#yeah I DO acknowledge the anniversary of my cat's death

[mozart-the-meerkitten]

me, sad about the 5-year-anniversary of the death of my 18-year-old cat Dora: =(

Madia: *exists*

me: =)

[bedlamsbard]

I posted 7,144 times in 2022

That's 112 more posts than 2021!

842 posts created (12%)

6,302 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@aurorawest

@cacchieressa

@bunjywunjy

@theavengers

@blackwidowhub

I tagged 7,087 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#mcu - 1,767 posts

#fandom - 596 posts

#natasha romanoff - 543 posts

#steve rogers - 459 posts

#loki - 391 posts

#daily fic snippet - 333 posts

#cats gotta cat - 318 posts

#roleswap endgame au concept - 269 posts

#mcu art - 255 posts

#it me - 220 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#and it was very clear that they had never considered that they might have a pagan student who was uncomfortable with some approaches to myth

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Caesar this, Caesar that, more importantly it’s also the anniversary of the day Theoderic the Great murdered Odoacer and, standing over the body, went, “This man has no bones!”

now that’s a Roman murder that actually accomplished something other than years of bloody civil war and the fall of the Republic because unlike SOME Romans I could name THEODERIC WAS ACTUALLY COMPETENT.

(ETA: no, no one knows what he meant by the bones comment either, it’s from a fragment of John of Antioch and that is indeed what it says Theoderic said.)

232 notes - Posted March 15, 2022

#4

the last couple years did weird things for my suspension of disbelief. you want me to believe a presidential scandal will actually have Results? nope. you want me to believe that a dinosaur amusement park where the dinosaurs have killed before and will kill again is open? yeah, that tracks.

270 notes - Posted November 23, 2022

#3

cause of death: trying to make the internal geography of Stark Tower make sense, something neither JW or the Russos attempted to do.

DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH EASIER THIS WOULD BE IF Y’ALL HAD JUST MADE UP A BUILDING FROM SCRATCH INSTEAD OF MAKING IT CANONICALLY THE METLIFE BUILDING WITH THE TOP WHACKED OFF

it’s fine! it’s fine! you could have at least filmed the lobby scene in the actual MetLife Building instead of in the Proscenium in Atlanta but it’s fine! I’ll make it work! I will ignore Endgame.

279 notes - Posted August 30, 2022

#2

given that Ultron learned about the Avengers from the internet I think it would be funny if the “God’s righteous man” comment is about some weird propaganda from a point while Steve was on ice and Steve has literally no idea what he’s talking about. he doesn’t respond to that because his whole brain is just ????????? about it. (the “pretending you can live without a war” bit he at least acknowledges slightly but he genuinely looks confused here.)

Steve has a whole separate list in his notebook for “ugh okay find out what someone said about me in [insert year here] because apparently it was Bad and it’s probably on the list of things I have to publicly denounce at some point.”

343 notes - Posted June 26, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

love to make my main couples bond by *checks notes* giving them matching panic attacks while they’re in completely separate places because one one of them has been kidnapped and the other one is frantically trying to find them

it’s possible I don’t know how to write romance

824 notes - Posted June 13, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[thiswasinevitableid]

Anniversary (Taakitz)

This is my gift for @iamthehelperdog for the @thecandlenightszone 2019 exchange. Also my first time writing this pairing, so I hope it turned out okay!

Kravitz steps through the rift into the living room, enjoying the satisfaction that comes with the days work of a reaper and the drama his profession lends his entrances. 

Said drama is cut very short when his next step sends him stumbling over the largest wolfhound on this or any other realm.

“Ow.” He mutters into the rug, the fanciest one Taako could get his hands on, while the dog snuffles his head. 

“Mango, I swear if he just damaged my bone daddy I’m gonna blast you into the next century. Taako’s in the mood to get dicked down tonight, not take his boyfriend to the fantasy E.R.”

“Sorry Kravitz!” Magnus calls from the general direction of the kitchen before whistling for the hound. 

“It’s fine!” He calls back, standing up and resting his scythe in the holder by the front door (okay, so it’s technically for an umbrella, and the scythe will dematerialize in a matter of moments, but the domesticity of the action makes him smile).

“Nice to see you Magnus. Hello, love.” He pecks Taako’s cheek, not wanting to interrupt his flow as he cooks. It’s hard not to do more; Taako’s wearing the gold and teal skirt that shows off his legs, and his hair is pulled into the kind of messy bun that only he and a few sorority soceresses can make look good. 

“Reap anyone good today bones?” Taako dumps something heavily sage-scented into a dish.

“Nothing too unusual. Though I’m sort of worried that Barry and Lup have created a trend of lich lovers.”

“You mean people wanting to have sex with liches?” Magnus reaches for one of the slices of bread on a nearby tray, only for Taako to whack his hand away with a magically elongated spatula.

“Not quite. It’s more that they think what Barry and Lup did was romantic, even though the process was done as a fail-safe more than anything else. Setting aside the whole “defying the laws of death” issue, that process can backfire so messily that it’s better to head it off when we can.”

“What do they think of the whole thing?”

“Barry’s slightly embarrassed and Lup thinks it’s hilarious and, I suspect, a bit romantic. Even if she’d torch me for suggesting that.”

“You bet you tight skeleton ass she would.” Taako shoos their spectral cat, Dust, from her spot hovering above the counter. 

“So do they get a warning or-”

“It depends, mainly on how likely we think they are to try again.” He goes on to explain the rather star-crossed pair he dealt with that morning, as well as a spectre who was adamant about staying a ghost rather than crossing over. 

At first it feels like any other catch-up night, but as he and Magnus chat, something itches at him like pinfeathers, a sensation he long ago learned to trust. Something isn’t right.

Usually when he’s at the kitchen table, with by himself or with their friends, Taako is a motormouth in motion, chatting away as he cooks. Tonight, his comments are limited. 

Maybe he’s just in a contemplative mood. His boyfriend is allowed time to ruminate just like everyone else. Even if he usually does so out loud. 

But the itching in his marrow doesn’t cease. He looks over at the elf again. He loves watching Taako cook, the way he moves through the kitchen like a dancer on a stage. As he searches his movements, his profile, for some sign and starts going a bit starry-eyed from how beautiful he is, it hits him.

The dogs. 

Taako never lets dogs, Magnus’s or anyone else’s in the kitchen. It’s one of his rules.

Yet here they are, the wolfhound asleep beneath the table and the lab nosing about for dropped food. 

Either his boyfriend is under some sort of mind control spell, or something is wrong.

“Love, I’m going to grab wine for tonight from the cellar. Do you have a preference?” 

“It’s all hearty stuff, since we’ve got brawny here, so something red.”

“Got it. Magnus, would you mind helping me? I want to bring up several options just to be safe.”

“Sure.” Magnus shrugs with a smile and follows Kravitz out of the kitchen and down to the lower level. It’s only once they’re halfway down the cellar, safely out of range of elf-ears, that Kravitz poses his question.

“Does Taako seem off to you tonight?”

“Kinda? He let boys into the kitchen, but I didn’t say anything because I was kind of hoping it means he’s changed his rules. Not that they’ve got to go everywhere with me, but they look so sad waiting for us in the living room.”

“How was he before I got home?” They hit the bottom step, Kravitz scanning the shelves for the right bottle. 

“Normal Taako. We talked about the new floating aquarium Angus made Stephen, he complained about the restaurant down the road...but didn’t say he could make their stuffy a billion times better. Oh, shit.”

Kravtiz starts, nearly drops the bottle, “What?” 

“It’s the 15th, right?”

“Yes…”

“It’s the anniversary of the, y’know” Magnus puts a hand on his throat, making a choking noise. 

“Oh no.” That explains everything. 

“Wait, he never told you?”

Kravitz sighs, leaning against a nearby wine rack, “He’s told me about Glamour Springs, though for obvious reasons it’s not a popular topic. But he never mentioned a date, not that I can remember anyway”

“Hey, it’s okay, I only know it because he once got sloshed on Dwarven ale and told us all about it. Don’t know why Merle always uses Zone of Truth when he could just give people that.” Magnus is trying to lighten to mood, and Kravitz lets him. 

“Might be harder to toss out during a fight.”

“Dunno, I got a pretty good arm.” Magnus grins, takes the two bottles Kravtiz gives him, and leads the way upstairs. 

-------------------------------------

The rest of the evening is perfectly pleasant, Taako seeming ore like himself as they talk over dinner. He even lounges, his preferred mode of rest, feet in Kravtiz’s lap, while Magnus does the dishes. 

As he rubs his feet (and notes that he’ll need to repaint Taako’s toenails soon), he wonders if he should bring up the date. He could let Taako be, let him do whatever he needs to in order to deal with what he’s feeling. 

But what if Kravitz is what he needs, and he’s too haughty to admit it? He can’t bear the thought of being able to help the man he loves feel better and not doing it because he misreads the situation. 

Taako makes it easy on him.

“Alright, bone boy, spill; why did you have Magnus go down to the cellar?” Taako crosses his arms, blocking Kravitz’s path to the dresser (so what he can materialize clothes? Taako bought him some black silk pajamas and he likes looking dapper in them, damn it).

“To help me carry wine. I wanted to bring you a selection.”

Taako arches an eyebrow, “You have one of the best palates for wine of anyone living or dead I know. You didn’t need to grab more than one.”

“Uh, I wanted Magnus’s opinion?”

The eyebrow arches higher.

“Okay, you’re right. I knew that Languedoc would be perfect for the steak pie you made.” He sighs,  sits down on the bed, “I was worried about you, and I wanted to ask Magnus if he was noticing the same things.”

“Worried? Cha’boy is fine.” Taako waves his hand dismissively, “He made a baller dinner and is gonna get boned by his hot boyfriend. What could be wrong?”  He pulls his hair loose from it’s ties, shaking it out in a way that’s almost comically gorgeous. 

“Magnus told me what day it is.” Kravitz says softly. 

Taako sags, tries to recover his glib demeanor only for his disguise to flicker, then disappear entirely. He glances behind himself at the mirror, winces with distaste, turning his Wonderland-aged face back to Kravitz. 

It’s not that Kravitz doesn’t notice the difference between the faces. He simply doesn’t care. Taako is Taako, and Kravitz loves him, and would worship the ground he walks on, no matter what face he wears. 

He holds out his hands and Taako takes them, let’s him guide the elf down to sit beside him. 

“Dove, you don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to. But you also don’t need to conceal whatever you’re feeling from me. I love you, and I want to help you if you’re hurting.”

“I’d really rather not focus on it. But I got a feeling you’re not gonna let it go.”

“If you need me to drop it, I will. I could also give you something else to focus on.”

Taako glances at him, skeptical, “Like what?”

“Well” Kravitz strands, grabbing a bottle of massage oil from the dresser, “I thought I could make use of my magic fingers.” He wiggles them in the air, making the elf snicker. 

“Sure, go for it.” Taako pulls off his blouse, tossing it on the floor before rolling over on his stomach. Kravitz straddles his hips, rubs the oil  (a warming one, to correct for the chilly skin) on his palms and kneads his fingers gently and precisely across Taako’s back.  

Taako sighs, though all the tension stays put. Kravitz focuses on his task, on the shape of the man beneath him, humming a concerto as he does. 

“So you gonna ask me stuff or…”

“I’m going to massage you. You can talk about whatever you want.”

“What if I wanna talk about what Dust got up to today?”

“That’s fine.” 

Taako huffs, muttering something about difficult birds into the pillow. Kravitz manages to get the knot in his right shoulder loose. 

“....It’s not even about the audience. Not this time, anyway.”

Kravtiz makes a quiet noise to acknowledge that he’s listening. 

“It’s, ugh, it’s Sazed.”

This time Kravitz has to keep his own shoulders from tensing; there are strict instructions that reapers are not allowed to punish souls for personal reasons. But if Sazed ever comes his way in the afterlife, the man is in for an earful (and will still be better off than if he runs into Lup. Goddess help him if that happens). 

“Just...I think of myself as good with people. Everybody loves Taako, y’know but--hoo, yeah, there’s a spot--how the fuck am I supposed to believe that when I misjudged someone so badly?”

“Love, if you gesture like that it makes it hard to rub your arms.”

“Look, bone boy, you wanted me to open up, so I’m opening. I got the wrong read on someone I thought I could trust and forty people died, because he wanted to either frame me or kill me or both and I just, just” the next inhale is shuddery, “what if that happens again?”

“For starters, you have me, and I’m a decent judge of character.” He circles his thumbs along either side of the elf’s spine, gets a moan that’s sweeter than any song to his ears, “and it’s not just me. You have Magnus, and Merle, and Angus, who I’m quite certain will run a thorough background check on anyone he suspects of potentially being a threat to you. And that’s before we even get to Lup.”

“You-” Taako yawns, nestles his head down into a pillow, “you going somewhere with that?”

“When you were making the show, it was mostly you and Sazed. There was no one else who cared about you who could give you perspective, warn you if he seemed twitchy or you seemed too unkind to him. It’s not like that at all now. You have many people who care about you Taako, present company included.” He leans forward, kissing the back of the elf’s head.

“You do more than care, my man” the tease is back in voice, and Kravtiz is relieved to hear it. Narrow hips twitch under him as Taako adds, “could do more than that right now if you wan-” another yawn and Kravitz laughs, rolling off of him. 

“Raincheck until the morning, my dove? I do like when you go melty and relaxed when we fuck, but you look ready to drop.”

“Fiiiiiiiiiiine.” Taako huffs, crawls, and flops his way under the covers while the reaper washes his hands. Hops under the covers himself, Taako glomming onto him as soon as he’s within range. He switches off the light, cuddling the elf close. 

“Hey, bones?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Thank you. For, um, for listening. And for not pushing it.”

Kravitz brushes golden wisps of hair aside, kissing him tenderly and as long as he can before the elf needs to pull away.

“Any time, dove. Any time.”

[lunarowena]

Fifteen Years

For @pillarspromptsweekly #0053: Anniversary.

So it’s been like three months since I’ve written anything but in my defense I’ve gotten married, moved, and gotten two cats in the interim. And I don’t currently have Internet but by golly I wrote for this week’s prompt so I’m going to post it.

Cross posted at fanfiction.net and AO3.

Edit: Let’s include the fic this time.

Lillian sighed as she tossed another hunk of meat to her wolf, Gideon. Their meeting with the ciphers of Hadret House could have gone better. It also could have gone worse, but Edér had no new information what happened to his brother other than that he was on the “wrong side” of the war. Now the group was holed up in the Charred Barrel in Brackenbury for the night. Well, most of them. Being in the middle of the city, Gideon and Itamuk were banished out to the stables, and even that took a good  amount of gold for the innkeeper to overlook that a wolf and a fox were not standard pets.

“You keep sighing like that you’re going to let all the air out of your lungs,” said Sagani. The dwarven woman was looking over Itamuk. “I think someone needs a bath.”

Lillian tossed the last chunk of meat to Gideon, who gobbled it up greedily. “You’d think I never feed him.” She sighed again and turned to Sagani. “I should go check on Edér.”

“What he needs is time and space.”

“I left him at the bar with Durance and Kana. He’s getting neither. No, buddy, that was it,” she said to Gideon’s expectant face. “I just… I feel responsible and I feel like I should be doing… something.”

Sagani raised an eyebrow. “Is that because you think as a Watcher you should be shouldering the weight of Eora, some guilt from Readceras being on the opposite side of the war, or because you’re sweet on him?”

“My ma taught me to not tell lies, so I’m not going to answer that.” She rubbed Gideon’s ears. “Now I’m going to go inside now, buddy, but you have to stay here. Don’t look at me like that. I’ll be back in the morning. You coming in, Sagani?”

“After I get the blood out of Itamuk’s fur.” She shook her head. “Just don’t go poking any sleeping bears.”

“I try not to.”

Working her way into the inn and over to the bar, she found Durance and Edér sitting a stool apart and the rest of the clientèle giving them a wide berth. The party wasn’t the upscale guests the Charred Barrel usually saw. Our money’s just as good, though, Lillian thought pettily. She plopped down on the stool between Edér and Durance. “Kana go up to bed?

“Said something about a book. Him and Aloth.” Edér continued to stare into his drink.

Lillian opened her mouth to say something, but shut it again. Even outside, the conversations she had played in her head sounded trite. She ordered a whiskey and the three sat in silence with their drinks.

Finally, Durance pushed his drink back with a scowl. “Do you know what day it is, Watcher?”

“Sorry, did we forget your birthday?” Lillian had expected to get a smirk out of Edér, but instead he tightened his grip on his drink and glared at Durance. Whatever day it was, it apparently wasn’t good.

Ignoring her jest, Durance pounded his fist into the counter. “Fifteen years to the day we blasted Waidwen back to the Wheel.”

The Godhammer again. Lillian threw back her drink. “Forgive me if I don’t celebrate that.”

Durance’s eye twitched. “You refuse to acknowledge our victory? You should have seen it, Watcher. The fire streaming into the sky. The smell of gunpowder on the air. The death of a god.”

She grimaced. “And the deaths of your countrymen and mine.”

Durance shook his head, his stringy hair swishing back and forth. “It was a necessary sacrifice. For the salvation of us all.”

“Some salvation. The god of rebirth is dead and with him the souls of your children.”

“You think I don’t know this, Watcher? You think I don’t question what we did? What it lead to?” Picking up his staff from where it was leaning against the bar, he slowly caressed it. “We did what we had to do. If this is our punishment, then so be it. We followed the will of our goddess.”

“As the Readcerans followed the will of our god.”

Beside her, Edér winced slightly at that statement.

Durance spat on the floor. “Readceran. Eothasian. If you had come through these parts some years back, during the purges, well...” he gave a low chuckle. “We wouldn’t be having this conversation, now would we? In fact, still in some parts...”

“And that,” Lillian slammed her glass down, “is why I don’t go making a big show of it in these parts, do I? And this is a nice place, Durance, you can’t just spit on the floor.”

He did it again. “Tell me, Watcher, how can your loins burn for one that turned his back on your god, killed your countrymen? Your brother died in the war, how do you know he didn’t kill him? Or if not your brother, how many others’?”

Fighting an urge to look at Edér, Lillian stared Durance straight in the eye as she suppressed a flash of anger and guilt. As if she hadn’t had these thoughts countless times before, the reason she struggled with her attraction along with her budding madness. She hadn’t thought it was obvious enough for Durance to pick up, and this was not the way she would have liked Edér to find out… whatever it was she felt.

She forced herself to slowly breathe in and out through her nose. It was a test, it was all a test with Durance. If she got angry, she lost. If she acknowledged it, she only gave him ammunition. The only way was to play ball. “How can your loins burn for a goddess that won’t even acknowledge you?”

His eyes goggled at her for a moment before he threw back his head and laughed. “As any can long for the favors of a slut.” He now focused his attention on Edér. “And you, farmer, how can you lust after the enemy, the physical representation of all your mistakes? Or is the fact she’s Eothasian enough to stoke your desire?”

Edér slowly set his drink on the counter and turned. “It was fifteen years ago, Durance,” he said slowly and quietly. “We can’t keep letting it define us for the rest of our lives.”

Durance slammed his staff into the ground. “Of course it defines us. We made history. Fifteen years later it has shaped the world, fifteen hundred years later the world will still be shaped by the Godhammer. For better or worse, we made this bed even if my whore refuses to lie in it. For better or worse,” he tapped his staff down almost absent mindedly, “we shall be immortal in the reams of history.” He spat again and stood up. “I take my leave of you and your blond cur, Watcher.”

“Don’t let your self-importance hit you on your way out,” Lillian muttered as he strode away. She picked up her glass before remembering it was empty and awkwardly set it back down. They sat in a tense silence.

“So,” said Edér eventually. “He’s not entirely wrong. Why do you put up with me, anyway?”

She forced herself to look at him, hoping he couldn’t read all of her emotions. “To be honest, when I first picked you up I was desperate for any kind of help. But you’re a good man, Edér.”

“I try to be.” He swirled the remains of his drink around in his glass. “And I have to hope intentions count for something.”

“I think they do.”

He looked up at her. “About the other things he said, about us, I–”

“You two still up?” Sagani appeared behind them.

Lillian wasn’t sure if she resented or appreciated Sagani’s timing. “Durance felt the need to have a heart-to-heart or sermon, depending on how you look at it.”

Sagani rolled her eyes. “Of course he did. Well, Itamuk’s clean and I’m headed up to bed. You guys coming?”

Lillian glanced back at Edér but she couldn’t read his expression. “Yeah. We’re all tired, it’s been a long day, and emotions are running high. We could all use some rest before we start having conversations we could further regret.”

Sagani looked at her suspiciously but just shrugged and started upstairs.

Pushing back from the bar, Lillian hesitated, her fingers trailing the edge of the bar counter as she wondered if there was anything else she should say, then followed her friend off to bed.

Edér stayed, nursing the remains of his drink, staring at the wall.

[markonasurface]

17/50 - “I have contemplated becoming a hermit.”

Fandom: All for the Game/The Foxhole Court Characters/pairings: Neil, Andrew, Kevin/andreil, kandreil friendship Summary: 

A/N: Thank you, @kittyfeathersflying!

This took longer and went on longer than I expected. Thanks for your patience. I hope you don’t mind I added Kevin. If you’re not a Kevin fan and/or a fan of his and/or andreil’s recovery, you’re wrong, but you can skip about half of the fic.

Kevin let himself into Andrew’s LA apartment. The blinds were drawn and it smelled like cigarettes and whisky.“Andrew?”

He slowly made his way through the poorly lit, hazy apartment as if he were walking through a dangerous rainforest and a snake might jump out and bite him with any sudden movement. He followed the source of smoke around the kitchen counter.

He sighed. Ice cream containers littered the floor, some of them half full and melted, as well as empty bottles. Cigarette butts occupied the spaces in between. In the middle of the mess was Andrew.

Once upon a time Kevin would have yelled until Andrew got up. He would have lectured him on the amount of ice cream he devoured and warned him about lung cancer and liver failure, but ten years had passed. He stepped over a brown puddle, moved some containers and ashes aside and sat.

He grimaced when he felt lukewarm ice cream seep through the seat of his pants. He waited.

Andrew was unmoving but there was a lit cigarette between his fingertips. Finally, he moved his hand to his mouth and sucked in deep. He breathed out slowly and Kevin watched the smoke accumulate above their heads.

He blinked his eyes open and for a second Kevin thought he was looking at one of the cats.“Why are you hiding?” Kevin asked.

Andrew moved his gaze to Kevin’s face and took his time taking another drag before answering, “I have contemplated becoming a hermit.”

“Not just contemplated,” Kevin murmured. Then shook his head. “Why?”

“Oh, Queenie,” Andrew slurred. “Haven’t you read the Exy’s gayest players article?”

“So? You and Neil were outed,” he said. “It’s almost 2018. You’re allowed to come out of the closet.”

Andrew put out his cigarette in one of the many puddles. He tried to sit up on his elbows, slipped and tried again. “We were never in the closet.” Andrew grabbed clumsily for a bottle that was miraculously almost full. He took a swig then held it out to Kevin.

Kevin bristled. “I don’t drink,” he said even though he knew Andrew knew. Andrew moved his shoulders and Kevin assumed it was a shrug. Thea had warned him coming here would wreck his sobriety.

Everyone knew Kevin had fallen off the wagon on the ten year anniversary of Riko’s death. No matter how his PR team had tried to spin it, people weren’t idiots. Okay, so some of his diehard fans were in denial.

He reached a hand into his pocket and felt for the picture, trying to take a deep breath and coughing instead. He ran a finger over the blue chip in his pocket and took a shallower calming breath.

“Is that what’s bugging you? That people think you were in the closet?” Kevin asked. “Then make a statement.”

“I don’t give a fuck about that shit,” Andrew responded. His head lulled backward. “It’s twenty eighteen. Almost. Technology has advanced.”

Kevin was quiet, trying to think what that meant. “News spreads quicker?” When Andrew didn’t say anything, Kevin thought a minute longer. He had been hoping Andrew hadn’t seen the other stuff but he didn’t have any other idea so he asked, “People digging up all the shit from your past?”

“Ding ding ding ding ding,” Andrew said lackadaisically, sounding like a malfunctioning bell.

He bit back a “who cares” and said, “That’s shitty but you’re Andrew Minyard. You don’t care.”

Only Neil would have known Kevin was wrong but Neil wasn’t here. He was off doing press or whatever and that’s why the responsibility of making sure Andrew was okay had fallen to Kevin.

“Either have a drink with me or fuck off,” Andrew drawled.

Kevin fought the urge to grab the bottle and break it. The door opened then and Kevin sighed in relief.

“What the fuck?” they heard Neil cough. “Someone simultaneously rob a liquor store while smoking a thousand fucking cigarettes?”

“In here,” Kevin called.

Neil took in the scene before him with wide eyes. “You’re sitting in ice cream,” he pointed out and Kevin pretended not to see the concern on Neil’s face directed at Kevin. “I’ll clean this up. Um, you can shower, and uh, you know where the guest room is.”

Kevin nodded and accepted Neil’s hand up.

“Oh, no,” Andrew said with fake sadness. “Queenie and I were having so much fun.”

Kevin rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.

When he heard the bathroom door shut, Neil took a garbage bag out from under the sink and started collecting all the bottles first. Andrew’s hand wrapped around his ankle and he stopped.

“You don’t have to be an asshole,” Neil stated.

As usual Andrew knew what he was referring to without Neil having to specify what or who exactly he was talking about. “Kevin’s the asshole. He didn’t have to come here,” Andrew responded.

“But he did,” Neil pointed out and took the bottle in Andrew’s grasp. “For you.”

Andrew sat up and glared. Neil glared back and didn’t break eye contact as he poured it down the drain.

He made quick work of the soggy cartons and cigarettes, then got the mop out. He heard Kevin go from the bathroom to the guest room somewhere between putting away the mop and staring down at Andrew on the kitchen tile.

Thea was going to kill him. He made a mental note to check in with Kevin later.

“Yes or no?”

Andrew reached for his hand but Neil moved it away and repeated, “Yes or no, Drew?”

“Yes, you jerk. I can’t get up without you.”

Neil pursed his lips but still helped Andrew up. He might’ve gagged, Andrew smelt so bad, but he reminded himself this stench wasn’t half as bad as blood soaked rooms.

He sat Andrew on the toilet, then started the shower.

“I’m not going to lock the door behind me,” Neil told him. “But I will knock before coming in if you don’t answer me. Got it?”

Andrew glared but nodded.

“Get in the shower, Andrew.”

Neil left him and went to check on the alcohol situation in the apartment. The lock was still firmly in place as it seemed Andrew had simply gone out and bought large quantities of the three things he wanted.

Next he went down the hall and stopped in front of the guest room door. He knocked and heard Kevin make a noise of acknowledgement before pushing the door open.

Kevin was sitting at the edge of the bed. One hand was fisted, the other holding a grainy picture.

“Hey,” Neil said, walking closer.

He barely glanced at Neil.

“I’m sorry for - Andrew ...” Neil said. “He didn’t make you -”

“Of course not,” Kevin said.

“Thanks for coming,” Neil continued. “When both flights got canceled, I didn’t think I’d find another ...”

Kevin finally looked up and Neil took in the dark circles under his eyes. “It’s fine, Neil. I know what he’s like.”

Neil felt like he could breathe a little easier and came to sit next to Kevin. Kevin opened his hand and Neil stared at the blue chip, but Kevin’s eyes lingered on the grainy picture.

“In four weeks I’ll get my green chip again,” Kevin said reverently. He took a shaky breath. “And in four months, she’ll be here.”

Neil took the picture to look at the shape of the baby’s head.

“I’m proud of you,” Kevin said, a bit awkwardly. “You’re handling everything quite well.”

His cheeks felt warm and he said, “It’s not that hard for me. My past is all out in the open. Has been for a decade now. The way people are twisting Andrew’s though ...”

Kevin nodded. “Yeah. You should probably go check on him. Make sure he didn’t drown.”

Neil handed back the picture. At the door he stopped. “I’m - proud of you, too.” He left quickly.

The shower was off so Neil knocked on the door. “Andrew? Can I come in?”

“No,” Andrew said after a moment.

Neil nodded even though he couldn’t see him. “Okay.”

He lay on their king sized bed and waited. After about ten minutes he sat up, getting ready to go knock again but the door opened.

He watched Andrew go over to their dresser and dig through a drawer. Neil didn’t like the way he felt watching Andrew pull his black arm bands on but definitely understood the comfort of an old habit. (A/N: NOT self-harm. I just mean he used to hide his knives in the arm bands and the comfort of having the bands on him even without the knives.)

Andrew sat on the edge of their bed and Neil waited a little longer before asking, “Ready to talk?”

When he turned to look at him, his eyes were clearer and he looked sober. Andrew turned his whole body and crossed his legs.

Neil knew Andrew’s process. He needed to assess his feelings, rational and irrational. He had to decide if he was capable of talking now or if he needed to wait a little longer. They would talk about it eventually, but Neil wouldn’t rush him. Each “talk” over their last ten years together had gotten easier and easier but they were still difficult.

The latest situation was obviously hitting Andrew hard.

“It’s okay if -” Neil started to say at the same time Andrew replied, “Yes.”

Andrew was shaking which prompted Neil to ask, “Are you sure?”

“I know - logically - I know they’re all wrong,” Andrew spit out, his eyes squeezed shut. Neil’s worst suspicions were being spoken and it made him angry. “I didn’t - I didn’t want it. They’re wrong. They’re wrong.”

Neil felt tears burning the backs of his eyes. He watched Andrew rocking back and forth and wanted to reach out to touch him but refrained.

“They’re wrong, they’re wrong,” Andrew repeated. A tear made a trail down his cheek.

“Drew, yes or no?” Neil fought to keep his voice steady.

“Yes,” his voice cracked. “No ... I-I-I-I-I don’t know.”

Neil squeezed his hands tightly in his lap, resisting his instinct to pull Andrew close. He wanted to hold him together, stop him from shaking apart. He knew that’d only make it worse and the anger flared in his chest again. He wanted to kill everyone who had a part in this, anyone who had ever laid a hand on a defenseless little boy. If they were dead, Neil wanted to bring them back to life and kill them again.

When he took a shaky breath, he tried to be quiet.

“Do you want me to call Bee for you?” Neil asked, knowing he’d call her whether Andrew said yes or no.

Luckily, Andrew nodded.

Neil spoke calmly, his voice forced. “Okay, I’m going to call her. My phone is in the kitchen. I’m coming right back.”

Bee answered immediately which made Neil wonder ...

When he went back to the room, Andrew was frozen.

“Andrew,” Neil spoke. “I’m not leaving you alone, okay? But I’m not going to touch you. I promise. Lie down.”

He built a pillow wall, then repeated his request. “I’m not going to touch you but I’m right here if you need me.”

“When.”

“Huh?” Neil was startled Andrew replied at all.

“When I need you,” Andrew said quietly and lay down.

[hollygopossumlovesj2]

Dean Winchester’s Lyrics, Part 2

Warnings: Adult language, violence, mentions of death

Summary: Y/N takes charge of the situation and helps Dean as much as she can. But will it be enough?

Tagging: @perpetualabsurdity, @maileann, @daydreamingintheimpala, @gecko9596, @gemini75eeyore, @jotink78, @dancingalone21, @winchesterprincessbride, @sandlee44, @exploratiionist, @arryn-nyx, @littledarlinhavefaithinme, @tiffanycaruso, @boredoutofmymindstuff, @feelmyroarrrr, @raeganr99, @ruprecht0420, @anokhi07, @letsgetyourdeanon, @sis-tafics, @jensen-gal, @theoneandonlysaucymo, @27bmm, @callmesatansprincess

a/n- This is the second part of my addition to @creatively-charlie‘s Anniversary Writing Challenge. I hope this is entertaining and please let me know what ya think!

Part 1

In a very uncoordinated fashion, you slowly guided Dean to sit into the closest chair. Which was no easy task considering Dean had been hunting most of his life. The man was a 38 year old wall of solid muscle, skin and bone. He was hot to the touch despite the chill of the rain on his skin. “Do you remember the words to the hex, Dean? Maybe we can look it up?” His head lolled back like he lacked the strength to hold it up any more, making his voice croak. “I ‘member s'me.”

Pretty soon Dean would be completely useless, but you couldn’t deal with it here. Casey wouldn’t understand and your life here would be blown. “Hey Case!” You yelled, stepping a few feet away from Dean so your voice carried into the kitchen. You startled a little when Dean’s chair scraped loudly against the floor as he tried to stand up. “Dean, stay put.” You pointed at him sternly before walking a few feet closer to the kitchen door. “Casey!” Dean struggled to stand, and when he finally succeeded he nearly brained himself on the counter. When you caught him against you just in time you could hear him muttering but you couldn’t make out the words. “Dean, seriously. What the hell?” You muttered back at him, half worried and half scared out of your mind. You were out of practice for this shit. You weren’t used to living by the seat of your pants in life or death situations anymore! You’d guided him the short distance back to the chair to sit down before you tilted his face up with a few fingers beneath his chin. “D'ne leave me. D'n go.” You’d seen Sam’s puppy eyes, but right now Dean was giving him a run for his money. “Pl’s?” The look was familiar, and you knew why. It was the look Dean always got when he was at the end of his rope, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. He never shed this many walls without a huge disaster and nearly lethal amounts of social lubricant. You studied him a moment longer, trying to wrap your head around this. If Dean hadn’t been hexed he probably would have died trying to get his brother back rather than coming to find you. Whatever hex this witch had used was turning out to be rather catastrophic. “Yeah, okay, Dean. I won’t leave you.” He took your hand and kissed the top of it, leaving it there and leaning into it. “Umm, I guess you need to get his drunk ass home, huh?” Casey’s voice startled you out of the puddle you’d become but you tamped it down. If you showed any weakness Casey would be all over this and you’d have to tell him everything. “Yeah, I’m sorry.” You turned your attention to Casey, hoping that you were looking as sincere as you felt. “I can manage the trash when I get here in the morning.” You offered, but Casey just shook his head. “No worries. Lord knows you’ve bailed me out more than once. Just get him outta here. He’s messing up the floor.” And with a dismissive wave, Casey disappeared behind the door again. That left you to wrangle an increasingly uncooperative Dean into your compact car. He’d only mustered up enough energy to grumble a few times as his knees still dug into the dash board even though the seat was back as far as it could go. “You try living on coffee house tips, see what kind of car you can afford.” You grumbled back before throwing your car into reverse and then maneuvering out of the parking lot. Somewhere along the way, Dean had slipped his hand over yours. ———-—— If you had thought getting Dean into the car had been rough, getting him out and up the stairs to your second story apartment was a whole new level. But, now he was sitting on your covered toilet seat while you pulled out your first aid kit, dripping muddy water every where. It surprised you to see that you’d actually still kept it well stocked. What a little obsessive compulsive former hunter you were. “Okay, we’re gonna kill two birds with one stone.” You were more or less talking to yourself now. Dean would only acknowledge your existence if you made direct eye contact or tried to leave the room. You were not looking forward to a time that you needed to use the bathroom. You got an absurd picture of when you’d had a cat and it had pawed and meowed at the bathroom door until you’d reappeared. Surely Dean wouldn’t be that neurotic? You’d grabbed paper and a pen, resting them on the bathroom counter within reach. Dean had given you an open eyed, innocent look full of worry. “We’re not actually killing birds.” You amended and he seemed satisfied with that. Oh God it was going to be a long night. You’d cleaned him up the best you could, stuffing him into your ex’s t shirt and sweat pants since his clothes had been shredded. You’d been able to write down a few of the words that Dean recalled in the hex while you’d cleaned him up, but there weren’t very many words to go by. His injuries were gone by the time you’d wrangled his shirt from him. Only morbid splashes of blood here and there remained. Oh the things you would give just to be able to call up Bobby to brainstorm with. Or even Sam to help you think this thru. Maybe there was a chance that he might have gotten away? You made a mental note to check Dean’s pockets for his phone. Dean had obediently taken the thermometer into his mouth, shocking the hell out of you. The last time you’d battled Dean to check his temperature the thermometer had been broken, sending the toxic mercury all over the counter. You huffed out a sigh, trying to expel some of the worry getting trapped in your chest. You were feeling wound tight with stress. After you helped Dean figure this thing out and got Sam back, you still had work tomorrow. You still had a 5,000 word essay due in two days that you’d planned on starting tonight. Obviously hunting didn’t mix with going to college. The thermometer beeped and as you took it from him to read he sagged against the wall. His expression was absolutely pitiful. His eyes glassy as they looked up to you like he was begging you to fix it. You ran your fingers through his hair and he practically purred, pushing up a little into your hand. “101.5… Not terrible, but enough to make you miserable.” Dean nodded his head in agreement, the pout on his lips making him look all of five instead of a hardened hunter. He’d dutifully taken the Tylenol you’d offered him and took charge of the ice pack when you handed it to him. After a little persuasion you managed to coax him into bed. You tucked him in beneath the duvet, and sat up next to him while you searched the for the right spell with your laptop. An hour in and you were getting desperate and talking to yourself. “I can’t find anything… this could take weeks and what if-” Dean’s sleep roughened voice cut you off, still slurring a little… But maybe it was getting a little better? “S'not really gonna kill me.” You swallowed, letting a chill of fear run its course before asking your question. “What do you mean it’s not 'really’ going to kill you?” But he never answered. You assumed that he’d gratefully fallen asleep and that’s when you finally got up to clean up the mess he’d made in your bathroom and search for clues in his still soaking clothes. There was no phone and no clues. At a loss, you picked up your own phone and dialed a familiar number. They’d probably trashed their phones a million times over in the past couple of years you’d been away. You knew it was a long shot, but with only a few words from a spell and no real references to research into, you were a lot desperate. There was no telling what an angry witch would have hit him with. “Hello?” Even tense and suspicious, Sam’s voice was a balm. “Oh thank fucking Christ, Sam!” You took a much needed breath, “Its Y/N, I have Dean.” You heard him let out a breath of relief, and probably a few muffled curses too. “Okay, I’m headed towards you.” He confirmed and you heard the familiar growl of the Impala. It hadn’t occurred to you to ask Dean where his car was. He must have walked from where he’d been hexed. “How is he?” “Sleeping. He showed up at the coffee house soaking wet and covered in cuts. He’s acting like he’s drunk and he won’t let me out of his sight!” As you spoke to Sam you peeped in the doorway to make sure Dean was still asleep. “Makes sense. He’s been hit with a pretty nasty curse, but I don’t think it’s gonna kill him. The coven we came to investigate turned out to be white witches. They just want him to suffer like they did over their friend. They were bating hunters in the area and hexing them.” “Well that’s good to know. Wait, how the hell are you gonna find me without the address?” “Uh, gps on your phone? You didn’t think Dean was going to let you go quietly, did you? There’s also the LoJack on your car that I’m probably not supposed to mention…” You plopped down on the closest surface that just happened to be your kitchen counter.  "What?“ Last time you’d been around Dean hadn’t exactly been a happy moment. So, the fact that he might still give two shits about you was a shock. Then, you heard a loud thud and an inhuman scream. "Shit. Dean’s awake!” “Okay, don’t panic.” “Don’t panic? Are you kidding me? His chest is in shreds! He’s gonna… Dean? Dean?!” “Y/N it’s okay! It’s just the spell.” “I don’t care if it’s just a fucking spell! It’s…” “…” “…” “…” “Did it stop?” “…” “Y/N, did it stop?!” “Yeah, there’s just blood now. He’s… The cuts are mostly gone already… How..?” “Good. Good. I think the spell is just making him relive his death. All of his deaths.” When Sam magically found his way to your apartment door, you were a wreck. You’d given Dean a cursory clean up, glad that it was just the shirt that was ruined, still baffled that his skin wasn’t in shreds like it had been twenty minutes earlier. You’d contemplated putting plastic down on your bed, but there was no point. The sheets and duvet were ruined anyway. So, you helped a mostly unconscious Dean into the clean side of the bed and hoped for the best. Now, in front of Sam for the first time in a couple of years, you must have looked like you’d just come back from taking out a nest of vamps on a Friday night. You were spattered with blood, your hair was a mess and your eyes must have been glowing with the amount of adrenaline you had pumping through your veins. You let him scoop you in for a quick hug, his strong arms holding you up for a brief moment, before pulling away. He looked like he could use some sleep, but beneath the dark circles that pooled underneath his eyes, he looked the same. He followed you back into your bedroom, but didn’t make an effort to wake Dean. You supposed death could take a toll on a person. Even if it wasn’t real. So, you let him sleep. “How many times did Dean die while I was gone?” You asked, leaning against the door way, not taking your eyes off of Dean’s slumbering face. You didn’t want him to go through this alone and you thought maybe this is what he’d meant at the coffee shop. He’d said not to leave. He’d said please. Then the second you leave something horrible happens. “Uh, just once actually. Stabbed in the chest after having his ass handed to him by a scribe of God. That was the last. You missed out on demon Dean. He was a lot of fun.” Sam leaned against the wall just inside the room, speaking quietly. “But if that was the hellhounds then next will be the bullet to the chest.” He ran his long fingers through his tangled hair. He must have been searching for Dean when you called, driving himself crazy. It was now around 1 am and you were already starting to feel the effects of tonight. Not to mention you’d had a full day of classes and work under your belt. However, the evening seemed like it was just beginning. “He must’ve died a hundred times before he found you. Freakin asshole Trickster.” “He looked terrible. Like he’d run into Edward Scissorhands on the way over.” The image must have been amusing because a small smile made its way momentarily onto Sam’s lips. It always made you glow a little with pride when you made a Winchester smile. “The spell has to run its course? There’s nothing we can do?” “Yeah, I called Rowena, repeated the incantation to her. She said it was a nasty spell but 'not particularly life threatening.’ So, we’ll just do our best to keep him hydrated and comfortable.” He watched his brother fondly for a moment, seeming to catalog every breath and twitch Dean made. “Ya know, I’m not looking forward to doing this a second time. I mean, once was really enough.” You nodded in agreement, even though you had no idea who Rowena was. Now certainly wasn’t the time to catch up. “I bet.” “I hate to do this to you, I remember what it was like to be in school, but I gotta get back to the station to wipe their files. That was the deal. They’ll stop hurting people and I’ll get rid of the evidence. Do you mind..?” “Do I mind watching your brother die a couple of times until you get back?” You asked with all the seriousness in the world before you couldn’t keep up the charade. “Of course, Sam, I got this.”