#y’all really show your true colours and don’t even blink

[minqies]

this is why we can’t have shit in this community— just because an idol that’s been a minor most of their career just turned 18, doesn’t mean you can immediately hop onto tumblr and use them as a fc 😭 like,, what?? can’t wait for a couple of months??

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Omertà👄1

Warnings: noncon sexual acts (sexual intercourse); tags to be added throughout series

This is dark!Bucky and dark! Loki and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father was a bookie and taught you everything you know about numbers. After his death, you were taken on as a bookkeeper for Loki Laufeyson, resident crime boss in Manhattan. But can you keep your place in the background when a man from Brooklyn threatens to drag you to the forefront?

Note: Yes, I’ve decided to do a mafia!au. Yes, I have no idea what I’m doing. Yes, I’m avoiding actually working on other WIPs, but yes I want y’all to have a good time! Be safe.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The antique shop was unimposing along the New York street front. No different than any other aged and wilting business. The sign was painted with curling calligraphy that read ‘The Attic’ and the windows displayed French chairs and stained glass lamps from over a century ago. The show room smelled of old paper and welcomed few patrons. A mask for what was hidden behind that black door right along the rear.

Loki Laufeyson inherited the old shop from his father just as you were bequeathed your father’s business in turn. But Odin had been more than a mere antique seller. He was a businessman, a swindler, a criminal. The antiques were only a distraction from his real dealings. Powder hidden in African statues and guns hidden in back of creaky old wardrobes. The perfect front. Timeless.

And what were you but an accomplice to this life of crime? Well, you just kept the sums but you weren’t so sneaky as your father. His time at the tracks had taught him much, except for common sense. He could run odds for days but those odds had finally caught up to him. And you. 

He had taught you his skill. The art of numbers. Easy, simple. Numbers don’t lie. But you didn’t want to be a bookie and given the mistakes of your youth in the charge of a criminal, life as an accountant in some city office was a pipe dream. So you accepted the job at The Attic, tallied the debts, and went about your life, only slightly tinged by the city’s underbelly.

The sound of the bills quickly flipping into the tray filled the back office. Lopez was in the storeroom as he always was, his rotund figure balanced on the tall stool just behind the counter. You could hear his off-key humming through the door.

Loki’s tall figure stood before the machine better suited to a bank. He was quiet, as he often was, never one to mince words. That morning had seen a large influx as overdue debts were finally fulfilled; with paper as much as blood. You hovered your pencil along the margins of your ledger.

“Twenty percent to Barnes,” He dropped in another stack. “How much is that?”

You bent over the pages and punched in the numbers to your old calculator. You preferred the clacking of the keys. 

“One sixty,” You said. “Borderline?”

“Mmhmm,” He turned and began to count the bills by hand. “If I have any say, we won’t be splitting pennies much longer.”

“I’m sure he feels the same,” You said as you tapped your eraser on the desk.

He raised a brow at you. He didn’t tolerate much impertinence but you were so minuscule, he allowed you the odd jibe, though he was rarely amused. You straightened the buttoned collar of your blouse and smoothed the lapel of your tweed blazer. It was stuffy in the back room as the sun slatted in through the blinds.

He was quiet again. He neared and set a stack of bills before you. You took it and started to count it. He sat at his own desk; bigger than your own and predominant to the space. You were a side note. His little book keeper on her perch. He had counted right.

You tapped the stack so that it was even and stood to lay it down before him. You stretched your legs before you sat again and flipped listlessly through your ledger.

You were waiting. Loki wasn’t a man who often worked with others. ‘Partner’ was not a word to be found in his vocabulary. However, given a recent string of raids and retaliation, he had swallowed his pride for a cut. A healthy one. A true lose-lose for all involved. A pit of resent and greed which was sure to fester once more but for now, he would pay the piper.

Lopez quit his humming suddenly as the front door clattered shut. Loki’s eyes flashed but his body did not betray his expectation. He remained as he was, one leg draped over the other as he leaned back in the leather chair. You shifted and stilled the flutter of pages. You pushed your glasses up and re-examined the figures.

A knock at the door. Lopez pushed it open and huffed just inside, a mustard stain on his shirt.

“Mr. Barnes is here,” He gasped.

Lopez didn’t look it, but he was a formidable man. He’d shown that, several times. His deceptive appearance made him Loki’s favourite. And they both had a thing for knives.

Loki nodded and Lopez stepped back and his round stomach brushed against the man who waited behind him. Two others flanked the new arrival but did not enter alongside him, merely hovered by the doorway.

You had seen Barnes before; his men called him ‘Bucky’, Loki called him worse. His dark hair was kept short and his sharp jaw bore a constant five o’clock shadow. He wore a striped suit, flamboyant in contrast to Loki’s deep green attire. He entered and strode into the middle of the room. He grinned as he stopped across from the adversary turned cohort.

“I did try to be early,” He said. “I don’t come to Manhattan often.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Loki slithered. “If I were a real prick, I’d take a late fee.”

“And you’re not?” Bucky challenged and chuckled. He looked around the room and barely seemed to notice you among the bookshelves.

“I like this place. Fancy,” He mused. “I could use a little something to dress up my own place.”

“Your cut,” Loki pushed the stack of money forward. “How you spend it is no concern to me.”

Bucky slowly reached for the bills and licked his thumb before he flicked through them. His lips moved slightly as he counted. When he finished he looked up at Loki.

“That’s it?” He asked.

“Would you like to consult with my accountant?” Loki shrugged and gestured to you. “She is a mouse but efficient… Or better yet, you may return with your own, if you wish.”

“I keep my own numbers,” Bucky placed the money back down. “I’ll have a look.”

You made to stand and he waved you back down as he neared. You lowered yourself stiffly and flipped the page to the properties along the border of their territories. He stood just beside you and you ran your finger along the proper column. As he read, he bent closer, his finger fell just next to yours as he went down the numbers.

You glanced up at Loki who was entirely disinterested. He sighed and tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. Bucky’s hand gripped the chair behind you and he leaned in even closer. You looked back to the page and felt the soft brush of his breath, the subtle inhale of your jasmine perfume. You turned slightly and his eyes met yours before he pushed himself straight.

“That’s quite the decline,” His hand dragged over your ledger and you moved yours before he could brush it. 

“Yes, well, we did lose a certain op to the fire,” Loki said sharply. 

Though it hadn’t been proven, all were certain it had been set by Bucky’s men. The man even snickered at the mention.

“Checks out,” Bucky grabbed the stack and tucked it into his jacket. “I’d hate to find cracks in this new association so early.”

“Surely not,” Loki replied. “Is that all then or should I offer you a drink?”

“A bit early,” Bucky countered. “But I would like a closer look at that statue out there. Can I have some help that isn’t coughing up a ham sandwich?”

“This is a small business, Mr. Barnes,” Loki leaned forward and tented his fingers. “And I haven’t worked the showroom since my adolescence.”

Bucky nodded and glanced at you. Loki followed his gaze and tilted his head. He looked between you and the other man.

“Go on,” He motioned you with two fingers. 

You blinked and frowned. You barely knew anything about antiques; sure you admired them but you really couldn’t place a date or a style. You set your pencil down and rose. You peeked over at Loki and he shrugged. He just wanted the man gone. To be fair, you felt little different.

Bucky stepped back and sidestepped the door. He waited for you to leave first. You did so reluctantly. You entered the showroom, passing between his two henchman as he followed. You sensed him close behind.

“This one,” He said and you stopped short. 

You turned as he strutted over to a statue of a naked woman barely sheathed by a swath of silk. You neared and his eyes roved the full figure of the statue. His finger brushed her hip and he smiled.

“You like it?” He asked.

You drew your brows together and looked at him. You were rarely asked what you thought, merely for a sum.

“I suppose…” You offered. “Though it is chipped along the shoulder.”

He scoffed and shook his head.

“You aren’t much of a salesman,” He remarked. “But you’re right. I think… I’d prefer a different decoration in my home.” He grinned and turned to you. “Something more… lifelike.”

You were uncertain of his meaning and his tone. 

“Something with more colour?” You suggested.

“Perhaps,” He said as he checked his watch. “I'll have to come back and have another look around.”

“Okay,” You said dumbly.

“Miss,” He gave a curt nod and spun on his heel.

You watched him go as his men followed. The door groaned loudly in his stead and you were left with Lopez’s thick breaths. You looked at him as he bent over a newspaper and squinted at the funnies page. You turned back to the office and picked at your sleeve.

‘Don’t trust men like me,’ Your father’s words whispered in your head. ‘Their wants are simple but their methods are tricky.’

You rubbed your neck and headed back to the office. If Loki had taught you anything, it was that your father, for once, hadn’t lied.

“Did he buy it?” Loki asked as you entered the office.

“No,” You answered quietly as you sat back down.

“Hmmm,” He hummed as you felt his eyes on you. 

You lifted your head and found him staring. He was watching you, weighing you like he did a sac of money or a crate of guns. You picked up your pencil and twirled it.

“Do the numbers again,” He said. “I want to make certain they’re correct.”

👄

Several days passed and you soon forgot about the awkward meeting of kingpins. The days blurred together as they always did, like the numbers in your ledger. You closed up the book as the shutters grew grim with the impending rain clouds. You went to the safe and spun the dial. You shoved the ledger inside and closed it up.

Loki’s chair swiveled and his toe tapped. You glanced over as you watched his lithe legs stretch out. He leaned an arm on his desk and tapped his fingers.

“I wonder…” He began softly. “Why do you do this?”

“Pardon,” You grabbed the top of the safe and pulled yourself up. You closed the wooden door of the chest that hid it.

“Well, more aptly I wonder, do you dress like that to throw off the scent or are you truly that displaced?”

“I don’t--”

“You looked like a librarian.” He interrupted. “Like you should be sat in a cubicle with a mug that reads ‘TGIF’.”

“I… this is how I dress,” You looked down at your pressed wool pants and your starched blouse with the little red flowers. “Professionally.”

“Your father was a bookie and your mother… well, I do not speak ill of the dead if I can help it.” He said.

You swallowed the insult. You knew this man too well to be upset. It was his favourite pastime riling others up. Seeing how far he could push them.

“I’m not my mother and I’m not some dancer or moll,” You said. “So I don’t see how a blazer should bother you.”

“I am not so concerned by your clothes,” He laughed. “I ponder on your commitment to your work. You see, you come in here, like it’s a nine to five, and then you’re on your way and I frankly do not know, nor can I even imagine, what it is you do outside of here.”

“I didn’t realise you needed to know.” You said coolly.

“I don’t need to know the intricacies of your personal life, I only need to be assured of your loyalty.”

“I’ve worked here for seven years. Name a time I have ever shown anything other than diligence.” You argued.

He grinned and licked his bottom lip.

“I am not worried about your past, I am worried about the present and your future which if you wish to continue on here is intertwined with my own.” He insisted. “So, after seven long years, I need more than your little scribbles.”

“What is it you want?” You asked. “A blood sacrifice?”

“I want you at Diablo’s. Tonight.” He said evenly.

“Diablo’s?”

“Yes, he is having one of his little meetings. Truly, I can’t even think of an appropriate term for the occasion. It is mostly drinking and gaudy suits on our part but you can’t truly think you’ll be my bookkeeper forever.” He said. “You don’t want to be your father, do you? Your whole life spent in the weeds.”

“Don’t talk about him like you knew him,” You warned. “If you did, you’d know I’m nothing like him and you would thank all the odds that I am not.”

“You cannot be a background player in this scene and let me warn you, there are not a lot of opportunities for girls like you.”

“Girls like me?” You scoffed.

“A woman in a skirt can lift it and secure herself a pretty little set-up,” He purred. “But you, you can’t dress like some matron and expect to watch the blood spill with clean hands.”

You sighed and clenched your jaw.

“So, you find a dress, buy one if need be, and you will see me at Diablo’s tonight.” He declared. “Without those awful wiry glasses, too.”

You shook your head and turned away from him. You checked your purse before shutting the flap and he cleared his throat.

“I expect an answer.” He said.

“And if I refuse, you will find a new book keeper?”

“I could. Easily.” He affirmed. “But I daresay, you won’t have as easy a time selling your numbers to others. You’d likely end up selling something else.”

You sneered but resisted rolling your eyes. You missed his former apathy. His quiet derision.

“What time, boss?” You asked.

[gii-heylittleangel]

What Bare Eyes Can’t See

Summary: One of the first things Dean learned when he first met Cas was that he couldn’t see all the planes that Cas exists at outside of his vessel, so when they’re on a hunt for a hellhound and Dean looks at Cas with his scorched with holy fire glasses, he can’t believe his own eyes.

Pairing: Dean Winchester&Castiel (Gen)

Word Count: 3543 words

Warnings/Tags: No Warnings; Cas with wings; hunt for hellhound; Dean gets a pretty bad cut; Dean and Cas play Ghost; Dean can see Cas’s wings; and he loves it; Dean touches Cas’s wing; mid-season 8 

Square Filled: Case Fic

A/N: Hey peeps! How are y’all? I’m back with another fic for @spngenrebingo and I’ve been wanting to write something like this for quite a while now. I have a thing for Cas with wings haha. @babybluecas beta’ed this for me because she’s an awesome person.  ❤ I hope y’all like it!

Read it on AO3 or keep reading here!

Sighing for what must be the hundredth time in the course of half an hour, Dean throws his head back and stares at the ceiling, wishing he had the power to make time pass faster. Cas has been happily focused on a random show on the TV for an hour now, legs crossed under him as he rests his back on the headboard.

Dean wishes he could get entertained so easily as Cas does because that way, maybe, time would pass faster, and they would be able to go out and kill the hellhound they're supposed to kill. He starts to tap his fingers on the table and bounce his leg up and down, moving his eyes to stare at the clock on the wall. The seconds hand seems to be making fun of him as he watches it make its way slowly, as if each second took five to get to the next number.

He lets his breath come out through his mouth, putting his arms on top of the table and resting his head on them, turned to the right towards Cas. Dean starts to get lost in thoughts while he stares at Cas, just watching the little humanly things he started to do after spending a few years on Earth.

Dean recognizes some tics that Cas probably got from watching him—like a creep. Cas also has some of Sam’s tics, but not as many as the ones he got from Dean. Cas frowns at the TV a bunch of times as Sam does, especially when something that he doesn’t understand happens; he sometimes talks at the TV as Dean does—especially when Dean's watching horror movies—, though Dean doesn't understand what Cas is saying at the moment.

Cas turns to him after Dean doesn't know how many minutes, tilting his head when he sees Dean staring at him. "Are you okay, Dean?"

Dean blinks a few times, raising his head. "Huh?" He shakes his head, plastering a smile on his face. "Yeah, yeah. I'm bored, that's all. Time ain’t passing fast enough."

Cas chuckles as he turns the TV off, and stands up, walking to Dean. "Do you want to do something to pass the time? I recall that you and Sam often do that when you hunt together."

"That's true. We used to play games sometimes, especially when Sam was younger and that would keep him entertained for hours." Dean shrugs as he straightens his back and stretches it, some bones cracking. He rubs his hand on his face, sighing. "I'm getting too old for this shit. What do you wanna do, Cas?"

Cas shrugs, putting one of his arms on the chair next to Dean. "I'm not familiar with games but we could play one. If you want."

"We could play Ghost."

Cas frowns at him. "Do you really know a game called Ghost?"

Dean smiles. "Yep. It goes like this: I'm gonna say a letter and then you have to say another, then it’s me again and we go until we complete a word. But it needs to be a real word and we can't use two and three-letter words, or it's cheating. If I complete a word, I lose and I get a G. If you complete a word, you lose and get a G. The first person to spell G-H-O-S-T loses the game. What do you think?"

"I like it."

"Alright, then, let's play. And no big, different, intelligent words, alright? That's playing low, especially because you probably know all of them."

Cas chuckles but nods. He sits on the chair in front of Dean, who grabs a sheet of paper and a pen for them. "Do you wanna go first, Cas?"

He nods and squints his eyes as he thinks. "W."

Dean shakes his head in disapproving. "Already with a weird word, huh? Alright.” He bites his lips before answering, “H."

"E."

"E."

"Z."

Dean squints at Cas with an angry expression. "Y."

Cas smiles happily, grabbing the pen. He writes his and Dean's name, putting a 'G' under Dean's name. "This game is fun."

"Just because you're winning. Alright, I'll start now." Dean taps his finger on his lips as he thinks. "G."

"R."

"I."

Cas bites his lower lip before replying, "M."

"A."

"C."

"Damn it, Cas, how are you so good at this game?"

Cas only smiles at him, pen tapping at the paper. "What's your next letter, Dean?"

"E," Dean mutters under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest.

Cas writes an 'H' beside the 'G' under Dean's name. "Did you use to win when you played with Sam?"

"Nah, the kid was too smart, he always used those big words to confuse me, even when he was little. It was annoying, really. That's why I have the rule of no big, weird words."

Cas chuckles, placing the pen on top of the paper. "Do you want to go again?"

Dean steals a glance at the clock on the wall, shrugging when he sees they have time. "Why not? Maybe I can still beat you." Dean waves at him. "It's your turn to start."

Cas nods. "O."

"C."

"C."

Dean smiles triumphantly, eyebrows waggling. "U."

Cas tilts his head. "P."

"A."

"N."

"C."

"Y."

"Ha!" Dean yells happily. "See? Told ya I could beat you." Dean takes the pen to write a 'G' under Cas's name.

Cas rolls his eyes with a smile. "I'm sure you can, Dean."

Dean puts the pen down. "Alright, my turn. D," Dean says the first letter that comes to his mind.

"O."

"M."

Cas bites his nail as he thinks, staring intently at Dean. "I."

"N."

"A."

Dean smiles as he already grabs the pen. "N." 

Cas's shoulders slump slightly. "T."

"Looks like it’s a tie," Dean brags as he puts the 'H' under Cas's name.

Cas rolls his eyes softly, giving Dean a fond smile. "I'm letting you win so you're happy, Dean."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, buddy, whatever you have to say to make yourself feel better." He looks at the clock and then through the window. "I think we can go now. It's about to get dark and I would very much rather see what we're doing as we put our plan into action."

Cas nods as he stands up. "We can play more when we come back."

Dean smiles at him, nudging Cas with his elbow. "You liked it, huh?"

"I just don't like to leave things in a tie, that's all."

"Mhm, right," Dean says as he grabs his jacket and his duffel, walking towards the door. "If we manage to survive the hellhound, we can play when we come back. It'll be cool to brag to Sam about beating an angel of the Lord."

Cas opens the door as he replies, "If you do manage to beat me, Dean. We're tied so far."

"Which means I can still beat you. Just wait and see, Cas."

They walk towards the Impala, Dean putting his duffel on the backseat as he climbs to the driver seat and Cas on the passenger seat. Dean starts the car, driving to the house where all the attacks have happened so far.

The drive is silent, filled mostly with the sounds of the cars passing by them. Dean sees Cas gazes through the window with curiosity in his eyes, making him chuckle lowly. Cas turns to him with his head tilted, but Dean just shakes his head with a smile and returns to watching the road. He feels Cas still staring at him, probably wondering what could've made Dean laugh, but Dean keeps his eyes focused on the road, fighting the smile that keeps coming back to his lips.

It doesn't take long for them to arrive in the woods where all the deaths have happened, the sun starting to set on the horizon, giving the sky a pinkish colour. Cas stares at it while Dean takes his duffel from the car and walks towards him. Dean stops by his side, watching the lower part of the sun start to slowly disappear.

"C'mon, Cas. We should get going if we wanna set everything up before the sun goes down."

Cas nods, eyes lingering on the horizon for five more seconds, before following Dean to the abandoned house on the top of the hill. They try to be as quiet as possible as they set everything up, not wanting to make the hellhound appear while they’re not ready. Dean pours goofer dust and salt around the whole house, just in case they don't manage to kill the hound, so that they’ll have a space to escape to in order not to get themselves killed.

Cas slides his angel blade out from his sleeve—which amazes Dean until this day, doesn't matter how many times he has seen it—as he starts to walk around the perimeter. Dean takes holy oil and a pair of glasses from his duffel, pours some of the oil on the ground and lights it with his lighter. He passes the glasses through the fire a few times as Cas walks closer to him with furrowed brows.

"What are you doing, Dean?"

Dean raises his eyes to him. "We learned a new trick that lets us see the hounds, which makes it a hell of a lot easier to hunt them."

"It's a nice strategy. Where did you learn it?"

"Kevin read it on the angel tablet."

Cas nods before turning to the woods on the right side of the house, eyes squinted as he turns his head slightly to the side. "I think I hear something from there."

Dean stands up, putting the fire out with his foot. "Alright, you go there, I'm gonna go take a walk around, maybe I'll find something."

Cas nods again and walks away as Dean takes his angel blade from the duffel and rolls it around in his hand to get a better grip. He puts the glasses on, blinking a few times as his eyes adjust to his new view of things—everything seems bluer than usual but everything has more details than without the glasses. He looks at the angel blade on his hand, eyes widening when he sees it glowing with a blue, ethereal light.

He shakes his head, taking his eyes from the blade and looking around him. He walks slowly around the house, keeping himself behind the goofer dust and salt line, trying to see or hear anything that could let him know that the hound is there. He can’t make out anything in the forest, not even the glasses help him see anything in the dark, and he also doesn’t hear anything, so he turns to his right to look at Cas and ask if he saw something.

He stops dead on his tracks when he sees them—two gigantic things right at Cas's back. 

"Cas! Behind you!" Dean screams before he can make his legs work. He forces his mind out of its stupor, pushing his legs to start working so he can run to Cas.

Cas turns to him with a stance to fight, eyes darting around him to see what Dean’s talking about and Dean's eyes widen when he sees the things turn with him. He almost trips, stopping a few feet from Cas, mouth hanging open as his mind starts to comprehend what he’s looking at.

Not seeing anything, Cas looks at Dean with a confused expression. "What is it, Dean?"

"Th—, behi—" Dean stutters, not quite knowing what he wants to say. He stares amazed as the things tense the same way Cas's shoulders do, and Dean finally realizes what they are—they're Cas's wings.

They extend large around Cas, probably fifteen or more feet to each side and six or seven feet up and down. They look nearly tangible, but still transparent enough to let Dean to see through them, as if they're trapped between two different planes. They are dark blue with a few black spots. The same ethereal light comes from them, giving it a clearer outline as Dean stares in wonder. They seem to express Cas's emotions, changing along with his expression—tensed when Cas looks afraid or worried, anxious while he stares at Dean, waiting for him to say something.

"Your... Your wings," Dean says in a low voice as he moves his gaze to Cas's face, eyes widening even more as he sees Cas's entire body covered on the ethereal light.

Cas frowns. "What about my wings, Dean?" He takes a few steps towards Dean. "Are you okay?"

Dean points to Cas's wings inertly. "I—I can see your wings."

"That's, that's not possible, Dean." Cas squints at Dean. Understanding takes the place of confusion. "The glasses. You put the glasses on holy fire to be able to see the hound, so they probably let you see anything that human eyes can’t."

Dean only nods amazed, too caught up on watching Cas's wings stretch out as Cas walks closer to him. Dean raises one hand, moving it closer to the wings. He looks into Cas's eyes in search of permission. Cas tips his head in agreement, his right wing moving closer to Dean's hand.

The wing gives a tickling sensation and radiates heat that warms Dean's hand almost instantly. Dean runs his fingers through the feathers, speechless when they feel so soft under them as if they are bird feathers, feeling almost like fur. He moves his hand up and down the wing until he sees Cas shiver and close his eyes.

Dean retreats his hand instantly. "Does it hurt?"

Cas shakes his head softly, giving Dean a smile as he opens his eyes. "No, it feels good. I just, no one has ever touched them. It's different."

"They're beautiful, Cas. Almost like the colour of your eyes, just a little darker."

"They actually have more colours than just blue, but you probably relate blue to me, that's why you see them like that."

Dean frowns. "So each person would see them in a different colour?"

"Each person would see what they think relates to me, so they would see part of my wings. Can you see them fully or do they seem a little transparent?"

"They do, which is weird. Like I see them and don’t see them at the same time."

Cas smiles. "Because they're not actually on this plane and you can't quite see all of the planes they are on."

Dean opens his mouth to speak, but closes it as soon as he hears a growl. Cas also hears it, turning to the source of the sound, angel blade in position to attack. Dean positions himself by his side, trying not to stare at Cas's wings, instead, keeping his focus on the woods, narrowing his eyes to make the hound's outline on the low light.

He sees one come from between the woods, a messy form and its red eyes glowing in the dark. He opens his mouth to tell Cas but stops when he sees where Cas is looking. There's another hound a few feet away, larger than the first one. 

“Damn, I thought we had only one hound to deal with. How do those demons not realize they lost track of two hellhounds?”

Cas shakes his head softly, his wings tensing around him. “We’ll have to each deal with one, Dean.”

“Alright, I’ll get ugly number one,” he points at the first hound, “and you deal with ugly number two.”

Cas nods once more and moves towards the hound. Dean adjusts his grip on the angel blade and steps out of the line of goofer dust and salt. The hound snarls at him and Dean can almost see its big, pointy teeth. Memories from another hellhound, from years ago, start to come up to his mind, and Dean shakes his head to get rid of the mental image. The last thing he needs right now is getting too caught up on that memory and get killed by a hound again. 

He comes closer, only close enough for it to try and attack him, but giving Dean enough time to turn and run if he needs to. He smirks at it. “Damn, aren’t you an ugly-looking sonuvabitch, huh? C’mon, come get a piece of me.”

Slowly stepping backwards, he tries to lure it out from the woods. He definitely doesn’t want to start a fight with it among the trees, where it’ll be harder for him to escape. The hound growls and starts to run towards him, paws stomping the ground under it, the sound almost too loud for Dean to bear. He turns and starts to run closer to the house.

It’s not long before his calves start burning from the running and he’s close to the line around the house. He sees Cas fighting against the other hound, wings moving him around so swiftly that makes Dean wonder if Cas isn’t actually flying around. He shakes his head, tearing his gaze from the angel. He needs to keep his focus. 

He turns his head slightly to look at the hound, noticing he’s starting to lose his advantage, so he makes a decision. He throws himself on the ground, body slightly turned so he’ll fall on his back, but the hound gets to him faster than he predicted. It scratches Dean’s calve, making him scream and lose any control over his fall.

Pain explodes on his leg. He hits the ground, his back hurting with the impact. The hound throws itself on top of him, claws piercing through his chest. Dean screams again and uses the last of his strength to raise his hand and stab the hound right on its neck. Black blood pours down on him, the hound mewls as it drops heavy on Dean’s chest. Dean loses his breath under the weight, hand falling limply on his side. 

He turns his head slightly to see Cas kill the other hound with a finesse Dean could never master. He tries to speak, Cas’s name coming out as a whimper for the lack of air in his lungs, leaving Dean to gasp for breath.

But it’s enough to make Cas turn to him, eyes widening and wings stretching by his sides when he sees Dean. Oddly enough, what goes through Dean’s mind is that he’ll at least be able to die with such a beautiful view in his eyes.

His eyes start to fall close just as Cas runs towards him—and from how Cas’s wings are moving, Dean assumes he must be flying. Dean hears the thud on his right side when Cas falls to his knees, and the weight on top of im disappears. He takes in a deep breath, mind clearing slightly as the oxygen starts to flow through his veins again, but it hurts to breath. A soft hand touches his neck, making him raise his head.

“Dean, can you hear me?” Cas gives a few pats on Dean’s cheek, urging him to react.

Dean groans slightly, eyes opening just enough for him to see Cas’s worried expression above him. Cas lets out a relieved sigh, shoulders relaxing. He places Dean’s head on his lap and puts a hand on Dean’s chest. The feeling of Cas’s grace inside his body relaxes and warms Dean up, his chest stoping to hurt as Cas heals it, allowing Dean to breath freely.

Cas takes his hand from Dean’s chest and places it on his thigh. Cas heals the cuts that the hound made on Dean’s calve, and takes his hand to put it on Dean’s cheek. The feeling of Cas’s grace stays with him as Dean opens his eyes to stare at the angel.

“Y’know, people normally buy me at least a drink before moving to touching, Cas.”

Cas chuckles as he shakes his head slowly. “Well, I saved your life so I guess that makes us way past the ‘buying a drink’ point, doesn’t it?”

Dean smiles fondly at him. “You make some good points. Alright, let me up.”

Cas helps Dean stand up. Dean wobbles slightly but catches his balance in seconds. Cas bents down to grab the glasses that fell off from Dean’s face, and hands them to Dean.

“You look good in glasses, Dean.” 

Dean can feel the heat coming up his neck and to his cheeks, so he takes the glasses from Cas’s hands, keeping his gaze down to hide his blush. “Yeah, yeah. We should go.”

He starts walking to where he left his duffel, but he can still feel Cas’s gaze on his back. He doesn’t give it too much attention, kneeling down to put the glasses and the holy oil back in the bag. He stands up and makes his way to where they parked the car. He doesn’t hear Cas’s footsteps following and he’s almost turning to hurry Cas up, but the angel shows up suddenly by his side, making Dean jump.

“Dude, you can’t just magically appear out of nowhere. Wanna give me a heart attack?”

“My apologies, Dean,” he doesn’t even have to turn to know that Cas has a smile on his lips.

Dean suppresses a smile of his own, bumping his shoulder with Cas’s. “Jackass.”

[imoutofinfires]

Steal me a Glance~ Park Jimin

Hey guys! Hope y’all enjoy this and don’t puke:)

|Masterlist| |Prompt Store|

I waved at the crowd, waved into an endless distance until the cheering of the crowd died down. As I strutted off, I tried, I really did try my best to keep my wandering eyes straight ahead. However, how am I made to not at least glance at the sight of love, love so pure and true that Aphrodite was physically punishing me to have experienced something so unattainable, or so I believed? Thus, I concluded that I could not be held accountable if I did turn to glance at him. As my face, looked over at his, I could only view the side of his face. All I saw is his swift-paced motion towards the stage with his members by his side. He didn’t even try to look at me. It was as if I was invisible and at that moment I knew what it looked like. I knew that by the time I woke up to tomorrow, I would be in one of those shamelessly idiotic and sexist compilations of ‘female idols staring at BTS members for 874878732mins”. I closed my eyes as I internally scolded myself at my stupidity. Why would he look back at me? We were the ones that decided to keep the idea of us a secret. Finally, I was out of the public eye, my cheeks were bleeding red and boiling as I took one final glance back at him and smiled at the sight of him, or the very least what I thought was a smile. As the event got over, everyone performing was made to go back on the stage to bid farewell to the audience. I along with another artist sang to close the show and as I moved towards the back for the group picture, my heart hurt as I was forced to look at him again. There he was, smiling and talking to another idol, not that the sight bothered me as I am the one who is in fact with him. But how is it that we haven’t even had a single public conversation? Why the hell do I care now? Is it because in the past 3 years of being with this lovely man, even through all the dating scandals, we have always been in hopeless love and always stole each other’s vision during every one of these public events? Of course not. I am not a jealous partner. I looked back ahead and smiled and waved until I drove off to sleep.

My eyes fluttered open and I was washed with the previous night’s thoughts. As I laid in bed, finally with a half clear head, I sighed my supposed idiocrasy. I chuckled, as I moved to pat the other side of our bed. I lifted my head, and I saw him sitting at the kitchen island focused, through the half-open door. I got up and began to analyse what it was that had so much of his attention. I hugged his backside as I sighed, relieved. “Jimin, I missed you so much.”, I said as I kissed his back. Stillness is all the response I received. I looked over his shoulder to view the similar sight as him. “Y/N and BTS JIMIN DATING ?!” “AWW THEY ARE SO CUTE TOGETHER” “OMG! IS THIS BITCH DATING MY JIMMINIE” “PEOPLE NEED TO GET A LIFE AND LET THEM LIVE THEIRS” “ DUDE SHE NEEDS TO APOLOGISE FOR INSULTING MY KING LIKE THIS”.  This is one step further than what I thought was going to happen. I unlocked my arms from Jimin as I stepped back, holding back the tears. I ran my hand through my hair, hoping that he Jimin doesn’t get mad at me. “Jimin, I am so sorry. I don’t know what I was doi-” “Are you trying to jeopardise my career, Y/N?” He said, still facing away from me. “ Of course not. Why would I do that?” “ Then what other explanation would you have for such a careless, big mistake! Do you have any idea what this could do to me? To my members? Did you even think for a second what it was that you were doing?!” As he continued to lecture me for what was an apparent mistake, some part of me blasted through my non-confrontational self. “Well, what the hell did you expect me to do! The only time I actually fucking see you outside of the 7 hours we spend together, 6 of which we sleep, what I am supposed to do?! Huh, tell me, please! Tell me, I can see your fucking face if not at a public event where I can finally, finally after a 3-month tour, GLANCE at you, where can I?”, I said as I sat down on the couch. There was utter silence for what seemed like an eternity. Until I turned to face him, I heard a shifting in the couch and the sound of a box bursting open. As my eyes met his, a glare from his hand blocked our view of each other. I looked down to see a jarring silver ring, with such an obvious diamond stare back at me. “Will you marry me?”. It was all that came out of his mouth, and in that moment all that I could handle hearing and I fell into a trance.

I blinked open my eyes to find a completely different set-up. A camera in front of me, Jimin reading through a comments section and my finger cutting the white light that entered through our window into tremendous colours. When my ears finally opened up, I could hear Jimin talk, “…from now on, I don’t want to hide my beautiful relationship anymore, and I hope all of you understand why. We were idiots to have found one another and not flaunt our love. However, now, not only will be stealing glances between ourselves but will also…”, he turned away from the camera, smiling at me as he lifted my hand, smoothening his fingers over mine for approval. It was funny how fast I nodded and tried to calm the butterflies in my stomach. “ …be showing off our rings. I love you Y/N.”. And that is the moment I wish I could encapture forever. It was one of the first things where I wasn’t sure what was happening or what will happen, but all I knew was I needed him. “I love you too, Jimin.”, might be all I said but it was one of the best 45 minutes of my life.

[a-damson-in-distress]

From Dusk Till Dawn - Chapter 5

Pairing: MadaSaku

Plot: Sakura was searching for a purpose. Madara was thirsting for revenge. Little do they know their fates intertwined centuries ago. Once he broke free from his banishment, he would usher in a new dusk. Until he realised that she was his dawn. Historical/mythological AU.

Note: Salutations, my lovelies. I’m back from the dead. So I know most of you will have probably forgotten this fic even exists (hell, even I forgot lol), but guess what - IT’S BACK BITCHES! I honestly have no idea what came over me today, but somehow I got reminded of this blog and the fics I started here, so I decided to dig it up out of the depths of my browser history, and you know what? I totally forgot how much fun I had writing these and that daaaaaaamn I had some good stories going on, which were in desperate need of updating, if only to ease my guilty conscience. 

Speaking of which, I honestly have no excuses for going AWOL for so long. I know some of you may have been bummed, because I think this fic did have a teeny tiny bit of a following, but honestly guys, this writing blog was only one of my many hobbies and it was never meant to take up too much of my time. It was one of these things I occasionaly devote my time to, but that was always doomed to be second place to my life/relationship/university responsibilites. But on the bright side, I did finally get my Bachelor’s degree, whoooo! Buuuuuuuut I am still at uni doing my Master’s, sooooo ya know - still not going to be a regular thing here. 

Anyways, TL;DR: I wanted to update this little nugget here out of pure nostalgia and curiosity to see how many of you will still remember the story, to see how many will appreciate and like this update and depending on your reaction, I might actually take up writing again. Goodie, I’m excited to be back. Have fun! :)

Oh also, please check out the first 4 chapters before reading this one, since - you know - I let so much dust settle on this story none of y’all will probably know what’s going on. 

EDIT: I had to delete the links to the first 4 chapters, because this chapter wasn’t showing up under the madasaku tag or any of the other tags, but as soon as I deleted the links it did? Soooo yeah whatever, fuck you Tumblr links. You’re gonna have to scroll through my blog to get to the other chapters, I’m sorry. I’ll figure out a way to post all of it in one piece, promise. Have fun and let me know what you think! :)

500 years ago…

The heavens stood still.

Silence.

Death.

Victory.

Tsunade watched a tired Jiraiya fall to his knees and let out a pained groan. Allowing a nervous sigh to escape her lips, she closed her eyes.

They did it. They finally did it. After decades of warfare, bloodshed, and carnage, they finally managed to seal away the bane of their existence.

The last of the dusk gods had fallen.

Opening her eyes again, she let her tired gaze wander across the scene of their final battle. Slain gods lay scattered across the barren field, the ashen ground beneath them stained in the colour of their blood.  Giant craters burning with the dreaded flames of the underworld tore through the otherwise idyllic scenery of the heavens like wounds from blade. The black flames of the dusk god’s feared Amaterasu eating up what little was left of the trees that once made this surrounding a forest.

It matters not, she kept telling herself. He is gone. And the dawn gods shall rebuild.

Just as Tsunade was about to join Jiraiya to take a look at his wounds, an ear-piercing screeching tore through her head, forcing her to her knees. Barely managing to open her eyes against the penetrating pain in her mind, she watched the other surviving gods around her writhe and hold their heads in agony.

All of a sudden, the screeching ebbed, giving way to a low hissing sound before a mysterious voice whispered into all of their ears:

At the fall of dusk, at the fall of old, spring shall bring forth his keeper,

who will call to him until his return at the night the darkness swallows the heavens.

Young and weak, the Eastern light shall seek out the old power in the West,

who will envelop her in darkness to unleash their true might.

Dawn will be his light, and dusk shall return.

It was only when the throbbing pain in her head finally dissipated that Tsunade dared to look up. The remaining gods looked at each other questioningly.

They were familiar with this pain, with this feeling. The hissing voice in their head. The dawn gods all knew what this was.

A prophecy. Foreshadowing the return of Madara.

The survivors did what they could to tend to the wounded on the battlefield. When no one else could be saved, the gods set them aflame and watched their bodies dissipate into golden dust, releasing their divine essence into the vast expanse of the universe, praying for them to be reborn again. Then, they retreated to their respective homes – or what was left of them – to lick their wounds, celebrate their survival, and grieve the death of the fallen.

Tsunade felt a heavy sadness weighing down her heart that night. Despite their unimaginable victory over the mightiest god to ever grace the face of the heavens, they had lost so many. She knew more peaceful times lay ahead of them now, and yet she felt restless. It had been ages since the universe had whispered a prophecy into their ears. And this one was particularly unsettling.

Dusk shall return.

But they sealed him, Tsunade reminded herself. And with one of Hashirama’s seals, no less. She was the one who studied the dusk god’s inscriptions, who knew his incantations like the back of her hand. She was certain Hashirama’s seal would be enough to imprison Madara for the rest of his miserable days.

And yet, mere minutes after the dawn gods managed the unthinkable and sealed away the last dusk god, the universe decided to warn them of his return. And prophecies always came true, the dawn goddess knew that much.

Not only that, but the prophecy also spoke of some Eastern light, who would supposedly help him unleash his true might. A cold shiver ran down Tsunade’s spine at the thought of Madara teaming up with such a force of nature that will grant him even more fearsome powers than he already had.

Yet the goddess of healing had no time to dwell on her worrisome thoughts, as her mind picked up the desperate prayer of a mortal couple. Never one to abandon the ones in need, the blonde goddess raced down into the mortal realm and materialised unseen in the living room of a small hut. She watched the couple on their knees, huddled together in front of the fire. They were rocking back and forth, with the woman holding a small bundle in her arms and the man raising one arm pleadingly into the air, calling out to the goddess of healing to save this poor baby.

This baby? Is that not their own child, Tsunade thought suspiciously. Babies do not just fall from the heavens.

Taking one step closer to the fire, the goddess suddenly felt a divine glow emanating from the bundle in the woman’s arms. Tsunade would recognise that anywhere – the essence of the gods. This was indeed not the mortal couple’s child, but a newborn of the dawn gods.

Still hidden from the mortal’s view, she leaned down and caught a glimpse of pink hair and emerald green eyes, staring knowingly, yet tiredly at her. As Tsunade stretched out a hand towards the babe to check its body temperature, a tiny chubby fist suddenly enclosed her index finger. This little touch was enough to flood the goddess with a feeling of warm motherly love.

Tsunade knew in that instant that this deity shall be hers to raise, care for, and love.

With her divine power, she mentally reached out to the mortals and willed them to lay the small bundle on the floor by the fire. She watched them carefully lower the baby and step back from the fire, worriedly glancing around the living room and waiting for something to happen.

In the blink of an eye, the small bundle was gone. The couple sighed in relief and fell into each other’s arms, knowing their beloved goddess of healing would take care of that weak little girl.

“Do you really think that was a wise choice?”

Tsunade ignored Jiraiya’s incessant nagging and kept bouncing the little babe on her arm. Immediately after taking the young goddess from the mortal’s hut, she returned home to her half-standing palace in the East, where some of the surviving gods have retreated to recuperate. One of them being Kakashi, the feared god of lightning, who was pinning her with a scrutinising gaze.

“Jiraiya’s right, you know. Tonight, of all nights, with this new prophecy looming above our heads… Have you even thought for a second that she could be this Eastern light, his keeper that was prophesised?”

Tsunade scoffed and shot him a challenging glare. “Please, Kakashi, don’t be paranoid. It was just one of the millions of prayers I receive every day. Only this time, it happened to involve a newly born dawn goddess, instead of a weak mortal. Just because she is one of us, does not mean she is tied to the prophecy. In fact, we should be thankful our pantheon is growing again after we lost so many.”

“The prophecy clearly said that at the fall of dusk some kind of keeper will emerge who is destined to help Madara unleash his full power upon the heavens. The fall of dusk was tonight, and after decades of no new deities, tonight is the night the universe decides to give us a new goddess, during spring no less? Coincidences like these might happen to the mortals but not in the heavens,” Shikamaru grumbled before taking a well-deserved puff from his ivory kiseru.

Rolling her eyes at the god of wisdom and strategy, Tsunade switched the little bundle to her other arm and kept bouncing her up and down, before she said, “What you all fail to see is that she cannot be the Easter light from the prophecy, since I found her in a mortal village in the middle of nowhere, not even remotely close to anywhere East. And don’t you think that if such a powerful force destined to be tied to Madara emerged that we would not have felt its birth? Elemental abnormalities, time standing still, earthquakes – anything that might indicate a new divine force has emerged. But there was absolutely nothing when this little goddess here was born. In fact, she is so tiny and weak, I honestly doubt that she will have a purpose grander than making flowers grow, that’s how harmless she is.”

Tsunade saw the uncertain faces around her, their doubtful gazes boring into her determination to keep the babe. She had to convince them, somehow. She could not just leave a part of her divine family, especially now that her kin was nearly wiped out. As soon as the young goddess had touched her, Tsunade felt responsible for her. She had to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of her head screaming at her to listen to the prophecy.

Yes, there were too many coincidences, Tsunade had to admit that herself. The prophecy clearly talks of a female, emerging during this particular night, during spring. All of which applied to the little dawn goddess in her arms.

But there was no way she could be the Eastern light; the goddess was not tied to any particular region. And Tsunade could not – for the life of her – imagine this tiny, frail little thing would be capable of stoking the fire of Madara’s wrath to the point that she would be the one to unleash his true might.

Shaking away her doubts, Tsunade gazed into the tired emeralds of the little girl in her arms. A smile spread across her lips when the tiny goddess snuggled closer to her chest.

There was absolutely no way she would abandon this little thing, not now after she lost so many of her family.

Raising her head, she shot a determined glance at all of the surviving deities in her presence and exclaimed, “I will not resign this precious goddess to a prophecy we have not even fully deciphered yet. None of us know what half of that steaming pile of donkey dung even means, so nobody is going to determine her fate based on any of that. Besides, even if she really is this keeper of his, this way we can at least raise her on our side. Teach her our story, our ways, our kindness. She will never be corrupted by him if we have the power to tell her the things we want her know. If he really does come back and they really do cross paths, there is no way she will choose him. I will tie her to me as tightly as she tied me to her.”

Lowering her caramel eyes, she cast a loving glance at the newest addition to her family and whispered softly, “I will protect my daughter from him. No matter what.”

Went to him… willingly … kidnapped … she chose him … sacrifice …

Sakura’s muddled mind started picking up fragments of speech as she slowly started to wake from her slumber. Forcing her weak body to sit up, she cast a disoriented glance around her only to find herself in her chambers at her mother’s palace.

All of a sudden, memories started flooding her mind and she felt her heart rate pick up.

Madara.

She finally met him. She was in his palace. She was so close to getting some answers. A blush crept up her neck at the thought of his calloused fingers holding her chin in place as he was leaning closer to her, before… Before the dawn gods laid siege to his palace to take her away from him.

Wait, from him? Where did that thought come from? Since when did Sakura think she belonged by his side? She had only known him for a few moments and from what she had seen on the battlefields, he was not a god whose company she should be yearning for. And yet, she had never felt so strong, so alive as when being close to him.

And now that they were separated, her old familiar frailty had returned as well.

The young dawn goddess could feel frustration bubble up inside her. Rarely did she get mad at something or someone, but her constant state of weakness had been a source of anger for all of her short life. And the one being who could rectify that just had to be her mother’s mortal enemy and the one who had been waging war against her kin for the last weeks.  

Sakura felt like throwing something against the wall. Alas, all the smashable things in her room were solid gold or heavy ivory, all of which was too difficult for her to even pick up now. In Madara’s presence, however, she felt like she could carry the entire heavens on her shoulders.

Her depressing thoughts were interrupted when she felt the voices on the other side of her door grow louder.

“Look what Tsunade’s tying down has brought us. She went to him, willingly. All that keeping her close was for nothing!”

“She is so weak, she cannot even open doors without struggling, and you really think she made that trip all the way to the Western end of the heavens on her own? He clearly kidnapped her. We are lucky he left her alive for whatever reason.”

“Then tell me why she was reaching out to him when I-“

The angry voices were silenced when her mother suddenly burst through the doors and stomped into her room, glowering at Sakura with a furious expression.

“What in the heavens were you thinking?!”

[differentjokes4differentfolks]

WTFIT Chap 10

Chapter ten!! I think it’s safe to say the fic is more than halfway done :) As always, thanks for the comments and likes/reblogs. I’m glad y’all like the story. Enjoy!!

Bruce swears if Vicki Vale was a villain she’d be unstoppable. He spends an hour alone trying to dodge her questions, his phone ringing incessantly (How did she even get his number?). When the mob of reporters shows up on his front step he tries to have Alfred shoo them away, but they’re like vultures. The camera flashes annoy him to no end, you don’t need camera flashes in broad daylight anyway (he thinks). The interview goes on for about an hour. He doesn’t mind some of the questions, no, he’s not straight, yes, he’ll donate to LGBT organizations (he donates to them anyways). But some are insulting and honestly? Some are just straight up kinky. He ends up just staring at one reporter after a certain question about leather, at a loss for words. So, in a curt fashion he ends the interview, loosening his tie as he enters the manor and heaving a sigh of relief.

“What was that about?” Dick asks, dressed to head out to Barbara’s. His hair looks stiff with gel, which makes Bruce frown and mess it up. Dick protests but Bruce cuts him off.

“You look better like this,” he says, “You’re not going to an interview, you’re going to hang out with your girlfriend.”

“Fine. But why was the press here?”

“Why do they ever show up? For information and uncomfortable conversations.” Dick looks confused, so he decides to enlighten him. “People saw me dancing with a man yesterday at that restaurant and Gotham was in an uproar.”

Dick blinks. “You’re gay? Or bi?”

“Maybe. Probably.” Bruce laughs awkwardly. Dick shrugs.

“So what? Why do they have to make a big deal out of nothing?” He kneels down to tie his shoelaces. “I mean, it’s just who you love, not that world-changing. You should call them when you find out who Batman really is,” he jokes.

Bruce hums in agreement. “So what do you and Barb have planned?”

Standing up, Dick runs a hand through his already messed up hair. “You know, I was thinking we could sightsee. Or maybe watch a movie. Or stay at home and do something. I’m not picky.”

An idea springs into Bruce’s head. “Take her to a cafe. There’s a great one across Wayne Tower, they have really good cheesecake.”

“Really?” Dick furrows his brow. “I think I know which one you’re talking about. You’ve gone? Doesn’t seem like your kind of venue.”

“I had nothing else to do. And if I hadn’t gone I would’ve missed out.” He edits out the real story, but the last bit is true.

“Alright. Well, I should go. I’m taking the Lamborghini.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow. “Don’t get it scratched up.”

“C’mon Bruce, you know me.” Dick winks. Yes, he does. As skilled a driver as he is, he’s still totaled a couple of Bruce’s best cars. “I’ll be back before nightfall.” He exits, leaving Bruce to slip out of his coat. Today is going to be a relaxing day, he promises himself. No going out, no phone calls, no anything. His eyes are half-shut when he falls onto the couch.

And then his phone rings.

With a groan Bruce looks at the caller ID. No name; it could be anyone really. Fine. He answers.

“Hello?”

“So I heard you were in the East End last night.” Selina. Bruce can hear the annoyance in her voice.

“I had a good reason. Scarecrow and Black Mask were there. They were going to poison the water system if I didn’t stop them.” Bruce turns on the TV, idly clicking on the remote.

“Really. And you didn't tell me?”

“I had a lot on my mind.” He stops flipping at a Harry Potter marathon. How many times have they marathoned this on TV in the past couple months? It’s almost constantly running. And if he’s exaggerating, it’s not by much. He leaves it on as background noise.

“Look, I appreciate you stopping them. Just tell me next time. When I saw Nightwing there I was about ready to knock him out. Didn't he tell you?”

He’d failed to mention that, actually. “Did he explain why?”

“Yes. I don’t like this, Bruce. It’s been so long since something like this has happened. Don’t get me wrong, taking a few millionaires down a peg or three doesn’t sound awful. But killing them all?”

“I know. But I’m going to fix it.”

“Tell me when you’re done, maybe we can do something, it’s awfully cold and the fireplace is roaring,” she purrs. Bruce rolls his eyes, but he can’t help a smile.

“You don’t have a fireplace.” The woman on the other end of the line laughs, and Bruce joins in. Once the laughter fades he says, “I’ll see you later, Selina,” the mirth in his voice audible.

“Bye, Batman.” She hangs up, her laugh the last thing Bruce hears before the phone clicks. She’s a valuable friend, he realises. He enjoys her company for what it is, upfront, witty, and relaxed. But it’s just that, that softer feeling of friendship, not unlike what he feels for Clark, or even Jim Gordon. He leans back on the couch, watching as Harry faces off against Voldemort. He can’t help but feel critical. Villains are rarely that one-sided.

Sitting on the couch got boring pretty fast. Countless pushups and crunches later and he feels more productive, though when he checks the clock it’s only eleven in the morning. What could he do to pass time? He glances at the phone. His finger taps at the leather of the couch rapidly. It might not be a good idea. It probably isn’t a good idea. But…

He turns on his phone, Joker’s number already in the contacts. The phone rings once...twice…

“Hello?” Damn, he’s not ready for this. It feels too casual all of a sudden. He hesitates. Joker’s voice is bright though. “Bats, is that you?”

“Hi, Joker.”

“It’s been a while.” It really hasn’t, it’s only been a few hours, but Bruce isn’t about to tell him that. “Oh, have you seen the newspaper, dear? We look amazing.”

“You saw that?”

“Saw it? I scrapbooked it!” Bruce can imagine the smug look on Joker’s face. He also thinks he knows the man enough that yes, he did in fact scrapbook it. He’s seen pictures up on the walls of his hideouts before, newspaper clipping and old Batman sightings from when he was just getting started. He still doesn’t know how to respond. It’s strange. “...You did call me, Batsy. Getting cold feet?”

“No.” Bruce’s defensiveness spikes. “You sound like you’re in a good mood, though.”

“Oh, I am.” Joker giggles. “Can’t compare to whenever I see your devilish good looks, but it’s a close second.” Shameless flirting. Okay. He can deal with this.

“Miss me?”

“Always.” Bruce can hear the smile in Joker’s voice. “My other half, the one who beats the crap out of me whenever I wreak havoc. When are we getting back to that, by the way? I miss our little sessions.”

Bruce snorts. “You miss that?”

Joker laughs. “Well that was an attractive sound. And yeah, I do actually.” He sighs. “Don’t you?”

As a matter of fact Bruce does. He hasn’t thought about it much, but it’s true. Fighting on rooftops in the rain, kicks and punches as fluid as a dance. Moves like reflexes. Adrenaline. “Yeah, I guess I do. This is the longest you’ve been around me without an actual fight.”

“Too monotonous.” A voice calls out in the background, Joker’s voice quieter as he tells the speaker to shut up. The voice answers back more animatedly, to which he replies with exasperation. Bruce figures it’s Harley in the background. He waits till the talking stops.

“So? What are you doing? Should I be worried?”

“It’s a secret. You’ll find out soon enough.” There’s a crash on the other end. Bruce frowns.

“What was that?”

“Darling, don’t worry about it. Trust me, you’ll like the surprise. I know I do.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so.” Another crash. “Gotta go, I’m working right now. Ciao!” Joker ends the call abruptly, Bruce blinking at the short response. He’s suspicious, but knows he won’t get any answers until tonight. He slowly sets the phone down. And wishes the sun was setting.

*

He decides to let Tim come along tonight. He did a fair job in helping him and Dick out last night, and he does keep a level head for the most part. He’ll be working with Jason though, making sure there isn’t anything wrong at the Gotham Observatory, where the Gala will be held. Dick will be coming with him and Joker to the docks, but first he decides to check out Ace chemicals.

The weather is actually nicer today, the night still safe a slight breeze. There’s no report of snow, yet he can see a few flakes drifting in the cold October atmosphere. He breathes in the cold air, the sharp chill of it waking up his senses.

Bruce hasn’t visited Ace Chemicals in months. It hasn’t changed much, the plant only up and running half the time. Recently it’s been closed down for “remodeling”. He assumes that’s still the case, if it’s being used as a base. His instincts tell him it’s rigged in some way, but he won’t know until he gets closer. So he does, grappling to the top and looking in through a window.

The whole place is decked out in greenery, vines twisting about on the floor. Ivy. But there are also hints of something else, more Joker-ish in nature. A colourful box here, some toys strewn about. He purses his lips. Okay, so Joker has a hand in this. This must be the surprise he was talking about. He can’t say he wasn’t expecting it, the way he was talking earlier, and the fact that Harley was there. It’s a challenge. Just not one he has time for.

Bruce glances around, seeing a grate he can enter through. The closer he can get the better.

He’s inside when he hears Joker’s voice through speakers.

“What do you think, Bats? Interesting, right? Just wait.” A laugh.

Bruce takes out a few men, dodging and cutting at vines that rush at him. The factory only holds about a dozen thugs, not counting Harley, Ivy, and Joker. And it isn’t too big a complication. Though Ivy is obviously getting a kick out of it. There are plants everywhere. He can handle it, but those on top of armed henchmen he’s wasting time. He brushes by them, not discriminating, his goal just on the control room.

Harley lands in front of him, grinning. “What’s up, B-man?” She throws a punch, Bruce dodging and retaliating. Her blows don’t land, Bruce avoiding them easily, landing a hit. Harley grits her teeth, but instead of recoiling she uses the momentum for a kick. It hits Bruce’s side. He grunts, but the pain isn’t enough to stop him from knocking her back.

“Get back before I knock you out,” Bruce warns. Harley pretends to think about it.

“I think I’m good, you know? This is way more fun!” She jumps at him, landing a solid kick to his side. Again and Bruce blocks a second kick, knocking her away. She comes back in with a flurry of punches laughing as Bruce tries to block them. It’s when she lands a hit to his jaw that Bruce decides to act, ducking and throwing a punch at her stomach. In her haste to avoid the blow she missteps, and he takes that opportunity to pulls her towards him, twisting her arm behind her back.

She cries out in pain, and that’s when Ivy decides to join in. Large thorns erupt from the ground around them, Bruce stepping back with Harley. He makes quick work of tying her hands together, watching the floor warily.

“Gotta say, this is way more interesting than any movie I’ve seen!” Joker’s voice rings out. Bruce aims a look at the control room, narrowing his eyes. A vine snakes towards him, Bruce cutting it in two with a batarang. When Ivy reveals herself her eyes are blazing.

“How dare you hurt my babies?”

“And me,” Harley calls out. Bruce lets Harley drop to the floor, the woman falling with an “ow”. One of Ivy’s vines picks her up, placing her to a side before rushing at Bruce. He kicks at the plants, making his way closer to Ivy. Leaves slash through the air like throwing knives, a couple knicking Bruce, sharp like papercuts. He pushes on, avoiding thorny barriers and feeling as though he was walking through a deadly jungle.

It’s too late when Ivy realises Bruce has the upper hand, a few steps ahead of her. He knocks her to the ground, hand pinned on her neck. She hisses in anger, but he quickly places a blow to her temple that knocks her unconscious, her plants writhing before dropping to the floor. He glances up at Harley, who pouts.

“You’ll get what’s comin’ to you Batman! Just wait!” Her smile turns sly. Bruce drops Ivy off next to her, making sure they’re both bound tightly enough that they won’t get free any time soon. Time to go up into the control room. He steps over plants on the stairs, the windows streaming light. He guesses whatever he came for is there, as is Joker.

When he walks in there’s no sign of anyone, but he finds schematics of the observatory, as well as explosives and masks. Good, it’s all there. He places a tracker, knowing Joker is behind him the moment he hears a quiet click. He turns slowly. And his reflexes take over to avoid a kick to the head, a flash of purple that rushes past his eyes and causes him to jerk back. Bruce grabs at Joker’s leg, throwing the clown off balance and tossing him across the room. Joker hits the ground laughing, on his hands and knees. He stands up to run at Bruce again, a spark in his eye. Ducking before Bruce can knock him down, Joker doesn’t hesitate in throwing a punch that brings stars to Bruce’s eyes. He lunges again, a quick strike that gives Bruce only seconds to deflect. Another punch, a cuff to the head. He’s aggressive with his attack, Bruce waiting for the opportunity to retaliate. When he does Joker’s leg is just close enough for Bruce to kick at, throwing the man off balance. Bruce pushes him back with a hit to the chest that knocks the breath out of his lungs. Joker stumbles back, giving Bruce the opportunity to pin him against the wall, unable to attack again. The man gives a breathless laugh, eyes level with Bruce's.

“So, now what, Dark Knight?” he asks, resting his forehead against Bruce's. They're both breathing heavily, exchanging breaths in the messy room.

“You realise I'm running out of time, right?” Bruce frowns at Joker's careless little shrug.

“That's what your bat-brats are for, Brucie. You needed a little... distraction.” Joker smirks, Bruce not relaxing his grip. “Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it.” He places his hands on Bruce's waist, sending shivers through his body even through the layer of armor.

“Not the point.” He pulls back a bit, but Joker doesn't let him go, eyes half-lidded. His expression unnerves Bruce, but it also makes his heart beat rapidly, chest still heaving. “What are you doing?”

He barely has time to react as Joker presses his lips to his. Bruce makes a small sound of surprise.

This. This is crazy. He’s thought about it but now that it’s happening it’s all he can do not to short-circuit.  A rush of warmth suddenly hits him and he melts, deepening the kiss and pressing against the wiry man. He cradles Joker’s face in his hand, feeling warmth through his gloves. Joker’s trying not to smile into the kiss, he knows that, he can feel it, that slight pull to his mouth that only makes Bruce want to kiss him more. He tastes of cotton candy and something slightly chemical, a metallic tang that should be a deterrent but isn’t. It’s just something that fits, surprisingly.

Joker loops his arms around to pull Bruce down towards him, nails scratching at his cowl. Bruce almost loses himself completely, but the nagging in his mind reminds him of the task at hand. Which, if he weren’t Batman he would ignore it, but being a hero...

“We have to go,” he tries to say, the words turning to a mumble as Joker recaptures his mouth. Bruce lets himself enjoy a few more seconds before he puts his hand to the wall to steady himself. When he pulls away, Joker lets out a quiet whine of annoyance. “Joker. The docks.” Joker opens his eyes, his makeup more of a mess than usual, his pupils dilated so that only a thin ring of green is visible around them.

“Five more minutes.” He grabs at Bruce, who pushes him away firmly. “Bats.”

“We need to get to the docks, J.” He makes to turn away when Joker tugs him back.

“Wait. You have lipstick on your mouth,” Joker says with a satisfied little smirk. “Now that’s a look I could get used to.” Bruce’s knows his face is flushed but Joker continues, pulling out a handkerchief. “Wouldn’t want your little bat-family to see though.”

He helps Bruce clean it off, Bruce protesting, “You don’t have to say ‘bat’ in front of everything.”

“Well let’s see. Batman, Batmobile, Batsuit, Batarangs, Batwing...kind of a running theme,” Joker points out. Bruce is unable to come up with a good comeback. The clown looks over Bruce until he can’t see any traces of paint. When he’s satisfied he nods, reapplying his own. Their breathing is steadier, though Bruce still feels like he’s floating. It’s an odd, light feeling, his nerves are on fire but in the nicest way possible. He smiles uncertainly at Joker. The man beams before kissing him again lightly. “Alright, we can go to the docks now. Nightwing is going to meet us?”

“That’s the plan.”

They head down the stairs, where they find Harley free of her bonds and cradling Ivy’s head in her lap, Ivy murmuring about how next time they should just plan a picnic at a garden. She glares when she sees Bruce, but Harley’s eyes are on Joker, whose smug expression is clear on his face. She winks at Bruce, who suddenly wants to sprint out of the factory, grapple onto a very tall building, and jump.

Instead he settles for a warning. “If I hear anything else from you two the rest of the week I’m dragging you down to Blackgate myself.”

Harley leans back, smiling crookedly. “We got it, Batman. We’ll be quiet as mice, won’t we, Red?”

“Stop hurting my plants or you’ll be in a body bag, Batman,” Ivy says, the severity of her gaze not lessening. Bruce nods.

“Noted.” He gestures to Joker to get a move on, the clown walking up to the Batmobile before him. They get in, Joker turning the radio on. He cringes when the only thing that plays is the police scanner.

“Please tell me you have music.”

“I don’t have time for music when I’m in this car,” Bruce says, thinking it obvious. He’s not going to jam out to tunes when people are in danger. That’s pure evil.

“It adds to atmosphere! Imagine racing after baddies listening to ACDC! Or maybe some obnoxious pop song, I don’t know. What kind of music do you like?”

Bruce doesn’t reply. Usually he listens to older tracks, unless Dick or Tim plays the newest song. But he doesn’t like anything specific really. Joker looks at him expectantly. “...Eighties music. Journey.”

Joker nods. “Not what I had in mind, but I can see that.” He opens the window, cold air rushing in. Whooping and laughing in delight, he sticks his head out, eyes closed. He only comes back in to ask how fast it can go. Bruce smirks, pushing down on the gas till they’re a blur. Joker finds himself pushed back into his seat, cackling at the rush.

One of the perks of being a vigilante? No one questions when you’re speeding.

*

The docks look the same as they did on Monday, though this time Dick waits for them near the entrance.

“You guys took your time. I’ve been waiting for at least fifteen minutes.”

Bruce glances at Joker, who raises an eyebrow. “There were...complications that held us back. Anyways,” he gestures to the clown. “Lead the way.”

Joker cracks his knuckles, rolling back his shoulder like he’s about to put on a show. “Gladly. Ozzie’s got eyes everywhere, but if we go through the docks he won’t expect it.” He strides into the maze that is the docks, humming the mission impossible theme. Dick looks at Bruce out of the corner of his eyes, but Bruce doesn’t respond, starting after Joker. They’re headed in completely the opposite direction, more towards the shipyards themselves then around the shipping containers, the slight creaking of the ships putting Bruce on edge. It makes complete sense that Penguin would have a ship though. He doesn’t know why, but he feels the need to be extra cautious, some of his worry from earlier this week making a reappearance.

When they arrive where they need to be Joker stops them, holding his arms out. He then points to a large ship that towers over them.

“That’s the one. If Ozzie is there then your job is done,” he says.

Dick squints at him. “Are you trying to jinx us?”

Joker scoffs. “Believe me, if I wanted you to fail you wouldn’t be here right now. I’m rooting for you guys.” He wraps an arm around Bruce, the latter jolting away. Joker just grins.

Dick looks at them oddly. “Right. I’ll just scope around the other side, see if I can find a different way in. Divide and conquer, right?” Bruce inclines his head in agreement.

“Be careful.”

“You too.” Dick runs off, Bruce following him with his eyes until he disappears. He turns to Joker after, crossing his arms. Joker raises his hands defensively.

“I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary you know. You’re the one who gets flustered. It’s a wonder you can keep any secrets.” He pouts. “Maybe you should just tell Grayson.”

Bruce sighs. Joker’s right, but there are more important things to take care of. “I will. After the gala. We need to finish this though, come on.” He sneaks on board, scanning the ship. Oracle hasn’t said anything yet, but he knows it’s just a matter of time. She’s usually on top of this.

Once on the ship they split up, Joker taking on half the men on the ship with ease, if not discretion. But at least the distraction helps Bruce take out his half. He joins Joker at the door, the man wiping blood off his mouth, sticking his tongue out at the flavor.

“These guys aren’t pulling their punches. Kiss it better?” he suggests, waggling his eyebrows.

Bruce rolls his eyes, turning to open the door and enter the ship. This is going to be a thing now, isn’t it. He should’ve expected it. “Later, maybe.” Joker closes the door after him quietly, Bruce just making out the words he murmurs.

“I can live with that.”

*

“How’s it going, Grayson?”

It’s Jason. Dick makes sure no one is around before replying. “It’s all going good. How’s it looking on your end?”

“It’s quiet. If this is where they plan on blowing up the wealthy then they aren’t very prepared. I assume that’s Batman’s doing.”

“Yeah. Hey, I gotta go, I’m on Penguin’s ship.” He hears footsteps coming towards him and hides behind a container, knocking them out the moment they step close enough.

“Yeah, yeah. Tell us if you need help.”

“Sure thing.” Dick shivers as he opens the door, the cold rushing out. Has Cobblepot never heard of heating? Just because your persona is Antarctic doesn’t mean you have to live at negative temperatures. Gotham isn’t even that cold yet either, why is there ice on this ship? Taking the cosplay way too far, Penguin.

The ship itself is huge, more than enough for one man. And henchmen. Dick barrels his way through at least ten just on the first deck, going down through a dark hall. Penguin is most likely in the center of the ship, if at all.

He sneaks through the ballroom, used now as more of a storage area, crates piled haphazardly on the once polished floor. He imagines the rest of the ship looks the same way. The ship creaks as it bobs on the water, Dick wondering just how old it is. Oswald Cobblepot isn’t known for buying things second hand, but it’s worn down. Not suited for a life of crime.

Bruce joins up with him further down, Joker still with him. Since Tim had mentioned the clown acting different Dick’s been studying him. He thinks Tim may have been right. Joker just leans against the wall like it pains him to stand upright, waiting for the next step. His eyes still have a dangerous flicker to them, but Dick isn’t so sure it’s aimed at him anymore.

“Have you found anything?” Bruce asks him. Dick shakes his head.

“No. He’s probably in the lowest part of the ship. It’s been a breeze so far, which worries me.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” Bruce opens the door to the left of the trio, a door that Dick guesses is the boiler. He steps through, not waiting to see if the others follow.

It’s all grey. Cold metal everywhere, not a soul to be seen. Dick tries a different door and finds it locked, going instead through the grate on top. Bruce and Joker come after, and the three find themselves in a small room, another door at the end labeled Office.

“He’s in there?” Joker whispers. “Seems a little drab.”

Bruce does a quick scan. “He’s in there all right. The only thing is I know he wouldn’t just be here alone.” He looks somber, Dick not liking the expression but used to it by now.

“Should we just open the door?”

“You find a back way,” Bruce says. “I’ll go through the door...as a distraction if need be.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard if it’s just Penguin. I’ll wait out here,” Joker says. He slides down the wall, sitting cross legged on the scuffed up carpet. He closes his eyes in something that almost looks like meditation. Dick stares, the man before him more of a puzzle than ever, but he shakes it off. A look at Bruce proves it’s nothing the older man hasn’t seen before.

Dick sighs. “I guess I’ll go now, should be a grate or something right? I’ll tell you when I’m ready.” He exits the tiny outer room, back in the boiler. As it happens, there is an air conditioning system that spans out to the whole ship. And it’s just big enough for Dick to crawl through, frowning at all the dust and trying not to cough.

Penguin’s voice can be heard from somewhere underneath him, and he finds an opening in the corner of the room, where he can see the stout villain on the phone.

“They’ll never know what hit ‘em. This plan is foolproof... Yeah, I got the stuff, that blasted bat took a lot, but we should still have enough...no, it’s not here. You think I’d trust in these idiots enough to keep it safe. Don’t worry, I have it somewhere they won’t find till it’s too late.” Dick listens intently, a spike of worry travelling through him.

If the rest of the supplies he has aren’t here then we’re just wasting time!

He comms Bruce, murmuring “Ready.”

Bruce slams into the door to open it, Penguin jumping up in outrage. This was what Dick always enjoyed, Bruce making an entrance to unsettle the bad guys. Make a scene and people are either so scared or distracted that they won’t know what hit them. He opens the grate quietly and drops down behind Cobblepot.

The villain is obviously angry, but he’s smirking through his cigar all the same. “You think you’re so smart coming here?”

“Where are you keeping your cargo?” Bruce demands, closing in on Penguin’s desk.

“What cargo?” He puffs smoke into Bruce’s face, but his nose barely wrinkles in disgust. He grabs Oswald by the collar. “Alright, alright, I’ll tell you where it is. After this!” He whacks Bruce in the head with the butt of his umbrella, having a heavy swing for such a portly man. Bruce drops Oswald, Dick wrapping his arm around his neck so he can’t move. The man squawks in indignation and surprise.

“Where is it?” Bruce says, glaring.

“It’s too late, you’ll never find it!” Dick tightens his grip on Oswald. “I won’t tell you, you can threaten me all you like! You think I’d just give it up...after all this...? Do you actually think...I wasn’t using everyone as distractions?” His breath comes in short gasps. Bruce nods at Dick, who drops him.

“You’re done here, Oswald.” He ties the man up, Penguin barking curses at him.

“You won’t make it, you’re too late!” Bruce growls, slamming him into the wall. Penguin growls, shaking his head in pain. Dick takes him from Bruce, glancing up at him.

“They’re not at the observatory, Robin and Red Hood would’ve found it by now.”

“I know.” Bruce snarls, punching at the wall. Dick starts, not used to this side of Bruce.

“You know we’ll figure it out, we always do.”

Bruce shakes his head. “I knew something was wrong, but I kept trying to push the feeling away. Bane had a plan, his chemicals, but it fell through. Then with Crane and his toxin, but we took care of it. Maybe... they haven’t been working together at all. Maybe we’ve been on a wild goose chase, and for what?” Dick scrutinises the man.

“Maybe this time you shouldn’t trust your gut. If you think you’re gonna fail what’s the point in trying?” Bruce glances at him. “This isn’t about Joker is it?”

Bruce shakes his head almost vehemently. “No. This is entirely different. I’m just...”

Dick’s seen Bruce go through this before. Though he can be a drama queen at times, he does also get weighed down by the job at times, loathe as he is to admit it. He places a hand on Bruce. “You’re tired. I get it, you can’t always put up a front. Trust me, I’ll be taking a break after this, and so should you. But Batman is bigger than this. And you’re going to have to put aside any uncertainties.”

Bruce stays silent for a long time before he nods. “You’re right. We can do this. We have time. But we won’t get anything done standing around.” He looks at the door, expression resolute.

Dick’s comm goes off before either can move. “Dick?”

“What’s up, Babs?”

“There’s a lot of activity over by the Asylum, might want to take care of that. Tell Bruce.”

“Yeah.” Bruce looks at him questioningly.

“Something’s come up at the asylum. Can anything else go wrong?” He sighs.

Bruce scowls, hand on the doorknob. “We’d better get over there then.” He opens the door.

Dick carries Penguin, who drifts in and out of a daze as they exit the room. Joker’s standing when they get to him.

“Nothing?”

“Just him,” Dick says, gesturing at Penguin. The clown grins, coming over and bending down to look at Penguin. The villain blearily looks at Joker, brow deeply furrowed and a scowl prominent.

“You finally caught him. One less thing to worry about, right?” He taps at Penguin’s head. “Shame he lost his hat though, I wanted a souvenir. What now?”

“I need to find the rest of the supplies, they spread everything around, most were just diversions. Now there’s something going on at Arkham,” Bruce explains, a tinge of anger in his voice.

Joker tilts his head to the side. “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

Bruce clenches his hands into fists. “What else? We’re going to stop this and figure out what’s really going on.”

After all, if he doesn’t there won’t be a Gotham to really save, just rubble and chaos. And maybe Gotham could take it, but Bruce doesn’t want to let it experience that much destruction while he’s still around. He’s got a job to do.

[colourcodedbinders]

a very, very long post.

Tagged by the lovely wonderful fabulous great @sadtiagos. I won’t tag anyone because I know none of you, but if you read the whole thing, do my questions please! I put a lot of thought into them and I want to know more about y’all! Okay, here we go:

1) Name something/someone you’ve hated out of spite, and why.

I generally don’t hate people, but there’s this one guy at school who’s just utterly disrespectful towards everyone and thinks that the world owes him something, so he’s pretty annoying.

2) If you could learn any 3 languages in the blink of an eye, which 3 would it be?

Great question! Maybe Greek for my mom, and then Gujarati for my dad, and then Spanish because I want to.

3) Do you have any book you’ve received/bought and never started reading?

So many. I have a box full. If I start naming them now I might just never stop.

4) Do you have any sayings/habits/etc. you’ve noticed you’ve picked up from any one specific person?

I’ve started saying “noice” and “cool cool cool” from Jake, and subconsciously make about fifty B99 references a day, if you can count that. Recently I’ve taken to saying “I love *something I most definitely do not love*, it’s my jam,” from Rosa.

5) Have you ever pretended to like a person/thing for someone else?

I pretend to be into anime for my brother because he loves it so much. I also pretend to be interested in my friends’ boyfriends because I refuse to be the person who will make you feel bad about being passionate about something you really love. That’s a garbage thing that garbage people do.

6) Where’s the farthest you’ve ever been away from home, and why?

I’ve been to the grocery store down the street.

7) Are you superstitious? If so, to what degree?

Not really. I really like to make wishes upon stars, birthday candle, and eyelashes though, not because I believe in them, but because I love believing, even for a split second, that maybe it’ll come true.

8) What do think are some items that someone would put in a moodboard/aesthetic for you?

I don’t know! But I’d guess maybe a pair of wacky socks, kittens, pretty Christmas related stuff, a pen and paper, and then like, a karaoke machine? I really don’t know. Somebody make me a moodboard so I can answer this question.

9) Name a fictional character you feel you can strongly relate to, and explain why.

Charles freaking Boyle. Loves a lot, is hella weird, kind of awkward, not the kind of person you’d want around in public. But we both care like idiots, and would take two bullets in the butt for the people we care for. He’s a grinder, and he isn’t the best. But my boy’s kind, and passionate, and lovable. I like to think that I am, too.

10) Opinions on candy cane discourse? Do you get the multicolored fruit types or the traditional red-and-white? Do you bite off a little at a time or make a sharp knife?

The only type of acceptable is the traditional peppermint flavored red, green, and white type. i don’t like the fruit flavored ones, personally. Also, who bites a candy cane? Are you okay? BITING TAKES THE FUN OUT OF IT (title of Amy’s sex tape)

11) Do you have any pet peeves?

People making out in front of my locker, putting a single dish in the sink right after I’ve just washed everything else, dirty socks literally anywhere but the laundry basket, one item being placed wrong in a colour coded arrangement, the little notification bubbles on your phone, people who look over your shoulder, so, so many more.

Do I have to tag people? Gosh, um, look, I have approximately one and a half friends on this site, and they’ve both already done it. So if you’re still reading this long-ass post, you deserve to do it. I tag you. Either that, or you hit me up on messages and become my friend. They both work for me.

New questions:

1) You’re 97 and it’s your birthday. All your high school friends are there and insist you throw a big bash. What’s your party like?

2) If you could meet your idol/inspiration for one minute, what would you say/do?

3) Your most unrealistic goal in life?

4) How many pets do you have/want?

5) Describe what the perfect day would be for you. (Set in the present or future)

6) Dream vehicle?

7) One thing on your new year’s resolution’s list?

8) Your favorite show/fanfic trope?

9) Three things you love about your best friend?

10) Five things that are great about you?

[ralphspina-blog1]

47 - for your Joe Toye ship of choice. 🤗

Not more than an hour or so after Joe gets back to the line from that aid station, as if he can smell every injury in the company and recognizes the unique aroma of Toye’s many bumps and bruises, Doc manages to corner him and give him a good, long cross-examination about how he’s really doing.

“Doc,” Joe sighs wearily when he’s had about enough, but Gene Roe won’t give up until he’s convinced and wouldn’t be intimidated into changing his mind. Even if the latter could be done, Joe wouldn’t be willing, because it’s hardly justifiable when the man just wants to make sure he stays in one piece.

“Don’t you ‘Doc’ me,” he says without really appearing to have heard Joe or noticed his own reaction, he’s peering so intently at the shrapnel wound in Joe’s arm. “Ain’t even begun to heal yet, Joe, you gonna have to count on these stitches.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Tear ‘em open and -”

“I won’t.”

“You manage to get your foot healed up while you were off the line?”

That’s really as much as Joe can take, if he’s honest, so he gets his arm bundled back into his clothes - letting out a sharp huff of relief at the warmth after having his skin exposed to the bitter air - and then fixes the Doc with one of his steely stares. This is the most he’ll ever challenge Doc Roe, and he doesn’t usually win the stare down, but he feels like he has to try.

Incredibly, Doc looks away first this time, his face so lined with exhaustion that Joe regrets even looking at him so sharply in the first place. “I know,” he mutters, “I do. But I gotta be the asshole right now, ‘cause there ain’t a man here gonna keep folks like you off the line, not even me, but I still gotta keep you alive.”

A smile tugs at Joe’s lips, small and subtle at first but blossoming into something much brighter. He thinks it’s the most natural reaction in the world to what Doc’s said, but it gets him a baffled frown in return, so he decides that he should probably explain - and since Doc’s leveled with him in such an uncommonly revealing way, he even takes off his boot and sock to show his much improved foot.

“You’re a lotta things, Doc,” Joe says, still smiling to himself as Doc once again fixates on the examination instead of looking him in the eye. “And everybody’s got their good things and their bad things. But I know from assholes, and you’re not one of those.”

Doc blinks up at him in surprise, and he finally gets a smile in return: slightly hesitant, as confused as the frown, but enough to brighten his eyes into a whole different shade. Joe’s not even sure what colour they are anymore, seeing them lit up like that - grey? Blue? Hazel?

“Alright, Joe. Foot looks good. Get back out there with the rest of the men.”

*

Later, while bandaging up what’s left of his leg to keep him from bleeding out on the way back to the aid station, Doc speaks to Joe in the quietly firm, reassuring way he saves for those with severe injuries, but Joe can tell there’s something eating at him. Something beyond the nightmare of a barrage from which they’ve all just awoken to find every single second was real, and they were all awake.

Once Doc’s sent Bill off on a stretcher, Joe manages to catch Doc’s eye and hold his gaze, intent rather than challenging this time.

“I dunno what’s got you thinking you’re the asshole this time, Doc, but it’s still not true.”

In fact, he thinks he’s got an idea why: the losses around him are doubling, trebling, coming in new and uniquely horrible forms, and Joe feels responsible in his own stupid, illogical ways. If only he could’ve been here, there, and everywhere… but his job is done now, and Doc’s still got lots more to come. He doesn’t get to play that game.

For a second, Doc’s face looks as raw as the open wounds he treats day in and day out, but then he pulls himself together and nods. No smile this time. Maybe that’s too much to ask. Another stretcher team finally arrives, and Doc helps to get Joe loaded up, then squeezes his shoulder once they’ve got him steady.

Finally, he says: “You woulda made a fine medic, you know that?”

Joe can’t figure out how Doc has decided that, considering the way he’s just capped off a war where he spent nearly every second getting injured in one way or another, but he figures it’s still about the highest compliment a man like Doc Roe could ever give.

And that’s a pick me up for a moment like this if ever there was one.