#i told him not to and its been too long for takes backsies

[sfucked]

Theres this really shitty cycle and it goes:

get upset over being lonely -> worry that not asking for help is selfish -> be upset bc my uncommunicated needs are unmet -> worry that im manipulative for failing to communicate -> somehow know im overreacting -> feel worse about failing to communicate -> get upset over being upset that I cant communicate -> feel guilty for being upset at something I caused -> feel lonely again -> get upset over being lonely

I don't know what to do about it Im just really stuck and tired. I never find the door by myself.

[kookie-doughs]

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 10: The Wheels On The Bus Goes Skrt Skrt Skrt

It didn't take me long to pack. I didn't have anything at all, which left me only an extra change of clothes and a toothbrush to stuff in a backpack Grover had found for me and Percy. Both having nothing to carry we decided to share a bag. The camp store loaned us one hundred dollars in mortal money and twenty golden drachmas. These coins were as big as Girl Scout cookies and had images of various Greek gods stamped on one side and the Empire State Building on the other. The ancient mortal drachmas had been silver, Chiron told us, but Olympians never used less than pure gold. Chiron said the coins might come in handy for non-mortal transactions—whatever that meant. He gave Annabeth, Percy and I each a canteen of nectar and a Ziploc bag full of ambrosia squares, to be used only in emergencies, if we were seriously hurt. It was god food, Chiron reminded us. It would cure us of almost any injury, but it was lethal to mortals. Too much of it would make a half-blood very, very feverish. An overdose would burn us up, literally. Annabeth was bringing her magic Yankees cap, which she told us had been a twelfth-birthday present from her mom. She carried a book on famous classical architecture, written in Ancient Greek, to read when she got bored, and a long bronze knife, hidden in her shirt sleeve. I was sure the knife would get us busted the first time we went through a metal detector. Grover wore his fake feet and his pants to pass as human. He wore a green rasta-style cap, because when it rained his curly hair flattened and you could just see the tips of his horns. His bright orange backpack was full of scrap metal and apples to snack on. In his pocket was a set of reed pipes his daddy goat had carved for him, even though he only knew two songs: Mozart's Piano Concerto no. 12 and Hilary Duff's "So Yesterday," both of which sounded pretty bad on reed pipes. We waved good-bye to the other campees, took one last look at the strawberry fields, the ocean, and the Big House, then hiked up Half-Blood Hill to the tall pine tree that used to be Thalia, daughter of Zeus. Chiron was waiting for us in his wheelchair. Next to him stood a surfer looking dude. According to Grover, the guy was the camp's head of security. He supposedly had eyes all over his body so he could never be surprised. Today, though, he was wearing a chauffeur's uniform, so I could only see extra peepers on his hands, face and neck. "This is Argus," Chiron told us. "He will drive you into the city, and, er, well, keep an eye on things." I heard footsteps behind us. Luke came running up the hill, carrying a pair of basketball shoes. "Hey!" he panted. "Glad I caught you." Annabeth blushed, the way she always did when Luke was around. I looked at him with a frown. "Don't look at me like that. I had to find out from the others you're going on a quest." he glared. "So much for the option you won't die at." "I would've told you if you were at the cabin when I got back. Now what's with the shoes?" "Just wanted to say good luck," Luke told Percy. "And I thought... um, maybe you could use these." He handed him the sneakers, which looked pretty normal. They even smelled kind of normal. Luke said, "Maia!" White bird's wings sprouted out of the heels, startling me so much, Percy dropped them. The shoes flapped around on the ground until the wings folded up and disappeared. "Awesome!" Grover said. Luke smiled. "Those served me well when I was on my quest. Gift from Dad. Of course, I don't use them much these days...." His expression turned sad. I didn't know what to say. It was cool enough that Luke had come to say good-bye. But here he was giving Percy a magic gift.... It made me a bit jealous. "Hey, man," Percy said. "Thanks." "Listen, Percy..." Luke looked uncomfortable. "A lot of hopes are riding on you. So just... kill some monsters for me, okay?" They shook hands. Luke patted Grover's head between his horns, then gave a good-bye hug to Annabeth, who looked like she might pass out. The three went to Chiron about stuffs while Luke and I had a staring contest. "So Percy got a present and I only get an I don't know... a hug? Here I thought I was your favorite." "What made you think you are?" He laughed and ruffled my hair. "And no you don't get a hug." "Suddenly I'm not coming back." He smiled and from his back he pulled out a sheathed knife. "I meant to say you won't get only a hug. I noticed you're not a fan of swords. So, I made this my self. I am no Hephaestus child but hey..." He handed me the knife. The sheath was plain colored with a metal chap and locket, it had chains attached to the locket where I could probably put it on something to make sure I bring it with me. Pulling the knife out of the sheath, its knife was around 15 inches. On the blade, Ancient Greek was engraved on it. I think it's my name and the other side is his. "What is this?" I grinned. "I don't know. I ran out of good ideas! I swear I looked up some of Plato and Socrates for that." "And you settled for that?" I laughed. "I am going to take that back now." "Hey, that doesn't mean I don't like it. Thanks." "It's celestial bronze... Half of it at least." "Half?" "I'm sure Chiron won't appreciate it. It will harm both us and humans." "So... It'll hurt both side?" "Yup. And I'm not sure but according to a Hephaestus kid but it's supposed to glow when its near something." "Its not glowing now." "We never said no backsies. I'd like it back now." "I'll take good care of..." I stopped to think of a name and almost immediately remembered a perfect one, "Sting." "I would ask but I already know." Luke shook his head. "Be careful with Sting. It---" "He. Sting is a he, thank you very much." "HE, is lethal. He it can kill us, others close to our kind and normal humans." "Oops I accidentally stabbed myself." With a worried look he pulled me in a hug, "And whatever happens. Put your safety above all. No need to be the hero. If you die in this quest I will get the lord of the dead revive you or kill me." "Ew how sentimental." "Be careful... okay? All of you. Promise me that." "Fine, I promise. On the knife, I'll come back not dead, with everyone." After Luke was gone, I placed the knife on my waist. I went back to Percy. "Okay, that's extremely cool," I heard him say. "What's cool?" I grinned standing behind Percy overlooking his shoulder. "My new pen." He showed me his pen and uncapped it only to show a sword. "I can't loose it no matter what! Its called Riptide." "But what if a mortal sees you pulling out a sword?" Chiron smiled. "Mist is a powerful thing, Y/N." "Mist?" "I just keep hearing that over and over can someone finally explain?" "Yes. Read The Iliad. It's full of references to the stuff. Whenever divine or monstrous elements mix with the mortal world, they generate Mist, which obscures the vision of humans. You will see things just as they are, being a half-blood, but humans will interpret things quite differently. Remarkable, really, the lengths to which humans will go to fit things into their version of reality." Percy put Riptide back in his pocket. For the first time, the quest felt real. We was actually leaving Half-Blood Hill. We was heading west with no adult supervision, no backup plan, not even a cell phone. (Chiron said cell phones were traceable by monsters; if we used one, it would be worse than sending up a flare.) I had no weapon stronger than a knife to fight off monsters and reach the Land of the Dead. "Chiron..." I said. "When you say the gods are immortal... I mean, there was a time before them, right?" "Four ages before them, actually. The Time of the Titans was the Fourth Age, sometimes called the Golden Age, which is definitely a misnomer. This, the time of Western civilization and the rule of Zeus, is the Fifth Age." "So what was it like... before the gods?" Chiron pursed his lips. "Even I am not old enough to remember that, child, but I know it was a time of darkness and savagery for mortals. Kronos, the lord of the Titans, called his reign the Golden Age because men lived innocent and free of all knowledge. But that was mere propaganda. The Titan king cared nothing for your kind except as appetizers or a source of cheap entertainment. It was only in the early reign of Lord Zeus, when Prometheus the good Titan brought fire to mankind, that your species began to progress, and even then Prometheus was branded a radical thinker. Zeus punished him severely, as you may recall. Of course, eventually the gods warmed to humans, and Western civilization was born." "But the gods can't die now, right? I mean, as long as Western civilization is alive, they're alive. So... even if I failed, nothing could happen so bad it would mess up everything, right?" Chiron gave us a melancholy smile. "No one knows how long the Age of the West will last, Percy. The gods are immortal, yes. But then, so were the Titans. They still exist, locked away in their various prisons, forced to endure endless pain and punishment, reduced in power, but still very much alive. May the Fates forbid that the gods should ever suffer such a doom, or that we should ever return to the darkness and chaos of the past. All we can do, child, is follow our destiny." "Our destiny... assuming we know what that is." "Relax," Chiron told me. "Keep a clear head. And remember, you may be about to prevent the biggest war in human history." "Relax," Percy said. "I'm very relaxed." When we got to the bottom of the hill, I looked back. Under the pine tree that used to be Thalia, daughter of Zeus, Chiron was now standing in full horse-man form, holding his bow high in salute. Just your typical summer-camp send-off by your typical centaur. I took Percy's hand and we gave each other a reassuring nod. I wish us luck. Talking whilst at camp drained me. I apologize if I won't be much help. You have stamina? So you aren't a bigshot all powerful god? Without you and I as one. I am nothing. I have given you my everything.

Argus drove us out of the countryside and into western Long Island. It felt weird to be on a highway again, Annabeth and Percy was sitting next to me as if we were normal carpoolers. After two weeks at Half-Blood Hill, the real world seemed like a fantasy. I found myself staring at every McDonald's, every kid in the back of his parents' car, every billboard and shopping mall. "So far so good," Percy said. "Ten miles and not a single monster." She gave him an irritated look. "It's bad luck to talk that way, seaweed brain." "Remind me again—why do you hate me so much?" "I don't hate you." "Could've fooled me." She folded her cap of invisibility. "Look... we're just not supposed to get along, okay? Our parents are rivals." "Why?" She sighed. "How many reasons do you want? One time my mom caught Poseidon with his girlfriend in Athena's temple, which is hugely disrespectful. Another time, Athena and Poseidon competed to be the patron god for the city of Athens. Your dad created some stupid saltwater spring for his gift. My mom created the olive tree. The people saw that her gift was better, so they named the city after her." "They must really like olives." I interjected. "Not you too! You know what? Forget it." "Now, if she'd invented pizza—that I could understand." "I said, forget it!" In the front seat, Argus smiled. He didn't say anything, but one blue eye on the back of his neck winked at me. Traffic slowed us down in Queens. By the time we got into Manhattan it was sunset and starting to rain. Argus dropped us at the Greyhound Station on the Upper East Side, Percy and I didn't let go. Taped to a mailbox was a soggy flyer with Percy's picture on it: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS BOY? He ripped it down before Annabeth and Grover could notice. "They could've at least gotten a better picture." I smirked which caused him to roll his eyes. Argus unloaded our bags, made sure we got our bus tickets, then drove away, the eye on the back of his hand opening to watch us as he pulled out of the parking lot. Grover shouldered his backpack. He gazed down the street in the direction Percy was looking. "You want to know why she married him, Percy?" I stared at Percy then at Grover. "Were you reading my mind or something?" "Just your emotions." He shrugged. "Guess I forgot to tell you satyrs can do that. You were thinking about your mom and your stepdad, right?" Percy nodded. I missed my parents of course, but I had Luke and Grover to talk to which made me less lonely. Percy became an outcast when we got to camp and had no one to talk to. I squeezed his hand and gave him a smile. "Your mom married Gabe for you," Grover told him. "You call him 'Smelly,' but you've got no idea. The guy has this aura.... Yuck. I can smell him from here. I can smell traces of him on you, and you haven't been near him for a week." "Thanks," Percy said. "Where's the nearest shower?" "You should be grateful, Percy. Your stepfather smells so repulsively human he could mask the presence of any demigod. As soon as I took a whiff inside his Camaro, I knew: Gabe has been covering your scent for years. If you hadn't lived with him every summer, you probably would've been found by monsters a long time ago. Your mom stayed with him to protect you. She was a smart lady. She must've loved you a lot to put up with that guy—if that makes you feel any better." I knew what Percy was thinking. He was thinking of the fact we'll get his mom and my parents. How we'll save them all. We got restless waiting for the bus and decided to play some Hacky Sack with one of Grover's apples. Annabeth was unbelievable. She could bounce the apple off her knee, her elbow, her shoulder, whatever. I wasn't too bad myself. The game ended when I tossed the apple toward Grover and it got too close to his mouth. In one mega goat bite, our Hacky Sack disappeared—core, stem, and all. Grover blushed. He tried to apologize, but we were too busy cracking up. Percy pulled me to a corner, after excusing ourselves for a bathroom break. "You finally going to tell me about this quest?" "The truth is," He started. "I don't care about retrieving Zeus's lightning bolt, or saving the world, or even helping my father out of trouble." I gave him a look that reassured him to continue. "The more I thought about it, I resented my father for never visiting me, never helping my mom, never even sending a lousy child-support check. He'd only claimed me because he needed a job done. All I cared about was you and my mom. The underworld god had taken her unfairly, and he is going to give her back." "Percy, we don't even know what's going on. Yeah, he might have her. But what is there's another reason? We don't exactly know anything. I don't even think my parents are with him." "Well, no matter where they are. We will get them back. The least I could do is get them back." He rested his head on my shoulder. "Don't "You will be betrayed by one who calls you a friend," "What?" I froze. "Percy... I would never---" "You will fail to save what matters most in the end." "What are you talking about?" The rain kept coming down. "The rest of the prophecy. Y/N, I don't want you to betray me. Please... don't." I could hear his voice breaking. "Of course I won't. We'll get this quest done. We won't loose anyone and we'll get our parents. Don't worry." I hugged him. "I will stay with you. I won't leave and I won't betray you." "Hey Bonnie and Clyde, we need to go." Finally the bus came. As we stood in line to board, Grover started looking around, sniffing the air. "What is it?" I asked. "I don't know," he said tensely. "Maybe it's nothing." But I could tell it wasn't nothing. I took Percy's hand and started looking over my shoulder, too. I was relieved when we finally got on board and found seats together in the back of the bus. We stowed our backpacks. Annabeth kept slapping her Yankees cap nervously against her thigh. As the last passengers got on, I immediately clamped my hand onto Percy's knee. "Percy." It was Mrs. Dodds. Older, more withered, but definitely the same evil face. I scrunched down in my seat. Behind her came two more old ladies: one in a green hat, one in a purple hat. Otherwise they looked exactly like Mrs. Dodds—same gnarled hands, paisley handbags, wrinkled velvet dresses. Triplet demon grandmothers. And I was now sure, Mrs. Rudolph was one of them. They sat in the front row, right behind the driver. The two on the aisle crossed their legs over the walkway, making an X. It was casual enough, but it sent a clear message: nobody leaves. The bus pulled out of the station, and we headed through the slick streets of Manhattan. "She didn't stay dead long," Percy said, "I thought you said they could be dispelled for a lifetime." "I said if you're lucky," Annabeth said. "You're obviously not." "All three of them," Grover whimpered. "Di immortales!" "Who knows maybe they just want to play?" I said nervously. Annabeth gave me a look of irritation, "Not now," she said, obviously thinking hard. "The Furies. The three worst monsters from the Underworld. No problem. No problem. We'll just slip out the windows." "They don't open," Grover moaned. "A back exit?" she suggested. There wasn't one. Even if there had been, it wouldn't have helped. By that time, we were on Ninth Avenue, heading for the Lincoln Tunnel. "Maybe a nice chat would help?" "They won't attack us with witnesses around," Percy said. "Will they?" "Mortals don't have good eyes," Annabeth reminded him. "Their brains can only process what they see through the Mist." "They'll see three old ladies killing us, won't they?" She thought about it. "Hard to say. But we can't count on mortals for help. Maybe an emergency exit in the roof... ?" We hit the Lincoln Tunnel, and the bus went dark except for the running lights down the aisle. It was eerily quiet without the sound of the rain. Mrs. Dodds got up. In a flat voice, as if she'd rehearsed it, she announced to the whole bus: "I need to use the rest-room." "So do I," said the second sister. "So do I," said the third sister. They all started coming down the aisle. "I've got it," Annabeth said. "Percy, take my hat." "What?" "You're the one they want. Turn invisible and go up the aisle. Let them pass you. Maybe you can get to the front and get away." "But you guys—" "There's an outside chance they might not notice us," Annabeth said. "You're a son of one of the Big Three. Your smell might be overpowering." "I can't just leave Y-- you guys!" "Don't worry about us," I assured him. "Go!" His hands were trembling. But I took the Yankees cap and put it on. And he simply vanished. Mrs. Dodds stopped, sniffing, and looked straight at a spot. My heart was pounding. Apparently she didn't see anything. She and her sisters kept going. "Maybe if they approach us, I could try talking? I really was Mrs. Rudolph's favorite..." I stammered. "Yeah stage is yours." Annabeth answered. The old ladies were not old ladies anymore. Their faces were still the same—I guess those couldn't get any uglier— but their bodies had shriveled into leathery brown hag bodies with bat's wings and hands and feet like gargoyle claws. Their handbags had turned into fiery whips. The Furies surrounded us, lashing their whips, hissing: "Where is it? Where?" The other people on the bus were screaming, cowering in their seats. They saw something, all right. "He's not here!" Annabeth yelled. "He's gone!" The Furies raised their whips. "Don't!" I stepped in front of them shaking. "H-Hi Mrs. Rudolph. W-What could you need?" Annabeth drew her bronze knife. Grover grabbed a tin can from his snack bag and prepared to throw it. To our surprise the bus jerked to the right. Everybody howled as we were thrown to the right, and I heard what I hoped was the sound of three Furies smashing against the windows. "Hey!" the driver yelled. "Hey—whoa!" The bus slammed against the side of the tunnel, grinding metal, throwing sparks a mile behind us. We careened out of the Lincoln Tunnel and back into the rainstorm, people and monsters tossed around the bus, cars plowed aside like bowling pins. Somehow the driver found an exit. We shot off the highway, through half a dozen traffic lights, and ended up barreling down one of those New Jersey rural roads where you can't believe there's so much nothing right across the river from New York. There were woods to our left, the Hudson River to our right, and the driver seemed to be veering toward the river. The bus wailed, spun a full circle on the wet asphalt, and crashed into the trees. The emergency lights came on. The door flew open. The bus driver was the first one out, the passengers yelling as they stampeded after him. The Furies regained their balance. They lashed their whips at Annabeth while she waved her knife and yelled in Ancient Greek, telling them to back off. Grover threw tin cans. It was as if I didn't exist which was kinda offensive. "Hey! I'm also here!" I yelled pulling out my now glowing knife and helped Grover. "Hey!" A voice from the door way echoed. "Percy you idiot! Run!" I yelled. The Furies turned, baring their yellow fangs at him. Mrs. Dodds stalked up the aisle. Every time she flicked her whip, red flames danced along the barbed leather. Her two ugly sisters hopped on top of the seats on either side of her and crawled toward him like huge nasty lizards. I don't know how but I managed to parkour my way to avoid them and get to Percy in no trouble. I raised my knife and stood in between of them. "Perseus Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said, in an accent that was definitely from somewhere farther south than Georgia. "You have offended the gods. You shall die. I suggest you step away from him Y/N L/N." "I liked you better as a math teacher," he told her. She growled. Annabeth and Grover moved up behind the Furies cautiously, looking for an opening. Percy took the ballpoint pen out of his pocket and uncapped it. Riptide elongated into a shimmering double-edged sword. The Furies hesitated. Mrs. Dodds had felt Riptide's blade before. She obviously didn't like seeing it again. "Submit now," she hissed. "And you will not suffer eternal torment." "Nice try," I told her. "Percy, look out!" Annabeth cried. Mrs. Dodds lashed her whip around my sword hand while the Furies on the either side lunged at him. I managed to keep one of them and parried with her using my knife., which turned out to be Mrs. Rudolph. "I hate to admit it but you were my favorite teacher. Why go mean now?!" I struck with the hilt of my knife against her, sending her toppling backward into a seat. I turned to see Percy had sliced the Fury on his right. As soon as the blade connected with her neck, she screamed and exploded into dust. Annabeth got Mrs. Dodds in a wrestler's hold and yanked her backward while Grover ripped the whip out of her hands. "Ow!" he yelled. "Ow! Hot! Hot!" Mrs. Rudolph came at me again, talons ready, but I dove in and got in range to swing Sting at her and she broke open like a piñata. Mrs. Dodds was trying to get Annabeth off her back. She kicked, clawed, hissed and bit, but Annabeth held on while Grover got Mrs. Dodds's legs tied up in her own whip. Finally they both shoved her backward into the aisle. Mrs. Dodds tried to get up, but she didn't have room to flap her bat wings, so she kept falling down. "Zeus will destroy you!" she promised. "Hades will have your soul!" "Braccas meas vescimini!" Percy yelled. I wasn't sure where the Latin came from. I think it meant "Eat my pants!" Thunder shook the bus. The hair rose on the back of my neck. "Get out!" Annabeth yelled at us. "Now!" I didn't need any encouragement. Taking Percy's hand, we rushed outside and found the other passengers wandering around in a daze, arguing with the driver, or running around in circles yelling, "We're going to die!" A Hawaiian-shirted tourist with a camera snapped my photograph before I could recap my sword. "Our bags!" Grover realized. "We left our—" BOOOOOM! The windows of the bus exploded as the passengers ran for cover. Lightning shredded a huge crater in the roof, but an angry wail from inside told me Mrs. Dodds was not yet dead. "Run!" Annabeth said. "She's calling for reinforcements! We have to get out of here!" We plunged into the woods as the rain poured down, the bus in flames behind us, and nothing but darkness ahead.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

UwU Haha this is what the knife looks like since I'm not sure if I describe it that well... Omg I just realized my brother changed the chapter title lmao -kookie-doughs

Just imagine it has your name on the blade.

Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

[crownjimin]

✰ 099 | no takesies backsies

la vie en rose ━ in which lee aera, a girl who has been crushing on choi soobin for a long, long time, is starting her junior year and her friends decide that its time for her to make her move.

( masterlist | prev | next )

A/N: whoop! one more update + the epilogue and we’re donezo!!

“I can’t believe it’s really red—,” He flipped and shuffled his hands through her hair as he said this.

“So bright, so pretty,” Soobin muttered to himself, going as far as to bend down and push his nose into her scalp, taking a long, dramatic sniff. “Oh, it doesn’t smell like strawberries.”

Aera laughed at this, shoving her not-boyfriend away from her softly. “Of course not. That’s like me saying your hair should smell like chocolates.”

Soobin had recently dyed his hair back to brown--well, dark brown, and as much as it made Aera sad to see the purple gone from his hair, it was well past due. His roots had grown out terribly, meaning that he was either going to have to redo his roots or retreat back to his natural brown. Also, the purple was less purple and more of a faded ash gray, from all the washing Soobin did to his hair.

For a while, he was set on just letting his hair grow out, then cutting it at the brown once the ash gray was to the tips of his hair but Aera told him he would look crazy. They debated about it for a few days, but one day Aera showed up at his house with a kit with brown hair dye and a few hours later his chocolate brown locks were back. 

“Well, if you used strawberry shampoo it would smell like strawberries.”

“I will when you use chocolate shampoo.”

Soobin pouted. “I bet Ariel’s hair smells like strawberries.”

“Go sniff her head then,” the red-head quipped. “And I actually highly doubt that is true. She lives in the ocean, you know. The place where fish pee--that ocean.”

“Is there another ocean that I should be thinking of?”

“Yeah,” There was a teasing lilt in Aera’s voice. “The one I’m going to toss you in if you keep sassing me.”

The two were currently sitting in Soobin’s living room on Saturday morning, Soobin having asked Aera on Friday night if she wanted to spend the next day with him. Of course, without hesitation, Aera agreed, telling him that she would be there by ten, and now they were there.

Soobin had suggested watching YouTube in his living room until his mom got home from the gym, and Aera found no issue with the idea. During the past hour and a half, they had watched way too many Girls’ Generation music videos, and even attempted to learn the choreography to Catch Me If You Can. After forty minutes of them attempting to get past the first verse, they called it quits. Soobin claimed that he was too talented in girl group choreography to continue and further embarrass Aera with her lackluster movements.

But if you asked Aera, Soobin just didn’t want to have a dance battle, because he knew he was going to lose.

At noon, Ruha walked through the front door, her arms loaded with three market bags, filled to the brim with groceries.

“Soobin-ah,” Ruha yelled, a little too loud since she hadn’t realized he was right there in the living room. “Come help me with my bags!”

Both Soobin and Aera rushed to help Ruha, the older woman being slightly startled by Aera being there but she quickly perked up and said, “Oh good, Ae Ae is here. More hands to help!”

Everything felt so natural with Soobin and his family. Aera had spent a lot of time at his house since the picnic, and his parents seemed to love her. Soobin’s dad was obsessed when he saw how small Aera was, often leaning his elbow on her head whenever he stood beside her as a way to ridicule and tease her about her height. Then when she turned up with red hair, he almost had a better reaction than Soobin, dubbing her Strawberry Shortcake and hasn’t stopped calling her that since.

Aera had also gotten Soobin’s parents’ phone numbers, Ruha often texting Aera at random times throughout the day whenever Soobin talked about her.

ruha-ssi

he said you brought him lunch to school today. says that he loves how much you care about him

i’m sure he cares about me way more than i do him

ruha-ssi 

does he show it well?

that he cares for you.

wouldnt ask for him to treat me any better than he already

does ruha-ssi.

Or the time Ruha told her that Soobin was sleep talking and had muttered her name.

ruha-ssi

he’s napping.

[picture attached]

ruha-ssi

he just grumbled your name and had the biggest smile

aw that’s so cute

ruha-ssi

i know :)))

Soobin was aware that Aera had his mother’s number, but he didn’t know that his mother was revealing just how lovestruck he was. Aera didn’t plan on mentioning it to him either, thinking that Ruha is godsent for giving her so much dirt and content to tease Soobin with whenever he decided to get too sassy with her.

Plus, Soobin has had Dongmin’s phone number much longer than Aera has had Ruha’s, and she is one-thousand percent positive that her mother lived to embarrass her, so Soobin for sure had some dirt on her.

 It’s a win-win situation, all is fair in love and war.

“So, Soobin-ah,” Ruha spoke as she walked into the kitchen. “What time do you want to head out?”

Aera was busy placing things where they belonged from the market bags (yes, she knows where their groceries belonged—she’s been over there that much), but she raised an eyebrow at Ruha’s question.

“Head out where?” she asked.

“Soobin wanted to take you to an early dinner today,” Ruha paused, with a nervous expression on her face. “I-I don’t know if it was supposed to be a surprise or not-”

“No, mom, it’s fine,” Soobin waved it off. “It wasn’t really a surprise, I was gonna mention it to you later, Pouts.”

Aera walked out of the pantry, an excited glint in her eyes. “Will there be steak at this dinner?”

“Do you want there to be steak?”

“Yes.”

“Then there will be steak.”

━━━━━━━

The restaurant Soobin had chosen was very dark, Aera noted. The only light that was supplied was from a single candle lit in the center of the table, which left everything as shadows and tinted orange.

It seemed super expensive, and once Aera picked up the menu, her suspicions were confirmed.

“Soobi,” her voice seemed hesitant. “How are you affording any of this?”

She should’ve realized that the meal was going to be an expensive one when Ruha had offered Aera one of her old dresses, seeing as Aera had came over to their house in a pair of ripped jeans and a tattered t-shirt. The dress Ruha lent her was a dark blue, high-necked dress, where the waist tapered in and then flowed out to mid-thigh. Luckily, Aera had worn black flats that day, those being the shoes closest to her front door when she left for Soobin’s house.

Soobin was dressed in a simple button up and black slacks. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the top button of his shirt was undone—if Aera hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought Soobin was a young adult that worked a nine-to-five office job and not a sixteen year old boy taking his not-girlfriend out for an early dinner.

Everything was fancy, and the two of them were tucked into a corner booth where once they sat down the hostess had wished ‘Mister and Missus Choi’ a nice evening. 

“Months of allowance that I’ve saved up,” Soobin lifted his gaze from the menu and once he saw how worried Aera was, he rushed to reassure her. “Plus, I work a summer job! Don’t worry, Pouts, I promise it’s not too much.”

“You don’t have to spend your allowance on me, Soobi,” she spoke softly. “You should spend it on something you really want-something to make you happy.”

“Seeing you happy makes me happy.”

Aera blushed. “Don’t try to flatter me into running your pockets dry.”

“Ae Ae, seriously,” Soobin put down his menu and reached his hands across the table to touch her hands, which laid on the table. He tugged her index fingers once, attempting to soothe her and get her to not worry. “It’s fine. If it makes you feel better we can just split something, so that way I won’t have to spend much.”

The crease in her eyebrows gradually faded and she nodded in agreement. “Are you okay with splitting a steak?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded. “Just order whatever, I’ll eat anything.”

Aera looked over the menu, her eyes skipping over the more expensive items but honestly the cheapest things were the hor d'oeuvres and even those weren’t cheaper than 74,000 won. 

“How about I choose one, you choose one, then we pick something together?” she suggested. “That way we can both enjoy something.”

By the time the waiter came to the table, they had decided on their personal picks and their combined choice, and once the food came to the table, Aera knew it was more than enough. The steak she had chosen ended up being as big as her face and had the both of them gasping in surprise once it was set on the table. Soobin decided on a rose pasta, in a dish large enough that it could feed a family of five. And their combined choice was a large platter of American-style french fries, but the way the menu phrased it made it seem like they were ordering a fancy potato.

Soobin offered to have the kitchen take it back, but Aera refused to give back french fries--she’d be crazy to ever turn down french fries (plus it came with a gravy boat filled with a white sauce that Aera could literally guzzle down in one go, so she was more than happy to keep it).

The moment the waiter told them to enjoy, Aera was shoving her fork into the steak, which was thankfully pre-cut, and the second she bit into it, juice ran down her chin and she had to squeeze every muscle in her throat to not let out a moan.

Soobin noticed her expression, the way her eyes fell close and she paused mid-bite. “Is it good, Pouts?”

“Tho goof,” she attempted to speak around her bite but she just gave up and nodded enthusiastically. 

“It’s so juicy,” she said once she swallowed. 

When they were ordering, she wanted to get the steak cooked well-done, but Soobin had told her to get it medium preaching something about it being more tender and juicer as if he knew everything and anything about steak. Aera argued and said she didn’t want to cut into her steak and hear it mooing back at her, and Soobin chuckled but promised if it was too raw for her when it came out, they could just send it back and she obliged.

She most definitely was not sending back this beautiful piece of heaven, and shoved another piece into her mouth. The scene from Ratatouille when the rat fused together strawberry and cheese and had color swirling around his head played inside Aera’s head the second she took another bite of the steak. Her eyes were closed, her head lolled from side to side as she swayed euphorically to the warmth of the steak and the flavor on her tongue.

Once she noticed what she was doing, she sat up stark straight and opened her eyes, watching as Soobin recorded her and laughed silently at her actions.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself alot there,” Soobin ended the recording and set his phone on the table.

“Delete that.”

“I won’t. Here,” Soobin held out his fork where some of his pasta was twirled on the end. “Try it.”

Aera opened her mouth, letting him guide the fork inside and once she closed her mouth around the fork, the Ratatouille scene played again. She pulled away from the fork, her hand shooting over her mouth as she chewed and her eyes shot wide.

“Good?” Soobin asked, stabbing his fork in a piece of steak and eating it, much less dramatically than Aera had. 

“Is amayshin,” Aera muttered. “Why ish ev-wee-shing hwere sho amayshin?”

Soobin swallowed and laughed. “It better be with these ridiculous prices.”

“Oh, yeah,” she nodded and swallowed her bite. “It’s so worth it.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“I’m glad I like you,” Aera giggled, shoving some fries into her mouth. “You buy me expensive steak.”

“Only because of the steak?”

She nonchalantly shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Soobin faked a scoff, halfway knowing she was joking, but once he watched her pick up another piece of steak, and then kiss it before she ate it, he wasn’t so sure if she was joking anymore.

━━━━━━━━━

Thirty-five minutes and an entire steak later, Aera and Soobin were slouched over, bellies full, with their plates cleared.

“I am going to sleep so well tonight,” Aera grumbled as she rubbed her stomach. “This was so amazing.”

The waiter came to give the receipt and return Soobin’s card, wishing ‘Mister and Missus Choi’ a good night, and left them to their vices. Aera chuckled at being called Missus Choi, because did she look old enough to be married?

Did married people dye their hair red? She didn’t know but did she look married? Did her and Soobin resemble a married couple? Oh god, that just fueled her fantasy of marrying Soobin and she knew that she would never let this go.

“Alright,” Soobin groaned, shoving the receipt and card into his pocket as he stood and rounded the table, reaching his hand out to help Aera up from her chair. “You okay?”

Aera blew out a breath. “I’m stuffed.”

They both stood in place, Aera swaying a bit from standing up too quickly and Soobin attempted to stabilize her by setting a hand on her waist. “Careful.”

“I’m fine,” she tapped his hand on her waist. “I’m okay, just stood up a little too fast. Let’s go.”

They walked out of the restaurant hand-in-hand, Soobin somewhat leading Aera as she momentarily closed her eyes as a way to wheeze out air around her full belly. This was the best meal she has had in entire life, one that she never imagined having unless she was filthy rich and drank gold for breakfast, lunch, and dinner but here Soobin was taking her on a date just because he wanted to see her happy.

When they made it outside, Aera tugged his hand, causing him to stop and turn to her. She eased her arms around his waist, resting her head on his shoulder as she softly hugged him. He returned the gesture immediately, cuddling his head on top of hers and they just existed in the moment, in each other’s arms.

“Thank you for this, Soobin,” Aera squeezed him tightly, nuzzling her head further into his shoulder. “You made me really happy by doing this—you make me happy always.”

“I’m happy to make you happy,” Soobin chuckled, pulling away from the hug. “But the night isn’t over, we have one more stop!”

“Is  it far?”

Soobin nodded. “My mom is going to take us there. She’s on her way here now.”

“Where is it?”

“The beach.”

“The beach?”

Soobin nodded again. “The beach.”

“The beach,” Aera said flatly. “I like the beach.”

“That’s why we’re going.”

“Hm,” Aera sighed happily. “The beach.”

━━━━━━━━━━

Upon their arrival, Aera realized that when Soobin said the beach, he actually meant the boat dock by the beach. Well more like the yacht dock by the beach, because as they made their way to the end of the dock, they passed massive yachts, the type that only rich people could afford. Ones with balconies and two-stories that have some corny name etched onto the side that were either named after an important woman in their life or something like Old Betsy.

“What are we doing on a dock,” Aera giggled, swinging her and Soobin’s hands where they were connected. “I’m almost positive we aren’t supposed to be here.”

Soobin laughed as they came to stop in front of one of the smaller yachts, which wasn’t exactly small (but in comparison to the other yachts it was more compact), where a man was waiting for them.

“Choi Soobin?”

“Yes sir,” Soobin nodded, then gestured behind him. “And this is my mother, Ruha.”

The man extended his hand to Ruha, giving it a firm shake. “Yes, we spoke on the phone. Everything is set, if you guys want to climb on in, we’ll head out in about ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” Ruha said as the man helped her onto the yacht by her hand. 

The man then lent his hand to Aera, but instead of grabbing it, she took a step back, a conflicted look on her face.

“Wait,” Soobin placed his free hand on Aera’s wasit, causing her to look up at him. “You aren’t afraid of water, right? Boats or anything? Because I was just trying to surprise you, that’s why I didn’t as-”

“No, no,” Aera shook her head. “That’s not it, but Soobin how much was this?”

Soobin raised an eyebrow at the question, confused as to why she was asking this. “What?”

“It’s just—” she sighed. “You’re spending a lot of money today, and I don’t want you to think you have to blow a bunch of money just to make me happy. You could’ve just given me a bottle of water and I’d be happy that it came from you, so I don’t get why you are taking me to all these expensive places and things.”

“I just want to spoil you,” he softly replied. “Even if it’s just for a day. I want you to have some of the best experiences with me, so I don’t mind spending a lot of money on you.”

“But, Soob-”

“And plus,” Soobin smiled wide. “My friends chipped in to help, they wanted to make us both happy so they offered to help. You don’t have to pay them back, I don’t have to pay them back, they were just doing it out of the goodness of their hearts. Me as well.”

Aera stood there frozen.

“I just want you to be happy.”

“But I’m already happy with you.”

Soobin leaned down to rest his forehead on Aera’s. “Yes, but you’d be even more happy on the boat, so let’s go!”

Aera laughed as she reached out for the man’s hand, him having stood there and watched that whole sappy ordeal, and he pulled her into the boat. Soobin followed and guided Aera to the very front of the yacht, where Ruha sat with a blanket over her legs.

“Choi Soobin, this will be the last time you spend a shit ton of money on me, do you understand?” Aera scolded, her finger pointed at Soobin but a smile was on her face.

“Yes, ma’am, never again,” Soobin spoke jokingly, totally not meaning a word of what he just said. 

“You’re not going to listen to me are you?”

“Nope.”

The yacht got moving a few moments later, things feeling a bit shaky for a few minutes, but Aera acclimated to it quite fast. She and Soobin had taken to roleplaying the scene from Titanic that nearly everyone does when they are at the frontmost point on a boat.

Soobin held her waist as Aera held her arms out to her side, feeling the wind whip on her face and the smell of salt infiltrate her nose.

“The ocean is kind of stinky,” her nose scrunched up as she said this. “Smells like raw fish and high cholesterol.”

Soobin cackled, tightly wrapping his arms around Aera’s waist as he pulled her into his chest, her back to her front. “You ruined such a good moment.”

She giggled, placing her hands over his arms and squeezed. “I was just telling the truth.”

“Kids!” Ruha called out. “Come sit down for a few minutes, you’re making me nervous by the ledge.”

They obliged, walking to sit across from Ruha and they talked amongst themselves for a few minutes, playing a few rounds of rock paper scissors to pass the time.

“So are we just going to cruise around the ocean for a few hours or what?” Aera asked, peering over the side of the boat to look down into the water. “Because no offense to the ocean or anything, but this is a bit boring.”

Soobin pulled out his phone, checking the time before he answered, “Actually, no. Just seven minutes until what we came here for happens.”

Aera looked intrigued now, “Oh, is it fireworks? Are we looking at fireworks?”

“I don’t think lighting explosives on a yacht would be smart.”

“A yacht,” Aera chuckled. “Never thought I’d see one of these in my entire lifetime.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

“I’m glad my first time was with you,” she softly spoke, her voice almost a whisper.

“Me too,” Soobin smiled. “We’ll have many firsts together, hopefully.”

“Hopefully.”

At the moment, they were sitting side-by-side with their waist turned to face one another, but Soobin pointed behind Aera as he muttered, “Look.”

Aera turned her body around, to face the ocean, a gasp leaving her mouth as she absorbed the breathtaking scene in front of her. She watched as the sun burned a hypnotizing orange and pink hue, reflecting on the ocean’s surface. Slowly, the orb lowered to meet the horizon line, kissing it softly as the glares glittered across the rippling water.

She had seen nothing like this, ever. Mother nature and the Earth’s natural occurrences never appealed to Aera, they were never something she found interesting or attention-catching, but this—this was so worth it.

Her awestruck trance was broken when Soobin rested his chin on her shoulder, whispering, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It’s-I-” Aera searched for the right words but there were none that could accurately describe exactly what she was witnessing. It made her speechless, her jaw going slack as she once again watched the sun move lower and lower.

They sat in silence, taking in the scenic view before them. Ruha sat opposite of them, snapping pictures of the sunset as she oh’ed and aw’ed at the scene.

“Pouts,” Soobin muttered into her ear, keeping his voice low so as to not ruin the moment. “I, uh-”

“Hm, Soobi?”

“Please, be my girlfriend.”

All of Aera’s breath left her body, all of her blood seemed to run cold. Was she hallucinating? Was she hearing things?

“Huh-” Oh god, she sounded so stupid. Who responds to the boy of their dreams asking them to be their girlfriend with ‘huh’.

“I-” Soobin sat up straighter, Aera being able to feel so behind her. “I really like you-no, love you, and I want to be with you. Officially. For a very long time.”

Aera eased her way around, turning to face Soobin who looked like he was going to pass out any second if she didn’t give him an answer within the next millisecond. So she carefully raised her hands to his cheeks, cupping his face softly.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Choi Soobin,” she breathed. “I’d kind of be an asshole if I said no after all of this, am I right?”

Soobin held onto her wrists. “I hope that isn’t the sole reason you are saying yes.”

“Lucky for you, it is not. It’s probably one of the lower list reasons.”

“There’s a list?”

She giggled. “There has always been a list.”

The sound of her giggle seemed to have him smitten, his eyes zoning in on her lips which caused her heart to skip a beat. She wasn’t dumb, she knew what he was thinking of, what his eyes were asking for, and for some reason, she had no qualms about complying.

Her first kiss was always something Aera fretted about, thinking about how awful it was going to be, how she was going to mess everything up. But for some reason, right here, right now, with Soobin, she knew for a fact it was going to be amazing. This is maybe the first and only decision Aera didn’t hesitate to make, and so she leaned in.

The touch of their lips was soft. Simple. A measly, quick peck.

When they pulled back, both of their cheeks were colored rose, a look of fondness between the two of them and Aera leaned in to kiss the the corner of Soobin’s mouth before pulling away and dropping her hands from his face.

“No takesies backsies, Choi Soobin.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Lee Aera.”

[deniigi]

What is your favorite headcannon right now? 😊🌺 I hope you find a pretty flower today! Thanks for writing such beautiful works!

Hi anon!

Thank you for the flowers, here’s to wishing them your way too!

Man, I wish I could give you a single headcanon, but actually, I figure that this is a good chance to talk about a fuckload of headcanons I’ve been dreaming up lately, which have to do with a Big Project I’ve been working on with some other folks that y’all might know.

I just got the okay from the others to share, so I’m VERY excited to say that myself, @cassettemoon (writer of the Antichrist Verse), @pomegranate-belle, and @petrichordiam are all working together on a Marvel/Team Red Pacific Rim AU.

Here’s some of the concept art from it so far:

And here’s a wee snippet from the first chapter (We’re trading off each chapter who’s writing what, so it’s my job rn to write Steve Rogers. @cassettemoon is writing our dearly beloved Peter, @petrichordiam is writing Johnny Storm, and @pomegranate-belle is keeping things human by writing Foggy and perhaps some other incoming characters).

Steve Rogers POV:

Four seats sat empty in two Mark IV jaegers.

But they weren’t being filled anytime soon.

The new pilots already had their own jaegers and they scoffed at the thought of climbing into anything new. They didn’t care how advanced Stark’s tech was.

They had their own.

Two jaegers. One they called ‘BB’ and the other ‘the Beaut.’ These alongside a multitude of thrown-together bots made from scraps of fallen metal soldiers.

The three Bs were manned by a set of four.

Two teams.

Fury went silent when the four were called down from their roosts at the Punisher’s orders.

Two teams.

Barton bolted up straight upon seeing one of the guys and gave a shout that brought the pilot’s shielded helmet snapping around his way.

This guy seemed to recognize Barton.

“That you, Birdbrain?” a gravely, muffled voice shouted.

“What the fuck, you ain’t dead yet, Devil?” Barton shouted back, laughing. “I coulda sworn you went down in Jersey.”

“I ain’t dyin’ in fuckin’ New Jersey,” the pilot snarled like there was no greater insult.

The kid in black and blue next to him laughed. Their arm was threaded through the vet’s. Steve frowned at it.

Did the vet have a limp? A war wound?

“Round this way, Murdock,” The Punisher barked. “Front and center for inspection.”

“Front and center for inspection,” Murdock mocked to his greenhorn. “Like this blockhead owns me.”

His greenhorn snickered again.

Wow.

Fury was going to nip that in the bud.

“WILSON,” the Punisher roared, catching Steve off-guard and sending his hands scrabbling for his ears. “GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE.”

A cackle replied to the directive.

A scrape and thud answered after a bit and led Steve’s eye over to a hulking pile of custom-made armor holding its hands up to the eyeshield of the Beaut.

“Give us a jump, babycakes,” Wilson called up in a salacious tone. “Don’t worry, Papa’ll protect that ass of yours from—”

He didn’t finish because whoever was up there nailed in him the head with what appeared to be a mini-O2 tank. “FRANK,” this body roared, ducking out from his jaeger’s eye shield. “I WANT OUT.”

“You ain’t gettin’ it, kid. I told you there was no takes-backsies,” The Punisher snapped back. “Front and center. Now.”

He sniffed and turned back to Fury’s blank stare.

The kid up by the Beaut’s eyeshield threw his back two birds, then sprayed something down at Wilson when he got up that sent him cursing and grabbing at his helmet.

“Professionals,” Fury said slowly.

The Punisher hummed. “Get ‘em in their bot and they’re worth their weight in gold,” he said. “You’ll be sittin’ on a well of talent, so long as you can put up with the bullshit in the meantime.”

So yeah. I have a head crammed full of Pacific Rim headcanons right now anon, ranging from a Steve Rogers & Karen Page & Foggy Nelson blond dream team, to Peter and Bucky and a lot of other pilots all bound by a certain (secret) condition, all singing the same song with the same wrong lyrics over the comms while everyone else begs them to shut the fuck up.

It’s so much fun.

It’s going to be so good. Hopefully we’ll be able to get the first few chapters up for y’all to read soon.

Anyways, yes.

Pacific Rim AU headcanons are my fave rn. Thanks so much for asking ❤

[tessatechaitea]

Justice League #32

He's leading them to Trump, isn't he?

If I'm ever time traveling with friends and somebody corrects me when I say, "Where are we?", by saying, "Don't you mean, 'When are we?'", I will fucking murder them.

Sometimes you read something by a writer and it just makes you think, "How much do they actually read?" I get that Snyder is a writer and not a reader but I really expect him to keep from writing stupid fucking shit lines from a time traveler like "When are we?" The argument could be made that, as much as I hate when somebody says that in a time travel movie, Snyder is just fucking tickled pink and couldn't wait to use that line in one of his own stories. But it would be a terrible argument and I would despise whoever made it.

This confirms one of two things: this isn't the real Lex Luthor who would never rely on something as ephemeral and unsure as faith or Scott Snyder seriously fucked this shit up.

Fuck faith and fuck everybody who thinks faith is a virtue. Also fuck everybody who is now desperate to explain to me how we all rely on faith to a certain extent, even with scientific data and theories. We need a new word for evidence-based faith. Maybe one exists and I'm too stupid to know what it is. But if somebody says I'm experiencing faith when I expect the sun to rise every morning, I simply assume they don't really understand faith. Or science. Or evidence, even. I'm also not saying don't have faith if you want to! But I am saying, "Fuck you if you expect me to think you're more virtuous because you have faith." Just believing in something you can't know is true because you desperately want it to be doesn't make you somehow stronger than other people. It makes you sad and desperate and willing to believe any fucking lie that comes along as long as it's something you want to believe. Oh, maybe the evidence-based faith word is expectation? I expect certain things to happen based on past experience and current mathematical and scientific understandings of the reality we perceive! I suppose the closest I get to faith is believing that I'm going to be alive tomorrow and then the next day and then the day after that. But I'm also prepared for a really hearty shrug of my shoulders when the plane I'm in suddenly begins its terminal nosedive. So, again, it's probably just more of an expectation. Back in the 1940s, John Stewart and Barry Allen fight side-by-side with the Justice Society, a group of superheroes that everybody only recently learned existed. Who are these mysterious heroes? Why are so many of them blatant rip-offs of DC's other characters?! How many people almost thought, for half a second, that I really didn't know who they were?! In the future, the Justice League and Justice Legion A battle the greatest version of Brainiac ever devised!

This issue is so crazy that this isn't the final page revelation!

I'm sure Snyder's initial pitch was for the Justice League to battle Brainiac Infinity but editorial told him he had to leave some room for future Brainiac-based disasters. I bet if Scott Lobdell had written this, the Justice League would be battling Brainiac Omnillion.

I stood up and cheered.

No matter how many times I've said in this blog that I stood up and cheered, I never actually stood up and cheered. I just need everybody to know my commitment to not actually getting out of a chair. Back at Pearl Harbor, two Justice Leagues can't defeat the Legion of Doom so Aquaman arrives to save the day by defeating the Legion of Doom with a giant octopus and, I mean, my suspension of disbelief is really fucking being strained today. So apparently he wasn't a traitor. He just made a friend who sent him back in time to help the Justice League save the omniunimultiverse. The secret to saving everything is in Atlantis! Notice the Justice Society never had a useless underwater hero. That's why they were the superior team. The big surprise ending was not the revelation of Brainiac One Million nor the revelation that Aquaman was alive and also saving the day unbelievably. The real big issue ending revelation was that the Anti-Monitor has decided to join the Justice League to defeat his mother and the Legion of Doom! Although is it really that surprising that somebody chose to side against their mother? Or is that just me? Justice League #32 Rating: B+. Fine, I'm enjoying this disaster! In historic comic book terms, it's not a disaster at all. It's a fucking ginormous super event! It's the Year of the Villain, snitches! Snyder has taken the concept of The Legion of Doom, which we all fucking love to death (don't fucking deny it, asshole!), and shot it up with steroids and Special K! This comic book makes me want to do five different types of drugs at once and fuck a dolphin. Damn, that should be the blurb on the eventual collected edition of this story!

[bonkaisecretsanta]

Anything

Happy holidays @kingcobrakai1972​ from @leianaberrie​! Set in an alternate season 7. Season 6 until the finale. The heretics escape and under Lily’s orders, put Elena in a sleeping spell as punishment to Damon before leaving Mystic Falls. Bonnie meets Kai to ask him to help break the spell. She’s willing to do anything he asks.

“Anything?”

Bonnie slants a glance at the man sitting across the table. In the shadows, she can’t read the expression on his face, but his eyes are glinting.

Her fists spams under the table, and she swallows. Hard. “Yes.”

There is a beat. Then another.

“Let’s go.”

She barely has time to snatch up her purse, before Kai’s hand is firm on her elbow, leading her out of the restaurant. She wonders with vague hysteria if the waiter won’t chase them down for not paying the bill, then laughs to herself as she remembered that the owned he restaurant, the entire block, this damn town.

He glances down at her at the laugh, just briefly, and she catches a glimpse of a tight jaw and glinting, glinting eyes, then he’s striding across the parking lot, with her in tow.

She can barely keep up with him, he is walking so fast, that she was forced to either jog along or fall down. She tries to look up at him, read his face, his mood, but all she gets was a glimpse of hard profile. Her heart is pounding, and not just from the fact that she was basically running. Is she ready to do this? Because she has no doubt in her mind what this is. Will be. They have never spoken about it, put into words. But it was always there between them, brooding beneath the surface.  The way he looks at her. The way his magic follows hers whenever she walked into a room. There are times she’s played with certain … scenes… in her head, only to quickly push them back, back down into the box she refuses to open. Pandora. We all know how that story ended.

Well now she has to open that box whether she liked it or not. She needs to. For… for Enzo. That’s right. For Enzo. Damon, too, by proxy.

She wonders if he’s walking this fast because he’s afraid she’ll change her mind.

His car is sleek, a silver capsule cooling its heels in the reserved spot. He maneuvers her into it, and she waits for the few seconds it takes him to walk round to his side – or it should have been a few seconds, but apparently even that is too much for him. He ports into the driver’s seat and she lets out a sharp little gasp.

For the first time, he looks her straight in the eyes. His pupils are completely blown, and she feels her face burn from the intensity of his gaze. He reaches out with his right hand, palm up. “Last chance to back out. Once we leave… No backsies,” he warns, and she chokes back a hysterical laugh.

She nods quickly, wanting to break eye contact, and yet being unable to.

“I need you to say it out loud, Bonnie.”

She puts her hand into his, skin touching skin. A volt seems to shoot up her arm and she gasps. She sees the flash through his eyes. “Let’s do this.” Her voice is surprisingly clearer and stronger than she expected.

A smile breaks across his face. It’s not a nice or kind one. Then he yanks at her hand, and they vanish.

They are in Kai’s house. She knows because she’s been there before, and she recognizes the white walls, and vaulted ceiling, and the motif on the stained glass windows. And it’s a good thing because that’s all she gets a glimpse off before his arms go around her, and lift her on top of — what? the counter? A desk? — his body snug between her thighs, and then he’s kissing her.

Or not kissing as much as consuming her. His hands were firm on her back, surprisingly chaste if you ignored the fact that his arms were around her like iron bars, holding her against him, so that her nipples rubbed tormentingly against his chest with every inch of movement he made and his mouth— His mouth burned against her own. His lips were soft but insistent, soothing and teasing, and when she couldn’t take it anymore and gasped, his tongue slipped in, licking, tasting, sipping her in turn. Her head was spinning, and she was shivering all over, tremors radiating from everywhere her body rubbed against his own.

“Kai…” she managed to moan.

His mouth moved to her jaw, nipped her there and she whimpered.  His hands were still on her back, and she should be grateful for that because it was the only thing holding her up — but she resented the fact that they weren’t on her face, on her breasts, rubbing against her thighs…

Until they were, his left hand holding the back of her head, tugging slightly at her strands so that his mouth could get better access to her throat, his right hand rubbing her knee insistently, adding to the delicious friction between her jeans-clad thighs  and his suit pants, then he whispered something into her skin and she felt the barrier of clothing between them vanish. The cool air hit her naked back, and she felt smooth, hard muscles under her hands, and she cried out.

Bonnie felt him still. His head lifted and an unwanted inch of space suddenly appeared between them.

She blinked open, slowly, confused. “What?”

“Do you want this, Bonnie?”

She sputtered. What?

“This.” His face was so tense that his jaw looked like it could snap. She reached for it, her fingers testing tentatively.

He closed his eyes, his whole body shuddering, and the grabbed her hand. For a moment, she thought he would push her hand away, but instead he held it firmly against his face.

“This, Bonnie. Do you want this?”

“We… we had a deal.”

He swallowed. His eyes were still closed. Then he dropped her hand as if it tainted him, and turned away swiftly.

She had one heart-stopping glimpse of his naked back before he flung his hand at her in a careless gesture, and the room spun.

She was falling backwards, a glimpse of dark wood panels, and earthy upholstery flying past her —- until she landed with a soft thump.

“Bonnie…where…how…?”

She sat up at once, and blinked in alarm at Caroline’s shocked face.  

She was back at Whitmore, in the room she shared with Caroline and Kai was nowhere to be found.

“Caroline?” Bonnie asked weakly. And stupidly, she looked down to see her clothes – but she was back in the same jeans and plain tee-shirt she had been wearing a few hours— or so? What had just happened?

Caroline rushed to her side, confused, worried. “What happened? I thought you were in Portland, meeting Kai?”

“I was… I mean I thought I was…”

“What happened? Is he going to help with Elena?”

Bonnie started talking —- then checked herself. “I… I don’t know. He said…he would but then he…” A well of emotion (confusion, anger, and hurt?) swelled up inside her.  She pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t know, Care.”

“You told him everything? That Elena’s under the Curse. That Damon will kill you to get her wake up? And he refused to help?”

Bonnie shrugged.

“Bonnie, what happ—?” Caroline took a deep breath. “Okay, we’ll talk about that later. Right now, we have to move.” She started zipping around the room, yanking out a suitcase, stuffing Bonnie’s things into it. “Stefan’s still in Europe, tracking down that his mom. Damon’s locked up in the Salvatore dungeon. But you know Damon…he will break out…he will find you…”

The door opened. Caroline let out a scream and ran forward, fangs bared. “Don’t you dare—” She stopped.

Bonnie stood up at once at the sight of the person walking in.

Kai. Jeans, pullover, dispassionate smirk – looking completely different from the man that had been licking her neck a few minutes ago in another state.

“You’d better be here to help,” Caroline snapped.

Kai gave her a bored look, then shifted to the side. Standing behind him was Elena.

“Hey guys,” she said weakly. Then she fell into Caroline’s and Bonnie’s arms.

Bonnie half-expected him to just port back to Portland, and when she rushed out of the dorm room to see him still walking down the hallway, she was torn between relief and disappointment.

“Hey! Kai!”

She also didn’t expect him to stop, wait for her. He didn’t turn around, but when she caught up with him, he looked down at her.

They had stopped by a window, and she could see his face clearly. For all the difference that made. He was even more unreadable than he had been an hour  ago.

“We had a deal.”

His eyebrows shot up and she felt her face burn.  That was not what she was going to say! An awkward moment passed where she just looked at him, completely unable to talk because she literally couldn’t think past her own embarrassment and the fact that an hour (or so?) ago, their naked bodies had been touching and why had he stopped and what the hell was wrong with her…

“You’re welcome, Bonnie,” he said finally, and started turning.

She grabbed his sleeve, taking care not to touch his skin but she could still feel the warmth radiating from his body. She wanted to walk into it, sink into him.

“I don’t want to owe you,” she said.

“And that’s all you want?” he snarled, turning on her.

She stepped back, shocked. Why was he so angry? “What did I do?” she whispered.

“You…” He laughed harshly, ran his fingers through his hair. “You were actually going to go through with it, weren’t you? Have sex with me” – she flinched – “to save your precious Elena?”

She felt her own anger rising. “You seemed pretty down with it a few…how long ago has it been exactly?”

“I was testing you. To see how far you were willing to go.” She felt her face drain. He sneered. “What would you have done if it was Luke instead of me? Because he sure as hell can’t buy what you were-”

She didn’t know she had slapped him until she saw the red imprint of her hand on his face, felt her own fingers tingle. She took a step back, swallowed back an instinctive apology. “Don’t talk to me like that,” she said shakily.

To her dismay, his face had gone unreadable again. She hated it. At least, with the anger she could see how he felt.

He turned on his heel and walked away.

“Kai! Kai!”

He kept walking, turned the corner. When she chased after him, he was gone.

It was hours later, in the middle of the impromptu party that Caroline had thrown for Elena, while she held a drink in her hand that she barely tasted, and played along with Damon’s (and Stefan’s) pretense that until a few hours ago, her life hadn’t been in mortal danger from either of them— that Bonnie reminded herself of something. She still owed Kai Parker one.

She took a small sip. And smiled.

[trickormemes]

Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie starter sentences

213 starters feel free to change gender pronouns ‘read-more’ added for length

“Underpantyworld was a peaceful planet where everybody wore only underwear.”

“And guess what? I’m rotten!”

“Now put on some clothes, you weirdo.”

“I didn’t know if it was the thing where it was, like, good weird or bad weird.”

“It’s okay. We got more ideas.”

“Oh, my goodness. Did that really happen?”

“I’m sorry. I’m still mad about the comic.”

“What is happening right now?”

“Do you think he fell asleep with his eyes open?”

“Let’s try and leave and see what happens.”

“Come see my hairy armpits.”

“How? How do you know?”

“Do you have any proof?”

“The proof is here. Inside my gut.”

“Wow, that’s a lot of pranks.”

“Some of those must’ve been really hard to pull off.”

“You see what we’re up against?”

“Time to have fun with history.”

“Our pranks and practical jokes are the last line of defense against the injustice of our terrible principal.”

“Well, well, well. I heard you both got into a bit of the old trouble today.”

“Did you tattle-tale on us?”

“No one has to stand up for the Man. That’s the whole point of the Man. He stands up for himself, _____.”

“This is where the magic happens. Not, like, actual magic. No, we’re not practicing the dark arts.”

“_____ and I aren’t friends yet. But we’re about to be.”

“I don’t get it. It’s just science, guys.”

“That one’s still a work-in-progress.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to draw this.”

“I love Saturday ‘cause I can wear my pajamas all day.”

“I love Saturday ‘cause I can watch TV all day. I can pee a little bit in my underwear and no one will mind.”

“Where are you going with that? Do you really do that?”

“Make it end!”

“This is the stuff of nightmares.”

“We have to do something about this.”

“Maybe we should just lay low for a while.”

“Look at our fellow children. Look at their sad, miserable, pathetic faces.”

“If you won’t do it for me and you won’t do it for you, do it for future generations.”

“Best. Prank. Ever!”

“Well, that brings our story to its happy conclusion.”

“What’s happening to his face?”

“I’m so cold. So, so cold.”

“You’re doing it wrong.”

“We’re so guilty.”

“Extra credit, it feels so good!”

“I told you I would get you one day. And that day I was talking about is this day. Today. This is the day.”

“Your parents are obviously total failures.”

“I’m going to annihilate your friendship.”

“_____, no. You can’t do this. Please.”

“This is too much. I mean, even for you.”

“Our friendship’s over. I’ll never see you again in my life!”

“Hey, hey, calm down. It’s not the end of the world.”

“We’ll still be best friends.”

“What am I talking about? This is bad.”

“Long distance relationships never work!”

“This is the future! The future always has robots.”

“I’m the artist, you’re the writer. That’s why we need each other.”

“I mean, if we get put in separate classes, it’s the end of the world as we know it.”

“Oh, is this a bad time?”

“What brings you around here?”

“I just made this tuna casserole and I noticed it had your name on it… in jalapeño peppers.”

“Eww. They like each other.”

“Oh, _____. Get your head out of the clouds.”

“I was kinda’ hoping we appealed to a slightly cooler demographic.”

“It’s really incredible. I can actually see the end of your friendship.”

“Why are we floating?”

“I honestly didn’t think that would happen.”

“Captain Underpants? Is that really you?”

“Underpants? Check. Captain? Also check. I’m pretty sure I’m Captain Underpants.”

“Well, that was invigorating.”

“We gotta stop him!”

“Get out of the road, bozo!”

“You poor soul. You’re trapped in some sort of invisible box-like prison.”

“Is it okay that I’m kinda’ loving this?”

“You think a guy like him would be easy to find.”

“Stand down, you giant ape monster!”

“You put up a good fight!”

“Never underestimate the power of underwear!”

“Come on, _____, let’s get you back into bed.”

“Well, don’t worry about that.”

“There’s no more evil villains around here.”

“What are we gonna do? He can’t just stay here.”

“But can’t we just take a moment to acknowledge what’s happening here, please?”

“Well, a hero’s work is never done. Now it is time to fly again!”

“Where are my pants?”

“Why am I soaking wet?”

“We should probably stop.”

“I didn’t know I could do this.”

“I wonder what horrors lie inside…”

“Why’d you scream?”

“I just assumed there’d be something scary, but… it’s actually a really nice place.”

“We probably shouldn’t snoop around.”

“Ahh, this guy’s bumming me out.”

“I gotta say, this has not been the funnest snoop.”

“I sure hope we don’t ever end up like him.”

“I actually can’t see a thing. These sunglasses are too dark.”

“Are you sure my secret identity requires these… restricting, uncomfortable clothes?”

“Ooh, flirt alert!”

“I totally got this. Don’t worry one bit.”

“I’m getting a really good vibe about you.”

“Children must never laugh!”

“Just sit there and look angry for no reason.”

“How did I get here? Why is my face wet?”

“It’s like we’re the same person, yet so, so different. I love it.”

“If I had to change one thing about the world, it would be to get rid of… laughter.”

“Oh, look at this. We got a grade-A suck up.”

“I don’t like this. I mean, I don’t really understand it, but the stuff I am understanding seems genuinely bad to me.”

“Medicine is the best medicine.”

“I don’t get it. What’s so funny?”

“Can you hear me? I’m sitting right here.”

“There’s a new super villain in town and we’re trying to discover his weakness.”

“What’s going on with your face? Are you choking? Do you need to sneeze?”

“Excuse me, could you explain to me why this is funny?”

“Oh, what’s happening? I’m hyperventilating.”

“Is that really your name? It’s not, like, some kind of joke?”

“Why are you laughing?”

“I should be famous! I should be dating models twice my size and doing the talk show circuit! I should be protecting baby seals as a cause that I say I care about, but not really!”

“Stop! Stop laughing!”

“How much of that was out loud?”

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Ever heard of the sidewalk?”

“Wow, that actually worked out for once.”

“Now, let me ask you something. If you could control your principal, what would you do?”

“Yeah, scam, okay? We’re closed for Ebola.”

“I’m sorry. Why are you showing me this?”

“You have no sense of humor like a chair or a supermodel.”

“Oh, this is gonna be epic.”

“This whole visual storytelling thing is hard.”

“Hey, _____, why are we doing this again?”

“Woah! Where did this even come from?”

“Oh, my goodness! Is that a ferris wheel?!”

“This cotton candy makes me feel powerful!”

“_____ would totally lose his mind if he saw this.”

“What is this, a carnival? I hate carnivals!”

“Oh, this looks fun! How do we play?”

“What are we gonna do? We can’t keep this up forever.”

“_____, I really want some sugar.”

“We made the wrong choice!”

“This did not solve anything!”

“Nothing’s more fun than fire!”

“What is happening?!”

“Free the children!”

“_____, come back!”

“_____, I’m right here! I’m right here!”

“Don’t leave me!”

“Where would a burgeoning villain find unlimited power?”

“True power comes from within.”

“No, it doesn’t, _____! That’s on stupid posters!”

“The world, as you know it, is about to go extinct.”

“Finally! You’re speaking my language!”

“Okay, we have to stop him.”

“Are you in there? Ohh… Maybe you’re hiding here.”

“I bet he thought that was going to be cooler.”

“Prepare to be vanquished, and justice to be served on a piping hot platter of freedom! With a side order of liberty and a super-sized cup filled with freedom also!”

“Ugh, you are just so annoying!”

“I’m not naked!”

“Any final words before this whole revenge thing goes down?”

“Wait, wait, listen. We apologize for making fun of your name. I mean, that was just wrong.”

“Listen, your problem isn’t that people laugh at you. Your problem is that you can’t laugh at yourself.”

“Oh, I hope you enjoyed your years of laughter and merriment, because they’re about to come to an end.”

“Do you find anything funny about me now?”

“_____, I can’t smile anymore…”

“_____, can you hear me?”

“Now, if we don’t laugh at something soon, we may never laugh again.”

“Don’t you say that, _____! Don’t you leave me!”

“It feels so good to laugh!”

“No, stop it! Stop laughing! You’re ruining everything!”

“Extra credit or survival? I choose survival!”

“No, how could this be happening?”

“Never underestimate the power of laughter, _____.”

“Ugh, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I think I bruised a rib… because I’ve never laughed so hard in my life!”

“Why does one person have so much lip balm?”

“No way! He has real super powers!”

“Ohh, that is an obvious twist I did not see coming despite my many years of comic book studies!”

“I have come to save the day!”

“Oh, there’s more where that came from.”

“Wow. He is super dumb.”

“Ow! Did you just slap me?”

“Give it back, it’s mine!”

“No fair! No backsies!”

“Would you just give me that?”

“Now look what you’ve done!”

“Yeah, that’s more like it!”

“There we go. Back to normal like it never happened.”

“Ah! A bee! Get it away from me!”

“What? What the… Why would you do that? You just let the bad guy get away!”

“What the heck happened here?”

“I can’t believe we made him.”

“And he’s even dumber in real life.”

“We have to get rid of him, don’t we?”

“I mean, he’s a way bigger problem than _____ ever was.”

“Just ‘cause we’re in separate classes doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

“I mean, we’ll always be friends. Right?”

“Let’s do a blood oath. But minus the blood. I don’t wanna see the blood. No blood.”

“What? No! That’s not sanitary!”

“Can’t we just do, like, a verbal declaration of friendship or something?”

“I, _____, hereby declare _____ as my best friend, permanently, forever.”

“The truth is a slippery thing.”

“What am I doing in your tree house again?”

“Why does this keep happening?”

“Where are my clothes? Where are they?”

“Do you wanna go on a date?”

“Big plans tonight, _____?”

“You know, it feels good to do something nice for _____.”

“Oh, my, I’ve never been to such a fancy restaurant before.”

“Well, I had to go all out for m’lady.”

“Once again, that brings our story to its happy conclusion.”

“I think there’s valuable life lessons in there… somewhere.”

“Are you worried about impending doom?”

“Those evil villains got you filled with gloom.”

“But don’t you fear, there’s a hero in the sky.”

“It’s wedgie-power time!”

“Mac and cheese, PBs and jellies—some things are better together, and that’s you and me.”

“You are my favorite, I’m not ashamed to admit.”

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Hot Headed, Cold Hearted- Chapter 4

“And you didn’t have any clue this was happenin’, eh? Noooo idea that your bot friend was acting suspicious? Seems a bit strange, that does.” Junkrat sat with the seat cranked back, arms folded behind his head and his feet propped up. Despite his slouched posture, he looked the farthest thing from relaxed. “Just poppin’ off to Canada, Junkrat. No reason to worry, Junkrat. I’ll just be on a mystery expedition with this bot that I’m insistin’ real hard is innocent and not at all weird-acting from the start! Tch. You’re real lucky Roadie and I are the sorts of loyal gents that we are, coming along like this. That’s worth at least ten points.” “I told you I don’t rank you by points!” Mei’s jaw tightened further, her hands white-knuckled around the steering grip of the little ship. “And get your peg leg off the dashboard!” He scowled at her but pulled his feet away and back onto the floor, even as he hissed back, “How about I put my peg wherever I like it, and you tell me what this mission of yours is actually about? You can’t pretend to be Little Miss Honesty and then not tell us important mission info, that’s puttin’ everything in jeopardy. What’s with the bot, Mei? I’ve seen how you’ve been acting, you know what’s really up?” “I said I don’t know! Sorry, sorry, I’m not trying to yell, but you’re making it very hard to focus. And I keep telling you, I don’t know why it’s singing that song or anything about what it might have been pointing at. And I already told you the mission parameters, we’re just going to the marked location and taking a look around in person. It just…It just wants us to go there, all right? We’re just checking it out, just in case.” “So this whole ‘scouting mission’ is just because that whacked-out bot wanted to go walkabout! And you let it!” Mei took several deep breaths. The snows had stopped but the winds had picked up, and their airship was making slow but steady progress against the face of the gale. They had left Tentpeg to start the long flight northward, into the faceless mass of the Canadian wilderness. The sea of green below was broken only by rocky mountains and lakes and there wasn’t even anything she could try to point out and distract him with. Junkrat had always been high-strung, but he was nigh uncontrollable about omnics, and even she had to admit that none of her attempts at assuaging his doubts seemed very convincing. “It’s not like that! Bastion is our friend and it clearly wants us to find something here, so we’re going to take a look. That’s all. Listen, it’s really not a big deal, so let’s just calm down. We can still do this together.” “And you can’t tell us why or if it might be leadin’ us right into an omnic trap!” Junkrat twisted in his seat to narrow his eyes at Bastion. “I say we scrap it, for our own sakes.” “Jamison, no! You promised me you would be nice! Both of you promised you wouldn’t cause trouble about this, and I’m still keeping you to that promise. Bastion is our teammate and…you don’t have to be friends, but you do have to be nice. You. Promised.”

The junker sputtered around his scarf, turning his glare back to her. “Well! Well that’s before I had all the facts, which apparently, you don’t have the facts either. That’s a promise made on shaky pretenses, love. Now me, I’m just trying to keep you safe because I’m a decent bloke, even if you’re putting up a muss and a fuss about it.” “You’re not trying to keep me safe, you’re just looking for excuses to be mean because you hate omnics!” Her voice rose even though she tried to keep it steady. “And you still promised me, no matter what. You have to keep your promises, you just have to.” “Arright, Mei! Two can play at your game; look at me and promise me that your bot friend isn’t gonna go haywire. Promise me, Mei, that you can tell me with one-hundred-percent certainty, that your overgrown washin’ machine isn’t leading us into danger. It’s just taking us to the pot of gold at the end of the fuckin’ rainbow and when we open it up, ducklings and kittens are gonna come spilling out and we’re all going to do a dance together because we’re all friends now juuuuust like you wanted.” “Would you stop being ridiculous? Do you want me to be ridiculous too? Fine! Minus ten points! Minus twenty points!” “You said we weren’t doing points! Well, aren’t you just Ms. Takesies-Backsies today? You just don’t want to face the music about your robo-pal having interior motives, is that it? Oh, that’s RICH! You know what-” Bastion all but cowered in the back of the ship’s cargo as the two in the front seat starting shouting again, its head darting between the two as the arguing continued. Snowball sat in its charging station, beeping occasionally when Mei spoke and flashing rude Mandarin phrases across its screen whenever Junkrat answered her. Ganymede seemed unwilling to face their constant bickering, staying unseen under Bastion’s winter hat. Bastion didn’t seem sure of what to do with itself, well aware that it was the subject of the tempest up front. It nervously clicked its fingertips against its gun arm, glancing up when there was a dangerous warning rumble from across the cargo hold. Roadhog, looming so large that he had to bend over inside the ship even when he was sitting down, was still staring at it through the lenses of his pig mask. Glancing from the huge man to its gun arm, Bastion quickly lowered it and held it behind its back before looking back to him. Roadhog did not respond, favorably or otherwise. Bastion’s eyelight darted from side to side again, then it held out its hand as if to shake. Roadhog did not take it. “Hmmm,” he rumbled once more, before turning his gaze back to the argument that was growing louder in volume by the minute. “…Mei.” “-And third of all, you can’t break promises just because you feel- WHAT?!” She stopped mid-argue and whirled back to look at him, then quailed at her own voice and quickly lowered it. “I’m sorry! Sorry. Mr. Roadhog. What is it?” “Are we getting close?” “Oh!” She seemed almost startled, like she had forgotten that she had been driving in the first place. Blinking, she looked down at the onboard map. “GPS gets a little spotty this far out. Less than fifty miles now. It’s taking a little longer than I would like with this wind and all. We’re flying against it, unfortunately, but there’s nothing for it. Weather system is moving in but we should be in and out before the snows hit.” She turned and looked at Junkrat expectantly. He sat with his arms folded petulantly and had been staring out the window, lifting a brow back at her. “What?” “I said, we should be in and out before the snows hit.” “Yeah?” “I said. We should be. In and out.” She stared at him before muttering in an almost hopeful way, waiting for the lewd remark that was sure to come. “In and out?” He didn’t even seem to notice her, glaring daggers at the omnic in the back. Mei rubbed her forehead before returning her attentions back to the GPS monitor. “…I got it,” Hog offered, lifting a hand from the backseat. She sighed loudly. “Thanks, Mr. Roadhog. Let’s just get there and get this over with. This isn’t really how I’d hoped this would go, but then…things never seem to go well, anyway. We’ll try to find a clearing for a landing, take Bastion to the site and see what’s there, and then we can all head back to a real town and maybe this time get a decent hotel. You two can have your own room and Bastion and Snowball and I can go over our findings so nobody has to be bothered anymore.” She steered the ship against another incoming gale, the whole vehicle shuddering from the force of it as it whistled outside the windows. “Let’s just do our jobs.” “Bee-weep-beep,” Bastion agreed, then quickly shrunk down into a more box-like structure once more when Roadhog looked at it again. Turning back towards the front, Roadhog glanced between the Mei and Junkrat, who were still trying very hard not to look at one another, but said nothing as he shrugged and sat back once more. With a last grumble, he folded his hands over his massive gut and lowered his head for yet another nap. ***

Hog snorted awake abruptly some minutes later when a loud beeping noise went off. Everyone jumped in their seats at the same time, and Mei adjusted her glasses quickly, squinting down at the GPS. “Oh! Is that a weather alert?” Three small dots, blinking rapidly, were coming up behind them on the map. For a moment, it simply didn’t register to Mei what it meant. They were in the absolute middle of nowhere. It would have been hard to get any more in the middle of nowhere. But there they were, no longer alone, as the three blinking dots started to close in behind them, almost like- Snowball’s shrill alarm call went off and recognition hit her like a thunderbolt. She gripped onto the little ship’s controls with both hands, roaring a “Everyone hold on!” before abruptly jerking it to one side. The little cargo ship was not meant for evasive maneuvers, but she jammed onto the brakes and pulled up with all her might as it tilted until it was almost horizontal. All the equipment inside that wasn’t strapped down went flying, boxes and debris and Bastion’s heavy metal chassis slamming into the unlucky Roadhog. Junkrat found himself assaulted with trash and food wrappers as he took a water bottle to the face, but he barely noticed, clinging onto the seatbelt that Mei had insisted he wear as several oblong blurs went flying past them outside the window. “Are those missiles? Are those fuckin’ missiles?!” His gaze widened as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, staring after the vapor trails that had started to curve as they turned back around for another go. “Who the hell!” “I don’t know! I don’t know!” Mei was still struggling at the helm, righting the vehicle after a moment as she stared in rapt horror down at the blinking red alerts. The little ship was barely above a civilian affair, something that Winston had gotten as little more than a cargo van to hold all her equipment, not anything to be sent into battle. It wasn’t equipped with shields, it wasn’t equipped with missiles, or even a single defensive countermeasure. And it certainly wouldn’t stand up to multiple explosions if they were being attacked. “We’re sitting ducks in this thing!” Junkrat was already struggling out of his seatbelt, diving into the mess in the back and coming up with his pack. Opening it up, he pulled out several mines, leaping over where Bastion was still trying to right itself. Flinging open one of the back doors and ignoring Mei’s demands for an explanation, his keen gaze followed one of the trails at it headed back towards them. Sticking out his tongue as he often did, concentrating, he narrowed his eyes as he watched its trajectory before rearing back and tossing the mine like a frisbee. It spun on its axis, whirling out into the wind before a quick press of the button detonated the device in an explosion of black and yellow against the gray clouds. The missile sensed the surge of heat nearby and turned right into the fireball, detonating on top of it as a second and far more powerful explosion went off behind them. “Got one!” He crowed, clinging onto the open door handle as he looked back to Mei for a quick bout of praise. She was still struggling to maintain control of the ship against the wind, her glasses askew and her expression intense as she aimed their path for the nearby mountains. The other two missiles were still being tracked on her screen, closing in behind them as she heard a series of clanks and whirs. Bastion had finally gotten itself upright, and had quickly shifted into its turret mode as Ganymede was sent fleeing to take shelter behind Snowball’s charger. With a “Doot-de-dooooot!”, it opened fire, the other back door shot off in a hail of bullets and sailing off into the sky as the omnic locked its sights on the targets headed towards them. Its bullet chains began cranking in rapid machine-gun fire as another cavalcade of ammo was sent spraying towards the incoming missiles. The gunfire caught one, another explosion sending a shockwave through the air that made Junkrat’s grin widen and his bones hum, though he narrowed his gaze at the bot and muttered a hateful little, “Showoff…” Bastion took aim once more, but the van hit another errant wind gale and shook violently as its shots went wild. The last missile rapidly closed in, spiraling through the air towards them, and one of the bot’s shots finally managed to hit its target. It detonated with another air-rippling boom, but this one had caught their tail end as the van pitched violently once more. Junkrat didn’t even have time to make up a one-liner or an insult, clinging to the remaining door…until it was ripped off its hinges, and both door and junker were wrenched into the open air. He was sucked out into the void, clawing at air as both he and his bag went spinning into the nothingness with an almost comical squeal. “YAAAWHOOOOOIEEEE!”

***

Roadhog was on his feet before Mei could even finish her horrified scream. The huge junker filled the open back of the van, his arm flinging outward as there was a creaking rustle of chain, his hook spinning out after his airborne partner. It snagged the bottom of his coat, narrowly missing impaling his skinny belly as Junkrat dangled and dragged from the van like a hooked fish; face down, ass skyward, and wide-eyed at the rushing blur of green trees beneath him. “Pull me up! Pull me up, ya drongo!” The shrieking of the wind drowned out any more words he might have said, flailing his skinny limbs as Roadhog started pulling the chain to reel him in. Hand over hand, he started lifting the younger man back towards safety. Inside, Mei allowed herself a relieved sigh… Right up until the screen started beeping and flashing red again. The engine of the left rear hover was on fire, and there were two more dots now closing in on them from the north. She recognized the shape almost at once, and the symbols on the hull only confirmed it; these were no doubt the source of the missile barrage, and they belonged to Talon. There would be no outrunning them this time, and though she yelled a warning and started to try and turn the van around, it was only moments before the Talon ships were in range. The first barrage was thrown off by the wind and Mei’s desperate attempts to barrel roll. It hit the front engines as more alarms went off and smoke began billowing from the hood. The whole vehicle dropped abruptly and started to tilt, and Roadhog was nearly pitched out the back, struggling to keep hold of the chain where Junkrat was still dangling. The ship was starting to limp downward, and Junkrat’s nose was dangerously close to brushing the tops of the trees as he heard the telltale popping of threads where he was precariously hooked by his winter coat. And when the rear engine died completely, that side of the ship dropped out from under Hog’s boots. He fell, the slack in the chain rippling along its length until Junkrat was jerked to and fro in the air, and then dropped into the treeline as the branches swallowed him up. There was a ripping noise and a cut-off scream, and then the hook was left spinning merrily in the air, empty of its charge, and Junkrat was gone entirely. “JAMIE! JAMIE, NO!” Mei’s wail cut through even the shrieking of the wind and the pops of the burning engines, slamming on the brakes to try and turn back around. Roadhog managed to right himself, shoving Bastion out of his way as he lunged back towards the front, his gigantic hand closing around both of Mei’s hand and the control grip beneath. Wheezing a breath, he snarled a low, “Keep going!” “No! Jamison, he-” “Keep going forward! No help if we’re dead!” Roadhog’s grip was like iron around her as he kept the ship straight. He was right. Military training and common sense bade them keep moving forward and staying on the defense until they could safely go back for help. But no amount of training in Lena’s VR Air Battle simulators could prepare for something like this. Their ship was barely moving forward on two and a half engines, trailing smoke and flames. Their only hope was to find a place on the mountainside that was clear enough to bail onto, but as they limped on their way, the Talon fighters were already upon them like lightning. Bastion was still perched in the back cargo, its turret gun swiveling desperately in hopes that the ships would pass by. Instead, another round of pulse bullets slammed into the side of their burning ship. It sheared through the metal like melted butter, nearly cutting the structure in two as sparks flew and the whole back end screeched and started to come apart. Bastion looked down as the floor gave way and sagged, and its turret form was already whirring and struggling to change back before it simply slid backwards and then dropped out of sight without a sound. With a panicked storm of tweeting and a flash of yellow feathers, Ganymede dove after it. Roadhog and Mei, and Snowball were the only ones left inside the rapidly disintegrating vehicle. Cracks had started to appear in the windshield and the GPS abruptly flickered off and went dead as the ‘check engine’ light lit up helpfully. Worse yet, the steering controls weren’t responding properly anymore, and she was sure she could smell burning behind the main control panel. “Mr. Roadhog, brace yourself!” she cried aloud, turning the ship downward. “I’m going to try to land it!” Roadhog buckled his seatbelt. The ship dropped again as the Talon fighters suddenly hung back, watching the van as it careened for the mountainside. The emergency lights were still flashing uselessly, blinking amongst the smoke and flames as it hit the treetops and bounced several times before it hit the stony slope. It went spinning like a toy, shedding science equipments and a flurry of papers, screeching across the rocks in a storm of sparks before slowly skidding to a stop against a massive boulder. It lay there, electric blue sparks still popping around it and fire starting to spread across the twisted hull. With their target firmly incapacitated, the Talon ships dove down after them.

***

Inside the wreckage, Roadhog had braced himself. The front of the van had dented inward and he was pretty sure that his leg had dented in with it, judging by the immense pain radiating up his femur, but he was alive and conscious. Well, semi-conscious. And being only semi-conscious and very much in pain was hardly ideal for their situation. Groping in his winter pack by his belly, he pulled out the familiar yellow canister, clicking it into place with one smooth well-practiced motion. The tab was pulled and the hogdrogen flooded his mask, his nose, and then his lungs in succession. The pain faded to a manageable level for now, and the fuzzy redness around his vision slowly came into focus. Mei was laying unmoving next to him, her arms hanging limply and her face buried in the airbag, and red was trickling down from where she rested against the rough white fabric. Hesitating slightly, Hog reached out one huge gloved hand and gently peeled her up and away from it. Her glasses were shattered, and it looked like her nose had been shattered with it, along with a deep open cut across her forehead. She flopped almost bonelessly in his grip, out cold. But she moaned a little when he moved her, and she was alive. The relief that flooded through him was almost better than the hogdrogen. “Tango down, two survivors, two fatalities.” Hog turned his head very slowly at the sound of a garbled voice outside, followed by the answering static of a radio. The Talon agents were advancing on what remained of their ship, weapons drawn, as they made their way through the debris. He heard one of them pause. “Papers have the Overwatch symbol on them. Sending visual…Confirmed…” The soldier waited for a moment, holding up one hand to signal the pause of his cohorts, before nodding. “Preparing for transport of the two captives for questioning…Roger that. Right, let’s take a look at who they sent. Move in, pacify any-” The hook and chain hurtled out of the black smoke, snagging one of the oncoming Talon troops and yanking them back out of sight before they could even react. Inside, there was a very brief yell, followed by the sound of a gun firing and the clatter of scrap metal…and then a sort of wet splattering noise. The other troops lifted their weapons as an immense shape lifted up out of the smoke and vapor, the massive junker rearing up to his full height, the swine mask’s blank glass lenses glinting like a dead thing’s, and the adorable pom-pom on Ana’s winter pig hat bobbling to and fro. Mei’s unconscious form had been unceremoniously draped over one shoulder in a fireman’s carry, her face smearing fresh blood into his coat. It was a precarious perch, but he needed both arms free, reaching into the debris of the ship and slamming a fistful of loose scrap and bolts into the feeder of his gun. When the first Talon agent opened fire, bullets ripping through his brand new parka and into the scarred meat of his thick hide, he answered in kind. A spray of razor-edged metal and rusted nails had always served him as well as any other ammo, and the screams that came after (if they had time to scream, anyway) were always like music to his ears. He descended upon the Talon troops like a thunderstorm. And if Mei had been awake, she could have testified that Australian storms were like no others in the world. The old junker had been nigh-legendary in his homeland, a one-man apocalyptic force responsible for the massacre of any errant omnic, junker, or fool that dared cross him. And that was what Talon faced now. The scrap gun clanked and shot, clanked and shot again, his other hand whirling the heavy metal hook around on its chain to drag in those who were stupid enough to think themselves out of his range. He dispatched two of them in very short order, and his heavy spiked boot brutally stomped one down into the snow when he saw them struggling to get back up again. Snowball finally managed to struggle its way out of the wreck of the van, blaring a cute beeping warcry as its emoticon eyes flashed into its ‘anger’ face. The little bot hadn’t been outfitted with any of its cryo-packets for a battle, but upon seeing Mei injured and under attack, it hurtled towards one of the Talon trooper’s faces, backing up and slamming into them again and again. After attacking Junkrat so many times, it had gotten adept at dodging limbs and fists, and threw itself at the offending soldier with all its might. Roadhog focused on the remaining agents. More bullets tore into his back, and when he turned to punish the man who had thought that would work against someone like him, he felt something spear through his coat, pinpricking into his skin with little metal prongs. The wires running from were attached to a little black box one of the other agents was holding. Heh. They thought a taser would work? What sort of idiot thought a taser would- The sheer power of the electrical volts that shot through him a moment later was certainly surprising. His limbs spasmed and stiffened, and he could feel Mei slipping out of his grasp. Powering through the pain, he managed to grasp blindly for the wires attached to the electrical prongs, ripping them free. Grabbing the unconscious girl in the crook of one arm, he felt more of the little prongs hit the massive expanse of his back, and then another by his shoulder. “Boss wants them alive!” He heard one of them say, just as more electrical convulsions ripped through him. He groaned, spasming once more despite his best efforts, as Mei was flung out of his grip and onto the snow, the huge junker collapsing to one knee a moment later. One of the troopers moved towards the girl, and was met with the spiked metal knuckles of Roadhog’s fist as they were punched hard enough to send them flying. With steam rising from the burnt areas of his skin surrounding the electric spikes, he tried to gather her back up again, crouching over her downed form in the blood-spattered snow. Snowball beeped in alarm and rushed towards them, and was hit with another set of the flying prongs. Yanked back by the wire suddenly attached to its underside, it flashed a series of exclamation marks and tried to pull away. A bolt of white arced from the black device, over the wire, and buzzed through its circuits, overloading them with a series of loud pops and crackling noises. With its screen flashing random symbols and emotes, it wavered from side to side before it went black and dead, dropping to the ground with a muffled thud. The thud when Roadhog hit the ground was much, much louder. The combined voltage from the Talon’s weaponry had finally downed even the mightiest of them, as the massive junker sprawled out in the snow with his heavy arm flung over the girl next to him. He lay unmoving as the remaining troopers swarmed over them both, arguing with one another as they tried to figure out how to attach their cuffs to fit over Hog’s thick wrists, and who would be stuck trying to move him into one of the ships. Mei was far easier to handle. Her limbs were quickly bound together before being lifted up and hauled away. One of the agents paused only to aim his visual device at her face, and was promptly answered by a low, gravely voice with an echoing undertone, sounding in the commlink in his ear. “…Agent Mei-Ling Zhou, one of the original organization’s members. Hm. Admittedly, that’s a…surprise. Bring her in. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, and I’m sure she can’t wait to catch up with her old friends…”

***

Sometime later, the Talon ships were gone and the fire had finally died down in the wreckage of the van, smoldering with little bits of black ash flying away into the screaming winds. The snow had been stomped down around it, spattered with red, and all bodies and prisoners removed. Of its original occupants, nothing remained but the burnt-out husk of Snowball, half-buried and lifeless, and a pair of twisted, broken glasses abandoned on the cold ground.

[introvert-dragon]

My favorite place in all the world is next to you

Summary:

Every time they played adventure games, Hiccup always got to be the prince.

But Astrid never played the princess—Never.

Astrid would always be his knight-in-shining armor.

Childhood Sweethearts AU. Hiccstrid Feels.

FF.net | AO3.org

My favorite place in all the world is next to you.

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~Childhood~

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Hiccup first met her when Mama and Dada went to visit an old friend's home for dinner.

Unlike him, she had always been confident even as a kid.

When she opened the door for his family, she shook hands and bowed respectfully to Mama and Dada, while his legs were shaking as he hid behind his mother.

Then the moment his eyes met hers, her eyes brimmed with excitement, and she immediately pulled on his hands and introduced herself to him.

Astrid Hofferson was her name.

Hiccup thought Astrid had the prettiest eyes of all the pretty eyes. It was the same color as his toy car or water or sky. He felt like he could stare at her eyes the whole day, and then his legs stopped shaking.

"Dear, Little Astrid here just told you her name, what about you? go on introduce yourself." His mother gently ushered him away from her legs.

"I-I... Hiccup," He stuttered; Astrid laughed at him but he didn't think that she was making fun of him. It made him smile. He couldn't understand it but he felt happy when she laughed because she looked so happy and pretty.

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Astrid was brave, she was never scared of anything—not even clowns.

They were at a birthday party of his cousin Snotlout. Hiccup told Mama and Dada that he didn't want to go. Snotlout was mean to him and he told him that Hiccup was not invited to his birthday party. Humph. It was not like he wanted to be invited.

"Astrid is going too dear," Mama said.

Hiccup was convinced.

When they arrived at the party, Hiccup almost peed. Nobody told him that there were going to be clowns! Hiccup hated clowns more than the monster under his bed!

Hiccup started punching on his Dada's arms to go home. His Dada only laughed at him and said, "Son, aren't you a grown up boy? A real boy doesn't get scared of clown, like your cousin Snotlout."

Hiccup was still scared but nodded determinedly to his father. As soon as his father put him down, he heard someone call his name.

"Hiccup!"

It was Astrid. She looked even prettier wearing her favorite blue dungarees with bird pins on it. Hiccup told her that she looked like a princess with her braided hair. She punched him in his arm hard.

"I am not a princess! I am a warrior!" she said, crossing her arms.

Hiccup deflated. Was Astrid mad at him? Then Astrid smiled and dragged him in his arms and started heading towards the other kids ... and THE CLOWNS.

"A-Astrid... w-wait!"

Astrid didn't stop.

"Hurry up Hiccup, what are you waiting for! they are starting the games soon!"

Hiccup started to panic, and stopped his feet to stop Astrid but she was too strong. He could feel tears building up in his eyes, and he started shaking again.

Snotlout saw him, and began shouting mean words at him. "Look! its Hiccup the ninny!" At least that made Astrid stop, if only to glare at Snotlout. She turned around to check on him, and her eyes widened.

"What's wrong Hiccup? why are you crying?"

"I-I'm not crying—"He wiped his tears."—I'm a grown up boy!" Hiccup puffed his chest, pretending to be fine. Then he saw the clown approaching. Hiccup couldn't control his shaking. Then she felt Astrid's arms around him; she was warm and made him feel safe.

"Hiccup what's wrong? you know you can always tell me." She gently whispered to his ears. "Is it Snotlout teasing you?"

He shook his head, hesitantly pulled away from her hug and pointed at the clown.

Astrid frowned; Hiccup thought that she was going to tell him off for being such a cry baby. Instead, Astrid charged to the clown and kicked the clown so hard in the sheens.

And after that she punched Snotlout in the face.

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Every time they played adventure games, Hiccup always got to be the prince.

But Astrid never played the princess—Never.

Astrid would always be his knight in shining armor.

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Teacher Riley said that they get to be grown ups for today.

"Remember just like we practiced. You go first Astrid then after she is done, you are next Hiccup," Teacher Riley said, "Repeat after me one last time. When I grow up, I want to be a...?"

"When I grow up, I want to be a Firefighter! And just like my Uncle Finn, I will be a hero and help save many people's lives!" Astrid announced proudly.

"What about you Hiccup?" Teacher Riley said.

"I-I... when I grow up, I want to be a Pilot! So I can fly across the whole world!"

"Very good you two!" Teacher Riley beamed, and gave them both a light hug. "Now you just have to wait for the twins then the two of you are next."

Hiccup was excited to be a pilot but as soon as he peaked at the curtain, Hiccup saw there were lots of people who were going to be watching them at the stage. Then the twins came out from the curtains, and before he knew it, Astrid dragged him into the stage with her before he could protest.

When they arrived at the center of the stage, Astrid let go of his hand and started, "When I grow up, I want to be a Firefighter! And just like my Uncle Finn. I will be a hero and help save many people's lives!"

The crowd applauded Astrid for a few seconds before they settled down, then suddenly all eyes were on him; Hiccup froze and his legs were suddenly shaking and he forgot know what to say!

Astrid must had felt him shaking when she grabbed his hand tightly, laced her fingers with him and made him look at her in the eyes. Astrid smiled at her warmly, then gave his arm a gentle nudge; it made him felt calmer.

Hiccup remembered now! He was going to be a pilot; Mama even got him his own cool airplane and pilot goggles, and Dada would even let him drive on his lap on the way back to home later. But.

But Hiccup's mouth moved on it's own and said.

"When I grow up, I want to marry Astrid!"

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Dada gave him two dollars for recieving a gold stars for being such a good student. Hiccup had been saving it for the school fair, and today, Hiccup couldn't wait to spend it.

"Are we there yet?" Hiccup asked for the fifth time.

"Now now... patience dear." Mama said, "We are almost there. You don't want Dada driving too fast–"

"–Why not?"

"Because, if Dada drives too fast, we might get caught by the police, and if we get caught by the police, we won't be able to make it to the school fair."

Few minutes later, they arrived in front of the school gate. Astrid was already there waiting for him with a frown on her face and her arms crossed. As soon as Hiccup got off the car, her face brightened immediately when she saw him and rushed over his to side before scowling then punching him in the arm.

"That's for making me wait!" She pouted, then grabbed his hand. "Quick! The school fair already started minutes ago!"

Most of the time, Astrid was dragging him along at every booth; Hiccup didn't mind it as long as he got to be with Astrid the whole school fair.

Then Astrid suddenly stopped, her eyes focused on a booth that was crowded with grown-up students.

"Hiccup, look! It's a marriage booth! We can get married!" And there she went dragging him again but this time with even more fervor.

"We want to get married!" Astrid demanded to the lady at the booth who was wearing officiator robes.

The lady smiled at them then said, "Of course, as long as you pay two dollars for the wedding ceremony."

"I..." Astrid's shoulder's sagged. "I-I don't have money..."

Hiccup wanted to spend his two dollars for the dragon toy but Astrid looked so sad and upset.

"I have money!" Hiccup stepped forward, handing over two dollars to the lady.

"Hiccup!" Astrid gasped, "You don't have to! You said you wanted to buy a dragon toy with your money!"

"It's fine," Hiccup shrugged. "I wanted to buy the dragon toy, but marrying you is more important."

"Oh... Hiccup." Astrid's face rekindled then she hugged him so tight that he couldn't breathe. From that moment, Hiccup knew her smile was worth more than thousands of dragon toys he could ever have.

"Are you sure you want to spend two dollars for the ceremony?" The lady asked him.

Hiccup nodded determindly.

"Well... Today's your lucky day!" The lady said. "You just got picked by cupid as the lucky pair, so you two are getting married for free! Congratulations!"

And so Hiccup and Astrid first got married on their first school fair.

Astrid looked like her face was hurting so much from smiling, she wasn't supposed to be smiling like a blushing princess but Hiccup didn't mind. In his eyes, Astrid can be both a warrior and his bride. Astrid punched Hiccup in his arm to remind him that she was a still warrior, then she kissed him in his cheek.

See? A warrior and his bride.

There were confetti everywhere and everyone was cheering for them except Snotlout and other boys.

"Are we really married?" Hiccup later asked.

Astrid frowned, then grabbed his hand tightly. ''Of course we are! No take backsies!"

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Hiccup knew something was wrong the moment he found out that Astrid was absent. Especially when it was Wednesday. Wednesday was P.E. day, and Astrid always loved P.E. because she got to place top at everything.

Teacher Riley excused him in the middle of art class saying that his Mama was going to pick him up early. Hiccup was upset that he didn't get to finish his drawing but when Mama said that Astrid needed him—Hiccup packed his things so fast that he left his crayons.

Mama was quiet the whole time they were driving back home, and Mama wouldn't answer his questions why Astrid needed him and he was getting so worried.

When they arrived home, as soon as Hiccup got off the car, Mama kneeled down and held him in his shoulders and said, "Dear, Astrid is going to be staying with us for a while..." Mama sighed. "You know Uncle Fin right?" Hiccup nodded. "Something bad happened—" He gasped, "—and Astrid's Mama and Papa are going to be away but Uncle Finn went to a very very far away place... and Astrid's all alone in your room right now–"

Hiccup didn't stay to hear everything Mama said, and ran upstairs to his room. Hiccup knew how much Astrid loved her Uncle Finn; he was her idol, her role model and her favorite Uncle. And if something bad happened to her favorite Uncle—she was going to be upset.

But Hiccup didn't expect too see Astrid this upset.

Astrid never cried, not even when she got a booboo when they were playing sticks and stones, not when she missed an episode of pokemon or digimon, not when she got bad tummy for eating too much icecream.

Hiccup never saw Astrid this small ... and it broke something in him to see her like that.

Even if Hiccup had always been the taller one between the two of them—Astrid was not small. She was strong and brave and awesome but now ... she looked so small, curled up like a ball, and she was crying.

"Go away!" She screamed when Hiccup knocked.

"Astrid, it's me Hiccup." Hiccup approached her slowly.

"Hiccup?" Astrid turned around to look as if to check if it was really him, then ran to his side, and hugged him so tight.

"What's wrong... why are you crying Astrid," Hiccup asked gently, hugging her back.

"I'm not crying... I-I'm just happy to see you." Astrid said, pulling away from the hug as she wiped her face then punched his arms.

Her punch did not hurt ... But it hurt Hiccup to see her like this.

"Astrid," Hiccup said gently. He grabbed his hanky from his pocket and wiped her tears from her cheeks. "You know you can always tell me..."

Astrid nodded then said, "Uncle Finn...—" She broke into tears again. "—He's gone Hiccup... they said he went somewhere far away, and he is never going back. Why did he leave me Hiccup?"

"I-I don't know ..." Hiccup said.

Hiccup took one of her hand, then hooked his pinky with her pinky.

"But I promise—I will never leave you, Astrid. Never."

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~Childhood~

end.

[toraffles]

Little Red Flowers [first, possibly only, chapter]

Does anyone remember that one excerpt of a fem!Harry fic I was working on? I had the entire first chapter written out almost two years ago, but knowing myself, I decided not to post it until I’d at least written the second chapter. Lo and behold, that... never happened, and also I realized that I really don’t have much plans for the future of this fic anyway, so here is that first chapter for your perusal. Please don’t expect a continuation, because one won’t be coming. I do have a lot of ideas for this, but I’m not going to write them here because I may salvage them for another fem!Harry fic that @glowssary​ annd I are idly playing with. So, without further ado:

LITTLE RED FLOWERS

CHAPTER ONE

It is both alarming and not when the child is found on their doorstep, with irises of deep teal and wispy hair the vermilion of sunrise. Like a prophecy, she can already foresee that those eyes will brighten into a brilliant green in a few years, and she needs not even glance at the letter clutched in tiny fingers to know whose child this is, because she knows, she knows, and she also knows exactly what this means. She bends down and snatches at the envelope left atop of a pile of soft blankets, carefully avoiding the gaze of the infant who stares at her with those too familiar eyes.

Petunia Dursley née Evans, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, is written on the back in slanted, looping calligraphy that tugs at a memory she has long since banished, for it is mired in the humiliation and resentment that fills her to the brim wherever magic is involved, wherever Lily is involved. The paper is an unbleached off-white, thick and pulpy between her fingers, and skimming the contents tells her little more than what she has already determined for herself.

Lily is dead. Lily, her little sister, her only sister, is dead. And she must be, for there is no other reason for this child, obviously the offspring of Lily and that Potter boy, to be laid out in a little woven basket and left on her doorstep.

Petunia takes a carefully measured breath. She blinks, once, twice. She takes another breath.

Her little sister has been taken away by magic once again, but this time, this time there is no potential for second chances and apologies, this time there is no future for reconciliation, this time she is irrefutably, irrevocably late, no do-overs, no take-backsies Lily is gone gone gone and Petunia never had the chance to tell her why she had been so cruel to her, not even once, and suddenly she is angry, suddenly she is furious, because how dare that girl, how dare she die before Petunia was finally ready to ask forgiveness, how dare she leave Petunia alone as the last of their family, how dare she hoist onto Petunia the burden of caring for her stupid little infant -

Remembering herself, the blonde cants her head to the side and stares into the solemn scrutiny of Lily’s child, fascinated by what must be her little sister’s baby pictures brought to life all over again. The child’s face is wet with silent distress. Salty moisture trails paths over plump cheeks and a pert nose and a puckered little mouth. Petunia brings a hand to brush soft fingers over the child’s brow but it is shaking too badly, and she fears she may catch her nails across those beautiful eyes. She brings the trembling hand instead to her own cheek and when she brings it away it is damp with something like dew.

It takes a few moments, but Petunia is startled to realize that the child is not crying at all; it is an illusion caused by her own tears, crawling down her skin and dripping onto infant features. Somehow, she finds the image too comforting to move away: it seems almost as if Lily herself is crying for Petunia, for her misfortunes and her resentment and her bitter, bitter heart. She never could quite figure if Lily would have forgiven Petunia for everything she had ever said, for every hostile jeer and cutting barb, for every moment she had hurt the redhead and smiled about it. And now she never would. But surely, surely, this child is more than enough to wash away the regret that drowns her lungs, thick and heavy. If it was Dudley in this position, she knows Lily would have taken him in as her own, would have cared for him like her own son, so maybe if she does the same...

The life of the dead is placed in the memory of the living, she thinks, lifting the child in her thin arms and holding it close. Its breaths are sweet and warm against her skin, which has begun to chill in the brisk November air.

“Holly Euphemia Potter,” Petunia says into the empty wind, tasting the words on her tongue. Lily has followed the maternal tradition of naming baby girls after flowers, and this soothes her a little. “I’ve always wanted a daughter.”

The door slams shut at her heels as she turns inside. It wouldn’t do to linger outside too long; after all, what would the neighbours think?

Holly Potter is a very ordinary little girl. Or at least, she tries very hard to be an ordinary little girl. Not because she finds ordinariness to be particularly compelling, but because Aunt Tuney says there is nothing better than being ordinary and of course Aunt Tuney is right; in her experience, Aunt Tuney is always right.

Except when it comes to Dudley.

Aunt Tuney loves Holly, this is true enough, but she utterly adores Dudley, who equally adores making Holly as miserable as he can. Unfortunately Aunt Tuney refuses to believe any such thing about her Darling Diddlykins, and the few times Holly bothers to truthfully report the origins of the scrape on her knee, or why her pretty new smock has dirt smeared messily on its skirt, or the reason why there are drying tear tracks on her cheeks, a few words from Dudley quickly clears up the issue.

Often, the situation unfolds as such:

"I didn't do it!" Dudley will say, following Holly's accusation.

"Holly Euphemia Potter," Aunty will then respond, her voice sharp. "I did not raise you to be a liar. You must tell me the truth, right away."

Thus Holly is often forced to lie in order to avoid being punished for lying when she only wants to give the truth. And Dudley, having never been told off for bullying Holly, continues to do so without qualm or worry, for he is secure in his mother's trust.

This is how Holly finds herself being chased around on the playground by her large, fat cousin who is brandishing at her a long stick. On the end closest to her there is a snake coiled up tight and hissing angrily; the afternoon sun gives its grey-black scales a menacing sheen.

She is especially afraid because she can hear him - for it is a him - threatening to bite and tear and hurt whichever human he can land his fangs on first. She doesn't want to be hurt, not at all, so she runs and runs as fast as her five-year-old legs will take her.

Eventually, Holly knows she will tire.

She takes a quick glance over her shoulder to gauge if Dudley has begun to sweat through his shirt yet, and shrieks when she sees how close the snake has gotten.

"Stop it! Go away," she cries out.

It is not Dudley who answers her plea, however. Rather, it is the snake who irritably snaps, "Believe me, you moronic little monkey, if I could leave I would in an inssstant."

Holly almost stops to gape at the mean creature, but at the last moment remembers she must keep running if she wants to avoid being bitten. "You said a bad word!" she manages to squeak out through heavy breaths. "Aunt Tuney will wash out your mouth with soap!"

"Foolisssh creature, your threatsss ssscare me not," it hisses back. "I will sssink my teeth into your flesssh and revel in the tassste of your blood. My venom will make you writhe with pain until the life drainsss out of your sssoft, weak body - "

Holly claps her hands over her ears and shakes her head because she cannot bear to hear the cruel thing's threats. She is scared, so very scared - no, no, she is terrified, she's really going to die and go away forever, like her mommy and daddy did, she's never going to see Aunt Tuney again or eat delicious trifles and bombes or wear pretty frocks that make her feel like a princess or even start Primary School and make even one friend, though she's supposed to begin attendance this very September.

I don't want to die, she thinks to herself with desperation that fills her to her toes. Let me get away from here, I want to get away from here, please, please, please, take me away...

Holly squeezes her eyes shut and wishes as hard as she can, expecting nothing to happen.

When she opens them again, she is very, very surprised to find that something, in fact, has happened. And this something is a rather big Something indeed, for she does not recognize where she is in the least.

Holly sneezes messily.

For one, never has she ever been privy to such filth in her short life. This is in small part due to Aunt Tuney's constant crusade for cleanliness, but mostly because of the impossibly thick layer of grime that coats every surface she can see.

The place she has found herself is a hovel in the truest sense of the word. The walls are composed of worn, rotted bricks riddled with holes; the original colour of the stone is indiscernible underneath all the moss and mould that monopolizes it. There is light enough to see but it streams in not through the tiny windows, which are an invariable murky gray-brown and thick with scum, but through the gaps in the tiles of the roof. The building itself seems to sag with age and neglect, as do all surviving articles of furniture. Carcasses of various creepy-crawlers litter the dust intermittently, dried out husks with wings made too heavy for flight and abandoned shells with too many little legs pointed into the air.

Holly glances down and sees that her own feet have made a pair of straight indentations in the grit. The dust rises all the way to her mid-shins, and to the left of her knee is a small green-bodied creature with large filigree wings. It is dead, as is everything else in this little shack, but she's never seen such a kind of insect before.

‘A lacewing fly.’

The words flit through her thoughts, nearly silent and quicksilver fast; she only just manages to catch and hold onto them long enough to make sense of what has been said. The distinct feeling of being not-alone slams into her like a trainwreck, but a quick survey of the shack once more reveals nothing, and nobody, that had not been there previously.

"Hello?" Holly calls out curiously. "Is somebody there?"

Her only answer is a thick silence.

The redhead tilts her head and considers the insect. It certainly does look like a fly, and she supposes that its wings are rather lacy. It's possible that she could have made the name up all on her own, but just as she is beginning to attribute the noise to her imagination, the silence is broken once more.

‘You can hear me?’

Despite the wording this is not so much a question as much as a demand. Holly is caught between the compulsion to give a prompt answer and the desire to keep quiet just to be contrary, because Aunt Tuney always tells her that rudeness should not be rewarded.

But in the end, curiosity triumphs, and Holly replies, "Ye-es? But where are you, mister? I can't see you."

‘... For lack of a more appropriate description, I suppose I am in your head. So to speak.’

In her head? How could he have possibly gotten into there? Holly means to ask, but the voice continues on in a musing sort of way that is not at all conducive to a conversation.

‘How curious,’ says the stranger in her head. ‘The child was not conscious of me before - what was the trigger? The snake, perhaps? Parseltongue is an ability she must have acquired from my residence within her; to my knowledge the Potters are not bound closely enough to Slytherin's line for it to be inherited, and the girl's mother was a muggleborn. The use of an ability so deeply entrenched with my presence, then, may have incited awareness…’

And Holly knows he must be talking to her, for there is no one else for him to be talking to, but oddly it seems to her as if he is not speaking to her at all, not least because she hasn't the slightest inkling what the disembodied voice is going on about. Perhaps he is speaking to himself. In which case she must distract him from his insanities, which Aunt Tuney says is the Proper Thing To Do when she sees somebody acting in a manner that is Not Ordinary and therefore Embarrassing. Of course, Aunt Tuney also said that the preferred method of dealing with Not Ordinary people is to remove herself from their company, but she does not know how to remove herself from her own mind.

"Who are you, then, mister-in-my-head? What's your name? I'm Holly."

'Tom Marvolo Riddle' drifts across the surface of her subconscious like a whisper without sound or words without letters, coalescing into a vague not-quite memory of a thin woman looming over her, graying hair tightly drawn back in a bun and sharp features set in the most hostile expression Holly has ever seen.

'Tom,' the woman snaps. Her voice is cold to the touch and the way she forces out the word makes it sound like the worst sort of profanity; far, far worse than when Uncle Vernon stubs his toes on the kitchen doorway in the mornings. Holly thinks she should be frightened of this old lady with eyes that freeze her through - except how can she be, when it is only too clear that the woman is masking her own fear?

But Holly blinks and the woman is gone. She is once more alone in the dirty shack.

‘I am Lord Voldemort.’

Exempting, of course, the stranger in her head.

"That sounds stupid," she tells him truthfully. "I like Tom better."

There is a loud silence and suddenly her head hurts it hurts it's splitting in half -

‘Do not dare presume to call me by that name,’ says Tom, who sounds so very calm even though she can feel his anger like a knife through her skull.

"Okay," Holly manages to hiss through gritted teeth, bent forward with her hands pressed tightly against her temples. "Okay. Not Tom."

The headache lifts as suddenly as it had come.

"You're really mean," Holly mumbles to the ground with a petulant scowl. "And Voldemort still sounds stupid."

‘You are an irritation and a taint on your blood who doesn’t deserve the Gift,’ rumbles Not-Tom, the cold fury in his words lashing against her nerves like a whip. ‘Always simpering after an "Aunt Tuney" who does not even consider you an actual person as opposed to a reincarnated doll of her sister, and allowing that fat, stupid little oaf to trample all over you, and bending over backwards just for the slightest indication of acknowledgement from the fatter, stupider oaf that damned aunt of yours married, God knows for what reason. You let them use you like a rag and instead of becoming enraged that they dare treat someone magical in such a way, instead of punishing them like the insignificant worms that they are, you find pleasure in it. You bask in whatever attention your darling Aunt Petunia deigns to give when she's parading you around like a show pony in front of her acquaintances, leap to whatever inane chore your imbecilic uncle tosses to you, and do absolutely nothing as your dim balloon of a cousin drags you through a puddle of mud and blames you for getting his clothes dirty.’ As the tirade winds down, Holly is left taking shallow breaths and trying her best to keep at bay the stinging high in her nose. In a final measure of spite, Not-Tom hisses, ‘You, Holly Potter, are a house-elf to muggles, and it disgusts me.’

She doesn't understand why this stranger hates her so much, doesn't understand how his words hurt so deeply. Slowly, through the sharp heat behind her eyes and the ache simmering deep in-between her lungs, she manages to respond, “Aunt Tuney loves me.”

‘She does not, you little fool. She is using you to allay her own guilt towards your mother, and does not care for you personally one whit.’

Holly bursts into tears. Big, wet sobs wrack her body violently, and she wails into the air without abandon, free to cast away years worth of suppressed emotion because there are no Dursleys here, no one to tell her be-quiet and what-would-the-neighbors-say and I-don't-want-to-hear-it. And because Not-Tom must be right, everything he says just feels so right and she doesn't want to think this to herself, not ever, but his words ring with truth and she cannot deny it and it hurts her on the inside.

'Stop it,' the voice snaps frantically. 'Stop your caterwauling this very instant, or I'll - '

Another headache pounds at her temples but Holly only cries harder and stumbles forward in confusion, pressing palms against her closed eyes in an attempt to ease both the pain and her tears. The throbbing in her head quickly withdraws but the dust scattered by her movement does not, and Holly cannot stop from sneezing heavily. Compounded with the tears still blurring her sight and the trembling of her limbs, any sort of balance abandons Holly utterly; she trips over her heels and falls onto her rump.

Unfortunately, she lands on a certain patch of the wooden flooring where the earth underneath had been made hollow years before, with the intention of hiding a highly precious object. Decades of rot have left the floorboards of the shack frail and thin and even the impact of her weight, slight though it is, is enough to crumble what remaining strength there is to be had into dust. Holly falls into the floor with a short shriek, and the result of her misadventure is a massive cloud of dust that rises into the air almost angrily, attacking her eyes and nose and throat with all the ferocity of a dragon roused from slumber.

Holly begins to sneeze uncontrollably, and tears stream down her cheeks for an entirely different reason. Her hands flail at her face in an attempt to bat away the dust, and when this fails she gropes along the dirt underneath her to propel herself up, only to graze something that burns her fingers with a shock of electricity.

'What was that?' Not-Tom demands tersely. 'Open your eyes, I need to see.'

‘I can't,’ Holly thinks at him. She cannot breathe, let alone speak, and she is most definitely unable to do any seeing. ‘The dust…’

‘Get rid of this wretched mess, then. Do you have magic or don't you?’

‘Magic?’

'At your age, accidental magic should not be overly difficult. Merely will it to happen - wish the dust out of existence.'

‘Go away,’ Holly thinks fervently. ‘Go away, go away, go away.’

Nothing happens.

‘You made your way here, somehow, what did you do then?’ says Not-Tom, his voice edging the boundary of impatience.

What had she done earlier? Well, she’d just…

‘Make it go away, please.’ The words are a faint susurrus curling in the corners of her mind, but they thrum down her spine like thunder, like ebullition, like power, thick and heady and entirely hers.

Holly takes a calm breath and opens her eyes.

All around her, the shack looks almost exactly the same as it had before. It looks just as dull and dilapidated as when she had first opened her eyes here - only, all the dust is gone. All the dirt and grime and the carcasses of unkown little creatures have disappeared, as if the rafters, the floorboards, even the air itself, have been scrubbed clean during the interval of a long blink.

‘You...’ Not-Tom begins, only he seems to think better of it and instead continues, ‘Look down.’

She pushes herself to her feet and does so. Within the crack in the floor is a small, rectangular case, plain and black but for the small gold-gilded letters inscribed on the lid - T.M.R., it reads. Unlike the rest of the shanty, the box looks untouched by age, its edges straight and crisp, its paint gleaming and unfaded. Plain though it is, the case is... oddly compelling. It seems to beckon to her, wordless whispers of secrets and her greatest desires granted and the return of lost love. The jolt of pain from earlier all but forgotten, Holly crouches and reaches for the box with stubby little fingers.

‘STOP.’

Holly stops. Her hand hovers midair as she is brought back into herself.

‘You were lucky the first time,’ her disembodied passenger chastises. ‘You will not survive second contact. I have no desire for electrocution, so do not touch the artifact again unless I say.’

The child nods frantically in agreement, too disturbed by the brief loss of self-awareness to have done otherwise anyway.

‘How did you find your way here, of all places?’ murmurs Not-Tom, once more speaking at her, rather than to her. ‘It explains why my presence is magnified enough for coherence, but the questions this situation poses… they do not sit well by me.’

His voice fades off and Holly sits in silence, bewildered and a little scared. She knows that Not-Tom is thinking deeply on something because her mind feels heavy with the weight of his thoughts, intangible to her but for the unfamiliar strain between her temples. She's not sure what she's doing here, and now that the novelty of the situation has worn off, she can feel confusion and fear crawling to the forefront of her emotions, both warring for primacy.

She… she wants to leave. She wants to go back home. Dudley had witnessed her display of strangeness and she'll probably get a thorough scolding for it, maybe be sent to bed without supper, but that prospect is still eons better than staying here, alone in this dilapidated hovel without a single clue where she is and only a cruel, disembodied voice for company.

‘Yes,’ Not-Tom interrupts shortly. ‘Yes, that is a wise decision, present circumstances being as they are. Repair the floorboards and then leave this place, and do not return for as long as you are able.’

That sounds like a perfectly valid plan to Holly. She determinedly imagines the broken flooring beneath her being set to rights and, as politely as she can, asks her ‘magic’ to make it reality. The largest lath of floorboard floats level with the rest of the ground, and shards of wood, thin and grayed with age and use, piece themselves like puzzle pieces along the sharp edges of the break until it seems as if the boards had never been cracked at all.

Once the repairs are finished, she begs to be brought home. Her magic is only too happy to comply, and the moment her feet touch the plush grass carpeting 4 Privet Drive’s front yard, she springs into a dash straight into Aunt Tuney’s apron skirt with a bawl caught in her throat.

Later, when she's up in her room with only a single piece of toast for supper, she realizes that the voice from earlier is nowhere to be found. Her mind feels quieter. Lighter. Emptier. Quite honestly, she isn't sure if this relieves her or not, but she puts it out of mind as a singular occurrence and resolves to never think of it again. That night, her dreams are vibrant and bizarre.

… a snake with filigree wings rebukes her for trespassing into its castle of dust, saying she should have known better… after all, TMR is inscribed in gold on the black banner out front… oh no, why hadn’t she seen that earlier, so sorry… only, the room had been lit as luminously green as her eyes, and it had been so hard to see anything, you understand… if you bite me, mister snake, I will scream, except someone is already screaming…

Holly wakes up the next morning, and remembers little of the previous day’s misadventure. She goes down to breakfast, has fruit and cereal and orange juice, and plays with her few toys before Aunt Tuney calls her to attend a social gathering of the neighborhood children. Life goes on as normal.

And then, on one sweltering afternoon several years later, Holly meets Tom once more.

ORIGINAL NOTES —

What is this. What am I doing. Who am I. WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE.

I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M GONNA DO WITH THIS //AGONIZED SCREM

Unlike the common fan misconception, James Potter’s parents were not Charlus and Dorea (née Black) Potter. They were actually named Fleamont and Euphemia. Honestly, I was going to make Holly’s middle name Lily, but my friends @our-brightest-stars and glossary (sidenote - please go check these people out they are wonderful authors and they helped me figure out my direction with this story so much mwahh such great friends) both gave a great big “No” to that, so Euphemia it is. It's definitely pretentious enough to suit the only heiress of an old pureblood family, and Lily was an awkward fit, in any case. I also struggled between the first names Holly and Harriet, but for the purposes of this story, a flower theme seemed more suitable to further ingratiate Harry to Petunia.

[superninjaviolinist]

The Girl With The Black Dragon Tattoo, Chapter 3

I would find out much, much later, what all this future-talk meant, but at that point I was overtaken by overwhelming panic. Romance and love? Big fat red flags in my book. It’s how I was lured before and I swore to myself that I’d never let it happen again.

I took a step back from the brothers. “Stay away from me.”

“Eva, wait—“ Sam started to say.

I began moving faster towards the Continental. “Both of you just stay the hell away from me!”

I’d automatically locked the door when I’d gotten out, and since my brain had gone stupid all I ended up doing was yank uselessly at the handle. Someone put their hand on my arm and I instinctively swiveled around and punched its owner in the face.

Dean Winchester staggered back a few steps and palmed his cheek. He whipped his gaze over to his brother. “Where the fuck did you pick her up?”

“Oklahoma.” I could swear Sam was trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, well, Busty Asian Beauty she ain’t.”

Oh. That tore it. I hate that magazine. My body was closer to Lucy Liu, the A-list actress, than Lucy Lee, the C-cup porn star, and I was tired of hunters trying to compare my more toned, small-breasted form to those squishy, silicone-enhanced inaccuracies. Time to take a stand.

I walked up to Dean and stabbed him in the chest with my finger. “You listen to me, you dim-witted, inbred hick. I don’t know what pool of stupid you crawled out of but I’m not some starry-eyed slut that’s going to fall into your arms just because you went and made up some sci-fi fairy tale!”

“It ain’t a fairy tale!” Dean shouted down at me.

“You expect me to believe that someone flew you into the future where not only am I dead, but I’d had some kind of relationship with your pretty-boy ass?”

“Yes.”

The conviction with which he said that single word took me by surprise. Either Sam’s brother was a complete lunatic or… well, we’re hunters. Weird and unusual is part of the gig. But time travel? That was stretching it. “Prove it.”

I’d apparently stunned the man. “Uh…”

“Something like this happened before,” Sam offered. “Angels have the power to transport people through time.”

“You expect me to believe that? On your word alone?” I threw my hands in the air. “You’re both crazy! Why the hell did I let you drive me all this way after that shit last night? For all I know you two are psycho killer rapists!”

For some reason Dean took a good deal of umbrage against what I’d accused him of. “We ain’t psycho… killer… what you said!”

“Eva,” Sam said gently, “what’s wrong?”

Everything. “Nothing.”

“What’s she talkin’ about, ‘last night’?” Dean asked his brother. “Did you two…?”

Both Sam and I vehemently cried, “No!” “Look,” Sam said to me, “we can still get you to Bobby’s. It’s maybe two hours out. After that, you don’t have to see us ever again.”

His sentiments were wrong, but there was no way he could have known what was to come. Our lives would eventually become so intertwined it would be impossible to separate one from the other without creating tremendous, vacuous spaces. Regardless, I warily accepted the offer of transportation. “Long as we’re going straight there.”

Dean was giving his brother the stink-eye. Sam, thankfully, was unrelenting. “Dean, I promised.”

“Fine,” grumbled the pretty-boy. “Get in the back, Xhang Xiyi.”

I put him on the receiving end of one of my finest glares. “I’m not from China, I’m from San Francisco. And I’m Korean, asshole.”

He threw up his hands in surrender and backed away. “Sorry.”

By the way, Dean still can’t tell the difference. It’s all tits and exoticism to him.

After Sam and I got our things we headed out. The tension in the car was thick; not only were the brothers still dealing with the issues had separated them, Dean was pointedly ignoring me. I had the feeling that he was embarrassed over his proclamation and was now pretending he’d never said it.

We arrived at Bobby’s around noon. I escaped the car as soon as it had rolled to a stop, not bothering to wait for Dean to kill the engine. “Hey!” he barked out the window.

“Fuck off,” I said loudly as I tore open the screen door and headed inside.

I expected to be able to throw myself into Bobby’s arms and give him a tremendously big hug. It had been several months since I’d been able to visit and I was very fond of him. He was sitting behind his desk when I walked in the study and rolled out to greet me. Bobby Singer was wheelchair-bound and I had no idea when or how. “What happened?”

Before he could answer, Dean yanked me out of the room, nearly tearing my arm from its socket in the process. He shoved me up against the hallway wall and pressed one of his forearms against my neck. “Don’t you know not to go barging into people’s houses like that?”

“Let me go. Now.”

“I’d take heed, son,” Bobby said. He sounded way too amused by the situation.

“You know her?” Dean asked incredulously.

Bobby didn’t bother answering. Instead, his eyes flicked downwards. When Dean complied with the silent request he found one of the small daggers I kept up my sleeves pointed directly at the V of his jeans. He grimaced at me. “Now that’s just rude.”

“Me and Eva go back a ways,” Bobby answered. “No need to get your undies in a bunch.”

Reluctantly, Dean backed away. “How?”

“None of your business,” I snapped at him. In a far more sympathetic tone, I repeated my query to Bobby. “What happened?”

“Demon,” he replied succinctly as Sam came in bearing my saddlebags. “Guess that thing down in Oklahoma didn’t go so well.”

“Steve’s dead,” Sam said quietly. “The others got away.”

“Still don’t explain why Eva didn’t come here on her own wheels.”

“Because those fuckers ran over my bike!” I exclaimed.

“On purpose?”

“On purpose.”

“Dickhead move. What did you do?”

Yeah, okay, he was right to assume it was my fault; Bobby knew my mouth tended to run faster than my brain. Except this time I had the upper hand. “Tim-fucking-Janklow sucker-punched me and then used me as bait!”

“Bait for what?”

“Me,” Sam replied. “They… Um…”

“No need, son. I get it.” The gentleness in Bobby’s tone was new to me. I’d never seen him act so paternal to anyone other than me before. Most of his relationships with other hunters were purely professional, Rufus Turner being the exception. I suppose you could call Bobby and Rufus frenemies, if you were being generous. Cantankerous old grumps with grudges would be more accurate.

The Winchesters, seeing that their duty to me was done, prepared to leave. They gave their farewells to Bobby and headed back to their car. I followed them to the porch. “Sam.”

“Yeah?”

”Thanks.”

He gave me a smile. God, the man did and still does have the cutest little dimples. “You’re welcome.”

“Say,” Dean inserted, “how do you know Bobby?”

I’d already told him to mind his business, but seeing the way Bobby acted around these two made me trust them a minuscule amount more. “He saved my life.”

“He does that a lot,” Sam said as he opened the passenger’s side door. “Well, good luck with everything, Eva.”

“See ya,” was Dean’s farewell. I waved, their engine turned over, and they were gone.

I headed back inside. “I don’t got a new bike for you, darling,” Bobby said. “But if you hang about I’m sure one’ll turn up. Unless you think you might head on home?”

Home? I didn’t have a home, not really. I had a place of origin, certainly, but San Francisco wasn’t home anymore. The old, narrow house that I grew up in was sold, its blood-spattered walls covered with thick beige paint. I wonder if the new owners know about the history of horrors their million dollars granted them. “Can I stay upstairs?” I asked. “I won’t get in your way.”

“Back in the old bedroom? Sure. You know, there’s parts and frames all around the yard. Maybe you could cobble something together.”

Put together some Frankenstein’s monster of a motorcycle? “Think I’ll just wait.”

“Suit yourself. Room and board’s same price as always.”

“Home cooked dinners and the occasional supply run. Got it.”

Bobby smiled. “Glad to have you back, Eva.”

We’d had this arrangement, at this point, for about five years. I’d get melancholy and need company, he’d get sick of canned chili, and the two of us would be housemates up until one of us needed to get on the road. Unfortunately, with Bobby’s debilitating condition the only one of us able to indulge in extracurricular activities was me, and he wasn’t shy about showing how dejected he was about it. The man found relief by plugging himself into a bottle of whiskey. Hauling up a dead weight, middle-aged, belligerent alcoholic off the floor is about as easy and delightful as it sounds.

He left at one point because of what he said was a witch. I was a little worried about the gleam in his eye, but I knew better than to pry. When Bobby got back, I was surprised to see that his spirits had risen. The older hunter merely said that he’d had a change in perspective.

A Triton motorcycle from the sixties came in shortly after the witch incident and finally answered my prayers. Some idiot had seen the handlebars and the seat as prime parts and had left the engine intact. It was going to take a bit of work, but that baby was going to be mine.

Several weeks after meeting the weirdo Winchesters I was done fixing up the Triton. The day before I’d done a test run and she moved like a dream. I was wiping the last bits of dirt and oil off it when Bobby rolled in. He gave an appreciative whistle. “That is one mighty fine lookin’ bike.”

I gave him a grin. “No backsies. She’s mine.”

“Promise is a promise.” He scratched under his hat a bit, a sure sign that whatever he had on his mind was something that made him uncomfortable. “Look, I got company coming and I don’t think you wanna be here.”

I grabbed a rag and began cleaning my hands. “What, embarrassed that some Asian chick is now King of the Scrapyard?”

He snorted derisively. “You need a couple more decades of tinkering around here before I give up that title.”

“Then what?”

“It’s Sam and Dean. They’ll be here tonight.”

Ick. “You’re right. I better get going.” I sniffed under an armpit. “Do I have time to get cleaned up?”

“Maybe. Depends on whether or not Dean or Sam is driving.”

“Better hurry then,” I said as I started jogging towards the house.

I’d showered and dressed and was putting the last of my things into my saddlebags (of course I’d gotten them replaced) when I heard a car pull up. I looked out of the window and spotted a truck. The woman getting out was around Bobby’s age: Ellen Harvelle. She strode right in and I could vaguely hear her and Bobby greet one another.

I knew the woman from when she’d managed the Roadhouse, a great bar where hunters had gathered to swap info and stories. I used to swing by whenever I was near; it was nice to talk to a woman that didn’t treat me like either a rival hunter or a stupid little girl that didn’t belong. Her daughter, Jo, and I were on friendly terms through mutual association; we both liked her mother. The place had been demolished by a demon, so I was told, and I was happy to see Ellen alive and well.

When I came down the stairs, bags in hand, I saw Bobby and Ellen in the kitchen talking quietly. I didn’t want to interrupt; I’d been brought up to respect my elders’ privacy. That all went to hell when a low, gravelly voice said from behind me, “Who are you?”

I immediately stepped forward and swung my saddlebags around to clobber whoever it was. My belongings smacked into the man’s head before bursting from their confines and scattering everywhere. Apparently I hadn’t closed them as tightly as I thought. Much to my irritation, the stranger didn’t even flinch. I drew a fist back but was arrested by Ellen shouting, “Whoa whoa whoa!” as she came rushing over.

“Cass, you idjit!” Bobby snapped as he followed her.

I let my hand drop and peered at the newcomer. He was almost the same height as Bobby, a healthy six feet, with tousled dark hair and a set of ancient blue eyes. No standard hunter gear (jeans, shirt, flannel, boots); this guy had a trenchcoat, suit, tie, and even dress shoes. It was like being stared at by a weirdly intense accountant. A handsome accountant. Which made him even more weird.

“Who is this?” the man asked, this time directed at Bobby.

“Evangeline!” Ellen cried warmly. She knew I didn’t like being hugged and settled for patting my cheeks. “It’s been a while.”

Yeah, more than a year at least. I gave her a smile. “I missed you, too. Where’s Jo?”

“Oh, she’ll be along soon. Out with those Winchester boys retrieving the Colt.” I couldn’t tell whether the woman was proud or anxious that her daughter was out with those two freaks.

Hold up. “Wait, the Colt?” I asked, astonished. “The Colt?” Everyone knew about the magical gun wrought to kill everything.

“One and only. Were you heading out? It’d be a shame if you two missed each other.”

“‘Evangeline’,” said the stranger in a thoughtful tone. “‘Bringer of good news’.”

I lifted an eyebrow without looking at him. “Someone want to tell me who special ed over here is?”

“That there’s Castiel,” Ellen replied. “He’s an angel. It’s why he doesn’t exactly have a whole lot of what you’d call ‘social graces’.”

“I’m working on it,” the angel said testily.

“Well, keep at it,” I snapped. “Learn that it’s not nice to sneak up on a girl.”

So it wasn’t love at first sight. That’s for fairy tales and silly romantic movies. In fact, it wasn’t even like at first sight. All I came away with from this encounter was the impression that he was just another big dumb idiot. It would take months, years even, for Castiel to make a dent in that thick steel wall I’d built around my heart, but when he did…

“All right, all right,” Bobby scolded, “stop trying to piss him off. Didn’t you wanna head out before Sam’n’Dean get here? Any minute now they’re gonna be drivin’ up.”

Oh shit. I immediately knelt down and started shoving things back into my saddlebags. The so-called angel stepped out of the way and Ellen joined me. I was still scrabbling for wayward arrows when the sound of an approaching engine came rumbling through Bobby’s screen door. “Sweetie,” Ellen whispered as she handed me a shirt, “you wanna tell me why you’re running from the Winchesters?”

“No time,” I answered as I zipped and buckled up. I hurried to the front door and swung it open… only to smack face first into someone’s chest.

“The hell…?” said its owner, one Dean Winchester.

I shoved passed him, nearly knocking Sam and Jo down on the way, and walked as fast I could towards the shed and my bike.

Of course, the dickhead followed me. “Eva!”

I turned around after getting my bags attached. “What?” I snapped.

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For freaking you out last time! I shouldn’t have told you… you know…”

“What?” My lip curled into a sneer. “That we were destined to be? That you’re apparently going to be there holding me when I die?” I walked over to the workbench and snatched up my helmet.

Dean grabbed it out of my hands as soon as I got close enough. “Listen, we don’t know the first thing about each other—“

“You’re goddamn right.”

“—And so far the only things I know about you are that you’re hot and you’re freaking insane!”

I breezed by the first thing he said and latched onto the second. “I’m insane?”

The man gave an exasperated sigh and plunked my helmet onto the back of the Triton. “Look, we’re heading out tomorrow to take on Lucifer. Could use another hand.”

I paused. This was important. Fighting ghouls and vampires wouldn’t mean anything if Satan roasted the planet. I could be part of something big, something vital. It could be that my presence could mean the difference between someone living and someone dying.

There were, however, two big issues with Dean’s request, both of them having to do with him. For one, going up against Lucifer was suicide at best, and with Dean in attendance I had no intention of prophetically fulfilling my demise. For the other, there was no way I was going to dive into that handsome, green-eyed trap. Going into a life and death situation with the man would leave too many openings for him to show me that he was worth falling for. “No,” I said as I swung one leg over onto my bike.

Dean looked at me in disbelief, like I’d told him I hated kittens or something. “No?”

“No,” I repeated as I squished my head into my helmet. The engine purred when I turned the key and I revved the handle a few times to get Dean out of the way. He stepped back and I nearly broke the sound barrier getting away from him.

I didn’t see the Winchesters again for several months after that, thankfully. The world didn’t end but the Apocalypse kept on rolling, which meant that they’d probably failed at stopping Lucifer. When I called Bobby about it a week later he broke the news that the Harvelles had died and confirmed my suspicions about the Winchesters’ defeat.

So much time and so many hunts passed that I figured I was done with those two idiots and put thoughts of them aside. In the weeks before it all went to shit there was a werewolf in Utah and a djinn in Vegas (selling “dreams come true” of all things). Afterwards I’d headed to San Francisco and checked on my sister (still whoring it up on Geary), solved a haunting at Ghiradelli Square while I was there, drove up to Idaho for a pair of ghouls, swung all the way over to North Dakota for a nest of vamps (I loathe those assholes), and ended up in Blue Earth, Minnesota after hearing about a demon infestation.

What’s the saying? Hindsight is 20/20. If I had known how bad it was going to get I would have turned the fuck around.

Blue Earth had been taken over by the church. It’s inevitable that when you deal with Heaven and Hell you get tangled up with religious nuts. This wasn’t the first town like this I’d encountered and it wouldn’t be the last. The difference this time was that I’d ridden willingly in and now I wasn’t allowed out.

The inability to go was more due to the abnormal amount of demons surrounding the perimeter than anything else. Anyone that tried to go by freeway ended up running into a blockade. Anyone trying to go through the woods ended up dead.

I think I could have stood the isolationism if a lot of those people didn’t start seriously freaking me the fuck out. In the past seventy-two hours I’d gotten three marriage proposals, dozens of admonishments over my cleavage (you know, the minuscule amount that I had), and several lectures about my habit of using profanities. The latter two I could ignore, the first was unnerving. Couples were marching down that aisle every day, ones I suspected hadn’t even considered the other person as a viable husband/wife prior to that morning. Unfortunately, this town had more men than women, which meant that the more I refused the more frowns were thrown my way. I slept with my blade in hand just in case someone decided to rouse me in the middle of the night for a shotgun wedding.

The bartender, Paul, was the only person I could regularly stand to be around. We’d even flirted a bit, but the watchful eye of Leah Gideon and the Sacrament Lutheran Militia kept us apart.

Speaking of which: Leah Gideon, Prophet of the Lord, gave me the creeps. I don’t know how to describe it, but there was something about her that was just off. It made me want to stab her in the face.

I suppose that’s what happens when you’re the Whore of Babylon masquerading as the pastor’s daughter.

The bar Paul ran was full from lunchtime to closing due to the fact that these people knew the Apocalypse was nigh. It was strange to be around non-hunters who talked about angels and demons casually, slipping them into conversations like some people do sports teams. I suppose with the actual hellspawn around the perimeter and the Prophet talking about her connection to Heaven they had a right to be casual and supercilious about the whole thing, but it didn’t make it any less odd.

Paul was pouring me another beer when they walked in. I’d heard that strangers had rolled into town, demons hot on their tail, I just didn’t expect it to be the Winchesters. There wasn’t much I could do to hide (other than duck under a table), so I did what I could to keep my face pointed away from them. It seemed to work. Sam waltzed right on by while dialing a number on his phone and Dean plopped down at a table almost directly behind me.

I waited to see how long the giant would stay on his call. Once he started talking to Castiel’s voicemail (I didn’t know it then, but for the crime of siding with humanity Cass had been cut off from Heaven’s energy; thus the mundane communication method) I figured that was distraction enough for me to escape. I slapped a twenty down on the bar top, swiveled my stool, and took two steps towards the exit.

“Don’t think I don’t see you there.”

Shit.

“Been a while, Eva,” Dean continued. I turned around, my lips pressed tight. He was slouched in his seat facing the opposite wall and didn’t bother changing positions.

I folded my arms and glowered at the back of his head. “Not long enough.”

“How long would that have to be?”

“I was honestly hoping for, you know, forever.”

Dean gave the peanuts a wry grin. “Yeah, well, me too.”

This was weird. At the time, I didn’t know Dean very well, but I’d gotten the impression from our two rather heated encounters that he was a little more… I don’t know, alive? The way he sat, the way he spoke, it was as if whatever spark had once lit Dean Winchester had guttered out. It was disheartening, and pitiable.

What had happened to him would have been devastating to anyone, really. Dean had basically found out God had said, in terms of the Apocalypse, “Fuck it. You’re on your own.” I’m sure there were more nuances to the message He’d left, but that was the gist. Before receiving that message, Dean had already been on a steady slide towards self immolation and God’s apathy just steepened his descent. This shitstorm at Blue Earth would get him to smash right into the bottom.

Sam slipped by me to sit down with three beers. He held one up to me and gave a small smile in greeting. I’ve never been one to turn down free alcohol. “Hey, Eva,” he said as I sat. “Came here because of the same reason, I assume.”

He was at least unchanged. I nodded. “Been here couple of days already.”

“You’ve been sticking around that long?”

“It’s not a matter of ‘sticking around’. It’s a matter of ‘I can’t fucking leave’.”

Sam glanced at his brother who, I assumed, was supposed to glance back. Instead Dean kept drinking, his eye-line somewhere around his brother’s stomach.

This had passed awkward straight into excruciatingly uncomfortable. I decided to change the subject. “Who were you calling?” I asked (even though I already knew the answer).

“Cass—uh, Castiel. The angel? He said you guys met at Bobby’s and you hit him with your stuff.”

I shrugged. “That’s what he gets for sneaking up on me.”

“He probably didn’t sneak up so much as… appeared in that space.”

“Great. Do they just pop up whenever? Should I expect angels to show up in my shower at some point?” I was starting to wonder whether I could be alone and naked without fearing angelic intrusion.

Sam gave a little chuckle. “I don’t think… well…”

“The bastards are junkless,” Dean inserted. “Probably see a woman’s ass and wonder where her balls went.”

I thought back to that first encounter with Castiel. Clueless and tactless. “Well there’s one less thing to worry about.”

Sam took a swig of beer. “So any clues why the demons are circling this town in particular?”

I shook my head. “Best I could come up with was that they didn’t want the Prophet slipping through their hands.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Sam shook his head. “I can’t believe the angels are making these people do their dirty work.”

Both Dean and I asked, “Yeah? And?”

Sam blinked disbelievingly at us. “And they could get ripped to shreds!”

“They’ve got their stupid little exorcism chant,” I retorted. “Not to mention their phone line to Heaven. Believe me, these guys are a lot more prepared for slaughter than anyone else I’ve met.”

“It’s the end of the world,” Dean added dismissively. “These people ain’t freaking out, they’re runnin’ to the exit in an orderly fashion. I don’t know that that’s such a bad thing.”

“Who says they’re all gonna die?” Sam snapped back. “Whatever happened to us saving them?”

The church bells started ringing, cutting through whatever Dean was going to say (and also the biting remark I had in mind). I sighed and spent a few seconds chugging down the rest of my beer, a good three-quarters of the bottle. When I was done, I found both brothers goggling at me. Apparently girls in their world didn’t really drink. “What? Ding dongs mean Leah’s had another vision. Time for church. You two coming?”

“You know me,” Dean said with a ghost of his former spunk. “Downright pious.”

The Prophet had seen demons about five miles out all gathered nice and neat in an abandoned farmhouse. This all stank of setup and stupidity but it wasn’t like anyone was going to listen to the drunk old maid who’d rambled into town a few days ago. The only thing of any real consequence occurred when Pastor Gideon began the Lord’s Prayer. “Our Father, who art in Heaven…”

Dean was right behind me. Under his breath he muttered, “Yeah, not so much.” When I turned around, puzzled, he shifted, but didn’t acknowledge my silent query.

The raid itself went without a hitch. People running about chanting their little chant and black smoke flying out of the windows like someone had let loose really ugly balloons. It was afterwards when it all went to shit.

Most of us had already left, me included. Sam and Dean had lingered and so had Dylan, the son of some locals (Rob and Jean? Jane?). Not all the demons had hightailed it as soon as the guns started going off; one had decided to hang out underneath the Winchesters’ car. It pulled the young man underneath and slit his throat before the brothers could do shit.

They came driving back, solemn as all hell, and quietly informed the others about Dylan’s fate. His mother let out a terrible wail. I flinched, not at the mangled body in their back seat, but at that unearthly, devastating sound. I’d seen a silent version under my grandparents’ lips at my parents’ wake. No one should live to bury their own child.

Funerary services were hastily put together for that very evening. Sam, Dean, and I stood at the doorway of the church as it filled. We all felt as if going inside would be an unwelcome intrusion; after all, we were the only non-residents currently in town. A young man’s death was too intimate a tragedy to barge in upon.

Eventually, Dylan’s coffin passed by. His pallbearers, none of whom acknowledged our presence, appeared to be an uncle, grandfather, and several of his friends. Mother and father came stumbling up the steps shortly afterwards. I was staring at the grim wooden box when I heard Dean attempt to give his condolences. “Ma’am, we’re just… very sorry.”

“You know,” the woman hissed through her tears, “this is your fault.”

Her husband said her name quietly in admonishment (Jane! That was it), but before they could go any further, I stepped in front of Dean and snapped, “You can’t blame him for a damn demon. What, you think he personally stuck that thing under his car just to fuck over your son?”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Jane snarled at me. “Blasphemous, drunken whore.”

Dean grabbed my arm and pulled me away before I could smack the bitch. Dylan’s father took the opportunity to hustle Jane inside.

As Pastor Gideon began the service, I jerked my limb out of Dean’s grip. He frowned at me. “She just lost her son,” Dean scolded. “Let her blame whoever she wants.”

I threw my hands up and let them drop. This apathy of his was starting to grate on my nerves. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Before he could retort there was a commotion inside the church. Sam gestured us over. On the floor was Leah, seizing, her father making blandishments until the fit passed. When it did, Pastor Gideon helped his daughter sit up. “Dad,” she gasped, “it’s Dylan.”

“Just rest a minute, huh?”

“No, listen! Dylan’s coming back.”

Leah Gideon, Prophet of the Lord, stood at the pulpit and promised paradise, including the inevitable reunion with lost loved ones… if we followed the angel’s commandments. As I listened to her rattle off the list of demands my eyebrows crawled higher and higher. No gambling. No drinking. No premarital sex. In fact, no unmarried man or woman was allowed to be alone with the opposite gender without a church-sanctioned chaperone. Prayer morning, noon, and night. Curfew from nine to six.

Dylan’s parents, as well as a majority of the townsfolk, ate it up. Sam and I glanced at each other, astonished. I looked over and saw Paul staring at the girl in disbelief. Dean projected weary resignation.

The brothers split up when the congregation finally dispersed. Dean went back inside to speak to whomever while Sam started walking towards the town’s single motel. Paul had given me one of those sweet smiles of his as he’d passed. Maybe we could start following the rules tomorrow instead…?

I headed for the bar. It was nearly dark, but unlike every other night I’d been in town no one else came in. Whatever. It wasn’t curfew yet and Paul was a local. He flipped the neon “open” sign and settled behind the counter. I swung myself onto what I had privately claimed as “my” barstool and he plunked the usual down in front of me.

A few minutes into my beer and Sam walked in. He greeted us both before sitting beside me.

The boys bantered for a bit, Paul revealing the abrupt change in most of the town’s attitudes once Leah had gone Prophet. He was the only person I knew that was outspoken about the obvious fraudulence underlying everyone’s sudden piety. It’s why I liked him best.

“Not a true believer, I take it,” Paul said to Sam.

“I believe, yeah. I do.” He shrugged. “I’m just pretty sure God stopped caring a long time ago.”

We scoffed at the indifference of our supposed creator. “What about you?” Sam asked me.

I was on my third beer and my guard had slipped a bit. “Parents were devout. I believe that He’s out there but I’ll be damned if I give the son of a bitch the time of day.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Paul said. The three of us clinked mugs.

We continued to drink until curfew. Paul and Sam talked about demons and television and sports while I munched on nuts and irregularly provided my opinions. It was a comfortable spot, cushioned by alcohol, and we drew a modicum of relief after the trials of the past twenty-four hours.

Of course, shit wasn’t done yet. I’d been scrolling through news bits on my phone when my service abruptly died. “What the fuck?”

“What is it?” asked Sam. I showed him. He and Paul pulled out their own phones and, despite the varying carriers, found the same problem. “What the hell?”

“Great,” Paul grumbled. “And it’s ‘curfew’.”

Sam groaned and staggered to his feet. “Guess I’ll see you two tomorrow then.”

We ribbed him for a bit about being a good little cultist before he left. Paul sighed and picked up Sam’s empty mug. “You going too?”

“I dunno.” I gave him a (drunken) smile. “You want me to go?”

He returned the expression, eyes dipping down to the skin I had peeking out from the V of my shirt and back up again. “Not particularly.”

I reached over to grab his button-up and pulled him close. “Then what do you say you lock up that door, close the lights, and we see what happens?”

“Sounds good to me,” he replied huskily.

Sex with Paul was what I had come to expect from these small-town guys, but in his case the alliteration was in a good sense. See, when you live in a place where nearly everybody knows everybody most people end up having no more two or three sexual partners; the variety is lacking and the gossip is damning. These guys were, unfailingly so, inexperienced, with more clumsy enthusiasm than anything else. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.

Paul fell into that same, sorry category, but he had the exception of being gifted in both stamina and endowment. Good God, his was a dick to remember. He was sweet about the whole thing, too, getting all shy about putting on a condom and insisting on lapping at my folds until I was good and wet. I was the one who was pushing, eager to lose myself in the exertion, the alcohol not nearly enough to dull the effects of all the messed up shit that had gone down in the past eighteen hours.

The man obliged, eventually, after he had slid himself deliciously inside of me. We were on the edge of one of the tables and I bit my lip as I gazed into his eyes, my hand gripping his shirt as my legs wrapped around his waist, before quietly requesting he get on with fucking me. Paul grinned, gave me a few experimentally harsh thrusts, before shunting that wonderful cock of his in and out of my cunt.

We were just coming down, wrapped in post-coital bliss with his head resting between my breasts, when a rock came crashing through a window. I let out a shriek and he hurriedly drew away. Paul buttoned his pants back up as he went to investigate while I shoved my bra and shirt down and went looking for my jeans. I didn’t find them before the door smashed in and a half dozen locals, spearheaded by Dylan’s parents, marched in.

My shirt was thankfully long enough to give me a shred of modesty, but it was obvious what we had been doing. Paul was still flushed and his buttons were askew while I was, well, pantsless. Jane’s lip curled up at me. “She was right!” the woman cried. “You’re the reason why the angels are angry at us! Fornicators! Unbelievers! Blasphemers!”

I could have sworn we were in Blue Earth, Colorado, and not Castle Rock, Maine. “We’re two consenting adults,” I said as calmly as possible. “What does it matter?”

“What matters is that you are keeping us from joining our son!”

Okay, that made absolutely no sense, but when Pastor Gideon came rushing in things started to click into place. “Please!” he cried. “Calm down. There’s no reason to do this! Let’s just talk it over.”

“The angels are angry, Pastor,” said one of the other women. “If we want to enter paradise we need to be rid of these people!”

“They need to leave town now,” Rob growled. “Then we can tear apart this den of debauchery and lust.”

A chorus of agreement swept through the group. Bolstered by the support, Rob lifted the bat and smashed it down on the nearest set of liquor bottles. Seeing his livelihood threatened, Paul grabbed the weapon and began grappling with his old friend. Pastor Gideon did his best to physically come between them while shouting for peace.

Jane and another local woman tried to corner me into the bar. I still hadn’t found my pants, goddamnit! “Touch me,” I warned, “and I’ll break your face.”

My bravado was swept away by apprehension when I saw Jane reach into her jacket. There was no mistaking the black object hidden within as anything other than the handle of a semiautomatic. I was contemplating ways of disarming her when a new voice asked, “Need some help, padre?”

Fuck. Dean Winchester. I risked glancing over towards the doorway and saw the poster child for Prozac assessing the situation. My underdressed state made him blink but he was otherwise concerned by the rest. Pastor Gideon took advantage of the momentary lull in violence to plead, “Just everybody cool down for a minute.”

“‘Cool down,’ hmm?” Paul repeated angrily. He turned towards Dean. “My friends are trying to run me out of town. Do you think I should ‘cool down’?”

I lost track of the ensuing conversation as I had, with great relief, finally caught sight of my missing jeans. I was inching towards them when I heard Paul say loudly, “This is my home. You want me out of here? You’ll have to drag me out.”

I snatched up my pants and held them close to my chest. Maybe I’d get ten seconds in all this chaos to shove them back on.

Or not. I was sliding my way to Paul’s side when Dean abruptly slugged Rob. The Pastor shouted, “No no no— stop —“

There were two loud reports. Something punched me in the stomach.

Then nothing.

Acknowledgement : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “99 Problems” (SPN 5.17).