has age required you hearing aids, or were you night prowling in hopes of accessing Ingrid's locked bedchambers again?"

Roddy frowned and crassly replied. "The lovely Duchess returned with Frigga. Is your wife telling lies, Allfather? Mine would never."

Odin cackled. 'Festering dimwit. Ingrid is banging my valet.' "You shall regard Frigga as 'Queen' and with utmost respect."

"My apologies. She is celestial, yet your defensiveness is revealing."

Roddy liked poking subtle jabs at the Royals and assumed Astrid a barrier to consequence. Most were directed at Loki and the King, but he'd worn Odin's patience too thin. "Insult anyone in my family again, including your daughter and face repercussions. Be gone, Rodderick."

"So soon?"

Odin's jaw clenched. "Leave egghead before I crack it on the pavement. Nedvar, escort him to the gate."

"Gladly, Sire."

Roddy followed, hardly perturbed. "One might expect the offering of a beverage after a stuffy carriage ride."

The commander jolted the gate closed. "Try opening a window Lord Heskin. If you're thirsty, there's a pub nearby rumored to host naked wrestling in the basement. Some days it's ladies, others gents. Enjoy."

When Odin entered their chambers bellowing to the Allmother, her lady in waiting sent word through a chain of servants to a handsomely paid Stableman. Familiar with an alternate route to Astrid's parents, he arrived ahead of Roddy and rushed her to the observatory.

Thor received her call and left immediately. 'Shite, brother. Where art thou?' ***** Following two days in Paris, Loki and Brianna cruised Lake Laguno in Switzerlandand. She questioned him about Asgard and her grandparents, yet when asking the circumstances behind his adoption, Loki spun a tale of half truth.

"Jotunheim had a King named Laufey who owned a magical cube that opened bridges to every realm. Long ago, he used it to attack Earth. Grandfather bravely defended your realm, forced his army back to Jotunheim and demanded he relinquish the cube. Laufey refused and continued attacking Asgards army until most of his people died. Grandfather found me alone amidst the rubble and decided to adopt me."

"You didn't tell him who your parents were?"

"I was an infant and the only survivor for miles."

"Where was Laufey?"

"He'd gone into hiding like a scaredy cat."

Instead of finding his comment amusing, anger washed over Brianna. "He abandoned a helpless baby to freeze? Introduce us and I'll use him as target practice."

Loki booped her nose. "I'm honored you wish to avenge me, but Laufey died and still suffers in the afterlife."

"How?"

"King scaredy cat will never have the privilege of meeting you."

Brianna smiled. "Or you. Was Grandfather hurt?"

"He lost an eye, but recovered nicely."

In Amsterdam, they visited the Artis zoo with over 900 species of little animals, an aquarium, planetarium and Zoological Museum. Further confirmation Brianna's his was how quickly she learned enormous amounts information and remembered the smallest details when later initiating a quiz. Since confessing to the burglaries, Loki was curious how she knew the homeowners were abroad and worked it into their conversation.

She replied like it was all in a day's work. "Dory accompanied me to different parks in fancy neighborhoods around Jersey, posing as my babysitter. Between eavesdropping on adults and questioning kids, it's amazing what you can learn inside a sandbox."

"Questions of what nature?"

"Like, 'I'm new to the neighborhood and love my big house. Where do you live?' Or, 'I'm going to visit my aunt Matilda's lavender farm to make soap.'"

"How was that helpful?"

"Most thought it dull and bragged of their families planning grander trips. Once attaining addresses and dates, I'd stake out their houses and proceed from there."

"Ah. With Dory as the lookout?"

"I left her in shelters or nearby motels. She never figured out how I managed, but by the third burglary, stopped worrying whenever I'd sneak away and send her a text." His eyes widened and Brianna rose a palm. "Dory lacked powers and I wouldn't risk her arrested because of me."

Why lecture when she'd acted out of desperation to find him? "You're a good friend, Og Min Lille."

"Thanks. I regret the stealing, but pranking the authorities was fun."

Loki thought it something innocent like tipping off their hats, but discovered her mischievousness paralleled her intelligence.

"I always struck at night and at one house, four police were investigating inside when I turned on the lights, flushed every toilet and set off their sirens. At the third, I poured a large olive oil path onto the kitchen floor, slammed a pantry door and watched two come running. One slid into it and fell, while the other amusingly contorted himself until the first tripped him. They sure swear a lot for the good guys."

"Brianna." He playfully scolded. "Say you did nothing worse."

"I'd be lying."

"Oh?"

"At the last house, the master bedroom had black drapes and life size models of a lion, wolf and a fang baring polar bear on its hind legs. Weird people. After aligning them near the door, I closed it, extinguished the lights and tripped the alarm. The police came, shone a flashlight inside and from the foyer, I made the bear roar."

Loki chuckled. "Did they scream?"

"And shot the bear."

"What?!" He led her someplace quiet. "From now on young lady, all pranks must meet my approval or…" While pondering means of discipline, he blurted what first came to mind. "...All shoulder and piggy back rides are discontinued."

He made both fun, thought Brianna. Bumping into things when her hands covered his eyes, then flipping her over his head for tickles. Or feigning valiant attempts at shaking her off to escape enslavement.

~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~ "Have mercy and release me!" He pleaded, captured during a picnic.

Brianna popped him on the head with her fake sword, a stick with a bushel of leaves at its tip. "Cease your begging, pheasant! I rule this realm, appoint you my new zombie slayer and hunter of all things chocolate. Fail and be fed to puppies!"

Loki set her down and knelt on one knee with a hand to his chest. "A frightful demise your majesty of cuteness. I humbly accept."

"Daddy, I'm supposed to be fierce."

"Eh he he he. Sorry." ~~~~~~~~*~~~~~~~~

Brianna deliberated his threat and wittingly proclaimed. "Are you not the God of Mischief and I your offspring?"

He arched a brow. 'Don't laugh or she'll never take you seriously.' "I mean it."

Brianna had already pulled some under his nose. A boy who'd aggressively budded before her at a park slide discovered his shoelaces tied together after nose diving into the sand. A woman at a restaurant who harshly berated a server had red wine spilled onto her Gucci bag. Minor sprinklings of karma she happily administered.

"But you're still a prankster."

"Rarely and without endangering anyone." 'Shite. I'll need to keep that fib under wraps.'

Brianna crossed fingers behind her back and feigned defeat. "O-kay. Can I have a snow cone now?" ***** After seeing the Northern lights in Norway, they'd returned to their hotel where she became oddly sombre.

"Has something upset you?" Loki asked.

"During our travels, I've seen many people with children. It's obvious they're loved, but my family..why, Daddy?"

Her pain pierced Loki's heart as she clung to him. "People can do terrible things for incomprehensible reasons, but you're my little girl now and I'm overjoyed you've come into my life."

When her tears ceased, she unexpectedly opened up about the women. Her first memory was of Jillian singing her to sleep at age three. She and Claudia taught her to talk, walk, bathe and dress herself, brought her toys, fictional and educational books. Yet it was Jillian who'd paid her the most attention, their visits consistently monitored by Hannah. A person so controlling and void of sentiment, Brianna wondered how the trio became friends. The woman opposed their closeness and the first time Brianna defended her Mother, she was forbidden upstairs without Hannah present, who ordered Claudia to report otherwise. This became impossible when the two landed full time jobs. With Jillian delegated homemaker, Hannah was forced to trust her. Over the past year, she'd broadened Brianna's computer knowledge, snuck her for walks to a hidden trail entrance off the main road she'd marked with glow in the dark tape, taught her outdoor safety and survival skills and always stressed keeping everything secret, especially Brianna's magic or Hannah would separate them for good.

"Jillian knew of your powers? Why have you never mentioned any of this?"

Brianna frowned. "She bread me to thicken her purse. No amount of secrets and added kindness makes that excusable or her worthy of commeding."

An undeniable fact Loki avoided arguing. His daughter was hurting and preaching Jillian might've experienced a change of heart could impede their relationship.

She halted his conflictual thoughts by bashfully asking. "Do 'you' love me?"

"Very much, Brianna."

"Can I stay with you forever? Please? I'll move to Asgard."

Loki doubted she comprehended the gravity of her words. "Forever doesn't mean a month long visit as we previously discussed. It involves permanently residing on another realm thousands of miles from Earth where the landscape, culture, even people's wardrobe's are entirely unfamiliar."

"I know. Devoid of space travel, would it be any different if I moved to India, Antarctica or say..Bhutan?"

"I suppose not. I'm sorry, Bhutan?"

"It's a small country just south of China. I memorized Earth's geography and most of its cultures in one month."

"Very good." 'Genius supreme. I must catch up.' "Then you're willing?"

She yawned, proudly raising her chin. "Affirmative. I'd like to see those sandbox dwellers top that adventure."

Incredibly relieved, Loki chuckled. "You've ten remaining seconds to gloat, sleepyhead. Ten..nine.….three, two, one."

"Hey, you said those last digits awfully fast."

"It's time for vampire pajamas, your fierce and Royal Highness."

"A story too? Will you conjure The Empty Grave by Jonathan Stroud?"

"The Empty 'what?'" He amusingly queried. "No way, Jose. I've chosen three options of popular children's literature from the internet. The Cat in the Hat, Whinnie the Pooh, a rather peculiar name for a bear and Charlotte's Web."

"Isn't the last tale about a spider?"

"Yes."

"They're creepy. I choose that one."

'Mother would be impressed.' "Hurry then before zombies find us and eat my brains!"

Brianna shouted from the bathroom. "Nobody hurts my Daddy! Huyya! Take that you fiendish barbarians! Uh oh."

Loki rushed in upon hearing glass crack and found her standing on the bathtub ledge. "What did you do?"

"I was pretending to fight them off with my hairbrush when it flew from my hand, struck that picture and landed in the toilet."

He laughed renewing both with magic. "Your toothbrush is safe, yes?"

Loki finally thought her asleep when she reached out for a hug.

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I forgot to say I love you too. Goodnight."

His heart swelled twice its size. "Goodnight, Og Min Lille." ***** Next they ventured to London and a budding lover of history, Brianna asked to visit The British Museum. While viewing a dinosaur skeleton from an upper walkway, she pointed into the crowd below.

"Daddy, isn't that Tony?"

He took a gander. "Well, well. Iron Man it be."

"Who's the strange lady he's with?"

"Pepper, darling. She often wears wigs to avoid recognition."

Her eyes brightened. "Please, can we say hello?"

"Inconspicuously. I'll him send a text." Daddy concealed his phone. 'Greetings kinky crossdresser. What brings you to Londinium?'

'Loki???'

'Yes. Act casual, we're hiding.'

'Holy shit! We're on vacation and at the Savoy in the Royal Suite. Can you meet us there ASAP? It's important.'

'We're on the ninth floor. Rendezvous in an hour?'

'Ha! We'll be there with balls on!'

'Come again?'

'🤪 Bells, dammit! Bells!'

'😂 Brianna can't wait.'

Tony hurriedly guided Pepper through the crowd. "Excuse us..pardon us..excuse us."

"Where's the fire?" She whispered.

"Daddy Snowflake's in town. Hustle, Butch." ***** Their door opened and Brianna ran to him. "Uncle Cootyoodles!"

"Little Warrior! Am I happy to see you!"

The couple listened with enthusiasm about everywhere she'd been, then Tony asked to speak with Loki alone.

Virginia led her into their bedroom. "Wait 'till you see all the cool stuff I bought."

"That'll keep her busy." Said Stark. "Pepper's a London shopaholic. So why the vanishing act? Thor called me."

Loki scoffed. "I did tell him not to."

"Don't be angry. Astrid returned and wanted to contact me."

"Why? You knew nothing."

"She didn't believe him. Neither did your Mother and Thor worried they'd show up at the Tower."

"What?! Our Mother came to Midgard in search of me? Shit..shit!"

Stark told him everything and Loki's face was unreadable. "Nope. There's nothing weird about staring like I've grown a nipple on my face."

"Did I mention it's pierced? You're saying 'my' brother, Shakespeare in the park, lied that extensively for me?"

"Yes and sent them back to your Dad to expand on it. What's everyone's problem with an awesome six year old anyway? Is that why you didn't go home?"

"Becoming a parent, you're suddenly bombarded with complex decisions centered around one tiny person you never fathomed loving so deeply, much less an indisputable desire to protect above all else."

Stark smiled. "Look at you. The master of Sheisterism all growed up..whose dodged my question."

Loki sunk into a chair. "Maturity aside, my life is a mess. Asgards people still regard me a traitor, Astrid and I are constantly arguing and it's completely unfair of me to expect she Mother a child she didn't bare and Odin's my grandest worry for classified reasons I've become an insomniac over. I can't subject Brianna to that. Her life has been dreadful enough."

"Not anymore. She has you now. I endured shitloads of public and political outrage over changes to Stark Industries. 'Wealth aside', I thought it my doom. People adjust and opinions fade. Astrid will come around once they meet. Look at the number Little Warrior did on us."

"She 'is' irresistibly charming."

"Whatever gramps issue is, arrange for her a few rounds with the old coot. She'll straighten him out."

Loki smirked, picturing Brianna dancing circles around the Allfather. "My Mother would buy ring side seats."

"See? The bulk of your family is on your side. Let them help."

"As appealing as that sounds, Astrid will expect hours of explanation I haven't the energy to convey. I love her, but she 'is' a drama queen."

"Eligible for an academy award."

Loki's eyes narrowed. "Piss off, flying human."

"Thor's willing to talk without the wifey knowing. I've a burner phone as you tend to appear in the strangest of places."

"Mm. Like when I ran into you in a sleazy massage parlor near Carnegie Hall?"

Loki was still a bachelor then, but Tony wasn't.

"I didn't know they offered sexual favors until the masseuse grabbed my dick. They weren't listed on the brochure."

"Eh he he he. I'll call when I've a chance."

They clammed up when Brianna exited the bedroom. "Can I go Daddy, please?"

Pepper followed. "Sorry. I blabbered the Tea shops chocolatiers add finishing touches to their masterpieces at this hour."

"You may." Said Loki.

Tony slipped Little Warrior fifty euros. "Buy me an eclaire and keep the change. Badass ate mine."

"Yay! Thank you!"

They left and Stark unpacked the phone. "Here's your chance while Brianna's absent. Text him, 'Garage?'" ***** Jane distracted Astrid while Thor sat in the cabin of his truck and the brothers soon cleared a lot between them.

"I'm not upset you deceived me anymore Loki, nor is Mother. Yet I'm worried Father's making her life miserable. Are you fearful he'll scorn Brianna?"

"Not up for discussion and relax, brother. You've been gone a while. Mother's gonads have grown."

"She's taking male hormones?"

"I meant she's less meek? Have you dropped the toaster in your bathwater?"

"That only happened once." Thor defensively replied. "I was late for a waxing of my package and hastening making breakfast. Nor have I recently smoked Jane's medical marijuana. She threatened torture were there not enough to ease her menstrual cramps again."

Loki deadpanned. "Norns you're a tit, fruit of Odin's loins.' "How's Astrid?"

"Coping. Jane said she'd do anything to see you again."

"Coping amidst stewing over my bedding of another 'Midgardian hoe' I've fathered a child with, and the humiliating circumstances involved."

"Believe me, brother, she too is no longer angry and the diaries contents stayed within Stark's walls. It isn't my story to tell."

"Your software needs reprogramming, impersonator. Thor Odinson was never so thoughtful of his sibling."

The blond laughed. "He's turning over a new leaf."

Loki had sought privacy in another room and suddenly heard Brianna desperately calling him. "I have to go. Don't tell Astrid we spoke yet." Upon opening the door, she threw herself at him.

"Daddy!"

"What happened?" He asked Pepper.

"We neared the shops door when she gasped, bolted for the elevator and started frantically pushing the button."

Brianna was trembling. "Darling, why are you frightened?"

"We can't stay here, Daddy! She's down there!"

"Who is?"

"Hannah!" She cried. "I'd know that red headed witch anywhere!"

"Shhhhh." He soothed. "I promised they cannot hurt you, remember? Stay here with..."

Brianna wrapped herself tighter around him. "No Daddy! Don't leave me!"

She was so distraught, he couldn't. "I won't, Min Lille. Shhhhh."

"Virginia's gone." Said Tony.

Loki's head shot up. "Back to the shop?"

"Yeah. Said the witch looked familiar and went on a hunt."

"Fuck! Get her back here!" Brianna jumped from Loki's voice. "Sorry Min Lille. Tony, now!"

"Erm..why?"

"Because they've met! If Pepper confronts her, she'll vanish!"

#Loki #father #others #submission #Submitted fic #chapter 7 #lokilover9 #The Slutty Webs one Weaves

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writingthrones · 5 years ago

Text

the northern dragon- part 6.

PART 6: REVELATION.

TAGS: @psychosupernatural , @xleviiiix , @ashtronomyyyy , @starkbelova,@5aftermidnight , @makapaka11 , @mxxkscreate-write , @scorpiosmalfoy,@harrison-shot-first , @art-flirt , @jessyballet , @vaexvictis ,@callmeconceited , @cassiopeia-barrow , @the-three-eyed-ravenclaw (feel free to shoot me a message if you’d also like to be tagged!)

DESCRIPTION: the world thought that just 2 dragons survived, that house targaryen was missing its third head. but there was another– the youngest, the final child of the mad king and queen rhaella. of course, she was almost part of the near extermination of her house. but the honorable ned stark, unable to watch a babe be murdered for crimes she did not commit, rescued her from an awful fate. instead, she grew up amongst wolves within the walls of winterfell.

NOTES: what you’ve all been waiting for!

WARNINGS: lots of violence and, of course, angst.

After the attack, it was made clear that a weapon must be carried at all times. You decided on a nicely sized dagger that you wore strapped to your calf under your dress. It was easily concealed and fairly easy to pull out quickly. It’s probably something that you should’ve always had but it was “unladylike,” but you’ve proven yourself to be no lady. From then on out, you were wary. You couldn’t look upon the faces of the men in the same way. It made you more jumpy. You told yourself, though, that it made you more vigilant. It’s just unfortunate that it had to come out of this.

When Robb returned, he made a point to visit that night. You were just about to lay down to sleep when he walked in. “Y/N...” his voice was low. You met his eyes, still sitting down on your bed and offered him a smirk. “Didn’t worry too much, did you?” He sighed, though he smirked as well as he sauntered towards you. The young wolf then crouched in front of you, gently taking your injured hands, “Stop.. tell me, how are you feeling? Really?” The seriousness in his voice caught you off guard, though it did make sense. This wasn’t nothing. That man could’ve killed your or did unspeakable things.. or both. Every ounce of your being wanted to lean forward and close the gap between you two. It was a feeling you’d had many, many times over the years but especially now. In fact, it took all the self control in your little body not to do so. “I’m fine,” you insisted.

Robb sighed and stood up then sat down next to you. “I didn’t think any of my men would do something like that...” he said. It felt like the two of you were kids again and so, acting on that feeling, you leaned your head on his shoulder for comfort. Luckily, he didn’t move yet it still made you nervous. “I’ll see to it that someone gets punished. I--” You stopped him there. Lifting your head, you looked over at him. “Please don’t. I’m fine, I promise. I’ll be more careful, I know how to defend myself. There’s too much going on for you to punish anyone because one man crossed a line.” He looked to you, looking as if he wanted to say something more but instead settled on, “Fine. Just...” Another sigh. “Talisa will be around tomorrow with supplies to properly clean these up, okay?” With that, he headed out.

Of course she was. Sure, you were grateful that someone who was clearly talented in their craft had the supplies necessary to keep the army in the best condition. All you could think about, though, was the time the two of them got to spend alone. Why else would he have brought her along to such an important meeting? Catelyn was right, he fancied her. You wished desperately not to care but you did-- by the Gods, you did. Throwing yourself onto the bed, you eventually dozed off. It wasn’t a restful slumber though, no, you couldn’t stop imagining the things that must’ve happened on that little trip. The images haunted your dreams.

Shortly after you awoke, Talisa walked in, just as Robb promised. The immediate reaction was that of anger and you hated it. She was a kind woman, someone who was helping you greatly and yet you couldn’t help but to feel anger, hate, jealousy. That familiar Targaryen fire burned within your chest. “Here, this should really help,” the dark-haired woman said with a warm, genuine smile. It made you hate yourself for the contempt you felt towards her. She was good and yet you were filled with pitiful jealousy. “Thank you, really.” The words were forced but you did your best to sound truly thankful. It’s not that you weren’t but... still. “I would say they should be fairly healed within a fortnight, just try not to be too rough on your hands until then.” Did this mean Robb would try to keep you out of whatever conflicts that would come about between now and then? You hoped not but deep down you knew these two were.. close and she would surely tell him. Indigo eyes fell upon the fresh wound dressings on your hands before looking back up at her with a smile. “I take it you’re with us for the long haul, then?” She seemed caught off by your tone, as were you. You hadn’t meant for it to come off the way it did you just couldn’t help yourself. “I just mean... you’ve decided to stay with us? We could use someone with real skills,” you quickly added, chuckling to make the air less tense. “Oh.. yes! This war is getting ugly and... I just want to help those getting caught in the middle while the high lords sit in their castles plotting away not giving a second thought to the men who will die for them.” As she went on, she sounded more and more passionate. She truly did care for the people.. it made you feel even worse about disliking her. “You’re doing good work,” you said softly before standing. “Sorry, I have some things I need to tend to. Thank you again,” you added, hurrying out of the tent to find something else to keep you busy.

Later, you ended up sitting with Catelyn, who seemed even more troubled than usual as of late. “Lady Catelyn, is there something--” She took hold of your arm, “I must speak to you. But not here, somewhere private.” So the two of you ventured into her tent where no one would dare to disturb you. You sat while she paced, not saying a word. “He’s gone mad, Y/N! He loves this woman and you know I want nothing more than for my children to be happy but..” The shock was written all over your face. Sure, you suspected it but you absolutely dreaded being right. “I fear what this will bring. He wishes to marry her. I reminded him that he made an oath to Lord Frey but he insisted that he’d understand and respect his rule, so long as he offered him another deal. But I don’t trust it. He never truly respected Ned, I don’t believe he would respect Robb just because they call him a king now.” She was right. If this went through, this could change everything. This could spell disaster for their cause.

“Do you think he’ll truly go through with this?” you questioned softly. “Yes, he intends to do so as soon as possible and tell him only after the fact. I believe he plans to offer my brother in his place but I just...” You can see that her thoughts are racing. “I guess all we can do is hope that Lord Frey will accept his offer, then. We both know just how stubborn Robb is. If he loves this woman...” You have to swallow the lump in your throat and pray that Catelyn cannot see the devastation written on your face. “Then I hope she is a good queen and that she is worth all of this.” The older woman sat down next to you, letting out a defeated sigh. “I suppose so.”

The next thing you knew, it was revealed that Robb has made a queen of a Volantian woman named Talisa. In his place, Edmure Tully would marry a daughter of Lord Frey’s. He was a lord of a great house, yes, but he was no king. Walder had agreed to the new deal but Catelyn still felt uneasy and confided in you with her feelings.

That night, though, you buried yourself in the furs and used them to muffle your cries. You always knew that he’d marry some beautiful lady one day but it broke your heart nonetheless. When you cried the very last of your tears, you rolled over to reveal red, puffy eyes, feeling totally exhausted. The encampment was making another move tomorrow, and a risky one at that, so you quickly went to sleep. It was important to stay on alert. You weren’t really supposed to be involved in any conflict with your injuries but when did you let anything stop you?

Another memory replayed itself in your dream that night. It wasn’t long after your fourteenth name day. “I can see it, you know,” Jon spoke up from behind you and you jumped. Turning quickly, your brow furrowed. “And just what are you talking about?” you questioned. “I’ve always been able to read you like a book,” he chuckled, walking up to stand beside you. “Are you going to tell me what you’re on about, Snow?” you sighed. His voice suddenly became more serious, “You love him.” He looked out at Robb training in the courtyard just as you had been. Your face felt hot-- even more so than usual-- and your face went red.

“Wh--What are you talking about?!” The stutter certainly didn’t help your case. “I’ve known it for years. And maybe you’ve fooled them but you can’t fool me,” his tone was lighthearted again. “He could love you, too.” You scoffed, there was not a chance. Robb Stark loving a plain and honestly unappealing no name girl? Wasn’t that a laugh. “Have you gone mad?” You tore your eyes away from the courtyard to face him. “I’m serious. The way you look at him, that’s how he used to look at you when we were younger.” There is no way that was true. Even if it was, it didn’t matter. “Shut up,” you huffed, shoving him lightly.

Early that morning, just as the sun was peaking out from behind the mountains, you rode next to Catelyn as the northern forces advanced. Half-listening to her, your eyes never left Robb as you watched him ride alongside his queen. They radiated happiness and it made your heart ache. It would make sense to just be happy that he was so happy but you couldn’t force it. All you wanted was to pour your heart out and hope that it would change things. “Y/N?” Then Catelyn snapped you out of your thoughts. “Oh! My apologies, I’m just.. tired,” you said while laughing nervously. “I understand.” The older woman offered you a kind smile, giving you some relief. You had to remind yourself that without her kindness, you would’ve been slain in the arms of your mother and that making yourself heart sick over a man who was now called king was foolish.

Once everyone was settled in, you somehow convinced yourself to go and find Robb. You caught him just before he retired to his tent. “Your Grace,” you said, playfully curtseying. He rolled his eyes and you honestly couldn’t tell if it was a joke or if he was genuinely bothered. “I just wanted to let you know I’m happy for you. Your queen.. she’s beautiful and kind.. and much better than a Frey girl, I suppose,” you chuckled. “She is, isn’t she?” There was this look of wonder in his eyes. He really loved her. And you really loved him. How tragic. You can tell he wanted to return to her but you couldn’t let him go just yet. “So what is going to happen with that, then? I imagine Lord Frey isn’t very happy.” It felt like it was the most you’ve spoken in ages. “We sent a raven as soon as everything was official explaining everything. I proposed my uncle Edmure stand in my place. We were nervous but he sent one back saying he agreed. That’s where we’re headed, didn’t you know? We should reach the twins in a week, I’d expect. Less if we pick up the pace.” It was surprising, learning that Walder Frey had actually agreed to give up the betrothal to a king and settled for someone of, frankly, much lower status. “No, uh, I didn’t,” you replied. “Well find your best dress for the wedding,” he said with a grin that made you melt. “Sleep well,” he added, brushing softly past you and into his quarters.

All the news still had your head spinning and the racing thoughts kept you awake for most of the night. You hardly got any sleep before you were forced to keep moving. That day you couldn’t help but to notice the happy couple being extra smiley. It made you wonder what that was all about, but you couldn’t let this consume your thoughts. It was always possible that Lannister forces could stage a surprise attack, much like they had on them. There were much bigger things to worry about.

Just before the week was up, you all managed to arrive at your destination. The northern forces set up camp outside of the Frey stronghold. Just as Robb had said, you were searching your trunk for your best dress and head wrap. You’d forgotten that you had thrown in one of the ones that Sansa had sewn for you: a grey color with white detailing-- Stark colors. It made your eyes tear up, wondering where she was and how she was now. You would wear it tomorrow, you’d decide, knowing that she would like that. It’d go fine with a plain, light dress that was navy blue in color.

Finally, the occasion was here. You sat there, next to Catelyn, watching the ceremony. Everyone in the northern army seemed shocked to find that the Frey girl was actually quite beautiful but no one more than Edmure himself. His nervous expression quickly transitioned into a smile, causing you to smirk to yourself. She was still a Frey, though, so it’s not like everything was suddenly all better. But everything went to plan, a cheerful feast starting up just after. The hall was bustling with conversation and music but there was still just that bit of tension in the air. You just couldn’t shake the slightly uneasy feeling in your stomach.

The happy couple were rushed off to the “bedding ceremony,” something you found ridiculous, though not surprising that this family seemed so excited for it. Catelyn placed her hand on yours as if she somehow knew that you wanted nothing more than to stand up and leave. You looked up and met her eyes, head tilting with confusion. “I don’t like that look on his face,” she whispered to you, looking directly as Walder. “I think that’s just what he looks like, my lady,” you replied with a chuckle. She sighed as she looked back at you, “I suppose.”

It was then that he spoke up and the both of you quickly turned your attention to the old man. When you looked closer, you didn’t feel very good about the look on his face either. It was then that you noticed the change in the music to something that sounded quite odd for an occasion like this. He addressed Robb and his queen, saying that he hadn’t given a gift as a congratulations for their marriage. Furrowing your brow, you looked to Catelyn who had lifted the sleeve of Lord Bolton, who was seated next to her, revealing chainmail beneath. Something was terribly wrong and things escalated when she stood and slapped him, the sound nearly echoing throughout the room. Rising to your feet, you looked around and noticed that the doors to the hall had been shut and that’s when all hell broke loose.

It started with a Frey boy relentlessly stabbing the queen in her torso. You sucked in a breath with pure shock, then a crossbow bolt ended up in Robb’s shoulder and you shrieked, as did Catelyn. Startled by the noise, you looked back at her then back to him. Everything was moving so fast, it felt impossible to even move. Another bolt was shot into his shoulder, just missing his neck. Finally, you managed to step back from the table and look around. This was a slaughter. They had rounded everyone up, made sure they were vulnerable and killed every Northman they saw. But that’s when you spotted Lord Bolton take out a dagger and while you expected he would march to the head table to defend his king, you saw him clearly ready himself to attack him instead.

There was only seconds to act and even in your panicked state, you remembered the dagger you kept strapped to your leg. Weapons obviously weren’t welcome at a wedding but putting it on had become such a routine, you didn’t even think of it and thank the Gods you didn’t. Hurriedly grabbing it out from under your dress, you took off running. It was all a blur as your legs carried you along without any thinking involved. When you finally brought yourself back into the moment, your dagger was buried in Roose Bolton’s chest.

You gasped as you stared into his wide eyes, then quickly pulled back only to bump into something. Turning quickly, you were met with the sight of a badly injured but very much alive Robb Stark. Y/N had saved the King in the North-- a no name peasant had saved a king. The loud cry of Catelyn pulled your attention away only for you to see that a Frey held a knife to her neck from behind. “Please, Y/N! GO!” she yelled just before the man finished the deed. Without a second thought, you looped your arm around Robb’s and began running. He seemed to move only out of reflex and you briefly turned your gaze to him. “What are you doing?! We need to move!” you screamed over all the noise but he said nothing, not even looking into your eyes. There was no time to argue, though, so you conjured up every bit of strength in your body and made your way to the door, busting it open but not without getting an arrow through your shoulder-- a lucky shot. The adrenaline made it nearly impossible to feel, though. Of course, there was more men and more chaos outside but you somehow managed to fight your way through. All the bloodshed and craziness was a good distraction-- it seemed that no one really noticed that the Young Wolf had escaped.

It was a miracle. Despite the ongoing massacre, you somehow managed to free Robb’s direwolf and get the two of you up onto a horse to ride away from the insanity. You rode until all of you were exhausted, going deep into the nearest wood and collapsed against a tree. It seemed to be not long before noon the next day. He still never said a word and Grey Wind whimpered as he nudged at him. His eyes were completely empty, it was almost as if he had been killed. But your number one focus was tending to his injuries. Speaking of which, you had left the arrows lodged into him, not wanting to rip them out and cause more bleeding when you had no time to patch it up.

“Are you ready? This is going to hurt..” you said as you gripped the first bolt. His eyes met yours but still he said nothing. Taking a deep breath, you pulled it quickly as to not prolong the pain. He grunted but never said a word. Wait, you didn’t have any kind of plan. This is why you were a shit medic. Panicking, you pulled at the bottom of your dress and ripped away a piece of the cloth, wrapping it around the injury. Moving onto the next time, this time prepared with the cloth. Still, he didn’t say a single word. “Robb?” you whispered, getting close to try to get some kind of response. There was nothing, though. He was broken, seemingly beyond repair. Sighing, you leaned back against the tree and did the same to your own wound-- receiving no support from him-- before passing out from exhaustion.

When you awoke, it seemed to be the middle of the night. Grey Wind laid at your feet but woke up as soon as you stirred. He immediately growled, though calmed once he realized it was just you. Looking over, there laid the defeated king. It killed you to see him this way, feeling the defeat as well. But it was important to keep moving, it was the only hope of survival, so you shook him until he finally woke. “We need to go. If I’m correct, we keep heading this way and we should be able to reach Seagard.” Robb seemed to look right through you. The frustration was beginning to boil over. “I won’t just watch you lay down and die. Now let’s go.” Still nothing as you pulled him up onto the horse, calling for Grey Wind to follow.

It continued like this for the next few days. He never said a word. You rode to the point of exhaustion and survived off nothing but water and whatever you could find that was edible. It wasn’t possible to find an inn to stay in or a shop to buy from. You didn’t know who could and couldn’t be trusted-- even seeking refuge at Seagard was a risk, maybe they had chosen to betray him as well. Hope was beginning to dwindle, as was your strength, when you finally spotted a castle in the distance. You had found it. It was a shot in the dark but you made it. You chuckled, though tears spilled down your cheeks when you saw it. Gods, please let them remain loyal. After a deep breath, you rode up to the gates where men barked out orders for you to identify yourself.

“I am Y/N and I have with me the King in the North!” There was a lot out of shouting followed by the gates opening and you took the opportunity to ride in, Grey Wind following close behind. The both of you were quickly surrounded. “My king,” they declared in unison, each one falling onto one knee. Releasing the breath you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding, you broke into a weak smile. All of this wasn’t for nothing. You had made it.

The Mallisters saw to it that you two were properly cared for. Each of you was given a bath, fresh clothes, a meal and a warm bed. Even after everything, you found yourself unable to sleep that night. It was late and the castle was quiet as you snuck down the hall and into Robb’s room after knocking and not hearing any protest.

“Can you speak to me already?” Your tone was harsh, finally fed up with the silent treatment especially considering that he’d managed to work up the strength to speak to everyone else. He turned around slowly to look at you, “What do you want?” His voice was raspy and he sounded as tired as he looked. “I want you to say something! We made it somewhere safe because of me! I fought our way through everything to get here and you’ve barely even looked at me!” Frustrated tears spilled down your cheeks. “Do you want a thank you?” The anger in his tone never wavered as he came closer to you. “Did you ever stop to think why I never said anything? I didn’t care to make it out of there, Y/N! My wife is dead, my child is dead.” A child? You had no idea. “And my mother. What else do I have?!” His gradual raise in tone caused you to jump back, head tilted with confusion as the tears continued to flow. “You have people who are counting on you. What happened was... terrible but these people named you their king and you promised their freedom. You promised to bring your sisters home! All of that is hopeless without you. I did what I did for your mother!” And because I love you. “So you can’t just lay down and die. I won’t let you. You have me, Robb.” He seemed surprised to see you fight back so hard. There was a long silence. “Get out,” he practically growled. “Robb--” you went to protest. “I said get out,” he raised his volume slightly. Giving him one last look, you turned and walked out.

Doing your best to remain quiet as the continuous stream of tears spilled down your cheeks, you hurried to your room. This was it. The final straw. You did everything you possibly could, brought him somewhere safe. Now it was up to him now to do what was right. It was becoming quite clear what your next move should be.

CUT TO THIRD PERSON.

Sleep continued to evade him as the sky began to light up. Robb felt sick, his mind replaying all that had happened and racing with all the ways he should’ve been able to stop it. Then he felt an intense guilt. She saved him. She fought like a true warrior to save him. All the times she could’ve given up along the way, she didn’t. All of this effort and he repaid her by screaming in her face telling her that he didn’t want any of it. His grief was no excuse to treat a woman who had been there for him his whole life like that. A woman who threw her own safety to the wayside just to save him. He knew that he needed to apologize and that it couldn’t wait.

He made his way down the hall, thinking of what he could possibly say to make things better. “I’m sorry” would be first, obviously, but that certainly wasn’t enough. After hearing no protest and assuming she must’ve been asleep or in the same position he had been, he pushed the door open. As his eyes scanned the room, there was no sign of her. Her trunk still sat at the foot of the bed but she was no where to be found. Confused, he walked to a desk in the corner of the room where a candle was still burning. There sat a letter, addressed to him with ink that was still wet.

Robb,

First, I must tell you why I need to leave. I should have long before this and I suspect you will agree. My name, my true name, is Visenya II Targaryen and I am the youngest child of the Mad King.

Those first lines made him fall down into the chair, feeling weak from the shock.

...

Continued.

#game of thrones imagine #robb stark imagine #robb stark x reader #catelyn stark imagine #targaryen!reader

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l8rhader · 5 years ago

Note

25/35 reddie.

Let's go take two. Sorry anon, I'm writing this on my phone so it's short and tumblr are the first one. This actually... let's call this director's super cut for the everything has changed verse.

The constant drone of the breathing machine, the click of the I.V. and the steady beeping of the heart monitor had all but blurred away in Richie's head. The hospital in Bangor only allowed two at a time and, since he refused to leave his side, the rest of the Losers took turns. At this point, they were more keeping an eye on Richie than Eddie.

Richie added the 21st Sharpie tally mark to Eddie's wrist, contemplating giving him a full sleeve of tattoos. Instead, he held Eddie's right hand between his gently. Bev sat to his right, tracing small circles over his shoulders. "Squeeze my hand if you can hear me," Richie coaxed, pressing a kiss to the other man's thumb. "Come on, Eddie. Give me something." He lifted his hand, careful not to disturb any of the wires and tubes. "Eddie, I've never gone this long without hearing your grating, snippy voice." Bev watched him sadly. Three weeks had elapsed since their boss battle with It. In that time, Richie had gone to extremes trying to get Eddie to wake up, even though he understood that it was medically necessary for him to heal. "I'm going to lick your face and I haven't brushed my teeth in..." he paused, realizing he couldn't give an actual number, settling on "a long time. Please." He closed his eyes and rested his head on their entwined hands. "Please, Eddie," he whispered, a prayer to the only entity he'd ever worshiped.

Leaning into him, Bev's voice quivered. She hadn't been surprised in the least when he finally broke down and told each of the Losers the truth about his relationship with Eddie. The minute they met up in the parking lot of Jade Of The Orient, she could tell. If they were hiding it, they obviously had their reasons. "Richie, honey, come on," she cooed, trying to walk back the breakdown she could hear coming. "The doctors said..."

"Look, Bev, I love you," he said, a little shorter than he'd intended, turning to face her sharply, but with no malice, just exhaustion. He slid his glasses up onto his head and closed his eyes. "but please don't go there. I know what they said." They said if he wakes up. They said if the swelling goes down. They said if it had been an inch higher... They said if so many fucking times that Richie thought he would rather fight the next person who said the fucking word to him than listen to another hypothetical situation.

"You can't do this to yourself," Beverly said, combing her fingers through the mess of curls his hair had become. "We got him out. He's safe."

Richie choked out an incredulous laugh. "Safe." That took some nerve. Safe would be their bed, 3200 miles from Derry. Safe requires the person in question to be awake. He couldn't believe her. "You of all people should understand." Watching his friend blink at him, he sighed. "In the deadlights... I saw him die." A sob escaped with his admission, forcing him into another fit of tears. "I saw him die and we left him there. You guys dragged me away and I couldn't fucking do anything." He vaguely registered Bev's arms encircling him, but that was little comfort to Richie. "I came to and he was on top of me and I did everything I could. He still wound up kebabbed. He still..."

"I know," she said, resting her cheek against his head.

"Do you?" he snapped. Bev moved back instinctively and he regretted it immediately. "What if it was..." Watching her shift uncomfortably at the suggestion, he merely grumbled, "forget it." He was so fucking tired. He nodded his glasses back down onto his nose and returned his gaze to Eddie.

She swallowed thickly, thinking the whole situation through. "If it was Ben?" If it was Ben... she thought what would have happened if Pennywise had slit his throat while she and Mike held him. If he'd drowned in the dirt, grasping for her hand. She couldn't have handled it. She couldn't even imagine if they'd been together since they were kids. "It's different. It's new," she admitted, finally agreeing that his reaction wasn't so far fetched, "but I'd be inconsolable.

"Exactly. So stop wasting your breath," he said, unable to bring himself to look at her. She got to go back to the Townhouse, crawl into bed with good ol' Haystack, feel his arms around her, wake him up when she has a nightmare, kiss him, talk to him...

Likewise, Bev couldn't look at Richie. She had no reason to feel guilty, but still... Staring at the too-even rise and fall of Eddie's chest, she shook her head. He wasn't dead. He was there. "Look. Watch the monitor," she instructed, pointing to the jagged lines of his heart rate. "He's alive," she reminded him gently, sliding one of his hands up to Eddie's wrist. "Feel right here. His heartbeat is right here and you're not imagining it. He's not going anywhere." She regained the courage to look at Richie. "They're gonna start weaning him off the meds in the morning, so he should be awake by dinner tomorrow." Richie sniffled unevenly, nodding. "Why don't you come back to the townhouse and get some sleep." She suggested, returning her hand to his shoulders. "Shower. Eat real food. He's gonna need you in good shape when he wakes up."

Blinking out the last of his tears, Richie shook his head, knowing that she was prepared for him to decline, like he had every night. "I haven't slept anywhere but beside him since we were seventeen. I doubt I could even if I wanted to."

"Richie..."

"I'm not leaving," he repeated.

Bev sighed, standing up and straightening her back. "Okay, honey. Okay. Call me before you go to sleep." She leaned across him and kissed Eddie's cheek gently. "Love you, Eds." On her way by, she stopped and wrapped Richie in a tight hug, kissing the top of his head. "Love you, Trashmouth."

He gave a humorless laugh, and reached up to pat her hair. "Love you too."

That night was the slowest one since the first couple, when everything had been touch and go. He called Bev around 12:30 and swore he was going to sleep. He didn't. Instead, he watched cheesy, nostalgic movies on his phone, all Eddie's favorites; Dirty Dancing, then Pretty in Pink. He marked the 22nd tally as Duckie sent Andi off after Blaine, the only part of the movie RIchie couldn't get behind. Still, Eddie had told him he loved him for the first time to the strains of the song from the end of this movie so he could never shut it off. And it had been 22 days without talking to the love of his life. 22 soul sucking days. Eventually, he dozed off about two-thirds of the way through The Outsiders.

All-too-soon, he was awakened by the bustle of shift change and nurses doing their thing and the whole process started over. Around 8 a.m., the morning nurse came in. Richie had hardly noticed, in a sort of daze.

"Mr. Tozier?" she asked, quietly.

Snapping back to reality, he nearly dropped Eddie's hand. "Oh, sorry," he said, shaking the fog from his brain. Eddie really needed to wake up now.

"You're fine," she insisted, bringing a bag of liquid to the stand by the bed and a handful of small bottles. "Just scoot back for me a little, please." She hung the bag and screwed it into Eddie's I.V. line, then affixed the bottles.

Squinting to make out the labels, as though he'd have any idea of their purpose, Richie decided instead to just ask the nurse. "What's that for?"

She smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. "To start countering the sedative before we back it off."

Richie took a deep breath. "Okay," he nodded. His heart hammered in his chest. They were actually going to wake him up today.

"Can I get you anything?" the woman asked sweetly.

As though Richie was the one anyone needed to worry about. He shook his head and managed the weakest of smiles. "You're already working on the only thing I could possibly ask you for."

She leaned against the empty sliding table and eyed him carefully. "How about a coffee and a bagel?"

Richie paused. He hadn't eaten since lunch time the day prior, so it wasn't a bad idea. "I'd appreciate it. Thank you," he said, realizing that maybe Bev had been right.

If Richie had thought that night was long, he was in for the most torturously slow day. Nurses in and out. Medicines of all sorts. He didn't know what to do with himself, so he just... stared. Asked questions. Finally, the nurses administered the last of the rounds Eddie would need to wake up and Richie was left alone to his thoughts.

After two episodes of I Love Lucy, he leaned in as close to Eddie as he could. "Do you remember the first time we did this?" he asked, knowing there would be no response. "When you had your tonsils out and I snuck in like a fucking ninja as soon as I saw my beloved Sonia leave?" He gave a bitter laugh, imagining what good ol' Mrs. K would do seeing Eddie laid up like this with that dirty Tozier boy still by his side. "The woman couldn't manage to sleep in the chair for one night." He gave a mischievous smile for the benefit of no one. "But, experienced as I was in the art of finding ways to see my Eds, I sweet talked the nurse into letting me stay." He certainly hadn't done a great deal of sweet talking anyone this time. That had been Mike, plus a good deal of good faith from Bev and Bill. But he'd certainly known how to work adults when he was a kid. "I snuck you in a pint of real ice cream and we played gameboy in bed together and, even though I tried to get you to shut up, you couldn't let me do all the talking and even though it hurt, you still laughed and joked." He took a deep breath, realizing he was rambling. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking back tears once more. "God, and I thought I was in love with you then," he groaned. It was almost hysterical how he still felt like that same clueless teenager. "I don't know what 14-year-old Richie would think of 39-year-old Richie but I hope he'd enjoy knowing that he's still in love with you." He sniffed, giving in to the tears because what else was he supposed to do. He rolled his eyes, adding "He'd probably call me a pussy for all the crying I've done in the last three weeks but that's fine. It's normal. It's whatever," he dismissed darkly, voice thick and nasally. "He's a teenager. What the fuck does he know? Bug eyed little creep," he laughed, pawing the tears from under his glasses. "How to keep the person he loves in one piece. Something that apparently fades with age," he waited for a response again, mainly out of muscle memory. He stood and propped himself awkwardly on the edge of the bed. He took a much more serious, exhausted tone. "I need you to laugh, babe. I need you to wake up and bitch at me for my rumpled shirt and greasy hair and getting snot on you and crying and getting you stabbed in that fucking sewer." He sighed, leaning back a little to just watch him. He could have sworn he saw... he shook his head. That wasn't possible. It was wishful thinking. "Eddie, please," he started, but cut himself when he saw a pair of startled, panicked brown eyes staring up at him, gagging on the respirator. "Holy shit. Hi," he sobbed, stroking his side, momentarily at a loss for what to do. Suddenly, he refocused and remembered the nurse's instructions. Keep him calm and hit the emergency call button immediately. "Okay, stay calm, babe," he said, springing from his seat and hitting the bright red button on the remote for the TV. "We'll get them to take this out." He took Eddie's hand and stroked it, trying to ward off the look of sheer terror in Eddie's face. "Stay calm, okay," he cooed. Hearing footsteps outside the door, Richie called out frantically "Miss Kim!"

"What do you need, baby?" she asked, seemingly startled by the call. When she pulled back the curtain, she flew into action mode. "Oh! Mr. Kaspbrak, welcome back." Eddie choked a little against the machine and Richie felt his chest constrict. "Don't fight the tube, sweetie," she said warmly. "We'll get this out of here. Relax." Eddie locked eyes with Richie, then nodded and finally squeezed his hand. The nurse gave them a little smile, "Cough a couple times for me." Eddie, ever the good patient, did as he was instructed. Miss Kim raised a small hooked tool and pointed it out to the men. "This is gonna suck the fluids out. Okay?" Eddie nodded and coughed again. "I know, I know," she soothed. "Alright, I'm gonna ask you to take a couple of deep breaths, tell you to hold one, then when you push all that air out, I'm going to extract the breathing tube. Okay?" She was talking to Eddie, but for some reason, Richie nodded too, then admonished himself for it. "Alright. In." He did. "Hold." He did. "Out." He did. Miss Kim pulled the tube out and Richie had to try not to wince as he watched the outline of it move up his windpipe. "Attaboy," she said, nodding proudly and patting him on the shoulder as he caught his breath. "It's nice to see you. I'll let your husband have a minute before we continue."

"Hi," Eddie said, voice raspy and quiet.

Richie fought against the urge to fling himself on top of him, instead nearly collapsing onto the bed rail and grasping his hand. "Eddie. Oh my god. You're awake. You're alive. I was so scared. God, I love you. I love you so much. You're here," he babbled, unable to pry his eyes from Eddie's- God, had they always been that beautiful?

"Did we..." Eddie asked, then his eyes darted to the nurse.

Richie smiled broadly, then broke into wrecked sobs. "We did. It's over. Everyone's okay and It's gone. It's not gonna bother us ever again." He leaned his forehead against Eddie's, tears smattering down on him and he couldn't be bothered to care. "We never have to fight It again."

Eddie nodded slowly, taking the minimal information in. It was over. They won. "Will you shut up so I can kiss you?" he asked, wincing.

"If I'd have known that that was all it took to get a kiss out of you, I'd have been quiet as a mouse for the last-" From behind him, he heard Miss Kim laugh and blushed, nodding. "Sorry. I'm shutting up."

Richie leaned forward and let Eddie reach up into his hair, pulling him into a warm kiss that, if Eddie had noticed the taste of stale instant coffee or the slick of unwashed hair or tears still streaming down Richie's face mingling with the ones starting to fall from his own, he'd never mention it. It was, for his money, possibly the best kiss they'd ever shared. When he opened his eyes again, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye. "What the fuck is this?" Eddie asked, laughing at the group of black slashes on his wrist.

Richie laughed, too. He couldn't even begin to explain the scattered mess in his head without Eddie to help balance it out. Instead, he kissed the inside of Eddie's palm, where the 27 year old scar no longer lived and felt himself relax back into the chair. They were free of It.

#reddie #richie tozier x eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #it #it chapter one #it chapter two #it chapter 1 #it chapter 2 #losers club #derry maine #what is this canon of which you speak #eddie Kaspbrak is alive and well #bill hader #james ransone #finn wolfhard #jack dylan grazer #it 2017 #it 2019

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bbrandy2002 · 5 years ago

Text

Something Flubbed:

Consequences of A Bad Reblog

Part 1

Wacky Drabble #15: It could be worse.

Liam and Riley

Word count: 1102

Summary: This is a continuation of a drabble I did several weeks ago, Riley's Secret Life.

A/N: So much for hiatus 😯 Im feeling better though and thanks to everyone who reached out with love, support and encouragement.

Thanks Burnsy for pre-reading and helping to tweak a certain paragraph or two.

Warning: Lot and Lots of bad language. Riley is not holding back in this; Im almost embarrassed for her...almost.

**I will not deny, nor, confirm this is loosely autobiographical**

Sorry, my read more is not working again.

'Haha, Drake's hogtied naked on Liam's jet', Riley chuckled to herself as she read, careful to not awaken a sleeping Liam to her antics. Oh yeah, he still doesn’t know Riley reads and writes fanfic about their life on tumblr like an obsessive tool. Would he care? she has no idea, nor, does she ever intend to find out.

He starts to stir in their oversized bed, a light snore escapes him as he grumbles something about pootang. Riley hits the panic app on her laptap, bringing up the Cordonian Fall expenses report. She was supposed to look over the numbers weeks ago, but, since her ass belongs to Tumblr now, the only numbers she cares about are followers and notes.

She remains perfectly still, holding her breath, as he rolls over, his back towards her, and with a quick scratch to his balls, he blissfully resumes his slumber. Riley exhales in relief and with a little snort she returns back to her tumblring, eagerly typing out a DM, to share the newest Liamism.

Notthequeenofcordonia: Burnsy, you there? This mofo is playing with his balls again 🤣

@burnsoslow LMFAO!!

@burnsoslow Alyssa is gonna get a mouthful of Drake's balls in Chapter 394 of Heavier Things: The Nursing Home Years

Notthequeenofcordonia: At least her new dentures will make it easier. Don't need her choking and having heart palpatations again...Drakey Baby's got that new hip, should probably take it easy on him for a while.

@burnsoslow BUT I WANT THEM TO FUCK SO BAD!!!!!!!

After arguing with Burnsy for 10 minutes that at 102 years old, HT Drake's colossus is shriveled and no longer working, she returns to reading. Riley hits the little heart and begins her well crafted, 500 word reblog with five-on point gifs-to accessorize it. As she prepares to post her reblog, a light knock on the bedroom alerts her to their 5 year old, Nikolas, who does not wait for an invitation to enter.

“Mommy?”, he wearily asks, being just a small silhouette in the doorway of the surrounding darkness.

Riley huffs, lowering her laptop and shushes him, glaring over at Liam to ensure he hasn’t been disturbed before drawing her attention back to her son. “What is it kiddo?”, she cautiously whispers.

He rubs his heavy eyes with one tiny hand and holds on tightly to his blue, stuffed dragon in the other. “I had a nightmare momma, I’m really scared”, he replies softly with a sniffle.

Riley stared at the small boy, who was the perfect mixture of she and Liam, the proof of their love….then she looked at the pending reblog that kept calling out for her to finish, the other proof of her love.

“Um, Nikolas”, she bit her fingernail as she contemplated the terrible example she was about to set as a mother, “go sleep with Grandma Regina”.

Nikolas’ eyes widened in disgust as he slumped in frustration, “But momma”, he cried, “she pisses the bed and blames me for it”.

"It could be worse", Riley grumbled, wishing Regina would just have her vaginal mesh surgery already. As Liam began to toss again, rolling over this time to face her side and muttering, little cockblocker, Riley decided to help her son find comfort back in his own room. She eased up from the bed, placing the laptop by her pillow and threw her pink cottony, mom robe over her pajamas.

"I'm coming Nik, just have to do...something", she trailed, reaching back over for her laptop. She typed out one last sentence before hitting, post.

Riley tapped at the keys, squinting her eyes at those words.....

Something flubbed. Try again.

Her breathing became a little more heavier, her heart starting to race. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes, knowing that if she believed hard enough, her massive reblog would suddenly reappear.

All of time and space froze in existence as she continued to hit the 'retry' option again and again and again and again....nothing...it was gone.

"YOU SON OF A MOTHER FUCKING WHORE, COCKSUCKING, BILLY JOE DICKWAFFLE, SHIT EATING, HONKY TONK PECKERWOOD, SKANKASSED, DICKHEADED, JIZZSTAINED, CUMWIPED, TINY NUTSACKED, BITCH!!!!!!!!!! The laptop flew across the room.

It really was like something out of a horror flick, a creepy ass Stephen King novel, a Dateline NBC story. King Fabian's large naked portait shook vigorously at the reverberations before bouncing off the wall and crashing to the marbled floor.

"Mommy!", Nikolas yelled in a panic as he ran away to seek refuge.

Liam's eyes shot open, not completely awake but ready to pounce whatever the hell was torturing his wife. His body weaved back and forth in attack mode, demonstrating his highly skilled martial arts moves, kicks and spins, slashes and puches. Unbeknowest to him, his dick was poking through the hole in his boxers, bouncing and flopping with each technique, causing Riley to burst into a fit of laughter.

"What the hell happened! Are you okay?", he asked breathless and confused, his dick still poking through.

Riley covered her mouth, attempting to stifle her laughs, still baffled that he didn't realize his dick and now half a ball had escaped their confines. "I'm fine...I'm fine....but, g'day mate, permission to come upboard captain", she squeeled, saluting in gest to his manhood.

Liam looked down, a slight growl escaping as he tucked his jewels back in its place. "I heard screams....why is Fabian's portrait busted...and.. stop fucking laughing, it's over."

"I'm trying, but...oh god...I cant", she cackled, "I have to go check on Nikolas, he had a nightmare", she scurried past him and out of the room before he could ask any further questions.

If he wasnt pissed before, he was about to be. Just as he turned to head towards the bathroom, his foot stepped on the opened laptop Riley threw, sliding him forward before he corrected himself and skid backwards with a thud.

"Goddamit!", he howled, twisting and contorting his back, wallowing from the bruising pain. As he laid there, trying to catch his breath, he glanced over at the object that has caused his affliction in more ways than one. His head popped up, pulling the laptop closer to him, completely shocked by its contents, his blood boiling the more he read and saw. DRAKES COLOSSUS DICK...RIDING DRAKE IS MY CHOICE, EDITS OF LIAM AND RILEY WITH CREEPY KIDS THAT LOOK LIKE DRAKE........DRAKE, DRAKE, FUCKING DRAKE.....

"I finally got him back to sleep with some Nyquil and a shot of whiskey....", Riley stopped talking as she entered their bedroom again moments later and realized, Liam knew.

"Uhhh, I..I can explain".

__________________

Wacky Drabbler tags: @emceesynonymroll @sirbeepsalot @dcbbw @jessiembruno @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @pedudley @romanticatheart-posts @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @theroyalromancexx

#trr liam #playchoices #liam x mc #choices trh #choices trr #wackydrabbles #wacky drabbles

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the-desolated-quill · 5 years ago

Text

Joker - Quill’s Quickies (No Spoilers)

Joker is proving to be an extremely divisive film. Some think it’s the best thing since The Dark Knight. Proof that comic book movies can be art too. Others think it’s pretentious Oscar bait with nothing interesting to say.

And that’s not to mention the controversy surrounding the film as people wonder whether this will incite violence in white men (which I’m not going to touch with a barge pole, at least not here. I’ll do a separate Scribble for that sheer nonsense at some point). Needless to say everyone and their mums have an opinion on Joker... so I guess one more, won’t hurt.

Whether you like Joker or not I think depends on your tolerance for a) films that deliberately set out to make you feel uncomfortable and b) films that ask you to feel pity for the devil. (and I want you to remember that word ‘pity.’ It’ll be important later on). Personally, I loved Joker. I think it’s one of the most unique and groundbreaking comic book films I’ve ever seen. If you don’t like it, that’s fine. I can actually understand why to a certain extent. However don’t try to spin this as some ideological thing because that’s just disingenuous and stupid.

Lets start with the obvious. Joaquin Phoenix. Give this guy a fucking Oscar, for the love of God! His performance was truly mesmerising, particularly when he does finally don the full clown makeup. He is the Joker. The mannerisms, the attitude, the nihilism, it all just works. There’s even a monologue near the end of the film that could have been lifted straight out of the comics. This is a film that not only depicts the Joker perfectly, but also completely understands the character too.

The rest of the cast is exceptional too. Robert de Niro plays a chat show host who Joker looks up to and he does a good job. Deadpool 2′s Zazie Beetz plays a small but pivotal role as Sophie, Joker’s next door neighbour and ‘love interest’ and she’s excellent too despite having quite a small amount of screen time. Frances Conroy plays Joker’s mum Penny. Again a relatively small role, but a crucial one and she gives a memorable performance. Finally there’s Brett Cullen as a very different interpretation of Bruce Wayne’s father Thomas Wayne, which I think works extremely well in the context of this film and creates exciting possibilities for this world’s version of Batman, which we’ll probably never get to see because this is intended as a one off. Not that I’m complaining. I wouldn’t want them to do a sequel. This works perfectly as a standalone piece.

As I said, the supporting cast actually play a minor role overall as the film follows Arthur Fleck exclusively. The man who would be Joker. It’s a bit hard to talk about why I think this film works without giving away spoilers, so I’ll focus on how it made me feel.

Joker is an extremely tense movie. Todd Phillips’ stellar direction puts you in the mindset of the character and Hildur Guonadottir’s incredible music really elevates the film’s more disturbing moments. In fact (and I suppose you could call this a trigger warning), I did actually suffer from an anxiety attack halfway through the film because you’re constantly on a knife edge. As Arthur’s life falls apart, we see him become more violent and erratic to the point where he becomes legitimately frightening. Fear is of course subjective. I’m sure most of you have more of a spine than I do. But if you do suffer from any kind of anxiety, I would recommend psyching yourself up before you watch this and maybe have a friend or relative on hand to comfort you if it starts to get a bit much.

Seriously, I’m not kidding. Joker is an extremely uncomfortable experience and it’s unrelenting in how grim and unsettling it is. It’s R rated, but it’s not necessarily gory. It’s not as violent as, say, Deadpool, but its more bloody moments often come rather suddenly and with a lot of tense buildup beforehand. While it does bear similarities to movies like Taxi Driver and The King Of Comedy, those films have the audience on the outside looking in. Joker on the other hand takes the audience and locks them inside the Clown Prince of Crime’s mind for two hours straight, and quelle surprise, it turns out the inside of Joker’s mind is fucking horrible. Viewer beware.

Okay, okay. I guess I can’t avoid it altogether. Do I think this film is dangerous? No. Do I think it insults those with mental health issues? No, in fact quite the opposite. I found the film to be quite sympathetic towards the mentally ill, presenting Arthur as being a dark outlier, not the norm. Do I think the film is making some sort of political statement. Again no. I honestly don’t think it’s saying anything about white people or toxic masculinity or gun violence or anything like that. In fact, if it is saying anything at all, it condemns those who seek to hijack a public figure for their own political agenda (which ironically is exactly what the press are doing with this very movie, but of course critics and journalists can’t see that because they have no self awareness what so bloody ever). The film is what it is. An extremely dark character study of arguably the most famous villain of all time.

Some have criticised the film as being too predictable, which I personally don’t think is a particularly valid critique. Like, yeah, of course it’s predictable. We all know what’s going to happen in the end. The fucking title kind of gives it away. It’s execution that counts, and Phillips and co have done a fantastic job in my opinion. As for those who complained that this film is cynical and nasty and made them feel numb afterwards... I mean... I honestly don’t know what you were expecting. Of course you’re feeling numb. That’s what the film wants you to feel. It’s cynical and nasty because the central character is cynical and nasty. That’s like criticising a comedy for being funny.

Honestly, if I had any complaints, it’s that I think they do paint the story with broad strokes, leaving very little room for subtlety. But having said that, this is based on a comic book about a billionaire who fights psychotic costumed criminals at night whist dressed as a bat. I don’t think subtlety has much of a place here.

Finally I just want to briefly touch on the concern that this film might make the character too sympathetic. First of all, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Some villains can actually become scarier when we as an audience can empathise with them and understand their motives (see Killmonger in Black Panther). Second, and most importantly, Arthur Fleck/Joker is not a sympathetic character. Yes I did feel pity for him at times, but that’s not the same thing as sympathy. Like I said, this film completely understands the Joker. There are occasions where you do feel sad for the character and wish he could have got the right help, but most of the time (and the film emphasises this throughout) he’s presented as being a deeply disturbed and maladjusted individual and at no point is his behaviour ever justified. Instead it’s presented as being almost inevitable. That in a city as terrible as Gotham, what else could Arthur have become? Joker is a tragic character, but he’s not in anyway likeable.

I would definitely recommend you go and see this movie, especially if, like me, you’ve gotten sick of the slew of formulaic comic book movies and convoluted shared universes. If Joker is indeed going to be the first of an anthology series focusing on telling low budget, character driven, standalone, experimental films, then it’s a very strong start. Whether you liked Joker or not, the fact of the matter is the success of this movie can only mean good things for Warner Bros, DC, the comic book movie genre and the industry going forward, so please go and see this film.

#joker #joaquin phoenix #todd phillips #dc #dc black #warner bros #quill's quickies #no spoilers

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themoonandotherslikeit · 5 years ago

Text

Something More Than What I Had- Part Two

Part Two - Deuteronomy

“See, I have taught you decrees and laws as the LORD my God commanded me, so that you may follow them in the land you are entering to take possession of it.” Deuteronomy 4:5

Two Months Later

Castiel ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, while Sam stepped over it. Due to his sheer stature, ducking under the tape often looked like he was limboing on stilts. Since Crowley had walked out of the precinct eight weeks before, the partners’ relationship was strained at best. They’d been virtually silent when not directly working on cases, and the kid was all too compliant when Castiel suggested that he should take back seat on the cases following Crowley’s. More than ever, he did not trust the rookie’s judgement.

“What do we have, Eileen?” Castiel asked eyeing the crime scene tech.

“It’s a weird one,” she said out loud, her hands busy with her swabs and plastic evidence bags from her forensics kit.

Sam tapped her shoulder so she would look at him. How, he signed.

Eileen raised an eyebrow with a faint smile, turning away from him. “See for yourself.” The two detectives followed her lead to the middle of the crime scene. The closer they got the more that Castiel could smell it. The smell of burning. He reached up and covered his nose with the sleeve of his button up shirt. “Be careful where you step,” she said, gesturing to the ground. There were large, long patches of grass that were burned away now just black piles of ash.

“What is this?” Castiel asked to no one in particular, as he squatted down next to the ground. He didn’t smell gasoline, or any kind of excelerant, but yet the burns were defined. They looked intentional, almost like an art installation.

“Male, mid fifties.”

“Holy shit,” Sam said, his voice was hollow, but Castiel barely noticed as he squinted to further examine the grass. “Novak.”

“What, Rookie?” Castiel asked, annoyed as his concentration broke. He turned his head and found the kid standing at the head of a body next to Eileen, who was gesturing to the victim. The burn marks went all the way up to the corpse, underneath him, and out the other side as far as he could tell from his vantage point.

The kid’s eyes were locked on the victim. He looked like he’d seen a damn ghost. “Do you need me to hold your hand?” Cas asked as he stood up, shaking his head. At some point it had to be sink or swim and with how short his patience was lately, Castiel figured that time was quickly approaching for his young partner.

“No, it’s just… the vic. You recognize him?”

He rolled his eyes. What? Was it some celebrity? Surely the Captain would’ve told them if it was someone worth getting excited over. Castiel walked toward the kid to get a better look at the victim. When he got closer, he was able to make out more details. The expensive, pressed suit, red pocket square that perfectly matched his necktie, dark full beard against olive skin, but Castiel didn’t get a sinking feeling until his eyes rested on the victims hand that rested on his chest. The sun glinted off a gold ring on his finger. “Fuck.”

“What?” Eileen asked, looking between the two. What? She signed to Sam.

“It’s Crowley,” he said out loud, fingerspelling the name to Eileen. “He’s one of our perps, but he walked. From the prostitute case.”

Eileen raised her eyebrows, grinning as the kid successfully signed prostitute.

“What do you make of the burn marks?” He asked, gesturing to the ash. He didn’t get an answer, before the rookie grabbed ahold of Cas’ arm and lead him backwards. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Just trust me, okay?” The kid grumbled, climbing up on the hood of Castiel’s squad car.

“Kid, get down!”

“Castiel!” Sam snapped, pointing at the spot next to him where he stood.

He groaned, shaking his head. Fucking kids, but he took Sam’s hand nonetheless and let himself be pulled onto the hood of the car. “Now what? Singer isn’t going to appreciate us climbing all over police sanctioned vehicles for kicks…” And then he saw it, and his jaw fell open. The burn marks came out from Crowley’s back, they were sixteen feet in length at least. “Are those… Christ, are those wings?”

He turned to Sam, who nodded in return. “I thought the markings along the edge facing his feet looked like feathers.”

“It’s ritualistic. I wonder if he was into more dark things than we thought,” Castiel agreed, staring completely dumbfounded at the scene in front of him. He’d never seen anything like it, not even in books. How did the perp get away with it? It had to take time, precision. As sick as it made him feel, he was a little impressed.

“Has to be. This isn’t a crime of passion,” Sam said, getting down from the hood of the car. Cas followed suit, and they walked back to examine the body closer. “This was planned.”

“Meticulously,” Castiel said, squinting. He crouched back down by the body to get a better look. It looked like there had been minimal struggle. He turned to Eileen. “What was the time of death?”

“Based on the scene,” she began, “it’s hard to tell. He was moved here, and killed somewhere else.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning Crowley’s coat, stopping at the disturbed pocket square. “There’s something in his pocket.” He pulled a rubber glove out of his pocket and slid it onto his hand, to keep the evidence intact. The sky was growing darker by the moment, a storm rolling in. A chill ran up the back of Castiel’s neck as he pulled out a folded piece of paper that was carefully tucked behind the pocket square.

“What is it?” The rookie asked.

Castiel squinted as he carefully unfolded the page. The paper was thin and the print small, but a passage was circled in red ink. “The Lord is my light and my salvation- whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life - of whom shall I be afraid? Psalm 27:1,” Castiel read out loud.

“It’s a Bible verse?”

Castiel nodded, standing to show Sam. “But that isn’t the alarming part,” he said slowly before pointing to the scrawl in red pen that read: ME.

Later that night

“It was seriously fucked up, Dean. No wonder Novak never sleeps! It wasn’t just the stab wound, though. I’ve seen a murder victim before. It was the rest of it.”

Dean laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He tossed an old hacky sack up in the air and caught it. He was bored out of his fucking mind. He needed to get a writing job sooner rather than later, before he turned into one of those guys who spent Friday night on the couch in pants with an elastic waistband, a bowl of popcorn, and a blow up doll that was still too tired to fuck him.

He sat up and tossed the ball into the trash. Complacency be gone! “Rest of it?” Dean asked, distracted. Sam poked his head into Dean’s bedroom, his hair up in one of those god awful man buns that made Dean a little sick to his stomach. “Fucking really, Pebbles?”

Sam exhaled out of his nose in a huff. “Shut up.”

“Need me to sleep with you tonight so you won’t get nightmares about the big bad murderer who is killing bad guys, or is Bambam going to protect you?”

“You’re such an ass,” he complained, walking back out of the bedroom.

Dean snorted and hopped out of bed, following his younger brother. “Sam, Sam, hey. I’m sorry.” He held up his hands in surrender.

“You done?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m done.”

His brother searched his eyes for a moment, as if he was trying to detect a lie. Once he was clearly satisfied, he continued. “He was moved to the scene, so it was intended for him to be found, and he had these burn marks.”

“On his body? Like the brand? That’d be some divine intervention.”

“No, not like that. It was on the ground next to his body. It almost… hell, they looked like giant wings that were burnt out in the grass.”

Dean scratched his jaw and looked at his brother. He could’ve been ten years old again. They’ve drank together, and Dean took him to the strip club for his eighteenth birthday, but Sammy was still his baby brother. At the end of the day he’d do anything for him, no matter how much he teased. “You were so fucked up a month ago about him gettin’ away.”

“I was,” he agreed with a sigh. “I just… It shouldn’t have been this way.”

“The guy is dead, Sammy. He can’t hurt anyone else. Doesn’t matter which way it happened. You’re really tellin’ me this isn’t a win?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Sam said cautiously with a heavy sigh, leaning his body against the wall next to the bathroom door.

“Why?” Dean crossed his arms and looked up at his brother. “Seems like good riddance to me. Ain’t nothin’ worth beatin’ yourself up about.”

“Maybe… I don’t know.” Sam walked back into the bathroom, shutting the door. “We swapped one bad guy for another, you know?”

“Right, but this guy kills other killers. Crowley kidnapped and murdered teenagers.”

“The law doesn’t really work that way,” Sam laughed dryly, opening back up the door and stepping out in his pajama pants. “A vigilante is still a criminal.”

Dean frowned at him and followed him into the kitchen. “So you’re saying Batman is a criminal?”

“Batman is a comic book character, Dean.” He reached up and pulled out a jar of peanut butter from the cabinet.

“He has movies, too,” he grumbled in response.

“But yes, for all intensive purposes, Batman would be a criminal. Good doesn’t just cancel out the bad, and bad definitely doesn’t cancel out more bad,” Sam said while he spread peanut butter on a slice of bread.

He watched Sam’s wrist paint the peanut butter on both slices just like Dean taught him when they were kids, and his chest squeezed. “You’re pretty smart, you know that?”

His baby brother offered him a small smile and a nod. “Yeah, I think I know that. Learned it from you.”

“Hey,” Dean said dismissively. “No chick flick moments, okay?”

“Right.”

“Give me that.” He took the knife from Sam. “You’re not doing enough peanut butter. This is going to be a dry ass sandwich.” He scooped another dollop of peanut butter onto the bread and pushed it out evenly. “Want crust?”

“Crust is good for you.”

Dean shoved the knife back into the jar and put his hands on his hips, staring at his brother. “Jesus, Sam. Out of everythin’ you’ve gotten from me, and you still don’t get it? Food is good. It tastes fuckin’ delicious. It ain’t about bein’ healthy. How much beer and pie do you think are on that weird ass pyramid? Not enough is the answer you’re lookin’ for!” He shook his head, plucking the knife out of the jar, licking peanut butter off the blade before pressing it into the bread to cut off the crust.

“Thanks,” Sam said, smiling a bit as he took half the sandwich from his brother.

“Welcome.” The brothers pressed the sandwiches together in a cheers motion. “So, uh, how’s Novak handlin’ the case? Got his perfect panties in a bunch?” Dean asked before shoving part of the sandwich in his mouth to keep him from saying too much.

Sam raised an eyebrow. “He’s surprisingly unaffected.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.”

“Why do you care?” Sam asked, plopping the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, some peanut butter on the corner of his mouth. Dean instinctively reached forward and wiped it off Sam’s mouth with his sleeve, like he used to when they were kids. His younger brother batted his hand away.

“I don’t care.”

“Okay, sure,” Sam snorted, unconvinced. He reached into the fridge and grabbed a beer, twisting of the cap, and leaned up against the counter, taking a swig.

“So any news on that cute lab tech?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows, redirecting the conversation far away from the stern detective with his sparkling blue eyes. “Eileen?”

“She isn’t a lab tech,” Sam complained, walking into the living room and settling onto the couch. “What about her?”

“You ask her out yet?”

“I’m there to work, Dean. You know, solve cases, catch murderers. Not socialize.”

“Well you’re doing a shit job, kid. There’s a murder you need to solve and nothin’ has gotten done about it.”

“What murder?” Sam asked, squinting his eyes skeptically.

“The murder of your goddamn social life.” Dean laughed, tossing the pillow from the armrest at his brothers head, barely missing his beer by an inch. “It’s Friday night for god sakes and you’re eating a peanut butter sandwich in flannel pajama pants.” All he needs is the blow up doll! “It’s fuckin’ pitiful.”

“Shut the fuck up. It’s my night off, and I’m gonna watch Game of Thrones. What are you doing tonight?”

“Not that.” Dean rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Come out with me. You can watch your nerd show later.”

“This is the highest rated show on television right now, Dean.”

“Hey, are you sure that Eileen is deaf? She may just be fuckin’ with you so she doesn’t have to listen to a grown ass man talk about dragons.”

Sam clicked on the television, shooting Dean a sideways glance. “You’re suck a dick.”

“I’m just kiddin’, kid.” He leaned in and ruffled his brothers hair, pulling the elastic tie, releasing his hair from the bun.

“Seriously?”

“I’ll be back late, don’t wait up.” Dean slid into his leather jacket, laughing like he was so goddamn proud of himself, because he was. “I’m going for a stiff one.” He smirked. “And maybe a drink.”

“Wear a condom!” Sam shouted, tossing a pillow at him from the couch. Dean dodged effortlessly, laughing as he shut the door behind him. He jogged down the stairs and out into the cool evening. He pulled his jacket together to keep the elements from invading.

It was rainy season in the city. Women struggled with umbrellas to keep their hair and expensive wardrobes in tact, but nothing stopped the puddles from invading their fake Prada shoes. Dean didn’t mind the rain. It cleared him of his sins and sometimes it just felt good to be in the moment without any kind of veil. Sometimes he just wanted to be.

The Winchester brothers lived close to the precinct, so Dean shouldn’t have been surprised when he entered a bar full of police officers. He shook the rain out of his hair and wiped his feet on the mat by the door. He instinctively scanned the bar for a place to sit and someone to buy a drink for when his eyes landed on a pair of slumped shoulders. Messy dark hair against a gray button up with the sleeves pushed up. Dean more often than not dated women. He was more experienced in that department, and that kept him in a place of emotional safety. Stay in your lane, he’d remind himself, but that never stopped him from flirting. It never stopped him from looking either and as he eyed the tired, disheveled man in front of him he wondered if maybe his lane could widen a little, just once.

Dean put on his best stride to approach the bar, already digging his wallet out to offer to buy the guy a drink when the man at the bar turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. His blue eyes caught a neon sign, causing them to glow brilliantly in the low light from the bar. “Well tickle my pickle, is that you, Detective?” Dean asked with a large grin as he approached Castiel at the bar rail. He hadn’t known it was the detective at first, but the happy surprise left his stomach in knots, twisting into itself. Guess he couldn’t shake Cas as easily as he originally anticipated.

“Did I do something in a past life to warrant this terrible karma?” The detective asked, turning to see Dean and meeting him with a squint.

“Aw, terrible, really? Let me buy you a drink. It’ll bring your karma around.” Dean grinned, sitting down on the barstool next to Castiel, and holding out the cash that he’d already fished from his wallet.

“No, thank you.”

“I’ll take a scotch, neat,” Dean said offering the bartender a smile, before turning toward Castiel. The detective had a world of weight on his shoulders. It looked like he would collapse into himself at a moment's notice. So Dean offered a soft spoken olive branch. “Sammy told me about Crowley.”

“He shouldn’t have,” Novak said, taking a sip from his own glass. “It’s still an open investigation.”

“He can’t hurt anyone else. That’s a win,” Dean said gently. “Right?”

“It’s complicated,” the detective said dismissively, his eyes somewhere else.

“So I’ve heard.” He took the glass from the bartender and welcomed the warmth down his throat.

“Hey nerds. Sorry, the bathroom line was ungodly. I ended up peeing in the men’s,” a woman’s voice said from behind them. Dean turned to catch a redhead with a large grin, and a beer in her hand. She wore a bright pink tank top that was tied off at her waist. It had a unicorn on it. She was pretty, and fuck he was jealous.

“Shit.” Dean’s heart sank into his stomach, sending him swerving back into his own lane like he was avoiding a deer on the highway. “Sorry Cas, I didn’t know you were on a date.”

“With me?” The woman laughed shaking her head. “No offense, Sweetie, but hell no.”

“Ouch,” Castiel feigned hurt, holding his chest dramatically, and Dean had to look at Castiel and then look again. He was playing up the drama? He was playing? Maybe he was happier with Crowley dead than what Sam had originally suggested. Maybe wound up tightly wasn’t his normal resting state, after all.

“I’m single as a Pringle. Fly by the wind and all that.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Who are you?”

“Dean Winchester.” He offered his hand out to her like a total dork. He stared at his own extended hand like, what? Is this a business meeting?

“Winchester? Like Sam?”

“His big brother,” Dean said with a proud smile, the knots in his stomach untangling at the brush of their fingers. She shook his hand with an impressive grip, and he could hear Castiel snort next to him. Dean glanced at the detective to catch him muffling a laugh. Holy fuck, he’s laughing! If he was being honest, Dean didn’t think that was possible, but damn he was cute when he smiled.

“Color me surprised,” she grinned widely, letting go of his hand. “I’m Charlie Bradbury. I work at the precinct with your brother and Cranky here.” Charlie grabbed Castiel’s shoulder, shaking him slightly, invoking another smile.

Dean mirrored her smile. Seeing the detective loosen up a bit was giving him energy that pulsed through his veins like some kind of drug. “I thought I was the only one who called him that!”

“It’s a universal name.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be my friend?” Castiel grumbled at her, looking back into his glass as if there was something written on the ice cubes.

“Aw, Cas. Don’t live up to your nickname! It’s Friday night. Just let loose. In fact, let’s dance,” Charlie pleaded, offering him a hand. She wiggled her fingers at him as an invitation. She was unbearably cute, and if Dean was being honest, he could see how she would be irresistible in the same way that a kitten was. Charlie had this bright bubbly personality, matched with her fiery red curls, and glow of general goodness that radiated off of her. She was the kind of person that attracted other people.

“I don’t dance,” the detective said flatly, his nose damn near buried in his drink.

“You do now,” Charlie insisted, grabbing his hand, and yanking him out to the dance floor. She pulled the stumbling detective behind her. With her small stature, Dean knew that Castiel could’ve prevented her from pulling him out to the dance floor if he really wanted to, but he let himself be pulled anyway.

Dean finished his glass, ordering another, as he watched Charlie dance around Castiel. She bumped into him, took his hand so he could spin her. He started off stiff, looking awkward as Charlie moved his hands for him. The more embarrassingly she danced, singing in his ear along with the music, the more Castiel laughed and loosened up.

He’s got a kryptonite after all.

He watched Charlie imitate a shopping trip, miming grabbing items off the shelf and putting them in her shopping cart, while rolling her hips dramatically. She was teaching a line dance to Castiel when her eyes caught Dean’s. He laughed, shooting her a thumbs up, and took a swig from his glass. Charlie narrowed her eyes on Dean and danced over to him, leaving Castiel alone, looking unbelievably relieved. “Okay, Dean, lets go. Nobody likes a lurker.” She wiggled her fingers at him, encouraging him to join the dumpster fire that was the two of them dancing.

“You want me to dance?” He asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“No, I’m asking you to blow up the Death Star. Yes I’m asking you to dance!”

Fuck, she’s cool. He shrugged. Watching the detective dance was a sight, but dancing with him was something else altogether. Something that he was dying to try out for himself. “Sure thing, Leia.” He finished his drink, took her hand, and let her pull him to where Castiel was standing alone.

“Detective.” He winked at Castiel and shimmied toward him, moving his shoulders, and reaching his arms like he was going to pull the detective to him. Cas turned his nose away from Dean like he didn’t notice the impossibly loud dance moves.

Dean frowned and turned to Charlie, taking her hand and spinning her in circles. “Dean I’m dizzy!” She laughed, letting go of his hand.

He glanced again at Cas. How could a man be so damn beautiful, but also be so awkward? The detective looked awkward in his own skin, tugging on a stray thread on his suspenders, his eyes trying to look anywhere but in Dean’s direction, or at least that’s what it seemed like to Dean. When Cas finally looked at him, Dean attempted to lasso him with an invisible rope, grinning widely. He was met with a hard, unimpressed stare, and Dean let his arms fall to his sides before closing the space between himself and Castiel. “Come on, don’t be a square,” he teased, shouting over the music. “You know you like it! You don’t have to fight it, Detective, you’re not on the clock!”

“I most certainly do not love it,” Novak said sharply. He was stiff as a board, standing so tightly in place that Dean worried he might pull something, or that his pretty face might get permanently stuck in a stoney scowl. All he wanted to do was reach out, touch the skin on Cas’ cheek, and blend into him. He wanted to understand him, but more than anything he wanted to kiss that annoyed scowl right off his face.

“Cranky,” Charlie and Dean said at the same time with a laugh, turning to high five each other.

“I am not cranky!” Castiel shouted with a huff. If he were in a cartoon, steam would be coming out of his ears.

“You are, man,” Dean said gently. “It’s fine. It’s just your personality. Nothin’ wrong with that.”

No person can be perfect. Gotta have one flaw, at least.

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean before turning dramatically, walking back to the bar. He took a step after the detective, his hand out like he was reaching for him, but he stopped with a sigh.“Did I say the wrong thing?” He asked, turning to Charlie. “I don’t get him, but he’s Sammy’s partner so I want him to like me. Ya know?”

He watched the detective push through the crowd of people, his suspenders illuminated by the strobe light. He could tell, even from this far away, that Castiel held a lot of stress in his shoulders. He walked tightly, like he was fighting a leg cramp.

“Cas barely likes himself, Dean. I wouldn’t take it personally,” she said dismissively.

“He seems to like you.”

“Well, yeah. He’s human, of course he likes me,” Charlie laughed brightly, reaching out to touch his arm.

Dean snorted. She was confident, and he had a real thing for confident women. Confident, pretty, nerdy redheads. Charlie Bradbury was a dangerous combination of everything Dean looked for in a woman. “Touché.”

“We have history, you know? We’ve known each other since high school. I’d do anything for him. He’s my person.” She squeezed his bicep gently, and Dean nodded in response. He did know. Sam was his. “Here’s the thing about Cas, he doesn’t open up easily. He’s really guarded, protected, but if you stick around and fight for it, when he does open up… it’s just, wow. He’s got the prettiest heart, Dean. It’s like stained glass.”

He could picture it, then, Castiel’s chest opening up like cathedral doors, exposing a large stained glass portrait of his heart. It would glint and glow from the sun pouring through it, creating colorful warmth that’d bathe Dean when he stood under it. He’d feel warm, he’d feel whole.

“I am not cranky,” Castiel said, breaking the image in his mind, shattering the glass behind his eyes. He’d returned with a tray of shots in his hands, and Dean raised an eyebrow, his mind redirecting from the daydream to the real thing. “I’m not cranky, and I’m certainly not boring. You’ll see,” Castiel grumbled, meeting Dean’s eyes, before taking two of the six shots.

”Oh fuck yes!” Dean grinned and grabbed one from him, unable to resist the urge of seeing Castiel through an alcoholic lense. He clinked glasses with Charlie and they swallowed the shots together. “Guess we are in for an interesting night after all.”

After four rounds of shots Castiel proved that he indeed was not boring. Not that Dean needed any convincing. With every ounce of liquor it was harder and harder for him to pretend that everything that came out of Dean’s mouth wasn’t entertaining, despite being incredibly childish, and Dean was eating up every second of it. He was high on the sound of Cas’ laugh.

“Okay, okay, so.”

“Get on with it, Winchester.” Charlie giggled, sipping out of her Pina Colada. She’d finally given in two drinks ago stating, I don’t give a shit. I am a feminist, and I can drink a fucking flirty drink with an umbrella if I goddamn want to! “We don’t have all night.”

“Right,” Dean said, letting out a puff of air. His cheeks were warm and his head was swimming from alcohol. It was hard to focus, not taking into account the loud music pounding in the background, and Castiel’s thigh brushing his on the couch in the lounge area of the bar. It took everything in Dean not to just stare at it, the heat beneath the detective’s slacks burning a hole through his jeans. He cleared his throat, urging his leg to move away, but he pressed a little closer instead. “So, Sammy comes home the other night and starts digging around in the book shelves, and I’m like, bro what’re you lookin’ for? And he’s like, mind your fuckin’ business. That’s rude, right? Fuck, I’m his brother. Excuse me if I care. Anyway, he is looking for his old sign language books because he has a thing for your crime tech.”

“Eileen?” Charlie gasped, chewing on her cherry. “Oh my god, yes! I ship them!”

“You do what?” Cas narrowed his eyes at Charlie. One of his suspenders was slipping off his shoulder, like a girls dress strap. It felt like he was about to spill out, like Dean might get a chance to see the man behind the facade, but only if he was really looking closely.

“Ship, like relationship? Christ, Cas. You’re like an old man.” She rolled her eyes. “Hey, watch.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting expectantly for Charlie to do something. She just sat there, looking serious. Her eyebrows were knit together, and her lips twitched. Suddenly it occurred to him that maybe she was just as drunk as he was. Maybe she thought she could levitate or something. “Got it,” she murmured, sticking out her tongue.

“Holy shit.”

She had tied her cherry stem in a perfect knot. She stood up and bowed, handing Dean the knot. It was a short stem, and Dean was impressed, to say the least.

“Damn, woman. You’ve got some serious skills.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Bet you can put those to use.” He leaned forward a little instinctively, feeling an emptiness as Castiel’s thigh left his, but he’d denied every advance that Dean made. Maybe he was straight. Maybe Dean was just that bad at picking people.

“And I do,” she said smoothly. “But, Deano, I hate to break it to you, you’ll never find out first hand.” Charlie reached back for her drink, sticking her straw between her lips like a tease, making Dean suck his breath in.

“Aw.” He poked out his bottom lip in a pout. “Way to set fire to that fantasy. Is it my hair?” He touched the top of his head.

“No, sweetie. It’s your penis.” She eyed his pants, biting the straw as a sad attempt to hide her smile.

“You don’t know that my penis is no good! It’s good, I promise! I have references.” Dean may have been imagining it from all the alcohol, but he could’ve sworn that he heard Castiel suck in his breath.

“Oh my sweet summer child.” Charlie touched his hand. She was kind, letting him down easy. It was unlikely that the night would end with a drink in his face, and most of the time that was all that Dean could ask for when it came to sexual advances. “I like women.”

Deans eyebrows shot up. That was unexpected. Yup, my gaydar is shit. “My fantasy is officially reignited.” He laughed, squeezing her hand in his.

Charlie rolled her eyes, pulling her hand away from his. “Good lord. you’re such a guy.”

Dean turned his head to the detective, who was surprisingly quiet during the exchange. “Cas, can you tie a knot in a cherry stem with your tongue?” He asked, eyeing Castiel, leaning in to him. The temporary distraction that he’d gotten from Charlie had dissolved as quickly as it had begun, and he was hyper focused back on Cas.

“I don’t know.”

Dean grabbed a spare cherry stem from Charlie’s previous drink and plopped it into his mouth. He locked eyes with Castiel and worked his tongue along the cherry stem, twisting it in his mouth. Dean couldn’t tell if it was the buzz, the low lightning, or if he was really seeing it right, but he could’ve sworn he saw Cas swallow.

Once the knot was secure Dean stuck out his tongue, offering up the perfect knot. “I still got it.” He grinned and winked, his eyes still settled on Cas’ blue ones. “For you, Detective.” He handed Castiel the slobbery cherry stem, and to his surprise Castiel took it, curling his fist around it. His eyes never leaving Dean’s.

Three days later

“So,” Charlie said, leaning over Castiel’s desk.

“So, what?” He glared at Charlie over the steam from his cup of coffee. He was so fucking tired. After the night at the club he had spent the rest of the weekend alone mulling over the case and eating cold Ramen. He didn't make much progress, which added to his deep seeded annoyance.

“Dean.” She poked his cheek. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean. Holy shit, he was so cute.”

“Please. He is a reckless child.” Plus, Castiel assumed by his flirtations with Charlie that he was straight, despite his earlier impression from Crossroads. He didn’t need to go down that road, no matter how boyishly handsome Dean was, and no matter how much disappointment settled into his chest when he thought about Dean’s freckled cheeks and striking green eyes. Feelings were a menace, and Castiel preferred not to have them when he could help it.

“Exactly, opposites attract.”

He rolled his eyes at that, taking a sip from his coffee. “I’m too busy for relationships.” Charlie should’ve known his situation better than anyone. He was too busy to find the keys to unlock the dozens of dead bolts locking his heart away within himself.

“I didn’t say marry him. Just like...” Her eyes glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention. “Just fuck him. You could use a release, Cranky.”

Heat rose up Castiel’s neck and into his face. “You can’t say things like that,” he hissed. His private life was private for a reason, and he’d be damned if he crossed a professional line at work.

“What? You are pent up.”

“Not that. You can’t be so explicit,” he whispered.

Charlie rolled her eyes and adjusted the butterfly clip in her hair. “Okay, right, sorry.” She huffed and leaned in closer, her eyes challenging him. “Just admit that you want to, and I’ll leave it alone.”

He narrowed his blue eyes at Charlie, begging her to shut the fuck up for once in her life. “What I want is irrelevant,” he decided. At the end of the day, she was still Charlie, and he couldn’t fake it with her.

“Well, that’s just not true.” She laughed. “Come on, just go for it. What is there to lose?”

He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He was too damn tired. Where should he even start? “Well, he’s my partner’s brother, first of all.” He took another drink of his coffee.

“You talking about Dean?” Sam asked, walking up with a fresh coffee mug in his hand.

“What?” Castiel choked on his own coffee. It burned shooting down his windpipe and for a second he felt like he was drowning. Drowning and caught.

“I just heard you say ‘your partner’s brother’. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” Sam said sheepishly. “Sorry, Dean’s such a pain. He really does feel bad about messing things up with Crowley...”

Castiel waved him off when he realized that Sam only caught the tail end of the conversation. “It’s in the past. Best we move on?”

Charlie snorted, and Sam raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, okay. He will be happy to hear that you aren’t mad.”

“Why would he care if I was mad?” Castiel eyed him, his curiosity peaked. He placed his mug down on the desk, focusing on keeping his expression emotionless.

“Don’t know, but he asks about you every day. Probably just making sure he didn’t ruin things for me here.” Sam shrugged, putting his coffee back to his lips. “So, any new leads on the Crowley murder?”

“Nothing,” Castiel sighed, rubbing his face, Dean’s apple green eyes pushed to the back of his mind at the mention of the case.

Charlie reached forward and grabbed Cas’ coffee, taking a few eager gulps.

“Well, Dean keeps saying good riddance. So maybe we should just take it as a win.”

“Do you really believe that?” He asked, examining his partners muscles tensing in his forearms.

“Trying to,” Sam admitted, flexing his fingers, releasing the tension. “I figure it’s better than losing sleep over a scumbag.”

“Good point.” He stood up, stretching, letting his neck pop. He’d been sitting in that same damn chair for much too long. “Get back to work, Rookie. I may not have a lead, but maybe you can find something I’ve missed.” He turned his back to Sam to grab some additional papers from the filing cabinet next to his desk.

“Novak,” Sam cleared his throat, causing Castiel to glance over his shoulder. “I was wondering if you’d want to grab dinner with me sometime? My treat,” he offered with a wide smile.

“Why?” Castiel eyed him suspiciously, his eyebrows coming together.

“To say thank you,” Sam said quickly, running his fingers through his hair awkwardly. “For your patience with me. For mentoring me.”

“Wasn’t exactly my choice.” He raised an eyebrow, covering a smirk growing on his mouth with his fingers.

Charlie elbowed him in the ribs. “He would love to go. It’ll be a million times better than eating leftover pizza or Ramen noodles again. Right, Cas?”

“Right,” he mumbled. He didn’t want to be boring and antisocial, after all.

“Awesome! Just let me know when you’re free,” Sam said quickly, looking relieved.

“I will.” Cas looked at his watch and stood up. “I’ll check my calendar and get back to you.” He shrugged into his jacket and adjusted his tie.

“Where are you going?” Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Court,” Castiel grunted. “I am testifying for an old case that’s finally going to trial.”

“Ain’t no rest for the wicked,” Charlie said with a nod, before resting a hand on his shoulder. “Put ‘em away, big guy.”

Cas nodded knowingly. “I’ll try my best, ma’am.”

Later that day

“And how does the jury find the defendant?”

“Not guilty on all charges.”

The sound of the judges gavel knocking against the bench echoed through Castiel’s mind. It was haunting, like a knock on the door late at night when he wasn’t expecting a guest, or the sound of a shutter clicking against the windowpane from the wind.

Lucas Azazel’s jaundiced eyes locked with Castiel’s. He gave a sinister smile and a wink. He got off on a fluke. He was a rapist, and he’d been raping his young daughter since she was a toddler, sneaking into her room and doing unexplainable things. He did things that made Castiel lose the little sleep he got. The man was ill and dying of liver failure, which was the main reason the daughter finally came forward. She didn’t think he could hurt her anymore if the trial went exactly the way it went that day.

Even though he was a criminal, and the case was open and shut, the jury found him innocent- on a technicality. By law he was liable for what he did, because he was her father. He was in a position of trust, so even though he claimed she consented, it wouldn’t matter. He was the parent, and she was the child. Legally she couldn’t consent. The jury, on the other hand, didn’t think he was in a position of trust. They claimed she didn’t trust him because she was afraid of him. The fuck she didn’t.

Castiel pushed out of the courthouse into the rainy afternoon, past the on-lookers, past Azazel’s daughter’s muffled sobs, and past the thick, suffocating air. He gasped for breath, needing the freshness, begging for oxygen. He stumbled down the stairs and slammed his fists onto the cold, stone pillar that held up the lip of the courthouse roof. He pressed his forehead against the damp, cool stone, hoping for clarity that never came. How could he do everything right and still not be able to put the perp away? It was a fucking technicality! He was a monster and it didn’t even matter. It didn’t make a lick of difference. What was the fucking point of even trying?

Castiel couldn’t get the image of Azazel’s daughter, Jess, out of his head. Her big blue eyes spilled over with tears, her face red as she collapsed into the arms of her mother, who had stroked her hair, murmuring promises that she could never keep. Their only saving grace was that, hopefully, he was too sick to hurt anyone ever again, but Castiel wasn’t hopeful. He was rarely hopeful and every day on the job that a criminal walked, he was less and less so.

“Detective?”

Castiel let out a breath, the heat from it fogging up around his face. He would recognize that gravelly voice anywhere. “Hello, Dean.” He wanted to stay there, against the pillar, and disappear within it, but then there was Dean .

“Are you... are you okay?”

He sighed, forcing himself off the pillar, turning toward Dean. He could feel his face wilting, the lack of sleep over the trial evident in every wrinkle and sag in his cheeks and under his eyes. “Just a rough case,” he admitted. “What are you doing here?” He straightened his spine, trying to pull himself back together.

“Parking tickets.” Dean waved the papers with a sheepish smile. His eyelashes held the mist from the rain, making his eyes glisten in a way that was extremely calming.

“Parking tickets?” Castiel asked, confused. His voice was rough with emotion, as he tried his best to focus on Dean’s eyelashes, the freckles on his cheeks, anything other than Azazel and the trial. “You live in New York, why do you even have a car?”

“They’re from when I first moved.” Dean scratched the back of his neck, his cheeks pink. He looked cute, Castiel noticed. “Before I put my Baby in storage, I had her parked in the street. Didn’t realize it’d be a shit show trying to find parking in the city. Thought that Sammy would waive them for me since he’s a cop, but no dice. He’s a slut for the law, ya know?”

Castiel smiled at that, the claws that were twisted around his lungs loosened their grip, allowing him to breathe a little deeper. “Yeah, the kid sure is.”

They stood there for a moment, an electric, palpable silence between them. There was something calming about Dean’s presence, he was like a rain track, the sound of his breathing slowed Castiel’s heart rate. His fingers twitched at his side as he tried to avoid reaching his finger’s out to touch Dean’s. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets, picking at the lint inside.

Dean chewed on his lip like he was considering something, his eyes flickering up to Castiel’s and then back down to his feet. “Hey, Detective? Would you want to get out of here? Maybe grab a bite. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. There’s a good burger place not too far,” he offered, jabbing his thumb over his shoulder.

His eyes met Deans - they were moss green and kind. He rolled a piece of lint between his index finger and thumb, considering the invitation. “Don’t you need to pay your tickets?”

Dean shrugged, shoving them hastily into his pocket. “I think I’d rather be on the run from the law than being a law abiding citizen. It’ll get Sammy in a tizzy, plus it’s a lot sexier. It fits my aesthetic.” He grinned widely.

Castiel laughed in response, running his fingers through his hair. He wasn’t quite ready to let Dean walk away from him just yet. “Burgers, huh?”

“Best in New York.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

A half hour later

Sitting across from Dean Winchester at a crappy diner was the last place Castiel expected to be on that rainy afternoon. “Alright, it’s judgement time.” Dean grinned, holding a greasy french fry between his fingers.

Castiel chewed his bite of burger thoughtfully. It was delicious, and as much as he didn’t want to admit it, he had to give Dean that one. He knew a good burger. “Damn, you’re right.” He allowed the smallest smile to peek out from behind the burger, before taking another bite.

“I knew it!” Dean grinned wildly, shoving his fry into his chocolate milk shake, and plopping it into his mouth eagerly.

“That is disgusting,” Castiel commented. And juvenile.

“What? Do you live under a rock, Detective? This is a damn delicacy.” Dean dipped another fry in the shake. “Open up.”

“No way.”

“Open up, or it’s gettin’ all over your face and as funny as that’d be I’m sure you’d be pissed. That’d be a shame ‘cause I kinda think you’re havin’ fun.”

He rolled his eyes in response and opened his mouth, allowing Dean to place the fry on his tongue. There was something incredibly erotic about being fed by Dean, his eyes partly closed, only showing a tint of green as the sweet and salty snack touched Cas’ tongue. Dean ran his tongue over his own bottom lip, mimicking Castiel as he tasted the snack. Their eyes met, Dean’s finger brushing Castiel’s bottom lip. It was intimate, like they were the only two in the diner, in the world. “Fine, you’re right,” he said, breathlessly. “It’s delicious.”

“Told ya.” Dean smiled.

Who would’ve known that Dean Winchester had an award winning smile? No matter how annoying he was, Castiel couldn’t help but smile when Dean did. It was infectious. He would give anything to watch Dean smile over and over again, and he had not realized until that moment.

“Glad to see you aren’t pissed at me,” Dean said, dipping another fry.

“I was never pissed at you.”

“Sure.”

“I wasn’t,” Cas said flatly. “Being pissed would indicate caring.” He shrugged dismissively, staring back at his plate.

“Right. The cold, hard detective has no feelings. I buy it.”

“It’s my aesthetic,” he teased, using Dean’s words against him, his eyes flickering up for just a second, catching Dean staring intently. Castiel swallowed hard, feeling his cheeks heat up under Dean’s gaze.

“Right.” Dean snickered in response. “Guess we are quite the pair.”

“I suppose we are.”

Castiel settled on Dean’s lips, and he had this extreme urge to lean across the table and taste the milkshake on them, but he refrained. Everything he told Charlie before was true. Dean was likely straight, Cas didn’t date, and even if he did, he would not date Dean Winchester.

“Want to talk about what happened back at the courthouse?” Dean asked casually, pulling apart the paper wrapper from his straw.

“Not really.”

“Well, I’m here if you change your mind.”

“Trying to get a story for the paper?”

“Nah, just trying to be a good friend.” Dean eyed Castiel. “Hope you’d think a little more of me, Detective.”

“I do,” he admitted. He knew that Dean wouldn’t exploit him. He was a good man. He could tell by the way he protected Krystal at the club, and the way he was around Sam. He was a smartass, but he was a good man nonetheless. His eyes met Dean’s and suddenly he wanted to tell him everything. “The longer I’m in this job, and the more evil I see... the less I can sleep. Sometimes I feel like I’m just doing damage control. It’s hard to get a conviction, even on a true criminal. How am I supposed to sleep at night knowing that?”

“I bet it’d be hard.”

Dean was looking at him, his eyes flickered up to Cas’, and he sucked in his breath, his lips parted, his eyebrows furrowing for just a moment.

“It is,” he agreed, pressing his own lips together, trying not to breathe in every one of Dean’s exhales. The table suddenly felt incredibly small, and Cas was conscious of the toe of Dean’s boot brushing against his dress shoe.

He reached forward and touched the top of Castiel’s hand, and Dean brushed his fingers along his knuckles. They both let out a breath that they’d been holding, as if their hands touching gave them permission.

“You can’t save them all, Cas.”

“I was just telling Sam that…” Castiel laughed bitterly, before letting out a ragged sigh. “And what about the ones I can’t save?” He asked desperately, his eyes wet along the edges. He twisted his fingers up, touching the length of Dean’s fingers. They were surprisingly soft, apart from a small callous on his middle finger from where his pen rested. “What about them? All of that up to God?”

Dean smiled sadly and shook his head, opening his palm wider, allowing Cas to run their fingers together absentmindedly. “Sammy may believe that, but I don’t. I don’t think God cares about us anymore. It’s just up to us.”

“Us?”

“Humankind,” Dean clarified smiling sheepishly. “But maybe you and I, too.” He squeezed Castiel’s hand, causing his heart to flutter under Dean’s touch.

“Our mom… I dunno if Sammy told you, but she died when he was a baby.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling sick. There was so much death. He could feel Dean’s fingers chill under his, and Castiel brought his other hand on top of Dean’s to shield him from whatever pain that he could.

“She was murdered. It was arson, but the police didn’t ever bring anyone in. There wasn’t enough evidence...resources. It’s not right. Sometimes it feels like there’s no fuckin’ justice.”

Castiel would’ve thought that Dean would be worked up, exasperated, but in reality he looked more sad. He looked defeated. “Sometimes it does.”

“Don’t you wish you could do more, Detective?”

“Every day.” He released Dean’s hand, letting his palms fall to his lap. He looked down at his burger and suddenly he wasn’t hungry. His stomach churned again.

“The system is broken, Cas. I just hope I can do my part.”

Castiel thought about that, while breaking up a fry on his plate. Dean was a reporter, and they always felt like enemy number one to a police officer. Everything that was written in the Times felt twisted. It felt a little too much like propaganda, but if it were Dean... Dean, knowing what he knew about Castiel and Sam, saying all the right things about justice. Maybe he could make a difference. Maybe he could instill change.

“You seem thoughtful, Detective. What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours?”

Castiel looked up at him, alarmed. His brain ran a circle, trying to find something to say. Anything to say. “Sam... Sam asked me to dinner.”

“Like a date?” He chuckled. “No offense, but I don’t think you’re his type.”

“No, not as a date.” Castiel laughed awkwardly, shifting in his seat. “He invited me out to say thank you for mentoring him, but truth be told, he’s teaching me a few things.”

“The kid’s good for that.”

“He is.”

“I wouldn’t be who I am without Sam. He is good. Better than I’ll ever be.”

“I hope he can be that for me, too.” Cas smiled, looking down at his lap.

Dean reached forward and hooked his index finger under Castiel’s chin, tilting it up. “Detective, you are good.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Bad people don’t carry this much guilt. Your shoulders are heavy. Maybe it’s time you let someone else carry some of that burden.” He smiled warmly at Castiel, almost as if to say I’ve got strong enough shoulders to carry the weight for the both of us.

Two weeks later

Castiel loved New York City. He was one of those New Yorkers that had it in his blood. He wasn’t a dreamer, someone who came over from Podunk Nowhere to try his hand in the arts. He wasn’t filled with love, hope, and Chanel No 5. Castiel was a New Yorker. His blood was dirty rainwater, subway tickets, and Nolita’s twenty-four hour pizza. He held his computer bag close to him, the strap across his chest like a seat belt. The air had a brisk chill, despite the exhaust pumping out of the cabs and into the street. He wanted coffee, needed some sunlight, Charlie insisted on it, and he couldn’t get what Dean said about his mom out of his head. So he left his shoebox of an apartment and went in search of caffeine.

The woman at the coffee counter smiled at him when he ordered his Americano, but he looked right past her. It wasn’t his intention to be rude, he just hadn’t been sleeping. He needed more than the single mug he was given, he needed an IV drip.

Growing up gay made him a tough child, one not to be messed with. He didn’t have any other choice but to create a hard outer exterior. Sometimes distance was the only way. Castiel punched a little boy in the school yard for calling him a faggot. He went to the principal’s office and was given detention for fighting. Castiel’s mother threatened to move them to Staten Island, and he never hit another child again. He walked through the hallways with his head down, his brown locks in his eyes. He could be himself in college. He could fall in love someday. He didn’t have to be so gay. He didn’t have to get in fights.

“Let people see what they want to see, Castiel,” Gabriel told his little brother, as he dabbed Castiel’s black eye with an ice pack.

He winced, the pain radiating through his cheekbones and into his nose. “Why do they care, anyway?”

“Kids are bored. Nosey. Mean.”

“They aren’t mean to you,” he countered, eyeing his older brother with his one good eye.

“That’s because I’m funny. I laugh at myself so they can’t.“

“You aren’t funny,” Castiel said, scrunching up his nose.

“Hey! I’m hilarious!”

So, if someone hit him, he let them. He didn’t fight back, even though he wanted to. Things were strict in the Novak house, growing up. The boy’s father was a police officer, a Captain, like Singer. He was rugged, stiff, and angry. He was ex-military, only no longer active duty due to an escalated case of sleep apnea. He raised his boys with a heavy hand. Home was just another place that Castiel had to hide.

Charlie had been his friend long before they were co-workers. She’d been a thorn in his side since they were fifteen years old. They were each other’s beards, prom dates, and everything in between. She was a beacon in the darkness that was his life. For awhile he suspected that he’d never love someone as much as he loved her. That maybe romance wasn’t in the cards for him. That was until Cas met him.

Inias was his next door neighbor. His father was a military man like Castiel’s. They spent the New York summer when they were seventeen working on an old ice cream truck. They’d lay in the grass in the park after a long day, plucking bubble gum eyes out of the frightening cartoon ice cream bars.

“These are disgusting,” Inias mused.

“You love them,” Castiel combatted, squinting at the beautiful blue eyed boy next to him. He didn’t know if he was gay. He didn’t think he could ask. He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost Inias. There was something fragile between them. He couldn’t risk breaking it and ruining everything.

“You have me confused with someone else.”

Castiel shook his head with a wide smile and looked at the melting Tweety Bird. Inias was right, of course, it looked like a horror movie character. A wax sculpture, melting in the hot sun. The grass tickled Castiel’s ears, and the heat felt good on his skin. “I wouldn’t confuse you, Nias. Trust me.”

The boy propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Castiel. “You wouldn’t, huh?”

“That’s what I said,” he deadpanned, not looking at his friend.

“What if I looked like this?” Inias asked, putting the ice cream bar too close to Cas’ face.

“God, quit! You’re going to get it on me.” He swatted at Inias like he was annoyed, but the boy knew better.

“No I won’t!” Inias said, right as he pushed the ice cream bar into Castiel’s lips. “Oops, shit, you made a mess.”

“You’re dead.”

They chased each other until the ice cream was melted and they were covered in melted dairy and artificial food coloring. They laid in the grass again laughing, staring at the too-blue sky. The day was clear, and the sky was endless despite the skyscrapers cutting into it. Castiel could’ve stayed like that forever, laying in the grass with the boy he wasn’t supposed to like.

He didn’t expect it when it happened, when Inias leaned over and pressed a sticky, artificial strawberry flavored kiss to his lips. It was brief and quick, but it left Castiel breathless. His first kiss. It was in the middle of Central Park, on a sunny summer day, with the boy from next door. It felt like a dream.

Castiel’s father had caught them in his bedroom a month later. They had been stripped down to their underwear, Inias’ hand on Castiel’s bare chest, Castiel’s lips on Inias’ throat. It was incriminating. Mr. Novak went into a blind rage, and Castiel woke up in the hospital a day later with a broken cheekbone, wrist, and heart. Inias was gone, off to a private Catholic school out of state.

He had moved in with Charlie after that, never looking back, and when he was eighteen, his father died in his sleep. He still hadn’t heard from Inias, but he hoped that the boy from next door was still alive.

He knew a little something about wanting answers. He didn’t have the resources to fight his own demons, but Dean’s? He was a detective after all. Maybe he could take a look at Mary Winchester’s old cold case. He couldn’t do right by his first love, but maybe he could do better for Dean.

He took a sip of his coffee and opened up his laptop, immediately typing away.

One week later

“Hey Sammy so I was thinkin’...” Dean poked his head into the bathroom as Sam brushed through his hair, he squinted at his brother through the mirror. “You goin’ somewhere?”

“Just dinner.”

“Dinner? Is it a date?” Dean teased.

“No.” Sam glared at Dean through the mirror, placing the brush on the counter. “I’m having dinner with Novak.”

“So it is a date! Do you think that’s appropriate, to be taking your partner out, Sammy? Unless! Is he your partner partner?” Dean waited for Sam to counteract, Jesus Dean, he isn’t gay. Stop making it weird!

“Shut up, jerk,” Sam said instead.

“Bitch.” Dean grinned widely, taking the lack of denial as a win. He folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the doorframe while Sam gargled mouthwash and splashed his face.

When he looked up at met Dean’s eyes in the mirror, he rested his palms on the sink. “What, dude? Can I help you?”

“You seriously not gonna invite me?”

“You want to go? I got the impression that you and Novak didn’t get along.” Sam dried his face with the hand towel.

“We had a moment.” Dean shrugged, the picture of Cas’ face as he tasted the french fry covered in milkshake still perfectly preserved in Dean’s mind.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“What I just said. We’re good. Let me go to dinner, and you can bring that cute crime scene tech, too.”

“Like a double date?”

“You said it, not me,” Dean said with his hands up, grinning widely. It wasn’t the worst idea that Sam ever had, and the concept got Dean’s stomach flipping.

“Christ, Dean. No,” Sam groaned, but Dean knew the look on his face. His eyebrow was quirked and his dimple was making an appearance on his left cheek. He was considering it.

“It won’t be a date,” Dean promised. He wouldn’t take the detective out to dinner with his brother for a first date, after all. “I was kiddin’, but it may be a good opportunity to get to know everyone better. We can even invite Charlie!”

“You know Charlie?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I met her. She seemed rad.”

“Rad?” Sam raised his eyebrow. “What’s going on with you?”

“Just say yes,” Dean begged trying out Sam’s patented puppy dog eyes. “I’ll call Charlie, and she’ll get the tech.”

“Her name is Eileen.”

“Fine, she will get Eileen to come. Come on, Sammy! Live a little!” Dean ruffled his brother’s hair. When begging didn’t work, his next go to was to be as annoying as possible. He wasn’t proud of the tactic, but it was effective.

“Okay, okay! Just get off my back.” Sam swatted at his brother and tried to fix his mop again.

Dean grabbed Sam by the face and placed a big wet kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, bro.”

“Gross, get the fuck off of me.” Sam laughed, shoving him out of the bathroom.

“You love me!” Dean called back, feeling his heart pound in his chest. He went into his closet to find something to wear, because he was seeing the detective, and damn it if it made him sound like a chick, but he was fucking excited.

“Do not!”

Dean made good on his promise and Charlie arrived with Eileen at the restaurant promptly at eight o’clock. Castiel arrived five minutes late. He looked a little more casual than Dean and Sam were used to seeing him. He wore a nice pair of dark jeans, with a light blue button up untucked and a tweed blazer. Dean raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t had a professor fantasy before that exact moment. He adjusted his red flannel, suddenly not feeling as attractive as he had a moment before, and he ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

“Rookie.” Castiel raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t tell me you invited the entire precinct.”

“I didn’t.” Sam smiled awkwardly. “Dean invited himself.”

“And everyone heard and couldn’t wait to spend time with me.” Dean batted his eyelashes at Castiel, taking a step closer to him.

“I’m so sure.”

“Eileen, this is my brother Dean,” Sam spoke out loud, fingerspelling Dean’s name slowly.

“Dean,” Eileen said, offering her hand.

He took her hand and kissed her fingers. “M’lady.”

“Alright, bitches, let’s eat,” Charlie said with a wide, toothy grin.

“Good idea,” Cas said, looking a little green.

They settled into their seats and the waitress came around getting their drink orders, Sam ordering an iced tea, and everyone else ordering beer and wine. His cheeks grew pinker by the second, and Dean smirked at his brother. Eileen tapped Sam’s arm and signed, okay? He nodded, offering her a smile, and she laughed in response.

Dean leaned over next to him where Castiel was sitting. “So, Detective. Want me to order for you?”

“No.” He sat up a little higher in his chair and glared at Dean. “I can order for myself.”

“Yeah, Dean, he isn’t some bombshell,” Charlie whispered from Dean’s other side. How he got stuck between them was beyond him. He’d been so focused on sitting next to that fucking tweed blazer that he didn’t notice Charlie on his left until he was already settled. “He can order for himself.”

Dean smirked, realizing that Charlie hadn’t been let in on their burger date. “Yeah, but my taste is better. Right, Cas?” Castiel looked uncomfortable, and the fact that Dean was getting under his skin was lighting him on fire. He wanted to press the detective’s buttons until he burst.

Sam’s eyes widened at the two of them. “Am I missing something?”

“No,” Cas said quickly, shooting Dean a look. “Nothing to miss.”

“Uh huh.” Dean shrugged, moving his attention back to his menu.

They all got to talking about work. Eileen explained to them some different deaf jokes, and Sam laughed along with her, his eyes bright and shiny. Dean smiled to himself; it was nice to see his little brother wrapped up in something that wasn’t murder. Someone alive.

“So, Dean,” Charlie said, leaning into him. “You’re a writer?”

“I am. A journalist.” He smiled widely, proud to finally be talking about something that he could really participate in.

“But he used to write all kinds of crazy stories growing up,” Sam said, taking a bite of his salad. “He wrote all kinds of short stories about monsters.”

“Creepy.” Charlie grinned. “I love a good horror story.”

“So do I.” Dean met her smile. He could almost see it then, Cas’ tweed jacket slung over the back of his couch, he and Charlie teasing the detective until his cheeks pinked up.

“So, what brought you to journalism instead of creative writing?” Castiel asked, mindlessly poking his dinner salad with his fork.

“I wanted a job,” Dean laughed.

“How’s that working for you?” Sam asked with a shit-eating grin.

Dean flipped him off.

“Are you working on anything right now?” Eileen asked, watching his lips for a response.

He glanced at Castiel with a smirk. “Yeah, I’m workin’ on somethin’.”

Heat crawled up Castiel’s neck at the double meaning of his words, and Dean noticed that he adjusted his collar to try to cover his growing embarrassment. “Got a little somethin’,” Dean murmured, taking his napkin, patting some non-existent dressing off Cas’ lip. “Got it,” he whispered devilishly. Another button was pressed, and Dean intended to find them all and learn what they each did.

Charlie snorted, since she apparently wasn’t as blind as the rest of the group, and Castiel shot her a look in response.

“Anything interesting?”

“Still decidin’,” Dean said with a wicked grin.

“I’m going to use the facilities,” Castiel announced, clearing his throat as he stood up. He moved his napkin from his lap and back onto the table. Nodding to the group, he quickly walked to the back of the restaurant.

“I’m gonna go, too. Be right back.” Dean said not a moment later, winking at Charlie, glad that Sam was wrapped up in a sign language conversation with Eileen. He was still pretty bad at signing, so it took all of his attention.

Dean followed the signs to the bathroom, but before he pushed in, he noticed the back door propped open. His palm moved from the bathroom door and walked out into the night air.

Castiel was pressed against the stone wall, sucking in smoke from his cigarette.

“Stressed out, Detective?” Dean asked, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching the detective suck the smoke into his mouth and let it back out. He wondered if Castiel knew how erotic he looked when he smoked, with his lips curled around the cigarette, and the way his eyes rolled back in his head, his shoulders relaxing with the breath.

“To put it mildly,” Cas said coolly, the nicotine seeming to do its job to calm him down. “What’re you doing out here, Dean?”

“Checkin’ on you.” He put his hands in his pockets. Now that they were alone there was a new pit growing inside of Dean’s stomach. “Am I... am I making you uncomfortable?”

Castiel coughed in response, as if the smoke went down the wrong tube in his throat. “Are you... Why would you be?”

“Because I’m trying to flirt with you,” Dean said with an estaterbated groan, as if it was obvious. “And damn it, my gaydar is usually shit. So if you’re not into it then you’ve gotta...”

“I am gay,” Castiel said quickly, his eyes immediately widening, as if he couldn’t believe the words came out of his mouth.

Dean smiled widely, letting out a sigh of relief. He moved away from the wall, taking a step closer to the detective. “So does that mean you are into it, Cas? Because if not, this is a real weird way to turn me down.”

Castiel took one more puff of his cigarette before stomping it out on the damp sidewalk. He turned to Dean. “I’m not...” He paused, licking his bottom lip as if he was choosing his words carefully. “Opposed.”

Deans grin grew even wider, his arms falling from their crossed position back to his sides. “Color me surprised, Novak. You like my antics after all.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

He took a step closer to the detective, almost closing the space between them. “Then what would you say? Is it my bad boy aesthetic? I’ll have you know, I still haven’t paid those parking tickets.” Dean pressed his palm above Castiel’s head on the brick wall. He could feel Cas’ breath on his lips as he looked down at the detective, not trying to conceal his smile.

“You’re a regular degenerate.” Castiel smirked up at him a bit, quirking his eyebrow. “I may have to bring you in for that.”

Dean’s heart skipped a beat as he let out an airy, breathless laugh. “You’ll have to catch me first, Detective,” Dean murmured before taking Castiel’s cheek in his free hand, closing the space between them completely, pressing his lips to Cas’ in a hard, urgent kiss.

Read Part Three

Masterlist

Art by @cryptomoon

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lichlover · 7 years ago

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Idk if you’ve done this but: taako just keeps doing dangerous stuff(probably with lup if we’re being real) because his boyfriend is death and it’s no biggie if he dies

tread carefully for discussion of death and suicidal ideation!

There’d been a world that had ended like this, in fire and brimstone and ash clogging up his lungs, clouding his eyes and making it impossible to think, or breathe, or do anything other than wait for the ceiling above him to come plummeting down and turn his bones to dust.

He’d laughed about it on the cycle that followed—“C’mon, Lulu, you’ve gotta admit to the irony there.”

“There were children in there, Taako,” was all she’d said.

“Dead children,” he’d replied, a little too sharply, and the ice that coated his voice provided momentary reprieve from the burning, screaming memory of what had only been seconds ago.

Except this isn’t a memory. He’s far too familiar with the liminal, off-kilter sensations that chase after him in his worst flashbacks, turning the world around him into the dredges of an unreliable recollection; scenery that shifts as suddenly as he does. This isn’t the paralyzing stillness of a night terror that holds him in stasis, pressing through his chest and slowly crushing him alive. He feels the wood beneath him burning through his shirt, and crumpling under his weight, and he can’t move. He can’t move and everything is burning and the world is ending.

The world is ending, and Taako laughs.

He wheezes into the blackened air, wracked with shuddering fits of mirth and a whirlwind hysteria that would sweep him off his feet if he wasn’t already on the ground. “Well,” he rasps, “we’ll get ’em next time, won’t we? Adios and—“ Taako’s ribcage rattles in a violent, wrenching cough. “And—and sayonara, right?”

He’s—

He saying goodbye but the world isn’t ending, he’s—

He’s made a terrible miscalculation—

What happens next doesn’t fill his vision with light.

Instead, what happens next grabs his collar and drags him headlong into a space that shifts, tilts, and ripples with iridescence. In the next moment, Taako’s lungs are assaulted with fresh air, and he gags and chokes on it; has to turn on his side and hack up congealed smoke. The ground is cool and hard beneath him. Tile. He’s on someone’s floor. And there’s a voice shouting in the background; high, sharp, piercing through the ringing in his ears.

The world isn’t ending. He’s not back on the Starblaster. In fact, he knows this tile, because he’d had it installed himself; it is, after all, the only acceptable flooring for a decent kitchen. And now someone’s on their knees next to him and talking to him, lifting him up, but all he can think about is what a nice shade the ceiling is and how it really opens up the space. There’s a light fixture above him that he recognizes, too, because he’d insisted on it during their first furniture shopping trip. It’s a little gaudy, and slightly too glitzy for an otherwise nondescript apartment, but that too is a work in progress.

And he knows this because—

Taako tries to pull in another breath and realizes it’s getting harder, and he knows what that means, which is that he’s about to waste an afternoon backed up at the offices of the astral plane. Except that makes entirely no sense, because none of this matters—he’s going to reform in hours, if not minutes. Rewind. Reset. The universe will knit him back together, free of scars and burns and the pressure of too much smoke clogging his lungs.

And he knows this because—

He isn’t allowed to finish his train of thought, because a melody drifts overhead and Taako’s eyes grow leaden, weighed down by the promise of sleep. It’s an easy temptation to succumb to. He’s exhausted, and his body even moreso, and regardless of however he dies this cycle he deserves a little R&R. And that’s when something twinges in his gut—wrong, wrong, it whispers, like it knows something he doesn’t. But he ignores it. He lets the song sweep him away, further into unconsciousness.

“Rest, love,” says a man’s voice overhead.

And Taako falls.

“He was just—I mean, shit, he was just lying there, Kravitz. He could’ve gotten up and he just didn’t. I had to drag him to the fuckin’ rift, and he looked like—he didn’t even know I was there.”

“He wasn’t flashing back, was he?”

“No way for me to tell. But if he was, I just… it was a bad one. The building was coming down around us and he didn’t make a move.”

Their voices filter through a thick soup of awareness, muddled and viscous and clinging to him as he fights his way into wakefulness. Taako’s head is light. He tries to sit up and the world starts to spin, so he settles for pushing himself up into a semi-recline. The room around him is still moving like a supercharged Fantasy Tilt-A-Whirl, but this time he can pick out colors and textures—the art on the walls around him, for instance, and the silk of the chaise beneath him. The chaise he and Kravitz had picked out together. The one he’d approved after a heated discussion over the pros and cons of extended sofas.

He’s home.

Taako goes to open his mouth, to say something clever—or literally anything, for that matter, to prove to himself he hasn’t gone and gotten his vocal cords incinerated—but all that comes out is a strangled, grating sound that scrapes against his throat. Immediately the two vaguely fuzzy figures at the other end of the room are on their feet. “Thank the gods,” says Kravitz, and he’s the first to reach Taako’s side, looking faint with relief. “Oh, Taako. We were so worried.”

“Yeah. About that.” Lup’s smile pulls taut across her face as she grabs Kravitz’s arm. She leans in to murmur to him, and Taako’s ears twitch, straining to listen in. “He’s not lucid, y’know? That healer dosed him up with enough potions to knock out an army. We’re not gonna get anything out of ’im even if we do play good cop, pissed-off cop. And believe me, I intend to interrogate the fuck outta him when he’s back to being himself.”

“Oh, hell,” Taako drawls in their general direction. “Somebody’s in trouble. And that, uh, somebody is me. I dunno why I said it like that.”

Lup’s head snaps back around in his direction, and they scrutinize him with bone-deep exhaustion in their faces. He wants to tell them exactly what had happened, that his mind just flaked sometimes and it was nothing more than that, but when he goes to speak the words trip and get tangled up in each other before they can escape. He’s not lucid, Lup had said. Taako’s brain knows what this means, but for the life of him he can’t piece together the implications.

“Oh, c’mon, Lulu,” he says, reaching towards her with a loose hand. “Give it to me—heh—give it to me straight. What’d I… what’d I do this time, huh?”

Lup’s jaw is set, which he knows means she’s angry, but he can’t bring himself to worry about it. “Taako,” she starts, and then, “babe. You, uh… you chose a real bad time to take a nap. Do you remember anything about that?”

He does. “Sure,” Taako slurs. “ ’S, uh… Cycle 61? It was when—when everything was on fire, tha’s it.”

His sister sits back like he’s shoved her. “Cycle 61,” she says to Kravitz. “We, uh… we died together in that one. End of the year, world was going to shit, I went in to try and get some kids out of a burning building. Taako went in after me. We both took in a lotta smoke, I got crushed… I think he did too. It just came down on top of us.”

Kravitz goes pale, and it sticks with razor-sharp clarity through the haze in Taako’s mind. He’s made his boyfriend worry, and lucid or not, Taako knows there’s nothing he hates more. “Hey,” he says, reaching out for Kravitz’s arm. “Hey. Hey. ’S fine. No big deal. ’M all fine now, see? Taako’s all in one piece. Doesn’t matter anyway.”

“What doesn’t matter?” Kravitz catches his meandering hand in one cool palm.

“Oh, y’know,” says Taako. “Dyin’. No… no big deal, right? No big deal during the, uh… the century, no big deal now. Gotta pretty sweet deal when your—your future mother-in-law’s life ’n death ‘n your boyfriend’s gotta handle on alla that, right?”

He’s more than pleased with his line of reasoning there, but Kravitz’s eyes flick to Lup, who’s looking more disturbed by the second. “He was flashing back to the century,” she says. “I thought that was why he wasn’t doing jack shit, but he—Taako, honey, do you remember what we were doing back there? In the burning building?”

Something about spell components. He tries to say so, and it comes out as painfully garbled, but Lup seems like she gets the gist. “He’s got the basics,” she murmurs. “Flashback seems like it’s over, which is good, but…”

“You said he’s not lucid. He might not know what he’s saying.”

“If this were anybody else I’d agree with you, but Taako’s a fucking liar on his best days. If he’s not talking nonsense there’s a good chance he’s telling the gods-given truth.” Lup kneads her forehead with two fingers. “So this isn’t just about the flashback. You dumbass. Taako, what happens when you die?”

“Hachi-machi,” Taako manages, through what feels like a mouthful of cotton. “Tha’s a real deep question, isn’t it?”

“You know what I mean.”

He shoots her a lazy smirk. “Easy. Kick it, drop in on the family, shake up the astral plane. Rinse ’n repeat, back in time for dinner. No… no big deal, ’s what I said. Who cares?”

“Taako,” says Kravitz. He’s not quite meeting Taako’s lazy stare, training his eyes instead on the rings stacked on Taako’s fingers. “Acting as an emissary of the Raven Queen comes with—with its benefits, of course, but if you die, you—you die. I can’t barter with the passage of life and death.”

“Yeah,” says Lup, and she looks furious all over again, simmering with frustration that rolls off her in waves. “So when you pull dumb shit like that—”

“Okay, he’s—he’s high off his—”

“No. He’s talking like—I mean, ‘Who cares’? I thought he was past that. I thought we were all past that. The only reason I agree to do dangerous shit with him anymore is because I trust him, but he’s not—he’s not who I left behind, okay? Treating death like it’s a joke—I mean I get he hasn’t exactly had conventional experiences with it, but this shouldn’t be—it shouldn’t be happening, okay? It shouldn’t—“

She stands up, and the sudden movement sends ripples through Taako’s field of vision, and—well, that’s not normal. Lup presses the heels of her hands to her eyes and breathes out, and he can see her shoulders shaking.

“Fuck,” she mutters into her sleeves. “I’m sorry. It’s been…”

“A rough day,” Kravitz finishes. “I know.”

“You’re a doll.” Lup sighs and looks back at the kitchen. “I’m gonna make everybody some coffee, and, uh… I guess try and get in contact with Merle. Dunno when his adventure thing is ending, but it’s worth a go, I guess. Mocha for you?”

He gives her an affirming smile, and she returns it with a weaker, distinctly un-Lup-like grin before she retreats to the kitchen. Kravitz stays with Taako, thumbing over his knuckles and watching his face with something that walks the line between confusion and knife’s edge concern. And Taako hates it—he knows he hates it, that this is wrong, that he’s made Kravitz worry for no reason. But the reassurances don’t come. Instead he shifts on his side and says, in a conspiratorial whisper, “Lup makes fuckin’ terrible coffee.”

A choked laugh drifts from the kitchen adjacent. Kravitz’s smile morphs into something exhausted but endeared. “She doesn’t need to know that.”

“I think… she already does. She’s real smart, y’know.” Taako’s eyelids are starting to flutter again. “I think she’s upset with me.”

“She’s worried,” says Kravitz. “We both were. You were in bad shape.”

“Yeah, but…” He takes in a soft breath, and his hand begins to loosen in Kravitz’s. “Doesn’t matter, right? N’worries?”

And then the world dissolves into a thick, liquid film, and it drags him down, further from the light and the bitter aroma of burnt coffee and Kravitz’s hand around his. Far from the burning, screaming memory. Far from the century and the flashbacks that cling to him like a layer of cold sweat. Far from the voice that drifts overhead and tells him You do know we’d miss you terribly, don’t you? We care about you—we love you, Taako…

And Taako falls.

#ivyfoxpictures #ask #the adventure zone #taz balance #taakitz #lup #fic #mine #death cw /#hhhhhooo boy this is a heavy one folks #please be careful mdears

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eligray · 4 years ago

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2020 Reading Review

With 2020 coming to a close, here are my top 10 favorite books (by alphabetical order) out of the 136 read this year, with some selected highlights after the list. Enjoy!

Be Still and Get Going by Alan Lew

Don't Burn This Book: Thinking for Yourself in an Age of Unreason by Dave Rubin

It's Garry Shandling's Book by Judd Apatow

Just Love Them by Yisroel Besser

Mindfulness by Jonathan Feiner

Morality by R’ Jonathan Sacks

Rabbi Chaim Segal by Devora Gliksman

Rav Noach Weinberg: Torah Revolutionary by Yonosan Rosenblum

The Psychology of Money by Morgan Housel

You Ought to Do a Story About Me by Ted Jackson

Be Still and Get Going by Alan Lew

For God is never encountered in either convention or habit. God is encountered in reality, precisely the ground of being—the present-moment reality that convention and habit obscure.

The way we really are is more powerful than the way we thought we should be

There is no need for us to identify only with the most vulnerable, unstable part of what we are

Don't Burn This Book: Thinking for Yourself in an Age of Unreason by Dave Rubin

Censorship is not a solution to bad ideas. Silencing people never reforms them—it simply pushes their bad ideas underground, where they’re allowed to fester and grow, like a tumor. It also makes those censored believe that they are victims, which can fuel paranoid delusions. The best approach is to allow people to thrash it out in public.

In their continued bid for utopia, progressives still demand we enforce more laws—even though they don’t necessarily work. You’re not gonna believe this, but generally speaking, good guys follow rules while bad guys don’t. This creates a bit of a problem for those who think laws and legislation are the answer to everything.

Practice the art of being diplomatic. Just because we can voice our opinion on every little thing doesn’t mean we should. Sometimes, tuning out is just as important as tuning in.

It's Garry Shandling's Book by Judd Apatow

I used to use drugs but I had to stop because I’m Jewish, and as a Jew you can only feel good for so long

My friends tell me I have an intimacy problem. But they don’t really know me

Expect no results. Expect nothing back. To do just to do is the highest spiritual path. Never attach importance to results - only the doing. Remain nothing during the doing -1987

A friend of mine said, "You should get married, Garry, you'll get a lot of new comedy material out of it." That's a huge risk. What if I don't

I love The Sopranos. It's a fantastic show. Here's what flipped me out: In the first episode, Tony Soprano's mother is literally planning to have him killed. That's why I admire Italian women. Jewish moms drag it out a whole lifetime

You don't need to be happy. You don't need to be anything. You can just be - 1999

Humor comes from an objective place, which is where the meditation is: the silence. Everything else becomes objective. People who aren't funny, or don't have a sense of humor, they are not in the moment. That's why they are not humorous. They're constantly in here (points to his head) so they take everything literally

Just Love Them by Yisroel Besser

Years later, someone commented to Rabbi Trenk "Look, you got the problem kids and you sent out star." the person remarked. "No," said Rabbi Trenk emphatically. "I got superstars and gave back superstars; what I did do was not get in they way. No one else realized it then, but they were stars all along."

A young man was considering joining the yeshivah and he came to spend Shabbos in Adelphia. On Shabbos afternoon, one of the boys came around looking for batteries. The visiting talmid was astonished, and concluded that this wasn't the yeshiva for him. Later, he told the menahel why he couldn't stay in Adelphia. "A boy was mechalel Shabbos." Rabbi Trenk shook his head. "No, it didn't happen. It can't be." "But I saw it happen," the teenager argued. Rabbi Trenk met his gaze. "You're right; this might not be the best yeshiva for you." He said it in his way, forceful and kind and laced with love, and the visiting bachur understood the message. If you're seeing chillul Shabbos as the reality, then this isn't the yeshiva for you. In this yeshiva, we look at people differently

A bachur in a particular yeshiva had been mechalel shabbos by turning on a light, and his rebbi, at a loss for how to address it, approached Rabbi Trenk and asked what to do about it. "What to do?" Rabbi Trenk repeated the question, and grabbed the mechanech's arm. "You should do nothing. That's what you should do." And then he leaned forward and said, "And, my friend, do you know how hard it is to do nothing?" He had evolved in this area, training himself not to react to perceived wrongdoing over many years

A newly hired rebbi came to solicit advice before starting his chinuch career. "I asked around and the other mechanchim all said that I have to start firm by laying down the law, and once the bachurim know I mean business, I can soften up." he told Rabbi Trenk, "No, no, no. Just go in and love them, teach them, listen to them, and build them. That's all you have to know." said Rabbi Trenk,

A young Lakewood father passed away suddenly, and the funeral was painful and heart-wrenching. Speaker after speaker addressed the son of the niftar, a struggling teenager, telling him how he would have to raise up to the occasion and continue his father's way. Unasked, Rabbi Trenk jumped up after one hesped and gave a derasha of his own. "The niftar had a zechus, what a special young man he left over, what a great boy, I know how he learns, how he davens... his father was so proud of him and he is so proud of him and he will be so proud of him"

A talmid once blurted out the question: What's the secret of the Trenk's marriage? What was the ingredient in the tangible feeling of harmony in their home? "We try not to let ourselves get hurt" Rabbi Trenk said simply. It was one line, but it expressed so much of what he taught them: The people around you are good and mean good, and if you're capable of not letting yourself get insulted or hurt by small mistakes, you can appreciate the flow of goodness

A huge crowd accompanied Rabbi Trenk to his final resting place. After the burial, a relative found herself standing near Rebbetzin Trenk. "Oy, what a bad day this is" the woman said. "No." said Rebbetzin Trenk gently, "not a bad day, just a hard day." sounding very much like her husband

Mindfulness by Jonathan Feiner

A common metaphor used to describe how mindfulness helps manage thoughts and feelings is to think of someone driving a bus with different passengers. Even if the passengers are screaming and telling the driver to go in a certain direction, it is ultimately up to the driver to decide where he wants to go." Similarly, we can slowly learn to treat our thoughts and feelings like passengers. They may be disturbing, but they are not in control. We can learn to make space for them and move forward with doing what is important to us.

We say in prayer, "God is the King, God was the King, God will always be the King." Instead of going in chronological order, we begin with the present. Why? Because, to be aware of the past and future, we need to first be present. "The past is joined to the future, and both are reflected in the present."

Someone came to Rabbi Elyashiv complaining that throughout his lifetime he had worked hard to elevate himself in avodas Hashem (serving God) but with very little to show for all his efforts. He remarked, "I am afraid that all it will say on my tombstone is, “Here lies someone who tried. Rabbi Elyashiv responded, "If I were walking in a cemetery and saw a tombstone with such an inscription, I would stop and pray at the grave of the tzaddik."

"And now, Israel, what does Hashem, your God, ask of you but to fear Hashem, your God" (Devarim 10:12). The midrash states: "Now is a language of teshuvah." The way to do repentance is to focus on the now. Teshuvah entails focusing on what we can change and do in this very moment

midrash teaches that when God gave the Torah and there was total silence, the sound came forth, "I am Hashem your God." Rav Shimshon Pincus explains that it was not that everyone was quiet so they could hear the voice. Rather, the midrash is teaching us that when there is total silence, the preexisting truth comes forth...that Hashem is our God

Morality by R’ Jonathan Sacks

Freedom itself will be at risk from the far right and the far left, the far right dreaming of a golden age that never was, the far left dreaming of a utopia that will never be.

Social media have given everyone a voice, and often it is a shrill one.

Moral hazard occurs when one party is involved in risk-taking but knows that, should the decision turn out to be a bad one, someone else will pay the price. When this happens, there is a distortion in the decision-making process. Because the potential gain is high and the cost of potential loss will be borne by others, there is an incentive to take high-risk decisions that would not otherwise be justified.

Rights have ceased to be restrictions on the scope of the state, and have become instead entitlements, demands for action by the state.

identity politics is a clear and present danger to liberal democracy. It fragments the body politic and balkanizes society. It discourages talk about the common good. It can quickly turn into the politics of grievance and competitive victimhood

unintended consequences will always defeat our best intentions

it is hard to see how the concept of micro-aggression can be made morally coherent. If I do not intend to offend you, how can I be held guilty for disturbing your hypersensitivity that reads into my words something that was neither meant nor would have been so understood by most people?

What is the fundamental difference between an argument for the sake of heaven and one that is not? Following Meiri and other medieval commentators, the sages were distinguishing between an argument for the sake of truth and one for the sake of victory. Hillel and Shammai were arguing for the sake of truth, the determination of God’s will. Korach, who challenged Moses and Aaron for leadership, was arguing for the sake of victory: he wanted to be a leader, too.

Science per se has no space for empathy or fellow feeling. That is not a critique of science, but it is an insistence that science is not the sum total of our understanding of humanity.

I said to Richard Dawkins “Richard, you are just tone deaf. You can’t hear the music beneath the noise.” Richard replied, “You are right, I am tone deaf. But there is no music.” How, if you are tone deaf, can you know that there is no music? For some, the negative certainties of the modern world have removed the very possibility of hearing the divine music, the call, the voice of the beyond-within.

Abraham Lincoln wrote a note in his diary, meant—one of his secretaries later said—for his eyes alone. He headed it “A Meditation on the Divine Will.” It contained the following paragraph: The will of God prevails. In great contests each party claims to act in accordance with the will of God. Both may be, and one must be wrong. God cannot be for and against the same thing at the same time. In the present Civil War it is quite possible that God’s purpose is something different from the purpose of either party.… An exceptional idea was taking shape in the mind of one of the greatest leaders of the modern age. Convinced as he was that ending slavery was the right and morally necessary thing to do, nonetheless Lincoln in this note to himself refused to blame the other side for the war. None of us, he intimates, can fully understand the divine will or the purposes of history. Even if we are sure that our opponents are wrong, they may be serving some necessary role in the moral drama. Far from this leading him into indecisiveness, it moved him to something quite different: humility and a refusal to demonize his opponents.

Rabbi Chaim Segal by Devora Gliksman

"The first rule of education is that there are no rules." ~ Rav Hutner

"The Torah treats a 13-year-old boy as an adult. What right do we have to treat him as a child?"

"We say in the morning and then at night: vishinantem l'vanecha, vilimadrem osam ess b'neichem. Why twice a day? Because the approach we took in the morning has already expired that night"

"Hochei'ach to'chiach ess amisecha v'lo sissa alav cheit. When giving tochacha, don't 'raise the sin' raise the person!"

"Never corner anyone. Always leave a person a way out. The nicest person can become an animal if he feels trapped."

Rav Noach Weinberg: Torah Revolutionary by Yonosan Rosenblum

Shimmy Kaufman, the son of the founder of Aish-NY, was a struggling fourteen year old when he first met Rav Noach. "Shimmy, do you know Hashem loves you?" he asked. Shimmy answered affirmatively, but without much conviction. Rav Noach stared at him for a few moments and then banged his fist on the table, "So, if you know, then why aren't you dancing dummy?"

The different perspectives of Aish and its critics is captured in a powerful story witnessed personally by Rav Aharon Lopiansky. One of the Mirrer roshei yeshiva used to learn morning seder with one of the kiruv stalwarts from Aish. The latter asked him one day what he thought about using a powerful movie on the Holocaust that had been shown to jolt viewers into thinking more deeply about their Jewish identity, but what contained a few scenes of questionable tzniyus. The Rosh Yeshiva replied with a smile, "Why can't you just draw them close with a little Eilu Metziyos [the second chapter in tractate Bava Metzia], instead of in wild and inappropriate ways?" His chavrusa became visibly upset. He grabbed the lapels of the Rosh Yeshiva's frock and asked him, "If your sister was married to a gentile, and this movie was the one hope to awaken them, would you still be so smug? Well, my sister is married to a gentile, and my nephews go to church. Jewish children crossing themselves. This is my first crack at doing something that might really make a difference. Tell me the truth, if it were your sister and your nephews, would you not drag them to the ends of the earth to see such a movie, even if there were questionable scenes?" The Rosh Yeshiva was shaken to the core, and slowly nodded, "Yes."

Yir'as Hashem meant recognizing the seriousness of life - the significance of every moment and everything we do, and the need to understand the message behind every event. The essence of fear of God, in Rav Noach's lexicon, was recognizing that our choices have consequences

Fulfilling one of Hashem's commandments should fill a person with joy. Rav Noach taught. That joy can be measured by the amount of energy one feels. If you do a mitzvah and do not have more energy than you did before, you are performing the mitzvah incorrectly

To love one's neighbor as oneself, Rav Noach explained, means to define him in terms of his virtues. Every person has both virtues and faults. When we look in the mirror, however our self- assessment is primarily based on our virtues, while we attribute only secondary importance to our faults, So too, with our fellow does our focus have to be his virtues and not his faults

A movement like Aish, the Rosh Yeshiva taught, must always maintain its firm relationship to God. Planning in too minute detail left out His input. Any plan had to leave room for adaptation to changing circumstances, for such changing circumstances are inevitable. Thus, strategic plans could at most be directional, but not a "blueprint of what to do in the next year."

The Psychology of Money by Morgan Housel

We all think we know how the world works. But we’ve all only experienced a tiny sliver of it

focus less on specific individuals and case studies and more on broad patterns.

“It’s not whether you’re right or wrong that’s important,” George Soros once said, “but how much money you make when you’re right and how much you lose when you’re wrong.” You can be wrong half the time and still make a fortune

Savings can be created by spending less. You can spend less if you desire less. And you will desire less if you care less about what others think of you.

Something can be technically true but contextually nonsense.

Daniel Kahneman was asked how investors should respond when our forecasts are wrong. He said: Whenever we are surprised by something, even if we admit that we made a mistake, we say, ‘Oh I’ll never make that mistake again.’ But, in fact, what you should learn when you make a mistake because you did not anticipate something is that the world is difficult to anticipate. That’s the correct lesson to learn from surprises: that the world is surprising.

When a commentator on CNBC says, “You should buy this stock,” keep in mind that they do not know who you are. Are you a teenager trading for fun? An elderly widow on a limited budget? A hedge fund manager trying to shore up your books before the quarter ends? Are we supposed to think those three people have the same priorities, and that whatever level a particular stock is trading at is right for all three of them? It’s crazy

pessimists often extrapolate present trends without accounting for how markets adapt

Sandy Gottesman, a billionaire investor who founded the consulting group First Manhattan, is said to ask one question when interviewing candidates for his investment team: “What do you own, and why?” Not, “What stocks do you think are cheap?” or “What economy is about to have a recession?” Just show me what you do with your own money. I love this question because it highlights what can often be a mile-wide gap between what makes sense—which is what people suggest you do—and what feels right to them—which is what they actually do

things change—both the world around you, and your own goals and desires. It is one thing to say, “We don’t know what the future holds.” It’s another to admit that you, yourself, don’t know today what you will even want in the future. And the truth is, few of us do. It’s hard to make enduring long-term decisions when your view of what you’ll want in the future is likely to shift

You Ought to Do a Story About Me by Ted Jackson

“Laughter is spiritual warfare.”

For someone like me, who’d never dabbled in illegal substances, the solution seemed too simple. Just stop making bad choices. Ray Anderson, the chaplain at the New Orleans Mission, a recovering addict himself, explained how frustrating it is for addicts to be told by their friends and families to “just stop using,” as if it’s a switch they can turn off in their heads. He also pointed out the hypocrisy of simplistic advice coming from people who have unresolved issues of their own.

Johann Hari argues that addiction may not be about chemical hooks in the brain at all. Instead, addiction may be an adaptation to a negative environment or situation. He argues that addiction is more associated with a lack of strong human connections than to the substances themselves.

Hari suggests that we’ve been treating addicts the wrong way by isolating them. The opposite of addiction is not sobriety, he says. “The opposite of addiction is connection.”

Full list of the books I read this year can be found over on my Goodreads 2020 Challenge Page

#Reading #2020 #books

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