#my thought process was fully ah yes the book of bill is out now it will be about 2-5 weeks before everyone gets their hands on it :)

[cyber-seagull404]

I ENTIRELY FORGOT THAT PEOPLE IN THE US HAVE SAME DAY SHIPPING OR CAN GO PHYSICALLY GET IT IN STORE AND HAVE BEEN DODGING BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS LEFT AND RIGHT

[yikesharringrove]

hello, love your writing :) would you do 7 & 34 for the prompt thing please?

Thank you so much! I seriously have such a great time writing for harringrove, so nice comments really mean the world to me :’)

7: “You’re a fucking idiot if you think I don’t love you.”

34: Monster hunting

If anyone else is interested in sending in a request, I’ve got the prompt list right here! Honestly, my requests are always open and anyone is welcome to slide into my inbox with headcanons, prompts, or to say hey!

Post-season 2 because that’s the monster-hunting energy we live for. (Although, this is like the aftermath of monster hunting).

There is some description of gore, so be gentle if that kinda thing is yikes for you.

Read on AO3

Billy is absolutely terrified.

He had to carry a nearly unconscious and delirious Steve Harrington all the way from their spot in the woods to his huge and empty house.

The demodog had come out of fucking nowhere, attaching itself to Steve’s left shoulder before anyone could even process what was happening. Billy had seen red, taking his ax to the ‘dog again and again until it was a heap on the forest floor.

Steve was bleeding. Billy had tried to fashion some kind of tourniquet, using his own shirt and belt to keep firm pressure on Steve’s shoulder while Billy held him to his chest and ran as fast as he fucking could in a pure, blind panic.

They had forged an uneasy friendship in the tunnels under Hawkins, clinging to one another in the swarm of ‘dogs when they thought the end was imminent. The tension soon drained from their friendship, nights getting drunk and getting to know the other’s deepest fears and pain chased it away.

He busted into Steve’s house, the back door left open like always, because Steve never locked his doors, because it’s a small town, people don’t really break in and something else about if a demogogron shows up, a lock’s not gonna stop it.

So he carried Steve inside, up the stairs to the bathroom to the left of the landing, the big immaculate one Steve always lead Billy to when his dad went too far. There was a big first aid kit under the sink, fully stocked and replenished every month.

He propped up Steve as best as he could on the closed lid of the toilet, getting the kit and returning to Steve, crouching between his legs to survey the damage.

Steve’s head was lolling about, his eyes glazed over, the pain of the injury causing his brain to go fuzzy.

“Billy,” he whined when the wound was unwrapped, the air stinging the bite.

Billy was going to be sick. He didn’t know how Steve is able to do this, stuff down his own fear and pain to clean and heal. He was choked by fear, afraid to lose his closest friend, afraid to cause any more harm to the boy he absolutely loves.

He had to cut the rest of Steve’s shirt off, not wanting to deal with shifting Steve around any more than he already had.

“Okay, Stevie, I need you to hold on for me okay? Keep talking to me, Baby. Tell me about-what was the last book you read?” He was wetting a washcloth, wiping the blood steadily oozing from the bite marks.

“I don’t, Bill you know I don’t like,” he hissed at the scrape of the cloth against tender flesh. “I don’t like reading.”

“I know, Honey. But just think. You read The Outsiders in class last semester, didn’t you? I know you liked it, you kept telling me about it.” He rang out the cloth, the water tinged pink. He soaked a new cloth with disinfectant. “C’mon Sweet Thing, this is gonna hurt. Keep on talkin’ to me. Who was your favorite character?”

“Dall-Dallas Winston, ah fuck Bill.” The burn was ridiculous, causing Steve’s vision to go fuzzy-black at the edges.

“I know, I know I’m sorry, Pretty Boy. Why do you like him?” Steve was white as a sheet, his eyes clouded over.

“I like, he cares. He helps Johnny and, and Ponyboy. He loves them, they’re his family. He’s, he’s rough around the edges, but-but he cares. He protects.” Billy was wrapping a clean bandage around Steve’s shoulder, bringing it around his chest and under his other arm to secure it to the odd placement of where the thing’s jaws clamped onto Steve. “He’s like- I mean, he makes me think of you.”

Billy’s hands twitched as he secured the bandaging. “I don’t think you know what you’re saying. Let’s get you to bed.” He gripped Steve again, pulling him up gently and tucking him to his chest again.

Once Steve was safely in bed, a bag of peas usually reserved for Billy placed against his inflamed shoulder, a few Vicodin pilfered from his mother’s stash running sweetly through his system.

“Bi-lly, Billy Billy Bill,” Steve was high as a fucking kite. Luxuriating in his bed, making grabby hands (hand) at Billy. “Come lay with me. I wanna, like, hold you and-and squish you.” His big eyes boring through Billy, pleading with him.

“Stevie, do you even know what you’re saying?” Steve gave a giggle. Billy was turning to mush.

“Yes, yes I know what I’m saying. I’m saying come here. I wanna love on you some.” Steve was the clingiest fucker Billy’s ever met, constantly snuggling up to Billy, telling him, you’re so warm, man it’s like you’re made ‘a California.

Billy tried not to move Steve as he joined him on the bed, allowing Steve to tangle their legs together and take his hand. Billy reveled in these little touches. He knew Steve only meant them between friends, comfort for his own self, but sometimes, Billy would close his eyes and imagine they were shared between lovers.

“Bill, I gotta, there’s something I needta tell you.” Steve’s eyes were nearly closed, unfocused as he looked at Billy. “And you may hate me for it, but I just gotta, say it or else, or else I’m gonna explode.”

He took a breath, glazed eyes meeting Billy’s.

“I love you, Bill. I’m in love with you. Have been since we almost fucking died in those fucking tunnels.” Billy’s heart dropped to his ass. He so wanted to believe him, those honey-sweet words everything he’s ever wanted to hear whispered in that silky voice.

“Pretty Boy, you are absolutely soaring right now. There’s no way you know what you’re saying. Maybe you should try to sleep.”

“NO.” Steve was indignant, trying to shift to look at Billy, being impeded again and again by his injured shoulder, pain shouting through the drugs. “ I know what I’m saying dammit! You’re a fucking idiot if you think I don’t love you. And I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable or whatever, and it’s-it’s okay if you don’t wanna be my friend anymore, but I just, you had to know. You’re so good, so good, Bill. And, and I know you don’t think it, but you’re nice. And you care about me. And that makes me love you.”

Billy was stunned. Completely speechless in the wake of Steve’s confession, he just took in Steve’s face. He was chewing at his lip, doe eyes bright with unshed tears of uncertainty in the face of possible rejection.

“Jesus fuck, Pretty Boy, that’s all I ever wanted to hear from those sugar lips of yours.” Steve beamed, his smile big and lazy.

“You need to kiss me then. Don’t believe you ‘til you plant a big fat one on me.” He giggled, clearly pleased with himself.

“Oh yeah, you gettin’ all bossy on me now?” Billy sat up, leaning over Steve, minding his shoulder. He pressed one of his palms to Steve’s cheek, leaning into his space, close enough to see those big brown eyes cross in an effort to maintain eye contact.

Billy gently connected their lips, keeping it short and chaste.

“For the record, I love you too Stevie.”

Steve had never been happier.

[tigers-eyes-26]

Elope Part 1

Daisy and Donald had it all planned weeks ago. They had a month to prepare. Donald started by sprucing up his houseboat. No one much noticed. he was always working on something in his houseboat mostly because he was always breaking something.

The gardener was the one who noticed first. Someone had uprooted all the Daisies. He eventually found them in the planter box under the houseboat’s window. The gardener didn’t want to insight any wrath, so he let it be. For now.

The second person to noticed was Huey.

Huey had a question to ask Uncle Donald it was for a badge. He found Donald in his room making a….bed? Out of some spare wood.

“What are you making Uncle Donald?”

WAK! Donald jumped causing himself to hit his thumb with his hammer. He sucked his thumb as he turned to face his nephew.

“A thed thor th enther.”

Huey cocked an eyebrow. Donald rolled his eyes and got his thumb out of his bill. “A. Bed. For. The. New. Renter.”

“You got a new renter?!”

“Ehh not yet.” Donald started to sweat as Huey rapid fired questions at him.

“Don’t renters usually supply their own furniture? Didn’t Storkules sleep on the floor?”

“Well….” Donald scratched his head.

“Is this to make the room more preferable? Will you put ‘fully furnished’ on the listing? I guess it wouldn’t be ‘fully’ furnished if there isn’t…”

“YES!” Donald interjected. “YES. Huey is there something you came here for?” his tone was sharper than he wanted it to be. He didn’t know how long he could keep up lying to his family. They could piece together things pretty quickly if they actually notice his on goings.

Huey realized he was interrupting something, but what was so special about making a bed? “Oh umm. I need to ask you some questions about when we were little. It is for the Child Care and Development badge.”

Donald let out the breath he was holding. Thank Goodness that’s all.

Huey interpreted the sigh as one of annoyance. He decided he wanted to be helpful to his Uncle “BUT I can use my salesmanship badge to help you put out a listing for the room!”

“NO!” again too forceful. “No, the room won’t be ready yet… ah” He saw Huey’s face fall a little. “Umm…how about you ask me questions while I work on this.”

“Ok!” Huey whipped out his notebook. “First question.” Huey paused “Why did you start this on bed in your room and not the extra room?”

Donald looked up at the door frame and then back at the almost finished bed frame. “Awww Phooey!”

(Huey just chalked it up to Donald flighty-ness. Donald stopped working on the bed and helped Huey.)

The third person to notice was Mrs. Beakley. She noticed Donald was taking note of her laundry routine. Then one day he approached her.

“Hey Mrs. B I can help you with all that laundry.”

There was something going on and she knew it would end with a theft. Was it worth intervening?

“Fine. Do you need me to show you how to properly wash them?”

“Nope! I got it!” Donald hefted the laundry basket out of Beakley’s hands.

Beakley decided she would read some more of her book, while keeping an eye on Donald. Curiously he stole Mr. McDuck’s silk bed set, a top hat, and a tux. While all these things were trivial Mr. McDuck only had one tux.

Beakley set herself up on the top of the gangplank and waited. Donald soon sauntered up to the gangplank. He was so pleased with himself that he didn’t notice Mrs. Beakley until she cleared her throat.

WAK! Donald jumped so high he almost dropped his plunder. Beakley allowed him to stabilize himself.

“Oh Mrs. B!” Beakley eyed his Ill-gotten goods. “Oh, these things? They’re…..stained! Sooooo Stained! I know of just the thing to get these stains out! Kinda long process to get these kinds of stains out though. It will take about two weeks to complete the full process. YEP! After two weeks these will be good as new!”

She was done let him dig himself into an ever-bigger hole. She borrowed her eyes into his face that eventually stopped Donald from rambling on.

“Donald, you know that I know that is a lie. Now why don’t you really tell me why you are stealing?”

“I’m Borrowing!” He defended.                

Beakley rolled her eyes. “Yes, for two weeks, and what are you doing with these items in those weeks?”

How could Donald lie to an international super spy? He sighed. “Alright you got me. I’m going to take Daisy out on a cruise for two weeks.” He gestured to his boat. “I wanna make it nice.” Donald shuffled his feet. Waiting for Beakley to berate him.

Bealey’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and then soften. The thought of romantic love and trying to impress the one your heart pines after. Donald looked up at the silent Beakley. She snapped out of her thoughts. She put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll allow it this time. BUT…” She squeezed his shoulder menacingly. “After the two weeks you Better return these items Clean, Pressed, and Intact!”

Donald heard the threat. He saluted her the best he could while holding his newly acquired loot. “Yes M’am Mrs. B!” She let him go.

It was getting close to the day Daisy had picked out. The fourth person to notice was Della.

Donald went to the hanger to ask Launchpad to take his boat to the marina. He would Prefer Della’s flying over Launchpad’s but Launchpad would do it without questions.

Donald heard 90’s music and someone working with tools. Must be Launchpad fixing something he crashed. “Hey Launc…”

It was Della! She was on a ladder looking into the propeller of the Cloud-Slayer.  “Oh, hey Donald! Now that you are here, can you help me with this propeller. I just need you to turn on the propeller so I can see what it is sticking on.”

“Umm actually I was hoping Launchpad was here. Have you seen him around?”

“I think he was having a movie marathon with his buddy Drac…Something?”

Oh no once Launchpad had started watching something, there was no dragging him away. Also, Donald didn’t have time to track him down. He needed his boat at the marina today!

Della climbed down from the propeller. “What did you need Launchpad for?”

“I needed my boat in the marina….“

Della perked up “Where you going to? A pirate ship graveyard? An island of magic wielding people?”

“No place in particular.” Donald gestured airily. “Just sailing around.”

“No destination eh.” Della eyed him. Donald started to sweat. “Were you planning on taking anyone with you?”

Donald Stuttered. “It’s k-kinda a solo trip.”

“SOLO!? You don’t want to take your amazing twin sister with you!?!?!”  she draped her arm over his neck smiling brightly.

Donald rolled his eyes.

Della put her hands on her hips. “How about taking the boys with you?”

Donald shook his head.

“Uncle Scrooge?!”

“Na uh”

“Mrs. Beakley?”

“Nope.”

“What… What about your Girlfriend?!”

Donald Flushed pink. “No, she couldn’t get the time off.”

“So, sailing totally alone out there in the big wide deadly ocean! What if there is a storm? Or you get eaten by a gross fish? I can’t save you from a gross fish!”

Donald gave her a look.

Della threw up her arms “I know the irony!”

Donald reached and grabbed her arms and brought them down. “Della, I’ve checked the weather and the tides, I’m only sailing to places I know, all my communication devices work, I will call you and the boys every day.”

Della looked down at their clasped hands. “But still this is weird for you.”

Donald scratched the back of his head. “I need time…. to think…. I guess…”

Things snapped into place in Della’s head. “ARE YOU GOING TO PROPOSE TO DAISY!?”

Donald went bright red. He flapped his arms. “Gaaahhh DEEEEELLLLLAAAAAA!”

Della pointed at him with every word that came out of her mouth. “YOU ARE! I KNOW IT! THAT’S WHY YOU’VE BEEN MAKING YOUR HOUSEBOAT ALL FANCY!”

“SQWAK! HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT!”

“I’ve known you my whole life! I knew you were lying when you said Daisy couldn’t get the day off! Also Huey mentioned that you were making the boat nice for a renter! Mrs. Beakley had to calm the gardener down because he was done with you stealing all his flowers. YOU DON’T PICK THAT MANY FLOWERS FOR RENTERS! Then I got Beakley to tell me that you stole Uncle Scrooges Tux! A TUX!?! What do you need a TUX for on the ocean?!”

Donald was sweating up a mess, blushing badly and leaning away from his sisters wild gesturing. While Della heaved some good breaths, Donald took this time to again hold his sisters’ hand so she could focus on what he was saying.

“Ok Fine I am planning something…Nice for Daisy.”

“If you are going to propose to her you need a videographer capturing the moment!”

Donald squeezed her hand tight. “Della! No. I want this to be a just me and Daisy thing!”

“Aww Come on. I need to see her reaction!” Della begged.

Donald stayed firm. “No. I need you to promise me that you will not sneak on my boat in the next couple of weeks.”

Della huffed “Fine I promise.”

Donald still didn’t let go of her hands. “And I need you to promise to not send the kids, Launchpad, Panchito, Jose, Uncle Scrooge, Mrs. B or anyone else to sneak on my boat.”

Della frowned.

He tugged her hands. “Della…..?”

“Okay I promise. Woodchuck’s Honor.” He let her hands go so she could give the Woodchuck salute.

Donald Gave Della a hug. “Thank you!”

She hugged him back. “yeah yeah ya big Palooka.”

Della got her kids together to help her strap up Donald’s Houseboat to the helicopter.  Once his boat was in the water and ready to go, they waved him off.  While waving and smiling Della whispered though her teeth. “Huey, honey, do you have access to a Spy bot?”  

[ardentmuse]

Perchance a Parchment (George Weasley x Reader) - Part 4

Harry Potter - George Weasley x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.7k

Summary: George agrees to meet his dream girl... but she may not be dreaming of him, at least not anymore.  

Series Masterlist // Masterlist

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Life happens sometimes. :) Love you all! 

“So let me get this straight,” Fred said, tossing back the rest of his beer and slamming the bottle down on the table. He rested his elbows on his knees and eyed his brother with intensity. “You’ve been sending love letters--”

“I wouldn’t call them love letters.”

“Love letters,” Fred emphasized. “Love letters multiple times a day for weeks to a woman you’ve never met but who sounds perfect for you, after years of never being interested in a single woman who’s come your way, and now she wants to meet you and you are just now thinking it is a good time to tell me?”

George was looking at the palm of his hands, still holding your latest letter, Want to meet?, the simplest note in that adorable pen that had his heart completely constricted.The hand that moved so fluidly to create those letters was attached to the body of a woman whose mind had already captured his imagination. A dreamer, a lover, a thinker, a hopeful soul, a soul so much fit for his own. Each word you had shared was easy and each idea novel and intriguing. He spent his nights this past week fantasizing about the face smiling upon reading his words; a bright smile that pulled at one side, soft, warm skin, and eyes that twinkled in mischief much like his own. When he’d try to place details within, he’d occasionally recall the specifics of that cute shopkeeper down the road, but honestly that was all he had to work with as far as pretty young woman who’d captured his eye in recent years.

But thinking of the book store owner was of no use. She hated him now. And if she didn’t yet, she sure was about to.

Bill chimed up, interrupting George from his all-consuming thoughts.

“Of course he didn’t tell you. He needs someone to be thoughtful about this.”

Bill offered George a smile before taking a seat.

“You have to go, George. You have to see what this is, even if just to remind yourself that it is worth putting yourself out there. Even if there isn’t a single spark in person, you’ll have tried.”

George crumpled the note a little in his hands, “But what if she’s nothing like I imagine her? What if this is all just some big joke and I’m going to find Lee sitting at some nice steakhouse laughing his ass off about me bearing my heart to some stranger via owlpost.”

Bill sighed and locked eyes with Fred. Fred only shrugged, confirming that indeed George had been like this since the letter arrived.

Bill rotated his chair to face George fully.

“Can I confess something to you?”

George looked up from his hands to meet his older brother’s gaze. He was earnest, almost apologetic in his expression.

“Sure, shoot.”

“When I first met Fleur,” Bill began, “I felt that connection, the kind you’ve been describing, immediately. But she was so young still and culturally we were from completely different worlds. It just seemed so unbelievable that whatever was between us could become something real. But one day she simply walked into my office and said,” he coughed as he prepared to mimic his wife’s accent, “‘William Weasley, ‘ou are taking me on a date zis Saturday and I won’t hear another word against it.’ And she didn’t even wait for me to respond. She just turned on her heels and left. Once that door shut behind her, I knew that moment I had found the woman I’d marry someday.”

Bill paused, swirling his beer a little before taking another swig. He smiled at his brother as he played with his wedding band and finished, “She put herself out there. She was braver than I was ever willing to be about us. I know you, George. You are brave and bold and brash, just like me. And you need a woman who will be, too. She’s putting herself out there. She’s being brave. All you have to do is say yes.”

George looked down at the crinkled note in his palm, those three words that had caused him so much anxiety since your bird had landed on his window sill late in the night. What he had seen before as a ton of pressure he now saw for what it was, an act of pure courage. And his response to your boldness, to you risking your pride and self-esteem to see what might be, was cowardice.

George unfolded the paper, smoothing out the corners as he stood.

“I think I need to go pen a letter now,” he said with a swallow. “And Bill, thanks.”

And he immediately fled for his study.

“Hey,” Fred called, standing from the couch, “Do you not want to hear my advice.”

George chuckled, “Think I’m good, mate,” as he doubled his stride.

Fred slumped back down against the couch before looking at Bill with real fire.

“Think he’s going to make a fool of himself?”

Bill took a moment to think as he finished his beer.

“Big time.” And then he paused and added, “She’s gonna love it.”

You name the time and place. I’ll be there.

Rhubarb

You had just finished up afternoon story time when the latest letter arrived. It was simple and to the point, something new from your mystery man. But you did respect that he was giving you control, allowing you to find an option that made you feel safe and comfortable.

The smile was still plastered on your face when you heard the door chime and in walk a greasy looking man in a well-cut suit accompanied by two men in overalls carrying clipboards. You only heard the tale end of what he was saying.

“... And Mr. Weasley was very specific. These shelves need to be divided with thick wood and glass. Ingredients cannot contaminate each other. In the front, he’s requested…”

You were seeing red as the man moved through your shop like he owned the place, pointing at your fixtures and shaking his head. You marched over before you could even process.

“May I help you?” you said, your voice turning sickly sweet, all venom to anyone who took the time to read your expression. He was not one of those men.

“Ah, Ms. L/N, I was told you would not be on the premises today.”

“As this is my store, and we are open today, I am uncertain as to where else you expected me to be,” you spat as you crossed your arms.

He at least had the good sense to see a little embarrassed.

“Well, um, then let me introduce myself, I’m Thaddeus Hayes. I work real estate for these parts. I was told today would be a good day to bring my contractors around to plan the renovations for the space once you have vacated but I see now I was misinformed.”

You were fuming now, rage tightening all the muscles of your neck.

You began, trying to keep your voice cool but failing miserably, “It seems, sir, that you have been misinformed about a number of things, the first of which is the certainty that I am vacating this space at all.”

He laughed, “Given the empty state of this place at the moment, I think your landlord was right in informing myself and my clients that you would be gone by the end of the month.”

You bit your lip, not wanting to confirm or deny anything. But you didn’t need to. He knew he was right.

You felt a calming hand on your shoulder. Patty, who had been working in the back office, must have heard the commotion and come to investigate.

“Do you intend to make a purchase, sir?” she said, her hand tightening on your shoulder to avoid raising her tone as well.

“No, no,” Thaddeus said with a mock smile, “I see I’ve come at a bad time.” He turned with a swish of his coat tails and made for the door. As he reached for the handle, he said to you with a smile, “If you need to find a new place, a smaller, more price-appropriate place, I do have a few connections with storefronts in Knockturn, my dear. Don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

You scoffed and were about to shout out an explicative when Patty stops you. Her grip was white-knuckled upon your arm.

As the door was closing, you heard Hayes say to his companions, “At least that little preview should give you enough to talk to the Weasley’s and begin....”

Patty’s voice was like air, “Did he just say Weasleys?”

You slammed for fist into the counter, turning out of your friend’s hold. Your knuckles throbbed with the impact, but it didn’t stop you from doing it again.

“I knew it! Those-- I knew.”

You lifted your arm to hit the counter one more time but Patty restrained you. She cooed softly in your ear, pulling you down into the comfy chair in which you took your morning coffee. Patty kneeled at your feet and led you to breath more steadily.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she finally said after a moment.

And she was right. What did it matter if it was George Weasley or George Harrison who was buying your store out from under you. You still didn’t have the money to keep it open either way.

And then your heart filled the void. You were attracted to the man, hoped maybe a spark might be… you shut the thoughts down before they could continue. You were already angry with yourself. No need for more punishment.

“Rhubarb wants to meet,” you said, trying to redirect yourself to something more pleasant. Patty lit up with a smile.

“See? Silver linings.”

You laughed. A simple dinner was not a silver lining to losing your livelihood. But it did give you a lift of your spirits.

“Yeah,” you said, “Yeah.”

You had picked the place. Ophelia’s, the cute little Greek cafe on the other side of London, among the muggles where anonymity was guaranteed. The last thing you needed was one of Tom’s co-workers at Gringott’s seeing you on a date with another man… Not that this was a date. It was just a casual meeting. A nice evening with a potential friend.

That’s the lie you told yourself over and over on the journey down here.

You held a book in your hands, your favorite collection of King Arthur’s tales. The same one George Weasley had purchased, though you tried to keep that thought away, and you wore a white blouse, each to help Rhubarb find you at your table among the rest of the patrons. You watched the clock, just five more minutes until he would arrive.

Five more minutes until you would see the face behind those beautiful words. Five more minutes until you could tell someone about what was going on in your life and hear a supportive, “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry.” Five minutes until you’d laugh for the first time today. Just five minutes.

George stood outside pacing. He didn’t want to be early but he was just so nervous. He had called in reinforcements in the form of Bill and Fred.

“Calm down, you’re even making me nervous!” Fred said, grabbing his brother by the arms.

George was wearing his favorite jacket, a woolen knit with elbow patches that pulled out the caramel of his eyes. Some may find it stuffy but to George, it was classic and cozy and very him.

He took a steadying breath and met his twin’s gaze.

“You’re on the pitch. You’re pumped. You’re club arm is strong. You are ready for anything to be thrown at you. You are a fighter, a champion, and you have nothing to fear from anyone ever, got it?”

George laughed, “That’s the same speech I gave you before that match against that Ravenclaw girl you’d been snogging sixth year, right?”

“Pretty much.”

George laughed again but it quickly morphed into a shaky breath. This time Bill piped up in support.

“How about I pop a head in and take a look? At least let you know what you’re getting into?”

George only nodded, but when Bill was almost at the entrance he said, “Large book, white blouse.” Bill nodded in confirmation before entering.

George leaned himself back against the brick facade, so confused as to why he was feeling this tightness. He wasn’t a man who lacked confidence. He was the life of the party, a laugh and a half in his hay-day. But the war and the realities of life had made him a bit more reserved, especially with matters of the heart. Was he really ready for this, to open himself up to another person the way Ginny, Ron, and Bill had? Was he cut out for that kind of love?

After a moment, the door opened and George turned to see a giant smile on Bill’s face.

“That bad?” George asked. Bill just laughed.

“She’s gorgeous, George. Exactly your type. Definitely has that sexy librarian thing going on that you love and she smiled at me and I got to say, you won’t be disappointed.”

“Let me see,” Fred said, making for the window of the door himself.

“Though I feel like I’ve seen her before…” Bill mumbled before shaking his head. He picked up his tone, “Seriously, go get your girl, brother.”

“Um, guys,” Fred said from the door with a grimace on his face.

“You can’t tell me you think she’s ugly,” Bill teased before seeing how serious Fred’s face was.

“Oh, Merlin no. She’s stunning. But I also thought she was stunning when we saw her last week. I distinctly remember Georgie here swooning.”

Last week? Swooning? George’s brain was racing and then all at once his heart sank.

“Oh no,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” was all Fred could say in return.

As George ran to press his face to the window, Bill called out to his brothers, “Care to fill me in?”

But George saw here, the rich inviting eyes and pleasantly happy cheeks, that nose that he just wanted to pinch and those damned kissable lips being pulled between those two front teeth. You were his Cherry. The woman who captured his heart on paper and captured his eyes in person were one in the same. His dream woman before him, waiting for him, but hating him all the same.

He was muttering “no” to himself over and over, pulling his hair through his hands like a crazed man. He couldn’t stop pacing. How could so much go right and wrong all at once? Everything he ever wanted, right there and his if he weren’t such a fool.

“She’s that shopkeeper, the one whose lease we’re taking over,” Fred informed Bill.

George took a breath. Maybe she didn’t hate him as much as he thought. Maybe she understood that business was business. Maybe she wouldn’t be so shocked to see his face. Maybe, just maybe, she had felt what he had when their hands touched over the book the other day.

George took two great big strides before pushing past Fred and into the restaurant. He saw you more clearly now, your nose a little too close to the pages as you read, the fingers of one hand drumming slowly against the wood of the table as you reached forward to take a sip of your water. Your legs were buried under the table cloth and he couldn’t stop his mind from wondering if they were crossed or uncrossed, how they were clothed, and if your shoe was hanging lazily off the tips of your toes.

As if you felt his staring, your eyes snapped from your book to meet his. He thought he saw a softness in your eyes, something akin to affection, but when he smiled at you, you lips turned into a scowl quick like lightning. He felt a vice grip in his stomach.

Still he took his steps forward as you closed the book in front of you and crossed your arms in a full-on defensive.

“Great book you’ve got there.”

You didn’t take the bait. Instead you just tapped the cover and waiting for him to continue.

“Thanks again for my copy. I finished it yesterday and I feel like I have a whole new appreciation for British history and culture now.”

“Good for you,” you said, your voice ice. You took a big gulp of your wine, never breaking eye contact.

George grabbed the back of the chair across from you, hoping you might let him sit, might let him explain, but you raised an eyebrow in challenge and so he thought better of it.

Godric, did you have to be so sexy when you were mad at him? He gripped the chair back hard in an effort to prevent himself from kissing that scowl right off your face, from sliding his tongue across your lips until he turned that huff of yours into a glorious moan.

“Waiting for a date?” he asked, though he knew it was a stupid question.

“As a matter of fact, yes. Or is it that hard to believe I might have one, Weasley? Or are you just that determined to destroy all the good things in my life?”

“Who’s the lucky man?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

He watched the smile pull at your lips as you tried to maintain your anger, “Just a guy I’ve been talking to. But he’s kind and funny and incredibly engaging. And he has a soul, a real deep compassionate heart, unlike you.”

That cut deeper than he expected, hearing you love on him and hate on him simultaneously. He wasn’t sure he would be able to recover.

“Listen, Y/N, we never meant to…”

“Save the speech, Weasley,” you said, dropping your wine glass back down unceremoniously before meeting his eyes again. “I know your type, the kind of guy who gets a little bit of success and lets it all go to his head. The kind of guy who completely forgets what it is like to have something small but meaningful because you’ve been swimming in money for years and years, who values efficiency and production over human interaction. I know you. He’ll, I’m practically married to one of you,” that last sentence had you laughing with glee, though George couldn’t understand why.

“You’re all the same. So don’t try to tell me that if you’d have known it was my shop or if you had seen x, y, or z beforehand, things would be different, because let’s be honest, they wouldn’t. Your business comes first and if us little people drown, so be it. Don’t pretend you have a conscious just because you can now put a face to your destruction, okay? Just let me read in peace.”

George didn’t know what to say. There really was nothing to say. You had him pegged.

The last five years of his life had been just what you said, about expanding his business and counting his money and building an empire that might sustain him in his old age. When they initially started looking into storefronts, offering up absurd sums of money to kick out other tenants, he hadn’t thought about the human effect of all of it. He should have, but he didn’t.

But wasn’t that all the more proof that he needed you? An equalizing factor in his life to help him focus on what really matters? Someone with whom to enjoy the small stuff so the big stuff wouldn’t consume him? He needed love. He needed you. Feisty, honest, thoughtful you to put him in his place. 

And in an effort to try and fix things, he decided to walk away.

With a simple nod to you, he turned and walked out the door, past his brothers and into the alley before aparating to the only place he could think to go, to the Burrow and the mother who raised him to be a better man, the kind who you might look upon with fondness.

Three hours you sat there waiting for Rhubarb but no one ever came, no one but that god-awful Weasley with his deliciously masculine scent and beautiful freckles that cover an insanely punchable nose.

Your face was a mess of tears now. You felt completely stupid. You couldn’t manage a business. You couldn’t manage your love life. And now here you were stood up for a date with a complete stranger, one you had your heart fully invested in like a fool.

You hit the buzzer one more time, hoping that maybe your persistence would be enough to get a response.

Just as you were turning to leave, the apartment door opened. Patricia stood before you in her bathrobe and her curls secured in a silk head wrap.

When she saw your face, she opened her arms for a hug.

Once enveloped in your best friend’s hold, you felt a wave of confidence pour through you, the hopeless feeling morphing into a newfound determination.

You were going to see that smirk smacked right off Weasley’s face if it was the last thing you ever did.

“We’re raising that money, Patty. We aren’t going down without a fight.”

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt,  @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot

Perchance a Parchment tags: @cucumberinmyass, @justducky0423, @thequeen-ofnerds, @yuaasa, @comic-creature, @hermionebennet, @semicharmedkindofali, @sugerquill, @can-i-fangirl-yet, @doct0rstrange, @igotmadskills, @otherthingsinhead, @olixerwxxd, @caramiriel, @gryffinclxw, @lizmar20, @indicisive-af, @confettidreameryouwhoreo-blog, @hellizhelusive2, @kaitsubaki, @dooriha, @justfollowtheroad, @memogorgon, @xxsophie-raabxx, @madamcadaver

[arazialotis]

A Girl Called Mike - Part 2

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader

Word Count: About 3500

Summary: The reader disguises herself during hunting jobs as a man named Mike and has met up with the Winchesters several times. They are unaware of her true identity. Feeling they know and trust Mike, they agree to invite the reader to the bunker.

Click Here for Part 1

Warnings: Language, Violence

This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

Special thanks to @misguidedconqueress for the suggestions, feedback and for putting up with me! :)

----

“Listen, there’s something I feel like I should tell you.” You started and paused, the next words not coming out of your mouth. “This place is sick. You bring all the babes down here?” You raved, keeping up the demeanor.

“Not quite, only a few close friends know about it. We keep it pretty private.” Sam stated.

“Ah, too bad, I could totally see a pole right here.” You showed them between the war room and the library, kicking yourself mentally for taking it too far.

Dean hit Sam's shoulder with the back of his hand. “Not a bad idea.” He agreed with a chuckle.

“Respectfully so.” You cleared your throat. “So, uh, for the Vodnik, I can go through any of these books?” You asked Sam.

“Yeah, of course, I’ll help you out.” Sam responded.

“No, I don’t want to be a burden.” You said.

“It’s okay, he gets off on it.”  Dean rationalized.

“I’m sure there is something more important for you to be doing.” You started again.

“Other than looking for another case, not really.” Sam insisted.

“Well, while you two nerds continue your sleep over, I’m going to grab some grub.” Dean joked and left for the kitchen.

“So, you got a system in place here?” You asked Sam.

“Yeah, some chronologically, others geographically.” Sam explained.

“This thing seemed to have an accent. East European.” You hypothesized.

“Okay. That gives me an idea of where we could start.” Sam concluded, grabbing some books off the shelves and handing them to you.

Not soon after you had started flipping through the pages, Dean came out with burgers and beer that no diner or bar could ever come close too.

“Oh my god,” You said with your mouth full. “This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

Dean soaked up the praise, but downplayed it instead of gloating. “Ah, it’s nothing, just ran over to Applebee’s.” “Yeah right, this is amazing.” Had your mouth not been full of food, they might have noticed the change in your tone. However, you did notice and quieted again.

A few more hours passed and Dean pulled up Game of Thrones on his laptop.

“You know, if you didn’t play so much poker, you could probably afford a big screen for this place.” You teased, having several times wiped the floor with Dean’s deck. An unexpected advantage about living a lie you thought.

“Hey, don’t get to confident now. That’s my strategy. Boost your confidence so I can take it all away.” Dean countered.

“Mike, check this out.” Sam interrupted. You leaned over the table to get a better look. “This Czech myth is a small creature with human and frog-like features. It dwells in ponds or rivers and drowns anyone who comes to their territory. Unlike the Vodyanoy, the Vodnik can survive a few hours on land and even will help fisherman for a pinch of tobacco. Salt water is said to be poisonous.” Sam roughly translated.

“Well, I didn’t use any salt water. But I did tie it up in a cabin for a while. Perhaps being out of water too long did it in?” You thought out loud.

“Could be.” Sam looked up at you and paused.

Your eyes widened; concerned your wig was crooked or facial hair was peeling, but Sam just stared into your eyes.

You slid back down into your chair. “Does it say anything else?” You coughed, trying to distract him as you felt your fake features hoping all was still in its place.

“Umm, yeah. It captures the souls of the drowned and… stores them in it’s underwater liar…. In… porcelain cups.’ Sam translated and grabbed the computer from Dean to make sure his interpretation was correct.

You sighed and rubbed your temples. “Looks like I am going for a dive.”

“Nah, how bad could an eternal tea party be?” Dean joked.

“Yeah, cups are what you’re looking for.” Sam confirmed having translated it again.

“Alrighty then.” You pushed your chair back and stood up. “Thanks for everything, I’m sure we’ll run into each other soon.”

Sam got up confused. “You’re leaving now? You can stay and rest before you head out.” He offered.

“I’ll be back, but I wouldn’t be able to rest knowing I have unfinished business.” You explained.

Sam gave you a firm shoulder hug, “Well, you are welcome any time. I mean it.” “And when I finally find somewhere to settle down like you old men, I’ll invite you over for a barbecue or something.” You envisioned.

Dean came up for a bro hug and patted you on the back. You were concerned you let your hand linger too long on the back of his shoulder. “Seriously, anytime. But we are sending you a bill.” He teased.

“Later.” You ended heading up the stairs.

Finally, out of sight from their bunker, your ripped off the wig and facial hair convinced it had been a longest period of time you had gone in character. Driving back into the town, you decided to go as yourself not wanting for locals to recognize you as you had made your rounds only a few weeks ago. Not to mention the disguise would not hold well underwater. You stopped at a bigger city before you hit the town in order to find a scuba suit, renting it out would cost all your poker winnings but you really couldn’t think of a better solution.

You lied to a group of fisherman about a lost wedding ring and in return they warned you about drownings and disappearances. You could hardly resist letting them know the issue had been taken care of but thanked them for the warning, and convinced them you were an experienced driver which was another lie. After hours of searching and going through a few oxygen tanks, you came across an old cabinet. You used your hunting knife to pry it open and bust the lock. Sure enough, inside were porcelain cups with lids on top. You lifted up the lid on one and out came a bubble containing a blue orb that floated towards the surface. You recalled the number of drownings you had traced and counted a few extra containers. There must have been unreported cases. You released all of them and the last few cups were empty. Satisfied, you returned to the surface and checked into a local motel to recuperate.

For a few hours, you allowed yourself to be pampered. You treated your hair, used perfume, shaved your legs, and even painted your toenails. You thought about going out for a drink, but decided not to on account of not wanting to deal with men like Dean. You sighed at the thought of him. How did a womanizing ass occupy all your thoughts and desires? Perhaps the thought of having the unattainable or wanting him to realize he was searching for something that only you could satisfy. Your thoughts turned darker, perhaps it was being with someone so experienced. Your thoughts wandered to imagining his lips pressed firmly against yours, his calloused hands holding your waist and guiding your hips.

You felt a heat start to rise up in you and quickly turned on the tv, trying to break the cycle of your thoughts. You hadn’t been intimate since before the night the demon… Well, that thought surely broke your desire. Flipping through the stations you paused briefly on The Big Bang Theroy but continued flipping once the commercial came on. You switched past a news channel, but then immediately backed up finding it again. The news anchor described a murder in which the victim was decapitated and body was mutilated. The police were not releasing any details but had a line open for tips.

The town was only two hours from here. You thought it might possibly be a hunter taking care of a vampire problem but you wanted more information. You pulled out your laptop to look further into the police system. Sam had taught you some basic hacking skills and with smaller towns you usually could find a way into their database. You were able to pull up the case file and were shocked by what you saw. A lot of information had been left out of the news clip. Yes, the victim had been decapitated but by simply saying mutilation they left out a good chunk of the details. The head of some type of bird of prey had been sewn? onto the neck of the victim. Had you not been used to gore you would have been sick. Well, there ain't no rest for the wicked, you thought knowing you would be heading there first thing in the morning.

Another day came and back as Mike you were. Yes, the process was long and somewhat annoying but it was much easier to get information, be treated seriously, and not looked down upon (in a figurative sense) in his skin. The only problem that came was you never fully looked right in a men's dress suit. If you wanted it tight and professional it would not hide your figure. Trying to go with a baggy suit just made you look like a child playing dress up in their father’s sports jacket. So you just usually went in casual wear which could make playing FBI difficult but it didn’t deter you.

When the coroner asked about it you responded. “New policy, dress for your day, not that it’s any of your business but I don’t need a cadaver soiling my Brooks Brothers.” You said with a confidence that wouldn’t be questioned.

The coroner pulled out the victim's body. He had already removed the bird's head but kept it in the same compartment.

“No ID?” You asked.

“Not yet,” The coroner confirmed. “Police are cross-checking missing persons report.”

“And no head? Human head, that is.” You continued to question.

“Nothing. I have been assured the crime scene and outlying perimeters have been thoroughly swept.”

“Other than the mutilation, anything stand out as weird?” You asked.

“Yes, the time of death and decapitation don’t add up, I reran my tests several times.” He said confused.

“What are you saying?” You inquired uneasily.

“The body was technically still alive while the bird's head was being sewn on.” He reported.

The doors opened and a familiar voice sounded Mike’s go to fake identity. “Agent Dallas.” You looked up seeing Dean enter the room and Sam following behind both in their suits. “Violating the dress code again I see.”

“Dry up.” You responded again in the confidence you earlier presented. “I outrank the both of you combined. Glad to see you finally decided to show up.” It had been a similar routine you had conjured whenever you ran into each other on a case unexpectedly.

“Our flight was delayed.” Sam explained. “Can you give us a moment?” Sam directed at the coroner.

“I’ll catch them up to speed.” You assured him as he left the room. “So what? You two just can’t get enough of me huh?” You teased.

“Don’t get so full of yourself Mike, just making sure you aren’t slacking on the job.” Dean playfully bantered back.

You coughed away a blush, your thoughts from last night resurfacing. You reminded yourself, this was just the way dudes talked to each other. This was not flirting or tension in Dean’s eyes. Sam started inspecting the report and body.

“So what are you thinking, witchcraft? Occult?” You asked Sam.

“It seems… almost.. Egyptian.” Sam hesitantly said. “Ancient Egyptian deities were hybrids of different animals, mainly human bodies with animal heads.”

“We had a run in with one awhile back.” Dean soberly remarked remembering their case with Osiris.

“Of course you did.” You rolled your eyes, almost annoyed they have literally hunted practically every supernatural thing in the book.

“But this doesn’t seem to be a god itself, it’s almost as if someone is trying to create one.” Sam theorized, unsure of himself.

“Back to my theory of cult or witchcraft.” You interjected.

“I still think we should get a ram’s horn just in case.” Dean suggested.

“Yeah, it couldn't hurt.” Sam agreed.

“On it.” Dean called dibs.

“I'll look into some texts, see what deity this could be, it may give us some more clues on who or what we are dealing with.” Sam purposed.

“And I'll sweep over the crime scene. Maybe something was missed.” You decided.

“Alright, meet back up for lunch?” Dean asked.

“Plan.” You decided and headed off.

The body had been discovered in an abandoned storage facility, but apparently it was a place for local junkies to hang out. It was placed next to a small river and you really hoped you wouldn’t have to go diving again to look for the missing head. The gates of the property had been marked with police tape but it was easy to sneak around it. The pavement was overgrown with grass and weeds. Most of the units were unlocked and open, some containing boxes of junk. You went to the office in the far corner where the body was actually found. It was locked and sealed with police tape. Luckily, you had brought cutters expecting this.

Inside, it was dark and musky from years of sitting. Police had cleared what they thought had been evidence and dusted for prints. You doubted if anything would come of it. The papers that had been left behind appeared only to be old bills, budget records, and policy updates.

You headed to the manager’s private office. The old wooden desk was where the body was found, you recognized the scene from the pictures online. There was dried blood, feathers and candle wax. Trying to find something that was missed, you looked through drawers but they had been cleared out. However, down on the base of the desk, it looked as if though someone had carved in hieroglyphs with a pocket knife. As you did not see these in the police report, you snapped a couple of pictures and forwarded them onto Sam. You also scrapped off a substance from one of the shelves into a plastic bag. It might be possible to send it to the county forensics department, but it was highly unlikely they would get back to you before you and the scooby gang had the problem taken care of.

You completed your sweep of the office and still came up headless. You figured you would check the remainder of the storage units and any dumpster that may still be lying around. Walking through the maze of units, you kept your hand close to your gun ready to draw at any moment needed having the suspicious feeling you were being watched. As you turned a corner, you nearly jumped out of your skin as you almost literally ran into Dean.

“Jesus man, give a guy a heads up.” You vented, catching your breath making sure your low tone was correct.

“Losing your touch? You would have caught me snooping around five minutes ago if you were on your game.” Dean poked fun at you.

“And what about you, Ram’s horn?” You asked skeptically.

“Not my first walk through a synagogue.” Dean gloated. “Thought you might need a hand?”

You caught Dean up to speed on what you had and had not found.

“There was a stuck locker around that block,” Dean pointed. “With your help we could pry it open.” He thought.

And he was right, with a hammer you were able to pry a crowbar underneath the door and get some leverage as Dean forced it up. After the dust settled, Dean took out a small flashlight to get a better look inside. Metal shelves were lined with jars containing fluids, unknown substances, organs, and animal parts.

“How did they miss this?” Dean asked confused referring to the police.

He stepped into the unit and tripped some unseen trap, you grabbed him quickly upon hearing the click and pulled him back out before a canvas fell from the ceiling revealing several snakes and a human skull. You hid in Dean’s chest from the fright.

He chuckled nervously. “Don’t like snakes, Indy?”

 You realized your mistake and regained your composure brushing your clothes as if to unwrinkle them. “You think that’s our vic?” You asked nodding in the direction of the skull.

“I’d say it’s a high probability.” Dean tested the waters by stepping closer.

A cobra out of the bunch noticed Dean’s advance and raised itself as it hissed and widened its hood, fixated on him.

“Dean,” You whispered. “Step back slowly.” You instructed as you slowly took off your outer jacket.

Dean listened as you took your jacket reaching it as far away from you as you possibly could. You shook the jacket up and down encouraging the cobra to fixate on it instead of Dean.

“What the hell are you doing?” Dean whispered.

“I saw it on the crocodile hunter once.” You explained causing Dean to roll his eyes.

You continued shaking as the cobra was now spitting and striking at it. With it completely distracted you threw it as far as you could into the unit and the cobra chased after it. You motioned for Dean to slowly start backing up. Once a safe distance away you gathered your thoughts.

“I honestly can’t believe that worked.” You confessed breathless to Dean.

“You and me both.” He agreed. “Well gives us a place to go next, pet stores, the zoo.” He started.

“Yeah, no way that thing was from around here.” You concurred.

Dean felt comfortable enough to turn his back to the unit, where as you were still watching it as some of the snakes began to slither out. “And neither is that guy.” Dean responded. You turned around to see what appeared to be a man in an Egyptian robe and wearing a blue mask that sported a long snout and erect ears of some unidentifiable creature. “Unless I forgot it was Halloween again.” He said seriously.

“Always, with the jokes.” You whispered quietly to him as the figure watched you unmoving. “You don’t happen to have that horn on you?” “Nah.” Dean admitted.

“Alright, plan B it is.” You said lifting your gun and firing in its direction.

It calmly walked out of sight around the corner of the unit block. The both of you ran after it but came to an empty row of blocks. Dean signaled for you to start clearing the open units and to meet at the end as he headed the other direction. Your heart raced as it always did with a chase. You moved quickly through the units.

You stopped at one as the sun shone partially through it, highlighting the body of a falcon. The blood looked fresh, causing you to wonder if there was another victim here. Out of the corner the form took shape and struck you between the ribs with it’s blade. You were caught off guard; the pain not settling in yet, just the pressure.

“Mike!” Dean yelled, running to you.

The creature took notice of Dean and withdrew the blade, which is when the pain hit. You keeled over as Dean started shooting at the figure. It seemed to not notice raising the knife to strike a blow to the head. But one of Dean’s bullets finally found its mark. The beast looked down at it’s chest and vanished around the metal. The bullet drop to the floor with a clink.

You tried your best to stifle the scream coming up but couldn’t contain the pain. You sounded a low cry.

“Mike?” Dean asked trying to assess the situation.

You furrowed your brow and grunted, trying to find the focus to speak without ruining your disguise.

“Come on buddy, we got to get you outta here and patched up.” Dean instructed.

You pulled your hand away from the wound and saw it was covered in blood, a lot of blood. You put your hand back over it trying not to panic. “Ah fuck…” You hissed. “I’m… good, had worse.” You stuttered.

“Come on,” Dean encouraged. He wrapped his arm around your waist trying to hoist you up. You used your good arm to grab onto his shoulder to help him pull you up. “I’m not leaving you out here alone, just have to make it to the impala and I’ll patch you up.”

“Seriously, I’m okay….” You gasped for another breath. “I can do my own patch work.” Your brow started to sweat as the pain increased from the movements. He slowly helped you walk down the rows.

“Now’s not the time to be the brave soldier, Mike.” Dean ordered.

You started to panic with each step, and not just from the pain. If Dean got anywhere near this wound, there would be a least two things he would be bound to notice.

---

Click Here to Continue at Part 3

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[setaripendragon]

One Grain of Sand

So, a friend made me watch Doctor Strange recently, and it blew my mind. I wasn’t expecting it to be that good, but it was amazing. I rewatched it yesterday, and then this happened. A little post-movie scene between Strange and the Ancient One. (So beware SPOILERS if you haven’t seen the movie yet.) This is absolutely my headcanon, and I’m sticking to it.

If there was one thing in the whole world that Dr Stephen Strange had discovered was more complicated and fiddly than brain surgery, it was brain surgery via magic. Okay, so there was no real need for him to be trying to figure out just the right application of dimensional energy to the pathways in the brain to stimulate cell regeneration without breaking the natural laws, but it was his pet project. Something to work on in the momentary lulls between extra-dimensional threats.

His study at the New York Sanctum was quiet, filled only with the sounds of his own breathing and the faint rustling of the Cloak of Levitation hanging in the corner. He had books stacked up around him, some of them propped open, others discarded in piles, but the central part of his desk was clear, to make space for the complex spellwork he was trying to weave. Not to activate, but just to see if the concepts would hold together, or if the spell would collapse outright on him.

“Really, Strange, you should know better than to try and combine opposing hexagrams.”

Stephen would forever deny that the sound that escaped him was more like a shriek than anything else. It was not high-pitched and terrified squeal, more like an… alarmed but very dignified yell. A strong, if vaguely startled, kiai.

Confusion and questions flitted across his mind like agitated butterflies, swiftly followed by the only rational explanation that occurred to him. I must be hearing things. He had to be, because the owner of that voice – that sorely missed voice – was dead.

He turned to look over his shoulder, just to make sure. He was hearing things. Grief – and possibly some wires rattled loose by his time-loop trick – was warping his perception of reality, and there was no one behind him, never mind the Ancient One.

The Ancient One was standing behind him.

Well, no, Stephen realised. She wasn’t standing, she was floating, about a foot off the floor. She was also transparent. Transparent, and smiling at him. Smiling in that way that had been so severely annoying when she was alive, and so easy to miss once she was dead. The smile that said ‘I am laughing at you, I’m just enjoying this too much to do it out loud.’

Stephen cleared his throat. “Ancient One?”

“Hello, Dr Strange.” The apparition – the hallucination, she had to be – said warmly.

“You’re dead.” Stephen informed her. It occurred to him a moment later that that was a very unhelpful thing to say, but he decided to cut himself some slack, given that he was talking to the ghost – overactive figment of his imagination – of his deceased teacher.

The figment of his imagination tilted her head, as though she was considering that inane statement quite carefully. “In a manner of speaking.” She agreed eventually.

That was not what Stephen had been expecting to hear. “Only in a manner of speaking?” He echoed incredulously.

“Well,” the Ancient One began, looking quite sanguine about the subject, despite that subject being her death, “I don’t feel particularly dead, but I don’t seem to be very alive, either. Is a thing truly alive if it can’t die?”

Stephen just stared at her. She stared back, smiling faintly again in that annoying way she had, waiting patiently for his slow, constrained-by-modern-paradigms mind to catch up and process and come up with an answer that wasn’t trite and ignorant, and appearing very amused by watching him struggle. “Great.” Stephen sighed, running a hand over his face. “A figment of my imagination is asking me existential questions at… two o’clock in the morning. I need to get more sleep.”

That seemed to stall the Ancient One for a few moments, and she blinked at him in surprise. It felt… weirdly satisfying, if Stephen was being honest with himself, catching even his own projected version of her off guard. Then she laughed softly, and smiled at him with genuine fondness. “I’m flattered you missed me that much, Stephen.” She told him.

Well, that was… that was just not fair. He needed to deflect before this conversation – with a piece of his own mind – got any further into the terrifying territory of feelings. “Still seeing right through me?” He asked awkwardly.

“You are a bit transparent.” The Ancient One agreed lightly.

Stephen opened his mouth, stopped, and squinted at her. She grinned at him, bright and cheeky. “Was your sense of humour always this terrible, or is my poor deluded mind making that up?” He wondered, and then got caught on the inanity of asking a fragment of his poor deluded mind that question. There was no way to get an answer that clarified anything.

“If you really doubt the answer to that question, I suggest you think back to our first meeting, Stephen.” The Ancient One answered, her voice shaking slightly with restrained mirth.

Of course, right when Stephen thought something was impossible, she had to go and prove him wrong, didn’t she? He shook his head, a reluctant smile threatening to spread across his face. Then it dawned on him, what he’d just thought, and the implications of it. He blinked, smile falling away as he studied the Ancient One more closely.

At first, he’d thought she looked just as he remembered her, ageless and serene, her yellow robes flowing in an unfelt breeze. But when he looked closer, he could see that, despite the lightness of her demeanour and the steadfast calm in her gaze, there were stress-lines around her eyes that he never recalled her having in life, and while she had always been pale, now she looked sallow and drained. It was hard to tell, given that she was translucent, and the dark of the window behind her coloured her, but Stephen was sure she had never been quite that pallid. And then his eyes caught on the most damning detail. Right in the centre of her forehead, square between her eyes, the red lines of the mark of the dark dimension blazed against her flesh like poison. It was more visible than he’d ever seen it on her before, and the lines extended out, fading into veins that crawled across her pale skin.

Right when he thought something was impossible…

“You’re… not just a hallucination, are you?” He asked slowly.

The Ancient One looked, just for a moment, so tired. Then she smiled again, wry and a little self-deprecating, and the moment was gone. “I don’t think so.”

“Then what are you?” Stephen demanded, turning fully to face her and standing to put them more at a level. She was hovering a little above him, but it made him feel better to be on his feet to confront this, whatever it turned out to be. “A ghost?”

“I suppose that’s as good a descriptor as any.” The Ancient One replied.

“No.” Stephen huffed impatiently. “No, that is not an answer. What- How?!” He pressed. He wanted to grab her and shake her, but he knew well enough that it would be a futile attempt. Whatever she was, she was clearly more astral than physical right then, so attempting to grab her physically would only serve to embarrass him.

“A better question,” the Ancient One acknowledged, tipping her head to one side in a quasi-nod, “with a much more complicated answer.” She sighed, her shoulders bowing like he never remembered them doing in life. It was disturbing to see, on a strangely fundamental level.

“I can handle complicated.” Stephen gritted out.

“Yes, you can.” The Ancient One agreed, smile returning.

Stephen waited to see if anything more was forthcoming, but the Ancient One looked lost in thought, her eyes focused somewhere on the middle distance, her smile turning vague as her mind wandered. “It’s got something to do with Dormammu, doesn’t it?” He prompted, when the silence stretched too long for him to bear.

It earned him another sigh. “Yes.” She confirmed. “I took from his dimension, to prolong my life in order to watch over our world and protect it where I could, and now I have a very large debt to pay.” She explained with a wry twist to her lips that was almost a grimace.

“The bill always comes due.” Stephen muttered, grim and darkly amused. The Ancient One blinked at him, looking pleased and surprised, and Stephen shrugged in answer. “Something Mordo said, about breaking the natural laws.”

“Ah, yes. It does sound like him.” The Ancient One agreed, her smile growing and then dimming as worry filtered into her gaze. “How is he?”

Stephen sighed, and her worry turned to resignation. “I don’t know.” He admitted frankly. “He left.”

“I see.” The Ancient One murmured, bowing her head and closing her eyes. Stephen couldn’t tell if it was regret or worry that weighed on her, but he didn’t much like adding to whatever stress she was clearly under.

After giving her a moment, Stephen cleared his throat. “I still have questions.” He told her, trying to convey with just a look that she was not getting away with leaving him this confused. He wanted answers, not cryptic riddles and metaphysical philosophising. “How are you here, if you’re meant to be… paying back your debt? Whatever that means. What does that mean?”

The Ancient One huffed a small snort of laughter, but it was a tired sound. “Have you ever wondered what it might be like to be a desert?” She asked him. Stephen rolled his eyes, and the Ancient One raised an eyebrow at him, pointed and on the verge of patronising, so he relented.

“No.”

“Imagine the breadth of it, stretching out to from horizon to horizon; the heat of the day and the chill of the night your only way of assessing your relativity to the rest of the world; the slow, flowing shifts of the dunes as the wind scours, relentless, across the surface.” The Ancient One mused, her voice slow and melodic enough to be almost hypnotising. Stephen, well used to her bizarre teaching methods, tried to imagine it. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. “Now imagine that you can feel every last grain of sand, each individual tiny presence that is you, and the entire scope of your being is so far beyond those tiny parts that the whole of you is incomprehensible.”

Stephen blinked his eyes open without knowing when he’d closed them, feeling a muted sort of horror crawling up the back of his throat. The Ancient One met his gaze, and offered him a smile that was just as wan and pale as the rest of her. “What-?” Stephen asked, not sure how he was going to finish the question, but needing to say something to push back against the weight of her words.

“That is what it’s like, being a part of the dark dimension.” She told him, her tone perfectly matter-of-fact and her expression drained but steady. It cracked a moment later, showing the strain, the bitter ache. “Endlessly.”

Stephen swallowed hard. “Hope Kaecilius is having fun with that.” He managed to get out.

“The entity that was once Kaecilius barely exists anymore.” The Ancient One told him, and though her words were heavy, his dark joke did seem to have put a little more strength in her spine.

The thing was that Stephen was not an idiot. He was, in fact, very, very clever. And he might have been slow to start learning the mystic arts, but once he got going, he was a quick study. “If Kaecilius barely exists anymore, in a state that is definable as Kaecilius, how are you… well, you?” He asked, a touch warily. Because if the dark dimension had turned Kaecilius into something that was barely recognisable, then the fact that an astral projection of the Ancient One could appear before him so identifiably herself, even if the mark on her forehead was brighter than he’d ever seen it before, was questionable.

“I have been fighting the dark dimension’s hold over me for more than six hundred years, Stephen. It may have a greater advantage now that I have no physical form to cling to, but a few months is not enough to wear me down.” The Ancient One stated. Stephen couldn’t help but smile. He had really missed her ability to take such devastating odds, such an important fight, and face it with steadfast serenity. She didn’t fear, and she didn’t rage. She simply drew a line in the sand, planted herself there, and refused to be moved.

“Gathering the strength to project myself back into this dimension took time.” She went on, easy and matter-of-fact, as if she wasn’t talking about preserving her identity among an all-consuming universe hell bent on absorbing her into ‘the one’. “And it’s quite draining. I won’t be able to visit often, but I will check on you, when I can.”

Stephen had to roll his eyes at that. “I’m not incompetent.” He protested.

“No, you are not.” The Ancient One agreed, and Stephen found he didn’t know what to say in the face of her simple, honest praise. “I am looking forward to seeing how you grow.” She went on, and Stephen was horrified to feel himself abruptly on the verge of tears.

He took a moment to get himself under control, and then found that words weren’t that hard to come by, after all. “I’ll do my best.”

The Ancient One smiled at him, proud and pleased. Then her expression shifted, so subtly that Stephen almost missed the wicked gleam in her eyes. “Your best is certainly better than mixing your hexagrams.” She informed him, nodding towards his desk. Stephen glanced over his shoulder and groaned when he realised they were back to critiquing his spellwork.