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ronearoundblindly · 2 years

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Have A Laugh

Summary: Movie Night at the compound takes an unexpected turn.

a/n: so I received an ask for my bday in June for a drabble about movie night and cuddling between steve and reader. I know that person probably wanted more cuddling and less movie, but I found out something crazy and had to write it in fic. All these things about the movie and actor are true btw.

Includes: fluff, old-life talk between Bucky and Steve, and Nat getting a few great jabs in.

beautiful dividers by @firefly-graphics

You’re preoccupied with at least three work things even as you and Steve leave the apartment.

“Tony promised. This one’s a comedy from the ‘80s. Not even two hours,” Steve’s trying to reassure you as he turns you back toward the elevator before you can bring your laptop, too. “Plus we’ve missed four movie nights in a row and he’s starting to nag.”

“Well that’s what happens when you choose a Paranormal Activity marathon, Tone,” you mock, shrugging your shoulders in obvious irritation. “This better be funny.” The grumble sounds more like a whine.

“Hey,” Steve leans to kiss your forehead, “at least we get to cuddle on a couch for a bit. Could be nice…”

The thought of him holding you melts your frigid paperwork heart, and Steve knows it. He takes your hand while greeting everyone and finding your seats, but you’re still very antsy from the day.

“Nat, can I braid your hair or something?”

“Yeah,” she shrugs, too, moving her popcorn to sit in her crossed legs beneath you on the couch. “Surprised you don’t wanna use your twitchy hands for something else,” she whispers, winking back over her shoulder at you.

You swat her shoulder in fake offense, but Steve would have turned beet red if he’d heard that one.

Tony has chosen Robin Hood: Men in Tights because this season needs some cheer and he wants irreverent humor all the time. He’ll settle for just movie night though.

Steve sits flush by your side, scratching patterns on your back while your fingers stroke through Nat’s locks, twisting and looping and layering strands.

Steve doesn’t laugh out loud for a while. He scoffs at some of the jokes, but his lips are pursed, telling you he is trying not to find something slightly offensive funny.

Nat points out that suave and dark Will Scarlet reminds her a bit of Bucky. He’s flattered until he watches the skilled knife twirler slice off his own belt and Will’s pants fall to the ground. Bucky frowns and glares daggers at a chuckling Nat.

And then the huge blond Little John collapses in a piddling stream and shrieks as if drowning. It’s barely enough water to wet his ass, and Steve loses it. He stops scratching your back to paw at his heaving chest, doubled over at the ridiculousness. After that, Steve’s as vocal as everyone else, adding commentary left and right. Tony’s got a smug look plastered across his face and watches on silently.

It goes on.

Steve thinks Maid Marion’s dresses are really nice. He likes the soft, velvety look of—“is that metal underwear?!” Steve sits up, shocked.

“Arm doesn’t seem so bad now,” Bucky grunts, awkwardly scooting in his seat while thinking of chafing.

Steve also gripes about how Marion’s hair may be beautiful, but “it’s long enough to sit on. How the hell does she do anything?”

Nat’s the one who turns around at that one, creased brow, mouth squished into a line. He has no idea, the expression reads.

Steve doesn’t see, but adds dejectedly, “even Little John has to flick his hair out of the way.”

Nat shoves more popcorn in her mouth.

Brunhilde yelling at her horse is a surprise favorite moment for Steve. The accent fucking kills him, and since he’s so tickled by it, everyone else laughs along. Not that it wasn’t funny, but it’s huge softy Steve Rogers cackling at a woman scolding a horse. You can’t not laugh.

A sword gets used as a phallus more than once, obviously, and Steve shifts uncomfortably every time. He’s critical of Robin’s training of the men even though the scenes are meant to be completely ludicrous.

Then Rabbi Tuckman pulls up in his cart, and a little more dick humor starts. Steve’s quiet until the line “you prince of thieves, you.”

The character shimmies his shoulders and bats his eyes effeminately, and Steve’s head tilts.

“Buck,” he mutters, “did that remind you of someone from the neighborhood?”

Bucky has the same confused look on his face. “Yeah, the kid—aw, what was his name?”

“Kaminsky," Steve breathes.

Tony sits up from his prone lounging. “That guy’s the director, Mel Brooks. Made some classic comedies.”

“Huh,” Steve huffs, distracted for several more minutes as Tony sings along to the Men in Tights song.

You’re done with Nat’s hair, feeling more relaxed and at ease, so you tuck yourself under Steve’s arm. He kisses your forehead again, but he’s stopped laughing at any of the jokes. You look up to see he’s not even focused on the screen anymore. Steve stares at his hand on the couch arm, rolling his fingers around.

“Sweetheart, you okay?”

Steve snaps out of it and smiles. “Yeah, sorry, that just…took me back for a second.”

He watches the movie, but you swear his body stiffens every time Rabbi Tuckman makes distinct gestures.

When the credits start to roll and the others are chatting about the fate of the locked chastity belt, you sit up and look at Steve.

“So who’s this Kah-min—“

“Kaminsky kid,” Steve offers with a sad smile. “He…his dad died a few years after mine, and he was real sickly like me. Buck and I were older than him, but…” he trails off and points at the screen “…you know, instead of fighting bullies like I did, Kaminsky made them laugh until they left him alone. And he used to do that same—“ Steve jiggles his shoulders, and you try not to laugh at the bad impression “—thing when imitating his ma…”

Tony is furiously typing something into his tablet and soon swipes a hand to knock a video onto the screen, cutting off the end music.

Fancy intro narration begins.

“American actor and comedy legend Mel Brooks. Tonight, we look into the life of this film powerhouse.

“Born to parents Max and Kate in June 1926, Melvin Kaminsky was raised in Brooklyn until an astounding score on an IQ test landed him in the Army Specialized Training Program in 1944—“

“They put that little squirt in the Army?!” Bucky looks miffed. “Kid was barely taller than Steve.”

“Well, I got in.”

Bucky clucks his tongue. “Well, you got bigger.”

Tony’s cut off the documentary. “Are you two telling me that you grew up with THE Mel Brooks? That’s—“ he flings his pointing finger to the paused screen: a picture of the actor in middle-age “—your Kaminsky kid?”

The look on Tony’s face is flabbergasted. He’s almost purple. He may have stopped breathing. Finally, Tony rockets off his chair.

“THIS IS AWESOME.” He grabs you by the shoulders and shakes. “I’m going to reunite the whole gang. I’m gonna invite Mel Brooks to the compound and he’s gonna come and I’ll meet him and—“ he looks between Steve and Bucky “—I love you guys. This is the best day ever.”

Tony doesn’t care what time it is; he immediately orders F.R.I.D.A.Y to set up the appropriate calls.

Steve slumps back into the couch, disbelief written all over his face, and he slowly shakes his head.

Bucky mutters a “wow” behind you before helping Nat to her feet. They start cleaning up the popcorn bowls.

Steve’s eyes go glassy as he processes, and after a long few deep breaths, he looks at you with a distant fondness. “I’m glad he made something of himself. He was a good kid.”

You take Steve’s hand in yours and start to pull him up. “You both made something of yourselves, sweetheart. You both did.”

You would never have guessed watching a movie from when Steve was long trapped in ice would make him feel a little less alone in the world. Steve knew people from the neighborhood, and, turns out, he still does.

GUYS. Isn't that nuts?! They could have actually known each other, and Steve and Melvin would have had that much in common from a really young age. I don't know why this stuns me so much, but it's probably because Robin Hood: Men in Tights is one of my fave movies that I watched all the time with my dad as a kid.

Anywho...

Back to other stuff, I guess, and this is officially the last of the birthday asks...from June...but at least I finished before August.

#fools rush in #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers #fanfic #fluff and feels #series #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfic #captain america fluff #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you

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ao3feed-destiel-02 · 9 months

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Love Is a Meat Loaf Song

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/uQFz5pJ by followyourenergy The Apocalypse is coming. The end of days. Father and favorite son, battling for control of the universe. Dean, a human turned demon, is on Team Lucifer, and in these most epic of times before the Great War, Dean is…bored. Then, to the tune of a classic Meat Loaf song, a little excitement swoops into Dean’s life–a smoking hot angel named Castiel who’s hell-bent (heaven-bent?) on defeating Lucifer. They make an agreement: to spend time with each other in exchange for information on their bosses’ plans. Dean has an additional plan in mind: to rock the sexy seraph’s world until the Earth is a pile of rocks. He doesn’t expect Castiel, with his sarcastic wit, his take-no-bullshit attitude, and his pure, genuine heart, to rock his world right back. As demon and angel grow closer, questions arise about both themselves and the universe itself, leading them to search for answers as they race toward a future they hope will happen–if they’re willing to do anything for love. Words: 3182, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Gabriel (Supernatural), Balthazar (Supernatural), Meg Masters, Lucifer (Supernatural), Some other canon angels, Benny (briefly), God | Chuck Shurley, Amara (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Adam Milligan, Original Characters Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Demon Dean Winchester, Angel/Demon Relationship, Sassy Castiel (Supernatural), Sassy Dean Winchester, Irreverent Dean, Dean is a Little Shit, Dean wants to get into Castiel’s pants, Castiel wants none of Dean’s bs, at first, Cas is mission-driven, Flirting, Innuendo, Apocalypse, Lucifer and Chuck are fighting again, Daddy Issues, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor, Vulnerability, Doubt, Castiel Has Doubts (Supernatural), Questions, Travel, Lingerie, Angel/Demon Sex, or is it angel/demon lovemaking, why not both?, True Form Sex, Time Weirdness, Bible verses, Rip up the ending, Falling In Love, Castiel and Dean Winchester Falling in Love, Rescues, Rebellion, Betrayal, Shameless use of music, Music as a Plot Device, Inconsistencies as a plot device, Additional Warnings In Author's Note read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/uQFz5pJ

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #(your tags here)

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moody-mae · 9 months

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I attended Terrificon in Connecticut this past Friday.

It was a delight. What a wonderful bombardment of fans and creatives rocking the Nerd Card. A veritable sea of comics and rpg paraphernalia. I got two tiny d20s. Seeing them made me giddy. They're so cute. Had to snag a couple. >u<

I also met the writer and artist of Seven Years in Darkness, Joseph Schmalke.

Now listen, ever since I came across the first issue of Seven Years in Darkness, I've been on the hunt for new issues as they're released. The art style impresses upon you a great weight, perhaps the enormity of the stakes involved, and the concept beckons like an old jewelry box with secret notes hidden inside.

But for some reason, when Mr Schmalke asked me for my take on the series so far, I went ahead and said, "A little slow, but..." That is not the entirety of what I had to say. I wanted to talk about the mandatory and desperate dedication of the characters and the perverse attraction of the school and its traditions. But, under pressure, I folded like a napkin. I think I may have insulted the guy, which was not my intention.

Still, I bought another one of his works, a graphic novel called The Infernal Pact. Mr Schmalke even signed it. For free. So maybe I didn't insult him too badly. XD He said that he doesn't charge for signatures, that if he ever did start charging for signatures, it would be because he ran out of new ideas.

The Infernal Pact is about a biker gang who made an intentional deal with the devil, and a group of meth addicts who unwittingly made a deal with a lord of Hell called Belphegor. Some grisly deaths later, and the biker gang has it out for the cursed meth addicts, but the meth addicts have bigger concerns; they want to get out from under their deal somehow. It's a gory, irreverent story in which the choices are do or die. So far, I'm very much enjoying it. :)

#graphic novels #horror #terrificon #writers #artists #infernal #the infernal pact #joseph schmalke

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graphicpolicy · 1 year

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Exclusive: Get a look at Wine Ghost Goes to Hell's Bookplate and a look inside the graphic novel

Exclusive: Get a look at Wine Ghost Goes to Hell's Bookplate and a look inside the graphic novel #graphicnovel #comics #comicbooks @Iron_Spike @ironcircuscomix @SageCoffey

Spike Trotman’s Iron Circus Comics is crowdfunding Wine Ghost Goes to Hell, the irreverent, sassy, and sexy graphic novel debut from cartoonist Sage Coffey. Best known for their work in The New Yorker, The Nib, The Washington Post and on the GLAAD 2021 nominated video game BUGSNAX, Sage Coffey is a trans nonbinary cartoonist living in Chicago, IL. Their full color graphic novel debut is a…

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#exclusive #featured #graphic novel #graphic novels #iron circus comics #Sage Coffey #spike trotman

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capstoverogers · 3 years

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Stolen Jeep - Part II: Sticky Fingers

Issa me, ur fave pervert back with more HowardBucky 'cause I can't stop (until my ADHD inevitably gets bored of this ship next week).

(Also, I wouldn't say this is graphic, but it's def NSFW.)

Part I

So Bucky swears it’s only gonna be once. One good blowjob from a millionaire genius, getting the knees of his overpriced slacks scuffed up on the dirty jeep floorboard, and that’s gotta be enough to last him through this godforsaken war.

Howard, of course, knew it was gonna happen again.

He gives himself a challenge ‘cause how do you think he got to be the Howard Stark? By pushing himself. And he’s gonna keep pushing himself on Barnes’ cock but first, he’s gonna goad the Sergeant into stealing as many things as possible. And they’re gonna fuck in every single one.

“‘Ey Barnes!”

Bucky’s all man spread over an empty rations crate by base camp, ripped army pants clinging to those thick thighs. He’s got a cigarette dangling out of his mouth and his head craned towards the stars, and Howard can’t keep the smirk off his lips as he eyes something so gorgeous that even he couldn’t invent a sight that goddamn good.

Bucky glances at Stark as he leans up against a tree. His arms are crossed over his chest, his tie loosened and the buttons of his vest undone and Bucky’s gotta adjust himself ‘cause shit, maybe once wasn’t enough.

He’s gonna play it cool, though, taking a long drag of his cig and flicking the ashes from the tip, letting Snark and that too smug look simmer before Bucky gives him any satisfaction.

“What?”

“Bet you won’t steal a tank.”

Their eyes meet. Stark’s glimmers with a challenge that he knows Barnes can’t back down from.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

The tank’s a real tight fit, but so is Stark, so it all seems fitting. Bucky’s got Stark squeezed between the cold metal of the tank and his sweating chest when he hears the top door of the tank squeak open (barely, ‘cause Stark’s panting pretty loud and Barnes can’t help but smirk at every sound he’s pulling from him - told ya he liked ‘em real mouthy).

Bucky’s gonna ignore it until he hears Howard’s voice, hoarse as hell but still brimming with irreverent cheek.

“You here for the fun, Rogers? I think you’re small enough that we can squeeze you in somewhere.”

Bucky cranes his head back to see a real ruddy faced Steve, head peeking into the tank.

“Really, Stevie?”

“I saw the tank rattling,” he defends with those steely ‘It’s my personal responsibility to fix every bad thing in the world’ eyes and his unnaturally deep voice (like c’mon, Steve’s got the body of a 12 year old but his larynx is somehow overdeveloped?), like Howard and Bucky don’t have their pants hanging by their ankles. “I thought it was a threat.”

“Only threat’s your buddy’s cock, kid.” Howard quips out, followed by a grunt when a particularly forceful thrust almost sends his head colliding into the wall. “Damn, Barnes, calm it down back there. I’m gonna need my internal organs kept intact.”

“Shut up,” Barnes grunts into Howard’s ear before his eyes are back on Steve, who’s still there for some reason, what the fuck? “Get outta here, Rogers.”

Steve scurries off, and Bucky gets back to business.

“Awww, I was kinda into showing off for an audience.”

Bucky’s not really tryna unpack what this says about him, but he immediately comes. Hard.

Another week goes by. Bucky’s shoving beans down his throat as a couple of other soldiers clumsily move their hips to some German tune creaking from the radio when he feels a mustache tickling the side of his ear and fingers sinking into his shoulder. He smells the thick, pricey cologne that’s been lingering on his clothes lately (and maybe Bucky don’t exactly hate that) and knows it’s Stark before he hears his mischievous lilt.

“Bet you won’t steal that plane.”

Howard’s a sneaky son of a bitch, his hand somehow already sliding over Bucky’s thighs and fuck it, it might get him a dishonorable discharge, but he’s gonna steal the damn plane.

One of them’s got to pilot the damn thing, though, and that’s not really Bucky’s thing, but he ends up in the pilot seat anyway with Stark perched on his lap, one hand reaching back to handle the controls and the other on Little Buck as Howard has taken to calling Bucky’s dick (Barnes acts like he hates it, usually mumbling an “It ain’t little” in response, and Stark isn’t about to argue him there). Bucky ain’t sure if he’s more impressed by the hand job or Stark’s double tasking, even with the way the plane dangerously swerves every time Bucky moans low and loud into Howard’s ear. He’s sure they’re gonna end up crashing into some poor European town, but Barnes has made his peace. Dying with Stark’s hand grippin’ him ain’t a bad way to go out.

There’s another jerk (of the plane and of Bucky’s dick), this time accompanied by a crash and a yelp coming from the back. Both look back to see that the stacked boxes of cargo have toppled over, revealing a flustered Steve on his hands and knees, buck ass naked, with Peggy towering behind him, biceps bulging out of a black tank top and Bucky’s mouth is feeling real dry suddenly.

Then he notices what Peggy’s got happening below the waist. Attached to her pelvis, there's something that looks like it's made of the stuff as Steve’s Hydra-Stomper suit...except it’s a prosthetic dick.

It’s bigger than Barnes’ and ‘cause he’s a soldier in the 40s with all kinds of fragile views about masculinity, Bucky’s a little miffed about that.

“I see you’re enjoying the prototype I whipped up for ya, Captain Carter,” Stark says, and to his credit, he keeps jerking Bucky off and piloting the plane. Truly, the man is a genius.

“What can I say?” Carter gives back with a smirk. “I just wanted to live up to my name.”

(Get it? ‘Cause Peggy’s pegging Steve?!

…I’ll see myself out.)

Stark asks Peggy and Steve if they wanna grab some fondue with them after he lands the plane, and Bucky’s not sure if Howard’s prepositioning a double date or an orgy.

He finds he doesn’t really mind either way.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #howard stark #Bucky Barnes x Howard Stark #Howard Stark x Bucky Barnes #What If #Captain Carter #if only my 10th grade creative writing teacher could see me now #my favorite rascals

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eiressofinspirationwrites · 5 years

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Of Heaven and Hell - Attacked

Pairing: Crowley x Female OC/Reader x Aziraphale

Word Count: 2617

Description: What happens when a priest knocks on the door of a home where heaven and hell live side by side?

Note: So, this is a bit different than some of my fics since it’s written in second person POV but uses the name and pronouns of an OC of mine. I wanted to give this a shot and see what you guys think of it. I really enjoyed writing this way and might write more of my OCs like this. I would obviously still write all of my requests (unless otherwise specified) the same way I’ve written all other reader inserts. This is just something I’m experimenting with for OCs. Hope you enjoy!

Warning: There is some violence in this chapter and a few disposable characters I made up die. So proceed at your own discretion. Nothing is really overly graphically descriptive.

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

“Are you Azalea Fell?” a smartly dressed man asked after you opened your front door to greet him.

“That depends entirely on who you are,” your eyes narrowed as you appraised your unexpected visitor.

“My name is Arthur Priestly,” your visitor smiled kindly, “I’m a patron of St. Matthew’s Church just down the street. I’ve been going around trying to spread God’s word and invite our neighbors to a community appreciation service we are hosting next week.”

“I’m sorry to have wasted your time then, Mr. Priestly, you said stiffly, “but God’s word isn’t exactly my cup of tea.”

“Nonsense, God’s word is for all of his children,” Mr. Priestly insisted.

“I’m a very busy woman, Mr. Priestly,” you bristled, “I really need to get back to my work.”

“Of course,” he acquiesced, “before we part ways, would you mind if I came in for a drink of water? It is rather hot today and I have many more houses to visit.”

You carefully considered for a few moments before opening the door wider to allow him entry, “Fine, but make it quick.”

“You are very kind, Ms. Fell,” Mr. Priestly smiled gratefully.

“Follow me,” you jerked your head towards the kitchen, “and you can call me Lia.”

After he closed the door behind himself, he lingered for a moment before he followed after you. What he didn’t know was that you heard him lock the deadbolt on the door.

“Do you prefer sparkling or still water, Mr. Priestly?” you asked sweetly, once he joined you in the kitchen.

“Still water is just fine, my dear,” he replied.

“Coming right up,” you chirped and reluctantly turned your back to him to grab a glass from the cabinet, but you kept your senses wide open in case he tried something funny.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Lia?” Mr. Priestly asked as you filled the glass with tap water.

“Oh, yes,” you replied, given the nature of this visitor you decided keeping your second partner out of the conversation would be wise, “Anthony is quite lovely, but he’s got a devilish streak in him.”

‘I’m sure he does,” Mr. Priestly said, but the sudden change in the tone of his voice gave you goosebumps.

“He should be-,” You’d turned around to hand your guest his water but was taken by surprise when his fist connected with your face.

The glass fell from your hands and shattered on the floor sending shards of glass and water everywhere. You were too busy clutching your aching jaw to care about the mess.

“Son of a bitch that hurt!” you cursed.

“I don’t believe it,” Mr. Priestly stood wide-eyed in front of you, a set of brass knuckles with strange sigils carved into its surface hung loosely from his fingers, “I was right. You are a demon!”

“What the hell gives you that idea?” you growled.

“Your eyes are that of a serpent and they burn with hellfire,” Priestly said angrily.

You cursed under your breath when you realized your sunglasses had been removed from your face by the force of the punch you’d received.

“Alright, you caught me,” you said, summoning as much irreverent confidence as you could in an attempt to intimidate him, “Now what do you plan to do? From what I can see you’re outnumbered. I’m not your ordinary demon, Mr. Priestly. I’m not even sure anyone's got a proper word for what I am. My parents were an angel and a demon.”

“You’re even more of an abomination than I thought!” Mr. Priestly took a horrified step back.

“Ah, so you are familiar with my kind,” you smiled, satisfied by the proper fear emblazoned in his expression, “So, Mr. Priestly,” you hummed, “I just have one more question for you.”

“And what’s that?” he asked.

“Have we stalled long enough for your reinforcements to finish breaking in through my bedroom upstairs?” you asked.

“I-I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he stammered.

“Now there’s no need to lie,” you tutted, “I can hear your heartbeat from across the room.”

“You truly are wicked,” he snarled.

“Love, you haven’t seen wicked,” you laughed, “and you never will.”

Before he had a chance to react, the man fell to the ground gasping for air at a snap of your fingers.

“What the hell have you done?!” a new voice barked at you when he saw you standing over the body of your first human kill in over a century.

“Oh, I’m afraid he ran out of air,” you sighed as you stepped over his corpse, “I’m hoping you’ll be more challenging to kill. I haven’t had the chance to really stretch my powers in quite some time. I’ve made it a point to only kill truly horrible people. I do have morals.”

“That’s priceless,” the newcomer laughed heartily, “A demon who thinks they have morals.”

“Oh, I really don’t want to repeat myself,” you whined, “So, I’ll just fight you instead and show you that I’m not your run-of-the-mill demon.”

"Bring it, beast," the man snarled.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” you grinned wickedly as you peeled off your jacket, “What’s your name by the way? So, I know what to put on your headstone.”

“Die, demon!” the man bellowed as he charged towards you.

“How dull,” you sighed before sidestepping his bulk and allowing him to sail past you.

What you didn’t anticipate was the knife he’d pulled from its sheath during his charge. You hadn’t accounted for its length, so it grazed your bicep, which elicited a hiss as the cold metal drew across your skin.

“Interesting,” you said through gritted teeth as you watched the wound bubble.

“I had it blessed,” your attacker explained as he loomed over you, “It will kill your kind dead.”

“That’s just dreadful grammar,” you rolled your eyes, “I’m bored with you already.”

You waved your hand and sent the man flying across the room. He hit the wall with a sickening crunch and crumpled to the floor in a heap, where he lay motionless.

“Wicked bitch!” a third voice yelled from only a few feet away.

“Not many people could sneak up on me like that,” you whipped around but were mildly impressed, “but to be fair I was distracted.”

“Your reign of terror is over,” the man declared as he hefted a bucket off the floor. Liquid sloshed over the lip of the bucket as he prepared to throw it at you.

“No!” your eyes widened when you realized what the bucket must be filled with but you had no time to react in any way other than to throw your arms in front of your face and cringe away from the wave of water.

You’d avoided holy water like the plague your entire life. At first, it was because you were unsure of what effect it would have on you since you were only half-demon and never had the desire to find out. Then a few decades ago a band of angels abducted you to experiment on you. During those experiments, they injected small amounts of holy water into your veins. That pain had been excruciating but you'd survived. That experience didn't prepare you one bit for the pain that washed over you as the skin exposed to the holy water started to bubble and burn.

Almost immediately after your exposed skin started to bubble and burn it turned black and began sloughing off of your body in globs of black goo that squelched sickeningly as they hit the ground.

“Die, Demon!” the final attacker howled as he charged at you, his knife raised high to land the killing blow.

He thought you were incapacitated by the pain and maybe a lesser being would have been but your anger and pain mixed into a rage unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

“ENOUGH!” you bellowed as you uncurled your aching body and stood as straight as you could.

You mustered your waning strength and allowed every ounce of your considerable power to manifest.

“W-what are you,” the man stopped dead in his tracks, terrified by the energy that crackled around you.

“My name is Azaliaphael,” your voice took on an eerie and deep tone that was layered over your regular voice, “and I am the only living child borne of both heaven and hell and you will suffer.”

“N-no, please!” the man begged but you were past the point of caring

You weren’t sure what was going to happen to him when you shot every bit of your power at him but in the moment you didn’t really care.

The only thing you could feel was complete and utter agony as your skin continued to burn. You just wanted the attack to end and end it did. The man was stopped in his tracks just a few feet away from you as he burst into violet flames and collapsed into a heap of flailing limbs and screaming.

You didn’t allow yourself to relax until his blood-curdling wails stopped and you were left in an eerie silence broken only by the crackling of the remaining flames licking at his corpse.

Relieved the fight was over, you stumbled away from the burning body and sagged to your knees in the middle of the room. Your chin fell to your chest as you sobbed while the pain continued to ripple through your body and intensify. You were unsure how long you sat there but were aware enough to cringe when the front door burst open and slammed against the wall.

You bristled, prepared to fight if you had to but you felt nothing but relief when your eyes fell upon a familiar face.

“Lia?!” Crowley cried when he saw the state you were in, “What happened, love?”

He started to rush towards you but your panicked scream stopped him in his tracks, “NO!”

“Love, let me help you,” Crowley begged, “You’re hurt.”

“I know,” you growled through gritted teeth, “but my clothes are soaked with holy water.”

“Shit,” Crowley cursed as he realized there were still small tendrils of smoke curling off of you where the holy water on your clothes continued to burn your skin.

“You can’t help me,” you sobbed, terrified by the thought of what would happen to him if he touched you.

“Tell me how to help you, love,” he pled.

“Clear away these bodies,” you gestured vaguely towards the three corpses strewn about the large foyer of the home you shared with your angel and demon

“Did you do all this?” Crowley gaped at the carnage, “You haven’t-,”

“I know,” you hissed, “just clean it up.”

“Alright,”

Crowley followed your request, making sure to avoid the holy water still pooled on the floor in places.

You watched him through drooping eyelids as you struggled to stay conscious. Soon enough you lost the battle. The last thing you could remember was Crowley’s voice yelling your name and you sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening that he wouldn’t touch you.

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

The first thing you registered upon regaining consciousness was the pain throbbing through all of the burns the holy water had inflicted.

The second thing you registered was that all of those burns had been covered in some kind of salve, that numbed a fraction of the pain, before being carefully bandaged. Unfortunately, that meant most of your torso, arms, and legs were encased in bandages which restricted movement. Thankfully, your arms had spared most of your neck and face from the holy water but there were a few small patches that had been splashed. So, they were treated as well, but they weren’t as serious as the rest of your wounds.

The third thing you registered was that you had been dressed in light pajamas and brought to your bedroom.

The final thing you registered, which brought a small smile to your face, was Crowley’s sleeping form slumped beside your bed. He’d pulled up a chair beside the bed, but had obviously fallen asleep and ended up in a position that had him half in the chair and half on the bed.

You smiled slightly and gingerly lifted a shaky hand to run your fingers through his long hair, which had provided you with many hours of joy since he’d grown it in the months since the failed apocalypse.

Surprised by the sensation, Crowley jolted awake. Regrettably, the jerky action made you jump as your partner shot upright. Every muscle in your body revolted against the action and sent intense waves of pain through you.

“I’m so sorry, love,” Crowley apologized, his hand immediately finding yours, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I wasn’t expecting you to wake up so soon.”

“It’s okay,” you hissed as your muscles started to relax and the pain subsided a bit, “What happened? How did you get me in here?”

“After you passed out, I called Aziraphale,” Crowley explained as he reached out to gently brush a strand of your hair out of your face, “He rushed home. He was beside himself but he got you dried off and patched up.”

"Where is he?" you asked glancing around the room.

"He popped out a bit ago," Crowley explained, "He should be home any minute."

“D-did he see?” your eyes fell as you asked meekly, “What I did to those men?”

“No,” Crowley shook his head, “I’d finished cleaning the bodies up by the time he got here. I managed to get most of the damage to the house repaired as well.”

“I didn’t want to hurt them, Crowley,” you whimpered as tears started to fall, “I said horrible things to them and acted like the demon they expected me to be but I didn’t want to do any of it.”

“I know you didn’t, love,” Crowley reached out and cupped the uninjured side of your face, “You would never hurt anyone if they hadn’t forced your hand. You’re not the monster here, Lia.”

“I didn’t even give them a chance to change their minds,” you sobbed, “I just rolled with the demon thing and attacked.”

“You were scared,” Crowley tried to reassure you, his thumb rubbing circles on your hand that he held in his, “None of this is your fault. They brought this on themselves.”

“I could have been better,” you argued tearfully.

“Maybe,” Crowley agreed, “but there’s nothing we can do now, love. We can only focus on getting you back on your feet. You’re pretty badly hurt. It’s honestly a minor miracle that you’re even alive.”

“My angel half must have spared me from being completely dissolved like Ligur was,” you shuddered recalling the puddle of goo that demon had been dissolved into when he and Hastur had come for Crowley.

“Thankfully,” Crowley gave you a small smile. It was clear to you he was trying so hard to hide just how scared he'd been, “I’m not sure what I would have done if I’d come home to find one of those men standing over a puddle of goo. I don’t even want to imagine it.”

“Oh, Crowley,” your heart broke when he turned away from you trying to keep himself from crying, “It’s alright. I’m okay.”

“I know you are, love,” Crowley gave you a weak smile when he faced you again, “I know. I just… I just don't know what I'd do if I'd lost you."

"Good thing you're still stuck with me then, eh?" you teased.

That earned a small chuckle from your demon, "I guess so."

"Crowley?" you asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Yes, love?" Crowley asked.

"Will you hold me?" your voice was hesitant, afraid that he'd be too scared to hurt you.

"I'm not so sure-"

"Please?" you asked again.

"One of these days I'm going to be able to tell you no," Crowley rolled his eyes as he carefully scooted into the bed and arranged you into his arms.

"I'm glad that isn't today," you sighed contentedly as you sank into his embrace, happy to be safe in your lover's arms.

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

Link to a kind of part 2 set during season 2: Traitorous Heart

#crowley x reader #crowley x oc #crowley x oc!reader #crowley #anthony j crowley #anthony janthony crowley #good omens #good omens fanfic #violence warning #Eiress: Of Heaven and Hell

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youre-not-a-cat-youre-a-rat · 4 years

Note

8, 12, 15, 16 (gimme The Tea lol).

8. Which book would you like to see adapted into a film?

Oh boy. I read the graphic novel Saga a while back and started daydreaming what a trailer for a movie based on it would look like (I like to think it would be set to Otis Redding’s Try a Little Tenderness). Also I think I saw some tumblr posts with edits of Manny Jacinto as Marko or something, which hell yeah. Idk if I’d really wanna see how a big budget movie of it would turn out tho…

12. A movie that holds a special place in your heart?

Too many.

I’ll say You’ve Got Mail. It’s one of the movies me and my family would watch over and over when I was a kid, even though it wasn’t a kids movie. We’d quote it a lot (”You need quiet while the hot dog is singing??”…the entire Starbucks monologue). Actually, I could probably recite this whole movie. Ditto Sleepless in Seattle. But my answer is You’ve Got Mail bc I think it really influenced me in terms of aesthetic?? I wanted to be typing on laptops, and seeing a butterfly in a subway, and working in an independent bookstore. I discovered Eloise bc of this movie, and I definitely tried to read Pride and Prejudice too young bc of this movie.

Also, thx @ Richard Kind for giving Witness for the Prosecution a shout out in John Mulaney’s new special. A quirky barrister, his irreverent nurse, femme fatale Marlene Dietrich, and a big twist. I’m just plugging it so I can strong arm you into watching it with me later, Sarah, lol.

15. A film everyone loves that you hate?

Okay so I don’t hate this movie but I found out the same director of Cats directed Les Mis?? So my piping hot take 9 days later is that….I guess I liked Cats better?? It’s definitely more of a, I Had High Expectations for Les Mis That It Could Not Meet, And Absolutely No Expectations for Cats, So It Exceeded Them Easily situation.

It was just. So many close ups. I guess I was hoping for some Oliver! (1968)-style grand street scenes to go with them sweeping melodies, but we got, like, one zoom-out on a heavenly barricade at the very end?…Alright.

Not that Cats didn’t have cinematography issues (besides the obvious lol). Just let us see the dancers dance!! It’s not that hard, modern musical directors!!

16. A film you love but everyone else hates?

Ugh, why are only big budget things coming to mind?? People hated Iron Man 3, but I liked it…

Oh boy, *rips off band aid* tbh there were things I liked about The Last Jedi. There were things I didn’t like, too…but I think that’s all I’ll say, lol.

Film Ask Game

#i like how i posted this at midnight when no one will see it lol #LISTEN I JUST GOT OFF MY ASS TO DO THINGS LIKE A FEW HOURS AGO #ask games #paperairplanesopenwindows

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ohnoitsthebat · 5 years

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Why did I not read Preacher before?

#it is so good holy shit #graphic and irreverent as hell #preacher #preacher comic #comicblr #books #booklr #graphic novels #tina.txt

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tinkachu000 · 5 years

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when it comes to fiction versus reality one thing is always strikingly similar in stories against it. you always have those adults who are being creeps using said fiction to get closer to adults. yes this is terrible, its god awful, its abhorrent. however this isnt a black and white scale, NOTHING-- ON THIS PLANET-- is black and white. so while there are some adults who would use this to get closer to young ones. there are houndreds of thousands of adults who just want to do their thing. who would HATE for their works to be used in such a mannor because its just out there for them to yknow, either tell a story of shit that really happens, or just for the fuck of it.

you wouldnt say someone who writes murders or draws graphic gore to be a murderer or a cannible someone sick and twisted. no thats dark edgy and cool. but youre so QUICK to just lable anyone as dangerous if they draw a fictional character in any kind of sexual situation. do you understand how insanely headass that sounds? both of which those things could effect children negatively if they see it without the proper knowledge to understand it! this is why we have RATINGS on things.

If there is an adult who is doing nsfw content REGARDLESS of what the hell it intails, and it doesnt involve real people or the likeness of them, they arent trying to go anywhere near young children with their content, and in fact have all the proper warnings CLEAR AS DAY. Just. leave. them. alone? theyre doing their thing, in their space, that they created for them and the people of the like who like it. understand it. can process it. and it wont affect them negatively.

What it seems people dont get is that all these youngins say oh well I CAN HANDLE IT and go in there anyways then want to cry to mommy and daddy how they’re scared for life. at that point? its not that adults problem (unless of course they showed it to them or tried to introduce it do them or had ANY influence in giving them that content) im sorry to say ITS LITTLE TIMMYS FAULT. YOU SHOULDNT HAVE GONE INTO AN ADULT SPACE. PERIOD. thats SIMPLE FOLLOWING DIRECTIONS. if it says 18 plus, uhm if you arent 18, DONT GO IN THERE.

AND YOU, ADULTS, who are of age!!! if you see someone doing something in their space. take the stick out of your ass and dont take that NSFW, possibly TRIGGERING content and PUT IT OUT THERE FOR THE YOUNG ONES TO SEE. ITS BEHIND A LOCKED ACCOUNT, PRIVATER, WARNING, ECT for a GOOD GOD DAMNED REASON. it only makes me think youre the creepy as hell one for even introducing that shit to them like HOW DARE YOU on so many levels for thinking a) god gave you the RIGHT to judge people and who one should cast a stone to b) showing minors inappropriate content c) in the end rallying a league of people to bully someone who was midning their own business and most likely. and heres the kicker...

isn’t a threat. they just aren’t.

people have weird shit they are into. i know, a lot of it is bad, awful, gross, whatever. ive seen it. ive seen it since i was a minor myself. i did things i wasn’t suppose to do sure. but it didnt bother me, i knew that it was fake. some people dont feel that way and THATS OKAY. block, mute, whatever that person. make your space safe. hell distance yourself from those people. be happy. Just dont act like you’re somehow jesus and you decide who and what this person is based on...something that’s not real.

fiction does affect reality, but we as humans have many ways to decide just how much it affects us and others. we take care of ourselves as well as others. it isnt some random dude in wisconsins job to worry about what your kid sees online. its their parents. however that random dude is also held responsible for not putting things in spaces not meant for that kid as well. and with adult sites going away because people think everyone should be a puritain thats getting harder. people are doing their best to tag and warn and keep people out but for some reason.

people keep going into those spaces, and sharing it for the whole world to see. sure its the internet, the whole world can see it, but that doesn’t mean they absolutely had to. they chose to. and if you so choose to do something that harms you?? thats nobodys problem but your own. point blank. pretend this is the road, the lines are so clear, stay in your lane. and when someones words and actions start crossing those lines.

then. and only then. do i think you should raise action. make sure the people who are EVIL get their just punishment. not the person who had nothing to do with it other than creating something most likely *not* for whoever it was shown to.

that’s all i, this stuff is so tiring. this conversation goes on and no ones going to win because no one is going to try to see eye to eye when really if everyone just minded their peace, stopped bullying people, and just kept themselves safe in their space. they’d be happy. you’re not saving the world by taking out small artists. not when people in hollywood will sell you for sex in a minute no matter who you are. or there is legit trafficking out there that needs to be stopped. you guys think that since these people are seemingly in your reach youre doing something good but you’re not. you arent. you are ruining someone elses life and damaging them in irreverable ways, and you dont even care. thats another got damned human being and you dont care what happens to them because you ASSUME that they condone the content they produce. when thats the farthest from the truth. its disgusting and it just makes me sad.

#protect yourself and protect others #everyone is just trying to LIVE in these trying times #everything feels like doom and gloom and the climate nature of online culture getting WORSE #just makes it even harder to want to try and get anything done #everything sucks and everyones putting their hand in to make it worse

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ao3feed-destiel-02 · 9 months

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Love Is a Meat Loaf Song

Love Is a Meat Loaf Song https://ift.tt/cbBUrMG by followyourenergy The Apocalypse is coming. The end of days. Father and favorite son, battling for control of the universe. Dean, a human turned demon, is on Team Lucifer, and in these most epic of times before the Great War, Dean is…bored. Then, to the tune of a classic Meat Loaf song, a little excitement swoops into Dean’s life–a smoking hot angel named Castiel who’s hell-bent (heaven-bent?) on defeating Lucifer. They make an agreement: to spend time with each other in exchange for information on their bosses’ plans. Dean has an additional plan in mind: to rock the sexy seraph’s world until the Earth is a pile of rocks. He doesn’t expect Castiel, with his sarcastic wit, his take-no-bullshit attitude, and his pure, genuine heart, to rock his world right back. As demon and angel grow closer, questions arise about both themselves and the universe itself, leading them to search for answers as they race toward a future they hope will happen–if they’re willing to do anything for love. Words: 3182, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester, Gabriel (Supernatural), Balthazar (Supernatural), Meg Masters, Lucifer (Supernatural), Some other canon angels, Benny (briefly), God | Chuck Shurley, Amara (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Adam Milligan, Original Characters Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Additional Tags: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Demon Dean Winchester, Angel/Demon Relationship, Sassy Castiel (Supernatural), Sassy Dean Winchester, Irreverent Dean, Dean is a Little Shit, Dean wants to get into Castiel’s pants, Castiel wants none of Dean’s bs, at first, Cas is mission-driven, Flirting, Innuendo, Apocalypse, Lucifer and Chuck are fighting again, Daddy Issues, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Humor, Vulnerability, Doubt, Castiel Has Doubts (Supernatural), Questions, Travel, Lingerie, Angel/Demon Sex, or is it angel/demon lovemaking, why not both?, True Form Sex, Time Weirdness, Bible verses, Rip up the ending, Falling In Love, Castiel and Dean Winchester Falling in Love, Rescues, Rebellion, Betrayal, Shameless use of music, Music as a Plot Device, Inconsistencies as a plot device, Additional Warnings In Author's Note via AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester' https://ift.tt/36Jo8O5 August 03, 2023 at 10:38AM

#IFTTT #AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester'#Destiel #ao3feed #ao3feed Destiel #Destiel fanfic #Dean Winchester/Castiel #Castiel/Dean Winchester #Dean x Castiel #Castiel x Dean

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sageclover61 · 5 years

Text

Cleansing Fire

@spnonewordbingo

Bingo Square: Afraid

Pairing: None

Rating: T

Wordcount: 1554

CW: Demon blood addiction, blood, vomit (not as graphic as the blood), possible suicidal ideation

There is no character death in this story, but it’s still dark.

Summary: Withdrawal from mortal substances could be lethal if not done carefully and in the view of trained medical professionals. Tying Sam to a metal table and locking him in the panic room? Not a good idea.

“You are nothing.” “You as good as killed me.” “Everything would have been better if you had never been born.”

Sam screamed, thrashing against the leather binding him to the metal bed. Sleep did not come easily and when there was sleep, it was nightmares full of blood and fire.

Mary and Jess taunted him, blaming him for killing them as though it was he who had snuffed the life from their bodies. Even as he watched them burned, screaming and trying so hard to save them, they condemned him.

And Sam cried, screaming and wailing, afraid and aching as his body both rejected the demon blood and demanded that he give it more and he was almost begging for the sweet relief of death because coupled with the reminder of the absolute disappointment and disgust in Dean’s gaze, death would have been better than having to deal with this Hell.

Sam ached everywhere. His wrists and ankles hurt from tugging on the leather binding, his face hurt from screaming and crying, and his stomach rolled, revolting from detox and demanding more and he didn’t even know what would be worse.

So Sam cried, and at some point he begged for anything from the God he had spent most of his life believing in because it was comforting, even if Dean only mocked him for that faith. And then they’d met the dick angels and Sam didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

He didn’t care about Hell and he didn’t care about Heaven, but he cared about forgiveness from the deity he’d spent his entire childhood begging for Dean to return home safely. And even if He wasn’t real, Dean had never died on a hunt so he wanted to believe that maybe Someone had been looking out for them. But then Dean had sold his soul for Sam’s life and Sam screamed at the injustice of everything. He shouldn’t have had to live without Dean, he wasn’t supposed to have tried to live without Dean. It wasn’t ever supposed to be a possibility!

But it was. But it had been, and Sam cried, his emotions causing the demon blood to throw his bed around the room and he didn’t even care. The walls rattled around him, and all Sam wanted to was let go.

“Our Father, who art in Heaven,” he whispered brokenly, delirious, and not even sure what he was doing except that the repetition of the words brought a small measure of peace to his delirious and fever wracked body. “Hallowed be Thy name. They Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.”

What was the real goal? Anna had implied that human emotions were better than anything angels were allowed to feel. But human’s capacity to love was free will . There was no destiny there, not humans doing whatever the Hell they wanted to do.

“Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our sins as we forgive those who trespass against us.” He should not have fallen for the web Ruby had designed for him so beautifully. He should have seen it as the temptation that it was. He couldn’t believe that he was destined to be nothing more than the King of Hell that Azazel had designed him to be, but he just had no idea what God had intended his purpose to be. “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

He had fallen so far into temptation, how was he even supposed to start making amends for it all? But that didn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t change the way he lived his life, did it? The AA and the NA existed for a reason, right? He did not like what the demon blood did to him, even as much as he had only wanted to save so many lives. The road to Hell was paved with good intentions, after all.

“For Thine is the Kingdom and the Power and the Glory, forever and ever.”

What did that even mean? Sam’s exhausted and fevered mind wondered. The angels either wanted to stop the apocalypse, or they wanted to bring it about, divine retribution and the final battle between Michael and Lucifer and all that jazz, Revelations , he wasn’t entirely sure what. They were pushing for Lilith to die, yes, but no one had ever outright said what the final seal even was. And these angels didn’t even like humanity, the mud monkeys.

Sam coughed, and coughed. He coughed so hard that he was retching and he didn’t like the copper taste in the back of his throat that made him gag more as a reminder of how nasty the demon blood was that had got him into this mess in the first place.

Even though he was hoarse and dizzy, he rambled into another prayer because it was the only thing he could think of that might make him feel a little less slimy with all the sins he had committed. “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and the Holy Spirit, both now and always, and unto the ages and ages.”

Was he supposed to be praying? Castiel had said if they prayed to him, he could hear it, and he always came when Dean prayed, even though he was always so irreverent

No one had ever come when Sam prayed. Castiel didn’t even come when Sam prayed for him to come when he was in the same room as Dean, even if Dean just repeated the prayer a minute later when he didn’t come for Sam.

Maybe he was so tainted the angels couldn’t hear him. That would be better than if they were outright ignoring him, and maybe safter too. What would they even do to him if they came now? He was at his weakest, all of his strength sapped by the withdrawal, and he was tied, prone, to a stupid metal table. It wasn’t a bed, it was just a table. It would be so easy to smite him with a single thought, but at least it would be an instantaneous death, so much faster than wasting away to the withdrawal.

Sam didn’t really want to stop, and at least by praying he could feel like he was talking to someone else rather than just rambling on to himself. Reciting some of the common prayers as a child had felt a lot like meditating. “My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart.” There was no way that his actions hadn’t been sinful, and going through withdrawal was going to just be the first step in trying to recover from that and move on with his life. If he survived.

“In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things.” He loved his God, and maybe he had been less faithful after leaving Stanford, but that didn’t mean that he was living the life he wanted to live. “I firmly intend, with Your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin.” Ruby was a demon. He should have killed her the second she said she was in a dying host. Instead he had followed her so far into sin there was probably no way he could ever make up for it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try. He hated feeling like this.

“Our Saviour Jesus Christ, suffered and died for us. In His name, my God, have mercy. Amen” Sam stumbled through the last bit of the prayer. He was so tired and exhausted, and as he retched again, he could feel his strength failing.

Sam coughed. His ribs hurt, and he closed his eyes because he didn’t want to look at the blood he was sure to be coughing up. He coughed harder, and, Oh, God , his lungs hurt.

Finally, finally the coughing subsided. But he realized he couldn’t breathe. Not through his nose, not through his mouth. His lungs were on fire and he couldn’t breathe.

He blinked, wondering if this was it. It took a healthy person three minutes to asphyxiate, but he wasn’t healthy, hadn’t been in a long time.

There was a flash of white light, bright enough to blind Sam, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was what dying would feel like. But even though he couldn’t remember what happened after he’d died, he did recall the moment Jake had stabbed him in the back, and there had been no light.

Closing his eyes did not help to block it out, and he curled in on himself as much as he was able, despite being tied to the table. He was afraid, but he didn’t know why . There was no reason to fear death. The only thing he had to be afraid of was living another day with the mindless need for more. He was done with the demon blood, even if the demon blood wasn’t done with him.

As the voice said, “It’s okay, Samuel. You are loved, and everything will be alright,” there was a moment of clarity. This was Raphael, Archangel of Healing, and maybe, maybe , maybe there was a God who cared.

#spnonewordbingo #Sam Winchester #Demon blood #detox #spn fanfiction

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kijiboop · 6 years

Text

Cable x OFC: Muscle Memory - Chapter Three

Chapter One | Chapter Two

A/N: Warnings for angst.

[Wade] And extensive and graphic massaging of canon, both comic and movie. I’m curious about those new characters, Linn. When are we gonna see them?

[Linn] Maybe in the Thanos story.

[Wade] *whines* Unfair!

“You impossibly adorable and yet still manly and rugged moron.” Wade turned to glare at Cable and swung the apartment door closed behind him. “You are really bad at this.”

“At what?” Nathan asked in exasperation.

Wade half-stormed past him into the room. “Getting to second base. Getting to first base! Touching a bat to begin with. Finding the stadium. I think you’re still wandering around the parking lot.” He opened Nathan’s small fridge unit and rooted around inside until he found a beer, opened it and began to drink. “The things I do for you, man.”

“I am not trying to get to any base with Jane.” Nathan started to turn away and his eyes found the empty coffee mug sitting beside the sink, still unwashed. He twitched. “I’m married.”

“Is that it?” Wade’s expression softened and he sighed. “I’m sorry, Nate. I guess I didn’t think--”

“That I’d still be thinking about my wife?” Cable snapped at him and Wade winced. “That I’d still feel married even when I know I can’t see her again? We were married for six years, Wade. We had...have a son who I will ALSO never see again.” He stepped up until he was uncomfortably close to Deadpool and glared. “Sex may not mean much to you, but it does to me. I’m not looking to get laid. I’m sure as hell not looking for another relationship.”

“I’m sorry,” Wade said quietly. “Truly. I am. I wasn’t thinking.” Nathan turned away and picked up one of the electrical tools from his workbench, rolling it back across his fingers. “I know you’re not big on the public demonstration of feels, but do you want to talk about it? About them?”

“What does it matter?” Nathan paused the rolling of his fingers to glare at the tool in his fist. “It’s just reopening the wound.”

“Dude, the wound is still spurting. I consider this first aid.”

In spite of himself, Cable smiled. “I know every man says this about the love of his life, but she was beautiful. Her name was Hope. I found her in a foxhole, pinned down by one of the newer classes of Sentinel. Her and her team. I think there were four of them still alive then. Hope, Ivory, Manassas and J’tue.”

“Did you just spit on the floor?”

Cable snorted. “J’tue was a Shi’ar renegade, one of the ones who made Earthfall without getting slaughtered by the Sentinels first.” He paused and waved a hand at the couch. “Do you want to sit down?”

Wade smiled.

***

Cable told him everything he could think of. He told him about Hope and her team, how they had escaped the firefight, how Hope’s smart mouth and irreverence had driven him mad with frustration until he realized how much he loved her. He told him about their wedding, their discussions on whether or not to have kids, the decision to try and how excited they had both been when Hope had turned up pregnant. He told him about Tyler’s birth, how it had changed everything and clarified so much more.

“I’ll say. Movie versus comic canon-bending versus making it up from whole cloth at its finest, Linn.”

Not right now, Wade. Seriously. Besides, my blog’s name is “noncanon and proud.” I might as well go with it.

“That’s my girl.”

Shut up, Wade.

When he started to get to the point that had sent him into the past, Nathan slowed down. He looked at Wade, who had finished three more of his beers and was still listening intently. “None of this really matters anymore,” he said softly.

“Nathan, you lovable, musclebound doofus,” Wade smiled. “Of course it does. Tell me.”

“It doesn’t, though. It doesn’t happen. We… you changed what happens with Russell. Hope and Tyler survive.” Nathan’s eyes found the restored teddy bear sitting on the bookshelf to one side of the door.

“But you still lost them.” Wade leaned forward and loosely folded his hands together. “I mean, you don’t have to talk about it. But if it helps…”

Cable considered for a while then stood and retrieved the last of the beer, handing one to Deadpool and keeping the other for himself. “I don’t want to talk about the event, actually,” he admitted as he sat down again facing Wade. “There’s been enough grief in my life at this point that reliving the bad parts when I don’t have to seems masochistic.”

“There’s a big market for masochists,” Wade replied. “If you go in for that, you could probably make a decent sideline in porn.” At Cable’s irritated glance, he smiled. “I would apologize, but I’m really not sorry for that one.” They sat in silence for a few minutes before Wade asked, “What happened in the gym?”

“Present conflicting with past conflicting with future.” Nathan smiled thinly into his beer. “I’m still human even if I’m grieving my marriage.” When Wade just raised a scarred eyebrow, he shrugged. “I can admit Jane looks good when she runs. It’s just the awareness that I think that is harmful to my mental health.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you went crazy over a woman,” Wade pointed out. “I think I’m jealous.”

Nathan closed his eyes and leaned back in the armchair. “I’m not ready to let her go, Wade. I still love Hope with everything I’ve got. She was… is… the mother of my son and everything I ever wanted in a partner. How am I supposed to get over that?” He opened his eyes again to look at Wade. “You’re not over Vanessa. And you never will be. That’s how I feel about Hope.”

“True,” Wade said quietly. “But that doesn’t stop me from enjoying the company of the people I care about who are still alive. Since, y’know, I do actually care about some people.” He set his half-empty beer aside to frame his argument with his hands. “You said I don’t take sex seriously, but you’re wrong. I take sex as seriously as I take life. Life’s huge and crazy and it doesn’t take much to make it vanish entirely. I’m still breathing when I shouldn’t be and that hurts like hell, especially when Vanessa isn’t and should be. But I’m still here. I take things as I see them. The world is fucking random and doesn’t really follow any kind of rules or laws, no matter what we puny humans try to do to force laws on it. Sex isn’t that different. It doesn’t always make sense or follow a set pattern, but when there’s attraction, to say there isn’t is like staring someone with a pulse and active lungs and saying ‘You’re dead.’ Life keeps going. I guess I feel like sex does, too.” He paused, then added, “and love.”

“You really do remind me of her,” Nathan said with a small smile.

“Considering how much you still love her, I will take that as a compliment.” Deadpool picked up his beer again and finished it while Cable slowly rolled his empty can between his hands, thinking. “Get some sleep, Nate,” Wade said as he stood up. “Maybe things will look better after a time jump.”

“A what?”

“Never mind.” Wade swung himself out of Nathan’s doorway by the door frame and waved. “Good night, handsome.”

***

When Jane woke up the next morning, she found Neena curled up around her, big-spoon. She didn’t remember the other woman coming in last night, but she wasn’t about to complain about the feeling of her arms around her. “Where did you come from?” she asked softly.

Neena stirred and pushed her face deeper into Jane’s hair. “Bed was empty. Got lonely,” she mumbled softly. “You okay? You were crying in your sleep when I got here.”

“Liar.” Jane stretched and rolled over to face Neena, running her fingers through her hair and tracing her cheek. “Yeah, I’m fine. My workout didn’t exactly go as planned and I think I fucked up.”

Neena raised her eyebrows. “Fucked up?”

Jane nodded, then paused. “Do you know Nathan that well? Wade made it sound like he’s made of glass or something.”

“Glass cannon,” Neena chuckled. “I just know he’s from the future and he only had enough juice in his equipment for two jumps: one in and one back.”

“So why is he still here?”

Neena’s eyes were serious. “He used his return jump to save Wade. Blocked a bullet that would have killed him. It’s a long story, but that’s the short version. He saved Wade but now he can’t go back home. I guess he had a family.”

Jane lay quietly for a while, then closed her eyes. “And I told him to move on.”

“When?” Neena gasped, her eyes almost glittering with schadenfreude.

“When we were teasing Sam?” Jane blinked and sat up in the bed, rubbing her hands through her hair. “I’m surprised he managed to be civil in the gym. No wonder he didn’t want me to spot him.”

Neena followed her when she stood up to get dressed. “You worked out together last night?”

“Yeah.” Jane discarded her tanktop in favor of a fresh bra and t-shirt. “We lifted for a while, then ran the track. When I looked up, he was just gone, though. Vanished and turned off his communicator. Freaked the fuck out of Wade when I told him.”

“Cable turned off his communicator.” When Jane nodded, Neena slowly shook her head. “There’s a first. And I thought he hated to run.”

“He said he ran like a fucking orangutan,” Jane said, unable to suppress her grin at the memory. “He wasn’t far off.”

“He likes you.” Domino looped her arms around Jane’s waist as Jane pulled up a pair of jeans. “He wouldn’t have stuck around if he didn’t.”

“That’s bull,” Jane snorted. “Cable doesn’t like anyone, not even Wade. Maybe especially not Wade. He tolerates all of us and only barely most days.” She swatted Domino’s hands away from her waist so she could fasten her fly and button. “You’re just playing off of Wade.”

Domino hugged a little tighter and Jane sighed, leaning her head back on her friend’s shoulder. “I didn’t say he wants to fuck you,” she whispered. “I said he likes you. I think he likes you and it scares him.” When Jane didn’t answer, Neena rocked slowly and kissed her cheek. “I think you like him, too. Wade only seems to spout shit like he did yesterday when there’s really something going on. It’s like he knows something we don’t.”

“He’s just crazy,” Jane murmured. “He wants you to think he knows something.”

“He might be unpredictable, but he’s still perceptive. Maybe he saw something you missed.” Jane remained stonily silent and Domino sighed. “Love you,” she said and planted another kiss on Jane’s cheek and let her go. “I’m glad we’re one of those friendships sex doesn’t mess with.”

“Some friendships are founded on sex,” Jane said with a smile and squeezed Neena’s fingers. “I want to check on something. I’ll see you later.”

“Sure thing, gorgeous.” Neena waved and Jane waved back before they walked in opposite directions down the hallway.

***

“Your block is getting lazy.” Nathan strike to Wade’s right then reversed to kick for his ankles.

“Just like

“Nope. Nope. It’s not working, Linn. Try something else.”

I’m having trouble moving forward. I’m sorry, okay?

“Turn off Star Trek and maybe we can get somewhere. And mute your damn Discord!”

But the button keeps flashing.

“Ignore it and write, girl! I know you’ve got plans. I can see ‘em and they’re great. Just hurry up already.”

“Where’s your mug?” Wade poked the back of Cable’s hand on the table. “I wanna see that mug in every scene from now on, Daddy.”

Cable raised one eyebrow and shook his head. “Don’t call me that. Things are weird enough without that.”

“You can say that again, Daddy.” Wade collected his pop tarts from the toaster and spun away with a little wave.

The mug next to his hand was a different one from his usual and Nathan eyed it thoughtfully. It was a black mug covered in brilliant blue butterflies that spread upward on the mug before transforming into a cobblestone road. The text read, “Desna’s blessings.” He wasn’t sure why he had picked it from the cupboard this morning, but he liked it. Whoever or whatever Desna was. He picked it up and sipped his coffee before returning to the paper.

Distantly, somewhere in the compound, a phone rang. It connected to the whole-team cell circuit and made the phone sitting on the counter behind him vibrate obnoxiously. Nathan reached back to pick it up. “X-Force headquarters, Cable speaking.”

At first, he thought it was a bad call, one of those robotic automatic calls that tried to tell him about car insurance. Then, a female voice said carefully, “Nathan? Summers?”

“Yes?”

The voice made a soft, nervous throat-clearing sound and then she continued, “This is Jean, at Xavier’s? He asked me to call and invite you and your team to the mansion for the weekend. He said some of the students here would benefit from training with X-Force in the Danger Room.”

“Ah.” Jean. Jean Grey. Nathan closed his eyes and shook his head sharply to clear it. She wasn’t Redd. Not yet, anyway. Someday, she’d know him as a child, when she and his father came forward two thousand years to raise him. The loops of time were enough to make anyone dizzy and he knew Jean had been uncomfortable with him from the moment she had met him, partially due to his resemblance to Scott, his father. “Yes, I think that would be fine. I’ll check with the others and call back later. Would that be alright?”

“Yes, sir.” They both stuttered to silence. His stepmother as a teenager. It was still hard to figure out. “Thanks. I… uh… I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye.” Nathan tried to make the ending as kind as possible, but it still sounded abrupt in his own ears. As he set down the phone, he triggered his communicator. “Call all members.” When the communicator beeped to alert him to the connection, he said, “Group invite to Xavier’s for the weekend. Anyone in?”

“I will tap that silvery ass so hard!” Nathan closed his eyes with a sigh. Wade would be the first to respond.

“I’m in,” Neena answered more sedately.

“Me, too,” echoed Sam.

“I can drive,” Dopinder offered.

“Another country heard from!” cheered Wade.

“Yes, Mr. Pool,” Dopinder said cheerfully. “I am still around. How are things there?”

Nathan tried not to smile. Dopinder never ceased to make him grin, usually without trying. He felt a little bad about it since a lot of it had to do with how incredibly dedicated the younger man was to Deadpool and the idea of X-Force, even though he himself had no mutant abilities at all. “Jane?” he called. “Coming?”

“Yes, Daddy, please!” Wade cried in falsetto.

“Do you ever shut up?” Jane’s voice finally added to the conversation.

“Nope,” said Wade and everyone could hear the grin on his face.

“I think I’ll stay here,” Jane said. “I’ve got some stuff to catch up on.”

Something in Nathan’s chest sank and he sighed, rolling his eyes at himself. “It’s not like you don’t live in the same fucking building, Summers,” he muttered to himself without engaging the communicator. Into the conversation, he added, “He offered the use of the Danger Room.”

“I’m in.” Jane’s reply was so fast that she practically cut him off.

“Full house,” Deadpool caroled. “We’re going on a road trip!”

Nathan smiled to himself and cut off the connection. He looked at the butterfly mug with his coffee and sighed. He just couldn’t seem to make himself pick up the one Jane had used this morning. He finished his coffee, rinsed the mug and set it to dry, then turned back toward his apartment.

Admitting to Wade that he had noticed Jane’s positive qualities had had the effect of haunting him most of the night. He had slept fitfully, dreams of chasing her around the track merging together with memories of some of the few good times with Hope, when they had been free enough to be a family, to have fun without being afraid or on guard. The restlessness had made it harder to focus on his telekinesis and he had finally given up on sleep around daybreak. At the moment, the only thing keeping him focused enough to both walk and avoid further infection at the same time was the coffee. At least he would have another night between this and trying to keep from dying in the Danger Room.

“Nathan?”

Halfway to reaching for his own door, Nathan sighed and closed his eyes. Jane. “Yeah?” he responded without turning toward her.

“I’m… I’m sorry for what I said,” she said quietly. “About moving on. I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

“I know.” They’d been talking about him. He knew it happened, but it was a little surreal to have clear evidence of it. Nathan turned to smile at her, trying to shake the strangeness of acknowledging that she knew something about him he hadn’t told her. He found it hard to keep track of himself most of the time. He still wasn’t used to being known. “Who told you?”

“Neena.” Jane was hugging one arm in front of her with the opposite hand, a gesture that made her look much younger than she was, nervous and uncertain. “I’m sorry.”

Nathan shook his head. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry for stinging you. I’ve usually got better control than that.”

Jane looked surprised. “That was you?” He smiled thinly and nodded. “I didn’t know you had that kind of… I thought you were just--”

“Human?” Nathan chuckled at the embarrassed expression on her face. “Telekinetic. I don’t use it much if I can help it.” What a fucking lie. He was only constantly using it. Though the truth was still there: if he could avoid demonstrating his power externally, he would.

“Oh.” Jane’s face flushed and Cable smiled at her. She was really cute when she blushed. Thoughts of Hope needled his kidneys again and he let the thought go. “That’s why you’ve been so willing to help me train.”

Not the only reason, certainly, but he did know plenty of tricks to help focus telekinesis like hers. “I’m willing to help anyone train,” he said. “It’s kind of what I do.”

“When you’re not time jumping around history, killing people.” Nathan flinched and looked away and Jane gasped. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It just came out.”

“Spending too much time with Wade,” he said with a weak smile. “It’s what I do now.” Since I can’t train my own son to use his abilities when they manifest. Since I can’t watch him grow up. He pushed away the thoughts and sighed, rubbing his temples with one hand. “I’m sorry. I really didn’t sleep well last night and I’m thinking about trying to catch a nap before we leave for Xavier’s.”

“Of course,” Jane scrambled to find words. “I just wanted to apologize.” When Nathan nodded, she gave him a quick, nervous smile. “Have a good nap.”

“Thanks. I’ll try.” He watched her turn and walk away, then closed his eyes and leaned against his door. He missed Hope.

@genevievedarcygranger @lucifers-trash-stash @vizhi0n @even-the-sparrow @lissachan504 @ladylorelitany @originalwinchestervamp

#cable #marvel movies #josh brolin #cable x deadpool #wade wilson #ryan reynolds #nathan summers #cable x OFC #OFC: Latchkey #kiji fics #fanfic

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clickbliss · 6 years

Text

MOTHERGUNSHIP Review

by Amr (@siegarettes)

MOTHERGUNSHIP

Developer- Grip Digital, Terrible Posture Games

Publisher- Grip Digital

PC, PS4, Xbox one

A few hours into MOTHERGUNSHIP and I’d already built the most absurd gun I’ve ever seen. A collection chainguns, triangle chainguns, and shotguns, all stacked together and jutting out on makeshift arms while connected to a modifier that had them going at an absurd rate of fire. Then of course on the other hand I had another gun, loaded with a flamethrower, grenade launcher, fireworks launcher and two cannons just in case it wasn’t enough. On top of that I had TEN DOUBLE JUMPS, letting me stay in the air for a good 20 seconds before I touched the floor. And this was still just the opening of the game.

MOTHERGUNSHIP frequently allowed me to build these overpowered weapons while keeping a sense of vulnerability and tension alive. If you’re fighting an army of killer robots, it’s only natural to have an army’s worth of artillery in your hands. To accomplish this balance Terrible Posture Games has taken lessons from the roguelike structure of their previous game, Tower of Guns. They’ve taken the strengths of the roguelike, while excising the the tiresome aspects that induce repetition.

So while MOTHERGUNSHIP might sell itself as a bullet hell style experience, it often feels more in line with the action RPG stylings of games like Diablo or Torchlight. There’s a similar emphasis on controlling chaos, creating a build and finding the right combinations of weapon effects. It even pops up damage numbers when you shoot an enemy and give you the damage per second on the weapon build screen.

Missions are structured to allow a constant sense of progress while maintaining the roguelike’s high stakes and constantly shifting approach. You’re generally given multiple spaceships to tackle, each with their own mission, usually a main objective that will push the story forward, and side missions that are useful for grinding for resources. Each of missions’ layouts are procedurally generated, and will have a certain amount of slots open for weapon parts. These parts are taken from a stock you accumulate as you successfully complete missions. Fail a mission and you’ll lose any parts you take with you.

This allows for the feeling of beginning a new run without the extended play sessions and crushing loss of progress that can hamper the excitement of roguelikes. The shortened missions also encourages experimentation, since you need to find a build that’s useful for maybe 10-20 minutes, rather than having to carry you through an hour long marathon with constantly dwindling resources. Some missions even require you to start with certain parts, challenging you to try certain combinations of guns you’d otherwise ignore.

The weapon system itself carries over that sense of improvisation. Limited weapon part slots means balancing between carrying powerful weapons and the connectors needed to attach them to your power armor. These connectors will feel familiar to fans of mech building games, as they supply hardpoints where weapons and other parts can be connected. These need to be built so that no parts collide, which means working creatively with whatever resources on hand.

It’s a bit like trying to connect a very dangerous chain of extension cords. Some smaller weapons fit nicely in the available slots, and some of them are the aggravating large bricks that need to be relegated to the ends so they don’t cover two slots, or worse, connected to another extension cord plugged into the first. So you might end up with a shotgun and fireworks launcher comfortably sitting on the base connector, while several other connectors jut upwards and outwards trying to prevent absurdly large cannonball and lava launchers from obstructing the other weapons.

There are also a number of drawbacks to each weapon. A chaingun might fire fast, but inaccurately, and larger weapons consume a lot of energy, giving you less shots before having to reload. These can be balanced out by adding caps which modify weapon effects, but those also take up valuable slots. You may not be lucky enough to find those caps either. After your initial loadout is chosen you’ll have to find other parts by buying them from the in-mission shops with currency scrounged from enemies. Shops are frequent, but their selection is random, so you’ll have to strategize around what pieces are available.

Combined with the weapon building systems, this enhances MOTHERGUNSHIP’s improvisational feel. Sometimes you’ll get lucky and build an incredible and efficient killing machine, but most of the time you’ll have some absurd combination that might spray in every direction or fire off a thousands bullets in a second and immediately deplete all your energy when you fire it. This is how you end up feeling tense and overpowered. You might be able to destroy everything in a second, but the second it takes you to reload might be long enough for the next wave of flying buzzsaws to inch closer to taking your head off.

There are a few issues that hamper this tension. The biggest by far are the loads in between rooms. Each room is connected by a loading corridor, which locks you in for a moment while presumably the other room generates. It’s not a long time, but its enough to slow the momentum and, alongside the way enemies materialize as you walk in, break the illusion that these ships are actual locations. In addition the color schemes and graphical effects can sometimes blend together, making bullets and enemies harder to read. Certain weapon effects also didn’t appear at all on lower graphics settings, making weapons like flamethrowers invisible.

The story also plays a lot into stock characters, with a sort of irreverent cartoon vibe. There’s the anxious AI, the rah rah patriot General, and the exasperated engineer girl, with a few more characters added along the way. It’s never more than set dressing, and its function is more to give context and throw in jokes between challenge rooms. Thankfully the writing is better than the usual embarrassing standard videogame humor often holds itself to, and the actors do a good job delivering the dialogue that’s there. It got a few smirks out of me, even if it’s largely totally familiar.

MOTHERGUNSHIP as whole carries that sense of familiarity. Behind the compelling structure and the novelty of the gun building, it’s a game that I immediately settled into. The beats of the gunplay, movement and progression all draw on familiar roguelike concepts. What MOTHERGUNSHIP does with them is sand off the rough edges, keeping the tension and variation that makes them compelling, without the frustration. Then it adds a stack of guns on it, then another, and another. And honestly, that’s everything I wanted from it.

#mothergunship #rougelike #review #grip digital #terrible posture games

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