#i swear to GOD once tumblr frees me from my prison

[ahsterism]

this is a good summary of the past few days i think

[wingedquill]

a love that makes you shiver

@geraltwhumpweek

Title: a love that makes you shiver

Ships: Geralt/Jaskier

Prompt Day: Day 4, Betrayal

Medium: Netflix

Warnings: Hypothermia and Frostbite, Evil!Jaskier, Unhappy Ending, Emotional Abuse/Manipulation

Word Count: 2,606

Author’s Note: This is the first in what will become a series of one-shots by me and @bamf-jaskier. Watch this space on AO3! Also, I’ve been neglecting to post the past few days’ ficlets on tumblr, so my apologies for that.

The first thing Geralt notices is the cold.

He still feels a bit floaty, when he wakes, like he’s still half-dreaming, and the sound around him is muffled and hazy. But he instantly feels the chill, creeping over his skin and burrowing down to his bones. His lungs stutter in his chest, seizing against the frigid air, and he curls his heavy limbs in closer to himself, trying to preserve his body heat.

A soft, familiar laugh filters through the haze.

“You know,” a voice says lightly, conversationally. “That was the first thing you told me about witchers. That you can’t stand the cold.”

Geralt’s eyes flutter open.

Snow. Trees. Jaskier, smiling down at him like he always does when he wakes up before Geralt. Jaskier, smiling down at him from the other side of a set of heavy-looking bars.

That last detail is what kicks Geralt into panicked motion. He shoves himself up on shaking arms, hissing as his fingers slip across the cold snow, and staggers to his feet. Jaskier watches him with….amusement? Pity? Indifference? Geralt can’t tell. He can’t readhim.

He only knows it can’t be Jaskier.

He spins around in a slow circle, confirming that the bars surround him on all sides, a metal cage in the middle of the snowy woods.

“The perfect prison, don’t you think?” not-Jaskier continues, his eyes shining bright blue against the blur of white around them.

“W-what-“ Geralt starts, and clamps down on his chattering teeth.

“What did I do? Spiked your food last night, dragged you here when you passed out. Well, contacted my associates and had them drag you here. But same difference really.” He waves his hand carelessly. “You won’t be meeting any of my associates anyway. I’m the one assigned to you.”

Assigned to him? What in the seven hells did that mean?

“What did you do with Jaskier?” Geralt snarls. He stalks forward as he speaks, reaching out to grab the bars. As soon as he makes contact, his fingers burn, sharper and brighter and worse than the pain caused by the cold. He yelps and lets go, looking down at his hands to see blisters forming on his fingers.

“That one took you a while to tell me,” not-Jaskier says. “The silver sensitivity. You were so ashamedof it, so convinced it would make me leave you. So sure it would make me see you as a monster.”

He laughs at that, a sharp, unamused sound that Geralt has never heard come out of Jaskier’s throat before, and never wants to hear again. Rage floods him, rage that a doppler would dare steal his love’s face, his voice, his laugh. Dare twist them in this way.

“But darling, I’ve always thought you were a monster,” not-Jaskier says, stepping closer to the bars. “And nothing you did could’ve made me leave you.”

“Shut the fuck up and tell me what you did with Jaskier.”

Not-Jaskier tilts his head, smiling still.

“You think I’m a doppler,” he says. “Oh, that’s rich. What, you don’t think your little songbird has the capacity to hurt you?”

Geralt growls in his throat, low and warning.

“Scary. I’d be terrified, if I were in that cage with you.”

It’s the same sort of insult Geralt has heard Jaskier lob at countless posturing drunks in countless shitty taverns, rolling his eyes as someone tried to drag him into a fight. Dopplers know everything about a person, he reminds himself. That’s what makes them so dangerous.

“But I’m not,” not-Jaskier says. Another step forward. “And I’m not a doppler, either.”

He reaches out and wraps his hand around one of the silver bars. Geralt waits, expecting to hear a sizzle of burning flesh, a scream, a curse as not-Jaskier’s skin melted away to reveal the snow white flesh of a doppler.

Nothing.

“See?” not-Jaskier—or—or—no—says, letting go of the bar to show Geralt his uninjured, unmelted hand. “A hundred percent human.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt chokes. Because this is Jaskier. This is his lover, standing outside a fucking cagethat he’s locked Geralt in, studying Geralt like he’s a particularly interesting beast. “Jaskier, what—why—why the fuck are you doing this?”

Jaskier sighs.

“I wish I didn’t have to, dear heart,” he says.

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

Jaskier clucks disapprovingly, moving away from the bars.

“Vulgar as always,” he sighs. “No appreciation for more elegant language. That’s one of things I hope changes about you.”

“What.”

“Why am I doing this?” Jaskier sighs, sweeping his arms to indicate the cage, the woods around them. “I’m saving you from yourself, my love. That has always been the goal. Saving all you poor, monstrous witchers from yourselves.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You’ll see,” Jaskier says. “Everything will make sense in just a little while longer. I just need you to hold on a little bit more, can you do that for me?”

“Do I have a godsdamned choice?”

“Not really,” Jaskier laughs. “Good point.”

Geralt sinks to the ground. His head is spinning. Twenty-five years. Twenty-five years of walking the path with Jaskier by his side and he—he locked Geralt up and watched as he froze and called him a monster. He doesn’t know which one of those things hurts the most.

“Don’t worry, dear monster,” Jaskier says, kneeling down in the snow on the other side. The smirk has slid off his face, and there’s sadness in his eyes, like he actually cares about what’s going through Geralt’s head. “I still love you. That’s why I’m doing this. I swear you’ll understand. I swear you’ll thank me.”

“When I get out of here,” Geralt growls. “I’m putting a sword through your heart. Silver.”

Jaskier sighs. He sounds almost disappointed.

“You’ll understand,” he says, getting to his feet. “You’ll understand very soon.”

Geralt doesn’t dignify it with an answer. He just curls up on his side with his back to Jaskier, tucking his hands under his armpits to keep them warm.

“I’ll be back soon,” Jaskier says.

The snow crunches under his feet as he leaves, and when Geralt can’t hear his footsteps anymore, he finally lets the tears fall. They trace hot lines over his frozen face, burning and burning and burning like silver, like frost, like the broken heart beating coal-hot and heavy in his chest. A sob bursts out of his throat and he bites down on his fist, shoulders shaking, trying to muffle any other traitorous noises.

You can cry around me,Jaskier said once, when Geralt was trying to battle back tears over yet another innocent he’d failed to save. It’s okay. You don’t have to be invincible.

Had he laughed to himself later? Congratulated himself on getting the monster to cry for him? On putting yet another crack in Geralt’s armor?

Stop crying, he tells himself as more tears stream over his face. Stop crying, stop crying, stop—

But it’s his lover of ten years, his best friend of twenty, he’s known Jaskier for twenty five fucking years. So he doesn’t stop crying for a very long time. And when he does, he doesn’t feel the relief that usually comes after tears, the relaxed feeling in his chest, the clean peace that comes with letting go of something heavy. He just feels exhausted, and numb, and still so fucking sad.

The numbness might come from the cold admittedly. He flexes his fingers, wincing when they’re slow to bend to his command. If he stays out here much longer, he’s going to get frostbite.

Jaskier would probably like that.

Gods.

He battles off another round of tears and sits back up, shivers running up and down his body as he does so. He needs to keep moving, keep his blood pumping, if he wants to survive this. He doesn’t know why Jaskier would have locked him in here if not to kill him from hypothermia, and Geralt isn’t giving him the fucking satisfaction.

He turns around, facing the front of the cage, where Jaskier had been. His footsteps are already mostly filled in with snow. Hanging on a tree branch some ten feet from the cage, an ornate silver key twirls in the freezing wind. It’s a delicate thing. A pretty thing. The thing that would set Geralt free, dangling just out of his reach.

Jaskier is taunting him.

He can’t hold back the tears at that realization.

***

His hands are freezing.

His hands are burning.

His hands are fucking dying.

***

By the time Jaskier comes back, the air has frozen in Geralt’s throat and he can barely move his fingers. They’ve gone all whitish-blue at the tips, a sure sign of frostbite setting in. Dread coils in Geralt’s throat as he stares at them, as he desperately tries to curl his hand into a fist. It listens to him, but slowly, clumsily.

Fuck. Fuck it all to hell.

“Oooo, that doesn’t look good,” Jaskier says as he walks up to the cage. It’s exactly the same sentence, exactly the same tone, that he had used upon seeing dozens of injuries, before grabbing bandages or a potion and setting to work patching Geralt up.

Don’t cry, Geralt tells himself as he lifts his chin and glares at Jaskier. Don’t you dare cry.

“Well, look on the bright side,” Jaskier says cheerily. “It’ll disincentivize you from picking up a sword again, which is excellent.”

“Is it?” Geralt snarls. Because Jaskier is ripping away Geralt’s life purpose, snatching up his ability to swing a sword and then acting like it’s a good thing, and Geralt still doesn’t know why he’s doing it.

“It is,” Jaskier says. “And don’t worry. When it’s all over, I’ll take care of you, dear heart. You won’t need to lift a finger.”

Geralt stares at him.

“You think we’ll just fall into happy domestic bliss when this is over? After you’ve fucking crippled me for life?”

“Yes,” Jaskier says, like there’s no other possible option. Like Geralt coming home with him is an immutable fact.

“What, you gonna chain me to your fucking bed?” Even as Geralt says it, fear creeps into his throat. He wouldn’t put it past this new Jaskier to do just that.

“No!” Jaskier gasps. “No, no, of course not. After this, after allof this, you’ll be free to go. Go do whatever you want. I just think…I think you’ll want to stay with me, once you understand. I hope you’ll want to stay with me.”

“Then you’re fucking mad.”

“Maybe I am,” Jaskier says. “I wasn’t supposed to fall for you, after all. You were just a mission. A…trial run, if you will. But I love you, Geralt, despite the monster running your life. And I hope that you’ll love me back, properly this time, once you’re free of it.”

There’s so much wrong with that, Geralt doesn’t even know where to start. But his heart takes the reins.

“Properly?” he asks. “Jaskier, I’ve loved you for years, I thought I could love you forever, I don’t understand why—”

“Pretty words,” Jaskier sighs, and there’s regret in his eyes. “But you don’t understand them yet. You don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

“What do you mean?” He hates how fucking small he sounds.

“You don’t feel love. It’s a scientific fact. A sad one for sure, but…oh dear heart, don’t look at me like that.”

The tears are burning on his cheeks again. He closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to look at Jaskier. Jaskier thinks he doesn’t feel love. This whole time, through Geralt’s shaky declaration, through kisses traded under stars, through dancing together on the coast, through their fucking handfasting ceremony, Jaskier has thought that he doesn’t feel love.

He thinks he might be drowning.

“You’ll feel it soon enough,” Jaskier says. “And then everything will be okay.”

He places a jug on the ground near the bars. It’s small enough that Geralt could grab it and pull it through.

“Drink this,” he says. “Just drink this, and I’ll let you go, okay? And then you can love me, or not, you can stay with me, or not. But you’ll be free. And that’s all I care about, alright? That’s all I’ve ever cared about.”

***

Geralt stares at the jug for a very long time.

Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to drink it. He doesn’t know what the fuck Jaskier wants to do to him, but he knows it can’t be good.

But the numbness in his hands is getting worse and worse, and if he doesn’t get someplace warm soon, he knows he’s going to lose them.

And no matter what this does, it can’t be worse than that.

So he drinks.

***

It hurts.

***

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when he wakes up. But the world is muffled again, muffled and painful and cold.

There’s someone leaning over him.

“Open your eyes, dear heart, that’s it, come on.”

Jaskier.

Geralt opens his eyes with a growl, fully intending to reach up and strangle him. But his arms aren’t listening to him—none of his body is listening to him, it’s all loose-limbed and weak like a newborn kitten—so he barely manages to lift them off the ground before they flop back down.

The world is wrong.

It’s fuzzy and dim, and when he tries to expand his pupils to take in more light it doesn’t work. What kind of drug had Jaskier given him?

Jaskier gasps. He looks delighted, like he’s watching a baby bird emerge from its shell.

“It worked,” he says. “Oh, sweet Melitele it worked, I knew that getting you weak from the cold would be enough.”

“What did you do?” Geralt says. Each word is a battle to get out from his throat.

“I should’ve brought a mirror,” Jaskier mutters. “But that’s alright, you’ll see soon enough. Oh, I have so much to show you, so much to teach you.”

He babbles excitedly to himself as he hoists Geralt to his feet. The world spins around him, but miraculously, Geralt manages to hold on to consciousness. Manages to match Jaskier step for shaky step as they walk out of the cage.

“We’ll go to the coast again and you’ll be able to appreciate how beautiful the ocean is, and we can redo our handfasting ceremony, now that you’ll actually mean the vows, and—”

Geralt throws an elbow against Jaskier’s ribs. It’s weak, but Jaskier still lets go of him. Probably out of surprise more than anything else. Geralt sways on his feet but stays standing.

“You…” Jaskier blinks. His eyes are turning red. “You still don’t love me?”

“I always fucking loved you,” Geralt says. Don’t cry. “Until you locked me in a cage.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t fucking understandJaskier, I don’t understand why someone who claims to love me would do something like that.”

“I see.” Jaskier takes a deep, shaky breath. “I see. Well. Go on, then.”

Geralt takes a slow step away. Another. Another.

Hands don’t close around his throat. A blow doesn’t come down on his head.

“I’ll wait for you,” Jaskier says behind him. “When you see. I’ll take you back. I swear.”

Another step.

Another step.

Don’t cry until you’re safe.

Another.

Another.

Jaskier starts sobbing behind him, but Geralt doesn’t look back.

***

The first thing he does, when he gets to an inn with a surprisingly friendly innkeeper, is to look in a mirror.

You’ll see soon enough.

Brown eyes, human eyes, stare back at him.

[askyancy]

That ask meme thingys

I dont’s wants to spam the main thing so we’s repostin it  Here’s a link to the original  https://askyancy.tumblr.com/post/188857885461/get-to-know-me-uncomfortably-well

1. What is you middle name? Daniel 2. How old are you? 30 3. When is your birthday? June 28  - 4:15pm 4. What is your zodiac sign? Cancer 5. What is your favorite color? Blood Red 6. What’s your lucky number? 4 7. Do you have any pets? Not anymore. But I’s used to have a cat fer like 15 seconds? Her name was Flancy 8. Where are you from? Ohio! 9. How tall are you? 5′10 10. What shoe size are you? 10 11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? 7 buts they’s keep em locked away from me 12. What was your last dream about? I hads a nightmare.. ah.. somet’in about escapin and upsettin de guards with someone handsome..or beautiful..or both I dont remembers 13. What talents do you have? I can sing I s’poses!  14. Are you psychic in any way? Psh no 15. Favorite song? I dont wanna be free Popular - Wicked 16. Favorite movie? Robin Hood Men In Tights 17. Who would be your ideal partner? Oh  er I er- I dunno... someone... someone who gets me youse know? 18. Do you want children? I er... n-no.. I mean yeah I do’s but.. I aints a good father 19. Do you want a church wedding? I don’ts think the church woulds want someone like me in der. Nah somewhere on a beach or somet’ins 20. Are you religious? Uhm.. not reallys.. God aint done a lot fer someone like me ya know? 21. Have you ever been to the hospital? A few times yeah. Lot o long stories there aheh.. maybe anoder time! 22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? Nah course not..... not at aaaaaallls.... not once! Totally not in prison cos I broke any o dem law things...  23. Have you ever met any celebrities? I er.. not reallys?  24. Baths or showers? Shower! I could shower fer hours! aint payin no water bill so why nots! 25. What color socks are you wearing? White ones.. all we gets in here 26. Have you ever been famous? Ey er actually supposedlys I was on the tumblr fandom thingy once! That was nice! 27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? Me- ah ..nah.. I wouldnt wants all that. Nah.. nice quiet life in prison is fer me! 28. What type of music do you like? Musicals mostly! I er posted  lil mini playlist recently youse might be able to find it! 29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? Eh.. aheh... I er... yeah... ahaheh... I’ll leave that up to youses for youses imaginations~ 30. How many pillows do you sleep with? 16 31. What position do you usually sleep in? Lil spoons! 32. How big is your house? I means it’s pretty big! Prison gotta house a lotta roomies youse know? 33. What do you typically have for breakfast? Dey serves us dry cereals or oatmeal 34. Have you ever fired a gun? Shotgun,  Franchi SPAS-12  12 gauge. 6 shots in total. 3 fatal shots. 1 miss 35. Have you ever tried archery? Nah I aint goods at no stringy thingys theys get all tangled 36. Favorite clean word? Bourgeoisie  37. Favorite swear word? The U bomb 38. What’s the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? 6 days 39. Do you have any scars? Ah, couple on my left hand from a knife, one on my right leg from a bullet and I gots a …few more on my back but ah.. I donts like to talks about those ones. Youse understand. 40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? If I knews if I had a secret Admoirer it wouldnts be a secret no mores! 41. Are you a good liar? ah no.. I got a lotta tells 42. Are you a good judge of character? terrible! But ah! I always trys to make amends youse know? 43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? Ah a few, can do my dayds, New Joysey, Bahstan and New Yoyrk 44. Do you have a strong accent? Peoples always be tellin me I do 45. What is your favorite accent? I likes dem scottish types... ah and dat ole southern drawls good a good tingle to its! 46. What is your personality type? .... I er... I dunnos... Nice??? but like... tough guys too? Youse make that call 47. What is your most expensive piece of clothing? My shoeses! Dese is Itallian! 48. Can you curl your tongue? yeth 49. Are you an innie or an outie? I’m an innie! Prison life is where I lives int no outtie life fer me! 50. Left or right handed? I’s actually ambidestrous! 51. Are you scared of spiders? n...no...... why is der one near by? Youse gotta get it! 52. Favorite food? Gumbo. period. 53. Favorite foreign food? Probably one o dose indian curries! 54. Are you a clean or messy person? I likes to keep a clean cell  55. Most used phrased? Youses know? 56. Most used word? Youses 57. How long does it take for you to get ready? 5-10 minutes... unless its a show day then I takes like 3 hours. Gotta look poifect  58. Do you have much of an ego? Peoples be tellin’ me lately that I’m an ego nows but I dont gets it. I aint tryna be above anyones else ya know? I’s just out here tryna be me 59. Do you suck or bite lollipops? I licks them ;P 60. Do you talk to yourself? Me nah... Why’s would I talk to myselfs? Not like I dont gots a whole gang to talks to. Not like I’m locked aways from them right now whiles in Solitary... Not likes I fill the silence in ‘ere with false conversations ....  61. Do you sing to yourself? Always! thoughs there aint much privacy in ‘ere so’s a lot o people get to hear it too 62. Are you a good singer? Peoples tells me so! But I’s still got a lot to works on 63. Biggest Fear? .......... Abandonment  64. Are you a gossip? What? Nah... I woulds never betray someone like that. Only cruel cold hearts sons o bitches do’s that. Oh! Dat reminds me youse should hear what I heard about Shithole Hank the other day. So gets this --- 65. Best dramatic movie you’ve seen? Chicago! Best thing! 66. Do you like long or short hair? Short hair! Slides better through the fingers! 67. Can you name all 50 states of America? Wells I coulds but youse might call it cheatin but here goes https://youtu.be/MSvJ9SN8THE?t=34s 68. Favorite school subject? Theatre o course! 69. Extrovert or Introvert? I er I’m an introvert actually 70. Have you ever been scuba diving? Sadlys no... Always wanted to go see one o dem coral reefs wid de fishes! 71. What makes you nervous? ....the...the Ward’n 72. Are you scared of the dark? All dese nooks n crannies deys dayrk down there I gets used to it But afraid o de Dayrk..... de Dayrk scares me... 73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? Only if its a common t’ing and theys not notice it on there own! 74. Are you ticklish? Yes but dont go tellin nobodys! 75. Have you ever started a rumor? Me! No! Course not! Startin’ rumors is the lowest o de low... spreadin em dough? I heards this one that Tiny once ate a guards arm.. like..de whole t’ing. I’d honestly say dat wasn’t true but... I mean.. it’s Tiny... Dey’s strong and terrifyin if youse get on their bad side! 76. Have you ever been in a position of authority? Me nah... I ain’ts authoritive like  77. Have you ever drank underage? No. and I don’ts endorse it eithers 78. Have you ever done drugs? No. We’s very against that at Happy Trails. We’s is about rehabilitation. 79. Who was your first real crush? Ah nice guy in my high school called Illinois buts then..everyone had a crush on him. I wonder how his adventurin craze is doin him 80. How many piercings do you have? Ah just my ears 81. Can you roll your Rs?“ rr....rrrrrlbllr... RRBLRLBLRRGRLR...... RRRRRRRRRRR there we gos 82. How fast can you type? I dunno’s how fast do I’s respond to youses akses 83. How fast can you run? Only ever got caught once! and dey cheated with bullets 84. What color is your hair? Black and dark as night babye~ 85. What color is your eyes? Brown like the muddy pools of-.... er.... chocolate? 86. What are you allergic to? Rabbits and kidney beans...and hard labor 87. Do you keep a journal? Yeah but dats fer my eyes only capiche!? 88. What do your parents do? Nothin anymore.....  Me Dayd always thoughts he was so good. always mocking me n stuff.. Thought he was all big bein a dental surgeon! And mom! Oh mom was just as bayd. Thinkin she was all better than me! Providin me with cuddles n loves and hugs n stuff tellin me to chase my dreams WELL WHOS DREAMIN NOW MA! Youse aint nursin nobody no mores! 89. Do you like your age? I dont like dat its gettin older 90. What makes you angry? Not a lotta t’ings but if youse be disrespectin mah fam’ly youse is gonna get it! 91. Do you like your own name? Yeah I likes it. had it a while now and it suits me youse know? 92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? ah... Not reallys I means.. thats a joint decision youse know? 93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? ah... thats up to the kid to decide when they’s ready 94. What are you strengths? I’s a good team member me thinks? 95. What are your weaknesses? I er... I gots a lot o’ flaws... 96. How did you get your name? ah wells it started with the nickname fancy pants and den dey took the first letter of my old name, a dead name i donts use it no mores, and it became Yancy Pants and den got shortened ta just Yancy 97. Were your ancestors royalty? Mine? psh.. nah! youse kiddin? For all I knows my ancestor was a pirate or somet’in 98. Do you have any scars? I gots -wait... I answered dis one already! 99. Color of your bedspread? Dark blue with some nice white sheets! 100. Color of your room? Grey... like every other wall in dis place

[loki-thorbrother]

This is a submission, written by a friend who does not have a tumblr. This is not written by me!

—

Whumptober #5- Gunpoint

Takes place between the events of Homecoming and Infinity War.

The objective had been simple enough: find the rest of Edwin Cord’s guys, steal the assets back, and blow the place to hell. 

Tony had beaten Cord himself; it’d made for a pretty wild Friday night, even for his standards, but once Rhodey disabled Cord’s power system, the guy had been helpless against Tony’s tech. There seemed to be more and more of those jealous moguls who thought Tony had cheated them out of something, but at least they weren’t hard to knock out of the park. It was ridiculous how those guys all seemed to repeat the same mistakes: overconfidence, fallible technology, and dependence on rookie guards. 

The first two were expected, but that last point was an insult to his intelligence. If he had to deal with one more sleeping guy guarding the power system, he’d leave the next mission entirely in Rhodey’s hands. 

And then there was this. He’d thought he was done with Cord, then he’d gotten an assignment from Ross; turns out they wanted him to root out the rest of Cord’s guys, rather than a low-level hero or even the police, who could’ve done it just as well. That was even worse of an insult. He was Tony Stark; he’d taken out terrorists, invented new elements, (destroyed a city, don’t think about that one), fought Captain America and the Winter Soldier at the same time; and for god’s sake, he’d thrown a nuke into freaking outer space. 

But Ross was barely tolerating him now, so he’d better go out and at least pretend he was obeying the Accords. 

According to the intel reports he’d received that morning, Cord’s main back-up guy--or something--was Ethan Rooker, who was holed up with some of the other boys at a place in South Manhattan, allegedly an old Irish bar. After drinking a full pot of coffee, Tony suited up and took off for the bar. 

“Hey, FRIDAY,” he said with a yawn, “you up and running?”

“More than you are, Mr. Stark,” came the reply. 

Tony blinked. His AI was getting more sarcastic by the day. 

“Great. Fine. Can you get me anything on one Ethan Rooker?”

“One moment, Mr. Stark.” There was a brief silence, in whichTony thought about how much he hated awkward pauses. “Rooker is American-born, but was raised in Afghanistan; he emigrated at the age of seventeen. No record of personal life. He was a brilliant child, but was refused admittance to MIT.” 

Tony snorted. “And here I thought Cord was the one who was jealous. Already we’re racking up some serious envy points: he can’t go to MIT, I graduate at seventeen and become a billionaire--”

“In all fairness, you did inherit that position.”

“Thank you for your honesty. I guess someone needs to keep me in check. So, no MIT, no family connections; and then I blew up an entire terrorist organization, which, since he’s technically American, he’d probably wanted to do his whole life anyway. So I stole his thunder, became a superhero, and put his first-rate felon boss in jail.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Some people find the most ridiculous reasons to hate me, don’t you--”

“Boss!”

FRIDAY’s sudden warning brought Tony’s attention back to the mission, and he lowered the rocket boosters enough to bring him out of the clouds. The skyline of east Manhattan appeared below him, and he grinned. Even with years of experience and a hell-mix of PTSD, depression, anxiety, and just a touch of alcoholism, that sight never failed to be amazing. 

A few seconds later, and the bar was right under him, like magic. 

“All right, FRIDAY,” he said. “We’re going in.”

                                                       ~

The bar was empty. 

That was the first sign that something was really wrong. 

Tony had crashed down, straight through the ceiling--just like they were on live TV--but when the dust cleared, there was nothing. No security guards, no Rooker, no back-up...not even a few terrified bartenders. It was empty. Of course, there was the possibility that someone could have seen him coming and run away, but that was unlikely. His timing had been too perfect(thanks to FRIDAY, he had to admit). No one would’ve had time to run without him seeing them…

So that meant this was a trap. 

“Come on, Rooker,” he said loudly. “I’m here, and I know you are, too. Show yourself now, and you’ll just go straight to prison. But if you keep playing games like this, I swear I’ll--” 

Tony stopped mid-sentence. The back door was opened. 

The metal of his suit clanking as he walked, Tony hurried to the back of the bar, past tables and chairs and expensive wine glasses--why he had to waste his time on this, he had no idea--seized the back door, ripped it off…

And there, in the alley behind the bar, was Ethan Rooker.

But he wasn’t alone. There were four guys behind him, and to his left...oh, god. To his left, kneeling in the dirt, hands bound behind his back, with a gun held to his forehead, was Peter Parker.

Peter turned at the sound, his eyes widening. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark,” he stammered quickly, “I-I didn’t think this was something Iron Man was gonna have to take care of, just a little neighborhood problem, I could figure it out. I-I mean, he was terrorizing a bunch of kids! I didn’t think--”

The words tumbled out one after another in that too-fast, overly earnest way of Peter’s that was usually so irritating. Usually. But not today. 

“Oh, shut up,” Rooker snapped, pressing the gun tighter against Peter’s forehead. “You see, Stark, you can’t lock me away.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Tony knew he probably shouldn’t sound so rude, but he couldn’t help it. The kid was right there--one twitch of Rooker’s finger, and he’d be...no. No, don’t think about that. Stop it. Fix it. “Want me to add threatening a sixteen-year-old kid with murder to your list of charges? Wouldn’t look good in court, I can tell you that.”

Rooker laughed. “You think I’m going to court? It’d be pointless. You’re here, and you’re pissed, which is why I’m willing to bet that this is an Accords-sanctioned assignment. They wouldn’t have put Barnes through the legal system, they won’t do the same for me.”

Tony laughed bitterly. “You’re comparing yourself to the Winter Soldier? He’d have killed you by now, and without breaking a sweat.”

“I’m doing no such thing. But my trial isn’t going to be fair...which is why I’ve got insurance.” His finger tightened on the trigger; Peter flinched. Tony’s hands clenched at his side. “One step forward, and he’s…” Rooker shrugged. “Well, you know.”

That callous shrug almost got Rooker killed then and there. Before he knew it, Tony was keying up his guns. “So you think I can’t take you in and save him?”

“Not a chance.” Rooker laughed. “You need me alive, Stark. Those precious world leaders don’t want you killing somebody else, or they’ll lock you up in the Raft, just like half the Avengers. You can’t afford to kill me.”

Tony glared at him through the mask. “Wanna bet?”

“Actually, I do. And I have a better alternative for you. You leave now, I’ll let the kid go in...well. Let’s say twenty minutes. Only once I’m sure you’re away, and that I’m safe.”

“And how do I know he’ll be safe?” Tony demanded. Peter looked up in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected Tony to say something quite so...protective? No, that wasn’t the right word. Not nearly. “If I’m back in my penthouse, how do I know you haven’t killed him?”

Rooker smiled. “You’ll have to trust me.”

“Careful, boss,” said FRIDAY in his ear. “There’s a forty percent chance he’s lying. There is also a chance that he hates all of the Avengers, not just you--”

Which includes the kid, was the unspoken rest of the sentence. And I can’t take those odds.

Tony clenched his fists again, the metal creaking; he had no idea what to do. He looked at Rooker, so smugly confident in himself, at the four bodyguards, ready for an attack...and then at the kid. For some stupid reason, he knew with an absolute certainty that he did not want Peter Parker to die. The desperate look on Peter’s face was enough to tell him that.

Sure, the world needed Iron Man. But how could it count on him, when he only had a solid moral compass four out of seven days of the week? 

The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man was just as important. If not more.

“Stark,” Rooker said again, looking unsure that Tony had heard him; he was anxious, even if he didn’t show it. “I said, you’ll have to trust me. Is that clear?”

Tony looked up, staring down Rooker; and then, thinking back to Afghanistan, he turned off his hand blasters...and instead selected five out of six targets he wanted dead. 

“Nope,” he said. “Definitely not clear.”

The most Rooker could do was gasp in shock as Tony’s shoulder guns shot him and his goons dead. 

Peter, no doubt surprised beyond anything he’d ever seen, began gasping for breath; adrenaline, Tony diagnosed. He’d had a rush of adrenaline, preparing himself to die, and now he wasn’t dead--and someone else was--so, boom. Loss of adrenaline, leads to exhaustion. 

In an instant, Tony lifted his face mask and hurried to Peter’s side. 

“Hey,” he said, and Peter’s head snapped toward him, eyes still wide. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay.” The gauntlets vanished at his command, and then he was able to free the kid’s hands. 

Peter immediately started rubbing his wrists, which were chafed red. Second diagnosis--Rooker had died too quickly. “Wow. Uh--uh, wow, Mr. Stark. Uh, uh, thanks?”

“Don’t have to thank me. Heroes save people, and you know that. From experience.” Tony finished looking Peter’s body over, and then turned the kid’s head to face him. “Tell me honestly, you okay? Don’t you dare lie to me, I’m gonna know.”

“I...I think so, yeah.” Peter’s rapid breaths were becoming less and less frequent, slowing down; that was a good sign. Great sign. “Just, maybe…” He touched a spot on his cheek that Tony realized, belatedly, was a pretty dark bruise. “Hit me here. When I woke up, I--I had a gun to my--” 

Peter’s face went white suddenly, and he stopped talking. Tony knew immediately what was happening; Peter was realizing exactly how close he’d come to dying. 

“You’re okay,” Tony said again, then amended himself; that excuse never worked. “No, sorry. You’re not okay, that’s me lying to you, that’s on me. But here’s the thing, kid.” Peter’s eyes had lost focus; Tony had to turn his head back to him again, or else he knew Peter was going to pass out, or something. And that, he didn’t want to deal with. “Here’s the thing. You’re going to be okay, because it’s over now.”

Peter looked at Rooker’s body, and a tremble shook his frame. “But--”

“Nope. No buts. It’s over.”

Peter sighed. “But you killed him. Doesn’t--doesn’t that--”

“Violate the Accords? One hundred percent. Absolutely. That’s also on me--hey, look! Seems like we’ve found a common theme here: Everything Is Tony’s Fault. Perfect. But…” Tony raised a finger. “I think I’ll be able to get a little leeway here.”

Peter frowned. “Uh, I don’t think it works like that, Mr. Stark.”

“Uh, actually, it does. For me, at least...and for you, ‘cause you’re protected under the Accords, too. So if I saved you, they just might not send me to the Raft.” Tony let himself smile, just briefly. “Oh, and also because I can pay a fine of two hundred or three hundred or even two billion dollars if they want.”

Peter grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess you could do that, Mr. Stark.”

“I definitely can. Hand?” 

Tony held out his hand for Peter to stand, and the kid took it. “Yeah, definitely.”

They stood up; quickly, Tony dusted off Peter’s clothes and took one last look at him. “Yeah, you’re good, kid. Just go ice that bruise, and lie down. Rest.”

“Rest?” Peter exclaimed; Tony rolled his eyes. Here we go again. “Are you kidding me? Do you know how many problems I skipped on my way over here? Kids in trouble, cars locked, bank robberies, hostage situations--”

“None of which you will be fixing. Not today, Spiderboy. You need a rest. No more...no superheroing, not today. Tomorrow, maybe. But today you need a rest.”

“But, Mr. Stark--”

“What’d I tell you? No buts.” Tony threw an arm around Peter’s shoulder, helping him walk. “And if I find you sneaking out, I’ll call your aunt.”

“Okay, fine. No superheroing, and that’s not a word.”

“Sure it is. I can make up any word I want. I’m Tony Stark.”

Peter laughed. “Maybe.” They walked in silence for a few seconds, and then-- “Mr. Stark?”

Tony sighed. “Yeah, kid?”

“You were wrong, you know. About before.”

Tony frowned. “Before? Before, what?”

“When you said everything was your fault. It’s not.” Before Tony could say anything, Peter looked up at him with those bright, too-honest expression that somehow had come to mean the world to him. “You tell me not to lie to you, but you’re lying to yourself. You tell yourself everything is your fault, and it isn’t.”

Well. What the hell could he say to that? Not everything is your fault. Weren’t those the words he needed to hear, every hour of every day, after every nightmare and mission and before every breakdown and...and all the time? Yes. Absolutely. 

But he couldn’t say it to the kid, so he settled for slapping Peter’s shoulder.

“First rule of Avenging, kid--only complain up the chain of command. So, nothing I do or think or say to you is wrong. But you can tell the guard at my front door he thinks everything is his fault all day long. Sure he’d love that.” 

“But Avenging isn’t a word either.”

Tony couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Whenever he was around the kid, it was like a miracle; he stopped thinking about New York, Sokovia, Germany, and every other thing he’d ever done that would haunt him forever.

And that meant he could never let him get as close to dying as he had today. 

But instead of say that aloud either, Tony laughed. “God, Pete, I don’t know where you get these lines from, it’s like you’re a constant snark machine.” The physical contact was helping him somehow, he realized. He moved his hand up to Peter’s hair and ruffled it.

“Learned it from you.”

Tony glanced at Peter in surprise. “Now that’s witty. There’s no way I could’ve taught you that.” Taking Peter’s arm, he guided him around the bar and back into the city of Manhattan. “Come on, Spider-Man, let’s get you home.”

[nicolabarth]

Birthday Fic: Fangirl’s Heaven

Pairing: Lucifer/Sam Winchester, side Michael/Dean Winchester

Summary: Sam's roommate Becky is a huge serial killer fan, but he's never expected her to invite her celebrity crushes home.

Warnings: Serial Killer AU, serial killer fandom, lots of fangirling, Becky is creepy, crack

A/N: I wrote this for @coplins‘ birthday. Happy Birthday! You said you wanted lots of bickering. So here you go.

Also, I want to thank my beta readers @askatosch, @brieflymaximumprincess and @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell

Read it on AO3

Sam probably needs to find another roommate. It’s not that Becky Rosen isn’t friendly. She’s even stopped being too friendly after some very stern words. But ever since she learned that he’s fascinated by serial killers and knows the body count and the MO of some of them, she thinks he’s one of those people. One of the people that write love letters into prison. Like Becky herself does every week.

That’s probably also why she thinks it’s okay to yank open his door one evening and screech: “The Archangels are free!” on the top of her lungs. As if that’s good news.

Sam looks up from the book he’s been trying to make sense of. “Didn’t they have a life sentence?” He asks.

“They totally did!” Becky is bouncing with barely contained enthusiasm. “But they broke out last night! Tumblr is going nuts right now! I already wrote another Michael x Reader where he needs the reader to hide him and it’s getting new notes by the minute!” She gets a dreamy look, staring at a point past Sam’s right shoulder. “And we’re forming a prayer circle for them to stay safe, and I know it won’t happen, but if Michael showed up here, I wouldn’t even care, if he killed me.”

For a moment, Sam kind of hopes he would, because that would spare him Becky listing everything she likes about Michael – which is a long list. He knows, because he’s heard it already more than once. “You know they’re not actually the typical serial killers?” He says to distract her. “They’re contract killers. So unless someone wants you dead–”

“Yes!” She interrupts him, beaming. “I’m mostly safe, right? I’m just saying, those hands? Imagine them wrapped around your neck!”

So much for distracting her. And that’s another thing Becky assumes about Sam. That the fact that he’s bi means he totally agrees with her when she talks about things she finds hot in men – and that he wants to hear about it. At the beginning he’s tried to stop her, but there’s no stopping Becky when she’s in gushing mode.

“Oh, and what I’d give to touch those abs at least once!”

“Becky,” Sam tries anyway, “I have a test tomorrow.”

“Sam! The Archangels are free! How can you think about tests right now?”

“Right.” Sam sighs. “Maybe you should check how many notes your new œuvre has by now.”

“Oh! Yes! I should!” With that she’s gone and Sam can concentrate on his studies again.

He’s almost ready to go to bed, when there’s a knock on the door of their little student apartment. Frowning, he starts towards the door, but Becky is faster. Sam can hear her moving in the small hallway with it’s kitchen niche. She unlocks the door, then there’s a gasp.

“Oh my god! OH MY GOD!”

If Sam hadn’t known better, he would’ve said Michael was standing outside, judging by Becky’s reaction. But it was probably just some other guy she was having a crush on. She was getting new crushes every week.

“Sssh,” comes a voice. Someone steps into the apartment, then there are more footsteps, more people.

“Oh my god!” Becky says again. The end of it is muffled, as if a hand is clasped over her mouth.

“Raphael, left door,” the voice says. “Lucifer, right door.”

Or maybe it really is the archangels, because Sam knows those names. For a moment he’s frozen in disbelieve. What the fuck did Becky do? She probably gave Michael her address when writing all her love letters didn’t she? In hope of getting one back. Of course she did. Sam curses silently, then hurries to his nightstand. In the upper most drawer, there’s a gun. He manages to wrap his fingers around the handle, before there’s a voice from the door.

“I’d drop that, if I were you. And then turn around. Slowly.”

Damn. Sam lets the gun go and turns around, lifting his hands. In his door stands a blond guy that he remembers vaguely from some Tumblr posts Becky has shown him. Even though those had always revolved around Michael, sometimes the other Archangels had been mentioned too.

So, this is Lucifer. The pictures hadn’t done the intensity justice with which his blue eyes look at Sam. He gives Sam a quick once over, lifts an eyebrow in a way that may imply that he likes what he sees, and motions for Sam to come closer. “Join us out here, will you?”

Sam slowly lowers his hands again, because he feels stupid with them up, but keeps them in sight. He knows the drill from when he’s still worked with his dad and Dean. They’d gotten into trouble often enough. That’s also why his heartbeat stays mostly steady, and only his thoughts are racing, going through his options, trying to assess his chances of making it out of this alive.

He walks closer toward the door, while Lucifer steps out into the hallway again. The gun always stay on him, though. Sam ignores it and looks around. By Becky’s door there’s a shorter man, talking to someone inside her room. And then there’s Michael, who has Becky backed against a wall, knife at her throat and one hand clasped over her mouth.

“You know,” Sam says. He can’t help it, because this is kind of funny. “That’s probably one of her fantasies.”

That makes Lucifer snicker.

Michael pulls a face as if he knows exactly what Sam means. Of course he does. He’s read the love letters. He doesn’t look happy about it, though. “Who are you?” He asks.

“Roommate,” Sam says. “Didn’t tell you about me, did she?”

“Which is a shame,” the short man by Becky’s door says. He must be Gabriel. “Not mentioning someone so–” He catches a dark look from Lucifer and grins. “Freakishly tall,” he ends his sentence.

Michael turns his attention to Becky again. “When you basically invited me to stay here, what did you imagine your roommate would say about that?” He takes his hand away from her mouth.

“You invited him to stay here?” Sam bursts out.

“I’m sorry, Sam!” Becky says. “But how could I not?” Slowly, she lifts a hand and puts it on Michael’s chest. A blissed out expression drifts over her face. “You’re even more beautiful in real life. Your lips, they’re–”

“Answer my question,” Michael interrupts her, knife digging a bit deeper into her skin.

Now there’s a hint of fear on Becky’s face. “Well, I figured you’ll be able to deal with him.”

Wait, did she just really …? “Did you just imply that they should kill me?”

“Wow,” Gabriel comments. “I hope she wasn’t your friend. I’d hate to have friends like that.”

“I’m sorry, Sam!” Becky almost sounds like she really is. “But you have to understand.” Her hand travels up Michael’s chest, and he scowls, grabs her wrist and pins it against the wall. That makes her gasp, and Sam doesn’t even want to be able to tell, if that’s a shocked or an excited gasp. He would almost feel sorry for Michael, if his brother or associate or whatever didn’t still have a gun pointed at Sam.

“Can we not?” Lucifer asks. “I kinda like him.”

Well, at least that’s slightly reassuring. Before Sam can say anything to his defence, the door to Becky’s room opens completely, and a woman with dark hair and high cheekbones appears in the entrance. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

“Well,” Gabriel says, “to our stuck up brother’s defence, we don’t exactly have many friends right now. And she sounded loony enough to be the real deal and not a trap.”

Raphael rolls her eyes. “From what I’ve seen on her computer screen, she definitely is the real deal. I would advise not to read, by the way. Unless you want a description of all of our brother’s … assets in great detail.”

Sam can practically hear Michael roll his eyes. “So no bugs anywhere?”

“No bugs,” Raphael says. “She’s really just a fan.”

“Of course I am!” Becky exclaims. “I’m your biggest fan! Of course I understand that you have to be careful, but–” Michael puts his hand over her mouth again.

“Gabriel, take a closer look at her computer,” he says. “And Lucifer, make sure the roommate doesn’t tell on us. I don’t care how.”

Now Sam’s heart starts to race, while Lucifer backs him into his room again. “Listen,” he hurries to say. “I don’t mind, if you crash here for a while. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

On his way backwards, his knees bump into the edge of his bed, and he half falls half sits down. Lucifer steps closer, barrel of his gun almost touching Sam’s forehead now. And Sam really doesn’t want to be a second Becky, but those blue eyes are mesmerizing. He finds himself staring up at them without being able to look away. “You’ll understand that we can’t just take your word for that.”

“‘Course,” Sam says. He wracks his head for something to say that would make sure he stays alive. Instead he just starts babbling. “But I’ve been there myself. Dad did all kinds of illegal business. My brother is actually in prison right now.” Wait, isn’t Dean in the same prison the Archangels have been. Maybe he can use that? “Maybe you know him. Name’s Dean Winchester. He’s sitting for credit card fraud and burglary.” Hopefully, they don’t know and hate him. It’s been a while since Sam has spoken to Dean. They hadn’t parted on the best terms.

“Dean Winchester?” Now there’s a grin on Lucifer’s face again. “Mike!” He calls. “I think I found your boyfriend’s brother!”

“Don’t kill him!” Michael calls back.

Sam collapses in relief. Michael’s boyfriend? What the fuck? This is the craziest coincidence to ever happen, but right now he takes anything he can get. Lucifer puts his gun away, still grinning. “He wanted to break out with us, got caught, though. Said you’d maybe help us, but he wasn’t sure about it and he wasn’t even sure where you live these days.”

“Well, I’ve been trying to stay out of trouble,” Sam says and can’t help that it sounds a bit reproachful. Now that it’s established that they won’t kill him, he feels bolder. “So it’d be really nice, if you didn’t get caught while staying here. But I’ll help you alright.”

“You can always say we forced you to help us.” Lucifer looks him up and down again, tip of his tongue visible in the corner of his mouth for a moment. “I can always hold you at gunpoint again. You know, that bitchface you made was glorious.”

Sam throws him exactly that bitchface again, and Lucifer laughs. “Wouldn’t be against tying you up either, if you prefer that,” he adds.

“How about you buy me dinner first?” Great. The whole situation is such a throwback to old times that he starts quoting Dean now.

“Good idea,” Lucifer says. “How about I buy you dinner as soon as we’re not number one topic of the news anymore?”

“Seriously?” He’d thought Lucifer was joking. Is he really flirting with him?

Lucifer opens his mouth to answer, but before he can say anything, Gabriel calls from the other room. “Lucifer! Come and look at this!”

“Not now, Gabriel!” Lucifer calls back.

“Seriously! You have to see this!”

Lucifer rolls his eyes, then he extends a hand to help Sam up.

“I have a test tomorrow!” Sam protests.

“And you can go and take your test, but for the time being, I’m not giving you alone time with a phone. Trust is a thing that has to be built slowly.” Lucifer winks. “Also, you don’t expect all of us to bunk in fangirl number one’s room, don’t you?”

Sam had kind of hoped that. “I’m not sharing my bed.”

“That’s a pity, but we’ll make do. Come on now.”

With a sigh Sam takes Lucifer’s hand and allows himself to be pulled to his feet.

Next door Becky is sulking in a corner, while Gabriel and Raphael are huddled together in front of her computer. Michael is leaning against the wall next to the door, arms crossed in front of his chest, not looking amused at all.

“I’ll tell the whole fandom that you’re pretty rude to your fans!” Becky complains.

“We kill people for a living,” Raphael says. “What did you expect?”

“Well, I never liked you anyway!” Becky spits.

“Raphael has killer abs, too!” Gabriel chimes in. He’s rewarded with her elbow in his ribs and a bitchface from Becky.

“I’m not one of those shallow fangirls!” Becky insists. “Of course Michael has the looks of a greek god, but I’ve also analysed all of his kills, and it’s obvious that he’s always very gentle and merciful. That’s what drew me in!”

Next to Sam, Lucifer is laughing silently. “Gentle and merciful.” He snorts. “If you call burning people alive merciful, sure. But maybe you should live up to your reputation and be nice to your fan, Michael. Maybe give her an autograph to make her happy or something.”

In her corner Becky visibly perks up. Well, at least she’s easy to appease.

Gabriel turns to Lucifer and motions for him to come closer. “Come, look! There’s a whole fan community dedicated to us! You wanna know what they say about you?”

Lucifer glances at Sam with a doubtful look in his face. “Do I?”

Now it’s Sam’s turn to grin. “You probably don’t.”

“You’ll hear it anyway,” Raphael says dryly.

“Damn right, sis!” Gabriel turns towards the screen again. “This here is great! It’s a post about Lucifer not sitting in chairs properly during all our court dates. The caption reads: ‘Luci, my precious murder baby. Do you even know how chairs work? Look at him! So adorable!’”

“Did they seriously call me adorable?”

Sam can’t help it, he laughs, even when Lucifer throws him a murderous look.

“Well, let’s see what they write about you.” Lucifer grabs the back of Gabriel’s chair and pulls it back, away from the computer.

Gabriel tries to get up, but Raphael puts a hand in the middle of his chest and pushes him back. “Payback,” she says with a pleased smile. Sam definitely likes her.

In the meantime, Lucifer starts a search for Gabriel’s name. “Oh, look at this!” He calls. “Smol bean Gabriel. Too pure for this world. My sugar loving son. Protect him at all costs!”

Gabriel huffs. “I only ate candy during one court date! One!”

Now even Michael laughs. “They’ll send you lollipops until the day you die.”

“And probably put them on your grave, too,” Lucifer adds.

“Well, at least they love me,” Gabriel says. “Not gonna argue against a crowd of adoring fangirls. And boys. Do I have fanboys, too?”

“And fan nonbinary people probably,” Lucifer says. “It looks like a big crowd.” Then he starts a new search. For a while, there’s silence. “Hey!” He says after a moment. “Apparently ‘gay for Raphael’ is a search tag.”

“Finally some good content.” Raphael lets Gabriel go and steps next to Lucifer. “Let me see.”

Grinning, Lucifer steps back until he’s next to Sam again. “So …” He says in a low voice. “About buying you dinner.”

Sam smiles. “If you don’t make me fail my test, I’ll consider it.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely make sure you pass that test.”

The Archangels stay for a few days, and it’s pretty crowded, but also kind of nice. Sam realizes that he missed Dean, and it’s good to hear news from him. When they finally decide to move on, Sam holds Michael back for a moment. “If you get Dean out later, let me know.”

Michael nods. “You should visit him in prison while you still can.”

Sam smiles. “I’ll consider it.” He probably will.

The next moment there’s a hand on Sam’s shoulder. He turns to look straight into Lucifer’s icy blue eyes. “I’ll let you know about that dinner date.”

He’s definitely persistent. Sam’s smile gets a bit wider. “You do that.”

And that’s the point where they should say goodbye, but for a moment none of them moves. Finally, Lucifer leans forward a bit. Sam’s hands move almost by themselves and find their way to Lucifer’s waist, pull him closer until they’re flush chest to chest.

The next moment their lips meet. It’s a very chaste kiss at the beginning. Then the tip of Lucifer’s tongue flickers out, and Sam chases it, wants more.

A breathless “Oh my god!” from the direction of Becky’s room makes them break apart. When Sam looks over Lucifer’s shoulder, Becky is standing there, hands clasped to her heart. “Don’t mind me! Oh, you’re so cute together! I totally ship you!”

Lucifer pulls a face and Sam can feel himself do the same. He leans closer to Sam’s ear. “You should get a new roommate.”

Sam nods.

A few moments later they’re gone. And Becky leans against the kitchen counter, fanning herself. “Oh my. That was something! They are pretty rude, of course! But everybody will be so jealous of me! And you and Lucifer!” She gets that dreamy look again. “I totally have a new ship!”

Sam very much hopes that doesn’t mean there’ll be fanfic about them, but he fears there will. He makes a mental note to never google himself ever.

“Becky,” he says. “If you tell anyone that they were here, I’ll kill you.”

“Oh my,” Becky says with a smile. “You really fit right in, don’t you?”

He really has to get a new roommate.

Tagging: @schizonephilim@coffee-queen448@little-boyking @solo-skywlker @talkmagically@whinywingedwinchester  @spn-you-idjits@samwise-the-true-hero @hooker-legs@consultingmooseintimeandspace@savagearchangelforthewin2-0 @me-fangirl@hardcorefangirlgroupie@thisisnotsteva@wearemykingdom   @cat-n-claw

[mehtranslations]

The Favoured Genius 105

Translator: Foreverhungry

Editor: Ome

Proofreader: librismuse

Alright *pulls back sleeves* prepare yourselves for an extra long note today. I have a few things to mention, and bless our site manager for keeping me so organized.

1) Results of the vote! WP : tumblr is 10 : 5 sobs so we’ll be moving to wordpress sometime in the near future, we’re still kinda setting up (be prepared for shitty systems tho bc free wp is shitty wp)

2) @our supporters (mainly kirindas and hoyaoppa since I see you guys a lot >.> I swear I see you everywhere kirindas) Thank you so much for supporting us up till now and I hope that you guys would continue the journey with us in the future too! Everyone appreciates your thanks, but we have nothing we can give you in return so I guess you’ll just have to stick to reading future chapters;;; @some people (be ready for the preach) Life is full of things that you want and need, sometimes you'll get it, sometimes you won't. We've already made an announcement on our management on the things you want but we are not obliged to give you. This is our form of thanks for the support, but if it still doesn't satisfy your want? Honestly, I don't really care. I'm not obliged to you, we are not like some websites where we give chapters according to how much you pay. We are a fan translation site. You have the rights to make your wants to be known, but we also have the rights as to our speed of fulfillment, or even whether we want to fulfill that want. Please don't be arrogant assholes. Thank you. Yours Sincerely : ) What brought this on? People asking ‘when can I read 1-100′ when I’ve already made an announcement about it. 3) So um. This is. Kinda not related to the post. But I still wanna get it out so you guys know we actually read your asks. We got a request to translate ‘God of Thunder’. Thank you for having so much confidence in my abilities;;; But I’m afraid I’ll have to let you down. Reasons why I’m not going to translate said novel:  - No time - I have other projects that are going snail-paced - My procrastination powers are stronk - Frankly the novel isn’t my type, soz :( I hope there won’t be any bad feelings @anonrequester?

4) Updates on the first hundred chapters Things are going along, we’re taking the chance checking for any spelling or grammatical errors before we post things up so it’ll be sliiiiiiiiightly different but it won’t change anyone’s background/past knowledge of the novel. Re-uploading date: First 10 chapters still tentatively early April First five chapters are up on WP, and we’re still working on the rest of the chapters

And that’s the end of it! @thosewhoreadeverything I'm sorry for the long note, please enjoy the next chapter now!

Space and Rebirth: The Favored Genius Doctor and Businesswoman - Chapter 105 -  Carrying the Blame (背黑锅)

Jing Yunzhao squinted her eyes, not the least surprised by Qiao Hongye’s response.

Qiao Hongye may still be young and less experienced, but she had been bright ever since she was little. In addition to Qiao Weimin and Ye Qin serving as her role models, she became even sneakier.

If Qiao Hongye had admitted her faults just now, Jing Yunzhao would actually feel that there was something wrong with her.

However, after Qiao Hongye had finished speaking, Cao Xing’s eyes looked as if it wanted to spit fire, “Don’t listen to her nonsense! She was supposed to be my lookout! She had even paid me to help her bring down this Jing Yunzhao before!”

Qiao Hongye’s tears seized the opportunity to fall,” You… How could you say that? I obviously only saw you once before this. Also, it wasn’t I who called the police! You cannot wrongly accuse me... Mr. Policeman, you must investigate clearly. Jing Yunzhao is my older sister, and these two are also my schoolmates. Why would I go against them?”

Su Chu’s cheeks bulged out to their limits. She was so angry that she was literally jumping on the spot in anger, her face stifled red.

A few police officers who saw Qiao Hongye crying so miserably felt that not only was she dainty and delicate, but also pitiful and obedient. How would they think of the possibility that she could be lying?

They became even more displeased by Cao Xing this hooligan. He really likes holding onto a grudge too much. This little girl was just coincidentally mixed into this when she came, but he had to insist on having her become his lookout. This was practically destroying the country’s flower buds! [1]

“Little girl, you can relax. We would definitely not wrong anyone. Next time, however, you need to be careful. When you meet these kind of bad people, it’s still better to first call the police. This way, you can also avoid being misunderstood.” Once the officer had finished speaking, he forced Cao Xing into the police cruiser.

Cao Xing’s heart was filled to the brim with resentment. For those in this **** business, there were only a handful who never entered the ‘palace’, but right now he was walking right into it. How shameful!

Qiao Hongye this slut actually dared to deceive him. To save time, he had first confirmed the location of Jing Yunzhao’s room. During these few minutes, he had overturned everything in Jing Yunzhao’s room, but he didn’t even see a speck of the so-called Ginseng. He didn’t even see a single cent; she must be a penniless ghost!

This woman (QHY) purposely used the ginseng to manipulate and swindle him!

The moment Cao Xing was taken away, Qiao Hongye relaxed. Seeing her like this, Jing Yunzhao suddenly found the situation funny.

She thought that everything would be fine as long as she made Cao Xing bear the blame alone? She may be smart, but she’s just indulging in her own fantasy!

When she had stayed in prison for a few years in her past life, she had actually learned some common knowledge about the law. Cao Xing had attempted an unsuccessful robbery and did not cause any major loss at all. In addition, there was no one in the house, and he did not threaten someone’s life. Under such conditions, it would be impossible for him to be sentenced.

At most, he would be detained for a period of time. Even with the previous case of intercepting and blocking her… It was still totally impossible.

Previously, she did not understand why Cao Xing had to hide away. Because, if the other hooligans dared to sell out Cao Xing’s location, they wouldn’t wait until now.

As long as Cao Xing denied everything persistently and the other people related to the case or witnesses did not identify him, there would not have been any evidence against him, thus her statement would have no conclusive effect. In other words, at most, Cao Xing would have been an extra suspect in the police’s extra cases. He would be let out very soon.

By that time, could Qiao Hongye still be as happy?

Jing Yunzhao was not so generous to remind Qiao Hongye about it. She only walked up to her and took out the Ginseng root they were looking for from her bag.

“Qiao Hongye, I am an honest person who doesn’t speak in circles. Weren’t you looking for this? Such a pity that I… don’t want to give it to you.”

Jing Yunzhao finished provoking her and continued, “Such a large Ginseng. I’ll slowly stew the whole thing when I return tonight. Its juices are the finest ingredients needed for beautifying. Even if I have to just rub it on my face and treat it as a skincare product, I won’t let you touch a single strand of root hair. Satisfied?”

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[dwestfieldblog]

23 YEARS IN BOHEMIA

Time to exorcise some sober early morning paragraphs as Orpheus descends again...Saved by an angelic intervention perhaps, or more likely, demonic. I messed up a banishing ritual and we will never have that feast...Air gives life toFire. Crash and burn. Hard to switch off the heart unless one is in hospital. An hour long session of Healing, lying on a floor blindfolded last week uncovered deep memories with primal fury, tears and a revelation...now I am back in the cosmic game. It was either that or leave my body to medical science fiction. Insanity chosen on the flip of a golden coin, now gold runs in my veins like electricity. Almost not a metaphor.

The Healing had the strange effect (for me) of leaving my thoughts seemingly capable of holding onto negative thinking for two seconds only and then letting them go. Nice work, see how long it lasts. Next month I will be getting creative with my darkness with Holotropic breathing to unblock the shadow, Sounds like fun eh?  Welcome to another long speed written manic collage....

9 songs into the next treble cd, but now the blessing of the Muse is removed. Some girls should be spanked hard with passion every night before bed. All hail Algolagnia, No afterglow, now only ash. I swear by my heart Not to fall in Love again, it is no good for my mental health. Arf. Fnord. Shameful how much I truly cared, but Free at last, freedom from hope, Lucifer rising in my horoscope and all I have left are empty words. Words for spells...thank the Lord for spellczechers on the computer. Somewhere True, we know our fears are not real.

Putting the arse into catharsis, I have finally put more songs on the net via TUMBLR, (27 of 'em) a fair variety of moods...of course I will not be putting the best stuff online, not until the diagnosis becomes terminal. Don't much trust doctors but will believe my body. The war for peace continues. From the Kingdom to the Crown

I seem to have not really slept much since early February, but some years life just gets too INTERESTING to sleep. Enervated, splitting and colliding like the atom I used to be. Desire to Do and Be simultaneously chasing a thought and a feeling. Home-made psychedelic adrenalin, recurring parallel day dreams or else the synaesthesia kicking in once more....Lying down for thirty minutes and switching off at 2pm helps. In reverie God told me again last night I was a chosen one...well, someone has to do it. Another scarecrow messiah crucified on a hill to keep away the crows of false prophets who seek to feed on the seed of Man. Or something. O, I still miss amphetamines, still tempted. Been way too long. And 'Some weird sin just to relax with'...Did you ever read about the female fan letter about her desiring a man with the mind of Leonard Cohen and the body of Iggy Pop? They replied, sent a double photo from a studio...she didn't answer. Arf.

Giving up smoking Again but 'the filter is the best part, that's where they put the heroin'. Denis Leary said that and he's still alive...or if you prefer,'Women and heroin are both the ultimate escape'. Hugh Cornwall. Five minutes and you're almost dead. Textbook definition of stupidity is not being able to assimilate new information and process it to recall and use. Or repeating mistakes without learning from them. Dumb is as dumb does, welcome to my world. Just too ugly and lost. Where will you spend eternity? (Old evangelical (evil angels) christian slogan).

Almost strange to be still writing blogs when disconnected from news of the daily world. There is still some linkage to normal reality but I remain in deep longing for the day when five of the most famous leaders on this planet face Absolute Justice in This lifetime for the chaos and murdering shit they have done...but...it has felt so damn Good to switch off the reportage after all these years. The next step will be to be able to go back and listen, watch, read the news without becoming involved, Just evolved. Trump, Putin, Erdogan, Kim Jong Un, and Asshat in Syria. Remarkable that you are alive. Congratulations. Happy to see Mladic has finally been sentenced to life in prison for his war crimes, it took long enough. And Mgabwe ousted at last. Get him up against the wall. Sic semper tyrannis.And may justice be served on Halliburton, Monsanto, Biderbeck and Zuckerberg next year...Julian Assange appears to be aiding those working against the West, (yes, that includes Duck Fart.) Staying too long in an embassy can make most folk a little weird. Hello Baron Beran.

Going back to the island for Sol Invictus/Christmas, Great Britain with all her Little Englanders. Dreading seeing the faces of Boris Johnson, Jacob Rees Mogg et al gurning and talking puerile bullshit. My country is ruined, Europe as any type of 'spiritual' centre is falling, America is shamefully fecked like a dog by their insane choices. You stupid dumb bastards, now EAT what you have made. Wash it down with your own blood and piss. Other countries are rising, tasting the possibilities of mass control; Ready. This is happening all around us. And as for the individuals left...All we become is all we are.

Be yourself, you will never be someone else..

Meanwhile...those who remain outside, remain outside. With no thoughts of being saved in the usual sense, but emotionally detached and thus spiritually rising, crossing over...Fooling ourselves (perhaps) until it is real. Fake it till you make it. 'Experience is knowledge made conscious of itself'. Aleister Crowley wrote that and knew of what he spoke. Ignorance will never convince knowledge says this middle aged idiot.

(I seem to have passed from a thirty year teenage lifestyle to menopause overnight. Missed out on being an adult with a usual life of mortgages and happy family tensions. Perhaps I should buy a Harley Davidson and flirt with 24 year old girls. Or grow up fast and take to bed the first grandmother who thinks I'm worth her time.) Or teach in a nunnery...

How many times can a heart be broken? As many as it takes To break the cycle of destruction Till creation awakes. AKA/anebo, or 'You want it? You got it You break it –you bought it'         Arf.

Anyway, now all that is out of my lunar system...'time' dilates and...back to the Real stuff...Body and mind as a temple, holy or otherwise...Here we go...

Matter at a low rate of vibration is solid...at a high rate of vibration it is subtle. Good health in all areas means raising your vibrations... meditate on imagination and Will. I will see how wise that is when I get my first winter cold and deny it existence. People allow themselves to become hooked on their weaknesses, chasing the thrill or playing the victim.

'We should not protect the weak and vicious from the results of their own inferiority'...To pity another man is to insult him'. Think Nietzsche wrote that. Sounds like him but now my memory is ablaze and random sparks star the dark early morning sky. Total oblivion into the Absolute. FREEDOM. And I'm gone. More coffee....'God is a fire in the head!', cried Nijinsky, on the cusp of insanity. (Crowley, Nietzsche and Nijinsky, I am on a highly pretentious roll here eh? 4.15 am...Let's see what other brilliant lost souls can resurface in this spontaneous flash flood....)

Capture Points....

Ego... defined as a set of immature traits which start in infancy and are carried into adulthood, including a feeling of being omnipotent and deserving of special privilege; great difficulty tolerating frustration and a very high drive which causes one to jump into activity suddenly and impulsively. The infant within needs to be satisfied. Sounds familiar eh?

'Individual creatures tend to stagnate when they have discovered a comfortable ritual of habit'. Colin Wilson.

Addicts, (of one type or another) secretly despising themselves, are likely to respond to another person who approaches them in a loving manner by wondering what this person wants, assuming that this person is a sucker ripe for manipulation, or deciding that the person is crazy. In this way, they fail to receive the praise, warmth and tenderness they crave, and instead, end up lashing out at those who try to love them.

‘”...hedonic arousal of an organism (pleasure or pain) can, with repetition of a stimulus or class of stimuli, lead to a build up of arousal by the organism which opposes the original stimulus....this can create dynamics typical of addiction.' Richard Solomon. Therefore, a person repeating a pleasurable activity over and over again will create in their nervous system an opposing sense of pain. Or, as the song says; 'If it makes you happy, then why the hell are you so sad'? Don't wanna go to rehab. So don't.

The problem with mind altering drugs, is that they appear to lower the levels of serotonin in the brain, the very chemical needed to focus and evolve. Meditation and magick work because of the extra effort required to concentrate and raise energy. Humans get bored way too easily, this in turn creates a deep sense of unease...which leads to mental landslides of panic. Total (or as much as can be achieved and maintained) focus on the work of Now and total (see brackets above) open free surrender, are the only ways to connect with realities of understanding the individual's place and role in creation. Which is 'technically' our imprinted function.

Asbergers, Autism and ADD are basic human traits, there is always a  laziness to attempt focus because the mind wants to run wild. But many types of 'freedom' become a free fall/floating trap when not used for evolving or Being. Because people get bored, most of us run around trying to be very useful or search for temporary excitement, which never seems to go deep enough. Surprise.

This is a peculiarity of the human imagination that is only now being recognised by psychology; that when it is denied active, creative expression, it seeks out any powerful stimulus, no matter how terrifying or negative. The human mind craves movement, any movement. Boredom or emptiness allows the mind to fill up with unused energy...this produces the usual effect of preventing the instincts from doing their quiet unobtrusive work. The feelings are frozen. The desire for strong feelings -the most basic of psychological needs -becomes a kind of panic; guilt and misery are preferable to boredom. What the mind really craves is the sense of vastness and wide openness, of other times and other places, of meaning.'Long quote but says way better what I would like to. Colin Wilson again, from The Occult, 763 pages of fascination...he also wrote the following...

'Certain people possess natural 'magical' faculties, but unless these are subservient to intellect and imagination, they will tend to be used in the service of negative emotion –malice, envy and so on.' Most people possess magical faculties. Most people are, fortunately unaware of it.'

Man is defined by the ability to love. The soul is refined by the love it's made of.Said a low class poet yesterday trying too hard to live up to his own belief system and almost failing. 'Basically a poor human being', says his end of year report card. Poor little ghost boy. Hmm. Neurosis is caused by sexual stasis...orgasm discharges the sex energies and eliminates the neurosis. Temporarily. Think that was Reich. But anyway...

Heaven, Hell, demons, ghosts, angels, we are our own...mass projection, a spontaneous manifestation of the forces of the subconscious. Like all magick. Parallel realms are imprinted with thought made real focused or random...or so, based on my own experiments, I choose to believe. You are on your own. You are really not on your own. And that perception, like everything else, is your Choice. Practice makes...imperfection less ridiculous. And that is as far as optimism as I will go this morning.

Use your body to create forms, use your spirit to transcend forms. Unify body and spirit to activate the art of peace. It comes. Maintain it as you would a flower.

Written by candle and computer light, listening to full volume live Swans at 3 to 5.30 am on a school day (mostly the sex pulse of The Glowing Man live on repeat, Mother Sky by Can, updated). Window open to share the headphone music with neighbours. My students will suffer a red eyed rant later today, but it's all English eh? (When not babbling fake Enochian.) A word about Swans for anyone new here. If you enjoy disintegrating into ecstacy, buy everything by them. The Total Sound of Nature and the Universe, surrender and rejoice, no regrets. O, I wish I had some whisky here. But I didn't smoke and I didn't drink, I found some new things to think. Found some old books to read, refused to want the one I need. But yearning for union. Deeply and truly.

Saturnalia soon...and on the 17th December, I will have been in Prague for 23 years. A deep thank you to all those who made my alchemy here so infused with their kindnesses, may you live in fine health and learning.

Practice your etheric stretches...it helps with what you wish to achieve.'Energy equals Mass multiplied by the velocity of the square of light'. Use that as long mantra, go into it...Trust me, I'm a (leave the blank empty as the Void). And Happy multicoloured Christmas/Sol Invictus with blood on the snow in red crosses and a snake spiralling up the staff to the victory of the Light.

See you in '2018' perhaps.. Stay well.....

YOU. KNOW.

NOW. BE

LOVE.