#and it started to set my expectations for tight but surprisingly well fleshed out story like in japanese or korean productions

[morzowo]

i know it's not where they're going with the show and it's just second to last episode drama and break up but oh how i wish this little unassuming show about baking would invert our expectations and actually let the couple stay separated but on the good terms giving the message that sometimes love and care isn't enough but is a good starting point and even though relationship didn't end up working out it wasn't unimportant bc it pushed one person to at least begin the change for the better in their life and the other to reevaluate how they interact with others and start to respect themselves more idk idk

[xuxishortcake]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : you are an undercover agent, still fairly new at the job & on the search for two notorious con men, who might be part of a gang in the mafia. it's your job to figure out what's going on but oh my, are they more dashing than expected.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 : switch!reader sub!jungkook dom!taehyung smut , cursing, forced into s*x , cream pie , fingering , blowjob , double penetration

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 3k

hello everyone! this officialy my second fanfic I've written, so pardon if there are any mistakes, grammar errors, etc. feedback is appreciated greatly! hope u love the fic!! ^_^

✧༺🍷༻∞　　∞༺♥༻✧

you wore a black suit that was nicely tailored to your body. you were driving around in San Francisco because you were assigned to work there for the day. all you knew so far was that you were after two con men who might've been involved in serious Mafia activity. you kept your ears on alert, waiting for more information from your agency. finally, you got an incoming call on your watch.

"hello?"

"hey y/n, it's seulgi. so I've found the house you need to go into, it's in the Presidio Hights neighborhood. I'll send you the full address. " *ding* came in the address & seulgi continued on. "the two men are Korean with the names Jeon Jeongguk & Kim Taeyhung. remember, be careful, we have no idea what these two are capable of, there's evidence pointing to them being in the Seo-bang Faction group."

"don't worry," your replied. " I might be one of the newer agents, but I've been taught well. "

"ok. we're counting on you. we have backup, but it'll take about 10minutes to get to the mansion since we don't want them to discover us. "

"gotcha. I'll call once I'm done." & you hung up the phone.

you pulled out the message with the address, put on your navigation system & started driving towards your destination.

thirty minutes later, you arrived & parked nearby the grand mansion you were to go inside of. you scouted far away with a special type of glasses to find an entry way. there was easy to open windows on the second story & you made your way to the mansion. going through the window, you stepped onto the plush, maroon colored carpet. finally inside, you walked as quietly as you could, your shoes were designed anyways to be as quiet as possible but it was better to be safe than sorry. it was surprisingly quite minimalistic with decor, the decor itself though being very ornate. you looked down the interior balcony. a grand set of marble stairs led up to the second floor & third floor. you started walking up to the third floor, there were some pretty expensive looking paintings leading up. finally reaching to the top, you walked down the long corridor. checking in each room if there were any signs of life. no luck. where in the hell were they? could it have been possible they knew somehow someone was coming & left? the final room you were about to check was the biggest, the master bedroom. the first thing you took notice of was the huge espresso colored canopy bed with a velvety crimson bed spread. there were also a few shelves with gold items & books on them. you looked through them all, to see if there was anything hidden but there was nothing. you checked in the huge bathroom, nothing. just a beautiful & large bathtub & joint sink. puzzled, you sat on top of the bed. you hadn't a clue what to do next. there weren't any new messages from the agency, so the two must've been in the house somewhere. you started to feel a sudden wave of drowsiness wash over you. was it because of the jet lag? no, this isn't normal. it was probably sleeping gas. you were now barely able to keep your eyes open & saw two figures walk into the room. {shit.} you thought, & blacked out.

what seemed to be hours later, you slowly started to regain consciousness. you were calling out to your watch to call your agency & nothing happened. you now realized you were tied to a chair & stripped of gadgets, weaponry & even your own clothes. you started to turn your chair around the room to find if there was anyone around. in came from the corridor & into the bedroom the two men you were supposed to find. they both were nicely tailored, as to be expected but the thing that had caught you off guard was their visuals. the two seemed to be in their twenties & were very, very good looking. they sat down onto a sofa that was across from you, both staring intently into your eyes.

"well," said the one with particularly long eyelashes "are you going to start talking or no? "

"yeah, we're not waiting all day for an answer. " vocalized the other, looking you up & down.

you felt absolutely mortified. not only were these men goddamn gorgeous, but you were only in the pair of black lace underwear that was concealed underneath your suit, which was now in a bundle in the corner of the room.

"I was sent here to investigate the two of you."

"by whomst?" asked the one with the long eyelashes.

you stayed silent. if these men were really part of the Seo-bang Faction group you could never let them know where you worked at, for your whole agency could be in grave danger.

"still not trying to talk hm? bring out the gun, jeongguk."

your eyes widened, trying to maintain a calm face. jeongguk went out of the bedroom. a few seconds later, he came back in with an old fashioned looking pistol, handing it over to taehyung. taehyung cocked the gun.

"now tell me, with WHOM are you working for? " he spoke watching intently.

"I'm not going to tell unless you tell me about yourself first." you retaliated.

"oh well, suit yourself." he pointed the gun & pulled the trigger.

your eyes we're closed shut & you were sweating bullets until you realized that you were still alive.

taehyung was chuckling. "oh my, you should've seen your face then, it was priceless i tell you, priceless."

"are you going to kill me?" you asked, clearly shaken.

"oh trust me, he could have" jeongguk interjected "we already knew someone was coming here, we just wanted to have some fun. there are no bullets in that so there wasn't any way to kill you with it. "

"aren't you concerned I'm trying to report about you two? your members of that gang no? "

"haha, no. I can assure you we are just simple, cunning assholes, who like to do frauds, maybe a few scams here & there, but we're not involved in some huge Mafia group."

"do you expect me to believe you?"

"yes, I guess. after all, what else can you do now that you're stuck here?"

"so...what do you want from me then?" you asked.

"like I told you, fun."

"what do you mean exactly? "

"to put it simple, a real fun, hot fuck. we haven't had one of those in a while. sure, you can get a prostitute & we have no problems getting any person that we want, but this, this is much more interesting. " jeongguk said smirking, crossing his arms.

"if you do it, we'll let you go. "taehyung added, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers.

what the hell were you supposed to do in a situation like this? sure, you had been in difficult situations before, but not like this. this....what were you supposed to tell your agency? you were forced into sleeping with two men who were possibly in the mafia? there had to be another way out of it...

"listen, unless you have super powers & can magically weasel yourself out of very tight rope, there's no other way for you to get out of this. " taehyung said almost as if he could read your mind. "so is it a yes?"

you gave a slow nod.

"hmmm, ok great. well, not that you had much of a choice anyway but I promise you won't regret it. " taehyung stated confidently. "jeongguk, untie her."

& he untied you. rubbing your sore wrists, you looked up at the man who untied you. god, he really was good looking.

"so, what now?" you asked slowly standing up.

"we need to know three things." said jeongguk. "one, are you dominant or a sub, or both? two, what is your safe word? I know technically what we are doing isn't legal, but it's no fun if you're uncomfortable and lastly, three. can you take two cocks at once? "

"I'm a switch, & hell, I bet I could take two. for a safe word...." you looked around "gold."

"ok cool, let's get started then." jeongguk said while pushing you onto the bed.

taehyung stood up from the couch & walked over. the two now standing over your smaller frame, like two foxes staring at their prey hungrily.

"you suck on him." said taehyung pointing at jeongguk. "I'll take care of you."

jeongguk started to unfasten his belt & you, still on the bed turned so you were horizontal,in a dog position. only pants down, you palmed him through his boxers. you finally pulled them down & revealed his half hard on. he was in your hand & you gave a few quick strokes & took him in vigorously. he let out a low groan, you could feel him already growing in your mouth & started to move while you were sucking. he put his hand on your head, keeping you at a steady pace. meanwhile, taehyung was behind you, on the other side of the bed, palming your ass. the feeling of the cold rings on his fingers squeezing your flesh made you gasp. he traced his fingers over to your underwear & pulled them to the side. he ghosted over your slit, collecting some of your wetness onto his fingers. gently, he prodded a finger up your pussy. slowly moving it, in & out & added another one. you moaned, vibrating against jeongguk's cock.

"oh shit, do that again." he said head thrown back a bit, holding onto your head tighter.

taehyung inserted another finger; now three fingers were knuckle deep into you. you could hear how wet you were by the way your pussy was squelching. you had muffled moans for jeongguk kept your mouth full. you had difficulty not crumbling under taehyungs touch, his hands working like magic. he pulled out of you & you whined, desperately clenching around nothing.

"pull out." taehyung said to jungkook while licking off his fingers. jungkook nodded. "y/n was it? go put that brat in his place & do not let him touch you. "

taehyung walked over to a piece of furniture, rummaged around a drawer & came back with a blindfold & handcuffs.

"put these on him." taehyung said as he handed you them.

"aw shit really?? why can't I see?" jeongguk whined, giving a little pout & took off his top.

"because you were having a little too much fun over there. plus, you like being a sub anyways."

jeongguk & you went towards the headboard. you snapped on the handcuffs & tied the blind fold on jeongguk "don't worry," you whispered to him, starting to pull off your panties & bra. "I'll take care of you real good." & it sent shivers down his spine.

you positioned him to your entrance & sank down on him. you both moaned in unison , the stretch feeling incredible. his hips had already starting to move; you bounced up & down on him, hips sometimes twirling. you gave attention to his neck & started to lick & give damp kisses.

taehyung felt his hard on press tightly against his pants & started to undress. he went back to the same drawer from before & he brought out a bottle of lube & got onto the bed. he poured a considerable amount of lube onto his fingers & sat behind you. he took to your neck & started leaving kisses & bites on it, causing you to softly moan.

"do you need to be warmed up? or do you think you can handle me now?" he asked against you, stroking his cock in anticipation.

"I mmm think I can take you." you said, moving yourself a little so you were in an angle that he could get inside of you.

"can I have the blindfold off please? I really want to see this." jeongguk said, hips grinding up into yours.

"ok, take it off of him y /n." & you went & did as he said.

taehyung didn't waste any time, he moved his cock over your unoccupied hole,teasing you for a bit, & finally slid in. you moaned out loud, tears starting to form in your eyes. taehyung felt girthier whereas jeongguk was longer, you felt so full & it was wonderful.

"fuck." taehyung groaned against your ear "you're so damn tight." & started to thrust.

you & jeongguk didn't move as much anymore because you both could feel him thrusting into you. taehyung thought he'd take it up a notch & slapped your ass. you moaned out, surprised & had tightened around jeongguk.

"oh my god, I'm gonna cum." he cried out, thighs starting to shake a little.

"I only want you to come when she does. " taehyung said as he thrusted deeper & deeper into you, slapping your ass harder, winning another lovely moan out from you.

taehyung bent over you now & cupped one hand around your tit & the other snaked down to your clit. between the deep penetration in your pussy, the thrusting in your ass, one of taes hands playing with your nipple & the other rubbing circles on your clit, you felt your climax approaching you.

"oh fuck- I'm about to cum." you moaned out, barely able to stay in position, feeling as if you were about to break.

"go then. you can go now too jeongguk." taehyung said, his own thrusts starting to get sloppier.

you clenched around the both of them, moaning out. jeongguk moaned out right after you, finally releasing, shaking beneath you. which triggered a somewhat chain reaction & made taehyung release right after, filling you up to the brim with cum. the three of you rode it all out together. cum was dripping out your pussy & ass, glistening on both of their cocks. you all were panting on top of each other, taehyung pulled out & went to grab some tissues in the drawer of a night stand. you pulled yourself off of jungkook & unchained his hands from the bed. you flopped in the middle of the bed, chest heaving with probably the most fucked out looking face ever. taehyung cleaned the two of you off & then himself, then slid right next to you, eyes starting to close. 

you had no idea how long you slept for, but you could see that it was still light out. then you remembered you were supposed to let seulgi know if the two were suspicious. "shit!" you exclaimed & hurried out of the bed. you picked up your watch from the corner of the room & frantically searched her number to call her. she picked up.

"hello? y/n are you ok?" seulgi asked with concern. "you were off the radar for hours, we were about to send some people over because we weren't get any responses from you."

"oh, no no I'm fine! I think maybe I went offline since I didn't see any incoming messages until now. " you said as you tried to make up something.

"hmmm, that's odd. did you find out anything? "

"sadly no, there's no evidence of their involvement it seems like."

"well then, I'd suggest you leave. we have another place for you to check out. tell me once you're on the road."

"ok." you replied. "I'll talk to you later on." & you hung up.

you went back to the bed & realized taehyung was gone & jeongguk was awake. "you're leaving already?" he asked, with a tinge of disappointment in his voice. he then reached his into the drawer of the nightstand & pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"yeah. I need to continue working or they'll think something is suspicious. " you said sliding into your pants.

"awe, that sucks. do you want one by the way?" he asked, lighting a cigarette.

"no thanks, I don't really smoke." you said, collecting all your stuff & putting it onto the bed.

"well, do you want some red wine maybe?"

you paused. "sure." & sat down next to him, taking the glass of wine he had on top of the nightstand.

"by the way, you were amazing. I don't think I've had that much fun in a good while. " he looked at you with his pretty round eyes, releasing a bit of smoke out of his mouth.

"thank you. I don't think I've ever had that much fun before, ever." you replied taking a sip of the wine. "especially with someone rumored to be in the mafia."

"yeah, pretty crazy isn't it? I don't think you expected any of this at all." he smiled. "we need to do this again, if you're up to it."

"I think I would be." giving him a little smirk. "it's not everyday you find two incredibly hot guys willing to be fuck buddies. I might have to fly back to San Francisco just to fuck. "

you heard footsteps approaching the room & finally saw taehyung, standing in the door way in a cream colored robe with a glass of red wine in his hand.

"so, you're finally awake." he said coming into the room. "how was it?"

"I liked it very much. I just told jeongguk I'll fly back to San Francisco just to fuck you guys." you giggled.

taehyung laughed, getting into the bed with you two. " I hope that is true because I'd love to do this again sometime. " wrapping an arm around you.

"definitely. I have to go now though." you said disappointedly. "I'm expected to continue working."

"hmmm, that's a shame." taehyung said sipping his wine. " I need to give you me & jeongguk's number."

"sure." you two exchanged numbers. "well, I've got to go sadly; wish I could stay longer. today was very enjoyable." you said, buttoning up your blazer.

before you walked out, jeongguk called to you "I hope you can come back! " he said, him & taehyung smirking. you smirked back, waved at them & left.

[mermaidenisaacs]

isaac went to college and became a fratboy, part 2

the aftermath of hooking up with isaac lahey at a frat party includes: shame, regret, and the stupid thrill of leaving him on read 

TW: sexual language, sexist language, some impure thoughts

I finally saw Isaac again. 

After a fire alarm interrupted my study session at the library (some idiot burned Poptarts in the microwave again), I was forced to evacuate to a nearby dining hall. I was annoyed by the whole ordeal until the hunger pangs kicked in. 

I was waiting in line for tacos when I saw him. He was sitting at a table by the windows, laughing with his head thrown back while another guy, presumably one of his frat bros, playfully shoved his shoulder and laughed along. He was surrounded by three attractive boys, one of which I recognized from my political science class last semester. I remembered him because he was unnaturally attractive, with swooped brown hair and warm chocolate eyes, and also because he had saved me from the embarrassment of forgetting to bring a scantron for the midterm by offering me one of his extras. His fratboy status aside, he was surprisingly decent. His name may have started with an ‘S.’ Steven maybe? Sam? 

I couldn’t focus on him for long, not when Isaac suddenly turned in my direction and met my gaze. I froze, caught in the act of staring. The corner of Isaac’s mouth tilted upwards into a smirk, and his gaze dropped shamelessly to my legs and drifted slowly back up, and in that moment, all the memories of our night together came rushing back. 

It was the first time I’d seen him since that night he had invited me to a party at his frat house, where he unceremoniously fucked me head-first into his bedroom door, then kicked me out, leaving me to retreat with my hair disheveled, makeup smudged, traces of him between my thighs. Anyone who wasn’t too drunk or high could piece together why I looked absolutely wrecked. I’m sure many girls had been seen doing the walk of shame out of Isaac’s room, and now I really was just one of the many, another notch on his bedpost. 

Isaac succeeded in living up to his fuckboy reputation. After that party, he texted almost every other midnight, snapchatted borderline nude selfies of his shirtless chest or his hand palming his erection over his sweatpants, with captions like “wyd,” “you up,” or “miss this?” That last one always sent waves of arousal, tainted with shame, reminders of the way I let Isaac degrade me and use my body, the way I loved every second of it and craved to feel it again. 

So far, I hadn’t texted him back, but I couldn’t resist leaving him on read. I smirked at the thought that Isaac might feel the sting of my cold indifference. It wasn’t much, and it was stupid, but it was the only power I could salvage back for myself. I avoided him in class too, and nearly gave myself leg cramps every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to sprint across campus and get to class early so I could choose a seat far away from our usual spots. I sat towards the front, an area I knew he wouldn’t encroach in fear that the professor would see him dozing off during lecture. He even texted me dirty things during class to get my attention. It was taxing to ignore the distraction, but I ignored the buzzing on my desk, letting Isaac’s stare burn a hole into the back of my head. 

Eventually he got the hint and the texts stopped, and it left me with the somewhat bittersweet realization that we had reached the end of our… whatever it was. 

Or so I thought. Three weeks and one burnt poptart later, there he was, staring back at me with the knowing glint in his eyes that only comes when you’ve seen someone naked. 

The only available table in the dining hall was one near the windows, and I would have to walk past Isaac’s table to get there. With my tray in hand and my bag hanging off one shoulder, I steeled myself and walked in his direction. 

I hung my head, letting my hair drape my face from his view, but my attempt at hiding was useless. He called out my name anyway. I tried to continue in my path and pretend I hadn’t heard him, but he called my name louder. Begrudgingly, I stopped and turned around. 

“Isaac.” I said.

“So, she lives. I was starting to get worried. You never responded to my messages,” he said, subtly referencing his obscene attempts at luring me back into his bed. 

I rolled my eyes and smiled back tight-lipped. “I was hoping you’d take the hint and leave me alone, but clearly you’re too dense.” 

One of Isaac’s friends snorted loudly at my remark, the one I recognized from last semester. Isaac glared at him. “Sorry,” the boy said. “First time seeing a girl call you on your bullshit. I like her.” 

I smiled at him, bashfully tucking my hair behind my ear. “Um, I remember you, but I’m blanking on your name. Sorry,” I said to him. 

“No worries! I don’t think we were ever properly introduced. I’m Scott. We had political science last semester, right?” I nodded. “Yeah, you were the girl who forgot a scantron.” 

“Yes.” I chuckled in slight embarrassment. “Thanks for that, by the way. You really saved my ass.”

“Of course! I was happy to have an excuse to talk to the pretty girl who sat next to me all semester, even if it was just for a few seconds,” he said charmingly, flashing an adorable smile. I scoffed playfully at the compliment. His gentle flirting was a welcomed change from the texts I’d been receiving from Isaac, who I noticed was suddenly glaring daggers at me. “Hey,” Scott said, “since you’re here and you know Isaac, and now you know me too, why don’t you join us?” 

My eyes went wide and my mind blanked. I stuttered for an excuse. “Oh, th-that’s okay, I don’t want to intrude. Besides, there aren’t even any empty seats--” 

“Oh no worries, I got you.” Scott stood up and looked around, then approached a nearby table. He spoke a few words to the group of girls studying there, who giggled at something he said and nodded. Scott picked up an empty chair at their table and brought it over, proudly presenting his contribution. “There! Please, sit.” He gestured towards the seat and smiled at me so sweetly, I felt it would be rude to reject his offer. I nodded and gingerly perched on the seat. I set down my bag and my food, and cordially gave a tiny wave to all the other boys at the table, who exchanged knowing grins. 

~*~*~*~

Isaac couldn’t believe you actually accepted Scott’s offer to take a seat. 

Not that Scott had left you much of a choice. He had these big brown eyes that girls usually fell for. And then there was the way he so valiantly brought a chair over for you. Isaac chewed on the flesh inside his cheek, unable to plaster on his usual easy grin. He couldn’t help it, especially now that you were sitting with him and his friends, acting all cute and polite, playing the act of the good girl again. 

Normally, his pride would swell if he saw you act all prim and proper. He could bask in the satisfaction of being the only one who knew who you really were, what you really were. He knew your ticks, your kinks, what you looked like when you were coming apart all over his cock and begging him for more. 

He couldn’t enjoy that knowledge today, not when his friends were staring at you like that. To any outsider, they just looked three boys engrossed in chit chat, but Isaac knew better. Behind their friendly, clean cut facade, they were all thinking the same thing, and it was far from clean. Isaac didn’t care who his friends slept with, and on occasion they even passed around the same girls, those special ones who didn’t care who they fucked as long as they had a good time. 

But for some reason, the thought that any one of them, Theo or Liam, or especially Scott, laying a finger on you, made Isaac’s blood boil. Isaac tried to extract this ugly feeling, this primal possesiveness he couldn’t seem to shake when he saw another guy looking at you.  

Isaac somehow managed to keep his expression neutral as you giggled at something Liam just said. The kid had managed to endear himself to you already. He was young, and in the newest pledge class, but he was a quick learner. Isaac had taken a fondness to him and decided to mentor him, taken him under his wing and transformed him into his image. Liam’s arrogance and eagerness to prove himself was something Isaac remembered from his freshman year. What he didn’t expect was that Liam would hone Isaac’s techniques to make girls fall at his feet and use them on you.

You giggled again. “Oh my god, Liam, I can’t believe you did that!” Liam had just finished telling a story about the time he knocked over a TV trying to do a drunken keg stand. “You could’ve broken your arm or something. What were you thinking?” 

Liam shrugged sheepishly and grinned. “I don’t know. There was a girl I wanted to impress and she was older than me, so I just went for it ya know?” 

You smiled fondly at him. “That is adorable. How much older was she? And what year are you?” 

“She’s a senior and… I’m a freshman.” Liam looked down shyly and rubbed the back of his head, just like Isaac had taught him to. The lesson was to use your age to your advantage. Girls loved that cute shit. 

“Aww, Liam you’re so cute! And I’m sure she thought so too.” 

“You think so? That’s good. I’m kinda into older girls.” Liam bowed his head again and smiled, and Isaac would’ve been proud of how well he’d taught him, if only you weren’t on the receiving end of his little performance. 

Thankfully, it didn’t seem to be working. You hummed casually in response. “Hm, I know what you mean. My philosophy professor last semester was so hot. She was maybe in her late 30s, and I still have no clue what she went on and on about, but it was my favorite lecture of the day.” 

Isaac inwardly grinned at the way Liam’s accomplished smile faded at your unaffected response. 

Theo snorted. “You had a crush on your female professor?” he drawled. “That’s kinda hot.” 

“Is it? It’s not really that big of a deal. Haven’t you ever found any of your male professors attractive? I feel like the place is swarming with hot male professors.” 

Theo looked at you in amusement, with a twinkle in his eyes that Isaac was all too familiar with. It was clear now Theo had his sights set on you, and usually when that happened, Theo got exactly what he wanted. “Can’t say I’ve had time to think about the men around here. I’ve been a bit too distracted with the girls.” 

When Liam flirted with you, Isaac could manage his jealousy, since the kid was still mostly innocent, all talk and no real game. With Theo, all bets were off. He didn’t have an innocent bone in his body and he wasn’t afraid to let girls know, and they were always very happy to know. Isaac knew he himself had strayed far from purity a long time ago, but Theo was something else. Isaac preferred you choose anyone over Theo, maybe even Scott, who was Isaac’s closest friend, if it meant you would stay away from Theo. 

“So, I’m curious,” Theo continued. “How exactly do you know Isaac?” 

Isaac noticed the way your eyes widened the tiniest bit. “Oh, uh, we um, have a class together,” you said. Isaac could hear the nervous wobble in your voice as you spoke, and his lip curled up in amusement at the realization that you were nervous because you were thinking about him.

*

author’s note: i came across a google doc of a draft i wrote 3 years ago. a continuation of a fratboy!isaac fic that made people feel some kinda way. the fic, along with all my other fics, got zapped when my old blog got terminated. but since i found the draft and remembered how many requests i got for a part 2, here it is (kinda). 3 years later. i’m sorry. 

[elderbwrry]

Even if he doesn’t say so - Chapter 4/?

Kylo/Hux/Poe Witcher AU

Chapter summary: Poe gets into a barfight - minor warnings for blood. (word count 2141)

Chapters 1, 2, 3 and on ao3

Kylo and Hux were on their way back to the tavern where Poe would be giving his latest performance...

They had spent all the afternoon consulting with the mayor of this backwater little town as to what services they could possibly render him. He was an odious man who didn't seem to know exactly what he was talking about, and prattled on for hours about werewolf sightings – Kylo was almost certain that the mayor's reports were only rumour – before changing tack to ask Hux a million pointless questions. It had taken so long that it was now almost night. The least he could have done, if all he wanted was to be able to say he'd met a mage and a Witcher, was compensate them for their time. Still, it had been fun to see how politely Hux could insult him.

There was a considerable noise coming from somewhere ahead of them on their path, and, as they rounded the corner, it became clear that the source was the tavern. The place was full to bursting, people crowding in the door and standing on tip toes to see in. The music which should have been flowing out of the place was instead replaced with shouts and jeering. Hux and Kylo figured out what was happening at virtually the same time, quickening their pace.

The place smelt of spilt beer and sweat, and the loud, human noise bit at Kylo's senses with an acidic tang between his eyes and at the back of his neck, making his fists curl. Hux shouldered his way forward, but the crush parted easily for them, creating ripples of, “It's the Witcher!”, “that horrid magician,” “mutant freaks.”

If everything had stopped when they arrived, the solid blow of flesh hitting flesh kickstarted it all again, sending forth another round of jeers as everyone turned back to the commotion at the centre of the room. The last layer of people peeled back, and the cause of it all was revealed.

Poe, his lute and doublet discarded somewhere, was squaring up, fists first, to another man who was both younger and larger than himself. The sleeves of Poe's shirt were rolled up to expose his forearms, the collar of that same shirt flapping open lower than usual, his knuckles of a shade suggesting that a number of blows had already been dealt. His hair was in disarray, sweat sheening his skin, and there was a bright red split freshly on his lip. It was... handsome. It made Kylo angry.

Growling, he took an abortive step towards Poe's adversary, only to be blocked by a surprisingly firm hand on his sternum. Hux.

“What is the meaning of this?” the mage asked the room icily.

“They're voicing their unwanted opinions,” Poe told them, and it was with such hostility that Kylo would scarcely believe it could come from him, if he didn't know that Poe had a righteous streak a mile wide.

“We don't take kindly to things like you coming to these parts,” someone said.

“Witchers and their murdering.”

“Mages and their sin.”

“We've heard the stories!” another added, and noises of assent scattered around the room.

Kylo had been in situations like this before. He'd been known to act badly in them. Rashly. Angrily. He cast his gaze around, and people seemed to shrink back from it. He could only imagine how he looked, pale skin, red scar, irises a sick, blank yellow, like a vulture. Finally, he found himself facing the man Poe had been fighting.

“Inhuman thing,” the man looked Kylo up and down with disgust and spat at his feet.

Kylo could have had the man in a choke-hold in a matter of seconds, but a determined blur shot forward, ducking under the fists the man's slackening stance had let weaken. Poe punched the man hard in the stomach, causing him to double over enough that Poe could then bring a knee up into his nose, letting loose a fountain of blood. The man yelled in pain, grabbing a hold of Poe's shoulder. Kylo had never intervened faster in his life, hitting away the man's arm and standing in his way.

“You need your pet monsters to save you, huh?” the man taunted even though he was clearly scared, or at least wary, his eyes flitting between Poe and his reinforcements, his speech clodded up with his nosebleed.

“Watch your damn words!” Poe shot back. “My friends are better men than you'll ever be.”

“Pussy.”

Kylo had to stop Poe's lurching attempt at an attack.

“Everyone out!” Hux ordered, his voice almost impossibly loud. People began to slink out of the door, but slowly enough that Kylo decided to take matters into his own hands and bundle Poe off in the direction of the stairs. He went with a few firm nudges, snatching his lute and doublet up from where they were stashed by the bar as he went. His tendons stood out where his grip on them was so tight.

“Go to the room,” Kylo hissed at him, lingering on the stairwell in case Hux needed backup.

It was quickly revealed to be a pointless consideration.

Hux already had backed Poe's assailant up against a wooden wall, the point of a dagger to his throat, his other hand glowing at his side. Kylo was almost certain that was the initial stages of a nasty hex, more than was required to intimidate some bigoted peasant.

“He started it-” the man was saying, and Hux was shaking his head with a sneer.

“That could not matter to me less. If I hear a single word from you I don't ask for, you will regret it. Do you know you laid hands on a lord?”

The man's throat bobbed. Of course he hadn't known Poe was nobility.

“In his kingdom,” Hux continued, turning the dagger so the edge was on the man's clavicle, “he is known as a good man. A righteous man. You angered- no, you infuriated a good man. Riled him up enough to do this.” Hux's tone changed, getting impossibly sharper. “I am not like him. I could raze this pathetic spit of matchsticks, if I wanted to. And you,” he dug the dagger in a little, skirting the man's jugular, “would be the one to blame, for harming someone I hold precious.” He let the threat sit for a moment before stepping back, the glow by his hand dissipating. “In fact, you had better check your house isn't already up in flames.”

The man made to scramble for the door.

“And next time,” the man paused, the hate in his eyes now significantly dwarfed by his fear as Hux spoke, “I suggest you remember that a mage's wrath is far worse than our sin.”

Kylo got up to the room before Hux could catch him watching on the stairwell.

Poe was pacing restlessly. When Kylo entered, he stopped, tapping his foot. “You should have let me beat the shit out of him.”

“You should have let me beat the shit out of him,” Kylo replied, his voice curling into a growl. To hear the way the townspeople spoke about himself wasn't unusual – he'd lashed out before, and it was one of the reasons he stayed out of towns as much as possible – but it was the first time he'd heard someone speak about Hux that way, and it was the first time Poe had come to blows that Kylo wasn't there to stop before he'd sustained damage. Crossing the room and lifting a hand to carefully tilt Poe's head to the side, examining the bruising on his jaw and temple, Kylo asked, “Did he hurt you?”

“Just bruises,” Poe replied, his teeth gritted more, Kylo suspected, from residual fury than from pain. No, that would hit later when the adrenaline dissipated. “Those things they were saying about you – fucking rude. And untrue.”

Kylo hummed some assent. “You both should be treated like royalty,” he muttered, thinking it only true; Poe wasroyalty of a self evident sort of virtue, and Hux was both powerful enough and well respected enough to demand that sort of praise.

Poe laid his fingers on Kylo's wrist. “And the things about you,” he insisted, his brow furrowing in a way that said he was concerned in a new direction. “You don't believe them, do you?”

The disbelief in Poe's voice made Kylo want to deny it. Luckily, Hux joining them in the room saved him from stumbling his way some verbal deflection.

“Did he hurt you?” Hux asked immediately.

“Just bruises,” Poe repeated as the mage approached, before protesting with a weak “Hey!” as his shirt was unceremoniously lifted by Hux to inspect him for more bruises, wincing as his surprised twist to the side made something twinge.

“What if he'd had the presence of mind to pull a knife?” Hux reprimanded him, noting with disapproving exactitude the red patches by Poe's ribs.

“Well he didn't, so it's fine.”

“That is not-” Hux cut himself off with an irritated sigh, heading to where Kylo's pack was by the table and picking through it without asking. “In the future, please remind yourself of your mortality before throwing yourself into something so foolish as a tavern brawl.”

“You sound like Leia.”

“I desperately hope not,” Hux replied drily, and, having found the vial he was looking for, returned to stand before Poe, looking over his bruises again. He popped open the vial – Kylo recognised it as one of his own healing potions, too strong for Poe just to drink – upturning it with his finger over the top, before dabbing the liquid onto the bruises.

Poe hissed at the contact. “Look, you can't expect me to just stand there while people insult you!”

“That is exactly what I expect-”

“Don't ask me to, Hux. I won't.” Poe's dark eyes flicked up to Kylo again, anguish creeping in to the set of his features. “Not when Kylo believes those things.”

Hux froze in what he was doing and straightened up, turning his own piercing eyes onto Kylo. “You do?” Voice as fine as wine, Kylo could detect in his tone notes of disapproval, mild shock, and, surprisingly, genuine pity.

Kylo had been standing there quietly until now, trying not to do anything to bring Poe back to that subject. “Well I...” he fumbled, casting around as if for an answer, pressure mounting as he could feel their attention trained on him, “I'm... it doesn't...” His eyes began to sting and – fuck that – he didn't. He didn't need to be pitied, by Hux, by Poe, by anyone else, no matter who they were to him. He knew what he was, and, though it made his blood boil to hear commoners who hadn't known half the fear and pain he had throw words around like they did, it only hurt so much because he worried they were right.

Poe was reaching out for his wrist again, and the contact made Kylo snatch his arm away and stalk over to the window with a snarled, “Just leave it.” He gripped the window sill and the wood of it creaked with the strain.

Three open-palmed bangs on the door, and the landlord hollered through to them, “I want you out! Out, you hear?”

A few more bangs had Kylo whirling round and snapping, “Fine, now fuck off!” Footsteps hesitatingly retreated, the landlord no doubt wondering whether they actually would go, but there was no way they would stay; there was an even chance Kylo would hit the next person who bothered them, and an only slightly less likely one of Poe doing the same.

“I'll fetch my things,” Hux said. They'd taken two rooms, and, as usual, Kylo and Poe were sharing while Hux got his own. “We should head north a mile or so,” he continued to lay out the reasoning for a sheltered spot he'd noticed, tending to the last of Poe's wounds.

He crooked a finger at Poe, who leaned forward a little. Hux dropped a little of the healing potion onto his thumb, and placed the pad of it tenderly onto the split on Poe's lip. It was just a moment, but though Hux was all business, Kylo noticed Poe's shoulders drop and his eyes flit to Hux's lips momentarily. When Hux removed his thumb the merest of seconds later and turned his attention to recapping the vial, Poe's tongue laved over the spot, which had already faded from red to pink under Hux's care.

The scene made Kylo want – he wanted to touch them, to patch the two of them up when they needed it, to look after them. He gripped the windowsill tighter. Next time, he'd be the one defending them.

[gingerwritess]

Ok so first of all just read your latest installment of predating idiots and OMG IM IN LOVE, as always when I read your fics!😍 you were asking for ideas and my brain spit out a random piece of crap, feel free to hate it.... maybe Loki/Laing has another patient, that requires a LOT of magic to heal, and he uses so much effort in that his illusion starts to fade and reader sees his scars again and patches him up I guess? Angsty, soft, want to trust each other but afraid? Feel free to hate it😂

GASP i love it !!! thank you for sending this in! (combined with a request for “fingertips trailing over a bare shoulder blade” from @grufflepuff !)

part 15 FINALLY of predating idiots, featuring much idiocy, lots of cluelessness, and slow progression towards understanding

warning: includes mentions of Loki’s past abuse, descriptions of injuries, blood

—   —   —   —

Robert Laing, as you are slowly finding out, has gathered quite the reputation among Stark employees.

Scattered whispers of saving a life, curing a disease, even reattaching limbs float among the break rooms and bathroom sinks, following you everywhere you try to escape.

Whether any of that is true or just a rumour started by the “doctor” himself, you don’t care.

Loki is…confusing. Not someone you should be worrying about when rebuilding your life is looking up, your professional life seems to be doing well, and someone even left a gift card for the bakery you frequent on your desk.

You’re guessing Marcus, one of your guards. The one who holds the doors for you—“not because you can’t,” he’d assured you, “just because I can.”

Your romantic life can’t possibly be on the rise, too, when everything else is going so well, right??

The rumours about you have started circulating, too.

Popular opinion decided that you and Dr. Laing never broke up in the first place, so you find yourself back in that fake little relationship—without having talked to the other member in nearly a month.

That does make it easier, though.

Acting is much simpler done solo.

Until, of course, someone comes up and asks you how skydiving over Paris was last weekend and you realise that oh yeah, this fake-relationship has to go two ways.

One of these days, one of you will screw this up.

You just weren’t ready for it to be today, and you always figured it’d be you who screws it up.

—

“I’ve made a mistake.”

You’ve heard that before—and in that case, you were the mistake he was referring to.

“I don’t care,” you reply, not bothering to look up from your laptop.

“Please.”

Figures that he chooses now to come taunt you.

“I’m sick of you, Loki, I’m not joking. Leave.”

All you hear in response is a heavy thud.

“Get out,” you repeat, slamming your hands on the desk as you stand. “I swear to god, I don’t want to hear—oh, my god.”

Fallen to his hands and knees, Loki’s covered in blood.

“What the hell—”

It’s not Loki, but it’s not Laing, either.

You slam the door shut and drop to your knees by his side. “What happened to you?”

“Messed up,” he grunts, eyes squeezed shut. “Can’t go to anyone else.”

Yeah, clearly; he’s half-and-half, right now, if anyone else saw him, there’s no denying who he is. Dark eyebrows furrow in pain over Loki’s blue-green eyes, but his hair is as short as Laing’s—though still as dark as Loki’s.

If he weren’t bleeding through his lab coat, you’d surely make fun of him for it…and desperately ignore how short, curly hair really suits him.

“How do you—uh, what do you want me to do?”

He winces, smashing a fist against the floor with a grunt of pain. “I need a cloth,” he says hoarsely. “Extra shirt, towel, something. Stop the blood.”

Nodding quickly, you hurry to the nearest bathroom and grab a handful of paper towels—they’ll have to do.

For a split-second you pause at the door. Déja vu sends your mind reeling—you’ve been in this situation before.

Loki has crawled to you before, bruised and bloodied, and here he is again.

“If you’re looking for gratitude, mortal, look elsewhere.”

You hear a grating cough from behind the door and steel yourself.

Compassion doesn’t come with gratitude.

You’ve already almost killed him twice now; the least you could do is not make it thrice.

“I need you to sit in a chair,” you say when you slip back through the door, shutting it behind you. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”

Setting the paper towels on the desk, you crouch beside his slumped form and sling his arm over your shoulders, heaving him as best you can into one of the chairs in front of your desk.

His weight falls limp onto your support—like a dead weight. Slumped and defeated.

The bleeding is coming from his back, no doubt from the cuts you saw all those days ago.

“Loki?”

Another grunt.

“I’m going to help you.” You crouch in front of him to meet his pained gaze. “But. You cannot threaten me, wipe my memory, kill me, or anything else to undermine my help after this.”

Slumped forward and gripping his knees to his chest, his eyes remain fixed on yours, silent.

“Is that clear?” Placing a tentative hand on his shoulder, you raise an eyebrow at him. “I don’t trust you, I need to hear you say it.”

He grits his teeth, but croaks out a quiet “I understand” all the same.

“Great,” you smile dryly. “I’m gonna have to touch you, too, I hope that’s okay.”

All you get is a quick nod.

“Can you take your shirt off?”

Coat caked with blood, you take it from him and gingerly dump it in the trash before helping him carefully peel the soaked button-up from his torso.

“No questions,” he chokes, immediately going back to hugging his knees to his chest.

You can’t bring yourself to respond.

This is worse than you could’ve imagined.

“What happened?”

Ignoring his request completely, you quickly whet some of the paper towels and set to work wiping the blood off any unopened patches of skin, as few as there are.

His whole body jerks with each touch, every gentle press on a cut, and he ignores your question just the same.

“Loki,” you say again. “Just tell me what happened this time.”

Something awful, clearly, but surely not as bad as whatever made these scars in the first place. Blood trickles from each of the countless reopened wounds, and he just sits there, silently shaking as if the pain he must be feeling actually feels like nothing at all.

Your heart pounds, and you fear you can’t be soft enough for how badly he’s broken.

“Please, tell me something.”

“I made a mistake.” His voice cracks and wavers, like it might die altogether. “As usual.”

“Did you…blow your cover?”

“Nearly.”

“What happened?”

You know there’s a first aid kit in the bottom drawer of your desk, so you hurry to retrieve it when the blood flow slows, and Loki quietly answers.

“I tried to take another patient. Shrapnel lodged behind the ear, nothing I can’t handle. But people were watching, I–I had too many illusions, I couldn’t—”

“Loki,” you interrupt with a wince, the couple bandages from the kit in hand. “Get rid of all the illusions you’re using.”

“What?”

“I, uh, don’t know how your illusions work.” You tap the back of his head. “But your hair is still short, and that means you’ve still got one on. We should be treating you, just you. No illusions, then maybe you can actually heal.”

You hold your breath—he’ll either do it, or that’ll be the straw to break the camel’s back…

“No questions,” comes the quiet reply.

“No promises.”

He’s silent as the last bits of his energy wash over him.

“Loki.”

“I said no questions.”

Black and blue and purple and yellowed, he’s pale, bruised and lashed to pieces, slouched in front of your desk with his head on his knees, his spine protruding much too prominently from his skeletal frame.

Minutes from death, manifested in a human form.

“Oh, my god,” is all you can manage. You can’t wrap the bandages fast enough, shaking hands holding gauze to the cuts and wrapping the bandages tight around his chest and stomach. “Oh, my god.”

Securing the last bandage, you stumble away from him, still staring in horror at the barely alive form struggling to breathe.

“Don’t look,” he rasps.

You don’t want to, in all honesty, but you round his chair and crouch in front of him, cautiously laying a hand on his arm. He flinches as expected, but slowly lifts his head to look at you.

This isn’t a god.

“Oh, my god.”

“Stop,” he hisses, shoving your hand off his arm. “Stop pitying me, stop, stop it—”

“Shut up,” you order, still gaping at the state of his face, and surprisingly, he does.

Bloody, dotted wounds line his dry, cracked lips, his eyes sunken and bloodshot, lined with yellowed flesh that seems as if it’s been blistered from too much heat. You stare, shamelessly.

“Are you quite done—”

“No.”

Stuck in a horrified trance, you lift a hand towards his face and carefully, gently trace your fingertips along the wounds lining his mouth.

Those ones are peculiar. Small and precise, matched perfectly along the upper lip and under the lower.

Your mind jumps to the worst and you try not to entertain the possibility of needles, but Loki gives a grim laugh.

“Had to silence the silvertongue somehow.”

Your stomach churns just at the thought.

“Who did this to you?”

“That’s not of any importance.”

“This isn’t okay,” you say, a finger moving helplessly to trace down his nose, bruised and looking as though it’s been broken a couple times. “Oh, my god, Loki, you have to tell someone.”

He shakes his head, that same grim smile on his grotesque face. “People only listen to what they want to hear.”

“I–I think they’ll want to hear about this!” You gesture incredulously at, well, all of him. “Obviously someone was using you, tell Thor.”

“No. They wanted an origin story, so I gave them one.”

“But it’s a lie,” you plead, pulling yourself to unsteady feet.

“God of lies.” He points a bony finger at his chest.

Caught up in the shock of his horribly beaten state, you don’t catch the confession.

“Well, y-you need help,” you decide, voice shaky. Your hand ghosts along his shoulder, bringing a wince to the god when you reach his bruised neck. “Can I take you to a hospital?”

“Absolutely not.” Closing his eyes, he takes a couple deep, steadying breaths and the wounds start to fade, some stitching themselves shut. “Please, move your hand.”

You do, quickly pulling your hand back from his neck.

“At least tell me what’s going on.”

“I messed up,” he slowly replies, still focused with eyes closed. “Bit off more than I could stomach.”

“Learning your limits is good,” you offer quietly.

He gives a dry, breathy laugh, hands starting to shake as his skin returns to a normal, healthy colour. “I’m the only one keeping myself alive, at the moment,” he explains. “Between trying to heal, keeping up a facade, and now trying to treat your wounded kind, I’m losing strength.”

You hesitate, unsure as to why he would be admitting that to you.

“Losing the double was a relief.” He’s still talking, eyes shut and a trembling hand brushing over the the needlepoint wounds lining his mouth. “I couldn’t have kept it up much longer anyways.”

“Can’t you talk to Thor?”

“No, I—”

“Why not?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t go back to Asgard.”

“But Thor will understand,” you press again, meeting his gaze when he finally opens his eyes. “He’s your brother, all you have to do is explain what happened to you…don’t laugh.”

Loki just keeps laughing, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair. Cold and humourless, but now falsely stronger.

“He’s not my brother.”

“What do you mean?” You laugh, too, just once and puzzled. “Of course he’s your brother, he talks about you all the time and calls you his brother—”

“I am not of the house of Odin,” Loki whispers, and a sick smile works it’s way onto his face. “If you knew what I am, you would have killed me when I asked you to.”

You steel yourself, gaze hardening against his own.

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not doing this again.”

His eyebrow lifts—you glare back, no backing down this time.

“Doing…what, exactly?”

“Anything that has to do with you,” you snap.

It’s just more illusions, you know, but he gets so cocky and mean and cold when the facade is up. Always after you finish patching him up and send him back on his way.

The god smiles.

“I’m sick of you taking advantage of me,” you quickly blurt before he can say anything. “A–and I don’t get why you won’t just help yourself by talking to someone.”

“No one wants to hear my story,” he says simply. “Trust me.”

“You’re wrong.”

One of the bandages slips out of place, the end of it falling onto his thigh.

With a sigh, you trudge behind him again, grab the bandage, and start winding it around him, sure to make it more secure this time. “Kindness isn’t some myth,” you huff, tugging tighter than may be necessary. “Some people actually care about others and actually want to help other people on their journeys, but the universe hates you, hm?”

Loki doesn’t respond anything more than a grunt when you yank the bandage tight against one of the cuts.

“I get it though.” The bandage secure, your hands come to a stop just below his neck, staring at one of the scars streaking along his shoulder blade. “It’s a lot easier to feel sorry for yourself than to ask for help.”

“Don’t belittle me.”

You try not to roll your eyes. All that, and that’s how he interprets it.

“Well. If you ever get around to swallowing your pride, just know that there’s people willing to help you.”

Your gaze drops from the scar to his shoulder blade, half covered with a bandage but still adding a lovely dip to the planes of his battered back.

Without thinking, you touch him one more time.

“People like you?” He asks sharply, tensing under your touch.

Your fingers trail ever so softly, barely there to begin with, along the edge of his shoulder blade.

“Yeah.”

―   ―   ―   ―

fuel the writer?

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[victoria-daydreams]

Till Kingdom Come

Prologue: The Portrait

AN: Another Old Guard fic that has been in my head since I wrote my first one. Which you should go check out, by the way. Once I created the moodboard for my OC it was over, I knew that I had to write a story about her. Fair warning, this chapter is kinda of dark, it’s definitely the complete opposite of my first chapter in my other story.

Here’s the moodboard that inspired this fic.

Summary: Most people would find the very thought of looking forward to one’s own death as morbid, but not for Sabine. Death, was something she longed for, it was the only way to freedom from the chains of slavery. And one day, she finally got her wish and she was finally put out of her misery.

Until she wasn’t.

And Sabine learned a dreadful secret about herself from the experience, setting in motion a life altering event that included four immortals who would take her on several journeys that spanned many lifetimes.

Word Count: 1.8k

Trigger Warnings: violence, slavery, abuse, racism, racial slurs, colorism

Chapter One: My Story Is Much Too Sad to Be Told

At age five, Sabine's life changed irrevocably in an instant.

She remembered that day crystal clear, the traumatizing experience was seared into her young mind. 1845, that was the year Sabine's world was turned upside down, the exact day she didn't know, slaves weren't given calendars. That day, the afternoon sun was high in the sky and there weren't any clouds to shield her from the harsh and unforgiving rays of the sun as she worked the never ending fields of cotton. Tirelessly, Sabine labored next to her mother, Anne, as they picked the prickly plant from the row they were assigned to.

Often times, Sabine would admire her mother's appearance to take her mind off the grueling labor she was forced to do. She thought her mother absolutely was beautiful with her rich brown skin, her round shaped dark brown eyes that somehow still oozed kindness and warmth with everything they are put through, and her black curly hair that was always tied up.

A lot of the slaves on the Dillon Plantation commented on the fact that Sabine's older sister, Emile, favored their mother unlike Sabine who resembled her father, Gabriel. Like her father, Sabine's skin was a warm, golden brown shade that had darkened slightly due to working in the sun. Sabine had noticed that her hair didn't have the same loose curl like her mother's hair, instead her hair resembled her father tight curls. The one feature she did inherit from her mother was her eye shape and color.

Doing this had become somewhat of a game to her, it was better than the alternative which was focusing on how many times she pricked her fingers with each hour that passed. This was the routine that Sabine had become accustomed to, from dawn to dusk, she and the rest of the hundreds of other slaves would toil away in the fields to pick the cash crop of the South.

Until one day, that routine was broken.

Sabine could hear hooves beating down on the ground and the sound of a carriage behind her. She didn't pay attention to it, the sound of them passing by on the dirt road between the fields was not uncommon. The sound grew louder and louder as the carriage drew nearer and nearer and suddenly a strong gust of wind blew past her. Sabine expected to hear the rhythmic trotting of the horses continue as they passed by her, but realized she didn't. The carriage had stopped next to her, her mother, and other slaves.

"You, girl!" Master Dillon shouted. "Turn around!" he ordered.

At first, Sabine didn't move, she wasn't sure if Master Dillon was speaking to her. She had heard Master Dillon address slaves much older than her mother and father as either 'girl' or 'boy'. It wasn't until she felt her mother lightly tap her that Sabine finally turned around to face Master Dillon. Temporarily, she was blinded by the glaring light and lifted her hand to protect her eyes from the rays of the sun.

"Yes massa'?" she asked softly.

Sabine looked up at the man that stood outside the carriage. He was tall, had short, raven-colored hair, blue eyes and angular features. Master Dillon was pale albeit with a slightly tanned complexion. A thick, bushy mustache rested between his narrow nose and thin lips, the facial hair reminded Sabine of a caterpillar.

"Oh, isn't she adorable!" a woman gushed, in a high pitched voice.

Sabine turned her head to look at the owner of the voice, a young woman sat in the carriage holding a white, lace parasol. The woman appeared to be the same age as Emile, if not older. Her skin was fair and an oval shaped face which was framed by her chestnut brown, braided chignon. The woman's small lips were curved into a smile and her blue eyes seemed to twinkle in delight as she stared down at Sabine, like she saw a new plaything.

"Brother, bring her closer to me," the woman requested, almost bouncing up and down in her seat.

Master Dillon beckoned Sabine over, "Come on girl!" he demanded impatiently.

Sabine hesitantly placed her sack of cotton on the ground and made her way to Master Dillon and the woman in the carriage.

"Pierre," the woman cooed, looking over at her brother. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself," she chuckled, shifting her stare back towards Sabine. "She's much too light to be working in these fields," she commented, shaking her head in disapproval.

"She's not that light, Genevieve," Pierre disagreed, his eyes scanning over Sabine's skin complexion.

"Well, you're right about that," Genevieve acknowledged, nodding to herself. "Still, she's not a darkie,” she pointed out, scrunching her nose up in disgust. “The girl is....an acceptable shade for a house negro," she continued, twirling her parasol. "Now, give me your inspection brother," she demanded lightly, waving her free hand.

Master Dillon moved to the side of Sabine and forcibly used his fingers to pry open her mouth, showing off her teeth.

"You see here, her teeth are surprisingly healthy," Master Dillon began, before pulling down her lower lip more. "I'm sure some of her teeth are about to start falling out soon," he informed, and removed his fingers from her mouth. "Spread your arms out girl," he ordered, Sabine immediately did as she was told and he roughly pushed the sleeve of her dress up. "She's already got some muscle on her," he stated, squeezing her small biceps. "It's like she was born to work the fields," he added, a proud grin on his face. "So, what do you think?" he asked curiously. letting go of Sabine's arm.

"Oh Pierre!" Genevieve cried happily. "Give her to me, please, please, please, please," she begged, giving her best puppy dog eyes. "This one here will make a nice addition to my collection back home," she explained excitedly, eying Sabine once more.

Sabine's eyes darted between Master Dillon and his sister, completely terrified at the thought of being separated from her family. Unconsciously, her breathing started to increase, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. Master Dillon rubbed his chin in contemplation and after a long moment of silence the man clasped his hands together.

"Aw hell, I can't say ‘no’ to my baby sister, can I?" Master Dillon asked, smiling at Genevieve. "Go ahead and take her, think of her as an early birthday gift," he continued, sticking his hand out towards Sabine.

Sabine's eyes went as wide as saucers.

Genevieve laughed giddily, "You're the best Pierre!" she exclaimed, excitedly clapping her hands together.

Sabine felt her blood run cold just as she heard hurried footsteps approaching from behind her.

Two hands gripped her shoulders and Sabine's body tensed, "Yous can't take her massa!" Sabine's mother cried, and she felt her body relax, slightly.

Master Dillon scoffed at Anne, "Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what I can or cannot do with my property?" he asked, a sneer on his face.

Anne pulled Sabine closer to her, "She's my daughter!" she insisted.

Master Dillon narrowed his eyes at Anne as a deep scowl formed on his face, "I guess you forgot girl, that you're my property as well," he stated, taking a menacing step forward and Anne stepped back pulling Sabine with her. "So anything that you expel out of your womb is mine by law," he reminded, moving closer to the mother and daughter. "I own both of you," he finished, his tone turning sinister.

Anne held Sabine a little tighter, "Sabine is not yours to give away," she stated, a defiant look in her eyes.

"Hand over the girl, now!" Master Dillon demanded, his face slowly turning red from anger and Sabine felt her small body begin to tremble. "If you make me repeat myself, you're going to be in a world of trouble girl!" he threatened, his scowl deepening.

"No!"

Suddenly, Sabine felt herself being violently yanked away from her mother and loud cries of pain erupted from her, piercing the still air of the cotton fields. Tears fell from her eyes as her mother held her tighter in her arms. A battle of tug war ensued over Sabine with Master Dillon yanking on her thin arm in the direction of his sister while Anne tugged in the opposite direction. The horrific sound of flesh hitting flesh resounded in Sabine's ears as she tripped over her feet from the force of her mother losing her grip on her.

"Mama!" Sabine yelled, as she was roughly picked by Master Dillon. "Mama!" she shouted again, thrashing her small body in the man's arm.

Sabine's struggle in Master Dillon's grasp was futile as he unceremoniously dumped her into the carriage where his sister resided, seemingly unaffected by what was unfolding right in front of her. Sabine's head snapped to the ground where her mother lay collapsed on the ground, soft groans escaping her lips. Out of nowhere, Sabine's chin was yanked to look straight ahead at Genevieve.

"Sabine, that's what your mama called you right?" Genevieve asked curiously, rotating Sabine's head around as she inspected her.

"Yes, Mistress," Sabine answered, her voice hoarse.

Genevieve slightly frowned and twisted her nose in distaste, "What an ugly name," she commented, shaking her head. "We're going to have to change that," she continued, releasing Sabine's chin. "What am I going to name you?" she mused, tilting her head. A short moment passed. "I got it!" she exclaimed, snapping her fingers. "From here on, your name is Cecile!" she beamed, clearly proud of herself.

Sabine didn't bother to argue about her new name, she didn't have any say in the matter anyways.

"Yes Mistress," Sabine replied hoarsely, in acknowledgement.

Genevieve grinned at the young girl in front of her, "Good!" she cheered, with a nod of her head. "Now, Cecile, take this parasol and shield me from the sun," she ordered, sticking her arm out that held the parasol.

"Yes Mistress," Sabine answered, gently grabbing the parasol from her new mistress' hand.

"There's a good girl," Genevieve complimented, and moved her eyes to her brother who was currently gripping Anne by her hair. "Thank you Pierre!" she smiled. "I think Cecile and I are going to get along just fine," she stated, patting Sabine's head as if she was a dog. "Take me home Cyril," she ordered, and the coachman nodded at her before tugging on the reins.

The carriage carrying Genevieve and Sabine slowly moved further and further away from Master Dillon and Anne when a loud, agonizing wail penetrated the atmosphere. The heartbroken wailing made the hairs of Sabine's neck stand up and it took a few seconds for her to realize who those wails were coming from. It was her mother's. Sabine turned her around in her seat to see that Master Dillon was forcing her mother to watch her being taken away.

"Cecile, pay attention!" Genevieve snapped, making Sabine swivel her body back around. "You're letting the sun hit me, I don't want to get as dark as you!" she sneered, and Sabine adjusted the parasol to protect Genevieve.

As the carriage turned out of the Dillon Plantation, Sabine had only one thought in her mind.

She knew at that moment she would never see her family again.

Chapter Two: Life Being What It Is

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 16

Read on AO3.  Part 15 here. Part 17 here.

Summary: The horrors of Gilead are too much to bear. You've been selfish.

Words: 3100

Warnings: Handmaid AU

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Guys... Ren knows she's missing... what the fuck is gonna happen...

(I know but I'm not telling.)

Thank you everyone for your interest and attention to this story. I have no words to express how grateful I am. I love y'all so much. <3

The rest of the house was surprisingly plain, considering its underbelly. Rey and Finn slept on the second floor, and Poe, as their driver, had an adjoining room on the first floor. The facade was one of a normal, functioning Gilead household, with Angel, Wife, and their help all existing in perfect harmony. Part of you wanted to know more about Finn and Rey’s marriage--did they love each other, was it arranged, how had they managed to create the Resistance--but you couldn’t think of a polite way to ask.

Perhaps that was more conditioning. You couldn’t remember if questions like that had appeared unimportant before Gilead.

“Anyway, that’s all for the house,” Rey said. “You’ll likely only be here a few days, but we think it’s important you know where everything is, should anything happen.”

You blinked. “Happen?”

She waved her hands dismissively. “Not that anything has! Or that we expect it to. But it’s better to be prepared.”

Somehow, this did little to ease your nerves. The reality of being involved with a treasonous group of rebels was starting to settle. Of course you could never be a spy for them. You were trying to save your life. You’d done enough risking it at the end of Kylo Ren’s cock.

Rey led you back through the den, a large room lit with tall, dim lamps and a crackling fire. Bookcases packed tight with spines adorned each wall, reaching the ceiling, and a couple of massive leather sofas framed a heavy, carved coffee table at the center. The hardwood gleamed at your feet, reflecting the flames from the fireplace. Rey trudged forward, heading toward the hearth.

“This is a little cliche, I know,” she said. “But we couldn’t think of a better deterrent than fire.”

She pulled a brick out from the side of the fireplace and tugged out a pair of thick, black gloves that went up to her elbows. After pulling them on, to your horror, she reached into the fire, digging into the logs, and yanked at a lever. Nothing happened. But she didn’t seem deterred. Next, she tore away the thick, Persian rug at the foot of the hearth, pushing back one of the slats of hardwood and using it like a handle, wrenching open a rectangular slab of wood, wisps of smoke escaping as she revealed another hidden entrance.

You shrugged, heart skipping again. “You guys have a lot of these, huh.”

Rey smiled, replacing the gloves in the brick. “Just these two. This is the more important one, though. Come on!”

With quick feet, she disappeared down the tiny staircase, the walls closing even tighter than the ones before, compressing your frame like a compactor. You weren’t as fast, surveying your path, noticing the open grate in the ceiling that hung under where the fireplace was positioned. The air was stifling, almost woolen.

“When the grate is open, it becomes pretty much impossible to breathe.” Rey was at an iron door at the end of the staircase, now, spinning the combination lock above the handle. “We hope that in the event of an emergency, it would give enough time to allow for evacuation.”

Swallowing, you nodded, as if you wanted to be worrying about an emergency. Then again, your entire life had been an emergency for the past few years. What did the change of scenery really matter? The lock clicked, and the door opened. Rey waved you on. Holding your breath, you snuck down with your skirts bunched above your ankles, crossing the threshold and into a cooler, open room. She followed, and the door clamped shut behind you.

In front of you was another area illuminated with the same battery tap lights as you’d seen in their war room, accompanied with those similar eggshell crates. Beds lined the walls, some of them occupied, others barren. At the end of the room was a closed door, light peeking out from the frame. As you glanced around the space, each time a pair of eyes landed on you, shame leapt from inside your chest and swallowed you whole. You counted three strangers corralled here, total, all dressed in sweatshirts and jeans that looked about a decade old. And inside the gazes of these strangers, you saw yourself: terrified. Desperate. Alone.

“We have a new addition today, everyone,” said Rey. “Would you like to introduce yourself?”

Throwing a half-hearted wave, you mumbled your name. “Hello.”

“Right!” Her hand at your back again, she ushered you forward. “Clockwise, that’s Louise, Audrey, Gabrielle, and…” She snapped her fingers. “Where’s Sarah?”

“In the washroom,” said the one named Louise, pointing to the closed door.

“Got it.” Hand still guiding you, Rey turned you toward the door and walked you through the locking mechanism and how to get up to the main house, if necessary. “And if anything should happen--these girls know this--pull this lever right here. It opens both grates underneath the fire place. The fire is always burning. After you pull it, you all must escape through the piping in the washroom.” She looked over the room again. “You all remember that?”

The other woman called out their assent. Rey nodded, gripped your shoulder.

“I’ll leave you to get comfortable. There’s a set of clothes underneath one of the open beds. We’ll probably be serving dinner in a few hours. We bring it down here. I hope that’s okay.”

You shifted on your feet, crossing your arms. “So… I’m stuck down here, now?” Shadows stretched across the concrete floors, the tap lights too pitiful to banish them.. “Great.”

Her face fell. “I know. It’s not ideal. But…” She sighed. “Our primary goal is to keep you all safe until transport. We’ve smuggled out dozens of Handmaids with our protocols the way they are.”

“Yeah.” You nodded.

The knowledge that Ren would soon know you were gone was crushing you tighter than the walls themselves. You couldn’t imagine him honestly razing everything within 100 miles just for you--after all, you were just a Handmaid--but then you recalled the last time you’d spoken with him. The ache in his eyes. The despair.

Not one like you.

You haunt me.

A chill cast over your intestines, goosebumps sweeping over your flesh. Your tongue was dry. “When did you say the transport was, again?” You tried to wipe your sweating palms on your skirts.

Rey’s nose twisted in consideration. “We have a contact willing to collect a shipment at the end of the week. So it probably won’t be for a few more days.”

You coughed, trying to clear the dust from your throat. You hoped you’d last that long. “Okay.”

“Everyone all right?” Rey asked, casting a glance across the room. When no one responded, she grinned, and left through the iron door, sealing it tight behind her.

A long, heavy sigh left you, and you turned back to the room, again meeting the anxious gazes of the other women. You shuffled over to an empty bed, reaching underneath it, finding, to no surprise, a pair of baggy jeans and a large sweatshirt. You sat down with a loud squeak, mattress deflating like marshmallow underneath you. Every bed in here was covered with mismatched sheets, the frames combinations of screwed together steel bars and wooden slats.

You regarded the set of clothing with some degree of confusion. The thought of putting them on your body seemed foreign. Wrong. The red dress of your captivity didn’t seem right, either, but at least it was familiar.

“I promise that once you put that stuff on, it feels so much better.” One of the women approached you--the one named Audrey. Her dark hair was short. Very short. She must have cut it the second she was free.  “It’s totally weird at first, though.”

“Yeah.” The sweatshirt was grey, stained, with colorful stripes across the chest area that had faded with time. “I don’t really want to change in front of everyone, though…”

“Don’t!” she said. “Sarah will be out in a second. You can change there.”

You nodded, glimpsing the other women watching you. “How long have you… all of you been here?”

“It’s been about a week for me,” Audrey said with a laugh. “My Commander hasn’t given a shit that I’ve been gone.”

“We both came in the middle of the night a few nights ago,” Louise said, gesturing between herself and Gabrielle. Louise had a crooked nose, and her long, blonde hair was tied in braids and piled on top of her head. “I didn’t know if she’d make it!”

Gabrielle shrugged. “You basically bullied me into it.”

“Oh, please,” Louise said. “Don’t act like you weren’t desperate to get out of Dopheld’s house.”

She sighed. “You’re right.” Gabrielle looked at you. Her eyes were dark pools. “I was just scared.”

Audrey nodded. “We were all totally scared.”

“Well,” you said. “That makes four of us.”

“Five.” Louise tilted her head toward the washroom door.

“Has anyone checked on Sarah?” Gabrielle’s nose wrinkled in concern. “She’s been in there a while.”

You blinked. “Checked on her?” It seemed rude to just… check on someone because they were taking a while in the bathroom. Everyone had their bodily struggles.

Audrey stood. “I’ll do it.” She crossed to the door, rapping it with a single knuckle. “Sarah? Are you okay?”

Frowning, your gaze switched between Louise and Gabrielle, hoping they’d provide you with some sort of context. The hesitation in their expression tightened your chest. Dread loomed over you again, a creature ready to consume.

“What is it?” you whispered. “What’s going on with Sarah?”

“Sarah got here last night.” Louise’s voice floated in the air. “She… She’s having a hard time.”

Audrey rapped again. “Sarah? Open the door, hon.”

A tiny whimper rippled from beyond the door. “Leave me alone.”

“Come on, Sare. You’ve been in there for an hour. You’ve gotta come out at some point.”

The hidden voice was tattered, like fabric with more holes than weave. “No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do,” Louise called, frowning. “There’s a new person here. She needs to get comfortable too.”

“A new person?” A loud sniffle, and shuffling behind the door. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know--”

Audrey stood back from the threshold. “It’s okay, hon--”

The door swung open, revealing a young woman--perhaps the youngest out of all of you--in a sleeved shirt and sweatpants, her long hair swarmed in a nest around her head, her cheeks a furious red. She sniffled again, which stoked the uneasiness in your heart, but what set it aflame was the rest of her appearance. Her hands were shredded, knuckles purple and puffy, and her right eye was an ugly, dead black, swollen shut, accompanying a massive knot at her forehead. A scab crept over a split in her lower lip.

Your jaw dropped. Sarah plodded out of the bathroom, gaze trained on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know someone else was here.”

“Don’t--uh, don’t apologize,” you said. “I… I only just got here, so…”

She nodded, plopping down on her bed. You sought out direction from the other women, feeling helpless. To get up and just go change seemed a little sociopathic at the moment.

Audrey sat next to Sarah on her bed. “How are you feeling, hon?”

Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know. I keep thinking I see him out of the corner of my eye.” She was blank, numbed to her surroundings. “My… my other eye, I mean.”

“I know.” Audrey offered a sympathetic smile, rubbing her back. “You’re free, now, though. You won’t ever have to go back to his house again.”

Something slithered from the depths of your psyche and seized you, coiling around you, strangling the air from your lungs. Guilt.

“Your… uh, your Commander did this?” Your voice was stretched like film over your throat.

Sarah peeked at you, nodded. “When he learned I wasn’t pregnant.”

Guilt now snaked its way into your vessels, stuffed you with its presence. “I… I’m really sorry.”

She shrugged, face blank once more. “I just want to be able to sleep through the night again.”

“Me too,” said Gabrielle. “I get so tired of looking over my shoulder every day.” She shivered, shaking off a memory.

“Ooh, I know.” Louise reached up and pulled her braids from their spiral. “And to never have to smell his breath again.”

“Or just see his face in general!” Audrey chuckled. “I’m tired of being called a pig.”

“A pig?” You blushed when you realized it was you that had spoken. “Sorry. That’s terrible.”

Audrey shrugged, offering a wry, pained grin. “Wasn’t as bad as when he slapped me.”

With every admission of abuse, more oxygen escaped your body. Of course, your situation was no more enviable--you knew this, logically--but there was something different about your desperate, impassioned rendezvous with Kylo Ren in comparison to these women who were literally being beaten. And worse. Kylo Ren was possessive, manipulative, controlling, perhaps even heartless--but at least you’d wanted every single finger he laid on you.

In the end, you were running because there was a dark, awful part of you that wanted more than just sex, and the battle with your desire put your life at risk. These women were running because they wanted less--less of all of it. The realization lit a match to the kindling of your guilt.

“Do other Commanders know about this?” For some reason, you wanted permission to be enraged. “That this happens?”

Gabrielle snorted. “Of course they do. Some of them even team up, if you’re unlucky enough.”

“Team up?” Your jaw tensed.

“Whatever you take that to mean,” Louise said, “that’s what it means.”

Gabrielle leaned forward, scanning you. “You can’t really be that ignorant,” she said. “You lived it, too.”

“Come on, now. Her Commander must’ve been one of the low-ranks,” said Audrey. “Who was he?”

You looked between them, face hot. The words wouldn’t come out of your mouth. You were ignorant. There was no one to blame but yourself. You’d wrapped yourself in the protective sheet of your Commander’s attention, so twisted and obsessed with your own misery you’d never taken time to truly consider his role in maintaining the system. Kylo Ren hadn’t just subjugated you--he’d subjugated all of Gilead, propped it up on false limbs and shielded it from criticism. By default, he protected each one of the men that these women were running from. By default, he was complicit in, an agent of their power. By default, he was corrupt.

By default, he deserved to be brought down.

“Hello?” Louise waved. “Anyone there?”

You snapped to attention. “Sorry!” you said. “What, uh, what was the question?”

“I just asked who your Commander was,” Audrey replied. “You don’t have to--”

“Kylo Ren,” you replied, and found yourself standing. “Please excuse me.”

“Kylo--” Gabrielle stuttered. “Isn’t he right under--”

“Yeah, he’s Commander Snoke’s right-hand man!”

“She’s his Handmaid? She got away?”

“Doesn’t that make it more dangerous for us?”

“It totally doesn’t, we’re already running.”

Your brain was too busy spinning with newfound purpose. You’d walked over to the door, hands quaking as they worked to unlock the exit as Rey had instructed. Behind you, the other Handmaids were chattering, their stares like weights on your back. Blood rushed by your ears, pulse thumping at your temple, beating with a burgeoning power. The door opened, and you slipped beyond it, holding your breath through the hot tunnel to the main house. Your limbs were moving faster, shoving open the hatch, punching away the heavy rug, and you scrambled out, tripping over your feet as you stumbled through the house.

“Rey?” you called. “Finn? Poe?”

It was strange, how threatening silence could be in this world. You crossed through the den, peeking around the corners, searching like a hound. There was something boiling inside you, like a geyser, ready to explode through your skin, wrench you apart with its insistence. You could feel the words on your tongue, taste them, and they were begging to be given life, to find release.

“Rey!” you shouted up the stairs. “Finn! Poe!”

Still no response. Dread again, descending onto your shoulders, hijacking your heart, your breath coming faster, cycling through your lungs. If something had happened, making a ton of noise likely wouldn’t help. You sucked in a deep breath. You hadn’t checked outside. Gathering your skirts, you slunk to the back door, popping the locks and prying it open, inch by inch. Voices hit your ears. You froze. You couldn’t see them--they were around the corner, in the garden.

“We did rush the transport.” It was Finn. Relief tugged at your mind--but he sounded concerned. “The contact still says they won’t be able to make it for another 48 hours.”

“Dammit.” That was Poe. “And no response from bunker?”

“They’re full,” a voice you recognized as Rey’s replied. “They just took in another on emergency.”

“Shit!” A frustrated sigh escaped him. “I thought we’d at least have half a day to figure out where  we’d move her.”

Your stomach flipped. Her. You?

“Well, this is Ren we’re talking about,” Finn replied. “We knew how he might get.”

Now your stomach lurched. Yes, you.

“We still have a few hours,” said Rey. “According to our intel, he’s only just now received report his Handmaid was taken off the streets for re-education. Even assuming he abandons his post, he’ll still need to figure out she never made it to a Red Center and find out who took her.”

More nagging guilt. How hard they were working, just to keep you safe. To keep you from him.

“Should we file the missing report to the Eyes?”

You didn’t want to be rude. But new guilt was morphing, too, liquefying to rage in your belly.

“I’m already on it.” Finn sighed. “Let’s just go with the plan as-is, for now. We don’t know what his intentions are. He might not even come here.”

Your fists clenched. You wanted him to.

“This would’ve been so much easier if she had agreed to work with us,” Poe mumbled.

You trembled, roiled through with fury for the women in the basement, for your saviors, for Johana and Emma and Rose, for--hell, yourself. All of you pinned underneath the monstrosity built by Ren and the Commanders like him, some of you struggling with trembling knees, others collapsing, devoured by the machine as they strained to support its weight. Taking a deep breath, you stepped into the backyard.

Rey sighed. “Well, she didn’t--”

“Wait.” Your voice was cold and foreign. Finn, Poe, and Rey turned the corner from the patio, mouths parted in shock. “I’ll do it.”

A smile cracked Poe’s face. “You will?”

“Really?” Rey grinned.

“Yes. I’ll do it. I’ll be your spy.”

A flock of birds scattered from the yard, taking off into the dusky sky.

[elizabeth-davis-horse-thief]

Howling Mountains and Memories (Charles Smith x ELizabeth Davis [OFC])

Synopsis: In the aftermath fo the Black Water Massacre, the Van Der Linde Gang were forced to run into the snowy mountains. Eliza was immediately put off by the cold environment, but as night comes, old fears stop her from sleeping. Then Charles finally returns from his shift guarding the area, only to see Eliza was still awake and shaking. 

Authors Notes: This is set in Colter at the beginning of the game. Elizabeth Davis is my OC for this fandom. If you would like to read more about her, here's her character form: https://www.quotev.com/Darkshadow3942/journal/7063376/Red-Dead-Redemption-2-OC-Elizabeth-Davis

The cold is unforgiving. It can make the toughest of men shiver in their boots. On the side of the mountain, who knows what could be lurking out there. 

These were the insidious thoughts plaguing Eliza on her search for sleep. Tugging the sheet closer to her form, she was willing herself to stop shivering. But it wasn't just the cold taunting her. The smallest of noises caused Eliza to shoot up in her cot, her eyes the size of dinner plates. 

After having a moment to breathe, the female sighed in frustration. Her brows knitting together like she was trying to glare at herself. Too bad she didn't have a mirror to help in that endeavour. Somehow, she pulled the sheet tighter around her thin frame in another attempt the halt her shivering. It still didn't work. 

Trapped, cold and hungry, men are easy to tempt. They will be tempted towards the most heinous of acts, no matter how good they were in life. Nothing will stop the spirit's hunger and how it plays into the will to survive.

Eliza's eyes screwed tightly shut. It was her vain attempt to think of anything else, something more comforting. But her grandmother's story persisted. The sounds outside the cabin walls made it worse. It was like she was a child again, but not in a positive manner. Not the 'so young you feel free again' feeling, it was the knowledge of how small and helpless you genuinely are.

No longer men they stalk the mountainside with an insatiable hunger for the flesh of others—the Wendigo. You'll know if you see one, my little Liza, they're unmistakable. Its skin is pulled tight against the bones, long claws and sunken eyes of blackness. There's no humanity to be found.

Everyone around Eliza laid fast asleep, surprisingly. She was the only one awake. So the search for group comfort was futile. The female placed herself back against the cot. "You're not a child anymore, what's wrong with you" She muttered bitterly. Aiming a glare towards the ceiling, Eliza was commanding herself to go to sleep. The night would end quickly if she just got to sleep. 

It's more likely you will hear it before seeing it... The creature will use the voices of your loved ones to lure you closer. 

Her stubborn resolve was quickly shattered by something outside. Was it something scratching the walls? No... no, it wouldn't be. Eliza did her best to reason with herself. But the image of bloody claws dragging across the aged wood trumped all reasoning. Eliza's cot was set closer to the door of the cabin, making all too easy to hear something trudging through the snow, and it was getting closer. 

Sitting up, Eliza pressed her form against the wall, bringing her knees to her chest. Still wrapped in the sheet, she buried her face into her knees and silently prayed to be relieved of this fear. 

The sound of the door opening reached her ears, causing Eliza to curl in tighter. Her irrational reasoning just wanting it to end quickly if it was a wendigo. She didn't want to even catch a glimpse at the skeletal frame she was believed to be approaching. She did not want to see those claws, probably coated in the dried blood of previous victims and the same goes for the teeth.

Most of all, she did not want to look into those black, sunken eyes as it slashed opened her--

"Eliza?" Fingers tentatively grazed her shoulder. 

Eliza flinched, her head shooting up to look, despite her fears. In place of what she was expecting was... Charles. His hand drew back a little as she jumped. Eliza took this chance to look around the cabin again, taking in the details around her, finally releasing the breath she had been holding. 

"Eliza," Charles spoke again, drawing the female's attention back to him. "What's wrong?" He asked, his brows pulling together. It was a small change in his expression, but it portrayed a lot to Eliza. His hand gradually placed itself on her arm, his thumb stroking the small area the sheet is laid over. 

Shoulder slumping, Eliza shook her head, rapidly putting a smile on her face. "Nothin'. I can't sleep in the cold," She stated, gripping her sheet closer. Glancing down, she reached out for his injured hand, gently slipping her fingers under his palm to get a closer look. "How's your hand?" She asked, trailing her thumb lightly over her handiwork of bandaging. 

Charles didn't respond. Instead, his intact hand rose to her face, his thumb dragged across her forehead to feel she had been in a sweat. His brows lowered subtly, creating a stern expression. "Eliza. What happened?" He asked again. 

Her rust-coloured eyes briefly met his only to dart to the room's edge with a huff. Her bottom lip pushed forward to form a small pout. "I said it was nothing."

"It clearly wasn't, Doe."

"Nothing to worry yourself over."

Charles sighed, relocating to sit next to her. His arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her against his form. Feeling her rest in his embrace, he stroked her hair. Abruptly, Eliza jumped at the sound of more creaking across the cabin. She pressed herself closer to Charles and gripped his coat.

Charles also jumped but in reaction to Eliza's sudden movement. He blinked once, then twice as he gazed upon the frightened woman clinging to him. This... was his Eliza, right? He pondered. His arms assuming their original position around Eliza, he pressed his lips to her hair and rocked her gently. 

"I got you, My Doe." He whispered into her raven tresses, then he shifted to rest his chin on her head while she nuzzled into his neck. Eliza stilled as Charles rubbed his palms over her figure, hoping to help warm her up. 

They sat in that silence for a few seconds, Charles' hold on Eliza tightening whenever he felt her jerk at the small noises. "Would you like me to stay?" He whispered and was responded to with a nod. Charles slowly shifted to lean away from Eliza, just enough to let him removed his coat. 

Eliza laid down again, patiently waiting for her partner to join her. As he came to lay down, she threw the sheet over him as well, and he placed his coat on top. His arms circled around her waist, tugging her to relax against his chest. 

While snuggling up to Charles, Eliza glanced around the cabin again. This time with a calm mind. It merely was a frigid wooden cabin—nothing else. Eliza released a frustrated sigh that earned a raised eyebrow from Charles. Eliza made sheepish eye-contact only to look away, her cheeks puffing as she huffed. "It's stupid..." She told him.

When Charles' eyebrow only seem to rise higher, Eliza pouted. "My grandmother told me a story as a child, and it still scares me. It's ridiculous! I'm not a child anymore." She explained... while pouting... like a child. 

Charles, while amused at the irony, smiled gently at Eliza. Leaning forward to kiss her forehead, he then bumped her nose with his affectionately. "It is just a story, my dear." He stated. Promptly followed by a chuckle as Eliza continued to pout as well as narrowing her eyes at him. 

"I know." The female growled. 

"But," Charles started, meriting an elevated brow from Eliza. "Anything that scares you isn't stupid or ridiculous." He asserted, leaning down to nuzzle into her neck. Eliza's pout vanished, replaced with quiet giggling at the sensation of his scratchy stubble upon her skin.

Charles smiled, glad to hear the sound. He pressed a soft kiss to her neck, then he reassured her "I'm here to warm your cold nights and to make sure you're not alone. You're safe, Eliza."

Eliza's fingers found their way to his hair, threading through his dark locks. "Thank you, Charles." She whispered, mindlessly playing with his tresses. Charles responded when he pulled back from her neck to press a kiss to her lips. 

Beaming at one another, Eliza then cuddled back into her companion's chest. Finally settling in and feeling the weight of her fatigue approaching her, Eliza's eyes fluttered closed. But a smile remained on her features as she cherished her grandmother's words.

But you'll never see such an evil thing, Little Liza. You're safe in the arms of those who love you. You always will be. Now, it's time for bed. Close your eyes and rest.

...

...

...

"Charles?" 

"Hmm?"

"Don't speak a word of this to anyone. Alright?" 

He chuckled, "Not a word." He promised. "Now get some rest," 

[goodbyevanny]

All-girls school AU - Good Omens

This has since been edited and posted on AO3!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22201279/chapters/53005516

Writer’s note: I saw a prompt on tumblr, and it hit me hard, as I went to an all-girls Catholic school and definitely did my fair share of pining over my best friend. That said, I’m in the US, in a very specific part of the country. So, in the spirit of write-what-you-know, the setting is in the US, and you will see some culture references to that. Keep in mind this is an AU. I’m gonna be honest, this is just a lotta self-indulgent wish fulfillment and me working through my own issues. 

Summary: Aziraphale Angeles has been given a fresh start as a first year at prestigious all-girls Catholic school and she LOVES it. She’s finally being left alone by her family, and she loves her uniform, her books, her tea. It’s practically Eden, if only she didn’t keep running into that trouble maker, Antonia J. Crowley! She does NOT need more questions in her life...

Rating: T

Warnings: Main characters both experiencing and participating in fat-shaming, homophobia, transphobia. Aziraphale grew up in a very religious, patriarchal household and her views will be in line with that upbringing. Of course, this will change through the story.

It will begin, as always, in a garden. 

It was the second week of starting at Immaculate Conception Preparatory Academy for Girls, and Aziraphale Angeles was feeling guilty over just how much she was enjoying herself. When the term had started, she hadn’t been sure as to what to expect, but so far it was surprisingly, well, wonderful. 

Honestly, she had expected to hate it. The Holy Angels University system was designed to so that you could spend the entirety of your academic career within it (and, in her family’s case, even after) and Aziraphale had known from when she was very young that she very likely would. This meant that entering high school was a simple matter of walking up a very steep hill to a new building. Her classmates, for the most part, had transitioned with her, and of course, she had a plethora of cousins in the school as well. 

She had anticipated her troubles from her younger years following her here, schoolyard taunts of ‘Azira-FAIL’ echoing in her head. She’d imagined being ostracized at lunch, eating at the end of a table filled with family and their friends, only being acknowledged with the occasional snide comment about how much she was eating, and how she never pulled her nose out of a book.

But it hadn’t been like that at all. First, the homeroom that she had been placed in had none of her former classmates. As the most prestigious private school system in the city, students from all over matriculated in, not just from the associated middle school, so there had been plenty of new students to meet. 

Even better, her homeroom was presided over by the head of the Theology department, which was always one of Aziraphale’s best subjects, and she’d managed to impress her professor on the first day. She was given the job of class rep, and that alone had given her the kind of protection and independence she had craved in her younger years. At first student council meeting she received a gold brooch with the emblem of the institution: a heart, encircled by thorns, pierced by a sword, wreathed in flames. Aziraphale had wrinkled her nose when she had received it, annoyed by the heavy-handed, overlapping imagery. But even so, she felt proud to have it shining on her lapel.

It wasn’t just the pin she loved; it was the whole uniform. Her brand new oxfords, with the sharp contrast of white and black. The silky feel of her stark-white summer knee-highs. Her brand-new summer uniform, the polyester skirt in inverse eternity tartan, with the matching camel colored tartan blazer and tartan bowknot tie. Her starched linen blouse, neatly tucked in, and large white grosgrain bow, perched like wings atop her perfect high ponytail. Or at least, her attempt at a perfect high ponytail. She found her white-blonde curls rather refused even the most maximum hold gel or hair spray, so by the end of the day a cloud of frizz had usually fought free it’s constraints and made it look like a haze or halo around her head.

Also, the high school was much more lax in how it corralled its students. Meaning, classes were held at regular times, and it was up to you to make sure you attended the correct number of sessions every week; other than that, your day was free for independent study. Aziraphale was allowed now to spend almost the entire day in the library, or quiet classrooms with cozy window nooks for reading. Combining that with her class rep pin, which allowed her to roam the halls as needed, she felt free for the first time in her life. It was heady.

Her evenings had been a delight of tea and cocoa, cozy blankets and books now that she had moved into the dorm. Her cousins, including Michael, were all in the upper years’ dorms, so after dinner, she didn’t even have to see them. Even better, some combination of her family’s connections and her pristine academic record had scored her a single room. The only thing that had disturbed her peace so far had been the loud music coming from the room across the narrow hall, but even that had been turned down when she knocked on the door, without her needing to say anything. 

She knew this peace wouldn’t last, but for now it was all just so lovely. 

Now, two weeks in, she was comfortable in her routine. She was in the back of Professor Tracy’s classroom, where there were several very cozy chairs set on a plush, if worn out, rug. It was one of her favorite classrooms so far; set on the third floor, overlooking the school’s science building and extensive gardens. The chairs were set in front of an unlit fireplace that probably didn’t even work, but Aziraphale thought gave a nice ambiance to the room. She was quite comfortable and, having already completed attending the necessary lectures earlier in the week, full intended to camp out in this chair for the rest of the day. She’d plugged in the electric kettle on the nearby shelf, intending to enjoy a cup of tea with the pastry she smuggled out of breakfast in her handkerchief. She’d gone so far as to carefully unlace her oxfords and set them next to her book bag, so she could tuck her feet under her. 

Today she intended to begin on the recommended reading list that had been provided to her by the terrifying University library assistant, and had checked out the few books that were carried by the high school library. While she waited for the kettle to be ready, she stared out the diamond paned windows that arched upwards, almost reaching the painted tin ceiling. It was probably the best view on Mt. Eden, overlooking the gardens and orchards that tumbled down the hillside to the valley below. Her eyes traced the highway that hugged one side of the mountain, only to then twist away into the distance, raised high above the valley so it nestled between the treetops. 

She could see dark clouds gathering at the edge of the valley and could see it would likely rain soon. Thankfully, she didn’t have any classes in the science building, which was detached, but she had her white ruffled umbrella with her anyway, and thought she might come up with some sort of excuse to go outside with it later today. Her brother had brought it back from Japan, and she was somewhat eager to use it, even if it wasn’t really needed. 

She had just settled in with her cup of tea, taken a bite of the pastry, and read the first page of Dangerous Angels when Professor Tracy interrupted. 

She hadn’t meant to interrupt her, of course. Instead, the teacher who was rapidly becoming her favorite professor was standing at the windows, peering down in the direction of the orchards. “Oh no, Mr. Shadwell. Ohhh leave them alone, they’re fine,” she fretted, and then finally reached for the hand crank to open the window. As soon as it was swung open, she was calling out and waving, “Mr. Shadwell! Mr. Shadwell! Oh dear, I don’t think he hears me, Sargeant Shadwell!” 

Well. There would be no reading through that nonsense. Aziraphale untucked her feet and wandered in her socks up to the window to look out, and immediately saw the problem. From this vantage point, it was easy to see the three girls lounging in the stone circle at the center of the orchard, and farther up the hill, the insufferable Mr. Shadwell making his rounds. The last call out of Professor Tracy had stopped him in his tracks, leading him to stand, eyes roving over the building, looking for the offending distraction.

There was no time to waste. Aziraphale was already back in her chair, shoving her feet in her oxfords and desperately tying up her laces. She’d have to leave her things, but she thought it would probably be fine, as Professor Tracy and her had an understanding...and with one last glance around she snatched up her umbrella and ran out of the room.

Aziraphale hated running. It conjured up the worst memories for her, sweating and taunted in gym class, in white T-shirt that she felt was unnecessarily tight. Michael, her cousin, laughing and pinching the flesh above where Aziraphale’s gym shorts dug in. “Like a fat frosted cupcake,” she teased, and the nickname had stuck. It had taken over a year before Aziraphale could eat cupcakes again without furious tears. (Not that she had give up eating them, though, because Michael was not taking that away from her too. She just sniffled through through deliciousness.)

Yet now she was running, out of the classroom, down the hall, and then down the stairs in leaps and bounds, taking multiple steps at a time and then out outside, down more steps towards the STEM building and the accompanying gardens. She had recognized one of the students from the orchard immediately: Eve. They’d met in homeroom, and had started a tentative friendship; at any rate, Eve saved her a seat every morning and afternoon in their homeroom.

The heat outside was oppressive, even with the increasingly storm dark skies, the humidity instantly freeing wisps of curls to halo her face and fluffing her ponytail. She tried to smooth the white blond strands back against her scalp even as she ducked behind an impressive hedge of oleander, trying to see where Shadwell had gotten off to. She sighted him as she passed the long line of towering cypress that ran alongside the driveway behind the school. He was shouting up at Professor Tracy, who was hanging partly out the window, obviously hoping to catch the notice of the students and get them to move. Shadwell sounded apoplectic, and was alternating between stomping his feet and vigorously pointing at the professor. 

Aziraphale hurried down the limestone steps at the edge of the slope  to the gravel path that wound through the orchard, gritting her teeth as sweat began to drip between her breasts and collect along the underwire of her bra. Eve and her were going to have words this afternoon in homeroom over this. 

When she reached the stone circle, she pulled up short. Eve was there, sure enough, with her long dark curls, lustrous eyes and smooth complexion. Aziraphale couldn’t help but return a helpless smile as Eve caught sight of her and grinned, a mischievous brow arching. But Aziraphale’s smile faltered when she caught sight of Eve’s company. First, there was a boy. Wearing their uniform, no less. Where had he even gotten it? From Eve? What was she thinking? If she was caught with a boy they would be expelled! And her other friend—Aziraphale gave this second girl a look over. “Good Lord,” she muttered. 

This second girl lounged on the stone benches that made up the ring of circle, long legs spread out before her and weight resting on one arm, while the other was propped up on her bent knee. The only thing that kept it from being ridiculously lewd was that she wasn’t wearing the skirt uniform. Instead, she was wearing the pants, in the black eternity tartan, completely out of season. Her matching blazer had been tossed over the bench behind her. Her shirt was untucked and her tie was tied like a boy’s. She was wearing what were likely very fashionable sunglasses, because they looked ridiculous, and her head tipped back so she could look down her nose at Aziraphale as if Aziraphale was the one that deserved to be judged. 

But, worst of all, was her hair. Loose, like Eve’s, but carefully styled, deep red curls. It hung down her back in ringlets, and Aziraphale was sure it wasn’t naturally that color. No one had the right to that much color, on their head, it was obscene, and wasn’t that just the perfect word for this creature, she thought, as her eyes traced down the long line of her tanned throat, and did she have her top button undone?!?

Eve was laughing, “Oh c’mon, if you glare any harder you’ll burn a hole through them,” and the floozy had the gall to smirk. 

Aziraphale whirled around to face Eve, hands on her hips, white umbrella still clutched tightly in one hand.”Have you lost your mind? What are you doing down here? With a boy?” She threw out an arm and waved it up and down to encompass the offending human, who was adjusting a pointless, but lovely, matching headband on their shaved head. 

“Oh? Jealous already, Azira?” Aziraphale stepped back and her mouth fell open, eyes wide. “What? No! Of course not! I just,” and hold on, she wasn’t the one out of line here. “BOY!” she snapped back, and gestured again.

“It’s just Adam. We’ve been friends forever, Adam having such a time of it at the boys’ school, and Tony had the brilliant idea to have them hang out with us here! I mean, if they’re in uniform, and we just hung out in open classes, how would anyone even tell? We’re firsties, professors don’t even know us yet, really.”

There was so much wrong with that statement, and too little time to unpack it all. “You and I are going to have a talk after study hours tonight. But for now, Shadwell is doing his rounds, and you all need to get out of here,” she could already hear him cursing and sliding on the gravel at the top of the orchard. Tony–of course this delinquent would have a boy’s name–looked up the hill in what might have been a vaguely interested way, but it was impossible to really tell with those stupid sunglasses. Then, quick as a snake, she was up on her feet and was exiting the circle, one hand saluting with a “Ciao.” She slipped between the trees and was gone.

Aziraphale rolled her eyes, and went to follow, but Shadwell had spotted them. “I see you, ladies, stay where you are! Miss Angeles!” He was in sight of them now, but was slowed by the steep incline of the gravel path.

“Oh!” Aziraphale spun in a circle, fretting, and finally her hands flew to the gold brooch on her lapel. “Oh no,” she lamented, but there was nothing for it. She unfastened it and then quickly reattached it to Eve’s blazer. “Stay behind us,” she told the boy, who wisely hadn’t said anything so far, thank the good Lord, because she didn’t think she’d be able to handle any more idiocy at this point. 

They barely had time to turn around when Shadwell burst through the bushes. “Out of class!” he spat. “Smoking? Drinking?”

“Please, Sergeant Shadwell, I think you know me a good deal better than that.” Aziraphale stepped forward.

She hated “cheating” in this way, but she also knew that it would take nothing short of a miracle to get Shadwell to get him to let this go. Angelic influence was required. And by that she meant, of course, the Angeles family name. Her family was the founding benefactors and remained the principal donors to the Holy Angels University System, and being a part of that family did come with certain privileges. 

“Eve is a class rep with me, and um, Professor Tracy saw this student out of bounds so we were sent to escort them back in. For demerits,” she said, nervously tucking wisps of her white-blond hair behind ears. 

Eve stepped forward and tapped the badge for good measure, trying to distract Shadwell from getting too close of a look at her companion. Although, Aziraphale really wished she hadn’t, because now Shadwell would ask—

“Hrmph. And where’s yours, then?”

“Oh, um,” Aziraphale glanced around like she actually expected to see it lying on one of the stone benches, and not like it was pinned to Eve’s blazer plain as day. “It’s around somewhere. Forget my own head next,” she smiled and laughed weakly, and prayed Shadwell didn’t ask why the girl behind them had no hair and broad shoulders. She was delivered, though, by a single distant bell toll. “Oh goodness, we need to get going to our next class! Thank you Sergeant, you’ll take over patrolling where we left off, yes? Ok!” And then she was steering Eve and the boy forcefully up the gravel path, through the break in the crumbling stone wall around the orchard. 

It wasn’t until they were back in the building, the halls crowded with students passing to their next class that her heart started to calm. They followed her as she ducked down a side stairwell that lead to the basement level and pushed open the door on the distant side of Mt. Eden. The slope would lead to the bridge that connected their crest of Mt. Eden to the lower hill of the boys’ school.

She turned to Eve. “Ok, you have to get him back to his own school, he can absolutely not be here when classes let out for the day. All in all, this was a terrible idea and I can’t believe you let that girl tempt you into it!”

“Azira, thank you so much for coming to get us—

“No, best not thank me, I do feel a bit like I’m sending you into the lions’ den. I have no idea how you’re going to get him back on campus.”

Eve reached up to her lapel and began to unfasten the pin, but Aziraphale reached out and covered her hand with her own to stop her. “Oh, no need to worry about that. You can get it back to me another time. You better hold on to it for now, it might be useful.”

Eve smiled, dazzling Aziraphale, and then threw her arms around her, hugging her tightly, and for a moment Aziraphale was breathless. Just as quick, Eve stepped back and took up Adam’s hand, and pushed open the door. “I’ll see you at dinner!”

“You better!” Called out Aziraphale, but then the door swung shut with a heavy snap, and she wasn’t sure if she’d been heard. It seemed too final, and she wanted to see that Eve and that stupid boy were safe, so she headed up the stairs. She cleared the basement level, then passed the stairwell entrances that lead to the classrooms, one, two, three, floors. Here, a red velvet rope cordoned off the stairway, like an exclusive club awaited beyond, and she awkwardly stepped over it. When the staircase turned again for the next level, the marble steps gave way to concrete. There was a heavy wood door here, with a keyhole, but she knew it would open for her. She pushed it and now she was in an empty storage space, under the sloped roof of her school. It smelled musty and old, it was hot, but stronger than that was the sharp scent of cedar, which paneled the entire space; roof, floors, walls. All intended to drive away the moths, she supposed, because stacked floor to ceiling, across the wide space, were hundreds of books, stacked to the roof, forming twisting corridors interspersed with antique furniture. Aziraphale left this all ignored and picked her way through until she came to a ladder against the wall. 

Looping her umbrella over her wrist, she climbed up until it reached the hatch in the roof, and leveraged it open with a strong, firm shoulder against it. It gave, flinging open and she made her way through. She was in the bell tower; the large brass ladies hanging heavy overhead, a choir of sixteen, ropes strung across the soaring space overhead. Aziraphale spread them only a quick glance of appreciation before she opened the side door and headed out onto the roof.

The roof was bordered by a white limestone crenelation, and Aziraphale stood behind one of the merlons to stay hidden from anyone looking up from the ground. She could see Eve and the boy approaching the bridge. Mercifully, it was cooler up here. She wasn’t sure if that was because the roof was able to better pick up the increasing breeze, or if it was because the storm was finally closing in. She reached up to smooth down her frizz against her head to no avail. She could feel it instantly curling back up.

“Well that went down like a lead balloon,” and Aziraphale wasn’t surprised to see Eve’s friend sauntering up to her. Because of course she would know how to get up here. 

“I’m sorry, what,” snipped Aziraphale, already at her wit’s end with this girl. 

“I said, ‘that went down like a lead balloon.”

“Oh, yes, rather,” snarked Aziraphale, because honestly, whose fault was that?

“Well it just seems a bit of an overreaction if you ask me, handing out demerits for sitting outside.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “Yes, sitting outside and demerits, that’s definitely what you had Eve risk,” she said with another head to toe look over of Tony that shouted, you are as slow as you are pretty. A second lookover did not improve her opinion. Tony was still in the eternity tartan pants and black blazer, with her tie tied like a boy’s. As the breeze whipped her deep red curls back, away from her graceful neck, Aziraphale noticed a pair of long black snake earrings, twisting in loops down from her ears and definitely longer than allowed by the student handbook. 

“Seems a bit ridiculous, though. Big stone seating area in the middle of an orchard, why put a bunch of benches up if you don’t want anyone to sit there? Why give us all this free time and the ability to sort our own schedules if they don’t trust us to go inside to class when we’re supposed to?

 “Oh for g—for goodness sake, you brought a boy on campus! Eve could have been expelled!”

Tony smirked. “Eve, huh?” And anyway, the point is that we wouldn’t have even been noticed if we were allowed to sit outside. Doesn’t make much sense does it?”

Aziraphale could feel her face hearing. “Best not to question things. The rules are the rules, and they’re not that hard to follow. Just because something seems ineffable, doesn’t mean that it isn’t right.”

“Ineffable? Did you really just throw the word “ineffable” into conversation, just like that?”

Aziraphale answered with a glare.

“Just trying to give you some trouble,” she said, giving a blinding white smile.

“Well, I dare say you’ve succeeded. What were you thinking, bringing a boy on campus? And dressing him in our uniform, have you lost your mind?”

She paused because she could see how, across the bridge and down the hill, she could see Eve and the boy duck behind a crumbling stone wall as campus security drove by in a golf cart. 

“A boy? You mean Adam?”

She really should have reported this girl when she had the chance. “YES. HIM. Who else would I mean?”

Tony shrugged and leaned her shoulder and hip against the merlon next to Aziraphale’s, somehow lounging while still upright. “I dunno. Adam’s probably more a girl than me, I figure. They certainly look better in a skirt.” 

Aziraphale couldn’t help but glance down at Tony’s long legs, somehow making tartan pants look fashionable. They would just have to agree to disagree about that one. When her eyes came back up, Tony was smirking again, and the heat of the day seemed to have returned. Lightning flashed in the far distance, and they could see a curtain of rain begin to steadily make its way across the valley below.

“They’re going to get caught,” fretted Aziraphale, and she wasn’t sure if she meant in the rain or by security. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Tony took off her sunglasses, hooking the arm of them in the V of her linen blouse, which only emphasised that yes, she really had left the top button undone. She peered down the hill and then back to Aziraphale, and frowned. “Aren’t you a class rep?”

 Aziraphale’s brain had short circuited the moment she had met Tony’s eyes, no longer hidden by the sunglasses. ”What?”

‘“Didn’t you have a flaming sword?” Tony asked, reaching out and twirling a finger over Aziraphale’s lapel, thumb smoothing over the spot the material still indented in. “I’m sure you did. It was glittery as anything.”

Aziraphale had never seen anything like her eyes. Like harvest moons, golden to the point of glowing. “Oh, um. Yes.”

“Lost it in the mad dash, huh? Or did Shadwell confiscate it?”

And there was that damnable smirk again, which finally broke her out of the spell of Tony’s eyes. “Well, if you must know, I gave it to Eve,” she huffed, her face burning under Tony’s scrutiny.

“You what?!” Asked Tony, her smirk dropping into an open mouthed, genuine laugh. 

“I gave it to Eve! She was trying to take Adam all the way back to the boys school, it’s dangerous! If she’s caught she could be expelled! So I said take the pin, don’t thank me, could help you get out of a tight spot, and don’t forget to be back before you’re missed. Oh, I do hope I made the right decision.”

Tony started to roll her eyes, seemed to remember she wasn’t wearing her glasses, and abruptly turned to look for Eve again. “Oh, I’m not sure an angel like you can do the wrong thing.”

Aziraphale’s heart sank a bit. Angel? What does she mean by that? Not that she cared what this delinquent thought of her, but she had thought she was being judged on the basis of her own merits, not by her family name. 

“Well, thank you for the reassurance, I guess,” her ingrained good manners forcing her response. Lightning flashed, immediately followed by a boom crack of thunder overhead. The curtain of rain swept up the mountain, obscuring their view of Eve and that idiot Adam. Aziraphale hurried to open the umbrella and with a flick of her eyes, communicated to Tony she should step under it. Not a moment too soon, because the rain poured down around them.  It was a tight fit, and Aziraphale could feel the heat from Tony’s body seeping into her body, from shoulder to hip.  

They stayed there together, eyes straining to see their friends through the storm.

TBC

[rueitae]

Abandoned

Read my whumptober collection on Ao3

Earth setting, Pidge is a mythical creature, bad first meeting

~~~~~

Lance absentmindedly shuts the car door with a thud, his senses overcome with the sheer presence of this place. 

The mansion left to him by his late grandfather is surprisingly well preserved for its setting deep in the forest. Vines creep around the ornate tresses while pine and birch obscure its view further down the road - their roots upending some of the stone foundation. 

Lance had almost thought the forest ranger’s directions were wrong, but it seemed Keith really did know this place like the back of his hand.

The chill fall breeze carries fallen leaves around the still warm engine of his car. Lance shivers. Leave it to his recluse grandfather to have lived in such a place that looks like it could fit into a Halloween film. He’d have preferred to come during the summer, but the Will stated he need to visit by today’s date.

Lance huffs and glares again the place. “Well, let's go see what Grand-Dad thought was more important than his family.”

Grandpa McClain all but disappeared after his wife passed away and apparently this is where he stayed - not that any of them knew that until Lance found himself in ownership of it through the Will. Mom and Dad had been suspicious when the extravagant gifts (that he never used to be able to afford) came for the grandchildren with no grandfather in sight. 

Lance opens the large door, wanting to know why his beloved grandfather left them to become a rich recluse. He steps in, walking over the cobwebs, wanting to understand why his siblings will spend the rest of their lives with perfectly happy memories of him, when all Lance can recall of him is getting a remote control airplane. 

The cold air is made worse inside, where its stuffy and still. Lance bends over between two armchairs and pushes, having to put more muscle into it than he expected, making the window fly open. 

A moth flutters in past him and as if by magic, the air around him fills with the sweet scents of spring flowers. Lance inhales deeply, mood lifting slightly by the refreshment. 

Until he turns around.

The living room is clean. The furniture looks as bright and colorful as it must have when it was first made and a fire crackles below the chimney.

Lance raises an eyebrow warily. He’s heard stories that this forest contains ancient magic, but never has he believed them. Children’s stories, he figured. 

But the fire is rather nice and surely it was just his senses playing tricks on him to have missed something so obvious as the fire. So he treads over and kneels down, moving the wood closer to the center of the fire, beckoning it to burn brighter. He sighs. He doesn’t know where he’s going to start cataloging things. How is he supposed to know what things his grandfather held most dear? Of all the grandchildren, he knew him the least. 

He looks up, hoping for some inspiration in the painting above the fireplace. 

But there’s a girl sitting atop the mantle.

Not just any girl. Antenna that remind him of a summer wheat field twitch inquisitively above her auburn colored hair. A furry cloak of greens, browns, and purples cover her shoulders - not unlike the moth that had just flittered inside. 

Lance screams, falling onto his butt, crawling backwards with everything he has until he crashes into the sofa. 

The girl tilts her head and frown. “Why are you screaming?” she asks. Standing, her cloak is more like a shawl wrapped around her body down to her knees. Her bare and shoeless legs remain nearly glued together as she jumps daintily down to the floor. “Am I not the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen?”

Lance’s jaw drops. Oh Quiznak, she was talking. “No. No way. Mythical creatures aren’t real.”

The girl’s eyes narrow darkly. “And I thought you humans had manners.” She clears her throat. “Will Silas be arriving later, then?”

His blood goes cold. “How... do you know my grandpa?” Lance asks cautiously. 

Her face lights up with delight. “You are one of Silas’s grandchildren? That’s great! I’ve heard so much about you!” In a flourish, the shawl unfolds into a pair of brilliant wings that takes Lance’s breath away. Her body is covered in a tight-fitting green dress, adorned with colorful flowers. 

She’s in his face a moment later, clasping his hands. “Which one are you? Marco, Luis?”

Lance’s heart beats wildly, blood rushing to his cheeks at such close proximity to a girl as lightly clothed as she. He’d be the first to admit how much of an incorrigible flirt he is, but this goes beyond a waggle of the eyebrows and display of finger-guns. 

“I’m Lance,” he chokes. 

“Lance!” Inexplicably she drags him into a tight hug and the suggestiveness of having her on top of him while on the floor is not lost to him. “The baby!” she declares.

All awkwardness is lifted instantly. 

“Who are you calling ‘baby’?” he shrieks, far more high pitched than he’d intended. He shoves her off of him, standing clumsily and backpedaling as far from her as he can. “Who even are you?”

The brightness in the girl’s eyes dims, the lines of her mouth falling. “I’m Pidge,” she says, wings drooping and Lance isn’t sure if he imagines it, but the colors seem to fade. “He… never told you about me?”

“He hardly ever talked to us after grandma died,” Lance says in frustration. “Apparently,” he continues with growing anger, “because he was hanging out with you.”

To Pidge’s credit, she takes the accusation with grace, inhaling deeply through her wobbling lip. “Silas was the kindest human I ever knew. I can’t believe the sweet grandson of his is rude and cruel.”

“You took my grandpa from me!” Lance seethes. “What did you do? Put him under a spell to forget about us?”

Pidge gasps. “I would never--”

“I’m leaving,” Lance declares. He’s had enough of this magic that isn’t supposed to exist but does. How could Grand-Dad care about a flighty mythical creature over his own flesh and blood? The mere thought makes his blood boil. “I’m going home. Keep all his stuff, I don’t need any of it.”

And Lance thinks that’s the last he’ll ever see of her. 

“Wait, you can’t leave!”

The door slams shut in his face, stopping Lance from going outside. He clenches his fists and turns sharply. “Are you going to keep me prisoner like you did him?”

“It's not like that!” Pidge closes the distance between them, but thinks better of approaching too close when Lance growls. “Your grandfather saved my life. I swore I would spend it protecting him and his kin. So long as you or any of your relatives stay here, you’ll be blessed with natural health and riches beyond your wildest dreams.”

So that’s how he’d gotten rich so quick. 

“No,” Lance replies quickly, not even needing to think about it. “I don't need any of that stuff. Goodbye.”

He tries the door. Its locked. 

“You don’t understand,” Pidge implores of him. “I swore an oath. Your family is my family. I’ll be here for your grandchildren's grandchildren. Just ask Silas, he understood. He promised to leave the house to one of you.”

“I can’t ask him,” Lance snaps. “Because he’s dead. He gave me the house, but I’m only here to collect his things.”

Pidge’s antenna fall flat over her hair. “He’s dead.” It isn’t a question, she seems to at least understand the concept. 

“Yes, so would you let me go,” he continues with a glare. “I’ve had enough of his magic hullabaloo.”

Her breath hitches and her skin is noticeably more pale. Her hands shake. “It’s late,” she rasps with tears in her eyes. “Stay the night at least. You - you can go home in the morning if you want.”

Lance huffs. He wants to leave now, it isn’t nearly that late and his car headlights work perfectly fine… but there’s something in the way about how sickly she looks right now that gives him pause. 

He pinches his brows. “Okay. I’ll stay the night,” he relents.

Pidge’s demeanor remains unchanged, but she does smile just a little bit. “Thank you,” she says softly.

~~~~~

Lance wraps the blanket closer to his shoulders and shivers. The rest of the mansion is still freezing, enough so that even the covers of the bed don’t provide the warmth he needs in the middle of the night. So he finds himself sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, stroking the fading embers.

“I should have gone home,” he grumbles. 

Behind him, Pidge coughs. 

Lance sighs and throws his head back. His mother would never forgive him for being so cruel to a lady, supernatural being or not. He grabs his phone from his back pocket and turns on the flashlight.

“You okay?” he asks as he walks over to her. For the last several hours she’s kept to herself, simply lying on the couch as if to sleep. 

Lance shines the light on her and gasps.

Her wings are translucent, no longer vibrant with color. Her skin is deathly pale and she pants for breath as if she had pneumonia. 

Lance drops to his knees beside her. “Hey, Pidge. What’s wrong? What’s going on?”

Pidge opens her eyes to acknowledge him for just a moment before wincing in pain. “I… I swore,” she sobs. 

“Yeah, I remember,” Lance says, hands hovering over her - quiznak, he has no idea what to do! “But you don’t have to. I don’t want you to.”

Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, Pidge goes into a spasm, coughing up blood. “Can’t,” she rasps, “can’t break a promise.”

Oh.

Oh sweet mercy. Lance may have just been introduced to actual magic only earlier today, but he gets the gist now. Pidge had literally sworn. With magic. Somehow she’d bound herself to helping Grand-Dad and if she didn’t fulfill her end of the bargain... She was dying because he didn’t want her around.

Grand-Dad had known this. That’s why he gave Lance the house. 

“I’ll stay,” Lance blurts out. “I’ll move in. Quiznak, I didn’t know your life depended on this!” 

A pale green glow surrounds Pidge as soon as he says the words. The lights in the living room turn on and the fireplace reignites in full force. Her breathing calms and pink returns to her cheeks. Slowly, she opens her eyes, a soft smile on her face. 

“He knew you’d stay,” she breathes quietly. “Thank you. I didn’t want to die alone if you didn’t.”

Lance falls to his bum, near speechless at the turn of events. He doesn’t know how he’s going to work this out - he has a life back in the city. For now, he’s just glad Pidge doesn’t suffer at the cost of his ignorance. 

“I was dying when he found me,” Pidge tells her. “Stuck in a hunter’s trap. So I swore my life to make sure his was the best it could possibly be and the contract just… came out like that.” Tears fall from her eyes. “My father used to tell me that once I found a good mortal, they’d be just like family. Your grandfather was so kind, and reminded me of my own father so much,” she chuckles “always telling me I was like a grandchild to him even though I was hundreds of years older. So please understand,” she says looking into his eyes. “That’s why I tied my life to his bloodline - to your bloodline.”

Lance sighs deeply, defeated. “What am I supposed to say to that? It doesn’t feel right.”

“There are benefits to me too,” she says, a teasing grin growing on her face. “That you’ll find out in time.”

Lance stands and takes the blanket from his shoulders and lays it on top of Pidge. “Get some rest. We have a lot to sort out tomorrow.”

She’s snoring softly before he even finishes, a smile permanently stuck to her face. Lance grabs a smaller blanket from over top of an armchair and sits down. 

He doesn’t know how much sleep he’ll be getting personally tonight with all the new information running through his head. Adrenaline works against his weary body. He still can’t fathom why his grandfather would enter into such a deal with a creature like Pidge.

Well, it seems he’ll have a while to figure it out.

[thegraytalon-blog]

Resident Evil 2 Review (Remake)

Overview:

Hey everyone, once again The Gray Talon takes aim, chooses his targets wisely and considers his prey carefully and TODAY we will be diving back into the zombie infested town of Raccoon City as Leon S. Kennedy and Claire Redfield to see how this remake stacks up. Is it a truly a definitive survival horror modern masterpiece on a title that is over 20 years old or is it a cheap knock off for a quick cash grab like other remakes or remasters rather, have done oh so many times in the past since this console generation started? Let’s jump right in and find out! (And once again I will do my best to not spoil the plot.)

Graphics:

It’s 2019 and in this day and age one may begin to ask how much better can graphics truly get? And the answer lies no further than with Resident Evil 2. The new RE engine that Capcom is using holds such weight and presence here that you will begin to pause for several moments at a time as you take in the awe-inspiring meaty visuals on some of the zombies as they begin to deform and deteriorate before your very eyes whether it be from examining their idle corpses or studying and counting the pieces of brain chunks left after taking their heads off with that faithful shotgun or magnum. In terms of performance, I was playing this on my Xbox 1X and honestly it was damn near flawless. The framerate seemed consistent and almost locked at 60FPS for the most part, except during some intense action sequences when it dipped to below 50FPS but that was few and far between. Output on the 1X was a true 4K at 2160p. From the opening sequence to the part where you turn over that zombie’s head to reveal some juicy chunks of flesh to the first appearance of the horror that is Mr. X, the game is a true delight to witness through and through. 

Gameplay and Control:

What happens when you marry the atmosphere, item crafting, inventory management and horror of RE7 with the camera and control scheme of RE4? Sex, people. Pure, simple, unadulterated, prolific and glorious sex is what you shall receive in return. This is quite possibly the most fluidly controlled RE game I have played since RE4 rolled around 15 years ago. The controls are air tight and responsive, allowing you to navigate the eerie police station and lab with ease. The signature shortcut 180 degree snap feature returns in RE as well that they have trademarked over the last 2 decades, where you hold down on the joystick and press X or A to quickly turn around in the opposite direction. A useful tool indeed when Mr. X comes a’ knockin! Now in terms of movement and combat, the game offers you several options. You can opt to simply run away from all forms of zombies and lickers who are trying to chow down or cop a piece of your ass like you’re grade A top choice meat in the mile high club and the only female member of a flight surrounded by ravenous love starved men. Or on the flipside, if you decide to run and gun your way through, might I suggest heavy emphasis on the GUN aspect and light on the RUN. Especially when lickers are present. You want to tip-toe around them and walk on eggshells whenever you see those Gene Simmons from KISS impostors lurking about. When you fire you always want to aim true for their heads, especially on Mr. X, even though shots only stun him, leaving a small window of time for you to run past and make your escape.  In terms of weapons and upgrades, you start off with a simple handgun and have to work your way to unlocking other weapons via key cards or solving puzzles for guns such as the beloved shotgun, SMG, flamethrower and grenade launcher. You can also unlock greater inventory capacity via weapon holsters that are picked up during each separate campaign that makes life a lot easier. And finally, the puzzles are quite elaborate, just as they were from the original RE2 back in ‘98, so be prepared to put on that thinking cap throughout both Leon and Claire’s campaigns as you scratch your head to solve chemistry puzzles and even have to convert binary code to unlock elaborate doors in the lab sections.

Story/Campaign/Narrative:

The setting is 1998 in a small mid-western town of Raccoon City. You’re playing as rookie cop Leon S. Kennedy going to the police station for his first day on the job and/or a 90′s punk rock poster girl, college student Claire Redfield who’s in search of her brother Chris when all of a sudden the zombie T-Virus has just been unleashed onto the town and their stories converge at the police station where the majority of the game transpires.. For a 21 year old game, Capcom has made sure to make RE2 feel all grown up. While story aspects remain the same from the original release, they hired a brand new cast for voice over work as well as recreated most of the way scenes play out, like the first introduction to the illustrious Mr. X. Each campaign is fresh yet familiar and, for example, Leon’s first sighting of him is nuanced and a slow burn in a dark corridor, whereas on Claire’s run, although  you first spot him in the same place, it is in a completely different and quite sudden, fast paced, way. The core of the narrative revolves around Leon and Claire both trying to achieve the same goal of figuring out a way to survive within the confounds of the Raccoon City police station while working separately in their unique campaigns. Things go awry and snowball downward and take them from the police station to the sewers and right to the laboratory where the T and G viruses are made once good ol’ Mr X shows up. And in case anyone hasn’t a clue who I’m speaking of, let’s just say once Mr. X shows up in his trench coat and fedora, you’ll do whatever it takes to stop yourself from crapping your pants suit while fleeing hastily in his opposite direction because if he catches you, well, then let’s just say he will give it to ya! And you’ll go down harder than than a hooker on a weekend romp in Vegas because this dude moves like the T-800 and hits like Mike Tyson. Prison Mike too mind you so stay frosty! Each campaign is about 6-8 hours long, depending on your pace and offers another set of playthroughs on Leon and Claire’s “B” side, which means you will start off in different areas and end up following different routes and pick up different gear at different times, etc. to receive a new and true ending. I suggest you play Leon A scenario first, then go on over to Claire’s B scenario for the final and let’s say, good ending. So we’re talking a total of about roughly 16 hours, over 24 hours if you play through the game 4 times for shits and gigs. Overall the game is heavily story driven and robust, leaving players feeling the true meaning of survival horror along the way as you try and unlock the mysteries surrounding each of the viruses associated with the aloof Umbrella Corporation.

Sound, Music and Voice:

From the sounds of your character’s breathing as a creaking old wooden floor squeaks beneath you as you’re walking down a supposedly empty hallway to the terrifying growls and grunts of the zombies plowing towards you to munch on your no no parts, the sound effects are simply magnificent and remarkable. Sometimes the sound of silence is the biggest star of the show since Capcom does a tremendous job at making the player feel tensed up as they navigate the dark, gloomy and bloody corners of the police station. Just when you think the coast is clear and you’re about to reach that sweet, sweet save room, something unexpected usually happens that may cause you to almost lose control of your game pad and bowels as well. The music is subtle yet effective. The slow paced ambiance of woefully sounding background noises are a nice touch as you traverse the environment, carefully inspecting your surroundings ensuring your survival. The weapons too, when used, sound just as you would expect them. Nothing quite satisfies to the very core like hearing the sound of a shell of a shotgun or magnum blast and watching the zombie’s head explode in front of you like a popping a fat, overbearing zit. Or using the flamethrower and hearing the cracking sounds of fire as your enemies are burnt to a crisp then listening to the residual hissing sounds after you barbecued them like a rack of ribs on the 4th of July. The voice acting is surprisingly well done too. While not a familiarized sounding Leon from previous RE titles, I am glad they got someone who sounds fitting for the role. Fitting in a sense of a young buck who is just starting off in the real world and has yet to earn his stripes, but by the game’s end does so, ten-fold. Claire, too, sounds good and almost a little too surprisingly upbeat for the madness that is commencing around her. The supporting cast also does a great job to display the weighted turmoil surrounding them and the situation that they are all in. 

Replay Value:

High as a kite on a windy March day! I had to literally drag myself on playing through this game a third time. I was infatuated with the entirety this game had to offer. I have not been this glamoured by a Resident Evil game since the likes of Resident Evil 4. There is just so much to go back and do too in terms of getting all of the playthroughs, weapons, upgrades, items and hey, even speed runs to unlock such things as infinite ammo. Who wouldn’t want to barrage Mr. X with a plethora of rockets or grenades to see if you can actually kill that rat bastard? 

Conclusion:

My final score for Capcom’s Resident Evil 2 Remake is going to have to be a 9.5/10. Simply remarkable on all fronts. The video game industry now has set a new bar and new standard for remakes. Other companies are going to have a tough time toppling this undead opus. After you have finally run through both Leon and Claire’s individual campaign’s and the bittersweet zombie blood smoke has settled, what more can I say about this magnificently crafted game, other than why are you still listening to my dumbass for? Go play it for yourself to experience the horror and greatness!

PRO’S:

A beautifully yet horrifyingly detailed world from characters to environments.

Superb story with many terrifying moments.

Rewarding inventory and upgrades.

Satisfying camera and controls.

Tons of replay value.

CON’S:

If only playing one campaign it may be a bit on the short side for some.

A slightly long learning curve for newcomers as ammo tends to run very scarce at times.

[writingthingsisdifficult]

Not an April Fool’s Joke

Written for @mrswhozeewhatsis April fool’s challenge. I wasn’t originally going to write anything – I just couldn’t come up with an idea, but then I had this dream last night. I blame my medicines for this.

There’s no pairing in this story (other than wishful thinking from me), and I’ve cheated and removed my husband from the equation, because I have a feeling he wouldn’t deal well with a visit from the Winchesters.

As always: let me know what you think. I thrive on comments and feedback.

Word count: 2666

The sky was swirling with dark grey clouds and rain that fell sideways blew hard into the window glass. The drumming made me sleepy, but my empty stomach kept me awake. For two hours I’d been telling myself to go make dinner, but I couldn’t be bothered.

The door rang and I sank deeper into my sofa. Maybe, if I just ignored them, my nosy neighbour would go away. Sure: it was April – and I was well aware that I had a half brown Christmas tree resting by the hedge. But I’d just spent the last two weeks hacking up my lungs and trying to sleep sitting upright. It was just in the past three days I’d started to feel kinda normal again. Hell, my throat was still itchy, and I had the energy of a beanbag. The last thing I wanted – or needed – was for her to start that whole ‘value of the property’ thing again. I shuddered. God forbid she should try to convince me to get rid of the hedge altogether. Again. I liked my privacy.

The door rang again. This time with a little more urgency, and I could hear someone talking outside. What if there was an emergency or something? I gathered my blanket and pulled it tight around me and shuffled to the door. Through the frosted glass I could see two large shadows. That was unusual. Did the salespeople come back? Was it really that time of the year already? I checked my mental calendar. No, they usually came around Midsummer, what with people having extra money and all.

The door creaked slightly when I opened it, threatening to blow wide open unless I gripped it tight. The most effective set of puppy eyes I’d ever seen almost blew me off my feet. “Synnøve, thank God you’re home. We need you.”

He botched my name horribly, but I didn’t care. Jared Padalecki could call me whatever the hell he wanted, and I would answer like a labrador. Right there and then I had no words whatsoever, not even a greeting: I just stared, both amazed that two of my greatest heroes stood on my doorstep, and horrified that I’d opened the door wearing my sweatpants and a fucking blanket.

A thousand theories ran through my brain. Maybe Thina managed to pull an elaborate April Fool’s joke. Not likely, though. Had I won a contest I didn’t remember entering? I could not get the horrible feeling that something was off balance out of my head. They felt so unreal, almost alien.

“Uh…” Jensen hesitated. “You sure this is the right woman, Sam?”

Jared nodded – wait: Sam? …and there it was: that tiny piece that didn’t fit the puzzle. I took a step backwards and stumbled over the pile of shoes on the floor.

Once I let go of the door, it flew open, crashing loudly into the metal base for the rain cover overhead, revealing two very tired, very wet Winchesters on my doorstep. Flustered, I accidentally dropped the blanket, showing the shirt I was wearing underneath. It was black with a white ring of salt, and in the middle it said Don’t believe the demons. The look Dean gave me told me everything.

Grabbing anything to stay on my feet, I tore a couple of jackets off the wall before I managed to stabilise myself. “Fuck me!” Not knowing what else to do, waved them inside. “C-come in. Can’t let the one upstairs get ideas now.”

Following my gestures, they stepped inside, after glancing up into the window across the yard. The curtains rustled, and I caught a glimpse of a foot and a backside scurrying out of sight. They hung their jackets in the hallway, but I stopped them.

“Oh no, no… give me your jackets – we’ll hang them in the bathroom. They’ll dry quicker there. And bring your shoes. They’re sopping wet,” I heard my voice say, but it sounded distant. Inside, I was screaming.

I didn’t have much to offer them other than fresh socks and a towel, but they seemed content with it. Sam hung his flannel shirt next to his jacket, and shook his hair, sending droplets everywhere. Dean sent him a threatening look, but followed suit, and soon, both of them were standing in my bathroom, wearing t-shirts and jeans. They were practically naked, and I almost averted my eyes, before I remembered that t-shirts were clothes too.

When I was satisfied they were dry and comfortable, I showed them to my living room, and placed them on my sofa; maybe a little bit more forcefully than necessary, before I sank down into my comfy chair. “So…” I said, slowly finding my way back. “Sam. And Dean. Winchester?” I couldn’t believe I said it out loud.

“Uh-huh.”

“This is insane! Am I sleeping? That’s it, right? I’m dreaming. But you look so real.”

Jensen, no Dean – this was going to take a while getting used to – winked at me. “Oh, we’re real, sweetheart.”

“No. I’m dreaming. Never had a dream so lucid before. Not that I’m complaining. So. What can I do for you?”

“Well…” Sam began, grinning apologetically when his growling stomach roared over his voice.

I got to my feet. “You’re hungry. Shit, I’m gonna make you dinner. It’s about time anyway.” Looking over my shoulder as I dashed to the kitchen, I was half expecting them to pop out of existence, but I really hoped they wouldn’t.

To my surprise, and joy, they got up and followed me.

“You don’t have to,” they said in unison.

“Yes, I do. You’re practically wasting away. Look at you! I never noticed how thin you were getting. And that greasy diner food isn’t healthy you know. No offence, Dean. I know how much you love your burgers.”

“You sound just like Sam.”

Well, it could be worse, I thought to myself. After all, Sam was one of the smartest characters I knew of. People, I corrected myself silently. “That’s because he’s right,” I replied. “When was te last th-time you had a proper dinner, huh?”

Since I wasn’t mentally prepared to talk English, every word was fumbled out, mixing t and d with th and w with v. I grew redder and redder with every blunder. “Sorry about my English,” I muttered, scratching the back of my neck. “I’m better at writing than speaking.” I busied myself with finding the right recipe.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Dean replied with a grin. “You’re understandable.”

Sam nodded. “I think it’s adorable,” he muttered.

Not quite sure I heard what I heard, I decided to file it away in the back of my brain, and ignore it for now. “Uh… what brings you to my humble home? Please don’t tell me it’s haunted? I’ve got too much shit to move again.” I handed Dean a knife and a bundle of carrots. “Help me dice these?”

They both started laughing loudly. “No, no haunting,” Dean snorted. He was surprisingly good at chopping vegetables. Though, when I thought about it, I already knew he had knife skills.

“Good. Too much paperwork,” I joked, cringing inside, then pointed to a bowl on the top shelf. “Sam?”

“We need, uh, to lay low for a while,” Sam started, reaching over me to get the bowl, “so Cas gave us your name and suddenly we weren’t in the motel anymore.”

“Yeah, you’re so very average that the angels can’t find you,” Dean interrupted, waving he knife around, scattering bits of carrot all over the floor.

I opened my mouth and closed it again. That was not the answer I was expecting, and it hurt. I mean: it was true, but hearing it from him was… excruciating.

Sam rolled his eyes and slapped the back of Dean’s head. “What my idiot brother is trying to say is that you’re normal. There’s no magic in you, no special powers –“

I nodded, swallowing fast so they wouldn’t see it. Way to squash my hopes of an extraordinary life. “Mhm.”

Dean nodded too, regret shining in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Synnøve. I didn’t mean… It’s like Sam said: there’s nothing unusual here; nothing the angels can trace.”

“But…” I said, not knowing how to phrase what was on my mind. Instead I gestured with my head towards them, clumsily and silently asking how come the angels couldn’t track them. “I guess they can’t track you personally because of the…” I gestured over my own chest. “You’re hidden. But… but you were sent here by magic, right? Couldn’t they – “

“Well,” Sam nodded with a satisfied smirk, “we landed quite far from here.”

Dean looked absolutely miserable. “Cas sent us to a, a… museum full of dried fish,” he said with a shudder. “God the smell…”

“HAH! …sorry. Yeah, it can be a bit overpowering. So you got sent to the Hanseatic Museum. How’d you…?”

Sam smiled, and I nearly fell over. Never had I thought he would have that kind of power over me in real life. I mean; I spent evenings upon evenings drooling at the TV screen, but to actually see him smile in the flesh? Amazing to the point of painful. “Took the light rail for ages, then a taxi,” he said. “Got your address off the internet.”

Right. Giggling, I measured them up and down: they really were giants. “Well, hope you got a Mercedes at least.”

“Prius,” Dean replied with a disgusting snarl. “I miss my baby.”

As we chatted and joked while cooking, it became clearer and clearer to me that it wasn’t a dream at all, and when everything was done and the food was in the oven, my brain kinda short circuited. Not knowing what to do, I just stood in the middle of the floor, squinting at Sam and Dean.  Mom had never prepared me for something like this.

“So, will you let us stay?” Dean’s voice shook me out of my trance.

I probably stared harder than I should have, but to be honest, this was sort of a dream come true. “Of course. Of course you’re staying. But…” Suddenly a thought occurred to me: where were they going to sleep?

They looked at me in confusion, like they thought I’d changed my mind.

“Um, yeah… my… uh, my house isn’t that big. I’ve got a small bed in the guestroom, and…” I hesitated. This was turning awkward. They were both way too big to sleep on my sofa. Hell, I was too big to sleep on my sofa, even they could see that. I blushed and held my eyes fixed on the Treebeard painting on the wall. “I’ve only got a queen sized in my bedroom –“

“Awesome!” Dean grinned. “Who’s the lucky fucker who gets to share with you?”

Stuttering and turning beet red, I really had no clue how to answer. During my trips to America, I’d come to expect Americans to be forward and bold, but it still took me by surprise; grabbing me by the ankles and hanging me upside down to make sure every drop of blood relocated to my face.

Luckily, Sam came to my rescue. “Rock, paper, scissors. I mean, if… if you’re okay with sharing.” He pointed to Dean and then himself. “We, we could… but…”

Shaking myself out of the haze, I decided to channel my inner American for the moment. “Oh no, it’s fine. I’m fine,” I squeaked, not quite nailing my faux confidence. “I get you guys don’t want to…” Clearing my throat, I turned to put a spoon we’d forgotten into the dishwasher.

My back was turned maybe four seconds, and when I turned back, Sam was beaming, and Dean looked defeated, pouting and frowning. “Oh man!”

It was hard to hide my excitement, but I did my best to put on a neutral face. “Let’s give you the tour. Prepare to walk at least seven steps!”

Opening the door to the first room, I winced from the sight that met me. The bed was made, but littered with unused clothes, and the floor was almost covered by stacks of books and DVDs. Turning to Dean, I grinned apologetically. “Sorry for the mess, I don’t get guests that often. But the bed is soft enough.

And this is the bathroom,” I said moving on quickly after Dean sat his duffle on it, claiming it for his own. “Oh, of course, you already knew that. Um… Just press this button to turn on the floor heating.” Stopping in front of the last door, I hesitated for a second. “My bedroom. This is where you’ll be sleeping, Sam. We… us… I mean…” A small blush crept up my neck, but I don’t think they noticed. They were too busy staring into the room that mirrored my soul almost perfectly.

Every inch of wall was covered in bookshelves, and every shelf held double rows of books. This was also where I kept my Funko Pop collection, and of course the small Impala replica I was so proud to find on my last vacation. Luckily I’d cleaned up all my dirty clothes off the floor earlier that day.

“Wow, Sammy, look at all those books. You’re in heaven here. At least you won’t be bored.”

He had a point. I looked from Sam to Dean and back again. “You’re both probably going to go mad with boredom. If I know you, you both need something to do. But I’ve got both Netflix and Viasat, and as you saw my bedroom’s filled with books, so hopefully it won’t be too painful being stuck here. Oh, and Sam, there’s a pretty good running trail just a bit further up the mountain – if you don’t have to be inside the house at all times.”

Sam looked thrilled. Dean, on the other hand, frowned. He was never the type to sit around hiding from danger, I knew that much. To cheer him up, I brought out my secret weapon. “You know… there’s a go cart track just a short drive up the road too. And I love to bake. Finally I have someone to try new pie recipes on.”

Slowly, a smile spread on Dean’s face. “Oh,” he nodded happily. “We’ll be okay here.”

“Good. All that’s left now is the wifi password, and then –“ I paused, giggling when I heard my alarm go off: Misha was telling me to make it happen, capt’n. “– dinnertime. Help me set the table?”

Dinner turned out great. They both inhaled the food as if they hadn’t eaten in days – which was probably true – and Dean entertained me with funny stories about Sam, to Sam’s huge embarrassment. But he got in a few shots himself, so I deemed the whole thing even, really.

When the sky outside turned darker, and the rain lightened a little bit, Dean suggested we’d watch a movie.

“I’m in! Popcorn’s in the cupboard – takes just a couple of minutes to pop. And candy too – even liquorice, Dean.” Leaving them to pick the movie, I headed for the kitchen to hunt for snacks.

“Ew,” Sam grimaced.

“Hey, don’t hate just because you’ve got an immature palate, Sammy,” Dean snickered.

Poking my head around the door, I put on my most serious Mom-face. “Behave, you two!” I wasn’t able to keep it straight for long, though, and soon I was giggling like a drunk, along with both Sam and Dean, who continued to bicker and joke around while I got all the good stuff out.

Finally, I emerged from the kitchen, balancing a tray with popcorn and three bottles of beer in one hand and a large bowl of candy in the other.

“Scoot.” Dropping a bag of liquorice on Dean, I wedged myself in between them. Sam lifted his arm and I snuggled into his side, and rested my feet in Dean’s lap. “This is perfect,” I sighed, memorising the feeling. I hoped it would never ever end.

Gotta tag my friends:

@awesomeahwu @brynleewolfe @funwithfanfics @babeinthebowtie @savingapplepie-eatingthings @winchesterprincessbride @savvythedork @littlegreenplasticsoldier @youtubehelpsmesurvive @blackcherrywhiskey @mrswhozeewhatsis @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte @iamreadinginsecret @aiaranradnay