#also she figured out that his feet are his weak spot and its hilarious

[healingheartdogs]

High energy pointer tornado and trouble fox puppy energy tornado combine to form a super zoomies energy tornado

[calmturquoise]

Day 23: Asking For It

TUA, Hargreeves. Words: 3,000

Prompt from @anasticklefics: I have this headcanon that the siblings didn’t experience much tickling as children and now have the most Extra reactions to it.

“Dude, you should put on some sunscreen,” Ben said, perched on a stone wall next to where Klaus was lounging in the sun. What was the point of the Academy having a rooftop garden if Klaus wasn’t going to use it for sunbathing?

Without looking Klaus held up his hand, palm-first. “I’m not taking skincare advice from a ghost. You haven’t had real skin in over a decade.”

Even without looking he could sense Ben rolling his eyes. “You know I’m right. Skin cancer kills, you can’t tell me you’re tougher than the sun.”

“If I’m not dead yet I don’t think the sun’s going to do it.”

“You’ve literally died multiple times.”

Klaus waved his ‘goodbye’ hand dismissively. “Semantics.” He settled into the grass, enjoying the sensation of the warm sunlight soaking into his skin, only to jerk upright when wiggling fingers skittered across his neck. “Hey!”

He caught a brief glimpse of Ben’s smirk before grabbing his brother by the shoulders and flipping them over, pinning Ben against the ground so Klaus could worm his hands beneath Ben’s hoodie.

“Klaus!” Ben squeaked, giggling as Klaus’ fingers spidered over his belly. “Stohohop!”

“You started it,” Klaus retorted, grinning as he moved up to Ben’s ribcage. Vague memories were returning to him of how Ben had also been ticklish as a kid – he’d been so sweet and gullible that tickling him was just so much fun. Apparently that hadn’t changed.

Ben clearly didn’t mind it too much, either – Klaus was under no illusions that his brother couldn’t just go incorporeal if he really wanted to get away. Instead Ben was just trying to wrestle Klaus off of him. “Stop tickling mehehehe!” he protested, squirming and laughing as Klaus’ fingers skittered across his ribs.

Klaus shrieked in surprise as Ben gave up on trying to push him away and instead dug his fingers into Klaus’ stomach, conveniently exposed by his crop top. “No fair!”

“Very fair! You tickled me first!”

“No, you tickled me first, asshole!” Klaus exclaimed, going boneless and flopping down on top of Ben. This had the unfortunate side effect of pinning Ben’s hands between his and Klaus’ stomachs, allowing him to easily continue tickling Klaus’ belly.

“Ugh, you’re heavy,” Ben complained. “I can’t breathe.”

“You’re such a drama queen. You’re a ghost, you don’t need to breathe!”

“Your sweat is dripping on my body and I want to die again!”

“It’s summer, it’s hot out,” Klaus whined, attempting to contort his body so he could tickle Ben’s armpits while evading his brother’s arms flailing against his stomach. “At least I’m not wearing any sunscreen, then I’d be getting that all over you t-aah!”

Ben wiggled his fingers into Klaus’ hips, distracting him enough that they rolled over, Ben planting his knees on top of Klaus’ thighs so he could continue with the sudden tickle attack. “You jeheheherk!” Klaus cried, laughing helplessly.

“Um… Klaus?” A confused voice came from behind them. Ben paused and Klaus peered around his brother’s shoulder to see Allison looking at them – well, him – with raised eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

If Klaus were one to get embarrassed easily, he might be more concerned by his current predicament. Thankfully, he had no shame.

Still, he could see how from Allison’s perspective it could look a bit strange to see him rolling around and trying to tickle the air. With a grin Ben moved aside, allowing Klaus to lurch to his feet and throw an arm around Allison’s neck. She looked slightly disgruntled – probably still sweaty, then.

“Just a teensy disagreement with Ben,” Klaus explained, tossing an arm in Ben’s general direction and sticking his tongue out when Ben teasingly wiggled his fingers in the air at Klaus.

Allison followed the direction of Klaus’ gaze and gave Ben a wave. Looking amused she asked, “Was he tickling you?”

“Yeah, he was. I was tickling him too, though! You know our Benny, just a ticklish little bean.”

In lieu of tickling Ben, who Allison couldn’t even see, Klaus playfully wiggled his fingers against the side of Allison’s neck. He was briefly alarmed by her loud, sudden squeal before a grin broke out across his face. “Looks like you’re ticklish too, huh?”

“Hehehehey!” Allison cried. She jerked her shoulder up to try to protect her neck, but Klaus simply reached under her chin to tickle the exposed skin there. Allison squealed and collapsed on the ground, curling up into a ball.

Klaus laughed and followed suit, kneeling next to Allison’s curled-up form. “Don’t you think you’re being a wee bit dramatic, o sister mine?” he asked, poking at her sides. Allison giggled and jerked her arms down, exposing her neck for Klaus to resume tickling. “I’m just tickling you.”

“But I’m reheheheally tihihicklish!” Allison laughed, letting out a loud shriek when Klaus managed to worm his hands beneath her arms and tickle her armpits. “Plehehehehease!”

“Please what?” Klaus teased. “Please tickle you? But I’m already doing that!”

“Nohohoho! Klaus!” Allison tried to curl up even tighter as Klaus’ finger jumped from her neck to her belly to her sides, tickling any exposed place he could see. “I heheheheard- a ruhuhu-”

“What did you hear? I didn’t catch that,” Klaus said, trying to infuse innocence and confusion into his tone. He was met by the sound of Allison’s loud cackling.

Still, he didn’t want to wear his sister out too much. With a final tickle to the back of her neck Klaus pulled away and quickly rolled to his feet. “You know, I think you could give Ben a run for his money when it comes to ticklish siblings!” he said cheerfully as residual giggles poured from Allison’s lips. “See you later, Ally!”

He rushed out of the garden, not wanting to wait around for Allison to regain her breath. He’d been on the receiving end of too many rumors as a kid to willingly subject himself to Allison’s idea of retribution. Which would be worth it, mind, considering how much fun it had been to tickle her.

Klaus hummed in thought as he made his way downstairs. Had he ever tickled Allison before now? He had to have at some point to know her weak spots, but not many instances of him and his siblings tickling each other came to mind. It wasn’t like the seven of them spent much time playing together as kids, what with a mere half an hour of free time a week. Training they did plenty of, but just playing? Not so much.

“I’ve got a brilliant thought,” Klaus announced, only remembering afterwards to see if Ben was listening to him. Good brother that he was, Ben was following Klaus down the stairs.

“Hide before Allison can enact brutal revenge?”

“Psh, no. No, what do you want to bet the rest of our siblings have equally hilarious reactions to being tickled?”

Ben looked amused. “Yeah, I bet they do. You know they’ll kill you though, right?”

“Only one way to find out!”

Klaus flounced into the living room, certain he’d find at least one of his siblings there. Sure enough, Vanya was curled up on the sofa with her nose buried in a book, though she looked up when she heard Klaus enter.

Sweet little Vanya was a pleasure to spend time with and Klaus was probably never going to stop hating the fact that they’d all ignored and dismissed her for decades, but he could at least keep trying to make up for it. With a wide smile, Klaus flung himself onto the sofa.

He landed partially on top of Vanya who smiled back while wrinkling her nose. “Hi Klaus. Can you get off of me? You’re a bit, um-”

“Damp?” Klaus suggested, delighting in Vanya’s clear dismay at the term. He scooted a bit to the side to give his sister some space. “Yes, well, it’s a lovely day out, and I was up on the roof. Onto a completely different topic, are you ticklish?”

“Am I- what?” Vanya looked completely nonplussed.

“Silly question, everyone’s ticklish! The question is where,” Klaus mused. “Maybe here?” He reached over and tickled the bottom of her bare foot, resting between them on the sofa.

When he looked up, he could barely contain laughter at the expression on Vanya’s face. She looked utterly bemused like she couldn’t understand what was happening. Klaus ran a finger down the bottom of her foot, and she let out a soft, squeaky giggle, automatically pulling her feet away but not quite out of reach.

“Feet, check.” Klaus stated. “What about your toes?” He wiggled his fingers beneath them and Vanya snorted, a blush starting to spread across her cheeks as her giggling grew louder.

“Klaus, wait!” Vanya protested, pulling her feet closer to her body in an attempt to hide them. Her side was left wide open however, and Klaus took advantage by giving it a series of rapid pokes before his fingers wandered to her stomach.

A sharp ‘crack’ broke through the sound of Vanya’s laughter and Klaus jerked back on instinct before peering around his sister to look at the lamp sitting on the table next to the sofa, which now had a noticeable crack running through its glass base.

For a moment there was utter silence before Klaus started giggling. Vanya followed suit, though her cheeks were still flushed and she looked embarrassed. “I’m sor-”

“Don’t worry about it, sis.” Klaus said, dismissing her apology. It figured that a tickle attack could be a bit much for someone still getting used to their powers.

“I think my stomach’s really ticklish,” Vanya muttered sheepishly.

Klaus laughed. “No kidding. Seriously, don’t worry about it. Still, I think that’s my cue to go.” He patted Vanya on the head and blew her a kiss as he left the living room, only to immediately run into Luther in the hallway.

“Is everything okay? I thought I heard something break.”

“Nothing to worry about, dear brother!” Klaus said, looking up at his largest sibling. Klaus was relatively certain that Luther’s ears were extremely ticklish, but the man was simply too tall for Klaus to reach up there. Instead, he decided to aim for a lower target.

As soon as Klaus squeezed Luther’s knees through the fabric of his jeans, Luther jolted away and landed on the floor, looking bewildered as he stared up at Klaus, who was trying not to die laughing. “Klaus! What the hell was that for?”

“Your face!” Klaus gasped, wiping away tears. “You just fell on your ass Luther, oh my god.”

“Well I wasn’t expecting you to attack me!”

“I wasn’t attacking you, I was tickling you.”

“Oh, uh, but. I’m not. Ticklish?”

“Really?” Klaus raised an eyebrow as Luther tried and utterly failed to look sincere. “Not even a little, teensy bit?” He stepped closer, eyeing his brother for signs of genuine discomfort; seeing none he decided to take advantage of Luther’s current position.

“H-Hey!” Luther exclaimed, flinching away when Klaus wiggled his fingers over Luther’s neck, just beneath his ear. “Klaus!”

“I think you are ticklish,” Klaus declared. He grinned as he was rewarded with Luther’s laughter – a nice sound given how rare it was.

Luther was avoiding pushing Klaus away, instead scrunching up his shoulder in an attempt to protect his neck and ears. “Fine, I’m ticklish! Happy?”

“Very,” Klaus confirmed. Beside him, Ben was looking amused as Luther picked himself up off the floor. “See, I told you this was a good idea.”

Luther looked up, realized Klaus wasn’t talking to him, and rolled his eyes before walking off.

Ben raised an eyebrow but kept up with Klaus as he went off in search of his two missing siblings. “I’ll give you the reaction hasn’t been bad so far, but that’s because you’ve been avoiding our two stabbiest brothers.”

“I haven’t been avoiding them! I’ve been intentionally saving them for last.” Although he could admit Ben might not be wrong about the stabbing. “And Diego wouldn’t stab me. Probably.”

“I notice you can’t say the same for Five.”

Klaus rapped his knuckles on the closed door of Diego’s bedroom, ignoring Ben’s raised eyebrows. He did have manners. “Diegooooo. Can I come in?”

At Diego’s affirmative-if-less-than-enthusiastic “sure,” Klaus swung open the door and crossed the short distance to the bed Diego was lying on and flopped down next to him. Diego groaned loudly when Klaus landed partially on top of him, though Klaus could see a small smile playing at his brother’s lips. “This bed isn’t big enough for both of us.”

“This bed is barely big enough for you,” Klaus countered, wiggling around until they were lying semi-comfortably side-by-side, squished together so neither would fall onto the floor. “Get a new one.”

“I’ll work on it. What do you want?”

“Can’t I just want to spend time with my favorite brother, who isn’t holding any knives at the moment?”

Diego eyed him suspiciously. “Should I be holding a knife right now?”

“No, no,” Klaus responded hastily. “Unfortunately, that would greatly impede my ability to do this.” He reached over and brushed his fingers underneath the hem of Diego’s shirt, kneading at the tops of his hip bones.

Diego screeched loudly; Klaus jolted in surprise before a grin spread over his face and he spidered his fingers upward to tickle Digeo’s belly. Out of the corner of his eye Klaus saw Ben doubling over with laughter in the corner at their brother’s extreme reaction. “Ticklish, Diego?”

“Nohohoho! I’m nohohot!” Diego insisted, his protests at total odds with the loud laughter pouring from his mouth. “Stohohohop!”

“I don’t know, I think I’m having too much fun to stop,” Klaus replied. His hands wandered further up beneath Diego’s shirt until he located Diego’s belly button; Klaus wormed a finger inside, eliciting another loud shriek of laughter from Diego. Biting back his own laugher, Klaus teased, “You’re just soooo ticklish.”

“Sh-shuhuhut up! I’m nohohohohot!”

Klaus’s finger wiggled deeper into Diego’s belly button, poking at the sensitive bottom. “Nohohoho!” Diego begged, pushing at Klaus’ hands. In the process of shoving Klaus away Diego lost balance and fell off the side of the too-small bed with a loud ‘thump.’

Klaus giggled and peeked over the edge of the bed, where Diego was lying on the floor with an intriguing expression of mixed aggravation and relief, holding an arm protectively over his stomach. “Oops. Sorry?”

A loud ‘pop’ quickly drew Klaus’ attention away from Diego and to the other side of the bed, where Five had appeared in front of the door. “What is all the racket about?” Five groused, raising an eyebrow as Diego clambered up from the floor.

“Nothing,” Klaus said, trying to maintain an innocent expression. Diego shot him an exasperated glance and Five narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

Realizing that he might not get a better opportunity to catch his youngest-oldest brother off-guard, Klaus quickly reached out and poked Five’s stomach through his sweater. There was no reaction, other than Five giving Klaus one of his patented “my family is so weird, I don’t understand you” glares.

Klaus glanced over the ridiculous school uniform that Five was still content wearing and zeroed in on one of the only places that wasn’t covered by clothing, and reached out and squeezed Five’s knee. If Klaus hadn’t been paying such close attention to Five’s reactions, he might’ve missed the way Five froze for a brief moment. Klaus squeezed Five’s knee again and Five giggled quietly before disappearing from the room with a loud ‘pop.’

“I don’t know what I’m more surprised by,” Ben mused from the corner. “That Five didn’t kill you, or that he’s actually ticklish.”

Klaus slid off of Diego’s bed. “Don’t be ridiculous mon frère, everyone’s ticklish.”

Following Klaus’ gaze, Diego waved at Ben, then turned to Klaus. “Is there any particular reason you decided to t-tickle me?” Diego asked, his cheeks flushing as he stumbled over the word.

Before Klaus could respond, two sets of footsteps signaled Vanya and Five’s arrival. “Apparently he’s been tickling everyone?” Vanya said, looking amused as she glanced between Klaus, Diego, and Five, who had a smirk that immediately put Klaus on edge.

“And that means there’s only one person in this family who hasn’t been tickled today,” Five declared, taking a predatory step towards Klaus, who moved backward in response. The backs of Klaus’ legs hit the bed and Diego reached over to pull him down onto the mattress.

Klaus looked at his three siblings leaning over him, all with grins of varying degrees on their faces. “I don’t know if this is necessary-” he hedged, trying to hold back a smile at what he knew was coming.

“Oh, it definitely is,” Diego declared.

Klaus couldn’t prevent the giggles from pouring out of his lips as Diego’s fingers wiggled across his stomach. At the same time Vanya poked Klaus’ side, her hesitant touches growing more confident at his resulting laughter. Klaus squirmed although he didn’t quite fight back, enjoying both the pleasant sensations and the experience of spending time with his siblings without anyone fighting. Still… “Thahahat tihihickles!”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Vanya teased, her fingers spidering over his sides and up to his ribs.

“I’ll go get Luther and Allison,” Five announced.

“Nohohoho!” Klaus giggled, hearing a loud ‘pop’ as Five disappeared from the room. A new touch joined Diego and Vanya’s poking at Klaus’ exposed neck and he twisted his head around to see Ben looming over him with a grin. “Behehehen! How could you betrahahay me like thihihihis?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Come on, you were totally asking for this.”

“I wahahahasn’t!” Klaus protested. Though Vanya and Diego couldn’t hear half the argument, they both had matching grins at the knowledge that Ben was ganging up on Klaus as well.

“Ben’s on our side, isn’t he?” Diego guessed. “Sorry bro, you don’t have anyone to blame for this but yourself – we deserve some payback.” Well, alright, Klaus could understand that…

“Oh, Klaus, you’re ticklish too?” Luther teased in a rare moment of playfulness as the rest of Klaus’ sibling made their way to Diego’s bedroom. “That’s great!”

… Even if Klaus didn’t know how he’d survive all six of his siblings ganging up on him.

[roonil-wazlib-at-221b]

A Handmaiden’s Lies: Part 2

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

About a year has passed since Tom last visited Avenge. He and his men spent quite a fair amount of time at Deesee, a neighboring kingdom known for mining precious jewels. In fact, they spent more time there than they normally did, so Tom cut their visit to the kingdom of Thanatoia short. It’s not like he and his men stick to a schedule or anything; they vaguely circulate between the three kingdoms to escape harsh winters and authority figures out for their heads.

It’s just that… well.

Not a day passed where Tom didn’t think of you. He was anxious and worried that something could happen to you and the way he’d find out is by waking up and discovering that the words on his forearm were gone. Or that you would find someone else and it would just be another cruel joke played by the universe to show Tom yet again that he is unlovable. Or that you would simply forget about him.

“Worrying is normal,” Haz told him again and again. “Soulmates aren’t meant to be apart for so long. It’s like how you would be worried for me if I was lost, only… worse.”

A lot worse, Tom had mentally agreed every time.

But now he’s back. Surely you’ll come to visit, right? You’ll hear about him and his men back in the kingdom you’re so protective of and you’ll come to check on them to make sure nobody’s misbehaving.

Right?

No.

A full week passes and nothing. Tom’s seething. Haz and Paddy let all the horses out of a rich man’s stable four days ago. Sam and Harry robbed a bank at gunpoint three days ago. William stole a carriage and Tomas crashed it yesterday.

Nothing.

And Tom’s livid. It’s been entirely too long and you’re ignoring him and he can hardly march up to the castle and demand to see you, can he? Especially because he doesn’t even know your name.

That’s a big part of why he’s angry. You know his. Tom hadn’t even bothered to ask you what yours is. So, really, if you decide to stay away for life, Tom can hardly stop you, can he?

So that is why he is walking up Iron Street, throwing Molotov cocktails at every carriage he sees.

Well, every empty carriage. You’re already going to be pissed about the property damage. Killing someone might be crossing the line.

Tom cheerfully lights another rag and hurls it at a red-and-gold carriage. How dare these people be wealthy when Tom and his men live in squalor. How dare these families be unbroken when his own parents told him he was unlovable at seven years old and left him and his brothers at an orphanage. How dare these couples be happy when Tom’s own soulmate wants nothing to do with him.

“That’s enough,” Z says at his side. “I’m sure she’ll get the hint.”

Tom snorts as he surveys the chaos. People running and yelling, carriages and carts going up in flames, and no one has the nerve to tell Tom to stop. Everyone knows by now that the Holland gang comes by every spring and they leave when they damn well please.

Someone shoves Tom from behind hard and he goes sprawling.

Already snarling, Tom jumps to his feet and turns around. His hands and knees sting from taking a fall on hard, unforgiving pebbles, and his pride is even more bruised but all that is forgotten when he sees who his assailant is.

“You call this a hint?” you snap at Zendaya with surprising ferocity.

“What’s your name?” Tom blurts out immediately. He might just die if you don’t transfer your attention back to him this very second.

Your mouth drops open wide and you just blink at Tom. Your hair is coming out of its braid and two pink spots of anger have appeared high on your cheekbones. You look simultaneously exactly like and nothing like the statue you’d been when Tom first met you. Finally you say slowly, “You destroy my kingdom with acts of terrorism, threaten my people’s lives, and steal our hard-earned money all because of a hissy fit that you don’t know my name?”

Tom winces. When you say it like that, it doesn’t sound as reasonable as it had been in Tom’s head. “I knew you’d never meet me otherwise.”

“Let’s go back to the camp,” Zendaya suggests. She doesn’t quail under the thunderous look you send her way. “That way you two can talk in private.”

Tom bites his lip anxiously. Thank God, but you say yes, and follow Zendaya as she leads the way out of the partially burnt capital city.

Tom studies your face as he walks. You’re just as beautiful as he remembers—more, even, if that is even possibly. But he also notices dark circles under your eyes, a bandage on your right pointer finger, and shoulders that slump slightly. The clues are faint but there and Tom’s chest floods with rage and concern at the thought of you being anything less than healthy.

“What happened to your finger?” he asks quietly.

You shake your head. “I just burnt it on a candle. It’s not a big deal.” Your hand goes to your skirt. Now Tom sees that there is something in a pocket he hadn’t noticed. He can see its outline as you walk.

His soulmate wouldn’t try to hurt him, Tom reasons. There’s no reason to be worried about something in your pocket that could be, quite literally, anything.

You manage the trek to the camp through the forest quite well, though you are breathing heavier by the time you arrive. Tom hopes he just imagines the condescending look Zendaya sends you. He wants the two most important women in his life to get along.

Haz looks up at your arrival. To Tom’s surprise, his face splits into a great grin when he sees you. You let out a squeak as his arms encircle your body.

Tom tries not to be jealous that his best mate is hugging his soulmate—actually lifting you into the air. He fails miserably and Zendaya snickers as she links hands with George.

“What are you doing?” you manage. Tom gets the feeling you’d be shoving Haz away if your arms weren’t trapped at your side with his.

“It’s a hug,” Harrison replies, setting you down. Confusion flashes over his features. “You do know what a hug is, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” you scoff. “But I have no idea who you are other than the boy who tried to choke me last year. So—”

“You’re family now,” Harrison shrugs. For the second time in as many hours, you’re at a loss for words. “I’m Harrison, by the way.”

You ease your hand into his outstretched one and give it a loose shake. Tom doesn’t miss the way you drop Haz’s hand as quick as you can and then wipe your hand on your skirt. “Y/N.”

He scowls. What, you’re too good to shake hands with a criminal now? Your own soulmate is a gang leader.

Then again, he knows your name now.

“Where’s your friend?” Tomas asks loudly. He’d spotted you and, still bearing a grudge from last year when you’d called him some unsavory words, is more than happy to needle you. Unfortunately, his raised tone draws attention. Suddenly there’s a crowd watching your every move, eager to pounce on weakness after that commotion you’d caused last year.

Tom spots Paddy pushing his way through the crowd, eyes fixed solely on you with a thunderous expression on his face.

Shit. He doesn’t know you’re his soulmate. Tom hadn’t told anyone but Haz. He hadn’t really had a choice about that, too; an explanation was necessary when Haz had seen his arm. Something told Tom you wouldn’t want the news spread, considering you wanted him to leave so badly. Judging by your raised eyebrows and head tilted towards Haz, it was the right call.

“I’m quite flattered to see you all remember me,” you say. “I must have made quite the impression.”

Beside Tom, Zendaya snorts. “You’re not going to be able to handle this one, Tom. This is going to be hilarious.” Wait—does she know? Tom looks at Z, who winks. Shit.

“I must be extremely special,” you continue, “for a group of half-witted common thieves to remember me when I can hardly even expect them to remember what they had for breakfast.”

That does it. Paddy lunges at you as people start to shout. Then William, who was still struggling to understand what you said, sees Paddy lunge at you and bawls, “Fight!” He then proceeds to uppercut Tomas right into Sam, and it all gets worse from there.

“Aw, hell,” Tom mutters, surveying the camp full of brawling kids. He sighs and sidesteps around two camp girls who are screeching and clawing at each other. You’re being pinned by Paddy, his arm pressed against your throat. “Paddy, stop!” He orders sharply. His little brother looks up at that, scowling, and you use the distraction to bring your knee up between his legs and bite down on his arm. Paddy spits out some unsavory words and rolls off of you.

“You were goading them,” Tom remarks with a half-laugh as he surveys the camp. You huff, standing up and rubbing at your neck with a vague look of consternation.

“Hardly.” You smooth your hair with one hand. “I’d barely started. One couldn’t dare to call one step a footrace, would they?” Maybe you had more to say, but Paddy lunges for you again.

“Where’re your Chiefs now, handmaiden?” he goads. “Maybe you’re not as important as you think to your—”

Tom steps forward, teeth grinding both at the cynical anger that his brother—his subordinate—is disobeying his orders, and the instinctual rage that someone else is touching you, someone else is hurting you—but he jerks to a halt when an arrow seemingly sprouts from a tree beside Paddy. It misses Tom’s brother by less than an inch.

“I’d say they’re still here,” you grunt from where you are underneath Paddy, “but I think that message has been received.”

“Get off her, Paddy,” Tom orders. For once his brother listens.

How you manage to look dignified as you sit up, Tom doesn’t know. You rise to your feet gracefully, still looking like all this is beneath you even though you’ve got a bloody lip and a skinned elbow. Tom doesn’t think even Zendaya could look so cool under pressure. Then again, Z rarely has legendary, mystical Chiefs guarding her ass.

“What, you need the trump card to win a fight?” Paddy snarls. “Typical. You castle women—”

“Patrick goddamn Holland!” Tom barks. “Listen to me: back. Off. If you can’t listen to my orders then don’t follow us.”

“Where are you going?” the younger Holland asks, the shock of being referred to by his birth name distracting him from the attack mission he’d set himself on earlier. He has the decency to look sheepish when he runs his hand through his hair, transforming from a rabid wolf about to pounce to a curious dog.

“To my tent,” Tom answers, “to talk.”

“Why?” Paddy asks. It’s the straw that breaks the horse’s back. “What could she—”

“None of your goddamn business!” Tom snaps. “Now you fix up this mess you started while the grownups talk!”

A stony expression sets his jaw. Paddy spins on his heel. Tom almost calls out to him, especially when Zendaya remarks that his reaction had been a bit harsh.

“Holland set very clear instructions and the boy failed to follow them,” you counter as Paddy clears up the fighting. “Everyone must learn their place eventually.”

Tom glances at you but your expression is unreadable. It sounded like you were giving him a compliment. Or at least saying that Tom wasn’t in the wrong.

“But Paddy was right,” Harrison admits while holding up the entrance to Tom’s tent and ducking inside. “What is there to discuss? I mean, I’m sure we have extra tents but you’ll probably just sleep in Tom’s, right?”

Tom grimaces. So he hadn’t told Haz about you not being in a particular hurry to get together. The strangled choke you let out while entering doesn’t encourage him at all.

“I did not come here to discuss anything of that sort,” you say primly, making yourself at home by settling down and arranging your skirt. Instinctively everyone else sits down as well. You just have that ‘leader’ sort of aura. Tom doesn’t have to wonder why you’re the queen’s assistant.

“So it’s true,” Zendaya remarks. “I thought so when I saw the words on your arm, Tom, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Who exactly knows about our situation?” you ask with exasperation as you turn to Tom.

“I’m sorry, what’s the ‘situation’ here?” Harrison asks. Tom can see his friend’s face going thunderous but can’t catch his eye to tell Haz to stop, as he’s staring resolutely at you.

“I have a kingdom to run,” you snap. “Once things are calmer then maybe—”

“I’m sorry, isn’t it the queen’s job to run Marvel?” Zendaya interrupts. “You’re just her assistant.”

“I—we—it is a group effort. No man can take on a mountain.” You flick a piece of dirt off of your skirt.

“Oh, honey, you’re still bleeding,” Zendaya notices.

“What?” you put one hand to your lip. Your fingertips come away red. “Oh. I thought…”

“So you don’t care that Tom’s your soulmate?” Harrison interrupts. Zendaya dabs at your lip with one of Tom’s spare shirts she’d found lying on the floor. Tom is too invested in waiting for your answer to be embarrassed by his messy living space.

“Of course I do!” you reply, affronted. Tom sucks in a breath of air that is entirely too ragged and loud. “But as I’ve said before, I have bigger things to worry about.” You push Zendaya away.

Harrison casts his eyes to Tom, who’s sitting subdued in his chair, eyes on the ground. Because Tom sure won’t say it, Harrison tells you that excuse is a steaming pile of crap.

Your lip curls and eyes flash dangerously. Before Tom can say ‘Oh, no’ you’re on your feet. “I don’t care what a bastard reject boy thinks of me or my reasoning. Holland is not the only person whose feelings have to be considered in this situation. I am—”

Harrison spits on your skirt, no doubt regretting the hug he’d greeted you with. You close your eyes and look up, a muscle ticking in your jaw.

“Haz,” Tom warns. He lets the blond get away with a lot more than most, but he’s rapidly approaching a line it would be best not to cross.

“Dude, I cannot believe how bad your luck can be sometimes!” Harrison exclaims. “Typical Holland luck strikes again. Out of everyone in the world, you got paired up with this bitch! What are the odds that you get the worst soulmate—”

“Enough!” Tom yells. It’s too late. Zendaya is already grabbing your arm and pulling you out of the tent. “Nice, Haz.”

Harrison scowls. “Hey, I’m calling it like I see it. There’s got to be a mistake. No way the universe hates you that much.”

“Haz, even we know about the brewing war between Marvel and Thanatoia,” Tom reasons. “Once that’s all over we can be together.”

“Have you seen her, mate?” Harrison demands, snapping his fingers in front of Tom like that’s going to wake him up. “Why would you want to be with that?”

“Because she’s my soulmate,” Tom says stubbornly.

Harrison rolls his eyes. “You poor stupid son of a bitch.”

“Excuse me?”

“Soulmates don’t always work out, Tom,” Harrison points out. “And people marry people that aren’t their soulmate all the time. Just because you’re most compatible with Y/N doesn’t mean you’re not moderately compatible with someone else.”

“She has to love me,” Tom insists. “Y/N’s my soulmate.”

He stomps out of the tent and looks around for Zendaya and George’s tent. If he can just talk to you longer, Tom will be able to convince you to give them a try. He knows he can.

As he draws nearer to the tent, he can’t help himself; he stops outside to listen to the conversation.

“—really very excited,” Zendaya says. “The year was practically torture for him, and I can tell it was for you as well.”

You must shake your head or open your mouth to contradict her, because Z tells you not to lie.

“Trust me,” she continues, “I’ve spent enough time away from my soulmate to know what you were going through. You’re tough as hell to make it a whole year but everyone here already knows that. You don’t need to prove more.”

There’s silence inside the tent for so long Tom is about to walk away when you ask, “Can you tell me about him?”

A shocked smile spreads across Tom’s face.

“Well, Tom is a total softie,” Zendaya starts with. “He loves dogs in particular but he likes all animals except birds and lizards.”

You giggle and Tom’s stomach drops.

“And, let’s see,” Zendaya continues. Tom can picture her putting her finger to her chin as she thinks. “He can’t stand blueberries but loves pretty much every other type of berry. And…”

A Handmaiden’s Lies Taglist:

@andreasworlsboring101 @juliebean247

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101​

Let me know what you all thought or if you’d like me to put you on a taglist!

[seethekraken]

No Mistletoe?

Merry Christmas @castielangeldelaguarda​ So I am your Secret Santa <33 I chose to do a Reverse AU for you. I’ll admit I patched it up a little from the main post lol I hope you like it!! Have a Wonderful Day, Lovely!!

—

It was always hard for Sam to return to Heaven after heavy assignments and even more so when he couldn’t tell if he’d done something right or not.

Underestimating Luc had unfortunately resulted in the fight getting bloodier than Sam hoped for. He tried his hardest to resolve things peacefully. He’d begged his assignment to come in quietly, that he wouldn’t win this one.

Maybe it was that comment that salted the wound. Maybe if he knew more about what he was meant to stop, maybe then his missions’ outcome would not end in bloodshed.

Heaven rarely gave him a reason though, wary of Sam’s ability to experience and understand human emotion.  He was ‘defective’ they’d whispered the first time it had happened on an assignment.

He ran solos now, mostly hitman like jobs: no details of what this human or that creature had done to receive judgement.

He’d think the Angels would value knowledge as power, but maybe in his hands was too terrible? As a result of nothing else to go on, it took a lot more strategy to win—if he didn’t know any better, he might think they wanted him to perish on mission. Those were the orders though and the notion of disobedience, nonexistent.

Being weak from time-travel was standard, but bundled with the exhaustion of preventing a future happening, Sam’s Grace needed time to recover. It wasn’t even an excuse, he was simply too weak to make his trip Up.

Drained of energy—Sam knew he’d get into trouble for taking a self imposed vacation, but he needed that break and the only way to get one was if he took it himself.

Dropping into a random timeline, perhaps a couple years into the future, Sam read the sign stating he was in ‘Cottage Grove’. What was with these humans and randomly selecting names for their homebase?

Angels were everywhere these days, only the smallest of towns were clear of them—the streets, shops too close together to be comfortable space for wings. Of course that applied to him too, even more so as his wingspan was wider. Not archangel wide by any means but enough for him to be aware of his bulk in more cramped places. The idea was to avoid detection from all Angels however, so it served his purpose for now.

Judging from the gaudy decor and overbearing smell of pine, Sam guessed it was December where they celebrated a “Saviour”. It wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed the ‘season to be jolly’ having been more than a little irked about the lack of angel statues with brown hair and brown wings in shops. Dean, of course, found it hilarious.

Slipping his wings into the ethereal plain, he landed in an alleyway and blended with the main crowd walking down the busy street, following the sound of loud music. These places usually had town parties and it seemed like a good place to hide and unwind before having to return to Heaven.

Gabriel was in charge now, and to everyone’s shock, was doing a fantastic job. He sent the right Angels to get orders done. Of course there were few mishaps but they were few and far between. As much as he was proud of Gabriel for being so efficient, Sam was also exhausted.

Sam let himself into the townhall where the town residents were celebrating. The only human that looked his way, was a black-haired man at the snack bar, and only briefly. — A slight breeze and the door opening pulled Castiel’s attention away from his task. The banquet hall was in full capacity, each plate and seating accounted for, and unless someone had left the party, he didn’t see any reason why a stranger would walk in.

Between refilling the water jugs and looking back, the giant had gone out of sight. Half an hour later and Cas spotted him again, looking awkward in the corner, not talking just watching the crowd with tired eyes. Snapping the attention of a waiter, Cas instructed him to serve that niche where the brunette was sitting, before seating himself a little away from the crowd.

Cas stared at him then, a truly beautiful specimen. Go figure his type would walk into a party while he was working. Glancing down at the suit he had on, Cas loosened his tie, starting to feel the humidity that came from large crowds crammed in a room together. Offering the tray of appetizers at passing guests with a put on smile, Cas curiously turned back to his eye candy.  

Shit.

—

Sam had a hard time not tracking the man with his eyes. There was just something, a weird pull he didn’t entirely understand, which caused time and time again for him to seek that face in the crowd.

And then it happened.

Striking blue eyes found his hazel ones with such accuracy, Sam had a suspicion the human had been observing him too. Neither looked away, in fact his gaze seemed to intensify. What was that colour? He’d seen creation come alive, knew every shade, hue, tint in existence…and yet he’d never seen this shade before, speckles of dark and light dancing around his pupils.

He looked to be some point between his late 30’s to early 40’s. Ruggedly handsome, there were bags under his eyes, a sharp scruffy jaw like he’d forgotten to shave that morning and pink lips with pleasantly tanned skin.

Sam tried not to stare. He also tried not to knock things over because despite his wings tucked in the ethereal plain, they needed to mind and he was using all his energy to simply keep him upright.

The next time he glanced at the table, Blue Eyes was gone. Baffled by his disappointment, Sam gingerly walked to a lesser crowded corner and rearranged himself comfortably. Even if he was simply human, it would be a challenging feet regardless.

Trays of food were being passed along with plates, so despite not needing to eat, Sam helped himself to some. Time passed slowly as he watched the crowd mingling with familiarity and began missing Dean. His brother was the only one who understood him, who even stood up for him despite moving up in ranks like Gabriel, though not as top-tier. Dean never made him feel like he was…less.

A heavy feeling in his heart, Sam took a walk, smiled at people politely and interjected a lie whenever appropriate. Yes, he was passing through, no he came alone, staying the night? maybe.

Weirdly, women seemed to wait for a specific moment to speak with him. Sam wasn’t fooled. He knew the tradition of mistletoe, knew a kiss was mandatory. He didn’t like the way they looked at him though, and the one he wanted to he could see now, was deliberately avoiding doing so.

Unsure how to act like he belonged there, Sam stopped at a doorway easily looking over heads, for more reclusive spots where humans would leave him alone…

“Hi,” a gravelly voice said from behind and Sam turned towards them, being snared almost immediately by two mesmerizing pools of blue. It was him. There was a soft smile on his lips and shyness in his eyes as he went to speak further.

“You are…kinda blocking the pathway,” he offered, holding a tray with both hands in front of him. Sam stared in surprise, accidentally twitching his wings in the ethereal plain, toppling some items off a nearby table. For whatever reason, they seemed to still have a physical presence in the material world but invisible to plain sight. This never happened. Maybe his control was slipping?

“I should go,” he said aloud.

“No! I mean you don’t have to leave…”

This man didn’t want him to leave but only move? Move where? Like he could read the Angel’s mind, Blue eyes put his tray down on the conveniently bare space—curtesy of Sam’s malfunctioning limbs—and walked towards him, pushing Sam a little to the side.

Sam let him.

Getting the Angel to budge was equivalent to trying to move a boulder. Despite achieving their goal, the hands stayed on his chest, like its owner had forgotten about them.

Sam looked down at the man at least four inches shorter than him, and raised his eyebrows in question. “All good?”

Blue eyes’ had yet to move so fast, like Sam was hot to the touch. “Right. Well now that you’re out of the way, I can—“ he gestured behind him where Sam was sitting only a few minutes ago, but still didn’t budge until the sound of someone clearing their throat made them both turn.

There was a blonde woman standing in front of them, giggling delightfully at the human as she pointed up upwards. — Castiel groaned internally. Even before he looked up, Cas already knew what he’s going to find. Donna had been trying to hook him up with some of the town folk, and here this stranger was caught neatly in her web.

He had a job to do. Catering was tiresome work but the Christmas party was his biggest event, so he had to do it in order to stay afloat.

Instead, Jack refused to stay with anyone but him, and he had to bring the kid to a booze approved party. On top of it, of course the *one* person he’d actually been interested in would show up in an environment where service staff and guests weren’t allowed to mingle.

“Donna,” he sighed softly. “I’m working,”

“Shut the front door, I had no idea!” his best friend jested, “You’re the boss, you don’ count..” Donna whispered, smiling widely still and pushing him gently towards the guy.

Knowing better than to argue with the Sheriff, Cas reasoned this was probably the only time he was ever going to see this man. And Donna was right, he was the owner of the company…

This reason in mind, instead of introducing himself, Castiel grabbed the lapels of the suede coloured jacket, and tugged it enough to get the man to bend to meet him in the middle. He was going to savour this moment however long it lasted, and he had every aim to drag it out.

Just when he’d determined it an appropriate time for a mistletoe kiss, mystery man leaned in closer, arm wrapped around his waist, practically smooshing him against a wall of lean muscle.

Long strands of hair fell onto his face, and Castiel briefly wondered if they would feel as soft as they looked, wrapped around his fingers.

Caving into the urge, he gently carded his fingers through this tall man’s beautiful hair. So silky and smooth, he thought as he tugged at the strands, urging the brunette to bend down some more, going on the tips of his toes to close the height difference. — Sam was more than a little shocked at the forwardness of this seemingly awkward man but melted into the kiss anyhow. The gentle caress of his hair was turning him into goo and just as he was getting into it, he felt a double tug on his feathers.

His feather still in the ethereal plain.

Surprised he hadn’t sensed them, Sam broke the kiss abruptly and spun around expecting an Angel from the garrison, not a child looking at him. No, that wasn’t right…he was looking behind Sam.

“Soft!”

Sam froze in shock but the child was caressing his dark wings in wonder. It had blonde hair and blue eyes and were it a cartoon, it would probably have stars in them.

It could see his wings? How was that even possible? If it could see his wings, then there was no guarantee this thing was actually human, and from experience he knew looking like a human and being human were two entirely different things.

The thing kept touching him, though with utter care, like a loose feather would pain him. If there was a creature of this sort here in this town, was it being watched? Guarded? Would they think Sam was there to protect it or kill it…there were so many gue—

“Jack,” the man sighed, and picked up the little boy, “I told you to sit in the corner. Are you hungry? What can I get you?”

Jack shook his head, signalling he didn’t need anything, to which the boy got set down and the human sighed gustily, turning back to Sam, “Well, this was nice…”

“Uh huh,” Sam’s eyes were still on Jack, mind racing.

“I’m Castiel. Not that you asked, but I figured it is the most I can do aft—“

“Castiel?” Sam eyebrows jumped in surprise. A quick survey and nope, still human.

“Yes, I know its the angel of Thursday,” Castiel rolled his eyes, “No, I’m not religious,”

“Uhhh…okay,” Sam gave a small laugh under his breath. “I’m Sam by the way,”

“Well Sam, this was nice. Really nice actually, but I have to get back to work, so…enjoy the party I guess,”

Sam couldn’t have him leave though. This..thing..seemed harmless enough but what was it? Did the man know the child was not a child? Was he safe? He had to find out!!

“Oh, but…do you know where I can book a room?  It’s too late in the night to leave, and I’m kind of on vacation and this place looks like a nice place to stay.” Sam gave his best form of persuasion—puppy dog eyes. It worked.

It always worked.

Castiel hesitated for about a quarter of a second and then grabbed Sam’s arm gently. “Come with me,” leading him to another guest. Quick words were exchanged and Sam heard the gist of it. The County inn was all booked up, as well as the motel at the edge of town.

“Looks like—“

“What about that big ol’ bed of yours, Cas? Think it will fit him?” — Cas sometimes wished his life was simpler.

That he did not have a cute eight year old shaped walking and talking weather and news app for a son, a gorgeous man didn’t walk into his party room hoping to find a place to sleep, and his best friend not inviting said man to sleep in his own bed.

“Donna I don’t think Sam would appreciate that,” Cas protested lightly, trying to remember if he’d even made his bed that morning. When was the last time he’d washed his sheets? When was the last time he’d cleaned the house..?

“Actually that sounds perfect!” Sam pitched in, and Cas didn’t have anything left as far as excuses went.

“And the party’s almost over anywhooo, the staff will clean up!” Donna chirped right in.

With four pairs of eyes watching him, Cas caved, “O-okay, I guess,”

Then to both Cas and Sam’s shock, little fingers reached up clasping two of Sam’s because that’s all he could reach and began pulling him toward the door. — “You can sit in the front room, I have to change the sheets. I suppose you’ll need clothes to change into something as well..let’s see what we can do..you’re not exactly small..” Castiel kept muttering, but Sam was sure it was more for himself than to inform his guest.

Sure enough, the man went up stairs the without a word, still saying things under his breath.

This human confused him. More that, he intrigued Sam. And then there was the boy who could see his true form. Which..right. Was the more pressing matter. Or at least should have been.

Sam sat in the front room as Castiel suggested with Jack, who nuzzled against his feathery side—reminding him yet again that this small human may not be human at all. He pet the kid’s soft hair absently, wondering if maybe he should do his own tests before he reported this unusual occurrence—when Jack crawled into the space his crossed legs made, and promptly fell asleep like a pup in the middle of a nest.

Sam froze not daring to move a muscle least he hurt Jack. He didn’t know how long he sat there staring at Jack blankly, but was deep enough in his head, not to detect company when Castiel came back.

“It seems he has adopted you.” Sam looked up to see Cas leaning against the doorway, watching them with a soft expression.

“Adopted me?”

“He doesn’t usually warm up to people right away. It took him more than half a year to like Donna, and she’d a literal angel! Doesn’t even cuss, that woman. But as you see, he took a real liking to you. I’ve never seen him like that with anyone else but me.”

Sam was not sure what to say to that. He couldn’t possibly explain that Jack’s fascination with him was only because of his wings. It was the only explanation. “What does sleeping in my lap got to do with anything?”

“Plenty.” Cas smiled softly as he kneeled beside Sam, gently picking up the lightly snoring boy, carrying Jack into his room. When he returned, he took up the exact same place on the floor as before.

They talked about everything and nothing as they sat by the fire roasting marshmallows. The marshmallows might as well be sponge in his mouth, but watching as Castiel tried to make him a perfectly roasted one, crowing in delight when he succeeded, well Sam would eat the entire packet if Cas wished.

After they settled back comfortably leaning against throw pillows, Cas told him about how he’d ended up adopting Jack though it wasn’t in the plans, and in turn Sam shared stories of his job helping people and how challenging it could be but also rewarding when sucessful, omitting all the supernatural aspects of course.

Cas fell asleep with his head resting on Sam and the Angel waited until he was fast asleep, before he moved Cas to the couch. He didn’t want to go to Heaven. Didn’t want another assignment but he needed to know what in the universe was that child.

—

“About time!” were the first words Sam heard, when he returned to the garrison. “Off in Bali?”

“Hi Dean,” he sighed. “Why would I go to Bali?”

“Sun. Scenery. What isn’t good about Bali.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Gabriel. You do know all his ‘disgustingly sweet’—as you love to complain about—drinks come from there?” Dean grunted in reply and Sam’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Wow. You’re in a mood…What happened?”

“Gabe called me a dickless hoe-bag,” Dean grumped.

“Well..to be fair—“

“If you want to live another century I suggest you shut up,” Dean scowled, but then his expression switched to confusion. “Hey, what’s with the wings? Why are there streaks of blue in them?”

“Wha—“ Sam took a look for himself and oh no..Dean was right. He didn’t even know Angel wings could do that, could change in design…

It was a good thing for him, that Dean was more distracted than usual. “You actually came at the perfect time. we have a Nephilim on our hands. We have to find it, and fast, before the Demons do.”

“A Nephilim? There’s no such thing De—“ Sam stopped. Jack.

It had to be Jack!

“There is now,” Dean said, not noticing Sam’s frozen expression. “We almost had it earlier and then it disappeared from the radar. The Host wants to keep it hush hush for now. I’ve got my hands full, so does Gabriel. You’re the only one we trust with this. Look, it should be a quick job. Some human is hiding it and all you have to do is eliminate them and bring the Nephilim to Heaven.”

“I—what?” Sam’s mind was running a mile a minute. Panic raised within him, he couldn’t give—and Cas he couldn’t even imagine ‘eliminating’ him!! Instead he responded with a question, “How could you lose it??”

“It’s not like you can use an EMF tracker on Earth, Sammy,” Dean growled, frowning heavily.

“Dean—“

“Just find the human and take them out. The Nephilim’s young, easily trusting. It will probably follow you even you offered it something as simple as candy.”

Dean had no idea how right he was. It would be the easiest job yet, since Sam was at Castiel’s.

He spent the entire night debating what to do, before laying down on the floor beside the couch so that was where Cas spotted him the next morning. — Snow.

Heaps of snow fell the previous night, this wasn’t even in the forecast..but so much that the front door would not budge and it stood on top of four stone steps! Cas looked out one more time before quietly sneaking past Sam who like a gentleman, slept on the floor.

Opening Jack’s door softly, Cas sat on his son’s bed. “How did you sleep last night?”

“Mr. Sam stay?”

“Well..he doesn’t have much of a choice now, does he?” Cas sighed but held Jack’s hand to let him know he wasn’t upset. “Thank you though. It was very sweet of you, Jack,”

This was their own little secret and as long as no one knew, Jack could stay with him. Jack understood that too thankfully, despite being such a young kid. Cas suspected that type of knowledge was something unusual too. “Why today?”

“You wanted him to stay…”

“…so you made it happen,” Cas finished. Kissing Jack on the forehead, Cas tucked the bedsheets against this small human who’d won his heart the moment he’d stepped into the adoption agency and said, “Come down later, okay?”

“Okay Dad,” Jack wiggled back into the pocket created and promptly fell asleep.

Walking down the stairs, Cas startled to find Sam at the bottom of them. “H-hi. How did you sleep?”

“I’m a little sore,” Sam dimpled, mischief in his eyes. Cas grinned.

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat..” Sam replied, putting his hands in his pant pockets. Last night they had discovered none of the pyjamas Cas owned would fit him, but there was a loose sleep shirt and on Sam’s broad shoulders, were so tight it might as well have been second skin.

He looked absolutely delectable. Cas stopped when he was eye level with Sam, which meant at least two steps off the ground.

“See something you like?”

“Oh don’t even pretend you don’t know!” Cas scoffed, cupping the nape of Sam’s neck, and pressing his chapped lips against soft ones. Sam caressed his thigh before easily picking him up and Cas wrapping his legs tightly around the taller man’s waist, was carried like that into a brightly lit room that could only be the kitchen.

Set down on the counter, Sam stood between his legs, hands roaming the expanse of Cas’ back, fingers just about dipping under his shirt, when he spoke, “I could do this forever,” Sam murmured against his lips.

“Hmm..” Cas buried his fingers in Sam’s soft hair, barely breathing since he didn’t want to part from Sam, when his stomach rumbled loudly.

“I guess my body disagrees.”

“Not all of you,” Sam quipped slyly.

Cas pushed him aside playfully and hopped onto the tiled floor. “Oh by the way, you need to know…it snowed a ton last night. Tons like can’t open the front door because its packed against it.”

“Oh. The forecast said sunny skies?” Sam sounded surprised, but there was a hint of something else that Cas couldn’t place. He wasn’t overly bothered by it. Snowed in, he had Sam all to himself.

Well him and Jack, but he didn’t mind sharing. — Sam knew he was sinking deeper and deeper.

Seeing Jack trusting him so easily last night, Sam now knew it was because Jack was part Angel. That’s why he felt safe with Sam, felt protected, they were kin in a way. There was no way he’d cause harm to the pup now. Jack really was innocent…he was oblivious of the dangers of the world and introducing him to violence would tip that scale, might even destroy him. As long as that didn’t happen, Sam was sure Jack would continue to be a happy boy.

And then there was Cass. Cas who’d besides the initial hesitation—Sam realized was more embarrassment than fearful—had been open and welcoming. He didn’t put up any pretense and he had no shame expressing his attraction to the Angel, but not in a pushy manner. Cas was changing his perception and there wasn’t even a little bit where he fought it.

Instead he enjoyed his time with just Cas, flinging pancake batter on him while the human was trying to be serious and not burn whatever was on the stove. Their shenanigans continued up until Jack arrived.

They made cookies the next morning, Sam and Jack making a mess of themselves and after a lot of rolling of the eyes, Cas joined them. Later that night, Sam lay down on Cas’ bed. Donna was right in the sense of the bed being wide. Having never needing to lay down, Sam found the whole thing weird, feet still managing to stick out.

“You can tuck your feet under, you know?” Cas laughed softly beside him, spotting Sam’s expression. Sam turned to face him instead. They stared at one another just like the time in the party hall.

“You have beautiful eyes, Cas”. Sam watched as a deep blush rose in Cas’ cheeks.

“And you have beautiful hair.”

“Is that why you like playing with them so much?”

Cas smiled at him lazily, a retort quick on his tongue. “as if you don’t enjoy it.”

Sam only hummed. Cas scooted closer and kissed his nose, linking Sam’s fingers with his, in the most intimate gesture Sam was yet to experience, “I wish you didn’t have to leave…” his voice trailed off, before he fell into a deep sleep.

With the knowledge that Cas definitely wouldn’t wake Sam allowed his wings to materialize, draping them onto Cas.

The meaning of Cas’ words finally made sense the next day, when Sam glanced out. The snow had completely melted, given creating slush and a lot of puddles but other than that, if he were human, it would be safe to travel.

What this revealed however, was that Cas knew something, otherwise how would he have been able to predict the extreme switch of weather? Honestly Sam wished Jack would stop, not only because it meant he no longer had an excuse to stay with Cas, but the Angels would definitely take notice.

That still meant he had to leave though. Breakfast was a somber meal, Cas not saying much. He did hold Sam’s hand throughout, even if it made it hard for him to eat. Sam didn’t resist because he realized he needed it too. Maybe if he was built the same as other Angels, it wouldn’t be so hard.

But he wasn’t. And it was.

One of the last moments they had was when Cas pulled out his fone and suggested they exchange numbers, “Just in case” he’d said. It read more as ‘I’ll miss you, please don’t disappear on me.’

Following suit, Sam pulled out his and typed his contact space as ‘Cass’. Castiel reached over his shoulder, again standing on a higher step and reverse linked their fingers so both palms were up, so he was now holding the device and pushed the delete button once, so it read ‘Cas’ instead.

“Does it matter?” Sam asked confused.

“Trust me, it matters,” with a fond smile, Cas quickly pecked Sam on his cheek.

Cas thankfully didn’t see when Sam gave Jack one of his downy feathers. “Our little secret okay?”

“Secret.” Jack nodded, smiling so brightly, Sam felt a pang in his heart. No matter what happened, he hope Jack would retain his innocence. It was Sam’s favourite thing about him. That and how he’d crawl into Sam’s lap, as Cas looked on.

“Take care, okay? Promise me.”

“I’ll try. Okay yes, yes I will take care,” Cas amended after Sam glared at him. “And..you too.”

“Sure.” — “Cas! Cas you here?!” Sam’s panicked voice carried easily up the stairs, where Cas was getting ready to use the shower. Strange. He didn’t recall hearing the door open with a ‘ping’, but something in Sam’s tone didn’t allow him dwell on.

“Sam? What is it?” Castiel rushed down the stairs, and Sam upon seeing him, looked like a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders, but he wasn’t relaxing, not completely.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I tried. I tried every which way but—the storm maybe I’m not sure—they can’t find you, Cas! I can’t please—“ Sam’s frame shook. Cas had never seen him so undone and it scared him.

“Sam what are you talking about?”

“Mr. Sam?” Jack’s sweet voice called behind them and Sam turned, dropping to his feet fluidly, practically swallowed Jack in his arms.

“Jack..oh than-k you, you’re safe,”

“Sam?”

Sam’s shoulders tightened again and it hurt Cas to see him like this. Their parting had been bittersweet, and Cas had missed Sam’s warmth for the last couple weeks. Good Lord his dimples! Cas yearned to see them again.

Sam finally stood up and took a deep breadth. “I need you to close your eyes.” Seeing Cas about to ask why, he insisted, “Please. You trust me? Please, Cas.”

Feeling slightly foolish, Cas did as was requested, when he felt that familiar sensation of wind but not wind. Then he was being enveloped in a hug, comforting and warm and…safe. He’d thought he’d dreamt this up, but this feeling felt so good.

“Now open your eyes.”

Cas blinked once. Twice. Sam’s hands were by his side..then what was…Dark brown walls the same colour as Sam’s hair had materialized and wrapped around him like a cocoon.

“I’m an Angel, Cas. I know this must be hard to digest right now, and I understand if you…” Sam bit his lip in a nervous gesture. Not knowing what to say, Cas backed up only to feel a wall of feathers at his back. Despite looking like steel, it felt—

“Soft?” His eyes widened with shock and darted towards Jack. How he’d taken so easily to Sam, how he cuddled up like a puppy, how mesmerized he seemed early on.

“Soft!” Jack clapped happily that his dad finally got it.

“He’s been able to see them this entire time?!” Sam nodded solemnly.

“I know he’s not like…everyone else. He..he knows when people are coming even before they’re on our street. He knows if something terrible is going to happen and prevents me from going out of the house. He brought rain when there was a drought—“

Something must have tipped Sam off to reply “—excessively. But the flood happened in California?”

“He was watching TV, Sam.” Cas felt a brush against his cheek. Unknowingly, he’d moved his head to rest on them, feather’s tickling his cheek. “So. He is..”

“He is not dangerous, he is in danger, Cas. So are you. I’m going to try to fight them off, but first this is going to sting,” Sam put each of his large hands on Cas and Jack’s chest and Cas felt a surge of energy pass through him. “I’ve carved sigils on your ribcage that prevent Angels from tracking you. “That should give us some time.”

This was all too much for Cas. Sam wasn’t human, he had wings—beautifully majestic wings he could appreciate later—but what they were being hunted? Why? In his confusion his tone took a sharper edge.

“Some time for what? Because I’m not leaving, Sam. This is my home.”

“It will be temporary, I promise.”

“Temporary for how long? My mom always told me it was temporary that we stayed in motels in a new town. She would promise a house, a mailbox, a permanent school. I never got that house Sam—I was relocated to another town, another motel, another “temporary”. So I ask you again. How long? And if the answer is ‘I don’t know’, then Jack and I are staying put.

“If my son is wanted by the supernatural, it means he’s powerful. If they feel threatened, he’s really powerful. We can stay. You can stay.” Cas prayed Sam knew what what he really meant.

“If I stay, I’d fall. I’d lose my wings, I’d be human..” Sam’s voice went quiet.

“Would being human really be so bad?” The words were out of his mouth before he could consider them. Cas dropped his eyes to his feet, feeling vulnerable. He hadn’t opened himself to another in a really long time. He was being selfish; he was being a hypocrite.

“I’m sorry. No, no you’re right,“ he swallowed the lump in his throat. “You should go. If th-that’s what is best for you, I und—“

“I love you too, Cas. And I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Cas felt weightless at the confession and tugged Sam to him, kissing him slowly, softly. Lovingly.

“No mistletoe?” said a small confused voice and it caused both Cas and his angel to smile into the kiss. — In the end things were pretty anticlimactic. The door was busted off its hinges as five Angels streamed through, Dean leading them.

Sam stood at the front, Cas on his left holding an Angel blade and Jack on his right, looking completely uninterested as he sat on the floor playing with plastic dinosaurs.

“I don’t want to fight you brother,” Sam said, looking solely at Dean, wings spread. “But I will, if I must.”

Dean glanced towards the human with an Angel’s name, looking unfazed at the appearance of Sam’s wings, or that Sam was shielding him from them. Narrowing his eyes, Dean realized Castiel’s eyes were the same colour as the new streaks on Sam’s wings. There was only one explanation for the change.

Dammit Sam! This was the worst ‘man walks in the bar’ joke. Except it wasn’t a joke. It was his brother in love.

He took his first good look at the Nephilim in question. It was looking right back, the delight plain in his eyes as it squealed, “Mo’ wings!” It was..it was a child. Part child anyways but Dean couldn’t sense any maliciousness coming from it.

There was no way Dean was going to take it away from its family now.

Just for the sake of reporting an interrogation, Dean said, “He caused a severe snowstorm that hit seven other states. That level of damage is hard to explain in places not known for snow!”

“Mr. Sam was leaving. Dad sad. Then Dad happy. Then Dad very happy!”

“Jack!” both Sam and Cas reprimanded him, blushing furiously. Dean smirked inwardly, okay this just got entertaining. He decided he liked the kid.

“The flood?”

“There was a drought,” Castiel added, despite Sam advising him to leave the talking to the Angels.

“And the hurricane in Africa?”

Sam frowned as did Cas, “I don’t know that one…”

“The lions wanted to eat the baby elephant. Elephants are nice. Lions were not nice.” Jack frowned disapprovingly.

“So he relocated the pack…that is kind of adorable,” said an Angel behind Dean.

To which another muttered, “I’m not arresting Sam’s son. Might relocate me too..” There were multiple muttered agreements. Cas looked over at Sam, who seemed as confused as he felt.

“Okay one last question,” Dean said, and all eyes snapped to him. “When’s the wedding?”

“DEAN!” —

[bladekindeyewear]

Time to read hs^2′s third non-bonus update!  I have not had a single portion of an image spoiled this time, and have no damn idea what it’s about.  Not even any asks in my inbox.  Will we have more of Ghostflusters, maybe a reason Jane didn’t know he was gone even when he supposedly received divorce papers?  A cut back to the good guys in pursuit of Dirk and crew?  Will Jade be a black-eyed zombie, or finally fucking awake like she deserves to be???

Let’s find out!

Oh god damn everything, please no.  ==>

...Oh!

Oh that’s MUCH better than it could’ve been!  We’re still in Candyverse, but cutting over to the Vriskas’ perspectives.  So that on the right would be the “mostly identical” Vriska who Rose and Kanaya raised, and the aforementioned logistics are just dealing with a dead clown body (that hopefully isn’t being refrigerated in the unseen spot Dirk was hiding from Terezi on their ship).

Kid Vriska looks pretty cool!  A fair bit Aranea-y, with that collar feeling like a nice hint of the Pagey version of her who originally earned the (Vriska) title.

(Vriska) pockets John’s phone before she can worry too much about waiting for a reply from Terezi.

Right, stolen phone... an anon in my inbox pointed out that Vriska “has a direct line out to Terezi” because of it, but I didn’t take it that seriously because I thought it wouldn’t come into play at all later.  Guess I was wrong, with the narrative taking the trouble to point it out-- especially considering that whatever she said, she EXPECTS a possible reply.

Other than some fun banter, I can’t figure out where this particular upd8 is going.

> (==>)

Oh that is a smug, self-satisfied Vriska look if I ever saw one.  (Vriska) over here is still dust under her heels, isn’t she?

VRISKA: If you want to keep Hanging Out, I mean. Which I assume you Do.

Holy shit, she’s throwing a bit of Kanaya Caps in her language.  That’s SUPER adorable.  That was probably in Candy too and I just forgot about it.

VRISKA: So, Nickname me, 8itch. And make it Cute.

Huh!  You don’t stake too much on your name, then?

> (==>)

Vrissy!  That’s surprisingly genial of you, it’s pretty damn good.

VRISSY: So now that we have that locked down, what’s First on the list of Awesome Shit we’re gonna do Together?

Oh no.  No, no Vrissy, you’re gonna be disappointed.  :(

VRISSY: I told you already, I don’t ever get up to Anything nearly as Interesting as you did. VRISKA: Till now ;;;;) VRISSY: Heh. Yeah.

...yeah, FUCK.  Vrissy is gonna get used and thrown away so fucking hard.  The slightest ounce of hero worship thrown Vriska’s way is an ounce that’s gonna get exploited to hell and back.

I suppose from here we’re going into the rebellion, aren’t we?  I hope badass eyepatch Karkat doesn’t look too silly in this art style.

> (==>)

God, this art style is so CLEAN and makes her look so ADORABLE.

--ah, okay.  We’re gonna see how the dynamic between Vrissy and human Kid-Tavros works.  Hope this won’t be too painful.  Besides, like... the kind of hilarious starting-pain that she’s asking HIM to help take care of a dead body.

VRISSY: That was Tavros. He’s on his way.

Oh man, Vriska didn’t know.  :D

> (==>)

Huh!  That’s a more thoughtful expression than I was expecting.

VRISKA: Unless he’ll rat us out to his mom???????? VRISSY: Nah. He’ll get too much of a Kick out of seeing this dead Piece of Shit, don’t Worry.

Oh man.  Tavros’ll probably just be sad or freaked out a bit, but what I wouldn’t give for our first look at him to be him dancing on this clown’s grave.

> (==>)

Vrissy hates that ostentatious prick-mobile, mostly because it is not her ostentatious prick-mobile.

Heheheh.

Hm?  “Actual spy shit”, other than hiding a body?  Did you have some bigger anti-Crocker stuff in mind, Vrissy?

> (==>)

Oh Jiminy Christmas!!!  You’re the spitting image of your parents!  And, like... perfectly visually suited to induce Vriska-macking, unwanted or otherwise.

> (==>)

TAVROS: These are normal things you expect to happen, when you are picking up your kismesis and her,,,, ah,,, new friends,

Oh right, that’s the relationship.  More that I forgot from Candy.

VRISSY: Who is VERY Cool and Sexy with her Eyepatch--

--remind me again why Vriska has an eyepatch?  Something in the Lord English fight, a stray shard of universe fabric inflicting more random meaningful damage?  *Looks it up.*  Oh huh, so THAT was the vague damage to her head she played off-- the shard literally got her eye and she refused to admit it to herself or the narrative.  I was wondering about that weird damage back when I read it, but never inferred the answer.  And did she put the eyepatch on when she landed in Candy?  *Looks that up*  Wait, no, it couldn’t have hit her eye.  From Candy:

Vriska’s face snaps up, eyes blazing. Eyes. Actual eyes, with expression, color, pupils, and everything.

[...]  There’s a bleeding gash on her head and something lodged in her chest.

Okay, fuck.   Then whence the fucking eyepatch?  *Keeps skimming Candy...*

(VRISKA): The 8attle was hitting its clim8x when I got hit in the head with... with...

(Vriska) paws at her head wound, fingers numb and vision blurry.

(VRISKA): Wh8tever the fuck it was that hit me in the head!

Hmm?

JOHN: do you wanna see a doctor for that or something? (VRISKA): No!!!!!!!! (VRISKA): I w8nt to know what the fuck is GOING ON!!!!!!!!

Hmmmm.....  *Keeeeps reading...*

Dammit, that’s all there is.  So this is an inference either Andrew intended or the other authors/artists did from the tail end of all that -- Vriska either took head damage that deprived her of sight in that eye, made it more light-sensitive/blurry, OR that eyepatch is essentially a makeshift bandage over the bleeding parts.  (Which might remain medically necessary, or she might just keep wearing for style points.)  Hmm.

I’m mostly just relieved that whoever’s helping write HS^2 didn’t fuck up.  Okay, that’s enough Candy-digging, back to the story now:

After a few beats, he propels himself off the car like a swimmer at the sound of a gun, his body plunging in a graceful arc toward his goal.

Huh?  I mean, good execution, very Jake, but... huh?  Is someone gonna get clobbered?  Vrissy?  The corpse?

> (==>)

Ooh, the corpse!  Yes!!!  Kick that corpse.

Why did the head honk?  Hopefully this stays a corpse.  (I’m surprised his strikes are as weak as the narrative’s saying; even if he’s really Tavros-natured, he’s still the son of two of the strongest, fisticuff-iest players.  Kind of a rebellion against his parents both, then?)

> (==>)

--unrelated, I just saw the Bonus blinking with Catnapped Part 2.  Guess I won’t be finished once I’ve covered this, just yet.

VRISKA: I am in no place to 8egrudge a man his cathartic ass-kicking moment, but that was a loud fucking scream. VRISSY: No kidding. My ears are STILL ringing from your 8ig attempt at breaking the sound 8arrier.

Y’all are ones to talk, I just reread the part of Candy where you two found Vriska fucking Gamzee.

> (==>)

> (==>)

Please don’t move, clown.  Stay the fuck dead, please?

> (==>)

Calm down, Tav, you’ve got this.

> (==>)

Nice suspenders.

> (==>)

aaaaAAAAAAAAAAA WHO IS THIS AGAIN IS THIS HARRY OR SOMETHING IS THIS JOHN AND ROXY’S ASSHOLE KID

--sorry I got overexcited because I clicked next and saw that hair spiral aaaa.

...I hope it isn’t a DIFFERENT kid of theirs that I somehow forgot exists or such.  That’d be embarrassing.  This guy/girl/person looks infuriatingly suave, also.

> (==>)

YOU’RE SO CUTE IN A WAY THAT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE.

--Yep, dialogue confirms it’s Harry Anderson.

Heh, he’s pulling an Early Acts John and not believing a word of it, but playing along.

There is no possible way that this stuff Vrissy is saying isn’t horeseshit, but he is not about to crack.

--just wanna point out the probably-typo before they fix it.

Ah, bringing it there.  Good luck, Harry.

> (==>)

Oh, that was fast.

> (==>)

...That’s what you get for relying on Harry.

> (==>)

VRISKA: We can just dump it in the inciner8or. That’s pro8a8ly what his plan was to 8egin with. VRISSY: The what???????? VRISKA: The inciner8or. Like, for 8odies?? VRISSY: At SCHOOL???????? VRISKA: Yes? TAVROS: It is somewhat pleasant to be reminded,,, in my darker moments,,,, that the grass is not really ever greener on Alternia,

No comment, this is just pretty hilarious.

I still keep revisiting how easily Vrissy gave up her given name, here.  As if she feels like her real name ought to be associated with the hero instead of her, in a kind of... lowkey low self-esteem way.

VRISSY: I should have known he was fucking with us. VRISSY: GOD he is such a Stupid 8astard.

--Well, they know each other well enough.

Hm.  Does Vriska think they can just kill any human kids they run into?

> (==>)

...GOSH, Vrissy is stupid adorable.  And like, shockingly chill, in general.

> (==>)

Huh.  Vrissy, are you chickening out on an adventure because you’re afraid you’ll get caught?  ...well, good for you, honestly!  Not that I think it’ll last.

...yup, there she goes after ‘em.

> (==>)

I think you’re still going to fuck up, Vriska.

> (==>)

None of them know where they are going, but Vriska is leading the way, hunched and purposeful

I guess none of this is surprising, really.

Is Jane going to, like... hear about the corpse found in a human school’s basement and blame the rebellion some more somehow?  Not that it matters, I guess.

There is something incredibly reassuring, Tavros thinks, about someone who has absolute outward confidence in themselves.

(There’d better not be any relationship conflict involving Vriska upcoming in the future.  BETTER not.)

> (==>)

Gamzee managing to fuck everything up even when he’s dead.

> (==>)

VRISKA: No, he’s right, I was going to count to eight.

Hah.

> (==>)

Are they gonna end up dumping him at Harry’s feet?

Nice way to force him out of school and into the rebellion, that.

> (==>)

VRISSY: Keep looking for Harry Anderson. He’s In The Shit with us now, whether he likes it or not.

Guess so!  Fair enough.

> (==>)

oh no

(I also understand why I haven’t gotten any asks about this upd8 yet.  This is mostly just character (re-)introductions and hijinks.  Totally up for some Harry, Vriska, Vrissy and Tavros adventures now that I can actually SEE them, it really adds a lot.)

> (==>)

And there it goes.  Slide into Harry’s classroom on the waterslick maybe?

> (==>)

The human students, trained to respond to a fire drill with speed and enthusiasm for missed class time, are out in the hall in a matter of seconds.

Oh, the worst possible outcome.  :D

> (==>)

Shit, they’re all on camera.  Nice job, Vriska!  Welcome to Earth.

> (==>)

> (==>)

Oh my fucking GOD, this image.  Vriska is LOVING the chaos!!!  She doesn’t even care!

VRISKA: I thought this planet was gonna be a snoozefest desert devoid of 8oth agency and fun, but I am honestly having a gr8 time.

Pfff.  I should’ve known.  She just cares about being where the Action Is, as Aradia put it at the end of Meat.

> (==>)

She sees it, and she can’t breathe. Her lover, her confidante, her clown of many years, being desecrated by a bunch of treasonous monsters.

You threw him out of a ship.

Yeah, of course she draws that conclusion.  Everything and everyone is either with her or against her, after all.

> (==>)

--Wait, you didn’t even know Tavros was missing until that moment???

So did the lawyers send the divorce papers on their own, or did the authors really just forget?

> (==>)

Your John is showing SO hard, Harry.

> (==>)

Congratulations!

> (==>)

Yep!

> (==>)

HARRY ANDERSON: oh fuck

*slow clap*

I’ll cover Catnapped 2 in a bit, though circumspectly as it’s a paid bonus.  See y’all!

[mor-beck-more-problems]

An In-Spectre Calls || Cassie and Morgan

Set before the potw. Morgan meets Cassie for the first time and asks for some slightly spooky help. 

There was something pathetic about drifting through Eye of Newt alone. Around Morgan teenage witches squealed over crystal balls and bundles of sage, handmade fliers for a Tarot Tuesday covered the table, taper candles of every color stared down their wicks at all the fuss, and so many purple spined books gleamed out from the shelves. It was all so curated, so proud, so...much nicer than the mess of wax and leaves around Morgan’s kitchen table where she made her own wares. Even Vera, Vera, could afford gilt labels for her smudge sticks. Bitch. Worst of all was knowing that few self respecting witches dared to roll the dice here. They had other, better outlets to send for. But Morgan had left a chunk of her self respect somewhere around trying to connect with her ancestors through a three dollar slice of birthday cake. And the shame of all this, re-stocking from her own competition, watching teenagers exercise more freedom and skill with their gel pens than she had bothered to muster lately--settled around her like the heaviest of blankets. At least if she was miserable, she was safe. Probably. 

And so Morgan lingered, bitterly taking mental notes on packaging and pining over books she would not be able to afford for another month or more (Vera saw right through any cash she tried to conjure, every time). She had almost tortured herself to the point of boredom when she spotted a familiar face. 

Oh. Oh no. Was this some kind of cosmic trick? Was that--the pro bono exorcist girl? The moon was still in Capricorn, so that was in her favor, and Friday was her lucky day, but having an expert fall into her lap, or at least someone else’s storefront, was not the kind of gift that generally came her way. Morgan stopped and stared at the girl more than was socially appropriate.

Fuck it. 

Morgan marched up to her, wares still in hand, and leaned over as unobtrusively as she could into her line of sight. She smiled brightly, too mystified at the possibility before her to contain herself. “Hi! This might be a really strange thing to say, but you’re--Cassie, right?” She lowered her voice. “Exorcist Cassie? I hear things around town. And the targeted ads in my mailbox are just--well, anyway, I could really use an expert’s help with summoning something. Someone.” 

If you couldn’t make your own grave dust store-bought was probably fine. Wincing at the price tag mark-up compared with the last place Cassie stopped at to stock up she scanned the rows of jars and tinctures for the last couple of ingredients that had been trashed in transit. Fresh out of ash and with no way to make the stuff without either looking like a serial killer or setting the smoke alarm off. Although, on second thought considering the place she was staying, whatever weirdness she brought with her was likely only the sixth strangest thing in that hotel. Speaking of, the four-dollar hole in her pocket was still stinging from shelling out for those Cheerios late last night. Next stop had to be for something that had actually seen the inside of an oven. With that thought in mind she guessed her next stop would be finding someplace to eat some point. The Thai place she passed last night seemed like a good bet.

Like most of its sister stores around the country this place might have been full of wishful thinkers, but maybe there were a couple things that could do in a pinch. Either way she was limited on options and she doubted there’d be anywhere else offering anything any different. Stooping down to read the price tag of a jar of black salt that caught her attention she registered another person in the vicinity. Assuming it was the owner stopping by she straightened up from her crouch by the jars to stand at full height and grabbed up a jar, about to ask if she had anything a little more specific when she registered her name being mentioned followed by the familiar hushed tones, exorcist. That caught her attention as she seemed to peer over at her interestedly. She seemed earnest enough. It was the eagerness that surprised her. Word got around fast, real fast. Anywhere else the whole thing, the whole business really, was a clandestine operation. The routine, ‘Hey thanks for your services, but get out and let’s never speak of this again’ followed by a swift exit was the norm. Not here though. Here it was practically encouraged almost.

“Uh, yeah. That would be me,” she nodded uncertainty, eyeing the store inventory she was holding. “A summoning? You mean to, you know, deal with something?” It was easy to get lost in translation so she tried to follow it with a gesture that she hoped implied giving the boot, “then I can check into it, sure.”

Morgan couldn’t believe her luck. A real exorcist. A real, helpful, exorcist. She bounced on her feet, resisting the urge to clap her hands with excitement. “I thought I recognized your face! And, whew, that would have been really embarrassing otherwise, accosting some poor random person with words like  ‘exorcist’ and ‘summoning.’” Was she being funny? The image played hilariously in her mind in a terrible sort of way: the total lack of understanding on the stranger’s face, the painfully awkward attempts at saving face. After so many big setbacks, the reach of this stupid, strupid curse, Morgan found herself hard pressed to believe in lucky breaks or happy cooincidences. 

(Did that mean her plan was doomed? Oh god, it might be doomed)

“Oh, but, not like--” she mimicked Cassie’s gesture, growing red and speckled with anxiety. Maybe she should have stayed home and brooded over her hot glue gun situation in quiet isolation instead. Sure,  her cat would have still given her judgement eyes from her nest in the bookshelf, but that wouldn’t be half so bad as having this blow up in her face. But like a bad piece of gum on your shoe, Morgan stuck and kept talking. 

“I mean, I’ll want them, you know,” She gestured again, “Eventually. But first I want to bring something here. After I’ve gotten the information I need, it should probably go back to wherever, I guess,  but I need to get someone first.” 

If Morgan had only sensed the ghost judging her from behind, she might have appreciated how funny her request already was, Cassie’s help or not. 

Cassie tilted her head a little, “right,” she nodded with a small laugh. “Hell of an icebreaker, right?” She offered. “Either that or they’d just tell you to call in Zak Bagans,” she mock grimaced.

She watched as Morgan repeated the gesture, still trying to wrap her head around the request.  Okay, so she did mean summoning something, inviting it. It wasn’t totally unheard of, trying to make contact. Mostly for any lingerers that were already there, but actually folding out the welcome mat? That was still a new one, but she still felt that pang of curiosity that something like that would even work, or why anybody would even want it to. 

I need to get someone first.

Looks like you already got them, she mused not unkindly, finally acknowledging the second shadow nearby. Cassie hadn’t made eye contact with the figure lurking in the background until then, but when she did it made her stop in her tracks for a second. They were there alright, but weak. Whoever they were, she couldn’t make anything out past the general humanoid shape and occasional incline of their head as they listened in. Like they were stuck in some halfway point. Weird.

They were here, but they weren’t thrilled about it, but what else was new? Cassie gave them a look that she hoped implied later and turned her attention back to Morgan as she weighed up the options. What were the chances here that whatever she said she was going to do it anyway? Pretty high she was willing to bet. Putting the jar back on the shelf decidedly, “you know what...sure,” she agreed. “I mean mostly I’m there pointing out the exit sign, “she admitted, “but can’t hurt to be around. Let you know if you’re getting warmer”, and to step in in the off chance the invisible man back there had any ideas she added after a second glance. 

“Hell of an icebreaker, right?” She offered. “Either that or they’d just tell you to call in Zak Bagans,” she mock grimaced.

“Just ‘little white crest things,’ huh?” Morgan replied with a laugh. “I do promise I’m not like this all the time. Sometimes I say things like how are you, and, I don’t know--what nice, normal weather we’re having!”

This was...nice. Almost fun. Morgan began to sweat behind her ears at the thought Fun was the sort of thing she felt she had to trick her way into. Fun was the kind of feeling that hatched big, wild bursts of ‘come and get me while my back is turned you lousy curse’ energy. And, Christ on a cracker, wasn’t she getting ahead of herself? She was talking with Cassie about what amounted to a work thing, not about making friendship bracelets, or going to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Not exactly the stuff of tragedies, even in her own family tree. Could be safe. And if she had managed to shake certain doom for awhile, and since it was doomed to catch up, maybe she should hold it together and enjoy the reprieve. Pretend to be a less disastrous version of herself until later. Hopefully much later. After they found Agnes. 

When Cassie agreed to help, Morgan reigned in the impulse to tackle her with relief. “Thank you, so much! You are amazing, and I will compensate you...somehow. I know conjuring money is pretty high on the questionable morality spectrum, but I can also fix things! If it’s in the broken vase category and not the complicated mechanical one, I can definitely fix it. Or with the right material I can make you something really nice. But, again, not too complicated. I’ve spent more time at the archive than my old alchemy books lately, so. And, drinks, or several, burgers even.” Morgan could feel herself running too fast away from her personal disasters. So fast she almost missed what Cassie added, quietly, as not to set any alarms. Invisible man? What? 

It shattered Morgan’s loop of thought and made her go rigid. She cast her gaze back, head-turning slowly. What did Cassie mean? Invisible? Was she being followed? Maybe she had triggered something in the universe and now she was going to watch this blow up in her face before she’d even started. This might be how she died-- 

Morgan looked. Nothing. Not even a shadow. Then again, that might be the whole point of ‘invisible.’ She turned back to Cassie, suddenly feeling like they needed to get somewhere not in the shop. “Um...what do you mean invisible man?” She whispered. “Like...with some kind of glamour? Or--” It came on her so slowly because until now it had seemed laughably impossible. “Do you mean a GHOST?” She squeaked.

“No kidding,” she laughed, “been here a couple days but this place…it’s something else,” she had to admit. Understatement of the new decade, twenty-four hours in and she felt like she had enough for most of her co-workers to have a field day out here. Difference was, for the most part, she had ethics. “Oh hey, no need. I have a day job,” she waved the offers of compensation off, “you’re good.” The day she accepted cash or handouts for this kind of thing would be the day—wait conjuring cash? At some point, she’d have to ask about that-about all of that, but one thing at a time.

Cassie saw the look that crossed Morgan’s expression and frowned for a second in confusion. It was only after the words were out of her mouth that she realized she’d said that last part out loud and immediately felt like backtracking. Shit, way to scare the crap out of them. She could practically see the alarm bells going off in Morgan’s head. Part of her wanted to bluff, tell her she meant as in the general sense but thought better of it. Better not to start off on a lie. It never ended well.

“Okay so, you’ve got one visitor,” she admitted tentatively, “but you’ve got nothing to worry about, they don’t look like much of a threat.” Cassie cast another glance at them as they continued to hover around nearby like a bad smell. Was that an incline of their head at that last comment? “This’d be a very different conversation if there was, trust me.” She hoped that might take a little of the edge off of it. “I’m free today, least I’ve got nothing much planned. I can stop by, deal with the mystery guest over there, try and get contact properly,” figure out if they’re who you’re looking for,” figure out what they wanted and how they even got there like that she added to herself. The longer she looked at the figure the weirder it got. For a second she thought she saw a pair of eyes take shape before they flickered out again. Interesting. “Or if you wanted to wait,” she blinked and brought her attention back to Morgan, “I can hand over some things to keep them out of your hair for a while give you my cell number and you can text me an address or something. Whichever works.” Cassie pulled her cell out from her pocket and opened her bag out to look for what was left her the black salt but came up empty-handed, “crap, the last of it’s in the car,” she murmured and picked the jar of the stuff she was about to buy again and raised her eyebrows at the price tag. Wow, not for forty dollars I’m not. “This stuff keeps them away,” she lifted the jar back up before putting it back down again. “I have some in the car, but regular salt works, just doesn’t last as long.”

 “Are you sure?” Morgan pressed. “You’re kind of doing me a big favor…” But Cassie seemed pretty sure of her stance. Morgan couldn’t figure out why. There had to be loads of people who would pay a lot for help like this. Now that the weight of making up for her services was off Morgan’s chest, she could admit she would have pushed her powers to limit to make this happen. Why wouldn’t you try and get something out of the deal?

But Morgan didn’t have time to think about this because of what Cassie said next. You’ve got one visitor. She had really done it. Maybe? Hopefully. “A visitor,” she repeated, dumbfounded. “A ghost kind of visitor, following me around.” What if it was Agnes? Or one of Agnes’ children? Morgan looked back over her shoulder again, just in case willpower alone could bring it into her sight and understanding. When looked back at Cassie, her face was glowing with held back excitement.

“I need to find out who it is,” she said quietly. “In case it’s who I’m looking for. But the other stuff would be good too. This maybe-kind-of isn’t my first time trying this, just the first time that it’s worked.” She looked at the salt jar Cassie Hefted and made a mental note to up her game in that area. Forty dollars for a little jar. Maybe she should start charging more for her candles; this family quest was getting expensive. “I’d like to see the kind of salt you roll with,” she added lightly. “I’ve been using mom’s old kosher salt, but that was before I knew I should be upgrading. What’s in your mix that makes it different? And, would it be unprofessional if I hugged you right now?”

“Just the one,” Cassie repeated as if that would somehow make it any better. “They’re hard to make out though, which means either they’re weaker, like they’re new or they’re on the out.” Another glance towards the mystery figure and she was sure she picked up the indignation coming off from their stance alone. “Okay. If I can get some stuff from the car, find somewhere quiet I can try and get a read on them. Figure out if this is your guy.” Cassie’s eyes followed Morgan’s gaze back to the discarded jar, “it’s different for everybody, but I like a mix. A little rock salt-any salt really-” she added quickly on review, “some chalk and some Obit ashes mixed in there. Helps with the ‘ashes to ashes part’ it’s not the main focus though. The main part is the words and the intent that’s there." Morgan seemed so enthusiastic and hopeful, she hoped she wasn’t setting her up for a loss. She could do it, hazy figure aside, but actually summoning something was still out of her wheelhouse. She just hoped she wasn’t about to be a let down. Cassie thought for a moment before answering, “maybe save it for when we actually ID your friend, or at least get some contact on line one.”

Morgan took out her phone and made notes as Cassie explained her salt recipe. There was a cemetery near the Traveler’s Rest, should be easy to come by the ashes. She didn’t trust her alchemy-brewed stuff to do the trick, not when it came to warding off whatever had come out of that cake. Morgan didn’t know much about what she was getting into, but she was aware she had passed the ‘in over your head’ signpost few miles behind packing up her life and moving to White Crest. 

She settled for a thumbs up at Cassie instead of the hug. “Too soon, got it,” she said, laughing it off. “But it’s not about the success. I mean, success would be great, obviously, but I’ve been at this--for good reason!--for three years now, and this is the first time I’ve gotten, like, help from anyone. Even if you have to go back to your very expert drawing board, I’m still appreciative. Really.” Something in her sombered at the truth in those words, three years banging her head against her laptop, three years trying to get out of bed, trying not to derail her life anymore than this stupid curse already had. Three years and now she was at the zero hour. Of course she was grateful for even the illusion of progress. What did she have left to lose this year except her life anyway? Her shitty jobs? But that wasn’t the right mindset. Think positive. Move forward. She pepped herself up and headed for the door. “So! Let’s go figure this out!”

Mulling over what Morgan had said. About this being the first time anybody had offered some actual help rankled a little. If you could kick them out it stood to reason there was a way to call them up. It might actually be useful for a few things. Maybe if they were lucky whoever she was trying to get hold of was actually still around, strange as that was to say considering, they could actually make contact. “Three years?” Cassie felt her eyebrows raise involuntarily at that information. “Well, least you’ve got it now, the help I mean. If at first you don’t succeed get mad and try again,” she joked. Even if this didn’t go down well first time around, she had a more than a little healthy curiosity at the idea of something like that actually working. “You must really need this guy for something.” Not about to pry, but you didn’t spend that time trying over something trivial. Following Morgan’s lead and heading outside and back out towards where her car was parked Cassie took out her keys and grabbed the duffle bag out from the trunk and draped it over one shoulder. She shifted the weight a little and used her free hand and lifted up a piece of the padding covering the spare tyre space. “One second. I just need a couple things.” Cassie grabbed up a few loose items and stuffed them inside the bag, “this might help identify Mr Mysterio. Get a better signal and figure out if this is your guy.” Closing the trunk over again she turning back to Morgan with a smile. “Okay, and we’re all set. Lead the way.”  

“L-lead the way,” Morgan repeated, hoping that repetition would rattle something into place. “To the ghost place, that--would make sense.” She began to walk in the general direction of the traveler’s rest. “But, it’s really interesting you should say that. Because, there’s my room at the Traveler’s Rest where I do most things right now, and there’s Al’s where I did the spell. Or I think I did.” Her cheeks were growing hot again. This had all seemed reasonable, even expected in the moment, but preparing to say it out loud, she suddenly felt like an idiot. “I’m working from scratch with this, but there was a spell on google that seemed to have a familiar structure to it, and I picked the right day, I checked the moon, and all that for maximum potency. But, there might have been...cake involved. And admittedly, that seemed like an interesting ask for a request from the beyond. I don’t know if I should take you to the spot where it happened, or if we just need to duck into my room so the muggles won’t stare at us since they’re supposed to be drawn to me and not the place?” Her voice rose higher as she spoke, struggling to maintain the very logical order of planning she had taken the trouble of going to. “Anyways, it’s...all the same direction. Just a little more--this way. And I can pull up the spell, if that helps.” 

“That’s where I live-well, I don’t live there. I’m staying there, or I have a room there anyway.” Cassie wasn’t staying here she reminded herself. It was temporary like everywhere else. “That works,” she looked back over at Morgan with a nod, “or if you wanted somewhere more out in the open, there’s Al’s.” That one was the least favourite option. She hated an audience to this stuff. Growing up it was something to be buried away, not broadcast in public. It was hard to get out of that way of thinking. Old habits died hard that way. “Not sure what the rules are for summoning ghosts in the diner though. Might be a no shirt, no shoes, ghosts, no service,” she joked. Cake? Wait, how did cake figure into it? Okay, that was a question for a little later. Not the time. There was her least favourite word in this kind of context; Google. Hypocritical as that was, she’d done the same thing back before she put her foot down with her parents and got someone that actually knew what they were doing to step in. Ray was a cantankerous jerk that first day, but he knew his stuff. Saved her getting fried anyway. “Google kind of sucks for anything with ghosts. First removal invocation I looked up there had a chunk of it missing,” she admitted. “I was twenty-two and stupid,” she made a brief grimace, “good thing I asked somebody else or I wouldn’t be talking to you. Looks like something might’ve worked, don’t think your friend has been hanging around here all that long. What did this spell on google look like?” Cassie asked, curious now. Maybe it was some sort of banishment circle gone wrong, like they’d copied it wrong, got the opposite effect. Who knew at this point. 

“Yeah, I guess it’s hard to call that living, huh?” Morgan said. “Home-sweet-not-home it is.” They continued the journey together, and Morgan told her everything she could about the spell. She had recognized one of the sigls as something she’d seen in an invocation book. She couldn’t remember what the book had said it was for exactly, but the sighting had given her hope. The plan had been to harness the energy of familiarity to reach out to other spirits who had that energy in common. So, her birthday, the land where the people she was looking for had lived, and a birthday cake, which commemorated the continuation of her family. A little fire, a few words, a little saliva to create a taste of life and boom, call made, familial tether climbed, ancestors summoned. She hadn’t noticed or felt anything different at the time. She had assumed she had done something wrong, or supernatural google wasn’t quite on par with her needs as she’d hoped. She showed Cassie a screenshot and went on. She was trying to get in touch with some ancestors. She had some unfinished business with them, funny, right? Only her magical department wasn’t so much in parting the veils or whatever as it was turning stuff into different stuff. As they neared the Traveler’s Rest, she fished around in her pocket for her old set of keys. She plopped them onto her pop socket and gestured. The keys shaped themselves into a metal cuff, a robot figurine. She made it float before coaxing the metal back into keys again. “Neat, right?”

Morgan’s things were splayed all over her room, two large suitcases worth, seemingly made larger by the cramped space. Morgan cleared a spot in the middle of the floor. “I have some Arizona Tea in the mini fridge if you want any. But why not first things first? How do we talk to my visitor friend?” 

They were keys. They were keys and then they weren’t and then they were in the air. Then they were keys again and that’s the moment life stopped making sense for a second.

Neat, right?

That was one word for it. Cassie couldn’t even nod, just stood there in stunned silence and stared at the keys in Morgan’s hand as she opened the door out and stepped inside. Talking about that kind of thing was once thing, but seeing it in front of her? Whole different ball game. “…Sounds-sounds, yeah,” she found herself saying, her voice sounding a little far away. Reality snapped back again with a bang and she remembered what she was even there for. Right, focus. The way Morgan had been talking and judging from the picture she saw it sounded more and more like a variation of a banishment circle. An inverted one maybe. First thing was first, making contact.

“Oh, that part’s easy,” right, get it together. The solution to that particular snag was simple. “One second,” Cassie dug out a pen and a scrap of paper and scrawled down the alphabet and placed it on the nearest flat surface she could find. “Just needed some quiet first.”

Thank you Stranger Things, Cassie stepped back and addressed the mystery guest, “if you want to just point to tell me what your-” she didn’t get to finish that sentence before the figure darted to the paper and the pen laying beside it. They jabbed their hand in an attempt to move the Biro and watched as they seemed to grow frustrated in their attempts. Wow, they really were weak. Usually most ghosts could conjure up just enough energy to move a biro a couple centimetre across a page for all of ten seconds. “Or, if you want, you can just point. If it’s easier,” seemed they took that as a challenge and the pen started to shift, “…Okay,” she gestured, giving the go-ahead and waited as they pointed over to each letter.

W.A.N.T….F.R...

Cassie turned back to Morgan once she figured out the gist of it. “They want to know what you want,” when they started up again.

L.E.T.G.O

Oh. Fuck. Morgan took all of her attempts to get in touch with the dead very seriously, it was kind of a matter of life and death at this point, but whatever she had hoped for at the end of each attempt, it didn’t look anything like this. Cassie was sitting with a freaking piece of paper from a notebook and a ballpoint pen, nothing special or consecrated, just practical. And it was moving. Moving all by itself. It was shaking, like the hand holding it was too upset or too weak to hold it together properly. Morgan shifted away from it on the floor. Seeing this invisible force want things, demand things, show--feeling made her uncomfortable in a way she didn’t want to unpack. Wasn’t that what they had always been? And what did it really change about what she needed anyway?

“Um, okay,” she breathed, keeping her voice steady with effort. “That’s nice. Good to know. Sorry you’ve been...here, for so long. But I am going to need some information from you first before we can do that. Okay?” She squared her shoulders back and tried to adopt the kind of voice she used on her freshmen college students. “Now, who are you? What’s your name?”

Watching Morgan move away from the sheet of paper as though it was contagious Cassie realised, she had forgotten how this kind of thing might look to an outsider. What was grade school stuff to her was the stuff of nightmares to somebody else. She recognised that weird waxy looking shade Morgan had paled to and Should’ve just asked them to point. Tell, don’t show this time.

Cassie offered Morgan a look of encouragement as the mystery guest responded, Floor’s all your,s and looked over to their guest who listened and inclined their head as if they were studying her. They folded their arms over for a few moments before answering as thought they were a few moments away from doing the opposite and b an ass. Cassie shot them a look and looked at Morgan again then as the pen began to move again. A lot less stable than before as they slowly spelled the words out.

S.E.A.N…B.A.C.H.M.A.N

Okay, now they were getting somewhere. They had a name. “This your guy?” Cassie asked. She still didn’t understand what she did, but recognising that whatever it was it had worked somehow.

...E.T....G.O…C.A.L.L.E.D…H.E.R.E…..A.P.O.L.O.G.I.Z

Cassie frowned at that last message and now it was her turn to look at the figure, Sean, she corrected herself, her head inclining. 

“Ooh! Sean! You’re Agnes’ nephew, right? Your dad was named Abel?” Not who Morgan was looking for, not even close, and she shook her head at Cassie in a sheepish universal signal of ‘close but no cigar.’ Still, she felt an electric rush of excitement. This was more direct contact than she’d gotten...ever. Ever-ever. The rest of his message was a lot more puzzling. Who was apologizing? Sean hadn’t done anything wrong, at least not that she’d dug up yet. “We’ll get to that Sean, but I’m wondering if you know anything about your aunt? If she...kept a secret book of magic maybe? Or if you saw her, or heard maybe…” Fuck it. “If you heard of her doing something bad enough that might make someone curse our whole family?” She felt cold all over and out of breath just from asking. She’d been nosing around ancestry sites and state records for so long, she had picked up her whole life, she had pestered Cassie in the middle of a shop, all for this, all without putting her finger on the big, awful magic button of a reason. And having to ask it out loud now, even in the most common sense of ways frustrated Morgan. It was a reminder that there was a chance the answer might be no. Maybe the afterlife had turned Sean’s memory to custard, or he just hadn’t been the kind of kid to overhear rumor. “Anything, Sean?” She pressed. “Be honest.”

Success? Cassie looked over expectantly and clocked the expression on Morgan’s face and felt her shoulders slump slightly. No, crap. That had to sting. So close, she actually had somebody here and judging by the look that passed her features they’d missed the mark by a few miles.

I’m wondering if you know anything about your aunt?

 Y.E.S

The pen continued to move and while Cassie had next to zero to compare this it seemed like who Morgan had got hold sounded like they were a family member. Close, right? Cassie sat back and kept watch and listened as Morgan reached out to Sean. Her eyes darted up again at Morgan’s words at the end there. Eyebrows raised in concern. Cursed?

…O.W…D.A.R.E...

 “Just answer the question and you can be on your way. Come on, man.” It was round about then that Sean decided to have a temper tantrum and managed to tear the paper a few centimetres in his answer. It seemed to take it out of him. She saw him fade further and stop .“I think he wore himself out with that one.” It was a while before he summoned up the energy to fade back to view again.

…T.E.L.L….Y.O.U….N.O.T.H.I

The light on one of the bedside tables clinked and the TV switched on and off for a second at that outburst.

….R.E.L.E.A.S.E….ME…

What a baby. “Spooky. Very good,” Cassie shook her head and spoke in a deadpan tone. “I know you’re pissed but don’t be an ass, Sean, or we’re going to have a problem.”

Morgan clenched her fists in her lap to keep from shaking. This was getting very real, very quickly, and somehow not at all fulfilling in the way she’d hoped. The paper was making noises all by itself, and it was one thing to look away from the screen when things started getting weird in The Conjuring, but something else entirely when the jump scare was right in front of your face. There was nowhere to go from this. Morgan looked behind her and saw the TV flickering, like some five year old on a sugar high was going crazy with the switch, and the tables were rattling louder without anyone being there. Morgan’s eyes had been stretched open long enough to tear up. She was sure if she closed them she’d make up some excuse for what she was seeing, she’d try to tell herself that this was wrong and definitely impossible. But the only thing scarier than seeing this happen, was to never see it happen. Fuck. 

“Sean, you asshole! Cut it out!” She screamed over the noise. “You tell me what you know!”

But Sean was not remotely interested. Morgan felt down in her pocket to the salt stash she had and threw it near the paper. 

“You wanna stay here forever, Sean?” She asked. “Because I don’t give a shit if you’re stuck with me forever, okay! You can throw a fit all year for all I care, got it? So spit it out already!”

Cassie shot Sean’s general figure an exasperated look and turned to Morgan and frowned in confusion. Where was he getting this idea he wasn’t free to go here? She really wasn’t about to enlighten them any time soon. Looking at Morgan just as the ‘I want to speak to the manager theatrics’ flared up again she saw Morgan glance around looking rattled. Crap. She knew that look. Cassie saw the clenched fists and shot her a worried look.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Cassie reached over but paused when she realised then that it wasn’t all fear there. There was some anger bubbling under the surface and stopped, sitting back down beside the paper. “Just some grade school level theatrics. He couldn’t blow the fuse on a lightbulb,” Cassie shot Sean a glare. Was it really so hard for the douche to just give Morgan what she wanted so they could just drop kick him back to the beyond like he wanted here? “And if you do, I’m going to have some words you’re not going to like.” Turned out the reassurance really wasn’t needed here. Morgan was holding her own. More than; she was outright making demands, tossing salt she didn’t even remember she had on her at the paper. Fast learner.

You can throw a fit all year for all I care, got it? So spit it out already

“What she said,” Cassie shrugged and looked for a second at the salt Morgan had just tossed in Sean’s general direction, “and if she thinks about throwing any more of that there’s not a damn thing I’m doing to do to stop her. I’ll tell her where to aim. Your call.”

S.K….C.O.N.S.T.A.N.C.E…L.E.A.V.E….M.E

The pen moved, with urgency then, spelling out a name. Now, that wasn’t to hard, was it?

Morgan came back to herself with Cassie’s agreement, what she said. Oh. Shit. She’d really let loose there. Threatened her ancestor, even if he was kind of a dick, wasted some salt aiming at whichever part of the air had looked most threatening. Cassie, for her part, didn’t seem too upset about her seasoning the ghost, and Morgan didn’t know what to make of that, except that she would have to explain a lot more about her situation than she’d had to in a long time. But that could wait. Hopefully. Sean was telling them about...someone named Constance. Morgan couldn’t remember how she fit into her family story off the top of her head. Was she Constance’s mother? Her daughter? It was right on the edge of her recall, but she couldn’t reach it. But it was better than nothing. 

“Fine,” she said flatly. “Fine, go.” She still had some salt in her hand and threw it again. “Fuck you anyway, though. And tell Constance I’m coming for her.” She turned to Cassie for help, holding her sweater close around her chest, flushed with embarrassment.

Cassie watched as Morgan threw the remainder of salt in her hand towards the paper again, but something strange happened in the seconds before the salt even went airborne. Cassie didn’t get the chance to even start to send him away. There second Morgan uttered the word go the ghost that was formerly known as Sean zapped out like an old television. Blipped back to the void as if being pulled back somewhere. “That was new,” was all she could manage then with raised eyebrows. “He’s already gone,” she clarified, shaking herself out of it. What the hell was that?

“Okay,” she spoke again eventually as the quiet descended. “I have no idea what you did,” she admitted, still processing, “but that’s uh, that’s different.” Understatement, the air shifted, she felt that much. Swore she heard a faint popping sound as they went. “Did you get what you wanted? Sort of anyway? A name is a start, right?” Cassie shifted back and let out a breath. “So, um, walk me through what you did here, with the circle. Maybe we can get somebody else.”

Morgan flopped back on the floor when Cassie said he was gone. She didn’t know how she could tell, and without anything to tell by she almost didn’t believe it. This...this was good, right? This was progress...in that it was more ghost she’d spoken to in her whole life, certainly more than she had gotten out of any of her magic experiments. She would have to find out who Constance was, what she had to with all this. Agnes had been the one everyone talked about, but maybe she was just the baby monster. Oh god, if this was going to turn into a Grendel’s Mother situation-- Morgan put her head in her hands and breathed out long and hard. One thing at a time. “I um...I can send you the stuff. I have the webpage saved, but I don’t know if I can do it again, without some meaningful date and a new moon, or maybe not, maybe that was bullshit…” she was mumbling, half in a daze, as she pawed around the messy floor for her computer. She pulled it up and sent it to Cassie’s account on the town social media network. Handy, that. She stood up and dusted off a whole lot of nothing off her jeans. “I got something alright!” She said, scrambling to put her smile back on. “Thank you for helping on short notice. You’re really nice, and I’ll find a way to make it up somehow. Maybe when, um, the adrenaline is a little, uh, less, we can figure something out.” Or not. Cassie seemed like she might make a good shortcut through the mess, but she might also be fast-tracking herself into the danger zone. But if it meant not running from herself anymore, maybe it would be worth it anyway.

[boww-tiez]

Allergic Reaction

Back with another Colby x Reader Fic, because I really don’t want to do my homework. This one’s mostly about filming a video with Sam and Kat (and some cute Colby towards the end), because I feel like I’m leaving Sam out a lot- but it’s like weird writing x reader stuff about him because he has an actual girlfriend.  

**Goodbye for now Sam and Colby 2.0, gonna miss these videos tbh. Paused my writing to watch the video :( Hope our boys are all good and get back to doing some (not horribly dangerous or demon contacting) videos.**

Warnings: Reptiles, Allergies

Word Count: 2,953

“What’s up guys!” Sam greeted his camera, hand flying over his head enthusiastically. “Today I’m here with my girlfriend Kat, and our friend Y/N, who also happens to be Colby’s girlfriend.” Sam explained to his camera. The three of you were sitting in Sam’s apartment, lined up on three dining chairs. Sam was in the middle, and you and Kat on either side.

“Hi,” Kat waved at the camera, grinning widely as she set her head on Sam’s shoulder.

“Heyo!” You exclaimed, throwing up a peace sign.

“So, today I’ve got a little something planned for these ladies,” Sam grinned at his camera, gesturing to the both of you, “something very, very fun- well, for me at least!”

“Sam!” Kat groaned jokingly, ending up laughing halfway through.  

“Kat and Y/N have no idea what we’re filming,” Sam laughed, beaming apologetic looks towards the both of you.  

“Kat just told me we were hanging out,” you pouted, glaring lightly at your friend. 

“Sam didn’t tell me we were filming!” Kat defended herself with a laugh, raising her hands up in surrender.  

“Yes, I didn’t tell either of them,” Sam told the camera with a smug look, “so, I’ll explain now. I’m going to blindfold them, and you both are going to be holding some creatures I have hidden in the bedroom. These are my friend David’s pets, he’s just in the bedroom with them. So, they won’t bite... probably,”  

“...probably?” you whispered, shooting Sam an unsure gaze.

“Sam, I swear-” Kat warned, glaring wholeheartedly at her boyfriend.  

“Okay! I’ll go get the blindfolds.”  

You and Kat shared an unsure look as Sam disappeared into one of the rooms. Seconds later he appeared with two folded up bandanas.  

“Dibs red!” you grinned, leaving Kat with the orange one. Sam tied each of the bandanas around your eyes.

“Okay, Y/N slide onto the middle chair since I won’t be sitting with you guys anymore until the end of the video,” You slid over slowly, almost falling off the chair- but regaining your balance and seating yourself firmly. You felt the movement at your side as Sam moved the empty chair out of the frame.  

“So, I’m going to go see which animals we’re bringing out first. David has two of each animal, so you guys will be holding them at the same time, okay?” Sam explained to the both of you. By the way he sounded, he was crouched down in front of the both of you “you’re going at the same time since it’s kind of a competition, guess the critter first and you get a point!” Sam said loudly, talking to the two of you, as well as the camera set up a few feet ahead.

“Roger,” you nodded, vision darkened by the blindfold. Sam then patted your knee (and probably Kat’s as well) and stood, leaving the two of you in silence. Kat patted your leg and you took her hand.  

You heard was beating fast, anxious to see what Sam had hidden up his sleeve.  

“These better not bite us, Sam,” Kat whined quietly but loud enough that Sam heard from the next room (he laughed).  

You weren’t too scared. This type of video could only mean one thing- and that was creepy critters. Corey did it with a snake and giant frog to Devyn, Aaron did it with lizards, snakes and fake spiders to Sam and Colby- and a bunch of other Youtuber’s videos had had roughly the same concept.  

Now, not a lot of people know- but you were pretty allergic to fluffy animals. The slimy, scaly things were nothing- but a fluffy little puppy would puff up your face and give you itchy hives in minutes.  

That said, it didn’t stop you. You really loved dogs and cats. You were always found petting Circa, Navi and Buddy whenever you were at the trap house. But you’d always prepared yourself beforehand with Benadryl. You enjoyed playing and cuddling little fluffy animals- and puppies were still your weakness.  

“Okay, we’re coming out- this is David by the way,” Sam explained.  

“Hi David,” you chimed into the darkness, being the only one to not have met the man beforehand. Kat had been banging on Colby’s apartment door asking for you to come over about ten minutes before you’d been blindfolded.

“Hey,” a male voice greeted.  

“Okay, you two ready? We have the first animal species. These ones aren’t too bad,”

“Cup your hands together, they’re kind of long.” David told the two of you. You did as told, flinching your head back as something long and slim was set in your hands. Little claws settled against your hands, and the creature's toes were weird. Whatever it was had a tail that was hanging off the side of your hands.  

“What the hell?” You mumbled quietly as Kat let out a surprised cry, you continued your train of thought, “a lizard?”

“Y/N got it! What kind of lizard though?”

“You want us to guess the kind of lizard? Sam, I’ve never even held a lizard,” Kat laughed.  

“No idea,” you giggled as you slowly maneuvered the little lizard into you right hand, lifting the left to stroke over its little head.  

“Alright, alright,” Sam sighed, “lift the blindfolds- I'll let you guys check out the animals you’re holding because I’m not mean.”

“Awh, they’re so cute,” you cooed after you nudged your blindfold up with your shoulder.  

“These little guys are leopard geckos; their names are Dale and Gracie.” David explained to you and Kat.

“Look at their little spots,” Kat grinned, glancing at you.

“Okay, hand the geckos back, and blindfolds down. We’ll be back with the next pet!” Sam took the little leopard gecko from your hands and you reached up to pull your blindfold back into place.  

You listened for the footsteps, and prepared yourself for the next critter.  

“Here we go, we’ll just set these guys down in your laps...” Sam paused, “watch out for the teeth.”

“Sam!” you gasped, instantly raising your hands away from you lap as something was set down. It had claws, not very pointy, but they were there.  

“Y/N, have you touched it yet?” Kat asked hesitantly from your side.

“No, you?” you replied, hands gravitating over your lap carefully.

“No- it’s got claws. Sam, why are they in our laps?” Kat asked quietly. Sam simply laughed, urging you guys to touch the creature. You let your hand fall, and you were greeted by a fluffy texture. Apparently, you made a face, as David and Sam laughed.

“It’s fluffy,” you told Kat, who then made a weird noise before humming quietly.  

“A rabbit?” Kat guessed.

“Yeah, definitely a bunny,” you agreed, running your hand over the silky ears and down it’s fluffy back. You were mainly allergic to dogs and cats. Littler animals just gave you a stuffy nose and made your eyes water occasionally.  

“You guys are right, blindfolds up!” Sam enthused, “Kat gets the point this round!”

“Y/N is holding Honey, my Holland Lop, and Katrina is holding Gizmo, who is a Cashmere Lop.” David explained. You cuddled Honey, rubbing your cheek against her soft fur.

The guys let you cuddle the bunnies for a few minutes before once again the creatures were taken from you and the blindfold replaced.  

“There’s only a few more left,” Sam called from his bedroom. You pointlessly glanced in Kat’s direction; vision still black from the fabric covering your eyes.  

“Okay, here you go,”

You yelped out, hands recoiling as something pointy brushed against your hands.  

“Y/N? What?” Kat called desperately, but seconds later she yelped out as well.

“Sam, what the hell is that?” you whined.

“Hold your hands out,” Sam replied instead, voice even but it was clear he was finding this hilarious. Your hands shook as you held them out, palm up. Something was set in your hands. You drew in a calming breath, feeling some part of whatever this thing was brushing against your thigh.  

“These guys are harmless, it’s the last one you need to worry about,” David said calmly.  

“Don’t say that!” You hissed, lowering your hands against you lap and carefully parting them so the thing was settled against your thighs and you could actually touch it.  

It was long, flat and kind of round, as well as really pointy. The skin was rough and little spikes ran along its body. Kat was making little horrified, yet confused noises as you two tried to figure out what the hell you were holding.

You pulled back quickly as your fingers brushed along bigger spikes around its head. It was...

“Oh, I know what this is,” you grinned. “It’s a bearded dragon!”

“Oh! Two points for Y/N. That’s exactly what they are- blindfolds up,”  

“Oh-” Kat nodded. You both took off your blindfolds to look at the pointy little creatures. Kat was still cupping her lizard while yours was lounging calmly in your lap.  

“These two are Ginny and Missy,” David told you. They were really cool looking, but also kind of creepy.

“They’re so pointy?” Kat’s eyebrows furrowed and her mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as she stroked to fingers from the bearded dragon’s head down to the tip of its tail. Sam laughed, leaching down to stroke the lizard in his girlfriend’s lap.  

You carefully picked up the lizard in your lap, handing it to David who took her back with a small smile. Sam picked up the lizard from Kat’s lap, following David to his bedroom as he called a hurried “blindfolds!” over his shoulder.  

You and Kat exchanged nervous glances as you both pulled the blindfolds down for hopefully the last time. David had said that this animal was the one to be afraid of.  

You rubbed your hands together nervously, heart pumping in your chest.

“Back, without an animal. I’m going to give you each a wet-wipe since this animal is kind of sensitive and David wants to keep everything healthy and happy. Just a safety precaution,” Sam explained and he popped open the wet-wipes container, seconds later a wet cloth was set in your hands and you vigorously rubbed your hands together.  

“A precaution?” Kat asked as she accidentally elbowed you while wiping her hands, “sorry.”

“No problem,” you mumbled staring straight ahead as you toyed with the wipe.

“Yeah, nothing that will harm humans, but like I said, this animal is sensitive.” Sam took the wipe from you hand and you heard him walk into the kitchen, then job back to the bedroom.

“Ready, girls?” He called, and you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I’m so scared,” Kat whispered, leaning towards you.

“Me too,” you agreed quietly before shouting back to Sam, “ready!”

The footsteps were loud, but muffled out by the beating of your own heart. Soon, Sam was stood in front of you and you could feel his presence.  

“Should we actually do this?” Sam asked, voice low. Your anxiety spiked, because he wasn’t talking to you- no, he was talking to David.

“I mean, the probability they’ll bit is pretty low...” David replied.

“I’m pretty scared just holding it, and I’m wearing the gloves-”

“Sam! You’re wearing gloves?” Kat shouted, and then there was the sound of a chair screeching along the floor.

“No, thank you!” You yelped. Something was set in your lap and you froze. Completely still, hands mid-air.

“Kat,” Sam groaned, “shh, Kat!” and everything fell to silence. “Y/N if you guess this animal, you win as Kat took her blindfold off.”

Your hands shook as they lowered towards whatever was in your lap. It was fuzzy-

“It licked me!” You cried out, cringing lightly and flinching away from whatever it was. You took a wild guess, just wanting the game to be over, “is it, um, is it a dog?”

“Yes! Our winner is Y/N with four points- Kat is our loser with one point, sorry Kat.” Sam exclaimed, telling the camera the final stats.  

You were quick to take off the blindfold. Happiness filling you as you stared down at the fluffy little guy in your lap.  

“He’s so cute!” You gasped, lifting the little puppy up, “goodness, he’s adorable.” You cooed.  

“Oliver and Sydney, two-month-old Corgi puppies,” David grinned. “They’re almost ready to be rehomed.”

“They are so cute!” Cat squealed as she sat herself on the floor. You and David joined her, and the puppies played between the three of you.  

“Colby home, Y/N?” Sam questioned, looking at you before gazing towards his door.

“He was editing when I left,” you explained, rubbing your arms as the itching started. Your eyes were watering, and your skin was starting to blotch- soon to be covered in hives, but there was no way you weren’t about to play with these two little corgi puppies.  

Sam was gone for about ten minutes. In that time span, you and Kat had each picked up a puppy to cuddle and were sitting together on the couch- invested in the puppies. David had gone to sort out the rest of the animals, as he had a bit of a car ride and would be leaving soon.  

You could already tell your face was swelling, not bad, but slightly uncomfortable. Your arms burned with hives- which you simply pulled your sleeves down to hide. Your eyes were damp, and there was a slight scratchiness to your throat- but all in all, this was a pretty mild allergic reaction. You used to react way worse when you were little.  

You hid your face in the Oliver’s soft fur, (not the smartest idea on your part, but whatever) when Sam’s apartment door opened.  

“What did you want to show me?” You heard Colby, refusing to look up- because he knew, you knew he knew.

“Puppies!” Sam exclaimed, plopping beside Kat and allowing Sydney to stumble into his lap. The little corgi licked his fingers as he stroked her back.  

“Puppies?” Colby smiled. He walked further in, eyes trailing from Sam and Kat to you.  

“Aren’t you just the handsomest little puppy in the whole wide world?” You asked the little puppy, nuzzling his fur, ignoring Colby’s presence.  

“Y/N...” Colby started slowly, “aren’t you like really allergic to dogs?”

You continued petting the puppy, but slowed slightly chewing on the inside of your lip. Yep, he knew.  

“Maybe,” you said already knowing what was going to happen, your fingers curled into Oliver’s fur as Colby moved towards you.  

“Y/N’s allergic to dogs?” Sam sounded very confused, “but at the house, you were always playing with the dogs.”

“Yea,” you said slowly, not looking up, “I was drugged up on Benadryl...”

“Your voice sounds weird,” Colby told you, arms cross across his chest, “hey, look at me.”

You huffed out, glancing towards your boyfriend who was stood in front of you. He gave you an unimpressed look, reaching over to trail his fingers across your reddened cheek. His frame was blurry due to your watering eyes.

“Y/N, babe, your eyes are so red,” Colby furrowed his eyebrows. You sneezed suddenly, covering your face.  

“It’s fine,” you told him, hugging the puppy, knowing your time with him was ticking. Colby was kind of a worrier, and there was no way he’d let you keep touching the dog if it was making you sick.  

“Show me your arms.” Another irritated sigh from you as you pushed the sleeves up.

“Jeez, Y/N.” Colby frowned, his fingers now trailing lightly along the hives. “I think we should take him away...” Colby suggested, lifting Oliver under his little arms and picking him up, “and go see if I have any Benadryl in the medicine cabinet.”

Colby set the corgi puppy in Kat’s lap, then moved to help you stand up.

“Thank for being in the video,” Sam smiled, “a heads up about your allergy would’ve been nice though.” You laughed, it sounded nasally, and you ended up coughing after but it was still pretty funny.  

“Feel better, Y/N,” Kat smiled, Sam nodding as he also wished you well.  

“I’ll be good as new by tomorrow,” you promised. At least, if you got some Benadryl in your system soon.  

“You know I love puppies,” you pouted, sniffling as you plopped down on Colby’s couch.  

“I also know that dogs literally close off your airways,” Colby narrowed his eyes at you before continuing to the bathroom. He came back a few seconds later with a box of meds. You’d been together for quite a while now, so it made sense that Colby would accommodate your allergy- especially since things like today could literally happen any time.

You took the required dosage, then leaned back against the couch, closing your sore, itchy eyes for a bit. When you opened your eyes, Colby was seated beside you and he was rolling up your shirt sleeves.  

He applied a lotion to your rash covered skin, and the itch lessened. You moaned quietly as Colby’s hands ran along your arms, and he laughed quietly, kissing your lips.

“You know this doesn’t change anything, if I see a dog- I'm going to love it,” you told him, completely serious.

“Yes,” Colby nodded, “I’m aware- just give me a heads up so I can come with Benadryl so we can get all this under control faster.”  

You grinned, pulling your shirt up, exposing your belly, “will you put lotion here too?” the words accompanied with a suggestive wiggle of your eyebrows.  

Colby huffed a laugh, muttering about how lucky you were that you were cute under his breath before slowly lathering a some of the cooling lotion into your skin.

Colby really was a good boyfriend.  

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

Intermezzo (an Infinity War Tag)

So I’m very new to this fandom and this is my very first foray into Marvel fanfiction, so I am extremely, extremely nervous here (palms sweating and all). But the movie ripped me apart emotionally and got my muse all worked up, so I took the jump.  

The amazing @hedgehog-goulash7 was gracious enough to beta the story for me, and I can’t thank her enough for her help, her invaluable input and her encouragement! My dear, I owe you greatly! <3 

And @tonystark5ever - I promised to tag you if I ever got this written down.  I’m sorry the story didn’t quite go the way I had intended (the lady Tony helped didn’t make it in there after all), but I do hope you still enjoy the read.

So here it is. Hope you enjoy (and please drop me a comment if you do).

                                                     Intermezzo

 The Titan sun beats down on him – a harsh, mercilessly blinding light that engulfs the desolate landscape below it, but somehow doesn’t give off any warmth.  It’s cold on that rubble-littered, amber-washed expanse – a biting, jaw-locking chill that seeps into his very bones, makes him shiver.

A gust of wind tears past him, kicking up a small cloud of dust – no, not dust, ash, ash! Peter. Dear God, Peter… – and he huddles in on himself, slams his eyes shut, squeezes them (harder, harder, harder). But it’s all in vain.  Because he can still see it billowing around him, can feel the tiny black particles brush against his skin as they settle back down – on his face, in his hair, on the ground at his feet.  

He feels colder still.

  “We need to go.”  The words carry toward him with another gust of wind – calm, emotionless, and also cold, so very cold.  A reminder of another’s presence, of a witness to his slow unraveling, as he sits there shaking violently and rocking back and forth like a lost pitiful child seconds away from crumpling into a pathetic, wailing mess.  It should bother him that she can see him like that at his most vulnerable.  Should make him want to pull the hopelessly tattered pieces of his mask back together, to shield himself from another’s open judgment.  But he just… he just doesn’t care.

 “Where?” he wants to ask.  “Why?” comes out instead, a listless, uncaring response.  Because why bother? Everything that he has feared has come to pass.  Everyone that ever mattered to him (and he is sure that it’s true on Earth as well, can feel it with every halting beat of his anguished, shredded heart) is gone, while he is cursed to carry on with the weight of the deaths of all those he failed. His worst nightmare come to life.

 He should be dead.  It would be better.  Should let nature take its course, let Titan’s gravity drain the last of the blood from his body, let it seep into the hungry, rust-colored ground, dissolve among the ashes of those who mattered so much more than he ever did.

 He shivers once more as the wind brushes his blood-soaked clothes – a biting, ice-cold touch.  Rests his forehead on his trembling, ash-covered hands.

 “Come!” A hand – small and heavy – lands on his shoulder, grips it in an unapologetically crushing, metal vise.

 Fucking cyborg, he thinks, making a futile attempt to pull away. “Let go.”

 She does the opposite. Of course she does.  Because when has anyone ever listened to him.  

The grip on his shoulder tightens impossibly as she yanks him up off the ground, pulls him roughly to his feet.  And Tony’s too busy gnashing his teeth against a sharp jolt of pain at the unsanctioned movement to notice her move in front of him, to spot her other hand shoot snake-like toward his body, toward the throbbing wound in his side.

 “He spared you,” she hisses, driving her fist brutally below his ribs. She watches, cold and intent, as his body seizes involuntarily within her grasp, his breath cutting out on a strangled choke. “Why?”

 Warm liquid coats the tip of his tongue where his teeth dug deep into the flesh of his lip, a thick metallic tang filling his mouth.  “Why don’t you ask him?” Tony spits it all out – words and bloody spittle, defiant, as he nods in the general direction of the rubble where he last saw Strange, at the scattered pile of ashes there. Because whatever the wizard’s plan was, whatever it was that he had seen in his vision – he never bothered to share any of it with Tony.  Nothing but a vague declaration and a regretful apology that left him none the wiser.

 The blue-skinned cyborg is not amused.

 “I’m asking you,” she insists, her black eyes glistening dangerously.  “He sacrificed the stone, let half the universe perish, just so you could live.  Why?”  

 She snarls the word “you” like it’s an insult, the worst of its kind.  And he thinks it’s ridiculous, because is that really the best she can do? For someone like him?  When what he deserves is–

 Tony barks out a laugh – a harsh, brittle sound that feels more like a sob, burning his throat as it tears through him.  

It breaks upon her rage, seems to fuel it more if the warning twitch of the blue-skinned cheek is any indication.  But he no longer gives a damn.  Doesn’t flinch when the metal arm releases his shoulder to swipe an angry arc toward his head.  Welcomes with a twisted sort of gratitude the vicious blow and the darkness that follows.

 ***

 The merciful darkness doesn’t last, and all too soon awareness returns, pain ripping him out of the warm cocoon of nothingness.  

 He lies still for a moment, lets himself take stock.

 There’s a hard surface underneath him, polished, smooth.  It doesn’t feel like Titan’s rocky dust-covered terrain.  The air he breathes is likewise devoid of dust; it feels clean, almost artificially so.  And if he expands his senses a bit further, he can hear a faint steady rumble of an engine that sends small vibrations through the surface he’s lying on. Peeling his eyes open confirms to him what he already knows – he’s back on a ship, flying through space.  

 He lets his gaze roam around the unfamiliar cramped surroundings, still too dazed, in too much pain to register much beyond a hazy blue-skinned figure in the pilot’s seat. Right, the tie-dyed Sinead O’Connor, he remembers, reaching up to touch his pounding temple.  Winces when his fingertips brush the bruised flesh there, sticky with dried blood.  Damn.

 “Wh’r’you… t-takin’ me?”

 She doesn’t turn around, doesn’t show any sign of having heard or acknowledged his person. Reaches over to fiddle with the controls instead.

 Tony closes his eyes in preparation. Grits his teeth against the pain he knows is to come.  Slowly, laboriously, pulls himself up into a semi-seated position, leaning awkwardly against a nearby bulkhead.  Takes a few short, steadying breaths as he waits for the reawakened agony in his side to subside enough that he can trust himself to speak again.  Directs a half-hearted glare toward her once more, blinking in a desperate bid to clear the black spots dancing in his vision.

 “Where… are you… taking me?”

 “To fulfill your purpose,” comes a calm, dispassionate response.  “You will help me slay Thanos.”

 He raises a disbelieving eyebrow at that.  Because wasn’t she there? Didn’t she see what happened the last time he went against Thanos, the last time any of them went against Thanos? And that was before the deranged overgrown raisin had the entire stone collection within his grabby purple paw.  How exactly is she hoping to defeat him now when all he needs to do is snap his fingers and the both of them will be snuffed out of existence?

 He must have said some of that out loud because the next thing he knows she’s crouching before him, purple lips curled back in a snarl.  “I have seen you fight, Terran,” she says, cold, but there’s a note of grudging respect in her words.  “You are weak, but your armor is strong.  Strong enough to distract him, while I deliver the killing blow.”

 “You want me to draw his fire.”  Tony can’t help it – the idea is so preposterous that the bubble of laughter that threatens is too much for him to keep in.  Can’t keep it in even when the cybernetic patchwork of a face before him twists in a way that doesn’t bode well for his already unmanageable headache.

  “You find this funny, Terran?”

 “Hilarious, actually,” he manages past another hiccupped giggle.  Then he grows serious, all sense of mirth leaving him in a tired huff of air.  “You know I have a six-inch-wide hole through my guts, right?  That my insides are being held together with an arachnoid equivalent of duct tape. How long do you think I would last with Thanos when I can’t even see straight, much less stand?”

 She growls, low and dangerous.  Draws her face closer in a not so veiled attempt to intimidate.

“You will manage,” she states, and her confidence sounds like a threat.  Then scoffs, disdainful, “I have been pulled apart piece by piece and I managed.  I fought and I survived.  And you do not need to survive.”

 “My survival was never part of the plan,” he counters wearily, his weariness quickly shifting into raspy, toothless anger – because how can she be so blind, how does she not understand! “But I’m useless against him now. Both of us are.”  Weakly he raises his hand (covered in ashes, still covered in ashes – and he can’t look at it, can’t look; he’s gonna lose it if he does), waves it back and forth between them to emphasize his point.  “No offense to your cybertronic patchwork there and your obvious anger-management issues, but unless we somehow find a way to go back in time, there’s no possible scenario where we would…”

 He trails off, his mind stumbling over the idea so ridiculously improbable, so dizzyingly, so hope-inspiringly plausible.  

 “I gotta get back,” he murmurs in a dazed echo to his own thoughts, then snaps his gaze up to the two fathomless pools of blackness hovering over him and blurts out, urgent now, “you gotta take me to Earth.”

 She regards him stonily, her expression unchanged save for the slight twitching of the skin around the cybernetic eye.  “We’re going after Thanos,” she declares with an air of finality even as she turns to walk back to the pilot seat.  “I don’t have time to make detours.”

 “You don’t understand!” He lurches after her, only to make it halfway off the floor before a nauseating spike in pain drops him right back down, his breath choked off and vision swimming. “P-please…,” he insists, when he manages to find his voice again, no matter how unsteady.  Grinds the words stubbornly through clenched teeth.  “I gotta… it’s the o-only way…”

 She ignores him. Settles calmly back into her chair, turning her back on Tony and his pained appeals to her reason.

 “Please,” he tries again, his voice no more than a strained whisper as he attempts once more to push himself up.  He’s not afraid of dying – in a fight with Thanos, where he knows he stands no chance, weakened as he is by his wound, or here on this very ship at the hands of the blue-skinned cyborg, who, he is sure, won’t hesitate to snap his neck if he tried to wrestle her for the controls.  But wrestle her he will, if it’s the last thing he does.  Because he has to make her listen, make her understand that this isn’t the way – not his way, at any rate.  

 They cannot defeat Thanos through direct confrontation.  The endgame is not about that; he’s sure of it now.  And if he takes what Strange had told him to heart, if his life was spared because he was needed to ensure that the one outcome where the universe survives comes to pass, then he needs to go back to doing what he does best – fixing things. He needs to find a way to fix the timeline so Thanos never gets his hands on all the stones, so he remains vulnerable, defeatable.  So none of this nightmare comes true.

 So Peter and the others get to live.

 And he can’t do that here on this ship.  Can’t do that if Thanos kills him before he has the chance to even try.  

 “Please,” he gasps out, wobbling his way to his knees. “I n..need t’… get home.”

 “I’ll take you.”

 A new, vaguely familiar voice calls out behind him, cutting through the steadily increasing roar in his ears, and he twists around, the ship’s interior spinning about him in a sickening parallel to his movement.  

 “Thing Two,” he breathes out, grinning crookedly up at the portly Asian that has appeared beside him in a fiery red circle of sparks.  “F-fancy meeting you here…”  

 He wants to say something else, wants to apologize for failing to protect Strange and the stone, wants to warn him about Baldy, who, he’s pretty sure, is not gonna take too kindly to the wizard’s appearance on her ship.  But his tongue refuses to move to his brain’s command and his vision dims, blackness encroaching from the edges.  And he finds himself falling…

    ***

 He dreams of Peter. Of the boy’s arms that tremble as they cling to his shoulders.  Of his voice, thin and small with fear – “I don’t wanna go, Mr. Stark.  Please, I don’t wanna go.”  Of the lanky body that crumbles away into particles of dust underneath his hands even as he tries his goddamn best to hold on to him.  

 “I’m sorry…”

 The boy’s face disintegrates before him, ash circling in the air, twisting, churning, before it settles back down on Tony’s hair, Tony’s hands, Tony’s face.

 “Peter,” he cries out and chokes as the dust grows thicker all of a sudden, fusing together to form a new shape – a flaming ginger cascade of hair, a pale freckled face, blue eyes – wide and terrified.

 “No,” he pleads, reaching toward her even as she, too, starts to crumble to dust before him. “No!”

 ***

 He wakes with a start, his breath hitching as his gaze lands on the familiar worry-creased face hovering inches above his.  He reaches toward her, half expecting the illusion to fall apart at any moment. But the image persists, and there’s warm, solid flesh that meets his searching, trembling fingers.  

 “Pepper,” he gasps wetly, reverently, latching on hard enough to bruise.  A desperate bid of a nightmare-ravaged mind to assure himself that he isn’t still dreaming, to keep her here, to stop her from disappearing like her counterpart in his dream, like the boy he tried so hard to protect and in the end still failed to save.

 She lets him hold her, enfolds him into an embrace just as crushing and desperate as his own as he cries brokenly into the crumpled fabric of her shirt.  

 “I lied,” she tells him, pulling one hand away to card her fingers through his hair. “That day at the park… when I told you I wasn’t pregnant….  I lied.”

 He pulls away, too, then, frowns at her mutely, his eyes darting over her face, seeking confirmation to what he just heard.

 “I was scared,” she confesses with a rueful smile, reaching up to wipe tear tracks from his cheeks. “Every time something good happened for us, something terrible would come along and ruin it, and I just… I didn’t wanna jinx it.  I thought… if I waited a little longer, if I just… if I just waited, we’ll be okay. And then we got attacked, and you went off into space, and half the people disappeared, and I thought… I thought I lost you anyway and I never got a chance to tell you, and…”  Her voice cuts out on a strangled little laugh that sounds more like a sob.

 He blinks, slow and dazed, lowers his gaze to her stomach, his fingers brushing the fabric-covered skin – still perfectly toned and flat.  “A baby?” he whispers, voice cracking with wonder.  “We’re gonna have a … a baby?”

 She nods, her lips trembling as she tries in vain to hold back her own tears.  “The man that brought you back, he said that…” She sniffles, lets out a long, shaky breath.  “I know what you must do, Tony.  I know that you may not… that I may lose you for good….”  She squeezes her eyes shut, presses her lips together in a thin pale line as if trying to hold in a scream.  Hiccups out, voice hitching, “I can’t… I can’t have secrets from you.  Not like this. Not anymore. I­­–”

 He shushes her, finger pressed against her quivering lips.  Moves his hand to cup her tear-stained cheek.  “I will fix this,” he vows.  “I will fix this and I’ll do my best to come back to you.”  He rests his other hand against her belly, amends quietly, “Both of you.” Smiles as she nods tearfully against his palm, her hand rising to cover his own.  

 It’s a lie and they both know it, both read the truth – ‘I love you’/ ‘Forgive me’ – in each other’s eyes.  

 “I will hold you to that, Mr. Stark.”

 He huffs wistfully at the familiar repartee, drops his head on her shoulder, letting his forehead rest against the cool silk of her shirt.  Closes his eyes and inhales deeply, allowing her scent, her warmth, the feel of her fingers stroking his hair enfold him.  Lets himself melt into the tangible truth of her embrace, to enjoy this small refuge of love and peace for a little while longer, drawing from it the much needed strength for whatever tomorrow will bring.

 “I expect nothing less, Ms. Potts.”

  FIN

Note (spoiler): After I wrote the story, I came across a post where Gwyneth Paltrow talks about a baby in the future for Tony and Pepper. Hopefully, my story is prophetic in that respect :)

[unofferable-fic]

UNOFFERABLE: 17 - RISKS

Summary: The unexpected arrival of an injured Midgardian child clinging to life causes a ruckus on Asgard. The princes, Thor and Loki, are somewhat intrigued by this unusual guest, unsure as to how and why she ended up in such a state. What they did not expect, however, was the turn of events her appearance would inevitably cause.

————

Set Pre-Thor 1

Pairing: Loki x OFC

Inspired by this imagine

Warnings: Fluff, angst, more long awaited fluff.

Word Count: 3,561

Previous Chapter     Next Chapter

Playlist: “I Can’t Figure Out What’s Going On” — Half Moon Run, “Run to You” — Pentatonix, “Lovers” — Ruth Barrett

————

A/N: Also available on AO3  and FanFiction.net. Oh Jesus, it’s happening...

A peaceful night’s rest seemed to allude Loki in recent weeks. His mind was consistently plagued with thoughts of Ellie that were new, daunting, and oddly intriguing. He was not used to this; wanting someone for more than just sating himself. He had had many Aesir in his lifetime, but never had he desired to spend time with them afterwards.

Am I being foolish? he thought, laying wide awake in his bed, his eyes boring into the ceiling. I have always vowed never to waste my time with such flippant emotions. Forming attachments is nothing but unnecessary weakness. I do not wish to be dependent on another. It would be unwise to involve myself with her.

But would she even wish him to? Did she feel the same ache in her chest and uneasiness in her abdomen that he suffered with at the sight of her? He had no reason to believe that she actually was attracted to him. She grew up with him from a young age and had definitely formed a fondness of him — that much he could believe — but attraction? He doubted it. He was used to getting his way with the servants and the others that he seduced, but nothing stretched on further than lust. He did not wish for anything more. He would not allow it.

But this Midgardian woman…

With a heavy sigh, he sat up in his bed, feeling an uncomfortable combination of being physically exhausted but wide awake in his mind. He threw his legs over the side and sat with his head in his hands. He would not act on these feelings. He was foolish to think that they were anything but a hindrance to him. He dismissed it as being nothing more than wanting to lay with Ellie out of mere curiosity — he had never had a Midgardian before considering they were so beneath the Aesir.

This is lust and nothing more. All I must do is find a willing servant to find release and I will return to seeing Ellie as the way she once was.

Loki sat for a long time on the side of his bed, reassuring himself that this was the best choice and promising that he would stand by it. Seeing no hope in falling asleep at this rate, he stood up, pulled on a tunic and pants, and left his chambers. He walked around the palace at his leisure, taking no notice of the Einherjar on night duty as he passed them. He didn’t think about his destination or where his bare feet were taking him; he just kept walking, blocking all thoughts of her from his mind. He wasn't surprised when he arrived at the library, but strolled inside and shut the large doors behind him. Inside, the room was illuminated by the moonlight peaking in through the tall windows. He gazed around and made his way towards one of the shelves, specifically one on the history of Midgard, his bare feet mostly silent on the wooden floor. When he rounded a corner, he hesitated in perplexity at what he saw.

“Loki?”

Ellie sat in his favourite armchair with a book in hand and her legs pulled up to her chest. A small candle was lit on the table beside her that gave off only a feint glow in the vast space. All she seemed to have on were her sleeping clothes, which only consisted of a light gown. A lump formed in his throat almost immediately.

“Ellie,” he mumbled. “What are you doing still awake?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she replied with a smile and set the heavy book down on the table. “Can’t sleep?”

His eyes stayed fixed on the floor, but it was truly difficult to tear his gaze from her attire. “Sleep seems to allude me of late.”

“How come?” She sounded concerned, and he didn’t doubt that she also looked it.

“If I knew why, I would probably be able to fix the problem.” He certainly hadn’t meant to sound so snappy, but his silver tongue was working against him that night.

When he stole a glance at her, he noticed the hint of hurt on her face. “Sorry I asked.”

“And why is it that you cannot rest either?” he questioned, hoping he could undo his previous rudeness, and took some hesitant steps towards her.

Stop walking to her, you fool! Stop it!

His feet carried on of their own accord. Tonight, his brain was taking a backseat.

“Over-thinkin’,” she grumbled and scratched her head. “About stuff. Can’t sleep when my head feels like it’s melted.”

“That’s understandable.”

She nodded and let out a sigh. “I was hopin’ reading may distract me long enough to fall asleep, but my mind keeps insistin’ that I waste time thinkin’ about it.”

“So pensive as usual then?”

She gave him a wry look but smiled. “Oh, ha ha ha. Very funny.”

“What are you reading?”

“Seiðr stuff mostly. I thought it could maybe distract me.”

He nodded and stopped next to the table, gently reaching out to run a finger over the book’s spine. “So what exactly is it that has claimed all your thoughts?”

She looked up at him with a smirk. Despite her appearance, he could tell that she wasn’t as relaxed as she made herself out to be. She was fingering the hem of her gown quickly, a familiar nervous tick. “Hey, if you’re not sharing then neither am I.”

He eyed her carefully, removing his hand from the book. She had peeked his interest without question and he wanted to know. “Ellie…”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“You know I don’t like it when you call me by such titles.” That wasn’t entirely true; nowadays, every time she called him ‘My Prince’, his abdomen clenched hard and he had to think of something else to prevent his breeches from tenting.

“I’m your maid — it’s sorta in my job description.”

“You are more than just my maid,” Loki answered without hesitation, but his reply was met with silence. The pair gazed at each other for what felt like the longest time from their positions. Ellie’s expression was unreadable and Loki was hoping that his was the same. Her lack of any answer only made him regret his words. He was doing an absolutely terrible job of acting like nothing was bothering him and he knew that she was no fool — he may have been the God of Lies, but she saw right through him. She did grow up learning from the best, after all.

If their silence confirmed anything, it was that they both knew when it came to class, his statement was a lie — she was no more than a mortal surrounded by gods.

“I know, we’re friends too,” Ellie sighed and got up from her seat with the large book in her small hands. “I should probably head to bed and leave you to whatever over-thinkin’ you are up to. Apparently you don’t want to talk about it, so I won’t try to help.”

He watched her walk over to the nearest bookshelf and return the book to its rightful home. Loki couldn’t help but let his eyes take in her figure as she stretched upwards to put it away, lingering on her backside. His jaw clenched at the sight and his eyes remained fixed even when she turned back around to walk by him.

“Goodnight, Loki,” she said with a nod as she passed him.

“Wait,” Loki called before he could even think of a reason not to. She froze on the spot with her back facing him, and to keep her there, he added quickly “Don’t… go. Please.”

Slowly turning to face him, he was treated with a look of bewilderment. “It’s really odd hearin’ that word come from your mouth.”

Loki couldn’t help but grin at her comment. “Please? What is so funny about that?”

Ellie tilted her head to the side. “Oh, come on. It’s hilarious.”

“Then at the risk of sounding hilarious, please stay for a moment.”

“If you insist.” She stood in front of him with her arms wrapped around her midsection. “So what’s botherin’ you? Is it your father?”

He knew he couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t possibly let her know that she was the reason he couldn't sleep at night anymore, that she consumed his dreams to the point of insanity. So he would do what he does best, and lie. “He’s always bothering me, so no.”

“Then Thor, maybe? You’s seem to be getting on well lately though.”

“Thor has somehow managed to be less irritating than usual of late.”

“How about the Warriors Three, then? They’re sometimes able to get your goat.”

At her mention of the group, Loki’s mind began to weave a simple lie that could distract her from the truth. He had to avoid her realising what the problem was at all costs.

He looked at her hard, his lips set in a firm line, and remembered the comments Fandral had been making towards Ellie lately. That could work as a distraction, considering there was even truth in it as well. “I am not overly fond of Fandral at present.”

She listened intently, stepping closer to him. “For what reason exactly? I mean, besides his gratuitous confidence and general cockiness, what’s he done to deserve your displeasure?”

He fixed his gaze on her. “I do not like how he speaks to you.”

Her brow piqued at that. “How he speaks to me?”

“Yes. He is vulgar and his comments distasteful. You do not deserve to be spoken to in such a manner.”

“Umm, when did he say anythin’ inappropriate to me?”

Loki’s brow furrowed at her genuine look of surprise. How could she not realise how Fandral had treated her so ill? Was it possible that she even enjoyed his advances? The thought made Loki’s stomach sick. It was not possible. He refused to believe it.

“For one, in the training yard ereyesterday. He passed comment on your form while ogling you like you were a marinating ham.”

“Oh, that. Well, you know Fandral — he was probably joking. Plus, he’d bed anythin’ with a pulse.”

With a tone matching the sharpness of a blade, he said. “Oh, is it possible that you perhaps relish his advances?” His eyes narrowed as his stomach grew more sickly with each passing second.

Ellie immediately choked with wide, disbelieving eyes. “What? No! Are you insane?”

Loki held his arms out at his sides and leaned in closer to her, expecting for her to retreat back a few steps, but she remained poised on the spot. “I am merely putting two and two together, my dear. You do not dismiss his actions and it appears that you almost delight in them.”

And just like that, she snapped. “I do not enjoy them! What in the name of God makes you think that Fandral or anyone in this Godforsaken realm would ever look at me like that? I’m not even from here — I am a Midgardian! I’m mortal! I’m fucking nothing to you people!”

Towards the end of her short rant, she had begun to scream and her voice cracked. Her outburst shook the whole library and the pregnant silence that followed was almost painful. She breathed raggedly, her shoulders shaking with the anger that welled within her. When she opened her mouth to continue, her voice was almost a whisper. “I was left to die in a fuckin’ alleyway by the person who was supposed to love and protect me, the person who probably killed my brother and mother, and now I’m stuck on a different fuckin’ planet, realm — whatever — where I’m the only one of my kind. I can’t be with a god and a god could never want me. I’d be dead and buried in a bloody heartbeat compared to you lot.”

Loki couldn’t hear anymore of it, and he damn well nearly broke down when he saw the tears roll down her cheeks. He had caused this. He was the one that upset her and it killed him. He immediately wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight embrace. For a split second he could feel her body tense at the contact before she relaxed and wrapped her arms around his neck. With his arms around her waist, he let his chin rest on the top of her head. Her face was buried in his chest and her body shook with unsteady breaths.

“You are not nothing,” he whispered to her reassuringly, hoping to banish at least some of her doubts. “I do not want you thinking such things when they are so far from the truth. You…” He hesitated when he felt the lump in his throat, contemplated whether he should say it. Would he be taking one large step backwards? “You are not nothing to me, little one.”

He froze, awaiting some response. Any response.

Please say something. Please tell me that you care.

He peered down at her when her head tilted upwards and their eyes met. They were stained red from tears but he remembered thinking how good it felt to have her in his arms and how truly beautiful she looked when she studied him like that. She was inspecting him like something on display, a fine artefact found and placed behind glass to be surveyed in wonder. He hadn’t been expecting it, but suddenly her arms tightened around his neck, pulled him down, and her lips were on his.

He nearly leapt out of his own skin. He vaguely remembered letting out a small yelp at the contact before she suddenly pulled away, but he kept his arms firmly locked around her waist. Now they were both panting heavily.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean to… I had t-to know what i-it would… feel like. I s-shouldn’t have, I’ve never—”

This time around, his lips cut her off. He took the lead, kissing her with the ferocity that he had been holding inside all those months as it came flooding out. His arms pulled her lithe body as close as it could possibly be against his own. He could remember nibbling on her bottom lip and the mewl that came out of her nearly sent all of the blood in his body straight down south. After what felt like a long time — but not nearly as long as he needed — he pulled away and rested his forehead against hers.

“That may have been what I was over-thinkin’ about earlier,” Ellie admitted between catching her breath with a look of what he could only hope was admiration. She was smiling now.

He chucked as her hands splayed out over his covered chest. “Kissing me?”

She gulped and averted her gaze, clearly nervous at the mention of the position they were in. “Well, yes, kissin’ you was a thought, but mostly just you. And me. And what you thought of me. I wasn’t sure whether you would want to kiss me.”

He let out a noise that was a mix between a sigh and a laugh. “Oh, little one, I have been thinking of kissing you for some time now.”

“R-really?” she squeaked in disbelief. “You’re not lyin’?”

“I would not lie to you about that,” he insisted and pulled her in for another deep kiss. For a moment, he savoured her taste and grinned when a shiver went up her spine. “I did not know if you would want me. I thought you would want another rather like Thor or Fandral.”

She grimaced at the thought. “Thor? Oh, God, no. I love that guy, but he is in no way my type. Don’t even get me started on Lover Boy either. You’ve been the only one who caught my eye. I just couldn’t imagine a god like you wantin’ me like this.”

His dug his fingers gently into her skin, giving just the right amount of pressure for her back to arch and her body to push into him. “That is a huge relief for me to hear, considering I have wanted you like this for a while.”

“Are you tellin’ me that all this time we have just been tip-toeing around each other, convinced that the other definitely wasn’t attracted to us, when we were both actually really into it?”

“I believe we may have.”

There was a short pause before they both burst out into a fit of laughter. Loki watched her as her eyes watered with happy tears this time around and felt warmth spread through him, the earlier sickness completely vanishing.

“We’re idiots,” she giggled and toyed with the neckline of his tunic.

“Of the highest order,” he agreed before lifting her suddenly in his arms. She squealed and her legs went around his waist, probably out of instinct more than anything else. Setting her down on the nearby table, he settled between her legs and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured. He truly meant it. She could knock the wind out of him with just a smile.

Her cheeks went pink almost instantly. “And you are extremely handsome.”

“My dear, you flatter me.”

“No, I mean it.” She paused briefly and opened her mouth a few times before closing it again. He merely stared at her and waited until eventually she managed to speak. “Loki?”

“Yes?”

“I know that you’re really experienced in… this stuff, and I’m not. At all. That—” A gulp. “—that was my first kiss. I’ve never courted another. Does my inexperience… does it bother you?”

He gave her a look of genuine surprise. “Hearing that I am the only one to taste your lips is one of the finest things that I have had the pleasure of knowing. And, Ellie, you taste delicious. I also feel inclined to mention that I have no issue with educating you in the more physical aspects of courting.”

He licked his lips and gazed lustfully at her, unwilling to sugar-coat what he was saying. Her cheeks were well and truly crimson now.

“Loki!” she hissed and slapped his shoulder. “You absolute scoundrel!”

“I believe the title of ‘Trickster’ suits me far better, love.”

“If you so insist. But does this means that you want’a court me?”

For the briefest of moments, he hesitated. The instinctive need to flee from any form of vulnerability was rising again somewhere in the back of his mind. But Loki’s physical urges took control of the situation, reminding him how her lips had just felt against his, how her body trembled in his hands…

He wanted this.

He wanted her.

Badly.

He had to make sure that she was his and his alone. No one could ever touch her in the ways that he would. No one could ever look at her like he did. For once, he was not concerned with this ending badly. Right now, the thoughts of her being with someone other than him was the worst outcome and he refused to let that happen.

He made a decision and he stuck to it confidently. “I do want to court you. You know, I have not been able to sleep lately because I could not get the thought of you out of my mind. It was scary, I will admit, as I have not cared for many people in such a manner before. But now that I have you in my arms, I am rather willing to say that I would much prefer to keep you here as long as I can.”

“But what of your mother and father? Odin is not goin’ to like this.”

“Oh, fuck Odin,” he groaned. “He rarely likes anything. But I will admit you are not wrong.”

“And Heimdall?”

“Darling, what do you take me for? I come to this library at night when I desire privacy, even from his prying eyes. This room is glamoured at this hour as always. He has no inkling as to our escapades in here. Despite that, I think we should keep this a secret, just for the moment.”

“So, a secret. Just between you and I?”

He nodded. “You and I. On that note, I very much want to kiss you again.”

She seemed nervous as he ran a finger over her cheekbone. “I really like kissin’ you, I just don’t really know if I’m any good at any of this.”

He chuckled deeply, leaning in closer to her. “Oh, my dear, you are far better at kissing than you realise.”

Soon, her lips were once more compliant against his and their bodies pressed tightly together. Loki had kissed many people in his life and he prided himself on his ability to make his lovers weak at the knees with just his lips and silver tongue, but never had he drawn such pleasure from merely a kiss. All rational thought and warnings against making himself vulnerable were banished to the far corners of his mind. With her hands in his hair and his teeth on her neck, he could barely form a coherent thought.

The sensation was like nothing he had felt before.

And, by the Norns, did he love it.

[luciisthebest]

I Remember

Pairing: Former Dean x Reader

Summary: The reader stands on the opposite side of the Winchesters. The villain that finally outwitted them and once a member of their family. No they meet face to face not as friends but as battle tired foes. With old friendships and past love on the line will the reader remember who she was?

Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood, major character death.

Word Count: 1,662

A/N: More angst, yayyyyy! Actually I was really happy I was able to write this. This is the first piece I’ve written since Croatoan. Everything else had just been queued up stuff. But now it looks like I’m back in action. I hope you guys like and please feel free to leave some feedback.

The wind howled as you stared out over the desolate plain. The sky was a churning mass of black clouds and the land was devoid of life. You were surrounded by a grey, lifeless land. And you looked upon this world with pride. This world was of your making, a thing of beauty and it was all yours.

“Come on out boys, I know you’re there.” Your voice echoed across the land carried by the fierce wind.

“Are we really that predictable?” Two men appeared across from you.

“Is that even a question Dean?” You rolled your eyes.

“Whatever.” He muttered as he and Sam walked closer.

“So have you two come to finally surrender?”

“I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

“Oh Dean, you never did like to give up.” You turned your gaze back to the world around you. “Can’t you see? I’ve already won. This world is of my making.”

“You can come back you know…” Sam’s soft voice reached your ears.

“Always the peacekeeper.” You sighed. “I’ve missed you Sam. I remember all those days when we used to lock ourselves in the library and you would teach me all about monsters.” You looked at him wistfully.

“You can have that again.” His eyes pleaded with you.

“No. I can’t.” You felt yourself harden again.

“Come on Y/N, you can end this.” Dean stepped closer.

“Don’t do it Dean.” You glared at him. “You seem to forget, I know you. I know every little detail of your life. I remember that one time Sam brought you back cake instead of pie as a prank and later that night you took scissors to his hair. I know that even though you pretend otherwise you’re actually a softy with a really big heart. And I know about the little scar right under your eye because I put it there. Dean I know you as well as I know myself. So think about what you’re going to do next.” You stood staring at him, your shoulders stiff as the wind howled behind you tossing your hair about.

“You’re right Y/N, you do know me. But I also know you. I remember the first night I kissed you. We were sitting in baby just watching the world go by. I remember you growing up with us, always trying to keep up with us and usually ending up covered in mud. And I remember the woman who would’ve given her life to protect those she loved.” Dean took another step closure. His movement steady and sure.  “You know what else I remember? I remember the day you were taken. That was one of the worst days of my life.” He took another step. “And I remember when you came back. Changed, filled with rage and a power not even the angels could understand. I remember watching you tear this world apart, knowing I couldn’t do a thing to stop you. Now I want a new memory.” He took one last step, stopping right in front of you. “I want to remember you giving this all up. I want to remember you coming back with Sam and I and us being a family again. I want us to start over. You just have to remember.”

You stared into his deep green eyes as a single tear made its way down your cheek. “Dean.” You whispered. “Why? Why did we have to end up on opposite sides?” You reach out and rested your palm against his cheek.

Dean closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. “We don’t have to be anymore.”

“How can you say that? I destroyed this planet. There’s no saving it now.”

Dean opened his eyes and looked into yours. In that moment you saw the little boy you grew up with. The one who used to tug on your hair at every chance and in return you would always steal his pie as pay back. “There’s always a way.”

“No there’s not.” You said flatly as you dropped your hand from his face.

“Y/N…” Dean took a step back.

“Just go.” You waved the brothers away. “Go back to your bunker and live the rest of your lives in peace.”

“You’re our family and we don’t leave family behind.” Sam stepped forward, determination in his voice.

“Is that why Cas is still hiding? Because I’m family?” You hissed at him. Both brothers looked surprised at your knowledge of their plan. “Oh please that was so obvious. You two figured that if I wouldn’t come with you willingly that you would bring Cas along so he could finally destroy me.”

Dean glanced at his brother as he started to speak. “We never intended to harm you.  We thought that if we had to we could bring you with us by force.”

“Just go. I’m tired of this war. Neither of us will win, we know each other too well to be outmaneuvered.” You turned your back on them once again surveying your handy work.

Dead grass crunched under Sam and Dean’s shoes as they retreated. You were surprised they gave up so easily, it wasn’t like them. You were once again left with the howling wind. Alone with your thoughts as you listened to their footsteps retreat. Your heart longed to go with them but there was too much hurt and pain there. You had crossed the line and there was no going back. “Goodbye.” You whispered knowing they wouldn’t hear. You became the villain they never expected. The one who hurt them the most and the villain that finally won.

The wind whipped the ends of your hair across your cheeks. Their stinging bites reminded you of who you were. You weren’t a pitiful, powerless hunter anymore. You were the woman who brought the world to its knees, the woman who had destroyed almost all other evil in the world. Now with the Winchester’s out of your way you could finally finish your work. There was one last person standing in your way. You had faced him before and both of you had been severely injured. “Lucifer I’m coming for you.” You whispered knowing your words with travel to him on the wind.

A rustle of wings and an alarmed shout warned you of his arrival. “Too late I’m already here.” His cold voice came from behind you.

“Shit!” You spun around, your hand raised. Power pooled in the palm of your hand as you prepared to strike Lucifer down.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.” You froze at the sight in front of you. Sam was laying on the ground unconscious several feet from where Lucifer stood. But the thing that struck terror into your heart was the knife Lucifer held to Dean’s throat. He held Dean from behind and you could tell that all it would take was a small bit of pressure and it’d be over.

“A knife? Really?” You taunted as you inched closer.

“I felt it was the most appropriate way to kill not only a perpetual thorn in my side but the man you love.” He smiled cruelly.

“Love? Hah! That’s hilarious.” You cackled as you continued to inch closer.

“Drop the act. It’s obvious you have a soft spot for the Winchesters or they would have been smoking piles of ash years ago.”

“I find them amusing. As I know you do.” Your eyes locked onto Dean’s.

Lucifer chuckled. “So young and naive. You have so much to learn. Consider this a favor, every weakness can be exploited and weaknesses are dangerous.”

“A favor? What do you-“ Your heart stopped as you realized what he meant. “No!” You raised your hand again and took aim, but you were too late. Lucifer saw what you intended in your eyes and acted first. In the blink of an eye Lucifer plunged the knife right below Dean’s collar bone.

“Nooooo!” You screamed.

“You can thank me later.” Lucifer smirked at you then disappeared.

“Dean!” You screamed as he crumpled to the ground.

“No, no, no, no.” You yelled hysterically as you ran to his side. “Cas!” You screamed as you fell to your knees. “Castiel please!”

“He’s gone. He left after we started to walk away.” Dean gurgled.

“No there has to be something.” You grabbed his hand. “I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

“Then remember. Remember who you once were and become her again.”

“Don’t leave me. Lucifer was right I love you. I always have. Even after everything that’s happened I still love you. Don’t leave me, not now.” You grabbed his face desperately.

“You’ve just made me the happiest man. I never thought I’d hear those words again.” Blood spilled from his lips as he spoke.

“Shhh don’t speak.” You places you finger to his lips. “You need to save your strength.”

“Y/N… take care of Sam.”

“I won’t have to cause you’ll be here to do it yourself.”  You ran your thumb along his cheek as his eyes bore into yours.

“Promise me.”

“I-I promise.” You leaned down and kissed his forehead. “We’ll do it together just like you wanted.” You whispered against his skin. Dean didn’t reply and when you pulled back and looked into his eyes you could tell he was fading. “Please don’t go.” Tears ran freely down your face as you looked down at him. “I need you.” You leaned down and kissed him. It tasted like blood and tears but he was still your Dean.

When you pulled back Dean smiled at you. “Just remember.” His words were so soft the howling wind nearly carried them away.

“I remember Dean.” You pressed you forehead to his. “I remember.” You choked out as the light left his eyes and you felt the life leave his body. He was gone. A damn burst inside you and you threw your head back and screamed your pain into the churning sky. “I remember!”

Tags:

@mogaruke @msimpala67 @percussiongirl2017 @meganwinchester1999 @ria132love @lucifer-in-leather @impala-dreamer @idreamofhazel @helvonasche @quiverhope @distinguishedqueenofbooks @faith-in-dean @docharleythegeekqueen @nanie5 @amotleyworld @abbessolute @mrsbatesmotel53 @chaosinacoffeecup @saoirsewhittle  @bobbysingerismybaby

[minas-writing]

Moodboard Monday - Comedy @homesteadhorner

Thank you for this prompt, it has given me an excuse to rewrite a section of this story! I… did more than I intended. Oops.

Peter is a young-ish kid (never specified, but probably around 15) killed in a complicated accident. He comes back, by default invisible and barely able to touch things. He doesn't know why, but he might as well spend some time pranking. That’s why he qualifies for a “comedy” theme. He’s dead but he thinks scaring people is hilarious. Here, six months after the funeral and having both learned more about being what he is and how to make people see and hear him, Peter decides to visit his family again.

1.5k words. Some angst involving minor death, and how the family copes. Also a bit of occult but it’s lighthearted.

----

“Here goes nothing,” Peter said to himself. Then he swung the door open.

Most everything was the same in his home’s entryway. By habit, Peter shut the door behind him and called out, “Mom?” before remembering that nobody would hear him, anyway.

Peter’s mom, Sharon, came to the door, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. With a stinging heart - or emotions, anyway - Peter watched his mom evaluate the scene in front of her with narrowed eyes. There was the door, closed. A bench, painted white, stood nearby, Sam’s backpack on it and her usual tennis shoes underneath. Sharon visibly relaxed upon seeing the shoes, which made Peter curious.

Now, Sharon looked more curious than concerned. “I thought I heard…” she mumbled, then shook her head. “You’re going crazy, Sharon.”

As his mom stood there, Peter walked up to her, his feet making no more sound than the wind. He reached out and tried to touch her arm. His fingers passed through. Just like Peter had expected, but not like he’d hoped. His mom shivered, and he pulled away, tears coming to his eyes. Sharon turned and went back to the kitchen, oblivious to her son’s presence. Peter had no choice but to follow.

Good smells filled the air, and the heat from the stove warmed up the room until Peter was on the edge of being warm. Sharon took up a spot at the counter that looked like she’d left for just a moment to check on the door, then grabbed a knife and continued to slice a sheet of dough into noodles. From experience, Peter knew that the pot on the burners held boiling carrots, peas, celery, and onions. A chicken skeleton rested on a plate by the stove, its flesh in a bowl and ready to be added.

Peter used to love chicken noodle soup.

The kitchen was silent for a few minutes as Sharon continued cooking. Peter watched, and as he got bored, a mischievous smile slid onto his face.

He waited to make sure that his mom was really and truly oblivious, then he drifted across the kitchen and grabbed the handle of a cupboard she wouldn’t see from her current perspective. Inch by inch, Peter opened the cupboard, moving slowly so as to not attract his mom’s attention. When it was open all the way, Peter wound back and slammed the cupboard shut.

Bang!

Sharon jumped nearly a foot into the air and dropped a noodle on the ground. Her scream was cut off, but was enough to send Richard scrambling down the nearby stairs. Peter burst out giggling at her reaction, half-expecting her to look right at him and scold him for scaring her again. But she didn’t.

Of course.

“Mom!” said Richard, sliding into the kitchen on bright, striped socks. “Are you okay?”

It took a moment for both Sharon and Peter to calm down enough to pay attention. Peter’s smile stayed firmly on his face when his laughter had run out, while Sharon’s eyes were wide.

“I… I guess I left a cupboard open,” she said.

Richard’s brown eyes roamed the cupboards. When his gaze passed over Peter, it didn’t pause, but Peter froze guiltily anyway to wait for Richard to turn back to their mom. Then Peter rolled his eyes at himself, and at the other two for being so overdramatic.

“Come on, you guys, it’s just me,” he said.

“Well, they’re all closed now,” Richard said, not hearing Peter. He reached over and patted his mom’s shoulder.

Sharon laid one of her palms on the side of her head, avoiding touching her hair with flour-covered fingers. “It just… it just sounded…” She sighed and shook off Richard’s hand. “I’m fine. Nothing happened, just a draft from the door shutting or something.”

Nothing had happened, huh? Peter grinned and began to slide open the silverware drawer. Nobody noticed.

“The… door shutting?” Richard repeated. “Did Sam go out again?”

“Not unless she didn’t wear her shoes,” Sharon answered. She went back to the noodles and gathered them up to drop into the pot. “Don’t worry about me, Richard. Go back to your homework for a few more minutes. Dinner will be ready soon.”

Richard stood in the kitchen for a moment longer, watching his mom with concerned eyes, before turning to head back upstairs. It was at that moment that Peter slammed the drawer shut again with a prankster’s glee. Silverware jumped inside, and both Sharon and Richard spun to stare at the drawer.

“Sam?” called Richard up the stairs without taking his eyes off the drawer. “Are you doing something?”

“You’re the one slamming doors,” Sam yelled back. Her voice was muffled by distance and a bedroom door.

Peter opened another cupboard, though he didn’t spend much time on it. It fell back two inches when he let go, making a small but clear sound.

“What…” Sharon put the lid on the pot and went to wave her hand in front of the cupboard Peter had just moved. She didn’t find whatever she was looking for.

“It was the wind,” Richard said, not sounding very confident himself. “Or mice?”

With a cackle, Peter jumped into action, pulling open every cupboard he could reach. He flicked the chicken carcass, making it quiver as if it were coming to life. A few books were standing perilously on the cookbook shelf, and Peter nudged them off, though he was careful that none of them landed in puddles or had their pages crumpled. Peter slammed a few more drawers for good measure, then sat in the air, surrounded by his handiwork, and grinned.

At some point, Sam had come downstairs, and all three of Peter’s family members were staring in shock at the kitchen. Peter erupted into laughter.

“You should see your faces!” He bobbed a bit in the air, rocking backwards. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.” Nothing was funnier than being in on a joke, Peter thought.

After a minute or two, his laughter wound down, and Peter began to feel a little bit guilty. He hadn’t meant to really scare his family. Well, actually, yes he had, but he didn’t want to keep them scared, necessarily. Peter reversed his previous spree, gently closing the cupboards and drawers and setting the books back where they’d been, if a bit more securely. When the chicken wobbled again, Sam jumped, but it didn’t move any more and she began to relax.

It was quiet again as Peter waited for their reactions.

“I think we need to call an exorcist,” Richard finally said, holding onto their mom as if to protect her. He half-smiled, as if to joke, but he was being serious.

“Or a priest,” added Sharon in a weak voice.

Sam stepped into the kitchen, pausing over the tile for just a moment. When nothing attacked her, she made her way to the drawer where they held spices and took a lighter from her pocket. Peter looked at it, not understanding. Why didn she have a lighter in her pocket? The thought quickly fled his mind when Sam opened the little canister of sage leaves and held one up. Her face was deadly serious.

“Wait, no! No sage!” burst Peter. This wasn’t part of his four-step haunting process! He wanted to stay, but if Sam burned any sage, it would be weeks at best before he could come back. What could he do to prove he wasn’t a threat? Well, besides talking to them. Peter didn’t know why, but he didn’t particularly want his mom and siblings to know that it was him. Glancing around, Peter’s eyes fell on the dishwasher. There.

The three living people in the kitchen startled when the dishwasher opened and the drawers slid out. Sam moved to click the lighter on, with a dried sage leaf hovering a centimeter above it. In a panic, Peter grabbed two cups and shoved them into the cupboard where they went. Those cups were followed by a bowl, then more cups. If he did the dishes, maybe they’d understand. Wasn’t his mom always saying that her love language was acts of service?

Sam’s hand sank, the flame gone. Her eyebrow lifted. “Um… ghost?”

The plates Peter was holding drooped as his shoulders fell. “I’m not a ghost,” he protested, then resumed working to put the dishes away. It was easier now that he could fly. “I’m a poltergeist. There’s a difference.” He didn’t really know if there was a difference, but ‘poltergeist’ sounded cooler.

“Those dishes are dirty,” Sam said.

Peter paused. Dang it.

He started to return the dishes to the washer. It figured. The first time he actually tried to help anyone in six months and he messed it up. It only took a few moments to put the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, and Peter took a soap tablet from under the sink, put it in, and started the machine. Why nobody had done it yet was beyond him.

[thechroniclesofdaraliss]

The Ten DM Commandments

For those of us that want to get into Role Playing Games (RPGs), but aren’t quite sure how, tabletops tend to be the best place to start. Worlds like Dungeons & Dragons, Mutants & Masterminds, and Shadowrun have inspired and captivated gamers for decades, and show no sign of letting up. In its contents, some of the most celebrated mediums of entertainment have been put to paper and given life to form new stories. Dungeons & Dragons was translated from Lord of the Rings, Mutants & Masterminds was born from the world of comic books, and Shadowrun was built on the foundation of science fiction. Regardless of type, DMing (or Dungeon Mastering) is a great way to build friendships and rediscover old passions. But of course, there’s a few things that need to be known prior to staring, as not every rulebook can teach you what you need to know in those first few days. Sometimes, experience is the best teacher. So I will impart my personal knowledge of what the craft, and hopefully it helps as you develop your own story.

1) THE IDEA: First off, be very aware of the world and scenario you are building. This acts as the core for how the campaign will run, and what can be expected on all sides, both DM (Dungeon Master) and PC (Player Character). Make the world as big and detailed as possible, but keep the focus tight and on the party as they explore the environment you’ve designed. This makes for a massive world that is always changing, and has plenty of variables to play with. Don’t be disappointed if the party doesn’t get to it all. The best campaigns always have something more to explore at the end of each session. • What is the current geopolitical climate? Who is in power in which nations, and how for do their borders go? How for does their influence go? • Which races have been imbued with the power of magic, or possess superhuman abilities? Is it common to have these powers, or are they an anomaly? • What is the recent history of the world? What is the history of the distant past? Does it have a large bearing on what is happening in campaign now? Why or why not?

2) TECHNICALITIES: If you’re having trouble with technical aspects of the game, SRD is a wonderful and free online resource that can help clarify a lot of trouble spots for characters and gameplay (look specifically for the type of game system you’re playing. SRD exists for several platforms: Dungeons & Dragons 3.5, Dungeons & Dragons 5e, Mutants & Masterminds, etc.). While it’s important to keep the idea in focus, it’s also essential that the rules be understood. Part of the fun arises from knowing what your limitations are, and finding ways to prevail despite them. • http://www.d20srd.org/ • http://www.d20herosrd.com/ 

3) THE PLAYERS: Meet with your PCs before the game starts. This gets a lot of questions out of the way, and gives you a chance for all to learn from experience. Be prepared to answer questions about your world, your scenario, and expectations for campaign. This sets the tone for your time as a group, and helps the rest of the game run more smoothly. You can form character stats, backstories, and even complex histories in pre-campaign meetings. Always respect each other’s ideas and ready for slight changes in your overall plans. The story is after all, about the Players (PCs), not about the DM (Dungeon Master). You may have crafted the world, but the PCs are the ones who will live in it. • A party of 3-6 is the safest number • Having a healthy diversity of classes and races helps go a long way • Specializing your skillset helps cover weaknesses, and encourages cooperation among players 

4) THE STRUCTURE: As the PCs begin exploring your brave new world, it’s important to realize that limitations can go a long way in establishing an interesting campaign. In addition to focusing on the party’s grand quest, have a handful of side quests and tertiary quests in your back pocket. This helps avoid railroading, helps pacing, and makes for a more diverse set of choices for your PCs, and PCs LOVE Choices. Furthermore, the main action of the story should be contained to a location, and maps and visuals help immensely. Having an ocean to the east can establish limits, and may also set up a plot boundary, saying that all of the action and excitement can be found on dry land (or perhaps a few islands, if they’re feeling particularly daring). • The party is trying to repel an invasion of their home nation, but they must possess six artifacts to make the resistance possible. And these artifacts are scattered across the world. • As a result of the king’s rulings, many fiefdoms and provinces have fallen under slavery. It is not the primary focus of campaign, but it can win you some allies, or help find a way to get past an obstacle. • There are several families that have lost their sons the war, and need some help running the family business. Farmers, apothecaries, and even minor nobles are asking for help wherever it may come from. It may not connect to campaign, or even be a side quest, but it can win you some small rewards such as a place to stay for the night, some coin for your journey, or the unveiling of a secret.

5) FAILINGS: As part of Role Playing Games (RPGs), you can do all the preparation in the world, and still come up short as a result of rolling a Nat 1 (Natural 1), or rolling low in general. It’s all part of the fun of playing a game that balances imagination, chance, and strategy. However, one should not roll for perfection or try to become all-powerful. Having a character that can fly to the antagonist’s castle and kill him instantly makes for a very dry campaign and also robs the party of the chance to explore the world as well as themselves. So when you encounter a low stat, or roll low in a fight, don’t think of it as a failure. In RPGs, there’s no such thing as failures, just experience. Think of it as an opportunity. Lower stats make more chances for role-playing, and low rolls in combat can lead to memorable and even hilarious results. And every DM will agree that a pack of misfits at mid-level are more interesting than all-powerful gods taking down dark villains without effort. • Having low strength means you’ll have to be quick on your feet, or quick of tongue. Was this a result of your background, and how does it affect the party? • Just because you weren’t handed everything growing up, does that rob your character of the chance to live a good life? Does this perhaps force them to struggle and fight to get where they are, and does this help them now? • Your character may not be the most approachable figure, but does the vicious barbarian or booking wizard have a card being kept close to the chest? Despite their proficiency, they may be keeping a detail of their past hidden. As a party, can you handle it, and does it make your bond stronger?

6) ROLE PLAYING: As your characters develop their dynamic, you’ll start to see that they’ll find patterns they’re accustomed to. The Fighter may swing their sword, the Wizard may use a handful of spells, or the Rogue may try to steal every object. It’s common for first-time or relatively new players to play a concept, instead of a character. As DM, encourage your PCs to step out of their comfort zones and play their character as a character, not a concept. Some players like to play a figure who is like them in many respects, and then they get to see how they interact in a world not their own. Or in some cases, a player may use a character different from them in every way. The only way they can find out by playing their character. Extended dialogue between players or NPCs (Non-player characters) is a great way to enhance the overall experience and can lead to surprising results. DMs can also reward their PCs by paying them in experience, in-game friendships and allies, or with information. • The shy Rogue must talk himself out of trouble when his shenanigans go too far. • The stoic Ranger who never misses a shot suddenly encounters a Golem, and her weapon of choice is of no use. Will she rely on her party for aid, or adopt a new strategy to save them all? • An NPC was found stealing food from the party. Is he a heartless thief, does he have a starving sister just upriver, or is he being manipulated? The only way to know is to ask. 

7) UNPACKING: As you explore the world of campaign, you will find the PCs will be asking numerous questions. As part of your responsibilities as DM, you’ll have to be prepared to answer all questions (although there’s no shame in not knowing if you’re put on the spot). They may ask the identity of NPCs, the significance of an ancient statue, or the history of a town. While it may seem like nitpicking at times, it’s a great opportunity to introduce a memorable character, introduce a new concept, or to show off some of the lore you’ve spun. Every time you encounter something new, be prepared to share succinct and relevant information as you unpack it. Also, don’t forget how experiences have affected characters, or how history can have an effect on current circumstances. In any scenario, never miss out on an opportunity to unpack what’s already there. It saves you time as DM to expand upon what’s there instead of making something entirely new, and it adds dimensions to the story like nothing else will. • You discover that the lone man on the road is a legendary swordsman. What is his name, what exploit made him famous, and who would want to help or harm him if he stays with the party? • You encounter an ancient statue that has been ravaged by pillagers, the elements, and time. Does the statue hold significance for your party members? Is the statue being guarded by an unseen force? Or is walking on this land considered punishable by death among the local residents? • The party comes upon a grand fishing village with a wealthy status that befits a large city. Is it the result of shady business practices? Who’s in charge, and how long has this town known such luxury?

8) EXPERIENCE OVER RULES: With so many rules running through each system, it’s easy to lose sight of what’s really important in the game. New players especially will refer to the rules to ensure everything is sound. But when it comes to DMing, it’s a delicate balance of upholding the rules and finding ways to make your vibrant world come through in a rigid set of rules. The best way to strike a compromise between the two is to build your world first, then apply the rules. With so many written rules for combat, interaction, and difficulty of dice rolling, even professionals and people who wrote the canonized rules can have trouble finding ways to apply them by virtue of how many there are. As DM, your job isn’t to be all-knowing, your job is to be aware of your world, and to apply the rules as needed. • You encounter a troll, and he is about to strike you down. You manage to fall just short of your roll (but his injuries also cause him to lose significant points). • You are being chased by a battalion of knights, and they search relentlessly for you. You hide yourself well among the brush, save for one member of the party, and three knights dismount looking for you. Two of the party succeed (but the one knight fails his search check and the remaining party member goes undetected). • You fight tooth and nail against a vicious creature from another world. It succeeds in dealing you terrible damage, but it is fangs get caught in the thick rock just behind you. (You can take this chance to deal it severe damage with your dagger while he’s vulnerable).

9) CONTRIBUTE & COMPROMISE: After the first few sessions, you’ll realize that players have an enormous amount of influence in how the story plays out. So as DM, you’re not writing the story like an author. An author writes based on their experience and desire alone. But a DM builds a structure, and the PCs alter it according to their interactions. Therefore, it becomes important for the DM to make suggestions, and for the PCs to ask questions. Amid these exchanges, you may have to add new scenarios or make room for interpretation. You will have to compromise. The best way to keep the dynamic healthy is to ensure that everyone’s voice is heard, and that everyone’s opinion is valued. If the PCs want to take up a side quest, respect that. If the PCs want to come at a situation in a new way, but supportive. Part of the fun for you as DM is that you don’t know exactly what’s going to happen. You give as much as you get as DM and PC, so give a lot and compromise a lot on both fronts. • As the PCs travel into a market, they hear rumors about the enemy seeking them out. Therefore, they take up an offer from the Thief Guild to be hidden until the heat dies down (Side Quest). • The party wants to see a dragon. You elect to follow up on some rumors where a dragon egg is on display. You either take up an errand for the nobility in exchange for the egg, or steal it of your own volition. The dragon is then met, but it remains on a power level equal or below the party. • The party ambushed amid a forest. The Ranger is out of arrows, and the Wizard is out of spells. The Fighter still has an axe, and wants to cut down trees to gain the upper hand.

10) RESPECT: There’s a culture of “crushing the PCs” in many Role Playing Games. While it can be fun to put your characters in hot water, or in near-death scenarios, ensure that it’s all in good taste and isn’t done for the sake of cruelty. This can be difficult. Abusing your omnipotence as DM can throw off a healthy dynamic among players, and can color someone’s opinion of the game. It’s rarely out of a sense of maliciousness that these issues arise. In some scenarios, it’s just a joke that’s gone too far. As DM, be very aware of who is getting the most attention, who is the most engaged the most, and who is more resistant to contribute. If needed, ask what is going on directly. If it’s an issue among the party, mention it after the session is over. This makes the time in campaign about campaign, and illustrates respect for your players. Sometimes a joke goes too far, and the player in question is too nervous to bring it up. If you confront this as DM, and do so in a courteous manner, it produces an atmosphere of trust. Without respect or trust, there is no party. Campaign should be, above all else, a safe place to play and have fun. If this isn’t the case, then something needs to change. So whether it’s a joke, overstepping a boundary, or a recurring problem, be sure to address it as soon as possible. Following this rule is paramount, and if it is done in combination with all the other rules above, you’re sure to have a campaign you’ll remember for years to come. • Joke around, but do so with respect • If the DM or a PC is having trouble with the rules, be understanding and patient • Give respect and trust, and you will receive it in return

With these ten guidelines, I hope that you’ve learned a great deal and will find joy in applying them to the games you play. Of course, this is only my interpretation of how to DM, and there is much you can learn from watching others, or doing it on your own. RPGs mean something different for everyone. If you ask 100 DMs what the game means to them, you’re likely to get 100 different answers. But in the end, it all comes down to what you give to it. In time, you will discover what DMing means to you, and even after years of practice, it can still surprise you. So without further ado, break out the soda and snacks, and let’s start DMing!

[becauseiwanttowrite]

Ctrl + Shift 2

Snippet Two

There were three infamous cities for housing a majority population of shifters. One of them was Reddard, a patch of land as compared to the others. Rumor said its heart was the origin of shifters, where they first lived and constructed communities. Thus, the city itself radiated more of shifter history than any other book on the shelf.

Second,  Asioh. Look up to the upper west of lands, and just beyond a mountain range ports coagulated by its coast. Since the beginning of shifters, it declared itself as the gateway of exports. Shifters were first patrons. Dotting along its borders were some of the best warriors, protecting a gorgeous cityscape.

Third was Ground Zero. Ground Zero was more popular due to its pronounced, skilled military combatants. It seemed to be preparing often for a nonexistent war. Government did not know of lenience and iron walls did more than defend – it symbolized its glory. Additionally, it was a beacon for ambitious hunters, the reason for the inner conflicts inside and outside borders.

I chose none of these places.

Perhaps a number of trainees opted for any of the three. The ones gifted with much skill drifted off to these cities. However, the fact remained in me that if the strongest were bottlenecked into specific areas, it left other cities defenseless. Experiences in a bare city proved to be more promising.

“What?” The gobsmacked Oscar stared at me, “Delluna Capital?”

“It’s where my family lives,” I replied as I strapped on belts and ties, “And I want to be near my childhood home.”

He held his hand up, “Wait . . . isn’t that the place where hunters are running rampant?”

“Yes, and suppressing hunters is our job.”

He looked exasperated. “You do you,” he grabbed his prized knife and flipped it, “I’m staying here in Reddard.”

My lip curled. He was brave. But they could not see the world if their world was merely within Asioh, Reddard and Ground Zero.

I took my spear and we slid out of the weapons room to join the file of trainees in the narrow corridor. Boots squeaked upon tiles as we hurried to safety from Frida’s morning wrath. I thought about her barking voice.

Liz crept up beside me. The first word out of her was, “Roasted.”

Oscar, to my right, leaned to get a good look at her. Liz’s tactful asset was her short height, and paired with that, her stomach-deforming kicks. She fiddled with the strap crossing over her chest, “Roasted! Raisin got an earful from Frida ‘cause he tripped all over his face this morning.”

“Poor Raisin,” Oscar lightened.

“The name’s Rainer,” an irritated voice said from behind us.

Liz erupted into wild laughter and Oscar followed suit right after. There was no doubt; it was hilarious. A clear red handprint sat on Rainer’s cheek. It complimented the dark eyebags under his eyes. In front, a few snickers rang out.

Rainer frowned, looking at me, “Zoe, help me out a bit.”

I responded, “You were in timing with her bad mood.”

Liz did not stop laughing. Oscar was stifling giggles. Rainer huffed and tried his best to cover up, risk of becoming the talk of the camp for a day.

We reached the open doors leading to a vast field. Equipment and weapons stocks scattered along their spots like all mornings. What was impossible to miss was Frida’s hunched figure, crossed arms and stoic face. The position accentuated her stocky built well; muscles bulged out.

“Faster, you maggots!” Our scout leader barked, “Faster or you end up like him.” The direction to which her finger aimed undoubtedly pointed to Rainer. In habitual fear, we jogged to a neat formation right in front of her. When Frida threatened, Frida was serious.

“You poor scapegoat,” Liz said to Rainer before squaring her shoulders in preparation of our morning routine.

Head to toe stretches, eight counts each and in all directions. Then, a climbing exercise. Then a three-lap jog around the perimeter of the field. That built our morning warm-up. It took days – weeks – before I ceased to earn leg pains after such a regimen. Currently, the exercises were nothing like our main training.

We barely had time to recuperate after the jog. With one look from Frida, we gathered into a ring at center.

“Combatant training today,” said she, not wasting a second, “No slacking off, wrigglers. You have the whole field, the border is the forest. Knock out someone to the ground and they’re counted dead. Stay on your fee ‘till the end and you have bath privileges by the weekend.”

I scanned the others. Everyone perked up at the mention of bath privileges. I rolled back a shoulder, whilst tightening hold on my spear. Tempting prize. I wanted to knock out two or ten.

A hand flew up. The bespectacled Trey asked, “And if we don’t fight?”

A look that mirrored a snarl appeared on Frida’s face, “Only five get privilege. Any more and no one does.”

“Also . .  .” she added sinisterly, “No shifting.”

We were given fifteen minutes. There were twenty-seven trainees in all. I parted my feet to get ready for signal.

To my right, Oscar approached with slow steps, “Hey, if we team up – “

Frida gave signal and I was out running before Oscar could finish. Unfortunately, in the battlefield, allies were temporary. Every shifter was for itself.

I swung at a nearby boy, Ken, but he ducked on my attack. I braved a jump, aiming at his face. A satisfying crunch sounded. Ken’s hand reached up to his nose to smudge off blood. Something like a spark glinted in his eye. “Oh you’re on, Venetti,” he taunted, pushing out his claymore.

The sharp clang of our weapons colliding, the shine of both metals under the bare sun, the heavy breaths – these were enough to keep me going. My upper back strained under Ken’s persistent pushes. Each time I dived into a weak spot he was there to block or dodge. I jumped in between footwork, pushing hard and giving nearly all my weight.

With that collision, both my spear and his sword flew to the side and were blocked by other fighters. Ken and I faced each other. Hand to hand, then.

He charged first, going for my abdomen but I dodged just in time and swung. He blocked my fist, attempted a twist but I kicked his shin just in time. Everything became nothing but a buzz around me. Ken hit me on the shoulder next.

He got a direct hit on my neck. I kept in a cry. As I backed away from him, we noticed there were other trainees closing in on us. My hands shook and my face twisted. They even dared interrupt our fight.

[christinaepilzauthor-blog]

The Comfort of Soup

by Lauren Gilbert

Dinner at Haddo House, 1884 by Edward Emslie

It's officially autumn (even though the temperatures do not reflect it where I live), and my menu planning is making a seasonal shift. As temperatures cool and winter approaches, a richer and more sustaining menu appeals. Soup is a favourite of mine for this time of year. An ancient dish, I suspect it evolved as soon as man figured out how to put edible things in a pot of water over heat. Soup is featured in virtually all culinary traditions and, of course, is a significant part of food history in Great Britain. As a history enthusiast, I enjoy reading details of normal life, including food, whether I'm reading fiction or non-fiction, as it gives an immediacy and life to the material.

The Forme of Cury

Peasant fare, elegant fare, or invalid fare, soup was a staple of the British diet. Early cookery books don't show as many recipes for soup as for other dishes. I suspect this is because it was assumed that individuals already knew how to make the standard daily dish for the household, made from local ingredients to personal taste. The Forme of Cury, a cookbook from c. 1390 (originally a scroll showing authorship by "the Chief Master Cooks of King Richard II"), contained some soup recipes designed to be served to the nobility. The names frequently included "soppes" or sowp" as the dish was served over bread. One was "Fenkel in Soppes" which was shredded fennel, cooked in water and oil with onions, seasoned with saffron, salt and a spice mixture ("powder douce" which was a sweet spice mixture, left to the cook's taste, that would contain some combination of cinnamon, galangal (related to ginger), nutmeg, sugar, etc.). It was served over toasted bread. Another similar recipe was "Slete Soppes", which called for sliced leeks (white part only) to be cooked in wine, oil and salt, also served over toasted bread. A rather different matter is a "Cold Brewet", which combines ground almonds cooked in wine and vinegar, seasoned with aniseed, sugar, green fennel shoots with ginger and cloves and mace. Cooked chopped kid and chicken meat is transferred to a clean dish, seasoned with salt and pepper, and boiled with the almond mixture. This soup was served cold.

Soup also had a medicinal function. Lady Elinor Fettiplace, during the Elizabethan era, put together a household book which included a recipe for almond soup designed for "a weake Back" in her recipes for October. For this soup, a rack of mutton and a chicken were boiled in water with raisins, prunes, and the roots and leaves of ditch fern until the meat was tender. The meat was removed and the broth strained. (Additional broth should be crushed out of the meat.) The broth was then thickened with ground almonds. The recommended dosage was 12 spoonfuls in the morning (fasting, i.e. before eating anything), and 12 spoonfuls before dinner.

There were also soups designed for particular religious periods. Hannah Glasse's The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy         included a section of a Variety of Dishes for Lent, which included eel soup. This recipe harked back to the medieval recipes as it was served over toasted bread. For every pound of eels used, the cook used a quart of water, a crust of bread, 2 or 3 blades of mace, pepper, an onion and a bundle of sweet herbs. (One pound of eels made a pint of soup, so the cook could control the quantity accordingly.) The pot was covered tightly and boiled until half the liquid was gone. The broth was then strained. Bread was toasted, cut into small pieces and placed in a dish; the broth was then poured over it.

During the Georgian era, turtle soup was considered the ultimate in elegant fare. Live sea turtles were captured and kept for fresh meat by sailors. Any left were brought in by sailors returning to port in the 1740's-1750's and sold for very high prices to the nobility. The popularity of the turtle was assured. At one point, as many as 15,000 live turtles were brought into England in a year. Different cuts of turtle meat had flavours reminiscent of fish, veal, beef or pork. The Compleat Housewife by Eliza Smith contains instructions for cleaning and preparing turtle soup. Once the meat from the body and fins are cleaned, cut them in pieces and stew together until tender, then strain off the liquid. Thicken the liquid and put the meat back in with kyon butter (possibly a compound butter of some kind), spices, pepper, salt, shallots, sweet herbs and Madeira wine to taste. The dish is put into the deep shell of the turtle, and baked in the oven. The extreme cost of a live turtle and the flavours of the meat resulted in recipes for Mock Turtle Soup, which used a variety of substitutions for the turtle, including beef, veal, oysters, tongue and calves' heads. Hanna Glasse's recipe includes a calf's head (including the tongue and brains), veal broth, force-meat balls and eggs. The 67th edition of Mrs. Rundell's A New System of Domestic Cookery published in 1844 contains 3 recipes for Mock Turtle Soup. Mock Turtle Soup maintained its popularity into the 20th century. (One could even find canned varieties.) Lewis Carroll based his character, the Mock Turtle, in Alice in Wonderland on this soup (a turtle with the head and back feet of a cow).

The Mock Turtle from ALICE IN WONDERLAND by John Tenniel

Soup recipes evolved over time as new ingredients became available and tastes changed. A classic example of this was Mulligatawny Soup. This soup was a chicken soup flavoured with curry. Rea Tannahill in Food in History indicated this soup appeared in England in the 18th century. British trade in India had been established since the 17th century and curry became a popular seasoning during the Georgian era. By the Victorian era, this soup was very popular. The edition of Mrs. Rundell's A New System of Domestic Cookery mentioned previously has 4 recipes. The word "mulligatawny" (also spelled Multaanee and Malagatanee) was a corruption of the Tamil for pepper water. (The Tamil are an ethic group found in India and Sri Lanka.) The basic recipe called for onions and shallots, 2 chickens (or rabbits) pepper, butter, curry powder and turmeric, 2 quarts of strong broth, lemon juice and, if desired, a little curry powder to make it hotter. Keep in mind that curry powder was a spice mix made at home, to personal taste. (See English Historical Fiction Authors blog HERE.) One variation included cloves, and some garlic; another was made with veal, and the fourth included peas. This was a good way to use up leftover meat or vegetables. Subsequent versions included chopped apples. Cream could also be added; coconut milk may have been included. This soup is also still popular today.

Over the centuries, soup has been a common thread in culinary history. As we look back at some of the older recipes, the variety of seasonings and ingredients that are used today may seem surprising. We may not combine ingredients in exactly the same way, but it is easy to imagine how some of these soups may taste and the pleasure felt by the diners as they enjoyed them, whether elegantly spooning turtle soup at a formal dinner or enjoying the warmth of mulligatawny soup on a cold fall evening.

"Fall In For Soup", engraving by Edwin Forbes 1876

Sources include: Dickson Wright, Clarissa. A History of English Food. 2011: Random House Books, London. Glasse, The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy. A new Edition, with modern Improvements. Introduction by Karen Hess. 1805: Cottom & Stewart, Alexandria, VA. (Facsimile by Applewood Books, Bedford, MA) Rundell, Maria Eliza Kettelby. A New System of Domestic Cookery: Founded Upon Principles of Economy and Adapted to the Use of Private Families. From the Sixty-Seventh London Edition. 1844: Carey and Hart, Philadelphia, PA. (Nabu Public Domain Reprint) Smith, Eliza. The Compleat Housewife. 16th edition, with Additions. 1858: London. (Reprint edition published 1944: Studio Editions Ltd., London) Spurling, Hilary. Elinor Fettiplace's Receipt Book. 1986: Penguiin Books Ltd. Hammmondsworth, England. Tannahill, Reay. Food in History. 1988: Three Rivers Press, New York, NY. Websites: THE FORME OF CURY. HERE History.com. "A Spot of Curry: Anglo-Indian Cuisine" by Stephanie Butler, April 26, 2013. HERE GoogleBooks.com. Rumble, Victoria R. SOUP THROUGH THE AGES: A Culinary History with Period Recipes. 2009: McFarland & Company, Ind. Jefferson, NC and London. HERE All illustrations from Wikimedia Commons Images, except for the cover of Elinor Fettiplace's Receipt Book, which is a scan of my personal copy. About the author: Lauren Gilbert holds a BA in English and is a long-time member of JASNA. She lives in Florida with her husband, and is the author of Heyerwood; a Novel. Another book, A Rational Attachment, is in process and will be coming soon. Please visit her website HERE for more information.

Hat Tip To: English Historical Fiction Authors