#but they’re there and boy is there a lot hiding in the cellar

[jacepens]

*buries face in hands* I’ve done it again, I’ve put so so many feelings hiding under blankets in something that was supposed to be just smut. Where do these feelings come from? Who put them there?? Certainly not me!!

[blowflyfag]

Hi these are my Kane headcannons I wrote a bit a while back. My history of Kane is a bit different than the cannon stuff since the cannon stuff is kinda cringe fail. Also. Only gonna talk about masked Kane. But! Reality is mine to do what I want so here’s my Kane headcannons. I’m more than happy to go in depth on more stuff! Or explain why I think this.

Kane Headcannons

He wore masks even as a kid, it’s a sensory thing.

He grew up in a single parent house, it was both the funeral home and their home, with a mourge in the basement. They lived in a very small town in Death Valley, but they what they lacked in people the area made up with supernatural occurrences

I think he can see ghosts, with how connected his family was the supernatural it’s only natural he can see ghosts.

Kane liked dancing around with his mom as a little Kid. She often would play stuff on the radio while she worked or while cooking or when even just sitting around. Kane liked these moments… standing near her and swaying and humming along.

Kane keeps his hair long cause it reminds him of his mother, he does a lot of things because they remind him of her. He keeps his hair long, looks to deep into his undamaged eye. He listens to music she liked. He just wants to feel close to her. He’s a fuckin Mama’s boy

Kane is mostly burned and scared on his right side, it’s more prominent on his right arm and neck. His right eye is damaged from the fire.

Freckles!!! Kane has a lot of freckles when he gets in the sun. They’re a bit faint since he covers up but if he does loose some of the covering his freckles will really pop out

Bros Autistic guys.

Kane is mostly non verbal. He’d rather communicate with his body language or sign his thoughts. He only speaks if he really must.

He has such a soft spot for animals and kids it’s insane.

When he was younger him and taker found a clutch of snake eggs under their porch. Their mother No whwre in sight so they begged and pleaded for their mom to let them take care of them.

It ended up being a trip to the vets to make sure the eggs were properly taken care of. And a few weeks later their first pet.

It was a corn snake Kane and Taker named Amber.

Amber stayed in Taker's room. Though Mom would let them take Amber out so she could slither around in the living room while they watched movies.

Speaking of Taker’s room. It’s decked out with zombie movie posters. As well as other posters for horor movies and rock/metal bands. There’s Aldo a purple lava lamp. The typical angsty older brother room

Tumbleweed forts! He would beg Taker to play outside with him so the two would make forts and sit in them. Pretending to be bandits hiding out from the law.

He has a fascination with fire. Even though it is the thing that burned him, scared him, traumatized him beyond belief. The sight of someone lighting a cigarette near him brings his eyes instantly to the flame. Watching it flicker and wave with light and warmth. A controllable flame is a huge comfort.

I’d say Kane is Bisexual with a male lean. He’s very inexperienced when it comes to love. Often he finds himself confused with why his heart beats faster around someone he likes. Tilting his head to the side as he watches from afar. The most romance he knows of is watching late night black and white movies from when he was kept hidden in the basement.

A lot of what he knows is from television actually. Most of the time in the cellar hed just watch tv and learn, infomercials, animal documentaries, old cowboy movies. all “boring to most kids” but to kane it was an escape.

At first Kane fucking despised Taker so much with Paul Bearer’s manipulation. (For my reality Paul Bearer is the one who caused the fire) for years his anger festered and bubbled beneath his skin. Originally Taker went missing before the fire. And Kane learning that he became a wrestler, (not knowing Taker was under Paul Bearer’s control) was even more livid at him, for leaving his mother behind, for leaving him behind, for leaving everything behind. He truly hated Taker in those days, of course he’s come around but he struggles sometimes…

Kane has meltdowns very easily, it doesn’t take a lot to set him off. That’s what happens when he curls up and rocks. He’s trying to calm himself down the only way he knows how.

He really likes big cats, tigers, panthers, leopards. He thinks they’re the coolest animals.

So the Katie Vick stuff doesn’t happen in my reality, however Katie Vick is a real person, she was Kane’s childhood friend growing up. They were both kinda weirdo outcasts so they stuck together. They would mess around with ouija boards and try to find supernatural stuff that they shouldn’t have been messing with.

[eriquin]

The Prophetic D&D Game Part 3

part 1, part 2, compilation post

The unsatisfying conclusion of the first session.

Their characters made their way out of the city, and he had them fight a small pack of wild animals on their way through the woods just to get them used to their characters. 

“Isn’t it kind of weird that my paladin uses an axe instead of a sword?” asked Mike. “I mean, I guess it’s a step up from the spiked club that was on his fake character sheet, but it’s not very elegant.” 

“You know what he should use?” Dustin said. “Not a club, but a spiked mace. Still two-handed, though.” He mimicked swinging it like a baseball bat.

Mike snorted. “Yeah, you’re right! Hey, Eddie, any chance I can change my weapon out for a spiked mace instead of an axe?” 

“You can look for one back in the town center. Right now you’re out in the woods...” He rolled some dice and pretended to check the results. “... And you don’t see any. Did you want to head back to town to change out your weapon?” 

Mike rolled his eyes. “No, the axe is fine. Let’s keep going and see if we can find Quinn at that alchemist’s house Jeff told us about.”

They made their way to a hidden house near the lake. Eddie described it as looking a bit run down, possibly abandoned, and that the garden out front was overgrown. He had his players search the house, and they peppered him with questions about what they found in each room. It was dusty, but with some areas cleared away like someone had been there relatively recently. They found the cellar with the alchemist’s lab in it, but this was dirtier and even more abandoned than the rest of the house. 

“So we don’t find Quinn anywhere in the house?” Lucas asked. “Are we sure we’ve checked everywhere?” 

“Is he hiding in any of the bigger furniture?” Dustin asked. “Or under the bed, or behind the curtains?” 

Eddie snickered. “Yeah, you can go check behind the curtains. They’re not long enough to reach the ground, but you pull them aside anyway to make sure that Quinn’s not hiding there.” 

“I guess he’s not here,” Mike said. 

“Wait a second.” Gareth crossed his arms. “You said he had a garden? How big?” 

“Hm, did I?” Eddie picked up some dice and rolled them for fun. “Pretty big. Looks like it extends behind the house and towards the woods.”

“Okay so, are there tools for working the garden in the house somewhere?” Gareth asked. “Like, rakes and hoes and stuff?”

Jeff giggled. “Yeah, did we find any hoes?” The younger boys started laughing along with him.

“Christ, you’re all so juvenile,” Eddie said, burying his face in his hands and ducking his head behind the DM screen to keep them from seeing him laughing. His face was red when he picked his head back up. “So, you’re looking for tools, you say?” 

“Gardening tools,” said Gareth. “Don’t just say something like ‘you spot some in the mirror.’” 

“Damn it.” Eddie snickered. “No, you don’t find any gardening tools in the house.” 

“Okay, so...” Gareth looked around the table. “We should go looking for where this alchemist keeps his hoes.” 

The boys started laughing again, but soon they settled down and started exploring the woods around the building. Eddie let them discover a locked shed and spend some of their time picking the lock before finding no one in it. Then, when they felt even more frustrated, he rolled some dice and told them that Dustin’s character had noticed a path from the shed down to the lake. The die he rolled had been just to figure out which character saw it first. 

At the lake they found a worn out old boathouse, with lots of places to hide. They had their characters start poking around, and Eddie asked them to describe what each one was doing. When Mike and Dustin said they were investigating the boats, he schooled his face to try to hide his glee. 

“There’s one small boat, ready to be launched. How are you investigating it?” 

Mike and Dustin looked at each other. “What’s it look like?” Dustin asked.

Eddie shrugged. “Like a rowboat, covered up when not in use.”

“So, someone could be hiding underneath the cover?” Dustin asked.

Eddie raised his eyebrows and picked up a handful of dice to roll ominously in his hand. “Are you going to lift the cover to check?” he asked.

“You do it,” Dustin said to Mike.

“No, you do it,” Mike said back.

“You’re the paladin.”

“You’re the... You know what? Does the rowboat have oars?” 

Eddie bit his tongue to keep from grinning. “It does indeed have oars. One is lying on the floor in front of you.”

Mike nodded. “I pick up the oar and poke at the cover, checking if there’s anything under there.”

“And while you’re doing that,” Eddie said, turning to Lucas. “Sadie has been digging around behind some crates on the other side of the boathouse, and has found an area that’s clear of dust. There are some pieces of butcher’s paper there, like the kind you’d find wrapped around rations.”

Lucas took the bait. “Oh, cool! Hey guys, I found something! Someone was here.”

Eddie turned back to Mike, who had been looking over to Lucas. “Mike, call high or low.” 

“Oh, shit,” Mike said. “Uh, high.” 

Eddie rolled some dice. “Well, while you’re distracted by Sadie’s shouting, you’re still poking at the boat with your oar. Suddenly!” He jumped up and grabbed onto Mike, pinning him to his chair and making him shriek. “Someone flies out at you!” 

“Oh shit!” Mike and Dustin said in unison. 

“Mike, you are pinned to a wall with something sharp held to your throat. What do you do?” Eddie grinned down at Mike, who looked completely flustered.

“Uh, um, uh,” Mike said. He swallowed hard and glanced over at Dustin. “Help?”

Eddie let go of him. “You’re still pinned, though,” he said as he sat down. 

“Who is it?” Dustin asked. “Is it Quinn?”

“Well, he’s filthy and looks like a scared animal, but yes, it’s your friend Quinn.” Eddie said. “He looks like he’s about to slit Joe’s throat.” 

“Oh shit,” Dustin said. “I’ll try to talk him down.” 

“And if that doesn’t work, are we gonna fight him?” Gareth asked. 

Dustin shrugged. “I mean, it’s just Joe. He’s our meat-shield. He can probably take it.” 

“Hey!” Mike yelled. He looked indignant. 

Eddie was still grinning. “Is this all in character?” he asked. “If so, you should know that the knife to the throat will count as an instant-kill shot in this case. Joe is basically helpless.”

Mike’s eyes grew big and he turned to pout at Eddie. “I didn’t even get a chance to react! You can’t just kill me.”

“Better hope Gaten can talk Quinn down, then, Joe,” Eddie said with a face full of fake sympathy. 

Dustin rubbed his chin and appeared to think about it. “Okay, so Quinn knows me, right? He’s not completely feral, is he?”

They had a quick discussion about appealing to Quinn’s better nature, and Dustin rolled well enough to let him know that they were all on his side and didn’t believe that he had murdered someone. It was a short jump from there to convince him to not murder someone now, and drop the knife. 

While Mike complained about his character being at the mercy of the story, Dustin and Lucas encouraged Eddie to tell them what Quinn had seen. He went into character, standing back from the table and acting out the scene. The rest of the players got up as well, with Dustin coming close to play the part of his concerned halfling. 

“Her body just lifted into the air,” Eddie said. “And then she just hung there, in the air... and her bones started to snap. And her eyes...” He paused with a little gasp,and he got a haunted look on his face. His pupils constricted and he rocked back on his heels. He said, voice cracking. “It was like there was something inside her head, pulling...” He gasped again and opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come out.

Dustin reached out and touched Eddie’s arm, and the older boy yelped and fell back onto his ass. Everyone else jumped back as well, and the spell was broken. 

Gareth, who had hit his shin on a chair, said, “Jesus Christ, Munson. Why do you have to be such a freaky good actor? Scared the shit out of me.”

Eddie got to his feet and brushed himself off. “Yeah, yeah, hold on,” he said. “I got too into it. I started seeing her bones breaking and stuff.” He shuddered.

Lucas let out a nervous laugh, and glanced at Dustin and Mike. Jeff’s laugh was less nervous. “Stop dropping acid before planning D&D games, man,” he said.

“Good advice, my friend,” Eddie said. He took his seat back on his throne, and everyone else came back to the table. He took a minute to settle in, looking through his notes and fidgeting with his rings. 

“So...” Dustin said, looking around the table. “What happened next? What else did Quinn see?”

Eddie looked up. “Uh, yeah. Right. He says that after that, she fell to the floor. He panicked and ran away. He doesn’t remember seeing anything else.”

Mike leaned onto his elbows. “Did he see any weird dust? Or ash in the air?” 

“Nope,” said Eddie. “None of that.” 

“What about flashing lights?” Dustin asked. “I mean, like, did the torches go out and then come back on? Or was he using magical lights in his home?” 

“He did have magical lights in his house and they did go weird, but he was more distracted by the girl dying and he doesn’t remember exactly what happened to them.”

Dustin, Mike, and Lucas nodded at each other. Jeff spoke up next. “Why was Lady Grace even there?” he asked.

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Why was she associating with a lowly bard, you mean? A fine question,” he said. He gave the group a tight smile. “She was there to purchase illegal substances.”

“Quinn’s a drug dealer?” Dustin asked, sounding scandalized, while Gareth coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like ‘Mary Sue’. 

Eddie tossed a pen at Gareth’s head and turned back to Dustin. “Yes, my little friend. He was peddling the wares of the very same alchemist who owns his hiding place. He even dabbles in alchemy a little himself. Does this change your opinion of him? Do you think he’s a murderer now? Are you going to turn him in, Gaten?” 

Dustin rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I’m just surprised, that’s all,” he said. ���He never told me about this, right?” 

“It would have been in your notes if he had.” 

“It doesn’t matter though, right?” asked Jeff. “Do we believe him about the way Lady Grace died?” 

“I mean, he sure sounded truthful. And traumatized,” Lucas said. 

“Yeah, way to be emotionally scarring there, Eddie,” Mike snarked. 

“Thank you, Wheeler. I try.”

“How do we tell if he’s telling the truth?” Dustin asked. “I mean, he’s a bard. He’s good at spinning stories.” 

“Roll against your wisdom,” Eddie said. Dustin rolled well, so he said, “You get the feeling that he wishes he was not telling the truth.” 

“Great. So we’re dealing with someone who can kill without a trace,” Lucas said. 

“Well, it is a murder mystery,” said Gareth. He turned to Eddie and asked, “Was there any magic going on? I mean, Quinn’s a bard, right? Did he sense anything? Detect any spellwork?” 

Eddie rolled some dice and decided to cut them a break. He steepled his fingers and peered at his players over the top of his DM screen. “Quinn tries very hard to focus,” he said. “He didn’t cast any spells, but he knows magic when he sees it. He describes the way the lights in his home dimmed, even though they were enchanted by powerful wizards. He also remembers there being a strange aura to the place, though he couldn’t place it exactly. He says it felt like there was someone watching it all happen.” 

“Like it was some kind of sick game,” Mike said. “Or... Wait, can I see the history sheet again?” Dustin handed over the papers with the background information on them, and they all waited as Mike scanned them. “Here it is! Noah, the sorceress’s twin brother, used to say it felt like the demon was watching him. Maybe it’s him again!”

“But we banished the demon,” Lucas said. “He’s gone.”

“Yeah, but... This has to be a clue, right?” Mike looked at Dustin.

Dustin got a faraway look on his face. “The torches are reacting but there’s no ash in the air. It’s like he’s only halfway back. He’s reaching out from where he’s been banished and attacking people.”

“Interplanar magic is a psionic thing,” Gareth said. “We already knew the demon had psychic powers. Stands to reason that he’s expanded them after his showdowns with Millie.” 

Jeff grinned, his braces glinting in the light. “A psychic attack from beyond the veil,” he said, waving his fingers in the air. “That’s spooky as hell.”

“And the guards will never find it, because they’ve been kept in the dark about the demon even existing!” Dustin clapped his hands together.

“Okay, are you all saying this in character?” Eddie asked.

“Yes!” Dustin cheered, slamming his hand on the table. “We’re all in this together.” 

Eddie gave him a tight smile. “Because Quinn has no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, shit,” Mike said. “We have to explain everything.” 

“Should we?” Jeff asked. “Isn’t there a nasty penalty if we tell the wrong person?”

Lucas and Dustin shook their heads together. “Quinn already witnessed it. The demon is basically framing him for the crime,” Dustin said.

“Yeah, he deserves to know,” Lucas added.

Eddie held his hands out at them. “Then what is your goal? Are you trying to bring him into your merry band of brothers?”

“And sisters,” said Gareth. “Lucas and I are playing chicks, remember?”

“Yeah, Eddie, don’t be sexist,” said Lucas.

Eddie ignored them. “Or will you convince the poor fool to flee for his life while he still can?”

“I think we should give him the choice,” Jeff said. “Lay it all out for him and let him pick.”

Mike shook his head. “He’ll choose to run,” he said with a sideways glance at Dustin. “Bards are all cowards.”

“Oh screw you, Mike,” Dustin said, giving him a shove. “Don’t bring past game bullshit into this.”

Mike and Dustin bickered until Eddie threatened to treat their argument as if it was in character. The group agreed to tell Quinn the whole story and give him the choice of joining them or fleeing for his life. Eddie offered to let them role play describing their whole history, but the three freshmen looked over the notes one more time and said they’d rather skip past that. 

“All right, fine,” Eddie said. “I suppose it’s getting close to time to wrap this up. I’ll allow it.”

“What?” Gareth exclaimed. “What are you talking about? We haven’t even scratched at the mystery of this. What kind of a one-shot is this?”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “I never said it was a one-shot, Gare-bear. I said it came to me in a dream.” 

“You said it’d take, like, one or two sessions,” Gareth countered. He pointed his finger accusingly at Eddie. “We haven’t even met Natalia yet and you’re just stopping?”

Eddie grimaced. “Well... I think we all know how good I am at estimating how long things take.” The rest of his players groaned and slumped back in their chairs. It was a nice kind of disappointment, because it meant that they were really engaged with his story. He waved his hands at them dismissively. “But whatever! You all describe what happened in your past adventures to poor, unlucky Quinn and he thinks it’s all batshit insane. But he also thinks that what happened to Lady Grace was insane, too, so he agrees to help you in order to clear his name. Meeting adjourned. We will pick this up next time.” He started gathering up their character sheets and all his notes.

“Wait, is this what we’re playing now?” Mike asked. “I thought we were going to start the Cult of Vecna.”

Eddie hesitated. “Ah, you’re correct. If Grant can make it next time, we’ll go back to the Cult of Vecna campaign. We can pick this one up again the next time that someone’s missing. Sound good?”

The other players agreed, and as they packed up their dice and books, they chatted about their theories for what was going on.

Tagging @weirdandabsurd42 by request.

[green-fifteen]

Day 6: Stretch

 Fandom: Supernatural

Relationship: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Word count: 2,988

written for @fluffyfebruary

read on ao3 instead

Dean’s boyfriend is an angel. Probably lots of people say that, but when Dean says it, it’s actually true.

Castiel is the whole package: wings, good looks, asshole parents, you name it. Dean asked him if he kept a halo lying around and he’d just never seen it, but Cas told him that those 14th century paintings were rotting his brain. Well, he didn’t say it like that, but that was the gist. He even has a special, terrible, otherworldy form that he won’t show to Dean. 

“I do not want your brain to leak from your eyes,” he’d said, but Dean thinks he’ll wear him down eventually. 

Despite being an actual angel, Castiel is getting the hang of living with humans pretty well. Dean worked very hard to socialize him and teach him all the right vocabulary. There are still hiccups, but they’re working on those as they come up.

Like, the other week Cas had gone with Dean to buy groceries. While he was in another section, Cas had found the free samples. Dean arrived in time to see the kosher sausage saleswoman begin to sob. Dean rushed to comfort her while Cas chewed a frank with scientific interest. What did you say to her? he questioned in the car. Cas looked impatient. I told her the sausage was not actually kosher. And that her mother won’t kick her out for dating the girl at the cheese counter. I was being kind, Dean. Dean had given him a dubious look and lectured him about boundaries until they got home. 

Anyway, even accounting for the occasional misstep, Cas is doing much better in human society than he had been four years ago. Sure, people can usually tell he’s an angel just by looking at him, but it’s not like that’s a secret. In fact, Dean practically writes it on his forehead in the mirror every morning, he mentions it so much. I CAN KISS AN ANGEL WHENEVER I WANT!

And it’s not that Dean is smug about locking down a divine creature of unknowable power (although he is), he just thinks Cas shouldn’t have to hide in his own town. He’s aware that some angels do hide, when they live among humans. Cas’s brother Michael moved to Tulsa and wears straps to keep his wings down inside his power suits. He says it’s only until he can find a job, but Dean doesn’t want that for Cas. Not ever. 

Even before he really knew Cas, he was fascinated by his angelic nature. The first time he saw him, they’d both been sixteen. Dean was coming home with Sam, who was in the same school as him for once and taking the same bus. He was taller than him at only twelve years old. (Yeah, his brother was a genius who skipped grades. Dean was sick with pride but pretended to make a fuss about his kid brother harshing his game with the high school chicks. Sam just rolled his eyes and told him to stop blustering. ???)

A boy with gigantic wings had been standing in the driveway of the house next to theirs, helping the adults move boxes from an oversized U-Haul. His back had been turned to them, so he hadn’t noticed either of them slowly walking up the path to their front door. Dean and Sam both were staring openly, forgetting themselves in their surprise at seeing some kind of bird-boy in a weird linen shift.

It was Sam who gasped softly and said, “Dean, I think he’s an angel,” which is why he’s the genius. The angel kid had turned around and seen them then, but he didn’t react except to stare, creepily. His parents noticed him looking and made some hand gestures and then the boy sighed and walked over. They were frozen on the paving stones, watching him approach. 

“Mother and Chuck said to introduce myself. I’m called Castiel, in your tongue.” 

Just as he finished speaking, the door to their house opened and their father called, “Hey, Stretch, get the good rune-chalk from the cellar, would you? We’re re-doing the basement tonight.” 

Sam stomped off rudely, obedient and irritated. Dean didn’t have the talent for wards like his brother did, which was just as well in his book because he didn’t have to do stupid shit like play twister with chalk lines in the cold-as-hell basement. 

Dean and Castiel watched as he rounded the house, then focused on each other once more. They made eye contact and Dean wanted to smile at the serious expression on his face, but he didn’t. 

“I’m Dean,” he said and reached out a hand. It hovered lamely in the air when Castiel didn’t take it. He pulled it back and wiped his palm on his jeans. 

“So, you guys just move to town?” he asked, awkwardly.

Castiel glanced back at the U-Haul. “Yes.” His tone said obviously. 

“Uh, how do you like it?” 

“We arrived 40 minutes ago.” 

Dean was beginning to wish he was better at drawing runes. He made a few more lame attempts at small talk, hoping Castiel would remember he was supposed to be helping his parents with the truck full of boxes and let Dean escape inside. He didn’t, just answered Dean’s inane questions with bone-dry syllables and never stopped looking directly in his eyes. 

“Listen,” Dean said eventually. “I’ve got homework to do and dinner and stuff.” And to be polite, he said, “Maybe you could come over for dinner? Anytime you want to, you guys are welcome.”

He cringed at himself. His dad would probably not like hosting the neighbors for dinner and honestly, Dean didn’t even know these people. What if he’d just sentenced his family to an entire night of conversations as awkward as this one?

The angel had accepted the invitation with disproportionate gravity (I thank you for opening your home to us, Dean) and they’d parted. The next night, he showed up at the Winchester’s front door at 5 o’clock, alone. 

“Is this too early?” he asked, peering around Dean into the house. 

Dean shook his head mutely, gave him a polite smile, and waved him inside. When he stepped in, Dean’s dad looked up at them, gave Castiel a quick once-over, then quirked an eyebrow at Dean.

“This is Castiel,” he explained quickly. “His family moved in yesterday, next door. I invited him over for dinner.”

John looked like he wanted to laugh. “How neighborly, son,” he said. Dean flushed and escaped to the kitchen, dragging Castiel behind him. 

The big white wings were tucked modestly against his body and Dean was distantly grateful, considering all the glass jars and framed pictures they had in the kitchen. He made himself busy with setting the table, ignoring the persistent awkwardness Castiel summoned in him.

“You can get the cups down from that cabinet,” he said, pointing. He followed each of Dean’s instructions until the table was ready, heaped with enough spaghetti and meatballs to feed a small Italian town (as long as they weren’t that particular about eating sauce from a jar.)

Sam crashed into his chair when Dean hollered and their dad came leisurely to the kitchen a minute later. Sam gave Castiel a toothy smile.

The angel seemed perturbed when they started eating.

“You won’t say grace?” he asked.

Dean felt caught. He looked at his dad, who glowered slightly.

“Not anymore,” he said curtly. Castiel just looked thoughtful.

The humans ate quietly, focused on their plates. Castiel was eating slowly, watching the others and copying their behavior. He saw Sam mop the edge of his plate with a piece of buttered bread.

“Stretch,” he said, politely. “Please pass me the bread.”

There was a confused silence before Sam hesitantly passed him the bag of Wonder Bread.

“You meant me, right?” he asked, muffled through a full mouth of food.

Castiel just said, “Yes. Thank you, Stretch.”

Dean stared at him for a second and then lost it. His laugh started strangled as he tried to keep it in, but he really couldn’t stop himself. He had to put his fork down on his plate.

That night had been Cas’s first lesson in humanity. Sam had formally introduced himself (Dad just calls me that because I’m tall, he explained, red-faced) and Dean eventually stopped laughing long enough to finish his dinner. When the food was gone, he pulled Cas out of the kitchen, saying Dad and Sam’ll clean up, I cooked and you’re a guest.

Cas asked him what he liked to do for fun. Grinning, Dean took him to his bedroom and climbed out the window. When they were both on the roof, sitting silently and listening to the soft noises from the town and the woods behind the neighborhood, Dean realized Cas was surprisingly easy to talk to.

And that had only been the beginning. After that night, Cas was at their house all the time, listening to Dean talk with the focused attention of a congregant. Dean  took the responsibility of educating him very seriously and taught him the funniest swears first. He had a lot of fun with that until Cas absently called Dean’s (admittedly crotchety) grandma a ‘shithead’ where she could hear him. He’d had a hell of a time explaining himself while simultaneously guarding Cas from rapid elderly thwacks.

Dean doesn’t spend as much time at Cas’s house, which is how they both like it. Cas’s parents make John Winchester look like a stoner hippie Kindergarten teacher. They’re really strict, is the point. And startlingly conservative, for a pair of people who were pooh pooh’d out of their angel community because Cas’s mom had a second marriage. Needless to say, they aren’t terribly warm toward Dean. They’ve never been rude to his face, he doesn’t think. But their lack of approval is clear. 

Even before the first time Cas had kissed him, they sometimes made excuses why he couldn’t see Dean and, around Dean’s seventeenth birthday, took him along on a business trip to Springfield, even though there’d been nothing for him to do there. Cas had missed his party and been angry with them for weeks. Dean thinks Cas’s parents knew about them before they did, which is why they told Dean things like Castiel is studying for his exams, after he knew Cas’s homeschooling program was already finished for the summer. And Castiel needs to rest, he has.. the flu, on a clear August day. (Dean was pretty sure angels coldn’t get the flu, then Cas had barged past them out the door, looking very hale and pissed off.)

They did figure it out eventually, though. It started when were both newly eighteen and sitting on a blanket in the park, watching The Matrix Reloaded. Sam was in front of them, eyes glued to the side of the white plaster building where the movie was being projected. Dean had made dumb jokes all throughout the first movie, much to Sam and Cas’s irritation. He was distracted as the second movie played, looking at the side of Cas’s face. Cas was just so focused and interested.

On screen, Persephone was bargaining with Neo. You have to make me believe it’s her, she was saying. Neo kissed her briefly and she pulled away. Terrible. Forget it. 

When the movie ended, they took a break to stretch their legs and walk around a curving path opposite the building. Sam stayed behind, happily snacking and waiting for the third movie in the marathon to start. 

“What did you think?” Dean had asked, kicking rocks in front of his feet. 

Cas made an assessing noise. “There is... a lot going on in these films,” he eventually said, voice as starched and diplomatic as Dean had ever heard it. Dean laughed, punching him on the arm. 

“You must have liked some of it,” he insisted playfully. 

Cas was quiet for a long moment, walking next to him and looking at the ground. He spoke as they reached a bend in the path. “I was curious about one scene,” he said slowly. “The character-- what was his name, the important one?”

“Neo.”

“Neo was trying to convince that woman to show them to the Key-person. And he had to kiss her.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Her husband was cheating on her and she wanted to hurt Trinity’s feelings, I’m pretty sure.” He hadn’t been paying that much attention, but Sam had made him watch these movies eleven million times before tonight. 

“He had to kiss her well. She could tell when he did it wrong.” Cas stopped walking and turned to Dean. “Is there a way to kiss wrong?” His eyes were a little panicked, like he hadn’t even thought about kissing anyone before but now he had to worry about doing it incorrectly. 

Dean smirked. “I’m pretty sure there is, yeah.” He made a showy gesture to his own face. “Not that I’ve had any complaints.”

Cas looked unimpressed. “I believe you have to have customers first, to recieve complaints.”

Dean had flushed and spluttered, “I’ve kissed people, dude! Last summer, I kissed Alexis Ford at her birthday party! With tongue!

“Alexis lost a bet,” Cas said, cruelly recontextualizing the one and only kiss of Dean’s young life. Dean glowered and shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“I bet you’d be a bad kisser,” he grumbled. He didn’t mean it. Actually, he’d thought about kissing Cas earlier that evening, during the first Matrix. And in the car on the way to the park. And the day before, when Cas greeted him on the lawn after work. And at least forty other times since they’d both graduated high school. None of those imagined kisses had been bad. They’d been pretty embarassing, though, which is why he slam-dunked them into the “do not talk about to anyone” drawer in his head. And then locked it. 

Cas looked offended. “What is your evidence? I’ve never kissed anyone. There’s no data.”

“I just know. It would be slimy and horrible, somehow.”

They were behind the building now, out of view of the picnic area. They were almost alone, except for a few people hurrying to the restrooms.

“You’re just being hurtful,” Cas said, sounding cross. “I think I could kiss well if I were able to practice. It has to be a skill, like anything else.”

He stopped walking, suddenly. Dean halted in place, looking over his shoulder at him. 

“I’ll kiss you,” he said, head tilted. He grabbed Dean’s hand and pulled him. 

“Ack! Hey!” Dean protested. 

“You can tell me if it’s bad. If I need practice.” He had that look on his face then, the one he got when he was gung-ho to learn something about humans that only Dean could teach him. 

Dean swallowed, keeping his eyes on Cas’s resolutely. “Um, are you--” he swallowed again. “Are you sure?” The idea of pulling away from him had occured to Dean and he knew it was probably the better one, but instead he stayed right were Cas had put him, heart hammering. 

Cas nodded, then stood looking at him for a long moment. 

“Dean?”

“Uh, what?”

Cas rolled his eyes, huffed a little can he be this stupid? sigh and kissed Dean on the lips. 

A terrible, pleased noise escape Dean’s throat and his hands moved up without his input, catching and holding Cas’s shirtfront. When Cas pulled away, his eyes were wide. 

“That was--” he cleared the gravel from his voice. “That didn’t feel very bad.”

Dean had been zapped into goo and couldn’t speak. Cas touched his own lips with an awed expression and Dean wanted to kiss him again, so bad. He gathered himself enough to croak, “Beginner’s luck.” 

The angel’s eyes immediately flashed at the challenge and he reeled Dean in with a hand at his back. They made out behind the building until Sam came looking for them midway through The Matrix Revolutions. 

After that, it had been zero to sixty-- Dean was Cas’s boyfriend to everyone they met. Cas met him on his lunch break from the garage and kissed him in front of his dad. Dean dragged him out onto the roof to take his clothes off of him and dig his fingers into the clean white feathers of his wings. 

Now, Dean has been kissing Cas (and a little bit more than that) for two years. Cas checks Zillow every day and sends him houses he likes the look of. Dean has programmed ‘This is not in our budget’ into his texting app so he doesn’t have to type out all the words every time Cas sends him the listing for another million-dollar development property. 

Chrissake, Cas, you’re a guidance counselor and I fix cars. Think a little smaller, babe, he told him. Cas made a face and told him not to swear. 

Dean can see a future for them and he wants it more than anything. He keeps teaching Cas human things like replacing the goddamn toilet paper and how much detergent to use in the washing machine. He’s still weird in an obvious way, and Dean still doesn’t want to change that. He thinks they’ll be sitting on their front porch, Dean old and gray, Cas looking however the hell he’ll look in sixty years (Dean should ask him, actaully), and Cas will still make remarks like Dean, these adult diapers do not wick nearly as much moisture as the packaging claims. He thinks he’ll still smile at him, every time. He’ll still feel the same way he did when Cas made him laugh for the first time at the dinner table. He’ll want to keep him. Forever. 

When he looks at Cas, wide eyed like a newborn and holding Dean’s hand in the supermarket, at the park, in line at the DMV-- forever doesn’t feel like much of a stretch. 

[hisbreathcatches]

reddie fanfic recs !

one shots !

i don't think i could stand to be where you don't see me - rowen_trash

𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘪 𝘨𝘰 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘪 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘱 𝘰𝘯 𝘢 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘵. 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘱𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, 𝘪 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

or, your everyday kissing-in-the-rain-fix-it fic

Eddie’s Favorites - LithiumStew

Eddie has some favorite things about Richie, and they cuddle.

Meeting of Lovers - DumpsterBeagle

Richie and Eddie meet for the first time- mostly due to Mike Hanlon. (a royalty au.)

The Kids Aren't Alright - Eleventhewizard

When Nancy Wheeler hears about seven kids in Derry, Maine, who claim to have experiences with the supernatural, she just has to talk to them. She goes, with her friends and family, to see what's going on. There's two Mikes, two Eddies (BECAUSE NEITHER OF THEM DIE), and Will and Eddie K have a lot in common, apparently.

i dont bite - the_cleriic

the losers are having a sleepover, they’re all super tired. one thing leads to another.

Follow Your Heart 'Til it Bleeds - teej_318

Will and Richie spend the summer bonding over their feelings for their friends Mike and Eddie. Robin gives them some much-needed advice when they hang out at Scoops Ahoy.

Rain falls just as I do for you - reddietapes

See, Richie Tozier had this sort of “Dirty Secret.” It wasn’t that Dirty, no, it was innocent. Really, it was! He might let his mind run wild but he was a teenage boy and it was only his curiosity that made him say the things he did. That and that he wanted to hide who he really was. But he’d never once thought of Eddie the way he thought about the girls on the magazines he’d ‘borrowed’. He didn’t think about the girls at all, that was the issue.

You in My Sweater - Lil_Lizard_Leah

Five times Eddie wore Richie's clothes, and the slow progression of their love.

I'm talking head first heavy baby, cellar dive - DumpsterBeagle

Richie loses his glasses. Things get confusing for Eddie.

say what you mean (out loud) - Redburn

Richie can’t help it when something heavy refuses to leave his stomach, something relentless and daunting. He looks at Eddie and can’t help but want, can’t help but need, watching this boy watch the stars and thinking he would be happy to spend the rest of his life just like this, right here standing next to him.   Or, Richie realizes he likes Eddie and promptly goes through the five stages of grief.

sweet as cherry wine - pearlshop

“Can I come in?” Eddie asks, teeth chattering. 

He’s soaked to the bone, a cornflower blue polo clinging to his small shoulders. It’s the only thing he’s wearing besides a pair of khakis that are also soaked through.

Richie is suddenly very sober.

“Eds?”

or:

Eddie leaves Myra and shows up at Richie's door.

Skittles and Soulmates - qarlgrimes

When both you and your soulmate are sixteen, you're unable to lie to one another. When Richie presses his forehead to Eddie’s and asks, ‘Do you really hate it when I call you Ed’s?’ Eddie lets out an annoyed breath and grumbles out, ‘…No’.

uncompleted / in progress !

Bad Reputation - orphan_account

Eddie is the new kid at Derry High and Richie takes a

particular interest in him. Eddie is wary of him because he stands for everything his mom warns him against.

Aka Richie is a bad boy and he enjoys toying with the new boy, Eddie.

a loserparty groupchat - heydorothea18

Mike refuses to tell Richie anything about his friends. Naturally, this is an issue because Richie feels the need to make his cousin's life torture. After a thorough Instagram stalking (with Bev's help), a group chat is created.

the wind knows - the_cleriic

Richie, Eddie, Bill and Stan have been assigned a group project for school. But the stress of the project leads them all to something bigger.

Pink Petal Love - tr4shmoutht0zier

Richie couldn’t remember a day in which he didn’t have Eddie in his life. A day that Eddie didn’t plague his thoughts. Looking back, Richie had probably always been in love with Eddie, just never realised it. Or more correctly, refused to acknowledge it.

Now it was impossible to just toss this to the side. The petal made sure of it.

OR

A hanahaki fic because it’s an underrated trope.

multi-chapter (completed) !

none yet :)

ill add more as i read more ! if your fanfic is in here and you want it removed, just comment/dm me. :)

also keep in mind that if you reblog this, any updates i add after that won’t show up on your reblog. if you want to see if i added more fics just go to the original post !

last updated 11/7

[stumacherstan]

Hey! First of all I love you're blog! :) How do you think the slashers would react to an reader that has anger issues? Like, she's gonna freak out real fast and break a lot of stuff? Maybe she's even aggressive enough to kill?

Slashers Reacting to Reader w Anger Issues:

Michael Myers: wouldn’t care too much. he has silent rage but your rage is more louder than his. For Michael, this will feel somewhat challenging. he cannot afford to be caught or have himself jeopardized. since they’re outbursts, he’ll let you have time to yourself and ask you to cool down somewhere else to not reveal hiding location if you get too rowdy. however aggressive enough to kill? he’ll definitely plan some murders for you to help you cool down. something about taking a life has helped you with anger management for some reason.

Jason Voorhees: sweet summer child! yes also silent rage like michael, but for different reasons. sometimes your outburst will stress him out because what can he do :(( he’ll bear hug you even if you’re the type to allow touch to comfort you. Jason is a gentleman and made you a safe place to break shit and go ham at if need be. he’s vv understanding but please don’t yell at him. he’s sensitive

Billy Loomis: well, this is interesting. Billy has his own outbursts so sometimes it gets testy with y’all. at least the sex is great! He hates fights with you so he’ll definitely be the type to stalk off so he doesn’t accidentally hurt your feelings and for things to settle down. since you have potential to kill someone, i’m sure he also helps you take a life. something about it did calm you down. the blood running down all over. hot too.

Stu Macher: for Stu, not a big deal. Billy has anger issues it’s fine. Stu is a rich boy and like Jason, he did build you your own safe space for your anger issues to make out on. however the safe space he built for you has more stuff than jason does so it’s a little more helpful. Stu also doesn’t care if you break shit, he can easily replace it. as long as your anger isn’t directed at him, he doesn’t care. he finds it exciting but won’t push buttons!

Bubba Sawyer: again, soft sweet summer child! it stresses him out a lot more than Jason. he doesn’t know what to do! Drayton tells him to put you in the cellar till you cool it but he doesn’t have the hurt to put you through that. just sits there quietly panicking when you go off. however once people come around, and they always do, Bubba will let you do whatever it is what you want to do in that moment as a stress reliever. if you take his kills, that’s okay. anything for you

Carrie White: ahhh!!! not too well tbh. she had to deal with erratic mother so you might trigger her. she’ll leave right away till you’re done. however Carrie will clean up after you! she’s also the only one to try and talk to you about it. what made you feel that way?is there anything she can do to help? would rather live a domestic life so seeing that it’s enough aggression to kill a person slightly nerves her. but she’ll be fine! if you can, give her a heads up

Tiffany Valentine: Tiffany will love your anger. she’s use to it and seeing it excites her!! it’s enough to kill somebody? say less. you guys have your little therapy session through taking a life and you’re good afterwards. she knows that your anger isn’t directed at her but don’t break her shit! Tiffany will deffo make you feel bad about it.

[waitimcomingtoo]

hi bestie! xmas request for u <333 could you do one where the avengers clearly know that peter and the reader like eachother, so they (very undiscreetly) place mistletoes literally everywhere in the hq to get the lil babies of the groups to kiss? thank uuuuuuu love u!

Under The Mistletoe

pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Masterlist

“Good morning everyone.” You greeted the Avengers as you walked in the kitchen one morning.

“Good morning.” Peters eyes followed you as you sat down next to him at the table. “I made you hot chocolate.”

“You did? You’re so sweet.” You took the mug from him and kissed his forehead. “Thank you.”

“Well you mentioned last night that you were always freezing in the morning so I thought this would warm you up.” Peter smiled sweetly at you, face flushed from the kiss.

“You’re too good to me. I was gonna put some whip cream on it. Do you want some?” You offered as you went to the refrigerator.

“Sure. Thank you.” Peter nodded as you put some whip cream on his hot chocolate. The rest of the Avengers watched the interaction, exchanging knowing glances every once in a while.

“So, what did you guys do last night?” Natasha asked curiously as she leaned on her hand.

“We went on patrol together and then walked around the city. It was snowing so it was really pretty.” You smiled as you remembered the night before. Natasha and Bruce made eye contact, giving each other a knowing look.

“Didn’t you get cold?” Bruce asked for his own amusement.

“My suit has a built in heater.” Peter told him.

“But Y/n’s suit doesn’t.” Tony added, understanding what was going on.

“Peter had his arm around me so the heat kept us both warm.” You told them as you sipped your mug, making everyone gush.

“Uh huh.” Tony nodded as he watched Peter put his arm around your chair. “So you went for a moonlit stroll through the city. Pretty romantic, don’t you think? Was it a date?”

“What?” Peter sputtered. “No.”

“We’re just friends.” You nodded a few too many times.

“You got some whip cream on your face.” Peter noticed the white dollop on your nose.

“Oh. Oops.” You laughed in embarrassment and went to wipe it off.

“I got it.” Peter wiped your face with his thumb, leaving both of you in a blushing mess.

“Thanks.” You giggled, gazing lovingly into his eyes.

“Right. Just friends.” Rhodey grimaced as he watched the disgusting love fest in front of him.

“So what are you doing today?” Natasha asked, finding the whole situation hysterical.

“We were gonna watch some holiday movies in my room before patrol.” Peter told her.

“Speaking of that, do you want to get started?” You asked him. “We have a lot to get through.”

“Sure. Bye guys.” Peter waved before resting his hand on the small of your back and leading you out of the room. Once you left, the Avengers let out the collective laugh they had been holding in.

“So…they’re in love, right? We can agree on that?” Tony asked as he looked around the room, seeing everyone nod at him.

“I have never seen anyone so whipped.” Rhodey laughed as he sipped his coffee.

“How have they not admitted their feelings?” Nat asked the room. “It’s so obvious.”

“This is worse than me and Nat.” Steve commented.

“Or me and Nat.” Bruce added.

“Or me and Nat.” Tony agreed.

“When are those crazy kids gonna get together?” Steve chuckled as he opened the newspaper.

“This gives me an idea.” Tony narrowed his eyes as he got a familiar devilish glint in his eyes.

“Oh no.” Steve recognized the glint. “This can’t be good.”

“By the end of the holiday season, I want Y/n and Peter to be together.” Tony said decidedly. “This will require a group effort in making it happen. In the weeks leading up to the holidays, I expect each and every one of you to get our dear Peter and Y/n to realize they like each other.”

“How do you expect us to do that?” Nat humored him.

“You will all plant mistletoe somewhere in the building.” Tony grinned wickedly. “The mistletoe that gets the most kisses out of them wins.”

“Wins what?” Bruce asked, just as intrigued as the rest of the team.

“Whatever you want. I don’t know if the giant building with my name on it gave it away, but I have money.” Tony stated. “Lots of it. Or how about this, the winner can pick and design a new room to be added to the tower.”

“I could use a physical therapy room.” Rhodey spoke up. “I don’t know if you guys remember, but my legs don’t work on their own anymore ever since I fell out of the sky.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.” Steve realized.

“Yeah. Nobody really talks about that.” Bruce agreed.

“I think we could all benefit from a new training room.” Nat threw in. “The old one has a permanent sweaty man smell.”

“We already have a training room. What we really need is some personal up keeping. Keeping myself this blonde is not cheap. A hair parlor in the building would be nice.” Steve suggested.

“Parlor.” Tony chuckled under his breath.

“I second that.” Bucky piped up.

“Of course you do, Jared Leto.” Tony teased.

“We don’t need a hair salon. What we need is another lab.” Bruce declared.

“Or a ballet studio.” Nat gasped.

“I think we should install an Olive Garden.” Bucky shrugged.

“How about a room full of murals of myself?” Thor smiled. “You can all gaze upon them and push yourself to stop being tiny and small.”

“Or another gym.” Rhodey shrugged.

“Or a wine cellar. But for beer! A beer cellar.” Thor cheered.

“We can discuss the room later.” Tony quieted everyone down. “If you really want these things, get the kids together. You know what you have to do.”

Tony

You and Peter often ate breakfast together in the same spot everyday, and Tony used that information to his advantage. He skillfully hung some mistletoe above your usual seats and patiently waited for your arrival. Soon enough, Tony heard your footsteps coming into the kitchen.

“Hey Petey.” You rubbed Peter’s back before taking a seat next to him. “Hi Mr. Stark.”

“Hey guys.” Tony smiled before looking up and gasping. “Oh golly gee, would ya look at that? Mistletoe! Who put that there?”

“Oh, wow.” Peter said as he looked up to see mistletoe hanging above the two of you. “I didn’t even notice.”

“Yeah. I probably wouldn’t have looked up if you hadn’t pointed it out.” You said skeptically as you eyed Tony.

“Ha.” Tony forced a laugh. “Well, now you see it. Bye!”

He quickly left the room and hid behind a wall where he could watch his plan unfold.

“That wasn’t at all weird.” You chuckled as you turned in your seat.

“He probably put Red Bull in his protein shake again.” Peter laughed as well, fingers brushing yours a little on the table.

“Yeah.” You nodded, suddenly feeling awkward now that you were both aware of the mistletoe hanging above your heads. You both looked away from each other, red in the face and sneaking occasional glances at the plant.

“I, um, I’ve never actually seen mistletoe in person before.” Peter said to break the silence. “I’ve only heard about it in songs.”

“Me too.” You nodded rapidly. “Or in movies and stuff.”

“Yeah.” Peter gulped. “And stuff.”

You looked at each other for a moment, shy smiles on your faces.

“I mean, since it’s both of our first times getting caught under it, it’d be a shame not to honor the tradition.” You suggested sheepishly as you averted your eyes.

“Right.” Peter said quickly. “It’s tradition. We basically have to.”

“Yeah. It’s practically a right of passage for the holiday season.” You said simply as you leaned closer to Peter.

“Exactly.” Peter agreed, leaning in as well. Your faces were almost touching now, just a few more inches until contact.

“Um.” You let out a nervous laugh before shutting your eyes and leaning in. Peter met you the rest of the way, your lips connecting directly under the mistletoe. You smiled a little into the kiss before pressing your hand to his cheek to keep him in place. Peter pulled away after a minute, gazing fondly in your eyes as he opened them. He’d been waiting to kiss you for the longest time, and it was just as perfect as he imagined.

“Thanks.” Peter said, squeezing his eyes shut in embarrassment after he said it.

“You’re welcome.” You laughed at him, squeezing his shoulder in admiration.

“I’m glad we could, erm, fulfill the tradition.” Peter laughed at his own awkwardness as he shook his head.

“Me too.” You nodded with a flushed face. “I feel more in the holiday spirit already.”

“Same, same.” Peter trailed off, looking around the room to distract from the awkwardness.

“Can we just pretend that didn’t happen and eat our breakfast?” You requested, looking at him shyly.

“Please.” Peter agreed. “It never happened.”

Rhodey

Bruce was making his way to the lab when he saw Rhodey hiding behind a wall, staring at hanging mistletoe.

“Why are you standing here?” Bruce whispered as he stood behind Rhodey.

“I told Y/n to meet me in the kitchen and I’m sending her a bunch of texts so she keeps her eyes on her phone. I also told Peter to meet me in the theater. They’ll have to go through that doorway where I strategically placed mistletoe. Once they bump into each other, they’ll have to kiss and I’ll get a point.” Rhodey explained his masterplan in a hushed tone.

“Why do you want them to bump into each other? Can’t they just see each other in the doorway?” Bruce whispered back.

“Man, have you ever seen a romantic comedy?” Rhodey sighed. “The girl has to bump into the boy so he knows she’s clumsy and not like other girls.”

“I think you’re getting a little too invested in this. It’s just a room.” Bruce reminded him, beginning to think he was behind on the contest.

“Its not about the room.” Rhodey insisted. “I just want to beat Rogers and his stupid parlor.”

“Shh.” Bruce hushed him. “Here they come.”

Bruce and Rhodey watched as you and Peter smacked into each other in the doorway.

“Oh, sorry. I wasn’t looking.” Peter said as he caught you from falling.

“That’s okay. I wasn’t looking either.” You smiled at him, staying in his arms.

“How are you gonna get them to notice the mistletoe?” Bruce whispered.

Rhodey silently took out a large fan and switched it on, sending a breeze towards you and Peter. The breeze made the bells on the mistletoe chime, causing you and Peter to look up.

“Is that mistletoe?” He asked as he pointed to it.

“It looks like it.” You commented. “I guess Mr. Stark decorated the tower.”

“Kinda crazy we got caught under it twice.” Peter chuckled nervously, hoping he’d get the chance to kiss you again.

“I know. But hey, it’s tradition.” You shrugged, also hoping you’d get to kiss him.

“Yeah. Tradition.” Peter was barely listening to himself speak as he stared at your lips. You laughed a little as your arms went around his neck, pulling him into a soft kiss. It was just as good as the first time, if not better. You pulled away after a moment and sighed against his mouth.

“I, um, I gotta meet Rhodey in the nitchken.” You stumbled over your words.

“Yeah, I’m supposed to see him in the popcorn palace.” Peter spoke, not even knowing what he was saying.

“I’ll see you later, Petey.” You squeezed his arm gently and made your way to the kitchen.

“Bye.” Peter mumbled before going to the theater. Rhodey turned to Bruce with a boastful grin and held a finger to symbolize the point he has just gotten. Bruce swallowed nervously, realizing he had to get on it if he wanted to win.

Bruce

“Banner.” Tony came to Bruce’s side with a suspicious look. “You look awfully devious today.”

“You’re much more likely to walk next to someone than to be caught under a doorway with them. That’s why I put a bouquet of roses and mistletoe on the table between their rooms. Every time they pass it, they’ll have to kiss.” Bruce explained as he turned to Tony with bloodshot eyes. He had been working on the plan all night and it showed.

“You unsuspecting genius.” Tony gasped.

“How is that unsuspected?” Bruce deadpanned. “I’m a certified genius. That’s why I was recruited.

“Yeah? And I’m a certified freak. 7 days a week.” Tony said as he stared at the bouquet of mistletoe. It didn’t take long for you and Peter to come out of your rooms and meet in front of the bouquet.

“Hey, Petey.” You greeted him. “What are you up to?”

“I was gonna grab a snack and then watch Dance Moms compilations.” Peter told you.

“Without me?” You pretended to be offended.

“I was gonna ask you to join.” Peter rolled his eyes sarcastically.

“I’d love to.” You smiled at him. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, is this mistletoe?” Peter realized the bouquet right as you were about to leave.

“Damn, it’s everywhere, huh?” You laughed as you touched the roses, warmed by the color.

“Do we still have to kiss of its not over our heads?” Peter wondered.

“Yes!” Bruce whispered sharply.

“You heard that too right?” Your eyes widened as you looked around for where the voice came from.

“Yeah. I thought it was my conscience.” Peter sighed in relief. Your eyes flickered from the bouquet to Peter, back to the bouquet.

“I mean, we might as well kiss.” You shrugged. “Mistletoe is still mistletoe.”

“You’re right. It would be a waste not to.” Peter nodded eagerly.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.” You smiled as you pulled him into a kiss. This kiss lasted longer than usual as you both let it linger.

“The plan was smart but you only got one kiss out of it.” Tony whispered to Bruce as you and Peter went to the kitchen.

“Just wait.” Bruce told him. Some enough, you and Peter returned with an armful of snacks.

“Oh, we passed it again.” Peter said robotically, knowing you’d pass it again.

“Oops.” You said sarcastically. “I guess we have to kiss again.”

“Ugh. Every time.” Peter rolled his eyes as he pulled you towards his lips. You gripped his shirt collar and continued kissing him as you pulled him into your room.

“See?” Bruce smirked. “Certified genius.”

Down the hall, Natasha had seen the whole thing, chewing her lips as she came up with a plan.

Natasha

Natasha set her plan in motion a few days later, waiting in the kitchen for you as she stirred a bowl of muffin mix. Peter sat at the counter, reading over one of Bruce’s articles in a book. You came into the kitchen wearing an ugly Christmas sweater that matched Peters, the sight of you making Peter smile.

“Hi Nat.” You beamed at her as you took a seat next to Peter at the kitchen counter. “Whatcha making?”

“I’m making muffins with the berries from mistletoe.” Nat said cheerfully. “They should be really good.”

“You bake?” You asked curiously. “You mean they taught you culinary skills when training you to be an assassin?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me. For example, I love ballet. We might even be getting a ballet studio in the tower soon.” She said coyly, making you and Peter exchange a suspicious glance.

“Wow. That’ll be really cool.” Peter played along, skeptically of her intentions.

“Right? Does this look okay to you guys?” Nat asked as she held the mistletoe above your head. “I can’t tell it it’s good to use or not.”

“It looks fine to me.” Peter shrugged as he looked up at it.

“Oh, silly me.” Nat clicked her tongue. “You guys are totally under it. I guess you’ll have to kiss.”

You and Peter exchanged another look before pecking each other on the lips.

“Hmm. I still can’t tell. Can you check again?” Nat asked as she held it up again.

“It still looks fine.” You told her, growing suspicious.

“And you still have to kiss.” She sighed like it was an inconvenience. You narrowed your eyes at her before kissing Peter on the cheek.

“Are you guys sure it’s okay? One more time, please.” Nat held it over your heads a final time. Peter looked at you skeptically before leaning in for a kiss. Both of you were well aware of the sneaky smile on Natashas face.

“Wait, let me see if I can find another one.” Natasha took another bunch of mistletoe out of her grocery bag and pretended to inspect it. She made a whole show of it, making it look like she simply couldn’t find out if it was okay to use. She sighed sadly and looked to you guys for help before holding it up. You and Peter laughed in disbelief before kissing on the lips.

“Wow. Did I accidentally make you guys kiss 4 times?” Nat spoke loudly, as id she was letting all the people in the tower know. “That’s a lot. Looks like we’ll be getting that ballet studio after all.”

“Yeah. That is a lot.” Thor appeared in the doorway upon hearing Natashas declaration. He eyed you and Peter with a ponderous look on his face, becoming aware that he was losing the competition.

“Oops. I just remembered that mistletoe is poisonous.” Nat finished her bit. “Guess I won’t be making these! Bye guys!”

She swiftly left the room, leaving the mistletoe on the counter. You and Peter looked at each other, equally confused about what was happening. Thor walked further into the kitchen and pretended to take interest in the mistletoe. He held it up over his head before holding it over you and Peter.

“Are you two sure this mistletoe is good for use?” He asked, stealing Nat’s idea.

“We’re not kissing for you.” Peter told him flatly.

“I never liked you anyway.” Thor stated as he dropped the mistletoe and left the kitchen. He wandered the tower until he found Pepper reading in the living room.

“Pans. I have some bad news.” Thor sighed as he laid on the couch like he was in a therapists office. “The competition your husband started is rigged.”

“Why do you say that?” Pepper wondered.

“Because I’m losing!” Thor whined. “Gods do not lose to humans. Unless it’s a contest for tiny people.”

“How many kisses have you gotten?” Pepper asked, well aware of the contest.

“0 so far.” He sighed. “Everyone else has four or five. Banner has seven!”

“So you just have to come up with a plan that blows everyone else out of the water.” Pepper shrugged.

“Like what?”

“Everyone else has gotten them to kiss, right?” Pepper asked.

“Yes.” Thor nodded.

“You can get them to date.” Pepper said like it was simple.

“Why, that’s brilliant! Thank you, Pans!” Thor cheered as he got off the couch. “You have done me well.”

“You’re welcome.” Pepper chuckled as she flipped the page.

“Wait, your husband is also in this competition.” Thor realized. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because when Tony wins something, he gets way too cocky and thinks he’s above doing any laundry or cleaning.” Pepper explained. “Someone else has to win or he’ll buy Mexico or something.”

“Thank you, lady Pans.” Thor grinned. “I will not disappoint.”

Thor

“May I come in? I’m just kidding. I am coming in regardless of your answer.” Thor chuckled as he barged into your room. You and Peter had been sitting on the bed, jumping from fear as he came in.

“Hi, Thor.” You said skeptically as Thor pulled up a chair. “Can we help you with something?”

“For the past few weeks, the Avengers have been holding a stupid contest that I am losing to see who can get you two to kiss the most.” Thor explained. “They have been using mistletoe to carry out this stupid contest.”

“Wait, what?” You and Peter looked at each other in shock. Suddenly, the strange behavior and random mistletoe sightings all made sense.

“That’s why there’s mistletoe everywhere?” You asked. “And why did you guys do this in the first place? Why us?”

“Because you two like each other.” Thor shrugged. “And everyone knows it. Except for you two. You don’t know it.”

“What?” Peter sputtered. “We do not-“

“Shh.” Thor hushed him. “Don’t talk to me. Talk to each other. You’re welcome.”

Thor smiled kindly before getting out of his chair and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

“I can’t believe they did this.” Peter groaned. “Forcing us to kiss because they think we like each other? Who comes up with that?”

“I know right?” You agreed. “How we feel about each other is none of their business.”

“Exactly. And what do they know? If I liked you, I think I would know.” Peter forced a laugh, well aware that he liked you.

“Yeah. We would know.” You nodded before looking at him skeptically. “We would know, right?”

“I don’t know.” Peter answered honestly. “It’s kinda hard to tell how I feel about you. I never know if something that happens between us is platonic or romantic.”

“Me either.” You spoke softly as you put your hand on his. “Kissing isn’t really platonic, though.”

“I guess not.” Peter chuckled as he looked at you. You stared at him for a moment, heart beating in your ears as you thought out your next step.

“Peter, do you like me?” You asked slowly, looking at him through your eyelashes.

“Um, kinda, yeah.”

“Kinda?” You laughed softly at his answer.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed and squeezed your hand. “I don’t know what to say in this situation.”

“Just tell me how you feel.” You shrugged.

“I feel like I’ve been lingering around places where the mistletoe in hopes that you’ll walk by and kiss me.” Peter confessed, looking at you with a shy smile.

“Well that’s not platonic.” You teased him, leaning into him a little.

“No, it’s not.” Peter agreed. Your eyes flicked to his lips briefly before leaning in to kiss him, pulling his face closer to yours with the hand that wasn’t holding his. He kissed you back once he got over the surprise, sitting up straighter to get closer to you.

“You don’t need mistletoe to kiss me, Petey.” You whispered once you pulled away. “You can do it whenever you want.”

“I’m gonna take you up on that.” Peter smiled softly at you.

“I hope you do.” You flirted before connecting your lips to his again. On the other side of the door, Thor had his ear pressed up against the crack, listening to every word with a huge grin.

“I am so going to win this contest.”

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[kohanayaki]

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 6

You continue the tale of how you, James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter became known as The Marauders.

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2    CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

___________________________________________________________

Ch 6 .:The Making of the Marauders:.

~Previously~

“That was when they were first starting to put the map together,” you continued, “but that wasn't even the biggest secret they had. Of course, I wouldn't find out about that for another year. . .”

“So at this point I knew that they were hiding something else, but not what it was,” you told Harry, continuing on with your story, “But one night we had planned to meet up and use the invisibility cloak to map out the underground tunnels that ran through the storage cellars, and they never showed up. So I snuck into the Gryffindor common room through the secret passage and found their dorm completely empty. But what was there was our work in progress map. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1975  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This isn't going to work,” Peter said flatly, watching James and Sirius draw a large circle in chalk on the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

“Not with that attitude it's not,” James said, “if there's a way we can speed up this process I'm willing to give it a go. I don't know how long I can go on with this bloody leaf in my mouth.”

“Is this even real?” Peter sighed, “it looks like what muggles think magic is.”

“It's real all right,” Sirius said, “old, but real. I mean, Transfiguration was founded on the principles of magic circles! I'm not really sure what these runes on the side mean, but it's probably not important.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Peter retorted, “Remus, back me up here.”

He turned towards Lupin, but he had long since dozed off, arms crossed as he leaned against one of the nearly decaying walls in the corner. Peter sighed, taking a piece of paper from the ground and crumpling it into a ball before promptly throwing it in the sleeping boy's face. Lupin jolted awake, realizing what had happened and chucking the paper back at Peter in annoyance.

“Not a moment of peace,” he huffed under his breath.

“Sounds awfully boring,” James said over his shoulder.

“Blimey, what time is it?” Remus said, panicked as he noticed the light had completely gone from the sky, “It's long past sundown.”

“So?” Sirius shrugged.

“So, we told (Y/n) we'd meet them to work on the map at dusk,” Remus said, “They're probably looking for us right now!”

“Oh, they are,” you announced your presence, an unimpressed look on your face as they jumped, whipping around to look at you.

“(Y-Y/n)!” Sirius stuttered, “how did you—”

You held up the map, raising a brow at the four guilty looking boys.

“Right. . .”

“You snuck into our rooms?!” James said incredulously as he saw the map, which he was sure he had left on his bedside table, in your hands.

“You've snuck into my shower before, Potter,” you glared lightly at him.

“Point taken.”

“Okay, look, I'm sorry we didn't show tonight, and I know we've been acting weird,” Sirius sighed, “the truth is—”

“Lupin's a werewolf.” 

The color drained from Remus' face, slightly mortified that you already knew.

“Come on, guys,” you said, “the claw marks and you lot disappearing whenever there's a full moon kind of gave it away. You aren't exactly subtle about it.”

You could sense the intense nervousness in the room, especially from Remus. Ok, so maybe coming right out with it wasn't the best course of action.

“Look,” you said, “if you're worried about anyone else finding out, they won't. I mean, the only reason I even knew you were here is because I'm literally helping you make a magical map that details all the secret passages and shows where everyone is. I won't tell anyone, I swear.”

They still seemed a little unsure, and you bit the inside of your lip slightly.

“If it'll make us even, I'll let you know a secret of my own,” you said, “it can even be future blackmail me if you really don't trust me.”

“No, it's not that, (Y/n),” Remus said as he stepped forward, his throat feeling dry, “it's just, well, I've never really told anyone except the people in this room. Having someone else know. . . it's just a lot to process, but if had to be anyone I'm glad it's you.” He paused for a moment, feeling oddly self-conscious as he regarded you. “When I turn into a werewolf I can't recognize any human as someone I know. I have no control over myself in that state. In the worst case scenario, I could injure or even kill someone I didn't mean to. We originally started taking note of the secret passages and rooms to find a place where I could turn safely and not hurt anyone, and we settled on here. I don't remember much when I come out of it, but. . . I do feel this painful sense of separation each time. Werewolves are pack creatures by nature, so being isolated in that state is. . . agony, if I must be honest. They all figured, I can't recognize humans, but perhaps I could recognize other animals, so. . .”

“They're trying to become animagi,” you finished, “so you won't have to be alone. That's. . . that's actually really sweet,” you said, a breathy laugh escaping you.

Remus thanked Merlin the Shrieking Shack was as dimly lit as it was so his beet red face was at least somewhat less noticeable.

“I agree,” Remus said, turning to his friends and sharing a rare, genuine moment with them. “And, you don't have to tell us your secret,” he said, turning back to you, “it's okay.”

“Hey, I wanted to know,” Sirius said, Peter swiftly elbowing him in the ribs.

“I was actually planning on telling you anyways,” you said, “If you guys are trying to become animagi, I can help you.”

You took a few steps back, bracing yourself against the wall.

“Promise me you won't freak out.”

After receiving a few quick nods, you kicked off the wall. Your body seemed to morph in mid-air, shrinking and re-configuring so fast that by the time you landed on the floor you had been entirely replaced by a large, (e/c)-eyed wolf with fur reminiscent of your hair.

Peter yelped, instinctively putting Sirius in front of him who was gawking at the sight. Remus was in complete shock and you could have sworn you saw James' glasses slip down his face.

In your animal form your heightened senses could sense their fear, and you tried your best to assuage it. You padded around in a circle, sitting down and blinking up at them to try and show them you were in control of your actions. After you figured they'd seen enough, you crawled back into your robes, which had pooled on the floor when you'd transfigured, and willed your body to turn back.

James, Sirius, and Peter looked somewhere in the intersection of shocked and terrified, but Remus looked nothing less than impressed.

“That's amazing, (Y/n),” he said breathlessly, “your transformation was seamless, how long have you had this ability?”

“My aunt had me go through the process when I was nine,” you said, a bitter edge to your voice as you fastened your clothes back around you, “it's not fun, but obviously useful. And thank you, but trust me, it didn't come at all naturally to me. I spent a good part of my winter break stuck with a wolf's hind legs, which is just as inconvenient as it sounds.”

“But this proves that it's possible!” James said, a new rush of energy invigorating him, “we can actually pull this off.”

“If I can manage to keep this sodding leaf from choking me every ten minutes,” Peter grumbled.

“Here, this should help with that,” you said, drawing your wand and pointing it at Peter's mouth. With a simple sticking charm, he suddenly felt the odd sensation of the leaf in his mouth disappearing, only to find it had melded with the flesh on the underside of his tongue.

“It's a long process, but yes, it's possible,” you said to James. Your eyes drifted to the floor where the magic circle and pages of runes were still scattered about, “if you were thinking of taking shortcuts, you might have wanted to read the warning about this spell requiring a blood sacrifice.”

The quartet paled and you laughed at their dumbstruck expressions.

“Kidding,” you grinned, “but seriously, there's no shortcuts. Now look alive, boys. We have a lot of work to do.”

_________________________________________________________

From then on, you helped the four wizards along on their quest to become fully fledged shifters.

“In order to become an animagus, a wizard must keep a Mandrake leaf in their mouth for an entire month, even when eating and sleeping,” Peter read aloud from the book they'd snatched from the restricted section, “Next, under a full moon, the wizard must place the leaf in a vial full of dew that has neither been stepped on nor exposed to the sun. The resulting potion must be stored in a dark place, and the following incantation: Amato Animo Animato Animagus, must be recited every morning until an electrical storm arrives, at which point the potion can be taken.”

“Blimey, all that to turn into a bloody cat?” Sirius said, exasperated.

“Well we have the first part almost done,” James said, feeling the faintest outline of the leaf still under his tongue, “Next full moon we'll have to go dew-hunting, I suppose. Looks like you'll have to stick it out for a few more cycles, Moony,” he said to Remus.

“That's alright,” he said, “I've made it this far.”

“He won't be alone for those,” you said, “I'll spend the full moons with him until you guys are ready.”

“What?” James said, looking at you like you'd just told him you were off to join Voldemort, “not a chance, that's way too dangerous.”

“Aw, don't act like you're all concerned about me all of a sudden, Potter,” you smirked. When his expression didn't change it took you aback slightly. He was actually worried about you. “Look, I'm probably the best suited for it anyways,” you said, coughing a bit to coast through the awkward tension, “Remus and I are both wolves, or at least partly. If one of you end up turning into a sheep or something you might be dead meat, not to freak you out or anything.”

“That's reassuring,” Sirius said under his breath.

____________________________________________________________

“You really don't have to do this,” Lupin insisted as you sat on the floor together in the Shrieking Shack later that month.

“I want to,” you assured him, “take it as a thanks for helping me pass Arithmancy. Besides, it's a perfectly fine excuse for me to practice interacting with other animals in my animagus form.”

The boy beside you was quiet for a moment, shoulders tense and jaw set tight. It wasn't that he wasn't happy you were here, he was more grateful than you could know, but he was terrified that he was going to end up hurting you. On top of that was the fact that he didn't want you to see him as he transformed. It wasn't pretty, and it was visibly painful. He didn't want you to think any lower of him, though he knew that fear was irrational.

The calming jazz record that spun on the other side of the room was the only noise between you two for quite some time, but you understood that he needed time to gather his thoughts. This was something so deeply personal you were surprised and a bit honored he allowed you to be here at all. You noticed the photograph that he held in his hands; it was of Hogwarts, taken from the very edge of the forest. The sun was peeking over the horizon, spilling out between the complexly constructed towers that made up the castle's exterior, and casting a warm, golden hue over the landscape.

“It's beautiful,” you said, “the picture.”

“It is,” Remus smiled to himself and nodded, “James gave it to me, as a reminder. He said that matter what happens during the full moon, the sun will always rise on us again.”

“Huh,” you mused softly, “perhaps he isn't such an insufferable jerk after all.”

“Oh, no, he is,” Lupin chuckled, “but he is also a very good friend, and endlessly thoughtful even if he denies it.”

You let that sink in for a moment. You supposed he was.

“Well,” you said, laughing a bit as you shifted in your seat, “this isn't as deep and meaningful as the photo, but I brought something for you.” You reached into your bag, retrieving something that made Remus' eyes widen.

“Where did you get that?” he said, elated as you held out his favorite chocolate bar which had been out of stock at Hogsmeade for weeks now.

“You guys have a secret tunnel that goes right to the Honeydukes cellar and you've never taken advantage of their storage?” you grinned.

Lupin hesitated as he held the bar in his hands.

“So you stole it?”

“I left five dracma in the tip jar,” you rolled your eyes, “I'm not a death eater.”

His smiled returned at that, and he ripped open the familiar foil gratefully.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“It's the least I could do,” you said.

“It's really not,” he said, turning to face you fully. You were left a bit breathless as the unexpected intensity of his eyes. “None of this is the least you could do, because the least you could do is nothing,” he continued, rambling, “we were so horrible to someone you consider a dear friend, and you were willing to look past that. You're risking your life by even being with me right now, (Y/n).”

“You don't—”

“I do know that,” Remus said sharply, “I've never been in contact with anyone as a werewolf. The one time I was, I. . .” he trailed off, and it hurt you to see his pained expression, “I just don't know how I'll react.”

“You're saying that as if something bad's already happened,” you said gently, “it'll be okay.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asked quietly, equally full of frustration and admiration.

“I'm willing to put my trust in you, Remus. I think it's time you put some trust in yourself.”

Lupin's heart pounded a little harder in his chest. Had you ever called him by his first name before? You looked at him so reassuringly, so confidently. He couldn't understand it, but your words reached him to his core.

“(Y/n). . .” he trailed off, blinking rapidly. A shaky breath escaped him, and your stomach dropped.

“Remus?”

Suddenly you saw something shift in him. His breathing became heavy and his pupils dilated, completely filling his irises in a matter of seconds. He braced himself against the wall as he stumbled to his feet, his skin slowly taking on a gray hue.

“It's happening,” he said, voice deeper and strained, his neck convulsing, “you have to transform, now!”

You didn't waste any time, taking the shape of your wolf form and padding away a cautionary distance. Your stomach churned as you watched Remus yell out, his expression full of pain as his body grew in size, his cries slowly becoming reminiscent of howls. His face contorted in agony as his head morphed into a more animalistic shape, ears growing from his scalp and fur appearing as if his werewolf was fully formed inside him, physically escaping through his skin. You've seen werewolves before, but seeing someone you know actually turn into one, it was completely different. Nothing could have prepared you for this. Seeing anyone in this much pain made your chest tighten harshly.

At last it seemed the transformation was complete. Remus Lupin was gone, and in front of you stood a creature of at least eight feet, perched on his hind legs and towering over you especially in your animal form. You could hear how ragged his breathing had become, his body convulsing with the motion; growing and retracting like a beating heart. You heard a whimper escape his throat, and you could tell he was still recovering from the pain.

You steeled yourself, making the decision to alert him to your presence subtly. You tilted your head upwards, releasing a similar sounding whimper to his. Immediately the werewolf across from you was on high alert, his head snapping towards you and his lips pulling back into a snarl as his ears lowered. You took an instinctive step back, lowering your head slowly. He seemed puzzled by your behavior, which made sense seeing as Lupin told you he never interacted with any other animals during the full moon. His head tilted inquisitively and he took a heavy step forward. You forced yourself to not back away, testing the waters. His eyes narrowed again as he saw you standing your ground, but you quickly sat down, your head tilting to expose your neck slightly. You made doubly sure not to show any signs of aggression; you knew you had no chance against a werewolf at full strength.

However, he seemed to take your queues well. His tail seemed to relax a bit, his eyes returning to their full, round shape as he looked at you with curiosity. You sniffed up at him and he hesitated, but eventually circled around you and did the same. You could almost see the turmoil in him, as a werewolf you doubted anyone he came across treated him with anything less than terror in their eyes, but you were completely relaxed.

He whimpered again, and you were shocked at the sign of submission. You rose to your feet, and he didn't back away. You let out a friendly yip, which he returned, and you felt the weight lift off your chest. You leaped to the side, and he followed you, running alongside you as you bounded across the room, practically leaping off the walls. You jumped at each other playfully, rolling across the floor in a mess of fur. You smiled inwardly as this continued throughout the night, no longer seeing fear or pain or aggression in his eyes when you looked into them. Even if he wouldn't remember most of this, you hoped he would at least feel better in the morning than all the times he had to go through it alone.

Exhausted from all the playing around, you padded softly back to your robes, crawling inside yours and and gesturing over to him with your head. He followed you, coming down to all fours before laying beside you. You weren't sure when sleep came over you, but it was like the world's most comfortable blanket had been thrown over your shoulders, and your eyes drifted closed of their own volition. . .

“Merlin's beard, just what were you two doing last night?!”

You and Remus both jolted awake at the sound of James Potter's aggravatingly loud voice but quickly came to your senses. Remus' arms were wrapped around you, your back facing him. You were just barely covered by your robes with nothing underneath as a result of your transformation. As you scrambled to get decent your face heated even more as you saw Remus was currently without a shirt, his pants ripped considerably. You scrambled away from each other, trying to make yourselves decent.

Peter was howling with laughter, James looking smug as ever. Sirius was oddly quiet, but you were too wrapped up in the embarrassment to notice his behavior.

“What was that about being 'endlessly thoughtful'?” you grumbled to Remus.

“Right, I completely take back what I said,” he scoffed, “ 'insufferable jerk' is much more accurate.”

“Close your eyes, you perverted git!” you yelled at James, who was blatantly staring at you, “toss me my clothes at least, would you?”

James bit back a smirk as he grabbed your bag that was sitting in the corner of the room— clothes you had brought with the intention of changing into after returning to your human form when Lupin fell asleep. He tossed it over to you and you began to change under your robes. As his back was turned to you his mind began to wander. You'd always been attractive, sure, but since you'd always been his rival he hadn't really given you a second thought, especially when he'd been trying to get Lily's attention for ages. But just now, thinking about how downright adorable you looked when you'd yelled at him, something in him shifted. He shook it off quickly, turning to Lupin with a grin he'd managed to put on concernedly fast.

“You cheeky bastard,” he said to Remus, who was furiously changing into a new shirt, “you just wanted her alone, didn't you? Do you really need us to become animagi after all?”

“You're the worst, Potter,” the werewolf glared at him.

“Don't listen to him, Remus,” you grumbled, straightening out your tie as you slipped it on over your shirt, “he's an even bigger idiot than he looks.”

“Are you implying I look stupid?”

“Implying may not be a strong enough word.”

__________________________________________________________

It had taken months of brewing the potion and getting all the necessary preparations in order, but they were finally ready. Remus sat with you in the grass, wand at the ready to undo any untoward transfiguration that happened on accident. Peter, Sirius, and James stood across from you, standing at the edge of a stone ledge about five feet off the ground. You'd said that a leap of faith is what would best trigger their first transformation. They looked nervous, but they were prepared as they'd ever be. Over the last year you had grown considerably closer to the four boys you had miraculously come to know as friends.

“Remember, focus on your emotions,” you said, “you need to pick a strong one, let it fill your body and flow through you. If you block the magic off from any part of your body, it's not going to be pretty.”

“Right, but how do I—”

“James, I swear, I'm really rooting for you to be a mute animal.”

“But how do you choose-”

“Just do it already!”

“Oh, sod it,” James squeezed his eyes shut, not giving himself time to second guess before jumping off the ledge. For a moment he was certain he was about to land face first in the dirt, but then it happened— a moment where time seemed to freeze and his body felt completely weightless. He felt this sensation where his arms and legs vibrated with an intense, foreign energy. Images flashed through his mind in that brief moment in the air; Sirius manically laughing as they ran away from Filch, Remus snapping off a piece of chocolate to offer him after he'd lost Gryffindor a Quidditch match, and, unexpectedly, you. A feeling of warmth spread through his chest, and he grasped onto it, letting it flow through his body like you said. In an instant he felt torso shift, his shoulders narrow, his neck elongate; and when he landed on the ground he still landed face-first as he predicted, but in a completely different form.

He could see you and Lupin in front of him, mouths agape. He was about to say something when he found his vocal chords only allowed him a gruff whine. Shocked, he lifted his head, which felt much heavier than he'd last recalled, and as he looked down at himself he was taken aback to be met with a pair of hooves right beneath him. He staggered to his feet on wobbly legs, of which he now had four. As he tilted his head he could see the shadow of a pair of antlers twisting into brilliant shadows on the grass.

“Potter, you did it!” you exclaimed, “you actually did it!”

“Well how about that,” Remus chuckled, “a stag.”

“It fits him, I think,” you grinned, looking over at Sirius and Peter who looked determined and terrified respectively. “Well go on, it's your turn now!”

Sirius braced himself for the jump, but somehow he found no fear in his system. After seeing James shift in the air right before his eyes, he knew he could do it. He looked over at Peter who was nearly shaking.

“Come on, Peter,” he said, “we'll go together.”

“I-I don't know about this, Sirius,” Peter said, “I'm not ready, I don't think I can do this.”

“It's just a little jump,” Sirius said encouragingly, “you can do this.”

After a few nerve wracking deep breaths Peter gave him the smallest nod one could manage.

“We'll go on three,” Sirius said, “Ready? One—”

“AaHH!”

Sirius shoved Peter off the ledge, knowing he wouldn't jump on his own, before taking the plunge himself. Peter's screams became higher and higher pitched as he shrank at an alarming speed, almost an undetectable size by the time he hit the grass. A small brown rat scurried across the field towards you and Lupin.

The stag in front of you made a sound, dragging his hooves across the grass in what you could imagine as James' unadulterated laughter at his friend.

Sirius began to morph almost as soon as he left the ground, something you were surprised by. He landed on his hind legs, landing gracefully as his front two followed, and a shaggy black dog looked back at you with mischief in its eyes.

You couldn't help but go over and pet him. You laughed as he nudged you with his nose, a resistance that was quickly halted as soon as you started scratching him behind the ears.

“I have to say, I didn't think you would actually manage that on your first try,” you said, secretly prouder than they could have known, “but if anyone could have done it, it's you three stubborn goons.”

James huffed as he saw you continue to pet Sirius, using his antlers to prod the dog out of the way. Sirius barked, lunging at him playfully. It was quite a scene to see the two interact.

“Honestly, this is a pretty solid group,” you said, “you've got James who blends perfectly with the surrounding wildlife so he wouldn't be suspicions, Sirius who could probably do a fair bit of damage as a dog if he needed, and Peter who can fit through small spaces and snoop around the castle virtually undetected.”

“Quite an odd pack,” Remus chuckled.

“Definitely,” you agreed, “but a pack nonetheless.”

And that very week, Remus Lupin was able to spend his first night as a werewolf with his four friends by his side.

__________________________________________________________

“So, how did we choose which animals we turn into?” James had asked you the next day at breakfast, “I specifically tried for a dragon.”

“You don't get to choose,” you rolled your eyes, “You're a stag, that's the end of it. It's pretty much up to chance.”

“I'm sorry, you're telling me I could have turned into a fish and died right there on the ground?!”

“If only,” you sighed dreamily, earning you a playful shove from James. “Alright, it's not completely random, but you're definitely in the unknown the first time you turn,” you went on to explain, “and once you turn for the first time, that's it. That's your animal. A wizard takes on the animagus form of whatever animal most closely resembles their personality. So, a horny bastard for James, a loyal little puppy for Sirius—”

“A bitch for you,” Sirius quipped.

“Never heard that one before,” you scoffed, purposefully messing up his hair.

“Hey, watch it!” he shoved you off him, twisting each of his curls back into form.

“Well, look who's a high maintenance pup,” you chuckled.

Around the same time that year, you finally completed the map. It came together beautifully, each different way of folding the paper revealing a different level of the castle for easy navigation. You'd included the surrounding forests as well as the parts of Hogsmeade that applied for the secret passageways, all of which were marked with symbols and the unique names you'd all come up with. Every student and staff member at Hogwarts had a tiny scroll with their name that appeared in their location. Remus had added the nice detail of including footprints at the last second, so you could see which way they were facing and walking as well. It was fireproof, rip proof, and prone to insulting anyone else who tried to read it. It was the pinnacle of your magical (and slightly illegal) achievement.

“We should write our names on it,” James said, looking down proudly at the finished map, “it belongs to us, after all. We don't want anyone else taking the credit.”

“Yeah, fantastic way to get caught,” Sirius rolled his eyes, “what if Filch comes across it? That's like leaving your signature at a murder scene.”

“You should use code names, then,” you suggested, “I know you guys call Remus 'Moony' as a joke, but I kind of like it.”

The scarred boy blushed lightly at the compliment, a brow raised to his other three friends.

“Alright then, I guess you should all say hi to Rudolph over here,” Sirius said, jutting his thumb in James' direction. The bespectacled boy narrowed his eyes before shooting back.

“Right! And this is my good friend, Snuffles.”

Sirius lunged at him and James swatted him away in laughter.

“Come on, you two,” Remus said, “or we won't put anything down for you at all.”

“I've got an idea for Peter,” you piped in, “When my mom used to garden she said she didn't mind having rats there because their tails resembled worms, which were an old a sign of healthy soil, I know it's odd, but I think Wormtail sounds pretty cool.”

Peter seemed to perk up at your acknowledgment and nodded. It suited him somehow.

“Should we pick animal features too, then?” James mused, “I guess Antlers doesn't really sound that cool. What's another word? Horns? Give me some analogies, guys. What else do they look like?”

“Yours honestly kind of look like a couple of bent forks,” you snickered.

“Prongs?” Sirius snorted, the laughter that followed nearly splitting his sides.

“Oh, go on, what have you got then?” James scoffed.

“I was thinking Padfoot,” Sirius said, “like a dog's paw prints.”

“You know, for someone who was just making fun of code names a second ago you sure have given a lot of thought to yours,” you teased.

“Shove it,” he smirked, “What about you? Can't very well have a second Moony.”

You stared at him in momentary disbelief.

“Me?”

“Well, yeah,” Sirius chuckled.

“We couldn't have done any of this without you,” Remus reminded you with a smile.

“I think you've more than earned an honorary title as one of us,” James said.

“That is, if you want to,” Peter said timidly.

You looked at the four of them, genuinely touched.

“I. . . I don't know what to say,” you smiled.

“You could say 'yes',” James piped up.

“Alright, you loons,” you laughed, “if you leave Severus alone for good, then yes.”

“Hey, I think we've been pretty good about that lately,” James pouted.

“Yes you have,” you admitted, “It's the only reason I bothered to give you the time of day, but this time it's a promise.”

James rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face was undeniable. He'd never admit it out loud, but being friends with you was more fun than messing with Snape ever was.

“Alright, fine. (Y/n) (L/n), I solemnly swear that I will leave tormenting our dear old friend Snivelus behind us forever,” he said dramatically, putting a hand up at his pledge.

“Oh, bother,” you laughed, “the only thing you'll 'solemnly swear' to is that you're up to no good.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.”

“Then that's settled,” Remus smiled, “you'll need a code name too.”

“Let's see,” Sirius hummed in thought, “What other defining features do wolves have besides. . . well, their. . . fangs?”

“They're canines, you numbnut,” you huffed.

“Close enough, I'm writing Fangs.”

“Oi, I didn't agree to that!”

“Too bad, I'm already writing it~”

“Okay, well if that's the stupid name I'm getting saddled with them I'm going to write it myself,” you said stubbornly. You actually didn't mind the name at all.

“Well that's it, then,” James said, “Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, Prongs, and Fangs. We could join the bloody circus.”

“All we need is a group name,” you said, half joking.

“We've already got one,” James said proudly.

“Oh? Let's hear it, then.”

“The Marauders.”

“. . .”

You kept your face straight for exactly three seconds before you burst out laughing. The four boys flushed with embarrassment.

“The Marauders?” you chortled, “what are you, pirates?”

“It's what McGonnagall called us the first time we got ourselves into proper trouble,” James defended himself, his cheeks reddening, “You rowdy mob of marauders, she'd said.”

“Huh,” you chuckled, coming down from your laughing fit, “Well, then I suppose that would make this The Marauders Map. I'll admit, it actually kinda has a ring to it.”

And despite your group's joking quips and bickering, they couldn't agree more.

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

“Wait,” Harry said, eyes wide at your story, “So, my dad was an animagus too?”

“Sure was,” you smiled warmly.

“This whole time I thought 'Prongs' was just because his patronus was a stag.”

“Your animagus form is usually the same animal as your patronus,” you explained, “In some very rare cases they can be different, but they work in the same emotionally driven vein of magical ability, so it would make sense that they'd be linked. Your father was extraordinary at both, because as much as he would deny it, he felt everything very deeply.”

Your eyes drifted to the wall opposite you in the living room, and a small but sad smile graced your features.

“Love is often the most powerful emotion a witch or wizard can draw from,” you said softly, “but you already know that.”

Harry followed your gaze over his shoulder. There, posted on the wall among a collage of photographs from the Order was a picture of his mother and father. It was one he'd seen a hundred times, and one he had his own copy of: them in each others' arms in a London park, autumn leaves swirling around them as they danced without any music. Even from this distance he could see the emotion in their eyes as they looked at one another— like they were the only two people in the world.

“Yeah,” Harry said, wiping a stray tear from his eyes, “I do.”

Read chapter 7 here!

Taglist:  @sleep-i-ness, @blackpinkdolan, @parker-natasha, @ornella0910 @undertaker1827 @thatwierdo-koemi @nxstalgicnxbxdy @calaryssia @aleksanderwh0r3 @juggysgirlfriend @beautifulsweetschaos @kattirin @mialupin1

[theflyingfeeling]

📚

Alright. Okay, alright. This is the one fic idea I keep thinking about like damn, I wish I could pull this off, but I know I can’t. There are several reasons: 1) it’s way above my skill level and, more importantly, way above my patience level lol, 2) I’m essentially imagining this as more of a TV series or something, so it would not work as well in text, 3) it has too many similarities to my College AU, 4) it’s a Måneskin crossover and I don’t know them as well as I know the BC guys (a collaboration with a Måneskin fanfic writer sounds fun though, but I have to refer back to reason #1 before anyone gets excited 😅), and finally 5) it’s way too sad and depressive and everyone would hate me for breaking their hearts 😔

Content warnings: major character death. Proceed at your own risk.

~

The Dystopia AU

Aesthetic-wise I’m thinking something like The 100 and Maze Runner (never watched either), plot-wise something closer to Handmaid’s Tale.

I don’t really know what has happened because dystopian is not my best genre, but something has happened and the world (or at least the country the boys are living in) is in ruins and they’re living as outlaws and have revolutionary plans to throw off the current government/leader/I really haven’t thought about that detail too much.

All the boys have their own backstories which I can’t really remember that well anymore, but as I said, it very similar to the college AU, complete with onesided Olli/Joonas and bitch boy Niko.

Joonas and Olli are childhood friends and their families are really close too

Joonas and Niko, on the other hand, argue a lot

An important detail about Niko’s appearance (yes, that’s how detailed this is in my head): he’s has French braids 🥰

Aleksi is sort of a blacksheep (woah really?!) and no one really knows where he came from but he’s tagging along with the guys anyway and OH! He’s in his Alex Mattson phase in this AU, just because I like that red bandana so much 😁

One of the guys had lost their family, I think it was Niko

Niko also has a pet rat he carries around in his pocket. This is relevant later on

(Oh god you’re gonna hate me.)

Tommi’s there too, but I’m afraid he doesn’t have as much screen time :(

In the beginning of the plot, the group’s leader Joel gets lost during a fight

He’s knocked out and later wakes up somewhere in the desert, lost and alone with no clue where he is. Later he runs into Damiano who is the leader of his own group and has suffered a similar fate to Joel.

Their groups have completely different methods of working but they both aim for the same goal of overthrowing the current government

Reluctantly they must work together to get back to their teams. Additional tags: enemies to lovers

Meanwhile, both their teams are working seperately to try and find their leaders. I’ll focus on the BC guys’ storyline, because I haven’t really thought out the Måneskin side of the plot that much

And as I said, I imagine this more as a 3-season TV series rather than as a fic. Season 1 would focus on Joel/Damiano constantly arguing with one another and slowly falling love (but not actually doing anything about it until the later seasons), and in the end of the season both of them are reunited with their teams. Season 2 would be both teams plotting their own revolutions. Season 3 is about them finally joining their forces and succeeding with their plan.

That’s the basic outline of the plot. Now to the scenes I had in mind, and I’m so so sorry in advance.

Quite early on in the first season, the boys (after having lost Joel), the boys are hiding in random abandoned houses. Cue Anne Frank kind of hiding in the cellare while the police troops are sweeping the house above them.

At some point they try to leave the house but the troops return so they have to hide in the kitchen cupboards

Olli and Joonas hide in the same cleaning closet and they’re so close to each other and Olli is dying inside

Niko is hiding inside the sink cabinet but his pet rat is freaking out to the point it almost blows Niko’s cover, so he puts it outside. The troops shoot the rat (I’M SO SORRY)

(AT LEAST I DIDN’T GIVE THE RAT A NAME)

On to much more happy news: after spending the whole season 1 pining for Joonas, on season 2 Olli starts falling for Aleksi! And it’s mutual!! 🥰

But, umm….well, that’s where the happy news end, actually

In an armed conflict in another abandoned house, Olli is shot to his chest

He tells the others to leave him behind, because he’s dying

Aleksi is completely paralyzed, whereas Joonas simply refuses and tries to take Olli with them because he thinks he can still make it

Niko (who’s slowly falling for Joonas) is the one (along with Tommi) who gets them out of the house because goddammit Porko, we have to keep moving!

When Joonas sees the life leave Olli’s eyes, he lets himself be pulled away from him

When Niko finally gets everyone out the house, he returns to Olli (who’s still sitting up against the wall) to close his eyes and kiss his forehead as tears stream down Niko's face

I am so so so so sorry

Later that evening, they’re gathered by the fire on some stranded alleyway, with Joonas laying down with his head on Niko’s lap, sobbing his eyes out, while the rest are just staring at the fire with blank expressions

Damiano appears out of nowhere and Joel pulls him aside. Damiano senses that something is wrong and Joel tells him about Olli. Damiano comforts Joel as he cries against Damiano’s shoulder

At the very end of the series, Tommi is reunited with his family, Joonas and Niko start a life together, and Joel and Damiano agree that maybe they should do this again sometime

And Aleksi?

Well, first of all, I’m sorry once more

Because the last scene, THE VERY LAST SCENE of the series is Aleksi sitting by himself under a tree near a cliff, staring at the raging sea, wind blowing on his face

Then he sees Olli standing by the edge of the cliff

Aleksi can’t believe his eyes. He stands up and walks up to him

Olli smiles at him and they hug

Then they jump down together

[myheartisafish]

reading dear america books and rating them until i get bored (4/??)

Our fourth book in this journey is the second in publication order, The Winter of Red Snow: The Revolutionary War Diary of Abigail Jane Stewart by Kristina Gregory. We already know Kristina Gregory from my last review, the oregon trail diary. 

QUALITY rating: 4/10 George Washingtons. This book was teetering dangerously on the precipice of Straight-up-bad valley. I read half of it and then didn’t get around to the rest for about two months. 

DEAR AMERICA rating: I’ll be generous and give this one 8/10 Battlefield Surgeries. By no means did it reach the heights of Hattie Campbell, but there were some suitably gruesome moments, and plenty of death and sorrow.

THE CAST: 

Our main character is Abigail/Abby. She has two whole parents (who survive the whole book, shockingly!), two sisters (Elizabeth and Sally), and a little baby brother (Johnny).

There is also a GIRL BEST FRIEND (Lucy) and a MEAN BOY (Tom), and the usual random ensemble of neighbors etc.

Along the way we also meet various officials of the American Revolution like the Washingtons, Lafayette, etc. The book pretty much universally praises these people, especially George Washington. God DAMN does this book love George Washington. 

The book opens at the beginning of winter with the birth of baby Johnny, but they don’t give him a name at first because none of their other infant brothers survived their first winter. Bummer. 

Then the soldiers arrive! Hooray!!!! The girls rush out to watch the soldiers march in, and are soon horrified, because the soldiers have no shoes, and turn the snow red with their bloody feet (The ‘red snow’ our title foretold). I read this one as a child and this scene traumatized me. 

Then it’s Christmas. Hooray! Abby and fam make Egg Nog, and she graciously shares the recipe: 

One quart milk, one quart cream, one dozen eggs, 12 tablespoons sugar, one pint brandy, half-pint rye whiskey, quarter-pint rum, quarter-pint sherry. Mix. Store by cool window or in cellar.

That’s right, Abigail is endorsing that 11 year olds get absolutely krunk on egg nog. 

Abigail and fam visit the encampment. Papa says that there are women there with the soldiers too, but a lot of them are women... of Poor Reputation. Gosh!

Abigail tries to go to school, but it has been turned into a small pox hospital. Those poor soldiers!

Abigail and fam meet George Washington and his wife, who are great people. Seriously just so great. The best around. Abigail and fam get the job of doing laundry for George Washington.

Abigail witnesses a hanging. 

Two of their pigs are stolen- Papa knows it was by soldiers because of the blood in the footprints. Those poor soldiers! 

Abigail makes onion soup. 

Abigail goes to town and meets redcoats!!! She hates them because they are fat and greedy while those poor soldiers starve. Cool fatphobia, Abby. 

While they’re in town, GIRL BEST FRIEND Lucy sells her beautiful hair to a wigmaker for nine shillings, which are immediately stolen by soldiers because she hides them in her barn like a dumbass. Now she has no hair and no money. 

Abigail is invited to visit the soldiers with Mrs. Washington. Woohoo! She then meets a sick soldier whose feet are green and black. They go outside, and hear screaming, because the surgeon is cutting off his feet. Outside, Abby sees a trough of ‘firewood,’ which she soon realizes is not firewood, but human hands and feet. Those poor soldiers!

Abigail goes home and her sister Elizabeth, who also visited the soldiers a few days ago, relates a story of how she watched the surgeon saw off a man’s leg in front of her, but the bullet that the man was holding in his teeth slipped into his throat and he choked to death. Those poor soldiers!

We basically get a lot of Abigail’s chores and the poor soldiers stealing things and Mrs Washington being such a great lady. Also occasionally there’s a hanging, or a soldier is drummed out of camp for being a spy. 

We also get some progression on Lucy’s haircut plotline, when MEAN BOY Tom snatches her bonnet off her head and everyone sees her short hair. Her parents are so angry that they make her walk around without a bonnet so everyone can see what she did. Woohoo for public humiliation as a parenting strategy! 

Finally, something different happens! The kids are all playing on the frozen river, when there’s a sound like a shot and five boys fall through the ice and drown. They are all brothers, and one of them is MEAN BOY Tom. Abigail feels bad for not liking him, because he’s dead. But hey, at least their mom still has three living sons!

Lucy is so upset about her parents constantly enforcing public humiliation on her that she runs away. She tells Abigail where she went, but Abigail doesn’t write it in her diary because it’s a secret. Lucy’s parents feel bad for publicly humiliating her now that she’s gone. 

The wife of the soldier whose feet got cut off comes to stay with Abigail and fam because her husband died from infection after his surgery. Gee, and here I thought sawing off someone’s feet in a room full of smallpox without washing your hands was sanitary!

Her name is Mrs. Kent, and she shortly gives birth to a baby. Hooray! Nothing remarkable happens here.

Abigail visits the mass graves of the soldiers with Mrs. Washington (who is great). Those poor soldiers!

After several entries of Abigail refusing to tell us where Lucy went, we find out that she ran away to Philadelphia to stay with Abigail’s cousin. What a mystery!

More hangings. Those poor... Ugh!! I can’t take it anymore!! If I read the words ‘those poor soldiers!’ one more time I’m ripping this book in half like an elementary school assembly strongman show.

The army finally gets ready to leave. We learn that Mrs. Washington is a very wealthy woman, which makes it super cool that she’s so nice!! (Also she owns 300 slaves. This is not examined by the text. Don’t worry about it.)

Lucy learns that her hair was made into a wig that was bought by... Mrs. Washington!!!!! Hooray!!!!!! Isn’t Mrs. Washington great.

The army leaves. Thank god that’s the end of the book. 

The Epilogue

But wait, there’s more! How will we survive without knowing the fates of these made up people???

We learn that Abigail and Elizabeth both get married and have children, then move out west to Ohio. 

Abigail dies in 1823 at the age of 57, after being thrown from her horse.

Elizabeth and her husband die together when their house catches fire in 1825. 

The end!

Overall Death Rating: 10/10 

3,000 soldiers die over the winter so it’s a pretty large death toll.

Gruesomeness rating: 10/10

The battlefield surgeries and severed limbs are pretty gnarly. There’s also a nasty account of smallpox inoculations. 

[pixel-bloom]

CHARACTER INSPIRATION | CHALLENGE

Rules: Write up a blurb or make a visual collage of the people or characters (from books, TV shows, movies, etc.) that inspired your OC, either visually, personality wise, or just a general vibe.

UM I spent like 2 days on this because I kept changing things around, but here it is!!! Thank you so much @natolesims for tagging me 💖 I LOVE stuff like this. I did my generation 5 heirs (yes I said heirs) and their other halves. Deeper dive is under the cut if you’re interested (it’s long, warning!).

I tag: @ashubii, @zosa95, @queenofmyshuno, @spannersims, @void-imp, @samssims, @nectar-cellar, and @mosneakers~

Gnat

Alina: Headstrong with a bit of awkwardness, Gnat is not afraid to make waves and challenge others. Like Alina, she’ll fight for those who she loves and she has a strong moral compass.

Phoenix: Both are extremely dorky, but somehow incredibly competent. They have a strong sense of what is right and wrong, and a little bit of naivety. That optimism in people can get them in trouble though. Also, they love arguing, heh.

Elle: Intelligent, popular, beautiful, and stubborn. What more can I say? Both of them have a lot of drive, and will do things out of spite constantly! Who knew spite was such a huge motivator towards success? The more and more I look @ this, the more and more I think Gnat should be an attorney.

Peggy: Oh Peggy. Started out so naive and meek and in the end was the baddest bitch of the series. Gnat has high aspirations like Peggy and is willing to go through it all to get them. She’s also not afraid to butt heads against the many Mad Men in the world. 

Ladybug

Sophie: Ladybug is very insecure and is content to study her craft (painting vs hat making) instead of going out there and meeting people. She always has your back though and is brave enough to stand up to others! Maybe she just needs a push from a magician who eats girl’s hearts...

Juno: Sprinkle in a little naivety, sarcasm, edgy humor, and attitude and you have these two. They both hide a lot of their feelings and affection with harsh words and jokes too. They try to not take themselves too seriously, so they both can be perceived as a little immature sometimes.

Ramona: Manic pixie dream girl is basically 75% of Ladybug’s personality. She dresses the part, had funky hair at one point, and acts like she’s emotionally closed off. Btw, did you know people say Comic!Ramona is fat?! I never thought that but she’s kinda drawn “chubby”. Our girl LB is def bringing those chubby alt girl vibes <3

Marceline: Plays guitar/bass? Check. Awesome sense of style? Check. Prone to anger and loves to fight with others? Lots of checks. 

Max

Milo: Dude, when I first saw Max, I saw Milo. He’s partly the reason why Max is a librarian and into history. They also look exactly the same. I can’t unsee it! 

Peter Parker: Specifically Andy Garf. vibes~ He has that charming, but geeky look to him. He’s not afraid to dig deeper into things, even if they hurt him. He’s also a HUGE dork around girls, but somehow he always ends up with them anyway! Also I hate this but ~absence/missing parents~ is a common denominator. I’m sad now.

Dean: ARRRRT!!! If you don’t remember Dean, he was the best part of the Iron Giant. An artist with a heart of gold! He’s pretty laid back and him and Max share their passion for art. They’re also both into crafting, although Max prefers wood to metal.

Professor Jones: UM can I just say I prefer Indy as a prof? Max gives me HUGE professor vibes but he’s also kind of a himbo?? Like he’s super educated in certain topics but I feel like he’s also a bit oblivious in his personal life. Who knows, maybe he’s a secret adventurer like Indy as well. 

Theo

Bender: When I first saw Theo I thought about making him an edgy, bad boy like Bender. I knew that a) he had to smoke b) have a BAD attitude c) come from a toxic home. Wow, this is making me sad. My bad Theo.

Trent: Two words--lazy, mooch. Both Trent and Theo don’t have jobs (no plans to get one anytime soon) and spend most of their time sleeping/smoking. Laid back, carefree, zero judgements...ah. That’s the life of someone who has no direction lmao.

Boris: I have a confession. When I wanted to write Theo’s dialogue, I knew I wanted him to be ~mysterious~ I racked my brain on how to do so and at the time I was reading TGF. Boris is my FAVORITE FICTIONAL person. I decided to take two things from him--his accent and his history of traveling. They’re also both reckless, moody, overly confident, and a horrible influence. I love them for that <3

Sebastian: Both are always looking for something more, something better. They very non committal and are frequently in a bad mood. Once they warm up to you, they’re extremely loyal~

[jadoue1999]

Wanda and the life she deserved (she’ll make sure of it) Chapter 9

Summary:  This chapter is about Monica and why she wants to help Wanda so much. It also follows the post credit scene of episode 7 and a little of the finale.

Previous part: chapter 1,  chapter 2 , chapter 3, chapter 4, chapter 5, chapter 6, chapter 7, chapter 8, chapter 9, chapter 10, chapter 11, epilogue

Chapter 9: Rambeau

Ever since her talk with Wanda, Monica was even more determined to help the woman. She had had her own painful experience after finding out her mother had lived two more years, only for her cancer to come back. It had taken her multiple days to really accept that she could have had more time with her, had the blip not happened. Also, adjusting to a universe that was five years ahead of her had been a challenge. Everything was different, not only culturally or technologically, but even in spots she had thought untouchable. Her favorite shop her and her mom used to go to escape the everyday stress of life was now gone. The owners were blipped, they had come back to find an empty lot that once contained their whole life. Monica, not one to dwell too much, decided that it would be better to move. Her apartment only served as a reminder that her mother truly was gone. Maria had probably wandered the same walls trying to convince herself that her daughter would come back only to succumb without finding out she was right all along. So, she had changed town, one closer to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters, that way, she could concentrate on more assignments. She had tried going to therapy, the world had offered counseling for those who came back. Monica had found it unfortunate that no one seemed to consider that some needed more than just talking out their feelings. As much as she understood why they limited their service to this, the entire world was grieving after all, she just wished there were more options.

She had instead focused on getting herself back together and forming a new world for herself. She had tried socializing, but every conversation eventually ended up talking about lost opportunities and the grief people or their loved one had endured. She bought books of the latest invention and discovery, trying to understand the world who moved on without her. She had eventually settled her finances with the bank, her position at S.W.O.R.D. gave her priority over the everyday citizens. She was part of the lucky ones, her mother’s hope had kept her from claiming her life insurance, which made things a lot easier since she didn’t have to restart her life with a debt. While she wasn’t at peace with what happened to her mother, she decided to come back to her work. She couldn’t take the days alone, being assaulted by advertisements about fake opportunities offered by scam artists looking to make quick money on the web.

So, after three weeks of trying to adjust in a grieving world, she was back at S.W.O.R.D. headquarters. She was then assigned to the Westview anomaly which opened a whole new world of weird. Being mind controlled by Wanda had been one of the strangest things she had ever experienced. She was expected to hate her once she had been pulled out; but she couldn’t bring herself to. The avenger wasn’t doing this out of hate, but out of grief. She had felt her pain, one that was so similar to her own. The whole experience only made her more certain of her future: she had to help Wanda Maximoff.

...

That’s why even after being clearly shown that Wanda didn’t want her help, she decided to stick around. Agnes was definitely suspicious; she knew Wanda was grieving and seemed to want to keep it that way. Luckily, Wanda’s brother had intervened. That was another thing, who was he? He wasn’t on the resident board and he definitely wasn’t the real Pietro; she had seen the footage of Ultron. They didn’t even look similar. Yet Wanda seemed determined to keep him at her side and he seemed convinced that they truly were twins. She felt for the man, the mind control of the town definitely wasn’t a pleasant experience.

There were whispers of newcomers on the base the same day she, Jimmy and Darcy had been kicked out. She didn’t have time to learn much, but Hayward didn’t like them. Then again, he didn’t like most people that wasn’t directly on his team or that obeyed him without questions. Still, their arrival had ruffled some feathers, the identification process was made even more of a priority. She guessed that they were part of the many agencies that dealt with insurance and were trying to prepare for the storm of paperwork coming after the Hex would be brought down. As far as she knew, the counseling offered only covered the effect of the blip, not the after effect of being mind controlled by a grieving avenger.

After being pushed away, Monica wasn’t sure where to go. She walked around aimlessly; last time she was in town it was the 70s. Now, the advertisements were different, and everyone were dressed in the 2010s. She had to admit how impressive it was that Wanda was able to rewrite reality like that. She saw Herb, or John Collins, according to the citizen chart. He was watering his backyard and taking care of his garden, something he’d been a fan of even when she was part of the town. She didn’t see many other of the ‘main cast’, but she did see a few couples. Still no children, like Vision had pointed out on the last episode she saw on the base. The Halloween one didn’t count since she missed most of it trying to hide on her own base. After about half an hour, she decided that Wanda had probably calmed down. She had to talk to her again, she had begun to form a connection, she knew she could make Wanda see reason. She walked over to her house, but soon realized that nobody was there. Instead of going after her, she decided to investigate Agnes’ house. She looked through the windows, but not much was happening. The TV was on, but no one was watching it. She went in the back, perhaps she could find clues there. After watching through the windows and still not finding anything, she spotted a cellar.

She walked over and examined the door before opening it. She found what looked like vines that escalated the walls. She could see them glowing a deep purple, probably had something to do with her newfound powers. They seemed to give her the ability to see energy field that surrounded her. She was about to step inside when she felt a sudden gush of air.

“Snoopers gonna snoop,” came a voice next to her.

She gasped as she took in the person. It was the man who was cast at Pietro, only, he seemed off. Like he was doing something he didn’t want to. Before she could ask him anything, he grabbed her arm and the back of her neck. In a blur, they were in the house. Nausea suddenly hit, she grabbed onto a nearby table to stabilize herself.

“Give it a few minutes, it’ll pass,” reassured the man. “Happens with everyone.”

“W-who are you?” She asked once her head had stopped spinning.

“I’m Pietro, I thought you knew that?” She stared at him; something was strange about him. He seemed so kind, why would he help Agnes?

“That’s not what I mean,” she started. “It might be hard, but the mind control usually let you access a few memories of your true identity. You just need to concentrate.”

The man looked at her with a confused look. Seeing that she wasn’t getting anywhere, she tried running out of the room, but he stopped her only a few steps away from the window. He put a hand in front of him, with one finger, she was catapulted back onto the couch. The force of the impact knocked the breath out of her.

The man looked at Monica, “I’m sorry, I can’t let you out of here. T-the witch, whatever she is, she has my nephews. I have to keep you here or they get hurt.”

She smiled at his comment, relieved he wasn’t just another villain. “You truly care about them, don’t you?”

The man turned to look outside the empty street before answering, “of course, they’re family.”

“You truly can’t remember?” Monica looked at Pietro, who once again looked confused at her questions. “Nothing here is real, Wanda is giving everyone fake identity, giving them roles to fill. You’re no different.”

“What? Of course not, Wanda’s not like that.”

“Please, think about your life before Westview. Pietro Maximoff died; how can you be here if you were killed?”

“I-I,” He stammered. His confusion was a good sign, he was starting to wake up. He looked at her once again. “Look, I know my sister, she wouldn’t-“

Suddenly, his necklace glowed a scarlet red and his eyes glazed over. He looked disoriented for a second before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t let you out, my family’s lives are on the line.”

Monica didn’t react to what he said, she was all too focused on the necklace. What was it? It seemed to be controlling him, but what could the jewelry piece do that the Hex couldn’t?

She reached for it but stopped as the man backed off. Realizing how rude she was being, she cleared her throat, “may I?” Hesitantly, the man nodded yes. As she was about to touch it, it glowed red and sent a burning sensation through her hand. She gasped and put her hand in a fist, “I’m sorry, I can’t remove it. Do you remember when you got it?”

He seemed lost in thoughts for a moment before shaking his head, “I’ve just always had it.”

Monica had more questions but screams in the street made them both turn towards the window. Agnes was somehow floating in the air, holding both of the boys with a magical rope. She saw Pietro disappear, only to reappear a second later.

“I can’t get out, there’s a sort of barrier keeping me from leaving.”

She quickly got down the stairs, she was surprised he let her go, considering that his nephews’ life was on the line. She supposed the real threat compared to possible one was a good enough reason. She opened the front door, only to come crashing into a purple barrier. She put her hands on it, it felt strange, it was like... an energy field. She knew she could get rid of it, but she didn’t know how.

“So,” said Pietro, appearing beside her, “how to we get out? Considering we can’t even see the barrier.”

She pushed against it once again, the magic bending to the force but not letting them pass. “I can see it, but I don’t know how to break it.”

They both contemplated their options, but they couldn’t think of many. That is, until Pietro spoke up. “What... what if you synced your powers with the frequency of the barrier?” His eyes seemed slightly foggy, like he was remembering something from long ago. “You keep your hands there, and you concentrate as much as you can. You can match the strength, and slowly increase it until it becomes too much, and it breaks.”

She did as he told her, feeling her way through. Her fingers began to slightly vibrate, increasingly speeding up as her fingertips began to glow blue. After a few seconds, the barrier shattered, and they were free to go. She turned to the man, both surprised and excited that it had worked. “How did you know that would work?”

The man shrugged, “I think I did it once... on glass? Not sure but I definitely remember using this technique.”

She nodded and they ran to Wanda, Agnes, and the twins. The final battle was ready to begin.

...

Notes:  So, we are close to the end! I promise that we will be back to Wanda's point of view after this one, I simply thought more context on Monica couldn't hurt. Also, she doesn't remove the necklace, I figured that if someone had to remove it, in the context of my story at least, it has to be Wanda. Props to those who understood the days of future past reference! Thanks for reading, reviews are appreciated!

[nosebleedclub]

The Dark Suburb

((Posting again because the original post on June 11th, 2017 6:09pm is no longer available due to me deleting and re-making this blog.))

This is a compilation post of Nosebleed Club prompts from 2015-16 revolving around the concept of “the dark suburb.” 

Family Melodrama

something is wearing your mother

oh god his intestines strung up on the christmas tree

your dog’s body all over the house

banging on cellar doors

a creaking sound in your dead sister’s bedroom

warriors with spears and shields painted on the dining room ceiling of a violent family’s mansion

a woman in an expensive coat and an expensive car headed to her nephew’s funeral

coming home to a completely alien mother

getting a doberman on christmas morning that won’t let you leave the house

the reason your parents fled the city to live in the suburbs

summers in palermo where your father was looking for something

mother’s breakdown in the supermarket

the supernatural car you and your twin got for your 16th birthday

parents strangely and deeply interested in the boyfriend you brought home

a mom urging her son to quit basketball; she senses something is not right

all the holes - dozens of them - your mother dug in your backyard

grandparents hiding the reason your parents are away during your winter holiday break

your best friend doesn’t want to go to your house anymore

grandpa’s ghost followed us into the new house

dad hates her bc she killed her twin in the womb and then her mother

Do I Love You?

your boyfriend’s basketball shorts, his boy-aroma, his ghost between your legs when you watch the video of his last game

girls kissing in a gas station convenience store and a third recording them on snapchat

the boy you like drawing flowers on your ap biology practice test when you switch tests with him to grade

walking across a supermarket parking lot by yourself thinking of a boy you love

red mouth

girlfriend scrubbing the blood off her arms in the bathtub

in a tiny white house in florida, sitting on a beer-can-covered counter, legs spread apart, a boy between them

in a drug-induced haze i left home for his semi truck

he never fucked me without his ski mask on

a girl and a girl and claw marks on the door“don’t ever take me back”

The Occult

the incantation that annihilated a whole suburb

a body that drags other bodies into an oven

the witches gathering in the red lake

inhuman sacrifice

dogs gathered at the edge of town refusing to cross the boundary to the outside

a 10 year old girl with memories of a serial killing spree that occurred when her parents were children

white shirts hanging on branches all over the woods

the town of three-eyed children

arrows raining down on a soccer field

feeding time

mysterious scratch marks on your back

a fairy ring in the field where your sister disappeared

Crimes

just throw it in the back

snap!

we found the body but not the head

clearing in the forest where police found a blessed severed head

jar of baby teeth as evidence

children dressed as angels at the crime scene

seeing a face you thought you buried ten years ago at the supermarket

half a fraternity frozen under a lake

fbi agents rolling into a tiny town in appalachia

a severed arm among the hydrangeas

young men howling on the bridge one year after the murder

police cars prowling through your neighborhood, one after another - watching this from your bedroom window

Teen Dream

getting whipped by a towel in the locker room

best friend making the varsity tennis team

taking a shot of vodka in the bathroom after second period

boy gets a boner during gym class

“i’ll be like helicase i’ll unzip them genes (jeans)”

drunkenly reciting the quadratic equation

fear-mongering homecoming queen

track star died in a car accident

dead bodies photography club

“sorry i fucked up here’s some ice cream” “i’m lactose intolerant you douche”

article about demonic possession in the school newspaper

last pool party before summer ends & her hand on your thigh in your dad’s sports car

the first day back from summer vacation & someone in your friend group brings the whole #squad starbucks

a bonfire, lana del rey & drake blasting, the moon

weekend road trips to the ocean

walking around on the track alone, contemplating some philosophical concept you read about on tumblr the night before

coming out to someone completely random - a junior varsity basketball player

the last homecoming dance

lying on the track at your high school after sunset

getting picked up really early in the morning to go on a spontaneous weekend road trip

the sunday after the homecoming dance where you’re kinda tired kinda still energetic from the night before

inside a fast food restaurant drinking milkshakes eating fries until it closes

chill basement party where there’s white balloons gold confetti / glitter two girls who love each other kissing

sitting in the backseat your parents occupying the front of the car you look out the window you see the rural countryside crawl by

pool pizza party at night simple pleasures like that

on the bleachers during a powderpuff football game

sweating so much you might as well have been swimming it would be embarrassing but all the other boys are sweaty too

lost in the suburbs at like 5am and the world is still pale blue

lost in the city at 5pm the sun sinks its head behind skyscrapers

fights on the lawn of an all boys private school

applying makeup the morning after a breakup

huge friend group made up of oracles + boys’ swim team + legendary heroes + valedictorian

aesthetic blogging on a sunday afternoon just chillin in your bedroom

feeling like you could be something big if you work hard enough at it

getting psychoanalyzed by your teachers and parents and extended family

school bathroom pale blue tiles

a dream with damien hirst-esque elements

sleepover at your friend’s villa and you’re the only one awake

looking out at a black sea from your dead cousin’s bedroom window, seeing a light in the distance

funeral mass

chill that runs down your friends’ spines when you enter the classroom the morning after they tried to kill you

the sickness that spreads through the high school

sometimes i was a body in a dump sometimes i was a saint

he said he’d snapchat my burning body to all his friends

my body was evidence she was trying to get rid of

poison disguised as an eighteen year old

a world war between us

$$$

first: “super rich kids” by frank ocean

fast cars flecked with blood

girls who know you won’t be prosecuted if you’re young and rich and pretty enough

snapchat of a boy with red eyes and a glass of dom perignon with the text IS MY LIFE FUCKING REAL

snapchat of a girl’s dad’s black amex with the words MONEY CAN’T BUY HAPPINESS BUT IT GETS CLOSE

taking your middle-class friends out to nice restaurants but knowing they’re with you mainly for the money

“dude i know you’re only a year older than me but sometimes i think of you as my sugar daddy”

traveling to punta del este to find yourself but losing yourself instead

identifying heavily with the versace logo

an imperial bedroom and all one feels is the weight of all that empty space

“even my funeral has to be luxurious”

Hometown Visions

three dead owls on the side of the road

trees bare, houses barren

lanterns lit up on the dirt road at night

moths in a forgotten shed

a dusty old attic filled with dead rats and flies

seeing half your face in a splintered mirror. washing machine making dangerous sounds

midwest: watching a tornado funnel form from a window that won’t shut all the way

grass in the yard growing tall

girls carrying stray cats home

a cellar door swinging open and a man you never wanted to see ever again stepping through it, into the light

snake skins and insect carapaces organized on a torn mattress

a lovely place god abandoned

bat-filled house at the end of the street

a girl crawling out of a burning car

birds in jars

Hide & Seek

not being able to find anyone in a dark forest because they actually left you and it was just a cruel prank

person seeking you is something much worse than what you thought they were

being trapped in your hiding space & no one can find you no matter how loud you call for help

hiding in your friend’s house and finding evidence of a vile crime their parents committed

finding half of your friend

[rex101111]

For a glass of Cactus Wine

Summary: Migelo does both his duties at the fete, one to the Empire, and the other to his kids. 

Rating: T

Fandom: Final Fantasy XII

Well! Been a while since I wrote something substantial, but @sevi007 has been doing a live blog of this game, thus reminding me how much I love it, and so here’s a fic depicting the one missing scene in this game I really wanted to see, also to give Lizard dad the content he deserves. Enjoy!

Seeing Arcadian troops stomp in the halls of the Royal Palace made Migelo want to crawl right out of his hide. It’s been two years since those bastards in their tin plates stomped into his home and his city and still he could only barely keep his anger in check at how disrespectful the whole lot of them were.

Leaning on pillars built centuries past, wiping their feet on rugs that took months to weave, pointing and laughing like children at art that they would never understand the importance of. If he heard another one of these piss-drunk bureaucrats call one more thing in this palace “quaint” he’s going to use that same thing to break it over their heads.

Still, years of experience in burying his feelings and opinions about his costumers helped him plaster a smile on his snout. This was simply business, he was providing sundries and food for an event, like he’s done dozens and dozens of times over his long career.

“Watch that crate!” He yelled out to one of the servants, “it’s got wine in it, worth more than ten of your lifetimes! Handle it with a bit of care why don’t you?” The servant sheepishly apologized and asked for help from another servant as Migelo turned his gaze elsewhere, “dear girl, you’ll break your back like that!” He went to a maid and corrected her posture and how she held her tray of food, “there we go now, better?”

“Thanks Migelo.” The maid smiled gratefully, before her face turned sour, “these imperials get nasty when they’re drunk, they keep asking me to run back and forth for all sorts of nonsense.” She sighed harshly, “probably just want a peek up my skirt.”

“You let ol’ Migelo handle them, Meina.” He soothes, turning her to a different direction, “empty that tray and take a break for ten minutes, I’ll have someone else make sure they don’t notice you gone, yes?”

She went off with a smile and Migelo continued like that, his time cleaved cleanly between ordering servants this way and that soothing fraying nerves. This fete needed to go flawlessly, with the consul himself attending every hand on deck needed to give it their all and then some. If the pompous royal left this evening with a good opinion of his food, he might transfer said opinion to the rest of the city. If he did that, maybe his boys and girls could have more room to breathe.

He looked ruefully over the staff, some of the younger ones he’s known since they were children, helped them train for applying for work in the palace. Rabanastre was a small city, everyone knew everyone, and that only became stronger as the plague and the war ravaged the place. Seeing these kids, his kids, running around like cockatrices with their heads cut off for the sake of their invaders made a lick of fire burn in his gut, no matter how hard he tried to douse it.

Worse of all was that he knew he was delaying the inevitable, he had an invitation to answer soon, and the longer he ignored the worse things would get not only for himself, but everyone else living in Rabanastre.

He took a few long breathes, practiced his best servile smile in a nearby plate, pictured the smiling face of every single child under his care in his mind, and went off to sit at the right of the eldest living son of Emperor Gramis, Vayne Carudas Solidor.      

The consul was deep in debate with the others sitting at his table, something about tax rates and territory dispute that went right over Migelo’s head, but as soon as the old bangaa drew close enough, as if he could hear his footsteps over the rancor of the room, Vayne stopped talking and turned his head to meet his gaze.

“Ah, Sir Migelo, so nice of you to finally join me.” He motioned for one of the nearby soldiers to pull back the chair at his right side, “please, sit.”

With practice ease, and complaining stomach, Migelo bowed in apology, “I hope you would forgive me, Lord Consul, I had so many things to fix and move, my responsibilities nearly made me forget your most gracious offer.”

“Think nothing of it good Sir,” Vayne waved off easily, “We should all wish to have your work ethic Migelo, so we could accomplish our own work half as well.” Vayne complimented him smoothly as Migelo finally sat, the others at the table nodding sycophantically, before beginning to pour the store owner a glass of red wine. “But, let me remind you that I asked of you to refer to me by my first name.”

Taking the glass with all the grace he could manage, Migelo bowed his head again with an outwardly warm smile, “ah, forgive this old lizard sir consul, I still feel ill at ease referring to one of your station so informally.” The other reason was the only people he called by name were his friends and his kids, and Vayne is not, would never be, either. “Perhaps I’ll manage that better,” he made a show of laughing from his belly, “with a bit of fine Arcadian wine in my system, eh?”

“Of course.” Vayne’s sharp eyes and sharper smile made Migelo feel as if he were strapped to a table, “please, indulge as you please, we have all night after all.”

Nodding, Migelo started to drain his glass, and had to fight his gag reflex with every gulp. Arcadian wine made you feel like someone was trying to prove something to you, too rich, too fruity, too damn much. Seeing the people around him gulp this stuff down was aggravating as it was confusing, you could stuff as many flowers into a bottle of Slaven piss as you wanted, it was still a drink of cold piss.

Decades of honing his poker face in the interest of more returning costumers made sure none of that disgust was visible on his face of course, to any casual observer Migelo savored every drop of the expensive Slaven piss, finishing his glass with a pleasured sigh. “Ahh, what an excellent, uh, flavor profile! So full of life and character!” He turned to the consul with a toothy grin, “How’s about you give me another to loosen my tongue?”

“You are a man of great taste, Sir Migelo.” Vayne complimented, smiling thinly as he filled the offered cup before filling his own. “I’ve heard Dalmascans do not have a high opinion of my home’s signature brew.”

“Bah.” Migelo scoffed easily, “children with no experience on their tongues Lord Consul, nothing to be offended by.” He internally grits his teeth, he heard some of the younger men voice some of their very loud opinions about Arcadian wine in a place where a couple of soldiers could hear them. It ended well for absolutely no one, and he was only glad to make sure his kids didn’t see or hear it. “We Dalmascans are very proud of our own drinks, I think you would see it would make sense to be a bit defensive.” He took another gulp, “pardon m’candor, of course.”

“Indeed.” Vayne nodded, finishing his own glass, “and you have a great many things to be proud of, I’ve heard a fair share of good things about Dalmascan cactus wine.” He looked at Migelo with a gaze that made his scales itch, “have you tried it before?”

He was almost insulted the man had to ask, “o’course I did lord consul!” He tried to be casual about it, but a bit of hometown pride seemed to seep in every other word, “Cactus Wine is easy to brew in large amounts, made from Cactoid fruit and the sands are absolutely littered with the little buggers, it’s what you order when you have something to celebrate or as a victory drink.” Migelo could go for an entire barrel of it right now. “It’s a…simple drink. Simple but hearty.”

Vayne nodded politely as the bangaa went on, before he took the bottle of his expensive wine and looked at it quietly, “…I suppose there hasn’t been much call for it, lately.”

Migelo nearly swallowed his tongue, for all his talk of taking in all of Dalmasca’s hatred onto himself, the consul seemed adept at choosing words to inspire said hatred. “Y-No, Lord Consul, not a lot to celebrate.” He quickly recovered, smiling again as he waved his glass about, “b-but fret not! Us Dalmascans find reason to celebrate no matter the weather! You’ll have your taste of cactus wine before long don’t you worry!”

“Why wait my friend?” Vayne said smoothly, Migelo barely exerting the restraint he needed to stop himself from cursing the consul out on considering himself something he is not, “I have found myself a few bottles for this grand occasion.”

Migelo was stopped short, he had double checked every scrap of food and drink meant for this fete, triple checking the alcohol in particular, and he was sure there wasn’t a drop of cactus wine in the whole palace, he figured the imperials wouldn’t want to touch the stuff. “Y-you did? F-from where lord consul?”

“From the palace cellars of course.” He replied, motioning with his hand to another maid, Kayta if Migelo remembers right, who held a very familiar clay jug in her hands. “If one kind of wine isn’t enough to call me friend, perhaps two would suffice.”

Migelo held Kayta’s conflicted gaze for a moment, before he turned to Vayne with a doubtful expression, “the cellars my lord? Those haven’t been disturbed since the war ended! Who knows what kind of vermin have found their way to the stores?”

“I had my men carefully inspect each bottle.” Vayne assured, which only made Migelo more ill thinking about what Imperial soldiers considered inspecting. “Please, do not be reticent, I find myself curious what a man of your expertise has to say about the difference between one wine and the other.”

Kayta poured Migelo a glass with a sorrowful expression, Migelo soothing the girl as best he could with a smile only she could see, and the bangaa took a long whiff of the drink, before slowly draining his glass.

Cactus wine was sweet, almost sweet enough you could give it to a child without them puffing their little face. Its taste was subtle, airy, doing nothing more than what a wine ought to do and made your face and belly warm. It was cheap drink, cheap enough that working folk could indulge in it without endangering their pay over-much.

It was Dalmasca to the last drop, warm and honest.

“So, sir Migelo?” Vayne inquired when the bangaa finished and had not said a word, “how is your home’s brew compared to mine?”

He was quiet for a few more moments before he turned to the consul, “I must admit to having a bias sir.” He put the glass back down on the table gently, reaching over to grab a grape nearby to soak some of the alcohol in his system, “I’ve been drinking cactus wine since I was a whelp, y’see, it’s a drink for the heart as much for the stomach nowadays.”

Vayne chuckled good naturedly, “well, now you have me curious.” He picked up his own glass and motioned for Kayta to fill it, the girl nearly tripping over herself to bow as she poured without spilling it on him. He took a careful sip…and stopped, an emotion Migelo could not name fliting across his face. “…it tastes…” The consul was quiet for a moment, the rest of the table perfectly silent to await his judgment, “…honest.”

Migelo released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, allowing himself the tiniest amount of pride as he looked at Vayne, “Dalmasca knows no other way, Lord Consul.”

“Pritas.” Vayne looked at one of the people sitting at the table, some peacock in a stuffy red shirt with a pencil moustache, “you should try it, I am certain people in Archades would flock to try this, exotic yet gentle on the tongue.”

Pritas hurriedly motioned for Kayta to pour him a glass, and no sooner than he had a drop of it he was nodding enthusiastically, “y-yes Lord Vayne! You are absolutely correct; everyone will want a bottle of this for any price!”

Migelo, despite his mood and the alcohol in his system, found himself smiling at the sound of it, feeling someone patting his shoulder. “Migelo, after the fete be sure to grant Pritas here the information for whoever you get your cactus wine from, they’ll find more business than ever.”

Migelo could picture the family of brewers in his head, nearly jumping for joy at the chance that fell into their laps, a contract to sell cactus wine halfway across Ivalice. He then imagined their faces when he told them to which half of Ivalice the wine would go. He imagines the shock, the outrage, the sorrow.

He imagines the table with one more chair then they needed, the extra gathering dust for two years now.

“Yes, Lord Consul.” He said as calmly as he could manage, looking into the face of a man whose night has gone exactly as he had planned, down to the last detail, painting a smiling on his snout. “Thank you for this opportunity, I’m sure they’ll see this as a chance to build their life back up to how it was…” He could feel his lips curling over his teeth. “…before the war, that is.”

Vayne’s face drew downwards slightly, an almost robotic motion, “yes, the war has devastated both sides long enough,” He squeezed the shoulder he was holding, in a move meant to be reassuring, “it is past time we helped each other back onto our feet.”

Vaan crying into his shoulder, cursing and yelling and screaming every curse he knew. Penelo holding him tightly as she sobbed. Fire in the sky, visible from his window.

His home, under siege and under iron boots.

Migelo bit his tongue, brought to mind every orphan he and Old Dalan have struggled to keep fed and working and warm, and managed an impossible smile, “yes…way past time…Lord Consul.”

Vayne shook his head with a fond smile, and poured Migelo another cup of Arcadian wine. Migelo drained it without tasting a drop.

(Not long after, barely an hour after, he sees his boy in chains and his girl crying for his freedom, and all the wine in his veins is cold and freezing.  

As they dragged his boy away, as his girl fell into the arms of Kayta as she sobbed, Vayne Carudas Solidor came to him, smiled, and clapped his shoulder.)  

[thewhumperinwhite]

The Kennelmaster's Boy (Part 1)

@marseny since you asked so nicely 😌 here's What I Did To Andry. This is several years prior to the events of WKW. I suspect this little flashback will be three parts.

TW for: parental abuse.

Also: Andry worries about it, but you don't have to: no dogs are harmed in this piece.

----

The first time, Andry really does sneak down only to see the puppies.

Sometimes people tell him that as a Prince, he should have no need to sneak anywhere. And it is true that no part of the palace is expressly forbidden him, except for the Lady's Mouth in the courtyard, where he would be frightened to go anyway. And no one in the castle has the authority to send him away from wherever he wants to be, with one obvious exception.

But Andry sneaks lots of places—to the kitchens to beg treats for Asher, or the Salle d'Armes to train on his own when his fencing lessons are done. It feels better, safer, to go unseen in the castle where he's lived all his life, every once in a while. Otherwise, he can't ever be sure who will tell his father where he's been, out of malice or ignorance. And he can't ever tell what will make his father angry, if he does hear of it. An excursion that earns him nothing but a roll of the Lion's eyes this week might get him boxed ears or worse the next. Better to go quietly, if he's at all unsure.

Truth be told, he isn't unsure about this one. The King has made it very clear that he doesn't want Andry near the Royal Hounds, anywhere but on a hunt. "I don't keep lady's lap dogs, boy," the Lion has told him, more than once. (The last time his fist was tangled in Andry's hair and he shook him by it, hard.) "I catch you coddling them again, I'll toss you in the kennels with a roast around your neck, and see how softly you can stroke them then."

But Brunie's been huge and sluggish with the weight of a huge litter for weeks, now, and Andry wants to see if she had the puppies alright. So he tucks his long gold braid under the collar of his plainest tunic, and creeps down the servants' stairs to the kennels.

Brunie thumps her tail tiredly on the straw-littered floor when she sees him, her belly clustered with a dozen fat gray puppies, crawling over each other to reach her milk, occasionally toppling over as though unsure what to do with their chubby little limbs.

Bombur is sitting next to her, looking very pleased with himself, and Andry can't resist reaching into the pen to scratch behind the wolfhound's silky ears.

"You had the easier job, old boy," he says softly, while Bombur rolls his big dark eyes back blissfully and lifts his chin for scratches. "No need to be smug."

At this moment one of the pups, belly full of milk, tumbles and lands in a heap at Bombur's feet, and Bombur lowers his head and noses the pup closer to the bars, looking up at Andry expectantly.

Andry should be getting back, now. But Bomber pants and wags his tail, and the little pup blinks sleepily at the uncomprehensible world around it, small and round and unafraid, and Andry relents, and bends to scoop it carefully up, tucking its warm weight in the crook of his arm and stroking its velvety head with the one finger and the utmost gentleness.

The puppy yawns enormously and immediately rests its tiny head on Andry's arm and goes to sleep. Bombur pants up at him, looking pleased and softly foolish, as though Andry the Lion's Son is as easily trusted as anyone else, and Andry is blinking embarrassed tears out of his eyes by the time he hears the sudden voice behind him.

"Hell are you doing in here?" the voice says. There's no real rancor in it, but Andry still spins on his heal, cradling the puppy against his now-pounding heart, with a nonsensical instinct to shield it against the intruder, who almost certainly belongs here far more than Andry does.

A boy is standing in the doorway to the cellar proper, paused in the act of propping an old straw broom against the wall, surveying Andry with curious dark eyes, below a mop of dark hair cut in a working-man's short crop. He can't be more than a few years older than Andry, though he is several inches taller.

His homespun tunic doesn't cover his arms, and Andry can see that they're corded through with wiry muscle. Andry feels his own face suddenly heat up, though he isn't sure why.

The boy puts his long-fingered hands on his hips and—almost smiles at Andry. "Well," he says. "I was about to holler for the Master, but you must be someone, for Old Lord Bombur to watch you holdin' his pup without a show of teeth." Andry looks dumbly down at the wolfhound, who is still wagging his tail, the new boy apparently included in his good mood. "Who are ye, then, boy?"

Andry stares, stupidly. The puppy in his hands makes a grumpy little huff, hurt that he's stopped scratching its head, but Andry's hands have gone entirely numb and won't respond to his commands.

"I," Andry says, his voice crackly and too high. "Um," he says, and that seems to be all he can manage now.

"...right," the boy says, and he takes a step forward; Andry, entirely without meaning to, takes a matching step back, his hand still curled protectively around the wolfhound pup.

Bombur stands, and snaps his teeth once, to warn Andry to stop backing away with his puppy. The boy raises his dark brows, presumably for a similar reason.

"You're not—stealing one of the King's Hounds, are you?" the boy says, but his tone makes it clear that he doesn't believe that Andry is capable of making off with the pup.

Andry lifts his chin, feeling obscurely offended. "What if I was?" he says, feeling stupid as he said it; he should be glad not to be thought a thief, he should be putting the pup down and making his exit, he should be being as unmemorable as possible.

The boy grins, and steps closer again, and Andry realizes (with muffled horror) that he doesn't want to be unmemorable.

"I'd stop you, obviously," the boy says, and he steps easily into Andry's space—Andry lets him, feeling sweaty—and lifts the puppy easily out of Andry's relaxing fingers.

The boy sets the pup neatly back in the pen, where Bombur sniffs it loudly to make sure nothing's amiss. The boy does not step away from where he's standing, really quite close to Andry.

"What's your name?" the boy asks him. He's properly smirking now, his voice teasing and inviting, and looking Andry right in the face—like it's a face he doesn't know, but likes.

Andry stares up at the boy. He wants—to lie, or more than that, to change, to say a different name and have it be the truth. But that isn't how it works, and suddenly Andry has forgotten every name except his own.

So instead he turns on his heel and runs.

Andry can't sleep that night, too busy making lists of names to give in place of his own. He's thought of and rejected almost fifty different names before he even realizes he's decided to go back.

----

The Kennel Boy's name is Marten, and he's been the kennelmaster's apprentice for nearly three months. He thinks Andry is a lesser Noble's son named Aiden, and also, an idiot.

Andry hates looking stupid, normally. He more than hates it—it frightens him. He hates to do things wrong, even in front of people who won't hit him for it.

But on his third or fourth visit, when Marten insists he's holding one of the puppies wrong, the older boy pushes into Andry's space, rearranged Andry's hands with his own warm calloused fingers. Marten sees Andry's answering blush, and laughs, but doesn't move back.

Andry holds the puppies wrong on purpose. Never in a way that would hurt them—he's very careful; always just barely wrong enough. He offers to help sweep the kennels clean on the next trip, and misses large swaths of dirty straw, until Marten puts his hands on his hips and asks him if he's ever held a broom in his life.

"Maybe you should show me how," Andry says, cheeks burning with his own boldness, and Marten grins, transparently pleased, and does.

It can't last, of course. Andry stands on the balcony, almost a month later, still and straight beside his father, and sees Marten's face in the crowd—pale with shock and then looking away, half-running from the courtyard.

Andry knew he was doing wrong, a little, from the beginning; Marten's easy smile always made the lies sit heavy in his stomach. But he is still surprised at the force of Marten's anger when he learns that Andry is the Lion's son.

"You lied to me," he says, in a voice that shakes, his warm calloused hands in fists at his sides. "How could you, how could you not tell me you were—you liar!" The dogs shift in their pens at Marten's raised voice, and he squeezes his eyes shut, turns and will not look Andry in the eyes. "Get out," he says.

Andry reaches for him, wants to turn him around, wants to pull the boy's hands open and twine their fingers together, wants, wants things he doesn't even have words for yet.

"Get out!" Marten yells at him, and Andry takes to his heels again, tears in his eyes.

----

Andry stays away. If there are tears shed in the privacy of his bedroom, that is his own business; Asher kindly keeps his mouth shut, let's Andry hide his whimpers under his sheets and doesn't remark on his red and puffy eyes in the mornings. Andry is a Prince, and while he sometimes sneaks, he will not beg.

He doesn't need to. He wipes sweat from his eyes in the sparring ring by the guard barracks and when he looks Marten is there, leaning against the ring's fence and watching him with wary eyes.

"You hold a sword a lot better than a broom, Your Highness," Marten says. His voice is carefully neutral. He's standing only a few feet away, and the farthest from Andry he's ever been. "Come on," Marten says after a moment, his voice a fraction softer. "Old Bombur keeps on howling; no one babies him like you do." He meets Andry's eyes, nervous and angry and sorry, and Andry crosses the ring to stand before him, unable to do anything else. "Come back to him, why don't you."

Andry does not spoil the moment with tears; only follows Marten back down to the kennels. Marten lets him hold the broom again, and the next day when he calls Andry "Your Highness," he smiles, like it's a joke and not a curse.

Andry has never been more relieved; too grateful, really, to think clearly. When Marten asks, the following month, if there is space in the Lion's retinue, and when they next go out on a hunt, and who will handle the Hounds, Andry does not notice the boy fails to meet his eyes.

[the-great-bbe]

Ready or Not!

Rhaenys crawls under her father’s bed. Mama was quite clear: they were playing hide and seek, and Rhaenys needed to hide her best from all the men looking for her. She stifles a giggle into her little hands. After the count of ten—ready or not, here they come!

or a quick little fanfic, about our favorite game of hide and seek :)

Lyrics of “The Hide and Seek Song” copyright by Headquarters Music.

Who wants to play a game? It’s time for hide and seek!

--

Mama kisses Rhaenys’s forehead. Egg sleeps in his cradle, despite all the noise coming from outside. It sounds scary out there, but Rhaenys is safe with Mama and Egg. Mama will never let anything bad happen to her, not even the nightmares that scare Rhaenys in the middle of the night.

“Let’s play a game, my sweet.” Mama’s hands are shaking, and her voice is high pitched. But everything must be fine, because they’re going to play a game. And not just any game, but hide and seek! “Listen carefully. Many men will try and find us, but we can’t be found by anyone. When the game is over, I’ll come get you myself, do you understand? You must hide very well, not even Balerion can find you.”

Rhaenys nods. “I’m good at this game, Mama! I’ll hide forever and ever and then we’ll have honey cakes after dinner.” Maybe if Rhaenys hides the best she can, Mama will let her have two entire honey cakes!

Mama kisses her again, and hugs her so tight that Rhaenys squeaks against her shoulder. “My little sunshine, I love you so much. Now hide. Hide!”

Rhaenys scurries off. Mama is really worried even if she didn’t say so. This game must be very important—perhaps Grandfather is playing too, even though he never plays games. So where should she hide? Maybe behind the barrels in the wine cellar, or in the gardens? No, beneath Papa’s bed! No one ever goes in his room anymore, and the space is so small that only she and Balerion can fit!

She tiptoes up the stairs, and closes the bedroom door so that it’s almost shut but not entirely. Closed doors are more suspicious in hide and seek, after all. Then she tucks herself beneath the bed, and arranges the heavy bedspread so that it’s not wrinkled. Rhaenys shimmies to the very edge of where the bedframe meets the wall, and waits.

She waits, and waits. She almost wants to go back and ask Mama for how long they’re supposed to play, and how many players. But instead she wiggles with anticipation. Mama was quite clear: they were playing hide and seek, and Rhaenys needed to hide her best from all the men looking for her. And Rhaenys is the very best at hiding! She stifles a giggle into her little hands. After the count of ten, or maybe a hundred—ready or not, here they come!

Rhaenys spies a shadow by the almost-closed door, and holds her breath.

-- Run, run, run! Time to run and hide!

Run, run, run! And now I’m going to find you, scurry off into the darkness.

Hurry, I’m behind you!

Don’t you speak! Hide and seek!

--

“Myrcella! Myrcella, where are you?”

Myrcella bites her lip. Joffrey is no good at being a seeker, he gets too angry and starts shouting for her and the servant children. And of course the servants come out, and Joffrey is so mean when he catches someone! But not Myrcella—she is the very best at this game, and she would rather fall asleep beneath this dusty old bed than let Joffrey win.

Mother tells her to let Joffrey win, to keep him from throwing a tantrum, but Uncle Tyrion says that it’s good for even the Crown Prince to be told no every now and then. She sniffles. One of the serving girls showed her this hiding spot, saying that no one ever looks under here since it’s so deep in Maegoir’s Holdfast and who can fit beneath a bed anyway?

Why does the Hand even have this room—maybe this is where Lady Lysa is supposed to sleep, instead of in Lord Littlefinger’s rooms. Myrcella isn’t supposed to know about that, of course. But she knows a lot. She knows that Joffrey isn’t going to be a very good king, and that Mother and Father should’ve never married, and that the mean old black cat Tommen wants to catch had another owner before. Myrcella heard Uncle Jaime speak about him once, and the person who owned the cat before. Uncle Jaime says many things about before Myrcella was born, but only when he is drunk and sad.

She twists a bit of string around her string until her finger turns purple. By now Joffrey must have found Sweetrobin and Tommen. She hopes that Sweetrobin cried and punched Joffrey in the nose. He gets to hit Joffrey without getting in trouble, since his father is the Hand. Myrcella is just a girl though, and must be a sweet little lady who lets Joffrey do whatever he wants. Last time she complained to him about cheating in games, he bit her ear. Mother wiped her tears and told her to bear it with a smile. Myrcella stopped complaining after that, but it still burns in her stomach.

Father says he won’t be like this forever, at least. Myrcella hopes so. She imagines him fully grown, but still the same way, and instead of twisting her arm he twists her neck. Just like Tommen’s kitten that bit him once. Joffrey let the poor little creature under Tommen’s bed, and Tommen screamed about monsters for weeks afterward. She sighs. There aren’t any monsters here that Myrcella doesn’t already know.

Myrcella hears footsteps down the corridor and holds her breath. Oh, if Joffrey finds her, he’ll tug at her hair and scratch at her arms! He’ll be so horrible, he always is! She’d rather die than be found by him!

--

Tiptoe through the cellar or crawl under your bed.

Anywhere you’ve fled, I am going to find you!

Stay inside the shadows, all you girls and boys.

Don’t you make noise, or I am going to find you!

--

“Are you afraid?” Myriame asks Arya, but she shakes her head. She refuses to be afraid. Not now, when they’re still hiding from the men who took Father away and locked Sansa in her room.

She shivers and Myriame pats her arm. She’s one of the serving girls—Arya heard Father call them Lord Varys’s little birds, once. Before everything went so wrong. But when Father was taken, a group of serving girls took Arya by the arm and hid with her in an alcove. They cut her hair, they dirtied her face, they shredded her fine dress and pinned a dirty pinafore to her shoulders. No more Arya Stark, just Nan. Nan, amongst Myriame, and Celia, and Delight, and Sera. Just another serving girl hiding behind curtains, nor beneath the bed.

“It will be alright,” Myriame whispers. “The only ones who go down here are us. Everyone else gets caught like Princess Myrcella. Those men won’t ever get us.”

Arya shivers. No one speaks of Princess Myrcella and how she disappeared without a trace. Did bad men steal her away like Father and Sansa? She dares to ask, “How do you know?”

But then their breath because there’s men outside their room. Their voices are harsh and drip with ill intent. One of them calls Sansa a whore and Arya wants to stab his eyes out with Needle. But then they enter the room and she squeezes her eyes shut and holds her hands over her nose and mouth. They can’t find her. They can’t! They’ll take her away from Father and Sansa, and who knows what they’ll do to Myriame!

There are four beds in this room, a servants’ dorm. Arya dares to peek. They check beneath one bed. Then another. One of the men cackles, “I can smell you, little girl! Where are you hiding?”

Neither of them dare to breathe. The man says in a high pitched mockery voice, “Ready or not, here I come!”

Arya burrows into Myriame’s side and waits to die. There is noise, yelling, shouting, terrible noise. Then there is heavy silence, only broken by Myriame’s breaths. Arya doesn’t dare open her eyes. Not for a second.

Myriame murmurs again that it will be alright, but Arya keeps her eyes firmly shut, counting the seconds.

--

Run, run, run! Creep up on my grave!

Run, run, run! Stalk the night away!

Scuttle off into the night! But what’ll be behind you?

Don’t you speak! Hide and seek!

--

Tywin barricades the doors shut in his wrath. How do two grown knights go missing in daylight?! And not just any knights, but his own—he needs Gregor Clegane’s bloodlust to scour the Riverlands, like a beast on a leash. And Amory Lorch is slime suited for the most unsavory tasks that Tywin cannot do. But they are gone, disappeared without a trace.

Just like his granddaughter Myrcella.

He sheaves himself onto his chair and pours himself a goblet from a blood red decanter. Years have passed, and still Cersei blames the Dornish. But even Tywin can’t point the finger at them, as there is no evidence at all. Myrcella simply played hide and seek one day, and was never found. Most likely some depraved monster of a servant took the girl for his own desires and threw her into the Blackwater, a fate entirely underserved for anyone of House Lannister. The fact that the girl was too sweet to harm a fly just makes the wound sting greater. Without her calming influence, Joffrey is an unhinged little bastard, and Tommen a spineless fool. What is Cersei teaching her children?

Not to mention she’s let both Stark girls escape! First Arya in the chaos after Eddard Stark’s arrest, then Sansa from a barricaded room! Last Tywin heard, they were both back in their mother’s custody at Riverrun. And Robb Stark is proving himself to be a wolf on the battlefield—he’ll have to deal with the boy himself. If he can stop him from overtaking the Riverlands and spilling into the Westerlands! Tywin could gouge his daughter’s eyes out for her folly. They will never get Jaime back, now that they’ve lost their bargaining chips!

Tywin hears footsteps lead up to his door and barks, “I am to be undisturbed!” He doesn’t hear them head back down the stairwell, and he growls to himself. Idiots, he is surrounded by idiots! He stalks to the door and swings open the door.

There is no one there. He blinks, then closes it. He turns back towards his chair, and the window is open. Cold sweat beads at his brow. He never opened that window, and yet the curtains blow in the wind.

A princess and two knights go missing in broad daylight without a trace. This must be the work of faceless Men from Braavos, paid to…to what? Myrcella is an obvious target, if less obvious than Joffrey or Tommen. But why Clegane and Lorch? Perhaps this is a Dornish ploy, as revenge for Princess Elia and her children—

Something falls over in his adjoined privy and Tywin swears he hears footsteps come up the stairwell once more. He steals into his bedroom without so much as a whisper, as one breath. He must hide. The wardrobe’s doors are swinging in the breeze. The Faceless Man will hear him close them, surely. But where else? His heart pounds in his temples and his vision swims. By the gods, are they already inside the room?

He looks down. It is insulting, but his only choice. Tywin squeezes himself beneath his bed and pushes himself towards the wall. The walls themselves are hollow, to allow the servants to attend without disturbing his betters. If he can find the trapdoor without alerting the assassin, he can survive this.

He is Tywin Lannister, the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. He will not die here! He holds his breath, and wills his numb hands to stop shaking.

--

Like a frog inside a skillet, a lobster in a pan.

You don’t understand that I am going to find you!

Be still as a mountain and quiet as a mouse, ‘cause any little sound,

And I will surely find you!

--

Joffrey is dead. Joffrey is dead! And the castle isn’t safe! Tommen scurries into an abandoned room deep in Maegor’s Holdfast. There’s just a trundle bed in the corner, boxes piled on top of each other in the center, and dust coating everything. Once, Myrcella showed him this room while playing hide and seek—but that was when she was still here. Even years later, no one understands what happened to her, or to Gregor Clegane, or Amory Lorch, or to Grandfather. Mother blames the wicked Dornish. Joffrey blames evil Northmen magic. But Tommen knows, he knows that it’s the monsters. He has seen them in the night! They are in the walls! They are beneath the beds!

Tommen told Margaery to run before he fled the wedding feast. He hopes she survives. But he can’t think of more than finding his hiding place. He’ll never make it out of the castle, not with the smallfolk starving and so angry at them. He’ll sneak out at night, before the monster goes feeding. And then he’ll head…somewhere. Anywhere but here!

Try as he might, Joffrey haunts his steps. His bloated purple face, the bile and blood spilling down his chin to pool in Mother’s lap. Mother screamed and screamed when he died, like the day when they couldn’t find Myrcella or Father. The monsters must have killed him too, like everything else in this castle. And now he is alone!

Tommen shrieks, and claws at his hair. He can’t breathe! They can hear him! They can smell him! He is next!

He crouches down on the bed in the corner. He wills himself to breathe but he’s too afraid. Joffrey is dead! Myrcella is dead! Grandfather is dead! Will they ever find his body?! Tommen chokes on his sobs and his entire chest aches. He hurts. It hurts. The fear, it hurts, make it stop—

He collapses to the ground. He writhes, and scoots beneath the bed, and muffles his screams into the dust and the dark.

--

Tick—tick—tock, are you ready or not?

Tick—tick—tock, listen to the clock!

Hasten off into the black, don’t waste another heartbeat,

Don’t you peek! Hide and seek!

--

Dragons roar from over Kings Landing, and Cersei sobs into her hands. She should be on the Iron Throne to meet the usurpers, but then they burned her Kingsguard at the gates and—and she panicked. She ran, and hid beneath a servant’s bed.

King Aegon Targaryen the Sixth, come back from the dead! With silver-gold hair and bronze skin and indigo eyes, thirty thousand Dornish spears at his back and that miserable little chit Shireen Baratheon as a bride with the Stormlands as her dowry! And Daenerys Stormborn, Queen Beyond the Sea, come to help her nephew claim his throne with their shared dragons! They each ride one, with one reserved for the sister that Lannister men murdered along with godsdamned Elia Martell! Cersei could scream, but then they’d find her.

She must escape.

If she makes her way back to Casterly Rock, then she shall be saved. No dragon can defeat the heart of the Westerlands! Cersei can still salvage this, even with all her family dead and her dreams scattered to ashes in her throat—

At least there is no valonqar. The prophecy took her children from her, but her neck is still her own.

At least she got to hold Joffrey as he died. Myrcella and Tommen had no bodies to bury. He was her first, and her last, and she prays that he found his siblings from wherever those wretched monsters stole them away.

Muffled footsteps creep from beyond the corridor and Cersei can’t breathe. A servant? A Dornish spear? A Dothraki? Daenerys? Aegon? A monster?

Bare feet enter the room, splattered with dirt and blood. One of Varys’s little birds? They skip to the edge of the bed, and a sweet voice rings out, “Found you!”

Swift as night and brutal as the Blackwater, a hand reaches under and grips Cersei by the hair. She screams as she is dragged out, and then she can’t scream because hands are at her throat and twisting—

--

Let the countdown begin!

10! 9! 8! 7! 6! 5! 4! 3! 2! 1!

--

Rhaenys peeks out from behind the door. All is still and silent. Not even the flies are buzzing. She stifles a giggle into her hands. Aegon raises an eyebrow, and she explains, “Everyone always hides under the bed. A child’s mistake, it can be forgiven with time and wisdom.”

He shakes his head, before resting his chin on her head. “You’ll never need to hide beneath the bed again, I swear it.”

“I know.” She trusts her brother. She loved him before he could even remember her face, of course she trusts him. Him, and their aunt Daenerys, and their family in Dorne, and all her friends hiding in the walls—Rhaenys shall never be alone again.

Her family are in the throne room, and she shouldn’t keep them waiting. How happy they will be to see her! How happy she will be to see them! The weight of years of hiding bows her shoulders. It is time for her to stop hiding, stop seeking, stop this game and take her place in Aegon’s circle. He will be so proud to see how she’s survived. Mama would be proud. But Rhaenys…well, old habits die hard.

She shimmies beneath the bed and pulls Aegon down with her. He laughs and she lets the shadows become her. Just once more. Once more, the darkness becomes her. Rhaenys bares her teeth in a grin. What better tool for a new king than a monster who knows where everyone hides? Aegon survived the last game between them, and she’ll keep it that way.

She tells Aegon to count to ten, and he holds his breath.

A clock ticks somewhere.

There are many who covet the throne. And the countdown begins anew.

--

Ready or not, here I come!