#I love seeing gif sets. I hate seeing they're not tagged as spoilers. When they were posted hour before many of us could even watch.

[lovecolibri]

I posted 24,805 times in 2022

That's 4,296 more posts than 2021!

1,802 posts created (7%)

23,003 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@outrunningthedark

@chamblerstara

@tasyfa

@loveyourownsmiilee

@winged-fool

I tagged 14,249 of my posts in 2022

Only 43% of my posts had no tags

#0 - 9,327 posts

#911 spoilers - 5,169 posts

#buddie - 3,004 posts

#eddie diaz - 2,310 posts

#evan buckley - 2,285 posts

#roswell nm - 2,200 posts

#roswell spoilers - 1,701 posts

#911 lone star - 1,476 posts

#lone star spoilers - 1,276 posts

#cackling - 1,238 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#but you can't tell me that man who grew up feeling unloved and unwanted would ever side with the woman who made chris feel that way 🤷🏻‍♀️

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Watching the new WWDITS episode like

144 notes - Posted August 3, 2022

#4

I gotta say I'm surprised (though I probably shouldn't be 🙄) at some of the backlash I've seen towards Grace for being upset.

Like, she very clearly says she knows it's not fair to any of them and she knows she shouldn't be upset because her and Judd weren't together then, but she communicates that she IS upset. Which is totally valid because everything they BOTH knew about their lives just got upended.

And she was so cordial to Wyatt, and left before causing a scene or lashing out at Judd at his place of work and after she has some time to process, she makes an effort to do what she thinks is right.

And for Judd's part, he didn't sit on the info for a month until he had a confirmed paternity test and THEN bring it up to Grace, he was upfront with her (mostly) from the start. And when she says she's angry, he validates her feelings and lets her know it's okay to be upset, and he gives her some space when she needs it. And when she chooses to invite the other lady over so they can talk, he is supportive and reaffirms how much he loves her.

Like, I'm not thrilled that this is the storyline they're doing, especially without a single week for them to enjoy being new parents, but neither Wyatt nor his mom came in with the intention to wreck a family, Judd and Grace both handled the situation incredibly well and communicated in a mostly healthy way, and I'm definitely not hating this as much as I could if it wasn't written as well as it has been so far.

It's okay to feel your feelings even if they aren't always rational, and Grace communicated so well that she knew it wasn't entirely rational but she was upset and Judd allowed her the space to be angry and work through those feelings instead of her suppressing them and exploding later.

Judd and Grace have one of the most solid relationships I've ever been blessed to see on TV and I find it interesting how 911 and Lone Star like to throw out these really big, dramatic, soapy storylines that are so common in dramatic show, but have the characters respond in very normal, human ways and have a less dramatic but more realistic and enjoyable resolution. Instead of huge cheating storylines where it's harder to root for the characters coming back together, you get things like this with Grace and Judd, or Bobby and Athena where she doesn't even consider that he's cheating but knows he's hiding something and digs until she finds out he's sponsoring someone and it leads to a discussion about their marriage and their future and they work it out. And same with the TK/Carlos breakup. These moments where there is no bad guy, just humans trying their best and not always doing the right thing but trying to be better is something 911-verse does so well and what really sets it apart from other shows. And I'll take that ANY day over every character playing musical beds, and being killed off half the time so you can't get invested in any character or relationship.

148 notes - Posted February 8, 2022

#3

Henren being happy and in love while everyone else is falling apart

159 notes - Posted March 15, 2022

#2

The Twins : *deliver a rancor for Boba's palace*

Boba: "Who's a good boy?!"

187 notes - Posted January 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

"It's not the Buddie show" okay its not the Madney show either but it's still fucking disappointing that we haven't gotten to see their things happen on screen either. People aren't upset because every single episode doesn't fully revolve around Buddie to the exclusion of everything else, they're upset because SEVERAL well-established dynamics have been almost entirely cut and replaced with dynamics that aren't given us any weight or character information/growth/pushing arcs along etc.

272 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

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[murderousginger]

I posted 1,562 times in 2022

112 posts created (7%)

1,450 posts reblogged (93%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@coppercorn-and-cauldron

@murderousginger

@seananmcguire

@springsteens

@amysteryspot

I tagged 1,383 of my posts in 2022

Only 11% of my posts had no tags

#queue it up ginger - 1,093 posts

#peaky blinders season 6 - 88 posts

#peaky blinders spoilers - 71 posts

#peaky blinders - 69 posts

#askmurderousginger - 50 posts

#ginger (w)rec(k)s - 28 posts

#life of a murderousginger - 25 posts

#john shelby - 22 posts

#storytime with murderousginger - 20 posts

#tommy shelby - 17 posts

Longest Tag: 134 characters

#and seeing friends read stories like yes you found time im so honored and now i'm smiling wondering if they'll tell me what they thing

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Lovely things

Tommy Shelby childhood

OC Marjorie

Warnings: Implied child abuse, both physical and sexual. Violence. They're criminals guys, they do bad things.

Word count: 2225

1903

It's not that the Shelby children were any worse than the others their age. No, they were all the same level of rambunctious and just as likely to question authority as any. The issue, most adults found, was that they stuck together. If one Shelby was in trouble, they all were, regardless of the circumstance. They all seemingly formed a pact before birth that if one would raise hell, they all would. And usually the perpetrator of said hell was none other than Tommy Shelby.

At 13, it was obvious that Tommy was the ringleader.

His older brother Arthur, freshly 16, was too meek for leadership. He often chose to draw under shade trees rather than think up some scheme for the gaggle of children. He had his father's temper when set off, but the only real way to light that fuse was to hurt his siblings. The moment a threat was uttered for mischievous Ada or his rascal brother John, Arthur transformed from a quiet, gangly boy to a fighter in the ring out for glory and gore.

John, age 8, was a good student when teachers could get him to focus. Mrs. Changretta was his favorite, offering him hard candies when he would tell her about the newest adventure book he read. John was a whizz with numbers, too. His father liked to take him to the cock fights to gather money for bets, teaching him how to put odds in their favor with close-but-not-quite-correct math.

Ada, age 6, was already vocal about what she thought was right and wrong. If any injustice in her eyes was done, she was the first to call it out regardless if it was by another child or an adult. She had no qualms putting anyone in their place. She was tiny and fearless after growing up with three older troublesome brothers.

At 13, Tommy already seen enough of the adults around him to not think much of most of them. They were equals at best, not worth the clothes on their backs most of the time. He adored his mother and Aunt Polly, both strong women that were loving but firm.

Aunt Polly had just birthed Michael, her second child, at the age of 19. Tommy regularly had problems trying to decipher if Polly was like an older sister or a second mother to him; the feelings changed as often as her temperament did for her niece and nephews. He couldn't blame her, he knew both his mother and Polly had their hands full thanks to their alcoholic, useless husbands.

As much as his relationships with his mother and Aunt shaped his opinions of women, his father and uncle shaped his thoughts on men. Both were abusive alcoholics that were either missing or terrorizing their families, effectively leaving the women to raise their children alone, only to return to take their wives' paychecks and leave again for whores and alcohol.

No, Tommy Shelby had no use for his father.

But he hated to see his mother cry.

So every once in a while, after finding his mother crying for his father one too many nights, you could find Tommy begrudgingly on the streets of Small Heath looking through every alley and dark place to drag his father back home in hopes to soothe his mother's broken heart.

His father would sober for a few days and things would calm for a moment, the eye of a storm before Arthur Sr. would get The Itch and blow up on his family, stealing his wife's money and disappearing into the seedy parts of Small Heath for another bender.

Tommy knew the pattern. He often slinked through their home, sulking and walking on eggshells until his father inevitably followed through and disappeared again in a fit of rage. If they were lucky, he left without anyone being bruised or beaten. More often than not, Arthur Jr. would stand between his father and the others, a passive punching bag until their father's rage dissipated and he stormed out. Their mother, often hoarse from screaming, would gather her eldest boy and sob as she soothed his wounds. But she would still grieve for the man their father could be while he was away.

Tommy was in the alleys of Small Heath again, looking at every drunk laying in a puddle of their own filth and in every pub that would allow such a man to post in a corner for days at a time. Those pubs were becoming fewer as time went on and Arthur Sr.'s debts racked up. The dark corners he could be found in were more dangerous every night.

Arthur had caught on to what his younger brother was doing over the years. He started to have a habit of checking for his brother before going to bed himself. Tommy had less time to find their useless father before Arthur would drag him back home empty handed.

Much to Tommy's annoyance, his brother was becoming increasingly skilled at finding him with every trip.

Tommy snuck out of their home, quietly slipping out the door during a loud scuffle between John and Ada over if they should have the same bed time.

"I'm older, I should stay up later!" John bellowed.

"Well I'm smarter so age doesn't count!" Ada yelled back.

Once on the streets, Tommy did his best to walk softly and quickly, going straight to the docks and canal streets to start his search near the seedy stretch that was often used for prostitution.

He stayed in the dark off the dim lit paths as he squinted at the faces of the men jeering at the women near the water, their faces frozen in fake warmth as they cooed their prices at the men. He did his best to stay out of sight on the opposite side of the canal.

"What are you doing here, sweetie?" One called to Tommy. "Your father bring you here to make you a man?"

Tommy hastened his steps and moved further down the canal until he saw someone sitting along the bank alone and crying.

She sat under the only street light that worked in the area, her feet dangling in the dirty water as she hid her face in her hands. Her tall willowy frame was definitely a child's, no older than Tommy was himself. He stopped abruptly, his last step causing a thud that caused the girl to look up at him from across the water.

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83 notes - Posted March 10, 2022

#4

They lie together

Tommy Shelby x Lizzie Stark

Word count: 1,505

Warnings: They're criminals, guys, they do bad things.

Tommy liked walking home from The Garrison sometimes. The cool air of a quiet evening helped clear his head. It also delayed the inevitable digging sounds from the walls and the disembodied breathing of the love of his life as he fought his memories to sleep.

Living in Arrow House made walking home near impossible, so instead he would park at the office and walk the blocks to the pub. Tommy liked walking along Small Heath, among the people he grew up with and now employed. It grounded him, a reminder of where he could be if his ambition did not urge him forward.

It also kept him fresh in the minds of the people he wanted to know him. They would not forget him or see him as unapproachable when he decided to stretch his legs into the political ring. They would see him as one of them; a man who changed his stars and wanted to help the people he grew up with. A man who still cared for the working class. That sort of image won races.

A night at the Garrison gave Tommy a chance to see how his brothers were and bettered morale for all the Blinders. The young ones saw their generals in the fields; his brothers felt like they were still heard. Still equal.

Everything was a means to an end. A scheme. Tommy never did anything that didn't have multiple purposes anymore. Every step was part of a plan since Grace had passed. His heart froze when hers had a bullet rip through it that was meant for him. He only allowed his heart to thaw around Charlie, the last piece of Grace he had to cling to. He loved his son more than himself.

The only other comfort he gave himself was his moments with Lizzie. He couldn't find any other reason for his meetings with her other than pleasure. In a way it drove him mad. Guilt seeped into the edges of his mind that he would find pleasure in anything. Even so, he would still find himself at her door late nights looking for comfort. She was familiar. She was safe.

The walk to the office from the Garrison was warm, with spring threatening to break the winter chill indefinitely. Tommy let his mind wander as his steps echoed into the night and he looked at the world around him. He stopped at his vehicle to light a cigarette, only to notice a faint light illuminating a window of the business.

The cherry of his cigarette burned bright as his brows dropped, gears turning in his mind as to who might be working this late. Polly had gone home hours ago. His brothers were still at the pub. No one had any reason to be burning midnight oil.

Tommy took a long drag before tossing the half used cigarette to his feet to stamp it out. He took to the steps of the building lightly, movements quick and quiet as he made his way into the building and up the stairs. Tommy knew every creaky board and squeaky hinge; he moved in the shadows around and past anything that could give him away. As he made it closer to his office, he heard the clack of a typewriter, unsteady in rhythm as if it's author kept pausing to find the words.

He stood in the dark doorway, watching Lizzie typing at her desk close to a small candle. She must have brought it with her so she did not turn the light on. The soft warm light put shadows along her knitted brow as she cursed under her breath and flexed her hands away from the keys. Her teeth worried her lip as she let out a soft sigh and flew back to the keys to write again.

"Lizzie," Tommy said softly, voice smooth and even as his jaw set. "Why are you here at this hour? I don't remember giving you any important business to do."

Lizzie jumped before going very still, like a deer caught in a light.

"Tommy, why aren't you home?" She said nervously. "No one comes in this late on a Saturday."

"So you've done this before, then?" Tommy said as he lit a new cigarette and exhaled slowly as he eyed her from the doorway.

He stepped forward. Lizzie fell into shadow with every thudding step.

"What? No, I just meant–"

"What you mean is that you never meant to be caught," Tommy said coldly as he towered over her. "So what is it, Lizzie? What are you typing up on Shelby Limited paper? What secrets are you selling to my rivals?"

"Tommy, no, I–"

Tommy grabbed her jaw and squeezed until she stopped. The cigarette quivered in the side of his mouth as he spoke.

"I've got to say, Lizzie, whoever turned you into the black cat was smart," he said as he took his cigarette out of his mouth. "You've been loyal for so long, I wouldn't think it would be you."

Lizzie's eyes widened as he played with the cigarette between his fingers as he blew smoke directly into her widened eyes.

"Tommy I wouldn't–"

"Who is it, Lizzie?" He rumbled, his voice getting gruffer as he grew impatient. "I can just as easily burn you as you've burnt me."

Lizzie grabbed his wrist as she tried to pull away.

"Thomas Shelby if you burn me without reading the paper so help me God I will shoot you myself," Lizzie smacked the cigarette out of his hand.

He let her go and grabbed the paper, squinting in the low light to read.

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87 notes - Posted March 7, 2022

#3

All of this is Temporary

Angel on Fire chapter 8

Word count: 2850

Warnings: Oral sex. Mentions of sex. They're criminals guys, they do bad things.

Note: I THINK I caught everything, but if I didn't... part of this was written with only three hours of sleep. Go easy on me. 😅

You woke up all at once as the sun hit your face. Your head pounded as your palms rubbed your eyes, your bare legs curled to your chest. The curtain was just skewed enough to let the light pour onto your face and drown you in the light. You groaned, moving to get out of bed only to realize your waist was so warm because a hand was holding it.

You froze, frowning as you looked down and realized that you were no longer in your dress, but in a white button-down shirt and John Shelby's fingers were stretched between the buttons touching your bare stomach.

John flexed his hand, pulling your back closer to his bare chest as he murmured in your ear.

"Slow down, love," he rasped. "M'head is going off like a grenade field. Fuck. Whiskey without food was probably a bad idea."

He buried his face into the back of your neck as your head raced to find a memory after the bar but only came up blank.

"John," you said hesitantly. "Where's my dress?"

"On the floor where you left it," he murmured. You could tell he hadn't even opened his eyes yet. He was willing you back to sleep. "It wasn't comfortable for sleep so I gave you my shirt you're wearing."

"I see," you licked your dry lips as your eyes darted around the hotel room. "I need, uh, water."

You jolted from his arm and scurried across the room to the wash room, eyes squinted as the pounding in your head intensified. You turned the faucet on and splashed your face with cold water before catching some in your hand to drink. You held onto the sink for a moment, letting the water drip from your face as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

Your eyes were hollowed from lack of sleep, skin and lips parched. You tried again to remember what happened after the bar, after the smirk and kisses and stumbling over yourselves. After your suggestive words to the Shelby known to bed women often and well. Nothing.

You looked behind you, noticing John had appeared in the door frame, a lazy smile spread across his face as you couldn't help but look down at his shirtless chest and then back to his half lidded eyes. He crossed his arms and leaned against the frame, watching you in the silence for a moment.

"We didn't, if you were unsure," he said, voice still raspy from the morning. "Though not from your lack of suggestion."

"My dress?"

"Took it off in front of me, devil woman," John said with a smirk. "Took all I had in me to fight you off me trousers."

"Why did you?" The fear of bedding him turned into fear of his rejection. It burned through your veins and cheeks.

"I promised you'd scream my name," he said as he pushed off the door. "No use if you can't remember you did it."

John walked to the sink, grabbing a cup and filling it with the running water. He threw his head back and greedily gulped it down, lines of cool water overflowing the cup and running down his neck. You watched the water intently, droplets now running down his chest.

He lowered the empty glass and licked the water from his top lip. You suddenly noticed how close he was as you fought to focus back on his bright blue eyes. The skin crinkled around them as he looked down at you.

A thought bloomed in your head, pushing through the pounding pain and blossoming into a devilish smile.

You slowly took the cup from his hand and bit your lip as you refilled it and brought it to your lips. You mimicked his chug of water, allowing it to overflow and run down your face. Right onto his white shirt.

He exhaled long and slow, his eyes trailing the water as it seeped through the shirt and cooled your skin.

"Fucking hell, woman," he exhaled as his hand grabbed the back of his head. "Is it your personal goal to make me cross the line?"

"I told you last night that I don't want a good man," you said as your fingers trailed your lips, your neck, the collar of the shirt. His eyes bulged as you popped the top button and then the second.

"I want John Shelby."

John moved to take a step but stopped. He dragged his eyes from your chest to your face, finding a smile and a small nod.

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89 notes - Posted February 16, 2022

#2

When Will He Learn? Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: smut. Sex. Oral. Blood. Brutality. Filth. Murder. They're criminals, guys, they do bad things. And boy, did Alfie do bad things.

Word count: 4095

"You made the gossip rag, treacle," Alfie hummed amusedly as he sat at the breakfast table, thumbing through the newspaper. "Page 6."

You froze holding your morning coffee, in nothing but his button up shirt, standing across the table. Your bare feet rooted to the wood beneath you as you tried to breathe. Your father always warned you not to make the gossip column or else you'd ruin the family name.

"What does it say?" You said as you licked your dry lips.

Alfie looked at you over the paper and lowered it just enough for you to see his wolfish smile. He let go of one side and revealed his knee, patting it slowly.

"Come sit and we'll read it together, pet."

You floated around the table and sat on his knee without a thought, leaning back into his shoulder as his arm wrapped around you to grab the end of the newspaper and lift it back up to read.

You relaxed, content to be encircled by him. You had been hiding out in his home all weekend after leaving the benefit and it felt more like home than your father's home ever did. There was no tiptoeing or niceties; there was only acceptance of what you were and what you wanted to be. Alfie had been your best friend for years and already knew your quirks long before he fell into your bed. The intimacy was always there, the sex only heightened it.

"That asshole fiance is calling for you, pet," Alfie said as he picked up his cane and straightened his clothes.

He extended his hand.

"You told me to fix it," he said. "That might take some time. Do you want to come with me or play house while I bury that piss poor bloke?"

You grabbed his hand without hesitation.

"Take me home, Alfie."

You sipped your coffee as you let the memory dissipate. He cleared his throat and squinted at the article.

"Says here that your father and fiance have been looking for you since the big night of the benefit when you slipped away by cover of darkness."

Alfie nuzzled into your hair for a moment, giving you goosebumps as his hot breath grazed your neck.

"They're calling you wild, love," he purred. "If they only knew what you've been doing with me the last few nights."

"Are you calling me wild, Mr. Solomons?" You exhaled, your heart frozen in fear of his answer.

"No," he whispered. "I'm calling you free. There's a vast difference, love. One the likes of them wouldn't understand."

The emotion in your chest swelled as you did your best to hide a smile against the rim of your cup. You felt Alfie lean back in the chair as he cleared his throat.

"Blah, blah, blah, scandal as the future husband searches high and low," he resumed reading. "Piss poor job searching, in my opinion. You're right here in my lap. Blah, blah, blah. Father refuses to comment. Interesting. I got a message from daddy dearest just this morning asking to meet with me at his place of business."

"What are you going to do?" You asked, startled.

You whipped your head around to look at him. Alfie kissed your shoulder before looking up at you with wide, innocent eyes.

"Why wouldn't I visit with dear old dad about his missing daughter?" He asked. "As your oldest friend, I am just as worried as he is. What could that terrible future husband of yours have done to make such a good girl disappear so?"

"So that's your plan, is it?" You gasped, delighted and horrified.

"I can't bloody imagine what you mean, pet," Alfie scoffed, bouncing his leg to bump you onto your feet. "Now go play with Cyril or laze about while I go meet with daddy."

You looked at him for a moment.

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95 notes - Posted September 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

When Will He Learn?

Alfie Solomons x reader

Word count: 2933

Warnings: Smut. They're criminals guys, they do bad things.

Note: ... this was a smash and dash, so I probably missed some edits. I'm sorry!

"Alfie," you smiled your first real smile of the evening. "Father didn't tell me you were on the list."

You leaned in to hug your oldest friend, confidant, and – most recently– ex-lover.

"I'm not, pet," he chuckled as he wrapped his arms around you and kissed your cheek. "I'm just here to tell you how beautiful you fucking are and to whisk you away from that poor sod you're engaged to."

"What say you," Alfie said as he wiggled his eyebrows. "I'll find us a cozy place away from this fucking wank event."

"Alfie," you laugh as you playfully smack his shoulder. "You know I'm to work the event for more donations."

The fundraiser was going to be much like the other ones; rich people finding excuses to wear expensive clothes and compliment each other. They were so exciting when you were younger, but you grew bored of them as you got older and realized they were just another place for society to play its games.

Your father was a prominent man in London and although it afforded you some small freedoms, it mostly caged you. The expectations of society were bars to your cell, and although your father loved you, he did not know you.

You had nervously smoothed your red dress multiple times, making the rounds of the fundraiser without your fiance all evening. Although he was there, your father thought it best you start apart and then meet together to converse with the larger donors. Always a plan.

"Who would notice, eh," he said as he took your hand and spun you before pulling you to his chest again and murmuring. "Who would truly notice if you skipped out back with me through the servant doors and we go skip down the merry fucking cobble, eh?"

"My father, for one," you replied weakly, looking from Alfie's blazing eyes down to his lips. "And my fiance."

"Don't stare at a man's lips unless you want them to work, love," he teased. "I'll cover you from head to toe until you scream. Again."

"I told you," you said as you shifted uncomfortably and broke away from his arms. "We can't. I'm to be married soon. I can't skip around town with you like a common whore when I'm to marry and be a respectable wife."

"Who told you that?" Alfie said as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you away to a corner of the room, hiding you both behind a pillar.

"The words sound recited, pet. Better try again. I'll bet anything," Alfie ran his hand along your jaw. "That you want nothing of becoming a respectable wife."

"Do you remember Margate? The waves hitting us–"

You leaned into his warm calloused hand, enjoying his touch.

"The sea air cool against the skin," he said as he leaned closer, lips nearly touching yours. "And those little sounds you made–"

"Alfie, enough," you snapped back to reality, realizing where you were.

You moved to walk away but Alfie's hand shot to your throat, pinning you to the pillar.

"He doesn't know, does he, pet?" He murmured, wetting his lips as he squeezed your throat a little tighter. "He has no bloody clue how fucking filthy you are. How you can be. Poor bloke, innit."

"Alfie, this is hardly the time–"

"What, love, afraid your new little friends will get the wrong impression?" Alfie chuckled darkly as he ran his thumb along your lips. "I'm full of wrong impressions, but I've never been wrong about you."

"I told you it's over," you said weakly. "We're in the middle of a fundraiser–"

"Not quite," Alfie mused as he let go of you before looking side to side and leaning in. "We're hiding in a dark little corner, aren't we pet? Because as much as he expexts you to shine for him, you're still in the dark with me."

"You led me here," you said indignantly as you went around him to join the party.

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586 notes - Posted May 23, 2022

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[emachinescat]

Title: Of Concussions and Incorrigible Cons | Fandom: Psych

Summary: AU of the pilot episode. After being reprimanded by the interim chief, Head Detective Carlton Lassiter bites off more than he can possibly chew after attempting to apologize to a concussed Spencer for the less than gentle arrest at the end of the McCallum case. Spoilers for "Domestic Pilot." Part 1 of my whumpy episodic AU series, "AU that Glitters."

Words: 1,951

TW: None

AO3 Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Episode AU: s01e01: Domestic Pilot, Whump

Year Published: 2017

Full story here or on AO3!

Head Detective Carlton Lassiter stood in front of the interim chief's door, fist poised to knock and foot tapping an anxious rhythm on the floor. Vick had been rather short with him when she'd asked him to come to her office as soon as the paperwork for the McCallum case had been taken care of. It wasn't the "I'm busy, so make it quick" kind of short, either… she was agitated about something.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked.

Her voice rang out from inside, dead serious as could be. Yeah, she was pissed about something.

He entered, and opted for the ignorant approach, which was just as well, because he really had no idea what this was about. After all, he'd already been given a stern-talking to about inter-department romance and Lucinda was in the process of being transferred. A little swell of fury rose at the thought of the man – the so-called "psychic" who had so carelessly ruined one of the only positive things he had going for him.

"Detective Lassiter. Please sit."

He sat stiffly in the proffered chair, refusing to let the cushy trappings lull him into a false sense of security. He maintained eye contact with the chief, letting her know that he was completely comfortable in the situation that he found himself in, and that he had nothing to hide. Never mind the fact that he wasn't all that comfortable with the cloak and dagger business, being left in the dark about why he was here in the first place. "Chief. What can I do for you?"

Vick's eyes may have softened the tiniest bit at his cordial greeting, but she still did not look like a happy camper.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Detective," she said bluntly. "This could have turned out much worse. As it is, I am going to have to give you an informal reprimand and warn you to be very careful in the future."

Lassiter blinked. "Uh, Chief… What…?"

"Detective, you cannot be physically aggressive toward civilians who are in your custody, unless they are resisting arrest or are posing a threat to you or others around you."

Still trying to work through the confusion, Lassiter was both offended and relieved that there had been a mistake like this, that Vick actually thought that he'd attack a non-resisting civilian. Whatever she'd heard, it was all a big mix up. "Chief, let me assure you that I would never—"

"Shawn Spencer. McCallum residence. Yesterday afternoon. Ring any bells?"

Lassiter blanched. "Spencer hardly counts as a civilian. He's a hindrance to real police work, a distraction, and at the time, he was trespassing. I had to take him in." He left the bitter, At least, until he solved my damn case, left unspoken.

"Be that as it may, Detective, your shoving him head-first into the frame of the car was a bit overboard, don't you think?"

Wait, this was what this was about? Seriously?

"He was resisting arrest, Chief. He was… flailing and pretending to have 'visions' and acting like a crazy person!"

A delicate but ferocious eyebrow lifted. "Not when you shoved him into the car. And may I remind you, he did solve the case?"

"Did he tell you this? That little…"

"Detective!" the chief cut him off before he could say anything to get himself into any more trouble, which, although he didn't appreciate at the time, he was begrudgingly thankful for after the fact. "Mr. Spencer didn't tell me anything. I was there, remember? I saw the whole thing… whatever it was."

Oh. Right. Damn that Spencer for getting into his head like this!

"He's fine, Chief," Lassiter responded, much more calmly this time. "Don't let him take advantage of you. This country is crawling with people faking injuries just to get a few thousand dollars from a lawsuit."

"I told you, Mr. Spencer said nothing to me. His father, on the other hand, called me this morning in a rage. Thankfully, I was able to calm him down and help him to see reason, but it wasn't easy."

"So he went and told his daddy that he got a boo-boo at the crime scene?" Lassiter couldn't keep the disgusted contempt out of his voice this time. "I thought they hated each other, anyway?"

"They have a… complicated relationship, and it really isn't our place to bring that under speculation. However…" She sighed. "It is my job to make sure that my officers are not allowing their emotions or anger, no matter how warranted said anger might be, to get the better of them. Especially after what Henry told me this morning. Apparently, Mr. Guster had to take Shawn to the emergency room last night after his headache peaked and he lost consciousness briefly. Mr. Spencer is being treated for a concussion, Detective, and that is why we're having this talk."

"Oh." Lassiter wasn't sure what to say beyond that, but he slapped away the little niggle of guilt that tried to burrow into him at the news. He hadn't meant to hurt Spencer, certainly not that badly. The man was being difficult, had lost Lassiter his girlfriend, his respect… had mocked him by acting like an idiot and still managing to solve the case first…

"Shawn himself is not going to press charges or file a report, though I was obligated to contact him about the matter. He said – and these are his words – that 'Mr. Grumpy Detective-Face is emotionally stunted and is just trying to express how much he likes me in the only way he knows how.'" Vick looked marginally amused as she read Spencer's response off the sheet in front of her. A muscle in Lassiter's neck twitched. "Now, those exact words could be because of the concussion…"

Lassiter fought the urge to roll his eyes. "They're not, Chief. Trust me."

Now appearing to be fighting a smile, the chief said, "Consider this your unofficial reprimand and warning to control your irritation when you are faced with a particularly difficult witness… or consultant. Because once he is feeling better, I do believe the department will be calling on Mr. Spencer again."

This time, Lassiter couldn't stop the eye roll. Or the groan. Vick smiled. "You're dismissed, Detective."

"Yes, ma—uh, I mean, Chief."

***

Shawn was woken when the doorbell rang, the sound slicing through his aching head like a butter knife through steak... or however that saying went. Without bothering to get up from where he was sprawled on the couch, he called out, "It's open."

Damn, concussions sucked. It was bad enough that Gus had practically dragged him to the hospital after he'd had some sort of dizzy spell last night, but then he'd called his dad to boot? Was this now Gus with his mom for additional parental torture? Not that he would mind seeing his mom… but he was so over worried hovering. Gus played the part of a worried mother exceptionally well, and Shawn couldn't handle two of them… Which was made irrelevant when the door opened to reveal not his mother, but…

"Detective Lassiter?"

Lassiter stepped into Shawn's apartment, keen blue eyes taking the coffee table littered with empty pudding cups, icepacks, water bottles, and prescription bottles. "You just leave your front door unlocked for anyone to come waltzing in? You're just begging to be robbed." Upon taking another look around at the untidy living space, his lip curled and he added, "Or maybe not."

Shawn struggled to sit up past the monkey playing cymbals in his head. "Your contempt for my apartment aside, what are you doing here?"

The detective hesitated. "I was just in the neighborhood and I…" Shawn watched knowingly as the detective's gaze shifted to the rather impressive bruise on his head.

"You wanted to check on me? Oh, Detective, you shouldn't have!"

"I didn't," growled Lassiter. He paused. "This was a mistake. I'll just—"

"Wait!" Shawn shifted, patting the sofa seat beside him. "Come in. Sit down. Rest your rumpus. Put your feet up. Slow your roll. Chillax your—"

With an irritated grunt, the detective passed the threshold and sat in the chair farthest away from Shawn. "Look. I didn't exactly… yesterday, when I…"

"I know, I know. You were just expressing your love for me in the only way you know how, like that little boy in school who pulls the little girl's pigtails because he thinks she's cute."

"Absolutely not."

"Okay, you got me—" Shawn winced as a particularly painful wave shot through his poor, abused noggin. "I was that kid in school. Her name was Melinda, and she had the cutest, bounciest set of—"

"Dear Lord, please stop talking."

"I was going to say pigtails, dude. Mind. Gutter. Get it out."

"This is a monumental waste of my time," the detective spat, standing up so abruptly it almost gave Shawn vertigo… Or wait, he might have already had vertigo, wasn't that a concussion symptom ? And what was vertigo, anyway? Besides an Alfred Hitchcock flick?

Past the pounding in his skull, Shawn heard footsteps stomping away, toward the door. Despite the telltale ringing in his ears, Shawn scrabbled to his feet, ignoring the dark spots dancing wildly in front of his eyes. His pulse hammered, his breath felt short and stunted, and the dizziness spiked. He knew what was going to happen seconds before it did. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

***

When the world swam back into focus, Shawn was surprised to find that he was back on the couch, not in a heap on the floor. He noticed blearily that his hands tingled like he'd been sitting on them for a couple of weeks, and his ears were still ringing like a high school band had paraded between them and accidentally left the triangle player behind. With a groan against the horrible pounding that had overtaken his skull – the procession of drummers must've gotten left behind, too – he rolled over to see Head Detective Carlton Lassiter kneeling next to the couch.

"You passed out," the detective stated helpfully.

"I did not," Shawn argued, mostly out of obligatory need to irritate whoever was in his general vicinity. "I fell asleep, suddenly and quickly, in a very manly and not wimpy way."

"Sure you did. Just be glad I got to you before you hit the ground. You would have a matching bruise on the other side of your head."

Shawn feigned shock. "So you dashed to my side, caught me before I hit the ground, gently placed me on the sofa, and lingered over my prone body until you knew I wasn't on death's door? Detective, I'm touched."

Lassiter half-sneered, half-smirked. "You were only out for a handful of seconds. I was hoping you'd stay out of it long enough for me to escape, but of course you had to ruin that plan, too."

Shawn winced, only partly out of pain. "Look, man, I'm sorry about your girlfriend. I just—"

The detective stood hastily, popping up from the ground like a Jack-in-the-Box with a strong Irish hairline and lots of pent-up aggression. "We don't talk about that. Ever."

Shawn lifted both hands up in mock surrender. Lassiter's face softened, just the tiniest, miniscule bit. "You're okay, though? Do I need to call your father or someone—?"

"No! I would rather you leave me here to die."

Lassiter shrugged. "Works for me." He strode for the door.

Shawn hesitated, licked his lips, and then offered, "Detective? Thanks."

"Just take it easy," the detective advised.

It was as close to an apology as Shawn was going to get, and, though Shawn might not have shown it through his next words, he did in fact appreciate it.

"Lassie," Shawn said, testing out the new nickname he'd been considering since he'd met the detective. He watched with glee as the man bristled in agitation.

"What?" the detective ground out through gritted teeth.

"I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."

The head detective had fled the apartment and slammed the door before Shawn could blink. Shawn settled back into the couch cushions and tried to will his head to stop raging against him. Or at least a plain but not drop-dead-ugly working tolerance, he amended in his head, before he drifted off to sleep.

[an-abundance-of-castiels]

Best Left Forgotten

Part 14: Please

Series Summary: You wake up in the bunker with a serious head injury and no memory of the last year or the Winchesters and find that Dean is avoiding you. You are determined to find out the truth about what happened but maybe the truth is best left forgotten.

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Cas

Warnings: language, Season 10 Spoilers

Word Count: 1403

General Disclaimer: I do not own the gif or any of the Supernatural properties or characters. This is a fan piece and is intended to be enjoyed only as such.

A/N: This is my first fic so any and all feedback is appreciated! A HUGE thanks to @weirdochick56 for rough beta-ing and encouraging me to pick this up again and give it another try in the first place!

Best Left Forgotten Masterlist

Missed Part 13?

**********

“She didn’t see our face! We don’t have to kill her. Please. We don’t have to.” You hear a young boy begging from down a tunnel. Heaviness presses down all over your body and you begin to feel your body. You blink your eyes open to a blurry image of your lap. Slowly, your hazy mind clears. You notice two things immediately: you’re tied in a chair and you have one hell of a headache. Whoever bashed you in the head earlier is clearly standing in front of you, so you don’t move or look up; maybe your ignorance can save you.

“You’re right Cy. We don’t have to. We get to. Here. When I get back, I want her dead.” You hear retreating footsteps and open your eyes. You frantically assess your options, a strange mix of adrenaline and hunter’s instinct giving you clarity. You have nothing in your pockets. The rope is too tight to escape. You have no hope of fighting back while tied up here. He has a gun.

Escape isn’t an option. The only thing left to do is beg.

You finally look up. The boy is lanky and nerdy looking with glasses. He’s holding a gun and looks awkward with it, like someone handed him a dead animal. He seems afraid of you and is standing terrified, looking from the gun to you.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you blurt out in desperation. You don’t wanna die like this, chained to a chair like a dog.

He stares into your eyes, conflict and fear clouding his eyes. “Ummm… maybe I can untie you? And then you run. Before he gets back, okay?” His eyes look kind, but afraid behind his glasses. He seems sincere. He glances around frantically before he steps to untie you just as a large man rounds the corner.

You recognize him. It’s that Styne man that the boys had in the dungeon. The one who killed Charlie. All fear for your life vanishes as liquid hot hatred burns through your stomach. “YOU FUCKING MURDERER! I’M GONNA-” You scream at the top of your lungs, but the words choke you when Dean rounds the corner with a gun. You feel an instinctive surge of happiness at the sight of his face. He’ll save you and kill this asshole. Your celebration is cut short when you notice the mark glowing and see the glaze over his eyes. What has he done? He’s so pale, like all the blood has been drained from his body. His body and clothes are soaked in blood. How many people has he murdered? Your stomach drops. You gag and tremble.

“Been looking for you.” Dean says glaring at the large man.

“Oh yeah? Why is that? Oh wait. You're not still sore about um, what's her name?” The Styne man waves his arm, brushing it off. Your stomach burns with anger.

“Charlie.” Dean swallows hard at her name. “Her name was Charlie.” His face falls and his eyes dim. You look down in shame. You begin to pray to Cas, something you realize you should have done earlier.

“Yeah, well. Chuckie, she got what she deserved. Wanna know how I did her? It's a kinda funny story—"

“Shut up.”

You silently pray as hard as you can. “Please hurry Cas. I think Dean can be saved. He’s covered in blood, but he’s after Charlie’s killers.”

“Straight to it, then. I respect that. You got lucky before. This time, I'm sporting some new upgrades. See my old man-”

“Your old man's dead.” Dean interrupts. “They're all dead. So, you can save me the speech on the three hearts, the two spleens, the seven nipples, for the ladies... or the fellas, I don't judge. But even with all that, you still only have one brain.” Dean smirks.

“So?”

In one swift motion, Dean draws his gun, shoots the man in the head, and turns his gun on the boy. He throws his arms up and starts to cry.

“No no no no no, don't! Dean, don't!” You scream desperately at Dean, struggling to break the rope.

Dean looks at you blankly and cocks his head, “Why not? He’s one of them.”

“No. No, I'm not! Okay, I hate my family! See, look!” The boy yanks his shirt up desperately, “No stitches! I'm not like them, I promise.”

“Oh, you are like them. There's bad in you. It's in your blood.” Dean insists matter-of-factly. “Now you can deny it and you can run from it all you want, but that bad.... will always win.” The absolute sincerity in his eyes makes your heart stop. He’s given up. How could you ever hope to save him if he’s already given up? And then it dawns on you: he’s going to kill that boy. Your Dean is about to murder an innocent kid. But maybe if you stop him, you can convince him that there’s still hope. This battle for a kid’s life suddenly becomes a battle for Dean’s soul. You continue to struggle with your ties with a renewed desperation. “He was trying to help me. He was going to let me run.” You beg with Dean as you frantically fight the ropes. You have to get to Dean so you can calm him down.

“I'll do anything you want. Okay, please. You don't need to do this” the boy begins to cry. “Please.”

Dean looks down and lowers his gun. He seems in thought. The next few seconds seem to move in slow motion. Several things happen at once:

You finally pull your hands free and yank the rope off of your torso.

Dean looks up at the boy, points his gun at him, and says, “Yeah. I do.”

You lunge at Cy. 

You and Cy come crashing to the ground into a pile of books and at first, you think you got away with it. You smile at him and he looks back at you, horrified. You’re confused, and the world is a little blurry. “What’s wrong?”

Cy points at your shoulder. You reach your left arm round to feel the back of your right shoulder. It comes back bloody. Cy’s eyes grow wide and he frantically tries to pull you toward him.

“What?” You realize your words are slurred. When you don’t budge, he begins to crawl away and trips several times.

You turn to look behind you and see Dean approaching. He seems to be in no hurry and his cold eyes hold no concern for you. It occurs to your foggy mind that this is odd as you are hurriedly bleeding out.

“Why did you do that?” He asks evenly as he points the gun in your face.

You try to slide away and fall over, groaning when you hit your shoulder. “Dean…” is all you can manage to get out.

Suddenly, you see a blur of beige as Dean is tackled out of your view. You hear struggling and your body starts to react on its own, desperately dragging you away from the fight. Something brings you to a halt.

You hear Cas start begging. “Dean stop.”

Dean stands over Cas and continues to hit him. Blood is everywhere, and Cas’s face is almost unrecognizable. You feel a surge of energy. This isn’t like last time. This time it ends in Cas’s death if you don’t do something. You start to frantically drag yourself back, not sure where the sudden energy and clarity came from. You are a couple feet away when Dean takes Cas’s angel blade out and raises it high above his head, pulling Cas up by his tie. Cas grabs Dean’s hand.

“No, Dean. Please.” Cas manages to choke out through the blood.

Dean hesitates a moment with a cold expression on his face. You reach his blood-soaked leg and grab it. “Please, Dean.”

Dean glances down at you coldly and shoves you to the side with his foot. You skid to a halt roughly into a pile of books and photos, finding that whatever propelled you forward before can’t fight the blood loss. You feel like you’re drowning. You’re swimming up and just can’t reach the surface.

Cas looks at you with guilt in his eyes. “I’m sorry I failed you.”

The last thing you see before the darkness overtakes you is Dean begin to bring the angel blade down swiftly into Cas’s chest.

Part 15

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