#like all his pi work figuring who john was and shit

[echo-three-one]

Whatever It Takes

Sequel to A Forgotten Memory

Soap and France joins Alexandra Ryder, an INTERPOL Agent tasked to eliminate all pieces of EMP-based weaponry as they investigate one of Berlin's cell towers for a possible source of a planned wide scale EMP blast. Will the team capture Augustus?

Chapter 11 to another story made by Ray (echo-three-one) Comments and Reviews appreciated! I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

Previous Chapter : The Heart Knows what the Mind doesn't

“The Berlin Tower”

John ‘Soap’ MacTavish

Task Force 141 with INTERPOL

Berlin, Germany

Soap was kinda bummed that this isn’t a Nero case and that Ghost and Roach got to tag along with Captain Price on a possible lead. But he had to do what was instructed of him, it was a low chance for Augustus to be in this tower but he and France are on a joint operation with INTERPOL to disable the planted attachment on this tower. It’s for a great cause.

He nodded to Agent Ryder as she signaled them both to advance, he smirked slightly at France’s sight as she looked horrible at that camo paint. He noted to himself to tell her that as soon as this mission is over.

“Remember Sargeant, remind us about signs of Augustus and we’ll get there ASAP.” Soap remembered Shepherd’s words that will be his objective for this mission. He followed France and guarded her Six, secretly admiring her figure while he did it. He may show hostility toward the female soldier, but he kinda admires her determination, her attitude towards work and her face in general. He may be against relationships while on the job but he considered asking her out after all of this was over, with less EMP blasts would be better.

“Soap! Advance now! Can you hear me?” France hinted at him over comms as he quickly responded and moved to the next position. The huge iron tower loomed before the squad as they scaled the treacherous cliffside.

“Ryder, what’s the situation over there?” the pilot asked.

“Looks like illegal settlers found themselves a home at the base of the tower. We’ll be watching you from down here.” she replied, France caught a glance of Soap and they nodded to each other reminding themselves to be wary of Augustus.

Soap eyed his scope toward the settlement camp as the helo ascended up the tower, he noticed that they were detaching the houses of their roofs, revealing a missile-like structure.

“SAM!” Soap yelled over comms but he was too late. Rockets ejected from the machine and headed straight for the helo. The pilot fired a flare, deflecting the first wave of missiles but another one quickly followed, sending them to spin out of control.

The settlers followed the helicopter as it crashed down the cliff, making sure that no one escaped to tell the tale of the tower’s secret. This was their time to move, the unexpected diversion they created actually turned the battle into their favor.

"All teams advised to proceed with caution." Alexandra informed as the small group proceeded to rustle the leaves and advanced to the base of the tower.

"Doesn't this thing have elevators? Who in the world would think stairs would be appropriate here?" an agent complained upon seeing the spiraling steps of the tower.

"Let's split." Alexandra instructed.

"We circle back to the other side and plant c4 charges on the SAM sites on the far end of the settlement. Everyone nodded and the team's demolitions expert provided them c4 charges.

Soap carefully kept his while France continued to support Agent Ryder. This also splits the two 141 members in case Augustus is on the other half of the settlement. He nodded France a 'see you soon' gesture as the rest of the team parted ways and proceeded to objective.

Soap carefully crept across the small entrance of the village, eyeing his sights on the critical corners of the area. He knew most of the people inside investigated the chopper crash and that leaves their base wide open for a surprise attack. He continued hugging the thin walls of the settlement, signaling the rest of the small squad to cover each other.

The other team split up as they entered the base, taking care of the other side of their half.

It was too quiet. No weapons were being fired, could it be that the base is really empty?

"What's everyone's sitrep? Over." Alexandra whispered softly over comms.

"It's too quiet." Soap replied.

"Stay frosty." She replied. Soap signaled the two other agents to cover for him as he entered the house which housed one of the four SAM turrets.

"C4 is planted." he announced. Everyone else seemed to plant theirs as well.

"Let's regroup and detonate. I'm already seeing them fleeing back here."

"Rog." everyone else noted and stepped to objective. Then a single shot was fired, hitting one of Soap's team on the shoulder.

"Get down!" He roared as they looked for cover, and just like that, the team's cover was already blown and reinforcements were already on their way back from the crash.

"They're closing in. It's too critical! Try to stay away from the turrets! We'll have to detonate from danger close and extract!" Alexandra ordered over comms. Soap was too busy shooting tangos but they just kept on surrounding them.

The ground shook violently as one of the cornet SAM sites exploded, crippling the enemies which provided Soap a small window of opportunity to move away from the turret and shoot the nearby enemies.

"Let's push forward!" He commanded. It was a matter of life and death as the forces surrounding them began to regroup.

"None of our troops from the blast site are responding!" Ryder yelled desperately, the hope in her voice started to fade.

"Shit! We're doing a danger close detonation grab onto something!" The second quadrant team yelled as another explosion shook the ground. Instead of moving forward, Soap's team actually fell back as the large wave started to surround them, pressuring the team not to detonate the remaining two SAMs.

"We're surrounded by a helluva lot of tangos Ryder. You have to detonate the closest one to you so the bird can extract! We'll make a run for it." Soap yelled at the team leader.

"Shit! France, cover me while I make a run for it." Ryder yelled over comms. A few seconds later the third SAM site exploded, leaving Soap's SAM the only one left.

The blast's heat crawled through MacTavish's skin as he took one step back firing enemies conservatively. He threw his rifle straight at the closing enemy's head and switched to his sidearm. He took another step back and he already felt the warm surface of the humming SAM turret, looking up at the sky, ready to assault any flying object it sees. If only he could get his team so move at a safe distance away from it and finally click his detonator.

He peeked through the opening to check on his team, one already fell flat on the ground while the other one was taking heavy fire.

"Shit." he cursed and quickly hid his head as bullets started ricocheting toward him. He took a quick peek at his inventory and did the math. If he played his cards right, he had a slim chance of saving the other ally and actually making it out alive.

He took another peek and started his plan, but all that's left of his remaining ally was a lying dead body on a pool of crimson colored liquid. He was now alone. Mission Impossible.

He hid back and inhaled. He was running out of hope, he wanted to make it out alive. He wanted to ask France out for a date. He still wanted to see tomorrow's sunrise.

Soap desperately grabbed his trusty sidearm and shot each approaching enemy. One bullet per person meant he could fend off at least 48 of them, assuming he hits everyone in the head. His teammates were nowhere to be found and the rescue helicopter was already whirring at the distance.

Ryder and what's left of her team were slowly gathering by the extraction zone while Soap was still stuck in a pinch. It looked like the enemies didn't care about them and focused their attention on the remaining Scotsman. Strength in Numbers.

Overpowered and quickly running out of bullets, Soap ran for it, staying low on the ground, blindly evading flying bullets and clicking his detonator. He hoped to use the blast as a boost to further push him to France's direction but the way his body bent blew him sideways, toward the center of the base. Soap's body slammed against the makeshift walls as he rolled to the ground rendering him almost unconscious.

He coughed and struggled to get up, limping toward a safe wall, leaning against the soft walls, and gasping for air.

"It's no use, France. We can't stay here any longer. We have to ascend." Ryder advised as Soap struggled to get up, his vision blurred and his ears rang.

Soap wanted to talk but his hands were too injured to press the button, he rolled his eyes and scanned the area. His teammates were already gone, and he felt blood trickled against his cheek, while his mouth tasted like iron. With the last bit of strength he showed his game face and pointed his gun while his arms trembled from exhaustion.

"Last seven bullets. So this is how it ends." he chuckled, trying to make the situation a lot less depressing.

"One." he fired, the tango was close enough that he actually got pushed back on impact.

"Two." he fired, making an approaching tango cripple and fall.

"Three." he shot but missed, clicking his tongue.

"Four. Finally" he exhaled, squaring the target straight through the head.

"Fi-" he got kicked, causing him to drop the sidearm as he rolled to the ground.

"John! Noooo!" France's voice filled comms. Soap tried to reach his hand to the flying helicopter with the last of his strength, but it was no use. He couldn't move his leg or roll his body due to the stomps he kept getting. His vision slowly faded and the last thing he heard was France sobbing through comms.

Next Chapter : Uninvited Guests

Notification Squad my beloved

@beemybee @enderio @smokeywhalee @samatedeansbroccoli @ricinbach @whimsywispsblog

[krinsbez]

Random Pulp Hero Thoughts

So, I'm on a bit of a Holmes kick, RN; two of the books I read last week had vague Holmes ties...

-Murder In Old Bombay by Nev March, a mystery set in 19th Century India who's protagonist decides to become a detective after reading the then-recently published The Sign of the Four.

-The Dark Archive by Genevieve Cogman, who's protagonist chose to name herself after The Woman, and who's supporting cast includes Peregrine Vale, a Great Detective from an alternate universe weird steampunk Victorian London who is repeatedly noted as being very Holmes-like.

...and the two books I finished this week and the third I've begun and will finish next week, are even more so. In backwards order...

-There's A Murder Afoot by Vicki Delany, the secondmost recent installment (which I missed on initial publication due to the Current COVID Crisis) in the "Sherlock Holmes Bookshop" series of cozy mysteries, about an expat British woman who runs a Sherlock Holmes-themed bookstore in a small New England resort town and keeps solving mysteries with the Holmesian intellectual abilities she refuses to acknowledge she has. This book has her return to the UK, and introduces the fact that she has a more intelligent older sister who supposedly is a minor functionary in the British Government but clearly is of greater importance.

-The Case of the Baker Street Irregulars by Anthony Boucher, a recently-republished 1940 novel set in then-contemporary Hollywood. When Metropolitan Pictures announces that their upcoming film adapatation of The Speckled Band will be written by Stephen Worth, an ex-PI who's a devotee of the hardboiled subgenre of detective fiction an has made his utter disdain for the Great Detective genre and of Holmes in particular, that early fandom society launches a campaign to get him fired. In an effort to appease the BSI, who's number include quite a few influential public figures, five of them are invited to come to Hollywood and consult on the film. When Worth is murdered, they become the chief suspects...

And finally...

-In League With Sherlock Holmes, the latest anthology of "stories inspired by the Sherlock Holmes canon"  edited by Laurie B. King and Leslie S. Klinger. It comprises...

"The Strange Juju Affair At the Gacy Mansion" by Kwei Quartey. In contemporary Ghana, a police detective consults Superindentendent Mensah Blay, a legendary former member of the Ghana Police Service who has retired to make wooden children's toys, to help solve a crime that has him stumped. Very good, feels pretty Holmesiean despite, y'know...

"What My Father Never Told Me" by Tess Gerritsen. A young woman comes to Britain to dispose of her late father's ashes, and discovers he was part of something grander than she ever imagined. Yecch. This isn't a story, it's the prologue to a story, and also hinges on the idea that Holmes was actually a villain.

"The Case of the Wailing Ghosts" by Joe R. Lansdale and Kasey Lansdale. A duo of occult detectives are hired to break a ghost, and end up dealing with a supernatural murderer. Great story, not sure what it's doing in this book, asides from the two protagonists having a somewhat Holmes-and-Watson relationship.

"The Twenty-Five Year Engagement" by James W. Ziskin. A proper pastiche, pretty good.

"When You Hear Hoofbeats" by Robin Burcell. A contemporary detective story, with minimal Holmesian content, asides from some proper names (the victim is a plastic surgeon named John H. Watson, the suspects are his wife Mary and his business partner Joseph Bell), and the police detective narrator enlisting a former colleague who's become a PI to help solve the case. Good though.

"Mr. Holmes I Presume" by Joe Hill. This is a short essay written as an introduction to...

"Dying Is Easy" a short comic written by Hill, illustrated by Martin Simonds, apparently an installment of a series they did a few years back about a '90s cop-turned-standup-comedian who keeps having to solve crimes anyways named Syd "Shit-talk" Holmes. Not very Holmes-y, but fun.

"The Observance of Trifles" by Martin Edwards. the tale, in the form of a rather ramble-y blog posts and some comments on it, of how a Sherlockian becomes convinced that another Sherlockian who has become wealthy and famous with his works analyzing the Canon, has been plagiarizing him, and sets out to murder the man. All the characters are given pseudonyms drawn from the Canon, and vaste swathes of the text are quotes or paraphrases thereof. Fun, if a bit depressing.

"Infinite Loop" by Naomi Hirahara. An R.A. in 1980s Stanford University, Joann Wat, is forced to enlist the aid of Shel Rock, a Junior who is the dorm's resident drug dealer, when the parents of one of the Freshmen under her ostensible care may or may not have gone missing. Good stuff, not very original flavor-y of course, but there are some neat Holmesian touches asides from the proper names.

"A Seance in Liverpool" by Lisa Morton. A young ACD, about to set out on his stint as a ship's surgeon, before completing his Doctorate, is convinced bya friend to attend a seance. Things do not go as planned, but he gets an idea for a new character...Good stuff, not what you'd expect.

"Benchley" by Derek Haas. A printer's apprentice finds a body and summons the police. More I cannot say without spoiling. I love it, although it isn't quite Canon compliant.

"The Murderer's Paradox" by David Corbett. A tale narrated by Prof. Moriarty, which seems to follow the take that he was a Fennian. Or he's posing as one in order to enlist two young people as part of an effort to mess with Holmes, it's not clear. ACD's defense of the Boer War is crucial to the plot, though I wonder if some of the language used is anachronistic; did the terms "racist" and "Imperialist" in the modern, derogatory sense exist in 1902? Not a bad story by any means, but not for me.

"A Scandal On The Jersey Shore" by Brad Parks. In which a modern-day descendant of The Woman must prove her BFF isn't guilty of murder. A fun romp.

 "The Adventure of the Northwood Bilker" by James Lincoln Warren. A contemporary Forensic Linguist, Shirley Ho, is hired to find a missing journalist who infiltrated a cult. Very good stuff, if a bit technical in places.

"Cumberbachelor" by Maria Alexander. In modern LA, a young woman must find a way to save her sister's wedding when their mother becomes convinced she's become engaged to Benedict Cumberbatch. Good story, not very Holmes-y.

"A Case of Mistaken Identity" by Chelsea Quinn Yarboro. A somewhat unethical therapist treats (or pretends to treat) a brilliant serial killer who believes himself to be Sherlock Holmes. The story hints that the POV character has A Plan in mind for his patient, but never states what said plan is. Not my cuppa.

[badwolfwriter]

Finding Malcolm Bright

Ok, so no one knows where the dumbest man alive is. Chances are high that the FBI is going to think Malcolm is working with John instead of having been kidnapped, so the team is going to have to go completely off the books to find Malcolm. Here’re some things that I think are likely to happen, or that I would at least like to see.

1) Gil is going to ask Martin for help: let’s start with the obvious. There’s no one better to help them find John than the guy who mentored him, and Martin does love Malcolm, even if that love is entirely narcissistic. Not to mention I’ve seen mentions of interviews that state Gil and Martin are going to be in the same room soon. The team is going to run out of leads and be forced to ask Martin for help. He’ll give it, of course. He’s going to make them grovel though. Gil is going to have to resist the urge to punch him. I’m sure there’s going to be arguing between them over who is Malcolm’s father (his biological father, or the one who actually fathered him). It’s not going to be good, but Gil is enough of a professional and dedicated enough to finding Malcolm that he’s going to push his fury and disgust aside enough to get the job done.

2) Jessica is going to go bat shit: Jess isn’t perfect, as a person or as a parent, but she does very clearly love her children, and you can bet she’s going to tear the city apart trying to find Malcolm. PI’s, check. Nagging the cops till they block her number, you betcha. Eventually only Gil is going to take her calls, and potentially then only cos Jessica knows where he lives and will show up at his door demanding answers. (Not that Gil is going home till they find Malcolm.) She’s going to react very strongly, and it’s going to be mixed, I think, with tears, anger, desperation, etc. Jessica is a tornado, and good luck to the person who tries to hurt her kids.

3) I can definitely see Jessica going to Martin too. I don’t know if it’s going to be her or Gil who suggests going to him for help, but once the idea is out there for the police to go to him, Jessica is going to take it into her own hands. It may even be the level of groveling Martin wants to cooperate. (I can see him refusing Gil, knowing that Jessica is going to come after him, simply cos he wants to see her beg.) She knows Martin can help, and Martin knows she’s smart enough to figure it out. He’s also definitely upset by her insistence that she’s done with him. What better revenge can he have than making her beg him for help to find their son, by admitting his use, not in spite of his crimes, but because of them. He’s going to try to manipulate his way back into her life, and I can see her agreeing to anything to secure his help in getting Malcolm back. The show has had her insisting she’s done with Martin as he smirks that she’ll be back far too much to not do that. Poor Jessica. 

4) I really hope we get to see some good quality Ainsley angst. Not that I want her to suffer, but I think there are a few options for how she handles this. 1, she sits back and lets the police work. I don’t see this as likely, because, well, you’ve all seen her. 2, she uses this as a way to further her career. I don’t see how she can, at least at the moment, and I think she cares too much about Malcolm for that. 3 is the most likely- she tries to use her influence in the media to flush John out of hiding and get any information she can find. (Yes, it’ll probably help her career, and that may or may not be in the back of her mind, but I do believe her motivation will be to find her brother.) I would love to see her and Jessica working together on this. You know Gil won’t be happy, unless it pays off (and even then), because it puts them in danger. John won’t like them moving against him. So they’re going to go on air with a picture of John, and Gil is going to yell at them, and they will both be very unapologetic. (This is one I hope will happen, but I also wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t focus on Ainsley here enough to show what she’s doing. I think Jessica will get more screen time, but the main focus will still be on the team.) 

5) I think it’s obvious to state that we’re going to have some angsty scenes with the team. They’re going to be worried. Dani has already made it clear she’s rooting for Malcolm, but this may be a turning point towards her admitting feelings for him, if the show chooses to go in that direction. Edrisa is going to be generally panicked and trying to help. I don’t see her as being good at sneaking around, but she’s sure as hell gonna try cos she knows it’s what Malcolm needs. JT is going to be forced to admit he actually likes Malcolm. Bonus points if they find him close to death and all the angst comes out then. But this is the turning point to the team “tolerating him” to admitting that they all actually like him.

6) I think this is definitely going to be the turning point for Gil and Jessica getting together. I know I’m not alone in shipping them at this point. The show is very obviously pushing them together, and I’m there for it. What better way than to have them freaking out over the boy they both raised and love, working together despite Gil’s attempts to get Jessica to stay home, and trying to comfort each other. Not to mention when they do find Malcolm and he’s inevitably in the hospital for a few days, neither of them is going to leave his side.

7) We all know the FBI is going to start by suspecting Malcolm. I’m hoping by the end they can come to peace with Malcolm, specifically Swanson. Even if they don’t part on particularly friendly terms, I want them to acknowledge that Malcolm isn’t his father, to see him for the victim he is, and to put their support behind him. It’s a TV drama though, so that probably won’t happen. They’ll probably eventually accept that he’s a victim this time, having been kidnapped, but still be suspicious of Malcolm himself. I can see them coming back in a later season if they decide to go in the direction of Malcolm being framed for murder. But I’m hoping Malcolm makes at least a couple new friends in the FBI as people finally come to see that he’s A, not crazy, and B, not a psychopath.

8) Malcolm: we gotta throw some Malcolm angst in here. Boy’s got it rough right now. Even if the team gets to him within a day, which isn’t likely, he’s going to be very traumatized, cos you know the rest of his memories regarding the girl in the box are going to come back, plus the trauma of being kidnapped. He might get tortured, I’m not sure yet what exactly John wants with him. But he’s also going to be forced off his meds cold turkey, and that won’t be good. He’s going to be in rough shape emotionally, mentally, and probably physically. Cos we all know he’s going to fight tooth and nail to escape and stop John, and once hallucinations set in, there’s a chance he might hurt himself without even realizing it. This is going to have long term detrimental impacts on him, which can go a lot of different ways. There could be psychiatric hospitalization in his future, either forced or voluntary. Him having a psychotic break has been foreshadowed enough that we all know it’s going to happen eventually, and him trying to deal with the fallout of this might be the last straw. His going to be reactive, and his PTSD, anxiety, and depression are going to flare big time. There’s a strong chance that he’s going to lose it on a case and be fired as a consultant. He’s going to be dealing with a lot of shit from a lot of people, and unfortunately, a lot of them are only going to see the son and potential accomplice of the Surgeon and Junkyard Killer and not victim he is. You also know that once they find who the girl in the box is, Malcolm is going to want to be a part of the notification process. That’s not likely to go well. So yeah, things aren’t looking good there. However, I think this does have the potential to bring him, Jessica, and Ainsley closer as they’re going to freak out over him. He’s going to get closer with his team, and knowing he has their support is going to be huge for him. Any degree of closure he gets is going to be good too, though the cost it’ll have on his mental health may override that. But yeah. I’m seeing a lot of possibilities for his future, and basically, no matter what direction they take him in, it’s gonna hurt.

9) Back to Ainsley again: while I think this has the potential to bring her and Malcolm closer, it might backfire eventually. Malcolm is going to get massive amounts of attention once they rescue him, and that is something Ainsley is deeply jealous of. She’s going to rebel, and hurt her family, either intentionally or not. This could be the start of her own spiral. I don’t have a clear enough picture of where the writers are taking her character yet to say.

[a-pair-of-boys-back-in-business]

Silicon Valley finale thoughts:

- 10 YEARS?

- they showed the hug!

- they look so good, I'm gonna cry 😭

- Dinesh and his terrible karaoke

- I knew when he said scrumptious that Richard was in the cake

- OH NO RUSS

- oh God, what did Richard figure out and how is it going to fuck them?

- why are we talking about Erlich???

- oh my gosh, am I a loser for laughing at Richard's joke?

- "clif bars and a gun."

- Gilfoyle is on fire this episode

- Pied Piper will ruin the world?!?!?

- poor Richard, all this fucking time 😭

- Laurie is in prison?!

- Jared is the fucking best 😭😭😭

- this is so insane, they have to kill their baby

- I'm going to miss Dinesh so much

- "That is the most courageous act of cowardice I've ever seen."

- "Don't let me through."

- Richard public speaking without vomiting?!?!

- John, no!!!

- Dinesh has to fuck everything up like he does best

- "Who wrote this shit?" Jared, obviously

- EXCUSE ME, DID YOU SEE HOW JARED AND RICHARD LOOKED AT EACH OTHER?

- Richard, my poor darling 😭

- Lmao. Dinesh walking up these steps in such a mood

- "Did you do one push up?"

- LET DINESH IN

- GOD, THANK YOU GILFOYLE

- It's fucking with the dogs?!

- THEY LITERALLY ARE PIED PIPER WHATTHEFUCK

- Russ looks like a fucking werewolf

- BILL GATES?!?

- the idea of Jared and Richard travelling together godddd

- I'm low-key mad Big Head is considered Richard's best friend

- DINFOYLE FOREVER

- of course Jared is working with elderly people

- thank God, no Erlich

- ALWAYS BLUE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

- holy shit, where is the flash drive?!?! That's it?!?

Oh my God, that was it. I need a fucking doctor. No Jarrich but Jesus, what a finale. I miss them already. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[destielstuffandthings]

For @bekindplsrewind

32- “Why are you doing this?” Destiel

~~~I had a little help with this one. My husband is sitting here watching me type away and asked what I was working on. I told him the prompt and he said “I have to perfect idea,” and this is it. I’m actually impressed because he *isn’t* a Destiel shipper (I think I’m changing his mind XD)~~~

“Sammy, I swear. It’s like---,” Dean drifted off, smiling like an idiot. He took a deep breath and sat back in his chair. “I honestly think I’m in love.”

Sam snorted. “You remember last time you said that? A witch hexed you and wanted to steal the Book Of The Damned. AND the Impala.” He narrowed his eyes. “Do I need to test you?”

Dean scoffed and pushed his chair back before standing. “I’m serious, Sam. We met an’ it’s like--- I dunno man. I’m just--I’m fucking happy for the first time. She makes me pies, for Christ sake! And she’s got this truck,” he whistled through his teeth, “she’s the whole package. Tight little--”

“Nope, la-la-la-la-,” Sam plugged his ears and stood, knocking his chair over. “I don’t wanna hear about this!”

“Body, Sam! I was gonna say body!” Dean grinned as he watched his brother hustle down the hallway.

~ ~ ~ ~The Next Day~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Sam was in the kitchen when he heard the bunker door open.

“Dean! In here,” Sam bellowed. He scooped rice and chicken into a bowl and set it on the counter. “Did you eat yet? I made---,” Sam turned around to see his brother standing in the doorway with a woman, “dinner.” He cocked his head to the side. “Um, hello?”

Dean smiled and put his arm around the woman. “Sam, this is Cassandra. Cassandra, this is my baby brother Sam.”

Sams’ mouth fell open. He snapped it shut and smiled, reaching out his hand. “Hey, uh, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Cassandra stepped forward, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder, and shook Sams hand. “So good to meet you, Sam. Dean talks about you all the time. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Her voice was soft and sweet. She had piercing blue eyes and tanned skin. Her sundress revealed the end of a tattoo Sam couldn’t quite make out, but it looked like feathers.

He cleared his throat when he caught himself staring. “I uh--I made dinner. Did you guys want to---”

“Oh I’d love to,” Cassandra smiled sweetly, turning to face Dean who nodded. She smiled wide and looked back to Sam. “I know we’ve just met, and it’s ok if you say no, but would you mind if after we ate I made dessert? I have a killer banana nut cookie recipe I’ve been dying to try out and this kitchen,” she looked around in awe, “is just amazing. I’d love to give it a whirl.”

Sam couldn’t help it. He liked the girl already.

“Only if you make something sugary and sickening for Dean. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him eat anything remotely healthy,” he chuckled.

“Hey!” Dean huffed and crossed his arms.

“C’mon, Cassandra. Help me set the table?”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The week went on much the same.

Cassandra would come over most nights now, spending time with the brothers. Sam had never seen Dean so happy. They cuddled on the couch and tossed popcorn at each other while watching old western movies. Things got heated when Cassandra said John Wayne wouldn’t stand a chance against Billy the Kid, but Dean quickly conceded when Cassandra full on pouted and pretended to be upset. Dean pulled her into his arms and apologized while kissing her tenderly on the forehead.

Things were going great.

Until one night, Sam woke up and padded down the bunker in search of a tall glass of water. He flicked the kitchen light on and gasped. He patted himself down, instinctively searching for a weapon. When he realized he was in his pajamas, he grabbed the closest thing which happened to be a beer bottle. He smashed it against the counter, turning it into a knife.

“Who the hell are you,” he yelled at the figure, holding out the sharp bottle.

The figure stood with it’s back to Sam, giant shadows in the shape of wings spread across the tiled walls. Slowly, the shadows folded into the figure as it turned to face Sam.

“Cassandra?”

“Hello, Sam,” she whispered. “I didn’t think anyone would be awake at this hour. I’m sorry if I startled you.”

Sam blinked rapidly. “Who---what are you?”

“Sam, it’s me. Cas.”

“Yeah, Cassandra, I get that. WHAT are you?” Sam stepped forward, pointing the bottle at her chest.

She shook her head and flicked her wrist. Shards of glass from the floor and the bottle in Sams hand vanished. “No, Sam. It’s me.”

Sam took a half a step back and narrowed his eyes. “What the---”

“Cassandra? Babe, where are y---Oh, hey guys. M’I interrupting somethin’?” Dean tiredly rubbed his eyes and walked over to kiss Cassandra on the cheek.

Sam looked between the two and shook his head. “Messed up. This is messed up,” he whispered to himself.

Dean looked to his brother. “The hell is wrong with you, Sammy?”

Cassandra shifted on her feet.

Dean’s eye bounced back and forth between them.

Sam huffed. “I’m outta here.” He walked out of the kitchen towards his room.

“You ok?” He ran his hand up and down Cassandras arm softly. “Did you and Sam have a fight or somethin’? I can kick his ass if you want,” he smiled.

Cassandra shook her head and smiled. “No. We didn’t fight.” She gestured towards the counter. “Can we sit down? I---I need to tell you something.”

Dean’s eyes widened slightly. “That doesn’t sound good.” He followed her over and sat next to her.

Cassandra smiled and took Deans hand, holding it tightly.

“Dean, do you love me?”

If his eyes weren’t wide before, they were now. He swallowed hard and scratched at his beard.

“I uh, I’ve never said it to anyone before, ‘sides family and stuff. But, yeah, Yeah, Cassandra, I think I do.”

“Why do you love me?” She reached up and ran her fingertips down his cheek.

Dean chuckled and leaned into the touch.

“Well, for one thing, you’re hot as hell.” He nudged her arm and wagged his eyebrows. “Uh,” he cleared his throat, “for real though? You take care’a me. Not like Sammy or mom. But you really take care of me. Help me out when I’m stressed and fallin’ apart. You listen to me even when I don’t make sense. You like my music even though I listen to it too loud and it’s ancient. You get me. It’s easy bein’ with you.”

“Kinda like your friend Cas?” Cassandras eyebrows rose slightly as she tightened her grip on Deans hand.

“Well yeah, but Cas is---he’s a guy. I mean, there was a few times I thought---never mind. Why’re you askin’ me all this? Are you breaking up with me?” Deans face dropped as he spoke the last sentence, realizing the gravity of his words.

Cassandra smiled and patted Dean’s arm. “No, I’m not. But you might after I show you what Sam and I were talking about.”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

She stood and leaned down close to Dean. “Remember,” she whispered against Deans lips, “I love you.”

Dean watched as the room filled with blue light. He tried to shield his eyes from it as he watched Cassandras body light from the inside out. She turned into a thousand glowing orbs, lighting the wall behind her. Massive wings spread across the kitchen for the second time that night as her raven hair and pink robe turned to ash, whisking away into the air.

Dean dropped his hands on his lap and gaped at the person in front of him. His mouth opened and shut multiple times before he spoke.

“C-Cas? What---why?” Dean stood quickly, his chair flying across the floor. “What the fuck, Cas! You---you’re---”

“Cassandra,” the angel murmured. Cas straightened his trench coat before looking Dean in the eyes. “Dean, let me explain,” he held his hands up in defense.

“EXPLAIN? Cas! We’ve been---we kissed. We,” he cleared his throat and looked towards the door, making sure Sam was long gone, “we DID stuff. Why are you doing this?”

“I know. Dean, please, sit down,” the angel flicked his wrist and straightened Deans chair, pushing it against the back of his knees.

Dean sat without thinking. He ran both hands over his face and groaned.

“Dean, I never meant to betray your trust. I just---,” Castiel stepped closer to Dean and laid his hand on the mans shoulder. “I just wanted you to be happy. You deserve to be happy and I thought---”

“You thought turning into a hot chick who just HAPPENED to like all the same shit I did, that would make me happy?” Dean shrugged the angels hand off. “Real smart, Cas.”

“I like those things too, Dean. I’ve---I didn’t know how to tell you.” The angel frowned, staring at the floor. “Dean I’ve loved you for so long now. Seeing you unhappy---if it meant I’d have to take that form for the rest of my life to keep you happy, I would. I’m sorry if this changes things between us. I’ll understand if you don’t want to see me again.”

Dean sat there stunned, unblinking.

Cas turned and headed towards the door before stopping. “For what it’s worth, those were the best weeks of my life. I meant what I said, Dean. I love you.” He continued out the door and down the hallway.

His heart was heavy and his eyes brimmed with tears. He mentally kicked himself for thinking something this stupid would work. He expected Dean to hate him. He expected Sam to be angry with him for quite a while.

He didn’t expect to hear footsteps coming down the hall.

He didn’t expect a hand on his shoulder to spin him around on his heels.

He definitely didn’t expect Dean to grab him by the collar of his trench coat and pull him into a desperate kiss.

He grabbed Dean by the back of the neck and kissed him fiercely, his tongue running over the mans lower lip.

Dean pulled away, breathless and smiling.

“You’re a goddamn idiot,” Dean huffed.

“I know,” Castiel smiled. “But I’m your idiot.”

[waywardaardvark79]

No Strings Attached Part 9: Pies and Confessions

Summary: Your roommates old friend moves to town and the two of you quickly strike up a no strings attached relationship. How long will the two of you be able to hold up what was supposed to be a simple, uncomplicated arrangement?

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Warnings: language

A/N: Updates should be every few days. No set schedule.

      You rolled over in bed, and were strangely aware of the space you had to move, you patted your hand blindly around expecting to feel Dean's warm body but came up empty. You cracked open your eyes to see his side of the bed empty. You thought about getting up to go find him, but the allure of the warm bed all to yourself was too tempting, so you pulled the covers under your chin and snuggled into them, telling yourself that you would get up in a few more minutes.

 You must have fallen back to sleep because the next thing you knew Dean was gently shaking your shoulder, "Wakey, wakey eggs and bakey." he said, the corner of your mouth turning up into a smile.

 You blinked open your eyes, "Such a nerd, a cute nerd, but still a nerd." you said as you stretched your arms over your head. "What time is it?" you asked, before rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

 "Little after eleven." Dean replied. You shot up in bed, "After eleven. Why did you let me sleep so long? We've got a lot of stuff to do today." you said  as you started to get out of bed.

 Dean grabbed your arm,  "Just slow down a minute. I talked to Charlie this morning and she said she would go check on Martin and Bobby for you, so you don't have to worry about that." he said, gently pulling you back down into bed. "She also said that an apartment in Kaitlynn's building opened up, and she talked to the building manager. I got an appointment to go see it Monday." he said.

 "Well, you  just took care of everything I guess." you said as you adjusted a pillow and settled back against the headboard.

 "Technically Charlie did, but I'll take the credit if you want to give it to me. I was thinking maybe we could hang out here for  a few more hours and then hit the road." he said.

 "That's fine with me." you replied, your stomach rumbling loudly.

 "Hungry?" he asked with a smile. "Starving." you said, your stomach uttering another loud noise further proving your point. "Get dressed, and meet me in the kitchen." he said before placing a kiss to your forehead and standing up from the edge of the bed. You watched as he walked out of the room, and gave your muscles one last stretch before getting of bed and getting dressed.

          You walked into the kitchen to see Dean stirring something in a large bowl next to the stove, "Whatcha doin'?" you asked as you walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist.

 "What's it look like?" he asked. You poked your head around him and stared down into the bowl, "Looks like a bowl of white goop to me." you said.

 Dean scoffed, "Pancakes. It's gonna be pancakes." he said as you walked around him and hoisted yourself up on the counter.

 "How was I supposed to know? You've never made me pancakes before." you argued. Dean raised an eyebrow at you, "Can't really make pancakes when the only thing you have at home is frozen dinners and Ramen noodles." he said.

 "Sorry, I'm not a chef." you deadpanned.

 "You do know how to make pancakes don't you?" he asked, the corner of his mouth turning up into a smile.

"Pfft...of course." you lied.

 "Y/N, I watched you burn toast last week." he said.

 You sighed, "Fine. I don't really do the whole cooking thing." you said with a shrug of your shoulders.

 "How have you survived?" he teasingly asked.

 "The microwave and me are real tight, then I've got the food truck, Bobby and Charlie tend to feed me here and there,  and now it looks like I have my very own personal chef." you said with a smile. Dean shook his head at you as he poured some of the batter into a pan. "Ooooh, can you make them into shapes?" you excitedly asked.

 "Round is a shape." he said.

 "I know that, but I meant like cool ones, like a heart or Mickey Mouse or some shit." you said.

 "Get down here." he said, as he helped you down from the counter.

 "What are you doing?" you asked.

 "Teaching you to make pancakes." he said as he placed the spatula in your hand.

 You looked at him over your shoulder, "You sure? I kind of had hopes of being able to eat soon." you said.

 "Nobody can mess up pancakes. They're easy." he said.

 "You clearly have too much faith in me." you argued.

 Dean raised his hand to your face and gently turned it back to face the stove, "Now, just flip it." he instructed. He watched as you took the spatula and stuck it under the edge of the pancake, quickly raising your hand and flipping it in the air, the pancake landing with a splat on the stove next to the pan, "Oops." you said as you looked over your shoulder at him, a sheepish smile on your face.

 Dean shook his head at you, his shoulders bouncing as he tried to contain his laughter, "All right Emeril, let's try that again, maybe with a little less enthusiasm this time." he said as he grabbed the bowl and poured a little more batter into the pan.

 "You said flip it so, I flipped it." you argued.

 Dean placed his hand on yours, "Like this." he said as he guided your hand, the pancake flipping over perfectly in the pan.

 "I prefer the flair I added, but your way works too." you said, smiling back at him.

 Dean helped you scoop the pancake onto a plate, "There you go, your first pancake." he said as he held out the plate to you. 

You looked down proudly at it, "I kind of feel like I can do anything now. I mean I can officially make pancakes now. Who knows what I'll do next." you jokingly said.

 "The possibilities are endless." he said, a wide smile on his face.

 "Make the next one into a something cool." you said as you walked over to the table and sat down. "I got dibs on it." you added as you loaded your pancake with syrup.

 Dean joined you at the table about 15 minutes later, and slid a pancake onto your plate. You looked down at it, "It's a...it's a oddly shaped blob." you squeaked out, not sure what you were looking at. 

 Dean rubbed the back of his neck, "It was supposed to be a heart." he said, a little embarrassed. You looked down at it and cocked your head to the side, "Totally see it now." you said.

 "I kind of messed it up." he said.

 You shook your head, "No, you just went for the anatomically correct version, and a very detailed one at that. It's got the little aorta and everything." you said as you pointed at the pancake. Dean threw his head back, his whole body shaking with laughter. You shoved a bite into your mouth, "It tastes good too, such talent." you said around the pancake in your mouth.

 Before Dean could say anything back the two of you heard the front door open and Mary and John walked into the kitchen a few moments later. "Mornin'  kids." John said as he placed a few bags of groceries on the counter, eyeing the half cooked pancake that was on the stove.

 You looked over your shoulder at him, "Sorry about the mess." you said, a small smile on your face.

 "Don't worry about it, Dalton." he said.

 "Dalton?" you asked, one eyebrow raised, confused by the name.

 "I heard about your run in with Lisa." he said with a chuckle. 

John Dalton, Patrick Swayze's character from Roadhouse popped into your head and you laughed at the reference. "Pretty sure John Dalton would have whooped a little ass, but I kind of promised Dean that no assault charges would be filed." you said with a shrug of your shoulders.

 A loud laugh erupted into the kitchen, "I like you, kid." John said, as he shook his head, completely amused by your reply. 

"What time do you guys have to leave?" Mary asked, a hint of sadness in her voice.

 "We could hang around for a few more hours." Dean said, a smile instantly coming to her face.

 "Great, cause I was thinking of making a pie." she said as she pulled a few things from the bag on the counter.

 "Pie?" Dean asked, his eyes lighting up. 

She nodded, "Only if you guys had enough time." she said.

 "There's always time for pie." he said causing you to chuckle.

 "Y/N, I was thinking you could lend me a hand, if you wanted to." Mary said to you.

 "Sure." you said with a smile. 

Dean looked at you for a moment, a worried expression on his face. "What?" you asked.

 "I...it's just...you don't really cook, and my pie." he trailed off. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, "You think I'm gonna mess it up." you said.

 "No, no, I just, I'm kind of particular when it comes to pie." he said, your intense gaze causing him to break eye contact with you.

 "I made a pancake, didn't I. Pretty sure I could figure out pie." you said. Dean looked over at the pancake on the stove, a worried look on his face, "Oh, come on, Freckles, have a little faith in me. I might surprise you." you said. 

Dean reluctantly nodded his head, "Ok." he breathed out

. "Why don't  you two get out of here for a few hours, and let us get to it." Mary said, referring to John and Dean

. "Guess, I could go gas up the car so we don't have to do it later." he said as he started to stand from the table. "You got the keys?" he asked you.

 "I'll go grab them." you said as you got up and headed upstairs.

        You returned a few moments later, your keys in your hand, as Dean held his hand out to you. You looked him up and down before walking by him and handing the keys to John, a smile lighting up his face. "What?!" asked Dean. You looked back at him, "You're just gonna hand him the keys like that? I had to beg you to let me drive, and it took forever for you to let me." he said, a shocked look on his face.

 You shrugged your shoulders, "He didn't doubt my culinary abilities." you said, a smirk on your face. 

"Oh yeah, I definitely like you, kid." John said as he twirled the keys around his finger.

 Dean shook his head at the two of you, "Unbelievable." he said. 

John gave Mary a quick kiss on the cheek before starting out of the kitchen. Dean stood frozen in his spot, "You better get a move on, Freckles, before you get left behind." you said as you stood next to Mary at the counter. Dean turned to leave the kitchen, "I might let you drive on the way home if you're nice to me!" you called after him, Dean mumbling something under his breath before he walked out.

 You turned to Mary, "Just a warning, I have absolutely no idea what I am doing." you said.

 She gently patted your hand, "Don't worry. I'm sure you will get the hang of it pretty quick." she said before placing the ingredients she needed in front of you. "Ready?" she asked with a smile. 

You nodded, "I think so." you said, hoping that you wouldn't screw it up.

      John was waiting by the car as the gas pumped when Dean walked out of the station after paying. He grabbed the squeegee and started to clean the windows. "You seem happier." John said, the statement catching Dean off guard

. He shrugged his shoulders, "I am." he simply said. 

John nodded, "What changed?" he asked, even though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer to that question.

 "I don't know...I just...I don't feel like I'm constantly having to prove myself anymore." he said, not exactly sure how to phrase it.

 "Prove yourself?" John asked, a little hurt by his words

. "I don't know...before I left I always felt like I wasn't good enough, that no matter what I did, it wasn't ever going to be as good as what Sam did. I mean, he went to college, then got this awesome fuckin' job, and the perfect relationship to top it all off, and I was just, well, I was just me, a mechanic." he rambled, his focus on making sure that he didn't leave any streaks on the window.

 John cleared his throat, drawing Dean's attention to him, "We have always been proud of you, son." he said.

 Dean shrugged his shoulders, "I just know that I'm never going to be that son that has the kind of job you can brag about, and I know how you guys felt about Lisa, not that I can blame you. I don't know, sometimes I feel like I should be further along in life, but I just can't seem to get the hang of it. That's kind of why I rushed into things with Lisa, I guess, I was just trying to catch up to Sam." he rambled out.

 "Son, you don't have to have a fancy job or a perfect girl on your arm for us to be proud of you. As long as you are happy, that's the only thing that matters to me and your mom." John said, hoping that Dean would take his words to heart. "Besides, I'm pretty sure you got the girl part figured out. Y/N seems like a good one." he said.

 Dean looked up at him, a soft smile on his face, "Yeah, she really is." he said before looking down at the window. "I've never met anyone like her. I mean, just when I think I have her figured out she surprises me with something new, out of nowhere. She has never made me feel bad about myself, and I don't have to be anyone but myself around her. She doesn't have all of  these expectations of me. She's happy with who I am.   I don't know, she's just one of those people that makes everything exciting, even if it's something like going to store. She pushes me out of my comfort zone in a good way, and I never know what she's gonna do next. I just...I used to think that I had to reach all of these milestones in life before I could be happy and satisfied with myself, but she's shown me that if you have the right person by your side, none of that stuff really matters. The right person will love you for who you are, flaws and all." he finished, a little embarrassed that he basically just poured his heart out in a gas station parking lot.

 John nodded his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips, "We've always been proud of you, Dean. I should have made it a point to tell you more often." John said, Dean nodding as he took in his words. "It sounds like you have things pretty well figured out, and I'm happy that you found someone that helped you do that. Hang on to her." John said before opening the door and climbing inside.

 Dean put the squeegee back, the realization that he never wanted to let you go hitting him like a ton of bricks, and he knew that he needed to tell you how he felt sooner or later.

          You looked down at the pie cooling on the counter before turning to Mary, "Thank you...for showing me how to do that." you said, a little embarrassed.

 "It was no problem." she said with a warm smile.

 You were tempted to grab your phone and send Dean a picture of the finished product. You were so proud of yourself, and so eager for him to try it.

 "Did your mom not do much baking?" Mary asked.

 "My mom wasn't really into the whole baking thing." you said, not wanting to delve too much into it.

 "You'll have to tell her you made one. She'll be proud." Mary said. 

You looked down at the counter, "We, uh, we don't really talk much anymore. I didn't live up to their expectations so they basically cut ties with me. It's pretty much just me and this little rag tag group of people now, but they're family and I know they will be shocked. I'm sure they won't believe it." you said, a sad smile on your face, surprised that you blurted all of that out.

 "Well, you got us now too." Mary genuinely said before pulling you into a warm hug. 

You never expected these two strangers to be so open and welcoming, and as you hugged her back you felt guilt creeping in that this whole weekend you had been lying to them. You thought about telling her that the two of you weren't really together, but you couldn't bring yourself to utter the words, too caught up in the acceptance and love that they had shown you to risk ruining it.

 You pulled back and looked at her, "Thank you." you said, hoping that she knew just how much her words meant to you.

 "How about we go sit outside on the porch and wait for those two to get back. It's really nice out today." she said before walking to the fridge. "Beer?" she asked as she opened the door.

 "I'd love one." you said with a smile, no longer worrying about trying to be anyone but yourself.  You walked outside with her, sitting next to her on the porch swing and curling your legs up under you before taking a sip of your beer, happy that you decided to tag along with Dean.

           You were still curled up in the swing with Mary when John and Dean pulled into the driveway. You jumped up, eager to show him the pie you made, and ran down the steps to meet him. "You gotta come see it." you excitedly said as you grabbed his hand and started to pull him towards the house.

 "See what?" he asked  as he let you drag him along. 

You stopped in your tracks, "Seriously?" you asked, Dean running into the back of you. "The pie." you said as you looked at him over your shoulder, causing Dean to  playfully shove  you aside before running into the house. 

You walked into the kitchen to see him placing a large slice on a plate before scooping up a generous bite and popping it into his mouth. "Well?" you asked, hoping that he liked it. 

Dean moaned, his eyes rolling back into his head, "Pretty sure I have to propose now." he teased before taking another bite. "You know you're gonna have to make these all the time now." he said, a completely serious look on his face.

 "I think I can handle that." you said as you walked up to him and grabbed his fork, and raised it to your mouth to try a bite. Your eyes widened, "Holy shit! I'm fuckin' awesome." you said around the bite in your mouth.

 "You got that right." Dean said before grabbing his fork from you and pushing you away from his plate. You raised an eyebrow at him, your hand on your hip as you looked at him, "Listen, I love you, but I don't share my pie." he said before taking a large bite. 

You stood in shock, your mouth slightly open as you tried to figure out if you heard him right, "You...you love me?" you choked out, Dean's eyes widening when he realized his slip. He tried to suck in a breath, forgetting about the pie in his mouth and sucking it down instead, instantly going into a coughing fit as he tried not to choke. "Oh shit. shit. shit." you said as you grabbed a glass and filled it with water, quickly handing it over to him. Dean took a sip, still coughing some as you tried to pat him on the back. "Fuck, I don't know the Heimlich maneuver, Freckles." you said as you continued to pat him.

 Dean took another sip of water and cleared his throat, "I'm...I'm ok." he rasped out, as you stared at him with worry on your face. 

You looked up at him, "You love me?" you asked again, needing to know that you heard him right the first time.

 "I know that it wasn't supposed to happen, but I kind of couldn't help myself. I know we had rules, and I'll understand if you want to call this off, but I love you." he said, trying to read your expression.

 You stood in front of him, gazing up at him, trying to figure out what to say. "You...you don't have to say it back. I just kind of blew the rules out of the water, huh." he nervously said.

 You smiled brightly up at him, "When have I ever been one to follow the rules?" you asked before raising up on your tip toes and placing a gentle kiss to his lips. You pulled back a little and looked up at him, "See, I kind of love you too, so fuck the rules." you said with a smile, Dean's face lighting up at your words.

"Fuck the rules." he said before placing his hands on either side of your face and pulling you in for a kiss.

 "Who would have thought that all it took to get it out of you was a pie and almost choking to death." you teased.

 "Never gonna live that one down am I?" he asked, a smile still on his face, as you shook your head.

             Dean carried the rest of your bags downstairs, "That's it." he said as he walked up to you. You walked over to the door and held it open for him before following after him to the car.

 Mary and John soon joined you outside, Mary handing over a take home container of the pie you had made, while Dean said goodbye to his father. Mary wrapped her arms around you, "I'm so happy you came, and remember you always have a place here." she said before releasing you and giving you a warm smile. 

You smiled back at her, "Thank you." you said, knowing that she knew how much it meant to you. 

John pulled you into his arms, "Try to stay out of trouble, Dalton." he said before whispering, "Thank you for taking care of him."

 You pulled back, "I'll try, but I can't make any promises." you said, giving him a warm smile, hoping that he would be able to realize that you would always take care of Dean.

 "You two get out of here, and let us know when you get home." John said as he wrapped his arm around Mary. You nodded and walked to the passenger side and started to climb in.

"Thanksgiving is in a couple of weeks. Can we count on the two of you to be there?" Mary asked with a hopeful smile. 

Dean looked over at you and you nodded, "We'll see you in a couple of weeks, love you guys." he said before opening the door and sliding behind the wheel. You gave the two of them one final wave as Dean backed out of the driveway and headed home.

       The two of you pulled up into the parking lot of your building a few hours later, the empty take home container sitting on the seat between you. The pie had made it about thirty minutes after you left his parent's house before the two of you dug in, you feeding Dean bites as he drove. "I'll get the bags." he said as he opened the door and climbed out.

 The two of you walked up the stairs and you unlocked the door of your apartment, pushing it open so Dean could go inside first. "So, how did it go?" Charlie asked from her spot on the couch when she saw the two of you walk in.

 You closed the door behind you and looked over to Dean before turning your attention to Charlie, "It went really good, a little surprising, but good." you said, Dean nodding in agreement with you.

 Charlie smiled at the two of you, "Told you it would." she said.

 "You were right." you said as you started to walk down the hall to your room.

 "I left the number and the information about that apartment in Y/N's room." you heard her tell Dean. You pushed open your bedroom door and kicked off your shoes, surprised at how tired you were.

 You had planned to go back out and talk to Charlie about the apartment and to make sure that Martin and Bobby were ok, but as you looked at your bed, you decided against it. "Tomorrow." you said to yourself as you stripped out of your jeans and sweater, and grabbed a t-shirt to pull on before throwing back the covers and climbing into bed. 

You were settling into bed when Dean walked in and dropped the bags at the foot of your bed. "You gonna check the place out tomorrow?" you asked with a yawn.

 Dean nodded, "You wanna go with me? I was thinking I could do it on my lunch break." he said as he pulled his shirt over his head.

 You nodded, "Mmm hmm." you hummed out, your eyes starting to close.

 You felt the bed dip beside you a few moments later, and the light go out, Dean pulling you into his arms as he settled himself into bed. "I'm really glad you came with me this weekend." he said before placing a kiss to the top of your head.

 "Me too." you said as you patted his chest.

 "Night Y/N, love you." he said and you could hear the smile in his voice.

 "Love you too, Freckles." you said before giving him a gentle a squeeze, so happy that you decided to say fuck the rules.

Tags: @vicmc624

[mtjester]

I have finally finished both the meat and candy routes of the epilogue. Full(-ish) thoughts are under the cut, but for the tl;dr crowd: I honestly enjoyed myself, and I’m excited to read more.

First off, and to be totally clear, I am not trying to dismiss anyone’s particular emotional response to the epilogue. I am not here to say, “No, your emotions are not valid.” I’m making my observations just as subjectively as anyone else. So, thoughts:

I believe the epilogue’s main folly, perhaps the main reason it’s not going over well, is that it by nature may only appeal to a fraction of the original audience of Homestuck. 

Homestuck’s original audience was vast, and the interests of the people who read Homestuck are varied. It’s hard to prove whether this is true or not, but it seems that a large, perhaps the largest, chunk of the original Homestuck fandom was interested in character. This epilogue, for that group, is not likely going to be satisfying. The epilogue seems to appeal much more strongly to the section of the fandom interested not only in character but in the overarching themes/conflicts/medium/metafiction of the story. 

The other issue is the density of the epilogue’s existential and metafiction discussions. The level of reading comprehension necessary to not only wade through but also appreciate some of these details is somewhat ridiculous. That’s not out of line with Homestuck, which also has some fairly sophisticated commentary on the nature of self, identity, reality, etc., but it makes the more enjoyable parts of the epilogue somewhat inaccessible. Unfortunately, it’s difficult to discuss these topics in such depth and through such a story without getting a little over the top.

That said, I do think a large portion of the Homestuck fandom, particularly those most concerned with character, forget that Homestuck is at its core an absurd black comedy and occasional satire.

Remembering the villains in Homestuck helps to reframe the story: we have an underling turned god-dog who snaps because of a workplace dress code dispute; we have doll capable of possessing people; we have LITERALLY BETTY CROCKER; and we have a petulant boychild asshole turned muscle skull monster. Are we really going to get mad that Dave Strider’s big turn happens during a conversation with Barack Obama’s projected brain hologram? The precedence for absurdity was set long ago for this sort of thing.

Homestuck does take large breaks from its particular brand of comedy to deal with issues seriously and sincerely, but these instances do not change its nature. While the epilogue wasn’t uproariously funny by any stretch of the imagination, the kernel of absurdity rules it. Why else would Jake English’s ASS be such a big deal on Earth C, like as a plot point and major element of the conflict? The same can be said about the black comedy and satirical elements, which can and do affect characters and plot. 

Even at its start, Homestuck was rather adversarial towards the audience, who literally sent suggestions to Hussie which he often fucked with as an element of his comedy. Based on what Homestuck is and has always been, it’s doubtful we would get an epilogue that was simple, clean, and palatable, especially towards characters. 

About the writing: I have seen it said that the epilogue is an example of bad writing. I’m going to separate the craft of writing and characterization specifically, which I’ll discuss below. As for the epilogue as a piece of prose, I believe it is far from “bad.”

Writing two separate but intimately intertwined stories in itself is not an easy task. It requires careful planning before the figurative pen ever touches paper, and then the effect has be thoughtfully cultivated. The stories themselves are stable, decently well-paced, and sometimes astonishingly poetic.

The way the writers dealt with the overarching metafictional elements is actually brilliant, especially in the meat track. Like, they used a switch from third person perspective to second person as a form of foreshadowing. That’s bananas. I was impressed. Not to mention how Alt Calliope sheds light on it in the candy track, which either foreshadows the shift in control of the narrative if you’ve read it first or else explains its significance if you read it second. Like, shit!

About the mischaracterization, though.Yes, this is an element of writing, but it is also essentially an act of interpretation for any writer, including Hussie himself.

I will use Jade as an example. Did I like her characterization in these epilogues? Largely, no, I did not. I found it uncomfortable. But was it incorrect? That’s the harder question. When Homestuck finished, she was 16, and she had spent the majority of her life alone, often in a state of extreme unhappiness about it. Could she become a 23 year old adult who is the way she is? Well, yeah. Any character could grow up to be sexually liberated, if we’re being real, and she is part dog, which could be construed to affect her libido. She very well could have abandonment issues that could take the form of multiple sexual partners. Her characterization in the epilogues isn’t wrong; it’s just far from satisfying.

Same with Jane. The narrative explains away her behavior as being a subtle result of the Condesce. John even mentioned a thought I had myself: his nanna was Jane, and she just wanted to throw pies and have a good “hoo hoo!” The narrative gives us enough to make her what she is, but it’s not satisfying. Ultimately, the narrative needed a villain to push the conflict, and in a “utopia,” the only recourse is to exploit the dysfunctionalities in the existing powerful characters. In this case, the character needed to support the plot, rather than the other way around. That is, unfortunately, the breaks in this sort of situation.

The one character I was excited about was actually Dirk. I believe that his character was believable, as much as anyone might dislike me for it. Dirk realized that he had the ability, as part of his ultimate godtier self, to destroy the lines between himself and others, to destroy individuality, to essentially take control of everyone’s identities. Given that power, would there be any doubt he would use it to do his “machine and puppets” megalomania bullshit? The narrative makes it clear that he believes he’s doing what’s best for everyone, even if they think he’s a villain for it; to me, that sounds like exactly the sort of think he would do, faced with this situation.

Of course, that’s not to say there isn’t ANY straight up bad characterization. Eridan spoke like five lines and still managed to make me cringe.

The last thing I want to talk about is the sentiment that Hussie has given up, that he doesn’t care, or that he’s actively trying to alienate the fanbase.

I do not believe this to be the case. In fact, I would argue that the epilogue was rather lovingly constructed; as a creative writer, I can see that this text was not a slipshod job.

I believe the problem here is not a disconnect between Hussie and his text; rather, it is between Hussie and his audience, as I mentioned above.

Hussie is a person who writes the brand of comedy I discussed above. While he has grown tremendously since the first days of Homestuck, it seems sometimes that he’s being pigeonholed into a genre of writing that isn’t so much his wheelhouse. The fandom wants him to write a satisfying epilogue that somehow closes Homestuck and ALSO does justice to all of the characters; yet, Hussie’s writing in the past does not seem to lend itself well to this particular kind of conclusion, and neither does the story of Homestuck itself.

I rather believe that Hussie cares a lot but is split between his impulses as a writer, his artistic vision if you will, and the desires of the fandom. I’m not convinced that what we want is also what he wants. I’m also not convinced that what we want is more important than what he wants. After all, what did we pay to read the epilogue? I paid a whole fat boatload of NOTHING. I mean, I donated to the kickstarter, so I would like to see some satisfying reward there. And what has Hiveswap been so far? Characters! Lots of characters. Just what the fandom seems to like the most. But Homestuck? Was it ever meant to get this big, to put him on a pedestal to be boo’d or loved depending entirely on the fandom’s reception of his work, which was perhaps undertaken for his own pleasure as much as anyone else’s?

To conclude, a reader disliking the choices made for the epilogue is not the same as Hussie not caring. Perhaps the thing that Hussie cares less about is sacrificing his own artistic vision for the whims of his readership. The epilogue really is doing interesting things about exploring identity and narrative and the like. Perhaps that’s what he cares about.

Not that anyone has to like him, of course.

I think that’s all for now. I mean, I could have more to say, but I got my words off my chest about it.

[farfanfiction]

Loyalty to the Pack: Part 12

Pairing: John Seed x Joseph Seed x Reader x Jacob Seed

AUs: Omegaverse, werewolves

Warnings: Angst, fluff (kinda), references to self-harm, suicidal thoughts, drug use, depression, anxiety, hallucinations, cursing, mentions of death

Word Count: 2,456

A/N: Thank you guys so much for waiting on this chapter. I’ve been working on not only this but also the other series that I’m posting soon. I’m thankful for you guys for being patient about this story as I take a break from writing while I finish up my school and enjoy a little bit of my summer break before getting back into the tune of things. I’m so very grateful for all of you guys. I’m sorry if this is really John centered at the moment. Joseph and Jacob will get their spotlight. And like always, give me some feedback on what I could do better or what I did alright, where you wanna see this whole mess go, or something you just don’t understand. The picture is not mine.

Masterpost  My Omegaverse Rules

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

   Tracey… That’s who you wanted. The voice of John practically purred the name over and over in your head. It was as if it was getting quieter and quieter as your vision was blurred with an explosion of green and the smell of bliss clouding your senses. The smell of John. 

   It felt so homey now. Like when your mother baked pies for various church events or when Lexi curled up at the foot of your bed and you could feel her warmth through the blankets.

   This experience was different from the first time you entered the Bliss. The first time just felt like a dream. Everything you didn’t know you wanted was projected right in front of you and then it disappeared. It was God showing you that envy wasn’t the answer. If you continued to run from your problems, nothing would be solved. But, this was cruel.

   Holly and John were cruel. Life was cruel. God, himself, was cruel. For gifting you something only to run away from it. To you, running was the only thing you were good at. Having pups or being truly mated to John, or Jacob, or Joseph was something that only existed in a dream and would continue to be a dream.

   The green pollen of the bliss flowers gave way to reveal the sleep-like state of the Bliss. It hasn’t changed in the looks department. The grey trees were still barren and the delicate white flowers blew in the warm breeze. Animals laid among the grass and no human or werewolf was insight. 

   Except for the shapeless figure off in the distance. It leaned against a twisted tree near the end of the field. You squinted your (e/c) eyes to get a better look. You took a step forward and another. The grass crunched under your bare feet as you walked to the edge.

   The shapeless blur began to take shape. A muscular back was turned to you and vibrant tattoos and sins were carved into their skin. It was Joseph. The tattoos and the man bun were a dead give away.

   Great, the last person you wanted to fucking see. He had caused all this. He was the barrier or was it, John? All of them gave you a purpose that you couldn't perform, they gave you these sins to carry. Lust, greed, wrath, and envy. Envy was what started it all and what would end it all. The envy of Holly and now the envy of others. The ability to see beyond Eden’s Gate was what you were envious of. You knew what this… this thing was. What you were a part of. The hard part is letting go of those beliefs.

   You dug your bloodied nails into the delicate skin of your wrist as you watched Joseph stare off into the distance. He didn’t even notice you as you just stood behind him. “(Y/N), please, stand with me.” His voice was all but a soft whisper as you took a step beside him. He didn’t look at you, his sunglass-covered eyes just stared off into the distance.

   “I assume you know of God’s plans for you. I have preached it to all my children and my words have reached the ears of the resistance.” His voice trailed off as he said the word resistance. The Resistance…. The Deputy… Hope county’s savior as many people described him. The only time you met him you concluded that he was a dick.

   “I know.” Those two words were the only things you could say that weren’t lies.

   “John and Jacob have both spoken to me and we have decided you shall be the mother that the project needs. You will lead alongside us and protect us from the collapse. Our children will know not of pain or suffering. I have promised you before that you will want for nothing. That you have earned my love, but I believe you have not earned the love of yourself.” Joseph slowly turned to face you and intertwined his fingers with yours. They were rough and callused from the years of hard labor. Yet, they had a gentleness that was only Joseph.

   “How terrible it is to love something death can touch. This saying holds something near and dear to my heart. When I was younger, I feared for my brothers’ lives. Now, I fear for yours. John fears for you. I had heard him crying in his room over the sheer agony he was in as I watched the blood drip down his arm. I immediately knew it was you. Jacob fears for you as well. He fears you might fall into the same pit he had. A false sense of security and darkness. It pains me to know you were hurt and God wouldn’t let me help. The voice hasn’t brought me as much comfort as it once had. You have a purpose, you don’t need to hide or search anymore.” His words made you feel like you were under a spell. Silent tears streamed down your face as you continued to stare into the Bliss’s nothingness.

   For once, you thought you were in control of your own pain. This was the first and only time in your life that you’ve seen over what Joseph and the rest of this cult had implanted inside your head. You were or never would be in control of your own life.

   Joseph's fingers slowly slid their way up your arm and to the dried blood. He slowly brought the arm up and placed a gentle kiss on the cuts. His lips were soft as he went over each one and slowly lowered your arm. He then grabbed your face in his hands, staring into your (e/c) eyes with his own light blues. Tears were still spilling down your cheek as he leaned in and gave you a firm kiss on the lips. 

   He didn’t try anything else other than his lips on yours. It felt right. It was different than John’s but still right and full of unspoken love.

   Joseph moved from your mouth to your neck. He slowly sank his canines into John’s mating bite and you could feel your body come to life as all Joseph’s and John’s emotions hit you at once. Love, happiness, anger, envy, lust, and regret.

   Joseph had let go of your neck and brought his lips to your ear. “You are ours. Now and forever. It is what God commands.” Without another word, Joseph disappeared with a sprinkling of bliss pollen and petals left in his wake.

   You slowly reached up to your neck and touched the bite mark. Bright red blood like before came from the wound. Memories and emotions of John played in your mind like a movie as you gazed at your blood-soaked hand. The pain washed over your body minutes later. It was a slow process as you only stared at the blood in your own hands. It dripped onto your cut covered arm and onto the green-hued ground.

   You don’t even know what was real anymore. Your emotions from the real world intensified as you watched the Bliss change from it’s peaceful wooden landscape to a dark and hellish wasteland.

   The red of your blood had spread along with the ground forming pools of it on the wilting grass. The sky in this place was just as red as the ground as a large mushroom cloud formed off in the distance. Was this the Great Collapse? Did you cause this? This had to be it, the end. Joseph was right. This was indeed a holy war. Yet, a little voice in the back of your head disagreed. Wait, this was the Bliss. None of this was real. The two little voices seemed to go to war. One of them reflecting John like before and the other, the Deputy.

   As they fought, you looked out into the barren wasteland that was once Hope County. Everything held a blood red hue and the ground was covered in piles of ash. You stomped through the ash, up a small hill, and to a bunker. This was John’s bunker… and the door was sealed without anyone outside. You ran to the door and collapse right in front of it. You banged on the door and screamed at the top of your lungs. “Please! Please let me in! I’m one of you! Please!” No noise from inside could be heard.

   You banged again on the metal door as the delicate skin on your hands was shredded apart. More blood dripped onto the floor and stained the concrete. The wind outside was beginning to pick up. 

   The piles of ash moved onto the concrete and a loud boom echoed through the wasteland. You slowly turned to see another mushroom cloud rip through the last remaining trees, it’s ash winds coming straight for you. Your screams for help grew louder as it came closer then black. This had to mean something. Something was wrong, very wrong.

   “Hey, get up!” A voice boomed through the silence. A rather familiar voice that wasn’t your sister. This one was rougher and more dominant. Tracey. It had to be Tracey.

   Your (e/c) eyes snapped open as you gulped down the fresh air. You couldn’t smell John anymore. You were out of the Bliss. “It’s nice to see your ass is up after the shit hole we found you in.”

   “Wait, shit hole? Where the fuck was I?” Tracey showed only a little bit of sympathy as she helped you onto your feet. You steadily stood up as you looked around. You were back in the Prison, thank God you weren’t in that stuffy bunker anymore.

   “Yea, we found you a couple of miles down the road in a ditch full of those fucking spilled bliss barrels. You were out of your fucking mind when we got you.” That would explain the pounding headache.

   “So, what do we do now?” You had no fucking idea on what you were going to do now. John and Joseph were out of the question. Faith was only going to give you another damn headache. That only left Jacob and like hell, you were going to go to Jacob. He would laugh in your face as you pleaded for help. Jacob, just the thought of him made you feel off and hot. Just like Joseph and John.

   “You are going to go talk to the Deputy. He’s been asking for you since you got in.” The Deputy? Why the hell did he want to talk to you? The last time you saw him, it became very clear he didn’t give two shits about you. Yet, when it came to the Deputy, an anxious feeling began to bubble up in your stomach like before. This wasn’t going to be a simple chat over coffee.

   All you could do was shove these feeling into the back of your head as you followed Tracey through a number of doors and down hallways. A lot of Cougar members gave you a weird look as you passed. The only person who even looked like they tolerated you was Tracey, Whitehorse, and Vergil. Tracey had to be nice to an Omega, it was in her nature. Virgil was just a kind person in general and Whitehorse just needed information.

   The metal door slammed shut behind you as you walked into the large cell room from before. Like before, Whitehorse was leaned over a map on a desk across from the Deputy. Boomer sat obediently at his feet as he pointed out different locations on the map. Virgil just sat in a corner with a small porcelain cup in hand and a large book.

   “Sheriff, she’s awake,” Tracey announced as she went to go sit across from Vergil. Whitehorse only nodded, not looking up from his map, but the Deputy did. His brown eyes sparkled with something. You couldn’t put your finger on it exactly. He looked sorrowful and regretful. Full of pain. John. This had to do with John, you could feel it. Your Omega tried to get out as she heard your Alpha’s name. Something was wrong with John. That was what the Bliss was trying to tell you. His bunker, the blood. It all made sense. 

   “Deputy, where’s John?” Your voice was so small and weak as you stood in your spot. Your eyes were cast down on the ground and your (h/c) hair covered most of your face.

   “What?” His voice wavered only a little at your question. He knew what happened, he has to.

   “I said, where’s John!” This time, your voice boomed through the prison. This time people paid attention to you. Some of them closed the doors of their cell rooms as you moved closer to the Deputy.

   “I know where he is.” His voice was the most pitiful thing you’ve ever heard. The asshole from before was no longer there. He couldn’t hide behind that persona.

   “THEN TELL ME YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH!” This time you scream. Your voice was raw as you stared straight at him. He couldn’t avoid your gaze. No one, human or werewolf, could ignore the pain of an Omega. You could practically smell Tracey’s Alpha pheromones calming you. That wouldn’t work. She wasn’t John. He was the Alpha you were after, the one you lusted after even if he betrayed you. He was addicting. All the Seeds were like drugs. 

   “He... He… I… I shot his plane down and he was badly injured. I dumped him at Joseph’s compound. The last time I saw him, he was breathing and...” He couldn’t even finish his sentence before you ran past Tracey and Virgil to the courtyard. Tears didn’t even fall as you collapse on your knees. He was breathing but that was it. Was he alive now? Who knows…

   Something deep down inside you told you he was alive but barely. Your Omega side did nothing but cry and let out submissive whimpers from your head. You couldn’t even form a thought. This was it. This was the end. All you had was Joseph and Jacob, but no John. The very man you ran away from was someone you wanted to run back to. 

   After everything with Holly, you hated him. You wanted to hate him, but you couldn’t. He was your Alpha, your mate. Yet, so was Joseph and Jacob. You loved and wanted them just as much. You just wanted a happy family, like in the Bliss. Those pups and more on the way. You just wanted a purpose. You just wanted to be loved.

   How terrible it is to love something death can touch. It all made sense now.

[the--blackdahlia]

This Life Chapter 6

Title: This Life Chapter 6

Summary:  Dean Winchester is the Vice President of the motorcycle club The Hunters. After almost 7 years in prison, he's free. But things have changed and Dean has to figure out how to put things back together.

Warnings: Language mainly

AN: Thank you to @sams-serialkiller-fetish ! The song for this fic is The House of the Rising Sun by The Animals.

There were people standing around, chatting with each other when Dean entered the room. Taking one look at him, they all gasped and whispered with each other. Dean saw the guys from his club standing together. John was waiting there too, staring Dean down.

“I gave you one job.” John growled. “Just one. And you screwed it up.”

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked. It was like he was being funneled through the room, all eyes on him. Things started to move in slow motion as the crowd moved apart and Dean could see a casket displayed at the back of the room. When Dean looked around for answers, people turned their heads or gave him that pitying look that he had seen so many times all his life.

And that’s when he finally saw the face of the person in the casket.

Sammy.

“No!” Dean said. “What kind of joke is this?!” But no one answered him, turning their eyes away from him. “Who the fuck did this?! Stop it! It’s not funny!” He went to the casket, slapping Sam’s face. “Come on bitch, wake up!” But Sam didn’t answer. “Come on Sammy, you gotta call me a jerk now. S-Sammy…”

“He’s gone.” A voice said. “He’s gone.”

“No! No! No!”

*****

“No!” Dean yelled out, sitting up in his sleep. He was covered in a thing layer of sweat. He ran his hand down his face as he took deep breaths. Ever since he had found out that Sam was missing, the nightmares were pretty much the same. No matter how many times he had it, it still scared the crap out of him. He looked over at the alarm clock on his nightstand, the red numbers glowing angrily at him.

3:45 AM.

He and Benny had made plans to leave in about two hours. But Dean knew if he went back to sleep for even just a little bit longer, he would be haunted by Sam being dead and his dad’s disapproving eyes. Instead, he got up and decided to do a little exercising. But the minute he got up and used the bathroom, his stomach growled at him and he knew that he had to eat. Thankfully, he had decided to go to the grocery and there were a few things to eat. He wanted to pack some stuff for if they had to stop. He knew Benny would be bringing some food along too.

He turned on the little TV that he had in his apartment to watch the greatest hits of infomercials while he munched away at some apple cinnamon oatmeal. Being awake this early in the morning was almost like being in a different country. Everything seemed so different. It could either be the most peaceful time or your life, or your worst nightmare. Usually, if Dean was awake at this time, it was because of something club related and it was usually one of the best things ever. But now, it was because of his worry about his little brother.

After a little bit of just taking it slow, Dean started to pack up some things for the trip. He knew that he would be gone longer than a day, because it was almost twenty-four hours to Bakersfield. Dean took his bag and made his way downstairs to where his bike was waiting. It had taken him and Caleb most of the day, but they got her in safe working condition. He needed to fill up before he went to Benny’s.

$1.30 a gallon. It wasn’t too much more than when he went in, but it was on the rise. He hated to see what it would be like if it ever jumped above $2. Not that it really matter to him much. He finished pumping his gas and headed out to where Benny’s house was. The neighborhood was quiet. It had been Benny’s parents house. But when they split and found different states to live in, Benny took up residence there.

Benny’s dad had been good friends with the original Hunters. John had actually been his best man when he married Benny’s mom, and was right there when they cut it quits and went their separate ways. Benny had grown up with Dean and Sam. Since he was the same age as Dean, he saw Sam as his little brother and was right there by Dean’s side to help Sam whenever he needed. If there was ever anything Sam felt like he couldn’t go to Dean about, he could go to Benny. It would still get around to Dean, but Sam usually felt a little better talking to Benny first. That’s why Benny was determined to go with Dean. They had to find their little brother.

Dean pulled into the driveway of Benny’s place. His bike was in the garage but his truck was parked outside. It was the same one that he had always had, so Dean figured that he wasn’t driving it when he was hit. He parked his bike by the truck and made his way up to the front door. He was about to knock when Benny opened the door.

“Shit!” Benny said. “God man, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Not my fault you opened the door before I could be polite.” Dean grumbled. “I thought you’d be half asleep still.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Benny said. “I had the weirdest dream.”

“You and me both.” Dean said. He wondered if maybe they had had the same dream. It had happened before. “Well, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah. I filled up last night when I left the garage. She should be good for awhile.” Benny smiled. “Guess we better get out of here before Bobby wakes up and wants us to have a meeting or something.”

“Yeah, he already wants us to try to get some business out there. I hope he knows that’s the last thing on my mind.” Dean said, putting his helmet back on.

“I’m sure he knows that Dean.” Benny said. “We all do. And he’s just as worried about Sam as we are.” Dean nodded and got on his bike. Benny loaded up his gear and followed suit. Dean and Benny pointed their bikes west and took off. They left Wolfpine behind, leaving the quiet and familiar town for a place that neither had ever been before.

****

Hours and many miles later found Dean and Benny in New Mexico. They decided to stop before Arizona, because the faster they could get through Horsemen territory, the better. They wished that they could dip down into Mexico, but they couldn’t go through a checkpoint and they sure as hell couldn’t risk any other way. They were ready though. And if they had trouble, they had plenty of clubs that they could call on for backup.

“Dude. Here.” Benny said, motioning off to a little place. It was a House of Pies, and anyone who knew Dean knew how much he loved pie.

“Fuck yeah.” Dean said with a smile. They parked their bikes and headed inside. It was a cozy little place. Dean felt a little out of place with the dirty jeans and the black leather vest, but the girl who waited on them ate it up and slipped him his number. Benny didn’t flirt much, but Dean was eating up the attention.

“God, you’re just a magnet, aren’t you?” Benny asked as they left the diner.

“If we had more time around, I might give her a call for a good time.” Dean laughed. Dean showed Benny the receipt. Jenny, with a heart. “Too bad her phone number isn’t different.”

“Dear lord, listen to something from this century sometime.” Benny said. “Like, I promise you that there’s been some good shit.”

“20th century is the best.” Dean said. “Don’t ever forget that Sa...Benny.” Dean said. Benny noticed then a change in Dean’s attitude after the slip up.

“Well, let’s go. I’d prefer to get through Arizona as quick as we can. You good to go?” Benny asked. Dean nodded. They got back on their bikes. Dean and Benny had once drove from Texas to New York without stopping to sleep, just stopping to fill up from time to time. They had done it then for a Aerosmith concert, they could do it now for Sam. As they entered the Grand Canyon state, Dean could see the finish line in sight. It wouldn’t be long.

They had just passed through Mesa and Dean and Benny were sure that they were home free.

They just didn’t notice a guy at a gas station with a pale yellow bike who was watching them as they passed by. The girl who was sitting there with him noticed them.

“Those stupid bastards.” She whispered, pushing back her platinum hair. “They have a death wish, don’t they?”

“Yes they do Lil.” The guy laughed. “Come on. We got to call the others. The Hunters will pay for coming to Arizona.” He finished pumping his gas and got on his bike.

The back of his vest he was wearing said The Horsemen Motorcycle with a demonic looking horse head in the middle of the lettering.

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo @i-would-die-for-woodland-demars @dekahg @marvel-af @feelmyroarrrr @nanie5 @imboredsueme @gemini0410 @aiaranradnay @babypink224221 @mogaruke

Dean Winchester/Jensen Ackles Tags: @luciathewinchestergirl @sheris532 @bobasheebaby @flamencodiva

This Life Tags: @soulslaststand @jamielea81 @caplansteverogers @becs-bunker @supernaturalwincestsblog

Supernatural Tags: @bandobsession98 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @fangirlsencyclopaediaofweirdness @ilovetardis @missihart23

[swanandapirate]

A Muted Hue of Grey  (1/14)  -- CSBB

Summary: Emma Swan liked being a PI in Boston. It was a fun job, she had an okay income and she was a good one at that, so there was no logical reason to try and leave. Except for the fact that she wanted to, so badly. And, when she received a job offer for what seemed to be the opportunity of a lifetime, she did exactly that. Leave. Run. All the way to London. The job was simple: trailing a man called Killian Jones. Easy enough. 

Well, until things get complicated, that is.

Rating: M (later mentions of violence, alcohol abuse, and sex)

Wordcount: 2934

Links: ao3 // ff.net

A/N: Pheeewww it's finally here! Over a year ago, I came up with yet another prompt that I thought I was never going to write and then had the crazy idea to write it as a part of @captainswanbigbang which was one of the best decisions I’ve made in a long time. I've been working on this story for months and at last, it is done and ready to be posted. This has been a 61K labor of love with a couple of obstacles along the road (I’m looking at you, uni). I owe major gratitude to my betas and superheroes @acourtoftruelove and @ofshipsandswans for sometimes yelling at me, often correcting me, and always squealing along with me. I couldn't have done this without them.

And check out the banner and amazing picset by the lovely @shady-swan-jones who gave this fic the perfect art to go along with it.

So, without further ado: A Muted Hue of Grey.

——————————

God, why were there so many people?

She thought Boston was bad but London was, quite frankly, ten times worse. She had to keep her lips pursed together to keep from grunting and swearing every two seconds. Tourists here, street vendors there. Cyclists who ran a red light, almost plowing her over when she had every right to cross as the green stick figure had given her permission. The city had its charm, of course, but not when she needed to focus and could not be distracted by a girl taking a selfie in the middle of the road while blocking every other person walking there. Emma had a mission and she couldn’t fuck it up.

Avoiding eye contact with the pubescent-looking guy, clipboard in hand and a bright raincoat with a logo of some non-profit organization branded on his back, she continued on. It had to be far from an enjoyable job, standing outside, braving the cold and the rain only to be turned down time after time. Emma did feel sorry for the teenagers. She wasn’t against supporting animals or the environment, far from it actually, but more often than not the “have you heard about this cause” talk generated a nuisance that could only be avoided by lowering her gaze and crossing the road. There was no time to politely listen to them rattle their practiced speech only to politely decline with the answer that she would think about it. Especially now.

Sounds of a busker infiltrated the buzz of the people around her, of all those conversations held between the commuters or across the phone. The chords played on the battered guitar were familiar, ones she’d definitely heard before, and when the words joined the rest of the music, Emma shook her head with a trace of a smile appearing, feeling foolish that she didn’t figure it out earlier. Wonderwall, of course.

While the street musicians lacked originality vis-a-vis their choice of music (John Lennon, Oasis, Goo Goo Dolls, Radiohead; she’d heard it all a thousand times), most of them did possess a lot of talent. Emma halted more often than not—when she wasn’t in a hurry—to listen to their rendition of some cliché song, giving them whatever spare change she had in her purse or pocket and in return being thanked with a smile.

Honestly, London wasn’t all that bad. Her apartment was shit, yes; there was no point in attempting to gloss over that. It was impossible to hide the mold stains and pretend the ice water squirting out of the defect shower was pleasant and warm. Although her landlord was of that opinion somehow; anything to get him out of spending time and effort to fix some bothersome issues he’d rather ignore. The jackass.

She didn’t have any friends after moving here, yes, that was true too. But she could handle being alone, she was quite experienced with loneliness and independence, had learned to be resourceful and creative every time she lacked an extra pair of hands, an additional set of eyes or simply some new company.

The city wasn’t all that great either, but Emma could think of worse places to be. New York, for one, where the large crowds only resulted in chaos; a heavily-polluted, siren-screeching mess. London, however, seemed more structured to Emma. The perfect place to be undercover, to blend into the masses and only reappear when she felt like it all the while still retaining a sense of overview. And for what her job consisted of, that trait was necessary and ideal.

It had taken a while to grow accustomed to the British manners, the overabundance of pet names (she had to keep herself from answering “I’m not your love” everytime she got called some sort of variation), to everything basically. From the way they ordered food to the way their traffic was directed—god, she’s never been so afraid for people riding a bike as she was for the cyclists risking their lives between the swerving and honking cars.

It had been a struggle to not be the American amongst Brits and to not ooze her Americanness in the way she moved and the way she looked. It had taken a combination of observing and adapting, but now, Emma was sure she appeared as any other London goer. One last disclosure was the moment she would open her mouth and began talking in an accent that could not be interpreted as anything but American. Luckily for her, however, she was never the socializing type so she was able to restrict unnecessary communication to a minimum. Yay for being a loner.

She scanned the crowded bridge before her again, adjusting the camera around her neck. Its synthetic band was uncomfortably chafing against the skin of her neck, turning it raw and itchy. In a soothing manner, her hand massaged the dry patch of skin, but to no avail. She had to stop thinking about it, the irritation would only get worse.

A distraction presented itself and Emma let out a relieved sigh when she obtained a visual confirmation that the selfie-taking girl had not ruined everything. It had taken her more than a week to figure the whole situation out, to know where she should be and at what time. The shortcuts she was supposed to take were etched into her mind, a detailed treasure map with a moving X. Left here, two blocks ahead another left, she could almost do it with her eyes closed—if it weren’t for the other people.

If anyone ever asked her what her dream job was, her answer wouldn’t be traipsing around London by foot, but she’d made the choice for this profession a long time ago—after she’d been beaten up as a bail bonds person far too often—and it had stuck. She was good at what she did and after a couple of jobs, her reputation began to precede her. Offers came from left and right, giving her a wide array of choices and letting her be picky, a luxury she could not afford when she was younger. It helped her to be able to fly to another continent and pay way too much for her shit apartment.

The move here was a bit radical, almost crazy, but she’d been asked and she was never one to pass up on a good work opportunity. Her ties back in America weren’t deeply rooted. They could easily be yanked out to start afresh and even though she’d had some mournful and aghast responses to her news, all of her friends knew her enough to have prepared for this situation. They had always kept an eye open for the impending moment, the sudden flash when Emma would get sick of the suburban life and would want a whole one-eighty. The whole picket fence life… well, she wasn’t there yet and doubted she ever would.

She’d come back eventually; this job wasn’t going to take years of her life, but there was no haste either. She would return home with a new experience and some new stories under her belt. No new friends; Emma wasn’t idealistic enough to expect herself to suddenly gain friends. Nor was she social enough; the only things she did were work and return home.

Every day, she took the same route, she visited the same places. The coffee shop across the street that had the surly-looking barista but had the best price-quality ratio. The laundromat two blocks over that didn’t communicate their closing hours clearly enough and had automatically locked Emma inside when she’d noticed at 9.49 pm that she had no clean underwear anymore. The night shop that provided Emma with midnight snacks and drinks and its joyful owner who always gave her a discount. Places with people, but none she spoke more words than hello, bye and thank you to.

It had taken her years to gather and open up to the people she frequently came across back in Boston: the girl with the pixie cut who lived in 2A, her sandy-haired boyfriend, the owner of the diner Emma ate at every Monday morning, the martial arts coach at the gym she used to work out at until she was sweaty and exhausted. Years of coaxing on their part, asking her in the hallway, in the locker room, mid-breakfast to hang out, only to be met by her immediate refusal. Years of learning to trust.

Honestly, she was grateful they never stopped trying, never let being cast off by the solid brick walls surrounding her deter them. They saw something in her—Zeus knows what exactly that was—and wanted to include her, let her enter their little but tight-knit circle of people when they barely knew her. Their only reasoning was that “she looked like she could use some company”, a direct quote from the circle’s mother, Mary Margaret, also known as 2A’s pixie cut.

Emma subtly curled her lips and closed her eyes as she thought back to the people back home, momentarily basking in the warm feeling that settled inside of her. But this wasn’t the time to be sentimental, she could save that for another time, one where she was preferably alone and not working. She continued to maneuver around, opening and lifting her eyes to gain sight of her target anew. The mop of black hair was about 20 yards in front of her, still moving at a steady pace.

She lifted the camera with care to avoid hurting her already damaged skin even more and held it before her face. Closing her left eye to exclude any form of distraction, her right focused on the tiny image before her. The image was still blurry and after a couple of heartbeats, it became clear, the perfect quality for Emma to press the button. The shutter clicked fast, a set of successive images following quickly, flashing along.

After a quick check of her material and a nod, showing her satisfaction with the results, she let the camera drop again, the device bumping against her stomach a couple of times before steadying and adjusting to her fast steps. He was moving fast so she had to as well.

There were white earbuds dangling from his ears, his head softly bobbing along to the beat of the song reverberating in his ears. He was entranced in his own little world, with a personal soundtrack to which he moved and acted and that drowned out the bustle of the city.

She was curious about what he was listening to, what music was worthy of the honor of being added to his playlist and blasted into his ears every morning. Was he a rock listener? Classical music connoisseur? Did he have a penchant for sappy love songs à la Ed Sheeran that he would then emotionally sing along to? Was he as original in creating his playlists as the buskers that were scattered in subway stations and on street corners? Emma supposed it wouldn’t take her too long to figure it out, to figure him out, all the way to the final details of his being and character.

For not being a people person, she prided herself on being able to read people quite well.

The spring sun shone brightly and without encumbrance, hitting her skin directly and causing small beads of sweat to gather at her temples and a thin layer on her upper lip, which Emma rapidly wiped away. The clothes she was wearing—a thick woolen sweater and jeans—were unfit for this weather. It was as though it were the heart of August and not the blossoming beginning of April in a country where winter had only just ceded its powers. Emma wished—fervently—she had known that this morning. She also wished she had thought about layers. Their power could not be underestimated. They were the way of life here.

But the white fabric stuck to her skin, the sweat not helping at all, and slowed her movements down as she attempted to quicken her pace. She was losing track of the nape, the mess of hair she was pursuing. The stress found its way to her head, making Emma’s heart pick up pace as well. Her steps quickened on the concrete, the tap tap occasionally interrupted by a rasp of shoes on the underground when she turned a sharp corner and braked. Her steady breathing was turning into a pant, proving to Emma it was definitely time to renew her gym membership. Being a PI might be less physical and consist of less running, fighting, avoiding danger etc. than a bail bonds person's curriculum but that did not mean she was allowed to slouch. Not if she was doing this.

She squeezed herself between a group of tourists, much to the dismay of said tourists who indignantly addressed her in Spanish. Not that she would understand what words they were using in their complaints, her high school Spanish had withered to a dead plant after not being watered and nourished for years. Emma hastened to reach the leader, using the woman’s Spanish flag as a guide to reach the end of the troop and to be able to pass her. With her camera clutched tightly, held close to not bestow any additional hindrance, she zigzagged, ducking and swerving as she seemed fit. After a minute or so—though it felt like a lifetime—she re-emerged from the group, some more Spanish thrown her way, frantically looking for him.

Shit, where did he go?

While before it was like a ray of light lit him up, pointing out where he walked in the crowd, now there was only darkness. An unlit maze without any sort of red thread, a challenge she had no idea how to tackle. The metaphorical target on his back had vanished. Hundreds of dark-haired people, dozens of earbuds, not the one Emma needed.

She needed him, with his leather bag, the pirate necklace around his neck, the tattoo on his right upper arm, with those elven ears Emma was so fascinated by but would never admit to anyone that she was.

What was he doing?

Right, three streets, right again, left until the lights.

That was what the GPS embedded into her brain told her was his route; that was what he always did on Saturday afternoon.

So why wasn’t he standing before the red glowing traffic light?

He had a routine he followed almost meticulously. A creature of extreme habit, that was what he was. Emma had to buy herself a watch to be able to know what time it was at every second and not have to bother with retrieving her phone from her pocket every time, losing precious seconds. She used the simple watch on her wrist to follow his movements, needed it on every occasion. There were not a lot of people she had met before who were this exact, who left their apartment when the clock stroke precisely eight, who re-entered their apartment at 17:23 time and time again, regardless of the weather, day or season.

This was not like him.

Emma peered over her shoulder as she took a right, the sudden movement making her hair whip, attempting to look through the masses to double check if he surely hadn’t taken the left turn like usual, but there was no trace of him. Or his unique ears.

Right as she turned her head back, in what felt like a blink of an eye, there was something right in front of her. Someone. Emma attempted to decelerate and stop but the distance was too small to do so, her body still in motion. She braced for the shock, the crash of two moving objects together, her body meeting another solid mass and flinched to prepare for the pain to hit her but there were two hands that softened the blow, that settled on both of her upper arms, one warm and one cold.

Emma didn’t dare to open her eyes, eyelids still squeezed shut. Until the someone she almost hit, but didn’t because they were paying attention while she was focused on other things, cleared their throat, an attempt to capture Emma’s attention and most likely to prompt her to open her eyes again instead of standing there like a scared little child.

Biting the inside of her lip, Emma slowly peeled her eyes open, letting them first adjust to the light again and then scan her direct surroundings. She was staring at a chest. A man’s chest. There were earbuds dangling from his grey Henley, a trace of chest hair peeking out the top and a silver chain around his neck. An odd feeling of apprehension plagued her, heartbeat lodged in her throat, as her eyes hesitantly traveled upwards, in search of a face, of some point of recognition who this mysterious stranger-slash-savior was.

Blue eyes stared into hers.

Familiar blue eyes.

“Can I help you, lass?” he asked and while this was the first time she had heard him speak, the cadence, the accent, the voice—his voice—felt familiar. As if she’d spent hours upon hours listening to it, talking to him. She could almost imagine how his voice would sound in a laugh, how it would change when he was tired, the accent thick and present, how it would caress in a whisper.

It felt as if she knew him.

Which she did.

But also didn’t.

Because this was Killian Jones.

The man she was hired to spy on.

The man who was holding her and staring at her with expectant eyes.

Fuck.

——————————

For the next couple of months, you can expect an update every Thursday! I hope you enjoyed!

[dont-doubt-dopple]

The Story

A/N: Two Things. One, in this story Swagger is referred to as Eric. Three, there are some more disturbing elements in here. Read at your own caution. Other than that, enjoy!!

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

“And they were never to be seen again.” Brian spoke, wiggling his fingers to put emphasis on his spooky tone. Brock was on the edge of his seat as he listened, the two Canadians were half listening and half zoned out, and David was practically falling asleep in his chair. “Until their bodies washed up on a river about a week later, but that’s not important.

“What?!” Smitty exclaimed. “You can’t just ... fucking end it like that!”

“That just ruins the whole mystery to it.” Brock pointed out. “Bodies means cops, Cops means investigation, and investigation means a possible capture of the monster.”

“Hey.” Evan whispered to David as the others started to argue. “We’re shitting on Brian. Wake up.”

“FOK OFF BRIAN!!” David yelled before falling back onto the ground. Everyone stopped and stared at him. “What? I heard we were shitting on Brian.”

“Yeah, for telling a terrible story.” Smitty jabbed.

“Like you could do better!” The Irishman challenged, and Smitty nodded. He rose and cracked his fingers, shaking them out like he was warming up.

“Alright boys. Get ready to be scared. Once, there were five idiots.”

“Hey!” Evan exclaimed.

“Five different idiots.” He clarified. “Besides, I don’t see Brock as an idiot or Nogla as a full person.” Brock beamed as David flipped the bird at Smitty. The youngest chuckled before continuing. “Anyways, the first reason these five were idiots was because they were walking through the woods during a full moon on Friday the 13th.”

“Who the fuck thought this was a good idea?” Cam asked his friends behind him. When Mason raised his hand shyly, he really only sighed. Of course one of two people usually high on some sort of drugs thought this was a good idea.

“Dude, I thought this would be quicker home. I think ... Eric showed me this trail.”

“No, don’t say that. Wasn’t me.” Eric refuted. “I wouldn’t touch this place with a ten foot pole. Maybe it was Jay.”

“Nooooo.” Jay whined. “Don’t drag me into this.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was you.” Mason continued. “We were either high on weed or LSD and you pointed this place out.”

“I know what I’m like when I’m high, and I would not fucking come here high. Not even LSD would make ...”

“Alright, guys, can we cut out the fighting? It’s getting us nowhere.” Toby interrupted. “Let’s focus on the more pressing issue that we’re lost.”

“Dude, I’m pretty sure these are THE woods. You know ... the ones with all the legends and stuff.” Mason said, running his hand across one of the trees. “Like the devil with one eye who kills you with his tail. Or the Jason ripoff who slices your head off if you touch his teddy. Or the half man half pi...” A hand from Jay over his mouth stopped him.

“You’re not helping.” He said. “I’m scared. We’re lost, and I don’t need to hear about the various ways I’ll DIE!”

“Let’s just calm down and focus on the decision ahead of us.” Cam suggested. “Which way: Left or Right?”

“Let’s go ... Left.” Eric said.

“Alright, we go Right.”

“I said left.”

“No offense, Cunt.” Mason butted in. “But you’re wrong about a lot of things. If Cam says Right, we go right. He’s gotten us this far.” Eric shook his head and began to follow the others. All except Toby, who stayed in the back. Toby, who froze when a particularly soft voice spoke in his ear.

“Your other friend was right.” The voice belonged to a man with platinum blond and rings scattered across his fingers. “Left is ri-correct. That’s a better word.”

“How do you know that? And who even are you?”

“Who I am is not important.” The stranger circled Toby. “Just know that I happen to know my way around these woods. And if you and group will allow it then I’ll happy to show you out.”

“Well ... thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

“I just need your permission to come in.”

“Course you can come in.” The mystery man smiled. His eyes blinked black.

“Perfect.” He became dark and translucent, stepping into Toby’s body as he tried to scramble away. Toby’s eyes flashed black very briefly as the two became one entity before turning to their normal shade, albeit slightly darker. He then proceeded along, following the rest of his group in relative silence.

“So wait ...” David interjected, causing four pairs of eyes to stare at him. “The stranger was a ghost or a demon or what?”

“He’s a demon, Nogla.” Brian clarified. “Now c’mon, and shut the fuck up. This is getting interesting.”

“Continue Smit.” Brock said, and the younger Canadian nodded.

“So as I was saying ... the four idiots and one possessed idiot continued through the supposedly haunted woods ...”

“We’re going in fucking circles!” Eric cried, clearly frustrated with the lack of progress. “God I want to punch something so bad right now.”

“Dude, we’ll figure a way out of this.” Jay assured him. “Uhh ... maybe we could leave a trail of where we’ve been so we can retrace our steps?”

“With what?” Eric asked. “We don’t have bread or any shit that could help, all our phones are dead and even if they weren’t there’s no service, and it’s so dark that we can’t see a goddamn thing anyways.

“Guys, this is not the time to be fighting.” Cam asserted, stepping between the two.

“Well, do you have a better idea?!” Jay screamed, ignoring Cam’s protests. ‘Toby’ hung back from the drama. Cam sighed, and muttered to himself that this wasn’t calming down anytime soon.

“Maybe I do!”

Off to the side, Mason had found something else to steal his attention. It was a young kid, with messy black hair and seemingly different colored eyes. He was out of breath, with ripped clothes and choppy breaths. He quickly turned his head toward Mason, who staggered back in surprise.

“There’s ... there’s something in those woods.” The stranger breathed. “It ... It was chasing me so I ran and now I’m lost and ... and I don’t know what I should be doing.” He sneezed once, twice, three times.

“God bless you.” Mason said, not sure what else he should say.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The mysterious man grinned.

“The words I needed to hear right now.” He began to run at Mason, who raised his arms as the stranger tackled toward him. But instead of going down to the ground, he went through his body. Mason fell to the ground; his eyes lighting up two separate colors. He giggled again.

“You okay?” ‘Mason’ looked up to see ‘Toby’ offering him a hand. “Little weird to see you trip over nothing.”

“Shut up, Gay Man.”

“Whatever Dude.” ‘Toby’ winked as he helped ‘Mason’ up. They both nodded to each other.

“Uh ... guys?” Cam called out from a nearby clearing. Eric and Jay quickly joined on either side to see a pentagram inscribed into the ground. Candles protruding from skulls—real human skulls—littered the surrounding area. An alter rested in the back, with an ancient looking book resting atop it. The smell of herbs filled the air, but not that we’re easily recognizable.

“What ...”

“... the ...”

“ ... Fuck?”

The terms barely escaped the three mouths before Jay and Eric screamed, falling to their knees with knifes in their backs. Cam turned around in a panic to see Toby and Mason, both with pitch black eyes pulling out the weapons with no remorse. Cam took a step back with each step Toby took toward him until he could feel himself pressed up against Mason. The other held him in placed as his former best friend drove a knife through his stomach. He stabbed repeated, until Cam could no longer hold his eyes open. Toby and Mason stood in the middle of the circle and, with a single nod, slit their throats. The two demons floated out without a scratch while their mortal counterparts collapsed as they choked on their own blood. They look down, proud of their work.

“Another sacrifice.” The first one said.

“Another century.” The other confirmed.

“The bodies were never found.” Smitty concluded. “And it’s still rumored that the demons that killed them still inhabit the woods, coming out every full moon of October to lengthen their lives with more blood and bodies.”

“Wow.” Brock breathed. “That was ... wow.”

“I’m still not convinced that it was better than mine.” Brian said, crossing his arms against his chest.

“What?! Mine was totally better.” Smitty exclaimed.

“Give me one reason it was better.”

“Well,” Smitty said, his eyes turning darker until they were pitch black. “I never said it was a FICTIONAL story.” Four pairs of eyes widened in newfound fear as the realization of the situation dawned on them. Evan tried to turn around, to escape this fate, but was stopped as the shadow of John stepped into view. He held a knife in his hand, already dropped with blood.

“Now, who wants to die first?”

[almaasi]

Here’s a handy post with ALL 15 of the Destiel fics I posted this year!! (Total word count for the year: 366,181.)

2017 has been a year of drama, demisexual Cas, and dogs. (Seriously, a LOT of dogs.) Wow, I did awesome - and I think my personal health journey is well-reflected in the topics, from depression recovery and weirdness in January to fluff and smut in the last months of the year.

I hope you enjoy reading these even more than I enjoyed writing them ♥

✦ Mostly In Silence · 4k · G · hurt-comfort + depression recovery

Dean returns home to the bunker, only to find Castiel is lost in a deep depression. Taking their cues from the night sky (perhaps holding hands, perhaps sharing their first kiss), Dean helps Castiel rediscover a small but shining sense of hope.

✦ Lucid Nightmare · 10k · T · basically weird meta about fanfic AUs

there’s fire in this city // sirens, ghosts, and earthquakes // one night, you protect me // and we run until dawn breaks //

Or:

A spooky, fluffy, mind-warping existential-themed half-fic half-poem, in which Dean saves siren!Cas from a real-life waking nightmare and drives him to Bobby’s house for safety. But as Cas reveals more about himself and his past, Dean comes to realise he has to let his new winged friend enter his mind and dreamwalk, or else Cas will die.

✦ A Place and a Feeling · 24k · NC-17 · fluffy drama + domesticity + smut

Human AU. Dean Winchester still hasn’t found the perfect little house in the suburbs he’s always dreamed of. On the off-chance that another meeting with his totally adorkable realtor could finally change everything, Dean keeps going back to Castiel’s agency. Like Cas always says, home is both a place and a feeling. But what if the place Dean’s looking for is Castiel’s house, and the feeling is Castiel himself? Sometimes the most unprofessional choices lead to the most enjoyable personal consequences. This is one of those times.

✦ Our Garden Home · 36k · G · cute overload fairy AU

Flower fairy Dean has caught a thief in his trap. As it turns out, it wasn’t a mouse stealing his food. It was Castiel: a hissy, bitey bat sprite with one wing and a forlorn, lonely heart. Dean offers a warm space in his nest, where Castiel can stay until Springtime comes around again. However, Castiel becomes more than just a guest. With a little effort, he helps make Dean’s nest a home.

✦ Night Exhibition · 27k · NC-17 · friends to lovers + smut (rimming!)

Welcome to the world’s most generic museum. In the café, you’ll find Dean, putting dinosaur cut-outs on his award-winning apple pies. In the gift shop, you’ll find his snarky yet devastatingly handsome friend Castiel, folding t-shirts for a living. But Castiel has a second job as a night watchman, patrolling the marble halls and protecting the museum exhibits after dark. One night, Dean asks to tag along. He could never resist a crisp blue uniform, and he’ll take any opportunity to have his friend show it off. It might take all night, one dance, and a playful sex act (or five) in a few unusual places around the museum before either of them realise… maybe Dean’s interest was never about the uniform. And maybe their friendship was already something else.

✦ What We Ache For · 93k · NC-17 · hurt-comfort + domesticity

Working as a prostitute (that’s ‘sex worker’ to the decent folks), Castiel has heard more than his fair share of odd requests. When he’s paid to spend a night with Dean Winchester (handsome, dork of all dorks, has a nice car… secretly a cop), the last thing Castiel expects to hear are the words “I wanna make love.” That’s the one thing he’s never done before – so Dean is going to show him how to do it. But then, barely a month after that night is over, Castiel finds himself in a difficult situation, and Dean is mistakenly summoned to help. They begin to share again: Dean’s apartment, the spare bed, their deepest secrets. Over time, with the support of Dean’s brother Sam, a mystery dog, and lots of cuddles, kisses, comfort, and tea, maybe Cas can finally be loved the way he deserves.

✦ Purple Horse in a Coffee Shop · 8k · G · fun & silly office romance

Nobody expects to see a purple horse at a Pride parade. So, naturally, Dean Winchester is surprised to meet his office co-worker and long-term crush, Castiel, riding atop a magnificent steed - and dressed in full wizard regalia, no less. Somehow, Cas thinks he (and his decked-out horse) are wearing grey. They visit a coffee shop with their friends and family, trying to get to the bottom of this mix-up - and apparently the purple horse is coming too.

“One medium black coffee with two sugars; one macchiato; three small soy lattes; one large decaf with a caramel shot - and ten apples, please.”

✦ Unconditional · 2k · T · hurt-comfort + meta about Dean & John Winchester

Over the years, Dean’s learned a lot about himself, and the way he loves those around him. Now Cas is back from the dead, and he came back human - and hurt. As Dean soothes Cas’ wounds in the front seat of the Impala, an ache in his heart drives him to find words to explain.

✦ The Wireless · 58k · NC-17 · solar punk + the most holy-shit thing I have ever written imo

Cas Novak hosts a popular radio show, entertaining hunters with his psychic powers. But, in a world where monster-hunting is commonplace, he harbours a powerful secret: he’s not human, but an angel, surviving in a society unsympathetic to his kind. For six years, Cas has read out news stories describing a particularly impressive man: Dean Winchester, distinguished hunter and accidental prophet of God. Not by chance, Cas meets Dean at a sunny autumn carnival, where Dean’s taken a job at a kissing booth. One kiss - perhaps two - and they’re already old friends, sharing fairground food, a carousel ride, another kiss on the ferris wheel… Finally, safe in the tent Dean shares with his brother, Castiel feels comfortable enough to reveal those unknown pieces of himself. But come morning, bigger events separate the trio: an ancient beast is waking up, and a fearful world desperately needs to be united. Now Castiel has a reason to confess his true nature, broadcasting live on Hunter Radio. Of course, Dean is listening. And it’s only a matter of time before he replies.

✦ Marshmalloween · 33k · T · lighthearted “teenagers vs. a haunted swamp” adventure

In an attempt to be the world’s coolest guardian, Dean takes his seventeen-year old brother Sam and all his friends to a ‘haunted’ swamp for Halloween night. Even if the ghost stories are a load of baloney, at least the alligators are real. Dean is unexpectedly reunited with his childhood friend (and crush) Castiel, kickstarting a fun night of Halloween antics - marshmallow toasting, bottle spinning, kiss exchanging, and spooky storytelling around the campfire. But when Sam and his dog both go missing, Dean realises the stories his mother once told him are all true. Monsters are real. And unless Dean, Cas, and all of Sam’s friends can figure out how to bring Sam back, he might be lost forever.

✦ Restaurant Revelations · 4k · G · fluffy relationship reveal

Dean and Cas have something important to tell Sam. They don their cheap rental tuxes, and Cas takes out dinner reservations at an exclusive restaurant just for the occasion. Sam is surprised enough when he and Cas make it through the door. But Dean shows up five minutes late, and the restaurant’s security protocols surely make it impossible for him to join them. The secret password is “fiancé”. And somehow Dean knows without being told.

✦ Stumble and Fall · 20k · G · dog adventures + cuddles

Dog AU. Ever since Dean was a puppy, training to be the world’s best sniffer dog, he hasn’t been able to sleep alone. His newest mission takes him well out of his comfort zone: he’s teamed up with a search-and-rescue mutt named Castiel (who, presumably, still has the vet’s thermometer stuck up his ass). But Dean was never built for snowy mountains – and only by snuggling up tight will he and Castiel share enough heat to make it through the night. Except, once Dean is home safe, he finds himself pining for his canine friend…

✦ Pretty Panties and the Pool Shark · 6k · G · kid fic

Castiel is beginning to understand how deceitful his fellow ten-year-olds can be. All the other boys in his swim class keep trying to convince him that there’s a live shark in the pool. And now Dean’s claiming that the panties in his bag belong to his sister, when Castiel knows for a fact that Dean doesn’t have a sister. Castiel is sick of being lied to. But, once Dean reveals a few truths, perhaps they can find a way to make sure the other kids’ teasing comes back to bite them - so to speak.

✦ Whoa There Cowboy · 5k · NC-17 · cowboy kink smut

If you’re gonna jerk off, watch something you find sexy, Dean said. There’s a dirty cowboy movie on TV, and that suits him perfectly. But he never expected that Cas would want to watch him.

✦ The Emporium of Christmas Enchantments · 28k · G · Christmas magic + cute overload

Every night when the clock strikes twelve, all the toys in the toymaker’s workshop come to life. Dean is a little wooden soldier, so easily distracted by the pretty dolls. However, in the nights leading up to Christmas, he feels drawn to a very different kind of toy: Castiel, a kindhearted cowboy displayed on the other side of the store. Dean and Castiel spend all their time together, spreading joy and festive cheer throughout their miniature community. But once the Christmas rush comes around, will fate allow them to stay together? (Perhaps… with a little sprinkling of Christmas magic, even the wishes of simple toys can come true.)

[jasperwoke]

Lemonade

“It’s lemonade”

“What?”

“Lemonade” Jake repeated once more.

In the middle of the table, just covered with a sky blue cloth moments ago, sat a cold pitcher of lemonade. Condensation could still be seen gathering on the sides, while the ice cubes inside slowly melted. Two lemon wedges sat on top and too much undissolved sugar sat on the bottom, each adding milky swirls into the juice.

“Why would- WHY the hell is there lemonade? It could’ve been knife. perhaps a blood covered gun. Hell, even a dead rat with a highly contagious viru- why the shit is it lemonade and how am I supposed to commit MURDER with a pitcher of lemonade?”

Aaron was just about to smash the pitcher. In all his years of being a “house painter”, he never got a client like this. And he never had to resort to means like this. Jake was his assistant. Similar to the way snipers need a spotter to call out distance and wind estimates on targets, Aaron needed an assistant to help “clean” on cases that got dirty.

Aaron accepted the case whilst meeting the patron in a coffee shop. Media often portrayed hitmen as top secretive, scrambling under the cover of night in black trenches and silenced pistols. Once he watched the movie Leon the Professional - he quite liked it. Hitmen, at least the majority, do in fact have a favorite cereal.

“Tell me Jake” Aaron composed, struggling to keep his voice a few decibels below pure rage “what light do you make of this situation?”

“Well… Clearly the lemonade pitcher has something to do with the client. Maybe its like kryptonite to peter parker”

Aaron snorted. “You mean Barry Allen, but anyway. Yes. That is what I was thinking. You are lucky to be under the apprenticeship of a professional like me. Let me tell you Jake, so many people in the field these days are amateurs” Aaron bellows a hearty laugh. “People in the FIELD” he chuckles again to himself

The target in question was not a highly sought target. Her radar was low, and at first, Aaron had to reconfirm with his client that the victim was indeed the right person. Sarah Briggen, mother of three, grandmother of two, and widowed at 65. Short gray locks hung slightly below her shoulders. Her soft brown eyes peeked form under folds of skin on her cheeks and drooping lids. She was grown and weathered. Weathered, but by no means, old.

Sarah’s house was an archetype of homely. She had a small abode out in Pennsylvania, where she and her husband used to farm chickens and store their yearly berry harvests in a tin silo out back. Her house itself was a flat one story wood building, painted in a lime green that had worn into a piss yellow over the years. However, the vibe of grandmotherly still filled the air around her farm. The scent of pies and tarts lingered as strongly as the taste of her always freshly prepared beverages. She made a killer root soda, but her lemonade was also a classic.

“This is the place, huh.”

“Sarah Briggen, age 86, says her husband died 21 years ago. And she’s been living alone all these years. Her children visit once a year around December for Christmas. Let’s see, oh, she lets passerby’s stay the night for a day’s worth of work. Who knew” Jake summarized Sarah’s file, slowly mapping out the execution in his head while doing so.

“Haha very funny Jake enough of the small talk, when does she go to sleep? We slip in slip out easy peasy you amateurs think too much read into it too much” Aaron snorted “If I took this solo case it would’ve been done already I mean, for christ’s sake, she’s 86. 86! I don’t need a pitcher of lemonade hell I don’t even need hands she probably suffers a different heart attack every day I’ll-” Aaron catches his breath “I’ll bet you this case that all we have to do is sit in this car and she’ll somehow break her pelvis and this job is closed.”

Jake glanced up. He took a while, measuring and picking his words carefully for dealing with Aaron. “I dunno boss, I think a more direct approach is better. Maybe we’d stop in around dinner, and feel her place out. Make it quick so the locals don’t suspect nuthin but I still think we should be on the lookout. After all, if she’s worth as much as the file says, I don’t think she’d be that easy.” Jake pauses, peering at the house, and quickly adds a “sir.”

They watched from the car for a few more hours. Mid July heat was no joke, but in the countryside, the overgrowth and vegetation helps circulate air. In fact, it’s been measured that it’s usually cooler outside of cities and urban areas. Sarah sometimes came out onto her patio and sat on her rocking chair. The duo didn’t find out anything else of value, expect that she really enjoyed John Denver. She moved slow, taking her time, but didn’t seem to be in stress or strain, only taking more time to catch her breath every so often. She had a small pink pocket square she hung around her waist that she would occasionally wipe her brow with. July is humid and hot.

When the fireflies started flying and the crickets started chirping but the birds stopped and the frogs began their low croaking, Aaron and Jake stepped out of their car. They parked behind a line of trees, and were sure Sarah hadn’t seen them during the day. They trekked up her gravel roadway, noting the two big tractors she had out front.

“Strange, I didn’t think a woman like her needed two tractors” whispered Jake.

“Oh my dears! Come on in, come in! Please. I’ve just been simmering some stock with McGrady’s be-” She stops to catch her breath. It’s clear she doesn’t get a lot of visitors and has a lot of love. Sarah beckons them in with her short flabby arms, making grandiose gestures in her not so grand shape, “Please, sit my loves, y’all ain't intruding at all oh hush up, you.”

Sarah gingerly takes out half a leftover peach cobbler from her fridge. The crust had grown a bit soggy from the moisture, but it was clear it was puff pastry. Small grating of orange zest adorned the top of the pie along with flecks of powdered sugar, whilst under, the peach jam stayed firm from the cold refrigeration. Sarah also pours them two tall glasses of lemonade. The sweet glazed nectar trickled down the sides of a highball liquor glass. She brushed the rim with specks of salt, and split a lemon wedge, softly pushing it into place on the glass. The lemonade was dense. It wasn’t just milky like the pitcher that Aaron had seen earlier. The way the light caught on the edge, the way the streams ran down the glass, the way the sugar didn’t collect at the bottom; the lemonade was conspicuous.

Aaron readily chugged it. He waited all day in a more than hot sedan in the July heat. He then plunged into the pastry, readily digging with his fingers. Had his partner not known better, Jake would’ve assumed Aaron was Sarah’s own family with how he was adjusting himself. Jake was positive at this point Aaron didn’t even know who Sarah was or where he was, only that the cobbler and lemonade were delicious. Aaron didn’t notice how his cup wasn’t filled with what Sarah pulled out from the fridge. He didn’t realize Jake pulled out their pitcher, and filled his cup with the placebo. He didn’t quite notice the underlying metallic taste in his drink, as Aaron readily gulped down two straight glasses. Aaron didn’t notice Sarah preparing and simmering her vegetable stock with a butcher knife, back turned to him, obscuring her face.

Aaron awoke in the kitchen again. It was dark out. He wasn’t tied or restrained, but his body wouldn’t respond. His arms hung limp at his sides, he could feel his fingers slightly numb from all the blood gathering at the tips. His head tilted back onto his seat, but the seat was tall enough to make him look forward. His eyes opened. It took a moment to adjust to the dark kitchen, with only two light sources.

“Wait, two?” thought Aaron

Moonlight streamed through the window curtains above the oven. Under the window was a slow cooker lit on the gas stove. The two light sources. On opposite sides of the light were two figures. One with a short 86 year old grandmotherly stature, and another resembling Jake. Aaron was confused. Perhaps it was him waking from the nice nap he took in the summer evening, perhaps it was from the copious amount of juice he drank, either way, his head was not too clear.

“Who- why? We’re on the same team you little- you PIECE OF-” at which Jake shoved Aaron’s sweat stained sock into his mouth.

“Well you see boss, I got called aside by a client too” Jake paused and inspected his nails. In the dark, as Jake raised his hand to his face, it looked more sinister and ominous, as if he was reaching for something. “Lovely Ms. Briggens here caught wind of what was going down. You see, her son is a very wealthy ambassador currently hosting a meeting in the United Arab Emirates as we” Jake waited for the right word “as we have this conversation. But anyway, it said somewhere in Ms. Briggens file that I so uncaringly forgot in the car, that her insurance covers about five million worth in equities.” Aaron choked a little. 5 million? His contractor was only offering fifty thousand, barely a scratch in her or this case’s worth.

“Well, why am I here? HUH? You’re the new fish you should be- why I oughta,” at least, that’s what Aaron tried to say. The sock in his mouth made him sound more, passive. Like he was whimpering. Perhaps, Aaron was scared.

“Well darling, let’s get to work shall we?” Sarah piped up. “The base has been cooking for a while now, I think it’s time to add the,” she cleared her throat. Her brown eyes caught the moonlight and for a split second, gleamed pure white. Two pale dots on a soot black face. Aaron gulped. He started trembling. He hadn’t notice his pants were soiled, or did he just soil them? His eyes too grew wide like Sarah’s, but not out of eagerness for the killer gumbo she was preparing. Sarah finished her sentence in a soft gingerly voice. The way a mother sings a lullaby to her child, before putting them to sleep. “I think it’s time to add the meat.”

[exquisitelyeco]

What Armour??.?

I don’t know about you. But Ephesians 6 has really had me confused, as well as a sight of hilariousness …new word….. meaning VERY amusing to the point of literally weeping……in heaven. Everyday…..well….not quite, literally physically pretending to put on the spiritual armour that Paul goes on about in Ephesians 6. Picking up the imaginary helmet and putting it on my head……etc.

And it meant nothing really. I didn’t have a blasted clue! Putting imaginary gear and believing that I was protected! And the bit, ‘For we struggle not against flesh and blood,……in verse 12! Whaaaat? Flesh and blood??! Why not just say human beings??? Now if I can’t see it, I don’t get it. Sorry. But I find that hard. I imagine demons as ghostly things, floating around venomously, whilst I wear this imaginary armour and worry about arrows being shot in my bottom where there isn’t any! Did you notice that? No trousers. So ones behind is rather vulnerable….

And I truly believed doing this worked. I thank God He makes us stand! Romans 14v4. Although I think He looked at me and said ‘Oh dear!’ you know the one……Any of you have kids? You are trying not to smile, but it’s so funny you have to go out of the room…..

When I was teaching, as a TA, I had to mark some year 2 spellings. The wee lambs had to spell the work ‘can’t’. Many of them had spelled it cunt……I was in bits. Thankfully the class didn’t notice…..I think God falls about laughing at some of the things I did and still do, trying to work it all out. But you know what? Just like we get Soooooo excited when our baby stands up or takes their first step, and tell EVERYBODY , I think He does that too! Look at Nic! I know her armour is a bit wonky, but LOOK! She’s trying to toddle, my baby girlie! Ahhhh…..I’m glad I gave her those angels though…..she REALLY needs ’em!

So. Back to this chapter. I bet even the poor Ephesians did what I did. Old Paul made it complicated. Why not make it plain? Have you noticed, the pastors say stuff and your left thinking ‘eh?’ I think I get it….or if your like me, thinking you HAVE got it. I will tell you a wee story, and you are NOT to laugh…My lady pastor, Susan, did a preach on forgiveness. And how damage happens to us if we do not eventually get to that place……of forgiveness that is……And she was talking about this damage and she said, about finding your keys to healing. So poor old me goes around for 10 YEARS thinking I had a key buried in my brain somewhere……until in another preach, she put it like this……..’ finding keys LIKE forgiveness’ and I went ‘Ohhhhhhhhhh! NOW I get it!’

A digression, I had my ex husband 1 in stitches thinking that petrol stations sucked petrol from streams deep in the earth…….I can be a bit like that……Or when I said to my sister, ‘That’s not a very nice name for pies, Puke-er pie’ , cos I did’nt know how to pronounce Pukka…..she nearly had a heart attack laughing….

So here I was, day after day, putting on imaginary armour, literally. Picking up a ‘imagined’ helmet and using my hands to stick it on my head etc. I was so worried about my bottom! I imagined extra armour……I kid you not…..

Hey! If the shoes WERE literal, could you wear high heels? I’ll stop now….

And it suddenly occurred to me just TODAY, as I sit here reading it, what it meant! AH HA! 30years and she gets it! O my goodness THIRTY years? I’m getting on! Anyway, cos I have had this AMAZING revelation I thought I’d share it with you!

I feel like a learned and holy guru right now…..smug and HUGE! Ahhhhh! Remember Nebechednezzer, Nick, concrete feet……

So.

Also, the bit about it’s not a flesh and blood struggle, flesh and blood – meaning humans. I’ll explain that first, cos it comes first! Flesh and blood. And Paul makes it clear that is NOT what we are fighting against. Neither does it mean going to the butcher shop. It means what is IN us. What our drives, or issues or besetting sins are, or in very plain English, what things we do that make us a pain in the arse to others and ourselves. The things we do that cause hurt and pain.

All sin hurts. And it’s THAT, that comes OUT of us. That is what Paul means. Out of the heart comes all evil. Matthew 15v19, Mark 7 v21. How do these things start? In our thoughts. We get them in, and if we KEEP listening to them, they grow in power. And eventually, if we do not deal with ’em, we act on them. They are first and foremost. Satan? Read my post on for the love of Lucifer. He actually comes last. Truly. We give him far to much attention.

Most of the stuff that sets us up to fall is in ourselves. Our pet hates, prides, lusts, damages etc. Like gossiping, swearing, sleeping around, bullying/bullied, lying, watching porn. Being petty. Then the heavier, murder, rape, burglary. All things that can totally destroy us and cause us to do things and act in ways that put God out of the centre of our attention and the sin in it.

Sin starts SPIRITUALLY (in the heart) but has PHYSICAL consequences, (ending in eternal death, if not sorted) is a good way of seeing it.

But also. Rulers of the darkness of the Age. Satan has Sergeants and Lieutenants, just like any army. Some have a little power, like over a shop or town, some have more, like a county or country. (Daniel 10v13)

Basically, these guys are like soldiers. They seek to detain and stop angels, like in the verse from Daniel, (mentioned above) from reaching Gods people and answering our prayers and aiding, or helping us. They also draw in and enslave people to keep them in darkness and their faces and hearts in chains, away from God. Porn is a very powerful weapon the enemy uses. It is like an addiction, and because the person often feels ashamed and hides it, it gives it more power. Always remember, secrecy is one of Satan’s and Sins most powerful weapons, hence, James 5v16. Confession merely means talking it out. Saying aloud what you have done or are struggling with. It breaks its power. It is not done to shame but to heal. Remember, there is now NO condemnation for us in Christ Jesus. Romans 8v1. Jesus knows we all have crap to sort out still. So don’t sweat the small stuff.

It is ultimately an illusion to think we can hide anything. Because in fact, according to God, the opposite will be true and will happen.Luke 12v 3 makes this very clear. Now you would think, Hey! God knows everything! He knows what I’m doing, so why the need to say it?! Yup. He does. But remember. God is about relationship, not principles. The principle states ‘God knows everything’ relationship states ‘Come and talk to me.’ As I have said before, God makes it clear, not only can we talk to Him and find mercy, never condemnation, Matthew 12v7,John 3v17, that we can actually argue with Him AND change His mind! Isaiah 43v26. The book of Jonah is a clear case of God changing His mind. Nineveh repented. God changed His mind and did not destroy them as He planned to do. The same as He did when He chose to save Noah and not wipe out every human as He intended. Genesis 6v7. Remember that! We can always talk to God.

He truly is a parent, a good parent. And like any good parent can be reasoned with, but for our best may not always agree with our argument. And now we get to the best bit. Our armour!

What truths did I glean? What facets did I see? Well, not a blasted imaginary helmet, I can tell you! Or a pair of iron pants!

First the pants. And no. There ain’t any! Literally and figuratively speaking…..Our bottoms are behind us. Yup. I KNOW that is obvious. But it goes deeper. A soldier does not face behind. They face in front. And as long as they are facing the right way, their bum is covered. So when we turn around, our bottom is a target for the enemy. So make sure you face God. Bit back to front, I know. But that’s the way it makes sense. To me at least. If you lose focus, the enemy is right up your arse in a matter of splitteth……..New word, meaning so damn quick, don’t do it, seconds!

The helmet. Which is our thinking! Paul tells us that we need to renew our minds which means changing our thinking. Changing it to what God says, not what the world says.Romans 12v2. So if you, like me, have lies you listen too, like ‘I’m stupid,’ or ‘I hate myself’ or ‘ I’m ugly’ or ‘ I’m a failure ‘ or ‘ I can do this on my OWN’ change that thinking. Cos that, my dearest, dearest beloveds, is Satan’s thinking. He loves us to have those little phrases. And another thing we do, thinking we are right and no body else is. And that’s butt talk. Literally. Pride cometh before a fall, or in the way I described it earlier, a boot up your arse, which will have you flat on your face in the shit. Don’t do it. By shit I mean your open to being deceived because of your pride. We can only hear God if we are in humility. We cannot hear Him if we have pride. Cos we have ear phones on. With ‘I’m the greatest, I am, I am!’ Playing. Remember who I AM is. Cos it ain’t us.

What is humility? Being open to finding you are wrong. And saying you are sorry, confessing it and changing it. And we can be proud about anything. Our interpretation of scripture, our own church and its doctrine, etc. I talk about unrighteousness pride here. That refuses to believe anyone else could be right. Of course you can be righteously proud of being part of a church! Just remember, your church can make mistakes and can get it wrong! And that your little denomination is part of the BODY of Christ and not a little hand or finger crawling along alone! You will die that way as you have no blood supply……

How do you know? If you are being humble that is………By being truthful about yourself and those around you. For example: Do you harbour anger or pain? If so, have you dealt with it? If not, you is open to being deceived. See my post about Ananias and Sapphira and the gift of discernment, should you want too. I go into much more detail.

The breastplate of righteousness. Guarding your heart. And what is in it. Being in right standing with God. Keeping short account of your sin. Or to put it another way, don’t let anything fester too long. Jesus told us, do not let the sun go down on your anger, cos if you do you give Satan a foot hold. Ephesians 4v26, sorry it was Paul. But I’m sure he heard it in good authority……God gives us a whole day to be pissed off. Sort it ‘afore bedtime! If you forget, or have issues with anger, be truthful and open. That way God can help you and you do not hinder yourself, or give the enemy more to work with than he already has!

Righteousness is us acting like Jesus as much as we can and letting the Holy Spirit work in us, by being open to change if we see we need too, or if somebody else helps us to see we need too. If it’s someone else, make sure you take it to God, and somebody you trust first. Not somebody that always agrees with you, but somebody who has the gift of discernment and is truthful. If you take it to somebody who always agrees with you, you could find you are both deceived cos you both feel the same way about not wanting to listen!

Belt of truth speaks for its self. Well it does now…..be open….to correction and truth. Do not tell lies. Do not listen to lies….like the friend who agrees with you cos you both like to gossip about one particular person all the time, for example. Or you both hate one church, cos your still pissed at how you were treated there and you know they don’t like that church either……always take truth you think is truth to God and be open for His interpretations, not just those of your pastor or the religious TV. Remember, Gods ways are NOT our ways, or possibly our pastors and friends……Isaiah 55v8-9. Ultimately we are ALL chosen AND redeemed because God said so. Not us. Even His grace in giving us the actual trust we have IN Him! Not even that comes from us! ( Ephesians 2v8) So God does what HE wants! Not us! Read my testimony of ‘ A God outside the box, A story of personal redemption’ if you dare. And I mean it. I’ll piss you off and drop a hint. God gave me my son when I was having an affair. Simple. Read it. It’s not blasphemy. It shows how God is not like we think He is. Honestly. Hold God’s hand and read it. Then if you disagree, that’s fine. But I tell you that is what happened.

Shoes of the gospel of peace. Literally, where ever you walk, where ever your feet stop, don’t gossip or slag down other churches or people. We are all Gods children and need to be one body, not like fingers and toes fighting each other! Romans 12v5. Learn to discern Gods body. And to do that, you need the belt of truth and breast plate of righteousness. Or in another’s famous words ‘ Know thy self’ cos if you don’t, you can be sure Satan does. And he will use it. So where ever you go do not slander. Do not profane or swear. I do. I have to keep saying sorry.

Make sure what come out of your mouth, where ever you are honours others and God. If you have an issue, only share it with someone who discerns. If you must talk to your friends about it, Deal with the anger and hate first! And say it in such a away you are not spreading dissention and poison, but just saying how it was. Don’t encourage gossip and backstabbing of another person or church. Remember, not only will we be judged by what we say, we will be judged by every careless word that comes out of our mouth. Matthew 12v36-37. If you know it will hurt, shut your gob! Unless it’s done in love. And humbly, cos if it ain’t, you is in danger of falling. Galatians 6v1. The same goes for all non Christians you know. If it ain’t nice, keep it to YOURSELF! We are to be God’s light and love, not spite and gossip and nastiness. What kind of Christ are we representing if we behave like that?

The shield of faith? That is merely the words that come out of our mouths. What does the bible say? Faith comes by HEARING, and hearing by the word of God! Romans 10v17. Also, Life and death is in the power of the tongue. Proverbs 18v21. Jesus said, ‘Tell the mountain to go into the sea! And if you believe it will’ Mark 1v23. It’s so obvious! How did God start? He SPOKE! ‘Light’ and there was light. Genesis 1v3. But it comes in two bits, not only must we speak it. We must trust it will happen. That is what believing is. That is what it meant when Paul talked about Faith is the substance of things hoped for the evidence of what we do not yet see. Hebrews 11v1. All that means is this. I’ll give you example. You have longed for a weekend away. Your partner has promised it. You KNOW it will happen cos he said he has sorted it, but you have not done it yet and he has kept the date a secret!

Think as God is that partner! You have made your request. And if it is in accordance to Gods will, for example, not out of selfishness or greed or envy, then you know He will do it. But God does not normally tell us when! That is faith. Trusting God for your ask! ASK Him, then TRUST Him to do it!

Really! These people who translate bibles! They don’t half make it complicated, don’t you think? Thank God the Source Himself is a Good Teacher. Thanks, God! I bet He don’t stand in a blasted pulpit. That’s half the blasted problem……If you’d just GET DOWN……

The verse goes on to say, about the shield of faith quenches all the fiery darts of the enemy. Ephesians 6v16. The bible tells us our mind is the devils play ground. Philippians 4 v8-20. So we are back to those thoughts! CHANGE bad thinking! Undo bad habits! Like smoking, being drunk, sleeping around. All things that give Satan a way in to hurting us. Know the bible! Satan does! And He uses it. That is why so many Christians backstab others. Because they have pride in the fact ‘their’ interpretation of the bible is correct and everyone else’s is cultish! You give the old dragon some ammo if you do that!

The bible CLEARLY states we DO NOT know God’s ways OR His thoughts! Isaiah 55v8-9. 1 Corinthians 13v12. Not only are His ways and thoughts unknown to us, they are so high we can NEVER fathom or work them out! Hence my testimony I mentioned earlier. God is NOT who we think He is! And as the bible IS JESUS, because Jesus IS literally the WORD, get used to surprises. Cos if you don’t, I am warning you now, you could be in for trouble! Stop thinking you or your pastor know it all. Cos none of us does. Not even Paul did. That is what he wrote 1 Corinthians 13v12!

So be open to change. Learn to discern, which means to recognise Gods voice and ways. Know the enemy, also means yourself! This life is a fight. Romans 7v15-20. Don’t be deceived. It ain’t all covered by blanket or conversion prayer, it’s growing up! Becoming a warrior in Christ’s army. Showing this world that Christ is and He has won their freedom and healing. Nowhere does it say it’s all done at conversion. It’s a battle. You WILL face trials and temptations 1 Peter 5v8, James 1v2, John 16v33. So these preachers who say otherwise, talk BOLLOCKS! This life is a fight, hence the blasted armour!!

So don’t be afraid. Jesus has already won. But get that armour on and Stand. Which means wait. With that armour on. In battle mode. Ephesians 6 v 13 Cos it’s when we stand, that God looks down and says ‘BRILLIANT! Look guys! My Son/daughter, standing, armour on. And waiting for me. They don’t see Me coming yet, but they blasted well believe it. Ha ha! That’s my son/daughter. Now let’s go kick Satan’s arse!’

[tardisheart134]

Brownies

Summary:  Dean / Cas Christmas Fluff   Warnings: Some mild drug use (pot)

"Have you got any plans for the holidays?"  Castiel asked Dean in the breakroom one day at work.  It was cold and he cupped his hands around his paper cup of hot tea for warmth.

"Not anything crazy…My brother Sam and I will probably sit around watching tv and drinking eggnog but beyond that nothing too crazy.  What about you?"  

"No, my family is not from around here and I'm not travelling.  I guess you could say we are un-officially estranged."

"Well, you're welcome to come hang with Sammy and I over the break.  We will get a ham and some of the fixings."

Castiel's eyes brightened up.  He wasn't fishing for an invitation he just wanted to know what Dean was doing so that while he was sitting at home alone over the break he could day dream about him.  

"If it's not too much of an intrusion, I would love it."

"Of course,  I always love hanging out with you anyway."  

Cas was almost blushing now.  "I can bring some wine."

"Good, I will make some of my special brownies."  Dean gave Castiel a wink.  

Castiel has never been one of the cool kids but he was pretty sure he knew what Dean meant when he said "special" brownies.  He leaned forward to whisper in Dean's ear for clarification any way.

"Do you mean pot brownies?"  

"Yeah, is that okay with you - I mean I don't have to make them…"  Dean was back pedaling now thinking maybe he had assumed too much.

"No - that sounds nice - I mean - I've never had it before - but I think I would like to try it…"  

"Okay, well if you're sure."

"If I'm being honest I'm a little worried - I've never even been really drunk before so I'm not sure what I will be like on pot - but I've always wanted to know how it feels."

"The key is to having someone there who you trust who can talk you through it.  I'll be there with you…you trust me don’t you, Cas?"  

Cas nodded in affirmation and Dean did not doubt him.  It was settled then.  Cas would come over for dinner and movies on Christmas Eve.  Dean who had been pining for Castiel for months now since he joined his department was cooking like crazy in the kitchen and playing Metallica on blast.  Sam came in the kitchen and opened a beer.  

"I thought you said we were just having a small dinner -"

"huh?"  Dean pinched his face up not able to hear Sam.

"I said…I thought it was just going to be a small dinner…." Sam tried to yell over the music.

Dean set the hand blender down and lowered the music.  

"One more time…"  

Sam repeated his question with a put out roll of the eyes.  

"Yeah - well that was before Cas agreed to come over dinner.  I want to have enough food and I'd like to impress him…ya' know?"  A faint pink blush covered Dean's cheeks.  Sam was well aware of Dean's little crush.  Dean talked of nothing else most nights after work.  Sam has been trying to persuade him to ask Cas out for a while but Dean would always say - I'm not sure if he's into guys and then the conversation was over.  

Dean set the brownies out to cool just as the doorbell rang.  Cas was right on time.  Dean had to stop and take a breath before going to the door.  

"Hiya Cas"  Dean pulled Castiel in squeezing him tight and Castiel squeezed back just as tight for just a minute Dean felt sure that this meant as much to Cas as it did to Dean.  Castiel followed Dean into the kitchen.  Dean had changed over to a Christmas playlist with an assortment of his own quirky versions of Christmas songs that he and Sam had collected over the years…including the Muppet's John Denver Christmas album.  Dean would fight anyone who said it wasn't a masterpiece.  Castiel set the wine down on the table.

"Wow - Dean this looks delicious - you undersold - you said this would be a small dinner."  Castiel eyed the ham, turkey, and a heaping bowl of mashed potatoes, green beans, rolls.  There were two pies apple and pecan and Castiel eyed the special brownies on the cooling rack.  Sam came through the door and clapped Cas on the back.  

"It's good to see you again, Cas how are you?"  

"I'm well, thanks for having me over I hope it's not too much of an intrusion."

"No, are you kidding?  It’s great to have someone else to share the holidays with.  It’s just Dean and I all the time.”   

They dug in.  Sam was gracious and warm keeping the conversation going even when it seemed like it was going to fizzle out.  

Sam and Cas made their way to the living room with the eggnog and rum to pick out a movie.  "Do you have a favorite Christmas move?"  Sam asked Cas.

"I've always been fond of It's a Wonderful Life but that's a bit older of a movie."  

"Okay, we can start with that one.  It's one of our favorites too.  Dad made us watch it every year."  

Dean came in clicking the lights off and sitting down on the couch next to Cas. They watched It's a Wonderful Life and Home Alone.  Sam had fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of 'Home Alone'.  When Dean got up to put The Santa Clause in Sam excused himself to bed.  

"I'm sorry guys - I guess I'm just too old to party hard like I used to… You two don't stay up too late though - or Santa won't come…"  

Cas laughed as Sam made his way back to his room.  "Maybe I should go - Dean - it is getting late - I don't want to keep you up too late."  

"No, Cas stay - we haven't even had the brownies yet.  I mean unless you want to go…"  

"I'd like to stay."  Castiel was looking down at his hands.  

"You really should just stay and crash on the couch tonight.  It's supposed to start snowing and if we're gonna eat these brownies there is no point in you trying to go out."  

"Okay."  Cas smiled shyly at Dean.  

"Okay, then."  

Dean came back with the pan of brownies and a blanket.  He plopped the brownies down on the coffee table and covered him and Cas with the blanket.  

"Now the thing about brownies is you need to take it slow.  You won't feel it right away so you may think you need to eat another one and then it can hit you pretty quick."  

"Okay."  

They were about halfway through "the Santa Clause" before Castiel got the nerve up to eat a brownie.  When the movie was over he had another one. Dean had one and turned the Christmas music back on in the background.   They sat there in the dark other than the glow of the tiny pre-lit tree in the corner.  They both started giggling randomly at the 12 days of Christmas song.   The giggle grew until they were both belly laughing so hard they were almost in tears.

"I have a confession…"  Cas said wiping at the tears in the corners of his eyes, laughter still in his voice.  

"What's that?"  Dean grinned back.  

"I have a crush on you…."  Cas let out another string of giggles. "I've had one for months now…isn't that absurd!"  Castiel was bent over laughing with his hand on Dean's knee for support.  Castiel would have never made this confession not in a million years, not to anyone - least of all Dean.  It must have been the brownies giving him the courage.  

Dean who was not as high as Cas was frozen in place.  He couldn't decide if Cas really had this crush on him.  And even if he did, clearly it wasn't something that Castiel felt comfortable enough talking about sober so maybe it wasn't something he wanted to act on.  Worse yet - maybe Castiel had been aware of Deans ill-hid feelings all this time and was now mocking him.  Whatever it was - it was enough to sober Dean right up.  

"Why would you say that Cas?"  Dean's voice had dropped a few octaves and it was clear that he was no longer laughing.  

Castiel sat up and let go Dean's knee.  With all the mirth gone, his head just felt foggy and slow as he tried to figure out how to answer Dean.  

"I - uh - I just that's - I shouldn't have opened my mouth - Dean - shit I'm sorry.  I should go."  Cas pulled the blanket back and tried to get off the couch but he tripped over the leg of the coffee table.  Dean caught him and pulled him back down next to him letting his hand stay resting on his shoulder.  

"Cas don't go - just tell me - are you making fun of me?"   Cas' eyes widened in shock -

"What makes you think I'm making fun of you?"  

"I just I thought maybe it was obvious that I have feelings for you - I thought you were mocking me."  

"No - I had no idea you had feelings for me - I mean - I hoped but I assumed we were just friends and that this was just wishful thinking."  

"So you have a crush on me and I have a crush on you?"  Dean grinned and Cas returned the smile, relaxing against Dean's side.  Dean spread the blanket back over them both and reached for another brownie.

"hey Cas…"  Dean said between mouthfuls of brownie.  "Can I hold your hand?"  

"Yes, Dean."    

The next morning Dean woke up with his head on Castiel's chest.  Neither of them spied Santa but they both got their Christmas wish that year.  

Hope you guys liked it.  Thank you for reading!  <333

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[itstimetowatch]

Normal is the Watchword

So Veronica is working a normal, almost certainly less potentially lethal job. Makes sense. If my last job had me almost burned alive or killed via smoke inhalation, I probably wouldn’t want to do that job anymore either. However, it was made pretty clear during Season One that Veronica was a fairly vital part of Mars Investigations, that she would often handle a lot of work for her dad while he was out running down bail jumpers. How is Keith managing to either do all of this himself or pay all the bills with a reduced workload? Veronica’s minimum wage plus tip sharing almost certainly isn’t offsetting the work she was doing at Mars Investigations, especially given that Keith ended last season in the hospital.

It feels strange to see Veronica turn down a case. I mean, I can only assume it’s just a tease, but it’s still weird.

So in addition to losing his Nancy Drew, Keith has also spent time away from his detective work writing a book? Like that’s some easy thing to do in one’s spare time? The spare time that a hard working PI obviously has a lot of? Sure, the advance would have potentially been huge (A-list celebrity murderer, sex scandal, institutional incompetence… y’know, all the things that made it a compelling season of television). It would have been huge, that is, if Keith was in any way an established writer, which he wasn’t. Once again, Hollywood writers don’t understand how money works.

Also, there’s no way something like that gets written, edited, and published over the course of a summer.

Does Julie Chen as Herself on a fictionalized episode of her show count as me recognizing a guest star from something else? Feels like a cheat to me.

So it wasn’t Wallace at the door. Why on Earth is Logan not at the hospital?

Did we finally get a name for the bike gang? Did he say PCHers? As in like Pacific Coast Highway? Or does it stand for something else?

Okay, fleeing the scene of a murder? Well, that would certainly be a reason not to go to the hospital but going directly to your girlfriend’s house isn’t the best place to hide. So this is the new season-long mystery, I assume?

Wallace is back to his Afro. I think it’s a better look for him, anyway. And a conspiracy of failed drug tests is the mystery for the episode.

Dick and Beaver are in the main credits? Ugh! You guys could have warned me.

As is Tessa Thompson (from Dear White People and Creed and Westworld and soon to be Thor: Ragnarok), apparently.

So how is Jake allowed to leave town while under indictment? Oh, wait, of course, he’s a billionaire. Nevermind.

So I think Veronica’s being a little self-centered there, thinking she’s the sole reason for Duncan and Logan’s strife. I feel like Logan’s father murdering Duncan’s sister probably plays a slightly larger part in their beef.

So Veronica has given up her life of crime-solving but she still carries around her enormous PI camera, what, just in case?

WHAT? Veronica and Meg are feuding? Over Duncan? *Sigh*

Glad Keith and Alicia are still going strong, though.

Um, nosey-ass Veronica doesn’t know that Clemmons has a son who’s a classmate of hers? That seems unlikely. I mean, I guess he’s an underclassman, a sophomore to Veronica’s senior, but still, he would have been at Neptune last year. Last season, she seemed to know (or at least know of) almost everyone at the school.

“I avoid knowing freshmen” seems fairly arbitrary, but I guess she didn’t know anything about Justin in “Meet John Smith” last year either, so arbitrary or not, it is at least consistent. 

I wouldn’t necessarily expect Veronica to know this but a dose of a drug so small that you never feel the effects of the drug would almost certainly not show up on a drug test.

So is Shelley Pomroy named after a family member of one of the writers or the crew? I only ask because they seem to love mentioning her name without ever actually making her an actual character on the show. I think she’s had one scene during the flashbacks in “A Trip to the Dentist” and she was a non-speaking extra.

This is really early in the episode to have figured out the mystery. Okay, the connection is circumstantial right now, but this isn’t a procedural show, it’s a mystery show. Once the mystery is solved, then you have a limited amount of time that you can continue the story before it becomes tedious. Are we going to spend fifteen minutes of episode working on the season-long mystery? And if Logan’s already cleared, isn’t it a job for Sheriff Shithead?

So, Class Warfare has now turned into Actual Warfare over the summer? Well, that’s… terrifying.

That is Charisma Carpenter as (one assumes) Dick and Beaver’s step-mom? Or their dad’s girlfriend or something?

Okay, so they played the pronoun game with Veronica’s love life to avoid revealing that Veronica is back with Duncan rather than Logan, okay fine, but now that previous scene with Veronica and Wallace seems a lot harsher in hindsight. Duncan missed the first day of school to go visit his father (who’s presumably in some white collar jail because his lawyers negotiated him a sweetheart deal). Veronica and Wallace said they didn’t understand why he would want to do that, because they were trying to imply that they were talking about Logan and his dad, who slept with and then murdered his girlfriend, as opposed to Duncan and his father, who attempted to cover up said murder because he thought he was protecting his son from prison or an institution. See the difference?

And it’s Krysten Ritter! From Breaking Bad and Jessica Jones.

Why is Logan getting defensive about the fact that someone has already been killed in this clash of classes? It wasn’t an 09er who died.

What has this bus trip got to do with anything? Did they forget they were an hour long show and suddenly write a half hour worth of material? They’ve worked out the mystery. The bad guys have been caught. What’s going on?

Steve Guttenberg? Where on Earth did they find him?

Where was this field trip to? Last season Neptune was right outside of San Diego which (at the time) had the Padres, an MLB team which was name-checked often last season. Now they’re visiting a team called The Sharks at what appears to be a really nice stadium. This is no minor league team… especially not in the immediate suburbs of the major league club’s hometown.

So is this meant to be, like, LA? But then Guttenberg is running for mayor of Neptune? This all makes no sense.

And what does any of this have to do with anything?

Also, Krysten Ritter as the vapid, girly girl? HA!

A fortune cookie? That’s what wins Veronica over?

And they have to stop for gas? In a school bus? That is designed to drive all over town, making frequent stops? Where the hell is this baseball stadium and how does the team owner get to run for mayor of Neptune if he doesn’t live or work in Neptune? I mean, I guess technically he doesn’t have to live near the stadium to own the team, but in most cases, the owner is expected to be a frequent fixture at team’s home games.

Um, Lilly’s ghost? Okay, first of all, they wrapped her story up at the end of the last episode. Is she going to keep showing up?

Ah, Weevil’s not too pissed at her. You’re still a good man, Eli.

Um, holy shit!

Okay, so that’s was the point of the bus trip. It still had nothing to do with anything else in the episode. 

I don’t know about Veronica’s comment that nothing happens by accident in Neptune. I mean, just off the top of my head it’s a lucky accident for Aaron that the Kanes thought Duncan killed Lilly and covered up Aaron’s murder for him. I take the comment to mean that this is also going to be an ongoing investigation this season.

This episode is very poorly constructed. Like they should have established the field trip much sooner, and honestly, it really should have been the entire plot this episode (or at least the frame on which to hang all of the flashbacks) and then save the Wallace’s Failed Drug Test plot next episode that way you get at least episode out of the “I’m not a detective anymore” storyline, instead of having her give in immediately. 

As is there are two distinct parts to this episode and they are completely at odds tonally and content-wise. It’s really jarring and after having finished it, the first two-thirds of the episode now feels almost completely irrelevant… which, generally speaking, is a bad thing, especially for season premieres.

Also, the thing where Lilly’s ghost saved Veronica’s life? Veronica had several interactions with Lilly’s ghost last season but it was always either a dream or it was a fairly obvious manifestation of her subconscious. It’s never provided her information she didn’t already know, so this is weird and inconsistent. I mean, she could have just looked out the window, seen Weevil for herself, and then decided to go talk to him.

Then there’s the whole Veronica/Meg thing. I loathe with the power of a thousand blazing suns the tired cliche of female friends fighting over a boy. First of all, I don’t buy it from Meg. She started dating Duncan when he was Veronica’s ex without so much as an “Are you okay with this?” and now I’m supposed to think that she’s going to pull this on Veronica? Secondly, I don’t really buy Veronica trying this hard to make things okay between them again. That’s not really her thing. This all feels like out of character behavior to create forced drama just as an excuse to keep Meg on the bus... because apparently, Veronica can’t have female friends. (I mean, seriously, Dick and Beaver are fulltime but not Mac?)

Is Tessa Thompson going to be the next version of Miss Dent? The black woman whose name is in the credits but almost never actually appears in the show?