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greyias · 5 years ago

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This one got… epically long. Like, over 7k words. Based on one of @grumpyhedgehog’s headcanons with her Jedi Lyra and the trash panda extraordinaire. Main pairing is Draike/Lyra (Smuggler/Jedi OC) pre-relationship, secondary pairing of Theron/Knight. I should also warn for a very brief foray into a M rating. For reasons that will become very clear about halfway through.

He didn’t care what anyone else in the Alliance said, Draike Highwind was in the very firm opinion that life on Odessen was boring. The pace around the base had practically slowed to a crawl the past few months, what with them officially laying low and trying to stay off the galactic radar while the rest of the galaxy started to ramp up back into their umpteenth war. Not that Draike liked the constant state of war they all seemed to live in, but at least out there things were happening.

A thin trickle of condensation ran down the side of his glass, and he flicked the droplet across the cantina table, watching it skip along the smooth polished metal surface. It wasn’t the most entertaining diversion — no, he still had a few hours left before that particular game started again — but hey. It was better than watching paint dry. Another trickle worked its way down the side of his glass, and he tried to see if he could get further distance.

“You do realize,” a pleasant voice chimed in, “they make coasters for that.”

Draike lifted his attention from the very interesting and oh-so-important glass of booze to see the familiar form of Lyra Dorn, standing next to his table. As usual, she was looking stereotypically Jedi, decked out in armor and robes even though they were just stuck here in this boring excuse for a base of operations. Her honey blonde locks swept back from her face as she arched a delicate brow at him. He spied a datapad in one hand, and in the other a platter filled to the brim with fried Capellan turg-root, roast gorak, and Ahrisa.

“I’m just livening up the place,” Draike said drolly, by way of greeting.

Lyra almost rolled her eyes, but seemed to catch herself before plopping down in the chair opposite him, delicately setting down the platter in the center as if it were some sort of offering. That was all the invitation he needed, and he snatched up a turg-root.

He was already halfway through chewing with when she let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. “Yes, those are for you.”

He just returned the remark with a crumb-filled grin, as if to say, “I know.”

That got past her internal defenses, and she was unable to suppress her urge to roll her eyes. The twitch at the edge of her lips let him know she found it amusing though, despite whatever airs she liked to project.

Summoning some modicum of manners, Draike finished off his bite and waved a hand at the plate. “You can have one too.”

“Oh, how magnanimous of you,” she said, but there was no sting to her tone, and she politely pinched off a piece of Ahrisa, setting down the datapad as she did so.

He eyed the device, disguising his suspicion with an easy smile as he snagged another turg-root, smothering it in one of the spicy sauces ringing the platter. “What you got there? Some spicy HoloNet fic? Apparently the latest trope everyone’s writing about is the poor betrayed rebellion commander and their traitorous spy lover.”

“How do you know that?”

“There is nothing to do here. I get bored.”

“Those are about your sister!”

“Look, it’s not my fault she professed her undying love to her stupid boyfriend in front of an open broadcast to the entire galaxy!”

“And that’s your brother-in-law now.”

“Don’t remind me,” he grumbled. “Okay, so if you’re not reading fictionalized accounts of my baby sister’s love life, what’s the datapad for?”

She shot him a look, as if to ask him once again why she would ever read trashy romance about a real person in her life, much less a relative of his. “It’s…”

“Yes?”

“For your reports,” she sighed.

“What? My reports?” he sat up a bit straighter. “Why?”

“Someone made me aware that you’ve been having difficulty getting your reports turned in on time,” Lyra said hesitantly, “and so I thought I’d help you out with them.”

Draike managed to summon his most offended face to bear. “So you bring me a giant platter of my favorite food as a ruse to trick me into working?”

“It’s not a ruse,” she was quick to reassure him, “it’s a… peace offering. And fuel for the brain.”

“It’s a bribe is what it is.”

“Oh, and so what if it is?” A little bit of haughtiness was beginning to creep into her tone, accent thickening ever so slightly as his combativeness managed to puncture her friendly demeanor. “You need to get your reports done, and I’m willing to help you write them because I am a good friend. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is I don’t need help writing my reports,” Draike said, crossing his arms as he leaned back into his seat.

“What... yes you do! Theron said—”

An almost maniacal grin spread across his face before he even realized it and quickly smothered it. Usually he was better at keeping a good Sabacc face, but for a moment, even that was eclipsed by the momentary and purely malicious glee that stole through him.

“What was that?” Lyra asked.

“What was what?”

“That look.”

“There was no look.”

“Yes, there was. I know that look—Draike.”

One of the most boring parts about living on Odessen was the rules—and the paperwork. On his own, he only had to do the bare minimum of paperwork to get his cargo runs in. Just enough legality to keep people off his back. It was annoying, but he did what he had to. And at some point he just let Risha take care of that sort of thing — he secretly suspected she enjoyed the tedium. Alas, those salad days were behind him. Here they liked to dot all of their i’s and cross all of their t’s. They wanted a flimsi trail and records for runs, but also stupid things like, incident reports. Which unless something really exciting happened was just an absolute snore fest.

So, he’d made a little game out of them.

Because of course the one person who was hounding him the most for all of this pointless paperwork was his new brother-in-law. If there was something Draike liked less than being told what to do — it was being told what to do by a joyless workaholic that was giving it to his baby sister every night.

“Your report was supposed to be handed in this morning. Do you need any help getting it—?”

“Oh no, help isn’t necessary. I’ve already got it done.”

An adorable little frown of confusion creased Lyra’s face. “Then why the delay?”

“No one, and I mean no one gives Draike Highwind orders,” he said proudly. “Shan will get the report when he’s good and ready.”

Bless her heart, Lyra always seemed willing to believe the best in Draike, even more than most people. That belief was getting tested at the moment, as he could see the wheels starting to turn in her head. She hadn’t put the pieces together yet, but she would soon.

“I’ve got, oh,” he made a show of glancing at the chronometer, “about nine hours and fifty four minutes to go before turning it in.”

As if in triumph, he picked up another turg-root and ate it with an almost perverse pleasure. This time he didn’t try to smother the big grin that blossomed in full on his face.

The thing about Shan was that he was way too predictable. Mister Super Secret Agent Man and dedicated workaholic was never too far from a datapad, whether it was in the war room or in his own quarters. If something were to come into his inbox tagged as urgent, his type couldn’t resist taking a look. No matter what they were doing. And hey, what could Draike say if maybe the message was perfectly timed to chime in right at the most, ahem, romantic portion of Shan’s evening? And if the report itself had been a little more exciting than expected, so exciting that it completely distracted Shan from any other plans, well that was just a side benefit. He was just trying to keep everyone entertained. And of course every report had a twist ending, because Draike was really giving like that. The twist being that the giant cliffhanger he was building up to was all a sham, and that the incident report was really just a boring waste of time all along.

By his reckoning, Draike was pretty sure that he’d successfully prevented any nighttime activities between his sister and brother-in-law for at least a week now. If Shan was sending Lyra to do his dirty work, it meant he was probably getting desperate. Perfect.

Lyra let out a long suffering sigh, still acting as if she was trying to negotiate some all-important intergalactic trade deal instead of just trying to get her best friend to do some pointless paperwork. “Look, if it’s already finished, I could send the report in for you. Theron does need to sleep some time you know.”

He just snorted and shook his head. “I love you, sweetheart, but you don’t mess with a man’s data stream. If Shan has a problem he can come and talk to me—”

Draike’s statement ended in a lurch, his whole body going rigid as he suddenly processed his own words. He slid a look over to Lyra, who blinked back at him. The hints of a smile were starting to form at the corners of her mouth, something she tried to hide by taking a prolonged and yet somehow delicate bite of her Ahrisa as if she hadn’t heard anything at all.

It didn’t really matter how much she pretended though, because he knew what he’d said. It was as if the entire, expansive cantina had somehow managed to shrink in those few seconds, the natural carved stone walls closing in around him. His chest tightened, each breath a little harder to pull in than the last, as all of the blood drained from his face.

Panic could take on many forms — it all depended on the person. Some people go rigid and weren’t able to move. Others hid theirs with anger or lashed out at others. Some didn’t hide theirs at all, going into full on hyperventilation. But Draike Highwind was none of those types of people. And so he scanned the room, desperately searching for salvation, and found it in the tall form of a Wookiee at the bar.

No actual coherent thought was in his mind as he leapt to his feet, Lyra, the datapad, and platter of food seemingly forgotten as he loudly proclaimed for every patron of the cantina to hear. “Hey, Bowdarr!”

The wookiee looked up with an inquisitive growl.

“You know I love you, right? I love all my friends!”

Bowdarr shook his massive furry head, neither confusion nor resignation registering on his face as suddenly the much shorter human had crossed the threshold, practically slinging his arm around the taller being. Without missing a beat, Draike slung his other arm around the Mon Cal that was also at the bar.

“You too, Guss!”

“Oh, Captain! This is so unexpect—”

“Hey, you! Droid!”

C2-N2 had been dutifully sweeping up a mess over in the corner of the cantina, and the protocol droid looked up in confusion, as if not expecting to be pulled into this of all conversations. “Oh, Captain Highwind, as flattered as I am by your affections, I don’t—”

“What? No. I don’t love you.”

“Well I never!”

“You’re taking good care of my sister, right?”

“But of course, Captain Highwind. I am the primary expert on comfort in all of—”

“Yeah, yeah yeah. You know how much I love her right?”

An audible and communal sound of confusion rippled through the entire cantina. Apparently, this was news to everyone on base.

“In fact,” Draike continued, broadcasting at the top of his lungs to drown out the dissenters of his brotherly affection, “you should go let her know that. Right now.”

The protocol droid practically saluted him as he scuttered off to do as he was told. Orders taken, Draike turned to give the next, and possibly most important person in his life, the good news, and proclaimed to the bartender on duty his undying love for the perfect glass of whiskey that he poured every night.

Off in the corner, Lyra sunk further and further into her chair the louder Draike got, eyes raising up to the ceiling. As if somehow, counting all of the flecks up there would somehow, magically, get him to stop.

This was the perfect plan, if Theron did say so himself. Not that he was really saying much at the moment. Just enjoying the slow, slick slide, the enveloping heat, and the low but appreciative noises filling the room. It had been far, far too long. That was, of course, a nice chunk of his good mood—just having some nice quality time with his wife. But it had the added benefit that he’d finally managed to outwit his stupid brother-in-law’s attempts to derail it. There was no way Draike and his late reports could screw this up. All it had taken was rearranging several meetings and some nonessential business to get the afternoon off.

And Theron was putting the time to good use.

His lips wandered their familiar route, starting just under the shell of his wife’s ear, slowly making their way to the hollow of her throat. Just the way she liked it, if the fingernails digging into his back was any indication. That’s right. Just like that. He let out his own sound of appreciation, and just a little more and he’d—

That thought, and the precious rhythm he’d been building up, was completely shattered as the telltale hiss of hydraulics cut through the room as the door to their quarters whooshed open. Both occupants in the bed went completely still, wide eyed and dumbfounded as a little breeze of recirculated air drifted in from the hall.

Before Theron could say anything, or even twist in what was now a very awkward position, a cheerful robotic voice called out from the doorway. “I have wonderful news, Master!”

A frown of confusion stole over Grey’s face, clearly perplexed by whatever was more important than their privacy.

Heedless to this breaching of protocol, C2-N2 continued on obliviously. “Your brother was just telling the whole of Odessen how much he loves you and how much you mean to him. He urged me to make sure I was taking the best possible care of you that I could!”

At this point, any glimmering hope of continuing their previous activities had now been shattered thoroughly. Theron let out an inarticulate growl as he disentangled himself, flipping and turning even as the bed’s coverlet, previously shoved out of the way magically flew up to cover both occupants propriety. Just about at the same time, Theron had grabbed the nearest pillow, and had chucked it as hard as he could towards the doorway.

It was a marvelous throw. One for the ages. Truly, Theron had missed his calling in Huttball. Unfortunately, pillows weren’t nearly as aerodynamic, and it flopped to the floor several feet away from its intended mark.

“Oh my!” Seetoo exclaimed.

“Close the door!” Theron’s snarl echoed across the expanse of the room.

“Oh, quite right!” Seetoo hit the button for the door to close, and it swished shut behind him. That task completed, he turned back to the bed as if awaiting further instructions.

“I meant for you to shut it with you on the other side!”

“Well, you must be more specific in your wishes if you—”

“Get out!”

“How rude.”

Theron flopped back on his pillow, or he would have, if he hadn’t flung it across the room. Instead his head hit the mattress with a slight spring and bounce back. The motion made him nostalgic for thirty seconds ago, when that bounce back had been for different reasons. He glared at the room in general, as if it had betrayed him. After thoroughly expressing his displeasure with his environment, he turned to look at his wife.

“First it was the manipulative Force parasite in your head interrupting us. Now it’s your brother.”

By proxy no less.

“Did you just compare my brother to Valkorion?” Grey asked. He couldn’t tell if she was offended or in agreement with him. At the moment he didn’t particularly care.

“If the evil shoe fits!”

At some point, Draike’s near maniacal effusion of love for every person and object on Odessen had finally run its course. Probably around the time that Bowdaar had practically shoved a bottle of whiskey into his mouth. It had been an effective measure of finally getting the endless stream of affection to stop.

It had been a little while since that point. So much so that Draike had migrated from his laze-a-bout in the cantina over to the Logistics Hangar. He wouldn’t have said that he was consciously avoiding Lyra or anything, but at some point he’d looked back to where he’d abandoned her at the table and realized that he may have made things a little awkward. There was an itchy feeling on the back of his neck as a tiny in voice in his head told him that he needed to apologize to her. That voice sounded a little too much like his mother for his own comfort, so he studiously avoided it.

Besides, a far more logical part of his brain said that he had nothing to be sorry for. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

He looked up from his contemplative perch to see his brother-in-law angrily storming in his direction. Draike took in Theron’s untucked shirt over rumpled pants, the lack of belt and mismatched slippers in place of the normal calf-high boots, bloodshot eyes, twitching brow, and a possibly new undiscovered vein bulging in his forehead. As an expert in the field, Draike recognized the all-too-familiar signs of someone who had dressed very hastily. That same wide, nexu-like grin spread across his face at the sight.

Okay. Maybe he had done one thing that was technically wrong. But why did it feel so right?

The open display of amusement did nothing to quell the spy’s rage, as he finished closing the distance and furiously poked a finger into Draike’s chest. He growled something distinctly unflattering in High Gammorese, and while Draike tried to hold his mirth in—he didn’t really try that hard, because he almost doubled over laughing.

This only egged Theron on, and the next string of curses mixed in several other languages. Who knew the man was a polyglot?

“I will have you know that my mother was a saint,” Draike managed to get in between wheezes, “and you better not let your wife hear you talking about her like that.”

That seemed to break through Theron’s sexually frustrated rage long enough to stem the seemingly endless, nearly incoherent tirade. But the anger was clearly still simmering. If looks could kill, Draike was pretty sure he would have been a puddle of incinerated goo on the floor of the Logistics Hangar. Of course, he’d been on the receiving end of far worse looks. Shan would need to bring his A game if he wanted to attempt to intimidate Draike Highwind.

Theron started again, in Basic this time. “You son of a—”

“Ah ah, a saint,” Draike reminded him, possibly a little too mockingly.

Theron’s mouth shut with an audible click, and breathed out a long whistling breath through his nose.

“You know, Shan, you really should put a little more care into your wardrobe. Tumble bunny slippers? Really?”

The spy wrinkled his nose, the newly discovered vein seeming to bulge again with a freshly ignited rage. “You sent that droid into our quarters on purpose!”

“Who? Me?”

“Yes, you!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Draike widened his eyes, the complete picture of innocence. How was he supposed to know that Theron was trying to route around his carefully crafted plans and engage in a little afternoon delight? Truly, it had just been a cosmic coincidence that had turned out in the smuggler’s favor.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Highwind! I know what you’re up to!”

“And what is that?” Draike blinked languidly.

“I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of saying it out loud!”

“Oh, no,” he tsked sadly, “is there some trouble in the bedroom with you and the misses?”

“Knock it off!” Theron snarled. “What the hell is your problem?”

That sort of language utterly wounded Draike, and he displayed that the only way he knew how, by dramatically clutching his chest and crying out in the most melodramatic fashion. “I’m just upset that I wasn’t invited to the wedding!”

“What?” Theron asked flatly.

“It was always my dream to walk my baby sister down the aisle — and your elopement ruined that!”

“…no it wasn’t, you goddamn liar!”

“I’m wounded, utterly wounded!”

Theron pivoted on his heel, letting out an inarticulate frustrated cry.

“You know what would cure that bad temper?” Draike couldn’t help himself. “A little good quality time with the little mis—“

The rest of his sentence was drowned out by another particularly vile High Gammorese curse as Theron stormed off. A final “Turn in your goddamn reports!” echoed across the hangar, and Draike couldn’t hold it any longer and broke down in laughter.

There was really only one problem with Draike’s plan to completely avoid any potential awkwardness with his best friend — and that was when you completely avoided someone, it had a tendency to compound the issue of not seeing them. In fact, Draike had been so successful in his efforts, by the time it occurred to him that maybe he’d overreacted a little, and the encounter itself had probably long faded from her mind, Lyra was nowhere to be found.

Which was just rude. People shouldn’t be able to use his own tactics against him. There had to be some sort of rule or code against that.

Naturally, all inquiries made in regards to her whereabouts were completely and utterly casual. As he had carefully cultivated an upstanding reputation of detached aloofness that had served him well. If he appeared too eager for anything, someone might get the bright idea in their head to saddle him with more responsibility — maybe mistake him for the other Highwind on base that seemed to thrive under that sort of thing.

And it wasn’t like Lyra was the most entertaining Jedi or Force user on base to hang around with, she wasn’t even the most entertaining person—because apologies to everyone, Guss would forever and always hold both of those titles. No contest. No contenders. It was just the cold, hard facts of the situation.

But if Draike was being honest… her company was missed some. Bowdarr didn’t laugh at his stupid jokes that he told in an attempt to cheat—er, strategically get the upper hand—at Sabacc. The wookiee just let out a non-amused growl and called him on it. And Guss just kept trying to palm the cards himself. It just wasn’t the same. He would hang out with Gault, but both Hylo and Theron had strictly forbidden it, as if they were convinced the entire base would erupt in flames if the two of them engaged in a battle of wits.

(And there was no way in hell he was ever going to sit at a table with that Rattataki, no matter how many lewd invitations she offered.)

So, Draike had been forced to turn to the very last place that he would ever dare to find answers: the duty roster.

“Who the hell is Houch Plehnt and why is he flying my ship?”

“Last I checked, the Khoonda was registered to Master Dorn, not you.”

Draike looked up to see one smirking and insufferable spy staring at him over the brim of a large mug of caf.

“Shan.” Any joviality in the greeting on Draike’s part was forced. “Nice to see you up and at ‘em. Still suffering from that acute case of prolonged sexual frustration?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” a wide, unrepentant grin spread across the other man’s face, “I’ve found that if I wake up early enough, there’s definitely enough time to fit in a quick bit of quality time with the little lady. Sometimes twice.”

“Gross! That’s my sister you’re talking about!”

“A wise man would know better than to ask a question he didn’t want the answer to.”

“Don’t think I won’t camp outside your door and bang pots at random intervals!”

“I think our guard droids might take issue with that.”

“HK-55 loves me and you know it!”

“Where are you going to find the pots?” Theron challenged, taking a long sip off his mug.

“I have friends in the kitchen!” Draike crossed his arms. “They’ll hook me up.”

“Don’t you think you’re going to excessive lengths to ‘protect your sister’s virtue’?”

“She’s a Jedi, I think she’s entirely capable of protecting her own virtue,” Draike sniffed indignantly. “Besides, this has nothing to with her, and everything to do with you.”

“And what did I do now?”

“You let some moon jockey take my ship out!”

“Again, not your ship.”

“Well, it’s the closest thing I’ve got to one until we track down where mine is,” Draike huffed.

“Guess it’s a shame you were off pouting somewhere when Dorn got her mission then,” Theron said a little too casually, taking another long, slow sip from his mug. “She had to go find another pilot since you were incommunicado.”

Draike tried not to look as put out as a he felt. Lyra knew that he was bored out of his skull and she had just left him here? And had gone off with some moon jockey? Who probably couldn’t even take off without scraping the paint? Houch Plehnt — what kind of name what that anyway? Man probably didn’t even know how to handle his blasters! (Pun partially intended.)

“You don’t just hijack someone’s crew, Shan!”

“Oh?” There raised those eyebrows again, another sip and a smirk. “Your crew, eh? I didn’t realize things were so… official.”

“They’re not,” he snapped back, perhaps a little too quickly. “We just have an understanding—she knows how bored I am! And she just leaves me here?”

“What she left you was this message.” Theron paused in his sipping and smirking long enough to produce a datapad. “Not that it’s any of my business.”

“It’s not.”

Theron shrugged, picked his mug back up and began to amble off. Presumably to his next meeting, or a rigorous and boring round of coding, or something equally dull and chaste per the elaborate fantasy that Draike was concocting in his head.

“You still haven’t sent in your report for the Kathol Rift incident yet.” The spy didn’t turn around or even flinch at the silent, rude gesture sent his way. “Maybe you’ll have some time to finish it now, since you’re so bored and have nothing better to do.”

“You know, Theron, I never pegged you as some flimsi pusher,” Draike called after him, which seemed to break through the smug haze, because he saw the spy’s shoulders stiffen, as if that insult had hit particularly close to home. “I guess we all become the thing we hate, eh?”

“You’re the one with the problem here, Captain, not me,” came the sharp reply, before the spy stalked off.

Draike glared at his retreating back, and when that had finally disappeared off into the bustle of the Odessen crowds, he turned his ire back to the traitorous duty roster that had started this whole thing to begin with. He ignored the datapad in his hand for longer than was probably necessary, before finally flicking the thing on.

Hey you. Got a little job to do in Taris. Couldn’t find you to see if you wanted to tag along. Houch Plehnt volunteered — should be back in a day or two. Wish me luck, he’s… not as quick with his blasters as you are. If you know what I mean. See you later, friend.

He glared at the datapad and the text on it, trying to smother the rising and conflicting emotions welling up in his chest. The walls weren’t closing in like the other day, but that nagging voice was starting to whisper in the back of his mind. In particular he kept staring at the word “friend” over and over, as if trying to parse out if it was some sort of hidden message.

It was stupid, that’s what it was. If she wanted to get herself killed by letting some random person with lesser skill at the helm of her ship, then fine. So be it. See if he helped her steal it back again if the jerk decided to fly off without her. Of course, that might strand her on Taris, which was not exactly friendly territory to have to try and navigate a flight out of.

Whatever. It wasn’t any of his business. He had better things to do. Like go teach Guss how to cheat better at cards.

In between about the thousandth time of trying to demonstrate the proper way to palm a card, and Guss accidentally spraying the entire Sabacc deck across the table, Draike had to admit defeat on his latest venture. The game of 76 Card Pickup was only entertaining about the first three times in a row, and then it just became dull. Like everything else around this place.

While he was amazing at most everything he did, Draike would have to admit that maybe he could have been a more effective tutor if he didn’t keep getting distracted by trying to calculate the average duration of a roundtrip between Wild Space and the Ojoster sector. Granted, a talented pilot could shave off a little time from that route, but he was pretty sure Houch Plehnt was anything but. Did the man even know the front end of his blaster from the back?

Not that Draike was concerned.

Because he wasn’t. He just had to find some way to fill his time, and unfortunately he’d been reduced down to basic algebra problems that most school children learned in their third year. And he wasn’t put out. How could he be? It wasn’t like he and Lyra had any formal arrangement (no matter how much Shan tried to slyly imply) to not go on missions without each other… they just… hadn’t for a long time. It wasn’t an expectation exactly, it was just the way things had been for a while. Help each other on assignments, hang out in the down time. Keep the ever encroaching boredom at bay for a little longer.

He also would not define himself as moping about the Logistics Hangar, with Guss trying to pick up an entire Sabacc deck off the floor where he’d accidentally flung it for the umpteenth time, when the Khoonda made its landing again. The ship’s owner emerged down the boarding ramp, covered in something utterly foul. Draike had almost no warning before a particularly sticky and odious arm was flung around his shoulders, an unidentified muck slurping itself onto his jacket.

“Hi,” Draike said, one hand discreetly covering his nose. “Miss me?”

“Yes,” Lyra enthused as she laid her head on his shoulder, further smearing the gunk of whatever covered her onto his skin.

He valiantly did not cringe at the slimy sensation. “You know that you stink, right?”

“It’s your fault,” she insisted.

“I don’t recall smearing you with the most disgusting substance known to man. That you’ve now smeared all over my best jacket.”

“Good,” she said firmly, “ and it is your fault. You disappeared on me, forcing me to take Houch as a pilot.”

“What kind of name is that anyway?”

“Don’t change the subject,” Lyra wrinkled her nose. “He was so afraid of getting bit by a Rakghoul he refused to step off the ship. So I had to get samples for Lokin myself.”

“Wait, so this stuff is—”

“Yes,” Lyra said lightly, “Rakghoul guts.”

“This was my best jacket!”

“Was being the operative word. Now it’s just a jacket covered in guts. We match!”

Draike sniffed indignantly, which was a mistake because all it gained him was a giant whiff of the odious stench emanating from the Jedi. “Why did you not shower?”

“Because Houch was so afraid of being infected he quarantined me in the cargo hold. Wouldn’t even let me near the refresher.”

“It’s your ship!”

“Trust me,” she muttered dangerously, “I know.”

“He still in the cockpit? I can go give him a hug on your behalf.”

“You’d do that?”

“Bastard stole my ship and by proxy ruined my favorite jacket. He’s got it coming.”

“You do realize it’s technically my ship, don’t you?”

“Why does everyone keep bringing that up?”

“Well, you have fun talking to Houch,” Lyra said breaking away, “I am going to go take a shower and then burn all of these clothes.”

“Looks like I’ll be doing the same,” Draike muttered petulantly.

“And be nice to Houch.”

“No promises!”

The conversation itself was normal. Friendly side-hugs and spirited banter but… as Lyra walked away, Draike couldn’t help but feel something about the encounter was different. The barbs just a little more pointed, and Lyra avoiding catching his eye. She had usually been quick to follow up the banter with some sort of reassurance, but this time she just walked away. It wasn’t like this was the first time he’d been an ass, and she had always let him off the hook before. He wasn’t sure why this time was different, but it was.

He watched her go, that same matronly voice in his ear starting up in its familiar scolding refrain.

The expletive slipped out on its own accord. His jacket was thoroughly ruined. It was a nice jacket. He’d just finished breaking it in. The sleeves were no longer stiff, and it had breathed so much nicer than the cheap synthleather ones that they kept in stock here on the base. Also, Houch Plehnt really needed a sticky Rakghoul gut hug. But mostly the man just needed to be kicked off and banned from ever re-entering the Khoonda.

Is that all you should really be thinking about right now? — the infuriating voice in the back of his mind asked.

He tried to come up with some excuse, some flim-flam to distract it, but arguing with one’s self was the first sign of insanity. He couldn’t give into it now, not after managing to keep his wits about him being stranded for five years on a backwater planet while the galaxy passed him by. That would just be insult to injury.

Fine. Fine. He’d listen to the stupid voice just this once.

It was much, much later when he found her out in the nerf pens. After a shower, burning his jacket, and covering one asshole Rodian pilot in rakghoul guts — not necessarily all in that order — he walked into one of the dirtiest places on base. It seemed almost pointless for Lyra to scrub herself clean and then go commune with the giant stinky beasts, but this was where she liked to hide out when she was trying to pretend she wasn’t upset. Like that time they had to steal back the Khoonda from the Corellian shipyards. Or the anniversary of dates that she’d never really explained the significance of.

Just like those other times, she was petting the nose of one of the giant, gentle creatures. Leaning in and saying something low. He spied a small smile playing at her lips, even if there was the air of something else about her. Like even with her big animal friends she felt she had to pretend that everything was fine.

Draike cleared his throat, and both Jedi and big nerf head looked up at him. He held up a bag from the mess hall as an offering, and her eyes lit up at the familiar sight. She gave the big beast another affectionate pat on the nose, whispering something before wiping her hands and ambling over. Just like all of the other times, they took a seat on one of the fallen logs that served as a makeshift bench.

They didn’t exchange a word, but he pulled out the to-go containers and utensils. She took his offering, removing the lid and inhaling the spicy scent wafting out. The smile that played at her lips was different from the ones she graced the nerf with, and she arched a brow at him. The noodle dish wasn’t her favorite Dantooinian variant, but it was the closest he could wrangle up. Thankfully, the grumpy cook wasn’t in the kitchen today, so he’d been able to negotiate a special order.

“Smells spicy.”

“I’m surprised you can smell anything over that nerf,” he said.

She shook her head, lips pressing together lightly, but the expression was a familiar mix of exasperated amusement. Not the slightly edged smile she’d greeted him with in the hangar, so that was probably a good sign.

“I don’t recall this being on the menu today,” she remarked lightly.

“I called in a favor.”

“How big of a favor?”

“There’s an extra container of hot sauce in here. You’re liable to lose a few taste buds.”

“Ah, that was quite the favor,” she mused. “The kitchen never wants to make it spicy enough.”

“You just have to know how to ask nicely,” Draike shot back, “and also slip them a few credits when no one’s looking.”

She slurped up a noodle with more gusto and noise than was necessarily proper, but the genuine smile blossoming on her face counterbalanced the breech in manners. For a few minutes, they were content to munch on their food as they watched the giant stinky beasts graze. It was almost tempting to just let the companionable silence stretch on, but he was supposed to be listening to the stupid little voice in his head, so…

He took a little time preparing the noodles for his next bite, seemingly focused on getting the absolute perfect twirl as he spoke. “I turned in the damn report.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pause in the middle of her chew, shaking her head almost in disappointment. As if that wasn’t the actual issue. He continued to twirl his fork slowly, gathering more and more noodles and sauce. She was the one that left him behind, and yet he had swallowed his pride and given that stupid smug spy the satisfaction of having his precious paperwork turned in on time.

You know that’s not the real issue here, that damnable maternal voice in his head whispered again.

He ignored the voice. It only got one good deed out of him per month. That was the deal.

“You left me here,” he said continuing to twirl the noodles into what was starting to resemble a monstrous bite.

“You disappeared,” Lyra shot back. “What was I supposed to do? Refuse a mission because you were pouting?”

“I was not pouting,” Draike said huffily.

“Then what were you doing?”

He didn’t have an answer for that, so instead of replying he stuffed his now epically sized pasta twirl into his mouth. It was a mistake, as there was hardly any room to chew, and the spicy oil of the sauce set his cheeks on fire. Gamely he looked at her and shook his head, pointing at his full mouth as if in explanation that he couldn’t answer her question with his mouth full. The effect was ruined by the fact that he could feel a bead of sweat start to trickle down his face, his traitorous body betraying the fact that he was not as immune to the level of spice that she enjoyed in her dishes.

Lyra quirked a brow at him, unimpressed by his obvious skirting of the issue, while an oddly satisfied smile threatened to quirk at the corners of her mouth. It made him feel as if he had stepped into some sort of well-planned Dejarik maneuver she had been planning from the beginning of the game. Although Lyra Dorn really wasn’t the evil mastermind type.

“It really stung, you know,” she said after a moment of literally letting him sweat, “that you’d avoid me instead of talking to me about whatever was wrong.”

He could have had a perfect follow-up quip for that to distract and derail the conversation, but his mouth was still both on fire and impossibly stuffed with noodles which prevented him from forming any coherent sound. So he just let out a muffled series of noises in protest.

“Chew your food,” Lyra said, that eyebrow quirking again.

He snorted out an annoyed breath and tried to find a way to safely chew his monstrous, ill-conceived bite. He felt not unlike one of the big, stinky piles of fur chewing their cud. In retrospect, perhaps this maneuver of stuffing his face to avoid questions had backfired, as he was now at the mercy of anything else the Jedi had to say.

“I’d never strong arm you into saying or doing anything you didn’t feel,” she continued. “The fact that you don’t trust that…”

He shook his head at her, still unable to form coherent words.

“No, you don’t trust me?”

He shook his head again.

“No, that’s not what you meant?”

He nodded.

She sighed. “Can we just both agree to not do that again? Neither of us goes incommunicado when something’s wrong and… you never leave me at the mercy of a Houch Plehnt again. Fair?”

Draike couldn’t sigh, could only snort out a very long and aggrieved breath through his nose and shrug in an exaggerated manner — but he nodded. That seemed… fair.

“Good.” Lyra shot him a small, almost mischievous smile. “You know you’re being uncharacteristically silent.”

He tried to say something, but his mouth of noodles prevented more than an impolite, disgruntled sound.

“Chew,” she reminded him again, that little smirk still blossoming further. “So, did you get up to anything fun while I was gone?”

He let out another incoherent noise of frustration, unable to form proper words around the fire on his tongue and the noodles trying to slip out of his mouth.

“It’s impolite to talk with your mouth full, Captain.” Lyra clicked her tongue, and took a delicate, small bite. “You know, these are really good.”

He wrinkled his nose at her and tried to communicate his plight with his eyes.

She just flashed him another wide smirk, leaning over so she could bump his shoulder with hers. “You want some of my extra sauce to help wash those noodles down?”

Her only reply was a disgruntled grunt.

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trashpandaorigins · 6 years ago

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Infinity War Abuse and Trauma: A Call for Accountability

Infinity War. This movie is exhausting to watch. It is an ordeal to sit through and left my stomach turning for days after seeing it.I had trouble sleeping, in the pit of my guts twisted with tumultuous anxiety and I couldn’t exactly figure out why. People would ask me how the movie was and I’d answer shortly that “it was terrible.” I didn’t want to talk about it. But why? I’d been looking forward to this movie for years! Yet for the life of me I could not articulate what it was about this film that left me deeply uncomfortable. It has taken me over a year to fully reckon with why Infinity War made me feel so disturbed and frankly, gross. Finally after many discussions with friends and reading reviews and watching video essays (most notably Movie’s With Mikey’s Let’s Talk About Thanos video which I will link to at the bottom of this page). But now can finally share with you what it was about IW that profoundly affected me. I am not the first person to criticize IW, I’m not the first person to write about the ways in which this movie is damaging, nor should I be. I just want to contribute my own insight and point of view to the conversation. As a fan, as a woman, as a person who has survived abuse and trauma. We will get to that. Hopefully I’ll still have followers when this is done. Deep breath friends, in...good. Out….okay, let’s go.

Call me a pansy, but I do not like watching characters whom I love and have grown attached to suffer insentient misery without reprieve or reward. It’s not fun, it’s not thrilling and it certainly isn’t entertaining. We go to these Marvel movies because they are fun and they give us hope. If we don’t have a sense of wonder and adventure then why are we even watching these movies? Captain America, Thor Ragnarok Winter Soldier, GOTG, these films were good because they gave us people to route for. Interesting fun stories, not to mention stakes that aligned with the narratives to boot.

Because these are our heroes however flawed they may be. Marvel literally built an empire off this nostalgia from comic books and good ole’ good guys vs. bad guys. I already touched on this concept in the very first (mostly emotion driven keyboard pounding blurb Infinity War Was Tragedy Porn). I won’t harp on the point but let’s just say that there is enough pain and grief in the world already. We know people who persevere still loose in the end. We know because we live it every day. So watching our favorite characters like Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Thor and others suffer relentlessly is not something people necessarily want to see. It isn’t compelling or interesting it’s just...a lot.

For me it really came down to two characters in particular. Gamora and Rocket. The mangy little raccoonoid has always been my favorite guardian and certainly my favorite Marvel character. This is in part, because of his relatability. (A talking enhanced raccoon relatable? Oh don’t worry I already wrote that little essay: Coping Healing and Physical Trauma or Why This Trash Panda is So Damn Relatable). Let’s cut right to the chase because we have a lot to get through here-bare with me I’m gonna get real for a second. I have poured a lot of my own pain, my own sorrow and my own trauma into this racoucious ringtail. Is this healthy? Probably not. Is it better than the numerous other ways I could cope? Undoubtedly.

I’m not alone in doing this either. Most fans relate to and project their own lived experiences on to fictional characters. In my case, Rocket’s journey throughout GOTG Vols 1 & 2 very much mirrors my own story. So when I sat in the theatre watching him loose Groot (again), I felt physically ill. To watch a character who has come so far, who has had to do some serious soul searching and endure incredible grief and pain, be kicked down back to where he was before GOTGVol1; alone and scared and trying to exist in a world where his own existence is an anomaly? That hurt. It made me feel hopeless and helpless and that is not why I watch Marvel films. Rocket is a character who has suffered and lost but he has kept going. Relentlessly surviving and that is inspirational but the fact that the writers had him loose not only Groot, (again) but the only people who have ever loved him and stood by him despite of his flaws was really hard to watch. He cannot escape loneliness and isolation even after finding a family. He is back to square one. More like square -1 because at least when we first meet him he has a partner. Watching Rocket loose everything after working so hard to get something anything, it made me feel like the own struggles in my life and my own efforts to grow and heal...were useless and worthless. If watching Rocket loose Groot and subsequently the rest of the guardians made me feel like vomiting in the theatre then Gamora’s death was near unbearable to witness.

Gamora’s death was wrong in so...so many ways. I hope I can articulate some semblance of that here. When we are first introduced to her she has successfully escaped her abuser. She is beginning to establish her own identity and find her own self worth apart from her past apart from being “the lackey of a genocidal maniac.” Throughout GOTGVol1&2 Gamora shows that she is a deeply compassionate person who empathizes with others so much that she would readily risk her own life to protect a planet she has no attachment to. Like Rocket she too finds a family with the Guardians. She found people who accept her for herself, apart from her attachment to Thanos. Gamora is healing from her abuse while coming to grips with the abhorrent actions she’s committed. She has come so incredibly far and then...then she is killed and not just killed, murdered, brutally by her abuser. Infinity War glorifies abuse and violence using it as a plot device. It is obviously not the first film to do this, far from it but the issue is that this act of brutality is intended to make us feel sympathetic, not for Gamora. For Thanos. That is beyond sickening and it is not lost on me that the two people Thanos tortures the most are women. While the mad titan himself is a charactercher of masculinity. A hyperbolic representation of a self-proclaimed genius authoritarian. A man who is willing to do what it takes for the good of the universe, and isn’t it just so sad that no one understands him? He’s painted as a martyr. Infinity War plays with not only brutal tragedy but the violence and suffering of women; using it as leverage for shock value.

I have talked about this movie with many, many people and so far the only people who leap to Thano’s defense are men. I have yet to hear any woman argue on his behalf. “But he’s crazy!” They argue, leaping to his defense with disturbing readiness sometimes eagerness. “That just shows how evil he is!” If that is true then why did the soul stone reveal itself after Gamora’s death? If that was truly the intention then the stone would not have worked showing us that no Thanos did not actually love Gamora. But it did work and the very fact that it did proves the point. “She’ll come baaack,” they chide. That is not the point. The point is that for many of us who have survived abuse watching Thanos torture Nebula and murder Gamora shows us an abuser who wins.

I can’t help but wonder if this story would be different were Infinity War had a more diverse creative team behind it. Another argument I often hear is “it’s for the plot! They needed to have a big dramatic sacrifice! It’s just a superhero movie!” This really irks me because there in exists an implicit ignorance and selfishness. An unwillingness to fully understand or at the very least acknowledge the larger contextual nexus of political, social, gender and sexual issues going in our world right now. Infinity War ignores the very world in which it is created and consumed and ignores the very fans it strives to appeal for. You cannot separate reality from fantasy, not so long people who live in reality reading, watching and consuming that fantasy. The Marvel movies don’t have to be socio political commentaries but they do have a responsibility to be aware of different lived experiences of their fans. It’s not about whether or not Marvel has a psychotherapist or if there are trauma informed screen plays. It’s about the people sitting in the director's chair and in the writers room. People who have different lived experiences making the decisions about these movies. How many women oversaw the writing, direction and production of Infinity War? How many people of color and queer people?

My guess is not many. Infinity War was indifferent to the impact that it had upon its viewers and must be held accountable. They must come to grips with the fact that the choices they made and the pain they chose to thrust upon beloved characters has had a coercive effect on many of their fans because it was directed primarily by men who hold enough privilege in our society that they don’t have to think about these things. This film is, as so many other forms of media still are-despite recent efforts to move forward-created by and for men. A specific type of white heterosexual man. A many who has never been abused.

For those of us who are not straight white men Infinity War is a kick in the guts. It shows us that our struggles are futile, our trauma a spectacle to be exploited and in the worst cases mocked. The misery and unyielding destitute hopelessness of our beloved characters tells us that there is no hope. With particular attention to Gamora and Nebula Infinity War teaches us that abuse is love and that people who abuse are the ones to be sympathized with and understood. Do Anthony and Richard Russo or Kevin Feige care about this? I highly doubt it. Otherwise they would not push for and celebrate the narratives of an psychopathic abuser. They would not herald Thanos as sympathetic and praise worthy. They are trying to be edgy and different when all it really is is myopic, egotistical and downright cruel and zealous. I don’t think that the Russo’s or Fiege or any man involved in the production of Infinity War is a bad person or that they intentionally did this. But they are insensitive ignorant and they must be held accountable by fans, by other creatives in the industry and they must do better with End Game.

This is especially frustrating coming off the heels of movies like Black Panther, Wonder Woman, Into The Spider Verse. Movies that were cognizant of the realities in which they were made and the experiences of their fans and actively used that to create powerful stories. Infinity War just feels dates and ignorant. A product of the gamergate culture we are still steeped in.

I am going to see End Game next Saturday and I will do my best to see it with an open mind. Ultimately I will judge the next Avengers movie by how, as another fan worded it, how they treat Nebula and Gamora; the who who are incidentally the only two people who truly deserve to kill Thanos in my opinion. If they are able to construct a well written narrative that gives them agency I will count End Game as a success. I will also judge it by how they wrap up the endings of our other favorite characters. Giving Steve and Bucky, Thor, Tony, Bruce, Natasha and the rest of them an ending that they deserve. A satisfying conclusion to their journeys and rewarding payoff for all that they have gone through and endured for over ten years and a satisfying conclusion for us too.

So where does this leave us? The subject of accountability. The creators behind Infinity War must be held accountable for their ignorance. I would encourage you as you are willing and able to write, post on social media and make known your honest feelings about this movie. As fans we hold tremendous power, by speaking up, signing petitions, etc we can continue to push for more diverse stories that are sensitive, adventurous and appealing. We can advocate for more women, people of color and LGBTQIA+ representation not just on the screen but behind it as well. In the production and the directors chair. The industry is changing...slowly and not completely but it is. Look again at the past few Marvel movies. We can make a difference and we can hold people accountable for their ignorance. We can stop watching movies or TV shows, (take the Walking Dead for example, I know many people who ceased watching that show after Glen’s grotesquely miserable death). We can make a difference in who gets to write/direct/produce movies. We’ve already come a long way, but we can go further. Whatever it takes!

#my writing #infinity war #mcu #marvel #gotg #avengers #end game #the russos #personal #gamora #gamora deserved better #nebula #rocket raccoon #groot #steve rogers better get a happy ending god dammit

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violetsystems · 5 years ago

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#personal

Home has been pretty peaceful lately as opposed to the outside world. I think I’m getting less sensitive about things when I step out the door or at least how they project back to me. Opinions about you never really go away. Sometime that’s fair enough. They can evolve or dissolve depending on your level of engagement and accountability. I don’t expect a lot out of people in this city anymore. If I dwell on the past I get angry and maybe rightfully so. Expressing that anger doesn’t change the past. It’s a waste of breath and a poor excuse to raise your blood pressure. The mind fuck of it all was knowing you did the right thing by clocking out of society. Living with that decision years later is still perplexing. It is silent enough behind closed doors where I’m able to sort through my emotions more. They don’t bubble up to the surface all at once. I do get triggered, depressed and agitated often. Life right now is not an ideal situation at times. They say without struggle art cannot truly exist. I’m not an artist. I work at an art school by day. I have a failed music career to bury at night. I still post up tracks here for the sake of context. There’s no way I’d even consider the fight to get back into music and fame. I have no desire to bring that chaos back into my life. It doesn’t pay enough for the time spent and I don’t particularly enjoy it anymore. Kind of like quitting drinking three years ago. Although I would never even consider drinking again. It just isn’t me anymore. What is me is probably most apparent on this blog from week to week. This space is kind of like home to me. A place where I can be honest and at least know people will appreciate the context. It’s a narrative in a vast swarm of overlapping conversations much like life. It gets passed over more often than you would think. The deafening visualization of being completely invisible after all this would scare most people. To me it’s more scary to know why I’m so far off the radar. I’m a person people talk about for sure. It is awkward to know that it does nothing for me. In fact whatever compounded interest I’ve gained from being infamous has broken large portions of my life. I would argue they weren’t worth fixing so I moved on and evolved into the Tim you know. The Tim that keeps to himself on the weekends and sticks to the plan. Whatever plan that is. I don’t really know right now what is going on with my life. I know what bills I have to pay. I know how to do my job. I know I worry more right now about the cat I let into my home than the news or politics. And I know it probably shows more about me as a person how I treat the things in my life I care about. So there isn’t really much to prove except how far I can advance in World of Warcraft before the level squish. What a great start to a cold brutal winter.

I do continue to enjoy my life. It sounds so persistent. Almost like a MMORPG. Real life sims has me more focused on my cat’s diet than revolution overseas. Since she’s been inside I’ve found she’s doesn’t take to dry food well. Most cats don’t. She threw up just outside the litter box. She’s been eating wet food more tolerably. I gave her a bath too so that might have something to do with it. I left her home two days in a row. The other tabby still shows up on the doorstep but that’s a more complex operation. I’m still not sure two cats is the right decision. She acknowledges the other cat still but generally prefers to stay inside. She’s makes it a point to trot to the kitchen when I open the door at the opposite end of my apartment. I try to pay attention to all of this to make sure she adjusts well. But really at the end of the day I just adopted a stray cat into my life after three years. The last two cats I had inherited from a previous relationship. I watched both die. One was quick. The other a couple of days. But I lived with a complex grief for a long time only to have another life waltz back in. Such is the cycle of life. Persistent and amazing if you pay attention. Which might explain how magic in life actually happens. We focus on so many trivial arguments with no real intention on acting on any of it. And the real opportunities just drift on by. I’m right here. Little moments over the years I seized brought me to this moment in the kitchen. A living and breathing calico cat sitting at my feet as I write this. A reflection of what I choose to surround myself with that came out of nowhere. Another quiet and well behaved presence. Real recognize real I guess. I’ve seen a raccoon wandering around gangway. I’ve held a raccoon in my arms in South Korea the very last time I visited. I’m not adopting any trash pandas any time soon. But if you ask me what really interests me and speaks to me you’d know I’m right where I need to be. Nobody asks. This is why I love animals so much. They don’t understand a word you’ve said. They don’t pretend to. They have their own language. English doesn’t mean shit to them. No matter how many complex words you throw at them. They do understand the kindness you give. Human beings are another story. I am sincere sometimes to a fault. I think we all can be. It’s awkward when someone doesn’t realize you were just trying to be genuine. Because they can’t see genuine in themselves I guess. But when you’ve been genuine now for decades it’s alarmingly real to know how opposite the world really is. It is punishing to be ignored. To watch literal sacks of shit parade around in their greasy ass aesthetics and talk loudly about how great they are. The great work they do. They work other people did that they take credit for. If people can’t see, appreciate and respect your own value it’s like pushing a boulder uphill. It’s looks strenuous proving your right to breath to people who’ll never care enough to hear your side of the story. So I just let the boulder roll down the hill and find another grassy knoll to picnic on. That’s a Robert Kennedy joke. Or maybe even Oliver Stone. Way to stay edgy regardless.

I do recognize that people actually value my opinion these days. I don’t think I would have gotten invited to do product reviews for Japanese apparel companies if they didn’t. That’s a strange thing to realize you are evolving into. That people trust my take on things I spend money on. It gets somewhat annoying in public. There’s some very real utility in putting the data out there when you write a review. I write here weekly enough to know I’m kind of reviewing my own life. My glowing one star rating isn’t a real sell I’m aware. When you’ve tried so hard to get where you need to be and been largely ignored and picked over it’s easy enough to feel worthless. But the internet is a persistent and relentless timeline. It’s hard for people to forget what you’ve done. They always dig it up years later and throw it back in your face when you run for office. I don’t particularly have much to hide after all these manual scrobbles into my history. You’d think people would just know by now. And maybe they do. They just don’t care enough to respect anything but themselves. They misread the results and warp the information. That’s why I talk less in public. The public record of passing conversation is very unreliable. Look at the impeachment investigation. I keep all my love letters on a private server encrypted twice over in plain sight. The reliability of the testimony of the only sworn witness being myself. I’m never going to run for public office. The most I ever want to be is a father and a loving husband. For now I babysit cats and try to be a good manager. If somebody asked me point black what I care about you know how I would respond. And nobody ever asks I think because they don’t want to hear the truth. They don’t want to believe I’m on the right track. What does that say about the rest of society if the best thing for me is to stay indoors, pay my utilities and play Blizzard games in the face of fascism. I’m still amazed people justify eating Chik-Fil-A in an arts environment. I’m almost surprised when I call people out on it they just ignore me and continue on lusting after that chicken sandwich. I buy enough Bell and Evans frozen chicken to know. But when there’s an excuse to talk about Hong Kong freedom I have to face the music. Does any of it matter outside the space of the water cooler in reality I’m not sure. That’s not my place to speak on it apparently on either side of the argument. I’m a captive audience. And this probably points to the huge disconnect at the center of all these well meant discussions. It’s not a conversation. There’s debate but no compromise. Just performance. In hindsight it doesn’t really change the situation at hand. There are things you can change where you are at right now. The life you have control over. That life is my own. I have made conscious acts to do better. I live in the wake of that. I enjoy where it’s brought me. I don’t think I’ve even started the bulk of the journey yet. But I’m not going to sit here and be miserable about it. I don’t have any guilt about the way I choose to live after all these missteps and doubts. I just keep writing the same old shit until I sound more sure about it. I’m sure I am enjoying the Mandalorian for the second time in a row. And I’m sure I’ll be around to tell you more about it next weekend. Everything else I’m not so sure about will work itself out in time. That’s not my decision to make. I have a safe place to wait out the process. Edgy memes and political jokes nothwithstanding. <3 Tim

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hannahindie · 7 years ago

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Ladies’ Night

Characters: Reader, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Sam Winchester (briefly), Dean Winchester (briefly) Word Count: 5,266 (I’d say I was sorry, but I’m not. Don’t live your life with regrets, ya’ll) Warnings: A lot of snark. I would wager this is probably the sassiest reader I’ve written, which is actually kind of impressive. Garth being ridiculous, Dean being whiny, mention of Sam pouts, a good bit of violence, the gross misuse of a fire extinguisher, the wearing of high heels when it’s absolutely unnecessary, and waffles. A/N: I wrote this fic for my dear, sweet water bear’s 500 follower challenge. Congratulations, @trexrambling, you majestic sea turtle. You deserve every one of those followers and more! The situation I was given was that I would be hunting a vetala with Garth, using a fire extinguisher. I hope that I did that combination justice. As usual, my beautiful panda that I like be so much, @pinknerdpanda, was kind enough to beta this for me, so thanks to her. If you see any mistakes, it’s totally me. My old eyes ain’t what they used to be. As usual, the tags are at the bottom! If you find yourself missing or would like to be added, please shoot me an ask or a message. Feedback is always welcome!

If you like what you see here and would like to take a gander at more, my Master List is here!

I stood over the partially frozen remains of the vetala I had just stabbed, breathing heavily and with hair that had escaped my ponytail in my face. I looked slowly from the vetala to Garth, who was standing on the other side of it, still holding the fire extinguisher and grinning at me sheepishly. “Seriously, dude? Seriously?”

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, “I thought it was worth a shot. And hey look, it worked!”

I rolled my eyes, “Yea, perfect. Thanks for that.” I looked back down at the vetala, cold fog still rolling off her body, and sighed. Sam and Dean owed me. Big time.

Earlier that day...

“Sergeant Angel speaking, what can I help ya with? Mmhmm, yes, I did send my guys there. Murray and Akroyd? Yep…No, no relation to the actors to my knowledge. Yep, give ‘em everything you've got. Great, thanks. You too, bye.” I hung up the phone and went back to making my peanut butter and jelly sandwich. With Bobby gone, it had fallen to me and a couple of others to man the phones and help out when we could, and today it was my turn to lie my ass off. On occasion I wondered how many federal laws I was breaking on the almost daily, but then decided it was best to just forget about it.

I had spent most of my morning fielding calls from local police, coroners, you name it, they called me. I sat down in the living room with my sandwich and flipped on the television just in time for my favorite show. “Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!” Nothing like a little bit of trash television to help forget about the actual trash in my life. Just as I took a giant bite out of my sandwich, my cell rang. This meant that someone that actually knew me was calling, and that usually wasn’t a good sign either. I could probably count on one hand how many times people called me to just shoot the shit. I sighed and reluctantly swiped right to answer it, “This had better be good, I’m in the middle of Jerry Springer and a damn delicious sandwich.”

“Y/N! Hey, it’s Dean.” I groaned inwardly. Definitely not good. If the Winchesters were calling, it was sure to be a pain in my ass.

“Winchester, the answer is no.” I could practically hear him rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t even ask you anything yet!”

I took another bite of sandwich, “You didn’t have to. If you or Sam are calling, it only means a bad time,” I mumbled around the delicious peanut butter and organic jelly concoction currently assaulting my taste buds in the best way. Sam was smart, but the best thing he ever told me to try was organic jelly. Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.

“Why do you have to be such an ass all the time-” I heard a rustling then another voice came on the line.

“Y/N, it’s Sam.” I smiled. Truthfully, I kind of adored both of the Winchesters, but Sam...Sammy was my favorite. Although I have to admit, angry bantering with Dean got the blood flowing, that’s for sure.

“Hey, if it isn’t my favorite Winchester. What’s up, Sam?” I heard Dean grumbling in the background and I chuckled to myself, “Tell Dean jealousy doesn’t look good on him.” I heard more grumbling then the sound of the Impala door slamming shut.

Sam laughed, “I think he heard you. Anyway, it’s not us you’d actually be helping this time. Garth is kind of stuck and Dean and I are already on a case. Do you mind giving him a hand? He’s not too far from you.”

I took another bite of sandwich, “Why does Garth need my help? Doesn’t he have like a trunk full of sock puppets he can use to awkward the thing to death?” Garth was a good hunter, I’ll give him that, but the guy was kind of a loon.

Sam laughed again, “Nah, not this time. He’s pretty much got it solved but he can’t draw it out. He needs a female’s touch, apparently.”

“Color me intrigued. What’s he hunting?” I heard some tapping and I could picture Sam typing away at his laptop. There’s nothing more adorable than Sam Winchester in research mode.

“Vetala. Looks like she’s operating out of a bar about...twenty, thirty minutes from you? Not sure why he can’t get her, but he’s striking out hard.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle, “He can’t draw her out because that’s a gay bar, Sam. Garth is trying to put the moves on a lesbian vetala.” I paused to take a sip of my beer, “Put that on the list of things I never thought I’d say.” I finished my sandwich, then took my plate and tossed it in the sink. I leaned against the kitchen counter, “I can help him out. Tell him to give me a couple of hours so I can get the line taken care of and I’ll head that direction.”

“Thanks, Y/N. Let us know if you need anything.”

I grinned, “Aw, Sammy, it gets me all warm and tingly when you worry about me. We’ll be fine, it’s just a couple of vetala. What could possibly go wrong?”

“I guess you’re right. Talk to you later.” He hung up and I dialed the next person on the list for the line to get it covered in my absence. After promising it wouldn’t take too long, I grabbed my go-bag from the closet and headed for my pickup.

In case you were wondering what the answer to my rhetorical question was...everything. Everything ever could possibly go wrong.

“Y/N! You’re here! Sam said you were on the way, thanks for taking the time to come!” Garth threw his arms around me and I stood there stiffly as I awkwardly patted him on the back.

“Hey, Garth. How’s...how’s it going?”

He pulled back and put his hands on his hips, “Well, I’ll tell ya, it’s been better. I’ve dealt with vetala, but these two are just...they’re being a handful, and not very cooperative. Did Sam tell you I was having trouble getting them to come out?”

I snorted, then covered it up with a cough, “Yea, Garth, he sure did. I think I might have an idea. You’re gonna need to sit down, though.”

Garth flopped down into the cheap desk chair and looked at me expectantly, “So what’s the dealio?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the guy. To be honest, he was probably the only hunter I knew that could see what he had seen and still be as happy go lucky as he was. Although it could be annoying on occasion, it was a bright spot in the shit storm I usually had to deal with. Which meant that in this particular instance, I needed to dial back the sass a little bit. “Well, Garth, Sam told me you were trying to get these vetala at a nearby bar, right? Is it called the Pussycat Club?” He nodded enthusiastically, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing, “Did you...umm...did you happen to notice anything while you were in there?”

He shrugged, “A lot of beautiful women, but that’s about it. Why?”

I leaned against the table and crossed my arms, “It’s a gay bar, Garth. That’s why the vetalas aren’t going after you. Apparently they are playing for the other team….although I suppose it could be both teams and they just aren’t interested in you…” The look he gave me was a cross between surprise and hurt, and I sighed. So much for dialing back the sass. “I’m sure that’s not it though! I’ve never given lesbian vetalas much thought, but I mean why not? The supernatural can do what it wants too. Except kill people...because that part isn’t cool.” I was rambling and clearly backpedaling, but Garth smiled at me anyway.

“Lesbian vetalas. Huh. I would have never guessed that. How are we going to do this, Y/N?”

I motioned towards my bag, “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a woman. And as a woman, I have brought the necessary accessories to have a night out at this Pussycat Club. I just need you to be my backup, okay? I don’t know how long this is going to take, but hopefully we can wrap it up pretty quickly. I have to get back home in a reasonable amount of time. Sound good?”

Garth nodded, “Yep, sounds good to me. I assume, because of where we’re going, I can’t pretend to be your date?”

I rolled my eyes, “Kind of defeats the purpose, buddy. Now, I’m going to get ready. Take inventory, make sure our weapons are accounted for, and then we’ll head out.” I grabbed my bag and headed towards the bathroom. If I was going to get their attention, I was going to have to go all out. It was time to bust out the big guns.

“Garth, stop it,” I hissed. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder to know that Garth was staring at my ass.

“I wasn’t doing anything! I just...how do you have that silver knife hidden that well? You really can’t see the outline at all-”

I whipped around and glared at him, “Your head would explode if I told you how I did it. Just know that it’s there, and that despite the fact I was planning on using it on a vetala, I will not hesitate to use it on you. Quit. Staring.” Garth took a step back and not so subtly crossed his hands in front of his crotch as if he were nervous. I smirked, proud at my ability to invoke fear with just my words, and checked my makeup in the sideview mirror of my truck one last time. I didn’t often dress up, but I had to admit I cleaned up pretty well. I adjusted the deep neckline of my dress and shook the girls, a little trick my grandmother taught me, and smiled at how great they looked. My grandma knew her shit, the saucy minx. “I’m ready. Now, I have to ask...how awkward did you make it in there? Can you go back inside or is it going to be weird?” Garth scrunched his nose and shrugged, which was enough of an answer. “.....Are you even allowed back in there?”

“It might have been mentioned that I...umm...was no longer welcome in their establishment.”

“Dammit, Garth! How are you supposed to be my backup if you aren’t even allowed to go inside-” My phone ringing interrupted me and I answered it angrily, “What do you want?”

Garth looked at me with wide eyes, “Where did you even have that phone?” he mouthed at me, and I promptly gave him the finger.

“Y/N, it’s Sam. How’s it going?”

“It would be going better if Garth knew how to act around women, gay, straight, or otherwise. Why?”

There was a beat of shocked silence before Sam answered, “Well, we hadn’t heard anything and I was just wondering-”

My patience with every male hunter I knew had come to an end, even precious Sammy. I took a deep breath, “Sam, it hasn’t even been five hours since you called me. I didn’t realize I needed to keep you up to date on my current location, but I have arrived safe and sound. I even found Garth, all on my own! And now, I’m wearing a dress that is incredibly inappropriate to wear in public, and have somehow managed to conceal at least three silver blades on my person so that I can go in there and finish a job that a man couldn’t do. Do you have anything else you need to ask me, or can I go in there and do my job?”

Garth looked at me with wide eyes and Sam was silent. I almost felt bad for yelling at Sam, but I was already done for the evening, and my night hadn’t even started yet. “Nope, I think...I think we’re good. I guess you can...well, just let me...I’ll just talk to you later. Whenever you feel like it. Bye, Y/N.” Sam hung up and I slipped the phone back where I had hid it earlier, then looked back at Garth.

“Three blades?”

I rolled my eyes, “Shut up, Garth.” I smoothed out my dress and faced the building, “Okay, I’m going in. Keep an eye on your phone, hopefully we can get this taken care of tonight. Do you have any idea at all of who it might be?” Garth shook his head but remained silent, which was probably the smartest thing he could have done. “Great. Well, I’m pretty good at winging it. Just...turn the sound on your phone. I swear to God if I call you and you don’t answer…”

“I got it! Ringer, on!” He held the phone up with a smile. If we made it through this hunt without me murdering him, it would be a miracle.

I turned and briskly walked to the entrance without saying anything else to Garth, smiled at the doorman who was so distracted by my cleavage that he didn’t bother to ask for an ID, and headed straight to the bar. If I was going to do this, I was going to need all the alcohol. I waved down the bartender and asked for the best bourbon they had, then settled onto my stool and turned to watch the floor. Finding a vetala was not easy, even when you know what you’re looking for. It’s not like looking for a wraith where you can see their true self in a mirror, or a shifter where you can see their eyes flash on camera. You have to draw them out, get them to lose their cool for long enough to catch them off guard. If there was anything that Bobby Singer taught me about this life, it was to make damn sure of what you were killing before you killed it.

“What are you having?” I glanced to my right and saw a woman leaning against the bar. She was tall, with long black hair and eyes that were so dark they almost matched her hair. Her plain black tank top and dark leather pants were in stark contrast to her pale skin, and when she smiled, something seemed...off. I tilted my head as I gazed her. She was beautiful, and if I had a hunter’s sense that amounted to anything, she was also dangerous.

I smiled, “Bourbon.” She waved down the bartender, whispered something casually in her ear, then waved her away. When she came back, the bartender sat down an entire bottle of Pappy Van Winkle’s, sat two glasses on the bar, and walked away. I looked at the bottle wide eyed, and reached out to pick it up but then put my hand down. “Is that seriously...is that a bottle of 20 year Pappy Van Winkle?” I grimaced at how awkward I sounded, but they’d just sat down a $170 bottle of bourbon, and my brain couldn’t deal with it.

“It is.” She reached out and grabbed the bottle, twisted the cap, then poured a shot each and pushed one of the glasses towards me. “You know your bourbon.”

I carefully picked up the glass and swirled the contents gently, “I know some.” I took a sip and closed my eyes as it burned all the way down. Bobby would haunt me for the rest of my days if I didn’t savor this moment. I took a deep breath and opened my eyes to see the woman staring at me. “This bottle was definitely not on the shelf when I ordered earlier. How did you do that?”

The woman smiled, “I own the place. We don’t have a legit VIP section, but I like to treat the customers that intrigue me.”

I laughed, “Intrigues you, huh? You haven’t even really talked to me yet, I could be the most unremarkable person you meet today.”

Her eyes shifted slowly from my face down to where my legs were crossed, then back up, “I highly doubt that.” I was right; vetala or not, this woman was dangerous.

I took another sip of bourbon, “Hmm. So you own this place, huh? Funny, I don’t remember seeing you in here before.”

“I just recently acquired it. The previous owner...well, they decided it would be best to sell the business. So,” she spread her hands out, “here we are. Speaking of not being seen before...I don’t recall seeing you either. I think I would remember you.”

I smiled my most charming smile, “I can blend in when I want. I don’t always want to be seen.” She moved closer to me and I realized that if I was ever going to find out if this was the vetala, I would have to make my move and quickly. I put my hand on her arm, “Is there somewhere we can go that’s a little more private? I’d like to get to know you better…” I raised an eyebrow and drew my bottom lip between my teeth. It had the desired effect; as soon as I did it, the woman’s eyes flashed blue. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I would have missed it. Bingo.

“Moira. My name is Moira.” She glanced at her watch, “I have a private office in the back, and the bar closes in about fifteen minutes. Why don’t we head back there, and then I’ll give you a ...private tour?”

I nodded, “That would be perfect.” We stood and began our walk to the back of the building. I jumped when I felt her hand slip from my lower back to my ass. She looked at me from the corner of her eye and smirked. She was good, and if I had been anyone else, I probably would have fallen for it. We came to a locked door and she opened it, motioning for me to go in first. I sat on the edge of the desk and leaned backwards as I looked around the room, “Seems like this is a pretty good gig. Pappy Van Winkle, nice office, maybe I should go into the bar business.”

Moira laughed, “Yea, well, not everyone is as successful at it. It’s hard work and I’m good at what I do.” She walked up to the desk and shoved herself between my knees.

I raised an eyebrow, “You could at least take a girl out to dinner first.”

Moira ran a thumb across my cheekbone and smiled, “I don’t have to take a girl out to dinner to get what I want. Like I said, I’m good at what I do.”

I leaned in closer and brushed my lips over the shell of her ear, “Unfortunately for you, so am I,” I whispered.

She looked at me sharply and then gasped as the cold silver of my dagger penetrated her heart. Her irises went back to blue before her eyelids slipped shut and I shoved her backwards. She hit the floor with a dull thud, and I retrieved my phone from its hiding place.

“Heyo, Y/N! What’s crackin’?”

“Your skull if you don’t cut it out, you weirdo. I got one of them, but I have no idea who the second one is. There’s always a second one. The bar closes in about ten minutes, so keep an eye out for anyone that looks sketchy when they leave. Once the bar looks empty, sneak inside. I might need you.”

“Okey dokey, artichokey! See you in a few!” I rolled my eyes and hung up. I walked over to the door and opened it slowly. The hallway was too long for me to get a good look at what the club’s floor looked like, so I shut the door and stood over Moira’s body. I needed to hide her until we could take care of the second vetala. I dragged her behind the desk and wiped my hands on my dress. There was a reason I wore a black dress tonight.

The sound of my phone ringing interrupted my thoughts, “Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N. It’s Dean.”

I sighed, “I am in the middle of taking care of this. What do you want?”

“Oh, nothing, just wanted to check in. Sam’s been pouting since you yelled at him, wanted to make sure you weren’t too stressed. You don’t usually yell at Sammy. Me, all the time. Sammy, not so much.”

“Yea, and I’m about to yell at you some more. Listen, I’ve already got one vetala, but I still have to find the other one and it’s going to be a miracle if I take care of it without flashing everything God gave me. I am tired, and annoyed, and you literally have the worst timing. I will call you when I’m finished, okay? Great.” I heard him start to protest, but I hung up before I had to listen to it. I looked at the clock; the club was closed and should have started to empty. I slipped out of the office and down the hallway back into the main room. Although the lights were still off, most of the room was empty except for the bartender who looked up at the sound of my footsteps.

“What are you still doing in here?”

I walked up to the bar and sat down, “Moira was going to show me around the place but she disappeared. You haven’t seen her, have you?”

The girl shook her head, “Nah, not since she took you to the back. I’m surprised she left you though, not really her style. She likes to show her favorite guests a good time.”

I shrugged, “Hmm...maybe she changed her mind about me. Maybe I really am unremarkable.” I pouted and looked up at the bartender through my eyelashes. She was staring at me and I tilted my head. “What do you think? Do you think I’m unremarkable?”

She walked around the end of the bar and leaned against the worn wood, “Well, I don’t know you very well, but judging by what you’re wearing...you’re too ballsy to be too unremarkable.”

I laughed, “Hmm...maybe you’re right. What’s your name?”

“Lacey, what’s yours?”

“Y/N.” I leaned forward and watched her eyes move from my face down to my chest.

“Yea...definitely not unremarkable.” She looked back up and smiled, “Do you want to get out of here? Moira will probably kill me, but finders keepers, am I right?”

I bit my lip, “You certainly have a way with words, Lacey.” I moved closer and pressed myself against her, “A confident woman gets me all kinds of riled up, and here you are just taking what you want, your boss be damned. It’s...it’s pretty hot.” I started to reach for her, but she pulled back suddenly and I nearly fell off my stool. “What’s wrong?”

“Is that...is that blood on your arm?”

I looked at her with wide eyes, “What do you mean, blood? Why would I have blood on my arm?” I glanced down to where her eyes rested and lo and behold...blood. I must have gotten it when I dragged Moira behind the desk. I sighed, “Dammit.”

“Moira didn’t leave, did she?” I looked up to see Lacey’s eyes were an ice blue and that she’d magically grown a new set of teeth.

“No, Lacey, she didn’t. I mean, not physically. Spiritually though, she’s in the great in between, Purgatory, the place where monsters go when they die.” I hopped down from the stool and slipped out one of the silver blades.

Lacey looked at me in surprise, “Where the hell did that come from?”

I grinned, “Your head would explode if I told you. Now, are you going to make this easy for me, or are you gonna-” Lacey lashed out before I could finish and knocked the blade from my hand as she pushed me backwards. Nobody really tells you the cons of wearing heels to a hunt. I guess it’s because they assume a hunter wouldn’t be dumb enough to do that, and normally I would agree with that sentiment. It just hadn't really occurred to me until my ass hit the ground, hard.

“-make this difficult.” I managed to groan out. Lacey came at me, and I pulled out another blade.

“Seriously, where the hell are you keeping those?”

I kicked my heels off and jumped up, “A girl doesn’t reveal her secrets.” We circled each other and I vaguely wondered where Garth was. I had to admit, I’d been lucky with Moira. I should have known the second one wouldn’t be as easy. And here I thought Moira was the one I should be worried about. I charged at Lacey, hoping to knock her off balance, but she was faster and managed to grab me and throw me into the bar. I hit the wood hard and slid down into the floor again. “Jesus, you aren’t fooling around, are you? You mad that I killed your girlfriend? Or are you mad because she liked me better than you? I feel like there’s a lot of pent up aggression here, Lacey. Maybe you just need to talk about it.” She dove at me and I managed to roll out of the way, slicing her across the arm with my knife.

She shrieked as she clutched at her burning flesh, “She didn’t like any of those girls more than me! It was how we fed, nothing more.”

I laughed, “Sure, sweetie, keep telling yourself that. Because I’m here to tell you, I think she wanted a piece of ass as much as she wanted a free meal.” I winked at her and she screamed as she charged me again. I moved, but not quite fast enough, and she managed to hip check me into a table. The blade I was holding flew out of my hand as the table flipped over and I went over the side of it. “Son of a bitch!” I rolled across the floor and onto my feet, my chest heaving, and glared at Lacey, “Listen, I wasn’t even supposed to be here. This was supposed to be easy, and you’re starting to piss me off. Just let it happen, dude. You know how this is going to end. I killed your partner, I’m gonna kill you. I’m getting too old for this shit, just stand still!”

Lacey rolled her eyes, “Yea, like I’m just going to let you kill me. I’m not suicidal, and news flash! Vetalas might hunt in pairs, but it’s not like we mate for life. I’ll just find someone else. I was getting bored with Moira anyway.” She grinned, “You don’t even have any more knives. There is no way you’ve got anymore hidden under that poor excuse of a dress.” She walked towards me slowly and I looked around for something to at least beat her with. I was in the mood for some ass kicking, and Garth leaving me hanging was not helping.

“You’d be surprised what I could hide in this dress. Too bad you’ll be too dead for me to teach you.” She ran at me again and I grabbed her by the hair. “Seriously? Not gonna let up are you?” She punched me in the ribs and I managed to land one across her cheekbone as I yanked her head back by the hair. As we grappled, I noticed movement behind Lacey. She realized I was distracted and kneed me in the stomach. I fell to the floor, the air knocked out of me, and she stood over me as if to gloat.

“I’m not gonna let up. I’m gonna be the one that walks out of here. Sorry, but it’s every woman for herself.” She grabbed me by my ponytail and hauled me up and out of the floor, “I’ll make it quick, alright? I like your tenacity. I’ll just snap your neck and it’ll be lights out, sound good?”

“Sure. Sounds like a plan...except I think maybe you took too long monologuing. You should probably make sure of your surroundings before you go off on a rambling tangent.”

“What?” I nodded over her shoulder and she turned to look. Just as she did, Garth pulled the trigger on the fire extinguisher he’d found and nailed her in the face with it. It gave me just enough time to pull out my last blade, plunge it into her heart, and twist. I let go of her and she dropped to the floor. I stood over the partially frozen remains of the vetala I had just stabbed, breathing heavily and with hair that had escaped my ponytail in my face.

I looked slowly from Lacey to Garth, who was standing on the other side of her, still holding the fire extinguisher and grinning at me sheepishly. “Seriously, dude? Seriously?”

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, “I thought it was worth a shot. And hey look, it worked!”

I rolled my eyes, “Yea, perfect. Thanks for that.” I looked back down at Lacey, cold fog still rolling off her body, and sighed. Sam and Dean owed me. Big time.

I pulled out my phone, this time allowing Garth to see where I’d stashed it and hid a grin as his eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. I scrolled through my contacts, found the one I wanted, and hit dial.

“Hello?”

“Dean, it’s done. Both vetalas are dead and accounted for, no thanks to Garth.”

“Hey, I used the fire extinguisher-”

“Shut up, Garth. Anyway, it’s done. You guys owe me big time.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Any time I have to leave my house and deal with a handsy vetala, it’s not great, okay? Not my ideal date. Speaking of which, you owe me.”

I could practically hear Dean grinning over the phone, “A date, huh? I could arrange that-”

“Not with you, jerk.”

“Aww man, with Sam?” He whined, “He’s not really your favorite, is he? Come on!”

“You can tell Sam he’s on the list, but at this particular moment, no. Get me a date with the red headed friend of yours, and we’re square.”

There was a beat of silence as if Dean was carefully weighing his next words, “Charlie? You want a date...with Charlie?”

“Yep. And tell Sam the next time I’m feeling frisky, he can come pick me up. We’ll….I don’t know, do research, jog, whatever it is that gets his motor running. But for now, the primary objective is that cute little LARPer. Get on that, and like I said...we’re square.”

“But what about-”

“Bye, Dean.” I hung up on him and looked at Garth, who was still looking at me like I’d grown a second head. “Despite your lack of assistance, and a pitiful excuse of helpfulness at that, I find that I wouldn’t mind having some late night waffles with ya, Garth. Fighting makes me hungry, you game?” He nodded slowly. “Good, now come on. You’re driving.” I picked up my shoes and walked out of the building.

Someone else could clean up the mess. There were waffles to be eaten.

Forever Tags: @trexrambling @pinknerdpanda @wheresthekillswitch @emilywritesaboutdean @arryn-nyxx @emptywithout @escabell @charliebradbury1104 @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @deanssweetheart23 @canadianjelly @super-not-naturall @aubreyreadsstuff @dean-winchesters-baby @melissaj616 @fandomismyspiritanimal @keepcalmandcarryondean @assbutt-still-in-hell @owllover123 @rosie-winchester @amionthetumbler @duubaduu @hiimaprofessionalfangirl @goldenolaf25 @authoressskr @nanie5 @mrssamfuckingwinchester @zincomms @kathaswings @crazynerdandproud

#huntercelebration #supernatural fanfiction #humor #garth fitzgerald iv #reader insert #yay water bear #so many follwers #you deserve all of them

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funnynewsheadlines · 6 years ago

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Twitter Page Shows Another Side To Possums By Uploading Adorable Photos Every Hour

When people hear the word possum many words probably come to mind – scavengers, creepy, dirty. – but adorable is usually not among them. Well, the Twitter page #PossumEveryHour might have changed all that, by encouraging people to share photos of their pet marsupials with the internet, and it really shows the critters in a new light. Released every hour, the photos showcase the animals, not as nocturnal trash burglars, but instead cuddled up in towels, wearing party hats, lounging in mini-beds and perched on their owners – and it may make you question everything you ever thought about them.

Possums aren’t the most loved animals, some see them as ugly, other’s hate them for their characteristics

Image credits: LtCabbitsu

Image credits: Alycianini

Image credits: cornerwallmi

Possums get a really bad rap, but why? Some people like to cite the fact that they are dirty and carry rabies, but this is actually extremely rare. All mammals can get rabies but because of these animals low body temperature, it is very difficult for the virus to survive. Another complaint is that they knock over trash and spread it about – the truth is it’s the opposite. Possums are very clean and are ‘opportunistic scavengers’ who clean up after others. They not only clean up your trash but eat unwanted visitors such as cockroaches, crickets, beetles, rats, mice, and snakes. They even clean up animal remains.

Seeing the public hate on possums someone decided to start changing people’s minds one pic at a time

Despite having rat-like features, possums are marsupials – “pouched mammals” like kangaroos or koalas. They are distinct in North America because they hold the title as the only North American marsupial. In total there are over 65 species of opossums, however, the Didelphis virginiana or the Virginia opossum is the only one native to North America.

The average lifespan of this animal is only 1 to 2 years because of predators. Despite having 50 sharp looking teeth, these animals are not aggressive. We all know the famous phrase playing possum (playing dead), the response these animals have to a predator. Well, don’t give these little guys an Oscar just yet, this is an involuntary response, in which they fall into a comatose-like state and cannot control how long it lasts.

As cute as these possum pics are – the account pinned an important PSA about how these creatures shouldn’t be kept as pets

Image credits: PossumEveryHour

Along with a detailed manifesto on why these creatures aren’t meant for domestication

In the possum briefing, acquired from the National Opossum Society, they explain that these animals are very high maintenance and require a very particular diet that, if not followed, can lead to metabolic bone disease, the breakdown of their internal organs or obesity. Females are very prone to urinary tract or genital tract infections. Unlike with dogs or cats, if your opossum gets sick it is very difficult to find a vet specialist who knows how to treat them. The NOS explains that even if you have the resources to say raise an orphan possum the ethical thing to do is to then release it back into the wild.

One of the members of the society even shared their heartbreaking story in the PSA to drive the point home. The contributor said they had rescued an orphan opossum, after the mom had been hit by a car, and thought she could help it using her wildlife experience. Instead, she goes on to say it was the most, “heart breaking, stressful, confusing and selfish mistakes I have made in my whole life.”

Lots of people in the comments were happy to see possums finally getting so public love

Image credits: sbrynn32

Image credits: TH3_GAM3

Image credits: kamsterboi

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#funny news #funny videos #funny news today #funny photos

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justasmallbloginabigklainefandom · 8 years ago

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Me doing the actual blogging thing: LA (+ photo dump, I guess)

IT HAS BEEN 4 MONTHS SINCE I WENT TO LA AND I HAVEN’T PROPERLY BLOGGED ABOUT IT.

So, for the ones who do not remember, I flew to LA to see Darren Criss in Hedwig and the Angry Inch. I literally dragged my dad to the other side of the world for only one full day to watch that damn show. It was a combination of my 18th birthday present and my Christmas present.

Why did we do it? Well obviously, I love Hedwig and all that, but my dad has always wanted to do something crazy. Around two years ago, my sister and father made their way from the Netherlands to Italy BY BIKE. It took them 13 days to reach Verona.

I am not active at all, so no way in hell I’m going to bike to another country with him (even the 10 minutes trip to school exhausts me) (in fact, it’s a 5 minutes trip but I am very slow), so I guess this was our crazy adventure. I mean, who the fuck flies from Europe to LA for just one day?

Or 3 maybe?

We did.

Anyway, here we go.

Friday 25th of November

My dad and I got up around four or so, because we had to go to an airport in Germany. We only had a half-packed suitcase and a half-empty backpack, and we still were overpacked. From there, we went to Paris. In Germany, some stuff happened. I’m only going to elaborate on “koppel” (the Dutch word for couple), because those people were awful (that woman, urgh), and because you should remember them for now.

Anyway, we landed in Paris around 8 or so? I honestly don’t remember. My mum was going to call school, telling them I was ill. I had a couple of people back me up (Lloyd, Chenna, Maikel, Tony, two others) so they were already “concerned” about me the day before, telling me that I should go home because “I didn’t look well”.

Paris’s airport was huge! By then, we were already exhausted. The plane ride to LA was fucking long (13 hours or so?) and I watched a lot of movies and some glee (unfortunately season 4). Also, to our dismay, koppel boarded the plane. Luckily for us, something was wrong with dad’s seat so we were moved to a different section: one without koppel and with more space.

The two flight attendants were nice and we talked to the guy. Apparently we were in the same kind of hotel and we were flying back to Paris together. We arrived around 1pm LA time, and one of those border people was very surprised to hear we were about to stay for the weekend only.

And even though we were exhausted, no way we were going to sleep.

We were in LA.

What the crap?

We rented a car and we drove around. My dad was driving really slowly, but he wanted to take in the view, so I forgave him. We went to Venice and dad took some great pictures.

Venice was filled with stoners, but for someone who lives in the weed paradise of the Netherlands, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Whereas my dad and I weren’t particulary fond of the, uhm, atmosphere at Venice Beach, we did like it. We found an ATM and we were ready to do shit.

Afterwards, we went to Abbot Kinney Blvd, which was a wonderful place, by the way. We had dinner at Lemonade and bought a Lemonade cook book for mum.

We were asleep around 7pm. Again, we were still exhausted. For us, the day was extra long.

Saturday 26th of Nov

… only to wake up around 3am. Okay, I did fall asleep and we “officlally” woke up around 6, but our sleep schedules were pretty shit. We didn’t do very much this day.

With other words, we did a shit ton of things, but dad and I aren’t the typical tourists. We didn’t even look like tourists, which is something I liked. We drove around and we just did our own little sight seeing tour.

(They were already advertising the King and I since it was closing weekend)

First, Rodeo Drive. We were a bit early so we decided to drive around some more. We passed The Wallis in Beverly Hills and my inner dwsa fan FREAKED OUT. (Michael’s Merrily We Roll Along was playing at that moment). We also drove around Sunset Blvd.

Anyway, I knew I had to take some pictures for Brie because UHM DWSA??? I miss that show almost as much as I miss Hedwig.

We came back later. We didn’t come to buy things, only to look and to realise that WOW, WE’RE IN LA.

Although, to be fair, I think my dad was willing to buy something just so that he could say; “Hey, I bought this on the other side of the world!” but I guess he didn’t find anything appealing enough.

(As you can see, I did spot Blaine Anderson.)

(I am such glee trash after all this time. I love it.)

My dad thought it was unreal that there was a freaking Christmas tree there, and that I was able to take a picture wearing just a t-shirt IN FRONT OF A CHRISTMAS TREE. Again, we’re Dutch. It’s fucking cold in the Netherlands. When the temperature hits 15 degrees Celcius, it’s time for spring!

This really showed that we were on the other side of the world.

We had the same reaction when we drove on Hollywood Blvd. We’d already done that the day before, but now we were actually going to get out that car to walk around.

(Oh, by the way, WeHo is so gay, I love it.)

It was just the usual tourist thing, only a bit low key? Spotting stars on the pavement and looking around. A part was closed off, because they were preparing an event.

Oh, this might sound random, but my dad and I were not used to American traffic lights? Basically, in the Netherlands, traffic lights for pedestrians make a ticking noise (not like the The Mysterious Ticking Noise) and there are two rhythms: one for green light and one for red light. This is done for blind people or people who have problem seeing.

(Is the term “visually impaired” okay or not? I mean, I know that d/Deaf/HoH do not like the term “hearing impaired”)

Even though it’s for them, everyone has gotten used to the ticking noise and therefore they don’t really pay attention to the actual lights? Because of that, we expected to hear some ticking noise, so every time the light turned green, we didn’t notice.

Others obviously started to cross the street, so that’s how we knew, but we are just so used to those damn ticks. We’re so Dutch.

Anyway.

We had lunch at a Mexican place on Hollywood Blvd and we checked out the Pantages so that we could already look for stage door. The matinee was just about to start. I asked someone about stage door and uhm, I may have faked a British accent to show the guy THAT WE CAME FROM FAR AKA EUROPE.

Did you guys know that NPH’s star is in front of the Pantages? Speaking about Hedwig.

Unfortunately, by the time we were leaving the theatre, it started to fucking pour. Sure, we bought an umbrella, but it stood no chance. We decided to go back to the hotel to rest. Sure, we could’ve spent more time in the city since we were in fucking LA, but remember that our sleep schedule was fucked so we were kind of tired.

We went back to Hollywood around 6 and we had dinner at the burger place across the Pantages. I guess we had the real American diner experience. They were showing a bloody boxing match on TV and my dad was overly disgusted. He couldn’t stop watching.

“It is so awful!”

“Then quit watching it.”

“But I have to.”

That’s my dad, ladies and gents and other people.

I think that around 7 we crossed the road and we went to the Pantages. Inside, I was bursting. I was surrounded by other people who were there to see Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Some people had some amazing make-up on and I remember seeing a girl with a Tommy Gnosis cross on her forehead. To my dad’s dismay, I bought the Hedwig vest (70 bucks) but I needed it. In fact, I am wearing it right now.

Inside the actual theatre, I felt like dying because OHMYGOD THIS IS HAPPENING.

I’ve aleady written a post my entire Hedwig and stage door experience, so here is the link yet again. I MEAN, I ALSO MET JOEY RICHTER AND LAUREN LOPEZ?

I remember finding out that Tessa Netting and Joe Moses went to the matinee on Nov 25, and I was so bitter that I missed them. But then, Joey and Lauren appeared. Hallelujah.

But yeah, after stage door we went back to the hotel and we fell asleep. Remember that our sleep schedules are fucked? Yeah.

Sunday 27th of Nov

We could’ve done shit, but we decided against it. Our plane was about to leave around 1, and even though we were on the other side of the world, we were not in the mood to do stuff.

We made the right decision, because traffic was hell. I had forgotten to mention, but it happened to be Thanksgiving weekend. We’re Dutch. We don’t have Thanksgiving, so we didn’t take that into account at all.

Basically, everyone in the shuttle on our way to the airport was about to miss their flights, since flights within America were absolutely packed and yeah, like I said, traffic was hell.

Also, Michigan vs. OSU was happening, which is always amusing. (My inner glee fan is pro-Buckeyes, my inner Starkid fan is pro-Wolverines, my inner self hates sport and actually doesn’t care)

We hung around on the airport mostly. We bought perfume for my sister and we had Chinese at the Panda Express. They did change our flights, kind of, so we were a little bit stressed, but we managed just fine.

(Mine)

(Dad’s)

The flight attendants were obviously there. Like I said, the man knew we were going back with them, so he saw us and greeted us. The woman was so confused. For someone who has attended French classes for 7 years, I am disappointed in myself when I tell you I did not understand a word of her rapid paced French, but I assume she said something among the lines of “WHAT THE FUCK WHO GOES TO LA FOR ONE DAY?” to the other flight attendant.

(I swear to God, apart from the Hedwig merch, dad and I were even wearing the same outfits, poor woman must’ve gotten the shock of her lifetime).

When she served the food, we had a little chat and yes, ma’am, we know we only stayed for the weekend.

For a second, my dad and I expected koppel to board the plane, but that luckily didn’t happen.

Unfortunately, the flight back home was hectic and hey, guess who’s afraid of flying? ME! I couldn’t sleep at all, which was kind of painful, cause it gave me a splitting headache (and it wasn’t because of the glee season 4 I watched yet again).

Speaking of movies, my dad was in the middle of a movie when we landed in LA, so he just continued watching it.

By the time we arrived in Paris, I felt dead inside and I drank coke to stay awake. Thanks to time difference, it was Monday noon so maybe I need to change this post.

Monday 28th of Nov

Even though it was still Sunday to us.

But yeah, I felt like dying inside while we were in Paris. I did eat a cupcake from the flight to Paris and I saw a girl holding a Pouah plush. Back in LA, there were billboard advertising Moana (and Hairspray Live!) everywhere.

It was also really weird knowing that Hedwig was closing while I was in Paris. We went to closing weeked, the show before closing night, and because of time difference, Hedwig was closing while I was in Paris.

I kinda felt empty all over again? It kind of reminded me of Darren’s last Hedwig performance on Broadway or when Hedwig fucking closed on Broadway alltogether.

We flew to the airport in Germany and we drove home. We arrived back home around 7 or 8pm? Basically, we skipped Monday.

In fact, on Tuesday I obviously had to go back to school and it was so surreal for two reasons.

I kept thinking: “Yesterday, I was in LA” (I skipped Monday)

Everyone thought I’d been at home in bed, because you know, I was ill. Everyone kept saying stuff like “oh, are you feeling better?” “Hey, you’re back!” “Good to see you’re okay” and I knew it was all a lie cause guess what y’all, I was in LA.

I did tell Leah, since she is a beginning glee fan, but yeah that was it.

Anyway, Darren has said that he is not done with this part yet, so maybe in a couple of years…

Anything could happen, I guess.

Btw, check my “my hatai trip” tag for liveblogs and stuff. I’ll also post some more pics.

#lb 2017 #my hatai trip #me doing the actual blogging thing #personal #my face

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