#i usually send a message to the local witch

[regina-the-sorceress]

I love days like today. It’s been almost a year since I visited here last, and a lovely young lady came up to me thanking me. I hardly recognized her! I gave her a transition potion last year and she looks so happy and radiant now. We’re going to meet at the tavern tonight so I can meet her wife!

This is why I do this, the long roads, the hazards. To see someone so happy, that’s worth more to me than any money.

[practically-an-x-man]

Your OCs, for being nice to Laila, have received a gift! The severed heads of their worst enemies sit in a large burlap sack, the decapitation wounds all cauterized by her lightsaber so there's not blood everywhere. How do they react (let's be honest Eris would probably be into it)?

Ooooooh haha I should've seen this coming lol. Thank you!

Rae: Is caught in one perpetual "what the fuck is going on here?" and doesn't really connect that it's related to helping Laila. She decides that the safest thing is to leave the heads where they are and call this in, and she and Warren stay back at the X-Mansion for a few days while an investigation is conducted. It's probably the safest option, since she's sure that people would notice the ones who have been killed and calling it in immediately helps them to be expunged as potential suspects.

Robin: Opens up the back and immediately shrieks, which of course sends Peter running in as fast as he can (since usually Robin isn't the screaming type). In the end, they call Charles and have him help them drop off the bag at the local police station without raising suspicion

Madison: Hikes into the woods with Bravo and buries the heads wayyy deep in the forest. Outwardly she's very contained and in control, but as soon as the heads are buried and the evidence is gone she's shaking all over as the situation really hits her. She's... hardcore rattled.

Ophelia: Calls the NYPD. Normally cops are not her friends, and she's definitely not a fan of having the pigs crawling around in her lab, but she's got a reputation to maintain (both as Argonaut and as the spokesperson for Denarii) and it's probably best just to turn this one over. Technically, she has never killed another human being, let alone in such a violent manner, and there are a lot of people to vouch for her, so she gets turned over as a suspect pretty quickly.

Gia: Doesn't seem to process that these are her worst enemies, sees a bag of severed heads and assumes this is some sort of threat towards her. She packs up as much of her clover and personal belongings as possible, abandons the rest, and just starts driving. (Or, on a lighter note, if she's with Kate at this point she'd stay over there for a while, or with Clint on his farm until the situation calms down a bit)

Jasper: Also assumes this is some kind of message, but more in a "they found out your boyfriend was in a horrible bus crash and was magically necromanced and now they're coming after you for it" kind of way. The only thing they can think to do is call the witches, but even that's not particularly helpful.

Kestrel: Is disgusted and perhaps a little frightened, but is able to dispose of the heads before anyone else notices. Most are chucked into the acidic tar pits at the far end of the preserve, and the rest are simply buried in the most uninhabitable patches of the woods to decompose. Perks of being a changeling on a magically-protected preserve - the cops will literally never find them, and legally they do not exist.

Katherine: Oh my god, can you IMAGINE? She'd be terrified out of her mind, her apartment would be closed down for the police investigation, she and Jace end up staying over with Emily (though neither of them are able to sleep much). This traumatizes her for real, we're talking genuine PTSD that affects her for YEARS.

Quinn: Initially thinks the heads are some sort of prop or special effect, up until she picks one up and realizes it's way too real. Thankfully she lives out in the desert, so she just drives out to the middle of nowhere and buries the heads in the sand so they'll decompose.

Eris: Absolutely would be into it, and wants to mount them all on pikes and display them around the outside of the apartment like the old English castles. It takes everything in Rick's power to convince them of what an absolutely horrible idea that is.

Nikoletta: Takes one look, and immediately turns around and goes back inside. "Get the cat carriers. We're moving. Right now."

[espithewarlock]

Some end-of-2023 asks that didn't get asked but I'm answering them anyways! Some are from AO3 Wrapped and some are from the more general 2023 reblog.

How many works did you publish this year?

20! It's so much more than I thought I would post, let alone write!

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Bittersweet, That Glitter (aka, Dragon!Pierre) by a long shot. I love the fantasy & worldbuilding and it's some of my best stuff. (I also loved dropping it on Sol unexpectedly and having her start shouting at me within a minute of posting it. Seriously, AO3, you chose then to be speedy with email notifications??)

What work of yours has the most hits?

My Pierre/Charles/Max Soulmark AU. Probably because it's one of the few chaptered fics that I have and probably because it's lestappen tagged. Of my oneshots, Omega!Pierre just beats OnlyFans!Charles by a few hits.

What work was the quickest to write?

I started Take, Take Me Over at 6:30am, wrote 1.9k words, edited, and posted it by 8:30am. (Then I went to the gym and found the perfect song inspiration. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

What work took you the longest to write?

Another Deep Dive All The Way Down (aka, the Carlando Coffeeshop AU that's a companion to Mermaid!Charles) probably had the longest time start to finish because I kept procrastinating writing the ending.

What’s your shortest work of the year?

I wrote exactly 1,016 words for the short-fic prompt challenge, Trading Controllers, and I'm impressed at how much story I squeezed into just over a thousand words.

How many kudos in total did you get this year?

I'm sitting at 2,307 while I'm writing this and that is simply insane! I'm done posting Coffeeshop and I'm hoping to get a few more on that one since it's now 100% complete. Honestly, the fact that over two thousand people have liked my stuff enough to say they like my stuff is incredible!

Which work has the most comments?

By sheer number? Soulmark AU at 66 comment threads, but that averages to 3.9 per chapter. Mermaid!Charles has 4.1 per chapter, for comparison. Of my oneshots, Nymph!Pierre has 8 (including an ESSAY that makes me 🥰), Baker!Pierre has 7, and OnlyFans!Charles has 7.

What do you listen to while writing?

I actually usually listen to Twitch streams. The video game music + the commentary/content gives me something to flip back to while I'm thinking over story ideas and doesn't pull me out of the writing flow like listening to distinct songs.

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

It's so hard to pick just one! Here's some of my favorites: 1. The 'little squid' bit from Nymph!Pierre 2. The whole meet-cute scene from Baker!Pierre (+ Kimi's "But that did not go well") 3. The line from Dragon!Pierre after he leaves ("Now that he knew the warmth of Charles' hands, of his mouth, on his body, there was no way the sun could compare.") 4. The absolute heartbreak of Pierre saying goodbye to Mermaid!Charles 5. OnlyFans!Charles pointing to himself ("what a coincidence! I also like your shirt.")

Talk about a new friend you made this year

Literally everyone in the Calamar's Club, but especially Logan & Sol. Sol for being the sweetest person ever, letting me be insane about dragons, and inviting me to the server after seeing me shout into the void for friends. Logan for dragging me into the chaos, the constant encouragement of everyone, and for making me melt every time they react to anything I post.

How was your birthday this year?

Excellent! I visited my sister, went to her wedding dress fitting, and we saw the musical Six! It was my first time seeing it and it was AMAZING.

Favorite book(s) you read this year?

The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune & The Near Witch by VE Schwab

What are you excited about for next year?

Posting my PWFE fic, meeting up with a local-ish fandom friend, and hopefully planning my first overseas trip!

If you could send a message to yourself back on the first day of the year, what would it be?

Read your fucking comments, Espi! You could have been making new friends and having fun conversations all year and you were too much of a coward to try that until ~September~. Most of them are lovely and you should ignore the ones that aren't!

Did you keep any New Year’s Resolutions?

Yep! I resolved to start lifting at the gym (instead of just doing cardio) and I've made pretty good progress! Going to continue into next year for sure!

[mdeath99]

Death's Head: Animal Skulls in Witchcraft & Spirit work by Blake Malliway (book review)

Book's Published Summary:

"This book contains a unique blend of folklore and hands-on Witchcraft, all centered around the use of animal skulls. Contained herein are the manifestations of the author's own personal style of Witchcraft as well as methods for magically finding a skull, ways of purifying the skull, and instructions on how to imbue the skull with spirit presence for the purpose of divination, insight, and other acts of magic. Also included are rituals for the physical manifestation of the spirit and instructions for petitioning magical favors by the way of spirit intervention. The Witch seeking a stronger, more intense connection with the spirit world will find good use of the rituals and methods given"-Blake Malliway

My initial thoughts:

traditional witch with reference page/suggested reading which is always a good sign in my book (no references = sus)

96 pages and very small, makes it a quick read and a good reference book for those on the go 3"x5"

First page is "make sure what your doing is legal as local laws vary for this stuff" which is also a good sign as witches should take responsibility for their own actions

11 Chapters plus preface

Review:

This book, unlike other witchcraft books, stands alone by itself. While I have been practicing for a long time and love to do research on multiple fields of witchcraft, outside of hoodoo and voodoo I have rarely seen mentions of using skulls in one's practice. This was extremally disappointing while growing up as I have collected skulls from the nature around me since I was 6 and have always considered them an essential part of my craft as they tie back to the land I work on. In comes Death's Head, a book that solves this problem. Throughout this book Blake Malliway goes over how he weaves skulls into his own practice, which I find similar to my own. With that in mind, I may be a bit biased for that reason, so please keep that in mind while reading this review. If you have a book you'd like me to write another review about/analyze, message me or send something into my ask box. With that, lets get into it.

In the beginning of the book, it's made clear this isn't the only way to work with bones of any kind. That I personally find a very good sign. No one person (or witch) knows everything. If a book you are reading claims this is the only way, I (as a lover of books) would throw it in the dumpster. There is no one way for our practices, but thousands upon thousands formed by witches of yesterday and today. Back to the book though, another thing that is made clear early on is the skull itself is a house for a spirit, so for those looking into spirit work itself but not/are unable to get a skull, it's still a good read.

My one major complaint though is chapter 2/3 of this book: Finding the skull and The purification of the skull. As someone who has collected bones for most of his life I can tell you one thing. Flesh or no flesh: bones smell. This is since while living, bones have grease attached to them. This grease caused a fowl odor as it sinks into the bones during decomposition, even with no flesh. To clean these, I have left some links below which directions. In my personal experience, I look for bones with no flesh or dried up cartilage I can remove. Once the cartilage is gone, I soak the bone(s) in a solution of 50% water and 50% hydrogen peroxide. This will clean any germs and smells, just make sure to leave the lid cracked if you have one. And whatever you do, don't use bleach. While this will whiten the bones, it will also eat them. Along with that though, there also isn't many tips for finding bones outside a ritual. While rituals can help, so can knowing where to look. I would highly recommend researching this, as it varies from landscape. For example, I usually look behind the dunes of a beach or along the highest seaweed line. I have good luck in these spots as the ocean will leave bones here and/or animals will take them to these spots to eat. With that in mind, be careful of the wildlife around you. I live in an area full of coyotes that come out around dusk, so keep stuff like that in mind when hunting (aka research the dangers of the area your in. Also bring a knife, those dried out tendons are no joke).

The rituals themselves are stepped in traditional witchcraft from the Cornish region of England, which is where a lot of modern traditional witchcraft comes from. The author acknowledges this and you can also see this in references & suggested reading page. Some I instantly recognized were Traditional Witchcraft: A Cornish Book of Ways (Gary.G) and Treading the mill: Workings in traditional witchcraft (Morgan. L). One thing I always like is multiple perspectives, which this book more than delivers on. I sense no bias at all, unlike the lack of bone hunting knowledge.

Overall, I would highly recommend this book to any intermediate witch looking to learn more/break into spirit work and bring the nature around them into their practice. A 5/5 in my opinion

Bone cleaning links:

[bestiarium]

The Abayifo [Ashanti mythology; Ghanaian mythology]

Witchcraft was feared and hated among the Ashanti people, who live in Ghana. An Abayifo is a kind of witch who practises black magic. They were always female but male sorcerers also existed, these were called Bonsam and they were far less common than Abayifos. An Abayifo looks like a regular woman but often has at least some hair on her face. They have the ability to shapeshift into a large variety of animals, including owls, parrots, fireflies, lions, hyenas, vultures, flies, elephants, snakes and so on. Sometimes they wore a belt made from snakes around their waist. Witches are associated with Sasabonsam, a mythical creature who became associated with the devil after Christianization of the local folktales.

They are known to attack people and suck blood and because of this, they are often associated with vampires in modern retellings. But they are not undead. All witches knew one another and were in league with each other. They had their own society with separate functions such as executioners and court officials. In fact, if you are an Abayifo you could recognize other witches by the red smoke that rises from their heads, which is invisible to normal people. 

Abayifos were feared and had the ability to curse a woman so that she could never have a child again. At night, these people would walk around the village naked, carrying a magical talisman called an atufa. During the night, their skin would glow and you could see a humanoid figure of light in the darkness. When they came upon the house of a suitable victim, they would turn around and press their buttocks against the wall of the house. Their talisman would then connect to the body of the victim. I am uncertain whether this is a magically warped connection, or the object would physically elongate to connect the victim to the witch, but the Abayifo would then suck blood through their talisman. The next morning, the victim would be ill and would die soon, usually on the same day. Before doing this, however, the witch would try to obtain a small part of their chosen victim. This was usually a tuft of hair or a fingernail, but it could also be an inorganic object such as a bead.

When walking around at night, Abayifos have some sort of connection with the spider webs around the village, which are spun around the doors of houses. When a door opens, the witch can feel the vibration through the webs and is immediately alarmed. This way, they can avoid detection.

A child cannot become an Abayifo, they have to be adults. There is also a significant restriction on the powers of an Abayifo: their magic only works on people of their own clan. In addition, there is a saying among the Ashanti people that an Abayifo, no matter how fierce she is, eats on her side of a river but cannot cross the stream. I am uncertain whether this is a metaphor or intended to be taken literally, meaning that a witch is unable to cross running water.

An Abayifo usually owns a large pot, called a bayi kukuo, and owning such an item was often enough to prove that somebody was a witch. For this reason, witches would hide these pots, often in enchanted hollow rocks that opened when the Abayifo spoke the words “take this pot and keep it safe for me”.

It is forbidden to shed the blood of an Abayifo. If it was necessary to kill one, she should be strangled rather than stabbed or cut. But it didn’t always come to a lethal struggle: there are stories of women who admitted to being an Abayifo and were marked on the palm of their hand with a firebrand. They were allowed to live but were banished from their village. In addition, the people would send a message to neighbouring settlements that a witch has been marked and that she should not be allowed entry into a village. In practice, this was usually a death sentence. Another method of execution was to force the accused witch to drink a special poison. If she managed to recover after swallowing the poison and throw it back up, she was free of suspicion. When this happened, the one who accused her of being a witch had to pay a huge fine, which was often enough to ruin their family.

Source: Rattray, R. S., Religion and Art in Ashanti, 1929. (image: an illustration of a vampire by Avery Sky Williams)

[cat-induced-fever-dream]

Acquaintances

Pairing: Wanda x Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Description: Wanda meets someone who doesn’t treat her like a villain, but she doesn’t know who you really are.

Notes: I promise it’s fluff and not a trap. Also sorry about my hiatus, I’m just super unmotivated to do anything. So here’s my feeble offering to try and get back into writing.

- - -

Wanda groaned at the sight of a man with a camera. All she wanted was to pop down to the shops, buy some paprika, but alas, even a shopping trip was gold for the paparazzi. Maybe if she hid behind an aisle he would leave. But she heard the door open behind her. Ducking quickly behind a stack of tuna cans, she scanned the rows for the precious package.

She knew she wasn’t the favourite of the public, and the guilt of what she’d done ate her alive every night, but she was sick of being blamed. All she did was try her best, but this was the kind of thanks she got.

She frowned a little when she saw the man round the corner. She steeled herself, not wanting the tears to spring to her eyes. Turning around to face him, she- There was a person talking to him. You had a shopping bag in your hand, so you must have been another customer. Dressed smartly with a blazer, but paired with jeans and sneakers, you looked friendly, but the cold look you gave the man said otherwise. You exchanged words quietly with the reporter, and he seemed to refuse you, turning back to look at her. Realising that this was the perfect stall to get out of the store, she resumed her search. Cumin, Ginger, Paprika! Quickly glancing back to see how long she had, she saw you hand the man a business card as he hurriedly shuffled away.

“Sorry about that,” you turned to her, looking genuinely apologetic.

“Why?” she asked, it coming out harsher than she meant for it to. “It wasn’t even your fault.”

You shrugged. “You don’t deserve it.”

Wanda frowned again at this. She didn’t even know you, but you helped her out, so the least she could do was be polite. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” you smiled. The two of you started to walk towards to counter. More like she did and you kind of happened to as well. “What are you cooking with the paprika?”

Sliding the bag to the cashier, she turned to face you properly. “I was making a traditional Sokovian dish.”

“I’m a big fan of trying different cuisines,” you replied, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “That sounds delicious.”

Wanda’s not really sure why you’re trying to make conversation, but you didn’t seem to have an agenda, so she indulged you with a response as the two of you walked out of the store. “It is, my mum always had the best recipe.”

“Ah well, my parents weren’t around much, so I can’t say the same,” you laughed, throwing your shopping in the back of what must have been your car.

Wanda hadn’t even realised she had walked with you to your car. That was embarrassing. “Well, it was nice to meet you, but I should be going now,” backing away as quickly as she could without making a fool of herself.

“Wait,” you called, “do you need a lift back?”

“You’re a stranger.”

“Well I know your name is Wanda,” you grinned cheekily, opening the passenger door. “And my name is Y/N. Guess we’re not strangers anymore. So, what do you say? It’s the least I could do, with that man bothering you.”

She’s not sure what compelled her to agree, but she found herself sitting in a plush leather seat as you adjusted the rear view mirror. Tapping the dashboard screen, you pulled up a map to Avengers Tower and backed out of the parking lot.

You didn’t seem to mind that she didn’t make conversation, bopping your head gently to whatever pop song was on the radio. Instead she spent the time trying to figure out who you were and why you were being so nice. “It’s rude to stare, you know?” you winked at her.

Wanda felt the heat rush to her cheeks. “Wha- No, sorry,” she mumbled. She’d done it again, made herself look dumb. You giggle, returning your eyes to the road. Trying not to stare at you this time, she observed the fancy watch adorning your wrist, and the sleek interior of the car. You must be a businesswoman of some sort, since this clearly wasn’t your average suburban car. But you were wearing jeans. Maybe a lower level employee than?

She sat there musing, until the door suddenly opened. “We’re here,” you smiled, gesturing at the grand tower that was now her home.

Why couldn’t she stop being so awkward? This was the third time. Unbuckling the seatbelt, she stumbled out, clutching the paprika to her chest. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime, Wanda.” And with a small wave, you hopped back into your car and drove off.

- - -

Heading straight to her room, Wanda abandoned her plans for paprikash. The whole interaction was quite frankly, baffling. No one was ever nice to her, except for the Avengers. But you clearly knew who she was, driving her back to the tower without an address. Tossing her jacket on her bed, she sighed. It’s not like she’d ever see you again. That’s when she noticed the card peeking out from the pocket. There was a phone number printed neatly on it, and a cursive scrawl underneath. “I am actually interested in the dish though. Could I have the name of it?”

She hadn’t exactly interacted with anyone else, so it must’ve been you. Running her thumb over the ink, she was hit with a renewed sense of energy. Grabbing the paprika, she dashed back down the stairs.

- - -

You’re spinning around in your office chair when your phone goes off. Clicking on the message, a small smile makes its way into your face.

Unknown Number: this is the dish i was talking about

Unknown Number: *image*

Unknown Number: it’s paprikash

- - -

“Hey Wanda,” Tony called, a carefully wrapped package in his arms, “this came for you.”

One look at the scarlet wrapping paper, and she knew who it was from. “Thanks Tony,” she said, grabbing it and running to her room.

Setting the package gently on her bed, she untied the ribbon and unfolded the wrapping paper. Nestled in the middle, a box of cookies.

She grinned to herself. Wanda’s been texting you for a couple of months now, and now she could really say that you’re not strangers. She knows that you can’t cook, but you can bake. You’re a businesswoman “of sorts” you say, and that you’re a pretty busy person. But regardless, you hang out with her, chilling in the local coffee shop, going shopping, even just a stroll around the park. She also knows that this happiness she gets when she sees you is definitely not platonic.

Opening the lid, the chocolate aroma wafts into her room. Her favourite of your baked goods. There’s a note tucked into the side of the box, and she delicately pulls it out. “Be my girlfriend?” she read, the handwriting obviously yours. Wait. Be my girlfriend? She sat there dumbly for a couple of seconds before it hit her. You’re asking her to be your girlfriend. Wanda scrambled for her phone, snapping a picture to send to you.

Y/N: those cookies look delicious, who sent them?

The witch rolled eyes at your antics, but played along.

Wanda: idk, but i just got asked out

Y/N: whoaaaa, did you say yes?

Wanda: yes you dumbass

Y/N: okay, under other circumstances that would’ve hurt, but i’m too excited to care right now <3

Wanda: ...

Wanda: did you try to bribe me with cookies?

Y/N: it worked, didn’t it?

Wanda: i can’t believe i actually like you

Y/N: honestly, me too

Y/N: sorry it’s a busy day, but you wanna come over for dinner?

Wanda: sounds good <3

Y/N: i’ll come pick you up, see you then girlfriend

She didn’t want bugs in her room, so Wanda grabbed the box to put in her kitchen cupboard. Balancing a cookie in her mouth, she was about to close the lid, when a hand pinched one. Eyes immediately glowing red, she locked onto Sam as he backed away, half eaten cookie and hands up in surrender.

“Do that again and I will give you nightmares.”

The Falcon whistled lowly. “Okay. Protective over cookies. Got it.”

“There’s cookies?” Bucky asked, strolling in.

“No.”

“Oh okay.”

- - -

The heroes were sprawled on the couches playing a game of UNO when Wanda came down the stairs.

“What are you doing with that hoodie?” Tony asked sharply.

Wanda furrowed her eyebrows. “This.. hoodie?” she replied, tugging on the drawstrings of the soft item of company clothing she was wearing.

“Yes! That’s my enemy’s!”

She didn’t really want to get into whatever nonsense the genius was spouting again. “My friend lent it to me.”

“You have friends?” joked Sam.

Steve gave the man a warning look. “It’s good that you’re adjusting to life here.”

“I think the important question here,” Natasha said from her spot, “is where are you going?”

“Dinner,” she replied, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. She tried to fight the silly smile that crept into her face whenever she thought about you, but she mustn’t have hid it well enough, since the red headed spy gave her a sickeningly sweet smile.

I hate you, she projected.

Nat winked back.

“Based on the way Miss Maximoff keeps anxiously glancing at the door, there is likely to be someone waiting for her,” Vision piped up. “I have searched the Internet databases, and from what I have gathered, your casual outfit means that you are going with someone you are familiar with. The sharing of clothes is usually reserved for close friends or romantic partners only.”

Of course the android had to get involved.

“Your heart rate seems to be speeding up Miss Maximoff. Are you okay?”

“Wanda Maximoff,” Tony asked slowly, “do you have a boyfriend?”

That’s when all hell broke loose.

“Who is he?”

“Is he hot?”

“Where did you meet?”

“How did you even get a boyfriend?”

“Can we meet him?”

“What-“

“Okay,” she groaned. Well it was bound to happen eventually. She just wished she could’ve gotten even a few months without the teasing. “I have a girlfriend, yes she’s hot, yes I’m going to have dinner with her, and I’ll ask about meeting. I’m going to go now.” With that, she stepped into the elevator.

“Don’t think this conversation is over witchy,” called Tony, as the doors slid shut.

- - -

“Hey,” you smiled as she slid into the car. “What took you so long?”

“The Avengers found out.”

You chuckled at that. “What, did they interrogate you or something?”

“Something like that.” She paused. “They want to meet you.”

“Are you sure?”

“They’re my family, and they’ll love you as much as I do.”

“Cute,” you grinned, “but I don’t know about Tony.”

“Trust me, they’re a mess a lot of the time, but they’re good people.”

You checked through your phone. “I haven’t got anything on around lunch tomorrow. I can come by then, how does that sound?”

“So you’ll come?”

“Anything for my girlfriend.”

- - -

Her green eyes locked onto you amongst the bustle of suits in the lobby.

“Hey.”

You adjusted the grey fabric of your pantsuit. “Hey yourself.”

“Did you wear the suit to impress me?” Wanda asked, delicately tugging on your tie.

“Actually, I’ve got a meeting with the investors later. Gotta make an impression, you know?”

“Well consider me impressed,” she whispered against your ear.

Blushing, you allowed Wanda to lead you to the elevator.

- - -

Clint wasn’t sure what to expect with you. But if Wanda liked you, you were sure to be one of the good sorts. So maybe like a cute girl she met at the cafe or something. He sure as hell wasn’t expecting the confident girl dressed in a suit to step out of the elevator.

All of them were lined up in the common room and he’s pretty sure any normal person would have been intimidated by the sheer amount of Avengers in front of them, but you stepped up to them absolutely unfazed.

“Mr Rogers,” you offered your hand to shake, “a pleasure to meet you.”

Steve was expecting to have to take the lead with introductions, but here you seemed to be handling yourself fine. “Likewise.”

“Is Mr Stark here today?” you asked him.

“He’s a bit busy at the mo-“

Clattering and a string of curses interrupted him. And of course, the man himself stepped into the room, Iron Man debris in his wake.

“Tony,” Steve scolded.

“What? Did you think I’d miss meeting the girl who stole the heart of our cold antisocial emo?”

Wanda tossed a couch pillow at him, but he brushed it off.

“Tony Stark,” he declared.

You shook his hand politely. “I know who you are Mr Stark.”

“And you are...?”

“Y/N L/N.”

The genius might have been singed from his armour, but the moment that name fell from your lips, he yanked his hand away, as if he was burned.

“L/N. As in L/N Corporations?”

“That’s me.”

Abruptly he turned to Wanda. “Do you know who this is?” he hissed. “The greatest rival to Stark Industries. I thought you were introducing your girlfriend.”

You gave him a winning smile. “I am her girlfriend Mr Stark. And you may have made me your rival, but I can assure you that you are not mine.”

Sam snorted.

“What are you doing here then? Are you here to try and steal data? You can’t...”

You paid him no mind as you winked at Sam. Spotting the metal arm, your eyes widened. “You must be Bucky, right? Princess Shuri told me she’d been working on some vibranium projects. I’d love to take a closer look some other day if you don’t mind?”

“How do you know Shuri?” Stark spluttered.

“You think that she only talks to rich boys who need her help? Sorry to burst your bubble.”

Nat couldn’t help but smirk at this.

“Oh and I’ve actually been working on some prototype Widow Bites as a bit of a free time project,” you added. “If you’re interested, your opinion on usage would really help me to refine them.”

“Of course.”

“Traitor,” Tony glared.

It’s at this point your phone began to ring. Glancing down, you offered a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, I’ve really got to take this.” You turned to face the wall as your friendly tone turned professional.

The Avengers huddled together as your call went on.

“Is she using you for information?” Tony scowled.

Wanda scowled back. “She’s my girlfriend Stark. Not everything is about you.”

He looked as if he was going to say more, but Steve interrupted.

“Look Tony, she seemed like a perfectly lovely girl.”

“Yeah I like her,” added Sam. “She can keep your ego in check.”

“If Wanda likes her, I’m fine with it too.” Clint said.

Wanda gave him a thankful look.

A cough came awkwardly behind them.

“I really hate to cut this short everyone, but something’s come up back at the office. Investors are a pain.”

“Yeah go on back to your investors then,” spat Tony.

“Wow” you drawled, heading back to the elevator, “is the rich card the only thing you can play Stark?”

The light on the wall indicated that the cab had arrived, and you stepped inside the carriage which would take you back down, as Peter stepped out.

“Oh hey Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“I was just leaving Pete, but swing by later, alright?”

“You know it.”

“Oh and I heard you liked the hoodie I gave Wanda, Mr Stark,” you called. “I can grab you one as well, since it’s my company. But I really do gotta run now. Nice to meet you all!” The metal doors slid shut on your grinning face.

There was a silence, before Tony turned on his protégée. “How the hell are you on a first name business with her?”

“We’re friends?” Peter offered.

“Friends?”

“She went to college with me. She was super smart and we hung out and stuff. You know, what friends usually do.”

Squirming under his mentor’s gaze, he continued. “She was too smart for college though, so she dropped out and started her company. It didn’t mean we stopped being friends though.”

“Why didn’t you tell me Underoos?”

“She figured you might overreact, especially with the web sho-“ The boy’s eyes widened, and he made a mad dash for the stairs.

But Tony grabbed his wrist. “What were you saying?”

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair anxiously. “She helped me out with my web shooters in college, and since then, she’s been developing them with me.”

“What?”

“She knows I’m Spider-Man and I work with her on my tech,” he said slowly.

The man surveyed his teammates, making deliberate eye contact with each and every one of them. “Traitors, the lot of you,” he huffed.

“I mean you gotta admit it,” laughed Sam. “She’s college age, and built an empire to rival you. Not to mention that she’s pretty, smart, has better PR and actual time management skills-“

“Okay I get it,” the genius cut him off.

“Don’t be upset,” Clint smirked, “you can’t lose if you’re not her competition.”

Tony stomped off.

“Don’t worry about him, he’ll come around,” Steve said gently, nodding at Wanda who was fiddling anxiously with her rings.

“She was cool,” added Nat. “Tony can be a pain in the ass, but he knows she’s a good person.”

Her phone buzzed in her hand.

<3: i’d say that went pretty well

Wanda: cannot believe you didn’t tell me

<3: i’m really sorry babe, please don’t hate me

Wanda: i could never

<3: just didn’t want him to stop you from fraternising with the enemy or whatever

Wanda: i’d break the rules for you any day

<3: how romantic

<3: so miss rebel, you coming over tonight?

Wanda: depends if you’re still wearing the suit

<3: anything for you ;)

[librarywildflower]

Pen Pal Newbie! (23/F/Texas)

Hello to all of you lovely pen pal prospects out there! Today I come to you in search of a pen pal (obviously). I'm kind of bad at talking about myself, so here are a few things about me:

- I'm very much a homebody and can usually be found playing Stardew Valley or The Sims or the Far Cry franchise, writing short stories, reading, or watching movies.

- I'm an INFP, a Slytherin, and a Capricorn. I'm also what you would consider to be a "baby witch"...I have recently started studying Wicca, but I'm taking it slow since there's just a massive amount of information out there.

- I love horror movies and TV shows, but I don't watch a lot of TV...I'm more of a YouTube person. Can I just say that I loved watching Netflix's 'The Woman in the House Across the Street from the Girl in the Window'? It was cheesy and exactly what I needed.

- I'm getting into podcasts and am always ready for recommendations! Music, too! Send me your playlists!

- I have two dogs that I'm more than happy to share photos of!

- I currently work part-time at a flower shop and part-time at my local library. My dream is to one day have a home in the forest surrounded by books and plants.

- I love cottagecore things (strawberries, peaches, frogs, etc.) and I pick up almost every stray rock I see on the sidewalk.

I'm looking to write to someone that's wanting a long-term pen pal and is willing to write long letters! I'm new to the penpal world so I don't have a ton of stationary, but I believe that the connection I'm after is more in the letter itself than in the embellishments - that's not to say that I won't try to make your letter cute!

I'm asking for penpals around my age (so 20-25 maybe?) and ask that you're based in the United States due to postage. I don't interact with those that are discriminatory (sexist, racist, homophobic, transphobic, etc.), so please do not contact me if you are any of those things.

If you feel like we could be pals, feel free to message me!

[winchesterwords]

“Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time” Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Sam and Dean need help on a case, they reach out to Rowena who sends you, a hunter, to help them with a ghost problem. Dean however, may have just met his match in more ways than one. 

Word Count: 5265

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Don’t Threaten Me With a Good Time” by Thomas Rhett

Note: Dean Winchester has my heart! Feel free to request! Also, I am not exactly sure where I set this, but it’s before the fall as Cas still has his wings.

---------

“Of all the people we know, Sam, you called Rowena.” 

Dean looked over at his brother in the passenger seat of the Impala with narrowed eyes. Sam sighed, shaking the hair from his face. “You said we needed help and she has connections,” explained Sam. “Besides, she said she was sending someone to help, not that she was coming herself.” 

“Great so we don’t get the Head Bitch Witch, just one of her friends,” Dean said.

“Rowena said she’s a hunter, not a witch,” Sam said as he tapped away on his phone. Dean didn’t bother to respond as he turned his eyes back to the road in front of him.

The Winchesters had gotten word of a case just outside of Omaha. There had been previous witch activity in the area years before so Sam had reached out to Rowena in hopes of getting some insight. However, the woman was currently busy trying to wrangle her son and since she didn’t believe the case had anything to do with witches, she passed along the message to you, a hunter she knew that was in the area. You had told her that you were going to meet the boys at a motel off the highway and Rowena had sent the message along to the Winchesters. 

“I just don’t get it,” Dean said after a few more minutes, “why is she helping us all of a sudden?”

“When it comes to Rowena, she’s probably only doing us this favor so we have to do her one in return.” 

“What? Does she think we’ll be at her beck and call?” 

“Seems like it.” 

“Well if this goes South,” Dean said, “I’m tracking down her broomstick and making her fix it.” 

“Fair enough.” 

-------

When the Winchesters arrived at the motel, the parking lot was nearly empty except for a dark truck in the corner. 

You leaned against it, tapping away on a cell phone. When you heard the rumble of the Impala you looked up and lifted your hand in greeting. “I really don’t like new hunters,” Dean grumbled as he pulled into a spot across from you. 

“I bet they think the same thing about us, Dean,” Sam countered. 

“No, no they don’t,” Dean said with a sly smile at his brother, “because we’re awesome.” Sam rolled his eyes as he shoved open the door and stepped out. Dean followed quickly after. Both men kept their weapons close as they approached you.

You were calm and casual as they walked over. If this was any other night, Dean would have thought you were just a normal girl waiting on a friend, not a hunter with a specialty in ghost possession. 

“Sam and Dean?” you asked. “Though, I don’t know who else would be driving a car like that.” Sam smiled first, moving forward to reach for her hand. “I’m (Y/N),” you said as Sam grasped your hand in his. 

“Nice to meet you,” Sam said pleasantly as you turned to Dean. He gripped your hand tight as well. 

“So, you’re the ghost girl?” Dean asked, trying to get a feel for you. 

“That’s one way to put it,” you said with a small laugh. “I’ve been called worse. Come on, I already got a room.” You nodded your head towards the motel room not too far where you had parked your respective vehicles. The boys followed after you and out of the corner of your eye, you could see that both were keeping their hands near their weapons. You rolled your eyes at the movement. “You know,” you said as you dug the key out of your pocket, “if I was going to kill you, I wouldn’t do it at a motel frequently visited by hunters. That would be a bit too cliche.” Looking over your shoulder you sent them both a wink. 

Dean blinked at you as Sam awkwardly coughed next to him. With another quick laugh, you pushed into the room and tossed the key on the small table by the door. “So,” Sam said as Dean closed the door behind you, “how exactly do you know Rowena?” 

“She and I worked on a problem last year,” you explained, leaning against the wall, observing the two flannel-clad hunters before you. “Rowena was helping out another witch. Some kind of dark versus light turf war, I guess.” You shrugged. “Bystanders were getting caught in the middle and it got pretty messy.” 

“I bet it did,” Dean said, crossing his arms as he stood by the garish partition. He was looking at you as if he was trying to see the tumblers of an unbreakable safe. Every move you made, he clocked. You had heard the stories of the Winchesters.

Sam and Dean, they were legendary within the hunting world. You were surprised to see that they were traveling with just each other as you had heard of a winged companion that tended to tag along at times as well. Regardless of the Angel, these two were some of the best and you were hoping to make a good first impression. As Rowena had said, “it never hurts to have a Winchester owe you one”. 

“She warned me about you,” you said to Dean as you took a seat at the table and kicked your feet up.

“Is that so?” he asked. “And what did the witch say?”  

“That you’re impulsive and have major trust issues while Sam here, is the smart one with a knack for magic and the books,” you said, recalling the last conversation you had had with the Scottish witch. “Though, I am still not sure if she was saying those things out of kindness or annoyance.”

“Knowing Rowena, it was probably the latter,” Sam said as he took a seat across from you. You nodded in agreement. 

“So, show me what you got,” you said. 

“Over the past couple of weeks there has been an increase in drownings in the area,” Sam began, digging his laptop out of his bag and placing it on the table. 

“Accidental?” you asked.

“That’s what the cops think,” Dean said, sitting down on the bed next to you and Sam. “But four people drowning in the same place like this doesn’t seem like an accident to me.” 

“Where did it happen?” 

“A local spot,” Sam said, turning the screen toward you. It showed the front page of the local newspaper. A local fishing hole that apparently had a history of its own. 

“What’s with the creepy statue?” you asked, pointing in the background of the main photo. 

“That was the first thing I noticed too,” Dean said, leaning back on his arms. Sam enlarged the photo and zoomed in. Just behind the main swimming area was an old stone statue of what looked to be an old man reaching towards the murky water. It was a bit too ominous for your liking. 

“We’re not sure,” Sam said. “Apparently it’s just always been there. Some people think it was put there by the first person to own the land, but now it’s all owned by the city.”

“And this is where everyone had been drowning?” you asked and Sam nodded. “Sounds to me like spirit doesn’t want the Living hanging out their spot. What are the details behind the deaths?”

“All strong swimmers and they just calmly walked into the lake and then didn’t come back to the surface until their bodies were discovered.” 

“Does this sound like your kind of thing, Ghost Girl?” Dean asked. You slowly looked over at him and then grinned. Digging into your pocket, you produced your fake FBI Forensic badge and showed it to him. 

“Why do you think I brought this?” 

---------

You elected to ride with the Winchesters over to the crime scene. 

Leaning towards the front seat, you rested your head on your forearms. “Yeah... I could never do the suit,” you commented. Dean looked at you in his mirror with a brow raised. 

“You do realize you’re posing as FBI too, right?” he asked. 

“But I’m a tech,” you clarified. “All I need is my trusty windbreaker,” you said, shaking the collar of the jacket that was wrapped around your shoulders. “I have found that people tend to overlook an extra tech at the scene rather than another agent.” 

“That… is actually very smart,” Sam said, looking back at you. You winked at him and settled back into your seat. You listened to the boys talk about the case and as Dean drove, as you mulled over theories of your own.

The statue was the biggest clue, but you weren’t sure how it all fit. However, Rowena had been right when she realized this wasn’t witchcraft. If a witch wanted to kill someone, drowning wouldn’t be the way to do it. The combination of water and witches never really worked out in history so they tended to avoid it. 

You had perhaps thought it was demon possession, but then it didn’t really fit with the usual motivation behind demonic activities. Also, there weren’t any omens in the area so you were back to your comfort zone, ghosts. Ghost possession was something you had focused on after you, yourself, had become possessed at age sixteen, and then both of your parents years later. You had inked up shortly after discovering the world of hunting and now were impervious to their body jumping, but not everyone was a hunter and so you had to help clean up the messes whenever you could. 

As you went over a strategy in your head, you didn’t even realize Dean was talking to you. “Sorry, what was that?” you asked, leaning forward again. 

“I asked if you needed any weapons,” Dean repeated as he turned down the final street and pulled over by the entrance to the trail that lead to the water. 

“Oh, no, I’m good,” you said, lifting your shotgun that was placed in your bag along with salt rounds and then the iron brass knuckles you kept on an iron chain around your neck. Dean whistled low at the sight of your accessory.

“I gotta get me some of those,” he said with a charming smile and then pulled the key from the ignition and stepped out of the car. You followed after the boys, scanning the area. It was crawling with squad cars and you knew it wouldn’t be long before the press showed up.

While Sam and Dean headed to speak to whoever was in charge, you hiked your bag up on your shoulder and ducked through the branches to get to the water’s edge. Nobody gave you a second glance as you walked the shore of the swimming hole. Divers were still in the water collecting evidence as you made your way towards the statue. That is where Sam and Dean met up with you. 

“Sheriff is clueless,” Dean said as he approached you. 

“As always,” you agreed, walking around the statue, eyeing it closely. 

“A deputy thinks these are all suicides,” Sam revealed. 

“He might not be that far off…” you said as you took out your pen and dragged it along the side of the statue. When you pulled it away, black slime coated it. You held it up for the boys to see. “Ectoplasm.” 

“Great,” Dean sighed. “So spooks are doing this?” 

“Yep,” you said, shaking off the ecto. “For some reason, this ghost is possessing people and drowning them. It explains why they just walked into the water. Somebody really doesn’t want people here.” 

“What was this place before it became party central?” Dean asked, kicking an empty beer bottle. 

“Just old land,” Sam said, “there isn’t much in the county records and when I asked the cops, everyone shut up like it was taboo or something.”

“Oh, I love a good town scandal,” you said with a smile at the boys. As you went to grab your bag, your eye caught something glinting in the sun. Kneeling down, you dug it out of the mud. Holding up to the light, you turned it in your hand. 

“What is it?” Dean asked. 

“I’m not sure,” you said as you held a small locket in your hand. It looked as if someone had dropped it recently, breaking the mechanism on the side. It was tarnished and caked in dirt as if it had been underground. Popping the seal, you nearly gagged. “And I’m not sure I want to know,” you said turning to show the boys. Nestled in between the two metal sides was a tooth, the root still attached. Dean did gag at the sight. 

“Okay, that’s just wrong,” Dean said. “Oh, what are you doing?” 

“It could be evidence,” you said as you slipped into a small bag you kept in your fake forensic kit. 

“Or it could just be someone’s necklace where they keep grandpa’s final tooth,” Dean said. You stowed it away anyways. 

“Look all I know is that a ghost is drowning people and this locket may have something to do with it. Can we continue debating this or can we go get a drink?” That last sentence had Dean grinning. 

“See, Sammy, this is how you solve a case,” he said, clapping his hands and gesturing everyone back to the car.  

---------

The three of you sat in a local dive bar, swapping war stories. 

“You really took out a fully grown skin walker on one of your first hunts?” Sam asked you as he sipped his beer. You laughed.

“Okay, don’t make me sound like some big badass,” you said, swirling the whiskey in your glass. “The guy was drunk off his ass. I just got lucky with him.”

“Still, that’s pretty damn impressive,” Dean said with a smile. You gave him one of your own. At first, you weren’t sure about Dean Winchester, but now? He was definitely one to keep an eye on. “Alright,” he said, trying to steer the conversation back to the task at hand.  “Sam, what did you find?” Sam took out his computer and fired it up. 

“I looked into the tooth locket that (Y/N) found and I think I got something,” Sam said, turning the computer so you and Dean could see. On the screen was a photo of a young woman, dressed in white, and around her neck was the same locket you had found by the statue. 

“Who was she?” you asked.

“Melinda Manns,” Sam explained. “She was the wife of Thomas Manns, the man who owned the land the swimming hole is on. And get this, her grave was recently robbed.” Sam flicked to the news article that reported on a series of grave robbings nearby. “That necklace was one of the things missing.” 

“So then who is our spook? Melinda or Thomas?” Dean asked. 

“I don’t know,” Sam said. 

“How did Melinda die?” you asked. Sam grabbed the computer and began typing away. 

“Oh,” Sam said, “she drowned under mysterious circumstances.” 

“Which in my book means murder,” you said downing the rest of your drink. “My bet? Old Man Manns killed his wife and buried her with that locket of hers. Maybe he felt remorse, maybe he didn’t, but one thing’s for sure, he didn’t want people digging her up.” 

“So, he’s drowning people out of revenge?” Dean asked. 

“Ghosts have had stranger motivation. He’s tied to the swimming hole. Doesn’t know who disturbed the grave so he’s just taking who he can get. Sometimes spirits get confused and a lot of the times they can’t help but possess people to try to get answers.” 

“Well, I scanned for EMF and didn’t get much of a steady reading at the lake,” Sam said with a sigh. 

“Don’t frett, Sammy, we’ll figure it out,” Dean said with a wink and his brother rolled his eyes. 

“Ya’ll want another round?” you asked as you stood up from your seat. 

“You guys go ahead, I’m gonna head back to the room for a bit,” Sam said as he gathered his stuff. 

“Ah, come on, man,” Dean said, but Sam shook his head. 

“I’ll see you two later,” Sam said with a slap on his brother’s shoulder. You waved to him as he slipped out of the bar. 

“What about you, Winchester? You want another beer?” you asked Dean, leaning towards him. 

“Make it a double tequila and you got yourself a deal,” he said with a wink. Shaking your head, you got up to get the next round.

Dean watched after you and he couldn’t help but think of the way you had walked around the crime scene earlier. There was something so...natural about the way you searched for the clues and how you were able to put the pieces together quickly. You were born for this life, but there was also something underneath the surface, something dark that prompted you to become a hunter in the first place. While he was curious, he knew he didn’t want to push. He knew about inner demons and he wasn’t about to force you to reveal yours. 

When you came back to the table, you had a grin on your face. “Flash a smile and a badge and look what you get, free booze!” You handed Dean his tequila and took your seat again, sipping on the smooth whiskey. You smiled as you leaned back in your chair. Dean watched you for a second before placing his drink down and leaning forward. 

“You are an odd one,” he said, narrowing his eyes a bit. 

“Is that bad?” you asked, trying to read the man before you. 

“I’m not sure yet,” he said with another grin. The night went on with many more shots and a whole lot more laughter. You and Dean exchanged more stories and soon, the two of you were leaning against one another in a booth, watching the patrons of the bar stumble around and play pool. Taking off your jacket, you relaxed further into your seat.

Stretching your arms over your head, Dean noticed something on the side of your neck. “What happened there?” he asked gently. Your hand went to the scars on your neck and covered them with your hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you...uh, sorry,” he stuttered. 

“It’s fine,” you said. “Just a hazard of the job. I was, uh, possessed by a ghost when I was sixteen,” you explained. “I managed to get control for a few seconds and we had this old iron tool at our farm and I don’t know how I knew to use it, but I just grabbed it and,” you mimed raking something across your neck.

“Damn,” Dean said. “What happened to the ghost?” 

“Local hunter took care of it, I guess,” you said. “Some guy showed up on my doorstep a day later with an obvious fake badge and I never had a problem with it again. Until two more possessed my parents later on. I guess I don’t have the best luck when it comes to spirits.” 

“That’s why you’re the ghost specialist,” Dean figured. 

“We all have our things,” you said. “I know yours is Angels and Demons.” 

“Well, that was not really my choice. When an Angel saves you from Hell, you sort of owe them,” he said with a shrug. 

“You’re not the only one who owes them,” you said with a small smile. Dean’s brows shot up as he caught onto your meaning. “Sorry was that way too forward?” 

“Not at all,” Dean assured you, draping his arm across the seat behind you. “Although, and this may just be the tequila talking, I wasn’t exactly sure about but you when we rolled up.” 

“Because I know Rowena?” you asked, leaning slightly into his arm. 

“She hasn’t always been the most...helpful of people,” he said. “I mean she’s a witch with the King of Hell as a son.” 

“Fair point,” you said with a small laugh, “but Rowena has helped me in the past. Not just the witch turf war, but she has looked out for me for a while. Don’t ask me why because I don’t know, but she’s never let me down. So, when she calls, I answer.”

“There seems a lot to unpack there,” Dean said.

“It’s a story for another time, Winchester,” you said with a smile as you shuffled out of his arm and threw some bills on the table as a tip. “Walk me home?” Dean rolled his eyes, but grabbed his coat and followed you out of the booth. 

You and Dean stumbled from the bar, still quite tipsy from your night of drinking. Sam had taken the Impala back, so you two began the short walk back. Dean slung his arm around your shoulders as you leaned into him. The two of you walked the dark street back towards the neon sign in the distance. He kept you tight to his side as cars rushed past on the street and you didn’t mind the feeling at all of his strong arm wrapped tight around your waist. 

When you finally got back to the room, you leaned against the side of the motel, trying to gain your bearings. Dean stood in front of you, resting his hands on either side of you. As he leaned in, you didn’t object. You smiled as Dean pressed his lips against yours. You leaned into the kiss, enjoying the feeling of his chest against yours, but eventually, you pushed him back.

“Easy, Winchester,” you sighed, “we’re working and I am not sober and neither are you.” Dean smiled, but stepped back, raising his hands in surrender.

“Breakin’ my heart, Darlin’,” he said but kept his hands to himself. 

“I know, I enjoy it,” you said with a small smile. Dean laughed, running a hand through his hair. 

“Now I see it, the reason Rowena likes you so much,” he said and you pursed your lips. 

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” you said. He winked at you and elicited another laugh from you that brought another smile to his own face. 

“Okay, since we are working, any more theories?” 

“I think it was the maid,” you said with a serious expression. 

“(Y/N), there is no maid,” he said. 

“There isn’t?” you asked, feigning confusion. It was only a few seconds before both of you began laughing. Suddenly, the door to the motel burst open and Sam came out. He stared at the two of you for a second before shaking his head. 

“We have another body,” he announced and you and Dean sobered up quickly. 

“And I was just starting to have fun,” you whined as you pushed off the wall. You approached Dean and patted him on his chest. “Rain check, Winchester,” you said. 

“(Y/N)” Sam said, “Dean and I are going to go to the Coroner’s Office. Can you check the swimming hole? We’ll meet you there in a bit.” 

“Aye, aye, captain,” you said as you headed to the Impala, sliding into the back as you waited for the boys to change into their suits and grab their badges. As soon as Sam slipped into the driver’s seat seeing as he was the only one equipped to drive at the moment, you headed out. 

-------

Sam and Dean dropped you at the entrance to the swimming hole and you crept through the trees. 

Forensics were packing everything up and soon, you were alone with the neon yellow crime scene tape and the light from the moon above. Pulling out an EMF reader you had snagged from the trunk, you turned it on. It lit up immediately as you scanned it back and forth. “I know you’re here somewhere…” you said, slipping on your iron knuckles. Realizing you left your salt gun back at the motel, you hoped that there was actually only a single ghost and not two.

It was another half hour before you finally spotted something. It was flicker at first, but then you made out the full figure of one Thomas Manns. The spirit stood by the statue of himself, watching out over the water. Pulling out your phone, you silently dialed Dean’s number.

“What’s up? We’re on our way already,” Dean said as he answered. 

“Thomas is the ghost,” you whispered into the phone. 

“How do you know?” he asked. 

“Because I am looking right at him, genius,” you said, but then the ghost disappeared. “Dammit, I lost him.” 

“Okay, listen to me, (Y/N),” Dean said. “We finally have a connection for the victims. They’re all suspects in multiple grave robbings. Most likely Melinda’s too. That’s why he’s killing them.” Suddenly, your pocket felt very heavy. You slipped your hand into the pocket of your jeans and felt the cool metal of the locket. 

“I think I screwed up, Dean,” you said and as you spoke, your breath was very visible. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I still have the necklace. The one from Melinda’s grave.”  

“Get rid of it!” Dean yelled, but it was too late. A coldness swept through you and as you turned over your shoulder, the very angry face of Thomas Manns appeared. He lashed out at you, tossing you through the air. You hit the ground with a grunt, your phone leaving your hand as Dean yelled your name on the other end.

You scrambled for your knuckles, but they were too far from you as you struggled to get to your feet. However, Manns was faster. He took hold of you and fear entered your gut. You knew your warding protected you from being possessed, but nothing could stop him from killing you. 

You fought as Mann threw you into the water. The coldness shocked you immediately as you struggled for breath. Swimming to the surface, phantom hands pulled you back under. You kicked out at nothing as you tried your hardest to break the surface. When you finally got a breath of air, Manns was there. In his hands was a knife that you were positive he used to injure his wife before drowning her in the very lake.

Your brain struggled to remember a banishing spell Rowena had taught you, but it was too cold and the fear was overwhelming. As Manns went for you again, his hands freezing your blood, you finally heard the shouts of Sam and Dean. Manns tried to pull you down again, but Dean arrived at the shore. 

“Hey, Old McDonald!” he shouted. “Hands off!” Dean raised his shotgun and fired. The salt hit Manns and then entered your shoulder. You shouted as the ghost disappeared and then Dean was running through the murky water to get to you. You weakly met him halfway, tossing your arm around him. “I got you,” he said in your ear. 

“Ouch,” you whined as your shoulder bled. Dean hauled you back onto the shore and checked you over, pulling your jacket aside to see the wound. It wasn’t deep and the salt wouldn’t do any permanent damage. 

“Sorry,” he said, “hard to aim from that distance.” 

“Thanks for the save,” you said as Sam wrapped his blazer around your shoulders, “but next time? Let’s make sure that the salt is accompanied by tequila.” Dean smiled down at you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.” 

--------

The last thing to do was salt and burn the body of Thomas Manns. 

You leaned against a nearby tombstone as Sam and Dean dug up the grave of Manns. “Who knew grave robbing was going to bite us in the ass one day?” Dean asked, tossing his shovel down. 

“It’s technically not grave robbing when we salt and burn bones,” Sam said from inside the grave. “We’re not taking anything.”  

“Oh, well that makes me feel a whole lot better,” Dean said with a roll of his eyes. 

“Sam,” you said, gaining his attention. The younger Winchester looked at you and you tossed him Melinda’s locket. “Better safe than sorry,” you said and he tossed it into the coffin.

Sam had wrapped up your shoulder before heading to the cemetery in your respective vehicles. You watched as they soaked the bones with lighter fluid and then Dean lit the matches and dropped them into the pit. The grave was set ablaze and you finally relaxed.

Sam and Dean stood over the burning bones, watching it with the same calmness as they did with everything. Rowena had said that they were becoming numb to the idea of monsters, but you didn’t think she was right. Sam and Dean weren’t numb, they were just used to the ugliness of the world and knew how to process the emotions that came with it. 

Even in the short amount of time you had known them, you realized there was a reason Angels watched over them. The Winchesters were what the world needed and you had only wished that you had known them when your parents had died. Dean’s eyes flickered to yours over the flames and he nodded to you. You sighed, offering him a nod of your own. Whether you saw him again after this, he was going to be leaving your mind any time soon. 

-------

You said goodbye to the boys at the entrance to the graveyard. Giving Sam a big hug, you said, “Don’t hesitate to call, big guy.” 

“I won’t,” he said, stepping out of your hug. “Tell Rowena thank you for me.”

“I will,” you promised with a smile. He squeezed your shoulder once more before heading to the Impala to wait for his brother. Dean approached you, his hands in his pockets. 

“So, this is goodbye?” 

“For now,” you said. Dean smiled, awkwardly staring down at his boots. You rolled your eyes and grabbed him by his jacket. He fell into you and didn’t waste any time in connecting his lips to yours. His hands went into your hair as you gripped him tight. You sighed into the kiss, trying to memorize every touch and caress from Dean Winchester. 

He pulled back for a second before kissing you again and then once more. You smiled up at him. “Are you gonna call me?” he asked, his thumb stroking your cheek. 

“Maybe,” you said, “only if you need my help.”

“Well, I’ll need something,” he said with a smile. You rolled your eyes but mimicked the smile. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not done with you yet, Winchester,” you said. “I’ll see you around.” You reached up and kissed him one more time, letting your lips linger on his for just a bit longer before pulling away. You waved to him as you got in your car and drove away.

Dean watched after you, feeling like you would keep your word and he would be seeing you very soon. He waited until your taillights were out of sight before joining his brother in the car. “Sammy, I think I just found my future wife.” 

Sam snorted, “Great, maybe Cas can officiate,” he joked. 

“Officiate what?” Sam and Dean jumped at the sudden voice. Turning around, Castiel was sitting in the back seat of the Impala, looking between the brothers. 

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean yelled, trying to get his heart rate down. 

“Sorry,” Cas said and then looked at Sam who just burst out laughing. “Am I missing something?” 

“I’ll fill you in on the way,” Sam said. 

“On the way where?” Castiel asked, confused. Dean revved the engine and hit the gas. 

“We’re going after a girl, I got a date.” 

[witchyfictional]

Week 7 (SPRING 7/13)

Professional Log of Harper Tobin, Journeyman Witch

Patient: Susan Chert, local geologist

Ailment: Dwarven Lung [cough*] [lungs**] Too much time spent in the mining sites along the foothills near Moonbreaker Mountain, and probably a neglect of proper safety equipment (like breathing masks).

Recommend: Gull-Drake Guano alone will smooth out coughing and clear the lungs (it’s gross but it works), but for Dwarven Cough there tends to be far too much build-up, so this time the lung damage will require something stronger. Raw Dentist Crab gel should be strong enough.

Field Notes:

While catching extra Dentist Crabs I came across a third chest from the underwater pirate wreck, this time full of what might have been incredibly fancy hats - but unfortunately all waterlogged, thanks to a small hole in the corner of the chest.

As I was collecting the Gull-Drake Guano, I spotted a glimmer in the water and thought it might be something nifty, so I went to take a look. It was a small, corked bottle with a rolled up message inside - which is unexpected, what with this being a lake. Why would someone throw a message in a bottle into a lake, where it can’t go anywhere? I opened it to see what it said and the message was as odd as the circumstance, only asking a list of personal questions and requesting a reply. It instructed the finder of this note ot simply toss their reply back into the water to send it back. My curiosity was piqued enough to prompt me into replying - I wonder if it will really get back to its original sender?

I spent the rest of my time at the Loch collecting as many Slime Shells as I could possibly find for the management of Bàs Bàta’s shattered tooth. I was highly successful, despite several very curious incidents (enough for eight doses).

One notable encounter was with a siren I haven’t seen or heard before. I was out on the water when I found it suddenly hard to think, strongly compelled to swim out to some distant rocks toward the sound of singing. The way he sang was somewhere between a human voice and birdsong, strange but wondrously lovely. He stopped abruptly when he saw me and flushed red with shame, immediately falling into apologies. I asked why he was all alone in the Loch - usually sirens travel in flocks, or so I’ve been told, and since the males are rare, I’ve never heard of one traveling without his mates. He hedged around my questions, seeming reluctant to answer, and hastily offered me a Wigfish wig he’d picked up as an apology for interrupting my day. I can’t say no to such quality reagents, so I accepted, but when I looked up again he was already gone with a flurry of his wings.

Baffled, but pleased with my newly acquired prize, I continued with my exploration and came across another stranger - a very kind dwarf out fishing, who invited me into his boat. His name was Raggen Gabbro, and he spoke with me for a good while about his own explorations of the Loch. He seems to know quite a lot, and I appreciated his insight and advice. When we parted, he directed me to where I might find some Gas Weed, which was much appreciated.

I was eventually chased out of the water again by Bàs Bàta’s tortured thrashing. I feel for the creature but I certainly don’t want to be anywhere near it while it’s mad with pain. I hope I can gather enough ingredients to help it, soon. I doubt any human-portioned remedy will be effective. I briefly returned to the huge nest in the rocks that I found last week, and to my delight found that the Amethyst Antler shards were still there among the eggs - but again I was pecked away by the vigilant mama bird before I could grab them.

I spent the rest of my foraging at the Loch following those unidentified footprints all along the shore. I tripped over half-buried items in the sand at least three times along the way - there is a lot of flotsam and junk left by people all over the beach. The upside was that I also found a substantial pile of Deep Reed that had also washed ashore. As the sun set, I spotted the familiar shape of the ghost ship Capybara cresting into the bloody horizon once again, so I got back in my canoe and headed over for a visit. I ended up spending the entire night partying with the raucous spirits, losing track of time so badly that I got unceremoniously dunked in the water at dawn when they retreated again beneath the waves.

When I swam back to shore, I stubbed my toe on something half buried in the wet sand. When I dug it up and rinsed it in the waves, I was startled to find a small, empty box carved from ancient coral. It looked extremely old, crusted a little with the fossils of other sealife around the edges. The strangest part was that I saw, carved into the inner lid of it, a sigil - the same sigil printed on all the leftover containers and equipment in my Apothecary. Kevyn’s personal sigil.

Except this time, in addition to the signature swirling pattern, there was a word engraved around the symbol - “Orendal.” If this were written anywhere else, I would have taken this for something in a language I didn’t understand…But the way this was written matches too exactly with the way ancient master witches left their marks. Nowadays people tend to forego the name and only leave the sigil, but in more ancient times they almost always used both, according to my studies. “Orendal” is almost certainly a name...although why it’s written along with Kevyn’s personal sigil is a mystery to me. It can’t be that Kevyn copied the sigil - every witch must have their own, and every one must be unique, like a fingerprint.

When I retuned home, I compared it to the versions I have around the cottage, and confirmed - this is absolutely Kevyn’s sigil, but for some reason paired with a different name. Could “Orendal” actually be Kevyn’s real name? Or perhaps, a previous name he’s long since left behind? But if so, how on earth did it come to be on such an incredibly ancient object? I had no time to fully dwell on this, since I still had a remedy to make, but I set the box in a safe place to contemplate at a later time.

“Cough Quencher”

Crush the dried Gull-Drake guano into fine dust

Boil the the resulting powder and strain well

Spoon in raw Dentist Crab claw gell until the mixture thickens and smooths

End result should be something like a vaguely fishy yogurt

Paid: 30 silver Despite the strange taste, it works fast, and Susan was already breathing better as she left.

Additional Notes:

I spent the next several days going back up the mountain and repairing Dwayne the stone golem, and at last I deemed him fully healed, to the best of my ability. He can’t speak, but he seemed very grateful, and  nearly crushed me in an earnest but uncomfortable hug. Unexpectedly, he ended up following me back down the mountain. I didn’t protest, as long as he was careful where he stepped, although I wasn’t sure what more he wanted of me. After a complicated game of pantomime, I gathered that he wanted to stay with me and repay me for my help. I certainly don’t mind the company, so I agreed, and was able to direct him to an uncluttered portion of the land left to me by Kevyn. I’ll have to teach him to write if we want any extensive conversations, though.

I also went to Hero’s Hollow this week in search of powerful painkillers, and with Shadow’s help I was able to procure a bit of Vampire Venom without issue. While sneaking away from the coffin room I did end up triggering a trap and falling into a stone cell for a while, which was frustrating, but I was thankfully rescued not long after. A beautiful woman with hair like spilled ink and eyes like pale glass showed up and looked in on me, calling down to ask if I needed help. I expected her to throw down a rope, but instead I found myself levitating all the way back to the top to greet her. Her skin was a deep cerulean blue. She wore a lavishly embroidered gown and glittered with gems and jewelry, looking as elegant as a queen - which is certainly not what I expected in a dungeon.

I thanked her for her help, and she asked what my business was in the Hollow. I could have asked her the same, but instead I told her I was looking for ingredients to create a remedy for Bàs Bàta. I guess this was the right thing to say, because she immediately turned from aloof and suspicious to charming and courteous. She introduced herself as Yeza, Dark Ruler of the Underlands and Master of Shadows. It was quite a title, and I suddenly felt silly and shabby, but she was very sweet to me from then on. She apologized for the inconvenience of my falling into one of the many traps, and invited me for dinner in her throne room. I’ve never been in a throne room before.

I follower her safely through the deepest parts of her domain - protected from its various threats only by her presence, I suspect - and we entered a much more lavish and elegant wing of the Hollows than I ever imagined was there. It was less “dank dungeon” and more like a hidden underground palace. She clapped her hands for attendants and we were served one of the strangest and yet most decadent meals I have ever eaten. We ended up getting along very well. I told her of my explorations in the Hollow and how I’ve helped people with the things I’ve collected, and she was surprisingly eager to assist in my endeavors. She said the last witch, Kevyn, had been too obsessed with his own convoluted dealings, and never would have wanted to help poor Bàs Bàta. Apparently Kevyn hated Bàs Bàta, but when I asked her why she kept changing the subject.

She asked if I’ve ever met someone like her before - blue, that is - and I said no. She asked if I’ve ever heard of something called the Strange, and I said no again. She said that she wanted to help me by granting me passage to her original home plane, for the purpose of finding other kinds of reagents that might be useful to me, and I got extremely excited. I’ve read about the possible existence of other planes but never dreamed I’d get to see one in person. When we finished dinner, she led me back up into the shabbier side of the Hollow and showed me the way to an incongruous fancy archway standing empty and useless in the middle of a hall. After Yeza chanted a while in a language I couldn’t understand, the empty air beneath the arch began to swirl with deep blue and violet-black light

This is the portal to the Strange.

I wanted to explore it right away, but for once my better sense held me back, and I told Yeza that I would rather return with the proper equipment for a full expedition. She wrote down instructions on a scrap of parchment to instruct me on how to open the portal myself, for which I thanked her profusely, and we parted ways. I cannot wait to actually go through, when I can set aside the time. I am absolutely thrilled.

OOC: Rep – 12 [Intermediate] Silver – 126 Tools – basics / coracle Familiar skill – Hunter (-3 Animal reagent rarity) Golem Helper – getting settled Upgrades – garden plot (x1; Surgeon Sap)

Surplus reagents: ** Surgeon Sap [wound] [burn] [+1s]  — (freely available) *** Amethyst Antlers [magic] [curse] [mood] — (x1) ~Candy Rock [+4s] — (x1) * Deep Reed [ear] [blood] [stomach] — (x1) ** Dentist Crabs [teeth] [mouth] [lungs] [infection] — (x1) ** Foot Fungus [burn] [boils] [rash] [+2p] — (x1) *** Fossil Fish [time] [magic] — (x1) * Gas Weed [lungs] — (x1) *** Ghost Goo [spirit] [curse] — (x1) ** Glittersnow [curse] [magic] — (x1) * Hermit Snails [wound] [bones] — (x1) *** Innocent’s Suffering [pain] [sleep] [nerves] [wound] — (x1) ! *** Jumpkin [stomach] [cold] — (x1) ** Milkstone [teeth] [pain] — (x1) *** Moon Moss [blood] [curse] — (x1) ** Princess Toad [wart] [rash] [mood] — (x1) * Scramble Bramble [mood] [senses] [+1p] — (x1) ** Shockfish [nerves] [pain] [boils] — (x1) * Silverleaf [infection] [rash] — (x1) * Skullcap [poison] [pain] — (x2) ** Slime Shells [parasite] [infection] [blood] — (x10) *** Vampire Venom [curse] [pain] [mood] — (x1) *** Wigfish [mood] [sleep] [hair] — (x2)

[kittenofdoomage]

Traps

@badthingshappenbingo​ Prompt: Compelling Voice

Fandom: Supernatural

Ao3 Link: Traps On Ao3

Rating: Mature

Summary: She’s on Michael’s trail to get Dean back (spoilers for S14)

Characters/Pairing: Michael!Dean, Dean Winchester x reader

Word Count: 2344

Warnings: angst, angst, angst, mind control, character death. This really is angsty, guys.

She’s too late again. The small cabin - more of a shack really - is empty except for the corpse on the floor, his burned and hollowed out gaze fixed on the ceiling. Michael’s gone, Dean with him, and she’s only following a trail of bodies.

With a weary sigh, she sinks down into the armchair by the door, sliding her hands along the upholstery to clutch the arms tightly. Her phone beeps, so she pulls it out, finding another hit, Singapore this time. There’s no pattern to his movements, except that there’s a body or sometimes bodies, wherever he goes.

Sam’s left voicemails again, begging her to come home. It feels like forever since she’s seen him, but it’s only actually been three weeks. A little more since she’s last laid eyes on Dean, stumbling through the portal from the apocalypse world. She promised Sam she’d go home but she can’t, not until she has him back.

She doesn’t bother telling anyone about the body in the shack, putting her foot to the floor of her battered Honda and gunning it away. Within hours, she’s got another possible sighting, and she’s turning East, still hoping she can get back the only man she’s ever really loved.

Sam calls. She ignores it. Pulls into a motel about sixty miles from where she needs to be because her eyes are closing on her and she can’t try and pretend she doesn’t need to sleep anymore. She manages four hours, still too much, and she’s back on the road, gas pedal pressed down, not even the radio for background noise.

There’s a good chance any song she hears is gonna remind her of Dean, and she’s not sure she’s strong enough to not cry.

The sun’s coming up as she pulls into Bridge Falls, over the steel construct that passes the waterfalls that gave the town their name. It’s picturesque, small-town America, and she hasn’t got a clue what Michael would want here.

A few hours of driving around leave her with nothing but an empty gas tank. She finds a motel, books a room, and tries to contact the witch who’s been tracking Michael for her. He doesn’t answer, and she’s left alone in the quiet, unsure what to do next.

The bedside lamp flickers and she hears wings before she sees him; her breath catches in her throat and she grips the edge of the bed she’s sitting on, staring at him in disbelief.

“You’ve been looking for me,” Michael drawls, inspecting his fingernails as he casually leans against the divider by the door. “Why?”

“You know why,” she rasps back, reaching for the pistol in the back of her pants.

Michael’s not dumb enough for that. She’s surrounded by grace in the next minute, suffocated by it, and the archangel steps towards her, finally looking right at her. Those green eyes she’s so familiar with hold nothing but contempt and amusement, glowing blue as he exerts his power to get into her head.

He’s watching her memories of Dean, right down to the explicit stuff, making her watch too, and there’s curiosity now when he looks at her. “What do you want?” he asks in a low growl.

His question is an order that burrows into her skull and forces an answer from her lips. “D-Dean,” she chokes out, and Michael pulls her to her feet with the squeeze of his hand around thin air.

“And what makes you think I’ll give him back to you?” he murmurs, inches away from her now. He doesn’t even smell like Dean - he smells like burned ozone and embers, like destruction on her tongue. “What makes you think,” Michael continues, lifting his chin, looking at her like she’s a bug that needs to be squashed, “he’s even still alive?”

She doesn’t. But she’s never stopped believing in Dean. She’s seen the things he and Sam have done, the things they’ve defied, and she refuses to believe that this is how it ends for him. Tears are clinging to her lashes as she fights Michael’s hold, staring him dead in the eye.

“I have faith,” she spits bitterly.

Surprisingly, he laughs, and it’s a foreign, stiff sound from Dean’s lips, almost as if the archangel hasn’t quite gotten the hang of it yet. He moves with a mechanical smoothness that belonged to Dean first, turning his back on her but keeping her in his celestial grip.

“Your witch is dead,” he comments; she thinks she might have known that already. “I thought it was Sam at first, he’s usually the one who comes running after Dean, right?”

When she doesn’t say anything, he glances at her, his lips quirking into a smile.

“Answer me,” he commands, and the order is too powerful to resist.

“Yes,” she squeaks. 

“Imagine my surprise when it’s you,” he continues, tilting his head as he finds her duffel bag on the floor. “The girlfriend.” He spits it like it’s a bad word, and she’s helpless to do anything but watch as he rifles through her belongings, finding her wallet and the stupid photo booth picture of her and Dean she’s kept tucked in there for twenty years.

Can Dean hear her? See her? Is he even aware?

“He’s not,” Michael informs her and she grinds her teeth together, willing him out of her head. He finds that funny, chuckling as he tucks the photo into his pocket. “I should send a message,” he whispers, drifting back towards her. “A way to tell Winchester junior that he’s not going to get anywhere,” his hands lifts and he drags his thumb over her bottom lip, “by following me.”

The pinning warmth of his grace recedes. He knows she’s not strong enough to fight him now, he’s seen every corner of her mind. She doesn’t move when he releases her, remaining on the spot, his fingers curled around her jaw now.

“I could snap your neck right now,” he hums, tracing the line of her cheek with one long finger. “Let Sam know where to find your corpse.”

His hand drops to her chest, sliding against the exposed skin where her stolen flannel is hanging open. It’s warm against her collarbone, and so much like Dean that she feels herself weakening, ready to beg for his life.

“I could keep you,” Michael continues. He’s pressing under her shirt now, his hand is almost right over her heart. “You’d do whatever is necessary to get Dean out of this alive, wouldn’t you?” There’s a lie on the tip of her tongue but she doesn’t let it fall, shaking as his fingers tuck underneath the strap of her bra. “I can see why he enjoys you,” he purrs. “You’re warm and soft.” He’s closer now, his nose pressed to her cheek as he inhales deeply. “He likes the way you smell.”

Please stop. Please stop. She can’t bring herself to voice her plea. If he’s going to kill her, she wants him to get it over with.

“I don’t think I’ll kill you,” he chuckles.

His hand gets warmer, and it doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel good. It’s starting to burn, and she whimpers, trying to pull away.

“Stay still,” he orders, and she can’t help but obey.

The burning gets worse, like it’s reaching into her chest but worse, and she can feel memories slipping from her grasp, stolen away. Each little piece is hacked at, gnawed, burned out of her, and when Micheal finally pulls away, there’s a blank stare on her face.

He’s left a handprint that she’ll forget about in the morning.

“You’re going to sleep now,” he murmurs, the power of his voice just as strong even though he’s stepped away. She blinks three times, and the room is empty, and she doesn’t remember why she was even there in the first place. For a few seconds, she looks around, before a yawn splits her face, so she lies down, drifting off fully-clothed.

When she wakes, it’s daybreak. She packs her bag and checks out, trying to remember why she was even in Bridge Falls. There’s no hunt here, not even a whiff of demonic possession, so she’s back on the road by lunch, pulling into the next store she sees to buy a replacement cellphone. It’s easy to reload the numbers onto it, and almost instantly, she’s barraged by messages.

<<It’s Sam, can you please call me?>>

<<Sam again, just getting worried, it’s been three weeks, can you please call?>>

<<Y/N, please ->>

There’s text messages too, referring to someone called Dean, but she doesn’t know any Sam Winchesters or any Deans. As she’s mulling it over, her phone rings, and she answers, hearing a male voice on the other end.

“Thank god,” he sighs. “I was starting to think you were dead.”

“Who is this?” she demands, frowning at the familiarity in his tone.

He’s obviously surprised by her reaction as he stutters out his name. “It’s Sam, Y/N. Sam Winchester.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong number, dude,” she scoffs and hangs up. He rings twice more, she doesn’t answer and blocks the number.

By nightfall, she’s picked up a case in Lousiana. The odd phone calls have stopped and though it puzzles her, for some reason she doesn’t dwell on it. People are dying, and she’s got a job to do.

Two weeks later, she’s on the trail of a ghoul pack in Minnesota, and she’s stopped for some supplies at a local Walmart. She’s standing in the snack aisle, debating the merits of Cheetos vs Doritos when someone calls her, and at first, she thinks it’s her imagination. It’s repeated, closer, so she turns, raising an eyebrow at the slightly breathless and absolutely gorgeous man standing in front of her.

In the next second, he’s got her arms around her, and she reacts the only way she knows how; she flips him and puts him on his ass, swiftly pulling her gun free from her pants and jamming the muzzle into his chest.

“Who the hell are you?” she demands, and the guy splutters, staring up at her in shock with his hands by his face in surrender.

“Calm down, Y/N!” he stutters out. She narrows her eyes and jabs the gun in harder.

“How do you know my name?”

He seems confused, tilting his head, squinting at her like he needs to double-check what he’s seeing. It’s too familiar, it hurts her head - she pulls away, putting the width of the aisle between them. A security guard appears, giving her a quizzical look. “We all good here?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she snaps back, and he doesn’t seem to particularly care too much, wandering back off to his station.

The guy hasn’t moved from the floor, though he’s lifted himself up onto one elbow, and he’s still staring at her.

“You know me?” she grunts out, retrieving her basket of purchases as he gets to his feet, brushing himself down. His shock seems to have worn off but he’s still giving her a look that makes her feel like he knows her, intimately. The throb in her head becomes a burst of pain, and she hisses, pressing the heel of her palm to the middle of her forehead.

“Hey, you okay?” the man asks, concern in his voice, one hand touching her shoulder.

Someone’s laughing at her, a deep, throaty chuckle, but there’s no one there except her and the guy.

“You know me,” she whispers, blinking at him, and this time it’s a statement, to which he nods, visibly swallowing.

“Let’s get you some air,” he murmurs; she stops him with a hand to his chest.

“What’s your name?” she asks.

He smiles, and it’s a fucking gorgeous smile, reaching right to his eyes. “Dean,” he replies.

There’s a thousand images associated with that name, and it’s too much. He’s got her as far as the salsa aisle, and she’s flagging, the pain in her head like a flood, freezing every muscle, constricting her chest. Dean catches her when she falls, cradling her like he would a lover.

Which is exactly what she was, before Michael stripped away two decades of friendship and their final attempt at something real. He’s given it back to her now, but she’s not gonna be able to do anything. It’s a punishment, for not letting him go.

Dean’s begging, crying her name now - there’s a crowd gathering, none of them willing to approach - and she can feel tears in the corners of her eyes. How the hell could she forget him? Dean’s been the center of her universe for so long, she should have known something was wrong.

He’s crying. This punishment wasn’t just for her. The first thing Dean would do is look for her, and Michael’s just reminding him that he’s never going to be free.

She can’t even get the words out for the pain. 

She wasn’t supposed to go like this.

Her chest slows and stops, and Dean cries harder, cupping her cheek as his tears mingle with hers. Someone’s called an ambulance, they’re on their way, he hears it but he doesn’t really hear anything. He tells her he loves her because it might bring her back, he’s managed bigger miracles before, except her skin’s getting cold already and her eyes don’t see anything.

Sam’s there by the time they’re pronouncing time of death, and Dean’s got one of those stupid foil blankets around his shoulders. The EMT tells him it’s shock, and he’s very sorry for his loss; Dean’s quiet, staring at the covered lump of a body where Y/N used to be.

He doesn’t drive home. He lets Sam take care of him. Stays in his room and looks at the picture he found in the pocket of the tux Michael had been wearing. The photo of them, so long ago, when their friendship was the only thing that got him through. Now he feels like he’s got nothing.

Nothing except revenge.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Green

My first attempt at a modern au! Based off a fantastic idea by @minky-for-short where Stephen and Lucien's relationship starts off as a sugar daddy arrangement!

Please consider leaving a comment over on Ao3

-----------

If anyone had asked- God forbid, he’d rather die- Stephen would have rushed to his own defence. He’d probably have done it while turning bright red and spluttering but he’d have insisted it was just a matter of timing.

It wasn’t a lie. He’d have to work right up until he went to meet Lucien if he wanted to get the reports on his last few cases submitted in time. Lucien had meetings early in the morning, Stephen didn’t want to ask him to push their date back any further than he already had and the thought of cancelling...well that wasn’t an option. Not because of Lucien, who was extremely flexible and understanding as far as people in this kind of arrangement went. He just couldn’t and he wasn’t going to give it any more thought than that.

But it was just because of the timing. Stephen wasn’t getting off on this or anything. There just wasn’t going to be time to change into it between the end of his overly long day at the justiciary and the start of his date so wearing it all under his work clothes was the only option. He’d have insisted that until he ran out of air, if anyone had asked, probably before jumping out of the nearest window.

But this, Stephen did have to admit to himself, was entirely indefensible. This was just because he was a hopeless degenerate.

“Just going to the bathroom,” he announced in what he hoped was a casual tone, dropping his pen down with a thunk on the blanket of newspapers spread out on his desk, ones he’d been scouring for signs of magical miscreancy. More than half of their cases came from just noticing something odd in those tiny stories crushed up into the margins of local papers.

From the desk that joined onto his, though much neater and better organised and with less coffee cup rings etched permanently onto it, Esther looked up with a frown.

“I’m not your teacher, Steph. But okay, good for you,” she muttered before turning back to her computer. She’d lost their game of rock paper scissors that morning so it was her turn to deal with all of the emails that were inevitably sent to the justiciary every day, majority of which were complete nonsense and all of which were painful to read.

Stephen winced, snatching up his phone and making a quick exit before he could make it any more obvious that he was hiding something. Getting to the bathroom was harder that it really should have been, given how close the desks were shoved together, how many stacks of papers sat precariously on desk edges, how many odd trinkets and artefacts humming with magic were left to scatter across the faded carpet. But Stephen had worked there amongst the justiciary’s chaos for long enough that he made it to the other side of the cramped office without causing a disaster, only needing to nudge a few things back into place with his power as he went. Thankfully at this hour there was no one else still here to express their irritation.

The bathrooms in the Council Building were a microcosm of the rest of the place- too small, poorly maintained, outdated and a decent place to cry when overstressed, overworked and overwhelming. But for once, Stephen was rather grateful for that fact because it meant the bathroom was only built for one person at a time, meaning he could lock the door and be confident that no one was going to walk in on him doing what he was about to do.

Stephen pushed back his hair and gave a long, steady exhale. Since he’d entered into this arrangement with Lucien Vaudrey he’d been doing a lot of thinking with cock rather than his brain and, honestly, he’d had no reason to regret it yet. Save a few mornings where walking wasn’t as easy as it might have been.

So his brain didn’t get a look in, he put his back to the door and quickly yanked open the first few buttons of his shirt, just enough that he could pull his collar aside and show a little of what was underneath. Not too much, just the start of the lacy paneling that made up the band that circled his upper chest, the edge of one of the black straps that zig zagged across his body in an array that had taken longer to work out than he was willing to admit.

Stephen ran his thumb along the black lace, shivering a little. He’d been so wrapped up in his work since walking into the office that he’d mostly forgotten it was there but every so often he’d shift in his chair or he’d stand too quickly and he’d feel the feathery touch of all that silk slip between his skin and his clothes like a caress. He’d had to shove the awareness away very quickly before it could send any more than a quick jolt to his groin and was just thankful that today had been one spent entirely at his desk.

But he was only wearing it because of the timing. He was on a tight schedule. Of course.

Now, as he flicked his phone camera open with a thumb and held it at a slightly raised angle like he’d seen people do when they knew far more about taking selfies than he did, he couldn’t help but be aware of it all. The way it snaked around his body and held him tight, branching out like roots hidden in the ground, putting the barest pressure on his hips and chest and the curve of his arse like the ghost of Lucien’s hands. Invisible under his deliberate choice of a dark blue shirt and his usual shabby suit, except for the barest glimpse he was allowing. Only known to him.

And now to Lucien.

Stephen took a quick photo of himself, holding his shirt open with one hand, using a little of his power to brighten his eyes. Of course he didn’t find the picture particularly impressive, all he saw when he looked it back over were the hollowness of his cheeks, the jut of his overly large nose and the immense bags under his eyes. How his hair needed brushing and the out of place tooth that showed in the slight part of his lips. But he’d learned to trust Lucien’s opinion on these things, his blindness to all the flaws that jumped out to his own eyes, and his lover’s response to this picture was too good to pass up for the sake of insecurity.

So he opened up the many texts he’d been exchanging lately with the contact in his phone that was nothing but an emoji of a feather. He typed out a quick message before attaching the photo and sending it on it’s way.

Got your present this morning. What do you think?

Stephen gathered himself together quickly, buttoning his shirt again and checking swiftly in the mirror that nothing was showing through. He wasn’t sure what someone looked like when they were wearing lingerie under their clothes but he tried to make his whatever the opposite of that was. With a thought, he set off the old, roaring hand dryer so it would sound like he’d been doing something people were supposed to do in bathrooms. When dealing with Esther, there was no such thing as overcovering his tracks.

He navigated his way back through the obstacle course of office equipment and magical paraphernalia to where Esther was scowling at her computer screen and stabbing the keys as she typed.

“I swear, if we get one more sodding email about UFOs I’m going to throw this thing out of the window,” she declared, viciously deleting like each one had offended her personally.

“Y’know there are days I wish practitioners actually were secretly working for a cabal of interdimensional aliens,” Stephen hummed, sliding back into his chair, “We’d probably have more funding if we were.”

Esther gave a mirthless snort of laughter, the text on her screen reflecting in her glasses, not even glancing from it as she took a swig of coffee. A mug had appeared on his desk too, freshly steaming.

Stephen was about to thank her when his phone buzzed in his hand, making him jump. He scrambled to check it, feeling his heart thud when he saw it was from Lucien. Two messages, short and sharp and impossible not to read in his cool tones.

Beautiful witch

You are in so much trouble

The handful of hours between those messages and half past ten had felt like an eternity. Enough that Stephen couldn’t hide his haste as he nearly sprinted from the Council Building to the Underground. He spent the long ride from the shabby borough the justiciary called home to Knightsbridge staring at his phone, rereading that message over and over again, his mind running away with all that so much trouble implied. He knew fine well he was going to arrive flushed, already half hard and salivating, ready to do whatever Lucien asked of him.

He wove his way through the evening crowds, stumbling into the bar they always came into. It was a sleek, expensive looking place, the kind of bar he’d never set foot in if he hadn’t been beckoned by Lucien. He felt every penny in his meagre paycheck when he walked through the door but he did like the warmth, the rich leather, the fact that nearly all of the other couples there were pairs of men too. He liked how Lucien would put his arm around him as they sat in their usual booth and he’d feel that flicker of belonging, in spite of everything else.

Stephen’s eyes, betraying his excitement more than anything else by being a sparking gold, tracked over the room until he spotted him. Lucien, having far more control over his working hours, often arrived well before Stephen and sat with his laptop or a book or a newspaper, a glass of whiskey at his elbow. But today the table before him was clear of distractions, he simply sat with his fingers steepled at his lips, his fine features set into an expression of patience. The kind of face a hunting cat would wear, knowing their prey would be along in due course.

And when his clear, grey eyes locked on Stephen, he simply smiled.

Swallowing hard, the younger man leapt to attention, clearing the bar and sliding into the booth with his lover.

“Evening,” he tried, casually, though his heart was hammering and his cock was aching.

“Just what did you think you were playing at, sweet boy?”

Lucien dispensed with the pleasantries, his voice already dropped into the low, rolling tones he used when Stephen was about to lose his clothes. He spoke softly so their conversation didn’t carry past the oak panelled confines of their booth but not enough that Stephen missed the heat in his tone. He tried to get a grip on himself, he had a feeling he’d need to walk across the room before too long.

“I thought you’d want to see,” he shivered as his tone slipped almost unconsciously into something playful, something teasing and faux innocent, an affectation that would have made a past version of himself gape in disbelief, “It looked so pretty and the note said you wanted me to wear it tonight…”

Lucien’s eyes flashed, “Did the note say to be a little prick tease and send filthy pictures to me while I was infuriatingly far away and couldn’t get my hands on you?”

Under the table, Stephen felt Lucien’s far longer, wiry muscled legs slide over his own. After waiting all day even that bare contact, through two layers of clothing, had him swallowing back a whimper.

"No...” Stephen dropped his chin, seeming to bow under the intensity until he let his eyes flicker up and catch Lucien’s, “My lord.”

He watched as the hard line of his lover’s jaw tightened. They’d been in this arrangement for a couple of months now and one thing Stephen had learned, amongst a host of new desires he’d never suspected he owned, was those words. Those words, referencing the titles that Lucien actually did own but denied in his everyday life, were essentially a crooked finger. They were Stephen essentially pinning a badge to himself that read ‘complete and unapologetic brat’, carte blanche for Lucien to master him however he saw fit. To break him, if required.

“Then you deserve everything you’re getting, don’t you?” Lucien shifted into something not unlike a lion winding back to pounce, “Because if you’re going to act like a slut, that’s exactly how I’m going to treat you.”

Stephen felt those words grip him by the nerve endings and he knew fine well he was fidgeting but didn’t know how to stop. He just looked at Lucien with mute, pleading surrender.

“I am going to get up and go into the men’s bathroom,’ Lucien gave the low command, “In five minutes, when you’ve got some kind of control over yourself, you’re going to join me. And I am going to show you what happens when you think you can make me wait. Colour?”

That last word was ever so slightly softer, offered rather than dictated. Lucien never failed to check in with Stephen whenever they were playing. It was in their agreement, of course, but Stephen had the strong sense this was just how the man would be with all his partners, for all his domineering tendencies.

Stephen swallowed and glanced around. There weren’t many people in at this late hour, this bar was more of a sophisticated runway for a night out and most of the crowds had moved to somewhere louder and more raucous. Just a few couples, like them, more wrapped up in each other than anyone else, not quite ready to let their dates end. He did some nervous mathematics on how likely they were to get caught, balancing the number of other customers with his ability to double lock the door with magic, dividing in the failsafe that he could always use a little bit of fluence in a real emergency…

Hopeless degenerate, Day, his brain sighed.

“Green,” he murmured and he couldn’t help the grin that flickered to life on his face, just for a moment.

Lucien clearly forgave the break in character, answering with one of his own before composing himself and smoothly rising, looking effortlessly in control as he loped casually towards the gent’s. Stephen stared at his arse the entire time without much remorse. He’d already made his bed, after all.

He timed the five minutes on his phone, drinking the remainder of Lucien’s whiskey in the meantime, giving the heady, smoky taste of it every scrap of his attention in an attempt to redirect some blood flow. It took the full time before he judged himself ready to walk across the room, before he could scramble up and follow like a dog at his master’s call.

Twice in one day, Stephen found himself endlessly thankful for single-person bathrooms, as he was yanked into one by the front of his shirt and the door slammed behind him with the very reassuring click of a lock. He double secured it with a little magic, all the same, as Lucien kissed him fiercely.

“There you are,” Lucien purred once he was done bruising their lips, not letting go of Stephen’s lapels and keeping him awkwardly standing on his tiptoes, “Surprised you managed to wait the full five.”

“You told me too,” Stephen gasped, aware that Lucien’s eyes were looking into his shirt, hungrily tracing the lines of lace that were now visible.

Lucien chuckled, “Too late to try and be a good boy now, darling. Shirt open. Trousers down.”

Stephen willed the ether into work, knowing it always impressed Lucien just a little to see the buttons and zips and buckles falling away with apparently no effort at all. It was quicker too, only a few moments before he was as instructed, all of the lingerie now visible to Lucien’s searching gaze. He seemed to drink in the sight, his gaze ravenous as those grey eyes slid up and down the length of him.

“Didn’t I tell you that you’d look divine?” Lucien groaned appreciatively, running a finger under the lace trim below his chest, raising goosebumps as he went.

“Uh huh,” Stephen gasped, unable to be more articulate than that, his need drowning everything else, “My lord…”

“Against the sink, sweet boy,” those strong, slightly calloused hands took his shoulders and guided him until he was bracing himself on the edges of the sink, Lucien’s chest pressed against his back, “I want you to see yourself.”

So Stephen watched this other version of himself in the mirror, bathed in harsh light from overhead. He watched as his pupils blew wide, as his slightly swollen lips parted in a gasp when he felt Lucien shift to pull a bottle of something out of his jacket pocket. He watched this ethereal, high contrast version of himself flush as one large hand caressed the curve of his ass through the lace before hooking it to one side. He watched his eyelids flutter and his head tilt back when a slick finger teased him open, and saw his lace wreathed chest heave when it breached him. Stephen watched this man who was somehow him be opened and readied with care and attention, felt every moan reverberate in his own chest, felt his own nerves pulse and thrum with pleasure. And he found himself thinking, as much as he’d been unable to say it before, Lucien had been right.

He’d told him he’d look divine and he did. He’d told him he was beautiful and he was. Maybe he always had been.

“Ready?” Lucien murmured, grazing his earlobe with his teeth, “Give me a colour, sweet boy.”

“Green,” Stephen gasped, voice raw and ready to snap, “So green, my lord, please…”

He felt Lucien’s laugh echo through him, his arms coming around to press them close, “You need to be quieter, darling, or we’ll need to find a new date night place.”

“Well get on with fucking me then,” Stephen grumbled, forgetting himself in his desperation.

“Ah ah ah,” Lucien let his voice grow dangerous again, one hand snaking down to squeeze his aching cock through the lace panties, none too gently, “What kind of tone is that, sweet boy?”

Stephen whined, biting his lip and shuddering, “Sorry, my lord.”

“Better,” Lucien pulled his hand back, using it to unzip himself, “Don’t I always give you what you need?”

He proved his point as he moved the panties aside again, pressing into Stephen, now giving him everything he needed with no hesitation, right up to the hilt. Stephen had to fight to stay quiet, gripping the sink with white knuckles, planting his feet as far apart as he could to try and make room. Lucien paused, kissing the crown of his head, before finding a steady, natural rhythm with his hips, aware they didn’t exactly have a lot of time.

Stephen melted into it, gasps and grunts as soft as he could make them wrenching from his chest, shuddering as Lucien’s hands began roving again. Between the hand working him through the fabric and the cock pounding into him, the tension climbed punishingly fast, until he was scrabbling for balance, heart pounding, breath coming in desperate pants.

“I...fuck, Lucien, I’m there, I...oh god,” he gasped incoherently, arching back against his lover.

“I’ve got you,” Lucien groaned, shifting to work at a deeper angle, “Come for me, sweet boy.”

Stephen did, with a strangled moan, all of the waiting and teasing and tension unravelling in one blissful moment that turned his vision white. A heartbeat later he felt Lucien empty into him, heat pooling low in his stomach which then ignited into the familiar rush of power their lovemaking always gave him. He went rigid, feeling that rush that was so, so close to too much, but he knew it would ebb and leave him boneless and trembling in Lucien’s arms.

“We...may not have thought this through,” Lucien panted, steadying him gently.

“Because I’ve ruined the lovely underwear you got me?” Stephen murmured, closing his eyes a moment, “Because we’ve somehow got to clean ourselves up and walk out of here with some dignity? Because you might have to carry me because I’m not sure I can actually walk?”

Lucien chuckled, “All of that. But also…”

He held out his arms, showing the patches of tan skin where the magpies should be. They were off again, animated by Stephen’s magic, a few already exploring under the lace, pecking curiously.

“I really should have worn long sleeves,” Lucien admitted.

Stephen couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing, both hands flying to his mouth to try and muffle the sound. Lucien dissolved too, burying his face in Stephen’s curls as he shook with wracking laughter.

Stephen knew, with his trousers around his ankles and shirt slipping over one shoulder, standing in a public bathroom freshly fucked and wearing lace lingerie, he should be feeling like a hopeless degenerate. And he did, pleasantly so. But that wasn’t the only thing.

If anyone had asked him he would have denied it. But in that moment, Stephen felt loved.

[snowdice]

Finding the Time to Study Fic 2 [Day 39]

Here is my starting post for today’s study break stories session. See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. I’ll be constantly looking for ideas of times and places for Janus to have missions, so feel free to send in any you can think of at any point!

If you are a new follower or just don’t want all of these posts clogging your dash, please feel free to block the tag “study break stories” as all posts and voting about it will go there. You can still see the finished product of the story even if you are blocking that tag as I will not tag the edited chapters with “study break stories” but with the tag “folds in paper.” See edited chapters below. None edited chapters are under the cut.

My Masterpost Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted). It’s short, and not really for serious listening, but I had fun with it.

Alright. Time to get a bit of studying done.

Arc II What We Do to Each Other

Chapter 16:

As it would turn out, Janus and Virgil did not get in trouble for hooking up the old phone to Virgil’s integrator, mostly because it wasn’t really a mistake on their part. The phone cleared all virus checks that the tech people both from the university and the TPI ran on it. The phone should have been clean and should not have caused an issue.

In fact, they were still trying to pin down the code on the general university server. They could tell that something was mucking about on the system but what or how was a mystery. This also meant that there was no telling what information had been compromised and considering how many things Silver Mountain had its hands in, that was… a bit worrying.

 Another worrying thing was there was suddenly more activity of late at the TPI. There were more time distortions popping up every day. Usually they would be few and far in between. There had been 3 total recorded the year before, but over 12 in the last week. Some of them were fake like the one Janus had investigated, but some of them were real. It painted a distressing picture and also was a drain on their resources. Khalid was actually looking to advertise positions to hire new recruits which was something she rarely did as she liked to keep appointments to the TPI in house.

 They’d even loosed the number of field agents needed for each mission and Janus and Remus had been splitting up just to get everything done. Today, he and Remus had thankfully only two missions scheduled for the day.

“Are we going together or separate today?” Janus asked Remus.

“Think they’ll burn me at the stake for being a witch if I go alone to either of them?” Remus asked.

“I don’t know. Probably. I think we’re getting a bit late into the 1700s for that in Cuba, but I have no idea about Mesopotamia.”

“Let’s just go together. I did not like almost drowning yesterday because I was the only stranger in town when the weather was going wonky.”

“Surely it isn’t because you opened your mouth. Ever.” Janus said dryly.

“How was I supposed to know he was the local clergyman’s son?”

 Janus rolled his eyes. “On second thought,” he said, pushing a button on his desk to choose Cuba as he next mission, and standing up. “I don’t want you coming with me.” Yet, he did not protest when Remus also signed up for the Cuba mission and he waited for him by the office door before going to talk to Rhi.

Rhi was a bit frazzled when which meant quite a bit as she was usually incredibly put together. Remus didn’t even seem inclined to tease her today.

“Okay,” she said once they’d closed the door behind them. She flipped through some documents on her desk. “Picani and Clockson. Camaguey Cuba 1755. Do you know Cuba?”

 “Uh,” Janus said. “Yeah?”

“Like you’re reading the things, right? I don’t have to babysit you, right? You got it? The Seven Year War was happening, but it won’t affect you much as it hasn’t really hit Cuba. It’s the middle of the Camaguey Carnival. Everyone will be everywhere and there will be chaos so as long as you don’t really fuck up you should be fine. Um…apparent races.” She looked up at them and studied them each for a moment as thought looking at them for the first time despite having known them for years. “It’ll work. Go to costuming.”

“Shouldn’t we…” Janus said, “sign things?”

 “…Yep,” she said, fiddling with her desktop and then sending documents over to their side to sign.

Janus and Remus both did before sending them back.

“Great. Good.” She stood and grabbed some things from behind her. “You can go.” She sat back down as they took their things and Janus noticed a message pop up on her desk. She looked up at Remus looking exhausted. “What?” she asked.

“Just open it,” Remus said.

Rhi tapped it and a photo opened.

“I got her a new mouse toy!” Remus said happily as Rhi looked at the picture of Diesel Fuel attacking a cloth mouse.

“That is… appreciated Agent Clockson,” Rhi said. “Now get out.”

 They did, leaving to get their costumes on and checked. Costuming was just as busy and frazzled as Rhi had been and they actually had to wait for decon because there’d been a mix up with the agents leaving before them. They landed in Cuba without issue. Janus could already hear the festival in full swing outside the small building they’d were in. Remy was standing there with a very not time appropriate mug of coffee.

“Sue me,” Remy said when Janus raised an eyebrow at it. “Please just… get in and out without causing trouble. Seriously. I don’t want to have to deal with that on top of everything else.”

 “We’ll do our best,” Janus assured.

Remy pulled his sunglasses down to look at him. He looked exhausted. “God please do more than your best.”

Janus nodded tightly. “We’ll be in and out,” he said, already glancing at his timepiece. It had been disguised as a golden bracelet which made it a bit harder to actually use, but wrist watches wouldn’t be invented for more than a century, so they’d have to make do. “The time distortion, if that’s what it is, should be in the middle of town. Let’s go.”

He and Remus exited the building onto the packed city street.

 Janus was immediately bombarded with all types of sights, sounds, and smells. There were many colorful articles of clothing and costumes as people went every which way along the street talking to other members of their community, playing instruments, and dancing. There was the sound of people speaking Spanish, still mostly almost pure Castilian Spanish with perhaps a bit of influence from Taino as the Haitian revolution had yet to push the Creole language over to Cuba. People must have been hard at work cooking different dishes for the carnival as many different spices wafted through the air. It was sticky hot considering it was the middle of June in the tropics and Janus was immediately sweating despite the temperature appropriate clothing he’d been outfitted with.

 He glanced around their immediate area, just scoping out the crowds. His eyes were immediately drawn to one person near them.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he said out loud when he saw Pat. Remus looked in the direction Janus was.

Even if Janus didn’t recognize him the moment he laid eyes on him, he probably still would have ended up staring as he was the only person in the area who clearly did not know how to do the dance he was attempting.

Remus snorted and Janus shook his head in secondhand embarrassment. “Well, would you look whose boyfriend’s here,” he said to Janus. Make that firsthand embarrassment. “Has anyone told him the Mambo wasn’t invented until the 1900s and also that’s not how you do it?”

 Chapter 17

Pat stopped dancing the moment he saw Janus approaching him, but he still bobbed cheerfully ( and unrhythmically) to the music. “Hi Janus,” he said pleasantly.

“You just have to rub it in, huh?”

There was a flash of confusion across his face, but then he smiled. “Well, I know where in our relationship you are. How was France?”

“You’re a bastard.”

“You stole the phone,” he laughed.

“You stole the bomb,” Janus countered, “and you wanted me to steal the phone. You booby trapped it.”

“No,” Pat correct, putting a finger up. “We have security on my phone because in high school I once forgot it in the school locker room and long story short, the three of us ended up in a lake. So, then Lo made sure I always had some sort of tracker on it. When I started time traveling, he updated it and when I met you we updated it again in case there was ever an opportunity like that. Lo calls it using our weaknesses to our advantage.”

 “He’s a bastard too,” Janus growled.

Pat just laughed.

“Is someone talking about me?” Remus asked, stepping over to them. Janus rolled his eyes.

“Oh,” Pat said, blinking at Janus’s partner for a moment. “Remus.” He hesitated slightly. “How are you doing?”

“Me?” Remus asked. “Uh, I’m doing good. A little stressed out with work, but fine.”

“Good,” Pat said with just a little too much heartfulness to it.

“What?” Janus asked, eyes narrowed at Pat. “What is that?”

“What is what?” Pat asked. He met Janus’s eyes briefly and it made panic surge up Janus’s spine because the look Pat was sending him wasn’t one that said he was playing dumb. It was a warning.

 Oh, Janus did not like this. That look told Janus Pat had some foreknowledge that he absolutely could not tell Janus about without messing up the timeline spectacularly. This was why this mess the two of them were mixed up in was so bad, but it seemed Janus did not have much of a choice when it came to Pat.

Despite how bad of an idea he knew it was, he still wanted to push, because whatever Pat was hiding could be very, very bad and it had to do with Remus. There were so many reasons Pat could be acting like that around Remus, but the worst ones were definitely the ones on his mind. Death, injury, illness. They were all possible especially in their line of work and especially with how time was being screwed with right now. And Pat knew. He knew exactly what the answer was, and oh did Janus want to push.

Experience knowing what worse things could come out of having foreknowledge made Janus bite his tongue.

 “So, what are you two doing here,” Pat asked, and Janus unhappily let him change the subject.

“Oh, like you don’t know,” Janus replied.

“I don’t know,” Pat said innocently.

“There’s another time distortion,” Janus said, “and while you didn’t know what it was the last time I saw you, I’m pretty sure you do now.”

“Oh, I didn’t know there was a time distortion here. I can help you if you like,” he offered sweetly.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to see if I could find the Flying Dutchman,” Pat told him.

“And so you went to Camaguey?”

“Uh huh.”

“One of the farthest places from the ocean in Cuba?”

 “Is it?”

“I don’t trust you.”

Pat just shrugged. “Well, if you don’t want my help finding the time distortion, I’ll just be on my way then.”

“Wait,” he said when Pat went to turn away. Pat paused. Janus turned to Remus. “Remus, do you think he’s bullshitting me so I let him wander off and do whatever the hell he’s doing, or do you think he’s bullshitting me into letting him come with us.”

“Hmm,” Remus said, looking Pat up and down. Janus could immediately tell he wasn’t going to get any helpful answer. “Well, if we’re going with the how much do I get to see his, admittedly very sexy, ass criteria.” Janus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Letting him leave now means instant gratification and a nice full image when he turns away. However, letting him go with us means many more opportunities to get a glimpse, but they’d probably just be glimpses. So, yeah that’s a tough call.”

“You didn’t even bother to give me an actual hidden suggestion with that bullshit,” Janus groaned. He glanced at Pat only to see him hiding his very red face in his hands. Janus blinked. “Oh,” he said. “You got him, Remus.” Janus was surprised. He’d expected a bit more tenacity for someone with Pat’s personality. Of course, Janus was used to Remus, so that perhaps had some effect. Pat made a muffled distressed sound behind his hands and Janus raised an eyebrow. “You really got him.”

Pat flapped one hand around while still using the other to completely hide his face. “It’s just. His face. Saying that. Is weird.”

 Janus could not say that he didn’t feel a slight spark of joy at seeing Pat flustered. After all, Pat’s weapon of choice had often been flirting with Janus in the past. However, he still smacked Remus on the shoulder when it looked like he was about to continue with something likely far more inappropriate. “We are here for a reason,” he reminded. He turned to consider Pat and squinted at him. “You’re coming with us, I’ve decided. I don’t want to let you out of my sights. Don’t,” he said empathically turning to Remus as the man opened his mouth once more.

 Pat had mostly recovered, though his cheeks were just a bit pink still. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll go with you. Where do we start?”

Janus glanced at his timepiece. “It’s not showing up on our trackers yet.”

“It messed with your tracker last time,” Pat pointed out.

“I know,” Janus said. “Which means it could be another fake one or whatever is causing it hasn’t started yet. If things start going wrong, but it still doesn’t show on our radar, it’s almost certainly a fake one, but some of the fake ones haven’t blocked our technology.”

“Here, I can check,” Pat said.

“Please don’t pull out an iPhone,” Janus begged.

 Pat stuck out his tongue at him, and then smiled. He reached for the bracelet on his wrist and twisted it back and forth a few times before pressing his palms together. He glanced around them quickly to make sure no one around them was watching and then peeled apart his palms like he was miming reading a book.

“What the fuck is that, and how do I get one?” Remus asked immediately. It was innocuous, whatever it was. If someone from this time caught a glimpse of the display, they’d likely assume it was a trick of the light, but staring right at it, Janus could tell it was a map of the surrounding areas with a softly glowing blue light marking their current location. Janus could see no screen or origin of a hologram. It looked like the image was drawn onto the man’s palms, but as he watched, the image shifted to zoom out.

 “There doesn’t seem to be anything major yet,” Pat said wiggling his fingers a bit. The display changed slightly to some sort of colorful overlay Janus did not understand. Pat hummed. “Did you two come from that building recently?” he asked nodding at it.

“Yes,” Janus replied. “How do you know?”

“There’s sometimes a slight temperature change when people time travel,” Pat explained. “I can read it on here.” He tilted his head. “There also seems to be a big enough temperature change in a church a few blocks away that could indicate time travel. Want to check it out?”

“We might as well,” Janus agreed.

“And if it’s nothing, we can get drunk on the communion wine!”

“He’s going to get immediately struck by lightning,” Janus said.

 Chapter 18

“If we see anyone,” Janus said as they entered the church. “You keep your mouth shut. Do you understand me? Remus, do you understand me?”

Remus immediately turned to Pat. “You know, I didn’t grow up Catholic,” he said to Pat who looked at him in confusion. “So the first time I ever entered a Catholic church, you can’t blame me for being a little confused about the whole cabinet thing with a wall between them. After all, everyone was singing about glory to god and what not. So I…”

Janus slapped him. “This is why you were almost burned at the stake yesterday.”

 “Excuse you,” Remus said, putting his hand over his heart. “I was almost drowned.”

“You were almost drowned?” Pat asked, his voice seeming legitimately distressed.

Remus shrugged a smile on his face that caused a Pavlovian migraine to start up behind Janus’s eyes. “It’s one of the hazards of the jobs, and really it would have all been worth it if I’d actually gotten to drown in that man’s…”

“We’re in a church!” Janus cut him off switching from Spanish to Swahili in the hopes that no random passersby would be able to understand him in this time and place. “Don’t talk about lewd sex things. Don’t talk about sex at all. It’s a Catholic church!”

 Remus continued to speak in Spanish with no regard for anything. “But not talking about lewd sex things takes away 3/4ths of my personality,” he pouted.

“More like 9/10th,” Janus grumbled, “and the other 1/10th is just normal stupid.”

“Hey, you shouldn’t be mean,” Pat scolded, in fucking English for some reason, “but Remus, honey, you probably shouldn’t be saying things like that right now.”

“No, no, he has a point,” Remus said switching to English.

“He’s my partner, I have the right to call him stupid,” Janus insisted.

“And I love you too!” Remus said in Greek because he was really, truly, stupid.

 Pat looked between the two, but then seemed to accept it, dropping the concerned expression for a slightly amused one. “If you say so.”

“Can I… help you?” A voice asked. All three of them whipped around to see a young boy looking at them and seeming very confused. Which was fair considering that to his ears, they’d just been speaking nonsense.

“We’re here to pray!” Remus claimed, then he turned to wink at Pat and said under his breath in Swahili, “to that ass.” Pat went immediately bright red again, which was doubtlessly Remus’s aim. Janus subtlety stepped on his foot while smiling at the boy.

 “Oh,” the boy said. “Okay.” Thankfully, he didn’t seem interested in questioning the random strangers in front of him further. “I’m going to go back to the celebration now.”

Janus smiled at him. “Have fun,” he said. He waited for the boy to leave through the front door before slapping Remus on the back of the head.

“Ow!” he whined sounding far too pained for how hard Janus had actually hit him.

Janus rolled his eyes. “Let’s just start investigating,” he said.

“Sure, sure, you never let me have any fun,” Remus said, pulling up his wrist and spinning the golden bracelets on his arm. “Hmm…” he said.

 “What?” asked Pat.

“Either I put on the wrong jewelry this morning… or my timepiece isn’t working.”

“Well, then I’m guessing we’re in the right place,” Janus said. He turned to Pat. “Your stuff still working?”

Pat brought up whatever device was on his hands. “Yeah,” he said, “and it looks like something is just starting.” Just as he said it, there was a violent crash of thunder.

“Well,” Janus said. “We should probably find the source and soon. Which way?”

Pat glanced around himself and then motioned with his wrist. Suddenly there was a 3D display of the church in front of them.

 Janus could see immediately where the problem had to originate. There was a swirling mass of some sort of energy centered at the top of the bell tower of the church. As he watched, he saw the picture of the church glitch out a bit. He had a bad feeling about that.

“Is there something wrong with your display?” he asked, or more hoped.

Pat shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so…” The room seemed to shift suddenly underneath their feet. It felt a bit like time travel, but also wrong. The picture on the display flickered harder, part of the building fracturing and dissolving before appearing back in place. The room settled after a moment, but Janus’s stomach did not.

 “Whatever is going on,” Janus said, “We need to stop it right now.”

Pat nodded. “The quickest way up would be that way,” Pat said pointing. The display closed as he did.

“Then, let’s go,” Janus said.

The world was eerily calm as they all started off in the direction Pat had pointed out. In fact, it was almost too quiet.

“Where’s the nearest window?” Janus asked when they came out on the second floor.

Pat glanced at his hand. “There should be a couple a few feet that way.” Janus nodded and left them standing there. When he glanced out of the first window he came to, it appeared to be night. Yet, when he walked to the next window, he saw daylight.

26606

“Time is fracturing,” Janus informed them. “We need to be careful.” This time distortion was much more intense than any of the other ones the agency had been tracking down over the last few months. It had also come on much faster. Usually there was some time between when the time distortion began and it started having extreme effects on the environment. He was suddenly very glad that he and Remus had not split up today. He was even glad for Pat’s company, no matter how aggravating he may be sometimes. Not to mention, he was glad for the man’s technology that seemed to circumvent whatever was blocking Janus and Remus’s timepieces.

He backed away from the windows and returned to the others.

“Whatever you do,” Janus said. “Don’t let anyone be in a room alone.”

“I know what time fractures are this time,” Pat promised.

“It was as much for the idiot as it was for you,” Janus said.

“You accidently bring a bubonic plague infested rat to 900BC one time and you never live it down.”

“I’d say I should put a leash on you, but you’d twist it into something disgusting.”

“Probably,” Remus agreed.

“Where next?” Janus asked, ignoring him.

“That way,” Pat said.

They walked together to the door he’d indicated. “Please don’t be bullshit,” Janus prayed. He opened the door and immediately got bowled over by a stream of salt water.

 Chapter 19

Janus landed flat on his back, a wave of water splashing over him and then quickly retreating, but still leaving him absolutely drenched. He sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Don’t,” he warned, “say a word.”

Of course, he was with the two most impossible people in all of space and time, so neither of them headed him.

“I thought you said we were far from the ocean, Jan,” Pat said.

“Yeah, Janny,” Remus immediately jumped on board because he was an asshole. “I thought we were far from the ocean!”

“Maybe I’ll achieve my goal of finding the Flying Dutchman after all!”

 “Ooo ghost pirates! I’ve never gotten to fight ghost pirates before. Any good with a sword Patty?”

“My friend has a sword and he let me use it before… but all I did was cut a hole in our couch, and then Lo was mad at us.”

“I mean… just pretend the pirates are a couch and we’ll be good!”

Janus slowly sat up. There was still water on the floor and every so often a wave would crash into the room as though the door frame signaled the edge of a beach. Pat reached down to offer him a hand up and Janus slapped it away.

 “Rude!” Pat claimed, but his eyes were alight with mischief.

Janus shoved himself to his feet on his own power.

“You deserve it,” he hissed. “For all of this!” he waved his arms around.

“Water you talking about. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You are on thin ice.”

He looked down at his feet with a contemplative expression. “Looks like water to me.”

“Arg!” Janus spat, throwing up his arms.

“I don’t sea why you’re screaming, Janus.”

“Yeah,” Remus contributed. “You seem overally emotional to me.”

“Yes, yes,” Pat replied. “Very em-ocean-al.”

“One may even say he’s pretty salty.”

“I know where you live, Remus,” Janus reminded.

 “Alright, alright Remus, reel it in,” Pat said.

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but Janus cut him off. “Why don’t the two of you dedicate all of that brain power to figuring out how to cross the literal ocean in the next room,” Janus suggested hotly.

And it was a literal ocean. If one ignored where they were and the fact that there was a staircase climbing out of said ocean about 80 or so meters away. There was sand being washed up across the door frame and a seagull flying in the distance. At least it looked like a nice day in the room with the way the sun was glinting off the water. At least it wasn’t storming there. Yet.

Janus’s head throbbed with the thought of what had to be happening with the time distortion to plop a piece of the ocean into one single room in a church. Usually they’d be calling the TPI for backup or at least for information, but that was a loss. Even if they tried to get out of range of whatever was disrupting their timepieces, time was so unstable, they’d very possibly get dumped somewhere dangerous. It was better to just get to the time distortion as quickly as possible and stop it.

 “Hmm,” Remus said. “I wonder how deep it is. Do you think there are man eating sharks in the water? Or giant jelly fish? Remember that one time I got stung by a jelly fish and almost died?”

“Yes,” Janus said, lips pursed, “and it was entirely your fault.”

“I just looked so squishy!” he declared, “I didn’t know it was a murder blob.”

“I think I have a boat,” Pat said.

They both turned to him. “What?” Janus asked. He was looking at his hands and just hummed in response to Janus’s question. The next thing he knew, Pat made some motion with his hand and a yellow raft started to autofill from his palm. “...Why?” Janus asked.

“I… recently started carrying a wilderness survival pack in my time device.”

 “I’m not going to question it. It’s better than swimming.” By the time the raft was completely deployed, they’d all been shoved into the walls by it.

“Huh, on second thought. I probably should have put the raft in the room before blowing it up.”

“You think?” asked Janus.

Pat glared at him over it. “I never really thought about how to open it in a narrow second floor corridor.”

“Just try to shove it through the door without popping it.”

“Why are you looking at me?!” asked Remus.

They managed to somehow squeeze the raft through the door into the other room after a few minutes.

 Pat squinted at the tottering raft he was holding to the door frame. “After you,” he offered.

Janus glared at him.

“You’re already soaked!” Pat defended himself.

Janus sighed and very carefully climbed into the raft. It tottered dangerously, but he didn’t immediately fall out, so that was a plus. The other two of them slowly also climbed onto the raft with him. They then sat in it for a few seconds. “Is there an oar?” Janus asked.

“Oh right!” Pat did something else with the device in his hands and an oar slowly unfolded from his hand.

“Seriously, I want one of those,” Remus said.

 “Let’s just get out of here,” Janus said, snatching the oar. The staircase luckily wasn’t too far away. They probably could have swam it if necessary, but the raft gave them some modicum of protection. Everything seemed to be going in their favor, which of course meant everything was about to go incredibly wrong.

They were about halfway across the water when the entire world around them rumbled.

“…I hope that was a giant jellyfish,” Remus said.

It was unfortunately not a jellyfish or any sea creature at all. The world around them fractured, the ocean seeming to split right down the middle so the water right of the staircase was 6 feet higher than on the left. The sky flashed red and yellow before the water split completely like Moses splitting the Red Sea.

 There was a millisecond as the split widened until it was only a few feet from them, to decide whether when they landed they wanted to be on the side with the water or on the side without it. On one hand, going towards the side without water could mean they fell to their deaths or the water crashed back down on top of them when it settled. On the other hand, if the fissure was closing or shifting to a new area, it was very possible that they’d end up trapped in the middle off the ocean with no connection to the church.

 Well, the best chance to actually get to where they were going was probably the side without water. It seemed everyone had the same idea at once because as he grabbed for both of them, they both grabbed for him and they all went tumbling off the raft into what could have very well been a bottomless pit.

Janus learned after a couple of seconds of free fall, that it was definitely not a bottomless pit. He landed hard, flat on his back and saw stars. The next moment something landed on top of him, squeezing all of the air out of his lungs.

 Something else fell half on top of his legs.

“Ow,” Pat said from near his ear.

“Yeah, well you’re the one on the top,” Janus groaned though his teeth.

“Wow, I never took you for a bottom, Janus,” Remus said from near his feet. Janus kicked up his legs into whatever part of him was on top of Janus and he gave an “oof.”

Pat snorted a bit and Janus glared at his… shoulder? He shifted around a bit so he was less thrown across Janus and more just on top of him. Janus blinked. There was a wooden ceiling above them, so that was a good sign, though there was also a giant dark hole of nothingness directly above them which was not as good.

 Janus moved slightly. He could tell he was going to be bruised later, but he didn’t seem seriously injured. “We should,” he started, but was interrupted as the hole above them pulsated and dumped a bunch of sea water.

Pat shrieked as they were all drenched with the chilly water. Luckily, they seemed to be on higher ground because, while water kept pouring out of the hole, it drained away just as quickly instead of drowning them.

Water still hitting his back relentlessly, Pat peeled his head up to look Janus in the eyes. A giggle bubbled out of his mouth.

“It isn’t funny,” Janus informed him. Pat just giggled more, leaning his head against Janus’s chest and cackling.

 Janus just rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, this is an entirely appropriate reaction. Thank you for your contribution to our very important mission.”

Pat seemed incapable of stopping laughing completely, but he did calm himself enough to peel himself off Janus’s chest and lean forward so their noses almost touched. “It’s hilarious and you know it,” he claimed.

“In what way is this ‘hilarious’?”

“In many waves,” was the joy filled answer.

“You’re horrible.”

Pat hummed. He hadn’t moved to get off of him even though they really should be moving in case something worse than water came through the hole in the ceiling. He hadn’t even moved his face away.

“No, no, you two just tell me when you’re done being gay for each other,” Remus interrupted. Janus was surprised to see he’d stood up at some point and was now hovering over them.

 Janus flipped him off even while Pat laughed once again. Pat finally drew away and rolled off of him so Janus could sit up. Pretty much everything hurt when Janus moved, but he was able to stand up, so he was probably fine enough. “So,” he said looking around. “Where are we now?”

 Chapter 20

Janus looked around himself while Pat booted up his map to try to figure out where they were. They were in a small room that may actually be considered a large landing as there were staircases on either side of it. The water that was still coming out of the ceiling was running down the staircase that led down from the room.

 Something was stopping the water, creating a pool on the steps that was already about to overflow into the room. With the speed the water was flowing, they should have enough time before the room completely filled up with water and drowned them.

Janus wondered if they were in the church or not. It was not out of the question and there was church like décor around them, but who knew? He could feel a strange vibration in the ground and the one window in the room shone with green light.

“Hmm,” said Pat. “That looks not good.” He’d projected his map so they could all see everything.

 The map itself was moving. Rooms were phasing in and out of focus and fracturing down the middle. One room was even spinning lazily around in circles. Janus could see the room they were in. It was connected to the bigger blob of rooms, and there was a black line connecting it to another room from the top which was obviously the hole spewing water at them.

“Well, at least the time distortion is still coming from the bell tower,” Remus said. Janus shot him an unamused glance. Said bell tower was currently upside down and shuddering as well as divided from any other room by at least two inches of empty space.

28842

“How are we supposed to get there?” asked Pat.

“We don’t,” Janus said. “It’s literally impossible.”

“There has to be some way,” Pat argued with a frown.

“If we try to use time travel, we’ll definitely get shredded by the warping time and space around it and walking there isn’t an option. There aren’t even any entrances!”

“Well, there were at one point.”

“Yeah, before,” he gestured wildly to the ceiling that was still pouring water into the room.

“So?” Pat asked.

“’So’?! What do you mean ‘so’?!”  

Pat shrugged. “When one door closes, cut another one.”

Janus froze and looked at him for a long moment. “Where the hell did you hear that?”

Patton raised an eyebrow. “You.”

“I don’t think like that anymore.”

“Well then I guess we’ll die,” Pat said lightly. “Of course, that’ll make an even worse time loop considering I’ve met older versions of you.”

“Fuck,” Janus spat. “Fuck. Fine. Give me a minute to think. Not that I even know if we have a minute because,” he gestured once again to the room.

 “Okay,” Janus said. “The room with the source of the time distortion is separated from us by a swirling pool of dark nothingness and there is no way to get to it. But, the only way we’re going to stop the distortion from ripping apart time and killing us as well as probably a bunch of other people is to get to it. That is an impossible situation. There is no solution. That door is closed to us. What other ways are there to look at it?” He looked at the visual representation of the rooms. One of them suddenly went spinning out and his eyes tracked it. We need to be in the same place as the source,” Janus said. “That is fact, but we don’t have to get to it.”

“Um, what do you mean?” Remus asked. Pat shushed him.

 “If you want thing A and thing B to be in the same place, there’s more than one way to do it. If you can’t move thing A to thing B, you might be able to move thing B to thing A. Pat, you have a working time device. We can’t travel with it because that would kill us, but if we can make it do a stutter warp, it could draw the time distortion to it.”

“You…” Remus said. “Want to create another time distortion in hopes that the original time distortion will be pulled into this room?”

“Yes.”

“Well, sounds good to me!” Remus said.

 He maybe had expected Pat to argue, but he didn’t. Instead, he moved his hand to his wrist. There had been nothing there before, but when he touched down on his wrist with two fingers, there was suddenly a metal bound around it that Janus immediately recognized from the times he’d seen Pat’s timepiece before. How was it made invisible? He shook the thought off as Pat offered it up wordlessly. Janus took it and Pat leaned over his shoulder to look.

Despite the fact that the device looked nothing like his own, the interface was surprisingly convenient. “I assume you have safety setting to prevent a stutter warp,” Janus said. “How do I turn those off?”

 Patton pointed at a gear icon on the screen. “You put it under your normal settings?” he asked.

“I have to put in my password or use my fingerprint!” Pat defended.

“It doesn’t matter right now.” He navigated through the settings. He was interested to see that there were many different saved default security settings, but he didn’t get much of a chance to read what all they did. He just turned them all off.” It popped up with a message to put in the password and Pat pressed his fingertip to it. Another message popped up warning them that turning off these settings could cause damage to the machinery, the person using it, and time itself. Janus pushed “okay.” A message popped up that asked “Continue” and Janus pressed “yes.” One last message popped up that said “Security functions disabled.” Janus pressed “okay.”

 “Anything else I’d need to disable?”

“Nope,” Pat confirmed.

He navigated back to the main screen and then bought up the manual travel input screen. Yet another message warning him not to do this flashed and Janus once again ignored it. He copied the space time coordinates that the device said they were currently at and put it in the ‘travel to’ location. “Well,” he said. “Here it goes. Let it be known that if I die, it’s my own fault for allowing Remus into a church.”

“Really?” Remus said. “That’s what you’re choosing to be your last words?”

Janus just raised an eyebrow.

“Love you too Janus.”

Janus nodded and hovered his finger over the travel button. He quickly mashed his finger to the button 22 times.”

 The device warmed in his hand enough that he almost dropped it. Time literally froze for a few breaths as whatever Deity that may or may not exist processed their stupidity.

Janus was not a scientist or technician, but he had a good idea of how badly they were fucking up right now. The timepiece was attempting to travel over and over again to the exact same place and time. This basically punched a small hole through time, that if left unfixed would grow and disrupt space time all around them. As it was, their current position, all gathered around it and staring at it while one of them had it literally in their hand, was perilous.

 There was a rumble under their feet and the world tilted on it’s axis. The all went tumbling down in a pile of limbs to new floor of the room which had once been a wall.

Of course, this change of gravity caused the water that had been building up in the staircase to dump on top of them.

Janus would have cursed, but he was too busy being under the water. He maneuvered himself away from the other two flailing bodies and managed to shove his feet against the wall turned floor. His head popped above the water in time to see the ceiling, or well, it would be the opposite wall, rip in two and the other walls/floor/ceiling start to fold in.

 “Give me a boost!” Pat called over the noise of water rushing and walls crunching.

“Give you a boost where?” Janus asked.

“Up!” Janus wasn’t sure if ‘up’ really existed right now, but he still nodded. The water was a few inches over his head, so he held his breath and interlaced his hands so Pat could put his foot in it. He was shoved down into the water, but it gave Pat enough leverage to shoot up out of the water. When Janus resurfaced, he saw that the man had grabbed ahold of the crumbling wall and was pulling himself up into what for all appearances seemed to be absolutely nothing.

 It took a moment, but then Janus blinked, and he was suddenly in a new room entirely or perhaps it was the same room. He honestly didn’t know at this point. Remus was next to him. He couldn’t recall if he’d been there before the shift or not, but they were both treading water. Pat crashed into the water next to them. Janus’s wrist buzzed as his timepiece came back online. “Got it!” Pat declared when he resurfaced, holding a device up. It looked almost the same as the device they’d found in France, but this one was definitely different if it was able to cause that much chaos that quickly.

 Janus looked around and pointed at what appeared to be a set of stairs. The three of them swam over and pulled themselves out of the water.

“Where are we?” Pat asked.

“Looks like a basement,” Remus replied. “A flooded basement.”

Janus pulled up his timepiece and pushed some buttons to stabilize Pat’s timepiece. It slowly stopped vibrating and cooled. “Here,” he said, handing it over to him. “I suggest you put the safeties back on now.”

Pat nodded and took it.

“We’re still in Cuba,” Remus informed them, looking at his own timepiece. “Same church too, but in the basement and… two and a half centuries later.”

“Remy is going to be pissed,” Janus said.

Remus shrugged. “He’s always pissed… at least at me.”

“Well,” said Pat, slipping his timepiece back onto his wrist. “Thanks for being willing to pool our resources.”

Janus rolled his eyes. “Stop.”

“Ah, mi sirenito-”

“I hate you.”

“-never.” He disappeared with a pop which was when Janus realized, he’d never handed over device that had caused the first time distortion.

“…You bastard!” he yelled at thin air as though the man could hear him.

“Well,” said Remus, “that mission went swimmingly.” Janus reached over and shoved him back into the water.

 Chapter 21

“We should probably get out of here,” Janus said, very much not helping Remus out of the water. Remus pulled himself back up onto the staircase and shook like a dog. Janus crinkled his nose as water droplets hit him. They didn’t smell salty anymore, he noted. In fact, there was a broken pipe spewing out water on the other side of the room.

Janus and Remus cautiously snuck out of the church, not wanting to be seen and blamed for the flooded basement. They came out on a city street that was much different than the one they’d entered from.

 They walked down the street a bit, Janus’s eyes scanning the buildings. His eyes caught on a sign and he tugged Remus towards it.

They entered the small paladare and the person delivering food to one of the tables blinked at them both. Right. They were in clothing from the 1700s and were soaking wet. He met eyes with the woman, challenging her to say something. She did not.

They found a seat at one of the tables.

“Ah…” the worker said, approaching them. “English?”

“Ron,” Janus said, “por favor.”

Remus turned and started ordering the both of them food in Spanish. Janus didn’t pay attention to what he did.

 After his second shot of rum, Janus sighed and brought up his timepiece to ping the TPI. The reaction was almost instantaneous from their perspective. Remy all but kicked down the restaurant’s door and walked over to them. “How the fuck?”

“Ah, Remy,” Janus said calmly. “Have a seat. We’re waiting on our food.”

He did, but probably only because people were looking at them. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s been a long day,” Janus answered, “and I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, it certainly looks like you’re interested in the food,” Remy said, eyeing the empty shot glasses.

“Let’s just say, I’m glad Cuba started letting paladares legally serve liquor a few years ago.”

 It’s clear that Remy wanted to ask them what had happened, but he also was cautious enough not to make a scene here and Janus wasn’t planning on getting up until he’d at least gotten his food. “Why are you soaked, by the way?”

“Turns out the ocean isn’t as far away as we thought,” Janus said.

“Also, a church basement is flooded,” Remus said.

“Fantastic,” Remy replied.

They sat there mostly in tense silence until their food came, and then Remus and Janus ate. Remy slapped down some pesos once they were done and then proceeded to all but physically drag them out of the restaurant.

 They were led to an alley way and then through an old almost hidden door. Remy immediately rounded on them. “What the hell happened?” Remy asked.

“The time distortion caused level 5 time fractures in its vicinity, we almost drowned three times, and the worst person in the universe fucked me over again.”

“To be fair,” Remus said. “He did save our lives before that.”

“I saved our lives first,” Janus said. “I don’t have to be fair.”

“Oh, yeah, Mr. Curl Up In A Ball And Perish. I’m sure we would have been fine without him.”

“Anyway,” Janus said to Remy. “If you want your lump of flesh, I suggest you take it now, because Khalid is going to murder me, and then fire me, and then rehire me so she can put me on desk duty and make me do paperwork until the end of time.”

[spirit-of-vengeance]

@spxcemuses @mr-mansnoozie @xxstar-bluesxx

Guess who gathered enough mind to finally write her full backstory of Western Verse. Her being a bounty hunter is set in the Wild West time period (1865-1895), there is no current year(s) to set her story in mainly because I don't want to make a mistake messing up the timeline.

Calm before the storm

Her father, Attila a lesser Hungarian noble whom supported the 1848-1849 revolutionary war but after the failure of it he escaped emigrated to America to avoid the Habsburg revenge, soon followed by his brother Gábor. He could save a small amount of his fortune along with his two most important horses: a purebred Lipizzan stallion and an extremely rare Akhal Teke mare. He had settled near a small town, due to his financial situation and education as a noble he established a school with the support and approval of the local church. To quieten his guilt for abandoning his country in its peril, he poured all of his heart into educating children; at least he is still useful in some way.

One day, a group of artists traveling artists, acrobats traveled through the town and the aristocrat fell in love at first sight. She was like the queen of fairy from the folk tales he'd heard in his childhood, she was tall, blue eyes sparkled like light sapphire, long golden brown hair floated ethereally with every twirl. The smitten lord shamelessly courted the the graceful acrobat, determined to know at least the name.

The group had stayed in the town for a few weeks, allowing Attila's and Myra's romance to blossom; after a month she ended up staying with him, just like in true fairytales.

My obsession with angst backstory strikes again

The lord was in love, deeper than poets could express it. Since the loss of his home and country he had found his place in the universe along with the perfect companion by his side. He paid less attention to the school, the church and other public affairs; it wasn't like he abandoned them but became more withdrawn to spend time with the love of his life, especially after the birth of their daughter. She was almost the perfect miniature of her mother, same beautiful hair glinting gold in the sunlight, only her eyes were the brightest emerald green he'd ever seen.

While Myra's heart and aura was as pure as a fairy's; the local church was beyond distressed. They claimed that Attila had completely abandoned helping those in need because of her wicked seduction. When they witnessed her performing for the amusement of the crowd, the 'temptress witch' brand couldn't be lifted. They gathered a few enthusiastic townsfolk whom shared their views and a few morally questionable men whom only wanted a piece of the lord's fortune.

10 year old Karma was awakened from her deep slumber by her frantic father; smoke and yelling blinding her senses as he carried her out of the burning house into the nearby forest so the mob won't find her. He promised her he will be back but he had to return into their home for Myra; he couldn't leave her inside. Karma watched her dad disappear into the flames, the air filled with suffocating smoke and religious shouts for god to smite the sinners. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the spot where her father was gone, waiting for her parents to stumble out of the half collapsed building; but that never had happened. She sat unmoving from her spot, struck staring into the flames then into the ashes as the sun has risen.

Birth of the marksman

Attila's brother, Gábor arrived the next day after hearing the news, he was the one whom found Karma still staring at the ruins in a catatonic state. He couldn't avenge his sibling as it meant endangering his niece and she has lost more than enough.

Gábor expected her to become a soft spoken, reserved lady once she overcame her trauma; that theory was soon abandoned when once he had awoken to his niece practicing with his rifle outside with frighteningly great accuracy. The young girl naturally had an extraordinary aim and after a few long talks, he'd seen the determination burning in her to avenge the murder of her parents. Given by her mother's dance lessons, she was also flexible and capable of many different acrobatic moves; this combined with her aim proven to be a very dangerous combination.

To not awaken suspicion he told his friends Karma was an orphan whose parents were killed by bandits and he had adopted her to give her a family and education. Karma was fascinated chasing greater heights of her skills, this involved reading every possible book about anatomy, marking, engraving the useful spots of the body. Karma knows where to shoot to disarm, to cause a slow death, to paralyze, to disable for life and when it is only a warning: an injury which will heal with time. Along with her accuracy, her drawing speed only can be compared to lightning. Although she prefers/most comfortable with her dual revolvers (model undecided yet), she is still a menace with shotguns, rifles, flintlocks and even bows due to Gàbor's 'A Hungarian is not a Hungarian if they can't use a bow' mindset.

The bounty hunter quicker than death

Karma had her first official gunfight at the age of 18 on the auction. for Vihar (Storm), the filly of her father's horses.

Detailed post about Vihar

She officially entered the bounty hunter business when she was 20 and Vihar was 2, aiming for the most dangerous criminals whom committed the worst acts possible. In her early years after the kill she slit open corpses she trying to find the bullet, surverying the damage it caused and adding filler information to her anatomy knowledge. Of course she didn’t bother burying the bodies, she knew as a woman she has to be extremely vicious above talented to be hired and mutilated dead bodies did send a great message & served as cement for building her reputation. The name Karma wasn't entirely her idea, many thankful family members claimed that karma has came for their loved ones' murderers. Her talent spread like wildfire among the men of law, glad to be rid of the dangerous scum; with careful planning, use of environment and Vihar as backup she had wiped out gangs, not solely focused on individuals.

Unfortunately her reputation summoned an unofficial grand price on her head as well in certain circles; they had tracked her back to her uncle's house. The battle claimed Gábor's life and nearly her sight as her right eye was almost slashed out. The new loss opened old wounds: her not being able to protect her loved ones. She couldn't look into a mirror, the scar a reminder how despite all years of training she wasn't untouchable; after burying her uncle plan to gain control over her psyche already formed.

She took a knife and carefully carved four half circles around her eye to form a crosshair with her pupil being the middle of it. She made sure she kept the wounds open for enough time to scar as visibly as the vertical cut; she wanted a symbol to add to her legend. Excuse my pathetic excuse of an edit, I'm not good in this, nor I can draw.

Now Karma is 25, Vihar is 6, both of them in their peak physical prime; the name Vihar is also symbolic a little, Karma is the lightning to her horse. She is dancing on the thin edge of bounty hunting and being an outlaw as she often takes...side jobs to help people who deserve it and usually that person doesn't have a bounty on their head, therefore it is technically murder.

Local antisocial feral monk & cocky gunslinger feral lady / addition of the AU with the amazing @mr-mansnoozie

Near her uncle's house, Karma had discovered a cave and a grumpy mute monk living in it along with his pet bear. The monk, Sandy eventually became a second uncle to the traumatized angry orphan, he taught her how to move & creep upon someone soundlessly, disappear without a trace, cover her stances and behavior patterns of various animals. Before and after returning from a job she always visits her uncle of choice for a chat; a silent way to prepare him to the possibility of her not coming back. But she always do. She considers Sandy as part of her tiny family, although his...copying mechanisms with his own traumas were a bit strange to get used to; she adapted quite fast, after all who is she to judge with a past like that?

I'm a dead man walking, Hell's at my door.

aka collection of small headcanons

🎯 Her dual revolvers are called Salvation and Damnation because she's dramatic

🎯 Karma has a small sketchbook filled with anatomy drawings for further practice.

🎯 She actually can sing, but rarely does, only to Vihar since she never received positive feedback on it. Her voice is gritty, rugged and deep; definitely not the usual and desired sounding from a woman.

🎯 If her target was an outstandingly cruel bastard and/or one of those whom killed her parents she uses a little psychological torture. After fatally wounding them she starts whistling (for the most terrifying experience wear headphones & close your eyes while listening) as they try to crawl away or beg for mercy. The first time the whistle gets shrill & more intense is when she lazily reloads, knowing she has both the time and the upper hand. The second pace shift is when she aims; she shoots during the last, long drawn out high note.

🎯 This is her only verse where Cindy is afraid, no terrified of fire; during her....26 AU's she's always been associated with fire despite dying in or being wounded by it. In this verse she is more tied to lightning, the scent of smoke is enough to send her into a silent panic attack and despite loathing the cold she will never sit close to the fireplace. Her other deep fears include injuring her hands & sight and losing Vihar. Her horse is the only remaining family member of hers, she can't fail her too.

🎯 Most of Karma's scars, injuries are a result of her standing between Vihar and a knife/bullet/ even a bullwhip when a criminal was smart enough to catch on their deep emotional bond.

🎯 She has recurring night terrors about the night her parents died, she always wakes up in cold sweat; she's sort of used to them. Though, sometimes she still cries but thankfully Vihar is there to comfort her.

🎯 Karma has a special morning stretch routine to keep her flexibility and warm up her hands & keep them steady and fast.

🎯 Due to her dad and uncle she received high quality education

🎯 For the untrained eye, the belt of her hat are simple crosses while in reality, they are inverted crosses to symbolize her stance with Christianity

🎯 Karma's middle name is Emerald, given by her father due to her eye color.

🎯 Karma was first inspired by League of Legends Miss Fortune because that name alone is great but unfortunately she is too pirate coded for a western so I abandoned the relation. Though when Karma is not being the 'Call me a slow reader but I only made it to the Dead part, the or Alive didn't register.' ; her personality is similar to hers.

🎯 Due to her dad, Karma is actually half aristocrat. Not like she cares about it the slightest; the only indication of noble blood is her idle stance. It is an unconscious mirror of how her father used to hold himself: back straightened to almost impossible point, left arm behind it, right hand resting on the grip of in her case, revolver instead of hilt of a sword.

🎯 If given the chance to live a normal life, she would've grown into a captivating, lively young woman, much like her mother but with the aristocrat elegance of her father; finding a suitor who lives up to her parents' and her standards would've been the challenge of the century.

🎯 Her special move is called Dance of Death. This is used as last resort when she's facing more opponents up to 12, as with her dual revolvers she has 12 bullets without reloading. She mentally marks the stances of all opponents, predicts their movement, firing order and possible way of their bullets before whirling out of her hiding place. Each pose minimizes the chance of getting shot, and with each change of movement two bullets are fired, two men drop dead.

🎯 Her accuracy isn't just 'gun goes boom >:D' but a combination of natural talent, endless practice, movement prediction, sharp, quick thinking & analytical skills and different techniques molten together to utilize them all at once

🎯 Her hair is now as long as her mother's, she always keeps it in a single tight braid to keep it out of the way; without her hat and hair down she actually loses some of her dangerous edge.

🎯 The only physical memory Karma has of her parents is her dad's hussar sword she found underneath the ruins of the house, it was protected by a very thick wooden box & a lock of her mother's hair is tied to the grip. She has hidden it in the nearby forest, her thoughts often wander to it along with the wish to wield it.

[clintbartonswife]

eyes that plead

Pairings: Geralt of Rivia x Jaskier, Cirilla Summary: Abandoned and alone, Jaskier licks his wounds. Most people would think that would be metaphorically, but thanks to the witch Geralt had pissed off, Jaskier had in fact become a wolf. Yes, he was aware of the irony. Notes: inspired by an AO3 trope ive seen a lot of, angst & fluff, misunderstandings, animal transformation, hurt!jaskier masterlist  ||  part two

“Bollocks”

If you asked Jaskier how he ended up being chased through the forest by an angry mage, he honestly couldn't tell you. Though this situation was not a new one to the bard, he usually was aware of what he had done to anger the pursuer. This time? He had no idea.

Jaskier had just arrived at a new village, exhausted from travelling the road alone, when said mage had exited the local tavern, angry eyes immediately locking on him. So, here he was, running for his life the trees with absolutely no idea what he had done wrong.

Chancing a look behind him, Jaskier yelped as he tripped over a stray tree root, crashing to the ground in a muddle of limbs.

His groan was drowned out by the mage’s laugh, their body looming over Jaskier’s fallen form with a sinister grin.

“What do you want from me?” He asked, urgency clear in his tone as he began backing away, sliding over the dirty floor, “I - I have done you no harm. I had only just arrived at your village -”

“This is not your fault” the mage agreed, eyes shining with mischief, “This is your Witcher's fault - the White Wolf”

A bitter laugh escaped from Jaskier’s mouth without his consent, a dark shadow crossing his face, “He’s not my Witcher. Besides he couldn't care less about me, if this is some attempt at revenge I’m afraid you’ve found the wrong person”

“No. I think I’ve found exactly who I need”

Jaskier swore, attempting to back off further, but failed to escape as the mage’s magic washed over him.

“Sleep”

As a bard, Jaskier was not unaware of the hilarity of irony.

However, as he looked down at his aching body to see that of a wolf - as white as the first snow fall - he was not laughing.

No, he growled, the sensation feeling weird to him, yet oddly satisfying to do - almost like he was complaining aloud at his situation.

A snapping twig to his left broke him out of his mood, his whole body tensing in fear at the thought of a monster - or, hell, even a human - finding him in this state.

He backed up as a blonde girl broke through the tree line, her eyes panicked and wild. It took him a few seconds through his panicked haze, but he recognised the girl to be Cirilla, the princess he spent winters performing for at court - Geralt’s child surprise.

The familiar chest pain returned at the thought of the Witcher, only for a second, though enough to let out a small growl.

Cirilla whipped around, eyes locking on to the wolf with pleading eyes.

Jaskier tried to contort his body to be less imposing, sending out ‘I’m not going to hurt you’ vibes as best he could. He may have done better than he thought, as the next second the princess was approaching him, moving to hide behind him from whatever threat she had just run from.

‘Figures I would somehow adopt a child’ Jaskier huffed, rising back to his full height as more footsteps approached, ears flattened against his skull in warning.

As the two Nilfgardian soldiers strode into the clearing, Jaskier leapt at them, body acting on instinct as his teeth tore out their throats, their blood coating the inside of his mouth with a foul taste.

The moment the bodies fell to the ground, Jaskier let out a whine, immediately trying to wipe the blood off of his snout, spitting as much blood from his mouth as possible, falling on to his back with the unbalance that came with trying to stand on his hind legs.

“Stop - stop, you’re going to hurt yourself” Ciri said, slowly approaching the wolf, a handkerchief held in her outstretched hand, “Allow me?”

Sensing her skittishness, he sat completely still, watching as she approached him with a smile.

“You saved me” she stated, carefully reaching out to begin to wipe the blood from his face, “So I’m going to assume that this is okay to do”. She paused a fraction away from his snout, as if just realising the ridiculousness of her actions, “Please don't bite me”

Jaskier just continued looking at her, not sure if making a noise would reassure her or scare her away. Not moving seemed to be the right plan, the handkerchief finally beginning to wipe the sticky substance from his fur, his eyes closing in thanks.

Ciri’s giggle brought him out of his little trance, her eyes drawn to his tail which was wagging in delight.

“I’ll take that as a ‘pleased to meet you’“ she grinned, stepping back slightly, “There - I got as much of the blood as I could. Thank you again”

Jaskier watched as Ciri stood, her gaze moving reluctantly to the forest that surrounds them. 

“I don't suppose I could ask you to stay with me?” her voice was quiet and unsure, and for a moment she reminded him of himself - helpless and alone, “It’s rather frightening travelling by yourself”

Getting back onto all four limbs, he yipped, wagging his tail for extra measure.

The princess sighed in relief, looking back at the woods with an assured smile on her face, “You know, I almost feel like destiny brought me to you. Why else would you protect me?”

Jaskier wanted to roll his eyes and shout ‘because I’m a human! You know me!’, but then again it wasn't the princess’ fault that he was in this situation, so he simply yipped again, walking to stand next to her side, his fur slightly brushing against her leg in a reassuring manner.

“Now off to find the next part of my destiny” she smiled, looking down at him kindly, “Geralt of Rivia”

Son of a bitch.

The two of them had been travelling alone together for four days. 

The silence was filled with Ciri’s natter, Jaskier joining in as much as he was able.

‘Geralt’s going to have fun with this one’ Jaskier thought bitterly, ‘though maybe it was just my babbling he had a problem with’. 

“What should I call you?” Ciri had asked on the second morning, “I cant just keep calling you wolf - that’s awfully rude of me”

Jaskier hummed thoughtfully, the noise coming ou as a weird rumble, before rushing over to a patch of wildflowers. Spotter a dandelion, he tried picking it delicately with his teeth (managing to only slightly maim it) and brought it back over to Ciri.

“Dandelion” she smiled, taking the flower from his teeth and placing it behind his ear, “I like it”

Four days through the woods, sleeping with Ciri’s head cushioned on Jaskier’s side, crowded close to the small fire that the princess managed to make. 

On the fifth day they managed to find a main road, the princess letting out a small whoop of joy at the signs of humanity.

“Perhaps we’ll be able to find some news of Geralt” she mused aloud, her hand absentmindedly playing with one of Jaskier’s ears. At his affirmative sound, Ciri smiled wider, moving her pace to a skip.

‘At least no sane person would try attack a young girl with a wolf beside her’ Jaskier though, not allowing his mind to stray too much as he tried to stay vigilant, ‘But with the war people are getting desperate. I wouldn't put it past most travellers these days’

He moved closer to Ciri, growling lowly as someone passed them, watching them closely until they passed.

“Would he have come to find me, do you think?” Ciri asked, her hand stroking through the fur on Jaskier’s head lightly, “If so we should go South, back towards Cintra”

Jaskier conveyed his dislike of that idea as obviously as possible, Ciri expressing her confusion. He simply nudged her North once again, before turning South and growling as loudly as he could.

“Okay, Okay” she giggled, “I get it! North good, South bad”

Jaskier nodded, satisfied that he’d managed to communicate successfully again.

The lady was kind, this Jaskier knew, though that didn't stop him from practically gluing himself to Ciri’s legs as they approached her house. When she had tried to get him to sleep outside, he had let out an involuntary growl, glaring at her from the foot of Ciri’s bed.

Picking up on his mood, Ciri had placed a hand on his side, fixing the woman with puppy-eyes, “I sleep better when he’s near” she said, her voice quiet and frail sounding, “He keeps me safe”

“Well - alright then. Just make sure he behaves himself”

Jaskier huffed, and if he could roll his eyes then he would have, but nevertheless settled into the soft blanket. ‘I’ve got to learn how to do those eyes’ he thought, slowly drifting off to sleep, ‘that would be very useful’

He was woken early the next morning, Ciri shaking him.

“We’ve got to go” she whispered, “I don't think we can trust them”

He was on alert at once, springing up from his position on the bed and standing guard by the door as he waited for Ciri to gather their meagre belongings, whole body tensed and ready to defend. 

In his sleepy-haze he knew that something must have alerted her, though couldn't tell for himself if it was justified. Nevertheless he stood his ground, following behind the princess as she crept out of the front door and into the forest.

Merely minutes into running, Jaskier came to a halt, his nose filling with a familiar scent.

“What? What is it?” Ciri asked, stumbling to a stop behind him.

Forest, Onion, the tang of blood - Geralt.

With a desperate bark, Jaskier nudged Ciri backwards until she got the message, following him as he chased towards the scent, slowing down as he caught sight of the Witcher, a stab of pain radiating in his chest.

Ciri copied him, letting out a small sound of relief, before racing towards Geralt, throwing herself at his open arms.

Watching the two of them embrace, Jaskier began to back up slowly, unsure if he should stay. He had done what he had promised to himself - delivered Ciri to Geralt - he was free to go, knowing that she would be safe.

He could find someone else to break his enchantment, another mage perhaps.

With one final glance at the pair, he slunk off deeper into the forest, tail hanging low between his legs, Geralt’s final words ringing in his ears.

‘If life could give me one blessing...’

Ciri looked up at Geralt, taking in the face of her protector.

“I knew we’d find you!” she laughed, stepping out of the comfort of his arms to turn around to her wolf, “See-?”

her voice cut off as she noticed the empty space where Dandelion once sat, a small sad noise escaping her. Sensing her distress, Geralt lay a hand on her shoulder.

“Who’s we?" he asked, following her eyeline to the empty forest floor.

“My wolf, Dandelion” she mumbled, steady waves of sadness seeping off of her, “he saved me from Nilfgaardian soldiers a week ago - he, he lead me to you”

Geralt ‘hmm’ed, frowning slightly at Ciri’s distress.

“No you don't understand” she cried, “He was my friend”

“He cant have gone far” Geralt mumbled, “But I’m injured, I cant be walking around the woods for long”

She turned back to him, eyes shining with hope, “but you’ll help me look?”

Geralt hummed again, nodding slightly, and only slightly recoiling when the girl grabbed his hand in his, beginning to pull him along through the wilderness.

“Dandelion?” She called, “Dandelion come back! Dandelion please!”

Jaskier huffed in defeat, Ciri’s pleading voice overpowering the overwhelming urge to flee from Geralt’s presence.

He yipped, sitting down where he was, not having the strength to carry on as much as he couldn't run back to him.

“Dandelion? Geralt I think that was him!”

A few moments later the two burst through the trees, Ciri exclaiming happily at the sight of him, barrelling forwards to hug him.

“Why did you leave?” She mumbled into his fur, sounding upset.

Jaskier simply tilted his head towards Geralt.

“Yes, we found him - oh, no that doesn't mean I don't need you anymore!” she cried, holding onto him tighter, “I need you as well! You’re my friend”

Jaskier sighed inwardly, silently accepting his fate.

‘Well at least she didn't call me a pet’ 

He tried to ignore the burning of Geralt’s stare, the side of his face burning with the intensity of it, instead focusing on Ciri’s mumblings.

“We should head back to the cottage” Geralt eventually said, voice tight, “I need to heal and it’s a safe place to stay for the night”

Ciri stood, looking at Jaskier warily, “You are coming with us aren't you?”

He sighed, standing back up with a ruffled glare at Geralt, before huffily stalking back towards the cottage.

In Ciri’s delight, she managed to miss the way Geralt tensed as the wolf passed him, his hand flying to his medallion instinctively as it buzzed.

Magic.

If Ciri noticed Geralt acting more on guard around Jaskier then she didn't say anything, but it was a bit of a kick in the teeth to know that even in his wolf form Geralt couldn't bare to be around him.

‘If he’s going to act like I’m such a nuisance, then I might as well become one’ he thought huffily, glaring at Geralt from his place next to the fire.

They had left the cottage a few days after finding Geralt, all wounds cleared up, and headed resolutely away from Sodden. The ash had only begun to settle as they walked away, the breeze bringing the burning smell of death in their direction - Jaskier was more than happy to leave that place.

Travelling with Geralt was practically the same as it always was, only this time he couldn't ride Roach even if he wanted to. Talking of the mare, Jaskier was pretty sure she recognised him, having received a cursory head bump to his back when they first saw each other again.

Annoying Geralt was harder, due to his lack of voice, but he had figured out one night that he could still sing - well, in some capacity anyway. So, Jaskier howled. He howled, staring Geralt dead in the eyes as Ciri clapped alongside him.

After their first week of travel, the two of them had developed a game: Ciri would name a song, and Jaskier would then try and howl it to the best of his ability, always staring at Geralt with a death glare that he was proud of.

“Isn't he amazing?” Ciri had said one night, watching Jaskier howl Fishmonger’s Daughter in awe, “I’ve never met a wolf that could howl like this - and he know all the songs!”

“Hmm” Geralt had hummed, in a way that said, ‘No, I’m not impressed in the slightest. In fact I would rather like to kill that wolf right now, but I wont because you seem to like him for some reason’. Or perhaps Jaskier was just projecting.

If truth be told, Jaskier wasn't surprised that Geralt didn't recognise him. After all, he was a completely different animal now, though that didn't stop the insistent hurt he’d get every time Geralt looked at him with the same distaste he had on the mountain. It made it worse in a way - knowing that no matter what form Jaskier came in he’d always find a way to make the Witcher hate him.

Still, that didn't stop his surprise when one night, now on the path to Kaer Morhen, Ciri turned to Geralt after waking up from a nightmare with a question.

“Who’s Jaskier?”

The two men froze, Geralt’s actions stuttering to a halt as he stared at the girl in - what was that? fear? regret? hatred? - ‘probably hatred’ and took a steadying breath.

“Excuse me?”

“Jaskier. I saw him in my dream. You seemed close”

Jasier scoffed at that, the noise coming out weirdly of his snout, prompting an odd look from the Witcher.

“We travelled together for many years” Geralt eventually said, his words slow and calculated.

‘Many years? 22 years is was more than half of my life!’ Jaskier thought bitterly, his mouth dropping into a silent snarl, before he realised and fixed it, turning his body away from the pair.

“Where is he now?”

“I don't know”

Jaskier wanted to jump up and scream ‘It’s me! I’m right here!’ but the uncertainty of Geralt’s reaction was stopping him, the fear of another rejection already returning to his body.

“Why don't you know? Did something happen?”

Cirilla was getting more insistent, her tone one of pure curiosity.

“We just decided to part ways” 

Now that, Jaskier did not agree with. He was so wrapped up in his anger that he didn't realise the growl that was rumbling through his chest, alarming the young girl.

“Can you hear something, Dandelion?” Ciri asked, moving closer to the wolf.

He rolled his eyes the best he could, ‘Yeah a vat of bullshit’

“Is there anything out there Geralt?”

The Witcher considered it for a moment, before shaking his head.

“Huh, that’s odd” Ciri moved closer, her hands beginning to stroke Jaskier’s back until he calmed down, the growl slowly retracting as sadness settled in it’s place.

‘He didn't even see it as a fight’ Jaskier realised, the sensation in his chest getting tighter, ‘it was just a means of getting rid of me’

He settled on the spot, letting it look like he had fallen asleep, all the while his mind brewing on different ways to leave. He’d be gone by morning - and he was leaving for good this time.

Geralt woke up some time in the early morning to rustling in their camp. 

Immediately on guard, he grabbed his silver sword from beside him, quietly rising until he was stood over the dying embers of the fire, eyes scanning the area for threats.

The surrounding area was clear, Ciri was in her bedroll and the wolf - 

The wolf was gone.

Geralt sighed, sitting back down on his bedroll with his sword lying over his lap as he waited for it to return. The animal had probably gone out hunting, it would be back in an hour or so.

Still, knowing this, an odd feeling in his gut kept him from returning to sleep, the witcher remaining awake and on guard as he waited for the sound of the wolf’s return.

When no such sound came after a few hours, he frowned. The sun had begun to rise, painting the area with a light orange haze.

Making sure not to stray too far away from the camp, he stood up, sword still in his hand, and began walking around the perimeter. He went as far out as he dared, until Ciri’s breathing was only the volume of a slight breeze.

A slight rustling of the fallen leaves caught his attention, Geralt’s head whipping to the left. There he saw the wolf, knocked out by a fallen branch, his tail moving sluggishly as his body begun to come back to it’s senses.

“Idiot” he grumbled, kneeling beside the animal, moving the branch away and checking for any broken bones as gently as he could.

A quiet whimper brought his attention back to the wolf’s face, the cornflower blue eyes swimming with such intense sadness that it sent Geralt reeling backwards, caught off-guard by the sudden recognition that rushed through him.

“Jaskier”

[aspiring-ginger]

Forget-Me-Not Ch. 2 (Jaskier x Reader)

Summary: (Y/n) finds herself coming to terms with being thrown into another world. Geralt and Jaskier learn how to take pictures.

Warnings: Actually I don’t think there’s any for this chapter

Word count: 1,622

Pairing(s): Jaskier x fem!reader, platonic Geralt x fem!reader (The Witcher)

A/N: This one’s a short and sweet at around 1.5k. I promise the next one will be a bit more exciting!!

Comments and feedback are always appreciated!

Taglist: @thunderdog8  @dreaming-about-starfleet  @dandelionwitcher @msmimimerton  @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11​ @platinum-meadow33​ @le--petit--croissant​ @radicalcannoliqueen​ @emiwrites3reads​ @wackiekebab​ @sassyfandomwriter​ @whatawildone​ @belll29​ @scream-kiwi79​ @redsacrament​ @illegalplayer​ 

Masterlist I Previous I

You couldn't believe your eyes as you gaped at Geralt's hand. Fire flickered in Geralt's palm. Actual fire.

"Wow that's uh, wow… that's actual fire," You stated, staring dumbly at the flames.

Jaskier cleared his throat, "Alright Geralt, here's what we'll do. Hello! My name is Jaskier, bard and troubadour extraordinaire, and this is my wonderfully broody friend and your local witcher, Geralt of Rivia. See? Let's just start over fresh," Geralt nodded and closed his hand, extinguishing the flame. "Now just tell us who you are and where you're from, and we can get you on your way back home in a tick,"

"Um, I already told you. I'm (y/n) from (hometown). It's in the country of (country)....but if you just actually used Igni then I guess we're not even on earth anymore. It's the Continent, right?" You pulled your coat closer to you, getting chills as you slowly came to terms with being in a strange new land.

"I've never heard of the Kingdom of (country), but I'm sure it's not too far, right Geralt? Maybe it's way out east? Or south of Nilfgaard?"

Geralt shook his head, "No. She's not from the Continent. She's human, but not a mage. There's no way she could have gotten here on her own. Someone or something brought her here." He narrowed his eyes at you, looking you up and down for any sign of, well, anything.

"Where I come from, there's no such thing as magic. There's only humans, no mutated ones either. We don't have any monsters, just some dangerous animals. Elves, dwarves, magic, monsters- all that stuff is fantasy, like out of a fairytale."

"So you don't know of anything from your home that could have brought you here?" Jaskier asked.

"Um, no. We do have science. I guess it's closest to alchemy? But we don't have anything advanced enough for portals. We have all sorts of technology, though. Actually!" You fished around in your pockets for your phone, "Here I have this! It's my cell phone. It's like a… oh shoot what was that called... A xenovox? Xenogloss? And I guess also a megascope because it can let you talk to other people and see them too," You held your phone up and pressed the lock button to show your lock screen.

Geralt and Jaskier leaned in to get a closer look at your phone. "Here, see?" You unplugged your headphones and held your phone out to them, which Geralt gingerly took from your hands. Jaskier peeked over his shoulder. He turned it back and forth, examining the foreign object. He blinked in surprise when the screen went dark, flipping it over to see if he had broken something.

"Oh, it just does that. The screen turns off when it's not being used to save battery." The men in front of you furrowed their brows so you continued, “It runs off of electricity that’s stored inside the battery. Once the battery gets low, it needs to be recharged. There’s no magic involved.”

“So it’s used to communicate with others? Could we use it to get you back home?” Jaskier snatched your phone out of Geralt’s hands.

“Well...no. To contact someone they have to have a phone, too. And there’s no network here anyway, so it wouldn’t work. Umm..back home they have huge signal towers built that help pass the message across huge distances. Since there’s nothing like that here, I can’t use it. But it does more stuff, too! It can play music, take pictures, go on the internet, lots of other stuff?”

“Pictures?”

“Music?” Geralt and Jaskier asked at the same time.

“Uh yeah. Here, Geralt first.” You held out your hand and the bard gave your phone back to you. “See? Look.”

You held your phone out facing them and opened up your camera from your lock screen. The camera was facing out and only showed your shoulder, so you switched it to the front. Geralt and Jaskier stared at it.

“So, it’s just like a mirror?” Jaskier asked, waving a hand in front of your screen.

You held up a finger and flipped your phone back to you. You made sure your flash was off and held up your phone.

“Smile!”

Geralt furrowed his brows and Jaskier gave a nervous grin. You snapped the photo and showed them.

“See? It’s like having your portrait painted, but this is done instantly.”

Jaskier snorted, “Look, Geralt. Now you can see just how broody you are!” Geralt only nodded in response and continued to examine their picture.

You then went on to explain cameras and videos, giving examples and simple details where you could. Jaskier found it very silly when you attempted to explain snapchat to them, he thought it was strange to send pictures to communicate when writing or typing words was easy enough. Geralt saw the practicality in it. Sometimes, a picture is best when you can’t come up with the right words. After sprouting this wisdom, Geralt stood abruptly and began tearing down their makeshift camp. You kept Jaskier’s attention, continuing to mess around with your camera. Thankfully, your phone started out at 100% battery so at least you had some time with it before it became a useless brick. Once everything was away, Geralt cleared his throat.

“Oh, right!” said Jaskier, “We have to get going...but where exactly are we going now with (Y/n) here?”

“East.” Geralt replied.

“Wha- East? I thought we were making our way west?”

Geralt shrugged. “If we go east, we’re more likely to run into her.” He motioned for you to come closer as he held Roach’s reins.

“Her? As in the crazy witch Yennefer her? Geralt, come on! Surely you know of other sorcerers or sorceresses who haven’t completely lost their minds?” Jaskier sputtered.

Geralt ignored the Bard’s protests. Instead, he gestured at Roach once you were closer. You weren’t sure what he was getting at. Was he showing you his horse? You knew he was awfully protective of her.

“Get on.”

“Wait what?” You and Jaskier called at the same time.

“I said, get on. You’re likely still weak from your journey here and unused to the magic of my signs. You’ll slow us down, so get on.”

“I’ve been your friend for years now and you haven’t let me ride your horse once. A mysterious woman shows up out of thin air and you offer it to her like it’s nothing? Unbelievable.” Jaskier scoffed, half joking.

You looked at Geralt sheepishly. “I don’t know how to ride a horse. It’s pretty rare for someone to have one-” You were cut off when Geralt suddenly lifted you up into the saddle. You hadn’t even seen him move behind you. Guess that must be those witcher reflexes.

Geralt lead Roach with you perched on top. Jaskier assured you that should you fall off, he would come rushing to your aid. You travelled this way for quite a few hours. The road you were on was completely empty as you followed it out of the woods and through vast fields. You passed the time answering any questions your new companions came up with to the best of your ability. It took a lot of effort on your part to think of ways to explain the advanced technology of your home to them, especially when you had to keep clarifying and correcting your slang. Your legs and ass were sore and your mouth incredibly dry, yet you still felt...strange.

You still couldn’t believe any of this was real. When silence fell your brain tried to justify everything that had happened with a logical answer. But logic couldn’t explain the monster’s corpse or when Geralt used Igni. A part of you was terrified. Here you were in a foreign world full of monsters and magic that you knew almost nothing about. You didn’t know how to fight, you didn’t have practically any of your belongings with you, and you had no idea how you even got here. The world of the Witcher is incredibly dangerous, and you were thrown in head first. What about school? You still had finals to finish, homework to do. Your friends? Family? They’ll all think you’re dead. There’s no way to tell them that you’re alright, you just vanished! You felt awful knowing you left your loved ones behind. Although, a part of you was excited. It’s not your fault that you were stuck here, and it’s not like you could do anything about it so why not enjoy it? Hadn’t you always dreamed of quests and adventures? You were talking to your favorite characters. They were real, and interested in what you had to say. They were trying to find you a way home. Isn’t this something you could enjoy?

The idea of getting to know Geralt and Jaskier better was comforting. Despite the difficulty of explaining your technology, they had been very easy to talk to. Both were incredibly interested in anything you said, and they shared stories and explanations as well. Hours had passed and you were genuinely enjoying their company. So you decided that you felt excited. Everything good always starts out a little bit frightening, but it’s usually worth it in the end. Geralt and Jaskier were going to help you, and you would get to have an adventure along the way. You  confidently straightened your back and gripped the horn of your saddle a bit tighter. You were going to get through this, and it would be awesome. You just had to make sure you didn’t get killed or eaten by some crazy monster along the way. You were in the Continent, after all.

Taglist is open!

[violet-the-witch]

How do you cleanse your tarot cards? I’m wanting to start practicing tarot cards, but I’m EXTREMELY cautious/anxious about starting and not doing things right. Any advice or places to learn more about tarot cards and properly using them?

Hey love💙 I usually cleanse my tarot cards about twice a week by passing my deck through lavender incense smoke and then letting them sit with black onyx (to get rid of any negative energy), rose quartz (for good energy and positivity) and clear quartz (for clearer readings). And then once a month i do a deep cleanse where I sort the cards in order and into their suits, pass them through lavender incense, and let them sit near some plants! After I feel they’re ready, I shuffle them back up with a cleansing intent and they’re ready to use again.

Some more ways to cleanse your cards are: playing your favorite music, shuffling them for a while with a cleansing intent, singing to them, letting them sit near plants, let them sit in the moonlight, using sigils, etc. it really just depends on what you feel works best for you :)

To learn more about tarot cards, a great place to start is to use the handbook that came with your deck! There’s plenty of info in that alone. Also, I recommend checking your local library for books on tarot. Even if they don’t have any, a lot of the time you can get certain books sent to your library for free. And to be honest, there no ‘right way’ to use your tarot cards. I experimented with so many different cleansing and shuffling techniques before I found what worked best for me. And reading tarot is like 50% what the cards mean and 50% how you interpret the message! Reading tarot takes a lot of practice, and even experienced readers are always learning new things.

Here’s some advice I have for new readers:

🌙it’s ok to get things wrong. I’ve been reading tarot for years and I still get things wrong sometimes. It’s not a big deal, and at least you know how to fix it now!

🌙trust your intuition. If you feel like your deck needs cleansing even though you just did it yesterday, cleanse it. If you feel that a reading isn’t right, redo it. If you feel that a card has a slightly different meaning to you than the handbook says, then read it your way.

🌙decide how you want to read reversed cards. This can be tricky when you’re just starting off. I waited until I was pretty comfortable using tarot cards before I started to read reverse cards. A reversed card could mean that it’s delayed, hidden, not being utilized, the direct opposite of its usual meaning, or a whole variety of other things. Some people have set meanings for each card when reversed and some just trust their gut feeling for each reading. I like to trust my gut feeling, but it’s up to you

🌙don’t buy a ton of decks at once. I know it can be tempting with all of the beautiful designs, but do your best to resist it! It’s much better and easier, especially just starting off, to bond with one deck at a time. Have your first deck for at least a few months before considering buying more!

🌙how does one bond with a deck, you ask? You could sleep beside your deck, ask it questions about itself (what kind of readings are you best at? What are your weak points? How are you today?), use it frequently, bring it places with you in your bag (work, school, the cinema, shopping), look after it really well(!!) , meditate with it, watch movies with it, whatever!

🌙pay attention to numbers! I love this tip because it has helped me so much with my readings. Research what each number means (eg. Repeated 1s means new beginnings) and if you see it a lot in a reading, it could definitely have some significance

🌙look at the artwork on the card! You could use colour association in your readings, look for symmetry in the card, is it dark or light themed, is there a lot going on in the image, these are all things that could give you valuable insight into the situation

🌙my best tip is to trust your intuition and read your cards how you want to read them. Practice is the most important part of learning, so do it often💫

I hope this helped and if you need any more advice feel free to message me or join the groupchat I have on here called The Witches Room (send an ask or message me to join) sending lots of love and good vibes your way 💙✨💫