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writing-on-the-wahl · 4 years ago

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Writing Snippet #10

O Positive

Part 2

Ok so @im-a-wonderling had a FANTASTIC idea for a snippet, but I’m putting the ask below to not cause spoilers lol:)

Special thanks to @im-a-wonderling as well for the beta read, edits, suggestions, and expert medical knowledge to help make this way more realistic than my original draft! You’re amazing!!!

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Hero shifted from side to side as she stood in line, fingers clutching a bottle of orange juice.

“Well you’re prepared.” Hero’s head shot up as the attendant waved her forward. “Normally people wait until after to go for the juice.”

She chuckled nervously. “That’s me... prepared.”

“ID?” She scrambled through her wallet, making sure she didn’t grab either of the two aliases she’d already used at different locations that morning.

She would have used the same ID, but last time she’d tried to explain that she healed super fast- a result of her powers- and could donate more, the resulting argument had lasted nearly an hour, with nurses questioning whether her “magic blood” could even be used at all (it was perfectly normal blood thank you very much), and they’d still only let her donate the normal amount.

She handed him the correct ID, and he shoved a clipboard full of paperwork at her. A phlebotomist led her to a reclining chair. Even though she’d filled out the information twice that morning, it still took approximately twelve years to finish the stack of forms. The phlebotomist returned, and began asking her an equally long list of questions. She only half paid attention to the stream of questions.

Have you received any blood transfusions?

No.

Have you traveled in the last 6 months?

No.

Are you free of HIV or any other blood diseases?

Yes.

Have you ever been pregnant?

Yes.

Wait! No!

The phlebotomist chuckled as she snapped on a pair of gloves. “Ok let’s see that arm.” Hero held out her mark-free arm. After the first donation that morning, the needle mark and resulting bruise had been gone in a matter of minutes. After the second, she’d had to wait over thirty minutes before the signs of her deception to fade. The phlebotomist wrapped a tourniquet above her elbow before consulting her paperwork.

“It says here you’d like to do a double donation?”

“Yes.”

“You have to be 150lbs in order to donate that much sweetie.” The older woman eyed Hero dubiously.

Her throat went dry. “I know. I am.”

“I’m just going to take one bag today; you’re looking a little pale, honey.”

“But the other phlebotomist let me—”She cut off and cleared her throat. “I mean, last time I donated. It was fine.”

The phlebotomist shook her head as she felt the inside of Hero’s arm for the vein.

Hero forced a cheery smile. “This is important. I’ll be fine.”

By tomorrow, she added silently. Or the day after that...

Last time she’d only been able to get in one regular and one double donation before she’d gotten called into help with a work emergency. She’d spent the rest of the day in bed, but had woken up fine the next morning. Of course, that was only half the amount of blood...

The woman narrowed her eyes before shaking her head.

“The shortage is the worst it’s been in years, but I’m only going to take one bag today.”

“But—”

“Unless you’d like to go stand on that scale over there?”

Hero blanched, then mutely shook her head.

The woman muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘I thought not,’ before raising her voice to a normal volume. “And make sure to take it easy and drink that orange juice you’ve got there.” She nodded at the bottle in Hero’s hand as she swabbed her arm with an alcohol wipe and picked up a needle.

“I will.”

————— 30 minutes (or so) later —————

Hero made it ten steps out of the building before she collapsed against the wall, head swimming. She peeled the tape and cotton ball off her arm. Blood immediately began to trickle down her forearm.

She struggled to unscrew the cap of her juice, hands shaking. Finally, she succeeded, the cap slipping through her fingers and bouncing against the sidewalk. She brought the bottle to her lips, but only managed a few sips before her stomach revolted. She clamped a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, willing herself not to throw up.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, ignoring the curious stares from pedestrians on the crowded downtown street.

She needed to get home.

A quaking boom shook the ground, and Hero cracked open her eyes to see a plume of smoke a few blocks over.

Most likely the bank on main. Or the diamond store next door.

She took a step towards the plume of smoke, but the ground was still rocking, and she had a feeling it wasn’t from the explosion. She closed her eyes as panicked civilians began running to and fro.

Her phone rang out in a pealing tone, sending her a foot into the air, her orange juice falling to the ground with a sticky splash.

The emergency line.

Groaning, she accepted the call.

“Hero! Villain just set off a bomb on Main Street.”

“Diamonds or bank vault?”

“BOTH! You need to get over there now!”

Hero covered her eyes. She wanted to, she really did. If only the ground would stop moving.

“It’s my day off. Send Other Hero.” She cringed at her seemingly callous words, but she didn’t think the Hero Agency would exactly condone what she’d just done.

Even if she was just trying to save lives.

“Other Hero is undercover spying on Supervillain. Your phone shows you are six blocks away. That will take you 12 seconds to get your speedy butt over there.”

A second explosion rocked the ground.

Oh he didn’t. Hero growled, pushing off the wall and taking a hesitant step forward.

The ground was finally still. Much better. She pulled out the spare mask she always kept in her purse and fitted it across her eyes.

12 seconds, she scoffed.

————— 9 (and a half) seconds later————

Hero skidded to a halt in front of the shattered front windows of Pristine Diamonds.

The windows of the bank next door were in a similar condition. She rested a hand against the ash stained wall, gasping as the world spun.

She forced her head up, scanning the scene. A gaping hole had been blown in the wall connecting the two businesses, and smoke was still pouring out of both buildings. She darted into the diamond store, moving without her super speed through the black air. She made it to the back of the store, where the massive safe stood empty, the door hanging drunkenly off one hinge.

She cursed and made her way to the jagged hole. She was halfway across the bank lobby when a figure leapt from the smoke and she was thrown to the side.

She scrambled to her feet as Villain faded back into the smoke. His laughter echoed around her as she spun in desperate circles. The smoke thickened until it was nearly solid around her.

“You’re slow today, Hero.” The voice rang out behind her, and she whirled around, but there was nothing but smoke.

Her vision was truly swimming now. She swiped at her eyes. “And you’re extravagant. You can create smoke from nothing, you didn’t actually need to set off a bomb.”

“I was creating a passage between the businesses. They should thank me.” The voice was to her right, and she spun again. There was no point in super speed if she couldn’t see. Her head was starting to pound.

“And that outfit.” The whisper brushed against her neck, and she whirled around again, only to see the smoke curling in around the place where Villain had just stood.

She glanced down self-consciously at her pink shorts and baggy tie-dye T-shirt.

“You already ruined my day off. There’s no need to mock my clothes as well.” She huffed, taking determined strides in the direction she hoped was the door.

“Who said I was mocking?”

She sensed him behind her the instant before he attacked. She spun. He hit. She flew. Across the room. To the floor. Over chunks of rubble. And into a brick wall.

Her back cracked against the wall, knocking the air from her lungs.

Smoke swirled through the air as Villain emerged, the dark tendrils receding to lap at his heels.

He looked surprised; he’d never actually managed to land a blow that direct before.

Hero forced herself off the ground. It was time to retreat. She summoned her powers, but between her swimming head and the sharp pain in her leg, she made it only a few feet before sinking back to the ground with a quiet whimper of pain.

She forced her blurry gaze up to Villain, who was regarding her with a strange expression on his face.

“I thought you healed as fast as you can run.”

She blinked, and realized he wasn’t looking at her, but at her leg.

She looked down. Blood seeped from a long shallow gash on the outside of her calf, no doubt from a sharp piece of rubble.

Smaller cuts and bruises covered the rest of her body, and none of them were healing.

“That’s strange.” She wiped clumsily at the cut.

Villain’s eyes narrowed. “You seem oddly off your game, Hero. You haven’t lost that much blood.”

She mustered the energy to glare at Villain. “I did tell you this was my day off.”

“I wonder if it’s from the blood earlier.” She mused, floating on a hazy cloud.

The tendrils of smoke scattered as Villain knelt down beside her.

“What blood? You came to fight me when you were already injured?”

His voice sounded as though he was speaking through a tunnel.

“There’s a national blood shortage. Worst it’s been in years.”

“So?”

“So, I donated.”

Villain scoffed as he produced a cloth from somewhere and began wrapping it around her leg. “You have regenerative healing powers, a pint of blood wouldn’t have made you this weak.”

Hero shook her head and weakly held up five fingers.

Villain froze. “FIVE PINTS OF BLOOD!” He roared, smoke dancing angrily around them. “ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY INSANE!? YOU SHOULD BE DEAD RIGHT NOW!”

Her head throbbed with every word, and she flinched away.

“I heal fast.” It was barely a whisper, but his fiery eyes met hers.

“I don’t care how fast you heal. No one can survive losing half their blood.” At least now his rage was contained to a low snarl. He grabbed Hero’s hands and pulled her to her feet.

“Your hands are freezing! What were you thinking!? Why would you face me after donating that much blood?!? Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

He continued to seethe as he swept Hero into his arms and strode through the bank. He paused only to swing a bulging duffle bag onto one shoulder before he swept out through a second gaping hole into a back alley. A dark SUV was waiting in the shadows. He tossed the bag into the back and slid Hero into the passenger seat.

She curled against the warm leather.

“I was just trying to help.” She mumbled, her voice muffled as she spoke into the headrest.

“I know.” A hand ran down her hair. “Close your eyes. Sleep.”

She forced her eyes wider, remembering. “I can’t. I have a job to do.”

Villain shut her door and rounded the car to the driver’s side. Slipping into place, he started the engine.

“Not today.” He managed a small smile even as his eyes crinkled in concern.

“It’s your day off, remember?”

Original request from @im-a-wonderling:

“I started thinking about a story where the hero donates blood and then the villain does something that the hero has to go and face them. The villain notices the hero is off their game, but assumes they’re just tired or something. Then, the hero gets injured. The injury is really minor in terms of blood loss, but the hero is pale and sickly and can’t stand up and the villain gets all protective like “WHY would you come and FACE ME if you DONATED BLOOD today?!” And the hero mumbles “They’re having a blood shortage.” And the villain is ready to wring the hero’s neck for not taking care of themselves. So they just scoop the hero up in their arms and brings them back to their lair to feed them and let them sleep.”

Again thanks so much for the request!! I hope I did it justice:)

#hero x villain #heroes and villains #hero and villain #hero #villain #snippet #my writing #write #writeblr #ive donated blood exactly once #thanks again for the medical expertise #don’t lie on medical forms pls ppl #chaotic good heroes #protective villain

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sophiebaek · 3 years ago

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I saw your tags about the teaser poster so I’m wondering, if Netflix hired you to create the poster for season 3 what would it look like? 😄✨

Oh you don’t know what you’ve done…

I have so many concepts and I don’t know which one I’d like best. I prefer more conceptual and creative posters (the queens gambit one is great).

That’s why I actually prefer season 2’s poster over season 1. I get that people are mad that Kanthony aren’t front and center but the poster gives references to all important things that we’ll see this season and that’s what posters are supposed to do. They tell us who and what is important in the story.

Look at the Spider Man posters for example. The teaser poster gives us the a creative way on what the movie is about. And then later they released THAT???

Today we really only see the mountain of floating heads so when they do make an effort in a poster that actually means something, I really appreciate them. Compare s1 and s2, they don’t compare (and I also assume we’ll get a poster that has kanthony as the forefront anyways so don't worry)

For season three I have so many ideas

First off, I’d post a teaser on the Bridgerton Instagram account. It would be a photo of the invitation to the masquerade: this would be the show inviting the audience to the ball and announcing when the new season would release.

And additionally maybe partner with a mask company and make Bridgerton masks as merch??? Each mask could be inspired by a character It’s better than whatever that soap thing is

This can create anticipation and hype around the season. We don't know if the ball at the end of s2 will be the masquerade ball, but if it is...they should still do this. I don't think they'll show Benedict and Sophie meeting until s3 so they don't take attention from Kanthony so this idea can still work lol

Option 1

As it looks like Pall Mall is the central focus for the season 2 design, I think the masquerade ball will likely be that for season 3. I think focusing on My Cottage would make more sense story wise since their love story really happens there, but the ball is a big selling point for the general audience and it’s too iconic not to do 🤷🏻‍♀️

I would have Sophie running away in her dress but we don’t see her face. We as the viewer would be seeing this from Benedict’s point of view and see his hand holding her glove with the Penwood crest on it.

It gives us enough information about the first part of their story and the crest lets us know what Sophie’s secret is.

I assume that’s what they’ll do

Option 2

If they don’t do that I’d love for a poster of them yearning for each other.

We’d see Benedict dressed in his nice high society clothes and Sophie in her maids outfit with their hands softly and lingering on each other in hiding. For reference ⬇️

With that physically presented we see that they have a class divide but desperately want to be with each other.

It could be set at Number 5 so we understand where the story takes place and that benophie are trying to hide their feelings.

Option 3

As an alternative or teaser poster I think having a shot of Benedict’s sketch book would be interesting; it’s snap shot of what will happen at My Cottage.

We see his sketches of the Lady in Silver but he never draws her full face since Benedict never saw her. And on that same page we see his drawings of Sophie too. We see that he is conflicted by his feelings for these two women but ironically they are the same person. (I didn’t draw these and just combined them to represent Benedict’s sketches)

And besides his sketch book we can see the pebbles he collects, a book Sophie has been reading, and a tea set with eaten biscuits.

It just a collection of important things that happen at My Cottage.

#I was deciding if I should actually make edits of these but then realized how much work that was.#so appreciate these reference and inspo photos #I've realized recently I cant explain things well so hopefully you understood my ideas lol #benophie #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #bridgerton

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cedric-stories · 4 years ago

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Wassailia Cookies (Cedric x Reader)

Word Count: 2,800

Warnings: Very suggestive (what’s new? Lol), no sex but strongly implied, language, fluffy.

Plot: You’re gonna need to read it to find out 😉

Author’s note: hope there’s no errors. Sorry it took me so long to post again. Have been busy for the past few days packing for vacation. I’m happy to say there is a ‘by the ocean’ fic in the works, lol. Happy Holidays y’all!!

(and yes, the suggestive content is suggestive but there is no sex. Tbh, I’m a little scared about writing my first smut so I keep holding off. Eventually though, lol. I’ll mark where it gets weird with a 😊 and where it ends.)

Last thing, THANK YOU ALL MY NEW FOLLOWERS!!! I APPRECIATE THE SUPPORT!! AND TO ALL YOU WHO LIKE MY POSTS!! I’m glad y’all enjoy it

Wassailia Cookies

Reader pronouns: She/her

“Love, can you please get the door?” you called outside the tower.

You waited outside with two heavy, brown boxes crowding your view.

“It’s open.” He said, not sure that you could see.

“Thanks!”

Once you got inside, you placed them down on the nearest wooden table.

Your chest was heaving up and down, “Oh man, those were heavy.”

“What on earth are they?”

You smiled, trying to catch your breath. “Ingredients to bake Wassailia cookies.”

Cedric cocked his head. “Bake cookies?”

“Um, yeah,” you wondered what he didn’t understand. “I thought we could make some sugar ones together. If you want to?”

He still had a puzzled look on his face.

“Alright, that would be fun, but why not just conjure some?”

Your perplexed expression turned to utter shock.

“What fun is that? It’s a tradition to make cookies by hand during the holidays.” You explained with your ‘you should know this’ tone. “Didn’t you do this with your family?”

Cedric shook his head. “I never have. Growing up, mother always just conjured some, if we had any at all.”

“So,” you began, “did you guys have any family traditions for the holidays?”

“Well…no I guess not. My father was always” his expression sadden, “to busy to do things like that.”

You felt bad for him. Here the love of your life has never had any traditions over the holidays. You had just presumed he did. Not knowing what to say, you just stood in front of him.

“Well, why don’t we just make some traditions of our own?” you said, trying to cheer him up.

Cedric’s eyes met yours and gained back the familiar twinkle.

“Alright! Do you still want to bake?”

You grinned. “I’d love to!”

You picked up a box and Cedric picked up the other. The two of you started into the kitchen and set the stuff down on the counter.

Cedric put a hand on your back, and you shifted into him.

“Now, you must me patient with me, love. I am not much of a baker.”

You giggled. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

After standing there for a minute, you began taking ingredients out. You asked him to grab a few bowls and you brought out the mixer. You rummaged through a few papers and picked one out.

“Here, this is the recipe, if you want to get the wet ingredients out of the fridge and start putting them together that would be great.” You said, still looking into the box.

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do.”

When you finally finished getting things organized you walked over to the mixer to find the beginnings of the dough already made.

“Oh, wow. Thanks, honey.” You were surprised by how fast he had gotten things combined.

A few minutes later, you put the dry in with the wet and began mixing it.

“It says not to overmix, so I think we better stop it, don’t you?” Cedric asked. You hadn’t even noticed it was on the verge of overmixing.

“Right!” you blurted out, running over to the mixer, and shutting it off. “Thank you.”

Cedric replied with a ‘uh huh’.

You put the dirty bowls and spoons into the soapy dish water and started to clean up when you saw Cedric steal a piece of dough from the bowl.

“Cedric! Don’t eat that! You’ll get poisoned!” You exclaimed, stomping over to scold him.

“No, I won’t.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, you will.” You snapped, snatching the bowl away from him and wrapping the dough into two separate balls.

“You’re just that worried about me, huh?” Cedric asked with a smug look on his face.

“Well, maybe so.” You said, walking over to your boyfriend.

Cedric was leaned up against the counter when you wrapped your arms around his waist and pressed against him. You looked up and gave him a small kiss on the lips.

“You do know how much I love you, right?” You questioned, looking at his shimmering, cognac eyes.

Cedric’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

“I think so.”

After sharing another gentle kiss, Cedric and you walked into the living room and sat down.

You had your head on his shoulder and began thinking.

“You want some hot chocolate?”

“Yes, I’d like some.”

You got a tea pot and poured some warm water from the sink into it. The

Water dripped down slowly from the nozzle as it filled. The soft even sound of the liquid hitting the metal surface made your shoulders relax and put your ambiance at ease. You reached up, grabbed the glass handle, and pivoted your hand to shut off the water. Placing the pot down, you walked over to the blackened stove and flipped a burner on. The flame flickered and crackled as it rose above the center of the burner. A small line of smoke twisted as it floated up into the air. You placed the pot onto the burner carefully and opened the cupboard to the left to find the hot chocolate mixture.

While the packets you had bought from the store were fine, you always liked to add extra bits of chocolate to make the drink more potent. You got out the bags and a gold-wrapped bar of chocolate and set them aside. Next, you walked past the stove to the right and reached up to open the other dark, woodened cabinets. You found two glass mugs that were almost teacup shaped and added the packets to them.

Unfolding the golden wrapping from the chocolate, you dropped two squares into each mug, making sure they were about equal amounts. When you were done, you slowly wrapped up the chocolate again and put it back.

You began hearings a small, steaming sound from the pot. Then, a loud whistling came screaming out from the spout. You grabbed the teapot and started pouring the boiling water into the cups. Steam rose up and the water splashed, conforming to the shape of the mugs. After you had poured enough water in till it was about an inch from the top, you set the pot down and grabbed a spoon. You dipped the spoon down into the hot liquid. While you were stirring, you heard footsteps from behind.

The steps got closer until they were right behind you. The next thing you noticed were two arms gently wrapping around your waist. As you continued, the warm body pressed you up against the counter from behind.

Kissing the top of your head, Cedric began to speak.

“This is nice, isn’t it?”

“Yes, there is no place I’d rather be.” You replied, stiffening your back, and curling into him.

“Are you almost done? It’s boring without you.” He said, brushing his hand across your stomach, causing your middle to twitch.

“Almost.”

The spoon had moved onto the other cup and you were just about done. You tried scooching up to grab some marshmallows from the cupboard, but Cedric pushed against you harder to try to keep you in place.

“Honey,” you giggled, “I need to get the marshmallows.”

“No, you don’t,” he denied, nuzzling his nose into your hair, “stay here, who likes marshmallows anyway?”

You immediately stopped fighting.

“You don’t like marshmallows?” You asked, once again in shock of something he said.

“No, do you?”

“Oh course!” you cried. “How can you not?”

“Too sticky for me.”

“Cedric, you can’t have Wassailia spirit without marshmallows!” You said jokingly. You were giving full expressions with every word you said, but since you were stuck facing the cupboards between the counter and your boyfriend, it looked like you were talking to two cups of hot chocolate and a wall.

“Well, I think I will manage.” He laughed, letting you free to grab your beloved, squishy, white clumps of god know what.

After grabbing the package, you put a few into your mug and left them on the counter. Walking back to the living room, Cedric grabbed a book and sat down on the couch. You followed and plopped down. Snuggling next to him, you began to think about your relationship the past year.

The two of you had been together for 9 months now and it was beautiful.

You could not believe he asked you out that day. He was all you had waited for, and believe me, the first time you looked into those brown eyes was like the first time you had ever felt alive. It was almost like you were suffocating for years, and then suddenly, when he looked at you, you were able to breathe. Now, a few months later, you were sitting next to him, watching him read a book.

You couldn’t believe you were here, with him. Your whole life, the two of you had been separated by dimensions* and now he was yours. You looked down his body and noticed the wrinkles in the dark robe he was wearing. You observed the crinkles of his gloves as he licked a finger and flicked a page of his book to the other side. You laid down across his lap and felt the warmth radiate off his body. Yes, this was truly happiness.

You looked up at your boyfriend as he kept reading. You began tracing your finger along his jaw and kissed up his chest. You wrapped your arm around his waist, curled your legs up next to him, and nuzzled his stomach.

“Excuse me, what in the world are you doing down there?” Cedric asked, lifting his hands so he could see you.

You gave a little smile up at him.

“Nothing, just begging for your attention.”

😊“Oh really? And why are you doing that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I love you.” You began, sliding your hand up his shoulders. “I think you’re handsome, and kind, and sweet, and beautiful,” you paused, “and I’d really appreciate it if you’d kiss me.”

Cedric’s lips curled up and he leaned over and quickly set his book down on the side table. You wrapped your legs around his waist, guided your arms around his neck, and leaned up into him.

Settling down onto his lap carefully, you noticed how turned on he was. You tried to hold back a sigh and looked up at him; his face was beginning to turn red.

“Well, I didn’t know you were enjoying this so much.” You tease, slightly bucking your hips.

Cedric let out a small whimper.

“Yes, but I-I didn’t expect you to get close enough to notice.” He answered, shifting his gaze to the side.

You began running your hands through his thick, raven black hair and smiled. You knew you had him. Kissing his cheek, you traced a figure around his ear.

“God, have I ever told you how lucky I am?” You asked, your lips still inches from his. “First, I get a job as a nurse in the castle, then I get to go out with the guy of my dreams. Next thing I know, I’m sitting on his lap waiting for Wassailia cookies.”

Cedric gave another noise in response and tried kissing you, but you shifted away from him and gave a grin.

“I never believed in my wildest dreams that I’d end up with you. You’re my everything, my world, and I wouldn’t change any part of it. My life is complete with you, Cedric.” You began kissing down his cheek to his neck. “I’d do anything for you.”

“Anything?” He asked with a flirty look.

You smiled.

“Anything.”

Cedric chuckled. “I love you so much, Y/N. I can’t believe you feel that way about me. You truly are the best thing that’s ever happened.” He said, pressing his forehead to yours.

Your expression softened even more, and your heart began to melt. In the mists of this, you still noticed he was hard. Cedric was not like most and his emotions were very connected to his desires, and you knew that. You also knew he was probably dying to kiss you but was holding back to continue the moment. While you could’ve given in and kissed him, you decided to play a little game and see what he’d do.

He moved your face towards his and leaned in to kiss you. You tried pulling back again to tease but he didn’t let you.

“Oh no you don’t, I’m not falling for that again.” He said, recalling an older event (not today).

“Mm.”

Instead of kissing you though, he just looked into your eyes. The moment lasted a little longer than you had expected, and you began getting impatient.

“Oh, Cedric,” You sighed, shifting in slowly. “Did I ever tell you how beautiful your eyes are?”

He blushed once again and smiled. You could tell he was trying hard to hold back, in case you were truly just trying to be sweet.

You traced along his jaw again and brushed your fingers lightly along his neck, running your hands down his chest. Moving your arms back up around his shoulders, you adjusted slightly and then began a slow bucking motion across his lap.

That was the breaking point for him. You felt his hands firmly grasp the sides of your face and his lips crashed into yours and he began bucking back up against you. You let out a sharp breath and moaned as things began heating up. His hips hit harder and harder the longer you went on. You felt your legs begin to shake. As much as making out was fun, it wasn’t giving you enough.

“Cedric!” you almost shouted in between kisses. “Please, please just fuck me!”

The next thing you knew, he was on top of you, pawing at your shirt.

“Can I?” he asked for consent.

“Oh god, YES! Please, just hurry up!” You gasped, struggling to untie his robe. 😊

Awhile later, you fixed your clothes and hair, and made your way back to the kitchen with your boyfriend attached to your side. You opened the fridge to check on the dough.

“I think it’s done.” You said softly, wiping sweat from your forehead with a napkin.

You grabbed the two round discs and set them on the counter. After, you wandered over to get some flour and sprinkled it down along the surface. Unwrapping the plastic, you placed the dough down and started rolling it out.

You had the side of your body pressed against Cedric as you continued. Every time you’d fix the sheet of cookie dough, he would kiss your cheek. You loved this so much.

Once the dough was in a thin layer, you grabbed a cutout and flowered it.

“If you wanna start cutting out shapes you can.”

Cedric nodded and grabbed a star shape.

Within a few minutes, the two of you were done and had cut out both entire sheets. Cedric seemed to particularly like the snowman shaped cutout.

Cedric opened the oven carefully and set the timer for 14 minutes.

Cedric heard the oven go off and opened the door.

He took out his wand and gave it a light flick. The silver sheet came slowly out of the oven and floated its way over to the counter. Smiling, you got out a spatula and gently began lifting each cookie off the pan. They bent to the spatula as you scooted the thin end under. After each cookie was securely balanced, you would slowly move to the other counter and flatten the edge to it. Then, you’d begin to lift the cookie in a slight angle to slide them onto the surface. You repeated this motion until the very last cookie.

You looked at the star shaped, tan, sugary treat and, instead of placing it with the rest, you cut it in half. You grabbed a piece and handed it to Cedric.

“Here, try some handmade cookies.”

He took it from you and took a bite. He seemed to like it.

“Good?” you asked.

“Very good.” He answered, piling the rest of it in his mouth.

You decided to give him your half and started making some royal icing. You colored it red, yellow, green, white, and black.

“Alright, I got some bags out and made icing, now we just have to decorate!”

Cedric grabbed a chair and sat down next to the table. You sat down on his lap and grabbed a cookie.

The two of you began frosting the cookies (stealing a bit of icing in between) and decorated them. You liked doing small designs with the icing while cedric just liked to flood the whole thing. After a few hours, you had finished the two dozen cookies and set them onto a few plates.

“Thank you, Cedric.” You kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, y/n, for letting us share this experience together. There marks the first year of traditions for me. Now, how about we take a few of those cookies and go sit by the fire?”

“That sounds great!”

You headed out with a plate full of cookies to the fire and smiled looking at the Wassailia tree proudly standing in the corner with ornaments and tinsel.

“Merry Wassailia, Cedric.”

“Merry Wassailia, Love.”

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shreddedparchment · 5 years ago

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.27

Beaten and Lost

03/24/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,109

Warnings: language, canon level violence, injuries, wounds, blood, smidge of angst

A/N: So...I should really edit this more but I’m tired and I’m sure you all want this more than you want my edits. lol I’m pretty satisfied with it. Hopefully y’all like it too. If you happen to reblog, thanks for helping me spread my work! xoxo

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY STORIES. Reblogs are appreciated!

“No! Clint! Get to those citizens. I’ll handle James.”

“Oh, you’ll handle him? Much like you handled those bandits in Bosset?”

“I did handle them.” Nat argues, ducking as another flaming ball of tar goes soaring over their heads. “We got out of there, didn’t we?”

Shielded for the moment behind an overturned vendor’s stall, she and Clint find themselves catching their breath as chaos reigns around them.

Nat can see Peter flying across rooftops, shooting his web at Hydra soldier after Hydra soldier. Incapacitating them by grabbing them and knocking them out or suspending them from the streetlamps and balconies.

She can’t see, but she can hear the whoosh of wind as Sam flies overhead, aided by his specialized wing suit.

“Barely.” Clint nods. “It’s all over after today, you know that, right? Everyone in the kingdom…in all the kingdoms will know who you all are now.”

“It was bound to come out.” Nat shrugs. “It was Steve and Tony that wanted to keep things quiet, for their families’ sake.”

“I can relate.” Clint sighs.

“I’m sorry, Clint. I didn’t mean to drag you back into this.” Nat assesses her old friend, dirty blonde hair, handsome features only slightly aged and looking more exasperated than tired.

Time with his family has done him good.

“It was inevitable.” He nods. “Alright, on the count of three.”

Nat nods, reaching down to take hold of a long metal rod that has broken off from a carriage in place of her usual adamantium daggers.

“Is that really a good idea?” Clint asks, eyeing her sheathed daggers now out and visible with her lack of cloak.

“I love him, Clint.” Nat shakes her head. “I’m going to marry him. I won’t kill him.”

“You might have to.” Clint insists.

Nat only meets his gaze, defiance written all over her scratched up and dirty face.

“One…Two…Thr-” As Clint and Nat make to rise, the weight of their temporary shield falls out from behind them and they have to scramble up onto their knees as they watch the stall levitate up into the air.

“What the-?” Clint begins and they both watch as it rises higher and higher, a strange red energy lifting it into the air.

It swirls around the stall like smoke, vibrant in spots where it pulsates with power.

“Looks like we aren’t alone anymore.” Nat says, bringing Clint’s eyes to her.

He sees her watching the road in front of them and follows her gaze to a young girl, no more than twenty with her hands in the air, clearly directed towards the stall that had just been ripped away from them.

She’s wearing a form fitting red leather tunic and jacket over a pair of dark gray pants. Inexpensive clothing that looks as if it were once new, but now tattered and torn.

Nat at least wears a collection of torn up skirts woven together around her hips making it look as if she were wearing a skirt while leaving the front of her legs exposed so that she can reach her weapons.

This girl is wearing just the pants. No weapons, nothing but the strange red energy.

Her hair is also red, but duller than Natasha’s, and waist length. Left to do as it pleases, it floats around her body as the red magics that she is clearly manipulating dances about her.

With eyes like scarlet fire, she suddenly brings her hands down and both Nat and Clint scramble up just in time, diving out of the way as the stall crashes into the cobbled road and explodes into splinters.

As she approaches, they get to their feet only to feel the strange rush of air and force along their fronts and get knocked to the ground again.

“Do you see-?” Clint begins.

“No.” Nat replies.

They rise again, attempting to get to their feet only to feel the same rush of air and force against their back.

They’re shoved forward and fall onto their hands and knees, landing roughly so that the frozen stones beneath their hands draw a little blood.

Annoyed, Nat glares.

“This is getting ridiculous.”

“The girl is a witch. Could she be doing this?” Clint wonders.

“No, I don’t think so.” Nat sighs and makes to stand again only to get pushed hard in the stomach. It sends her soaring backwards into the air a few feet until she makes impact with something large and hard.

It catches her under the arms and the heat suddenly makes sense as she’s helped to her feet.

“It seems you’re having a bit of trouble, Lady Widow, shall I help?”

“Thor!” Nat gasps, grateful to be up on her feet, but she frowns at him all the same. “How many times must I tell you? It’s Black Widow.”

Thor smiles at her. “It seems you’ve found yourself a bit of a nuisance.”

“Indeed.” Nat nods.

“Hey, how about a little assistance, your Majesty?” Clint gestures at the girl whose stopped advancing at the sight of Thor.

“That girl is not your problem.” Thor says, pointing at the girl and watching her with a furrowed brow.

“Then what is it?” Natasha asks.

“It’s the boy.”

“Boy?” Clint pushes himself up onto his knees and looks around, confused. “What boy?”

Without warning Thor draws his arm back, calling into it his hammer which very nearly reaches him when the body of a man wearing head to toe silver appears with his hand around the handle midflight.

As it reaches Thor, dragging the boy along with it, Thor quickly grabs him and slams him into the ground only to place his hammer on his chest.

“This boy.” Thor smiles down at him.

Nat’s mouth is slightly agape as she stares down at Thor’s catch, Clint then rises and moves over to look down at the lad as he struggles and grunts against the weight of Mjolnir and attempts to push it off.

“Why couldn’t we see him?” Clint wonders.

“He was moving too quickly for your eyes to see.” Thor explains. “He didn’t know that he wouldn’t be able to lift my hammer.”

“Not so quick now, are you?” Clint taunts.

“I think Hawkeye and I can handle the girl.” Thor says, turning to Nat with a look of stern approval. “Barnes and Hydra are regrouping in the town square. You’d best head there and help the Spiderling, Pigeon, and Stark.”

“Spiderman and Falcon.” Nat corrects, but she’s already backing away from them. “Clint?”

“Go. I’ve got a God on my side.” He watches as Nat turns to run, then looks to the girl whose fingers are still dancing with red waves. “How are we going to handle this one?”

“You could never handle my sister.” Says the boy still struggling, glaring at both Thor and Clint. “The Scarlet Witch will warp you into your darkest nightmares. She will tear your mind apart piece by piece until you are nothing more than a sobbing, whimpering fool.”

“You promise?” Clint asks, then turns to give him a smug smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

She can hear it before it hits. She can feel the heat against her skin before she can even form the plea for Tony to stay his hand.

“James, please.” She begs, holding his arm back behind him with as much strength as she can muster.

Behind her the Falcon has lost a wing as is fighting hand to hand against a mob of Hydra foot soldiers.

Peter is with him, attempting to help as much as he can while also pulling the occasional bystander away from the fight.

Nat has been able to hold Bucky off for only a few minutes. Seven? Eight minutes? Maybe ten.

They feel like hours. Every punch avoided, ever kick expertly maneuvered feels like another thorn in Nat’s heart.

“Please, my love.” She whispers into his ear as he grunts and with a surge of strength pulls his arm from her hold behind his back.

He turns around and grabs her by the neck, squeezing with his flesh arm so tight that her eyes grow red as her hands hesitantly travel down to the blades along her thighs. As her fingers make contact with the cool metal, she realizes that she can’t do it. Nat can’t hurt him.

She mouths his name, a haggard whisper through the constriction of her throat, and brings her hands up to hold the one choking her to death.

Nat thinks she sees a shift in his eyes, a return of warmth, but if it was real it came and went too quickly for her to be sure it wasn’t just her oxygen deprived mind wishing he’d remember that he loves her. That he asked her to marry him.

She wishes that she could have a chance to tell him yes. That she’ll marry him. That even if she can’t give him the life he deserves, if he will have her, she will happily live out the rest of her days by his side.

He flips her, then slams her down against the cobble road. Nat gasps in as much air as she can as the darkness in her vision begins to clear. Her head is pounding, she can feel blood pooling along her scalp.

Wheezing, she forces her body to move, to shift. She wants to see him.

Bucky has turned and is moving towards Tony who has somehow found one of his gauntlets. At the center of his palm is the gleaming blue shine of his blaster. The magic and lightning that he seams to have weaved into his suit and tamed it to use at will.

He raises his glove, holds it up towards the approaching threat.

Nat pushes herself up and throws her and out towards Tony, almost mimicking his movement as the blue light grows brighter faster.

“Tony, n-!” She tries, but he fires, and it hits Bucky square in the chest.

He’s sent flying back into a heap on top of a pile of wooden crates.

Nat falls onto her side, staring at him in relief that he’s down, but she knows it isn’t over. She moves as quickly as she can to subdue him and manages to get onto her feet.

Racing to his side, she reaches for his arm, but he throws it up towards her and she’s sent flying back into one of the now broken lampposts.

She hits it hard and crumples with a pained groan around the base. Somehow, she manages to refocus, pulling herself back up onto her feet with the assistance of the broken post.

By the time she’s up, searching for Bucky, she finds him charging at Tony who has found the rest of his suit probably kept safe in his carriage. Hidden, like Steve’s shield had been. Like all of their tools.

Bucky races at full speed at Tony, not stopping as Tony sends shot after shot towards him. He dodges each blast of energy. He even grabs Tony’s wrists and points his hands up at the sky rending his shots useless.

Tony counters with a kick to his chest, sending Bucky skidding back only to readjust his footing and dive at his target.

Tony punches and kicks, avoiding Bucky’s metal arm as best he can while also trying to blast him with his hands.

It takes only a minute for Bucky to get Tony down on the ground. On his back, Tony is at a disadvantage.

Nat begins to race for them as Bucky brings his metal fingers down around the blinding circle at the center of Tony’s chest.

With his swollen cheek, cut lip, bloody nose, Bucky huffs with the strength he uses to pry his fingers in around the orb.

Nat can hear Tony’s own wounded grunt, one hand pulling at Bucky’s normal arm to pry it away from his neck and the other squeezing and tugging at the metal one around his power source.

“Don’t make me do this Barnes.” Tony gasps.

“Don’t!” Nat cries, still too far away.

The orb within Tony’s chest begins to glow brighter, more blinding, more chaotic in its pulsing energy.

“Tony, don’t!” Nat pleads, pushing her leg to run through her limp.

“I’m sorry.” Tony whispers, and the light in his chest explodes shooting up into the air with a twenty-foot beam.

Nat is thrown back by the force of the blast, but she recovers quickly, forcing herself to scramble up towards them.

Bucky lays motionless a few feet away from Tony’s gasping form his metal arm gone. Severed by Tony’s energy beam at the shoulder. Shards of sharp metal protrude from the wound.

“James!” Nat calls, falling to her knees at his side. “James, please.”

But he’s so still.

For one breathless minute, Nat watches the love of her life lay before her, not breathing.

But then his chest moves, and she’s saved the grief of mourning her one true love.

Turning to Tony, she finds him sitting up, one leg bent with his arm resting over it as he watches her and Bucky.

“Are you alright?” She asks him, ignoring the rage she feels towards him because she knows it was necessary.

“Alright?” Tony gets to his feet. Groaning and grunting as his body protests the movement. “I’m a king. I am…perfection. Urghhh…”

“Perfection my ass.” Nat mutters, turning her gaze back to Bucky.

“Is it my turn?” A shaking elderly voice suddenly speaks.

“By all means, old woman. Assist away.” Tony waves her over, walking with her as she exits one of the shops where she’d been hiding watching the entire fight.

Agatha stops beside Nat and gives her head a quick inspection.

“Get this bandaged up right away, unless you’d like to lay unconscious beside your lover.” She orders.

Nat frowns but tears a piece of fabric from her open skirt and begins to wrap the strip around the worst part of her wound. She doesn’t have time to do it justice.

Agatha drops down beside Bucky and begins to look him over. She opens his eyes and they look as normal as ever.

“Well?” Tony asks, impatient.

“He’s out. It also appears as if whatever spell he was under, it has been broken. His injuries are extensive. He will not wake.” She assures them. “Perhaps ever.”

“What?!” Nat demands, voice panicked.

“This wound.” She suddenly rips Bucky’s tunic open then unbuttons his shirt to show a massive amount of black bruising along the left side of his body. “This will not heal easy. We need to get him somewhere safe. The quicker the better.”

“Tony…” Nat begins, turning to him, but Tony is watching the crowd in the distance.

“We can’t just leave them. There are still too many Hydra soldiers running around the city.” He frowns, his mind also jumping to you and Steve.

Are the two of you alright?

“You won’t.” Thor says from above before he lands with a small earth-shaking boom beside them. “I will stay along with the Pigeon, the Spiderling, and the Hawk. The two of you should take Barnes and the other prisoners back to your castle.

“Someone also needs to begin the search for Steve and the little bird. From what Peter said, Steve was gravely wounded. And Y/N is pregnant. I need to know she’s safe.”

“Prisoners? What prisoners?” Tony wonders.

“Don’t worry.” Thor assures them. “They too will not wake before you reach the castle. Go, my friends. I will provide what assistance I can here.”

“Thor…” Nat begins, desperate to thank him.

“Natasha…” Thor cuts her off, turning a serious and suddenly terrified gaze on her. “Find her. Find Steve. Make sure they’re alright.”

Nat agrees, knowing that she too will not rest well until she knows that you’re home safe and that your little prince is hopefully, unharmed.

You’re exhausted, trudging through overgrown fronds and grass as you struggle to weave your way through densely packed sycamore trees.

The forest is old, the canopy all but obscures the night sky above.

In the darkness, you cling to Steve’s hand as he leads you through the trees. Every now and then the late winter wind blows and scatters the branches overhead to give you a stunning view of the clear sky. A jeweled sky dazzles you, then retreats behind the leaves once again.

Your arm is yanked forward, and you gasp tripping over your dress which you quickly yank up with your free hand to keep from falling.

Steve’s cloak, still around you to stave off the frigid air, nearly does you in with a second trip but you managed to find your balance.

“Steve…” You begin, a warning in your voice because he’s your guide. He can see better than you can apparently and you’re relying on him to keep you upright with your little prince at stake.

What you find is Steve slumped against a tree, still somehow standing, but clearly weak and unable to stand upright. He drops his shield where it falls with a muted clunk.

“Steve!” You gasp, releasing his hand which he was still holding onto tightly, and rush to his side.

Getting in close is the only way that you can see his face, so you get right up against him. His nose only a few inches away.

He has both eyes closed, one swollen and black, bruised so darkly you shudder to think what that might look like under proper light.

His lips are slightly blue and that gives you such fright. You throw the cloak off of your shoulders and quickly wrap it around him.

With a split bleeding lip, now crusted in the corners where he allowed the crimson to dribble and pool, he protests.

“No.” He says, still managing some volume and a stern tone despite the exhaustion he’s clearly feeling and the pain his body is fighting.

The longer he stands there pressed against the tree, the lower slides along the thick trunk.

“Keep it on. It’s c-cold.” He shudders and you frown at him.

“You need it more than I do.” You assert and clasp the cloak at around his neck then draw the rest closed to help him keep what little heat he has.

“But our baby.” He sighs, finally reaching the base of the tree where he sits with his legs bent but weakly splayed out as you make sure his cloak is secure.

“Our little one is warm and safe in my belly.” You give him a smile but begin to notice the way his shield arm is resting at an odd angle. “Steve, your arm…”

“It’s nothing.” He tries.

“Don’t lie to me Steven.” You frown.

“It’s dislocated.” He relents quickly not missing a beat, knowing the tone you’re using well from the night you found Sharon in his bed.

“Shit.” You bite your lip but move to position yourself beside him. “Steve, why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“We had to get away.” He shakes his head but meets your eyes. “I needed you safe.”

“I am safe. But what will I do if you pass out here, in the middle of the forest? You should have told me. We should have stopped when I asked hours ago.” Your worry is outweighing your anger, and he seems to see that because he smiles weakly.

“Is this really the time to rub it in how right you are all the time?” He teases.

“Steve…” You fuss.

“I’m alright, my flower. Truly.” He lies.

You growl and move around the base of the tree sticking close to the ground. You move all the way around it, circling until you come up on Steve’s other side.

“What are you doing?” He wonders, curious but also wary.

“Looking for something. Do you still have your dagger?” You reopen his cloak and begin to feel around his waist.

He shifts for you, shoving his hips out a little and arching his back which makes him grunt with pain.

“Center of my waist. On the back.” He instructs.

Quickly you reach for it and pull it out before you pull his cloak shut again then turn around and begin to crawl away from him.

A tug on your skirts stops you and with his dagger in hand you turn to look back at him.

“Where are you going?” He frets, brow furrowed.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go far.” You promise, reach back, and pull his hand away from your skirts.

You crawl around for maybe ten minutes, picking up every stone and pebble that your fingers blindly encounter. At one point you swear you feel a silky scaled body slither past your outstretched digits but you ignore it and swallow down the panic as you convince yourself that it was probably more afraid of you than you are of it.

At last, several trees away and just out of Steve’s sight, you find what you’re looking for. You reach around for the long thin branch that you’d felt earlier. With the knife, stone, and branch, you crawl back to Steve to find him sitting up, craning his neck for sight of you.

Upon it, he sits back and releases a long-held breath.

His legs are a little more relaxed, stretched out but still wide open in his fatigue. You settle between them, scooching as close as you can but turn back forward as you sit up as straight as you can.

“Can you undo my bodice?” You ask, with your collection of tools placed before you, you move your hair out of his waist.

“You can’t take off your clothes.” Steve says, not understanding what you’re trying to do.

“Steve…just do it. Open my dress and once you see my corset strings, open it and then rip the driest part of my underdress. As much of it as you can.

“Y/N…” Steve begins, defiant.

“Please.” You beg, but you make it clear it isn’t an option.

After a moment of hesitation, he huffs out a gust of air before he gets to work on your dress.

It takes him five minutes to undo it and your corset, then another three to find and rip as large a piece of your underthings as he can.

“Is that dry enough?” He checks, holding out for you a strip long enough to wrap your arm several times.

“That’s perfect, my love.” You gush, taking the strip to feel how damp it might be.

Your skirts would have been too wet, trudging through snow all night.

Steve does your dress up as best as he can or attempts to before you’re up on your feet moving away from him.

“Wait…” He complains but you don’t stop and instead begin to feel around the large trunks you pass.

“You can dress me again in just a moment.” You tell him, but he growls.

“You’re going to catch your death with your back open like that!” He fumes.

You ignore him in favor of your search and after only two minutes this time, you find what you’re looking for. A knothole almost just out of reach.

Licking your lips, you push yourself up onto your toes and with trembling fingers search the space within.

You shut your eyes and refuse to think about what animals you may be disturbing.

Luckily, you find none, and instead find what you’re looking for.

With your stick and fabric in hand you scoop out as much dead and dried foliage as you can into the fabric with your stick placed in the middle of it all. The knothole is abundant in material, so you take as much as you need before you wrap it up around one end of the stick.

You cut a few small holes into the fabric to give the twigs and leaves and dried grass some air before you move back towards where you can hear Steve groaning in pain.

As he hears you near, he makes sure to stop.

Because he needs it more than you do at the moment, you find your spot between his legs again and turn around for him.

Quickly he begins to do your dress up, fighting the pain of his dislocated shoulder.

He’s pushing himself too hard and you know that he will pay for it. You hate that!

By the time he laces up your bodice, the spark from his steel dagger on your flint rock strikes a spark and your torch comes to life, blazing bright in what was only a second again pitch dark.

It’s blinding and you blink against the light before you grab it and turn to look at your husband.

He’s impressed, his face full of it, but what a face it is all beaten, black and blue.

“Oh, Steve.” You cry, your heart breaking.

“I’m okay.” He promises, reaching up with his good hand to stroke your cheek.

“No, you’re not!” You smack his hand away and shove the end of your torch into the ground to free up your hands.

With his cloak already open from him dressing you, you reach for his shoulder and feel for the shift.

Giving him time to fight you on this is not an option so you quickly force him back against the tree.

“Stay still.” You order, and without waiting for him to acknowledge what you’re saying, you begin to pull his shoulder up in small smooth circles.

“No, Y/N, wait.” He groans.

“Shh.” You frown but continue to lift his arm up.

“Y/N…” He repeats, his voice fighting the agony.

“Shush!” You insist, then finally feel the shift as his arm pops back into place.

“AH!” Steve cries, his breathing hard and his eyes shut tight.

You guide his arm across his chest and push it towards him to make sure he knows to keep it there while you tear more fabric from the thick layers of your skirts.

With his arm in a sling, Steve seems a bit more relaxed.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Steve wonders as you get up and fix your dress before you reach over for the torch.

His eyes are glued to your face, full of admiration and adoration, bloody lips curled slightly in a smile.

“I grew up alone, remember? I had to take care of myself.” You move to his good arm and hook your own through them. “Come on, your Majesty. On your feet.”

He groans and grunts as you pull him back onto his feet and tired legs. While he gets used to the sensation again, you hand him the torch and lean him against the tree. Then you move to grab his shield and with a long spare piece of your skirts available, you tie the disc to your back where you know it will be safe.

“You look good in my insignia.” Steve flirts.

“Of course, I do. I’m your wife.”

Steve huffs a small laugh.

“Come on, King Flirt. Lean on me.”

He wraps his good arm around your shoulders and leans as much weight against you as he’s willing which gladly is enough that the two of you can get moving again. And with the torch now out to show you the forest, you gasp as you realize just where you are.

“What is it?” Steve asks, sensing your glee.

“I know where we are!” You smile. “Come on. If we make good time, we’ll get there before the sun rises.”

It takes two more hours of you pulling Steve forward, forcing him to move faster just as he’d first forced you away from danger. You’re starting to feel the bite of the cold, but you don’t dare take the cloak from him. Only now are his lips beginning to show a bit of color. His cheeks aren’t so pale. His eyes are a little brighter.

You’re at the top of a hill when you finally stop and you’re breathing hard as your eyes take in the sight you’d thought you’d lost forever.

If not forever, then at least for a long time.

Below you both, nestled into the hillside is the Village of Bright Rise. A dozen and a half thatched roofed buildings that were once the only home you thought you’d ever know.

The church is on one end of the square, old and crumbling but still made with materials far better than the village houses that look to be in the midst of repairs.

The mill to the farms is on the right, and the old manor home—long since abandoned by the lord that had settled Bright Rise way before your parents had been born—sits derelict and half destroyed about a mile away from the village.

Still, despite the poverty you see before you, there is beauty in the large trees and the flower fields that you can only remember from your memories now with winter having taken the blooms. The small pond is frozen, and the roads are blanketed with fresh snow from earlier in the night when the sky had filled with clouds before being whisked away by winter winds.

“Where are we?” Steve wonders, staring at the little village below.

“We’re in Bright Rise.” You declare. “This is Bright Rise, Steve. This is where I was born. This is where my parents died and where I grew up. Just outside of the village, just before you reach that abandoned manor, you see that main road?”

Steve follows where your gaze to the spot you mean and nods.

“I see it.”

“That’s where my life changed. That’s where I found Grandmother fallen over in the mud. Where I searched, elbow deep in a bog for her purse. That’s where Father found me. Took me. Changed me.

“That’s where my destiny to be your wife manifested. This…this was my home.” You turn to him, watch as his face changes and devours every inch of the small place he sees below him.

“Do you see that small cottage over by the farms? To the right of the mill? With its crumbling walls and overgrown vine?” You ask, watching him.

“I see it.” He says, “Is that-?”

“That was where I lived. We’ll be safe there for a bit.” You whisper, suddenly nervous about him seeing your home. “Will you stay?”

Steve hears the insecurity in your voice, the fear of what your old home might say about who you were. Who you are. Because even if you are no longer that same girl that was taken at the side of the road, she is still within you. She’s your core. The base of who you have become.

“Anywhere.” Steve says. “So long as I’m with you.”

#king!steve x reader #king!steve x reader fanfiction #medieval fantasy au #royalty au #marvel au #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #king!steve x you #steve x you #captain america x reader #avengers x reader #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt27

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captainjimothycarter · 4 years ago

Note

8, 12, and 13 for the Holiday/Christmas prompts please (I don’t remember what it was called lol) 🤍

I had to search for it too, lol. I’ll be updating these in reblogs!

“Who threw that?!”

The tone carried across the snowy campus to let those nearby, in their close-knit circles, that the owner if it was annoying. No, pissed.

The snow fell from Peggy’s coat as she shook what snow off of her backside that she could. Her perfect vision was sharp enough in the classroom to pick out the few students who still stupidly dare to cheat on her exams and out here on the campus, she could make out a few familiar faces within her class.

And one who taught right next-door to her office.

He stood a foot shorter than her with baby blue eyes, downy soft blonde hair, and freckles dashed across his straight nose. The very nose that scrunched as he snorted, eyes wrinkling in the corner. He dropped the snowball from his hand, shaking the excess snow off of his gloves. A few flecks of snow landed on his hair, nearly blending in with the blonde locks.

She hated how adorable their new art teacher was. Not only did she hate how adorable he was, but she also hated how much the students loved him. She hated how good looking he was, she personally, and selfishly hated how she was attracted to him.

During his time on campus so far, he fell into the easy role of being the laidback teacher who let his students get away with a lot of things. Things that would not fly in her classroom. Chatting during exam time? That wouldn’t fly, some people needed silence to concentrate, but she’d heard him saying it was fine if they talked, long as it wasn’t loud. He let them choose the soundtrack for their days, often giving the students a choice between two albums that related to his studies. He was often late to class himself, often arriving with nothing but a cup of coffee and a smirk on those full, pink lips. Later, she’d learn he was often a little late because of frequent asthma attacks given he took the bus to work and some people didn’t seem to understand that smoking on the bus was illegal.

What was the most annoying aspect of Mister Rogers was how he seemed to live up to his surname and be so helpful and kind. They were first introduced by Headmaster Coulson who seemed all too gleeful to introduce a history teacher to an art teacher, wearing a smirk on his lips as he quickly walked around the corner. Steve had offered to walk her to her office, then the car, claiming he was worried about her falling because she lacked proper snowshoes and it was starting to ice outside. She had told him, no, but he apparently didn’t take no for an answer and walked her anyway.

That had only been the start of their little acquaintance. She would watch him in between classrooms doing favors that were well out of a professor’s means for students, like researching and writing letters for students to get pets or calling home for them to talk to a difficult parent [okay, that one hit close to home for her.] She’d seen him here late at night and early in the morning, helping the janitors clean up after parties or laying out salt and putting rugs down.

Yet, their most recent encounter had been this morning, the one rare time that neither of them had class, and despite that Steve’s office was halfway across campus, he was knocking on her door. She almost didn’t look up from her lesson plan, the well-practiced sentence of office hours didn't start for another half hour when she could smell the coffee. He was standing in front of her, wearing a jacket that made him look like an over puffed marshmallow. His earmuffs were covering his ears, making him look adorable. His cheeks flushed from the cold outside and he looked almost winded as if he’d been hurrying.

“Mister Rogers,” she breathed, waving him inside. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Why would something be wrong?” He spoke too loudly and she cringed, pointing to her ears. He flushed as he pulled the earmuffs down, setting a cup of coffee on her desk. “Sorry, I forgot about those. Anyway, no, I wanted to beat your normal crowd of students and bring you some coffee. I sometimes hear what those students ask of you and...well, I thought it...be good…”

He seemed to stumble over his own words, flushing a brighter shade of pink as he caught himself. Clearing his throat, Steve shook his head and shoved his hands into his pocket. Oh, he was adorable.

“That’s...so kind of you.” And he seemed to know his order too after a small sip, she found she was impressed. “Thank you, Steve.”

He shrugged and cleared his throat. “I...yeah. I gotta…” He jerked his thumb behind him, to an empty hall, where she knew maybe three classes were being taught right now. The freak snowstorm had caused many students and teachers to miss class.

“Of course. Thank you again, Steve. You’re very sweet.”

She enjoyed watching him stumble and walk away, locking himself in his neighboring classroom. He must’ve called class off because of the storm too, meaning he came to their building just for her?

Bless that man.

Right now, she couldn’t think of blessing him, as the cold snow dripped into her neck, making her shudder. She glared at Steve who still somehow managed to look just as adorable as he did this morning with his pinking nose from the cold. She was English, she didn’t do well in the cold. The heat was fine but this Brooklyn cold went right through her.

A few of their shared students snickered around them, only stopping when she glared at them. They quickly hurried off, just a few stragglers left around them.

“Steve?” Peggy asked, lips pursed and brow raised. “Did you throw that snowball at me? Do not lie to me.”

“Or what? You’d give me detention?” There was that sassy fella she’d often hear in his lections. He must’ve found that sass again. She hated how cute he looked as he snickered. “No, it must’ve been from the trees.”

Peggy brow rose, glancing up and around them with her hand waving above. “Funny. There doesn’t seem to be any trees around us right now.” When his mouth opened, she raised a finger to silence him. “To answer your earlier question, no, I won’t give you detention. I’ll remind you as to why you shouldn’t start a battle you can’t win.”

Just as his mouth opened to sass or counter her, Peggy threw a quick handful of loosely packed snow in his direction, striking him right in the mouth. There was some satisfaction in watching him sputter and spitting the snow out.

His eyes narrowed at her as he swiped the snow off of his face, already reaching to scrape some snow off of the bench beside him. “Oh, it’s on.”

That’s how Peggy found herself engaging with one of the few professors that she tolerated on campus, in an all-out snowball fight. She used the brick wall beside her to gather the snow off of the top, lobbing a lopsided snowball in Steve’s direction. It struck him square in the chest and he shuddered but his more perfectly made snowball struck her hard and clear in the shoulder.

Turns out, that bad eyesight she heard him muttering about didn’t seem to affect him when it came to throwing snowballs at her. His aim was pretty good, just as good as his right armed throw. His snowballs were more solid than hers and didn’t seem to just disintegrate in the air as hers did.

She threw one hard at his head again, managing to hit it just right to knock the earmuffs off and cause the snow to scatter in his hair. He laughed, throwing his head back and chest out as he laughed, shaking the snow out of his hair. He neglected to pick up the earmuffs in favor of lobbing one at her chest.

This one was solid, sending her a step back. Her scarf caught on the shoulder-high hedge that lined their walkway. Peggy abandoned it to the hedge in favor of throwing her next ball and missing Steve by a few inches.

Steve in turn, childishly stuck his tongue out at her, tossing his next ball and losing his glove with it.

Her next one struck him in the shoulder, getting snow under his jacket. He did a cute little dance, slipping and sliding to get the snow out of his coat.

“Do you see how it feels now?” She asked, her breath floating in the air around them. She felt a little breathless but Steve looked breathless with his flushed face. “Cold isn’t it?”

“Mam, I was born and raised in Brooklyn, I’ve known no warmth in my life.”

She snorted at that one and he stomped his foot, both to get the remaining snow out of his coat and to dismiss her disbelief snorting.

“It’s true!” he insisted, waving his hand at her.

“Has anyone told you that you’re dramatic?” She mused, rolling his eyes when he lopped a loosely packed ball in her direction and it fell short between them. “And quite rash.”

“Plenty of people. You wanna start a club about it?” He was pouting and she was caught up with the thought of how cute those pouting lips were.

“Only if you’re the president of it. I’ll bring it up to Coulson during our next meeting.”

This time, she threw the next ball to punctuate the end of the sentence. Her glove came with it too, both hitting him in the chest.

They both lost their set of gloves in separate balls, her scarf still fluttered in the branch beside her, his dark blue earmuffs stuck out in the snow in contrast to the white color, her left boot went flying next when it got caught in the root of the hedge, and his scarf came off when he caught himself on the end of the bench.

They were both winded, chest aching from the cold, but neither wanted to admit defeat. Especially Peggy who hated to lose.

Steve’s next ball came flying at her and a quick ducking motion caused it to strike the statue behind her. They both watched as the cheap statue on its weak frame started to tip over before crashing into the frozen landscape behind it.

Sharing a look with her fellow professor, Peggy made quick work of grabbing their soaked winter gear, finally snatching his hand and the both of them booking it back towards her office.

With their gear off and sitting next to a heater, Steve was able to laugh. “Do you think anyone saw us?”

“We were fighting in front of the main building, Steven, I don’t see how not.” She pursed her lips in thought before shrugging. “Though I know you mean the statue, I don’t think we’re in any trouble. Coulson has mentioned how he wants that thing done, we’re doing him a favor.”

“I think we deserve a raise,” the blonde snickered, rubbing the melting snow from his hair. “We call it a draw?”

Her lips remained pursed, regarding him with a look as they sat side-by-side on the couch, feet tucked under her to try to harbor body warmth.

“Not a draw then,” he mused, a little grin on his lips. “Though, you don’t know how to make a snowball, do you?”

Peggy gapped before a beat of laughter escaped her. “Excuse you, I grew up in snow too, Steven.” She paused, her cheeks tinting a soft pink from nothing to do with the cold. “They were terrible, weren’t they?”

“Really bad,” he agreed, looking almost nervous as he turned to face her. “I can teach you how to make a proper one if you’d like.”

Without missing a beat. “Only if we get coffee first, I’m afraid I can’t feel my fingers.”

Steve’s face split open into a grin that should be illegal with how adorable he looked. “Deal.”

#Steggy #StevePeggy #Steggy Prompt #@peggycarter-steverogers #Ask Prompt #Holiday Prompts #CaptainAmericaPeggyCarterismysexuality fic ideas

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writing-the-end · 4 years ago

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LoL Chapter 25- Checkmate

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU and Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

Captured by Dolios, it’s up to TFC to decide who lives, who dies, and who gets to walk away from the game Dolios plays with them.

Chapter idea credit to @whumpster-dumpster

_____________________________________________

“How about a game of chess, guildmaster?” Dolios waves the hermits into the antechamber of the prison. The death dungeons Galena warned them of. TFC is pushed forward, standing before and alone from his friends. He stumbles and turns, head spinning from the sleep he was awoken from as he looks at them all. Helmets cover the faces of the guards standing behind each hermit, but he can clearly see the knives at their throats. Every single one, a hair’s breadth from death. Some are stoic, like Doc. Unafraid and unblinking to the cold blade. Others are nearly collapsing to their knees- if doing so didn’t mean being cut by the knife.

TFC turns back, a fierce growl rising from his throat “What is this about?”

“I’m trying to be civil, can’t you see?” Dolios sweeps his purple robes to the side, revealing a table and two chairs. Atop the table, crystal and obsidian chess pieces glitter in the torchlight. “I’m letting you decide your team's fate. You see, each piece is a member of your illegal guild. On both sides. Each one that’s captured is eventual doom. Play my game, and decide the fate of your beloved friends. Who is more important, who will live? Who is sacrificed for the good of the cause?”

“What kind of sick game-!” Grian claws his way out of his captor’s grip, biting down on the gloved hand before the masked man regains control over the spitfire.

“And what happens when I win?” TFC puts a hand on his waist and raises a silvery eyebrow.

“You won’t, but just to ease your fears, when you win your friends will get to live. It won’t be a nice time living, but they’ll be alive.” Dolios chuckles. “If you lose, those who are captured are killed and become another husk to add to my army. The rest may leave, in fact. But trust me- I won’t leave anyone alive. I play to dominate.”

“What if I just don’t play?” TFC looks at the chess pieces. He picks up a knight, turning it over. Scrawled on the bottom of the crystal white horse, he can see Wels’s name. One piece, but one real life in this game of strategy. He has to be smarter than Dolios.

“Then we can just make this fast and kill them all right now. I’m giving you the chance to free some, or all! Of your friends.” Dolios pulls out a chair and motions to it, brushing the cushioned velvet flat. “Sit, guildmaster. Let’s play a game. Show me your true worth as a champion guild.”

Reluctantly, he does. He has no choice. This is the only way he can ensure some sort of life for his friends. But at the expense of others. As soon as he pulls his chair in, a blast of air and magic reverberates from the chess board. He winces, his hair blowing back and gripping the chair for support. When TFC reopens his eyes, the prison chamber has changed.

Dolios and him are floating above the ground. Just beneath them, a massive chess board has appeared. The guards are gone, and on each checkered color stands a hermit. Only a few pieces are actual stone. Grian opens his wings, attempting to fly free from his place as bishop. But as soon as he takes off from the ground, his eyes widen and pain laces across his face. He crashes to the stone, black lightning shooting up his skin. Iskall and others step forward, before hesitating. They’re chess pieces now. Pawns. They can only move when the player moves them. Dolios looks down, chuckling. “He’s quite the wild child. Completely different from the last angel I quarreled with.”

“Why are you doing this?” TFC hisses. “This isn’t fair!”

“Since when did things ever become fair, guildmaster? You’re already playing with their lives by challenging me. Now you can see how your own mistakes led you here.” Dolios intertwines his fingers together, resting his elbows on the table. He leans his chin on his hands, a coy smile making his brown beard scratch at his skin. “I’ll let you make the first move, TFC.”

The guildmaster looks across his chess board, as well as below him. It’s not just his pieces that are hermits, that are his friends. Dolios has some as well. Standing deathly still, waiting for the first move to be taken. TFC closes his eyes, thinking. He needs to be smart, to be a better strategist than the magistrate of Lairyon. This isn’t just a game. This is beyond what happens at the table before him. He needs to think of the repercussions each move will make. He has to make the least bloody moves as possible. Save as many of his friend’s lives as possible.

“You promise no harm will come to my friends that survive?” TFC’s eyes open, realizing what he has to do. Without hesitation, TFC picks up a pawn, directly in front of Grian. It’s Mumbo.

“I promise, on my word as the magistrate of Lairyon. May the ancient ones strike me down themselves.” TFC sets the pawn two spaces forward. Below him, he hears Mumbo’s yelp, followed by a cry of pain and feet scrabbling forward. When the crystal mage looks up, Dolios is grinning. “So the game begins.”

He shoves his own pawn forward, moving exactly as TFC wants him to. The one directly in front of the king- of Dolios himself. TFC looks down, seeing Ren shuffle forward. He’s missing a sandal, only one flopping against the cold marble chess board beneath him. Two moves in front of him and to the left is Mumbo, shaking in his boots.

TFC moves a second pawn- Scar. “You have my friends marked wrong. None of them are pawns. They’re all stronger than you could ever hope to be.” Wels is exposed, Scar standing beside Mumbo.

“Tell that to this- checkmate.” TFC straightens his back, staring directly at Dolios as the magistrate shoves his queen diagonally. It’s not linked to any hermit, so a stone statue moves into the corner of the board. Turning and facing the white king. Capturing TFC. “You stupid mining moron! You lost in two moves!” Dolios cheers, his chair knocking backwards as he pumps his fist to the air and stands. “I didn’t even lose a single damned piece!”

“Neither did I.” TFC whispers. “Now let my friends go.”

Dolios stills, freezing mid celebration. His head turns, looking to TFC. He can see the magistrate slowly piece it all together, and the moment he realizes what’s happened. Elation breaks away in seething anger. A rage so bright and hot TFC swears he can feel it from his chair. “You tricked me!”

“No, I played your game.” TFC’s voice is calm, collected. “You just happened to win. What was it you said before… you play to dominate? And dominate you did. Shouldn’t a good leader find a way to win without bloodshed?”

Dolios waves his hand, a black magic circle appearing. A reverberating sonic wave shoves TFC out of his chair, throwing chess pieces all around him. Floating above his friends, he can hear them gasp. Only able to watch. Unable to move, to help their guildmaster. Their friend. Doc reaches out, but the black veins quickly reach back towards him. Towards his heart. TFC winces, sitting up. “You swore on your seat to let them go if I lost! If you go back on your word, everyone will know!”

“Oh, I don’t plan on going back on my words.” Dolios snaps his fingers, and the hermits warp back to reality. The chamber is it’s old dull hall, torches and stone bricks. Hermits collapse together, checking one another for wounds sustained while apart. Grasping to stay together, to piece what happened between their last memory and now. Most only remember the capitol hall, then being woken up by the masked guards in individual cells.

Dolios approaches TFC, setting his grey leather boot on the older man’s chest. Pressing his gilded heels harsh against his ribs. “But you still lost, you were captured. And all the pain your friends avoided? I’m going to do it tenfold to you!”

A black ball of lightning grows as Dolios snarls, hand winding back and aiming directly for TFC. His eyes are wild, unhinged and untethered to reality. TFC raises his hand, a weak attempt to stop the growing dark magic before him.

“Oh no you don’t!” X’s voice is sure, loud and reverberating off the stone walls. Unhindered by his mask. A snap follows soon after, and the dark lightning is dragged into nothingness. Into the void as X’s black hole grows. It threatened to eat up Dolios then and there, had he not taken an alarmed step back.

“How? You shouldn’t be able to do that! You’re weak! My sleep spell should’ve...” Dolios turns, staring down the other hermits. Not noticing that Cub was hidden behind the others, or that TFC was no longer at his feet.

“Nah, I’d say we’re pretty strong. Especially together.” X shrugs, and lets his black hole explode in a miniature big bang.

With Dolios distracted, the crew makes their escape. Wels casts a shield and speed buffs, one hand raised to protect the retreat. Etho disappears down the hall, bouncing through shadows and silently taking out the guards ahead. At the top of the stairs, Mumbo hacks his way into the redstone powered door. Focusing all of his strength into forcing it open. Stress releases a sheet of ice before them, Jevin wraps everyone together into a bundle of bodies, and Impulse takes up a position next to Wels and his shield. Bracing against his friends, he casts his magic. Short spurts of explosions erupt from his hands, jetting the guild down the hall.

Etho appears above the group from an arching shadow, grabbing Doc’s hand and joining them as they careen through the halls of the capitol building. Zipping past guards and wizards before anyone can even realize what they’ve seen, like a roller coaster ride. They don’t stop until they’ve burst out the back doors. Stress still doesn’t stop making a highway of ice, not until they’re well beyond the city limits, skating out into the open marshes that surround Milliara.

Only then does the crew stop, breathing heavily and taking a moment to realize what just happened. And once they come to the same conclusion- they drown TFC in hugs.

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

“Sir… they escaped. Again.” Apatia runs up, his breath heavy as his chest rises and falls. “They’re well beyond the walls. Should we send the Arcane guard after them?”

“No. I don’t want anyone to question why we’re chasing after our champions. Erase all memories to anyone that saw their escape.” Dolios growls, rubbing his hand. Feeling the void still against his skin, trying to tear it apart.

“But what about the illegal guild? They know-”

Dolios turns away from the guildmaster, forcing the redstone door closed. Hiding the dungeons beneath the capitol building. “They are not our main concern. Let them squirm, let them think they’ve won. I have more important things to deal with. I have more power to gain.”

Dolios looks down as something rattles against the floor. He stoops low, picking up the black pawn. It’s chipped, the onyx stone heavy in his hand. The Order of Hermits have captured this pawn, but he’s just setting the stage. Playing the whole field. “Check.”

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mattzerella-sticks · 3 years ago

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metamorphosis

Chapter 2 (ao3)

Prologue (ao3) (tumblr)

What if, when Jack was born, he stayed a baby?

A retelling of season 13, with a few key differences.

No planned schedule, will update when I finish chapters lol

Chapter 2 - Sam I

Sam cursed Jack’s aim as he hit him directly on his chest. The pee immediately soaked through the fabric, Sam suffering its unnatural warmth. He blindly groped for anything nearby to shove atop Jack and staunch the flow from his bladder before it spread too far. He gently pressed a motel towel down, Jack giggling all the while as he ruined it much like he did Sam’s shirt. “Seriously?” Sam sighed, “Couldn’t have done this earlier?” Jack answered with more laughter, kicking his feet in the air to punctuate his glee. Seeing his joyful wriggling lessened Sam’s exasperation. “Okay… It was kind of funny,” he told Jack. Then, leaning closer, “Next time, do it when Dean changes you… if he ever changes you.” Sam faltered, smile drooping slightly. He adjusted to cover that momentary lapse, his expression softer. “You done?” Jack stuck his fist in his mouth, babbling around stubby digits. Sam, hesitantly, lifted the towel away from Jack. There’s no active peeing, but the large stain on the towel was not something Sam wanted to see. Dissimilar to his shirt, it’s unsalvageable. “Damn – darn, darn it!”

Tossing the towel over his shoulder, stain-side up, Sam finished fastening Jack’s diaper. His nose scrunched from the wafting odor, and he audibly gagged because of it. Leaving Jack on the bed, Sam whipped the towel off and dumped it into a waiting trash bin. Then he wrapped his fingers along the bottom hem of his shirt to take it off in one swift move.

Dean returned partway through this struggle. He whistled, slamming the door behind him. “Stripping for the baby?” he chuckled darkly, his eyes dull and his grin vicious, “Not what I imagined when I told you to go nuts with him…” Dean emptied his pockets onto the room’s lone table, tugging his necktie free when done.

Sam ignored him, balling his shirt between twitching fingers. “So,” he started, “did you figure out if we’ve got a case or not?” He opened his duffel, zipper ripping through the silence of what he chose not to say.

Dean shrugged, stepping out of his leather agent shoes, chair held for leverage. “Maybe,” he coughed, “A connection, something…”

Sam paused, temple creasing from the sudden onset of a migraine. He closed his eyes, grip tightening on the unstained button-down in his hands. “A maybe…” he repeated, quieter, “then you’re not sure?”

“I’ve got a hunch,” Dean growled, “and we’re not leaving ‘till I at least make certain of it.”

Closing his eyes, Sam rocked back on his heels. He rubbed his neck, feeling every strain and ache from the past few days weighing on his body. “Of course we aren’t.”

Dean used the same excuse when they arrived, and with each delivery it became increasingly unflinching and stubborn. During its first appearance, Sam rightfully challenged him. He cornered Dean outside the motel’s lobby, demanding why they pulled off the highway instead of continuing their journey home, to the Bunker. Dean explained, “There’s been a few deaths in town, our M.O.” Sam’s unsure how he learned this. He guessed, during Dean’s shift in the passenger seat, he feigned unconsciousness to scour the web. “Figured we’d scope it out and gank whatever summ’na’bitch’s wreaking havoc.” Sam, exasperated, reminded Dean of the little bundle with immeasurable power somehow asleep in Baby’s backseat despite Dean’s atypical car door slamming during his exit. “What?” Dean asked, his voice a dark and stormy sound that rattled Sam’s bones like lightning, “Dad hunted with you when you were his age. It’ll be fine.”

Now, hearing about Dean’s ‘hunch’, Sam ground his teeth and refrained from speaking his mind. He told himself that this case, Dean’s attitude, was part of the healing process. Some point down the line, Dean will be in a better place where he wouldn’t have to handle his brother with kid gloves. Only days have passed since they lost their mom, an ally, a virtual stranger, and their best friend. If Sam applied pressure too fast, too hard, he might crack Dean’s already fractured well-being into a larger mess where there’d be no hope of repairing. He shouldn’t take any unnecessary risks with his brother’s well-being.

“So?” Sam asked, doing up his new shirt, playing along. “What’s this hunch you have?”

“Well, when I checked the victims’ houses for haunting signs, I came up empty,” Dean said, hopping into his jeans, “Turned my thinking around, started asking if there were any connections between the two stiffs and, apparently, both were seeing the same therapist.” He fastened the button of his jeans, then moved to dig out some shirts. “Some woman named Mia Vallens. They’d been seeing her, separately, because both had – uh… had lost someone in their lives.”

“What are you thinking then? Revenant? Shifter?”

“Not sure,” he said, “But that won’t stop me.”

Sam’s eyes floated behind his eyelids, “Please don’t go in guns blazing.”

Dean scoffed, thumb lightly brushing the hammer of his gun; unholstered, ever since he started changing outfits. “I’m not that reckless. Thought I’d snoop around, y’know? Get a sense what kind of monster she is before I put a bullet between her eyes. That way I don’t get it wrong and tip her off.” He slipped into an old flannel, worn at the elbows from use, and gestures at his outfit. “You think this is good enough?”

Sam huffed, “For what?”

“For therapy?”

“Pretty sure there isn’t a dress code for therapy,” he snickered, “Is this why you didn’t just go straight there?”

Dean nodded, “Figured a badge and gun might make her antsy, raise unwanted suspicion. Going in as a new patient’ll help me fly under her radar.” He paused, clearly thinking about what he will say next. He swung his keys around his pointer finger, metal jingling with every spin. “Plus,” he added, “wanted to check in, see if you were ready to join me. United front and all that… going in blind’d be better with two bodies rather than one.”

“Dean, it’s just therapy.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Sam shook his head, glancing at Jack. The young boy watched them with keen interest, golden brown eyes unblinking as they studied them; like he understood what they discussed. Sam discarded this thought in his next breath. He might have ancient power coursing through him, but he’s not even a week old. “You know I can’t,” he started, “Someone has to be here with Jack.” Since Dean refused to do it, Sam’s stayed in the motel for most of this case.

Dean’s attempt to appear cheerful dispersed like smoke, familiar dreariness scarring his features. “Kid’ll be fine by himself for an hour or two,” he muttered.

A vein throbbed in his forehead, forcing Sam’s eye to twitch. “He’s not a kid. He’s a baby.”

“He’s part angel.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” Sam seethed, “Actually, that makes it more important we don’t let him out of our sight! There’s no telling what he can do, or what might happen if we left him alone for even a second! So, sorry if I can’t run off at the drop of a pin to play hunter because I have more important things to worry about. Things that you should be worrying about, too!”

Dean recoiled like he’s been slapped, squeezing the keys so hard Sam can see his hand visibly tremble. Regret rose to his ankles and then, as if a dam broke, it’s at his neck and Sam struggled to breathe. He looked from Dean to Jack, the baby’s stare was still trained on Sam like he waited to see what he will say next. Like Sam will have an answer that fixed everything, pleased everyone.

All Sam could give was a compromise.

“I’ll come with,” he said, gaze trapped on his feet below, “Jack will, too. That’s the best I can offer.”

Sam’s resolve stayed firm. He flexed his toes against the carpet as the silence dragged on, Dean obviously warring with himself over whether to accept Sam’s terms or storm out like Sam feared he might. The tension snapped with a high-pitched squeal from Jack, followed by some more clapping that had Dean saying, “Fine. Hurry up, then.” He didn’t lift his head until the door closed behind Dean and it’s him and Jack left in the room.

Visibly deflating, Sam selfishly took a moment to gather his thoughts. Once he felt a semblance of normalcy, he began gathering what he needed. Sam hurriedly finished dressing, throwing on his jacket and almost tripped shoving his feet into some boots. Then, he returned to what he was doing earlier, helping Jack into his tiny shirt and overalls. Sam set Jack aside in the baby carrier, focusing on assembling the baby bag and slinging it onto his shoulder.

Dean sat in the driver’s seat, engine running. He revved it as a warning while Sam safely tucked Jack in the back, Sam glaring at Dean’s dead-eyed expression in the rearview. His irritation ebbed by the time he joined Dean up front. The passenger side door barely closed, and Dean hit the pedal. Sam buckled his seatbelt after Dean peeled out of the parking lot.

They reached the therapist’s office at record speed. During their drive, Sam kept a careful eye on both the speedometer and Jack, his gaze bouncing between the two, ensuring they were where they should be. There were few instances where Dean sped, testing Sam’s patience. But Sam would clear his throat, and the needle rebounded into lower numbers.

Dean, in an act of revenge for Sam’s nitpicking, abandoned him for the therapist’s office without any offer to help once they parked. Although Sam wondered if it should count, since Sam hadn’t expected Dean to go out of his way and help him, regardless of how Dean caved when it came to bringing Jack. He fleetingly considered this, but ultimately decided it didn’t matter. He needed to hurry.

Alone, Sam balanced the baby bag and Jack’s carrier in his hands. He chased after Dean, climbing the steps as a man, tall, white and utterly average, descended. They bumped shoulders, Sam mumbling an apology on reflex. He heard the passerby say something while Jack spewed raspberries in response. He didn’t give it more thought than that.

Sam found Dean near the front desk, angrily slamming on a concierge bell. “C’mon, c’mon…” he grumbled, “it’s way past lunch break.”

“Dean…” Sam stormed towards his brother, dropping the baby bag as he slammed Dean’s hand atop the ringing bell. “Quit it.”

“What?” Dean barked, “Not like I’m annoying anyone.” He gestured around the waiting room, sweeping his arm to show Sam all the vacant seats pushed against the walls. “Am I?”

“Actually, if you rang that bell at least three more times, I’d’ve gotten a headache.” A woman stepped into view, her dark skin glistening under the fluorescent lighting. She wore an oversized, orange turtleneck and a long skirt with pointed boots peeking out at the hem, adorned with rings, a necklace, and a barrette clipped in her afro puff hairdo. She forced a polite expression on her face, pocketing her hands in the folds of her skirt. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “We’re looking for the doc. You know if she’s in?”

“I do.”

She walked behind the front desk, ignoring Sam and Dean rather than finish speaking. Dean briefly glanced at Sam before clearing his throat. She stopped rifling through papers, arching her brow. It’s not likely she’ll do more without some prompting. “Well,” Dean growled, “where is she?”

She huffed, fiddling with one of the rings on her fingers. Sam noted how it, like all the other pieces of her jewelry, was gold. “You’re looking at her,” she said, “I thought that was obvious.”

“Not really,” Dean said, “I mean, you’re not even wearing a white coat!”

Whatever expression Sam made Mia mirrored. Jack, meanwhile, giggled and shifted in his carrier, delighted by Dean’s idiocy. Jack’s carrier swung from the force of his mirth, forcing Sam to readjust his grip. As he did that, Sam used his other hand to pinch Dean’s wrist and forced his brother’s attention onto him. “That joke wasn’t funny the first time.” Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, then wretched himself free from Sam’s hold. Sam steered the conversation from there, “Sorry about him. We were here wondering if you might have an opening today?”

Dean coughed, mumbling to himself. “Looks like she might…” He parried Sam’s scowl with a jerkish smirk.

Mia glossed past Dean’s comment, folding her arms across her chest as she studied them. “I was actually about to close early,” she said, “had a lot of cancellations and… I’ve got some errands to run” –

“Please,” Sam tried, leaning far into her personal space as he could without climbing the desk. “My brother was supposed to make an appointment, but with the move and everything it, uh… slipped his mind.” He dialed his puppy dog features to their highest setting, blasting her with his best Labradoodle. “When we left town, our previous therapist said falling back into a routine was the most important thing once we settled. It was hard enough getting him to go the first time, and with the baby I didn’t want him to become an excuse to not go back because we… we were doing really good, before.” Every lie did better when sprinkled with the truth, covering up the bitter taste. From what he saw, Mia ate every word and didn’t gag or wince.

“Well…” She sighed, smoothing her hands down her sweater, “I guess I can squeeze you in. Come on.”

Mia led them into the next room, leaving behind the non-descript lobby furniture and peeling yellow wallpaper for a cozier space. Sam scanned the area, noting pictures and degrees hanging on rogue-painted walls alongside other knick-knacks cluttering the space. Other than the door they entered from, the only exits Sam saw were twin windows covered by heavy drapes on either side of a dark fireplace and an unmarked door to the side. He made sure to stay wary of that door, in case uninvited guests might stroll in.

Sam sat on the edge of a plush sectional, placing Jack beside him. Dean seized the chair nearest Sam, collapsing into it and leaving Mia with the last available chair across from them. They’re separated by a magazine-laden coffee table. “Pretty swanky duds you have here, doc,” Dean told her, poking one of the magazines, “must say I am disappointed there’s not any of those beds that they showed in the movies.”

“Yes, well, I find a lot of how therapists and therapy is portrayed on film leaves much to be desired…” She shifted, throwing a leg over her knee and laying a notebook she pulled from elsewhere on her lap. “Among other things.” She spoke so quietly, Sam almost missed it. “Anyway,” she cleared her throat, “before we get into our session, I do want to mention that even though I am a therapist, my specialization is in helping patients overcome grief-related trauma relating to deaths of loved ones. Is that okay, Mr…?”

“Just Sam is fine. And yeah, better than okay, actually,” Sam said, “What finally convinced my brother to finally start therapy is because we lost someone very close to us.” Dean visibly tensed, clawing at the chair’s arms with enough pressure Sam feared he might rip it. Distracted, Sam faltered halfway through his spiel. He recovered enough in his next breath to finish it. “Our mom… she passed.” Hearing about their mom caused Dean to relax considerably, into a familiar apprehension. Sam’s confusion, in response, deepened.

“I’m sorry for you loss.” The perfunctory statement rolled off her tongue as expected. At least it sounded sincere. “How recently did she pass?”

Sam grimaced. “Uh… a few months back?”

“Although,” Dean chuckled, “it still feels like it was only yesterday.” His chest puffed up, goaded by the reproachful glance Sam shot his way. “What? It’s what I’m feeling. And ain’t that what therapy’s all about? Discussing what I’m feeling.”

“Yes, it is.” Mia scribbled a quick note in her journal, frowning. “However, sharing your feelings is not mandatory.” Dean sunk into his seat, knees bumping against the coffee table. Mia jotted another line to her observations. She pointed at Jack with her pen, “And him? What’s his story?”

“Jack?” Sam asked. He glanced at the baby, hand reflexively reaching for the carrier’s handle. He paused midway, instead slipping into it to pull Jack’s fist out of his mouth. “We took him in after a… a family friend passed during childbirth.”

“That’s very unfortunate,” she nodded, “and… coincidental.”

“Yeah, losing our moms around the same time isn’t the best of things to have in common but…” Sam bit his lower lip, confidence wavering on whether he should finish. The words teetered in his mind, rocking back and forth. He pressed on a side, tipping it over and into existence. “I mean, I guessed that was part of the reason we decided to look after him. I might not remember what it was like, growing up without a mom, but I knew it wasn’t easy for me” –

“Excuse me,” Mia interrupted, drawing Sam away from Jack to her. He kept his thumb and forefinger looped around Jack’s wrist. “You didn’t grow up with your mom?”

Sam winced, shrugging in response. He tried tagging Dean in, to help explain, but his brother had a faraway gleam in his eye that matched his childish pout. Sam realized he was on his own for now. “After I was born, she… she left,” Sam told her, “Without a trace one night. My dad he… it devastated him, broke him in some way that he couldn’t get past. Like, up until he died, he refused to believe she left him like that, by choice, and kept going on about how she died, and every day we were alive was for her, to do right by her. And because of this I only knew of our mom through stories he and, sometimes, Dean would share… but then one day Dean he… he happened to run into her.” He rubbed at his neck, head bowed so the fringe of his bangs shielded his eyes. “And she’s back in our lives. Just like that.”

“How did that make you feel? Having her back?”

“Weird,” he said, “There’s this woman who says that she’s my mom, and I believed it at first. But then, the more I learned about her, the less it felt like she and the mother I grew up with, the… the ghost of her, were the same person?”

“It’s common for adults to have difficulty in reconciling the image of the mother in their heads with the person they actually are,” Mia said, “Kids take their parents for granted, a lot of times forgetting that they have a life outside of their children’s concerns, and this continues despite growing out of adolescence.”

Dean huffed in agreement, “Ain’t that the truth.” Sam tamped down the urge to punch him, to make him behave.

“So Sam,” Mia pointed with her pen, “did this disconnect affect how you processed your mother’s death?”

“Uh…” He asked himself the same question. Sam’s brows dipped into a shallow grave above his head. “Maybe,” he answered her, “But not in the way you might think? Like… I missed her, back before, but I didn’t know her. Now I miss her but I… I got to know her? She’s more than my mother, to me. And that’s… I’m happy I got to know her before she died. Still, I feel a little guilty because why should I… she’s my mom, she died, and I shouldn’t be happy, should I?”

“Have you considered that instead of happiness,” Mia says, “what you’re feeling is closure?”

“Closure?”

She planted both feet on the ground, now, bent forward as she expanded on her point. “Your mother was a mystery for most your life. A puzzle with most of the pieces missing. Then, she comes back and with her are those little pieces that complete the picture for you. Suddenly your mother isn’t much of a ghost or an ideal. She’s a person” –

“So what?” Dean chimed in, “This was some cosmic joke, then? Have her kick up some dust long enough we form a connection with her, fill in a few blanks, and then poof? She’s no longer needed?”

“It’s unfortunate what happened to your mother,” Mia stressed, good mood tempered by Dean’s outburst, “but comfort can be found in closure. My patients lost people in their lives suddenly, like you did, but there’s a gap in their healing because a lot of times there were words or feelings never expressed that they still clung to, that if they had a few more seconds, they would have gotten off their chests.” She turned to Sam, directing her next question at him. “Is there anything you think wasn’t said between you and your mother before she died?”

He reflected. Sam parsed through the leaflet of memories he collected of him and his mother, wondering if, within them, there is a moment of regret where he bit his tongue when he shouldn’t have. There were none. “No, I don’t…” he mumbled, “I don’t think there was.” Sam’s lips curled into a tepid smile. “That’s weird.”

“How so?”

“I guess I’m not used to closure, is all,” he sighed, “for most of our lives, things and… and people – it all tends to be cut short. Usually, we’ve got to keep our heads up high and move on. Like with…” Sam trailed off, Eileen’s name caught in his teeth. He refused to let Eileen go and swallowed her name into the murky depths of his soul along with the other things he didn’t think about, where he stored everything that was in the way of doing his job. Because that’s what they’re here for, led there by Dean’s hunch. He couldn’t forget that. Mia’s stare burned on his profile, waiting for him to continue. He will be disappointing her. Jack’s tugging on his finger, sticking it in his mouth as he gummed it and guided Sam free from his stupor. Sam forced his mind to settle by wading into safer waters. “That might be another reason why we took Jack in. His mother… we knew how much she’d regret not being there for him. So by giving him a home, a family who will love him… I’m hoping it gives her comfort wherever she is. Or closure, as you might put it.”

“God,” Dean groaned, slamming his head on the chair’s backboard, “If I have to hear that word one more time, I swear I’m gonna scream.”

Mia’s journal was open again and rapidly taking notes, her attention diverted towards Dean. “I’m guessing that’s not how you’re feeling about all this, then?”

“Like what? Like everything’s wrapped up in a neat little bow?”

“If that’s how you wish to describe it.”

“Well it’s not,” Dean spat, “It’s a big mess of string that’s tangled with no hope of ever being untangled! In fact, it’s like the more effort we go into untangling it, the messier it gets, and the larger it gets, spreading past us and mucking up everyone else in our lives!”

Mia didn’t seem fazed by Dean’s tantrum, and Sam wondered if she truly is a monster like Dean suspected. If Sam were in her place, he wouldn’t know how he’d have maintained composure when dealing with his brother acting like a damned ass. There’d be blood splattered everywhere by now. “In my professional experience, many times we believe we’re ‘untangling’ the mess in our lives… it’s actually the opposite.”

“You saying I did this to myself?”

“What I’m saying is that… messes in our lives happen because of misunderstandings and miscommunication. We assume something about another person and act according to these assumptions, only to find out those were wrong, and we dig a bigger hole for ourselves. We lie because we believe it’s easier than the truth, and we hold in things we think don’t need to be said because there’s a misbelief they might not matter.”

“Trust me, doc, things were definitely said,” Dean seethed, crossing his arms. He broke their staring contest, Sam surprised at the momentary flash of hurt that radiated from Dean’s gaze. Dean smothered it immediately, returning with hardened steel. “And maybe things that weren’t said were that way for a good reason, to not rock the boat… or mess up something that was already better than I thought I could have…” He blanched, face paling in realization of what, Sam guessed, he hadn’t meant to say. With this new awareness, Dean won’t give more than he already had. He stayed as he is, frozen in stubbornness.

Sam wished he would. His forehead pounded, the beat of his heart loud in his eardrums. It didn’t sound like Dean was talking about their mother, but he can’t exactly name who Dean meant with his latest revelation.

Mia had the same inklings. She’s better prepared, and perfectly distanced, to needle him about it. “Are you dealing with more than your mother’s loss?” she asked, “Did you lose someone else? Or… were you close with Jack’s mother, before she passed?”

Dean deflated, anger whooshing out of him like a burst balloon. “It’s nothing.”

“Because if there is something you wish to say, to someone,” Mia says, “I do have methods and exercises you can try that will help you work through these feelings” –

“I said it’s nothing, okay?” He stood, body rigid and tense like a taut bowstring. “I think we’re done here.”

Sam rose, too, ready to disagree. The thin press of Dean’s mouth warned Sam he shouldn’t argue. He accepted an early defeat, but in his own way. “Thank you, Doctor Vallens,” he said, offering his hand to her, “I’m sorry about my brother and his… assness, but this was a great session.”

“I’m used to people like him,” she said, accepting the gesture and pumping his hand twice. Mia moved onto Dean. She’s the bigger person, holding her hand out for a handshake. “If you weren’t too put off by my methods, maybe we can work on what’s bothering you in another session?”

Dean smiled, seizing her hand. “Trust me, I’m capable of finding that on my own.”

Mia shouted, reeling backwards. In her haste she drops her journal, too concerned with touching the red welt burning on her hand. “What did you” –

“Silver bullet,” Dean said, wiggling the ammunition. He uncovered his gun and loaded the bullet back inside it. “Only silver thing I had on me that you wouldn’t notice.” Dean shifted his stance, holding tight to his gun’s handle with a finger hovering near the trigger. “Though I bet you’ll notice it better after I’ve blasted it into your skull.”

“No, no!” Mia pleaded, stumbling behind her chair, building distance between her and Dean, “You don’t have to do this!”

“Oh, I think I do,” Dean growled, advancing, “otherwise you’ll just keep going on killing.”

“What? I’m not – I haven’t killed anyone!”

“Right, like I’m supposed to believe that.”

He might not, but Sam did. He leapt between them, quickly disarming Dean. Sam twisted Dean’s wrist until he dropped the gun into Sam’s waiting hand. “Stop it.”

“What the hell?” Dean yelled at him, massaging his sore wrist, “Sam, what do you even think you’re doing?”

“Hearing her out,” he said. Sam, on instinct, glanced behind himself at Mia. She hadn’t run. She didn’t flinch when their eyes locked. As they did, Sam saw an apprehensive trust hidden within her eyes. Sam wouldn’t comment on it, to try and ease her fear. He was still a hunter. He still had the gun. His opinion might change, and she might need to spring into defensive mode again when Sam levelled the weapon at her. “You’re not human,” Sam pointed out what’s already obvious.

Her shoulders tensed. Mia straightened to her full height; her expression now free of any earlier fear. “I’m not.”

“What are you?”

“A shifter.”

“Are you actually a therapist?” Dean asked, an incredulous lilt to his tone. He jerked his thumb at the wall of degrees Sam noticed before. “Or did you shift into this poor doctor’s life after you killed her.”

“Yes, I am a therapist,” she told them, palpable anger coloring her tone. Dean finally struck a nerve. “These are all mine… went to a lot of trouble getting them. But I did my time, like everyone else.”

“Except you’re not like everyone else,” Dean said, “are you?” Mia’s lips flattened into a tight line, a refusal to answer. Dean continued, not expecting her to. “Okay, can we shoot her now?”

“Shut up, Dean.” Sam snapped the safety of the gun on, then tucked it inside his waistband. He directed his next question to Mia, “Do you know why we’re here?”

“I guess therapy was a cover?” she scoffed, stepping out of her hiding spot. Sam nodded. Mia chuckled low in her throat, shaking her head. “Of course… dammit I should have – I should have known what you were from the moment you walked in… And I didn’t think there’d be any harm in one last session before I left town altogether” –

“Leaving town?” Dean jumped onto that last statement, clinging to it, “Only guilty people leave, y’know.”

“This isn’t my fault. Those deaths, they weren’t my fault,” she argued, “I’m a victim in this as much as they are.”

“Sure, right…” Dean angled his head away from Mia, muttering in Sam’s ear, “Seems like she knows about the deaths, and she’s a shifter. If you keep distracting her, I can sneak the gun out of your pocket and –“

“No, Dean.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” A hot wave of fury blistered Dean’s face, transforming the terrain and leaving a barren, ashen wasteland in its trail. Dean stormed away from him but didn’t move far. He hovered by the door to the lobby, fiddling with a wooden statue. Sam let him. That he remained in the room spoke more to his willingness of hearing Mia’s story than anything he’s said this past hour. Sam turned to her, “You were aware of the deaths in town?”

“They were my patients,” she said, “They’re always my patients.”

“Always?” Sam asked, “Has this happened before?”

“In about every town I moved to in the past two years.” Mia sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she wandered towards the fireplace. He watched her grab a box of cigarettes and a lighter from atop it. “Mind if I?”

Sam thought of Jack, about his little lungs. He almost denied her, except Dean cut in and shrugged, “Sure, why not.” Sam glared at him, nodding his head at the carrier. “What? It’s not like it’ll do any damage to him.” He hated that he’s right. Sam silently gestured his assent to Mia.

“Thanks.”

“So,” he said as she lit the cigarette and took a long drag off it, “you set up shop in a town, and at some point… your patients start dying and you have to move?”

“For my patient’s safety,” she explained, “For my safety. From people like you, and… and him.”

“Him?” Sam asks, “Who’s him?”

“My ex, Buddy, that’s who.” She tapped cigarette ash into the fireplace, leaning against it as she told her story. “Another shifter I was dating. He was a nice guy, at first, and, well… it’s not like there are a lot of options when you have to peel off your skin every few hours. Besides my mom, he was the only other shifter I ever knew. We started dating during my graduate program and he… he seemed so supportive. Things changed when I actually started practicing.” Mia began pacing in front of the fireplace now, hand holding the cigarette bouncing with every step. “He started complaining that I never had time for him anymore, that I was letting my hobby push him out of my life, and I was caring more for my patients then our safety.”

“Why would he say that?”

“Because he was jealous,” she said. Then, briefly, a sheepishness tints her cheeks. “Also, I might have been using my abilities while practicing?”

Sam’s uneasiness swiftly returned. “What does that mean?”

“I told you, how a lot of my patients have things and feelings they wished they’d shared with people who were no longer with them. Sometimes… after I noticed how talking about it or grief journaling could only do so much I – I shifted. Became the person who died, but only so that my patients could unburden themselves of what they carried, that’s all.”

“Right,” Dean chuckled, “and people bought that, no questions asked?”

“There’s nothing someone won’t believe if it meant a few more seconds with someone they loved.”

That shut Dean down better than anything she said all afternoon. Sam didn’t worry too much about his brother’s weighty silence, however, pressing her further for information. “Your ex didn’t appreciate that?”

“No. Our fighting got so bad, I had to break things off. He was getting… violent. A few days later, the first death happened…” She sucked on the cigarette a final time, discarding it into the soot-covered fireplace beside her. “Since then it’s been the same thing over and over. I leave, find somewhere new to practice, he somehow finds me, then finds out who my patients are, and kills them until I start this fucked-up process over again.”

“Hey,” Sam motioned to the baby carrier, whispering, “Language.”

“…Sorry.”

A silence dragged out in the room as Sam digested her story. He considered it from every angle, taking great pains to ensure his instincts weren’t wrong. That Mia told them the truth, and the real monster was somewhere skulking around town, searching for his next kill. Sam was almost convinced. Something did trouble him, though, keeping him from fully believing her. “It said in the police reports that both victims were killed by people who looked like their dead loved ones… how would Buddy’ve known who they were, let alone who to shift into?”

“I… I don’t know,” Mia said, “I never knew how he found me… he always… I did my best, staying off social media. I don’t even have a damned website for my practice, or a LinkedIn page!”

Dean snorted, finally rejoining the conversation, “Maybe he tried doing what we did and played your heartstrings like a fiddle.”

Sam could kick him for that remark, for it being rude and, unfortunately, being completely plausible. He asked Mia, “Could he?”

“I…” Mia sighed, rubbing a tired hand across her face, “I want to say no, that I wouldn’t be that much of a fool to do that, but… you two made it work.”

“Okay,” Sam smiled, “that’s a start. Is there anyone who you’re close to that he might’ve taken the form of? Friends? Coworkers?”

Mia shook her head, “The only people I speak to on a regular basis are my patients, and I’m the only doctor who works here since I, well… also live here, too.”

“So that front desk out there?” Dean said, scoffing, “that for show? Or do you find time to shift, shrink, and answer calls?”

“Oh, no, I have an assistant,” Mia told them. Sam shared a glance with Dean, the same idea building within Sam’s mind reflected in his brother’s eyes. Mia interrupted their silent communication, “No, no, it can’t be Jim.”

“How sure can you be?”

“He’s on vacation, right now.”

Dean chuckled, “Because that’s a bulletproof alibi…”

“How about this then,” she huffed, smirking, slowly approaching him. “I drove him and his boyfriend to the airport because he didn’t want to leave his car in the parking lot for the next two weeks.” Dean deflated, blanching uncomfortably at her words. He ended their contest, stiffly shifting, facing the wall. She further encroached upon his personal space, “How’s that for an alibi?”

Dean pinched his red ears, mumbling, “…Seems pretty airtight.”

Sam, once more, ignored Dean’s strange behavior in favor of continuing his line of questioning. “If it’s not your assistant then it has to be a patient. Is there anyone you’ve seen lately who might have been… off? Maybe they were acting differently than you might remember?”

“Not that I can say, off the top of my head.”

“Okay…” Sam said, “Do you have notes that we can look at – if, if that’s not an invasion of privacy, or whatever? Maybe we can establish a pattern or – or see whether there’s differences between sessions based on what you wrote?”

Mia shook her head, squeezing her elbows as she turned from him. “That’d be a serious invasion of privacy I can’t allow, even if I thought it’d be of any help.” Sam hummed a sour note, tearing a page out his mental notebook as he scrapped another idea. Before he returned to the drawing board, Mia gasped and spun back around. “But,” she continued, “I do have something I think will help. Follow me.” Mia brushed past Sam, heading into the lobby.

Sam trailed behind her, Dean, too, judging from his footsteps. He paused in the doorway, however, remembering Jack and how he shouldn’t leave him alone. As he was about to double back, he bumped into Dean who hissed, “watch out” while shoving him off. Sam’s gaze dipped low, then, hearing a familiar giggle. Jack beamed up at Sam from his carrier; it gently swinging, held in Dean’s hand. Sam glanced at Dean, his older brother knowing well to avoid the other’s gaze. “What?” Dean mumbled, “Shouldn’t we see what Mia’s doing? For all we know, she’s out the door while we dawdle here…”

Sam surrendered without a fight here, too. He chose his battles and could see how meaningless it’d be to press now. He filed this away, though, to use for a later date.

They huddled around Mia in the lobby, at the front desk. She clicked through different tabs on her assistant’s computer. “A while back, we had these teens break in and mess the place up searching for cash, or whatever. I didn’t press any charges – nothing was stolen, and all I had to replace was a window and a few magazines – but Jim didn’t want to come back to work unless I installed some type of security system. I didn’t want to hire someone new so… I caved and got cameras. I never usually bother with them, since they’d do me more harm than good. But given all of us know what’s what…”

“We can use the cameras to figure out which one of your patients is your ex,” Sam finished her thought, laughing, “that’s perfect!” Both Mia and Dean stared at him with twin, strange expressions on their faces. He cleared his throat, “…Sorry.”

They lapsed into an anxious silence after. Even Jack fell into a quiet lull, entertained by the pacifier Dean stuffed into his mouth when he set him on the desk. Although his focus, like theirs, was trained on the screen. Together, they watched people – regular people, given how their eyes didn’t flare – walk in and out of frame for longer than Sam would have liked. When it seemed as if they hit another dead end, Sam saw Dean storm into view. “This is us,” he said, Sam’s own figure appearing at the same time the man from earlier had.

Jack clapped his hands, the pacifier spat from his mouth. Almost like the raspberries he blew at the other man. The stranger craned his neck to smile at Jack, giving the camera a clear view of his face.

A view of his glowing eyes, too.

“Him,” Sam tapped the screen, “Who is he?”

“Travis?” Mia sighed, running a tired hand across her face. “Travis Hodgins. He’s someone I’ve been seeing since… since I started my practice. Lost his daughter to cancer, and his marriage to the grief of it. He was… he was getting better…”

Sam offered her condolences that Mia shrugged off. “Do you know where he lives?” he asked instead.

“Yeah, it’s not that far from here…”

Sam looked at Dean, “You want to check it out?”

“Alone?”

“Someone has to stay here, in case Buddy comes back,” Sam said, “besides, if he is there, just text me and I’ll find my way to you.”

Dean didn’t appear too pleased with the orders, but like the soldier he was raised to be, Dean listened regardless. Sam handed Dean his gun and muttered a few quick words of encouragement his brother rebuffed.

Soon, it was Mia, Sam, and Jack in the lobby, the sun having set some time ago and casting the room into an eerie darkness. They returned to the warmer light of her other room and its many lamps, Mia readying another cigarette while Sam dug through the baby bag for a bottle of milk. He settled beside the carrier, helping Jack onto his lap to better feed him.

Mia’s shadow stretched over him. She stood behind the couch, nodding at Jack. “Is what you said about him true?” she asked, “Or did you borrow him for the ruse?”

“He’s ours…” Sam sank into the couch, tilting his head to better meet her guarded stare. “We didn’t know his mom that well, but we were all he had after…” He trailed off, unsure how much he should share. Mia didn’t need to hear the specifics. “After this big… this big blow-out. Cost us his mom… our mom… a few friends” –

“So you did lose your mom?” she asked, “That wasn’t fake, too?”

“No…” Sam shifted, discarding the empty bottle on the nearby coffee table. “She died a few days ago, actually.”

Mia hissed, a harsh cloud of smoke drifting past the space of her clenched teeth. “And you’re here? I heard hunters had to have hard hearts for the job, but that sounds brutal even for me…”

“It wasn’t my idea to come here,” Sam confessed, “Dean… he kinda hijacked our trip back home. I didn’t like it, but I get it – in a way. He’s coping.”

“Poorly.”

“There’re worse things he could be doing, like drinking,” Sam defended his brother, “at least he’s trying to get back to normal. We both are.”

Mia shrugged in response, drifting towards the fireplace to dump her second cigarette. Sam didn’t mind, busying himself with burping Jack. They existed separately in this space, lost in their own thoughts. Although Sam found himself wanting to reengage with Mia, continuing their conversation so he might better explain their situation. His stomach twisted itself in knots, like he ate bad gas station food, because he felt like she misunderstood him. It was stupid. It was completely unnecessary. It shouldn’t matter what her opinion of them was.

“It’s not healthy,” he started, slowly rocking Jack in his carrier. Sam watched the little boy as his eyes began to droop, instead of Mia. “You’re right. The fact that Dean and I are still hunting, after everything that’s happened to us – all we lost, all we’ve bled because of the job – we’re insane for waking up the next day and carrying on. But it’s all we know. Our whole lives have been about the hunt. We’ve tried to walk away from it… and it works for a little bit… but somehow we always find ourselves back in the thick of it.” He swallows around a terrifying lump in his throat, of a secret held he never spoke of. “When I was younger, there was nothing I wanted more than to not be a hunter. Now… I don’t see myself doing anything else. This is what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“And your brother?” Mia asked, “Is this what he wants?”

Sam, used to speaking for his brother, especially tonight, was at a loss for words. He struggled piecing together an answer. It went down like expired milk. “He’s never said anything to make me doubt otherwise.”

“I believe that,” she scoffed, “Dean doesn’t seem the chatty type.”

There’s another half-formed defense waiting in Sam’s arsenal, but his ringing phone reminded Sam where his priorities should be. He answered, “What?”

“House is empty.”

“It is?”

“Except for the rotting corpse of Mr. Hodgins,” he said, “but I don’t think he should count.”

Sam cursed, bolting upright from his seat. “If he’s not there,” he mumbled, pacing, “then where is he?”

He heard the gun click before he saw it, felt the cold muzzle of it knock into his head, right above his ear. Mia gasped where she stood, and Dean kept repeating Sam’s name like a siren. Sam glanced to the side, seeing the man from earlier holding the gun. “Put that down,” Buddy ordered, punctuating his threat by shoving the gun even closer.

Sam nodded, hitting speaker and placing the phone next to Jack’s carrier. As he did, he said, “You roll in from funkytown or something?”

“Real funny, scumbag,” Buddy chuckled, “why don’t you go and stand next to the bitch who thinks she’s a doctor?” He made it halfway towards Mia when he heard Buddy cluck his tongue at him. “Hold it.” Sam waited, scowling as Buddy’s hand traveled his body, stopping only as he felt the oblong shape of Sam’s gun tucked inside his jacket. Buddy relieved Sam of his weapon, taunting him with it, dangling it in front of his face before dropping it. He kicked Sam’s ass, making him stumble on his path to Mia. “Now get!”

Buddy hurriedly swarmed he and Mia, crowding them further against the fireplace. The gun wavered. Not enough Sam might risk retaliating, but every few seconds it left him and was trained on Mia. “Look how far you’ve sunken, baby,” Buddy purred, stroking Mia’s chin with the gun, “teaming with hunters? I knew you were a traitor, but I didn’t realize it had gotten this bad.”

“If anyone’s the traitor, it’s you, Buddy,” Mia said, “breaking my heart. Making me think you were some kind of good guy and not the scuzz you really were.”

He whipped her hard, the crack reverberating and making Sam’s nerves shake. Blood spurted out of Mia’s nose. She wiped it as she recovered, panting. “You wanna say that again?” Buddy asked.

Mia bit her tongue, protest visible in her eyes. Buddy readied another blow, but stopped midway when Jack interrupted with a healthy cry. “Well fuck,” he said, as if noticing Jack for the first time, “you’ve done and woke up the baby… happy?”

“Stop it,” Sam warned, “Don’t you dare go near him.”

“Or what?” He laughed, inching away from them to where Jack was. “Y’know… I thought hunters had a little more sense than bringing babies on a hunt.” Buddy said. In response, Jack’s voice rose to a pitch that made Sam wince. “Dammit!” Buddy growled, stomping closer to Jack, crouching in front of him. Buddy shook the carrier, “Can you stop that! Can you shut up!” He pointed the gun at Jack, “I swear, if you aren’t quiet in the next second” –

Sam grabbed the poker almost immediately, slamming it into Buddy with his next breath, powered by adrenaline and instinct. He dropped his weapon to hurl himself at Buddy, next, knocking both them and the couch over. Sam heard the gun fly out of Buddy’s hand, and he punched and punched the other shifter to keep it that way.

Buddy, anticipating his plan, recovered enough between punches that he dodged one and managed to knock Sam off of him. Sam heard him scramble to his feet, searching for his weapon. Fear, familiar and slick, trickled down his back in millions of droplets of sweat. His mind jolted, quickly, working up an idea that might buy them a few more minutes for Dean to arrive.

Mia delivered when he couldn’t. “Sam!” she said, drawing his attention. She held his gun and, without saying anything else, she tossed it to him. Sam caught it easily. He aimed for Buddy.

Except Buddy already had his gun pointed at Sam. “So long, hunter.” Buddy’s finger squeezed the trigger and it fired, the gunshot overpowering Jack’s persistent crying.

Sam braced for the bullet, wincing preemptively. Instead of his life flashing, all Sam saw was what would happen after. Dean arriving to see Sam failed at stalling Buddy, his lifeless body dripping blood alongside Mia’s and Jack’s, meaning Dean was well and truly alone in the world. Alone because of Sam.

Except that never happened.

Sam was still alive when he knew he should be bleeding out. He cracked one eye open, then the other, and noticed the bullet hovering in mid-air, frozen in its path. Suddenly, as if waiting for Sam’s attention, the bullet splintered and exploded into dust. The force from the explosion knocked Buddy backwards, his limp hand dropping the gun again.

He wasted little time firing two bullets into Buddy’s chest, adding a third for good measure between the eyes.

Panting, Sam whipped around to Mia. “Are you good?” he asked, advancing.

Mia, mouth agape and eyes wide, startled free from her trance. “Yeah, yes… I’m good. I…” She never finished her thought, torn, looking at Buddy’s corpse, then to where the bullet exploded.

Sam carried on and moved to Jack, stepping over the couch to reach him. As he did, he noticed the younger boy’s tantrum lessened since the height of the battle. He appeared tired, his cries weaker with each release. His cheeks were red, and his eyes –

His eyes were bright gold.

Sam nearly cursed, stopping himself at the last moment. He extended a hand to Jack, hovering near his face, thinking of the bullet and what Jack’s eyes meant.

He didn’t dwell on it for long. Dean burst into the room, gun at the ready, his glare darting around the room. “Sam?” he asked, locking eyes with him from the doorway, “What the hell happened in here?”

Sam didn’t know where he should start.

Tagged List:

@llamasdumpsterfire

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#supernatural #spn #spn13 #sam winchester #dean winchester #destiel #deancas #mia vallens #jack winchester #spn case fic #destiel fanfic #spn fanfic

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sketchy-saram · 5 years ago

Text

Winter Refrain

At long last! A promised story I somehow forgot to post, LOL.

It’s been two long years since Felix left Vesuvia, but Advieh is about to get a surprise on the night of the Winter Ball. Will it be everything that they hoped for?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Felix? Yes, I saw him heading towards the gardens. He looked...healthy. Normal. Good luck, darling. I hope...I hope it works out for you both.”

Hope. Such a small, fragile word, and yet it beat so strongly in Advieh’s chest, warring against doubt and fear with a strength that belied its size. What had started that morning as a vague, listless duty to attend the Winter Ball had become an anxiety that almost overwhelmed them when they heard that Felix was going to attend. And yet, within all the clouds of uncertainty, the tiniest fluttering of hope still lived, unwilling to surrender.

Maybe...maybe he remembers. Maybe things can go back to the way they were. Maybe… It was the ‘maybe’ that pushed them forward when their legs wanted to freeze up, having nothing to do with the chilly winter air. They pulled the skirt of their dress higher, resenting the weight of it that dragged them down and yet grateful for any spare second. By the time they had passed the gardens to the maze, their breath was already coming in soft puffs of white. There was no sign of him, and no one else to ask. Where would he go? It was disorienting. Before, Felix was never more than a stone’s throw from them. How could those days feel like a million years ago, and just yesterday at the same time?

They tried to swallow; their mouth was as dry as the Nopal desert. Their blood pounded loudly in their ears, especially audible in the silence of the wintery wonderland around them. Large quantities of fake snow had been magicked up for the occasion; twinkling strands of fairy lights twined around the manicured bushes and trees, and floating lanterns of soft violets and blues lit the path for anyone who might wander this far. The effects were fanciful, romantic...and only vaguely noticed by Ad, their attention stolen.

Any sign of that familiar smiling face, the rainbow hair, the broad shoulders...

And then, everything seemed to stop in time as they rounded a corner, greeted by the large marble fountain with its ornamental owl...and a figure that was unmistakable even from afar, sitting on the edge of the pool. Ad sucked in a breath, not moving, drinking in every detail like it was water for their parched tongue. All feeling had been sapped from their body, except the heart thumping painfully in their chest--that continuous thud reminded them that this was real.

This was happening.

He looked a bit different, although the essence of him was exactly as they remembered. His hair had grown out; still shaved at the sides, but the deep blue locks were pulled back now into a ponytail that was curling at the ends. The color was muted for Felix, but it still wasn’t a natural hue, which relieved them for some reason. The childhood scar on his lip was there, and his eyes, cinnamon-brown, were still gentle as they stared up at the twinkling snowfall. His clothes were finely-tailored and exquisite--Wren must have been working hard in her absence, Ad thought, their mind wandering. So many things. So much to take in after such a long time.

The nostalgia was like a punch to the stomach, and all the emotions that they had fought so hard to repress threatened to destroy the dam that held them. The hands holding their skirt bunched the fabric, gripping it desperately, as if to find some semblance of balance. Errant tears blurred their eyes, and stung in the cold night air.

Maybe...maybe this had been a bad idea after all. If he remembered, if he truly remembered, he would have found them first. There was no doubt in Ad’s mind of that, and the flutter of hope dimmed. Why did it hurt so badly, that knowledge, after so long? Maybe hope was more of a burden than a help, and yet it stubbornly stayed rooted. A flower that didn’t know when to die.

Is having Felix around, even if he can’t remember, better than not having him at all?

They knew the answer to that, as well as they knew their own name. So, after what was only a few seconds but felt like an eternity, Advieh began to pick their way through the snow, their face calm, their heart hammering unfettered.

At long last, Felix turned to look in their direction, catching their intent gaze with his own.

And he smiled.

“I’m sorry. I kept you waiting.”

His voice sounded deeper, more...introspective, somehow. Maybe they just hadn’t heard it in such a long time? It was a little teasing, which was reassuring, and yet there was definitely a wall they weren’t used to. They remembered the wall when they went to see him, after the...after everything happened. Advieh was used to walls. Why did this one sting so much more? They fought a frantic urge to tear it down, to beg for that easy familiarity that had once irked them so much.

“I didn’t know you would be here,” they said, trying not to sound accusatory. They could feel their lips trembling. Firmed them. “When did you get back to Vesuvia?”

They were still so far apart, and yet Ad couldn’t bring themself to take another step, or to cross through that gulf--not until they knew for sure, one way or another. Knew he wasn’t here to say goodbye again. Even after all this, I’m a coward, they thought angrily. But still, they stayed put. Maybe a person only had one heartbreak in them to endure.

“Just a few days ago. I stayed with Asra in his magic shop. I wasn’t sure I would come here, I guess.” His words were even, measured, and light on the surface. But the smile he gave Advieh was sorrowful. The pit in their stomach opened up further. “I’m so sorry. I haven’t...I don’t remember much more than before. I don’t remember you. I’ve tried and tried, but I can’t. I can remember days, times, events, but there are just...holes.”

Holes shaped like me, Ad thought, the tears welling up again. They swallowed. Hard.

He sounded tired, but also frustrated. At least they knew now. Some of the weight of uncertainty lifted, only to be replaced by the desire to soothe, but continued fear of rejection. It was a combination only Felix had ever brought out of them.

“I can’t remember any of those old memories...but I still couldn’t forget about you. About meeting you. I couldn’t stay away any more.” Those words, said more forcefully, shook Ad out of their emotional stupor. Finally Felix stood, the crunch of snow under his boots a soft sound compared to his voice. He took a step closer to them. “Every time I try to remember being really, truly happy...I can’t. All those memories seem to have been with you. So maybe I can’t remember those times, but...I know that they were the happiest of my life. I would do anything to get them back. For you. For us.” Another hesitant step.

“Maybe it will never happen. But I know that I can’t run away from you any more. I tried. I tried to forget. And I thought...maybe if you had forgotten me too, you wouldn’t come here. That was a bit selfish of me.” Finally he gave another small smile, just a quirk of his lips. “But you did.”

By now he wasn’t so far away; maybe only a couple of feet. The boots gave him a little more height on them. The feathers of his cloak looked downy and soft. The swell of his chest under his doublet as he breathed the icy air was visible. How could he be the same person Advieh wanted so desperately, and yet not quite?

But they also had an answer, after all this time.

“I did.” They reached out, chilly hands finding Felix’s gloved ones. The white leather was soft, and although he started at the touch, he did not shy away from it.

Maybe there could still be hope, even if it was a different kind of hope.

“Felix, I have to...I need to say some things. This...is all my fault. No, it is,” they hurriedly continued, when he automatically opened his mouth to deny it. It was hard, what they wanted to say, and yet once they started, it was easier than they thought. It felt like a confession of the worst kind of sin, but letting go felt so much better.

“I was a coward, and I was blind. Worse, I was ignorant, and I stayed that way on purpose. I thought that there was a role I had to play, and so I forced myself to play it. I told myself I was trapped in a cage. But the truth is...the truth is that I locked myself in that cage. I held the key. I fooled myself into thinking I had no other options, because options and choices were frightening. And yet. You were the only one to force yourself inside. To hold open the door. To ask me to leave with you.” They had to stop, to compose themself, because their voice had ground to a whisper under the weight of the emotions. Everything they wished they had said. All the truths they held back before.

But not this time. Not again.

“And I...I didn’t take your hand. When the time came, I was too afraid to leave. I didn’t want to think of a way out, so I told myself we could both be locked in that cage together. That we could be happy enough that way, without words. Without commitment. And it...it almost cost you everything. I’m so sorry, Felix. I’m so, so sorry.”

A few defiant tears escaped then, and Ad let out a noise of frustration, not wanting the indulgence. This was too important. And yet, there wasn’t much more that could be said. All there could be was a response.

Felix’s hands tightened on theirs, like he was fighting an intense urge to do...something. A million small changes raced across his face. Then, at last, he raised one hand and placed it ever-so-hesitantly on their cheek to brush away the tears. It was the most feather-light touch Ad had ever felt. They let out a trembling breath; let their eyes flutter closed.

“I feel like...I already forgave you. I don’t think there was ever anything to forgive. Not to me, anyway. I felt...insane, for having these feelings for someone I couldn’t remember. But you were always there. I know that memories make us who we are. They shape us into different people...and I know I can’t be the same man you remember, when I don’t have those memories inside me. But looking at you, I...want. I want you. I want to know you. I want to be even better than the person I was before, whoever he was. And he was an idiot if he didn’t tell you how much you meant to him. I won’t--”

“I love you,” Ad said, their mouth moving and saying the words before Felix could even finish his sentence. The sound of that declaration, said aloud, was a surprise even to them. Once their brain caught up, their hands flew to their mouth, an ‘O’ of shock, and clapped over it tightly. “Ah,” they said, in a high and reedy squeak that they were sure they had never made in their whole life, “I didn’t mean...that was so sudden, I….ah...” But their own embarrassment was temporarily forgotten as they looked up to see the absolutely radiant look of elation, surprise, and pleasure on Felix’s face. He took another step, closing most of the little distance left between them, and brought his other hand up to frame their face.

“This is wild, and crazy, and I can honestly say I’ve lost my mind. But...I think I love you, too.” He laughed, a breathless sound that was an exhale of relief and a celebration, and then Ad’s feet lost contact with the ground as he lifted them up, the feel of his arms around them just the way they remembered.

Maybe this wasn’t the same as before. But there was no reason they couldn’t start again. And this time, Ad thought, they would do it properly. No more hiding. No more secrets. No more shutting themself off for fear of the world, even as they stared out at it wistfully from inside a palace or a carriage. They remembered the last words the two of them had spoken to one another, in the Hanged Man’s realm that day while Felix’s life hung in the balance. Maybe the assertions he made then had been true all along. Maybe they would remember each other, and love each other, even if they had to start from zero again. Ad was never a big believer of fate...and yet, just this once, it didn’t feel like such a terrible thing, being fated to be with this man.

Felix had already saved them twice; once from a literal sword, and then from a miserable life in the cage they built themself. Yet here he was again, with no memory of them, his hand held out with no hesitation.

This time they would grab it, they thought, and they would never let go of it again. After all, Advieh didn’t make the same mistake twice, and there were so many new ones waiting to be made...for the both of them.

Together.

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