#Waffle-House-Typical Violence

[bluemoonperegrine]

Ted's on First - Part I

This is the first scene (~1200 words) of the long-awaited Waffle House fic. It's taking me forever to get this thing written, but I'd rather take the time to do it right.

Although this is set in the Bittersweet Symphony universe, you don't have to have read any of it to follow this.

UPDATE: The whole fic is here on ao3.

Rating: Gen Characters: Elsa Bloodstone/Jack Russell, Ted Sallis (Man-Thing), original characters Word Count (eventually): ~3500 Warnings: Canon-typical violence (eventually)

Ava knew the pair was trouble the moment the plate glass door swung open. A gust of humid, marsh-scented air preceded two fit thirty-somethings whose dress better suited a pop culture convention than southern Florida.

“Mornin’,” Ava called over the din of her washing dishes behind the counter and the mess of eggs and hash browns Tom had sizzling on the grill. Between the late hour and their location on the outskirts of the Miami metro area, the two of them could run the Waffle House.

A swarthy, clean-shaven man of Indian descent nodded acknowledgement as his eyes swept across the nearly empty diner. Dried mud spattered his dark boots and the bottom of his black duster. The fact that his long coat was buttoned closed despite the warm night air outside suggested he was packing. All he needed was a pair of sunglasses to cosplay Neo from The Matrix.

Ava glanced at Kendra, who perched on her usual stool at the far end of the counter. The big-boned woman with natural Black hair was watching the new arrivals as well. Kendra nodded, then returned her attention to the door.

Neo stepped aside to make way for his companion: a Black woman with her hair in cornrows. Her garb was similar to Neo’s with the exception of her medium-length leather coat. She also surveyed the nearly empty dining room, skipping over Kendra to linger on the customers sitting at the table on the right side of the door. Those two, an attractive older couple who’d been playing footsie under the table, wore motorcycle safety gear.

“Sit anywhere you’d like,” Ava told Neo and Trinity.

After giving her a cursory smile, the woman headed for the table on the left side of the door. Neo followed. 

Ava dried her hands, pulled her order pad and pen from the pocket of her yellow apron, and strode around the end of the counter toward the older couple. Kendra smiled and said quietly in Creole “I’m watching” as Ava moved past her.

Despite his back being to her, the tanned, forty-something man with salt-and-pepper hair sat up straight as Ava approached. After frowning over his shoulder in Kendra’s direction, the handsome man gave Ava a friendly smile. His companion, a fair-skinned, dark-haired woman who was beautiful even with her brows knit together, continued studying the single-page menu.

Ava prompted, “Need another minute or two?”

“Mi vida?” the man asked his probable wife. Neither wore a wedding band.

The woman frowned harder at the menu. “Nearly,” she replied with a light British accent. “You go ahead.”

“Okay.” After glancing over his wife’s shoulder at Neo and Trinity sitting their table ten feet away, he turned to Ava and smiled. “The cheeseburger platter, please—”

Ava jotted it down. “Lettuce, tomato, pickle?” 

“Yes, please,” he said with a Latino accent. “And a cup of coffee. It’s late, you know?”

The man’s smile had grown bigger somehow. Ava felt herself returning it as she admired his green irises and how the corners of his eyes crinkled—

The British woman pointedly cleared her throat. “I’m ready to order.”

“Right!” Ava blurted. She felt her face heat up as she met the woman’s displeased countenance. Her husband chuckled, as did Kendra from her spot at the end of the counter. “What can…”

The Latino was looking over his shoulder again as if he’d heard Kendra. The notion was ridiculous, as was how something dark had seemed to move under the table. The couple was probably playing footsie. 

After taking a breath to compose herself, Ava addressed the British woman. “What can I get you?”

“The steak hash brown bowl,” the woman said frostily, “with jalapeños—”

 “Ahht!” the man mock scolded.

The woman heaved a sigh and leveled an impatient look on her husband. “Jack, I am not using that silly lingo.”

Jack’s face fell. “But you have to! It’s a rule.” He grinned at Ava. “Right?”

Ava gulped, wishing her customers were the usual ones who came in after the bars closed. Drunks she could handle. These two were weird and she still had to deal with Neo and Trinity. “Uh…”

The woman handed the menu to Ava as she shook her head at her husband. “You can,” she said, trying to withhold a grin. “You know what I like.”

Her husband’s smile became more of a leer, which made Ava blush and the woman chuckle. “Go on, and stop torturing the poor girl.”

Jack turned back to Ava with a polite smile. “She’ll have hers scattered, chunked, diced, peppered, and capped.” He grinned at his wife, who rolled her eyes as the corners of her mouth tugged up.

“And to drink?” Ava asked them both because she had no idea who’d reply at this point.

“Tea?” Jack asked his wife.

The woman gave Ava a skeptical look. “Is it orange pekoe?”

Ava yearned for drunk patrons who only wanted coffee. “I guess? It’s Lipton’s.”

“Coffee,” the woman sighed, “black.” She looked fondly at her husband. “Bring lots of cream for him.”

“Yes, please,” Jack said. In a stage whisper he added, “Don’t mind her. She’s hangry.”

“I am not hangry!” The woman’s mouth snapped shut. She blushed as her husband chuckled.

Ava willed herself to not react and risk provoking the not-hangry British woman. “Back in a minute with coffee,” she said and retreated, catching Kendra’s eye as she walked past. Her friend followed her behind the counter as she called the order to Tom, a ruddy white man who looked older than his fifty years.

Grateful for the clanks of metal utensils on the grill, Ava murmured to Kendra in Creole, “He can hear you.”

Kendra looked his way. “Seems that way,” she said quietly. “He doesn’t see me, though.”

Ava put two mugs on the counter and poured coffee, leaving room for cream in one of them. “Untrained?”

“Maybe,” Kendra replied. She didn’t seem concerned. “Jack seems harmless. But he is keeping an eye on the other two. His wife is too. She’s using the reflection in the window.”

Ava took longer than necessary putting coffee creamer cups in a bowl for the Latino. “This really isn’t a good night for things to get interesting.”

“It’ll be fine,” Kendra said, laying one hand on Ava’s shoulder. The touch had no weight, only a gentle coldness. “Don’t you worry.”

Ava nodded, grateful for her grandmother’s presence. 

As she picked up the mugs with one hand and the bowl of creamer in the other, she looked at Neo and Trinity at their table on the far side of the counter. With only stars and headlights from I-75 traffic lighting the night sky, the floor-to-ceiling window behind the customers acted as a mirror. Kendra, who looked about thirty, wasn’t there, of course, but Ava’s reflection was. They both were tall, but Ava lankier. Her black hair was in a multitude of thin braids, the bunch of them gathered at the nape of her neck with an elastic hair band. Her black T-shirt, pants, and yellow apron and visor were nothing to write home about. College tuition and bills had to get paid somehow.

Trinity and Neo must have felt her eyes on them. They glanced at her simultaneously.

“Coffee?” Ava asked.

“Yeah,” Neo said with a neutral American accent. “That’d be good.” Trinity nodded agreement.

Ava returned it as she headed for her other customers. “Coming right up.”

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

For anyone who's read "Past Is Prologue," Kendra is the same Kendra in that fic. 😊

Also, I was lazy in the Bittersweet Symphony fics and made Elsa American. She's British here because it's more accessible for anyone who hasn't read that series, and easier to differentiate her from other female characters when writing from Ava's POV.

[mensahjacq]

a deep dive into lana del rey

I can’t remember how exactly I stumbled across one of Lana Del Rey’s songs and what exactly started my obsession. I had simply never heard a voice like hers and the way she delivers her sound was like heaven to my ears and I immediately had to seek out her other music.

Elizabeth Woolridge Grant, commonly known as Lana Del Rey, is known for her theme of writing songs about romance, addictions, and tragedy. She has an American vintage glamour vibe that she portrays not only in her music but also in her lifestyle. Most of Lana’s inspiration for her songs comes from her own life experiences with past boyfriends and the heartbreaks she endured. Her songs act as an outlet for her own trauma and feature strong themes and messages about love, obsession, darkness, and struggles as a human being. 

Lana stated that one of her most famous songs, Born To Die, is about a past abusive and toxic relationship she struggled to get out of at a young age. She felt like she had no escape, and was unable to let go of him. She talks about finding her voice and strength to leave as she is now older with the lyrics, “Lost but now I am found/ I can see that once I was blind/ I was so confused as a little child”. Many women struggle with the same difficult situation regarding domestic violence and abusive partners, and it is quite admiring how Lana can take her pain and trauma and turn it into lyrics and music, to help others.

Her music videos give off a cinematic retro quality, are low-budget and some are even self-made and uploaded by Lana herself. For example, in her breakout album, Born to Die: The Paradise Edition, the music video for one of the most famous tracks, Video Games, was self-made and comprised of some clips of her singing on a computer camera, the busy streets of Hollywood, footage from the 1980s club scenes, and many more retro digital video footage. 

Getting into Lana’s life, there’s a bit of mystery surrounding her. She is a high-earning mainstream successful artist yet she does not typically participate in Hollywood-esque events and likes to do things as a normal, non-famous person would. For example, sometime in July of 2023, she was spotted casually working in a Waffle House in Alabama, serving drinks and completely disregarding her celebrity status. Here’s an article that gets into what exactly she was doing at this particular Waffle House, it just shows how humble and down-to-earth Lana is. 

Even her on-stage performances give off a relaxed, local vibe despite thousands of people being in the crowd and coming out just to see her. One of my favorite shows of hers features a clip of her setting down a lit cigarette on her microphone stand followed by her beginning to perform one of her most famous songs, Summertime Sadness. This clip went viral and goes to show why Lana is loved by so many. She has an intimate, genuine connection with her music and that is felt by her fans and anyone else who is listening.

She has experienced some success of her own. Her career-topping sixth album, Norman Fucking Rockwell!, was deemed the greatest release of 2019 by Pitchfork and is a Grammy Award nominee for album of the year. Del Rey's first two albums, "Born to Die" and "Ultraviolence," both appeared on various decade-end lists as 2019 drew to its conclusion. Insider named her one of the musicians who defined the decade. But soon after, Del Rey's actions started to receive more media attention than her music.

The Controversies

Although there are many people including myself who adore Lana’s music, she does have a fair share of critics, and many blogs and articles are written with a lack of agreement about her choice of music style and lyrics. Many criticize her decision to write about past abusive relationships and instead deem it as her glamorizing abuse and being anti-feminist. This blog by BBC goes into detail about the critiques and Lana’s responses to them. This is not the only article that goes into detail about Lana’s alleged “short-comings” in her career, there are many more and she often has to defend herself and the work she puts out.

Del Rey claimed to be writing "about the realities of what we are all now seeing are very prevalent emotionally abusive relationships all over the world" in her Instagram essay, picking up this theme. She went on to say that other women now had the freedom to express themselves through their music without having to sing about how happy they were, "in contrast to my experience where, if I even expressed a note of sadness in my first two records, I was deemed literally hysterical as though it was literally the 1920s."

Lana, like any other celebrity, has had her fair share of scandals and controversies, but this does not take away from her hard work and support of women who've been through struggles with domestic violence and also her intense love for her supporters and fans.

[deadcactuswalking]

REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 06/05/2023 (Nines’ ‘Crop Circle 2′)

Content warning: Boring music

For a fourth week, Calvin Harris and Ellie Goulding take the #1 spot on the UK Singles Chart with “Miracle”, and welcome back to REVIEWING THE CHARTS!

Rundown

It’s a pretty slow week, and one I’m honestly glad for. There is some movement but it’s kind of minimal, and in terms of new arrivals, half of it is Nines so it’s a particularly low-effort episode as a result, and hopefully a short one. In terms of notable dropouts – songs exiting the Top 75, which is what I cover, after five weeks in the region or a peak in the top 40 – we say farewell to some Spring hits “labour” by Paris Paloma, “Eat Your Young” by Hozier, “Oh Baby” by Nathan Dawe and Bru-C featuring bshp and Issey Cross, “golden hour” by JVKE and finally, “Unholy” by Sam Smith and Kim Petras, though we essentially switched out our Pokémon when it comes to old hits, as “Shivers” by Ed Sheeran is back at #75 alongside “Until I Found You” by Stephen Sanchez at #72.

The returns that are actually notable this week are a bit further up the charts: at #60, we see “Relax My Eyes” by ANOTR and Abel Balder have a bit of a resurgence. It’s not bad at all, so it would make a good hit, but I don’t see it having a consistent run. I don’t see it happening for “Maria Maria” by Santana featuring The Product G&B either, which is back at #51. The song originally peaked at #6 in 2000, and is actually currently out-performing the modern house rendition by TECH IT DEEP, which gains to #63 this week – this is a good thing, the remix sucks. Our other notable gains include “Make Me” by Borai and Denham Audio at #66, “Giving Me” by Jazzy at #50 (oh Lord), “Dancing is Healing” by Rudimental, Vibe Chemistry and Charlotte Plank at #47, “Energy” by Digga D at #45, “Waffle House” by the Jonas Brothers at #42, “See You Again” by Tyler, the Creator featuring Kali Uchis at #27, “Hell n Back” by Bakar at #22, “Baby Don’t Hurt Me” by David Guetta, Anne-Marie and Coi Leray at #13, and, yeah, that really is a mixed bag, with no really fixed trends – either in quality or in genre. With that said, we do have two songs not new to the chart but new to the top 10 – firstly, Nines gets the album boost from Crop Circle 2 to launch “Tony Soprano 2” into the top 10 at #10, though sadly for his first top 10 hit, Nines doesn’t hit #9. That spot is taking by FIFTY FIFTY, as “Cupid” surges up, becoming the girl group’s first top 10, and the first for a K-pop girl group overall. I could have sworn BLACKPINK got up there at some point due to sales but that’s not the case.

This week’s top five is much of the same. We have “Calm Down” by Rema at #5, “Wish You the Best” by Lewis Capaldi at #4, “People” by Libianca at #3, “Daylight” by David Kushner at #2 and of course, “Miracle” at the very top. Nothing unusual here, but is there anything unusual about our small batch new arrivals? Good segue, now let’s find out.

NEW ARRIVALS

#73 – “Day Date” – Clavish

Produced by R14 Beats and G-Icy DaFlex

The answer to that is no. Spoiler alert, I suppose, but we have four new songs: a single from Clavish, a single from Niall Horan, and two album cuts from Nines. Ed Sheeran is waiting for the next week, so if you don’t care for this really small, kind of uninteresting set of songs, I don’t blame you and you should skip reading this one. The most interesting thing about this week honestly may be this Clavish song, which is depressing considering... well, it’s Clavish. That’s not to say that it’s all that interesting... or at all, but “G-Icy DaFlex” is definitely a choice for producer stage name, and I will say the single verse from Clavish isn’t bad here. It’s a shame that the beat is pretty cheap-sounding, with typical bells and compressed chipmunk choir vocals behind a basic trap beat, and it’s also a shame that Clavish sounds comatose, even if the flow is tighter and the gang violence content is actually mildly compelling, and you can tell that there’s a certain frustration with his come-up due to his background that I quite like to hear from a guy like Clavish. In fact, the rhyme schemes are good, his delivery is slightly more awake and he honestly makes the beat sound a lot better than it is through his cold, multi-tracked vocals. I’m not saying this is all that good – especially with the dull hook – but it’s far from the worst UK trap I’ve heard, and knowing my opinions on Nines, it won’t be the worst this week.

#62 – “Meltdown” – Niall Horan

Produced by John Ryan and Joel Little

This was the song I was most excited to hear this week, mostly because I adore “Heaven” and was hoping for a good follow-up from this upcoming album, which I think I will go out of my way to hear eventually, since I liked the semi-Britpop direction of the lead single. Sadly, this second single doesn’t really sit with me nearly as well, starting with the same choir of vocal harmonies but shimmying itself with glimmering synths to a pretty rote pop-rock groove reminding me of his former bandmate Harry Styles’ output, which I am far from a fan of. Horan definitely does the sound better, as his voice, especially his falsetto, fits the driving rhythm section a bit better, but the chorus I feel is pretty lacking, especially with how compressed the production is. It really muddies the water: what is the hook? Is it the backing millennial whoop? The harmonic choir vocal that cuts through the mix? The seemingly random synth inflections and guitar riffs? The chorus feels lost, which really hurts a song like this. Pop rock in this vein is anthemic, but there’s not really a lead wham line to this. Hell, even “As it Was” got that right. By the time he brings out the comical robot voice – I’m not joking – I think it’s clear that too many ideas were just subjugated into this one over-arching song of broad, clashing ideas, which is a shame because those ideas aren’t necessarily bad on their own. I’ll still check out the album probably, but my expectations are much more tempered as a result of this follow-up track.

#34 – “Favela” – Nines featuring J Styles

Produced by Flyo

Welp, it’s all Nines from here on out. Crop Circle 2 debuted at #2 and we have two album cuts debuting in the top 40 this week, and given the video release and features, I wouldn’t be surprised if this one is replaced with another one – specifically “Different League” with Clavish and Nafe Smallz – by next week. Regardless, this one features J Styles of the Ice City Boyz, the group with which Nines blew up with and is the breakout star of. Honestly, I don’t understand why – J Styles handles the refrain here and even being censored over this royalty-free-sounding piano and stiff Afroswing-adjacent groove, he’s smoother and much more competent with his rapping than the ever-fluid Nines, who’s stuttering and interrupting himself with ad-libs that are basically random spoken word interludes. He’s got the unfunny cultural references and the repeated punchlines, one of which – “they don’t fear Nines until it’s one in their face” – kind of acts as some kind of catchphrase. There have been worse running gags, I suppose, but this once again does not impress or interest me in any way. If anything, I’m disappointed that J Styles gets his verse cut off at the end – he has much more to say as he recounts a specific life-threatening event, and it seems that given the verse ends with advice he was given, that he was going somewhere with it... but the song just stops. I checked the next track off of the album just in case it transitions into another verse from him, yet he’s nowhere to be seen on it so that’s all we get from him outside of the hook. In fact, they interrupt him with:

#19 – “Calendar” – Nines

Produced by Jacob Manson and SHOW N PROVE

This song is... interesting. It starts with a skit that outlines the concept of the song: he’s got a girl for every day of the week, like a calendar. He’s speaking – barely rapping – over this 90s R&B sample that doesn’t sound awful. In fact, let’s get rid of Nines for a second – just not pay attention to him. We have a roughly-mixed sample with sweet harmonies that overlap at certain parts, creating a pretty chaotic instrumental which fits the amount of girls he’s juggling, and honestly, given the skits and the soulful chorus, you don’t need Nines to create that narratives. Yet because it’s Nines’ album, he’s here, and he sucks the soul out of the track, just complaining about women for the whole song in a really embarrassingly rough vocal mix and sloppy flow that runs over into different measures. It’s just an awkward, demo-esque set of verses that act as interjections into an otherwise chill instrumental. I love the stiff drums too, it fits the 90s R&B vibe very well. You know what doesn’t? Horoscopes! The entire second verse is about horoscopes! Why?

Conclusion

...Clavish?! Clavish is the best this week has for me?! “Day Date” gets Best of the Week, mostly because of how it is really slim pickings with mediocrity defining all four of these songs... yet at least Clavish has a good verse, which I’ve just never heard from Nines. Both of his two debuts this week have an annoying amount of potential that I can attribute to everyone but Nines, and it’s really a shame that he doesn’t step up his rapping to match the quality of his guests or his production. “Calendar” is getting Worst of the Week because his performance is worse and J Styles doesn’t deserve to have his first chart debut get the Worst title. As for next week... well, it’s Ed Sheeran and we’ll see whatever else comes up. For now, thanks for reading and I’ll see you then!

[raleighcarreras]

if i die young

Part 1: bury me in satin, part 2 , part 3 , part 4

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Black!fem!reader, Yelena Belova x female original character

Rating: M

Wrd Cnt: 2.4k+

Summary: You had heard the story countless times. In fact, the odds didn't seem all that impossible. One day, you're minding your business, the next, you're swinging through the city, after a spider bit you right on the face. Being a hero was pretty rewarding until the Black Widow is sent to stop you at every opportunity. You just wished you knew why she cared so damn much.

Warnings: canon typical violence, post nwh and MoM but no one is dead except tony, reader lives up to the spider-fam in the quips department, Natasha has feelings but boy is she trying not to, eventual smut, angst (but tasteful)

Notes: probably about 5 parts don't plan on it being long. please reblog and comment. The intro song is Trust by Neon Trees. Also of course 18+ only, minors and ageless blogs dni, I do not authorize anyone to use my work in any shape or form without express permission.

"That's the thing about trust"

One of your favorite pastimes was watching the New York City sunrise. It always had been. One of those things your parents would gently shake you awake for, hand you a toaster waffle or donut, then drag you onto the fire escape.

That had been good then, but this was great now. Now, you had the best seat in the house. The very top of the Bank of America Tower.

You're not entirely sure why you chose this particular building, it was no where near your apartment and it took forever to get back down to street level, but you chose it and it was yours now.

You hadn't been able to figure out how to program your web shooters to...well... shoot web at nearly that great a distance yet, so instead, you had to crawl up the side of the building for most of your journey.

The first time you scaled the building, you had been surprised the spot wasn't already taken. You knew there were at least two other "spider-people" in NYC and you figured this would have been prime real estate.

As you perched atop the building you grabbed your notebook and began sketching. You were getting tired of the ole black jumpsuit and mask you had been wearing. It was becoming tattered anyway. It was high time you looked like those other dweebs in tights. Maybe then, people would finally start taking you seriously.

You don't even get three strokes of your pencil in before the low buzzing in the base of your skull starts and it's time for you to step into action. Or rather, step off the building.

As you plummet toward the rapidly approaching asphalt in search of imminent danger, you can't help but think about how you got yourself into this mess.

Six months earlier

"Do you think I can get an interview with Pepper Potts?" Your bestfriend, Kamilah, asked you with an excited squeal.

"A job interview? With her personally? Hell no. But I'm sure the hiring department would be happy to see you."

You had been working at Stark Industries for almost two years. You weren't anyone super important but your job was nothing to sniff at either.

"You're the assistant head of tech. What do you know?" Kamilah huffed and crossed her arms.

You rolled your eyes, "What do you need a job interview for anyway? I thought you liked your New York Times gig."

Kamilah scoffed as you used your ID Badge to enter another room. Your office, for some reason, was just beyond the new branch of insect research Pepper had wanted to invest in. Finding out why was way above your pay grade.

"I do but you have to secure the bag somehow. You never know, maybe I just so happen to interview with Pepper, I strategically drop my pen, bend over to get it, then boom I'm the sexy, young house wife of a MILF and a stepmom."

You had half a mind to close the door in Kamilah's face. But unfortunately, your morals won out.

"Would it kill you to be normal? I'm already pulling every string known to man to get you this article interview with my boss. I'd have to get on my knees and tie my hair up to get you an interview with his boss!"

Kamilah bit the inside of her cheek, "You could use the action. It's gotta be like the Sahara down there."

You could only glare at her as you knocked on your boss' door. He opened it with a perpetually happy flourish and shook your companion's hand. Not that she deserved it.

"Kamilah Walter, for the NYT interview, I presume?"

Kamilah smiled that charming smile that you only saw when she wanted something, "One and the same. Thank you for your time, Mr. Foreman."

"Ah, call me Chase. Mr. Foreman is me but for people I don't like." He led the two of you away from his office and back toward the research area.

You tried not to visibly grimace at all the bugs on display. Chase must have noticed your look of confusion, he gestured into the room with a proud smile.

"This is what we requested the interview for. We plan to make this an off shoot of the tech department."

Kamilah looked at you, you only shrugged in return. You had known nothing about this.

"Top secret kind of thing, I'm sorry. Until today of course. We've been studying how to generate electricity with insects. Sort of like how the human brain does. We've actually powered this section of the building for an entire week without anyone noticing." He giggled like an excited schoolboy.

You gestured to a glass case illuminated with blue and yellow LEDs, you weren't stupid enough to walk up to it, but in the end that wouldn't matter, "I thought spiders weren't insects."

"They're not. They're arachnids, different thing, but they serve the same purpose in this case. They've all been enhanced in some way. Radiation, extreme climate, shockwaves. That's where the research part comes in. Trying to see what works best. The different colored LEDs designate treatment. Green is radiation. Red is extreme heat. Blue is extreme cold. And blue and yellow is electric shockwaves generated by the tech they're helping to power. A recycler's dream. Probably less than ethical, but Hell, what isn't nowadays."

You watched as Kamilah furiously typed everything your boss was saying in her notes app. She was probably recording too. You made sure to leave them to their devices and went back to your own office.

You never felt the bite. You never felt anything crawling around on you. You didn't even see any evidence of anything happening to you at all until three entire days later.

It started with a headache and a gnarly bug bite on your forehead. It ended with you sticking to the goddamn wall. And somewhere in the middle there you had charged your laptop by just touching it.

You were buzzing. You were buzzing. Like a damn electrical wire you were buzzing!

You didn't tell Chase. You didn't tell anyone but Kamilah. If only because someone had to tell your parents and siblings what happened just in case you fucking died.

Your senses were enhanced.

Kamilah had promptly fainted when you showed her you could stand on the ceiling. You had moved quickly to catch her and place her on your bed. She weighed about as much as a carton of eggs and you ripped up some drywall on your way down.

The only thing that kept you from freaking out too much was the fact that you had heard of this happening before. Twice before actually. The first guy it happened to...you could have sworn you knew his name once upon a time. Perry...Perez...? Ah it didn't matter. The second one, he was newer. You only knew of him what you saw on the news. He often wore a jacket over his suit, and he had a really nice pair of Air Jordans.

Nevertheless, you were not alone, and even though you had no intention of following up on it any time soon, it seemed there was only one logical conclusion.

Present

You don't think you'll ever get used to the feeling of swinging.

It was against your body's very nature. The physics alone would theoretically rip your arm right off your body.

But as of six months ago, psychics didn't really apply to you.

It took you forever to figure out how to locate a threat as a result of the low buzzing in your skull. But even now, when you're 125% sure you're swinging as fast as you possibly can in the right direction, the buzzing isn't letting up and the screams. Oh god, the screams you hadn't heard until now, they just keep getting louder and more blood curdling.

The smell of smoke is what hits you next, but you're still what has to be at least six miles out. The sirens come next and you're doing everything in your power to keep up.

Your brain, even before the bite, worked like a computer. Always going, always knowing. But despite its constant going, you were currently lacking any sort of knowledge.

What would you do when you got there? How would you know who to help? Would they even let you?

There was no way you'd be the only savior on sight. You were in New York for crying out loud. Maybe, it would be best for everyone if you just stayed off to the side and observed until you were absolutely needed. You had only been on the job for six months, your benefits hadn't even kicked in yet.

As you arrived on the scene, that was exactly what you did. Perching on a fire escape and taking note of the chaos.

The first thing you decipher is fire. A big one to be precise. Your computer powers or maybe just electricity powers (six months and you still hadn't exactly figured that out because what the hell did computer powers even mean) weren't needed to figure that one out.

There's some choice Avengers already on the scene. Mainly the ones with limited powersets. Maybe the Avengers had rankings like the military.

There's a Hawkeye. The girl one. The Winter Soldier, whom you could have sworn was in jail. Lastly, you're not the only spider-related person as there are two Black Widows. A redhead and a blonde. The latter of whom you're pretty sure who life you just saved as you sent an electromagnetic pulse through the ground. Sending her opponent (some kind of half man half robot thing) sprawling.

The redhead looks up in your direction with a glare and you stop in your tracks. You feel like you've been caught with your hand in the cookie jar, and you have the overwhelming urge to run. Contrastingly, you can't look away.

Like any normal human, you mask your uncomfortableness with humor. So, you point down to the woman in black with a teasing smile that she definitely can't see.

"I'm honored that you feel the need to clock me as a threat, but you're about to get clocked in the jaw by a robot arm."

Ah maybe you skipped funny and went straight to annoying.

She dodged the aforementioned punch at the last second, but you didn't bother to stick around and wait for a 'thank you'. You hadn't been much help anyway.

~•~

The feeling that you're being followed comes in spurts in the following days.

Always when you're out patrolling the streets for would be muggings and never when you're alone and vulnerable in your apartment.

You have a sneaking suspicion you know exactly who is on your tail. You weren't surprised, not really. You had been joking when you suggested that she was clocking you as a threat, but you had a feeling The Avengers kept tabs on everyone and everything with enhancements that they could.

"You can sneak out of the shadows all international super spy-like whenever you're ready. I'll just be here, sitting on the edge of this building all alone."

You weren't scared of Natasha Romanoff (yeah you had done some research). The buzzing in the base of your skull would have gone off if you thought she was going to snipe you.

You weren't scared of Natasha Romanoff, but you sure were intimidated. Even when she slinked out of the shadows a little less than all international super spy-like.

You could hear her combat boots crunch against the rooftop with clarity. You were glad she was behind you, lest she see you cower under her gaze like you had the other day.

"You're losing your touch there. Are your targets supposed to know that you're trailing them?"

"Only when I allow them to." Her voice, rough with staying silent so long, wormed it's way into your brain. You were overwhelmed again.

You patted the slab over wall next to you, inviting her to sit down. She didn't and you laughed, "So? What do you want? I'm not trying to cause trouble, I just want to help."

And that was true. You just wanted to help. Sure, you didn't have the tragic backstory or the training, but you had the power and it would be unfair to everyone if you kept it to yourself.

"You're causing trouble by trying to help."

With that you turned to her with a deep frown. Your breath did well not to catch in your throat. She wasn't wearing her suit, no, you probably weren't important enough for that, instead she was wearing dark jeans and a matching leather jacket, a band tee underneath. As if she had more important tasks and had remembered she needed to bother you at the very last second.

But that was beside the point. The point was: she had no right to say that to you! You hadn't made any extra trouble by helping. You had even saved her colleague from getting dented by that cyborg thing. Instead, you had severely dented it. Hell, you did the same for her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Your irritation crept into your voice and she clearly found it amusing.

"It means stay out of it. We don't need any other liabilities."

You weren't a liability. You could hold your own. Sure, you had been a little frightened. And all that screaming had definitely scarred you for life, but you could do this. You knew you could. You had no choice but to be able to do this.

"Then just don't worry about me. I can hold my own."

"It doesn't work like that."

"Why not? You're a damn spy, Romanoff. You should know better than anyone that it can work like that. You just won't let it. Do the Avengers have some sort of monopoly over the hero business?" If she's surprised you know her name she doesn't show it. You're a tad disappointed in that and you're not sure why because you only found out from a quick Google search.

"You're a stubborn one, aren't you? Look, it's clear you don't know what you're doing," She gestured to your suit, or rather, lack thereof, "So, go home. And stay out of it. No need to potentially get yourself killed over this."

Why can she do it, but you can't?

[arizonapoppy]

Just Another Sunday Morning

Pairing: Arihnda Pryce x Thrawn

Words: 354

Rating: T

Genre: Domestic fluff, battle couple

Warnings: Canon-typical violence; Thrawn in an undershirt

Summary: The Grysk ruin a perfectly good lazy morning

A/N: Because @myevilmouse wanted to hear more.

Also on Ao3

Arihnda stretched her legs lazily under the sheets, as she sipped the delicious caf Thrawn had just brought her. Through the open window, bird songs drifted in. Princess and Azhdar snoozed at their feet, curled together in a ball. “Yes,” she declared to no-one in particular, “I am actively not getting up. I have nowhere to be and I intend to make full use of doing nothing.” 

“That’s nice,” mumbled Thrawn, already back asleep. He rolled over to his other side; the covers fell away revealing a stretch of toned blue shoulder. Arihnda gently pulled the blanket back over him so as not to catch cold.

She traced her finger over her datapad, reading the latest Jedi romance. The heroine had just confessed her love, when a muffled boom sounded in the distance. Azhdar sat up and looked around, yellow tufted ears pricked. 

Thrawn immediately jolted awake, jumping out of bed. Reaching into the drawer, he grabbed his blaster and clicked off the safety. 

“Grand Admiral, we’ve got company!” scratched Pik’s voice through the comm on the bedside. “Waffle and I are holding them off at the front door for now.” 

“How’d they get through the security?” she sputtered.

“Their technology is always adapting and advancing, unfortunately,” Thrawn replied calmly, as he checked the power magazine.  

He stood to one side of the window and peered through the blinds. “There’s four Grysk outside in the garden, making their way toward the back of the house.” 

Arihnda nodded. Princess mewled as she scooped up the hitherto blissfully-sleeping loth cat and stowed her under the bed. Azhdar gracefully leapt to the floor in a swirl of feathers, blocking Princess from view. “Good boy,” she said, pulling out her own sidearm. “Watch over Princess.” 

Thrawn relayed the intelligence from the upper window in a hiss to Pik. Another boom rang out, closer this time. 

They moved to the center of the room, standing back to back, blasters at the ready. The satin of her pajama felt cool against her as it caught brushing against his standard-issue undershirt. 

“Ready?” Arihnda asked over her shoulder. 

“With you? For anything.” 

[mandoalorian]

Stay With Me [Maxwell Lord x GN!Reader]

Summary: What if Maxwell Lord died after renouncing his wish...

Warnings: major character death, grief, descriptions of blood, typical Wonder Woman violence, description of illness, food mention, nightmare mention.

This is the saddest thing I’ve ever fucking wrote.

Rating: T for traumatic teen

Word count: 2500

Masterlist

In a way, it was nice. Bittersweet, almost. Alistair was so much like his father, more than you had ever realised before. He’d often come out with bold comments. He’d point and wiggle his finger when he talked to you. He struggled to sleep at night, just like you did, so you’d invite him into yours and Maxwell’s shared bed. It was a welcome change-- Maxwell’s side of the bed no longer being cold and empty, but instead inhabited by his son. It felt like, as long as Alistair was by your side, part of Maxwell was too. Alistair was a fidgety sleeper, and you pinned it down to the nightmares he’d been having. It was horrible, for a six year old child to go through what he was going through. He never spoke to you about his bad dreams. You knew he was trying to put on a brave face for you and pretend like everything was okay. Just like Max used to do.

Maxwell’s ex-wife wanted to sell Black Gold Cooperative. It wasn’t making money anyway, but… you wouldn’t allow it. That was Max’s business, a business he dedicated his whole life to. He had worked so hard and there was no way in hell you were going to let her sell it just so she could keep the money for herself. So you did some brainstorming and opted to turn it into something else.

A museum that was specified in geology. Maxwell always loved gems and stones.

Every Saturday morning you made pancakes because they were Maxwell’s favourite. You and Alistair weren’t too fussed on them yourself, both preferring waffles, but old habits die hard. He might not have been around anymore, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to break the tradition of making pancakes.

One Saturday morning, Alistair peppered on some frozen blueberries and syrup.

“Ali, I got you Nutella.” you furrowed your eyebrows together as you watched him decorate his waffles into a smiley face.

“Daddy always wanted me to eat more fruit.” Alistair mumbled as he concentrated on organising the blueberries to make a set of eyes.

As it turned out, financially, Maxwell didn’t have much, which didn’t come as a surprise to you. But what he did have, he left to Alistair. Obviously, Alistair only being six years old, the money was transferred to his mother, much to your dismay. Theoretically, Alistair should get the money when he turns eighteen but you knew it wouldn’t last a day in the hands of Max’s materialistic ex-wife. Luckily for you though, he left you the big house and the nice cars. Only-- was it really lucky? You never drove his cars and the house always felt cold and empty. Sometimes during the week, when it was just you in the house, you’d put on an Elvis vinyl and dance around the kitchen barefoot, pretending that Max was holding you in his arms.

It brought you comfort until it was time for bed. Time for you to cry yourself to sleep… sobbing into his pillow that still distinctly smelled like him. You couldn’t describe it but sometimes you felt like the ghost of him was still there… watching over you. Eventually you’d pass out, with tear stained cheeks and your hands bundled up in the blankets as you gripped them for dear life.

 But in your sleep, you didn’t find solace. You only found more pain.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Max?” you cried the second you saw him on the floor, tears streaming down your face as you fell to your knees and grabbed his body. With all your strength, you pulled him into your lap and cradled him. His head was in the crook of your elbow and you began to smooth out his hair, just like you knew he loved so much. “Max can you hear me? Say something, please say something.”

His breathing was laboured and his chest was rattling. His brown eyes locked onto yours and he offered you a weak smile. “Hi,” he said meekly, raising a shaky hand to cup your cheek. His thumb grazed the height of your cheekbone and you found yourself subconsciously leaning into his touch.

Only, he wasn’t warm like he used to be-- he was very, very cold. His skin was pale and ghost-like, and his sparkling eyes were dull and blood shot. His white shirt was speckled with crimson blood and you began to rub your finger along to the stains. “Nose bleed.” he gasped out, as if the two words offered enough of an explanation.

You shook your head and felt another tear slip down your cheek, but Maxwell caught it in his hand. “Don’t cry.” he whispered.

“I don’t-- I don’t understand--” you croaked out, pulling his hand from your face and trying your best to squeeze some life into him. “I-- I thought-- I-- Max… what happ--happened?” 

“I made a mistake.” Maxwell offered sadly. 

“Can’t you-- fix it. With-- a wish. Or-- wait-- I didn’t make a wish-- let me fix it. Let me-- help you,” you sobbed, your grip on his hand tightening. “I have to touch you-- right? Okay… what do I say?”

“Nothing.” Maxwell said before erupting into a cough.

“No no no,” you chanted, and when he looked back up at you, his nose was bleeding again. You pulled down the sleeve of your t-shirt and wiped away the blood, even pinching the bridge of his nose to try and stop it. “Please, tell me how to fix it,” you begged him, but he just shook his head. You groaned in frustration, feeling completely annoyed. He always was stubborn. “I… I wish for everything to be okay. I wish that everything goes back to the way it did before the 4th of July. I wish for your health to be restored… good, strong health…” you waited to feel that familiar breeze gush through your hair. But nothing. “Why isn’t it working?!” you cried out once more.

“I renounced my wish.” Maxwell said quietly.

“Wh-- what? Why? Max… why-- but-- you’re still-- why are you--” Dying. Why was he still dying? But no matter how hard you tried to finish the sentence, you just couldn’t bear to say the word. “Can you stand? I can get you to a doctor. Come on.”

“No.” Maxwell said, his hand tangling in your hair.

“Stop saying no!” You screamed. “I can’t just-- leave you. I-- Max. We need to go now. We’ll get you to the hospital and they’ll make you better, okay? And then-- and then you come home and I’ll cook you your favourite dinner. And we’ll watch one of those black and white movies that I know you adore.” you tried cohersing but he didn’t move an inch. He just smiled.

“I love you so much,” he confessed. “I know I don’t say it much but I really do. I was always a skeptic when it came to love but with you… it was different. I’m glad I met you.”

“I love you too Max, I-- come on. Let’s go,” You said, trying your best to pull him up, but it was no use. Your gaze flicked across all the different televisions and broadcasting systems. “Is there a phone in here? There must be a phone. I can call an ambulance.”

With the last of his strength, Maxwell pulled you down on top of him. “Listen, you and I both know I’m not going to make it. So don’t spend my final moments crying, or panicking, or getting angry. Just stay with me. Please. All I want is for you-- for--”

“Max?!” your heart was hammering against your chest as you watched him splutter out a mouthful of blood. With shaky hands, he pulled off his gold signet ring that he wore everyday on his pinky finger, and slid it onto your wedding band finger. 

“I love you,” he whispered, interlocking his fingers with yours. “You’ll make sure Alistair knows how much I love him, won’t you?”

“Like my life depends on it.” you promised, leaning in and nudging your nose against his.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you tried to help me, I guess this is my fault…” Max sighed, closing his eyes. His breathing wasn’t erratic anymore… it was more shallow and quiet.

“Shh,” you hushed him, gently smoothing out his golden hair. You began humming his favourite song and you noticed his lips curl into one final smile, until after only a minute or so, he stopped breathing. His body stiffened up. The bleeding stopped. He was gone.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He haunted you. He haunted you when you were sleeping, when you were awake, and no matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t escape the memory of his death. The way his body felt in your arms. The way you saw him close his eyes for one final time, never to open them again. Ever since he died, nothing was the same.

His funeral stung. You didn’t expect it to be easy, but you had hoped that maybe by the day it finally came you had sort of numbed out. Alistair clung to your side the entire time, much to his own biological mother’s dismay. “Why don’t you go stand with your mommy?” you whispered, smoothing out his glossy black hair. “I’m sure she needs you right now. This can’t be easy on her.”

Alistair frowned and looked up at you, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes. “You need me more,” he acknowledged. He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world -- and in that sense, he was so much like his father. “Daddy wanted to marry you,” he admitted after a brief silence and you felt your blood run cold. “Remember the night you and him came to my piano show at the school, and saw me perform? Well, when he tucked me into bed, he told me that he was going to ask you to marry him.”

You shuddered. That was only a month ago. You knelt down to his level and flashed him your hand, the gold of his pinky ring sparkling under the sunset. “He gave me this before he…”

“That’s daddy’s pinky ring,” Alistair noted and you smiled, taking the hand of the little boy. You pulled the ring off your wedding band finger and slid it on Alistair’s pinky finger.

“Hm, small hands,” you giggled. “But when you’re older, I’m sure it’ll fit you. And then it can be yours.”

Alistair beamed in delight. “That ring was the first thing daddy bought with his paycheck.” 

“I-- I didn’t know that.” you confessed and Alistair nodded along.

“Can you take me to McDonalds after the funeral?” Alistair asked and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sudden change of subject.

“Sure.” you agreed, as you took his hand and walked into the church.

You fought for Alistair, and you fought for him hard. It wasn’t an easy battle. You loved him like he was your own, and he loved you too. The courts granted you custody eventually, but only on the weekends. You weren’t mad at that. Maxwell only had him on the weekends too, so really, it was like nothing had changed.

You weren’t sure what was harder. The days or the nights. When Max was alive, you only really saw him on an early morning before work. He’d slip out of your shared bed trying his hardest not to wake you so he could get ready for another busy day at the office. So, you’d spend the days alone. Until of course, he’d come home in the evening, grinning the second he walked through the front door. You always had something cooking for him, and candles burning-- and the familiar scent just made him feel like he could relax. Like he was safe in your comfort.

People say ‘home is where the heart is’, but after Maxwell Lord passed, you found that wasn’t true at all. Home was where he was. So you visited his grave, every evening when the sun went down. You made sure it was clean and you brought him a rose. It was funny, really, because roses were the flowers he’d brought you on every single date when he tried so hard to win over your affection. You’d sit with him for about an hour and tell him about your day-- because when he was alive, he’d always ask. You told him about the simple things. Woke up at 8, done the dishes and the laundry, fed the cat. 

But now he was gone, you noticed your routine had changed slightly. “Woke up at 1, done the dishes but dropped a plate and cut my hand, forgot about the laundry… I’ll do it tomorrow. No cat food but Lady was lucky there was a can of tuna in the fridge.” You made a mental note to stop by the grocery store on your way home for cat food.

“I still wait for you to come home every evening… but you don’t,” you sobbed, your fingers tracing his name in his grave. Lorenzano. “I miss you.”

When you got up to leave the cemetery that night, you noticed a cloaked figure standing under an oak tree, looking over at you. You passed her on the way out. “Can I help you with something?” you asked, clearing your throat and straightening your posture.

You noticed her smile under the shadow of her hood. Eventually, she politely pulled it down her revealing dark curls. “I never managed to get to the funeral.” she explained and you nodded understandingly.

“Were you a friend of his?” you questioned curiously.

“I must admit, I misjudged his character.” She confessed with a small sigh.

“Most people did.” you frowned, knowing just how bad the world had treated Maxwell Lord.

“I um-- was hoping to find you here, actually,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. She looked remarkably strong. “I know how it feels to lose a loved one.”

“Okay?” you shuffled your feet awkwardly.

“I never had a friend to get me through it, and I don’t know what your situation is like, but please know that you’re not alone. Give me a call, anytime, and I’ll be there.” She said, handing you a small card with her name on.

Diana Prince.

Before you could reply, she was gone. Just like that. You sniffed, shoving the card in your pocket and heading home.

You didn’t need a friend.

You needed Max.

Permanent taglist: @paintballkid711 @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @pedro-pascal-love @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan @kennedywxlsh @cripplingmoon @cheekygeek05 @mrschiltoncat @rye-flower @theamuz @persie33 @sleepylunarwolf @martellthemandalor @pedro-pastel @steeevienicks @rrtxcmt​

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[deancasbigbang]

Title: Ain't No Sunshine Without You

Author: deanieweaniewrites

Artist: Destiel-love-forever

Rating: Mature

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester Past Dean Winchester/Lisa Braeden

Length: 48000

Warnings: No Major Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Secret Relationship, College AU, Canon-Typical Violence, Roommate AU, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Bed Sharing

Posting Date: November 5, 2020

Summary: Castiel is entering his junior year at the University of Georgia in historic Athens. He moves into a house with a random roommate, Dean Winchester. He’s charming, funny, and he has an instant connection with Castiel. Their relationship burns hotter than the Georgia heat, but it has to be a secret. All the while, things are not what they seem with Castiel. His friend, Gabriel, seems to know something about him, and it’s all unraveling as the year progresses.

Excerpt: “I’m craving WaHo, I’ll be back in a bit.” Castiel grabs his wallet.    “WaHo?”   “Yeah. Waffle House.”   Dean raises a brow. “Waffle House?”   “What? Do you not like it?”   Dean shrugs. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a Waffle House.”   Castiel’s eyes widen. “How? Surely you had Waffle House in Kansas, right?”   “We do. I just never went.”   “Come with me, then. I’ll pay for it. You can’t live in Georgia and not eat at Waffle House at least once.”   Dean stands up. “Hey, I won’t argue against free food.”   Castiel leads the way out to his car.    “Wait, let’s take Baby. I’m not riding in a Prius unless my life depends on it.”   Castiel rolls his eyes. “You don’t even know where the Waffle House is.”   Dean spins his keyring on his finger. “You seem like someone who can give good directions. C’mon, you’re gonna love my car.”   Castiel sighs and gets in, sitting in the passenger seat. He looks around the interior of the car. “It’s nice. It’s really well-kept.”   “Of course she is. I take good care of my Baby.” Dean starts up the engine and grins. “Hear her purring?”   Castiel chuckles. “Yeah, the whole neighborhood can.”   Dean pulls out of the driveway. “Alright, wise guy. Which way?”   “Left.” Castiel leans back in his seat. “Where did you get this car?”   “My dad. She was his, and she was his dad’s before him. I had to fix her up a little after I bought her off my dad, but now she’s in great shape.” Dean came up to a red light. “Straight?”   “Me? No. At this light, yes.” Dean barks out a laugh. “You and me both, Cas.” He continues straight and drums his fingers against the steering wheel.

DCBB 2020 Posting Schedule

[jaspers-levis]

Episode 4:

TW: cursing, allusions of abuse, mild violence

By the time we made it to Emily’s the sun was filtering through the clouds weakly and it looked as if the rain would hold off for an hour at least. Paul ushered me in, suddenly looking nervous though I was in a much calmer mood than when we started our walk. The instant I entered, I realized why.

“Hey, they’re here!” A younger boy called from his seat at the counter, shoving muffin in his mouth haphazardly. A group of similarly tall men were gathered around the counter in various states of eating, laughing and joking and rough housing in a comfortable, familiar way. Emily was cooking behind the counter, smiling fondly at the boys as they devoured her delicious smelling food. 

“Good morning, Y/N,” she greeted you, wading through the boys to put a steaming coffee mug in your hand. “Do you prefer pancakes or waffles?”

“Uh, waffles,” you replied, overwhelmed by the cheerful chaos in the tiny space. “Thank you.”

“Of course!” she beamed, jostling her way back through the crowd. “Paul, why don’t you introduce the boys?”

“Uh, Y/N, these are my friends: Jared, Quil, Embry, Seth and Jake,” Paul rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “Guys, this is Y/N, the girl I was telling you about from yesterday.”

“Oh, so YOU’RE Y/N,” one the boys said, grinning wickedly. “You didn’t say she was this pretty, Paul! She’s prettier than you!”

“SHUT UP JARED,” Paul growled, and you were astonished to see a blush stain his cheeks. The boys all crowed with laughter at the sight and Paul further tensed before visibly calming himself down. “Ignore them, Y/N. They’re all idiots anyways.”

You giggled as you took a seat near the counter, you cheeks still warm from Jared’s comment. “I dunno,” you playfully tossed your hair and pretended to look him over. “I think they may be right. I am prettier than you.” 

That sent the boys into another paroxysm of laughter, and breakfast continued in much this manner. You grew steadily more comfortable with the boys minute by minute, feeling as if you had always been a member of their little group. Paul settled in by you, his thigh pressed against yours under the table with an astonishing heat. He devoured a startling amount of food in between jabs at Jared and Jake, revealing his quick wit and even quicker temper. 

It made you slightly nervous each time he raised his voice, but he calmed with relatively little effort it seemed. You tried to reassure yourself that he was nothing like your ex, he was just joking around with his friends. But that’s all it had been at first, before…

“Are you fucking serious? Take it back, Jake,” Paul shoved back from the table and strode across the room to jab a finger in Jake’s face, shoulders shaking. You’d missed the infraction that had caused this escalation from playful arguments to a full on fight. Your heart began to pound.

“Yeah man, that’s what I said,” Jake shot back, shoving Paul. The fight quickly devolved into fists hitting skin, the other boys moving out of the way nonchalantly as if this was a regular occurrence. Even Emily didn’t seem to be incredibly concerned.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t breath. You darted out the door, palms sweating, head swimming, chest heaving, skin aching with long healed bruises. You didn’t see where you were headed, and when you stumbled and fell you stayed there on your hands and knees, the acrid taste of panic in your throat. Blind with fear, all you could do was dig your fingers into the damp earth in a hopeless attempt to ground yourself. You’re fine you’re fine you’re fine no one will hurt you you’re fine you’re fine he can’t find you here

Dully, you registered someone kneeling beside you, their hand on your back. You flinched at the touch and they removed their hand. “Y/N? Y/N are you okay? Are you hurt? What’s wrong?”

You forced yourself to look up and saw an unfamiliar man and Emily, both looking extremely concerned. You couldn’t stop your shaking but you managed to choke out, “I’m--ok. just --  give me-- a minute--.”

“Honey, it’s okay. You’re safe here,” Emily said softly, settling onto the ground despite it’s dampness. “I promise, you will always be safe here.” She tentatively reached out to caress your back and you leaned into her touch, your breath slowing to a choking hitch. She carefully pulled you into an embrace, patting your back and murmuring in Quileute while you slowly calmed. 

“Y/N, my name is Sam,” the stranger introduced himself, settling next to the two of you. “I’m Emily’s husband. I’m sorry the boys got into it back at the cafe; that’s a pretty typical Thursday morning for us.”

“It’s--okay,” you sniffed, wiping your streaming eyes with a trembling hand.

“Clearly it isn’t,” he frowned, his dark eyes searching your face. Solemnly he asked, “Who hurt you?”

[breanime]

Sucker

Requested by @disengagefrmreality:  I’m so excited your requests are open! Love your writing. I finally finished TUA and would love a Diego fic... maybe based on the song Sucker by Jobros?? If not I have other ideas too 😂

Thanks, babe! I hope you like this one, and thanks for the request!

*gif not mine*

It had been a typically long day for Diego: he spent the morning at the station, handcuffed to Patch’s desk as she lectured him on “legality” and the “hypocritical nature of vigilante violence” before she, sighing, let him go, then he went straight to the crime scene she’d arrested him at last night and worked the case, dropping his findings off to her and her partner before heading across town to take some wife-abusing asshole down (which he may or may not have done with more force than necessary), then he made a stop by the house to see Mom, who insisted on making him lunch, which led to him having to have lunch with Mom and Luther, who told him about Klaus having trouble staying clean, so then Diego went to find him, took him to a NA meeting, held him when he cried, and then took Klaus (and Ben) to get waffles. After that, he went back to work: he stopped a carjacking, helped track down a gang leader who had went into hiding, and helped an especially kind old woman find her pearl necklace (she thought she’d lost it, but some asshole on the bus lifted it off her—Diego handled him with extreme prejudice). It had been late when he got back to the ring, but he felt bad for missing his shift, so he helped the guys clean up before heading to bed.

Then you called him.

“Diego,” your voice was slurred, and he could hear loud music in the background, “Can you come get me?”

He sat up in bed, heart pounding. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m fine,” you giggled into the receiver, “I’m at my sister’s bachelorette party; remember, I told you about it. Right? I think so…”

Diego rolled his eyes, getting out of bed and pulling his pants back on. You had, in fact, told him about your sister’s bachelorette party, but the conversation had been brief. He knew that you wanted to ask him to go with you, but you knew he hated that kind of thing, so you avoided talking about it. The crazy thing was, though, that if you asked him, Diego would 100% say yes. He’d do anything for you. “Yeah,” he huffed, stepping into his boots, “You told me. I’m on my way, so stay out of trouble till I get there.”

Your answering laugh did not do much to inspire confidence in him.

You and Diego had been seeing each other for a while now, and something about you… The way you laughed, and smiled, the way your brain worked…it enchanted him. He was a sucker for you from the beginning, anything you asked, he’d do. Effortlessly, you made him break all of his rules that he typically had with significant others. He was gone off you immediately, and you were the first person in his life that he opened up to right away. You made it easy. And so, even though he hated weddings, and even though he was quite sure that he would hate your family and feel out of place, he knew that he’d be hitting the shops for a tux before the week was out.

Diego cursed under his breath when he pulled up to the bar you were at. There was a small crowd standing outside, but he could pick you out in a second—the fact that you were dancing on top of a car certainly helped. Diego grimaced as he got out of his car; “I Think We’re Alone Now” was blaring loudly in the night.

“Diego!” You grinned down at him, and he had to admit, even drunk and probably committing some kind of petty public disturbance law, you were beautiful. “Come dance with me!”

“Get off of there, Y/N,” he grumbled, trying and failing to keep the smile off of his face, “You’re gonna get hurt.”

“Come dance,” you said again, “C’mon Knifeboy,” you cooed, “Klaus told me you like this song,” you held a hand out, “so come dance with me.”

Diego stared at your hand for a moment. Of course Klaus told you that—the fact that you and Klaus were even communicating with each other about him made him feel fondly irritated. But the thing was, Diego never danced in front of other people besides his siblings—and even that had stopped once they turned 11. But your hand was out, and you were waiting for him with that inviting smile on your pretty face. So…

…he took your hand and climbed on top of the car with you. Grinning, he put his hands on your hips and danced with you, ignoring the claps and cheers from the small audience below. Instead, he focused entirely on you and the music, on your smile and the way you moved against him to the beat, your laughter tattooed inside his brain. When you stood on your tiptoes and kissed him, Diego thought he understood what it was like for Five, because time stopped for him. He felt your smile against his own lips and he knew, in that moment, that this was love. You were still smiling when you pulled back, and he knew his grin matched yours.

“Okay,” you said, voice soft but still the only thing he could hear, even with the music blaring, “I’m ready to go now.”

“Yeah,” he touched your forehead with his, “okay… Let’s go.” He licked his lips, eyes focused on you. “Hey… Is it too late for me to ask to go with you? To the wedding?”

Your smile made Diego feel like he was floating.

That night, he held you in his arms, and kissed every inch of you. He went to sleep holding you and woke up to soft kisses on his face. He blinked, eyes squinting against the assaulting sun, as you listed off all of the things you two had to do to prepare for the wedding—none of which he was interested in doing. But he was going to do all of it, anyway…

…because he was a sucker for you, and he fucking loved it.

*******************************************************************************************

Diego Taglist: @elekt-ra

Taglist: @floralpeaceofmind @delicatelilyflower @dylanobrusso @ladyblablabla@banditthewriter @something-tofightfor  @starsfragments@blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @hisgirlwednesdayaddams@fictionwillneverdie @maria-beretta @sadnessxvodka @ymariejp @sunnycolors @moonlightsay @its-all-o-kay @damagelove @keyeluh @itsmylife98 @funerals-with-cake @littlemermaidprobz@teacuplotus @king4thesirens @mrsjaxtellerfan @thebabblingbook @tartelette-aux-fraises @madamrogers  @charlylama @iaintnofurry @k-buggz2001@whitewolfslittlesilverfox @drinix @elanor-of-imladris @blah-blah-fuckit-shit @julliiaaq@holamor @ymariejp@shadowhunterscloset @songtoyou @anabella-baby @sssilverssserpent @heyitslexy @luminex3 @sithskywalkers

Thanks for reading! 

[pamphletstoinspire]

Two Kings, Two Kingdoms (John 18:28-40)

“Jesus responded to the questions of the Roman governor affirming that he was King, but not of this world. He did not come to dominate peoples and territories, but to free men from the slavery of sin and be reconciled with God.” – Pope Benedict XVI

John 18:28-40: They then led Jesus from the house of Caiaphas to the Praetorium. It was now morning. They did not go into the Praetorium themselves or they would be defiled and unable to eat. So Pilate came outside to them and said, ‘What charge do you bring against this man?’ They replied, ‘If he were not a criminal, we should not be handing him over to you’. Pilate said, ‘Take him yourselves, and try him by your own Law’. The Jews answered, ‘We are not allowed to put a man to death’. This was to fulfill the words Jesus had spoken indicating the way he was going to die. So Pilate went back into the Praetorium and called Jesus to him, ‘Are you the king of the Jews?’ he asked. Jesus replied, ‘Do you ask this of your own accord, or have others spoken to you about me?’ Pilate answered, ‘Am I a Jew? It is your own people and the chief priests who have handed you over to me: what have you done?’ Jesus replied, ‘Mine is not a kingdom of this world; if my kingdom were of this world, my men would have fought to prevent my being surrendered to the Jews. But my kingdom is not of this kind.’ ‘So you are a king then?’ said Pilate. ‘It is you who say it’ answered Jesus. ‘Yes, I am a king. I was born for this, I came into the world for this: to bear witness to the truth; and all who are on the side of truth listen to my voice.’ ‘Truth?’ said Pilate ‘What is that?’; and with that he went out again to the Jews and said, ‘I find no case against him. But according to a custom of yours I should release one prisoner at the Passover; would you like me, then, to release the king of the Jews?’ At this they shouted: ‘Not this man,’ they said ‘but Barabbas’. Barabbas was a brigand.

Christ the Lord: As the liturgical year reaches its conclusion with the Solemnity of Christ the King, by presenting us with this passage the Church shows us the stark contrast between Christ’s Kingdom and all other kingdoms. Pilate is the Roman Emperor’s representative in Palestine. His career as procurator had been marked by violence and political blunders, by which he alienated the Jews he was supposed to be ruling. Though he recognized Jesus’ innocence, he feared further conflict with the Jewish leaders, since that could cause them to denounce him to the emperor. Pilate is the typical earthly king, interested more in his personal career, prestige, and success than in what is true and right. Even when he finds himself face-to-face with the light of Truth itself, his own worldly ambitions blind him to it. We are sympathetic to him because we share his weakness.

Jesus, on the other hand, is fully identified with his Kingdom, the eternal Kingdom, established on the solid but hidden foundations of truth and divine love. His Kingdom is demanding but lasting. It involves obedience to the Father’s will, even at times to the point of sacrificing one’s earthly life. But it is the true Kingdom, the realm of meaning – deep, existential meaning – that abides. For the sake of this Kingdom, Jesus is willing to suffer rejection and injustice at the hands of an earthly king, because he knows that such a crime will only reveal more brilliantly the splendor of his Lordship. We are inspired by him because we know in our hearts that we are called to the same kind of nobility of spirit. We recognize that we cannot serve both Christ the King and the kings of this earth, and we are often torn between the two. Every such moment of decision (and there are plenty of them every day) presents us with a chance to renew our option for Christ, to confirm our citizenship in the Kingdom of God.

Christ the Teacher: Pilate stands face-to-face with the Lord of the universe. They are having a conversation. No one can interrupt them. The cool morning air is refreshing. Pilate is agitated by the circumstances, but he is thinking clearly because it’s still early in the day. Jesus is exhausted from the first twelve hours of his Passion, but his eyes glow with the love and determination that had led him to this hour. His love for Pilate is no less because of his tiredness. He came to earth in order to save Pilate’s soul. Providence has brought them together. Jesus is eager to draw this Roman patrician close to his heart. All the conditions are right for Pilate to detect in Jesus the God for whom his heart longs. Yet he doesn’t. He is in the same room with Jesus, speaking with him, but he remains unmoved. Why?

“Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” Here Jesus teaches us the secret to intimacy with God. Whoever lets himself be led by what is true will be drawn into communion with Christ and will hear and heed God’s ceaseless invitations to follow him more closely. But being led by truth requires humility. It requires recognizing a higher authority than oneself: if I am obliged to discover, accept, and conform to what is objectively true (morally, physically, historically), then I am not autonomous, I am not the master of my universe, I am not God. That act of humility, which frees us from the enervating bonds of selfishness, is hard to make. Our fallen human nature tends towards pride, towards self-sufficiency, control, and dominance. To resist that tendency requires courage. It takes courage to obey the truth and expose oneself to the burning love of God. May he grant it to us all in abundance.

Christ the Friend: “Mine is not a Kingdom of this world.” If it were, our friendship with Christ would be a lot easier than it sometimes is. He wants to lead us along the journey of life in this world towards our eternal home in heaven. Therefore, he often urges us to get up and move along when we are tired. He often asks us to take steep, demanding paths that we would prefer to avoid. But he knows the way, and he knows the destination. Like a true friend, he will never rest until we have reached the fullness of life – even if he has to put up with our complaining along the way.

Pilate: Many things confused me that day, but nothing confused me more than the crowd’s choice to free Barabbas. Barabbas was a typical hotheaded revolutionary, a man who would kill or maim as easy as he would break a stick for the fire. But that Jesus was a noble man, a temperate man, a wise man. He had done nothing wrong. They were envious of him, that’s all. But why did the crowd choose Barabbas? How could they not see that Jesus was a worthy man? I can say this now, but the fact is that I acquiesced to their choice; I made the same horrible mistake. If I had been in Jesus’ place and he had been in my place, I know he never would have turned me over to that crowd. But he wasn’t in my place; I was in my place. Why did I give in? Why didn’t I stand my ground? I wish he hadn’t brought up all that talk about the truth. That disconcerted me. No one believes in truth anymore – that went out of fashion long ago. But when he said the word, it rang in my ears like the single clap of a small silver bell, clear and penetrating. It is still ringing. I can’t stop thinking about it. Why did I not listen to him? Why did I not trust him? Why did I not follow that voice that was speaking so clearly in me? Everything would be different if I had just done what I knew was right! Yet I know I can never undo what I did.

Christ in My Life: Who is my king? Whom do I serve? I want to serve you, Lord, because you truly are the King. But I still tend so much to serve myself. I want people to do things my way – I want to have what I want, when I want it. I want my plans to work out exactly as I plan them. I guess all of this is natural, but you want to lead me to the supernatural realm. Renew my mind and heart, Lord; Thy will be done, not mine…

Every time I have followed your voice resounding in my conscience, I have experienced the peace and the satisfaction that comes from living in harmony with the truth. And every time I haven’t, I writhe and agonize. And yet I still haven’t learned, Lord. I still waffle. How do you put up with me? O Jesus, purify my heart, pour your love into my heart; with the courage of your heart, strengthen my heart…

Mary, I don’t want to be like Pilate. Why am I such a reluctant disciple? I know Jesus; I have been given a share in his mission – what greater privilege could I desire? And yet, sometimes I look at it as if it were a burden. The spirit of self-centeredness and fascination with the trinkets of this world still pulls at me. Mary, teach me to be his faithful friend, his brave soldier. Mother most pure, pray for me…

[loubuggins]

Lou’s TITANS Review

S1 E1 - Titans

The Titans show was not as bad as the hideous trailer made it out to be, but then again, maybe it reached my standards because I had them so low. I will say that there were moments in this episode that I actually enjoyed. The acting was decent and the special effects were cool to see, but the script was only sub-par. Like most shows or movies that aim to be more “mature,” this episode depended for too much on violence instead of telling a compelling story. Which, in my opinion, they have, but it’s being drowned by the excessive gore and grimdark nature that the show creators are trying way too hard to enforce. I do see potential in the plot, I just hope they will execute it better as the series progresses. I also have many theories surrounding the show, which I go into below the cut.The pilot episode is always one of the worst in any series so it would not be fair to judge the whole series based off of one episode. Therefore, I will continue to keep an open mind in these coming weeks as we continue to dive into this new twist to the Titans’ story.

Please note that this review contains only my opinion and that I am open to other ideas, but I do ask that extreme fans of this show ignore my review, as I am critical of certain aspects of the show.  

Read below the cut for my full review containing a summary of this episode!

The episode begins with the mysterious girl we come to know as Rachel Roth. She walks through a circus tent and ominous music playing in the background along with the odd sound of a joyful crowd in a seeming abandoned place gives away that this is a dream. She makes her way to the circus ring, where we see a flashback of the famous “Flying Graysons.” The family swing on the trapeze in what appears to be a very beautiful display, until the scene takes a sharp turn towards devastation. We see a young boy (Dick Grayson) scream in horror as he watches his parents fall to their deaths. There’s a lot of emotion in this scene and we see the dream come to an abrupt end as Rachel wakes up screaming and panicking.

Rachel’s mother runs in to comfort the young girl and if you listen closely, you’ll hear Rachel mention that she has had this dream before. Judging by her mother’s reaction, it’s clear she has confided in her mother before about this dream. It’s also revealed that Rachel can feel the boy’s pain and grief. It’s not an unusual statement to make about a dream, but this theme will continue to pop up throughout the show.

That morning, the mother wakes up to her alarm and we can tell by her appearance that she is exhausted and under a great deal of stress (Hm...I wonder why?) After taking her medicine she lifts her shirt up to reveal fresh scratch marks on her side. It’s never made clear how she received them, so to take a shot in the dark, I’d say they came from Rachel. When she enters the kitchen (wearing a nurse’s scrubs), we see Rachel quietly eating surgery Trix cereal and a cup of coffee. These may seem like minor details, but they bugged me greatly. Anyone who has seen the animated versions of Raven knows she’s a tea and waffles kind of girl.

Anyway, there is a tense conversation between mother and daughter that reveals the magical power that the girl has. It’s obvious that she can’t control it and it’s revealed that she doesn’t know what it really is or why she has this “darkness inside her.” Her mother seems to know something about Rachel’s powers, but refrains from sharing that information. It’s also worth noting that Rachel mentions being able to feel her mother’s emotions and using that empathy to know that she is lying.

After a dramatic scene between mother and daughter that makes Rachel look like Marvel’s Silver Banshee, we see the teenage girl hop on the bus headed for school. It’s fun to see one of my favorite characters in such a normal setting and I felt some compassion towards the poor girl. It’s clear that she has a good heart, but in typical Raven-fashion, she doesn’t know what to do about her more demonic side. Though she doesn’t appear aware of her demon heritage yet. I honestly would have liked to see more with her in school. We see her bullied on the bus, some random guy stands up for her, but brushes her off when she tries to thank him later in school. The whole thing seemed so insignificant, that they should have either cut the whole scene or added to it. This series seems to have an issue with priorities. If this season is meant to be about Raven, then let the focus be on Raven.

After the very short time in school, we are taken back to Rachel’s home where she is greeted by her mother and a random thug holding a gun to her mother’s head. The man makes Rachel’s mother reveal she is actually not Rachel’s mother, but before she can go further the man shots her point blank. The scene is unnecessarily graphic, as is most of the action scenes in this show. In a fit of rage, Rachel releases her soul-self and attacks the man. This all happens in a bit of a blur and while the CGI could be better, I didn’t find it as horrible as others did. After knocking the man unconscious, Rachel runs off and the focus shifts over to Detective Grayson.

I want to add that I have a theory as to the identity of this woman posing as Rachel’s mother. I believe it is Alice Williams (Roth), Raven’s aunt in the comics and older sister to Arella. In the comics, she is married and living a normal life with her family, but it's not like this show is hesitant to change a character’s backstory. Therefore, I think the woman is Alice Roth since her comic book counterpart is also very religious and she looks similar to Arella in appearance. My only other guess is that she was from Azarath, but I think my Aunt Alice theory makes more sense. It is sad though because I liked Aunt Alice.

Moving on to the bat boy, we see Grayson alone on a stakeout holding the file of some other thug who avoided charges against him for abusing his daughter. In a scene that looks like it came straight from Gabriel Picolo's Titans Zine, Dick looks over apprehensively at a briefcase sitting in his passenger seat. After some hesitation, he finally uses his thumb to unlock the case. Next, we see the thug with his other buddies in an alley (DC loves their alleys) as they begin the process of a drug deal. This is when Grayson, decked out in the Robin costume we have seen so much of, swoop in and fight them like some homicidal maniac. Nothing about this part is in character for the boy wonder. He brutally kills the criminals in an assortment of creative, yet painful ways. In the end, he goes to the man he was supposedly only after and beats him to death, but not before saying “If you ever touch your daughter again, I’ll find you.” This makes no sense once so ever and again, I blame the writers and the entire crew for not catching this mistake. It was very noticeable, and before the scene cuts again, we get the now famous line “F*** Batman.” After the horrendous fight (more like slaughter), we see Dick play the emo song that he so conveniently had on a record while cleaning the blood off one of his throwing R’s. We also get a nice long look at Brenton Thwaites shirtless, because the Robin fangirls need their fix I guess.

Back to Rachel, we get another ridiculous song as she takes a bus to Detriot. She finds her way to a soup kitchen and while she is there, a woman approaches her, offering to take her to a youth shelter. As Rachel is being led down a dark alleyway (seriously DC, again with the alley?), Her reflection (which I’m going to call her demon side) warns her not to follow. Trusting her instincts, Rachel runs away from the woman and attracts the attention of the police in order to escape.

As she waits in an interrogation room, Detective Grayson comes in to talk to her. She instantly recognizes him as the boy from her dream and without beating the bush, pleads for his help. I don’t criticize this though, because Raven was never one for tact. Grayson, however, is rightfully shaken up by her declaration but decides to investigate further. He makes the mistake of leaving the mystery girl alone and while he is gone, she is kidnapped by another cop.

Grayson follows them to an abandoned house, where he finds Rachel tied to a chair and about to have her heart cut out by the Acolyte. Now, this is where things start getting interesting. Before Grayson shows up, the Acolyte shares his villain monologue to Rachel, revealing that he intends to kill her in order to stop Trigon from coming, which is the exact opposite of what I thought his plan was going to be. It would be very different if the so-called “bad guys” of this show try to stop the end of the world from coming, rather than start it, and I honestly wouldn’t mind a refreshing twist to Raven’s story. However, in another surprise turn in events, Rachel loses control and her demon side takes over. Releasing her soul self, she performs a reverse exorcism on the Acolyte and kills him in a very disturbing and unpleasant way. I frankly don’t want to go into the details. By the time Grayson comes in, her soul self is back in her body and Rachel is panicking in her chair, claiming to have no memory of what had just taken place.

During all of this, on the other side of the world in Germany, we have our first look at Starfire (Anna Diop). The alien princess wakes up in a smashed car in the middle of the forest with a dead man beside her at the wheel. Dazed and confused she stumbles out of the car, only to have another vehicle racing down the road with men shooting in her direction. She takes off into the woods and after getting away from them, she somehow ends up at a gas station bathroom. She looks through her purse and it’s clear she has lost her memory, most likely from the accident (that probably was not much of an accident). Out of her purse, she pulls out a key that looks like the kind you would get for a locker or storage unit. The key also has a circular keychain with a picture of a cartoon frog. She also finds her passport, which says she’s an American citizen named Kory Anders. This leads me to believe she has been to America before, so it is possible she has met the boy wonder as well, but that is just my prediction. Not that this detail is of any importance, but the passport also says she is born on November 11th, 1991, which would make her 27 years old in the show. Just a fun fact.

The last item she pulls out is a hotel keycard, which leads her to the hotel the card belongs to (again, who knows how she arrived there). While she is there, a concierge seems to recognize her and Kory finds out she lives on the entire top floor of the hotel. When she arrives on her floor, she looks around to find any clues as to what happened to her before she lost her memory. All she finds is her apartment a mess, a half-packed suitcase, and a cell phone with a picture of her with her and some guy. Oh, and a beaten man tied up in her closet.

The first words out of his mouth were “Okay, don’t hurt me! I’ll tell you! They found her!” It isn’t clear at first who he is speaking about, but it is revealed later to be Rachel. As Starfire tries to retrace her steps, we start to get a taste of her character and what she has been up to up until now. Not a whole lot is made clear except that she was undercover and that she looking for Rachel. My theory is she was working for the JL in an undercover mission. She happened to stumble upon a much bigger scheme that has something to do with Rachel. She tried to do some digging but got too caught up in the crossfire. The crash was supposed to kill her, but she survived. Unfortunately, she lost her memory and doesn’t remember her original mission or the girl who changed it. Her hunt for Rachel will bring her to Robin, who she has already met before, but may not remember. Dick helps her and tries to recover her memories. Again, I think that her passport being American means she has met Dick before.

I have also heard that someone may have hired her to go undercover and find information about Rachel and that someone may have been Bruce. It would make some sense so I could get on board with that theory as well.

In the end, when moving to a store similar to Best Buy and it’s clear from the green animals playing on the TVs in the background that this is Gar’s (Ryan Potter) 3 seconds of fame, and let me tell you, I was not disappointed. The security guard follows a trail of video games down a hall where he finds a large, green tiger, shuffling through the games like how a cat plays with a toy mouse. As a lover of tigers and a major Beast Boy fan, I absolutely adored seeing him growl at the guard and take off with an Xbox game. Ryan says he picked Fallout 74, whatever that is (I’m not a gamer). Still, it was so much fun to watch and I thought Gar was the most in character so far, even if it was for only 3 seconds.

It’s obvious that this show will depend heavily on Ryan’s acting skills and Robin stans in order to stay relevant. Considering I’m only interested in the former, I’d give the series a thumbs down. However, I know from experience that any show’s pilot episode is usually its worst. Therefore, I plan to judge each episode by itself and will judge the season in the end. That said, I’d give this episode a 3 on a scale of 1 - 5, with 5 being the best. I say a 3, because while it gave an interesting storyline, but lacked in execution.

Rating: 3/5

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 69: Coupe’d Up

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 36. Go to previous. End of Second Instar; go to next. TWs: Canon-typical animal violence, surveillance mention, manipulation and abusive verbiage, drug use, dubcon, lascivious behavior. Excellence without equal.

A/N: Last chapter of Second Instar. Next chapter starts Third Instar, which will be posted as a new book in The Anatomy of Melancholy series. Thank you for your continued readership. Lord knows I wouldn't have got to nearly 190K on this monstrosity without y'all.

___________________________

Over the next eight days, ‘Choly spent some time with the Quincy survivors, but provided very little otherwise to the new settlers of Sanctuary beyond the material aid brought from Lowell and Billerica. Angel and Bogey tended to them far better than any physical assistance he could provide. The Handies helped straighten disheveled housing, toted scrap about for the humans to use for repairs, and delivered items and information with equal delight.

With Bogey helping out around the neighborhood, it worked out that Angel had more time to see to ‘Choly, as ‘Choly certainly needed all the help he could get. Rather than divide things up evenly, for the most part people just came and scrutinized the Rosa garage anytime they thought of something they needed. Just as he’d picked out an ensemble from the garments at the golf course, so had the Sanctuary settlers gained fresh additions to their attire, for the most part favoring effective layering than any sense of form.

More than anything, all ‘Choly wanted was for Sticks to come home. It only confused ‘Choly more, that Sticks hadn’t left altogether. The ghoul had been so wrapped up in the idea of urgency that they ‘beat the weather,’ only for him to drag his heels like this for over a week...

At least weather in the Concord suburbs permitted 'Choly to go about in something lighter than his bekesha-tulup and Vault suit. He’d only let himself pick one more shirt and pants from the Billerica haul, leaving the rest to Sanctuary’s settlers, but even just having multiple garments to wear, without military associations, felt like utmost decadence. He disliked the idea of going sock-foot in the house without further repairs to the exposed foundation, let alone barefoot, so he kept to his oxfords. Socks and underwear held utmost value of any garments. Sanctuary’s settlers agreed: they’d gone months with threadbare, ripped clothing after raiders had chased them from Quincy to Concord, unable to stop long enough to repair much of anything.

The only thing the settlers appreciated more than the cookware and decent condition clothing was the golf clubs with which they could now arm themselves. Simple and effective, and a great fallback when ammunition inevitably became scarce. He hadn’t found a complete set when they scrounged, but he found enough random clubs that he thought it wise to bring them to Sanctuary to build up a bit of an armory. He kept exactly one, his preferred 4-wood, for its versatility.

He’d imparted Sticks’s jest that one could turn the golf balls into cherry bombs, along with his addition of a slingshot to the ridiculous visual, but Sturges seemed to have taken the suggestion in earnest. The mechanic didn’t mention anything either of them were doing, without being asked about it. ‘Choly heeded Missus Murphy’s advice not to nose around Sticks until he was ready, and extended that advice himself as to not nose around people with whom Sticks had spoken. All ‘Choly knew was, Sticks was staying at the Red Rocket, would be staying at the Red Rocket until further notice, and was possessed with the need to restore a 2071 Chryslus Coupe.

Regardless of what he knew would do right by Sticks, he already felt lousy unable to know how to interpret Sticks’s behavior at such a distance. He sat at Jacob’s terminal--Sticks’s terminal--tapping at the keyboard keys without pressing any.

Frequent nightmares frustrated his attempts to just sleep through it all. The prospect of being put on ice again flirted with him often. He’d started a nightmare diary: not just as an attempt to process their substance, but also as a way to catalogue them in the off chance they spawned further writing inspiration. The most immediate entry came first, then the Duchesne nightmare. Many nightmares riddled the week, but memory of most beyond the panicked dread residues faded fast. He waffled over transcribing any of the times he had dreamt of Jacob leading up to learning he was alive (and wasn’t feral). Abruptly, he decided to drop it altogether: it felt too much like something that Jared would get use from.

He thought he smelled the salty musk of Jet, but waved it off as a byproduct of association.

He stooped in the chair to put in the new combination he’d set on the combination safe. It took some effort to hoist the six-inch printout binder filled with continuous stock paper onto the desk, and he steadied himself before staring it down. He’d been trying to get in a headspace where he could start reading The MKExceed Papers, but as far back as the events leading up to the Lexington fire, his brain had been afire for weeks now with anything pertaining to higher chemistry. Even just the slightest notion of effort to sleuth what mystery chem Olivia could’ve possibly given him fizzled upon formation.

After skimming and glossing and nothing grabbing him, he began to open to random pages, in an attempt to determine section markers. She hadn’t provided him with any table of contents, but it had printed out in some logical order. Each wing of the Deenwood Compound researched a different capacity of the human condition. In shorthand, physicians typically referred to seven of these traits as what made a person S.P.E.C.I.A.L.--strength, perception, endurance, charisma, intelligence, agility, and luck. The development of Psycho had fallen to Wing IX, under the condition of one’s breaking limits, he recalled, then later used to prove printed order. He peeled at the corner of the continuous stock feed on pages where he could discern where one wing’s data ended and the next’s began.

For the most part, the printout looked and read like the expected military pharmacology dossier, with breakdowns of the history of a formulation’s refinement as well as observation entries regarding its usage. Eventually, flipping back and forth through the binder, he noticed a massive gap in the years of the timeline in Wing II’s data, resuming with a second series, over a hundred years after any other entries. Everything dated 2234 had been written with a more personal tone, more like a diary. His face slacked as he finally absorbed himself in the literature.

The General had paid a group of mercenaries, including Laverne, to do recon on RobCo Towers’s ties with the SCYTHE Project. An explosion to the face had blinded Laverne, rendering her vulnerable to questionably voluntary captivity under the Deenwood chemist’s care. The General used chems to treat the damage in lieu of surgery, but the results from a chem named Glance proved rocky enough to require further development. Early formulations sounded like they had further disfigured Laverne’s face in some fashion, as well as inducing severe psychological distress.

“The eyeballs survived, but the bone’s splintered, and the force seems to have damaged the optic nerves and nasal structure. I’m no surgeon, but I did my best. Anything a needle and thread can’t fix, chems can.“

“X²-Cell would benefit her, but it’s too risky and costly to use broad spectrum modification as a long-term palliative for a single condition’s treatment... Glance 3.0 is a messy success... She’d be falling apart on me were it not for my mandatory on-base DayTripper regimen.”

“I’m going ease back on the doses. She may be getting too much Glance 5.0. We’re not going to take her off it completely just yet, in the chance regrowth hasn’t stabilized.”

Laverne and Olivia fell hard for one another during Laverne’s treatment, but Olivia already had a lover in Helen. The latter respected the personhood of higher robotics like Assaultrons, while the former respected only the value of commanding them. Olivia wanted the three of them to work out a less conventional relationship, but Laverne couldn’t understand why she had to ‘share’ Olivia with a robot. Olivia cared so much for Laverne that she couldn’t risk harming or losing her from so much as simple touch, having finally met someone the side effects of developing X-Seed on herself came between. Their falling out ultimately culminated in Olivia attempting to show rather than tell Laverne about X-Seed and its unique immune system damage, having obtained a Tribute from Voire for herself. Lacking the understanding of witnessing a two-person Unfolding, Laverne accused Olivia of cuckolding her with just about anyone and anything she could.

“To put it lightly, we don’t see eye to eye on robotics philosophy, but she wants to show me how to modify robots. To repay me for my commitment in restoring her vision. I’ve thought I do just fine with maintenance and repairs, but I might stand to learn a thing or two from her. Even if it might just be what not to do.”

This 2234 passage detailed the approximate arrangement that Deenwood had with the Furriers, as well, leading up to Olivia taking her next X-Seed dose to Unfold with a single Tribute. She’d send word to Voire she requested Tribute. Sticks would escort two Furriers. One Furrier would stay, the other would go with Sticks to deliver √X-Cell for that decade’s Unfolding. Olivia noted his ‘typical price’ was a Flamer tank refill, and a case each of Jet, Psycho, and DayTripper... but the actual cost of keeping him as their intermediary varied due to his ‘five-finger discount.’

‘Choly had questioned his recollection that the mess hall had once employed two Mister Handy chefs, but the text indicated that Laverne had hacked Remy and absconded with it to defend herself as she escaped the base.

A single entry existed for 2286: Olivia’s earliest worry that the robot-thirsty raider outfit that had taken up housing in RobCo Towers could have been led by Laverne herself thirty-two years later.

The moment he realized The MKExceed Papers mentioned Sticks by name, he flipped over to the CHR Wing IV section. Skimming for date gaps yielded a similar addendum. It may have lacked the romantic subplot that caused him to skim over it initially, but the passage substantiated everything he already knew about the ghoul’s forced involvement in the development of Magnetizer. The dates even matched up with when Sticks would have lost his hand to Ick. He spiraled into despair, racking himself to parse how such a chem even worked.

He jumped at raised voices outside. He whipped around in the chair to look out the broken exterior wall. Sticks and Angel were fighting. At a caution, he stood and approached to eavesdrop from the back wall which had once belonged to his bedroom, hoping to go undetected by at least one of them.

“I took care of Sanctuary myself for 210 years ALONE because you never returned! I simply cannot comprehend your malfunction, in how you don’t understand how betrayed I felt to learn you’ve been alive all along! My primary emotion at such news should not have been HURT!”

“Are you really railing me for not coming back?”

At first, ‘Choly thought they might have been arguing because Angel caught Sticks going through ‘Choly’s backyard chem station. But the more he stood there watching the pair, the more he understood Sticks had been using it.

“You were Mister Carey’s best friend when you lived here. When the Vault reopened in 2079 and none of the Sanctuary Hills natives reemerged, I figured Mister Carey had decided to move into the Vault for good. Without me.” The Mister Handy grabbed him in two pincers. “At least Mister Carey had an excuse for not telling me until this year!”

Sticks shoved it off with a hiss.

“I can’t stand Sanctuary. Everything is wrong. And it’s so unlike anyplace else I have memories of from before it was all destroyed. It feels too much like trying to go back to a simpler time. And it still smells an awful lot like Hell. You’re a robot. You can’t smell! And you have no idea what it’s like to turn into this.”

“Do you really, truly, not understand just exactly what you meant to Sir and myself? I stayed put here because I thought all I had left was tending to your house. In the event you did return home, I wanted to make sure to the best of my abilities that you had a home to return to at all.”

“I thought I’d lost him, too, you idiot. And you, too. The bombs dropped all kinds of tech like lead, from clocks to robots to army tanks. You were out cold, and I’m stupid, okay? How am I supposed to know the difference between a robot that’s ‘turned off’ and a robot that’s kaput? Why are we even arguing about this. We’re all alive. Isn’t that something? ...I have to get outta here ASAP, Handy. And if you’ll just let me finish this last batch of Jet Fuel, I can complete what I’m working on, and we can ALL get outta here.”

Sticks noticed ‘Choly, and the devastation on his face.

Of course Missus Murphy was right. She’s always right, Sight or not.

“You’re right. We’re all alive, and that is something. But is it so wrong to want to fix up the house and stay here?”

“Coming back here was the actual goal of dragging me out of Lowell, wasn’t it? Do you actually need medical care? Or did you make up the chem lab and all that shit?”

‘Choly’s jaw dropped.

“Mister Hawthorne, Sir, I strongly advise you to reassess whether Mister Carey has had any reason to mislead you, in any way.”

Sticks waved it all off with a sneer of hurt.

“Neither of you gets it. You’re so desperate to drag the future into the past. But time doesn’t move that way. Baggage goes forward, Alan. It can’t be exactly like the good old days. It never will be.” He deflated a bit, laying his hands on the milk crate on the lab desk. “I’ll only be a minute. And I’m almost done down the street, for what it’s worth.”

‘Choly squinted his eyes shut. A nod of uncertainty became a certain nod.

“--No. Come in the house right now. I don’t want to talk to you poking my head through the goddamn bedroom wall.”

“It’s not home anymore. Being here isn’t coming home.” The ghoul didn’t reject the request, but argued regardless.

“Do you need me to accompany you gentlemen? Or shall I give you some space, since it’s not believed I... get it?”

“I want to talk to him alone, Angel.”

“Besides, we both know you can eavesdrop from the end of the street.”

“Well, I certainly wish I did get it. Because it’s just wretched to think any of us could ever divorce his past from the present!”

Angel zipped off with the intention to remain nearby regardless, and Sticks strolled to the front door and entered. The ghoul stood with ‘Choly in the kitchen, dripping with sorry.

“Forgive the extra delay getting going. And forget about the argument. Please? This has just been a lot to process all at once. First, you, and now, standing here again.”

‘Choly trembled in place. He didn’t recognize his footing until Sticks reacted to his throttled body language with direct eye contact and tracing ‘Choly’s chin scar with his thumb. He sublimated on the spot, and fluttered back to the dry bar behind himself to pour half an old fashioned glass of whiskey. His breathing steadied after he’d stood there nursing about a third of it.

“Maybe I wasn’t ready to come back yet, either,” he mumbled to himself. He walked off to the terminal to sit. He noticed Sticks followed him, but spaced out a bit, staring silent at the broken bed. “Mine’s rotted out, too. Sorry I took the couch. You know I’d make a double bed roll again, if you wanted to sleep here.”

Sticks shook his head.

“I haven’t slept. Not yet. This... I spent so long here after the bombs.” He pulled a hand from his pockets to point vaguely at the bed, before slouching again. “None of the cars worked, and walking was beyond any of us. I laid in that bed for what felt like weeks.”

“I’m sorry if it was a bad idea for us to come here.” ‘Choly felt so small for feeling caught by his predatory habituations. “We really don’t have to stay.”

The ghoul snatched ‘Choly’s hands clapped between his own, wild-eyed with determination. A stupor beset ‘Choly.

“I get the feeling all three of us have some version of going a long time not knowing the other two were alive. And no, things can’t be like they were. But we can make new from the old. Partners with history, working together again after years apart. Think of all the enterprises ahead of us.” Nostalgia replaced his hauntedness. “I meant it when I said I was almost done. I came in when you asked. Come down the street with me. I want to show you.”

“Almost done? With the whole entire car?”

“Sanctuary may be off limits for me, but Little Boy Blue was my first car. I paid cash, all up front. What a thrill, to be able to get it without financing attached to chase after me and bite me in the ass years down the line. Even when I got him, folks were having a harder and harder time affording a vehicle at all. Sure, I got him secondhand, but he was mine, and he was my project. I can’t leave Blue behind, knowing he’s still here.”

‘Choly squinted through his encroaching inebriation. Sticks held him by the shoulders and gave him a saccharine peck on the lips.

“But that’s all a load of bullshit. You can’t believe I word I say. Just take all the effort and paraphernalia in good faith.”

When Sticks let him go, ‘Choly reopened the safe, and scooped up The MKExceed Papers to return the binder.

“Changed the combo? That’s fair. It’s not unreasonable to think the desk rifling at Glenn Johnny’s was me going through your stuff. If you thought that, anyway. But believe it or not, I was going through mine. I couldn’t remember where I put my Jet Fuel recipe.”

Sticks watched him expectantly. ‘Choly finished off his drink without another word and popped his holotape from the terminal deck, to slip it into his Pip-Boy. He glanced to the ghoul on his way out of the bedroom, to leave the empty glass on the kitchen island, anticipating that Sticks wasn’t done just saying things. While Sticks grabbed his milk crate from ‘Choly’s backyard chem station, ‘Choly grabbed his cane from the umbrella stand by the front door frame. And they got to walking.

“So I did smell Jet,” ‘Choly finally said, when Sticks wouldn’t continue conversation.

“Half-right! It’s why I brought my Flamer fuel with me. I brought my remaining chem stash with me for liquid assets, but it’ll do us more good that I burned through it this week. I figured I’d need the momentum after the things I learned at the Merrilurk boil. I anticipated some sleepless nights--or at least some all-nighters. Bare minimum, I could turn around and sell it later, y’know? It’s the one chem I actually know how to follow a recipe for. I still want to replace my Flamer, but I figure it’s easier to replace the gas than the weapon itself. I decided,” his gravelly voice cracked, “that I’d go ahead and crack into it! Using it for the car was a good thing. Neither of us has it in him to walk ten, twelve hours on foot like that. And what’s more!”

From the last planks of the Minutemen Bridge, the ghoul raced ahead the remainder of the way with unbridled enthusiasm, walking backwards at times anxious for ‘Choly to catch up. The chemist only wilted further.

“What’s more!!” The ghoul set the crate down on top of the coupe and popped the trunk in the front, to wave at its spaciousness. “Just think how much more we can haul, without us personally hauling it!”

‘Choly was more concerned with the back end of the Chryslus whose fresh, poor paint job had transformed it from sky blue to royal. His head tilted.

“The engine’s stable and in tact? And the engine shield?”

“I’m rusty with that part of the safety checklist, but Sturges helped me out with it. All I’ve been used to focusing on is engine stability, since it doesn’t hurt me personally anymore if a little rads trickles out.” Sticks held up his Pip-Boy. “This little beaut helped a ton too. Did you know it’s got a built-in Geiger counter?”

“I had no idea,” ‘Choly deadpanned, slowly circling the vehicle.

“Oh, come on, Mindy! Be excited with me! For us! This took me all week!!” The ghoul produced keys from his pocket with an excited jingling. “Eh? Ehh??”

‘Choly's attention fell instead on the unusual shape of the luggage rack on the roof. He didn’t remember it having one.

“Unsurprising, that you’d still have the keys after all this time. Impressive, that you don’t have to hotwire it.”

“Reviving Blue wasn’t selfish! I see the look on your face. I did this for you and your robot. It’ll conserve Angel’s fuel, if we strap it up top there. Its thruster will just barely make the clearance between the gull doors. Think about it. Sure, we could go pretty quick, if we outfitted Bogey like you did Angel, but boy does that brass bucket sure like it here. We can cut North so much faster with Little Boy Blue here. He could clock up to a hundred when I had ‘im all tuned up. I estimate the trip to Nashua won’t take us more than an hour, as long as we don’t encounter anything Blue can’t just run down. Power armor, automobile. Both are two tons of steel and can stomp people flat. You know me, and I prefer the class and luxury of a good Chryslus.”

‘Choly sighed. The idea of riding off into the sunset didn’t seem so bad, when he let himself imagine it. Sticks saw the flicker in his eye and nearly started to skipping as he paced around the car.

“Just imagine my shock and delight that the engine block wasn’t fused solid. Fusion’s the past tense of fission, right? The moment I knew I had something I could work with, there was no other thought in my mind than acting on it. It’s okay that we didn’t stick around Pawtucketville, ‘cause I would much rather have Blue patched up than trying to resuscitate yet another Fusion Flea. Engines are most likely to have survived, but I can’t hardly get my knees under the steering column of those things.”

“I’m going to stop distracting you and go see Sturges,” he said through a strange smile.

Sticks shrugged and popped the gull doors to dive inside.

“Suit yourself. You’re gonna get the full tour once he’s finished anyway! Guy’s probably out back, still trying to train that mutt to hunt molerats.”

“Molerats?” he murmured to himself, with an eye out as he rounded the corner past the milk machine.

He heard a pop and a squeal, but saw no person or creature out back. He continued down the slope of the hill, to find an opening not quite big enough to consider a cave. Several yards in, Sturges stood with a sack, balancing a lit cigarette in his lips. Dogmeat rounded back to him for pets.

“Oh, hey, Melancholy. Come to check on your buddy?”

“You could say that. I also came out here to check on you. Haven’t heard or seen much of you since I got back in town.”

“Been busy with this molerat den. If they dig in much deeper, it’ll collapse the Red Rocket. Can’t be losing my slice of paradise to a sinkhole. Dogmeat’s been helping me locate which burrows the pests are in. He’s a very good boy. Then I toss in a bit of explosives. Worked well so far.”

The mechanic held up a golf ball with a fuse to show ‘Choly, then snickered.

“I was kidding.”

“Turns out these things don’t kid around. The idea works like a charm. The plastic they’re made of really amplifies the burst of an overheated fusion cell. Watch.”

Sturges clicked for the dog’s attention. Dogmeat wafted about in the main chamber of a network of burrows ‘Choly could tell went for easily a hundred yards in any given direction. Once the German shepherd pointed to a hole, the mechanic lit the fuse from his cigarette’s cherry and underhand tossed the ball in from about ten feet back before retreating to the main opening on bated breath. Soon after, the pop rang out and several molerats squealed. Another burrowed out into the main chamber, to jump Dogmeat. But he knew it was coming, and managed to grab it when it bit his leg, and he shook it by the neck until it stopped moving. He dragged it over to Sturges, who gave him more pets for dropping it at his feet.

“Great job, Dogmeat. We’ll make you a hunting dog yet, boy. We’re eating meat tonight.” He chuckled quietly, before turning to ‘Choly. “Thanks again for bringing all the tools and parts out here. Not only did you replace stuff missing from the Red Rocket, but there’s a lot of things from the golf course a recoolant station wouldn’t have had. Can’t wait for your buddy to give me a chance to play around with most of ‘em. He’s been busy, to put it lightly.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of worried about him.”

“Just promise me you’ll make him sleep before you let him drive, all right? As far as I can tell, he’s been awake at least seven days straight. Ghouls do sleep, right? I relate as much as the next guy, how hyper focused I can get when a project gets going, but damn. Wouldn’t trust the guy to operate a toaster right now, honestly.” Dogmeat snuffle-whined at him. “All right, bud. I’m watchin’. You point, I toss.”

“I think we all get like that on occasion... Anyway. I’m pretty sure I’m just gonna be in the way. You’ve got it under control, guys.” ‘Choly held his hand out to Dogmeat, who smelled of it before letting him pet him. He smiled as the dog darted off in search of more quarry. “He’s warming up to me maybe.”

“Maybe if you came around more often.”

‘Choly let out a mused sigh on his way out.

“Good luck. And thanks for keeping an eye on Sticks for me.”

He ambled back up to the recoolant station. He reentered through the garage, taking in how meticulously Sturges had laid out all the tools, between the benches, rolling cabinet, and wall racks. Even things like the assortment of robot-specific tools like the GA-proprietary socket wrench kit found a home in the space. He wandered into the building proper, with the front counter, awed that in two weeks or less, the mechanic had repaired all the downed sectional panels, tucked away exposed wiring, and replaced damaged bulbs. He peeked at the Nuka-Cola machine in the corner, to whistle that it worked again, though it lacked any sodas to chill.

Deep down, Sturges must really want this to be Sanctuary’s social hub, he thought to himself with a smile. If only he knew how much it had been once. They couldn’t hardly keep the Port-O-Diner stocked. Everybody loved those sandwiches.

He found himself behind the counter, instinctively standing in the doorway to the back office. He bristled, but entered anyway.

Divorcing one’s past from his present.

He sat in the desk chair, stricken by a vacant inertia. His hands wandered the open spaces of the desktop. Everything had felt like a dream in itself since his last time here. Scraps of thought fluttered through him.

You may have thought things would come right again / If you could only keep quite still and wait.

A grimace tugged at him. He wiped his brow. He wished he’d have thought to ask Angel for a Mentat. Looking to his Pip-Boy, he didn’t have a fever. He shivered.

His head prickled. His eyes wandered just enough for his ears to pick up metered breathing behind him. His breath stuttered as he whipped around where he sat, clutching at his chest.

“Jacob, fuck-me-in-the-mouth,” he wheezed out. “How long have you been standing there?”

The ghoul slouched against the doorway, arms crossed. He only smiled in response at first, his eyes slivers. He had put on a red and blue jumpsuit, the Red Rocket mechanic’s uniform. ‘Choly frowned agape as all the light drained from him.

“How long would you want me to have stood here?” Sticks strolled up to him, and leaned into his face with a heavy smile. The musk of Jet dripped off him. “I don’t have to just stand there.”

'Choly itched with anxious, tickled laughter, torn between compulsive clothes wiping and pushing Sticks away.

“--I take it --you’re, aH --you’re finished with --the caR--”

Sticks gripped his jaw one-handed and forcefully, fully kissed him. ‘Choly didn’t know where to put his hands, and clawed at the armrests of the chair and dug his heels into the broken teal vinyl wood. A moan squeaked from his nostrils. With ‘Choly throttled, Sticks’s other hand went to his throat. Mouth to mouth all the while, Sticks drew him up slowly to stand, and eased him back on the desk. The ghoul slipped between his legs, and his right hand wandered to the small of his back. ‘Choly squirmed, in a panicked dialectic of mortification and arousal. Attempts to break the deep oral kissing, unfettered by having to navigate only one nose, only resulted in the make-out melting sloppier and sloppier.

“--Jacob --Jhh, sTOP,” he giggled, practically hyperventilating. “--nOT --HERE,”

The ghoul hiss-snarled playfully against ‘Choly’s ear, hot and humid. He nipped at his earlobe and trailed down to kiss at ‘Choly’s neck. ‘Choly shut his eyes and unclenched. Okay, very here. Did it even matter whether Sticks knew what he’d done here two weeks ago? ‘Choly drew him back mouth to mouth, feverish and broken at the thought this could be another nightmare. In the moment, he let it be a dream. The two of them couldn’t hold back awkward, delighted chuckling.

A sharp finger-whistle cut through the compact acoustics of the office. The two scrambled apart. ‘Choly’s eyes widened in grief as he adjusted his glasses. He pawed at his shirt to check that all the buttons were still buttoned. Sticks coughed and slouched back to sit in the chair.

Dogmeat lowered his head, poised to lunge. Sturges put his cigarette back between his lips and crossed his arms with a repulsed scowl.

“S, ssorry for fooling around someplace less private.”

“Your need for privacy isn’t the issue here, and we know that. You couldn’t have picked a less appropriate location. ...Anyway. Just be glad it was me of all people that walked in on you.”

‘Choly sat up to the edge of the desk, and kept his eyes on the dog.

“I, yes, of course. Sticks, apologize.”

Hearing viscous, nasal breathing and little else, ‘Choly and Sturges looked to Sticks, passed out in the chair.

“Something tells me he burned his last scrap of stamina on you. And that he’s not the slightest bit sorry.”

“Something tells me you’re not wrong.” ‘Choly couldn’t look at Sturges. His voice faltered as he stared at the comatose ghoul. “Did you tell him?”

The question made Sturges break his cigarette. He stared at ‘Choly.

“He made it sound like you’d told him. I’ll know better than that next time. If there is one.” When Dogmeat growled, Sturges bent down to hold the dog by the collar. ‘Choly prickled. The mechanic told his dog, “Come on, buddy. Let’s get this meat back to the others.”

“We’ll be leaving soon. Once he’s up, we’ll pack it up. Don’t worry.” ‘Choly stared off into Sticks’s face. “...Would it be inappropriate for me to offer to help with that?”

“If you think you can handle a couple, I won’t turn that down, sure. It’ll take fewer trips. You okay with just leavin’ him here like that?”

“I doubt he’s waking up anytime soon. Let him sleep. God knows he needs it.”

On their way back, Sturges carried three molerats the size of small dogs, while ‘Choly carried two smaller ones closer to the size of cats.

“It might not be my place to say it,” the mechanic started, “but you’re a little too okay with what he just did.”

“I’m grateful you walked in on us when you did. He may have let me take the roleplaying too far otherwise.”

“...Don’t you mean, he would have taken it too far?”

“I meant what I said. He wouldn’t push buttons that weren’t there."

“There’s a load of difference between asking for it and asking him for it.”

“...Not with me, there isn’t. It’s fine, really. We'll figure things out.”

After he carried the two molerats back to Sanctuary, ‘Choly asked Angel to help him carry things from the house to the car. He lifted Blue’s keys from Sticks’s pocket, so he could start loading the trunk--not that he had much to load up. A majority of his belongings fit in the golf bag: his Syringer, his 4-wood, his dart cases, his spare clothes. He tossed his coat in the back seat. Anything more sensitive, such as the Merrick Index and The MKExceed Papers, remained in Angel’s internal false-bottom compartment. To his surprise, Sticks had already loaded his own things into the vehicle. He absently glanced through the suitcase, noting the cases of Med-X, Mentats, and Rad-X, as well as the case of empty inhalers he could tell had once contained Jet. He was about to thumb through the clothing, but Sticks put a hand on his shoulder.

“Giving yourself a head start on the tour?”

“A head start on packing. I wasn’t sure if we would do better, sorting like items,” he lied. “Clothes with clothes, chems with chems. You know.”

“You know I’m not about to let Angel guard my stash, right?”

“Well I wouldn’t want to,” it snubbed in passing, pacing about the canopy while it skimmed for anything to tidy.

“Are we good?” When ‘Choly didn’t answer, Sticks wrapped his arms around his waist from behind. “You and me?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Hey, while we’re in here. I keep forgetting.” Sticks leaned into the trunk to fish out a small tin. He shook something out into his hand, then guided ‘Choly to sit in the passenger seat while he took the driver’s side. “Had to wrestle ‘em from Bones. It’s wild, just how much she fancies you. Kind of unnerving, too.”

‘Choly stared at the poppy cuff-links emptied into his hands. He held one up to confirm the engraving on the underside did in fact read ‘A.C.’

“...What, you don’t think somebody could be into me?”

“Am I chopped liver? What, no. You didn’t like her attention either, whether you’ll admit it. It wasn’t that she fancied you. It’s how she showed it.”

‘Choly couldn’t admit he was right, flummoxed by the ghoul’s obliviousness.

“Thank you for retrieving them,” he finally said. “Why did you keep them all this time, anyway?”

“You’re reading too much into it. But I guess you could say, any time I laid my hands on ‘em again, you were a reminder I should be a little bit less of a shithead sometimes.”

“A little bit?” He couldn’t dull the sharpness of his laugh. He clenched the cuff-links in a fist. “You sold out the entire city of Lowell, just to get a fucking Pip-Boy. What do you even want with it? Clearly, you don’t even know how to use it in the first place.”

Sticks sat quietly in place for quite a time before looking to ‘Choly with a small smile.

“Well, my hand’s made out of the first Pip-Boy I had. It’s only fair that I ended up with one again, right?” He reached across the center console to grip ‘Choly’s hand, to shake it emphatically. “Just put it in perspective, babe. If that’s the price I’ll pay for something you think’s so frivolous... just imagine what I’ll pay for someone that means the world to me.”

‘Choly softened and fixated on the patched-together Nuka-Girl figurine glued again to the freshly polished dashboard.

“To the moon, I guess.”

End of Second Instar. Go to Next »»»

[lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean]

La Pomme ~ Chapter 13

Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)

Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?

Word Count: 3,800

Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.

A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Early the next morning, they'd all gotten outta bed a little sluggish but showered and dressed quickly. George was moving extra slow because what little sleep she did get had been plagued by nightmares. Typically she could remember even the smallest details of her incredibly vivid dreams for hours after she awoke, but this time the only thing she could focus on was a lingering sense of panic, like she was being hunted by something dangerous.

The exhaustion ended up being a blessing, though, because Sam and George were both too tired to be awkward around each other while they got ready. As he showered, George dressed in her new clothes; the dark bootcut jeans, maroon v-neck long sleeved tee, and Friends hoodie. She gave a little knock on the bathroom door to let Sam know that the coast was clear, before sitting down to slip on her new black tennis shoes.

He emerged a few moments later dressed in a dark blue and white flannel and dark blue jeans, his wet hair slicked back and out of his face. That damn sexy beard was still there, too; still wet from the shower.

Oh my. Her eyes went wide, feeling the temperature in the room skyrocket. Sam must have caught her reaction because he looked down at himself curiously.

"What?" He wondered.

"Er--nothing! Sorry." She mumbled, quickly turning away to hide her smirk.

That's all the caffeine my libido needed.

While she fanned herself discreetly, she gathered up her things. Once she was sure she had everything--including the teddy--Sam threw on his chocolate brown jacket and they left the room, meeting up with Dean and Cas at the car. Everyone was ready to hit the road by sunrise.

They stopped at the Carrier Bistro, another Carson City gem, for a quick breakfast because Sam and George were starving. Matching their car seating arrangements, Dean and Sam sat on one side of the booth, Cas and George sat across from them. Castiel got water, George got iced tea, a waffle, and a side of eggs, Sam got an egg white omelet, and Dean, who'd already eaten nearly half the pie George bought for him, ordered some toast and a side of bacon (because a little grease is the perfect thing to top off a ton of sugar in the morning). Both brothers also ordered 'the world's largest coffee or the next best thing.'

When the waiter left, George filled them in on her adventures the night before.

"Once I left you guys, I tried taking the cab to my mom's house but no one was there. The house didn't even look the same, but I know it was the right address. Same thing for my dad's house, the house I grew up in across town, and the condo my brother recently bought. They all looked different and no one I recognized was there. So, I decided to try researching my family to see if I could track down where they were and that's when I found that." She gestured at the article she'd found about the house fire that was set on the table between them.

"That's why you went to the college?" Dean confirmed.

George seemed surprised, "Yea… how did yo-"

"It's what we do," He responded coolly, taking a sip of his coffee when the waiter dropped their drinks off.

"We tracked you down through the cab company," Sam reminded her. After a beat she remembered him mentioning it the night before, nodding affirmatively.

"Ran into Stacey," Dean interjected with a smirk, George's eyes went a little wide in surprise. "She was helpful, pointed us in the direction of the diner. But-uh, she asked us to pass on a message." He took a sip of his coffee, shooting eyes at Sam.

A faint blush creeped onto her cheeks and she chuckled nervously, avoiding Sam's gaze, "Oh?"

Sam cleared his throat nervously, "Uh, yea, she just wanted us to tell you to, uh, lose her number?" He tried to seem nonchalant and uninterested. Dean was grinning from ear to ear, staring with open curiosity at her.

Her expression was a cross between indignation and guilt as she asked, "What?! Why? What did you say to her?"

Sam looked pointedly at Dean, who was now trying to look innocent and answered, "Nothing! We said we were trying to find a missing person whose boyfriend wa-"

"You told her I have a boyfriend?! Ugh, Dean!" George laughed and rolled her eyes. The three of them were looking at her expectantly, so she explained, "Without a student ID they weren't going to let me in, so… I had to find another way," She batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly at them.

"So, what, you blinked at her?" Dean chuckled at his own joke as she reached across the table to slap his arm.

"No, I used the only resources I had at my disposal," She clarified pointedly. When they still seemed confused, she sat up straight and pushed her chest out with a clearing of her throat.

"Oohhh, I see! Your resources. Got it," Dean gave her an exaggerated wink and took another drink of his coffee.

"Yea! And now you've told her I have a boyfriend and she thinks I'm an asshole!"

"I got the impression she just thought you were confused," Dean offered helpfully.

"Oh my god! Damn it, Dean!" George laughed in annoyance.

"Why does it matter?" He laughed indignantly right back. "Were you planning on pursuing that? I think I saw a payphone back in Reno if you'd like us to drop you off on our way to Jack."

George 'grr'ed at him and shook her head, "That's not the point! I am not confused about my sexuality and I don't cheat on my partners, which--thanks to you--is now what Stacey thinks! Not exactly the kind of thing I want becoming canon."

"Relax, flirting isn't cheating," Dean waved her off flippantly.

George's nostrils flared and she smiled condescendingly, "Well, thanks for warning me about your standards, but I'm not talking about the flirting." Sam snorted loudly and tried not to laugh, clearing his throat exaggeratedly when Dean gave him a dirty look. Having paused to hold back her own laughter, she explained, "I… sort of flashed her in order to get login credentials to use the computer."

Sam and Dean jumped in surprise as the waiter walked up at that moment, dropped their food, and refilled the coffee swiftly. George, sweet smile plastered on her face, buttered and syruped her waffle in silence. Castiel seemed to be calculating the ramifications of that statement, Sam was blushing, and Dean was stunned to silence. Cutting a piece, she nodded affirmatively and then took a bite, chewing with a big, closed mouthed grin as they all processed.

"Ohhhhh! You used your resources," Dean finally said slowly and with great emphasis. Then he nodded slowly in appreciation, "Not bad," he stamped his approval before shoveling a bacon into his mouth. George blushed a bit but smiled again with a small eye roll, before tipping an imaginary hat at him. She glanced at Sam briefly to gauge his reaction, before taking another bite. His expression was indiscernible, but he looked more curious than disgusted, so that was promising.

Castiel waited for them to eat a few bites in awkward, contemplative silence before asking curiously, "You 'flashed her' what? Do you have a fake badge of some kind?"

Sam choked on his omelet and Dean snorted into his coffee. Laughing nervously, George glanced between them, suddenly seeming slightly embarrassed about the situation for the first time. Having done it was one thing, having to describe it was another.

Looking back at Castiel she answered, "Flashing is uh,... it's when you… you just kind of, you just, you lift your shirt up for a minute. Or whatever."

Castiel didn't understand, "You lift your shirt 'up?' Up where? Why is that a form of currency suitable for trade?"

It had been her literal job for the past 10 years to educate and communicate on sex, but being questioned by an angel was like going to confession on steroids. Even though his tone was purely curious, she felt inexplicably judged. And she was agnostic!

She thought about it for a moment, noting the total lack of assist from the still recovering brothers across the table and finally just stated matter of factly, "Oh fuck it, I lifted my shirt over my chest and showed her what was underneath." When he still looked confused, she clarified further, "My breasts, Castiel. I showed her my breasts. That's what flashing is. And in exchange for letting her look at my breasts, she logged me into a computer. There."

Dean took another bite of bacon to stifle his laughter after asking, "Curious, if you wanted that 'becoming canon?'" George flipped him the bird before stealing one bacon as retribution.

Castiel seemed to understand the explanation but asked, "How did you know she was interested in seeing your breasts?"

George snorted, patting his arm patronizingly, and ever-so-humbly saying, "Uh, let's just say I had a hunch," then glanced again at the brothers who both shook their heads in amusement.

Sam cleared his throat and finally found his voice again, "I think what Cas means is, ho-how did you know she was… interested in-in your chest-" Sam stuttered, glancing at Dean who snickered, "Er, I mean, not like that! I meant-"

"You meant, how did I know she was gay?" George clarified kindly, to which Sam nodded in thanks. She shrugged, "Well, I didn't for sure, but queer people can usually sense our friends." She gave Dean a discreet smirk and once over before continuing, "Based on that, and some of her more apparent interests, I took a shot. Not the worst experience, all things considered; certainly lucked out that she was cute and friendly."

No one was quite sure how to respond until Dean commented with a mouth full of toast, "I guess she was cute, if you like girls with heavy theatre makeup."

George furrowed her brow, "What? She wasn't wearing that much makeup."

"I guess that's subjective; all that pink blush everywhere was too much for my taste," He shook his head with a shrug.

George and Sam shared an annoyed eye roll and he corrected quickly, "Dean, that wasn't makeup. She had vitiligo."

"Viti-what-o?"

George swatted at him again, "Vitiligo, loser! It's a condition where you lose skin color in patches because the pigmentation cells die."

"Oh," Dean said, intrigued. He thought about it for a minute and then said, "Then you're right, she was cute. Do you still have that number?"

"Oh wow," George blurted, rubbing a hand over her face and chuckling. "Sorry guy, she was definitely a lesbian."

"Anyway!" Sam interjected to save them all from his perverted brother.

Still chucking, George picked the conversation back up on his cue, "Anyway, after the flashing she logged me into a computer and I was able to find out all about my nonexistence," She made an exaggerated sneer, as though the idea offended her. "So, mom's parents: dead in a house fire supposedly due to faulty wiring. Over on my dad's side, I had to go all the way back three generations where I discovered that my great grandfather succumbed to illness on the battlefield during WWI before he'd had any children. Other than my Aunt Lorna, who by all accounts is alive somewhere, the entire family I grew up with doesn't exist." She paused and took a sip of her drink, trying to swallow down her emotions.

"I'm sorry, George," Sam reached over and placed his hand over hers consolingly, the other two giving her sympathetic looks. She smiled softly at the touch, turning her hand over in his and squeezing in gratitude. When she noticed the raised brow on Dean's face, she cleared her throat and pulled her hand away to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I was just kind of in shock when I found everything." She paused to take a thoughtful bite of her scrambled eggs before continuing, "Not shock actually… more like, happy surprise? I was kinda relieved, if I'm honest." Sam and she shared another knowing glance before she continued, "Like, I can focus on helping you guys now because I know nothing is holding me back. I have no family to worry about. I'm completely, totally… utterly, and… 100 percent alone here," As she said it the internal struggle between relief and spiraling panic boiled up again.

Sam frowned, but Castiel was the one who offered comfort, "You're not alone, George."

"Thanks, Castiel," She sighed in frustration and put her fork down, suddenly losing her appetite. "What I mean is, I just felt this strange sense of acceptance and…" she struggled to find the right words to describe an indescribable feeling. "Purpose? It was like 'OK, my family isn't here, I don't have anyone who might be worrying about me, so now I can focus on what I'm supposed to do'. I mean I've always felt different; I never fit in much. I was always the weird kid and didn't have many friends, and holy shit my family. Ya know, I love 'em but--and this sounds bad, so excuse the obvious lack of humility here--I just always felt like the sane patient in the asylum, ya know? It--Ya know what, not the time to get into it," She had sounded like she was headed off on a tangent but pulled herself back.

"When I found all this information last night, I--I…I don't really know how to explain it," She and Sam shared a quick knowing glance before she continued, "but while I should have felt devastated, I mostly felt relief. Like I finally could breathe in all the way because I'm where I'm supposed to be? It was also confirmation that the only people I knew in this universe were the people I was already with, and already helping! Bonus," She finished with a hesitant, confused chuckle. She knew how crazy she sounded. The look Dean was giving her seemed to indicate he felt the same. "Don't ask me to explain it because I have no idea," giving a defeated shrug, she continued, "anyway, I knew you guys were going to find me soon, so I printed the article and left--not before Stacey gave me her number--and headed over to Brown Cub for your food," Dean tipped his imaginary hat to her. "Then I got the room, stripped off those crusty ass clothes, and took the best shower of my life. Then you showed up."

"What do you mean you *knew* we'd find you soon?" Castiel questioned.

"What?" She'd stolen another piece of Dean's bacon and had to dodge his swatting. "What do you mean?"

"How did you know we would find you?"

"Oh, I didn't know-know, I just...figured? I mean, like Dean said, it's what you do--the Winchesters and Castiel, ya know? You've got a certain set of skills," She cracked, winking at Sam and then shrugged, "I knew it wouldn't be long before you'd be able to track me down."

Castiel pressed, "How could we track you down? We don't even know your last name and you don't have a cell phone. How did you know we were coming?" George gave Sam and Dean a raised eyebrow, not understanding why Cas was semi-interrogating her.

Dean felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and pulled it out to see Garth calling. He excused himself from the table to answer it.

"I...I mean, I didn't know you were coming. I just-"

"Tell me more about your instincts feeling heightened? And your sense of purpose? Do you know what this 'purpose' might be?" He questioned her.

Thinking he was just being a concerned friend, George shook her head helplessly, "No, not really. Honestly, I--"

He cut her off to ask matter-of-factly, "Do you have any Enochian protection symbols on your person?"

She was confused by the question, "What, like a tattoo? No, I told you I wasn't that big of a fan--"

"Could be a tattoo, could be something burned into your skeletal structure, maybe?"

"Not that I'm aware of?" George smirked in confusion, glancing at Sam for any explanation. His feeble shrug in response offered no clarity.

"Because, when I try to read you, you're fuzzy--"

"Sorry--I'm fuzzy when you try and read me?" George looked indignant.

"Hey, we got problems." Dean had returned from his phone call and seemed agitated. "That was Garth. He joined Carol and Suzie on the recon like we asked and they saw the demon pack grab a 12 year old boy for lunch. They stormed in and nearly got themselves killed saving him."

"Jesus," George commented with a frown.

"Are they--" Sam began with concern.

Anticipating his question, Dean cut him off, "They're safe for right now but they're hurt and pretty sure the pack tailed them. They need help. I tried mom and Bobby but they're tracking something near Fresno, closer to us than them and..." Dean paused heavily, giving George an indiscernible expression.

"And?!" Sam asked impatiently.

Dean sighed, "Carol thinks she saw Jack with the demons while they were trying to escape."

"What?!" George and Sam exclaimed simultaneously. George's was far more indignant than Sam's.

"Carol says that when they went in to rescue the boy, they passed other rooms. Most were empty but she swears she saw someone who looked an awful lot like Jack in one. By the time she saw him, they were running with the kid, so she can't be a hundred percent sure b--"

"Well, I'm a hundred percent sure Carol needs her eyes checked!" George blurted out, before retracting her neck and looking apologetic, "Sorry, that was unnecessary. Carol is lovely and I'm sure it was a terrifying situation." She paused and then looked at Dean with a pleading expression, "That being said: she's WRONG! I just finished spilling my guts out to you about an identity crisis over the fact that my entire family doesn't exist! And the one good thing that came out of it is that now I know I'm meant to be here! The only answer I'm missing is why I'm here and helping you both--finding jack--that's the only answer that makes any sense. It's why I feel so strongly about going to Oregon with you. Think about it, what other reason could there possibly be for this weird ass situation if not to help you locate Jack?" Sam gulped a bit, a few suggestions running through his mind quickly. Dean was contemplating her words, weighing his options carefully. George sighed and continued, "Listen, I don't know who Carol saw, but I. Promise. You. It wasn't Jack! We need to keep going; we are headed the right way, I know it! Jack--"

"Is in danger and if we don't find him soon he could die, George," Dean sounded stern. He was irritated, but trying not to raise his voice. "We can't risk it!"

George took his new, huffy tone as a personal challenge, matching it with some added neck twists for emphasis, "Which is exactly why we need to keep going toward Oregon, because that's where he is!"

"Both of you, to your corners!" Castiel scolded suddenly, both of them looking about ready to punch the other. "Our primary goal is to find Jack and get him home safe. We have two leads and enough people to follow both. I'll go back to the motel and see if I can find a car to borrow, and head to Butte. The three of you keep following George's lead."

"Cas--"

"No arguments. Enough time has been wasted and, you're right, Dean, he's in danger. That being said," Cas cut Dean off when he tried to interrupt, "George is right, too."

"I am?" George was surprised by the support.

"She is?!" Dean was suspect.

"Yes. It's clear she feels very strongly about Jack being in Oregon and I trust her."

"I do, too," Sam agreed.

George's eyes went wide at the both of them, "You do?" 'Surprised' didn't even begin to cover it.

"Yes, I do," Castiel answered definitively. "Now, you should settle the bill and get going. If you find Jack--"

"We'll call you right away," Sam finished understandingly as he stood up from the booth to handle the check. He stepped away, leaving George to sit in a state of semi-shock, silently mulling over the concept of trust.

Dean's brow was furrowed, staring at the table intently. After a minute he nodded, addressing Cas, "I'll walk you out."

The two men began to head for the exit, and George leapt up, "Wait!" She stepped in front of Cas and looked him over, "OK, um, OK, look, I-I'm nervous about you leaving but I get it, I guess," She shot Dean a dirty look over Cas' shoulder. "Just… please be careful. Don't do anything stupid, OK? If you think to yourself 'Dean would do that!' do the opposite, yes?"

As Dean rolled his eyes, Castiel smiled kindly in response to her concern. With a gentle nod he assured, "I'll be careful. I think it goes without saying that I want you all," he looked at Dean over his shoulder pointedly, "to do the same."

George nodded in agreement and hesitated before throwing her arms around him and hugging tightly. Cas stood in place, receiving her hug awkwardly. Not until George suggested he hug back did he carefully lift his arms and pat her on the back quickly. When she let go, she gave him a nervous grimace and the two men left.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Bloody Mary- Part 3

Pairing: Eventual Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,479

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, angst, language, minor character death, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: For those of you who know who the TV show called Friends is, there was an episode where Phoebe played a game with Joey that was just like this one. I took that idea and put it in here. I do not own anything from Friends.

I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Please, if you want to be tagged for this series, let me know and I’ll add you! If you want to be tagged for my other fics, I’ll add you! I want to hear what you guys think about this.

Feedback is always appreciated

Tags at the bottom

Part One, Part Two

Your name: submit What is this?

You ended up going to a motel to do the research there because Sam had a laptop and it was more comfortable there. You and the boys went about researching: Dean was sitting in one of the chairs and he was reading a book. You were on one of the beds, also reading a book and Sam was on his bed, using his laptop.

After a while, Sam was getting tired so you let him fall asleep and you stole his laptop, using it to his advantage since you know he didn’t like Dean using it. You and Dean were in silent peace when Sam woke with a gasp. He looked around the room when his eyes finally landed on you.

“Why’d you let me fall asleep and is that my laptop?” Sam looked over at you. He was out for maybe 30 minutes.

“Okay, Sam, we’re going to do a little exercise. This isn’t healthy and you need my help.” You looked over at Dean to see him watching you but didn’t say a word.

“Y/N, no, this is stupid. I’m fine.”

“Shut the hell up and let me help you,” You snapped. Sam got up and sat on the edge of his bed with a sigh. You took that as a sign to continue. “Okay, I am going to ask you a series of questions and you have to answer them as quickly as possible. Don’t think, just answer, okay?”

“Sure.” Sam nodded, sighing. He didn’t think this would work but you saw it on a Friends episode and you wanted to try it out.

“Okay, what is your favorite color?”

“Y/N this is stupid.” Sam sighed, not answering.

“Samuel, you better do as I say.” Dean chuckled but didn’t say a word.

“Fine, fine.” Sam surrendered.

“Okay, what is your favorite color?”

“Blue.”

“Pick one: Summer or Winter.”

“Winter.”

“Pancakes or waffles?”

“Pancakes.”

“Drive in a car or ride in a plane?”

“Drive in a car.”

“Own a dog or own a cat?”

“Own a dog.”

“Why are you having nightmares about Jessica?”

“Because I killed her.” You and Dean looked at each other and Sam sighed, realizing what he kept inside of him for so long was now out.

“Sam, you did not kill her.” You said, scooting closer to him.

“Yeah, I did. I killed her and I killed my mom.” He got up and grabbed his jacket, leaving the room. You bit your lip and looked at Dean.

“Oh man…” Dean sighed, about to get up to handle it but you stopped him.

“I’ll do it.” You said, about to get up.

“I think I should, I’ve dealt with it before.” Dean got up and followed his brother outside. You bit your lip and stayed inside, thinking about what Sam said. You saw how Lily blamed herself for her dad’s death and you blamed yourself for your mom’s death at one time but you never knew Sam did for his mom.

He was only 6 months old when she died. How could he think it was his fault? You didn’t know how long you sat there by yourself when the door opened and Sam and Dean both walked in.

“Everything okay?” You perked up. Dean nodded but Sam just sat on the bed. You didn’t know what happened out there but by the look on Sam’s face, you didn’t know whether it was good or bad.

“So did either of you find anything?” Sam spoke up.

“No. I've looked at everything. A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror, and a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave, but uh, no Mary.” Dean sighed, sitting back down.

“Maybe we haven’t found it yet.” Sam sighed, lying back on the bed.

“I've been searching for strange deaths in the area involving bleeding eyes but nothing. There's nothing. Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary.” You stated before your phone rang.

“Hello?’ You answered when you picked up. It was Charlie, Donna’s friend from the house. She started rambling about her friend.

“Whoa, Charlie, calm down, okay? Take deep breaths. Tell me what happened?” You ignored the look of the Winchesters as you stood up.

“My friend is dead.” She sounded like she was crying.

“Okay, hey, meet us at the park in town and we’ll talk more, okay?” She agreed and you hung up, finally looking at Sam and Dean. “That was Charlie. Her friend is dead.”

You got up and put on your jacket, looking at Sam. That was all Dean needed and he got up, leaving the room and to the Impala.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Sam sighed.

“Don’t be. I know how it is to blame yourself. But you were 6 months old. How could this be your fault?” You touched his arm and walked out of the room with him.

“Yeah, you’re right. I was just over thinking it all. Maybe the lack of sleep got to me.” Sam sighed, getting inside the Impala with you. You got to the park and saw Charlie sitting on one of the benches, crying. You walked over to her and once she saw you, she wiped her eyes.

“Thank God.” She said sadly.

“What happened?”

“They found her on the bathroom floor. Her eyes...” She sobbed.

“I’m sorry. “Sam said.

“She said it,” She looked at you. “I heard her say it but it couldn’t be because of that. I’m insane, right?”

“No, you’re not insane.” Dean said.

“Oh God, that makes me feel so much worse.”

“Look, we think something’s happening here, something we can’t explain.” Sam said.

“We’re going to stop it but we need your help.” You looked at Charlie.

“What do you want me to do?”

“We need to get into your friend’s house. Can you help us do that?”

“Yeah. Her name was Jill, by the way.” She said quietly.

“Good, text me when it’s safe to enter Jill’s bedroom.”

“You sure she said 8?” Dean said from behind you.

“Yes, Dean, you don’t have any patience for a Hunter.” You didn’t look at him.

“Shut up.” He grumbled. You were perched on a two-story house, on the roof, waiting to be let into Jill’s room. Charlie had to convince Jill’s parents to let her in and then she would help you though the window. It wouldn’t look good if you went through the front door.

The window opened and you looked at Charlie who stepped aside to let you in. You were the first to go in and then Sam and then Dean.

“So what did you tell Jill’s mom?” You looked at Charlie.

“Just that I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things. I hate lying to her.” Charlie sighed.

“Trust us, this is for the greater good. Hit the lights.” Dean said to her. He walked over to the window and shut the curtain while Sam pulled out a camera and handed it to you. Charlie walked over to the lights and turned them off, putting the rom into darkness. The only light coming from the window but it was dim since the curtains were over it.

“What are you looking for?” she wondered.

“Trust me, we’ll let you know when we find it.” You said, turning on the night vision. You pointed the camera at Dean and smirked. When he realized he was on camera, he turned his back, swinging his face to you.

“Do I look like Paris Hilton?” You giggled and moved the camera away from him, going to Jill’s closet and looking everywhere. You began filming around the mirror.

“So, I’m not sure I understand what’s going on here. The first victim didn’t summon Mary but the second one did. It’s like Mary is choosing who lives and who dies.” You huffed.

“Beats me.” Dean said. You closed the closet door and scanned the room. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was a joke.” Charlie said sheepishly.

“Yeah well somebody's going to say it again, it's just a matter of time.” Sam commented, looking through his phone camera. You walked into the bathroom with the camera and pointed it to the mirror there.

You filmed the mirror and looked closely at it, seeing if you could see anything. You frowned when you saw something oozing from the mirror and you wondered what it was. It wasn’t clear what it was but you knew something better that would pick it up.

“Hey, Dean?” You called for him.

“Yeah?” He walked to the bathroom with his EMF reader.

“There’s a black light in the trunk, right?”

“Actually, Sammy brought it, just in case.” He looked at his brother who overheard them and was already handing it to you. You turned on the battery powered light and hovered it over the mirror. You saw the oozing substance more clearly now. It seemed as if something was on the back of the mirror.

“Hey will one of you take the mirror down for me?” You backed away to let Sam come in and take the mirror off. You walked over to the bed where he placed it face down. You handed him the light.

“Look at the back.” Sam tore into the mirror, ripping off the brown paper until it was all gone. He shone the light over it and you watched as a handprint and the words ‘Gary Bryman” came into view.

“Gary Bryman?” Charlie said to herself.

“You know who that is?” You looked at her.

“No.” You nodded and you packed up the camera.

“We should go.” You said to the boys when you heard Jill’s mother call for Charlie. The brothers nodded and Sam quickly put the mirror back on its place and you three got out of the room as Charlie walked out through the door to talk to her mother.

“I’m going to see if this name means something.” Sam said, walking to the Impala and getting out his laptop. With a few clicks of the button and few seconds of typing, Sam was pulling something up.

“Sorry about that.” Charlie said, leaving Jill’s house and to you. It was still light outside and you were thankful of that.

“It’s okay. Sam, what did you find out?” You looked at him.

“So, Gary Bryman was an 8-year-old boy. Two years ago, he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black Toyota Camry. But nobody got the plates or saw the driver.” Sam sighed, putting the laptop away.

“Oh my God.” Charlie said.

“What?” Sam asked as he walked over to her.

“Jill drove that car.” You perked up when you realized something.

“We need to get to Donna’s house.”

“We really would like to help, Donna.” Charlie said, looking at her friend.

“Okay, sure.” She said confused, letting you and the boys inside. You walked upstairs, black light in hand and walked to the bathroom. With the aid from the boys, you saw another handprint and the name ‘Linda Shoemaker’ on the back of the bathroom mirror.

“Linda Shoemaker?” Dean asked. Sam put the mirror back where it belonged and you walked back downstairs where Donna and Charlie were.

“Is Linda Shoemaker your mother?” You asked softly.

“Why are you asking me this?” Donna crossed her arms.

“Look, we’re sorry, but it’s important.” Sam sighed.

“Yeah. Linda's my mom okay? She overdosed on sleeping pills, it was an accident, and that's it. I think you should leave.” Donna was getting emotional and pissed.

“Now, Donna, just listen.” Dean tried to say.

“Get out of my house!!!” She yelled at you three before running to a different part of the house.

“Oh my God. Do you really think her dad could've killed her mom?” Charlie gasped.

“Maybe.” Sam shrugged.

“I think I should stick around.” Charlie sighed.

“Alright, fine, but whatever you do, don’t,” She cut you off.

“Believe me, I won’t say it.” You nodded and left the house with Sam and Dean. You looked at Dean and he gave you a certain look but you couldn’t place it.

“We should go back to the motel, see what else we can dig up.” The boys confirmed what you said with a nod and you headed off. Getting back to the motel, Dean decided to head straight for Sam’s computer before he could say anything about it. Sam rolled his eyes and decided to look at the bulletin board you guys made while you took a seat next to Dean. You were amazed that he didn’t figure out your feelings for him.  

“Wait, wait, wait, you're doing a nationwide search?” You asked, watching as Dean worked.

“Yep. The NCIC and the FBI. At this point, any Mary who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me.” Dean said, concentrated. When Dean concentrated, it was hot. His eyes narrowed and his tongue poked out just slightly. You always thought it was cute but he never knew. You were staring at him and not the screen.

“You’re staring, sweetheart.” Dean muttered, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“No, I’m not, I’m looking at what you were doing.” You blushed, embarrassed that you got caught. You looked at the computer screen, watching him do his thing.

“But if she's haunting the town, she should have died in the town.” Sam pointed out.

“I'm telling you there's nothing local, I've checked. So, unless you got a better idea…” Dean sighed.

“The way Mary's choosing her victims, it seems like there's a pattern.” Sam stated.

“I know, I was thinking the same thing,” You said. “I noticed the handprints were the same on either mirror.”

“Both had secrets where people died.” Dean added.

“Right. I mean there's a lot of folklore about mirrors. That they reveal all your lies, all your secrets, and that they're a true reflection of your soul, which is why it's bad luck to break them.”

“See this is why I never fucked around with this shit when I was a kid.” You sat back, sighing.

“Take a look at this.” He positioned the laptop so that you and Sam could see. It was a picture of a woman, lying by a mirror in a puddle of her blood. Dean shows another picture and it’s a picture of a handprint with the letters “TRE”.

“Looks like the same handprint.” You noticed.

“Her name was Mary Worthington—an unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana.” Dean said.

“Then that is where we go.” You said, gathering your things. It was only a 2 hour drive to the place and you were thankful for that. The map took you to a detective agency in Fort Wayne who was on the case of Mary Worthington.

Part Four

Masterlist // Series Rewrite Masterlist // Buy me a Coffee?

Series Rewrite tags:

@helllonearth @amyisabellal @deanwnchstr@caseykitten6 @roxalya19 @quixoticcat

Forever tags:

@love-like-lies @maddieburcham1 @ginamsmith @mogaruke@jarpadandjensenaremyheroes

Dean tags:

@akshi8278 @mega-mrs-dean-winchester​ @winchesterandpie​

Other tags:

@jensen-jarpad @notnaturalanahi @deathtonormalcy56 @27bmm

[ao3feed-doctorxrose]

A Nonlinear, Nonsubjective Viewpoint

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/35StNC3

by digitalpen

You'd think that for two time travelers with all of existence before them, they wouldn't run into each other so often. Fortunately, the Doctor doesn't care much what other people think, and he meets up with Dave Strider anyway. It should be impossible for a human kid from Houston to just hop through time and space, but the universe is in dire need of coolkids, and Dave is happy to meet those needs.

(Or: A Homestuck/Doctor Who Crossover? In 2019? It's more likely than you think.)

Words: 8629, Chapters: 1/3, Language: English

Fandoms: Homestuck, Doctor Who (2005)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Dave Strider, The Doctor (Doctor Who), Rose Tyler, Martha Jones, Rose Lalonde, Amy Pond (Doctor Who), Rory Williams, Karkat Vantas, Sollux Captor, Equius Zahhak, Nepeta Leijon, Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider, Kanaya Maryam, Terezi Pyrope, Tavros Nitram

Relationships: The Doctor (Doctor Who) & Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor & Martha Jones, Amy Pond/Rory Williams

Additional Tags: Time Travel, Crossover, Whostuck, Alternia, Revolution, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Canon-Typical Violence, Cybermen - Freeform, AU where Bro doesn't suck, Waffle House, Medieval Tournament, American Revolution, Swords, helmsmen - Freeform, Space Flight

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/35StNC3

[ao3feed-doctorwho]

A Nonlinear, Nonsubjective Viewpoint

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/35StNC3

by digitalpen

You'd think that for two time travelers with all of existence before them, they wouldn't run into each other so often. Fortunately, the Doctor doesn't care much what other people think, and he meets up with Dave Strider anyway. It should be impossible for a human kid from Houston to just hop through time and space, but the universe is in dire need of coolkids, and Dave is happy to meet those needs.

(Or: A Homestuck/Doctor Who Crossover? In 2019? It's more likely than you think.)

Words: , Chapters: 1/3, Language: English

Fandoms: Homestuck, Doctor Who (2005)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: Gen

Characters: Dave Strider, The Doctor (Doctor Who), Rose Tyler, Martha Jones, Rose Lalonde, Amy Pond (Doctor Who), Rory Williams, Karkat Vantas, Sollux Captor, Equius Zahhak, Nepeta Leijon, Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider, Kanaya Maryam, Terezi Pyrope, Tavros Nitram

Relationships: The Doctor (Doctor Who) & Rose Tyler, Tenth Doctor & Martha Jones, Amy Pond/Rory Williams

Additional Tags: Time Travel, Crossover, Whostuck, Alternia, Revolution, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Canon-Typical Violence, Cybermen - Freeform, AU where Bro doesn't suck, Waffle House, Medieval Tournament, American Revolution, Swords, helmsmen - Freeform, Space Flight

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/35StNC3