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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 years ago

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The Raven; Let Loose

Part 2 of the 1000+ follower milestone! A continuation of the Raven lore outlined in part 1. I believe I will have a few more parts coming out shortly, just to solidify the Raven and Jade lore—and, I suppose, to make up for the lack of events for previous milestones (600, 700, etc.).

Today, we have the Raven’s introduction to Night Raven College! It’s a bit longer than my usual works, so it will be censored under a cut. Please enjoy~

The raven stares into a full-length looking glass. Whoever stares back at them is practically a stranger.

Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?

A short girl with milky skin and long hair as dark as the night, swept over one shoulder, wears a perplexed expression. Their amber eyes appear even sharper than they typically are, no thanks to the smoky shadow that lines the outer corner of their lids. They are dressed in long, black robes edged with an intricate gold pattern--the interior of the robe is violet and dotted with gold.

“You look rather fetching in those coveted ceremonial robes!” chirps a jolly voice. It belongs to a man bearing a crow mask, a top hat, and a dark cape--leaning on a walking stick. He taps a talon under the raven’s chin.

“...Wanna stay home,” they mumble, tugging on their hood. The raven’s words are terse, clumsy, and unpracticed. They are too used to cawing and the sounds of bird speak.

“Excellent orating! Before you know it, you will be speaking human as well as you can write it!” The man in the crow mask declares.

“But...feels weird, Mister Dire.”

“No, no! I’ve told you before, have I not? Refer to me as your dear old Uncle Crowley!” he insists, waving a hand. “And you are...?”

“Erm...Raven. Raven Crowley,” they mutter, wanting to vanish into their hood. The have practiced the line so many times, but it still does not feel natural rolling off of their tongue. “Uncle’s...niece.”

“Correct!” He gives them a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You’ll do just fine at the ceremony, my little black bird.”

“Scary...” The raven shivers and pulls their robes tighter around themselves. “I...I don’t want to...”

“Nonsense! You cannot keep roosting in the attic forever, toiling over those accursed storybooks of yours. It would do you some good to socialize--and I shan’t have the little bird I have taken under my wing wasting their life away on quill and ink!” Crowley shakes his head. “The time has come to set this raven loose on NRC.”

The raven stares doubtfully at their reflection.

“Let me give you a piece of advice--because I am so very, very kind. Words have power--but so, too, do actions. You must put yourself out there if you wish to change the course of your story, curse be damned.”

“I’ll...I’ll try.” The raven does not believe their own words.

“Very well. I shall see you at the Mirror Chamber, then.” Crowley turns on his heel and makes his way to the door.

“A-Ah...! P-Please wait for me...” The raven cries out, stumbling after the headmaster on unsteady feet, the fabric of their robes billowing out behind them.

“Oh, my apologies--I neglected to mention that you will be making your way to the chambers without my guidance!” Crowley tosses a mischievous grin over his shoulder. “After all, cuckoos must be pushed out of the nest if they should ever wish to fly. Spread your wings, my little raven--and enjoy your new school life!”

He gives a firm tap on the ground with his walking stick--and he vanishes in...a flash of light.

The raven’s stomach sinks, as though they have swallowed stones for breakfast. Vanishing in a flash of light--that would be their own fate if they did not tread carefully.

They sigh, shoving such ominous thoughts into the back of their mind. First thing’s first: make it to the ceremony in one piece, or else they shall never hear the end of it.

The raven throws open a window, then climbs onto the sill, hoisting themselves up and out. (Why did Crowley use the door? Windows are much more efficient for birds.) They tumble into the bushes.

The bird pops their head out and squints into the sunlight. By the Great Seven, the campus is positively teeming with students, all dressed in the same robes as them. The raven shudders at the thought of approaching any of them for directions.

They tuck their head into the bushes and begin to crawl, covered by the foliage. Unfortunately, the raven does not make it long before their path is blocked.

“Ohoh? What do we have here?”

The raven freezes--for young man with a blonde bob cut and emerald eyes has materialized before them.

“Bonjour--a bit early for a game of cache-cache, is it not?” He’s grinning, taking in the sight of a small bird curled up on the ground. “Ah, but more importantly, what is a lovely mademoiselle such as yourself doing in this den of lions?”

“...What?” The raven quirks an eyebrow at him. They have never heard such...strange, flowery phrases before.

“Ah, excuse moi!” His hands go up in the air. “You must be rather lost and confused, mademoiselle. Perhaps I may be of assistance?”

“N-No...I am okay...!” The raven insists, scrambling to their feet--their extensive vocabulary fails to make itself known in its trembling voice. Human language is...so difficult!

“...Mademoiselle.” The stranger’s eyes narrow, but the easygoing smile remains upon his lips. “That cadence with which you speak—it is reminiscent of the language of birds. Are you, perhaps, an animal given human form?”

Her flabbergasted expression confirms his suspicions. The young man breaks out into boisterous laughter and clapping.

“Fascinante~ I have a vested interest in wild life, you see!” he explains, circling the raven like a shark in the water. “I would like to observe more and more of you!”

“U-Um...I...I need to go...!”

But he has grabbed her arms by the elbows, roughly maneuvering them up and down. Her limbs flop around carelessly.

“Where are your wings, mon petit oiseau?” he asks, furrowing his brows. “Surely you must be capable of advanced transformation magic in order to maintain your human form? Are you able to fly as you currently are? Will you not give me a demonstration?”

The barrage of questions, coupled with being grabbed, sets the bird into a panic.

“S-Stay awaaaaay!!” The raven screeches, wildly thrashing.

They manage to land a hit on the young man’s face, sending him stumbling backwards. The raven sprints as fast as her little legs can carry her, not caring who witnesses it.

“Mon petit oiseau!! Please return to me--I must witness it...! The beauty of your flight!” comes his pleading voice behind them, growing ever louder.

The raven dares to sneak a peak over their shoulder--and screams even louder. He’s dashing right after them at a breakneck pace, closing the distance little by little. His hood has flown off in all of the rush, his golden hair whipping across his face. Perhaps he would have been a prince in some fairy tale, if his eyes were not so feral and pulsating with perverted curiosity.

This is it, this is how I will die.

The raven wills itself to run faster--

--crashing straight into another student.

The raven feels themselves falling back, expecting the harshness of the ground, but instead, they are caught and righted at once.

“Oya, oya. Please, do mind where you are going, miss.”

This student, too, is wearing the ceremonial robes. Oh, and how tall he is. Skin like sea glass, wistful lips, and a handsome face framed by teal hair and a black lock--but his standout feature are his heterochromatic eyes, one verdant green and the other a deep gold, edged in violet makeup.

“Pretty...” the raven remarks, their voice trailing off.

“Pardon?” he quirks an eyebrow at the remark.

“Eyes.”

“Ah. I see--”

“Mon petit oiseau!”

Oh no.

“P-Please help...!” The raven squeaks, ducking behind the tall student. They jab an accusatory finger at the fast-approaching blonde. “H-He is...he is scary!!”

The student regards them with the tilt of the head. “...I understand. Please, leave this to me.”

“Bonjour, Monsieur Mastermind...!” the blonde greets, having finally caught up. “The little bird you are guarding--kindly relinquish her to me, if you please!”

“Bird? Why, I do believe you are mistaken, Rook-san. She is a human through and through--a human that just so happens to be skilled in Animal Languages.”

“What?” The blonde--Rook?--frowns slightly. “Mon dieu, a human?”

“It is quite rude of you to make assumptions. See to it that you do not repeat such a careless mistake,” the tall student suggests. He smiles, but his tone has a bite to it. “You would not want Vil-san to learn of such a blunder, yes?”

“Ohoh. A fair point, Monsieur Mastermind. Cunning as always, I see.” Rook gives a light laugh and throws his hood up again, casting a shadow upon his face. “Very well, very well, I shall relent for today--my queen is expecting me.”

“I will see you at the ceremony, then?”

“Oui. Give Monsieur Kills for Thrills and Roi de Fort my regards~ And apologies for the trouble, mademoiselle!” Rook waves and disappears into a crowd of robed young men.

At last, the raven can breathe a sigh of relief. “Th-Thank you...erm. Mon...sure Mastermind?”

“Rook-san has a penchant for nicknames.” He chuckles into his hand. “I am Jade--Jade Leech. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, miss...?”

He glances at them expectantly, with those pretty eyes of his.

“U-Um...Uncle said...to wait until the ceremony for giving names.”

Jade’s eyes shift slightly as he takes in this new information.

“Ah, you must be the unusual student the headmaster warned us of. I presume you must have been on your way to the Mirror Chamber before Rook-san gave chase.”

“Y-Yes. Erm...but I do not know where to go.”

“Fufufu. It just so happens that I am on my way to the Mirror Chamber now. The opening ceremony is to start shortly.” Jade raises a hand, gesturing to the students around them. “All you need do is follow the others, like a school of fish in the ocean. However, if you are still feeling unsafe after your encounter with...Rook-san, I would be more than happy to escort you.”

“I-Is that...really okay?”

“It is no trouble at all.” He offers his hand and a reassuring smile. “It is only natural to lend aid to those in need, yes?”

And the raven, mesmerized by his eyes, accepts his hand--and they merge with the sea of robed students milling to the Mirror Chamber. Standing at the entrance is the headmaster himself, ushering young men in.

Crowley catches the raven’s gaze and beams--though his expression falls just as quickly once he registers who it is that towers over his niece. Jade notices, and releases the raven’s hand.

“...Jade Leech-kun.”

“Headmaster. Good day to you,” he greets with a small bow.

“Hmm.” Crowley’s beady yellow eyes stare right into Jade. “Thank you for delivering her to me. Now then--shoo. Join the remainder of Octavinelle.”

“As you wish.” Jade gives a small, polite wave before he heads inside.

The raven waves back shyly. Crowley tsks and whisks them away behind his feathered cloak. He mutters something under his breath about being too kind.

Within the Mirror Chamber, a certain octopus scolds Jade.

“Where have you been? It’s not like you to be nearly tardy.” Azul frowns, hands planted on his hips.

“Ehehehe~ Even I made it here before Jade today,” Floyd laughs, gnashing his teeth.

“My apologies. I was preoccupied with...networking,” Jade says with a slight bow.

“Well, it had better have been worth it,” Azul mutters under his breath. “We’ll need to be in the headmaster’s good graces if we wish to expand the Mostro Lou—“

“Ah-HEM! If I may have your attention please, everyone,” Crowley calls from the front of the Mirror Chamber.

Azul immediately snaps in attention—and Jade follows his gaze. Floyd, meanwhile, groans and rolls his eyes. Lame old crow.

“We have a special little guest joining us at Night Raven College starting this year! They are quite far from our usual demographic, so I ask that you be so very, very kind to them.” Crowley nods to the hooded figure hiding behind him. “Go on, then. Introduce yourself, my dear!”

He steps aside, exposing them to thousands of pairs of eyes. The raven shrinks back. Crowley sighs and gives them a slight nudge forward.

“A-Ah...u-um...I am...R-Raven. Raven Crowley. Uncle’s niece. P-Please...take good care of me.”

Murmurs fill the room. Some students are expressing shock that the headmaster even has relatives, others are questioning the enrollment of a female student at an all-boys school.

“Oya?” A chuckle escapes from Jade’s lips. He leans over and whispers to his dorm leader. “Azul, that is the one.”

“Is that so? Mm, this is highly unusual,” Azul notes, tucking a hand under his chin. “But...if she is related to Crowley-sensei, it would behoove us to charm her. She can put in a good word to the headmaster for Octavinelle.”

“Yes, she will be of great use to us in the future,” Jade agrees, his smile twisting into something...demented, jagged teeth on full display. “Then, shall I do the honors?”

“You really do think of everything, Jade. By all means, be my guest. See to it that the little bird is...fond of us, of you. Either works.”

“Fufufu. But of course--I live to serve.”

“Well, I’m bored and hungry” Floyd complains, interrupting the two. He slings his arms around his brother and Azul. “Let’s grab some grub after this booooring ceremony...!”

#Floyd Leech #Dire Crowley #Azul Ashengrotto #Jade Leech #Rook Hunt #twst #Raven Crowley #twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #Raven #SOMEONE PLEASE REMIND ME AGAIN WHY I LIKE SUCH A SLIMY EEL #Tale of the Cursed Raven

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sebthesnipe · 5 years ago

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‘The Only Virgil’

February Prompts 2/19

Prompt List

First // Previous // Next

The February Collection on AO3

My Dearest Procyon

Other works by me

Prompt: Waste / Warmth

Ship: Prinxiety and logicality

Original story based on this wonderful post by @underdog-arts

Logan stretched, claws extending from his paws as his back arched, a yawn escaping him. It was nice to finally have a roof over their heads. It had been awhile since either of the witches had slept in a bed as well. He flopped onto his side, soaking up the sun that shone through the window of the tiny room, basking in its warmth.

They had arrived at the village the day before and found the closest inn to purchase a room. Roman, of course, had a number of things to say in response to discovering that they were all meant to share one room. Eventually Virgil caved and allowed the man to purchase a second, under the guise that it would be improper for a lord to bed with his underlings. In all honesty, the guy was definitely taking the whole ruse a bit too seriously. Still, Virgil was a bit more at ease not having to face the man’s morning routine; which, according to Logan was extensive.

The group had split in two, Logan and Roman in one room, Patton and Virgil in the other. Everyone seemed to have their protests at Virgil’s room assignments but they all came around eventually.

“Do you really plan on lounging about all day?” Virgil grumbled as he pulled on his other boot, shooting the cat a glare. “We have to be moving on soon and supplies need to be gathered. It would be easier if you put in your fair share of work.”

‘Yes, because merchants would most certainly love to barter with a feline.’ Logan replied sarcastically, tail flicking lazily back and forth.

“At least I’m trying to be productive,” Virgil hissed in return. “Meanwhile, you’re just being a waste of space.”

‘Virgil,’ He could practically hear the sigh in the projected voice, “tensions caused by becoming hyper focused on tasks at hand can become unhealthy if you are not careful.’

“Yeah, well, someone has to make sure we’re being careful!” Virgil shot back, moving to pull on his cloak, “Plus, somehow, I got stuck on babysitting duty. Princey thinks he can buy everything in sight and Patton won’t stop his screeching every time we walk by a shop, or a child, or a stray. I am pretty sure he started squealing at a piece of trash yesterday. The man has an unhealthy obsession with anything that could be considered ‘cute'. So, I’m afraid that ‘Tense Virgil’ is ‘The Only Virgil’ you’re getting today.”

Logan gave another stretch, both front and back paws extended before he rolled off the window sill, landing on his feet just beneath it with a resounding plop. He gave one more yawn before striding over to the witch and jumping on the bed next to him.

‘I apologize that I am unable to assist you in our errands, Virgil. I do hope you understand my reasoning.’ The cat offered, peering up at him with those mismatched eyes.

Virgil glanced down to meet his gaze, his frown deepening before he pulled up his hood to hide it. He hated when Logan used that soft tone against him; the bastard knew that Virgil was weak against it and took full advantage of that fact.

“I do,” the witch growled in annoyance, “if anyone saw a raccoon traveling with you guys, they would ask too many questions, and your whole shirtless thing could be an issue too. I understand the reasons, Logan.” Of course, knowing the reasons and liking them were two different things.

There was a lapse in their conversation as Virgil moved to stand, beginning to pack a bag for the day.

The witch still wasn’t quite sure what was going on between Logan and Patton, but he was not about to let the tiny man have a chance to work more of the spell he was putting on his friend, whatever it was. As for Patton, Virgil was fairly sure part of the reason he was so keen on bunking with Virgil’s partner was simply because of his feline affliction.

‘It seems that you had acquired the majority of the supplies we needed during your trip into the market yesterday. Perhaps you could take the opportunity to do something you enjoy today? If you are worried about Roman and Patton, I will remain with them to make sure nothing happens.’ Logan offered, jumping down from the bed and moving to sit next to the door.

“Something I enjoy?” Virgil scoffed, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “What could I possibly enjoy, surrounded by so many normal people?”

‘Well,’ Logan offered, knowing full well how much Virgil detested society, ‘I happened to have been gathering some information about the local area during our time apart yesterday and may have a few suggestions.’

“I am all ears,” the man hissed sarcastically, turning to face the feline.

‘There is a musical troupe on the north side of the village that has the townspeople quite enthusiastic,’ Logan offered in return. He still didn't quite understand the expression ‘all ears’, despite Virgil's countless explanations. Nothing could be 'all ears'. It would be unrealistic and useless.

“Which means there will be a crowd. I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

‘There is also a book shop near the noble district.’

That had Virgil hesitating. Logan knew how much the man loved reading. In fact, he had never met anyone that had a similar passion for the written word outside of himself, though their prefered subject matter differed greatly. It had been some time since Virgil had managed to get his hands on a new book. Maybe he could just take a quick look, if he just happened to be in the area.

‘And while you are there, perhaps you could attain a small text for myself?’

“Ah, I see,” Virgil mused, with a small smile. “So, the truth comes out. You just want me to go because you found a book that you want.” The accusation had Logan’s tail twitching as he lifted a paw to rub against one of his ears, almost as if the cat was nervous.

‘I will admit, I had hoped you would find the opportunity preferable for my own gain, but I would not fault you for refusing.’

“Relax, Logan,” Virgil chuckled. “I’ll swing by and pick up your book. Now come on, I left Patton and Roman to go down for breakfast by themselves, there is no telling how much trouble those two have already gotten into.”

…………………….

The witches found both Patton and the prince at a small table in the corner of the common room. Roman lounged against the wall, head resting against it as he snored softly. It was obvious that the inconsistent sleeping schedule he now found himself on was taking its toll. The red cloak Patton had given the prince was currently draped across the sleeping man’s broad chest like some sort of blanket, most likely the tiny man’s doing as well.

The smaller man in question sat next to Roman’s sleeping form, the prince’s muscled figure making him look almost childlike in comparison as he toyed with a number of small flowers that littered the table, humming a soft tune.

It took a moment for Patton to notice Virgil and his furry companion resting on his shoulder. As soon as he did however, he shot them a large broad smile and motioned them over.

“Well, hey there!” Patton greeted in his usual sunny way as the two witches drew closer, “I was starting to worry you two were going to miss breakfast. The food here is really paw-some.” The wink he provided was certainly an unnecessary attachment to such a torturous pun.

Logan eyed the small man carefully. Despite the fact that he had managed to sleep longer last night than the other three, Patton looked tired. Dark circles rimmed the bottom of his eyes, his cheeks a bit flushed. The sight was certainly cause for concern when considering what the man actually was. Logan did not have much knowledge of dragons, but there had been nothing in the lore that mentioned that they were prone to illness.

Virgil moved to sink into the chair across from the smaller man, pushing away the empty plate in front of Roman to make a bit of extra room. He glanced at the larger man, pursing his lips in frustration. He just couldn't understand how someone so obnoxious, even in his sleep, could still look so perfect. As if to prove his point, the prince snored loudly to the point that the sound startled himself awake with a jerk.

"I think I will pass this time, thanks.” Virgil said in response to Patton, “There are a few more things I'd like to do before we leave," Virgil explained as Roman ran a clumsy hand through his curls, blinking away the sleep in his eyes. The witch’s face heated slightly at the sight of Roman's half lidded expression, messy curls framing his face haphazardly.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, kiddo. You really should eat something," Patton countered with worry in his voice.

"I’ll pick up something on the way. For now, I need you two to stay here with Logan," he instructed.

"Wait," Roman's groggy voice interrupted, making Virgil finally meet his tired gaze. "You mean, you plan on going out into the village alone?"

The prince’s words earned a glare from the witch. Why did this man make him feel so flustered? "Yeah, what of it?" Virgil growled.

"Well, that simply won't do!" Roman replied, his voice booming with the regal tone Virgil was starting to grow accustomed to. "A gentleman such as yourself should not be walking the streets alone! People would get the wrong idea! What if something happened? What if you were attacked or mugged?!"

"I'm pretty sure that wouldn't happen” Virgil scoffed. "Besides, even if it did, they would end up getting the short end of the stick," Roman's concern was endearing, but far too over dramatic for the witch's taste.

"Nevertheless, I shall accompany you!" Roman interjected with a flourish of his hands.

"No."

'No.’

Virgil tensed as he felt the word brush against his mind at the same time he had spoken. He glanced at the source: the small cat now sitting in the chair next to him.

Logan's tail twitched anxiously as he peered up at the two men. With the way things were going, it would be unwise to allow the prince and his partner to spend anytime alone together. Despite his emotional shortcomings, Logan could see that Virgil was warming up to the prince. The closer the two got, the more likely the vision would come true. He was not going to let that happen.

Virgil's gaze narrowed in response to Logan's reaction, his frown deepening. Logan had never forbade Virgil from doing anything before, so why now? Why was he so adamant about this? Was it because of Patton? Did he not want to be alone with the pyromancer?

Virgil's gaze shifted to the smaller man who smiled brightly at him. No, it wasn't that Logan didn't want to be alone with Patton. Patton seemed thrilled by the idea of staying behind, bouncing in his chair with excitement. If Virgil had to guess it was just due to the fact that he got to spend more time with Logan in his cat form.

No, Logan didn't want Virgil and Roman to be alone. Was that the reason for the room assignments? But why? And why was Logan hiding something from him? Secrecy was so unlike the feline.

"On second thought," Virgil offered, pulling his gaze away from the cat and spotting the pout that had apparently settled on Roman's features. "Why not?"

"Really?!" Roman brightened instantly, the shining look so luminous it should have been illegal.

"Sure, like you said, people would get the wrong idea, and I'm supposed to be one of your servants, right?" Virgil offered. He could feel their other two companions eyes on him, boring holes into his very soul.

'Virgil… I know what you are doing,' Logan's voice came, 'This is childish. You need a healthy amount of time to yourself. You have said it multiple times, the prince makes you tense. How are you expected to relax?'

Virgil ignored him, pushing to his feet before pointedly meeting both Logan's and Patton's gaze as if in defiance. Logan's scramble to convince Virgil to leave the prince behind only seemed to reinforce his theory. Perhaps taking Roman with him would give the witch an opportunity to see what the other man knew about the situation and why they were being lied to.

To be continued...

Taglist:

@hiddendreamer67 @nightashes @aequinoctiale @sumersnowlilly

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internationalspacehobo · 4 years ago

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uuh just some writing. Companion piece or prequel or w/e to this thing.

I promise I’m not usually this edgy gang but warhammer lore calls for edge sometimes, so bear with me.

A raven watches six figures standing around an open grave. They stand quietly, shifting uncomfortably, both because of the cold, and the given circumstances. They carry muskets and pistols, spears and swords. Their mud-stained clothes, under thick leather coats, betray their varied allegiances, forgotten as they may be. Blue of Middenland standing next to Talabecland’s yellow and Stirland’s green. Two wear no colours at all, their origins even murkier than the others’. None of them talk, there is only the occasional rattle of a belt being adjusted or a blade loosened in its sheath; or a cough, as one of them drags on a well used pipe. It’s a clear night without rain or wind, and the light of the moons is the only thing allowing them to see.

Kneeling on the ground next to them is a seventh figure, wrapped in a tattered grey cloak. His arms are caked with earth up to his elbows as he continues to dig with his bare hands. Around him are piled several objects, each a hands-width apart from the other: a pair of bird-like skulls, a sprig of lavender and some iris petals, an hour glass, two silver coins, and a scattered pile of thin bones. Finally, the crouched figure’s hands scratch wood. Something flashes over his eyes, and as he mutters an incantation, the coffin’s lid begins to crack, before being blasted open from the inside. Unable to hide a pleased smile, he leans back, waiting for something only he understands.

The smell of the burning tobacco mixes with that of wet earth and putrid flesh. One of the standing figures is praying to Morr under his breath, and several have made the symbol of the Hammer, more reflex than a conscious act of devotion. They know the defiling of a grave is unlikely to be forgiven by even the most lenient priest. The raven caws, and the soldiers flinch as a slight breeze blows through them.

The man sits up and lets out a sigh. “Finally.”

He pulls a stick of incense from a bag, followed by two pieces of flint. A spark, and the sweetly scent of strange spices mixes into the dense atmosphere, as he carefully pulls out a long sheet of ancient parchment, covered in washed out reddish brown glyphs. He looks around; through his eyes, he can just barely make out the Eight Winds slowly creep and dwindle across the sky above and the earth beneath him, drifting without much direction. He focuses; here, in this place, at this time, one wind blows stronger than the others. The deep purple strands of Shyish, the Wind of death, creep around him. Its tendrils, like the tentacles of some nightmarish creature, curl and mound around the tombstones and graves.

One arm raised to the heavens, the other stretched out in front of him, he begins to intone the words, written in blood on dried skin. The soft breeze picks up, blowing stronger now, and the soldiers shudder. Beyond their sight, the wind Shyish pools around the warlock. The skulls of a white dove and a black crow, flowers plucked from a graveyard, an hour glass filled with ashes of a burned man, two pennies to pay the way, and the bones of a hand to reach beyond the mortal coil. The Winds of Magic are fickle; hard to read, and harder still to control. But they can be called upon. Channeled, through the right mediums. The mages of the Amethyst Order might have studied the purple wind for centuries, and the knowledge hidden away in their libraries was vast, but he had his own way of procuring the information he needed.

The wind was blowing stronger now, even the others could feel it clearly. Something was happening. His chanting grows louder with each completed verse, his voice straining to form the arcane words. The soldiers pull their coats closer and huddle together, the howling autumn wind biting at their faces. A glow starts to emit from inside him, visible to the naked eye. He throws his head back, his voice cracking as he reaches the last few verses. The gale is lifting up dirt, drawing sinister figures in the air; some of the men stumble as it threatens to knock them over. The raven caws again before opening its wings and disappearing into the sky.

The skulls and phalanges in front of him begin to crack, the flowers wilt, the coins tarnish. Inside the coffin, the rotting corpse begins to dessicate; moist flesh turning dry before disappearing completely, leaving behind bare bone. One of the soldiers doubles over, heaving his supper on a nearby gnarled tree with a gurgling noise. As the last grain falls inside the hourglass and the incantation reaches its zenith, even these bones crack and turn to dust, leaving behind an empty coffin, as the last remains of the person ones buried here are swept away.

As sudden as it came, it leaves. The silence of a quiet night comes back, and the air is clear of incense, rot, or smoke. Panting, he stands up, nodding to one of the others. The mercenary leaves, as he begins to gather his things, disappearing them into various bags, pockets, and pouches. None of the others speak, simply staring at him with bated breath. He winks at them; he can’t resist enjoying these infrequent moments. Finally, the one who left makes his way back, carrying a small cage with a clucking chicken inside of it. Leaving the man standing there, he kneels to be at eye level with the animal, letting his gaze drift upwards until locking eyes with the soldier.

Flashing a grin, he looks back at the creature, slowly extending a hand. Taking care not to scare the bird, he opens the cage door, offering a handful of crumbled bread with the other. The animal clucks two times, eyeing the food with suspicion, before taking a few careful pecks. Seemingly assured, it begins focusing completely on the meal. As it eats, he extends a single finger from his free hand, and gently brushes the chicken’s head. It falls over without another sound, spilling half swallowed crumbs across the cage, and lies motionless. Dead, in an instant.

He shakes the remaining feed from his hand before standing up, smiling coyly at the trembling man. The soldier winces as the man softly places his fingers on his cheek, though he doesn’t share the fate of the animal. The mage looks to the leader of the small troupe, standing with the others.

“Well, I’d say it worked, sir.”

#1.1k words is okay right?#my writing

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deanthebipieguy · 5 years ago

Text

The Dentist Dilemma

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Category: Romance, Comedy, Smut

Warnings: 18+ Only! Oral Fixation Kink, Oral Sex

“I don’t like going to the dentist.”

It was a common statement; one many others have stated before. If it wasn’t for the fact of your flushed cheeks and the way you chewed your bottom lip, Sam wouldn’t have pressed the matter more. But he had to. Call it curiosity or call it over-analyzation due to his feelings for you, but truth be told, it was the combined effect of both that had him pushing the matter.

“Why?” Sam asked, his eyes squinted slightly at your peculiar reaction to the statement.

Before you could answer the question, however, the sound of Dean laughing filled the bunker.

“Who actually enjoys going to the dentist?” Dean put his feet up on the table and took a swig of his beer and for once you were grateful for Deans’ loud interruptions.

But Sam being Sam- a proper Winchester- would not let the subject drop; this was an investigation now and Sam always gathered the information he needed.

“I know most people don’t enjoy going to the dentist, Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes, “but I don’t understand why Y/N is so against it.”

You looked down at the floor, hoping neither brother saw the red tinge to your cheeks and ears, “It’s not that I’m against it. It’s just an… uncomfortable feeling for me.”

“Why?” That question again.

In a defensive mechanism, your hands balled up into fists and your eyebrows creased together into a glare, “Why do you care, Sam? I just don’t like dentists, okay? This is such a stupid conversation.”

“Woah, calm down, Y/N.” Deans’ eyebrows shot up in surprise. With your attention diverted to the older brother, you did not notice the way Sam recoiled slightly from your tone.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Regret washed over you quickly and you made a beeline for your room before either brother could say anything else about your outburst.

Shutting the door to your room behind you, you flopped onto your bed, grabbing a pillow to tuck beneath your chin as you stared at your headboard. Embarrassment wound it’s way up your spine and you buried your face in your pillow. How could you lash out over something so stupid? A better question is why the hell wouldn’t Sam let the subject drop? If it was Dean you could have told him the truth and laughed it off, but Sam…

You’ve had feelings for the guy ever since you started hunting with the boys. You were always more of researcher than anything and collecting information for the hunts was how you did your part. This meant working alongside Sam a lot which eventually sparked and then flamed your attraction to him. Besides digging up lore and questioning witnesses under an FBI ruse, you also helped take care of the bunker when you three were there and not traveling from motel to motel. You even cooked home-made meals for them on occasion.

The way you fit in easily with the brothers and the way your presence brought a sense of home to them meant you quickly found your place as a member of the hunter family. And that was why you felt even worse about your romantic feelings for Sam. You loved Sam differently from the rest.

And now you had just yelled at him. Why? Because you have an extreme type of oral fixation.

Call it a kink, fetish, whatever. But to be completely honest: you aren’t sure what it is yourself. You just know that your mouth is a weak point for you thus explaining why it’s so damn awkward whenever you went to the dentist. Also why you didn’t exactly want to have to explain to Sam that you have a slightly strange kink that makes having your teeth and mouth examined arousing.

A knock on your door interrupted your embarrassing thoughts and you turned to lay on your side before calling out a “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” a deep voice that you knew by heart called from the other side of the door, “Can I come in?”

Nervousness swept beneath your skin from your toes to your head before settling anxiously in the pit of your stomach, “Y-yeah, that’s fine.” Quickly sitting up, you smoothed out your clothes before setting your pillow over your lap.

His large frame stepped through the doorway and he gave you an unsure smile before settling himself next to you on the bed. Even sitting down, he towered over you. “I wanted to talk… I’m sorry about earlier. I was too curious and I pushed you too much.”

“It’s alright,” you laughed awkwardly, “And haven’t you ever heard of the saying ‘Curiosity killed the cat’?”

Sam let out a deep chuckle and your chest ached wonderfully at the sound. Tension left Sam’s body and his wide shoulders visibly relaxed, “I have. I guess I’m too curious at times; Dean says I’m a know it all, but I think it’s just who I am.”

He ran a hand through his long hair and you smiled up at him, “It’s okay, really. I shouldn’t have snapped at you so bad.”

His brows furrowed, “Why did you get so defensive? Do you have bad memories from dental visits in the past?” He nudged your shoulder playfully and you laughed warmly.

“No, not exactly,” blood made its way up your neck and into your cheeks, “It’s kind of embarrassing honestly.”

The sight of you blushing and the way your voice got just the tiniest bit higher as you looked at your feet had Sam’s mind spinning. Why were you so flustered? What was so embarrassing? Why did you look so gorgeous right now?

“Can you tell me why?” Sam spoke quietly and slowly, not wanting to upset you again like the first time.

“You… you may find it weird.” Nerves on fire, you wrung your hands in your lap and leaned forward slightly, almosting trying to curl into yourself due to self consciousness.

“Y/N… I’m a hunter. I’ve dealt with every type of weird in every type of way.” He leaned forward and paused until you looked him in the eyes and then gave you a reassuring smile. “Nothing about you could ever weird me out.”

Calmness and a warmth only Sam could stir up from inside you spread across your skin and you couldn’t stop the grin that spread across your face.

“I guess it’s like…” you took a quick breath to regain your bravery but couldn’t prevent the heat rising to the tips of your ears, “I guess it’s like a kink of some sort… It’s called an ‘oral fixation’, I think. But it means that I get really… turned on when my mouth is messed with.”

The silence seemed unending and you refused to look up at Sam, fear that you just humiliated yourself or worse: ruined a perfectly good friendship had you chewing your bottom lip anxiously.

“Oh,” that was all he said for a couple seconds and then another, “Oh,” before Sam shrugged off the surprise and fell into the need to reassure you. “It’s not that weird, Y/N. I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of that before actually… But I understand why you don’t like the dentist now,” he laughed openly and you released the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding at the sound.

“You don’t think it’s strange or gross?” Your voice came out small and weak and you hated it.

“No, of course not. It’s kind of hot actually.”

And that was it. The statement that shifted everything into a new territory. Your head shot up as you looked into Sam’s eyes to see if he was joking with you. But Sam’s hazel eyes were darker with lust and silently searching your face for any sign that he crossed a line- any sign that these feelings tumbling inside him weren’t one-sided.

And when you bit your lip and shyly looked down at his own mouth, he had his answer.

Sam leaned in quickly to kiss you. It was only a quick brush at first until you scooted closer to him on the bed, desperate for more and he gave it to you by continuing the kiss. His tongue swept across your bottom lip and you quickly spread your lips, allowing him to explore your mouth.

And explore he did. Sam took his time with you after finding out about your little secret; he would bite your bottom lip, run his tongue over your teeth and across your own tongue, anything and everything to pull those small moans out of you.

Finally breaking the kiss for air, Sam gave you barely any time to recover before his large thumb was pushing past your panting lips and sliding smoothly over your tongue. His skin was hot and tasted slightly salty as you wrapped your lips around the digit and sucked. Next, his pointer finger rested on your bottom lip and he watched almost hypnotized as you opened your mouth to let the second digit slip in too.

Your eyes were heavy-lidded and watery as you looked up at Sam, his thumb and finger sweeping through your mouth slowly. When he twisted his wrist and brushed the pad of his finger against the roof of your mouth, you let out a noise that was between a moan and a whimper and had Sam groaning. The way you keened and whined with the intrusion and the way you desperately rubbed your thighs together to try and relieve your arousal had Sam completely hard and aching in his jeans.

Pulling his hand away from you, Sam leaned in to leave soft kisses down your neck as you sucked in greedy breaths, your chest rising and falling rapidly with your arousal.

“Are you okay?” Hot breath splayed across your collarbone and you shivered before nodding in answer.

“Words, baby,” Sam’s teeth scraped against your jaw and your breath caught in your throat before you exhaled, “Yeah, yeah I’m okay.”

Humming in approval, Sam went in for another long-winded kiss that had your head spinning. “What do you want, Y/N?” He whispered the question against your lips and you pulled back before kissing a trail down Sam’s neck that had him sighing and entangling his fingers in your hair.

“I want…” Your voice failed you. You’ve said these words a thousand times in your dreams, but now- caught up in the real moment- they almost felt too much.

“Tell me, Y/N. It’s okay.” His long fingers massaged your scalp in an act to comfort you and you felt grateful for the action.

“I want to suck your cock, Sam.” You met his eyes despite the deep blush traveling across your skin and Sam let out a low noise as he silently guided you to kneel between his spread knees. Thankfully, the mattress wasn’t too tall so you were able to reach despite Sam’s tall stature.

Hands shaking slightly, you unzipped the worn jeans and moved the black boxers out of your way to uncover Sam’s aching erection; he was hard and throbbing in your hand- his tip leaking precum down his shaft. You licked your lips at the sight and used the wetness to slicken the glide of your wrist.

“You sure about this, Y/N?” Sam’s pupils were blown, his hair messy and falling around his face as he leaned forward to look down at you and you had never been more sure of anything.

“Yes, Sam. I want this.” Searching your eyes, Sam found nothing but determination, need and lust. He smiled and leaned forward to give you a quick kiss.

“Okay, baby.” Slowly, Sam thread his long fingers through your hair, his hand cradling your head as he gently urged you towards his leaking cock.

Llicking the precum from the flushed tip, you moaned and grabbed Sam’s knees to lift yourself up higher so you could sink your lips down his length. You began a slow pace- only taking a couple inches while your hand stroked what you couldn’t yet reach. As your mouth relaxed to the intrusion and you found a good rhythm, you sank lower and lower on Sam’s cock- taking more and more of him in.

Because of your oral fixation- which Sam quite enjoys now, by the way- you moaned around him as his flesh stroked your tongue and mouth, the sound sending vibrations through Sam- only adding to his pleasure.

“Y/N, I’m gonna come soon.” Desperate to give that final push, you reached up to cradle and roll Sam’s balls in your hand. Not expecting the sudden contact, Sam groaned and pulled harshly at your hair- the pain turning into shooting pleasure down your spine and straight to your core- and Sam came undone at the sound and feeling of you crying out around his length. Whimpering, you swallowed his come down quickly and then wiped your mouth clean with the back of your hand.

“That was amazing.” Cheeks flushed and thighs pressed tightly together, you grinned at Sam’s complement and stretched upwards to kiss him again.

Pulling away from him, you worried your bottom lip before asking: “Can I tell you another secret of mine?”

A warm smile murmured, “Of course, Y/N.”

“I like you a lot.. I’ve had feelings for you for a long time actually. I was just scared you saw me just as family and didn’t think of me that way…” Tracing random patterns into skin of his hip, you briefly felt fear that you were still wrong. That Sam still didn’t feel the same way and this was just a one time thing. That tomorrow morning you would wake up and-

“I like you too. Y/N.”

Breath catching, you looked up at Sam with wide eyes, “Really?”

Sam laughed, “No, that’s why I just made out with you and let you give me the best blow job ever- Of course really!”

Your ears felt hot but you grinned at his admittance, “‘Best blow job ever’, huh?”

This time it was Sam’s turn to blush and he rolled his eyes, “Don’t tease me when you’re the one still on your knees. Now, come ‘ere!”

Sam stood up quickly, kicking his pants off before tugging his shirt over his head and picking you up like a squealing bag of potatoes,

“Your turn.”

#spn #supernatural #sam #sam winchester #sam x reader #sam Winchester x reader #sam x reader smut #sam winchester x reader smut #smut #spn writers #supernatural writing

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writingismyhappytime · 6 years ago

Text

Ryan Teaser

So, Ryan is getting a demon story! I’m going to introduce them through a Good Little Demon excerpt because I don’t have a name for his story yet. But here you go as a taste of them!

The Reaper is upset.

Ryan can see it easily enough, she's never been very good at bluffing, he'd own her in a poker game. In fact, with her mottled cheeks and narrowed eyes, and the way she keeps grinding her teeth, he would say she was very angry at him.

"I can't believe you got us trapped down here!" Hailey hisses at him, pacing back and forth beside an old, cracked sarcophagus, her eyes glinting in the bright light of the flashlight she happened to have.

"Well, it wasn't intentional," Ryan says innocently, growing amused. He leans back on his heels, his hands slipping into his black coat pockets. He didn't mean to get them trapped in an underground tomb, but really, sometimes things just happen.

If he's being honest, it's the Reapers fault.

If they hadn't come meddling where they didn't belong, this wouldn't be an issue. He was trying to wrestle with the witch, he didn't have any intentions of killing her, he just needed information from her. Unfortunately she wasn't very willing to cooperate, and if her witch buddies hadn't called the supernatural police saying that a rogue demon had crashed their vigil, again they wouldn't be trapped!

"It's going to take hours before the Reapers can get us out of this place!" The Reaper hisses again, looking like a caged animal pacing back and forth.

"Not a fan of small spaces?" The demon asks curiously, gazing at her. Out of all the silly Reapers, this one has always intrigued him. She showed up a little over a year ago, fresh out of the Academy, obviously with no idea what she was doing --- she's still terrible at her job. He's heard her fellow officers grumble when they see they're partnered with her, and he doesn't blame them; he's yet to see her do anything Reaper-related successfully.

To him, it's hilarious.

She's a terrible Reaper and really does need to find a different occupation, he's not sure why she's even still clinging to the job, she obviously doesn't enjoy it. She always looks so out of place, so uncomfortable in her own skin; she has secrets, she's not good at hiding her expressions, and she jumps at the littlest noise --- Ryan's always liked mysterious.

"So? A little time off the clock won't hurt anything." Ryan casually sits on the lid of the sarcophagus, causing the girl to eyeball him warily; she's dressed in the typical uniform, black shirt and jeans, black boots that come up nearly to her knees. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, and she has a couple dirt smears on her face and hands, it's a tomb after all. She doesn't carry weapons, but she doesn't need too; the most dangerous weapon is the mark on her palm, where the power to materialize a scythe out of thin air and chop his head off in seconds resides.

Reapers are the only creatures on earth able to handle anyone who's supernatural, able to kill any one of them if they break the laws. The laws aren't strict, actually they're quite lax, so long as no one makes a big fuss for the humans no one really cares. Obviously demons, being the top of the food chain, are always meddling and getting into trouble.

Ryan himself seems to be a magnet for it.

It's why he knows this Reaper, and pretty much all of them. If there's a row in one of the districts, Ryan is in the thick of it.

The Reaper glares at him again. The moment he stepped into the city, there's been problems. He's always right in the middle of it, goading someone, getting into fights. She heard he used to run around with one of his brothers, one that kept him in check, but since he's taken off on his own, he's an issue --- yet none of his brothers will intervene!

Aren't demons supposed to stick together or something?

Honestly, she's not that good with the lore, there's so much of it and she has such a hard time keeping track! All the other Reapers make it seem so easy, they just read and process the information effortlessly, but that's not the case for her; all those other Reapers are also descendants, the Reaper mark is in their blood, whereas her --- well, her side of the family held dinner parties and galas, and her cousins were the Reapers.

This isn't supposed to be her world; she's supposed to be running the family, not defending it! She shouldn't be in this mess, she shouldn't be in this claustrophobic tomb trapped with a demon and no way out!

"Why don't we play a game?" Ryan suggests suddenly, growing bored. The entrance to the tomb collapsed in on itself, and he could dig them out, but he doesn't want to get his hands dirty, not when he knows someone else will be doing it. It'll take the humans several hours even with some help to reach them with how far back they are, so he might as well try to entertain himself.

He already got what he came for from the witch, he was just going to torture her for fun afterwards. He supposes it's mercy on her behalf she was killed by collapsing rubble running away from him before he could get his hands on her again, although the Reaper had certainly done her best to save the witch under the circumstances.

"I don't want to play any games," Hailey sounds annoyed, but Ryan just grins at her, flashing his pearly white teeth. She's always in such a fuss, she never relaxes --- he's so curious about her. Where is she from? She won't talk about herself, and sure the Reapers are stoic for their reputation, but hers seems more like she's hiding something rather than she has to maintain an image.

She's nothing like Alex, the Reaper he knew before, the blonde who interested him. This girl is in a whole category of her own.

"How else should we pass the time?" Ryan watches her move back and forth, amused as he leans back on his hands. "Aren't you curious as to why I was down here?"

"I don't really care."

"Shouldn't you? Shouldn't you take the opportunity to interrogate me whilst we wait?"

She hesitates, glancing at him; should that be what she's doing? Or is she supposed to wait for a higher ranking officer considering who he is? They wouldn't typically give free passes to anyone, but a demon of his status, and the consequences of doing anything to him, is an issue. It has to be handled delicately in case they upset his brothers.

He pretty much knows he's untouchable, doesn't he? That's what she finds so frustrating, that no matter what he does his actions have no consequences! He's spoiled and entitled, and thinks the things he does doesn't hurt people --- or just doesn't care!

He's just like her cousin!

He picks at her, he always does. Any time he sees her, it's like he singles her out for his stupid comments. He goads her, trying to get some reaction out of her, but most of the time she refuses to give him the satisfaction. She already has it hard enough that not a single Reaper she works with respects her or even wants to work with her!

She just... can't seem to fit in.

She can barely even fight, the scythe doesn't even feel natural in her hand; it's as if her own weapon doesn't even think she's good enough.

"Tell you what," Ryan slips off the edge of the stone lid he's sitting on, depicting some fallen witch of old; she hadn't been excited about going beneath the city into the old tombs, and even less pleased when she realized it was the demon causing trouble and destroying remembrance day for the witches --- they're really pissed about it. "How about we call a truce?"

"A truce?" she frowns.

Does this Reaper even know how to smile?

"Yes. You stop glaring at me for fifteen minutes and I'll make you smile."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffs instantly, prowling around the edges of the black stone walls; it's so dark she has a hard time seeing, whereas Ryan doesn't seem bothered. If it wasn't for the flashlight she'd had, it would be pitch black this far below ground! "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be trapped down here worrying about smothering to death!"

"Nah, we'll be fine. Obviously there's plenty of oxygen." He can feel a draft anyway. He runs his fingers through his hair, silver rings glinting in the light.

The Reaper has to admit, he's a very good looking demon, which is part of the problem.

Short black hair, just long enough to get a handful of, and such a mischevious smile. Bright green eyes that there's something just not human about, pale skin and he's taller than her, always looking down. He's wearing a black jacket over a plain t shirt and casual jeans, but anybody could still look at him and know those items of clothing are ridiculously expensive.

Soft, probably.

She shifts unhappily, wrapping her arms around herself to fight the chill of the room. It doesn't help the demon has control over the cold and ice, he's probably making it chilly on purpose just to be a jerk!

She wishes she could just ---.

"So, Hailey, tell me about yourself. Where are you from?" Ryan is so bored, she's his only source of entertainment. Joshua always told him that his inability to keep himself entertained is why he's always getting into things, that his attention span is too short.

Ryan doesn't disagree, Joshua does know him best.

Did know him best.

The demon decides not to think about the brother who abandoned him, who chose a woman over his own family. His fingers clench, and he exhales heavily as if dispelling the bad memories quickly.

"London." The Reaper replies, which explains her accent. "That's where my family is from."

"You're a long way from home."

"The Academy is the best Reaper school in the world, the best to train at." She echoes the words she's heard all her life, and even to her it sounds practiced. She never intended to be a Reaper, that was supposed to fall on her cousin, but --- well, it's a long story, and not memories she wants to revisit.

Now this is just where she is, and it's what she's having to do.

Surviving at this point is key.

"Ahuh. So you crossed the sea just to train at a fancy school for a job you don't even like." Ryan comments, seeing her nose curl at the remark. "Family force you into it?"

"Something like that." She isn't sure why she's telling him that. She has to be careful, she can't reveal too much or he'll figure her out. She has to keep telling the same story over and over, at least she was close enough with her cousin that telling her life story is easy, she was always such a loud gossip.

Taking over her life went a lot smoother than expected.

Not like her cousin can even care, she's dead.

Ryan gazes at her, from the top of her auburn hair down to her regulation boots. She hasn't stopped stalking back and forth yet, he must make her uncomfortable. "You know, if we were running out of oxygen, you huffing and puffing over there would be using it all up."

She sends him a vile look over her shoulder. "It wouldn't matter to you, you don't need air to breathe."

"No, but my body has a habit of it, so it would be very uncomfortable." He pushes away from the cold sarcophagus, hands slipping into his pockets again; he always looks so relaxed, always has such a stupid smirk on his face! Doesn't he realize how bad of a situation this is!?

What if they never get out!?

Even he would starve to death eventually, he still has to feed!

She hates small spaces!

Ryan watches her for a few more minutes, checking his watch. They've been trapped for about an hour now, but that's not too long. They maybe have three more together, tops, and honestly, he can think of far better ways of spending time with this obviously energetic woman than watching her pace wildly.

#ryan sitkowski #ryan sitkowski demon #ryan sitkowski fan fiction

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samayla · 5 years ago

Text

An Utterly Impractical Magician

Chapter 8

A Jane Eyre/Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell fusion fic.

Also on AO3

Summary: When John Reed burnt Thomas Godbless’ book of magic to spite his cousin, he had no idea how drastically he would alter both her fate and that of English magic.

@majorxbuddyxboy @shygaladriel @bookhobbit @wolfinthethorns @kaethe-nicole @warsawmouse @cassandravision @mythopoeticreality @jmlascar @seriouslythoughguys @isawatreetoday @rude-are-food @the-stars-above28@the-candor-shadowhunter

Let me know if any of you would like to be added/removed in the tags list.

Sorry for the delay in getting this one posted. I tried to do my final edits this morning, but Scrivener was acting up on me. Hope you enjoy!

The Fool

The Green Goose, Kinford, July 1805

Aside from a handful of rather smart houses and a very pretty village green, the Green Goose Inn at Kinford was the town’s only notable feature. Local lore held that the Raven King himself had once stayed there, back when it had been a private home, and Kinford merely a convenient crossing point for the River Swale. Kinford was still little more than a convenient crossing point, but the inn was a small, cheery establishment, with a solid crop of regular patrons to keep up standards. Childermass thought it just the sort of place he and his new charge might find a good, hot bit of supper. He judged it quiet enough not to be overwhelming for the girl, and yet just busy enough to spark a little interest.

They had been nearly two hours in the carriage from Lowood, and the tense silence inside had been broken only by the occasional “yes, sir” or “no, sir” Jane had offered in response to Childermass’ direct questions about her general comfort and needs. Childermass, having had little enough experience of children since he’d ceased being one himself at age ten, found himself rather at a loss as to what to do with the owly-eyed little girl who stared at him unceasingly from across the bouncing carriage. He’d called a halt for dinner at Kinford, but the change had so far gotten him no more liveliness from the girl than if he’d left her in that godforsaken chapel.

Watching a group of schoolboys play on the green through the window, and pretending he wasn’t the least bit uncomfortable with Jane’s continued scrutiny, he was struck by sudden inspiration. “I propose we play a game, Little Miss,” he declared, turning suddenly to face her. She appeared horrified at having been caught staring at him, and her eyes skittered nervously about, like little birds seeking a safe place to land. “A question for a question,” he continued, in the manner of a man quite used to being ogled for hours on end, “and whichever of us is speaking when our dinner arrives, is the winner. What do you say?”

Jane said nothing at all — indeed she looked terrified at the very idea — so he cast about for something to sweeten the deal. He would have to engage her somehow. If he could not, then what hope did Mr Norrel have of doing so? And if Mr Norrell could not engage with her, then there was little chance of her remaining at Hurtfew. And there was nowhere else for her to go.

“The winner shall have a gooseberry tart,” he announced, only a little desperately, as a serving girl whisked by with a plate of them.

“What storts of questions?” Jane asked with obvious reluctance.

Childermass smiled broadly and nodded his approval. “Any sort, Little Miss. I will answer any question you might ask, provided you will do the same for me. And now it is my turn, and I wish to know how old you are.”

“Nine, sir.” She said.

“You will have to do better than that, if you mean to win the tart.” He waited, to give her a chance to expand her answer.

“I am nine years old, sir,” she said haltingly, “as of my birthday a fortnight past.”

Childermass gave her a moment more, but she did not seem inclined to offer any further information. He smiled again anyway. “And now it is your turn again, Little Miss.”

“Are you a faerie, sir?” she asked. Then her eyes went wide. She blushed and launched at once into a stammered apology for any insult or offense she might have caused. She shoved her bandaged hands behind her back, leaving Childermass in no doubt as to how such impertinent questions were handled at Lowood. He wished for a moment that he had treated the headmaster to more than some mere theatrics, but he forced a laugh and lounged more deeply in his chair, as far from her as he could easily place himself.

“Easy, Little Miss. You’ve nothing to fear from me.”

But it occurred to him then that the girl did indeed have a great deal to fear from him. He had taken charge of her, but he hadn’t told her a thing — not even his name, now he thought on it. While he had expended a great deal of time and effort in learning about her, Jane had had no such opportunity to discover anything about him, his master, or what sort of use either of them might have for an eight — nine — year old girl.

He was potentially the worst sort of villain.

“I am no faerie,” he offered gently. “My name is John Childermass, Miss Eyre, and I am the servant of Gilbert Norrell of Hurtfew Abbey. My master is the foremost magician of the age, and it is to his house that I am taking you at present. You appear to have become entangled with magic of some sort, so it seems to me that a magician’s house is the best place for you to be.”

“And what is to become of me there?”

Childermass clicked his tongue at her. “It is my turn, Little Miss,” he chided, though she was not yet sufficiently recovered from her fright to recognize that he was teasing her. “How are your hands feeling?”

The girl pulled her hands out from behind her back and clasped them very deliberately on the tabletop in front of her. She watched Childermass’ hands closely for any sign of danger, so he busied them with fishing out his cards and shuffling through them. “They are much better, Mr Childermass,” she answered after a moment. “Your salve has helped tremendously. Thank you.”

Childermass treated her to another warm smile. “I am glad. As for the answer to your question, what do you know about the Cards of Marseilles?”

Interest flickered in her eyes, at last outshining any wariness. “Only what I have read in books, sir. They are meant to see futures, if one knows how to read them.”

“Precisely — though they can do a great deal more than that, if one knows how to read them.” He laid out a simple spread, naming the cards as he went: past, present, future.

He turned over the first card: the King of Swords, reversed.

“This tells me you have been governed by fools, people who claimed wisdom and authority, but allowed themselves to be governed by emotion, superstition, and fear. Your headmaster was chiefest among them, though from what I learned of your aunt on my visit last winter, I’d imagine she was another such figure.”

Their stew arrived as he spoke, but Jane was so engaged in their discussion, that he chose to say nothing about it. The next card he turned over was the Two of Coins, also reversed, and Childermass smiled ruefully. “This one, I think, pertains to me, and the worry I’ve given you over your fate. You have my apologies for not telling you more, sooner.”

Jane murmured that it was nothing, and Childermass turned over the last card: The Fool. It was reversed as well, though since it pertained to Mr Norrell, that was only to be expected.

Jane’s eyes sparkled with mischief, telling him quite plainly who she thought this card pertained to, though she did not dare voice such an opinion out loud.

Childermass chuckled and concluded his reading. “This card tells me we are about to go on an adventure, Little Miss. There will be delays, for my master is a stubborn fellow who would prefer to keep no company but his own. But if you’ve more faith in you than fear — as I suspect you will once you’ve had a chance to settle in a bit, well… At the very least, there will be no cause for you to be disappearing into chapel walls, and I’d count that an improvement in circumstance, by any measure.

The girl smiled a little at last.

The remainder of their dinner passed in relative silence, but it was a gentler one, less wary. Jane ate too quickly, even when she burned her tongue. The stew was quite good, and Childermass was sorely tempted to order them both a second helping, but he knew from harsh experience that her stomach, more accustomed to being empty than full, might not bear it well. They had a good twenty miles to go yet, on decidedly less-than-perfect roads, so he decided not to chance it. Instead, he settled for ordering the dessert he’d set as the stakes for their game, and he passed the treat to Jane, who looked rather like she thought it might jump up and bite her.

“But you won the game, sir,” she protested, even as her stomach gave a loud growl.

“Aye, but it was not my birthday a fortnight past,” he teased. “My gift to you, Little Miss. Tuck in.”

The tart disappeared in less than a minute, but Childermass took his time finishing his drink, to give her dinner a little time to settle.

With the tension gone from her eyes, Jane looked a great deal younger, and most decidely worn out. They settled in the carriage to continue their journey, and Childermass fiddled idly with his cards, hoping the child might sleep if left to her own devices.

Miles passed, and still she stared at him, though it was not fear he saw in her eyes when he glanced up through the curtain of his hair to catch her at it. Rather, it was some anxious sort of hope that mingled with her exhaustion. Feeling for the first time that he was perhaps equipped to cope, he smiled without looking up from his cards. “Rest now, Little Miss. I will still be here when you wake.”

She settled more comfortably into her corner of the carriage. She closed her eyes obediently, but not two minutes later, a tickling sensation at the back of his neck alerted him to her continued scrutiny. He glanced up and caught her peeking at him through half-lidded eyes. He sighed and climbed out of his heavy overcoat. He tucked it around her, choosing to ignore the way she stiffened briefly beneath his hands. “Rest,” he whispered, and at last, she did.

#eyre/strange fusion #childermass #jsamn #jane eyre #kate writes #this one has kind of an odd mood i think #but it works #next chapter should be norrell pov #which is going to be fun :)

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deans-baby-momma · 6 years ago

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Life Without You-After Michael

A/N: The first of my three Valentine’s Day Drabbles/non-drabbles. LOL This part is 100% from the reader’s P.O.V. Or at least that’s how I hope it comes off as. Enjoy!

Sam made it his priority to keep me unseen by Michael. Which was no problem anyway as he seemed more interested in torturing the hunters living in the bunker than seeking out his vessel's girlfriend.

I stayed hidden in one of the only empty rooms left since we had saved the Apocalypse world people and brought them here. The room was mostly bare, save for a bed and a chest of drawers. Sam had Maggie bring me a set of sheets and a blanket seeing as how no one knew how long Michael would be running amok.

I had to beg the young female hunter to go into mine and Dean's room to get me some different clothing. She wanted to respect our privacy, which was sweet, but I didn't want to be stuck in the same outfit for days.I didn’t know how long I would be hiding out, keep myself and my child safe from the archangel possessing its father.

One week. Seven days I stayed hidden. Michael terrorized the bunker for a few days before turning bored and deciding to go out and create an army. Or so that is what they told me when Sam finally deemed it safe enough for me to return to society. I was grateful for the extra lengths he had taken to keep me and his niece or nephew safe but being cut off from everyone had definitely not been fun. Everyone was working on finding a way to track Michael when Sam got a lead and him, Mary and Bobby took off to follow it. I wished them all luck and promised to return to hiding if, for some reason this was a decoy to lure the more experienced hunters away so Michael could come in and brainwash the newer generation.

When they returned, it had been quiet on the homefront. Sam had called ahead to let me know that they had found Dean. Not Michael, Dean! Apparently the archangel hadn’t been able to convert anyone and gave up. No one knew where he was and to be honest, I couldn’t care less. I was getting Dean back!

I was a myriad of emotions, waiting for their return. Of course I was still pissed as hell at Dean for saying yes and letting Michael take over, I was anxious to see him though...it had been forever since I had been able to look into his loving green eyes and I was worried! Worried that he would be upset about the baby growing inside me. This life wasn’t the type of life to raise a baby in and it hadn’t been like we were even trying but hey, things happen, right? When I heard the bunker door open I was undecided on what to do. Do I meet them at the bottom of the stairs? Do I sit here hiding the very obvious bump I was sporting behind the table in the library? If I had any inclination on how Dean was going to take the news of the impending arrival of our child I would know exactly what to do. I resolved to just stay where I was and hopefully be able to break the news to him slowly.

That went right out the window when Dean came rushing into the library, straight to me and pulled me up out of the chair and into his arms. “Oh my god! I have missed you so much,” he cried into my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held tightly, relishing in the feel of being in his embrace once again. I had missed it more than I realized. Dean stilled and I knew then that he felt it; felt the barrier keeping our bodies from being flushed. He pulled away and looked at me before glancing down. “You’re pregnant?” he asked. I couldn’t determine if it was a happy tone in his voice, a wistful one or if he was just completely repulsed by the fact.

“Uh, yea. Due in about 15 weeks.”

“You’re having my baby?” he asked, a smile gracing his face. Oh thank god!

“I am. I was going to tell you once we defeated Lucifer, but--”

“But I said Yes and disappeared. Oh my god! Babe I am so fucking sorry. I didn’t know!”

“I know,” I whispered as I lay my palm against his cheek. “I know.”

He smiles again and then pulls me to him, kissing me softly but passionately. When Sam clears his throat to alert us to other in the room, we break apart looking sheepishly.

“Come on, babe. I need to change out of this monkey suit and cuddle with you,” Dean says, taking my hand and leading me down the hallway.

Sam walks up behind us, heading to his own room. Dean looks back at his brother and shutters.

“Would you please shave now? It’s just every time I think about it, you know. It's like a nightmare. I mean I can’t eat, I can’t sleep - it’s always just there watching me."

I wonder briefly what he is talking about until I hear Sam sigh and say, "Dean, it’s just a beard. I’ve been a little busy lately."

Dean doesn't let up though. He just keeps on, stopping in the middle of the hallway to continue his teasing. "Yeah well that’s not an excuse, cos you know Duck Dynasty called and they want it all back."

Sam is quick on the rebuttal, saying, "Some people say I look good." He straightens his stance and stiffen his shoulder.

"No Sam. No people say that."

I slap Dean's chest and look at Sam. "Hey! I think it looks nice. Very dignified."

Dean rolls his eyes and mutters "Traitor" and gives me a wink when I look at him.

Once in our bedroom, I sit on the bed and watch as Dean looks around, almost as if he is re-memorizing all the little aspects of our lives that he missed.

“Soooo?” I ask, not sure how to go about asking him if he is truly him and if he is actually okay.

“So, I don’t know. Michael bailed. I don’t know why and don’t know how: he just cleared out. Now as far as my memory goes, I mean everything from the second I said yes to the moment I walked through those doors is a blank. So, I’m good. I’m just really, really, happy to be home. Back with you. I missed you so much. I thought about you constantly.”

“I missed you too Dean,” I said trying to fight back a sob. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I had already adapted to the fact that I’d be raising this one alone. I’m so glad I don’t have to now.” I said smiling through the tears. “Mary has been a godsend, so helpful and teaching me things I never knew about pregnancy and after the baby is born. Speaking of her, where is she and Bobby?”

“They stayed back in Duluth to clean up--” he pauses, looking for the correct phrase. “-the situation. And speaking of cleaning up. I need a freaking shower. I don’t know what all that douche had me doing but I feel defiled! We’ll cuddle and you can tell me all about our child after?” I nod as I watch him pull out his regular jeans and a flannel and head off to the bathroom. Dean is back and happy about the baby! I lay back on the pillows to wait for him.

Finding the scar on his right upper bicep was a big surprise. Apparently something, somewhere had fought the archangel and whatever weapon they used was strong enough to injure his vessel beyond repair! So instead of staying to ourselves and cuddling, enjoying talking about the baby, we were now in the library with Sam, Cas and Jack. I sit beside Dean, holding his left hand as they all study the wound.

"Cas I’m going to need you to get in my head, do the whole Vulcan mind meld thing because if I can’t remember what happened I’m going to need you to drag it out of me, ok? " Dean tells them.

"Wait a second, you sure about this? " Sam, the ever present pessimist of the group asks. I can tell he is just worried about his brother and what having Castiel dig into his memories of his possession could lead to.

"Yeah, I can handle it." Dean squeezes me hand and looks up at his brother.

Cas stands behind us and looks conflicted. "Dean," he begins and it sounds almost like he is going to try to talk Dean out of doing this. But he knows, as well as I do, this needs to happen. We need to know what caused that injury on his arm.

"Cas, c’mon hit me, " Dean demands.

Cas sighs as he places his hands on each side of Dean's head and closes his eyes. He then places one on the scar and I watch as his eyes move back and forth behind his lids.

"Dean, who was that?" Cas asks as he takes his hand away, quickly.

It was determined that whatever the weapon was, it was a large sword with two large, thick prongs; like a big meat fork and wielded by a being from another dimension. Sam goes to call Jody and I listen in as they tell her Dean is back and then ask about the Bad Place, the other world they had traveled to trying to find Mary and ultimately killed Kaia, the one who had opened the portal. Jody tells them that she's heard nothing but that she has victims on her desk with the same injuries. Sam and Dean decided quickly that they were going to Sioux Falls to help Jody figure out what is going on; how whatever that being was how it got to this world and why it was attacking people.

Once again, I stayed back at the Bunker. Which truthfully, I didn't mind a bit. I was used to it, I liked it. Being able to be there if and when they needed information from one of the many lore books in the library or just a friendly voice to hear when the case was running long and difficult. I was worried about Dean going up against the one person who obviously had it out for him, or at least Michael. Would they pause long enough to see that the archangel was no longer in control should they meet up? Would I get Dean back just to lose him all over again? I busied myself with helping Cas and Jack deal with the young girl who one of the hunters had saved on a witch hunt.

We ultimately save the girl from the hex and the hunters who found her takes her back to her mother. When Sam and Dean get back they have even more questions than they had before they left. But Dean….Dean is bound and determined to hole up in our room with snacks and a marathon of cheesy horror flicks. He pulls me away from the crowd and we lay on the bed and veg out, watching villains take out their vengeance on their prey. We are on our third slasher flick when Sam enters. He has his ipad in his hand and looks uptight and on edge. Dean takes his eyes off the screen and is shocked to see that Sam has indeed finally shaved. The older Winchester mentions it and Sam acquiesces.

“Yes I shaved,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“I mean, it’s so smooth. It’s like a dolphin’s belly,” Dean says and I can’t help but giggle earning us both a signature Sam Winchester bitchface. Sam pulls up the desk chair and sits down.

"Well I hate to disturb your marathon, but I think I found us a case."

Dean asks nonchalantly, "More Michael monsters?"

"No, killer toy." That gets both of our attention. Dean sits up and looks at his brother.

"What kind of toy?".

After watching the video Dean seems amused and interested."Thundercats? Seriously?"

"Yeah. But I mean, you’ve got your pizza, your girl, at least eight more of these movies so I’ll just leave you to it and I’ll get one of the other guys…"

Dean jumps up off the bed. "Oh, hell no, hell no. No, Panthro, that’s mine!" Then he looks back at me apologetically. "Sorry baby. I got to go check this out. We'll finish when I get back?"

I nod and watch as he follows Sam out of the room, asking a million questions. I sigh and get up, clearing the bed of empty wrappers and what is left of the pizza we had been munching on.

Dean was on an all-time high when they returned from Ohio; he had went up against and defeated one of his most favorite bad guys, the Hatchet Man. He came rushing into the bedroom where I was with a goofy smile on his face and made me lay beside him while he told me all about it. From dodging flying chainsaws to battling the ghost possessing a David Yeager life-size figurine.”I killed Hatchet Man, babe. Like kill-killed him! Dead. By. My. Hands!”

I giggle at his enthusiasm and then he jumps up off the bed suddenly. “Come on, babe. Let’s go out. Get dressed. I’m taking you out tonight.”

Dean took me a nice romantic restaurant where we enjoyed the food, each other’s company and talked about the baby. Although he was anxious and apprehensive about bringing a baby into this fucked up world we live in, he was enthusiastic about adding another Winchester to our lives. When we were finished eating, before he went to pay, Dean Winchester fully and thoroughly surprised me when he got down on one knee in the middle of the restaurant and took my hand in his. “You have been my only light in this dark world for so long and I don’t know what I would do without you. We have helped each other through the good times and the bad. You have been beside me every step of the way. And now, we are adding another to the mix. The love between us has given new meaning to the saying breath of life. You and this baby are the most important people to me and I don’t want to be apart from you ever again. Will you marry me?”

And if anyone asks, I was so totally not a crying, bumbling mess as I said the only word that question deserved.

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redpoet2 · 6 years ago

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Steven Universe’s Change Your Mind: A Review

I had planned and wrote out a 12 page reaction paper on the episode, like shot for shot my thoughts, and planned to copy/paste it here and add reaction gifs... For some reason Tumblr won’t let me. I have tried twice in the past 2 days, wasting the better part of 2 whole days (I started the minute I finished watching the episode for the first time and have only taken periodic breaks for my sanity).

I don’t want to want to waste my time again by spending all day on it again, only for it to not work and I loose the last strain of sanity i have left. So instead I am just going to give my overall review in parts, in the hopes that this things actually posts, and my more detailed version (minus the gifs) will be lost to time and space.

First things first! The new outfits/forms: - Peridot's form I instantly loved. Her visor and hair are on point! Literally! I love her new outfit, she finally got her stars! I also love that she is basically Static Shock with her levitating trash can lid!

- Lapis’s new form will take some getting use to. I love the look, with the crop top and the baggy pants/sandals. She looks like Aladdin and I’m okay with that. I just have a problem with the gold strings/shoes. I understand why she has the gold and what it is suppose to mean/symbolize. I just have OCD and have a hard time when I see clashing color pallets. This is just an issue I have in general, so I will just have to get use to it.

- Amethyst’s new form is probably my favorite. Her star shorts, her tank with her visible gem window, its so her! The color palate is also the best she has had, I hope she keeps this form for awhile but knowing Amethyst she probably won’t have this for long.

- Pearl’s new form is very cute and very simple. I like her new shoulder pad like jacket, it’s even got a star on the back! Those skinny jeans are also very cool!!!

- Okay confession time. I am fine with Garnet’s new form except for the visor/shades. Don’t get me wrong I love the shape, it’s just that color clashes with the rest of her. I know its similar to her gauntlets, but to be honest that part has always bugged me as well. I will get use to them eventually, it just might take time, just like with Lapis.

Next let’s cover the new fusions: - Rainbow Quartz 2.0: This is so important, this was the only fusion we know of that took place between Rose and another single Gem! (Again that we know of) So seeing this new form with Steven is so big!!!! And it didn’t disappoint! I love everything about them. They are basically a queer Mary Poppins and I love everything about them! I love their rainbow powered umbrella. I love their puns. I even love that they are voiced by a boy!

- Sun Stone: Holy crap. They are a Flaming Cheeto with sunglasses… and a walking embodiment of every 90’s “Cool Kid’s Cartoon” cliché, right down to the fourth wall breaking…. I love them!

But suction cups as a weapon? Really?

- Obsidian:

Where do I even begin? This is the first on screen appearance of the Temple Fusion in real life! Like this is a big deal! Okay, first off let’s talk about the 4-way fusion dance! Garnet with her hand movements and hips. Steven just mash potato-ing is adorable. Pearl is elegant as ever with those ballet moves. Amethyst fist bumping and rocking her hips as well. All forming a pyramid! Awesome!

Then when they all fused and started to form Obsidian, and all those arms started forming I was getting super excited! And then we got to see her (or Them since Steven is a part of the fusion) and she does not disappoint. She is basically a gem version of Ta Ka from Moana and I love everything about her! Also THAT SWORD!

The Diamond Reformations:

- Blue’s reformation was the first and easiest. She was closest with Pink, and after Steven showed her how miserable she and the other Diamonds made Pink, how much Blue made Pink cry, I knew she was going to reform. I also love that Blue stood up to Yellow and even called Steven by his real name, not joking like before. But maybe I am bias, she is MY diamond after all.... #MyDiamond

- Yellow’s was next and I knew she’d be a tough one but once Steven and Blue got through to her she crumbled easier than Blue.

I will however say that when she called Steven by his real name, the moment didn’t feel as earned as Blue’s. It should have been given a bit more time, or at least shown Steven’s reaction like when Blue did it.

- I knew White would take the longest, she is a toxic abusive parent and its very hard to get them to stop being abusive, let alone admit that they are abusive. Her taking control of the diamonds and the crystal gems was bad enough, but when she PULLED OUT Steven’s gem, I was about ready to never forgive her.

I was dead set on her needing to be poofed or something, but no. Steven did the unthinkable, he got through to her. How? By throwing shade at her! That come back was straight out of the pilot, like DAMN!

Also can we just take the time to reflect on how utterly creepy a lot of this episode was.... like nightmare fuel creepy...

The Ending:

- When this special started I honestly didn’t think we’d make it back to Earth in one piece, let alone redeem all the diamonds and cure corruption. Like yeah the ending felt more like a series finale and if they canceled Season 6 and we just had the movie left I would be okay.

We have a few unanswered things, but the big important stuff got resolved so I am not exactly sure where to go from here....

What’s Next:

- We Still don’t know what is in the chest in Lion’s mane! - All the corrupted gems are healed so now we can do stories around them! - The original Pink Pearl is no longer being controlled by White. She is free, and we still don’t know how her eye was damaged. - Speaking of we still don’t know much of Pearl’s backstory before she was given to Pink Diamond/Rose. - Jasper is uncorrupted but that doesn’t mean her redemption arc is over, it hasn’t even started. - Lars is back on earth with the Off Colors so we can do some stories around that, like more on their backstories, interactions with the crystal gems, exploring earth, etc. - How are the Diamonds made? Who made them? Was Pink an off-color or intended to be that color. - We don’t know what happened to Russia in this world - More lore on the Gem constructions on earth, like especially that Geode Storm thing from season 1. - Since Lapis is back and now a crystal gem, she and peridot need to fuse. - In fact all the remaining gems need to fuse with Steven at least once and with each other! We need more fusions okay?! - Speaking of fusions Greg needs to fuse with Steven at some point as well. - Era 3 has began. Is Homeworld going to stop their evil ways? Will gems get treated better? Will there be a civil war on Homeworld? Was Escapism foreshadowing for season 6 and beyond? - The rose quartz’s in the bubbles at the zoo need to be freed. The Humans too. - We need to learn Lion’s backstory. How did he “Die” and did Rose know she could bring him back? Also is Lars now going to get powers like Lion? Is Lars immortal now? - Mystery Girl needs to come back. - We need to see Sapphire and Ruby’s new forms, so we need an episode where they come out again, hopefully just to be cute and show off, not because they’re mad at something/someone. - We need to rebuild the barn or Uncle Andy is going to be pissed. - We have Lars’s ship AND Pink Diamond’s legs. We can travel to other colonies and parts of space unknown. I could go on and on but I think I’ve made my point.

This finale was cosmic. Beyond anything the show has done before. Now begins the long wait for the movie! I hope we get an actual trailer soon. Or just some more information on it, like the villain, or if this takes place before or after season 5. Things like that.

#steven universe #change your mind #spoilers #review #gif

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chinuppoppins · 6 years ago

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AU prompt: T and Ty both go to S. Seb, they get paired up for a project and his parents start seeing her a lot at their house; they also see how happy he is when she’s around, so they start joking about them being together and embarrass him a bit in front of her (which he hates, while she has the time of her life listening to the stories about baby Tyrone).

So I know I have a few prompts to do before this one, but I had already started an AU like this, I just had to adjust it. I hope you like! Trigger Warnings for a bit of bullying and mentions of sexual assault and police brutality

Everyone at school knew who Tandy Bowen was, or more so knew of her reputation. She was a scholarship kid, and the story on how she got that scholarship wasn’t the best one. She lived in a trailer park with a drunk mom, she did something during her freshman year with a junior that added to the rumors about her. Though she was quiet, didn’t have friends, though she was in all of Tyrone’s honor classes and from what he saw, she got decent marks. She was smart, kept to herself and had a decent taste in music from what he saw on her phone.

Sometimes Tyrone caught himself staring at her in their English class. She would sometimes have earbuds in, her nose in a book while her blonde hair fell lightly over on her shoulders. She was a pretty girl, there was no denying that. Though having the actual courage to speak to her was something he wasn’t good at channeling.

Thought fate hit them one day when Miss, Page was handing out the books for the next reading assignment. “With the month of october almost upon us, I decided to kind of go off of the curriculum and assign works from my favorite author l to all of you. One reason is because The Scarlet Letter is painful and two, it’s October and that means spooky times all around.”

One girl raises her hand, a cheerleader, Tyrone things her name is Kasey and says. “Miss. Page, The Scarlet Letter is a classic and should be seen as one. My dad made the reading list the way he did for a reason. I mean, Demi Moore was in the movie, you know.’

The class laughs and Miss. Page is shaking his head, but Tandy speaks up. “Actually, The Scarlet Letter is kinda sexist. I mean I know it’s a work of it’s time but I can see why you would enjoy it, Kasey. Since you don’t actually ever have to read the books, your dad just does all the work for you ” Some of the guys make an oohhhing sound and Miss. Page does her best to calm the class. “Besides, the movie that Demi Moore was in wasn’t even close to the novel, it was just an excuses for her to get naked.”

Yeah, Tandy Bowen, was awesome. The of course Kasey fights back and mutters, because honestly some of the kids are scared of Tandy. “Maybe you should wear a scarlet S on your chest. It stands for two things, Scholarship kid and slut.” Her lips curl. “And at least I have a dad.”

Miss. Page finally regains control and though Tandy is stone faced, Tyrone notices a falter in her face when she turns back around. “We will be reading the works of Edgar Allan Poe.” she announces, beaming with pride. “Now I will be assigning you partners for this, you will be in charge of reading the poems or the short short stories and you will then present to the class a report on what you read, what Poe was trying to explain to the reader, while dressed up as the characters from your story. There was a collection of sighs and groans. “Guys, c’mon, it’ll be fun. Now listen for your partners and your assignments”

Tyrone listens closely to the names she is calling out. Finally she gets to Tyrone. “Tyrone, you will be with Tandy and your assignment is The Raven.”

Once she gets done handing out the books, Tyrone glances over at Tandy who had started to leaf through the novel. He was about to open up his mouth to say something to her when she speaks up. “Meet me at the flagpole after school, we can start this at my house.”

With that, the bell rings, she grabs her knapsack and leaves the classroom. Evita quickly catches him as he gathers his things. “So, Tandy Bowen.” She begins, bouncing on her heels. “Look, Ty, don’t listen to those rumors about her. She’s my bio partner and she is really cool once you get to know her and she is like crazy smart so, you’ll be alright.”

When the last bell rings, Tyrone huffs it toward the flagpole where Tandy was already waiting for him. She seemed to be reading the book that Miss. Page handed out intently, her eyes concentrating on the words. “Hey.” He manages and she looks up from her reading. “You uh-”

Tandy closes the book with a snap and puts it in her bag. “Let’s go.”

They take the trolly and walk the rest of the way. She doesn’t really speak so it’s sort of awkward, but at the same time it was comforting. Tyrone did have questions for her, he did want to talk to her, but she was a woman of little words. That is until they get to her trailer. Tandy opens the door, steps in and he goes to follow but she backs into him, a look of embarrassment on her face. “Can you just,” She stops. “Can you just wait outside for one minute?”

He nods his head and she steps into her home, then he hears her speak and next thing he knows there is shouting. Now he feels awkward. Finally the door opens back up she invites him in with a plain. “Well?”

Its nicely decorated and clean, but Tandy still looks embarrassed. He always thought that she never cared what people thought of her, but now she did. “Well he’s cute.”

It’s a blonde woman sitting on the sofa, putting a cigarette out in an ashtray. “You didn’t tell me he was cute and a jock.” She gets up and a man, who Tyrone suddenly realized was sitting in the lazy boy laughs.

“Melissa, don’t scare the kid.” He says and Tandy grabs Tyrone’s hand to guide him to her room.

It’s weird ‘cause there is a spark there, or at least for him there is. “Mom, we have work to do so,”

“Fine, fine, just keep the door cracked or something like that- I don’t know how to handle this sort of stuff.” Melissa says before going back to the sofa. “Can I at least know his name?”

“It’s Tyrone, Miss.” Tyrone says and goes with Tandy once she actually pulls him.

“Miss?” Melissa smiles. “Well, I like him.”

Tandy shuts the door once they are in her room and pulls off her tie and vest before sitting on the bed. “So we should start reading the poem.” She begins as she takes the book from her bag. “I can read it out loud if you want to start taking notes and-”

“Your mom and dad are nice.” Tyrone bursts and Tandy stops what she is doing. “And you have a nice place here.”

She scoffs as she opens her book. “Greg is not my dad.” Tandy takes note on Tyrone’s confusion and she sighs. “My dad died when I was eight, car accident on the night of the rig explosion.”

Well shit, that hit close to home. So he steps over to her, taking a seat on the floor by the bed. “My big brother died when I was eight, same night.” He takes out his notebook and a pen. “He was shot. Cop that did it got away with it”

Tandy’s features soften up and her voice is soft. “Shit, Ty, I’m sorry.”

He looks up at her, he had never seen this side of Tandy before. There is worry in her eye and empathy, she knew the feeling of loss and maybe that’s why he felt so drawn to her “so, you wanna start reading.”

She gives a quick nod and begins. “Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore-” Tyrone knew he was supposed to be writing his thoughts down, but he found himself getting lost in the poem, as strange as it was. Though it was her voice that caught him up, soft where it needed to be soft, eerie when it had to be eerie and powerful when it needed power. “While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. “’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—Only this and nothing more.”

Tyrone Johnson was slowly falling for Tandy Bowen.

—-

They decided to do the rest of the project at Tyrone’s house. It was a mutual decision really, after the pair caught Greg walking around in nothing but her mom’s robe. They work on the project in school, sitting in the library or in class. Tandy sometimes cracks a joke under her breath and Tyrone can’t help but to laugh. He gets looks though and he really doesn’t care, he likes Tandy.

She stops by his house one saturday morning with coffee and obviously not in her school uniform. He invites her in and right away his mom is on her. “You must be Tandy Bowen, I’m Adina and this is my husband Otis.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson.” She looks down at the cup holder. “I bought coffee for everyone.” She offers. “Mrs. Johnson, Ty told me that you like soy lattes so that’s what I ordered.”

His mom has this sly look on her face and she looks over at Tyrone with a smirk on her face. Of course his dad is beaming as he happily takes his coffee. “So Tandy,” He says. “Adina here is on the PTO in her spare time, she tells me that you were the girl that beat out over 85 different kids for that academic scholarship, that’s an amazing fleet.”

Tandy’s blushing and Tyrone’s slack jawed, now that wasn’t something she shared. He knew that the rumor of her mom sleeping with a few of the teachers was a horrible lie, but hell, he did not know that bit of information. “Uh yeah,” Tandy taps the lid of her cup. “My dad, he had all the brain power and I guess I inherited that from him.”

“What does your dad do for a living.” Adina asks and Tyrone wants to shrink, he had told her parents about Tandy, but not her life story. He should have warned them about her dad.

However, Tandy answers, meeting his parents eyes. “My dad was a scientist, a big wig over at Roxxon, like the in charge kind of big wig.” She laughs. “So much so that he was famous for sometimes forgetting to pick me up from dance class when I was a kid. He used to make it up to me by showing me how to do some awesome science experiment for show and tell the next day.” There was a small smile on her face. “He was so smart and so goofy, he was awesome.” She nods. “He passed away when I was eight, car went off the bridge.” She sniffs and chuckles. “I am so sorry if this got heavy, I’m really not good at small talk.”

Otis smiles sadly and Adina shakes her head. “Oh honey don’t worry about that, it’s actually nice to know something about one of Tyrone’s friends.” She smiles. “And it is nice that we are finally able to meet you and we’ll both be here for the day, so if you two need anything, just shout.”

They set themselves up in the dining room, laptops and books open as they work and Adina stands against the door archway for a moment, just watching as Otis joins her. She watches her son as he smiles at the blonde girl, his head ducking away and Otis chuckles. “The boy is smitten.”

Later, hunger strikes them and they of course have to break for food. They decide on a small diner and because of the low crowd, were seated right away. As they looked at their menus, Tyrone began to speak.

“So the scholarship thing, I had no idea that it was that huge.” He finally blurts out. “That’s amazing, T. Why don’t you say something when the kids start giving you shit?”

Tandy softly smiles as she picks up her soda. “Cause it’s none of their business.” She shrugs. “I know what people say about me, and honestly, I don’t care.”

“What about all that stuff with Rick?” He asks, quickly regretting it when her face changes to annoyance.

“Why do you care?” She bites. “What, do you believe the bullshit he spewed?”

Tyrone shook his head. “No, Tandy, I don’t believe all those rumors, I’m just-”

“Then why would you ask?” She spats.

Tyrone calms himself the best he could, knowing all well that he touched a nerve. “Tandy, I just want to know what really happened. Everyone who has common sense knows that Rick is a freaking creep, he goes around grabbing girls asses and never gets in trouble.”

“Yeah, he is a rich white male and his parents fund half the school, of course he gets away with anything.” Tandy snaps, waving the waitress off who had come to take their order. “Look, Ty, I just don’t want to talk about it, not right now anyway, alright?”

“Alright.” He nods and when the waitress comes back and they order their food, eating in somewhat silence. Only speaking about the project if the air got to quiet.

—-

The next few days, Tandy stops by after school to attempt to finish the costumes and their analysis for their project. However, on Friday night, he gets a text from Evita and he looks up at Tandy who was attempting to put feathers on a dress. “So, you wanna take a break and check out this party?” Tandy gives him a look and Tyrone laughs. “C’mon, T, I’ll be there, Evita will be there and by this text, she says it’s pretty freaking lit.”

She sighs and then smiles. “Fine, but only for a few hours. We need to finish this.”

“Yes ma’am.”

The party is in the woods, there are a few kegs, kids smoking, music blaring. It’s as exciting as an underaged high school party could be. Tandy looks around and then back at Tyrone. “She called this lit?”

He rubs the back of his head. “Yeah, she might have been drinking already when she decided that. You wanna beer?”

She thinks for a moment and then nods her head. “What the hell.”

Tyrone puts the money out for the red solo cup filled with cheap beer and after an hour goes by, Tandy seems pretty comfortable. She’s singing along to the music that had been blaring from the speakers and even pulled him out of his comfort zone, pulling him toward the pit of dancing teens and he discovers that she can dance and knows all the words to Despacito which makes him throw his head back in laughter when the song actually comes on. They are really having a good time, that was until she spots a face that makes her freeze in her spot. When he looks over his shoulder, he sees her mood changer. Rick was standing directly behind him, looking smug as fuck.

“She’s fun, ain’t she, Johnson.” He sneers and he feels Tandy take his hand. “You might want to use a rubber with her though, who knows what you could catch.”

“Ty, c’mon, let’s just go.” Tandy pleads.

Tyrone knew anger, hell since the night his brother died, all he knew was anger and fear. He could feel the rage going through him. “What the fuck is your problem?” He snaps.

Rick shugs. “Just looking out for you, man. She has a reputation, don’t you Tandy?”

“Don’t you talk to her.” Tyrone threatens and Rick chuckles. “Don’t even say her name.”

“You threatening me, Tyrone?” Rick growls while stepping chest to chest to him. “Look, dude, the little bitch is a slut and a liar, not my fault she sucked you into her chairty case. You know, she could have fucked up my future by those accusations, but who would even believe a piece of trash like her.”

Something in Tyrone just snaps and next thing he knows, he on the ground, turning Rick’s face into his personal punching bag. Girls are screaming, guys are whooping and Tandy is yelling his name. Rick ends up getting his punches in but then he is ripped away from the older boy by two guys from the basketball team. Rick attempts to go after him again, but Tandy steps between them both. “You hit him again and I swear to god I will tell everyone here your little secret. Now that, can and will ruin your future and your reputation. So back the fuck up.”

There is a flash of fear in Rick’s eyes and he backs down. Tandy eyes him for a moment and then turns back to Tyrone, her arm wrapping around his waist the best it could as she balances his weight. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.” She mutters. “Honestly, I’m half pissed at you right now.”

His left eye is blurry and his head hurts. “What.”

“Half pissed, half pissed, half turned on- but that’s the beer talking.” She giggles when he ducks his head down. “Thank you though, I’m just not used to people sticking up for me.”

He smiles at her and she winces. “What, I look that bad?”

“C’mon, Rocky, lets get you home and cleaned up.”

—–

His parents are still out which makes it easy for them to get into the house. Though here she was now, sitting across from him, swabbing the cuts on his face while scolding him to keep the bag of peas against his eye. “So the rumors about me sleeping with Rick?” She begins and Tyrone flicks his eyes up. “Are obviously not true.” She pauses while she dips a cotton ball in some peroxide. “The truth is that he gave me attention and he was nice to me and I stupidly ate that up.” She shakes her head. “I really should have known better. So he invites me to this party and he kisses me, but then he wants more and I didn’t. I fought back so much that he just gave up, called me a stupid bitch and I ran away. I went to the cops, and they said that I didn’t have a case since nothing happened.” She shrugs. “It didn’t stop him from going around the whole school, telling everyone that I slept with him.” Tandy leans forward and puts a butterfly bandage over his eyebrow. “Making friends after that was impossible,” Her eyelashes flutter as she looks up at him. “Well until you.”

“What do you have against him, Rick almost pissed his pants when you threatened him.” Tyrone asks and Tandy smiles slyly.

“Well, him being the absolute walking piece of shit that he is kept a few items in his locker. One of them being a notebook with rating all the girls that he has slept with and two, the guy had a flashdrive of all of his teachers answer keys for exams.” she smirks. “If that leaks, well not only would he be expelled, the kids in school, as stupid as they are, would hate him.”

“How did you manage to get in his locker?”

“I watched him open it a few times, got the numbers and then, did my thing.” Tandy answers, smirking and the leans back to on her hands to look at his face. “Your mom is gonna be so fucking pissed.” She laughs and then pauses, reaching out and cupping the side of his face that isn’t bruised. For a brief moment, she brushes her thumb against his cheek bone and then leans forward to kiss his forehead. Her lips linger for a moment and his eyes flutter shut before she pulls away. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She whispers softly.

Tandy realizes she had a crush on Tyrone Johnson later that night.

—-

The next day, Tandy is greeted by Tyrone’s parents who ask her if she had time to talk. She already knows why. Tyrone is already sitting in the living room waiting for her. “So Tyrone got into a fight last night.” Otis begins. “And he is pretty reluctant to tell us.”

Tandy looks over at Tyrone with an ‘are you serious’ vibe and then takes a deep breath. “There is this guy at school-” And she tells them, she tells them everything. Otis blinks, looks over at Adina and shrugs his shoulders. “So he was defending me, you raised a chilvious one over there.”

Adina rubs her temples and then sighs. “Fine, but you are still in trouble for the attitude you gave this morning. So one week, home and school. Since Tandy has to do with school, she can stay.”

“Really?” Tyrone is shocked that he got off that easy and even more shocked that Tandy was allowed to hang around.

His mom shrugs and then looks over at the blonde. “Yeah, I like her anyway, no sense in punishing myself. So get to work before I change my mind.”

Otis watches the two teens gather their stuff and relocate to Tyrone’s room. “When do you think he is gonna make his move?” He asks his wife and Adina chuckles.

“Oh it’ll be Tandy, I’m the one who had to make the first move on you. I hope she does though, I like having her around.” Adina decides and Otis agrees. “She makes him happy.”

—-

They are sitting on his bed again, this time getting work done. “So we are in agreement that he’s obviously descending into madness, because of the loss of his Lenore.” Tandy says out loud as she types. “And the raven is symbolizing-” She feels Tyrone’s eyes on her and she looks up “What’s up?”

“You’re alright, right? I mean after everything that happened last night, I was worried about you.” Tyrone confessed and Tandy felt her ears heating up.

“You were worried about me? I was the one worried about you, I mean I left you when you could have had a concussion.” She takes a deep breath. “I kept thinking I should have spent the night. I mean, I’m really not good at this whole thing, I know when you like someone or care about someone, you should make sure that they are okay, but I panicked so-”

Tyrone blinked. “Wait, you like me?” He asks and her cheeks go pink. “Like what kind of like.”

She raises a brow. “Are we really doing this right now?” And he nods, she’s flustered and then he just decides it’s got to be him.

“You want to go out on a date?” He asks her boldly. “You know, after I’m done being grounded.”

Tandy’s glowing, she beams and then nods her head. “I would love to go on a date with you, Tyrone Johnson.”

—–

They take things slowly, only telling his parents when they are three weeks into an official relationship. His mom claims that she called it and next thing he knows, she is showing Tandy pictures of his childhood. Tyrone sighs when he hears the ringing of her laughter and his dad comes up and claps him on the shoulders. “So, did she make the first move?”

Tyrone shakes his head. “Nah, no, uh I asked her out.”

Otis laughs. “Your mom owes me twenty bucks.”

—–

PDA isn’t really their thing, but it doesn’t stop either of them from intertwining their hands while they walk down the hallway. People talk, they don’t care, because for the first time in eight years, they both truly feel happy.

#cloak and dagger #tandy bowen #tyrone johnson #tandy x tyrone #Anonymous

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jayankles · 7 years ago

Text

Death Brings Truth (AU)

Pairing: Teacher!Dean x Student!Reader

Word Count: 2254

Warnings: character death, lies, language.

Summary: Dean is a professor at the local school in Lebanon, Kansas. Everything is going smoothly until one of students displays a whole side of herself that he has never seen before. Is she willing to divulge the information to her teacher? Can she cope with the responsibility that has been dumped on her?

Written for @spnangstbingo and @evansrogerskitten ‘s Ash’s Hottest Dean Challenge

Square Filled: Free Space

A/N – I picked Scruffy!Dean and I couldn’t have been more happy about the prompts that were given to me. I have been planning this fic for a while but never got around to it and it’s not like the Student/Teacher pairing that you are used to. Prompt: “Well, that’s fantastic. Would you like a stuffed bear?” and the gif below the cut

A/N 2 – Also I am so sorry this is late I don’t know what went wrong, this was supposed to post yesterday but tumblr is an ass and didn’t post it, sorry Ash!

Professor Winchester was sat at his desk behind his laptop, pen in hand going through his schedule and what he was going to teach today. It was the usual for the two of you. You would walk in with twenty minutes to spare so you could get ahead in the class, write a few notes and if the professor was in the mood to talk then you would ask him whether he had a good weekend or not.

The class filed in a few minutes before the bell and they had all settled into their seats and the professor began to teach about the lore of mythical creatures. Sometimes he spoke with such passion about it that you actually believed that the creatures he spoke about could be real.

Notes were taken but your eyes hovered from Professor Winchester to the board he was pointing at behind him. His arms waved around frantically, they always did that when he spoke to the class in front of him and the animated smile on his face told everyone that he was happy to be here, that he worked his ass off to make sure that every single one of his students were involved in the session and were up to date with the course.

Professor Winchester had finished the class, earlier than usual, telling everyone that they had an assignment to do. It would be a project with all the details emailed to each individual, also given the opportunity to work in a group or by themselves. He made it abundantly clear that they were due in a month and that it was essential to complete this project to pass this year.

You nodded as you wrote everything he said, highlighting and drawing an asterisk next to the ideas that you were thinking of writing up for the project.

The rest of the class had left, a few of the girls giggling as they got into a group and admired your professor. You understood the fascination, Professor Winchester was attractive of course, his eyes were the most gorgeous shade of green, his short sandy brown hair was always perfectly spiked up, he had let his stubble grow into a coarse beard and his arms had bulked out his dress shirt. He was a fine looking man, you couldn’t deny that, but none of it mattered, you had to think about your work and nothing else.

Writing up the final due date, you put in your bookmark and shut your notepad. Shoving your equipment in your rucksack, you zipped it up and flung it over your shoulder. Professor Winchester neatening up his papers before he slotted them into his briefcase.

‘See you next week, Miss Y/L/N. 20 minutes before class?’ Winchester asked with a teasing smirk on his face.

‘Sure thing, Professor Winchester.’ You nodded in return, adjusting the straps on your bag.

He scoffed, loosening his tie and pulling on his suit jacket and coat. He was done for the day. ‘Please, Miss Y/L/N, call me Dean. The rest of the class do, makes me feel like my father too.’

‘I’ll only call you Dean, if you call me Y/N.’ You held out your hand for him to shake. He nodded his head and recited your name back to you whilst you did the same.

Three weeks later

Dean had noticed that something was wrong as soon as the class as started. You hadn’t walked in twenty minutes earlier like you usually did, there was no email to say that you were elsewhere or couldn’t make today’s session, he was starting to worry to say the least. The front row was empty – the place where you had frequently occupied to see a little better – not a single thing clued him in as to where you were.

Forty five minutes into the class, the door had bashed against the wall and interrupted Dean when he was talking.

This was someone he had never seen before but was all too familiar to him.

It was you!

Dean’s arms were crossed over his chest as he waited for an explanation but you wasn’t concentrating on him, your eyes were on your phone, you didn’t even have your rucksack and your usual attire was completely out of the question. Anything Dean had previously knew about you was no more, it was as if someone had created a clone of you but switched on the evil twin lever. It was a complete 180 from what he was used to.

The tapping of his foot became evident and he flicked his wrist so he could check the time. ‘Miss Y/L/N!’

You finished off your text and popped a bubble with the gun you chewed on. ‘Aw, Dean. What happened to “Y/N”?

‘You are late by forty five minutes, do you have anything you have to say for yourself.’

‘I do in fact, Dean. I say well, that’s fantastic. Would you like a stuffed bear? It’s, honestly, a wonder that you can tell the time.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Would you like me to say it slower so that you can comprehend what I’m saying?’

‘I understand perfectly! Take a seat and we will discuss this matter after class.’ Rolling your eyes you waltzed to the back and kept your eyes on the phone, seeking a seat far away from everyone else in the class that was stunned that you spoke out of line to one of the best teachers in the whole school.

‘Assignments are due next week people!’ Dean had said when he finished up the class. ‘Class dismissed.’

You were already up and out of your seat, no hanging around today.

‘Miss Y/L/N, where do you think you’re going? We have to discuss your behaviour.’

‘You dismissed the class so I'm leaving. Buh bye.’

Dean was getting even more frustrated by the minute, he has never been so disrespected in his entire career. ‘No Y/N, you will stop and you will listen to me.’ He was seeing too much red to see you flinch. ‘I don't know what is going on but you need to snap out of it.’

You furiously wiped at the tears that hadn't fallen yet. ‘You're right, Dean. You don't know what's going on. So back the fuck off, and stay out of my business because you don't know shit.’ Your phone pinged again and you glanced at it. ‘I'm sorry, Professor Winchester, I have to go.’

Dean had completed his day but his mood was dampened, he tried to not let it get to him but it had affected him. He had to figure out what was wrong and see if he could fix the problem. He slid into his car and the rumble of his car had started to settle in his churning stomach.

The tunes in the impala played lowly, but Dean was in a world of his own so the ride back to the apartment he shared with his brother. Thankfully, though, the apartment was empty and Sam hadn’t come home.

Dean placed his briefcase on the table before he shucked off his coat and suit jacket, rolling his sleeves up again. After he had huffed and pinched the bridge of his nose, Dean tugged open the fridge, pulled out a beer and twisted off the cap.

While he sipped at his beer, he took out his laptop and sat on his bed, his legs stretched out with his ankles crossed over each other.

Dean hadn't even noticed the door had opened until Sam had tossed his keys into the bowl next to the door.

‘How long have you been on that thing?’ Sam asked as he closed the door behind him, going straight to the kitchen to reheat his leftovers from the night before. When Sam didn't hear a response, he walked over an shut the lid of the laptop, only then gaining Dean’s full attention.

‘What is wrong with you, Dean?’

‘One of the kids today. She’s - something’s just not right. She’s talking back and she was late, she’s one of those kids that is never late, always early.’

‘Was is Y/N Y/L/N by any chance?’ Sam inquired, loosening his own tie and retreated back to the microwave to retrieve his dinner.

The older Winchester’s eyebrows had furrowed, how could Sam had possibly known. ‘What the hell?!’

‘What?’

‘How the heck did you know that it was Y/N?’

Sam had spooned some of the leftover Chinese from last night, quickly chewing on it and gulping it down before he responded to Dean. ‘Because she didn’t show up this morning and when I tried to talk to her after your class she just brushed me off as if she didn’t hear me but I could tell she’d been crying when she was on the phone.’

‘There is something going on with her and we’ve gotta fix it.’

Dean had emailed you for an appointment saying that your attendance and punctuation was imperative. You had rolled your eyes after reading it, of course he would make you come in the next day to have a discussion. You were tempted to email back and say you were sick but you knew he wouldn't buy into it.

You would have to finish your jobs as quickly as you could so you could make it to the appointment. It would have to be in and out. There was no time to waste.

Driving as quickly as you could, you found a parking space with difficulty but it was there in the end.

Checking your watch, you saw that you were early, thankfully. You couldn't lose any more time.

Venturing through the hallways, you scurried into the classroom through the open door, seeing the professor with his arms crossed over as he leaned against the desk. As soon as you saw the stern look on his face, you put on the other persona, your face immediately changed from strong to weak as the door slammed behind you. You whimpered, your whole body wincing and ducking.

It wasn’t until you felt a hand on your shoulder - one that wasn’t Dean’s (you knew for sure that it wasn’t - when you felt the hand you had choked out, ‘please don’t kill me. Please.’

Sam had instantly retracted his hand from your shoulder and took a few steps back stunned that you could accuse him of being a murderer.

Dean had dropped the tough guy act, much like you did, he came rushing over but at the same time he was cautious of his motions.

He had calmly spoke first, gaining your attention and your trust. ‘I’m sorry we scared you. It’s only Sam. He’s not here to kill you, okay? We’re here to help you, to see what’s goin’ on with you.’

‘Please don't make me relive it. I ca- I can't do it.’ You were beginning to become breathless, one of your hands had come to rest on your chest and the other hand hadn't decided between your own chest and Dean's arm. Dean had decided for you though, grabbing the hesitating hand and wrapping your shaking fingers around his wrist so you could feel the thrumming of his pulse against your fingertips.

After an hour of Sam and Dean trying their best to calm you. You had no more tears to weep. All the evidence of your pain had run down your cheeks to create the wet tracks that you could no longer hide. You could no longer hide your secret, not from the professors that you could trust, not from the people that had shown their true colours of caring. The Winchester Professors were there to help you, you had to tell them.

Sam had guided you to a seat, so that the three of you were no longer on the floor where you had collapsed.

They had be patient and given you your space but it was time to open up to them about what had been troubling you.

‘When I was a kid, my father was a police officer that was shot in a line of duty. It was just me, my mom and my baby brother. We thought it was over, we thought we were safe but my mom got a call a few days ago.’ You wiped away at another tear that had fallen, gulping before you proceeded. ‘She was told that the people who killed my dad had escaped prison and were after her. She didn’t tell us that my dad was a crooked cop and had killed three people that didn’t deserve to die. The guy that had broke into our home was family to the people that my dad had killed. Right before he shot my mom he told me and my brother that she was in on it, that my mom was the one that organised the shooting. He said that he would let me and my brother live because we didn’t do anything but sometimes I wish he did. I’m scared that he’ll come back and take my brother away from me and I can’t lose him. He’s all I’ve got.’

Sam and Dean sat with their mouths hung open and their hearts in their throats after it climbed its way up. They had to do something, and whatever it was, it felt as if they were raised into the live of helping others and that was exactly what they were going to do with you and your younger brother.

@thorne93 @becaamm @you-know-whodoesthat-crazypeople @jotink78 @love-kittykat21 @jensen-jarpad @hymnofthevalkyrie @capsheadquaters @kurosaki224-new-blog @supernatural-jackles @cyrilconnelly @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @iwantthedean @goody2shoessmut @ruprecht0420 @mrswhozeewhatsis @feelmyroarrrr @redlipstickandplaid @mogaruke @anotherhuntersjournal @sometimes-iwrite-blog @pureawesomeness001 @mizzezm @jpadjackles @jesspfly @urpeachess @skybinx-blog @aubzylynn @deansbaekaz2y5 @plaidstiel-wormstache @lilasiannerd @thewayward-winchesters-blog @valerieshubin @be-amaziing @winsmut @akshi8278 @purplediamon @graceforme86 @its-my-perky-nipples @dalikah3 @nervousmemzie @angel-blazing @mrsbatesmotel53 @lavieenlex @percussiongirl2017 @oneshoeshort @whit85-blog @muliermalefici @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @moonlover19 @emoryhemsworth @reallyverynodansi @milo-winchester-4ever @captainradicalpassion @captainemwinchester @ilsawasanacrobat @alicat-life @cojootromuelle @essie1876 @dancingalone21 @dslocum89 @atc74 @superwhomerlockinuum @spnbaby-67 @anitalasirenita @queencflair @weasleywinchester @ria132love @spn-fan-girl-173 @nightlyinsomnious @easelweasel @grace-for-sale @roxyspearing @cassieraider @winchesterdemon67 @jadalecki-jackles

#spnangstbingo #ash's hottest dean challenge #dean x reader #teacher!au #teacher!dean x student!reader #teacher!dean #professor!dean #professor!dean x student!reader #scruffy!dean #i didn't mean to #this wasn't supposed to be this angsty #free space #tw: character death #death #i went too deep #jayankles #jayankles writes #bailey writes

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eternalstereksecretsanta · 7 years ago

Text

Curiosity Killed the Cat

@do-what-the-knight-tells-you | AO3 | Hope you enjoy!

Peter makes a comment that gets Stiles curious, and that's never a good thing for anyone involved.

This is not what Stiles had pictured when Peter had said “born werewolf differences.” The man had been draped over his side of the sofa, languidly observing the weekly Scott and Derek pissing contest with feigned disinterest, when he decided to partake in his favoured past-time.

Riling up Stiles.

It took embarrassingly little. He’d noticed the glances, the smells, the tension. He’d just leaned over towards the boy, who was tapping his feet against the sofa armrest, and made one of his barely disguised innuendos. Well, at this time they were directed at Derek.

The boy had reddened up remarkably well in such a short time- Peter made a mental note to start timing him- and spluttered out something about a “stupid creeper-wolf.” He’d probably distracted the two alphas, but Peter just couldn’t resist another poke.

“You’ll need to be well-prepared,” he mused, voice silk and honey. “My nephew is an alpha; even you’d need some assistance for those pesky…born-werewolf differences. Rather, additions.”

“Peter, that’s enough.” Derek cut him off before he could go any further, his cheeks now reddening too.

Oh, that was an interesting development.

Peter raised his hands in surrender and leaned back into his sofa; his work done.

Stiles had seethed, which was an amusing sight while he was curled up in a beanbag on the ground, but his fickle curiosity was already off on the various werewolf lore sites google offered. So underneath his anger, Peter had known the boy was done.

And done he certainly was.

Stiles had barely returned home before firing up his old Bessie and scouring his favourites list for the more obscure ‘werewolf lore’ sites. He skimmed down through the page, passing the ‘mysticism and occult’ section with a scowl, before he landed on the title he needed.

‘Rituals of the Olde Wulf’ gave him a moment of cringing, but he soldiered through, if only to get the creepy voice of Peter out of his head.

He scrolled through the old html page- blinking rapidly to avoid eye contact with the gaudy, sparkling moon stickers at the site border- and his brows began to crease the further along he read. When he finished the paragraph, he leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers against the worn armrest.

Peter and a dodgy website were saying some very interesting things. Scott had never mentioned anything like this, but he was bitten. Derek had never mentioned anything like this, but he was Derek.

Stiles stood, kicking his chair back by the wheel. He powered down the hallway to the guest room and rummaged through the cupboard at the window-side. Triumphantly, he pulled out the leather journal, and flicked through it’s pages with more care than he would his own.

“Where were you, again?” He muttered softly, pressing his fingers into each creased corner of every page fondly. “Pumpkin soup…brioche…aha! Cześć, beautiful chocolate cake.”

He clicked a picture of the page and carefully replaced the journal back into the cupboard. Ten minutes later, he was firmly stirring through a home-made mixture and was all-at-once envious for the strength werewolves had. Maybe Scotty would come over if he begged nicely enough and…Oh.

No. That wasn’t happening.

And so it was, two hours later, that a very amused Peter found the box left at the loft’s front door. Leaning down, he lifted it up and smelt the utterly recognisable scent of Stiles and embarrassment and cake. This was…unexpected, as far as gestures went. A love-cake? The boy never ceased to amaze him.

Upon entering, he gave Cora a nod in greeting (which she didn’t return in yet another display of her immaculate manners), and made his way to the kitchen. He focused, but failed to hear any sound of his nephew in the loft. His amusement would have to wait, it seemed. He set the box in the middle of the kitchen island-directly in the view of the front door- and was careful to leave the scent of Stiles as preserved as he could.

“You didn’t happen to hear Stiles arrive, did you?” He asked Cora, who was snuggled into the sofa with her new iPad.

She barely glanced up.

“Stiles? Why would he be here?” She asked, swiping her finger across her screen absentmindedly. “It’s not pack meeting.”

Peter sighed, making his way to his sofa on the other side of the room.

“Ah, to be oblivious,” he commented, picking at the armrest with almost-claws. “He’s been by- he left a rather…heartfelt gift for our dear Alpha.”

That caught her attention. She peeked up at him through her new bangs, and he could see her face crease in a frown.

“A gift?” She asked, and then audibly sniffed until she located the box in the kitchen. “Stiles…gave him a gift?” She stood and wandered over to the present, poking around it carefully, yet not daring to touch a present meant for the alpha. “Did he…know? The significance, I mean.”

“I wouldn’t assume so,” Peter replied, suddenly behind her, making her raise her unseen hackles for a moment. He pretended not to notice, and instead deliberately trailed his fingers closer to the box. “Should we look?”

“No.” Her answer was all instinct.

He grinned, and flicked the lid open. They both peeked inside, and were deathly silent for a moment as they took in the…gift.

Peter began to laugh.

Oh, Derek’s face was going to be priceless.

Stiles had just finished washing up the pan. It sat drying in the rack while his heart pounded and his fingers itched for stimulation. What else could he clean?

Just as he began to rummage in the pantry for some old bowl he could procrastinate with, the door swung open.

He stumbled against the cupboard, fumbling for the door handle to pull himself up with and peer into the foyer.

Derek met his gaze expectantly. A familiar box was in his hands.

Ah.

“H-Hello?” Stiles began, taking a deep breath.

The alpha flinched for a moment, before stepping into the kitchen and setting the box down on the bench.

“Yes, the cake. Did you…eat it?” Stiles asked, still not moving away from the pantry.

Derek sighed, the soft sound thunderous in the silent room.

“Did you know what it meant?” He asked instead of answering. He stared meaningfully at the boy on the opposite side of the kitchen. “Giving a gift to the alpha?”

Stiles’ frown gave him the answer he needed.

“I…That’s a thing?” He stammered, stepping forward. “I just…Did you look at it?”

Derek’s eyebrows rose, remembering opening the lid to see the crude message scrawled in pale icing atop the chocolate.

“I mean, I’m sorry if I insulted one of your werewolf rules, but I didn’t know,” Stiles continued to ramble, tapping his fingers against the bench. “I couldn’t actually ask, you know. This was the best way I thought and-”

“You didn’t insult anything,” Derek interrupted him, a strangely soft expression overcoming him. “It wasn’t an insult. It was…an invitation.”

“An invitation?” Stiles repeated with a frown. “An invitation for…oh.”

The alpha nodded grimly.

“I understand it’s not consent,” he quickly amended. “But it’s…something personal among werewolves. Gifts, especially food, are not something we take lightly.”

“But if it had been to any other alpha,” Stiles began, gnawing at the edge of his lip, “one more morally dubious, of course, would it have been taken as consent?” Derek firmly pushed down his instinctive growl at the thought of the human giving anything to another alpha.

“Perhaps. But they’d be wrong.”

Stiles nodded, tapping furiously at the bench while the cogs in his brain churned through this information. Surely, this would take up an entire chapter in his biographical bestiary.

He was silent for a few minutes, until the alpha brought up the reason Stiles had made the cake in the first place.

Derek flipped open the lid, gesturing down the cake.

“Really, Stiles?”

Contrasting against the chocolate, the hastily scrawled ‘Are knots real?’ glowed in white icing. Maybe the smiley-face at the end was a touch too much, in retrospect.

A beat passed.

Stiles shrugged sheepishly and laughed nervously.

“A boy’s going to be curious right?”

He groaned at the stretch. It was too much; he wasn’t able to take it all. Was he breaking? Would Derek break him?

“Shh, Stiles,” the alpha in question murmured against the nape of his neck. “Relax.”

Another inch wider and he had to bit his lip to cut off a wrecked sob.

“You’re not the one getting a damn tennis ball shoved up his ass,” he hissed back, before gasping as the expanding knot brushed against a particularly sensitive spot. He breathed deeply, trailing off the end of his breath with a soft whine.

“Shh,” Derek muttered once more, tender hands brushing up and down the other man’s sides. “You’re doing fine.”

Stiles couldn’t help but choke out a laugh.

“How are you so…okay?” He asked, breathing heavily through the stretch. “Aren’t you feeling anything?”

Derek hummed against his skin, and rocked his hips ever-so-slightly. Stiles gasped, clenching his fingers tightly against the sheets and was painfully aware of every inch of the hard length inside him.

“I’d say I’m feeling a lot, right now,” the alpha replied; voice bordering on sarcastic. He kissed against a tender spot on the human’s neck, before continuing, “but I know you need to talk. You always need to talk.”

Stiles pouted, before shrugging. “You’re not wrong- ah!” He was cut off as he shifted his hips against the alpha and the knot brushed against another sensitive spot inside him.

All at once, he felt the simmering ache of his own need roar back to life with a vengeance. He groaned, and pushed back onto Derek. He felt somewhat vindicated by the sudden grunt he received in return.

“Careful,” Derek warned him, hands rushing to halt him by the hips. “You could hurt yourself.”

Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ushered to the side in pack emergencies, made to stay in the car, and even here nothing changed. He bit his lip and, with a surge of determination, clenched hard against the knot, and rocked his hips back as well as he could without causing discomfort. Derek gasped out at the movement, claws digging into the human’s side.

“I’m not…going to break,” Stiles growled out, and began a rhythm against the knot. Brushing over his sensitive walls, rocking back down, feeling a thrill of pleasure as Derek hissed out at the movements.

The alpha had already been close before they’d begun, and with a final throb, Stiles felt Derek release inside him. He felt a whine build up in his throat, and he moved faster with earnest; chasing his own release.

Ever considerate, Derek reached to the place where they were joined and circled the human’s entrance almost fondly- breathing out a chuckle when Stiles gasped and clenched further. He moved his hand up and began to stroke the human firmly, revelling in the sounds he drew from Stiles.

They grew in pitch, until finally, Stiles found his own release, choking out a whimper as his walls clutched firmly at the stone-hard knot deep inside him.

They settled into a comfortable position, and waited for the knot to recede. Derek kept his arms tight around him, gently kissing the nape of his neck every now and then.

“I suppose you should thank Peter for this,” Stiles said, once he had regained his voice. “He’s the one who made me curious.”

“He could have the cake, I guess,” Derek suggested wryly, remembering the discarded and likely too-warm dessert left on the bench.

“He can most certainly not have the cake, thank you,” the human hissed back, wriggling slightly to glare at the alpha over his shoulder. “That is a family recipe, and it would be a gift! Peter is getting no invitation from me and…Oh, my god, you’re joking, aren’t you?”

Derek shrugged, a small smile picking at the corner of his lip.

“It is known to happen, now and then,” he answered.

Stiles scowled at his pillow, but was unable to stop himself smiling in return.

“You know I’m going to need to test this whole ‘knotting’ thing a few more times right,” he said, semi-seriously. “Just to…fully sate my curiosity, you know.”

Derek hummed thoughtfully, as though he were actually considering refusing him.

“If you must.”

Oh, the troubles he went to to keep this human happy.

#eternalstereksecretsanta17 #esss17 #fic #submission #sterek

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allonsy-yesiwill · 7 years ago

Text

Your Worst Fear

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam, Cas

Summary: The boys and you are hunting an unknown creature with little to go on in the lore books, you decided to embrace the idea that maybe a popular writer might have more knowledge.

Word Count: 3900 ish...sorry not sorry

Warnings: language...I swear a lot sorry kids. If you plan on reading IT this has spoilers. If you just plan on watching the new movie you are fine.

A/N: I hope everyone has a happy and safe Halloween!!! @Lunarsaturn88 , I am super happy for this challenge….living on an island without power or super great internet I haven’t been able to start watching the new season and it’s kind of killing me however this gave me something to do. They say that St Croix should have 90% power by Christmas so I will be getting caught up on the new season then….#bestchristmasever :)

Written for @Lunarsaturn88 Halloween 2017 Challenge

Prompt: IT

"So we are legit hunting Pennywise," you sass Sam as he reads from the lore.

"Awesome, " Dean says laughing.

"Who's Pennywise?" Sam says with a confused look on his face.

"It's the clown from IT. Dean do you think he's going to look like the reboot or the Tim Curry versions," you smile. You and Dean are loving this, you couldn't have planned this any better.

"Really guys. First of all the lore doesn't say anything about it being a clown."

"Well that's the thing Sammy, Pennywise isn't really a clown either. It's not like Killer Clowns from Outer Space or anything. He picked a clown because it's a friendly figure to children and that's how he got them close enough. " It's all you can do to keep the laughing as you can see the frustration boil on Sam's face.

"Whatever," Sam lets out slamming the book closed and leaving the room.

You and Dean continue to talk about the movie and all the other things that Sam could look forward to. When Sam is out of ears reach you look at Dean, " So you really think it's a clown, like Pennywise."

"It would make sense, but I don't know Y/N it seems weird." You grab the loar book Sam was looking in finding the page Sam was reading from.

"It does say that the creature uses your own fears to capture children for harvesting. Oh that's vial, they pretty much harvest the organs and feed off of them. It doesn't says anything about the parents but they could just be a collateral damage. How many kids have gone missing?"

"From that town 3 and there was one teenager that just kind of snapped and went off the rails killing other people."

"Fuck, what about the history? This book says that these things feed like this every 20 years, was there anything that happened like this 20 years ago."

"Well 40 years ago there was a school explosion, siting a gas leak but seems questionable. Ah here we go, 20 years ago while nothing was ever linked or noted there we an increase in missing people, especially children. Over a 3 month period it looks like a total 35 that's really strange that it didn't get flagged on a federal level with some many disappearances."

"Alright so Pennywise it is."

You have been around the block enough times to know that sometimes the veil between normal and supernatural bleeds though. So it is completely possible that IT had some real facts in it. The loar book didn't have much information in it, the creature is said to only make themselves visible to children making your job much harder and no ways to kill it. It only suggested that children stay in groups of 4 or more to stay safe.

"It's late Y/N, go get some rest and we will leave first thing in the morning," Dean said standing up walking to his bedroom.

Yeah that's probably not going to happen. You think about what the biggest fear is, you already know what Sam and Dean's are, having to go on alone with no brother to stand by their side. The thought of losing both Sam and Dean did make your stomach turn and your eyes water however that wasn't the worst fear. You realize something much worse could happen that your boys forget you and continue on without you.

Sam was your best friends you told him everything, well almost everything. You never shared with him the feelings you harbored for Dean. While you had been hunting with the boys for over 5 years now and you accept your fate in the friendzone. You still cherished every touch, smile and comforting kiss on the forehead that Dean gave you.

"Well this should be fun," you say to yourself as you get up and head to your bedroom for what will probably be a restless night.

_________

You slept through your alarm so wake up to Dean walking in your room turning on all of your lights and shooting, " Rise and shine sweetheart, we are already 20 mins behind schedule." Before you can cover your head with your pillow, Dean reaches for it with another shoot, " I don't think so, get up we are leaving in 30." Dean sets down a cup of coffee on your nightstand before leaving the room with door wide up to insure he can make sure you don't fall back asleep.

The town is a short drive so you get dressed in your best FBIish looking attire. You grab your bag with your hand you walk barefoot to the garage where you know the boys are waiting for you.

"And there's our princess, thanks for joining us." You don't say anything to Dean just give him a glare. You aren't in the mood for it.

"You good, Y/N?" Sam asks as he puts your bag in the trunk.

No I am not good, this is going to be shit show. We don't really know what we are going up against and I am pretty sure some of the feelings I've been keeping a lid on are going to leak out. Instead you opt for, " Yeah just tired. I stayed up too late trying to find a way to kill Pennywise, good news I still don't have one by the way."

"I say we try decapitation first, then we can always mount the head for Sammy's room." Dean catches your smile in the rear view mirror as he's driving away from the bunker. "I knew you would like that idea Y/N."

"First we don't even know if this thing is a clown so you both need to just chill," Sam says trying to keep calm.

"But Sam if Dean and I wish hard enough maybe our wish will come true and it will be a clown," you sas.

"Really Y/N," Sam says with his best bitch face.

"Look Sam, there is little to nothing on this creature and what there is lines up almost perfectly with IT so we have to be aware of the possibility that this book has some actual facts in it. This isn't the first time we've seen this happen," you say feeling the weight of your words and the truth they are carrying.

The next 3 hours in the car are anything but relaxing, you can feel Dean's worry as he looks back to check on you more than once. However you never remove your eyes from your phone just simply exhaling, hoping that everything goes somewhat okay and that you will not need The Turtle or have to experience the Ritual of Chud to keep this creature dead. And more than that you hoped the deadlights weren't in your future.

When you arrive at the police station, everything looks small town normal. There are a few missing children posters but nothing like there should have been. The boys introduce you all as you flash your fake badge, it has become so second nature you don't even think about people calling you out on it anymore.

As Dean is talking to the local cop you start looking through the files. The boys follow Officer Gray into another part of the room and you continue to dig. There is little to nothing here, like they didn't even look for the children, it just doesn't make sense.

"Hey Y/N, I don't think we are going to need you for this one. Why don't you go catch a ride home and see what else is out there for you. We got this."

Deans words shocked you as you locked eyes with his. "But Dean this is weird there should be so much more information..."

He cut you off, " No you don't get it, you are the one making something here. You just want to scare Sam and I am not game. I think it's time for you to be on your way sweetheart."

You have never heard him use that word with that tone towards you. "So I guess the game has begun. You're not real," you let out with a confidence in your voice.

"Oh I am not real," you braced yourself for the next words you knew they would hurt but that would not make them real,"Let's talk about you not being real. You let those vamps catch you and torture you just so Sammy and me would have to save you and why? Because you needed a new best friends and hell his brother is hot. I don't even know why you still stick around, I do my best to make it clear as day to show you how not attrited I think you are but you still come back from more. No matter how many waitresses I shake up next to, you are always there the next morning to remind us of how pathic your life is and how useless you are."

You press your eyes shut like steal valutes trying to stop the tears.

"Y/N are you okay," you hear the worry in Sam's voice but you are too scared to open your eyes. So you let out a ," Yeah just got to step away," while almost running out of the police station.

You can hear Dean and Sam talking about you as you are walking out but Office Gray holds both of them back long enough for you to get outside. The blue sky brings little comfort, you let go of a few tears and remind yourself it's not real, this is your fear and you can face it. Dean would never really want you out of his life, he was worried about you pretty much all day check on you in the rearview mirror. You take a deep breath and dry you eyes just in time for the boys to come back.

"Y/N, what's going on are you okay?" Dean says pulling your face up to meet his.

"Yeah I am fine, however I think it's started. This kid has an older brother that apparently says he has been seeing weird things we should start there," you let out with heavy syh.

While Sam climbs in the car Dean let's out a soft "Hey sweetheart, whatever you saw we will always be there to protect you for it. Okay?"

You nod and smile, hoping that he believes you however you can tell otherwise.

"So we are headed to Ben's home to talk to his older brother, what was it Mark or something," Sam asks.

"Yeah Mark's his brother, he believes he was taken but everyone else thinks he washed away in the flood that happened."

"Yeah that's what the dick Robert told us. What kind of a name is Robert Gray," Dean laughs to himself.

"Is that name familiar to you guys at all because I think I have heard it before," you let out digging in the files Officer Gray had given you.

_______

Heading back to the hotel room, Mark told you everything you needed to hear. Nothing as bad as what happened in IT. No pictures crying blood or anything super disgusting. However he did say he saw his brother following him in a creep fashion,like he was being hunted but his brother was not a ghost you knew that.

"So back that the station, what did you see?" Sam asked quietly while Dean was in the shower.

"Howler monkeys, " you said with a straight face looking something else up on your computer.

"First of all Y/N, you can't lie to me and second of all you definitely can't use the same lie Dean used."

"Proof it," you sassed.

"I am proving it now, was it Dean or me telling you to go away?"

"Sam why do you hate me, " you moan with a big eye roll," it was Dean being less than awesome."

In true Sam fashion he wraps you in a bigfoot sized arms and says, " You know neither of us what you to go anywhere kido, I know why this is your fear but it doesn't have to be."

You finally give into Sam's hug and reassure him that you know all of this and that's how you were able to shake out of it. Dean walks into the room covered only in a towel for the waste down, "Everything good."

"Yeah just peachy, you know moster no known way to kill it everything is great over here," you sass as Sam has let you go.

"So guys I was thinking about that and the loar book says it's true to whatever form it is in. So if it's human we can kill it even if it's not really human. We just have to believe it, if our fear is that we can't kill it then well we won't be able to."

"Go it, it bleeds it can be killed. I am still game on decapitation. What do you think Y/N?" Dean asks.

Well Mr Dean Winchester I think you could be trying to kill me right now, walking around in only a towel. You can't even make eye contact with him without thinking about the worlds that rolled off of his body doubles lips this afternoon.

"Um, sure why not," you say turning your attention back to your computer. "Robert Gray, really doesn't sound familiar to you guys at all?"

"Nope sweetheart," Dean let out. There is the voice that warms your heart, the tone of playful harmless flirting.

"Something doesn't feel right, whatever this thing has planned for us it's going to be good and it's going to try and pull us apart so we need to be on our game."

The conversation continue into the night before you fall asleep in Dean's bed. You wake up the next morning with his strong arms wrapped around you. This feeling right here, this is how you know Dean will never kick you to the curb, sure even if he thinks you are ugly or useless the protective Dean will always due his best to keep you and Sam safe.

"Good morning," Dean lets out before rolling onto his back," how did you sleep?"

"Great you know I have one of those electric blankets I forget the name...Dean Winchester's something or other to keep me warm all night."

"I hear those are expensive you should make sure to take care of that," Dean laughs out getting out of bed. Oh my if this fucking clown doesn't kill me it's quite possible that Dean will give me a heart attack in those boxer briefs.

Everyone is up and moving, talking about the case and who to talk to next.

"Holy fucking shit, Robert Gray, in the book that's what they call him. Stephen King actually says that's IT's name Pennywise the dancing clown is just a character IT plays to get kids," you yell out.

"So we go to the station and get him alone, " Sam asks.

"Nope there has to be a water tower, he has to be storing these kids somewhere. That's going to be his/her home."

"Her?" Dean asks.

"Look Dean, I am not sure. If it's like the original book this creature is going to be powerful and could be from another world...I just don't know."

"So like everything from the books could be true,"Dean says with a raised eyebrow.

"Of course you read the book with a Ritual of Chud, yeah that won't be happening for a few reason. The first and most obvious one being we didn't do this as children and we have already come of age," you say rolling your eyes.

Dean grabs his coffee and gets ready to join Sam at the car when he let's out "Good, sharings not really my thing," as he brushes by you. Oh my Dean, might kill me first you think to yourself.

You spend the day driving around looking at possible location of where this knockoff pennywise could be calling home only to find nothing. Then you see it on the map, storm drains and a large drainage field. You give Dean the directions to check out this next location.

"Holy fuck, this is creepy," you let out," Okay so big take aways....stay together, if you see something try to manipulate your fear change your fear to something we can kill. If IT can bleed we can kill it. Lastly don't kill IT if you are facing your own fear, I don't want to chance the deadlights are a really thing."

You and the boys load up packing guns and machetes for the battle ahead, not knowing what you will find. Dean takes the lead going into the first tunnel, you are all staying close looking around seeing nothing yet.

Then you feel it an unwelcome hand on your shoulder, " Dean! Sam!"

By the time they turn you are gone, fucking really teleportation is really, this mother fucker can do it. When you can open your eyes again you start swinging your blade at Dean.

"Oh sweetheart, what do you think you are doing," Dean says with a cold tone.

"Ganking a monster," you sass knowing that cold tone was not Dean.

"Oh well in that case I am not too worried. Because you don't really kill monsters I do, but first you always find a way to get captured and fuck everything up. "

You try as hard as possible to re-focus your fear to something easier to kill, you do you best to channel all of Sam's fears of clowns. Even though you were swinging your blade at Dean the reality of it is you weren't doing to be able to take off his head you just couldn't. Before you know it IT's gone.

You are on guard heading further into the drain, you can hear Dean and Sam's voices coming from afar so you pick up your pace. You walk into something you never thought you would see.

"Dean you failed me, I thought you wanted to keep me safe. You know just be friends so that you don't break my heart. But what did you do, you got me killed. Way to go hero. I should have never trusted you, sure Sammy over there would probably sell his soul to save me but you can't do that, not again. You only get out of that deal once. So what's next, Sam makes the deal with another demon. I come back but it wasn't you that saved me so it's not going to be you I am going to stay with. I will probably search for years to try and find a way to save Sammy....leaving you alone. No one to sit next to you in your precious Baby."

You can see Dean's blood boil but at the words as he takes a step forward, but the demon you tosses both Dean and Sam against the wall crushing their windpipes slowly so they are listening to every nasty word coming out of your mouth.

If it bleeds I can till it, you think to yourself, running your hands over your body looking for that last minute small blade you grabbed just in case. You waste no time creeping behind the demon version of yourself when you are close enough Dean sees you and you see one single tear roll down his cheek before you slam the blade into your own back.

"Good thing I know how to gank a demon,"you proudly sassed. However you're still not sure what will happen next, you see Sam and Dean fall to the ground and you see a brighter light than normal when killing a demon. Then you feel it a wave pushing you back, your body tumbling out of control before everything fades to black.

_______

When you wake up you're in a hospital bed, not really surprised you look around to see if Sam or Dean is in a bed next to you but see nothing. Looking around the room there are flowers, balloons, pictures in frames, you start to wonder how much time has passed.

You close your eyes and pray to Castiel that Dean will be the next person who walks into the door . However it's not, it's a nurse who is surprised to see you awake.

"Good to see you moving sweetheart," she says and the panic sets in with her comforting tone. Was it all a dream was it all fake where you really here the whole time. She can see your worry so she chimes in," Don't worry Y/N your boyfriend will be here any minute now, he comes every day and tells you stories about monsters. He said you loved a good horror movie. He's a keeper and his brother with the hair, I am not sure how you were able to choose between the two of them darling."

She helps you adjust the bed and sit up to drink some water. The nurse brings over a mirror and hair brush asking if you wanted to get ready for Mr Sexy as she called him. Looking in the you see a new scar on your face and while your hair is longer you have not aged too much.

"How long was I out for," you ask with almost no voice.

"6 months to the day. It's funny Mr Sexy brought in a specialist form some big town and after looking at everything he said it would 6 months, who would have thought on the dot."

"Doctor Novak has never been wrong," Dean says standing in the doorway.

"There's the lucky man, looks like she get to see you today," the nurse says finishing up and leaving the room.

"Dean," you try to say only coming out has a hoarse whisper. With a few long strides he's right by your bed. Before you can even think he's got you wrapped in his arms tight enough for you to feel safe without crushing you, okay maybe a little bit of crushing was happening. When he places his lips to your forehead you can't help but let go of a tear.

"I am glad you're okay, Cas said it would take time something about ancient creature and standing too close." Pulling away a bit he places his forehead to yours looking into your eyes while cupping your face. "I know this might be too much but I made a promise to myself that the moment those eyes were open I would do this." His lips met yours as if he didn't want to break you, you returned his kiss gently as his hand caressed your face.

You clear your throat taking in the room once more, realizing that all of these things were only from Dean and possibly Sam. "Well it's about time Winchester, I mean really I hear we have been dating for 6 months." Your voice is still a bit hoarse but that doesn't matter Dean heard every word of it laughing at your comment, pressing his lips to yours once more.

Tags

@keepcalmandbeajunkie

#dean #Dean Winchster #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #it #fanfic #halloween #Dean girl

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quietpagan · 7 years ago

Text

What Falls and What Grows, ch. 12

“ …The weed, tough

As the rock it leaps against,

Unless plucked to the last

Live fiber

Will plunge up through dark again.

The weed also has the desire

To make clean,

Make pure, there against the rock."

- Lucien Stryk

Anglia began to suspect the moment they turned down the alley. She opened her mouth to yell but Alexandra punched her hard in the chest, knocking her to the ground. She gasped for air and rolled out of the way just as Alexandra’s foot stomped the stone where her neck had been. Alex aimed a kick, but Anglia caught her foot and pushed her off balance, and they rolled behind a pile of old boxes, the cobblestones scraping their arms and faces.

Alex pulled back to hit her again, but Anglia swept her arm up in an arch and a line of red streaked across Alex’s breasts. She automatically withdrew but landed a solid slap to Anglia’s face.

“I don’t want to kill you,” she growled, grabbing the other woman’s hands before she could use her knife again.

“I work for the Trollhunter,” she said.

“You bloody traitor,” Anglia spat, baring lengthening teeth. Alex pulled her torso up and slammed the other Changeling’s head again against the ground. Anglia’s eyes glowed in anger and Alexandra simmered hers in return.

“Dammit, woman, I’m trying to help you! You think that Gunmar’s return will do anything for us? At least the Trollhunter won’t kill me if I make a single mistake!” “Gunmar made us everything we are,” Anglia replied. Alex’s grip on her shoulders tightened and Anglia cried out as claws pierced her skin.

“You think that’s a good thing? We had actual families, damn you! People who cared about us! We used to fit. Now even the ones who created us treat lower than goblin filth!” Anglia spat in her eye; the sensation sent Alexandra into a brief panic, the remembrance of Bular’s sword on her face running through her mind. The other Changeling used the distraction to unbalance her, standing and grabbing Alex by the shoulders so that she could throw her against the wall.

“Gunmar made me strong,” Anglia sneered, her lengthening fingernails scoring lines into Alex’s flesh. “And he rewards those of us who serve him with loyalty. I suppose you would know nothing of that.”

The pain was irritating, but Alexandra couldn’t transform or don her armor; if Anglia survived, if she got away, then she would know what Alex looked like, could spread the word – her position as Trollhunter was powerful but fragile, and would not survive her being exposed as a Changeling.

She pushed against the wall to dislodge the other woman. Anglia came rushing at Alex, swift and deadly with her knife held before her, but Alex was the stronger; with her two forms beginning to merge her human body slowly gained strength and durability, and when she grabbed Anglia’s arm she twisted it and broke it at the elbow. Anglia didn’t have time to cry out before she was grabbed into a headlock, Alexandra’s forearm steadily putting pressure on her throat. She kicked behind at Alex’s legs, but slowly, slowly sank onto the ground, until Alex could no longer feel her pulse.

She took a minute to catch her breath, and then rummaged for the dead woman’s wallet, removing her jewelry and scattering her purse across the alley. She emerged from the alley with a minimum of dishevelment, and she tucked Anglia’s knife in her pants and walked away, only pausing to throw the other Changeling’s earrings and horrible troll-tooth necklace over the side of a bridge.

The gyre trip to Bath was quick, but AAARRRGGHH still needed a few moments to settle his stomach. Alexandra gave him the rest of her coffee and bought another for herself with Anglia’s stolen money. It tasted more bitter than usual. The scratches on her shoulders were hidden by a wide scarf, and the memory of them itched.

Blinky, once he was assured that she was alright, looked almost unforgivably excited. He began spouting off trivia and tidbits of fact about the baths and the lore of, but although AAARRRGGHH was as engaged as he could be, Alex only nodded in the appropriate places. A wave of exhaustion had hit her very suddenly, and all she wanted to do was curl up in bed – preferably on the other side of the country, where she wouldn’t have to be Trollhunter – and sleep for a few good days. Her fight with Anglia had left her with a significantly more sour tone than usual, and she was tired and disinterested in a way that ‘exhausted’ just didn’t cover.

Blinky’s chattering – something that she would have been invested in on any other day – was annoying rather than engaging, and she gripped her stone coffee mug tightly to keep from throwing it at his head. She was tired and grumpy and didn’t need to raise suspicion by taking it out on someone else.

“…And it was believed that the waters, once drunk, could cure a myriad of illnesses and…Master Alexandra, are you listening?”

Alex almost nodded automatically before she caught herself. She blinked her eyes open and looked at Blinky’s annoyed face.

“No,” she said. “No, I’m actually not. Is any of this going to help us find Vendel’s contact?” Blinky huffed, just as the gyre began to slow.

“To know how to handle anything, Master Alexandra, we must first understand the history and context of what we are dealing with. It does not do to simply run in without any awareness of the state of affairs of our situation.”

Alex dismounted the gyre with a snarl, and knew Blinky and AAARRRGGHH were exchanging glances. The cuts on her shoulders and chest itched and pulled, there was an irritating hum just under her skin that she couldn’t shake, and she really just wanted to punch something. The fact that Blinky was right didn’t help, especially since he had just admonished her like a child.

They had been dropped off under the very same bridge Alex had used to discard Anglia’s personal effects, a glowing portal connecting the gyre trail to the outside. A quick, sickening pang echoed in her chest and she pushed it away, climbing up the wall and watching the various night-goers until it was clear.

Alexandra still carried the runestone that Blinky had bought to disable the cameras, and after sneaking over to the baths they quietly scaled the outside of the building.

The statues standing above the main pool eerily reminded Alexandra of the stone bodies of the fallen Hunters, and though they were beautiful to look at she avoided glancing at them. Blinky, oddly silent, seemed to know his way.

There was a clamor behind them, then a soft sigh and the flicker of a flashlight. Alexandra whirled around to see AAARRRGGHH holding an unconscious human guard, lifting him in the air by one ankle. AAARRRGGHH gave her a sheepish smile before he softly tucked the man against the railing and ate the flashlight. Alex’s nerves were still on edge as he quietly rumbled past her to follow Blinky down the stairs. She cursed herself and took after him, shaking herself to try and get rid of her shivers. She needed to calm the fuck down. She should have been on the lookout for a night-guard; she should have seen the man. They very nearly got caught because of her frazzled state of mind.

Blinky led them to a room with a deep, circular pool, one that Alex had glanced at but passed by. The water was pitch black but it shimmered with greens and golds from the nightlights. Blinky hopped over the glass barrier and passed his hand through the water. It came up dry.

“The pool is much deeper than it appears to humankind,” he said, turning behind him and obviously enjoying the looks in incredulity that Alex knew she and AAARRRGGHH were wearing. “In reality is it a local portal, leading to a pocket dimension of similar rooms. Come along, my friends.”

He stepped forward and disappeared into the pool without a splash. Alex swore and jumped over the barrier, following hot on his heels. She didn’t know if there were any goblins left guarding the area, or if the area had been trapped…

With a rush of an odd dark-light, she landed exactly where she had jumped, as if on solid ground, but in a different room, the rounded walls and engaged columns embedded with glowing gems and uncut crystals. A soft thundering made her scamper to the side before AAARRRGGHH landed nearly on top of her.

“Blinky be careful,” he murmured. Blinky, who was wrist-deep in several files of papers, nodded vigorously.

There was no troll slumped over the desk, nor a body hidden behind the clean lines of shelves and books, but the air had the unmistakable odor of troll blood.

How had Anglia done it, Alexandra wondered vaguely. Her knife? Her claws? She resisted the urge to scratch at her wounds, and thought about the woman’s very sharp and prominent teeth. Had she disposed of the body in the river just a few blocks down, or was it still hidden somewhere…

The tidy office was only sullied by a few loose papers scattered on the floor, and Blinky bent to pick them up.

“The stone was certainly here,” he murmured. “As was our contact. Although it seems…”

Two of his fingers trailed over a little spot of purple blood on a shelf, the wood cracked as if someone had been thrown against it. The rubbery scent of goblin lingered on the walls.

“…That she may be here no longer. We need to find out if her attackers managed to locate the stone, and whatever other information our contact may have possessed.”

They shuffled quietly about the small office, none of them willing to make too much noise. AAARRRGGHH took his time looking through the collection of texts on the back wall, while Blinky looked over the contacts’ papers. Alex busied herself engaging both nose and eyes, running her fingers over the roughened walls and examining the various artifacts and collections for clues, while her mind was damnably occupied elsewhere.

She hadn’t noticed the pool was deeper than it was supposed to be. Even in her human form, she could see the troll magic, and she hadn’t noticed the difference. How much else had she missed?

Her fingers dented the wooden lid of a decorated box, trying to jiggle the key without making too much of a noise, while trying to control her temper.

Really, she thought at the blasted thing. Really?

AAARRRGGHH took it from her when she put it down with deliberate care. She handed him the key. The box sounded empty anyway and she was utterly useless. Her nerves were frazzled and she couldn’t get rid of the hum under her skin, and her exhaustion was making it difficult to concentrate on their given task. The fact that AAARRRGGHH apparently could open the stupid little box with no complications didn’t help.

“Blinky…”

Alex turned at the tone of his voice. His back was to her, but she heard him drop the box. His arm began to shake, and she silently walked around him and took the stone out of his hand. Blinky came jogging up, looking ready to explode in excitement before he caught the stricken look on his companion’s face.

Alexandra retrieved the discarded box and replaced the stone, giving it to Blinky to stow in one of his pockets. To AAARRRGGHH she gave her scarf, when his eyes began to water. They left the office and the baths in silence.

AAARRRGGHH made a concerned grunt at the scratches on her shoulders as they anxiously waited in line for the London Bridge, but she waved him off with her best ‘comforting’ smile.

“Bit of a bar fight,” she said.

Vendel did not take the news of his contact’s death well, and he was less than happy about having a piece of Killahead Bridge handed to him.

“I had hoped…” he’d murmured to himself, his form disappearing within the lit interior of the Hearthstone.

Alex left before Blinky could rally himself to make a motivational speech. Her bag and pockets were heavy with the books she had stolen from the Baths, and she dropped them on the bed to mix with Kanjigar’s collection, ignoring the call of the library.

There were a few people who called to her for help or advice on her way to the entrance to the market, and she quietly helped them settle their problems. After Blinky’s ‘Changeling’ clusterfuck many more of the denizens of Trollmarket were sympathetic and encouraging to her, and although she appreciated the rise in reputation the changeability of everyone’s opinion was rather disheartening. Less than a week ago the majority of Trollmarket thought her cowardly and unorthodox for letting Draal live, but here she was, advising a family on the best way to expand their living quarters for their newest child. It didn’t matter that she had no clue what she was talking about – they still asked. She couldn’t decide quite how she felt about it.

Noon was rising in the human world when she was, at length, allowed time to herself, and she walked to the museum with its warmth on her back. A brief stop in a tourist shop and the bathroom of an ice cream store lent her a decent disguise; she bought her museum ticket and wandered around with all the care of an careless art student.

It was amazing, really, exactly how much Nomura was able to get past the radar. The mural featuring boars with six eyes really caught Alex’s interest, as did several pieces of troll-made weaponry. Had nobody questioned these? Had Nomura somehow explained their oddities into the realms of benign eccentricity? Arcadia was a melting pot of ‘interesting’ characters and history – had it been on purpose?

The notion that Strickler, Nomura, Bular, and the hoard of goblins they kept were not alone as the only magical denizens of Arcadia made her shiver. Trollmarket was safe in its underground nest, but if Bular had an entire army hidden on the surface it did not mark well for the people living in the city.

goes up and tries to find out more about he Changeling community and plans;

although she’d known they were tracking down the pieces, she didn’t know they had actually found any and were building the bridge in Arcadia.

She regrets completely distancing herself from the Changeling community; she should have taken on a different identity, or kept in touch as someone else, or kept up her information. Now she has to guess on who is current with Bular and Strickler and who’s fallen by the wayside, because she’s not sure who she can safely impersonate in order to infiltrate.

Alexandra dutifully sketched everything that caught her eye, aimlessly perambulating around the museum until she reached the exhibits that were under construction. There was a sign, but no door, no rope, which seemed hopelessly easy; either Nomura was that confident about nobody seeing anything, or she had lost a few brain cells since the last time Alex had seen her. Either way, it was broad daylight, and Alexandra took the opening.

She scampered up to a half-finished Viking exhibit, looking under her lashes at the rest of the room while she sketched it. It was rather empty, a little messy, but although there was no gigantic bridge there was a distinct tinge of goblin, and perhaps the tingling remnant of magic. Boxes were piled against one wall and Alex carelessly ambled over to them, adding a little shading to her drawing of the Viking ship’s prow. Every box was sealed, and she dared not try and pry one open.

Around the corner of the room were yet more boxes, some of them quite sizeable. Magic lingered in the air.

A very soft, deep breathing echoed through the space, and the hair on the back of her neck stood up.

Where did Bular stay during the day?

“Hey!” Alex spun around, clutching her drawing pad to her chest. Nomura grabbed her shoulder and pulled her close.

“I don’t believe you belong in this part of the museum, miss.”

“B-but my thesis,” Alex whimpered, showing her the drawing with shaking hands.

“I just need a few more minutes – “

“Out.”

Nomura quickly but quietly steered her to the exit, pushing her none-too-gently to the public parts of the museum.

“Are you the curator? Can I come back? I just need another look at the detail work that’sreallyallIask – “

“That part of the museum is closed,” Nomura hissed, releasing Alex’s shoulder with a firm shove. She took a deep inhale and seemed to calm a bit. Alexandra smoothed her hair and glasses, her eyes wide and glassy.

“Please – “

“It will be open to the public next season.”

Nomura’s tone brook no argument, and Alex left in a flurry of tears and muttered curses. She didn’t stop walking until she was far into the town, where she ducked into a bank and removed her disguise in the bathroom. Sketchpad, glasses, and lacy overshirt were dumped in the trash, and she pulled her hair into a tight bun before washing off as much makeup as she could. From art student to shabby woman, with a blocky, angular face, a little too tall and far too toothy. She exited the bank with a carefree air, and the goblin that she spotted in the bushes didn’t give her a second glance.

One of the things she had learned early on was to never think while playing a part. If she had dwelled on her worry about being caught, or her regret about never establishing an identity in the Changeling echelons, or her questions about the current hierarchy in the ranks, she would never have gotten far. But back in Trollmarket she could dwell, and dwell she did.

She heavily regret never constructing a new identity for herself, one that she could merge into the community of Changelings around the world. She had cut herself off as a safety measure as soon as she could, but now she didn’t know who ranked what, who was where, who was even alive or dead or available for her to impersonate. If she had stayed, if she had made herself into someone important, she could have gathered so much more information, been privy to so many more secrets. The Changeling community was not exactly close-knit, every one of them being suspicious bastards, but knowing who was dead or not was extremely easy to confirm, making impersonation a rather difficult and convoluted job. She would have to first find another Changeling, then learn where they ranked, then learn who knew of their current appearance and location, then find a way to incapacitate them long enough for her to impersonate...simple spying would be easier.

Stricklander had always been one of the highest in the community, but Nomura had not. Alexandra remembered her from the Darklands, a mere trainer to those who had survived to be strong enough to carry a weapon. Now she was in Arcadia, housing the son of Gunmar in her museum. Did she outrank Stricklander now, or were they equals? Half of the time it depended on Bular or Gunmar’s mood, anyway.

She seemed to have control of the goblins in any case, unless wherever Stricklander was based simply didn’t have the room. But she was housing Bular…

Alex hadn’t seen any sign of a reconstructed bridge, although she hadn’t examined the contents of all of those boxes, but she knew what magic felt like and there was some strong magic going on in the museum. That, and the fact that Bular had his minions looking for pieces of the Bridge, was more than enough for her to reason that they were actually under construction, or at least had the material gathered in preparation for.

But before she went to Blinky with her suspicions, she needed to do a little research.

She bought a small dinner and tea, and wandered back to Kanjigar’s quarters. What had been fed to her in the Darklands about the Bridge and its history and magic was, much like Gunmar’s origin, probably twisted and misconstrued for propaganda.

Troll Bridges Across the European Continent, The Final Days: an account of the victory of Deya the Deliverer, and Historical Magical Artifacts all looked promising, and Alex hauled them from Kanjigar’s shelves for perusal. The activity of Trollmarket was a distant buzz in the far reaches of the cavern where the former Hunter’s quarters were located, and the business of her thoughts quieted some in the peace.

Her destroyed eye ached, and when she rubbed at it she noticed that the shivering hum in her chest was gone. The thrum of the Heartstone had replaced it without her noticing.

An hour, two geographical texts, and one Welsh troll census later, she found the location of the Heartstone that was located under Wales, where she had been born. Less than a hundred miles away from Bath, underneath the Vale of Neath and the Craig y Ddinas, the Dinas Rock, found within.

Her heartstone, which she had not felt for centuries, had been thrumming in her blood, and she hadn’t realized until she was across the damn ocean.

She’d been less than a hundred miles from her birthplace. From the place where she had been taken. From where she never had visited, nor had thought she would ever visit.

The Bridge conspiracy can wait an hour.

Blinky had several volumes in his library featuring the names and births of trolls all over the world; he was one of many record-keepers. Alex marched into his library and took every record-book written between the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries before combing through Kanjigar’s own records and books.

Within twenty minutes she was neck-deep in Arthurian legend and Welsh mythology, and after four hours was taking shaky notes with both right hands, listing comparisons between myths and checking story against story.

Her eyes began to itch and droop after several hours of reading, but she found something in the third volume of genealogies belonging to Welsh trolls and their families. Most of the lines were long dead, though a few still remained around her original Hearthstone. There had been a mass egress of trolls from the British Heartstones and although there were a few records missing during the time of the migration, Alex managed to find a record of her birth family.

She wanted to throw something.

“Lineage of Daghildr the Dangerous, born 1343, died 1630.

Born app. 1050. Daughter of Dara, daughter of Drysi, and Finnyr, son of Ormr. Died 1678.

Children by Rollo, son of Seneca: Nerthuz Alexius, born app. 1338

Grandchildren by Gruffudd, son of Drusus: Blodwen Alexius, born app. 1629, died 1645; Volundr Alexius, born app. 1647, died 1802.”

And there she was. A single, incorrect entry, next to a brother she’d never known about.

Alexandra put down her pencil before she snapped it.

They’d written her off as dead.

Logically, she knew it was expected; not one entry, in any of the books, had logged a child down as ‘stolen by Gumm-Gumms’, but still. They marked her as dead, and to them, she was as good as.

She wondered very much how the many-armed Trollhunter had felt while seeing Alexandra in the Void, knowing that she was a Changeling and a member of her sister tribe.

Alexandra turned the page, and kept reading. The Trollhunter had given no indication, had offered no greeting. She’d probably never met Alexandra, even with the low birth rate of trolls, so one missing child from a different clan wouldn’t have…

…

…She picked up a different book.

I am not going to think about this.

Her mother was still alive, probably her father as well.

I am not going to think about this.

She wondered if her brother had been taken as well. She wondered if he was one of the Changed children too weak to survive or too slow or killed for sport or if she had killed him in competition or –

She was not going to think about this!

Alexandra threw the book across the room, vellum pages tearing free and scattering through the air.

Fuck them! Fuck all of them!

Hundreds of years of Trollhunters’ families littered the floor, and she had to refrain herself from going over and stomping on them, for all the good it would do.

“FUCK them!”

She remembered her family. In the aftermath of the war and the wake of the trolls’ sudden migration, protocols had been overlooked, rules had been ignored; Alex had been taken too late, assigned too early, given to a human family that was poorly-researched and sent in with minimal training. Most whelps were taken as infants, rarely over ten years old, when they were the most impressionable and more likely to forget their families. Alex had been small for her age and was taken too late. She remembered her family. She’d had time.

And they had written her off as dead. She was a shame to them the moment she was taken.

Like it was her goddamn fault. ..

Fervently she scanned through tomes and scrolls, barely taking anything in in her attempt to distract herself. Her lantern gently fluttered the walls with shadows as she absently re-arranged the bookshelves in order of color, glancing through anything with an interesting cover.

“…destroyer of the storm-sun,

beloved follower of the seeress…”

Kanjigar hadn’t marked her name down on his list of children stolen to the Darklands. Had she simply been overlooked? Had her family lied about what happened to her?

“…the seeds of Foeniculum vulgare are known to relieve ills of the stomach…”

How dare they write her off, as if she had done something shameful. Did they even mourn her? And what had killed off her brother? Had he been taken as well? Would she have met him in the Darklands, fought him, killed him…

“…None best the mighty power of she

To the Myrddin jewel beholden…”

She was the goddamn Trollhunter now. It didn’t matter now what they thought of her. Good or bad, she had ascended to the ‘highest of offices’, as Blinky said, had tricked her way into Trollmarket, had wounded the son of Gunmar…

“…And changed limb and form for war…”

Not a single GODdamn person was going to tell her that she wasn’t worthy when she had the amulet pulsing in her pocket, and she would be damned before she let anybody else throw her away like a dirty secret and

Wait

What…was that?

Alex re-opened the book she was shelving and slowly turned the pages, the light of her amulet translating the languages until she found what had caught her eye.

“Through stars and smoke lay many warriors slain

And haunting spirits’ cries all of stone and crystal shook

But fairest bane to darkest evil smote

And to her husband struck a mortal blow.

None best the mighty power of she

To the Myrddin gem beholden

In deadly light of day fearlessly strode the queen

And with dark arts changed limb and form for war.

OH…!

Alex spent a very long time reading and re-reading the Eddaic poems, and then ten minutes laying on Kanjigar’s nest, laughing until she ached and cried.

Deya the Deliverer had been a Changeling.

And absolutely no one knew.

A/N: YOU WANT BACK-ALLEY MURDER, YOU GET BACK-ALLEY MURDER! Honestly I was just too tired to write it when I posted last time, so here it is today.

I love my job, but it’s damn exhausting, especially since we’ve only got two techs, including myself. Working nine days at a time is the norm, but we’ve had a couple of two- or three-week stretches without days off. It’s getting better now that we’re using different medications and we’re not managing the seizure of two thousand neglected animals, but I could barely keep awake today. It’s funny because I also can’t bring myself to sleep. I’m going to get less than four hours at the time of typing this and I CANNOT STOP. Why do I do this. Why do I do this. So if this chapter has a note of exhaustion, that’s why.

Take note that this is the first time Alex is being nice to Blinky without an ulterior motive.

Update: We finally got a new tech and the hurricane really cleared us out, but it’s, it’s, I’m sorry. I’m tired and I think I finally just got sick of having this chapter being unfinished. So this chapter was written out of pure spite. I wonder if that reflects in the writing. I’m so done with this chapter. I hope it’s alright because I’m just spitting it out and don’t want to see its face again for another bloody month.

I was going to have Alex be the granddaughter of the many-armed Trollhunter, but that would have been too neat, too nice. I want her to have this thing because she’s destined for it, not because it’s her destiny as the granddaughter of a Trollhunter or some-such.

Some of the poetry is taken out of the Prose Edda book Skáldskaparmál, which I literally just got straight off of Wikipedia. I had such a bitch time writing that damn poem so I hope it sounds okay.

The ‘art student’ disguise is a homage to xerios’s fanfic Burning Bridges, which can be found on AO3 and is super good. As a former art student I can actually say that we can get away with a lot of shit if you just bring a camera or a sketchpad.

And I’m just going to point out that the name ‘Deya’ means ‘destroyer of her husband’. Make of that what you will.

#trollhunters #drabble #blinky #aaarrrgghh #vendel

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brynne-lagaao · 7 years ago

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(Fanfic) Set in Stone - Chapter Nine

Title: Set in Stone

Pairing: Sarumi

Chapter: 9/18

Rating: M

Mirrors: AO3 | Website

Summary: Yata wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he performed a summon on his own in a fit of drunken loneliness. It definitely wasn’t some asshole demon with a bad attitude, even if that demon happened to be frustratingly hot. But breaking their contract was going to mean working together, and he wasn’t sure how much of that he could take before he snapped… one way or another.

Note: Thank you to @dropletons for being my beta and to @chromekins for helping with the magic aspect. This fic is not entirely accurate in terms of modern magic and the demon lore was basically made up to suit the story, but I tried to keep somewhat of an authentic feel, so hopefully that succeeded.

The sky hadn’t cleared by the time they returned to Munakata’s office, but the rain at least tapered off to a drizzle by the time they came out again, allowing for another flight to the Homra bar so that Yata could pass along the information about Hisui – which Kusanagi didn’t seem particularly surprised or bothered about.

That was kinda what he’d expected – Kusanagi had ways of getting information that Yata would never have been able to figure out – but loyalty had prompted him to speak up anyway. Just in case.

Three of his friends – Kamamoto, Bandou, and Akagi – all happened to be there this time, and Yata stayed just long enough to introduce Fushimi and give a grudging explanation of his current situation.

An explanation that Fushimi kept interrupting with embarrassing, unnecessary details, which his friends all seemed to find hilarious. Fucking traitors, all of them.

“You didn’t have to say all that,” he grumbled when they pushed through the door into his place after flying in.

“If I didn’t, it wouldn’t get said,” Fushimi responded without any sign of remorse, lowering his eyelids and offering a little smirk when Yata turned to glare at him.

Fuck, that expression was still dangerous as hell. Yata couldn’t help but feel nervous at being the focus of it, acutely aware of his exposed skin as he cleared his throat to respond. “Yeah, well, I’m fine with that.”

“You’re the one who values honesty,” Fushimi responded breezily, lowered his lids even further to allow his lashes to veil his eyes – and Yata had to look away, hastily tugging his shirt out from where he’d tucked it into his shorts and pulling it on.

It seriously felt like he needed a barrier against that look sometimes.

The evening was… uneventful. Mostly. He made himself dinner, they took turns having showers again, and it seemed like Fushimi was just going to bury himself in his laptop. So Yata cleaned the remains of the ill-fated summoning from his floor – finally – and pulled out his portable gaming system to waste a few hours before going to bed.

He wasn’t fifteen minutes into it – swearing up a storm as usual – before Fushimi was suddenly leaning over the back of his chair and pointing out every single mistake. And he didn’t put up with more than five minutes of that before thrusting the console in his face and telling him to ‘put up or shut up’.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, Fushimi was surprisingly good at video games.

Yata could only watch him blow through all the trouble spots with apparent ease for a minute or two before a mix of chagrin and frustration had him ripping the console back out of Fushimi’s hands and furiously turning his attention to mastering the stupid thing already.

“And you said I can’t handle losing,” Fushimi drawled, raising an eyebrow at him.

They spent the rest of the evening like that – Yata playing and Fushimi taking breaks to watch over his shoulder periodically, mumbling suggestions almost as if making observations to himself. Which was annoying, but he ended up usually being right, so after a few rebellious but frustrating deaths accompanied by impatient sighs from behind him, Yata started following the advice rather than stubbornly doing the opposite.

The suggestions became more frequent after that. Almost like an annoying companion telling him what he already knew he needed to do.

“Get the chest. To the right. The right.”

“I saw it, just… this guy’s in the way! Wait, wait… There!”

“You should equip that right away – it’s better than what you’ve got on.”

“I know! I’m doing it now, okay?”

“Watch out for that guy coming back.”

“I got it, just let me do this!”

“You always miss things when I leave you alone.”

“Fuck off! I do not!”

“… You just passed a chest.”

“Damnit! I was just… I was gonna get it later!”

“Right. ‘Later’. After you die without reaching the next save point, you mean.”

“Ugh! Shut up already!”

As frustrating as it was, the evening passed by quickly, and Yata was so keyed up by the end of it that he nearly forgot the unfortunate mess they were in and the problems caused by the bad weather. Maybe it’ll clear up by tomorrow, was the last thought that went through his head before he passed out into blissful unconsciousness.

By morning, it had started to rain in earnest again.

“It’s almost like the Captain planned this,” Fushimi mumbled resentfully as they stepped out of Yata’s apartment. “Just to see how long it takes for one or both of us to snap.”

Yata snorted in response, locking his door. “Wouldn’t put it past him.” He turned to open his umbrella.

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Your coffee place is open today, right?” He materialized his own umbrella, already open, as they headed for the stairs. “Yesterday's was barely tolerable.”

“You're like one of those coffee snobs, huh?” Yata shook his head, amused. “But you liked the shit I had, right?” He didn't wait for an answer - by now he was more or less clued in that a lack of complaints was the same as a compliment as far as Fushimi was concerned. “That's their stuff. And it's better when they make it, too - you'll see.”

“Hm.” That was a slightly dubious hum, but Fushimi didn't offer a deprecating comment with it.

Good enough.

The coffee shop required a train going in the opposite direction of Munakata's place, but it was generally worth the extra time spent. In addition to the coffee – and the desserts, which were just as awesome – sometimes they had a delivery for him to take back to work with him, which saved him a little time here and there.

Munakata also had an uncanny knack for picking out when Yata was gonna visit the place and arranging for him to take a delivery with him for the owner. It was pretty convenient, even if the all-knowing bullshit pissed him off a little. He could live with it at least.

Whatever. A job’s a job.

When they walked out of the station, it was into the center of a shopping district: all colorful billboards and banners, large store names, and fancy awnings for restaurants and small buildings. Most of them had a modern look, unlike Homra's old-fashioned decor, but there was a lot more liveliness to it than Munakata's sleek, symmetrical office building. The sidewalks were crowded with people despite the rain, umbrellas blending into a mishmash of shades and shapes and shopping bags bumping against their legs. Some of the stores had colored lighting to illuminate their signs and specials through the grey haze of the downpour.

As usual, it was a flashy place.

“This looks like a pain,” Fushimi muttered beside him.

Somehow it wasn't a surprise that he'd hate crowded areas. “Yeah, yeah.” Yata re-opened his umbrella, raising it up over his head before they reached the edge of the station’s awning. “S'not that bad once you get used to it. Anyway, it's not far - just don't lose me.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, following suit with the illusionary umbrella he’d kept with him on the train. “I literally can't lose you, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” Right. He wasn't totally sure how that contract kept them tethered, honestly. Good question for later, maybe. “Then there's no problem, right? C'mon.”

The café was only a block and a half from the station, sandwiched between an art supplies shop and a pet store. The building it was part of was actually the outside perimeter of a mall, so it continued up past the small awning that read ‘Hakumaitou’ in cheerful, bold printing. There was a small decal in the pane of glass on the door: two paw prints, one from a cat and one from a dog. Otherwise, the exterior picture windows just offered a view of the tables and chairs inside, all of which were small and round and clearly intended for just two or three people to sit at. There were some booths toward the back that allowed for larger groups, but the obvious intent of the place was a spot to relax with one or two people you were close with.

“Why would you name a café ‘Hakumaitou’?” Fushimi muttered, seemingly to himself. “What does white rice have to do with coffee?”

“No idea.” Yata paused to fold his umbrella again and stow it in the backpack he’d bought along. “I asked once but the answer didn't really make sense. Something about friends and food? I think it's like an inside joke.” He reached out to push the door open and then hesitated, frowning. “I don't think there's any protection spells on this place. If so it'd probably just be warding off evil and those with ill intent and all. Their coven headquarters is in the basement, so that'd be the place with all the wards. I think.”

“You ‘think’, huh?” Fushimi sighed. “Well, if you're wrong we’ll be giving whoever’s in there an eyeful, and you can do the explaining.”

Yata shot him a disgruntled look. “I’m gonna go ask them, jerk. Wait here.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Just remember not to go far if you don't want me following you.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Sort of. Whatever. Yata pushed open the door, setting off the cheery jingle that would alert the staff to a customer’s arrival. He brought up a hand automatically to greet the dark-haired man standing behind the counter. “Yo, Yatogami!”

He didn’t get an immediate response. Looking closer, the man – Yatogami Kuroh – was very carefully decorating the top of what looked like a chocolate cake. He set aside the icing wand after a moment, wiping the back of his arm across his forehead, and looked up. “Yata Misaki. What brings you here?”

Yata grimaced. “What’s with the full name thing, seriously?” He didn’t wait for a response, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he approached the counter. “I need more coffee. But first off…” He glanced around at the few patrons sitting in some of the tables, and lowered his voice furtively. “You guys don’t have any kinda dispels set up around this place, do you?”

Yatogami folded his arms. “This is a place of business. The wards are for protection, health, and harmony. Those who wish to pass unnoticed are welcome to keep their disguises. Why do you – ?”

The door jingled, drawing both of their attention, and Fushimi stepped inside.

Yata’s skin prickled up, first with shock and then with outrage. “What are you doing? I thought I told you to wait outside!”

Fushimi clicked his tongue, frowning in response as he made his way across the room toward the counter. “I thought I told you not to go too far.”

“This is too far?” At max, he’d only put a few feet between them. “You gotta be kidding me!”

“Don’t blame me for this stupid contract’s requirements.” Fushimi raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re the one who set it up without any kind of thought put into the limitations. Magic does what it will when you set it loose.”

“A wise observation,” Yatogami cut in before Yata could snap back. He glanced between the two of them with a severe expression. “However, I’ll have to ask you to take this outside if you’re going to continue. I don’t know what the situation is between the two of you, but you’re disrupting the mood for our customers.”

It was true – a quick glance around revealed that the few patrons in the café were watching them with a certain amount of confusion. Yata felt his face grow hot. “Right, sorry,” he muttered, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

Fushimi clicked his tongue again, frowning, but didn’t respond.

“Anyway,” Yata hurried on, trying to brush aside his embarrassment, “like I said, we’re just here for coffee.”

Yatogami regarded him evenly. “Buying or trading?”

Yata grinned back, recovering his equilibrium. “Both.” He reached down into his lower shorts pocket for the packet he’d prepared before leaving his apartment. “I got more dream herb to trade. We’re each gonna get something while we’re here, too.”

“I see.” Yatogami reached out to take the packet from him. “Very well. I’ll let Shiro know you’re – ”

“Did I hear someone mention dream herb?” The swinging door at the back behind the counter was pushed open by a silver-haired man with a youthful face: Isana Yashiro, the owner of the café and leader of their small coven. He smiled broadly, stepping into the room. “Oh, Yata! Nice to see you again. If you’re here to trade, you have good timing – we’re just about out. I was thinking of contacting Munakata, actually.”

“The hell? Don't call him for this stuff!” Yata braced a hand on the counter, leaning forward to frown at Isana. “You got my number, right? Just text me and I'll hook you up. My shit's way better than his, c'mon!”

Yatogami let out what sounded like a long-suffering sigh. “This conversation is beginning to sound unsavory.” He fixed Yata with another of those level gazes. “Should you be talking about your employer in that way?”

Yata snorted derisively in response. “He already knows what I think of him.”

“He probably finds it funny, actually,” Fushimi added dryly.

Isana had joined Yatogami at the counter by that point. He reached out his hand for the packet Yata was holding, and brought it up to peer at and then sniff. “The quality is great, as always.” He smiled across the counter. “You want the usual in return?”

Yata grinned back. “You bet!”

Isana leaned back from the counter, tilting his head towards the door. “Neko!” he called out. “If you're awake, can you bring a bag of Blue Mountain beans to the front?”

“Shiro!” Yatogami shot him an annoyed look. “Don’t yell in front of the customers like that. It’s unseemly!”

“Oh, right.” Isana looked sheepish when he turned back toward them, bending his head a little as if he were the employee rather than the other way around. “Sorry, Kuroh.”

Yatogami folded his arms, looking only mildly appeased, and turned back to face Yata again. “Now then, what can I get for you to drink?”

Their dynamic is so weird. “Uh… yeah, just a regular latte.”

“Very well.” That severe gaze shifted past him. “And you?”

There wasn’t a chance for Fushimi to answer, because the back room door flung open and a young woman with silvery hair bounced into the room, proudly brandishing a small sack of coffee beans. “Shiro! I got the Blue Mountain!”

“Ah. Thank you, Neko.” Isana stepped over to the woman and patted her head affectionately, which she leaned into exactly like a cat would. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Nope! I was awake already.” She happily trailed after him as he made his way back to the counter. “The dream I had last night was so great! I’ll tell you about it if you want!”

“Of course! But later, okay?” He took the bag from her, placing it on the counter before turning to smile back. “Kuroh probably wants to hear it, too – right, Kuroh?” He didn’t wait for any confirmation. “But we need to finish with the customers first.”

Yatogami shook his head, but didn’t comment. The edge of a fond but rueful smile had crept onto his stern face.

Neko glanced at the counter. “Oh, it’s just Yata.” Despite the flippant words, her voice was cheerful. “Morning!”

It felt awkward responding to all that enthusiasm somehow. Neko tended to catch him off guard still, even though he was sorta used to her by now. “R-right. Morning.”

“Is she always like this?” Fushimi commented blandly.

Neko immediately glared at him, hackles seeming to raise with instant dislike. “What’s with this… this bad-aura gloomy glasses guy?”

“Oh, right!” In all the excitement, he’d forgotten to do any introductions. Yata grinned sheepishly. “This is Fushimi.” He shot a smirk over his shoulder. “But y’know, I kinda like ‘bad-aura gloomy glasses guy’… Anyway, these guys are Yatogami, Isana, and Neko.” He shrugged. “Sorry ’bout that.”

Fushimi clicked his tongue. “Isn’t it pointless to do introductions at this point?”

“Courtesy should always be offered when possible,” Yatogami responded strictly, and nodded. “My name is Yatogami Kuroh.”

“Ah. That’s true, isn’t it?” Isana smiled brightly. “Isana Yashiro.”

Neko narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him, but when Isana gave her a gentle nudge, supplied a somewhat subdued, “I’m Neko.”

Fushimi raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like a real name.”

“It is! Neko is my name!” She glowered at him. “Anyway, you don’t belong here – you’re not human or a familiar!”

There was a moment of stark silence. Yata’s skin prickled up.

She can tell he’s not human?

“Neko,” Isana admonished. “Be polite.”

“Hmph!” She puffed out her cheeks childishly, and then vanished with a small huff. In her place, a tiny silver kitten streaked across the floor and nudged through the door into the back room.

Yatogami sighed, took in what sounded like a steadying breath, and glanced ruefully around at the astonished patrons watching them. “Sorry for the disturbance,” he announced. “Please try to forget it.”

“We’re just practicing for an improv act,” Isana cut in smoothly, tilting his head with a cheerful smile. “Hopefully you all were entertained!”

As the patrons relaxed and turned back to their drinks and conversation, Isana lowered his voice to an undertone. “Sorry about that.” The smile he offered Fushimi was apologetic. “Neko’s very honest, and she’ll sometimes blurt things out like that when she gets excited. Hopefully you’re not offended.”

“As you may have noticed,” Yatogami added, with a meaningful glance in the direction of the back room, “we don’t discriminate against non-humans here. As long as you don’t intend any violence.”

Fushimi shrugged, accepting both apology and clarification. “I’m just here for coffee.”

“Well, this is the right place for that!” Isana waved an arm expansively. “I’ll let Kuroh help you guys out.” He took a couple of steps back toward the door, still smiling brightly. “Call me if there’s anything you need, all right, Kuroh?”

“Not so fast.” Yatogami’s voice was sharp; his stare piercing as he directed it at his employer. “You haven’t forgotten about your promise to fix the error on the till from last night, have you?”

“What? Of course not!” Isana’s grin took on a tiny hint of strain. “I just have a few more things to take care of in the back first, and I’ll be right out to deal with that!”

Yatogami’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t forget it again.”

“I won’t, don’t worry!” Isana was already opening the door and moving through it before he’d finishing speaking. “See you later, Yata! Nice meeting you, Fushimi! Bye!”

There was an awkward pause after his departure.

Yatogami sighed again, facing them. “So one regular latte,” he noted, and glanced at Fushimi. “And what are you having?”

“Large double Americano,” Fushimi responded promptly – as if he couldn’t wait to get this all over with.

“For here or to go?”

What the hell, why not? They weren’t in any rush, considering the weather and Munakata’s seemingly infinite patience. He could work well into the evening if he had to. “We’ll drink ’em here,” Yata responded, reaching out to retrieve the sack of beans from the counter.

“Will we?” Fushimi mumbled, with clear sarcasm. “Somehow I don’t remember having that conversation.”

Yata ignored him, tucking the sack into his backpack. “Like I said, for here.”

Yatogami raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “Together or separate?”

“Sep – ”

“Together,” Fushimi cut in. He materialized the credit card from the other day between his fingers when Yata turned to stare at him. “You were the one complaining about the fact that I drank the last of your coffee. I’ll pay you back right now.”

That was a tempting offer - and pretty reasonable. Yata wrestled with his pride for a moment, before deciding ‘what the hell?’ and giving in with a short nod. “Yeah, okay.”

He had to move aside as Fushimi stepped up to the counter. It gave him a bit of a weird feeling, like he’d lost control of the encounter. Something about watching Fushimi in particular pay for both of their coffees, which they were going to take to one of those cozy two-person tables and drink together, felt... funny.

There was no reason for it, but there it was.

It didn’t take Yatogami long to make their drinks and they took a table in the corner, near the window and far from the other customers in the place. Yata stowed the backpack with his umbrella and the sack of coffee beans under the table.

They’d have to stop at his apartment to drop those off before heading to Munakata’s, but that was okay; it wasn’t like he had set hours, after all. If he ended up missing out on some cash, it’d be worth it to chill out for a while.

“What makes the coffee in this place so great?” Fushimi asked him once they’d sat down. He took a small sip and added, “I’ll admit it's better than most, but...”

“They use magic.” Yata set his own mug down so it could cool. “That woman – Neko – she’s Isana’s familiar. Apparently her talent is altering reality. Kinda like your illusions, but more... I dunno... inward? Feelings and stuff." It probably wasn’t the best way to explain it, but whatever. “When she has really vivid dreams, the good feelings soak into the beans somehow. So the coffee makes you feel better.” He shrugged. “It's great for hangovers.”

“You would know, I suppose,” Fushimi murmured, a hint of a smirk tilting his lips up at the corners.

“Shut up! That was one time, okay?” Yata kicked him under the table. For some reason, the comment didn’t irritate him as much as it would’ve before. “Anyway, it’s probably the only reason we didn’t fucking kill each other back at the start.”

“That explains a lot,” Fushimi commented dryly. He set his mug down, meeting Yata’s gaze across the table. “Is there a reason you decided we were going to stay here and drink these?”

Yata shrugged again. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why that whim had struck him. “Just felt like it.”

“Hm.” Fushimi's answering hum was skeptical. He lowered his lids, another little smirk at the ready. “If you’re really that desperate for a date, you should’ve made that your contract instead.”

Date. The word hit him like a bolt of electricity, setting off a shock that rippled through his body, prickling up his skin.

Oh... fuck.

So that was where the funny feeling had come from. Yata felt a sudden fierce rush of mortification surge through him, tingling skin burning in its wake – a mix that resulted in an intensely uncomfortable sensation. Right, yeah… Fushimi had paid for them both, and now here they were in a cutesy cafe at a tiny table meant for two, which was totally date-like, and he hadn’t even realized it.

Shit…

The silence stretched on painfully as he tried to come up with some response, and then Fushimi hummed lightly, smirk widening. “Too embarrassed to admit it? That's cute.”

Yata scowled back at him, irritation seeping in through his flustered paralysis. “Shut up,” he muttered, feeling his face burn, and busied himself with his coffee to avoid that smug gaze.

The worst part of it – the part he didn’t want to admit on pain of death – was that the initial shock wasn’t unpleasant. For a second – just a tiny, stupid second – the idea of a date had felt… nice. Exciting, even.

It was infuriating – humiliating. His own brain betraying him. And because of the contract and the shared emotions, Fushimi knew it.

Goddamnit…

He was bracing himself for more teasing, scowling at the mug in his hands, but nothing came. The silence from across the table was starting to felt almost stifling as the seconds ticked by – what the hell was going on? Yata took a hasty sip of his coffee, absorbing the familiar pleasure of both taste and feeling for a bit of a boost, and set the mug down on the table before finally giving in to the urge to look up and see what Fushimi was doing.

Blue-grey eyes met his immediately and from far too close a distance for his liking. Fushimi was resting his chin on his hand, elbow braced on the table and head tilted as he studied Yata. In the instant that their gazes locked, the expression on his face was almost baffled: eyebrows knit, tiny frown on his lips, and eyes searching.

It was the look of someone struggling with a particularly difficult puzzle.

Not for the first time since they’d met, Yata found himself struck dumb, helplessly captivated by the charm of that open uncertainty. He wasn’t sure what to do with that look – wasn’t sure what he wanted to do – but something within him stirred to life all the same.

The table they were at really was way too small…

Fushimi blinked, interrupting that short moment, and then clicked his tongue, expression seeming to shutter up as he lowered his hand and turned his head. “What?” he muttered.

“Huh?” Yata stared at his profile, caught off guard by the abrupt change in mood. He shook his head to clear it and then frowned. “What d’you mean ‘what’? You were the one staring at me!”

The second click of Fushimi’s tongue was almost resentful; when he spoke again, his tone was grudging. “What do you expect when you react like that?”

Yata blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean? React like what?”

At that, Fushimi let out a breath, shut his eyes for a moment, and then turned his head again, reopening them lazily. That tiny smirk was spreading on his face again. “Figure it out for yourself,” he drawled, raising his mug for a sip. Just before bringing it to his lips, he added in a lower tone, “Misaki.”

And for some reason, just that – just the name, with the timbre and pitch of Fushimi’s voice – had heat spreading all the way across Yata’s face, to the tips of his ears.

Disgustingly, traitorously, irresistibly good.

And beyond fucked up. But in that moment, even as he protested loudly, glaring across the table with as much force as he could muster, it was hard to properly care.

#k #sarumi #yata misaki #fushimi saruhiko #fanfic #fanfic:mine

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