#also reading my stuff aloud usually helps me gets the gears turning

[teruthecreator]

would you be willing to beta (or something similar, i think just talking about it would help, honestly) a fic? i just have this idea that refuses to leave my head, and i started writing but i'm having a little bit of trouble with it

sorry but i don't know you

[streetlight11]

Love Notes

Summary: People usually mistake Slytherins as the mean and nasty ones. Nobody told you that you would be stuck with the loud and obnoxious boy from Gryffindor. One day during your fifth year, you started receiving anonymous notes in your books, pockets, table, etc. The question is, who gave them to you?

Theme: Hogwarts au, enemies to lovers

Genre: fluff, angst [not really]

Warnings: none

WC: 4.9k

Pairing: Gryffindor!Haknyeon x Slytherin!FemReader

a/n: Hi again :) I've been binge watching Harry Potter movies for the past few days and I love it so much. So here's a little Hogwarts fic with Hakkie! Do send me requests if you have any! I'm open to writing them :)

Going to Hogwarts was probably the best thing to happen to you. And getting yourself sorted into Slytherin house was also the best thing to ever happen to you. Except, nobody told you that you would have a horrendous time being in the same classes as the loud and obnoxious boy from Gryffindor.

His name?

Was Ju Haknyeon.

“Did you lose your way to class again today?” Haknyeon teased when you arrived at your seat that just so happens to be right in front of him. You were in your fifth year and yet he has never once gone a day without getting on a single nerve on your body.

“Did you lose your pacifier on your way here cause you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut.” You scowled at him only to earn a soft chuckle from him.

“Look who’s talking now…” Haknyeon smirks, earning a kick to his desk from you. Your seat partner and also one of your close friends, Wooyoung couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the said boy.

Professor Snape finally dismissed the class as everyone quickly scrambled out of the room. You were walking with Wooyoung and Yeosang as the former began rambling about his terrible date yesterday when you suddenly felt an arm over your shoulder. The last person you hoped for it to be, ends up proving you wrong the minute he spoke.

“Hey hey, have you practiced for the Quidditch game this season? Wouldn’t wanna lose your Quidditch title to other houses.” Haknyeon whispered into your ear, making you push his face away.

“Do you ever shut up?” You said as he smirked, casually pursing his lips into a kissy face.

You rolled your eyes at him, elbowing his stomach to make him leave your side. Haknyeon left your side for a brief moment before coming back to you to stop in front of you while leaning down a little to match your height. Once he was right in front of you, he smirked cheekily at you.

“I won’t shut up when I’m with you, darling.” He whispered.

You cupped his face with both hands, only to lean in to let your lips hover over his as you whispered under your breath, “Don’t make me do it for you, sweetheart.” The moment you pulled away from him and began to walk away, Haknyeon could’ve sworn he felt his heart skip a few beats.

“Now, class, please open to page 367.” Professor McGonagall announced as you heard the sounds of pages being turned. You did the same, flipping the pages a few at a time until a slip of note drops out from your book. It was a pretty blue colour that has been folded into the shape of a flower.

“Did you put this in my book?” You asked Wooyoung who was seated beside you, only for him to shake his head. Just then, a voice came from behind you.

“Oh look, the Slytherin’s princess got herself a love note.” Haknyeon said. It annoyed you to the point where you had to cast a spell on him from under your desk to shut him up for 2 hours. A few weeks have gone by and you have been getting anonymous notes slipped into your textbooks, locker, and sometimes even in your coat pockets.

However, all the notes always end up in your bag, never touched or read before.

It was a Thursday afternoon and you were just walking into your Transfiguration class when a female student from Hufflepuff came up to you giddily excited as she informed you what she saw.

“Omg Y/N! Someone gave you a rose and a letter! It’s on your desk!” She squeaked, allowing a couple of eyes to land on you, who was standing at the back of the class with Wooyoung and Yeosang. With that being said, you glanced over to your desk to find that she was right.

However, you noticed that Haknyeon’s table was empty. Maybe he finally got sick and couldn’t come to class today.

“The Slytherin’s princess got a gift today huh? That’s new.”

Maybe not.

Haknyeon said casually as he strolls past you with his hands tucked into his pant’s pockets while he makes his way over to his desk. You rolled your eyes at the back of his head before walking up to your desk and soon took the rose and note only to stuff it in your bag.

“Why don’t you read it outloud for all of us to hear, darling? I’m sure your admirer would love to see the way your eyes turn into heart shapes for them.” Haknyeon smirked.

You couldn’t lie, Haknyeon has in fact gotten slightly more manlier in built and also a bit more nicer looking in terms of his face features.

Which is why you’d be damned if you admitted out loud that your heart did a little flip when he smirked at you.

“The last person I’d wanna read it aloud to is you so no, that won’t happen.” You grumbled before sitting down at your desk. Wooyoung couldn’t help but chuckle as he told you about Haknyeon's offended face he made after you said that.

A few hours later, everyone was making their way back to their common rooms after dinner. You were just walking towards the Slytherin’s common room when Felix spoke up to you, “Hey, is it true you’ve been getting love notes from someone in class?”

“I don’t know what they are, I’ve never opened them.” You confessed, earning a few gasps from your friends.

“Aren’t you even a slight bit curious?” Minho asked.

“Look, I doubt it’s even real. It might just be a prank from someone. I don’t know…” You said almost confidently.

“Oh come on, just open one and see what it says. It doesn’t hurt to read one.” Wooyoung encouraged you as you rolled your eyes at him. It was already after hours. Everyone was asleep except you. So you quietly tip-toed your way to the living area, only to sit near the green fireplace with your bag filled with the notes you kept for the past 5 weeks. You took one of the notes out and soon unfolded it one after another.

“You look pretty today.”

“Your eyes sparkle like the green flames of your house.”

“You make me forget why I’m in this class.”

“Your smile could cure my sadness.”

“If only the clouds would make way for a sunshine like you”

“Don’t lose that smile, it’s the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen”

“Are you a love potion? Cause I feel like I’ve fallen in love with you”

You then happened to take out the note that was attached to the rose you got earlier in which it said;

“A pretty flower for a pretty girl like you.”

And the list goes on and on as you read them. However, one thing you noticed was the lack of initials, leaving these notes anonymous.

“Who are you?”

This question swirls in your head as you keep these notes in a little treasure chest your mom gave you for your 15th birthday.

You were on your way to the Quidditch field to play for the Quidditch Tournament with your team members. Upon making it to the courtyard, you just so happen to bump into Haknyeon. You noticed the Red and Gold striped sweater, along with his pants and a cloak in contrast to your full Quidditch attire together with the arms and leg gears.

“Hey guys, mind if I steal ‘yours truly’ for a moment? I promise I’ll bring her back to you guys in one whole.” Haknyeon smiles innocently to your friends, earning a few snickers from them but they nonetheless left you alone with him.

Once they were out of sight, you turned to him with a frown.

“What do you want now, Ju? And make it quick. I have a game to win.” You snapped, earning a chuckle from him.

“Relax beasty, I won’t hold you back for long.”

“So what do you want?”

“You know this is a seasonal championship right?”

“And?”

“And this year’s winner will be titled the Season’s Champion, yes?”

“O...kay?” You raised an eyebrow at him in question, not sure where this conversation was heading to.

“So let’s make a bet.”

You started to laugh as you clutched your stomach, afraid of growing six packs while you did that. Unfortunately, you didn’t get the same response from him which made you confused and eventually stopped.

“A bet? You wanna make a bet? Sure. You’ll only be crying at the end of it cause Slytherin’s gonna take the prize home.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. So let’s make a bet.” Haknyeon urges you again, to which you couldn’t help but agree just so you could prove him wrong.

“Fine. If Slytherin wins, you’re gonna leave me alone for the rest of the year.” You said.

“And if Gryffindor wins, you have to go on 3 dates with me.” He announced. You weren’t gonna lie, you were a little shocked by his proposal but you didn’t want to back out now so you shook hands on it.

“Deal.”

“Choi Jongho has gotten the snitch! Gryffindor wins!” Lee Jordan, the commentator from Gryffindor announced as you slammed your fist onto your broomstick. You’ve lost a few times before throughout your 5 years in Hogwarts but today was a little different as you had your bet with Haknyeon hanging by a thread.

You were floating about 10 feet away from Gryffindor’s stand, your gaze naturally fleeting to the left only to lock eyes with the blonde haired devil from Gryffindor who had a smirk on his face before he mouthed something so clear to you.

“I win.”

You couldn’t even respond to him so you simply flew down and back into your pitch tent along with the rest of your teammates. After you were done with post-game preps, you all began to make your way back to your common rooms.

It wasn’t until you were at the grand staircase that you bumped into Haknyeon and his friends. He gave you a cheeky little wink before snapping his fingers and soon, you felt a slip of paper magically appear in your hands.

You kept it in your hands until you went back, only opening it when you were in your bed.

“Nice game. I hope you don’t forget about our bet. See you at Three Broomsticks Inn, this Saturday. 12pm. Don’t be late. Oh, and, wear prettily ;) - JHN”

You were definitely in for a treat.

The day finally came as you made an excuse to your friends saying you couldn’t go with them to Hogsmeade because you promised to help Ginny with her Muggle studies. The minute they left, you got upstairs to change out of your pyjamas and into some comfortable jeans, a sweater, a denim jacket and a pair of worn out sneakers.

You teleported to Hogsmeade using the Floo Powder your mom gave you just in case you needed to rush home due to an emergency.

You arrived at a dark alley in Hogsmeade, making sure your friends weren’t around before you left the safety of that alley. Carefully walking past some villagers, you found your way to the Inn without getting caught. With one gentle push of the wooden door, you were immediately greeted by the bustling customers.

You looked around the room to find for the devil who shall not be named and Lord Behold, he waves over to you from one of the tables across the room. You almost lost your footing when you saw what he wore.

It was almost as if he knew what you were going to wear. He was wearing black pants with a denim jacket. Simple yet so good looking.

You went over to him only to sit on his left where it was nearer to the edge of the semi circle couch.

“You’re late, you know?” Haknyeon laughs.

“Yeah but I’m here aren’t I?” You scoffed softly under your breath, earning a little giggle from him.

“On our first date too? You’re a terrible one.” He joked.

“Fine then. Go find someone who’s on time for your date, maybe they’ll actually arrive earlier than you.” Right before you could slide out of the seat, Haknyeon gently grabs your wrist to stop you.

“Relax, I’m just kidding… Come on, butterbeer on me. Deal?” He asked, shaking his wallet in between his fingers as though telling you he really meant it when he said he’ll pay for it.

Of course you couldn’t let this moment up, which is why you agreed to it. Unfortunately, right before he could slide out the opposite end of the table, your eyes flew over to the front doors where the bell chimed indicating a customer. That’s when you saw your friends walking in and you could’ve sworn they would see you in a matter of seconds if they just turned to the left slightly.

“Oh shit!” You cursed as you grabbed hold of Haknyeon’s collar only to drag him out of the table and soon towards the back. Haknyeon was a little taken aback by your sudden aggression as he began to ask you a series of questions.

You quickly pulled him behind one of the pillars, shoving him against the concrete wall as you peeked past the pillar.

“Okay, if you want to kill me, at least do it when we’re in private.” He teased you.

“Shut up. My friends are here. I lied to them saying I can’t join them.” You whispered, trying to see if your friends wouldn’t make it to the back. What you didn’t realize was the way Haknyeon was discreetly checking you out.

“You know, for a Slytherin, you’re not as sly as you think you are. What makes you think they can’t figure out it’s you from a dist-”

“Kiss me.”

You suddenly spoke as he stared at you with wide eyes. He almost couldn’t believe his ears when you said that.

“What?”

“I said kiss me!” You loudly whispered but your eyes were frantically flickering back and forth to something behind him.

However, right before you could yell at him, you felt him snaking his right arm around your waist while the other hand reached up to cup your cheek, pulling you into a soft and gentle kiss. You fluttered your eyelids close as he turned you so that his back would be facing the open area while your smaller form gets shielded from the public eye.

You could hear your friend’s voices getting closer and closer and eventually made their way past Haknyeon’s back. You could’ve sworn you heard some of them snicker and scoff at your unknown presence.

Once they are gone, Haknyeon pulls back from you with the softest sound as he caresses your cheek for a moment.

Suddenly your heart was picking up speed against your chest. You locked eyes with him for a second or two, feeling him tilt his head slightly to make his lips brush over yours again purposely before pulling away completely.

“I reckon we should leave?” He chuckled, making you nod.

“Yes please.”

With that being said, he let you leave the hiding spot first, making sure he used his body to block you from unwanted view.

A few hours passed where he took you to a few of his favourite shops in Hogsmeade, including some personal spots around town where he usually goes when he needs space to be by himself. You were now making your way back to the castle as you both managed to not quarrel for more than a minute of being with each other.

You must admit, it was nice getting to know Haknyeon better instead of fighting with him like usual.

It has been four days since your first date with Haknyeon and again, you still received the notes. This time, it said;

“You’re cute. Can I keep you?”

With that, you couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle.

“What? Did the person who gave you those letters finally revealed himself?” Wooyoung asked from beside you, only for you to show him the note.

“No, but isn’t it tiring to keep thinking of cheesy love notes to write almost everyday?” You whispered to him upon hearing Professor McGonagall enter the class.

“Well, I would say this person is totally head over heels for you to even write these from day 1.” Wooyoung speaks utter nonsense most of the time, but maybe he made some sense today.

You were on your second date with Haknyeon, as he promised to take you on a ride. What ride might I ask? Not just any ride. He was taking you on a ride on a Hippogriff.

“Are you sure we won’t get in trouble for this? I really don’t want to be expelled.” You warned him as he laughed at you.

“Aren’t you being a little too goody two shoes for a Slytherin?” Haknyeon teased, only to get a good slap to his arm from you.

“Say anything stupid again and I swear you’ll be the one swimming in the lake with the damn Lochness.” You threatened as he raised his arms in a surrender but there was a wide grin on his face. Something you’ve grown to adore these days.

With that, he soon hops on the magical creature easily, leaving you nervous. Haknyeon had his hand extended out for you to take but you were afraid.

“Y/N come on, we don’t have forever!” He said.

“What if I fall?” You panicked but you ended up unconsciously whining, making him giggle.

“I won’t let you fall. I promise. Now come on, darling.” Haknyeon jerks his hand to you again, only for you to stare at it for a bit before you finally take his hand into yours. He easily pulled you up and onto the animal’s back. You sat in front of him while you gently grabbed onto the creature’s neck, being careful that you don’t accidentally harm it.

“Okay Buckbeak, show us whatchu got.” Haknyeon said as he gave the creature a few pats to its belly and soon, the creature took off flying into the sky. You let out a scream, hugging the neck tightly while Haknyeon holds onto nothing.

He clearly had more experience than you in terms of flying on this creature’s back.

You had your eyes closed the entire time even when you felt the smooth glide across the air. Still being stubborn to open your eyes, you felt him tap your shoulders.

“Y/N come on! Open your eyes! You’re missing out on the view!” His voice sounded so excited behind you, it almost made you believe it wasn’t the same boy who has been a living nuisance to you all these while.

“No way! I’m just gonna panic even more if I see how high we are!” You yelled over the loud gush of wind that might be rendering your hearing.

“I promise we’ll be fine, just open your eyes! Trust me!” Haknyeon reassured you as you felt him gently slide his hands down your arms and onto your wrist to pull them away from the creature’s neck. You shook your head desperately, hoping he’d leave you alone. Unfortunately for you, he didn’t.

Instead, he thought it would be a good idea to scare you. Maybe that way you’ll finally open your eyes.

And you did.

Because the minute you heard him yell for help, you immediately opened your eyes and turned around only to find him seated firmly on Buckbeak’s back with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You bloody piece of shit!” You huffed in annoyance as you turned back around only for Buckbeak to playfully tilt his body up to make you fall back slightly. That’s when a string of curses left your lips while you desperately grabbed onto its neck.

“Don’t do that Buckbeak!” You scolded the animal, only to get a little sound from him. Just then, Haknyeon decides to challenge you.

“Wanna know what it feels to fly?”

“Uhh, no?”

“It’ll be fun. Here.” Haknyeon said as he slowly reached over to grab your wrists while his firm chest softly pressed against your back but for some reason, it made you feel some sort of safety.

“W-What are you doing?” You stuttered, only for him to smile and soon spoke into your ears leaving a soft tingling feel to your skin.

“Just trust me.”

With that being said, he gently spreads your arms out on either side of you, making them act like wings for you. As Buckbeak glided through the air, you imagined you were flying until you heard him whisper into your ear, “Close your eyes.”

You did as he said, only for it to enhance the imagination. A smile naturally appears on your lips as you completely didn’t see the way he was staring at you from beside you. Ignoring the way his hands found your waist and left it there for the rest of the ride.

It was your third and final date for the bet you made with him. For some odd reason, you didn’t want it to end but of course you couldn’t tell him that. So when you met him at the lake, you looked slightly down and he noticed. Haknyeon wouldn’t let this slide easily which is why he decided to tease you about it.

“What’s with the long face, darling? Already attached to me?”

You scoffed as you approached him by the swing only for you to take a seat at the wooden plank beside his seated figure on the grass patch.

“So what? This was just for the bet anyway.” You mumbled under your breath, not realizing that he heard you.

The next few minutes went by like how your previous dates went. Constant teasing, playful jokes and banter, friendly chats and even random fights that involve you throwing a handful of dead leaves at him while he scoops water from the lake and proceeds to toss it at you.

At the end of this short date, you had just arrived at the end of the wooden bridge when he wraps his fingers around your wrist to stop you from walking any further.

“I just remembered I promised my friends I’d meet them at the Three Broomsticks Inn in like 5 minutes so I have to leave you from here on.” He said.

“Right…” You said, your voice sounded a little sad.

“I guess the bet’s over. Thanks… for... well, going on the dates with me.” Haknyeon said, eyes flickering back and forth between your eyes and the wooden panels behind you.

“A bet’s a bet right? I’d be a wimp if I didn’t do it.” You smiled.

There was a beat of awkward silence as you got ready to leave when he said something that made your stomach flip.

“That’s it? No goodbye kiss? I thought this was a date?” Haknyeon pouted, keeping his gaze on you as stable as possible. You almost couldn’t believe your ears.

Did he just ask you for a kiss?

“I… Umm… Okay?” You stuttered in confusion, earning a soft little giggle from him.

However, the nerves soon disappear the minute he takes a step closer and soon wraps one hand around your waist while the other cups your face before he leans down to let his lips seal yours. You instantly fluttered your eyes shut, letting your hands rest on his chest.

The kiss felt so genuine, you almost forgot how you used to fight with this same boy 24/7. Haknyeon smiled against your lips as he pulled back for air shortly before kissing you again.

His lips were intoxicating, you almost forgot how to breathe. Haknyeon gives you a cheeky little lick to your bottom lip as he soon pulls away from you, leaving you breathless. You pressed your forehead softly against his as you kept your eyes shut, too embarrassed to look at him at this point.

His chuckle fills your ears as he cups your face with both hands and whispers against your lips.

“Go. Be safe. Avoid the common grounds, that’s where Filch always lurks around.” Soon after, he gave your lips another peck before you felt wind whooshing around you. Immediately, his touch left you and it almost made you crumble to the ground.

What did he do to you?

A few days later, you were just having lunch with everyone else at their respective house tables and your friends surrounded you when you saw a note slipping past from under your plate. A pretty baby blue one that is. You carefully unfolded it, only to see it read;

“I realized I was thinking of you, and I began to wonder how long you’ve been on my mind. Then it occurred to me: Since the day I met you, you’ve never left.”

For some reason, those words meant something to you.

It was as though you knew this person and have created some sort of a bond with them. And yet, you still don’t know who. However, you do now have a little suspicion on who it was and who these notes belonged to. So to test your theory, you looked up from your table, almost immediately catching the eyes of the same pair of brown ones you’ve grown accustomed to.

Haknyeon was already staring like he knew you were going to find him. What surprised you the most is the fact that he didn’t even flinch when you caught him.

You held eye contact for a second before you got cut off by Wooyoung putting a scoopful of mashed potatoes onto your plate. You gave the boy a little smack to his head, earning a choke from him. When you looked back over to Haknyeon, he was already talking to his friend with the back of his head facing you.

A few hours later, you were having your Potions class when a note popped out of nowhere from under your book. To avoid getting minus points from Snape, you quickly shoved the note into your cloak pocket and yet you still got called by the Head of Slytherin for not paying attention.

Therefore, having to serve detention.

You could only curse him in your head while you cleaned every single flask and cauldron pots till they were spick and span.

Once you were done, you left the room only to find Haknyeon leaning against the wall with one leg bent to rest his foot on the wall. He was busy playing with his Patronus charm when his eyes flicked up upon hearing the door open.

“Haknyeon? What are you doing here? Don’t we have Transfiguration right now?” You loudly whispered as you approached him only to drag him towards the end where you were hidden from Snape’s office door. Once you were hiding behind the pillar, you turned to peek past the wall with Haknyeon right in front of you.

The hallway was empty thanks to the classes going on currently but that doesn’t mean you were free from not being caught out of class.

“I told Professor McGonagall I’m having stomach aches so she excused me to go to the hospital wing.” Haknyeon explained, only for you to frown.

“And why were you waiting outside Snape’s office, might I ask?”

“To see you.”

“You couldn’t wait till I come to class?” You asked with a slight tease in your voice.

“Needed to see you right after detention, so that I could do this.”

With that being said, he easily captures you into a kiss. You sighed through your nose as you cupped his neck to pull him closer to you. Haknyeon wraps his arms around your waist, letting himself trap you against the wall and his body. You changed your head positions to be at a slightly more comfortable state, feeling him squeeze your sides.

Just then, he pulled away for a breath, making it easy for you to slip in the question.

“All those notes were from you, weren’t they?”

Haknyeon grew quiet for a moment but then decided to just come clean with you. After all, that’s what he has been wanting to do anyway.

“Are you disappointed?”

“I would be if you told me this 4 weeks ago… But now? Not so much.” You smiled.

“Really?” He asked.

“Would I do this if I was disappointed?” You asked only to kiss him again. Haknyeon smirks against your lips as you feel him lift you up and spin you around. When he placed you back down, he gave you a peck on the lips and soon spoke up.

“Should I stop giving you notes then?”

“Go ahead. Cause I’ve already won the prize.”

“You sure have.”

~~~

[greycappedjester]

"If ATFO isn’t up by the end of the month, feel free to ask me for an already written scene from one-shot from that universe." is the offer still open?

Gotcha! Sorry this is late 😬

Here is young Jason's POV. It's from right after Year 4 so before Tim and right after Jason was formally adopted (still in training to be Robin)

Here's the first eight pages

-------

Year 4.5: The Vacation

Alright, so here’s the thing.

Jason is a city boy. He grew up in a city. It was Gotham so it was a shit city and the part that he lived in even shittier; but, it was, without question, a city. And one where he had lived the entire fourteen years of his somewhat depressing life. Jason was familiar with said city.

So, Jason is decidedly not familiar with the so-called “great” outdoors. Fuck, he’s pretty sure the closest he’s come to nature is fights with Poison Ivy.

All of which is just too fricking bad because Jason also happens to be the recently adopted brother of Dick Grayson, who has for some unimaginable reason decided camping is the best way to spend a vacation.

And Jason is coming along.

Why? Because apparently Dick’s first thought had been this was a great time for brotherly bonding. Okay, actually his first was that it was perfect for Jason’s birthday but Jason had flat out refused and Dick moved it to the week after.

So, now, the newly fourteen year old is watching as Dick somehow crams a tent, sleeping bags, and camping gear into one of the Wayne’s very fancy and very compact sports cars.

Jason looks back wistfully to the manor door.

It’s probably not too late to back out.

But, as lame as it most definitely sounds, this camping trip actually seems really important to Dick. Like important enough to give Donna his Titans duties for a few days and ask Roy to be back up for Barbara in Gotham if she needed it. Plus, more terrifying, getting Barbara to agree to that.

And, as much as he refused to say it aloud, Jason could privately admit that Dick Grayson may have a very large part in why his recently somewhat depressing life is a now a lot less depressing.

Whatever. So, Jason might not actually think it’s too terrible to spend a few days with his older brother. Even with the camping.

That still doesn’t explain the other part.

“Why can’t we bring our uniforms again,” Jason complains, crossing his arms.

Dick doesn’t stop in his work to get the trunk shut. “Because that would mean we’re working and I’ve been informed by both Raquel and Zatanna that working vacations don’t actually count as vacations.” The trunk pops back open and Dick’s head disappears inside. “Besides, we won’t need them where we’re going.”

“Yeah, cause that doesn’t sound ominous,” Jason mutters under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!”

Dick emerges and the trunk finally closes with only a slight creak of protest. “Ha, there! What did I tell you? Circus performers always know the best packing tips.”

Jason is reluctantly somewhat impressed.

“Come on, get in! We’ve gotta get to the grounds while there’s still light to set up the tent.”

Jason slumps into the passenger seat. “Are you sure this isn’t like you stealthily training me in advanced wilderness survival or something?”

“It’s a vacation, Jason,” Dick insists, starting the car and backing down the drive way. “Believe me, if it was training, I’d pick a lot trickier place than twenty minutes out of Gotham city limits.”

Crap, if it was training, Jason would at least know it sucked for a reason. Doing it for fun makes it even worse.

“You know you’re an heir to like billions of dollars, right?”

“We’re the heirs,” Dick corrects because of course, he does.

Jason rolls his eyes. “I’m just saying if you wanted nature, we could go to like the Bahamas or the Galapagos or even just buy an island if that’s what you really wanted.”

“We don’t need an island.”

“Sure, we do. We could even use it as a secret prison for supervillains when we’re done. It would be great!”

Dick’s grinning, checking briefly before pulling into Gotham traffic. “Secret island prison bases definitely fall a bit too far into the supervillian category, Jay. They'll sue us for trademark infringement.”

“Still beats camping.”

“Camping’s fun!” Dick laughs. “Trust me. Millions of people do it every year. They can’t all be wrong.”

Per usual, Jason is far less trusting of the populace’s intelligence than Dick is.

As if to spite his skepticism, the hour or so drive out to the woods doesn’t go so bad. Jason commandeers the radio so they’re listening to a good classic rock station instead of being subjected to the weird mix of folk songs and pop music that Dick likes. The dark buildings and usual smog of Gotham starts to fade out around the forty minute mark, somewhere between one of Dick’s Titans stories and Jason complaining about a plot thread in the last book he read.

The drive is nice. Peaceful, even.

You know like most horror movies start.

“We’re here!”

Jason eyes the stretch of trees for any kind of sign or even a distinguishing feature. There’s nothing.

“Dick, this is definitely not a campsite.”

“It’s a few miles off,” Dick explains, dropping a bag in Jason’s arms. “I wanted to avoid the usual campgrounds in case the tabloid reporters found us. Don’t worry, I checked with the owner. No one’s used this stretch in years.”

Jason thinks there’s probably a reason for that since there’s not one hint of a trail in sight.

“Where are we even going to set up a tent?”

“Not sure,” Dick says way too cheerfully. “Finding a spot’s part of the fun!”

Jason gives him a look.

Dick rolls his eyes. “Relax, Jay. The owner told me there’s a stream about half a mile in. We’ll set up camp there.”

Jason still gives a token grumble just because.

By the time night rolls around, they do manage to find a camping spot, set up the tent, and Dick even starts up a small fire right in the middle of the campsite.

If pushed, Jason would admit the entire thing is a bit picturesque.

He bites down on his hot dog as Dick digs through the rest of their stuff.

“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you!” Dick pulls something out of the bag. “Look, I brought stuff to make s'mores!”

“Cool, hand them over” Jason grabs for the bag of marshmallows only for Dick to pull them away.

“Not yet, they’re for our last day. Gotta ration out the food.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “You’re ridiculous. Why not bring enough for every night?”

“Cause then it’s less special,” Dick answers sagely. “Think about it like a prize for surviving camping.”

Because Jason is the generous sort, he doesn’t even make a crack about “surviving”.

“So, okay, let’s say I buy that camping is a vacation,” he says instead between bites.

“It is a vacation.”

“Yeah, fine, sure. Real question though, why are we taking a vacation?” He waves a hand. “What ever happened to ‘crime never sleeps’ and everything?”

“I’ve never said that!”

“You said it to Babs last week!”

“That was so she’d help me run the Poison Ivy samples! That doesn’t count! She didn’t even believe me!”

“Definitely counts!”

Dick rolls his eyes. “You know most kids don’t need a reason to go on vacation before school starts.”

“So, that’s what this is,” Jason accuses. “This is for you! You wanted a vacation before college!”

Dick turns his face down to poke at the fire. “I’m not going to college...not this year anyway.”

Jason frowns. “I thought you got accepted to Gotham U. Shit, I know you did. Alfred still has the letter hanging on the fridge.”

Dick shrugs. “I’m going to turn it down. There’s too much going on right now. Gotham. The Titans. I’ve gotta start sitting in at the Wayne Enterprise meetings soon, too. I don’t have time for classes.”

“Pretty sure, the classes would help with the Wayne Enterprise crap,” Jason says. “And you know Roy and Donna can help with the Titans and Babs and I can cover more in Gotham if--”

“Jay, it’s fine,” Dick cuts him off. “I need to choose what to focus on and it just can’t be college right now. It’s okay.”

Jason wants to argue more but then Dick’s continuing

“And, hey, I know camping’s not exactly your thing; but, I’m glad you decided to come anyway.” Dick gives him a blinding grin. “You deserve to do some normal summer stuff after all the Robin training. And I’m glad I get to spend some time with my favorite little brother.

Jason glares, ignoring the way his cheeks have gone warm. “Shut up, I’m your only brother. And you know I hate it when you say stuff like that.”

“No, you don’t,” Dick says, shit eating grin in place.

Jason flings the bag of hot dog buns at him.

He catches it, still grinning. The asshole.

-----

Something that’s always jarring but becomes really fucking obvious once he thinks about it is the fact that Dick gets nightmares.

Of course, he does. How could he not? Jason’s doesn’t know why he never expects it.

It’s not even loud nightmares with like screaming and flailing arms and shit. It’s just these short, sharp little gasps as his body goes entirely too stiff and face twists in pain. Sometimes, Jason thinks that’s worse than screaming.

Jason shifts in his sleeping bag, turning to face the top of the tent. He briefly contemplates waking Dick up; but, he knows from experience, it won’t help much. Better to let him get some rest until the nightmare goes away on its own.

Only problem is that Jason still can’t fall asleep. It’s kind of funny. He’s never really thought of himself as a picky sleeper before. Fuck knows he’s slept on way too many of Gotham’s mold infested roofs back when his dad was on parole. But, there’s something about the cold feeling of hard dirt that he swears he can feel even under the layers of sleeping bag and tent.

Camping sucks.

Screw it. Jason’s not just going to lay here all night. Least he can do is get up and explore around the campsite so he can have a better idea of whatever “fun” activities he’s sure Dick has planned for tomorrow.

He slips out of the tent without waking up Dick--which actually does serve as a fairly good challenge for his new Robin training--and heads into the woods, careful to keep note of how far away he goes from camp. He feels ridiculously like he should have bread crumbs or some other kind of fairy tale stuff to track his way through the forest.

He swears if he survived living in Crime Alley, Black Mask, and a freaking explosion just to get lost and die in the woods, he’s going to haunt Dick forever. Jason the Unfriendly Ghost.

He gets to the stream that he and Dick found earlier so at least he’s not that lost.

SNAP!

Jason’s head whips around in the direction of the noise.

Nothing.

He lets out a long breath. Dumb, of course, it’s nothing. It’s the forest. Forests make weird noises. It’s reason #357 why they’re terrible.

SNAP!

Okay...that definitely sounded like something big….but, maybe it’s something normal like a tree branch snapping or--

Snap!...Snap!...Snap!

That’s footsteps.

Jason moves back into the tree line, crouching down until he’s covered in the darkness of the bushes. His hands run over the ground, trying to find anything even remotely useful other than a slightly pointy stick.

Snap!...Snap!

Shit, he really is going to die here, isn’t he? In this stupid forest before he even gets to go out as Robin. Of all the dumb fucking--

Snap!...snap!...snap...snap.

The footsteps are getting further away. Echoing deeper and deeper into the forest on the other side of the stream.

snap...snap...snap…

Jason listens, in slight amazement, as the sounds slowly fade off into the distance until they finally disappear. Slowly, Jason counts in his mind to sixty, then a hundred and twenty, then two hundred.

On three hundred, he bolts--tearing through the forest in the direction of the camp until he finally catches sight of the obnoxiously bright yellow of the tent Dick bought, shining in front of him like a heavenly beacon.

He tears through the opening, breathing heavily, just a half a second before there’s an arm jammed hard against his neck.

“Jay?”

The pressure disappears and then Dick’s looking down at him with wide eyes and a slight blush. “Sorry about that. Was surprised. What’s wrong?”

Jason’s heart rate’s finally slowing down. And here in the safety of the tent, in the face of Dick’s patented concerned face, admitting to getting freaked out by noises in the woods seems beyond stupid.

“Nothing,” he mutters. “Just thought I heard something?”

“Heard something?”

“Yeah, like footsteps.”

Dick frowns. “We’re on private camp land. There shouldn’t be anyone around here. You sure?”

Jason shakes his head, face feeling hot, as he sits back down on his sleeping bag. “No. Don’t worry about it. Like I said, it was probably nothing. Maybe it’s just a mountain lion that’s gonna eat us in our sleep.”

Dick pats his shoulder. “Mountain lions don’t really live in this region, Jay.”

Jason rolls his eyes before turning over pointedly to try to get some more sleep.

“It’s bears you need to worry about.”

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

S.T. REWRITE - S2:E7; Chapter Seven, The Lost Sister - [Pt. 1]

A Will Byers x Reader Series

In their search for answers, psychic visions draw Eleven and Y/n to a band of violent outcasts and an angry girl with a shadowy past.

↬ previously ↫

"Mama? It's me. Jane. I'm home."

"No."

"RUN!"

"Breathe."

"RUN!"

"Three to the right, four to the left."

"Breathe."

"Sunflower."

"Rainbow."

"Three the right."

"RUN!"

"Four fifty."

"RUN!"

"Rainbow."

"Three to the right."

"RUN!"

El rips the blindfold off her eyes in panic, her breathing heavy and uneven. As she is brought back to reality she looks up at her mother in her rocking chair. There are tears in her eyes and she is sadly uttering the same words.

"Run. Breathe. Sunflower. Rainbow. Three to the right. Four to the left."

El feels a pair of arms wrap gently around her and she can feel her own shaking, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly. She feels a hand grab hers and she knows it's Y/n. She squeezes her hand for comfort and Y/n gently runs her thumb over the back of her hand, showing her support.

No one says anything for a while, and apart from her mother's mumbling, she sits in silence embracing the support given to her as she tries to calm her racing heart.

||3rd Person POV||

"And it just kept repeating?" Becky asks.

The three had returned to the kitchen, Becky and El sitting across one another while Y/n stood leaning against the counter behind El, a glass of water in hand. El frowned at the foreign word.

"Repeat?"

"Like a circle?" Becky answered. "Just showing you the same image over and over?"

El thought bout this, and her eyes glanced in Y/n's direction without moving her head.

"She kept showing the woman, and the girl in the room."

"The rainbow room?"

El nodded, flinching ever so slightly at the invasion of a flashback. A memory that wasn't hers, trapped in her mind.

Becky thought about this, her fingers drummed lightly against the back of her hand lost in thought. She shrugged, her hand waving slightly before falling back onto the table.

"I guess that makes sense, Terry always believed you weren't the only..." Becky trailed off, her eyes fixed on the other young girl in her kitchen.

Y/n had her eyes fixed on the tile floor, her glass of water she had been refilling from the kitchen sink gripped tightly in hand though it hung lazily against her chest. She seemed to be lost in thought, though she must have only been listening. Her e/c eyes left the floor when she noticed Becky had stopped talking and she looked between her and El, curiously as if she had missed something.

But then she noted that Becky's eyes bad fallen to her glass and Y/n's eyes followed. The water had begun to bubble only slightly, but it was all too visible through the crystal glass. Y/n's eyes widened, quickly she set the cup down on the counter and the bubbles disappeared within seconds. She cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the attention and her eyes fell to the floor once more. Save for a few glances at Becky, who eyed her curiously.

Becky spoke finally, in response to El, although her eyes were still drawn to Y/n.

"The woman she kept showing you, what did she look like?"

In the time between El departure from her mother's mind, and their current discussion at the table, El had briefly filled them in on each image she was shown to the best of her ability. And while they had gotten the picture, it was still out of focus, details were fuzzy and hard to identify.

That was, until now.

El thought about the question, she had only seen it played out normally once, and the woman was at a great distance. But this didn't stop her from trying. She spoke slowly with a frown on her face as she reached farther and farther into her memory.

"She was pretty." She began, smiling sadly. "She had [h/l] [h/t] [h/c] hair. And [s/c] skin. She was [y/h]."

El met her aunt's gaze and nodded, confirming her suspicions.

"I think..." she turned to her best friend, who watched with teary eyes. "It was your mom."

"My- My mom, she showed you my mom?"

El nodded sadly. Y/n looked between Becky and El shifted on her feet, wringing her hands nervously.

"So, my mom, she's...?" Y/n took a deep breath and attempted to swallow the lump in her throat.

El nodded, and for a moment studied the body language of her friend. El didn't quite have a read on body language, but she knew enough to know her best friend was in great distress. Tentatively, she reached out her arm over the back of the wooden chair and extended her hand, offering what Y/n had offered her countless times in their friendship. Support and understanding.

Y/n graciously took her hand and sniffled. Though it proved fruitless and she stepped forward, and grabbed a napkin from the center of the table and blew her nose before sitting down between Becky and El. She wiped her nose and looked to El.

"Why did they take her? Why did they, you know... What did she do?"

El's gaze fell to the table and she thought about it.

"I'm not sure. She said Mama could still make it. That she knew where to go."

Becky sighed, capturing the two girls' attention and she planted her face in her hands. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and swept her hands across her face before addressing Y/n and El.

"You two have to realize, I only did what I thought was best for Terry. I really thought all those things, that happened to her, that it had affected her. That's why I didn't believe her."

They looked at her curiously, having already understood this. She anxiously met their eye before looking away again.

"But another thing she told me, something she insisted before she," Becky faltered, and gestured to her sister in the other room. "Terry thought she could have gotten you out. Terry thought she could have gotten you out because someone else did."

"For the longest time, she was telling me about [y/m/n]. I didn't really believe her, but according to her another woman had a baby," Becky paused, looking at Y/n briefly who was listening intently. "A special baby. Like you, El. And they wanted her, but according to Terry, and I guess, what you saw, she really did get her baby out."

Something clicked in Y/n's mind, and she focused carefully on the intricate patterns of the wooden table as her mind brought the pieces into place.

"I was found." She muttered.

El and Becky shared a look before returning their attention to her.

"My mom and Dustin - my brother, he was no bigger than I was at the time," she added last minute to Becky. "was in town, visiting family. And mom said they found me."

She shook her head and scoffed lightly in disbelief. Tears streaming freely down her S/C cheeks.

"On a walk. She said she stepped out to get some air, and she heard me crying... the neighborhood, I guess, was on the edge of the woods or something," Y/n blubbered, she wiped her nose with her napkin once more and took several deep breaths. "All I had was a thin blanket, I hadn't even been properly cleaned. Mom always said it was a miracle I didn't freeze to death out there,"

El tilted her head, clearly confused. "Miracle?"

"A very very good thing that isn't usual, or expected."

Becky explained.

"Anyway," Y/n sniffled, cracking the smallest of smiles. "I guess that answers that question, I kept myself warm."

A weak chuckle escaped her and El smiled weakly. Becky didn't understand but Y/n quickly explained.

"It wasn't until last year I found out I had... powers."

After all this time, Y/n still felt a little silly saying it. It didn't help that she almost never spoke it aloud but she guess in this instance she could.

"To be perfectly honest I'm still finding things I didn't know I could do."

"That doesn't really surprise me," Becky piped. "Then again, it's getting kinda hard to surprise me at the moment. Terry went on about you a lot. She said they were after [y/m/n]'s daughter because she- you were supposed to have-"

Becky stopped, the same words from last year popping back into her mind. The same words she told that Byers woman and the chief.

"Supposedly had some 'untapped potential for the greater good.' Some real pseudoscience shit."

She bit her lip before she could say the words and Y/n's frown hardened. She leaned forward, urgently.

"What?"

Becky looked at the kid before her, her eyes were pleading and she already felt guilty. But she also couldn't dump such a heavy load on a child, especially after she had learned what she just learned.

Becky sighed and looked at the girl.

"Potential. Apparently, whoever was after you had plenty of reasons to believe that you can do a whole lot more than boil some water. Let's just leave it at that."

She said, gesturing with her eyes to the forgotten glass of water sitting on the counter. Y/n gave her an incredulous look.

"What do you-? That can't be right. I mean, sure my mom must have been, well you know experimented on when she was pregnant with me, but I didn't grow up in a lab like El. I wasn't trained, or-"

She stopped, choosing her words carefully.

"I never learned how to use my powers. How could I have any more potential than El?"

Becky shrugged her shoulders and looked between the girls.

"I really don't know sweetie, to be honest, I'm still getting used to the fact that all this stuff is real."

A defeated sigh escaped her chest and her chin came to rest on her hand, propped up by her arms resting on the surface of the coffee table. There was a brief silence apart from the mumbles of the television and El allowed herself to dwell on the loop of borrowed memories playing over in her head.

"The girl," She reminds, tentative. "She also kept showing me the girl."

Y/n turned to her, quizzically, the gears turning in her head.

"What about her, El?"

"I think Mama wants us to find her."

A frown found it's way onto Y/n's face but she allowed her friend the benefit of the doubt. She was unsure about all of this, but unlike El's aunt, she was still in the process of swallowing all of this new information herself. The girl looked at Becky and she nodded in thought, before rising from the table. El and Y/n followed curiously as she led them into the next room, the small office space adjoining the living room. Becky bent over and pulled open a drawer from a steel filing cabinet, it was filled with several manilla folders.

"When Terry was looking for you," Becky began, her fingers riffling through the dozens of file folders. "She kept these files of other missing kids. Kids she thought were like you."

Without glancing back at them, Becky grabbed a small handful of files and dropped on the floor near Y/n and El's feet while she kept searching. Immediately, the pair of friends knelt down to the ground and began pouring over the folders.

"Maybe that girl is in here somewhere." Becky finished, grabbing the last of the folders before joining the girls on the carpet.

Y/n and El had each taken a folder, and anytime Y/n had happened across a photo she would show to El. But she would only shake her head. Y/n did keep an eye put for any possible leads as to her possible birth mother. She had a first name and a description. But that something. And something she could certainly keep an eye out for.

"Does anyone look familiar?" Becky asked hopefully.

She was met with silence as El continued to riffle through her folder. El had nearly reached the end when she unexpectedly froze, grabbing the attention of the other two in her company. Before either her friend or her aunt could attempt to sneak a glimpse of the photo, El grabbed the photocopy and closed the folder. It was another newspaper article, featuring a photo of a very young girl with braids. The caption read, "VANISHED! Indian Girl Missing in London".

"Is that her?" Becky asked softly.

El looked up, her heart racing, and nodded.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

El found herself in the void for the third time that day. Her toes sinking into the imaginary water, and she was greeted by the usual chill. Like a visible mantra, she repeats the image of the girl her mother had shown her, not the picture she held in her hands. The girl in the rainbow room, the girl playing with blocks, and before she knows it El can hear a small crackling behind her.

She turns and much to her relief, her hopeful heart spiking, she sees a figure standing in the distance. The figure had their back turned to El and they were standing over a large metal barrel with fire bubbling over the top. It was a very strange sight to El, but in a way, it was quite rewarding. El had finally found some luck, this being the first sign of the girl she had found since her first attempt.

After finding the article, she had set out to search for the girl with no such luck. Night had fallen by now and Y/n had thanked her past self for packing an extra set of clothes. Y/n was wary of staying the night but ultimately agreed they needed more information. Becky was more than accommodating, she had pulled out a futon for the girls to share where they now lay. Few words were exchanged, given the tremendous load, the friends had been through. Though they still managed to crack a smile when El had learned from Y/n what the term sleepover meant.

"Thanks for bringing me along El," Y/n mumbled, wrapped under their shared blanket, head sinking into her pillow.

El had turned her head to look at her friend and nodded simply. Between themselves, Y/n was slightly better at holding a conversation, but it was nice. Y/n never pressured her to talk.

"I'm sorry it wasn't under better circumstances, but, at least we get to have our first sleepover," she whispered sleepily.

Y/n quickly noted the confusion on her friend's face, and smiled weakly, fighting the weight of her heavy eyelids.

"A sleepover is something best friends do. Stay at each other's houses, usually, they watch a movie or play a game or something but, "Y/n trailed off, a yawn escaping her. "Well, you know. But you get to talk after dark, and even see each other in the morning. The point is, it's nice that we get to spend some time together."

El found herself smiling at the words and her spirits perked for the first time since their arrival. It gave El a spark of hope. Hope that, when all of this was figured out, and everything had smoothed over. That maybe she could have a normal life. A normal life with her aunt and she could have a real chance at seeing Mike, and having sleepovers with Y/n, and playing outside and just being a kid. But that was on the back burner. She needed to find this girl, she had done what she had set out to do, she found her mother and she couldn't help but feel like her mother was telling her something. To seek out this girl.

And that's just what she had to do.

It wasn't long until Y/n had turned over on her side, mumbling a soft goodnight before she was fast asleep. But El was still wide awake. Her mother's memories were still plaguing her and she felt restless. El picked up the picture of the girl from the newspaper, she had kept it in her pocket and she decided to herself that another attempt wouldn't hurt.

So here she was, creeping cautiously towards her fate with bated breath. Guardedly, she calls out to figure, smoke flocking into the air from where the makeshift firepit stands before it.

"Hello?"

She approaches the figure and as she gets closer and closer her suspicions are quickly confirmed when she recognizes the figure. The girl, as she was in her mother's memories, she was a few years older than herself. And she was dressed in dark shabby clothing, and her hair looks, purple? El isn't sure, but her heart is hammering much too hard in her chest to worry and before she has time to glance at her face she is gasping for breathing, back in reality.

Excitedly, she turns to Y/n, but she is lost in sleep and she allows her friend a few more minutes. Like herself, she had been through a great deal and it seemed to have taken a toll on her. But she would tell her aunt. She practically jumps from the mattress, and bursts into the hallway, running for stairs. Fighting the urge to shout, she calls out to her aunt when she reaches the top of the stairs.

"Becky! Becky, I found her!"

When she reaches the kitchen, she looks around excitedly for the woman, surely she would know what to do next. Only seconds pass until she tubes into her aunt's voice carrying from the other room.

"I just-- I didn't know who to call."

El steps further into the kitchen, her head peeking around the corner to find her aunt Becky, phone to her ear. She was talking anxiously into the phone as she paced across her back porch, the door ajar as she glanced at a slip of paper.

"He gave me this number, and he came here looking for her. I thought maybe he could help me."

El felt a sick feeling bubble up in her stomach, and a dark and heavy weight settle onto her heart as she watched the all too familiar exchange. It reminded her of the nice man that took her in when she first escaped. But she desperately attempts to put that memory from her mind.

"Yeah, Jim Hopper, he came here with some woman named Joyce Byers?"

El watches disgusted and hurt as her only remaining family turns her in. Their own private conversation from before plays mockingly over in her head. Of when she was invited to stay. In the lovely, and comforting room that was supposed to be hers. And although her mom wasn't the same, she could still be with her. And just as soon as it had come, the dream life she had conjured for herself just minutes ago, evaporated into thin air. A normal life with no rules, where she could go outside, or at the very least, look out of a single window.

Visits with Mike, sleepovers with Y/n. A normal life. Gone. Just like that.

"Well," sighed Becky, her figure temporarily stepping out of view. "that's a little hard to explain. Uh..."

El shifted uneasily, the dark sludge in her stomach only multiplying in volume at what Becky mentioned next.

"There's another girl, two actually, uh, she came here with a friend of hers? I don't know much, but it sounds like the kid comes from the same side of the tracks as the other but as far as I know, she's got a family. Said she was adopted... No, I did not, I did not catch a last name but she goes by Y/n. Look, I don't if she's a runaway, or what, but she showed up at my doorstep with the other and I just put them to bed... No, mam, it's just those two, but I think another one is missing. I just, I just didn't know who to call... Thank you, thank you. And you are?"

"Florence," Becky repeated, though she paused when she heard the distant sound of the front door opening.

"I'm gonna have to call you back." She mumbled nervously into the phone, though she is already steadily on her way to the kitchen counter.

Discarding the phone and the slip of paper, she looks on in disbelief as she finds the contents of her purse spilling out across the counter. And in the center, wide open and empty, her leather wallet.

Picking up her speed she races through the front room and towards the front door, it remains wide open and the cold autumn wind seeping in hits her like the brisk reality she faces.

And like the dreams El had conjured, the girls were gone as easily as they came.

+++

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[onedirectionfanfics]

Love Always, Harry by @gucciwoodnymph​

Holmes Chapel, 1985 - Best friends since childhood, you and Harry have grown up to lead lives on opposite ends of the spectrum. He travels the world as a journalist for Rolling Stone. You’re stuck in your hometown, waitressing at a diner. You and Harry keep in touch through letters and postcards until the day he returns home and flips your world upside-down. 

This month’s featured story, Love Always, Harry, takes us back to the 80s when we raid record stores with our best friends and send letters to each other as we travel! This fic tells a beautiful love story that blossoms between two best friends who are so different, yet similar in many aspects. Read below to learn more about it from our interview with the lovely author!

***

How long have you been writing for?

I had always been coming up with little stories in my head, but the first time I actually wrote a story down was when I was ten years old. My class had just finished reading Old Yeller and I was really upset about the ending, so I wrote my own version of the story where the wolf bite ends up giving Yeller superpowers instead of rabies, and Yeller uses those powers to fight crime in the town (very highbrow stuff). I haven’t stopped writing since then!

Do you have certain habits or rituals you have to do while writing?

So before I start writing, I have to clean my room or whatever area I’m in. I tend to talk aloud to myself and pace around a lot if I’m trying to work through any snarls in the fic so I need plenty of clean space for that. The first things I pull up on my laptop when I’m starting out are my fic outline and thesaurus.com. I read through the outline a few times to smooth over the scene and get a clear picture of it in my head. Also, I turn into a bit of a hermit when I’m really ready to write. I have to be alone and I need complete silence because I have a goldfish’s attention span and get sidetracked very easily.

The ever famous question: how did you come up with this idea?

I really like the whole “opposites attract” trope and I think showing that dynamic within a close friendship is really interesting because (most) friendships have a stronger, more enduring bond than (most) romantic relationships. So I knew I wanted the story to revolve around two best friends – one who is really confident and more of a free-spirit, and the other who is very reserved and a bit cautious – who fall in love. I also wanted the characters to write letters to each other because I just love the idea of them. I think it’s so sweet when someone takes time to sit down and write out a letter; it adds a nice personal touch.

When does a story go from an idea in your mind to paper? Is there a process you go through before writing it out, or do you just get straight in it?

Some of my writer friends can just dive in and write absolutely beautiful pieces without planning and it makes me so jealous because for me, it takes a loooong time for an idea to go from my mind to paper. I usually have a few different AUs brewing at a time, and I cycle through them until one idea starts to branch off on its own and grow into a Thing that takes up 95% of my daydream capacity. Once I’ve decided on the basic story, I write everything out in an extremely detailed outline that describes the characters and their personalities, and breaks the story down into parts, what events happen in each part, etc.

Your fic is set in the late 1980’s, was there a specific reason for it?

When I decided I wanted to write a fic based around the idea of sending letters, I knew I would have to set it in an earlier decade. It wouldn’t have been realistic to set it in 2019 and have Harry and MC send letters back and forth when they could easily text, call, FaceTime, or stay in touch through social media.

I chose the 80s on a whim. I really love the aesthetic of that era, and after I had an 80s movie marathon I could see Harry fitting perfectly in that time with his cuffed jeans, and Vans, and high-waisted pants.

As a young adult in 2019, how did you find writing a story set in a different time period?

I had a TON of fun writing it, but it involved significantly more research than a fic set in present day. I had to do a lot of research for the little things that make an appearance in the story and make sure that they were actually around in 1985/1986 (i.e., the books on Harry’s nightstand in his room, the candy Harry and MC share when they’re smoking, the VHS tapes, the magazine that the MC interviews for).

I also had to be cognizant of not overdoing the pop culture references in that time. Sometimes after reading over first drafts of the installments, I would find sentences that essentially sounded like, “MC threw on her neon leg warmers before she grabbed her Walkman and listened to a mixtape.” So I edited a lot more to have a balance where I could create an 80s atmosphere, but avoid making it sound contrived.

What made you want to write about a girl who sacrificed the things she loved for a secure future? Is this something you’ve ever had to do?

I wanted to write about it because it’s a trend I see so frequently among my friends and my age group. One of my friends is such a talented artist, but she gave that up to study engineering (which she hates); another one of my friends decided not to pursue his passion for music and instead go to pharmacy school (which he hates), solely because it provides a secure future. I think I had to do it to a lesser degree – I wanted a job that involved lots of reading and writing, and I’m pursuing law which has a ton of that but it’s not the publishing or journalism career I had in mind when I was in high school.

Harry and Y/N have a very special bond. Without Harry, would Y/N have married a controlling man like William?

No, she wouldn’t have. I think eventually she would have realized how stifled she was and how she wouldn’t be happy with someone like her fiance. Harry just expedited that realization for her. Without him, she might have called off the wedding five minutes before she was going to walk down the aisle as opposed to months before, but she would never have actually married William.

Y/N’s self-discovery and growth can all be credited to her (for pursuing her dreams and aspirations) but her decision was heavily influenced by Harry. Would a woman like Y/N have gotten to this position without someone like Harry in her life?

Everyone has someone in their life who pushes them to be the best version of themselves, who calls them out whenever they’re falling short of their potential, and essentially tries to get them into gear whether that’s a friend, family member, mentor, or whoever. In the MC’s case, that someone for her is Harry. Without Harry in her life, I think the MC would still have gotten to her position because she has that drive and desire to do so, but it certainly would have taken her a longer time.

There are a lot of artists and bands from the 80s being referenced in this fic, did you have to do research for it or is old music something you have an interest in?

I really love 70s and 80s music because it reminds me of the stuff my parents used to play while I was growing up, but I did still have to do a lot of research for this fic to make sure it was historically accurate. For example, in Part I the MC gets a letter from Harry dated December 7, 1984. I originally wanted Harry to tell her about how he was reviewing a Fleetwood Mac show, but it turns out FM didn’t tour at all in 1984. So a lot of the time I had to research to make sure the dates, the locations, the artists, and the events all matched up with what actually happened.

I also looked up the actual Rolling Stone UK covers from the 80s to see which artists were featured and what year they were featured in to see if it could fit into the storyline. The actual RS archives are available online for a fee and only for the US editions, so I ended up combing through really obscure websites to find the UK versions, and spent hours on that just for the information to feature in like, one or two lines of the fic.

You wrote a very inspirational and powerful piece about self-growth and knowing your worth, did you hope to influence anyone with it?

Honestly, I treat writing as a form of therapy so when I started writing this fic, my intent was just to vent out my own feelings of inadequacy or frustration, and my fear of failure. When I started this, I wrote the characters to mirror the two “voices” I always have in my mind. The MC is the irrational half of me who’s afraid to even attempt new things out of fear of failing and Harry is the more rational half saying I’ll never get anywhere if I don’t at least try. So not to sound like a narcissist, but I think I mainly hoped to influence myself to grow as a person.

That being said, I have received a few messages from readers about how this fic has influenced them to grow, or recognize their self-worth, or make a change in their lives and it absolutely blows me away that anything I’ve written can do that. I cannot explain how honored I am to have played an iota of a role in helping someone decide to improve their lives. It’s been absolutely the most rewarding facet of sharing my writing.

Anything you’d like to say to anyone who read your fic?

Thank you very much for reading my writing! And thank you for taking the time to send in your comments, questions, rants, and key smashes. It really means more than I can ever articulate, that I’m able to share my writing and have such an amazing response from readers. Thank you a million times.

***

Thank you Tans for the wonderful interview! Check out more of her writing here! 

***If you would like to send in recommendations for next months featured story, please do so here.

[ashthatdrmmrgrl]

ANSWER ALL THEM YOU BITCH👩‍💻🤪

Ooh she's getting fiesty 😈😂 here you are, love ❤

1. What is your preferred place to write?

Laptop/computer, but since I dont have either anymore, my phone is my go to

2. When did you start writing?

I think it was 8th grade offically; my english teacher got me into reading and writing so that was the 2013/2014 school year I think

3. Favourite thing to write?

Idk, I like writing gay smut if that counts for something 🤷‍♀️

4. Fluff or angst?

I'm good at writing fluff but I love reading angsty stuff

6. Where do you usually find inspiration?

Ideas come to me in dreams, otherwise if I'm watching a movie/TV, listening to music, or just seeing something during the day will spark something.

7. Do you listen to music to help you write?

Yes! I would get soooo distracted if I didn't; that way I dont hear anything outside my head and I can focus on my writing (I'm listening to music now as I'm answering these too actually 😂)

8. What's the biggest "challenge" for you as a writer?

Finding time to write at all; I've got so many ideas bopping around in my head but life gets in the way 😭😭

9. Where do you usually go to write?

My room usually; it gives me privacy and a lot less distractions than my living room or outside the house.

10. Can you give us a sneak peek at your current WIP?

Yes!! I love this scene so much so you get to read it again;

My phone buzzed in my hands and I look down to see Sofia's face smiling at me. I pause my music and pull my earbuds out. 

"The Kid's calling," I say aloud before answering. "Hey, Fi!" 

"Hey yourself, is Steve available? I've got history questions that I need help with and he's not answering his phone."

I roll my eyes but put the phone on speaker. "Steve, Fi needs help with her homework."

"What's up, kiddo?" Steve asks, keeping his eyes on the road. 

"Stupid history homework; about the Commandos and I thought, 'what better way to finish this then get it straight from the source, old man," Sofia says. Sam lets out a small laugh and Bucky shifts awkwardly beside me. 

"Alright, shoot," Steve says with a shake of his head. 

"Original 7 members? I only know 3 of them off hand," Sofia starts.

"Easy, Me, Buck, Dum Dum, Morita, Jones, Monty, and Frenchy," Steve says casually. There's a pause before Sofia's sigh echoes through the car. 

"I don't think my teacher would appreciate it if I put their names in as if we were best friends," Sofia says offhandedly.

Steve cleats his throat awkwardly. "Right. Uh, Steve Rogers, James Barnes, Timothy Dugan, Jim Morita, Gabriel Jones, James Montgomery Falsworth, and Jacques Dernier," Steve reiterates after Sofia's let's out little "uh huhs."

"Why were the Howling Commandos formed?" Sofia asks next. 

"To eliminate and wipe HYDRA bases off the map; although it seems we weren't very successful," Steve says with a frown and I see his eyes flash towards the rear view mirror, to look at Bucky, I'm assuming.

"Who did the Commandos capture during a raid in the Alps?" 

"Arnim Zola." 

There was a pause and I couldn't help but look over at Bucky who almost looked startled that he had spoken.

"Who was that?" Sofia asks a moment later. 

"Oh, uh, Sofia, that was Bucky," I say, my voice cracking at his name. Sofia stays quiet. I check my phone and see the phone was still connected. 

"Bucky?" Sofia asks, sounding doubtful.  "As in Stevie's Bucky?" 

I feel Bucky almost stiffen in surprise next to me. "Yeah, that would be him," I confirm. 

Sofia stays quiet for a few beats again before clearing her throat. "Right, well when do you think you guys are gonna be home? I hate all of this cooking I've gotta do now that you guys are gone, not that either of you were chef's," Sofia complains. 

"I'm not sure, kiddo," Steve chirps from in front of me. I lean my elbows onto the front seat and rest my head near his shoulder. "We've got something really important to take care of." 

"Okay, well stay safe, and don't do anything stupid; Sam, keep them in line," Sofia says with a laugh.

"Will do, Half Pint," Sam promises.

"Well, I'll talk to you guys later. And it was nice to meet you Bucky," she says. 

Bucky doesn't respond, but the rest of us say goodbye before I hang up. 

"Thanks, Steve," I say, clapping my hands over Steve's shoulders. 

"Anytime; I don't mind helping the kid out," Steve says. 

I ruffle Steve's hair before leaning back and laughing. Bucky was looking between Steve and I with confusion written all over his face.

"So the kid?" Bucky asks, his eyes resting on Steve for a moment before looking at me.

"Yeah, she's great," Steve says excitedly and flashes Bucky a smile. 

"She's my sister," I say and look down to see Sofia had texted me. 

I forgot to ask while on the phone but could you ask Steve if I can look through some of his stuff that the museum let him have back?

"Hey Steve, can she look through the stuff the Smithsonian gave back to you? She didn't say what for though," I ask. 

"Yeah, no problem, tell her I've got stuff in the chest at the end of the bed."

"Cool cool, thanks," I say and pass the information onto Sofia. 

"Not a problem," Steve says as he takes the off ramp and turns left. "Sharon's just up here," he points out a black car that was pulled over under the bridge. 

Steve pulls over and ducks out of the car and greets Sharon with a smile. 

Bucky sits up and looks out the front window, eyes flickering across the background, scanning the surrounding area. Bucky's knees hit the back of Sam's seat and he glares at the back of Sam's head. 

"Can you move your seat up?" He asks for probably the 100th time this trip, sounding bored.

"No," Sam replies once again. 

I roll my eyes and squish myself against the window. "Scoot over here more," I offer, pointing towards the leg room that I've got behind Steve's seat. 

"Thanks," Bucky mumbles and scoots over so his arm is pressed against mine. It was quiet while we watched Steve and Sharon talk as she popped her trunk. "So," Bucky starts quietly, trying to exclude Sam from the conversation. "How long have you and Steve been together?" 

Sam, of course, hears and snorts out a laugh, having to hold onto the door for support. 

I felt my face flush and I reach over the seat to smack Sam across the side of his head. "Shut up, bird brain. Steve and I aren't together though," I say, turning to look at Bucky who looked embarrassed. 

"Sorry, I just assumed…" Bucky apologizes. 

"Nah, it's okay, everyone apparently thinks the same thing," I say with a shrug. "Steve's like a brother to me. Plus right now he's not swinging this way."

Bucky's eyebrows shoot up as he looks at me with wide eyes. "So like, he's..?"

"Gay? Yeah, basically. He still likes women, but he's actually with my brother, Graham," I say, pulling up a picture of Graham, Steve, Sofia, and I on my phone. Tony insisted on us having more family pictures even though we were the least conventional family on the planet.

"So being… a homosexual," Bucky says, almost sounding like the term was weird coming off his tongue. "That's openly okay now? I don't mind, but the 30s really pressed people down, so I didn't think Steve… at least I think, from what I remember," Bucky trails off and looks out to see Steve giving Sharon a hug before grabbing the gear from the trunk. 

"He was hard on himself at first," I say, remembering how weird Steve would act whenever Graham would say something to try and test the waters. "I think knowing and befriending Graham really helped him a lot, seeing that it's not a mental illness, that you wouldn't be imprisoned or institutionalized for it."

Bucky still looks at Steve, but there was a small smile crooked at the corner of his mouth and his eyes seemed fond. 

"I'm happy for him," is all Bucky says in reply.  

"So am I," I say, patting Bucky's forearm with my hand. "So am I." 

11. How many stories have you written so far?

Well I've only ever completed 1, (excluding oneshots) but I've got... at leave 7 going, a few that I've discontinued, and a shit ton of ideas that haven't been written yet 😂

12. What's your favourite thing that you ever wrote?

Well I'm honestly so proud of my Beauty and the Beast Lashton fanfic that I wrote and the only one I've ever finished. But I'm also sooo proud of 2 WIPs that I'm writing with the lovely asker

13. How many chapters does your longest series have?

I dont have any series yet, but my longest fic has like 200,000 words and no distinctive chapters yet (writing specific scenes then gluing them together)

14. What's your favourite character/person to write for?

I only really write Lashton or Stucky but I'm my cowritten books I have an OC be with Ashton Irwin and Bucky Barnes because DAMN they are kweens

15. "OCs" or "Reader" inserts?

I personally like writing OCs but I've been getting into readers lately

16. Can you tell us anything about your current WIP?

I suppose, but asker already knows since she's helping me write it 😂 it's a Marvel fic about these two girls and their brother who lose their parents in the Battle of New York in 2012. Brother is working for Stark Industries already when Steve asks my OC to join the Avengers but my OC and her brother keep that a secret from their younger sister (my friends OC). That's enough for now tho 😘

17. How long was the longest fic you ever wrote?

Question 13 kinda answered this question but its 200,000ish and growing

18. What fandoms do you write for?

Marvel and 5sos mainly, but I used to do Supernatural back in like 2015/2016. I also dabble in Shadowhunter stuff too

19. What is/are your favourite fandom author/authors?

Well the asker is such an amazing writer I love her work, um, @Larry_Lashton on Wattpad is good, @moonstruckbucky and @sunmoonandbucky are phenomenal

20. Have you ever written an AU?

That's basically all I write; I've only got one original piece and not many are real to whatever reality.

21. What is your favourite AU trope?

I have a weakness for Professor Seb/Bucky and I love stucky (and StuckyxReaders) so if you know of any hmu 😉

22. A fanfiction trope you can't help but love?

ENEMIES TO LOVERS FUCK

23. For how long have you been a fandom writer?

Shortly after I started writing, so like 2015?

24. Have you ever had an idea for a story and forgot about it?

Absolutely! I usually loosely plot out the whole thing and try and hit the main points but by like... 1/4 or 1/2 way through depending on how long it is I'm like fuck I totally forgot I was going to add that (and by then it wouldn't make sense to add it in)

25. What do you do to motivate yourself to write?

Listen to music, but I also read what I've got to help myself get back into the flow of the story.

26. How did you find out you like to write?

Like I said it was 8th grade and my english teacher showed me this new side of reading that I didnt know about and then I was like fuck I can do this too!

27. Are there any writers (fanfiction writers or not) that have inspired you to start writing?

Well I used to only read the Twilight series, but then I read Cassandra Clare's books, and the it sorta branched out from there, so Stephanie Meyer and Cassandra Clare are who you should thank for that 😂

28. What's your favourite fandom to write for?

Does Stucky count as it's own fandom? Because that ship sails itself man #ExceptEndgame #FuckingSucked

29. Describe your style in three words.

Um... smutty... gay.... fluffy?

30. What would you say is the most "famous" fic you've ever written?

Well I've got one on Wattpad with almost 20k but it's a continuation of a story that has like 300k, otherwise most of my other ones on there have 4k actually.

31. Blurbs or drabbles?

Both are great, dudes 🤷‍♀️

32. Have you ever written smut?

33. How long does it usually take you to write?

Used to be I could get like 20 chapters (decently long ones too) in about 8 months but now I'm not really posting anything and I'm slowly working on a current WIP

34. What's your favourite font to use when writing?

Ariel, size 11, 1.15 line spacing. Veranda is a nice font too though

35. What do you prefer to write: longer or shorter fics?

I like long ones man; but I either write forever long ones or oneshots 😂

36. How do you keep yourself inspired? Seeing new things, listening to new music. Sleeping?

37. Have you ever written something you didn't like but posted it anyway?

I don't think so. I mean I've posted stuff that I wasn't excited about, but I don't think I've ever hated anything I've written

38. What's your "strong suit" as a writer?

My OCD with punctuation and formatting?

39. What's your favourite trope?

Friends who are oblivious to the other persons feelings so they dont ever make a move until they're drunk 🤷‍♀️ *40s Stucky bonus*

40. How many likes does your fics usually get?

300 for 4k reads on Wattpad

41. Have you ever used a prompt?

Absolutely! Sometimes you just need a little help and there ain't nothing wrong with that!

42. What is your weakness as a writer?

I am obsessed with the small details that nobody cares about (especially height comparisons) but I think that comes from my artistical side.

43. Have you ever cried or felt any emotion while reading something you wrote?

Oh absolutely, all the fucking time!

44. Have you ever done a collab with another writer?

Yes! Only 1 other writer who is also the asker 😘😘

45. One thing you love about fanfiction?

I think it's an amazing thing to write because people already have deep connections with the characters so you dont have to waste the first part telling their story (unless it's an AU, but even then it's totally okay to just jump right into it!)

46. What's your favourite emotion to cause your readers?

I definitely enjoy leaving them on the edge of their seats, but I also love writing fluffy scenes that make peoples hearts flutter

47. What's your favourite thing about writing?

The creativity and ability to create a reality! There's endless possibilities and that's so fascinating and amazing to me

48. Do you post your writing on other platforms? I only post on Wattpad, but I have thought about posting things on tumblr too! Thoughts?

49. What app/apps do you use to write?

Either google docs or just in Wattpad itself

50. One thing you don't like about fanfiction?

Some people get the characters totally wrong personality wise and that sorta bugs me when reading because I get confused

51. Least favourite trope?

Coffee shop AUs are a little boring unless somebody brings something new to the table (like one of them is a vampire or witch or single parent instead of just like OH this barista/customer is cute). But if I come across a coffee shop AU I'm not going to NOT read it, you know?

52. Favourite words to use when writing?

No? I mean I know everyone's writing is different and unique to the person but I don't think I have any favourites.

53. Least favourite words?

When writing straight smut I get uncomfortable with certain words people use to describe the female anatomy other then that no 🤷‍♀️

54. Do you usually like what you write?

Yeah! And if I don't, I'll change it until I like it before posting it 😂

thank you @scaryaryanna for the lovely ask and thank you to anybody who stuck around to read everything ❤❤❤❤❤

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter eleven - part one (the bennett sisters)

a/n: I got an alert from southern california edison saying we could undergo a third power outage on Monday--I guess this upcoming windstorm is supposed to be pretty bad this time around, but at the same time, it’s incredibly vague because there’s no red flag warning where I live so who knows. But I also low-key had a feeling this’d be the case, too, like they’d dick us around a couple of times before the real trouble hits--but if there is, enjoy this chapter for the time being. It’s extra long, too, and so I decided to split it in half.

Maya is firmly upon my mind as I’m getting dressed and slipping my boots onto my feet before heading out for the day. Apparently it had snowed little flurries last night and there are more coming for tonight; after Spence called me, I wanted to have a move on out of Oswego and over to Rochester to meet these two girls he had told me about last night. I make a mental note to ask him their names again, but then again, they might tell me their names as soon as we step through the door.

I know it’s cold so I’ve got my good gloves on and my scarf wrapped around my neck and tucked underneath the lapels of my coat. I am still in disbelief that she cleaned the place from top to bottom, even with all that time on her hands. The cleaning lady Anthrax had in the Bahamas couldn’t even get it that well in more than that time. And now she’s probably helping Barney and Billy keep the House of Grey clean in the most down to the ground way possible. All I can do now is have a good time for a good time.

I lock the door behind me, and the I head out into the snow and the gray. It’s definitely upon me, that icy feeling hanging down from the gray sky. My hope is that Spence and I find something to eat for ourselves, if not in Rochester on the way there: I am absolutely starving at the moment.

And I still haven’t found my pocket knife. Damn it.

I’ve got my head bowed and my hands stuffed in my pockets even with the gloves on. Spence is once again posted up at the curb awaiting me: I round the front end of the car and throw open the passenger door, and then I collapse into the seat next to him. I groan from the intense cold on my face before giving a toss of my hair to keep it back from my face in the wake of the wind.

“Cold?” he asks me once I yank the door closed behind me.

“Could use a cup of Joey,” I retort back to him, pulling the seat belt across the my chest.

“Cup of Joey and a dispensing of Spence?”

“I dunno about that last bit,” I confess with a shrug.

“Oh, come on,” he teases me.

“Alright, fine,” I admit with an exasperated sigh. “A cup of Joey, a dispensing of Spence, and a little bit of--what’d you say their names were again?”

“Marcia and Sonia?”

“Marcia and Sonia, that was it!”

He tugs on the parking lever and we roll forward, cautiously from the damp spots all over the pavement before us; we make the round of the complex back to the entrance, and before we pull out to the street, I peer out the window down the street. The House of Grey has a blanket of pure white snow on the rooftop, and the windows are dark but it’s still quite early: Barney and Billy probably aren’t even awake at the moment.

Spence drives us along the road winding out of Oswego, through the trees, and all along the edge of the lake, the vast sheet of inky black waters to the right of us. Even from here, the bit road right above the shoreline, I can tell the little path I like to take walks on is blanketed with snow.

At one point, the sun breaks out from behind the gray clouds and shines onto my face and my shoulders. That feeling, the one of the cold sun on my black hair and my olive skin, and the fact I’m surrounded by frigid, unforgiving lake effect snow is enough to make me feel alone. Even with Spence next to me in the driver’s seat, I feel like I’m walking this path into this new chapter of my life all alone, this new chapter without the band that had welcomed me with open arms four years ago, this new chapter that includes driving over to Rochester for a visit of these two girls at their upholstery shop.

I keep my arms folded over my stomach in hopes to keep it quiet. So hungry...

It’s a bit of a drive over to Rochester, too, through all these trees and without any place to stop. This is going to suck so much; and I usually like this drive, too, because it’s only a little more than an hour away. I keep telling myself that it’s only an hour, but it eats away at me. I have to remember to eat something before I leave the next time I plan on going anywhere because this will kill me if I don’t.

“You know,” he tells me at one point, “I’ve got some Good and Plenties in the glove compartment if you’re hungry.” It’s that moment I start missing that box of Mike n Ikes back at my place: I shake my head when I remember the trembling sensations and the fact I passed out at Black Orchid.

I have my hands stuffed right into my pockets and I have the lining pressed against my stomach. As long as it doesn’t ache and drive me up the wall, I think I’ll be alright.

In fact, once we’re ten miles out from the bridge over the inlet of pitch dark cold waters, the feeling subsides and I relax a bit. I don’t even feel it once we do reach that bend in the road.

But it returns with a vengeance once we start seeing signs for restaurants and whatnot. I knit my knees together and bow my head.

“It’s alright, man, we’re almost there,” Spence assures me. I squirm in my seat: now it’s starting to hurt me. He takes the first exit from the bridge onto the bustling side streets of the other big city I know about. It hurts me so much that I pay no attention to his pulling up to the curb of wherever we’re headed; the one time I do lift my head is when we pass the street cleaner because even from down the block I can hear its gears turning and the steam inside making those whistling noises. I bring my head back down once we pass it.

Within time, he tugs on the parking brake and kills the engine.

I lift my head for a peek out the window at the two low brick buildings on the corner: I think we’re about three blocks from the heart of downtown because these seem like the kind of buildings that would lead up to the skyline. The one on the left has a big bay window with a sign reading “Smell the Magic — coming soon” in big hot pink letters, and next to that are glass double doors behind a sheet of plastic. Meanwhile, next door, I make out a sign reading “Sew Into You” in fancy black letters over a white background over the wide bright lit windows. Even from the passenger seat, I can make out all the stuff on their shelves.

“This must be the place?” I wonder aloud, clutching at my poor stomach. I want to know about the other place, though.

“The hell it is—come on.” Spence climbs out of the car first and I unbuckle the seat belt using one hand: I stagger out into chilly late morning right as the sun breaks free from behind the low hanging gray clouds once more. I close the door with my hip before I follow him into the building there on the right. He holds the door for me and I step inside first, my legs trembling at the knees all the while like a newborn horse.

To my left stand several shelves stacked with all manner of fabrics, from fine corduroy to the sexiest looking Chinese silk I have ever seen in my life. Next to those shelves are some spools of checkerboard fabric with so many color combinations to choose from that it makes my eyes hurt. Up on the wall is a quilt: in one corner is a big orange star with the names Ashley and Olivia sewn inside with royal blue embroidery; in another corner is a red glittering heart accompanied with a black rose. The quilt itself looks as though it was put together with scrap fabric. Meanwhile, to the right are even more shelves, including two long ones carrying spools of thread. 

This whole entire place is crammed full with sewing stuff: it’s the kind of place my aunt would have a field day in at any given whim.

“Spencer!” a woman’s voice calls from near the back of the room.

“Over here, Marsh!”

I turn my head to see two girls running through the main aisle towards us.

“Marcia—” He gestures to the one on the right skidding to a stop before us first. “—and Sonia.” Then to the one on the left right behind her.

I pressed my hands to my hips even though my knees continue to shake like crazy. I never would’ve guess they’re sisters: they’re almost like the Ridgeways back at Black Orchid in that they both could’ve come from two completely different parents but shared one. Marcia has a short little bob of black hair accentuated with a bright pink headband, and she’s a little bit full figured, probably from a love of baking which I totally get. Meanwhile Sonia has a head full of kinky brown ringlets down past her shoulders and she looks as though she likes to work out with her sinewy arms showing themselves to me from underneath her black shirt. And they’re both wearing black silk shirts with low necklines and black and white checkerboard miniskirts.

“The infamous Bennett sisters,” I declare.

“That’s us,” Marcia replies with a big beaming smile.

“You must be Joseph,” Sonia adds, imitating me and putting her hands on her hips.

“That’s Joey to you.”

[vinylackles]

sloths

word count: 2,750

requested by: anonymous

summary: you and sam finally get some quality time to yourselves, including matching pjs, movies and just straight fluff. all the fluff okay

all my works || request imagines here

“Hey Jack, they just called from the road. You should probably start getting rea-”

Your final word trailed off as Jack came jogging down the hallway, completely decked out from head to toe in Chicago Bulls gear. His newest obsession had become basketball (though he still watched Star Wars every night while you all slept), and he’d already bought himself enough memorabilia to clothe all three of you twice over. He’d begged and begged until Dean had agreed to take him to a Bulls game after all the hunts the five of you had been going on slowed down. Luckily Dean had landed another ticket and offered to take Cas with him. He was always pretty good about trying to give you and Sam some alone time, mostly because Sam got exceedingly more grumpy the longer you went without it. 

And so, true to his promise, Dean had called to let you know that they were a few minutes out from the bunker, and that it was going to be a quick turn around for them to get to the game. You, Jack and Cas had finished up your last hunt yesterday, while Sam and Dean finished theirs early that morning and drove all day to get home. 

Cas came down the hallway and you did a double take, very surprised to see him in a basketball jersey and jeans rather than his usual get up. The jeans were a bit tight on him, and you were sure they were from his time as a human, when he’d lost so much weight. The jersey was tight too, considering it was Jack’s size. 

“Does one typically tuck in a jersey, or leave it out? Dean told me that dress pants aren’t usual sports game attire,” Cas asked, fiddling with the bottom of the garment. The bunker door creaked open before you had a chance to answer. 

To your amazement, Dean was already in a Bulls jersey when he came up to the edge of the balcony, looking down over the three of you.

“Well, whose ready for some bball?!” Dean grinned, making you roll you eyes a bit. He was such a dork. 

“Bball?” You responded, quirking an eyebrow.

“Don’t be jealous just cause you’re stuck with Sam. Alright, c’mon, we gotta get rollin’ or we’ll miss tip off.” He threw you a wink and you smiled up at him. 

Jack gave you a quick one sided hug before he went bounding up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Cas hugged you next as he went to follow.

“Have fun. And hey Cas, untucked it good.”

He gave you an appreciative smile before heading up the stairs. Sam caught the door before it could close behind the trio, coming in with his bag slung over his shoulder, a warm smile on his face.

You beamed up at him - you couldn’t help it. It didn’t matter how many times he came home to you, it was just as exciting and wonderful each and every time.

“Hey beautiful.” His voice echoed in the now quiet bunker, bouncing off the walls in the war room.  

“Hi!” 

He chuckled at your enthusiasm, starting his descent down the stairs. It was a normal pace, but to you it was painfully slow as you waited at the bottom impatiently. You’d ambushed him once after a particularly long hunt and sent both of you tumbling down the metal descent, so you restrained yourself, even waiting until he sat his bag down gently on the ground. 

“C’mere.” He grinned wide, opening up his arms for you. As soon as you were within reach he circled you up in his arms, holding you tightly to him as he walked you backwards, your toes barely touching the floor. 

You squeaked a bit when he lifted you up, the war table cold underneath you when he sat you down. You didn’t have long to think about it though because his hand was under your chin, tilting it up so he could kiss you. Missing Sam was instinct - he could be down the hall for 5 minutes and you’d wish he was back with you. But when he kissed you, so sweet and soft, you were unsure how you ever let him leave the door without you.

You hummed against his lips, completely content to melt into him, beyond happy to have him home. He kissed you lazily for a while, just relishing in the feeling of you there with him.

“I missed you.” His voice was gruff when your lips separated. 

“Missed you more,” you smiled, leaning into his touch as he tucked some of your hair behind your ear. 

“I got you something.”

“Presents?!” You lit up at his words, eyes immediately going to his bag on the floor. He laughed at your reaction, running a thumb across your cheekbones. 

“You’re so cute,” he murmured, and you weren’t sure he even realized he said it aloud. “Dean had to stop to get some Bulls gear so I figured I’d get some stuff for us, since we have the weekend to ourselves,” he explained as he walked over, grabbing the bag and putting it on the table beside you.

“So I got wine, and snacks, and a couple movies.” He sat all of the things out as he called them out. You sifted through them, happy to see all your favorites out on the table. “And, I got another something extra. Close your eyes.”

Your heart rate picked up as you squeezed your eyes shut, holding your hands out. You had no idea what to expect. An actual present? Lingerie? A puppy?

Something soft and warm landed in your hand, and you furrowed your brow, feeling the fabric between your fingers. It felt like a blanket, but at the same time you found something hard and metal.

“You can open,” Sam said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

You did as you were told, looking down at the pile of fabric in your hands. It had a colorful pattern on it - sloths hanging from trees, each one of them wearing a bright sweater. At first, you thought you had been right - a blanket. But then you noticed the zipper and held it up, child-like excitement flooding through you as you realized what it actually was.

“You got me a onesie?” You exclaimed, lighting up.

“You’ve been talking about wanting one for ages, and I couldn’t help myself. I tried to get a matching one but they didn’t have any big enough for me, so I just got some pants instead. You like it?” 

You answered him with a hug, beaming up at him. “You’re the best.”

“Well go put it on! I’ll get the movie set up.” He gave you a quick kiss, scooping up the snacks, headed for the Dean cave.

You were all smiles as you made your way to your room, quickly getting changed. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to keep on the less-comfortable lace bra you had on (what could you say, Sam was usually in a mood when he got back from hunts), or opt for a more comfortable sports bra. You decided on middle ground, putting on your softest bralette and a cute pair of panties to match before stepping into the onesie. 

The fabric was blissfully soft and warm against your skin as you zipped it up, sliding your hands into the pockets as you made your way down to the Dean cave, heart rate rising as you saw him muddling around. You were unsure how someone could look so adorable, yet so sexy at the same time. 

He had changed into his matching pants that were the same pattern and material, but he was still shirtless, and you could see the muscles rippling in his back as he poured two glasses of wine. You resisted the urge to jump his bones right then and there - you’d had to learn to control that part of yourself a lot since you two started dating. You just didn’t understand how someone could look that good, all the time.

“Do you want something else instead?” His soft voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and you came back to see him holding two glasses of wine in his hands.

“No, no that’s perfect. Thanks,” you murmured, taking the glass from him.

“What were you thinking about?” 

“Just how hot you are,” you said candidly, taking a sip of your wine before sitting it down on the table.

“Ha ha, very funny,” he chuckled, rolling his eyes a bit as he sat his down as well. 

“No seriously. That’s actually what I was thinking about,” you grinned, taking a few steps to close the distance between the two of you. His cheeks flushed bright red, just like they always did when you complimented him. It was on your list of favorite things about him.

“I love you,” he mumbled, pulling you in for a hug. You happily obliged, running your fingers over the soft skin of his back, feeling the little smooth lines of scars he’d accumulated over the years. You brought your hands around, tracing over his ribs, making him shudder. 

“Are we watching a movie or do you have other plans?” His voice was gruff, lowered a bit as he tried to read your mood.

“Movie. We’ve got the whole weekend,” you smiled up at him innocently, running a finger down the faint line that separated the two sides of his abs. 

“It’s a good thing you’re cute, cause’ I’m pretty sure you’re actually evil,” Sam grumbled, but there was nothing but love in his tone. You kissed his skin quickly before dislodging from the hug and heading over to put a movie in. 

You heard Sam chuckle behind you while you worked on getting the movie set up. Once the opening credits were playing you turned, happy to see him waiting for you in one of the recliners. 

“Aren’t you gonna get cold?” You frowned a bit as you walked to him. It didn’t matter how much you ran the heat, the bunker always had a distinct chill to it.

“What, you want me to put a shirt on?” He teased, quirking an eyebrow.

“Absolutely not.” In fact, there were few things you wanted less. You climbed onto his lap, sitting sideways and letting your legs hang over the side of the chair. 

“You’re basically a human blanket in this thing anyways,” he mused, running his hands down your leg and over the fabric. You were unbelievably cozy, and you were glad you’d gotten a good nights sleep, or you would be dozing off already. 

The cozy feeling left as he reached beside you, pulling the lever and making the leg rest shoot up from the chair, while also throwing the back of it very quickly backwards. You squealed in surprise, clinging to Sam like a monkey on a tree, trying to hold your ground. 

He busted out laughing, wrapping an arm around your waist and kissing your forehead.

“I’ve got yah,” he teased, holding you close.

You didn’t need to cling to him as hard as you did, but you decided to just stay cuddled up to him as the movie began to play, resting your head on his chest and wrapping an arm around his bare torso. He pulled you closer to him somehow, wiggling until you were both comfortable, his hand rubbing against your leg absentmindedly. 

The movie wasn’t anything spectacular, so you found yourself more often than not look at Sam instead, eyes tracing over the planes of his body. Your hand came up to his tattoo, tracing over the curvy spokes of the sun, the hard edges of the star. You could just barely feel his heartbeat moving the skin under your fingers.

“Whatcha doin’ munchkin?” He asked, and you felt his chin move as he looked down at you. You weren’t sure where the nickname came from, but it had stuck over the last year. He only used it when he was feeling particularly mushy, and you smiled at the thought.

“Nothin’.”

“You’re gonna miss the movie. Important stuff is happening.”

“That’s okay. You’ll explain it to me,” you reminded him with a grin. You asked a million questions during movies since you rarely had the self control to pay attention if Sam was with you. 

“Do you want to turn it off?” 

“No.”

“But you don’t want to watch it...”

“Right.”

“So then why-”

“Shhhh,” you grinned, knowing he was going through his usual logical way of deciphering thing. You’d learned very quickly in your time dating Sam that the only way to get him out of his head was by using your lips. 

So you moved slightly, wiggling up so you could get to that soft spot at the top of his neck that always got him. You pressed a kiss there, feeling him melt under you, tilting to give you more access. 

You grinned, pulling the skin just barely between your teeth, nipping and sucking, an idea popping into your head. He was putty beneath you by the time you pulled away. Sure enough, you’d accomplished what you’d aimed for.

“Haha! Revenge!” You exclaimed, making his eyes fly open from where they’d been blissfully closed.

“Huh?”

“Now you get to explain your hickey to Jack when he asks!”

“You didn’t,” Sam said, eyes wide. All you had to do was grin to prove that you’d left the mark.

“Oh you’re gonna get it for that one!”

He pressed his lips to yours once before moving to your neck, and even though you knew he was leaving a matching hickey for you, it felt too good for you to ask him to stop.

His hands roamed upwards, fingers pinching the zipper and easing it down, the cool air making your newly exposed skin raise in goosebumps. You bit back a groan as his hands dipped into the fabric, long fingers wrapping around your waist on both sides, thumbs ghosting over the skin. 

And then he began to wiggle them, getting to you where he knew would work. It took a minute for you to register that he was tickling you, but then you were laughing and writhing on top of him, trying desperately to get away. You were begging him to stop through your laughter, his skilled fingers getting every soft and sensitive spot. 

He finally relented, leaving you panting and smiling. 

“Revenge is sweet,” he countered with a smirk.

“No fair, you aren’t ticklish,” you pouted up at him. He just smiled and kissed the tip of your nose. “And now neither of us have any idea what’s going on in the movie.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he shrugged casually, his arm wrapping around you beneath the unzipped fabric, hand tracing gentle circles on your hip. You curled back up into him, seeking the warmth he always emitted. Seriously, it was like having your own personal space heater at all times. Or a personal sun. More like a sun. 

Gone in your thoughts again, you barely noticed that his other hand had moved over to your tummy, fingers tracing lines, toying with the lace at the bottom of your bra.

You ignored it for a little while, attention on the movie, but when his hands moved upwards, tracing the top lines of the bralette, fingertips just barely grazing your boobs, you noticed.

You leaned back, smiling at him, deciding to mimic him earlier.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Nothin’.“

“Do you wanna turn the movie off?”

“No.” He had obviously caught on, making you laugh. 

“But you don’t wanna watch it.”

“Nope.”

“That’s highly logical.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he grinned, and suddenly his lips were on yours, rough and warm. You kissed him back, hard, but you never stood a chance. He took control of it, molding his mouth to yours in a way only he could. He held you tightly, lips still on yours as he kicked the recliner leg rest back in, sending the two of you forward as the chair sat upright. He hooked one arm under your legs, the other still around your waist as he stood. 

“The movie!” You feigned concern, tracing a finger down his jawline.

“I’ll google it,” he grinned, kissing you again as he started carrying you back to your room, where you both made the most of your first night alone. 

[the--blackdahlia]

The Day the Music Died Chapter 3

Title: The Day the Music Died Chapter 3

Summary:  In 1959, a plane crash tragically took the lives of three musicians and their pilot. But the mysterious circumstances send the Winchester brothers on an adventure. Now they have a mystery to solve…before one of them joins the other three.

Warnings: Maybe just language. I’m trying to write this like it would be aired on TV, so violence and all that is going to be as close as it is on TV

1959

The crowd was full of energy as the man on the stage played his heart out for them. The girls screamed and cried. He was smiling as he watched everyone in the crowd. Buddy Holly was the crowd's favorite, it was obvious. He didn’t know how he had gotten so lucky.

Buddy Holly, Waylon Jennings, Tommy Allsup, and Carl Bunch were rocking the crowd while the other acts relaxed around the building. Buddy couldn’t stop smiling as he played through the songs he had been singing for the past couple years. It wasn’t the Ed Sullivan show, but at least the production value wasn’t so high that he was sick with nerves. And he had promised that Valens kid a good time on the tour.

Out in the crowd, a young man sat at a table. He sipped on his beer and watched the crowd. He would glance up at the band performing. Buddy was good, and if the man in the crowd didn’t know better, he would’ve thought he sold his soul for fame and talent. But he hadn’t. He was just actually good. The man’s eyes drifted over to another man though. He was eating at a table with some other guys, instruments sitting around them.

His boss had given him orders to follow, and he as going to follow them. He just was going to do it with style.

Buddy and his band finished playing, taking their leave. His band mates headed for the bar. He took a moment to drink some water. He thought about trying to make a call to his dear Maria. It was quiet backstage and he could finally catch up with his thoughts. He took off his glasses and closed his eyes to relax for a bit.

“Excuse me, Mr. Holly?” A voice said. Buddy put his glasses back on and examined the person standing in front of him.

“Yes?” Buddy asked.

“My name is Corson. I’m a huge fan.” He said with a smile.

“Oh, thanks. If you don’t mind though, I am just about to make a call to my wife…” Buddy said. Instead, Corson set across from him.

“My boss sent me here. And boy I’m glad he did.” Corson laughed, seeing the confusion on Buddy’s face. “His name is Crowley. He’s a real hard ass, but he has deadlines to meet and his boss is breathing down his neck.”

“Are you a reporter or something?” Buddy asked. Corson smiled.

“Or something.” He said. “Now, Mr. Holly, I think you can help me out.” His eyes flashed black, making Buddy fall out of his chair in surprise.

“What are you?” Buddy asked. Corson stood up and laughed, towering over the musician as he laid on the floor.

“I’m just a working class stiff just trying to make it.” Corson laughed. He grabbed Buddy by his shirt and pulled him up. “And I think you’re going to help me out just fine. Too bad though. You won’t be able to see that pretty little thing’s face when she tells you that she’s pregnant.” Buddy’s eyes widened. “Don’t worry, it is yours. I visited her before I came here. She’s just fine...for now.”

“Leave Maria out of this!” Buddy snapped, but Corson grabbed him by his neck.

“You just save those vocals. You’ll need them.”

“What. Are. You.” Buddy gasped. Corson laughed.

“See, where I come from, I’m just a simple grunt demon that does the dirty work of gathering souls. But here on earth, I’m Buddy Holly.” With that, a black smoke left Corson’s body and entered Buddy’s despite him trying to keep his mouth shut to keep anything out. The body of the other man fell down, groaning some. Buddy stood up and dusted his suit off, before heading to the bar to get something to drink.

****

Present

Dean pulled Baby into the parking lot of the Hilltop motel several hours later. They needed to set up a base camp, and Sam was so glad to be out of the car to stretch his long legs. Sam got out and stood by the car while Dean went to the office to get them a room. The sky was clear for now, but according to his phone, it was supposed to snow. Sam looked up then as Dean made his way to him.

“All the way on the end. In case any unwelcome visitors decide to show up in the dead of the night.” Dean said. Sam nodded and got back into the car. Dean drove down to the end and parked so they could unload the bags. They knew the drill like the back of their hand. Check the room, lay some salt, make some sigils, the whole nine yards. Only once that was done could the boys settle down. Dean flopped down on his bed, relaxing so his back could find some relief, while Sam went to the yellowed Formica table and set up his laptop.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, looking over at his brother.

“Trying to get a little more information before we start doing any kind of investigating out there.” Sam explained.

“Well wake me when you figure something out. I need my four hours.” Dean grumbled, turning over onto his stomach and falling asleep. Sam looked over at his brother before turning his attention back to the screen.

He was finding the same things that he had told Dean in the car. A ghost that had haunted the town for years, mainly just doing little things to annoy people. Up until the past couple weeks, when three people had lost their lives due to things associated to the ghost. One woman had fallen down some stairs, another had been impaled by the ghost throwing something, and a third man had been crushed to death by a falling bookcase. So far, no connections. They didn’t live in the same house, let alone the same neighborhood. They didn’t have the same last name. They weren’t the same age. To Sam, there was no visible connection. And most of the time, ghosts usually had some sort of pattern.

“Guess we’ll just have to talk to their families and see what we can uncover.” Sam said aloud, even though he knew that Dean wasn’t listening. He looked over at Dean, who really needed the sleep. He decided then that he could handle the interviews himself. He dressed himself in his FBI suit and grabbed his ID for Agent Jennings. He left a note for Dean, telling him he would call if anything major came up, and headed out to start the interviews.

He went to the boyfriend of the first girl. Her name was Zoey.

“I don’t know what happened.” Her boyfriend, Craig, told Sam as he set across the table from him. “We were carrying boxes. And she just slipped right in front of her parents and me. And she fell down the stairs.”

“Did anything strange happen leading up this? Was there anything weird in the house?”

“I mean, it was cold. But it’s winter time. I expected it to be.” Craig told Sam. “Everything was great. We had went to the museum up off of 4th…”

“What museum?” Sam asked.

“Um, that one that talks about those musicians who died in the plane crash.” Craig said. “Why is that important?”

“I just have to cover all the details.” Sam explained, writing down the information.

The interview with the second girl’s mother went the same way. And surprisingly, she had taken her niece and nephew to the museum right before she had been stabbed. And the third victim, Jackson, had also been to the museum, his brother informed Sam. Sam pulled out his phone and called Dean while heading back to the car.

“You ditched me Sam.” Dean yawned when he answered.

“I left a note.” Sam defended. Dean looked around and finally found the note, thinking that Sam had run off.

“I knew that.” Dean said. “So, what did you find out?”

“The only connection between the three is that they visited the Museum of History.” Sam explained. “Should be worth checking out.”

“It’s going to be a lot of classical music and Civil War stuff, isn’t it?” Dean asked.

“How am I supposed to know?” Sam asked. “We can scope it out during the day time, or go do some after hours exploring.”

“Where’s the fun going during visiting hours?” Dean asked with a laugh. “Just get back here. Oh, and get some food on the way.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam hung up and went to go get some food from a place close to their motel. A salad for himself,with chicken and light dressing, and a burger and fries for Dean. He didn’t even forget the pie this time. He even got himself a slice, because it actually looked really good. He headed back to the motel where Dean was waiting with the laptop and some beer.

“Mmm, and you even got the pie. Good job Sammy.” Dean laughed. Sam rolled his eyes and set down with his salad and the smoothie he had snagged for himself, since he really wasn’t in a beer mood. He took the laptop from Dean, surprised to see that he was already on the museum website.

“I can’t find anything man.” Dean said. “I looked it over.”

“Well, sometimes the best way to get results is by doing.” Sam pointed out. Dean nodded and took a sip of his beer. They researched all night, until the museum was to close. They packed up the gear they needed and headed out. It was just a local little thing. Nothing big.

“So, we go in and shoot Casper?” Dean asked.

“Or try to figure out if the ghost is even here.” Sam pointed out. Shotguns full of rocksalt in hand, the boys headed to the building. The lock wasn’t hard, and from the looks of it, there wasn’t much in security. The building was dark, minus a few emergency lights. But the flashlights they had cut through the darkness with ease.

“This place would be cool to visit.” Dean laughed.

“Yeah. It’s pretty interesting.” Sam said. He leaned forward to read a plaque with information when he could see his breath. “Uh, Dean?”

“What?” Dean asked. Before Sam could say anything though, an old style jukebox in the corner flickered to life and the guitar into to La Bamba started. “What the hell?” Sam turned around, his flashlight slicing through the darkness, until it came upon a third body standing there, beat to hell.

“Shit!” Sam gasped. Dean went to his side quickly and shown his light at the other person.

“Is that...is that who I think that is?” Dean asked. Sam nodded.

“That’s Ritchie Valens.”

Forever Tags: @imboredsueme @aiaranradnay @theas-bedtime-stories @af112992 @dekahg @cutie1365 @marvel-af @bandobsession98 @nanie5 @sammat97 @dslocum89 @wilford-motherluvin-warfstache @xxwarhawk @luciathewinchestergirl @tina8009

Supernatural Tags: @essie1876 @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @sabigmart @smoothdogsgirl @jadepc @winchestergeekfreak @winchesterslibrary @atc74 @anathewierdo

The Day the Music Died Tags: @leximus98

[aj-draws]

The Final Straw

The June Project || June 2 (Day 2) || Dedicated to @thekeytohappiness-is-you!

Steph ahh my friend ily 💙 You’re such an amazing person and you’ve been so kind to me and to so many other Fanders, too. You’ve helped me out of a bad creative block, and just talking to you makes me feel at peace. I’ve been developing some other story ideas, so feel free to message me anytime to debunk my AUs lol 😊 I decided to dedicate a oneshot for you (using one of the title ideas you gave me). I really hope you like it, I had lots of fun writing it! 

[Post about The June Project]

Summary: After having a relatively uneventful day, Patton is elated when he sees his best friend enter his coffee shop. Virgil’s job as an NSA agent seems like a monotonous cycle where nothing exciting would take place, but Patton’s interest is immediately piqued when Virgil says that he has a story to tell him. 

Ship: Prinxiety and Logicality (Some platonic Moxiety as well)

Warning: None

Other Stuff I’ve Written: Describing Sanders Sides Ships, Rainbows, Smiles and Other Great Things (Like You), Part 1 of my Teacher AU Ideas

((Note! Everything in regular font is in Patton’s POV, and everything in italics is a flashback told in Virgil’s POV))

I heaved out a satisfied sigh, straightening up. After thoroughly cleaning all of the empty tables in the shop, I put the damp towel away and sat down in one of the vacant booths. 

The smell of coffee beans and whipped cream lingered in the air. My fellow employees chattered among themselves in the kitchen, thankful to have a rest after the morning rush hour. 

Today had been a quiet day, and I admit it was peaceful, but having customers to talk to and interact with can be entertaining. As if the universe read my mind, the dinging sound of a bell rung as the door swung open. 

A beam spread across my face. “Kiddo!”

I stood up, hurrying to the counter. One of the coworkers poked their head from the kitchen, but I just waved a hand dismissively and they retreated back into the other room.

Sitting down on the swirly chair in front of the cash register, I spun around once before placing both hands on the counter to stop myself. I lifted my head, meeting my best friend’s gaze. “Long day at work?”

“A day that’s about to get longer, Pat.” Virgil answered with a small smile. 

From observing his body language-he didn’t seem tired at all. He looked to be emitting this cheery glow, even, which was a little uncharacteristic for him. Now that I was thought about it, his hair was combed neater than usual, and his choice of clothes was much more stylish and charming. He was still keeping his whole ‘dark and stormy’ look with the eyeshadow, leather jacket and ripped jeans, but the button-down, courtesy of Logan, and the tie was different. 

“Would you mind whipping up something light for me? Your pick.”

“Hmm, how about a frappucino?”

When Virgil nodded, I rung it up into the register, hopped off the chair and got to work. 

“So not a black coffee for today? Is there a something we should be celebrating?” 

I meant that to be a joke, but when I looked over at Virgil’s expression, he could barely mask the joy plastered on his face. His cheekbones rose up and his scrunched up facial features eased up for a brief moment. 

“...I suppose you can say that.”

And without telling me a thing, he placed a five dollar bill onto the counter and walked off. 

My fingertips buzzed with the anticipation sparked by Virgil’s vague response. As I was getting the can of whipped cream out of the refrigerator, my phone vibrated. I checked the text, smiling a bit before putting it back in my pocket. 

I finished making the frappucino in a rush, got the change needed from the five dollar bill, and practically sprinted to the booth Virgil was seated at. I sat down in front of him, grabbing a straw from my shirt’s chest pocket and placing it down on the table along with the drink. 

“Logan’s on his way, by the way.”

“Good, I want him to hear the story, too,” was all Virgil said. He then eyed the abundance of straws dangling from my pocket. “Do you mind giving me two more straws?” 

“Okay.” I fished out two straws and put it down on the table. He took one of the straws and fiddled with it, staring at the table. 

“So...do you remember that guy I keep telling you about?”

“Ooh~ The one you’re basically infatuated with?” I asked playfully, batting my eyelashes in an innocent manner. 

“Y-Yeah. I guess...” The volume of Virgil’s voice deceased into a stuttering mumble. He coughed and went on, “It involves him.”

“Really? Well, go on.” 

“I mentioned him before, but I never told you the whole story. I’ve actually been assigned to him as his agent, you see. And I’ve been...interested in him over the course of this past month. 

Virgil tugged the wrapper off his straw and plunged it into his frappucino. He took a lengthy sip and started, “About a month ago, when I was assigned to be his agent, I didn’t think much of him...”

“Just another normie? Great.” I mumbled under my breath. 

I watched over him through his laptop’s camera, and he did typical, normal adult stuff. Sometimes he’d walk off and forget to close his laptop, so I’d look around his room. He had lots of bookshelves, mostly about poetry and love. 

The complete opposite of me. 

And then-

“I’m here.”

I cheered, beaming, “Logi Bear!”

“Patton, darling, I told you not to call me that.” My boyfriend pecked at my forehead before taking a seat beside me. “Salutations, Virgil.” 

“Too bad, sweetheart.” I stated before kissing Logan’s cheek.

“Ew, love.” 

I arched an eyebrow and gave him a pointed look.

He raised his hands, laughing. “I’m joking, Pat.”

“Anyway, Lo,” I looked at Logan, who was unwrapping the second straw. “He’s telling us a story and you need to listen to this.”

“Alright. What’s it about?”

“We’re onto the second straw.” Virgil explained. “Basically remember that guy I told you about?”

“Roman Prince. Brown hair and eyes. Likes Disney, singing and ‘being extra’.”

I gasped. “Vocab word.”

Logan nodded pridefully. “I’ve been studying.”

“I’m proud of you.”

“Yep, that guy. How did you even remember?”

Logan stood up, sticking the straw into Virgil’s frappucino and taking a long sip. He sat back down, his shoulders bouncing. “You talk about him frequently. How could I forget?”

Virgil’s face reddened and he ducked his head. “...U-Uh, yeah. Well, he has a Tumblr and an Instagram, but I found his Instagram first...”

I put on my headphones and clicked play. The first cover of his that I listened to was ‘Someday My Prince Will Come’. Then I listened to all of his covers until it was one in the morning. His voice was so soothing and gorgeous. 

After getting a few hours of sleep, I went to work. Again he was up early in the morning, making breakfast and listening to another Disney playlist. 

It was so early in the morning and I wasn’t feeling too sane. So, within the blink of an eye, I had opened up a blank ad on his computer screen. I was going to type something...until I snapped out of it.

I panicked, and replaced it with some random car advertisement before he could notice. 

Virgil kept quiet, rolling the remaining straw along the table with his thumb. He finally picked it up, giving me a look.

The gears turned slowly and steadily in my head. Beside me, Logan snapped and spoke, “I see now. It must be-”

“The final straw!!” I exclaimed, eager to see where the story’s going to go from here on. “If the other straws represented him almost finding out, then this one...must mean...?”

Virgil’s mouth opened, then shut. Before he could say a word, Logan said, “Let him finish the story. I enjoy the tension Virgil’s building up so far, and him blatantly telling us the ending would ruin the surprise, don’t you think?”

“Oh! Yeah, you’re right.” I nodded, glancing back at Virgil. “What happened next?”

“Well...”

I shook my head, yet I couldn’t help but smile. I watched with pure bliss as Roman danced around his bedroom like a maniac, bopping his head and blasting the song on full volume.

“Then step into my candy store!”

In addition to being a Disney enthusiast, Roman also happened to be a huge musical dork. Out of the musicals, right now he was singing along to ‘Candy Store’ from Heathers, which is also one of my favorites. 

‘As if he couldn’t get more attractive,’ I thought to myself.

“It’s my candy store,

It’s my candy.”

I was so tempted to just burst out into song. I looked around, and a lot of my coworkers that had offices around me were on break. I let myself hum to the tune.

“It’s my candy store,

It’s my candy.”

Then humming became full on singing. 

“It’s my candy store”

When Roman belted out the high note flawlessly, I didn’t even notice my lips parting. The note slipped out of my mouth, and my voice perfectly harmonized with his. 

The video buffered. The long note at the end was suddenly cut off. My jaw slammed shut and the air was sucked out of my lungs. 

Roman looked around, puzzled. “Wha...? I could’ve sworn I heard something...perhaps someone...”

I held my breath. No...no, it couldn’t be. 

With a shaking hand, I reached up, my pointer finger gently tapping my mic. The faint sound of static met my eardrums. 

My microphone was on the whole time. 

“And?” 

I leaned over the counter, completely absorbed by his story. What happened next? Did Roman figure it out? Did Virgil get in trouble? What if-

“And nothing happened.”

“...”

“...”

“I’m just kidding, of course something happened.” 

Virgil cocked a smirk, leaning back in his seat and taking in his little victory. I dropped down onto the seat in defeat, pouting childishly. Even Logan crossed his arms and gave a huff. 

“Okay, okay.” He chuckled a bit before continuing on. “So I was freaking out, but I didn’t want to get in trouble, right? Instead, I turned off my mic, and made a blank ad pop up on his computer screen.”

“What did you write?”

He shrugged, but I could feel the pride radiating off him. “I started out with, ‘Hey, it’s the candy store guy’. And instantly he said aloud, ‘Oh, I heard about this! I think I read something like this, an NSA soulmate AU or something.’ Then he...he smiled into the camera.”

I ‘awwed’ and sighed happily. I loved it when people gushed about something they like, it’s just really cute. Virgil looked off into the distance, his bright brown eyes glittering as he recalled the interaction. 

Oh, how I hope whatever happened went well...

Logan’s hand brushed against mine, and I responded by lacing my fingers through his. Our hands lay comfortably under the table, resting on my lap. He looked at Virgil, then at me, nodding reassuringly.

I blushed a little and returned his comforting gesture with a light squeeze of his hand. So he was thinking the same thing, after all! 

His gaze traveled back to Virgil. Giving a cough to get his attention, Logan asked, “Do you mind finishing the story, Virgil?"

“Right.” Virgil snapped out of his daydream and looked back at us. “I looked it up a long time ago, but he actually lives somewhere near us. So I...” He squirmed a little in his seat.

“Yes?”

“I might’ve typed in the address of the coffee shop and invited him on a date and he maybe is on his way right now?”

“...”

“...”

“That’s wonderful, Virgil, I’m very proud-”

“oH MY GOLLY GOSH KIDDO I COULD CRY RIGHT NOW!!” I reached over, cupping his face in my hands so I was squishing his cheeks. “Are you serious??”

“Patton, why in the world would I joke about landing a date with a hot guy?”

“Ohhh my, oh my! Ahh that’s so adorable and we could meet up at the coffee shop all the time and go on double dates and,” I began to ramble, stopping when I caught a glimpse of a brown haired man outside. “...Virgil. I think he’s outside.”

“What??” Virgil sputtered. He sat upright, almost choking on his drink. 

His eyes went wide and I was about to panic until Logan stepped in, “You two, calm down. Virgil, straighten your jacket, and Patton, we should leave him and Roman alone.”

“Sounds good!” I agreed. I patted Virgil’s head and smiled warmly. “You’ll be fine, kiddo. Give him a little smile, and remember to be yourself.”

“We’ll be close by in case anything goes wrong, so don’t you worry.” Logan hooked his arm around mine and we started to make our way to the kitchen. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, you guys.”

Logan and I went into the kitchen, joining the other employees that were also intently listening in. 

Finally, after a few seconds of waiting, the bell rung and the door burst open. 

“Hello, there! You must be Virgil.” The man approached him, flashing a dazzling grin that could make anyone melt. 

Virgil slowly stood up, mouth agape. “...Yeah, th-that’s me.” He stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s mine!” I expected a handshake, but then I started to squeal. He swept Virgil’s hand into his in the most prince-like way possible, leaning down to plant a kiss on his knuckles. 

“Roman Prince, at your service.”

“Y-You...”

“Hm?”

“You could step into my candy store anytime~” Virgil pointed finger guns at him.

“.....Pffft-”

Roman burst into laughter, and eventually Virgil relaxed and joined in. The two took a seat at the booth and chatted for a while.

“You have a lovely voice, by the way. You truly do.”

“Well, mine is nothing compared to yours-” Virgil clamped a hand over his mouth.

“Care to explain?”

“I’ve...actually been following your Tumblr and Instagram for a while now." He admitted, scratching the back of his head.

“That’s wonderful! Wait, you have a Tumblr?” 

Virgil nodded, showing him his account on his phone. Roman suddenly shot out of his seat, gasping loudly.

“You...You’re kidding? That’s you?? Holy smokes, I adore your art!”

“What? You’re kidding me-”

“I. am. not.” Roman grabbed Virgil by the wrists and stared into his eyes. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Virgil blinked rapidly, stammering out, “N-No...”

“I’m not.” Roman cleared his throat and smiled hesitantly. “I know this is so soon, but...if I’m being too hasty, feel free to tell me. I...

I was wondering if we could collab sometime? What do you say?”

Virgil smiled-really, sincerely smiled this time. He said,

“...I would love to.”

---

“You owe me five bucks.”

“Huh?” I looked over at Logan, tilting my head. 

“Remember that text? In addition to informing you about my arrival, I made a bet with you.”

“Shoot, I almost forgot!” I slapped my forehead, slipping five dollars from my wallet and handing it to him. “How did you figure out that Virgil was going to go on a date with someone?”

“I would have to say his eyes gave it away.”

“His eyes?”

“I was video chatting with Virgil beforehand.” Logan looked at me, and the smile on his lips made my heart flutter. “And the way his eyes sparkled, it reminded me of how your eyes shone when I asked you to be my boyfriend.”

“Oh my gosh, it did look really familiar.” I placed a hand on my cheek, feeling it grow warmer with every passing second. “I remember, you prepared this entire speech...and a poem, too! It was embarrassing...”

“You loved it, don’t lie.”

I giggled, placing a finger on his lips. “Oh, hush!”

[notbemoved-blog]

Soupkitchen

It was my friend from college days, Robert Hoderny, who invited me down to the Zacchaeus Soup Kitchen when we both ended up in the mid-to-late 1970s in the Washington, DC area. Robert, already a Vietnam Veteran, joined the seminary at about the time I was planning to exit, but we kept in touch. He quickly grew disenchanted with the Church bureaucracy and left for more progressive pastures and ended up in DC with the Community for Creative Non-Violence (CCNV). When I returned from my sojourn to the Midwest, mostly a 2-year stint in Midland, Michigan (recently in the news due to a horrendous dam collapse and horrible flooding in the downtown area), I found Robert staying at some Augustinian guest house near Catholic University, participating in CCNV planning meetings, teaching religion and a new course in nonviolence, poverty and ethics at Carroll High School, and serving up soup at the soup kitchen. He invited me down one weekend and I became a somewhat irregular volunteer for the next five years.  

When I was asked to write a short feature article in my American University journalism class, again taught by my beloved Professor Tinkelman (honestly, he was NOT the only professor on staff there!), my mind turned to my experiences at the soup kitchen and figured it might make an interesting piece. I was right. Not only did Tinkelman love it—he read it aloud to the entire class to my utter public embarrassment and private delight—but he also suggested I try and publish it. Ten months later, this, my first published piece, would appear on the cover of The Washington Tribune, DC’s-then most popular local weekly newspaper. (Today, The City Paper, is its successor.)

As a bonus feature to my five-part series on Dorothy Day, here is that piece, as originally written, in its entirety….

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Michael J. O’Brien     Soupkitchen     7/21/82 

He sits as if transfixed, half dazed, staring down at the bowl of steaming soup on the table in front of him. He is black, unshaven, with the smell of cheap wine on his breath. His clothes don’t fit. They are dirty and torn. He carries his belongings in the plastic trash bag that is always at his side. He looks tired, no, exhausted, by the constant worry that life on the streets can bring. He is not alone.

He is one of the hundreds that daily filter through the Zacchaeus Community Kitchen. Some are young. Some are old. Most are black. All are poor. Many, like this man, claim the streets for their home. They come to the kitchen for some daily nourishment: a bowl of soup, a slice of bread, and some shelter from the storm of street life.

Zacchaeus Kitchen, located inconspicuously in the 600 block of L Street, NW, has been the breakfast table for thousands of Washington, DC’s poor for almost 10 years. Started by a group of caring activists who call themselves the Community for Creative Non-Violence (CCNV), the kitchen remains one of the few places in the city where a person can, with no hassle, with no questions asked, get a decent meal for free.

Mother Theresa, the saint of Calcutta, served the kitchen’s first bowl of soup in October of 1972. CCNV founder Ed Guinan remembers the occasion this way:

 “Zacchaeus Kitchen was our first real poverty program. When we decided to go with it, we rented a small place on New York Avenue. Mother Theresa happened to be in Washington at the time, so we invited her over to help launch the thing. I made the soup and she ladled it out to the twelve or fifteen people who came by that day.”

Guinan expected to serve only 40 to 50 walk-ins per day. But in a few months, after word got out, more than 150 of the city’s poor and homeless were coming to the kitchen for their daily meal. The New York Avenue space proved inadequate for the crowd, so the Community found another space—its present L Street location—to set up kitchen headquarters. Now, Guinan says, more than 300 come to the kitchen every single day. 

The Community takes responsibility for seeing that there is enough food as well as enough people to cook and serve each day. They accept no government subsidy. 

Much of the food is donated. Over the past 10 years, CCNV has established a network of generous Church groups and wholesale food outlets that supply canned goods and surplus produce. Ottenberg’s bakery has given its surplus bread to the kitchen since the program began. 

Volunteer workers come from all over: church groups, Catholic high school students, committed teachers, government workers, and other who somehow heard about the kitchen’s work and decided to get involved. CCNV members fill in during the work week when volunteers are scarce. 

The kitchen also gets help from the District’s court system. Offenders with minor violations are sentenced from 10 to 300 hours of service at the kitchen, depending on the nature of their misdemeanor. “We couldn’t do it without them,” one volunteer said. “Sometimes they’re the ones who keep this place going.” 

A typical day at the kitchen beings when workers start to trickle in at about 6:30 a.m. Usually, someone has already put the water on to boil the night before, so the first step is to add the beans to the steaming cauldrons, since beans take a long time to cook. Workers then slice onions, potatoes, carrots, celery, tomatoes, and whatever else can be found to make the soup interesting and palatable. 

Former priest and then-poverty pioneer Ed Guinan (with wife Kathleen) at the first iteration of Zacchaeus Community Kitchen in Washington, DC, in the 1970s.

Rarely is there any meat for the soup, but when there is, it usually must be picked from the bones of hams, turkeys, or chickens that have already been served to more privileged groups at restaurants and posh dinner parties throughout the city. This is the leftover kitchen: the place that serves food that nobody really wants to people whom almost everyone would prefer to forget. 

Anarchy reigns once the workers get geared up. One person is designated chief cook, but others give their advice—asked for or not.

             “The soup looks kind of thin to me. What do you think?

             “Maybe we can put in some noodles to thicken it up.”

             “How about some of this seasoning stuff?”

             “It needs more onions, lots of onions!”

Similar deliberations continue until about 9:15 a.m. when, ready or not, the doors open to the hungry masses awaiting their first, perhaps their only, meal of the day. 

The ragged crowd shuffles through the downstairs cooking area, up the steps to the serving room. The room can comfortably accommodate 50 to 60 people. It is always crowded. On nice days the tables and benches are set outside on the sidewalk, adding a café flair to an otherwise dank and dismal atmosphere. 

The serving room is usually serene enough before the onslaught. Trays of bread sit neatly on each table along with pitchers of hot tea (in the winter) or Kool-Aid (in the summer). Once the crowd enters, however, the place turns into a bombshell of congestion and confusion. 

The hungry are asked to take a seat while volunteers serve them. One worker hurriedly ladles out the soup into oversized bowls as others rush to bring each bowl, along with an empty cup and spoon, to the tables. The process of serving each person individually takes a long time and often the demands of the crowd can overwhelm the small band of workers.

             “Can I have a bowl of soup over here?”

             “Where’s my cup?”

             “Got any sandwiches today?”

             “Why can’t you get some heat in here?”

             “Can I take a loaf of bread home with me?”

             “How about a cigarette, man?”

This kind of chaos continues for about two hours. The noise is terrible. The smell is worse. Tempers run short. Fights break out often. Somehow everyone gets fed. 

By 11:30 a.m., after three huge pots of soup and countless loaves of bread have been devoured, after hundreds of people have found their way in and out of the kitchen doors, the place begins to quiet down. Workers wash the dishes and mop the floors. When the last few stragglers have been ushered out, the windows are shut, one final inspection is made, then the doors are closed and locked. The poor have been given their daily bread for another day. 

On the wall by the stove where the soup is prepared, a newspaper clipping is taped. It contains the words of a man who did similar work with the poor more than 100 years ago. His assessment of the job of feeding the hungry seems strikingly valid for those who help out at Zacchaeus Kitchen. He told his workers” 

“You will find out that charity is a heavy burden to carry, heavier than the bowl of soup and the full basket . . . . You are the servants of the poor, always smiling and always good humored. They are your masters, terribly sensitive and exacting masters, you will soon see. The uglier and dirtier they will be, the more unjust and insulting, the more love you must give them. It is only for your love alone that the poor will forgive you the bread you give to them.”

    --St. Vincent de Paul

[imaginedilestrade]

Paradise

A/N: one more chapter left after this one! Thank you to everyone who's enjoying it so far! Today was my last full day in Milan😕 but I've had such an amazing time in this beautiful city! Everything should be back to normal this Friday when I post the next update of 'the midnight lovers' (I'll also get my butt in gear and make a playlist) and from then I'll open up requests again and work on/ post what's in my inbox! Thanks to everyone for your patience! 😁 (and I'm up at three tomorrow morning, I'm tired already...) ———————— Chapter 5 ———— Later on that evening just as dusk turned into night dinner was served and the five of you gathered around the large campfire and ate with the tribe. "What is this?" Molly asked whilst scoffing down the food in front of her "It's amazing!" The chief, who was sitting next to you, answered her but he spoke in Portuguese and she looked at you for a translation. You let out a small laugh and turned to face her "It's spider..." You watched as the four slowly stopped eating and sat there with shocked expressions before letting out a laugh with the chief and some of the tribe "We're joking!" The four let out a sigh of relief, they were adapting to jungle life but not that quickly. "It's chicken with some ground nuts and something called jewels of Opar which is a type of plant and sweet potato". Greg let out a small bewildered chuckle "A potato that's sweet?" "There's so much here that we don't have back home," you told him "The reddish-orange stuff that's mashed up is the sweet potato. You'd cook it like the ones back home" you told them and they nodded in unison, curious about all the new foods they were trying. You finished dinner and went to your hut for the night, you'd be up early to travel and jet lag was settling in. You lay on your bed and propped your elbow up to look at Sherlock who was sitting up with his nose deep in a book "You never told me your connection with the statue, Holmes." Sherlock's gaze slowly drifted away from the book as he turned to look at you "What is the death gift?" He asked avoiding the question. You remained in the same position as you explained to him, and the others, about the statue "'The Death Gift' was a present to a mans jealous brother. Legend states that the mans brother was jealous of his, and his wife's power over the land, they were well respected and well loved rulers. One day the jealous brother killed the mans wife to drive him mad and give up his power, therefore handing it over to the jealous brother. That never happened however, the man found out about his brothers plot and decided to gift him with a cursed statue that resembled his wife that was cast from gold. The jealous brother was delighted, he thought it was a handover of power but when he looked at the bright blue jewels that were her eyes, he died on the spot, his heart burned from inside his chest." Your tale sent shivers down the others spines and you smirked "Well that's according to prophets..." "Thats a bit macabre..." Molly grimaced at the mental imagine. You turned your head around to Molly "I know Miss Hooper, I know," you turned your head around to Sherlock "That's why I'm so curious as to why he wants to know so much about it and why he brought me here". "I was just curious too..." He nonchalantly trailed off and you narrowed his eyes at him tightly. "Curiosity killed the cat, Holmes. In this case it could well end that way. Especially if you've came halfway across the world to feed that curiosity" Your tone was snappish and to the point before you wrapped yourself in a blanket and went to sleep. Greg woke the next morning finding an empty bed beside him. Panic sunk in and he jumped out of bed to find you, he froze when he saw you with a large smile on your face talking to the chief before it fell suddenly and you looked at the chief with a serious demeanour as he placed something into your palm, then closing it over before placing the item in your pocket. Greg raised a brow at the interaction and looked away before you could notice him staring. An hour later you were making your way though the dense jungle with the words of the chief running though your mind. After what he said you almost wished Indy was here with you, he could at least help you out. But it felt like a part of him was with you though the hat and the whip that you were tightly gripping on to. "What's wrong?" Greg asked, snapping you from your thoughts. "What?" You asked, he clearly noticed the worried expression on your face. "You look a bit uneasy" his concerned face along with the unbearable humid heat almost made you melt. You shook off his worries...and his outfit that looked all to familiar to Indy's... "Just concerned about my house back home. I hope no air raids have destroyed it!" You nervously chuckled. "Who is looking after that museum you call a home?" John asked and you turned around to look at him. "A friend and neighbour, Mary Morsan, she'll be looking after my museum, Watson" you smirked at his reference and continued walking. "It's not that..." Greg just loud enough for you to hear. "Your house I mean," he clarified "It's what the chief said to you isn't it? I saw you his morning and-" He was cut off by you whipping out your knife and throwing it at the tree next to his face killing a deadly snake that was about to sink its teeth and drive it's venom into Greg's jugular vein. "There are things that can kill you in this jungle, Lestrade," you barged passed him and grabbed your knife in one hand and the dead snake in the other. You cut off its head, much to the disgust of the others as they watched the blood and venom pour out. Turning around you looked at a half shocked and half suspicious Greg and stormed passed him again, gritting the words "I'm one of them," as you did. "Wh-what are you doing with that snake?" Molly asked. "Dinner, Miss Hooper. Unless you'd like to starve." You told her and wiped the sweat off your forehead "We'll cook it by the river, this way" you motioned them to follow you and they did. You sat by the river and the cackling fire as night fell and the noise of the jungle echoed around you. They actually liked the snake. "Careful, Watson," you noticed John nearing the banks of the river "There's all sorts of predators in there". "Such as?" He asked sounded curious and petrified at the same time. You casually shrugged a shoulder and poked at the fire "Just the usual...river snakes, leaches that will suck the life out of you, piranhas, crocodiles...that sort of thing". John stepped well away from the waters edge and glanced up to the sky muttering 'Incredible' as he gazed up to the star engulfed heavens. You peered over and saw Molly and Sherlock peacefully sleeping after a tiring journey. Tomorrow you would arrive at the cave where the statue was rumoured to be. You looked up at Greg who was reading your journal, somehow it ended up back in his grip "I'm sorry about earlier..." You mumbled and Greg's eyes snapped up to you. He let out a small gasp seeing the fire and the sweat on you making your skin glow as if you were some ethereal goddess. "It's okay," he smiled "Just don't throw your knife at me without telling me first" he let out a nervous laugh and you smirked. "Hmm I don't know, I quite liked seeing your shocked face. It's cute," your eyes widened at your words and a blush creeped up your neck "I...uh-" Greg sent you a thin lipped smile and returned to reading your journal. You glanced over at John who had fallen asleep. You pulled out the bright green opal and held it in your hand for a moment, contemplating wether to tell Greg or not. You decided to. "This is what the chief gave me," you captured Greg's attention and he closed over the journal "It's a green opal...he told me it strengthens bonds between people and it's supposed to help to release fear and comfort someone. He knew I was fearful about this trip. Last time I came to South America I almost died..." Greg's heart felt heavy and he stood up to sit next to you. He placed a comforting hand on our knee "I'm sorry I pressed you so much earlier," you shook your head and insisted it was fine "If it's any consolation I think you've been doing such an incredible job". You looked out to the river and sighed "Why are the most beautiful places the most dangerous?" You thought aloud and Greg mulled over your words for a moment before finally speaking up. "I guess that statement could also apply to hearts..." You slowly turned your head around him with soft eyes. Your words had been twisted in such a beautifully bittersweet way that it shocked you. "Not yours..." You whispered "It's not dangerous". "Neither is yours. But it doesn't make it less beautiful". ——————— Tags: (Let me know if you'd like to be tagged/Untagged) @adorablebadger @musingsofophelia @damnitman-jamlocked-inthetardis @holmes-maev @rikkachloechan @lock-sherlock @katie27hp @wcsteland @daynaan @all-around-geek @littlet-holmes @rass133 @glitterslutt