#cas scrawls

[upsidedownwithsteve]

CH10. Cheque, Please! | The Menu [2.2K] Eddie Munson x shy fem!reader: a line cook au.

ONE YEAR LATER

The diner was packed. 

Tables were full, the large room a buzz of chatter and music, the speakers playing an old sixties bop. It was a familiar sight, one that happened more often than not since Jim sold the diner. The new owner ripped the place apart, down to its old bones before he put his life savings into it. 

New floors, new tables and chairs, artwork on the walls that were signed by Argyle, a photo of the whole staff taken and framed by Jonathan, Jim Hopper at the forefront, a wide smile on his face on the last day before his retirement. The bulbs in the neon sign outside had been replaced so it no longer flickered, the green and blue glow of it now announcing the diner’s new name, proud and bright for everyone to see. 

Eddie’s Slice Of Chicago. 

“Door! Behind!” You yelled out as you entered the kitchen empty plates piled high in your arms and Jonathan took them from you with practised ease. 

Steve was on the grill, still hesitant and not as fast as Argyle, but he was flipping burgers quicker than he had last week. His chef whites were brand new, his name badge shiny and his front of house position taken over by Nancy. Everyone was in new uniforms, freshly pressed and a sage green, aprons still without stains and a pocketful of pens that didn’t run out of ink too quickly. Robin was taking orders, laughing with a family from out of town, letting their toddler grab at her finger as she promised them to return soon with their pizzas and shakes. Dustin was helping Max run a large order to a table of backpackers, a border collie under the table at their feet, getting its ears scratched by the new start, Mike. 

There was a sign on the staff notice board, up beside the employee of the month, a piece of ripped paper with the words “SIXTY FOUR DAYS SINCE THE LAST FREEZER BREAKDOWN.” The rest of the space was filled with staff photos, polaroids and prints of the group at a fourth of July picnic, a barbecue at Jim’s in the summer, huddled around the kitchens countertops in the winter, drinking from mugs filled with Argyle’s homemade horchata, the frame that held Billy’s scrawled termination letter, an old napkin that held a small conversation in pen. 

It felt more like home than ever. Even when Eddie wasn’t there. 

Everyone answered to you in his absence, unofficially in charge when the boss wasn’t here. It had taken some getting used to, hell, you’d even tried to pawn off the responsibility to Nancy, or Steve, anyone who’d been at the grill longer than you had. But Nancy was part time, back at college during the week, taking Robin on dates in the evenings and Steve was too busy being trained as a new prep chef to worry about invoices and deliveries. 

So you stepped into the role cautiously, softening to the idea when Eddie kissed you something fierce and told you that there wasn’t anyone else he trusted to do the job. His acceptance letter had come the month after taking over the diner. A thick, white envelope that lay heavy on your doormat because he’d finally moved in, sharing your small apartment with you like he did everything else. 

Clothes. Jewellery. Books. Records. Food. Kisses. 

Vincennes University offered Eddie the chance to do what he hadn’t been able to before. Refining his craft, learning new skills, working in a state of the art kitchen with equipment he’d come home and gush to you about. The diner was doing well enough that tuition wasn’t a worry anymore and suddenly, the long commute into Indianapolis for classes four days a week seemed worth it. Eddie was passing with flying colours, receiving accolades and opportunities at every given moment and when he came home, exhausted but happy, he came home to you. 

Bone tired, he’d slip into the apartment, socked feet padding gently over the floorboards, Tupperware full of something delicious to be stacked in the fridge. He’d find you curled up somewhere, a black cat called Basil in the nook of your bent legs. He’d kiss you sweet, he’d kiss you soft, warming you up to a simmer until you forgot how much you’d missed him that day. 

It was all worth it. 

“Table eighteen wants extra hash browns and booth six needs two pepperoni’s and the Hawkins special, chefs,” you called to Steve as you slapped the orders onto the bar. 

“Got it,” Steve and Argyle called back, one a little more nervously than the other but it was okay, ‘cause Eddie was home soon. 

Eddie was home soon. 

He’d called from a pay phone outside of the school, voice buzzing with excitement, with pride, and yours mirrored his back. He’d be on the train soon, he’d meet you at the apartment, if you could get away early. So you handed your keys to Nancy and she grinned, knowing there was a cause for celebration waiting at home for you. You drove Eddie’s van back along the road, coming into town on the familiar stretch, passing Wayne’s, the trailer park you both visited every Sunday for dinner. 

The apartment door was unlocked, dimly lit in the early fall gloom, already smelling like garlic and tomatoes, like fresh bread and the scent of Eddie cologne that lingered on his jacket that hung in the hallway. Eddie’s records were in the shelves by your books, his guitar hanging from a hook in the tiny office room, his shoes on the bench by the door. He’d transformed your kitchen when he’d moved in, a decision that had been all too easy to make. There were  pots and pans hanging from the rack, shiny, sharp knives that he was scared of you using without him there, jars and tubs of ingredients stacked high in the fridge and the pantry. There were fresh herbs in planters on the window sill. The radio always played. 

The kitchen always felt like the heart of the home. 

That’s where you found Eddie, sweater sleeves rolled up and grinning at you from the stove top, a large spoon in hand as he mixed in some fresh rosemary to the pot of sauce. He greeted you with a glass of wine, the cheap stuff that you liked best, catching you in a kiss before you could bring the cup to your lips. 

He kissed you soft, kissed you sweet, humming when you laughed into his mouth, his free hand slipping inside of your shirt to ghost his fingers over your ribs. 

“Hi,” you whispered. You’d never tire of this. This warmth, this kind of greeting, this feeling of coming home. “Good day?”

Eddie nodded, stealing another kiss, catching the corner of your mouth. He gazed at you, eyes shining with excitement and you could practically feel the buzz in his bones for what he was about to say. 

“I got it.”

You blinked, once, before your smile turned into a grin and it stretched wide. You barely had the common sense to place your wine on the countertop before you launched yourself at the boy, your arms wound round his neck as your crushed your face into his curls. Eddie whooped, a joyful thing as he lifted you off your feet and grinned against your throat. 

“You got it,” you whispered back to him, everything in you frilled with awe and pride. 

“I got it,” he repeated again. His voice sounded thick. 

The internship with Chef Emmelie was something that everyone in Eddie’s class was vying for. Eddie had spent an insane amount of time on his application, using you as his own personal taste tester in both work and home. New recipes were concocted, old dishes were reworked and it had all paid off. Eddie had been hand picked to work alongside one of the country’s greats, assisting in setting up a new restaurant, a fine dining establishment that promised to deliver nothing but the best cuisine to the masses. Eddie would help create the menu, and hopefully, maybe, eventually, take over as head chef. 

It was another level of surreal. 

“I knew you would,” you mumbled into his neck, pulling back only to crush Eddie’s cheeks in the palms of your hands and give him a kiss that ducked his breath away. His lips tasted salty, but perhaps that was your own tears you could taste. Eddie just held onto you tighter, his stew mix bubbling away without any attention. “Where is it? Have they told you where you’re setting up?”

You’d held Eddie’s hand as he clutched his application letter and promised him that no matter where they sent him, you’d follow. The only thing that tied you to Hawkins, was the boy and Basil was easy enough to smuggle into a cat carrier, once you could catch him. Wayne had squashed any hesitancy from Eddie immediately, waving him off and saying that there would be private jets for each of you once he hit the big time as the new celebrity chef. And of course, there was the diner. 

Eddie laughed then, a breathy, disbelieving thing and he finally shuffled to settle you onto the small dining table that sat in the corner of the kitchen. He nudged his way in between your legs, sniffling when Basil appeared to wind around his own ankles and the only sounds were the purring of the cat and the simmering of dinner. You held your breath, brows raised, expectant. 

London? Dubai? Paris? Los Angeles?

“They wanna set up in Chicago.”

—————

Going back to the city you left was a lot less daunting with Eddie by your side. 

Wayne moved out of the trailer park and into your apartment, something that made leaving a little easier for Eddie. He still owned the diner, and promised to stop by at least a few times a month if scheduling around the new restaurant would allow. He’d found a new manager, a woman from town called Joyce who loved to bake and knew enough about taxes and accounting that she didn’t fuck up order and invoices. She loved the place like Eddie did, promised she’d do it proud. 

(She met Jim on Sunday in summer and after she served him her famous cherry cheesecake, one date in the park had turned into three, into five and now they were inseparable. They spent most of their time walking around town, visiting farmers and Jim enjoyed his retirement by helping Joyce create new desserts for the diner.)

Eddie’s internship came with an apartment in the suburbs, a small townhouse that was far enough from the hustle of the city that you felt more at home than before. It was less bright, less loud and Basil had a garden to roam in, a bench beside a vegetable patch he could bathe in the sun from. 

It had a pantry and old oak floors, a huge window that looked out onto the street that was lined with cherry trees, and a nook in the living room that you liked to read in. You found a job, pretty easily, a vintage bookstore on the edge of town that smelled like coffee and cinnamon, old pages and older stories. It was owned by an old man who let his dog sleep under the front desk, who brought in pastries for breakfast and made you sweet tea in the summer. 

The restaurant opened in the spring. Hit headlines the following day, praising the special on the menu made by newcomer chef, Edward Munson. By the summer, the heat was climbing and so was Eddie’s popularity. He was running the restaurant, got to create a new menu every six weeks and the waitlist was booked out until Christmas. He told you he loved you every time you paid him a visit, on your lunch break, a whisper between a kiss hello and goodbye in the kitchen, coy whistles from his staff that he burned pink at. 

And when you both drove back to Hawkins for long weekends and holiday stays, you crammed yourselves and Basil into your old apartment with Wayne, packed his freezer full of food and tried to convince him to take in one (maybe two) of the strays from the trailer park to keep him company. 

You spent the Fourth of July with the diner crew, in the backyard of Jim and Joyce’s new home, sharing Polaroids and newspaper clippings of the restaurant, of your new home, Eddie’s menu. Steve was in awe but nothing could beat the look of pride on your boyfriend’s face when Steve told him he’d mastered a French omelette. Argyle was running the kitchen, Nancy had been promoted to assistant manager, part time or not, and Robin had helped Jonathan in running a Sunday morning coffee club, where Hawkins residents got to taste test new bean flavours over a pastry breakfast and some town gossip. 

Eddie didn’t scowl much, not anymore. 

And when you next bumped into Chrissy, you waved at her from under the tuck of Eddie’s arm, diamond ring glinting on your left hand in the sun. She didn’t have much to say to you, not after that. 

[hairmetal666]

It starts in Eddie's second senior year, close to the beginning of the semester. Eddie's in trig (again). He's good at math, but Mundy fucking sucks, always giving Eddie shit for breathing, or his shoes squeaking on the linoleum, or whatever, and he ends up with detention most days. So, he hardly ever shows and can't be bothered to do the homework, even though he knows the answers more often than not.

On this particular day, Mundy is in a bad mood, on Eddie's case way more than normal. In the heat of frustration, Eddie scrawls, "I fucking hate this class" on a scrap of notebook paper, and for reasons he can't begin to explain, leaves it folded on the window ledge. He doesn't think anyone will answer; fully expects the paper to be gone come morning with maybe another detention slip under his belt to show for it. He's a little flabbergasted, the next day, when the note is still there, and loses his mind a little when he sees the words "tell me about it" underneath his first message. He doesn't recognize the handwriting, sloping and a little looped, and for most of the class period, he's too bemused to respond. Right before the final bell rings he scrawls, "trig. You?" He leaves the paper on the ledge again. "Algebra 2 :(" is the response.

They keep it up, just a few words at first, before Eddie accidentally doodles on the page, and the other guy scribbles a hasty formula, the math spectacularly wrong. There's a little arrow leading to the words, "this shit sucks." Eddie re-writes the formula with the correct math, leaving careful notations of how and why. The next day he sees, "Shit, dude, I totally get this now. Mundy should retire and let you take over." Which pleases Eddie down to his core.

The messages get longer, nothing super personal, but complaints about life, math help, Eddie's silly little doodles, bad jokes, the slightly lewd drawings typical of teen boys. Eddie's never had a better attendance record in his life, but there are some days where his notes are left unopened. Most remarkably a couple week period before Thanksgiving, where he goes unanswered for so long he figures whatever thing they had going is done. But after the holiday, the notes start up again, with no acknowledgement they ever stopped. Eddie doesn't bother questioning it.

They keep it up almost all year, and they're definitely friends, even though they're totally anonymous. And that wouldn't have changed, except it's the day before spring break and Eddie's vibrating out of his skin with anticipation of the time off, so he forgets his dnd notebook in Mundy's class. He makes it all the way to Click's before he realizes, then sprints back across the school. He crashes through Mundy's door, tripping a little over his own feet.

"Sorry," he pants. "I just left--" he looks over to his desk, far corner right by the window, and then forgets every word he's ever known because Steve Harrington Steve Harrington King Steve, stares right back at him. And he just. He stops and fucking laughs, because all this time--this whole goddamn year--it's been Harrington he exchanged notes with. And sure, the jock's star has fallen in the last few months, with the breakup with Nancy and all that shit with Hargrove, but it's still Steve Harrington. With his big house and his fancy car and his girls. It's pretty Steve Harrington, the focus of Eddie's most hopeless daydreams.

He has a few seconds to see Harrington's hazel eyes go wide, before Eddie spins on his heel and makes a hasty exit. He absolutely doesn't spend the break thinking about the notes, matching what Harrington wrote with the gossip Eddie heard on him from the past few months.

Once break ends, he doesn't bother going to Mundy's class at all.

The Friday of the first week back, Eddie walks out to his van, only to find King Steve leaning up against it. He's doing that obnoxious thing where he has one leg bent, foot resting against the side panel, arms crossed over his chest, stupid hair falling in glorious cascades around his face. It's ridiculously, unfairly attractive.

"What do you want?" Eddie asks. He opens his front door without fully looking at Steve.

"Can we talk?"

Eddie snorts, "what could you and I possibly have to talk about."

Steve narrows his eyes. It's so bitchy and so fucking cute it makes Eddie queasy. "You know what."

"Enlighten me, Harrington."

"C'mon, man, the notes!"

"What about them?

"Don't be stupid, Munson, you know what. Why'd you stop?"

Eddie pulls a pack of camels and his lighter out of his jacket pocket. "Lost its appeal once I knew who was on the other side. Surprised you even want to keep it up now that you know you've been writing to the freak."

He pointedly ignores the little jolt Harrington gives at that, like the words hurt. Which is pretty rich from Steve Harrington, former #1 bully of Hawkins High.

"I've always known it was you," he says.

"You don't--wait what?"

I've known since, like, the first week, Munson."

"How??"

"What do you mean 'how,' dude, you're always drawing little pentagrams and d20's. Writing the word "Slayer" over and over. Who else would it be?"

And he can't even deal with the fact that Harrington knows what a d20 is (what the fuck) with everything else the other boy just said.

"I gotta go," is his only response. He ducks into his van, slamming the door basically in Harrington's face, before peeling out of the parking lot.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

It's the last day of school. Eddie's failed again. His grades, which weren't great to begin with, took a sharp nosedive after spring break, and he just can't wait to be done with this place for a few months. Harrington hasn't spoken to him again, and Eddie tries his hardest to ignore the other boy (aside from seeing him hanging out with Robin Buckley, a junior and a band geek, besides, and he forcibly has to remind himself that he doesn't care what Harrington does).

He slouches into his last math class of the year, slumping over in his seat. He rests his head on his desk, eyes blankly staring out the window as Mundy talks about what a joy most of them were to have in class. His eyes are unfocused, he contemplates a nap, and then he sees it. The tightly folded piece of paper resting on the window ledge.

Eddie almost doesn't take it. He almost ignores it, but he physically can't stop himself for reaching for it, unfolding it, staring at Harrington's now familiar handwriting.

Hey man, I'm pretty sure I fucked things up with us, and I owe you an apology. I've always known who you were, but you had no idea I was me. Buckley helped me see how that maybe freaked you out a little. I know I used to be a piece of shit. But I'm better--or I'm trying to be. And I'm so fucking sorry for the shit I did to you before and the things I didn't bother to stop. You don't owe me forgiveness, but you should know that I regret all of it. I liked passing notes with you. You made me laugh, and I don't know. It was nice to think someone liked me for reasons other than that I'm Steve Harrington, or whatever. I'd really like it if we could be friends. I get if you can't do that or don't want to.

Whatever the note actually ended with is scribbled out in pen so thick Eddie can't make it out.

All day he thinks about the note, the apology, all of it. Eddie thinks, if he's smart, he won't forgive Harrington. That he knows better than to trust him. But Eddie's never actually been that smart in this way, so he's not totally surprised to find himself walking to Steve's car after the last bell rings.

This time, Eddie's the one with his foot resting on the side panel of Steve's BMW, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn't have to wait long before Harrington makes his way to the car, chestnut hair dancing in the breeze, biceps on display in a short-sleeve polo. A little smile dances across his lips when he spots Eddie.

"So, you gonna tell me how you know what a d20 is, Harrington, or do I have to guess?" Eddie offers the other boy a cigarette.

"Babysitting?

"Babys--Are you serious??" Eddie splutters. Steve Harrington babysits. Steve Harrington babysits little dnd playing nerds. Steve Harrington wants to be his friend.

A full grin spreads across Steve's perfect face and Eddie is absolutely, 100%, fucked.

(Part 2)

(Steddie Notes is now posted in full on ao3!)

[deancasbigbang]

Title: Song of the Loon

Author: Desirae

Artist: eggchef

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: mentions of past Dean/Lisa

Length: 24438

Warnings: n/a

Tags: Narrator Castiel/Campground owner Dean, strangers to friends to lovers, past family trauma, survivors guilt, substance abuse(not Dean or Cas), Nurturer Dean, Hurt/Comfort, canon typical violence, angst with a happy ending, cabin by the lake fic

Posting Date: October 24, 2024

Summary: Dean Winchester is expecting a quiet, if not awkward, summer. His estranged brother Sammy was coming to visit from California, and all the chores around his lakeside cabin were not enough to distract him from his nerves. That is until an unexpected phone call from Sam’s sponsor, Gabriel, called with a favor: Could Dean put Gabriel’s brother Castiel up for the summer, no questions asked? Audiobook narrator Castiel Novak is exhausted and travel-weary. Fresh off of a book tour, Castiel arrived home to find his longtime online stalker has been to his apartment. At the urging of his brother, Castiel finds himself on a road trip to Angel’s Peak, Maine, where his host, Dean, is as stunning as the mountain view. Although Castiel and Dean feel an immediate connection, Cas is guarded, with emotional baggage he doesn’t want to inflict on his new friend. Will a summer in the wilds of Maine be enough for Dean break through Castiel’s walls and prove that he is worthy of love and protection? 

Excerpt: Castiel or C.J. Krushnic as he was known in the literary world, had spent the last few months doing the convention circuit promoting the latest book in the paranormal series. Very much an introvert, these events pushed Castiel far beyond his comfort zone, but the book series' popularity had made conventions a part of the job. This latest had been his third and he was getting better at sitting up on stage with fellow panelists. Castiel’s heart beat a fast staccato, as he answered questions about what it was like to give voice to characters like The Wesson brothers; his face a stoic mask as Castiel adhered to the requests to read book passages aloud in his distinctive gravelly voice.  He’d gotten through it, but now Castiel was drained and all he wanted was quiet and space.  Peering over the railing, Castiel heard the belligerent bellowing of a taxi driver and the jarring blare of a horn being pressed. Castiel sighed again. He needed to get away. Somewhere quiet, where he could just exist in peace and solitude. Castiel left the balcony, closing the doors behind him. With a jaw-cracking yawn, he dragged his boned tired body across the living room, back through to the bedroom, and into the ensuite bathroom. He set his now empty whiskey glass on the counter with an audible click. Tired blue eyes stared back at him from the mirror above the sink. Frowning, Castiel tore his gaze away from himself and turned on the water, cupping it in his palms before scrubbing it briskly over his stubbled face. His dark hair stood in tufts and he could use a shave, but Castiel just didn't have the energy. Wandering back out into the living room, Castiel absent-mindedly clicked on the television, noting that an old season of Tournament of Champions was playing. He left the cooking show on and grabbed the mail from on top of the suitcase. Slouching back onto his couch, Castiel rifled through the thick stack. It was mostly junk mail plus what looked like a belated birthday card from his older brother Gabriel that said I wish you love, laughter, and ha! Penis. Castiel snorted, fingering the last envelope in his hand. Furrowing his brow, he realized it was blank, save his pen name in a loopy scrawl. That was strange. Nobody had mentioned anyone dropping anything off for him when he picked up his mail at the front desk. Castiel opened the envelope and pulled out a slip of paper. His stomach plummeted unpleasantly as he read the words on the page. The sound of your voice, the way our eyes met, it is inevitable. You belong to me. -HeartsAflame With shaking fingers, Castiel pulled out his phone and quickly tapped on his brother's icon. Gabriel picked up on the first ring.  “Hey, broseph! How was your tour?” Castiel ignored the question. “Gabriel, they found my apartment,” he said, voice audibly shaken. “Sit tight, Cassie. I’m on my way.”

DCBB 2024 Posting Schedule

[an-android-in-a-tutu]

Romancing the Exit Sign

Art: @nickelkeep

Writing: @an-android-in-a-tutu

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Other Tags: Alternate Universe, Eldritch Horror, Cults, Gore, Suicidal Ideation, Mystery

Summary: A teenage boy is left to die in a shallow grave and something slithers into his bones. Devotees of an ancient god work to bring Her into the world, as with equivalent fanaticism, a man on a mission picks them off one by one. A lonesome drifter crosses paths with a mysterious stranger and finds himself inexorably drawn into the middle of it all.

Dean Winchester is adrift. All he has is his car, the next hunt, and a conversation he doesn't want to have waiting for him in California. Then a case involving mangled bodies washing up on shore in an idyllic lakeside community puts him on the trail of a man calling himself Castiel, and the dangerous web he's entangled in. Dean is used to living in a world of monsters, but the End of Days is a little out of his wheelhouse. Especially when his only ally is determined to keep his secrets behind his teeth, even as they draw closer together. Still, he intends to see things through, no matter how dark the path ahead gets.

It's either that, or call his brother.

Excerpt:

The smell of rot was stronger here, flies buzzing away over what looked to be the remains of animals, shunted into the corners, bones and bits of fur and unidentifiable red mush. The walls were covered with scrawls, symbols and pictures painted in something dark and shiny, and pools of wax melted around stubs of burnt out candles littered the room. The centerpiece, though, was the massive pool of blood that had soaked into the decaying floorboards, half obscuring the scrawl of a magic circle underneath, five points of a star, each adorned with a tool of the trade: an offering bowl filled with lumpy ash, an incense holder, a dull copper coloured knife, a bundle of herbs and feathers, and a black crystal.

“Guess it was a gateway drug after all,” he muttered, stepping forward and tracing the script that filled the circle with his eyes. He couldn’t identify it, but he didn’t have to be a scholar to figure whatever it was was major bad juju.

Cas stood with his back to all of it, staring at the symbols on the wall across from the door.

“Looks like we found the right place,” Dean said wryly. “Good call, Cas.”

Cas didn’t answer, stayed facing the wall. Something about the line of his back set Dean ill at ease.

“Hey-” He took another step forward.

Something whispered in his ear.

Dean whirled, staring into the empty space behind him, his hand coming up to his neck where he could have sworn he’d felt someone’s breath.

“What the hell-” He took two steps back, away from the open door, jumping when his foot collided with the offering bowl, knocking it over with a clatter that rang loud in the silence.

No, not silence. There was whispering, still. Constant, so quiet as to be indistinct, but if Dean strained his ears he could just hear it.

“Cas?” He called out, shaky. “Do you hear…”

His voice died in his throat as he turned and caught sight of the man again, silhouetted against that strange mural, a jarring gap in the twisting symbols that seemed to draw them in, they curled towards him, writhing on the wall as the room darkened, the shadows pulling in and the whispers getting louder until he could make out the shape of words-

Come home.

Dean’s pulse pounded in his ears, a drumbeat to accompany the chant. Come home, come home, come home to me. In front of the wall of writhing shadows, Cas started to turn, and something in Dean quailed, knowing he wasn’t prepared, wasn’t ready, but stuck in place all the same by his wanting.

Come home to the Mother.

Coming in October as part of the @deancashorrorfest!

[morelikeravenbore]

💕Positivity prime time! Share five things you love about yourself, four things you're excited about, OR three people you care deeply about and why. Pass this along to someone whose posts make you smile💕

CA-CAW BISH 💙

CA-CAW BINCH! 💙

Thank you for sending this, ya cutie! I didn't feel like writing about myself so I uh did this instead 👉👈 hehe I hope it spreads some positivity regardless.

Silly drabble, 600~ words.

Sebastian smoothed the sheet of parchment over the desk and reviewed his work with a small nod of satisfaction. Curfew was near, and the library was deathly silent save for the near-constant stream of dark mutterings coming from the girl beside him. Aurélie, for all her beauty, humour, and charm, was a force to be reckoned with when she was in a bad mood, and after an entire day of being grumbled, glared and snapped at, Sebastian was quite ready to put a stop to it. 

'Right,' he said decisively, squinting at his untidy scrawl. 'Are you ready?' 

'No.'

'First question —' 

'I still don't understand how this is going to help!' 

Not for the first time in his life, Sebastian thanked whatever higher power had given him a twin sister and thus a lifetime of experience dealing with the wildly shifting moods of girls: Anne was certainly a  formidable foe when she was upset, but even the volatile temper of a Sallow paled in comparison to that of a French girl when she woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Still, vast experience notwithstanding, he exhaled a deep, slow breath before calmly explaining, for the third time in a row, ‘It's called practising gratitude. It's supposed to help you shift your mood so you feel better.'

'Fine,' Aurélie pouted, slumping lower in her chair. 'Ask the stupid questions.'

‘First,’ he began, referring to the list of prompts he'd compiled. 'List five things you love about yourself.' 

'Five?' she shrieked, bolting upright as if he'd just assigned her a twelve inch essay on the history of flobberworms. 'Pass. Next.'

'We'll come back to that one, then, shall we?' he said through his teeth. 'Share four things you're excited about.'

'Going to bed,' she muttered. 

Sebastian scribbled it down. 'And?' 

'That's it.'

Unwilling to concede defeat until he at least drew out a single, tiny, begrudging smile from her, he went on. 'Next question. Three people you love deeply.'

'Shoes.'

'Shoes are not people, Aura.'

'Shoes are a girl's best friend.'

'That's diamonds!' 

'Those, too. Write that down.'

'Alright.' With mounting frustration, he added "shoes" and "diamonds" to the list of people she loved. 'Who else? Real people, Aura.'

'Celeste,' she offered, leaning forward to watch him write her best friend's name on the list. 

'And? Come on, you might play the part of World’s Most Aloof Ravenclaw, but I know for a fact you love more than just one person…' 

'Hmm, Poppy. And Esme! And Jean, and Siobhan. And Lory, Cordelia, Tessa, Rosalie, Gibby, Allegra. Ummm...' She paused to catch her breath while Sebastian's quill flew across the parchment, struggling to keep up. 'Johanna, Calypso, Matty, Eleanor, Ariane, Winter, Alyn. Oh, and Artemis, and Lydia! And Violet and Pearl, and Eloise, both of them —' 

When finally she found herself out of names, Sebastian reviewed the long list with a bemused expression. ‘All these friends and you can't think of a single nice thing to say about yourself. Anyway —’ He shook his head and turned to look at her, ‘— you're missing someone.'

'Oh?' she frowned, critically eyeing the list of names. ‘No, I don't think so.’

'Mhm. A certain charming, good-looking, highly intelligent, freckled someone.'

'Oh!' She smacked her palm to her forehead. 'You're right! Garreth Weasley.'

Sebastian nearly choked on his tongue. 'I'm not writing Garreth fucking Weasley under "people you love deeply"', he refused, throwing his quill down. 

'Oh, but he's so friendly.'

‘No,’ he said flatly. 

‘Alright, alright, grum-py. How about this?’ With an impish grin, she picked up his quill and, in a long, elegant script, wrote “Sebastian Sallow” across the top of the parchment. 

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. ‘You couldn't have put me first?’ he grumbled.

‘I could've,’ she replied, smiling for the first time that day. ‘But it's much more fun making you jealous.’

🦋 Featuring my loves and some of Aura's AU besties: @sallowsangel @sallowslove @sloanesallow @lorriiraine @2centniffler @gingerlegacy07 @mianeryh @galaxiasgreen @lyworth @ravenwind-75 @dwightschrute11 @girl-named-matty @endless-starlight-legacy @yoshitsuno @moonstruckmoony @ps-cactus @polarisgreenley @esolean @vienguinn @myokk @thesuperiorfeeling

[420technoblazeit]

tbh i really like the bunker in theory bc i think it's nice that sam and dean have an actual proper home after bobby's house got destroyed but it was just so bare??? the set design gets so much worse as the series progresses and the bunker feels so empty and sterile for a place that they live in full time. they shouldve had that place fill up over the years

little dvds and souvenirs from hunts that dean takes home. spell materials from rowena and notepads with scrawled on practice sigils in sam's bedroom. books on old lore from crowley and cas. dnd manuals from charlie and sioux falls postcards from jody and the girls pinned on the fridge. christmas cards from garth. kevin's calculus textbooks on the war room table in case he wants to apply for college in the future. bottles of craig that crowley leaves in the kitchen so they can see what 'real alcohol' tastes like

[ceilingfan5]

"Yeah I’m fully understanding the murder part, just not why you’re the one who needs to solve it??"

“So you’re not like, a cop? You gotta tell me, you know, legally you gotta tell me, if you’re a fuckin’ cop, my man.” Taako folds his arms, his shirt with the piñata fringe making this look a lot less serious than he intended. 

“I swear to you, I am not a cop,” Detective Kravitz says. “See, it says so, on my business card.” He hands Taako a business card with shiny red lettering on matte black, KRAVITZ. Private Detective for Hire. Not a cop. 

Taako flips it over. On the back is a glossy magnifying glass, highlighting his phone number. Taako snickers and pockets it. He tugs his holographic cargo skirt back up and squints at Kravitz. Kravitz poses awkwardly, trying to look serious, but not too serious, but not too unprofessional. Dork. Taako wants to eat him.

“Yeah, okay. You’re too stylish to be a cop.”

Kravitz beams, which makes Taako feel really warm suddenly. He shouldn’t be blushing. He kind of forgot he still could. 

“Anyway, I was wondering if you had any-”

“Hot clues, Scooby-doo?” Taako teases. He hops up to sit on the counter and surveys his thrift store kingdom. He crosses his legs, and watches Kravitz catch an enticing flash as he kicks his legs up. That’s right, dork, look. Look allll you want. 

“Ah, I was going to say insight, any insight into the murders committed outside your loading dock last night?”

“Aw shit, there were murders? I’m gonna barf.” Taako tries really hard to look distressed. This is sort of difficult, because he was the one who sort of exsanguinated those assholes. And they didn’t even taste that good. 

“I,” Kravitz blinks, taking out a notebook, and pulling a sleek black pen from behind his ear. God, this idiot is cute. It isn’t fair. “I was under the impression you were the one who called it in?”

“Um, nah,” Was he? Fuck. No, no, uh, he made someone else do it. Who was working this morning. “I think Magnus found ‘em, he was pretty shocked.” 

“Oh, sorry, I thought-” Kravitz scrawls something on his dumb little notebook. “Remind me your name, then, if you don’t mind?”

“Taako,” Taako says, instantly regretting not choosing an alias. He is sort of wearing a nametag, though. Not that he has to cooperate with this investigation. “Do we really have to talk about this? I feel like I’m going to pass out.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Taako, but I’m trying to solve this murder.” 

"Yeah I’m fully understanding the murder part, just not why you’re the one who needs to solve it?" 

“Well,” Kravitz puts down his notebook, pausing. He chews something over in his head. “I don’t want to say anything untoward about the police, but,” and then he looks at Taako pointedly, and Taako snorts. 

“Yeah, I mean, you’re right, but weren’t they like. Trying to break into the place? They-” Whoops, don’t incriminate your own dumb vampire ass! “Magnus said they had guns?” 

“Good to know,” Kravitz says, pointedly writing something else down. Taako sweats. He smells really good. Like, really good. Why the fuck does he have to be playing Inspector Gadget? Can’t he come keep Taako warm at night instead? 

“Anyway, I gotta put out some more inventory. Treasure Adventure isn’t gonna thrift itself.” And he hops off the counter. Kravitz looks at him, mouth a funny line. 

“Taako, are board games with missing pieces and bead purses from 2005 more important than lives, snuffed out, by some kind of murderer?” 

“Lot of other kinds of people snuffing out lives these days?” Taako snaps. “You wanna say monsters or dickheads next?” 

“Taako, is there anything you want to elaborate on?”

“No, I don’t think there is,” Taako says firmly. “Maybe I’m just feeling unsafe in my workplace, asshole, you ever think of that? It’s terrifying to- be- here! I gotta keep selling garbage? For minimum wage? Where something like that happened! What if those guys were coming to stick the place up and I was the one that got murdered, would you be as persistent about that case, Columbo?” 

“Yes,” Kravitz says, eyes wide. His heart is pounding more about the awkward situation than it was about the dead bodies. He has a little arrhythmia. It’s kind of cute. “Of course I would.”

Taako throws his hands in the air and exclaims wordlessly, and marches off, which is the only way he saw out of the conversation. Kravitz, to his credit, stands there looking sweaty, and then goes to bother another employee instead. 

Taako hides in the breakroom and pretends he doesn’t feel weird about it. He pretends he doesn’t care about it at all. 

Funny, how things might have been different if someone had cared to look into what happened when he died. 

But he doesn’t want to think about that. He wants to think about seducing that trenchcoat-wearing loser away from the lawful side. Yeah, that’s it. For sure.

[carpehistoryandthepens]

Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 17

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

one, two, three, four, Five, six seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on the 22-23 season, that said last season when i wrote these tags originally, but hey, it takes me a LONG time to write, so now its no longer last season, OCs?, the realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

-

Sid and Geno chose to order dinner rather than try to make anything from the kitchen the way they sometimes communicated on the ice during a powerplay: simultaneously and with good practice. Of course, it tended to be about power plays, and now Sid should really get to the net so Geno could get the puck to him, but sometimes it's pizza.

One of the Italian places near them made good in-season meals and excellent pizza for the kids. Geno mocked him for not having an app for the place or a food delivery service, but Sid would call in and talk to a person instead of ordering from a faceless app. All Sid had to do was call in the order, but he had no idea what the kids wanted.

How was he supposed to be a good father?

Some of that had to have played across his face as Geno laughed and told him to go ask.

Sid knocked on Mike and Marisol's door, looking over the crumpled computer paper that had now decorated the entrance. He hadn't noticed when Marisol was drawing, but The brightly colored crayon drawing appeared a few days ago.  

Marisol had drawn a landscape with a sun smiling down on three people on what Sid thought was ice. The ground was blue, at least; it could be water, but the two taller figures had black skates on. The most petite person, whom Sid assumed was Marisol, wore white skates. They were all holding hands, with Marisol in the middle. Sid's person was black and yellow, with what looked like an attempt at an "87" in a childish hand-scrawled on the chest. Mike's number was in purple and gold – much like the Kings' old jersey – but Sid wasn't sure of the number. Sid assumed it was his former team's colors.

Marisol opened the door and looked up to meet Sid's eyes. Sid wasn't sure he would ever get over the height difference between him and her—she was so small. Despite her yawning, she was awake.

"Hello Mari, is your brother up?"

She blinked at him and nodded rather than responding verbally. Marisol opened the door fully to show that Mike and Nikita had crashed out on Mike's bed. Both of them were curled around each other, and it was adorable. Sid nearly died of adorableness just looking at the two boys. He needed a picture to show Geno and the rest of the team. Anna would be so pleased.

He reached into his pocket for his phone before Helena warned him a few days before Came floating back.

"No photos! I don't know you well, Mr. Crosby, but I don't think it will be an issue. However! California and Pennsylvania don't allow minors with contested guardianship to have their images used online. It wouldn't be safe for them."

Sid took his hand out of his pocket, leaving the phone where it was. He would do anything to keep his kids safe, even if it meant he couldn't share all the cute things that his kids did. While unfortunate—he wanted to be like the dads on the team, always with new photos—Sid could do without.

Marisol returned to playing with a set of dolls on the floor, clearly in the middle of some story. Jeff had shown up a few days ago with the dolls, saying his girls didn't want or need them anymore and insisted they go to someone who would love them. Marisol's eyes lit up when she saw the dolls for the first time, so Sid was pretty sure Jeff's girls would be pleased with where they ended up.

Sid had been grateful because he didn't know what Marisol would like. They hadn't had much chance to get her toys yet. Sid mentally set the next off day to ensure they got stuff for her soon. Nikita's toys were enough for now, but she needed more of her own stuff.

"Can I play?" Sid let the boys sleep momentarily and followed Marisol to the dolls. "How are you feeling?" he asked, settling beside her at her nod.

"Muy cansada." She said, lacking most of the energy he had come to expect of her post-nap self, "You be Dad. I'm Bluey." She ordered – neither of the dolls in her hands were of the dogs from the cartoon he had heard a lot about from the dads on the team.

Sid agreed and tried desperately to remember what cansada was in Spanish while ignoring the simple 'you be dad' felt like. He had just heard it on the TV program they had been watching yesterday morning. Something about sleep? But it was before the character had gone to bed…

Tired. It meant tired.

As they played for a bit, Sid gently talked to Marisol, trying to learn more about her feelings and whether she was doing better. It was hard because she kept on answering in Spanish, and Sid was sure it was just as disjointed as her English. With Sid's Spanish being… not good, to say the least, it was a bit of a struggle following along. It was better than it was a month ago, but not good. But he kept on trying.

Besides feeling tired, he had to find out what she was experiencing. Once he was reassured that she wasn't upset anymore or had too many immediate emotional reactions to the day, he gently asked, "Do you want pizza for dinner?"

She nodded quickly, dropping her dolls, "Pizza! I want pizza. With pepperoni and cheese!" She was loud enough to wake the boys.

Nikita was the first to move, still filled with the energy of children. He woke up and nearly vaulted off the bed like Sid had expected Marisol to do.

Mike was a much slower-to-wake-up teenager. "Pizza?" Mike asked, voice thick with sleep but somehow still processing. Food did that to hungry hockey players, especially when they were in their teens. Mike could and probably would, especially after today - both being on the ice for the first time in a while and Marisol's panic attack – finish the entire pie by himself.

Sid nodded, hiding a laugh at the hungry teenager presented before him. "Yeah, Pizza. What do you want?" He should know his kid's pizza order. That's a thing parents know, right?

Mike raddled off an order of toppings that Sid felt needed to write down; he still sounded half asleep. Marisol's order was much easier to remember.

"Hold on," Sid said, reaching for his phone to write it all down. Nikita was already giving him a basic order, saying that Sid had seen Geno eat a time or two in their youth—lots of tomatoes and mushrooms.

Once Nikita was done talking, Mike's brain seemed to come fully online, and he immediately backpedaled. "Cheese would be fine," he said, looking away toward Marisol.

Marisol didn't even seem to notice; she and Nikita were playing with the dolls and talking about pizza.

Sid sighed internally; someday, Mike would allow himself to take up room. "One meat lover with green pepper and jalapenos." He said firmly, using a little of the captain's voice he had for rookies who were nervous for their first games. He tapped the order into his notes app.

Mike looked up, and despite some of the worry and stress still on his face, even after the nap, he smiled. For once, he looked like the teenager he was rather than a lost child.

-

Zhenya stepped back into the hallway. He tapped away at his phone, making the order for delivery before Sid could even get it into his head to a call.

He had to do something rather than think about the realization that he just had. He would have to revisit what he realized later.

There was no way he could deal with it now.

Zhenya blindly typed into his phone and put the order in. Zhenya hadn't even seen Sid. But he knew. With the soft tones, the careful words, the firm reassurances, Sid sounded like he had the first year that Zhenya was in Pittsburgh. Sid sounded like he did when Zhenya was a teenager. He had a crush that he thought was just a passing fancy and was excited about the future.

He nearly clipped his shoulder on one of the corners of the hallways leading back to the kitchen. The app buzzed and declared his order in. Pizza for dinner. Or, well, pizza for the kids and salad and pasta for him and Sid. He had to be more careful. The team would never let him live it down if he injured himself on a wall before the season really started.

It wasn't long before Sid came out of the bedroom looking distracted.

"I'm made order," Zhenya told him as Sid entered the kitchen. He was a little proud of how even his voice was; Sid would never be able to tell he had figured something out listening to him talk to Marisol.

Sid gave him an odd look, "You heard the orders?"

Zhenya did his best not to look like he was reeling from something. Which he was, of course, but he didn't want Sid to know that. "Yes. The kids were loud."

Sid snorted, "Yeah, they're kids, eh?" he breezed past his confusion. "How long is the wait?"

"Forty minutes," Zhenya said.

The kids ran in at that moment, Nikita and Marisol's exhaustion gone. Mike was more sedate behind them but looking much better than the last time Zhenya had seen him.

"Food?" he asked, hope in his voice.

"Soon," Zhenya said before Sid could tell them an exact time. Zhenya was vague, not for Mike's sake and more for Nikita's. Nikita could and would watch the clock; if the driver was just slightly late, he would be so upset. Save them the headache. "Pizzas on way."

Mike accepted that before he followed the kids to the living room. Nikita was pushing mini sticks.

Zhenya shot a text to Anna before he could forget. He had to talk to her. Are you busy later tonight?

Because he loved Sid.

When he realized he loved Anna, Zhenya told her immediately because it was on a quiet date before she chose to stay in Pittsburgh, before Nikita, with just them (he may or may not have booked an extravagant dinner)

This was different. Well, the feelings weren't too different, but it was Sid. Not someone Zhenya had just met or a guy who was out of the spotlight and happy to stay there. Sid wasn't interested in guys anyway.

Anna's message came back quickly. Free now if it's for Nikita, around nine if not.

Not about Nikita, and he's fine. I'll call around nine, then. Good night call for Nikita, and then we just need to talk, he sent back. Actually, goodnight calls from both of them might be a good idea. He made a mental note to bring that up. Calling before Nikita's bedtime was already his routine unless he was on the ice. (A few times, he's called in the second intermission.) Anna might want to set up something like that, too.

She sent him a thumbs up. "Will call Anna tonight." He said to Sid, who was setting up the dining table, muttering to himself about learning how to prepare vegetables in a way the kids would like.

Sid looked up from setting the plates down, "Everything alright?"

Zhenya hummed, "Yeah, for Nikita's bedtime. And have to talk about a few things."

"Oh, okay," Sid said, bemused. I'll make sure to stay out of your way. You guys are really taking the trying-to-be-friends things seriously, eh?"

"Sid saw when Anna was here," Zhenya said with a slight glare. "If me and Anna say friends, then we friends."

Sid smiled, shrugging, "It's easier in person, I would imagine."

"Anna is hurricane. When she says friends, then we friend." Zhenya said, conveniently leaving out that he was also a hurricane, and together, they might have been category five on the days they fought. "And you know distance after a breakup! How's Kathy?"

Sid laughed, "We barely talk, but she's good; she gives me the occasional update on Maverick."

Zhenya watched, relieved that Sid was laughing because he would have hit himself if he had brought it up, and Sid would have gotten sad. When he said they were finally done, Zhenya believed Sid, the long-term power couple of the Pens. But for a while last season, it was a touchy subject that he and Tanger did their best to approach carefully.

"Anyway," Sid continued, "I think Mike is going to for a tutor rather than school. Do you want one that might be able to help with Nikita?"

As they lost themselves in the minute of parenting, Sid mostly offered ideas, and Zhenya approved or dissuaded him from even bringing them up to Mike and Marisol.

Getting Mike a trainer might be a good idea. They probably wouldn't find a tutor who could handle three kids of wildly different experiences, even part-time, and who could also be a nanny—it's best to have two different people. It did seem that Marisol was interested in skates but maybe talk to her to see if she wants hockey or figure skates. Two coaches on the ice at the same time might be best.

This was one of the reasons he loved Sid: he was the captain and would do his best to ensure everyone had what they needed. He would lean on his people to get him the best information, but Sid was the leader.

The occasional noises and yelling from the kids in the living room nearly prevented them from hearing the buzz of Sid's gate intercom, but the cheering they heard when the pizza was brought in was gratifying.

-

Telegram

(2215) Anna: now that you realize what are you going to do?

(2216) Zhenya: idk yet. Get over it? It's not like it's reciprocated.

(2216) Anna: it's taken you 15 years to figure this out, and you /think/you're going to 'get over it?!'

(2216) Zhenya: what do you mean 15 years?

(2217) Anna: at least.

(2217) Anna: You know exactly what I mean. I didn't think you knew, but I've known from your stories for /years/ that this was a possibility.

(2217) Anna: And plus, you didn't hide that rookie crush as well as you thought you did. If I could see it in film.

(2218) Zhenya: what.

(2218) Zhenya: I mean. Yes. as a rookie. But not since. I think. It was a /passing/ crush! Every rookie gets one! Especially LIKE MINE.

(2220) Zhenya: years?

(2220) Anna: I'm not blind.

(2220) Anna: 😂 

[willwont2005]

WIP Ask Game

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Tagged by @a-very-sparkly-nerd

this is about to get scary fast 😭 none of these have coherent names YET and i don't write on a computer so i'm going by what i have scrawled at the top of each first page

Facebook marketplace is not a good place to hire a witch (for halloween)

We are not letting our two year old dress as riff-raff for halloween (for Halloween)

smh, brad can't fix a tire to save his life (for halloween bitch why are you writing so many Halloween wips its july get it together)

DIME

why am i writing this....

SEXY ALIENS FROM MARS

You need true love's kiss and i gave you like Acceptable Substitute's kiss

Ummm do i even know seven people

@killva-creates @the-serineopal @cas-spirit now you have to do this too mwagaga also idk if you guys write but I'm tagging @cemeterygrace @randomslinky @just-a-little-lesbian bcs you happened to be nearby sorry xD

Plus anyone who wants to do it!!

[saintetheldreda]

so i wrote a destiel fanfiction! its called "Taylor Swift rocks out, on occasion"

summary:

"He digs the tape out of his bag and propels it across the messy files and books strewn all over the table over to Cas like he blames it for everything that has gone wrong since he was born. Cas picks it up slowly and stares in stillness and careful wonder at where Dean has scrawled 'SONGS FOR CAS' on the tape."

Dean's love language is music, and all his favourite songs remind him of Castiel, and his feelings are so embarrassing that only Taylor Swift gets it. Being denial about all three of these things makes it a lot harder to give Castiel a mixtape than it has to be.

its very fluffy and cosy and its safe for work, but with enough flirting and pigtail pulling and slinging insults to make it worth reading < 3

its inspired by my love for music, i started listening to classic rock when i became obsessed with supernatural and i fell so madly in love with it so music will always be something i associate closely with this show. having said that, it's also inspired by my love of taylor swift HAHA you don't need to know any taylor swift songs to read this, but listening to "invisible string" or just reading the lyrics will help it make sense < 3 (sorry im new to classic rock so i couldnt do a classic rock thing lol)

its also inspired by desperately fantasising that one day someone will hand me a mixtape of songs that remind them of me because theyve fallen in love with me. im literally so cute why has this not happened to me yet. read this if you are also waiting for this to happen to you and we can live vicariously through it and pretend HAHA

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Desire: 7 Nov. Destiel Month

deancas established relationship, 100 word drabble

"'Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame,'" Cas read from the bloody scrawl on the floor by the corpse. 

"Coleridge?" Sam asked.

"I believe so." Cas had a Coleridge collection blasted into his brain by Metatron. "'It is the reflex of our earthly frame–'"

"'Something something nobler part, translates the language of the heart,'" Sam mostly completed.

"You're both nerds," Dean muttered. "A decent poem doesn't solve anything."

"Victim notwithstanding," Cas told him, "the first line is true." He let his gaze linger.

Dean's eyes darkened. 

Cas hoped Sam didn't mind sleeping in a different motel room later.

[salchat]

The door of the truck creaked. A guy jumped down and looked around, flapping his paperwork impatiently against one leg. Where had Cas got to? The ride-on mower was abandoned on the far side of the orchard, but the ex-angel was nowhere to be seen.

Heavy footsteps stamped across the verandah and there was a pounding on the front door, jarring in the silence of the midday heat.

They’d had a lot of deliveries over the past couple of weeks and it was all stuff they needed, but it always felt like an invasion. This was their space, their haven - and people coming in from outside just felt wrong, like the real world was trying to batter them down and make them into something they didn’t want to be.

The pounding came again. Dean ran down the stairs and opened the door.

The man jerked one thumb over his shoulder. “Got your bath,” he said.

“Bath?”

The guy thrust a dirty, crumpled piece of paper into Dean’s hands. Emily’s Emporium - Architectural Salvage, he read. But he couldn’t read the handwritten scrawl underneath.

“Uh, okay.” Cas had clearly been shopping.

“It’s heavy,” said the guy. “And I’m on my own.”

“Okay, yeah,” said Dean. “Lead the way.”

Heavy? The damn thing weighed a tonne. It was a gigantic, old-fashioned, claw-footed bathtub with a decoratively scrolled roll-over top and ornate gilded faucets with wings.

Dean’s muscles bunched and protested as he and the delivery guy got it out of the back of the truck. They set it down on the ground, where it wobbled and then settled, lop-sided.

“That’ll be a total bitch to get upstairs,” said the guy.

“Uh, yeah, could you-?”

“Delivery to the site, not to the room.”

“Right,” said Dean.

“Sign here.”

Dean signed. The guy got back in the truck and drove away.

Dean looked at the bath, which didn’t seem to think much of its surroundings. Its gilded scrollwork was tinted with pink over a cream base.

“What the fuck, Cas?” muttered Dean.

“I liked the feet.”

Dean jumped at the rough voice right next to his shoulder.

“The feet?”

“And the wings on the faucets.”

“Okay… Remind you of a friend?”

Cas shrugged, his face hidden beneath his straw hat, tanned knees on view beneath an extra cut-off pair of jeans.

“Well, I’m not sure if I should install it… or hunt it,” said Dean. Claw-footed… who the hell wanted claws in a bathroom?

“Oh,” said Cas. The straw hat bobbed. “I could have them pick it up and take it away again.”

“No!” Something tugged in Dean’s chest. “You chose it. You like it. You should have it.”

The ragged brim tipped up slightly and Cas’s lips were chapped from the heat and dust but curled into a tiny smile.

Dean slapped him on the shoulder. “C’mon, buddy. Let’s get this monster upstairs.”

Secret Flowers

Read on AO3

Read on ffn

[aria-ashryver]

Starlight Smut Supercut - These Bright and Beautiful Things (CH20)

Book: Immortal Desires Pairing: m!Gabe x nb!MC (Luca O'Rinn) Ratings/Warnings: 🔥Explicit🔥 - smut / adult content below the cut! Words: 2.9K

Summary: Luca guides a nervous but eager Gabriel through a first-time experience. (Context: this scene takes place post ID CH9, where Gabe and MC have been cleaning together and MC has gotten Gabe's shirt wet.)

A/N: This is an excerpt from a much larger fic, and part of a smut supercut series. You can find further excerpts in this masterlist

Tagging: @choicesficwriterscreations

Luca’s room wasn’t all that messy — Gabriel helped grab a few crumpled pieces of paper and essay notes from the floor to toss into the wastepaper basket. It was as he was tugging a crumpled note out from under Luca’s dresser where it had gotten itself tightly wedged, that his eyes fell upon his own name, scrawled on the page.

‘“Dear Gabriel, Cas says you are perfect and smart…” Um, Luca?’ Gabriel held the crumpled letter up for him to see. ��What is this?’

‘Oh! It’s… I was just teasing Cas.’ Luca tugged it from his hands and tossed it into the wastepaper basket, dropping a chaste kiss to Gabriel’s neck as he did so. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

Gabriel bit the inside of his cheek, remembering everything that had come to light at the party and feeling a sudden swell of nerves.

‘What do you think Cas thinks of me?’

Snagging a crumpled receipt from under their bed and dropping it in the wastepaper basket alongside the letter, Luca glanced back, mischief written on their face. ‘I think he’s got a raging crush on you but he’s too stubborn to admit it.’

Gabriel’s stomach flipped. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Erm, literally everything about him? Have you met the guy?’

‘And… okay, let’s say hypothetically he did have a crush on me…’ Gabriel took a deep breath, blurting the words out before he lost his nerve, ‘or, hypothetically, maybe I had feelings for him… you wouldn’t be upset?’

‘Upset?’ Luca paused for a moment, coming to loop his arms around Gabriel’s waist. ‘Why would I be upset?’

‘I don’t know, I guess I just…’ Gabriel pressed his forehead to Luca’s, his hand stroking gently down their back. ‘I’ve never really been in a poly relationship. God, I’ve never been in a relationship at all, in all fairness. I don’t exactly know what I’m doing here. But I liked what you said about making sure everyone is on the same page, so...’

Luca’s face softened to a look of such complete adoration that Gabriel felt his heart melt.

‘Do you have feelings for Cas?’

‘I— maybe? I don’t know.’ He could feel his ears burning. ‘I mean, I’ve spent a decent amount of years telling myself I’m not allowed to have feelings for Cas, and it’s only been recently that my outlook has started to change, so… yeah. Yeah, I think I do.’

‘Well, so we are on the same page about this,’ Luca said, ‘if my boyfriend were to start dating my other boyfriend, I’m pretty sure I’d be the single luckiest guy in all of New England. I mean, take it slow and careful, but if you want to see where things go with Cas, I’m all for it.’

Their lips met in a soft, slow hail of kisses, before Luca added, ‘And I’m pretty sure Cas knows I think that too, seeing as how I keep teasing him about you two getting married.’

Gabriel laughed, nuzzling his face into Luca’s hair. Pulling back to cup their jaw, Gabriel peered down at Luca with joyous wonder.

‘I don’t know how I got so lucky with you. It's like whenever I’m with you, all the jumbled pieces of my life start to fall together in a way that just makes sense. It's so comfortable, and familiar, and yet—’

Gabriel took a breath, trying to gather his thoughts, feeling his body burn beneath Luca’s touch.

‘You make me feel… nervous,’ he continued. ‘Excited. Like my stomach is full of champagne and it won’t stop fizzing and bubbling right through my chest until my head wants to float away from my body with the lightness of it all. I want to kiss you, to… touch you. Like my hands were made to touch your body. Like if I don’t kiss you soon, my head will burst.’

‘So what’s stopping you?’

Gabriel blinked. Luca peered up at him, a faint blush creeping across their cheeks.

‘Kiss me,’ Luca said. ‘Touch me, Gabriel.’

Dipping his head, that champagne lightness fizzing right through him, Gabriel claimed Luca’s mouth with his own. With a searing heat, his tongue swept into their mouth, a steady build of feeling that stirred something low in his belly. Gabriel found himself getting swept under, getting lost in it, gripping Luca by the hips and pulling them more flush against his bare chest. The intensity that built within him caught him by surprise — as did the sudden warmth of Luca’s palms pressing against his abs, stroking over his skin.

Gabriel jerked, feeling his muscles contract at their touch, feeling a delicious rush of heat that had him growing hard in his jeans.

Luca pulled back to gaze at him in question.

‘Is this okay?’

Gabriel lifted a hand to his kiss-swollen lips and nodded.

‘We can stop if you get uncomfortable,’ Luca said.

‘Okay,’ Gabriel breathed, barely trusting himself to speak.

He rubbed his thumbs in slow circles across Luca’s hips, dipping under the hem of their t-shirt to stroke along the warm skin beneath.

‘I’ve never, um,’ Gabriel’s breath hitched. ‘I’ve never really done this kind of thing before. Apart from what we did at the church, I guess.’

Luca grinned at the memory. ‘That’s okay. You’re in complete control here, Gabriel. We won’t do anything you don’t want to do.’

Gabriel bit his lip, smiling shyly. Nerves fluttered beneath his ribcage, a light, soaring uplift, at the same time as a heady arousal sunk down and coiled into his navel. Gabriel let the twining sensations wrap around him until he was alive with sensation.

‘I… do want to do things,’ he admitted. ‘With you.’

‘Do you want to keep going?’

‘Yeah.’

A pause, and then, holding his gaze, Luca slipped out of their t-shirt. Gabriel’s eyes danced across every inch of their skin.

‘Can I touch you?’ Luca said.

‘Yes.’

Luca’s eyes flicked down to the closure of Gabriel’s jeans. Back up to meet his gaze.

‘With my mouth?’ they asked, flicking open the top button of their own jeans and working them and their underwear both down their thighs.

Gabriel froze as a hot spike of desire seared down his spine.

‘Yes.’

A slow smile lit Luca’s face as they pulled Gabriel close for another kiss. He felt their hands slide along the flat of his abdomen again, dipping lower, felt the hot press of their erection against his body. Gabriel gasped into the kiss as Luca’s hands found his belt buckle.

The clinking of metal and leather was deafening in his ears, the slow shift of fabric all he could hear as Luca worked him free of his jeans. The first touch of their hands to his skin had his hips snapping forward, a sudden bright fullness in his chest he had to remind himself to breathe through.

He cupped the back of Luca’s head as they pressed their face into the crook of his neck and shoulder, their fingers trailing up and down his cock in light, slow caresses before they took him in hand and worked over his length.

Luca was touching him, Gabriel thought. Luca was touching his cock, Luca was jerking him off! Gabriel’s head spun. His muscles clenched with pleasure, turning to trembling iron as Luca trailed their hands down his thighs and sank down onto their knees before him.

Oh fuck, that’s right. He’d been so enraptured by the feeling of Luca’s hands on him, Gabriel had immediately forgotten what they’d asked to do. Fascinated, Gabriel watched as Luca flicked their tongue over the head of his cock. He jerked, hissing a breath… and then their kiss-wet lips closed over him.

Stars exploded behind Gabriel’s eyes.

Luca was slow and gentle as they took him in their mouth, fisting a hand at the base of his cock and taking a little more at a time. They pulled back to run their tongue along the underside of his dick, staring up at him with such trusting eyes that Gabriel felt his knees growing weak.

Swirling their tongue around him, Luca’s mouth sank down onto Gabriel’s cock, again, and again, and again, and a small part of him wondered if he’d actually died because surely nothing on earth could feel this good.

With trembling hands, Gabriel pushed Luca’s hair back, wanting to see everything.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispered. ‘Oh my god, you’re incredible, Luca.’

Luca hummed happily around him, and Gabriel’s spine arched.

‘Wait,’ he gasped, feeling a heady rush of pleasure closing in on him fast.

Luca pulled back to give him space, their hand squeezing his thigh in reassurance. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Can we…’ Gabriel gestured back and forth between them, his words failing him. ‘Um… together? Can we—’

‘What do you want, gorgeous?’ Luca asked, rising and pressing a kiss to his chest. They shifted back until they were on the bed, dragging their fingertips down the length of Gabriel’s arm.

Luca propped themself up on an elbow, one leg bent at the knee, and the fingers that had been skimming along Gabriel’s hand dropped to wrap around the hardness of their cock. ‘Do you want to watch me? You want to masturbate together?’

They tilted their head back; the planes of their stomach, the fine bones in their wrist, every part of Luca looked all but carved in marble as they stroked their hand slowly over their length. They were art, they were magnificent. God, Gabriel hadn’t even known that doing this together was an option, but now that Luca said it, now that he was seeing it, it was a very, very good option.

One Gabriel filed away for later.

He wanted to watch Luca bring himself to pleasure right in front of him some time, but right now, it was his hands he wanted on Luca’s body.

Gabriel crawled onto the bed, kicking off his jeans the rest of the way, coming to nestle himself on the sheets next to Luca. He traced along the inside of their wrist before tugging their hand away and —with a surge of boldness that had him surprising even himself— brought it to rest on his own cock instead.

Gabriel swallowed. ‘Together like this. I want to touch you while you touch me.’

He held Luca’s hand there for a moment. The sight of them working over the length of his erection together was tantalising; his larger hand covering Luca’s smaller one; their fingers just barely able to close over his thickness. He guided Luca’s hand, pumping once, twice, and Luca made a low whine in the back of their throat. Leaning forward, Gabriel peppered a number of kisses along the line of Luca’s jaw. When he reached their mouth, he kissed them deeply at the same time as he took their cock in his hand.

Luca canted his hips forward into Gabriel’s touch, and for a time they simply explored one another with their hands and with their mouths; their touches indulgent and slow, their kisses deep and lazy. Gabriel luxuriated in each new sensation as Luca introduced him to it; the scrape of teeth against lips; the rasp of a tongue against a sharp jaw; the silken slide of skin against skin.

He froze when Luca’s body jolted under his touch, hissing out a breath that had Gabriel’s eyes growing wide.

‘Was that good or bad?’ he blurted.

‘Good, fuck, you’re so good, Gabriel. Can you do that again?’

Gabriel preened under the praise, the buttery warmth of Luca’s words chasing away some of his worry.

‘Uh… I’ve forgotten what I did now,’ Gabriel admitted with a little laugh. ‘I panicked.’

Luca stilled Gabriel’s hands, winding an arm over his shoulders to play through the soft curls at the nape of Gabriel’s neck.

‘Are you panicking because this is too much? Because we can stop whenever you want. I won’t get mad or upset or anything.’

‘No! No, that’s not what I meant, I just…’ Gabriel felt his face heat. ‘I want this to be good for you.’

Luca smiled at him softly, brushing a gentle kiss across Gabriel’s lips.

‘Anything you do will be good for me. I’ll tell you if I don’t like something, alright?’

‘Alright.’ Gabriel nodded, feeling more sure of himself. ‘Okay.’

‘And you’ll tell me?’

‘Yes.’

Between soft, murmured words and adoring caresses, any lingering nervousness Gabriel felt simply melted away. Every touch awoke something brilliant in him. Every kiss made him want more.

Luca shifted to straddle his hips, pressing against Gabriel’s chest until he reclined against the pillows. Their skin was dappled with hazy sunlight, and the way they peered down at him with such heated silk in their gaze made Gabriel think of Grecian baths; of grapes and olives; of sun-warmed skin and muscled warriors slipping out of their clothing to relax on a chaise lounge. The visions in his head were those of romance and luxury… and beauty.

Luca complimented him often enough, but the depth of meaning in their words hadn’t really registered until this very moment. Something clicked in Gabriel’s head and his heart stuttered a beat.

Luca looked at Gabriel like he was beautiful.

Above him, Luca gave him a slow grin. ‘What’s got you blushing, gorgeous?’

‘I adore you.’ Gabriel sighed the words as his heart swelled. ‘The things you do. The way you make me feel.’

That grin turned impish as Luca moved back. They nudged Gabriel’s thighs apart, making room for them to settle between his legs. ‘Yeah? Get ready to adore me even more, then.’

Lowering their head, Luca took him into their mouth.

Gabriel sucked in a breath, his spine locking as his eyes fluttered closed. God, but this felt divine. The wet heat of Luca’s mouth was almost torturous, it was exquisite agony; easing forward, they took more and more of his length into their mouth until Gabriel was almost buried to the hilt. He choked out a breath, wrenching his eyes back open. He wanted to see it all, feel it all. Gabriel looked down to find Luca staring back up at him, his cock all but down their throat.

Gabriel realised with a startling clarity just how much Luca had been holding back the first time. He’d been easing him into it, trying not to overwhelm him. Luca wasn’t showing any such restraint now. His gaze was intent as he sucked Gabriel’s dick, his cheeks hollowing out in a way that had Gabriel's breath coming in rapid pants.

‘Yes, Luca, god…’

Luca’s hand drifted down, their thumb working over the head of their own cock before intensifying into longer, determined strokes that matched the bob of their head as they brought Gabriel closer to his own release. It was easily the hottest thing Gabriel had ever seen.

Gabriel moaned, stroking a hand over Luca’s hair, trying to keep the bucking of his hips under control so he didn’t accidentally make them choke. His pleasure swelled like a tidal wave; the force of it was dizzying.

Oh, god, how was he supposed to finish? Was he meant to pull back out of their mouth? But then he’d probably make a mess all over Luca’s face…

A flicker of heat surged through him at that unexpectedly erotic image, and Gabriel moaned, his cock throbbing as Luca swirled their tongue over him. He couldn’t just… come on Luca’s face without asking! Gabriel’s chest heaved at the exertion of trying to hold himself together, but sensations Luca was drawing out of him were wild in their intensity, and he was close, so close—

‘In my mouth, Gabriel,’ Luca said, panting, clearly reading how close Gabriel was to slipping over the edge. They pulled back for a moment to gently sink their teeth into the delicate flesh of his inner thigh, before soothing the small hurt with a kiss. ‘I want you to come in my mouth.’

‘Oh god. Okay. Don’t stop, that feels incredible, that’s— Luca!’

One of Gabriel’s hands fisted in the sheets, his entire body singing beneath their touch. Luca moaned on his cock as their hand worked feverishly over their own, the vibrations igniting a whole new level of pleasure in Gabriel’s body — and then he was shattering, flying apart into a million pieces as he felt himself spill onto Luca’s tongue, his pleasure pulsing thick in their throat.

Luca groaned as Gabriel came, the tendons in their neck arching and taut as they found their own release a few moments after his. Inching back, they swallowed, their eyes turning blissful and hazy.

‘Oh my god,’ Gabriel gasped. ‘You’re beautiful. You’re so beautiful, you’re everything, Luca… oh, wow.’

Luca lapped softly at the head of Gabriel’s cock before pulling back to run their tongue over their lips, licking up every last trace of come that had spilled from the corner of their mouth. If he hadn’t been so thoroughly wrung out, Gabriel thought absently, the sight of Luca, half-lidded and spent and lapping up his come might well have pushed him over the edge a second time.

Luca crawled back up his body to drape himself over Gabriel’s chest, their cheek flushed and warm against his skin. His arm curved over their ribs, tracing the inked patterns as his heart hammered wildly behind his ribcage. There was little more he could do than stare, wide-eyed, at the ceiling, his head blissfully empty as he waited for his breath to even out.

Eventually, Gabriel became aware of Luca gazing down at him, quiet laughter on their face.

‘You back from wherever it is you just went?’ Luca tilted their head, laughing.

Caught up in a swell of affection, Gabriel started laughing too. ‘Heaven, I’m pretty sure?’

Luca smiled, bright and carefree. ‘Want to go there again?’

Gabriel’s answering smile was nothing short of feral. He had a feeling he was in for a long afternoon.

[bsideminibang]

Title: Play It Pretty For The World

Author: MayQueen517

Artist: @deancodedcastielenby

Rating: Explicit

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Warnings: Off screen drug use (by non main character)

Tags: Rock band AU, 1980s music AU, sunset strip, musician Cas, musician Dean, musician Sam, musician Meg, 1980s, 1990s, romance, the love is requited they're just dumbasses, mostly off screen drug addiction (not a main character), happy ending (in more ways than one)

Posting Date: September 1

Summary: It's an old story, in the end: Boy meets boy. Boy falls in love. Happily ever after. But how they get there is a different story altogether (after all, what can you expect from rockstars?) Family Business is in need of a new guitarist and lucky for them, session musician Castiel Novak is available. Guitar in hand and a bag over his shoulder, Castiel arrives in LA with Family Business on the brink of making it big. Internally, however, is a bit more complex. Dean Winchester, lead singer and older brother, has found himself navigating his brother's growing addiction and their band's impending success. After tours and traveling the world, they go their separate ways. Can Dean and Castiel find their way back to each other?

Keep reading for an short excerpt:

California, 1986 There's a crowd at the Whisky, spilling out of the club like a knocked over bottle of beer. Music winds in and out of the laughter, discordant and jangling as someone tunes a guitar. There's a haphazard crash and more laughter as Castiel pushes his way inside.

He pushes his hand through his hair, flipping it over and out of his face. He looks around the bar, pushing past people and apologizing for his bag and guitar case. Spilled alcohol and cigarette smoke is an oddly welcome scent after the urine and body odor that permeated the bus he'd arrived on.

====

Oregon, 1996

He thinks of winter tours and prank wars and the familiar scrawl of Cas’ handwriting as they traded song lyrics and notes, pulling them together in the songs that defined Dean’s life.

He sits in the chair and puts them to the side, focusing on the contracts as if they can wipe the feeling of the heavy paper on his fingertips away. Dean works on trying to forget all the things about Cas that he remembers; the things he fell in love with.

It’s something he can say to himself now, five years later.

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

Silk Chiffon

Silk Chiffon https://ift.tt/UT2D5BL by Castielslostwings “I’m completely indifferent to gender and sexual orientation,” Castiel told him, the first time Dean admitted out loud that he was struggling with both. What an image—Cas was sprawled across his side of the booth in his bunched-up camo pants, one booted foot resting casually on the dark maroon vinyl. His hair was pink back then, and the front of his white t-shirt had 'VOTE 4 ME' scrawled across it in red Sharpie. “And I think the world would be a better, kinder, sexier place if everyone adopted that motto.” “Very Comrade Castiel of you,” Dean retorted, and Cas’ pink hair just bobbed as he nodded in agreement. “Yes,” he said, swirling the reusable straw he always brought with him around in his drink while staring off at something behind and above Dean’s head. “Let the ruling classes tremble.” Words: 8105, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Jo Harvelle, Donna Hanscum, Jody Mills Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Donna Hanscum/Jody Mills, (background) Additional Tags: Waiter Dean Winchester, 50s diner, Roller Skating Dean Winchester, Punk Castiel (Supernatural), Socialist Castiel, Castiel in Punk T-shirts, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Gender Issues, Sexuality, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Pansexual Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Does Not Care About Gender Norms (Supernatural), Castiel is Indifferent to Sexual Orientation (Supernatural), Supportive Castiel (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Has Issues, But he's trying and he's most of the way there, No Angst, Self-Discovery, Dean Questions Gender Norms, maybe he is genderqueer, maybe he just wants to wear panties and a lil mini skirt sometimes, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Falling in Love, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, meta references, catch 'em if you can, Castiel & the Technicolor Hair, Pierced Castiel (Supernatural), Tattooed Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel has a Robin Hood Gang via AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester' https://ift.tt/f3m95HB July 01, 2023 at 04:47AM

[post-nuclear-sweetheart]

The Tarnished meets Rogier

A very short writing practice with my favourite, Rogier. (769 words)

They found his calligraphy to be completely lacking.

Etched into the ground as if scrawled in golden ink, a name appeared before the archway of a twisted would-be lord that blocked them. The creature had them beating their head against the stone wall. All their attempts to bypass him failed, and just as they contemplated giving up, a glow lit up the shadowy tunnel of the barbican. A smile they never thought they could muster again stretched across their face, ecstatic at the prospect of taking down that grotesque would-be lord.

They bent low, ready to touch the signature and welcome the angel assisting them in killing the monster.

Their smile faltered. Their brow bunched up somewhat as they mouthed the name, before giving it an experimental go. “…Reciee? Re- Ro! Rocier? Rocier.”

They slid a hand across the glowing signature, the light seeming to absorb into their palm as their hand dragged through the name. They stepped back, the tunnel now dark, waiting anxiously for Rocier to step in.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a wizard with a large brimmed hat, proper noble attire, and a charming smile, arose from the earth with an illustrious staff in hand. He looked at them and smiled, the muscles around his cheeks crinkling the corners of his eyes in a most handsome way. It was practically love at first sight, for the lowly Astrologer.

They bowed before his summoned form, and addressed him quite like a nobleman would be used to, “Rocier.”

“Whom?”

Their eyes shot open wide. They lifted their head to peek up at him from their curtsied posture. “Your name, sir. Written on the ground. Rocier.”

“Rogier.” The wizard did not appear impressed.

Heat rose all the way to their face, making every exposed part of them turn a humiliating shade. “I-I apologize, your handwriting, it’s-“

“Legible, I assure you.” Rogier quickly glanced down, catching the hastily written “Rocier” before it faded for good. “Well… usually legible, but you are quite close. Rogier the sorceror.”

For Rogier, this meeting was not quite love at first sight. Before him stood a lowly, hooded Astrologer, with hand gripped so tightly around their staff he was fearful the wood may snap. How positively green.

Rogier glanced through the archway, noticing a lack of twisted guardian. Hiding, waiting to pounce, he thought.

A Tarnished, no doubt fresh to the Lands Between, looking to force their way in and rip the Great Rune from the hands of that pitiful, grafted abomination. Rogier couldn’t help the amused grin on his face as he looked back towards the Tarnished. They looked as frightful as they did eager.

“Determined to get a Great Rune, are you? What if I’m here to seek the same?” He chuckled at the sight of their face turning forlorn, “So I help you siege the castle, and then strike you down. What will you do then?”

Their eyes never broke from Rogier’s. They reached around to one of the leather bags on their hip, and fished out a familiar little blade.

“I jest, I jest!” Rogier lunged for their arm and gently guided the knife back into their pouch. He laughed, “I would never do that. Castle Stormveil holds many a secret, and our ambitions don’t align, Tarnished. I just wished to see if you were ready for what lies ahead.”

They bit their lip and gazed through the archway. White-petaled flowers danced vigorously in the torrential wind that gave Stormveil its name.

“You mean… there’s worse than that thing?”

Rogier nodded. The glintstone gem attached to his hat swayed with his head movements. “The Lord of All That is Golden, or so he likes to refer to himself as. Disgraced he may be, his grafting habits make him considerably stronger than yourself. Let’s not forget his entire army, as well.”

They gulped, never taking their eyes off the flowers. They considered this; a Lord, a Demi-God’s countless men, and themselves; a Tarnished washed up from the tide just days ago.

“If… If I cannot defeat that thing with your aid,” they looked back to Rogier, “I think I will simply give up.”

“With that attitude, you’re sure to lose.”

“Beg pardon, sir?”

“With that attitude,” Rogier repeated with an unusually happy smile on his face, “you’re sure to lose. That, and the way you choke a staff. You hold the poor thing like a sword.”

“There’s a joke to be made there, surely.” They frowned at the way Rogier’s lips cracked into an uneven smile, holding back a chuckle, “I’m serious, you know. It all seems so hopeless.”