#when i did food service for four years

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Me: I'm trying to decide what I want to do as a career. Maybe it's because I've been watching a lot of 911 lately, but I'm considering maybe being a dispatcher?

Friend: I think you would be a good dispatcher. You like gossip, it's just like. High stakes gossip.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Ghost Eater

Summary: You don't like exorcists. They don't much like you either.

-----

You’d always thought big restaurants like the Brownie Industry only did well in small, midwestern towns like the one you came from. A year working in LA has taught you that, no matter where you go, people will always love garlic bread and sugar.

It’s your day off which means you’re pulling a double shift. You haven’t had time to wash your hair for the past two weeks so it’s frizzing out of your claw clip and flying wild around your face. The lighting is so dim that you’ve tripped over two black purses already, luckily not while you’re running food. The big dining room sounds like an apiary with the tittering laughter of the later adult crowd that’s filtered in from the theater across the four lane road. The main difference between the Brownie Industry here and the one back home is size. The ceiling soars overhead, supported by a series of concrete pillars separating the dining area into three sections.

Normally it would be three servers per section. Today, it’s just you in yours.

One more hour. That’s what the manager promised you. It might even be true if the host stand quits seating you after the table you’re approaching.

There are three people at the table. A woman whose hair might be light blonde or gray in the light of day, her eyes light and piercing. Her face is soft from age, emphasized by the tight, lace collar of her off-season sweater. She reminds you strongly of your mom’s nemesis on the HOA board. The man couldn’t be more out of place next to her despite their equivalent age. He’s wearing a leather jacket – again, it’s not cold here – and a Norwegian metal shirt underneath. His hair is definitely white, so white it almost glows. He’s frowning at the teenager across the table as if she’s touched his motorcycle without permission.

The teenager might be the first you’ve seen all night who doesn’t have their phone out. She’s decked out in what you consider grandma florals – a t-shirt scattered with daisy chains, a bucket hat made out of nana’s carpet bag, and a hand-crocheted scarf in pastel.  You can’t really see her face under the shadow of her hat and there’s an odd, blurred quality to the way she fiddles with her napkin. You let your eyes skip past her and back to the two adults. Teenagers don’t pay the bill.

“Welcome to Brownie Industry!” you chirp. You’re sweaty and red but the faded yellow light hides that. You’re a service industry pro so none of your exhaustion shows on your face when you ask, “Is this your first-time dining with us?”

If you weren’t so burned out, you’d have noticed before you introduced yourself.

“Are you Grady?” the woman asks. Her voice is more posh than you expected even with her lace collar. “Grady Pace?”

Fuck. There’s a noticeable temperature differential now that you’re close to them. The restaurant is warm from the number of bodies, maybe even warmer than the summer air outside, but stepping up next to their table feels like walking into an ice rink.

“I’m your waitress,” you say. You don’t have time for this conversation. You’ve got five minutes in your cycle to take their order and then you’ve got food to run. “If you need any other services from me, I have a website.”

“We messaged you,” the man says. His lips thin to the point his thick mustache covers them entirely. “You never responded.”

Because you’ve been making more money at the Brownie Industry than your other job. “I’ll take a look at it tonight.”

“Wait,” the teenager says, sitting upright. She looks from you to the adults and back again. When she smiles, there’s no humor in it. “This is why we drove eight hours to have dinner at the Brownie Industry? For her?”

“Katie, be polite—”

“I’m sorry,” Katie says, “It’s just—I found a priest, you know? An actual exorcist priest and you guys want to trust a waitress over him?”

“Ugh exorcists,” you say. The memory of sour cabbage is so heavy on your tongue that you stick your tongue out in disgust. When you see Katie’s look, you backtrack. “Effective! Definitely effective.”

“Your mistakes have cost us too much already,” the man says, shaking a finger at her. “We are not converting just for an exorcism.”

“I normally don’t agree with your father,” the woman tells Katie, “but in this case I would like to leave conversion as a last resort.”

“We wouldn’t actually convert,” Katie says, rolling her eyes.

“Pretty sure exorcists can tell when you lie,” you tell Katie. When her scowl deepens, you clear your throat. “Did you all need another minute to think about the menu?”

“We need you to help us,” the dad says. He scrubs a hand over his face. “Look, I know you’re at work and I’m sorry we’re bothering you.”

“We’re desperate,” the mom says. She reaches for her purse. “We’ll pay you. Triple the rate on your website or even quadruple. We need that thing gone by tonight.”

Katie covers her face. “Mom. You’re embarrassing me. Terry isn’t that bad.”

“Oh, he’s bad, young lady,” the dad says sternly. “A bad influence.”

“We caught her trying to perform another séance yesterday,” the mom confesses to you. She leans forward with a pinched expression. “So Terry’s friend Larry could visit too.”

“Interesting,” you say. The food bell rings, but you think you can ignore it for another minute. You study Katie’s blush. “Why did you do that?”

If she was being compelled, she won’t have an answer to your question. You’ve dealt with a lot of ghosts in your time, but so few are sentient enough – or powerful enough – for compulsion.

“Go on,” the dad says, gesturing at you. “Tell her.”

“Leroy, she’s embarrassed enough,” the mom says.

“No, she’s not, Sarah.” The dad – Leroy – gestures to you again. “Tell her.”

Katie huffs, clearly resistant. But when her dad huffs back, she caves. “So,” she says, “I have this YouTube channel—”

“I’m off in an hour,” you interrupt. You don’t care that you’re being rude. Your patience ran out as soon as she said YouTube. “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.” You turn to go.

“A moment!” Sarah shakes out her menu. “How’s the nicoise salad?”

Of course they’re going to order. They’d better tip too if they want you to help them with their ghost problem.

----.

“You said an hour,” mom Sarah says when you leave out the employee entrance. She’s shivering next to her daughter. Leroy is off smoking behind his motorcycle, parked next to the Tesla Katie is leaning on, but he stubs out his cigarette on the asphalt when you walk up. “It’s been two.”

“I had side work,” you say instead of it would have been one if not for you. You rub your bare arms when the familiar ghost chill washes over you. You want nothing more than to go home and wash the scent of garlic and brownie batter out of your hair. “Was there something wrong with my service?”

“No?”

You try to make your voice light. “I see.”

Sarah frowns at your tone anyway. “Why?”

“You tipped five dollars.”

Katie jolts like a scalded cat. “Mom!”

Leroy scrubs a hand over his face. “Sarah…”

“What?” Sarah throws up her hands. The parking lot lights catch on her Swarovski charm bracelet. “I tipped!”

“Like ten percent,” Katie says. She pulls her bucket hat over her eyes for a beat and then peeks at you from under it. “I’m so sorry. It’s not you, she’s always like this.”

“It was actually a six percent tip,” you say. You’re getting a clearer picture of this little family now. It’s becoming more and more understandable why Katie might have started summoning ghosts. “If you want to be precise.”

Leroy reaches for his back pocket. “Let me.”

Sarah swats at his hand. “We’re about to pay her a lot more than that!”

“For a completely separate job,” Leroy says. He pulls a twenty from his wallet and hands it to you with a grimace. “Sorry, Grady, I should’ve checked.”

“You should’ve paid if you cared so much,” Sarah retorts. She folds her arms over her chest. She taps her cheek and widens her eyes. “Oh wait… you never pay.”

“Sure,” Leroy says. This time it’s his turn to throw his hands in the air. “Sure, Sarah. I don’t pay for anything to do with our daughter’s private school or her dance classes or her health insurance—”

“If the court hadn’t mandated—”

“You make twice as much as me—"

“Guys!” Katie says loudly. Her mouth is a thin line of upset when she says, “Argue about what an expensive burden I am later when we don’t have an audience, okay?”

Her parents speak at the same time.

“You’re twisting my words,” Sarah says. “I never said—"

“Sweetie, you’re not a burden—”

“Can you just get this ghost out of me?” Katie asks you. She goes for nonchalance and falls short. “My parents haven’t been in the same room for the last five years for a reason.” She fakes whispering. “They don’t play nicely with others.”

Sarah bristles. “Katie.”

“God, I know how that is,” you say. The whole interaction is giving you the worst case of sympathy for Katie. Before her parents can say anything else, you change the subject. “How long have you been haunted?”

“Six months,” Katie says. She fiddles with her bucket hat so that you can see her eyes for the first time. They’re brown, like her dad’s, and have heavy bruises underneath. She shrugs. “They only noticed a month ago though.”

“I noticed your behavior had changed,” Sarah defends. Like her daughter, she fidgets. She plays with her bracelet and clears her throat. “I thought it was a teenage thing.”

“What signs did you notice first?” you ask the parents. They glance at each other and then away.

“Let’s just say we noticed different things,” Leroy says dryly. He pulls out his phone.

“Moodiness,” Sarah says. She ticks them off on her fingers. “Laziness. Disrespect. Over-sleeping.”

“Those are just teenager things,” Katie says with an astounding level of self awareness. She shrugs. “I’m a senior now. They’re lucky it didn’t start sooner.”

“I,” Leroy says, “noticed this.” He turns his phone towards you.

“Ah,” Sarah says, “Yes. That.”

You examine the picture. It’s of Katie on a small dirt bike. She’s wearing a helmet in the picture, but you recognize the fashion sense in the floral boots she’s wearing. The scene behind her is of the hills, low scrub brush recognizable to someone who’s lived in LA for the past five years. On the bike behind her is a smudge. It could be a cloud of dirt blown into frame or maybe a camera glitch. It could be if it weren’t for the leering face emerging from the cloud right behind her head.

“I just want to say I did not agree to getting her a motorcycle,” Sarah says.

“Mom, not the point,” Katie says.

“Look how close that creep is to my daughter,” Leroy says. He jabs a finger at Katie’s waist in the photo where you can see a ghostly hand. “I want him gone.”

“Dad, he didn’t mean anything by it!” Katie turns to you earnestly. “Terry never rode a bike before and I thought, like, what if he moved on after he got a chance to? It was a philanthropic effort!”

“Plant a tree if you want to be a philanthropist,” Leroy growls. “I want this guy away from my daughter.”

“He doesn’t mean any harm really,” Katie says. “He would move on if he could! He says he’s stuck to me because of how I summoned him. He’s like, really sorry. He even spelled out Sorry in the bathroom mirror once.”

“What,” Sarah says in a dangerous voice, “was Terry doing in the bathroom with you, Katie?”

Katie splutters. “Mom, don’t be gross!”

The family descends into bickering. You have heard about ghosts being stuck to a person before, but usually that’s when the person has some sort of psychic powers. Katie’s wearing crystal in her ears, but they aren’t charged. She might develop some talent later in life, but right now she’s a normal girl.

The parking lost is nearly empty now. You recognize a few employee cars, but very few customers. The kitchen will be cleaning for another half hour before they’re ready to go home.  The reality is that, if Terry is stuck, you might not be the best way to handle the situation. If he’s not…

Well.

It’s time to talk to Terry.

Opening your ghost sense is hard to describe. Some psychics liken it to a third eye, right in the middle of their forehead. You’ve always thought that sounded really cool like maybe the world gets cast in a blue hue when they do it and the dead appear like they do in movies. You’ve met other psychics who say it’s like a sixth sense. They know where the ghost is and it’s like they download all that information until their minds can just sort of conjure their image.

For you, it’s like letting your body remember it has a second mouth. Cats have an extra sensory organ on the roof of their mouth that lets them detect scents better. Your second mouth is a bit like that. You can still smell brownies and garlic and the city air of LA, but you can also smell/taste something else.

Something like…pepper?

Your eyes water and you sneeze so viciously that your eyes close. When you open them again, four people are staring at you in surprise.

“Gesundheit,” Leroy says.

“You sneeze like Dad does,” Katie says.

“Did no one ever teach you to cover your mouth?” Sarah asks in disgust.

“I wish you would’ve sneezed on her,” Terry says, nodding to Sarah. “She’s such a bitch.”

“Thank you for the commentary, everyone,” you say. You wipe your nose with the collar of your shirt as you consider Terry. It’s dirty anyway. “Terry. Interesting name for a ghost.”

Terry hasn’t noticed that you can see him yet. He’s floating behind Katie, one arm casually flung over her shoulder. It’s hard to place when he died based on his appearance alone. His hair is chin length, emphasizing the width of his jaw. Squire cuts have been popular for several decades and the bowling shirt he’s wearing could either be a modern fashion statement or a dated uniform. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, sun-kissed and with the air of someone who tells a lot of jokes at the expense of others. His arm around Katie strikes you as possessive, the glare he gives her parents venomous.

“I didn’t name him,” Katie says. “He said it’s short of Torrance.”

You blink. “Wouldn’t he be Torri then?”

“That’s a girl’s name,” Katie and Terry say at the same time. Their cadence is so close that it actually sounds like Terry’s baritone comes out of Katie’s mouth. For a moment, his arm flickers, clipping into her shoulder like a bad animation. When it does, Terry’s form grows brighter, more solid. Then Katie shivers and he’s forced out of her.

You and Terry click your tongues at the same time.

You remember how Katie’s hands seemed to blur at the dinner table. Terry’s not just haunting Katie. He’s trying to possess her. You wonder if that’s why Katie looked up an exorcist rather than a simple spiritual cleansing. Did she know how much danger she was in?

“Okay,” you say. You tear your attention away from Katie and Terry for a moment. Business first. “Sarah. Leroy. Who was it that found my site?”

“I did,” Sarah says. She raises her chin when you can’t hide your surprise. “When Katie was looking up exorcists—”

“She didn’t mean it,” Terry says. He pats Katie’s hat. “Right?”

“—I looked up alternative solutions,” Sarah says, not having heard Terry. Her confidence falters for a moment and she rubs her arm. “I have had some… negative experiences with exorcisms. I don’t want my daughter to go through that.”

Katie’s head whips towards her mother. “What? I didn’t know that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Leroy says. For the first time, he reaches out and hugs Sarah with one arm. You don’t know what surprises you more; Leroy hugging Sarah or Sarah leaning into his side. “When Sarah told me, we decided to put our differences aside. I vetted you through some of my contacts and they all agreed you’d be a safe bet.”

“I am,” you say. You’re not bragging either. You’re probably the safest bet in half the western states besides your older sister. “There are some…peculiarities in my method.”

“Charlatan,” Terry whispers in Katie’s ear. He’s grinning now. “Only charlatans are that confident. Look! She can’t even see me!”

Katie looks doubtful.

Usually, you’d try to talk to Terry at this point. Sometimes spirits can be negotiated with. They can be encouraged to move on or to take on a less aggressive form of haunting. Those that are truly stuck can be helped with the right sort of ritual work. But the way Terry’s affecting Katie’s mood and that fucking arm around her shoulders…

You don’t really want to talk to Terry.

“We can ask Terry to move on,” you tell the family.

“Nooooooo,” Terry says and flips you off. “Pass!”

“Sometimes spirits don’t realize how deeply they’re affecting their hosts,” you say.

“You don’t even know how deep I’m about to be,” Terry jeers at you.

“Many ghosts are confused when they’re called to interact with the living,” you say. “It can blur their understanding of death and, as a result, they cling to life. If they stick around long enough, their presence will affect the living like what’s happening to Katie. It’s not always malicious. It can be a symptom of that confusion.”

“Katie, tell her to piss off,” Terry hisses in the teen’s ear. “I’m not confused, I’m bored.” His voice deepens. “Tell her we don’t need her help. Tell her we’re going home.”

Katie opens her mouth robotically. “That’s…” Her brow creases as she tries to figure out what she was going to say. “It seems like we don’t need help then. Terry will move on when he’s ready, like I thought.”

“We aren’t paying you for a ghost therapy session,” Sarah snaps. It’s only because you’re really focusing that you can see the unease under her anger. She’s noticed something wrong with Katie. “Katie, Terry is going away today.”

“Fuck you,” Terry says.

“Fuck you,” Katie says.

Leroy’s head rears back. “Katie, you don’t use that language with your mother!”

“Fuck you too,” Katie and Terry say. The parking lot lights flicker.

“No, fuck you, Terry,” you say, stepping between Katie and her parents. Leroy starts like he’s going to pull you out of the way, but he doesn’t.

“Terry?” Leroy asks. He looks scared. “Terry said that? Is Terry possessing my daughter?”

“Not yet.” You eye Terry’s arm and the way his fingers are sinking into Katie’s arm.

“Oh fuck,” Terry says. He doesn’t look scared. Not yet. Instead, he grins. “You can see me.”

“Not every ghost is malicious,” you tell the parents without taking your eyes off Terry. “But some are.”

“I’m not malicious.” Terry runs a hand through his hair, still grinning. The parking lot lights flicker overhead again. “I care about Katie a lot.”

“Terry’s never hurt me,” Katie says.

You ignore her. She’s not even shaking Terry off now. Her gaze is dull on your face when you say, “I don’t mean to sound like I’m some sort of ghost therapist. However, it’s important to differentiate between malicious and non-malicious hauntings in my practice. My methods are unconventional and, if used indiscriminately, I can get in a lot of trouble.”

“We won’t tell anyone,” Leroy says. He steps into your periphery. His gaze flicks from you to the spot you’re staring at over Katie’s shoulder. “We want Terry gone.”

“Not a soul,” Sarah promises. She comes up on your other side. “Please help our daughter.”

“Terry,” you say. Your second mouth is yawning wide somewhere in the back of your brain. The taste of pepper isn’t as overwhelming now. “Last chance. Renounce your claim on Katie’s soul and slither back into whatever hole you came out of.”

“We’re soulmates,” Terry says. He bares his teeth at you. “Go on, Charlatan. Call on your God to banish me. I’ve been around for decades and no exorcist has ever been able to put a scratch on me. And when they manage to push me out?” He laughs and the temperature drops another ten degrees. An unholy light flickers in his eyes. “I just come right back.”

“Then I guess I won’t feel guilty,” you say.

“Guilty?” Katie asks.

You walk forward two steps and grab Terry’s face. Terry’s skin is soft and jelly-like. His facial bones undulate like rubber under your grip. “Hi, Terry.”

Now Terry’s afraid. “What the fuck, you can touch—?”

“Bye, Terry.” You drag him towards you. His fingers pop out of Katie’s arm with a wet sucking sound, and he claws at your wrist.

“Wait! Waitwaitwaitwait--”

You eat Terry.

People come from all around to eat at the Brownie Industry. They love the density of the desserts and the heaps of garlic spread over home-baked (shipped frozen) rolls. It’s a treat to know you’re always going to enjoy the meal even if you’re far from home or eating at the same location a hundred times. It’s consistency, sugar and butter. An easy addiction to have.

Eating ghosts is like that for you. They fizz in your second mouth like champagne and melt like fudge. It’s hard to describe and the ephemeral quality of it sends shivers down your spine. Somewhere Terry is screaming in anguish, maybe crying. You think that the family you’re helping is screaming something too, but the sensation of eating is so consuming you can’t hear the words.

Terry is younger than other ghosts you’ve eaten. He doesn’t have the depth of flavor you’d once been addicted to back in Illinois. The best ghost you’ve ever eaten had been like a six-course meal with all the centuries she’d been carrying. In comparison, Terry is like a bag of pepper chips. Interesting, but gone in a moment. Still, he hits the spot.

When you’re done, you burp a purple cloud of ectoplasm into the still night air.

Leroy is the first to speak. His eyes are so wide you can see the whites all around them. “Pay her, Sarah,” he says breathlessly. His hands shake as he reaches for Katie, steadying her on her feet. “Now.”

You smack your lips and graciously accept the wad of cash Sarah hands you. You raise your eyebrows. “This is more than three times my rate.”

“Consider it a tip,” Sarah says. She’s more composed than Leroy, but still pale. She studies you. “That was…revolting.”

“You didn’t have to watch,” you say. You put your money away and then perk up at a sudden thought. “Hey, if you can, can you leave me a review on my site?”

“I thought you didn’t want us to tell anyone?”

You wave your hand. “Secrets are bad for business. Besides, Terry deserved it. I’m sure they’ll understand if you write that in your review.”

“They…?”

You smile and don’t answer.

The family don’t ask many more questions after that. The parents promise to leave a review and Katie just stares at you as if concussed. You assure the parents that she’ll be back to normal as soon as the soul-shock wears off. 

“And if it doesn’t?” Sarah asks.

“Message me,” you say.

“You don’t check your messages,” Leroy says.

“Oh,” you say, patting your stomach, “I’ll be checking them a lot more often now.”

You’re hungry again.

---

(Patreon)

[lovelytsunoda]

my fun // oscar piastri

(gif is by @/oscarcito!)

summary: it’s not every day that a first date lands you in the emergency room, or gives your date a concussion before the food has even left the kitchen

pairing: oscar piastri x female reader

warnings: hospitals, blood, the awkwardness of a first date. low key inspired by season 1 episode 3 of the big bang theory when leonard and penny go on their not-date

yn yln must have been dreaming.

as she sat on one side of the wooden table inside the smokehouse, arms crossed in front of her as she looked over at her date, there was a part of her that kept telling her that there was no way it could be real.

she was quiet and smart, and could recite the entire periodic table in order from memory, and the boy sitting across from her was leagues prettier, with an athletes body and the ability to control a room with one singular lame joke.

he’d moved in across the hall from her earlier that year, and she and her friends had immediately dropped everything to watch shamelessley as the young man and his chiseled athlete friends and carried cardboard boxes up four flights of stairs.

oscar piastri was thinking the same thing. how a big famous athlete like him got someone as sweet and humble as yn to agree to date with him. sure she was awkward, and sometimes very shy, but at her core, she was sweet and funny and kind. not to mention the simple beauty of someone who never wore makeup (not to say oscar wouldn’t have adored it if she did, he just knew that she was pretty without it as well).

neither party really knew what to say, sitting in a nervous silence with the menus spread in the table, a glass bottle of water from the waiter sitting next to two half-full glasses.

oscar reached for the popcorn, a sweet and salty mix he quite enjoyed, trying not to tip the bag over as he contemplated what size brisket to order.

“hey, do you want to see something neat?” oscar blurted, picking out for decently sized pieces of the sweet popcorn. “do you know how to juggle?”

“juggle?” his date asked hesitantly, eyeing him over the popcorn. “you do?”

“went to a circus camp when i was seven.” oscar shrugged. “there’s not much to do in my part of australia to be fair.”

it took a few tries for oscar to get started, but soon enough, he was juggling with the popcorn, the kernels delicately passing through his pale, calloused hands.

and believe it or not, yn was impressed. she broke out in a wide smile, giggling from her seat as she watched the young man in front of her. he had a goofy smile on his face, and seemed well in his element. he caught her eye across the table, stuttering his movements as he shot her a wink, losing two kernels. the kernels rolled under the table, and the boy cursed.

“don’t worry about it, that was really impressive.” yn laughed. “nobody has ever juggled popcorn for me on a first date.”

oscar laughed. “glad to be of service.” he took a small bow before accidentally knocking the steak knife off the edge of the table, wincing at the sound of metal hitting floor.

he cursed, pushing his chair back. “I should probably pick that up, shouldn’t I?”

“can you reach it with your foot? it might be easier.”

“don’t worry, I’ve got it!” oscar insisted, slipping off the chair.

“are you sure?” yn asked hesitantly, bare knees pressed against the cool cast iron that was holding the slats of the table together.

oscar slipped under the table, on his hands and knees in the dark smokehouse as he fumbled around the the steak knife, crushing two kernels of popcorn underneath his khaki pants in the process.

yn, meanwhile, was hyper aware of the fact that her date, who she barely knew, was crawling around under the table, in public, near her slightly parted legs.

oh my god, she thought. do they think he’s going down on me?

there was a bang under the table, the slats shaking. she reached over the menus to grab the glass water bottle as it threatened to topple over.

“oscar?” she shouted “you alright?”

“yeah.” his voice came out strained, almost as if he was hurt. “hey, did you happen to spill any ketchup?”

she felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, as a droplet of something warm fell against her toe through the lip of her sandals. “no. there isn’t any on the table.”

“fuck. I think I might need an ambulance.”

————

the emergency room is not where she wanted to spend her first date. it smelled like antiseptic soap, the lights too clinical and the plastic chairs too stiff. her neighbour looked pale, skin stained red from where he had bled.

as she understood it, oscar had hit his head on the cast iron hard enough to draw blood, but not enough that he was at risk of trauma or hemorrhaging.

or at least, that’s what the off-duty medic seated two tables over had said.

“how much blood do you think I’ve lost?” oscar wondered aloud, almost certain he was concussed. “if it’s less than a pint, I should be fine.”

yn laughed, rubbing him on the shoulder. “oscar, you’re fine. you still have most of your blood.”

“I’m so sorry our date ended like this. I ruined everything.” he exhaled, leaning to rest his head against the wall, still clutching g the bag of frozen peas given to him by kitchen staff against his cut.

she smiled to herself, reaching for his free hand. “what makes you think you’ve ruined anything?”

“the fact that there’s blood streaming down my face? or that were in the emergency room instead of sharing a hot chocolate fudge cake?”

they both laughed at the sheer absurdity of their situation, and yn resisted to urge to rest her head on his shoulder.

“you’re quite the man, oscar piastri. maybe you can make it up to me? I’m sure the smokehouse will be tripping over themselves to give us a free meal after tonight.”

oscar laughed lowly, a look of pain crossing his eyes. “you’d still want to go out with me after tonight?”

“of course I would, you adorable idiot.”

oscar looked like he was about to say something else when a tired-looking nurse in pink scrubs came rushing out of a hallway.

“mr and mrs piastri?”

yn flushed, her face heating up under the nurses gaze. “oh no, we’re not married. not even together, really.”

with all the energy he could, oscar winked at her before shakily getting to his feet in the sterile room. “wait for me, my love.”

yn laughed, watching him walk towards the nurse.

as far as first dates go, this one wasn’t bad at all, was it?

[queenpiranhadon]

what are your thoughts on katsuki's reaction when he finds out his partner has the same spice tolerance as him...

A/N: Oh, anon don't worry I have MORE than just thoughts... I actually love this prompt so I'm gonna write it a little differently than usual :) Here's the masterlist!

Warning(s): Cursing, reader likes spicy food, second or third year-ish, fluff, pre-established relationship, standard partner nicknames are used - dummy, babe, baby, etc, reader is gn but is written with f!reader in mind, double dates but it's just silly goofy

Pairing(s): Bakugou Katsuki x Reader, Mina Ashido x Ejiro Kirishima

•─────•°•❀•°•──── ᴡᴀꜱᴀʙɪ ─────•°•☁︎•°•────•

So from your wording, Bakugou finds out about your spice preferences at some point during your relationship, instead of before, which I don't think is as plausible because of his insane perception skills (he probably knows more about you than even you do before you guys even start dating- my man is a closeted nerd and you can't convince me otherwise). But if he did find out while you two were dating, the outcome would be hilarious.

Let's say you're in the UA dorms, whether you're in the hero course on not, you're just chilling in the kitchen waiting for your boyfriend to meet you downstairs. Class 1-A loves you a ton, and even though they tease you and Bakugou a lot, you both end up having a lot of Netflix and chill dates in the common room since the TV there has a shit ton of streaming services.

You put down your phone, sighing, and decide to be a little more productive instead- making your way to the common room to pick out a movie. It was tradition, between you, Katsuki, Kirishima and Mina to watch movies together every now and then as a double date- something Katsuki was adverse to but you knew he secretly enjoyed the chaos that ensued whenever the four of you were together- also realizing that if they weren't in his line of sight, they'd probably end up blowing up the dorms by accident anyways. He'd only said this once though, face turning bright red as you teasingly called him a mother hen.

Mina and Kirishima had started dating a few months ago (you and Katsuki had celebrated your 1 year anniversary two weeks prior to it ) and being the friend group you were, who could pass up an opportunity?. Kirishima and Katsuki very best friends, as were you and Mina, so it was a no-brainer that the four of you would have regular get togethers like this in the first place. You thought it was nice, seeing Katsuki interact with his friends as he relaxed, even if only a little, around his close friends.

You settle yourself down in the plush couch across from the TV screen, and feel the cushions dip as a new weight is added, seeing Mina Ashido plopping down next to you.

"Movie night!" she cheers, and she nudges you with her shoulder. "Some day we gotta ditch the boys and get through a movie marathon together- I swear Eji has the worst taste in movies, if I have to watch another Star Wa-"

"Hey! My taste isn't that bad!" Kirishima whines, coming up behind the both of you with Katsuki in tow. "Plus you keep asking to watch those K-dramas that get your mascara running."

Mina raises an eyebrow. "Eji, you cry more than I do during those."

Katsuki sighs and raises his hand in an attempt for peace. "Oi, shut yer mouths and go grab the pillows and blankets. Y/N and I will order food and pick out the movie."

Mina groans but relents, looking at you pleadingly. "Please chose a good movie - no ‘to be continued’s PLEASE"."

You snort, remembering how one time Kirishima had chosen Captain America: The Winter Soldier, which prompted the four of you to binge the entire MCU on a day without classes.

Scrolling through movies, you decide to choose a classic- the Matrix, something action packed enough to keep Kirishima (and Katsuki's) attention, and something with enough romance to keep Mina hooked.

As you navigate through the countless streaming services, Katsuki's voice pops up behind you.

"Oi, babe what do ya want to eat? Got some rolls dipped in wasabi for myself...I already know Shitty Hair's gonna ask for some chicken wings- an I got some tacos for Pinky cause I know she was whinin about cravin Mexican food earlier..."" He trails off, embarrassed when you grin knowingly in his direction.

You decide to be merciful though, shrugging and returning back to the TV. "I know very well that you're going to order from three different places just so all of us get what we want so I'll just share with you." you smile, and Bakugou's heart thumps softly from your thoughtfulness.

"Tch- whatever dummy. What do ya want in them- I know my rolls are pretty fuckin spicy - avocado, shrimp, cr-" He asks, but you cut his off with a bewildered look.

"What? Why wouldn't I get it with wasabi??" You ask dumbfounded. "That's like 85% of the flavor - plus it's kinda boring without it." you say, and your boyfriend's jaw drops open- as if you'd told him you were pregnant of something.

"Marry me."

You want to burst out in giggles, but stop when you see the deadass look on his face.

"Kats-"

"Jesus Christ baby, of all the shit ya hide from me, ya hide the most important one?!" He asks incredulously and that's when you start laughing.

"If ya told me this shit sooner I would've asked yer ass out the moment I met ya."

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

On Tattered Cloaks

Part four of this pirate!au. You didn't really think your husband wouldn't track you down, did you? ~4.5k words

Quiet sobs start to fade to disbelieving giggles. It really was that easy. All of your husband's promises had vanished with just one careful plan and a few moments alone.

You were actually getting away. You actually managed to flee his presence without letting him catch you. It's all made worse at how painfully simple it was.

He had been nearly perfect in the market, everything you had missed in the years apart. He wanted to build you a garden, a home away from the sea. He saw a life with you.

But that doesn't change that he has a life without you. Something better, something bigger without you to drag him down.

The wagons continue none the wiser to your suffering. Hours of being trapped in your own thoughts eventually come to a halt, as dirt roads turn to stone once more. Voices pick up as the wagon comes to a stop, and the canvas parts to reveal the old caravan leader.

He offers you his hand, and you hope you don't look like you've been crying as you take it. He helps you down as you murmur shaky thank yous for his generosity.

"Ah, here, you'll probably want this," he says, gently releasing your hand to pull out a decent-sized coin purse. It's filled with enough coin to buy you food and lodging for a few nights, and a ticket to the next town.

You falter, eyes darting between him and the coins, "I– Oh. I can't take this. You've already helped me so much."

His expression softens as he takes your hand and places the purse in your grip, "You've had a long journey. Take it. I insist."

"But," You start as he pulls away, "I can't pay you back."

He shakes his head faintly, sympathy crossing his features, "The look on your face was clear enough, dear. I know the signs of someone running from something. Allow me to help, at least this much."

Your shoulders slump, his words make tears want to fall all over again, "Thank you."

He shoos you along kindly, "Just be careful. It's dangerous to travel alone."

You offer him a smile and he returns it before focusing back on his cargo. You slip into the crowd without another word, heartbreak is heavy, but the old man's words make your steps a bit lighter.

It doesn't take long for you to find another caravan, offering its services to Central City. It's an easy decision to make. This town is far too small to stay in, and far too close to Star Port. All it takes is a few coin from the merchant's purse, and you're seated and traveling to the next city.

You fidget with the hair pins in your pocket as your thoughts inevitably return to your husband, to Jason. Was he looking for you? Is he relieved that the burden of his past is gone?

It's irrational, but the feeling of being followed makes your skin prick, makes your head turn to check over your shoulder as the Central City gates approaches. There's never anything there.

The guards wave the caravan through without much inspection and you find yourself in a brand new city. It's strange, to be in a city with no port. There's no cries of gulls and no smell of the sea. It's nothing like Gotham, nothing Iike Star Port. It brings a sense of security.

You're quick to leave the other travelers as the wagons stop, and you're even quicker to weave through the crowd. You make your way from the fancy, wealthy district and towards the seedier, tavern lined streets.

It takes longer than you'd like, going through the inns and taverns to look for a job, to look for somewhere to stay. Eventually, you find a sign outside of a grimy looking Tavern called The Wildcat, looking for a barmaid or barman to apply inside. The pay doesn't look exceptional, but it does offer free room and board.

The old man at the empty bar doesn't even bother to look up when you walk in. "Excuse me," You ask, "are you still hiring for the bartender job?"

He doesn't spare you a glance, just focuses on the glass he's cleaning, "yer too soft."

"I– what?" You ask, taken back.

"Yer too soft," he repeats, finally looking up at you, "couldn't handle the types we get in here."

That makes you straighten out, "I can handle whatever drunks find their way in here." It's the truth. The long days spent searching for any information at Gotham's docks prepared you enough for that.

He looks you over, but something in his eyes changes as he studies you closer. He nods, like he found what he was looking for, "Yer room is upstairs. Last door. Your shift starts in an hour."

You blink, "I– okay."

"Don't cause any trouble," he mumbles grumpily and goes back to cleaning the same glass.

It takes you more shifts than you expect to learn the owner's name. He eventually grunts out 'Ted Grant' between showing you the best way to kick the taps to get them to work. Within a few short weeks, The Wildcat becomes something like a home.

Your coworkers, who only seem to come in when it suits them, joke with you and introduce you to the best parts of central city. Cissie King pulls you onto tables to dance and she shares stories of how she misses living by the sea too. She's your first friend that's completely yours in a long time.

Ted knocks more than one handsy patron on their ass for you, and there's a story to him you haven't quite been able to get him to open up about. He pats your shoulder the first time you hit someone yourself, and murmurs how you remind him of his niece.

It's almost perfect. It really would be, if it wasn't for the dreams. Dreams of your husband, the way he used to hold you, the sound of his laugh, the color of his hair, the warm touch of his hands. His promises echo in your head, that you're his, you'd always be his. That he's going to find you, no matter how long it takes.

It makes you snap awake, grabbing at your blankets and eyes darting frantically around your empty room. Your gaze always settles on the hair pins set on your vanity. The ones you can't seem to get rid of. The silver rose seems to glimmer when you look at it.

There's an ache in your heart during mornings like this, where a part of you so desperately misses your husband. You trace the petals of the rose. You never dared to wear it, never risked even the possibility of being recognized.

The day seems to pass in a strange haze, like the calm before a storm. Not even your weekly lunch with Cissie eases the edge in your body. Every stranger seems like a threat. By the time you've returned to The Wildcat for your shift, you're jumpy.

Ted notices and waves you off to deal with the kitchen, lazily grunting that he can handle the bar himself. It's a blessing in disguise that he does.

A red-headed man swaggers through the door, and drops down at the bar. For a second, your heart drops with the idea it's Roy– but, no. Ted huffs out, "Thought I banned you, West."

The man shrugs, a boyish smile on his face as he brushes off his dark long coat, "That was ages ago."

Ted grumbles something, but you don't hear the rest of the conversation. You just see the glint of guns at the strangers side and the way his eyes lock on yours through the serving window. It makes your skin prick and the feeling of danger set in.

Nothing in his face gives away anything, but a part of you feels that he knows. He knows who you are. He knows Jason.

"Hey. Eyes off my staff," Ted snaps, waving a hand at the stranger.

'West' smiles widely, "Don't worry so much, old man. I was just leaving. Give my best to Cissie," he drawls, making his way out the door. He shoots you a wink as it closes behind him.

Ted grumbles over how he didn't even buy anything, but you can't focus, overwhelmed by the feeling of how wrong that felt. It has to be impossible, whatever that was, it can't be connected to your husband.

It's what you tell yourself as your shift ends, as you turn restlessly over in your bed, as the day passes until the next night. It's what you keep repeating right until a hooded figure walks into The Wildcat.

It's busier tonight than normal, but it doesn't stop the man from walking through the crowd and sitting in front of you at the bar. You can't ignore the figure, even if you do delay serving them by talking with other customers. The sensation of walking into a trap curls in your gut when you finally speak to him.

You ignore your unease as you smile, professional and pleasant, "What can I get for you tonight?"

You can't make out their features, concealed by the shadows of their hood, but their cold, low tone sends chills down your spine, "Rum, if you will."

"Coming right up," You chirp with a sweet smile, quickly busying yourself with pouring their drink. You set the glass in front of them, "Can I get you anything else?"

"No," They answer evenly, gloved fingers curling around the smooth glass before downing the drink with a single swing.

You take the cue to return to your other customers, but the tension doesn't leave your shoulders. He's watching you, calm and collected as his fingers drum rhythmically on the hard surface of the bar.

The night continues like this, he denies any more liquor, and even the patrons who usually are unruly and flirtatious seem mellowed in his presence. It's unnerving, so much so you find yourself in front of him again, "Would you like to close your tab?"

He nods slightly and reaches under his cloak to pull out a pouch full of coins, dropping it to the bar.

You tilt your head, whatever amount is in there greatly exceeds the cost of a single rum, "It's only a few coppers."

He seems unbothered by this, leaning forward to speak in a gravely tone, "Keep it."

Your unease is visible now, like you can feel the walls closing in, "I couldn't possibly."

The hooded figure merely chuckles and it makes you jolt, the sound quiet, low and cold and all too familiar. Chills run down your spine as he speaks again, amused, "Don't protest on my account. It's a gift."

"A gift," You ask, strained. There's no way. It's impossible it's him. You'd been so careful.

"A gift," he echoes, and his voice has a strange tone, an implication there's more to the offer, "a gift for the pretty bartender."

You pick up the pouch reluctantly, "Is there an occasion for such a generous gift?"

His fingers resume their drumming, voice still low and amused, "Call it an appreciation for beauty."

You blink, then lower your tone to match his, "Does this gift have a price? Perhaps, sir, you'd like to know when my shift ends?"

His fingers still and he tenses at your coy tone, he murmurs, almost absentmindedly, "Perhaps I would, love."

You lie easily about when you'll be free. It surprises you sometimes, how easily you've come to lie.

The hooded figure hums, you tell yourself you're imagining the disappointment in his tone, "I shall be waiting for you then, darling."

"Outside," You ask, keeping the shake that threatens to make itself known in your voice at bay, "In the alley?"

He laughs softly and nods, "The rear of the tavern will do just fine, love."

"I look forward to it," You say happily. Another lie. You have no intention of being anywhere in this city by the end of the night.

"As do I," he drawls, and for a moment neither of you move. It's a standstill, and his complete attention focuses on you in a strange, familiar way.

You watch with bated breath as he finally rises from his seat and leaves the tavern. You don't relax, immediately mumbling to Ted that you think you're going to be sick.

He doesn't get an answer out before you're taking the stairs to your room two at a time. You tug your cloak on, throw whatever you can carry into a small bag, shove the hair pins into your pocket.

You scribble an apology for Ted and Cissie onto paper, chastising yourself for not leaving after the red-headed man stared you down yesterday. You dump out the hooded figures' coin purse, quickly counting out the coins.

You freeze when you see coins aren't the only thing in the bag. There's a ring. It's beautiful. So visibly expensive and so obviously something you would wear, it makes you sick. You leave the coins for Ted. You drop the ring into your pocket alongside the hair pins with shaking hands.

Your mind races with plans and the best routes to get out of Central City as you scramble down the stairs. You stop yourself just before you take the back exit. It's too obvious. It's where he'd be waiting.

You sneak into Ted's office, it's more of a closet with a window really, and push the glass open. You drop out the window quietly into the tiny garden, the only light to guide you coming from the tavern and the moon.

You make your way carefully to the adjacent stables, constantly checking for the hooded figure over your shoulder. The shadows of the night conceal most of the area, but there's enough light to see the horses stirring within.

You wake one of Ted's horses, a young mare you convinced him to buy to help pull a wagon. You murmur a soft apology to Ted, and hope the obscene number of coins you left make up for this.

You saddle the horse quickly, and pull your hood low over your head as you pull yourself onto the mares back.

It makes your heart race, as you guide the mare from the stable, how many hiding places there are. How easily Jason and his crew could be around any corner. You head for the city gates, and goosebumps rise on your skin every time you check behind you.

There's a heavy feeling in the air, the shadows seem to reach for you as you encourage your horse out the city and onto dirt roads. You have a terrifying thought that you're being tracked. It gnaws at your mind relentlessly.

You grip the reins tighter as you ride faster. You're so far from the ocean, you've been so careful, and as you get further from the city you start to convince yourself you overreacted. It must have been nothing, only a traveler interested in the poor and pretty bartender working in a cheap tavern.

The thought is comforting, it's what you convince yourself of as you guide your horse towards an inn along the road. The hour is late, and to continue traveling only risks thieves and highwaymen.

You stable your mare, and with one more glance over your shoulder, you enter the inn. It smells of food and ale and dirt, but it's clean enough. None of the patrons seem familiar, but you pull your hood lower nonetheless.

The staff member standing over the guest book looks friendly enough as you walk over, "May I get a room for the night?"

They nod, almost uninterested, "Would you prefer a single or double?"

"Single. I also have a horse in the stable," You supply, anxious to hide away in any room they give you.

"Very well. Four silvers for the night and one for the stable," they answer, "and your name?"

You hand them the coin and lie about your name. "I'll return with your key in a moment," they say, and disappear through a curtain.

You glance towards the door as you wait. It's unexplainable, but you half expect to see Jason barge in, sword drawn, just as he did at the ball so many moons ago. It takes longer than it should for the innkeeper to come back.

"Is everything alright," You ask when they finally hand you your key.

They pause, then smile, "Apologies for the delay. We've had quite the day here today. Everyone is tired and eager to rest."

"Oh," You prompt, "is that so?"

"Indeed. We had a group of rowdy sailors stay last night, and they only left this afternoon," they answer.

"Sailors," You say, a little strained, "we're somewhat far from the ocean, aren't we?"

They nod, "They were picking over a map, quite the strange bunch. They caused a few fights with the other guests. Their captain was quite a sight."

"Their captain," You breathe out airily, heart in your throat. Any mask of a simple, curious traveler is hard to maintain as the inn keeper talks.

"Yes, his presence demanded attention. Dark red hat, more scars than I've ever seen, unruly hair. He was very intense, even as his crew joked around him," They answer, "but he paid fairly."

"I see," You mumble, forcing a smile to your face as you place a gold coin on the desk, "I do enjoy my solitude so, and I would be very grateful if you discouraged anyone from the idea that I was ever here."

The innkeeper's expression visibly shifts, greed and interest sparking in their eyes, "Of course. Your generosity is welcomed. We pride ourselves in dissuading anyone who inquires over our guests."

You smile again and head to your room in a daze, any comforting thoughts of the hooded figure not being related to Jason disappear. You have the urge to get back on your horse and keep riding. But it'd be a sure way to get hurt or robbed if you did.

You have no choice, but to wait until dawn. You settle in for the night, on edge. Sleep doesn't come easy, and the rest you do have is plagued by the color of your husband's eyes and the sound of his voice.

You're out of your room at the first rays of sunshine peeking over the horizon. It's a habit now, to tug your hood low as you drop your key on the inn keepers book. You ignore the hunger in your stomach and head straight for the stable.

The reassuring sight of your horse doesn't make you stop short, but the hooded man holding her bridle does. Neither of you speak as he pets her with gloved hands.

He's clearly no stable worker and you cross your arms at the sight, an attempt to hide your nervousness. You weigh your options, before speaking, "You're touching my horse."

He turns his head slightly at the sound of your voice, "Aye. So that I am. She's a fine stead." His voice has a subtle edge to it, almost menacing. You don't miss how his hand clenches around the reins, firm and unwavering.

"Are you going to keep touching her," You ask, and for all your plans and escape attempts, you can't think of a way out of this.

"Why shouldn't I? Such a fine beast deserves some attention, don't you think." He would sound playful, almost nonchalant if it wasn't for the challenge in his voice, daring you to confront him.

You exhale softly, stepping forward, "As much as I'm sure she adores your attention, I have somewhere to be."

He makes no move to release his hold on your horse's bridle, and you can feel how his gaze roams over you. He shrugs, dismissive and his tone dips almost condescendingly, "Do you now? What a shame. I was just beginning to delight in our little conversation."

"What is there to delight in," You bite back, fed up with the arrogance he exudes.

He lets out a laugh, his grip tightening on the reins before releasing it completely. He drops his hand to the pommel of the sword slung on his hip. "Ah, there's the spark I've been hoping for," he muses, voice low and laced with humor, "You're not one to bow down easily, are you, treasure?"

You stiffen, and it's like jumping into a cold river in the early morning and a harsh punch to the gut. He called you treasure. There's only ever one person who's called you that. It's a chilling, unarguable fact that your husband has tracked you down with a relentless determination.

Your eyes dart, scrambling for a plan. He has a sword. He's too close to your horse. You'd be lucky if you outrun him. He likely paid off anyone in the tavern that would help.

He steps towards you, tension mounting, "What's the matter, love? You've gone so quiet."

"How?" You ask sharply.

He tuts, unimpressed, but his voice is laced with satisfaction, "Well it wasn't luck, treasure. Do you think I'd be foolish enough to rely on mere luck when it comes to matters as important as this? No, no, my love. I used every resource at my disposal. Connections, favors, whispered words in the right ears, all to find you"

You imagine he looks smug right now, that despite all your careful steps, he still found you, "Take off your hood," You bite out.

His demeanor changes, any playful mockery gone as his hand tightens on his sword, voice dripping with danger, "Why should I?"

"Why wouldn't you?" You retort, hands dropping to your sides. It's not a secret who either of you are anymore, even he hasn't said your name, and you haven't said his.

He stares at you, as if weighing the pros and cons of the action, "Very well, treasure." With a steady motion, he draws his hood back, revealing a cascade of dark hair framing his face, the sunlight illuminating his features, rugged and determined and familiar, Jason.

He looks harsher. It's only been a handful of months but something about him seems off. His gaze is more intense, shoulders more stiff.

You try to reconcile your memories of your smiling husband with the man in front of you as he sets his jaw, "You look different," You tell him.

There's suspicion in his eye when you drop your hood as well, but his gaze darts over you greedily. "It has felt like an eternity without you. The months where I couldn't find you..." his voice trails off as he studies you, "it shouldn't be surprising that I look different."

"It was nothing compared to when you were missing," You say flatly, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Your husband's gaze darkens, and pain and frustration etches themselves onto his features, "Perhaps that's true, treasure."

His voice grows bitter, but his longing is clear as he continues to speak, "Yet, every moment apart feels like a lifetime. This aching absence, the unbearable uncertainty, it haunts my soul day and night. Can you blame me for taking drastic measures to find you?"

"Drastic measures?" You ask, voice pitching with surprise.

Jason's face hardens, eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity, "I have left no stone unturned, no resource untapped. I've sent men to scour every corner, paid off every informant, and spared no expense."

He stares you down, voice resolute and unyielding, "So let me make one thing clear, treasure, I am not the same man I was before I lost you. I won't hesitate to use whatever means necessary to keep you by my side."

Your breath hitches, "I– your crew must hate me for that," You say softly. What you really mean to say is, 'you must hate me for that'.

His eyes soften as he registers your words and he closes the distance between you two, "Hate you? No. No one hates you, my love. You're a part of me. They understand that."

The way he says it sounds like a fact. You're not completely sure if it is. "Treasure," he continues, "my heart bleeds for you more than anything in this world."

"Then why was it so easy for me to leave?" You choke out the question that's been haunting you since that day in the market, hands curling in the fabric of your cloak.

Irritation flashes in his eyes, clearly you struck a nerve, "Easy? You underestimate your own cunning, love. I should have been more cautious that day, but don't mistake my momentary lapse of judgment as weakness on either of our parts."

You scoff and he steps forward to hook his finger under the clasp of your cloak, drawing you closer, "I was blinded by my own heart. You should know you've always had a way of making me lower my guard."

Your eyes widen. He's close. You can see the flecks in his eyes, the older scar lines on his face. Your voice is strained when you speak, "Why are you doing that?"

His brow furrows slightly, "Doing what? Talking to you?"

"Yes!" You lament, "that! Humoring me. What's your plan?"

"You want to know my plan," he drawls, dropping his hand from your cloak, "I'll tell you, my love. Allow me to make this perfectly clear, I'm pursuing you, humoring this conversation, leaving that ring for you," your fingers twitch towards the ring in your pocket unconsciously, a movement he devours eagerly.

He leans down, voice lowering as he continues, "because my plan is simple. I'm not letting you go again. I'm not allowing you to slip through my fingers and disappear into the ether."

His gaze is unwavering, studying your every reaction to his words, "What, no protest, treasure? No arguments?" He straightens back out, "Perhaps you recognize the futility of resistance by now."

"I don't know. I didn't really think I'd get away the first time," You admit quietly, his words swirling in your head.

A wry smile tugs after his lips, and pride over his ability to hunt you down and your own ability to get away slip into his expression. "Yes, it was rather an impressive feat, how long you managed to hide," he confesses, begrudging admiration in his voice, "But rest assured, my love, it won't happen again."

"Why couldn't you just let me go," You ask, pained. That should be what you really want, to free him and you of the endless waltz around each other. But a secret, small part of you is happy to see him.

He breathes out your name, voice longing and resigned, "Every fiber of my being screams for you. My heart and soul belong to you, they always have."

He says your name again, softly, gently. He grabs your arms, wrinkling the fabric of your cloak as he meets your eyes steadily, "I cannot let you go."

Part Five

[p0orbaby]

Hi could you do a mama Wanda prompt where reader, who is like three or four, falls and hurts herself whilst Wanda in on a date with nat (Tony or someone was babysitting) and Wanda is surprised because before she can say anything to the babysitter Nat does because she is already so attached to reader and reader gets comforted by nat and nat just rips a new one to the babysitter, and Wanda is so moved by the bond between reader and nat

Our Hero

warnings: mentions of alcohol, minor injury, a little suggestive

a/n: another instalment to the squishverse !

word count: 1.1k

-

Date nights don’t come often enough for Wanda and Natasha.

Between work and looking after a four year old, time together, alone, is something that they definitely don’t take for granted. So when their anniversary rolled around, and some of the team offered their services in looking after you while they went out to celebrate, how could the couple say no?

So, with Tony and Sam briefed extensively about your routine, Wanda found herself sat opposite her girlfriend in a fancy restaurant Pepper happened to get them a booking for. Her cheeks hurting from smiling and her head a little fuzzy from the three glasses or merlot Nat insisted she have.

And it was lovely. Being able to spend some one on one time with her girlfriend without a tug on her shirt for attention or sticky fingers handing her soggy food. She loved you, of course she did, but four year olds are a handful and you weren’t an exception.

It was when the two of them were eyeing up the dessert menu that she got a text from Tony. ‘Y/N fell, hurt her knee, we’ve got it under control’ it read, and Wanda doesn’t think she’s moved so fast in her life.

What was an Avengers anniversary without a little drama?

-

“Seriously? Scooters in the house, guys. Really?” Natasha scolded as she wiped the tears that had strayed from your eyes to your cheeks.

At least Tony and Sam had the decency to look reprimanded. And a little shocked at the way Natasha has reacted to the situation. Even so, their eyes fell to the ground whilst the two women moved around them trying to fix a problem they helped cause.

Wanda stood from inspecting your knee. Just a graze, nothing too bad. “You two are lucky it wasn't anything more serious”. She was calmer than Natasha. Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was because she’s been a mother long enough to know what warrants panic.

Though, even with Wanda’s diagnosis, Natasha’s protective instincts were still on high alert. “You two still should’ve been more careful. Scooters in the house,” she scoffed again, “for someone so smart, you sure are stupid Tony”. She shot him a stern look before turning her attention back to you.

Tony and Sam exchanged guilty glances, realising that magnitude of their mistake. “We’re sorry, we just thought-“

“You didn’t think though, did you!” Natasha cut Tony off. “If you had, then we wouldn’t have had to rush back to make sure our daughter was actually okay, would we?”

“Wanda, we didn’t mean for this to happen” Sam pleaded. His eyes were full of remorse.

Wanda sighed respectively, accepting the boys’ apology. “Just remember, she’s still a little kid. Even if she’s around superheroes and trained assassins all the time, you have to be cautious”

“It won’t happen again, we promise” Sam said, genuinely apologetic.

“We’re taking you off the babysitters list” the redhead tending to you pipes up again.

“Natasha” Wanda warned in a voice she only reserves for two scenarios. Her child when being a nuisance, and Natasha in the bedroom. Natasha quietens down with a blush and a furrow of her brow. “I think it’s best if you two go now” Wanda says gently as she turns towards the men again. “We’ve all had a little too much excitement for one day”

Tony and Sam raised their hands in surrender as they backed away to put their shoes on and gather their things.

-

It was later in the evening.

Tears had been dried, knees cleaned and heart rates had settled.

Natasha was still going through her nighttime routine when Wanda breaks the comfortable silence of their company.

“I really appreciate you, you know?” She says as she lies in bed and waits for her girlfriend to join her.

“Yeah, I know” her response was paired with a smirk.

“Seriously, I mean it. The way you were looking out for Y/N, it made me realise how lucky we are to have you around”

Natasha turned from where her eyes met Wanda’s in the reflection of the vanity mirror. “You don’t think I would fight your corner?”

Sitting up, Wanda responded. “I never said that. Seeing how you reacted tonight solidified my thoughts about you”

“And what thoughts were they?”

Wanda knew what her girlfriend was doing. She didn’t mind, she’d bite. The wine still running through her system made her playful. And she wasn’t against seeing where this would go.

“Your kindness. How you helped our daughter. Your ability to take control of things. I like that one in particular.

“Yeah?” Natasha asked. Body now standing and stalking towards the bed. “What else?”

“How scared you made the boys. Just watching them cower under your stare was really doing it for me”

Natasha crawled up the bed as Wanda carried on spouting compliments in her direction. She licked her lips at her words, eyes going dark when they tickled her cheeks.

“Finished?” She asked when her arms were bracketed around Wanda. Keeping herself steadily balanced above her.

Wanda chuckled slightly, enjoying the playful exchange. “Not quite” she teased, running her fingers gently through Natasha’s hair. “I love your strength, how you fearlessly face any challenges that come our way. Your wit, how you’re alway ready with a clever comeback”

Natasha’s lips curved into a satisfied smile as she leaned in closer, her breath warm against Wanda’s skin. “Keep going,” she whispered, her voice husky with desire.

Wanda bit her lower lip playfully, relishing the way Natasha’s gaze intensified. “I love how fiercely you love us, how you’re willing to do anything to protect our family. And the way you make me feel every single day, like I’m the luckiest person in the world to have you by my side.”

Natasha’s eyes softened, the intensity giving way to tenderness as she leaned down to capture Wanda’s lips in a passionate kiss. They melted into each other, their love and desire intertwining as they lost themselves in the moment.

It took all of Natasha to pull back. But when she did she rested her forehead against Wanda’s, their breaths mingling. “I love you so much, Wanda Maximoff,” she whispered, her voice full of emotion.

“I love you too, Natasha Romanoff,” Wanda replied, her heart overflowing with love for the woman in her arms.

Their anniversary night had started with a small mishap, but it had ended with a reaffirmation of their love and a deeper connection between them. As they drifted off to sleep, entwined in each other’s embrace, they knew that they were each other’s rock, the anchor that kept them steady in the stormy seas known as life.

[justhereforxreaders]

The Prince and the Dragon Rider - Part Three: The Dawn

Jacaerys Velaryon x dragon rider!reader

Summary: introductions are made between you and the rest of Jace’s family and a challenge is put forth in regard to your dragon riding.

Warnings: none

soundtrack

part one: the oath

part two: tempest

part four: the test

part five: precipice

part six: pieces and players

part seven: the rift

After bidding a tearful farewell to Tempest at the dragonmont, you were escorted to your new chambers with the hopes of finding some rest before being sworn into the service of House Targaryen. However, the soft bed beneath your aching body provided little comfort with the disquieting absence of your dragon. The stillness of this small stone chamber only accentuates your desolation. Realizing how much you had grown accustomed to being lulled to sleep by Tempest’s steady breaths through the night, you are left with no other option than to lie awake, restless, waiting for the sun to rise. It is in this quietness just before the dawn, that you begin to hear the stirrings of the servants’ quarters around you.

For a moment you consider opening your door and introducing yourself but elect to remain reposed, hoping that the morning activity might be enough to fill the silence and allow you some sleep. Just as your eyelids start to become heavy however, there is a knock at your door.

You quickly sit upright and a girl no older than yourself opens the door and steps forward, holding aloft a candle in one hand and a bundle of fabric in the other.

“May I enter?” She inquires politely.

“Oh, yes, of course,” you mumble.

She steps forward and lights the candle mounted to the wall and then toward you, presenting the bundle in your direction.

“From the Princess,” she says before placing it at the foot of the bed.

Her eyes wide with curiosity as she studies you closely. When her eyes meet yours she quickly averts them and shuffles back out the door.

“Food shall be served in the servants’ hall shortly,” she murmurs before exiting, “it’s always better hot.” She turns to offer a small curtsy before closing the door behind her.

You unravel the fabric to reveal a black tunic with ornately embroidered red hems and simple but elegant dark grey trousers.

“How did I manage to end up here?” You ask yourself with a bitter chuckle as you run your fingertips over the decorative needlework. The disbelief at the events of the last 24 hours hitting you all at once.

You stand to dress yourself, wincing at the ache in your scabbed knees, and notice that your belongings from the cave have been sitting in a satchel on the floor beside your bed. The draw of resting your tired feet had been too appealing when you arrived here a mere 4 hours ago for you to bother exploring your surroundings, as such, this little kindness had gone unnoticed until now.

A warmth grows in your chest as you realize Jace must have collected your things after you left the cave through the water.

Jacaerys had become such a dear friend in quite a short amount of time. He was the first person to offer you true kindness in all your years of traveling and it had begun to chip away at the bitter distrust that had taken hold in your heart. The idea of binding yourself and your dragon to a life of servitude was made bearable, in part, due to the knowledge that you’d be allowed access to his company without cause for secrecy. There would no longer be a need to train during storms or the small hours of the morning. You’d be able to fly freely once again, now alongside your friend.

But the thought of having to put Tempest in danger should the call to war be made, nearly causes you to be sick. Jace had revealed some of the intricacies of his inheritance and that of his mother’s during your time together and the manner in which he discussed it with you made it evident that he believed war was inevitable. Would a life of freedom be worth living if Tempest was no longer beside you? Was the price of your freedom worth the risk of her sacrifice?

You are pulled from your thoughts by the distant clanking of dishes and your stomach gurgles. You make quick work of changing into your new clothes and dart out the door it the direction of the commotion.

As you enter the hallway however, a gruff voice calls from behind you.

“Dragon rider!”

You turn to see the same kingsguard who escorted you from the dragonmont earlier, looking just as weary as you.

“Come with me please.” He grumbles and begins to walk away.

You let out a disheartened sigh and run up behind the kingsguard. As he leads you through winding corridors and stairways, you try to remember which ones you have been down already. Much to your disappointment however, it all looks too similar for you to distinguish between what is new and what is familiar. But idea of exploring such a grand fortress and learning all its secrets excites you. Something you imagine you’ll occupy a great deal of time doing.

The kingsguard comes to a halt and throws open a large door which leads to a small dining hall. As you enter, you notice through the windows in this room that the faint light of the dawn is beginning to creep up through the morning mist. At the head of the long table sits Princess Rhaenyra. Surrounded by handmaidens and bouncing a silver haired babe on her knee, she looks up to greet you.

“Good morrow, y/n.” She says softly.

“Good morrow, Princess.” You reply politely and offer a small bow.

“Come,” she gestures to the empty seats, “break fast with us.”

You nod and step forward, taking a seat on the Princess’s left side, leaving a few empty seats between the two of you.

“Did you sleep well?” She asks in a motherly tone which disarms you.

“I did not,” you tell her honestly, “this is all so strange to me, it was difficult for me to find rest.”

“Yes, I suppose it would,” her tone becomes thoughtful. “You said you journeyed from Asshai? Is that where you were born?”

“No, my mother and I traveled all across Essos until we found the Lord of Light. She felt the only place we would be safe was within the service of a pleasure house or a temple.”

“Do you still follow the Red God?”

“I’ve never had need to believe in a god,” you state dryly, “first I had my mother, now I have Tempest.”

A smirk forms on one side of her mouth and before she can continue the conversation, the door swings open and Prince Daemon steps through followed by a silver haired girl who mirrors his disdainful expression. You stand from your seat and bow your head at the two newcomers. Daemon makes his way past you and plants a small kiss atop the babe’s head before silently taking a seat at Rhaenyra’s right hand. Servants begin bringing platters of food through the door and filling up the table before the girl is seated, she scowls at you unabashedly while she slowly makes her way to sit near Daemon.

“Good morrow to the both of you,” Rhaenyra says as she passes off the babe to one of her handmaidens. “Rhaena, I’d like to introduce you to y/n.”

Rhaena rolls her eyes and offers a halfhearted curtsy before sitting at the table without a word. The Princess glances between you and Rhaena before calling gently to you.

“Please,” she gestures to the food, “sit and eat.”

There is an uneasy silence as the four of you serve yourselves from the banquet before you. Your discomfort however, melts away the moment you hear Jace’s muffled voice from outside the hall, playfully arguing with an unknown voice. When the door opens, Jacaerys and the unknown boy enter, filling the room with their laughter. You once again rise from your seat and bow politely. With smiles on their faces, the boys greet the room in unison and step towards the seats between you and Rhaenyra.

The smaller of the two sits next to you and turns to face you with wonder in his eyes.

“You must be y/n, I’m Lucerys, Jace has told me all about you! What’s it like riding a dragon in water? How did you teach her to swim?”

You stare dumbfounded at the speed the words tumble out of the boy’s mouth, peering over his head to see Jacaerys stifling laughter.

“I, uh-“ you attempt to begin answering but are cut off by Rhaena standing up abruptly.

“May I be excused?” She mutters through gritted teeth.

Rhaenyra opens her mouth to answer but Daemon nods casually and he takes another bite of his breakfast before she can speak. The Princess shoots him a disapproving look while Rhaena gathers her plate and makes a hasty exit. The room is silent for a moment before Lucerys calls out loudly.

“Don’t mind her,” he says as he shovels a large bite of food into his mouth, “she’s just angry because-“

He is silenced by a jab to the ribs from Jace’s good arm and both boys glance at Daemon before turning their attention back to their plates.

Daemon clears his throat and adjusts his posture before locking eyes with you.

“After the ceremony this morning, I should like to see you on dragonback.” He states, breaking eye contact to briefly glance over the faces around the table. “My own daughter has been denied a dragon for many years and I would like to see for myself what makes you worthy enough to lay claim to what she has been deprived of.”

He then follows his daughter’s lead and pushes away from the table.

“They will not disappoint.” Jace calls across the room as Daemon makes for the door.

“We shall see.” Daemon retorts over his shoulder.

The rest of your time at the table passes slowly. Lucerys continues to ask questions about your adventures across Essos that you do your best to answer while absentmindedly picking at your plate of food. You can feel both Jace and Rhaenyra glance your direction but refuse to meet them. Your mind flooding with worry about what Daemon expects to see from you. Jace had offhandedly mentioned how skilled you were at dragon riding during your training sessions, but, in truth, you never understood what he had meant. Flying with Tempest wasn’t something you considered a skill, it was a necessity for survival.

Once everyone has had their fill, Rhaenyra dismisses her sons and handmaidens, asking for a quiet word with you. After the dining hall has emptied, she stands and approaches you.

“Regardless of the outcome of Daemon’s trial, it is still my wish to have you serve this house and my family.” She speaks with a sternness not directed at you. Placing a hand in your shoulder she continues “How old are you, child?” She asks gently.

“Ten and four.” You answer, slightly confused.

“You are younger than any of the sworn swords before you, which is cause enough for others to doubt your abilities.” She pauses and pulls you to your feet. “It is a heavy burden for someone so young to bear and I am sorry that I must ask you to carry it. But my husband will not be the last to call into question your worth. Although it may seem a daunting task, many of those voices could be silenced by your performance today.”

“I will try my best.” You assure her, and yourself.

She smiles and nods in approval before releasing your shoulder.

“Return to your chambers, I will send for you once my court has been gathered.”

You force a smile in return and make your exit, once again following the same kingsguard back to your room.

“I’ll be back to fetch you shortly, don’t get too comfortable.” He mutters when you reach the door before turning away to leave.

“Thank you,” you mumble in response but he has already departed beyond earshot.

As you step through the door, you look up to see a shape sitting at the foot of your bed. You jump backwards in fear before you make out Jace’s face in the dim morning light, holding a finger up to his lips. You cover your mouth to stifle the involuntary gasp that escapes your lips at his sudden presence and peer around to see if anyone was alerted by your sound before closing the door.

“What are you doing here?” You ask in a hushed tone.

“I wanted to meet you here last night but the guards were much more attentive after I snuck to the dragonmont,” he smiles wryly but it fades when he sees your expression, “I’m sorry it happened this way.”

You shrug and move across the room to sit beside him on the bed.

“It had to happen one way or another, we couldn’t hide me away in that cave forever.” You reply drearily.

“Thank you,” he mumbles and you quickly turn to look at him with confusion.

He turns to face and weakly raises his injured arm.

“Oh, yes,” you chuckle lightly, “I had no interest in…” you trail off. Being parted from you, you wish to say. “Letting you drown on my watch, Jacaerys.” You quickly correct yourself and feign offense. “It would tarnish my reputation for future students.”

He laughs heartily, “I don’t think that would stop your newest admirer.”

You nudge his shoulder with your own and cover his mouth with your hand, shushing him quietly while trying to quiet your own laugher.

“I don’t know what you said to give him such a glowing impression of me but I appreciate it.” You scold playfully before removing your hand.

“Only the truth,” he chides back.

Your laughter dies down and wring your hands in your lap.

“Why do you think I’m a great dragon rider?” You ask anxiously.

He sighs knowingly, pulling your hands apart by your forearm.

“You’re faster than anyone I’ve ever seen and twice as stealthy, you can dive into the water, and the way you and Tempest move together is mesmerizing, like a dance.” He blurts out earnestly. “You’re better than any of us.” His eyes dart to the floor and you think you see a subtle blush grows across his face, though your own eyes grow heavy.

You throw your back into the bed behind you with a heavy sigh.

“What do you think Daemon will expect from me?” You groan, covering your eyes with your arm.

Jace chuckles at your theatrics and folds his legs up on the bed to turn and face you.

“I don’t know,” he pokes at your arm while speaking and you roll away from him, tucking your legs up as you do, “but you have no need to worry yourself.” He murmurs.

“I wish I shared your confidence,” you say through a yawn as your eyes begin closing.

“You will.” He states quietly as you drift to sleep.

You are abruptly awoken by a banging on your door.

“Dragon rider!” A familiar voice growls through the wood. “The Princess awaits your presence!”

You leap up from the bed in a haze, unsure how long you have been asleep, and rush to the door in a panic. Pulling it open to reveal the same tired kingsguard.

“Let’s go,” he barks and turns away from you in his usual fashion. You take a moment to peek out the window and see that the sun is still on the rise, though the cloudiness in your mind says otherwise. Before dashing out the door after him you quickly gather your worn clothes from the floor, unsure if you’ll be allowed to return to change into them before Daemon’s trial.

Most of the walk back to the throne room is spent trying to shake the fogginess from your head but it still lingers as you enter the now crowded grand hall. All eyes turn towards you and you freeze. You try to hide the bundle of raggedy clothes under your arm and continue following towards the throne, but as you fumble with them, you catch the eyes of the servant girl who presented you with your current attire huddled in the corner among the other servants. Without thinking, you run in her direction, causing the kingsguard to stop in his tracks.

“Would you hold these for me, please?” You ask frantically.

Her brows knit together at your request but she nods regardless, taking the clothes from your hands.

“Thank you!” You say in a hurried whisper before turning to meet your escort back where you left him. He scoffs and begins trudging towards Rhaenyra upon the throne, surrounded by her family and the lords from the night before.

Another kingsguard steps forward and instructs you to take a knee. As he begins to speak you find Jace among the crowd and he discreetly offers you a sympathetic smile. His last words before sleep overtook you, repeating in your mind. You nod in acknowledgment and turn your focus back to the kingsguard, ready to take your oath.

You follow the kingsguard’s prompts as he guides you through the ceremony, making sure to find Rhaenyra’s eyes as you officially swear fealty to her. At which point, she moves forward, presenting a deep red cloak from her lap to the kingsguard who moves behind you to drape it over your shoulders.

“Arise, y/n, sworn Dragon Rider of House Targaryen.”

[beardedmrbean]

A British mother who hid her sick baby in a drawer under her bed for the first three years of her life has been sentenced to more than seven years in prison for what authorities described as “extreme neglect.”

The girl, who “hadn’t known daylight or fresh air,” was only discovered last year, when the mom’s partner heard her crying inside her house in Cheshire, England, Senior Crown Prosecutor Rachel Worthington said.

The tot was malnourished and unable to crawl, walk, talk or communicate in any way when authorities found her.

“This child has never had a birthday present, a Christmas present or anything to recognize these days. She’s had no interaction with any of her siblings,” Worthington said.

The mother, who has not been identified for legal reasons, had confessed to four charges of child cruelty in October before her sentencing on Tuesday.

Judge Steven Everett told the court the woman had “starved that little girl of any love, any proper affection, any proper attention, any interaction with others, a proper diet, much-needed medical attention,” the BBC reported.

“An intelligent little girl who is now perhaps slowly coming to life, from what was almost a living death in that room,” he added.

The girl was born in 2020 with a cleft palate inside a bathtub at the Cheshire home, according to the Crown Prosecution Services. 

The mom initially fed her, but then, for reasons still unknown, she put the baby in a drawer in her divan bed and left her there, only opening the drawer infrequently to feed her milk-soaked cereal through a syringe and change her diapers, prosecutors said.

She kept the baby a secret from her other children, whom she continued to take to school as she went to work, leaving the baby in the drawer for hours on end.

“The baby’s growth and physical and mental development was severely impacted by the lack of care, attention and food and the restrictions of a life spent in a drawer,” the Prosecution Services said in a statement.

The woman’s partner finally discovered the child in February 2023, after he had gone back into the house to use the bathroom after the mom left her keys in the door and he heard crying. 

She typically never let him go upstairs alone, prosecutors said.

He followed the noise and found the baby girl with matted hair and clearly looking malnourished. Horrified, he fled the house and called his own mother, who in turn alerted the mom of the defendant, who then called authorities.

“(The baby) stared at me and was rocking back and forth. I looked at her mum and asked, ‘Is this where you keep her?’ The mother replied matter-of-factly, ‘Yes, in the drawer,’” one social worker who responded to the scene testified.

The mother “did not show any emotion” and “appeared blasé” about the situation.

“I asked had anyone else ever seen (the child)? Mum stated no,” the social worker said.

“It became an overwhelming horror that I was probably the only other face [the baby] had seen apart from her mother’s.”

In addition to the untreated cleft lip and palate, the baby girl was suffering from dehydration, malnourishment, a swollen abdomen, bad diaper rash and weak muscle mass. She also had floppy limbs and swollen feet.

“At the age of 35 months, her development was markedly delayed and was the equivalent to that of a 10-month-old” as a result of the neglect, prosecutors said.

The child was rushed to the hospital and within two weeks was vocalizing and making her needs heard. She has undergone two surgeries to fix the cleft lip and palate, but additional surgeries will be required.

The mother later told investigators that she’d been in an abusive relationship with the father of the baby and didn’t want to tell him she was pregnant.

 “This child has been subjected to extreme neglect of her health, development, and basic care needs since before she was born,” Worthington said.

“This case has shocked all the prosecution team and has been very difficult to work on. After reading the evidence, I had to take myself away and try and process what I had read,” she added.

[37-drc89]

secret santa; bangchan

[christmas special fic series; 1/8]

genre; fluff, established relationship.

warnings; none, gender not defined.

word count; 1,4k.

christmas masterlist

note: i'm not really sure about this fic honestly, but i was too excited for the christmas special not to post it anyway. please keep in mind that english is not my first language so if you see any typos or grammar hurts your eyes, let me know so i can improve it! x

Chan has always been known for being naturally a giver. He's been like this ever since he was a child, even though you've only known each other for four years now, it's not that hard to notice it on everyday basis - he's always the first one to hold the doors for people, help strangers with their luggage, always look out for everyone just in case they're struggling with something. You've also noticed it very clearly during your now two-year old relationship. Chan has never hidden acts of service being his love language, his main intention forever will be making your life as easy as he possibly can; he would fold your laundry for you when you're working so it doesn't need to occupy your exhausted mind later. He would make your favored coffee if he's going to work earlier than you so you can sleep a few minutes longer. He would carry your bag for you, always buy additional skincare products for you just in case you run out of them or carry your favorite snacks in his bag just for your cravings. Anything to see his lover's eyes light up with joy or relief. Though, physical gift-giving in your relationship has never been a huge thing. Of course, Chan was always more than happy to gift you something you've been bragging about for the past half a year for your birthday, and you would do the same, but other than that, it wasn't anything any of you would do on daily basis.

That's why the small package laying by Chan's side of the bed in the morning caught you off guard a little bit. It was wrapped up really messily and you couldn't help but cackle at the folded tape and paper slightly ripped here and there, but there was definitely a try. A small ribbon was glued on top of it and the signature on the side said from Santa.

Your brows furrowed and you checked callendar on the phone - it was only 1st of December. You only shook your head at your boyfriend's newest brilliant idea and started unwrapping the box. What you found inside was a necklace, so shiny and beautiful it made you gasp out loud. It was decorated with silver stars here and there, in many different sizes, few small diamonds hanging from it on short strings. The wide smile on your face felt permanent as you finally realised the symbolism of it - the first ever date of you and Chan as an official couple was stargazing. He claimed ungodly amount of times that this was the happiest day he could ever live and that the second will be the day he'll marry you.

With no hesitation you put the necklace on in the mirror, too amazed to care that you're still in your sleeping set that might not suit it. Seconds later you were already downstairs, catching your boyfriend already making breakfast for the two of you, apron tied around his waist as he can get really messy in the kitchen.

You glue your body to his back, arms wrapping around his torso.

"Good morning baby," you mumle into his shirt and press two kisses on each of his broad shoulders as he leans into the warm touch, caressing your hands on his stomach.

"Good morning pretty, did you sleep well?"

You only nod, peeking out his shoulder and humming at the sight and scent of warm food on the pan. You stand by Chan's side this time, observing carefully his actions as he only grins at your attention. Your fingers start fidgeting with the necklace resting around your neck.

"It's beautiful, you know?" you speak as he locks his eyes with yours, then setting them on the necklace.

"You're right, it's really pretty... Where did you get it from? I've never seen it before." Chan leans in to take a closer look of it and you send him a confused glance.

"From you, dumbass. Thank you baby, I love it a lot..."

"Honestly, I don't know what you're talking about," Chan chuckles and goes back to mixing ingredients on the pan. "You know we don't give each other presents often, I'm waiting for Christmas, like I always do."

Your brows go up but Chan refuses to look at you, acting like he's not even aware of you staring at him, goofy smile painting your lips and you decided to just play along your boyfriend's weird performance.

"Well, technically speaking, the box said from Santa. I guess that must be him, then," you hummed and went back to playing with the necklace, walking over to sit at the table. Chin resting on your hand as you watched Chan placing your breakfast on both of your plates, deliciously smelling steam reaching your nostrils.

"Make sure Santa knows you have a boyfriend then. We can't have an old man trying to steal you away from me." he placed a small, quick kiss on the top of your head and sat down in front of you, proceeding to your usual morning routine, talking about past week and plans for the weekend, like you always do by the breakfast. Chan really got into his role and acted clueless, innocently complimenting your new jewelry here and there throughout the day.

And normally you would brush it off, thinking your boyfriend was just too flustered to admit this random little gift is from him, but that was until the next day, when you found a tiny present bag in your closet with two pairs of matching Christmas socks. "Oh look, he thought of me this time, too!" was the only way Chris commented on it, still keeping his cool, smiling like it was the first time he's ever seen these.

It just kept going on. The other day you found your favorite face moisturiser in the pocket of your coat, the one you were just running out of. Then a set of flavoured Christmas tea hidden in cutlery drawer. Then, a bag of strawberries covered in chocolate, just the brand you loved the most. Safe to say by the Christmas your room was stuffed with gifts of all kind, barely making it fit into your closet anymore. Chan was unbreakable, still pretending like he was clueless, not knowing you've already noticed the signatures looking exactly like his writing, but you let him have fun. It was obvious Chan was enjoying this a lot, always seeking for your reactions and asking about what you've received that day if you haven't mentioned it earlier. And you were proudly showing it off for him, complimenting your gifts as often as you could, eager to see him trying to muffle down his happiness so you don't disclose his little "secret".

Christmas came and you spent it together, like you always did. You were chatting, enjoying each other's presence and even shared a slow dance to random songs playing from radio.

When the time of handing each other official presents came, you couldn't help but toss them away for a second and drag Chan into the tightest and the warmest embrace he has ever been held in.

Your face was buried into his sweater and his hot breath was tickling your neck as a sigh full of love left his lips. You were standing there, in the middle of the room in complete silence and you felt nothing more than at home.

"I love you, Chan." you spoke as you pulled away just slightly to catch a glimpse of his peaceful face. "I love you so much I almost can't stand it. Thank you, for all of this. And Thank you for being my Santa."

He took your burning face into his big hands and lifted it up so he could lock eyes with yours. Nothing but passion was radiating from them, stare so deep it seemed like Chan could read poems from your eyes.

"At the end of the day, I'm your best present, no?" he chuckled and you mirrored, nodding silently as it felt impossible to speak any words in the light of the overwhelming emotions boiling inside of you.

"I love you until the world ends and even further, y/n."

At this point your body almost pushed itself onto his, the desire to kiss him becoming too much. Just when your lips were about to connect, Chan backed off just slightly and you sent him a questioning look. He dragged you backwards by your waist, stopping just where mistletoe was hung on the ceiling.

"This year I didn't forget."

That's when your boyfriend finally let your hungry lips connect in the most passionate and loving kiss you've ever shared. It was hot, it was burning, setting your pounding heart on fire as you knew no matter how many gifts you will ever get, the only one you need is standing right in front of you tonight.

[fantasy-relax]

Ineffable Plan

Bela Dimitrescu x g¡p reader

Part 5

You didn't know what hurt more your head or your stomach, a full day of work without even having breakfast was killing you and you oversaw directing more than carrying the bricks.

What the hell those maids have in their heads to blow up the wall?

And where the hell did they get the dynamite?

If you found them, you would shove a brick up their a-

*BAM*

A pat on the back send you to the ground

“Oh shit, sorry,” Relia helped you to stand up “what a day huh?”

“Ugh” You responded showing unmatched wisdom.

“Hahaha be glad that at least you're going to have a delicious dinner, Thea is…”

The words of the Master carpenter went in one ear and out the other, was it rude? Yes. Did you have the energy to care? No.

Maybe after eating.

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

“Why did you decide to stay in the castle after your contract ended?”

You were supposed to be more subtle, but your brain didn't cooperate with you, in the kitchen there were only you, Relia and chef Dorothea, the others had already retired to their rooms.

“With your experience you could help the village with constructions and repairs, fences have been created to protect against the Lycans but they are easily destroyed, it really needs experienced labor I’m sure that even the most stubborn man would have to listen to you”

To your surprise Relia burst out laughing which offended you a little, it took her a few seconds to calm down and the offense you felt vanished when you noticed the melancholy in her eyes despite her smile.

“Everything comes back” seeing your continued confusion “Years ago I asked my predecessor and teacher, Daria, the same question when I found out that she was going to give up her body and blood voluntarily instead of living in the village”

What? voluntarily?

Dorothea, who was heating water on the stove, answered your questions.

“The meat I receive to serve the Ladies doesn’t only come from intruders who enter Dimitrescu’s territory or maids who break the rules too many times, if it were to be like that it would be too little to feed the whole family for the entire year.”

Now that you think about it, the deaths of the workers are few compared to the rumors, in the four months you’ve been here at most there have been 6 or 7, which is almost nothing compared to the dozens that are spoken of in the town. The maids disappear for two or three days before returning to work, paler and more obedient; and in the worst cases without a finger or two, but they come back.

“The blood mostly comes from the donor maids, they receive better food, better pay and some protection in exchange for their services.” The chef came over and poured three cups of tea, you thanked her. “When they die their body will be served or buried, they have the last word as a sign of respect for their work to House Dimitrescu” Dorothea put down the pot to sit next to Relia “Daria chose to live in the castle as a donor until the end of her days”

“And she decided to be buried, she designed her coffin, and I built it, was the most elegant one in her family’s plot even in death she wanted to make it clear how much she had triumphed over those fucking bastards” Relia replied with a proud smile.

“I guess she didn’t get along with her family” You said adding a sugar cube to your cup.

“They were the ones who manipulated her into coming to the castle in the first place” The carpenter said with hatred in her voice “and when the contract ended, she returned only to be attacked for not continuing to work to pay off the debts they had gotten themselves into after spending everything she sent them; when she returned, she no longer sent them a penny.” Relia took a sip of her tea. “At least that’s what she told me when I asked her the same question”

“And what was your reason for staying?” The tea didn’t help keep the sleep away.

“My parents are dead, and I was never close to the rest of my family. I don’t think they’ll accept me with open arms. Most likely they’ll force me to marry or throw me out on the street, master carpenter or not. Besides…” Relia took the chef’s hand to kiss her palm. “I’d miss my wife too much.”

Her what?!

Dorothea smiled fondly and kissed her wife’s cheek.

“I could say the same.”

You had really dissociated yourself from the conversation with Relia in the hallway.

With more information than you expected to obtain, you say goodbye to the couple to go rest.

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

Greta congratulate you for your good work on the repairs and informed you that due to the incident your request would have to wait, which you accept without complaint. After all, the conversation with Relia and Dorothea revealed more details than you imagined.

Although life in the village was hard, it never crossed your mind that someone would choose to live in the castle or donate their blood willingly. The rumors were terrifying, coupled with the fact that the women who went to work at the castle rarely returned, and if they did, they were scarred or with fewer body parts. It was hard to believe that someone would choose to live with monsters instead of returning home.

Monsters. Were the Dimitrescu really monsters?

You had witnessed firsthand that they were capable of feeling and acting like any other human.

So, what made the Dimitrescu monsters?

Were they monsters because of their violence?

The most common punishment you've seen inflicted on your fellow girls is being whipped on the hands, ankles, or back after breaking something while cleaning or when something went missing in the rooms they cleaned. But that was done in the village too, parents disciplining troublesome children or thieves being punished.

You'd been lucky enough not to witness any deaths, but you hadn't been spared the cleanup that followed, blood and sometimes bits of flesh left on the floor and walls, which needed to be cleaned up quickly before it dried and soaked into the carpet and wallpaper.

Were they monsters for their indifference to suffering and death?

While in the village the Lycans were the number one killers, sometimes fights between the inhabitants reached a point where blood was spilled in such quantity that death from wounds was to be expected, drunks and gamblers were the most hated in the village if they found their death at the hands of the collectors or in a fight people turned their faces away, giving condolences out of obligation to the family and continued with their lives living with the murderer among them. There were men who had killed their wives or children after having beaten them savagely, some were hated but tolerated and others were welcomed with open arms; there were also cases of healthy men who died from a sudden illness (Poison) despite the care (Different poison) of their wives.

Cruelty and violence existed both in the village and in the castle.

Were they monsters because of their diet?

One of your neighbors couldn't drink milk without suffering from stomach pain for days, a child died from eating a nut that made his throat swell, the tailor couldn't eat chicken because it gave her rashes, there were several people who couldn't have a normal diet and had to adapt.

Is it the same for the Dimitrescu?

Was human flesh and blood the only thing they could consume?

Their body was not the same as a human's, it was to be expected that their diet won’t be the same.

Were they monsters because they were cannibals?

One of the elders had told you that decades ago the harvests were horrible and the winter atrocious, the food shortage was such that many had no other option than to eat the flesh of their neighbors to survive. Grandparents letting themselves die so that their children and grandchildren could eat, teenagers tearfully devouring the organs of their siblings who couldn't bear the cold, man eating man.

And this act was considered necessary.

Wasn't it necessary for them too?

Were they monsters because of their different anatomy?

That won’t make you a monster too?

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

Two weeks had passed since the incident and thanks to it you had forged a friendship not only with Relia and her team, but also with Dorothea and her kitchen staff; it was great to have someone to talk to; while you were fond of Daniela you didn't forget that she was from a different world than yours there were things she couldn't understand not out of malice but out of simple ignorance.

Since her confession you haven't spoken to her due to the staff rotation that caused the "dismissal" of the maids involved in the explosion.

You still had no idea where they got the dynamite from.

Greta's voice calling you took you out of your thoughts.

"Greta, what do you ne-" The older girl grabbed you by the shoulders with a frantic look.

Deja vu.

"You know how to read, write and basic math, right?" You nodded with slight fear to which she sighed in relief. “Come with me.”

“I haven't finished cleaning yet.”

“I’ll send someone, this is more important, hurry up.”

You left your bucket and rag to follow her.

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

You had seen Jenica a few times in the hallway, the woman always walked in a hurry with papers and folders in her hand. Like Greta, she was always busy and had a professional demeanor.

“January, quadrant E, row three, produced a quantity of…”

Compared to that image, the woman in front of you looked like she was one step away from jumping off the roof.

The desk, the coffee table, the chairs, the couch and even the bed were full of papers, folders and books; in the middle of everything was Jenica reading a book while frantically writing in a notebook.

You turned to look at Greta for answers that she was quick to give you.

“Someone broke into her office today to start a fire, thanks to Zina passing by at a good time the fire was quickly extinguished, the filing cabinet protected the documents however some of this year’s files were outside for review, some just need to be transcribed but most have to be recalculated and as you can see…” Greta pointed at the poor woman who acted more like a crazy old woman mumbling in the street than a scholar. “It’s a lot of work for Jenica, Lady Dimitrescu is in a meeting with the Lords and Lady Bela is reviewing the other documents to see if anything is missing”

First an explosion now a fire, what was going on?

“Do you think you can help her?” The head maid took one of the papers placed on the table to hand it to you, the letters were barely visible, but you could understand it.

“Yes, I worked as an accountant at my mother’s bakery and at the town bar, this is pretty similar.” Despite the bad reputation that alcohol and consequently the bar had, Darius was a smart and honorable man when his poor eyesight worsened her hired you to take care of the bar’s accounts and teach his son Leonard how to do it, who luckily for you was just like his father.

Upon hearing your answer Greta nodded before touching Jenica’s shoulder who let out a surprised squeal.

“Don’t do that, you’re going to give me a heart attack!”

“What will give me a heart attack is the aberrant amount of coffee you drink, I brought someone to help you.”

Jenica turned to look at you and to demonstrate your skill you read what the paper in your hand said. In a moment the woman stood up, removed a stack of books from the sofa and moved another from the table.

“Perfect!” She said as she pushed you towards the empty seat and then placed a notebook and pencil in your hands, she took a huge book from her desk and placed it in front of you “Take care of transcribing this, when you finish, pass it to me to redo the calculations for the report”

“Wouldn’t it be faster if I did it?” The maniacal smile she put on told you that you should have kept quiet.

Jenica took a stack of papers and put them on the floor next to you.

“Don’t worry if you make a mistake, we have plenty of paper”

Sometimes it’s better to be ignorant.

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

Jenica had only given you ten minutes to go eat in the kitchen and to go to the bathroom.

Two hours had passed since the clock struck its twelfth bell and one since Jenica left to deliver the documents they had managed to finish to Lady Bela.

Without her permission to leave you had no choice but to wait for her to return, the room was still full of paper, there was still a lot to do, but your brain couldn't handle it anymore, no matter how many times you read the book the letters floated without meaning.

Concentrated and tired you didn't notice the door open until a familiar voice echoed in the room.

"What do we have here?"

The adrenaline woke you up enough to realize two things:

1. Lady Dimitrescu had returned from her meeting.

2. Jenica's room was off limits.

"It seems that a little mouse is snooping around where it shouldn't."

"Lady Dimitrescu I j-just-

The distinctive sound of her claws being unsheathed caused you to choke on your words, your tongue weighed like lead in your mouth and cold sweat ran down your palms.

A thought repeated itself to the rhythm of your accelerated heartbeat.

*I'm sorry mom, I love you*

[angelicjungwon]

yang jungwon - love at first sight

plot: you were out with a few friends, enjoying your time at a christmas market when you locked eyes with the most beautiful man you have ever seen. he never left your mind until a few years later you two meet again, same location, same time.

tw: kinda cute? mentions alcohol, enhypen screaming at a cute plushie, jungwon being nervous.

an: i try to always write genderneutral !

word count: 907

__

it was a cold winter evening, the sun was nowhere to be seen, it was foggy and snowing. the perfect day for a christmas market. you and your friends decided to meet up around 6 p.m., to get some christmasy snacks before going on a little shopping spree.

you were holding your cup of hot cocoa, sipping on it peacefully while looking around, ignoring the conversations going on, as you were too blinded by the beautiful lights and the wonderful smell of candy and baked goods.

however, as you were looking through the crowds, your eyes met the ones of a handsome boy who seemed to be appreciating the scenery as much as you did. he smiled at you, you smiled back but quickly turned away has you felt your face heating up.

you didn‘t expect someone as cute as him to flash you a smile, suddenly feeling insecure about your outfit and the way you looked in general.

you shyly looked back around, him mid conversation, turning his head to face you again before smiling once more.

he was extremely gorgeous and in that moment all you wished for was for him to walk over and ask you for your number…

but sadly he didn‘t.

you lost him in the crowds of people and didn‘t get the chance to see him again..

(4 years later)

same place, almost all friends from four years ago, just a few new ones you met once you started university.

some things have changed of course. your hair looked a little different, your style has changed a lot, since you got older and started becoming more yourself.

and let‘s not forget that most of your friends were now standing here with alcohol in their hands, however you stayed true to your hot cocoa.

your eyes were roaming around the market, trying to find a food place to get a snack, as you were extremely hungry after a long day at uni and work, but your eyes came to a stop when they met with a familiar persons eyes.

he was already staring at you, probably trying to figure out whether it was you he has seen a few years back or not.

he flashed you a smile and you smiled back, your heart was skipping a beat once you realised it was the boy you have seen a couple years ago. the one who didn‘t leave your head.

„oh, who are you staring at?“ your friend asked, trying to follow where your gaze was landing. „the boy… the one i told you about…“ you muttered back. she pushed you forward, telling you to finally walk over and talk to him before you regret it once again but before you could even make a move, a male voice interrupted you.

„hi, uhm… i hope i‘m not bothering.“ you turned around to whom this angelic voice belonged to. he was so soft spoken, it made your heart melt.

„oh uhm.. no worries, how may i help you?“ you asked, suddenly speaking in your customer service voice.

„is it possible that we‘ve met a couple of years ago? your face seems familiar.“ he asked politely, making you nod. „yes, i remember you as well.“ you chuckled, feeling your cheeks heat up. suddenly it didn‘t feel cold outside anymore.

„i was wondering if i could maybe have your number. i hope it doesn‘t sound too bold, i just couldn‘t get you out of my hea- actually that sounds super creepy but what i‘m trying to say is, that i think you‘re really uhm… cute? sorry i have never done this before.“ he stuttered, causing you to flash a big smile at him. you‘ve never met someone as adorable.

„sure. and no worry, you don‘t sound weird or creepy, you didn‘t leave my mind either. i was hoping to meet you again.“ you replied as you handed him your phone so he could text himself.

you could see him blush slightly as he typed a message before handing it back to you.

„are you from around here? maybe we could meet up tomorrow for lunch? or coffee?“ he asked, now a little more confident.

„i live a couple blocks away, 10 minute walk from here. and i would love to!“ you replied, making him smile. „wonderful. i moved here the other week, a few minutes from here as well. i‘ll text you later okay? i have to get back to babysit my friends and make sure they don‘t do anything embarrassing.“ he smiled, pointing over to his group of friends who were screaming at a random object they found at one of the little shops. „maybe a little too late for that.“ he added before facepalming himself. „anyways, it was nice meeting you… oh my god i forgot to ask for your name…“ you chuckled as he looked at you in shock. „it‘s (y/n)! i suppose yours is jungwon, right?“ you asked and he nodded. „how do you know?“ he seemed a little confused. you showed him the name he put in your contacts as he gave you his number. „you know what… i‘ll leave now before i embarrass myself more.“ you giggled as you waved him goodbye and turned back to your friends.

„THAT WAS SO CUTE HE WAS SO NERVOUS OH MY GOD“ your friend squealed before jumping up and down while holding your hands. „stop he can still hear you oh my god…“

[melleonis]

list of worm characters and how good they would be at force fem

beware spoilers

UNDERSIDERS Taylor (Skitter): unless there's an estrogen spider somewhere in the world, no shot Taylor (Khepri): unfortunately, unlimited power comes at the cost of a rapidly-dwindling understanding of gender Grue: lacks both the ability and the inclination. his fragile masculinity makes him a fine target, however. Tattletale: you'd think she'd be good at it, or at the very least sufficiently-advanced egg detection, but she also believes everyone on the team is straight, so this is gonna be a blind spot for her. Bitch: shockingly good at it if the end goal is puppygirl, stone useless otherwise. Regent: i mean. he could, but what's in it for him? easily bored, no patience for process. at best he could manage getting someone into a tutu for a lark before losing interest. Imp: gaslight girlboss of course she's gonna be great at this. what's this? all the contents of your underwear drawer replaced? you didn't do that... did you? who else could have? so you must have wanted this...right? Parian: if you will not wear the dress, the dress will have to come to you. Foil: nah

EVERYONE ELSE Accord: ugh who wants a tidy feminization? Bakuda: hey maybe you'll get hit with the fem grenade! probably you'll just die, or worse. Bonesaw: oh now we're talkin. unparalleled biomech horror force fem game. the mechanical spider tapped into your spinal column decides when it's time to get you prettied up for a tea party. Canary: shania twain karaoke incident feminizes twelve, birdcage for sure. Cherish: trivially easy to set up an emotional conditioning system. wearing skirt? dopamine hit! wearing pants? kill yourself - whoops. well, she'll have a lot of time at the bottom of the ocean to figure out correct feedback intensities. Clockblocker: in theory one should be able to get up to some mischief while someone is frozen in time, but i'm not sure dennis has the ability to freeze someone without also freezing their clothes, which means this has limited utility. could play a support role for someone else. Contessa: effortlessly trips you into a chain reaction that completely reshapes your life as part of a twelve-thousand step plan to improve humanity's long-term odds of survival by a fraction of a percent. thank you for your service. Echidna: all your evil monster clones are girls for some reason. whether this works depends entirely on how you respond to awkward post-incident questions your friends have about it. Eidolon: yeah i mean he could. but it doesn't make him feel globally, historically important so he's not gonna. Gallant: is "feminine" an emotion he can inflict? girl feelings beam attack? shame we'll never know, RIP. Gregor the Snail: nothing in canon says he can't secrete a mildly acidic ooze that turns you into a slime girl. Jack Slash: broadcast shard should in theory mean he can easily manipulate other capes into getting feminized, but that's less time spent on self-aggrandizing mass murder, so. Marquis: bone structure matters less than you'd think in the grand scheme of things, but yes he can reshape your jawline and cheek bones, give you those child-bearing hips. pros: he doesn't kill women, so you're that much safer. cons: it is going to hurt like a motherfucker. Number Man: oh no your company has fallen on hard times and you've been laid off! and how peculiar that the only business hiring anywhere near you is the maid cafe. it says they're very strict about their dress code but that's probably fine. and food's gotten so expensive but wait these odd imported protein shakes are absurdly cheap... Panacea: you know what the joke is already, come on. Scion: has Path to Victory and would never in a billion years think of using it for anything fun.

and finally,

the Simurgh: best in show. sure, it'll take four years for the triggers and conditioning to work their way through your subconscious but when they do...

BONUS Simurgh/Dragon double-team: Defiant probably never spent enough time close to the Simurgh to get affected, plus he had those high-tech earplugs he designed himself, so surely he's fine. nevertheless, his focus wanders during a critical moment while editing Dragon's source code, and now she's bossier, maybe even a little meaner, and the prosthetic parts she's making for colin's cyborg body are... different. curvier, softer. and every time he tries to find the problem in her code he gets distracted, and she gets more and more imperious. can he find a way out of the Simurgh's conditioning and his AI lover's domination? will he have to seek help from Saint - or worse, Teacher? surely they wouldn't take advantage of him in his vulnerable cyberdoll state?

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 8!!

I see your votes everyone, and I hear your voices. But before I can, in good conscience, place us in Heathrow, I need to share this with you.

Beginning|| Previous || Next

******************

In the end, convincing Aziraphale (who, surprise surprise, had never flown on a plane) that First Class was the way to go wasn’t all that hard.

“Otherwise you fly all cramped with hundreds of other people!” You say. Crowley nods.

“Mmmmm yes,” the demon agrees, “Imagine being elbow-to-elbow with all those humans. Feet in your face, children kicking the back of your seat, sharing an armrest!”

“I rather like humans though,” says Azirphale, even though he looks a little pale at the mention of armrests, “And I would be next to you anyway.”

“What about the humans who haven’t showered for days?” You ask, “How long has it been since the last time you were near one person, nevermind a hundred-ish, who didn’t follow basic hygiene practices? A few hundred years?”

Aziraphale’s face falls. Crowley chimes in.

“Oh yes, just imagine all the sweat and grease from the airport food.”

“And then there are the babies that travel. I mean, their ears pop when the plane takes off and when it lands, and they only really have one coping strategy.”

“Aaah,” Crowley says, “The crying babes! Think of all the crying babies and no escape! Not for hours and hours and hours.”

“And then,” You say, “There’s the in-flight meal.” Here, you seem to have struck a cord. Duh, you should have led with this. Aziraphale raises an eyebrow.

“Oh? They serve food?”

“Psh,” You say, “If you can call it that. They ask you if you want chicken or vegetarian, and then they plop a cardboard box with a film top in front of you.”

“It’s dreadful,” agrees Crowley, “All bland and clearly frozen and warmed up in a microwave.”

“And if you’re lucky, you can tell that it’s meant to be a sandwich,” You add.

“Supposing you can tell that it’s food at all!” Crowley says with a nod, “And their wine list is small potatoes.”

“Small bland potatoes,” You say, “If you can call them potatoes at all – served in the tiniest bottles and the tiniest glasses you ever did see.”

You noticed Aziraphale’s eye twitch ever so slightly.

“And in First Class they...they serve actual food and wine, do they?”

“Oh yeah,” You say, “with proper service and cloth napkins and everything. Most of the airline websites say that the food’s prepared by an actual chef.”

“And the glasses are normal sizes, and made of actual glass,” adds Crowley for good measure. Aziraphale hums.

“Yes, fine. Clearly First Class is the only acceptable way to travel.” He leaves the room. You hear the kettle turn on. He probably needs some tea to calm his nerves after hearing all that. You turn to Crowley.

“So you’ve gone on a plane before, huh? Did you invent the food? I would not be surprised if you did.”

“Me?” Crowley says, “Naaaah. Never flown on a plane. Never needed to. But I know a bit of fun when I see it.”

You look up at him and sigh, cradling your chin in your hands for effect.

“It really is no wonder why Aziraphale loves you so much.”

“Ngk,” Crowley says, his ears turning pink.

-----

And now, dear Reader, we arrive at Heathrow. Anathema and Newt had met you at the bookshop, and the four of you drove over together in the Bentley after bidding Newt and Muriel goodbye. You spend the entire wait in line at airport security feeling nervous. Airport security is always a test for your nerves to begin with, but this time you have no passport or paperwork of any kind to twiddle in your hands to take the edge off. Instead, you fidget relentlessly with the button in your pocket (Muriel, being an observant and kind soul, had given you a large-ish green button to put in your pocket “Because you seem nervous, and it looked like it helped you last time.” You swear if anyone harms your new best friend while you’re gone you will end them). The line goes quicker than you would like, and when it gets to be your turn, honestly you’re not sure what happens. It all goes smoothly. Did Aziraphale and Crowley miracle you a passport? Did they click a finger or wave a hand to convince the guard that everything was in order? You have no idea, because you’re too focused on your nerves and Trying Not To Look Suspicious While Worrying That This Makes You Look More Suspicious Than You Would If You Could Just Be Normal About This (if you know the feeling, you know why it gets to be capitalized like that).

Once the stress of airport security is done, you head to the bathroom for a break from the chaos so that you can figure out how to breathe again. Normally, you wouldn’t be That Person to occupy the Accessible Washroom, but since you are desperately trying not to have a panic attack because of all the pent-up anxiety from the whole airport security thing, you decide that you Really Cannot Do People Right Now, and that the single-occupant washroom may be your saving grace. You lock the door and sigh, leaning against the cold metal. It’s comparatively quiet here, and you’re grateful for it. Thank Someone. You resolve to try not to be too long in case someone who actually needs this washroom comes by (although I’m gonna be honest here, reader, right now you need this room for invisible accessibility/health reasons). After a minute or two, you are finally starting to feel your anxiety return to a manageable level. Everything is okay. You are traveling with the most ideal companions you could ever dream of, and the worst part is over. Everything from here on out is smooth sailing.

Except, dear reader, you all voted. And So It Shall Be.

You’ve just finished drying your hands.

“Aah,” says a voice behind you. You jump a solid 3 feet in the air. “I thought I might find you here.”

“HOLY! FUCKING! ZOMBIE! JESUS!!!” You sputter.

“Mind your manners, human.”

“Manners?? ME?? This is a WASHROOM.”

The Metatron looks at you blankly and shrugs. Ah yes, the biggest jerk in Heaven doesn’t know or care about washrooms or privacy. Or actually being polite.

“I merely wanted to have a word with you. Away from the others, of course.”

“Yeeeaaaaah,” You say. You’ve seen a million movies (approximate), and read a million books (also approximate), you know what this is. This is the maybe we can still solve this problem quietly plot. And you know that actually having the conversation is a bad idea. “I don’t think so.”

You reach for thee door. It’s locked, and it won’t unlock. Of course. You (gently) pound your head against the door, before turning to face Metatron. You take a breath, and answer as calmly as you can given how angry you are.

“What. Do you want?”

“I merely hoped that we could agree upon...an arrangement.”

“Pretty sure I made it clear back at the bookshop that I’m not letting you anywhere near them.”

“Oh dear, no. This has nothing to do with the demon or with Aziraphale. This is about you.”

You mentally brace yourself. Here comes the manipulation. You inwardly remind yourself of the tropes of villain manipulation and all the things you’ve ever shouted at the tv screen after one of these interactions. You need to be prepared, because apparently you need to play this out. And so, you give him the response he clearly wants.

“What about me?”

“Well, my dear, I only thought that perhaps you might like to go home.”

“Ha! Nice try.”

“You have no desire to return to your family? Your friends? Your life?”

“Not right now, thanks.”

“And you think you’ll get a similar offer later?”

“I mean...well yeah. I don’t know whether I would actually want to go back yet but --”

“You think Aziraphale and his associates will want to keep you as their pet forever? My dear, they only entertain you right now because you’re useful to them.”

Okay, I mean you knew that already but still. Ouch. Hearing it out loud is just...Ouch. Unfortunately, you do not have the Acting Prowess of either Michael Sheen or David Tennant, and so the Metatron sees the Ouch. He smiles kindly.

“Here, you are merely a tool,” he continues, voice smooth as honey, “And back home there are people who love you and value your presence in their lives. Back home there are people who miss you purely because you are you. Here, you are well, a convenience. A help. But that’s all. And once this is all over, there is no promise, no guarantee that you would be able to return. And no reason for Aziraphale to keep you. You would need to start again, and since you needed the help of an angel to get through airport security, I’m guessing that would be very difficult for you. And then, of course, there’s your immortal soul to be concerned about once the Final Judgment comes to pass.”

You ignore the bait, even though it stings. Take a breath. You’ve got this.

“That’s all irrelevant right now,” You say.

“Is it? It seems that you’re….what’s that charming human expression? Flying by the seat of your pants?” He chuckles at his own joke. You smile awkwardly. Well, yes you are, but the heroes in stories do all the time. They figure it out as they go. You are doing no worse than any of them. You don’t find the joke so funny. And frankly his laughter is unsettling.

“Um...” You start uncertainly, “Well if that’s all, then can I go now?”

“In a moment,” the Metatron says smugly. Oh you hate that he has so much control right now. “First I would like to extend to you the offer of some help. I would like to see you home safely, at a time of your choosing. Whenever you feel that you are ready.”

“And you have the power to do that, do you?” You’re skeptical.

“I have the power of all Creation at my disposal.”

“Riiiiight. Just out of the goodness of your own angelic heart. That’s very kind of you Metatron.” You’re not sure if he hears the edge of sarcasm. He shrugs regardless.

“There is of course, one and only one thing I would like from you if you decide to take my help.”

“Oooooof course there is. I’m not letting you near Aziraphale and Crowley.”

“Once again, my dear, this has nothing to do with them. All I would like is to know why your first instinct was to take that coffee. The full truth, mind you. None of that sarcasm or loophole nonsense that you humans are so fond of. And do not be foolish enough to think I can’t tell the difference.” He looks at you pointedly.

That’s...a suspiciously innocuous request. But then again, it usually is with these sort of things, isn’t it? You feign non-chalance and tap your foot for emphasis.

“Are you done yet?” You ask obstinately. The door unlocks audibly behind you.

“Just think about it,” says the Metatron, “No rush.”

Oh yes there is one. You rush to open the door. Never before have you felt so relieved to be in a crowded place.

Don't worry about airplane route logistics or whether or not you can actually get a direct flight from Heathrow to Orlando. Just vote for whatever you would like :)

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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[cleolinda]

I am so fucking pissed. We’re hearing forecasts that we might get FIVE FUCKING INCHES OF SNOW overnight from Monday to Tuesday. In ALABAMA, where we have no snow removal equipment. Like I think we got one bag of sand for the whole town. No snow tires, I don’t even know what those are. This isn’t cute “Haha it’s just barely below freezing! Snowball fight!!!” snow. This is 14° Fuck (-11° Come the Fuck On) snow. FIVE INCHES? We get flurries and the city descends into madness.

What if we lose POWER. Everything runs off USB cord stuck in the outlet charging nowadays. This is why everyone used to run out and buy Milk Bread Batteries. Listen. I have this memory of the power going out during this wild snowstorm when I was a kid--I want to say it was Winter Storm '93. Ask anyone who lived in Alabama at the time. Like we had Desert Storm '92 the military operation one year and Winter Storm '93 the next. It was that serious in our minds, and I'm not sure you can blame us:

The storm dumped several inches of snow each hour on Birmingham, which ended up with officially 13 inches of snow.

Due to the high winds some parts of Birmingham reported drifts 5 to 6 feet deep. One state trooper reported that the roads were in the worst shape he had ever seen. "People can't tell what's road and what's not."

Low temperatures during the storm were in the 5-to-10 degree range on that Sunday.

IN A TOWN WHERE WE DON'T KNOW WHAT A SNOW PLOW IS. I think we had one for the entire county. Like I'm only kind of joking here.

And our power went out.

The snow was so heavy that it pulled down power lines either by its own weight, or by the tree branches its weight broke off. Meanwhile, the power at my house already went off every time a squirrel sneezed. I don't how many days this lasted; it was probably like, 2-3 days, but in my head, I was 14 years old boxed up with my family with no heat and it lasted two weeks. Maybe three years. The four of us slept in sleeping bags layered with quilts, huddled on the floor around a wood burning fire. (In the haunted house, no less.) The carpet was really nice, at least. We had a--do people still call them boomboxes? A big portable cassette player--battery-powered--with AM/FM radio. We listened to whatever TV shows were broadcast from the ABC station at night. We did have hot water; I took a lot of hot baths. We cooked food over the outdoor grill (which we moved to the comfortably large area under the deck, to hold off the falling snow), sometimes using aluminum foil as a kind of thin impromptu frying pan, and kept perishables like milk and meat in a cooler. Oh, did we have a bag of ice for the cooler? No, we used snow. God knows there was enough of it. Of course, I'm sure the refrigerator was perfectly serviceable even without power, because it was TEN DEGREES FUCK ALL.

I remember going outside a good bit and playing, as much as a teenager plays, in the snow with my seven-year-old sister. I remember that all the neighborhood kids got big rubber trashcan lids and used them as toboggans, going up to the top of the hill on our street and pretty successfully sledding down. Maybe it was "lmao snowball fight!!" snow when I was 14. I'm 45 now, and the cold makes me hurt. It makes me hurt all over. Maybe Winter Storm '24 will be a fun core memory for my nephew. I am pissed. And also charging all my electronics.

(ETA: It’s ‘24 now, isn’t it. My brain hasn’t clicked the date over yet. What is time.)

[thewhitewitch-bitch]

In Astris Supra (Chapter 7: Non Discedo a Calle, Mortis in Manu Teneo)

Agatha Harkness x F!OC

Read it on AO3

Boston, Massachusetts

July 1716

My letters went unanswered. I retreated into my work. After peace was negotiated some two years after the siege of Port Royal, Rupert Kingsley and I amicably parted ways. He offered to refer me to an associate of his in North Carolina, but I politely declined. There was a part of me that knew I couldn't drift so far from the place that I so begrudgingly held close to my heart. Instead, I used the abhorrently small amount of money that I earned for my services to acquire a new horse, a big-bodied Clydesdale that would be sturdy in the winter and rode south. Upon my arrival to Boston, it felt as if I had been suddenly swallowed by darkness, it was as if a shadow had encased me the closer I got to Salem, and because I couldn't bring myself to go any further, I remained there.

I took lodgings in a boarding house beside the Boston Common, exchanging board for a bit of cleaning every now and then, and continued to study in solitude. The room was small and composed of cold, brick walls with barely enough room for a bed and no fireplace, but the mahogany desk was large enough for me to spread out and work without impediment. Hatch continued to work as a diligent familiar, flying in and out of the crown glass window in front of my workspace, bringing me ingredients and materials as I needed them. My work carried on well into the night, when the stars would dance across the sky beneath the watchful eyes of the moon. More often than not I woke up the following morning with my face plastered against my spell books or my notes with ink smeared across my cheeks. And like the day before, I would remain seated there, pouring over alchemical concoctions and improving upon them, all the while studying the well-detailed anatomical structures of the human body and noting how different potions impacted each of them. 

For four years, I did not engage with the outside world. I closed myself off from the world and the people within it and hated every second of it. It was in that time that I realized I would have never been able to truly isolate myself in Salem; my head and heart would not allow it. What can I say? Lunar witches... we are most certainly empathetic to a fault. And now I was torturing myself, confining myself within the four drafty walls of a lonely boarding house bedroom, as though I were a prisoner in a jail cell. I had allowed myself to feel too much, and as a result, I was alone. Not even the company of my familiar was enough to fill the gap in my chest. 

But on a warm, humid morning in early July of 1716, for the first time, a knock echoed across my door. I was in the middle of scribbling some observations down regarding the properties of an improved fever reducing salve and the hard-hitting sound was so sudden that I lost grip of my quill. Blotches of black ink soaked into the page, all but ruining my notes. I growled under my breath and tore myself away from the desk.

"Go away." I snapped, "I'm not taking callers today. Or any day for that matter."

The knocking came again, this time more forceful, as though whomever it was on the other side was preparing to break the door down. I rolled my eyes and went to the door, throwing it open with as much force as I could muster. 

"I said go-" 

The words in my throat suddenly became clogged, stuck like a bit of food caught on the way down. Bright blue eyes were boring into mine, alight with shock and something else... something raw that I couldn't quite categorize as an emotion. Her lips were slightly parted as if she were about to speak but couldn't find the words. Her dark hair cascading past her shoulders in the same luxurious waves that I remembered. Agatha Harkness looked exactly the same, and yet I knew she had changed. I moved to shut the door, but she caught it quickly, her strength masked by her feminine frame. 

"Aislin, please." she begged, something I had not expected from her, "I’ve been trying to find you."

She held up the pearl ring that I had given her. It felt like a lifetime since that first night in Salem when I had gifted it to her. So much had changed, not only for her but for me as well. My heart had started to become cold and detached, a trait that had been instilled in me by Kingsley while we journeyed from battlefield to battlefield. Keeping your distance served you best when most of the people you encountered were going to die within the day. 

"What for? To take my power just as you did your coven?" I spat, "Or is that beneath you now?" 

I turned away, letting the door swing wide open. Agatha paused, looking down at the floorboards between the door frames. 

"There's no spell here," I told her, my tone softened, "because I assumed that I no longer need protection from witches hellbent on destroying me. Am I right to continue to assume that?"

Agatha's gaze moved back to me as she slowly took a step inside. Then another, and another. Once she was fully inside, she shut the door behind her and let out a long sigh of relief. She pressed her back into the creaky old door, sliding slowly down to the floor before burying her head in her hands. 

I scoffed, "Finally met your match, have you?" 

"It's... complicated." her voice came out muffled and strained, but I could hear her well enough. 

"Complicated how?" 

"I didn't finish the job." 

"What job?" 

She let out a heavy sigh, slowly lifting her head up to look at me. The faint trace of fear in her eyes was barely noticeable, but I was able to pick up on it as I studied her. 

"When I... when I killed them, I didn't kill their daughters." she explained softly, her voice surprisingly small, "I let their daughters live and now... they've become something else. Something monstrous."

"The daughters of your coven are hunting you, aren't they?" I concluded. Agatha blinked back the tears in her eyes and nodded. 

"They're killing everyone and everything in their way. Mortals, witches, animals, monsters, it doesn't matter to them. They've become... they're like hellspawn."

A chill raked down my back at that word. Demons were a touchy subject; inherently dark as opposed to my own inherent light. They were drawn to Lunar witches like moths to flames, particularly when said witches exposed themselves physically and emotionally. As sad as it was, many accounts regarding the deaths of Lunar witches detailed the gruesome consumption of their spiritual and physical forms by demonic possession. To hear that these witches might have made some sort of pact with the High Lords of Hell was disturbing to say the least. Adding in the fact that they were pursuing Agatha in an effort to exact revenge only increased my concerns, though I managed to mask it well. 

"Sounds like you need a banishment ritual." 

"I need you."

My heart stopped beating, my breath caught in my throat. Watching her as she slowly rose to her feet, I wasn't sure if the way she was looking at me was out of genuine care, or if it was all a ploy to trick me into helping her. To hear her say those words was the very beginning of what I wanted, but I had to play my cards close to my chest. 

"No," I whispered, keeping a straight face as I turned away from her to address the ink-stained pages of my notebook, "I don't think you do." 

With a wave of my hand, the ink lifted from the page, returning to the inkwell where it belonged. My notes were still intact, the delicate curve of my handwriting still clearly legible on the page as I gently shut the small book and set the quill back in its proper place. Through the open window, the sound of beating wings became louder and louder until Hatch landed on the sill. 

"My lady, I hate to interrupt, but it appears Agatha Harkness is- oh," the raven cocked its head curiously as he noticed the witch standing behind me, "already here." 

"Ever the observer, aren't you, Hatch?" I replied dully as I slammed a few tomes shut.

"I know that raven." Agatha said. I turned to look at her as she stared down at my familiar. "He brought me this." 

She pulled out a piece of folded parchment and held it up. Hatch bobbed his head. I scowled, my grip on my books tightened.

"And he brought nothing back to me." 

"Because I went looking for you!" she snapped, a torrent of emotions finally being let loose, "I put the ring on and followed the path that it showed me, but it took me up and down the coast for three years! I eventually came to the conclusion that you didn't want to be found so I gave up. I went back to Salem only to find that I was being hunted by a coven of demonic witches and the only way to stop them was by finding the one witch left in the Colonies that could possibly be willing to help me!"

My scowl faded away, my grip loosened. I realized what that raw emotion was hidden in her face: vulnerability. I looked away, back to the raven on the windowsill. 

"Leave us, Hatch." I muttered halfheartedly, "Take the rest of the day for yourself." 

He cocked his head to the side for a moment, looking between Agatha and myself before giving a small bow and flying back out over Boston. I unlatched the windowpane and closed it before moving my hands to grip the sides of my desk. I lowered my head, squeezing my eyes shut. A hand found purchase on my waist before wrapping itself around me from behind. 

"I need you, Ash." Agatha's voice whispered in my ear, "I've always needed you."

The grip around my waist remained as her other arm wrapped around my shoulder. Her forehead pressed into my shoulder blade as we stayed there in silence for a while. Everything became quiet as I remained frozen in place. The sound of people laughing outside in the Common all but vanished when I closed the window, but the noise in my head, the constant repetition of alchemical formulas and incantations and anatomical structures came to a halt. My right hand released its hold on the desk and drifted to where hers rested around me. Our fingers intertwined as I turned back around. My eyes met hers and the gap in my chest just barely started to close. 

"Prove it." I whispered back. 

Her hand reached up to cup my jaw, her lips pressed into mine, and the rest of the world melted away until only the two of us remained.

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

Laying upon the small bed in the corner of my room, naked limbs entangled with hers, I felt at peace. Her head rested upon my chest, her hand tracing small designs across my bare chest, over my breasts, along my collarbone. Her featherlight touch was ethereal, lighting my skin on fire with every pass. It almost didn't seem real, to have her there beside me. But the gentle pass of her breath on my neck, the soft touch of her hair on my shoulder, the ache between our legs... it was all real. 

"I hope that was enough proof for you." she muttered as she pressed herself further against me. I chuckled, running my hand through her splayed-out hair and pressing a kiss to her hairline. 

"I'd certainly say so." I replied. The day had ticked away, the bright, sunny morning giving way to afternoon rainclouds and distant thunder. Raindrops pattered on the crown glass, the temperature in the room dropped, but neither of us felt the chill as we lay there. A crow cawed somewhere just beyond the confines of the boarding house. Agatha's hand stopped tracing. Her breath hitched. 

"What is it, darling?" I asked her softly, letting my hand slide down her back wrap around her shoulders. 

She lifted her head off my chest, the fear returned to her eyes, "They're coming. We don't have a lot of time." 

"Shhh, love. Get dressed and let me look through my books." 

We reluctantly parted, retrieving her simple grey frock and my breeches and shirt to redress ourselves before I returned to my desk and began searching through my books for a proper banishment spell. All the while, Agatha paced back and forth, her hands wringing in front of her as she moved across the room. 

"Are you going to read every single page or are we going to be able to survive the night?"

"Got it!" I declared, ignoring her remark as I finished flipping through the pages of Dux Daemoniorum, "I need... chalk." 

I began searching the drawers for any leftover chalk that I had stashed, finally finding a few stubs tucked away in the back of the bottom one. Holding it up like a spoil of war, I spun on my heel and intercepted Agatha mid-walk. 

"We need to get out of town. Somewhere with enough space to draw a spell circle." I told her, pocketing the chalk in a small leather pouch that hung from the belt on my hips. The book was coming too, tucked into the same belt. Stretching out my hand to Agatha, I smiled when her fingertips brushed mine. "Let's go for a ride, darling."

I led her out to the stables behind the boarding house, trying to dodge raindrops as I grabbed my saddle and bridle to tack up my horse. Agatha watched quietly as I saddled up and threw the bit in his mouth before leading him out of his stall and hoisting myself on to his back. Reaching down, I offered her a hand and lifted her up with a grunt, setting her behind me to wrap her arms around my waist. 

With a tap from my heels the horse trotted forward onto the cobblestone street, and I began to steer him south, out of Boston and into the frontier beyond its outer limits. Once we were out of the bustling streets, I squeezed my heels into the Clydesdale's sides and lifted him into a lively canter. Agatha's grip on my waist tightened. I smirked, leaning back a bit to ask her, "Never ridden a horse before?" 

"It's been a while." she retorted, though the waver in her voice told me she was lying. 

"I'll teach you properly one of these days. I promise." 

"I'd rather not, thank you!" 

I laughed, straightening up again as we carried on. For another ten or so miles, we remained on the dirt path that cut through majestic oaks, gleaming white birches, and tall maples. Once Boston was far enough behind us, I navigated us off the beaten path and into the woods, dodging trees and fallen logs as we maintained our pace, kicking up last autumn's fallen leaves and rain-soaked earth. The rain eventually wore itself out, coming to a stop as we approached a rushing creek. I decided to follow its path to where it was sourced, hoping that there would be a large enough space there to draw the necessary runes. The sky became darker overhead as afternoon shifted into evening. The horse huffed, drenched in frothing sweat as we kept going. We were running out of time.

"Stop!" Agatha shouted suddenly. My immediate reaction was to tug sharply on the reins, making my horse skid to a sudden halt with a squeal. It was a good thing too; we had reached the source of the stream.

A series of waterfalls, standing some thirty or forty feet high, came crashing down into a kettledrum pool. Surrounded on all sides by large, smooth slate stones, there was more than enough space for me to work, but I was running out of time. I handed the book to Agatha and leapt down from the horse, grabbing the chalk and running over to the widest patch of stone. 

"Page sixty-six, Agatha!" I called as I bent down and started drawing the outline of the circle. She was hot on my heels, flipping through the pages quickly and stopping when she found it, turning it around for me to see as I continued to draw the intricate lines and runes. A crow cawed from somewhere within the trees, a fox cried, a coyote howled. 

"Let's hurry this up, Ash." Agatha said through gritted teeth. Her eyes studied our surroundings, her head was on a constant swivel as I continued. 

"Almost done." 

A few more runes and I was finished, tossing the chalk away and stepping out of the circle, but remaining on its outermost edge. I waved her over, pointing to the center of the circle where a pentacle sat. 

"Stand there, darling." I ordered. She obeyed, keeping her eyes on the woods around us, while I continued to instruct her, "Once they cross the threshold of the circle, start the incantation and don't stop until they're gone." 

"You should get out of here, Ash." she said, taking her place, "Put some distance between us until this is over." 

I smirked at her and shook my head, "Not a chance, sweet. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here, bolstering the magic at your feet." 

Pointing up at the sky overhead, I guided her gaze upward to a break in the late evening clouds. A full moon was shining down over us. I was at my peak, in perfect condition for banishing rituals. Hope crossed her face, as she met my gaze through the moonlight. My heart swelled. 

"I'm with you, love." I told her as shadows within the woods began to approach us, "Now get ready." 

The shadows crept closer and closer until I was finally able to realize that they had taken solidified form. Seven women in black robes and masks stood before us, all of their attention fixed solely on Agatha. I lowered myself to the ground and set my hands as close to the circle as I could without touching it. Any break in the line would render it useless, and that couldn't happen. 

"Goad them." I instructed softly, hoping Agatha could hear me. 

Agatha sniffed, not out of sorrow but out of pride and tucked the book under her arm, "Took you long enough. So, who wants the first crack at me?" 

As a single unit, they all hissed, "Agatha... Harkness..." 

They began to approach, moving as one, taking even steps as black smoke drifted from their shoulders. There was certainly something dark and unsettling about them... something hellish was going on. Just a few more steps and they would be close enough, just a few... more... steps...

They crossed the line with animalistic growls and hisses. I spoke my spell as Agatha started her incantation. 

"Confirma hunc circulum cinge inimicos nostros."

"Exi de hoc regno et non reverteris. Exi de hoc regno et non reverteris."

The circle began to glow, its near blinding, pure, white light creating a barrier from which the witches could not escape. They howled in pain and frustration as Agatha's spell continued. One by one, their flesh began to burn, turning into ash and sparks as they began to vanish like smoke on the wind. 

"Keep going!" I called out over the cries and screeches. The witches crumpled to the ground, their bodies writhing in pain as Agatha remained focused on her spell, her voice clear and crisp. A few more minutes of chanting and the crazed coven was nothing more than piles of dust, banished to an infernal plane until forces beyond our power brought them back to the physical plane. The light of the circle faded away, leaving us in nothing but moonlight. The only sound was the crashing of water and the rustling of leaves in the breeze. 

I rose to my feet, my heart racing from the adrenaline. Agatha slowly turned around, shock clear on her face even in the reduced light. I wasted no time going to meet her in the middle, knowing that she would crash into me as soon as I was close enough. Her arms wrapped around me, her head buried into my chest. I pulled her close, letting my eyes flutter shut as I breathed her in. 

Wood smoke, rosemary, tilled earth.

[morganbritton132]

I would love to know how Ozzy and Joan acted around each other when Joan first joined the family

Ozzy wasn’t all that interested in Joan at first.

He went away with Steve to a teaching conference one weekend and when they came home, the loud shouty thing was in the living room. And there was also a kitten.

Ozzy had only been with Steve for a little over a year at that point and they were not in a position where he felt comfortable enough not to be in service dog mode twenty-four/seven. So, Ozzy didn’t really care what Eddie brought into the house as long as it did not cause any harm or distress to Steve.

And it didn’t. Steve was mainly annoyed about it.

Joan was young enough that she still had to be bottle-fed and Eddie didn’t put her down much at all in those first couple of weeks. Outside of their very brief introduction, Ozzy didn’t have to think much about her. That is until she started crawling off the bed.

Joan had slept in the space between Steve and Eddie’s pillows since she showed up, but eventually started wandering around the bed and then off of it. It became Ozzy’s problem when she couldn’t get back on it and would whine.

Ozzy eventually started to pick her up and put her up there, but she wouldn’t stay and the cycle would repeat. And THEN, she started sleeping in Ozzy’s bed. She started playing with Ozzy’s chew toys and knocking the food out of his bowl.

Joan regarded Ozzy as just a big cat. She’d climb on him and follow him around, and meow until he gave her attention (even if sometimes the attention was just to lay on top of her). That’s kinda how it’s always been, Joan will follow Ozzy around and observe him and then she’ll steal his bed.

Sometimes she’ll steal his owner too, but Steve typically makes room for Ozzy too so Joan will go and sit with Eddie.