#but the library I work at is sort of crap so it makes the enthusiasm for engaging with others drop. a lot.

[captainsparklefingers]

I think I've figured out the reason I've struggled with keeping up with or following many of the other 'boom daily/weekly/bimonthly/etc.' emails that I've tried, gotten, and have let stack up in the 'Saved/Literature' folder of my albatross like a looming tower of unread messages haunting me.

It's the community engagement thing.

I had fun reading Dracula and then talking about it and posting about it with other people. The desire to know other's thoughts and keep up with the jokes and memes, the desire to be one of the cool kids and make posts about the book we were all reading, that kept me on track. The other ones? I'm sure there's people doing that same thing for Frankenstein Weekly and the emails from Watson that talk about Sherlock's adventures, but it's not as obvious and as numerous. So it's not quite as fun and engaging to get chapters or sections of a thing in the mail, if that makes sense.

(literally the only one I do read as soon as it comes in is Periodic Pride and Prejudice, because I love that story and will always reread it no matter the format.)

On the other side, it HAS made me more interested in engaging with the print versions of these stories, so there's that...but it goes to show that book clubs really are fun and stimulating, a good way to make friends and meet people and read a new thing and just have a good time.

Shame they're not so easy to engage with and find in offline/real life. We tried doing a book club with my occasional in person DND group and it didn't really work.

... maybe the library has book clubs. That seems like an obvious fit.

[elizabethrobertajones]

Hello there. I have a question (more like a thesis): What would have happened if Cas told the Truth anywhere between season 7 and 15? Do you think it would have had the same impact on Dean? Logically speaking Cas could have told him anytime.

Oh gosh, yes. I mean Dean’s reaction in season 15 is still the best it could have been really :P He was in the best place and most accepting of himself and he still had a BSOD for a moment and then Cas had to shove him away so he could go die... (Assuming you take the on screen boring presentation of what happened as canon and not throw in the reciprocation, tears, pull in for a kiss, etc that we know exists either in our hearts or on Jackles’ phone.)

I’ve been thinking about this and the parameters we’d have to apply if we were gonna get something like the show being self-healing back to its self as we know it but we were allowed a confession. Also the show has to be as punishing as ever. So these are my personal theses on each season... 

Season 7 the confession would have to be after Cas comes back, and everything in 7x17 that looked like Dean was jealous of Daphne and Meg textually was meant to be read that way in the set up for the confession. To make it the most painful obviously we still get Cas exactly as he was all through to the end of the season and he never really says anything too different but then right when they’re having the “cursed or not” discussion he’d bust out of nowhere that he supposes it is inevitable Dean would talk him into going on this dangerous mission to get Dick because obviously Cas loves him. And Dean, who is in a weirdly zen sort of place in the remaining minutes of season 7 after Bobby’s send off and final words that helped him go make up with Cas, is in a similarly season 15 oddly okay spot, mental health wise. At least. COMPARED TO ALL THE REST OF SEASON 7. But I still personally have always read it as a genuinely good place for him that could have endured much longer if not for *gestures everything that happened after stabbing Dick* and obviously making up with Cas was step one and a huge part of his process. 

(idk if you’ve noticed but 7x23 pretty much has no Sam and Dean interaction after Bobby’s send off, and their last good broments are really scarce; it feels sort of natural for abrupt calamity and no time for teary farewells in a season with a strong commentary on grief, which also hyperfocuses the attention on Dean n Cas there.)

So I think Dean would maybe be stunned but maybe quirk a sceptical smile like “He can’t mean it like that and anyway he’s currently coo-coo, this doesn’t mean anything hahaha oh Cas :)))” and then idk shake his head and move the story on and Cas just turns one longing look after him like “dammit that didn’t work out like planned” 

Anyway then the exact plot beats of 7x23 follow, exactly as seen on your screens, but we’re left going into season 8 and Carver era with Dean far far more messed up about Cas and it can force clarification in 8x02 in Purgatory where Cas is entirely adamant he meant what he meant and furious at Dean for being mad at him and Dean’s mad at Cas for all the season 8 reasons so they continue angsting at each other but Benny’s reaction shots are just 10x funnier. This is followed by Dean’s reciprocation of “I love you” instead of “I need you” in the crypt scene in 8x17 and from there honestly it’s been built up into canon in such a way that the emotional arc of the show has to go off the wheels and I can’t keep to the self-healing model to continue following the “real” plot and contain this much raw power.

Coincidentally, if the first confession is in season 8, it would be “what broke the connection” after a season 8 where nothing was different up until that point. Cas flaps off while Dean is still processing that the answer was “You. I love you.” and Dean is left yelling at the empty crypt like “What the hell, Cas?!” 

Then he’s as mad at him as he was in canon except instead of being borderline a really bad overreaction into his anger phase which we have to weather as miserable fans tethered to this ship who know sometimes Dean gets mad and yells at Cas for no reason, he’s reacting proportionately. It’s always seemed like 8x22 only makes sense if Dean is furious at Cas for confessing and fleeing except, obviously, in our “”real”” canon, it can only be like Cas confessed and Dean took it that way and also felt embarrassed how far he went with his own feelings only for Cas to run. 

This would make the bar scene with the cupids in 8x23 make a lot more sense too, and after they get the cupid bow Dean’s going to turn to Cas and give him a nervous smile, and then - Naomi flaps in like she does and distracts them away from reciprocation. 

I think this one could go long - maybe even season 13 Cas being dead and Dean being like “FUCK I never got a chance to work things out with him” and 13x06 onwards is where we get any actual work on the ship, because Carver era was so determined to be emotionally gruelling and unsatisfying and relentless from one issue to the next. And the confessions are so bound up specifically in the moments of miscommunication or failed attempts, cut off conversations etc that whether Destiel is canon or not, they’re never gonna get to talk it out under those conditions. Cas is only explicitly the grieving wife and jealous ex to Crowley’s smug take over of Dean’s affections rather than subtextually. 

The season 9 confession... I feel like we’d come perilously close to the Monkey Paw curse we once envisioned of Buckleming making it canon because they love jumping the gun on plot points and making them too obvious. So the end of 9x03, Cas is really blatantly angling to come in with a big “Hey I’m human can I live in the Bunker look at me I learned to do The Sex can we do it now” kind of vibe. All the enthusiasm he was giving to eating that burrito in the background while “Zeke” was trying to get him kicked out, but with lusting over Dean :P 

If we avoid that we can leap to Mr Bobo Berens and his first episode, and have this thing handled by a pro, as it’s already very much about Cas as a homeless queer man with a bad ex he still loves rolling into town where he’s just trying to make a new life and play straight - I mean human - for his own survival. I suspect the confrontation with Iphraim would make it really obvious that Cas didn’t just want to live as a human but had an eye for living as a human with Dean, and then he’d attempt a confession right before Dean would accidentally talk over, like, the L in “love” honestly, to tell him that sorry things do still stand that you can’t come back with me. Leaves Cas utterly devastated but Dean is none the wiser and he drives off and Cas pines piningly at the pine trees in his Gas n Sip. 

Again the end of season probably would force the real confession, since there’s a ready made moment in 9x22 where Hannah tries to force Cas to kill Dean and he gives it all up for one man. Cas can just lower that knife and be like, “No, I love him,” talking to his shoes and Hannah rather than meeting Dean’s eyes. Mark of Cain Dean is fuuuucked up at that point but we still get the moment where Dean carries Cas’s bag into the bunker and sits down with him and tries to care about his health and now also this confession. Sussing out what the heck is up with Cas, and maybe he looks like he’s playing it cool and is still so messed up but Cas is vulnerable, and finally Dean starts to reach across the library table for his hand, and it’s a moment where maybe things could have started to go better for them...... Cue Gadreel walking into the library, Dean going feral, blah blah demon!Dean, blah blah explicitly stated Drowley, blah blah muuuch healing and Cas giving Dean a wide berth for a lil while. Though, in this scenario, 10x22 is far worse but has the reverse crypt scene moment, so Dean can be more obviously unable to kill Cas because he loves him, and then he walks out, followed by season 11 and Cas being returned to them. Unfortunately. Yep. Another finger curls on the Monkey Paw... 11x03 by Buckleming would absolutely be where Destiel goes undeniably canon as it is their first real interactions post Mark of Cain. Our only consolation - directed by Jensen Ackles.

Season 10 confession, hm. Poor Cas. He has the option of 10x03, of confessing and then immediately apologising and walking off to handle stuff with Hannah (thanks Buckleming!) or the Burger Date, where Dean may be slightly less stunned stupid but still likely to laugh it off and not believe it. There’s not much heavy tension between them most of the season so it’s possible that the only time Cas would really get is to confess in 10x22 while telling Dean that he would have to watch him murder the world, and that would suck because I love you. At which point the story dictates that Dean beats Cas to paste so it’s a very bad look. Season 10 destiel confession is the worst. 

Season 11 may be better because Cas has options to be jealous of Crowley and Dean’s connection to Amara multiple times and then Casifer happens and that can really play up things in a season where a confession is coming. 

I think the Beer Run in 11x23 might be the only viable place, where Dean grabs Cas and takes him out for that drive for last drinks before the end of the world. Cas gets the “you’re our brother” thing and just lays into Dean with the certainty of someone who knows this is it - now or nothing - with “You know that’s crap, Dean. You wait until the end of the world and you can’t even say it. Well I can; I love you.” 

Cue awkward tension, well-placed interrupting Moose, and then the world very much not ending so that when Dean n Cas hug and kiss in front of Mary in 12x01. Well. There’s even more explaining to do to her. Since we’ve made it to Dabb era, I believe any confessions from this point onwards can just slot into the show as we got it from there since it’s entirely compatible to start season 12 assuming Dean n Cas are literally married and never be contradicted by the text in their behaviour. But since we’ve had canon Destiel since whenever, obviously the final episodes are good instead of. That.

Season 12... Going to have to go with the first sniff of true canon coming in Lily Sunder with just a few lines leaning even further in the Cas’s Angel Family Are Homophobic Assholes metaphor, leaving Cas’s relationship with Dean even more live wire exposed. Followed by The Mixtape Scene where Cas is going to confess to Dean and get him startled up out of his seat, accidentally knocking the mixtape to the floor and for a moment it’s like, did he throw it is he mad? but then he’s smooching Cas, fade to black, return to scheduled programming but the whole line about Cas stealing the Colt from under Dean’s pillow makes fuckin sense, as well as the fall out argument and how mad Dean was at Cas followed by how devastated he was at Cas’s death. This just means Dabb era continues as planned except we get a kiss in 13x06 under that big glowy cross, and some more smooching here and there when things are good from then on. 

Season 13... Hm. Cas has to do the confessing and I don’t think he’d throw that at Dean on return from death so unlike if Dean was the one who was being made to confess obviously the aforementioned glowy cross scene obviously would be it for him... Cas could keep that bottled up much longer, especially as he has so much to do with Jack this season. It’s entirely possible we go through the whole season and then Cas lobs it at Dean as a final card when he’s making his Michael decision and we actually see the scene that we didn’t get, where Cas has to watch Dean getting possessed. Except Dean is like, tearful and furious like why would you tell me that now, and anyway i’m doing this for you as well dumbass but fuck you but also how dare you anyway I need to be an archangel now and save our - your - son, bye. Cue Cas sitting there not just in total horror at what happened but also kicking himself for fucking up the moment :P I guess this way at least we can have that moment where Dean is un-Michaeled and tells Cas he’s going to shower and finger guns at him, and now we can have Cas wordlessly and furiously follow him. 

Season 14, we get Cas at Rocky’s bar confessing to Dean while figment!Pamela cheers the whole thing on. If there was EVER a time to use the power of love to snap Dean out of it, Cas upsetting his cosy routine with “this isn’t real, I’M NOT HERE IN YOUR FANTASY” is absolutely the time to pull a reverse crypt scene which has such low stakes in terms of neither of them needing to punch each other when Michael is an external aggressor.

My ONLY issue with this is that Sam has to witness the whole thing and we would get reaction shots and I am a weak mortal who will start cackling at them when I’m supposed to be having the transcendent moment of canon and the whole thing would be ruined just because of the way Jared gurns when doing reactions to dean n cas interacting. Wow thanks. Thanks a lot. 

[slytherinknowitall]

Potion Fumes and Cauldron Leaks

Chapter 17: Falling For The Underdog

(Click here for chapter 16!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

The following weekend, Severus found himself in a situation that he would have never thought possible – he spent the entire day with a woman.

Despite it being a Saturday, Granger had arrived at his private quarters quite early. While he usually woke up long before the rest of the castle, Severus had never really considered himself a morning person. He normally worked late and slept little, often waking up in a cold sweat after just a few hours of sleep due to horrible nightmares. So needless to say, he had been rather surprised when his apprentice had shown up at his door long before the house elves had even started to prepare breakfast. As he’d let her in, he had asked himself if perhaps she was suffering from the same problem as him.

The two of them had spent a lot of time together over the past week. Ever since he had given her unimpeded access to his rooms, Granger had come by even more often than before, and so they had often spent their evenings together. Everything inside him was still screaming that this was wrong, that they were becoming way too comfortable with each other. But yet, he could not help but feel a rush of ecstasy surge through his entire body every single time she walked into his sitting room.

He had given her the password in what had been almost a moment of mental aberration, and he had soon started to regret it. He had tried telling himself that the reason for that regret was that such an action was simply inappropriate for a teacher, but deep down, he knew that he was really just scared of rejection; scared that she would not take him up on the offer and that she would find it creepy and weird. But the next day, when he had come back from teaching the fourth year Slytherins and Gryffindors, he had found Granger in his sitting room, fussing over a small sandwich platter from the kitchens which was placed on the table in front of her. Severus still could not have described the emotions he had experienced upon seeing this. On one hand, he had felt massive relief. On the other, it had felt weirdly domestic for some reason; almost as though he had come home after a long day of work to a loving home – something which had been completely new to him.

Sometimes, the pair would be working on potions together, and other times, Severus would be sitting at his desk marking essays while Granger would curl up on his sofa as she studied. Today, however, they were doing what both of them loved the most: reading.

The Potions Master was seated in one of his big wing chairs, a copy of his favourite journal, The Practical Potioneer, in his hands, whereas Granger was spread out across the sofa as usual, deeply engrossed in his volume of Hélas, Je me suis Transfiguré Les Pieds by medieval French wizard Malecrit. Over the last couple of days, Severus had slowly begun to notice how eager she seemed to get her hands on classics from the wizarding world, and he did not exactly know how to feel about that – to him, it somehow appeared as though she was almost desperately trying to make up for the time she had spent growing up around Muggles.

They had both been reading in silence for a while when Severus stumbled across an especially interesting paragraph on the uses of Alihotsy in magical antidepressants. Opening his mouth to share this new piece of information with the knowledge-hungry witch, he looked up and instantly had to draw a sharp breath. Unbeknownst to him, Granger had shifted in her position a few minutes ago, and now her grey skirt had ridden up just far enough to reveal her toned thighs as well as barely the slightest hint of the subtle crease running horizontally underneath her behind.

Severus gulped. It was hard to ignore the way that the shadows of the fire burning a mere few feet away were dancing across her tender, milky flesh. Why was she wearing her uniform – a uniform with what now suddenly seemed like a ridiculously short skirt – on a day with no classes?! For a split second, the thought that she was trying to seduce him crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed that. Never in a million years would Granger be the type of person to try to recreate a scene from a low-budget adult movie, especially not with one of her professors. And if he was being honest with himself, he would have found her appearance bewitching even if she had been wearing a potato sack.

Having long forgotten about what he had originally wanted to say, he blurted out the first thing he could think of. “I do have to say, I find it rather bizarre that Miss Weasley of all people would behave in such a manner towards you. I would be terrified of making someone even remotely angry if they knew of my deepest secret.”

Granger did not even look up. “But that’s not how friendships work.”

“What?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“A real friend would never betray you just because you’ve had a fight with them,” she said as she pushed herself up into a seated position. Severus did not know if he was glad or disappointed that her legs were now covered again. “A promise is a promise. That fact doesn’t change just because you’re having a disagreement or because you don’t like each other anymore.”

Yet again, he was pleasantly surprised by her maturity; it made him feel a tiny bit less like a predator preying on an innocent girl.

“Plus, the real problem is Ron. I love him –“ Severus felt a slight sting at these words. “But he’s just so unpredictable sometimes. And at the end of the day, Ginny will always side with him, because he’s her brother, and Harry will do the same, because he’s his best friend and because Ginny is his girlfriend. All three of them are on the Quidditch team together, and they all share common interests. I am the odd one out, and so if someone has to leave the group, it will always be me first.”

Severus was stunned. He wanted to disagree, wanted to tell her that what she was saying was wrong – but he knew that it was the truth. Just like himself, she was and would always be an outsider.

“Anyway,” Granger continued, taking a look at her wristwatch. “I think I have to go. I still want to stop by the library to pick up some books before it closes. Thank you for having me, as always.”

And with that, she stood up, straightened out her clothes and put the book she had been reading back in its place on one of the countless shelves lining the dark room before making her way to the exit. But just as she was about to disappear through the hole in the wall, she lingered for a second.

“Professor Snape?”

Severus was caught off guard by how nervous she suddenly sounded. “Yes, Miss Granger?”

She took her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but the other teachers normally address me by my first name when I’m alone with them. So perhaps you could do that, too? Only in private, of course.”

Severus gave her a calculated look. It probably sounded nonsensical, especially after he had already allowed her into his chambers, but he was still somewhat afraid of getting too close to her. Wasn’t using her first name taking it a bit too far? But at the same time, her request flooded his soul with a feeling of genuine happiness.

“All right … Hermione.”

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

“Come on, Hermione, I know you’re in there! Open the door!”

The brightest witch of her age was surprise to hear what sounded like frantic knocking as she climbed up the stairs leading to her Head Girl suite. It was not long until she arrived at the top and discovered a certain redhead banging on her door.

“I know you’re really mad at me, but can we please just talk about it?”

“Ginny?” she said, making the other witch jump in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Hermione!” Ginny exclaimed before running towards her friend at the speed of light and hugging her so hard that the two of them almost tumbled over. “I am so, so sorry! I know I treated you like crap, and for a stupid reason, too! I don’t know what got into me, I’m just so stressed right now, and I let Ron get the better of me! Harry is also sorry, but Ron is still mad, and so he feels like he’s sort of caught in the middle, and –“

Hermione took a step back and offered her a smile. “Gin, it’s all right. No hard feelings, okay?”

“Oh, you are truly too good for this world!” Ginny called out before moving in for another suffocating embrace.

Hermione could not suppress a chuckle. She was still upset about how she had been treated, of course; but she had learnt a long time ago that sometimes, being happy was more important than being right. War hero or not, at the end of the day, she was just a girl, and a girl needed her best friend.

Now that their frivolous fight was finally behind them, it did not take long before the two teenagers fell back into their old ways. They soon found themselves on Hermione’s bed, with countless Muggle nail supplies spread out around them, talking about this and that. However, the newest Hogwarts gossip was not really able to awaken Hermione’s enthusiasm like it usually did. Something had been occupying her mind for a few days now, and it took her a long time before she finally mustered up the courage to bring it up.

“Hey, Gin …” she said meekly.

“Yes?” Ginny replied, biting her tongue in concentration as she carefully painted the tiny nail of one of her little toes in a pastel pink colour.

“Um …” Hermione had absolutely no idea how to broach the subject. “I need your advice on something.”

It was only then that the sixth-year looked up.

“What’s going on?” she asked concerned.

“So …” Taking a shaky breath, she decided to just make it quick and painless, like ripping off a band-aid. “I think that I might be starting to like Professor Snape.”

Oh Merlin, she had finally said it aloud! After many sleepless nights of confusion, dismay and solitary pining, she had finally admitted it – to Ginny and to herself.

Too scared of her reaction, Hermione did not dare to look Ginny in the eyes. But to her surprise, the only response was a high-pitched giggle.

“Hermione, you like all teachers. So I’m not at all surprised that you like that tosser, too. Even though I do not know how you could, especially enough to become his apprentice and –“

“No, I –“ She rubbed the back of her neck with a trembling hand. “I think I might fancy him.”

“WHAT?!” yelled Ginny as she jumped to her feet, knocking over a couple of bottles of nail polish and spilling their content all over the comforter in the process.

“Ginny, please!” she tried to calm her down, but it was to no avail – the whirlwind that was Ginevra Weasley had already been unleashed.

“You have a crush on Snape? SNAPE?! The greasy git of the dungeons? The most hated teacher in all of Hogwarts? That Snape?!”

Her look was filled with nothing but disbelief and betrayal.

“Gods, I don’t know!” Hermione’s eyes were starting to burn and fill with tears. She could not help but feel embarrassed. “I have all of these confounding feelings, and I don’t know what to make of them, okay?!”

“Hey, hey, come on! It’s nothing to cry about.” Ginny hurriedly sat back down and rubbed her back reassuringly, though she still had horror written all over her face. “Even if we’re talking about Snape here.”

A salty tear rolled down Hermione’s blushed cheek. “I don’t even know when it started, I just –“ The words got stuck in her throat as she erupted into sobs. “How can I like a teacher in that way?! Like, maybe that could even get me EXPELLED!”

Ginny pulled her into a half hug. “Now, calm down, we’ll figure this out somehow! Why do you like him?”

Hermione sniffled. “I don’t know! It’s just that he’s being so nice to me!”

“Really?” Ginny tilted her head to the left, obviously doubting the statement. “Snape and nice?”

“Yes, extremely nice!” Hermione blurted out as she wiped her flushed face with the back of her hand. “You know, after our stupid argument, I felt so sad and miserable. But then he invited me over, and we had some tea, and he let me vent. He consoled me, Gin!”

In hindsight, the brunette would later realise that she did not know how exactly he had become aware of their fallout in the first place. She certainly had never openly mentioned it in front of him. But at that moment, with her raw emotions causing mayhem inside her mind, the thought did not occur to her even once.

“You’re kidding!” Hermione could only shake her head before she broke into tears again. “Hey, I’m sorry! It’s just hard to imagine that someone like Snape might actually have some real human feelings.”

“Well, he does! I feel like he actually cares about me, you know? Like, it almost feels as though he’s my friend. He even gave me the password to his rooms so that I would have somewhere to retreat to.”

“WHA–“ Clearly forcing herself to remain calm, Ginny took a deep breath. “Are you being for real?”

“Of course! I’ve been spending time there every day!”

Shocked, Ginny put a palm on her chest. “Hold on! Severus Snape, a grown man and teacher at this school, is allowing you, a beautiful 18-year-old student of his, in his private quarters where the two of you are completely alone? Ew, what a creep!”

“It’s not like that!” Hermione protested, her facial features contorting into a grimace. “Never once has he done anything even remotely inappropriate! We just work on something together or read some books, and sometimes we eat meals together. If anything, I’m the one who has taken it too far.”

“What do you mean?” No response. “Hermione?”

“I hugged him once …”

It was merely a whisper, but she heard her nonetheless.

“YOU DID WHAT?”

Hermione hung her head, burying her hands deep in her massive brown locks. “I hugged him in the Entrance Hall during the Hallowe’en Feast. We had talked earlier about how he didn’t want to come because of how much he hates dressing up, but then he surprised me by showing up with his teeth charmed to look like a vampire and … I don’t know, I just became so excited, and before I knew it, I was hugging him!”

Ginny could only look at her, baffled-eyed. “Did he, like, hug you back?”

She thought about it for a second.

“Yeah, I think so.” She scrunched up her face. “I liked it, too.”

No one said anything for a long time. Then, letting out a forced laugh, the redhead ultimately mumbled, “Wow, I … really don’t know what to say.”

“I’m screwed!” Hermione exclaimed as she teared up again.

Ginny let out a huge sigh. “Look, at the end of the day, you cannot help who you fall for. And while I’m certainly not a fan of the Dungeon Bat myself, you definitely could have done worse.”

Ignoring the other girl’s glare, she continued, “He’s smart, just like you, and according to what you told me, he’s also treating you right. And to be honest, he’s not really as ugly as we all make him out to be. So liking him is not as ridiculous as it might sound at first. Plus, maybe this infatuation is just a phase. So many girls get crushes on their teachers at some point. Chances are by tomorrow you’re already over it.”

She grabbed her hand. “The only thing I’m worried about is how friendly you two seem to be getting. This could actually get you into major trouble should anyone notice. And it will also not help you get over this silly crush if you keep seeing him this often. So maybe just try and distance yourself for a little while, ‘kay? I bet that once this whole thing with Ron blows over, your feelings won’t be all over the place like this anymore.”

(Click here for chapter 18!)

[trolleybitch]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹 xx

holy crap anon, that’s a lot of roses, thank you so much!! i think i count 42?? the game is one sentence per rose so i will put the majority of this under a read more to avoid a super-long post!

for every ‘🌹’ received in my inbox i'll post one random sentence of a random WIP i'm currently writing

The corridors were mostly empty as they made their way to the library - not many other students were studying this late. They held their ears as they passed a chorus of ghosts near the castle’s main staircase performing a very loud, very out-of-tune rendition of ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’, and eventually arrived at their destination to find the library almost completely deserted, save for a few harried-looking seventh-years reading together at a table and one or two other students stocking up on books for the Christmas holidays. 

Scorpius felt slightly nervous as he led Albus past Madam Pince’s desk (with a cheerful wave as she looked up from her newspaper), but he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t often that he kept secrets from Albus, and this wasn’t even a particularly big one, but something was making his heart jitter in his chest. 

By the time they reached the far corner of the library’s second floor, there were no other students to be seen. Albus looked around, looking somewhat bemused. ‘Is there supposed to be something here?’ he asked, not unkindly. 

‘There is, kind of,’ Scorpius replied. ‘Do you remember when you spotted that hatch in the roof?’ 

He gestured to the high wooden beams above them and Albus gazed upwards, his expression reflecting vague recognition. ‘Oh yeah,’ he said, eventually spotting the camouflaged section of wooden boards that formed the trapdoor. 

‘Look what it does now.’ Scorpius moved over to the bookshelf in the corner and reached for the end of a cord which now ran down the stone wall and looped through a hook attached to the shelves. He pulled it gently, and waited for the distant clunk of a mechanism starting to work. Albus raised an eyebrow at him in confusion, then looked upwards again as the movement of the hatch caught his eye. 

Slowly, gently, the trapdoor was pulled upwards into the ceiling, leaving a dark square of apparent nothingness, through which a ladder then started to descend. Scorpius held his breath until the feet of the wooden ladder touched down gently on the floor between him and Albus, and then couldn’t restrain himself from a little jig of excitement. ‘It works!’

Albus looked suitably impressed. ‘Did you build this?’ he asked incredulously.

‘No,’ Scorpius said, ‘It was my idea, but Madam Pince and some of the other teachers did the actual magic parts and figured out the mechanism. What do you think?’ 

‘It’s so cool!’ Albus took a few steps forward to look directly up the ladder to the hatch. ‘Where does it actually go?’ 

Some of the nervous feeling in Scorpius’s chest was being replaced by warmth, and he couldn’t help himself grinning at Albus’s enthusiasm. ‘It’s the roof space of the tower really, it’s used for storage. But I’ve been talking to Madam Pince about it for a while and she’s agreed that I can help out by sorting through some of it and updating the school catalogues.’

‘Working on the school catalogues?’ Albus looked at Scorpius in awe. ‘She must really trust you, wow.’ 

Scorpius beamed. ‘I think so.’ When he’d spoken to Madam Pince a couple of months ago and brought up the subject of the hidden second-floor garret, he’d had a vague idea that perhaps he’d be allowed to see some of the rare books up there one day, but had never expected it to lead to an official school responsibility. The ladder had been in place for a week or so but he hadn't ventured up there at all, only going as far as lowering and replacing the ladder to check it worked. It would have felt strange to explore it properly without Albus, who was now tentatively testing the first rung of the ladder. 

‘Seems stable,’ Albus said, hopping back down to the floor. ‘Are we going up?’

‘Obviously! I’m dying to see the books; there could be anything up there. You go first.’ 

Scorpius gestured at the ladder but Albus was already shaking his head. ‘No way,’ he said firmly, ‘This is your big thing, you should get to see it first. Go on, I’ll catch you if you fall down.’

[captainkippen]

Could you write a hockey themed Tyrus fic at some point?

SEND ME FIC PROMPTS

Hockey, as a whole, means nothing to Cyrus Goodman. It doesn’t matter that his school’s team is a part of the Big Ten. He doesn’t care that they’ve made it to the Frozen Four of the NCAA tournament three years in a row now. When his friends talk about it (and they talk about it a lot) he mostly just tunes it out. Sports, in general, aren’t really his thing, but hockey especially isn’t. It’s violent. It involves shoes with knives on them sliding around on the most dangerous surface possible. It completely goes against all of his pacifistic sensibilities.

Which is why he’s not sure how he’s ended up getting dragged to a game tonight.

“Seriously, would you stop complaining?” Buffy sighs at him. “It’s not even that cold in here.”

“I just don’t understand why I have to be here,” Says Cyrus. “You guys have never cared if I stayed behind before.”

That much is true. Buffy, Jonah and Andi are all regulars at the games. They’re avid fans of the NHL in their spare time and that enthusiasm seems to have translated to college hockey too. Buffy is dating one of the third-line forwards, Marty, and as a result, all three of them are currently sporting his jersey as they yell their support from the stands. They’ve never felt the need to include Cyrus in this before, usually very understanding that he’s allergic to almost all forms of physical activity that do not involve dancing badly to Carly Rae Jepsen when he’s in a particularly good mood, but tonight Buffy had insisted he come.

She rolls her eyes at him. “I wasn’t about to let you mope around in the library again. You need a life outside of studying and class, you know that right?”

“I have a life! I’m part of like three different societies!”

“Do you ever go to their meetings or socials?” She asks with a raised eyebrow.

He grimaces back at her. She has a point. Cyrus is pretty good at socialising when it comes to it, but the idea of jumping in feet first with large groups of new people makes his palms sweat. He prefers to stick to talking to classmates and dorm neighbours.

“Exactly,” Buffy says with a smug look. “You don’t talk to anybody!”

“I talk to you guys!”

Dragging her eyes away from the pretty blonde sat two rows ahead, Andi jumps to Cyrus’ defence, obviously having had enough of this bickering match. “And he talks to that guy in his American Lit class, don’t you, Cyrus? What’s his name again?”

Cyrus nods and forces himself not to smile. American Literature has become one of his favourite classes of the semester and it’s not because of the course content. “TJ,” he replies. He tries to keep the dreaminess out of his voice but it must not work as well as he intended as the girls exchange looks of amused exasperation.

“Are you planning to ask him out any time soon or are you just going to keep mooning over him silently?” Buffy asks.

“Excuse me, I do not moon.”

Andi snorts. “No, you’re right. You drool.”

He smacks her in the shoulder and almost slides right out of his seat trying to avoid the jab to his rib she gives him in return. Fortunately for him, this battle is quickly broken up by the return of Jonah bearing armfuls of popcorn and soda.

“So apparently,” he says as he sits down and passes out the snacks. “Kippen is in tonight.”

Buffy’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Really? I thought he had another game left on his ban.”

“Who’s Kippen?” Andi asks. She likes the game well enough and will cheer just as hard as the other two when it comes to watching games but she doesn’t keep up with the standings or lineups like Buffy and Jonah do.

“One of our d-men,” Jonah replies. “He got suspended for like six games for roughing.”

“I thought roughing only gets penalties?” Cyrus asks. As much as he’d like to know absolutely nothing about the game, some information sinks in from time to time.

“Not if you go too far with it. Anyway, the team appealed the decision and the league lowered it. I think they argued he didn’t instigate the last fight.”

“Huh. Well… can’t hurt to have him back. Is he back on first line?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.”

*

As the game starts Cyrus learns two things:

He was right. Hockey is not his thing.

Student-athletes are terrifying but their fans are worse.

The crowd is so loud they might actually blow the roof off the arena. He sits, a little afraid, in a sea of blue and gold as people scream over one another in anger every time a referee makes a call. It doesn’t seem to matter what the call actually is, they’re all mad about it each time. He feels a little bad for the officials - it can’t be fun to be the guy that makes all the tough decisions. Especially when people threaten to fight you every chance they get. He decides to distract himself from the frenzy around him by actually focusing on the guys on the ice. They’ve got pretty good seats, low in the stands and close to the glass because ‘Marty is a blessing’ according to Jonah. He keeps an eye out for him, as he’s the only player he knows he figures he might as well be ready to get excited if he scores or something, but another guy catches his eye too.

‘KIPPEN’ reads the back of his jersey as he barrels into an unsuspecting member of the opposition, squishing him against the boards like a bug. Oh. So that’s who the others had been talking about. He’s not close enough for Cyrus to make out his face, helmet obscuring his features somewhat, but something about him rings a bell in Cyrus’ mind.

Five minutes later, he figures out why.

One of Kippen’s teammates gets cross-checked and goes down hard. It takes nought point two seconds for Kippen himself to come flying in, drop his gloves and grab the guy responsible for the check. At some point in all the chaos, Cyrus finds himself caught up with the rest of the crowd stood up and screaming. Fists are flying. The officials can’t get near enough to pull them apart. Kippen’s helmet comes off.

He gets the takedown, the crowd cheers jubilantly, and as he straightens up a shock of recognition floods Cyrus’ system. He smacks Andi on the arm.

“Ow! What?!”

“That’s TJ!” He exclaims.

“TJ? As in American Lit TJ? As in American Lit TJ who you’ve been crushing on since classes started?”

He nods.

“Holy crap.”

That just about sums it up.

*

TJ Kippen is the softest, funniest and sweetest guy Cyrus has ever met. Except, he’s not apparently. Apparently, this whole time has been wandering around thinking he was some sort of coffee shop poet he’s actually been skating around throwing hits and earning the ire of several opposing teams while drawing the adoration of half the school. Cyrus isn’t sure what to do with this information.

“Cyrus, Cyrus! Hey!” A voice breaks through the hustle and bustle of the crowded parking lot. They’re hanging around waiting for Marty so they can go and get pizza to celebrate the win. It seems like half the team’s fans are waiting outside for the boys to emerge too. Cyrus wonders what that’s like, to have fans while at college. He turns and sees TJ jogging over to him. He must’ve moved at the speed of light to get showered and changed so fast. He looks so soft in his button-down shirt, wet hair flopping into his eyes.

“Hey,” TJ pants slightly, stopping next to him and leaning one hand on Jonah’s car. “I saw you in the stands… I didn’t realise you came to our games.”

“I don’t usually,” Cyrus explains. “I’m not really good with sports. I’m friends with Buffy? She’s dating one of your teammates-”

“Oh, Marty’s girlfriend? Yeah, she’s cool. She’s on the basketball team, right?”

“That’s the one.”

“Awesome,” TJ grins at him, goofy and wide. It’s almost enough to distract Cyrus from the bruise forming around his eye, but not quite.

“Are you okay?” He asks, starting to reach out to touch it then aborting the gesture last minute. “Maybe you should go see somebody about that.”

TJ waves him off with a casual hand. “It’s fine, I already got it checked. It’ll be okay. Thanks for the concern though… I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t expecting to see you until Monday.”

“That makes two of us,” Cyrus laughs. “I didn’t know you played hockey. Congrats on the win, though.”

“Thanks, I guess there’s a lot we don’t know about each other, huh?” He rubs the back of his neck and smiles. Cyrus feels warm to his toes. “Actually, I was wondering… could we fix that? Would you maybe like to grab a drink with me or something? To get to know each other? No old white American authors or anything. Just the two of us.”

Oh. OH.

“That sounds great… but I already agreed to go out with my friends-”

“We’ll save you some pizza,” Andi cuts in suddenly, then turns to TJ. “He’d love to go.”

Cyrus looks at her, wide-eyed, and she gives him a stern look in response. Well, she’s not wrong. He looks back to TJ.

“I’d love to,” he confirms.

The winning smile he gets in return is more than enough to make up for being dragged out to a sports game. Huh, maybe hockey isn’t so bad after all.

[writemoment]

The Cold Reality Pt.3

Writer: Ellie-Mae (Pen Name)

Part: 3/5

Previous Parts: 1 - 2

Summary: People leaving you is inevitable in life, that's what y/n's come to learn. No one really lasts, even when promises are made, everyone fades away eventually. One day, y/n's almost killed when caught in the middle of an Avengers battle but gets whisked out of harms way by a pale, dark haired man, dressed in green and gold. Will this be the start of a mischievous but unavoidable ending?

Pairing: Marvel Loki x Reader

Warnings/Rated: Nightmares, Angst, Trust Issues and Fluff.

Word Count: 6,840

( Reader ) P.O.V.

I've been with the Avengers for a total of two weeks and it's been hectic, to say the least. Ever since I arrived at the main base, I've been dragged to Stark and Banner to get poked and prodded for testing on the stone. There's not a whole bunch that they can do because it is inside my body and we don't know how far we can push it, yet.

Another worry is the long-term effects it may have on me. It's something I hadn't considered because I've been hoping that it'd be done with soon but clearly, it's a real possibility. Thor and Loki have been working with them because they're more familiar with the technology than we are, here on Midgard.

The thing that's hindering us is that the Asgardian Princes are clueless on how the technology will interact with our tech and especially with it being inside a 'mortals' body. Ah, right - Loki.

Loki has been with me, everywhere, for a week now and it's exhausting. We bicker and argue in between us actually having normal conversations. It's so odd because it's like he can't allow himself to be pleasant, not even for a moment. But when he is, I actually like him and it's only when he realizes his actions that he reverts back to his mischievous ways.

On the contrary, Loki has kind of been my personal medic as of late. With all the testing that's been going on, the stone has been causing after-effects of pain and Loki's used his magic to help me out, more than once.

Since that day in the hall, I don't ask about his magic much. Loki may be a jerk sometimes but he still deserves to have some privacy, he's still a living being. And so, that leads us to where I am currently.

Through the week of roaming these halls, I've found another library that's almost identical to the one from the towers. As it turns out, these libraries are usually void of members of the Avengers because they're Loki's hideouts. Which is no excuse to avoid these shelves of literature!

I sit on the couch in the ‘hideout’ with a book in my hand, thumbing through the pages with much interest. I glance up and see Loki watching me from a corner, with curiosity etched into his features. "What?" 

He blinks rapidly, almost like I broke him out of a deep thought. "I beg your pardon?" He asks, refocusing on reality. I bite my lip to stop myself from chuckling and sigh as an alternative.

"Why were you looking at me like that while I was reading? You do know that Midgardians read as well, correct?" I thoroughly enjoy teasing Loki because that's when he's his most natural in communication. It's the common ground in which we both can speak through.

"Ah, yes. What a surprise that was to discover." He chuckles, "My apologies. It just peaked my curiosity as to why you'd be reading an Asgardian spell book." Well, I didn't think he paid too much attention as to what I did in my time as he watched over me, but apparently he notices. My cheeks heat up at this realization and I blow out my cheeks before I explain myself.

"Ever since you've been using your magic to help me, I've been curious as to the tricks you do. I didn't want to bother you with my string of questions or make you uncomfortable, so I've been reading about it instead." My embarrassment is evident in my movements and I gently close the aged book.

This seems to have taken Loki by surprise and he watches me carefully, only fueling my insecurities. Slowly, he slides the book from my hands and flips through it's contents. Looking back at me, he closes it before continuing.

"What would you like to know?" He asks, coming to stand in front of me. I stutter while trying to dismiss the bother but he cuts me off. "It's not a bother and you'll waste less time if you would simply ask."

I search his face and see that he's patiently waiting for me to continue forth with my questions. "Okay...So, the other day, you healed my finger when I sliced it while cooking - How is that possible?" 

A smile tugs up at Loki's lips and he opens the book to a chapter, going through the explanation. Scooting over, I pat the seat beside me and wait to see his reaction. He abruptly stops speaking and we remain silent for a few moments.

Loki then moves in beside me, brushing his arm against mine as he proceeds to show me the pages of Asgardian magic. Despite us spending quite a bit of time together, this is the closest we've been socially. He's helped to heal me and relieve pain but nothing of this nature.

The act in itself brings a delightful shiver through my body and I try to stay still as to not bring attention to my reaction. I try to refocus my attention on the pages before me but I'm very aware of the man sitting beside me.

He goes to answer several of my questions and I work up to the most pressing of one that's on my mind. Hesitantly, the words spill forth. "Loki? I don't want to cross a line or anything but...how can you turn your skin to such freezing temperatures? You've done it to aid me with the core but it's nowhere near the ice charms mentioned."

Although he tries his best to hide it, his posture goes rigid and I can slowly feel him closing up again. Gosh dang it, why'd I have to go and ruin everything. Quickly, I dismiss the subject by rambling a string of words that result in me answering my own questions. Good job, Y/n. A+ job.

Loki nods, still letting me in a little and I can see his mind turning in ways I can't even begin to comprehend. Without thinking about it, I reach over and give his forearm a reassuring squeeze that causes me to immediately stutter awkwardly, once again, making things weird.

Surprisingly, Loki chuckles and lays his hand over mine as a silent thank you. I stare at him as he looks at me and I feel the familiar warmth spread through my chest as his thumb grazes my knuckles. He's just about to say something when we both hear footsteps coming towards us.

Retracting from one another, I feel sad at the lost connection but my attention is drawn to Peter as he scurries into our view. "Y/n! We found more of those stone, core things! Mr Stark wants you in the lab asap!" He says, sounding excited.

Peter and I have hung out a few times, sitting around watching pop culture classics in the living room and goofing off. He's a neat kid and I enjoy his enthusiasm at most things. 

Loki and I exchange a look as we get up to follow the young man to Stark's and Banner's lab - a place that I've come well acquainted with, sadly. "How'd you find more Chitauri cores, Pete?" I ask.

"Oh, Thor and Steve were able to scavenge some from the battle you were injured in." I wince at the memory and he apologies quickly before continuing, "Mr Stark had originally discarded them in a warehouse but sent for them after he learned about you."

"Then why did it take so long?"

Laughing, Peter looks over at us. "See, that's the thing - The Avengers have so much crap that's been thrown to the side that they didn't remember where the cores where exactly." 

"How organized." Loki comments. I smile at him, enjoying his sarcasm and Peter looks like he's just seen a miracle as he registers Loki's playful grin. Sometimes I forget that not many people are around him enough to know that he's not all bad.

Turning one last corner, we all enter the lab together and I immediately recognize the various weapons of the Chitauri warriors. "Ah,'bout time you showed up." Tony says before pulling me over to the devices.

"Y/n, take a look and tell me which one almost killed you." Tony says, nonchalantly. Bruce coughs and Tony gets the message. "If you could, please. We need all the information we can gather." Bruce frowns at the drawn out politeness but continues sorting through the tech anyhow.

Immediately spotting the alien gun, I cross over to it. Just before I can pick it up, Loki's hand grabs mine and gently places it back at my side. "I think it'd be wise if you don't handle the technology, pet. Please, be cautious." He says quietly and directed for my ears alone. 

Nodding, I point to the gun before Loki hands it over to the guys. I feel irritation bubble at the distrusting looks that they give him but I push it down. Honestly, Loki has been trying to help them. I know he's made some mistakes...Okay, a lot of mistakes. But that doesn't mean that he can't be trusted. Even Tony created weapons to hurt people, that doesn't make his changes any less valid.

Bruce politely invites me and Loki to take a seat, as they will be needing us nearby. Stark tries to send Peter away but I request that he stays to keep me company, which is granted. "Just don't touch anything, okay, kid? I don't need you getting hurt and me having to explain it to May." Tony pleads.

Now the fun begins....

****

Scratch that! This isn't anywhere near fun....

In the last three hours, we've discovered that it's incredibly hard to penetrate the Chitauri tech with Midgard tools, it could even be potentially harmful. They decided, since these are basically raw energy sources, that it'd be best if we mess with them outside. This way, no one around us can get hurt and we don't catch anything on fire or something.

Heat doesn't do anything to it, water doesn't do anything and it's resistant against a large amount of weight. We learned that me touching the cores don't hurt me like regular tech does and I can control it with ease. 

The cores produce a lot of energy and can enhance a lot of our tools. "Hmm, let's try this." Tony says, walking over to the core with a arc reactor in his hand. He goes to connect the two but the core starts brightly shining, almost smoking in the presence of the arc reactor. "Tony!!" I cry out.

Tony turns and sprints with us but we can only manage to get just out of reach when it detonates. The blast knocks us off our feet and we all tumble to the ground. We're all breathing hard as we turn on our backs to see the damage. In the ground, a good sized hole has been blown from the Earth. "Well, now we have a place to bury my body." I dryly joke, internally freaking out. 

"Y/n..." Loki starts but I talk over him.

"Because that's clearly what's going to happen to me. There's no denying it. You all know that this can't end well for me." My voice breaks but no tears fall. "It's okay....I accept it."

"No." We all snap our attention at the voice. Peter.... "No, this isn't how it's going to end. We can fix this, right, Mr. Stark?" No one says anything. "Mr. Stark?"

"Kid...I don-"

"We can't just let her die! That's not an option!" Peter says, irritated at our acceptance. "You guys are just giving up." Tony looks down at the grassy ground that we all are still sitting upon and guilt is written across his face.

"The boy is right." Loki stands and walks over to me. "You dying is not an option and we need to look for another way." He says but his focus is on me as he cups my hands in his, helping me up from the ground. "We will find another way." His hands are still holding mine and the others agree to keep searching.

They may have faith but I have none to be found.

****

I'm wandering around in the middle of downtown New York and it's vacant of any life. "Where did everyone go?" I wonder out loud, not being able to figure out what's going on.

My feet propel me forward and I find myself tripping over something. Oh...tripping over someone. "Wanda!?" I exclaim, crouching to the ground to turn her body and examine the damage. A startled gasp leaves me when I see her eyes glossed over and her skin cold.

"No, no. You can't be dead, you just can't."

I stand up and stumble away from her, not wanting to be near my lifeless friend. My back hits the door of a car and I immediately slide down the side, to the pavement.

I glance away from her and my eyes land onto another body, adorned in red, white and blue. I push myself up and search the ground around me, covering my mouth at the horrors surrounding me.

All the Avengers are dead..

"No, this isn't right! I'm the one who's supposed to be dead!" I cry out. Fingers wrap around my ankle and I look down at Loki's hand, grabbing at me. "Why would you hurt us?" He trembles out, a terrified and hurt look etched into his face. "Why did you kill them?!"

"But-But I didn't kill them! I didn't...did I?" Tremors rake my body and I reach down to help Loki up but he flinches away from me. "Loki, I'm trying to help you."

"NO! You will hurt me, you will kill me like you killed the rest of them!" He screams. I try to beg him, tell him that I am no harm to him. "The others may have trusted you but I won't. They're dead because of you!"

"Loki!!! Please!!"

Crying out, I startle awake and sit up in bed. Panting heavily, a cold sweat drenches my skin and I feel sick to my stomach. I'm gasping as I try to capture a stable breath.

Quickly, I fling myself out of bed and into the hallway. I sprint around the corner and bang loudly on Loki's door. When no one answers, I feel the nightmare set in again and I rest my forehead against the wooded frame, tears leaking down my cheeks.

"Y/n?" 

Whipping my head around, I see a concerned looking Loki standing behind me with a bottle of water in hand. "Loki!" I whimper and I wrap my arms around him, not caring about any awkwardness it may cause. I just need the relief of feeling his beating heart and knowing that he's alive.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" He asks, immediately wrapping his arms around my shoulders and his eyes stare down at the crown of my head. His hand comes up and caresses my hair before cupping my face, pulling it into view. "What's going on, Y/n?"

Sniffling, I back away a bit but he keeps contact with a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry. It's nothing, just a stupid dream."

"Nightmare?" He asks and I nod, frowning at the thought. Loki opens his bedroom door and sweeps me inside. God, it's freezing in here. "Oh, sorry - I like it cold." He says, almost as if he read my thoughts, before turning up the heater. "So, a nightmare you say?"

"Yeah....I don't know, I guess everything's just getting to me. I know it's just a dream and it's something I don't want to recount. I- I just don't want to be alone right now, if that makes sense." I say, my voice quiet.

The room switches to a hushed atmosphere and I feel like I've become a nuisance, overstaying my welcome. "I'm sorry. I'll just be heading back to, uh, bed, then." I stutter, standing up from the edge of his bed.

"How come?" Loki asks, looking confused. "You just said you don't want to be alone, yet you return to your private quarters? That's counterproductive, don't you think?" 

My mouth opens but no words or sounds come out. It's true, I don't want to go back and be alone with my thoughts. I'm quite taken aback by Loki's observance of my feelings and emotions, plus how kind he's being to me. "Yeah....It's just- This isn't your problem and I didn't want you to think I expect anything of you."

"If I did not want to help you, I would have said so. I would think you'd have figured this out by now, pet." He assures me. Dang, he calls me 'pet' a lot....Dang, I haven't corrected him and now find it endearing.

Loki walks up to me, leaning down to look me in the eye, "Do as you wish. Do note, however, that you are not a bother to me." With that, he goes to the other side of the bed and plops down with his hands behind his head.

I study him, searching for any signs of trickery that may fool me, but there's no dishonesty to find. Giving in, I sigh and move to sit down with my legs crisscrossed on the bed. "Thank you...." I say, looking down at my hands that are folded in my lap. 

"For what?"

"I don't know. I guess- for not turning me away." Loki has been nicer to me the past few days and I'm not sure why, but I'm grateful nonetheless. "I know that we don't always agree and that both of us can be obnoxious-" I trail off. 

Gaining more courage, I look to Loki and find him already watching me. "but you've helped me more than once. I've never once said thank you and that's wrong, so I want you to know that I'm very grateful for everything you've helped me with."

Loki's blue eyes soften and it's almost like a whole new person is beside me. There's no hostility or harshness to the way he's looking at me but a guilty look soon finds it's place. "I should have never called you an ungrateful mortal and I should not have hid your condition from you. I have not been worthy of such thanks. I'm sorry, Y/n."

A forgiving smile spreads across my lips and Loki looks as if a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders. "So, I was wondering if you would tell me how you learned your tricks?" I ask, wanting to start conversation. The God of Mischief shows a genuine smile, teeth and all, and I begin to wonder how many people have had the honor of seeing such an expression on the Norse God.

"Only if I get a story in return, yes?" We shake on it and he begins his intricate story of being a child on Asgard and how it all started. Both of us exchange stories, share laughs and find joy in each other's company through the night.

The next thing I know, I'm opening my eyes and It's morning. Sitting up, I see the silky green sheets covering my body and I remember the events that occurred last night. Oh crap, I'm sleeping in Loki's bed!! I search around but he's nowhere to be found in the room. All I can feel is guilt at the thought of kicking him out of his own room and I know that I need to find him.

Scurrying out from underneath the covers, I start my way out the room but soon trip. My hands reach out to take the fall but I land on top of something softer than the floor. "Oh, god!!!" I scream, rolling off Loki and apologize repeatedly. 

I hear him chuckle at me. I'm sure I sound like a broken record, which is great. "Good morning to you, too." He teases, sitting up from his make-shift bed on the ground. The friendly banter reminds me of our conversation last night and I feel my shoulders relax at the realization that we're on good terms.

"You should have woken me up and sent me to my room. I didn't mean to kick you from your own bed! I'm so so so sorry, Loki." I apologize again, not being able to help myself as I blush.

"Y/n! It's okay. After your nightmare, I figured you'd need the sleep. Plus, I wanted to be nearby in case it happened again." Loki explains, shrugging it off as no big deal. Butterflies fill my abdomen and I wrap my arms around my middle, hiding the feeling as if he could see.

Nodding, I thank him. With a smile, Loki stands up and offers a hand to me, which I gladly take. "After you." He gestures to the door and I walk out with him following. "To your room, I take?" After I nod, he escorts me to my room, "I'll be out here by the time you finish."

"Thank you, Loki." With that, he turns and walks away, disappearing behind the corner. Even when he's long gone, I smile that direction. Just as I turn around to enter my room, I'm faced with none other than Peter Parker.

"Peter!!" I exclaim, covering my startled heart with my palm. "You scared me."

"Sorry. Are you alright, Y/n? You seem awfully jumpy this morning." He asks, looking past me. "And what were you looking at? I saw you smiling down the hall." Of course he did, because I'm an idiot.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good. My emotions are kind of everywhere, lately." I explain. One thing I love about Peter is that he doesn't question me like he does with the others. We share a few more words before he says he's off to Tony's and leaves.

If there's something I'm for certain about, it's the fact that I'm developing romantic interest in Loki. Part of me is giddy and the other part is dreadful because I know that it could never work out. I'm me and nothing's going to change that, not even this stupid core.

Taking a deep breath in, I enter my room to start changing and cleaning up for the day. After taking a shower and getting dressed into fresh clothes, I walk over to my bed. My eyes land on the green plush cover that had been draped across my body that first night in Stark Towers. 

My fingers brush over the soft material and I smile at the memory held with it. Loki and I have more in common than I realized. From my point of view, he's just as used to distancing himself from others as I am.

Which makes us growing closer a lot harder.

Do I want to grow closer with Loki? Of course. Should I allow myself to? Most likely not. Am I going to end up regretting this? I'm not su-

A knock sounds at the door and I stride over to it, meeting the god that's plaguing my thoughts. "Hello." I'm greeted with the same heartwarming smile from earlier. My cheeks flush and I manage to only make 99% of a fool out of myself by saying 'Hi' - which occurred after I stumbled for correct sounds in the English language.

Closing the door behind me, I fall into step beside Loki and we make light chatter on our way to breakfast. "I enjoyed talking to you last night." He tells, looking straight ahead. 

"Yes, I enjoyed it too. It's nice to hear about how others grew up and see their perspective on things." I lock my fingers together and try to keep myself from reaching out to him. "Asgard sounds like a beautiful kingdom. As does your mother, Frigga."

The way Loki's expression has become so bright towards me has me yearning to permanently keep it as such. "I do believe you'd be fond of Asgard. As well, you would be well adored by Frigga." 

"I wish I could have a chance to meet her and see where you've grown."

"Perhaps that can be arranged." Loki says. Although his confidence in the future is evident, I feel my stomach drop. I will never have the chance to travel with Loki or Thor or any of the Avengers that I've come to care for. "What is troubling you, love?"

My attention is snapped back to him and I force a tight lipped smile, shaking my head. "It's nothing. Just daydreaming." I dismiss the thought with the wave of my hand but I know that Loki can see through my false speech. Still, he knows that now is not the time to push at such a subject and let's it dissipate.

Our conversation has died down to a comment here and there as we continue walking, both of us trapped within our own thoughts. We reach the kitchen and I pour myself a bowl of cereal, reaching into the fridge for the milk.

"Ah, good morning - Loki, Y/n." Thor's naturally loud voice booms through the space around us. I wave slightly at him, continuing with my task. Things are still a little awkward between Thor and I, though we are in the process of getting back to comfortable.

"Morning, brother." The dark haired man responds, his voice so close behind me that the heat of his breath fans over my scalp. Goosebumps trickle across the surface of my skin and a slight shiver rolls through me. 

Thor looks between us and smiles, sending me into a fidgeting motion with reddened cheeks. "What have you two been up to?" He asks with a slightly humorous tone. My eyes snap up at him and he gives me an innocent expression, raising his eyebrow for an answer.

"What's with the inquires? I've been doing my job and watching over Y/n." Loki snaps, sounding irritated at the blonde. The hash words weren't directed at me, yet I feel like my heart has been punctured and is slowly deflating. 

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!!! Of course, I'm only a job and I need to keep a grip on reality. I'm just a liability and nothing more.

Thor must take notice of my slowly deteriorating happy mood and quickly fills the silence. "I wish to spend the day with Y/n and-" Thor is cut off by Loki's harsh snigger.

"Keep wishing, brother dear." 

"I don't have to, Loki. Stark has already agreed to me taking your...duties for the day." Thor informs us and I can see that he most definitely notice my discomfort earlier with the choice of words. Loki looks outraged but there's nothing he can do about it.

After taking a few bites of breakfast, I lose my appetite and hop off my seat to stand beside Thor. "I'll see you around, Loki." I say drably, still feeling the residual effects of my hurt emotions from earlier.

Now it's Loki's turn to notice the change in my nature and he gives me a concerned look, eyes scanning me for anything that could lead him to what's got me changed. I feel like he can see through my barrier, as if my walls that I spent years building up has all been made of glass. Glass that he's slowly cracking, letting in the harsh of the cold reality.

Before he can figure me out, I turn and walk out of the kitchen and I hear Thor follow immediately. No words are shared as I walk aimlessly through the facility but that doesn't stop the loudness that my brain is torturing me with.

Pushing against these mixed feelings as much as possible, I take a deep breath and turn to speak with the God of Thunder. "So, why have you requested my presence this fine day, Thor?" I ask, putting on a friendly smile.

"No reason in particular, my friend. I thought we could use this time to catch up on the time we've lost in the past days." He explains. So that's exactly what we do. We spend all morning talking and it doesn't take very long for our sibling-like banter to return to normal.

I'm hugging my middle, laughing so hard that it hurts my gut. "Oh, how I've missed talking with you." I admit, fanning my warm face.

"As I, with you." He sighs, finally calming down from our intense laughter. "You and Loki have become closer, have you not?" He asks, finally speaking his hesitant thoughts from this morning.

Shrugging, I fiddle with my fingers and interweave them with each other. "So it would seem." I reply, rather sadly. There's no use in attempting to hide my disappointment because Thor has this brotherly way of seeing through all of that.

"What is it that keeps you from speaking your mind, Y/n?" Thor inquires. My eyes sting with the ghost of tears and I bite my tongue to keep them from spilling. A long quiet passes as I gather myself to answer my friend, the brother of the one I've become rather fond of. 

"The heart is a treacherous thing, is it not?" I ask. Thor looks at me, not quite understanding what brought on this question.

"That's a curious question. I suppose the heart could be just so but that's why we must yield to the knowledge we possess in our mind." Thor's eyes continue to watch me carefully, as if I am the greatest mystery of the millennium.

I shake my head at how ridiculous this all could seem. "I'm scared, Thor." I quietly tremble out, my voice cracking. The blonde god looks immediately concerned and I can feel the tears brimming. "There is no hope inside me that can be used to convince myself that I will survive much longer."

"Y/n.."

"No, Thor. You don't get it!" I cry out, the tears slipping down my cheeks with ease. "This Chitauri rubbish in my arm is what got me here and because of it, I was able to meet you and Peter and Loki and Steve and everyone else. That in itself has been something I had never imagined would occur in my life."

My frown deepens when I see the pity on his face. "But this will also be where my life will come to it's end. I can't bring myself to imagine any alternative or wish for something more because that would be bringing a disservice upon myself. I can't afford anymore heartbreak than I've already encountered."

I look up at the ceiling, swiping my fingertips underneath my eyes to clear away the moisture that's collected there. "I'm sincerely sorry that this has all happened to you, Y/n. Just as you can not bring yourself to hope, I can not convince myself that this will be your end."

Thor stands before striding over to where I sit. I tilt my head up to look at him and he pulls me up into his embrace, which I gladly melt into, letting the tears run free. "You are one of the most kind of individuals I've met in all my years and I'd have liked for us to meet under different circumstances."

I sniffle in response before he continues, rubbing my back soothingly. "But this is just another obstacle that you have to face and do know that we are all here to go through it with you." Thor finishes, "Okay, my friend?"

My arms tighten around the god and all I can manage is to quietly choke out, "Thank you so much, Thor. I couldn't- I couldn't have imagined having anyone better than you on my side." I close my eyes and I know that we both disagree with one another but for the same reason. 

We don't want the outcome of this to hurt the other.

****

After our conversation, Thor and I took a walk out in the surrounding forest of the property. Which got us somewhat lost in the process and thus resulted in our return being late at night. "Thanks for today, Thor. I'm glad we got to hang out, again." 

"My pleasure. Goodnight, lady Y/n." He squeezes my shoulder before walking away. Having fun with him today was a nice change but I had continually thought about Loki throughout the whole ordeal. Which made me angry because I shouldn't be thinking of him when he was almost positively not thinking about me.

Both of my shoulders slump and I know that I need to try to rest up. Twisting the knob, I swing my door open and as I enter, I notice Loki sitting at my desk. The one person I've been trying to tune out, all day!

By instinct, I jump back and hit my head on the still open door. Scowling, I close it quickly before glaring at the man that's in my room without invitation. "You're back later than I would have expected."

"Lower your expectations and get out of my room, Loki." I snap, walking into the bathroom and checking my head. Silence follows and I beg that it means he's left but my mind knows better. 

Peeking around the corner, I see him still sitting there and he seems unfazed by my harsh words. Maybe if I just ignore him, he'll get the message and leave. I go through my room, gathering my sleeping garments and retreat back to the washroom in order to finish up.

Afterwards, I open my way back into my room and I no longer see Loki sitting at my desk. Slight guilt eats away at me and I groan as I climb underneath the comforter, trying to relieve the irritation bubbling in my chest.

Plopping my head down upon the soft cushioning of my pillow, I stare up at the ceiling and imagine becoming acquainted with the Avengers in less unfortunate circumstances. I imagine what could have become of Loki and me if I had not been an assignment. Would he have any connection with me as I have come to have with him?

Tossing over onto my side, I close my eyes and allow myself to dream of an alternate reality where things are different. Where I would have no expectations or unfortunate pasts or anything of the sort. Where I am different than I am right now.....

Bodies lay at my feet, drained of any life that once filled them and the core in my arm is glowing brightly, almost happily at the deaths it has caused. "Very well done, Y/n, Mortal of Midgard." A dark hooded figure approaches the scene but I can't make out their face. "Nothing suits you better than the darkness that has eroded every fiber of your being."

"Who are you?!" I scream, terrified of what I've involuntarily become. "Why have you done this?" My voice hoarsely calls.

The figure laughs loudly and only now do I hear a feminine ring to them. "Bring forth the trouble." She commands and Chitauri warriors step forward with a beaten and bruised Loki between them, his head hanging low.

"No! Don't you dare hurt him!" I beg desperately. "Please, kill me! Kill me instead of taking anymore lives!" I offer, wanting all this pain and suffering to end here. This needs to end.

Loki's head tilts upward until his eyes land on me, but there's only hatred being held towards me. "You!!!" He yells, thrashing against the soldiers he's held against. "This all happened because of you! They all died by your hands!"

Tears sting my eyes and I don't understand what he's going on about. "Oh, do shut up. Instead of royal highness, he should be royal whine-ness." The figure jokes but there's no humor to be found in these situations.

"Who are you!?" I demand, trying to buy time for Loki to pull one of his mischievous tricks and break free. 

"Ah, me? You know me whether you realize it or not." With that, the hood gets pulled from their head and reveals the culprit. "Surprise."

My heart drops and my face falls slack. "No, no. This can't be real. This isn't real!!" The horror seeps into my mind and I can't take my eyes off of her. Standing in front of me, adorned in black robes, I stare into the eyes of myself....

"Yes, my dear. This is what you have become." She says, gesturing to herself. "This is us, spattered in the blood of our victims. You are nothing but the past. I'm the future, you in this form."

With a wave of her hand, another Chitauri warrior comes forward and plunges their sharpened staff straight through Loki's chest. His eyes watch me as they lose color, his body slumping as his remaining life flees his body. 

"Loki, no!!! Loki, please! No!!" 

Screaming, I struggle against the covers as I try to run from the nightmare. Within seconds, my door flies open and my bedside lamp gets turned on. My eyes adjust to the lighting and soon fall onto Loki, who has come to my aid.

"Y/n, are you okay?" He asks hurriedly, concern plain to see. He stands by the edge of the bed, looking me over as I sit there frozen in my panic. "Y/n?"

I don't realize I'm crying until Loki's thumbs swipes the droplets from my cheeks. "I'm sorry, Loki." I whisper, hiccuping in the process. Part of me expects him to prod me for more context but what happens is out of character.

Loki sits beside me, in the bed, and pulls me to his chest in a hug. "No reason to be sorry, pet. It's okay." He coos as his fingers roam through my hair, soothingly. I can't push away my feelings right now and his comfort is something I greatly need. I lean into him and try to steady my breathing to the rhythm of his.

We stay like that for, what appears to be, a long time before anything is said. "Loki, how did you know I had a nightmare?" I ask.

"I heard you crying out. Given the fact that you've told me of your occurring nightmares, I didn't want you to be alone again." I was crying out? "Yes. You actually..." He answers and I realize I must have thought out loud.

"I, what?" I ask.

"Never matter. What were you dreaming about?" I want to tell him but I don't want to scare him away. I don't want him to think I'm crazy and I definitely don't want him to know that he's a big part of my nightmares.

I shake my head and he sighs. "Y/n? Please, talk to me. I want to help you." Giving in, I continue to hide my face in his chest so he can't see me and I can't see his expressions.

"My nightmares are about the Chitauri core. I always end up hurting, even killing, people in my dreams and there's nothing I can do to change it. There's no escaping what's a part of you." I don't go into details because I feel like that's a discussion for another time and I don't feel comfortable enough to expose that part of myself just yet.

"Oh, pet." Loki sighs, leaning back for me to look at him. "You need not to fear this. I won't-, We won't let anything hurt you."

Pushing away from his body, I feel the fear creep up again. "No, it's not that! Can't you see, Loki? I'm scared of hurting people. I don't want to be that, especially against my own will." 

"Y/n, you will never, ever, be that kind of person. You are more than strong enough to choose your own actions and be who you truly are." My heart flutters at his words and his blue irises twinkle at me, almost affectionately.

"Thank you...Loki." I softly say, not able to think of a better response.

He chuckles at me and moves to leave the bed. "Don't leave." I say quickly, not thinking it through. Did I seriously just say th-

"As you wish, pet." He replies, coolly. Swiftly, he moves back beside be and we both look at each other for a long moment. "Get some rest, Y/n." I go to protest but he shushes me. "I'll still be here when you wake up."

"Loki, you don't have to-" 

Once again, he quiets me and I huff in defeat. Laying down, I look over at him and I'm acutely aware of the space between us. My eyes start to grow heavy with every passing second but I fight against it.

Loki doesn't miss this and he smooths over my hair. "Sleep, please." His voice is soft and I imagine falling asleep to his voice would be pleasant. As my eyes flutter closed, I hear him speak one last time. Loki says it so softly, I wonder if I've imagined such words slipping past his lips.

"I'm not going to leave you. I promise."

Part Four Here

Masterlist Here

A/N: Cute? Angsty? Funny? Let me know what you think!!! Ah, I loved writing these. Make sure to follow me for updates!! (Crossed out means I couldn’t tag you! Sorry.) - Ellie-Mae

Tags: @jclements919 @jcalpha1 @immoralquandary @kany-eet @anaswolves @mysticalstarfishpolice

[ezilyamuzed]

There’s no place like home- part 12

Summary: The reader has had a unique gift all her life. While considering it a curse, she discovers the identity of her real father after her mothers passing. Journeying towards her new life, she finds herself thrown within the Winchester’s world. Is it her destiny?

Setting: End of season 13. This takes place after episode 13.18. Flashbacks are italicized.

Warnings: Language. Some angst, fluff, drama- a typically SPN episode.  POV may switch after certain sections.

A/N: Big reveal within this part of the story that has been long awaited. The story continues on as the reader discovers what home really means. Sorry it has taken so long. I wish I could give this the attention it deserves , but life happens. 

Any grammatical mistakes are all my own, because I am human. Remember all comments and feedback are welcomed! If you want a tag in future posts regarding this series or other writings please send an ask! As always thank you for reading! Enjoy!  

*Y/M/N= your mom’s name

Series Masterlist

Laying your head on the simple cloth covered pillow, you knew sleep would not come easily. Dipping your face further into the cotton, that familiar smell ignited your senses. Dean. Like a memory from a dream, the familiar scent that was all him only made your heart beat faster as you breathed it in. The ache you felt inside only grew stronger as the thoughts of the unknown plagued your mind. In just a month, you had quickly found the world you had thought you had known, was intertwined with theirs. Surely nothing good would come of this. With every new twist and turn, the nightmare you had kept a secret was now growing stronger. You were a monster. 

Reaching towards the old photographs that laid on the nightstand next to you, you allowed your eyes to document them deep into your memory. The smiling face of Dean with his mother’s arms wrapped around him provided a little relief that at least within the Winchester’s world there was love to be found. Moving to the other photo, the one of your father standing proudly with the two boys that have changed your world, you felt a tiny drop of a tear falling down your face. This was a family, one that you would never know. 

The small tears continued to fall from your eyes while the thoughts of what might have been came to your mind. Their lives were far from simple or perfect. It was definitely not like the Home and Gardens lifestyle that you had grown up in, but it was theirs. The simplicity of surviving and striving for the good of all mankind was the life you had often admired from your encounters with other hunters. They did not care about the Gucci bags, pushing your way forward in a prestigious career, or having the perfectly maintained white picket fenced house. They just wanted to protect their loved ones, while saving others in the process. 

Letting out a deep breath you sat yourself up, wiping the wetness from your face. Dean’s room was like a living museum of his life. The weapons hanging on the wall all primed to use at a moments notice, told you that he often never allowed himself to rest. That was definitely something that you had in common. Nights where you obtained more than 6 hours were a strange luxury that most likely meant that you had been drugged or knocked unconscious. The meticulously alphabetically organized albums in the milk crate made you smile, that like you he desired for their to be some sort of order in his life. The few casual and dress shirts amongst a couple of suits told the story of his adventures. There was a little blood stain on one of the sleeves, perhaps his own and old dirt markings on the cuffs of his pants. Although there was no designer labels along any of them, they all represented the care that he took in himself, and the pride he had in his appearance. Most often hunter’s looked like grungy, tired old men who had recently woke up in the middle of the woods, so there was appreciation that he took the time to take care of himself in the midst of it all.

You moved around the room, not finding sleep but intrigue in who Dean Winchester really was. Opening a wooden box on his dresser you let out a laugh at the Busty Asian Beauties magazines also neatly organized. For porn magazines, they were actually very well maintained and not worn out along the pages. He was actually gentle with them, definitely not how you were with him a few nights ago back in Sioux Falls. The memory of that night sent a shudder throughout your body, almost like your nerves were screaming to do it again. It couldn’t happen again, you had already decided. With everything going on, it was not just about the two of you anymore, there was something more goin on around you that you could not and would not allow a silly crush to interfere with.

Giving up on the thought of sleep you made your way out the door to the long hall. Glancing down both ends to your sides you wondered which way you should go. You closed your eyes tightly, listening for the sounds of the residents and their pet angel. Hearing muffled sounds coming from the area that you had first arrived at, of what you assumed to be the library, you followed as they continued. You had almost made your way into the room to be seen when you heard Castiel talking a little louder, specifically about you. You kept your back against the door frame as you heard them continue, awaiting for when you should enter.

“We do not have time dealing with some girls family drama,” Castiel spoke with command in his voice.

“Cas, it’s not like we have any other leads right now,” Dean interjected. “We will find a way to get Gabriel to help and we will bring Jack and mom back. We are stuck now, so we just have to keep moving. It’s not like there is some way to just magically fix all of this crap.”

“Locating the grace of an archangel should be your only concern,” Castiel growled before you could hear the sigh in his voice. “Dean, I understand that you have feelings for this...girl, but we do not know what she is.”

“What do you mean? What she is?” Dean exclaimed.

“She is not like anything I have ever encountered before,” Castiel stated calmly. “I do not know if she poses as a threat to our current predicament. Perhaps she has only arrived here now as a part of a grand scheme from one of your enemies. You must be careful.”

“Look Cas, I was with Dean when we met her,” Sam spoke up. “I believe everything that she has told us so far. I mean, yeah it's weird that she is connected to us in so many ways, but if you could only see the sincerity in her eyes, the anger in her voice… Cas, she I think she genuinely just wants our help.”

“And what about finding Gabriel?”

“Well, actually it seems that Y/N, has had some history with him,” Sam answered. “Outside, I happened to mention him, but she didn’t really say much about him before Dean came out.”

“You believe that she is able to contact him and bring him back?” Castiel inquired in perplexment.

The question moved you from your hiding spot, to met the wide eyes of the Winchesters, gulping hard in anxiety about what you had possibly heard.

“Calling Gabriel doesn’t work, he never answers,” you said while moving to sit on the edge of the wooden desk. “At least he hasn’t for a very long time.”

“How do you know of the archangel Gabriel?” Castiel demanded, staring at you intently for the answer.

“Well that is a long story,” you replied while shifting your eyes to the brothers settling themselves down to listen to your story. “When I was a little girl he came to me. It was around the time when I really started questioning things around myself...what I was seeing. He is the one who taught me what everything was and also what to do to with it.”

“You see him over there?” Gabriel stated while pointing towards a man with a greenish tinted light. “He’s a ghoul. They take on the form whatever human they last consumed.”

“So how do I kill it?” your twelve year old self inquired, while standing a little taller.

He smiled at your enthusiasm and shook his head. “Take off the head and you take out the monster.”

“Well what are we waiting for?”

“Hold on there little warrior,” he laughed while grabbing your arm. “You can’t just go around chopping off people's heads all willy-nilly”

“He’s not a person, you just said so yourself,” you bickered in response.

“Not everything that looks like a monster is one, and not everything that looks like a regular Joe Shmoo should be trusted. It was all in the big guy’s plan. You know the whole idea of free will? Everything has it, it was what you choose to do with it that makes you a monster.”

“So Gabriel was your Yoda?” Dean asked with a smirk.

“Basically. He would show up every once in awhile without really any reasoning behind his visits but to give me another lesson into the world of the supernatural.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” Sam spoke up.

“Like, maybe 11 years ago I think?” you replied while trying to remember back to that time. “He was really off, definitely not the same that he had been.”

“You have been busy lately,” you heard the familiar voice say from behind you. Turning your head to see the grinning angel, you wiped the dirt from the fresh grave you had just dug off on your shirt.

“It’s not like these demons are going to stop anytime soon. Seems to be more and more of them lately.”

“Yeah, someone left the door open a little too long,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “So how are you doing kid?”

“Hanging in there I guess,” you rolled your eyes. “It’s been awhile since you have graced me with your presence, so what is up now?”

“Things are getting a little noisey from the family, something big is going to go down soon between the bags of dicks I call brothers.”

“Michael and Lucifer?” you asked with your voice a little more raised. “I thought he was in a cage?”

“He is, for now,” Gabriel replied while moving towards you.

“What do you mean? For now? Gabe, if Lucifer gets out someone has to stop him,” you exclaimed in panic. “We have to do something.”

“We will not being doing anything,” he said while pointing back and forth between the two of you. “Take my advice and go run away to Cabo and enjoy the beaches, better yet find a nuclear bomb shelter and hide there forever. When it’s all done, the world is not going to be as fluffy with rainbows and sparkles as it is now.”

“What the hell is your problem?” You fumed. “You are telling me that basically the apocalypse is going to happen and you want me to go run away? No I won’t listen to it.”

“You have no idea what my brothers are capable of,” he retorted giving you a hardened look.

“Do you have any idea what YOU are capable of?” You shot back. “You are an archangel that I have seen do some incredible things like nothing else. Why can’t you see what I see.”

He stared at you deadpanned, no change of light or emotion to be found.

“I think the lessons have now ended Y/N,” he replied in a monotone voice.

“Gabriel,” you sighed heavily. “Look I know family sucks, but you can’t just roll over and let this happen.”

“Goodbye Y/N,” he said with a snap of his fingers, never to be seen again.

“That was the last time I saw him,” you sighed while moving a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve tried calling him. Praying when things really got bad. Like when all the Angels fell years ago. I didn’t know…”

“He was not amongst them. Actually, he has been held captive by a Prince of Hell for quite some time,” Castiel informed you. You nodded your head to him, to show you understood.

“Yeah, well I’m sure whatever happened to him he deserved it,” You pursed your lips up. “Things just kept getting worse around here, and he just left without a care.”

“You said he used to answer you?” Sam asked with suspicion. “Why did he do that?”

“I really don’t know,” you shrugged. “I mean he had told me that I was something special, that there was no one like me. I guess for whatever reason I interested him.”

“Would…” Dean spoke up nervously, bringing your attention to him. “I mean, would you or do you think you could try again?”

“Make a phone call to save the world from impending doom? Sure, but I wouldn’t put all my nickels on it,” you nodded. “Like I said he didn’t care back then, so I doubt he will give a damn now.”

“Tell him it’s of grave importance,” Castiel chimed in. You have the angel a side glance before shutting them in prayer.

“Gabriel. It’s Y/N, we need to talk. There is a lot of shit going down right now, that only you can help with. I need you. Please Gabriel. Let me know you are at least listening.”

You fluttered you eyes open and looked around the room, hoping that your words might have been heard by him. Everything remained the same in its place, bringing a sigh of disappointment from all the occupants in the room.

“Try it again!” Castiel bellowed making your face turn to anger towards him.

“Cas, dude,” Dean interjected whole shaking his head. “He’s not listening to any of us. We will figure this out.”

Castiel stormed out of the room glaring at your direction. You kept your position, keeping your eyes back on him as he moved out. The sound of the chair next to you legs moving on the floor, turned your attention to Sam moving up from his seat.

“Okay, so we still have things we can be doing,” he said while leaning himself onto the table using his hands for balance. “I’m going to go grab some boxes.”

“This is a mistake,” you shook your head, making him stop in his tracks. “You two have more important things to do right now. Besides that, your little boyfriend doesn’t seem to like me or want me here.”

“Cas just has a lot going on right now,” Dean spoke up, looking to the empty doorway. “We will figure it out. We will figure this all out. Together. You’re family now Doc.”

The next 27 hours the three of you worked through every file in the ancient cardboard boxes. Going through the last entries of dead men who might have had a reasoning to who or what you were was exhausting. Dean would slip away only for a couple moments to provide fuel for your brains in the form of the best tasting hamburgers and coffee that you had ever had.

“You can cook?”

“I’m not just a pretty face,” he winked back before stuffing his face with the product of his labor.

You would laugh back at his little jokes while you continued in your search for answers. It seemed like you were on the quest for an item that didn’t exist. The truth. Castiel had made his way back after a few hours, and while he sat in silence going through his own pile, you would catch him staring at you out of the corner of his eyes.

“You know you would read faster if your eyes were on the pages Asstiel,” you blatantly would state.

A little chuckle would come from Sam and Dean to your comments towards the angel who was trying to find the answers on your face. He would mumble out an apology before going back to the files.

Tiredness was overcoming you when you felt like you had hit a dead end in your search. You tossed the folder down to you and laid your head into your arms on the table while closing your eyes.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Sam suggested. “We can keep going.”

“Sleep is for the weak,” you replied without moving your head up to him. “I’ll sleep long enough when I’m dead.”

“That will be sooner than later if you don’t stop beating yourself up,” Dean suggested, which made you raise your head slightly to glare at him. “Why don’t we all take a little break to recharge ourselves? Get back to it in a few hours?”

You let out a deep sigh and nodded. You didn’t want to stop, but you knew he was right. The words on the pages were starting to jumble and you were pretty sure that you had been reading the same sentence for the last hour.

Sitting up straight you stretched your arms above your head. A whiff of your lack of showering hit your nose, turning it up in disgust.

“Maybe a shower too,” you replied. “I think I smell worse than a fresh corpse right now.”

“You aren’t that bad,” Dean laughed while moving over to you as you stood up.

He placed his hand on the small of your back guiding you out of the room before turning up is nose in jest. “Never mind, I guess YOU ARE that BAD,” he grinned widely making you smack him playfully on his stomach. “Let’s get you to the shower stinky.”

_________________________________________________________

Watching the two of you leave Castiel glanced over at Sam in amusement.

“It is nice to see Dean smile for once. Perhaps I was wrong about Y/N.”

Sam let out a breath of laughter. “Yeah Cas, for whatever reason I think this is the happiest I’ve seen him in years.”

“They have a strong connection,” Castiel stated. “It is not witchcraft or anything like that, but you can see it. No, it is almost kismet.”

Sam back in his chair thinking about the words that Castiel had just said. Kismet? Yeah, probably. What other reason could there be that they were just fit together so well? Maybe she was the salvation that Dean had been looking for. A reason to finally care about living, maybe giving him the proof that he was more than just a nobody in the world. Just maybe, she would be the one to save him.

_______________________________________________________

Dean led you to the shower room and handing you a towel as you entered. It reminded you of the locker rooms in high school that your teenaged insecure self used to dread.

“There is soap, shampoo, and conditioner,” Dean stated while pointing at the little shower caddy on the floor. “Basic stuff you need. Nothing too fancy.”

“Not very private,” you laughed. “I guess the men of letters were a very open group.”

Dean chuckled lightly in return. “Yeah, well don’t worry Doc. I’ll keep watch outside for you so nobody bothers you.”

You turned your face to his, only inches away where you could feel his hot breath hitting your face. Your heart started to beat a little faster as you flashed a smile while saying thank you while moving further into the room.

True to his word Dean left you to be alone while you showered. The hot water running down you felt nice over your aching joints from sitting for so long. Each bottle you opened gave you the distinct scent of Dean, which you happily applied and lathered up to clean yourself.

After throwing on a loose fitting t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts you made your way out of the room where Dean stood patiently. Your wet y/h/c hair laid unkempt down your head, leaving the top of your shirt soaked. He cleared his throat a little loudly before escorting you back to his room.

“Here you take my room, I’ll go take the one next door,” he said before turning to walk back out the door.

“Dean?” You said making him stop and turn in his tracks. “I feel bad kicking you out of your own bed. I mean it is big enough for both of us to sleep for a while.”

“Are you sure about that?” He asked with hesitation. “I mean, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I think we are past the point now where sharing a bed is considered uncomfortable. I mean, we did sleep with each other,” you smirked slowly from the corner of your mouth.

“Yeah, well if I remember correctly there was not much sleeping involved,” he grinned back.

“Yeah well, that was then. Now? Now I want to pass out and say screw consciousness.”

“You read my mind Doc,” he smiled while moving over to the side of the bed opposite of you.

The two of you climbed in, both with your backs toward one another as he shut off the light that was illuminating the room. It didn’t take you long to drift off to sleep where the nightmares had begun.

There was a woman crying on a cool metal table in excruciating pain. Light was shining down at her, distorting your vision as men were surrounding her in old fashioned doctor gowns speaking incoherently. Another woman reached out and grabbed her hand, telling her it will be alright. Her long neatly curled red hair surrounded her porcelain skin as she smiled gently at the tormented woman. You heard the sound of a baby crying as the screams grew louder from her. The comforting red haired woman looked down at the other woman when her blue eyes turned black.

Jumping straight up in the bed out of your sleep you could feel the sweat pouring down you skin. Your heart beating uncontrollably with your breath trying to catch itself in your heaving chest.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” Dean asked while staring at you frightened from your startled awakening.

“I don’t... I don’t know. It was a dream,” you rasped out. “There was a woman crying in pain with men all around her. She was giving birth and a demon… a demon was right there with her. Dean it was so real.”

You dropped your head into you hands as you could feel the pain of the woman succumbing you, causing tears to once again fall. Dean wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to his chest. He ran his fingers through your damp hair, whispering that it was only a dream.

“Dean, it wasn’t just a dream,” you cried. “I think… I think it has something to do with this place. With me.”

“Come on,” he said while letting go of you and standing himself  up. “Let’s go see if the others have any ideas.”

________________________________________________________

Sam tried to push himself further into the files, but he had managed to succumb to sleep where he sat. It must have been a few hours when Castiel nudged him to go and sleep properly in a bed, which his aching back could only agree with. He stretched in his seat, considering moving from the task in front of him when he looked down at the file he had drooled a little on.

Dean and Y/N both walked through the archway together, looking still sleep deprived, but yet more alert as he read the words in front of him.

“So check this,” he stated loudly to bring the attention to him.

Y/N gave Dean a confused sideways glance as he just shrugged and said “it’s his thing. Just go with it.”

“Have you found something Sam?” Castiel asked while furrowing his eyes to the pages above Sam’s shoulder.

“November 5, 1955. The twins were born today. Both relatively healthy under the guidance of Cuthbert Sinclair, Henry Winchester and Josie Sands. The mother survived, although there were complications during the childbirth process. The first born, Abigail was strong and even at birth displayed such remarkable progress in her development. The second born, y/m/n was not has promising. During the delivery it was skeptical of her survival, proving that she was not as strong as her sister. Abigail’s future is promising toward the Men of Letters ultimate goal of creating the perfect specimen of defense against the darkness in the world.”

________________________________________________________

As Sam finished you felt his eyes land towards you, along with the others. Sister? Twin sister? No that couldn’t be. She never said anything about her. Why wouldn’t she of told you?

“Y/N, y/m/n was your mom’s name right? She was born in 1955,” Sam spoke up with sympathy in his voice.

“I...I didn’t know she had a sister,” you stammered out as you felt all the emotions hitting you like a baseball bat.

“Josie Sands,” Dean chimed in. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

“It is the name of Abaddon's vessel during her time amongst the Men of Letters.” Castiel stated while keeping his gaze toward you. “Your mother and her sister were created using dark magic for the purpose of becoming weapons against the evil.”

“My Mom never had any powers or special abilities,” you replied tearfully . “She was just a normal mom. A boring history professor who died of a normal, non magical disease like anyone else.”

“It is in your blood,” Castiel confirmed. “Your mother may have not been afflicted, but you, her daughter was born with the burden they had ignorantly placed upon your family.”

His words stabbed deep into your gut where you could feel the bile coming up your throat. The words from the demon days earlier whispering in your head, “Man-made monster.” It was all true. You were the genetic byproduct of a science experiment produced by a Knight of Hell and a bunch of men who knew nothing of what they were doing. The truth you had hoped and prayed that was not real was sitting there on the table. You really were a monster.

Keep Reading Here

Tags: @jaylarkson @waywardbaby @snffbeebee@iamabeautifulperson18 @19agbrown @midnightsilver @wildefire@hobby27 @sonotalice @drakelover78

[drgnsyr-blog]

Forget-me-not

So I was sitting around thinking about Wayward Sisters and what characters they might bring back and where there stories might go. And I came up with an idea. But I didn’t have time to write the whole, long fic that would be the actual Wayward Sister’s episode, so instead I wrote up the opening of what I imagine being the following week’s crossover with Supernatural. Here ya go: “Hey, someone’s at the door.” Sam sits down in front of his laptop and enlarges the screen showing the footage from the security camera by the front entrance. A distinctive tangle of blond curls fills the screen, followed by a scowl and a dainty hand flipping the bird as their waiting guest looks up at the camera impatiently. “It’s Claire!” Sam says, surprised. “Claire?” Dean asks, leaning over Sam’s shoulder to look at the laptop screen. Sam turns the laptop so Dean can get a better look, gesturing impatiently toward the screen. “Were we expecting Claire?” Dean asks as he pulls out his phone, checking to see if he missed any calls that might have warned him about the young woman’s arrival. “I mean, I wasn’t.” Sam says. Looking back at the screen he sees Claire, still on the stoop, impatiently waving a bottle of what seems to be Johnny Walker at the camera. “Huh, I guess we should let her in?” --------------------------------------- “Not that we aren’t happy to see you, Claire, but what brings you? I mean, without any sort of heads up?” Dean clearly tries not to sound accusatory, but is still clearly somewhat off-put by Claire’s sudden arrival in their normal routine. “Yeah, sorry about that I just … it’s not something I wanted to explain on the phone.” Claire doesn’t sound sorry. If anything she sounds frustrated, bordering on angry. Dean sort of shrugs and dismisses it as normal Claire, but Sam looks at her a little harder. “So yeah, I’ll get to that, but first …” She holds out the bottle and Sam reaches for it. “Thanks. But you know you don’t have to bribe us to open the door, right?” “Oh, that is not a gift, Sam. I fully intend to drink my share of it. I just thought it a good idea to wait until I wasn’t driving anymore before I started.” “I don’t think so -” Dean began, switching to his protective big brother voice, but he didn’t get far before Claire cut him off. “Oh no, not tonight, you don’t. I have friggin’ earned that drink so you -”  she declared, an emphatic finger pointing at Sam, still awkwardly holding the bottle “are going to pour us a round and you-” the finger, and accompanying glare shifted to Dean “are going to sit down and listen to why I need a drink.” Dean openshis mouth to protest, but a look from Sam shuts him up. Clearly, Claire has something she needs to get off her chest, and telling her she can't have a drink to help her deal with it involves being more of a hypocrite than he is willing to be in his own home. With a sardonic half bow, he gestures Claire toward the dining room and follows her to the table while Sam grabs a set of highballs. “So …” Dean begins, after they've all had a chance to sip their drinks, Claire maintaining spiteful eye contact with Dean as she sips the harsh liquor without a cough or sputter, “I’m pretty sure you said you were gonna tell me why you were here?” “Oh, I am,” Claire said, jaw clenching as she looks down at her drink and then back up at Dean. Her irritation with the man radiates off her and Sam looks confusedly between the two. Dean also had no idea what he’d done to piss the young woman off, but he meets her glare with his trademark vicious calm and she breaks her gaze away with a sigh. “So, I started college a few months back - “ “Congrats!” Sam says, his genuine enthusiasm for the news interrupting the story Claire had been gearing up to tell. She rolls her eyes at him while a small smile tugs at the corners of her mouth as she talks over whatever questions he was about to ask in order to continue. “Yeah, well, it’s just a state school, but it’s still got it’s urban legends? School is stressful and 18 year olds are unstable whether you’re going to Yale or KSU, so every college campus probably has its share of ghosts and summoned spirits and the like, right? Well, I was in the basement of one of the dorms investigating some suspicious drinking related deaths when I stumble across a fellow student who had also decided that the deaths seemed suspiciously ghost like.” “Wait, really?” Sam chimes in. “You met another hunter … at school?” Dean asks incredulously. “Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a hunter,” Claire continues with a smirk. “His lore was sound, but I’m pretty sure he’d never fired a shotgun before I shoved one in his hands. Still, we ended up getting along pretty well on the case. And we got along really well once we hit the post banishing, hey-we-didn’t-die adrenaline rush, if you know what I mean.” Sam blushes slightly as Dean throws up his hands in protest. “Hey now, that is more information than I think we need. I could do without those kinds of details. Thanks.” “Oh no,” Claire replies, an almost vicious smile on her face. “No, you get all the uncomfortable details. I want you to be as uncomfortable as possible right now so that you can fully understand just how uncomfortable I was later.” Dean puts his hands down, his expression serious as he looks into Claire’s accusing stare. After a confused glance at Dean, Sam gestures for Claire to continue. With a small sigh, she returns to her story. “So anyway, after we had … relaxed a little, we are lying there and we start talking. You know, the typical getting to know you stuff. I explained how I got into investigating the Supernatural after my dad was abducted by an angel and then murdered during the apocalypse.” Dean and Sam both wince at the reference. “Turns out, his dad went missing, too.” “Really?” Sam asked, his interest caught. “Yeah, and in a way, his story is as weird as mine. Cause, the guy apparently was around as recently as a few years ago, but he has no memories of him.” Claire looks at Dean again, less angry now and more inquisitive. She watched his expression intently as a sinking feeling starts to grow in his stomach. “Wait, I don’t understand” Sam said, his focus on Claire, missing --or perhaps just ignoring-- the growing tension in Dean’s body. “That’s ‘cause I haven’t explained yet. See, all his life, he thought he just didn’t have a dad. Raised by a single mom in the suburbs; life was pretty good and he didn’t really stress about it. But when he was getting ready to go off to school he was poking around, looking for things he could back stuff up in, for mementos to take with him, that sort of crap.” Claire pauses, gathering her thoughts. Looking at the two men she shifts the conversation. “You know when you lose someone, or they leave, or you break up? And you can’t stand to see their face or the stuff that reminds you of them, but you can’t bring yourself to throw it away either? So you shove it all into a box and stick it in a dark hole where you can just pull it out when you feel like sobbing yourself to sleep sometimes. I have a box like that for my parents.” Sam looks at Claire, sympathetic, but Dean’s eyes skate away as his jaw clenches. “Anyway, when … my friend … was poking around the house, he found a box like that in his mom’s closet. It was filled with pictures of him, and his mom, and some guy he has no memory of.” “So, was he like, a baby?” Sam asks, casting another confused glance at Dean who is now gripping the arms rests of his chair tight enough to leave gouge marks. “No, that’s the weird thing. They were from, like, Middle School or something. From ‘right before we moved’ is how he described it. And it wasn’t like just one or two, like maybe he’d met the guy but it wasn’t that important and he forgot. It was like, tons of them. Even a couple from when he was younger.” Claire looks over at Dean, who can’t make eye contact with her. He stares over his shoulder, but she can still see the tears glittering in his eyes. She doesn't seem angry anymore, a sort of calm resignation settles into the other emotion’s place as she works to wrap up the story. “Anyway, I asked if he talked to his mom about it and he said he meant to, but he always forgot whenever they were together. This thing, that was so important to him that he had a near encyclopedic knowledge of memory spells and monsters that could mess with your thoughts, but he would just … forget about it when his mom was around.” Claire shakes her head. “Anyway, I told him I knew some people who might know more about memory spells than he could find at the local library, so he gave me one of the pictures in case it was useful as a sympathetic link or something.” As Claire reaches into her pocket Dean pushes himself out of his chair. She pulls out the folded photograph as Dean paces around, placing both hand on the back of the chair as he leans over it for support. His breath is ragged and he can't look at what Claire wa holding out to him. He manages to shake his head slightly before dropping his chin to his chest. Sam leans over and take the picture from Claire’s outstretched hand. He leans back in his chair and carefully unfolds it, being careful not to tear the worn photo paper.

[priscillawrites]

Writing Challenge Day #2

Prompt: Character A to Character B: “holy crap this is a terrible idea”

(can’t seem to wrap this scene up without writing forever, so I’m just posting this part now and will post the rest later :)

“Holy crap, this is a terrible idea.”

Noah shoots me a glare, like I’ve just insulted him in the worst way possible. Never mind the fact that this was my terrible idea, and I was the one who dragged him into it. But it hadn’t taken long for him to jump on board, embracing my far-fetched plan with as much enthusiasm as if it were his own.

That’s the thing about Noah. Ever since I met him, he’s never been able to do things halfway. His spontaneous decision to sign up for soccer intramurals freshman year turned into a permanent position on our school’s varsity team, and his one-year old hobby of filmmaking led him to apply to college as a film major a few months ago. This week is his last in our simple, small town before he moves across the country to California and begins what will probably be the start to his career as a famous Hollywood director.

I think maybe that was part of the reason he agreed to this ridiculous - and I maintain, terrible - idea in the first place. It seemed like the most fitting way to spend our last day together before we part ways and don’t see each other until the holidays.

But now, as I sit cross-legged on the sticky tile floor of the cluttered library next to our city’s council meeting room, I’m starting to rethink this entire thing.

Because not only would my father kill me if he caught me basically spying on him and the rest of our city’s council members, but I’m pretty sure we’re also committing several crimes.

Trespassing onto a government building by climbing through a back door window, for one, probably counts as a misdemeanor. Not to mention recording a city council session without permission. And all because we’re too curious about the impending future of the high school we just graduated from to wait until the council makes its official announcement.

“Amy,” Noah says, in the serious voice he reserves for when he’s trying to convince me not to back out of something. “This is a great idea. In fact, it might be the best idea you’ve ever had.”

I let out a long, slow breath. “Noah, if my dad finds out-“

“Not going to happen.” He smirks, his dark brown eyes practically shining. “This isn’t our first surveillance mission, remember?”

I sigh. He’s referring to the week we first met, almost exactly four years ago. We’d been assigned as debate partners in world history, and Noah, because one of our opponents had a reputation as one of the most brilliant people in our class, had convinced me to spy on one of their study group sessions, just so we’d have an idea of what topics they were going to cover.

I’d felt horrible about it afterwards, but to Noah, it had been nothing more than an adventure. We’d ended up losing the debate anyway, but it was the beginning of our friendship. And the first of many ridiculous quests he would convince me to join him on.

“I think they’re coming in,” he says suddenly, as the sound of footsteps starts to grow across the hall. I lean in closer to the wall in front of us, trying to push the fear of getting caught to the back of my mind. There’s only one security guard in this building anyway, and almost every other person here is going to be in the meeting room until the afternoon.

At least we didn’t have to add defacing government property to our list of misdemeanors I think wryly as Noah inches closer to the small opening in the wall that allows us to get a clear view of the room. This hole has been here for at least a month now, when I discovered it as I was helping my dad sort mail. How the hole came about in the first place isn’t too pleasant to consider - I’ve never seen a mouse since my father was elected three years ago, but there have always been rumors - so I try not to think about that too much as I move in closer, until I can see the council members start to shuffle in through the opening in the wooden boards.

The meeting starts off just as boring as I’d expected. Yet Noah seems to find it somehow fascinating. He listens in silence as the council makes their way through budget proposals and tax plans. At one point he even starts nodding emphatically, agreeing with a councilwoman’s position on whether or not firefighters should receive extensions on their pension plans.

“You sure you don’t want to be a politician?” I mutter when they close the subject, deciding, as usual, to postpone it until the next meeting.  

He turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “I’d make a terrible politician.”

I grin. I’m not sure I completely agree though. Noah’s always had natural charisma and good looks, plus that mysterious quality that draws you in and make you somehow want to follow him on whatever hair-brained scheme he proposes next.

But he’s also sincere down to the bone. He’d never advocate for something he didn’t fully believe in. And no offense to my father, but I’m pretty sure that’s a necessary qualification for working in politics.

“Here we go,” Noah says suddenly, turning back to the room while reaching over and squeezing my arm.

I nod, suddenly rendered speechless by the gesture. I’m not sure why his touch in general has been affecting me this way lately. When it first started a few months ago, I told myself it was only because of the nostalgia, since I knew we had so little time left together. But as a spark of electricity moves through my skin, I try to ignore the quickening of my heartbeat and the nagging, sinking feeling that this might be more than sadness about losing my best friend.

Finally, Noah drops his hand, and I try to relax a little.

My father has gotten up to speak now, bringing the matter of our old high school to attention. I try to focus on his words, on the speech he shared with me a little today over breakfast. But instead all I keep thinking about is the way my arm is still tingling from Noah’s touch.

I’ll get over it, I tell myself as my father starts listing off, one by one, the reasons why our high school should stay intact despite its recent scandals. I always do.

[redrobin-detective]

Omg writing prompt PLEASE do Billy Batson and jason bonding. That sounds soo good my 2 favorite characters together at last

Ah! Yes! I’m skipping ahead to this one because this one has been in my head since last night and I’m raring it go! Thank you!

There was something about Gotham that put Billy Batson at ease. He thinks it’s the same thing that makes pretty much every normal person feel uncomfortable. There’s this feel that Gotham has, it's something heavy and slimy that settles on your shoulders, makes you to be alert and aggressive or else you’re dead. It makes him feel that, if he had to, 12 year old Billy could probably survive in the cold, unforgiving streets of Gotham. Fawcett City isn’t half as bad, but five years of homelessness tends the make that same sorta angry paranoia needed to survive in a place like Gotham.

But Billy Batson isn’t here, not really. Cap is here for a meeting with the Bat, and though Cap and Billy are technically the same person, Cap’s got the Wisdom of Solomon and the Courage of Achilles and all sorts of other bad-ass things that make Billy’s thoughts and feelings seem dim and far away. He thinks it’s the Wizard’s magic in him that brings out Billy’s best qualities in Cap and buries all the ugly, street stuff deep inside. Buries it until Billy comes back and needs all that stuff to survive in a city all on his own.

He shakes his head, he doesn’t have time for philosophy, Bruce wouldn’t have called him to the Cave if it wasn’t urgent. B says it’s just a mission report but he could’ve given that to Cap at the Watchtower, so whatever it is, it’s gotta be like, mega-bad. If he wasn’t so distracted by the fact that Batman probably was gonna to chew him out into next week, he’d be busting a nut over how freaking awesome the Cave was. Cap’s been here before but it never stops being wicked cool. He wishes he could be Billy, just for a sec, so he could run around and look at all the cool gadgets but Cap’s got bigger things to worry about. Like whether Batman is gonna slow roast him or just skin him alive.

“Why do I have to give it to him, you called him here, you deal with him.” A whiney kid’s voice says from what sounds like the top of the long staircase leading up to Wayne Manor proper. He leans in closer even though with his enhanced hearing, he doesn’t need to. It’s not eavesdropping, it’s evidence gathering.

“I agree but the signal just went up and I’m sure it’s important. I don’t have time to give Marvel the report details.” He hears Bruce’s voice respond as he begins walking down the stairs. “You helped me organize the file information, you should be able to explain it. That’s a minimum requirement if you want to be Robin.” Cap remembers to straighten himself up and is casually whistling and examine his nails by the time they arrive in the Cave so they don’t suspect him of listening in. Inside he’s pretty shocked, the big guy keeps his private life pretty hush-hush but he didn’t know he had another kid lined up to be Robin. He makes a note to do some research next time he’s at the Fawcett City Library about any new kids Bruce Wayne has adopted recently. But the biggest shock is when B steps out of the way enough for Billy to look at the soon-to-be boy wonder. The boy pouts and uncrosses his arms long enough to swipe the file out of Bruce’s patient hand.

“Captain,” Billy straightens as the scariest dude, like ever, says his name. “I’m afraid there’s something I must attend to and I can’t give you the notes on the last mission’s report myself.” The Bat rests a light hand on the boy’s shoulder and the pinched, cautious look on the kid’s face is so familiar, it’s eerie. "This is Jason, he’s been staying with me, he’ll be giving you the details in my place. He’ll be undergoing training soon so he needs to be able to do this sort of thing. I appreciate you taking the time to come out here in person and would appreciate it further if you’d be a sounding board for Jason to test his skills out on someone other than myself.“ So Batman called him out to Gotham… so he could give his kid the chance to learn basic skills with a non-judgmental hero. The part deep inside that has vague memories of loving parents feels warm beneath the crushing feeling of jealousy and guilt. He knows a dirty, messed up street kid when he sees one, and he bets this Jason kid has no idea how good he’s got it getting someone as caring as Batman to take him in.

"Of course sir," Cap responds a second later as he tamps down all those parts of Billy inside and works on channeling his very best for the new kid. He's supposed to be the mentor in this case, he’s gotta set a good example even though the kid looks older than he is. "I’ll help out in anyway that I can, you can count on that.” Jason makes a face at Cap’s natural enthusiasm and Batman merely gives the boy a light, affectionate knock on the head.

“Behave, both of you. You’re free to leave once you’ve received the report Captain, you’re aware of how the Zeta tubes work. Jay, when done I want you to finish reading that book on basic criminology and start in on those breathing exercises I taught you. If you get that done, I’ll read you the next chapter of Alice in Wonderland before bed so you can sleep through the night.” Jason blushes and ducks his head mumbling some embarrassed curses under his breath. But Batman either doesn’t hear or is used to being called such things and walks over to the Batmobile firing up the engine. “I’ll be checking the security footage later and grading you on your report so don’t think you can skip out. Alfred’s in charge while I’m away. Captain, thank you again. I will see you at the meeting next Thursday.” With that, the door closed and the ground beneath the car turned so it was facing the tunnel exit and soon was screaming out of the Cave like, well, a bat out of hell.

He was distracted by how sick that ride was and what organs he’d give up for a  joyride through the streets when Jason was shoving the manila folder against his chest. The kid takes a deep breath, puts his shoulders back obviously trying to appear older and more mature and keeps his face perfectly neutral as he begins a detailed narration of the last mission, what was found and future plans. Billy has to admit, the kid is good. He's smart, interpreting the information not just reciting it. His vocabulary is, like, twice the size of Billy's and he’s standing there talking like an actual adult instead of the antsy kid who looks like he’s three seconds from bolting. If Billy wasn’t intimately familiar with that sensation himself, he sure he wouldn’t have noticed Jay’s absolute discomfort at being left alone with a strange older man. Cap can see why Batman picked him up.

“Alright, that’s everything, any questions?” Jay asks in a carefully stated monotone that does nothing to betray his uneasiness. Billy wonders if Batman already trained him that way or if the kid had already learned to control his fear before coming here. Maybe the streets of Gotham weren’t as kind as he thought.

“No, that was great!” Cap says eagerly, as Billy takes a casual step or two back to ease off on the kid. “Batman sure has taught you well, I just know you’re going to make an amazing Robin.” Jason’s mouth jerks vaguely upwards for a second before going back to it’s back to his neutral position.

“Has anyone else told you that you’re a bit corny?" Jay asks with an amused raise of his brow. Clearly Jay isn’t feeling very threatened by him anymore which allows Cap to relax and maybe let out a bit more of Billy. It’s not very often he gets to talk to kids his age about hero stuff, not to mention one who was in a similar position to Billy.

"All the time, it’s part of my charm but Green Lantern disagrees. I say that anyone who runs around waving his ring around advertising his favorite color doesn’t have room to talk.” Jason snorts and the two of them share a conspiratal chuckle together “You’re real lucky Bruce took you in, he’s a good guy, he acts like he’s my dad sometimes but he does it cause he cares.” Cap is shocked when the semi-smile falls off Jason’s face but Billy really isn’t.

“Right, I’m just so lucky this fancy rich boy picked me off the streets and told me I wasn’t living my life right and that he was make everything better as if a few weeks of clean sheets and a threes squares a day are gonna erase all the crap I seen, the stuff I done.” Jason says bitterly, folding in on himself as he crosses his arms over his chest. His blue-green eyes were stormy with anger and insecurity, upset at Cap’s unintended ignorance but also at himself for his fears that maybe he isn’t deserving of all the good things happening to him. Sometimes what Billy thinks and what Cap says don’t always match up, as if everything he says passes through a filter to make it as good and wholesome as possible. But Billy gets it, he got the same spiel every time he was transferred to a new foster home, before he realized none of them had what he needed and decided the streets were better for him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend,” and he winces again trying to push Billy to the forefront instead of letting Cap’s, welling meaning but naïve, attitude interfere. “I just mean there are a lot of people who take in street kids ‘cause they’re nice and it’s the right thing but they don’t know how to handle them y'know? With Bruce, you got someone who gets that things aren’t always gonna be good and happy now that you’re in a proper home, who understands that bad things don’t always stay in the past. I know it’s different from being in the streets and you’re probably wondering if all this is worth it but I know Batman and I know he’s gonna do the best he can for you and not be hard on you cause you’re not the clichéd grateful foster kid.”

Jason stares at him, long and hard before humming quietly to himself and gently jerking his chin forward. It’s a sign of respect, of acknowledgement from one dirty rat to another that they understood what the other is going through. He’s not worried about Jay telling the Bat about Captain Marvel being, what he believes, a former homeless kid. Street boys don’t rat each other.

“Yeah man, it’s cool.” Jay shrugs casually after a minute, relaxing his shoulders completely for the first time since coming downstairs. “Anything else I can getcha before you head out. Alfie buys like, way too much food, you could take some if you want. I don’t think either of them would even notice.”

“I appreciate the thought,” Cap says cheerily, cause he does. It's coming up on winter and fresh food is scarce and Billy’s little supply is wearing thin awfully fast with how much he has to eat just to keep his temp up. But he promised himself from the start he wouldn’t have the Cap messing with Billy’s life, it went against his code and it just wasn’t fair to the other kids making their own living. “But I can take care of myself.” Jay smiled, a small but nice smile and Billy finds himself irrationally happy that Bruce was able to save this kid, give him the home he deserved.

“I’m sure you can," Jason holds out his small fist, "see you around? B is still keeping me kinda on the down-low for now while the papers go through. Not even the reporters know yet so I could use some company.” Cap smiles and gingerly returns the fist bump.

“You bet, I’ve never gotten an official tour of the Cave and I bet it’s got the coolest stuff around. Next time you gotta tell me the story behind the dinosaur man.” Jason laughs.

“Yeah, next time.”

Ok this one took a lot longer and I’m sorry. But this was my first Billy and so I really took my time making sure I got his voice right, that mix of genuinely good childishness mixed in with the kinda bitter street kid. I also like the dichotomy between Captain Marvel and Billy Batson and the sorta divide between them. Jay I know easy enough but I cherry picked each word of Billy’s. Also, just cause I want it known. B totally knows about Billy’s age and situation here and deliberately sets him and Jay up to meet so the two sad street kids can bond. Also Jay really did need to practice his reports.   

[claudecat17]

Do Not Sell At Any Price: The Wild, Obsessive Hunt for the World's Rarest 78rpm Records

Hiya! Here we are again, this time alight on the wings of enthusiasm. No longer whining about the cruelties of the past! Not that that won't reappear from time to time, mind you. It's just that I've stumbled upon something recently that's made me happy again. Giddy even. Fuckin' A!

It's a book (titled as this post), of surprisingly recent vintage, about record collecting and the odd humans that do it. 78's specifically. The source of many things musically epiphanic for dolts like me that ravenously savor certain periods of American cultural history.

It's a really good book. Who am I kidding? That doesn't even come close to covering it. It's a book so insanely great that even those with little or no interest in its subject matter would probably enjoy it.

First off, it's unbelievably hilarious. The author (Amanda Petrusich) writes spectacularly well, which is great (and rare) enough, but her most endearing quality is her ability to toss off sentences that make me laugh out loud. Like:

Changing into a wet suit on the side of a busy road in a residential community in suburban Wisconsin is a uniquely humiliating experience.

Or:

I squirted more ketchup packets onto a cardboard boat of tater tots, which I’d strategically positioned on the dashboard for continued ease of access.

Or:

When the timbre shifted from jovial to menacing, I darted back to my room, piled all the unbolted furniture in front of the door, unwrapped a plastic cup, poured myself a drink (neat), and fell asleep horizontally with all of my clothes still on.

But humor takes a back seat ultimately, and lofty, literate sentences like this spill into the reader's brain like hooch from an ancient bluesman's bagged bottle:

There is a moment in late August, in the South, where the landscape gets nearly obscene—overfed and cognizant of what comes next—and unleashes a final, boasting parade of virility.

Still:

When a portly man sporting strained cargo shorts and an orange GUNS SAVE LIVES sticker unleashed an epic, undulating belch a couple inches from my face—we were both digging, somewhat frantically, through a mound of state-shaped refrigerator magnets—I found myself not only not repulsed, but almost wanting to shake his hand.

Etc. Maybe not sidesplitting when read out of context, but believe you me, this gal is funny. Or she'll casually fold in a bit of profanity, a "shittier" or even a "fuck" here and there, lightening the potentially academician tone. With this subject matter? It works like a charm. You feel like you get to know this author more than most that write about things like this.

And the subject matter itself is fascinating, whether you give a crap about old records or not. Basically, she meets and greets and otherwise gets to know (becomes?) several of these weird, almost exclusively male, generally older 78 record collector folks, attempts to make sense of what they do and what happens to 'em and their beloved collections as they age and die.

Sounds dry and dusty? It ain't, not for me anyway. There's a whole chapter depicting the clientele and atmosphere of a long-gone New York City record store. Shifty-eyed obsessives in trench coats and fedoras, with deep knowledge of hot jazz or maybe blues or old-time music, swigging from fifths of bourbon as they wait for Saturday, 3pm, when Bob always shows up with his suitcase full of pornographic novels. A few minutes later it's back to pawing through the stacks or arguing with someone about the relative merits of Bunk Johnson vs. Miff Mole.

If even that degree of colorful dustiness is too much to bear, there's the chapter in which the author, an admitted claustrophobic city-dweller with no predilection for thrill-seeking whatsoever, learns to scuba dive, expensively. Spends thousands on the materials and classes and gear and all the rest, complaining and worrying all the way.

All for what? So she can dive into a Wisconsin river that might, just might, contain some old 78's that employees of the Wisconsin Chair Company (AKA Paramount records - perhaps the single most important label in US history, known for using mud, ground up chairs, even animal bones in their low-quality "shellac") used as Frisbees back in the 1920's. She wants to pan for musical gold, and does, even though it turns out that the river is no more than five feet deep at any point. Some of the funniest stuff is in this chapter...

Of course, it's more than just portrayals of ancient wack-job collectors and the author's lamentable shenanigans. There's a fair amount of time spent describing the majesty of the music itself, of the experience of placing one of these often one or two-known-to-exist gems on a turntable, setting it to the optimum speed (sometimes higher or lower than 78rpm), with just the right size ice cream spoon on top of the stylus. Getting the music first hand as opposed to it being filtered through several layers of digital splintering and reassembly, with stops in Estonia along the way.

There are also chapters on people like Harry Smith, who invented the album with his 1952 folk music anthology. Strange strange guy, but prophetic. Lots of detective work on the author's part too, trying to track down items from Smith's actual collection (from which the album was assembled).

One of the tenets of the book is that this collection could be anywhere or nowhere, despite some of it, maybe, having been donated to the proper authorities. She waits at the NYPL for like 45 minutes while some librarian down in the tombs presumably riffles through poorly cataloged shelves of god-knows-what, then gives up. Only with the help of one of the more normal present-day collectors is she able to determine that one item is the same record Smith used back in 1952.

It's the story of what happens to all the rest that's the subtext here. No matter what, much of this irreplaceable, one of a kind stuff, ends up in dumpsters. Best case scenario is that some library or the Smithsonian puts it into its own vast collection, where it may never be seen or heard again. With every passing day, we lose another load of something that will never be heard again.

Time is also spent attempting to understand the collecting fetish itself. Scientists are consulted, research is done. Turns out that maybe some degree of autism is involved, and that males are genetically predisposed to fall into the clutches of collecting things obsessively. It goes beyond the mere collecting though. It's mostly about the assigning value to and somehow ordering and making sense of the objects of desire. Becoming an expert in one's narrow field of interest gives one something resembling control, maybe even fame of a sort.

Deep down though, it's about strange people doing strange yet culturally valuable things, trying to (in most cases) preserve what they see as a valuable and soon to be (more) lost portion of musical history. Once these 78's disappear into landfills or get shattered by clumsy handlers, that piece of art may well be gone for good.

And though it's true that most of the old crap is just that - crap - there are also gigantic veins of music even now just beginning to be explored. Albanian folk music of the 20's and 30's? African music of slightly later vintage, played on saxophones and so alluring that one piece made the Billboard charts? Uh huh. And that's just scratching the surface. Or maybe not. Nobody really knows until they unearth a batch of weirdness and start listening, and how many crazy folks are there anymore that can or will do that?

I dunno... I just found this book to be the best thing I've read in years, a welcome respite from the dozens of Beatles books and similar things I've been ingesting like so many Junior Mints. I think the last such tome I'd read was John Lennon's dad's 35-years younger widow's tale, which was actually pretty compelling. That tells you how vapid so much of the writing on music can be.

So. Maybe you'll be tempted to seek out this book, but probably not. I'm betting that many of you would enjoy it, but priorities are priorities after all. If you're extra-curious though, shoot me an email and I can hook you up. Thanks for reading anyway!

I’ll foist one tune here, a bizarre one from Africa (Zimbabwe to be precise), circa 1947, predating the Anglicized and lame “Wimoweh“ by a few years. It’s just a fun record of which I’d previously been ignorant, and one that gets a lot of attention in the book:

-------------------------------- Link to past posts, faster than the top-right icon thingie: https://disqus.com/home/forum/claudecatsplace/recent/ --------------------------------