#so you can end up with a hand full of functionally useless cards and it feels dumb to waste a turn getting rid of them

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝓑𝓮𝔂𝓸𝓷𝓭 𝓙𝓾𝓭𝓰𝓮𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽 - 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒳𝐼𝐼𝐼: 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝐵𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇𝓎 ⚜

TW: PTSD flashback, interrogation, held at gunpoint

Summary: Can John persuade the head of the New Jersey Bowery to spare Vincent's life?

Bellwood Mall, an atrociously ugly concrete building in the suburbs of Jersey City, had been abandoned just a few years after its opening. An abnormal number of pigeons patrolled the sidewalk leading up to its still-functional revolving doors, and scattered up in a flurry of wings as John Wick marched through their congregation, his steps perfectly even. His eyes never wavered from the security camera above the door, until he had passed it. Somewhere on the roof, there would be a sniper to accompany it, and the fact that he was not yet dead meant he had a chance. They wanted to talk.

Inside, a cavernous, eerie, deathly quiet space welcomed him into its jaws. Without electricity, the kitschy chandeliers spaced along the walkways hung useless. The streams of afternoon sunlight piercing the atrium were the only illumination, and left the storefronts mostly in shadow. But as he glanced left and right, John realized one was lit, on the upper level. Using an immobile escalator as a staircase, he made his way up.

In the hollowed-out body of a GameStop, a woman waited in a comfortable leather swivel chair with her back to the door, facing a wall of TV screens displaying surveillance footage. There was the entrance he’d just passed. The food court. The parking garage.

Two bodyguards flanked the woman, and a whisper of smoke from her cigarette reached him before her voice did. “My, my. John Wick.” She spun to face him, revealing a face at once full of curves and angles, framed by a head of red braids that ended in fluffy, fiery puffs above a baggy T-shirt. She was young, not even 40, but the way she gripped the gold-encrusted pistol in her other hand spoke of deep familiarity with the weapon.

“Belle of the Bowery.” John inclined his head in a sincere and gentlemanly bow. He’d heard good things about Belle. That she hated the Table, mainly. That she had succeeded in running away from them as a teen where he had failed. And that she was a wild card. That had better be true, for his sake and Vincent’s alike.

“Where’s your date, John?” She tilted up her chin in a challenge and puffed a ribbon of smoke in his direction.

He fought not to blush, and not to confirm or deny that very loaded statement. She probably meant it as a joke. Words failed him, so he just gave a kind of pained squint. Belle laughed, but finally snuffed out her smoke. Time for business. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten what happened to the King. I’ve let my curiosity get the best of me, and we all know what kills the cat. So you’d better have a damn entertaining explanation as to what you’re getting up to with the Marquis these days. And if it is a date…I promise you that’s not good enough.”

“How about a plot to bring down the Elder?”

“Again?” She raised an eyebrow. “Now, that is entertaining.”

“They can only have so many clear heirs.”

A smile crept slowly onto her face. “And then the line of succession breaks down. An unprepared ruler. Chaos. Succession wars…”

“Yeah. And all I need - “

“Here it comes…”

“Transportation. And a few supplies.”

“Where you headed?”

“I’ll tell the pilot when we’re onboard.” The tension in the room went up a notch, but it couldn’t be helped. The Elder’s location might be the only reason she was keeping him alive.

She just looked at him for a long moment. “How many tickets, John? One, or two?”

“…Two.”

“Then I’ll ask again. Where is Vincent Bisset de Gramont?”

“Does your hospitality extend to him too?”

“Let’s be very clear. This is not hospitality. You have a tendency to let things turn sentimental. It’s cute but it’s gonna get you killed. I have no such tendency. This is me watching the High Table unravel and noticing I have a chance at a front row seat. I have no interest in playing the dutiful host to you and your pet mass murderer. I know what he wants. He wants to take the Elder’s place. And even you can’t possibly want that kind of bloodbath.” She waited for confirmation.

“No,” he said honestly. “I don’t.”

 “So you’d better give me one good reason why he needs to be alive for the Elder to end up dead.”

“Either he comes with me, or I don’t go at all.”

“‘Because I said so,’ that’s really your answer?”

But John’s eyes were glued to one of the televisions behind her. She turned to see two small figures advancing through the parking garage, prying open trunks.

On of the bodyguards reached for a walkie-talkie. “Should I - “

“No. Johnnie here looks invested. Let’s not cut to commercial just yet.”

There was their car. Belle gasped softly but triumphantly as Vincent slid out of it and crawled underneath.

John’s heart was doing things it wasn’t supposed to do. They were lifting up Dog. “Please.”

She hesitated, but Vincent didn’t. John saw him drenched to the wrist in blood, kicking, firing, standing over the body. All for the sake of someone other than himself. He was so damn proud.

But it wasn’t over yet. Seeing Vincent had emerged victorious, Belle nodded to the bodyguard. “Bring him in.”

“Alive or dead?” John’s diaphragm was locked in place, unwilling to move until she answered.

She waited, contemplating. Then, “Alive. Let’s have a chat.”

Within a few minutes, a ring of Bowery guards marched Vincent into the surveillance room, with his hands tied behind his back and Dog at his heels. Covered in blood and oil, he was sporting a look that was somewhere between a walking corpse and the thing that killed it. His eyes flickered to John in a moment of relief before going stony and impassable again. Good. It was important that the rest of the world not know how easily they could be used as hostages against one another. It would be wise to play the part of mere colleagues, uneasy ones at that, and Vincent seemed to understand this perfectly.

Dog ran over to him immediately, and John bent down long enough to pet him before doing anything else. He seemed a bit shaken up, but okay. Belle cleared her throat, drawing his attention to back to Vincent. John would have liked to tell her to untie him, but they were lucky he was alive at all. The best he could do was try to get this interaction off on the right foot. “Marquis, this is Belle. Belle, the Marquis.”

Belle approached slowly. “Vin-cent. Bi-sset. De. Gramont.” She savored each syllable, sing-song, looked him up and down. His expression didn’t change but John could see his nostrils flare slightly in unexpressed indignation.

“The very same,” Vincent responded coldly. John could already tell this wouldn’t go well.

Belle grinned and began to circle him slowly. “Wick wants you alive? Okay, you’re alive. But I WILL enjoy this. Do you know what the Bowery King means to me, Vincent? The man your precious High Table maimed seven times?” Vincent feigned interest with a mocking smile. “He took me in when I ran from the Table at eighteen. Brought me into the soup kitchen, made sure I was fed and clothed and had the chance to make my life into what I wanted it to be, never forced me to kill anyone I didn’t want to kill, which amounts to tearing out your own soul. It’s still a fucked up world we live in, and no mistake. But I’m free. I can leave any time I want, I could walk away and work behind a register for a living and the King would probably still call to see how I’m doing every now and then. You can’t even imagine that, can’t even imagine the value of treating people as something other than tools. And YOU want to take that away from people like me to melt it down into fucking gold bars. FUCK you.”

John cleared his throat, “I thought this wasn’t personal.”

“Oh this isn’t personal. It’s political. It’s social. It’s communal. It’s about justice. And you…” she turned back to Vincent, “…deserve every ounce of pain that you’ve brought down on your own head. You threaten an organization, a peaceful world that you can’t even appreciate.”

Vincent didn’t seem as bothered as John might have expected – perhaps even amused. His mouth drew into a thin line that happened to be upturned but did not express friendliness at all. “Very good. You see the scope of my vision. I ought to thank you. You truly know how to make me feel special.”

Belle chuckled, nodding, and seemed about to turn away. Instead, she spat in his face. John tensed reflexively but forced himself not to move. Vincent couldn’t help flinching, followed by an affronted glare, his mouth hanging half open in shock.

“Where is the Elder?” she demanded.

“Where we’re going,” he answered, voice laced with vitriol. “With your help. You will do as I say. It’s what the Bowery - ”

Her gun struck the back of his knees, dropping him into a kneel, then cocked against his head as she circled in front of him again.

John took a step forward and two guards each took him by an arm. He could flip them to the ground, an elbow back into one of them and then – but Belle glanced over at him and waved her gun in Vincent’s direction. “You interfere, he dies.” And then John was frozen. She turned back to her captive. “If you speak, it’s to answer my questions clearly. You no longer get to prattle endlessly to a room full of yes-men. Understood?”

But Vincent was struggling to answer. John could see his eyes widen with terror, going into a flashback again. It would be a long time before he could handle being held at gunpoint. “Y-yes.” His face was locked up into a mask, but his chest was heaving with hyperventilation.

“Good. Let’s try again. Where is the Elder?”

Vincent laughed, a nervous, humorless sound between gasps. “So, what, I tell you and then you shoot me? You’ll need a bit more incenti-”

Her punch across Vincent’s jaw drew blood from his lip and he leaned forward for a moment, swaying as it trickled out of his mouth. John saw red. “Stop!”

Belle ignored him. “Where is the Elder?”

Vincent’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of a response that wouldn’t lead to being struck a second time, or to becoming disposable. He looked to John in desperation. John flattened his expression into something steady and soft despite the way his heart hammered all through him, trying to project calmness.

Belle lost patience and fired a warning shot into the ground. Vincent scrambled backwards, letting out a strangled noise. He was now shaking visibly.

“I have no qualms about killing you.”

He just shook harder. “Putain, s'il te plaît, je suis - [Fuck, please, I’m -] I mean, I’m sorry. Please. I can’t tell you. I’ll get to him for you.”

“You mean John Wick will kill him for you.”

“I – “ He scoffed, frustrated. “Yes, if necessary.”

Something registered on her face. “Even you must know you don’t become Elder just by killing the Elder, right? There are heirs.”

“Yes, obviously! I don’t - ”

“So why do you want him dead?”

“I want…” Damn it. Vincent hadn’t been briefed on this part and he was stuttering in confusion. “I-I don’t. I want to hold him hostage until he restores my position. Or until…”

Belle turned to John. “Care to explain?”

“…” He stared down at Vincent, precious, broken Vincent, who met his gaze with bewilderment and fear, hunched over on his knees, blood still trailing off his lips. “…The Elder will never agree. So I’ll kill him.” He tried to paint an apology across his face. He would much rather Vincent thought he had strong confidence in the plan. He had some confidence…

Vincent rolled his eyes and then closed them, tilting his head back towards the ceiling, retreating into himself at the betrayal. “Alors tu me fais juste plaisir... [So you’re just humoring me…]” he muttered under his breath.

“And if he does agree?”

“…Marquis, what will you do for the Bowery as a High Table member?”

Vincent didn’t open his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched. He seemed to be struggling with rage, on top of the fear. “…We’ll drop all pursuit of The King. I think that’s very generous.”

“Promises, promises,” said Belle. “If you’re going to make empty promises, you can make them more lavish than that.”

He smiled sardonically, as if it just figured. “What more would you ask?”

“The Bowery operates completely independently, outside of High Table regulation. Zero interference.”

“No one exists outside the Table. All are above it, or under it.”

“Then carve out a space. In blood, if you have to.”

For a second, there was only his rapid breathing. “I…I can’t.”

“Oh. Well. I guess you aren’t as big of an egotist as I thought. Don’t really value your own life.” She pressed her gun directly to his skin again.

“Alright! Alright.” Belle lowered her weapon in satisfaction.

“Very good. And if you don’t follow through, Mr. Wick will kill you for us. Isn’t that right, John?”

John tore the word slowly out of his throat. “…Yeah.”

He hated that he wasn’t sure he was lying.

“Good. We’re done here.” She waved to the guards, who unbound Vincent’s hands. He looked like he might faint from sheer relief. “You have a deal, Wick. Your flight leaves tomorrow. Keep this clown in check and go shop for those supplies. But don’t forget that the Bowery sees all. If he mistreats my staff, I will know.”

“He won’t.” John glared at her as Vincent stumbled towards the exit.

“Stay behind a minute,” she told John. Vincent stopped, so she added, “Not you. Out.” A few of the guards closed between him and John, ushering him out into the mezzanine.

Once he was out of earshot, Belle spoke.

“Why are you doing this? You don’t care whether the Elder lives or dies.”

“…I’d rather he died. That’s all.”

“There’s only one problem with that theory.” Her gaze held on him, steady and triumphant. “You risked your life walking in here. But you didn’t risk the Marquis’.” So much for maintaining secrecy about his feelings. “I don’t know why, but you want to save him. And it won’t work, he’ll just drag you both down together when he falls. No one wants to see you do this tragic shit anymore John, even those of us who only know you by reputation. Leave him to his fate. He is condemned.”

“That…sounds like a problem for the people who’ve condemned him.” And he followed Vincent out.

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹(coming soon)

[engagedtobefree]

Today was worse than yesterday.

Chris opened his notification this morning. No response, which was fine. It's not like I said anything; I only liked his message. I spent the entire morning crying on and off. I wish that was an exaggeration. It isn't. For almost 4 hours I cried then stopped cried then stopped cried then stopped. I only settled down when I got to lunch, and it was only because I was too exhausted to keep crying. I didn't eat lunch because I didn't realize the food I grabbed this morning had gone bad, and I didn't have the energy to run out to get something.

I finally had the energy to cry again later in the day, but I had to hold it in since Joyce was leaving soon and she always says bye to me. She had walked in on me earlier and I know it was obvious I had been crying. She would normally say something, but this time, she didn't, which I was actually grateful for. Joyce comes in earlier so that she can leave earlier, but it's never a consistent time. She usually leaves some time between 4 and 4:30, and today of course, it was 4:30. Then I decided I might as well just wait until I got home to cry. And boy, did I cry.

As soon as I got in, I got changed and got my bluetooth ready. Today I decided on Juice by Dear Youth & Broadside. I grab a sturdier pillow today because I need this to feel as cathartic as possible. For the first listen, I don't even make it through the whole song throwing and punching the pillow. I ended up doubled-over sobbing the same as yesterday, and that's pretty much how I stay for three more rounds of the song. Then I put on Save Yourself by Kaleo. I lay on my side in fetal position, sturdy pillow between my knees and pulled against my chest, pathetic pillow under my head. I continue sobbing. By the time the song begins repeating, I've finally calmed down, but only because, just like earlier today, I'm too exhausted to continue. I lay down on the sofa and fall asleep, not waking up until around 8:30. I finally get up around 9. I get around to eating dinner around 9:30.

This cannot continue much longer. I know it won't last forever regardless, but I mean like, I can feel how puffy my face is and this shit is exhausting. I have things to do and I hate not being able to function.

Today I actually had the thought that maybe I should have begged. Maybe I should have said, "Can you please just tell me what's going on?" but even as soon as I thought that, I knew it would've been useless. I already told him that I was hurting and confused, and he still explained nothing. If Chris doesn't want to tell me, then he doesn't want to tell me. I know that there's nothing I could do or say to change his mind. He'd have to change it on his own. That's why all my cards have always been useless. I never had any control in any of this, and it was stupid of me to ever think otherwise. Chris has always been the only one with any playable cards. He's the only one who can change any of this. I don't know the game we're playing, but I know we're on the same team, and I know he has had his hand full of cards as he watched me put mine down one by one, never jumping in to save me from emptying my hand. I need to get up from this table. I need to walk away. But instead I can't help but watch him from where I'm seated, hoping he will take action, hoping he will fix this. I know I have to stop hoping, that regardless of whether he does or he doesn't, it's better for my mental health that way.

There's something pulling at me that wasn't there before. A question: What is Chris afraid of? I had previously spent so much time focusing on my own fears that it didn't even occur to me that Chris might have some too. This whole time I kept thinking that out of the two of us, Chris was the braver one. I kept thinking I'd have to step up to meet him where he was at. But now I'm unsure. What if it's been me the whole time? Or what if, somehow, we were actually starting on the same level? Am I simply making faster progress? Is he going to step up? Idek if this is right. Maybe he isn't afraid of anything. Maybe it's something else. I have no answers and no way to get any, but my mind has questions regardless.

I hate to bring this up, but I think it needs to be brought up for comparison's sake. Back when things were ending between Scott and I, I wasn't even this upset. This is someone I had feelings for for like 5 years. This was also someone I had been waiting around for (around a year and half, though I guess you could technically say 5 years). We were, on some level, friends, and he was someone I saw and talked to regularly since we worked together for several years. I didn't even break down crying like this when things ended between us. I had some tears, but that was it. When he tried to come back around, I had a moment of weakness where I broke down crying and wished things could have worked out. But I wasn't mourning the Scott that exists; I was mourning the Scott in my head, and he wasn't real. I had held on for so many years and built him up inside my mind, despite knowing him fairly well, and ripping that out of me was difficult. I also felt really bad that I had to potentially hurt his feelings, and that more than anything made me emotional. I don't like to hurt people. I should also mention that Scott was a hot topic in my therapy sessions quite frequently over the years, and I always told Audrey how I felt stuck, how I felt like I had no other choice in this path and that I didn't know what else to do.

Earlier I kept thinking that Idk why this hurts so much. Except I do. It's the floodgates bursting open of everything I've been holding inside. It's the dam bursting. It's just like after my last appointment with Chris, except it's happening in a different way. For two years I've waited, letting Chris take his time, hoping that one day he'd step up and he'd take this somewhere, and always, time and time again, he seemed right on the edge of doing that before diving into his disappearing act. I had my heart so set on him. In my therapy sessions, Audrey asked me a few times to check in with where I was at, and each time I told her I was choosing Chris, how I knew that waiting for someone this time was truly what I wanted and how I was consciously choosing to wait. I knew that he'd be worth it. I could see him fully and clearly, as he is, in reality. I was aware of him fucking up. I knew there would come a time where he'd fuck up again. I didn't care. I was in this for the long haul before it even began. I want Chris and all of his fuck-ups and his messiness and his imperfections. I want him completely. I have never felt like this before and it's tearing me up inside. I barely know him, but I know without a doubt that I want him. If anyone is worth the wait, it's Chris. I'm crying again. He has no idea how much I want to be with him. I'd wait forever. I'd wait forever and a day, but having no answers hurts. This hurts and right now I don't know how to make myself feel better. All I can do is keeping trying to let the pain out - all of the pain I've been holding in for two years - and hope that at some point, it starts making a difference.

I keep thinking back to Chris stumbling over his words when I asked him when we could hang out. I definitely caught him off guard, but there was something else bothering me about it. I figured out what it was today. It felt like Chris hadn't even given it any thought. He had no answer, despite asking me back in both January and last month if I'd like to get together soon. This time, surprisingly, he didn't even say he was busy. He had nothing for me beyond just saying "Idk" and stumbling over some words I can't even recall. Then I wonder if he even thinks about me at all, or if this is completely one-sided. Maybe this whole time I've been recklessly stupid, letting myself get attached, especially when that person has been more words than action and was very much deceiving me at one point. I wish he wanted me enough to make an effort and to do something about this. I wish I was worth an explanation.

As I'm writing this, there's something else tugging at me again. At my appointments, Chris always asks me if he's hurting me. I always respond with no, which is true. However, this time, I know something else was added onto that, but I can't remember if it was from him, me, or both of us. Did he ask me if I would tell him if he was, or did I come out and say that I would tell him? Or did he ask and then I gave him that as an answer? Monday passed by in such a blur and I've been so emotional these past few days that the details of some things escape me. Regardless, it just so happened that I did tell him he was hurting me, just in a different way. I almost wish I hadn't, because it hurts even more now that he knows and that it doesn't matter. I had to break the cycle though. We couldn't continue Chris's way, even though in a sense, we still are anyway.

I really wanted to do yoga again tonight, but Idk if I am now. I'm still so tired, so I might just shower and go to bed. I wish I could sleep for however long I needed to and wake when all of this is over.

[bisluthq]

I think you would get a bit of a laugh with me too then 😂 because I am a bit weird myself. Maybe that's why I have these moments where I'm like dude I like Joe because we really are quite similar when it comes to things we are weird about. Whenever I learn something about him or see these photos he posts I'm like are we the same person?

But anyway, I relate to your friend (although my case is also a bit different because I still live with my mom, so if it weren't for that I would probably need to pay bills in a different way) because I have a phone and it's not fancy at all. I don't even know if you can use Google pay like you were saying. I think you can but I don't use it. But it fits what I need it for. I didn't even get this phone, until my old one stopped functioning completely. I also don't use a credit card. And I have a digital camera 😂 although tbf my phone camera is almost as good so I use both to take photos

Unlike your friend though, I don't expect people to pay for me too. I'm mostly a homebody so when I do go out, it's very much with intent and a lot of times by myself anyway. I know where I'm going and I know what I need to pay for. If I'm going out to eat I like to choose where beforehand or decide what first. If I need to buy something, I know the price of it. So when I go out I take money with me enough to fit what I need and just a little extra incase there's a unforseen thing of some kind.

That prevents me for buying more than what I need and not buy something on the spot that I don't need or end up spending more than I wanted. If I do end up finding out something else, it forces me to choose on which to spend my money on.

I always go for this method and so far it has always worked great for me. If you don't have money, you can't spend it

Just for clarity again like my friend didn't expect me to pay - she just didn't do your thing of having done the research upfront but she'd done essentially the same thing. She'd brought cash out with her. (And her useless ass phone and her camera lol). I'd suggested that specific place because they had like a Ladies Night promo/special evening thingie that popped up for me on Insta and I sent it to her and she was keen so we went. She did realise the cashless situation pretty quickly - I think we'd ordered one drink each and were looking at the menu and she read the cashless part and DID immediately panic and like fwiw if I hadn't had enough money in my card for w/e reason we could've just gone somewhere else and split the tab fairly but I *did* have money in my card lol (well on my phone lmao) so I suggested we stay because it was a cool event and vibe.

It was just mildly inconvenient for me because I hadn't planned on "withdrawing" that much cash and rarely carry much cash around full stop because I'm actually the opposite to you lol like when I have cash I tend to spend the absolute fuck out of it because everything individually seems so cheap? Whereas when I use my card I can see the overall balance pop up after every transaction and be like "okay Nat my bestie, it is time for us to go home now" to myself. Not even just being out tho, I get that way with bigger purchases too. I had a period of time where a lot of my income was cash based because I was doing in person lessons and the people would pay every time (this can be an interesting sidebar to this sidebar because what I was mostly doing was teaching Russian speaking strippers English?? It was a wild couple months lmao) and I spent THE ABSOLUTE FUCK out of it because somehow handing over physical money that's just there is less emotionally intense for me than swiping. Maybe it's like a remnant of childhood pocket money idk like "oh look here's a hundred quid score let's spend it" whereas when it's in my actual card like I can manage it better idk. That is btw what happened with her half of the tab also like I spent that super quickly too. I'm also like a lot more generous when I have cash? Idk I buy other people random shit too because I'm like "oh look I have cash!!! I've got this for us!!!" as though that's somehow different to yk my actual money.

Back to you though, your thing doesn't sound annoying because you check beforehand. If she'd checked beforehand and said "oh no I'm not keen" or idk BROUGHT HER CARD like she COULD'VE done that the once then it would've been easy peasy.

[solardick]

Would one pray upon being a blessing on everyone they meet? As the term “to pray insists its existence in the absence of violence. Take the intent and pour power into it. This is the meaning of a prayer.

The constructive use of living images, fantasy, and the like. Is to put it to use. Active involvement with the motion to practice learn, and build, to particular social situations.

Is to play. The mind creates and doors open.

The day the world respects my choices and what i stand behind, while expecting me to give back the opposite of what is received would be great.

Thanks for breaking my sex. And thanks for reenforcing the notion that i’ll never get to experience the love of a good woman within a functional relationship. And not one knowing nothing else nut others dominance and negative reenforcements. 39 years and counting. Yeah for being alive. Ill work tillninretire if indont shot myself before then. And then ill shoot myself. And just continue doing what you’ve always done. Support others through transitions and healthy decisions. While they all rape existance for their own selfish ends. Existance will always ever be just me. Surrounded by violence manipuation and bs.

Prayers are useless to a slave.

I gave her the devil card through someoneelse. And all they did on my side talk about dicklove. Like usual. Buch of f@gt$

The positive side of the tower is the removal of constraints. Of the veil consealing whats within. It encompasses. Discovery and rhat ancxious type feelign. Perhaps a little exileration. It is tied to violence on the positive side to. It implied actions and impatience, and it implied receptivity to another party’s giving. Easily twisted as is everything in tarot.

The secret valentine or a gift on christmas morning. The french deck had it right with its raining one colourful lights found no when else but to december.

This too requires an act. An act of giving. Its a movement forward. In the place of expédition, the reception act is in confirmation. Though that door may be just as closed to the care of the response. Which is an iffy issue towards the selfish or selfless. For either one may be on either side.

More to gain here if, i can get mind on it.

And how else do most open a gift? It ties into the conditioned sexual act. One tares into it. At first in hast, later with more resistance. As if trying to be polite and civilized about it. Restraint. Built into the structure. Desensitized. To the experience. It’s amazing when it bubbles underneath. In one’s gut. In one’s chest. Feel it running through one’s hands. Is it just on the surface? or is it running through the bone? When all is right. Its just as dangerous if not. It wants a feedback.

The response which came back the next day. Another curiosity to being hooked up with a horny 20 y’old cousine of a bible camp trooper. Asked again. Ok, it isn’t just play. They want a fact. The natural response coinciding with the act;

“No, i don’t want a 20 year old slut. i ain’t a flooring dildo.” Message sent. Stop tying your gay shit to my motives. Pls.

Cant be said any clearer, or respectfully than that. If thats a problem for two, then that sounds like a you problem, dont take it out on me.

Dance with me, luv. She, so happens to dance. I’m giving back what was given to me. What else a man to do? No one knows the allure of a devil more than me. It’s been played on me since existence was born. All my life experience ties into it. I mean, what guy wouldn’t want a stand with a horny 20 yearold. Full smoking. ? That’s the play. Of course i do. Except…. Where’s the connection? Passion is deep, and frigid. Pure sexual gratification doesn’t matter and doesn’t interest me. The acts sensible to indebtednes and union as the basis. Beyond this, already bonded… theres more freedom of movement. For it centralizes around the pillar.

And i know its there, luv. It’s coming from you and i am weak. The card couldnt describe the relationship better. Where it goes from here. Im less concerned with. It feels good to provide. Since the social is flat. And exists solely on life support. Where “Waite’s” devil is a seal. Tying either party together. Morphing bonding impressions. Forming intent and magnetizing the compass, modifying direction. It was the perfect gift.

Direction is working again. But, north isn’t true north anymore and it never will be again.

Perhaps the shrink would say, im searching for mother’s approval. And not her spychotic disapproval. They’re all psychotics and im badly aspected to all of them. tmi.

Thr little amount of sleep and straining effort makes me sleepy. And not desiring to do anything. 5pm. Think its time for bed.

Well that all depends if they’re a scorpio rising or not. Perhaps its just a fluid pluto aspect. Scorpio rising at that age. Would place that saturn right where it belongs.

Though other “options” appear. A lower class striving. Ambition wise, is simple. And ungrandios. Not trying to fill in any shoes. French, less fluid in english.

I see, in this situation i don’t want to take advantage of. An Eros sun speaks volumes in the creation of love. Community endeavours.

[menkhu]

sorry friends, but from now on this will be exclusively a keyforge blog

[justcourttee]

Hey. Can you write one where the batfam visits Marinette at school and the class is just plain surprised and chaos ensues. You can include any salt (if yes, preferably Alya and a jealous Adien). Ship is daminette with sibling Jasonette or something like that. Thanks

Sorry It’s a little late! I hope this is something like what you had in mind :)) @long-lost-peace

Career Day

“-And it was just terrible Damian! Lila literally stood in front of the class and told them how she tried to get you all to come for career week, but that you all were just so busy in Thailand on a business trip that you just didn’t see how you could make it.”

Damian chuckled at his exasperated girlfriend. He knew how agitated this sausage haired woman made her, but his laughter couldn’t be helped. After all, every time she enters a rant, her little nose scrunches up in the cutest way that he couldn’t help but compare to the hamster she’s always wanted.

“Damiannnn, this isn’t funny! I was literally going to ask Dick if he could come for Friday’s session, Madame Bustier knew that too! So for her to step up and claim that it was all her idea? Gods, now he can’t even come because everyone will praise her for ‘convincing’ him to show up.”

“I know my love, what if father and I show up instead? Dick is on a business trip in Thailand right now, attempting to expand the company into further international business, but I’m sure even he would drop the meeting if you asked.���

Marinette let out a sigh as she slunk down into her seat, only the top of her head visible in the laptop camera.

“I know he would, but I’m retracting my ask. I really don’t want to deal with the backlash. Besides, it’s getting late. Chat will be expecting me for patrol in an hour and I haven’t even started my homework yet.”

Damian nodded as they said their goodbyes before signing off his computer. His hand absentmindedly reached for the small token the Marinette had given him just last summer. It was a river stone that she had engraved with the name he had first called her; Hobi.

He spun the stone several times before gently setting it back in its rightful spot. If he wanted to help his love, then he was going to need more chaotic energy than his own. Picking up his phone, Damian dialed a number he had learned by heart over the years. The phone had barely rung twice before the man answered.

“What up demon spawn? Ready to cause some trouble for dear old dad?”

Damian rolled his eyes trying not to imagine what Jason could’ve possibly meant. Instead, he turned his focus to the task at hand.

“This is more important Todd. Marinette needs our help.”

There was a momentary pause on the other side of the phone and for a brief second, Damian was tempted to check to see if Jason had accidentally hung up on him. (it wouldn’t have been the first time.) He was both relieved and perplexed when a sound rang through the background that was suspiciously similar to a gun being loaded.

“Well, why didn’t you start with that Damian? Who exactly do I have to kill?”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  . . .

Career week couldn’t come to an end fast enough for Marinette. Hearing Lila’s false tears over her Damiboo and favorite brother-in-law not being able to make it despite her constant begging was both infuriating and a bit nauseating. She was almost certain that if Damian heard the word Damiboo uttered in a half-mile radius of himself, he would bring down his sword on that person’s neck.

“Alright class, settle down.” Madame Bustier walked into the room, an ear-splitting grin accompanying her. “We have a few very special guests to finish off this Career Week. In fact, one of your own classmates made this meeting happen!”

The class muttered excitedly as all eyes landed on Lila in the front row. Marinette placed her head on her desk, ignoring Adrien’s hand attempting to rub calming circles in her back. She was 100% done with this week.

“Please welcome Bruce Wayne and his associates here to talk about the world of Entrepreneurship.”

Several jaws hit the desks as Bruce walked in, Jason and Damian in tow, all wearing bright smiles. Marinette sat up so fast that her back crushed Adrien’s hand into the bench behind them.

“Ouch, excited much my lady?”

Marinette ignored his teasing as her eyes narrowed in on her boyfriend standing in the front of the room, an absolute shit-eating grin gracing his face.

“Oh no.” Adrien followed her stare down to the boy in the front of the room, instantly feeling a dislike for him. If his lady was uncomfortable, then so was he.

“Thank you for having me Madame Bustier and on such short notice. I realize that Marinette said it would only be my son Dick Grayson, but seeing as he was away for a business trip, I just knew I couldn’t leave our favorite Parisian high and dry.”

There was an instant silence across the room as all eyes turned from where Lila sat in the front row to where Marinette sat in the back. She wanted to shrink in her seat and disappear from the number of people looking at her, but it felt impossible.

“Anyways, I would like to start my presentation by stating-”

“Excuse me, sir!” Alya’s hand shot into the air, her stare intense as some of Gotham’s finest.

“Uhm I haven’t covered any information yet Miss, did you have a question about my flight?”

A few chuckles sounded throughout the classroom, but that didn’t seem to stop Alya as she stood, her arms crossed in front of her body.

“I believe you owe my best friend an apology. Marinette didn’t get you here, Lila did.”

Bruce’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked back to where Jason and Damian stood.

“I didn’t get your girlfriend’s name wrong, did I, Damian?”

Damian shook his head, his grin pulling into a smirk as his eyes met Marinette’s.

“I would hope you didn’t father. After all, you have known her for years now.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully as if considering Damian’s information as a possibility.

“So as I was saying, thanks to Marinette-”

“You mean Lila? Damian, how could you mix up your own fiancee with a shell of a human being like Marinette.”

Damian took a step forward, one hand on his shoulder holding him back as Jason sent a wink in his direction.

“Madame Bustier, if I understood right, Brucie here offered a free trip for your class to the Thailand location this winter if they could sit through just one measly presentation. Are you really going to let this rude child ruin that for the rest of the class?”

Bustier’s smile wavered as she turned her attention to where Alya sat, motioning for her to sit and zip her lips. With a great huff of annoyance, Alya compiled.

“Excellent, now that we can begin-”

“I’m just saying, Mr. Wayne. Lila did all this hard work, attended all your charity functions, helped your city’s heroes, and is betrothed to your son. How could you not recognize her?”

Madame Bustier tried to wave Alya down once more but it was useless.

“Alya, is it?” the girl nodded confidently as she slung her arm around Lila’s shoulders. “I suggest that whoever this Lila person is, you should reconsider your friendship with her. If you or she were caught spreading rumors about another billionaire besides myself, you might not make it off so easily. We take defamation very seriously as it could hurt our empires. Take that as lesson one for Entrepreneurship; always know who you’re working with.”

Alya’s mouth gaped like a fish out of water as she slipped back down into her seat, her eyes burning holes into the side of Lila’s head. With the new peace, Bruce continued his presentation with the full attention of the rest of the class. When the time came for questions, every hand but two were raised high.

“How about you sir? The blonde in the back beside Marinette.”

Adrien stood, his eyes narrowed in on Damian.

“You said the first lesson was to always know who you’re working with, well, did you know that your son is a liar?”

Another round of hushed whispers echoed through the room as Adrien took the first step down toward the front of the classroom. Bruce cocked his head to the side as he instinctively put out a hand to catch Damian before he could move forward.

“How would you justify that kid?”

Adrien stepped closer, his posture rigid as his stare never left Damian’s face.

“Well, he’s been telling you that he’s been dating Marinette, but that is a lie. Marinette is my girlfriend.”

Damian’s fist curled as Jason took a step to intercept the two boys.

“I think you forgot to put a space between the girl and friend sir. You see, demon spawn here and pixie pop up there are together, no space. You and pixie pop are just friends.”

Everyone’s eyes shifted uneasily between the men, unsure of who was going to strike first. No one was given the chance as Marinette raced down the stairs, pulling Bustier to the side. Her whispers were harsh and rushed and when she pulled back, all the color from the teacher’s face had drained.

“That’s enough Adrien, I wouldn’t want to bother your father over an inconvenience like this.”

The boy's mouth closed tightly as he turned his attention to where Marinette stood, a sudden feeling of nausea coursing through him. Did she really just pull that card here? In front of everyone?

He couldn’t say a word as he marched back to his seat, ignoring the many questions that were thrown his way.

“Well, I’m sorry to everyone that had real questions, but this stunt seemed to have taken up all of my time. Madam Bustier, do you mind if I check Marinette out of school early?”

The teacher could only nod as the men swept Marinette out of the room before she could protest. She waited until they had reached the car before turning on the men, hitting each of them as hard as she could. Three simultaneous ow’s sounded through the courtyard.

“Pixie pop, what was that for?” Jason’s whining was shut down instantly with one cold look.

“I told you all not to come! You totally just made everything worse.”

Bruce risked a step forward as he pulled her into a hug.

“Marinette, you mean the world to this family. Defamation to the Wayne family needs to be shut down instantly. That Alya girl is bad for your emotional state, the Lila one as well.”

Marinette tried to deny his accusations, but Bruce refused to hear any of it. He pulled back, opening the door to push Jason inside, slamming it shut before he could fight back. With the other two gone, Marinette was forced to face her boyfriend.

“Hobi-”

“Don’t start with your cute nicknames. What was that scene with Adrien?”

“He was the jealous one! I can’t help if he tried to attack me.” Damian crossed his arms in defiance, ignoring the daggers Marinette’s eyes were shooting.

“You know he’s just a friend mon amour, you are the only one I want.”

Damian grumbled under his breath as he allowed himself to be pulled into Marinette’s embrace. After a few minutes, he pulled back, a curiosity overtaking his face.

“What did you say to the teacher to cause her to stifle Agreste?”

Marinette’s smile was devilish. It would almost be cute if it wasn’t so terrifying.

“I just reminded her that defamation was taken very seriously and that if she didn’t stop Adrien, he could have started a full-blown legal battle between two very powerful men, leaving the school and her job in the crossfires.”

Damian placed a kiss on her forehead before moving towards the car.

“Hobi, you amaze me at every turn.”

Marinette rolled her eyes as she allowed him to help her into the car. She would deny till her last breath that she was grateful for that particular Career Day, but the one thing she couldn’t deny was how much she loved the Wayne boys.

Permanent Tag List:

@damianette-is-life @ash-amg @rebecarojas07 @long-lost-peace @heaven428 @thequeenofpotatoeunicornss @moongoddesskiana @nach0ava

[airplanned]

Zelda Trill AU part 3!

It’s absolutely shocking that I’ve never written anything involving Star Trek.  SHOCKING.

So this was really fun and useless.  Enjoy!

***

Part 1

After his unpleasant time in Hylia's presence and his turning down an away mission and his mild sinus infection, Link was very much looking forward to spending some time with people who liked him and appreciated him and weren't about to spread rumors that he was untrustworthy or...or...

She wouldn't say anything about the actual mistakes he'd made.  She couldn't with implicating herself too.  If she took him down, he'd take her down with him.  But it was the things that he hadn't done that concerned him.  She was not above lying.

And he couldn't stop thinking abut her.  Not just Zelda, with her flashing hair and flashing eyes.  But hauntings of Tetra.  Of Sheik.

He'd made the mistake of reconnecting with her once.  He wasn't going to make that same mistake again.  He'd seen how it turns out, how inevitably after too long, people turn on each other.

He needed to spend some time with his short-term friends.  Friends who knew only Link and could pull him out of his own history.

He wasn't the last to arrive at Ruto's quarters for her weekly card game.  Most of his friends were endearingly bad at cards.  He half suspected that they enjoyed losing.  Otherwise they'd find something else to do together.

"Liiiink!" Ruto called.  "You made it!  I was worried, because heard you weren't feeling well."

He flopped into a chair between Yunobo and Russel.  "I've had the worst day.  I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Ruto preened.  Yunobo gave him a concerned look.  "We're all having...what's this again?"

"Andorian barley ale," Groose said, holding up his mug.  In addition to trying out card games every week, the group tried out "drinks from around the galaxy."

"Yeah, that," Yunobo said.  "But we can get you some tea if you want."

Link grinned.  See?  Best friends.

The door chimed and Ruto straightened.  "Oh!  Since Malon couldn't come, I invited the new girl.  Come in!"

Link's blood froze.

And there she was.  All the memories hitting him again like a hammer.

So maybe they weren't the best friends after all.

"Zelda!  You made it!  This is Groose, Yunobo, Link, and Russel.  Everyone, this is Zelda."

There was a chorus of "Hey, Zelda," and she flashed a brilliant smile at them all.  Her eyes met Link's briefly, then swept away without even the slightest hint of  reaction.  Groose popped out of his seat to pull out her chair for her, like a smitten gentleman, and Link thought he might throw up at the lovestruck look on his friend's face.  "Thank you all so much for inviting me."  She beamed up at Groose, and the guy's ears turned red with pleasure.  When he took his seat, he scooted it closer to hers.

Link would have to pull him aside later and make up something horrendous about hooking up with Trills.  Would Groose believe they had spikes?

"I'm actually feeling pretty bad," Link said, half way out of his chair.  "I think I should--"

"You do not feel bad.  You're just shy," Ruto said.  "This is why I didn't tell you a new person was coming."

Rude.

"Anyway, we're playing a game called Ben'tick and we need six people."

Ben'tick.  Of course.

Yunobo slipped a mug of tea in front of him and Russel grabbed his shoulder, pressing him back into his seat.

Zelda sat directly across from him.  Which meant they were going to be partners. 

"Excuse Link.  He's shy."

"You're both Trill," Groose said.  "Do you know each other?"

"There actually is a whole planet full of us," she teased.  Her half smile made his heart hurt.  "We don't all know each other."

"Oh.  Right.  Sorry."

That lie wasn't going to last, especially after their scene in the commander's office.  But he did appreciate it for the moment.  They could pretend they didn't know each other.  He could do that.

Goorse asked, "Have you played before?"

"No.  You'll have to teach me."

Link was ignoring her, so he didn't roll his eyes.  Tetra Hylia was a fiend at Ben'tick.  She'd taught him.  Her eyes caught his again, and her fingernail tapped twice against the table.  Shut up.

"Of course we'll teach you!" Groose said.  He stretched an arm over her chair to lean in and run through the rules.  Her eyebrows puckered in confusion, and she asked a series of simplistic questions.

Tetra would roll into a bar on the outskirts, and flop down into a seat at the highest rolling table, announcing that she was the best player in the quadrant, and proceed to take everyone's currency without a shred of guilt.  Zelda, it seemed, was ready to con everyone.  Not surprising considering Hylia was a champion liar.  Not surprising considering Zelda had a level of innocent cuteness that Tetra couldn't have pulled off.  She held up her hand of cards to show Groose and bated her eyes with her lips slightly parted.

"She'll figure it out as we go," Link said.

"Link's going to be your partner," Ruto explained, gathering up the card to shuffle them.  "Don't worry.  You're in good hands."

"It is good to have a partner you can rely on," she said.  Only Link picked up on the edge in her voice.

"He's good at this game."  Ruto grinned at him.  "If you need it, he'll carry you through.  And he'll kick you if you make a mistake."

That was a good idea.  He aimed a swift kick at her shin.

And missed.  "Ow!" Groose barked.  He glared at Link and retreated to his own seat, pretending that he was pulling in his arms to collect his hand of cards.

Zelda lifted her eyes over her fanned hand and smirked.  He was not going to survive the night.

She folded up her cards and tapped them twice against the table as if neatening them--A signal from a hundred years ago that she had four face cards.

Link sighed.  There was nothing for it.  He found a low number to throw out, letting her take the first hand.

#

Ruto threw down her hand.  "Okay, we have to have a rule where the Trills aren't on a team."

Yunobo said, "Don't the symbionts communicate with an electromagnetic disturbance?  I think they're talking to each other."

"No, it's the tapping," said Russel.  "We always thought the way Link tapped his cards was a tick.  But she does it too.  They're signalling each other."

"No way!" Groose said.  "Zelda would have to have played this before to know any signals."

Everyone groaned.  Ruto rubbed her temple.  "She has played this before.  She's hustling you!"

Groose snapped around to give her a betrayed look. 

She gave him a sympathetic look.  "Link was carrying me most of the time."  Then she gathered all the chips in the pot and pulled them towards her.

"I'm on shift at 0700 tomorrow," Russel said.  "I should get going." 

That effectively ended the night, and as much as Link tried to delay leaving so her wouldn't have to walk with her, Groose unfortunately noticed and shouted after him, "Hey, Fi, you making a move on Ruto?"

The dangers of Ruto thinking that was true outweighed a brief walk in the hallway, so off he went, following awkwardly behind Groose and Zelda as they discussed his recent shore leave.  He went mountain climbing.  Link knew he fell, but Groose made no mention of that.

"I'm down that way," Groose said, pointing down a corridor away from the turbo lift.  "If you wanna..."

Link would have been better off if he'd left Ruto's claiming he'd needed to be somewhere else, headed to the opposite end of the ship.

Zelda laughed.  "No thank you, but that was a good try."

Groose beamed and gave her a thumbs up.

Link didn't have much choice but to fall into step beside her to the turbolift.

"You don't talk a lot, do you?" she said.  The edge in her voice was back, but not nearly as sharp.

"Leave Groose alone," he said.

"Why?  Are you jealous?"  The turbolift arrived and they both stepped aboard.  "Deck 7."

"Deck 5.  He'd not the brightest, but hes my friend, and I don't want him to get hurt."

"Because I'll murder him?  That's really the story you're sticking with?"

Link clenched his teeth.

"Look," she said.  "I didn't pick this assignment.  If I had a choice, I'd stay as far away from you as possible.  But I don't have a choice, and neither do you.  So are we going to make this work and ignore each other like professionals, or are you going to be broody and impossible forever?"

He turned on her.  "This ship is my home.  If you put a toe out of line, if you put anyone here in danger, if you do anything suspicious at all--"

"As if you wouldn't put this ship with everyone you claim to love onboard on course to fly straight into a star while you escape in a shuttle craft like the coward you are--"

The turbolift jerked and shuddered.  The lights flickered, and suddenly they were falling two floors, three.  They grabbed for each other's elbows as the emergency locks activated, hauling them to a stop with a sickening lurch.  For a moment the lights were off, the hum of the ship silent around them, and there was only the harsh sound of her breath and the fierce grip of her fingers on his arms.  The emergency lights came on, low and red, and they straightened away from each other, instantly on alert.

"We've fallen out of warp," she said.

"Fi to ops...Revali come in."

"Hylia to engineering."

"Fi to the bridge...Emergency override: doors open."

The doors did not open.  Zelda tapped at the dark console, before shaking her head and popping it open, immediately pushing her hands into the wires.  "Power's out.  Let me release the door locks."

There was a hiss, and Link crammed his fingertips into the slit between the doors, gritting his teeth and prying them apart.  The floor of Deck 8 was visible about a meter above the floor of the turbo lift.  The hallway was lit with emergency lighting as well.  Link shook out his hands and then cupped them, offering her a foothold and then hefting her up and out.  He hauled himself up after her and went straight to the console on the wall.

"Main power is down.  Some sort of energy spike."  He tapped away as she eased closer to watch over his shoulder.  She was so close that it pricked his neck.  "Propulsion is down.  Engines are running on auxiliary power.  Life support is functioning off the backup systems. And I can't reach anyone."

"What about comms?"

He shook his head.  "I don't know.  They're running on auxiliary power, so they should be functioning.  This is Lt. Fi to all hands."  They both stared vaguely at the floor, waiting for a response.  Link shook his head,  "Why can't we reach anyone?"

"A localized dampening field?"

"Maybe.  I need to get to the bridge."

"Preferably quickly."

"Yeah." He nodded.  "Let's go."

Part 4

[elsa-writes]

Alfie Solomons x Reader: Beauty and the Beast

Part 1

Authors note: this is my first time writing for Peaky Blinders, and my first time writing a fic in a while, so please feel free to bully me for my inaccuracies! also I might change the title later cuz idk what else to title this. Enjoy!

—-

Polly pretended to disapprove of you and Arthur’s shenanigans. Reality was, she knew with you around, Arthur couldn’t get into too much trouble. True, it was not the most respectable of hobbies for a lady, to be playing cards and hanging around bars every Friday night. However, Arthur couldn’t be getting any whores pregnant when he had to watch over his young cousin. And he’d make sure you’d stay out of trouble, too. Tommy had a similar line of thinking. Although with this latest scheme, you weren’t sure you had his full support.

“Are you sure this is the best idea?”

“I think,” Arthur paused for a beat, stroking his mustache. “It will go smoothly. You want to prove yourself, that you can function in this line of business, this is it.”

“And what did Tommy say about it?” You questioned. He’d sent Arthur in his place for a meeting with Mr Solomons. You were sitting in the car outside of the distill- bakery. Arthur insisted that you come along to this meeting. Camden Town was a bit nicer than Birmingham-though not by much.

“You know Tommy, he’s, well, you know,” he blustered. In the back seat, Billy coughed.

So Tommy was not aware of this arrangement. “Right.” But you were not going to NOT go in.

You’d bumped into Mr Solomons once. He’d been leaving after having a conversation with Tommy. You scampered away before he could say anything to you. Not out of fear of him; you ran away because you were afraid Tommy would know you’d been eavesdropping. Though Mr Solomons had made a reputation for himself, from what you’d overheard, he sounded like a bit of a clown.

“Are you coming or are you going to stay in the car like a baby?”

“I’m not a baby,” you protested and stepped out into the cold air. “Finn is a baby.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t invite him for a reason.” Arthur punctuated the sentence with a slam of the automobile door.

You adjusted your outfit, making sure you looked proper and professional. “Let’s get this over with.”

A man awaited you by the door and led you inside the distillery. It was dark, and damp. The odor of rum-er, bread, permeated the air. The smell made you light headed. Your shoes echoed on the cement, the loudest sound in the room.

As you descended into the labyrinth, a man appeared from behind a corner. Mr. Solomons himself.

His hat cast an ominous shadow over his face- definitely planned for theatrical effect.

He did not react to your presence. If he recognized you he gave no sign. “Welcome, welcome! You must be Arthur!”

“Mr. Solomons,” Arthur greeted, offering a hand.

“I’ve head so much about you,” Mr. Solomons said. The amusement in his voice was evident. He wasn’t taller than your cousin, but he was stockier and way more intimidating. Billy stood on the opposite side of you, wary of the large man.

Arthur replied, “Shalom.”

You cringed. Mr. Solomons gaze flickered to one of his men behind Arthur.

“Let me just say, Shalom,” Arthur repeated, painfully serious. You felt ill. If it were a less tense situation you would have smacked him over the head.

Solomons tilted his head just enough for you to get a glimpse of the look of incredulity on his face.

“Shalom!” He said. “So glad you could join us for this most joyous of celebrations! And I see you’ve brought friends for the occasion.” Solomons nodded in your direction. You’d been instructed by Arthur to not speak too much or get involved. The same went for Billy.

Arthur shifted on his feet. “This is my cousin, and my associate. Shall we discuss business?”

“Cousin, eh? From the sounds of it, there’s a new Shelby every fucking week.” Mr Solomons chuckled. “Come along, come along.”

He lead you into a room with a table in the center. Something was off. Perhaps it was the comment Arthur had made. It had surely offended them. The Solomons men hadn’t even looked at you. Not that you wanted to be looked at. It was unusual, though. They weren’t even looking at each other.

Something else in the room caught your attention; a goat tied to the leg of the table. It bleated sadly at you. You resisted the urge to pet it.

Mr Solomons circled the table and gestured. You took note of the pipe in his hand that also seemed to function as a cane. “Take a seat, why don’t you?”

Arthur hesitated, both you and Billy watching him before making a move.

He took the chair on the end. Some of the Solomons boys were standing behind the three of you in a perfect line. Another one took a chair next to Mr Solomons, still not looking at you.

Mr Solomons himself remained standing, studying Billy like he was the most fascinating thing on the planet. “And you’ll be...”

“Billy,” Billy said.

Mr. Solomons focused his attention on you. “Shelby?”

“(Y/n),” was your answer as you sat down at the table. There were plates and cups arranged before you. You kept your hands in your lap, careful not to touch anything.

“(Y/n)...You know, out there in the sand, out there in the desert where me forefathers come from... started out as a little speck...”

“Is everything alright?” Billy leaned over to whisper to Arthur. One of the men lurking around had shut the door behind you while Mr. Solomons rambled on. Arthur tried to dismiss Billy’s concerns with a wave.

“Billy, don’t worry mate, yeah, if you want you can leave. If you need to go to the little boys room or something you can leave.” Mr. Solomons interrupted, sounding a little too much like a school teacher.

“He’s alright, he’s alright,” Arthur grinned, rubbing Billy’s shoulder. “Billy boy.”

Your stomach churned. Something was wrong. This was not the kind of conversation that Tommy and Mr Solomons had had the day you eavesdropped. This was not the simple meeting you were promised.

“You want to stay?” Mr Solomons asked Billy; staring at him so intensely you had to look away.

“I’ll stay.”

“You stay there, then, treacle.” Mr Solomons grimaced, and his voice suddenly became much louder. “So! The pharaoh! Have you heard of him?”

Without thinking, you nodded, and he pointed in acknowledgement at you.

“He kept my people, the Jewish people, in slavery for thousands of years.”

“Persecuted, right,” Arthur interjected, pleased with himself for making this astute observation. Mr Solomons eyes lit up with amusement.

“He did, he persecuted my race. killing the innocent, right. So this feast that we’re having here , is basically the day what when the Jewish angels decided the evil fucking Egyptians had pushed their fucking luck!”

“Right,” Arthur added.

“It’s part of our tradition to do this, for in order to make it good with god to kill a king.”

Oh fuck. You glanced towards your cousin. By the look on his innocent smiling face he had not come to the conclusion you had. Okay, keep it cool. From the rumors you knew Mr Solomons was an intelligent man who spoke in idiotic riddles. You could have been misreading things. Sabini could be the pharaoh in the story.

“Right,” Arthur said again. What was Tommy doing at this moment?

“That is the ritual of the sacrifice of the pass over goat.” Mr Solomons said.

Everyone at the table turned to look at the bleating creature.

Arthur looked ill. “A goat?”

Mr Solomons gestured to it. “Yeah, we’re gonna sacrifice it. Tonight. That’s part of the reason why we have to shut the doors as well.”

You wished Arthur had let you keep a gun. You were a sitting duck. Every muscle in your body tensed, ready for the action. No, Tommy wasn’t the pharaoh.

“But this year we thought we’d give the fucking goat a name!” He grinned.

“You named it.”

“We fucking did.”

You averted your eyes as a man put a knife to the goats neck. “Arthur?”

“You named the fucking goat.” He shifted in his chair. It seemed as if he was catching on.

“Evil fucking Egyptian pharaoh-“

“The fucking-“

“And you know what we called it?”

“What’d you call it?”

Your hands balled into fists.

“Tommy Shelby,” Mr Solomons answered with a hint of triumph.

As the blood of the goat spilled on the ground you dropped to the floor. Chaos ensued; a gunshot fired so loud your ears rang. It took a few seconds for your hearing to return. Arthur was screaming. You looked up to see poor Billy slumped in his chair, covered in blood, not moving. You brought your knees to your chest and covered your head to avoid any potential stray bullets. Three of the men had to restrain Arthur, who thrashed and cursed.

Heavy footsteps approached. You scooted back further under the safety of the table. Trying to help him would be useless; you were outnumbered and they had guns.

Arthur went quiet, his freckled face pale.

The back of Mr. Solomons came into view.

“That’s that. So, and the evil Egyptian scum was finally cleansed by the blood of the Passover goat. Mate.”

You covered your moth with a hand.

He kissed Arthur’s cheek twice. “That’s for Sabini.”

Then he promptly bashed Arthur over the head. Funnily enough, it brought back memories of all the times you’d seen Arthur do the same thing to someone else. The urge to laugh overwhelmed you.

Mr Solomons dropped into a squat and placed the gun he’d shot Billy with into Arthur’s hand.

While he was in this position he noticed you under the table.

“Ah, hello there,” he grunted, eyes looking you up and down.

You wanted to swear, or grab the gun from Arthur’s limp hand, or do something very impressive.

He stared at you, waiting for a reply.

“Hi,” you sputtered out. “Is he dead?”

“Oh, nah, that would ruin the fun. You were not supposed to be here tonight.”

“I know.”

“Right. What the fuck am I going to do with you?”

“Let me go?” You suggested. It was worth a try.

He scratched his beard, lost in thought. “Cute, but I think not. That wouldn’t exactly wrap things up nicely, would it?”

A heavy pause lingered in the air. You pulled your knees in even closer, in an instinctual effort to protect yourself.

“Ok. Well! Lads, why don’t you take our guest upstairs?”

“Excuse me? No, no way.”

One of the men grabbed your arm, yanking you to your feet.

“Hey!” You struggled to get your arm free.

Mr Solomons stood up and turned away from you.

“You’re gonna kidnap me and you can’t even look me in the face! Fucking coward!” You shoved the man off but slipped in the blood on the floor, letting him get the advantage.

Another grabbed your other arm and despite your best efforts you couldn’t elbow him off. The near tumble had discombobulated you.

Mr Solomons glanced over his shoulder, as cool as a cucumber. “My good friends the London police are here if you’d prefer to go with them.”

The shock of what he’d said made you forget to fight. “Wait, what?” He didn’t have police on his payroll. Oh, Sabini did, how could you forget?

“Get the fuck off me!” You screamed.

The two men dragged you out the same moment as the doors flung open. A group of police stormed the room.

“Fucking animal came in here with a gun and he shot him in the face!” Mr. Solomons gestured with his cane, ignoring your pleas for help. “And my lads restrained him. Look at him! He’s dead! Is he dead! He’s fucking dead!” His false astonished voice followed you down the hall.

You fought back with all your effort.

“Stop fucking fighting, you’re lucky he didn’t shoot you too!” One of them said.

“Oh, how kind! How generous! Please be sure to thank him for me! Arthur! Arthur!” You didn’t know why you were screaming for him. They were carting him off to jail. Fuck. Would Tommy know? How long would it take for him to find out? “Bastards!”

Going upstairs was the worst part; you managed to slither out of their grip and ran up a few steps before tripping onto your face. They at least had the decency to not laugh.

The upstairs appeared to be some sort of flat. The two assholes threw you into the closest room, probably out of desperation to be free of you.

“What are you going to do with me?” You demanded, although you were scared of the answer.

They exchanged glances. They had let you free but blocked the door.

“Well, we’re not sure. He didn’t really give us instructions.” One said.

“I could give you some instructions. How about you go shove a-“ the threat was enough. Without rhyme or reason you charged at them like a bull.

Before you could spring your attack, they slipped out, locking the door behind themselves.

Slamming your fists on the door, you swore at them, every word imaginable.

Once you exhausted yourself you switched gears. Taking in the room; you noticed a bed shoved against a wall, a large, messy desk, and a small window. The style of the room was at least ten years out of date, and was covered in what looked like ten years of dust. This must be where Mr Solomons slept. For someone who had money he didn’t live like it.

You moved to the one window in the room. Here was a potential escape route. Except for the crowd of men huddled outside smoking. They wore aprons, like the others you saw. There was no way you could get past all of them.

But you could once they left. The only issue was making sure nothing happened to you in between then and now.

Who knew what upsetting plans he had for you? He fucking shot Billy. He could have shot you. Maybe the only reason he did it was because the police were nearby. He could be on his way up here at this very moment.

You needed to block the door. Anything to stall for time.

There was a coat rack in the corner that you used. The large cabinet full of decorative China plates looked easy to push; after a few tense moments of pushing you abandoned it and went for the desk. You investigated your work. The door could still be opened a few inches. Anything more than that would be blocked.

It should be enough. It didn’t feel like it. You were becoming aware of the heavy, dull ache in your muscles. Your ribs hurt from you dropped to the floor and bruises had begun to appear on your arms. You sat down on the creaky bed. If you were trapped in here, you might as well enjoy the “comforts” of this place.

A few hours passed. It had to be the next day already. Your thoughts were with Arthur, wondering if he’d woken up from the bashing yet. And Tommy, if he knew you were being held hostage. He was smart. He’d get you out of this. Unless he’d finally had enough of your antics and disowned you. No, no. Polly, John and Ada wouldn’t let that happen. You were spiraling and tired but too paranoid to sleep. Laying back on the bed, your eyes closed as you strained to listen for any sound. Why in the ever loving fuck had you let Arthur do this? When had he ever done anything smart?

Someone knocked at the door.

“Fuck off.” You said, a conditioned response from years of your cousins barging in on you.

Mr Solomons huffed. “Yes, yes. Listen. I’m not going to shoot you-well, I might if you get on my nerves- I have actually come to the conclusion that you may be quite useful to me.”

You sat up. “What?”

Mr Solomons opened the door, and to your relief, it got stuck on the desk. “Moving my fucking desk around?”

“I doubt I’m any use to you,” you said in your bravest voice. “Tommy will be looking for me. And he will want revenge for your betrayal with Sabini.”

He jiggled the door again. It didn’t budge. “Yeah, exactly. Revenge and all that. And I know he’s fond of you- you were at his house that day- so if I have you, right, as leverage, he’ll be less likely to put a fucking bullet in my head.”

“Did you really put Arthur in prison?”

“Yes, and I’ve just gotten word that Michael...Gray, is it, he’s been locked up too. So Tommy is probably a bit busy at the moment.”

Michael? That was probably a lie. A bluff. Polly would be in shambles.

“So are you going stay in there forever or are you going to come out?” Not taunting. Curious.

“I’ll stay in here.”

“You can come out, I’m not going to fucking hurt ya-“

“I saw you shoot Billy in the fucking head! And nearly kill Arthur!” You barked and flung the nearest object you could find, an empty bottle, at the door.

He cursed and shut the door before the bottle could slam into his head. “Didn’t you listen to a fucking word I said? Tommy Shelby would really come after me then.”

“Fuck the fuck off!” Another bottle flew through the air for good measure. This time the liquid contents splattered on the papers on the desk.

“Fucking hell,” he growled. “Stay in there as long as you want then, yeah?”

Your voice wavered. “He’s gonna come for me! And you’ll be sorry when he does!”

[loveinterestcastiel]

erosion

I wrote some endverse fic based on a @lateral-org post asking a FANTASTIC question:

When/why/how did endverse! cas get rid of the trenchcoat and what was dean's reaction?

Rated M. Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence. Word Count: 4.1k

tagged some mutuals and people I thought might be interested in this under the cut, if you want tagged in this/future fic or want me to remove your tag dm me!

erosion

Of course, Sam said yes in Detroit. So why dream about that? He lived it every day. The redundancy was irritating at best.

Where the fuck did I leave my boots last night? Cas cursed under his breath and embarked on a thorough search of their cabin, the coarse words warm and familiar on his tongue as he yanked on his socks. I really am starting to sound like Dean.

Dean’s boots were already gone, his gun and thigh holster absent too. He’d left his green jacket behind, tossed carelessly aside last night and hidden under the trenchcoat on the floor at the foot of their bed. He slipped his coat on over his clothes and shoved Dean’s jacket into their pack- he knew he’d want it later, even if it was just for the drive back. He slipped on the worn coat, habit- he’d stopped wasting Grace on its upkeep a while ago, but it was still important. It felt like comfort, in some strange way, so he kept on wearing it despite the worn-through elbows or the stubborn little bloodstained spot on the hem.

He’d dreamed of Detroit, last night, again. He didn’t know if he’d ever get used to dreaming, as unsettling and involuntary as it was. It felt like the unfair hijacking of an otherwise enjoyable human bodily function, and he resented it altogether. He snagged a bit of weed from his stash and tucked it in next to his flask, sweeping out the cabin door and into the frigid morning sunshine, giving Chuck a lazy wave as he ambled past his cabin to the truck lot, kicking little pebbles across the packed dirt at imaginary targets with a super-human precision that grated strangely on him today.

“Big run today,” Chuck said with a tentative smile, his hands clasping a chipped mug filled to the brim with his ridiculously indulgent tea, wafting a cascade of steam out over the railing of his cabin porch before dissipating into the air. “Don’t forget the perishables if you can get at them, ok? We’re seriously low on-”

“Toilet paper, milk, cheese, butter,” he interrupted, “plus sugar, flour, canned fruit, hygiene products, toothpaste, toilet paper, coffee, meat if we can get it, .35 and 9mm ammunition, mechanical oil, gasoline, propane, rubbing alcohol, gauze, surgical tape, toilet paper, paracetamol, and oh, toilet paper again!” Cas recited dryly, rolling his eyes. “You gave us a written list yesterday. Twice. Couldn’t fuck up blackout drunk.”

Chuck snorted, shaking his head in self-deprecation. “Just doing my job, Cas.”

“We’ll do ours,” he called over his shoulder, continuing down the central path briskly. “We’ve all got our part to play.”

What was it Lucifer had said to Dean, that night Zachariah stole him out from under Cas’s nose and threw him into the future? No matter what choices you make, whatever details you alter… we will always end up here.

It certainly seemed like he was right. Most days, it seemed like they were all hurtling towards the exact same place Dean had caught a wretched glimpse of, once, with the brakes slashed and emergency failsafes offline, and no indicator that the impossible choices they were making every day were anything but inevitable. He knew that Dean still had nightmares about his ending, but he didn’t know much else about Dean’s nightmares anymore but what little snippets he could garner from what Dean mumbled and cried out in his sleep. He’d lost the ability to dreamwalk a while back. Three nights after the Croatoan virus wiped out Fort Worth and they were forced to fall back, he tried to enter Dean’s sleep to watch his dreams in the dubious refuge of a closed down Motel 6 off of interstate 70 as they ran west, to see if there was some piece of information they’d missed, some new choice they could make one day that could change the path they were on.

It simply hadn’t worked. He mourned the loss of one more skill in the darkness of their room that night as Dean slept uneasily in the bed beside him, one more thing which, in its absence, made him ever more useless to Dean, much like the loss of his ability to time travel, or to smite their enemies with ease. Flight was becoming difficult by the day, and he knew in some part of his mind that his wings would be the next to go, and he would be grounded, permanently, on Earth and not in Heaven.

And so it goes.

Anyway, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice about anything these days. Once Michael had taken Adam, they lost their only trump card. Heaven didn’t need Dean anymore, but Hell desperately needed Sam. It was a shame, it really was, that Sam’s gamble hadn’t paid off.

It was a miracle Lucifer let Dean go. He had brushed him off as a non-threat. Unimportant on a cosmic scale, however important Dean was to the vessel. To Sam. So Dean walked out of that run down building alive, and he was the most beautiful, terrible thing Cas had ever seen. His soul shone brighter than even an archangel’s grace in his rage and trembled with the fierce sharpness of grief, and it was glorious, righteous.

Godly.

Even as Cas’s memories softened and blurred, becoming tinged with a mortal haze, that memory of Dean remained in a sparkling clarity. He could imagine no life, no moldable version of the past, in which he did not choose Dean. From the very first moment his soul had reached back to cling to Cas’s Grace in Hell, Cas had fallen, was falling, would fall, for Dean. It was inevitable, his love. They were inevitable. They fell together in the time after Detroit, into battle, into bed, and into cosmic obscurity. Soon, too soon, their losses began to outnumber their wins, and they had to make more and more certain regrettable sacrifices just to stay alive. Cas was used to collateral damage, far more than Dean was, but whatever the other humans in their ragged camp believed of him, he wasn’t unaffected. Just the opposite, in fact. He had never felt anything before, not for billions of years, an incomprehensible existence of light and intent and obedience and war, and now he felt everything. That- not Dean’s disappointment, or the slow loss of his Grace, or his Father’s unyielding silence- was undoubtedly the worst part of becoming something like human.

Some days were better than others, of course. Some days he took precious little blue or white or green pills, all different shapes and sizes and he felt good. Numb, pleased, far away. Quiet. Others, fewer than the days he had his pills, he took shrooms, LSD. Molly, twice. Often he took nothing at all, craving the wicked pain and emptiness it created in him as his sobriety enhanced the ache his dwindling Grace left behind, needing the punishment to feel real before forcing himself into a tumultuous sleep after days spent horribly awake with half a bottle of rotgut sloshing in his stomach. He still liked joints, rolled meticulously, their verdant smoke curling up deliciously in his lungs and setting him up on a lovely little metaphorical cloud the best, and then, they were even more so lovely when he shared them with Dean. There was nothing, nothing like passing it between them, before transitioning into trading hit after hit between their mouths, brushing against his soft lips, breathing his air, watching Dean’s cheeks flush a stunning pink and holding tight to his deep golden hair, dragging him down into slow, languid kisses that desire deepened and turned into a precious sort of holy consumption as the high hit its stride in them both.

He was sober today, mostly, just riding out the last of some gorgeous pink pill from a nearly full bottle he’d just scavenged out a few days before. It made him feel floaty, focused, fearless. He felt almost like he did two years ago, before his reeducation stint in Heaven. Angelic. It was nice. He’d take another, later. Maybe Dean would want to take one, too, and they could fuck high out under the stars on their quilt again like they did last October and feel like the real Gods of this stupid little planet, on top of the world, on top of Dean, cradled in the soft embrace of his thighs, and worship each other.

Take that, brothers. Castiel smiled viciously at the sky. You’ll never fuck God like I have.

Standing impatiently among their motley caravan of vehicles in the sickly yellow light of a midwestern April morning sun, his back to Cas, Dean’s silhouette and the flashing imprint of his soul- the only one Cas could still see clearly- caramelized into a sweet union of tangible and not that pulled at his stomach and swept him into the siren song of Dean’s being and woke up the hungry creature that lived in his heart and craved DeanDeanDeanDean.

No one else was there yet, probably all still dicking around at the camp mess and drinking shitty chicory. His feet fell silently on the earth, leaving behind the sound of the universe and the vibrant humming of Dean’s soul- and oh, he hoped he could always hear that symphony, even when all the rest of his powers had run dry.

Just as he reached out to take Dean by the shoulder and turn him around, Dean moved with a sudden burst of energy, like a coiled snake striking out. He whirled around and met Cas’s eyes, took him by the neck and the waist, and kissed him. His lips moved with a gentleness that contradicted the intensity of the grip of his cold-fingered hands as they worked their way into his hair, wormed their way under his trenchcoat, and touched the bare skin they found where the hem of his t-shirt met his jeans. He met the kiss eagerly, licking teasingly at the seam of his lips, biting down gently and coaxing Dean into opening his mouth. He pushed Dean back until his back hit the nearest rusted army-green truck with a small thudding noise, pressing himself up against Dean and tugging on his hips so they were pressed flush against each other, the contact sending and electric thrill racing up his spine.

“Cas,” Dean gasped out at the sensation of their bodies meeting, the air punched out of his lungs.

“Mmm, morning,” Cas murmured between kisses. “You’re out here early.” Dean’s neck was uncharacteristically bare above the neck of his rough brown sweater, creamy and invitingly unmarked. Cas indulged in the impulse to change that, working his way over the tender skin, sucking and biting until a bruise began to bloom below the junction of Dean’s jaw and neck, worrying it with his teeth until it was a deep reddish-purple.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Dean whispered, letting his head fall back against the truck window, baring his throat further, and closed his eyes. He seemed almost happy, today. He seemed to light up in the lead-up to their more dangerous missions, and Cas didn’t want to think about that right now. Didn’t want to ruin the moment. “Didn’t want to wake you up,” Dean elaborated.

“I appreciate that.” Satisfied with the rather outrageous hickey he’d created on Dean’s neck, Cas pressed it with one last kiss. “How’d you know I was behind you?” he asked, pressing their foreheads together and slowly grinding their hips together lazily, just breathing Dean in.

“Felt you,” Dean said, bringing their lips together again briefly. “Always can.” One more little kiss.

“Dean, last night, when you couldn’t sleep, I dreamed again about Detroit-” Cas started to confess feverishly, almost against his will, Dean stiffening up at his words in his arms, and was interrupted by the sound of people approaching, footsteps, voices, and an earsplitting wolf-whistle directed at their compromising position.

Dean’s face shuttered immediately, and Cas felt every scrap of easy bliss flee his body.

He pulled back with more than a little reluctance, his stomach twisting as a fakely jovial grin tugged at the corners of his lips, and clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Let’s go, fearless leader. We’ve got a mission to run, don’t you know?”

“Don’t start with that fearless leader shit,” Dean said tightly, rolling his eyes away from Castiel’s face and fixing on a point somewhere over Cas’s shoulder. “Who’s driving?”

“Looks like Cas is driving,” Joe called out mischievously.

Risa smacked him in the chest. “Get in the truck, idiot.” She turned her gaze to Dean, an odd glint in her eye. It felt sticky and wrong in his core but Cas stamped the feeling down. “Group brief over the radio on the way?” she asked.

“Yeah, at 8,” Dean said, sliding into his unshakeable militaristic persona with a firm nod. “Should be fairly straightforward in and out supply grab. Intel says the Croats cleared out of Roanoke a couple days ago, left major infrastructure and commerce sites relatively untouched. It’s a good thing too,” he added, “we were getting spread a little thin with most goods.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

———————————————————————

It was not, in fact, easy.

Their intel was wrong, so wrong, and Cas didn’t know how the fuck it happened, but they were fine, they were almost finished, closing up the trucks in the alley behind the supermarket and waiting for Dean and Trish to return from sweeping the perimeter, when out of what seemed like thin air and with no more than a broken shout for warning there were more Croats swarming them than he’d ever seen in one place before, and Joe and Maya and Kris were dead, and Dean was nowhere to be found.

The Croats had the remaining seven pinned down against the main truck, snarling and screeching and reeking of blood and gore, strips of flesh and clothing that once adorned their companions now dangling from their teeth. Their single-minded need for the endless consumption of human flesh and that it was currently being denied drove them to a terrifying frenzy, but the hunters were starting to push back, and the Croat numbers were thinning slowly but surely. Cas thought he saw Allen get bitten, but next he glanced at him he looked fine. He’d need to check on that if they made it out alive. He resigned himself quickly to the idea of killing the man before they got back to Chitaqua- Allen was a nice enough man, quick-witted and skilled with a blade and a loom, but nothing was worth bringing a Croat back to camp. He owed it to the man as a human being to grant him a swift death if he’d been infected before Allen himself could realize it. A shot to the back of the head, unawares, had to be better than a clumsy battle and inevitable stab to the chest (Cas knew he would always have the upper hand against a human, even when he had fallen in full) with fear in his heart.

He buried his angel blade to hilt in yet another Croat’s throat, yanking it out and ducking out of the way of the spray of blood that followed in a well-practiced motion uncanny in its speed. They would win this one.

But still no Dean.

Cas felt a bubbly panic rise up in his chest through the haze of battle as it became clear to him that Dean wasn’t coming back. Even from the other side of the building or from inside, there was no way that Dean had not heard the commotion of such a large fight.

Something was stopping Dean from coming back to him.

“Risa,” he shouted over the din to the woman on his left. “Dean and Trish-”

“I know,” she interjected tersely, hacking the head off of a skeletally thin Croat in a tattered suit. “Retrieval? We’ve got this handled here as long as this all the fucking bastards around.”

“I’m going in,” Cas said quickly, slicing at a particularly bold (stupid) Croat trying to charge him. It crumpled to the ground and twitched once, and was still. Some of its companions fell on the body ravenously, and were subsequently cut down in turn as they began to tear at the corpse. “Leave as soon as you’re able; I’ve got the keys to the main truck. Cover your right,” he warned Risa, and, sensing an opportunity in the parting sea of Croats before him, ran.

He was through the service doors of the building before the Croat hoard could even begin to respond to his escape, and their noises were quickly muffled by the service door as it locked automatically behind him, leaving him in relative quiet.

There were a surprising number of crates and boxes remaining in the storage and unloading zones, either empty or nearly so, and he quickly ascertained the area was, apart from himself, devoid of life or anything of interest to the camp.

Cas.

Dean's sudden prayer hit him like a sledgehammer to the gut.

Aisle... his mental voice trailed off for a second into indistinct sounds, colors, and waves of pain. Aisle seven. It's bad.

Cas shoved through the access door into the freezers, and out into the store with a recklessness he would have been ashamed of had he been so terrified.

He turned down aisle seven and skidded to a halt, frozen at the sight that greeted him, and tried to make sense of the hideously macabre tableau.

Trish's decapitated body lay the furthest from him, her ribcage torn open, her organs spilling over her arms and scattered in pieces over the floor. Three dead Croats, all headshots, around her remains. Then a bloody lake on the cheap linoleum tile, thick and viscous and so, so red, two more dead Croats, clearly more hard-won victories, their arms hacked at, heads partially removed, and nearly blocking the last body from view, wedged up against the shelves and bloody as it was.

"Cas," Dean wheezed, lifting his head laboriously to meet his eyes, blood bubbling up between his lips and staining them. "Cas, I'm so sorry-"

"No, no, don't talk like that," Cas said desperately, kneeling beside Dean. He took their pack of his back with shaking hands and shoved his angel blade somewhere inside. "We can fix this. You'll be okay."

"Cas-"

"You will!" he said, too loudly and startling himself.

"My ribs," Dean panted out in pained little gasps. "Broken. There's something in my back." He twitched minutely as if to show Cas the problem and immediately convulsed involuntarily at the pain the movement caused him, a horrible rattling moan in his throat. "My leg. Right one. Broken too." His jaw was clenched so tightly it was a miracle he could speak at all through the teeth-grinding pain he was in.

"Okay," Cas said faintly.

Cas...

Oh, he hated feeling. Sometimes he thought it made him useless. He missed being cold. Brutal, uncaring about pain or death. But this was Dean, and he'd never actually been particularly good at being a machine, anyway. "Okay. Dean, I need to see your back," he warned him, before moving him as gently as he could and angling his body so that he could get an unobstructed view of his back.

There was a crude metal stake wedged just an inch to the left of his second and third thoracic vertebrae, rusted, twisted and cruel-looking.

"Dean, I- I have to try to heal you," he said slowly, knowing that Dean wouldn't want him to be wasteful with his Grace. But this was beyond what human field medicine could help.

Dean didn't respond. He'd fallen unconscious.

"Oh no, no, no, baby," he babbled under his breath, trying to figure out the best way to extract the bar of metal. "Hold on," he muttered, grasping the stake firmly and bracing Dean's body against his own, trying to avoid fucking his broken ribs up more.

"Father, please, if you're still here, if you're listening, if you care at all," he begged, "help me."

Of course, his Father didn't answer. Gritting his teeth, Cas yanked out the stake and tossed it aside, immediately covering the wound with his hand. He summoned his Grace together and it responded sluggishly, but his hand was glowing and Dean's back was knitting back together.

As the skin merged into a puckered, raw-looking pink scar, Cas dropped his hand away from the wound and found himself utterly breathless, gasping for air and drained.

Dean was still unconscious.

He leaned Dean back up against the shelving and took a moment to figure out what to do next. Dean was still dying. He was still in danger. He couldn't be moved, nor could they stay put. He quickly opened up their pack and realized in horror that all the medical supplies were with Risa and AJ on the trucks and so, so far away by now.

He yanked his coat off with a twinge of regret. It was bloodied and worn and what he was about to do with it felt like a milestone he was loathe to reach.

He shredded it into long, wide strips, not letting himself think of how it was the last piece of Jimmy Novak, or how he had repaid the man's sacrifice by being party to the end of the world they both wanted to protect, or how Claire Novak had stopped praying to him weeks ago, now. He got on with the job, this is just a job, I can fix this-

He managed to wrap Dean's leg up decently tight, straight and stiff, but he had quickly discovered it was broken in several places. He didn't know what he could do for Dean's ribs, and he felt, as if from a distance, how Dean's breath was coming shallower and shallower, and he made his choice.

He laid his left hand on Dean's broken leg, as gently as he could. Leaning forward, he smoothed the wispy little baby hairs he loved to tease Dean about back, off his sweaty, pained, precious face, and, placing his right hand on Dean's crushed ribs, near his heart, touched their foreheads together. He looked at Dean's soul, his shining, beautiful (fading) soul and knew.

"I love you," Cas whispered, his voice wrecked. With that finally said, he grabbed his exhausted, weary Grace, and though it fought him and slipped through his grasp, he got hold of it and he pushed everything he could, everything he was into his hands, into Dean.

When he had done it, when he had drained himself down to mists and vapors, and had saved Dean, he gathered him in his arms, and carried him back to the truck on numb feet, leaving the scraps of Jimmy's coat behind in aisle seven.

When the truck broke down thirty miles from Chitaqua, and their radio too, he turned to Dean, pulling on a blue-ish jacket they'd picked up earlier during the run. It fit well.

"It's a good look for you," Dean said gruffly, staring at Cas with an expression he could not recognize. There was blood still smeared on his cheekbone, he noted absently.

"Oh. Yes. Well, thank you," Cas answered, adjusting the sleeves.

Dean tugged at the tan fabric strips on his leg, wincing at the pressure.

"You did a good job, Cas. With this fabric splint from your coat-"

"I know you won't be able to walk it," Cas said quietly, unable to meet his eyes even as he interrupted him. "I did what I could, but you'll be weak for days. You need time."

"You can leave me, Cas," Dean said, a strange, pinched guilt-pain-tenderness on his face. "You can come back for me."

"No," Cas said, smiling, and choking, and took Dean's cheek in the palm of his hand with a terrible ache rising in his throat. "I can't."

April 19th, 2012, under the peak of the Lyrids meteor showers, Cas flew for the last time, right up to the gates of the camp.

When they landed, a millisecond and millennia later, his wings burned away into nothingness in a wave of electric, minty-white pain that forced him to the ground. In the aftermath, panting and sweating and shaking in Dean's arms and clutching at his handprint on Dean's shoulder, he realized his Grace, or what was left of it, anyway, had consolidated into a bright little ball in his chest. Like a soul.

The realization was followed by another. Despite his earlier conviction that it would one day be lost to him, he could still see Dean's soul- behind his teeth, in his chest, radiant like a halo around his head, and worth, a million times over, and a million again, falling for.

Tagged:

@heller-jensen @sunforgrace @rambleoncas @adhdeancas @evermorecastiel @holmesemrys @plantdadcas @good-things-do-happen-dean @jeanne-de-valois @autisticandroids @sonder-stars @yana125 @faithcastiel @cascreamtiel @seffersonjtarship @i-sing-for-me @purgatorybi @bibelphegor @cowboyslikedean @gracefuldean @dimples-of-discontent @judaskissdean @wafflehousegothic @icaruscastiel @67chevyimpala67 @lesbianjenderenvy

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written)

Requests for this card are closed, thank you to anyone who sent in requests! If you don’t want to see these you can block the tag #false bthb. As always shoot me an ask if you wanna be tagged in future stories, whether it be for bad things happen bingo or any of the other series, one shots or in general!

Requested via AO3 comment.

General Taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @im-an-anxious-wreck​ @logans-library @janus-is-an-adorable-snek-boi​

Rage Against the Machine

Summary: The door at the end of the hall has been locked tight for some time now and things seemed to have finally calmed down. Truly, that's where their first concern should have been (Happy Ending)

Warnings: food mention, maggot mention, mild swearing, somewhat disturbing imagery provided by Remus, strangulation, bruising, violence (if there are more please let me know)

Prompt: Lifted by the Neck

Ships: Intrulogical, Logan x Remus

WC: 3566

Before you read! This work is a direct sequel to Faulty Logic; I would recommend reading that first if you haven’t to understand the context of this story!

“So we’re just leaving him locked in his room? Seriously?” Thomas looked around at all of  them, utterly confused by the decision they had made. Patton sat with him on the couch wringing his hands nervously while Roman sat on his other side, his lips pressed together in thought. Logan and Remus occupied the whole of the loveseat adjacent from them while Virgil was sprawled on the stairs. Janus nodded from his seat in front of the T.V., a chair conjured up in front of it in an attempt to actually hold their manifestors attention. 

It was a couple of days after the incident, most everyone wanting to let things calm down at least a bit before taking the situation to Thomas though they all knew it would have to be done sooner rather than later. Rage had been as secured in his room as he could be, now that Thomas knew about him and had at least put a name to his function there wasn't much he could do to get out of having a physical form, making the boards they had nailed to the outside of his door and the chains they ran and secured through a thick lock adequate protection for everyone else's security. Unless he figured out a way to force the door down through brute strength alone, which Janus was very doubtful he'd be able to do, they would be safe for now; a thought which put most of their minds at ease though Logan was understandably still a bit shaken and had taken to hanging out in Remus’ room more often than not, the sight of the hefty morning star and various other weapons throughout the room putting his mind at ease that he wouldn't be so easily taken a second time. Yes, he had told the others, he was there for his own peace of mind and no other reason. 

Though if he was leaning more heavily on Remus from his place on the couch, the Duke having an arm thrown over the back of the couch to just barely brush the back of his shoulder, no one said anything. Janus merely rolled his eyes at the display before turning his attention back to Thomas. "Though it certainly isn't the most elegant solution, it will work for now, giving us the time to talk you through things and prepare you as much as possible before you meet him and actively try to work things out with him."

 "I just don't-" Thomas dragged a hand over his face and gestured to Logan. "He was locked in a cage! And told he was useless! i don't think that I- Logan I don't think like that."

 Logan smiled thinly at Thomas and sat up a bit straighter. "I know Thomas. What was said and done wasn't the result of some underlying goal that you secretly wanted to have happen. It just so happens that Logic is a fairly versatile tool when used to overcome certain negativities in your mind, so I was the first to be targeted as a result."

 "But I-"

 "Thomas." Logan cut off patiently. "I assure you- I am shaken but unharmed. Best to discuss what we can do moving forward rather than what we could have done. I don't hold it against you, so don't hold it against yourself."

 Thomas ran a hand through his hair slowly, looking as if he still wanted to argue but didn't want to risk upsetting Logan by bringing it up further. Deciding to concede for now he turned to Janus who was waiting patiently for the conversation to move to something more productive. "Okay. I...okay. Janus?"

 "Yes, Thomas?"

 "What do we do now? How can I- I'm not...Janus am I secretly a violent person?"

 Janus' eyes blew wide. "Thomas what- no. Why is it that everytime you learn you have a less than favorable trait- actually we’ll table that for another time. Considering just how often it is that you attempt to maul anyone who so much as looks at you funny speaks for itself I should think."

 "So why is Rage so violent then? And why do I even have a side dedicated to anger? It doesn't seem like that would be something that would ever help me."

 "Rage is..." Janus screwed his mouth to one side trying to think of how to explain it without causing more trouble. "He's not violent...usually. In that he isn't going to always take every opportunity to attack someone or influence others into shouting matches they wouldn't otherwise get in. Anger, as an emotion in and of itself, is a response to something you find unfair or unjust. Whether the belief is founded or not, anger is a part of you that rises up when you feel you have been unfairly treated, or something or someone you care for has been unfairly treated."

 "It's like fear," Virgil piped up with a quick glance to Janus. "It's a part of you that responds to your surroundings and makes you aware of how they're affecting you. Anger is a part of you that cares for you and wants you to see the possibility that things could stand to be better for you or those around you."

 "Exactly, thank you Virgil." Janus smiled at the anxious side who only nodded and went back to fiddling with his hoodie strings. "It's usually not something that's an inherently bad thing to have unless you frequently find yourself blowing up at even the smallest inconvenience. Like most things it's good in moderation."

 "So then why is Rage such a..."

 "Raging dick?" Remus helpfully supplied.

 "Language.' Patton chided quietly. 

 "Oh stick it up yours, Morality."

 "Remus." Janus warned, effectively shutting up the intrusive side. "But yes, your anger, Rage, acts the way he does for much the same reasons that Remus acts the way he does. He's been suppressed."

 "But I didn't know I was suppressing him!"

 "Just like you didn't know you were suppressing Remus. Rage works the same way. He gets pent up and bored and then frustrated that he isn't being acknowledged. Which again, he wasn't acknowledged for the same reasons as Remus. You didn't want to see him, so I hid him away. Anger isn't a bad thing in moderation, but to deny you have it at all is almost as detrimental as letting it out too much."

 "It's my fault again, kiddo. Part of being a good person, in my mind, is having patience and understanding." Patton hung his head. "I thought that meant it would be better if you just didn't react then...when things made you mad."

 "Everyone loves a martyr Patton truly." Patton's head snapped up, hurt flashing across his face.

 "That is to say, it isn't solely your fault." Janus quickly amended. "I also had a part in it, as did Virgil and even Logan to an extent. Now isn't the time to see who can carry the most blame, we're trying to get Thomas to understand what went wrong and how we can fix it."

 "But how can we fix it? I know I get angry; I was angry about the wedding, I get frustrated when I don't meet my deadlines or something happens that prevents me from doing the things I want. I even swear at traffic jams. What more am I supposed to do?" Thomas looked from Patton to Janus and back and then desperately at everyone else when no one spoke up. He just wasn't an angry person, there were always going to be obstacles preventing him from doing things or some unfair policy that made it more difficult for his friends to do something which was always upsetting. How much more angry did he have to be to satisfy a side he had never met?

 "I think," Roman spoke up. "that just letting yourself feel the full extent of it more often would help. Acknowledge it and actively work to fix whatever it is that's making you frustrated would probably be a good start. You're a very passive person Thomas and while in theory that's a very good thing to be, well..."

 He gestured to Remus. "No offence but it doesn't always have the best result. You just let things sit and fester, believing that any slip up is a moral failure on your part, and it makes you miserable- whether subconsciously or not. I love you Thomas, and will always fight for you, but there are some battles you have to lose to come out the other side."

 "We're not saying you have to start kicking puppies and beating kids." Remus ignored Patton's pained gasp and held Thomas' gaze. "Just like- get a punching pillow or something. Or walk away and scream. All you do is push everything down when you get too full. But eventually you're going to have to take the trash out, and I think you'd rather deal with three day old stinking onion cuts than maggot filled meat."

 "I- okay yeah I get it. Thank you Remus." Shaking the image from his head, Thomas nodded and looked back to Janus. "Do you think starting to do that would calm him down enough that he'd eventually listen if we summoned him up?"

 "Hard to say. I don't think it should happen for a while yet anyway; letting him tire himself out before we start trying to work with him might be the best course of action. I had definitely realized just how physical he was willing to be to get the acknowledgement. Absolutely no tact but really he comes from you so I don't know what I was expecting." Janus winked letting Thomas know he was only kidding, making their manifestor roll his eyes and sigh deeply. 

 "So all we can do is wait and see then?"

 "Essentially yes. We'll keep watch over his room to make sure he doesn't come after one of us again and when the time comes to call him up we'll have to make sure proper precautions are taken so we're all safe when doing so, but there isn't any harm that I can see in letting him throw himself against the walls for a bit. Rather amusing to see him get so riled up after lurking in your subconscious for years, only coming out occasionally to nudge one of us into conflict like a child tugging the tail of a dog." Janus smiled at Thomas. "For as violent and scary as he is, at his core he only wants to protect and fight for you, even if his methods can be immature at the best of times. You are and always will be in charge when it comes to us. Once you understand that he has as much influence over you as you let him he’ll be much easier to communicate with, and we all trust you that you will never let it go too far."

 They all nodded in agreement as Patton spoke up. "You are a good person Thomas. Having anger and intrusive thoughts or telling lies- those are things everyone deals with. It's how you choose to let them influence you that makes the difference. As long as you realise when you've let things go too far and work to fix where you've gone wrong, well- that’s all anyone can ask for."

 "Thank you, Patton." Thomas smiled as the fatherly aspect squeezed his knee affectionately and stood, stretching before placing his hands on his hips.

 "Welp," He glanced around. "It's getting pretty late, and we have work to do tomorrow so I think we'd all benefit from a good night's rest."

 "Agreed. We can better address this in the morning when we can put together-" Logan shuffled through a few notecards. "...a game plan. As much as I would love to have this resolved sooner rather than later we have other responsibilities that need our attention."

 "Just remember what we discussed here moving forward," Janus suggested as he stood and snapped away the chair. "and we'll have a much easier time handling Rage when the time comes to do so."

 "I will. Just- be careful. I don't want anyone hurt because I can't seem to handle negativity."

 "We're imaginary Thomas, it's almost impossible for us to actually be hurt." So saying Roman sunk out, quickly followed by Patton after giving Thomas one last reassuring smile.  

 "You got this." Virgil gave a two fingered salute before sinking out himself, making him smile as he watched Logan nod and sink out with Remus. 

 "Thank you again, Janus." Thomas turned to the only side left in the room.

 "As much as I'd love to take all the credit, I'm hardly deserving of thanks. I'm just one side, guiding you through your constant moral dilemmas as you question yourself as a person; truly not as big a deal as it seems." Janus sniffed as he tugged at his glove, smirking as Thomas waved him off playfully.

 "Alright, alright. Get out before I decide to bring something else up I've been suppressing since childhood."

 "If only you knew." Janus mumbled as he sunk out, coming up in the hall where all of their doors were located and looking to the one at the end covered in boards and chains. Seeing nothing amiss he turned on his heel and made his way to his own room across the hall, content in his belief that everything, for now at least, was fine.

 -----

The hallway had been suspiciously quiet for a while now- a week to be precise. Janus tested the chains occasionally, careful not to make any noise so the room's occupant wouldn't be suspicious of anything going on outside their confinement. Through all his caution and constant checking and even Remus and Virgil's fussing over what might need to be added to keep the door more secure the room stayed stubbornly silent. It wasn't a bad thing per se, it might mean that maybe Rage was calming a bit since Thomas actually had been taking the time to acknowledge and let out his feelings however and whenever he could, usually through a good vent to one of them or a close friend.

 Later, much too late for him to do anything about it, Janus would realize that's where he went wrong. They had all become complacent, assured in their safety with Thomas taking the proper steps on his part and the heavy chains on the door putting all of their minds at ease that for now, everything was okay. Even Virgil began to feel as if things were relatively safe, only occasionally venturing far enough down the hall to make sure things truly were. None of them stuck around long enough to hear the careful scratching on the other side of the door, evidence of which was hidden by the thick boards nailed over it, large gouges and holes gradually growing bigger to weaken the door as much as possible without anyone being any the wiser from the other side. Janus kicked himself for not expecting it, so used to Rage being brash and heavy handed in everything he did that he didn't expect him to do much more than relentlessly throw himself against the door until he was forced to simply sit and wait his sentence out.

 So when Logan felt brave enough to check the door himself- read that as when Remus let Logan out of his sight long enough for him to check the door himself- Janus should have been expecting the sound of splintering wood and chains being whipped against the wall. He should have expected the short lived shriek followed by the dull thumping sound of a body hitting a wall or floor. He should have expected it so he could react better- faster. But as it was by the time he had burst from his room, staff fully extended and hat flying off behind him as he ran to the scene, Logan was already in the air, legs kicking as hard as he could against the side that held him by the neck, fingers digging into the soft flesh where bruises were already forming from the harsh treatment.

 "Remus!" Janus' scream threw the other dark side off for just a second, but it was enough for him to slam into him heavily, catching Logan's waist with the crook of his staff and using the momentum to swing him into Remus as he pinned Rage to the ground. He was only just able to confirm that Remus had caught their logical side and was carrying him away before he was violently bucked off the one he had pinned, getting a fist slammed into the side of his head as he was tossed aside like a ragdoll. He rolled to his feet despite the black spots dancing in his vision before they engulfed his vision completely, causing mild panic before he heard Virgil's echoing voice booming through the darkness.

 "Get him up, Remus, make sure Thomas is blocking him!" Janus braced himself as a wave of pure, unfiltered fear crashed over him, gritting his teeth against the screaming darkness and hanging onto his staff for dear life as it passed him over him in favor of its actual target.

 "Janus?" He felt Virgil's shaking hand brush his arm and he immediately grabbed it in his, squeezing gently to let the anxious side know he was there. "Go up with them, I can handle him."

 "Like hell." Janus growled and pulled him a bit closer, eyes finally adjusting as he brought his staff to rest in front of them both. He saw Virgil's eyes flash brightly but he held his gaze firmly until the other huffed and faced forward.

 "Fine, but I'm only saving your ass once." They watched as Rage stumbled to his feet, cracks appearing in the floor underneath him and flaring a warning in bright orange. Shadows still licked at the edges but fizzled out as they got too close, making Virgil growl in annoyance beside him. Janus stepped forward as the cracks grew bigger, scales glowing bright yellow through the darkness themselves, determined to protect his family- Rage included- for as long as he could.

 -----

 "Hey Lolo." Logan winced as he cracked his eyes open, mouth parting to speak but all that escaped was a thin whine as his throat flared with pain. "No no no, don't try to talk! Here, this will help."

 Something soft and featherlight was placed across his neck and then a light, cold pressure was applied, instantly making him close his eyes and sigh with relief. The pain mostly calm he now noticed he was laying on a rather lumpy surface- most likely the couch- and that his head was being cradled on something warm and squishy. Opening his eyes once more he was able to focus on the fact that Remus' head was directly above his own and quite close, which meant he was being held in his lap, on Thomas' couch, with Remus looking at him with eyes so full of concern it made him want to cry if he wasn't certain that would make his throat swell.

 "We'll do this and then see if you can swallow some tylenol to get the swelling and pain down and then- Logan? Am I hurting you? Are you uncomfortable? Do you want me to call someone else up to-"

 Logan reached up quickly, wincing slightly with the movement but managing to lay a careful hand on Remus' cheek. He really wasn't able to speak but he was hoping his thanks was conveyed through eye contact as he smiled gently at the other. Remus gave him a small yet loving smile as he brought his other hand to Logan's and turned his head, kissing the palm lightly. "Fucking asshole. You're so smart but you pick the dumbest times to be out of sight."

 Logan huffed through his nose and flicked the Duke's playfully, getting a quiet laugh in response as he lifted the ice pack and readjusted it so it covered more of the bruising. "Thought I was gonna come out and you'd be stuffed in a cage again and beaten this time or strung up and hogtied or-"

 Logan tapped his cheek sharply to stop the spiral. He was far too hot despite the ice pack and he knew he was smiling quite stupidly up at the other side even though tears were streaming down his face and he wished more than anything he could just speak-

 "I love you so much, Logan. As soon as you heal I'm kicking your ass for scaring all of us." Remus swept his hair out of his eyes before resting his hand on his cheek. "We'll take care of it though, and we'll take care of you and everything will be fine."

 Logan made to reach up again, a question in his eyes but Remus beat him to it. "And before you ask: Virgil and Janus have done this...too many times; believe me when I say they're fine. Thomas, Roman and Patton are right in the kitchen. Everything's fine, just rest for now."

 Dropping his hand to the one on his cheek, Logan would take a ridiculous amount of time to admit he snuggled in further on the Duke's lap, content for now that everything was fine.

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[patchun]

after many hours in UM and 1cc'ing with every character, i can finally present my card tier list! some of these rankings are based on personal preference. for instance, some tier lists have placed remilia at s tier, and i don't DISAGREE with that. it's a really good card, but i just don't enjoy it as much. so in a way, this is very much "the casual player's tier list". i will explain some things below if you're interested:

S tier

Saki is in S tier because her card is ESSENTIAL, in my opinion. The damage difference is really important for every character, and at least as far as I can tell, it doesn't drop off late-game, either. If someone informs me that it does drop off when you hit full power, i'll be removing it.

Now you may ask: why Miko? Sumireko and Piece are so good, and you just talked about how good Remilia is. Well, I like Miko because with those other cards, I tend to accidentally try to use them as death-bombs. And of course, that never works. None of the active cards function as death bombs, so that false sense of comfort does me in more times than not. For that reason, Miko's active is good for me, because if you want to use it well, you have to use it preemptively. There are cards I know I struggle with, or midboss sections like stage 4, 5 and 6 mid - that Miko can handle so long as you use it at the right time. Byakuren isn't ESSENTIAL for Miko to be good, but it makes the active a lot better and reduces cooldown. If you have Miko, Byakuren probably goes to S tier.

A tier

That said, if you can't get a Miko, Sumireko is the second best bet. Her little circle of invulnerability can come in really clutch if you can use it at the right time (or remember to use it at all LOL). Byakuren would go in S if Sanae, the definitive best character (those who say Reimu is... you're crazy, snakes are too powerful), actually needed it. But she doesn't. Sanae's bomb is already insanely strong, and she doesn't really need Byakuren's help. That said. With Byakuren she becomes even stronger. So in retrospect, I think I should have put Byakuren in S tier. It just feels good, and that's important!

Speaking of remembering to use ability cards and bombs, though... Eirin can be a real run saver. Near the end of the run, you can start getting tired. If you have a silly death that could have been prevented, you may get discouraged. In those situations, it can be easy to snowball into a defeated spiral and keep dying over and over, without even bombing! But Eirin has the power to prevent that. More experienced players may find this one useless, but if you're just trying to 1cc these games for fun, Eirin can be quite good!

Mokou is good if you can afford her for obvious reasons - but be careful not to spend too much power later on to get this card. The later stages become quite difficult when you're low on power - you can go into a loss snowball really quickly because you can't clear enemies quick enough so the screen fills with bullets. To get Mokou you kind of need to be on a positive snowball.

B tier

For B tier, the top three equipment options really depend on who you're playing and what you need. For Sanae and Reimu, I think Mini-Hakkero is really good. Based on my testing, Hakkero is better than Needle and Missile, so in comparison, the other two are probably not worth it.

Sakuya B has in my experience been a GREAT card for both Marisa and Sakuya. The knives can be hard to aim, but they seem to do quite a bit of damage, so they really help to make up for the lack of range on both Sakuya and Marisa. Honestly though, I think they'd be fine on anyone. I haven't seen anyone talking about them but... yeah, they're underrated. Another thing is: they feel good.

Then, yin-yang orbs - I just think these are nice to have. They're better than snakes as equipment primarily because they can hit behind you, but I also think they have more consistent dps. Snakes miss a lot more often, which isn't really a big deal when you're Sanae who has 4 snake outlets, but it is a big deal when there's only one snake.

Alice doll - I'm pretty sure this is good. It moves quickly, homes in on stuff, can hit behind you, increases DPS, isn't too expensive. I like to take this when I see it.

Then, lives. Lives being only 80 money can be a big deal. In quite a few of my runs, I've taken lives 3/5 stages because I was just not very lucky with card selection, but I still managed. Lives are very strong if you can manage to not waste them and remember to use bombs.

Yachie's card is good if you can get it early - it wouldn't be in B tier except it's very, very cheap. Only 140 iirc. Now, the UFO... why did I choose that as my best bullet eraser? You may say: patchun, you've said in the past that Okina is really good for erasing bullets! And yes, you're right, you're right - but Okina is really only consistently useful for that one Chimata card, and once you learn that card, it's not very difficult to avoid. Plus, UFO can help with that card too! UFO doesn't give a fuck what it touches, it will erase it. It doesn't have a cooldown as far as I can tell, so it just erases everything in a circle around you constantly. I rank it this high up because UFO saved my ass MANY, many times against Misumaru, who is in my opinion the toughest boss in the game. UFO can destroy yin-yang orbs, so it makes several of her patterns a lot easier. Not even Sumireko can destroy yin-yang orbs. If you happen to see UFO and nothing else, and if you don't think you'll be distracted by it, try it out.

Few more comments

I think Sanae Frog is good on Marisa and Sakuya. Not better than the equipment cards in A tier, but good if you see it. I think anything that helps with Marisa and Sakuya's horrible range is great for them.

I've seen Sannyo card ranked pretty highly, and maybe if you get it early on it is, but I don't feel like it's worth a place in your starting deck, personally.

Mamizou can be good if you've already snowballed as a way to prevent a downfall. But I don't think she's worth picking up early at all. And Keiki's bullet erasing is good, but I found it often erased something I didn't need it to erase just to fail at erasing what I did need it to erase. Probably better than nothing, but far from a must-have, and the no-CD on the UFO and backdoor having very little CD makes them stand out for erasure.

I've heard good things about Aya, as well, but I personally never take my hand off the shoot key. Yuyuko's card may save you in a miracle situation but it's just very unlikely, honestly might be more startling than helpful. You generally know when you're about to die, so when you suddenly don't, it's like... your brain hasn't processed correctly, so you probably just die soon after. Sakuya left-right knives suck. Don't use them lol.

And finally, Utsuho is such a funny card. But... power is such an important resource in this game, with how snowball-y it is, that I could never justify using Utsuho on a serious attempt. I'd love to see some Utsuho challenge runs though.

[parismemes]

SENTENCE STARTERS FROM PORTAL 2.

“oh... it’s you.” “it’s been a long time. how have you been?” “i’ve been really busy being dead. you know, after you murdered me.” “this will be our only chance to talk.” “if you’d done that to somebody else, they might devote their existence to exacting revenge.” “i’ve really let the place go since you killed me. by the way, thanks for that.” “here come the test results: you are a horrible person. i’m serious, that’s what it says: a horrible person. we weren’t even testing for that.” “science has now validated your birth mother's decision to abandon you on a doorstep.” “i'll give you credit: i guess you ARE listening to me.” “remember before when i was talking about smelly garbage standing around being useless? that was a metaphor. i was actually talking about you. and I'm sorry. you didn't react at the time, so i was worried it sailed right over your head. which would have made this apology seem insane. that's why I had to call you garbage a second time just now.” “if you have any questions, just remember what i said in slow motion.” “when you die, i’m going to laminate your skeleton and pose you in the lobby. that way future generations can learn from you how not to have your unfortunate bone structure.” “you may as well lie down and get acclimated to the being dead position.” “i honestly, TRULY didn't think you'd fall for that.” “well. i suppose we could just sit in this room and glare at each other until somebody drops dead, but i have a better idea.” “say, you're good at murder. could you - ow - murder this bird for me?” “BURN HIS HOUSE DOWN!“ “i'm not going to lie to you, the odds are a million to one. and that's with some generous rounding.” “you think i'll betray you. and on any other day, you'd be right.” “you like revenge, right? everybody likes revenge. well, let's go get some.” “it's been fun. don't come back.” “if anyone asks -- and no one's gonna ask, don't worry -- but if anyone asks, tell them as far as you know, the last time you checked, everyone looked pretty much alive. alright? not dead.” “it just goes to show: people with brain damage are the real heroes in the end aren't they? at the end of the day. brave.” “BAM! secret panel! that I opened. while your back was turned.” “AH! i- sorry, i just looked down. i do not recommend it.” “oh, what? how stupid does she think we are?” “i heard gunfire! a bit late for this, but look out for gunfire! probably doesn't help at this point, but i have at least tried.” “oh for god's... they told me if i ever turned this flashlight on, i would DIE. they told me that about EVERYTHING. i don't know why they even bothered to give me this stuff if they didn't want me to use it. it's pointless. mad.” “they say the old caretaker of this place went absolutely crazy. chopped up his entire staff. of robots. all of them robots. they say at night you can still hear the screams. of their replicas. all of them functionally indistinguishable from the originals. no memory of the incident. nobody knows what they’re screaming about. absolutely terrifying. though obviously not paranormal in any meaningful way.” “WHAT ARE YOU DOING WE DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT BUTTON - oh, the door's open! well done. let's see what's inside.” “if we start making a list of things that aren't here, we could be here all night. you know, pens for instance. let's stick with things we can see. not stuff that isn't here.” “‘caw! caw!' oh, look! there's a bird out here! a lovely bird. gorgeous plumage. majestic. won't be here long. a lovely bird like that. once in a lifetime opportunity to see a lovely bird like that. lovely plumage.” “i knew it was gonna be cool being in charge of everything, but... wow, this is cool!” “well, how about now? NOW WHO'S A MORON?” “what -what's wrong with being adopted? um. well... lack of parents, for one, and... also... furthermore... nothing. some of my best... friends are... orphans... but...” “hello! this is the part where i kill you.” “could you just jump into that pit? there. that deadly pit.” “okay, that's long enough. are you dead yet? how about now?” “well, no matter. because I'm STILL holding all the cards, and guess what: they're allll full houses! i've never played cards. meaning to learn.” “puppet master! you're a puppet in a play, and i hold all the strings! and cards, still. cards in one hand, strings in the other. and I'm making you dance like a puppet. playing cards.” “congratulations! the simple fact that you're standing here listening to me means you've made a glorious contribution to science.” “let me answer those questions with a question: who wants to make sixty dollars? cash.” “ground up moon rocks are pure poison. i am deathly ill.” “all right, i’ve been thinking. when life gives you lemons? don't make lemonade. make life take the lemons back! get mad! 'i don't want your damn lemons! what am i supposed to do with these?’”

[popculturebuffet]

Loud House Reviews: The Loudest Thanksgiving

It’s almost Thanksgiving! And a vastly diffrent one than in recent memory: Most of us are slimming down family gatherings to just whose in our house, you know because theirs a pandemic going on and it’s not worth risking your life for it. To those either guilting their families into it or doing so because MAGa or some such I only have this to say. 

Speaking of Black Friday i’ts spread over a week and it’s cyber deals mean I got a ton of graphic novels for a dollar a piece and my christmas shopping almost done. So in other words, boo Maga, yay safe and responsible captalisim.  But while the holiday may be diffrent, as well as the pseudo holiday attached that spawned a wonderful musical and many many injuries, one thing stays the same; Holiday Episodes. And despite being the less popular of the three holidays, Thanksgiving still produced tons of great holiday episodes and specials. And with everything being so busy I simply didn’t put too much thought into what to do for Turkey Day.. well okay the day proper i’m going to eat, spend time with family and watch a bunch of mystery science theater 3000, stay the course even in these troubling times, just with only the 4 other people who live in my house. But in terms of episodes I thought i had nothing.. then I started actually thinking on it and what do you know I have three things I want to do for the holiday, though one might wait till next year, and possibly a fourth. But given my workload currently, i’m not one to back away from a challenge, so welcome to a three or four course meal of reviews. First course: The Loud House thanksgiving special, the loudest thanksgiving.  I originally wasn’t going to do this one, mostly because due to my large workload and constant battle with procastination, I keep having to push back the latest episode review, and I have to do that one soon, as there’s a new episode in december and a christmas episode i’ve put off watching for far too long , as I INTENDED to watch eleven louds a leapin for every chirstmas up till now and never got to it before the season was over.  But just like elven louds.. Nick forced my hand.. and by that I mean the SPINOFF got a thanksgiving episode that’s also a sequel in some fashion to this episode. If I wanted to cover that episode this thanksgiving or the next I had to at least watch the original. And frankly, this close to the holiday there was no reason not to review it. So with that out of the way. 

Let’s Get At Er. This is The Loudest Thanksgiving... after the break

The Loudest Thanksgiving takes place during season 3, and still pre-casagrandes spinoff launch despite the christmas special taking place earlier. This is actually easy to explain: The Loud House runs on Comic Strip time... i.e. the characters don’t age unless the writers decide they do. But while the spinoff was in motion at this point, it was still a season off airing wise, and ill advised raitings stunt mini series wise, so in order to keep the Casagrandes fresh in people’s minds presumably, they did a crossover that at this point wasn’t a crossover but now technically is because the show exists but this existed before the show. 

It’s just a show, and I should really just relax. Point is this is a pre-crossover crossover, the two families meet for the first time, the man already said pitter patter, let’s get back at er.  So we open with Flip serving as our magical snowman narrator and regaling us with the tale of steven. Every compastionate can you imagine it... and i’m fucking with you, it’s of course abotu that time the louds and the casagrandes tried having thanksgiving together. 

We then cut to Lori and Bobby being all cute, as usual, and both talking over the phone as each show off their thanksgivings to each other and the enusing family shenanigans. On Lori’s side Lynn is wearing baggy pants so she dosen’t miss the game or the meal by going to the bathroom.. because that’s how pissing yourself works. Look if your going to do something that gross, stupid and broish just woman up and wear an adult diaper. The twins are guarding Lynn sr and the food, poorly, and Lisa has invented a Gravy Squriting robot. I can only see this ending one way. 

Yeah those single function robots really get useless once the exestnetial crisis kicks in. 

On the casagrandes side, Rosa is likewise guarding her kitchen, Frida is painting and Hector plans to sernade eveyrone because Hector is the best and you all should know that. Even with the recent Bobby Abuse he’s still awesome. As for the Mercado, CJ and Ronnie Anne are running the annual canned food drive because CJ is better than the best and should really be used more often.  Both wish they could be there.. and both honestly talk about possibly spending thanksgiving with each other and just one of their family. It’s not a wild proposition: Both are going to college soon, both are in a longterm relationship.. they plan to get married down the line for now. If things hold they will eventually have to figure this out. Of course rather than fate let them figure this out themselves, Hector overhears on Bobby’s end and Lincoln, whose busy A Clock Work Oranging himself so he can stay awake during dinner, overhears on Loris, leading to an emergency family meeting for both sides.  Both families are worried their prospective teenager going to another house of their longterm significant other for one year will mean they get all the holidays. Having never had a relationship last long enough to worry about this, I don’t quite get it as in my experince watching couples juggle this.. they usually just alternate years, spoilers the solution the episode goes with, or trade off christmas and thanksgiving, both fair solutions. Buuut as much as this bothered me at first the more I thought about it the more it actually made sense: People.. aren’t always rational and won’t always do the smart or correct thing, especially when it comes to their children. And with Lori leaving college and the casagrandes being togehter for thanksgiving for the first time in about 5 years, with both ronnie anne and her mom not having had a proper one in some time due to her mom needing to work thanksgiving, presumibly because of the eternal curse of gravy chugging contests, they have valid emotional reasons to go a bit nuts and do some irrational and assholish things. They just don’t want to loose their big sister and big brother, and that’s fair. It may not be at all accurate but it’s fair. 

So thus began the great Guilt Off of 2018. ON the Loud side they START with a fairly soft pitch, the twins simply offer her food early, and she takes it because honestly I would too. Then again, i’d also take free food in just about any situation, so i’m not really a good gage for this. As long as it’s not poision i’ll probably eat it if it’s free. The next two are a little.. less subtle, with the kids talking about Lori’s roll in the annual thanksgiving skit.. which I’m assuming is soley for Lynn Sr. as no one else seems to be going to their thanksgiving. Which granted theirs valid explinations for why their neighbors didn’t go, the mcbrides and mr grouse have their own families and while Mr Grouse rarely gets to see his, he now has neighborly friends after the last holiday special happy to help. But Pop Pop.. makes no sense as his girlfriend, the only plausable reason he wouldn’t be there, was said to not have much family in her debut. So he’s just.. absent from thanksgiving for no reason. Thena gain we later find out this play is movie length, so maybe he was just trying to escape that which in that case, who can blame him. Rita almost reigns things back in with the mother’s trump card: parental guilt. Almost. She then almost crushes lori’s hand but it’s funny enough.  At the Casagrandes, their opening move is largely the same only Rosa wins in terms of execution, cooking up some of bobby’s faviorites to specificially target him. Frida paints him into a painting, again the Casagrandes win his one in terms of effort. They do tie in the last bit, as Maria and Ronnie Anne try the same sort of guilt slining with the same bone crushing.  Eventually both teens get fed up with the next bit; For Lori, Lucy gives her a long overdramatic poem about an empty chair which is easily tied with one bit later for best bit of hte episode.. which granted when I can only think of two or three gags that really made me laugh...

Bobby likewise gets Hector telling the story about a realitvie not going to thanksgiving. Both get angry.. which for Lori, isn’t all that suprising, if entirely warranted. For Bobby though? It’s like pissing off a dolphin. IT’s hard to do and very much not something you want to actually pull of. Both families are forced to admit they eavesdropped, and are incredibly worried about this whole situation, with Lynn Sr selling lincoln up the river for telling them... this man’s capacity for selling out his children is as awe insprising as it is truly pathetic. 

So the two teens go back to their rooms to figure something out and come upon a reasonable solution: just have one of the families host and both come to it. That’s more than fair. But given we still have a full special to pad out, both families are still treating this like a competion: while the louds win the coin toss, both sides are determined to win thanksgiving. IT’s far from the most insane contest i’ve seen this month, x of swords was happening and i’ve seen a russian yank a goblin out of the demonic alligator skin he was using as a puppet. And we don’t know for sure Arrakoa and Krakoa didn’t have a trial over a baby turkey being adorable as one of the challenges. Other challenges included getting drunk, an eating contest, telling someone to murder a kitten and a wedding, all of this is actual stuff that happened in this recent crossover, I have made up nothing. 

So after the break and Flip realizing oh shit the audience is back, the war begins. The Louds are preparing for war, with Lola putting out a picture of herself instead of bobby and laurie because of course.. still not a half bad gag. The Casagrandes arrive and in in a passive agressive move that was already done a year before this special by Brooklyn Nine Nine and better, brought their own food.. though the roast pig is a nice and unique touch. Points for that.  And this.. is where the special gets tedious. Yeah while the IDEA of this episode was really good and I was excited to cover it in practice it’s just similar gags on both sides done for both halves: The first being “let’s guilt them into staying” and the second being “Let’s one up each other” with only two bits really working: Frieda having a painting and the louds annual skit.  And the skit is because it raises a LOT of questions: Why is it 90 minutes, who played the adorable turkey in the years between babies? Was it just whoever was youngest? Who wrote this? Who is this for besides Lynn Sr and Pop Pop? Who all has sat through this thing at some point? Is that why the mcbrides don’t come over for thanksgiving? It’s just.. fantastic is what i’m saying.  

But otherwise this part is just the family trying to one up each other with food, or toasts, or song, before devolving into a big fight. What makes it not work is.. there isn’t a lot of personality there. You have these two big, plentiful, intresting casts, even at this stage with the Casagrandes far less established and fleshed out. And instead of finding interesting ways for them to play off one another meeting for the first time, and to use that to also flesh the characters out more for the inevitable spinoff, it’s just 

For most of the second half. Thankfully it DOES manage to bring things around as after things degenerate into a food fight, the families decide to just ASK the two of them where they want to go.. and find them entirely missing.  It then turns out, in a nice twist, this is where Flip came in. Since his place is the only place open 24/7 and 365, barring fishing season, Bobby and Lori fled here to flee their insane families.. who then follow them there because Carlos and Lisa have them chipped. I was suprised at first Carlos had a tracker on bobby but honestly, i’ts just common sense. The man is like a golden retriver in a man’s body. Here’s an artists interpretation

Both families breifly bicker before Lori and Bobby announce their starting their own family thankgiving with blackjack, and hookers. They really shouldn’t of let Flip in on the brainstorming session. Both families don’t want that, and apologize, admitting they just didn’t want to loose them and both genuinely offering to let the other have them next year. Flip, who despite having a “pay for my colonoscopy jar” with a picture of his ass on it, is somehow the voice of reason and just suggests trading thanksgivings every year, everyone accepts, and we do get a genuinely heartwarming ending of both sides gathering everything for a gas station thanksgiving. Honestly reminds me of king of the hill’s airport episode, but in a very good way and still unique enough circumstances to work.Also Flip, of all people, donates the cans needed to finish the can drive.. granted i’m not sure if they WANT any of that meat, but hey, he meant well and it made me really like the character.  We get a heartwearming duet between hector and luna and sono the whole family and we’re out. 

Final Thoughts: This was disapointing. I’ve listed most of my complaints already, but overall it wasted a good premise of two families coming together, and even the feud parts could’ve been funnier. As it is it’s just.. ehhhhhhhhhh. It has some good parts, and bobby is an angel here on earth as always. But the whole just feels padded. Like this was SUPPOSED to just be 11 minutes, got bumped up, and thus here we are. It’s not the worst Loud House has done, i’ve seen and heard of muccch worse, but for a holiday special it just feels stale and i’ve seen way better thanksgiving specials. And i’ll be getting to that.  If there’s an episode of a cartoon you’d like me to cover, just pop in my ask box or dms and you can comission a review for 5 bucks a piece. Discounts on bulk, 15 for movies. Until then , happy thanksgiving.

[100storiesin2020]

There's a raven in Fox Tower (her name is Chainsaw)

This is chapter 1 in a crossover fanfic for The Raven Cycle and All For The Game! Major spoilers for both series. Enjoy!

*****

Blue exited the court, racket balanced over her shoulder. She was sweating and tired and extremely proud. Henrietta High School had won their rivalry match against Aglionby for the first time since Blue had joined the team, and she was fully aware that she was responsible for it. She had scored 4 of the 7 goals herself, after all, and each one of them had been hard-earned. Her friendship with members of the Aglionby team did not affect the ability to play against each other. Instead, it made all of them fight harder, and made the game that much more satisfying to win.

"Hey Sargent! C'mere."

Blue paused without turning around. "What do you want, Coach?"

"There's a recruiter here to see you."

That got her full attention. Turning around, Blue saw Mr. Moore, her Exy coach, standing next to her mother outside of his office. "Can they wait? I'd like to shower," she said. She did want to shower, but more importantly she wanted to change back into her handmade clothes. They weren't just a fashion statement or a desire to be different. They served as a warning sign, a protective shield against people who might judge her. She didn't want to meet a prospective coach without her armor.

"Come in, Blue," her mother said, tapping her toe on the floor. This morning, during the daily card ritual, Blue had drawn the Knight. Maura had told her that she would be meeting somebody today. This person would open a door for her future, and Blue would need to decide if it was the door she wanted. Blue had asked for more specifics, but Maura had declined, always insisting that Blue's future was her own. "It's time. This is it."

Blue sighed in defeat and stalked over to the door, which Moore opened for her. The office was a bit cramped, because a room that was originally intended as a cleaning closet really shouldn't have been able to fit a desk that size, but somehow it had gotten in here anyway. Behind the desk was a tall man with brown hair and tribal tattoos. She recognized him quickly, because Henry was a dramatic little fanboy who was constantly going on about his sports teams. This was David Wymack of the Palmetto Foxes, and he was here to recruit her.

"You must be Blue."

"And you must have made a mistake, because you only recruit rejects, but I come from a perfectly functional home, thank you very much." Blue started to turn around and leave.

Maura stopped her, because she was standing behind Blue in the doorway. "What happened to your manners?"

The corner of Wymack's mouth twitched upwards. "No, she has a point. My recruiting standards are pretty well-known, and you're correct that you don't seem to fit the bill. But I've talked to Moore, and to your mother. You've had quite the year, haven't you, Blue?

Blue grimaced as she took her seat. No doubt Moore had told him all about the news headlines she had been in this year. If she was to be perfectly honest, it had been rough, and it had affected her and her playing. She nodded a bit. "Alright then. I'll sign if you offer me a scholarship."

"Blue!" her mother exclaimed, as Wymack raised his eyebrows.

"I'm not being rude, Mom. We both know I can't afford college without some help."

Maura sighed. "Yes, you've always been the sensible one."

Wymack had a calculating look on his face, as if he was mentally rewriting her backstory. It was a little too reminiscent of Calla, which made Blue very uncomfortable. What were the odds that she get recruited by yet another psychic? The expression passed and he slid a file across the desk toward Blue, who stared at it. It was a hideous shade of orange and it had her name scrawled across the front in some of the messiest handwriting she'd ever seen, and she'd tried to interpret Ronan's notes once or twice. "Well, then, here's the deal, short stuff. I've seen your stats. I've talked to your coach. And tonight I got to see you play in the biggest game of your year. Aglionby is Henrietta's biggest rival, right?" Blue snorted. With how much the everyday folk of Henrietta resented the wealth of Aglionby, a dramatic rivalry was inevitable. "You were in fine form tonight, and I know some college players that you could run circles around," Wymack huffed. "My striker handpicked you, and I think he made an excellent choice. If a full-ride is what you need to be able to come to Palmetto, I'm willing to pay it to get you there."

Blue turned to her mother to get her input. Maura had the far-away look that came during a reading when she was working extra hard to see the truth. She snapped back to attention and gave a small shrug, which told Blue that the earlier read still stood. This was just a choice. Not necessarily a good one, not necessarily a bad one, just an option that could be taken or left. Blue turned back toward the coach and stuck out her hand. "Deal." They shook, and he handed over some papers. "Thank you, Blue. Sign these and we will be in touch. Do you have any more questions? I'm hoping to catch some of those Aglionby boys before I go."

Blue froze while flipping through the papers, unsure if she had heard him right. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Run that by me again?"

Wymack snorted. "I'm just interested in a few of them. Aglionby is not the type of school I generally would recruit from," he said with a grimace, "but I'm between a rock and a hard place right now. The truth is, I have some seniors graduating next year, so I'm in desperate need of two dealers and a goalie. I've been to several other schools this week, but I haven't managed to sign anyone." He sighed. "Apparently they were already committed to another school or unwilling to deal with the reputation of the Foxes, and now I'm out of time. Spring break ends tomorrow and I need to go back to Palmetto, so I've got to take my opportunities here."

Blue considered that and looked at her watch, which had bands made of several colors of yarn braided together. "The game ended 30 minutes ago, so Gansey, Parrish, and Lynch are probably changed out and waiting by the front door. You can catch them while I go shower."

Wymack raised his eyebrows at that. "I was under the impression that you didn't have your mother's gifts."

"I don't," Blue replied, wondering just how much Wymack knew about her mother's reputation as a psychic. "It's just that Aglionby has a very small Exy team, since apparently upper society frowns upon violent sports." She rolled her eyes. "Those three are graduating seniors and play the positions you need." 

Wymack looked unconvinced. "Then how do you know they are at the front door?"

Blue shrugged. "I won today. They owe me pizza." She picked up her racket and walked to the door. "Good luck. I'm going to go shower." She slammed the door shut behind her.

Maura smiled softly at the noisy retreat and looked back at the coach. "It's nice to see you again, David."

"Likewise, Maura." David Wymack leaned back in his chair and smiled faintly. "I don't think I've seen you in a good twenty years, at least."

Maura snorted. "At least. I can't believe you swept your psychic abilities aside to play sports." Her expression softened. "I will admit, now, that you made the right choice."

"I would have been a terrible psychic," David stated. "Trying to impress people? Doing readings for entitled nonbelievers? Useless. Using my abilities to give my kids second chances?" His eyes lit up, and Maura didn't need her second sight to see his passion. "I make a real difference here."

Maura nodded. "You certainly do. So what exactly drew you to Blue?"

He scowled. "I didn't know she was yours, if that's what you're asking, nor did I know she was an amplifier. She's tied to something dark, something that happened recently. A death? Two?" He glanced at her, and she nodded confirmation. "I'm a bit foggy on the details, and I'm not sure that I can provide what she needs to heal, but I can at least open up some doors for her."

Maura laughed. "There's my Knight card." Wymack gave her a blank stare. "Do you have a place to go for dinner? Old friends are always welcome at 300 Fox Way."

"Fox way, you say?" He smirked. "I'm in." They stood, then, and looked at each other for a moment, passing unspoken secrets through the air between them. Satisfied with what they saw in each other, they left: David with a sense that his situation was resolved, and Maura with a promise that her Blue would be safe.

[border-spam]

Troy HC dump

These span all eras and are valid for the Troy I write , some are 18+ so read more at your discretion:

Hugely into any puzzle / collection echo games (think puzzle and dragons), and uses them to relax very often in private. Finds puzzle games really destress him and help him sleep. Has spent an insane amount of money in them.

Keeps his own personal coffers and the amount he spends wouldn’t even be noticeable against his almost infinite wealth , but he’d be intensely embarrassed if anyone found out how much God King Calypso spends on gatchas.

Hair is naturally very thick, his iconic hairstyle was originally born out of frustration after going for a bandit mohawk, realising how much work that was going to be every day, then swiping it all forwards and hoping for the best.

Has v little torso hair but does pluck the patchy little bits he grows for the aesthetic, bitch.

Incredibly hygienic for a Pandoran, but more so with his oral hygiene than anything else. Had to keep a rigorous cleansing routine for the first few months after his jaw mod and just kept it up from then on.

Understands a huge amount of different languages, but not fluently. Leda taught him the basics of a lot of language cores and he can understand and read a lot relatively well. Cant speak or write them though, and keeps this skill close to his chest.

He’s intensely clever and realised early how useful it was to understand what sponsors were saying to each other in “private” by using another language during meetings with the twins. He’s turned having his intelligence underestimated so often into a weapon he wields with great skill.

His hand writing is atrocious. He can read it fine, but not even Tyreen can half the time. Almost proud of having his own shitty shorthand code he can use for notes.

Can count the amount of times he’s worn underwear by choice on his one hand since adulthood. Didn’t have any on Nekrotafeyo, and fuck it. Freedoms comfortable and let’s you have very low slung pants.

Very low slung pants are very good at distracting possible competitors/business partners enough during interactions to either cause them to slip up, or underestimate his cunning again. Either works fine for him, he gets attention, and the upper hand. Win win.

Snores really bad from a combo of mods and compromised respiratory system. Modded tongue tends to slowly extend the deeper his sleep gets, and he’s woken up with it over his eyes before. Will completely deny he snores, only Tyreen has heard it and she’s clearly lying, right?

Did most of his own piercings and barely flinched. Full on SOBBED after he pierced his nips. Sat on his bathroom floor for an hour waiting for the pain to pass while strongly second guessing his life decisions.

Gets extremely emotionally invested in classical music / soundtracks and falls asleep listening to his fave playlists often. Has nicer dreams when he does than if he doesn’t, and also feels like it helps boost his creativity while working. Doesn’t know why.

A combo of keeping his neck covered under the collar, and the scarring on his throat, has left it hyper sensitive when uncovered. A caress will instantly have him snapping viciously or melting into a gasping mess of goosebumps and shivers depending on who’s hand it was.

Super comfortable with nudity, his self esteem issues are focused on his body’s layout and the self perceived damage/disfunction of it, nudity doesn’t come into play at all.

That is, as long as his bracer is on. What’s under the bracer is the one part of his body he would be terrified of showing to someone he valued in a vulnerable situation. Any COV worshipper stupid enough to think just because they can touch him naked means they could try and touch under the bracer is going to really miss their hand afterwards ( if they are still alive to miss it ).

Would love to be able to play a musical instrument well but he’s struggled with any he tried before as only his existing hand is dextrous enough for one. Would really appreciate and treasure someone with the patience and kindness to teach him, but knows that would mean dropping the God King persona, and can’t justify damaging their reputation just for something that would make him happy.

Gets recognised instantly regardless of how he dresses or looks, which he loathes. There is no way to hide his height or build, let alone the markings on his face. Really misses being able to just wander and explore like he could in the COV’s early days.

Really, really, really loves food, but his ill health means he can’t eat the way he’d like and often has to avoid foods he wished he could eat more. God King Calypso is known for being exceptionally choosy about the food he eats. In reality, Troy just can’t trust a lot of the overly rich food he’s served.

Massively enjoys cooking in his Sanctum when alone, and would treasure doing so for anyone he sees as a friend. Has, very rarely in the past, and loved seeing how surprised they were that he’s not useless at it.

Solely drinks alcohol to get drunk, can’t really taste beer very well and doesn’t enjoy most spirits. He’s a functional alcoholic but would deny he relies on it or other drugs (he absolutely does) and blows off concern from medics as it being something he chooses to do, not needs.

Wishes he could smoke Pandoran weed but wouldn’t risk the damage to his weak lungs, tends to make tea with what he grows in his ship, shares it with Tyreen a lot. She can’t touch plants, so he has no problem doing the green thumb work and sharing with her when she needs to relax.

Unless their dad had thought it to them or they saw it in an echo show, then the twins had no grasp of basic social do’s and don'ts when they reached Pandora.

Troy would have no problem sitting in a merger meeting picking his nose while Tyreen scratched her ass in front of board members. They learned a lot of their social skills the hard way, having been asked to please, please stop by priests and saints.

Has never won a burping competition against Tyreen in his life. Is genuinely irritated by this.

Can’t dance. Can strut and pose, has a great sense of rhythm, just cannot for the life of him do anything dance wise. Please don’t ask him to it will end in tears (his).

Savant with numbers, sees them as patterns like his dad did. Thought everyone could till he met people on Pandora. Gets aggressively frustrated with anyone who he needs to explain his process for reaching a mathematical conclusion to, because they never get it.

Complete idiot tier for animals. Likes them a lot, just doesn’t know what any of them are and no one is in a position to correct him without risking embarrassing the God King publicly and having their neck snapped.

Calls everything he sees a Skag. Rakks? Flying Skags. Bullymongs? Arm Skags. Skags? “Those bitchin lil’ mouth dudes.”

Really enjoys art and has a beautiful defined style with spray paint. Dumbs it down for propaganda, but his Sanctum is filled with canvases that are experimental colour and line pieces. Very much likes working with holy iconography but tends to only illustrate Tyreen this way in his own time..

Spends a lot of hours in the Mechanicum and knows a lot of the Tinks in higher leadership position by name. Likes to talk engineering with them and feels comfortable enough to drop a lot of the God King persona and actually enjoy the conversation.

A Troy who’s excited and interested in a discussion is all twinkling eyes and gentle, eager smile. He often has to remind himself to shift back into persona mid conversation, and it can be quite.. sad.. to see him go from so clearly happy, back to an icy, scathing asshole.

Incredible at lying but cannot bluff for shit. Play any card game with him and he has instant facial tells (squints and sticks his tongue slightly out the side of his mouth when looking at his cards). Doesn’t understand why he could never win against his dad or Tyreen, probably never will.

Would never wear his reading glasses publicly, thinks they completely destroy his overall aesthetic and lines of his face mods. Won’t accept his’s wrong about this from anyone, though he personally likes how much more like himself he looks when wearing them in private.

Tyreen was so sick of seeing his ass crack, she was the one who suggested the overly tight belt that became part of his outfit. All his pants that are the right length are far too wide in the waist for his narrow hips. He could just get fitted ones now, but the low slung waist line + belt combo is part of his look at this point.

Incredibly high pain tolerance for almost everything, says he barely felt the tattoos and genuinely means it. The constant pain from the bracer and damaged shoulder joint has let him numb to most other relatively low levels of pain.

Is an amazing kisser as long as what you enjoy is the threat of being consumed alive. Troy’s mouth is a self designed weapon, verbally and physically, and he’s never been in a position to learn to use it tenderly. Doesn’t let worshippers choose to kiss him when bedding them, and is aggressive with it if he chooses to kiss them.

Would love to learn how to be tender from someone who cared for him and he felt safe enough with to allow his persona to slip and be vulnerable with, but as the years go on and the God King becomes more in control, Troy has become resigned to the fact that it’s something he will never have.

Very self conscious about his hygiene and showers usually twice daily if he can. Everything on Pandora is covered in sweat and filth, and he can’t risk getting infections considering the amount of open ports along his body. Really enjoys scents and has a surprisingly large collection.

Gets highly irritated with public displays of affection. Intensely, soul crushingly envious.

This gets dangerous late God King era as he becomes more and more violent. People have learned to be extremely careful to not show affection to each other in viewing distance of him at all, or risk losing a limb. Or worse.

Sex drive only gets higher as time goes on. For the first few years he much preferred pleasuring himself rather than interacting with the squalid heaving masses of followers throwing their bodies at him, but by the time of the God King era in later COV years, he can’t stand touching himself anymore. He doesn’t want to touch his body, and the God King is more than happy to let others praise it nightly instead.

Sleeps with huge cushions he brushes off as being for comfort, but deep down he knows its because their weight and pressure helps him not feel so alone.

Squints a lot and is known for scowling, but it’s mostly due to terrible headaches, not eye sight issues or his mood. The dark eye makeup helps with the glare a little but he’s noticeably paler than his sister due to the bright sun causing them more often than not and him preferring to stay in the shade of indoors.

Has kept every single thing given to him out of kindness. Will keep sugar packets if someone brings him a coffee with one out of concern for him looking tired. If he feels it was done because they like him and not out of respect for his title, he will keep anything he’s been given.

Most of the people who gave him these tiny things he’s kept.. well.. they aren’t around anymore (no one he’s gotten to know well chooses to stay very long ).. but he still likes to look through them sometimes when he needs to be reminded he’s possible to like.

The collection looks like a little box of trash to anyone else, but bar his old jacket his father made for him out of one of his own that he still keeps hidden away, it’s probably his most treasured possession.

[lieutenantcharleslorem]

Chapters: 2/3 Fandom: Star Trek: The Next Generation Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Data/Geordi La Forge Summary:

The Corsair ship Enterprise is not exactly a pirate ship, but they do what they have to to get by on the high seas. Without someone knowledgeable in steam mechanics that becomes even harder. Data is a gear filled robot who can be wound like a watch, and Geordi is merman who cannot see above water. But perhaps this odd friendship could solve some of their problems.

CHAPTER TWO

The next thing Data knew, there was sun.

He was laying face down on a peak of rock, jutting out of the ocean. The door to the mechanisms in his back was open, the sun beating down on them. Of course, he couldn’t feel fear, but there was something unmistakably vulnerable about the position he was in. But before there could be any worry he looked up to a face floating in the water. Geordi reached out to him, fingers catching his chin and soothing, “It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“Geordi, what happened?

“You fell overboard. When I pulled you from the water you weren’t functioning, but a little time drying in the sun…”

“You were there… You followed us?”

“Well…” Geordi said awkwardly, “You make it sound creepy.”

“It wasn’t my intention to make it sound creepy,” said Data, missing some of the nuance of Geordi’s response.

“I’m just saying that… It was a split second decision and I wouldn’t do things like that if you asked me not to. I know there are stories about the mer-people—”

“Geordi, I do not feel threatened by your presence here. Though I have no way of knowing in absolutes, I have suspected since you first approached me that you had no ill intent. I am the one who went looking for you, despite being told I should not. And if you had not been here last night I would be dead.” Data paused. “That is to say, non-functional,” he corrected himself.

“I’m just glad I could help,” said Geordi, and he directed his eyes straight into Data’s, such that it was hard for Data to believe he couldn’t see him. And as Data looked into those pupil-less eyes he could feel recognition form. The connections of familiarity. Usually it took longer for him to properly register that someone was a “friend.” It was possible that he was damaged. There were salt and mineral deposits left on his gears. Perhaps however, it was the fact that people didn’t usually put this kind of effort into Data right away. It took humans so long to even trust him.

Data pushed off from the rock and started to sit up.

Geordi heard the sound of him rising and said, “Wait! Wait,” coming around to Data’s side as fast as he could. “I left your key sitting inside your back, so it wouldn’t slip off into the water. May I?” Data nodded, then realizing that was useless said, “Go ahead.” Geordi felt around looking for the key with touch. He picked it up and gently closed the little door. After trailing his fingers along Data’s back until he came across the little hole, he screwed the key firmly. “Alright, all back together,” he said.

Data sat up and looked around. He was wearing damp slacks but nothing else.

Now that Data wasn’t lying down, there was enough room for both of them on the rock, so Geordi hoisted himself up so he could sit next to Data, leaving just the fins of his tail beneath the water like he was soaking his feet.

“Geordi?” Data asked. “I believe when I fell from the ship I was wearing a blouse, a vest, and a coat.”

“When I was pulling you to the surface I didn’t see a coat. And once I had you here I was just trying to get things off you so I could open you up and get you dry. I wasn’t thinking about where your clothes went. I’m sorry.”

“That is okay. You cannot see. I cannot expect more from you than you are capable.”

“Are you cold?”

“I am not capable of feeling cold. I dress because it is appropriate. The coat, however, was given to me by my captain. It was quite thick, and was meant to…” Data actually smiled as he said it, “Protect me from the water. The rain and the ocean spray on the ship.”

“I’m sorry.”

“There will be other coats. Assuming I will find a way off this rock and back to my ship.”

“They probably think you’re gone.”

“I know.”

“There was cannon fire. What happened?”

“In hindsight it may have been inevitable. We were stealing from goblins. Of course, we were only taking something they had stolen in the first place.”

“If you were asked to do this, you couldn’t ask for help?”

“It was discussed to the best that time would allow. The closest people are the Cardassians. Riker, our first mate said asking for Cardassian help is a death wish. And the Captain told him the Dead Elves were too far to contact.”

“I know of the Cardassians, but Dead Elves?” asked Gerodi.

“You’ve never heard of them?”

“I’ve heard of elves and their telepathic powers… but why are these dead?”

“We see little of them, but they are supposed to be allies to the humans. I have heard that people call them that because they appear… ‘Dead inside.’ Though by comparison some might say the same of me.”

“I don’t know… I think you’re full of life.”

“Geordi?”

“Yes?”

“Can I touch your tail?”

Geordi burst out laughing and moved the tips of his fins in and out of the water. “Sure.”

Data reached out a hand and ran it along Geordi’s tail. “It is similar to small fish, but not quite as delicate.” Geordi nodded.

They sat for a while, chatting and touching, and acting like old friends. Geordi was beginning to get a bit chilly when he noticed a feeling in the water and sound on the wind.

“Is there a ship?” he asked. “A ship nearby. Maybe it could get you back to yours.”

“It might. But I think you should go.”

“What?”

“That ship has been moving closer to us for some time. Now a goblin in a rowboat is coming from it. They are not known for their generosity. It is unlikely they want to save us. More likely they want to sell us.”

“But… There’s no way for you to get away.”

“If they attempt to sell me, it will only get me closer to my ship. But if they attempt to sell you…”

Geordi nodded. “I will follow. From a distance. To make sure you’re safe.”

“You do not have to do that.”

“I want to see you again.”

“I want to see you again.”

“I won’t follow if you tell me not to.”

“It… is up to you. Please go before the boat arrives.”

The merman started to push himself off the rock when he heard Data say, “Geordi? … Thank you.”

Geordi hesitated for a moment, then leaned over and kissed Data on the eyelid. It was unclear if this was where he was aiming for. As Geordi slipped into the water and out of sight, Data’s speculated nerve endings on his eye exploded with sensation as though he had been touched much harder than he had been. There was definitely something wrong with his functioning. Someone would need to help him clean and oil his gears.

As the boat approached, Data heard the goblin call, “What happened to the other fellow?”

“He went into the water,” Data said honestly. “He is probably long gone by now.”

“O…kay. What are you? Some kind of robot?”

“Yes.”

“How much do you think you’re worth?”

“I don’t know what I would fetch among goblins, but I do know that humans consider me quite the advancement. They would surely pay, what is the expression? Through the nose.”

“I don’t know what that means,” said the goblin.

Data boarded the boat as it bumped into his little rock, and even put his hands out to let the goblin wrap ropes around his wrists. The goblin was baffled but followed suit.

“I am very expensive,” Data replied.

The goblin huffed and rowed them back to his ship.

“You know, you add a lot of extra weight to this little boat.”

“Apologies for any inconvenience.”

Once they were aboard the ship Data sat awkwardly with his hands tied as they argued about what to do.

“He could probably do the work of ten men. He’s valuable to any Ferengi,” said someone who seemed to have authority.

“But I would escape,” said Data.

“I thought he was being no trouble,” he said to the goblin who’d brought Data in.

“You think you could escape so easily?” said another.

Data slipped his hands out of the ropes and tossed them aside, but he didn’t stand. It wasn’t his intent to be overly intimidating.

“I have no desire to work for goblins, and I have no desire to work for free. So, I would escape. Or be permanently immobilized. And if I escaped, I would be loose on a goblin ship or in goblin territory, which could be very inconvenient for you. I simply think it is more logical to skip all the trouble and extra work. Sell me to a human. You will get your pay, and they will have to deal with me.”

“He’s just trying to manipulate us into getting him home!” said one of the goblins.

“But if he is willing to be a nuisance to get what he wants it’s the same trade off,” said another.

“Indeed, and we don’t know if hu-mons will come looking for him, like they did their last precious device. At least we can get some latinum out of them.”

“Alright! It is decided. Start heading for the nearest coast. No need to travel farther than we have to if we can find hu-mons closer. And get the robot a shirt!”

The goblins weren’t so bad actually. They were just looking for a quick payout, but the same could be said of anyone Data interacted with as a corsair. He had certainly met people who had less respect for his autonomy. People who wanted to own and control him just for the sake of it.

The goblins, on the other hand, talked with him and taught him to play their card games. Though they asked him for favors while he was aboard because of his strength and inability to tire, they saw no reason to be cruel when their only goal was to make money.

Data recognized the shoreline immediately as they approached what the goblins thought might only be their first stop. He’d wanted to return to this shore, but only to see Geordi, and now that he knew Geordi could follow him just about anywhere as long as he was near the sea, he wasn’t as pleased to see it.

As they drew closer however, The Enterprise lay in their sight. There was static aboard the goblin ship, but Data pressed a hand to the goblin captain’s shoulder and said, “You will make no profit attacking.”

“But I could attempt to exchange you for the device.”

“They wouldn’t. We would all suffer if we don’t return the device to the human government.”

“They would risk us keeping you?”

“They also know I could get out of your possession easily.”

“Well then, we are at a disadvantage. Perhaps we should sail on and try to sell to someone who doesn’t know so much about you.”

“That might be a long trip, do you have enough food?”

The goblin glared at Data. “Did you know this all along? Was this just a glorified delivery?”

“No, I didn’t know they would be here. …I would just ask for latinum. They will give you latinum to avoid a scuffle.”

They escorted Data down onto the shore, following smoke into the clearing. They tied Data’s arms and feet, but they knew it was just for show. As they entered the clearing hundreds of people turned to look at them.

“We’re outnumbered,” whispered one of the goblins.

“There are plenty of Ferengi on the ship.”

“Not that many… We’re not prepared for—”

“Shh!”

“Do not worry,” whispered Data. “No one wants a fight.”

“Get the captain!” shouted Riker.

Some men went off to fetch him and the rest were left staring at Data in silence.

“Rob’ut, we thought you were at the bottom of the sea,” said Riker.

“I will tell you the story when this is resolved.”

“Of course, are you… are you functional?”

Data lifted his tied hands awkwardly. “The goblins have not harmed me… yet.”

Will nodded. The captain rustled through the trees and into the clearing, with a great sigh of relief and a saddle bag in his hands.

“Data!”

“Captain!” There was a pause and then Data said, “Oh please help me, Captain.” He stuck out his bottom lip. Everyone looked at the robot incredulously, including the goblins.

Data looked to the goblins and shrugged. The Captain started laughing.

“How much do you want for him?” he asked.

“How much do you have?” the goblin captain asked.

“I asked you first.”

“Five bars.”

“Three,” replied Captain Picard.

“Captain,” whispered Riker, “We’re down to strips until we get paid for the device.”

“Four!” said the Goblin.

“3, and 2 strips, that’s my final offer.”

“I could probably get ten for a machine like him on any other shore!”

“You probably could,” Picard said with a sneer.

The goblin captain and Data looked at each other and Data stuck out his bottom lip again. The goblin rolled his eyes.

“Fine!”

Picard opened his bag and took out the agreed upon amount.

“Untie him,” said Riker.

The goblin captain looked to Data, and Data nodded. He flicked a thumb and the other goblins untied Data but held onto him gently.

Picard handed his fellow captain the latinum, and the others let go of Data.

“Goodbye,” said one of them quietly.

“Goodbye!” said Data, “Thanks for teaching me your games.”

The goblin captain was staring at the latinum in his hands. He looked a little sick. He stuffed it in his coat and turned to leave.

Troi approached Data and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. He was glad that he seemed to be returning to normal. Her kiss hadn’t produced the same malfunction Geordi’s had.

“May I go to the ship?” he asked, and the captain nodded but put a hand on his shoulder before he could go.

“We’re glad to have you back,” he said, then felt the material of the top Data was wearing, “Is this leopard print?”

“It belongs to one of the goblins,” Data replied, and then disappeared through the trees.

He didn’t keep quarters on the Enterprise in order to save space, since he need not sleep; so he kept his personal items in a drawer in the captain’s office. Nothing had been disturbed. First Data pulled a black collared shirt from the drawer and changed out of the thick fabric the goblins had given him. Inside a box in the drawer was a rather large necklace. Data retrieved it. He folded the shirt and lay the necklace on top of it, carrying it with him as he left the Enterprise to return to the goblin ship.

He skipped the clearing, instead going along the shore, and he caught the goblin captain not yet boarded, but yelling at some crewmen.

“Captain,” said Data, “I wanted to wish you a good trip.”

“Well now you’re just making fun of us, not even trying to avoid people who kidnapped you. No fear at all.”

“Do not take it personally. I am incapable of feeling fear. I wanted to return this garment.”

“Oh, that’s alright.”

“I will not be needing it,” Data pressed. “And I have brought you… a present of sorts.”

“A present?” the captain eyed him suspiciously.

Data placed the shirt and the necklace into the Captain’s hands. “I received it from a woman who was convinced I was a spirit. I tried to give it back but she refused. I am not attached to it. Perhaps you could sell it.”

The goblin immediately slipped it into his coat pocket.

“We never should’ve taken you…”

“Because I didn’t fetch very much?”

“No… because…” the captain shuffled back and forth awkwardly. “Well just because we’re in it for the latinum doesn’t mean we have no morals. Ferengi aren’t like the Cardassians, or the Troll syndicate. We don’t deal in people.”

Data’s eyes widened and he smiled. “Honest mistake,” he said.

The goblin turned to leave but not before saying, “See yah around, robot.”