#I didn’t know that white man from supernatural was in the boys

[tariah23]

I went into the boys tag for the first time (a big mistake lmfaooo) and I just have to say that white people fall for propaganda so easily especially when wrapped in a thin veil of that same whiteness that they value more than anything else in the world, even when a series like the boys is sort of an obvious social commentary on that kinda stuff 😭……. They’re calling Homelander their girl…. Their BABYGIRL, nigga, he is a fascist sksjsjaja.

[ghostlyfleur]

𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬, 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬

eddie munson x new girl

contents: new girl referred to as angel, lovesick!eddie, strangers to friends to lovers, hellfire club, dustin henderson cameo, mutual pining, inexperienced!reader, shy!reader, maybe fairy!reader but i’m not sure yet.

word count: ~1k

summary: eddie lets his love consume him, and he’s okay with it.

eddie munson is down bad. in love. completely enamored. shot by cupid. and she’s beautiful. the fairest maiden in all the land.

she’s all flowery dresses, flowy skirts, cozy sweaters, butterfly clips in her hair, fairy wing eyeliner design and shimmery glitter on her eyelids, sparkly pink lipgloss, highlighter on her cheekbones— the prettiest angel he’s ever seen. absolutely ethereal. the thing is, she’s terribly clueless. oblivious, even. her and eddie have built a lovely friendship over the last few months, ever since he met her when he picked dustin up from the library. that’s when it happened. that’s when he got hit. an arrow straight through his heart.

his angel — because she must be an angel, with the way the sun followed her around and made her shimmer — was aiding dustin with his search, trying to find books on supernatural lore that he could take inspiration from for the campaign he was putting together. it was dustin’s first campaign in his hellfire club career, and he was taking it very seriously to eddie’s amazement and amusement. but whatever thoughts about dungeons and dragons that were swirling around his head cleared completely at the sight of her; in her white sandals, knee-length white silky skirt, and alice in wonderland graphic tank top she was a sight to behold. a mirage. a dream. sunny disposition, bright smile, fidgety hands, and the most enchanting voice— a siren call, really. and eddie was hooked. it didn’t help that dustin talked his ear off about the nice girl that was quick to provide him with an immense list of folklore and magic lore books that could help him, about fairytales and whimsical creatures.

“she talked about fairies as if she were one, dude, it was sick!” dustin gushed.

eddie noticed the kid kept going back to the same library, kept entering his van afterwards with a list of books and another cute tale revolving around the pretty angel girl of eddie’s dreams. until one day dustin looked all nervous and coy and a little scared, and yeah, usually eddie loved to invoke that same reaction from him, but this time he didn’t know the reason behind it, behind the kid’s hesitant gaze. and truly it couldn’t have been a better reason. dustin wanted the mystery angel to be able to attend hellfire, to watch his campaign.

“‘s the least i can do, man! she helped me with a lot of it and she was like- super interested in my shirt and stuff, please?” eddie’s quick reply, the resounding ‘yes’ he couldn’t hold back, caught dustin by surprise but he didn’t question it. don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that, right?

angel showed up in a long skirt with a flower pattern, converse shoes, and a black queen shirt tucked in. braided hair, lipgloss, and a tupperware box filled with chocolate chip cookies for the whole club.

“my thanks for letting me crash your campaign.”

eddie was hooked. once the session was done and the boys were gone, thanking her profusely for the treats after they picked her brain for cryptid lore, she stayed behind to help eddie tidy up, and they talked about music. she was shy, incredibly so, soft spoken and giggly and socially awkward, but she laughed at eddie’s jokes and playfully teased him once or twice, and complimented his bats tattoo, so eddie offered her a ride home. she gracefully declined, claiming she drove herself, so he walked her to her car instead.

plans were made so that she attended each of dustin’s campaign sessions and through those sessions, the clean up afterwards, the talks about music and bands and movies, their time together evolved to going for milkshake afterwards, a coffee shop for some hot chocolate sometimes, and a friendship blossomed. a very strong one at that.

being alone, living alone, existing alone was kind of her thing— she preferred to be by herself, to indulge in her hobbies on her own, because she was anxious. extremely anxious. but apparently not at all reserved about it or ashamed of talking about it, which was proven by the fact that she casually let it slip pass her lips that she had an anxiety disorder the very first time she was alone with eddie after hellfire.

not a single sign of shame or guilt in admitting it, and eddie admired that.

admired that she was a loner even though she was so polite and kind, ready to send anyone she walked past a smile because she knew how much it mattered to those who needed a little kindness. a quiet soul but couldn’t shut up if you cared enough to figure out her interests, she laughed at everything, giggled without reason sometimes, talked to herself a lot, was often lost in daydreams, had a dark sense of humor surprisingly. complex but friendly. eddie couldn’t get enough, always wanting to find out more about her, to talk to her more, to understand her more.

but most importantly, in her opinion, eddie allowed her to be herself without any judgment. encouraged her even. and that was priceless. so yes, a strong friendship bloomed, but neither one of them wanted to stop at just that. the dark haired boy was quickly aware of his growing feelings, his attraction, his infatuation that turned to love, while his angel didn’t clock in on her emotions quite so fast, being entirely inexperienced and lacking any previous romantic validation. her anxiety and introverted tendencies played a part in that too, probably.

but that’s alright, eddie is more than okay with waiting for her to catch up.

♡

── harmo’s footnotes:

i love thinking about our sweet eddie falling for a soft girl. he deserves a cozy, comfy, cute love story! please remember to show your support by reblogging!

masterlist. eddie dreams.

ghostlyfleur © — all rights reserved. do not repost, copy, or translate.

[joannechocolat]

On why women’s rage is a superpower

My mother hates my new book. I gave her a proof just a few days ago, and although she’s still only halfway through, she can’t wait to tell me all the ways in which she hates my novel.

“Is this science fiction?” she says. (She detests science fiction.) “Were you ill when you wrote this?” (I was.) And repeatedly, she says: “Why are the women so angry?”

I get it. She’s out of her comfort zone. At 83, with no internet, no interest in pop culture and a deep-rooted hatred of anything close to horror or the supernatural, she wasn’t my target audience. And yet it’s never easy to hear such criticism from a loved one. But in some ways, she isn’t wrong. Broken Light is an angry book. It came from a time of lockdown, when social media was my only window onto the world. It came from a place of trauma, when I was fighting cancer. It came from a place of corrupt hierarchies, self-serving politicians, anti-vaxxers, Covid deniers, victim-blamers, and those eager to blame all their woes on minorities. And of course, it arose against the background of the #MeToo campaign and the Sarah Everard murder – a murder that shocked the nation, not least because the murderer turned out to be a serving police officer with a reputation for sexual misconduct - which unleashed a collective howl of protest, as well as an ugly, misogynistic backlash. Even so, my story came as something of a surprise to me: the story of a woman’s rage, and, on reaching the age at which women often feel least valued, her coming into her power.

It surprised me, most of all because I wasn’t an angry person. At least, I didn’t think I was. Those who know me describe me as someone who tends to flee conflict, who generally tries to find common ground, who gets upset when people fight. And yet, writing this story, I found myself saying and feeling certain things on behalf of my heroine, Bernie Moon; things I might not have said for myself, but which felt right and urgent, and true, and strangely liberating.

Anger has a bad press. A woman’s anger, especially. While men are encouraged to express feelings of justified anger, women are often criticized when they try to do the same. Angry women are often portrayed as “harpies,” “banshees,” “Furies.” It suggests that a man’s rage is righteous, but that a woman’s is unnatural, making her into a monster. Male anger is powerful. The God of the Bible is one of wrath. Seldom is he ever portrayed as expressing any other emotion. In the same way, men and boys are often led to believe that expressing emotion is weak - except for anger, which is seen as acceptably masculine.

In comparison, women are often criticized when they show aggression. Angry women are hysterical, shrill, out of control, unreliable, unattractive, unfeminine. A perceived lack of “femininity” makes a woman less valuable, less worthy of respect and of protection. The Press coverage of women victims of violence is a case in point. A victim of violence needs to be attractive, white, gender conforming and virtuous in every way if she is not to be overlooked, or worse, portrayed as somehow having contributed to her misfortune. When trans teenager Brianna Ghey was stabbed, the Press were very quick to state that her murder was not thought to be a hate crime, whilst at the same time obsessing over – and questioning - her gender. When Nicola Bulley disappeared, police felt obliged to divulge details of her struggle with the menopause, as well as her alcohol issues, even though this was privileged information and of no public relevance. When Emma Pattison, the Head of Epsom College, was murdered alongside her daughter, the Press immediately assumed that her husband George must have felt “overshadowed” and “driven to distraction” by his wife’s prestigious job. In all three cases, the victim falls under the hostile scrutiny of the Press, while the perpetrator is given an excuse. In all three cases, the victim – one trans, one hormonal, one better-paid than her husband - is effectively portrayed as “unnatural”. Subtext: Unnatural women do not deserve the protection of the patriarchy. Unnatural women come to bad ends.    

Once you start to acknowledge it, rage grows at a surprising rate. Over the past three years, I have found myself growing increasingly angry. Angry at the injustices committed by our Government; t the greed of corporations; angry at the prejudice extended to those who are different.

Connecting with others on social media has made me more aware of the lives and experiences of those from different backgrounds to mine, and with different levels of privilege. For a long time I’d been resistant to calling myself a feminist. Feminists are angry, I thought. What right have you to be angry?

Growing older, I realize that this was my mother speaking. A woman of a certain generation, who although she was aware of the challenges of living in a patriarchy, still had a level of privilege that many women do not share. White, professional, cishet women can sometimes have the luxury of choosing not to be angry. White, professional, cishet women can sometimes have the illusion of equality. But feminism isn’t only for just one kind of woman. A feminist must look beyond the limits of their own experience. And that’s where the anger really starts: anger at injustice; anger at corruption and lies. Most of all, anger at the prejudice against certain people for just being themselves; for being transgender, or Black, or old, or simply not conforming to what a white, patriarchal society expects and values. And once you start seeing injustice, you start to see it everywhere. It’s like an eye, which, once opened, cannot unsee inequality.

My anger flourished in lockdown. A time of growing divisions. Masks are invaluable in a pandemic, and yet they inhibit connection. They serve as a kind of reminder of who can speak, and who is to be silenced. While Boris Johnson was urging the public to trust the police, a vigil for Sarah Everard was broken up, with violence, by officers citing lockdown laws. While elderly people were dying alone; while I drove for four hours just to go for a half-hour walk in the park with my son; while I sat alone in my chemo chair, politicians were partying. Billionaires were enriching themselves. Behind the mask, the eye opened wide. I caught myself making faces behind my disguise at strangers. There was something weirdly liberating about this; as if, behind the piece of cloth, I could express myself at last. Not unlike writing a book, in fact. On screen, the eye opened wider. Bernie Moon, my heroine, was unlike like me in many ways, and yet anger connected us. The anger that comes from helplessness; from seeing others mistreated. Anger at a society that propagates inequality. And the anger that comes from hormones – those mood-altering chemicals that everyone produces, and yet which allegedly make women erratic; unreliable; hormonal.

In his novel, Carrie, Stephen King tells the story of a girl, whose telekinetic powers are unleashed by her teenage hormones. Carrie is unpopular, bullied, isolated. Her rage finds an outlet in her power. Driven to breaking-point by the bullies, she becomes a monster. Of course she does: after all, the author of this tale is a man, writing from the perspective of a couple of thousand years’ worth of patriarchal inheritance. In literature, a woman’s anger is unnatural; monstrous. It leads to terrible, unnatural things: makes murderers and infanticides of Clytemnestra and Medea; monsters of Medusa and Scylla. Unnatural, monstrous women are always punished in literature, even while acknowledging that they are often the victims of men. And unnatural women are often seen as physically repulsive – a reminder that, to be valued and loved, women must be young, and pure, and conform to the standards of beauty set out by their society. In literature, just as in life, those women who do not conform tend to be less valued, less seen, and when they do appear, do so as wicked witches, evil stepmothers, ugly crones and hideous travesties of womanhood.

But what would happen if a woman took control of the narrative? In recent years, we have observed a number of retellings of Greek myths from the point of view of the monster. Stone Blind, by Nathalie Haynes; Medusa, by Jessie Burton; Circe, by Madeline Miller. In both cases, the monstrous woman is seen from a different perspective; her rage absorbed and justified; her narrative reclaimed from a patriarchy that seeks to tame and subdue a woman’s rage, even at the cost of her life.

My new novel, Broken Light, comes from the same process of reclamation. It owes a debt to Carrie, but I have avoided the explicitly paranormal theme of the original, as well as the girl-on-girl bullying and the psychopathic mother. In my version, Carrie lives; marries her childhood sweetheart; internalizes all her rage and suffocates her power. Until the menopause – a topic which until recently has been largely misunderstood and taboo – at which point her power returns, and with it, a new kind of freedom. Freedom from the male gaze; from the responsibilities of motherhood; from the largely impossible expectations of society. Unlike puberty, menopause is triggered by a lack of certain hormones; and yet the symptoms can be just as dramatic and isolating. Loss of libido, exhaustion, depression, emotional outbursts as well as unpredictable and alarming hot flashes – my version of Carrie’s pyrokinesis. Whether my heroine’s powers stem from any kind of paranormal source is very much up to the reader to decide – after all, paranormal is only a step away from unnatural. And what counts as unnatural is in the eye of the reader – an eye that has been opened, I hope, to a series of new possibilities.

One is that rage is natural. Living in a patriarchy, women have a right to their rage. In fact, it seems more unnatural to me when women are not angry, given how much misogyny remains in our society. And growing old is natural. Being hormonal is natural. Differences are natural; so are disabilities. All women matter; whatever their age, or colour, or sexual orientation, or marital or reproductive status. The value of a woman’s life should not be defined by her popularity, or her age, or her looks, or her kids, or her value to the patriarchy. And no-one else gets to decide what a woman ought to be. A woman is not what, but who - a person, not an object; an active participant in her world. Women have lived too long behind the mask. They deserve their own stories. Stories in which they are allowed the full range of human possibility. So, to answer my mother’s question: Why are the women so angry?

Because it’s a superpower.

[npcemi]

The long road of how starting a fight with superman over clone parenting eventually lead to Danny Phantom become God Part 2:Danny's happy talk with Superman that definitely starts everyone off on the right foot

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47818321/chapters/120907324

“It's not right, Dad. Conner shouldn’t be treated like that,” Dani insisted, her eyes glowing fiercely.

“I couldn’t agree more, Dani but I’m not supposed to ‘interfere’ with the matters of ‘mortals’.” Danny responded remembering the latest lecturer he got from the observants. An intro into being one of the most powerful beings in the universe. All it really summed down to was hands-off until absolutely necessary. Being the King was way more boring than he expected.

Danny looked at Clockwork hoping they would side with him. Not wanting to draw attention to himself. He was almost ready to begin his senior year. He didn’t want to go near the JL, they could cause a lot of problems for Amity Park and him personally.

“I think a conversation could be good for both Conner and Kal-El.” Clockwork shifted into their young adult form with a grin. Danny narrowed his eyes, he knew when the Ancient was planning something.

“I guess I can have a talk with him,” Danny sighed as Danielle jumped up thanking him with a big hug.

The main members of the Justice League were called to a meeting by John Constantine. He wanted to discuss a potential threat to the supernatural from the US government. The members were hesitant to come to the meeting, however, after some convincing from Bruce that Constantine’s issue was legitimate they all agreed to come. John started his slideshow.

The topic was an intro to the supernatural and how we should leave it alone. There was a collective mirth among the attendees because anyone who knew the man knew that he could not leave well enough alone. It could be said that Constantine preferred to poke at the supernatural with a stick until something interesting happened.

“As you all know, after a ghost single-handedly took out hundreds of US government facilities and went with The Pandora to the US Congress to get them to not nuke the Infinite realms. A measure which only barely passed and still left corrupt laws and the government organization that was going to Nuke the realms intact.”

“And then they learned not to start dimensional warfare and ideally leave those threats to us, no big.” The flash interjected. Constantine pinched the bridge of his nose. They had a long way to go.

“Mate, it’s a big deal. Out of all the special entities they could piss off, they pissed off the one who should not under any circumstances even risk irritating the tiniest bit.” Before anyone could respond a new unfamiliar voice sounded from the other side of the room.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt your meeting, but I need to talk to Superman.” Everyone turned to look at the source of the voice. They saw a teen whose age was hard to place. He looked like he could be as young as fourteen yet somehow at the same time as old as nineteen. He had a soft glow to him. He had fluffy white hair and Lazarus green eyes. On his left arm, he had Lichtenberg figures racing up his left arm that were eventually covered by a black T-shirt with a green NASA logo, blue jeans, and Converse-style shoes where the canvas was green like the boy’s eyes and the rubber parts were black. Everyone was too focused on the boy to notice Constantine drop the cigarette from his mouth. His eyes were wide, his jaw slack, and his hands shaking. Superman got up to greet the boy and walked up to him.

“How did you get in here?”

“Portal, but that’s not important. We need to talk.” Superman grossly misinterpreted the Boy’s reasoning for needing to talk.

“I see, well I’m Superman, but you can call me Clark.” The man of steel shook the boy’s hand.

“I'm Danny Fenton, Phantom, Danny Phantom.” Danny was pissed at himself for that mistake. He never let the secret identity slip, of course, it had to happen in front of his heroes. Unfortunately, that slip-up confirmed Superman’s misconception.

“It’s always good to meet a new hero, I would be happy to help mentor you, there’s even a team of young heroes around your age I can introduce you to,” Danny held his hand up in a full stop motion.

“I don’t need a mentor, look Clark we need to talk.”

“Look kid, I know it doesn’t seem like it…” Danny pursed his lips and Constantine let out a desperate sound somewhere between a groan and a croak.

“Not a Kid…”

“Look, I know you think you’re mature at this age, but a new meta like you….”

“I’m not a meta, I’m a ghost, ya know dead and everything.” As Danny explained, Superman once again misinterpreted Danny’s intentions, also thinking this was some grand test Constantine organized.

“I see, so how did you die, who killed you and how can we help?” Superman said with undeserved confidence. Constantine finally out of his shock muttered a small desperate “Aww fuck.”

Danny’s reaction was almost unnoticeable except for a small flash of green in his eyes. Internally he had a flashback. The feeling of the electricity burning its way through his body tearing it apart. The pain of all his muscles being forced to contract. The smell of his flesh burning, the echo of his scream, the feeling of the wave of ectoplasm that tore him apart and reconstructed him cell by cell. The memories and emotions. How betrayed he felt that his parents left the lab unguarded and basically allowed him to die. His anger at them for having the on switch on the inside of the portal. The worry about if the portal out right exploded and hurt his friends and sister. The despair he felt that his life was cut short, how he would never become an astronaut. Never see Space. He relived all of this in an instant.

Danny grabbed Superman and threw him through the nearest wall in frustration. He took a second to look at the damage he caused. Glad it was only one wall that he threw the man through. He had finally gotten the hang of his power level, thankful for this new base form that limited his power.

“Ope, sorry about that, but Clark we really need to talk about your son Conner.” Superman picked himself up angry that this untrained meta kid lost his temper over something so stupid as a question as to how they could help him. Now the kid wants to talk about that thing Lex created.

“You mean the clone, that thing?” Superman asked, wondering when Conner had time to even talk to this new kid he never heard of before.

“Excuse you?” Danny said with a wave of sharp anger. He called a clone a thing. He called someone like his daughter, the most important person in the world to him. He called them a thing. Bruce was perceptive enough to see Danny’s rising anger. He attempted to tell Danny he had been working with Clark on how to work with Conner. The dark knight’s attempt to placate Danny failed.

“What do you mean excuse me, look I was violated and that clone is nothing but an imperfect reminder of that violation!”

“And your feelings are perfectly valid, but that doesn’t excuse you for treating Conner like shit.” Danny ground out.

“But watch yourself when speaking about the Mirror Born in my presence,” Danny warned as his voice now carried an unnatural echo. The Man of Steel scoffed at the term Mirror Born, did this kid really celebrate, perhaps even honor such violations of genetic autonomy? Clark was about to speak up before being interrupted by Constantine.

“Supes, please just shut the fuck…”

“Mind your own business, Constantine.” Superman ordered before turning to Danny.

“Look, kid, you don’t need to use some fancy new term to placate the feelings of those things, none of them are here. I need you to understand, I do tolerate Conner.” Danny’s mind boiled with rage. It was clear that he wasn’t going to get through to the man. He couldn’t even start the conversation properly. No wonder his daughter seemed so out of sorts. He only had two words to use to respond to the supposed hero.

“Fright Knight!” His order echoed through the realms as the massive black armored knight appeared behind Superman and sent the soul shredder through his chest sending him to the nightmare dimension before disappearing.

The justice league didn’t know what happened. All they knew Danny did was something to Superman, so they all attacked. Well, everyone except Dr. Fate, Shazam, Constantine, and Zatanna. Danny casually evaded all of their attacks, not even the Flash using his speed could touch Danny despite the Flash feeling like he was still faster than the boy. Danny kept this up for ten minutes before ordering the Fright Knight once again.

Superman popped back into existence. Danny slammed Superman to the ground and released an ectoplasmic wave of energy that knocked all the other heroes back. With a foot on Superman's chest, he spoke his voice loudly echoing through the room. If anyone was paying attention they would have heard a second almost feminine voice layering in over Danny’s.

“Listen to me closely Kal-El, you need to realize that the mirror born have their own life. Their own hopes, and fears. They could even be progressively aged faster, however, they still seek the same things any of us do. Love, acceptance, guidance, a sense of belonging are all they ask for from us.

I suggest getting a therapist to work through your issues, however, I will give you one month to begin to repair your relationship with Conner.” Danny then pulled a bunch of various pamphlets on top of Superman. They ranged from, ‘so you’ve been cloned’, ‘how to forgive a clone who tried to kill you’, all the way to ‘how to raise your clone as your own child’.

Danny then turned to look at Constantine, “It looks like you just started your lessons on dealing with ghosts.” There was a distinctive change in Danny, his eyes were the biggest change. The sclera was bright green and his pupils were the darkest black that Constantine had ever seen. It was like they had absorbed all light leaving nothing behind. Like endless black holes.

“John Thomas Constantine, ̸̢̪̉t̵͉̩͊̌é̴͚a̴͔̥͆̂c̸̪̳̔͝h̷̖̞̃̎ ̶̢͔̅͐ę̸̘̈́̕v̸̝͙̈̊e̷̗͚͋ṙ̴̞̜y̸͕̤̒ǫ̸͕̉̔n̸̯̄e̵̥̠̓͗ ̷̢̧̄h̸̟͗o̴̺̩̅w̷̝͌ ̵͚̈́́t̷̖̍̀o̵̠͝ ̴͖̍͠ͅp̸̡̞̎̌r̸̞̝͋͘o̶̎̎͜p̵̰̉ͅę̶̛̔r̸̦̻̂ļ̷̳̏ÿ̷̭̺́ ̵͚̗̅͘ŕ̶͎̇e̷̛̯͊s̸͔̃̄p̸͘ͅe̵̢̘̍ĉ̷̺̜̄ţ̷͗̕ͅ ̷̩͉͆t̸̥͔̔̐h̸̻̊e̴̝͘̕ ̸͉́͂ ̸͓̱͌́a̴̢̓n̶̺̺͂̋c̸̗͋͜ị̶̀̀ḛ̷̭̀͊n̷̳͍̾t̸͓̭͠s̷̩͆͛.

 I suggest you start with etiquette.” 

There was definitely another voice layered with Phantom’s, it was a feminine voice that was exactly a perfect fifth above Phantom’s own. Danny tilted his head and looked at the occultist with a grin that looked like a feral saber-toothed cat before disappearing. Constantine turned to look at Superman who was being helped to his feet by Wonder Woman and Batman.

“Clark how the absolute fuck did you manage to piss off the King of the Infinite Realms before we even sent a delegation to smooth things over with him, you absolute wanker!”

[naturegirl555]

Ranting about supernatural because I hate this show so so much (I’m so so obsessed with it to the point where it’s concerning) and I’m on season 6 episode 20 “the man who would be king” and can I just say how incredibly annoying the boys are! Like can you maybe hear cas out maybe! His reasons for doing these things aren’t malicious or demonic. He is fighting a war in heaven which they couldn’t give to shits about and now they are gonna be mad because he was MANIPULATED by crowley (I love the man but still) like can they use their brains for one moment. And I feel this may come off like I hate Sam and dean and I do not in any way they are very complex characters with trauma and trust issues but cas has done everything for them. He was trying to save them. He didn’t know the outcome. Like Sam and dean have never made a mistake before. Because I remember a couple seasons ago where Sam was going crazy gorging on demon blood because he thought he could do good with that power! So why be so hypocritical and get mad at cas in the way they did. And can we just talk about how broken cas looked when they trapped him in the holy fire! Like Sam said to him did you bring me back without a soul on purpose and his eyes god! Like in what world would castiel who saved you both from hell do that purposely! It was already hard enough to save dean it was a group project in a way he didn’t have help with Sam! And cas is also doing all of this because he thinks its what god wants. He is so blinded by his faith again because he got brought back to life. He had the idea that he was brought back for this reason and chuck did absolutely nothing because all he wants is drama and trauma for the collective and not caring about how his kids feel! Castiels faith breaks my heart because no one could understand it. Dean couldn’t and Sam couldn’t. Castiel has been an angel since the beginning it’s not so easy to give up everything you’ve ever known even when you know that it might not be the right thing. Was it easy for dean to see his father the way everyone else saw John. No. So why can’t it be difficult for cas. They truly never give cas a break. And yes I’m a major destiel shipper. But the way dean acts towards cas sometimes makes me so enraged. But this “breakup” dean looked heartbroken. Castiel had lied to him. Him of all people. The man who he had a profound bond with. He just wanted cas to ask for help and cas didn’t because he doesn’t do that. He’s never been not capable before things have never been this difficult for him before. And when you look at what castiel did there was truly nothing wrong with it. He was blinded and manipulated and he didn’t want all of the shit they endured to stop the apocalypse to be for nothing. He didn’t go to dean because he saw dean living a normal life he saw him getting out and he wanted to respect that. How could castiel have known dean wasn’t happy in that life. Castiel isn’t very good with human emotions and his thinking is very black and white while the winchesters have shades of gray thinking. So how is it fair to blame cas for all of it. I’m sorry about this rant i just feel so much about this! Like castiel is my favorite fictional character of all time and I wish I could’ve teleported into the show and been his lawyer because no one would listen to him no one ever does. I love all of them very very much but it would be dumb to think castiel doesn’t deserve better. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk about castiel. It may happen again

[pecanwriter]

Gluttony (WG story)

Themes: urban fantasy, supernatural creatures, rapid weight gain

Words: 1851

Part: 1/1

Gluttony. Lust. Greed. Wrath. Sloth. Vain. Pride.

“Is he the new one then?”

“I liked it better when we had the old Gula.”

“Nobody asked for your opinion now, have they?

“Siblings, please, calm.”

His eyes open for the first time and he sees that he is seated at a table. There are six others there, sitting around it in a circle.

He never saw them, he never saw anything before, but as he looks at them one by one he knows exactly who they are.

An androgynous person; perfect beyond belief, pale and white-haired and beautiful. They are naked; Luxuria. Lust.

Next, a man, dark-haired and dark-skinned, wearing a perfectly tailored suit, smiling widely. His teeth are bright white and his eyes gleam with ruthless sharpness; Avaritia. Greed.

Next to Greed, a woman. Gaunt, breathing heavily, eyes ablaze with fury, her red hair floating around her like a halo of fire; Ira. Wrath.

Next, a ragged man in a stained, threadbare shirt. He smiles lazily with a set of yellowish, uneven teeth; Acedia. Sloth.

Following him, an androgynous figure, as dark as Luxuria is white and equally beautiful. They are sitting perfectly still, all sharp cheekbones and a long, perfectly poised neck; Vanagloria. Vain.

Lastly, between himself and Vanagloria a tall woman, sitting straight as an arrow, her mouth pressed into a thin line, her green gaze daring and unyielding. She is wearing a suit as perfectly tailored as her brother’s; Superbia. Pride.

They are the Seven Deadly Sins. And he is one of them. He is Gula.

Gluttony.

“Welcome back, brother,” Pride says.

“What happened to my previous body?” He asks, lifting a hand to look at it.

Sloth snorts a laugh, sticking a greyish tongue out between his yellow teeth.

“Silence!” Pride snaps.

“You know we cannot tell you, brother!” says Wrath.

“Why are we here then?”

“Ceremony, of course,” Lust says rubbing their flat chest with long, slender fingers.

“Just making sure you go right back to work, brother dear.” Greed says, his bright smile wide and predatory “Just remember, brother.” Greed continues, his voice shooting right through Gluttony “You are not immune to your own power.”

“What does that mean?” He asks, but before Greed can answer, the table dissolves into mist, and his siblings disappear like snuffed candle flames.

Earth.

It felt like a thousand years since Gula’s last visit. He knew that his death and rebirth didn’t even last a second in the material universe, but he didn’t think he would ever get used to that. As usual, the feeling of not knowing what happened to his previous manifestation is disconcerting, but not enough to distract him from the overpowering urge to get back to work. Sensing a familiar stirring in his gut, he stalks down the street. A fat middle-aged man stood in front of a candy store, looking at the display with deep longing.

“You deserve a treat, Peter, you had such a long day at the office. And you’ve been so good with your diet! Mary surely wouldn’t mind if you just had a few caramels…” Gula whispers into Peter’s ear, looking at their reflections in the shop window. Peter’s is the only one visible.

Gula watches as the expression on the man’s face changes from longing to determination and he disappears inside the store.

Feeling rejuvenated and pleasantly tingly all over, Gula continues down the street, feeling the voices calling to him. Ah, how he missed working.

A boy stands on a doorstep, bearing a gift bag in his hands, gazing into it with a conflicted expression.

“Mom indeed gave you this to take to Andy’s birthday party, but surely Andy doesn’t need a toy, a chocolate and a whole pack of candies too, right? He will probably get so many sweets from other people anyway, the toy will be enough.”

He stays just long enough for the boy to stuff the candy into his pocket and tear it into the chocolate. The smell is enticing, almost enchanting to Gula, but propelled by his nature, he moves on to the next one.

He stopped by two women sitting in an outside area of a cafe. The older one is slim, stiff and superior, the younger fat, glorious and visibly enraged.

“Your mother will always be a hateful bitch, Carla.” He says, leaning over Carla’s chubby shoulder “She will never stop pestering you about your weight, so you might as well show her how little you care. Go on.” He urges.

“What can I get for you, ladies?” The waitress asks, approaching the table.

“Just black coffee for me.” Carla’s mother says, her smile as stiff as the rest of her.

“I will have…” Carla leans over the menu, her fat stomach pressing into the edge of the table “The chocolate Sundae, a wild berry milkshake and a lava cake.” She smiles sweetly at the waitress before shooting a satisfied smirk at her mother’s enraged, poorly subdued gasp.

“Nice work, brother mine.” Someone whispers into his ear and a shiver runs through him.

“What are you doing?” He asks, whipping around to look at Lust.

Luxuria points to another table where a pair sits elbow to elbow, pretending to be deep in conversation, but Gula sees that their hands are under the table and in each other’s pants.

“Leave me be, sibling,” Gula warns and Luxuria saunters away, leaning over the lovebirds and whispering into their ears.

The waitress appears, carrying Carla’s order and Gula’s stomach growls. Oh, how delicious that lava cake looks. Oh, how that milkshake calls him…

“Careful, brother mine,” Luxuria calls, but when Gula turns they are no longer there.

He turns back around and as the waitress walks by him he snatches the lava cake off the tray.

“Here you go…” She says, but then stops, examining the tray in confusion “I’m so sorry, I forgot your lava cake! I will be back in a moment.”

She scurries away but Gula doesn’t pay the woman any attention anymore, all he can think of is that glorious cake, dark and rich, with a dollop of whipped cream and three raspberries on top.

His mouth stretches inhumanly wide as he slides the entire thing into it. Gula chews and the taste explodes in his mouth. Sensations play a symphony in his mouth, making the entire physical plane shift.

Body ablaze, Gula stalks down the street, and suddenly every desperate need and yearning is amplified, every human longing for a sweet morale screaming at him.

“Do it, Anthony, what’s a few more pounds?” He whispers, snatching a piece of greasy, mind-numbingly delicious pizza as he walks by.

“Come on, Gretchen, you’ll start the diet tomorrow,” Gula says, grabbing a piece of a piping hot apple pie.

“Who is Doctor Amir to tell you four hundred pounds is too much? You’re just big-boned!” He laughs, snatching a piece of layered cake in every hand. He stuffs them both into his mouth at the same time, already moving on to the next one.

More, more, more.

He wants more, he can feel it all. They want it, every single one of them wants it with such deep, unyielding desperation.

But none wants it as much as he does.

His gluttony is rivalled by no man. He isn’t gluttonous. He is Gluttony.

It is not coming to him, it is coming from him.

His gift for humanity.

Gula stalks down the streets, tempting human beings everywhere. In every city, in every town, every country.

Everywhere.

The more he tempts the bigger his hunger, it overpowers him. Soon, he doesn’t stalk down the streets, he walks. Sooner still, he waddles, swollen and overfed, but still wanting more. His jaw constantly working; chewing, stretching, ingesting.

“You…want… it…” He pants into the ear of a man staring at a hot dog stand.

Gula has grown too enormously fat to say more than that, the accumulation of lard pressing on his lungs too much to speak. Still, he grabs two hot dogs from the stand and stuffs them whole into his mouth.

He waddles down the street, gasping for air, the enormous rolls of fat covering him swaying with the movement. His gigantic gut almost dragging on the floor in front of him.

“You fool!” He hears a sharp bark of laughter.

Avaritia stands in the street, almost melting into the group of businessmen talking loudly next to him.

“What… do you… want… Greed?” Gula pants, snatching a massive burger out of a woman’s hand. He inhales it whole and the additional weight of it is the tipping point. His body grows too enormous to support itself and he falls, the impact shaking the street and sending shockwaves across the fatty expanses of his flesh.

“I told you, brother.” Greed says, walking over to stand over Gula. “You are not immune to your own power. Once you taste human food it’s already too late.”

“What happens now?” Gula demands.

“Here.” Greed laughs, snatching a chocolate cake from a nearby vendor and placing it on top of Gula’s enormous mountain of a stomach. “Enjoy it before He comes.”

“Avaritia!” Gula bellows, but his brother is gone.

Unable to move, trapped under his flesh, Gula reaches for the cake. He can barely grab it, but he is determined to consume.

“Hello, cousin.” An oddly neutral, flat voice says and, out of the dark corner of the street, He steps out.

Gula swallows, his enormous chins shaking with the movement.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, already knowing the answer, but unable not to ask. This is how it must go. This is how it goes every time. He’s starting to remember. And with that memory arrives the knowledge of what comes next. Gula shutters, wanting more than anything to run, but he’s trapped. The enormous body overflowing with fat is too heavy even for his otherworldly powers to control

“I am the Eldest.” says He, hovering in closer.

“Must you do this?”

“You’re unable to perform your duties, thus you must be remade to begin anew.”

“Why do I have to forget every time? If I remembered maybe I wouldn’t let the human food tempt me…”

“Such is your fate, Gula.” says He, now hovering over Gula. He’s so close His cold, freezing breath wafts over Gula’s face.

Such is your fate.

You are not immune to your own power, brother.

He understands.

He is Greed and Greed is him.

As He moves in, outstretching a black-fingered, skeletal hand towards him, Gula stuffs the last piece of cake into his mouth. He won’t remember, but he savours the taste.

The black hand snatches and everything dissolves.

“Is he the new one then?”

“I liked it better when we had the old Gula.”

“Nobody asked for your opinion now, have they?

“Siblings, please, calm.”

His eyes open for the first time and he sees that he is seated at a table. There are six others there, sitting around it in a circle. They are the Seven Deadly Sins. And he is one of them.

He is Gula.

Gluttony.

[terror-slut]

Please write some 001 fanfics!

Change of Heart

Chapter 01/?? Click HERE for this fic’s masterlist!

Reader is a troubled pediatrician at Hawkins lab when she crosses paths with this lovely orderly. Nothing will stand between Peter and his revenge. Not even really pretty distractions.

Pairing: Peter Ballard x f!reader

Word count: 1117

Ratings & warnings: SPOILERS, period typical sexism, violence, blood, NSFW, swearing, no (Y/N), no described defining features for reader. Ratings may change as chapters are added.

A/N: your wish is my wish as well my command!

She doesn’t talk much.

Not to her colleagues, at least. She speaks with dr. Brenner because she answers to him and she speaks to the children when they need her.

But not to the other doctors and nurses, not to the other orderlies. Not to him.

It has never bothered Peter before. He doesn’t need her, has no reason to let her live when his plan eventually comes to fruition. In his mind, she is just like everyone else who works at Hawkins Lab. Another mindless sheep pretending to care for the children, but in reality only interested in prodding their supernatural brains in the name of science and a paycheck at the end of the month.

Eat. Sleep. Work. Reproduce. Die.

It was stupid of him to let her become a distraction. He should have killed her when he had the chance.

“Peter,” one of the kids in the rainbow room groans to him, tugging on the spotless white sleeve of his uniform.

He crosses eyes with little 015 when he looks down, the boy looks paler than usual and his lips are chapped. The kid’s eyes are watery and his nose runny.

“I don’t feel so good, Peter.”

Alec locks eyes with him and then nods, signaling that it’s fine, under the illusion that he can handle these kids on their own while Peter is away.

“Come with me, 015. The doctor will make you all better.”

A disheveled mess greets the pair when he and 015 arrive at the sick bay, something that he’s not used to from the Hawkin’s lab pediatrician.

Though usually neatly put in a tight bun, her locks now tumble in unkempt tresses down her face and deep, purple circles have appeared under her eyes. It is out of the ordinary and bound to capture Peter’s attention.

“015 is not feeling good,” he states the obvious, expecting her to ignore him as she usually does. When her eyes find his deep blue ones before they wander off to 015, his interest is piqued once again.

Something is off, which meant the puzzle pieces could change and be rearranged. Peter always keeps his eyes open for little shifts in the matrix that could mean he has to change his initial plan. Has the doctor’s obvious distracted state any real meaning to him? Could and would she form a problem?

Peter watches as she sits the kid down in her office, producing a penlight and has him follow the light for her.

“Does it hurt anywhere, 015? Do you remember when it started?” She asks him, squatting in front of the kid so that they’re at eye level.

“I’ll come back later to pick him up,” Peter says, but before he can make his way out of her office and back to the rainbow room, she calls after him. Knitting his brows together in amusement, he turns around on his heels to look at the doctor.

“Yes?” His hands are folded neatly behind his back, ever the friendly, harmless orderly. She’s at least a head smaller than he is.

“I know we’re not supposed to intervene with the kids. And I’m not asking you to,” her eyes dart around the hallway. He wonders what she has to hide. “But tell dr. Brenner if you see any of the bigger kids picking on the smaller ones. I’ve had too many kids in here with nosebleeds that didn’t stem from their powers.”

“Why?” He asks. Not why should he tell dr. Brenner. He understands her motivation behind that. But why him? Why can’t she tell Brenner herself? Unlike Brenner and himself, she has always been on good terms with the man. What happened?

“I…” she hesitates, worrying her lip between her teeth as he looks down upon her. “You seem like a good guy, Peter. You’re here every day, you spend every waking moments with these kids. I know you care for them. Please?”

Please.

Please? Fuck.

If Peter was the person she assumed he was, good and kind, maybe he would fulfill her request. But he is far from that person and she must surely be delusional to think he cared. The only person Peter looks out for is number 001, and that meant that drawing attention to himself would only make dr. Brenner suspicious of him. He could and would not risk it, not even when she asks him so prettily.

“I’ll be back for him. After dinner,” she looks dejected, but it doesn’t matter to Peter. The clicking of his shoes on the tiles announce his retreat.

With a disappointing huff she watches the lean orderly go before turning back to 015 with a fake smile plastered on her face.

“Alright, kid. Let’s get you all better.”

It’s long after dinner when Peter makes his nightly rounds around the lab, enjoying the peace and quiet, free of the chatter between doctors that could be heard during the day. It’s moments like these Peter enjoys most. The deathly quiet where he can take a moment and think.

Back when he had just been assigned the job of an orderly, he used to take these moments and try as he might to rekindle his power. Every night for days, weeks, months he tried, until he had no choice but to accept that the blocker in his neck did it’s job. There was no way around it.

Later, he took these moments to order his thoughts and form a plan. An escape plan that not even dr. Brenner could see coming. He would be sure to make them all pay, Martin Brenner the first to atone and the last to die.

Nowadays, he saw these quiet moments as the calm before the storm. Much like a spider, he shakes his long limbs loose and his mind wanders off to a place he’d be able to call home. Somewhere he could be well and truly alone.

“For fuck’s sake!” Peter’s head snaps up at the muffled cussing coming from behind a closed door. His body stiffens and his breathing becomes steady like an animal ready to pounce on it’s prey.

Seconds pass like rain droplets joining a winded river as he waits for another sound.

Suddenly, a door on his left flies open and he has his hand halfway lifted before cursing dr. Brenner and his idiotic power blocker.

To his surprise, it’s not one of the other staff members on duty, or even one of the kids.

It’s the pediatrician.

And she’s not wearing her lab coat or her white pants, either. She’s wearing a pastel nightgown. His hand falls, in sync with her face when she notices him.

“Peter?!”

“Doctor.”

A/N: well, that’s the end of chapter 01! If people enjoy it, I’ll definitely continue. I have a bunch of ideas for this pair and I love getting in Peter’s head to discover his motivations etc. Also lmk if you want to be tagged for future chapters!

[rc-writes]

Hello! Wanted to start of by saying that ur account is so adorable!

But I was wondering if you would read something fluffy for Ethan Morgan (my boy deserves more love & attention from the fandom)

I don’t have an exact prompt but maybe, like it’s their first date as a real couple or something thats just super fluffy!

Thank you again!

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬 & 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙨  |  𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙢

pairings: ethan morgan x reader

warnings: reader is mentioned to have helped the rest of the gang with supernatural events, geese are present, possibly a grammar mistake here or there (please let me know if you see any)

a/n: hi! thank you so much!! i spent forever editing everything so it makes me so happy that people actually like it! and thank you for sending this request in, sorry it took forever for me to actually write it :/ but anyways, i hope you like how i went with this!! also there's a second a/n at the end btw

“Ethan, you really didn’t have to do this.” You and Ethan stood with arms linked in line to get into one of the few fancy restaurants in Whitechapel. You both were only standing in the entrance area but you could still see how beautifully laid out the place was. White tablecloths and sparkling silverware sat upon each table, soft string lights hung from the ceiling, and low music played. “I do appreciate it, I really do, but you don’t have to spend this much money on me.”

“We’ve been officially… together,” He spoke as if it was still so shocking to him. “For almost two months now and for once there’s no monsters or ghosts attacking. I wanted to give you the nice and calm date you deserve.”

You blushed slightly and began to explain that as long as you were with him any type of date would have been perfect when the man at the hostess stand started talking.

“Do you two have a reservation?” 

“Yes, I reserved a table for two.” Ethan answered. “It should be under the name Ethan Morgan.”

The man nodded and began tapping on a computer screen to look up the name given in their system. After a bit too long of silence the man looked up, seemingly annoyed by something. “That name is reserved for the 20th, it’s the 15th.”

“Oh, uh… sorry about that.” Ethan stuttered, embarrassed. “I guess I must have told you guys the wrong date.”

“Appears so.” The man spoke in a deadpan voice, he didn’t have time for this. 

“Saying the wrong date, must happen all the time, right?” You tried to ease the awkwardness with a joke.

The man seemed to hold an even more annoyed look now. “No. Now will you please move on, there are many others behind you with actual reservations for tonight.”

A few awkward smiles and nods later you and Ethan were out the door and halfway down the street. Your arms were still linked but neither of you said anything until you made it around the corner.

“I’m so sorry Y/n for messing the dates up.” Ethan finally spoke. “We’ve been through so much weird and awful stuff this past year and I wanted to give you one nice day. I completely understand if you want to just go home and forget this ever happened.”

You immediately stopped in your tracks causing Ethan to stop as well and you moved to stand in front of him. “Ethan, it really isn’t that big of a deal. You don’t have to feel bad about making an honest mistake. The fact that you went out of your way to make a phone call to reserve us a table is enough to show me that you care.” 

Now Ethan was taken aback. “You're not mad I messed up your day?”

You laughed at his sincerity. “Of course not E! And you didn’t mess up my day in any way. As long as I'm with you it’s a perfect day. Well, maybe if there’s not some ancient spirit or something involved.” 

Ethan laughed at the reference to the event that took place just the week before. “So what would you like to do now?”

You thought about the options for a moment. At first you thought about just watching a movie, but since Ethan insisted on having an actual date you had to think of something else. “Maybe we can spend the day at the park? It’s only a block away and I heard they put in feeder machines where you pay a few cents to feed the geese.”

The smile on Ethan’s face vanished the second you said the word “geese”. “Uh, how about something else?”

A slight smirk began to appear on your face as you removed your arm from Ethan’s and crossed them over your chest. “Are you afraid of geese? You’ve fought evil vampires and spirits but you're afraid of a few geese?”

“Vampires and spirits have weak spots and can have some sense of humanity. Geese just permanently have murder on their mind!” 

You laughed at his choice of words. “I can agree that they do look and act like that sometimes, but if you move slowly and calmly they won’t be as reactive.”

“Since when were you a geese expert? And we’re not exactly dressed for the park.”

You laughed once more. “Says who?” You then grabbed his arm to start quickly walking to the park.

Sure enough once you both arrived at the park you spotted about two dozen Canadian geese wandering around in one big group.They were all standing within a few feet of the new feeder machines, they must have already figured out that’s where the food was stored.

“Oh look there’s babies!” You pointed out to Ethan and then began to quickly but calmly make your way to the feeders.

And while the baby geese were quite cute the fact that there was a very protective mama goose nearby made the whole situation even more terrifying for Ethan. Despite how many times you insisted that he would be alright, he insisted on staying a good distance from the geese. He wasn’t exactly okay with you approaching them on your own. That’s why he decided to hold a handful of feed just in case if they started attacking he could throw it to the side in hopes of changing their focus. 

But the geese never did attack, they actually seemed to like you, or at least like the fact that you were giving them food. One brave baby goose even decided to slowly approach you. While being very aware you were being closely watched by the mother goose you slowly crouched down and slowly held your hand out for the baby. It didn’t hesitate to walk forward once the food was in sight.

Ethan watched from the sidelines in awe, he couldn’t believe what was happening in front of him. He’s seen you fight off vampires, spirits, and everything in between, but the fact that you were fearlessly feeding a swarm of geese seemed so impossible. Either you walked out of a Disney movie or these were the nicest geese known to man.

“Come one, I promise it’ll be alright!” You called out to Ethan. And after a few moments of hesitation he finally decided to walk, very slowly, in your direction.

“Holy crap I’m standing in the middle of a swarm of geese.” He breathed out once he was next to you, if he was any closer you would be holding him. One goose moved closer to him in search of food to which Ethan haphazardly threw the bird feed, still in fear of them getting too close.

“You don’t have to throw it. If anything, throwing food around makes them more crazy.” You pointed out. “Here, let me show you how to hand feed them.”

“What?” Ethan croaked out before you pulled him down with you to sit on the ground. 

You poured a bit of food in his hand and then slowly began to hold it out. “Just hold your hand out and they’ll care more about the food than wanting to attack you.” You reassured. “Though they might accidentally bite your hand.”

“What?” Ethan’s eyes went wide in fear at your attempt at reassurance. He then began to giggle when one goose started eating out of his hand. “Actually it kind of tickles a bit.” 

After that Ethan wasn’t as afraid of the geese as he was before. And after a short time you two both ran out of change to buy more feed and began making your way back home.

“You know I’m kinda glad you reserved the wrong date.” You admitted as you and Ethan walked hand in hand on the sidewalk.

“Happy to know my terrified state made you happy.” Ethan joked.

“I can’t lie, it was kinda funny.” You laughed to which Ethan softly nudged your arm. “But I think I liked the joy on your face once you weren’t afraid either.”

2nd a/n: wanted to put this in a second a/n so i didn’t spoil anything. but this is half inspired by the fact that a few years ago when i went camping with some family there were geese around. and while everyone else kept their distance i managed to have one baby goose walk right up to me and eat out of my hand. it’s parents stared me down the entire time but i was so amaze it even walked up to me to care lol. also i can definitely see ethan telling benny all about the geese and genuinely not believing it until the reader reassured it actually happened. though even then I don’t think he’d fully believe it lol

[cam-ulu29]

y’know, we could have had a gay supernatural ship if you guys hadn’t hivemind hyperfixated on Destiel. Jensen? never gonna let his straight character get thrown to the rabid fans. Jared? Would have marched straight (haha) onto set and demanded to establish his bi character’s little bi-ness. Sam with his ‘I just want to be normal’ storyline. Sam ‘I experimented in college’ Winchester. Sam with his ‘even that young, I knew’ and JARED, the fucking lgbt ACTIVIST, would have been thrilled to do it. But noooo, you saw the straightest white boy ever and had to go after him.

What chemistry do they even have? All they do is stare into each other’s eyes, and that’s because Castiel doesn’t know how to people and Dean don’t back down from a good staring contest. Give me Sam and Cas, when Cas almost killed Sam and then told him his life was too precious and he was worth more. Sam who fell in love at first sight and constantly sought Castiel’s approval for seasons after. Sam and Cas, with their shared Lucifer trauma. Cas, who came looking for righteousness among men and found it in the man he didn’t expect. Sam who smiled at his little dorky moments and encouraged him when he tried something new, who trusted him about Jack, cried when he died, and never took him for granted.

[jensenackleswifey]

Don’t Ever Let Me Go

Supernatural Fic

Summary: While hunting a Crocotta, you discover someone is alive who should've died 10 years ago.

Notes: Blood, violence, gore, death, anxiety, angst (?), italics are thoughts about the past

"I think it's a Crocotta." Sam says from the seat next to me. "The phone calls from their loved ones before their deaths even though the victims’ families claim they didn’t... it’s the only obvious option."

Dean and I agree as Sam's phone rings.

"Agent Stiles."

I can hear a slight murmur over the phone, but I can't quite make out what is being said to Sam.

"Mhm... Yes, we'll be right there... Alright, thank you."

As soon as the beep of the disconnect is heard Sam announces that there has been another murder.

We all get in the Impala and head towards the latest crime scene to talk to the witness.

As we get there the body is getting wheeled into the coroners’ van and Dean stops it to check the deceased as Sam and I go up to the Sherriff

"Victims name is Lily Moonarch. She just dropped dead, same as the rest of them."

Sam replies, "Interesting. Any ideas yet?"

"Fourth victim and we're still stumped."

"You said there was a suspect?" I questioned as Dean rejoined the group.

"Yes, she was on the phone to the victim when she died." Dean and I shared a look, thinking back on what Sam had said back at out motel. "It's our only lead so we think she might have something to do with it."

"Okay well what's the suspects name, we'll head over first before you guys if that’s alright?" I ask at the same time as Sam appears at my side.

"Yes of course, her name is Phoebe Y/L/N"

Both Sam and Dean look at me wearily and I feel my stomach drop and my heart goes to my throat.

Sam is asking for her address, but my ears are ringing and everything seems muffled. I can barely breathe, and I can hardly feel Deans hand linked with mine, dragging me away back to the car.

Phoebe Y/L/N. Phoebe. Pheebs. My younger sister. My younger sister who died over 10 years ago when a demon killed my entire family while I was on a playdate. She was only 6 and I was 12.

"Mum! Dad! I'm home!" I yelled as I walked in through the large white door.

I heard no response, so I yelled out again but still, no one responded.

'Maybe they're asleep' I think to myself, so I walk up the stairs, but I stopped dead in my tracks when I see a bloody, red handprint smeared on the door of my parents’ bedroom.

"Mum?" I say anxiously awaiting her response.

I didn’t hear anything, so I push her door open very carefully. The scene before me is something no 12-year-old should see. Her parents dead on the bed in a pool of blood. A knife in her dad’s abdomen with his own hand wrapped around it. Her mothers throat slit. Blood splashed all over the room, the stench making me want to throw up. With tears streaming down my face I run out the bedroom and into my sister’s room, but I was too late to her as well. As I step in their room, a man is standing over her tiny bed with these hands around her neck, choking her. When the man looks over at me, he smirks, and slowly walks over to me, his eyes glowing red and he slams the door shut with just his mind.

"What are you doing here you sweet, sweet child?"

His smirk grows wider and so do my eyes as he continues making his way to me, but I can’t move. It's like I'm stuck in the mud, no matter how hard I try I just can’t move.

As I've accepted the fact that I can't go anywhere, that this is the end the door bursts open again, and a tall figure stands in the door, and I hear a shot.

"It's going to take a lot more than that to kill me, John." He drags out the man’s name, almost like he shouldn’t know what his name is but does anyway.

The man screams but no sound comes out, all that does come out is a long line of black smoke. The man- John, picks me up and runs outside and puts me in the car next to another boy who looks around my age and he runs back inside which I later found out was to double check that my family is in fact dead.

"Hi, I'm Dean and this is my brother Sam." Says the boy in the front seat.

"Y/N" I say through sobs.

"Y/N, Y/N, Y/N"

I jump up from the back of the same Impala I was in those 10 years ago.

Sam is looking over at me from the front seat and Dean is looking down at me on his lap with a worried look.

"We're 5 minutes away from Phoebes house."

I just look at him and give a late responded nod.

You can tell that the brothers are worried about me by the way they keep looking at me every couple of seconds.

When we pull up, I'm frozen in place, just like that night a decade ago but this time I have the help to pull me out of my trance. Dean puts his hand on my thigh.

"Y/N... Sam and I can do this on our own if you'd like? You can stay in here and-"

"No. I want to come. I need to see if it’s actually her." I interrupt.

"Okay."

We get out of the car, and I adjust my pants and suit jacket and wipe off the remaining mascara on my face and smile at the two brothers in front of me.

"Let's go."

As we're walking up the stairs in silence my mind is running wild with thoughts of what could happen. What is she's a vampire? What if it's someone else just with the same name? What if she doesn’t know who I am? I try to keep my heart rate normal and my breaths even but the longer we walk up these stairs the more worried thoughts are running through my mind.

When we get there both the boys give me a questioning look and I nod.

Sam knocks on the door, "FBI open up."

Phoebe opens the door.

"Is this about Lily?"

I stand there shocked, and Dean subtly holds my hand.

Before I can stop myself, I blurt out. "Pheebs?"

She finally makes eye contact with me, confused.

"No-one has called me that in years."

Sam puts his hand on my shoulder as a warning to stop and slow it down.

"It’s me Phoebe. Its Y/N."

"That can't be possible. The real Y/N died 10 years ago.”

"We were told you died 10 years ago." Dean told her.

"How about you come inside."

We all go inside, and Phoebe makes us all a tea and I pretend to not notice the holy water she boils for the drinks, and I sit down on her grey sofa in between Sam and Dean.

We sit in a semi-awkward silence until Phoebe hands us our holy tea and waits for us to drink it before continuing the conversation.

When there is no reaction to the holy water, a look of relief washed over her face.

"How are you alive?" Dean asked, almost accusatory.

Phoebe looked taken aback as she answered "I don't know. Just one day I woke up in my childhood home, cops everywhere. They told me my whole family were killed and my sister was missing, presumed dead. I went into a foster home and as soon as I hit 18, I moved in with Lily."

"So you have no idea how you go bought back?" Sam asked, sounding more sympathetic than his older brother did.

"Maybe she never died to begin with?" Dean suggested.

"But she couldn't have. I watched her die and John went and confirmed that they were both dead." I still remember the feeling of watching my baby sister die and never getting answers for it. Why did it happen? Who did it? I'll never get those answers, but it doesn’t matter anymore because my little Phoebe is alive.

"What about Lily?" She said, tears returning to her eyes. "Is it something supernatural? Is that why you’re here?"

"We think so." Sam replied.

I zone everything out after that. Looking around her little apartment. Her cat and the detailed drawings on the walls, she always was a good drawer, and the pink accents in her decor, pink is still her favourite colour. Everything is so normal compared to what I was expecting. I think I was expecting her to be a lot like me. A hunter trying to find out what happened all those years ago but she somehow managed to not get involved in this life and hopefully we can keep it that way by not getting her too involved in this job.

"Thank you for your time, Phoebe, we should get going." Dean says, putting his hand back on my thigh.

Sam and Dean stand up as I sit still, watching Phoebe.

Dean holds his hand out to me, and I accept it, getting to my feet and giving Phoebe a tight-lipped smile, still holding Deans hand hard.

"If you notice anything else strange, don't hesitate to call us," Dean hands her his FBI card. "We will call you with any updates as well."

"Thank you, guys."

As we're all walking out the door, I feel a cold hand grab by arm, and I turn around.

"It's good to see you again." Phoebe says and she pulls me into a tight embrace as I drop Deans hand. "I wanted to give you my number, maybe we can try and get to know each other properly."

"Of course, I would love that Pheebs."

A single tear falls from her eyes as I hug her again, never wanting to let go.

This could have a part 2 possibly

[maria021015]

Part 30 of me trying to convince you to read my Stiles x oc fanfic using dialogue from ‘Rising Tides’.

Stiles: (excitedly) You work in a Candy Shop!That is so cool!

Zaida: (dryly) Hi there, boys. What brings you here?

Stiles: Oh, nothing. We were just hanging out at the mall, you know? Doing some shopping, trying on some dresses- uh, clothes! I meant clothes. Fancy seeing you here!

Zaida: Uhuh, and you two just wanted some candy, right? This surprise visit has nothing to do with the fact that Lydia told you I work here now?

Stiles: Whaaaaat…? No, of course not. (turns to Scott) Did you know Zaida worked here? Because I didn’t know she worked here.

Zaida: Stiles, cut the crap. I know she told you. And you know I’m grounded. I’m only allowed out of the apartment for work, and if Xander catches wind that you’ve come to visit me, he’s going to make me quit. The only reason he let me get this job - other than the fact that I literally begged him for it - is because he thinks it means I’ll make more friends. Non-supernatural friends, because he’s banned me from seeing you, remember?

Stiles: I am being discriminated against, I tell you. And since when have you done what Xander wants?

Zaida: (sarcastically) Ahh yes, the crippling oppression of the straight, white, male population is really working against you here, Stiles. I have to do what he wants, or he’s going to sell the apartment and move us back to San Francisco.

Stiles: Ahh, but you forget, I am also neurodivergent. And he’s totally bluffing, by the way. You said he’s been working towards being a deputy for years, he wouldn’t give that up and jeopardise the trajectory of his career just to keep you away from a harmless friend. You’re the supernatural one in this relationship. My dad should be trying to keep me away from you, not the other way around.

Zaida: If your dad knew what I am - and what Scott is - he definitely would be keeping you away from us.

Stiles: (snorts) Nah, there’s no way. My dad likes you guys more than he even likes me. Which should really bother me more than it does, you know?

Zaida: Stiles, I’m working. You need to leave.

BONUS

Stiles: See, I told you she’s mad at me!

Scott: That seemed like a completely normal conversation.

Stiles: Seriously? You didn’t notice how she wouldn’t look me in the eyes? Or how she kept fiddling with things to avoid paying attention to me? Or the glaringly obvious way she just kicked us out?

Scott: I don’t know man…

[whorrorgrl]

Good for Her?

I love a good Good For Her movie. The Other Woman is one of my favorites. Gone Girl, Kill Bill, Midsommar (even though I’m now realizing that’s a white supremacist cult), Gerald’s Game, and even Ready or Not are ones I really enjoy. When it comes to horror, I have a few. These are not only about the justice the women deserve after being wronged, but it makes you deeply think if the ending is really a satisfying one. 

Trigger Warning: SA or implied SA.

GOTHIKA (2003)

Starring the iconic and beautiful Halle Berry, this 2003 film ages so beautifully. It follows a psychiatrist Miranda Grey who clocks out one night at the mental institution she works at only to wake up in psychiatric hold, her husband brutally murdered, and she the main suspect. Only, she remembers nothing of the night she supposedly killed her perfect husband and cannot even think of why she would ever do that to the man she loved. But no one believes her. She begins to suspect a vengeful spirit that haunts and torments her is connected to it all.

I’ve watched this movie multiple times and there is always something new you discover that you didn’t before.  Miranda is a very unreliable character, so what she remembers and knows is all we can really go off of...which isn’t much. Throughout the movie, she’s gaslighted by doctors and nurses she once called friends and tormented by a mysterious spirit with no real answers. But the more she digs into who would’ve wanted her husband dead, the wilder the story gets. This movie shows how psychiatric patients are viewed on both sides of the table and it’s really heartbreaking, especially with the context of sexual assault.

My favorite aspect of the movie was how Miranda’s relationship developed with Penèlope Cruz’s character Chloe Sava. As Sava’s psychiatrist, Miranda wasn’t fully able to understand the weight of the words Chloe meant and had casted her off as crazy.  But after her husband is murdered and she’s thrown into the same facility as Chloe where these women are being abused, she finally sees. She is now no different that Chloe, both women screaming for their own truths to be heard by those who won’t listen...not in the way that they should anyway. Overrall, the supernatural aspect of the move made it ten times better. It would’ve been amazing without it but it’s like the final spice in the pot to make the whole meal come together. 

SUCKER PUNCH (2011)

Suckerpunch is a gem. It’s not so hidden. It’s talked about from time to time so people know about this amazing movie. But I’m still not satisfied with the level of praise I think it deserves. I personally believe it should have the very same cult following Jennifer Body rightfully gets. Like JB, Suckerpunch was promoted to boys as a sexy action movie instead of what it truly is, a psycological/fantasy dealing with trauma. There’s some actiom of course, but Psycological. Fantasy. Not much horror but I still want to add it to the list.

Directed by Zack Snyder, it follows Baby Doll (played by Emily Browning) who is sent away to a mental asylum after her step father murdered her mother and sister and planted the crimes on a traumatized Baby Doll (there’s a pattern here, yall!). To make sure that the cops don’t question Baby Doll during the investigation, her step father pays off a grimey orderly Blue Jones (played by the sexy Oscar Issac) to forge the asylum’s psychiatrist’s signature to approve of a lobotomy. This inhumane procedure will be performed in 7 days, so that is the amount of time Baby Doll has to convince the other girls she meets at the asylum to help her escape, including perky Rocket and her reluctant sister Sweet Pea. In order to cope with the sexual abuse the girls go through in the asylum, Baby Doll builds a fantasy world where the asylum is instead a brothel and in order to get the tools she needs (a knife, fire, map, a key, and a sacrifice) has to distract whoever hold each tool. Where the doctor comes in seven days to lobotomize Baby Doll, in the fantasy world of the brothel it’s a high rolling John who’ll do some “cherry picking” on the newly orphaned, virgin Baby Doll.

This distraction of the brothel Johns and the workers lunges us into another fantasy world that mirrors the task at hand. In one, Sweet Pea has to copy the map in the office of the head of the brothel who parallels Blue in the asylum. Baby Doll dances to distract Brothel Blue who left his office. As she dances, the second world opens up. We are now behind enemy lines of World War I. Bombs detonate and magazines of bullets are released on each side of the battle as zombified men fight. Babydoll and her new friends are tasked to get behind enemy lines and retrieve a map. Whether or not they complete this mission reflects if Sweet Pea got the map from Brothel Blue’s office which definitely reflects if the map is also acquired in the asylum. My very guess is that this “dancing” she does is “sexual favors” in the asylum, the distraction needed to get the tools.

The action alone is amazing, so I see why they relied on it being the biggest thing the advertised, but it really did this movie a disservice. The story has layers so it won’t be seen on the first watch. It took me many watches to understand the complexities of the world within worlds, why they exist, and what certain things meant in parallel to each world. While I once watched it for the fun action, it became more sad, more soul-sinking. Even the ending I had to understand it was for the best of the character, despite it not being what we all expected it to. But it’s so beautifully sad, this bittersweet feeling. I might make an entire post talking the ending of it. One of my favorite movies.

SHUTTER (2012) (2003)

Shutter is very similar to Gothika. If it weren’t already a Thai remake of the same name, I would’ve assumed it was derivative of it. But it stands perfectly on its own. 

Shutter follows newly wed couple Jane and Ben, played by Rachael Taylor and Joshua Jackson, who relocate to Japan shortly after their wedding. Ben is a photographer at the school and had already worked at the school previously, so he has American friends there, Adam and Bruno. While driving, similar to Gothika, the couple a girl that walked out into the road. But when the frightened couple gets out to help the victim, she’s nowhere to be found. Over the following few days, Jane is haunted by a mysterious spirit that relentless harasses her to no end. The only way to see this spirit is to take pictures from a polaroid. This spirit has also shown up in her wedding pictures back in the states and now appears in every photo as a smudge that seemed like a printing defect. But Jane learns that these spirits show up in photos when there is an intense emotion attached to it, and the reason why is grim. 

I don’t remember how I discovered the movie but I’m glad I did. It seems like the typical movie like The Ring or Drag Me To Hell where an entity haunts the main character, there’s some research done in a library or a boxy computer, and then the evil is defeated through help. However, Shutter adds the same layer I love to all these movies where nothing is how it seems. This entity isn’t just some bored spirit that wants to pick on a newly wed couples. There is a reason.

Like Gothika, I loved the supernatural addition. It don’t hurt nobody to add in a demon, a vengeful spirit, or some gremlin running around an apartment building luring your kids to impending doom. Anything out of this dimensional world gets a gold star for me. Even in serious topics that’s more than just a family moving into a haunted home. Shutter does it perfectly. But like Suckerpunch, the ending is pretty sad. It still gives that Good For Her message, but…..is it really? I don’t want to spoil much of the ending, but is that really the afterlife we would want for Megume? Attached to a person that doesn’t deserve her time instead of moving on? 

 You can tell this movie came at a time where the cut and dry Evil Has Been Defeated movies they vomited out in the 2000’s were getting predictable and directors wanted to switch it up. I’m never big on adapting foreign films, especially when the Thai one was just as good, but I’m a little biased here since the 2012 version is the one I first saw. The 2004 Thai version is amazing and should be watched along with the 2012 remake. 

[rainbowinthedark98]

Chapter 2: Come Crawling

Chapter 1

Eddie had been watching from the woods the past two nights as Steve sat stone-faced on the long lounge chair, smoking a joint and dozing off. Steve had been good about putting the joint out before getting comfortable, but tonight he’d dozed off quickly after taking more hits than usual. The joint smoldered between Steve’s fingers, the cherry becoming precarious over his hand. Eddie quickly closed the distance between them, and snatched the joint from Steve’s hand. He stubbed the joint out on the ground, and quickly retreated. His new supernatural speed and agility allowed him to complete this feat in a matter of moments. Steve shot up, looking confused by the stubbed out joint. He then shuffled into the house, swaying lightly. 

Now, Steve snored lightly on the sofa where he was sprawled. Eddie clucked his tongue at the boy. “First you fall asleep with a lit joint, and now you fall asleep with the door wide open with an open gate in your backyard? Stevie, Stevie, Stevie.” Steve mumbled in his sleep, turning toward Eddie. “Morning, Big Boy,” he said, and Steve’s eyes opened drowsily. 

“Eddie? No, tha’s not right. Eddie’s gone. We weren’t fast enough. I’m dreaming,” Steve mumbled, rubbing his face and talking himself through the facts like he’d been doing for the last year.

“Sorry, Stevie, I may be the man of your dreams, but I am no dream. I’m here, and I need your help,” Eddie said, leaning over the back of the couch to stare down at Steve. He grinned, and Steve’s now wide-open eyes immediately zeroed in on the sharp fangs Eddie’s smile now showcased. Steve screamed. Eddie sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“Wha- what is going on?” Steve fell off the couch, and stood quickly, holding his hands in front of himself defensively. “Y-you were dead! We checked! And then when we went back for you, you were gone! We had a memorial, man! How? How are you here right now?” Steve demanded, becoming hysterical. 

“I was dead. Those bats did a number on me. Bled me out. But as it turns out, those bats had a venom in their fangs. I-”

“But I didn’t grow fangs! They tore me up too!” Steve interrupted.

“As I was saying, I died with their venom in my blood. Which is how I woke up with my new pearly whites and a sun allergy,” Eddie explained, exasperated. “Which brings me to you, Big Boy. I-“ Eddie was once again interrupted when Steve started crying. Actual sobs, giant tears rolling down his cheeks. “Hey, hey it’s okay, I-“ 

“So, what? You’re a goddamn vampire now? Is that what you’re telling me right now?” Steve demanded, and began pacing the living room. “You’ve been alive for a year? A fucking year! And now you’re a vampire, and- wait. D-do you… are you going to” Steve mimed a pair of fangs with his fingers and stabbed them toward his jugular. 

“If you would stop interrupting me for a minute, I’ll tell you what’s going on!” Eddie exclaimed, flopping onto the now-vacant couch. “Sit!” He ordered, and Steve immediately sat on the very edge of the recliner. “Yes, I am a vampire now. Yes, I drink blood to survive. No, I don’t kill people to do it. Don’t look at me like that, Harrington. You’ve got no idea of the hell I’ve gone through in the last year.” Steve quickly schooled his judgmental expression. Eddie was right, Steve had no idea what the past year had been like for Eddie.

“When I woke up in the street, all I knew was that I was so thirsty it hurt. I rolled over, and I was in a puddle of my own blood. I’d never smelled anything so good. I- I’m ashamed to say that I licked the fucking pavement. And then those goddamn bats showed up. I was so fucking scared, man. But they didn’t attack me. Just stared at me, like they were waiting on me. I was so thirsty, and my teeth hurt. I- I um, I grabbed a bat. It only struggled a little, but the others just watched while I drank its blood.” Eddie shuddered. “And then I was in excruciating pain, like I was biting myself. I let the bat go, and it just rejoined the group. 

“I didn’t know what to do, so I just kind of wandered around, and everywhere I went, the bats followed. Then, a few bats would take off, and when they came back, they were carrying small rodents from the Upside Down. They dropped them at my feet like offerings. I- when I drank them, it didn’t hurt. I drained like ten of those little creatures. My throat didn’t hurt so bad after that.” Eddie paused. “You okay, Harrington? Looking a little green around the gills,” Eddie asked. Steve looked sick. “Sorry. Fewer details from now on, promise.” When Steve nodded, Eddie continued. 

“As I kept walking, I felt stronger, faster. I could see everything. Before, I needed glasses. Never got any, but I knew I needed them. But now, I can see so far, all the little details. I can see each hair on your head from over here.” Eddie’s eyes became fixed on Steve for a moment before exhaling with a breathy laugh. ”Anyway. I kept walking through the Upside Down. Then I was attacked by this huge, nasty-looking dog-thing. Thought I was a goner for sure, but when it lunged for me, the bats swarmed it. Tore it to shreds, then dropped it at my feet. I flinched, and said, “I don’t want it. Get it away from me.” And Steve, they did. They all picked this beast up, and flew away with it, and when they came back, it was gone. They listened, Steve. Like I was their commander, or something.”

Steve slowly raised his hand like he was in class. Eddie chuckled, and nodded. “Yes, Steve?”

“The bats, they’re not here, right? Like they’re not in Hawkins, are they?” There was so much fear in Steve’s quavering voice. 

“No, Steve. Don’t worry, they’re safely tucked away in the Upside Down, waiting for me to come back,” Eddie assured him. Somehow, Steve’s face became even paler.

“You’re going back?” Steve croaked, staring directly into Eddie’s eyes. “You- you’ve been gone for a year, and you were just going to pop in, say “hi,” and disappear again?” Steve demanded, eyes full of sorrow and rage.

“I’m here because I need your help, Steve,” Eddie sighed, his gaze on the beige carpet. “The more I feed on the creatures in the Upside Down, the less human I feel. Like I’m losing myself. I was half-feral when I crawled through the gate in your pool. Luckily you weren’t out there when I did. I really did a number on the local fauna around here. The more I’ve fed on animals here, the more I felt like myself. My heart started beating again, Steve.” Steve was startled when Eddie was suddenly in front of him, grabbing his hand and holding it to his chest. Sure enough, Steve could feel Eddie’s heart beating, although markedly slower than his own racing heart. 

“What do you need me to do?” Steve whispered, looking directly into Eddie’s brown eyes, which now had scarlet rings encircling the irises.

***

“I wish this was the weirdest thing I’ve ever done,” Steve muttered as he spray-painted the small windows in the basement black. He and Eddie were working to sun-proof the basement so that he wouldn’t be burned to death in his sleep. 

“Hey man, at least we don’t have to drag a coffin down here. As cool as that would be, I’m glad it’s not a real requirement for vampires,” Eddie joked as he slid the pool table into a corner with ease. Steve’s face became grim at the thought of seeing Eddie in a coffin. “Sorry,” Eddie apologized softly. 

“It’s alright, just too real, you know?” Steve replied, placing a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “That should do it. Let’s go get the bed frame.”

“We can just put the mattress down, you don’t have to do all that,” Eddie began to argue.

Steve’s fists were on his hips when he turned to look at him. “Eddie, you’ve been sleeping god only knows where in the Upside Down for a year. The least I can do is bring a bedframe down here for you. Especially since you’re sleeping in the basement.” There was no arguing with Steve when he assumed the power stance. Eddie held up his hands in surrender, and followed Steve up the basement stairs, and into the first floor guest room.

Eddie let out a low whistle at the elegantly decorated beige room. It was spotless, and looked like no one had ever slept in it. “Entertain a lot of guests?” he chuckled, and Steve scoffed.

“Yeah right, my mom created this whole house from a freaking catalog. I grew up in a museum where I couldn’t touch anything, and wasn't allowed to sit on the sofa… stupid.” Steve had his fists on his hips again, and after a few moments with his eyes closed, he let out a huge sigh. Then he began stripping the unwrinkled bedding off the bed. Eddie moved beside him, and they flipped the full size mattress and boxspring up, revealing the black metal frame. Together, they hoisted the frame and moved toward the door. “Shit. This won’t fit through the door, it’s too tall. I’ll be right back,” Steve said, and began walking down the hall. Eddie followed, and Steve was startled when Eddie was suddenly by his side.

“Sorry, I’ve pretty much been alone for the last year,” the brunette mumbled, cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink, which made Steve’s brain short circuit a little.

“Oh, yeah, makes sense,” Steve said, and bumped his shoulder against Eddie’s. The duo then made their way into the attached garage, and Steve immediately went to a perfectly organized tool bench, which looked as though it had only been used a few times. “Shit, did you happen to see what kind of bolts were in that frame?” Steve asked, eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

“Uhh… I think they were like hexagons or something like that, Eddie said, drawing the shape in the air with his finger. “Like the ones that take the ‘L’ shaped tools?”

“Allen wrench!” Steve exclaimed proudly, snapping his finger into a finger gun at Eddie, who laughed at Steve’s exuberance. Steve moved to the toolbox under the workbench. After a bit of drawer opening, he held the pack of tools aloft in victory. Eddie’s chest warmed at the sight, and when Steve saw the soft smile on Eddie’s face, he found himself blushing furiously. Steve coughed, and quickly turned and went back into the house, and to the guest room.

It took a few tries to find the correct size tool, but once they did, the frame was quickly taken apart into two smaller, more manageable pieces, which they each carried down to the finished basement. Once the frame was put back together, Steve carried the boxspring, and Eddie carried the heavier, more unwieldy mattress down to the basement. A few more trips later, Eddie had his own bedroom set up, complete with fresh bedding, a nightstand with a lamp, and the boombox from Steve’s room.

Eddie flopped down onto the full size mattress, his feet hanging over the side. Steve flopped down beside him, and sighed. Then he immediately shot back up and onto his feet. Eddie was on his feet in an instant, in a defensive stance. “What?” Eddie demanded, eyes darting around the basement for a threat. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing! Sorry. I just remembered something. I’ll be right- actually, come with me,” Steve said, and Eddie rolled his eyes but relaxed anyway. Eddie followed Steve up the stairs to the second floor, and into Steve’s room. “Sit down and close your eyes,” he directed Eddie, who did as he was told, a sly smile on his face.

“Harrington, are you trying to seduce me or stake me?” he laughed, and Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up.” Steve laughed as he dug a box out from under his bed. He set the box in Eddie’s lap, and sat down beside him. “Okay, open it.”

Eddie opened his eyes, and carefully removed the lid from the white shoebox. Inside, carefully packed in alphabetical order, were all of Eddie’s cassettes. Some of the cases were cracked, but Steve had painstakingly taped them with clear tape. Eddie opened his mouth, but didn’t know what to say. 

“I um, I went back for them, after we couldn’t find you,” Steve explained sheepishly, cheeks burning. “Wayne has your guitar, and-” his words were cut off abruptly when Eddie wrapped him in a bone-crushing hug.

“Thank you,” Eddie choked out the words, eyes stinging with tears. When he tried to pull back, Steve held him even tighter. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back. I- I knew I was a monster. I couldn’t bear the thought of coming back and not being in control of myself. Of hurting Wayne. Or the kids. Or you,” he whispered the last bit, When Steve pulled back to look at his face, Eddie’s eyes were full of pink tears. “Don’t mind the bloody tears,” he choked out a laugh. “I don’t drink much water these days, anymore, so….” Steve nodded in understanding, and gently wiped the tears from Eddie’s face.

As they stared into one another’s eyes, Steve’s watch began beeping, breaking their trance. “Sun will be up in twenty minutes. Why don’t you go shower, and then you can get some rest,” Steve said, standing up from the bed. At Eddie’s nod, he began gathering some clean clothes for Eddie to sleep in, then went to the closet outside the bathroom, where he pulled out a towel, washcloth, and a new toothbrush. Eddie followed behind to the bathroom. “I’ll be right outside the door,” he assured Eddie as he closed the bathroom door. 

The water turned on a moment later, and another moment later, Steve heard Eddie let out a groan. “God, I missed hot water.” Steve slumped against the wall, and rubbed his face, then pinched his arm. The painful sting assured Steve that Eddie Munson really was not only alive (sort of), but he was currently showering a mere ten feet away. 

Steve’s watch beeped again, indicating that there was only five minutes before sunrise. The water cut off as Steve’s fist was a centimeter from knocking on the door. Eddie opened the door a moment later, toothbrush hanging from his mouth, hair rolled up in the towel on his head. He finished brushing his teeth, then towel-dried his curly hair before hanging the towel on the empty hook next to Steve’s towel. A huge yawn escaped Eddie’s lips, putting his fangs on full display. “Guess it’s bedtime,” he laughed, and Steve nodded.

“It is. Let’s get you downstairs before you turn extra crispy on me,” Steve chuckled.

“Why? Don’t think I’d be finger-licking good?” Eddie retorted, but his eyes immediately widened at the accidental double entendre. Stevechoked, laughing in shock. The whole exchange left them both blushing. Eddie cleared his throat, and turned to walk downstairs. Which is when Steve noticed that the sweatshirt he’d grabbed was actually his old basketball sweatshirt that had “HARRINGTON” written across the shoulders. Seeing Eddie in his clothes was already doing weird things to his brain, but seeing his last name on Eddie? His brain short-circuited. He managed to snap out of it, and followed Eddie down.

Eddie had already turned on the lamp, so Steve turned off the overhead light in the basement. Eddie crawled into the bed, getting comfortable before letting out a contented sigh. When Steve sat on the end of the bed, his brown eyes slid open. “Thank you, Steve. For… everything. I know this is a lot to take in, and I appreciate you so fucking much,” Eddie said, stifling a yawn.

“I thought you were gone for a year, Eds. Giving you a place to stay is not a big deal. If I would have known you were still alive out there, I would have-” 

“Been torn apart. By me or god only knows what. You kept living, like you were supposed to,” Eddie interrupted, voice quiet but fierce.

Steve was staring at his hands in his lap. “Speaking of things we’re supposed to do, I distinctly remember telling you not to be a hero. I-” Steve’s words were cut off by the beeping of his watch, which was accompanied a moment later by Eddie’s soft snores. His gaze softened, looking at the sleeping man. Sighing, Steve pulled the covers up to Eddie’s chin, then inspected the windows to make sure no sunlight was finding away inside. Then Steve settled into the leather armchair, and closed his eyes.

[gyokujyn]

Lost Boy!!

For WIP Game

This is a modern fantasy Supernatural AU set in a world where supernatural creatures are real, but rare. Sam went missing investigating a business where fake supernatural creatures of various kinds are being pawned off as real. Dean poses as an interested buyer to try to find his brother, but soon learns that some of the creatures of the menagerie are very real and very dangerous and the menagerie protects its own secrets, drawing Dean into a world he doesn't actually know how to escape from--a sort of Alice in Wonderland meets Dante's Inferno. Here's an excerpt from very early on in the story:

"Who are you looking for?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder at the voice, turning slowly to see soft, auburn hair spilling round a pale, trim face. Anna, he remembered, the one he’d been warned off of by Jessica. Hazel eyes, too big for her innocent face, stared up at him.

Surreptitiously, he glanced around, but they were alone in the gallery, “Sorry, what?”

“He said you were looking for someone, but he didn’t say who,” she started, quickly, hardly even stopping for breath as she glanced down, fidgeting with her fingers, “Well, no, he didn’t say that, exactly, he said, I mean, he doesn’t say much, but when he wants me to know, I do and he said, that he wants, I mean, what he wanted me to say was–” she paused, took a small breath, and looked back up into his eyes purposefully. “He wants me to tell you that you can find the man you’re searching for, if you’re brave.”

Dean blinked.

Had he been discovered?

Or, was this girl just bat shit fucking crazy?

He glanced around the room, again, sure that someone must be watching this exchange, biding their time to catch him exposing his real mission. But, save for himself and Anna, the gallery was empty, the doors still barred for the night. He found his eyes back on the girl, unsure and unsteady. Anna merely stared at him earnestly, blinking those huge eyes and waiting for him to respond.

A few more moments passed before Dean finally scoffed, “Who?”

It was as if a dam had broken, the words spilling out of her, “He didn’t tell me who–I mean, he didn’t tell me anything, but I heard him and I heard that you would find him. He was quite sure–you could find him if you were brave. That was very clear.” As if to underscore the point, she nodded.

“No, no,” Dean muttered, shaking his head, freckled brows knitting as he pinched the bridge of his nose and gathered his thoughts with a sigh, “I mean, who–I was asking who told you that?”

“Oh,” Anna said, simply. She looked over her shoulder with a tender smile. “He did.”

Dean followed her gaze to the far edge of the room, beside the main stage, where cold iron bars held the menagerie’s mute angel. Dean often forgot about him, still and silent as he kept. Even now, he stood in the center of his cage perfectly poised–like a statue–dressed as always in a white linen perizoma with the finest silver chain Dean’d ever seen wrapped around his waist. His chest did not rise nor fall with breath, his coal black wings pinched painfully between the floor and ceiling of his tiny cell, bent and stooped from strain. The pitch colored feathers pressed haphazardly against the wooden planks at his feet and stuck out of the bars that crossed over his head, as unruly and unkempt as the mess of almost-black hair atop his head. His hands made the only movement Dean could see, fists clenching and unclenching almost imperceptibly at his sides, blue eyes burning brightly straight through Dean. As Dean’s eyes met his blistering gaze, the angel tipped his head slowly to the side, like a bird. No, Dean thought, like a raptor. A bird of prey, in whose sight Dean was squarely caught.

Unbidden, a chill ran down Dean’s spine.

“So, who are you looking for?” Dean dragged his eyes back to meet Anna’s hazel stare, as intent, if not as intense, as the angel’s.

“Hm? Um,” he scratched his forehead absently, suddenly happy to be looking anywhere but back into that cage. “N-no one–how do you even know about that?”

“See, I think people talk a lot around someone who doesn’t answer, I mean, when you’re so quiet, you hear a lot of other people because they don’t like to hear what they think about in the silence–have you noticed that? It’s probably why everyone’s so nice to me, I don’t make them think of all the things that people think about when it’s too quiet to hear anything but your own thoughts,” she smiled absently.

Dean laughed shortly, “Come again?"

“Well, you know, if you’re quiet, you can hear more than if you talk. That’s why Mother always says it’s a wonder I hear anything, but I hear him,” Anna smiled, red lips spreading wide.

“You hear the angel?”

She nodded.

“That’s gotta be a nice trick. He’s mute.”

“Just because he doesn’t talk doesn’t mean he can’t sing. I hear him sing in my head and I know why they call him an angel.”

Dean smirked. “You don’t think the wings might be part of it?”

“The wings are fake, but his voice is real and he sings in my head like heaven. He sings with the stars. I hear them. They burn and they die, but before that, they sing. All of them. All the angels.”

[timetide]

Sail Away ϟ Bobbi

TIMING: December 1, 2022 LOCATION: The Docks, White Crest PARTIES: @timetide SUMMARY: Bobbi takes her crew and sails away from White Crest's destruction! CONTAINS: N/A

It was raining when the boys arrived, and Bobbi could hear the engine of John’s truck die down before a throng of footsteps began to descend upon her medium-sized fishing boat. 

She had told her crew to send their families away from town days ago and join her on her boat for one final sail. They all knew that something bad was happening to the town, and even if they weren’t sure what kind of bad it was and if it could be stopped, they were at least sure that it was time to abandon all hope. 

White Crest had been good to them, but with all the supernatural bullshit that had been plaguing the town, they needed to ensure their and their loved ones’ survival. Bobbi made her choice, too.

John waited for her just outside the captain’s quarters, wearing a black shirt over his usual pair of jeans, the same ones he’d wear for an entire week, thinking that no one would notice. Bobbi noticed, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. “We’re good to go, Captain,” he greeted her with a wide grin, following her as they made their way to meet the others. “The last voyage of Salmon Ella, away from the town where the wicked rests.”

Her first mate no longer seemed as vaguely disappointed as he had been when they all discussed the town’s inevitable destruction. Bobbi didn’t attend the town hall meeting, having been busy with trying to retake the Jade Wind from the Lost Fleet but to no avail. In her place, Peter volunteered to go, only to return with the darkest of news. A dark cloud hung over the rest of the crew, and when Bobbi returned empty-handed, she realized it was finally time to make the choice: her past or their future. Easiest decision she had ever made.

“Are they all right?”

John nodded. “Pretty much. Families all left ahead of time, even the aunties. Your friends made sure everyone was accounted for. Didn’t know they knew each other?”

“No,” Bobbi replied calmly. The faceless woman who owned the houseboats for rent around Finney Docks, except Bobbi’s, was an old friend of hers. The others were clientele for their side hustle in smuggling, too wealthy people that didn’t have much else to do with all their money. None of them knew what she really was, and only Mrs. Gao had any inkling that she was more than just a fisherman. The old woman even knew her Baizhou name, considering her as her lucky charm just because her houseboats started surviving every storm that tried to take the docks after Bobbi stayed. “They don’t.”

“Well, like I always say, glad we have you on our side, Captain. Docks’ been lucky that way. Wherever you go, we’ll go. Or we’ll at least try and pay you a visit, especially if it’s a country away,” John shrugged. It was no secret, especially between them, that Bobbi could have left town any time during the past year. The way she spoke too many languages made it clear to him that she wasn’t as bound to the town as the rest of them. She was the daughter of the world, and the world was now wanting her back.

She simply nodded at him in response, not even a faint trace of a smile on her lips. Bobbi had lost the very battle that made her stay in town, the very treasure that gave meaning to her life. Or so part of her still thinks. The truth was, Baozhai had been dead long ago. Ever since the Lost Fleet took her ship, the legacy of the man who rescued her from boredom in the mountains and gifted her with adventure through the seas. 

Would he hate her for never avenging his vessel, the crew they had lost to the town? Bobbi tried her best to make it up to their descendants, the ones that stayed in town and made the docks their own. Maybe he would have hated her more for staying, for abandoning the adventures over the oceans of the world for the comfortable treasures of the surrounding waters of White Crest. But what could she have done? Piracy died with him, and there had been far more adventures without it.

“So, where do you guys want to go?” Bobbi greeted the rest of their crew, hands on her hips. Even without wearing a smile, she managed to still win them over. The boys cheered her, all excited, despite the dangling sorrow of future mourning. Some of them yelled out names of towns and cities on the opposite coast. Others went further and claimed locations outside of the country. 

From the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Andrew, whose nose was broken by a newly made friend all those months ago. Bobbi had sent her a message about joining them but was politely rejected. She understood that the girl was probably busy with her own problems, she told herself all those days ago. Tracking down a loved one, your own mother, that you’ve never met was a more arduous task. Bobbi could only imagine what Christie, Cass, was going through, what she’ll be going through, but she was still proud that the kid was finding her own way.

“How about we tour the rest of the East Coast as we make our way to the West, eh?” 

The crowd cheered her suggestion, much to Bobbi’s discreet delight. She turned to John, giving him a nod, gesturing to take care of the rest of their departure. John was only too quick, and seemingly too excited as well, to take charge, fulfilling what could be his final tour as her first mate. In an ideal world, Bobbi would have kept him and all of them on her ship. With all things considered, however, especially the uncertainty of their lives outside of town, Bobbi wasn’t even sure she’d keep the ship.

END.

[tc-doherty]

Stealing an open tag from @sleepyowlwrites to post the openings for your WIPs, I thought it sounded really fun! Alphabetical order. Some of these openings/drafts are so old (The Thief Queen is from 2014!!) and they will definitely be changing LOL

Also tagging @muddshadow @jess-p-edits @bloodlessheirbyjacques and  @magefaery because I'm very interested in what you guys have to say, if you want to share!

Putting this under a read more because I'm sure that it's going to be long.

The Deadlands

"You want me to what?" Margherita stared back at the men as if she hadn't understood what they'd said. In a way, she hadn't. She knew the words, but something about the way they had been strung together, the order in which they were presented, escaped comprehension entirely.

Stanford, the man in front of the pack, cleared his throat. He was out of place in the Deadlands, pale and fussy, dressed not and practical linen and leather but in washed-out silk. And now this outlander, city boy, thought he could tell her what to do? Not likely.

Margherita stood up slowly.

Stanford wrung his hands, but didn't back down. "Please, Margherita," he said, "don't be difficult." A few of the men standing behind him began to murmur various agreements, but the noise stopped when she glared at them.

She turned her attention back to Stanford and crossed her arms. "Oh, I haven't even started being difficult yet. When I do, you'll know it."

Dragon’s Daughter

Knights all looked the same.

It had been years beyond counting since the last knight had dared Dragon's Keep, but from her place in the castle's tallest remaining tower she could tell that this one was no different from the others who had tried and failed over the years.

Her eyesight was better than a human's. Even from this height she could see that the steel armor encasing his arms and legs, well shined by some probably overworked squire, was scratched and dented. His surcoat was plain, with no heraldry in sight. The sword at his hip was gaudy, but the hilt was only gold leaf and glass gems, the latter cracked and the former beginning to flake. His destrier was red roan under its bulky iron barding, rather than the preferred white or black of older days.

He was a knight, but not a wealthy one. That was certainly why he was here.

The Ghost

“…and so, King Bavedict claimed the throne in the year eight hundred and twenty-six…” the tutor droned on. As he spoke he scrawled each word onto the large gray slate in front of him.

Seneria wasn’t listening. Her eyes were fixed on the hand mirror in her lap, observing her expressions as she tried to mimic her mother. The grand duchess had one particularly serene expression that she used on the most difficult of courtiers, one which always seemed interested if reserved, no matter how she actually felt. It would be the perfect look to use on annoying tutors, if Seneria could master it. Unfortunately, she took after her father, with pronounced cheekbones, a strong chin, and altogether too sharp a nose. Her attempts led her to look sullen, stern, or bored, and always intimidating.

“Pay attention.” The words formed in her mind, echoing the dry voice of her guardian. Seneria glanced at him. There was no indication that Hermokrates was even awake, let alone paying attention to her. He sprawled on his back on the room’s single windowsill, soaking up sunlight just like a normal cat. The light showed the deep violet color of his fur and revealed him for what he truly was: a golem, supernatural creatures that formed the backbone of almost all the magic at work in the seven kingdoms.

The Gryphon of Sirray

Crash!

Prince Enori jumped as something smashed through the doors leading out to his balcony, and slid across his floor in a spray of blood and glass.

It wasn't unheard of for a bird to occasionally hit his windows or doors, but although this thing had a beak, it was much larger than any bird he'd ever seen – even the golden eagles that his family kept in their mews for hunting. Not to mention, none of those birds had ever gone through the glass.

He didn't have a lot of time to examine his unexpected guest before somebody started pounding on his door.

"Prince Enori! Prince Enori, are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, I was…" He glanced around, scrambling for an acceptable excuse.

"Prince Enori!"

The Fairy

The forest sprang out of nowhere. One evening the western plains housed nothing more sinister than saw-grass and the occasional snapping lizard or hunting beast. The next morning several spindly trees stood there, stretching needle-thin branches to the sky.

The villagers of Carlton went out onto the plains, their traditional grazing grounds, and pulled the tiny trees out of the earth, roots and all.

The following day the trees were back, twice as large as before. Slender at morning’s first light, they grew to enormous heights while the villagers watched, even taller than the wind-break trees planted to protect the town. Gnarled black bark covered the trunks, and sharp-edged leaves sprouted from twisted branches. Other things grew too – creeping ivy, thorn bushes, and stinging nettles replaced the honest grass that had grown there before. Within two days the forest was complete, a solid wall of darkness that loomed over the western horizon, cutting off their view of the plains.

Few braved their way through those branches. Many did not return. Those who did gave no encouraging news. Darker than midnight was the forest, and empty of all the gods’ good creatures. No birds sang there, no squirrels stored nuts, no boars snuffled among the roots. No good creatures lived there, but monsters did – low slinking shapes with flashing eyes and too many fangs. Creatures that vanished like smoke amidst the trees, but emerged like demons in the night to raid chicken coops and pastures and barns with weak locks.

Hoofbeats

Tajcie was a city full of temples. They sprouted amongst the other buildings, sending gold and silver gilt domes into the sky. On a sunny day, the glitter of the decorations could be seen for miles, guiding travelers safely across the deserts of the south, the planes of the north and east, and the swamps and deltas of the west. The ringing of the various bells marked the lives of Tajcie's inhabitants with the constant melodious schedule, and provided a pleasant background to the home and bustle of the day's work.

Every temple had a god. Every god from highest to lowest had a feast, a festival, or a celebration. Tajcie was the city that the gods loved best, and the citizens loved their gods just as much. Yet out of all of these festivals the one the city loved best was the festival of Ninsaba, the goddess who brought horses from the heavens and placed them in the custodianship of man. Ninsaba's festival was preceded by the king’s horse fair, the largest such fair in all the land. The market lasted three weeks and closed when the last embers of the sacred bonfire finally flickered out of life.

Though the fair only lasted three weeks for the citizens of Tajcie, for the stables involved it lasted much longer, often taking up an entire spring in preparation. Unlike other fairs which set up outside the city in tents and wagons, the king’s fair had a city all to itself. A city with good solid stables, permanent corrals, and paved roads for the ease of humans and horses both. A city all its own, with forges for farriers, workshops for tack makers, shops for feed stores, and even small homes for the trainers and stable owners.

 The Huntress of Anihwen

The bay of a hound rang out into the night, as long and low and sorrowful as if the beast had lost everything it loved. A second answered it.

“The Hunt’s out tonight,” Arwel said. All around the table, his family members nodded solemnly. His wife and her sister both made the sign of the protective sun, as was proper. Everyone sat in respectful silence except Siani, his youngest daughter. She had that look on her face again, the one she always had when she was about to say something she shouldn’t.

“Most probably it’s out on the moors, to sound so close to us,” Siani said thoughtfully. “People say the howling is quietest when the dogs are right behind you like.”

“Don’t get smart about it,” Arwel chastised. “It ain’t wise to draw the gods’ attentions.”

Laero

Kradhi Laero perched on the edge of the rocky cliffs that made up the Winterlands’ western shore and watched the sun.

Although it was noon, the sun was little more than a sullen red puddle hovering on the horizon. It had just risen, and now it was about to set. It would not rise again for another forty days.

The people of the Winterlands followed the sun because they knew well what drove it into hiding each year: blizzards, ice storms, hail, and screaming winds. Their sturdy homes were shuttered and well-stocked to wait out the month of darkness. They had retreated the second the purple-grey clouds began to bruise the sky to the west.

Kradhi wasn’t worried. She knew the clouds would not arrive for many hours yet, which gave her plenty of time to return to her own snug cabin deep within the Norforest. Her last few hours of freedom were worth a little discomfort. Once the sun died there would be no more freedom. Winter held more teeth than just darkness and storms; at least it did for Laero warriors who could count this as their sixteenth winter.

Magic Black as Knight

"Do we have to go?" Iskandar whined. "They never even do anything interesting."

His mother paid him little attention. "Yes, we must attend. It would not do to be absent enough that people begin slighting us. This is an important lesson for them, and for you."

She sat in front of her mirror applying the many little magics that kept her elaborate hair in place. Although it was much rumored, Iskandar knew that she never used any magic on her face. They were both blessed with exquisite features, which his mother maintained was due to a long history of practicing magic and good judgment in breeding. She also maintained that it was pointless to waste time arranging a suitably impressive hairstyle when magic could do the same in half the time and with less effort.

Iskandar didn't care about his appearance nearly as much, though his mother always said he would when he got older. His mother said a lot of things, and she was usually right, so he assumed that might also be true. But for now he wore what she told him to wear to whichever places she wanted him to wear it, even if he did complain.

Miracles

Larkin suppressed an involuntary feeling of annoyance about the inn. There was nothing wrong with it, in fact it was even above average. It perched happily along a busy street, the outside well-maintained and freshly painted, with perfectly groomed staff at the ready to take any horses or bags. The inside could hardly be worse than that. The common room was clean and bright, filled with well polished wooden furniture. The guests too were above average – well clothed and well mannered, befitting the moderately prosperous. Thoroughly normal people.

No, there was nothing wrong with the inn.

It was only that scenes like this – the low murmur of conversation, the bustling of the staff, the heat generated by so many bodies – were now entirely unfamiliar to him. How long had it been since he'd entered an inn? Since he had been around so many people eating and laughing and talking? There were no such places like this where he had been recently.

Northbound

When Abi-Sasia rose from restless sleep, it was to a magnificent view. A sprawling city, the roof tiles gilded and inlaid with gold, silver, and bronze, the walls painted, the streets and walkways tiled with colorful glass mosaics. A city bustling with life even now, for the morning was cool before the sun rose. Thanks to that sun, and plentiful rain, enormous trees grew amongst the buildings, sporting fruits and flowers year-round. Waterways wound through the city, burbling happily as they ran their courses south, to the far distant sea. The wind brought muffled sounds of chatter, music, and laughter to greet her.

A thousand years from now, all that would remain were bare rock buildings. The precious metals and gems and even tiles long pried up by greedy scavengers. The waterways would be empty, save for bones and leaves from dead and withered trees. The streets would be barren of all life except that of the little desert animals, and the researchers hunting out whatever small grains of knowledge would remain.

Sasia knew that, because it was in that future, the barren future, that she had been born. By the time of her childhood, when she had stumbled through a glowing doorway into the past, none of the researchers knew what had destroyed the city. Sasia was no closer to an answer herself, despite having lived here for over a decade. The empire as she saw it was strong, unbreakable.

Second Chances

The memories of childhood often, with time, grow dim and remote. It is only rarely that one remains as clear as if preserved in crystal. Izare, it might be said, forgot more than most. But he always remembered the day he found the boy in the river.

It was a warm day in early spring. Color was just returning to the land as flowers began to show themselves, and sound grew in fits and starts as birds returned from wintering elsewhere. It was a day where icicles melted in a constant chorus of plips and plops. It was a day where snowmelt from the north filled the Latten river to capacity causing it to froth and foam and leap like a living beast.

No matter how many times Izare was told not to go near the river, he could never stay away in early spring. This year, with his father out doing rounds, there was no one to stop Izare from doing as he pleased.

Temitope

The weather was as beautiful as it ever got in Murane, the southernmost kingdom in the land of Alhera. The sky was the matchless, undiluted blue of a roc's egg, the sun shone without bringing any of the oppressive heat that it would produce later in the summer, and a sweet wind was blowing in off the sea.

There was usually a wind off the sea, wind that blew in from the endless expanse of ocean to the southwest, wind that brought rain and kept Murane from suffering the dry spells of its inland neighbors. That wind smelled of salt, and fish, and storms, and was scarcely paid attention to. It was only rarely that a warm wind blew in, past the islands to the southeast, carrying the scent of flowers and sweet fruits and, it was said, good luck.

Temitope, the third and youngest princess of Murane, was in a perfect position to notice the sweet wind as she was currently on the beach herself, feet bare, skirt pinned up, a basket of shells hanging from one arm.

The Thief Queen

Zephyral put both hands on the rough stone windowsill and heaved himself up to look outside. In the square below he could see the gallows, no less grisly and terrifying in the light of day, and a small crowd of people already starting to gather to watch the hanging. His hanging! He shook his head and dropped back down to the bed in his cell wondering how things had managed to come this far, this fast – and all from a single strip of cloth and the power of fear! Zephyral had not murdered any of the women they thought he had, though he had a suspicion that he knew who did.

Just the other day she had come to see him, laughing about the old days they had spent as misguided youths.

“You always were good at getting out of trouble.” She had said, teasing. Well, he was in trouble again now. He drew a series of circles on the stone walls with his finger. Yes, she had set him up for this. But why? Testing him? Revenge for some childhood slight he had long forgotten? Convenience? But those were questions for another day. The question of the hour was how to escape from a locked and guarded prison cell in the middle of the city and make it to the walls without getting caught. Now there was a challenge.

Untitled 1

Nyari couldn't help but smile as he stepped onto the bridge. It had been a long time since he'd been here, a really long time. Even so he could remember it as if it had just happened. Back then, he had been so angry and unwilling, and every little thing only served to annoy him further. There had been a festival, he remembered. The first time they had been there. Everything had been bright, and colorful, and loud. There were people everywhere. They were friendly, or had tried to be. He had snapped at them and his traveling companions with equal fervor. It had all been too much, the festival and the people and his traveling companions. The situation they found themselves in. And of course, Dante.

Dante, the person he had come all this way to see.

Untitled 2

Lin Mingxian wasn't a stranger to long carriage rides. His family traveled all over regularly, but he had never done so in a public carriage. It was about the same size as their carriages, he thought. But it seemed much smaller because instead of having one open space, the middle was taken up by two additional rows of seats one facing in each direction. A curtain hung between them, effectively dividing carriage into two compartments of four seats each.

His seat was in the back half, right next to one of the wheels. And he shared his compartment with two other youths: the young woman who had already been on the carriage when he showed up, and the young man who had just been getting in. Neither seemed to be all that interested in talking. The girl was thoroughly engrossed in a large book, and the boy stared out of the window with the moody kind of silence usually associated with someone who did not want to be where they were.

But he'd been traveling alone, so why would he be somewhere he didn't want to be? There wasn't anyone who could force him. Maybe he was just nervous.