#Sleek Silver Tv Furniture

[sweetdecoseo2023]

ALIA white glossy lacquered TV unit with LED and silver structure

[trustinvox]

0─〇─ WELCOME TO VOXTEK ─〇─ 0

VoxTek Headquarters was an intimidating building rising ever high into the crimson skies above pentagram city. It was a shining beacon of power, pride, and arrogance. Splitting red skies with cyan blue windows stretching endlessly upwards.

The large glass doors, opened into clean marble lobbies. The feeling of high class, but modern simplistic style added to the air of cutting edge that the company represented.

Marble floors, clean lined metal furniture, white reception desks, and a smattering of silver elevators would greet anyone who walked inside the pulse of the city.

Voxtek provided all. Entertainment, the news, phones, the internet, well just about anything one would use to consume media these days. They even had new virtual reality headsets out. Each device distracting its users from the eternal damnation to which they were plunged. That's what this company banked on.

Distraction and control.

At the top of it all was the overlord trio the Vees, and heading that off was the tv demon, Vox.

Lucky you, you were having a chance to meet with the big man upstairs. A rare treat, as generally someone under him would handle someone like you. However, he had time today.

The receptionist at the desk spoke with you, giving you directions and a key code for the top floor. Stepping into the silver elevator, you find yourself rocketing straight to the top.

The elevator dinged, doors opening into another sleek, modern lobby, this one was fancier, gilded with gold, and red decor. Another desk greeted you with another receptionist. She paged the big man himself.

Then you were let in. Large intricate doors carved with mechanical designs, swung open allowing you entry into Vox's office.

The room was alight with cyan and red screens, displaying images from all over the studio, and even around town. He had his fingers laced together. Screen casting light on his desk, red eyes focused on you, that big , cocky cyan grin on his face.

"Sit." he said simply eyes studying you, "You've five minutes to tell me why I should allow you to take up more of my time than that. Make it good, time is money." The demon said.

[kinetic-elaboration]

May 21: Braven, Loft

Bellamy/Raven, ~800 words, in the same universe as this Clarktavia fic.

I wanted to write more in this 'verse and also do some more description practice. I don't like it as much as the other one but, eh, it's something. It's good practice.

*

Bellamy takes over the lease at the tail end of a chilly, wet winter, that part of the season where only certain sunny and bright afternoons feel like spring. At the time, he and Raven are still just friends. Friends who've slept with each other--twice--plus one additional half-time that does not count. They've never lived together, but he knows that she's a morning person, that she's messy, that she never likes to be idle, and so she tends to keep her projects always within arm's reach. He knows she'll sell most of her furniture, because "it's all junk anyway," but bring with her an extensive collection of CDs and a gleaming silver stereo system. He doesn't know if she can cook, but he can, so it's fine. She likes the way he makes omelettes, and scramble eggs with tomato slices on the side, and she has what his mother would call an adventurous palette. That means she's down to try anything, even Filipino dishes whose names she can't pronounce.

She's looking for a place closer to the auto shop and he'll need help with the rent, plus the loft is too big for him anyway. He invites her to take a look at the space. She doesn't say anything, but her eyes flick across the room with curiosity: the gray brick walls and scarred wood floor still shadowed from the gloomy pale-gray of the sky beyond the windows, all the lights off, and most of Kane's old furnishings still in place. He liked leather and steel. There's a TV mounted on the wall between the middle two windows, and a dying plant in the corner, shedding leaves.

She doesn't say anything, and Bellamy can't read the expression on her face. He tells her it'll look different with all of the furniture gone, and reminds her it's a steal for its price: in no other part of town could you find a place this big for rent so low. She says he sounds like a real estate agent, and asks what he needs her to sign.

The TV stays, but the sleek black couch is replaced with a pull out upholstered in worn green corduroy, two overstuffed chairs that don't match, and a large red beanbag, all arrayed around a low wood coffee table, almost perfectly square. Raven sets up her stereo where the dead plant used to be. They curtain off an area near the bathroom for storage, and use bookshelves to create the illusion of rooms. Shelves next to the TV, below the windows, and shelves around the living area, to separate it from the dining area, which is mostly Raven's work table, because they usually eat in the kitchen or sometimes with one of them in the beanbag and the other on the floor. The kitchen is set off in the corner closest to the door: a square space defined by wooden countertops and steel appliances, an island at which they place tall bar stools.

Along the right wall runs a sort of raised stage, which functions as the bedroom: there's no way around it but to share. From a friend of a friend, they acquire a queen-sized mattress and a simple bed frame to rest it on: deep mahogany, with a square headboard. Raven creates a closet for them out of a suspension bar, crates, and several hanging closet organizers, all hidden behind a polka dot shower curtain, discolored at the bottom edge. They use bookshelves as bedside tables. They agree without debate that Raven will take the left side of the bed and Bellamy the right.

He stays up late the first night, wondering if he should have volunteered to take the pull out bed from the couch. But it would be a pain to have to set the thing up every night and then fold it away every morning again. And Raven doesn't care for chivalry, especially when she thinks it's false. Don't be a hero, she'd probably say, or maybe she'd just snort and tell him don't be dumb.

There's a window just beyond his side of the bed, and ambient streetlight shines up through it, the light pollution of the city in yellows and silver and neon. He turns on his side toward it, his back to her, and closes his eyes. He'll have to get some curtains, something--but also better lights, a couple standing lamps for the bedroom or something to put on his bedside table--something to read by--he can see imprints of light on the backs of his eyelids. He can hear Raven breathing quietly next to him. He imagines he feels the warmth of her, trapped with the warmth of him under the covers. She feels miles away, and so unbearably close.

[chemicalresearchupdates]

Console Table Market Size, Share, Trends, Analysis, and Forecast to 2027

Console Tables: An Essential Addition to Any Home Decor Console tables are classic and versatile pieces of furniture that add functionality as well as style to any home décor. From modern finishes to ornate detailing, console tables come in a wide variety of designs to complement all sorts of interior styles. In this article, we will explore the many uses of console tables, popular styles available, tips for styling and caring for your console table as well as recommend some of the best options to consider for your home. Uses of Console Tables Console tables have multiple uses that make them highly practical additions to any living space. Some of the main uses of console tables include: Entranceway Furniture: A well-placed console table by the front door is a convenient spot to display mail, keys, devices and other items as you come in and out of the home. Its open shelf and drawer storage keeps these items organized and out of the way. Kitchen Surface: Console tables provide additional counter space for food preparation in kitchens with insufficient countertops. They can double up as serving stations for snacks, drinks or meals. Opt for a moisture-resistant console table for the kitchen. Display Shelves: Their open shelves make console tables perfect for decorating with photos, plants, candles, sculptures and other room accents. Console tables allow for thoughtful curation and change up of home décor accents. Workspace: Drawers provide handy storage for office supplies, laptops or craft materials. The top surface serves as a workspace for activities like paying bills, homework, crafting and more. TV Stands: Wide or long console tables double up beautifully as TV stands with space below to hide components and cables. Choose a console table measuring 2-3 inches wider than your TV for the best fit. Popular Console Table Styles Whether you prefer sleek minimalism or ornate traditional styles, there is a wide variety of console table styles to choose from: Modern Console Tables: Characterized by clean lines, solid colors and simple details. Materials often include metal, wood, glass or marble in glossy contemporary finishes. Transitional Console Tables: A blend of traditional motifs with clean modern silhouettes. Motifs include turned wooden legs, curves and ornate hardware in a subdued manner. Traditional Console Tables: Featuring carved details, curved apron rails and ornate legs and moldings. Materials include wood, stone or metal bronzed or silver finishes. Common styles include French, English and Victorian inspirations. Industrial Console Tables: Evoking a factory or warehouse aesthetic with materials like unfinished wood, open metal beams, grass cloths fabrics or distressed leather. Angular silhouettes. Rustic Console Tables: Using reclaimed or distressed wood for a weathered look. Natural unfinished wood tones and distressed detailing like knots and cracks give it a lived-in appeal. Mid-Century Modern Console Tables: Inspired by the upbeat aesthetic of the 1950-70s. Features tapered slim silhouettes, clean geometric shapes, wood grains and glossy bright colors.

[ratsoh-writes]

What do their bedrooms/living areas look like? I'm going to use all 3 of my asks to request this for all of the boys if that's ok! ❤

Man, I’ve had this one in my secret notes for a good while now!

Undertale:

Both the tale brothers live in a nice little gated community. Their house is one of the smaller ones and has the same layout as the one in Snowdin. The house is pretty basic with some cozy throws and wall tapestries to spruce it up

Sans: his room actually has a proper bed and frame this time. The sheets and blankets are still bundled up in a pile on the floor though. Sans also has his homemade trashnado in the corner. There’s a desk on the wall adjacent to the door which has his laptop. And several folders stacked next to it. Other than a dresser, there’s literally nothing else in there. Sans doesn’t care much about stuff

Papyrus: his room has bright orange walls. He left the race car bed behind underground but has a race car blanket to make up for it. His walls are covered in superhero and comic posters. He also has a display case for some old figurines and his comic collection. Papyrus’ desk is one of those nice fancy drafting ones where he can adjust it to tilt upwards. He has a ship wheel attached to his door for some reason.

Underswap

The swap bros home is only a few blocks from the classic brothers neighborhood. The only thing basic about it is the cream walls. All the furniture and decorations are bright colors. The kitchen especially is real nice. The oven and stove are top notch, and the counters are filled with mason jars full of goodies.

Star: his room can blind a lesser man when you walk in. The walls are bright yellow, the bed (which is a bunk bed by the way) is neon orange. Galaxy posters decorate the wall. Besides the clashing colors, the furniture is pretty basic. Only the top bunk actually has a mattress. The bottom bunk is used as a storage shelf. He also has a shoe rack by his door

Honey: you can practically feel the nerdy aura as you enter his room. The first thing you see is a display case housing some neat figurines of characters from his favorite shows. He’s also got a pretty nice bookshelf on the opposite wall that’s nearly full. Honeys bed has a curtain around it for extra privacy with a nice little wall lamp above the pillows

Underfell

They have a home a little closer to the city center but still far enough to be considered suburbs. It’s a very sleek and modern house with white walls, tile floors and sleek black and metal furniture. The only thing that doesn’t fit the rest of the theme is this nasty old patched up sofa in the living room. The thing is absolutely hideous but is sooo comfy.

Red: his room has soft grey walls and smells like miter oil. Makes sense since one wall is just a long basic table covered in machine parts that red tinkers with in his down time. He actually doesn’t have a bed. Instead he sleeps on this giant leather bean bag. He likes it that way. There’s a few car posters decorating the walls

Edge: he obviously put a lot of thought into his rooms decorations. Everything is pretty black marble or a sleek white wood. His bed covers are blood red with a nice geometric designs on top in silver. He has a beautiful black desk with some pretty jars filled to the brim with nothing but novelty pens. If you looked in his desk drawers you would find notebooks and even more pens

Swapfell

They don’t own a house and instead live in a two bedroom one bath apartment on the third floor of one of lords complexes. The furniture is pretty minimalistic but very nice quality. Most decorations are metal

Mal: the first thing you’ll see in his room is a large wooden drawing desk where pencils and watercolors are neatly arranged on the side. There’s also a vanity with a light up mirror and a nice collection of makeup. Also a huge slanted hunters knife. He uses it to make sure his eyeliner is extra sharp.

Cash: his bedroom is the perfect definition of organized chaos. It looks messy but for cash, he knows exactly where every thing is. There’s a small tv in there with some old game consoles hooked up to it. The bed is never made.

Horrortale

Their home rests in a neighborhood bordering the forest of ebott. The houses there all have a lot more yard space than most houses in the city. The horrortale home is super cozy with lots of knit throws and pillows scattered around. The back patio has a little dog door and there’s a 50% chance of seeing a chicken walk through lol

Oak: his room is also pretty basic. The bed however has so many blankets. Like way more than any person should need. Oak is a blanket hoarder. There’s a lot of notebooks stacked on his wooden desk along with a file of patterned paper for scrapbooking.

Willow: his room has a raised bed with a cute little ladder on the side so that his dog can jump up. You can tell a lot of the furniture has been homemade or refurbished. The room is larger and in the middle is a circular stone table that’s stained with paint. It’s usually housing his latest craft

Underlust

They used to live in the same neighborhood as the classic brothers but have recently moved closer to the inner city because of work. Their home is still in the process of being unpacked mostly, but their rooms are done! The house is actually pretty conservative looking with grey walls, white wooden furniture and soft pastel decor. They do have a stripper pole in the living room though lol

Charm: his room looks exactly how you expect from him. Dark walls with lots of bright rave type decorations. On his dresser is a large pretty cake display that stands out from the rest of the rooms theme lol. His room is always on a state of organized chaos with his desk and bed covered in nick knacks but the floors staying oddly clean

Sugar: his room has light lavender walls and black furniture. It’s a big difference from the soft feminine style people expect from him. Instead sugar has a more sleek modern style to his room. He also has a standard mannequin in the middle that always has a new dresses pinned to it.

Fellswap (red)

They own a pretty two story house only a block away from the two apartment complexes that lord owns. The front lawn/garden is in top shape with lots of those metal flower decorations stuck in the ground along the dirt outline. Inside the house is most worn but comfy looking furniture. Nothing special

Lord: his room is pretty basic with mostly brown and grey accents. He does have a large mostly filled bookcase. There’s also two white bean bags and a deep red rug that covers nearly the whole floor of the room.

Mutt: he actually has two rooms. The first is pretty simple with just his bed, a writing desk and a rack for some shoes. Also his bird cage for KFC (pet pigeon). The second room has a sink, and several cages and boxes for the injured animals that he rehabilitates. The second room is slightly larger than his actual room.

Fellswap gold

They actually live in a studio apartment above wines antique shop. The apartment used to be an unused storage static until wine bought the building and repurposed it. The living space itself is a little small, but they also have access to the roof which the gold bros use as a potted garden and dining area.

Wine: his room is very classy with silk curtains on the window and a silky cream canopy above his head. All the furniture is a dark grey wood with pretty carvings and designs. The walls are decorated with beautiful floral paintings from his brother. It’s a pretty well planned out room. Very cosy and luxurious

Coffee: he has two rooms as well. The smaller of the two is just his bed, dresser, closet and a tv with some consoles hooked up to it. The second room has shelves lining nearly every wall except for one which is just a big collab mural. On the shelves is various art supplies and projects. There’s one large sketch desk on one wall. And finally in the middle of the room is a tarp attached to the floor housing whatever piece of furniture coffee is restoring at the moment .

Dancetale

They also own an apartment, one of the flats in lords buildings on the ground floor. It’s the other building from the swapfell brothers. The walls are painted a cheery yellow and the house is mostly decorated with spring colors. There’s always a huge bowl of fresh fruit in the kitchen.

Pop: his room is mix and match of completely different furniture and gadgets. Pop isn’t someone who cares about themes so he will keep whatever catches his fancy. Instead of a bed, he has a hammock attacked to the ceiling with a pillow and some throw blankets casually tossed on top lol.

Rhythm: his room is pretty sparse with just his bed, a shoe rack, and a dresser. On the dresser are pictures of each of his face classes right before they graduate. Rhythm doesn’t really care all that much about decor so the walls are pretty bare too

Outertale

They live in the same gated community as the classic brothers! The outertale home has high ceilings and lots of windows. The living room is the real centerpiece of the home. It has several large antique bookcases and display cases. Inside the displays are various rocks and crystals and the occasional fossil. It’s really neat.

Pluto: his room is comprised of mostly blues grays and greens. He has a small bookcase on the side of his bed where he keeps the things he’s currently reading. There’s also a large fish-tank with an assortment of saltwater fish inside. Pluto’s room also has a large circular fluffy rug in the middle of the floor. The floor itself is hardwood

Jupiter: his room has a similar color scheme except instead of greens, Jupiter has gold instead. He has some exercise equipment stacked nicely on the side of his bed including weights. There’s a wall tapestry with a printed picture of the asteroid belt the outertale monsters used to live in.

Gastertale

The gaster brothers also live in the same neighborhood as the classic and outertale bros. They’re at the very end in the little cul-de-sac. The interior of the house is almost all white with cream carpet, metro grey walls, and white furniture. A few of the small decorations add a bit of color. There’s a lot of potted succulents.

G: his room is probably the only dark room of the house. His walls are a charcoal grey and the furniture is mostly jet black with a few mustard colored decorations. There’s a metal wire bookcase hanging on the wall. G also has a plastic anatomy dummy that he dresses up in his motorcycle gear when he’s not using it. G thinks he’s funny

Green: like the rest of the home, his room is also mostly white. He has a pretty pale green rack for all of his glasses on his dresser. Green also has his several degrees framed in silver on the walls. his room is always spotless

Farmtale:

The farm bros have an old Victorian home that they fixed up themselves. They’re home borders the acres of farmland they own and is about a 45 minute drive from ebott city. The inside is decorated with mostly wooden furniture. There’s like four rocking chairs on the porch lol

Peaches: his room fits the theme of the house with mostly wooden furniture and a lot of quilts and rugs to add color and soften it up. Peaches always has a vase of fresh wildflowers on his dresser. The walls have photographs of plants and animals taped to them that peaches took himself.

Rancher: this mad lad has a large moose skull hanging above his four poster log cabin bed. He also hangs his favorite hunting rifles just below the moose lol. His bedroom is mostly wooden of course but is also decorated with lots of red and orange plaids.

Horrorfell

They live in the same neighborhood as the horrortale and horrorswap brothers. Their home is literally right in between the two. Inside it’s decorated in a mix between sleek modern metals and frumpy cozy style. Somehow the horrorfell bros still have their original sofa from the underground. There’s a lot of little homemade staircases for their cat doomfanger who’s too old to claim on top of things herself now

Rust: his walls are painted a soft heather grey and have some basic wooden decorations that noir painted for fun. The furniture is pretty normal with the exception of a large treasure style chest next to his bed. Open it up and you’ll find a collection of drawings and gifts from the kids he’s watched over the years. Rust didn’t have the heart to throw them away.

Noir: unsurprisingly, his room is littered in canvases and paintings on the walls. It’s divided into two sides: the messy paint side and his nice neat living side. He even has a line of tape going down the middle to complete the divide. On his living side is his bed, closet, and a low bookcase that he uses as a second dresser. The actual bookcase is in the living room

Horrorswap

As y’all all know, their house is right next to the horrorfells and one house away from the horrortales. They like bright colors and have a sort of summery themed house. The best part is the back garden which is filled with garden boxes of veggies, fruit bushes, and fruit trees.

Lilac: his rooms main color is a pretty powder blue along with canary yellow and some bright green. He has a yoga mat on the floor in place of a rug. The walls have some neat sunrise posters

Basil: his room is pretty cosy with lots of knit blankets and fluffy pillows. He has a massive poster of Pixar’s ratatouille that rust got him as a joke. Basil has like five coconut planters, each housing a different herb plant making his room smell like an Italian restaurant

The Mafias (tale, fell, swap)

The mafia brothers live in an apartment complex masquerading as a warehouse. The ground and top two floors are working area while there were three secret basement levels. The mafia bros home consists of the whole bottom level with all their rooms connected to a hallway. At the end of the hallway is a living space and the kitchen.

Snipe: his room is the one closest to the living area. Inside is sage walls with a few house plants that can survive in low light. His bed is almost never made lol. If one was to tear the room apart, they would find at least six different guns stashed in hidden compartments

Bruiser: his room is the closest to the staircase. Inside the room somehow looks super messy but is actually spotless. Bruiser decorates the walls with all kinds of gifts people randomly give him during his vigilante escapes. Stuff from pocket mirrors, to foreign currency to even a small collection of sea shells. He drilled holes into them and hung them up on strings. Other than his walls, the furniture is pretty plain

Butch: his room is a mix of greys, blacks an silvers with the basics of furniture and a small black leather sofa. On the walls are some pretty hand melded metal decorations that butch made himself. He smokes in his room so it reeks of cigars

Boss: his room fits him perfectly with clean white plaster walls, sleek metal furniture and black and gold marble decor. Everything in that room has a specific place. If anyone moved his stuff, he’d know. It’s the only mafia bro room that doesn’t caught smell like smoke somehow. There’s a male model mannequin that he uses to practice designing clothes on

Ace: the most eye catching part of his room is a large vanity with several lamps attached and a very extensive makeup kit. I’m talking professional grade. Ace isn’t the spy for nothing. He also has an open closet so all his clothing is out on display. The main color of his room is mauve funny enough

Slim: his room is a drab grey and has a large desk taking up a whole wall. It’s filled with screens and monitors. He also has a few tv screens hooked up to the wall. It almost looks like a security room. On the other side is his bed with a canopy curtain for privacy. There’s a few anime posters on the wall as well

[nothanksehh]

Bang Chan and I - 2

Very hesitantly you opened the email from JYP. Surely this wasn't real? Maybe it was a bot that hacked you. You'd do anything to convince yourself that this wasn't actually happening? But it was happening. They stated that your choreographed dance was great and they loved how many years of experience you had. There would be a small over-the-phone interview before everything was finalized and then it would become real.

That week seemed to pass by much faster than you would have anticipated. The interview went great. You had gone about packing up what small amount of personal items you had decided to keep with you on your move. The company was providing a small amount of relocation funds which was definitely going to make the actual move easier. You had your one-way ticket purchased and ready for the coming Friday. Your apartment was situated and you even had a small number of excess funds for furniture purchases when you arrived. You spent your extra time setting everything up so that when you arrived you could get settled as fast a possible. Nothing seemed real at this point. Even though you could have sworn that your thoughts taking up every second were lasting minutes, the week flew by. Before you knew it you had sold off all of your belongings that you weren't taking and were hopping on a plane.

As you boarded, it felt like all of your bones were imitating a slow smolder. This is the most excited you have ever been. Thankfully your future company had provided enough funds that you could afford a first-class seat. Just further reinforcement of the sheer amount of power this company had. Your mind began to wander as you rose into the air and before you knew it you were asleep.

You woke up to the sounds of the pilot announcing your descent into Seoul. Had the whole flight really passed that easy? There was nothing stopping your excitement now. On the way down to the ground, your feet couldn't stop tapping on the floor below you.

The landing was nice and easy, and thanks to first-class, you made your way off the plane in a hurry. The terminal of the airport was slightly chilled, it was honestly your favorite feeling. You collected your bags and ordered a taxi from your phone. There were so many things that you needed to do but all you could think about was getting the keys to your apartment and starting to unpack. The ride to your place seemed faster than you could have imagined.

As you made your way into the secured building you couldn't help but feel fancy. This building had very nice security and the furnishings in the lobby were mostly colored white and black and looked very sleek. The marble floor beneath your feet sparkled as you walked to the front desk and announced that you were there to collect your keys for your place.

The manager took no time at all getting all the final documents signed and you were shown to your door. The elevator ride to the 4th floor was very quick. Behind the manager, you walked down the hallway to the fifth door on the right. You stood in front of a polished black door with a shiny silver locking mechanism.

You made your way into your apartment and shut the door behind you, locking it. The inside was the perfect size for just you. To the left of the door was a closet for your jackets and outside shoes and slippers. You hung your purse on the hangers and walked further in. The living room was connected to the kitchen with an open concept feel. There was plenty of space for a couch and tv with even some room for dancing. A definite plus in your book. The kitchen was definitely something you weren't used to. There was a sink and enough space to wash your dishes, a small range stove with two burners. This isn't really an issue, just something you've never seen before. And below the burners was a washing machine. You stared at it for slightly longer than you would have expected. This is for sure a different country and the first of many culture shocks you were sure to experience. The rest of the house was much less shocking. The bedroom was a decent size and you were sure you could get a king-sized mattress inside along with a desk and some other simple furnishings. The bathroom was connected to your bedroom and was nice and spacious. There were buttons for the various functions in the bathroom but it didn't take very long to figure them out.

You had arranged for a furniture company to make a delivery of basic furniture pieces but they were just waiting on your call. Most everything was already decided, the size of the bed was the only thing waiting. You quickly made the phone call and they said that they would make the delivery before the end of the day. You would at least have a nice bed to sleep on tonight even if the other furniture wasn't put together yet.

While you waiting for the delivery, you started to unpack your clothes and put them in a corner of your room where your small closet would go. You decided to hop on your laptop and find a place nearby to walk to get groceries. Honestly, it was one of the things you were looking forward to most of all. The food of a new place always captivates your interest. How would the prices compare? Would it taste better than the food back home? You were sure you were going to buy a recipe book to learn all the best local dishes. Cooking made you relaxed and comforted.

A knock at your door temporarily distracted your thoughts and you went to answer it. The furniture company took much less time than you had expected but when you looked at the time on your phone you realized you had been sitting at your laptop for an hour already. You know what they say about daydreaming.

Another hour passed as the various items were delivered and set in your apartment by the workers. You would have to set aside a day to assemble everything but for now, you were just too tired.

Once they were finished, you slipped on your shoes and grabbed your purse to head to the store. You punched in the address in your GPS on your phone and realized that the walk there lead you right past your new work. This was a great opportunity to scope out the place from the outside. It was a tall building and somehow looked unremarkable, even though you knew just how much excitement came from inside those doors. You continued on your walk with your eyes glued to the screen in your hands to be sure you wouldn't get lost. It was exactly because of this that you didn't even notice when you ran straight into a stranger.

"I am so sorry! I didn't even see you there!" you exclaimed to the man you collided with. He was wearing a baseball cap and a face mask that covered most of his features but his eyes stood out when you could tell he was smiling at you beneath his mask.

"You're alright, yeah?" he asked. He was being polite? Even though you ran into him at almost full force? Weird.

"Yes, I am okay. But I should be asking you that! I am the one that ran into you and almost knocked you over."

"If knocking me over is the worst that you do to me, I think I can live my life happy." You blushed. So he is a flirt? You couldn't help but smile inwardly to yourself. You knew you would never see him again but it didn't stop you from thinking about what he looked like under his disguise. "Where are you headed? You look like you are focusing pretty hard on where you were going."

"Yeah, I am headed to this store," you showed him your screen so that maybe he would be able to confirm that you were headed the right way. "Do you think I am headed the right way?"

"Mmm yes, you are going the right way. You should be there soon, miss.....?"

"Oh! I am sorry! I didn't even introduce myself after trampling you. My name is Y/N." You weren't completely sure why you gave him your name. He just exuded an air of comfort.

He smiled when you said your name and slowly started to walk forward again. "Nice to meet you, Y/N. Stay safe, yeah? No more running into people."

"Wait, don't I get to know your name?" So bold. What were you doing?!

He just smiled back at you as he walked forward and winked. Leaving you there stunned on the pavement. The breeze around you knocked your senses back into you as he faded into the distance. What on earth was that? You realized you were disappointed more than you should have been for that being a stranger. You made up your mind that it didn't matter too much. If you were going to meet again it would happen. No use getting worked up about it. You set back to your task and made your way into the store after a little more walking. Busying your brain for the time being.

[captainlilyuniverseworld]

Poached

Written for the @hannibalbingo​ and filling the square Business AU.

Title: Poached

Characters: Hannibal Lector, Will Graham, Beverly Katz, OC Male Character (offscreen)

Warnings: As this is an excerpt of what might be a longer thing none so far

Tags: Business AU, Restaurant Owner Hannibal, Bartender Will, 

Written For @hannibalbingo​

A/N: This is both my first square filled and my first official thought out Hannigram fic idea. Hope you all like it :)

Word Count: 1061

“Check this out.” 

A pair of binoculars were thrust in front of Will’s face the second he walked through the door and he shot Beverly a small glare, but took the binoculars.

“Notice anything different about the place across the street?” she asked. 

He leaned against the bar as he held the binoculars to his eyes and checked out the building across the street. They’d been keeping an eye on it since the FOR SALE sign had been taken out of the window two months ago and started a slow transformation. Into what apparently was a new restaurant. 

 La Dolce was written on the frosted window in black calligraphy with what looked like a fall display. He couldn’t tell much from the binoculars but it looked like the whole place had been gutted and refurbished. 

“There goes the neighborhood huh?” he set the binoculars on the bar top. “Have you actually been over there yet?” 

“No, but they’ve been taking things in since seven this morning,” she answered. “Haven’t been able to figure out what kind of restaurant it is though.” 

“Pricey,” Will snorted as he made his way behind the bar and poured himself a cup of coffee and picked up the inventory delivery list. “Where’s the Templeton? I ordered like three bottles. And Bombay? And the two cases of Vodka?” 

“You know Stu, cheap distributor’s means gapes in the delivery,” Beverly said. She picked up the box that had been sitting on the floor and set it on the counter. “I grabbed two bottles of the Templeton, and there’s a case of the vodka in my trunk.” 

“Bev…” 

“You bought last time.” 

“You notice how he’s always late on delivery days?” Will said as he took the bottles out of the box. “Like he knows we’re going to give him shit about it.” 

“We just have to stick out for two more years, then we can open our place,” she reminded him. 

“That’s if I don’t kill Stewart first, and we just run this place ourselves, though to be fair, we do run this place ourselves,” Will said. 

He absentmindedly picked up the binoculars to look at the former empty space, now restaurant across the street. It had been a craft store when they first moved in. It was going to be a coffee shop at one point, before it was an Army Recruitment Center for a hot second before it sat dormant for a year and a half. 

He leaned over the bar in interest as a sleek black Bentley pulled into an empty space in front of the restaurant and an older man stepped out of the car in a dark burgundy blazer, with a pair of slim fitting black slacks. He glanced over his shoulder and Will froze as their eyes seemingly met. 

He turned back towards the building after a beat and walked over to one of the men carrying furniture into the building. Will lowered the binoculars and looked at Beverly to see if she had witnessed the encounter, but she was busy counting the money in the register. 

“Bought the place sight unseen,” Freddie Lounds said when she came in later that evening. 

Freddie Lounds worked for Tattle Crime and made it her business to find things out, even it was something menial like who bought the place across the street. She sipped her Cosmo and glanced around the bar for the umpteenth time. 

“Looks like your boss might have a little competition,” she smirked. 

She shook her drink and Will rolled his eyes as he picked up the cocktail shaker and refilled her empty glass. He looked over as the bells of the door signaled the arrival of another customer and froze when he recognized the man who had stepped out of the Bentley. 

He took a seat at the bar, a few down from Freddie and picked up a menu. Up close Will could see a beige colored cardigan underneath the blazer. He was older, but he was handsome. His hair looked almost silver with bits of brown mixed in, and his eyes were a striking maroon color. 

“That’s him,” Freddie stage whispered. 

Will looked back at her. 

“He’s the owner of La Dolce, Doctor something,” she waved her hand dismissively. 

“Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” the man said as he set down the menu. “If you’re going to talk about someone, you should make sure they can’t hear you.” 

His accent wasn’t one Will had heard before. Something, deep European maybe. 

Freddie said nothing in response but pointedly looked at the TV on the wall, even though Will knew she had no interest in the game. 

Will made his feet move in the direction of the man and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Knowing Freddie, she probably wanted you to hear her,” Will said as he leaned against the bar 

The man glanced at Freddie, she was still turned towards the TV but her head was tilted slightly in their direction. Will ignored her in favor of giving the man his full attention. 

“Would you like to come work for me?” the man asked. 

“I’m sorry?” Will wasn’t sure he had heard the man correctly. “Are...are you trying to poach me doctor?” 

“Hannibal, please,” he said, he smiled briefly. “And I suppose I am yes. Are you interested?” 

“We don’t even know each other,” Will pointed out. 

“I have been a few times. The bar was crowded and I believe I was served by the owner, but I was impressed by the way you handled your guests. I enjoyed your sleight of hand in which you watered down your shots if a guest pushed for your partaking in a drink with them,” the man, Hannibal, said. “And the way you took over when your boss took an unexpected break.” 

“I’m flattered?” Will didn’t know if he was a little creeped out, or impressed at how easily the man blended in so that Will didn’t notice him before. 

“I’m prepared to offer you the position of head bartender at my restaurant,” he told Will. “Twenty dollars an hour including any tips you make.” 

“Look, I’m...I’m really flattered,” Will started. 

“Please, think it over,” Hannibal said as he stood up. He reached into his blazer and pulled out a business card. 

Will took the business card and gave a small nod as he slipped it into his back pocket. “Yeah...I’ll uh, I’ll think about it.”

[winchesterbrotherstan]

Supernatural- Provenance (1.19)

b.. a. by.

Pairing: Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: While working a case, a girl catches Sam’s eye, Dean and Olive butt heads, and Olive goes into attack mode.

Warnings: cursing, screaming, creepy little ghost, slit throats, olive is a monster, the usual

Word Count: 8163

I yawned, dropping my head onto the table of the bar. Dean was flirting with a pretty girl while Sam and I were elbow-deep in research. Sam made a face at Dean before gesturing to him. Dean only held up a hand, laughing at something the girl whispered to him.

“Dean!” I called, annoyed.

He rolled his eyes before coming back to us, dropping a beer in front of Sam.

“Alright, I think we’ve got something.” Sam sighed.

Dean glanced back over his shoulder. “Yeah, me too. I think we need to take a little shore leave, just a little bit.” He grinned. “What do you think, huh? I’m so in the door with this one.”

I rolled my eyes, biting back a snarky comment. Sam sighed.

“So what are we today, Dean? I mean, are we rock stars, are we army rangers?”

Dean’s grin grew, and I rolled my eyes again.

“Reality TV scouts, looking for people with special skills. I mean, hey, it’s not that far off, right?” He leaned toward Sam. “By the way, she’s got a friend. Possibly hook you up. Whatcha think?”

Sam sighed. “No thanks, Dean. I can get my own dates.”

“Yeah, you can but you don’t.” Dean made a face.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sam shot back.

“Hey! Dean’s just being a jackass. Don’t pay him any attention.”

Dean tried to protest, but Sam rolled his eyes. “Mark and Ann Telesca of New Paltz, New York were both found dead in their own home, a few days ago. Throats were slit. No prints, no murder weapons, all…”

Dean was distracted, staring back at the girl at the bar. I kicked him under the table and he turned back to me with lips curled, angry.

“Dean! Pay attention.”

“No prints, no murder weapons, all the doors and windows locked from the inside.”

Dean took a sip from his beer with a shrug. “Could just be a garden variety murder. You know, not our department.”

“Dad says different.” I spat, flicking through his journal.

“What do you mean?”

Sam pointed to the map on the page. “Dad noted three murders in the same area of upstate New York. First one here in 1912, second one here in 1945, third in 1970.”

“Same MO as the Telescas. Throats slit, doors locked from the inside. So much time happened between the two that nobody checked for a pattern.”

“Except Dad.” Sam sighed. “He kept his eyes peeled for another one.”

“And now we got one.” Dean pouted. “Alright, I’m with ya. It’s worth checking out. Can’t we pick this up first thing though?”

I sighed, and Sam shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Good.” Dean patted Sam’s arm and circled the table to me. “Love you, kid. Even when you’re being a brat.”

I scoffed back at him, and he pulled me into a hug. “I love you.”

“Fuck off.” I spat, pushing him away.

He rolled his eyes and flipped me off as he walked back to the bar. Sam bumped his elbow into my side.

“What’s the deal, bug?”

I sighed and leaned against him with a huff. “Just not in the mood for his shit.”

“The flirting? Aw, bug, are you jealous that you don’t have all of Dean’s attention?”

I rolled my eyes again. “No, you big idiot. I’m just sick of him being a horny fucker all the time. It’s really annoying.”

Sam only snickered.

                                                          ***

I snuggled further into Dean’s side, kicking my shoes off. He was asleep, slumped in the passenger seat with a pair of sunglasses on. He went out last night with two girls and came back to the motel beyond drunk. He had thrown up countless times. I stayed up with him, rubbing his back and wiping the sweat off his forehead. Taking care of a grown man was frustratingly difficult when you only had one arm.

Sam walked around the car, knocking on the hood. I looked at him through slitted eyes. He put a finger up to his mouth before leaning in through the window and slamming the horn. I let out a squeak, and Dean jumped up, spooked. Sam got into the driver’s seat, cackling. Jinx howled, and Sam turned around to pat her head.

“Man, that is so not cool.” Dean grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“God fuck, Sams.” I hissed.

“I just swept the Telescas with EMF. It’s clean. And last night, while you were… well, out…”

I pushed my head further into Dean’s chest. “We checked the history of the house. Nothing strange about the family.”

“Alright, so if it’s not the people and it’s not the house, then maybe it’s the contents. Cursed object or something.” Dean mumbled.

“What?” Sam asked, leaning in.

“No, bubba, house is clean.” I groaned, sitting up.

“Yeah I know, Sam said that.”

“No, I mean it’s empty. No furniture. Nothing.” Sam shook his head.

I blinked, suddenly awake. “What?”

“Where’s all their stuff?” Dean squinted.

                                                         ***

I wiggled my nose, trying to move my glasses back into place as I followed Sam around, hand in his. I squeezed, a signal to wait for Dean as he picked a piece of finger food off a tray. Sam squeezed my hand back. Jinx was asleep in the Impala, and I was hoping it would stay that way. The last thing we needed was somebody with a stick up their ass calling animal control on her. We were out of place. 

This fancy auction house, with women in fancy flowing dresses and men in tuxedos. I kept myself behind Sam. We were in our scratchy canvas jackets, dirty flannels, ripped jeans and scuffed boots. Dean grumbled as he caught up.

“Consignment auctions, estate sales. Looks like a garage sale for WASPs if you ask me.” He plucked more food off another tray.

A man in a tuxedo popped up behind us, and we spun around. Sam pulled me closer to him as we forced matching polite smiles.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

Dean eyed him and cleared his throat. “I’d like some champagne please.” He spoke in a posh accent.

Sam’s jaw clenched, and I dug my arm into Dean’s side, ignoring the throb that radiated from my bones. “He’s not a waiter.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow, and Sam held his hand out. “I’m Sam Connors.”

The man blinked at him, not taking Sam’s hand. I popped out from behind him and squared my shoulders.

“I’m Olive Connors, and this is our brother Dean.” I nodded to Dean.

“We’re art dealers, with Connors Limited.”

“You are… art dealers.” The man repeated, eyeing us.

I sighed, and Sam squeezed my hand again.

It’s okay, just stay calm.

“That’s right.”

“I’m Daniel Blake, this is my auction house. Now, this is a private showing, and I don’t remember seeing you on the guest list.” The man cleared his throat, the look of disgust clear on his face.

“We’re there, Chuckles. You just need to take another look.” Dean snapped as he swiped a glass off a passing tray. “Oh, finally.” He sniffed the glass, raised his eyebrows, and walked off.

“Cheers.” Sam forced a smile as I yanked on his arm, trying to follow Dean.

“What is wrong with you?” Sam snarled at Dean.

“Hey.” I tugged his arm. “Relax. He’s just being a prick again.”

The three of us fell silent as we stared at an old painting of a family. Our heads tilted the same way, identical looks on our faces.

“A fine example of American Primitive, wouldn’t you say?”

The three of us turned up to see a very pretty girl about Sam’s age coming down the spiral stairs. Her dress was black and sleek, hugging her body. She gave off classy vibes, and I was immediately entranced. I blinked as her back turned to us. Dean slapped Sam on the back, and Sam ignored him.

“Well, I’d say it’s more Grant Wood than Grandma Moses. But you knew that, you just wanted to see if I did.” Sam smiled.

“Guilty.” She smiled back. “And clumsy. I apologize. I’m Sarah Blake.” She held her hand out to him.

He took it, and my heart softened at the twinkle in his eyes. “I’m Sam. This is my little sister Olive, and our…” He sighed as Dean continued to stuff his face with food.

“This is our brother, Dean.” I grinned.

Sarah chuckled. “Dean. Can we get you some more mini-quiche?”

Dean shook his head, in the middle of chewing. I giggled.

“He’s okay, thank you.”

Sarah smiled widely as she turned back to Sam. “So, can I help you with something?”

“Yeah, actually. What can you tell us about the Telesca estate?”

Sarah grimaced. “The whole thing’s pretty grisly if you ask me, selling your things so soon. But Dad’s right, sensationalism brings out the crowds. Even the rich ones.”

“Is it possible to see the provenances?” Sam asked.

Dean and I eyed each other, confused.

What the fuck does that word mean?

“I’m afraid there isn’t any chance of that.” Blake came back up behind us.

“Why not?” I asked, shuffling around to be in front of Dean.

“You’re not on the guest list. And I think it’s time to leave.”

“Well we don’t have to be told twice.” Dean spoke poshly again.

“Apparently you do.” Blake took a step toward us.

I backed up, running into Dean’s front. Sam reached for my hand.

“Okay. It’s all right. We don’t want any trouble. We’ll go.”

Dean rolled his eyes and walked off. Sam and Sarah stared at each other until I grabbed Sam’s hand and pulled him along to follow Dean. I glanced over my shoulder to see Sarah staring right at Sam’s ass. I shivered, uncomfortable.

                                                         ***

“Grant Wood?” Dean spoke to Sam as they walked behind me.

“Yeah, Sams.” I called over my shoulder. “The hell was all that?”

“Grandma Moses?”

“Art history course.” Sam smiled. “It’s good for meeting girls.”

Dean shook his head as I unlocked the motel door. Jinx ran in, wagging her tail.

“It’s like I don’t even know you.”

We shuffled into the room and blinked. Retro 70s disco fantasy room. The Do Not Disturb sign was a silver outline of John Travolta. Jinx watched us as we took the scene in, all heads tilted.

“Huh.”

I shrugged and tossed my bag at the feet of the bed furthest from the door. Sam and Dean did the same, still staring at the room.

“Sams, what was… providence?” I stumbled over the word.

“Provenance.” Sam sounded it out. “It’s a certificate of origin, like a biography. Ya know, we can use them to check the history of the pieces, see if any of them have a freaky past.”

I frowned. “Huh.”

“Well, we’re not getting anything out of Chuckles, but Sarah…” Dean made finger guns at Sam.

I giggled, and Sam smirked at Dean. “Yeah, maybe you can get her to write it all down on a cocktail napkin.”

Dean laughed, and I shook my head.

“No no no, pick-ups are Dean’s thing.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t Dean’s ass she was checking out.” I dropped onto the bed.

Sam narrowed his eyes at me, and Dean grinned. Jinx jumped onto the bed and barked in Sam’s direction.

“In other words, you two want me to use her to get information.” Sam sighed.

I shrugged. “Sometimes you gotta take one for the team.”

Dean grinned wider. “Call her, Sam.”

                                                         ***

I put my glasses on as I left the bathroom and turned the lights off. Dean was sitting on our bed, sharpening his knife. Sam was criss-cross on his own bed, rustling through papers.

“Hey, Sams!” I grinned. “How’d it go?”

He had gone out to drinks with Sarah while Dean and I stayed at the motel, showering and fixing weapons.

“She just handed the providences over to him.” Dean grinned.

“Provenances.” I corrected.

“Provenances?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, turning to Sam. “Okay, so?”

“We went back to her place, I got a copy of the papers-”

“And?” Dean wiggled his eyebrows.

“And nothing. That’s it. I left, told her I had to get home to my little sister.”

I giggled, and Dean made a face.

“You didn’t have to con her, or do any… special favors or anything like that?”

“Dean.” I chastised, trying to keep the smile off my face. “Get your mind out of the gutter!”

Dean laughed as Sam rolled his eyes. I dropped on the bed, next to Dean.

“You know, when this whole thing’s over, we could… stick around for a little bit.” He offered.

“Why?” Sam furrowed his eyebrows.

“So you can take her out again.” I shrugged. “Duh.”

“It’s obvious you’re into her, even I can see that.”

“I think I’ve got something here.” Sam ignored us, holding a paper up.

I switched over to sit next to Sam, taking the paper from his hand. “What am I looking at here?”

“Portrait of Isaiah Merchant’s family, painted in 1910.” Dean read off the paper.

“Wasn’t the first murder in 1912?” I tilted my head.

Sam nodded. “First purchased in 1912, Peter Simms. He was murdered in 1912. Same thing in 1945, oh, and 1970.”

“Then stored, until it was donated to a charity auction last month. Where the Telescas bought it.” Dean read from Dad’s journal.

“So, what do you think? Haunted? Cursed?”

Dean dropped the paper and grabbed his knife. “Either way, it’s toast.”

I grinned. “I’ll get the gloves.”

                                                         ***

Dean lept halfway up the metal gate, easily climbing the rest. He sprinted into the fog, then called back to us.

“Come on!”

Sam dropped onto a knee, helping me get a step up onto the gate. I climbed it faster than he did, anxious to be back on solid ground. I balanced on the top, knuckles white. Although I had gotten used to being down an arm, scaling fences became a lot more difficult. I had to rely mostly on the weight of my body against the fence and the soles of my boots. I took a breath before getting a grip and climbing down the other side. Dean helped me once I was halfway, and Sam jumped off, hitting the ground and rolling back to his feet.

“Stay with Dean.” Sam whispered as he went for the security alarm.

He fidgeted with the wires, and I watched with a smile on my face as he worked.

“Alright, go ahead.” He turned back to Dean.

Dean picked the lock with ease, pushing the door open. I led the way, flashlight low as we looked around. Dean tapped my arm and pointed up the stairs. I grabbed Sam and followed as he sprinted up the same spiral staircase from earlier. Dean went to put his flashlight in his mouth but I took it, handing him a switchblade.

He flicked it open and cut the painting from the frame. Sam helped him roll it up, and I pulled a hair tie off my wrist with my teeth and wrapped it around the painting. Dean tucked it under his arm and patted my shoulder.

Let’s go.

                                                         ***

“Ugly ass thing.” Dean spat as he struck a match. “If you ask me, we’re doing the art world a favor.”

Sam sighed, aiming the flashlight. “Dean, just hurry up.”

Dean dropped the match without a word, and the painting began to curl at the edges. We stood in a huddle, watching it burn.

“Alright. We can head back to the motel, take the night and then pack up and hit the road.” Dean wrapped his arms around himself.

I nodded, smacking at a mosquito. “Let’s go.”

                                                         ***

“Bug?” Sam’s voice was a whisper.

“What’s up, Sams?” I mumbled.

I was wrapped in Dean’s arms, buried under three different blankets.

“Can we share a bed tonight?”

I grunted as I shuffled out of Dean’s grip and rolled onto the floor. Sam sat up and pulled the blankets back.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

I nodded as I curled up in his bed, snuggling into his side. He threw the blankets back over us and sighed.

“You okay?”

He nodded, resting his chin on the top of my head. “I’m just not feeling great.”

“Upset?”

He nodded again, wrapping his arms tight around me. “Yeah.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry, Sams.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got you guys.”

I snorted and pushed my head into his neck. “We’ll find you a girl, Sams. Don’t worry.”

                                                         ***

“We’ve got a problem!” Dean rushed out from the bathroom.

“What happened?” I asked, clipping Jinx’s collar on.

“I can’t find my wallet.”

Sam didn’t look up from his duffel bag. “How is that our problem?”

“Cause I think I dropped it in the warehouse last night.”

Sam’s eyes went wide and his head snapped up. I stumbled backward, dropping onto the bed and struggling to breath.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No.” Dean shook his head.

“Dean! That’s got your prints all over it, your ID!” I ran a hand through my hair.

“Well, my fake ID, but yeah.” Dean nodded.

“We’ve gotta find it before somebody else does. Come on.”

                                                         ***

“How do you lose your wallet, Dean?” Sam hissed.

I rubbed the back of my neck as we rushed around the auction house, eyes scanning every possible surface. Dean threw his hands up and kept looking. I groaned, ready to duck and check under tables.

“Hey guys!”

We turned around to see Sarah with a huge smile on her face. We all smiled back, trying to act cool and collected.

“Sarah! Hey!” Sam’s smile came naturally.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, glancing at Dean and I, who were still looking around.

“Ah, we uh… we’re leaving town, and you know, thought we’d come to say goodbye.” Sam stumbled.

“What are you talking about, Sam? We’re sticking around for at least another day or two.” Dean grinned as he tugged me along.

Sam looked at us, confused. Dean fished his wallet out of his pocket and smiled at Sam. “Oh, Sam. By the way, I’m gonna go ahead and give you that twenty dollars I owe you.” He turned to Sarah with a smile. “I always forget, you know.”

Sam only blinked, and Dean held the cash out with a grin. “There you go.”

Sam snatched it, glaring at Dean.

“Well, I’ll leave you two crazy kids along, I gotta-”

“We should go check on the dog!” I grinned, patting Sam on the back. “See ya!”

I grabbed Dean by the hand and tugged him to follow as we scrambled away, toward the parking lot.

“Are you insane?” I asked, eyes wide.

“He likes her.”

“I know he does, De, but you almost gave us both heart attacks.” I hissed.

“Oh my God!” Sam shouted.

I whipped around, hearing my teeth crackle inside my head. Dean grabbed my wrist and yanked me back his way, shaking his head.

Relax.

“Yeah, and now you’re just going to sell it again?” I heard Sam again.

I blinked, swallowing the blood in my mouth. Dean let out a breath, and Sam hurried into view, grabbing us both by the wrists and tugged us along.

“We’ve gotta go, now.”

He dragged us to the Impala, dodging our questions. Dean slid into the driver’s seat, and Sam shoved me to sit in the middle of the front bench. Jinx yapped as Sam slammed the door shut.

“Sams, what happened?” I asked.

“The painting.” Sam hissed.

“What?” Dean made a face.

“The painting is back.”

I shook my head. “Sammy, that’s not funny.”

Sam glared. “I’m not playing. I saw it.”

Dean let out a breath. “What the hell?”

“I don’t understand, Dean. We burned the damn thing!”

“Yeah, I got that, Captain Obvious!” Dean spat.

“Hey! Both of you relax. We just need to figure out another way to get rid of the thing. Ideas?”

“Okay, alright.” Sam sighed. “Well, um, in almost all the lore about haunted painting, it’s always the painting’s subject that haunts ‘em.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “So we just need to figure out everything there is to know about that creepy-ass family in the creepy-ass painting. What were their names again?”

                                                         ***

“You said the Isaiah Merchant family, right?” The proprietor asked.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Dean circled the table, a huge smile on his face as he flipped through an old book full of pictures of guns.

The proprietor put down a large book of newspapers clipping down on the table. “I dug up every scrap of local history I could find. So you kids are crime buffs?”

“Kinda.” Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“Well…” He held up a newspaper article, pointing to a side article.

Father Slaughters Family, Kills Himself.

“Yes.” Dean piped up. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“The whole family was killed?” I asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“It seems that Isaiah, he slits his kids’ throats, then his wife, and then himself. He was a barber by trade. Used a straight razor.”

I shivered. Dad was a bit crazy, that was true, but there was no way he’d ever kill us.

“Why’d he do it?” Sam asked as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Let’s look… uh,” He skimmed the page, “People who knew him describe Isaiah as having a stern and harsh temperament. Controlled his family with an iron fist. Wife, uh, two sons, adopted daughter… there were whispers that the wife was going to take the children and leave.” He made a face. “Which of course, you know, in that day and age… so, um, instead, the old man… well, he gave them all a shave.” The man dragged a finger across his throat and made gagging noises.

He kept his eyes on Dean as he laughed, and Dean laughed back, maintaining eye contact. He was flirting. I blinked, holding back a smile. Sam gave Dean a bitchface, and Dean immediately stopped, clearing his throat.

“Does it say what happened to the bodies?” I asked, rubbing Dean’s arm.

“I’m sorry?” The proprietor blinked, looking at me.

“What happened to the bodies?” Dean repeated.

“Just that they were all cremated.” The man shrugged.

I sighed, and Sam groaned. “Is that all?”

“Yeah.” He glanced at Dean, then back to Sam. “Actually, I found a picture of the family. It’s right here… somewhere.” He flicked through the book. “Right, here it is!” He pulled out a paper and showed us.

It was a picture of the painting. I sighed, and Sam asked him for a copy. The guy nodded before turning around and disappearing into the back room.

“Hey.” I smacked Sam’s arm. “Be nice.”

“What?” He squinted.

Dean was looking through the book of guns again, his demeanor sad. His shoulders were dropped and a sad look was on his face.

“Why’d you give him a bitch face?” I whispered.

“Because he was laughing at a dead family.”

I rolled my eyes. “You idiot. He was flirting.”

“With … a guy?”

I rolled my eyes again. “What, I can be bi, but Dean can’t be?”

Sam shook his head. “Olive, that’s not what I’m saying. I just… I’ve never seen him be forward about it.”

I snorted. “That’s cause you haven’t seen him without Dad in a while.”

Sam blinked. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

The guy came back with a copy of the picture and handed it to us with a small smile. “Here you go.”

I smiled back as Sam took it. Dean smiled at the guy as we left the store.

“Come on.” I held my hand out.

Dean took it with a soft smile and held the car door open for me.

                                                         ***

“What the hell?” I squinted, bringing the copy of the photo closer to my face.

“What?” Dean looked over his shoulder as he stood in front of the sink, washing the coffee mugs from earlier.

“The pictures are different.” I rolled from my stomach onto my back and sat up.

Dean snorted. Sam reached out across the beds and took the paper. Jinx whined, popping her head up as Sam stopped petting her.

“Holy shit. Olive’s right.”

Dean shook his head. “No way.”

“I’m telling you, De.”

“The painting at the auction house, the dad is looking down. This copy, the dad’s looking out. The painting changed, Dean.” Sam squinted at the picture.

“Alright, so you think that Daddy dearest is trapped in the painting and is handing out Columbian neckties like he did with his family?” Dean turned the tap off.

“Well, yeah, it seems like it.” Sam sighed.

“But if his bones are already dusted, how are we gonna stop him?” I asked.

“Well, if Isaiah’s position changed, then maybe some other things in the painting changed too. Ya know, it could give us some clues.”

“What, like a Da Vinci Code deal?” Sam began to pet Jinx again.

“Uh…” Dean stammered, staring at Sam with a blank look. “I don’t… know, uh…”

“He’s still waiting on the movie for that one.” I giggled.

“Anyway, we gotta get back in and see that painting.” Dean threw himself on the bed and crossed his arms behind his head.

I dropped onto my side and snuggled up to him, curling up and placing my cheek on his chest. He wrapped one arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

“This is a good thing.” I mumbled.

“Yeah, cause Sam gets more time to crush on his girlfriend.”

“Dude.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Enough, already.”

“What?” Dean asked.

“What do you mean, what? Ever since we’ve gotten here, you two have been trying to pimp me out to Sarah. Just back off, alright?” Sam snapped.

“What, you don’t like her?”

Sam rolled his eyes and dropped onto his back, annoyed.

“Alright. You like her, she obviously likes you. You’re both consenting adults…” Dean trailed off.

“What’s the point?” Sam raised his voice. “We’ll just leave. We always leave!”

“He’s not talking about marriage, Sams.”

“You know, I don’t get it.” Sam turned to us. “What do you two care if I hook up?”

Dean sighed, calm as he talked. “Cause then maybe you wouldn’t be so cranky all the time.”

Sam glared, let out a huff, and looked back up to the ceiling.

I bumped my head into Dean’s chin and sat up with a sigh. “Sammy, we’re serious. This isn’t just about hooking up, okay? I mean, we… we think that Sarah could be good for you.”

Sam scratched his head, staying silent. Jinx whined, sensing the tension. I shot Dean a look.

Say something.

“And…” Dean spoke as he sat up, voice soft. “I don’t mean any disrespect, but… I’m sure this about Jessica. Right? Now, we don’t know what it’s like to lose somebody like that, but…”

“Sams, I know you miss her.” I whispered. “But she would want you to be happy.”

Sam said nothing as he listened, tears in his eyes. Dean sighed.

“God forbid have fun once in a while. Wouldn’t she?”

Sam gave a soft laugh. “Yeah, I know she would.” He sighed. “Yeah, you two are right. Part of this is about Jessica. But not the main part.”

“What’s it about?” Dean asked.

Sam said nothing, and Dean huffed.

“Okay.” I laid back down, and Dean followed.

He wrapped his arm around me again and yawned. I closed my eyes as Sam flicked his phone open and cleared his throat.

“Sarah, hey.” Sam spoke, awkwardly. “It’s Sam.”

A pause, and I cracked my eyes open.

“Hey, hi.”

Another pause.

“Good. Good, yeah, um… what about you?”

I watched as he paced around the room.

“Yeah, good, good, really good.”

Dean huffed. “Smooth.”

I thumped my head against Dean’s chest. “Be nice.”

“So, uh, listen… my siblings and I were uh… thinking that maybe we’d like to come back in and look at the painting again, I…”

Dean shook his head again, then turned to me with a smile.

“I think maybe we are interested in buying it.”

My nose wrinkled up.

“Buy it and be haunted? No thanks.” I whispered.

“What!” Sam snapped, and I pushed myself up, eyebrows furrowed.

“Who’d you sell it to?”

I rolled over Dean and got to my feet, digging through the duffel bag. Jinx jumped off the bed and ran toward me, sniffing the bag.

“Hey, no.” I pushed her nose away. “Don’t do that.”

“Sarah, I need an address right now.”

                                                         ***

Dean slammed the brake and put the car in park. He moved slower than Sam, and I scrambled out past him.

“Sam, what’s happening?” Sarah asked as she jumped out of the car in the driveway.

“I told you, you shouldn’t have come.” He ran past her, bolting up the porch steps.

“Hello? Anyone home?” I asked as I pounded on the door.

Dean tried kicking at it, but it didn’t budge.

“You said Evelyn might be in danger. What sort of danger?”

“I can’t knock this sucker down. I’ve gotta pick it.” He groaned.

I sprinted back to the car and dug through the backseat. Jinx tried to lick my face, and I pushed her away again.

“Stop it.” I mumbled as I fished out the pick case.

“Here.” I shoved the case into Dean’s hands and joined Sam at the windows, which were covered in security bars.

“What are you guys, burglars?”

“I wish it was that simple.” I scoffed, hitting the window.

“Look, you really should wait in the car. It’s for your own good.” Sam tried to get her out of the way.

I rushed to Dean’s side as he got the door open.

“The hell I will. Evelyn’s a friend.” Sarah ran in after us.

“Evelyn?” Sam called.

“Evelyn.” I inched into the lounge.

She was sitting on a couch, half turned away from us. The painting moved, the dad’s position changing again. Sarah reached for Evelyn, and Sam tried to get her to stop. Evelyn’s head tipped back, and her slashed throat was exposed. Sarah let out a scream, jumping back into Sam’s arms. He led her out of the room.

                                                         ***

There was a knock on the door, and I shifted. Sam opened the door, and Sarah stormed in past him.

“Hey. You alright?”

“No, actually.” She crossed her arms over his chest. “I just lied to the cops and told them I went to Evelyn’s, alone, and that I found her like that.”

Sam let out a huff. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” She growled.

I sat up and yawned. Jinx was on her back next to me, kicking in her sleep.

“I’m about to call them back right now if you don’t tell me what the hell’s going on. Who’s killing these people?”

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged.

“What.”

“What?” Sarah looked at me.

“Not who. It’s a what. A what is killing these people.”

She looked at me like I was insane.

“Sarah, you saw that painting move.” Sam spoke softly.

She shook her head, becoming agitated. “No! No, I was… I was seeing things. It’s impossible.”

Dean snorted. “Well, welcome to our world.”

“Sarah. I know this sounds crazy, but…” Sam stumbled.

“We think the painting is haunted.”

She shook her head at me again. “No. You’re joking.”

The three of us sighed, faces dead-panned as she looked at each of us.

“You’re not joking.” She wiped fresh tears out of her eyes. “God, the guys I go out with.”

“Sarah, just think about it.” Sam tried to reason with her, and she took a step back.

“Look. Evelyn, the Telesca’s. They both had the painting, and there were others before that too. Wherever that butt-ugly painting goes, people die.” I shrugged.

“We’re just trying to stop it. And that’s the truth.” Sam sighed.

“Then I guess you’d better show me. I’m coming with you.” She pulled her purse over her shoulder.

“What? No! Sarah, no, you should just go home. This stuff can get dangerous, and I… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Sarah snorted. “I’m sorry, how old’s your sister?”

I rolled my eyes as I moved to sit next to Dean at the table. “I’m fifteen.”

“Look, you guys are probably crazy. But if you’re right about this?” She sighed. “Me and my Dad sold that painting that might’ve got these people killed. Look, I’m not saying I’m not scared, because I am scared as hell, but… I’m not gonna run and hide either.” She took two long strides to the door and turned back to us, arms crossed over her chest. “So. Are we going or what?” She walked out.

“Sam?” Dean got his attention.

Sam looked up at us, eyes wide.

“Marry that girl.”

                                                         ***

“Uh, isn’t this a crime scene?” Sarah asked, looking around as Dean picked the lock.

“You’ve already lied to the cops once.” I shrugged. “What’s another infraction?”

Dean pushed the door open and stepped inside. I followed, and Sam and Sarah came in last, looking nervous.

“Aren’t you worried that it’s… gonna kill us?” She asked as Sam lifted it off the wall.

“Nah, it seems to do its thing at night. I think we’re okay in the daylight.”

I pulled the picture out of my back pocket and unfolded it, trying to flatten it out over my thigh. I compared it to the picture and my lips curled up.

“Yeesh. Sams, check it out. The razor. Closed in this, open in that.” I pointed to the razor blade in Isaiah’s hand.

“What are you guys looking for?” Sarah asked.

“If the spirit’s changing aspects of the painting then it’s doing so for a reason.” Dean explained.

“Hey, hey, hey. Look at this.” Sam pointed at something. “The painting in the painting.”

I huffed and looked around. Dean picked up a glass ashtray and held it up to the painting. I squinted.

“What is it?”

“Merchant.” He read.

                                                         ***

Jinx pulled hard on her leash, and Sam pulled back. She sniffed one headstone before jumping around to another.

“This is the third boneyard we’ve checked.” Dean groaned. “I think this ghost is jerking us around.”

“So this is what you guys do for a living?” Sarah asked.

“Not exactly.” Sam shrugged. “We don’t get paid.”

“Well, Mazel tov.” She sighed.

“Hey.” I hit Dean’s arm as I spotted the mausoleum. “Over there.”

I hurried over, leaving the others to catch up. I tugged on the lock, but it was solid. Dean moved me aside and slammed a knife handle into it, breaking it open. He stepped in first, and I followed. There was a bunch of name plates, and four urns in small glass boxes. I flinched as I noticed the dolls set up next to each urn.

“Okay. That right there? The creepiest thing I’ve ever seen.” Sarah shuffled.

“It was a… tradition at the time. Whenever a child died, sometimes they’d preserve the kid’s favorite toy in a glass case, put it next to the headstone or crypt.”

Jinx began to bark. A breeze blew in, and I shuddered as the cobwebs fluttered around us. Dean wrapped an arm around me.

“Notice anything strange here?”

Sarah giggled. “Uh, where do I start?”

Sam laughed, and I rolled my eyes at him.

“No, that’s not what he means. Look at the urns.”

“Yeah.” Sam noticed. “Only four.”

“Mom and three kids.”

“Father dearest isn’t here.” I sighed.

“So where is he?”

                                                         ***

I yawned, then giggled as Jinx did the same. Sarah and Sam were sitting on a short wall next to the office buildings. I was sitting on the ground next to them.

“So what exactly is your brother doing in there?”

“Searching county death certificates trying to find out what happened to Isaiah’s body.” Sam fiddled with his fingers.

“How’d he even get in the door?” She chuckled.

“Lying and subterfuge mostly.”

I snorted. “Dean’s really charming, actually. Especially when he wants to be. He can get himself wherever he needs to be.”

She nodded, turning back to Sam.

“You have a, uh… you have a right… no, uh, you know what…” Sam smiled at her. “Do you mind if I get it?”

“No.” She smiled.

He brushed it off and held it out on his finger. “Okay. Got it. Make a wish.”

Sarah laughed and then blew it away.

“Sam, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “I’m gonna… take Jinx for a walk.” I rushed to my feet and pulled Jinx along.

We circled the block. Jinx wanted to sniff everything, but there was nobody around, and being alone freaked me out. I hadn’t been alone for more than a few hours, come to think of it. I grew up stuck to Sam and Dean. When Dean started going on hunts, Sam stayed with me. When Sam moved away, Dad and Dean would go on hunts, and I would stay with Bobby or Pastor Jim.

I circled back around to the front of the building, where Sam was in the middle of a heart-felt sentence, and Dean was standing with his hands in his pockets.

“Are we interrupting something?” Dean asked.

“No.”

“Not at all.”

Sam and Sarah spoke at the same time.

“Huh.”

“Oookay.” I let out a breath and shuffled back to Dean.

He bumped my arm as Sam asked what he had found out.

“Paydirt.”

“Oh, do share.” I grinned up at him.

“Apparently the surviving relatives of the Merchant family were so ashamed of Isaiah that they didn’t want him interred with the rest of the family. So, they handed him over to the county. County gave him a pauper’s funeral. Economy style.” Dean clicked his tongue. “He wasn’t created. He was buried in a pine box.”

“So there are bones to burn.”

“There are bones to burn.” Dean nodded.

“Please tell me you know where.”

                                                         ***

I flung dirt over my shoulder with a huff. It was hot, and I was sweaty and gross. I could’ve sat out on digging, Dean and Sam understood that doing that with a single arm was difficult, but I didn’t want to engage in small talk with Sarah. Dean took a second, and Sam crawled out of the grave, standing next to Sarah.

“You guys seem to be uncomfortably comfortable with this.” She noted.

“Well, uh, this isn’t exactly the first grave we’ve dug.” He chuckled. “Still think I’m a catch?”

She laughed, and Dean tapped his shovel against something hard.

“Think we’ve got something.”

“Wanna crack it open?” I asked Dean.

“Nah. Jump.” He tossed his shovel up to Sam.

I did the same, and Dean held his hands out to me, holding onto my forearm and elbow. I giggled as he smiled.

“Ready?”

“Are they… laughing?”

“She grew up in this life. We all did.” Sam sighed. “Olive tends to find joy in the very little things.

“Alright, come on.” Dean gave my arm a squeeze.

I anchored my feet down before hopping. The heels of my boots cracked through the wood. Dean gripped me by the middle and held me back up. Sam reached down and helped me out. I shook the dirt off my boots as Dean got himself back on solid ground.

I rustled through the bag and yanked out the rock salt. Sam poured the kerosene all over the coffin, and I dumped the container of salt in. Dean struck a match and watched it burn for a second.

“You’ve been a real pain in the ass, Isaiah.”

“Good riddance, bitch.” I grinned as Dean tossed the match down.

The coffin went up in flames.

                                                         ***

“Keep the motor running.” Sam instructed as we rolled up.

“I thought the painting was harmless now.” Sarah tilted her head as Sam got out of the car.

“Better safe than sorry. We’re gonna bury the sucker.” Sam shut the door.

“I’m going with you.”

“You sure?” Sam was taken aback.

“Hey! Hey, hey!” Dean called Sam. “Olive and I will stay here.”

“Go make your move!” I grinned, punching his arm.

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Sam! We’re serious!”

Sam flipped us off behind his back at he and Sarah jogged up the stairs. Dean flicked the station and turned the radio up. I giggled as a love song blared. Sam turned around and glared. Dean shrugged, and Sam pulled a finger across his throat. Dean sighed and turned the radio off. I threw my head back against the seat as Sam and Sarah disappeared inside the house. Dean sighed.

“He’s never gonna get laid.”

I rolled my eyes. “We can’t force him to go on a date if he doesn’t want to.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but a child’s loud laughter cut him off. We sat up straight to see the front door slam shut. We turned to each other for a second, and then busted out of the car, bolting up to the door. Dean pushed at the door, and I shoved it with my shoulder. Something on the other side, hopefully Sam, was trying to pull it open.

“Dean! Olive! Is that you?”

“Sams!”

“Sammy, you alright?”

Sam didn’t answer, but Dean’s phone rang. He flicked it open and put it on speaker.

“Tell me you slammed the front door.” He shoved the phone into my hand and began to work on the lock.

“No, it wasn’t me. I think it was the little girl.”

“Girl?” Dean echoed. “What girl?”

“Oh fuck, the girl in the painting!”

“Yeah! She’s not in it anymore. I think it might’ve been her all along.”

“Wasn’t the dad looking down at her?” Dean glanced at me. “Maybe he was trying to warn us.”

“Hey hey hey! Let’s recap later. Just get us out of here.” Sam pleaded.

“Well I’m trying to pick the lock, but the door won’t budge.”

“Well then knock it down.”

“Okay, Sams, let us just grab the battering ram.” I spat.

“Guys, the damn thing is coming.”

“You’re just gonna have to hold it off until we figure something out. Get salt and iron.” Dean instructed.

I slammed my shoulder against the door, and nothing happened. I shook my head as I took a breath. Dean paid no attention, again trying to take the door down. My teeth shifted inside my mouth, my jaw splintered, and blood came down in streams.

“Uh, guys, gimme a sec, don’t go anywhere.”

Dean walked around the porch, looking for a way in. There was a shout over the phone, and I clenched my fists, head spinning.

“Sammy, you okay?”

“Yeah, for now.”

“How are we gonna waste her?” I whispered.

“I don’t know. She was already cremated, there’s nothing left to burn.”

“Then how’s she still around?” Dean hit the door again.

“There must be something else.”

I opened my eyes and let out a breath. I could feel fangs in my mouth, digging into my bottom lip.

“Guys! Sarah said the doll might have the kid’s real hair. Human remains, same as bones.”

“The Mausoleum!”

“Dean, you’ve gotta go.” I shut the phone and shoved it into his hand.

He blinked, stumbling backward. I breathed heavily.

“What-”

“I’m in control right now. Go burn the doll.”

“What are you gonna do?”

I ran my tongue over my teeth and squared my shoulders. “Get in there and get Sammy safe.”

“Olive, you can’t-”

“I can take a ghost better than Sam can right now.” I huffed. “Dean. Go.”

He stared at me for a second before turning and dashing back to the car. The engine roared, and he peeled out of there in record time. I struggled with the sling before managing to fling it off onto the ground.

“Hang on, Sams. I’m coming.”

I sprinted down the porch and to the windows. I had to jump to get a good grip on the security bars. I slipped my legs in through them, anchoring my feet on the glass. I kicked as hard as I could, and the glass shattered. The alarm began to go off, and I flinched. It was worse than it would’ve been normally.

I tucked my legs back under my body and tugged at the bars with my full weight and strength. They broke at the connections, and I slammed my shoulder into them. They fell into the house, and I scrambled as I hit the floor, skimming across a layer of broken glass.

“Sammy!” I called.

“Sam!” Sarah shrieked from another room.

I followed the noise. A wardrobe was pinning Sam to the ground, and the little bitch of a ghost was staring Sarah down, razor in hand. Sam strained under the wood, trying to get it off. The girl raised her hand, and Sarah was thrown up into the air like a rag doll.

“Hey, kid!” I spat.

The ghost’s head turned to me unnaturally fast, and a rage filled her dead eyes. Sarah took the opportunity to scramble to Sam, helping him push the wardrobe off. The girl ran at me, blade up high.

“Olive!”

I took a swing at her, feeling metal slice against my forearm. Sam knocked me to the ground, away from the ghost. She stumbled backwards, burning up. Her figure reappeared in the painting. I hissed as Sam’s hand clamped down on my skin. His phone rang, and Sarah fished it out of his pocket for him.

“Sam, you good? Did Olive-”

“Right here, De.” I snarled, teeth bared as I tried to squirm away.

Sam grabbed me and held me down in his lap and yanked his flannel off, tying the sleeve around my arm. I blinked, coughing on my blood as my teeth began to go back to normal, bones cracking.

Sarah stared, and Sam sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall. I pushed off of the ground and onto my feet, heading right for the painting.

“Olive?”

I took it down and flicked out a switchblade. I spat the rest of the blood in my mouth onto the little girl’s face, then drove the blade right into her face.

“Rot in hell.”

                                                         ***

“This was archived in the county records.” Dean smacked my head with a paper.

“What is it?” I asked, snatching the papers away as he stood next to me.

Sarah and Sam turned their attention from the painting, which was being crated up, to us.

“The Merchant’s adopted daughter, Melanie. Know why she was up for adoption?”

I flicked the papers open and read off the paper with a snort. “Her real family was murdered in their sleep.”

“Think she killed them?” Sarah asked.

I shrugged, and Dean nodded.

“Who would suspect a sweet little girl? She kills Isaiah and his family. Old man takes the blame.”

“You’re right, his spirit must’ve been trying to warn people ever since.”

“Where’s this one go?” A worker asked as he patted the crate.

“Take it out back and burn it.” Sarah didn’t skip a beat.

We blinked at her, taken aback.

“I’m serious, guys. Thanks.” She nodded at them and they shrugged at each other before lifting the crate and stumbling away.

“So why’d the girl do it?” Sarah turned back to us and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Killing others? Killing herself?” Sam tilted his head and shrugged. “Some people are just born tortured. So when they die, their spirits are just as dark.”

“Maybe.” Dean huffed. “I don’t really care. It’s over, our time to move on.”

“Oh…” Sarah’s shoulders fell. “I guess this means you’re leaving.”

Dean and I glanced between Sarah and Sam. Sam blinked at us, then cleared his throat. Realization dawned on me as I grabbed Dean by the hand and smiled.

“See you around, Sarah!”

“Oh. Yeah, we’ll go wait in the car. Bye, Sarah.” Dean grinned, wrapping an arm over my shoulder and leading us out of the door.

She said nothing, and Dean rolled his eyes. I snorted.

“Not like I got sliced and almost dislocated my shoulder, but it’s fine.”

“And I’m the one that burned the doll, destroyed the spirit, but don’t thank me or anything.” Dean grumbled under his breath.

I shook my head. “Some guys just get all the glory, don’t they?”

Dean laughed as we leaned against the car. I stifled a yawn as Sarah let Sam out of the house, closing the door behind him. I sighed as Sam stood on the porch, hands in his pockets.

“Alright, come on.” Dean pushed me into the car. “Guess he didn’t wanna make his move.”

“Wait, wait.” I smacked his hand away and watched.

Sam knocked on Sarah’s door. She opened it, and he stepped in and kissed her. I smiled and slid into the car. Dean grinned.

“That’s my boy.”

“Go Sams.” I giggled as they continued to kiss in the doorway. “Think he’ll ask to stay?” I leaned against Dean’s shoulder.

He shook his head. “No. He won’t.”

Previous Ep: Something Wicked (1.18)

Next Ep: Dead Man’s Blood (1.20)

[spideythot]

Control

This is a Superior Iron Man au, I guess. I’ve been into that lately. I don’t know a lot about those comics but I do know dark!Tony is hot, hot, hot

Anyway, enjoy — (this features dubious consent , Daddy stuff and some brainwashing)

——•——

Peter couldn’t believe he was doing this - sneaking into Stark Tower in search of evidence against the Iron Man. It was crazy; suicidal. But this mission was important, Steve needed him. And he was already at the top of the building. Peter dropped down to the penthouse balcony and scanned the windows. It was dark and still inside. Perfect. Peter attached his small device to the door lock and ran a series of codes until it opened. He slipped inside. This was clearly the living space - sleek lounge furniture, large entertainment system and connected to the dining area.

Peter cautiously stepped across the floor, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. All he needed was access to Stark’s mainframe, he’d hack in and escape. With the program he designed, Peter and the rest of his team would be able to access Stark’s data anywhere and at anytime (as long as he could do this and remain undetected).

Peter focused on the large television. It was definitely Starktech, so it had to be connected. He moved closer, wires and hacking tools in hand. Suddenly, the TV set flickered to life, illuminating the room in a soft blue glow. Peter froze and stared up at the hazy white-blue screen. He could see his silhouette, and the glass of his eyepiece in the mask on the surface of the TV. The glowing screen then began to hum. It flickered again, this time revealing odd patterns. The screen blinked at Peter, the patterns moving faster and swirling together. Peter stared confused and... intrigued. This was odd. Starktech was at the forefront of technology - and yet Mr. Stark’s television was malfunctioning?

Peter kept his eyes on the screen, his ears now filled with the hum of the dying appliance. He couldn’t remember what he was doing here now. It had something to do with the TV he was sure. Maybe if he kept looking, his memory would come back...

“Drop the device,” A smooth, deep voice ordered.

Peter tilted his head toward it, but he was unable to drag his eyes from the screen. He dropped his hack box, and barely heard it clatter to the ground.

He felt hands on his waist, and they slid up the length of his torso. “You’re skinnier than I thought,” the man said, “But I’m sure it’s all lean muscle.”

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Iron Man stepped in front of him, towering over him, sleek silver armor glimmering in the television light. “Still under?” He asked.

Peter again didn’t have the will respond. He was staring up into those icy blue eyes, completely transfixed.

“Good,” Tony purred, “Take the mask off, Parker, let me see how pretty you are.”

Peter should have been concerned when Tony Stark - the Tony Stark, world’s most dangerous man - said his name. But he didn’t care at all. He tugged his mask off and handed it to Tony. The man took it, dark grin playing on his lips. “Good boy,” he praised.

Peter shivered. God, he liked the way Tony spoke to him, low and hungry... His became fuzzy when Tony had called him a good boy. His whole body tingled with a buzzing warmth that sat deep in his gut.

Tony ran his fingers through Peter’s soft hair, admiring the dazed expression on the boy’s face. He had grown since his last school picture, didn’t wear glasses anymore either, presenting an even more stunning prize.

“Adorable,” Tony whispered.

Peter leaned into his touch and bit back a whimper. Tony glanced down to where Peter was pressing his thighs together.

“Oh, you like that?” Tony asked. He pulled Peter’s hair, tipping the boy’s head back and exposing his neck. Tony leaned forward and nipped Peter’s throat, eliciting another soft moan from him.

“I have plans for you, Peter,” he promised, “I’ll give you exactly what you need, but you’ll have to make it worth my while.”

Peter’s eyes darted to his then, wide with a hint of fear, but still enthralled. “Speak,” Tony prompted.

“Mr. Stark...” Peter gasped, finally able to form words. “I... I can’t.”

Tony frowned, his eyes lit ominously by the suit’s arc reactor. The liquid metal of his armor shifted, reaching out for Peter and dragging him closer to the man. “That’s not what good boys say,” Tony scolded.

Peter bit his lower lip and whined. Tony curled a hand around his throat, the nanotech of his armor, binding the boy’s limbs simultaneously. “You want to be good for me, don’t you?” He asked.

Peter nodded. He did, he very much wanted to be good, but he was sure he wasn’t supposed to give up his allies. He heard Tony sigh, and then the man stepped to the side. He stood directly behind his captive, pressing his body against Peter’s back. Tony tangled his fingers in Peter’s hair and held the boy still as the program on his television continued to run.

Peter opened his mouth, likely trying to protest, but only made a soft panting cry. “Let’s try again,” Tony spoke in his ear, “Be a good boy and give me a name. Who sent you?”

“S-Steve...” Peter breathed, “Steve Rogers.”

Tony released his hair and slid his hands over Peter’s body. The nano-machines of his armor began stripping Peter’s costume off. Tony rewarded him with a soft kiss on throat. Peter leaned into the touch. He was hot where Tony touched him, body sparking in pleasure at the man’s hands.

Tony held Peter’s hips, his fingers rubbing small circles on his skin. “You’re with him now?” He asked, “You want to play with the big boys?”

“N-no sir,” Peter whimpered, “I was just helping...”

“Ah, I see,” Tony said. He dragged blunt fingertips up Peter’s abs and chest, relishing in the boy’s squirming. “They sent you here as a test, Peter. They knew you’d be caught.”

“No,” Peter shook his head, eyes attempting to tear away from the screen. No, they were counting on him to... to do something. And they’d come for him if he was in trouble.

“They’ve led you to slaughter,” Tony continued, “No one to rescue you.” Tony held Peter’s chin forcing him to keep staring. Peter tried to close his eyes, but they wouldn’t listen.

“They call themselves a team, but no one cares about you,” Tony said, “You’re disposable.”

Peter felt tears slipping down his cheeks. That couldn’t be right. No, Steve had said he was an important part of the team. They wouldn’t just throw him away, right? But he was here... trapped in the lion’s den. He had no way to contact his team at all.

“Sshh, it’s alright,” Tony cooed onto Peter’s ear, “I have you now, Peter.”

Peter melted into Tony’s body. That’s right. Tony had promised to treat him well. And the man was already making him feel so good. His dick had been hard since Tony fist spoke to him. It was leaking precum all over.

“I’ll take care of you, Peter,” Tony said, hand hovering just above Peter’s cock. “Just become mine.”

Peter nodded. “Please, Mr. Stark,” he pleaded. He hadn’t noticed, but the Tv had gone dark. Tony bit Peter’s throat and wrapped his hand around the boy’s little dick. He pumped it quite harshly, delighted by the strangled moans Peter gave him. He sucked a deep red hickey to Peter’s throat. He added more and began to grind his own cock into Peter’s ass. Peter moaned again, knees buckling slightly. Tony’s suit extended again and pulled Peter’s ankles out from under him, holding the boy against Tony and spreading his legs open.

“Mr. Stark!” The boy moaned. Tony’s cock pressed against Peter’s hole in their new position. It felt huge against him, but Peter wanted to feel it inside. He pushed back against it.

Tony tightened his hand around the base of Peter’s cocklet. Peter whined, his hips bucking forward. “More...” he begged. His whole body was flushed, neck and shoulders littered with hickeys. Tony thrust his hips forward, finally splitting Peter open on his dick.

Peter screamed. Tony was big - and Peter had only ever done this with his fingers before. He was being stretched so impossibly wide. It burned, and Peter cried out, more tears spilling from his eyes. He tried to close his legs, but more tendrils from the suit curled around him and held them open.

“Say you’re mine,” Tony demanded, “And I’ll make sure the pain goes away.”

“I’m yours!” Peter agreed without hesitation. He wanted to cum with Tony inside him, he wanted Tony to fill him completely.

“Good boy,” Tony praised, forcing his cock deeper into Peter. “Good, Good boy.”

Peter keened. Tony released his grip from

Peter’s dick and thrust up into him. “Oh! Oh God!” Peter moaned.

“That’s right, baby,” Tony said, his full length buried deep inside Peter, “I’m your God now.”

Peter whimpered and clenched around the cock in him. Tony thrust into his body, hard and fast. Peter begged and moaned as Tony drove into him, each thrust was stabbing at his prostate.

“Say you obey me, and I’ll let you cum,” Tony purred.

“I-I-ah, Mr. Stark!” Peter cried.

“Say it, Peter.”

“I obey,” the boy moaned, “I obey, I’m yours! Please!”

Tony buried his cock as deep as he could in the soft body he held. “You may cum,” he said.

Peter’s body shook violently as he came with a gasping shout. Tony grabbed the boy’s dick and pumped it, milking Peter. The boy whined and tried to twist away in his restraints, “Mr. Stark!” He whined.

“Cum again,” Tony ordered, rubbing the sensitive head of Peter’s little cock. He thrust his own dick in and out of Peter more slowly. Peter, as over sensitive as he was, obeyed. He shot again, cum spurting into Tony’s hand.

Tony pulled out of the boy’s warm, trembling body. The armor lowered Peter to the floor, where he panted and shivered. Tony moved to the sofa and sat, his legs spread, cock still hard. Time to see if his program had throughly worked.

“Peter,” he called, “Daddy isn’t finished.”

Peter dragged himself into a sitting position, his eyes snapping to Tony’s cock. He blushed and then raised his gaze to Tony’s eyes. “Sorry, Daddy,” he murmured.

Perfect. Peter was still in trance, the subliminal prompts working perfectly. Tony beckoned to Peter, who instantly crawled across the floor and settled between his legs. “Be good and Daddy will cum inside your slutty little hole next time,” he said.

“Yes, Daddy,” Peter replied. He smiled up at Tony, hands stroking and massaging the man’s balls, “Thank you, Daddy.” He opened his mouth and swallowed Tony’s cock down. Peter’s eyes fluttered closed, reveling in the pleasure that coursed through him.

Tony smirked. The kid was a natural, sucking and swirling his tongue around Tony’s dick with ease. Tony was going to enjoy taking Peter apart. The kid had eagerly responded to the program; fallen right into the trap. Tony considered making a video of his mesmerized new pet. He could send it to Rogers, show him the cockslut Spider-man has become.

Tony gazed down at the sight between his legs. Peter ran his tongue along the length of Tony’s cock, head bobbing up and down. His hips were rolling against the carpet on the floor, cocklet hard again. His happy little cumslut. Tony couldn’t wait to continue conditioning the boy. Peter was going to be his most obedient little plaything.

——•– End

[caffeineivore]

Commission #6, Belatedly

For @d3fiant, who prompted R/J from an old ficverse.

Holly isn’t in this business for the ill-gotten means, as it were, he’s sure of it.

Of course, it’s not her real name, but then again, none of the women that Jack has come across in the last two years since the beginning of his acquaintance and association with D use their real names. Men in their world still have an easier time of it-- most bystander witnesses would not remember the likes of Noel, for example, beyond hulking shoulders rippling with tattoos, or Konstantin beyond polished but nondescript businessman with watchful eyes and a three-piece suit. Holly, on the other hand, has a face which could grace the covers of glossy magazines and a voice to match the black satin of her hair. He’d been able to pick her out from across a crowded room the minute he’d met her. 

He wonders if D has an affinity for herbology of some sort -- certainly, the aliases of his female associates are various types of flora-- all innocuous but deadly. Holly. Jessamine. Daphne. Belladonna. He’s not paid to wonder about it, or about Holly’s origins and habits and what makes her tick and what makes her smile, but a man convalescing from a gunshot wound is a man with nothing but time and his mind for company. Holly, certainly, does not bother to visit more than the bare minimum. Sensible girl.

She brings him his meals, though, three times a day. He is almost certain that wherever she’d brought him is not one of the usual safe houses-- his room locks from the outside and he is both too weak and too smart to attempt to explore outside the confines of the four walls. There is a shelf full of books for his entertainment as he recovers-- ranging from leather-bound classics to trashy paperback sci-fi novels to a good year’s worth of subscriptions to various magazines both pithy and frivolous-- Time. National Geographic. Better Homes and Gardens. Vogue. Us Weekly. The furniture is elegant and tasteful, running towards graceful antiques rather than the sleek and modern, but for all that, there’s no coziness to the room. The hermetically sealed window-- storm-paned glass-- looks out to a well-manicured expanse of yard featuring velvety lawns and neat beds of stately, formal flowers-- two banks of rose bushes, red and white, line up with the precision of soldiers, bordered by neat green hedges. The yard is completely bordered by tall, upright poplars, shielding it from view of prying eyes. It’s certainly too nicely-appointed of a property for the likes of the average safe house, which in Jack’s experience has always been as deliberately nondescript as possible down to the dun-coloured siding and the mid-sized minivan generally kept parked in the driveway. 

A clock-- one of those graceful silver-and-glass affairs with Roman numerals marking the hours-- ticks away at the top of the bookshelf, and just as the hour of noon, a key turns in the lock, and Holly walks in with a tray. She is always punctual on these thrice-daily visits: breakfast at eight, lunch at noon, dinner at six. Jack gives her his customary grin, which she does not return, and takes her in.

She’s wearing a cream-coloured silk blouse and a quiet knee-length skirt in dove-gray, with matching stilettos which are completely silenced by the plush of the carpet. No adornment aside from the ruby studs in her ears. Add in a leather handbag and perhaps a long coat in a neutral shade, and she’d blend in with any socialite out for lunch or shopping. He’d bet any money, though, that there’s a gun strapped to her leg under the skirt. She doesn’t know him any better than he knows her. And considering the last time he’d seen her wielding a Beretta 92 at a pursuing car’s tires, he’s well aware that she’s more than proficient with firearms. 

“What’s for lunch, Jill?” His inquiry, as intended, earns him a thinly veiled glare. She doesn’t look like a ‘Jill’ either, but it’s fun to get a reaction out of her. She’s normally so controlled. She sets the tray down on the desk, in precisely the same spot as his breakfast tray from earlier had been. 

“Grilled salmon and a whole wheat roll, with a spinach salad with blue cheese and cranberries on the side. Don’t call me Jill.” It’s always healthy, well-prepared food, and he thinks that it is perhaps the type of fare that she would eat. There’s a bottle of grapefruit juice to go along with his meal-- no wine, no beer. He has a mid-level craving for a greasy, juicy burger with everything but the kitchen sink piled into it and an icy, foamy lager, but he’d have to be somewhere other than this most well-appointed of prisons before he’d be able to indulge. 

“You gonna join me for lunch for once, sweetheart? Just a quick meal between friends and associates. I won’t bite.”

“I have a lot of other commitments this afternoon, and you have a checkup.” 

“Ah, yes. With the good doctor from the docks. You know, I do think she’s the only one of us who actually has no ulterior motives or hidden agendas. The only ‘good’ one, as it were. She didn’t even ask questions when you and Noel brought me in, did she? What a kind soul. What’s her name again?”

“Angelica. You seem to have a real problem remembering people’s names.” Holly doesn’t spare him a glance as she lays out a place setting-- complete with a snowy linen napkin and heavy silverware, arranged formally, and pours his grapefruit juice into a glass half-full of crushed ice. She definitely grew up in a household accustomed to formal meals, whatever she’s doing these days amusing herself by running recon or engaging in gunfights rather like some elegant version of a gun moll. 

“I will try harder.” Jack tucks his tongue in his cheek and admires the way her legs look in that prim, narrow skirt. “So that’s a no on joining me for lunch, huh?”

“Noel will be over in an hour to take you to physical therapy. You need to fully recover from your wounds, and will be of very little use to D if that gunshot takes you out of the game.”

“It would be a damned shame, wouldn’t it?” Jack cuts into the tender pink flesh of the salmon with his knife and fork. “I suppose I’d have to live out the rest of my days in boring, civilian anonymity. Probably learn how to mow lawns and weed gardens. Your yard is very nice. Who takes care of it?”

“I have a gardener on staff, and contract a landscaping company that handles the heavy work.”

“So this is your home, then. I feel so honoured to be a guest.” 

Perhaps she was not trying to tell him so much. Jack grins even as she scowls. “Don’t worry, beautiful. I know not to brag about our time together. Is it so wrong that since I am stuck here until I heal I try to get to know you better? I knew everything about everyone on my platoon, down to MacMillan’s allergies to cats and Patterson’s wife’s obsession with reality TV to Rosenberg’s fondness for gas station hostess cupcakes. We spent a lot of time together, often in close quarters, always with the same people. And besides, isn’t the point of being part of a team knowing and trusting your team members?”

“If you think that spouting off some corporate bullshit team-building synergy nonsense is going to persuade me, you are vastly mistaken. I’m not here to be your friend or your confidante. Just eat your lunch and get yourself ready to your physical therapy.” Holly, clearly at the end of her patience, tidies up the remnants of his last meal and drops his empty coffee cup onto the tray with an irritated clatter. “I have to deal with you when we are working together so as to not end up on the wrong side of a bullet. Outside of that, we’re not here to be buddy-buddy.”

She takes the tray and walks out of the room without a backward glance, and Jack listens to the sound of the lock turning in the door. He could, if he really wanted to, pick it with the tines of his dessert fork. Or smash through the window and rappel down the side of the house and take his chances. But it would be a pity on all levels-- at such an egregious breach of conduct, D would kill him, if Holly didn’t do so, first. And he’s almost certain if the day came that his life was forfeit to the syndicate, he’d deserve it, and never see it coming. 

He finishes his meal-- it is expertly prepared and delicious, after all-- and goes over his mental notes about the beautiful, deadly enigma whose somewhat unwilling hospitality he is currently imposed upon. Holly looks to be perhaps in her late twenties, born into great wealth and privilege, and on their first meeting, had spoken flawless French like a native Parisian. But her English is definitely American, with traces of New England society in its haughtier moments. Her hands are elegant and manicured, but he’d seen her just as gracefully snap the neck of one of the goons who’d attempted to corner her in the deserted warehouse. She handles hand-to-hand with the cool, business-like attitude of someone viewing it as a necessary evil, competently and skillfully, but not with any particular relish. He can’t quite pinpoint where she’d been trained, but the style is distinctly Asian, with its graceful stances and lethal strikes and kicks. Every little tidbit of information he gleans brings with it more questions, more interest. 

“You’re a hell of a woman, Jill.” Jack grins at nothing in particular and makes his way to the en-suite bathroom to wash up after his meal. There, too, no expense is spared-- the towels are plush, the fixtures pristine, and the soap and shampoo smell pleasantly of cloves and sandalwood. He is given a razor to shave every morning, but it’s always gone out of the bathroom by breakfast-- taken out with his dinner tray and the hamper of clothing. She trusts him enough, perhaps, to keep him in her home rather than a safe-house, but not enough to leave completely to his own devices. Perhaps she wonders about his background and motives like he does about hers.

Noel knocks on the door before unlocking it, right on time. The big guy is a lot less mysterious than Holly is-- Jack already knows the gist of his background. Former Irish mob, a bare-knuckle brawler with the big arms and shoulders to prove it. He’d seen Noel hot-wire a car on one occasion in all of seventy-five seconds, and also seen those big bruiser’s hands, skillful and gentle as a maiden aunt’s, fiddling with wires and microphones to bug an opponent’s office after they’d broken in. Noel doesn’t try to hide the Boston in his accent, or indeed the Galway when he’s particularly riled up. He’s been in D’s employ for two years longer than Jack has, and simply refers to the kingpin as “Boss man”. Quite efficiently, Noel wheels him down the hall, then into an actual elevator. He’s brought outside into a van bearing the name and logo of a dry cleaner’s and efficiently strapped in. Noel takes a circuitous route through town-- not that Jack can see anything from the back-- but at least deigns to play music during the drive. It’s unapologetic, kick-ass hard rock heavy on the guitar and drums, precisely the type of music that does not invite or facilitate conversation.

By the time the van’s doors are opened again, Jack is far, far away from the polished, glossy neighbourhood of Holly’s residence. Garbage-laden alleys and derelict buildings dot these tenements with urban blight, and the industrial building they’re parked in front of is pock-marked with graffiti and rust stains on the concrete walls. To get in, Noel has to swipe a keycard, then punch in a code. They wheel down a straight hallway bright with fluorescent lighting and Noel unlocks the next set of doors with two different keys. The clinic that Dr. Angelica runs, though, despite its singular location, is clean as a whistle, equipped with state-of-the-art technology. She meets them at the door, a petite, pretty woman with sad blue eyes and a wistful smile, and turns her attention to Jack.

“You’re looking well. How are you feeling?”

“A lot better than when I’d gotten shot, that’s for sure.” The bullet had hit him in the leg through the door of their escape vehicle, and Holly had taken control of the wheel from the passenger side even as he’d slammed on the brakes, nearly causing a spin-out. In the tense seconds that followed, though, she’d managed to fire off three shots through the open passenger side window, taking out their pursuer’s two front tires and the windshield. That car had rammed into a wall head-on, and she’d managed to keep him awake and alert for long enough for backup to arrive. He’d woken up, briefly, in this same clinic, groggy on meds, with Angelica patiently stitching him up. She’d taken the time to explain that he’d caught a bullet in the leg and was very fortunate that it had not nicked his femoral artery, but it would be awhile before he could be up and running again. He’d taken it as a matter of course-- really, if one were to think of it, he’d been fired at with a lot deadlier weapons back in the day with his platoon in war zones. A 9 millimeter in the leg from a gang member’s Glock could have been a land mine, or a hail of bullets from an AK-47. Then she’d put him under again, and he’d woken up in that room in Holly’s house some days later, disoriented but safe enough. A week and a half later, Holly still lets herself get annoyed with him whenever he teases her, and a small part of him finds that gratifying.

“I don’t have to explain how lucky you are, of course. With your background, I’m sure that you know. But with the right therapy and exercise, I don’t see why you wouldn’t make almost a full recovery in good time.” Angelica tells him after running some tests. “You are quite healthy otherwise, and you neither lost a lot of blood or received any extensive bone and tissue damage. A clean through-and-through, as we say. It certainly could have been a lot worse.”

“I could be floating facedown in the river, yeah,” Jack says drily. “How long are we talking, Doc?”

“For someone of your size and health, you can be up with crutches as soon as two weeks from now. If you maintain a healthy regimen of light but steady exercise on that leg, you should gain full mobility in another month after that.”

“Do you really think Holly will put up with me for that long?” Jack asks drolly. He isn’t quite sure how well the good Dr. Angelica knows Holly, but certainly the doctor knows enough of the syndicate’s business to not only ask no questions when he’d been brought in, but set up a whole secret clinic in the slums that runs as well as a trauma center in a major hospital. He’d heard of the Doc in the docks since he’d started, but until now, had never had occasion to meet her. “You know Holly, right? Black hair, red lipstick, very hot, keeps a Beretta on her at all times? She can’t stand me.”

Angelica’s lips twist into a faint smile. “If you say so. I know her of old. We roomed together freshman year at Yale. She’ll find a way to tolerate your company for as long as needed, I’m sure.”

Yet another tidbit of information about his elusive, fiery partner-of-sorts falls into his lap. It’s almost more exciting than the prospect of crutches in the next two weeks. Jack lets Angelica poke and prod some more, answers questions by rote, and counts down the hours until he can see her again. 

[mycatshuman]

Castle of Devils

Chapter 4

Warnings: brief description of fire, and anger, harsh words, brief mention of blood, brief mention of a wound, gun mention, I believe that is it, please let me know if I missed any.

Pairing: Prinxiety

Word count: 2,064

As always, a titanic thank you to @civilsounds17 for reading through this for me! I always enjoying seeing what you have to say and greatly appreciate your help!💚💚

More Chapters

-----

Roman groaned as he rubbed his eyes, setting the book down, he climbed out of bed and crossed to his window. He leaned out the window, getting a small breath of fresh air before he closed the window and went to bed. He smiled softly before he glanced down and noticed what seemed to be a sprinkling of some kind of dark substance on the stones outside. He felt uneasy bubble in his stomach as he stared at it.

Roman shook his head and closed the window before closing the curtains. Just my mind playing tricks on me. That's all. Roman crawled back into his bed and snuggled under the covers. He closed his eyes after flicking the light off. Soon, he fell into a fitful sleep, filled with dark figures, sharp fangs, and glistening blood.

----

Roman bolted upright as he heard the unmistakable sound of what could only be described as angry screams. His fear filled eyes darted around frantically in search of the source of the disturbance. “MONSTER!” Roman's head whipped over to see the light flickering against his curtains. Roman whipped his covers off as he flew over to the window. Ripping his curtains aside he saw a mob outside the gates armed with torches and pitchforks. Roman wouldn't be surprised if there were a few hiding guns down there.

He opened his window and leaned out to get a better look as harsh angry words fell upon his ears. Fear filled Roman as he watched the mob bang their pitchforks against the wrought iron gates while shouting vile things at the castle or, Roman assumed, his host. Words like, “monster”, “devil”, and “beast” rang through the air as the people screamed. What they were angry for, Roman didn't know. All he knew, all he could feel, was fear. Fear for the people, fear for himself, fear for Virgil.

Then, the sound of the great doors opening pierced the air. The crowd went silent as what Roman could only assume was his host showing his face to the people. Roman quickly darted from his room, hurrying down the stairs to protect his host.

As Roman flew down to the front hall, outside, out of nowhere, a crack of lightning lit up the sky so bright it was almost day. A roll of thunder quickly followed and then the skies opened up, pouring rain immediately drenching the crowd of people and snuffing out their torches. They all froze for a few moments before dropping everything and screaming as they fled.

Roman skidded into the front hall just as Virgil was coming in,  carrying a bundle of what must have been the abandoned torches and pitchforks, drenched and letting out small chuckle. Roman froze, open mouthed as he watched the other dump the bundle in a pile next to the door before closing it again. Virgil turned to him and shrugged. “Finders, keepers I suppose.”

Roman blinked. Unfreezing himself, he turned to Virgil who had started to walk away. “Are you alright?” He asked.

Virgil froze. Was he alright? No one had ever asked him that before. It made him painfully aware of the metal in his wounds hiding underneath his clothes that he had yet to pull out. Of course he wasn't alright. “Yeah, I'm fine. Are you?” He asked.

Roman narrowed his eyes slightly as he tried to determine if Virgil was lying or not. After a few moments, he sighed. “Yeah, just a little shaken, is all. I was nervous they would somehow get in.”

Virgil nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment. “If you want,” he started, slowly. “You could explore the castle, and find the exits in case you feel the need to flee for whatever reason.”

Roman frowned slightly. Not at the suggestion. But at the suggestion coming from Virgil. Someone who the villagers seemed to believe was a monster or demon of sorts. Could he really be as wicked as they said if he was willing to give Roman so much freedom? He swallowed thickly. “Sure. That sounds….nice.”

Virgil gave him a rare, soft, smile. “Alright. Just be careful, you might get a little lost with some turns and stuff.”

Roman nodded absently. Roman blinked once and Virgil was gone. Roman felt a draft and shivered. Glancing around the entrance hall wearily, he rubbed his arms and turned back to the stairs and began his ascent to his room to, hopefully, get some sleep.

----

The next day found Roman roaming through the halls of the great castle. He found, to his surprise, the castle was fairly well lit. Each room had at least two windows. Some had small windows,and some had big windows that let in large amounts of sparkling sunlight. Each room was decorated with a range of furniture. Couches, tables, chairs, bookcases, lamps, Roman even found different styled living rooms set up, complete with movies and a flat screen tv.

Each living room was styled around a theme and the movies within shared that theme. The first he found was filled with gothic style couches and tables. Deep reds paired with black and silver along with shades of violet. The curtains were made of velvet, and the background was black with swirls of crimson red and royal purple accenting the dark fabric. Small stone gargoyles sat on a self in each corner overlooking the room. Roman half expected Count Dracula to appear in a cloud of fog. That made Roman chuckle. After all, the castle was named Castle Dracula after the famously penned book Dracula was published. Considering the castle in the books was based off this one, Roman found himself wondering, not for the first time, if Virgil was related to Bram Stoker, the writer of Dracula. Of course, to accompany the gothic styled room was a shelf full of horror movies and thrillers. From classic monster movies to recent ghost stories.

The next room was full of reds and pinks. Heart shaped pillows covered the couch, and in the corner, a beanbag chair piled high with stuffed animals and pillows, all the sorts you'd find on Valentine's day. In another corner was a small mini fridge with chocolates and wine. The curtains for this room where a velvet red. A slightly lighter red was sewn into hearts and swirls all over the fabric as they sparkled slightly. The movies for this room where all romantic comedies with some serious romance mixed in as well. Roman suspected it wasn't a room much used. At least not by Virgil. But if not Virgil, who? Moving on to the next room with a shrug, he decided to ask Virgil at dinner.

The next room was all dark colors with silver and firey oranges and reds. There were action posters covering the stone walls and everything was sleek and professional. Flat black curtains for the windows reminded Roman of the curtains in his boss, Logan's, office: dull. He spares a glance at the shelf of movies and found action movies. No surprise there.

The next room was, marvelous! The stone walls were covered with mostly Marvel memorabilia and posters. Pop figures lined shelves and small action figures stood on a bar in the back of the room. Unlike the other rooms, who's rugs were plain black or white, this room had an Avenger's rug. The curtains for this room where Spider-Man one's and hardly kept the light out but Roman supposed they didn't really have to if one where to watch the tv in here at night. Taking a glance at the wall with the tv, Roman noticed a shelf on either side of the tv. The left shelf held a bunch of DC comic movies, if not all of them, including multiple Batman's and a few others. On the right, what must have been all of movies in the entire Marvel franchise. It was quite an extensive collection.

The second to last room, was Roman's absolute favorite. It was straight out of a fairytale.. There was a king sized bed against the far wall, the covers were silk and fit for royalty Glitter gauze curtains hung over the four poster bed, and were able to be closed if someone chose to sleep there. Beautiful paintings of multiple Disney movies were placed around the room, hanging gently from the walls. The couch in the middle of the room was surely something that had once belonged to a family of importance, it's deep purple cushions making it look like one of the most comfortable places in the world. The end tables besides the bed, couch and the coffee table were all glass with trims of gold. Expertly crafted to show etchings of nearly every Disney character to ever exist, with room for more. The soft plush rug was a gorgeous white with a fluffiness the clouds would envy. On one wall, a silver ornate mirror stood at a height of a few feet off the ground and Roman found his reflection centered when he gazed into it. It made him giddy with glee. He even did the “Mirror Mirror, on the wall” thing. The tv in this room was set inside a golden frame hanging on the wall as if it were a mirror as well. Underneath the tv was a small cabinet of dark stained oak with intricate carvings covering the surface. Crystal glass doors opened up to reveal what had to have been every Disney movie ever made. This room also had the most windows. They were floor to ceiling with an arch top; white wood ran between the panes of glass as the flowers outside beamed brightly. Of course, the curtains only added to the royal like theme of the room. They were a royal red with gold trim and they were swept up and held back, behind them, a transparent gauze curtain hung down, only slightly dimming the sunlight shining in through the big windows.

Roman was in absolute awe over the room. It was perfect and everything he could ever hope for in a room inspired by Disney and fairy tales. Roman wondered if Virgil would let him use this room. Maybe even let him sleep here sometimes. He felt excited at the thought of sleeping in such an extravagant room. (Although, he was already staying in a pretty extravagant room, but the idea of sleeping in one with all this space to dance was certainly electrifying.) Letting his fingers trail over the duvet one last time, Roman reluctantly left the room to explore some more.

The last room looked like something straight out of the Addams Family. An old Victorian style couch with rich black upholstery that somehow was softer than any couch he'd sat in before, stood in the middle of the room. A faux bear rug lay beneath it with a coffin table that was an actual coffin. Dark, deep violet curtains hung straight down in front of the windows casting an ominous glow upon the room. Shoved into the one corner, laid a queen size bed shaped like another coffin with deep, rich purple covers decorated in black and silver spiderwebs. In another corner, a full gleaming suit of armor stood tall and proud. Almost as if it would come to life at any moment. The tv was also set in a frame, this one made of silver. And beside it was a shelf with a cable box and what seemed to be every form of entertainment related to The Addams Family. Roman noticed a vase in the corner with the stems and thorns of a rose, a pair of scissors laid down beside it and and single rose without its stem. The small detail made him smile. He could tell this room must be Virgil's favorite and frequented a lot more than the other rooms if the cable box was anything to go by.

Roman checked the time and realized it would soon be time for dinner. He went to leave the room but took one last glance inside. After seeing everything he saw today, he was seriously considering the idea that the villagers were just crazy. Roman smiled and left, walking down the long corridors towards the dining room.

The villagers couldn't be right. There were no monsters or devils in the castle. Only a lonely man with a wild and creative imagination. Monsters aren't real一right?

-----

Tell me what you think?

Taglist: @kittycake574 @rainbow-roman @icequeenoriginal @ilovemygaydad @comicsimpson

Everything Taglist: @spxced-oxt @superwholocked-for-life @mirror2thespirit @aroundofapplesauce

[blacktribbles]

Peaches 🍑 &

Anime Dreams ⭐️

I don’t think many people dream of growing up and living in the same city their entire life. Not being able to see different things outside their own world and limiting their world view. Unfortunately it happens, maybe far too often to count. I hoped and prayed that would never happen to me; as I got older and began to travel a bit more I began to realize how much I love the area I’m in, how much I love the Greater Philadelphia area. However, I promised myself that there are a few cities in the US that I MUST travel to and get a feel for, for when I eventually do leave the area that raised me (inevitable due to future career wants). One of those cities was Atlanta Georgia, and what better reason to go to the state where the players play, and people ride out like everyday, than to go to Momocon and celebrate a special birthday with some friends.

The crew that was riding with me were My homie Mike (aka the Wizard Tribble), his girlfriend Gabe (Director, Producer, and 1 half of the horror podcast “The Ghouls Next Door) and my girlfriend Kat (Producer and the other half of “The Ghouls Next Door). We flew in early Friday morning and hit the ground running when we landed in Atlanta. Things moved quickly in the airport. It was wide open, thoroughly organized with no real confusion, which I was not used to from the Philadelphia airport where pigeons would just sit and claim their spot to a seat right beside you in the airport. There was also this air of safety that honestly rubbed my Philadelphian grit in an odd way but I was very appreciative it was noticed. First time in a new city, the first thing anyone wants is some confirmation of safety.

Once we stepped outside, leaving the comfort of the ATL airport that safeguarded us with AC, we were blessed by the loving and excessive sun. Back home in PA the weather consistently flip flops, unsure of what season it wants to be throughout the day let alone the week. Here in Georgia though, in the city of Atlanta, it was bright and sunny all day and week long with a high of 95 and low of about 63 at night. It felt wonderful knowing that there was going to be a steady weather condition to prepare for. The sun was kissing my skin, invoking the power of my melanin–while burning some of my friends. They enjoyed it all the same luckily.

We arrived early to ATL, early enough to call a ride to the nearby diner to get some good southern breakfast in our systems. From the airport to the diner it felt like we were being taken on a small ATL tour. Passing by us was beautiful scenery, birds chirping, healthy, luscious green trees–adding a perfect amount of nature to the populated urban jungle. The letters GT were everywhere for Georgia Tech. A university that seemed to just keep expanding its territory wherever we roamed. The architecture of the city was sleek, not overly futuristic but reminiscent of Philly. It was modern with some buildings taking a design chance on aesthetics; adding in solar panels, wide open glass roof structures, inverted and curved buildings, the chances taken weren’t over the top and did just enough to stand out. Definitely caught my eye.

We finally arrived at a diner close to where we stayed—Silver Skillet Diner, a place that has hosted the likes of Samuel L. Jackson, and Dave Chappelle to name a few. It’s here that my friends and I are able to take Atlanta in more and notice that yep, this may not be Texas but things sure are thiccer (Yes with 2 C’s) down here in the south. We ordered our meals, with everyone of us making sure to get a bowl of grits–mine as a side to my chicken and waffles. Which, were so crispy yet tender. Only made better by the soft waffles and the sticky sweet syrup to combo it all together perfectly. We finish up and pay our bill. Finally we head to our Airbnb.

We get there and are blown away at the place. Nice balcony, modern furniture with a TV in every room, kitchen is dope and has a beautiful island for us to eat at and lean on. The bathrooms are HUGE and the bedrooms are perfectly fitted for 2. To top it off we had access to a summer lounge area that led to a nice pool and fitness center. Place was so good we had to take a instagram video of it. We were in prime location. Downtown Atlanta, right next to the expressway, walking distance from markets and other restaurants, clothing chains and if we didn’t want to walk we could scooter around wherever we wanted to. Yes, I said scooter around. Not like kick push scooter but motorized. Rideshare companies like Lyft & Uber have motorized scooters you can take by going through the same process as you would by ordering a driver except it’s cheaper and you scan a QRcode to activate the scooter. When you’re finished using it, you hop off, pay and just leave it. Drivers come around later in the day and pick up said scooters and recharge them for later use. It was the strangest but coolest thing to see. Definitely had too much fun bending coroners whipping the scooters like I was in rocket power.

After unpacking and taking more IG photos of our Airbnb, it was time to hit the scene and check out the hype around Momocon. What started out as just a “pick up my badge and go” operation turned into a full storm of fun and adventure. When we arrived at Momocon we took it like any other convention and didn’t pay it much attention, the jaded-ness of being a frequent convention goer showing. That is until we got our badges. We got them, so finally we had access to everything the convention had to offer. We rushed the escalators and slid down the rails to do so again until we reached the convention floor. The choices laid out before were the vendors alley, or the gaming hall. We chose the gaming hall for day one.

A concert of echoing laser sounds, dance taps, sirens, alarms, and winning shouts filled the floor and us with it, enveloped in its energy joined the fray. Game after game we played. Putting our bid to even win some the next day. New friends were made, cosplays were stellar, and I got to chill with one of my favorite Pokémon–Blastoise.

We caught wind of a very rare concert happening that night. One my close friend and I have been dying to see. It was the Bytes & Beats Nujabes Tribute concert featuring the NPC Collective, Richie Branson, Asheru, And our favorites–Substantial and Shing02. If you know anything about great anime then you know about Samurai Champloo. An anime that still stylistically, artistically, and musically, holds up and stands the test of time. Those who watched Samurai Champloo leave with a spirit of hypeness and angsty rebellion. That is if they’re the Mugen type. Those like myself who align more like Jin, feel the counter balance energy of flow. The subtle and instinctual vibrations of being in one's element–just riding the current. One of the biggest things to enjoy about Samurai Champloo is its music. Samurai Champloo had a lot of its music crafted by a Japanese DJ named Nujabes. In my eyes, Nujabes is a god among DJ’s. Shoot, a whole generation of young adults and older can thank him for all the music that inspired if not created the genre of chill-hop & lo-fi.

It was the type of music that could soothe the savage beast, could bring you to this place of perfect concentration like you took the limitless pill. The Beats Nujabes crafted was the type of music that makes you think of the perfect weekend drive by sunset cruising the city blocks or mountain roads or the plains of the countryside–windows down with your one arm doing the free flowing roller coaster motion. That feel good–I’m alive vibe. Then topped with the lyrical stylings of artists like Substantial and Shing02, enhanced everything passed the stratosphere and takes the listener to this otherworldly plain of profound worldly views and humbleness. Even with the uptempo joints it felt like every artist that blessed the track, and Nujabes blessing the beat, it just spoke humble confidence. In short, Nujabes was that dude!

Nujabes collaborated with many artists, but the two that he collaborated with and stood out the most were Substantial and Shing02. He worked on joint albums with both (that are historic for chill-hop culture and must listens) but it was with Shing02 specifically that the two together blessed anime fans worldwide as they collaborated on the intro theme song to Samurai Champloo–Battle Cry. A song so enigmatic that just the utterance of its name begins to make my head bop in rhythmic hip hop fashion. Needless to say, we were going to that damn concert!

It was Friday night, we were in Atlanta, we were looking fly, it’s our first time ever at Momocon and quite possibly our first and only time at this Nujabes tribute concert. We were gonna make sure we had a great fucking time. We did everything possible to make sure we got up close and personal to the stage. I may have stuff-armed a person or two….We made sure to take in all the ambience and to not miss a single beat nor lyric felt or heard. We expected greatness and would be damned if we didn’t have a chance to bear witness to it up close and personal.

The concert began and we were taken to a land of hip hop joy, geek excellence, and a dream fulfilled. The concert started at 11pm and didn’t end till about 3am. For those who waited and held out to the very end like my friends and I were treated to a very special rendition of Battle Cry. A new version with verses from every artist that graced the stage prior, and instrumental solos. This shit was absolutely BONKERS and I LOVED every single moment of it. I’ll add, it was made even better that after the show, the artists came out and interacted with the fans. A humble group of men for sure.

Friday was a blockbuster hit in our books. What happened on Saturday though put everything over the top.

Saturday was special. It was Kat’s birthday and all of us were doing our first ever group cosplay. We decided a while back that we’d do the teen titans in casual attire. This was based off the popular artwork of Gabriel Picolo. So, for me that meant I got to embody a character that I along with many others believe I emulate–Cyborg. I dawned the cybernetic blue and steel grey and white face paint, put on a DC Comics Cyborg shirt to rep him even harder, and topped it off with a colorful playstation jacket. Your man was looking fresh out here. To round out our cast of titans was Kat as Raven, Mike as Robin/Nightwing and Gabe as Starfire. Our rule was if we see a Beast Boy, we adopt him for a family photo; and sure enough we did.

We bursted into Momocon towards the backend of a DC vs Marvel Photoshoot. We got a couple pictures taken there then dispersed to get our own in front of the Momocon banner. That’s when it began to happen. It started off quietly by a singular person, then it built into a loud murmur from everyone I see, then it finally erupts into a loud “DOPE COSPLAY CYBORG” from groups of people. Wherever we went I was getting noticed, our team and group cosplay was getting noticed. I don’t think we ever knew it would become such a big deal. I know I didn’t at the time until it was pointed out to me that, every teen titans cosplay done by a group is ALWAYS lacking a Cyborg; everyone but ours. It was a moment that really struck home for me. It began to make more sense as the day progressed. Little kids were coming up to me saying “BOOYAH!” and singing the teen titans theme song. People loved us, they wanted our pictures, put us in videos, stopped what they were doing just to chat with us. It was major. It without a shadow of a doubt drove home the message to me that representation matters. I know some out there will say it’s not super important but after Momocon, after seeing little black boys and girls smile with joy and sing teen titans with me, after they get excited by the utterance of the word booyah by another black character, that families start showing me off to their kid cosplayers and other adult cosplayers of color pause everything because they NEED to take a photo with you...you just can’t ignore how important that is. To be able to see yourself as a hero. To see oneself as greater than for once, when most of–if not all of society says you can only fit into these certain boxes. To see someone else that looks like you in a positive light; that’s all it takes to break a negative cycle, that’s all it takes to create another hero. For a small moment in time, I was inspiring to those around me; and I hope that the sliver of inspiration that I sparked stays ignited in those I met. I know it surely will with me.

But I digress.

Beyond the massive success of our group cosplay, beyond the elation and fun had for Kat’s birthday, the icing on the cake was being able to meet a famous cosplayer by the name of KieraPlease. This was after an intense dance dance revolution session in which I sat and recorded video and got exhausted looking at everyone else go. It was pure happenstance, which resulted into pure happiness when we finally met. I don’t get starstruck often but I must say, words failed me for our brief interaction. I saw her, saw my friends, and shot my shot at a possible chat and photo opportunity for us all. I took the shot and it went in (KOBE!!). After the picture she hugged us all and had a nice conversation with the Ghouls (Kat & Gabe) which I’m sure made their day if the hug didn’t already. It’s great to note that as a team, we have this cosplay thing down well. When a pro says you got it, you freaking got it! More so, it was better to finally meet someone your used to seeing on a cellphone or laptop screen. A living breathing tangible person, who quite honestly is living her best life fully and truly can be looked at as a symbol of positivity; a role model even. Just like that, day two was in the books.

So, I think I brought you along far enough on my experience in ATL. Detailing 2 key days. Now let me change things up on you a bit and give you my overall thoughts of Atlanta and Momocon as a whole.

Atlanta itself is a hotbed of culture. On the weekend we went, that weekend alone had a bevy of major events happening all weekend long. There was Momocon, Caribbean festival and parade, a food festival, and Stone Mountain fireworks and light show to name a few. As one of our lyft drivers said, ATL is a hotbed of culture because it is made up of a lot of different cultures and people from around the US. Atlanta has its own swagger but it is the culmination of others that has shaped the way it is today. Atlanta is a Transplant City. Many people are moving to Atlanta because of the opportunities that present itself. From music, TV, movies, overall entertainment and broadcasting, the warm weather, the great food, the architecture, the various modes of transportation (ONE TIME FOR THE SCOOTERS), the cheaper housing, and generally you get more out of your earned dollar; why people move there makes sense. And like all major cities Atlanta has its issues, shoot the state of Georgia alone is a bit problematic depending on where you slide politically. But my time spent there will be one for the history books. It’s definitely a place worth traveling to again. Next time I go, I’ll be sure to do more exploring. I didn’t get a chance to travel the halls of Cartoon Network (IF ANYONE ONE IN THE HR DEPARTMENT IS READING THIS, HIRE ME PLEASE) so that’s reason enough for me to go back. That and I didn’t get to try some of Hattie B’s Nashville hot chicken or the slutty vegan sandwich. There’s always next time though.

As for Momocon….IN-FREAKING-CREDIBLE! Momocon has that extra something. That nudge to taking it up one more notch to make it great. No, it is not as big as DragonCon and maybe it won’t get the same recognition or acclaim but Momocon is a phenomenal con. Momocon brought me back to 2014, when I first started going to conventions. My first one at the time was Otakon and to this day I don’t think any other con will hold as special of a spot in my heart as Otakon. But Momocon, Momocon was dangerously close to taking that spot. Which lets me know and hopefully you, the reader, now that it’s just that damn good! The crowd size of the convention is comparable to say the Greater Philadelphia comic con. Meaning there’s a large crowd and over a thousand things to do but you never have to fear about missing out on something. You can and will get to everything you want if you have patience. The event staff from security to the PR and press team were absolutely amazing. All were easy to talk to and informative, helpful and never overbearing. What truly made Momocon as great as it is in my eyes, is that it at its core it remained an anime and gaming convention. It wasn’t a comic convention with anime sections, it was an anime and gaming convention that accepted comic lovers just as much as it did its anime and gaming fans. Anime and gaming is my bread and butter, it’s what got me into this geeky, blerd, pop-culture world I exist in currently. Momocon stayed true to that core value. The sheer fact they had Substantial and Shing02 performing live in concert said more than enough for me. Momocon you are in fact, a real one.

Atlanta….I’ll be back in the future. Whether that be for work or pleasure, or hell maybe to be a transplant myself and live there. All this kid from the burbs of Philly has to say left is…

Peace up, A-Town down.

Much love,

– Isaiah Luck aka Broku

Assistant Producer

Black Tribbles

[glitterandgrunge]

Tag Yourself: My Characters + What they have in their bedrooms edition

Lucas: Stuffed animals, leftover candy wrappers, gin bottles, lights in fun shapes, a coat rack, magnifying glass, old wooden desks, bulletin boards with red strings, pastels, crime drama posters, photos of friends and lover, make up, Gay/trans pride flags, balloons, kitties, flowers, full moon symbols

Macy: Electronic equipment, gears and springs, wrenches, video game consoles, old hoodies, spare parts for their wheelchair, cool desk lamps, greens, sarcastic quotes, ghost events, graveyards, scifi books, nb flags, funky plastic dinosaurs, stick on stars on the cieling, a nice steel desk, an earring rack, big old trunks with steel latches, an adventuring kit, books on tape

Verity: Vanity, fairy lights, chandeliers, sewing supplies, gowns, shoes, magic spell books, banners, jewels, shiny objects, pinks and golds and earthy greens, knick knacks, gaming consoles, old fancy chairs, research books on different historical costumes/designs, lacey things, pretty knives, sculptures, dress models and big fans, costumes of all eras and styles, body positivity, soft chiffon, a picture of her family, yearbooks from high school, tarot cards

Kat: Blacks, stars, crystals and powders, explosives, wicks and candles, leftover dirt marks, big gloves, goggles, heavy clothes, overalls, lots of hair ties, heavy eyeliner pencils, electric guitars, heavy boots, convertible couches, tall floor lamps, high bookshelves with prizes won at carnivals or fairs, pictures of her family, turning clocks from the cieling, lots of leather, books on puns, funny knick knacks, knives and whips, old sheet music, a pet bed, a big stereo system, vinyls on the walls, the skatebroom

Donnie: Mirrors covered in shades and curtains, old paintings, knife and claw marks, broken bottles, rusty old desk chairs, a hammock for a bed, piles of old boots with the soles worn down, an overstuffed suitcase, necklaces and bracelets on a rusty rack, walls covered in band posters, a beanie collection, model ships in glass bottles, a few steel knives painted with intricate designs on the handles, photos of friends, hair ties in every shade, an old track 8 player, cassette tapes, dangling plants and lamps, book shelves crammed with notes on locations and geographies, telescopes, a broken compass, the feeling of listening to lo-fi, late nights at dusk peaking through open blinds, one rose in a glass bottle, lipstick covered love notes, memes written on envelopes

Maura: The mansion, strings of candlights, bubbling chemicals, old medical tools, books on revenge schemes, romance novels, new moon symbols, photos of her family torn up, dark swirling furniture, a dark vanity with a large chair, throne motifs, snake details, a closet larger than a house, fuzzy socks, plush carpets, a window to sit by and read, a chess board thats dusty, tea sets, gaudy jewelry, see through clothing, a lilac lab coat, old black claws, big lanterns as lamps, grand old oak doors, a balcony, silvers and purples touched over everywhere, acrobatic hoops, syringes, long evening gloves

Preston: A soft bed, books on romance and business, photos from photobooths of him and Andy, work out clothes, a treadmill, old cigarette stubs, empty bottles of jack and scotch, a tv, flowers in vases, old coats strewn over comfy arm chairs, practical lamps in fun colors, gloves, a gun and a sword, symbols of water, symbols of eyes, red ribbons, wedding rings, old suits, karaoke microphones, a picture of his family all together, the last little bit of ice cream from a tub, business deals, briefcases, love letters, hair gel

Andy: Spy equipment, ties, leather jackets, motorcycle keys, riding boots, big rugs, candles, an old fashioned mirror, a phonograph, sleek shoes, old band t shirts, accounting books, old poetry novels, pressed flowers, collections of photographs, touches of flames, curly horns, skulls with plants in them, a first aid kit, sarcastic quotes, glass cases, lace trimmed curtains, brass knuckles, notebooks and journals of untold stories, golden candle holders, bats, knick knacks from different countries

Jezebel: Dart boards, shot glasses, reds, velvet curtains, knives in walls, golden details, church memorabilia, stained glass windows, broken crosses, burn books and hit lists, dark wood vanities, large beds with swirling patterns, winter coats, heads mounted on the walls, wallpaper, books on action and historical fiction, lighters, matchbooks, rosaries, neon lighting, bits of feathers here and there, gold jewelry, old roses from lovers, leathery blankets, a tv to watch horror movies on, bullseyes, a table to write your memoirs at, nail files and tooth files, a broken mirror, floorboards marked with sigils

[darkheartvamp]

The Sound of Silence ( P/3)

~ Hello lovelys! it tis me again!  i Am so excited for this series. I felt generous today and decided to add another chapter. Please like, comment. and follow for more. Just a reminder i do one shots, preferences, fanfictions. and so many more. All you have to do is ask. Please enjoy my new series. Love you guys so much. ~ 

       Walking into the tall building was nothing but extraordinary.. and maybe scary. What would happen now? Scanning the room full of sleek furniture that seemed to futuristic for your taste. slowly setting on a small figure peaking out over the bar knowing full well who was standing there. Seeing her in person was to say the least shocking. Wanda Maximof was slowly approaching not noticing vision trail after her. My eye’s sweep through the compound seeing another figure off in the distance on high alert.

           My breath gets caught into my throat looking straight into those beautiful blue eyes. Knowing the man those eyes belong to immediately. Wasn’t hard to you had spent so many night thinking of them, writing about them, watching them on a TV screen. How many sleepless nights had you dreamed of having him beside you. Taking in his muscular form you notice that his hand is balled into fist and you can see a sliver of silver peaking through.

           Finally taking a seat into the couch that looks like it has taking up most of the living room. You finally begin to get your wits about you enough to make eye contact with the one and only Captain America.  " Stev- Cap- Captain..“ tumbling over the names you grew to love. You notice the faint smirk and brow lift that seems to bring your nerves down. Feeling a faint blush come down your cheeks in embarrassment sets off Wanda.

         ” Your mind is so scrambled..it is giving me a headache. “ her voice startles you away from Captain to look straight at her. Sensing her understanding you smile faintly wondering if you could trust them to understand.

          ” S-sorry..um. Not everyday you meet your favorite Superheros..“ Looking down at your hands. You begin to over think again at how sheepish you seem. Fiddling with your fingers you hear a grunt bring you out of your down pour of emotions.

          ” So sweet cheeks.. Now that we’ve all had a breather.. Wanna tell me how you got here?“ Looking up you see Tony stark make his way to the liquor bar. Noticing his tone you smirk.

          ” When I know how I got here I will be sure to let you know. Oh great iron ass.“ The confidence and sarcasm just spilling out of your mouth before you could even stop yourself. Chuckling at the surprised look on his face and hearing the snicker come from Steve made the comment all worth while.

           ” I like your spark kid, But still need to know that answer. Cause a girl like you just showing up at a government secret facility by the avengers ..hmm.. Just doesn’t sit well with me. “  Seeing him turn and point at you with the shot glass in hand brings back a memory from watching him do the same with Loki.  

            ” Stark…She is telling the truth. She does not know how she got here. “ The thick accent takes you back a little bit. But shooting her a glare.

            ” I would appreciate you not walking through my head space. It’s not very nice or respectful Wanda. “ Shaking you head at her. You stand up walking closer to her. The memories flashing by you fast as you take in all you could remember about her character.

             ” One minute I am on my couch watching Cap-.. Watching a Movie with my friends in my living room. The next I wake up in a forest that i have no recollection of ever being at. Then feeling every bone in my body feel as though its going to shatter. I come face to face with people i would never have thought to even see in my life. So please for the love of god! Give me a little privacy at the moment. With my scattered brain !“

               You hadn’t noticed the rising of your voice or the tears down your face. But you hadn’t noticed every one on there toes holding their breath seeing someone so small go against Wanda.  A cough from a chest you hand’t considered brought you back out of your attention. Shakily you look away from Wanda and at the rest of everyone as they all stand around the living room. You breathe deeply trying to calm down from your emotional outburst. You suddenly feel all eyes on you as you wrap your arms around you torso.

             ” Alright…Ma'am… Lets calm down. We’re sorry to have upset you.“ Steve had his hands out in in front of him. Not knowing if its to calm everyone down or to reassure you that they aren’t gonna hurt you. You hadn’t quite figured it out yet.

            ” Why are you acting like i am dangerous….I couldn’t hurt you if i tried..“ Looking down at my dirty sneakers.

           ” Well you can’t exactly blame us… you came out of nowhere and we know nothing about you. “  Hearing Sam was a fresh of breath air for you. Looking at the ex military man you nod with his statement. Not having blamed them for being on edge. They had seen so much since they all banded together.

           ” Well..Jarvis should be done soon with her background check with facial recognition in about…“ Seeing Tony pull out his phone at its ring was amusing till he got that look on his face. I knew for some reason they where not gonna find anything. Knowing i didn’t come from this universe.

            ” Wanna tell me why Jarvis can’t find you in… any database on earth.“ Now looking at him you noticed the small shake he had around him. The sullen look of his eyes and they held dark bags under them. When had tony gotten a good night sleep. Was he still having nightmares or was he having panics at night now.

           ” She isn’t from this World..No Universe ?“ Wanda exclaimed. Turning back at her with a scowl. You knew this was gonna be a long conversation that you were not prepared for. Lord knows having to explain it to Steve was gonna be a dozy.

           ” Maybe we can talk over coffee..It’s gonna be a long conversation.“ You had sighed to yourself. Shaking your head, heading towards the coffee maker in the kitchen not waiting for anyone to follow you.

[aspiratinganxiety]

Got it! If you wouldn't mind writing some bro bonding with Dick and Tim (in and/or out of costume), I'd be happy to read it! Wow I come off very energetic when I'm just a very nervous very awkward person, lol, I think I should stop talking now because at this point I'm rambling okay I'll stop talking now! (Gah I hope I did this right)

Baby, I don’t think you’ve ever done anything wrong in your whole damn life, and you’re not being awkward as far as I’m concerned! I’m a chatterbug when I’m nervous too, especially via text. Without being in person to gesture or emote through a conversation, I feel the need to explain every little thing in super detail so as not to be misunderstood. 

Don’t worry about it, Boo. I gotchu’ 💋💋💋

This one turned out pretty short. I hope you don’t mind.

Dick realizes as he raps his sore knuckles against the heavy door that he has never been inside of Tim’s apartment. This sudden knowledge disgruntles him, and his mouth turns down in a confused, offended frown.

Of all his brothers, Tim stays in contact with him most consistently. Entirely of his own volition, at that. They text almost daily and call or video chat up to a handful of times a week. They actively schedule time to hang out, no uniforms or nettlesome undertones of competition like the biweekly Thursday evenings he spends downing scotch with Jason. Certainly not like the challenging, though extremely rewarding, social effort he puts toward peeling Damian out of the Robin costume for one-on-one brotherly bonding time. 

Why hasn’t he been to Tim’s place? 

Is it like… a failing on his part as an older brother? Is Tim hiding something in there? Has Jason been here before? Surely Damian hasn’t. Bruce? 

Unlikely.  

Oh, god. What if Tim’s feelings have been hurt for years because nobody comes to his place? And he’s just not saying anything because he’s Tim and he doesn’t want to make a fuss? Because he never wants to make a fuss. Not over himself.

Why has no one been to Tim’s apartment?! Why does Dick have no fucking clue what kind of house his little brother is living in?    

What a massive freakin’ oversight.

Maybe Dick’s been here before, but suffered enough head trauma near the visit that he can’t recall it?  

Dick supposes, in the event that head trauma had not stolen his memory, that the reason he hasn’t been invited (or invited himself) over to Tim’s is due to the fact that their face-to-face meet ups are typically prearranged to take place in the manor, somewhere around the city, or at Dick’s. 

Or Jason’s. 

Or one of the many safe houses.  

The door swings wide before he can school his features into a more cheerful expression, and Tim’s welcoming grin falters. 

“Dick?” he questions, motioning his brother inside. “You okay?” 

Dick shakes his head dismissively, scoffing and running a hand through his hair. “Ah, yeah. Sorry, bud. Something on my mind.”

Tim lingers in his entryway, head cocked to one side like a confused pup. He watches as Dick wanders into the posh, modern condo with a strange, cautious gait.

He asks, “Something bad?” 

“Not exactly,” Dick says, somewhere between proud, envious, and disgusted as he surveys the clean lines and tidy state of the open concept living area. 

The decor of Tim’s home is gray… only gray. All of the walls, furniture, and flooring. Gray.

Literally 50 shades of the damn color tint everything from the coffee table to the kitchen cabinets. For half a second, Dick is repulsed by the stony, lackluster complexion of his brother’s living space. After a moment though, the sleek lines of the space slowly come into focus as carefully articulated design elements. Clearly the style was meant to seem effortless while being a tangled web of complicated technique. Like the shading of an elegant grayscale sketch?

More and more curious geometric features appear as Dick continues to glance around. The fixtures and materials are all of ludicrously expensive natures. Marble, silver, and leather.   

Dick has not spent an exorbitant amount of time imaging the interior of Tim’s home. However, the cluttered, hectic mess of red tartan and disarticulated computer guts that continues to be Tim’s bedroom in the manor set his mental precedent. Any domestic images of Tim that Dick conjured up always involved plaid, old coffee cups, and notebooks. 

When confronted with this oddly sterile environment of ambiguous gray elements, Dick’s mental impression of Tim itches as though it craves to be entirely re-rendered. 

“You look absolutely horrified. I’m going to attribute this to extreme modern interior design not being your forte, Dickie-boy,” Tim says, sauntering past him and into the kitchen. “Not whatever it is that was squatting on your brain in the hall.”

“I was upset because I realized that I’ve never been inside of your apartment,” Dick shares, still gawping at the ever-unfolding touches of elegance and wealth that seem to materialize out of the profusion of gray around him. “And I had never thought of you owning a place that looked so… that was like this. I feel like a crappy older brother. What the hell is that?” 

The question cuts Tim off before he can dismiss Dick’s ridiculous sentiment. He’s touched, and amused. Choosing to humor his house guest instead of berate him for investing in their social bond, Tim glances at the abstract cuboidal metal cage affixed so high up on his wall that it nearly touches the ceiling. 

“Ya’ know…” he says, pushing a freshly opened glass bottle of root beer across the countertop to his older brother. “I don’t have a clue.”

Dick cuts his eyes at Tim.

“The couple I bought the place off of did all the design.” He takes a swig. “I don’t really mind it. Some of it’s sorta’ out there, but, honestly? I don’t have the time or half the inclination to go through the trouble of changing it.”

Dick is caught somewhere between wanting to laugh and suppressing the urge to slam his face into the stone counter. “Are you kidding me, Tim? You didn’t pick any of this furniture or art or these lights or… anything?”

“The TV is mine. So’s the mattress.” He takes another drink, distinctly avoiding eye contact and grinning in admission of the absurdity that is living in a home without a single personal touch. “But the bed frame’s from the previous owners.”  

“Dude,” the older brother chuckles into his soda, shaking his head. “You set me up for quality jokes about smutty books and colorblindness like this, then you pull the rug right out from under me like that?”

“Ah, sorry Dick. Jason beat you to all of the E. L. James jokes about a year ago.”

Incredulity and a twinge of honest offense swells in Dick’s chest. He nearly chokes on his pop. “Jason’s been here?”

“Yeah,” Tim responds casually, leaning against the counter and pegging Dick with a teasing, lofty look. “He comes over every month or so to be absolutely destroyed in Call of Duty. Damian tags along every now and then too. If Jason’s been drinking, we need a ref.”   

Dick’s jaw is practically resting on the counter. His tone is hoarse with the overly dramatic edge of upset he stresses for affect. “Well, goddammit!” Dick delivers a swift punch to Tim’s shoulder, suddenly realizing that he is the one being excluded where this apartment is concerned. Not Tim. “Why haven’t you invited me over?”

Tim barks an awkward chuckle, rubbing his shoulder as though Dick hit him with any force at all. “Didn’t you hear me? I said I like to win PvP matches. You can’t be here if I’m going to be the best player in the house. And it’s my house. I should be the best player.” 

Dick gives him another thump on the shoulder. This one is clearly more of a pat. “You dork,” he huffs, tickled by the undue credit and oddly relieved to hear that his brothers are all socializing successfully outside of his influence. After the initial offense, of course. 

Nobody beats Tim at Call of Duty. Nobody.

He could just say they thought it would be lame to have Dick actually refereeing their game and their behavior. He’s a big boy. He can handle it.             

[rhysie-cakes314]

Séance

Summary:

Clint looked down at the flyer Phil had handed him. “A séance? Like talking to the dead? You can’t be serious.” The bad Microsoft Word Art at the top said Meet the Mystical Madame Meryll and below had details of an event one could attend for five dollars and see a real séance! Don’t pass up on the chance to hear what dead loved ones have to say! “How exactly is this supposed to be a mission?” Clint eyed his boyfriend with disbelief.

Phil draped his tie over an open drawer beside their bed, quietly changing out of his suit so he could relax around the tower. “It’s a request from Xavier,” he explained. “Apparently this Meryll might be an up and coming mutant, but the X-Men want some people to go investigate undercover before they contact her. Since you and I are probably the least recognizable out of the team, it seemed an obvious choice. Strange will be coming along, since he can actually detect magic.”

Notes:

I saw an opportunity to bring in Heather Douglas, AKA Moondragon, and I had to take it. She's like my favourite Marvel lesbian, so who could blame me? This one is all focused on Clint, Phil, and Strange. If you've only been reading these for other characters, you may as well skip this chapter. The other Avengers aren't here. It does touch a little on Clint's parents, so just a warning for that angst I guess.

Sorry I've fallen so far behind! If anyone is still out there reading this, that is.

Phil came home from a long day on the helicarrier and greeted Clint by shoving the piece of paper in his face saying, “We have a mission.” The paper was glossy. It looked like one of those mailer flyers that people shove under doors to try and get as many people to see it as possible. Clint was surprised they hadn’t died out as a concept yet, given social media had become a much easier method for disseminating information.

Clint looked down at the flyer Phil had handed him. “A séance? Like talking to the dead? You can’t be serious.” The bad Microsoft Word Art at the top said Meet the Mystical Madame Meryll and below had details of an event one could attend for five dollars and see a real séance! Don’t pass up on the chance to hear what dead loved ones have to say! “How exactly is this supposed to be a mission?” Clint eyed his boyfriend with disbelief.

Phil draped his tie over an open drawer beside their bed, quietly changing out of his suit so he could relax around the tower. “It’s a request from Xavier,” he explained. “Apparently this Meryll might be an up and coming mutant, but the X-Men want some people to go investigate undercover before they contact her. Since you and I are probably the least recognizable out of the team, it seemed an obvious choice. Strange will be coming along, since he can actually detect magic.”

Clint flopped backwards onto the bed. “So what are we supposed to do? Seems like Strange would have it covered just fine.”

“Strange is there to look for real magic, and to determine if it is learned sorcery or raw mutant power. You’re there to look for indications that it’s a con, since you’re our resident con-man.” Phil replied drily, looking down at Clint with a small smirk.

The responding glare he got before Clint hit him with a pillow was well worth it. “I would think Natasha is a better con artist than an old carnie like me,” he drawled. They both knew that Natasha was a great spy, but Clint could pull off a con like nobody’s business. The older man laid down beside the archer on the bed, and they turned to face each other. “What, and you’re just there to be my eye candy?”

That brought out a real smile. “Something like that.”

…

The inconspicuous grey honda rolled quietly through the neighborhood. It was a far cry from the sleek black cars SHIELD used or the limos and sports cars of Tony’s collection. “I still don’t see why Happy couldn’t have just dropped us off a block away, and we could walk the rest of the way,” Clint grumbled, eyes searching for some street parking available.

“We might not be the only ones with our eyes on this medium, there could be Hellfire Club scouts here tonight, or something along those lines, so we should be as covert as we can. It’s bad enough we have no defenses against psychics, although Strange says he can handle it.” Phil pulled into a spot about two blocks from the house on the flyer. “Plus, it’s nice to have just the two of us.”

Clint pulled him up onto the sidewalk into a kiss, savoring the small whine he elicited from Phil as he pulled away. “I suppose you’re right,” Clint murmured into his ear.

“Shall I give you two a moment?” a voice came from just behind Clint.

They startled apart, Phil quickly looking unflappable as usual, but Clint clearly annoyed. “Haven’t we talked about warning people you’re there, Strange?” The Sorcerer looked the picture of innocence, but Clint could see the cruel glee dancing in his eyes. Tony and Strange may act like they were so different, but Clint knew the truth. They were basically the same person, and they both equally loved to fuck with him.

“Of course, apologies,” Dr. Strange said. He began leading the way down the street. The two SHIELD agents shared a look before following. “There shouldn’t be any threat to safety here,” he spoke casually. Clint reached down and intertwined hands with Phil. “However, if this is a mutant new to her powers, she may have less control on them than she thinks. I feel bad for mutants gaining all their abilities at once. Magic is easier to control when learned in practice and spellbooks. Jean Grey is on standby should things get out of hand.”

“Why aren’t the X-Men just investigating this themselves?” Clint asked.

Phil answered before Strange could, “Apparently they’ve found that the kids have an easier time trusting them and adjusting to the school if their first experience isn’t with their teachers using false identities. I can’t imagine why.” Clint snorted.

The house looked like an average middle-income family house on the outskirts of New York. There were two stories, a small porch with narrow stairs framed by two white pillars, and a white and faded sky blue paint job that was flaking. It was technically a duplex, attached to the address next door. Watching Strange climb the small steps before them, Clint was hit with how bizarre the man looked in normal clothing. He realized he’s never seen the sorcerer without his cloak or the Eye of Agamotto hanging from his neck, though that was probably still there, just tucked under the sweater. It was an odd reminder that Stephen Strange had lived a whole life before becoming a sorcerer.

A teenager opened the door and ushered them in. “Welcome, welcome!” She held out her hand expectantly until they each placed a five dollar bill in her hand. Her grin was reminiscent of Clint’s in childhood when they had a good scam going and he was going to be able to treat himself with the income. She was already barely paying attention to them, counting the number of bills in her hands. “Séance is in the next room,” she waved them off distractedly.

Clint looked around the room. The front door led into a small kitchen, to the left was a doorway into what looked like a cramped family room with some mismatch furniture, and in front of them in the direction the girl had waved was an entryway into a dining room. There was a backdoor that led into the dining room that was straight across the house from the front door. Given the placement of the room, the stairway must be between the family room and whatever was catercorner to their current position, against the inside wall of the kitchen. He had a vague memory of one of his foster homes having a similar layout.

      They made their way into the dining room, and Clint had to hold in a laugh. The large circular table had a gaudy purple cloth thrown over it with a gold paisley pattern. In the center was a large crystal ball nestled into a silver base. There were already four other people, seemingly two couples, sitting around the table chatting quietly and ignoring the entrance of the new comers. Clint counted the chairs. There was room for the Mystical Meryll to join them, along with her doorman, and one other guest. Now fully into the room, he could see the other first floor room was an entertainment room of sorts with a loveseat in front of a large TV setup and numerous game consoles with wires tangling from every direction. From where he stood, he could see the start of some shelves that housed both books and DVDs, and the edge of a ping pong table. How there was room in the crowded space to play ping pong was beyond him. Maybe they had to shove things around depending on the activity.

Strange took the empty seat directly in front of the back door between an empty seat and one of the couples, and Clint and Phil took seats facing away from the entertainment room. The corner Clint was now facing had a small china hutch shoved in it, filled with dishware that looked like it may come crashing out at any moment. Phil started some conversation about a TV show that Clint pretended to know while he carefully felt around with his feet under the table for outlets or wires. Detecting nothing that way, he subtly felt around with his left hand but the table had rough wood on the underside and some nails or screws sticking out here and there, and he really didn’t want a splinter. If there was some tech that was going to put on a show for them, it wasn’t under the table anyway, he decided. The next thing to look out for would be any stream of light that could be from a projector hidden in the walls.

Phil could smell incense in the house, but it was wafting down from the second floor. It didn’t smell like any hallucinogens, but there was always the possibility it was being used to cover up an incriminating aroma. He wondered if Strange could already tell anything, or if they were all equally in the dark until this Meryll showed up. Initially, the girl at the door collecting money made him think this was probably a con, but when he thought about it further, teenagers making money off of newfound powers seemed just as likely as teenagers making money off of duping strangers. He was kind of hoping the night passed quickly because he and Clint had not had a night off, alone, in too long.

They heard the girl in the kitchen greeting a newcomer, and this one must be a friend because the girl kept talking a mile a minute as she led him into the dining room. “Here, you sit here and I’ll go get her,” she gestured for the new boy to sit next to Clint before striding out of the room.     

When she returned, she was being followed by a slightly darker skinned girl in a gold head wrap. Given how tight it was to the head and that there was no hair poking out underneath, Clint guessed she was probably bald or had a mohawk. In his periphery, Strange reacted to her visibly, though subtle enough that most lay people probably wouldn’t notice. It was just a slight tensing of his shoulders, something that would’ve been hidden if the man were wearing his cloak, and Clint wondered if it was a tell Strange had all the time. Maybe he could come play poker at the tower sometime.

“Good evening, I am Madame Meryll. I trust Zelma treated you well while I was meditating?” The possible medium/mutant’s accent was something neither Phil nor Clint could place. It didn’t sound put-on, in fact, it sounded like she was trying to hide it, so it was most likely real. That alone piqued the SHIELD agents’ interests because there were very few places in the world where they wouldn’t recognize the accent. As she took a seat, the lights in the room dimmed, and Clint glanced around to see that Zelma was at the switch.

Once they were all seated, Meryll held out her hands. “We must all hold hands.” Phil’s hand was warm in Clint’s and the other boy’s hand was clammy and sweaty. He must be nervous, though whether it was because of the seance or his obvious crush on Zelma, Clint wasn’t sure. Meryll closed her eyes, “If anyone is present and would like to speak to us, please speak up now. I will convey your messages.” Clint jumped slightly at the jolt of energy he felt travel through them. Their hands felt magnetically connected now, like Clint couldn’t let go if he wanted to. “Don’t be shy, go ahead,” the medium continued.

The hair on the back of everyone’s necks raised with the energy in the room. Clint looked around for any sign of tech causing the change, but his sharp gaze caught nothing. This was most likely not a con. There was a moment of unnatural stillness and quiet before the crystal ball in the center filled with a milky white swirl that slowly morphed into a face.  The face was pale and gaunt, and it seemed familiar, but Clint couldn’t place it. The odd warping of its dimensions by the globe and the fact that there was no body attached made it take longer for him to recognize. That was his mother.

“Clint? Clint, honey,” her voice sounded far away, but when Clint looked over at the medium, her mouth was the one moving. “I’m sorry. I never got a chance to tell you, but I should have taken us away from him.”

Phil turned sharply to look at his boyfriend. How did this woman know about his parents? What kind of shit did she think she was pulling? Either this was far more real than they had been prepared for or their cover was blown anyway. They needed to get out of here. Clint didn’t seem to notice Phil’s look, though. He was too busy staring at the orb, sweating bullets and forgetting to breathe. “M-mom?”

Strange was probing into both Meryll and Zelma’s minds. This was certainly not a hoax, but from what he was seeing, Meryll was no mutant either. Nor was her name Meryll. The young woman in question’s true name was Heather Douglas, not Maryll. While she was from California, a terran, her powers were developed far away on the planet Titan. She had psychic energy with a level of control beyond anything Strange had seen thus far in his life of sorcery, but she had no cause to put that energy towards. That was how she had come to making a living with simple séances and fortune telling. Perhaps with the right guidance, she could become a great protector for the realm.

Zelma, on the other hand, had something very… off about her. Her psychic vibrations were something Strange had never come across. She seemed to be a normal human, with no powers or sorcery, but there was something causing a scattering of her thoughts, and draining her life force. He stored that information away for later, honing his focus back onto the spirit in the room talking to Barton.

“Oh, baby, it’s so good to see you’re alright,” the spirit spoke. Clint felt like he might pass out, forgetting entirely about the rest of the room or the mission at hand. He hadn’t heard his mother’s voice in so long, and it felt all consuming. If you had asked him if he even remembered what Edith Barton sounded like a week ago, he would’ve told you he had no idea. He had accepted the loss of even the memory of the woman long ago, hating his father for her death. The man was such a worthless drunk, it had definitely been his fault when they died in the car crash. She had been a meek woman, unwilling to stand up to Harold despite the fact that she clearly cared about her sons.

“You let him hurt us,” Clint felt his voice rip through him against his will, and it hurt. He felt like he was gargling jagged stones, speaking to his mom. “How could you?”

The woman in the crystal ball swirled and blurred, before morphing into a man Clint didn’t recognize. “Jason,” the man’s voice escaped Heather’s lips.

Clint could feel the boy next to him clench his hand tightly in reaction to the voice. It was hard to think straight about what was happening. His heart was racing and he felt like the world was moving slowly through a fog. His mom actually apologized? She was sorry for something? The phrase had sounded foreign on her lips. Not that it was fair for Clint to judge the woman. His parents had died when he was so young, his only memories of them were coloured by his brother’s stories and his nightmares. Maybe his father hadn’t been as terrifying as Clint remembered. Although, he had to be something scary to cause such a young child to hide in the ceiling all the time.

“Enough,” Strange spoke up. Clint nearly jumped out of his skin at the volume. Strange broke the circle of hands, and was looking at Meryll sharply. They seemed to share a silent conversation through looks alone, before she inclined her head, conceding.

“Apologies, but our event must end early,” she spoke solemnly. She glanced towards Strange before staring at Zelma. “I have more urgent matters I must attend to. If people would like their money back, return tomorrow. Every guest besides Barton, Coulson, and Strange, please leave.” The other guests looked appalled, but didn’t argue, filing out of the house. So much for their cover.

“What the hell, dude?” Zelma asked furiously. The sharp look she got from her housemate made her sit back down. “Sorry,” she murmured.

Phil and Clint shared a confused look, before Phil spoke up, “What are we missing?”

“Meryll here is actually Heather,” Dr. Strange answered first. “She is known across a few galaxies as Moondragon.” Heather was blushing fiercely, avoiding Zelma’s shocked gaze. “More importantly, Zelma could use my help.” Zelma looked over at Strange, shocked.

“What?” She asked.

“You have mind maggots,” Dr. Strange explained. “I can help, but it’ll take some time.”

Zelma stood abruptly, backing away from the table. “Who are you people? Get out of my house!” Clint could understand the reaction. This random stranger was talking about mind magnets and knew their names. Plus she may have just found out that her roommate was actually an intergalactic hero.

Phil stood as well, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. His flat, calm demeanor was good for calming situations like this. “I’m sorry, ma’am, Dr. Strange often forgets to handle these things slowly.” He gave her a small smile and held out his hand. “I’m Agent Coulson of SHIELD,” he pulled out his government ID with his other hand while Zelma tentatively shook his outstretched hand. She stared at the ID for a moment before looking back at the stranger with wide eyes. Phil dropped her hand, gesturing for her to sit down again. She looked conflicted, but after a calm nod from Heather, she slumped back into a chair. “This is Agent Barton, and this is Dr. Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme. We came to look into your powers, and assess if you needed help or if you were a threat,” he explained to Heather.

“I’ve heard of you,” Heather spoke up. “I was sort of hoping you’d turn up,” she directed towards Strange. “Sorry I lied to you, Zelma, but it’s… complicated.”

Zelma nodded, still looking very lost. “I bet,” she muttered.

Strange stood, easily taking over the focus of the room. His appearance blurred and shifted into his usual clothing, and Clint couldn’t help but think he was just showing off. “I have all the information I need. Barton, Coulson, you may let Xavier know that he is not needed, I will take over from here.”