#i've been in coding hell today

[inkwitchgames]

When is ROs birthdays? Also do they celebrate their birthday??

I've actually just recently decided the story starts in June of 2162, so now I can confirm exact dates!:

Ramón: 30th March, 1867 (aries) (295 y/o)

Ry: 1st September, 2129 (virgo) (32 y/o)

Dom: 4th May, 1948 (taurus) (214 y/o)

Emery: 16th February, 2135 (aquarius) (27 y/o)

Zoia: August 21st, 2062 (leo) (99 y/o)

Aura: 7th March, 2140 (pisces) (22 y/o)

ROs Who Acknowledge Their Birthdays:

Ry

Emery

Zoia

ROs Who Don't Acknowledge Their Birthdays:

Ramón

Dom

Aura

[rileys-battlecats]

was trying to figure out why I feel so Wrong rn and I think it's because I didn't follow my usual daily routine like At All and now my brain is freaking out. woke up at a vastly different time, had entirely different tasks throughout the day, took a nap at a weird time (to make up for the fact I had about 3 hours of sleep last night), zero human contact for the past 15 hours, and ate different food from usual (various leftovers from social events/thanksgiving, instead of cooking for myself like normal). and before I really realized that these were all things that were Bad For My Brain I was just wandering around my house like "why do I feel like garbage?? I've literally been outside so much today my brain should be happy"

ANYWAY here's to me not remembering I have issues with unstructured living because my days have been so similar for the past 4ish years that I straight up Forgot that things being too different too fast makes me crazy ✌️

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Smoke and Silence

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Wife!Reader

Summary: No one at The Pitt knows you and Dr. Robby are married. You’ve kept it quiet, professional—because that’s who he is. You respect the boundaries. The secrecy. But today, none of that matters.

Warnings: Miscarriage

Author's Note: Yes, this is the third Dr. Robby fic I've posted in a row. WHO CARES?! Also Dr. Collins baby is Robby's argue with the wall.

The shift passed in a blur.

Rounds. Charts. A code in the ICU. A patient yelling at you for an extra blanket. Things that should’ve mattered, things that used to matter, but none of it touched you now.

Not after what had happened in the bathroom.

Not after you had stared down at the blood, at the loss, at the life that had barely been there before it was gone.

You had gripped the sink so hard your knuckles went white. Told yourself to breathe. Told yourself you still had a shift to finish. That you could fall apart later, but not here. Not now.

And somehow, you had done it. You had walked out of that bathroom and kept moving. Kept being Dr. Robby’s wife in secret and Dr. Y/L/N in public. Kept working, answering pages, nodding along to conversations that felt like white noise.

Kept pretending you weren’t bleeding.

Kept pretending you weren’t breaking.

The second your shift was over, you slipped outside, fingers shaking as you lit a cigarette. You hadn’t smoked in years. Not since you and Robby decided to try for a baby. But now, standing in the cold air, lungs burning with something other than grief, you just needed something.

The slap came so fast you barely saw it.

The cigarette flew from your fingers, landing somewhere on the pavement.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Robby’s voice was sharp. Angry.

You looked up, numb, and saw his shift written all over him. The slight exhaustion in his eyes. The smudge of ink on his palm from too many charts. The way his arms flexed, hands clenching like he was trying to hold himself back.

You should say something.

You should tell him it doesn’t matter. That none of it does.

Instead, your voice came out flat. Distant.

“I lost the baby.”

Silence.

Everything stilled.

His expression didn’t change at first, like his brain was still catching up. Like he needed a second to process that sentence.

Then—slowly—his breath left him.

“What?”

The word barely made it past his lips.

Your throat burned. Your eyes didn’t water. You didn’t cry.

You just wrapped your arms around yourself and whispered, “I lost the baby, Robby.”

And that? That was when his entire body dropped.

Not literally, but you felt it. Felt the weight of his stance shift. The way his fingers flexed at his sides, like he didn’t know whether to grab you or run. Like he had been holding on to something so tightly and someone had just ripped it away.

The cigarette still smoldered between you, forgotten on the pavement.

Then, finally, Robby moved.

One second you were standing there, alone in your own grief, and the next you were against his chest, his arms wrapping around you like he could somehow shield you from what had already happened.

He didn’t say anything.

Didn’t tell you it would be okay. Didn’t offer empty reassurances.

He just held you.

And for the first time all day—maybe even all your life—you let yourself break.

[collaredkittyboy]

Well it's come up multiple times today so I'll make a post about it.

I think the popularization of the word "twink" has ultimately been really bad for people in general.

I know it's hard to track the positive and negative effects of language but I don't think it's hard to see how creating a word for a group of people wherein the most consistent qualifying trait is "being skinny" is healthy for people's self image. Obviously people have lots of ideas about what it means to be a twink- gay, lacking body hair, feminine, beautiful, young, white- but the most consistent descriptor I've seen is "skinny." Hell, it's even a body type on Grindr; the size below "average."

So it kind of functions as a code word in the gay community: anyone can say that they're only interested in twinks and they don't have to look shallow by saying they only like skinny guys. It's such an accepted attitude that no one really bats an eye when they hear it.

I'm not even going to get into how it's become part of the larger issue of people turning "top" and "bottom" into gender roles 2.0, but that is closely related, because people with any internalized homophobia can look at a skinny, feminine man and turn off their fag alarms by viewing him as a woman or not a "real" man, and it makes twinks more acceptable to society at large.

No, ignoring all of that, one of the biggest issues is that gay men are taught by society that they are only attractive while they are skinny. Just having the label "twink" reminds a boy that people are looking at his body and judging it. There were countless times when I was growing up that people would tell me, "You're such a twink," or argue about whether or not I qualified as a twink because I had body hair. People around you, unpromted, judge your body and give you a label based on it, and that label has a large influence on whether or not you're seen as objectively attractive. I know many other gay people who say they wish they were a twink so they could be more attractive to guys.

So think, you have all these kids growing up being told whether or not they qualify as a twink, and then we have the gay community as a whole where it's completely acceptable to say you're only attracted to twinks. I think its because of all of this pressure to be a twink (in other words, to have a below average weight) that many of the gay people that I interact with struggle with a negative body image or eating disorders.

I mean, people talk about "twink death" like it's an actual event that makes a gay man much less attractive, and no one thinks that, maybe, it's harmful to tell a guy that the very day he stops being young and thin and pretty, he will stop being attractive and celebrated?

I'm not qualified to speak on fatphobia in physical queer spaces because I don't have the ability to frequent them where I live, but I can't imagine that these aren't issues at social gatherings as well. I also can't speak on my own experiences with weight discrimination because so far in my life I have had a naturally thin body, but I have experienced a lot of outside pressure to be thin that have caused me to pick up unhealthy eating habits to reduce my weight in fear that I could become fat later on. Thankfully that is something that I've mostly been able to work past. I'm not an expert, but idk, I just wanted to rant on my silly tumblr blog.

Obviously it's impossible for a word to be inherently bad. I'm not trying to imply that saying "twink" is a magic word with evil powers. Obviously the real issues at play here are fatphobia and harmful beauty standards and body shaming. But in my opinion, the popular use of the word twink has made it much easier and acceptable to express fatphobia, etc, in the gay community by turning "skinny person" into a "type of guy that you should try to be so you can be attractive."

[zae-heeyyy]

Recalcitrance

Summary: You and Ms. Grimshaw just can't get along. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 1,763 Tags: fluff, kissing, high honor Arthur Warnings: camp violence, angry Arthur, suggestive themes

a/n: I have mixed feelings about Grimshaw. I think she's a very enigmatic character. Still, based on interactions I've seen with her, I feel this isn't too far off. These always end up super long for some reason. Idk how that keeps happening. Anyway, I hope you enjoy; thanks for reading!

recalcitrance: resistance to authority or guidance, often characterized by defiance or disobedience. It implies a refusal to comply with rules or expectations, despite attempts to persuade or control.

You and Abigail Roberts went way, way back. Working girls stuck to a code; part of that code was looking out for each other and ensuring you returned after one of your "shifts." Abigail ran away for a while, leaving you to assume she'd met a rich man and settled down.

When you met her again, she introduced you to Dutch Van Der Linde and company; you fell in with them shortly after. Since then, you constantly scrubbed blood from clothes, slept on the ground, and ate whatever game Pearson could find for the stew. Many girls you knew would never trade that life for this one, but you had a family to return to, even if they weren't the most conventional. And amidst it all, you'd found something you didn't think possible for you. 

You were drawn to Arthur Morgan instantly. The little things spoke volumes for you—how he checked on you in passing, the moments spent playing dominos together, and his overall politeness towards you. The bar was in hell, but he treated you so differently than any man ever had. Arthur's dumb cowboy act didn't fool you for a second, and you were captivated by him.

After one too many inadvertent shoulder grazes and incidental hand touches, the chemistry between you had become undeniable. Following a game of dominos he let you win, the stocky man asked you to take a walk with him. You weren't too far away from camp before you found yourself pressed against a tree by him in a heated kiss. So many thoughts swirled around your head. You were in the middle of nowhere; it was pitch black, and you were being hunted by the law, yet there against that tree was the safest you'd felt in a long time. 

Then, on another fateful night, you were alone with him at the campfire while everybody else had settled down. A sly smirk crossed his face, and he scooted closer to you, grabbing and kissing your hand. You giggled, maintaining eye contact as he kissed up your arm, gradually, a low groan escaping him. One thing led to another, and he guided you into his tent. You let him have you, and you, him. 

It was then, when you were on the brink of your climax, half-lidded eyes staring upward into his, that you finally understood what people meant by lovemaking. When it was all over, you got up to leave out of habit, but he drew you back into his arms and asked you to stay.

Since then, you've been his girl, and he made sure everybody knew, always kissing you before he left for a job, settling you into his lap at the poker table, or sneaking you away from your chores to spend time with him. You saw each other for what you were, not the labels that had been applied to you. And you loved him so much.

For the first time in a long time, your life was good. Well, mostly, except you hadn't quite mastered the life of navigating Ms. Grimshaw. Over the almost year you'd known her, she was rarely nice to you. She seemed more tame when Arthur was around, but he wasn't today.

By noon, you had gotten sick of hearing her voice, and she seemed more ornery than usual. The nagging was constant: do this, don't do that, do this faster, do this slower. You wished she'd shut the hell up and leave you alone. Just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, you saw her speed-walking towards you.

You were sitting, about to light a cigarette, when she approached, red-faced, huffing, and talking fast, "There you are," she started, putting a finger in your face. "Sitting around like always. I have had it with you!" You stood quickly out of instinct and opened your mouth to speak, but she cut you off. "You're useless around here, so why don't you go into town and start selling yourself again. At least then you'd finally be carrying your weight!" 

Her words stung like branding, making your heart race and your eyes sting. The few people left at camp had gone quiet. Mary-Beth looked on nervously while Karen was glaring at the older woman. Your heart pounded in your ears, and you spoke faster than your brain could process.

"All you're good for is being an ugly, hateful bitch." As soon as the words left your mouth, she swung on you. It was a backhanded slap that stung and broke the barrier that was holding back your tears. You recoiled, holding your stinging face.

"Know your place, girl, before you end up somewhere worse than on your back. Now get!" She pointed towards the edge of camp.

"Screw you," you said, quickly wiping away a falling tear, "I'd rather fuck every man in town before I keep letting myself be treated like this." You stepped up to her, " Want me to leave? Well, I'm goin."

And you did. You collected what little belongings you had into a bag and charged out of camp, eyes forward and your head held high. Tilly and Mary-Beth tried to stop you, but you marched down the dirt path until they couldn't see you anymore.

"Look what you gone and did you old hag," Karen spat, "Oh, just wait til Mr. Morgan gets back. Bet you won't be so high and mighty then." 

Arthur didn't ride in until sunset; he searched for you before even getting off his horse. His face fell confused by your absence, and just as he was about to inquire, Mary-Beth and Tilly approached. He knew instantly that something was wrong.

"What, what is it?" His eyes searched theirs. They looked at each other, silently debating who'd break the news to him. It was Tilly who stepped forward, putting a calming hand on Arthur's arm. She talked low and cautious, "Arthur, she—her and Ms. Grimshaw—they—" She was cut off by Karen and Ms. Grimshaw beelining towards them.

Karen's voice boomed, speech slurred. "Go ahead, tell 'em." She waved her beer-clutching hand between Arthur and Ms. Grimshaw, defiantly meeting Susan's gaze before tearing her eyes away to meet Arthur's. "That wench Grimshaw smacked her across the face and ran her out!"

Clenching his fist involuntarily, he leaned into Karen, talking low and steady. "The hell are you talking 'bout?" His chest was rising and falling quickly now.

Ms. Grimshaw stood resolute and waved him off. "This doesn't concern you, Mr. Morgan. This is my camp, and these are my girls and my rules," she finished, arms crossed, staring at Arthur.

Stepping close, he imposed his broad figure on Ms. Grimshaw, flashing a smile that was anything but inviting. He took on a tone he rarely used with the women.

"Oh, Susan, that's where me and you disagree. This may very well be your camp, and you can make up all the rules you want, but she's my girl." His face had straightened into a scowl by the time he finished.

"Well, I'll—" she began incredulously, hands still on her hips, but Arthur threw up a halting finger.

"Look, Ms. Grimshaw, I respect how you run this camp, but that girl, she's off limits. Now, I'm gonna find her and bring her back, and you can raise all the hell you want, but if you lay a finger on her again—" 

"Arthur..." Tilly cut in warningly. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, ending his conversation with Susan. "Where'd she go?" he asked no one and everyone at the same time, speed walking to his horse.

"She took off down the road," Mary-Beth called out, but his horse was already kicking up dirt. Riding as fast as he could, he reached the nearest town at record speed. He hitched the horse outside the train station, forcing the doors open with his shoulder. The place went quiet, everybody focusing on the sudden disturbance. Arthur ignored the looks he was getting, scanning faces for yours. Spotting you took no time, and you stood as soon as you recognized him. He rushed to you, taking your hands in his; concern riddled his face— a rare sight. Guilt washed over you as you looked up into his eyes; you opened your mouth to speak, but he started before you.

"You alright?" he asked, looking you up and down. Dirt had stained the hem of your skirt, and your eyes were tired; his frown grew as he looked you over. You wrapped your arms around him, pressing your head to his chest and nodding.

"Wasn't gonna go, just needed to get away for a while," you murmured into his chest. Rubbing your back soothingly, he exhaled with soft, relieved laughter. One arm still around you, he gently tilted your head to meet his gaze with his free one.

"Don't you go walking out on us. Least without tellin' me first."

You agreed with a quick bob of your head, and he pulled your chin in towards his, kissing you on the mouth. He withdrew and gestured to the bench you'd risen from earlier; you both sat. Arthur wrapped a big arm around you, and you buried your face into his shoulder.

"That woman hates me," you grumbled with a pout. Arthur squeezed you closer, and a faint grin formed on his lips.

"Nah, she never liked any girl I brought around. Give her more time." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "It's all outta love, I think," he concluded. You huffed at that, disbelieving.

"She got a funny way of showing it."

"Sure," he chuckled again. He sat for another minute before gently nudging you off his shoulder. Grabbing your bag and standing, he asked, "So you gonna come back with me?"

You tried to sulk but couldn't when he was standing there waiting patiently with his hand out. You finally relented. 

"Fine, but I ain't just gonna take it next time," you declared, taking his hand. A big smile stretched across his face. 

"You ain't gotta do nothing you don't wanna. If any of those fools have a problem with it, send 'em to me." You made your way out of the train station, hand in hand. You paused, gazing at him with a quirked eyebrow.

"I can handle myself just fine, Arthur Morgan." Another chuckle built up in him as he threw your bag on the horse. He turned to kiss the top of your head before grabbing you by the waist and lifting you up on the horse.

"I know, darlin'."

[aziraphales-library]

Hi there! This feels like a tricky one to search for so i thought i'd throw it over to the experts: Do you have any fics where A/C are both involved in any of the common Human AU professions (rival professors, florist, hairstylist, etc) but are NOT in an AU, they are still themselves, just both undercover for heaven/hell reasons, or just getting up to their own shenanigans? Any rating, any length would be great. Thank you!

Hey. We have some non-AU professors fics here. I've got a mixed bag of non-AU jobs for you now...

Rate My Professor Reviews for Dr. A.Z. Fell and Dr. A.J. Crowley by yetrop (G)

“Decent class, but Dr. Fell has a weird sense of humour. Sometimes, he’d joke about how he knew some of the authors of the classics we were reading (all at least a century old) or how he was around back when they were being written. I’m assuming the jokes were his way of poking fun of his age, but his delivery made them seem serious, which made it less funny and more weird. Also, he showed us his card tricks in class once. They weren’t good. A few people acted impressed out of sympathy. This guy has too much time on his hands, and he’s not as funny as he thinks he is.” — Aziraphale and Crowley have too much spare time after saving the world again, so they decide to teach some uni courses (told from the perspective of some online student reviews.)

heraldry, and other omens by astrhae (G)

Two days ago, the shop was called SLICE OF HEAVEN, in bold, yellow neon letters above the window’s tartan awning. Yesterday morning, the letters had read out ARSE OF HEAVEN, but by evening, residents reported it had changed to a more subdued BAKED BADS. It shouldn’t be possible to change neon signs so quickly, but today, upon entry, the bakery had been called DEVIL’S ADVOCAKES. ---------------- Or, there’s a new bakery in the South Downs area, that’s also maybe a flowershop, a coffeeshop, and an animal clinic. There's a chocolate scone that costs six thousand pounds. For orders, kindly contact ajcrngkwhoooe@myspace.com.

Speaking in Code by Wosprig (T)

She’d thought about this long and hard. There was no other logical conclusion. Alex inhaled, steepled her hands, and deadpanned, ‘I think Professor Crowley is a demon.’ Marcia sighed a long-suffering sigh.   Aziraphale and Crowley spend their retirement continuing what they started back in Eden: providing humanity with the knowledge and tools to make their way in the world. That, and bewildering the occasional curious student.

Making the Most of it All by ColorMeHappy (T)

When Aziraphale receives a job offer relating to one of his dearest interests on this earth, literature, how can he resist trying something new? So what if a certain demon begins to follow him around on campus, and so what if he finds he rather likes the company, and so what if it changes their relationship forever? Aka: The time Aziraphale was a University Professor for 5 years

I've never encountered something like this before by Tedster33 (NR)

Aziraphale and Crowley never met before the beginning, or in the beginning, or any of the other times after that. Now, Crowley owns a blossoming plant shop just across the road from A. Z. Fell's bookshop. They had never really spoke, but then Aziraphale decides to go to the Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Street Traders Association Meeting that month, and finally meets this mystery plant-seller.

Soho Gods by Jackie Thomas (G)

Crowley leaves London when Aziraphale is appointed Supreme Archangel but his plans to sleep and drink the century away are soon scuppered. Jesus has returned, Heaven and Hell are gearing up for a fight and Adam Young is taking a gap year. Crowley and Aziraphale have work to do, but can they face each other after their falling out?

- Mod D

[utilitycaster]

ok related actually to a number of my posts today (wfh day, rainy, going on vacation next week, generally not doing any actual work) but like. I am, obviously, a person who enjoys paladins and heroic characters generally, so I am not the audience this is playing to, and I've sort of circled this question in the past. But it feels like...the way I would understand enjoying a villain, or being a monsterfucker, is like...the delight in being unfettered - in being able to truly give your all without limits or a concern about perception, even unto death (since, even in a post-Hayes code world, villains tend to be defeated, especially in fantasy fiction). In a way, I best understand it through heroic characters, either complex/morally gray ones or genuinely unambiguously good, who are able to similarly cast off any limits, often through heroic sacrifice. Or, to put it another way, and with the fandoms with which people are familiar, I feel like people's touchstone for a major villain arc is far too often that of Essek, when it should really be more like that of Laerryn or Zerxus from Calamity, or even Betty from Thresher. I mean, in the end, Zerxus and Asmodeus are remarkably similar people (hell, Pelor and Asmodeus are similar people and Asmodeous remarks on Zerxus's similarity to the former); that's why their scenes and story works so well.

I might be wrong but I feel it's yet another case of something I've been talking about for almost four years now - people want the credibility or power of the villain, or the woobification offered by being the monster, without the downsides of being justifiably hated for one's actions. Like, you're stanning the misunderstood and the villainous and get mad when people misunderstand them or treat them like villains. what is the deal here. why isn't that part of the fun.

[lying-on-floors]

oh my gawd, they were roomates...

Thanos/Su-bong: One time, when Nam-gyu was mad at me, I asked him for a glass of water, and he brought me a glass of ice. I asked him about it, and he told me to "wait for it to melt."

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Nam-gyu: *Gently taps table*

Se-mi: *Taps back*

Min-su: What are they doing?

Thanos/Su-bong: Morse Code.

Nam-gyu: *Aggressively taps table*

Se-mi: *Slams hand down* YOU TAKE THAT BACK-

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Nam-gyu: Se-mi isn't answering their phone.

Min-su: I'll call. *Puts phone on speaker as it's ringing*

Nam-gyu: We tried multiple times already. What makes you think--

Se-mi: Hello?

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Nam-gyu: Is stabbing someone immoral?

Thanos/Su-bong: Not if they consent to it.

Se-mi: Depends on who you're stabbing.

Min-su: YES?!

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Thanos/Su-bong: I've already sent good vibes your way. They're coming . There's nothing you can do to stop them.

Min-su: This is the most threatening way I've ever been cheered up.

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Nam-gyu: I prevented a murder today.

Se-mi: How?

Nam-gyu: Self-control.

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Thanos/Su-bong: That's one of my biggest fears. Like, if I ever woke up as a donut...

Nam-gyu: You would eat yourself?

Thanos/Su-bong: I wouldn't even question it.

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Nam-gyu: Is something burning?

Thanos/Su-bong: Just my love for you.

Nam-gyu: The toaster is smoking!

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Min-su: How petty can you get?

Nam-gyu: I once edited a Wikipedia article to win an argument I was wrong about.

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Nam-gyu: Look, I may not be a saint, but it's not like I've killed anybody. I'm not an arsonist. I've never found a wallet outside of IHOP and thought about returning it but saw the owner lived out of state so just took the cash and dropped the wallet back on the ground.

Se-mi: That last one was oddly specific and makes me think that you did do that.

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Nam-gyu: This was a mistake.

Thanos/Su-bong, enthusiastically: A mistake we're going to laugh at one day!

Nam-gyu: But not today.

Thanos/Su-bong: Oh, no. Today's going to be a mess.

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Thanos/Su-bong: You know my motto: carpe diem, carpe noctem, carpe coles.

Se-mi: Seize the day, seize the night, what's the last one?

Thanos/Su-bong: Seize the dick.

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Thangyu (highschool) becoming friends...

Thanos/Su-bong: So, you like cats?

Nam-gyu: Yeah.

Thanos/Su-bong: *Tries to impress him by slowly pushing a glass of the table*

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Nam-gyu: Do you love me?

Thanos/Su-bong: We're literally married.

Nam-gyu: Yeah, but as friends or--

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Thangyu (highschool) before dating...

Thanos/Su-bong: You got a date yet?

Nam-gyu: No.

Thanos/Su-bong: Well, you do now! Get up and hold my hand!

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Min-su, nervous: Se-mi, there's something I need to ask you--

Se-mi: Finally! You're proposing!

Min-su: How'd you know?

Se-mi: Sweetheart, you dropped the ring five times during dinner.

Min-su:

Se-mi: I even picked it up once.

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Thangyu and Se-mi come in from outside, soaking wet.

Nam-gyu: Min-su, you love us, right?

Min-su: Normally, I would say yes without hesitation, but I feel like this is going somewhere I won't like.

》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》》《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《《

Thanos/Su-bong, standing in their bedroom doorway, staring at Nam-gyu, drunk as hell.

Nam-gyu: Babe, are you...coming to bed?

Thanos/Su-bong: No, thank you. I'm sure you're a lovely person but I have a boyfriend.

Thanos/Su-bong: *Sprawls out on the floor and falls asleep*

Nam-gyu:

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Nam-gyu: So, explain to me how you accidently set lemon on fire??

Thanos/Su-bong: Microwave for 40 minutes.

Se-mi: Why were you microwaving a lemon??

Thanos/Su-bong: I read boiling lemons helps cover up bad smells, and I wanted to cover up the scent of burnt oranges. But I couldn't find the pots.

Min-su: Did you burn an orange, too?? How??

Thanos/Su-bong: Microwave for 40 minutes.

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Min-su: We call that a traumatic experience.

Min-su, turning to Nam-gyu: Not a "bruh moment."

Min-su, turning to Se-mi: Not a "f in the chat."

Min-su, turning to Thanos/Su-bong: And definitely not an "oof LMAO."

Also, I've not forgotten Gyeong-su, he just doesn't live in the same apartment as them. He def is invited to the hang out, though.

[wings-of-ink]

Status Report and things to come...

Hello all! I wanted to check in and give some updates and links and all that jazz.

Things are cooking! I'll probably be fairly quiet off and on in the next month or so, but that will change. I just have a lot of stuff to do and get through before I'm at a stage where I can unleash hell. I am also planning on opening up asks more after I get adjusted (perhaps mid July).

The last couple of weeks were super busy for my personal life. Nothing terrible, just a lot of things all at once that needed to be done ASAP. There isn't much news on the production front, other than the May subscriber extras were posted today. The spicy one features male Rune and a new MC customization which I am testing for implementation into the the main game. The side story features a gender selectable Rune but is a fairly streamline cute story. Links are at the bottom if you are interested!

As I said before, I'll be kicking up another project as soon as time allows this season. And I've had an idea...

Subscribers this month also got access to what was essentially a prologue for another IF. If you've been kicking around a bit, I did a poll a while back where I spun different ideas and everyone voted for their favorites. Number 1 stole the show, but all ideas had an outpouring of support. The prologue mentioned is actually for #3. I started writing it just for fun to play with how that IF could start (I was in a mood, lol). I got some good feedback on it, so then I got another idea.

I think I want to do this for each of the new project ideas that I have and want to run with. Writing an intro for them will help me form them in my mind and give them some life and structure. As I get these done, subscribers will have the first crack at them, but they'll eventually go public. And then...then we vote. This gives me a chance to know if I am just not going to enjoy one idea or the another and such, and it gives you a chance to sample new stories to see what interests you the most in practice.

I will be doing one for each story idea from the poll PLUS one more. They will be very plain. Using no templates and just super basic coding to give the idea and feel of the actual project. The pretty stuff will come later. I don't know how long they will be. My guess is from 6k-10k words. I will work on them when I can but for the rest of May and all of June, Chapter 6 of GC is my priority. I would really like to have it done soon. This year has been obnoxiously busy so far, but things are going to slow down soon so my schedule opens up more.

Also to come are more character portraits! Subscribers get the first look and then a week later, they will go public. I'm a bit behind on that, and will have some super secret art to post after this!

Other than that - I'm hanging in there, I see some things in my Tumblr inbox I will get to soon, my shoulder is the same and I'm still doing therapy, and my kitty cats are great!

That's all for now! Take care!

~Lunan ^_^

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[callsign-muffin]

Heal Together: Chapter 1

(Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw fic)

I've been lurking on here for a while, reading Top Gun fics and I recently got inspired to write one of my own. Hopefully someone reads it and likes it!

Note about the format: Between every header is a change in the point of view :)

Summery: When Rooster was med-evaced back to San Diego from the mission field, the last thing he expected was to wake up with a tube down his throat and the most beautiful woman he's ever seen at his bedside.

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.1k

“Hey Carly, I’m taking over for room 4 today. Are you ready to give report?” You ask the cute blonde night shift nurse, she looked about 12 years old. What in the hell was she doing in the ICU of a military hospital? Hell, you should be asking yourself the same question. You hated it here at this boys club where nurses were ignored as a female dominated profession, despite being the people who spend the most amount of time at the patient’s bedside in a 12 hour stretch. But you were only one week into this eight week travel assignment and the money was great, so you just had to grin and bear it and make as few enemies as possible.

“The census is low, is this gonna be your only patient?” She asked.

“Yeah.” You pulled out your report sheet and pen, “Let’s hope it stays that way.”

You could tell Carly was fresh off of orientation by how nervous she looked before beginning to speak.

“Hey,” You placed a comforting hand on her knee, “take your time, tell me what you know, and if I have any questions I’ll ask them when you’re done. You just finished a long shift, it’s okay to be a little out of it. We’ll get all the info we need together. No pressure, okay?”

“Okay,” Carly nodded and took a deep breath, “This is Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, 35 year old male, full code, no known allergies…”

You quietly took down the pertinent information about Lt. Bradshaw as Carly spoke. He was a pilot, recovered after a crash, and was stitched back together pretty well on the aircraft carrier, he went septic and was transported back to the states to your hospital. Pretty standard stuff. He was currently on a ventilator for breathing support but all seemed to be going in a positive direction despite the shitty circumstances.

Carly finished her report with a sigh of relief, you had a feeling the staff nurses weren’t as respectful when receiving report from a new graduate. “Any questions?”

“Any family  at the bedside?” You asked.

“No, no family. Apparently a guy named Pete Mitchell calls daily for updates, they’re not related but he’s included on the patient’s medical information release forms, so we can talk to him. Chart says he’s single, no siblings, and both parents have passed away.” Carly yawned, she was beginning to fade after a long night. You didn’t want to hold her up anymore than necessary, she needed to get home and go to bed.

“Okay,” You clicked your pen, “Sounds good. Let’s go check lines and meds so you can get out of here.”

She paused for a second as you got up from your chair at the nurses station, “Y/N… thank you for being so nice… I’m only a week off of orientation and things are still so new…”

You smiled at the compliment, “We’ve all been there. Every nurse on this unit was new at one point and I think sometimes they forget that. Hell, I’m a traveler and this is only my second week and there’s so much that’s new to me too. You’re doing great.”

You spent the first part of your morning before rounds with the care team just cleaning up the patient, organizing the room, all that good stuff. Though it wasn’t necessarily considered “professional”, you played some music softly from your phone as you worked. You found that music or just talking to patients on vents helped with agitation. You couldn’t imagine anything more tortuous than listening to repetitive beeping and alarms all day long and nothing else. Though most managers didn’t like it, that didn’t stop you. What were they gonna do? Fire you? Hospitals hire travelers at such a high price point when they’re understaffed and desperate. They needed you more than you needed them.

█ ✪ █▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓█ ✪ █

“When the sun goes down, we’ll be groovin’

When the sun goes down, we’ll feel alright

When the sun sinks down over the water

Everything is hotter when the sun goes down…”

Who the fuck listens to Kenny Chesney anymore? Rooster thought to himself.

He knew he was sick, the docs on the ship told him that before they knocked him out to shove the tube down his throat. They told him he’d be med-evaced back to San Diego because the hospital where he was overseas didn’t have the capabilities to take care of someone as sick as him. He didn’t know how long he had been there, all the days run together when you’re too weak to open your eyes. He was used to having things done to him, he was past the point of getting agitated about it, because he knew they’d just sedate him more.

“Alright, Bradshaw.” A confident voice said, “All of your lines are untangled, your room is clean, and your initial assessment is done… How about we have a little spa day? You’re smellin’ a little… ripe.”

RUDE! 

“HA! You can hear me! You raised your eyebrows!” She giggled, damn it was a cute giggle. Rooster honestly hadn’t realized he was moving his face. But he believed her because that’s what his face usually does when he’s surprised. “You’ve been caught. No more playing dumb.”

Water started running, splashing, and the suction was turned on… that sound usually meant his mouth was gonna get cleaned and he was gonna feel something funny down his throat. He hated it.

“Carly told me you were getting agitated during mouth care last night. Since you can hear me, I’m going to tell you everything I’m doing, so don’t get sassy with me.” She said, “Deal?”

Anything for the first person not to treat me like a damn vegetable. This was the first time someone actually talked to him and told him what the fuck was happening since he got here. It was a welcome change.

The kind yet sassy voice interrupted his thoughts, “Okay, mouth care. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

She didn’t lie to him, she was quick and the stupid suction caused him minimal discomfort. Maybe it was because he could brace himself, or maybe it was because she was just really good at her job.

“I’m about to give you a full body bath, so how about we get to know each other a little bit.” She said as she adjusted his sheets and pillows to reposition him, placing a towel under his head, and rinsing his hair with warm water.

Rooster’s whole body relaxed.

“My name is Y/N Y/L/N and I’m obviously your nurse today and will probably be for the next few days…” Nurse Y/N went on about where she’s from, her hobbies, how she’s not making many friends in this new hospital she’s been contracted out to.

Welcome to the military, it’s a boy’s club. He wished he could say that to her. He imagined medicine was similar to aviation, full of egos.

Before Rooster knew it, his whole body had been washed from head to toe. He hadn’t felt this clean in what felt like years.

“So Lieutenant… not to be crude but… I gotta clean your bits. But at least we’ve really gotten to know each other.” Nurse Y/N said, “Your girlfriend will thank me later.”

Ha! Rooster laughed to himself, What girlfriend?! My dick hasn’t been played with in months!

Like with the mouth care, her cleaning was quick and respectful. And damn, being clean felt so good. She went on to change his gown, sheets, and blankets. Rooster truly felt like a new man.

“Lieutenant Bradshaw, you’ve never looked better.” She said with a satisfied sigh.

That’s a damn lie, but I’ll take the compliments wherever I can get them at this point.

“Hey Y/N,” Another female voice said, “They’re starting with you for rounds. Are you ready to present your patient or should I stall?”

“Nah, I’m ready. Tell them to come in whenever.” Nurse Y/N said, then her voice got low and she whispered to Bradley, “I’m gonna try to get them to lighten your sedation and move towards trials of turning the ventilator off. It’s not gonna be comfortable but the sooner we start working towards getting that tube out of your throat, the sooner you can get the hell out of here.”

Rooster wanted to make sure she knew he heard her and that he was on board, it took every ounce of strength in his body, but he nodded.

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“No way.” The resident physician said simply after you gave your recommendation with your presentation of Lt. Bradshaw

You were dumbfounded. What the hell did he mean no?!, “This patient was more than ready to move towards extubation.” 

“And what makes you the expert?” the resident asked.

Oh lord, this fresh out of med school asshole was turning rounds into a dick measuring contest.

“The fact that I’ve been at his bedside for the past three and a half hours, I assessed him, bathed him, turned him, and he is showing signs of progress. The next step is spontaneous breathing trials and extubation. The longer he stays on the vent, the more likely he is to get pneumonia, as we all should know, Doctor.” You explained coolly but made sure to add his (probably newly earned) title. 

“I agree with…” The attending looked at you and scanned your badge, “... Y/N… What do you think from a Respiratory Therapy standpoint, Brent?” He looked over at Brent, the RT.

Brent smirked and narrowed his eyes at the resident, “I also think moving towards extubation is a good thing. If he has two successful trials, he could be off the vent by the end of the day.”

The attending physician nodded, “Then it’s a plan. And I think this is a really good lesson for the residents and medical students with us on rounds, the nurses know more about the patient than we do. We should always consider their recommendations because they have the most valuable view on the patient, simply because they spend time with them.”

You tried to dim the glow that was on your face.

 “Thanks, Dr…” You scanned the attending’s badge the same way he did yours.

“Carter, Brendan Carter.” He extended his hand and you shook it, “Glad to have you here.”

That was the most welcome anyone had made you feel in the last week here. Who would’ve thought a wrinkly old attending doctor with dancing eyes would be the person to stand up for you and make you feel secure in your clinical decision making.

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Rooster wasn’t sure how much time had gone by since Nurse Y/N told him she was turning down his sedatives but it felt like he could open his eyes almost instantly. It was so… bright. Once his eyes adjusted, he scanned his surroundings, the lights weren’t even on but the sun shining through the large window felt blinding. He looked to his left and saw the machine that the tube in his throat was attached to, the machine that had kept him alive for God knows how long. He looked to his right and saw multiple IV poles that attached him to lines and lines of medicine and fluid. Further to his right, he saw a woman standing at a computer, typing away furiously, her face was serious yet beautiful, was that Nurse Y/N?

“Good morning, Lt. Bradshaw.” She said quietly, “You’re still attached to your breathing tube, so you can’t talk. Now that you’re awake we’re one step closer to getting you off that thing. Sound good?”

Rooster nodded slowly, wishing he could thank her for everything. For talking to him, bathing him, treating him like a human-being.

“Do you feel strong enough to write?” She asked, “Can I get you a whiteboard?”

He nodded again.

“I’ll be right back.” She swiftly left the room. 

Rooster couldn’t help but love watching her walk away. Along with a beautiful face, he could tell she had a great body hiding underneath those scrubs. It had been so long since he’d seen a pretty girl.

She returned quickly with a whiteboard and a marker, handing it to him, “What’s on your mind Lieutenant?”

Call me Bradley. He scribbled, 

“Nice to meet you Bradley.” She smiled down at him, “How are ya feelin’?”

Better now that I’m clean and awake. He wrote.

“There’s something healing about a bath and being taken out of your drug induced sleep, huh?” She giggled.

Rooster nodded and started writing again, Thank you for everything.

“No biggie. I’m glad to see you doing so well. Is it okay if I do a full assessment on you, just since you’re awake now?” She asked.

He nodded, this girl could do anything she wanted to him. She was basically his angel.

[loz-3]

Drowned Hearts

Pairing: Loki x female reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 5,686 Warnings: mild language, death, thalassophobia, astraphobia

Tags in the comments!

The roar of an exotic screaming through the pass caught your attention. You stopped working at the engine block hanging in the shop, turning towards the drone in the distance. There was an appointment in the book for today, but this car sounded familiar. You shook your head, there shouldn't be a chance in hell you’d know this car… was there?

As the sound rang between the hills, it hiccuped. You could hear the vehicle as it stumbled with the last sharp incline. You pushed off with your feet, wheeling the stout stool you sat on to your shop desk. Running a finger down the page, you settled on today’s appointment. “Ahh…” you sighed as you read the make: a Lotus Exige. Based on the noises it was making, you already suspected the issue.

The pale blue roadster rounded the corner, coming to a stop in the front lot. It sputtered briefly before the driver shut it off. You leant back, taking a quick glance at the car. ‘Fuck.’ You DID recognize the whine of this engine. 'Why did it have to be THIS car…'

The front door opened, and a short man stepped out. You breathed an internal sigh of relief. This man was a stranger. Thank the gods.

“Hey! I hope I’m in the right place! Are you this miraculous mechanic I’ve heard about?” The unknown man stepped forward, hand extended to shake yours.

You smiled at him, grabbing a rag to wipe off the oil and dirt before taking his in response. “That’s me! I've been working on these for a long time now.”

He shook your hand vigorously, nodding all the while. “I’m Bernard. I hope you can fix her!”

“Based on the sound you made at that last hill, I think I already know your problem!”

He clapped his hands together, a wide grin played across his face. “Perfect!” He tossed the keys to you, before reaching into a pocket for his cell phone. “Gotta let the boss know I made it!”

Your smile faltered slightly. He had a 'boss', so this wasn't HIS car. “Ah. Well, there’s no cell service up here but you’re welcome to use the shop phone. Just make sure to include the country and area code if you're calling long distance.” You thumbed toward the open door behind you.

He strode towards the shop desk, aiming for the old rotary phone sitting on the corner. As he passed, you dropped your expression further into a soft, nostalgic smile. “Hello sweetheart…” you mused to the car as you approached.

Bernard’s head turned slightly at your words, but you were too focused on the machine before you to notice. He plopped down into the creaky wooden chair, spinning his fingers through the numbers on the phone’s dial. It only took two rings before a voice picked up on the other end. ~”did you make it?”~

“Yeah boss, and no problems neither.”

~”good. i want her to be in the best hands.”~

“Of course! I know what this car means to you, boss. …Although, I’ve never heard anyone else but you refer to her as ‘sweetheart’.” Bernard chuckled at the jab towards his employer.

~”say that again…”~ The voice on the other end of the line was suddenly very serious.

Bernard sat a little straighter in the chair. “Oh, well, it’s just that she…err the mechanic.. called the Lotus ‘sweetheart’ and…”

The sound of shattering ceramic crashed from the receiver. ~”tell me exactly what happened.”~

The suddenly very-worried-looking man sputtered, coughed twice and leaned subtly backwards in his seat to peer out to where you stood, oblivious to anything but the car in front of you. “She told me I could use the phone in the shop to call you, no cell service, and then walked up to the car and said ‘hello sweetheart’, and is talking to it like it’s a person, and..” He was rambling now.

~”enough!”~ The voice commanded, sharp and full of unknown emotion, ~”i’m on my way.”~

The line disconnected. Bernard stared at the phone in his hand before placing it back on its cradle. He rose and walked back outside to where the car was parked. By now, you were elbow deep in the engine, carefully removing the wires for the spark plugs while avoiding touching any metal surface within. You looked up as Bernard approached. “All good?”

“Yeah…” He ran a hand across the back of his neck, “…but the boss said he’s on his way here. I hope I didn’t do anything wrong.”

You froze, hand on the last wire. ‘Double fuck.’ Inhaling sharply, you popped off the wire cap and straightened. “Nah.. some guys just don’t like women working on their cars.” You tried to sound reassuring as your heart threatened to beat itself out of your chest. “How long have I got?”

“Maybe 20 minutes? He drives like a madman.” He grinned briefly at your slight inflection towards his boss’s masculinity. “As long as I don’t get fired…”

You shrugged, “I’m sure you’ll be fine.” You spun, heading into the shop to grab the tools and replacement parts you’d need. While you didn’t get a ton of Lotus’ up the mountain, you always had a set of spark plugs on hand. Old habits die hard.

With supplies in tow, you got straight to work, losing yourself in the task at hand.

Time flew by, especially when you worked on something as lovely as the one in front of you. You never wore a watch, so you had to assume the 20 minutes had passed when the whine of a Mazda RX9 drifted into hearing range. You kept your head down, not wanting to face the coming encounter. “I bet it’s red…” you breathed to yourself.

The new car peeled into the lot, stopping hard near the gate. The door opened and someone got out. They didn’t speak, but Bernard took whatever hint the newcomer had given him and walked out of your line of sight towards them. You chanced a glance backwards, only catching the glint of candy apple red reflecting in the sunlight. ‘Called it,' you thought, 'always the exhibitionist.'

Bernard (at least you assumed it was him) got into the red car, turning around in the lot and pulled out of the compound. Now you and this “boss” were alone.

You shifted to your knees, still not turning around to face them, popping on the last plug wire. Footsteps approached carefully, stopping to your right. The silence stretched, so you spoke first as you stood, slowly turning to face him. “Tony..”

His hands were tucked deep in his pockets as he cautiously watched you, his attention never leaving your face. He reached up and pulled the sunglasses from his brow. You could read the anguish in his eyes.

“We thought you were dead…” He forced the words past his teeth, “…how..”

“That’s a long story.”

“I’ve got the time if you do.”

You shrugged, “I'm done with her anyways, and there's no-one else on the docket for today.” You turned toward the shop, motioning for him to follow, “Come in, I’ve got a sniff of rum tucked away somewhere.”

He perked up a bit at the promise of a drink, following close behind you. He took the chair while you rummaged in the little back room, finally emerging with a half empty bottle and a pair of mismatched glasses.

You popped the cork, pouring a generous amount into each. He took his and inhaled deeply from the glass. “You always did like the good stuff.” He took a sip, savouring the flavour. “I’m surprised it’s not from here…”

“Nicaraguan rum is too sweet for me, I prefer the complexity of Jamaican.” You took a swig from your own glass, avoiding the promised conversation to make small talk about the weather and such.

He was sitting forward in the chair, elbows resting on knees, stress evident in the stiffness of his position. You took pity, shifting the topic to the last time you had seen each other.

“How long has it been? Five?…no, closer to six years now..” You tried to keep it light, almost reminiscent. He nodded once so you continued, “and how long did it take, that night, to come back for me?”

His head snapped up at the change in your tone. You weren’t angry. That phase had passed a long time ago…but disappointment remained and was clearly reflected in your voice.

It took several minutes for him to collect himself. “We…the storm rolled in so suddenly… we tried..” He stopped, shaking his head before trying again. “Twelve hours…” He finally admitted, lowering his face to his free hand. "Twelve hours until we were able to get back to your coordinates."

You snorted darkly, “Twelve hours. The storm hit the skiff after only four.” You could feel heat building in your chest so you took a deep breath. No sense in getting worked up about the past. His head had drooped lower, the hand with the glass slackened towards the floor. “Tony… look at me, I’m fine.”

He dropped the hand from his forehead and glanced up, moisture glimmering along his lower lashes. You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I wasn’t fine, not at first and not for a long time, but I’m better now.”

“Why didn’t you contact us? Surely you had access to something! We searched for weeks..for months! After two years, we had no choice but to declare you dead: lost at sea.”

You shrugged again, “I took the opportunity for a fresh start." You didn't elaborate.

He had brought himself up to full height as he listened, "You were.. ARE.. part of the team, not just our mechanic! Hell, you and Lo.."

You cut him off with a glare that had him pull back, "Don't say his name. I can't handle the heartbreak again." Getting up, you swept outside, stopping to stand in front of the Lotus. The dying light reflected gold and green off the blue paint. It didn't help.

You could hear him get up behind you, walking slowly to join you. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, not your fault." You angled your face toward him, doing your best to smile. You passed him the keys that still sat in your pocket. "She should be in top shape now… be sure to tell your staff to use the right plugs next time."

He snickered, spinning the key fob around his finger, "What do I owe ya?"

You shook your head, "What's a few spark plugs between friends? It was good to see you, Tony."

He took the hint, stepping around you to the driver's door. "You could come back with me?" His grin was wolfish, hopeful.

"I can't. This is my life now."

Nodding, he opened the door and propped a leg up on the frame. "Call me, if you need anything. I assume you still remember the number?"

It was your turn to nod, "Oh, and Tony? Please don't tell the team."

He sighed, but understood. "I won't say a word."

"Thank you."

He shifted, sitting into the seat and starting the engine. The Lotus roared to life, sounding much happier than when she had arrived. The sunglasses were back on and, with a quick jerk of the wheel, Tony and the car were speeding back down the road and out of sight.

You watched until he disappeared into the dusk before you whirled to the desk and grabbed the nearly empty rum bottle, flinging it hard against the back wall. It exploded upon impact, scattering amber liquid and glass shards across the shop.

The moment he lost visual of you in his rear view, he addressed the AI. “Friday, did you catch all that?”

~“yes boss. i’ve already alerted the team for your arrival.”~

“Excellent! Now we mustn’t break our word to the lady, so you may have to do some of the talking.”

~”no problem, boss.”~

Tony pushed the Lotus hard down the mountain, impressed at how well the car was running. He wasn’t surprised, you had always had the right touch when it came to his collection. His shock was in finding you alive and somewhat thriving. He would like to think you were 'fine', but there was an inherent sadness about you now.

Nearly six years ago, while on vacation in Portugal, they had lost you. Presumably to the sea. The ‘skiff’ you had mentioned was really more of a luxury yacht, moored on the far side of Flores, part of the Azores. The engine had ceased, prompting a lift from a local fisherman back to Sao Miguel. You, for true reasons unknown, had opted to remain with the disabled vessel.

The team had arrived with little issues to the city, managing to find a boat repair place that was willing to get all the way out to the stranded yacht. The weather, however, had other plans. A rare subtropical hurricane had spawned and was barreling towards the archipelago, bringing 102km wind speeds and 8 foot swells. Travel back out to the yacht was not an option, so they waited it out, hoping the storm wouldn’t make landfall where you were.

By the time the worst had passed and Tony could convince the repair crew to set sail, it was too late. The boat had been pummelled by the sea, torn apart where it anchored. Scattered bit of debris littered the nearby shore, but you were gone. Either dashed upon the rocks or swept out into open ocean.

He hadn’t thought anything of it at the time, but the reaction you had to him mentioning Loki had his mind churning. Maybe that would be question for the God himself. Not that he had ever been easy to live with, but since that night, he avoided everyone like the plague.

No, he’d be no help. Loki barely spoke more than a single word or two to even his brother. No matter. Between Rogers, Thor and Nat, they’d figure out the next plan of action. No need to involve him…yet.

Tony peeled around the last turn into Managua. The ramp for the helicarrier was already down, awaiting his arrival. He accelerated up the ramp, skidding into the open area within, stopping mere inches from where three individuals stood. He exited the car, slamming the door behind him.

“Sounds like she’s running much better!” Steve mused, “Was it worth the trip down here?”

“Absolutely was.”

Nat spoke up, “What’s the 9-1-1? Friday was insistent we be here when you got back.” Her arms were crossed, clearly not impressed. Thor looked bored, snacking as usual.

“The good news: the Lotus is back in top shape, running better than she has in years.” Tony emphasized the last word, which caught their attention, “The other news…well, I made a promise so Friday will have to explain. Friday? Play back, please.”

The three glanced between each other, confused. Theatrics weren’t out of character for Tony, but him keeping quiet about something was.

~”right away, boss.”~

The AI began the playback. They could hear Bernard humming along to the radio as the Lotus engine made odd noises in the background. The engine cut off and the recording-Bernard was speaking. ~’hey! i hope i’m in the right place! are you this miraculous mechanic i’ve heard about?’~

The response was muted but not unheard. That voice was too distant for any type of recognition however, ~’that’s me! i’ve been working on these for a long while now.’~

Niceties continued until Bernard stepped away from the car as he moved for the phone. Soft footsteps approached before the unknown person spoke again, much closer and very clear. ~’hello sweetheart..’~

“No.” The word hissed from between Steve’s teeth like a curse. Thor’s mouth fell open, bits of unchewed pop tart fell to the floor.

“Yes!”

“Tony…” Natasha patted his arm gently, “…that’s not possible.” Her eyes were full of empathy.

He grinned at her, “but that’s where you’re wrong! Friday!" He reached back into the Lotus and snatched a tablet off the passenger seat, thrusting it towards her, "Play video!”

She stared as the slightly skewed video played, showing you walk into frame. Aside from the tan of your skin, you looked the same. Hair pulled up into a wild bun atop your head, dingy well-worn tank top, mechanic coveralls unbuttoned halfway with the arms tied around your waist. Tears welled in her eyes, “…oh Tony..”

Thor finally spoke, bellowing with joy, “This is a great thing! My brother will be so pleased!”

“No… No, no, no, we can’t tell Loki…” Tony and Steve were both shaking their heads, with Nat nodding in agreement.

“Can’t tell Loki what?”

Four faces whipped around to the far door into the loading area. There Loki stood, aloof as ever, leant back against the frame. When he realized no-one was going to answer him, he pushed off and stalked across the open area. “Tell. Loki. What?” His tone was dark, he disliked secrets especially when they were regarding him.

“Brother!” Thor went to greet him, arms wide as if to embrace the younger God. He stole a glance back, catching Nat’s subtle head shake, “You have emerged from your solitude!”

“Do not touch me, else…oof!” Loki’s threat was cut off as Thor threw his arms around him, lifting him off the ground and turning to mouth ‘help’ at the others.

Tony snickered as Loki struggled. "Put him down, Thor… unless you want to get stabbed or something." Thor unceremoniously let go and Loki landed with a stumble. He glared at his brother, who quickly retreated. "Now Loki…" Tony continued, "…maybe you should wait.."

"Friday, tell me what?" Loki pivoted with a roll of eyes, addressing the AI directly. The audio began again, from when the Lotus initially left the helicarrier. Nat held the tablet tight to her chest in a effort to not show what was playing on the screen. Loki descended on her, holding out a hand for the device. She hesitated a moment but ultimately passed it over. He held it aloft, confused by the emotion this footage apparently caused the others.

Tony spoke again, moving a little closer to Loki. "Friday, start at time stamp 16:27:04:00."

~"yes, boss."~

The audio cut out briefly as the AI fast forwarded to when Bernard exited the Lotus at the shop. Loki clutched at the tablet when you appeared on screen. Fingers tightened, causing cracks to form across the face of the device. He whirled and Tony was too close. Loki's hand closed around his throat as he lifted Tony off the ground, holding him tight and fighting to breath.

"Slutt fred med gudene dine…” Loki growled as he watched Tony slowly turn purple from lack of oxygen. In the background, the recording played on. Your voice whispering sweet nothings to the car gave him pause. He threw Tony back to the floor with a deadly glare. "How the Norns this possible?"

Tony cleared his now-bruised throat, coughing amid gasping for air. "She wouldn't tell me… flat out refused." He composed himself, keeping distance between him and Loki. "I wasn't going to push her into anything."

Loki turned his attention back to the now-cracked screen, brow creasing as he continued to watch. Nat, having grabbed an unbroken tablet, gently pulled the old one from his fingers and slid in the new one. He didn't look up.

The five watched (Loki on one tablet, the others crowded around the other) as you tinkered in the engine bay, popping off wires and chatting casually with Bernard. They heard the revving RX9 as it pulled in, saw you tense as Tony approached, and strained to hear when you both went inside to chat. Tony had taken a seat while you walked deeper into the darkened building. He reached into a pocket, pulling out a nano-camera and tossed it high to the ceiling. The video suddenly split, one side from the point of view of the Lotus and one viewing straight down, as the nano came online.

Guilt flooded the little viewing party as the conversation turned to Portugal and the storm. Pain shot through Loki as you spoke of heartbreak, knowing your situation happened from his lack of realization. He lost himself in his memory of that night.

The day had started perfectly. The weather was warm and sunny, the ocean calm. Your little group of six had taken the yacht out for a run to the farthest islands in the Azores archipelago. While you weren't technically part of the team, you and Loki had been a couple for the past year so you were often invited to join them on their civilian adventures. The running joke of this sailing trip was that a mechanic of your calibre couldn't even fix a simple boat motor. You laughed along with the rest of them as plans were made for a fishing trawler to shuttle people back to town. "Not fair! Just because I don't know marine engines…" Loki sat beside you as you hung upside down in the engine compartment at the stern of the watercraft. Tony stood above you, looking down, attempting to be serious to no avail. "Fiiiiine, we'll go for help." He rolled his eyes dramatically and returned to the wheel house to make the call. You pulled yourself upright, brushing your hair from your face. Loki grinned as he rubbed a black mark off your nose, "I do enjoy when you get dirty…" You scoffed in mock offence, shifting to straddle his long legs, pinning him where he sat. "Loki, I…" You hesitated, suddenly unsure of yourself. "What is it, my darling?" You leaned towards him, whispering into his ear, "I… I love you." He froze in place. He hadn't expected that revelation. You had clearly felt the shift in mood, quickly shuffling off his lap and getting to your feet. "I…uhh… just need to grab a thing before we leave here! Be right back!" Your voice was higher than normal, but you still appeared to be in a good mood. Loki nodded from the floor, rising himself as you disappeared into the belly of the yacht. He found it hard to comprehend what had just happened. 'She loves me', he thought, unable to keep the wide smile from his face. He aimlessly wandered the top deck, finding himself at the bow where his brother sat. "Trouble in paradise, brother? I hear the local fauna is strikingly lovely if you need a distraction.." Thor relaxed on the forward deck, feet up on the table, looking surprised that Loki was alone. Loki scowled, "I am not interested. No average mortal is worth my effort." He considered dumping his brother overboard for his assumptions. "Even your mechanic?" Loki growled as he stepped close to Thor, towering over him, "She is not average. She is exceptional." Thor grinned, it was obvious he had been goading on the younger God. "My thoughts are of the same thread. It may be time to formalize your match." He reached up and clapped a hand to Loki's shoulder. A shout came from the trawler, "Let's go! We're wasting time!" Tony was getting impatient. Thor leapt to his feet, pushing Loki in front of him towards the rescue boat. Loki, uncharacteristically cheerful, allowed himself to be lead. The pair swung over the yacht side and landed on the deck of the fishing vessel. "Is this everyone?" Loki asks, glancing around for you. Tony nodded as the boat pulled away, "Yup! She's staying behind to work on her tan… or something." He gestured back towards the stationary yacht. Loki looked past where Tony stood, catching your eye as you waved to the departing party. A nudge jabbed into his ribs, "We will see her soon, brother. Now, what are your plans for your futures?" Thor fidgeted like a child let loose in a toy store with an unlimited budget. Loki turned back to his brother, not particularly pleased to be leaving you behind but eager for an opportunity to advance his life with you. "If you keep your wits about you, I will allow you to assist. It is perhaps time for the next step for us."

"So what's the plan?" "Let's head up to logistics, we can formulate something there." "Maybe we could…"

The team, deep in discussion, strode to the door and disappeared up into the helicarrier. No-one noticed that Loki did not join them, nor that he had sunk to his knees as he continued to study the live feed. The glow from a dim lamp lit your profile as you tinkered at something metallic on the work bench, stray strands of hair softening the edges. His heart ached at the thought of you being alone for so many years.

Far in the distance, the sky lit up as lightning streaked to ocean surface. You dropped what you were working on, suddenly in action and moving quickly to bring in tools left outside. Your movements were jittery, jerking and clumsy. Loki recognized the look - fear. The location of the shop had you far out of range of the ocean, but storms must still be frightening for you.

He swiftly got back to his feet. Without a single glance at where the others had gone, he was in the drivers' seat of the Lotus. Tony's voice spoke through the speaker system, ~"hey! that's mine!"~

Loki twisted the volume knob to OFF and spun the car around, taking little care before tearing down the ramp and out of sight.

You saw that first bolt of lightning and immediately got to work. “Breathe…in and out.” You recited the mantra out loud, trying to calm your nerves. The shop was safe, of course. Fairly sound-deadened when the doors were sealed and high in the mountains so no flood risk. You just had to get everything inside. Another rumble sounded and you cursed under your breath, “I can’t handle this fucking storm, after today…”

The stars blinked out as the clouds rolled over, bringing the inclement weather closer. Just as you pulled the last piece into the shop, you caught sight of the Lotus coming up the bend. The first raindrops had begun to fall as it rolled into the yard.

Stepping to the second bay door, you thrust it open and beckoned the car in. Better it be safe indoors over being ravaged by the winds. The windows were tinted too darkly to see the driver, but you assumed it was Tony, back again to try and get you to rejoin his crew.

You waited, hands on hips. “If you’re going to stay a while, you might as well help me lock this place down.” A peel of thunder rang from the sky above, sending a shiver down your spine. You turned your back to the parked car, wielding the chains to close the two big doors. The car door opened, then closed but nothing else moved. No footsteps, no words, just heavy breathing.

Spinning to face your guest, your eyes locked with not Tony, but Loki. The last person you expected to see. You froze like a deer in headlights, mind racing. His hair was longer, skin perfect but pale. His eyes were as piercing as you remembered, still brilliant in colour.

"Hi." Your voice came out like a squeak. You weren't ready for this. You cleared your throat and tried again, "Loki, I… didn't expect.. I'm sorry."

His expression was torn between sorrow from the past several years and pure joy at seeing your face. He took a hesitant step forward, but only one. His mouth opened and closed as if he wanted to say something, but no words would come.

"Sit. I'm not letting that car out of here until the storm has gone." You indicated to the open seat as you took your own. "I'd offer you a drink, but…I'm all out." You weren't sure you could even pour from a bottle with how severe your hands shook.

A slight smile crossed his face as he sat. He threw a hand in the arm, casting a stream of seidr upwards. It pooled on the ceiling, settling around a tiny device and making it 'pop' with a flash of green. The bits fell to the floor with a tinkle of metal and plastic. "God damn it, Tony…" He'd probably been spying on you all afternoon.

"Your privacy should be respected." Loki finally spoke, his voice low and cautious.

You gave him half a smile. "Thanks, means a lot." He seemed to relax to your smile. If only you could do the same. You were currently finding it difficult to breathe properly. The pair of you were so close that your knees almost touched.

"Are you happy?" His question hung in the air between you.

You started to shake your head, but answered instead, "I suppose." He was nodding, accepting your answer. You slid a hand forward, as if to stop his unspoken thoughts, "…but if I'm to be honest, my new 'happy' is closer to misery."

"Tell me."

He sat still, listening intently to your tale, his hands clenched in fists on his knees. "When the storm started to founder the boat, I gathered as many life vests as I could, lashing them together like a raft. I ultimately tied myself to them as well…then at least my body would be found."

"I don't remember much else… aside from being picked up off the coast of Africa, sunburnt and clinging to life." Thunder shook the building and you pulled your arms tight around yourself. Loki twitched, as if he wanted to hold you as well, but he kept his distance. "They fixed me up best they could and I jumped ship in Rio, eventually making my way here."

The rain picked up outside, punctuated by occasional rumbles. Even though so much time had passed, it was hard to go back through the memories. They resurfaced every stormy season on their own, but with an active storm outside and Loki here with you, you weren't sure you could keep it together.

"And, well, this is me now." You said, fighting to focus on anything but the gale outside, "It's mostly the locals' cars I work on, but I don't charge for those. Expensive exotics are what pays the bills."

Loki was lost in thought. You had regularly helped the community, which had made your disappearance all the more difficult for both your neighbours and the team. "You would have made a great Valkyrie… always the hero of the people."

You snorted with derision, "I'd have to be Asgardian tho, wouldn't I? Don't think I meet the requirements…"

He smiled mournfully, "Maybe you do. When we buried your empty casket, Thor and I completed the ancient rites…"

Confusion flooded your face. You weren't Asgardian.. or descended from vikings… or even originating from that region of the Earth.

He continued, almost sheepishly, "I had hopes to meet you on the plains on Valhalla upon my own death."

"Why? I'm nothing… I'm not worth the effort."

"How can you say that?"

"I didn't. You did… in Portugal. With Thor just before you left." His eyebrows knitted together as you slipped into your own memory of that night.

"I am not interested. No average mortal is worth my effort." Your heart dropped as you emerged from the galley. Clearly you weren't meant to overhear this conversation, but it cut deep none the less. You crept backwards, retracing your steps until you ran into Tony on the aft deck. "I… I'm going to stay, I think. Gives me a chance to work on my tan without tan lines, if you get me…" You nudged him with your elbow, hoping you weren't overdoing it. Tony looked skeptical, but had no real issues with you remaining. "Hey! Maybe you can figure that motor out before we get back!" You stuck your tongue out at him. Maybe if you got a nice sunburn, you could hide the embarrassment of Loki's rejection. Luckily for you, the trawler was quick to arrive and seemed anxious to head out, so you didn't have to avoid Loki for long. You stood on the bow deck and waved as they pulled away from the stranded yacht. His eyes met yours only once before he turned to converse with Thor. Pain ballooned from your chest, but you kept your composure until the trawler was out of sight. When it did, your legs gave out and you crumpled to the deck. True, you two had only been officially together for a little over a year, but you had fallen fast. You should have known better… a God with such a long lifespan would have no reason to settle with a basic human. "How can I face him now?" You muttered to yourself, wiping tears as they free-flowed down your face. A fleeting thought crossed your mind, 'I wish I would just disappear…'

You were looking down at your hands in your lap as you came back to the present, "Many things have changed since then, but I have always loved…" You trailed off, allowing the quiet to settle in the room. The rain continued but the storm itself had passed by.

"I love you." Loki spoke, breaking the silence, "Those should have been the words I uttered that day."

You tightly shut your eyes in a failing attempt to not cry. Hesitant fingertips brushed the tears from your cheeks as a sob ripped free from your chest and you leant forward into his embrace.

A light on the dash of the Lotus blinked twice, before going dark. Tony disconnected from the remote-access program, snapping the laptop shut with satisfaction. He muttered to himself, "Looks like we're staying in town for a bit…"

Turning to the others scattered around the room, he grinned. "Think anyone does delivery around here?"

Notes: "Slutt fred med gudene dine" = Make peace with your gods

[howlett-variants]

"I've got you"

a/n: I love Charlie Kenton sm, he deserves more love. Also, I haven't written an X reader fic in like 10 years forgive me.

Prompt: Charlie gets his ass kicked, thankfully he has you to patch him up! Words: 2,975 Tags: gn!reader, post movie, hurt/comfort, Charlie is very dog coded to me and I don't know how to tag things anymore

You could have never guessed your day to go like this. Work had been boring as all hell. The only thing keeping you going was the thought of getting to hang out with those you cared about most over at Tallets Gym. Bailey was basically your closest friend at this point. She was kind and caring but could always match your energy- especially if that energy was being angry with Charlie. Speaking of Charlie, seeing him was always one of the best parts of your day. Even when he was being an idiot, or impulsive, or both- he always knew how to put a smile on your face. Which was much needed after a boring day at work. You even looked forward to seeing Max most days. The kid was the spitting image of his father when it came to personality, which definitely had its downsides. Max was probably the most independent eleven-year-old you’ve ever met- he was always determined to do stuff by himself. Even if he ended up asking you or Bailey for help in the end. Things were never boring with the Kentons. 

Today would be no exception.

Your phone rang mere moments before you were about to park in front of the rundown gym.

“Hel-” You started, but were quickly cut off by the sound of your good friend Bailey in a panic.

“Charlies hurt.” “What?” “Max just called, and he’s freaking out-” You could hear her voice quicken on the other end. 

“Slow down Bail, where are they?” “Some gas station twenty minutes outside of town, they were on their way back from a fight and-” She gave you a few more vague responses, clearly not sure of the situation herself, but that was okay. You could work with that. There weren’t that many gas stations on that side of town, plus it would be hard to miss Charlie’s massive green truck. 

–

Ten minutes, and a few potential road laws broken, later- you finally spotted the truck. You pulled up next to them, attempting to not fully slam on your brakes. Your panic had slowly grown over the last few moments, and panicked driving is not a good idea. 

Tossing the door open in a quick motion, you stepped out and ran over to see Charlie sitting on the tailgate of his truck. Max was next to him, holding a makeshift ice pack to his face. 

“How’s he doing?” You plant your feet in front of them, doing your best to keep your arms at your side to not fret over him. At the sound of your voice, Max looked over with a smile. Charlie attempted to look at you, but winces the moment he tried to open his eyes.

“I’m fine- just a black eye.” Charlie replied weakly, still unable to fully open his eyes. 

“He might need stitches this time.” Max’s smile fades, returning to a worried expression. 

“Let me see.” Max nods before jumping off of the tailgate, making room for you to take his place. You carefully move to sit next to him, close enough for your legs to touch. You reach a hand up to his face, slowly peeling away the ice pack. It took everything in you to not visibly tense at the rather nasty wound on his face. Whoever beat him up this time actually used a weapon, brass knuckles, if you’d have to guess. He had a large gash right next to his eyebrow, reaching almost to his ear, as well as a black eye and numerous other bruises all over his neck. You can only imagine the amount of bruises he was hiding on the skin you couldn’t see. “Yeah…that’s going to scar. Where’s your first aid kit?”

“Don’t have one…” He mumbled.

“Come again?” You can’t help but sigh, “With how much you get beat up-”

He avoids your glare and refuses to respond, which is Charlie for ‘You’re right, but I will not admit it’. With a slight roll of your eye, you reach into your back pocket with your free hand and take out your wallet to hand to Max. “They should have bandages, or at least some cotton balls I can use to stop the bleeding. Grab what you can- if nothing else, your dad can save it for later.”

The kid nodded as he took your wallet before running back into the gas station. It probably wasn’t your smartest idea to just hand your wallet to an eleven-year-old, but you knew Max would at least grab what you asked- even if he came back with a few extra snacks.

Seconds after he left your eye-line, you heard Charlie suck in a sharp breath. The sound caused your full attention to turn back to the man next to you. He was no longer sitting upright, but instead leaning on the side of the truck as if the metal wall was the only thing holding him upright. You were quick to notice the stiffness in his shoulders was far worse than a few seconds ago, and you didn’t have to ask why to know what was going on in his head. 

“Char, the kid just watched you get your ass kicked- again. You don’t have to act all tough. Hell your face is bleeding like some kind of horror movie victim. He knows that you’re not alright.” It broke your heart to see him like this. He was always putting on a front of the big strong unfeeling douchebag, but you knew better. You also knew better than to question it. Max was a strong kid, but he was still just a child. No kid should have to watch this dad getting beat up as much as Charlie did. You moved your hand from his face to his shoulder, using your thumb to rub soothing motions in a small attempt to comfort him. 

“How’d you get here so fast?” He questioned, completely avoiding your concerned comments.

“Max called Bailey. Bailey called me. Here I am.” You moved your free hand up to his face, attempting to inspect the wound a bit more. Fingers lightly holding his chin, making it easier for you to move his head if needed. He couldn’t help but lean into the small touches. “I think I still have some pizza in the car. It’ll be cold by now though.”

He let out a light chuckle, mouth struggling to turn into a smile without pain. “Maybe when my face is done bleedin’ out.”

You smile at him, grateful to hear that his sense of humor was still intact. The moment he winces again, your smile falls. “What the hell happened?”

“Just some assholes that I used to owe money to, what else-” He pouts, “I would have been able to our run em but-”

“Max…”

He didn’t have to even look at you for you to understand what he meant. From what Bailey had told you in the past, getting his ass kicked out of the ring was nothing new for Charlie. He was constantly coming back to the gym with cuts and bruises, and the occasional broken bone, but ever since he regained custody of his son, he’s tried to be a lot more careful. He had always been reckless and almost uncaring when it came to what happened to him, but now he had someone to protect. Thankfully, the Atom fights had helped pay off practically every debt he had ever owed, but there were still some people who had it out for him that couldn’t give less of a shit if his son was watching or not. 

The hand on his face slowly moved to the back of his neck, before you carefully pulled him closer to you. You positioned his head to rest comfortably on your shoulder. Your other arm snaked around his back, holding him in a secure hug. “It’s okay…I’ve got you.”

Your hushed tone was all he needed to melt completely into your hold. His face hid in the crook of your neck, like it was the only thing keeping him in one piece. His arms found their way around you, holding onto the fabric of your shirt like a lifeline. Charlie Kenton was many things. He was a boxer who had seen his fair share of violence, as well as a man who routinely went to shady places for robot fights, but he was also a father who had no idea what he was doing. To him, there was nothing more terrifying than the idea of his son watching him bleed out (and potentially die). Whoever had attacked him this time didn’t hold back. He honestly didn’t know if he was going to make it out in one piece. 

He was in pain and scared shitless, but you were there. You kept him grounded, like you always knew what to do or say to keep his anxieties at bay. You were his rock, and he was yours. The two of you had this unspoken thing that not even Bailey dared to bring up to either of you. You could feel your shoulder becoming damn, from both tears and the blood from his wound- but you didn’t care. The stains would come out, and even if you ended up having to throw the shirt away, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the man quietly sobbing in your arms. 

He would never admit it, but Charlie cried a lot. Never in front of you or anyone else, but you’d always catch him silently crying to himself in the middle of the night. You knew that Bailey and Max were aware, but all three of you knew better than to mention it to him. Anytime that you gathered the nerve to ask him if he was alright in the middle of his crying session, he’d just yell at you to go away. You knew he never meant to actually yell at you. Normally he’d even apologize the next morning with a vague ‘sorry about last night’ while avoiding any actual questions about whatever he had been upset about. But right now, he didn’t care. There was nothing he needed more than you. 

—

Time passed by in a small blur. The only sound you could hear was Charlie’s heavy breathing finally beginning to regulate itself to the sound of your light humming. His arms were still wrapped around you, but the grip on your shirt had loosened. You still had one arm around his back, the other had found its way to his hair- playing with the short brown strands. 

“I got some stuff!” Max’s sudden voice startled you both. You turned your head in his direction to see that his hands were filled with an assortment of bandaid boxes, a bag of cotton balls, and a few snacks that he bought with your money (which you fully expected would happen). Charlie’s body went stiff under your arm at the sound of his son’s voice, embarrassed to be caught in such a vulnerable state. “This is all they had.”

“Thanks kiddo,” you smiled at him. The arm around Charlie’s middle let go, so you could reach out for the ‘medical’ supplies. He silently mourned the loss of the touch the second you let go. You placed the items next to you before your gaze returned to Max. “Why don’t you sit up front and update Bailey, tell her we’ll be back in a little bit. I’ll get to work patching up your dad’s apparently very punchable face.”

It was a poor attempt at a joke, but Max still smiled. Charlie made a mental note to thank you later for the small attempt at saving what was left of his pride. Thankfully, Max obliged and left to go sit in the front seat, giving you two a bit of privacy.

Using both your hands, you carefully lifted his head off of your shoulder. He made a small noise of disappointment as you pulled him from his safe spot. You couldn’t help but chuckle to yourself. You held his face in between your palms as you examined his face one more time. His eyes were a little swollen from the crying, and he looked like he was about to fall asleep. The adrenaline must have finally worn off. 

“Okay, I’ll do what I can, but I’m taking you to actually get this checked out first thing in the morning.”

“Fine by me.” his words were beginning to slur together. Something told you that you’d be the one driving the truck back to town tonight. It would be safer to leave your old car than the massive truck holding one of the most popular boxing robots at the moment. 

Your humming continued as you cleaned up the drying blood from his cheek. There was only so much you could do with the limited items (and skill) you had, but you stayed focused. With the bleeding stopped and wiped away, the wound wasn’t as bad as you originally thought. It would still leave a nasty scar, but it was small enough that a trip to an actual medical professional could wait. As you worked, you could feel Charlie’s head become heavy in your hands.

“You falling asleep on me?” You teased lightly.

“mmmno.” It was more of a noise than an actual word. 

“Almost done, big guy. Then you’re welcome to crash on your little cot back there.” Between the warmth of your hands, the soft touches, and your quiet humming as you worked- Charlie was practically melting. Bailey and you liked to joke that he was like a dog sometimes, from the bursts of impulsive energy, to the unapologetic joy over the smallest things, and of course his mastery of the ‘puppy dog eyes’ that he often used on you and Bailey to get what he wanted. He would always scoff or roll his eyes whenever you would tease him or whenever you called him a dog. You couldn’t help it, especially at times like this- with his eyes comfortably closed and melting into your every touch. It was adorable, despite the fact that you were actively cleaning up a wound. 

“Can’t sleep yet-” His body betrayed his words by interrupting his sentence to let out a yawn. “Gotta drive back.”

“Not like this, you’re not. I’ll drive.” Driving the truck wasn’t your favorite, but you have done it before. As long as you didn’t get pulled over, you could drive it home without a problem. “C’mon, let’s get you into bed before you actually pass out on me.”

With a light pat to his cheek, he dutifully allowed you to help him stand. His head immediately seeking your shoulder to lean on again. He was taller than you, but still seemed perfectly comfortable once he found the crook of your neck again. You blamed the blood loss and the crying for how touchy he was being. It’s not that he wasn’t a touchy person. He had a lack of personal space with those he was close to, but this was different. For a second, you questioned if this was even beyond him seeking you out as a source of comfort. 

Ignoring the swirl of worry and emotions you had yet to even fully admit to yourself, in your stomach, you carefully led him over to the cot inside the truck. You gave him a small nudge to sit down. He listened with only a small sound of complaint. The disappointment was short-lived. You could almost see ears perk up the moment you returned to sit by his side. 

“Thanks…for doing all this.” Standing must have woken him a little. His voice was much clearer than it was a few seconds ago. 

“It’s not like I was going to let you bleed out.” You rolled your eyes with a small smile across your lips, as you finished putting the last bandaid on his face. It was a haphazard job, but it would do the trick- at least for a few hours. 

“I know. Glad to have you on my side is all.” Your eyes moved from the collection of bandages to his eyes, feeling a little shocked by the genuine emotion they held. Charlie didn’t have a lot of people to count on. You knew that better than anyone.

“I’m happy to patch you up anytime.” Your hands left the sides of his face where you had been diligently working, moving down to find his hands. He took the hint and intertwined your fingers, giving them a light squeeze. The two of you were bonded, neither wanting to question of risk actually talking about what that bond was. You were waiting for him to say something, and he was in between being far too chicken shit and waiting for you. So many days spent dancing around either other like this. You knew, even now, that neither of you would mention the softness and tenderness from tonight’s interaction. He’d go to sleep as you drove him, and he’d wake up not remembering much of the night in the first place. Still you sat with him, foreheads pressed together, basking in each other’s company. 

“I gotta take you home, Char.” You whispered, not wanting to leave this moment yet. His grip on your hand tightened, but he still allowed you to pull away.  

“Tomorrow, let me take you to dinner.” His voice wasn’t as quiet as yours, but it was even more unsure of itself. Speaking before thinking, as always, but looking deep into your eyes this time. “As…thanks.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the offer. The two of you went out for dinner alone all the time, but something about this felt different. You gave his hand one final squeeze and planted a small kiss on his cheek before standing up. “It’s a date.”

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Dead Man's Blood | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, daddy issues, mentions of parental death

Word Count: 5022

A/N: Cannot believe we're at the penultimate episode of my version of the first season Supernatural!! Crazy!! Thank you guys so much for the love and support; I truly appreciate it.

When season 2 starts, the taglist will be closed! If you'd like to join and haven't already, please let me know!

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You and the Winchester boys sat at a table in a diner searching for possible cases to take on. You sat at your laptop on the side of the table with Sam and Dean to your right and left. 

Dean looked through a newspaper and folded it up in frustration. “Well, not a decent lead in all of Nebraska. What’ve you got, Sammy?”

“I've been scanning Wyoming, Colorado, South Dakota... here. A woman in Iowa fell ten thousand feet from an airplane and survived,” Sam responded.

“Sounds more like ‘that's Incredible’ than, uh, 'Twilight Zone'.”

“Yeah, I agree,” you said.

“Hey you know we could just keep heading east. New York. Upstate. We could drop by and see Sarah again. Huh? Cool chick, man, smokin'.” Dean whistled lowly. “You two seemed pretty friendly. What do you say?”

“Yeah, I don’t know, maybe someday. But in the meantime we got a lot of work to do Dean, and you know that,” Sam stated.

“Yeah, alright. How ‘bout you, (Y/N)?”

“Uh, man in Colorado, local man named Daniel Elkins was found mauled in his home,” you said, continuing to scan the web page before you.

“Elkins? I know that name,” Dean said.

You shrugged as Sam said, “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Dean muttered the man’s name over and over.

“Sounds like the police don't know what to think. At first they said it was some sort of bear attack, now, they've found some signs of robbery,” you continued.

Dean took out his father’s journal and began to flick through it. “There, check it out.” He turned the book around to you and Sam and pointed at a contact reading “D. Elkins” with the man’s phone number next to it.

“You think it's the same Elkins?” Sam questioned.

“It's a Colorado area code.”

“Alright, Colorado it is. Let’s go, kids,” you said. 

***

You and the boys made your way to the remote cabin of Daniel Elkins and picked the lock to his home. You cringed at the sight of your messy surroundings once inside. Books were everywhere, mad scribblings on stray pages covered the floor, and the furniture seemed to not have been dusted in years.

“Looks like the maid didn't come today,” Dean remarked.

You crouched down at the entrance of the home and fingered something on the floor. “Hey, got some salt over here.”

“You mean protection against demon salt, or 'oops I spilled the popcorn' salt?” Dean asked.

You gave him a dirty look. “Clearly a ring. Elkins was a player?”

“Definitely,” Dean responded. 

You rose to go stand beside the brothers and look over the journal they were flicking through.

“That looks a hell of a lot like Dad's,” said Sam as he flipped through the pages.

“Yep, except this dates back to the '60s,” Dean added.

You led the brothers into another room and took in the shattered skylights. You moved your flashlight around the room and took in the fact that somehow, this room was messier than the other ones.

“Whatever attacked him, it looks like there was more than one,” Sam said, referencing the damage to the skylights. It seemed there were two separate entry points through them.

“Looks like he put up a hell of a fight, too,” the older brother added. He crouched down to the floor.

“You got something?” you asked, crouching beside him.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Some scratches on the floor.”

“Death throes maybe?” Sam suggested.

Dean grabbed a page from a notebook on top of the desk beside you and placed it over the spot on the ground. He rubbed a pencil over the top to create an outline. “Or maybe a message.” He peeled up the paper that now had a lot of blood on the back and showed you and Sam the rubbings of the characters. “Look familiar?”

“Three letters, six digits. The location and combination of a post office box. It's a mail drop,” you said.

Dean looked to his brother. “Just the way Dad does it.”

***

You and the boys found a letter in the mailbox labeled with the numbers and letters from the floor’s message. You leaned over the back seat of the car and read off the letters on the envelope.

“ ‘J.W.’ Gotta be John Winchester, right?” you said.

“I don't know. Should we open it?” Dean turned his head to you.

A knock on Dean’s window came before any of you could say another word. You reared back and grabbed your gun from your belt, pointing it at the sound.

“Dad?” Dean breathed out.

You breathed out sharply as John opened the door and slid into the seat next to you. “I almost shot you, dude.”

He chuckled at you.

“Dad, what are you doing here? Are you alright?” Sam asked, turning to face him.

John’s gravelly voice seemed even more tired and worn than the last time you’d seen him. “Yeah, I'm okay. I read the news about Daniel; I got here as fast as I could. I saw you three at his place.”

“Why didn't you come in, Dad?”

“You know why. Because I had to make sure you weren't followed. By anyone or anything. Nice job of covering your tracks, by the way.”

Dean looked a little proud. “Yeah, well, we learned from the best.”

“Wait, you came all the way out here for this Elkins guy?” Sam questioned.

John nodded. “He was— He was a good man. Taught me a hell of a lot about hunting.”

“Well, you never mentioned him to us.”

“We had a— we had kind of a falling out. I hadn't seen him in years.” He gestured to the envelope. “I should look at that.” He opened it. “ 'If you're reading this, I'm already dead'... that son of a bitch.”

“What is it?” his eldest son asked.

“He had it the whole time.”

Sam looked at him confused. “Dad, what?”

“When you searched the place, did you— did you see a gun? An antique, a Colt revolver, did you see it?”

You shook your head. “I saw an old case, but it was empty.”

John sighed. “They have it.”

“You mean, whatever killed Elkins?” Dean asked.

John started to get out of the car. “We gotta pick up the trail.”

“Wait, you want us to come with you?” Sam scoffed.

“If Elkins was telling the truth, we gotta find this gun,” John rushed out.

“The gun? Why?”

“Because it's important, that's why.”

‘He’s even more of a hardass than Dean.’

“Dad, we don't even know what these things are yet,” the younger son protested.

“They were what Daniel Elkins killed best: Vampires.”

Your heart nearly dropped at the mention of those creatures.

“I thought they were extinct. I thought Elkins and others had wiped them out. I was wrong,” John said. 

“Damn right,” you jumped in, not realizing the sudden venom lacing your words.

The three men stared back at you, and you shrank awkwardly.

John continued to explain. “Most vampire lore is crap. A cross won't repel them, sunlight won't kill them, and neither will a stake to the heart. But the bloodlust, that part's true. They need fresh human blood to survive. They were once people, so you won't know it's a vampire until it's too late.”

Anxiety clawed at your throat. You hadn’t faced any vampires since the death of your family.

***

You and the Winchesters found a decently priced motel to stay in to get your bearings before you went after the vampires. You watched Sam and Dean sleeping peacefully on their beds, but you were unable to get a wink. You and John sat on opposite sides of the table in the room listening to the police scanner.

You admired Dean’s relaxed features. You rarely saw him this at-ease. You wished you could be sleeping beside him, but your own mind was keeping you awake. The eldest Winchester looked over at you and whispered over the hum of the police scanner. “How’ve they been?” he asked.

You sighed. “They’re alright, I think. Been driving themselves crazy looking for you, though.”

He chuckled softly. “I figured they were.” He paused for a minute. 

“They need you more than they need me,” you said. “You should stay with ‘em. I’ll be hitting the road in a little while, I think.”

“Don’t,” he said. “They’ll need you when this is all over.”

“What? You’re not gonna stay?” You turned your head to John.

“I don’t think so,” he shook his head. 

You were disgusted at him. “Look, no disrespect, but that’s crap.”

He seemed caught off-guard. “And why’s that?” he challenged.

“Sam’s a mess. You walked out on Dean. Your boys deserve their father," you whispered harshly.

“Don’t act like you know me,” he hissed. “Dean’s a grown man. He’ll get over it. Sam, too. I’m not abandoning them; it’s just not safe.”

“Just call a spade a spade, John. Abandonment ‘for their safety’ is still abandonment,” you argued. 

“You don’t think I wanna be with my kids—?"

“No, I don’t actually,” you cut him off.

Before he could continue to argue with you, something on the police scanner caught your attention.

“Unit 22 let me confirm. Mile marker 41, abandoned car. You need a workup?” the static voice said.

“Copy that. Possible 207. Better get forensics out here,” another voice said.

“Sam, Dean, let's go,” John slapped their feet as he stood, his voice still gravelly from his anger with you.

“Mm-hmm,” Dean muttered, though still asleep.

Sam sat up and Dean rubbed his eyes.

“There’s a call on the scanner,” you said.

“(Y/N), did you get any sleep?” the older brother slurred sleepily.

“That’s not important right now,” you told him. “C’mon.”

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“A couple called 911,; found a body in the street. Cops got there and everyone was missing. It's the vampires,” John explained.

“How do you know?”

“Just follow me, okay?” John said, leaving the room. 

You turned to Sam who was putting his jacket on. “It’s how they hunt. They lay in the middle of the road and wait for somebody to pull over. By the time they get up close and personal, it’s too late. Then they leave.”

Dean sat up, still half-asleep. “You gonna be okay?” he asked you.

“I’m fine,” you responded. You could tell he didn’t believe you, but you left him behind without waiting for an argument.

***

John was talking to the cops while you and the brothers stood back by the Impala under the cover of the trees. He refused to look at you after your argument, and you refused to speak to him. You wouldn’t engage with a man who walked out on his children and put Dean through so much.

“I don't see why we couldn't have gone over with him,” the brunet sighed sulkily.

“Oh, don't tell me it's already starting.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“What's starting?” Sam asked.

John walked up before either of you could answer.

“What have you got?” Dean asked his dad.

“It was them, alright. Looks like they're heading west. We'll have to double back to get around that detour,” John explained.

“How can you be so sure?” Sam challenged.

“Sam—” Dean tried.

“I just wanna know we're going in the right direction,” Sam told him sharply.

“We are,” John responded.

You stood back next to Dean, trying not to get involved in the fight.

“How do you know?”

John handed something to his oldest son. “I found this.”

“It's a vampire fang.”

“Not a fang, teeth. They’ve got a second set that comes out when they attack,” you explained, looking over Dean’s shoulder at the tooth.

“Any more questions?” John challenged Sam.

Sam looked away and stayed silent. 

“Alright, let's get out of here, we're losing daylight,” John said. Everything he said was said with authority. “Hey, Dean, why don't you touch up your car before you get rust? I wouldn't have given you the damn thing if I thought you were going to ruin it,” he gruffly spat at his son before heading to his truck.

You angrily stared after the man before looking over at Dean, who grimaced and got into the passenger’s seat.

Sam drove, keeping a close follow on John’s truck. You rested your chin on Dean’s shoulder, looking over the excerpt he was reading about vampires in your journal. He read aloud to you and Sam. “ ‘Vampires nest in groups of eight to ten. Smaller packs are sent to hunt for food. Victims are taken to the nest where the pack keeps them alive, bleeding them for days or weeks.’ I wonder if that's what happened to that 911 couple.”

Sam grumbled, “That's probably what Dad's thinking. Course, it would be nice if he just told us what he thinks.”

“So it is starting,” Dean sighed.

“What?”

“Sam, we've been looking for Dad all year. Now we're not with him for more than a couple of hours and there's static already?” 

Sam huffed. “No. Look, I'm happy he's okay, alright? And I'm happy that we're all working together again.” 

“Well, good,” Dean said. 

The younger brother was unable to help himself. “It's just the way he treats us, like we're children.”

“Oh, God.” You sat back in the seat, doing your best to ignore the fight between the brothers.

“He barks orders at us Dean, he expects us to follow 'em without question. He keeps us on some crap need-to-know deal,” Sam argued.

“He does what he does for a reason.”

“What reason?”

“Our job! There's no time to argue, there's no margin for error, alright? That's just the way the old man runs things.”

“Yeah, well, maybe that worked when we were kids but not anymore, all right. Not after everything you and I have been through, Dean. I mean, are you telling me you're cool with just falling into line and letting him run the whole show?” Sam looked over at his brother angrily.

Dean gave Sam a long look before strongly responding, “If that's what it takes.”

Sam shook his head and returned his eyes to the road.

A few minutes later, Dean was on the phone with his dad. “Yeah, Dad. Alright, got it.” He hung up. “Pull off at the next exit.”

Sam’s frustrated tone was back. “Why?”

“ ‘Cause Dad thinks we've got the vampire's trail,” Dean said matter-of-factly.

“How,” Sam somehow sounded angrier.

“I don't know. He didn't say,” Dean responded.

Sam gunned the engine, and pulled in front of his dad’s truck before slamming the breaks.

“What are you doing, Sam?” you asked.

Sam got out of the car without answering you.

“Oh, crap. Here we go.” Dean followed his brother out of the car. “Sam!”

You just watched from the back seat, deciding not to get between the family’s brawl.

You watched in the driver’s side rear view mirror as John and Sam got in each other’s faces. Dean was trying to pull the two apart, and you could make out some of what they were screaming at each other about.

Sam approached the car again before spinning back around at his father. You often got in fights like that with your own father but more about his treatment of you and your brother. You knew better than to argue his orders.

“You were just pissed off that you couldn't control me anymore!” Sam yelled loudly enough for you to hear.

Dean then shoved the two apart, forcing Sam back to the car. Sam got back in the driver’s seat, still enraged.

“Sam, do you want me to—”

“No,” he snapped at you.

“Oh-kay, then.”

***

You and the brothers sat in the trees watching the beat-up barn the vampires called home. Dean stood beside you and cursed, “Son of a bitch. So they're really not afraid of the sun?” as he watched the vampires climb into a car, shielding their faces with their hands.

“Nope,” you said. “Direct sunlight just stings like a badass sunburn.”

“The only way to kill 'em is by beheading. And yeah, they sleep during the day— doesn't mean they won't wake up,” John added.

“So I guess walking right in's not our best option,” Dean said.

“Actually, that's the plan,” John grinned.

You and the brothers flipped open the trunk of the Impala and began grabbing machetes. John did the same with his truck, but his was outfitted with a fancy, automatic, hidden compartment.

“Here, (Y/N).” Dean handed you a rusty machete.

You caught sight of the giant blade their dad was holding. “Whoa, why don’t you have any like that?”

Dean snorted and turned his head. “Wow.”

John paused, closing his trunk. “So, you boys really wanna know about this Colt?”

“Yes, sir,” said Sam.

“It's just a story, a legend really. Well, I thought it was. Never really believed it until I read Daniel's letter,” John began. “Back in 1835, when Halley's comet was overhead, the same night those men died at the Alamo, they say Samuel Colt made a gun. A special gun. He made it for a hunter, a man like us only on horseback. Story goes he made thirteen bullets, and this hunter used the gun a half dozen times before he disappeared, the gun along with him. And somehow, Daniel got his hands on it. They say... They say this gun can kill anything.”

“Kill anything, like, supernatural anything?” Dean breathed.

“Like the demon,” Sam connected.

“Yeah, the demon. Ever since I picked up its trail I've been looking for a way to destroy that thing. Find the gun, and we may have it.”

“Wait, and you couldn’t tell your kids that why?” you snarled.

“(Y/N)—” Dean scolded, but you couldn’t help yourself.

John just looked at his eldest son. “What exactly made you keep her around for so long?”

“Both of you, stop it,” Dean said. "Let’s get these fuckers while we have the chance.”

You backed off, tension dissolving a little at Dean’s words. You looked between the boys and their father. Their faces conveyed complex emotions you couldn’t quite read.

Silently, you and Dean flanked one end of the barn while Sam took the other with his father.

You and Dean jumped through a barn window and walked around their hammocks carefully. Dean accidentally kicked an empty bottle on the ground, and you froze. You made a worried face and looked over to Dean, who froze as well.

The vampire next to Dean stirred, but didn’t wake up. You and Dean continued on until you found a woman tied up against a pole. You weren’t sure if she was sleeping or unconscious. 

“Dean,” you whispered, crouching beside the woman. He came over to you as you began to untie her. You heard a noise behind you, and Dean went over to investigate.

“There’s more,” he said, grabbing something to break the locks on the metal cages a distance away from you.

The woman you were untying began to stir, and you did your best to assure her you were here to help.

The woman awoke and let out an unearthly roar. 

“Dean!” you called, shooting up.

“Kids, run!” John called to you after hearing your voice. You and Dean sprinted out of the building, yelling for Sam as you did so. The vampires chased you, but you used the daylight to your advantage. You broke back through the trees and returned to the cars.

“Dad?! Sam!” Dean called. The two then came back up the slope. 

“They won't follow. They'll wait till tonight. Once a vampire has your scent, it's for life,” John said.

“Well, what the hell do we do now?” Dean questioned.

“You gotta find the nearest funeral home, that's what.”

You knew where John was going with this. You smiled at the boys who seemed confused. “C’mon, Dean,” you said, patting his shoulder. You turned to the Impala, and Sam and his father got in the latter’s truck.

Dean cruised down the road to the funeral home you had found and were planning to break into. 

“What the hell was that earlier?” Dean asked frustratedly as soon as the car doors were shut.

“What?”

“With my dad, (Y/N), why would you say something like that?!”

"Look, we got in a fight while you and Sam were sleeping. I just don’t like how he treats you guys,” you admitted.

“Well, thanks, but don’t. Sam’s enough for me right now as it is,” he responded.

A few moments passed, and you looked down at your hands. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

Dean sighed. “It’s okay.” He snorted after a moment. “Not many people would stand up to my dad like that.”

You smiled, eyes still on your hands folded in your lap. “He reminds me a lot of my dad. John and Sam fight exactly how my dad and I did. Steven always had to break us apart.”

“I just don’t understand why Sam can’t leave the old man alone,” Dean told you. “I mean, we spent so fucking long looking for ‘im, and as soon as we find him, he’s pickin’ fights.”

You nodded in understanding. “I get why he’s upset, but I agree that it’s the wrong place and wrong time right now. I mean, despite the fact that I picked a fight with him. Again, mistake on my part.” 

“Agreed.”

You let a moment of silence pass before you spoke again. “Dee?”

“Hm.”

“Now that we’ve found your dad, do you still want me here?”

He turned his head toward you. “Of course, I do. You’re not gettin’ rid of us that easy.”

You grinned. “Good. After a year of all this, you guys have become my new normal. I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to being alone again.”

Dean smirked and turned back to the road, pulling into the parking lot of the funeral home. 

After a few lies and a bit of breaking and entering, you and Dean were headed back to the motel with dead man’s blood in hand.

“What does that stuff do exactly?” Dean asked you as he drove.

“It’s kinda like vampire food poisoning. Pretty useful stuff,” you explained.

“How’ve you been with this whole thing?” he asked.

“What, the vampires?”

Dean nodded.

“Winchester, are you goin’ soft on me? Since when do you care to get into the touchy-feely?” you joked.

He rolled his eyes in response. “Answer the damn question, (Y/N).”

You sighed, dropping your plucky attitude. “I’m okay, I think. I just— I haven’t hunted any vamps since my parents died. Any time I sniffed any out, I ran the other way. It’s kind of ironic that the one thing I fucking hate hunting has the one thing we need to kill this demon.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, well, y’know… Just…” 

“There’s my boy. Having trouble with moments of sincerity once more,” you gibed but became serious once more as he rolled his eyes. “I know. If I need anything, I’ll let you know.”

***

You were surprised to find John and Sam laughing when you reentered their motel room.

“Whew. Man, some heavy security to protect a bunch of dead guys,” Dean said.

“Get it?” John asked.

You reached into Dean’s jacket pocket and pulled out a paper bag with a bottle full of blood inside it. You handed it over to the eldest Winchester.

“You know what to do,” he said.

***

You hated watching that creature feel Dean up and kiss him, but you knew you needed to let it happen for the sake of getting the Colt from the vampires. You’d already nearly beheaded her when she backhanded him.

Another vampire appeared behind the woman holding Dean in the air by his face, and that was when you made your move. You used a crossbow to shoot both of the vampires straight between their ribs, and the girl holding Dean dropped him.

“Dammit,” she cursed as you approached the group from the trees. “It barely even stings.”

“Give it time, babe,” you told her. “That arrow’s soaked in dead man’s blood. Should be giving you a nasty tummy ache any second.” You pouted at her mockingly as she began to waver and lose consciousness.

“Load her up,” John ordered you and his sons. “I'll take care of this one.” Moments later, you heard a slashing noise and blood splattering coming from behind you as you finished loading the girl into Dean’s trunk.

***

You met John in a clearing in the woods where you and Sam were setting up a campfire. Dean tied the unconscious vampiress to a tree, and you circled her, fuming.

“Easy, tiger,” Dean told you. “Don’t kill her just yet.”

“I’m tryin’ not to,” you responded, gripping the handle of your machete tightly.

He chuckled at you and turned to his dad.

“Toss this on the fire. Saffron, skunk's cabbage, and trillium. It'll block our scent and hers until we're ready,” John commanded.

“Stuff stinks!” Dean coughed.

“That's the idea. Dust your clothes with the ashes, and you stand a chance of not being detected,” his father replied.

“You sure they'll come after her?” Sam asked his dad.

“Vampires mate for life,” you broke in. “She means more to the leader than the gun.”

“But the blood sickness is going to wear off soon, so you don't have a lot of time,” John added.

“A half hour oughta do it,” shrugged Sam.

“And then I want you out of the area as fast as you can,” John stated.

The boys began to protest.

“Well, Dad, you can't take care of them all yourself,” Dean said.

“I'll have her,” John replied, referencing the passed-out vampire. “And the Colt.”

“But after. We're gonna meet up, right? Use the gun together. Right?” Sam looked at his father expectantly. There was a long pause before Sam spoke again. “You're leaving again, aren't you. You still wanna go after the demon alone." Hes scoffed mockingly. "You know, I don't get you. You can't treat us like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like children.”

“You are my children. I'm trying to keep you safe.”

Dean spoke up much to your surprise. “Dad, all due respect, but, uh, that's a bunch of crap.”

“Excuse me?” the older man scoffed.

“You know what Sammy and I have been hunting. Hell, you sent us on a few hunting trips yourself. You can't be that worried about keeping us safe,” Dean argued.

“It's not the same thing, Dean.”

“Then what is it? Why do you want us out of the big fight?”

“This demon? It's a bad son of a bitch. I can't make the same moves if I'm worried about keeping you alive,” John responded.

“You mean you can't be as reckless.”

“Look, I don't expect to make it out of this fight in one piece. Your mother's death… it almost killed me. I can't watch my children die too. I won't,” John admitted.

“What happens if you die? Dad, what happens if you die, and we could’ve done something about it?" He let his words hang in the air for a moment. "You know, I've been thinking. I think maybe Sammy's right about this one. We should do this together,” Dean stated.

Sam nodded as his brother continued. “We're stronger as a family, Dad. We just are. You know it.”

John’s walls went back up. “We're running out of time. You do your job, and you get out of the area. That's an order.”

Dean looked down at the ground, and you watched him carefully as he tried to suppress his rising emotions. 

***

After you and the boys freed the people that had been locked up in the vampires’ barn, you went to find John and the members of the nest. You found them just in time because John had been knocked on his ass by the vampire you’d kidnapped.

You and the brothers hurried out of the trees and began shooting vampires with a crossbow. You moved toward the leader with your machete, but he backhanded you and held you in a headlock with his arm around your throat. 

You struggled against him as he addressed Dean, who was holding a machete of his own. “Don't! I'll break her neck. Put the blade down.”

Dean hesitated.

Luther tightened his hold on your neck, causing you to struggle more. “It’d be a real shame for her to die.” He dug his nose in your hair and sniffed deeply. “She’s pretty. I’d love having her around. Drop it!”

Dean did as told, and his jaw clenched in fury. 

“You people. Why can't you leave us alone? We have as much right to live as you do,” the leader said.

“I don’t think so,” came John’s voice from behind you. The vampire spun you and himself around to face John, who shot the vampire in the middle of his forehead. He dropped you to the floor, and Dean rushed to your side.

You turned and watched a sigil appear on the man’s forehead where he’d been shot as his girlfriend screamed in agony. “Luther!”

The vampire slumped to the ground, dead. The vampiress started toward John, but was pulled away by her friend to get to their car. They took off, wheels screaming and leaving you in the dust.

***

You sat in the brothers’ motel room, having finished packing long before they had as usual. John entered the room and addressed his sons. “So, boys.”

They stopped packing and turned to face him. “Yes, sir.”

“You ignored a direct order back there,” he said crossly.

“Yes, sir.” Sam hung his head low.

Dean argued, “Yeah, but we saved your ass.”

John held his son’s challenging stare, and you swallowed nervously.

“You're right,” John admitted much to your surprise.

“I am?”

If it weren’t for the situation, you would’ve laughed at Dean’s adorably clueless face.

“It scares the hell out of me. You two are all I've got. But I guess we are stronger as a family. So… we go after this damn thing. Together.”

You smiled as the two boys said in unison, “Yes, sir.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @rei0812 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @more-espresso-less-depresso-og @mysticmyth @favoritefandoms27 @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @skys-writings @immagods @metalblindbitch @missmieux @yoongi-holland

hi there lovebugs!! quite a few tags were broken :( if i've misspelled your tag, please let me know! make sure you have my blog notifs on so you don't miss an update!!

[isatartdump]

Hi meet (some of) my ocs!!!

you can still look for ISAT pilled posts here btw, there just may be ocs from time to time... I've consistently tagged everything and I plan on doing this still!

Will start oc pilling my silly blog with a messy dump of oc sketches I love. Inconsistent as all hell because most of the drawings are from last year

^ Haden (He's a fallen angel, to sumarize. Although this information IS heavily prone to change DASHUDHASU. He's from Spes (Comic name- No there isn't any comic work done outside of a few points I've drawn already))

^ Shopkeeper (Yes, his name is also his profession... He's a character for a game I am working on. Don't- Don't ask about it I also know jackshit about code and it has been put into the oven again since I want to try to learn coding games and doing the assets with a smaller project)

^ Ignis (He's a fallen angel, just like Haden! I'm strying trying to figure out her past design... But! This one isn't going to change I'm sure. Well. 80% sure, at least. They're also from Spes!)

^ Maru (Shes an alien Idol! Sadly I didn't do much on her story yet but she's half alien half human, since I (sadly......²) only have her concept on hand. I haven't decided which world she belongs to yet but I'm thinking on putting her alongside my other gay aliens for the funnies. Would be nice if she was a bit of the reason why Vector wanted to become a pilot. No I won't give context now)

ANd last but not least- minecraft ocs!!!

From left to right- Cain, the creeper is a vocalist/guitarrist without a band. Pete, the slime is a hunter (yes he hunts while serving cunt). Sulfur, the Warden is a farmer.

That's it- that's the post. Ty. I will share more blorbos later. Probably. I've been sick today and just wanted to get stuff for my ocs here :')

[yarrowleef]

i've been listening to the elders quest audiobook today, and man i just can't get over how completely absurd it is that deposing a leader requires the other clan leaders to allow you to do it. how is this any of their business. who the hell are your neighbors who have no place in your daily politics to tell you who you're allowed to have as leader. the internal logic is NOT in the room with us 😭

i know they made a big fuss about how important those (incredibly lame) code changes were but i hope they get rid of this part.

i can accept asking starclans permission being part of the process, because however much i disrespect starclan, it makes perfect sense for this society to have that caveat. but considering how much wc characters pitch a fit at the notion of other clans' cats 'telling them how to run their clan' in every other context, this is causing me psychic damage.

imagine a scenario where you get to stay leader knowing you are only there on your rival neighbors authority overruling the cats you are actually leading. absolute clown car rule idea.

[courtofcrescent]

Greetings dearest gentlefolk!

I know I know, I said I'd be back in October—and today is indeed still October 31st (or 30th, depending on where you are). But I'm afraid I don't bring the good news I had hoped for.

It seems I overestimated myself lol. Turns out I haven't finished finalizing my thesis as I predicted, so alas I can't be active here yet. That said, I must prolong my temporary hiatus until... I finish. But graduation is near, so worry not I won't be gone for that long!

And now, regarding the demo; even tho I've been busy with uni, I want to assure you that the demo has not been forgotten. It's turned out even better than I anticipated! The coding still a hell of mess tho, but I’m determined to conquer this beast. It's also made me realize some exciting possibilities that may or may not be added to the demo. I guess I'll see how it turns out first. I'm really excited about what's to come and I can't wait to officially welcome y'all to Luxendis! 😉

Thank you so much for all your support and patience! I apologize for the delay and any unanswered asks. I'll get back to them as soon as everything is finally done!

Alsoo Happy Halloween! I hope y'all have a fantastic month ahead!

With warm regards,

Di 🩶