brown trenchcoat

“Eric was always type-a about his grades. He would never ditch class if there was a test or an assignment due–so it really struck me that Eric wouldn’t show up that day.” -Brooks Brown

(L O O K i know this is not even remotely a response to the prompt of ‘bruce wayne gets railed by huge demon dicks’ but also you are all terrible sinners and this is quite frankly a best-case scenario)

It was easy to follow the path of the ratty brown trenchcoat traveling through tuxedos and gowns.

“Wayne! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Bruce had been watching him stomp his way up the stairs, and had made no effort to meet him, standing and sipping at his champagne. “John!” he greeted, too cheerful to ever be genuine. “Glad to see you got your invitation.”

“Yes, I know I wasn’t — what?” Constantine stopped in his tracks with a frown. “What invitation?”

Your invitation,” Bruce said, gesturing to all assembled. “To the party. Which I assume you accepted, since you’re here. I knew you’d have to show up to one of them, eventually.”

“I don’t…”

The facts were these:

  • Bruce Wayne had apparently invited John Constantine to a party despite having no reason to believe it was necessary or desired.
  • ‘One of them, eventually’ suggested that he had invited John to many such parties.
  • A party was often the easiest time to find and corner Bruce Wayne, when he couldn’t go handcuffing anyone to anything with ridiculous bat-shaped handcuffs.
  • John never expected or waited for invitations to parties.
  • Bruce could not possibly have been monitoring John’s activities closely enough to know when he ought to invite him to a party.


  • Bruce Wayne had been sending John Constantine invitations to every party he had thrown in the last six years, for the express purpose of ensuring that John could never have the satisfaction of crashing a posh party uninvited.

John’s eyes narrowed. “You unbelievably petty asshole.”

The pull at the corner of Bruce’s mouth suggested that he knew that John knew what Bruce had done, and this knowledge of his knowledge pleased him inordinately. He sipped at his champagne.

“Do you know who it is that you were just flirting with?” Constantine asked, returning to his original reason for talking to the man at all.

Bruce’s eyebrow only barely moved higher than the other. “I don’t know that I would say that I was flirting, necessarily,” Bruce said.

“Oh, I know what you look like when you’re flirting,” John reminded him, and Bruce’s eyes flitted away back over the crowd. “You were flirting.” Bruce shrugged. “Did you even catch his name?”

The corners of Bruce’s mouth turned ever-so-slightly downward, a twitch in his brow that wasn’t a furrow. His champagne flute drifted away from his mouth. “I don’t think I did,” he said, and this admission of his oversight was said with the awestruck manner that most people reserved for a glimpse of the divine.

Appropriately enough.

“You’ve been flirting with the Devil,” Constantine informed him, in as blunt of terms as he could manage.

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Bruce said. “I haven’t seen Talia in months.”

John huffed, grabbing Bruce by the arm and pulling him toward the railing overlooking the ballroom. “Not the metaphorical devil,” he said. “I mean Lucifer, the Fallen, Prince of Lies, the Dark Lord Satan. You have been flirting with the King of Hell.” He gestured with both arms toward the circle of besotted partygoers surrounding the man to whom Bruce had been speaking.

Bruce scoffed. The man in question looked up from the dance floor. His eyes were all the colors of a sunset, and cherubic golden curls formed a halo around his head. He saw Bruce, and he smiled.

Bruce almost smiled back. It was the beginnings of a smile, a beginning that spoke of an ignoble end, asymmetrical and soft and small.

He stopped. He turned his head away, and his face went a familiar blank shape. He glanced back toward the angelic figure out of the corner of his eye, as if to confirm the effect, before looking away again. He set his empty champagne flute down on the rail.

“That is the Devil,” he repeated for confirmation.


“King of Hell.”

“Technically retired.”


“He just sort of putters around these days,” Constantine admitted.

“He seemed nice,” said Bruce, who now seemed wary of looking toward the party.

“He does tend to.”

Bruce’s gaze drifted back toward Lucifer.

“Wayne. No.”


“You’re thinking about it. I can tell you’re thinking about it. Theology or philosophy or Stones lyrics. Stop it.”

“I just wish I’d known sooner,” Bruce said. He was watching those blonde curls intently. “I might have had some questions.”

“No. No.” John took Bruce by the shoulders. “That’s how it starts, just an innocent conversation, and then what? Look. I know we’ve had this little rivalry, you and me, over who can stick their dick in the least advisable place, but that is literally, actually Satan. You cannot fuck him. I don’t just mean you shouldn’t, I mean physically, it’s not possible. And even if you could — God knows, if anyone could find a way — it’s still literal, actual Satan we’re talking about here. There are very few things in this world I’m willing to state are absolutely and categorically bad, and one of them is fucking literal, actual Satan.”

Bruce grabbed a champagne flute off the tray of a passing waiter. “Despite what you seem to think, Mr. Constantine,” he said, “I have not yet sunk so far as to need lectures on ethics from you of all people.”


Quirks: The idiosyncrasies of DBK


Judy Brown, mother of Brooks Brown, recalling an incident that happened four months before the massacre when Dylan was dining at a restaurant with his mother, Sue. Dylan had on his coat and those glasses and as Sue looked around the restaurant she thought people were uncomfortable and afraid of him. Then she said, ‘Dylan, people are afraid of you with that on. You need to take it off.’ And he just smile at her. I think when he got this coat, it was the first time he ever felt power in his life.

Even though his fashion sense and temperament had changed, Dylan remained polite. It was as if he was uncomfortable with his new image. When he showed up at the Hecklers’ in the trench coat, he’d always leave it in his car before coming in the house. Heckler said that, for some time, he had noticed that Dylan Klebold was becoming different.

“We watched the change in Dylan,” (Mark Heckler) he said. “He came around less and less.” And yet: “When he came to visit us, he’d take the trench coat off and leave it in the car.” It was almost as though a persona went along with the trench coats, one that was more apparent in school, where other students said Klebold and Harris wore the distinctive garb no matter what the weather.

Fic: Unbroken (7/?) (M)

Author’s note: Once again, a huge thank you to @wordsmith-storyweaver for being there when I need her! The Swan Jones trio would not still be going strong if not for you!

Also posted: / AO3

Chapter 7

Liam let the water run over his fingers, waiting for it to get hot. Emma had made him lunch again, driving he and Killian to work every day this week. He’d protested that he was perfectly fine taking a cab but his wife wouldn’t hear of it. It was easy for her, she explained, to just get into her office whenever she wanted. One of the perks of owning her own business, he supposed. They were planning on going shopping for the Christmas tree and other decorations over the weekend; it finally seemed like they were finding a rhythm to this new normal they found themselves in.

Liam certainly felt more centered than he had in weeks.

Emma making a packed lunch for each of them was just another domestic touch he loved. Her culinary skills were still improving so she was mostly limited to sandwiches and the like, but today he’d had some leftover chicken alfredo she’d surprised them with the night before. Liam himself was going to need to step up his game if he was going to keep his reputation as the family chef.

Keep reading

Your first exchange words - Superntural


“Excuse me..” you turned to the man smiling, as your job required. He moped, not saying anything. “Yes?” He blinked as if he did not belive that that this was real. His eyes fell to you nametag. “Excuse me, y/n.” He laughed a bit of his own stupidity. “No worries. So what can I help you with?” 


“Excuse me. I think I’m lost, could you help me?” Was the first thing he ever said to you. You replied with: “Yeah, where are you going?” He kept gazing at your eyes. “Oh.. No I’m where I’m supposed to be, I’m just lost in your eyes.”


“I am sure I’ve seen you somewhere before.” You looked up to see a man wearing a light-brown trenchcoat. “Yeah. Maybe..” You said trying to place his face. “In heaven, cause you must be an angel.” You blushed. “That’s so sweet of you.” He smiled a bit. “My friend over there told me to talk to you because I think you’re beautiful.” 


“Hey sugar, I’ll have these…” Eight chocolate bars, nine lollipops and a pack of gum was placed on the counter. He looked at you with a smirk. “and your number, please.” You smiled of his hopeless attempt. “Funny.” You smiled. “I mean it, I find you attractive, sugar.” 


Everything had turned to hell this day. You were taking a walk to calm yourself down and just drift away in your own thoughts. And this exactly almost got you killed. There was this man who’d come out nowhere and pushed you aside so the car didn’t hit you. “Might wanna rethink walking in your own thoughts outside.” You frowned at him. “Yeah, thank you. for saving my life.” He eyed you. “So, does the stange girl have a name as beautiful as her self?” 


You were out with your friends on a art gallery where they left you to flirt with an artist. You didn’t care for the artist, but the art. It was your passion. You looked around a bit alone until a figure tried to steal a painting not too far away from you. You walked calmly over. “Excuse me mister, but I thought you knew that was a fake. Not worth stealing.” The person stopped and looked at you. “How do you know?” You walked closer and pointed. “It’s missing the date.” He smiled a bit. “Just like you, with me.” You smiled. “I don’t date thieves.” 


He poofed in saying “Moose, Squirrel..” and added “beautiful.” when he saw you. “What do you want Crowley?” Dean didn’t even look up. “It wasn’t that important since I forgot due to something that caught my attention.” You rose an eyebrow sceptic. “Demon or angel?” You said more to the boys. “I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” He smirked. 

The One Who Didn't Care

Request: Pairing for @obsessedwithmisha

Reader Description: 5'5", curly blonde hair, with feckles and blue eyes, loves to read, play, and listen to music, is a major people’s person and is easily excitable. (Side note: Babe ! Do you know how awesome you are solely for the fact that you have freckles ?? I adore freckles like there’s no tomorrow 😂😂)

Character pairing: Castiel x Reader(reader based off of @obsessedwithmisha ’s description)

Warnings: fluffity fluff fluff mcfluffersten

Word Count:1143

A/n: I actually just wanted a sweet one shot, no angst. Which is hard cause im sorta a little deppresive shit. 😂 But I really hope y'all like it ! Please please i begs for the feedback.

@supernatural-jackles @angelkurenai @frenchybell @d-s-winchester @spn-mudkip @waywardlullabies @waytooinlovewithdeanwinchester @crowleysplaythings @ilostmyshoe-79 @feelmyroarrrr @mrswhozeewhatsis @nitelotus @gabby913 @busybee612 @lipstickandwhiskey @winchesterenthusiast @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @deanscherrypie @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @allinhishands @catastrophic-carrie @bringmesomepie56 @lovespnwritersnetwork @torn-and-frayed @peaceloveandplumbots @xxtprecklessxx @supernaturalprincess67 @jpadjackles @maraisabellegrey @hasta-impalasta @candydean @winchester-writes @faith-in-dean @padamooseandgrasshopper @willowing-love @splendidcas @bluejayunit @skybinx-blog

• • • • •

“Crap, crap, crap.”

You were running absolutely late to work. About 2 hours late. “Boss is gonna kill me.” You murmured under your breath. You were speeding in your car until finally, you got to work. You looked at yourself in the rearview mirror seeing your abnormally curly hair sticking in every known direction. You were a therapist at an outpatient clinic. You helped kids who suffered with mental sicknesses and you helped them believe in themselves again. You loved your job so much.

You are what they call a “people’s person”, a social butterfly, and an extrovert. You knew you could talk to anyone of any age, connect, interact, it was one of the things you just loved to do. You loved to talk to people and get to know them. But not just know them, you wanted to learn their history, their culture, what’s tradition in their family, you didn’t just want to know what their favorite color was. It always excited you so much to hear a new story about their adventures, whom ever it may be. You know you were good at being yourself so you put it to good use. After studying in college and getting a degree, you became a therapist. You wanted to use your curiosity for good use and your patients loved you for it. They knew you cared, that when you asked if they were ok, it was genuine. You felt like this was the perfect job for you.

Unfortunately, your mom had asked for a few errands and you didn’t realize they’d take so long to be completed. You were never late so you hoped it was excused. You ran and everyone seemed happy that you even came. After talking to a few patients for 3 hours, being scolded but forgiven, and then 7 hours later, finishing your last patient, you packed up, ready to go home. You walked outside to your car when you noticed someone. You placed your stuff in the car before you looked at the man again. He seemed to be staring off into space. He was just standing there, doing absolutely nothing. You thought maybe one of the patients somehow, got out. You approached him softly and carefully, not wanting to trigger an attack from this strange man.

The closer you got to him, the more gorgeous you saw he was. He was wearing a long brown trenchcoat and what seemed to be a suit underneath. And then his blue eyes moved and locked onto you.

“Hello there.” You breathed deeply, trying so very hard to hide the nervousness in your body. You had never dealt with loose patients so you didn’t really know what to do. “Im (Y/n). Are you lost?” The man kept staring at you, squinting, as if you asked him in chinese. “Do you need help getting back inside, sweety?”

“Where exactly?”

“The hospital.”

“Why would I need to go to a hospital? I am fine, and my grace can heal me.” Grace? What was he talking about? His mom? His wife? His daughter? His sister?

“What’s your name?”


“Well, Castiel, I think we should get you home. So if you don’t live in the hospital, where do you live?”

“I come from heaven, but I do not own a home at the moment.” You didnt mean for a small giggle to come out but it did.


“Yes, I’m an angel of the lord.” Your eyes went wide at his comment. You wanted to believe him but you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it. So knowing yourself, you said the stupid two words: “Prove it.”

Of course, Castiel got close to you and grabbed you and somehow, you were in Europe. You were amazed at the fact that you just practically teleported. “Woah.”

“Yes, it is woah.”

“If you’re an angel then, where are your wings?”

“They’re here. Do not worry.”

“Can I, c-can I touch them?” At this point, you were jumping up and down like a three year old on Christmas day. He blushed at your sudden request. Castiel then grabbed you and took you back to where you had met. And to say that the words were knocked out off you, was an understatement. You saw his wings slowly extend under the one light shinning in the dark parking lot. You approached him delicately. You touched the feathers so lightly, so softly. It felt like heaven to you. The way his wings felt under your touch. The more you admired Castiel’s wings, the more he would blush and turn red. You practically touched and grazed every feather on each wing. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

“Cas, they’re beautiful.”

“Is that a flirtation ?” You laughed a little.

“No, it’s just, your wings are so very beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

You sat there in silence for a little bit. The best part was that it wasn’t awkward, it just felt like you fit together. You turned to look at Castiel and his piercing blue eyes looked back at you.

“Cas, can I ask ya something ?”


“Why did you let me touch your wings ? And I’m not asking in a bad way, I just want to know. It’s a big trust given out to just look at them, let alone touch. ”

“To be quite honest, I have no idea how I got here. I just felt very attracted to here. And once you got near, it got stronger. I’m attracted to you but I cannot process why.”

You stayed quiet for a while, soaking in his response. Then a humongous grin appeared on your face.

“Well I don’t care if your attracted to me or not, I made a new friend today and your awesome ! ” At this point, Castiel was having a super hard time trying to keep his laughing inside. He then got very serious and was staring at your face so intensily. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Yes, a lot of red dots.” You started giggling.

“They’re called freckles.” You had to tippy toe up to show him. You weren’t exactly tall to say, but you werent short either. You say it was normal height.

“Dean has those on his face too.”


“He’s, uh, a friend.”

“Oh, well, tell him you have a new friend, one with freckles too.” You started to walk back to your car.

“Are you leaving?”

“I kinda have to Cas, I’m sorry. I work.”

“It is ok. ” You turned around, grabbed a pen from your pocket, and grabbed his palm. You scribbled your name and phone number.

“If you ever need a friend.” You smiled and walked back to your car, leaving the gorgeous blue eyed angel back. However, Cas knew he didn’t just want to be friends with you, he wanted more.

The Client

Written for the prompt:
“Cas’ car breaks down so he takes it to Bobby’s garage for repairs. Dean is the one who works on the car…”
taken from here with a kind permission of amazing @destieldrabblesdaily.

3.5k, AO3 version here.

“Lincoln Continental Mark V,” Bobby said, handing Dean the keys.

The name itself made Dean wince; the car should have been no better, not with its age and make. He did not have a clue why would someone want to repair it.

“The client’s waiting outside,” Bobby added. “Wants to kiss his treasure goodbye.”

He was, indeed. A man in a black Walmart suit, standing beside the light-brown Lincoln with a solemn look of an orphan near a fresh grave. Dean could see just his messy dark hair and back, straight as a billboard. Even through the rusty blinds of Bobby’s office, his first thought was that the client and the car were worth each other.

“He wants us to bury it, uh?”

“He wants its brakes fixed, you idjit,” Bobby snapped, and Dean smirked at a sudden guess that a fancy funeral had already been offered.

“Okay, Bobby,” he said. “The grandpa’ll get a helluva treatment here. I’ll see to it”.

Keep reading


So I Read Today… Hellblazer: Dangerous Habits (1991)

It’s been awhile since I did one of these. You might say I know my audience and I know that most of you guys and gals like the pretty pictures but not to read that much. But today is different. I see a lot of people excited over the new “Constantine” teaser trailer for the new NBC series. And as much as I’m hoping it’s good, it seems to me that so far we are going to see a reworking of the “Supernatural” formula (I hope I’m wrong on this one!). As much as the new series looks outstanding. John Constantine is a character that has been around for almost 29 years. He was first introduced as a supporting character in Swamp Thing #37 in 1985. He proved to be so popular that he debuted in his own book 3 years later named aptly “John Constantine’s Hellblazer”. The book chronicled the adventures and misadventures of John all over England. It was a mixture of urban and pulp tales with magic and fantasy. For a long time it was the launching pad of every big shot writer in the United Kingdom. Lengthy runs by Jamie Delano, Garth Ennis, Warren Ellis, Paul Jenkins and Peter Milligan are proof of this. 

In 2005 DC/Warner made an attempt to bring the character to celluloid by making a film named simply “Constantine” starring Keanu Reeves in the lead role. The film wasn’t exactly brilliant to begin with and it took away most of the traits that defined the character (London, the yellow hair and brown trenchcoat) and it was loosely based on a much better story that the one told in the film. That story is Garth Ennis’s first tale in the book. Beginning with #41 the name of the arc was “Dangerous Habits”. 

The story goes like this (more or less) after facing some heavy loses in friendship and love Constantine realizes that he’s dying. He won’t go in a blaze of glory. He’ll simply die like a mere mortal of lung cancer because of the filthy habit of smoking 30 cigarettes a day since he was 17. John is in a race against time, looking for a way to solve his problem by trying to call favors from old friends only to find most of them lacking the knowledge, the expertise or the will to help him out. His quest takes him to an old friend’s house who is also in the verge of death and when the Devil comes to collect Constantine manages to save the soul of his friend by tricking one of the three lords of hell into drinking holy water thus pissing him off royally and making himself worthy of hell by insult. Costantine it’s desperate for a solution. But he only can come up with a way out when he realizes that the only one who can get him out of the grasp of death it’s himself.

John pulls a gamble like no other pulled by a magician in the DC Universe before: He makes a deal with two of the three lords of hell for his soul. Since one of them already has a claim to his soul by insult he proceeds to slit his wrists and make the Devils come for him. When the three of them find themselves at odds for Constantine’s soul they decide that they can’t go to war between them over a mere mortal, otherwise they might risk losing their kingdom to God and heaven. The solution? cure Constantine of his Cancer, give him a clean bill of health and watch him over because if anything happens to him the Three lords of Hell have go to war over his soul.  

This is one of the many twisted tales told in Hellblazer. A comic that starred John Constantine for almost 27 years and that you should read to get a glimpse of how great (or how can they screw up) this new series coming out. 

Enjoy the reading folks!

"The Bunny in the Red" Zootopia Noir

Chapter 1
“Zootopia noir chapter 1”

The rain fell like cheap liquor.
It soaked into the ground, leaving behind a foul taste and releasing the smell of dried blood into the air. The city of Zootopia, the garbage of the earth as he referred to it, always smelled the same during a storm. It smelled like petty crime gone bad, the type of crime that leaves shell-casings and a white chalk outline on the asphalt, soon followed by salty tears and dead rose petals. The weather always seemed to take in all those scents, only to piss it back onto the earth. .
He hated the rainy season.
Not even the smoke of his cigar could push the smell away.
The small beat of his electric fan pulsed through the room, pushing away the thick smoke like a torn lover kicking out its two-timing spouse. He placed the empty shot glass beside his now empty bottle of vodka.
The slim bottle seemed to vex him and mock him for finishing her so soon. After just three shots, he had drank the very lost drop. He inhaled another puff of smoke into his sore lungs. Once he had his fun with alcohol, he could always come back into the warm embrace of Nicotine.
With one final kiss, he placed his fine cigar into his glass ashtray. The warm embers died out against the unfeeling glass. He tilted his white fedora down over his eyes as he leaned back against his chair. His tired eyes were closing, in expectation of another quiet and boring night in the office.

Until ‘She’ walked through his door.

Nick Wilde tilted his fedora up to look at the animal who had interrupted his nap.
Nick was a down-on-his-luck private detective. He never would have thought he would fall upon hard times when he first set up business. With the amount of crime and thefts in the city, he should have had stacks of gold bricks in his safe from animals needing his “special” skills. With no such luck, he suspected the closest Catholic priest was seeing more action than he was.
With no cases or money, he had less than a month to pay the rent for his worn-down office, which also served as his bedroom.
He lifted his head up and leaned back on his rickety chair. His red tail swept the floor clean, depositing the discarded hot dog wrappers under his desk, out of sight from his new customer. Water dripped from the ceiling, the drops plinking against the tin pail he had put out in the middle of the room. The constant slow rhythm seemed to silence the showers that pattered against his glass window.
He blinked at the small bunny standing by the doorway, slowly taking in the sight of her. She had grey fur and legs that would make the goddess Aphrodite jealous. The floor creaked in pain when she took a step into the dull light emitted from the flickering bulb that hung from the ceiling. She wore a rose-colored ruffled skirt and matching coat with gold buttons. No female in the city could afford that type of coat. The gold locket around her slim neck also told him how good she must have it in life.
She wore a black beret over her ears,which showed off her diamond earrings. Everything about her just screamed the good life. She seemed like a real daddy’s girl, the type of dame who wanted envy from those around her. Well, she got it.
Ignoring her short height, she seemed to stand as tall as the skyscrapers outside, perhaps a result of an aura of authority that emanated from her. This competed with her sculpted curves, which cried out Vixen, but her eyes told a different story. Her amethyst-colored eyes seemed to fog over when she spoke with a voice that was softer than snow.

“Are you Detective Wilde?”

“Depends on who’s askin’, doll.” he replied, holding a sleepy gaze. He did not care for the rich, but if this girl had a case for him he was would take it, no matter how much he didn’t want to. He straightened his red tie as he sat up.

The bunny closed the door behind her, obviously wanting privacy, before taking a seat in front of his desk. His nose crinkled from the smell of lavender on her neck. The scent of her perfume was strong enough to peel cheap wallpaper. She sat down with her paws clutching at the fabric of her skirt. Her eyes darted toward the door behind her, almost as if she was wishing to turn around. Nick reached for the right top drawer of his desk, taking out a pack of cigarettes. A good smoke was a good way to calm the nerves, if the lungs could handle it.

He held out a cigarette toward her.

“No, thank you.” she said putting her paw out in protest. He let out a scoff, putting the white rolled tobacco into the inside pocket of his mud-brown trenchcoat. The rich always preferred the cubans, he supposed. She coughed. The thick smoke and strong odor of liquor made her cover her pink nose and red stained lips. The whole room stunk like an alcoholic.

“Please, I need your help.” she whispered, before letting out another cough. Nick rolled his eyes, rose from his chair, and strolled to the lone window in the room. He forced the rusty hinged frame open, letting the smoke escape to the outside, only to be consumed by the rain. It brought some relief to bunny but pain to him. Already he regretted letting go of the sweet smoke.

“Make it quick, will ya? I got places to be, animals to see and I don’t have time to listen to some doll’s sob story.” he said, his irritability becoming obvious. Either that or the drink was making him cross. Her eyes narrowed, sharing his annoyance.

“Some doll?” she repeated, her jaw clenched. “This ‘doll’ came to this backwater office to ask for some compassion and help from a fox, who smells like he came from the back of a bar.”

His eye twitched, this dame was as aggressive as a tiger staring down the barrel of a shotgun. If she thought that just because she wore her best he’d be just another maroon in a dance hall, she had another think coming. Nick Wilde refused to be played by some rich, hoity-toity mistress. He crossed his arms.

“If you’re here just to tell me your husband been cheatin’ on ya, then he has my compassion and you have my help in showing you the exit.” tilting his head toward his solid oak door for emphasis. She stood up in a fury, the chair thrown to the ground. Her cheeks turned as red as the lipstick she wore.

“I’ll have you know that you are not the first male to be intimidated just because of how I carry myself. You treat me like I am your enemy, but you do not know me.” He dug his paws into his pockets and took a step forward, ready to throw her out. He did not care how much dough she carried. He knew her kind.
The bunny took a sharp breath, her eyes fogging over, stopping him in his steps. “I came here for you because you are the only one who can help me. It doesn’t matter to me if you are a fox, or your office smells like a dumpster, all I want…is you to help me.”

He bit the inside of his cheek and cracked his sore neck. His paw scratched under his chin in thought before he leaned back against the wall. Something about her was throwing him off his game. It was as if she was a roulette and every ball that landed set off something different. He knew that if he placed his chips on the table, he would be in for a loss, but he couldn’t help but gamble. She dressed like an heiress, but underneath she was a different animal altogether. That certainly spelled trouble, but he wasn’t one to run from it.

“All right.” he sighed, rotating his wrist. “Tell me what it is you want, then I’ll tell ya if I’m up to it.”

“It’s my family…“ She sat down on his desk and looked down at her paws, almost in shame. “We have recently been robbed in our home, the thief taking every last jewel we owned from our safe. It was all that me and my mother had…”.
Nick rubbed his chin while he listened. “They are worth thousands of dollars, and they were our livelihood. I had gone to the police but they were no help…”

“Well the police never are.” He replied with a dull tone. “They are occupied with the current drug cartels…” and from the murders caused by them, he thought.

“Please, would you help me?” she whispered. “I’m desperate.”

He shrugged “Depends sweetheart, there is the matter of my fee…”

Her eyes widened slightly, making his narrow in suspicion as he circled his way around the desk toward her. She bit the inside of her cheek and squeezed the fabric of her skirt, wrinkling the fine material.

“I…I don’t have money on me, the thief took everything!” she exclaimed, her eyes glossing over. “But if you can locate the thief you can have one third!”

“Tempting.” he smirked, then scoffed. “But I ain’t some chump buying fake rolexes. I need a portion of my fee, now.” he stated firmly.

“B-but…but I don’t have anything. I have nothing to give!”

“Nothing eh?…” he strolled right up to her, placing a firm paw on the desk. She froze when he wrapped his other paw around her locket, pulling it slightly by its nimble chain. “How about this?” He could tell it was real gold. The weight was almost perfect and the color shone brighter than most street lamps. His thumb grazed across the engraved words.

‘To my love’

She pulled away, snatching the locket and cupping it in between her paws, almost like she was afraid that he might rip it off of her neck. The dame was hysterical.
“No! I can never part with this!” She exclaimed. It was more than obvious that something in that locket meant everything to her, maybe even more than he realized. Her mouth went into a straight line, catching her outburst and embarrassed by her own shouts.
“But….” Her paw went to her earrings. She took the small diamonds and placed them on the desk.

“They’re worth more than my necklace…that’s enough, isn’t it?”

Nick gave the diamonds a glance. “Yeah…yeah, it’s enough.” They were just enough to pay for rent and a week of food. “Just remember our deal, doll…” Her temple pulsed at the word. He could tell that she hated it. Good. “When I find your guy, I get one-third of the loot.”
He sat down behind his desk, scooping the prized diamonds and placing them in his drawer, under lock and key.

“Of course…” She brushed her skirt, as if there was dust. Reaching into her coat pocket she pulled out a white card, and placed it on his desk. “This is my private number, please call me if you have any questions.”
She walked away and turned the knob to the door. She stopped and pivoted her hips to the side, giving him a sideways glance. “And by the way, my name is not “doll”…“
He placed a cigarette in between his lips, lighting a match as he stuffed the card into his pants pocket. The flame seemed to flicker once she opened her mouth. “It’s Judy Hopps.”
And with that she walked out the door, disappearing like a dream, with only the scent of her perfume lingering.


I finally finished this chapter! This is going to be a ten or so chapter long story. This story is going to be dark and gritty from what you have read, but don’t let that sway you, it’s going to have some light hearted parts. I hope you enjoyed it!
Thank you @obsessivegeekgirl13 for editing! ^_^

DeanCas coda to 10x20: Angel Heart 

“He’s been standing out there for an hour.”

Dean pauses, lips poised around the lip of his beer. He isn’t really sure why he is in any way, shape, or form affected by Claire’s leaving, but he misses her. She’s a good kid, she’s a good shot, and even though Dean knows it’ll be good for her at Jody’s, he just… there’s this feeling.

This feeling that he, unlike Cas, is deciding to deal with rather than mope over.

Dean continues his movement, chugging the alcohol left in the bottle until it’s gone. With a flick of his wrist, he flags the bartender down for another. She’s cute, and she bites her lip when she comes to serve him—gives him the eye—but he’s just not interested. He tries to pinpoint the exact moment he stopped being interested and his thoughts turn to blue eyes.


“What, Sam?” Dean snaps. “What d’you want me to say? He’s been out there for an hour… Damn guy bought her a birthday present. He’s been acting like her dad and now she’s all grown up and goin’ to college. Give him his fuckin’ hour.” Resting his elbows atop the bar, Dean settles, shrugging as if to downplay all of this. “People have done more for less. Hell, when you left, I don’t think I saw straight for a week.”

Dean can see how hard that hits his floppy-haired, overgrown puppy of a brother in the bob of his Adam’s apple and the tense of his jaw. Sam looks like he’s going to break his teeth and the Mark crows in victory. Dean feels sick. He grunts something about needing a minute and gets away.

Castiel has not moved from his damn spot. Not one god-loving inch.

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sleepsintheimpala  asked:

Holly!!! Now that you pointed out that Cas has hunter plaid on the right side of his bed, all I can think of for Dean's sheets is how they are trenchcoat brown on his left!!!!

And today marks the day when I started shipping Dean’s blanket with Cas’ blanket.


Also while I’m here :P does Cas have two pillows on his bed? Like one directly UNDER the plaid blanket? This just keeps getting better and better…

*frantically running around in a hurt/weakened state through a city street, my brown trenchcoat tails fluttering behind me in the rain as I point at everything I pass by or stumble into*


"Imagine Cas coming back from purgatory and you’re the only one who gets to meet him" Part 2
Author: nature-mindedOriginal Imagine: Imagine Cas coming back from purgatory and you’re the only one who gets to meet him.Warnings: none

Read Part 1 Here

A/N: Anonymous asked me to write part 2, so I hope you enjoy it :)

You took your bag and went to the other room. Sam was still behind the computer and Dean was just standing in the middle of the room. Like he had that act normal moment, which was a little bit weird, but you didn’t pay attention to that. You had more important things to do. You had to meet Cas again.

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For the Halloween AU Prompts!

  • Everyone thinks we came to this party as a couple because our costumes match what’s your name AU



Cas had been bewildered but agreeable when Charlie insisted on spending the better part of the afternoon transforming him into a ‘Spock’. He remained uncertain as to what a Spock was or what it did, but the ears itched and the amount of hairspray required to plaster his hair into place seemed unwise, if not outright hazardous to his health.

Still. Charlie had asked. Charlie had asked because Anna had made Charlie promise to take care of Castiel while she was on her arts tour in Europe; Castiel somewhat suspected that this request did not, as he would have expected, entail things like making sure Castiel was fed and watered and attended his classes, as one would with a perhaps very intelligent pet. No, he had come to realize that his sister’s request seemed to specifically require Charlie to ensure that Castiel was exposed to a healthy amount of social interaction.

Which, he supposed, one also did for pets.

He could not begrudge the care; Charlie did care about him, himself, Charlie was friendly and kind and she understood his humor unlike most people, and she would be one of his closest friends even if she were not dating his twin sister.

However, Castiel did not think that he would have agreed to become a Spock if it were not for the aforementioned romantic entanglement.

Charlie had given him stern instructions – “Just look kinda judgmental, yeah, that’s great! And if you want to stand in like, parade rest – that’s the one with your hands – perfect. I will be right back!”

Charlie had subsequently been swarmed by three trenchcoats (Oh, that one was the Doctor, he knew that one. Charlie had made him watch the show with her and he’d enjoyed it a surprising amount). So the Doctor, and then black-trenchcoat-bad-dye-job, and brown-trenchcoat-with-gun. Castiel doubted that Charlie would be released from the trenchcoat brigade any time soon; he settled for staring around the room instead. He had to make a limited appearance at the Roadhouse annual Halloween party, and then Charlie would take pity on him and let him go home and continue working on his dissertation.

He desperately hoped.

“Earth to Commander Spock,” a voice – drawled. Not just a voice. Human voices shouldn’t sound like that, like… furry sunshine. Castiel swiveled his head, and blinked.

Next to him stood a man of above-average height, perhaps an inch or two taller than Castiel himself. And they matched, he realized distantly. His own blue shirt with its shiny triangular insignia was matched in style by the man’s gold shirt, bearing the same insignia. They both wore dark trousers and boots, and where his hair had been plastered flat, the other man’s hair had been teased, gelled, and spiked within an inch of its life.

Given the man’s facial structure, Castiel felt it would be redundant to state that the costume was a good look on him, as plainly anything would fit that criteria. Faced with a man who could wear a plastic trash bag and be resplendent (and who was most certainly not wearing a trash bag, his clothes were all extremely… tight oh Castiel needed to breathe), he could only blink.

It seemed the most fitting response, as he had no idea what a Spock would do in this situation.

“Damn, are our Earth customs bewildering your poor Vulcan mind again?” The tone was teasing, clearly, and warmer than before, and Castiel was very sure that green eyes shouldn’t be able to look that inviting. Green had blue in it; it should be a cool color. Not bright and sunny.

He couldn’t drive the man away. Castiel felt no hope in his ability to avoid that result, as it was the standard result of interactions between most people and himself, but he had to try. “I am afraid so,” he hazarded, turning from his outright staring to look at the crowd. Charlie had said, what, Charlie had said what –

Charlie had said to be himself. Charlie was vastly unhelpful and a traitor.

“Don’t tell me you don’t understand our little, ah, human ritual?” Castiel risked a glance out of the corner of his eye. The man had leaned back against the wall and was folding his arms in a lazy fashion that did not seemed suited to a military character. Charlie had mentioned military – yes, she had, she wanted him to stand at parade rest.

“I am afraid not… sir,” he guessed, and was rewarded with a blinding grin, oh hell.

“You see,” was the man closer? He was closer. Castiel was sure he was closer and his breathing hiked up embarrassingly. The man had turned toward him, was resting one elbow high on the wall between them and leaning and Castiel was going to die as a Spock and mother would never forgive Anna for the indignity and then she wouldn’t be able to marry Charlie and, “humans dress up for play. We have fun, Spock. We talk, and we drink, and we… attract mates.”

Castiel felt his cheeks go dark red.

He wished, desperately, that he knew whether this was a flirtation.

He risked a glance over, and the man had his tongue between his teeth and his green eyes had defied their nature to go from warm to hot and Cas was having an increasingly difficult time getting enough oxygen. “I see… sir,” he managed, and it was strangled and hoarse and made the smile on the man’s mouth spread impossibly wider.

The man leaned in, and in, and spoke with his lips hovering just to the corner of Castiel’s mouth. “Why don’t you call me Dean,” he suggested, wasn’t a suggestion, Castiel was going to melt through the floor. Then those lips touched his and he wasn’t melting, he was floating, he was flying even if it was a short small kiss, just a little sampling flicker of flame, the promise of burning. He gulped when he could speak again.

“I don’t know what a Spock is,” this seemed important to confess somehow, and it made the man – made Dean laugh.

“You could tell me what you are, to make up for that,” he suggested, and how did green become a color that could twinkle? It made no sense. Illogical. And yet.

“Castiel.” He swallowed, and wondered where the party had gone, why he couldn’t see or hear anything but low rumbles and green, green, green. “My name is Castiel.”

Hypothetically: Whovian Crayon Colours

>Rose Red

>Trenchcoat Brown

>Regeneration Yellow

>Tardis Blue

>Slitheen Grey

>Silurian Green/Lizard-Woman from the Dawn of Time Green

>The Flesh (Could be white or that weird super-pink colour they call ‘skin’)

>Jack Black

>Moisturise Me 'Yellow-pink' 

>Burning Up A Sun Orange/Sunset Goodbye 

>Donna Blue/Forget-Me-Not Blue

>Praise HIM White (you can;t see it, but it’s there)

>Well, Yellow there… What’s your name?

>Oi, Stop it Blue…

>Paradox Purple

>Daddy got Run over by a Carnation Pink

>Bad Wolf Grey

>Tangerine Lord

>Orangely Never Been to Scotland 

>Bi-Centurion-al Bronze

>Past, Present and Fuschia 

>Last of the Time Lilacs

>Time Vortex Violet

>Maroon-ed in the Middle of Nowhere

>Cyberman Steel-Grey

>Don’t Blink, Blink and you’re Dusk

>Weeping Aqua

>You’re Vermillion, you are… simple Brilliant!

>Who’s Got the Pandorica? Answer, Midnight-Blue!

>Next Question, Navy Blue’s coming to Take it From Me?

>I have Lime-Green Things You Can NEVER Understand!

>Paradoxical Puce

>Goodnight, Raggedy-Magenta

>Rest Now, my Wisteria

> ┓┏ 凵 =╱⊿┌┬┐ White

>Vale Denim/Vale Dandelion

>Would You Like me to Repeat the Quartz-Grey?

>Rose Tyler, Ivory…

>Still Not Ginger

anonymous asked:

Ten/Rose #2!

#8 The One Where They’re Just Friends

2400~words, Teen, #2 - Childhood Best Friends AU

It happened on the beach, that summer they first met, him a lifeguard on his Uni break, her a beach bum, hanging out with no-good friends, spending all their days flirting with boys from school or tanning on the sand in their too-small bikinis on old ratty towels. He’d saved her from drowning several weeks ago and they’d struck up a friendship.

“I really like you,” she said, eyes bright, face upturned, slight sunburn on her nose and the tops of her cheeks, lending credence to that ‘pink and yellow’ colour scheme he’d mentally assigned to her. “I mean, I like you a lot. And I want to be your girlfriend.”

Straight to the point, as always - Rose Tyler was blunt, always stating her observations with a startling clarity of vision that impressed him, even as he wished she weren’t so astute. For a nineteen year old, she saw far too much.

“Do you like me?”

A loaded question. He did like her. She was funny and fun to be with and could be astonishingly kind. Her hands were very soft. And those big brown doe eyes were beguiling when they wanted to be.

But still. He wasn’t the sort for romance, especially not with girls like Rose. She was too innocent for him, too young, too everything.

“Sorry,” he said, knowing it was the right thing to do.

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