#GET BEHIND ME FERGUS

[tru-chulainn]

Third post attempt’s the charm…?

Not the usual style on my blog but it’s the main style I have outside of the blog so u might see more of it

[reddtulips]

something something ghoap staying at johnny’s family farm that’s less than two hours away from glasgow.

they barely reach the damn place because simon insists on driving and takes a wrong exit on the highway and johnny has to piss a hundred times during the drive.

the air is crisp and cold and frosts the tips of their noses and simon forces indifference when johnny’s fingers brush simon’s to hold the duffel bag so he can close the trunk of the car.

johnny knocks on the front door and his mother rips it open, hugging his son and without a second to think, hugs simon as well and ushers them inside.

johnny’s father is a simple man and gives simon a firm handshake and a pat on his back and shows him the dining room, a feast set on the table and every salad under the sun overflowing in hand painted bowls that johnny’s mother made when she did pottery ten years ago.

johnny’s sisters are there, his niece and nephews as well, all children and simon sweats thinking how in the hell he is supposed to talk to them. are the boys at the appropriate age to know about guns and knives? or do they look at encyclopedias of greek mythology and dinosaurs? does the niece like barbie and dress up? or is she one of those girls that like to collect bugs and draw hopscotch on the pavement with colorful chalk and wipe the excess from her fingers onto her pants?

they watch him with eager eyes and giggles smothered behind tiny hands, and watch in awe when he lifts his balaclava to expose his mouth so he can eat.

johnny does the talking at the table and simon can’t understand a fucking word he’s saying because he’s gone full scottish with his family, only hums and nods occasionally. he wolfs down every piece of food, the human trashcan that he is (and because he doesn’t remember the last time he had a home-cooked meal), and nearly combusts for a second time that day as johnny’s mam places a plate with a thick slice of apple pie in front of him, vanilla ice cream melting over it and puts a hand on his shoulder, “johnny told me ye have a sweet tooth, so i made it especially for ye.”

simon who does silent breathing exercises so he doesn’t cry because he misses this so fucking much. to sit down with a family and enjoy a meal together with loved ones and not fight, nor scream nor yell nor cry nor throw food nor break plates and it’s just laughter upon laughter upon claps on the shoulders and clutching at arms and pulling each other into side hugs and light jabs that mean nothing and don’t break into full blown fights and simon thinks he’s going to vomit.

simon who gets to see johnny’s childhood bedroom. it’s decorated in superhero posters and hanging medals and trophies from gymnastics and competitive shooting competitions. johnny turns sheepish when simon points them out, teases him and likes and fears the swirl of warmth in his chest when johnny’s ears and neck turn red. he’s told “still a better shot than you,” and if johnny were anyone else, he’s be given toilet cleaning duties for the next three months.

simon who wants to pull out and empty every drawer, check every nook and cranny and learn and suck in every single piece of information and story there is about johnny and what — there’s pictures of you as a kid? with a mohawk? fuck off, soap, lemme see.

johnny opens the left door of his wardrobe and it’s covered in baby pictures of him and his family and simon’s chest tightens but he doesn’t break his gaze. Lo and behold, Johnny points out a picture on top and holy shit, it’s him holding a fat, orange cat the size of half his body and he’s sporting a long mohawk. His cheeks are stained with tears but there’s a forced grin on his face and blood on his chin. johnny explains it was his 7th birthday, he fell off a swing, hit his chin and his mam still wanted a photo. the cat’s named ‘fergus’ and he’s still alive and has lost most of the weight. he explains more photos but simon’s eyes keep coming back to the first one and he just wants to lean down and leave a gentle kiss on the scar covering johnny’s chin.

the kids don’t leave simon alone, as much as uncle johnny protests and tells them to get tae and let ‘em rest, he’s been drivin’ all mornin’ but watches them from the kitchen with a soft smile as simon walks around with the kids hanging and clutching at his strong arms like they’re monkeys and simon can’t get enough of their giggles and ooh’s and ahh’s when he tells them heroic and child-friendly war stories about their uncle. he also tells them that he sucks ass at taking orders and sharing his MREs and that they should listen to their parents and respect their elders and share with each other. johnny smothers a grin behind his hand as simon uses his lieutenant’s voice when speaking to the kids about these things.

johnny steals simon away then, “gotta show ‘em the horses”, and simon keeps his distance and doesn’t dare get up on one of them. the cockiest, “scared, Lt.?” with a shit-eating grin from johnny makes him grab the reigns and climb on. johnny leads the horse down the field and they fall into a comfortable silence. simon can’t get enough of the peace and quiet and chirping of birds and gentle yet chilly breeze on his hands and johnny is suddenly coming to a halt.

simon looks down at his sergeant, and his cheeks are flushed red and there’s determination and well-masked hesitation in his blue eyes and before simon knows it, he’s being pulled down by the sleeve of his jacket and johnny is cupping the sides of his face and pressing a gentle kiss over the material of simon’s mask. it’s innocent, quick, almost like it doesn’t even happen and isn’t registered. but their gazes meet when they part and it’s over for both of them because simon is fervently pushing his mask up and cupping johnny’s cheeks and they’re both leaning forward again and pressing kiss upon kiss upon kiss on each other’s lips and simon finally thinks,

i’ve found it. i’ve found home.

[nightxcreature]

Demons Are A Girls Best Friend

Summary: MC took on the mark of Cain for Dean and is now a demon roaming the earth with Crowley. Dean comes looking for her when she doesn’t want to be found.

Warnings: Death, Murder, Drinking, possible cursing? I can’t remember, it’s me though so it’s probably in there somewhere, MC is mean to Dean…a lot. Could be considered xReader as the MC has no name, but I did put an eye color in.

A/N: Hello. Sorry I’ve been MIA again…I’m working on it. I think I’m finally coming out of seasonal depression/grief/overstimulation so I’m back, BITCHES.

Anyway, thanks to my beta’s @justwhisperingfantasies and @copperboom82 you tha best and I love your guts.

Don’t copy my work, I’ll scream and cry and throw up. Comment, like, and reblog. 🥰

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Music blasts through the speakers in the little bar Crowley and I had decided to frequent tonight. My hips sway to the music as beer falls from the glasses in my hand and onto the bar top below me, splashing a few patrons and soaking my T-shirt. Crowley brushes the liquid off his suit jacket, sending me a look of disdain before putting the handkerchief back into his pocket.

“Do you really have to be such a menace, Darling?” His tone is teasing, and he sends me a small smile as I lay my back flat against the bar top and sigh.

“Fergus,” I glance over at him, a drunk smile on my dazed face, “that’s all I’ve ever been.”

The door to the bar swings open causing me to raise my head and attempt to see through the fogginess in my mind. I squint, placing a hand to hover above my eyes and lock my gaze with the green eyes I’ve been running from. “Oh for fucks sake!” I blurt, raising up to my elbows and frowning in his direction, “What are you doing here?”

Dean holds my gaze for a few moments, a glimpse of sadness and frustration dowsing his features as he makes his way across the bar. His voice comes out gruff and stern as he leans over to take me in, “You know damn well why I’m here.”

I roll my eyes, hopping off the bar and grabbing my jacket from the booth I’d left it in, “I told you not to follow me. I don’t want you here.”

I watch him shake his head, a smug smile on his face as he stares at me, “Tough luck, Sweetheart. You can’t just run off and expect me not to come lookin’.”

A dark laugh leaves my lips and I narrow my eyes in his direction, “Oh, that’s rich coming from Mister Runs-from-all-his-problems.”

His eyes darken and he takes a step forward, his voice coming out hard and stern, “That’s not fair and you know it.”

I smile wickedly and flash my eyes at him, brown to black and back again, “Did you forget that I don’t care.”

His whole body tenses at the quick change in my features, but still he leans down to speak slowly, “You don’t care about anyone or anything anymore? I was just an idiot for thinking the girl I knew was still somewhere in there?”

“The girl you knew is long gone, Dean-O.” I pat his back in mock support, pouting out my bottom lip, “Should’ve cared about her sooner, huh?”

I feel his shoulders stiffen under my touch, a war raging behind his eyes as he stares at me. He shoves my hands away and pushes his own through his hair, pleading eyes glaring deep into me, “Dammit, I tried, Darlin’.”

I roll my eyes, shrugging my jacket on as I step toward the door, “As much as I’m enjoying this unwanted reunion, I’m gonna go ahead and head out. Hopefully I’ll see ya….never?”

Before I can blink, he rushes forward grabbing my wrist and yanking me back across the bar. I stumble into his arms, pulling on my own and sending him a pitiful pout, “Hey, Buddy, you had your chance when this hot little meat suit was fawning all over you before! Don’t get all handsy with it now that she’s gone.”

His eyes burn with anger and a hint of desperation as he stares down at me, “Cut the act, Sweetheart.” He bites, “The old you is still in there somewhere. I’m not giving up on her, not after all we’ve been through.”

“All we’ve been through?” Amusement dances in my eyes as he speaks and I grin viciously, ready to hit him exactly where it hurts, “How sweet. Which time are you thinking of right now?” Confusion etches his features when he mumbles a brief, “What?” And I jump at the chance, “Do you mean when I was in love with you and you couldn’t even give me the time of day? Or how about when I threw myself, all desperate and needy to save you, into taking that fucking mark for you? Or what about when I died, Dean? Are you talking about when Metatron stabbed me and I bled out in front of you, only to wake up like this?” I flash my eyes at him again and he flinches, dropping my wrist immediately, “That’s what I thought.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know exactly how I felt about you.” He whispers harshly, staring down at the floor, “You knew damn well that I cared for you.” His gaze travels up to my own and I can almost feel my black heart clench at the sadness pooling in his eyes, “I never asked you to take the Mark, I never would’ve. You did that on your own.”

Laughter bubbles out of me and I double over, “Cared about me? Even now you can’t admit that you were in love with me!” I straighten up, the laughter immediately ceasing as I glower at him, “You had ample time to pipe up, Dean, you just love to dwell in that pit of depression you live in. As for the Mark though,” I grin, glancing down at the place where it still rests on my forearm, “Well, it turned this pretty little thing into a killer, didn’t it? And now look at me…living the dream.”

He bristles at my words, jaw clenching and nostrils flaring. He steps closer, glaring down at me as his hands twitch, “Living the dream, huh?” He glances around the bar before bending down eye level with me, his voice coming out rough, “You took that mark all on your own, you knew what you were getting into. And look at you now, dancing on some table in a shitty dive bar with Crowley. A fucking demon. If that’s living the dream, I’d hate to see what you think Hell looks like.”

“I have zero responsibility, zero hunts, and I didn’t have you nagging in my ear about doing the right thing. So yeah, I’d say it’s a good life.” I cut my eyes to the left, finding Crowley alone in a booth now hoisting two large glasses with little pink umbrellas on the rim, “I’ve been having a great time, Fergus, how about you?”

He sends me a smirk, raising the glasses in a mock toast, “Of course, Darling. I’m enjoying the show.”

I smile and turn back to Dean whose features only harden further as he stares at Fergus, “You two think this is a game? Running around like a couple psycho’s?”

The smile drops from my face immediately, my eyes darkening and nostrils flaring at the jab, “Psycho? I’ll show you a psycho. Grab a seat, Dean.” I stride across the room to sit again at the long bar along the back wall, leaving Dean where he stands. A couple in their early twenties come in to sit a couple stools down from me. I turn my gaze to grin wickedly at Dean. Sliding over a few seats, I lean around the tall man and send my best flirtatious smile to the woman, “Hello,” She blushes at my tone, her expression seeming to light up at the attention and I take the opportunity to place my hand on her boyfriends arm, “How are you two?”

Her eyes twinkle in curiosity, glancing quickly down at my hand and then back up again, “We’re good, how about you?”

“I’m fantastic.” I flash her a flirty smile again before gazing up at her boyfriend, “And you?”

He seems a little caught off guard at the attention, wrapping his arm protectively around his girlfriend and narrowing his eyes as he speaks, “I’m fine. Just out celebrating.”

I nod, peering over at the girl again, “She really is beautiful.” I send her a wink, and nudge him with my elbow, “You’re not so bad yourself though.”

He straightens up a bit, glancing down at the girl on his arm and smiling, “Thanks.”

“You’re both very welcome.” I smile, “It must be nice to have someone. You said you’re celebrating, right?”

“Yeah!” She enthusiastically answers as she stares lovingly up at him, “Five years.”

I let out a low whistle, sending a glance behind them to Dean who’s grabbed a seat in the booth with Crowley and is currently watching my every move, “That’s a long time! What do you say we do a couple shots to celebrate a happy relationship?” I grab the bartenders attention and he pours us each a couple shots, “I’ll put them on my tab, you two deserve a few free drinks for this accomplishment.”

They seem surprised, but accept the drinks and we down them together. I lean over on the counter, placing my chin in my hand, “I never got your names.”

“Oh!” The pretty girl smiles again, “Natalie! And this is Greg.”

“Beautiful names.” I reply loudly, “My name’s Maya.” The lie slips off my tongue easily, and they take it just as simply. I continue my stint of complimenting and charming them for a few more minutes before sighing deeply, “You two just seem so perfect for each other. It must be nice. You know, I had something with someone a while ago, but he could just never commit.”

Natalie frowns, placing a hand on my arm, “You’ll find someone, I’m sure. You seem like a great person.”

“I am!” I agree, slapping a hand dramatically down on the counter, “I took on a huge burden for him, but he couldn’t even be appreciative!” I’m speaking loud enough now that I know Dean can hear me by the look on his face, “And you know what? I practically died for him, but he can’t even tell me he loves me. Some people, you know?”

I watch him wince at my words and I can’t fight the wicked grin forming on my face as Natalie pulls my attention back to the task at hand, “Oh my God! He should be falling at your feet!”

“At. My. Feet!” I agree, nodding enthusiastically, “He should be doing whatever I ask, but when I ask him to just leave me alone, he can’t even do that! Just follows me around like a dog, begging me to come back when I’m doing so much better on my own.” I peer around the couple again to lock eyes with Dean, frowning as I finish my sentence.

His jaw ticks as Natalie and Greg nod in understanding, sympathetic expressions on their faces. Greg pipes in for a moment, placing a hand on my arm, “That really does sound frustrating.”

“Exactly, Gregory!” I turn my gaze to him and ‘subtly’ point behind them, whispering dramatically, “He’s actually right over there. Followed me here just to beg for another chance.”

They both gasp, turning slowly to lock eyes with Dean across the room who just rolls his own eyes and sighs. The frustration on his face brings me an insurmountable joy that overtakes any notion to faux outrage. “Is that him?” Natalie’s voice tears me away from my thoughts and I nod.

“Pretty, I know, but he’s a complete ass!”

They glance back toward him, taking note of the frown on his face, “He does seem kind of broody.” Natalie agrees quietly.

“Oh, you have no idea.” I lock eyes with Crowley as he sits across the booth from Dean, lips moving quickly as if trying to be discrete. They’re formulating a plan. Well, I can’t have that, can I? “And would you look at that. He’s roped my best friend into this, too. Despicable, both of them.” I scoff dramatically, throwing back another shot as I turn away from them, silently hoping the two kids I’ve roped into this will have a flair for the dramatic.

“That’s so messed up!” Natalie says as she spins in her stool to face me again, “Shouldn’t he be on your side?”

My eyes sparkle as she takes the bait, “Yeah, Fergus! Shouldn’t you be on my side?” I call to the demon behind me.

“Oh, come on, Darling. We’re just having a chat.”

Rage builds in my body as he speaks and I spin in my chair to face him, “Is that right?”

He nods slyly, “I have my own interests to look out for. You were fun while it lasted.”

“Good to know.” I reply, reaching over quickly and grabbing Greg by the throat, “Wouldn’t it be fun if I ripped out Greg’s jugular right now? Wouldn’t that be so fun?”

I see Dean tense in my peripheral as Crowley holds up his hands in defense, “Violence doesn’t have to be the answer, Love.”

“Violence is always the answer, Love.” I turn my sneer to Dean, glaring into his green eyes as my own turn to onyx, “Still the same pretty little thing you’ve been missing, Dean? Huh? Still want to take me back home and fix me?”

His jaw clenches, eyes locked with mine. I watch as he takes a deep breath to steady himself and slowly stands from the booth, “You don’t have to do this. We can leave right now. I can find a way to fix you.”

I yank Greg from his seat, his eyes wide as pure terror radiates through him while my nails bite into his throat, “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t want to be fixed!” Dean’s hands clench into fists at his side, the tension rolling over him in waves as he tries to find a way to save this poor boy, “I’m gonna kill him, you know that?” I whisper, staring down at Greg’s terrified face, “I don’t want to, Greg. You’re just collateral damage, but I am going to kill you.” I turn my stare back up to Dean again as Greg pleads for his life on deaf ears, “He’s out here celebrating an anniversary, Dean. Five whole years with Natalie. And now he’s gonna die because you can’t leave well enough alone.”

Dean can barely keep his voice even as he watches my grip tighten around Greg’s throat, “Stop it! You don’t want to do this!”

I shove Greg to his knees, wrapping my hands around his head as he sobs below me, “I’m gonna count to three, Dean, and if you aren’t out of this bar and miles down the road…I’m gonna rip his head off.”

Deans jaw tightens, he glances between Greg and the door, calculating how long he can attempt to call my bluff, “And what if I don’t leave?”

“One.”

His eyes narrow and I can practically hear his heart racing as he begs me to stop, “Don’t do this, Sweetheart. Please don’t do this.”

I grimace at the nickname, “Two.”

I can see the sweat beading on his forehead as he contemplates if I’m bluffing, “Dammit, listen to me! This isn’t you, you don’t want to do this!”

“Three.” He lunges forward as I twist my arms quickly. My eyes never leave Dean’s as the snap of Greg’s neck rings out in the crowded bar. I hear Natalie scream echo out and Dean visibly flinches as Greg’s body thumps into the sticky floor below. I hold my gaze on the hunter across from me to raise a single finger, pointing it in his direction, “That’s on you.”

His eyes are wide, jaw slightly slack as I turn around and head for the door. “Maybe this time you’ll listen when I say not to follow me.” The bar door swings shut as I slip out of it and into the night.

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[detective-inspector-her]

Heart Full of Hatred Part 1

Chapters 1 - 24

Inspired by Ghost, don't read if you haven't read the book it's weird spoilers for the entire story.

Chapter 1

Valkyrie's having a holiday! With Militsa! Oh for crying out loud can she have rest?! Yeah guys, she's not god. Oh. Hey Glee, thought you died.

Chapter 2

Stupid guy jumping off a building. Militsa! I love this woman, fight me. Ha, Valkyrie is cheating! Fletcher! Ha she has her own bed 'Her ex-boyfriend', Val that is your brother/cousin in all but blood at this point. Stop. I was right about the Crystal! Hell yeah! Valkyrie in awe of Fletcher.

Chapter 3

This guy's a sicko and I hate him already. Potato and Soup! Valkyrie reading stuff because Skulduggery makes her feel uneducated. Woman you didn't go to school as a teenager. Not Sorcerers having Lawyers because of Romeo Gideon.

Chapter 4

Stupid racists going after Mia of all people. Oh damn, Winter? Girl? Maybe reel it in, your parents are in that pile. Mia's funny, I like her. Ha, Winter set her car on fire

Chapter 5

Skulduggery is miffed. Skulduggery babbles Iota, I appreciate you feeling bad or at least, letting your muscles slack over someone's death.

Chapter 6

Mel! I like Sable. Who do you have eyes for Mel? SABLE NO!

Chapter 7

Cadaver is in charge now? Manipulative bastard. Skulduggery and Cadaver are having imaginary conversations again. Valkyrie and Temper are having the same issue. I low key thought Temper was the new warden at first but of course not, it's this bitch. Valkyrie complimenting Cadaver. Skulduggery mocking Cadaver. I hate that he makes sense but also, no one could arrest the billions of Mortals who did what they did. Justice can't be served, it's impossible. It's tragic. But blaming the Sanctuary is inefficent when the man running it wasn't alive at the time.

Chapter 8

'Saint Valkyrie' Fletcher would die. 'My sister isn't a Saint' she ain't a demon to resent either Winter. Okay, Winter, Honey, I need you to tone down the hate towards Mortals, it's getting a bit much. Again, your parents are in that population, your cousin, your aunt and uncle. Relax. Is it bad that I miss Malice?

Chapter 9

Lol Ghastly swinging at Skulduggery immediately. Ghastly she learnt it from Skulduggery, stop it. AWKWARD EDGLEY FAMILY REUNION THING PART 2!!!!!!!!!!!!! *sigh* I love it when Valkyrie uses her brain. Skulduggery never lets her. Not the Masked Sisters, that's painful Val, those worshipers would freak me out as well, you're fine. I'm pretty sure that Valkyrie isn't attending the dinner because of the Masked Sister, not because it's boring.

Chapter 10

Tanith's bike?! Oh good, I'd hate for her to be formal in her clothing, Dexter would have flashbacks. I don't think the sword thing is the same as leaving it behind. Poor Valkyrie at this point, she's apologising for her soul existing. Remnant Tanith is coming out with the 'Darquesse was a hoot'. And in front of Val seems disrespectful honestly. Serpine set off the Cleaver shortage, Mevolent would be so proud. Valkyrie proving that she's traumatised by having a vivid recollection of her 12 year old memories. 9 year old? Sorcerers are fucked up? If Fergus and Gordon had been into magic at that age, they'd have probably been pressured. Fuck the other Sanctuaries, agree with Valkyrie, Tanith. I love Val using her brain, manipulative little shit.

Chapter 11

I forgot Fletcher chopped Salt's hand off. Valkyrie is going to be suffering from what happened in AmFoM for a while, I can tell. Valkyrie would hate playing FNAF, she'd be worse than Markiplier when it comes to jumpscares. So, judging by Mel's chapter and this chapter, the new guy can nullify magic, which is interesting and inconvenient. Could he kill Skulduggery by nullifying the magic keeping him together? Stupid crystal stealing her powers, that's also really interesting actually. I'm glad I foreshadowed that in my PwF fic because it's a major plotpoint in my time travel fic. I don't like how it keeps bringing up her jacket.

Chapter 12

I think this new trilogy's theme is how Valkyrie is so used to Skulduggery being there and so used to having good protection that now she's slowly powering down and now she's not as attached at the hip as she was as a teen and during her depression arc she's struggling to beat these new bad guys.

Skulduggery needs to give her five minutes, and she seems to have a pissed off aura around her during the beginning of that conversation. Valkyrie you grew a hand, you grew a PERSON, but reattaching a hand is too much for you? Aw, he cares and he's only letting Fletcher see it so that he can hide the evidence. Aw, Fletcher. Why is Fletcher in these books suddenly? Why is he a focus point? I'm going to throw up they're so cute. Skulduggery, he's had more success than you in healthy relationships, shut up. OH MY GOD FLETCHER. I mean, fair enough, Skulduggery started it but bring up Abyssinia and China, bring up him thinking Nefarian is attractive, that's the bit you don't pick on. Did that seriously get his approval. Your standards are fucked.

Chapter 13

Ha, Valkyrie's good at 'accidentally' hurting people. Honestly, wouldn't be surprised if Darquesse went to hell, tricked a god into helping her, and stabbed him in the back while calling it revenge for all the shit she was born into. A bit embarrassing to be beaten by what is essentially a baby god right? Fletcher is being extra helpful. Aw, they're cute. Valkyrie I love and adore you, you support your closest normal friend! Ha, she forgot she set Fletcher up.

Chapter 14

Oh good, you do love your parent. I was starting to wonder. Nevermind, dumb ignorant mortals are back. I hate to say it but Winter went from my top ten favs to top ten most hated. We've seen what her family does, Veers, they support each other. I can't say that Winter inherited that trait. Veers shouldn't remind you of your mother. I swear, Valkyrie had it bad but at least she kept her good morals and changed those around her for the better. Winter is awful in mind.

Chapter 15

Valkyrie casually reliving her trauma in this book. 'He was dead now', damn girl be blunt. Valkyrie's wearing heels to an event that last time was held she got chased down for. That seems safe. OMG IT'S THE GUY WHO WAS BEING WEIRD LAST TIME. OMG HIS NAME IS COLIN. Colin is an ally. Crystal is totally 29 and not older than Valkyrie by 4 years. CRYSTAL HAS TWINS Gordon's book is becoming a movie, that's cool. That's cool. Ha, Desmond has been cornered by cousins. Winter for gods sake, I know Valkyrie didn't want to go but at least she tried. DOG LADY! I'm getting deja vu and I don't like it. Xena, nooo Don't say you're in love, Valkyrie. Something will go wrong.

Chapter 16

Skulduggery's being a baby about lanyards. Valkyrie is parenting him. Proper is having fun. People are having fun rattling Skulduggery. That man will know his fury, he's so fucking dramatic. Skulduggery we get it, you don't like the lanyard. There was a rest to work for the Sanctuary? Valkyrie you got off easy. haha, valkyrierockz as a password is funny. Valkyrie please tell me you're taking advantage of those therapy sessions. Skulduggery is plotting revenge on Proper. Skulduggery is being used for crosswords.

Chapter 17

The mayors upset about the lanyards, I'm sure Skulduggery feels vindicated. MEL! Why would he string her in the trees? That's so sick. Can I see Solomon? Please. Skulduggery is annoyed Solomon is back. Amusing. Proper shall know Skulduggery's wrath.

Chapter 18

It's almost like Alter isn't trustworthy, who knew? No, WINTER, not Cadaver. Anyone but that. Oh, hey. A people-eater. I really don't like this. NOW MALICE, WINTER ISTG I don't appreciate the Valkyrie slander. It was fine in AmFoM because I kind of got it. But you've been awful this entire book so I no longer wish to allow it. WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'NO REAL PEOPLE THEN'?! YOUR PARENTS ARE FUCKING MORTAL. Oh now you go after Melissa, Valkyrie shouldn't of repaired your soul you little shit.

Chapter 19

Valkyrie is teasing drunk Militsa and I love it. He can nullify phones as well, interesting. Again, I don't like the parallels in this book to Phase 1, it's bothering me. XENA IS IN LINE OF FIRE BUT VALKYRIE HAS AN AXE AND WILL GO JOHN WICK ON THIS HOE IF SHE DIES Go Xena, go Xena XENA NO, NONOONONONO XENA HE WAS ABOUT TO BEHEAD XENA IN FRONT OF HER OMG

Chapter 20

Ok so I don't think I'm going to be okay, I had to go on a walk for that. Um, here we go again I suppose. This is going to take years off my teenage life Derek.

I like Tier and I like Mia. I heavily dislike Winter and the other guy is annoying. Ghastly is Valkyrie's uncle confirmed. He didn't deny the crush allegations and, honestly, man? You could do better, Winter isn't nice.

Chapter 21

Valkyrie's thinking about age. Notice how she doesn't slander Mortals? Oh it's because China came to visit her. Remember in Dark Days? Remember how she said she'd never go to Val's bedside. Oh, it isn't China. Valkyrie asking about Xena XENA LIVES Oh it's the lady from the prologue. Gordon wore yellow socks and that made the gremlin laugh I KNEW IT! THE DARKLYS ARE ANCIENTS Wait did Malice kill the Darkly twins? I've kind of headcanoned that Cadaver killed Omen so please don't take that from me. Oh wait, never mind. Oh great, so neither side is any good and they're all doomed in 18 months. In theory. Okay, Valkyrie. Go watch Epic: The Musical. Ruthlessness is mercy. The blood on your hands is something you can't loose, all you choose is whos. That cut song 'This can not be the way' suits her. The Witch Mother is interesting, and she isn't wrong. But I can understand Valkyrie's reluctance. XENA LIVES

Chapter 22

Just because you've been through trauma doesn't mean that it's easier to ignore, Valkyrie. You nearly died alone and afraid. Your dog nearly died saving you. I'm glad she's having these realisations; she needs them. But I have a feeling she's going to be in a world of hurt that tears all of that down.

Chapter 23

Valkyrie is unbalanced and she doesn't want Skulduggery to know. I don't know what Skulduggery would do if he did know. Valkyrie's priority is her family and her dog and her girlfriend and I'm glad that's the case. What photos does she have, I'm interested. By schooldays she better be talking about her teenage years in general and prove me right. Okay they're meeting China, that's what she meant. Disappointing. They're doing visits? China is making a genuine effort and getting mad that Skul isn't? I love this. Not as precious as you my dear. I love them and China I love you supporting your daughter and not-daughter. Oh so the battle has been a thing for a while. Val, sorry but you're stuck with this. Maybe the battle is Skulduggery's old partner and his present partner. That'd be cool with their matching powers. China = Fletcher 'Molding young minds' She's so pissed about not being in charge. She's becoming more of a mum I'm noticing. It's cute but China, Val is in her 30s, stop mothering her for one second.

Okay so now I'm halfway through the book, it's good so far. I'm enjoying it. Winter, annoying me but at the same time I kind of get it. It's a slippery moral slope. Part two probably on Tuesday, doing the rest of the book

[thegoodduckfan]

The scene of Fergus' death is honestly one of my favorite moments in the entire Life and Times saga.

This hits so hard for me. In all of the chapters so far Scrooge has been trying to make money to support his family in Dismal Downs/Glasgow and now after his long journey, he's home but it doesn't feel like home anymore, so he leaves. He wanted to take his father, who supported him every step of the way chose to stay behind.

Seeing him with Downy was very bittersweet, especially after chapter 8 when Scrooge discovering his mother died via S. Slick:

And Scrooge's visit to his mother's grave ealier in chapter 9

It just feels really bittersweet to see them sending their kids off to a new, brighter future and meeting with the Ghost of Sir Quackly who has been wonderful in chapter 1.

And it all culminates beautifully in chapter 11, right after Scrooge committed a hate crime and his sisters left him, he argues with himself on what he should do, but only his father can get him into the right track again.

In short Fergus McDuck is absolutely one of my favorite Disney characters, even with his short screen time and in my opinion Don Rosa's best original character.

[verdicloud]

hello everyone!! happy feburary and welcome to my “jellicle ball appreciation posts” series where i discuss my favourite part of the whole musical! specifically about the 1998 version because, oh boy, my love for this recording of a 10 minute dance break knows no bounds. refer to this video for the names of the different sections of the jellicle ball aaaand let’s begin!!!

jellicle ball appreciation posts :

perfect timing

anyone who’s danced before knows that doing all those moves, especially for more fast paced dances, takes exceptional strength and control to execute them well. in order to have that control, and of course because moving your limbs and getting from one place to another takes time, you sometimes have to sacrifice one extra second to perform the last move before moving on to the next one. for example, watch bombalurina after “arabesque” as she’s getting into place for “warsaw (ecstasy)”. unlike most others, she raises her arms a little late because she has to run into position from the back. although it’s a pretty minor issue, when this happens your performance can appear delayed and you often end up rushing the following move.

so one of the most satisfying things for me to watch as an ex-dancer (besides straight up satisfying dancing which we will talk about in the future) is someone hitting their mark on a dance move perfectly or even a little early. one example of this is, during “slow paws” jemima’s arm movements are completely in time with the music, and she raises her arms perfectly on cue during “arabesque”.

but absolutely nothing scratches this itch more than watching tumblebrutus, or fergus logan, dance. seriously, who gave this man the right to be THAT graceful???? i cannot even express how euphoric it is to watch him during the jellicle ball and i sometimes open the film just to watch him. i genuinely love the “boys ballet” section so much because of him and fergus logan has become one of my favourite dancers in the show, or ever, if not my favourite. and for the same reason (but not the only one) tumblebrutus is also one of my top favourite cats.

when tumble and misto stand up and do their windmill thing during “spikey”, fergus is completely focused on dancing. you can see it on his face. as a result, tumble is eager and ready to do the next move, and it shows because he hits the mark perfectly and my gosh, i hope you guys know how much i wish i could absorb that moment into my soul. and the way he “windmills” is just like, he swings his arms so freely and effortlessly and elegantly and so in time with the music, it’s just so pleasing to watch. compared to jacob brent, who’s more focused on staying in character, which i absolutely don’t blame him for since he has a very important role, but as a result he ends up windmilling a little bit late and rushes the next one. mistoffelees’ dancing has more of his flavour and spark, but tumblebrutus’s movements are just so freaking refined and graceful and everything, and i highly doubt this will be the last time i talk about fergus logan in these posts.

as much as i love these “perfect timing” moments though, i also happen to care a lot about the moments like i mentioned in the first paragraph, because there’s something beautiful about seeing the humanity behind a piece of art, especially in the case of dance and professional dancers. it shows that no matter how fantastical this world is or how impressive the cats’ feats are, these are still actors, human beings, and they make mistakes on stage sometimes too and that’s ok. it just shows how much effort is needed to pull this off and put on a successful show. cats the musical is one of the only pieces of media that i know of, where it can break the immersion in a serious manner (or even unintentionally) and have it make the experience even more magical.

part 2~~

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 11: ~

In Times of War:

Last chapter before the official Rescue Arc begins.

TW: War, PTSD and Death.

Part 12:

'Attention, all personnel. Message from the mainland has stated that the rescue will be here by 13:00 hours. I repeat 13:00 hours. Gather your belongings and prepare closing down.'

Roper had to admit. He found great joy in making an announcement instead of Rennick.

It was a busy yet strange morning for Beria. The crew ate their breakfast as they worked on getting the rig closed. None of them had done this before. Only gotten themselves ready in swapping shifts or leaving it stable enough for another set of crew to arrive. They'd all been trained, but it was the case of remembering.

Roy, Caz, Finlay, and eventually Innes and Muir worked on moving food from the pantry and into the containers. Leave nothing purchased from Cadal's pockets behind. The last thing you want is to be in debt to them. Brodie and Raffs focused on The Stack with the help of Engineering and Pontoons. There is no need for an explosion now. Luck was on their side, and they'd like to keep it that way.

O'Connor left the Pontoons to Fergus. He accompanied Rennick to Administration to collect all the important documents Beria will need. Despite Rennick seemingly hating everyone, O'Connor was someone he always tolerated. He was one of the few who never got a verbal beatdown and knew to stay in his lane. Plus, working in the depths of the rig meant the pair never saw each other. Just quick acknowledgement as they entered the canteen. Currently, the pair sat outside the building, eating their breakfast in mostly silence.

'I can't believe we're doing this,' Rennick muttered as he chewed through the sausage barm that dripped grease and tomato ketchup. He never knew how hungry he was until his infection. Before, Rennick just survived on coffee and stress. He often wondered how he hadn't dropped dead from it all. 'Sneaking us back to the mainland and hoping they let us go.' Of course, it was McLeary's idea.

'If you have a better idea, then I'm all ears.'

'No. But...' Rennick did not have any other ideas. 'Operation Spy?' Once again, of course it was McLeary. 'We're not spies, Dónal. Look at us.' He pointed to him. 'Tinker.' He pointed to Dobbie, who was walking by. 'Tailor.' He pointed to Innes. 'Soldier.' He pointed to himself. 'Twat.'

O'Connor tried not to laugh through the sip of his coffee. Then, it hit him.

'Did you say my first name, Davey?'

'Oh get fucked, O'Connor. Of course I know your name. I know everyone's first, middle, that you don't have, and last name.' He tossed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. 'Now, get your specks on and help me.'

Like the old fud he was, Rennick sulked towards his office to begin the search for documents. With a last sip of coffee, O'Connor followed. Good thing, too, because he side-stepped a tendril Rennick was going to use to drag the older man along. 'Alright. Alright.'

'Well, move it.'

Apart from the knocked over books, Rennick's office was practically untouched. Might be because The Shape didn't make it this far before dying. O'Connor went first, put on his round glasses, and began to shift through.

'Surely, they wouldn't need half of this?'

'You'd be surprised,' Rennick scoffed. 'They'll want all of our documents and any damage updates.' He paused. 'Which I never reported.'

'What could you even put in a report now? Beria damaged from an ancient entity we drilled through and royally pissed off?'

Okay, Rennick had to chuckle at that. Just one chuckle, though.

O'Connor continued to shuffle. From daily records to first aid and payments. All were needed. He tucked the most recent file of contracts under his arm and slid the rest of the files towards Rennick, who lingered halfway through the door. O'Connor went to stand, but a glint from a picture frame caught his eye. It sat on a shelf under the desk, and curiosity got the best of him. The resemblance was undeniable. Of course it was Rennick. He was younger. Early 30s. Leaning against a military jeep with two other blokes. They all held their issued rifles with wide smiles and dripping with sweat as they wrapped cloth around their foreheads. Rennick wasn't wearing a shirt, where a tattoo could be seen on his upper arm. What it was was hard to tell due to the angle. O'Connor glanced to his manager, who was shuffling through the files. He slowly walked over and offered the frame. 'I don't think you should leave this behind, eh?'

Rennick looked up from the paperwork, and his eyes widened. He gently took the photo and gazed at the memory. The same feeling from yesterday came back. The nostalgic feeling and the yearning to be young again. O'Connor noticed the hurt look in Rennick's eyes as he dazed off into the past.

The day was a scorcher, expected for the desert. As the soldiers could finally take a break and check their equipment, Rennick was called over by the men who stood beside him. George and Kenneth. The trio had been thick as thieves, and George was going to make sure this was a memory to keep. Rich lad from Cornwall. Always had the best technology. The camera was a birthday gift from home. He gave it to a clearly bored Officer, who had to be walked through how it even worked. Rennick remembered rolling his eyes. He was always impatient.

'Come on, whilst we're still young!'

'Young?' Geroge called as he jogged over. 'I thought Churchill dragged you out of a retirement home, Rennick?'

'By the end of this war, I'll be frog-marched into one.' The three wrapped one arm around each other's shoulder and raised their rifles with the other.

'Say Churchill!'

'Churchill!'

Click

'Africa?'

Rennick snapped back to reality. 'Yeah. We'd just captured Fort Capuzzo. What about you? I never saw you there.'

'I was never in Africa.' O'Connor leaned against the desk. 'I was in Dunkirk.'

'Oh, you poor fuck.' The pair shared a chuckle.

'What happened to the others?'

'Kenneth went to join the R.A.F,' Rennick explained. 'George and I went home at the end of it all and stayed in touch.' A pause. 'He died from a heart attack four years ago. Lucky bastard.'

'And Kenneth?'

'Haven't the foggiest.' If he had to guess, he was either dead or the one sitting in a retirement home. But, enough about that. Rennick focused his attention on O'Connor. 'Didn't agree with Ireland kicking their feet up with The Swiss and Spaniards?'

'Yep. It wasn't right. We were at war. Lives were at stake, and I had a job to do.' With a brief story to tell, O'Connor lit a cigarette. He knew Rennick wasn't a smoker. 'I was a driver. You felt so powerful driving troops across France's fields and roads, avoiding enemy fire. Younger me saw this as an adventure.' Like Rennick, a look of nostalgia washed over him. Then, the hurt look crept in his eyes. 'Until I got too cocky and sent the us into a death trap.'

The crushing pain of the jeep landing on his leg ran through his body. It was a feeling that would never leave. Some would say having a constant limp for the rest of your life was enough punishment, but for O'Connor, it was when he saw...

'Nigel? Nigel? Answer me, please. Get this jeep off me.'

'NIGEL!'

The pair fell silent. They looked at each other for some form of comfort. There was no need for clarification. War was Hell, but there were good moments. It's how you stayed sane. The toughest challenge for both men was returning to civilian life. But, here they were after thirty years. They had to be thankful for that.

Rennick broke eye contact and huffed. 'Well, let's get out of here.' No reason to dwell on the past. Rennick went to move. And he couldn't. Whenever he tried to move his head and 'arm' out of the doorway, he just lightly shook the office. He was stuck. 'One moment. Just...J...' Nope. Completely stuck. 'Can you help me?' He looked at O'Connor, who was trying with every fibre of his being to not laugh. Which lasted about five seconds. He let out a scream-laugh, leaning on his knees and sounding like a dying pterodactyl. It was the mood booster he needed.

O'Connor's laugh must be contagious because Rennick just started to laugh along. His was a hysterical cackle in comparison. Everyone on Deck heard the pair, and Muir could see what the problem was, thanks to his height, causing him to snort.

Through their laughs, O'Connor leaned against Rennick's head and helped him shuffle the arm out, which was causing the block. If he could get himself in, then he could get himself out. Once free, Rennick pulled backwards, causing O'Connor to trip onto the handrailing, but still they laughed.

When all was said and done, they began to head for the Deck.

'So, what was your tattoo?'

'That's something I'm taking to the grave, Mr. O'Connor.'

[joz-yyh]

Beast Taming - A Rust Sidestory

SUMMARY: It's time for Audrey's big party to get underway and Bigby is the star. Nothing goes according to plan, but perhaps the Houndmaster can help salvage the evening. No beta. Read at your own risk.

RATING: T

PAIRING: Houndmaster x Abomination

WORD COUNT: 3,316

A/N: Sharing this here for @cultofthepigeon!! Thank you so much for liking this ship and entertaining my little story here! Hope you enjoy~

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————–

Paracelsus storming around the banquet hall, glamored in makeup, gloved hands cinched around their full-length dress is something William never thought he'd see in his lifetime. 

Their bifoculed face is aimed in his direction, the scientist regarding him, a rarity in itself to behold them without their mask present.

“Did Bigby come this way,” they ask, frantic breath fogging up their round spectacles, huffing in haste of their search.

“Just missed him,” William advises, pointing around his champagne glass, indicating toward the other side of the room.

“Dammit,” the scholar grits out, hiking up their skirt, mud-crusted boots nearly tripping on the long hem that persists in getting in their way.

The dark-haired beauty follows his guide, William finding the juxtaposition comical, taking a casual sip of his drink, letting the brightness bubble on his tongue.

“You can come out now.”

“Are they gone,” a shaky voice asks, it's source resonating from under the fancy table cloth.

“For the moment,” William says, skilled eyes trained on the room, watching for any danger.

With a timid hand, Bigby draws the fabric back, checking his surroundings just to be sure it was safe. Satisfied with the results, he crawls out from his hiding spot.

“How did you know,” the branded vagabond sighs, standing up from his crouch, running a hand along his clothes to look more presentable.

“Old hound masters trick,” he smiles around his mustache, taking another sip of champagne.

“Well, thanks.”

“Don't mention it.” 

Bigby smiles in return, relieved to find another person he felt comfortable around. Most of tonight's guests were of the fairer sex, a series of awkward conversations he had not the knowledge to participate in as they talked about the troubles of beauty and the encroaching male gaze.

“Is that stuff any good,” he asks after a beat, watching as the flaxen lawman continues to nurse his drink.

“Not bad,” William says, swirling the golden liquid about, watching it aerate, “but it's a bit dry for my tastes. I prefer sweeter wine.” 

With a dashing smirk and effortless chivalry, the hound master offers what remains in his cup to his companion, “Give it a try.” 

“Are you sure,’’ the abomination asks, accepting the glass, digits gently wrapping around the other man's fingers, worried about breaking such delicate things.

“Of course,” William says, “if you like it, I can always grab us a few more. Plenty to go around.” 

Bigby nods, enjoying that idea. Delicately, he lifts the glass to his lips, the robust flavor pruning the tip of his tongue. William watches on as the lad digests the flavor, his uncharacteristically clean-shaven expression changing as the various notes hit his palate until he finally swallows it down.

“Well,” the blonde prompts, raising a shaggy brow, “what's the verdict?”

“I think it’s growing on me,” he giggles, going back in for more.

“Then, I'll be right back.”

The blonde pardons himself, walking the length of the buffet table, the far end housing more effervescent glasses.

Occupied with his drink, Bigby waits for his companion to return. 

He spies Fergus on the opposite end of the floor, the trusty wolfhound never too far behind from her master. Finely-dressed ladies are huddled around the groomed canine, cooing and awwing over her every move. They take turns shaking her paw, exclamations abound, commenting on how precious she looks in her sparkly new collar.

“Back just in time, eh,” William jokes, indicating the other’s empty flute.

The lycan follows his line of sight, staring down, not realizing he’d finished off it’s hazy contents already. 

“I guess so,” the wolfboy laughs, setting it aside for the moment.

Rather than holding two glasses, William carries a small plate of hors d'oeuvres in the other, the abomination poised to tease him about it.

“Had enough already,” the abomination asks, taking the newly replenished refreshment from him.

“For the moment. Best I eat something after three glasses.”

The changeling giggles at his honesty, knocking back a bigger mouthful of champagne, trying to catch up to William’s level of ingested alcohol.

The beast tamer samples one of the crackers loaded with cream cheese, tomato and chives, holding the tiny morsels within Bigby’s reach, a spread of various meats, cheeses and olives struck with toothpicks.

“Try the prosciutto first,” William says, “I had some earlier.”

“Sure,” the wolfboy says, doing just that.

The two men munch away, idly listening to the tune of the gramophone, glancing around the decor of the room, William observing his four-legged companion from across the way.

“Great isn't she?”

“Hmm,” Bigby hums, not sure what he means, still about his food.

“Fergus,” the lawman says, pride swelling in his chest, “she does most of the socializing for me. I think she enjoys all the attention, though.”

“She certainly is popular,” he agrees, witnessing such charms earlier.

“If only I had her charisma for parties. She makes it look so easy.”

The abomination can certainly relate to that feeling, “I know what you mean,” he concurs. 

The beast tamer turns to face him, appraising his lanky frame up and down, eyes glittering with approval. He’d only ever seen Bigby in torn trousers and chains, but he cleaned up rather well, hair slicked over the other half of his face, no doubt to cover up his notorious mark, his chin chiseled smooth from the trim of a razor, his height properly outfitted in semi-formal attire.

“I hope you don't mind me saying so, but you look very handsome.”

Bigby nearly chokes, covering his mouth, unprepared for such a compliment. “Thanks, but I can't take credit for much,” the wolboy waves off, recovering from the shock, “Audrey picked out my clothes, helped style my face.”

“That lassie sure knows her stuff.”

“She does,” Bigby agrees, remembering the painful hours of preparation he had to go through to achieve his current appearance. He wouldn’t mind going through the ringer again if it meant he could spend more time with the houndmaster like this.

Hesitantly, he takes in his fellow man’s appearance, sallow hair slicked back so he can see more of his eyes, a regal air about him made all the more apparent thanks to his tailcoat and broad stature. It takes the branded boy a moment to assemble his bearings, liquid courage helping him bring shy words to the surface.

“You too. You look handsome,” he mumbles, looking away, a blush upon his cheeks, nervously tugging on his hair to distract himself.

“Glad you think so,” the hound master beams, a radiant man of light, “I might not have a personal stylist, but I know my way around a brush. Thankfully, Fergus still lets me borrow hers.”

Bigby laughs, delighted by such humor, gazing at Scotch-Irisman more openly, the two sharing a long, appreciative smolder.

“Say, would you care to dance?”

“Uhh … me,” Bigby fumbles, beside himself with astonished emerald eyes, looking about as if William could be asking anyone else, “You think that's a good idea?”

The goldenrod man laughs, setting aside a mostly empty plate, holding out a hand in invitation, “Yes, the best idea I've had tonight.”

“But … I haven't danced in quite some time,” the wolfchide warns, looking down in shame, worried about embarrassing himself and his friend with his poor footwork.

“Me either. All the more reason. No worse than what I can do in a kilt.”

The blonde goads him, just a little, with beckoning fingers, “C'mon, I’ll lead. Can't let a perfectly good dance floor go to waste.”

Bigby still seems unsure, keen on persuading him otherwise, but in a swell of impulsive whimsy, he downs the rest of his wine and accepts the tender proposal.

The lawman grins, wide and bright, holding the polished vagabond’s hand dutifully in his, escorting his impromptu date onto the dance floor.

They practically have the space all to themselves, his partner quickly finding them a suitable spot to begin, the houndmaster's touch curling around the small of his back, steady and warm, pulling him close while Bigby places his palm on William’s arm, poised and ready.

The comely brunette could blame his thumping heartbeat on the giles of fermented fruit, but that just wouldn't be true, the tingle in his cheeks made all the more apparent by the presence of the dashing man in his company, proving one could be so soft and yet so incredibly strong at the same time.

He barely has time to marvel on such thoughts before William begins their waltz, the hybrid fumbling with the motion, too dazed, heels stomping on his partner's toes.

“S-sorry,” Bigby frets, looking between them to prevent the faux pax from happening again, “I told you I am out of practice.”

“It's alright,” the beast tamer jokes, practically immune, “Fergus steps on my feet all the time. Didn't feel a thing. And don't worry, the timing will come, just keep your head up. Count with me.”

William, thankfully, slows down for his sake, helping him relearn the basics, the abomination following along with jerky imitating steps that grow more confident and fluid the longer they practice.

“There you go, 1 2 3 … 1 2 3 … you've got it now.”

Soon enough, with the patient encouragement of William's humble guide, Bigby finds his rhythm again, the two men gliding about the room in beautiful harmony.

The lycanthrope feels dizzy, but it's a pleasant sensation, butterflies swarming about his head and stomach, wondering if this could be what exhilaration feels like, finally understanding why people bothered to have parties at all.

“Should we be taking this more seriously,” Bigby asks, self-conscious of his etiquette.

“Not like we're dancing for the king,” William reminds him, always knowing the right thing to say, “We're just two lads having fun.”

“I guess we are,” the wolfboy agrees, posing a charming close-lipped smile.

“Ready for the spin?”

“The what,” he squeaks, suddenly panicked, his hair turning wild.

William smirks, twirling his partner about the room, their entwined fingers keeping him from straying too far, reeling him back with tempered zeal.

With a winded laugh, the branded boy collides into his partner's chest, a gruff accident of too much momentum, stopping them both in their tracks, Bigby's basking in their shared breath, William in his.

He's delirious, must be, because the world is spinning behind his eyes even as he remains perfectly still, the houndmaster a welcoming weight pressed against his, their lips just a skin-tingling impulse away from joining in a kiss.

Even at the height of his elation, here now comes tragedy to squander it. The beast surges inside his head, making him freeze, his veins pulsing with venom just beneath his clothes, the creature wanting out of it's human cage.

The wolfboy misses his chance to deepen their relationship, curling inward on himself, hoping to drive the menacing beast back with banishing thoughts alone.

‘No, not now. Go away.’

“Bigby,” the houndmaster treads, a note of genuine concern coloring his voice, “Bigby what's wrong?”

His fists clench in the Irishman’s jacket, on the verge of ripping the seams, trying to subdue his other half, shaking with the strain.

“I … I have to go,” he mumbles, pained by such a confession, not wanting to spoil the moment, but having no other choice.

“Go, go where? Why? Is there something wrong?”

William is desperately trying to fix whatever caused the sudden rift between their gravitating hearts, but he seems powerless against it.

“I…I don't know. I just have to go.”

His voice is trembling, he might even be crying, liquid heat prickling at his eyes. He can only pray William will have the grace to be this kind to him again, that he'll even spare him a second glance after a parting rejection like this.

A fuming Paracelsus cuts between them, making both men jump in surprise.

“Just what was that stunt you pulled,” they holler, beet red with anger, “I wasn’t done with you, you know!”

“No, I-I–,” Bigby can't put a coherent sentence together, too distracted by the burning ache of his mark.

The plague doctor's interference doesn’t help, his affliction growing worse, the tormented abomination clutching his head, nails growing into wickedly sharp claws.

“Paracelsus, please,” William sighs, trying to de-escalate their tenuous situation.

“Let's see how you like getting stood up,” the half-pint growls, poking the taller blonde in the sternum, revenge in their puffy eyes.

The shapeshifter has no time to listen to his suitors argue, taking the opportunity to run, seeking the solace of the woods before he loses control and a festive evening becomes the stuff of a living nightmare.

Even with the scientist drawing most of his attention, William is the first to notice Bigby's absence, looking high and low for any sign of where he might have gone.

“We can discuss this later, Paracelsus,” William insists, already on the hunt, passing astride them.

The scholar scoffs, crossing their arms, voicing their discontent at his retreat, “I really hate the living.”

William quite literally stumbles upon his first clue, his shoe coming into contact with something irrevocably odd, taking a step back to see what it was. A peculiar looking key reveals itself, no doubt dropped by the young man he's currently pursuing.

It's heavy, rusted and plain, characteristics that would no doubt suit the impoverished wallet of its owner. 

William gathers up the precious trinket, following his quarry's trail out the door, all the more determined to find him before the night is through.

He makes it out of the building just as a jagged shadow peels into the dark hollow of branches, a place most folk would be hard pressed to venture, a safe bet to assume it's Bigby taking refuge amongst the wood.

The hound master runs towards his last known location, looking for signs of torn thread, broken branches, disturbed earth to decipher which direction he'd gone.

Needless to say, William is on his guard. He is without his club and his hound, weary of what might be lurking in the dark, Hamlet not the safest place to journey alone, even on a good day.

Curiously, he finds a loafer abandoned in the dirt, leaning down to inspect it, this belonging to Bigby’s ensemble, remembering the buckle of polished leather.

It was too new to have been dropped by anyone else, it's twin discarded in the path just ahead, the beast tamer collecting the pair, proof he's charted the proper course.

He hears noises, muffled, but they don't sound threatening, quite the opposite really, still approaching with an air of caution, downwind.

A figure huddles, sitting on his knees, hiding in a thicket of fallen trees, sobbing mixed with beastly grunts, William keeping a healthy distance between them, calling out softly.

“Bigby …”

The wolfboy's shoulders jolt in surprise, the sniffling abruptly ceasing, suddenly made aware of his audience.

The two men suffer through a long pause, one refusing to look at the other, hoping to fade into shadow, cease to exist.

“You shouldn't be here.” 

It's dark, cryptic, a feral, inhuman tone.

“I was worried,” William explains, treading closer, not so easily deterred.

“How did you find me?” 

The wolfboy sounds bewildered, angered, turning just slightly as the man approaches him, one eye big and round, reflective like the moon.

William takes a seat on the bark of a fallen log, next to the sad, lonely soul that's giving his all to appear terrifying, menacing, and yet the lawman makes a play at humor.

“Fergus isn’t the only one who knows how to track.” 

He ends his delivery with a wink and Bigby dissolves into sniffles, wiping at his cheeks, trying to hide his laugh, though he doubts the lawman didn't already know he was a blubbering mess.

“Sorry, I ruined everything.”

“Not at all,” William affirms, “the fresh air did us both some good. I'll take the great outdoors over stuffy decor any day.”

A smile on his lips, sleuthing nose tipped up, taking in a deep breath of it, a subtle cue, emulating what Bigby should be doing.

The lycanthrope sinks into a cradle of arms, knees pulled under his chin, always hiding his less desirable side.

“I doubt Audrey will ever invite me again,” the werewolf scoffs, self-degradation heavy in his voice, “Not after the state I left her clothes.” 

They’re dirty, frayed, ripped asunder. Would probably cost more than his life's worth to tailor them back to perfection.

“I think she'll understand, given the circumstances,” William says, giving a shrug of nonchalance, “Speaking of, I found your shoes a ways back.”

He procures the items, dangling them in his hand for effect. 

“This too.” 

The houndmaster takes the key from his pocket, holding it out, metal too dull to catch a shine, the man's hand glowing by comparison.

To think he could have been so forgetful, Bigby gasping at the sight of it, finally unraveling, taking the precious trinket back into his possession. 

“Thank you.”

Their skin touches despite his best efforts to avoid it, leaning away, gripping the key tightly within his fist.

Another long silence hangs between them, neither knowing what to say, but content to be in each other's presence.  

“I don’t want to keep you. Fregus is probably worried.”

It wasn't fair, taking up so much of his time, especially, when there was far better company to keep than an abomination.

“She’s in good hands. I think you need me more right now.”

Bigby looks to him, surprised, mouth agape, hair askew, miniature horns to hail the gruesomeness of his mark.

The houndmaster reaches out, slow, methodical, plucking away a leaf that's tangled itself within dark locks, brushing his brow just slightly, making Bigby shudder.

“William?”

It's a plea, so vulnerable, so small that the Irishman begins to worry.

“Yes?”

“Will you help me?”

“Sure lad, what is it you need?”

His mouth answers before he can give the request a single thought, the blonde hero determined to give Bigby anything within his power to drive the sadness out.

“This …  has happened before. In the weald. I couldn’t control myself and now the same thing is happening again.”

William had heard about the fiasco with the blood moon. Even Fergus went into a frenzy, the effects of such potent magic undeniable.

“Bigby, what happened wasn't your fault.”

“I can't keep pretending I am not a danger to everyone,” he snaps, aggressive, "No matter how little or how many my wards.”

The wolfboy takes a moment to calm himself, knowing the houndmaster didn't deserve his rage, fighting to find his next words, the later waiting patiently.

“I know it was a risk unlocking my chains, but I wanted to feel … normal for once.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” 

“But there is. I am not normal. Never will be again. But maybe, if there was someone who could teach me, tame me, maybe then, things could be different.”

William holds his gaze, stern, searching, discovering just how serious he was about this. 

“It’s not a quick and easy fix, you know,” he sighs, relaxing, “It will take time, but if you’re willing to learn, I would be more than happy to help you.” 

Bigby stares at him, eyes of a more human light, gushing with the shimmer of tears. 

“Do you really think there's hope for someone like me?”

“There's always hope.” 

The houndmaster smiles, warm and wonderful, and Bigby flings himself at him, arms clutching around his back, probably straining the material of his jacket with the ferocity of his hug.

“Thank you.”

“Of course, lad,” he assures, holding his fellow hero in return, “You're with me now. Can't count yourself a lone wolf anymore.”

{End Preview}

[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Devil in the Details: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst, feeling broken and utterly helpless to the point of depression

Summary: Sam is captured by Lucifer yet again, and it's up to you, Dean, Crowley, Rowena, and Castiel to bust him out. God was never here. God was never the one talking to him. It was all Lucifer. Sam is once again at Lucifer's mercy but this time, he's not gonna let him win.

Season Eleven Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

You look at Billie before stepping through the door. It closes behind you and you're transported directly into Hell.

"Crowley!" you yell once you reach a long hallway. "I know you're in here!" Crowley and Dean come around the corner and you practically throw yourself in Dean's arms. "Sam's in the Cage with Lucifer?"

"Yeah. Is she dead?"

"I don't know. Angels came after her. I tried to go back and check but I got too sick. Apparently, smite sickness is a thing. Castiel went to check for me." You turn to Crowley. "Where is Sam?"

"Don't worry about Sam."

"I'm sorry, have you met us?"

"Lucifer needs the moose. He's not going to kill him, probably. You two versus the Devil... trust me there are easier ways of committing suicide. We need to focus on Rowena."

"Yes, let's kill her," you say eagerly.

"Easier said than done I'm afraid. Plus, we need Mother to slam the Devil back in his hole."

"Is she gonna cooperate?"

"She doesn't have a choice. May I have the box?" You hand the box Billie gave you over to Crowley. He pulls out some sort of spiky crown. "It's called a witch-catcher. Most of them were destroyed after the Inquisition, but Billie came through."

"What does it do?"

"You're going to love this," Crowley grins. "Just follow my lead."

Crowley hands the crown over to Dean and motions for you two to stay hidden while he goes inside and talks to his mother. Rowena is drinking a cup of tea and she smirks when she sees her son.

"How's Y/N and Dean?" she asks.

"Pardon?"

"Little tip, love. The next time you go about making secret plans, check your pockets."

Crowley reaches into his jacket pocket and takes outa hex bag that Rowena placed there without him knowing.

"You heard?"

"Everything, dear."

You and Dean walk into the room and you glare at her.

"Not that it matters."

"What does that mean?" she asks her son.

"A little tip Mother. Never accept a cup of tea from someone who loathes you."

Rowena's smile disappears and she begins to choke. Dean jumps into action and places the witch-catcher around her neck the second she doubles over in a fit of coughs. You don't even need to use your magic on her.

"Get this bloody thing off of me," Rowena screams.

"I would, but this bloody thing makes you my slave." Rowena scoffs and Crowley smirks. "Hop on one foot."

"Please, Fergus. I don't know what kind of Oedipal Fifty Shades you think you're playing at but if you think for a second..." Her words trail off when she starts to hop on one foot against her will. "Bollocks."

"Alright, let's do this," you say.

Rowena has no choice but to do as Crowley says and gets the spell set up to push Lucifer back into his cage. You and Dean watch Lucifer with glares on your faces while Sam stares back hopelessly.

"How long is this gonna take?" Dean sighs impatiently.

"About five minutes. Unless Sam says yes."

"What if he does?" you ask.

"If Lucifer finds a vessel, he'll be anchored to earth. The incantation won't work."

"Work faster," you glare.

"I'm sorry, my Lord." Everyone turns to see a demon walking in with Castiel next to him. He doesn't look so good. He looks battered and bruised. "I tried to stop him."

"Castiel?"

"Oh good, the angel is here," Crowley rolls his eyes.

"What happened to you?"

"Amara is alive. She sent me this message."

Castiel rips his shirt open to reveal a message carved into his skin. I AM COMING. Fear prickles your skin and you turn to your husband with tears.

"She sucked my magic out, Dean. She scares me."

"I am coming. Is that a threat?" Crowley asks.

"Or a promise."

Suddenly, Sam's scream of pain echoes through the area, and you immediately become on alert.

"Sam!" Dean yells.

You, Dean, and Castiel immediately run out of the room and to where the Cage is

"Don't!" Crowley begs desperately.

Lucifer punches Sam back down to the ground, and your brother-in-law raises his arms to deflect his blows.

"Hey, ass-butt!" Castiel yells.

Lucifer turns to you three, and you stand in front of the two men with magic pouring out of your hands.

"Even I can see you're not at full power," Lucifer smirks. He snaps his fingers, and all three of you are transported into the Cage. You run to Sam and start to heal his wounds. "Welcome to the party. Scared?"

"Not even a little," Dean growls.

Castiel slides an angel blade from the sleeve of his trenchcoat and faces against his older brother.

"Ah, moments like this, it's all about ambiance."

Lucifer snaps his fingers and music starts playing. Tavares' "Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel" starts playing from somewhere. Lucifer smirks and dances, clearly mocking you four. Castiel lunges at Lucifer but the archangel grabs the angel and pulls him to the side. You and Dean help Sam up who looks fearful still.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. We can't win this one."

"We don't have to win. We've just gotta last a few minutes."

Lucifer punches Castiel and you jump in to help. You jump onto Lucifer's back and wrap your arms around his neck as a form of strangulation. Your arms and eyes glow bright blue as you work your magic into him. Lucifer stumbles back and grabs your arms with his eyes bright red.

"You strangle like a human," he growls.

"Don't touch my family," you growl back.

The blue magic flares up even more the more you use it, and Lucifer cries out in pain when it starts to burn his skin. He braces himself and reaches behind himself to grab you. He flings you off him and into the bars on the other side of the cage, and you slide down them in a grunt of pain. Both brothers have their fill of Lucifer next. Dean sends a swift punch to Lucifer's jaw, and Sam punches him in the gut.

Lucifer elbows Sam in the face and grabs Dean's throat before slamming him into the bars of the cage. The archangel looks back at Sam who is lying on the ground covered in blood.

"Alright Sam, I'm gonna make this real easy for you. You say the magic word or your brother dies... and we both know you won't let that happen."

Castiel charges at Lucifer and yanks him away from Dean. You scramble up and join your husband's side who is coughing violently. You put a hand to his head and heal him of his injuries, beckoning Sam closer so you can do the same for him. Lucifer grabs Castiel and in the next second, there is a flash of a white light. Lucifer is gone and you're no longer in the cage. Rowena did it. Crowley and Rowena stand off to the side and watch as you walk over to them.

"You're welcome? Anyone?" Rowena scoffs.

"Bite me," Dean growls.

"I can make her do that."

"Here, let me heal you," you say to Castiel.

"I'm fine."

He dismisses you and you frown at his behavior. You let it go for now knowing what you four just endured.

"So, what now?" Sam asks.

"About the Darkness? No clue. You'll figure it out, I'm sure."

"Or die screaming," Rowena smirks.

"This has been a horrible train wreck, so we're done. Team up over."

"What about her?" Sam asks, pointing to Rowena.

"She stays. The rest of you lot... Get the hell out of Hell."

You leave Hell with Crowley's help and walk back to the Impala. She has never looked so good before.

"Are you okay?" Dean asks the angel.

"I think so. I will be."

"Do you want me to give you a lift?"

"No, you three go on ahead. I'll catch up."

"Okay."

You three get into the car as Castiel stands off to the side and watches you go with a half-smile. Castiel looks like he's in pain, so why wouldn't he want you to heal him? Dean peels out of the area and gets onto the main road with ease.

"Is he alright?"

"Can you blame him if he's not? It's been a rough day."

"Are you okay, Sam?" you ask.

"I don't know. I mean what if Lucifer was telling the truth? What if he's the only--"

"No, dude. The Darkness is bad. Her and the Devil is a nightmare I don't even want to think about."

A break is what you three need, especially after the hell you've been through. Two weeks pass of relaxing and hoping that Amara stays off the grid. Christmas morning comes sooner than you think, and the kids are jumping on your bed to wake you up. Molly is back home with her family so you're Christmas is spent with your family.

"Joanna, you're jumping on my stomach," you cough and open your eyes.

"It's Christmas morning! Come on! Santa came!"

"Okay, we're up. Why don't you go wake Uncle Sam, okay?"

"Sammy!!"

She runs out of the room screaming her uncle's name, and Maryann runs after her on her little legs.

"Wait for me!"

"Noah," Dean groans tiredly.

"I got them."

Noah follows after his sisters to make sure they don't hurt themselves by running through the hallways.

"Come on, we gotta get up."

"Just one more minute," Dean groans. You lean over and press your lips to his, morning breath forgotten. His lips part and you barely peek your tongue into his mouth before he shoots up in bed. "I'm up."

You two leave the room just in time to see Joanna tug Sam by the arm over to the Christmas tree you decorated. The dogs are lying by the presents as if they were protecting them from thieves. Zeus stands and licks your hand when you go to pet him, and Colonel doesn't move when you pet him. Joanna starts picking up presents and separating them based on who they're for. The kids sit by the tree with presents all around them while you, Sam, and Dean sit at the library table and watch.

"Go ahead."

The kids rip open their presents and you try to be present and in the moment. You're not gonna get many more Christmases like this one, especially when they start getting older. Amara lingers in the back of your mind, always reminding you of the dark cloud hovering above your head. Dean puts a hand over yours as if he can read your mind. You give him a smile you hope is convincing but you know it's not. He kisses you briefly because that's all he can do.

No one can fix this but you and you're gonna try like hell to make sure your family is safe.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[gotham-ruaidh]

now i lay me down to sleep - a 7x05 and 7x06 story

I had thought it would be easy to sleep in the tent that night – after a few uncomfortable days on the road, preceded by my brief yet searing stint back at Ticonderoga worrying for my patients and for Jamie, not to mention the stress we’d both felt before the fort was abandoned as our well-reasoned advice fell on deaf ears.

I’d mastered the art of sleeping in a tent, with the low noises of men camped all around me, during the war. My war, to be precise – on the blood-soaked fields of France. Too quickly I’d had to put that habit to use in the months we’d spent camping with Charles Stuart, and then again not too long ago, in those terrible days of the fruitless skirmishes with the Regulators.

So I’d thought that the murmured campfire conversations, and occasional snorting of horses, and all other manner of noises would lull me to sleep this night.

Yet I lay awake. Too tired to sleep.

Mind racing.

Walter’s last breath.

Ian looking at Rachel, as she helped Denny and I bandage a man who had discharged his musket into his foot.

The shape of William’s nose and chin.

Brianna smiling.

I sat up in the bedroll, and swung out my legs from under the blankets.

Jamie’s hand found the small of my back.

Peace.

“When Bree was small and she couldn’t sleep, sometimes she’d get frustrated. So I told her to rest her eyes instead.”

“Hmm. Did that work?”

“Well, it soothed her. I convinced her that laying still with her eyes closed was more restful than not doing so.”

I heard him sit up behind me. Felt his arms wrap around my middle, and his head settle into the curve of my shoulder.

“And if she didnae like what she saw when she closed her eyes?”

I found his hands and squeezed. “I would ask her to think about something she did like.”

He smiled into my neck. “Well then. I just need to keep looking at you, Sassenach. Cannae think of a better way to fall asleep.”

I flushed with pleasure, and turned to kiss him. It was hard to see in the dark, and we fumbled a bit, laughing, and he tasted of happiness.

We broke apart at a whoop from somewhere not too far from the tent.

“Christ,” Jamie whispered. “I’ll need to have a word wi’ Morgan in the morning. Cannae have the men making such a stramash. It will just cause confusion that the Mohawk or others are attacking, and we dinna need that just now.”

“I’m sure he’ll enjoy talking to you about it.”

He didn’t say anything, and let the moment stretch. Still we held each other’s hands, not fully awake, not willing yet to sleep.

“Do you see something you don’t like, when you close your eyes?”

It was always easy to talk in the dark – even with Jamie, who knew me better than anyone had or would.

“Ye ken weel about my nightmares. But before you ask more about it – no, they’re no’ back, or at least any more than they have always come and go.” His thumb traced my silver wedding ring. “I – only – hmm. I need to ask ye something, and as I turn it over in my mind it feels verra foolish to even say out loud.”

I smiled. “Surely you don’t think I’d laugh?”

“Ye have laughed, and ye will keep laughing at me, since the first day we wed, Sassenach. That’s no’ what I keep seeing.” He paused, and I knew there would be lines forming in his brow as he thought what to say.

I gave him as long as he needed.

“Do you think any less of me, Claire, that I couldnae save you myself?”

“What on earth?” My hand found his shoulder. “What’s this?”

I felt his eyes on me. “I came for you at Fort William wi’ nothing but an empty pistol. I found you after that time wi’ the crazy priest who married Fergus and Marsali. I found you in the forest after the Browns had taken you.”

“Yes,” I said patiently. “I remember.”

“So – at Ticonderoga I relied on Ian to find you. And when you were held prisoner by the governor, on that ship in Wilmington harbor – I relied on Tom Christie.”

“Yes.”

His words came all in a rush. “I couldnae save you those times, Claire. I had to ask other men to do it for me.”

My hand shifted to cup his cheek. “Because you were being pragmatic. You’re older than you were at Fort William. You have a lot more to lose.”

“If I lose you, Claire, I lose everything. Do you no’ ken that?”

“And if in so doing you lose yourself – where does that leave me? I’d rather have a dozen men help me get back to you, than you risking yourself to do it.”

He sighed. “I felt I betrayed my vow to you.”

“Nonsense. You kept it, by enlisting others to help me. Were they not happy to do it?”

“They were.”

“Then don’t tell me that’s beside the point. I’m here, with you, because you asked for help. That’s no small thing.”

A beat.

“And don’t you go doubting yourself. Not now. You need to have a steady mind. To shoot your rifle straight.”

He turned his head, and kissed my palm. “I’m daft.”

“You are. But you knew that already, and I knew that already.”

“And yet somehow, you still love me for it.”

“Despite it.”

I leaned in for a kiss. He drew us back down into the bedroll.

“Rest wi’ me, then, until the dawn. Maybe I’ll dream of the lass and her bairns.”

I settled closer against him. “I’ll dream of you and me, back on the Ridge, in a fine new house.”

He kissed my forehead.

[renee-writer]

Love Comes First Chapter 44

AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57780913

“Today, you are one!” She holds up one finger to the excited babies. They, feeding off her energy, bounce up and down in their cots.

 

Jamie, watching from the doorway, grins. Isaiah David and Hanna Rebecca see him and start to cry out, “DaDa!”

 

Claire turns and smiles at him. He walks all the way in, joining her.

 

“Amazing that you are one, guys.” He says to them.

 

“They were just born,” she says to him, “or so it seems.”

 

He chuckles. “It seems James was.”

 

“True,” she sighs out, “it goes by way to fast.”

 

“Aye, so let’s soak in this day,” he lifts up the babies, together, “right guys. It’s your birthday.”

 

They squeal. Nappies are changed and they are dressed in their birthday outfits.

 

Downstairs, their older siblings are blowing balloons up and hanging banners.

 

“I want to tell them.” Sophia whispers to James. They are placing the tablecloth on.

 

“I know. But baby, it is Isaiah and Hanna’s day.”

 

“Your right. I am just so excited.”

 

“Me too baby.” He hugs her.

 

Marsali sits, way to pregnant, to help much. Fergus stands behind her, helping Faith hang the happy birthday banner. Sitting beside her, Leah rests her hand on her bump, where Joel moves around.

 

“Hey Joel. Are you excited about the twins birthday too?”

 

Marsali smiles at her.

 

“He is.”

 

“Cool.”

 

The twins sit in the middle of the wrapping paper after opening all their presents, with the help of Leah and Peter.

 

They throw it around more interested in them, temporarily at least, then their new toys.

 

Their family watch them with joy. More pictures are taken. They already have pictures of them smashing their cakes and opening the presents.

 

“Oh.” Marsali’s utterance gets Tabby’s  attention. She sits closest to her.

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“I think I am in labor.” She calmly says. Fergus hears her, turning quickly and hurrying over to her side.

 

“Baby?”

 

“I have been having pains for awhile. I just didn’t want to take attention away from the babies.”

 

Claire, noticing the stress coming from the couple and her daughter, comes over.

 

“Claire, Marsali is having contractions.” Fergus’ voice gets high. Claire is calmer.

 

“How far apart are the contractions?”

 

“Around six minutes.”

 

“Okay, let’s get the doctor called.” Fergus fumbles for his phone.

 

Faith comes over and kneels beside her. Placing her hand over her bump, she begins to pray for both the parents and Joel.

 

Over the last three months, she has focused more on her faith. That and her work in the hospital has matured her, to her parents joy.

 

Tabby and Peter take care of the twins while Jamie and Claire see to the couple, helping her through the next few contractions while the doctor instructs them.

 

They are to head directly to hospital. Fergus already has the hospital bag in the boot of the car and the car seat in the back.

 

When the excitement dies down, Sophia and James share a look. He nods.

 

“Mama and da, we are pregnant.” She announces.

 

It is a very memorable first birthday.

[hugsandchaos]

Fergus: Oh dear gods, dragons are real! Get behind me! I’ll—

Hiccup: *already petting said dragon* No thanks, I’m good.

[torchflies]

Joining the collective excited cooing in your inbox over Scottish Mav, one-of-a-kind king in waiting. I love him so much.

I don't know if your thoughts or plans extend as far Mav test piloting? Mav alternating between actually fulfilling some of his princley duties and fucking off into the desert to play games with the laws of physics.

Can you just imagine the general reaction to the Darkstar Mach 10 flight? 'Captain Pete Mitchell breaks World land speed record, achieving Mach 10.3. The Scottish Royal family member ejected safely after experimental jet experienced a critical failure in flight'

Loving reading all your headcannons and thoughts!

Ahhhh 💜💜💜🥹 @eringeosphere thank you so much for being so sweet!!!! 😭😭😭

Actually yes!

Mav keeps the same timeline as far as TG and TGM go. 🤣 By the time TGM rolls around he’s well into his fifties and happy balancing test piloting and his royal duties. He’s still not king though, because Fergus is still kicking. He and Viper still hang out all the time with all the tact of old men 🤣

Scotland just puts up with it because Mav has two heirs of his own. 🤣 Ice is happily running two Navys (one is behind the scenes) and Slider is running four castles with an iron fist and flying commercial. (Ice doesn't die because there’s a royal decree that he isn't allowed to smoke and has to take his high blood pressure medication. Not everyone, just Tom Kazansky).

Oh you're so right about what happened with Darkstar 🤣🤣🤣 Every pub in Scotland is full of drunks singing their favorite song of Our Paddy Canae Die!

But no Scot needs to find out how close they came to losing two heirs and getting fifteen-year-old Queen Amelia. 🤣

Thank you for being so sweet and enjoying this as much as I do!!! This AU has me so excited!!!

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

Wip game questions! A Thrill of Hope and whisky convention ☺️☺️

Hello! 🥰

I told myself this last December that I would not write a holiday fic bc I didn't have the stamina or an idea, and then an idea plopped itself right into my brain 🥲 I still v much did not have the stamina, which is why nothing was posted over the holidays lol, but A Thrill of Hope is a Beside the Seaside one-shot taking place a few years beyond the current timeline. There were like two scenes that wouldn't leave me alone, so those are written but the rest will wait until this next holiday season, most likely. Here's a wee snippet:

“Ye sure she should be reading that Agatha Christie novel, Sassenach?”  Jamie’s voice was scarcely above a whisper, and Claire noticed how neither of the children in the backseat so much as twitched; she and Jamie might as well have been alone in the car. “She saw Fergus reading it and she insisted she wouldn’t get scared by it. Tried to make her wait, but she’s stubborn.” Her thumb traced over his knuckle where their hands were still laced together. “She learned that from you, I think.”  Her husband shot her a quick, incredulous look. “Me? She learned that from you.”  “Agree to disagree.”  Jamie exhaled a smile. “And what if that book does give her nightmares? She’s getting too old to be crawling into our bed.”  “Don’t say that, she’s only nine.” He arched an eyebrow at that, and she sighed, unprepared for how this conversation had poked at an open wound. “And she won’t be nine forever. Are you so ready to leave that stage behind? You won’t miss those moments with her when they’re gone?” 

The whisky convention au is a modern au where Claire is hired to plan a major whisky competition/convention, and the new Board President of the organization that hired her is a large, Scottish pain in the arse! They sort of start out as antagonistic towards each other which changes into a begrudging respect - all of this is developing over emails and zoom meetings and such, and they meet for the first time in person at the event that they've been working so closely together on planning, and of course they are staying in the same hotel for it and also, you know, whisky is involved so 👀👀

[ask me about my wips]

[changingplumbob]

Pancakes Household: Chapter 9, Part 3

Battle of the century or kids playing console games...

CW: Unicorn zombie with minor carton gore

Carson: You don’t think this will be too physically taxing do you

Artemisia: Only for losers

Onyx: Don’t worry Carson, there’s no exercise required

Fergus: I dibs the green car

Onyx: Is everyone ready

Artemisia: Oh would you just press start already

Onyx: First round goes to me!

Artemisia: That’s ridiculous, you must have given me the broken controller

Carson: Or you’ve been practicing, I get to pick next track. Strawberry Fields!

Fergus: Oh no I hate that one, I always get stuck in the strawberry jam

Onyx: Just follow along behind me Fergus and you’ll see a clear path okay

Fergus: Thank you Onyx

Artemisia: I always think it’s so funny how well-mannered you are

Carson: I would have thought you’d find that annoying

Artemisia: Nope, it helps us get out of trouble

Onyx: So see here Fergus, if you go between these two flowers there’s the fast launch ramp

Fergus: And no strawberry jam sinkhole!

Artemisia: Hold on, you’re not entitled to win

Fergus: Just try and stop me Emi

Carson: Come on Artemisia, let’s wipe the track with them

Onyx: Team Pancakes!!!

Kayleigh: I like to hear them play, the house is so quiet with just Carson now

Eliza: Bob and I have been thinking of trying for another one after Fergus becomes a teen. Bob would love a daughter

Kayleigh: And how about you

Eliza: Well I’ve never loved being pregnant but a third kid would be nice

Kayleigh: Sweetie I don’t mean to sound indelicate but have you considered adoption

Eliza: Adoption? Is that legal when I can get pregnant?

Kayleigh: It’s the 21st century, just because you can have them doesn’t mean you need to. Not that I can talk, I had four

Eliza: I suppose that way I would avoid the pregnancy impacting on my work

Kayleigh: And if Bob wants a girl you can tell the agency that, but you can’t tell your uterus that

Eliza: *chuckles* Good point, I’ll think about it. Oh, would you excuse me? The markets just opened in Tomarang

Kayleigh: Go ahead, you’ll not beat me at this chess match anyway

Eliza: Thanks for helping me learn more

Kayleigh: No problem, I’ll collect my husband and get out of your hair. Night

Kayleigh: Come on Carson, time to go

Carson: Just let us finish this last race mum

Artemisia: Oh it’s finished and I’m victorious

Fergus: Thanks again for helping me Onyx, I had a lot of fun. See you for my birthday Emi?

Artemisia: Sure thing, Tuesday right

Fergus nods excitedly and the dinner party disperses.

Happy very cloudy Halloween! The Pancakes decide not to have a party since they had one last night and Bob will need to work tonight. After a quick breakfast the household splits up as everyone has their own tasks to do this morning.

Bob of course wants to get his work out in before shift. Fergus is in a patch of hyper focus with his ADHD and decides to play mad scientist in the treehouse. Eliza decides to do a dance workout since she cleaned everything yesterday and finally Onyx is set to walk Ginger again.

Eliza is dancing away when she pulls a muscle in her back.

Eliza: Ouch! Oh, maybe an adoption is a good idea, I will be a 40 soon

Thinking on this she carries on, working on her other muscles. Outside it’s hard for Onyx and Ginger to make out where they’re running but the pair do their best. Ginger isn’t sure why her dad isn’t taking her for these jogs but supposes Onyx is an alright substitute.

Onyx: I’m back home dad, Ginger is all walked

Bob: *grunts with effort* Did you tell your mother

Onyx: No, she’s busy practicing speech and I didn’t want to disturb her

Bob: Smart choice

Onyx begins their cheer routine, they still have some more solo practice to fit in. All is going well until they fall over on their face. They push up looking around but Bob is busy working his legs and hasn’t noticed. To celebrate Onyx pulls off a perfect flip!

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[frasers-of-my-heart]

Wednesday 100: Notre Fils

Fergus walked into the parlor, quiet and slow (unusual for their gregarious lad) and Claire noted his eyes looked heavy. She stood and went to him, laying her wrist on his forehead, finding it clammy and far too warm. “Fergus, get yourself back to bed.”

“Non, Milady,” Fergus softly protested, “I am to accompany Milord today.”

Jamie came up behind him. “Not today, lad. Listen to yer mistress.”

“I suppose I am a bit tired…” he lilted and Jamie scooped him up. “Merci, Papa. Maman, will you check on me?”

They were his.

“Of course, darling, I’ll be up soon.”