#gray wood window shutters

[bloodstainedlovers]

Front Yard - Traditional Landscape Design ideas for a mid-sized traditional front yard brick garden path.

[ericmortensen]

Siding DC Metro Inspiration for a large timeless white one-story mixed siding gable roof remodel

[dawnnaomidesigns]

Roofing DC Metro Example of a large classic white one-story mixed siding gable roof design

[hayeskarlie]

Contemporary Bedroom in Chicago Mid-sized modern master bedroom with gray walls and no fireplace, medium tone wood floor, brown floor, and wallpaper ceiling.

[tourajdaryaee]

Siding - Craftsman Exterior Inspiration for a mid-sized, one-story, gray craftsman home with mixed siding and a shingle roof.

[cardhousedotcom]

Enclosed Living Room in Orange County Mid-sized cottage chic formal and enclosed light wood floor and beige floor living room photo with gray walls, no fireplace and no tv

[flancrossing]

Concrete - Exterior

Mid-sized beach style white one-story concrete house exterior photo with a hip roof and a tile roof

[byyova]

Brick - Exterior Idea for the exterior of a medium-sized country white one-story brick house with a clipped gable roof and shingles.

[gatsbycodes]

Roofing in Atlanta Ideas for a substantial, traditional, two-story, mixed-siding exterior home renovation with a hip roof

[worstreligiousfanart]

Master Bedroom Tampa Large beach style master light wood floor and brown floor bedroom photo with gray walls, a standard fireplace and a stone fireplace

[westernwearforwomen]

Traditional Living Room

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This looks like a gorgeous home. It was built in 1997 in Oregon City, OR. 4bds, 3ba, $1.875.

A babbling brook at the front door. Ah, but the owner had a vision. Check out the inside.

The entrance has a floating staircase and 144,000 lbs. of basalt columns.

So, this looks like a water feature under the stairs, but I can't make out what's in that strip under the stairs. Looks like they decoupaged some magazine pages.

According to the description, the rocks were meticulously placed.

Mini cave to the dining area.

This doesn't appeal to my senses. A cool rock cave that leads to a bland, gray, dated dining room. Bleh.

The openings to the rooms kind of remind me of mines. In the living room there's a large stone fireplace and bring your trains, b/c there are elevated tracks hanging from the ceilings.

There's a mural in the dinette and a high open window to the kitchen, for some reason.

There are too many unnecessary stairs in this house. With all the natural elements, I don't know why they painted the family room rose.

The kitchen's nice. I like the counters. It's kind of angular, but I like the simulated brick oven.

You will notice that, for some reason, this home has lots of windows in the walls.

Here comes the train over the pool room. Reminds me of Mr. Rogers creepy ass trolley.

Is that real moss on the rocks?

This is weird. These stair railings are mission style. Look at the built-in drawer on the left and the little door. Some cool, but odd, features.

What is up with all the windows? This one in the primary bedroom has shutters. There's a lot of built-in furniture, too.

The en-suite has a glass block shower.

The basement isn't finished, but has a nice twig display.

Looks like there's a wood shop.

Large back yard with a patio, decks, and hot tub.

22.75 acres of land. This private road leads to an outbuilding.

This is beautiful. You could actually crawl inside that tree stump like some kind of hobbit.

Someone carved this tree.

This building has great potential to be a 2nd residence.

Gorgeous Oregon views.

The 22.75 acre property is gorgeous. Lots of possibilities.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/22091-S-Ridge-Rd-Oregon-City-OR-97045/48279634_zpid/

[thewhitewitch-bitch]

In Astris Supra (Chapter I: Viam Quaeris ad Omnia Foeda et Pulchra)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC (Aislin Stuart)

Read it on AO3

Summary: "No new horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace." - H.P. Lovecraft Agatha Harkness is certainly not commonplace. Nor is the witch who came to Salem one cold night in the autumn of 1691. And when the two of them collide, the world will certainly never be the same. But will it be for better or for worse?

Salem, Massachusetts 1691

The stars were different in Salem. They weren't as dim as they were over Shrewsbury, though they still seemed restrained, like they couldn't shine as bright as they wanted to when the children of the Divine Mother were so restrained themselves. And the air, it hung heavy like a woolen cloak upon my shoulders as I stepped off that wretched ship and onto the fog-laden dock. There was no greeting from local folk, no word of welcome as I and a handful of others passed the harbor master and carried on to the small cluster of homes and shops. Smoke wafted from chimneys and the scent of roasting meat caught my nose as I followed the trodden path through the town. Children were nowhere in sight, contained within the confines of their homes, and with good reason, I could wager that anyone caught wandering after dark met a rather sticky end. 

No one dared meet my eye as I walked through the town, though that could have easily been attributed to the attire that I wore which had passed me off well enough as a man to sail to the New World without hinderance. I'd be a fool to say that I didn't prefer breeches to corsets, though if any onlookers got too close of a glimpse they would have tried to see me hanged by first light. 

"Return to your homes! Seek not the devil within the cover of night!" A voice called over the ringing of a crier's bell from somewhere within the rows of houses. One by one, men and women vanished as the night grew darker and the moon in its waning cast its silvery light down upon the path before me. I planted my feet, feeling the light of the moon bathe my skin as I felt raw, natural power wash over me. 

"Divine Mother, give me strength." I whispered, feeling as though pure starlight coursed through my veins. A gentle breeze kissed my cheeks as my eyes fluttered shut. The quiet that settled in Salem after the doors were all closed, and the windows were shuttered was welcome after the sloshing of the sea and roaring of the breakers for the last three months. It was grounding, solidifying, peaceful. Until it wasn't. The breeze grew into a gust then into a small gale, before it finally ceased. A knowing smirk twitched at the corner of my mouth as I opened my eyes to see that I was completely surrounded by women dressed entirely in black. 

"Bold of you to venture into a town such as Salem... sisters." I greeted, "From what I hear you're all on the verge of being burned at the stake." 

"Mind your tongue, girl." a veiled woman snapped, "You stand in the presence of the most powerful coven in the New World." 

I bit back a laugh, "Good. That means I ended up in the right place." 

"Just who do you think you are, whelp?" 

"A covenless witch of the stars," I replied with a shrug, "seeking solitude and safety." 

The veiled woman scoffed at me, "Ha! You will find neither here. Leave this land and do not return."

"Or what?" I dared to ask, sauntering up to her with a darkened expression, "You'll kill me? Because I would love to see you try."

The witch drew back her veil and revealed an older, graying woman with a pointed, stalwart face. I met her eye with a fierce gaze, my natural power flowing off me in silver wisps. To my surprise, this woman, this leader of the Salem coven, seemed to shrink beneath my glare. A flicker of fear flashed in cold, unkind eyes. I stepped away and turned to address the rest of the coven. 

"I came here to seek solitude, and I will have it. So, let's make a deal. I'll retreat into the expanse of the wood and remain there without issue. I shall not venture to Salem again, so long as you leave me in peace. And in exchange, you can go about your business as you always have, unhindered by any intervention of mine." I scanned every witch's face for any sense of doubt, any inkling of waver and found none until my hazel gaze settled upon the deep blue eyes of a girl no older than myself. She was stood beside the old crone, but her eyes were not filled with fear or indignation like the others. Instead, they gleamed with fascination and intrigue, shining bright in the darkness against her pristine pale skin, like sapphires freshly polished. I lingered on her for a moment too long, finding that my cold exterior began to crack beneath her gaze and I was willing to allow it. 

"Do we have a deal?" I asked with a far too gentle tone, my eyes still locked on her. Beside her, the crone set her veil back upon her face and nodded. 

"The terms of your agreement are acceptable. Go now and do not cross our path again." 

I allowed myself a final second to look upon the girl beside this wicked witch before tearing my eyes away to fix them on the path that would carry me into the forest beyond. My feet led themselves away from the coven, pushing through their ranks and past the array of homes and hovels. As I walked on, the chill of the night finally began to sink in past the thin white wool shirt I wore and against my will, I shivered. That shudder was accompanied by the sound of footsteps behind me, fast approaching. I paused and glanced over my shoulder to see the girl that had caught my eye chasing after me, her dark hair following behind her in long, illustrious waves. 

"Wait!" she called to me, holding up a bundle of cloth in her hands. I was almost inclined to keep walking, but my feet remained glued to the ground as she stopped mere inches from me and caught her breath. 

"You should not be here." I told her, daring to glance back at the town in the distance, "Your coven mother is not too keen on having me here. Nor am I one to be caught associating with witches who are supposed to keep their distance from me."

"My mother is a cruel and unkind woman," she answered rather harshly, "And I've never been one to follow her rules to the letter." 

I scoffed, "Well, then you and I are rather alike, it would seem." 

I turned fully to face her and found myself captivated once more, not wanting to move an inch. There was something about this girl that was... enthralling to say the least. It was as though I were coming face to face with pure, untapped power and I had no way to contain or control it, though I had the feeling that I did not want to do either. 

"What do they call you, stranger?" she asked me, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly, a delightful smile spreading across her face. 

"Aislin Stuart." I replied with a smile of my own and little bow which loosened a few strands of my brown hair from the tie at the back of my neck, "Daughter of Dorcas Topsfield, the Scourge of Shrewsbury."

Her smile grew wider and wilder. I took a slow step forward, getting within a heartbeat from her, whispering into her ear, "And what do they call you, pet?" 

Her breath hitched, sending a pleasant shiver down my spine. A chuckle rose from deep in my chest as I pulled away. Her mouth hung slightly agape as I took a step back to get a good look at her again. It took a minute for her to recollect her thoughts and reply. 

"A-Agatha. Agatha Harkness." 

"Hmm," I hummed with a softened expression, "Well, Agatha, I suppose I won't see you again. Ta." 

I started to move away, but she stretched out her hand and caught my arm with surprising deftness. 

"Wait, I, uh, wanted to give you this." she offered up the bundle of black, heavy cloth in her arms, which upon quick inspection was a warm, winter cloak, "Winter is nigh upon us, and it would seem you don't possess the proper clothing for the cold months ahead."

I took hold of the rough wool, my hand brushing against hers as I did, sending a spark up my arm and into my chest. The air became heavy again, though not due to the fear of the Salemites behind me. This was a comfortable heavy, one that shielded me from the cold for only a split second before the chill of the autumn air came rushing back. 

"Thank you." I said softly. Taking the cloak into my arms, I tossed over my shoulders and immediately felt the cut of the wind come to an end. "I suppose I should be off."

"Can I see you again?" Agatha asked me quickly. Looking back into her brilliant blue eyes, I felt a flutter in my chest. I had come here to escape other witches, only to end up being entranced by one as soon as I arrived. I took hold of a ring on my right hand, crafted from fine silver bearing a gleaming white pearl.

Holding it up to my lips, I whispered, "Invenias quod petis apud me in manu tua."

Stepping back toward her, I pressed the ring into her palm and closed her fingers around it, "When you wish to find me, simply put on the ring and it will show you your path. When you wear it, all roads shall lead to me."

I released her hand and stepped away, vanishing from sight before she lifted her eyes from the ring back to the road.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

She sought me out three days later. It had given me enough time to venture far enough into the wood that I would remain untouched by any who dared to seek me out, while also granting me the opportunity to make use of a summoning spell to establish a sturdy enough shelter until I was able to conjure something permanent. A heavy frost coated the leaf litter on the floor that morning, casting an ethereal shimmer across the wood as I sat upon a rotting oak stump and took in my surroundings.

The protection circle had continued to do its job, I had remained undisturbed during the night. The small fire that I had built was steadily growing as I continued to feed it, heating up the kettle I had hung on an iron hook. Freshly snared rabbit was roasting on a small wire spit, the scent of its roasting flesh making my mouth water as I readied a cup for morning tea. The forest was quiet, save for the rustling of leaves when a squirrel skittered past, or a deer came by to investigate. Glancing up at the sky, I could see that it was going to a clear day, a good day. It had been a long time since I had had one of those. 

The kettle began to whistle, I grasped hold of the rag-wrapped handle and filled my cup. The calming scent of black tea, calendula, and cornflower wafted up to my nose, the heat radiating from the cup warming my hands as I raised it to my lips and took a careful sip. 

"I hope you have enough to share." 

My head whipped around to see Agatha Harkness standing at the edge of my circle, a gentle, innocent smile on her face as she stood with a deep violet shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She was entrancing in the dark of night, but in the light of day, she was as radiant as the sun. Her dark brown hair shone brightly in the pale autumn light, her porcelain skin pristinely white. The shawl meant to stave off the morning chill covered most of her, though I could see the intricate black lacework of her gown's bodice peeking through it. 

"Transite in sacrarium meum, et estote suscipite." I said, gesturing to the space next to me on the stump, "I have plenty to share. Come, sit." 

With a snap of my fingers, a second cup floated up from its place amongst the personal effects I had summoned over to where the kettle was. Without lifting a finger, the kettle filled the cup and returned to its place. Agatha cautiously stepped past the ring of white stones and found no resistance upon passing fully through. Taking the cup from its place in midair she lowered herself next to me and took a sip, letting the warm liquid bring some life back into her chilled bones.

"You know I wasn't completely convinced that your little spell would work but," she glanced down at the ring nestled perfectly upon her right middle finger, "as soon as I put it on, I felt a pull in my chest, and it led me here."

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to lie to you. I only lie to those who deserve to be lied to." I replied simply, "I haven't known you very long, but I see no reason why you shouldn't be told the truth."

"Ah, then you and my mother would be quite at odds. She refuses to teach me." 

I arched a curious brow, "What witch would refuse to teach her child the craft?" 

Agatha's grip on her teacup became tense, her eyes remained downcast. She was withholding something, though what it was I couldn't be sure. I watched her sit in abject silence for a while, until she finally worked up the courage to speak again.

"My magic is dark. It aligns with evil, and because of this my mother will not teach me."

I had heard an eerily similar story many years ago. My own mother's tale of how she came to acquire her power was one of turmoil, anguish, and death. Over the centuries, she had become known to lure witches into her thrall, tell them she was establishing a coven, then like a leech to an ill man's neck drew every drop of magic from them and absorbed it for herself. The corpses piled high outside the cottage where I was born. I'm sure if I were to return to that place tucked within the forests outside Shrewsbury, they would have grown higher still. 

"My mother refused to teach me as well." I confessed, " She is a proponent of the dark arts, using power to gain more power. But my magic is rare, volatile, more in tune with the eldritch magic of sorcerers. It's as ever changing as the phases of the moon and it takes a great deal of self-discipline to master, something my mother disregards entirely. I had to spend some time studying with the Ancient One in Kamar-Taj to truly understand it myself. But... in time you could learn to master yourself as well." 

"You would teach me?" Agatha's tone suddenly became hopeful, excited even as her eyes met mine. I nearly choked on the sip of tea I had just taken, coughing up my drink onto the frost-laden ground at my feet. My gaze fixed on my shoes, drifted back up once I had regained my ability to breathe again. 

"I... apologize." I said with a hoarse tone. "But I'm not much of a teacher, Agatha Harkness." 

"Well, I'm not much of a student, Aislin Stuart," she answered smartly, a smirk dressed upon her face, "but I'd be willing to walk this unknown path if you walk it with me." 

A tightness formed in my chest. My heart pounded against my ribcage. I couldn't turn away from her, and she knew it.

"Very well then. Down the road we'll go. Our own secret coven of two." 

Part of me wished that I had leaned toward divination in that time, perhaps then I would have seen what was to come. The passion, the anger, the heartache that would certainly arise from it all... but knowing it wouldn't have made a difference. There was truly no way to predict what Agatha Harkness would do.

I only wish I had known it sooner. 

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

"sorry, but i think i lost your plot" where toothless notices hiccup admiring our protagonist often and follows her around one day while she's working? basically toothless being a wingman of sorts

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 17

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 1,006

You and Toothless rendezvous.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, unedited

<Previous - Next>

You hurried down the steps of the Ingerman home, basket in tow, a warm, clean cloth wrapped steaming loaf of bread sitting on top of a basket of dirty laundry.

Each step tapped against the wooden stair, your worn boots doing little to soften your footsteps.

You walked with quick strides through the clearing, running across damn dirt and a forge that hadn’t yet been lit in the early morning darkness, only pausing briefly to glance at a shadow at the corner of your eye.

When you looked back, there was nothing there.

You shrugged it off, despite the chills running down your back, intent on quickly getting down to the wells before anyone else could. 

You held a rag in your fists, braced against your hips, staring at your work, at the many, many shiny weapons lined and mounted against the wall, some patterned, most not, all sharpened to the highest degree.

As you polished to the highest degree, soot and other things caked onto your clothes and the apron you’d borrowed from Mrs. Jorgenson. 

Your attention was drawn, for a moment, to the half open window, where you caught a glimpse of a large green eyeball just as it disappeared from view.

You didn’t mind it, instead looking away and taking a few more moments to admire your work. 

You knew the Jorgenson head didn’t much care for polished artifacts, though Mrs. Jorgenson insisted on it. Something about utility and pride, nothing you learned from anyone but the head lady herself. She has some very strong opinions on it.

You looked outside a window to your side, half covered by wooden shutters and a wood frame to match the wood everything else, admiring the yellow, rising sun.

The Head should be back from his early morning training soon off in the forests. You found that he trained like every day was Thorsday Thursday.

You fled quickly as the morning got just a bit brighter, willing yourself out before the fresh dewy feeling left the air, grabbing your coin and your effects, before either one could come home and they could start arguing. 

Sitting by the well, on top of the built stone wall surrounding the hole, you looked down at the nice cloth wrapped gift you had gotten earlier that day.  

Off to your side, a terror danced and pounced around, following a bug. 

Animals, dragons mostly, crowed and lazed in the warming noon light. 

You unwrapped it, revealing a nice loaf of bread. 

You were sure you were going to save it as much as you could before it started to mold. You needed to finish it before it went bad. 

But you thought it wouldn’t hurt to take off a few slices. 

The poor woman, Mrs. Ingerman, had gotten up extra, extra early to bake you a loaf which was impressive considering you were up in the earliest of hours, so early it had only been a few since the last night. The last midnight, that is.

You stared out at the place around, at the occasional person bustling past, most vikings heavily involved with their tasks for the day. 

You spotted something in an alley, large and slinking and nearly black, it’s body language cautious and yet not.

A Night Fury. The only Night Fury you knew, crouched around the corner, observing you.

If he shifted just right, you could see the glint of a metal buckle attached to his strap. You wondered where his rider was.

You bit into the bread loaf, still staring at him.

Had he been following you all day?

You looked at the sheep in front of you, shears at your side. 

It was a dusty white one, slightly overgrown, white fur and gray face very fuzzy. 

You considered cutting its wool into a shape like you’d seen gardeners do to bushes. 

You stood on a floor of hay in the gentle shade of a barn, one by the open fields sort of close to the coast-cliff line overlooking the sea and the craigs. 

It had been a long while since you’d shorn a sheep, yet it felt like just yesterday you’d learned.

You stared out at the open stall towards the light of the afternoon where the fields were open and the sheep were wandering free.

The grass was tall and green and looked incredibly fresh, something nice to lay in. 

You would do that after your task and the retrieval of your coin when it was colder and you could better appreciate the fresh earth freely.

You blinked.

It looked like you had a friend for the day.

You didn’t see anything, but you did hear a light purr, the kind you could perhaps brush off as one of the sheep’s, before you heard a loud thump. 

You brushed it off.

You wondered if he had a task for you?

You stared down into the open barrel, slightly smelly, damp with seawater and slime, ready to be hung and dried and maybe pickled, filled with fish of many different sizes.

You wiped your hands on the towel by your side, shifting your rolled up sleeves further up your arm as you stared down at your work. 

And then you looked off to the side, where Toothless peered out at you, the green of his eyes a bit more difficult to make out, washed over with orange. 

You reached into the barrel and tossed him a fish.

It landed against the ground with a smack, and he jumped back into the shadows slightly, before creeping forwards again, eyeing you curiously. 

He sniffed it curiously, looking up at you with big, suspicious eyes all the while, large, draconic shoulder hunched before grabbing the tail delicately by the teeth.

Quickly, he threw it up into the air and gulped it down before quickly turning around and bounding away, leaving vague imprints of his paws in the dust layer resting over the hard, dry dirt floor.

 Whatever brought him to you, the fish seemed to treat pretty well.

[waywardxwords]

Chapter 2 - Nothing to Lose (Taking Chances)

Summary: After a random encounter introduces you to Dean Winchester, you can't shake the magnetic pull you feel towards him. For years, you've felt like everything in your life is under control--a promising career, financial stability and no real responsibilities. Dean's a hunter; it's his life and job. But somehow when you meet, your worlds are flipped upside down and you have to decide if it's a chance worth taking.

Chapter Warnings: None

Pairing: Dean Winchester x female!reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Read Chapter 1 - Rules Were Meant for Breaking here!

The wind whipped at the shutters on your two-bedroom home tucked in the suburbs of Richmond, Virginia. It was another quiet night for you. Quiet had become your norm, and you were perfectly content with that. One hand held your cell phone to your ear while the other poured yourself a glass of Merlot. 

“I’m heading to Kansas next week,” you said somewhat nonchalantly into the receiver, but your best friend knew better than that. 

“Oooh,” she cooed. “Are you seeing your flying buddy?” You rolled your eyes. After you had mentioned your encounter that had happened almost a month ago now, she had been relentless. 

“No…I don’t know,” you grumbled. “He has a name, you know.” 

“Oh, I know. The mysterious Dean. I still wish you had gotten a last name. You gotta Google guys nowadays. You tend to find some creepy ass people,” she muttered back. You slipped the cork back into the bottle and carried your glass to the living room. 

“Says the girl who dated a guy with an attempted battery charge,” you scoffed as you plopped down on your couch and pulled your legs up to the side. 

“Listen, Tinder is wild. It’s not my fault he used a fake name,” she tossed back. “And let’s just remember it was a charge and he was never actually convicted.”

“Yeah, let’s not try to justify that one, ‘kay?” You laughed. “I don’t know, I don’t think I’m going to call him. I don’t even know if he wants to hear from me.” You swirled the burgundy liquid around in your wine glass as your mind replayed the night you and Dean spent together. 

“You were pretty clear about what you wanted…or didn’t want, for that matter. At least, from what you told me.” 

Once you and Dean had gotten your room assignments, you agreed to meet in his room after you got settled. A quick glance in the mirror made you grimace—traveling for fifteen hours hadn’t done you any favors. You swiped your index finger under each eye to clean up the smudged mascara before you pulled at the fallen strands of hair to fix your bun. The idea of getting dressed up at this point seemed futile, so you settled on a long sleeve shirt and leggings with sneakers. 

After a quick breath, you grabbed your room key and cell phone and headed down the hall to Dean’s room. Your knuckles tapped against the wood. 

Within a moment, the door swung open revealing your new friend. He had changed into a gray undershirt and sweatpants. 

“Hey,” you breathed with a smile. 

“Hi,” he smiled back. He stepped back and held the door open for you. “Come on in.” 

“Are we passing on the bar adventure?” You raised your eyebrows as you eyed his choice of sweatpants. 

“Oh, you mean you don’t want to be seen with me wearing sweatpants in the bar?” He feigned offense. “And see, I didn’t think you cared about that kinda thing…” before you could say anything, he continued. “Nah, I’ll be honest. I’m pretty exhausted and thought we could just hang out and watch a movie or something.”

“That works, but seriously, if you’re tired I can absolutely entertain myself and get some sleep. We don’t have to hang out,” you were second-guessing everything, and that wasn’t like you. The confidence and self-assurance you had when it came to your work seemed to go out the window when it came to Dean. 

“No way,” he plopped down on the bed and put his feet up as he sat against the headboard. “It’s almost Halloween, how do you feel about some scary classics?” He wiggled his eyebrows, which made you laugh. 

“Sounds good to me,” you walked to the other side of the bed and sat down so you were against the headboard with your legs folded like a pretzel. 

The movie was fun, but you and Dean ended up talking throughout most of it. 

“Okay, so you don’t like planes…anything else you’re afraid of?” You popped a pretzel from the trail mix bag Southwest had provided on your earlier flight into your mouth and handed the bag to Dean. 

“Hm,” he hummed as he rummaged through for a Cheez-It. “Not really. My brother’s afraid of clowns.” 

“Clowns are pretty creepy,” you agreed. Dean rolled his eyes. 

“What about you? What are you afraid of?” The question was harmless, but the answer felt loaded to you. As you processed your thoughts, you hesitated but decided to just go for it. 

“Being alone,” your eyes fell to your lap where you played with a loose string on the comforter. “Sorry, that was deep.” You laughed lightly as you avoided eye contact and wondered if you had gone with something easier; something like snakes or needles. 

“Hey,” Dean’s voice caught your attention. “Don’t be sorry. That’s a valid fear.” You noticed his voice was lower than before. His words were kind, but you still felt like you had made a mistake by opening up that much to him. 

“I appreciate it,” you managed a small smile. 

There was a pause, but you were surprised it wasn’t uncomfortable. Then Dean spoke once more. “In, uh, in the spirit of ‘if you show me yours, I’ll show you mine’,” he cleared his throat. “I’m batshit terrified of being afraid…”

You blinked as you contemplated his words. “You’re…afraid of being afraid?” 

He chuckled and rubbed at the back of his neck as he dropped his gaze to his lap. “Yeah, I know it sounds weird. I guess for me, I always have to be strong and just have my shit together. Which I don’t, by the way.” You watched the side of his face as he spoke, illuminated by the movie playing on the TV on the dresser across from you. “It’s pretty much always been me and Sammy—my brother,” he reminded you. “I don’t really ever show anyone if I’m afraid of something.”

“Everybody gets scared, Dean,” you coaxed as he paused. “Your brother would understand that.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that,” he pondered, his eyebrows knitted together. “I guess so, I just don’t show it.”

Even though it was a simple confession, you felt like you learned a lot about Dean in that moment. 

“You were afraid on the plane, I could tell,” you smirked and pushed your elbow gently into his ribs playfully. 

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and for the first time since he started speaking, his head turned to look at you. His eyes practically studied you but all you felt was his vulnerability. “I know,” he said softly. “That’s the thing, I was able to drop the act in front of you. I just can’t figure out why…”

“Ah,” you smiled. “You broke your own rule. You took your mask off.”

He chuckled again. “I guess I did.” 

You turned back after a moment to look at whatever was happening on the TV in front of you, and that’s when you felt Dean’s palm graze the top of your hand at your side. It wasn’t forceful or pushy, it just felt comforting. You glanced down at your hands and took a breath. 

“Dean, I need to be honest with you,” your words were so soft, you weren’t sure if he heard you. His eyes watched you and he nodded for you to continue. “I’m really, really bad at…this whole thing.” You mumbled. 

“At what, exactly?” He asked for clarification. 

“Men? Affection? I’ve been so focused on my career for so long, I kinda just settled on the fact I’d be alone for the rest of my life. And even though it terrifies me, I’m also kind of content with that? Let’s be honest, you live in Kansas and I live in Virginia. We don’t even know each other, we’re strangers,” you were rambling at this point. 

“I’m not askin’ you to marry me, sweetheart,'' he laughed gently, but also removed his hand from yours.

“No, I know,” you breathed. “I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you, seriously. I just don’t see how…” you trailed off as you tried to find your words. 

“I get it, wrong place, wrong time,” he repeated the words from earlier. 

“Something like that,” you sighed. You stared into his green gaze for another moment before you found your voice again. “I should go.” 

Dean nodded once, but you saw the disappointment flash across his features. “I understand.” He swung his legs off of the bed and waited for you to walk you to the door. “Just so you know, I really liked talking with you tonight.” 

“Me too, Dean,” you managed a smile and wondered why you felt sad. You wouldn’t let your feelings deter you. 

“And hey, if you’re ever in Kansas and wanna break any more of those rules…” he reached for a notepad on the table by the door. He scribbled out a number. “Gimme a call.” 

You took the paper willingly and gave him one more gentle smile. “Thanks, Dean.” And against your better judgment, you leaned forward on your tip toes and kissed his stubble covered cheek. “Goodnight.”

You saw Dean on the plane the next morning, but couldn’t be sure if he had seen you. He picked a seat rows ahead of you, and by the time you had gotten off of the plane—he was gone. 

“Can you blame the guy?” Your best friend’s voice interrupted your thoughts. “He bared his soul to you and you bolted.”

“I didn’t bolt because of the conversation! I got scared,” you mumbled. 

“I know, but I also know it’s been a month and you haven’t shut up about him,” she reminded you. “Call. The. Man. Please, if for nothing else, for my sake. I’m sick of hearing you whine.” 

“Ugh, fine,” you grumbled. “I’ll call him.” 

“You better,” she bit back. “If you don’t call him, you’re not allowed to talk about him anymore. Got it?”

A sigh fell from your lips, but you knew she was right. “Deal.” 

“Good, I gotta run. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” and with that, you both hung up. You stared at your phone for a minute. With a quick scroll in your contacts, you found the number you had added after Dean wrote it down on the notepad. Your finger hovered for a moment before you took a leap of faith and pressed his name. 

You pushed the phone to your ear and took a very large sip of your wine with your eyes squeezed shut tightly. Your breath got caught in your throat when you thought he had answered, only to realize it was his voicemail. 

“This is Dean’s other, other cell…so you must know what to do.” And then there was a beep. You quickly hung up the phone. How many cell phones does this guy have? And why…? Maybe your best friend was right—maybe you needed to fully vet this dude before you considered coordinating a meet-up. But before you could think on it any longer, your phone started vibrating against the couch cushion. 

“Hi,” you sighed into the phone as you pinched the bridge of your nose. 

“Uh, hi. Who is this?” His voice sounded gruffer than you remembered. 

“Dean, sorry, I uh, I—this is—” he cut you off before you could say anything else. 

“Oh…uh, everything okay?” He sounded…worried, or concerned, maybe? But you weren’t sure why. And he recognized your voice? There was so much you were confused about but it was overshadowed by the giddiness you felt that he recognized your voice from just a few words. 

“Oh, everything’s fine,” you quickly answered. “I’m sorry to bother you, I just wanted to call to let you know I’m going to be in Kansas next week…” you second-guessed, again, why you had called to begin with. You knew you were sending the man mixed signals, and you didn’t mean to. It was a battle from within that you couldn’t tell if you were losing or winning, at this point. He didn’t speak during your pause, so you continued. “I’m sorry, Dean. I shouldn’t have called.”

“No, it’s alright,” he spoke softly. “I just didn’t think I’d hear from you again.” You wanted to kick yourself, but instead you stood to your feet and paced a bit in front of your couch as you gripped the phone to your ear.

“I know,” you sighed. “Moment of honesty without any judgment?” You asked hesitantly.

“Shoot,” by the sound of his voice, you could tell he still wasn’t sure what you wanted or why you had dialed his number. To be fair, you still weren’t sure, either. There was this strange sense of connection you felt with him after only spending a few hours with him. It was something you couldn't shake.

“When I left your hotel room that night,” your feet slowed and you brought your fingers up to fidget with the charm on your necklace. “I kind of panicked. But…” But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, is what you wanted to say. However, you weren’t feeling very brave, so you swerved. “…I just knew you had said if I were ever in Kansas again, to give you a call.” Per usual when the nerves crept up and made you feel like you had made a mistake, your teeth found the inside of your bottom lip and nibbled there self consciously. 

There was a pause that made you question yourself even more than before, if that were possible. “No, I’m glad you called. When are you planning to be in town?” 

Your heart fluttered. Maybe he did want to see you, after all. “Next week, actually. I fly in on Monday afternoon but I don’t have any meetings until Tuesday.” 

“Alright,” there was something to his voice that sounded different than before—there was a hardness there you hadn’t noticed on the plane, or when you spent the evening talking about what you were afraid of and watching classic horror flicks. This Dean felt guarded. “Well, how ‘bout drinks? There’s not much out here, but there’s a dive bar. The Blind Pig, it’s in Salina near the airport.”

“Is that too far for you? Aren’t you in Lebanon?” This version of Dean made you realize you really didn’t know him at all—this was just a man you had met by pure happenstance. You wondered if you should Google him, after all. 

“Ah, it’s alright. I spend ninety percent of my time in my car and I love it,” he answered truthfully. 

Even though your brain was telling you to think twice, something within you urged your mouth to speak anyway. “Alright, then. Is 7 o’clock okay?”

“Seven it is,” he answered, and this time you could tell he had a smile on his face. 

“Okay, great,” you gnawed at your bottom lip as you processed. “I’ll see you then.”

“See you then,” he repeated back. Simple ‘byes’ ended your conversation and you couldn’t help but cringe from the awkwardness as you pulled the phone from your ear. All you could think about was that you hoped you hadn’t made a mistake. 

A/N: I'm so excited to be back! I've spent a lot of time planning this series out, so I hope you enjoy! Thanks so much for reading, please feel free to let me know if you enjoyed it ♥️

Chapters will be posted on Wednesdays and Saturdays!

Preview of the next chapter:

The Blind Pig was a small hole-in-the-wall sports bar, but it sure did have a lot of patrons. Thankfully, your flight had gotten in when it was supposed to without any delays, but that had gotten you settled in your hotel by five o’clock and ready to meet Dean by six. You had pulled out your laptop to try and get some work done, but your eyes kept pulling to the numbers on the nightstand. 

6:02. And then again at 6:04. By 6:07, you couldn’t take it anymore. So you headed the short distance from your hotel to The Blind Pig and settled on a barstool at the bar. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender interrupted your thoughts as he dried his hands on a small dish rag. 

“A Jack and Coke, please,” you answered in an effort to calm your nerves. “And a glass of water,” so hopefully you wouldn’t get too ahead of yourself. 

The bartender nodded and grabbed a glass. Every time the front door opened, you couldn’t help but turn to see if it was Dean walking through the door. But it was still only 6:45, and you knew he had a long drive. 

Just as your drink was set in front of you, you heard him clear his throat behind you. “Hey, Atlanta,” the nickname brought a smile to your lips and a shiver down your spine as you turned towards him.

Read Chapter 3 here!

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[evilasiangenius]

Rumination was beginning to feel like damnation, and so Aziraphale made himself a makeshift broom from some straw from the fields and a stick, and began to sweep. He cleaned out the broken bed in the windowless servant’s room. Somehow it was nicer without a bed in it, the blankness of chipped plaster walls was comforting.

He cleaned out the kitchen which was surprisingly easy given that all the foodstuff had been taken a long time ago. He carefully picked up and discarded all the broken sherds and oyster shells. In the process he and even found a few plain pieces of utility ware that could be used: bowls, cups, and a few pots. Anything metal or genuinely nice had been taken a long time ago.

He left most of the cobwebs hiding in dark corners alone, letting the spiders do their quiet work, only brushing away old abandoned webs that were no longer occupied.

While cleaning the oven he found a soft nest of grasses that hid a snoozing dormouse. He held the chirp-snoring creature in the palm of his hand for a while, entranced by the loud whistling snores (so unlike Crowley who snored very politely if at all), before setting the creature and her nest in a warm corner, tucked beneath the rim of a cracked pot.

He swept the bit of upstairs hallway that still remained, revealing beautiful flooring made of expensive imported cedar, which in the past would have been swept and polished daily. He touched the wood, and wondered – if he were to press his nose near the wood, could he still smell that sweet scent? But instead, he went into the storeroom, after some hesitation.

It was daytime so he opened the shutters, and the light that came in through the high window was wan and weak, leaving a patch of grayish light over Crowley’s face.

There was not very much dust here and he wondered if it had to do with Crowley’s influence. The demon always seemed so orderly and neat. But then, the sharpest memory of Crowley came to mind; that black-winged demon upon the gates of Eden, the edge of his robes torn and tattered, the stardust-stained black fabric looked more like a silvery gray.

What changed, Aziraphale wondered? From that barefoot wanderer, to this sleeping figure in black patrician boots, draped impeccably in a serpent-pinned chiton and a lustrous black pallium that covered dark curling hair.

He tried to remember the other times he had seen Crowley before this time, and it felt as if his mind balked at the curiosity.

So Aziraphale looked away from the sleeping figure of the demon and went back to sweeping. He picked up some pieces of broken pottery and threw the sherds out the window. Soon enough, the room was clean.

x