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brywrites · 4 years ago

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Focus II

[Part I] If you’re looking for something to distract you from the looming anxiety of election results, here’s something else to focus on for a few minutes. ;) This was definitely longer than I thought it would be! CW for mentions of triggers/flashbacks, mild smut!

Summary: Reid faces unexpected challenges returning to the field after his reinstatement, but the Reader remains the one person who can help ease his mind when it all gets to be too much.

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For once, the world has chosen to be gentle with them. Following Scratch’s demise, the Bureau mandates that the BAU takes six weeks of leave. It comes as a relief to all of them after living in a constant state of anxiety for the last year. Rossi disappears on a vacation that includes visiting Ringo Starr, who he reminds everyone is “a close personal friend.” JJ stays at home with her boys, happy to be nothing but “mom” for a little while. Tara fits in research, Luke goes camping with Lisa and Roxy, and Garcia divides her time between MMORPGs, her grief group, and babysitting Hank Morgan.

Y/N spends a good amount of the time on Emily’s couch, watching old seasons The Bachelorette and whatever 2000s rom-coms they can find. But when she’s not at her best friend’s apartment and she isn’t at home attempting complicated recipes in her kitchen, she’s with him.

Spencer is spending a large portion of his break attending mandatory therapy sessions and redoing fitness courses in Hogan’s Alley in order to meet his reinstatement requirements. But whenever he gets the chance, he’s by her side. They get coffee and wander through museums and parks, they go for long drives and make out on his couch. They talk about everything and nothing and all at once it’s wonderful. There is a strange giddy feeling that takes her over every time his hand finds her in a crowded place or he goes out of his way to do something nice for her or he can’t help but smile while kissing her. He’s so gentle with her, leaving sweet notes around her apartment and burying his face in the crook of her neck as he holds her close.

There are no cases. There are no monsters. There are no press conferences. There are only warm days and wine and the sound of Spencer’s laugh echoing in her living room.

With two weeks to go, she realizes the world might not be quite so gentle. She swings by the BAU to help Matt move case files out of her office, and as she’s on her way out she spots Spencer at the end of the corridor, rubbing at his eyes the way she’s only seen him do the night Scratch stole Emily.

He doesn’t even seem to register her approach until she says his name. And when he turns to her, he’s miles away. “What is it?” she asks. “Spencer, what’s wrong?”

“The scenario I was running in the Alley… there were multiple unsubs in the laundromat and it was just – it was too much like – it was…” He presses his palm into his eye.

Too much like Luis. He’s told her that story already. “What do you need?” she asks. She reaches out to grab his hand, lacing her fingers through hers.

She feels him tense for just a second before, squeezing her hand tighter, he starts down the hall with her. The door to Garcia’s office is open and he pulls her inside, shutting it behind him. Before she can ask what he’s doing, her back is against the door and his mouth is on hers.

He kisses her fiercely and when he slips his tongue past her lips, she wraps a hand around the back of his neck to pull him closer to her. He’s still holding her hand, his grip tight as he rolls his hips against her and though it’s caught her completely off-guard, the feeling of his body against her is exquisite.

She winds her fingers in his curly hair, eliciting a moan from him that rumbles through his chest. His free hand slips down the curve of her back until he can cup her ass. He catches her bottom lip between his teeth. Every action is hungry, desperate. Her skin feels hot everywhere he touches her.

He stops suddenly and wraps her in a hug. His sweater is soft against her cheek and he smells like ivory soap and coffee and his embrace is so secure. This is a different kind of passion – less frantic, but just as strong, as he rests his head on her shoulder and attempts to steady his breathing.

“It still works,” he sighs.

“Hmm?”

Spencer releases her from his arms. “When it gets bad, and my mind goes… there, your touch helps keep me here. Everything else just disappears. I can’t explain it, but it still works.”

“So… kissing me is a like a grounding technique?” she asks, trying to surprise a giggle.

He chuckles in spite of himself, and the distance in his eyes is gone. He is himself once more. “Something like that, yeah. It’s pretty amazing actually. Even just holding your hand helps. But um, kissing you is…” He clears his throat. “A little more effective, it seems.”

“Well,” she says, “I’m certainly happy to be of assistance.” She gives him a quick peck.

“What am I supposed to do in the field?” he asks. “I’m still having flashbacks and even a basic training exercise triggered a trauma response today.”

“Love, you’re a genius. You know that PTSS is like an injury. And that means it’s gonna take time to heal. But you’ll find a way to cope and stay grounded while you heal.” She caresses his cheek, the stubble he’s continued to grow rough against her hand when he leans into her touch. “Even if that means sneaking off to a back room with me,” she teases.

Their time of rest is coming to a close, the hours ticking by until the day they’ll return to work and Spencer will face his reinstatement evaluation. She savors the quiet while she can, the ability to go to bed early and sleep in, the simple joy of waking up in her own bed, or sometimes in his. She can tell he’s anxious though – scared that he’ll be denied reinstatement and scared that the trauma will continue to hang heavy over him.

When it gets bad and his mind steals him somewhere far away, he reaches for her and she always welcomes him. She’s grateful for any reason to be close to him, and if it helps to keep him here in the moment, that’s even better. She can always tell when he needs her to clear his mind by the way he kisses her. When he’s not himself, he pins her against the wall, gropes at her ass, holds her face still as he bites her lip. He’s impulsive and needy. But when his firm grasp fades to soft caresses, when he places kisses on her cheek, her forehead, when it becomes a sweeter sort of passion, she knows he’s come back to her.

So when Emily announces his reinstatement to the team and she kisses him quickly and his hand squeezes hers just a little tighter than she expects, she knows there’s something bothering him. They grab their go-bags from the bullpen and she asks him about it, but he just kisses her forehead and promises that they’ll talk later.

Emily goes over the case on the plane, women in caregiving roles stuffed into suitcases. The team goes over victimology and she tries to take notes, already thinking of questions to ask the families and directions to take with local media. It’s easy to get lost in the work when it demands her full attention.

Upon landing, there is already a couple waiting for her in the interview room. Laura Westin is their latest victim, and her parents are devastated. They paint a picture for her with their words of their daughter – a bright, beautiful, generous woman who was mourning the death of her own friend. The grief has traveled in waves.

“Who would do this to her?” Mrs. Westin sobs. Her husband places a hand on her shoulder. “She’s such a good girl, she is – she was… Oh, god!”

“She was,” Y/N repeats. “And she is always going to be your daughter. And the people who love her will remember all of the good she did.” They cry and she listens and she assures them that they’re doing everything right and while she knows not to make promises she can’t keep, she does promise that they’ll do their best.

When they’ve shared everything they know and settled back into a state of relative calm, she walks the Westins to the door of the station and returns to conference room, where the team is working on the profile.

“Welcome back,” Rossi says. She sits down next Spencer. It’s clear to her that he’s lost in his own thoughts. Out of the corner of her eye she sees his fingers form a fist and he begins to bounce his leg under the table. Their chairs are close together already, making it incredibly difficult for anyone else to notice that she reaches across beneath the table to rest her hand on his thigh. The moment she does, he stills. He inhales sharply and clenches his fist a little bit tighter for just a moment – but then relaxes. She strokes steady circles with her thumb while she tells the team about Laura Westin.

They team files out of the room for a quick break and she stays behind with Reid. He’s relaxed enough to give her a smile. “How was interviewing the family?” he asks, lacing his fingers through her own.

She sighs. “It never gets any easier. But I know it’s important for them to get a chance to talk to someone about her. Someone who won’t tell them it all happened for a reason and she’s in a better place now.”

“You’re so good at that,” he says. “You always make the people around you feel better.”

“What about you? What’s going on in your head?”

He stares down at his coffee cup. “There was a… condition for my reinstatement. For every one hundred days I’m in the field, I have to take thirty days off.”

“Like a sabbatical? Does Emily know?”

“Yeah. She thinks it’s a good idea.” He aimlessly strokes patterns on the back of her hand.

“I know I’m not an expert, but I think she might be right,” she says. “Spencer, what you went through – you’re going to struggle. And you’re going to need to rest.”

“I know,” he says. “But Y/N, I’m worried that–”

“Y/L/N!” Alvez’s entrance startles them both. “There’s a reporter for the Daily News out here. Sorry,” he adds, noticing Spencer’s hand still holding hers. “He’s, uh, trying to call this guy ‘The Baggage Claim Killer.’”

“Of course he is,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Thanks, Luke. I’ll go talk him down. And we’ll talk later, okay?” she tells Spencer. Though the man in the lobby is annoying, wrangling a reporter is far easier than talking to a grieving family. It doesn’t hurt her heart to lay into someone trying to profit from another person’s pain, and she’s always been good at using her kindness to guilt trip them.

That evening at the hotel, there’s a knock at her door. She knows who it is even before answering it and his face is a welcome sight.

“I missed you today,” Spencer says, closing the door behind him.

“I missed you, too. I like you much better than those reporters,” she says. She takes a seat on her bed, patting the spot beside her. “But we didn’t get to finish talking earlier. What’s got you worried?”

Spencer plops onto the mattress, heaving a sigh. “I’m worried that maybe I’m not ready to be back in the field.”

“Do you not want to be?”

“I do! I do, I just…” He runs his hands through his hair. “I wanted to kill Scratch. You know that. And I would have if Emily hadn’t stopped me. Just like I would have killed Cat and just like I almost killed the guys at Milburn…” His hands are shaking so she reaches out to hold them. “What if this is who I am now? What if the next time I’m face to face with an unsub I just…”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know what I did in there… what I had to do…”

He screws his eyes shut and she knows she’s losing him. She kisses his cheek, because she wants him here and she wants to be close to him and she hasn’t been able to hold him all day. It’s a mutually beneficial situation, she figures, when his mouth finds hers, and he kisses her so deep she thinks she might drown in the feeling. His hands slip under the hem of her sweater and his fingers are so warm against her skin. She tangles her hands in his deliciously unruly hair and tugs, needing him closer, wanting to keep him grounded.

“You’re here,” she murmurs. “You’re right here.” His hand is on her breast and his lips are on her neck and she tries so hard not to moan. The last thing she needs is for a team member to walk past her room and overhear them. He sucks hard enough at the skin of her collarbone that she knows it’ll leave a mark. She captures his mouth once more, and he pulls her down onto the bed so she’s lying on top of him. When she’s kissing him, she can forget too. She can erase, for a brief moment, the fear that she’ll let those parents down. That she’ll say the wrong thing or overlook a rogue reporter. She can stop worrying that she’s not doing enough to get justice for those women for just a minute, because when he holds her she doesn’t have to be a perfect liaison or have all the right words. All she has to be is in this moment with the man that she loves. It’s all he needs from her and he is everything she needs right now.

She swipes her tongue over his lower lip before pressing kisses down his jaw. Her hands work away at the buttons of his shirt as she goes, carving a path with her lips down his chest, the soft skin of his belly. He bites back a groan but she can feel how tense he is still, his breathing shallow. It occurs to her that being back in the field might be making things worse than usual. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to take things a step further. He needs her, and god does she want him.

She shrugs out of her sweater before flicking open his belt buckle and undoing the zipper of his pants, pulling them down his legs. His cock is already straining against the fabric of his boxers, and when she drags a finger over the length of him he presses his hips into her hands. They haven’t gone this far before. Her heart beats out a staccato rhythm of anticipation as she reaches for the waistband of boxers.

But this his hand grabs hers, his grip soft but firm.

“Y/N.” He’s not looking past her anymore. Spencer’s hazel eyes are completely focused on her, shining in the dim hotel lamplight. “I don’t want my first time with you to be like this.”

“I don’t mind,” she assures him.

“But I do,” he says. He sits up on the bed, holding her in his lap. He brushes her hair back from her face, letting his touch trail down the side her face to caress her cheek. “I want this, but I – I don’t want you to think for a second that I’m using you. I want to do it right. You’re not just another pretty girl or a way for me to clear my mind or a distraction. You’re my favorite person. You’re the one I love. And Y/N, I want to love you the way you deserve to be loved.”

“You do,” she says. How can he possibly think he doesn’t when he sends her pictures of things he finds that will make or smile or reads her favorite books just to memorize the words she loves or holds her as though nothing so precious has ever been within his grasp before?

“I need to prove it to myself though.” And though she doesn’t quite understand, she relents. But when she asks if he wants to be alone, he says, “Can I just stay here? With you?”

“Of course.” She trades her slacks for a pair of pajama shorts and asks, “So you do think I’m a pretty girl though?”

He laughs. “The prettiest. But you know that already.” She curls up under the covers with him and watches him fall asleep with his arms around her. His breathing steadies and in sleep he looks more peaceful than he has his days. His body relaxes. A small smile graces his face. Like this, she can almost pretend that Mexico never happened and nothing ever hurt him. She loves him in all ways and all parts, even when he’s hurting, but she wishes she could take that pain away from him.

By the time she arrives at the unsub’s house with Rossi, Luke is leading William Lynch away in handcuffs and Spencer is walking the survivor to the meet the medics. Once she’s in the ambulance, Y/N meets him on the sidewalk.

“I didn’t hurt him,” he says.

“I knew you wouldn’t.” He pulls her into a hug, and to her surprise, there is no tension in his touch. He’s not far away. He doesn’t need her to keep him in this moment. He just wants to hold her. She rests her head against his chest, relishing that simple fact.

That week, she can see a lightness in his step at work. His smile comes easier and stays a little longer. He seems to be finding his footing in the office and with the team once again, and he’s even excited about the prospect of the seminars he’ll be teaching. The weekend is welcomed with a Friday night dinner at Rossi’s, after which Spencer drives the both of them back to his apartment. When she steps inside, she finds the living room lit up with string lights and her favorite flowers sitting on the kitchen table.

“What’s all this?” she asks.

“For you, Pretty Girl,” he says. “I told you I wanted to do this right. Flowers have been a symbol of romantic love for centuries, particularly when given as a gift, so that was obvious. And dimmed lights are typically used as a way to set a romantic mood, although also have a skill for lighting up the life of everyone you meet, so there’s that too. Maybe that doesn’t make much sense,” he says, laughing at himself. “But I wanted to make it clear that I was thinking of you and I wanted to make tonight special. Not that anything has to happen tonight, of course, but if you still wanted to I just thought that maybe, well–”

“It’s perfect,” she assures him. “More than perfect. I love it. I love you. And this is exactly what I want.” She stands on her toes to kiss him before he can start rambling once more. Spencer leads her to the bedroom and unlike the rush of movement and need in Florida, he knows exactly he wants. Every kiss is languid and longing, every touch so precise and electric. He helps her out of her dress and places kisses between the valley of her breasts, the curves of her hips. He lets her guide him to where she wants him most and responds to every cue she gives him. Every inch of her body is given careful attention. As if he needs nothing from her at all but to love her.

It’s so much more than sex. As much as she hates the term making love she doesn’t know what else to call it. Because in every gesture, every kiss, he tells her without words that he loves her. And with every touch she tries to tell him the same. He devotes himself to ensuring she comes first, and makes good on that promise with ease, but when he finally reaches his release the sound of him crying her name is the holiest benediction she’s ever heard.

It takes him several minutes after to regain the ability to form words, during which she lies there in contended bliss, stroking his hair. “I love you,” is the first thing he says. “I love you, Pretty Girl.”

She smiles to herself, delighted to be not just a pretty girl who steals his train of thought, but his pretty girl. The one who gets to stay by his side and take his breath away and push the nightmares back. “I love you, too.”

“I’m so glad you kissed me that day.”

“I’m glad Emily gave me such an outrageous idea,” she giggles.

“Thank you for being patient with me all this time. I know I say that you help me forget, but it’s more than that. You’re the one who helps me remember who I am and what matters. But I love you for so many more reasons than that. I’ve asked a lot of you lately and I want to make sure I make you feel as loved as you make me feel.”

“Spencer, you asked me to kiss you. That’s hardly a burden. And I like listening to you. I like being with you – because you make me feel so loved, all the time.” She snuggles closer to him. “I like you like this, when you’re sweet and gentle and you. But it’s, um, it’s not a bad thing when you lose control a little bit. It’s sort of hot – to feel like you just can’t help yourself.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Well, I will absolutely need to remember that. You know, it scares me sometimes, how much I want you. How much I love you. But I’d much rather be scared by that than by the person I am without you.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says. Because they’re both better when they’re together.

He makes her brave. She gives him strength. They change each other for the better, and as the days pass, the world feels a little lighter again. The sabbatical proves to be a good idea. With rest, with time, with therapy, she watches him heal. He doesn’t need to run off to kiss her hard against a wall to keep himself grounded (though when she’s in a certain mood, he’s more than happy to). He can focus in the field without her by his side. But when he’s having a hard time, his hand will still find hers. He’ll stand a little closer to her, and look at her, letting the rest of the world fade away, and feel better, every time. And there’s nowhere else she’d rather be.

#fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #imagine #brywrites #focus

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pamphletstoinspire · 4 years ago

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Saint Anthony, The Miracle Worker

June 13th - Today is the Feast Day of Saint Anthony of Padua. Ora pro nobis. (Pray for us)

He is one of the most famous saints of the Church, known universally as the super-competent manager of the celestial “Lost and Found” department. (“Tony, Tony, come around; something’s lost and can’t be found” is a prayer whispered by millions.)

For those of us accustomed to this familiar relationship, however, it may come as a shock to learn who Saint Anthony of Padua, O.F.M. actually was. For though he only lived 35 years, Anthony was renowned during his lifetime for his forceful preaching and expert knowledge of scripture – and for his miracles.

So well regarded was he, in fact, that in all of the 2000-year history of the Church, Anthony was to become the second-most-quickly canonized saint, after Peter of Verona. Anthony was canonized by Pope Gregory IX on 30 May 1232, at Spoleto, Italy, less than one year after his death.

Fernando’s Life Plans, Changed

Fernando Martins de Bulhões was born in 1195 to an aristocratic Lisbon family and initially joined the Augustinians at the age of fifteen. He was the guest master for their abbey containing the famous library at Coimbra, when his whole world suddenly changed.

Franciscan friars had settled at a small hermitage nearby; their Order had been founded only eleven years before. News soon arrived that five Franciscans had been beheaded in Morocco; the King ransomed their bodies to be returned and buried as martyrs in the Abbey.

Inspired by their example and strongly attracted to their simple, evangelical lifestyle, Fernando obtained permission to join the new Order, upon his admission adopting the name ‘Anthony.’ He then set out for Morocco; however, he fell seriously ill and on the return voyage his ship was blown off course and landed in Sicily. When he found his way to northern Italy, Anthony was finally assigned to a rural Franciscan hermitage, due to his poor health. There he lived in a cell in a nearby cave, where he spent much time in private prayer and study.

ANTHONY THE HOMILIST: One Sunday in 1222 a number of Dominican friars visited for an ordination and a misunderstanding arose as to who should preach. The Dominicans were renowned for their preaching, but had come unprepared, thinking that a Franciscan would be the homilist. Anthony was entreated him to speak whatever the Holy Spirit should inspire him with; his homily that day created a deep impression and began his career as a speaker. By 1224, St Francis of Assisi, founder of the Order, entrusted Anthony with the theological preparation for his priests.

Anthony focused on the grandeur of Christianity in his homilies and when a few years later he was sent as the envoy from the Franciscans to Pope Gregory IX, the Pope commissioned his collection, Sermons for Feast Days (Sermones in Festivitates). Gregory IX himself described him as the “Ark of the Testament.”

ANTHONY THE MIRACLE WORKER: The stories of Anthony’s 13th century miracles make fascinating reading for today’s Catholic. Despite their obvious folkloric tone, it is the miracles’ utter originality that impresses most. One comes away thinking that such astonishing occurrences can only be fairy tales — or the special kind of reality that seems to envelope the saints. As there are far too many miracles to recount here, we’ll focus on three of the most famous:

THE KNEELING MULE: The teaching of the Real Presence was disparaged in northern Italy during the 1200s, as the gnostic heresy of the Albigensians had spread from France. One day, Anthony was publically challenged. “The heretic stood up and said: ‘I’ll keep my beast of burden locked up for three days and I will starve him. After three days, in the presence of other people, I’ll let him out and I’ll show him some prepared fodder. You, on the other hand will show him what you believe to be the body of Christ. If the starving animal, ignoring the fodder, rushes to adore his God, I will sincerely believe in the faith of the Church.’

“The saint agreed straight away. God’s servant entered a nearby chapel, to perform the rites of the Mass with great devotion. Once finished, he exited where the people were waiting, carrying reverently the body of the Lord. The hungry mule was led out of the stall, and shown appetizing food. The man of God said to the animal with great faith: “In the name of virtue and the Creator, who I, although unworthy, am carrying in my hands, I ask you, o beast, and I order to come closer quickly and with humility and to show just veneration, so that the malevolent heretics will learn from this gesture that every creature is subject to the Lord, as held in the hands with priestly dignity on the altar”.

God’s servant had hardly finished speaking, when the animal, ignoring the fodder, knelt down and lowered his head to the floor, thus genuflecting before the living sacrament of the body of Christ.”

THE LISTENING FISH: The story takes place in Rimini, a port on the Adriatic near Padua. On a Sunday morning, the Saint found the fishermen there not at Mass. He began to preach to them and met only with ridicule. Anthony then stood at the edge of the water, looked in the distance, and proclaimed so that everyone would hear:

“’From the moment in which you proved yourselves to be unworthy of the Word of the Lord, look, I turn to the fish, to further confound your disbelief.’

“And filled with the Lord’s spirit, he began to preach to the fish, elaborating on their gifts given by God: how God had created them, how He was responsible for the purity of the water and how much freedom He had given them, and how they were able to eat without working.

“The fish began to gather together to listen to this speech, lifting their heads above the water and looking at him attentively, with their mouths open. As long as it pleased the Saint to talk to them, they stayed there listening attentively, as if they could reason. Nor did they leave their place, until they had received his blessing.

ANTHONY & THE BABY JESUS: Anthony was welcomed by a local resident in an Italian town where he was to preach. His host gave him a room set apart, so that he could study and contemplate undisturbed. Soon, however, his curiosity about his famous guest overcame him and his host peeped through Anthony’s window. What he saw there has been immortalized in almost every Catholic Church in the world. “A beautiful joyful baby appear in blessed Anthony’s arms. The Saint hugged and kissed him, contemplating the face with unceasing attention. The landlord was awed and enraptured by the child’s beauty, and shocked when, after a long time spent in prayer, the vision disappeared; the Saint called the landlord, and he forbade him from telling anyone what he had seen. After the Saint passed away, the man told the tale crying, swearing on the Bible that he was telling the truth.”

SOMETHING’S LOST AND CAN’T BE FOUND: An incident in the university city of Bologna is the origin of the Saint’s fame as a finder of lost items, people and spiritual goods. Anthony possessed a book of psalms with valuable notes and comments for use in teaching his students. A novice who had decided to leave the Order stole the prized psalter. Anthony prayed his psalter would be found or returned. The thief was moved to restore the book to Anthony and return to the Order. The stolen book is said to be preserved in the Franciscan friary in Bologna.

THE FAME OF ST. ANTHONY SPREAD GLOBALLY with the former Portuguese Empire and with the diaspora of 19th and 20th century Italian emigrants. Stories of the Saint’s interventions are reported, therefore, from the four corners of the earth:

In Siolim, a village in the Indian state of Goa, St. Anthony is always shown holding a serpent on a stick . This is a depiction of the incident which occurred during the construction of the church wherein a snake was disrupting construction work. The people turned to St. Anthony for help, and placed his statue at the construction site. The next morning, the snake was found caught in the cord placed in the statue’s hand.

THE GRAVE OF SAINT ANTHONY OF PADUA: Anthony was proclaimed a Doctor of the Church on 16 January 1946, and his Basilica in Padua contains his mortal remains.

By Fr. Francis Xavier Weninger, 1877

St. Anthony, who derived his surname from the city of Padua, in Italy, because he spent many years there in preaching the Gospel, was a native of Lisbon, in Portugal. He received, in holy baptism, the name of Ferdinand, and was very piously educated by his parents. No sooner had he become acquainted with the dangers of the world, than he, in the fifteenth year of his age, to be safe from temptation, went into the cloister of the regular Canons, which is not far from Lisbon, where he also made his religious vows. As, however, he was disturbed too much there by the visits of his friends, he went, with the permission of his superiors, to Coimbra, into the monastery of the Holy Cross. To this house came, one day, five friars of the Order of St. Francis, who were travelling to Africa to preach the Gospel to the Moors. They suffered martyrdom, however, soon after their arrival there, and their holy bodies were brought back to the monastery of the Holy Cross, at Coimbra, and solemnly interred in the church attached to it. Antony, hearing how fearlessly these martyrs had preached the true faith and had suffered for Christ’s sake, conceived an intense desire to preach the Gospel to the heathen and to give his life for the word of God. Hence, he determined to enter the Order of St. Francis, that he might have an opportunity to gratify the wishes of his heart.

After much hardship, he was at length, when 20 years of age, received into the Order, and after his novitiate, he obtained permission to sail for Africa and preach the Gospel to the Saracens. Scarcely had he arrived there, when God proved him by a severe sickness, which exhausted all his strength, and forced him to return to Spain. The ship, however, in which he embarked for home, encountered contrary winds, and instead of going to Spain, was driven to Sicily. No sooner had he set foot on land, than he heard that St. Francis, the holy founder of his order, had called a general chapter at Assisium. He immediately went thither, in order to receive the blessing of the Saint, which was cheerfully given. When the assemblage dispersed, not one among the superiors was found willing to be burdened with Antony, who was greatly enfeebled by his long illness, and moreover, was thought to be not quite sane. The Father Provincial of the Roman province was at last moved with compassion, and sent him to a house called Mount St. Paul, which was situated in a wilderness. There St. Antony lived a most austere life, performing the most humble labor, and occupying all his other time with prayers and holy meditations.

After passing several years in this manner, he was sent with a few other religious to Forli to be ordained priest. The guardian of the monastery requested the Dominican priests, who had also assembled there, that one of them should make an exhortation or deliver a short sermon. As they all excused themselves from so doing, he said, more in jest than in earnest, that brother Antony should speak to those assembled. Antony obeyed, and delivered so eloquent a sermon that all were astonished at his knowledge and ability, as, until now, they had deemed him one of the least gifted. Not willing that his extraordinary talent should any longer be hidden, St. Francis himself had him ordained priest, and gave him a double employment, namely, to instruct his brethren in theology and also to preach. The duties of both functions were discharged by him, with great credit to himself and an indescribable benefit to others. He converted the most hardened sinners by his sermons, and among others induced twenty-two murderers to do penance and change their wicked course of life. The heretics he convinced so thoroughly of their errors, that they could not withstand him, on account of which he was called the “Hammer of the heretics.”

Many of them he converted to the true faith, among whom was Bonovillus, who had denied the substantial presence of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. Not able to reply to Antony’s arguments he requested the following miracles. Having starved his ass for three days, he was to bring him food at the same time that Saint Antony should come with the holy Eucharist; and if the beast, before touching his food, should fall down before the Blessed Sacrament, he would believe the Saint’s words. At the appointed time, the Saint arrived with the Blessed Sacrament, accompanied by many Catholics, and addressing the ass, which was held by Bonovillus, he said: “I command thee, in the name of thy Creator and my Saviour, whom I, although an unworthy priest, carry at this moment in my hands, that you come, in all humility, and pay Him due honors.” Bonovillus, at the same time, threw down the animal’s food and called him to come and eat. But without touching the food, the ass fell down on his fore knees, and bent his head. The Catholics rejoiced at this incontestable miracle, but the heretics hid their heads and Bonovillus was converted. At Rimini, the chief seat of the heretics, he ascended the pulpit; but as no heretic would come and listen to him, the Saint went to the sea-shore, where just at that time many of them were standing, and called to the fishes to hear his words, as men would not be instructed. And behold! suddenly a great number of fishes raised their heads out of the water, as if to listen. Speaking for a short time of their Creator, he blessed and dismissed them. This miracle caused the heretics to listen more attentively to St. Antony and to follow his admonitions.

At another time, he made the sign of the cross over a goblet filled with poison, and drank it without being harmed. The cause of his doing this was that some heretics promised to return to the true Church, if he would drink the poison and not die. A perpetual miracle was the fact that, although he preached only in one language, yet all his hearers understood him, no matter what might be their nationality.

Who can count all the miracles God wrought through this Saint, or who can sufficiently praise the wonderful gifts with which he was graced? More than once it happened that at the same time when he was standing in the pulpit to preach, he appeared also in the choir and sang the lesson of the daily office of the Church, which was pointed out to him. He prophesied many future events and knew by divine revelation many secrets of the heart. There lived, in a French city, a writer, who publicly led a most immoral life. St. Antony resided for some time in this city, and as often as he met this man, he bowed very low to him. The writer, on perceiving it, was greatly incensed, as he believed it was done by the holy man only to deride him: hence he reproached him with menacing words. The Saint, however, replied: “Be not surprised that I show such respect to you before others. I have long prayed God for the grace to die a martyr, but it has not been granted me. You, however, will receive this honor, and therefore I evince such particular respect for you.” Although the writer laughed and made a mockery of this prophecy, yet the future showed that the Saint had spoken the truth. After the expiration of some time, this immoral man made a voyage to the Holy Land, in company with the Bishop of the city. On arriving there, he was seized by the Saracens, who demanded of him that he should deny his faith. He, however, remained firm in confessing it, and after having been greatly tormented, he suffered the death of a martyr.

St. Antony was as undaunted and fearless in punishing the wicked, when circumstances required it, as he was famous by the gift of prophecy. At that period Florence was governed by Ezelinus, who, among other cruel deeds, had executed 11,000 men of Padua, part of whom were in his service and part in garrison at Verona, because the inhabitants of Padua had rebelled. Nobody dared to oppose this tyrant in the execution of further barbarities but St. Antony, who had sufficient courage to go to him, and representing most powerfully his inhuman conduct, threatened him with the just wrath of the Almighty and the torments of hell, in case he repented not and abstained from, his tyranny.

During this menace flames of fire darted from the countenance of St. Antony, as Ezelinus afterwards related, which so thoroughly frightened the tyrant, that he fell trembling at the feet of the Saint, and most earnestly promised repentance. As he converted this and many other sinners by admonition, he moved others , in a different way to do penance. Many said that he had suddenly appeared before them at night and exhorted them to repent. “Rise quickly, said he at such times, and confess the sin by which you have offended the majesty of God.”

I should hardly know where to end, were I to relate all that St. Antony did to convert sinners, or how many future events he foretold. I will mention only a few more facts, from which the conclusion may be drawn that, as the holy man appeared in different places at the same time, so also, by the power of God, he was miraculously transported, in one moment, from one place to another. The father of St. Antony resided at Lisbon in Portugal, as treasurer of the royal revenues, the duties of which office he discharged with fidelity and integrity. One day, he was requested by some gentlemen in the king’s service to advance them some money out of the king’s treasury, making a verbal promise to return the same in a short time. The pious treasurer, who neither feared deception nor danger, gave them what they asked, without taking a written receipt. When the time arrived at which he had to deliver his account, he asked the officers for the borrowed money, but they denied having received any. This perfidy grieved the kind man deeply, and he knew not what to do. Seeking refuge in fervent prayers to God, he received help in a miraculous way through his son, who resided at that time in Italy. At the time he was to appear before the royal judge to be sentenced to return the missing money, his holy son suddenly appeared in the room, and addressed the officers in the following manner: “This kind man, my father, has advanced you, upon your request, a sum of money out of the royal treasury, on such a day, at such an hour, in such a place, as is well known to you. I warn you to return it to him and to indemnify him; otherwise, divine vengeance will strike you, and you will be heavily punished.” The guilty men were not less astonished at the presence of the holy man, than at his menaces and the revelation of their wickedness. They immediately testified in writing how much each of them had received, promising at the same time to repay it in a short time. No sooner was this done, than the Saint disappeared from their view.

This pious treasurer was in still greater danger at another time. He was accused of having committed murder, and sentence was to be executed on him and his servant on the following day. Antony was at Padua; but God revealed to him what had taken place at Lisbon. The Saint asked permission of his superior to seek some recreation out of the city. Hardly was he out of the place, when, like Habakuk, he was carried by an angel through the air to Lisbon. He went to the judge and represented his father’s innocence. Finding, however, no willing ear in the judge, he repaired to the grave of the murdered man, commanded him to rise, and leading him to the judge, he requested of him to say if his father was the man, who, with the aid of his servant had assassinated him. The risen man replied distinctly: “No: it was not he.” The Judge requested that St. Antony should demand of him the name of the real murderer: the Saint, however, replied: ” I have not come to bring death to a guilty man, but to rescue the innocent.” Upon this, his father and his servant were released, and Antony was carried back to Padua by the angel.

After this wonder-working servant of God had filled all Italy and France with the fame of his miracles and conversions, God revealed to him his approaching last hour. He repaired to an isolated spot, and having prepared himself for his end, he returned very sick to Padua, received extreme unction, recited the seven Penitential Psalms, and his usual prayer: “O Glorious Lady, &c.” The divine mother appeared to him with the child Jesus, and the Saint conversed with them most lovingly until his pure soul went to the abode of the blessed. This took place in 1231, when he was hardly 36 years of age. They desired to keep his death concealed from the people for some time, but the little children proclaimed it by calling out in the streets: “The Saint is dead.” Thirty-two years later, when his holy remains were raised, his tongue was found entirely incorrupt. St. Bonaventure taking it in his-hand, said: “O blessed tongue, which always praised God and taught others how to praise Him! Now we have evidence how great thy merits were before God!”

The Saint is generally represented with the divine Child, as He appeared to him and embraced him. The lilies are also dedicated to him as an emblem of his unspotted innocence and purity. It is well known that this Saint is invoked when things are lost or have been purloined. Countless occurrences show at this day that the intercession of this Saint is powerful at the throne of the Almighty.

By: Beverly Stevens

#st anthony

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j2hoes · 5 years ago

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Meet The Family. (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Summary: Draco finally visits Y/N’s family home for the first time. The trip ultimately brings them closer together. (Set during Order Of The Phoenix).

Word Count: 1,982

Gif Not Mine. Requests Are Open!

Warnings: None, I don’t think.

Draco's hand gripped mine tightly, his palm clammy and coated in a thin layer of sweat. He's nervous. If his hand didn't give it away, the look in his smoky grey eyes definitely did. Squeezing his hand, I offer him a bright smile as my eyes glance over his outfit. "You couldn't have worn something a little less formal?" As much as I love Draco's style, it really isn't appropriate attire for the occasion. His crisp white shirt is accompanied by a form fitting black suit jacket. On his feet are a polished pair of undoubtedly expensive shoes. It would be the perfect outfit if we were attending a meal of some sort. Not visiting my family home. "I don't see a problem with my clothes. After all I need to make a good impression." He tells me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "My family will love you! Now, sit down with me. My brother is late as usual." Taking a seat at the edge of the long, dirt road, I cross my legs beneath me. Embracing the warm summer sun as it hits my face. Draco looks at me as if I've gone mad and I find myself giggling slightly. Of course he won't sit down. He grew up in a manor of all places. "I'm no peasant Y/N." "And I am?" I tease, shielding my eyes from the sun as I glance up at the pale boy. Before Draco can say anything else the sound of a vehicle approaching silences the pair of us. When it comes to a stop in front of us, my brother hops out of the driver's seat. Immediately scooping me up in a rather tight hug. "This is Draco, my boyfriend." "I know who he is. Everyone knows the Malfoy's." My brother states, glaring at the blonde boy who has taken particular interest in his shoes, focusing on them rather than my brother. Hauling our trunks into the back of the truck, my brother climbs back into the driver's seat and motions for us to get into the back. Upon looking into the passenger seat, I spot our two dogs stretched across the seats. Rolling my eyes, I pull myself up, offering a hand for the still timid boy. "Are you sure this is safe?" Draco asks me as we take seats upon a stack of hay directly behind the back window. "It's as safe as riding a Nimbus 2000." Leaning into his side, we watch as the numerous fields slowly fade into the distance. The ride to my house is short, though by the time we reach the farm, I'm ready to be home. As soon as we jump out of the truck, my mum comes hurtling out of the door. A huge smile set upon her face, making her look much younger. "Draco! It's so wonderful to meet you. Our Y/N talks about you non-stop, always talking how much of a charming young lad you are." She says, wrapping her arms in a friendly hug before he even has a chance to react. By the look on his face this reaction is unexpected. Draco was determined that my family would hate him, what with the Malfoy reputation. It's fair to say that my brother isn't exactly the biggest fan of Draco. At least not yet anyway. However, I always knew my mum would love him. "It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs Y/L/N." He states, a small smile forming on his face. "Enough of that nonsense! Call me Y/M/N. You're family now lad, whether you like it or not." I can't help but grin as watch the interaction between the two of them. Pleased that they are actually getting along. The slytherin wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer out of instinct. My mum notices and although she tries to hide it, she can't help her smile from becoming impossibly wider. "Y/N, just because your boyfriend is here that doesn't exempt you from your chores. I expect everything to carry on as usual, do you understand?" My mum's voice switches instantly, from sweet and friendly to calm and stern. "Of course, I wouldn't dream of slacking off." With that my mum scurries back into the kitchen, presumably to prepare dinner. Taking Draco's hand, I pull him inside and up to my bedroom. My house is probably nothing like his. Although I've never been, I've made assumptions. Malfoy Manor sounds like the type of place that is all polished marble and sleek furniture. Whereas my house is wooden and practically falling to pieces, with odd pieces of furniture that simply do not match. As odd as it looks, it's home. Closing the door behind me, I look on in content as the blonde takes in my bedroom. He slowly walks around my room, careful not to miss anything as he stares at each poster and picture that are stuck to my walls. Kicking off my shoes, I flop on to my bed. Staring at the glow in the dark stars that are still stuck to my ceiling. "I'm sorry its so messy and childish. It hasn't really been redecorated since I was a kid." I admit, hearing the sound of his footsteps as he continues to look around. "No, it's cute. It's very you. I like it. I mean, it shows you had a childhood." Smiling at his words, I realise that Draco and I most likely had extremely different childhood's. His being controlled by his parents, telling his what he can and can't do, who he can and can't be friends. Mine being so relaxed and carefree, simply doing whatever I felt like. I feel the weight on my bed shift and Draco's face is hovering above mine. He looks so relaxed, something that I haven't seen him feel for a long time. Not since you know who came back. "You're so beautiful." He whispers. Pressing his lips to mine, I feel the happiest I think I've ever felt. One hand cups my face while the other is positioned next to my head, holding himself above me. My fingers comb through his perfectly styled hair, emitting a low groan from the back of his throat. His tongue gently dips into my mouth as the hand that was cupping my face slowly begins to make its way down my body. His cold fingers slide under my shirt and trace patterns along the skin of my stomach, causing goose bumps to form all over my body. Before his hand can travel any further however, the door is thrown up and my brother stands there with a disgruntled expression set upon his features. "Get off my sister." Peeling himself away from me, he sits at the end of my bed. Sighing slightly, I push myself to sit up. My brother has his arms folded and eyebrows raised as he spots my slightly swollen lips. "Mum said dinner will be in about twenty minutes. She also said you need to feed Chester and Ruth." He tells me, voice monotone as if he doesn't want me to see how he's feeling. Nodding my head, I wait for him to leave before moving. Pulling my boyfriend off the bed, I quickly shove my feet into my shoes and head out of the bedroom. We pass my mum as we dart outside and she simply throws us a soft smile. "Who are Ruth and Chester?" Draco asks, once we're outside. Smiling slyly, I don't answer and instead continue walking to the barn at the back of our house. The sound of hooves against the mud, catches his attention before mine. Looking down in disgust at his now mud coated shoes, yet he continues to follow me into the barn. "This is Chester and Ruth." I say, grabbing a bag of horse feed. Hopping the fence with ease, I begin to fill their buckets with food, only to realise that Draco is still stood by the door. A wary look on his face, as though he's unsure whether he should come over or not. Waving him over, I climb back over the fence and hand him an apple. "Hold your hand out, palm flat. One of them will come to you and take it. They love apples." I say, holding an apple out myself so he can copy my movements. Chester comes over and snatches the apple out of my hand, Ruth follows and takes the apple from Draco. Although he still looks somewhat scared he doesn't run away from them. Which I take as a good sign. Stroking Chester's head, I hear Draco's breathing begin to shake slightly, causing me to look at him. "Are you okay?" I ask, concerned for the boy. "Y/N, where's your dad?" The question was obviously plaguing his mind. Presumably the reason for his shaky breaths. He probably didn't know how to ask. Or didn't want to upset me. "You don't know? I thought everybody knew." "Thought everybody knew what?" He asks, even more curious than he was seconds before. "He's dead. Back when we were in third year he was killed by a group of deatheaters. It was all over the newspapers. It was all anybody could talk about at Hogwarts. I guess that's why my brother is so cold towards you. Especially since your dad's a deatheater." "Is that why you're so against the idea of meeting my parents?" "It was two years ago. I've been through the whole grieving process. I don't want to forget my dad, but I want to move on if that makes sense. If I meet your parents, especially your dad, I don't think I'd be able to handle it. At least not yet." Wrapping my arms around his waist, I rest my head on his chest. Listening to the sound of his beating heart as one of his hands strokes my hair gently. He kisses my forehead gently before bringing my face to look at him. "I understand. There's no rush. I love you and that's all that matters." My heart fills with warmth at those three little words. It sounds like heaven as they spill from his lips and I know that this boy has stolen my heart completely. It sounds silly but it's true. "I love you too." With interlocked hands we walk back to the house just as mum is placing dinner on the table. Taking our seats, we wait for my brother to join us before helping ourselves to chicken and vegetables. The stone cold glares my brother keeps throwing at Draco don't go unnoticed by me and I try my best to ignore it. That is until he tries to cause an argument at the kitchen table. "Don't you feel bad about the way your family treats people? Don't you feel bad that your father has killed people?" "Draco isn't his father!" I object, taking his hand in mine and gripping it as tight as physically can. "No, but he'll follow in his footsteps it's only a matter of time." My brother is looking for a reaction, I know that and judging by the fact that Draco is simply looking down at out hands, he knows it too. "Mum tell him, this isn't fair!" "Quit it. The both of you. Your dad wouldn't want our guest to be treated like this. Draco is apart of this family, so you will treat him like it. Y/N is right, he isn't his father. So show him some respect." My brother continues to eat in silence, looking at neither me nor Draco. I know he won't warm up to him easily but hopefully with a bit of time they'll become some sort of friends. At least for now, there is no more hurtful comments or icy glances. For now everything is peaceful.

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy imagine #harry potter universe #slytherin #raveclaw #Hufflepuff #Gryffindor #harry potter universe imagine #Malfoy imagine #fluff #draco malfoy fluff #hogwarts #ootp #order of the phoenix

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miraculouscontent · 4 years ago

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Pokemon anon again! I'd like to hear anything you have strong opinions on (either your personal ships, ones you dislike, etc). I just really like reading your thoughts, so whatever you feel like sharing is fine.

Welcome back, Pokénon!

And sure, I can do that!

Alright, so in terms of ships I dislike (I’m going to go with the English names just so I’m not constantly using both names)...

I guess I should get the obvious ones out of the way, because I’m not really a fan of either “Ash ship” extreme:

Poke//Shipping (Ash X Misty) and Amour//Shipping (Ash X Serena)

I don’t like either of them.

For Poke//Shipping, I have never liked aggressive tsundere characters and Misty is basically a textbook example of that. It’s not that I have a problem with strong/tomboy-ish (though honestly I don’t consider Misty a tomboy anyway) female characters, which I know it sounds like that when I have a distaste for characters like Alix too, but when they’re brash and angry and just so generically “TOMBOY GIRL POWER,” it grates on my nerves.

The idea of having an aggressive character - y’know - be aggressive to their love interest and then cue the sad music when the love interest argues with them or makes any sort of hurtful implication just... no.

Like, I want you to imagine the most sarcastic Clarity possible and then picture me as a little girl watching the scene where Misty is officially leaving the group, because that was literally just me like, “oh noooo, she’s goooone.”

It’s the same reason I don’t do Rocket//Shipping (James X Jessie). One character is too aggressive and the other character doesn’t even come close to balancing it out.

There’s also the fact that nothing comes out of Poke//Shipping. Misty is canonically crushing on Ash (*flashbacks to the friggin’ second movie where they shove it in your face*) but it’s just... there, not to mention that scene where Misty is talking casually to Ash like, “you and I will be married too someday,” which came completely out of left field and - whether for a joke or not - made little kid me very uncomfortable.

Like I said, it’s just there and doesn’t go anywhere, and Ash is already so oblivious that of course he wouldn’t get that Misty is in love with him. It’s basically a long-running gag of Misty pulling a surprised Pikachu face whenever Ash doesn’t understand that she likes him/wants to stay with him/literally wants anything specific from him.

As for Amour//Shipping, I did admittedly like it at first, but just--ugh, oh boy.

First, it’s shipping fanservice, kinda like Pokemon 2000 throwing a bone to the shippers except now it’s the whole two seasons. My followers know how I feel about fanservice just for fanservice and that’s basically all that Amour//Shipping is. That’s why Serena was already made to have met Ash when they were children; so the writers could get a “headstart” on all the blushy fanservice they could squeeze in on Serena’s end.

I fell off the ship sometime around Wulfric, particularly with the scene where Serena comforts Ash. Just that whole, “this isn’t like you,” and then trying to compare her contest losses to Ash’s battles as if Ash hasn’t been at this for seasons upon seasons and battles aren’t a completely different category because they involve actually watching one’s Pokemon get physically hurt (Pokemon battles are a sport, yes, but it doesn’t change anything; Ash also has a special Greninja so of course he’s going to be upset that having all this experience still isn’t enough to just sweep). Like, to relate to someone, yes, it helps to have something you can use as a mental comparison, but that comparison is (usually) supposed to stay mental.

Anyway, after Ash shouts at her because she doesn’t know how he feels at all (because she doesn’t) and he just wanted to be left alone (because he did), Serena throws snowballs at his face and that apparently helps make Ash feel better because Serena can do no wrong here and that just so happened to be exactly what he needed.

(I mean, that whole gym battle and what follows is already pretty trash but that solidified it for me. Basically everything XY&Z added were things I just didn’t care about.)

Oh, and Serena is also implied to steal a kiss from Ash at the very end of the season and you guys know how I feel about that. It’s mostly the fact that she’s so non-apologetic about it, just smiling and blushy and all happy whereas here’s me like, “Wait, I’m pretty sure we just missed a crucial step here??? Since when were you sure that Ash had a thing for you???”

So yeah, I’m not a fan of either ship. I have vague opinions about basically all other ships (The ship between Ash and Iris aka ”You’re such a kid” girl can rot), but Poke//Shipping and Amour//Shipping are the ones I have the strongest negative feelings for.

Brock being shipped with basically anyone is a no no for me. The guy flirts with anything that moves and I have never found it funny or charming. The closest thing young me ever came to a ship with him was Luck//Shipping (Brock X Pike Queen Lucy) but that’s basically it, and it honestly could’ve just been me thinking the idea that Ash and Brock both getting together with Battle Frontier people (I was for Ability//Shipping - Ash X Sailor Maiden Anabel - at the time) was a neat idea and both episodes that featured the respective ships had BLUSH FUEL.

I recall being into Advance//Shipping (Ash X May) when I was young (I was a multishipper back then, you see) but I avoided thinking about it too much because I wasn’t a huge fan of Max (aka “Iris before Iris existed”) and Norman’s game counterpart infuriates me even to this day so I just didn’t want to imagine Ash having to deal with those sorts of things. Plus, looking back on it, he and May were little too similar (then again, maybe that’s why I liked it?).

I expected to enjoy Aurelia//Shipping (Ash X Lillie) when I was getting into the Sun&Moon seasons but it didn’t really do anything for me. I guess maybe I was so burnt out after Amour//Shipping that I wasn’t in a shippy mood anymore? Though, it could also be that their relationship isn’t as “balanced” as I would’ve liked.

Anyway though, as for the ships I actually really like instead of just being indifferent towards or outright disliking, the big one really is just Pearl//Shipping. I suppose it makes sense given that I’m not a multishipper, don’t like Brock enough to ship him with anyone, and most other travel companions are ones I either hadn’t gotten attached to or that I’d paired with Ash long enough that, once I got older, I couldn’t really picture them with other people because my memory of their moments wasn’t strong enough.

Yeah though, PEARL//SHIPPING, I ADORE IT. Like, I’ll try to explain it as best as I can without rambling, but basically:

Dawn doesn’t make excuses when she wants to go with Ash. No “my bike," no meandering, just really casual.

THEY SING THE JAPANESE OPENING TOGETHER AND IT’S RAD. “High Touch” is like, my favorite opening theme???? And they do a duet for it??? I just???? Yes???????

It’s the little things. High-fives are like, their thing. They traded Pokemon with each other which is like, really rare for the series and it made total sense. They both have a Pokemon they keep out of their Pokeball who doesn’t want to evolve (Piplup was the Eevee partner from Let’s Go before it was cool) and no, Misty’s Togepi doesn’t count because it was Gold and Silver’s posterchild. Ash and Dawn also both gave up a speedy physical Pokemon (Primeape and Ambipom respectively) so they could participate in some sort of Pokemon sport that doesn’t exist in the games while I scream in the background because I really like said Pokemon.

DAWN IS ASH’S CHEERLEADER. SHE LITERALLY CHEERS FOR HIM DURING GYM MATCHES. THAT’S PRECIOUS.

They help and get ideas off of each other, which I think is really cool. Them trading Pokemon just furthers that sort of dynamic.

Them just supporting each other in general. There’s a moment where Dawn takes a pretty harsh loss and Ash can be seen sulking like he really gets how she’s feeling.

It also helps that Diamond and Pearl were one of the better seasons of the anime. Paul is a solid rival, I really like the creative battle techniques like spinning and countershield, and just Chimchar in general honestly. I remember the baking episode “Cooking Up a Sweet Story!” vividly and all the feels it gave me.

Yeah though. It’s not any sort of OTP pairing or anything, but out of all of the anime Pokemon ships, Pearl//Shipping is probably my favorite. I’d probably ship them a lot more if they were a little older (like, on par with the protagonists of the Black & White games, who are closer to 14/15; it’s just easier to get a gauge on personality that way).

#non ml talk #other: ask and answer #((The Gen 4 seasons do have a few weird episodes obviously but basically all the seasons do.))#((I guess I don't think as much when I watch them (though I could roast XY&Z for DAYS) because the main media of the series is the games.))#((I liked Gen 5 the best in that case by the way.))#((Black and White and their sequels are my favorites.))

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marriael · 5 years ago

Text

My Feelings Have Blossomed (Hyunjin x Reader)

(i almost put the crab head gif lmaoooooooooooo)

just assume all my writing is for @skzrequests at this point lmao

So I combined 2 requests since they were both pretty simple

Request: (anon) Who, prompt 2 with Hyunjin please? don’t worry annonie you did it right

(anon) Second, 2(iii) with Hyunjin? You did it right, too love! And yes florist! Hyunjin was a good time for me to write

Both florist au’s, the second one is specifically including flower meanings

Word count: 2001 (:O first time breaking 2000!!!)

90% of the time Hyunjin just wanted to be left alone. The other 10% of the time he was smothering his friends with affection but that’s not important. Hyunjin often wanted to get away from typical chaos of school but had no desire to go home and ignore his homework. One day while walking around he ended up talking to an elderly family friend, Mrs. Kim, and upon expressing his vague wish to get a job she offered a spot to work in her flower shop. Hyunjin never really cared much for flowers but the opportunity to work, especially for this nice lady, was very appealing.

So he came in one Saturday morning and she taught him everything he would need to know. Most of the time he was learning to make bouquets which were difficult at first because of his mildly clumsy hands.

While he was practicing she would explain that most people came in with general requests that just look nice. Sometimes people would come in and ask for flowers with specific meanings. Hyunjin panicked for a minute thinking he might have to memorize all of that information somehow. Thankfully she informed him of the flower meanings book sitting on a shelf under the counter.

After that day he was set to work 4 days a week, mostly evenings or late afternoons when he was completely done with school for the day. Unfortunately one of those days was an early morning Sunday shift. The first day he slept in just a bit and had to rush to get there which left no time for breakfast. Upon his shift ending the bakery across the street looked incredibly tempting.

He entered the warm toned shop and immediately inhaled the scent of various baked pastries. He was quickly distracted by you standing behind the counter. Most of the time in restaurants or coffee shops it’s very clear the cashiers don’t enjoy their jobs. This was not the case with you. From your expression, your humming, and your walk it was very clear you adored this job.

You quickly turned around and noticed him standing at the door. Hurriedly running up to the counter you greeted him.

“Hello! Sorry, the bell doesn’t work and I’m not very good at paying attention when no one’s here.” You sheepishly smiled and Hyunjin was suddenly overwhelmed, you were adorable.

“It’s alright. A croissant and an americano, please.”

“Can do. Did know you have petals in your hair?”

He started flailing his hands wildly, hoping by some miracle to brush the petals off.

“Hold on. Stop! Turn around, I’ll get them for you.” You pushed his thrashing hands away while you moved out from behind the counter.

It was awkward and silent for a few moments as you tenderly picked the petals from his hair.

“How did these get in your hair in the first place?” You awkwardly started.

“Oh! I started working at the flower shop across the street today. That doesn’t really explain how they got in my hair though.” Hyunjin pouted.

“So it’s you. She came over the other day and was absolutely raving about you. Kept saying you were such a ‘nice, handsome boy.’” You quoted.

He blushed lightly at the compliments and how you had already heard about him.

Hyujin glanced at his watch, "well… I need to go home actually so can I just have my stuff to go?"

You scrambled back from the counter and grabbed a bag and cup. "Oh no! Of course, oh my goodness I'm so sorry."

He laughed, "it's fine. Just don't spill any coffee on yourself, please."

You fumbled a little when you turn around but otherwise Hyunjin was impressed with how smooth your actions were so soon in the morning and your shift. As a usual interaction he took his breakfast from you but unusually he thought about you the whole way walking home.

From that day onward Hyunjin would come in pretty often. The next Sunday he came in before his shift and learned you didn’t come in until later on Sundays and was teased hardcore by one of your co-workers. He tried to avoid coming in every day so he wouldn’t seem creepy by asking for you but he came in often enough for a couple people to recognize him. He also saw you often enough that you became friends and he started developing a little crush! Hyunjin’s friends would say it was more than a little crush with how often he talked about you or even casually mentioned you. Often without even realizing it.

With regular encouragement to ‘do something and shut up about it’ Hyunjin decided to start leaving you flowers. It was the obvious choice, working at a flower shop and all, and kind of cheesy but leave him alone, he was trying.

So it was Sunday once again and Hyunjin’s heart was hammering wondering if you would comment on the flowers. He wasn't sure whether it's good or bad that you didn't leave them on the counter. The world was on his side as you mentioned them about 4 seconds after he walked in.

"Hey, Hyunjin! I got these really nice flowers this morning. I was wondering if you would know if they mean anything?

"Uuuuuuh… yeah, what kind are they?"

"I have no idea," you laughed, "hold on let me grab them and you can look."

You turned around and Hyunjin panicked, trying to figure out what to say so he doesn't make it obvious it was him. You popped out a moment later and Hyunjin tried his best to make his face neutral.

"So what's the diagnosis, doc?" You joked.

"Well, the white ones ones are gardenias and the pink ones are carnations. They mean secret love and first love, at least I think so. You got a real admirer on your hands here."

"Did you see someone buy these?" You asked, anticipating.

Hyunjin didn't want to lie to you but saying he saw someone buy them would lead to more questions than he would like.

"No, sorry. I'll let you know if it happens in the future, though." Hyunjin tried to smooth over your disappointed face.

This will definitely happen in the future and he will definitely not tell you who it is, you could tell.

Well, you were at least partially right. Sunday you came in and there was a delicate purple and white bouquet. Hyunjin said they were stock and hydrangea’s.

The week after that? A stronger pink that Hyunjin said were pink roses and pink camellias. He didn’t tell you what they meant, instead ordering some extra breakfast. You looked up what they meant later and got even more confused about who could be leaving them.

Nearly every Sunday after that you come in and see flowers waiting for you. Even when it gets colder and they become fake, or heavily dosed in whatever keeps grocery store flowers alive. That doesn't remove the sentiment!

Hyunjin, ever the darling friend, decides not to tell you what the flowers are or what they mean. He claims it's because he 'doesn't know' but you smell bullshit. Eventually notes are often included explaining what the flowers are included and what they mean. Curiously, for some of them a note is not included and for those Hyunjin refuses to tell you what they even are no matter how much you needle him.

And so, life goes on. You work all your regular hours and half of it is spent wishing you could go home. Then, most Sundays you get a reminder in the form of a bouquet that gets you through at least a couple of days. In that time you continue to hang out with Hyunjin quite often and develop a massive crush on him. Come on, who wouldn't? He's the whole package and it's just not fair.

Hyunjin was having plenty of problems of his own. He had been leaving all sorts of flowers but he was supposed to confess eventually, wasn't he? Another Friday and he was selecting flowers for you.

"What are taking so many flowers for dearie? And why would you be paying for them?" Mrs. Kim seemed to appear from nowhere. She also called him dearie like most grandmas ever.

"Uh…" Hyunjin sputtered, unsure if he should he tell her what he's doing "I've been giving someone flowers every week and I'd feel bad if I didn't pay for them."

"Dear boy, you work here you don't have to pay anything. Especially if you're giving them to a special someone. Just tell me if they say yes." She winked and headed to the back room.

"But-" Hyunjin tried to protest but she didn't even look back at him.

Well shoot. Now he has to at least try to confess or else he’ll have to deal with that disappointment, grandma’s being disappointed is the worst. For now he has to finish this bouquet because he just wants to take a nap now.

You trudge towards the bakery disgruntled about your kindness to cover an earlier shift. You open the door and it’s silent, you once again mentally curse anyone you can think of for not fixing the doorbell. As you look up you notice Hyunjin standing at the counter, facing away from you. You can see a bouquet poking out from behind him

“Hyunjin?” You question

He spins around, alarmed and as you come closer his face gets redder and redder until he looks like a tomato.

“What is this?”

With his few, not panicking, brain cells he gives you a deadpan glare.

“Ok, ok, it’s a bouquet but did you bring it here?”

His deadpan glare doesn’t go away. “No, I’m just here to look at it.”

You roll your eyes “Ok, but why? And no I’m not asking why you came to look at it dumbo.”

He sighs and lowers his eyes, the blush that had been fading immediately comes back as bright red as before.

“You seriously haven’t noticed then.”

“What? I haven’t noticed what?”

“Alright, excuse me while I pour my heart out then. And if you interrupt I will cut you.” He jabs his finger at you

“Violent” you mumble, crossing your arms

“We’ve spent a lot of time together throughout these cold months and you’ve always been a warm presence. Oh god, I don’t even know what that means. What I mean is from the very start of our friendship you’ve always been there and I appreciate that friendship. But I really like you and I’d really like if we could be more than friends.”

“That was pouring your heart out? Weak, Jin, Weak” you shake your head in mock disappointment.

“I just confessed to you and that’s what you have to say! Ugh, you’re impossible.”

“Well that’s too bad. I wanted to go out on cute dates n stuff but if you’re not interested…” your voice takes on a fake sorrowful to tease Hyunjin.

Hyunjin hasn’t moved an inch and instead his eyes follow every small movement you make.

“Are you- Really? You like me?” He jabs a finger at his face.

You look at him, like really look, like he’s probably getting uncomfortable now look. The way the sunlight comes in at just the right angle to give him some unfair natural highlight. His lips are just slightly parted and yeah, you do want to kiss him right now. So, you walk up to him but stop just before him.

You look at him once more then close your eyes, “kiss me, you gorgeous i-”

He kisses you. No fireworks, no electricity, but it feels good and right. There’ll be plenty fireworks and electricity chances later, you’re sure, it’s Hyunjin after all.

Bonus:

“So what flowers do we have today Flower Expert?”

Hyunjin snorts, “delicate beauty and affection.”

You pout at him, “I am not delicate!”

“Of course not baby.” He pecks your nose.

You blush at the nickname and soft show of affection.

116 notes · View notes

theartofbeinganeldar · 5 years ago

Text

The Art of Being an Eldar: Legolas x Reader Chapter 3

Summary: You, a fantasy-loving LARPing human from Earth, got dropped into Middle-Earth with no recollection of the place except for bits and pieces. Lord Fabulous Elvenking has given you three days to find the portal from which you came, with the aide of his son Legolas, who you've taken to calling "Blue-Eyes." If you don't find the portal, you're to be taken back to the palace for a swift execution...

Chapter No.: Chapter 2

Key:

[Y/N]=Your Name [F/N]= Friend's Name [B/N]= Bro's Name [S/N]= Sis's Name [M/N]= Mom's Name [e/c]= eye color [h/c]= hair color [s/c]= skin color

Notes: I actually researched the languages using a website called elfdict,but I don’t know if the orcish is correct...

Warnings: Fluff, angst, graphic depictions of gore and violence (Cuz of orc battles y'know?), more angst, slow burn, some light depression in the first few chapters, some amnesia about Middle-Earth because the Valar say you're not supposed to have foresight, hard-core language, feels, lots and lots of feels, mentions of NSFW content, maybe some eventual NSFW content, LGTBQ+ characters, Thranduil being a jackass at first because he's fabulous, Legolas being a hot edgy prince that nobody can handle, Kili being an innocent bean, Hobbits being smol innocent beans, except for Bilbo 'cause he's been through some tough shit, Bard being dad of the year, Thorin being one dumbass boi, awesome dragons, awesome Nazgul, awesome scenery, awesome stuff in general, Elrond isn't listened to by anybody, confused Aragorn is confused, Denethor's a bitch as always, brace yourself for creepy as fuck Cream of Wormtongue Grima Wormtongue, Boromir lives, Gandalf. (yes these are all legit warnings don't judge me.)

Pairings/Ships: Legolas x Reader, Legolas x you, Aragorn x Arwen, Faramir x Eowyn, Thranduil x Elvenqueen, Galadriel x Celery Celeborn, Boromir x OC, Thorin x OC, Fili x OC, etc. general LoTR standard shippings plus some of my own cuz I can't stand my boys being lonely

Word Count: I try to keep my chapters short, under 2000 words.

Rating: Teen (14+) for now

Starting at dawn every day, you, Legolas, and the troop of Elves searched repeatedly for the portal. You threw yourself off of the tree countless times. You laid in the spot for hours. At one point, the Elves had even used some kind of sheet made of leaves and their supernatural strength to fling you up like a trampoline to see if the portal was aboveground.

Nothing happened.

As the days wore on, you grew more and more bitter. Every move felt exhausting, and like there was no use: you couldn't get back to your family.

You couldn't live here. There seemed to be no point of your existence anymore.

Somewhere around sunset of the second day, Blue-Eyes noticed your sudden lack of enthusiasm. "May I ask what troubles you?"

You scoffed. "Why do you care? I'll be dead in about forty-eight hours anyway. What I feel doesn't matter."

"I beg to differ," Legolas took a seat beside you; you scooted a couple of inches away. "You are in our world now, so you will go to our gods for judgement when you die."

You frowned. You'd always been kinda an atheist. "The Valar?"

Legolas nodded. "Yes. The Valar. Your feelings before death will determine whether or not you'll be given a good place among them."

You rolled your eyes. "You're kidding, right? They'll judge me for being pissed off and upset 'cause I can't get back to my own world to see my family, then killed just for breathing on Lord Fabulous's precious trees? They can go fuck themselves."

His face was priceless. If you hadn't been so pissed, you might've laughed. "...Lord... Fabulous? And, while I have my doubts about your recent hand gesturing, I do know that what you just said is most likely vulgar. Have respect for the Valar."

You snorted. "First of all, fabulous means somebody who loves dressing in the best and most well-liked outfits of the time, while also being very uppity and acting like they're God's gift to humanity. Second of all, yeah, that is vulgar, and no I will not take it back. Third, how fucking dare you, sir, to tell me to respect some candy-ass bitches up in the sky who'll judge me for having feelings."

Legolas shook his head. "Alright, ass is a word we do have here, as is candy. I can get the gist of that meaning. I cannot force you to have respect for them, especially when they brought you here."

You glared at him. "Yeah, whatever. Just leave me alone."

Blue-Eyes sighed. "As you wish."

You turned away, scrunching up into yourself against the night chill.

On the edge of night...

All shall fade...

With a huff, you curled up where you were and tried to fall asleep.

A beautiful copper dragon sat before you on a mound of gold. "Do you think flattery will keep you alive?"

"N-no..." Said the silhouette of a very small person.

"No indeed," Confirmed the dragon. He began to prowl around. "You seem familiar with my name, but I don't remember smelling your kind before. Who are you, and where do you come from, if I may ask?"

The dream flipped.

You stood between two Elves in silver robes, one of which was Blue-Eyes, looking sullen. "Tell me," Said the other Elf, "Where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him."

Legolas's crystal blue eyes glistened with tears, but he held them back. He'd never seemed like one to cry. "He was taken by both shadow and flame. A balrog of Morgoth."

The dream--no, vision-- changed again.

Before you was an old man in blue-gray robes with a long gray beard and pointed hat, smiling kindly up at what looked like a child. You couldn't turn your head to see. "A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins, nor is he ever early. He arrives precisely when he means to."

The visions flashed in your mind quickly now, too fast for you to discern much from them.

"Sauron's forces are massing in the east."

"This is no mere ranger! He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Gondor. You owe him your allegiance."

"Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king."

"I ain't droppin' no eaves, Mister Frodo!"

"I choose a mortal life."

"The beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!"

"He is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, the true King under the Mountain."

"You have the gift of foresight. What did you see?"

"Arwen..."

"What did you see?"

"I saw death. Your death."

"But there is also life. You saw my son."

"You have my sword."

"And my bow."

"And my axe!"

"If this is what the council decides, then Gondor will see it is done."

"Things that were... Things that are... And things that have not yet come to pass."

"Did he offer you a bargain?"

"Yes. I refused."

"A bargain was our only hope..."

"Have you forgotten what happened to Dale?"

"I am fire... I am...Death."

~ominous as fuck time skip~

You woke with a start, the dragon's words still echoing in your head. You knew over half of those names, deep in your mind... Sauron, Morgoth, balrog, Thorin, Frodo, Aragorn, Gandalf... You knew the voices, too. But you couldn't place any of them.

The Elves were already awake (With the sun as usual.), readying their breakfast of weeds.

You frowned. Why should you be concerned with why this place sounds familiar if you weren't going to be here much longer? You got up, and prepared to search for the portal-- you didn't want any breakfast, especially when it was nothing but dandelion fluff and sparkles.

"You are not breaking your fast?" Blue-Eyes asked you, and at first you thought he was using Elvish slang.

"You mean I'm not eating breakfast?"

"If that is how you say it in your world, yes."

You shrugged. "I'll be dead later anyway. What's the point?"

Legolas sighed. "To keep up your strength to find your way back. What if you arrive back on your world in the middle of the wilderness, like you did here? You will have no supplies, and I doubt you know much about foraging."

You huffed. "You know what? Screw off. I don't want anything to eat, and you can fucking deal with that."

He looked up in exasperation, probably praying to his Valar for you to stop being such a nuisance. "You use that word an awful lot."

"What word?"

"Fuck."

Then you almost busted out laughing, because a fancy pretty sparkly Elf, even if he was deadly, saying a modern cuss word was too funny.

He blinked. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

You snorted, crossing your arms. "Do you even know what the definition of that word is?"

"No." You gestured for him to come closer, then whispered the meaning into his ear. He sprang back wildly with wide eyes and a profoundly disgusted expression. "Dear Valar, I will never repeat a word you say again unless I am sure of what it means!" His eyes widened even further. "Wait... You just told the gods to perform impossible sexual acts on themselves! And the day before you told me to..." He stopped short, appalled.

"Yuh-huh. Just now gettin' that, goldie? For shame upon me." A thought struck you. "Wait, do Elves even have sex like humans? Do you even know what I'm talking about?"

He blushed a little. "Find the portal. Quickly." He awkwardly left, sparing you a quick glance like "wtf."

You grinned maliciously, then went back to your search.

By sundown, nothing was found. You stared down at the patch where you'd originally landed, wishing for all the world that you'd been born normal, with maybe a slight love for fantasy. Why? Why had you wished, for all of your life, that you'd been transported elsewhere? Now you were, but... You didn't have your family. Without them, you couldn't function right. You just couldn't imagine never seeing them again.

The Elves were already leaving, except for Blue-Eyes. He stood by your side for a minute, as if you were both staring at a grave. You might as well have been. "Bury me here, will you? Maybe my family will find my body. And kill me as non-messily as possible, please? Like, an arrow to the heart'll do."

Blue-Eyes stiffly patted your back. You went ramrod straight-- you'd always hated touch contact. "I will pray for you." He followed his comrades, who were already a good ways back to the river, spread out through the forest. You half considered running in the opposite direction, but you'd be dead before you even so much as got to the ridge where the first of the big dogs had attacked you.

You sighed, and forced yourself to move forward; you gasped as your ankle slipped into a rut, and you yanked it out, arms spread wide for balance. You gave the ground the dirtiest look you could muster, which quickly faded to stunned silence. You leaned down, and scraped more of the dried leaves away...

Your breath caught in your throat. "Blue-Eyes!"

Legolas was at your side in a moment. "Did you find it?"

"I don't know!" You stood and gestured to what you'd found. An inscription, in a language you couldn't read. "It was buried under the leaves."

"Can you read it?"

"Obviously not, dumbass. Is it Elvish?"

Blue-Eyes knelt, tilting his head slightly to read it. His hand grazed the writing. "It is a form of old Elvish, used in the time of Gondolin. This has been here for a very, very long time." He gave you a look. "Forgive me, I'd thought you'd written it at first." You thought about smacking him upside the head, but with everybody suddenly around you again and ready to attack, you thought better of it. Legolas turned back to the writing.

After an almost unspeakably long amount of time, you got impatient. "What's it say, dammit?!"

Legolas shook his head slowly. "I am sorry. Truly, I am. If we had seen this earlier..."

"What does it say, Legolas?!"

He stood, and looked you in the eyes, sympathetic. "'The way is shut. There is no going back. The way is shut, until next fiery moonlight.'"

Your face lit up. "R-really?! Then that means all we have to do is wait for a full moon, right?! That's usually what it is! Full moon at midnight for stuff like this, in all the books! Do you think Lord Fabulous could extend my sentence--"

"[Y/N]," It was the first time he'd used your name, and it made you freeze. "The night you arrived, the moon was full. But it was also a Firemoon. It means you cannot return to your world until the next Firemoon."

Your hopes slowly fell, but you were determined not to succumb to the panic that was quickly rising. "H-how much longer till the next one?"

Legolas put a hand on your shoulder, trying to get you to understand.

"Firemoons only happen once every thousand years, [Y/N]." The words were like being hit by a semi going full speed on the highway-- sudden, fatal, and unbelievable. "You cannot go home."

Everything suddenly seemed far away, like you were seeing this from someone else's perspective. Everything went quiet, at least to you. The world seemed to spin. You dropped to your knees, and you were vaguely aware of Blue-Eyes saying, "I am sorry..."

You didn't know what to do. I can't go home... I can't go home...

I can't go home.

Your breaths came in panicked, short bursts. Even if it killed you, you took off running. Maybe if you ran for long enough, you'd wake up from this nightmare. Then you could pretend you were in some fantasy world with your family this time. You expected to be shot in the back, but you heard Blue-Eyes shout an order in Elvish, and instead, about three or four individual Elves followed you. You don't know how long you ran; tears streamed from your cheeks. Your lungs burned. Your legs felt like Jello. You collapsed at one point, and screamed, though you couldn't hear it. You screamed until your throat was raw. You were vaguely aware of a few Elves nearby, but you ignored them.

All shall...

In all the chaos, it wasn't long before you blacked out.

...Fade...

~emo time skip~

When you woke up, it was midmorning. Birds chirped endlessly on, the happiest goddamned creatures in the world. A couple of Elves talked quietly amongst themselves in hushed voices and in Elvish. You were laying on your back, and somebody had covered you up in a blanket. The smell of something good-- not that anything was, at this point--filled the air. It smelled like cinnamon and walnuts, like Christmas.

With a sigh, you cracked your swollen eyes open. Legolas sat cross-legged beside you, checking his bowstring and polishing the wood. He smiled half-heartedly at you. "You are awake."

Obviously. You didn't say anything. You didn't want to talk. Or think. Legolas sighed, placing his bow across his lap. "We must head for the palace. My father will wonder what is keeping us."

Yeah, gotta kill me as quick as possible... Death is better than this, anyway.

Legolas gave the order, and the Elves started to pack up. You laid monotone and still for the length of it, until Blue-Eyes gave you the signal to get up. Then you walked slowly behind them, every step a chore. You'd barely reached the river, and you were exhausted. And still, that damned song was going through your head...

Home is behind...

The world ahead...

All shall fade...

You knew that your dream last night had been connected to this place, whatever it was. Did that mean this song was, too? You were half tempted to ask Blue-Eyes, but you decided you weren't worthy of talking to any of these fantastical fantasy beings, even if they were going to kill you in t-minus some hours.

The company suddenly halted. Blue-Eyes had a hand raised, and all the Elves's weapons had materialized in their hands. Blue-Eyes was quiet, listening...

An eerie howl cut through the trees, chilling you to your bones. Was that one of those big dogs that carried orcs? A horn followed the howl, and all the Elves strung their bows and readied their weapons. "Gundabad yrch!" Legolas proclaimed-- you were going to assume that yrch meant orcs. He went on to give a bunch of other orders, and the Elves took off running; if it were up to you, you'd've stopped running and let the dogs have you for dinner.

But apparently Legolas seen that, and grabbed your upper arm to drag you along beside him. Damn him... The rest of the Elves were suddenly ignoring Blue-Eyes's orders. Half of them went off into the trees in the direction of the horn and howl, and the other half formed a protective circle around him-- and you, coincidentally.

Blue-Eyes barked an order at them which they ignored, but all of you stopped short when you seen what awaited you on the far bank; the way back to the palace.

Six massive wargs, more wolflike than the ones from before, with orcs a hell of a lot uglier than the ones from before sitting atop their backs, with black bows and jagged, haphazard swords. In the direction the other Elves had gone, there was more howling. Shit. If you cared about your survival right now, you'd've been terrified. But you almost enjoyed the thought of death, if it hadn't been so gruesome.

Blue-Eyes scanned the bank. There were more orcs nearby, on foot, and several more wargs. One of the Elves moved faster than you could see, snatching a sleek gold horn on his hip and blowing hard before Legolas could stop him.

The Elf-- it was the one that'd found your hair dye repulsive the other day-- hardly got a note out before an arrow lodged itself in his throat. The note trailed off into a gurgle as blood sprayed from the wound. Droplets splattered onto you, and you recoiled; you'd never seen death. You'd been to a funeral once or twice, but never this. He fell backward, and the river swiftly carried his body away.

Legolas shouted an order, and the Elves readied themselves for battle. But there wouldn't be one just yet, despite the death of that Elf. The lead orc-- a nasty, pale gray orc with swollen eyes and a protruding mouth, tall and thick, his forehead covered in scars-- stepped off of his warg, which was bigger than the rest.

He came about halfway before stopping. "A truce?" One of the Elves asked-- Common was probably hard to speak for orcs, so they resorted to it to keep from being understood. It made sense.

Legolas didn't take his eyes off of the orc, but shook his head. "That is Bolg, spawn of Azog the Defiler. He would not make any truce with us, nor would any other orc. They are beyond reason, and think only of blood and death." Bolg... Azog... Now you really knew these names... But why?

"Albai," The orc snarled; his voice was deep. "Dorzog ajog lum trov!"

"Emme uva!" Legolas cried. "Sin nor yara ana Aran Thranduil!"

Thranduil... You knew that name. But the fact that they were conversing in orcish and Elvish was astounding. One must've came from the other, and you were just going to assume that it was the orcish that came from Elvish.

Bolg's already disgusting face scrunched up into a frown. "Vol lat diig!" The orc raised an arm; you recognized the movement as a signal to fire. The Elves scrambled around wildly yet gracefully to avoid the arrows, but you barely moved; an arrow got you right in the bare part of your upper arm, and another grazed your ear. Still, you didn't move, praying for one to hit you in the head or heart or something. You hardly felt the pain.

As the battle took place around you, you zoned out. You caught glimpses of a bloodied Elven corpse, or a dismembered orc, and of course, blood was everywhere. The river ran red. You just wished it would end...

A grunt nearby brought you out of your trance.

It was Blue-Eyes, being pinned down by a warg's paw on his chest, another on his left arm. He flipped the dagger in his good hand and stabbed it violently into the warg's shoulder. The beast howled in agony, but only pushed down harder; Legolas's eyes widened as he realized the knife was stuck. The warg snarled, and opened its jaws, savoring the taste of fear before it would bite down...

None of this is his fault. He shouldn't have to die.

The warg had dismissed you as unthreatening. One of the Elves lay dead on the rocks nearby, a longblade in her hand as she stared with unseeing eyes to the sky, mouth agape. You snatched the weapon from her already-stiffening grasp. It was heavy. But it was sharp as hell.

In two leaps, you'd reached the warg, which looked to you in confusion, then recognition, with a growl. You brought the sword down, slicing deep into the creature's face. It wailed in an echo of a voice, and released Legolas, pawing at the wound; Legolas whipped his bow out like an OP follower and shot that dog point blank.

You let go of the hilt, stunned. Blue-Eyes inclined his head. "You have my deepest thanks, [Y/N.]. You saved my life."

You just nodded in shock.

Legolas raced back into the battle, leaving you to your own. Another horn blew, this one like the one the Elf that'd been shot first had blown. A barrage of arrows flew from the trees, felling every orc and warg in seconds. Some grazed you, but none touched any of the surviving Elves.

A she-Elf in a dark green tunic, carrying a longbow, loped out of the woods with her comrades. She was beautiful, with red hair so long it went past her waist. "Legolas!" She cried, and he responded in Elvish; again, you couldn't understand what they were saying, and it was really starting to piss you off.

"[Y/N]," Blue-Eyes called to you, and you belatedly looked up. He and the ginger were approaching you sollemnly. "This is Tauriel, Captain of the Guard. She will take you back to the palace and explain what happened here." Ah... Death at last.

"Tauriel," Legolas turned to her; something shone in his eyes. You recognized his spark, but not hers, but the thought quickly left your head when you registered what he was saying. "Tell my father that they saved my life."

"What?" Tauriel looked impressed, and bowed her head to you. "You have my thanks, mellon."

"Perhaps he will spare them from execution in repayment," Legolas pointed out, and Tauriel made an 'o' face.

She bowed respectfully. "I will make sure of it, my prince."

Wut.

Oh, right. Blue-Eye's dad was Lord Fabulous, king of these Elves. Of course that'd make him a prince. Prince Legolas Gr... Of the Wood... Rea... The thought was like an echo. You couldn't catch it.

Legolas nodded to you, and Tauriel lead you away from the carnage of the river battlefield.

~time skip~

"Saving my son does not grant you my utmost favor," Lord Fabulous glared down at you like you were a nasty piece of gum he'd stepped on in flip-flops. "But it does warrant some form of reward. I am sure you wish for your execution to be cancelled?"

On autopilot, you nodded. You didn't want to die, but you didn't want to live. You just wished you'd never have existed in the first place, that way none of this would've happened.

Lord Fabulous Elvenking snorted, like he was hoping you'd just ask for cake before you were beheaded. "Of course. Take them to their cell."

Tauriel wasn't as rough as Legolas, or even any of the guards had been, but she still held you firmly. "Would you like a change of clothes? I could also arrange for a washbasin to be brought to you."

You just nodded. Couldn't you just dissipate? But, if it'd taken nineteen years for this wish to come true, then it'd take another nineteen years for you to disappear. You were an Elf now, so that should pass in one painful blink of an eye...

"I am sorry that you could not find the portal," Tauriel told you as she locked the door to your cell. "I will have the guards bring you something to eat at once."

You laid down on your cot, curled up, and closed your eyes. You heard the guard come and deliver the food, then leave quietly, but you still didn't move. You didn't move when Tauriel brought you clothes and a bucket of water and rags, you didn't move when Blue-Eyes came to thank you again, you didn't move when a rat came and took your cheese. You just laid there, staring and feeling dead on the inside.

You refused to eat or drink for the next few days. You slept, mostly. When you were awake, you were crying silently. You dreamed of your family. You grieved. Your muscles cramped from sleeping in one position for days. Your stomach felt like it was going to eat you alive. Your mouth was as dry as sandpaper. A hollow ache had settled in the core of your torso, between your heart and lungs; a pulsing orb of sadness, regret, and the wish to disappear. A couple of times, you passed out from hunger while laying down. But you were an Elf, so it'd be hard for you to starve.

You kept count of the days by the cycle of guards exchanging meals. Every tray held different things for different mealtimes: fruits and bread for breakfast, cheese and bread for lunch, and a thick vegetable soup for dinner. About nine days went by before anyone came to check on you, and by that point, you were hysterical on the inside. On the outside, you were catatonic.

And you reeked, because you hadn't had a shower in like, awhile.

After two battles.

So you weren't at your best.

"My guards tell me you refuse to sustain yourself." It was Blue-Eyes. "Do you realize how much of an offense that is to his majesty? He allows you to live, and yet you seek death out deliberately."

You said nothing. Hell, your eyes didn't even move. With a sigh, Blue-Eyes moved to your bedside. "Ah, I see you have also refused to bathe..." You didn't crack a smile. Even on the inside, you hardly felt a twinge of amusement. You felt... Empty.

Legolas surprised you by placing a hand on your cheek. "You miss them, don't you?"

Tears welled in your eyes. Dammit stop making me have feels. Ah, but feels you had, my friend, and you started bawling into your pillow. Legolas shushed you, and petted your head and told you it would be alright. You don't know how long you cried, but at one point, Legolas and Tauriel switched places, even though she clearly didn't want to and sucked at emotional talking.

When it was Legolas's turn again, you'd finally gotten to the nearly-finished state of hyperactive wheezing. "How long were you holding that in, I wonder?" You still didn't answer. He gave you a sympathetic smile. "You saved my life. Let me help you save yours. Get up. You will eat, even if I must force it down your throat, and once you're full, you'll bathe. After, I will take you for a tour of Mirkwood. You'll be living here, now... I suppose it's only right you learn how to navigate your homeland."

Finally, it clicked.

"Wh...What did you say...?" Your voice was hoarse from underuse and crying, but it still worked.

Legolas gave you a concerned look, like that much crying might've damaged your hearing. "I said I will take you for a tour of Mirkwood--"

You sat up; too fast, but you sat up. Your sugar dropped. But you had to know. "Mirkwood... Where is that?"

Legolas frowned. "East of the Misty Mountains, west of Erebor, home to the dwarves and the King Under the Mountain. North of Ithilien, Gondor, and northeast to Lothlorien, Ithilien, and Rohan."

Oh fuck.

"Wh-what is this place called? In general? Collectively? Like, the whole continent?"

Legolas seemed to finally realize that you were crazy. "Middle-Earth."

Oh hell.

"Holy shit..."

"What is it?"

You couldn't remember it clearly. Hell, you could hardly remember it at all. But what you did remember finally made sense. Tolkien's fantasy masterpiece that no one can surpass... The Hobbit... Lord of The Rings... The Fellowship... Smaug, Thorin, Bilbo... Aragorn, Arwen... Thranduil, Legolas, Tauriel... Oh gods, Legolas! "I-I... The books... Oh, gods..."

"Mellon...?"

You promptly fell face-first off the bed before any half-assed explanation could be given to poor Golden Boy.

"[Y/N]?!"

...

Home is behind...

The world ahead...

And there are many paths to tread...

Through shadow, to the edge of night...

Until the stars are all alight...

Mist and shadow...

Cloud and shade...

All shall fade...

All shall...

...Fade...

Tag List: @tesserphantom @thedragonghostofmordor

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alex12311 · 5 years ago

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Kamilah x MC fluff

set between book 1 and 2

hey, I know my blog isn’t Choices related but I’m too lazy to make a new one for this. Anyway, ever wondered what a 2000+ years old vampire would act like if she was forced to go to a supermarket with her chaotic dumbass girlfriend? Well this is my take on it. Enjoy.

When Kamilah agreed to the sleepover she had something calm and short in mind. While she had no qualms about spending time with Lily and Amy in their little apartment (a place that she never expected to call cozy), she also wished to drag the human into bed early and have her all to herself . She did not plan on seducing her. Kamilah had more of a mind for smothering her in a needy embrace and fall asleep lulled by the sound of her heartbeat. She needed such comfort after such a stressful week.

The girls, however, planned on going all out. Expensive alcohol, loud music, tons of junk food and Lily even mentioned party hats. Kamilah sincerely hoped that she was joking.

Either way, since the event was agreed upon quite spontaneously and last minute, all the junk food, alcohol and party hats needed to be procured first.

And so Kamilah found herself standing in front of a supermarket, frowning at the flickering, broken light. She was Kamilah Sayeed. She did not do supermarkets. The occasional time she actually went to buy something herself was when she popped into a local liquor store, otherwise she relied on shopping from the comforts of her home. Why bother when she had others bringing her food and drink right to her doorstep?

She hadn’t set foot into a supermarket in over twenty years. She avoided them like the plague. Humans everywhere. Loud noises. Obnoxious music. Poisonous, sugary foods all around. And they ate those things. Willingly. Kamilah was disgusted.

And yet here she was, tagging along and all it took was a stupid smile and exaggerated batting of eyelashes to convince her to come. Amy was officially a bad influence.

“Come on, it won’t be so bad,” the girl cooed as she watched the slightly overdressed vampire brood at the lights. Her mocking smile dispelled whatever illusion of fun she was trying to cast. She linked their arms to get the brunette’s attention. “I’ll buy you a lollipop.”

Kamilah snorted. “Please. If you wish to make me happy then make it quick. Do you have a list of what you need?”

Amy nodded. “Yes, don’t worry about it. Thanks for agreeing to come with me,” she hugged Kamilah’s arm for a brief second, then let go. “I always wanted a strong, attractive woman to carry my bags for me.”

“I agreed to no such thing.”

The human merely laughed and started walking inside. Kamilah braced herself and followed.

The place was nearly deserted at such a late hour, and so it felt like there was just the two of them, pushing the cart through sleepy aisles. Kamilah let Amy lead her, at first taking it quietly as if she was enduring some punishment, but soon she began to wander around and look at things while staying within Amy’s orbit. The human found it amusing, but did not say a word in fear that she might put a stop to this endearing curiosity of hers.

Kamilah peeked over her lover’s shoulder to look at her hastily written shopping list. “What do you need to get from here?” She gestured to the fruits and veggies all around them. Most of the crates were half-empty. No one bothered to restock them.

Distracted by the sudden closeness, Amy quickly looked around and pointed. “Spinch!”

“A what?” Kamilah’s brow furrowed. Was this some new slang? Youths…

Amy paced over to a crate and lifted a package full of spinach leaves. “ ‘Tis a spinch!”

“Amy, why? Why can’t you just call it what it is like a normal person?”

“Excuse you, it’s funny.” She said as she set her spinch into the shopping cart.

“It isn’t.”

“Okay then. Let’s make rounds. I’ll read the item names and we’ll see how funny it gets.” She didn’t wait for Kamilah to agree to this. The vampire followed her and shook her head as Amy pointed at various fruits and vegetables, butchering their names with determination.

Kamilah rolled her eyes as Amy called an egg plant ‘edgy planet’, whined quietly at the ‘wutermenan’ spoken with a redneck accent, but the ‘ponopls’ actually forced a silent choking laughter out of her. She stopped in her tracks, hid her face in her palms and let it roll through her, equal parts dismayed that this actually managed to get to her, and mad at Amy for pushing her this far, especially in public.

Meanwhile, Amy was grinning from ear to ear. “Kamilah Sayeed, losing it over mispronounced fruit. I thought I’d never see the day.”

Kamilah took a long breath and composed herself, snatching the shopping basket and power-walking away. She heard the sound of hurried footsteps behind her. “Just so we’re clear, this is the last time I ever go shopping with you.” She shot Amy a glare over her shoulder. “Give me the list.” She reached out, snapping her fingers impatiently.

When Amy finally caught up with her, she handed the note over breathlessly. The brown eyes scanned the page. “I can’t read this. You have a penmanship of a five-year-old who is having a seizure.”

“Not all of us can ooze elegance with everything we do,” Amy shot back, taking the note from her. “Come this way.”

After few minutes of walking and complaining, Kamilah’s bitterness evaporated and was replaced with her previous curiosity and a surprisingly agreeable mood. She raised an eyebrow when Amy made eye contact with her as she pushed not one, not two, but three bags of Cheetos into the shopping basket, claiming it was for Lily. When Amy approached the baked goods and saw a bunch of glazed strawberry doughnuts, she gulped audibly and froze up, no doubt debating with her inner demon who wanted to gorge herself stupid.

After few months of their relationship Kamilah knew just how powerful Amy’s sweet tooth was. For her own good, she reached down, took her hand and began leading her away like a mother chaperoning her greedy child who was dead set on eating themselves through her wallet.

And then Kamilah found the booze aisle. Amy hung back and let the woman walk around like a hawk, scrutinizing the brands like an officer in front of a line of sloppily dressed, inexperienced soldiers.

“This is little more than rose colored water,” she said, lips curling in disgust. “And it’s the second most expensive wine they have here.”

“You tell them,” Amy chuckled, resting her head on her palm as she leaned on the shopping cart. “Should we ask for the manager?”

“Do not patronize me, Amy.”

“Oh, I don’t. I mean it. I’d wrestle the manager for you if it meant getting you what you want.”

Kamilah put the wine back on the shelf. “As much as I’d like to see that, I think we would do better to stop by a proper liquor store before we return to your apartment. Or…” She stroke her chin thoughtfully, then produced two bottles of Perrier and lifted them for Amy to see. “Is this okay with you?”

The human nodded vigorously. Kamilah smiled and took two more, much to Amy’s horror. Just how much did she plan on drinking? Well, there is three of us… she thought. Surely that would… Oh. Here she goes, taking another bottle. Right, Miss Sayeed. You better carry my bags now.

Since they were there, Amy made some purchases that had nothing to do with the party. Not that the spinach had much to do with it to begin with, but a girl’s gotta keep healthy.

As Amy browsed the confusingly big selection of cooking oils, Kamilah watched her intently. She hasn’t seen many humans doing their ordinary day to day chores, and she found this side of the girl fascinating. Only a frugal woman would bother doing the math and figuring out which thing was cheaper while also considering the quality. Amy’s generous paychecks have been coming for months, yet she was still careful with her money. To a billionaire, this type of behavior was both endearing and admirable, if not a bit odd.

Amy caught the vampire staring and turned to face her. “Not that I don’t appreciate you mooning over me, but this aisle is hardly romantic,” said the woman dual-wielding olive oils.

“Oh?” Moving closer, the vampire closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to Amy’s forehead. “I can moon over you wherever I please.”

Nervous laughter escaped from Amy’s mouth. She felt overwhelmed, like her knees would buckle any moment and she’d make an idiot out of herself by swooning in a most inelegant way she could muster. And Kamilah, damn that woman, knew it.

The vampire smiled, victorious and smug. “Are we done here? As…enlightening as this has been, I would like to be elsewhere.”

“Well, I always make a point of going through the candle section before I leave…”

“Fine. One more stop, but then we leave.”

Soon enough Kamilah watched as Amy made a beeline from shelf to shelf, sniffing the candles like a coy crack addict. Sometimes she’d hold one out for Kamilah to smell as well if it managed to catch her interest.

“I didn’t know you liked candles so much,” Kamilah said, tucking this information away for later use. She’d make her a custom one based on what she liked. An easy gift, and a guaranteed success. “Tell you what. Pick one. It’s on me.”

Amy made a guilty face as if Kamilah just offered to buy her an island. “You don’t have to—“

“Shut up and take one candle,” the CEO commanded firmly.

Surprisingly, it took less than five seconds for Amy to make her choice. She handed Kamilah what she wanted and blushed slightly.

“Lavender?” Kamilah smirked knowingly. The woman practically bathed in the stuff. When she stayed over at Amy’s, her scent always clung to the sheets, it was maddening.

“Don’t say a word,” Amy pointed at her in warning.

They went and found only one working cashier in the whole supermarket. Just as Amy was about to pay the teen, Kamilah waved her off and produced her fancy credit card. It hardly made a dent in her finances yet she knew that the human would insist on somehow making it up to her, and frankly, she was happy to collect on that debt if it meant having a nice romantic night together.

Proving herself to be chivalrous, the vampire took the three heavy bags without a complaint. As soon as they got out on the open street, Amy leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you. You’re an absolute sweetheart, you know that?”

Kamilah sighed. “The things I do for you…”

#playchoices #kamilah sayeed #kamilah x mc #bloodbound #bb

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xadoheandterra · 6 years ago

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Series: The Burning of Solheim Title: The Path Untrodden Fandom: Final Fantasy XV Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII | XIII Characters: Ardyn Izunia, Prompto Argentum, Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum, Aranea Highwind Tags: Time-Travel, Prompted-fic, time travel induced age difference Summary: Solheim was the height of civilization long enough that their ruins were ruins over 2000 years ago, and still had the power to function in the time of the King of Light. They should've realized something was very wrong the minute Prompto remarked on the lights being on, and yet no one was home.

Ignis parked the car as close as he could get it, with another broken down stranger directly in their path. Prompto wanted to groan in dismay as he stretched—the Vesperpool was hot and muggy and just from the few minutes of walking they’d done earlier to get a nice group photo, Prompto was fairly certain his nice boots were covered in marsh muck. From the car Noctis didn’t bother to withhold his groan of complaint and, sluggishly, climbed his way out.

“Your certain we can find Mythril here, Iggy?” Prompto asked as he watched how Noctis brushed at his clothes and smacked at the bugs that tried to get in his face.

“If Talcott is to be believed, yes,” Ignis murmured. He shoved up glasses from across a sweat-soaked nose and Prompto nodded in understanding. “Come, Noct! We best get a move on.”

Noctis waved a hand with a tiredly muttered, “Coming!” and in quick succession their party of three formed up. Prompto eyed the way his best friend rubbed at his back with a faint grimace and not for the first time he wondered just where Gladio ran off to and why.

Noctis slapped a hand to Prompto’s shoulder with a grimace of a grin and said lightly, “Hey, he’ll be back before you know it,” as if Prompto or Ignis could tell how much the big guy’s absence really hurt the young King.

Prompto stumbled out a, “Y-Yeah!” and they marched onward. The walk only enforced the heat of the days sun as it bore down upon them. Their clothes were ill-fit for the weather, Crownsguard fatigues were meant for the cool breeze of Insomnia, not the oppressive natures of the world outside the Wall. Leide and Lestallum both ran hotter than Prompto, Ignis, or Noctis were used to, and Vesperpool was even worse. They’d only been in the area for thirty minutes and already Prompto’s clothes were soaked through.

With a grimace Prompto tugged off his jacket and dismissed it into the armiger. Ignis refused to dress down even when Prompto could see the heat was slowly getting to him as well, and Noctis just tugged his jacket off and tied it around his waist by the sleeves instead of outright dumping it into their weird pocket dimension of magic.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Ignis said to the group, upright and face stern although he gave them each a bit of a grin that Prompto returned. They wandered through the bush for a while, the muck and mud of the swamp stuck to their boots, but every few minutes Prompto saw something to catch his eye and he’d pull his camera up and out and snap a few quick photographs.

“Think Gladio will like these?” Prompto asked. He nudged Noctis in the shoulder and showed him the viewscreen of his camera. His thumb swiped through a few of the more recent shots to which Noctis let out a faint laugh, especially of the shot of Ignis’ sweat-soaked clothes as he moved ahead.

“Yeah, think he’ll love these, Prom,” Noctis shoved Prompto back and they grinned at one another as they moved forward.

They passed from brush and plants and swamp to something far more ruins like that reminded Prompto eerily of broken structures they passed by as they drove around Cleigne. Built up towers of stone-carved brick that stood the tests of time better than a lot of the cement structures had in a few of the more remote places of the lands outside of Insomnia.

“Wow,” Prompto murmured and snapped a few shots of the structures that poked up out of the swamp. “Wonder how old this is?”

“Old,” Ignis said shortly, and then sighed at Prompto’s pleading look. “If records are to be believed these structures are from the time of Solheim, most likely, although there isn’t much left that dates back that far to tell us more. Any scientific undertakings into the nature of these ruins or who built them have long been put on hold, what with the war with Niffelheim and all.”

“So,” Prompto muttered as he snagged a few more shots. “Really old, then?”

“Quite.”

Noctis noticed the car first, out of all of them. Prompto noticed it within short order, but only because of how Noctis suddenly went stiff in the photo Prompto had badgered him into posing for. They’d only wandered a small ways away from Ignis, so the soft and nervous, “Uh, Iggy?” was rather quickly responded to.

“Yes, Prompto?”

“We’ve got company.”

Ignis rounded around the wall he’d been inspecting and then shoved up his glasses when he saw what Prompto and Noctis both already caught sight of. The old red convertible with a racing stripe along the side was familiar in a way that gave Prompto a sinking feel in his stomach. He glanced over to Ignis who frowned and pressed his glasses further up his face from where they slipped down.

“Stay close to me,” Ignis eventually said, and the two men nodded and quickly formed around the royal retainer.

“You really think he’s here, Iggy?” Prompto asked, almost nervously.

“I’d certainly think so,” Ignis murmured. “Are you alright, Noct?”

Next to them Noctis clenched and unclenched his fists and Prompto could understand why. Days back, before they knew that the weird hobo-man was actually Chancellor Izunia from Niffelheim, Noctis had confided in them that Ardyn made him feel weird. He already gave off this horrible creepy vibe as it was to Prompto, but Prompto didn’t have the inherent magical gifts of the Lucis Caelum line. None of them did.

Noctis once described being around Ardyn being like near a light socket that felt on the edge of being burnt out. It was this static in the air that raised the hair on Noctis’ arms. It left a sort of coppery taste in his mouth, and he said it felt like he needed to warp except—he couldn’t. Prompto didn’t get it, but he knew creepy when he saw it and Ardyn Izunia practically bled creepy. It made Prompto wonder if all Nif’s were just outright disturbing to be around, or if the Chancellor was a special brand of fuckery.

“I’m fine,” Noctis said eventually. “Let’s just find the entrance to this place and get out of here, alright?”

“Yes, let’s,” Ignis deferred and Prompto shivered.

They moved closer to the car which was parked right in front of what looked like the start of the ruins going deeper and Prompto resisted the urge to pull out Quicksilver from the armiger.

“What is he even doing here?” Prompto muttered.

“Who knows,” Ignis said back under his breath. As a group they approached the columns and found themselves forced to pause as the man himself slipped around one and right into their field of view.

It was the first time Prompto had ever seen the man without his hat actually on his head. The wine-red coloring of his hair actually looked really nice in this lighting and for a second Prompto wondered if he could ask for a photograph because—well, the shadows did something for the rugged homeless look of the Chancellor, he guessed.

Ardyn was polite when he addressed them, as he always was. His words always felt so odd to hear, though, and Prompto was about ninety-percent sure not even Gladio’s dad talked like Ardyn did, but whatever. At least he wasn’t doing anything except being creepy and hiding and maybe stalking their little group. What a great time for Gladio to take a holiday.

Ignis handled the conversation, mostly because Prompto didn’t know what to say to someone like Ardyn without putting his foot in his mouth, and Noctis kept on pressing his fingers into his arms. Prompto nudged the darker haired man in the shoulder and pressed close as, upon Ignis ground out grumble of, “Oh, splendid,” did they start to follow the man.

“This feels like a trap, Iggy,” Noctis muttered as Prompto slung an arm around his shoulder.

“Well there’s nothing for it,” Ignis muttered back. “Just be prepared.”

They each dipped mental fingers into the armiger as they followed after the Chancellor. He led them right into the thick of the water—which, gross, Prompto fought off a grimace of disgust at the feel of swamp water as it seeped into his boots—but Ardyn kept talking and it dragged all of Prompto’s attention off of Noctis.

“Do keep up,” Ardyn said. He walked with a sort of listless fervor in front of them; Prompto watched how the man drifted to the side, and then course corrected and drifted back. Had he always had such a strange gait or was it the swamp water that made the carefully constructed movements of the man seem so upended, Prompto wondered.

Ardyn tilted his head down and gave their trio a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Prompto glanced to Noctis and then Ignis and drifted closer Ardyn at Ignis’ subtle tilt of his head. They made a bit of a train, with Prompto edged closer to Ardyn’s side and Ignis keep a subtle closeness to Noctis just in case something was to go wrong.

The walk wasn’t quiet, even if Ignis, Noctis, and Prompto didn’t want to converse with this man. He kept up a steady stream of conversation—probably liked to hear his own voice, Prompto thought—and while Ardyn kept his words polite and kind, there was a sharpness underlaid in them that raised the hairs of the back of Prompto’s neck.

Prompto also didn’t like the way those golden eyes pierced down at him as he moved on the man’s left, his hands itched to drag Quicksilver out of the armiger even if he had to play nice. The curl of Ardyn’s lips as he spoke in that ostentatious, verbose manner left Prompto—scared, for lack of a better term. He had this unerring feeling that they were walking right into whatever plans Ardyn had. This polite interruption and steady knowledge of their own actions and reasons to be here in the Vesperpool really made Prompto uncomfortable.

A nagging thought struck the blond; could Ardyn have Gladio?

There was power here and even Prompto could feel it. He wondered how Noctis felt in this place, where the lights were scarily still on for being something ancient and old. They’d already found themselves forced to cut through a large group of daemons that haunted the place, and the words of Aranea Highwind gave Prompto the chills.

He didn’t understand what the Empire wanted with this place—why were they hunting down the daemons? Aranea kept quiet for the reasons, refused to answer when questioned, but Prompto had a bad feeling about all of it. The small, strange circular indentations periodically placed in the floor gave off some sort of hum similar but completely not to the lights.

The ground felt like it vibrated with something being barely held back. Prompto toed himself around another one of the circular shapes and then sucked in a large breath when they stepped through the door. The sight in front of them was utterly breathtaking, the shimmer from the water’s surface and the way the light refracted down around them. It felt almost like looking into a pool in reverse.

Prompto jogged right up to the edge of the railing and pulled out his camera to grab a few snapshots with an almost awed sort of laugh.

“It’s breathtaking,” Noctis said as Prompto dismissed the camera back into the armiger.

“Yeah,” Prompto murmured.

“Is that the water’s surface, all the way up there?” Aranea questioned and it hit Prompto that they were under water.

How cool was that? Also, utterly terrifying and with a squeak Prompto scuttered backward because, hah, that shouldn’t have been possible, right? To be under the water looking up and yet not be in the water at all? What kind of madness did Solheim get up to? Maybe that was why it felt like magic. Prompto shivered and inched along the wall for a moment and then glanced to Noctis who started to move forward with purpose.

“Are you alright?” Ignis questioned from Prompto’s side, and Prompto nodded sharply.

“Y-Yeah, fine,” Prompto said and tightened his grip on Quicksilver. “Let’s go catch up.” He moved to jog back up to Noctis with a nod to Ignis who smiled back.

Prompto didn’t notice his foot press down upon one of the circles, but he did feel the flare underneath his boot and the surprised yelp as the world lit up red around him. He had a second to shout, “Uh, guys?!” before the world tilted sideways.

“Prompto!” Ignis shouted back, but then everything shattered not unlike the few times when Noctis decided to drag Prompto off in a warp in the past.

A second later Prompto stumbled forward with a weak laugh at the sight of the ruins still in front of him. He was fine, he was okay, right? Prompto patted down his shirt and let out a sigh of relief. Yeah, he was fine, still hot and sweaty and stinky from fighting daemons, but fine otherwise.

“I’m okay, guys! Nothing happened!” Prompto laughed giddily and stepped forward except—he frowned. He couldn’t see Ignis. Or Noctis. Or even Aranea. “Uh, guys?” Prompto glanced around, and then looked up—the water reflected light like prisms into the area but aside from it all around him was darkness. He could hear the sound of rocks being pushed about, the telltale groan of daemons as they worked to pull themselves out of the shadows.

Prompto was alone, in Steyliff, with daemons around every corner. His hand tightened on Quicksilver and he counted the magazine in it—fifteen bullets. He needed to reload if the sounds around him were any indication. Prompto grit his teeth and reached for the armiger—he’d have words with everyone about just leaving him behind. So not cool, guys, really—Prompto froze again when he realized the familiar, cold-warmth of Noctis’ magic at the center of his chest wasn’t there.

The armiger—Prompto didn’t have access to the armiger. Or his bullets. His clothes—food—and that shouldn’t be possible unless Noctis—unless Noct was—the first of the Goblins materialized and Prompto fired one bullet straight into its face before he took off running. He needed to find Noctis, to find Ignis—Prompto refused to believe that they were dead without proof. This was a cruel joke of some sort, it had to be.

With a yelp Prompto ducked under the swipe of a scythe, and with wide and terrified eyes he booked it back for the entrance. Either they were further in and left him—and not possible, Prompto grit his teeth and fought down tears, because that wasn’t possible. No, he’d meet them at the front and give them a few words of discontent because it wasn’t funny and Prompto refused to entertain the thought that Noct was dead.

#fic: the path untrodden #final fantasy xv #prompto argentum #ardyn izunia #noctis lucis caelum #ignis scientia #time travel #fix it au #ff15kinkmeme prompt #fic: the burning of solheim #fanfic

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shotsbyshae · 6 years ago

Text

Who I Am

I'm Alexandra Sloan Wilson, the Winchesters are friends that gave me a family and I've been a hunter most of my life. Sam and Dean can often make life complicated, but little did I know, I was the one who was about to make things complicated. Every good hero & villain has their origin story...this is mine.

London

July 2nd, 1988

An older woman stands there, her long blonde tresses of hair framing her thin face as she looks down at the small infant bundled up in the bassinet in front of her. The baby has tiny black curls on her head with dark brown eyes that stare back up at the woman, full of innocence.

"I'm so sorry little one," the blonde-haired woman speaks softly, gently cupping the side of the child's face. The woman is torn in what she's about to do, and it is written all over her face as she holds both of her hands above the child in the bassinet and begins speaking in Latin.

The child's eyes suddenly glow a bright blue purple color for a few moments, then the color starts to glitch out, as if there's a bad connection, while the woman continues the spell. Then the bright color slowly fades away, leaving just the innocent brown eyes looking at her as the baby's face scrunches up in pain and she begins to cry.

She gently picks the infant up from the bassinet cradling her against her chest, "Everything's going to be okay now Alexandra." The blonde woman looks over as she hears someone else enter the room.

"Is she okay Melinda?" the woman questions as she comes closer, her long black hair pulled back into a low ponytail.

"Yes Laura," the blonde replies, "she's just a little fussy is all, she might be hungry."

"Well," the woman looks at her coldly, "go on then."

Melinda hesitates for a moment, looking from the child in her arms to the woman in front of her, "Would you like to hold her?"

Laura crosses her arms and the blonde woman continues, "You're her mother Laura."

"I have some business to attend to," the dark-haired woman replies, "I'll be back later."

She turns and leaves the room and Melinda looks down at the child whose crying has stopped and is looking at her with wide eyes, fingers entangled in some of her blonde curls.

"I will get you out of here," Melinda says quietly to the infant, "I promise."

London

Present Day

Lexi sits at the small dining room table, a folder lays open in front of her, with pages and photos expanding from it. She holds one photo in her hand and Ketch walks over to place a coffee mug on the table in front of her, careful to avoid any of the documents. Greyson and Ketch have been helping her for several weeks now tracking down leads on the witch Katrina and whoever it was who hired her to take Lexi. She'd lied to Dean when he'd asked if they'd had any luck. They had traced the lead back to a woman name Laura Addington.

"Who's this?" she asks looking at the photo of Melinda.

Greyson sits across the table from her, sipping from a coffee mug of his own, "Melinda Clarke."

"She was the one who dropped me at the orphanage?" the dark-haired girl questions.

"Yes," Ketch replies sitting down beside Lexi at the table, "Logan said she was sent by the British Men of Letters to obtain you, but she never returned."

"Obtain me? Why?"

Greyson shrugs his shoulders, "We don't know. There's no records of why."

"What does she have to do with Addington?" Lexi questions.

Ketch reaches over and pulls another photo out from the file folder as he begins, "Addington…"

He carefully slides the photo of a beautiful woman with dark green eyes and long black hair in front of Lexi as he continues, "is your mother."

Confusion and shock flash across the girl's face, as she reaches for the photo and stares at it, "What?"

There's a long moment of silence as Lexi processes this information and she shakes her head incredulously. "So, my bio-mom Laura, wants Michael…Dean, gone," Lexi looks at Ketch in disbelief, "what the hell is happening?"

"I'm as confused as you are dear," he replies.

"I should call them," she says quietly.

"No," Ketch interrupts her quickly, "you shouldn't. We need to wait until we know what Addington's plan is. Don't you think they have enough on their plates as it is?"

"And I want to know why the Men of Letters wanted to obtain you," Greyson adds, "whatever the reason, it can't be good."

"Where do we start?" Lexi questions Ketch.

He reaches over and pulls a piece of paper off the top of the stack, "I have an address for the son of Melinda Clarke."

"Ok," she replies, "Where?"

"Close to home actually," Ketch gives her a smile, "Salina, Kansas."

"Well that's not weird at all," Lexi replies sarcastically.

Saint Louis, MO

October 12th, 2000

A twelve-year old Lexi steps off the bright yellow school bus and slowly walks up concrete path to the small red house. To anyone else, it would appear warm and welcoming, but to her, it was cold and callous. Most of the kids in her class hated school, but for her it was an escape, it was this place she had to call home which she hated.

Today was the start of spring break, which meant a week stuck in this place and the dread weighs her down as she opens the front door.

"Alexandra," Lilian, her latest cream of the crop foster mother, calls from the kitchen.

She'd lost count on the number of foster homes she'd been in, but this one was by far the worst, even though she'd only been here two weeks. She slowly makes her way into the kitchen and pushes the stray strands of hair that have fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear.

"Yea ma'am," she says upon seeing the tall brunette woman in the blue dress. Lexi can smell the vodka from across the room.

"I went to gather your laundry this morning," the woman begins, anger apparent on her face, "you didn't make your bed."

"I'm sorry," the girl says quickly.

Lilian raises her right hand and comes down hard across the girl's cheek and Lexi clutches her face in pain as the woman states, "Don't let it happen again."

From outside the house, the scene is witnessed through the large kitchen window and someone lowers a camera before they turn and leave.

Later that night, Lexi sits at the desk in her room, looking in a small mirror, checking to see if there was a mark left from the slap earlier when she hears a small tap on her bedroom window. She leans over to look and sees a familiar face giving her a small smile.

Lexi stands up and walks over to open the window and the visitor doesn't enter the room, he just moves to sit on the windowsill.

"Peter," she acknowledges the older boy who looks to be anywhere from sixteen to eighteen.

"Wendy," he replies with a smirk at the nickname.

"You're late," she says as she pulls her desk chair over beside the window and sits down, folding her legs up under her.

"Sorry," he reaches over, offering the girl a Styrofoam cup, "I had to make a stop, but I brought you this."

Lexi accepts it with a little hesitation, "What is it?"

"Chocolate peanut butter milkshake," the boy replies, not telling her he had to hand deliver the photographs he'd taken earlier to child services.

She takes a sip from the straw and looks down at the dark brown wooden floorboards below her.

"Are you okay?" he questions quietly as he watches the girl.

"Always," she replies, giving a quick fake smile, "You know you show up when things are great."

"I'm serious," the boy says with concern apparent on his face.

"Then take me with you," Lexi looks at him with subtle contempt.

The boy with dirty blonde hair looks at her dejectedly, "You know I can't. My grandmother is trying, but…"

"You've been saying that for the past year," Lexi narrows her eyes at him, "what's your angle?"

"What?" he asks with confusion.

"I'm thankful," she begins quietly, as not to disturb the rest of the house, "you saved me that day on the street. Those guys would have killed me, but this coming around and finding me…" She places the milkshake down on the windowsill and stands up from the chair before she steps away from the window. "Foster home after foster home," Lexi continues, as she turns back to look at the boy who sits in her window, "I mean…at first, I thought it was nice, like you wanted to protect me, but now…" Lexi spreads her arms out beside her in frustration, "it's getting a little weird. It's been over a year, you keep saying your grandmother is trying to help get me out, but here I am. Is this a game for you, some twisted, perverted game? Are you trying to weasel your way into my pants or something?"

"No Alexandra," he says quickly, with a shake of his head, "God no…I would never do that to you."

Even at twelve, she isn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed by that statement. He is cute, boy band cute, no doubt about it. The kind of guy other girls her age talked about all day; they scribbled Mrs. Timberlake or Mrs. Carter all over their notebooks.

"Then why are you here Peter?" she questions him as she folds her arms across her chest.

He drops his head for a moment, then glances back up at her solemnly, "It's complicated."

A door slams from inside the house which causes them to look at each other in surprise as Lexi quickly moves to the window, "You have to go."

"I'll be back for you," Peter grabs the milkshake with one hand and Lexi's wrist with the other for a split second to garner her attention, "I promise."

"You better," she replies, then gives him a soft smile before she carefully pulls the window closed so it doesn't make any noise. She jerks her desk chair back to her desk and sits down as she pretends to do homework. The door to her bedroom jerks open and Lilian stands there for a moment, checking the room before she slams the door shut.

Salina, Kansas Present Day

Ketch reaches up and knocks on the door to the apartment while Lexi leans back against the wall, facing him. She's giving him a doubtful look as she folds her arms across her chest.

"What makes you think he even still lives here?" Lexi questions her friend as they hear a deadbolt being unlocked from inside.

"Yea," the man says as he cracks the door open, "can I help you?"

"We're looking for Evan Clarke," Ketch says, indicating himself and Lexi.

"Who's asking?" the guy questions defensively, peering through the crack at the two strangers.

"It's concerning his mother, Melinda Clarke," Ketch continues trying to remain civil, but Lexi slams her hand hard against the door, turning so she can see the man who is peering through the crack.

"Look," she says sharply, "are you Evan Clarke or not, because I don't have time for this shit."

The man's blue eyes look as if they recognize her for a moment, but he shakes it off, "give me a minute." He closes the door and Ketch looks at Lexi in exasperation at her outburst and she shrugs her shoulders.

After a few moments the door opens back up and a tall, beautiful blonde woman exits the apartment, purse and shoes in hand, walk of shame evident. Lexi cocks an eyebrow and gives Ketch a smirk as she enters the apartment. The dark-haired girl looks over to Evan then points back at the blonde who just left as she says, "Sorry for the intrusion."

"I doubt that. Now, what about my mother?" Evan questions from the small kitchenette area. "And who are you?"

Lexi takes note of his athletic figure in the dark jeans he's wearing, and the grey pocket t-shirt which fits just a little too snug around his shoulders and chest, but she doubts any woman in their right mind would complain. Suddenly she's reminded of all the layers she's accustomed to dealing with when it comes to the men in her life and realizes it's actually a blessing. This one-layer stuff is quite distracting. His hair is darker on the bottom, but lighter on the top and a bit on the longer side, not as long as Sam's though. He's also sporting a dark beard that would almost rival that of the younger Winchester's when he let his grow, not that she would ever tell Dean that.

"Historians," Ketch answers, since Lexi's not going to, "with The British Library."

Evan appears to be putting coffee grounds into his coffee maker, but quickly moves to pull out a small pistol from under the cabinet, pointing it at the two people standing across from him.

"British Men of Letters sounds more appropriate," his tone is laced with anger, "I'm not an idiot."

"Do I sound British?" Lexi looks annoyed, but she has her hands up, "Trust me, we're not with those assholes. We're hunters."

Evan eyes them suspiciously still, "Why do hunter's need information about my mom?"

"There was a child," Ketch begins carefully, "a child the Men of Letters sent your mother to obtain."

"Yea and," Evan says, still training the weapon on them.

"We just need to know why?" Lexi adds.

Evan slowly lowers the weapon and lays it on the bar in front of him, before he begins, "Because…my mother was a witch…they needed her to bind the child's powers before she brought her back to them."

"Powers?" the dark-haired girl questions, confusion apparent on her face.

"The child was a fourth generation natural," Evan says, "My mother was able to bind her powers, but she still died trying to protect her."

Lexi has grabbed the nearest chair to lean against, her legs feeling weak under her. The entire room seems larger now than it was when they first entered it and suddenly the voices of the men in the room with her seem so very distant and far away. Powers. Witch, I'm a friggin' witch, she thinks to herself.

"Do you know why the Men of Letters wanted the child?" Ketch questions, reaching over to place a reassuring hand at Lexi's elbow.

"No idea," Evan shrugs his shoulders, "what does it matter anyway? The girl died when she was twelve."

"What?" the dark-haired man asks in surprise at this comment.

"The child," the other man continues, "the Men of Letters had her killed. She's dead."

Ketch and Lexi immediately share a glance as Evan turns to pull a coffee mug from the shelf above his sink, and Lexi speaks up, her voice meeker than she prefers, "No…I'm not."

The mug slips from Evan's hand and shatters upon impact on the floor, he turns to look behind him at the young woman standing in his living room. Evan stares at her for a moment, anger flaring in his blue eyes.

"Get out!" he snarls at them as he raises his hand toward his door, causing it jerk open.

"Easy there," Ketch's eyes go wide in shock, the revelation Evan has powers made very obvious.

"I said get out," Evan repeats himself, using his hand to fling Ketch out of the door.

"Look," Lexi tries to bargain, she can see the extensive emotional state the man is in, "I just need answers…"

Evan walks the small distance separating him and the dark-haired girl until he's towering over her, but she doesn't back down, "I don't know who you are, but I watched Alexandra die when she was twelve. I was there when the car exploded, the British Men of Letters murdered her, and for you to show up at my door…"

"An explosion?" Lexi interrupts him and she takes a step back, "I was told my foster parents died in a car crash when I was twelve. Why were you there?"

Evan tilts his head slightly, unsure if he wants to answer her question, "My mother died protecting her. I felt like it was my job to protect her too, a way to honor my mother."

Lexi's staring at him and suddenly the piercing blue eyes don't belong to the man before her, they belong to the teenage boy sitting on her windowsill offering her a milkshake. She snaps back to the present and she's nauseous; he hasn't crossed her mind in over fifteen years. Lexi realizes she's still staring at him and she slowly covers her mouth with both hands as she turns away from him. Evan turns around still agitated and begins to walk back to the kitchenette, using his hand to fling his door shut, leaving Ketch outside of the apartment.

"Peter," the name slips from her lips quietly, stopping Evan dead in his tracks, "you're Peter Pan."

No one had ever called him by that name but her, it was the nickname she had given him years ago.

Evan slowly turns to face the girl, confusion replacing some of the anger as he says, "Wendy."

Lexi raises her eyebrows and gives a small, reassuring nod.

"You're alive," Evan nearly chokes on the statement.

Lexi nods her head once more, "I am."

Eighteen years of self-hatred for not protecting her comes boiling to the surface and Evan doesn't control himself. Lexi sees the mixture of relief and anger wash over the man's face and she takes a small step backwards as he jerks his hands sending a lamp crashing to the floor, while books and magazines from the end table beside the chair go flying across the room. Various other small objects vibrate off the shelves that line one wall of the apartment as the man's emotional outburst continues. Lexi ducks as a book sails past her head which scares her a little, after all, she's not used to dealing with this kind of environment and she quickly grabs the book angrily.

"Hey!" she yells as she throws the book back at Evan and he stops it with his hand, "Watch it!" She realizes what she's just done and has a split-second regret, because it's apparent he's a witch like his mother.

Evan drops the book onto the bar and closes his fists tightly, looking a little shameful, "Sorry. It's a lot to process."

"Really?!" She yells, unable to contain her outburst, "You just told me I'm a friggin' witch. That's a lot to process."

There's a small knock on the door, which is Ketch signaling he's still outside, and Lexi moves to open the door for him. The black-haired man adjusts his jacket as he walks back inside the apartment and looks over to Evan, "Are we all on the same page now?"

"The 'I'm alive and apparently, I'm a witch' page," Lexi says with a touch of sarcasm to Ketch.

"Fourth generation I believe," her friend corrects her.

The bearded man gives a single nod of his head as Lexi closes the door and a thought occurs to him, "Wait, how did you find me?"

"An old Men of Letters file," Lexi replies crossing her arms, "why?"

"They know your alive?" Evan asks, concern growing on his face.

Ketch looks over at Lexi, as he answers, "Of course, why?"

"We should go," Evan replies, "as soon as they found out you were alive, they've probably had someone watching you."

That would explain those surveillance photos, Lexi thinks to herself.

"I have a box of my mother's things in a storage unit about thirty minutes outside of town," Evan says, then looks over to Lexi, "I've never really gone through it, but I know there was a folder with your name on it."

"Let's go then," Ketch responds before he turns towards the door.

"Hold up," Lexi interrupts, "we're just supposed to trust Chris Halliwell?"

The bearded man looks a little offended by the Charmed reference, as Ketch turns back to look at Lexi, "The door isn't sound proof, I thought you knew him?"

"Yea," she begins with a tone of exasperation to her friend, "eighteen years ago. People change Ketch, hell, two years ago you I wouldn't have trusted you with a dog, much less my life."

"I'm standing right here," Evan says with annoyance raising his hand to signal his presence.

"Don't you know," Lexi continues her speech to Ketch, ignoring the other man's remark, "you don't trust the strange guy from your past who seems to have good intentions, especially when he has magic hands."

Ketch stands there for a moment in silence and then takes a deep breath before he pulls his pistol out of the shoulder holster under his jacket and holds it out for Evan to see as he glances over at the blue-eyed man with annoyance, "This is loaded with witch killing bullets by the way, if you're considering using those magic hands of yours again."

"Understood," Evan replies with a smirk, "keeping my magic hands to myself, not a problem, just keep psycho Sally there in check."

Lexi gives Ketch a death glare before she storms passed him to jerk the door open. He's holstering his pistol as Evan walks up, knowing Lexi's out of earshot he gives an exasperated sigh as he says, "That's easier said than done sometimes."

"It's number eleven Alexandra," Evan says as he climbs out of the car in front of the storage unit.

"Lexi," she corrects him, "or Wilson, please, no one calls me Alexandra." The three of them approach the unit with the number eleven on it and Evan pulls a key from his pocket to unlock the padlock. Once he slips off the padlock, he opens the door and flips on the light switch. Once the room is illuminated, it is evident the small unit has been ransacked.

"No!" Evan states, rushing over to a shelf and pulling an empty banker box from it, "son of a bitch!"

Lexi and Ketch follow cautiously behind him and she picks up a broken picture frame, in it a picture of Melinda and a little five-year-old Evan stare back at her and she gently lays it on the shelf beside her.

"When was the last time you were here?" she questions him quietly.

"Two days ago," Evan replies, then slings the empty box across the room in frustration.

"I'll go check the security footage," Ketch states before he turns to exit the unit.

"I'm sorry," Lexi says, "I did this."

"It's not your fault," he responds, picking up some photo albums from the floor.

"I kicked the hornet's nest," she replies.

Ketch is able to recognize two of the men on the security footage as former associates he used to work with. The three of them decide to stop at a small diner they passed on the way to the storage unit for food and to discuss their next steps. Lexi barely eats any of the burger she orders, but she does drink a couple of beers with the order of fries she snacks on, before she excuses herself from the table.

"I need to make a call," Ketch states as he too stands up to step away from the table, leaving Evan alone in the small diner.

Once outside, Ketch dials a number on his cell and places it up to his ear, "Hi, I don't have much time to explain, but we have a bit of a situation."

Lexi approaches the bathroom sink and notices the pretty blonde-haired woman who stands a few inches taller than her standing at the sink beside her re-applying a matte shade of red lipstick to her Kardashian looking lips.

"I saw you earlier," the woman states in recognition looking at Lexi in the mirror as she begins to wash her hands.

The dark-haired girl glances up to the mirror in confusion as the woman continues, "You came in with those two guys, the handsome one and the British one."

The blonde gives her a flirty smile as nudges Lexi's arm with her elbow, "Mmmm girl, I could take one off your hands if you'd like."

"Oh," Lexi laughs as she grabs a towel to dry her hands, "I better hold on to them for now."

The woman leans over close to Lexi and her face turns serious as she whispers in Lexi's ear, "Seduce Evan Clarke, play on his emotions Alexandra, make him fall for you."

Lexi has a dazed expression on her face as the woman whispers the order to her and blinks once before turning to exit the bathroom after the blonde finishes speaking. The woman turns back to the mirror with a malevolent grin and transforms from the pretty Kardashian type blonde-haired woman into Laura Addington.

"So, when I make you kill him," Laura states to herself in the mirror, "It'll be more fun to watch."

Once back at the table, Lexi looks around the small restaurant, "Where's Ketch?"

"Oh," Evan replies, "he said he had to make a phone call."

Lexi nods her head then smirks to the man across from her, "So, there's a blonde in the bathroom…she basically wants to take you home."

Evan raises a curious eyebrow, "Oh really?"

"I grabbed her number," the girl replies, "just in case, I know you like blondes."

Evan leans forward slightly, "I don't, actually."

"If you say so," Lexi shrugs her shoulders as if she doesn't believe him.

"Do you trust anyone?" Evan shakes his head at her in disbelief.

"The list is small," she responds with a smirk.

"You used to trust me," he replies sincerely, "a long time ago."

Lexi thinks on those words for a moment, that was a lifetime ago. She swallows the lump that forms in her throat and she stands up from the table, "I'll be outside."

Evan watches her walkaway, then he somberly pulls his wallet from his back pocket to pay for their food.

Lexi has taken up position on the swing set across the street from the small diner. She hears the chime of the bell on the door indicating that someone has either entered or exited the building, but she doesn't look up. She continues to idly swing back and forth, letting her boots drag through the pea gravel on each backwards pass. After a moment, a Styrofoam milkshake container appears in her line of sight and she slows the swing to a stop, looking up at Evan who gives her a tiny, apologetic smile, "Chocolate peanut butter."

"You remembered," she looks surprised as she takes the container and takes a sip from the straw.

"Was it something I said in there?" Evan questions as he sits down on the swing next to her.

Lexi looks over at him, fiddling with the straw in her cup, "It's dumb, really."

She holds his gaze for a moment, then looks back down to her feet. He furrows his brow and grabs the chains of his swing in each hand and turns it to face her, "Tell me."

"You were the first," she begins without looking up, her arms are wrapped around the chains of her swing, "you were the first boy who broke my heart."

Evan has a look of surprise at this revelation, "What?"

"You promised to come back for me," she replies without looking at him, "and you didn't."

"I thought you died," he says with a touch of exasperation.

"I didn't know that then," Lexi looks at him innocently, "You spent over a year in and out of my life being the guy who would sneak into my room at night just to check on me."

"I never snuck into your room," Evan corrects her, "I always stayed outside the window."

"And then there's that," she continues, "You were the coolest guy, super cute, and you were always checking on me, so I just thought that…and when I brought it up, you shut me down so hard. I never got over that, maybe that's why I like to be in control now; I don't want to feel that way again."

"Alexandra," Evan begins softly, as he sits there staring at her in shock at this confession. Lexi looks back down as he continues, "You were twelve and I was seventeen, that five-year difference meant a lot back then. You were just a kid."

The dark-haired girl cuts her eyes over to him as she responds, "I'm not a kid anymore."

What are you doing? She thinks to herself, stop it, you're basically throwing yourself at him. This is not who you are. You are stronger than this.

"Trust me," he leans closer to her with a flirty grin, "I've noticed."

Lexi turns her swing sideways to face him, some unnatural force inside her feels as if it's making her body move against her will. I mean really, she thinks to herself, it could be worse. At least he's attractive, she carefully moves closer until her nose is almost touching his, she bites her bottom lip seductively and Evan takes a deep breath before he whispers, "Don't do this, unless it's what you want."

The dark-haired girl hesitates for a moment, before she lays her forehead against his, closing her eyes. After a few seconds she lifts her feet and allows the swing to jerk her away from him.

"Sorry, I feel like that was a little slutty of me," she apologizes standing up quickly, "I don't know where that came from. That was weird."

Evan raises a curious eyebrow as Lexi continues, "Where's Ketch?" The blue-eyed man shrugs his shoulders as another voice interrupts them from behind Lexi.

"Ketch," the voice begins, and Lexi turns to see Greyson standing behind her, "is back in London."

Was Greyson the call Ketch had to make, she thinks to herself and suddenly feels betrayed.

"What?" Lexi questions him in surprise as Evan stands up quickly, "Why?"

"We need to talk Lexi," Greyson says then glances at Evan, "alone."

"I don't think so pal," Evan remarks.

The dark-haired girl looks over at the blue-eyed man as she folds her arms across her chest, "Excuse you, I speak for myself."

The smug look on Greyson's face drops as Lexi turns her glare back to him, "I don't think so. He goes where I go."

"How long?" Lexi's voice was low but angry as she looks across to Greyson.

The blonde-haired man looks defeated as he sees the pain in her eyes, "Lexi…I'm sorry, I…"

"HOW LONG?!" She yells at him, slamming her fist down on the small table beside her.

"It was after you met," Logan answers, "after you left London the first time."

Lexi looks over at the blonde headed woman, shaking her head in disgust, "I thought we were friends. I thought I could trust you."

"It was the only way to protect you," Greyson says quietly, "they would have sent someone else after you if Logan wasn't the one monitoring you."

"You've been lying to me this whole time," the dark-haired girl responds, the resentment inside her building, "you knew who I was, you knew everything about me…YOU KNEW AND YOU LIED!"

"We need to go Lexi," Logan urges her, "Laura escaped two days ago. She's coming for you."

Lexi shakes her head slowly, "Like I'm supposed to trust you now."

Greyson reaches to take her hand, "Lexi please…"

She jerks her hand away from him, a tear slipping down her cheek, "Don't…don't you dare touch me."

Lexi turns and jerks the motel door open, glancing at Evan for a brief moment, "Let's go."

"They're not going to let you leave," Logan states from behind Lexi.

The dark-haired girl looks back over her shoulder at her former friend, "We'll see about that."

Evan climbs into the passenger seat and looks over at Lexi cautiously as she throws the car into reverse, she reaches over to put her hand on the side of the passenger seat. She looks over her shoulder to check behind her then she slams the gas pedal into the floor. The man braces himself as he watches her turn back, slamming the gear shifter in drive as she spins the steering wheel flawlessly around, executing a J-turn. She can't help but smile to herself, knowing Dean would be proud to have seen that, after all, he'd spent almost an entire Saturday teaching her.

Lexi pulls the car out onto the road only to slam on the brakes as her headlights illuminate four dark SUV's blocking the roadway. She counts eight men, each standing on either side of the vehicles, weapons drawn and aimed at them. The dark-haired girl grips the steering wheel with both hands but doesn't look away from the scene in front of her as she speaks, "Hey Ev."

"Yea," he's also sizing up their current situation.

"You can use those magic hands now," she says.

"Thought you'd never ask," Evan remarks with a smirk as he raises his hands up and uses them to slide two of the SUV's apart, wide enough for Lexi to drive through and she slams on the gas. The blue-eyed man quickly disarms the men left standing with a wave of his hand as they try and take shots at the car as it blows past them.

They drive in silence for a while in the dark before Evan breaks the silence, "I'm sorry."

"That list of people I trust just got a lot smaller," she comments, not taking her eyes off the road.

The screen on her dash lights up: Incoming Call: Dean W.

She reaches over and pushes the green answer button on the screen and says hesitantly, "Hey Dean."

"Lex," his tone is stern, indicating he knows something is up, "what the hell is going on?"

She glances over to Evan as she speaks, "I may need you to elaborate?"

"Ketch left me a voicemail earlier saying he didn't have time to explain, but that there was a situation," Dean begins.

So, Ketch didn't call Greyson, he called Dean, Lexi thinks to herself, so he didn't betray her after all.

"Then I hear him say 'What the bloody hell Moore?'," the older brother continues and Lexi can't help but smirk at Dean's British impression of Ketch, "then the phone cuts off and I've tried to call him back three times and I just keep getting sent to voicemail. Aren't you with him?"

"I was," she replies, "but yea, I'm pretty sure Greyson took him back to London."

"Wait your stateside?" Dean questions incredulously.

"Yea, long story, I promise I'll explain later," Lexi says, "but unless I tell you otherwise, don't trust Greyson or Logan."

"Got it, that guy was a dick anyway," he responds, and she can hear the concern in his voice, "Lex, are you good?"

"Always," she answers, "I'll call you later."

"You better."

"Bye D."

"Bye."

Evan waits for a moment before he speaks, "Friend of yours."

Lexi smiles warmly and it's the first time he's seen her actually smile, "My best friend, he and his brother Sam, they gave me a family, something I never really had before."

"That's good," the man replies with a smile, "Happy looks good on you."

Lexi and Evan are walking up the front walk to a small house with blue siding when the front door suddenly jerks open and a young woman looks at them angrily, "Hurry up and get inside."

The dark-haired girl can't help but notice the blonde mohawk the other woman is sporting, along with a lip ring and dark eye liner, which just adds to her 'don't mess with me' vibe. She has on black cotton shorts, which only accentuate her long tan legs. Lexi wants to compliment her Guns n Roses tee-shirt, but she thinks it's probably best to keep her mouth shut for now.

"Sorry V," Evan says as they make their way inside the house, "I wasn't sure where else we should go. Alexandra, this is V."

"Lexi is fine," the dark-haired girl corrects him with a smile to the woman, noticing the dark purple stud on the side of her nose.

The woman nods but doesn't seem overly friendly as she points to the couch in the room, "I put some pillows and blankets over there, bathroom is down that hallway."

"Thanks," Evan responds, "I need one more thing though."

"You know it doesn't always work like that," V looks at him with slight frustration.

"Will you try," the blue-eyed man responds, "please."

Lexi is sitting in the middle of the tiny living room, V sits directly in front of her, both women sit with their legs crossed under them and three white candles are lit and sitting in the floor between them. Evan sits on the edge of the coffee table overlooking them.

"Psychic huh?" Lexi says quietly to the other woman.

"I prefer the term clairvoyant," V replies, "the future is my niche. Sometimes I see things without having to be near someone, especially people I know."

"One night," Evan says, "I'm at bar and V calls me, tells me the redhead I'm talking to is married, and to leave, because she just saw a glimpse of my future and it involved her husband walking in on us the next morning and killing me."

"True test of friendship there, because she was hot," V smirks to Lexi then continues, "Now, for this to work, I need you to open your mind to me Lexi, no walls, understand?"

The dark-haired girl takes a deep breath, not liking the idea of letting a stranger in her mind, but she glances over at Evan, "Understood."

V takes both of Lexi's hands in hers and both women close their eyes. V's face looks as if she in distress as her eye lids flutter and after a few moments she jerks her hands away from Lexi, looking at the dark-haired girl in anguish, "Oh no."

"What did you see?" Evan questions his friend.

"Her death," V responds quietly, then looks over to her friend in horror, "Evan you kill her."

The shock is apparent on Evan's face at her statement and Lexi sits there in silence staring blankly into the flames of the candles in front of her.

"No," Evan responds quickly, "that can't be right."

"When have I ever been wrong?" V sounds offended, "Someone named Laura wants her with her powers unbound, but you said Laura can't have that type of control and there is no other way."

Evan looks confused and he looks over to see Lexi looking up at him. He can see the fear she's trying to keep hidden, a lot has changed in eighteen years, but that look hasn't. Evan shakes his head, "No, we'll figure something out."

"There may not be another choice," Lexi says stoically.

Later that night, Evan rolls over onto his back on the floor, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, sleep evades him with his mind racing over the evening's earlier events. He feels a pair of eyes on him and glances over to the couch beside him and sees Lexi is curled up on her side staring at him.

"Can't sleep?" he states the obvious.

"Tell me about your mom," she says quietly.

He rubs an exhausted hand across his face, "I don't remember much, mostly stories my grandmother would tell me. She loved Elton John, which drove my grandmother crazy at the time but growing up she would play my mom's old Elton vinyl's whenever she would start missing her, which was often. She would tell me that my mom always saw the good in people, even when others didn't."

"Did your grandmother ever talk about what happened to her?" Lexi asks the question hesitantly.

"Not really," he responds, "all she ever told me was that she had given my mother a resurrection charm before she left for London that day and how angry she was that she hadn't used it."

The words resurrection charm rings a bell in Lexi's mind and Rowena's name comes to her and a sudden realization hits her, "That's it."

She sits up quickly and Evan looks at her in surprise, slowing pushing himself up from the floor as Lexi continues, "Laura wants to unbind my powers. What if we beat her to it?"

"How?" he questions her.

"I don't know," Lexi replies, "but I know someone who might."

"Lexi dear," Rowena sounds a bit groggy in the phone, "this better be important."

"It is," the girl replies into the phone in her hand, she has it on speaker and is holding it between her and Evan, who has moved to sit on the edge of the coffee table across from Lexi, "Hypothetically speaking, if a witch's powers were bound, how does one go about unbinding them?"

There's a momentary pause on the other end of the line, "What's this about dear?"

Lexi can hear the trepidation in her friend's voice, "I promise to explain everything, but it's very important Rowena, you know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't."

The woman sighs audibly, "The only way to unbind their powers is through a specific ritual."

"Do you know it?" Lexi questions trying not to sound eager.

Another momentary pause, "Do you have a pen?"

Evan scrambles on the table for something to write with and finds a pencil with a notepad as Lexi speaks, "Yes, go ahead."

Rowena gives Lexi the necessary information and Evan writes everything down as the woman speaks through the phone. Once she finishes speaking, Rowena's tone of voice changes, "Lexi dear, have you talked with Samuel?"

The dark-haired girl looks up at Evan and pushes the button to take Rowena off of speaker and puts the phone up to her ear, "No, I spoke to Dean earlier tonight. What's going on?"

"Michael's gone," Rowena says calmly, "Dean suffered some major head trauma and he escaped. He…he convinced me to let him inside and I did, but he still killed some of the hunters in the bunker."

"Who?" Lexi questions solemnly and Rowena's voice seems distant as she sadly names them off to Lexi.

"Jack was able to defeat him though," the woman continues, "Michael is gone for good this time."

"How are they?" she asks wondering why Dean hadn't said anything before.

"I can't quite get a read-on Dean," Rowena says, "but I know Samuel's taking it hard."

"I should be there," she says more to herself than anyone else.

"Why aren't you?" Rowena's tone isn't hurtful, she sounds genuinely concerned.

"It's complicated," Lexi responds, "I promise, I will explain everything later."

After she ends the call with Rowena, she holds the phone in her hand for a moment debating on whether to call Sam or not. I need to finish this situation with Laura first. If Michael is gone, she has no reason to be after Dean at this point. She'll only want me and if I have my witchy powers unleashed, I'll have the advantage.

"Everything okay?" Evan's question breaks her train of thought.

"Yea," she replies, nodding at the notepad, "You think you can do this?"

"This will be easy," he taps the notepad on his knee, "are you sure you want to do this?"

"What?" she questions.

"There's no going back," Evan responds, "once we do this, everything changes."

"I get it," she holds her hands up, wiggling her fingers, "powers."

"With great power comes great responsibility," the man says his tone serious.

"Spider-man," Lexi furrows her eyebrows, "really?"

"It's all I could think of," he shrugs his shoulders, as Lexi stands up from the couch, "are you sure you don't want to call your friends, talk this over with them."

Lexi starts to walk toward the hallway but stops at his statement and turns slightly to look at him, "I'm not looking for forgiveness, and I'm way past asking for permission."

She turns to continue towards the bathroom as Evan raises a curious eyebrow, "Was that Captain A…"

"Damn straight," Lexi calls over her shoulder without turning around.

"Language," Evan smirks as she disappears into the bathroom.

Lexi sits in the middle of an elaborate circle lined with candles that Evan had drawn in the middle of V's living room floor; he made the comment she'd make him clean it up later while he was drawing it. Lexi gives a final nod to Evan before she begins the incantation, which she repeats twice before taking the small knife in her right hand and cutting a small incision in her neck.

Evan watches in awe as purple energy pours from the cut and illuminates what appears to be shackles surrounding the girl. The room begins to shake as blood pours from Lexi's eyes, and each shackle slowing begins to shatter. Once they're completely gone, the blood from her eyes disappears, the cut in her neck heals, and all the candles surrounding her are blown out by a sudden breeze.

When Lexi opens her eyes to look at him, they're glowing a bright blue that slowing fades away and she takes a deep breath as the bedroom door to their right jerks open and V looks at them angrily, "What the hell have you done?"

"Trying to change the future," Lexi states from her place on the floor.

"No shit," V responds, then she looks over at Evan, "it's changed alright. She lives, but now several other's die, including you."

Lexi looks at her confused, "What? What do you mean several others?"

V looks back down to her, "I don't know, I didn't recognize them. Two guys, one tall with long hair and a woman with blonde hair, all of them around you."

Lexi feels nauseous, "When?"

V looks over at the clock on her wall, seeing that it is two in the morning, "Today."

Lexi quickly stands up, her mind racing, "I should…I should go."

"What?" Evan questions, "Wait a minute, just calm down."

"NO!" Lexi says louder than she means to, "I'm going to go, you need to stay here."

"I don't think that's a good idea," he responds.

"She literally just said everyone around me dies today," Lexi says in frustration as she walks towards the front door, "stay away from me. Please. I don't want your blood on my hands."

Lexi walks out the door and V grabs her friend's arm as he starts to chase after her, "Evan, let her go." He turns and sees the concern on his friend's face, and he takes a deep breath as he glances back at the closed door.

Lexi sits in her car as the sun comes up over the horizon, I just have to stay away from everyone today. No problem. She looks down at her hands, she doesn't feel any different after the unbinding ritual, Maybe I don't have magical powers after all, maybe everyone was wrong about me this whole time.

Her phone rings, and she looks down to see Dean's name on the caller ID. It seems a little early for him to be calling and she hesitantly answers, "Hey."

"Hi sweetheart," a woman's face says from the other end of the phone and she knows without question it's Laura.

"Where's Dean?" Lexi questions angrily.

"Oh, he's here with me," Laura responds, "So is little brother. I'll text you the address. It goes without saying that if you don't show up, I'll kill them both."

The phone clicks and angry tears begin to stream down Lexi's face as she starts her car.

Lexi parks her car beside the brick building and walks around the front of it to see an abandoned parking lot, a couple old cars scattered about it. She sees Sam and Dean both standing about six feet from each other, it apparent they're being held in place by an invisible force. She's also surprised to see Greyson and Logan are standing close to them as well, both of them in the same situation.

Laura comes walking out from behind a van and past where Sam stands to smile at the girl who's just joined her party, "My little girl is all grown up."

Lexi shakes her head balling her fists up at her sides, "Don't…don't you try to play the mom card now you psycho."

"Oh, you're angry with me," Laura feigns sadness, "why? Because I kidnapped your friends? They're not your friends sweetie, they lied to you, remember?"

She points a finger over at Greyson and Logan who look ashamed at her statement and Laura continues pointing over to the Winchesters, "And let's not get started on these two, they're holding you back."

Lexi doesn't respond, the anger inside her building as Laura says, "You were meant for greatness darling and the life you've been living…it's pathetic really."

"Leave her alone," Sam snarls to the woman and Laura turns to him, using her hand to throw him back against the van. Lexi can see pain shoot through his body from the impact as Laura begins to move her hand again.

"STOP!" Lexi yells, gaining Laura's attention in time to see Lexi throw her hand up in her direction, sending a shot of energy at her, knocking the witch back across the concrete and causing all the windows in the cars to shatter around them.

Everyone looks at Lexi in disbelief as Laura begins to laugh maniacally as she stands back up, "Look at you. You unbound your powers; did Evan help you with that?"

Lexi just stares at her without responding and Laura continues, "He did, didn't he? Well this makes things more interesting."

The dark-haired witch looks over to Greyson and Logan and then back to Lexi giving her a direct order, "Kill the blonde girl."

"No!" Greyson yells.

Lexi's eyes go wide in surprise at the statement and she realizes she can't control her hands as they raise up and shoot a blast of energy straight into Logan's chest. Greyson yells out in agony as he watches his sister's body crumple to the ground. Sam and Dean watch the scene unfold in horror and see the sadness on Lexi's face at what she's just done.

"How could you?!" Greyson screams at Lexi.

"No," she says quietly, "I didn't want to do that."

Laura flings her hand at Greyson, knocking his head hard against the car behind him, rendering him unconscious, "Men, so dramatic."

"Why," Lexi asks in confusion, "why are you doing this?"

"Because it's fun. I've been in a cell for almost thirty years, I've been a bit bored," the witch says with a smile.

"Lexi," Sam says carefully as he begins to walk towards her, "this isn't you."

"I know," she says nodding her head, "I can't stop though. There's something wrong."

"We'll fix it," he reassures her with a half-smile.

"Fight him," Laura orders and Lexi shakes her head, her face is wrought with guilt as she rushes towards Sam, slamming her right fist into his jaw.

Dean starts to pull his pistol from the back of his jeans, but Laura flings it away with her hand and pins him back against the car with a fling of her wrist.

"Lexi stop," Dean calls out and for a moment Lexi stops her assault and looks over at Dean in fear.

"No Alexandra," Laura interrupts, "continue." The dark-haired girl starts her assault on the younger brother again.

"What did you do to her?" Dean snarls at the witch as she moves closer to him.

"Melinda may have bound her powers," Laura begins, "but I cursed her with obedience as soon as she was born."

Dean tilts his head curiously waiting for the woman to explain and she does, "The curse of obedience, you've never heard of it? To think you call yourself a hunter. Once cursed, you obey every order given to you by the one who cursed you."

Sam is trying to defend himself against Lexi's onslaught, refusing to fight back, as Laura leans in closer to Dean with a mischievous smile, "Or the one who's love is pure and true, or some stupid Disney princess shit like that."

She sees the realization in his eyes and Dean starts to smile as he starts to speak, but Laura holds a finger to her lips and says, "Ssshhhh, sweet prince. I don't think so."

When Dean tries to speak again, no sound escapes and panic is evident on his features as he realizes that Sam's voice is gone as well when his brother looks at him in fear before Lexi does a low leg sweep and takes the younger brother's feet out from under him, knocking him on his back.

"KILL HIM!" Laura's voice booms from the distance and Lexi looks down to the man on the concrete below her.

Lexi sees blood coming from a cut she caused during their fight and watches it roll down the side of his head. She can see the fear in Sam's eyes upon hearing Laura's order and she closes her eyes for a moment as tears begin to stream down her face. She's fighting everything in her body, keeping her hands balled tightly into fists at her side; she falls to her knees beside the man.

The dark-haired girl looks over to the car Dean is pinned against, his face anxious and blood red as he yells, but no sound escapes his mouth. His eyes meet Lexi's and she feels her heart shatter from the hatred she sees in them. The inner struggle is evident as her hand moves, slowly and trembling, towards Sam; her nose is starting to bleed from the force with which she's fighting against the obedience curse.

"I'm sorry," she whimpers as the tears fall, "I can't stop it."

Sam reaches up with one hand and cups the side of her face, brushing away a tear as one slips down his own cheek, mouthing the words 'I know' and giving her a small comforting nod before he closes his eyes.

"LEX," a voice from behind her yells, "STOP!"

The force inside her disappears and she turns in time to see Evan step out from beside the building, he has a pistol trained on Laura and he takes a shot quickly. Laura looks from Lexi to Evan with surprise, then clutches the bleeding hole in her chest as she falls to her knees. His gun apparently loaded with witch-killing bullets.

"You," she spits at the man holding the pistol.

"Surprise," Evan's words are sharp as he moves closer to the witch, "that was for her."

He nods his head toward the dark-haired girl on the ground then continues, "This is for my mom."

Evan takes another shot and a dark red hole forms in the center of Laura's forehead and she limply falls backward.

The force holding Dean against the car releases him and Lexi collapses onto Sam's chest, tears of relief wash over her, and he finally exhales as he rests one arm across the girl's back while he moves his other hand to rub the side of his head.

"Sammy," Dean's voice cracks as he calls out from the ground beside the car as he begins to compose himself in order to stand up.

"I'm okay," Sam calls out to his brother, and the girl moves back to sit on the concrete so Sam can stand up and he goes over to check on his brother.

She can't help but notice Dean doesn't make eye contact with her and she silently wipes away the tears from her face. An outstretched hand appears in front of her and she looks up to see the man it belongs to staring at her, his face solemn. She takes the hand and Evan pulls her to her feet and watches as she dusts her jeans off.

"I told you to stay away," Lexi says quietly.

"I know," he replies, "I don't listen very well."

"Thanks," Lexi glances over to see the two brothers checking on one another and she looks back up at Evan with a smile, "Did you call me Lex?"

He laughs with a shake of his head, before a voice from across the lot is heard, "You're the reason she's dead."

Lexi and Evan turn to see Greyson walking towards them, he looks frazzled and angry as he pulls a pistol from the waistband of his jeans and points it at the man standing beside Lexi. She knows Greyson's pistol should be loaded with witch-killing bullets.

"Whoa!" Dean announces, as Sam glances over to Lexi in concern.

Being a witch is still new to Lexi so using her powers doesn't occur to her, being a hunter comes naturally and she just instinctively takes a step to her left, keeping her arms out to her side, putting her body between Evan and the gun; hoping Greyson wouldn't shoot her.

"Greyson, wait," she begins to say, trying to talk him off this ledge, but the deafening sound of the pistol being fired startles everyone, even Greyson himself looks shocked to see Lexi sharply inhale and stumble back into Evan.

Evan catches her as she starts to fall backwards. "Lexi," his voice is shaking as he drops to his knees with her, but she doesn't respond. She's gone.

"LEX!" Dean's voice breaks the silence surrounding them, as the older brother appears on the other side of them. He pulls Lexi to him, angrily shoving Evan backward as he mutters, "No, no, no."

Sam staggers in his steps when he's close enough to realize she's gone and he turns menacingly towards Greyson, "You son of a bitch!" The younger brother storms across the empty lot and sees the gun fly out of the blonde-haired man's hand, not knowing how and frankly not caring. The anger inside flows through him as he comes across with his right fist connecting hard with the side of Greyson's jaw, knocking him to the ground.

Evan was responsible for jerking the gun from his hand, and he's coming up behind the younger brother now, anger evident on his face as well. He jerks Greyson back to a standing position with the wave of his hand and he comes in with an undercut to Greyson's stomach then another punch to the face which once again knocks him to the concrete.

Sam stands there, still a bit surprised at the revelation of Evan being a witch also, having just watched him move a grown man with just the flick of his wrist. Evan glances over at the younger Winchester and both of them stand just a little bit straighter, sizing each other up, and giving nods of understanding.

"Sammy," Dean's voice is cracking a bit as he calls out to his brother.

Both men turn their attention back to the oldest Winchester as they move quickly back to where he's still kneeling on the ground. Sadness evident on each man's face as they look down at the lifeless body of the girl.

One of them barely knew her, but yet he felt so connected to her even though he hadn't seen her for nearly twenty years. To know her, was to love her. He thought this chapter of his life was just beginning, how could it already be over?

One of them was already more broken than he wanted to admit and looking down at her just reminds him how fragile life really is. She was his sister; she was the one who could make him laugh when things started to become more than he could handle on his own. How is he supposed to do this without her?

One of them allows the tears to fall from his eyes, because she was his best friend. The one who knew him better than he knew himself, the one he could confide in about anything, she was his person. He never wanted this, he never wanted her, but she scaled those walls he'd built up. This is his breaking point. How is he supposed to let go?

Lexi finds herself sitting on a park bench by a beautiful lake, the sun is shining brightly. The view is breathtaking and for a moment she forgets where she is until a voice beside her speaks.

"Amazing isn't it."

Lexi glances beside her and sees the blonde-haired woman from the photo: Melinda Clarke. The dark-haired girl stares at her in disbelief as Melinda glances over to her with a warm smile, "Hello Alexandra."

"Hi," Lexi replies, shock evident on her face.

Melinda reaches over and cups the side of Lexi's face proudly as a tear slips down her cheek. She isn't sure why she's overcome with emotion at the woman's presence. Maybe it's because this person had cared more for her than her own biological mother had, or maybe it's a slight familiarity to another blonde-haired mother figure in her life, or maybe it's both.

"You saved me," the girl says curiously, "why? Why me?"

The blonde smiles again, "Sweet, sweet Alexandra, there's so much good inside of you. I knew it from the moment I saw you, and there are more bad witches in this world than there are good."

"But I was just a baby," Lexi says, confusion in her voice, "and Evan…he needed you."

Melinda's smile falters at his name and sadness graces her features, "I knew Evan would be okay, he needed you more than he needed me. I had to save you, in order to save him."

Lexi tilts her head in slight confusion at her statement and Melinda smiles, "So, you two found each other?"

"Yea," the girl answers hesitantly.

'And I'm already dead,' she thinks to herself, 'I just thought the Winchesters were a hazardous relationship to have in my life.'

"I hope he's doing well," the blonde replies.

"I don't really know him," Lexi gives her a small smile, "but I think he takes after you."

"I'm glad," Melinda says, then pats Lexi's knee lovingly, "It's almost time for you to be getting back. Do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Tell Evan I love him very much," the blonde begins, "and that I said how wonderful life is while he's in the world."

Lexi catches the Elton John song reference and smiles before a thought crosses her mind, "Wait, he said his grandmother gave you a resurrection charm when you left that day. Why didn't you use it?"

Melinda's posture straightens up a little bit as her face lights up and she gives Lexi a quick wink, "Because I knew someone needed it more than I did."

"Let me try to bring her back."

Dean wasn't one to trust strangers, especially witches, but that phrase alone was enough to get Evan's foot in the door. Evan had driven Lexi's car, following the black Impala back to some place the other two men had kept referring to earlier as 'the bunker'.

Sam kicks the door open to the infirmary room and carries Lexi's lifeless body over to the bed, carefully laying her down on the mattress, while Dean shows Evan to the storage room for supplies. He pauses for a moment, brushing hair out of her face, and his features falter for a moment as he allows the pain to get the best of him again. He runs both hands over his face and regains his composure the best he can, turning to go in search of his brother.

He finds Dean standing in the kitchen, phone to his ear, looking very impatient and furious, and after a beat he throws the cell phone angrily against the opposite wall, shattering it instantly, "DAMMIT!"

"Still no answer," Sam says solemnly, knowing his brother had been desperately trying to contact both Castiel and Jack with no luck, as well as Rowena.

The only person he'd spoken with was Jody right after everything happened, completely by mistake, he had assumed it was Castiel calling him back and answered without looking at his caller ID:

"Cas, Lexi's…" he hesitates a moment, "Lex's gone, and we need Jack…we need him to try and bring her back."

There was silence on the other end of the line, then Jody's voice breaks a little as she says, "She's gone?"

Sam and Dean exchange 'oh shit' glances at each other, as Sam carries the dark-haired girl's body to the Impala.

They both knew it was only a matter of time before Jody came barging into the bunker. Dean walks over to the sink, keeping his back to his brother. He's barely keeping it together and he knows right now he needs to be alone.

"Go check on the witch or warlock or whatever the hell he is will you?" Dean doesn't look at his brother when he speaks.

Sam understands the meaning behind the request, and he turns to leave the kitchen, giving his brother some time. Dean contemplates praying to Chuck, but he's not helped the last few times he's called out to him. He closes his eyes tightly trying to hold back the overwhelming emotion which makes his knees weak. A few tears slip past as he sinks to his knees in the kitchen floor, bringing his hands to his head in frustration. After a few moments, he lifts his head, staring at the ceiling, not having heard the person walk into the room behind him.

"What did you do?" A familiar, but breathless voice questions.

Dean twists his body around to find Lexi standing just a few feet behind him, she's gingerly touching the blood-soaked shirt she's still wearing, and she glances up at him in confusion as she continues her tone slightly harsh, "If you made a deal…I swear to God…" He's on his feet as she's speaking, a smile of relief creeping back on his face at the anger in her words.

"I didn't," he says, closing the distance between them. Lexi can see the tears in his eyes and feels a tinge of guilt for her tone. "Thought crossed my mind," he continues as he wraps his arms around her, effortlessly lifting her off the floor and she feels the quick kiss on her forehead.

"Dean," she whispers sadly, cupping his face in her hands as she brushes away the remaining tears with her fingers and thumbs. He closes his eyes as she does, but not before she sees the pain there; He watched me die. She can't imagine what he'd felt, what he's feeling.

"I'm sorry," she says and without hesitating leans down to brush her lips across his. It wasn't a kiss brought on by passion or attraction, nor did it linger for long. It was a small, fleeting moment of love and comfort, but neither could deny the intensity behind it as she pulls away, her eyes landing on his for a brief second. Lexi quickly moves up to kiss his forehead and then pulls his head to her chest as she lays her cheek against the top of his hair.

"Lex," Sam's voice is barely audible from the kitchen doorway, but she glances back over her shoulder to see the look of relief wash over the younger brother's face as he makes his way into the kitchen.

"Hey Sam," the dark-haired girl gives him a small smile as Dean places her back on the floor in time for his brother to envelope her in a hug. He holds her for a bit longer than he normally would, but he'd just lost her and if he was being honest with himself, he was a little scared to let her go again. Losing the other hunters had taken its toll on him and losing one of his closest friends was almost more than the man could take.

After a few moments he does pull back with a smile on his face, "It worked."

"What?" she questions searching his face, unsure what he's meaning.

"The spell," Sam continues, "that Evan did to bring you back."

"Evan's here?" Lexi looks at him in surprise, the name bringing back a memory.

"He wasn't in the room when you woke up?" Dean questions and Lexi shakes her head.

The brothers share a look of concern.

"If it wasn't him," Sam begins, confusion on his face, "what brought you back?"

Lexi looks between the two of them, remembering what had at first felt like a far away dream when she'd woke up, but now was beginning to feel like more than that. She takes a deep breath before she says quietly, "I think I know."

Lexi manages to find a burgundy t-shirt in a basket Sam insists are clean clothes and would contain some of Mary's things before she makes her way into the storage room. She sees Evan frantically searching drawers, a small pile of things he's gathered lay on top of cabinet. She watches him for a moment before she clears her throat and he turns quickly at the sound. He looks at her in disbelief for a moment before he carefully takes a step towards her.

"You died," he says hesitantly, not sure how it's even possible she's standing there.

Lexi shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly, "I walked it off."

He shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at her disapprovingly.

The girl takes a deep breath before dropping the information she has, "I saw your mom."

Evan's brow furrows after he registers her statement, "What?"

"When I died," she continues, moving closer to the storage cabinet, which he's now using to support himself with one hand, "I saw your mom."

"Really?"

Lexi nods her head, "The resurrection charm your grandmother gave her…" The girl takes her finger and points it at herself, and suddenly, everything makes sense to him. The charm is what brought Lexi back.

"Whoa," Evan replies turning to look at the supplies he has gathered on the cabinet, "that explains a lot."

Lexi nods her head quietly and stands there for a few moments in silence with him before she speaks again.

"This looks like some serious spell work," Lexi points at the ingredients.

Evan gives her a sidelong glance, "Well, you did die."

He stares at her and she can see the emotions waging war behind his eyes. She tries to think of a witty comeback, but words evade her, and she has to break the stare by glancing back down at the ingredients. She picks up a small bundle of white sage to toy with in order to keep her hands and mind occupied.

"Did she say anything else?" he asks after a moment.

"That she loves you very much," Lexi says, which makes him smile, "oh, and to tell you, how wonderful life is while you're in the world."

The smile fades away, sadness replacing it briefly and she panics, "What's wrong? Did I say right?"

He nods his head as he adds quietly, "She used to sing that song to me all the time."

They stand there in silence for a second before Lexi says with uncertainty, "Do you need a hug or…do you need me to go?"

Evan looks over at her with a raised eyebrow, "Did you just ask if I needed a hug?"

"I'm usually really good at this friend stuff," she replies beginning to ramble, "being there for someone emotionally. I just don't really know you, and technically I'm exhausted, so I can't tell what that look is…"

"You took a bullet for me," he says flatly, "and died."

He shakes his head angrily and uses both hands to shove the pile of ingredients off the cabinet and into the floor, turning to stalk away from her as he does so.

'How very Dean Winchester of you,' she thinks to herself, 'Least he didn't use magic. Maybe he only uses magic when he's really angry, or maybe when he's really angry he uses physical strength instead of magic.' She watches his shoulders rise and fall slowly as he takes a few deep breaths, 'Easy big guy, please don't Hulk out me, I don't want to fight you. What's with all the Marvel references? FOCUS Lexi!'

"That makes twice," he begins then turns to look at her, "I've watched you die."

She doesn't respond, she just stands there holding the sage in both her hands, watching his movements cautiously as he continues, "Do you have any idea what that's like?"

Lexi hesitates, glancing down at the mess in the floor for a moment before brings her eyes back up to meet his. For the first time Evan can see a small glimpse of the pain she's hiding.

"I know what it's like to lose people…friends and family," she replies quietly, her voice breaking as events from earlier replay in her mind, "and I would have lost Sam today, and Dean, but I didn't, because of you…you have no idea what that means to me…and I owe you for that."

"That's not how friendship works," Evan says genuinely with a small smile.

Suddenly, a sharp pain shoots from the right side of Lexi's temple behind her eyes and she reaches up to gingerly touch the side of her head. She grabs the cabinet in front of her with her other hand to steady herself, momentarily feeling weak.

"Are you okay?" Evan questions with concern as he takes a step closer.

"Yea," she replies, the pain still emanating through her skull, "just a headache."

"LEXI!" Jody's voice echoes down the hallway and Evan glances towards the door to see a woman with short dark hair come bursting into the room, a look of relief on her face upon seeing the girl in front of him. He can tell from the redness in her eyes she's been crying.

"Lexi," she says again as she approaches the girl, seeing the current state of pain she's in, "what's wrong?"

"Headache," Lexi manages to say as Jody reaches over to place her hands on her shoulders, but as soon as she does a blast of energy from the girl sends the short-haired woman flying back towards the door, knocking her off her feet.

Both Winchesters have walked in through the door in time to see this phenomenon occur and they look at Lexi in shock as she fearfully glances to Jody in the floor.

"Jody," she says with concern, turning towards her.

Sam moves to help the sheriff to her feet as she shares a look of concern with the youngest Winchester, "I'm okay."

"What was that?" Dean questions moving further into the room.

Lexi shrugs her shoulders, "My head just started pounding. I don't know what's happening."

He nods his head with understanding as he slowly walks towards his friend, holding his hands out in front of him cautiously, "Why don't you come lay back down? Maybe you just need to rest some?"

Lexi's head is throbbing to the point she feels as if it could explode and when Dean reaches for her hand, she pulls away from him and says quietly, "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," he replies with a reassuring smile, "you got this."

Sam's eyes search the shelf next to him and they land on the magical cuffs he and Dean keep on hand for Rowena in case of emergencies. He doesn't want to use them on his friend, but if she's having trouble keeping these new powers in check, then it's better to be safe than sorry. Evan's on the offense too, he's already picked up some of the ingredients he shoved to the floor moments earlier and has placed them back on the cabinet; carefully, he takes the top off a gold powder.

Dean steps closer to Lexi, while Jody and Sam watch fearfully as he reaches out with one hand to touch to the top of her shoulder, then says carefully, "It's going to be okay."

As soon as his hand touches her though, the same unseen force flings him back across the room, crashing him into his brother. Lexi watches the scene unfold in horror and she says quickly, "I'm sorry."

She glances over to Evan who's moving towards her and she says pleadingly, "I can't control it."

"I know," he replies as he opens his hand in front of her face, revealing a small amount of the gold powder, "I got you." He speaks a phrase in Latin before blowing the powder from his palm into Lexi's face which immediately makes her eyes close and he grabs her around the waist with his other arm to keep her from falling to the floor.

Sam grabs the cuffs as Dean recomposes himself looking over at Evan curiously, "What'd you do?"

"Just a sleeping spell," he responds, scooping her effortlessly into his arms, "Until we can find something to temporarily bind…"

Sam holds out the handcuffs in front of him, "Like this?"

"Exactly," Evan responds, then waits for Sam to slip the cuffs on Lexi's wrists.

"What the hell happened to her?" Jody questions in exasperation, then looks at the person holding her, "And who the hell is this?"

Evan sits at the table in the large library, feeling very much out of place in a room of strangers, but at least Dean had offered him a beer. Jody was sitting at the opposite end of the table from him while Dean had taken his place in the middle, explaining the events of the day to her. Jody takes a long drink from her bottle as she processes everything.

"So, this is our new normal?" she questions the older brother.

Dean just nods his head in agreement, it's obvious this thought is just now occurring to him as well, "Yea, looks like we've added another witch to the ranks."

"Witches…psychics…werewolves…angels…Lucifer's kid...alternate worlds," Jody lists, "are we sure this isn't the plot of a new film franchise?"

Dean rubs the back of his neck as he agrees, "Right."

"Sorry, did you say Lucifer's kid?" Evan questions from the far end of the table.

"Yep," Dean says tilting his beer toward the other man, "welcome to the party."

Lexi's eyes slowly start to peel open and she realizes she's back in the infirmary. She sits up quickly, remembering the events in the storage room.

"Hey," Sam says soothingly, standing up from the chair he was sitting in, "it's okay."

She realizes her hands are bound and looks down at the metal cuffs etched with engravings. The dark-haired girl recognizes them, she knows they've had to use them with Rowena before to bind her powers. A feeling a relief washes over her, and she closes her eyes for a moment as she takes a few calming breaths.

"Rowena's on her way," the younger brother states as she feels him sit down on the bed beside her, "She thinks she can help. We had to use the cuffs, I'm sorry."

"No," she turns to him, "thank you. I can't…I…"

Thoughts race through her mind, she'd been pushing them down since she'd woke up earlier. Focusing on everyone else made it easier not focus on herself, but the tears finally well up in her eyes.

"I killed Logan," the words come out quietly, "I almost…almost killed you…"

"Lex, I know what you're going through, I've been there," he replies, trying to console her, "that wasn't you."

"But it was me," she responds, staring up at him, "I wasn't possessed Sam. I wasn't subconsciously stored away in a happy memory somewhere in my own mind. I wasn't in control of my hands, but I was there the whole time, and I saw everything. I heard everything. I felt everything."

The tears fall silently down her cheeks as she stares at him, remembering the look of forgiveness he'd given her in those almost final moments of chaos, and she swallows the lump in her throat, "I felt everything Sam."

Sam wraps his arm around her, pulling her into his side as she rests his chin on top of her head, hiding his own tears from her. His heart breaks for his friend and for himself, because regardless of all the good they do, all the people they save, it feels as if it's never enough. Why can they never seem to catch a break?

Here's a question for your soul;

How many times can a broken thing break?

And the Gods whispered:

Let's see, shall we?

-Nikita Gill

#supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester #sam winchester #oc

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cass-trash · 7 years ago

Text

Mistaken Love

Castiel x Reader

Request: Do you think you could possibly do a fic where Sammy and Reader are super affectionate and Cas and Dean think they're together, but Cas and Reader have huge crushes on each other (only reader is actually mostly capable of hiding hers coz we all know Cas can't) and Dean mentions it and they're (Sam and Reader) really confused, and Cas fluff ensues??? Please and thanks for hopefully not being mad at me for wasting your time 💜💜💜 -Requested by Anonymous

Read on AO3

Warnings: jealousy, fluff

Word count: 2000

Leaning your head back on Sam’s shoulder, you blankly stared at the television in front of the two of you without processing whatever was happening on screen, your mind seeming to only pull itself in different directions all at once instead focusing on one single thing. The younger brother glanced down at you with his soft hazel eyes as though trying to read your mind to figure out what had been bothering you for the past three days in a row, but came up with nothing. “What’s the matter?” he finally asked after a long silence, draping his arm over your shoulder and pulling you closer to his warmth.

Curling into the tall hunter’s side, you relished in his warmth and affection and sighed softly. You and Sam had always been incredibly close. Maybe it was because the two of you stayed up late into the morning reading all the lore books in the bunker, or maybe it was because he had been the one to save you when you couldn’t control your psychic powers. He was the only person who had gone through the exact same thing as you and he was the only one who had the patience to wait for you. You loved Sam and you loved having these close moments with him, but you craved for different attention from somebody else.

Sam had seen that look on your face many times and he wondered how he hadn’t noticed earlier that your eyes seem to sadden whenever your eyebrows furrow, or that your lips were pulled into a tight frown even though you tried to hide it. “Is this about Cas?” he whispered, unsure where the angel might currently be or whether he could hear the two of you talk about him.

“He’s keeping his distance from me.” you mumbled reluctantly as you pulled the blanket draped over your body closer to you to hide your face, silently telling Sam you weren’t in the mood to discuss all of this.

You have had a crush on the angel for as long as you could remember. Fortunately, you had been rather careful to not make it too noticeable, but Sam saw right through you and instantly knew. Things with Castiel had been completely fine between you, however recently it’s almost like something in him clicked and he chose to stay away from you. Even though you weren’t dating him and you weren’t exactly as close as you were to Sam, it pained you to know that he doesn’t want to be near you.

---

Dean did a double take as he walked past the kitchen, a greasy rag in his hand as he stopped at the door frame and watched Castiel curiously sip at a mug filled with black coffee. The angel’s eyes were glued to you and Sam on the couch, his eyebrows crinkled in jealousy, and his fingers tightly wrapped around the handle of the mug in his hand.

It was ridiculously obvious that the angel had a crush on you, so much in fact, that people often thought the two of you were already dating, which resulted in an awkward angel and an embarrassed hunter for the remainder of the case. If it wasn’t for you and Sam dating, Dean definitely would’ve helped Cas out with building the confidence to confess his feelings for you.

“You do know you’re hurting her, right?” Dean said, startling Castiel and causing him to spill his coffee on to the table. “She might not have the same feelings for you as you do for her but she still cares about you, Cas.”

Castiel sighed and placed his mug on the table in front of him. “I don’t mean to,” he mumbled and pushed himself out of the chair to clean up the spillage, “I can’t watch her be so...intimate with him.”

“Looks like you’re watching her just fine.” Dean’s eyes adverted back to the couch to where you were now sitting by yourself, his brother nowhere to be seen, until he suddenly appeared inside of the kitchen with a suspicious look on his face as he glanced back and forth from Dean and Cas.

The angel immediately began feeling guilty at the sight of one of his best friends, knowing too well that he shouldn’t be thinking of his girlfriend that way. “Excuse me.” he mumbled to the hunters and pushed his way past to go anywhere to escape the awkward conflict.

“What’s up with him?” Sam murmured, sending shady looks towards Dean. “How come he’s been avoiding Y/n?”

“Don’t pretend to not know, Sam.”

“What?”

The eldest Winchester rolled his eyes and sighed, “You know he has a crush on Y/n. It’s obvious. I’m not saying you need to break up with her so he can have a chance, but you don’t need to be so intimate when he’s around. Not to mention it’s pretty gross.”

“Wait, what?” your voice squeaked from behind Sam where you had barely just arrived, your eyes widened as you thought about how close you and Sam had been lately.

“This is your fault, too. You know how inexperienced Cas is to this kind of thing, do you guys need to be so-”

“We aren’t dating.” Sam announced, playing with the lid of the health smoothie had come to the kitchen to refill in the first place. “We’re just close friends, Dean.” he repeated upon seeing the astonished and bewildered expression on his face.

“That’s how all relationships start.”

“Hang on a minute!” you yelled, shaking your head before lowering your voice to a timid whisper, “Cas likes me?”

Dean’s nose and eyebrows scrunched up, wondering how you hadn’t noticed all the glances he would give you when pretending to read a book, or purposely being sure to stick the brothers together on a hunt so he could be there to protect you if you needed it, or how he seemed to tense up and become nervous around you, especially when you were so close he could smell the last thing you ate still linger around your lips.

Sam, on the other hand, smiled softly. Of course he had known that Castiel liked you. Cas only needed to glance at you one time for it to become obvious, but Sam never told you. He wanted you to figure it out between the two of you. That didn’t happen, but seeing the sparkle in your eyes as you imagined being with the angel made him completely forget why he hadn’t chose to tell you sooner.

With a shake of his head, Dean laughed and slapped a hand on your shoulder, “Go get ‘em, Tiger.”

Within a second, your happy and cheerful mood fell into an anxious and worried one. “How do I tell him?” you whispered under your breath, your eyes glued to a drop of coffee on the floor that had fallen from the table. “What do I say?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Sam said. “It’ll come naturally.”

You doubted this, but found yourself halfway down the hallway before you had a second thought. You stood outside of Castiel’s door, your fist clenched and raised in the air to knock on the wooden barrier blocking you from the angel you were in love with. One sharp, almost forced, intake of breath later and you knocked on the door three times and eagerly and anxiously waited for a peek of beige material to creep into your vision between the cracks of the opening door. You only needed to wait a couple more seconds before you saw just that - a slimmer of beige and black trousers before your eyes finally fixed on his face, noticing that his hair looked as though it had been pulled on. “Are you okay?” you immediately asked, your eyes soft as you looked at the tangled tufts of hair.

“I’m fine.” he lied, looking off to the side guiltily. He couldn’t even look at you in the eyes anymore.

“You’ve been pulling on your hair, Cas, you’re not fine.” you weren’t taking no for an answer and pushed yourself into his bedroom, trapping him between you and the wooden door that his back was now pressed against. “What’s the matter?”

Castiel loved and despised of how you could just see that he wasn’t fine. He didn’t want to tell you the truth about his feelings, it would only result in heartbreak and awkwardness, one of those things he was much more afraid of than the other. On the other hand, he knew how caring and compassionate you are. Shouldn’t he trust his instincts that you wouldn’t hurt him too much? With a hefty sigh, he finally decided to confess everything to you, “I have a- I’m in love with you, Y/n.” Yes, that’s right. Letting those words out of his lips that he usually kept tightly closed felt like pure bliss. He was in love with you, he knew that now. This wasn’t just some crush.

He didn’t know what he expected. Maybe a remark about how wrong he was to think of you when you were obviously happy with Sam, or an awkward goodbye as you scurried out of the room, but it definitely wasn’t this.

There wasn’t even enough time for him to process you leaning in before he felt your soft lips against his very own. He was scared this was some kind of dream, but angels didn’t sleep. This was real. You were real. Seconds had passed since the first contact of your skin on his and he finally responded into the kiss, moving his lips against yours to smudge as much of the strawberry lip balm onto his lips so he could remember the taste of your lips in case this was a onetime thing only. He was in such rapture that he didn’t take notice of the way his grace – his very essence – was buzzing inside of his vessel, begging to be free and consume you for him to enjoy just to himself.

He was in paradise; that was the only way to describe it.

Then he remembered about Sam and everything hit him like he was being smote by his father himself. It took everything inside of him to pull away from the lips that seemed to fit his so perfectly. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to hurt you or Sam.”

Your eyebrows furrowed for a second until you remembered what had brought you here in the first place. ”Cas,” you whispered softly, brushing your lips against his, “I’m not dating Sam. We’re just close friends. Have a lot in common.” you spoke in short sentences, just wanting to feel his chest vibrate underneath your fingertips like it had mere moments ago.

“You seemed very close.”

“He saved me. I love him, but not in the way you’re thinking.”

It was amusing to watch Castiel’s eyes flicker around your face as he considered what you were saying. You would have laughed if it wasn’t for the sudden skin pressing against skin, or Cas’ hands cupping your cheeks as he continuously pressed hard, fast kisses to your lips. You could feel the burn of his stubble against your lips and cheeks, but you didn’t dare stop him.

“I’m in love with you, too.” you finally replied in between kisses, smiling largely. “And I’d love to go on a date with you sometime.”

Cas smiled and gave a sharp nod before lifting you up and placing you on his desk, his hands gently squeezing your thighs as he began to kiss you a little more passionately rather than maul you to death.

“Cas.” you sighed against his neck, smiling softly as you enjoyed the moment you were in and were sure you’d be in many more times.

The two of you were in utter happiness and you couldn’t have asked for anything else. You would definitely have to thank Dean for letting it slip that Cas was jealous of you and Sam.

Castiel tags:

@castiel-savvy18, @hey-um-misha, @magnificent-mantle, @impractical-impala, @kristendansmith

Everything tags:

@disappointeddinosaur, @unknown-chronicles, @marisayouass, @greenappleeyes, @nina-winchester4life, @fanboyswhereare-you, @yes-this-is-snek, @kdfrqqg, @buttercup337, @xsammijoannex, @kitkatgaming, @totally-fandom, @angelsdeadromance, @staticweekes, @cas-honeybee, @perry–aesthetic, @thatshellfiredean

If you would like to be added to one of my tag lists, feel free to send me an ‘ask’ or a private message with your preferred tag.

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spiritthiefaesling · 7 years ago

Text

Apologies for the delay in content, but it has been a busy time! And now with the holidays coming up, how about a little gift as we look away from the main story into that of a close friend and his celebration - a brief glimpse into

Colvin’s Hanukkah

[A side story]

Colvin’s home was thick with fabric, creating a comfortable warmth even in the throes of a frosty winter. It was, by all definitions, cozy, especially as it was not particularly large - though thankfully he did have a couple windows with window sills, even if it meant moving some things away from them when he wanted to light candles. His arrangement for this night was very specific and precise, something often unusual for the kinds of things he did but all too fitting for a night like this one.

The arrangement itself was settled on a small but cluttered window sill. In the center was his golden menorah, varnish worn with age and still covered in dry pieces of wax from previous years. All around it were pictures in picture frames - one had the Truths in their prime, with him and Pathos, Logos, and Legan. Opposite it was one of his parents, his mother smiling brilliantly and his father looking on in awe with a gentle grin of his own.

He dug a small scrap of paper out of his pocket, reading from it even though he was certain he remembered the words by heart. He wanted to do this right.

Colvin struck a match and lit a single candle from the little candle box, holding the paper in one hand and the paper in the other. “Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tsivanu l'hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.

“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim laavoteinu v'imoteinu bayamim hahaeim baz'man hazeh.

“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, shehecheyanu v'kiy'manu v'higianu laz'man hazeh.”

He was surprised he could still read Hebrew as well as he did, but all things considered, he barely needed to glance at the sheet at all, only checking for the gentlest reassurances of certain words as he reached the end of each prayer.

From there he carefully set the paper down, then picked up another candle and warmed the bottom of it with wax before placing it in the far-right branch. He lit it, then warmed the shamash and placed it in the center. When he was certain neither would fall, he took a step back and admired his handiwork.

With all the other lights off, it created a warm, welcoming glow in his apartment, even when only two candles were lit. Snow fell outside, dark clouds hiding the dying reach of sunlight that was likely making its way through the sky.

He collapsed on his couch and watched the menorah burn, occupied with his thoughts.

Colvin remembered celebrating the holidays on tour, him and Logos and Pathos sharing traditions from all their branches of life - singing all manner of holiday songs. Pathos celebrated Christmas and taught many of their hometown’s tunes, while Colvin lead them in rounds of “Lots of Latkes” and struggled to remember “Ma’oz Tzur” from the few times he had heard it at beyt knesset.

“Beyt knesset,” he mumbled to himself, thinking of the old synagogue downtown. “I haven’t been there in what… eight years?”

Awkwardly, he cleared his throat and tried to get out what of “Ma’oz Tzur” he could still remember, which still wasn’t much.

“Ma’oz tzur yeshua-si, lecha na-eh li-sha-beyach...” From there, it devolved into vaguely Hebrew-sounding mumbles that more or less fit the tune, before he finally gave up and fell into a coughing fit. ”So much for a holiday like the good old times.”

He took a long glance at the candle’s flames before standing up and wandering over to the door, throwing on a heavy jacket and some actual shoes which, contrary to popular belief, he did in fact own. Bundled up and satisfied there was nothing nearby the menorah could burn down while he was gone, he trundled off into the snow.

The air was thick, wet, and most of all, cold. It bit easily at his face, pushing easily at his hair, and even sending a twinge of pain through his covered eye. He ducked further into his coat, wishing he had a scarf of some kind, and made his way out into the whiteness that was overtaking the world.

It took a couple minutes of aimless wandering for Colvin to come across somewhere with light - a single lamppost amidst the storm, its bulb flickering gently as it struggled to emit its glow. He stared at it, bemused, and glanced around to the pitch blackness around him. “The storm must’ve put the power out,” he murmured to himself. Though it wasn't terribly late, the windows of the stores and houses down the road were mostly pitch-back, save for the occasional glimmer of candlelight where someone was still awake or where others were celebrating Hanukkah, too. “A blackout during the festival of lights.”

When he glanced back at the lamp, he blinked in surprise, as the next lamp some fifteen feet had also been lit. It was barely visible with the snow falling so thickly, but he couldn’t resist the urge to meander closer to it. It, too, was having trouble staying lit, and as he approached it the one behind him sparked one last time and died. The next lamp on the road illuminated. He stared off at it and continued to follow the path that stretched out before him.

Colvin didn’t bother to count how many street lamps he passed by, but each was perfectly timed to keep him in their glow. He knew this was magic, and would’ve look at it with his enhanced eye had the cold already not been aggravating it. He couldn’t sense anything hostile about each light - to the contrary, each one seemed to emit the faintest aura of peace alongside their illumination.

Only twice did he have to cross the street, each time almost convincing him that whatever was guiding him had given up before he caught sight of the next step in his journey. It was after he crossed the street the second time the light above him flickered and died, and he stared in confusion for a long moment before examining the building he had been lead to. He gave the slightest, weary smile.

The synagogue.

Goel Tzedek was written on its side, the Hebrew of the same just beneath. The sign out front - which would normally be speaking of the holiday, no doubt - had gone out, just like the rest of the lights in the city. The front door to the building, however, was left open. He furrowed his brows, trudging down the sleet-covered sidewalk and into the building.

Unsure of where else to go, Colvin passed down the familiar entryway, the carpet beneath his feet the same red color it had been so long ago and just as clean. He passed by the larger assembly hall, and then the small gift shop he and his parents had bought his menorah at so long ago. He entered the prayer hall, the wooden doors squeaking gently as he pressed against them. He had expected the room to be dark, and yet there was still a light in its center. As his eye readjusted, he realized it was not just a light in the hall - it was a person. And, when she straightened up, he realized she was a spirit.

She stood tall and proud, and as he approached he recognized the energy she was exuding, the gentle warmth, as the same he had felt on the walk there from every street lamp. A trio of flames danced around her head, and her eyes burned with the same strength.

“Hello,” she said, bowing her head slightly. “I hope you do not mind me intruding upon your place of worship.”

Colvin stared at her, transfixed by the flames for a moment before pausing and shaking his head to clear it. “I haven’t been here in awhile,” he said, wincing as his voice echoed unusually loudly throughout the empty sanctuary. “So it’s not really my place to say, but I can’t imagine anyone having a problem with it. Did you, uh… come to pray?”

Colvin recognized he did not know much about spirits, let alone if they themselves had a religion. Still, it was polite to ask.

She closed her eyes. “I did not, no. I come here during nights such as this one to watch over their light.”

He glanced behind her, to the ner tamid - the eternal light - above the Ark which, to his surprise, was still burning. Well, it was electric, but it looked enough like a lantern he supposed the word fit. It persisted, much like the real thing had done some 2000 years ago.

He nodded. “That’s kind of you.”

The spirit smiled, the expression as warm and welcoming as the power she emitted. “Thank you. I strive to do what I can for the people of this city.”

He wasn’t quite sure to ask her about the lamps, but he figured there was no harm in it. “Were you the one who lead me here?”

“When the lights of Braeden die, I do my best to ensure everyone is lead home, or to a place of comfort. But you were the only person out on the streets this night, and you seemed eager to go anywhere but.”

Colvin shrugged off his hood, her magic beating back the natural cold that had long settled into the vacant building. “It’s hard,” he said, “to be reminded of friends on a day of celebration spent by yourself.”

She nodded, eyes dim with understanding. “My name is Kyl’il,” she offered. “I am the Guardian Spirit of the city of Braeden. You are Colvin Jun, yes?”

“Yes.”

“I am mentor of young Dont, and through her, have bestowed the title of Spirit Guardian on bright Aesling, as well as her friends burning Markus and faithful Gregor. You have met them, I believe.”

“I have.” His single eye looked up at the ner tamid again. “Kyl’il, do you… mind if I sit with you for a while? At least until the storm clears?”

“Go ahead. Any friend of bright Aesling is a friend of mine.”

He sat down in the chair beside her, placed his head against his hands, and thought.

---

Colvin must’ve fallen asleep, because when he opened his eyes again, he could see the barest shimmer of moonlight coming in through the synagogue’s windows. When he glanced aside, he could see that his coat had been moved off of him, and that Kyl’il was still there, sitting on her knees, eyes closed.

“How are you feeling?”

Colvin slowly blinked his singular eye. “...peaceful.”

“I am glad to hear it. Did you find what you were looking for this night?”

He bowed his head, and pressed his face into his hands. “I’m not sure. I do feel more calm now, though. Thank you.”

She gave him a gentle smile. “I did little, honest Colvin. However, if you would like advice, I would not mind imparting some. You still seem troubled.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“Life is much like a path through a wood. If you come across a fallen log, no one would doubt you for doubling back for an axe.”

He stared at her, long and hard. Somehow, that was exactly what he needed to hear.

“Thank you. I…. really needed to hear that. Chag sameach, Kyl’il.”

“A merry festival of lights to you, honest Colvin.”

Colvin slid his coat back on, bundling up tight, and wandered out of the prayer hall, down the entryway, and back into the snow - where the lights had been restored to the city, and the bitter bite of the cold was no longer quite so sharp.

As he began his weary trek home, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and fumbled with a gloved hand until he got to his contact list. He dialed before he could regret what he was doing, and despite the late hour, somehow he was certain they would answer.

“Hey, Logos.” He spoke before the man on the other end could say anything.

“Ethos?”

“Yeah. Long time no see.” He closed his eyes and let out the softest sigh. “I’ve missed you. Do you want to hang out sometime soon? Catch up on things?”

“I’ll be going back home in a little bit,” Logos said. “Visiting a friend. I’ve missed seeing you, too, though. Just kept forgetting to call.”

“Or putting it off?”

Logos laughed lightly. “Yeah, well… You know me.”

“I do.” He waited, and for all that they had been through, even just the quiet between them was comforting. Knowing Logos was there.

“Heard from Pathos lately?” Logos said, breaking the silence.

“No, but you know them. Legan’s death hit them hard.”

“Yeah. I almost can’t remember the last time I saw them smile.”

Colvin glanced absentmindedly at his phone. “So, when will you be stopping by? You can stay at my place if you want. It’s small but it’ll save you some cash.”

“I’ll be by in a week or two,” Logos said. “And that sounds… nice. I look forward to seeing you.”

“You too.” Colvin allowed himself a small smile. “Vive la vérité.”

“Vive la vérité, Ethos.” Another brief moment of silence, and then together, they hung up.

Colvin stared at his phone. Wordlessly he tucked it into his pocket and wandered back up the stairs to his apartment. He opened the door to find, to his relief, that the candles hadn’t caused any problem at all. The shamash was still, barely and improbably, burning, though the first night’s candle was nothing more than smoke and wax.

He stepped closer to it, discarding his coat onto his couch, and stared when he realized that one of the photos he had set up had fallen over, the candle’s blue wax dripping down and staining its glass.

The faces of Colvin, the rest of the Truths, and Legan were now impossible to see beneath the surface. He reached one hand up to scrape it away and paused, before setting the frame back onto the window sill.

I’ll be seeing Logos soon, he reassured himself. I’ll have a new face of his to look at - and maybe Pathos after that.

But Legan… Legan was not, in hindsight, someone he had to worry about. He often heard about people whose memories of loved ones faded with time, whose faces in their minds became blurred and indistinct. Not Legan. There was a photo of Legan right by his bed, that he looked at every day. There were many things he owed Legan, and that was one of them: remembrance.

Still, he stared at it an usually long time as he got into bed, and by the time he finally fell asleep, his mind was adrift with better times, and new songs, the lyrics to a wordless tune he swore he heard Kyl’il humming unraveling themselves:

The flickering flames of the candle grow dim, and, though low, it still burns. Shadows surround and lash out in fear, and yet for the light they do yearn.

As the sun hides behind the horizon, and the moon finds its way to the sky, without a great dawn there'd be no such thing as dusk, and the stars would have no place to cry.

A sword in one hand, and a shield in the next, the goal: to protect and to fight. My children in arms, are all guardians. And use shadows to bring forth the light.

#thrilling intent #not an episode but still canon

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