#can i not just stay in the purgatory of being a teen old enough to be done with school but young enough to not have a job forever ? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mlobsters · 6 months

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supernatural s11e11 into the mystic (w. robbie thompson)

giving credit where it's due, i think the show has been doing a good job picking licensed work, especially when not stuck to a particular genre. enjoyed here will you love me tomorrow by the shirelles

okay that monster is uh. something. don't eat the baby!! poor sweet thing.

LUCIFER When your brother was trapped in Purgatory you were here with a girl and a dog. You can't win this, Sam. You're just not strong enough. You didn't even bother trying to find him. And I know that if you're gonna beat the Darkness, you have to be ready to watch the people you love die.

i'd say don't let lucifer get to you, sam - but hell. i spiral over the smallest of social interactions, let alone the big evil angel who knows all my weak spots and is pushing the sorest ones for maximum manipulation. also where is the light coming from in his room with the pattern, he doesn't have a window? is it a weird lampshade? nightlight? scented plugin nightlight?? 🤪

everything's fine! been up who knows how long cleaning my gun, per yoozh

DEAN You okay? SAM Yeah, I'm fine. DEAN Are you sure? 'Cause you haven't left the bunker in days. SAM I'm fine.

I'M ACES, DEAN.

cas will be fine! which brings about the question, what's crowley doing in all this? i know he declared the team-up over, but no heads up about lucifer being out? is he incapacitated in some way?

(kinda wishing we had pellegrino to still be lucifer but i get it)

DEAN Maybe we ought to make a reservation. SAM Yeah, we should be so lucky to live long enough.

did know about this. don't be sad, don't be sad.

SAM Turns out Harold was stealing the other residents' Viagra. DEAN I know. A real dick move, huh?

cmon sammy, not even a chuckle? that was a good (bad) one :P

dean pocketing some viagra, all right.

(wiki) According to a tweet by writer Robbie Thompson, Dean stealing the Viagra was unscripted, and was ad-libbed by Jensen Ackles.

gosh that's pretty. what a lovely profile shot of sam

DEAN So no retirement, huh? SAM Hey, you're the one who's always wanted to go out blaze of glory style preferably while the Bon Jovi song is playing. DEAN I'm a candle in the wind. Yeah, but the way you said it, it was like that blaze of glory was gonna happen sooner rather than later.

lip service to the blaze of glory when it looks like all is lost but of course he wants to grow old together.

DEAN Are you okay? SAM No, I'm not, actually. Not at all. Being so close to Lucifer again, that... Brought stuff up. Stuff I thought I forgot about. DEAN You want to talk about it? SAM No. DEAN Well, look. Lucifer is never getting out of that cage, ever. And you are never going back, period. So... Case closed.

💔on all accounts

SAM Let's burn the bones so we can go home.

at least the bunker's home now

DEAN Gold blade. I don't have any in the trunk, so I got to head back to the bunker and grab a couple. You stay here and figure out who in this place is vulnerable.

someone vulnerable, like say, sam??

all this banshee talk makes me miss lydia from teen wolf. def the good kind of banshee though, no brain munching to be found

after hours of staring at 1968-1970 ford galaxies i see how similar they are to the impala lol

blarrgh dean is gonna unload his amara secrets to lucifer!cas, fucking great. always anyone but sam

DUDE. how had i never stumbled into this?? so i'm looking up mildred's actress dee wallace, and she was the mom in E.T.!! but!!! the little boy, elliott! is the dude in all the flanagan stuff - young hugh crain in hill house, henry in bly manor. mind blown LOL. that movie devastated me as a child and i haven't watched it since haha (which reminds me i was talking to my very sensitive 10 year old about charlotte's web and i was like, wasn't it sad? and he's like. eh. me: really? not sad?? him: ehh. LOL okay! i'm glad for you, little dude, didn't end up with that particular flavor of my sensitivity too)

anyway!

s11e11 mildred / e.t. (1982) dee wallace as mary

MILDRED I knew it. I knew it! I -- you two are too cute to be FBI agents.

i mean...

i was a little nervous what they were gonna do with marlene/eileen, having a deaf actress and character be a hunter is cool. assuming she doesn't die :S also she could teach them whatever fancy sigil situation she used to trap sam. ooh and a men of letters legacy, too. please don't kill her.

DEAN I tried to kill her. LUCIFER/CAS Well, the two of you are connected somehow by the Mark. DEAN Yeah, no, it's, uh... It's more than that. LUCIFER/CAS Attraction? Oh, Dean. DEAN I know. I know. Okay? Whatever it is... attraction, connection... I got to tell you, man, it scares me. I don't know that I can stop it. I don't know that I can resist it.

christ on a cracker. i hate everything about this. i got some time off from being enraged over him IMMEDIATELY lying to sam after all this we gotta be straight with each other yet again, but hey it's back. and now divulging to lucifer inadvertently, so much hate it.

[Mildred signs to Eileen ‘I got dibs on the other guy. You can have the tall one’] [Mildred giggles as she signs ‘I’m not much of a mountain climber anymore’ and laughs] [Eileen signs [‘Are you sure you don’t want both?’]

that was so cute and funny. thirsting over the boys in plain sight, and eileen like girl, shoot your shot, try for both of them! mildred is gorgeous, i think dean might be down

SAM Are you worried about her? So does this mean she has a shot? DEAN Well, I always did have a thing for Blanche on “Golden Girls” SAM Seriously? DEAN Hey, don't judge what you don't understand, Sammy. SAM No, I'm -- I'm not judging. I-I just always had a thing for Sophia. DEAN Yeah, I could see that.

sophia, huh. i mean, okay. can you imagine though, 6'4" sam and 4'10" estelle getty. talk about mountain climbing. and of course dean liked blanche, no brainer. and rue mclanahan was all of 51 when the show started

well, he went all-in on the crazy smile (sorry, pellegrino would never 😔)

EILEEN My mother was a lawyer. Be nice to follow in her footsteps. SAM I was studying law at Stanford when my brother came and got me so we could get our revenge. EILEEN You've been hunting together ever since? SAM Yeah. I-I wouldn't do this without my brother. He's had my back every step of the way. Even when I let him down.

oh, sammy 💔 show's convinced you that you fucked up more than i think you have (pushing the purgatory thing and i'm still not convinced :p) meanwhile we get to highlight how dean's fucking up right this moment.

well damn. they've done a great job establishing some little side characters i actually care about. thinkin if something happens to eileen or mildred 🔪🔪🔪

MILDRED You know, tell me something. When's the last time you watched a sunset without waiting for something to go bump in the night?

they (supposedly) would park and look at the stars sometimes, maybe they should add sunsets to the list

MILDRED You want to know the secret to living a long and happy life? DEAN Actually, yes, I do. MILDRED Follow your heart. You do that, all the rest just figures itself out.

and since i like her character and how she's playing her, this little sappy advice made me cry. also, i love how she's openly flirting with dean and he's flustered but not in the ew gross old lady is hitting on me way

great, and dean's the vulnerable one? i mean honestly, they're both emotionally vulnerable disasters all the time so.

MILDRED Darlin'... if there's one thing I've learned in all my years on the road, it's when somebody's pining for somebody else. Oh, don't try and hide it now. Follow your heart. Remember?

i mean. is he pining for amara? is that what we're going with? this obviously has the ambiguity that you could slap it on to whatever ship of choice as well. follow your heart to sam instead of your dick to amara? :p this nebulous connection to her is... nebulous. halfway tempted to just fucking look up how this plays out, but then i'm just waiting for things to happen (which is why i don't do well with big spoilers) so i probably won't. it has to be dire to do that (and i have with this show in the past, just to know how many episodes of whatever plotline were in my future)

DEAN He was looking for lore on the Darkness. Something a little off about him, too. SAM Something always seems a little bit off about Cas. Yeah, you know, being so close to Lucifer probably wasn't easy for him, either.

i'd say some of that's on the inconsistent writing/characterization of cas, but potayto potahto :p brushing off dean's concern to aid in finding out about lucifer at the worst time, i can imagine

SAM Dean... when I was with Lucifer, he, um... He showed me things. It was like a highlight reel of my biggest failures. DEAN Yeah, he was messing with you. That's what he does. SAM Give me a sec. I should've looked for you. When you were in Purgatory, I... I should've turned over every stone. But I didn't. I stopped. And I've never forgiven myself for it. DEAN Well... I have. Hey. That's in the past, man. What's done is done. All that matters now, all that's ever mattered, is that we're together.

oh 😭

oh god and sam's box with actual baby dean and sam in addition to the retirement home brochure?? now i'm really crying. good god. i knew about the brochure, but not the picture as actual kids

at least dean got into sleep clothes and under the covers this time.

go talk to sam, you stubborn ass.

#supernatural #spnwatch #spn 11x11 #hiky #spnhiky #dee wallace #e.t.#robbie thompson #spn bloody or sad #christopher lennertz #sam and dean mush #all that's ever mattered is that we're together

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bootleg-sara · 1 year

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I wanted to talk about the personalities of each of the Isaac here! The original post was more about the AUs, so I’m gonna take a shot at describing the characters themselves a small bit

Link to original post here

Going in order like last time:

Basement- The closest to canon Isaac personality wise. A small, scared child trying to survive a ruthless basement. He’s both the most scared and level-headed kid of the whole group. Feels an extreme amount of guilt for causing everyone to fall into the basement (indirectly, mind you). He’s around 10 years old and really just wants to go home. He’s a walking contradiction in a lot of ways. He wants to help you! But also will avoid interacting with you most times. He’s scared of everything, but also one of the most confident kids. He’s just a kid who means well and wants everyone to get out of this hell before he does.

Purgatory- I could talk about this one for ages, but I’ll keep it on the short end for everyone’s sake. Isaac Moriah is a 17 year old teen working through his last year high school while also dealing with his soul traveling to the afterlife every night. He’s an anxious mess who’d rather be left alone on most days. Which very clearly shows itself by his space in the basement being littered with random trinkets and other garbage. Dude’s a massive hoarder. Most of his comfort comes from his video games and art. Being able to express himself without getting others involved. His only close friend is Lazarus, the school’s local popular boy. When Isaac is comfortable around you, he is much more sassy and playfully tongue-in-cheek. He struggles deeply with his identity. Being unable to identify his body as his own on his worst days. A lingering dread that his own mind isn’t really his. Having your soul ripped out from your body every night can have some less than ideal effects.

Parasite- An old pastor of the Christian church before the world fell into ruin. Puts a lot of his well being into his faith, hoping that his beliefs will also bring comfort to many others during these trying times. Isaac means well, he genuinely wants to help people just for the sake of being a good man. But he also does put a little to much emphasis on Christianity sometimes. No Isaac, not everyone believes this event is the starting times of revelations. He’s not one to judge someone’s life because it doesn’t fall in line with his own. Everyone deserves to be saved and to have some comfort in his eyes. Isaac’s main stay in this au is starting a camp of non-parasite havers, protecting themselves from the violence outside. While the camp prides itself in its very anti-parasite ways, Isaac himself does have one. Though it’s relatively harmless (as far as he knows) and he doesn’t want people to lose hope again.

Sacrifice- Random ass office worker lmao. 9-5 hours, barely getting by kind of man. In a romantic relationship with Eve. Average in almost every way. Usually well spirited, sometimes a bit grumpy. Was definitely not expecting to be dragged into a death match where he’d be killing people over and over again (and dying a lot himself) for the sake of gaining arbitrary “points”. He’s not at all about this life style, but doesn’t have much of a choice. His Guardian Angel buddy let’s him use some magic-like abilities in the form of his D6 staff. A completely randomized weapon that doesn’t seem to have nearly as much use as everyone else’s magic. But you’d be surprised at how good Isaac is about thinking on his toes.

9 Lives- Little baby man. Baby. Baby man. A high spirits kid in a world that seemingly wants him dead for no real reason. Can’t catch a break and always finding himself in trouble. He’s gone through multiple lives at this point, but doesn’t remember any of them in detail. His only familiarity is his cat Guppy’s corpse he drags around with him and the D6 lodged into his left hand. A D6 which can give him useful abilities for any situation! If he can roll high enough, that is. Being a small kid, his life is aimless. Mainly just looking for someplace where he can stay and rest.

New God- The newly appointed God that is destined to make the new world in the wake of the current one’s failure. They have the mind of a child and is relatively young for a God. Being trained to make the new world together with Eden and Azazel. Almost never actually called Isaac, instead more formal names like “Young God” or “New God”. Prone to the usual kid problems like throwing temper tantrums when he can’t get what he wants. He has no true alignment, simply a baby God in training.

Cursed- Another baby man. Living his life as someone who is cursed to bring terrible fates to everyone he comes into contact with, he hid himself in the basement of his old home to avoid hurting more people. He’s shy, anti-social, terribly afraid of hurting everyone. But damn is he absolutely adorable too. His only consist buddy is Azazel, the demon that cursed him in the first place (needless to say he feels a little bad about it). Isaac finds it hard to connect to anyone, but slowly is trying to find his own faith in himself again.

Armageddon- Purgatory Isaac but with even more anxiety! Now with the massive responsibility of having to lead an army of angels into war with the anti christ during the end of days. Spends all his days holed up on Eden until he is called into action. He really doesn’t like his job.

Soul Bond- Tbh I don’t have nearly as much on this one. He breaks and makes bonds because he lost his own, it’s how he can stay around for so long. Surprisingly selfish and works mostly for himself.

Adult- Basement Isaac grew up and now he’s just miserable all the time. Having to raise and care for Eden (who is a full adult too) while also struggle with his career as an artist. Constantly stressed and really deserves a break. Doesn’t take shit from anyone. His confidence stayed with him after all these years. He’s a strong-willed man! Just in desperate need of a spa day.

Angel- What’s up? It’s Isaac, he’s 19, and never fucking learned how to read. He died at the age of 5, growing up in heaven under the watch of angels. Other than some nervous ticks he still has, and the knife he keeps on him at all times, dude’s chill. He’s buddies with Esau and is the resident crazy cat man. He has cat everything and nothing can stop him. He enjoys art in his free time and loves going on walks with his favorite cat Guppy. Guppy has three legs but we still love him.

Ultra Pride AU- It’s just in-game isaac. That’s it. Not even joking. The only main difference is he didn’t make the basement in his mind. He just found himself in it after being locked in the chest.

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writingmyselfout · 3 years

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Because I Could Not Stop for Death

Author: MBM

Summary: Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, has died. Voldemort has won, and all his sacrifices were for naught. Surprisingly, the one who is angriest about it is his own Grim Reaper because his third time wasn’t a charm after all. He’s got to convince his Reaper that he’s worth betting on one last time, knowing that if he fails again, they’re both screwed.

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue: The Show Must Go On (1/?)

HOW often had he seen that flash of green fill his vision? He had relived that fateful night so often throughout his seventeen years that he had long ago lost count. Now, he blinks his eyes open, trying to remember where he’d fallen asleep. Were they still in the tent? No, Bill and Fleur’s beach cottage? It would explain why everything is so bright. But as he blinks, squinting as he expected everything around him to appear blurry as they always did when he didn’t wear his glasses, he is surprised to find that he’s not in any cottage at all. He has no idea where he is currently.

“Mr. Potter? Harry Potter?” Harry moves his eyes away from the corner of the otherwise empty white room he’s been looking around, over to where a door has opened and a figure stands. A pair of dark eyes in a brown, androgynous face glares at him from the doorway. “This way, then.”

They don’t wait to see if he is going to follow, disappearing back through the doorway, and Harry stands up quickly. He wants answers and he figures he’s more likely to get them with that person than he will sitting around in a room by himself. He goes through the open door and into a long hallway with doors lined on either side. The figure who called him is continuing on, their gray robe barely brushing the ground and a hood lying flat against their back. They are halfway down the hall when they stop, look back to see he’s currently coming, and then open the sixth door on their left. When Harry catches up, he sees that they have sat down behind a desk.

He steps cautiously into the office, his brain trying to make sense of what is going on. Wasn’t he just fighting at Hogwarts? What happened? He’s still disoriented, trying to piece together the events that lead him to be in this unfamiliar place with this stranger.

“I can’t believe you’re here again ,” the person says, waving a hand towards one of the chairs in front of their desk, indicating Harry should sit as they continue, tone clearly exasperated, “ **already **.”

“Where is ‘here’, precisely?” Harry questions, slowly sitting down and moving his head only slightly to take in what little else is in the room without actually losing sight of this person.

“Limbo. Purgatory. The place between. So on and so forth.” They wave their hand in a circular motion to indicate they could go on, then turn to a stack of folders on the right side of their desk. “Basically you’re dead.” They start muttering, ranting really, almost as if they have forgotten Harry’s there as they go through the folders. “Again.” They slap a thing folder they’d picked up on the other side of the desk for emphasis. “Record breaking destined hero, and he can’t even manage to stay alive to confront said destiny.”

The flash of green , Harry recalls. That’s right, he was hit with the Killing Curse by Voldemort. Again. It wasn’t a memory, it was him dying. Then the implication of what was just said hits him. “Wait, ‘again’? I’ve died before ?”

A nod. “Yup. Three times before, to be precise.” They pause in their search to tap a finger on a nameplate sitting between them and Harry, drawing the wizard’s attention to it for the first time. Before his eyes, the strange markings morph into letters he recognizes: ‘Maquetauire Guayaba’. “Call me Yaba. You’ll butcher my name otherwise.” Meaning he’d done it before.

Fair, as Harry couldn’t begin to guess how to accurately say their full name. “Okay, Yaba. You said I’ve been here three times before? So I’ve died-”

“Four times.” Yaba confirms. “FOUR!” They slap another folder down. “‘Destined Heroes’ was supposed to be an upgrade, you know; less frustrating than Catalysts. Catalysts are unpredictable. Destined heroes have a moral compass . I was well on my way to breaking the record. FIFTEEN straight destined heroes with no failures, but no. You -” Yaba points an accusing finger at Harry, eyes narrowed “-were assigned to me, and instead of defeating your enemies, changing the world for the better, living to some ridiculously old age with your soulmate, and cementing my success as a Reaper, you keep dying . You can’t even keep your soulmate straight! Mixing up some Granger girl with that other one with the G name. Or is it the other way around? I don’t even know anymore!” Yaba throws their hands up in frustration before grabbing another folder. “It’s downright-” they slapped another folder down on their left “-fucking-” and then another “ infuriating !” ending with another loud slap. This time, though, the folder is a thicker one that they smack down in front of themselves.

Mind racing with questions, and unsure where to even begin, Harry blurts out one word before he’s actively decided to ask any of them. “How?” It seems as good a place as any to start figuring things out, his mind whirling between the astonishing idea that he’s died so often, and the possibly equally surprising revelation that Hermione is his soulmate. Or could be, if Yaba hasn’t mixed her up with Ginny, the only other “G name” Harry can think of at the moment. Unless he means that Slytherin girl, Greengrass? He shakes his head, not wanting to get distracted.

“How?” Yaba flips the folder in front of them open with a sigh. “Let’s see. This will probably start triggering memories, by the way, so try not to freak out. It’s normal, since this is where your lives converge.” They flip past the first two pages, Harry catching enough of a glimpse to see that even if he wasn’t looking at them upside down, all the information was written in unfamiliar markings he neither recognizes nor can he begin to guess what language or culture they originate from. They have no problem, however, as they stop on the third page. “The first time, you died approximately forty-four days short of your sixteenth birthday, after getting hit by simultaneous dark curses in an attempt to protect your soulmate.”

Yaba adds more details, giving the location, but Harry’s remembering even as they speak. The Department of Mysteries, with members of Dumbledore’s Army. They had been tricked. No, he had been tricked, into believing that Sirius was in danger and the others had run headlong into danger with him. They had been running through one strange room after another, trying to stay ahead of the Death Eaters, and Hermione had tried to silence one but missed and they’d responded with a dark curse Harry had never heard of but resulted in a whip of dark purple flames heading right for her. He hadn’t stopped to think when he put himself between it and Hermione, his body had just moved and he’d grabbed her, turning them so it struck him in the back. At that same moment, someone else had aimed the Killing Curse at him, and his last memory was of Hermione’s shocked eyes on his. Then he had woken up in the empty white waiting room Yaba had pulled him from.

“What happened after?” He interrupts, leaning forward in his chair. “Hermione, after I died, did she escape?”

Yaba looks up from the folder, staring at Harry, annoyed. “What do you think? Not that it matters. It was all undone when I sent you back for your second attempt. That time…” They trail off, flipping through to another page. “Here we go, yes, the second time you go through the Battle of the Department of Mysteries -- what a stupid name -- you managed to get through that whole debacle pretty much unscathed.” Harry frowns, starting to recall his second life and remembering that the second time, although she survives, Hermione was hit with the curse he’d protected her from the first time.

“Instead, you die at the Battle of the Astronomy Tower. You were knocked out of the tower when you were hit with the Killing Curse. Wait.” Yaba lifts the previous page, squinting at the edge. “No, that was the third time. I remember, that’s one of the times you inexplicably didn’t choose your soulmate. Ah ha, stuck together.” They pull the two pages apart and go back. “The second time you didn’t drink enough Felix Felicis and ended up accidentally drinking some of the Acromantula venom your professor collected.”

Harry winces, remembering suddenly the way the venom had seemed to burn him from the inside a few minutes after drinking it. When he had been bitten in his fourth year, the effects had been infinitely slower, and less noticeable. “Right. That almost destroyed my magical core. I had to be rushed to St. Mungo’s from the infirmary, and Mrs. Weasley offered to take me home for a few weeks over the summer while I recovered. I was trying to get away from Ginny, who kept trying to get me alone on my birthday, when-”

“You fell down the stairs and broke your neck.” Yaba is actually grinning . “I’ll admit, that one was kind of funny. It’s like the less interested you are, the more persistent and desperate that girl becomes.” They frown then. “Still, would have preferred you not dying. Then there’s this latest-”

“-which doesn’t make sense.” Harry interrupts. He’s on the edge of his seat, leaning forward onto the desk. “All those other times, something happened to kill the piece of Voldemort’s soul attached to me. I remember, we talked about it after the second time, ‘cause I was wondering why the venom didn’t kill me when it had basically drained me of almost all my magic and you said it was because it burning through magic attaching Voldemort’s soul to me first kept my last bit of magic from being destroyed.”

Yaba nods. “Correct. And all the other times, something killed that soul piece first too. Including this time.”

“How?”

“You interrupted,” they point out. “This last time, Tom Riddle destroyed his own soul piece, and then you were eaten.”

Harry blinks. “I was what ?”

“Eaten.” Yaba repeats, slowly. “The snake passed by you after the curse hit you, felt the warmth of your body, and decided to bite and eat you.”

“So let me get this straight. I’ve been cursed multiple times, fallen to my doom twice, and then eaten ?”

Yaba nods. “It’s quite impressive, and if you weren’t making my afterlife miserable, I might even be entertained at all the ways you manage to fail.”

“Look, I’m trying my best,” Harry argues. “I’m working blind here, and I wouldn’t have ever gone to the damn Department of Mysteries if Dumbledore had just been open with me about what was going on so I didn’t have to keep trying to figure it out through my literal enemy . I mean, a prophecy? They were protecting a prophecy ? And one that basically Voldemort already knew the general gist of? It was such a stupid secret!

“And that memory he had me try to get from Slughorn! I nearly died getting it, and it was just Slughorn telling Voldemort about Horcruxes. Pointless, and okay, maybe he wasn’t completely aware of it at the time, since he didn’t actually know what Slughorn’s memory was going to be, but his pulling me out of St. Mungo’s and forcing me to go to the Burrow was on him. He kept making comments about Ginny reminding him of my mom and asking how things were going; it was not subtle.”

Harry suddenly snaps his finger. “Oh! The tower! That killing curse wasn’t even aimed at me, it was aimed at him ! They were trying to kill him and he basically used me as a meat shield!” Harry practically growls, hands balling into fists. “Manipulative bastard, playing everyone like bloody pawns in a chess game. This last time, too. I didn’t know a damn thing about Voldemort’s soul but he did. He’d long suspected, and it was seeing Snape’s memory that gave me that info. Months wasted looking for Horcruxes when I bloody was one.”

Harry slumped back into the chair, momentarily overwhelmed. Why had he trusted the old wizard so implicitly? Even after knowing that he’s the reason that he was left at the Dursleys’ abusive,neglectful home all his life? It didn’t make a lick of sense, now that he was fully aware of just how many situations throughout his school years Dumbledore had manipulated. It wasn’t to say that the old man was necessarily evil , that was a designation better given to Voldemort and his ilk; but at the very least, the wizard was fairly self-serving.

Yaba is quiet for a moment, then sighs. “Yes, well, unfortunately for you and my record, Albus Dumbledore is a Catalyst.”

“A what?” This is the second time Yaba mentions him. “Can you explain? You mentioned that before. And I’m a-”

“Destined Hero. Essentially, people fall into a bit of a hierarchy, I guess is the simplest way of putting it,” Yaba starts to explain. “Most beings are normal, living fairly normal lives, and they are what we call the Standard. They have no specific destinies, and their lives are shaped by a combination of uncontrollable factors such as where they are born, to whom, when, etcetera, and their choices. Grim Reapers-”

“Someone like you?” Harry interrupts.

Yaba shrugs. “Yes and no. To you lot on Earth, we’re all Grim Reapers, and it’s easiest to just go with that. In reality, it’s a bit more complicated. What you imagine, or imagined before dying, as a ‘Grim Reaper’ is really a Soul Reaper. They collect souls after a being dies and bring them to the In-Between. There, they weigh that being’s circumstances against their choices.

“Catalysts are beings capable of affecting great change. Various villains and heroes throughout history were Catalysts. There is no predicing if they will be good or bad because they tend to live by a complicated set of beliefs. They may begin with good intentions, but be corrupted, or vice versa. Bunch of pain in the asses, to be honest.”

“I’m assuming both Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore are Catalysts?”

“Yes. As I said, pain in the asses. A Catalyst in turn causes the existence of a Destined Hero. Sometimes that Hero is just someone who acts like a positive influence in the Catalyst’s life, preventing them from going down a dark path. Sometimes, as in your case, they are opposing forces that cannot coexist and determine the fate of the world.”

“Lucky me.” Harry grumbles. Granted, he can’t imagine a world in which he would somehow be a “positive influence” on Tom Riddle, thus preventing his becoming Voldemort. “Do Destined Heroes always get multiple tries?”

Yaba coughs, clears their throat, and looks aside. “Uh, well, no. Usually, if a Hero dies without fulfilling their destiny, they are given a choice: a second chance or acceptance. It’s rare that a Hero didn’t at least try , and even in those cases, it’s often because they died before understanding what their destiny even was . If they accept, they are reunited temporarily with their loved ones in Heaven.”

“Temporarily?”

“Yes. You see, eventually, most beings in Heaven forget their lives. Once all of their loved ones have died, there is no longer an attachment to their lives. Heroes who have fulfilled their destiny and lived great lives, along with their loved ones who reach Heaven, are the exception, but that is because where they reside is like an upper level of Heaven, I guess you could call it. An eternal reward, essentially.”

“So it’s worth it for a Hero who fails to not accept and instead ask for a second chance,” Harry concludes.

“Yes. Although a second chance could be one of two things: attempt to fulfill your original destiny, or await the need for a new Hero and accept a new destiny. Namtar, the one you call Death, may decide that a failure cannot be reversed because of” Yaba pauses and then shrugs “reasons. And he’s the boss, so what he says goes.”

“Why then have I had more than just a second chance?”

“If you remember, I mentioned Soul Reapers, correct? Well Grims are the ones who handle Catalysts, since their lives tend to be more complicated than Standards. Grims who have worked for a very long time, with countless Catalysts with little error can be promoted to Demons.” Yaba indicates themselves. “Many of your kind used to call us ‘death gods’, but as religions changed, so too did our names. And because you all fear death so much, ‘demons’ became synonymous with evil beings, so we’ll sometimes go by the technically incorrect title of ‘Grim Reapers’.

“Demons such as myself are basically directly under Death, and we get the mostly cushy job of just supervising a department of Grims and Standards, with the occasional Destined Hero. The record for most Destined Heroes without failures in a row is fourteen.” Yaba leans across their desk. “I am tied with Iku, and he currently doesn’t have a Destined Hero, so the new record should be mine , but you keep failing .” They throw themselves back into their chair, looking defeated.

Harry blinks, unsure whether he should sympathize with his Grim Reaper, or Demon--whatever they were called--or not. On the one hand, they seemed to be another self-serving being using him as a pawn, but on the other, perhaps he could get himself another chance.

“So if I’m understanding this correctly, rather than give me a choice, you just kept giving me more chances?” Harry clarifies.

“Oh no, you kidding me? That would get me demoted all the way back to Soul Reaper if I took your choice away!” They look scandalized at the very idea. “I always ask, but no offence, you’re predictable. I knew you were never going to turn down the chance to go back and help your friends, especially ‘cause you always ask the same thing first. ‘What does my death mean for my friends?’ The answer,” Yaba rushes in, anticipating Harry’s need to know, “is that most of them die.”

“Then of course I want to go back!”

“You’re not understanding, I can’t keep doing this. Someone is bound to have noticed by now that I keep looping time to allow you to start over. I mean, it’s not hard to keep that under the radar; death is a busy business. But I’ve done it three times .”

“So what’s one more?” Harry argues.

“Easy for you to say. At this point, I’m not sure you can succeed.” Yaba taps the folder for emphasis. “Not that I necessarily think it’s your fault. Not entirely, anyway.”

Harry frowns. “So, what? I just have to accept my fate? Doesn’t that mean you lose your streak? What happens then?”

“Then I hope that since it’s my first failure in centuries, they don’t decide to audit your file. Iku’s gloating would be bad enough but if I get audited, forget the record and my streak, I might lose my position and be demoted back to working with Catalysts .”

“They don’t audit the file if I succeed?” Harry asks, fairly certain he knows the answer.

“No, they don’t.” Yaba confirms. They’re staring at each other, and Yaba shakes his head at Harry. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do; convince me to send you back again . But every time I break a rule, it’s one more thing to be punished for when you fail and I get audited. At least if I quit now, I might be able to talk myself out of the worst of it.”

“The problem is, you keep sending me back to, what, six months to a year before my last death? And with no memories of those deaths, I am right back in the middle of my hero-worship of Dumbledore, and all my other relationships are pretty much established. Of course I’m going to keep failing!” Harry stands up, pacing about the room. “If you send me back farther, with my memories, I’m sure I can do it.”

Yaba watches him pace. “I don’t have the ability to let you keep your memories. That’s a separate department altogether. Not sure that’s possible, really.”

Harry looks over at his Grim Reaper, noting the thoughtful look on their face, and he’s suddenly standing by the desk, leaning forward. “Can you find out? If I could just remember , you could send me all the way back to the beginning. I mean, not all the way, but before I even start at Hogwarts. I could make sure to not repeat those deaths, and save other lives.” Like Cedric’s and Sirius’s.

There’s a moment of contemplative silence, then suddenly Yaba calls out. “Opiel!” A shadow suddenly appears next to the desk, like a large curtain that has been balled up, and unfurls into a large dog-like creature. It’s dark eyes take Harry in before it turns its head over to look at Yaba. They speak words to it in some unknown language and just as quickly, the creature disappears. “I’m not making any promises, there’s maybe half a dozen under Death who might have the ability to do what you’re asking, and only one who might be willing to help.”

Harry has barely nodded when suddenly the creature, Opiel, is back. This time, accompanied by another. Harry vaguely remembers a school lesson, back before Hogwarts, in which their history book had shown images of ancient Greek statues. The woman before them looked like one of those statues come alive, although rather than all white marble, she had skin of a light brown, almost golden complexion, wore a dress of pale pink, and the hair curling about her face and pulled back into a bun at her neck was almost as dark as his own.

“You summoned me?” Harry suppressed the urge to shiver. The tone of her voice was cold, and it was clear she was offended.

“Summoned? Lethe, I just asked Opiel to tell you I was looking for you,” Yaba explains. “I couldn’t very well take a Destined Hero to the Library, after all.”

Lethe’s dark eyes move over Harry as she crosses her arms. “No,” is all she says after a moment, and Harry assumes she means Yaba could not have taken Harry to this Library. She looks away from him and back to the Grim Reaper. “What is your purpose in seeking me out?”

“Ah, see, Harry here needs to go back to reattempt his destiny. I was hoping you could make it so that he recalls his past life?” Yaba gives her a hopeful look. “You know, as a favor to me.”

“That I have not let it be known he has been thrice revived should be favor enough,” Lethe responds, and Yaba grimaces.

“Ah, you noticed?” Their eyes widen. “Has anyone else?”

“No.” She does not elaborate further, looking between them for a quiet moment. It isn’t until Harry shifts restlessly that she says, “My domain is oblivion and forgetfulness.”

“Yes, that is your expertise,” Yaba agrees, “but it’s all memory. You could prevent forgetfulness too, couldn’t you?”

“Assisting you would be worth more than what I owe.”

Yaba nods their head in understanding. “So instead I’ll owe you in turn. Absolutely. So you’ll help?”

She unfolds her arms and comes around the desk to stand next to Yaba, holding her hand out. They pass her Harry’s folder and she takes a moment to flip through the pages. “What were you thinking?”

“Further than the previous times. Age eleven.”

“He cannot maintain all his memories.”

“Why not?” Harry asks.

“Because.” She looks up to meet his eyes and states matter of factly, “You would go mad. Your mind is not intended to hold the memories of various lives, and it is especially not intended to remember its own death, much less multiple deaths.”

“I’m fine right now, though.”

“You’re dead,” Yaba reminds him. “So your mind and body aren’t constricted by the normal limitations.” Lethe nods her head in agreement, setting the folder down. Yaba turns to her. “What do you suggest then?”

Her head tilts to the right slightly as she thinks, eyes still on Harry. “I would suggest he choose a few memories to take back with him. The ones he feels to be most pertinent to ensuring his success, and I can make it so that they come to him in dreams or are triggered by something.”

“Then it will be more like an intuition or a glimpse into the future. Your mind will basically come up with a plausible reason for why you seem to just know those things,” Yaba explains.

“Okay,” Harry agrees. He’ll take whatever he can get, before either of these beings changes their mind. “Let’s do it, then.”

“Not so fast.” Yaba opens a drawer in their desk and pulls a paper out. They read over it and then pull out a long item that seems to be some type of writing utensil. It’s carved out of one piece and is all white, including the pointed tip, but when they press it to the paper it writes in blue, the words around it moving to make space. “This has to be the last time, and to make sure Lethe doesn’t get caught up in my trouble if you fail again, we’re doing this the right way and drawing up a contract. This is a big exception, so if you don’t succeed, your acceptance means you’ll have to work some time for the the Library of Memories to make up for essentially wasting Lethe’s time.”

They finish writing then flip the page around so it’s facing Harry. With a tap, it’s all legible, and Harry pulls the chair forward so he can sit and read over it. The basics seems to be what they already discussed, that he’ll be sent back for a final chance to fulfill his destiny and that he understands that should he fail, he will be forced to accept with no additional chances. Furthermore, for using up the time of a Memory Librarian, he agrees to give back the equivalent amount of labor before being allowed to take his place in Heaven with the understanding that it may prevent him from meeting with his loved ones if he does not complete his time prior to the limitation of a being’s memories in Heaven. At the bottom is a place for his to affirm his understanding and sign, and then a second page that is blank except for an area for signatures at the bottom.

“What is the second page for?”

Lethe is the one who answers him. “That is where you shall write the memories you choose to keep. You can pick no more than a dozen, so choose wisely, and I shall review to ensure it can be done. If no changes are needed, we will both sign that we are in agreement with those memories.”

A dozen memories. A dozen memories out of the collective seventeen years he had lived. Twenty-one, if they were counting the years he’d relived. Surely he could come up with moments that if he did differently, would change the course of his life? He had to, he was only getting one more shot at this. So he began writing, beginning with:

The Dursleys will take your Hogwarts letter: hide it...

Story Notes:

Title of the fic comes from the Emily Dickinson poem of the same name.

Chapter title is from the Queen song of the same name.

Maquetaurie Guayaba was the name of a Taino death god. Opiel was the demon guard dog protecting the entrance to the ancestral spirit realm.

Lethe, in Greek mythology, was the personification of oblivion and associated with (sometimes considered the goddess of) the river in Hades of that name that made its drinkers forget the past.

#Because I Could Not Stop for Death fic #BICNSFD #Harry Potter #HP fanfic #Harmony fanfic

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synthient · 4 years

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Okay lol I’m never gonna write this out in story form, so here’s a rough outline of the Failed Takeover AU:

- As in canon, Seto tries to take over Kaibacorp on his 15th birthday, via a plan that involves making everyone (including Mokuba) think he hates Mokuba.

- In a divergence from canon, the plan falls apart.

- Mokuba doesn’t burst into the conference room just in time to offer Seto his shares. Maybe he was too busy having a “I’m 9 and I guess my brother-parent hates me now” breakdown; maybe he assumed that Seto was infallible and wouldn’t need his help anyway; maybe one of Gozaburo’s followers gave him the wrong date/time/location for the meeting; maybe some combo of all of the above.

- As it turns out, hinging your entire plan on someone you didn’t explain the plan to (and went out of your way to alienate) is not, perhaps, the best idea!

- Gozaburo is like “Okay, great, this solves my ‘would stealing a child’s body or leaving my own child in an eternal virtual purgatory make me more profit?’ dilemma. Let’s lock the kid in his room while I get the brain upload ready.”

- Seto may not know about Noah and the Virtual World, but he knows that Gozaburo’s about to make his life a living hell. And he’s internalized his lessons better than Gozaburo intended.

- He knows what a loser deserves.

- Gozaburo’s henchmen don’t break down the door fast enough to stop Seto from attempting suicide, but they do manage to rush him to a doctor fast enough to save his life. Gozaburo is furious (how dare this brat damage his property), and has Seto forcibly hospitalized until his body has recovered enough for the upload.

- Mokuba is barred from visiting Seto during the recovery period. He’s terrified, guilt-ridden, convinced this is all his fault. And Seto wouldn’t…he couldn’t…Gozaburo has to be lying about the suicide attempt! It’s all a fake cover up for something horrible that must be going on! (he’s half right)

- As soon as Seto heals, he gets shunted into the Virtual World and Noah takes his place. Gozaburo would prefer to delete Seto’s file, tie up the loose end. But Noah insists on keeping him around–“He took everything from me. Now I want to take everything from him, and I want him to watch.”

- That includes, of course, the thing that mattered most to Seto–his little brother (another loose end that Gozaburo would rather have quietly disposed of). Noah tries to pass himself off as a Seto who’s recovered, learned his lesson, is appropriately contrite about being so ungrateful and causing so much trouble for the man who pulled him out of the gutter, and is ready to spend some quality time with Mokie!

- It’s not convincing. At all. But Mokuba plays along while he tries to figure out what’s really going on (Is Seto mad at him and being passive aggressive? Is he faking cheerfulness because he’s being watched? Has he been threatened? Brainwashed? Stepford Wive’d?)

- Eventually, Mokuba overhears some conversation between Gozaburo and Noah that reveals the truth. Horrified and filled with even more crushing guilt, he flees the Kaiba manor with his life, but isn’t able to take Seto’s consciousness with him. He vows to find a way to save his brother.

- After spending some time living on the streets, dodging Gozaburo’s search efforts, and [hacker voice I’m in]-ing for intel, Mokuba starts to hear whispers about some kind of teen vigilante. They say he’s been going around Domino, punishing wrongdoers with a magic necklace. And Mokuba knows some wrongdoers who need punishing…

- Mokuba tries and fails to steal the Puzzle. It goes about like the Capumon Chess chapter.

- Meanwhile: one Maximillian Pegasus has been hearing the most intriguing rumors that the CEO of Kaibacorp has found a way to resurrect his son. Pegasus starts looking into ways to take over Kaibacorp and get his hands on the Virtual World tech.

- Mokuba finds out about the new takeover plan (by [hacker voice I’m in]-ing I2) and contacts Pegasus. He offers insider info on Kaibacorp…for a price.

- Mokuba is flown out to Duelist Kingdom to meet with Pegasus. He explains that Gozaburo had a scan of Noah’s brain made before he died, and without a brain scan, the process won’t work (when he finds out about Cynthia, Mokuba genuinely feels sorry for Pegasus. He knows what it’s like to lose someone you love).

- Pegasus muses that if he gathered all seven Millennium Items, he could open the door to the afterlife, and he might be able to scan Cynthia’s mind/soul that way. Mokuba is like “Huh. Now that you mention it, I think I’ve met someone with a Millennium Item >:3”

- The Duelist Kingdom tournament happens. Mokuba becomes one of Pegasus’s Eliminators, under the agreement that once Pegasus takes over Kaibacorp, he’ll save Seto and use the Eye to give Gozaburo a penalty game.

- Mokuba challenges Yugi and Atem to a rematch. At some point during the duel, they mention fighting “for Grandpa’s sake,” and Mokuba’s like “…wait, what?”

- It turns out Pegasus never mentioned the whole soul-stealing/blackmail part of the plan to Mokuba. Mokuba feels betrayed and has a crisis of loyalty. Taking someone’s mind from their body…it hits too close to home.

- The Friendship Gang invites Mokuba to spend the night with them by the campfire. Mokuba explains why he keeps challenging Yugi, and what happened to Seto. He offers to help Yugi get his grandpa back, and Yugi promises that they’ll do whatever they can to help his brother once everything’s over.

- Mokuba helps them make their way to Pegasus, but soon as Pegasus finds out Mokuba has turned on him, he steals Mokuba’s soul. Yugi duels to save both him and grandpa.

- Then Bakura yoinks the Eye out of Pegasus’s socket. The good news: without the Eye’s influence, Pegasus feels bad about everything and wants to help Mokuba to make up for it. The bad news: without the Eye, he can’t take out Gozaburo with shadow magic.

- Atem has been feeling guilty about his s0 antics, and he was planning to give up shadow games for good, but Mokuba begs him to do just one more. The gang starts figuring out how they’re going to go about storming Kaibacorp.

- In the meantime, Yugi invites Mokuba to stay with him and Grandpa. They set up an air mattress in the game shop basement (it’s the first time Mokuba has had a stable roof over his head in months, and the first time he’s had a real, competent, well-meaning adult looking after him in…a long time).

- After a couple weeks of planning, they put their Ocean’s 11 rescue scheme into action: Pegasus remotely takes out the security tech; Atem sneaks off to Let’s Play A Game =) with Gozaburo; the rest of the friendship gang kidnaps Noah-in-Seto’s-body and drags him to the Virtual World port; and Mokuba goes into the Virtual World to find Seto and swap his consciousness with Noah’s.

- The big Kaibro reunion has finally arrived. Mokuba bursts in and goes “Seto! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but everything’s gonna be okay, we’re getting you out of here, let’s hurry, c’mon—” And Seto stares at him in dead-eyed silence before going “…you’re not real, are you.”

- How has Seto spent the last year or so?

Disassociating

Falling into an abyss of guilt (this was my stupid plan. this is all my fault. what happened to Mokuba? did I get him killed? did he die thinking I hated him?)

“I lost I’m weak I’m a failure why am I still here” spiraling

Contemplating his loss of autonomy (both in terms of literally losing his body, and in terms of his suicide attempt and the ensuing fallout/forced hospitalization)

Getting periodically tormented by Noah

Disassociating some more

- So while the plan works—the consciousnesses are successfully swapped, Atem wins his shadow game, Kaibacorp falls apart with its CEO in a permanent coma & Pegasus swoops in to buy out the pieces (which comes with a free Noah save file. Pegasus: “Hm. Guess I’ve adopted this undead 10-year-old bastard tamagotchi.”)—Seto is…obviously not in a good mental place. He’s pretty much gone into a total shutdown. (It takes a while for him to believe the rescue was even real, and Noah isn’t still playing games with him in the Virtual World)

- Grandpa tells Mokuba, “Of course you and your brother are welcome to stay for as long as you need.”

And everything else I imagined was just...recovery/hurt-comfort vignettes, with some Butterfly Effect versions of Battle City/Doma/Memory World thrown in ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#suicide mention

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inktrailing · 3 years

Text

SPN: purgatorio (snippet)

Still haven’t settled on a replacement title lol.

This is... currently in the teens for chapters. Still too early for a chapter count and I won’t know my timeline until I actually rewatch s8 and decide when they’re getting thrown back in.

Last time I posted a snippet I wasn’t sure where pairings where fully landing. It’s definitely slowburn poly Dean/Lucifer and Dean/Cas, with Benny continuing to be a wildcard lmfao.

There’s some rando probably inaccurate field medicine in this chunk that will be replaced at some point after I finish researching for it.

(As a refresh this is my s7/8 AU wherein Lucifer was trying to use the hallucinations as a way to manifest through someone and ended up helping Cas out a bit but popped out in Purgatory when Cas got there).

Previous Snippet.

Warning for explicit language, canon-typical violence.

CHAPTER

“You act like you have any idea where you're going,” Lucifer tells Dean.

“I do,” Dean says. “It's called moving. Getting a lay of the land.” He spins in a circle, arms spread wide, then points at a particular rock that had an odd blue-tinted moss covering one of its sides. “I know that rock,” he says with a grin. “I know this area. Do you?”

“It's all the same,” Lucifer drawls.

“Uh huh. That's what I thought. Cas?”

“Um.” Cas glances between them. “There's a vampire nest that roams here.”

“Exactly. We hopped territories. I thought it was all a free-for-all chaos. But nah, it's organized chaos. That's your jam, ain't it, Lucifer?”

“Don't dare to presume anything about me, Winchester.”

“So that's a yes, then.”

Lucifer moves for him and Cas steps between the two of them, hands out.

Dean smirks. Lucifer scowls.

“You don't start learning the ways of the land, Lucifer, you're gonna be our weak link.”

*****

“Monster 101,” Dean pants, “please have an answer, right the fuck now.” He presses into the packed dirt wall. He turns his attention to Lucifer. “What the hell is that?”

“Well,” Lucifer says casually. Way too casually. “If someone tells you God made the 'first' beasts don't you think there might be a... oh, second, third. You know. More than one?”

“So which one is that?!” Dean hisses, swiveling his head in the direction of the open-air marshlands.

“Behemoth, if I remember correctly,” Lucifer answers. He reaches out and pulls Cas closer into their hiding spot.

“They don't look as though they have a lot for their maneuverability,” Cas says. “We might be able to lose them in the woods?”

“Can't either of you just fly us out of here?”

Cas shakes his head. “Like the Leviathans... they're grounding me. Unless...” He glances at Lucifer.

“No dice,” Lucifer answers.

“Seriously? What's the point of being an archangel anyway, then?”

Lucifer huffs. “Dear old Dad liked his toys. Also,” Lucifer risks a glance around the wall. The beasts were scouting. “I think they might be after me. So, really, sure lacking on those Archangel Benefits right now...”

“Then they can fucking have you,” Dean snarls.

“Dean,” Cas warns.

“What? How much else is gonna want to snack on him? He's a liability.”

“So am I,” Cas argues.

“No, it's not the same—”

“Yes, yes,” Lucifer interrupts, “we all have something nasty on our heels. You have the sheer numbers after you, Winchester, I think that makes things minutely more difficult, thank you. Castiel is right: if we make it into the woods, we should be able to lose them. I'll draw them off if I must.”

“Lucifer,” Cas starts, stricken.

“Please, I'll be fine.”

“I don't think—”

“See, he wants to play bait, Cas. So we should let him.” He pats the back of his hand against Cas's arm. “Let's go.”

When he moves, keeping low, Cas follows. Good. He wasn't sure what else he could say to convince Cas to come with him. Lucifer darts out in the other direction, making himself blatant, juicy archangel bait. Dean knows the moment the beasts catch onto the scent and it's the first direct look Dean gets of them as the three whirl around to stare at Lucifer.

One of the giants, already free from the marsh, charges. The two behind are slower, rising up from the water, dragging muck and grasses over smooth, short-haired skins. Dean sees the jaws open, rows of flat teeth big enough to crush his head if they get close enough.

Their bellows shake the lands, one call after the other, a chorus of unearthly groans all vibrating the air and when they move it's as though that same land moves for them, quickening their gait.

Dean tries to ignore the fact that Lucifer flinches. He pulls Cas after him and doesn't look back after he sees Lucifer peel around the other bank, leading them away.

“Dean,” Cas pleads.

“We can't do anything for him!” Dean hurriedly says. It's not a lie. “We'll only distract him. We'll find him again, okay?” Dammit. “I promise. We'll look for him.” Cas stares at him earnestly and he must be able to tell that Dean's being honest with him because he stops protesting and follows.

Dean's suddenly going to be real pissed if Lucifer gets himself eaten because he's not sure he'll be able to pick up the pieces of Cas if he finds his brother torn to shreds.

How's this become his life?

*****

“Everyone else under the sun can find the bastard and yet it's been over a day and here we are still trudging around, like damn, did the dude finally fly or is he just doing this to screw with us...”

Dean's been muttering to himself for the last twenty minutes. He knows it's not safe but he's tired and he needs sleep and he's going on being awake for twenty-five hours which outside of Purgatory he could do, but inside... Fuck. He needs sleep. This constantly-being-hunted thing weighs on a guy. Exhausts him faster than he can cope with. Cas needs sleep, too. Dean's held up by the Hunt. Cas is held up by Stress.

It's not a good combination!

Fucking Lucifer. This is all his fault.

He rubs sweat and grime off his face. They need to go back to a river. He'd like to get this film off of him.

He stops walking and turns to Cas.

“Just power nap, Cas. An hour.”

“I'm fine, Dean. I can keep moving.”

Dean rolls his eyes skyward. “Cas, if he needs healing when we find him you're gonna need to be more on your game. Sleep. I'll stay on guard.”

Cas sets his jaw but sinks down to the forest floor and coils himself against a tree, tucking into his trench coat, nearly black from their travels. It makes a good camouflage, but Dean still kind of wants to wash that, too. Seeing Cas like this throws him back into an unkind future Zachariah zapped him to.

Dean shakes his head and walks away. He makes sure Cas is in sight, raising a hand to block out the sunlight streaking through the canopy. They have several hours til nightfall. Dean's not sure he wants to go another night of being on the move. He'd prefer taking shelter somewhere and wait til dawn, but if night's bad for them, it's just as dangerous for Lucifer.

Dammit, Cas. Why'd you have to get attached to the devil?

“You fucker,” he mumbles when he knows he's out of earshot, “if you're doing this on purpose then you can go right back to Hell. Cas needs you and every hour we can't find you is gnawing at him.”

He drops his head. “I can't believe I have to do this,” he says more to himself. “You'd better be hurt. You'd better...” He glances back towards the small shape that is Cas, trembling in his fitful sleep. Dean sucks in a harsh breath, curses, and spits out the last words of his prayer, “I can't track angels. I need a fucking sign, man.”

He sighs and heads back for Cas, walking a perimeter around his tree.

*****

“Dean.”

Dean pauses and turns to look at Cas, awareness flagging. The sun's going down. All he has for dinner is some leftover scraps of meat from days ago and some weird leafy green tufts that Cas said were full of nutrients and good for him and when Dean asked how Cas knew that, Cas said the plants told him with a weird little smile.

Dean hates salad but he'd eat them if it meant Cas would feel comfortable smiling again.

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean asks. Cas is staring off to their west, head tilted, eyes concentrating. “What is it?”

“It's...” Cas opens his mouth, closes it. Frowns. Tilts his head the other way. “Holy.”

“What?”

Cas looks to Dean. “It's... familiar. But off. Home, but not.”

“Home like Heaven?”

Cas nods.

Dean wonders if it's coincidental.

“How far?”

“I think we could get there before sundown on foot. Flying may be... dangerous.”

“Yeah, no, and I'd rather not wear you out. Of the two of us, you're the one lighter on his feet right now. Let's go. Lemme know when we get close so I can prepare in case it's an ambush or something.”

Cas nods again, and then he takes the lead.

In the end it's not a trap. They find a deep tear in the ground like a meteor plowed into Purgatory. There's a ring of felled trees at the top of the pit and at the very bottom is a strange white-flamed flickering fire and a hunched-over devil.

Cas's relief latches onto Dean.

“Cas, blink us down there,” Dean asks, and then fumbles for his footing an instant later after they're relocated. Cas is already kneeling by his brother, hand on his shoulder to push him up. Lucifer twitches to the touch and Dean can see lacerations down his side that must be taking too long to heal.

“Lucifer,” Cas says, trying to rouse him.

Dean flops down across them with the makeshift fire in the middle, looking more closely at it. It has the makings of a normal fire, wood and kindling, but Dean thinks he understands why Cas picked up on holy. It's grace-fueled. Actual, honest-to-God, holy fire.

“Lucifer,” Cas says again.

“Castiel,” Lucifer finally responds.

“Cas, can you fix him so we can go?”

“I...”

Cas slowly looks over to Dean and Dean has a real bad feeling real fast.

“I can't,” Cas says.

“Why not?”

“I-I don't...”

“Beast trumps angel,” Lucifer groans. He reaches up a hand and closes his fist. The holy fire vanishes. Well, Dean had been concerned about it drawing any other attention.

“Fine,” Dean says. “You gonna stay alive til morning?”

“Mmm,” Lucifer responds. Barely.

“Okay. Morning, then. We'll do this the human bullshit way. Cas, you talk to your plants or whatever and try to find something we can use as a salve and bandages and shit.”

Dean's really not sure if Cas can actually talk to plants or if it's just something getting him through his daily life to think he can, but either way he thinks Cas can suss out something to use. Trial and error, anyway. If Lucifer's gonna die it's because his Dad made something bigger and badder, not because of some plant goo Cas will slap on him.

“I think we're sitting ducks down here but the fire's out,” Dean continues, “Cas, you good enough to take watch?”

Cas looks from Lucifer to him and nods, a little off balance, but determined.

“Good, because I'm exhausted. Can I borrow your coat?”

Cas strips out of it and hands it over to Dean. Dean balls it up, caked Purgatory and all, and uses it as a pillow and lays besides the dead fire wishing that grace left any coals and heat. He meets Lucifer's glassy expression, glares at the devil, and then rolls over, putting his back to both the angels.

CHAPTER

In some world-turned-upside-down bullshit, Dean is keeping watch while Lucifer rests. Not that Lucifer's moved much since they found him the night before. Cas is gone. Has been gone all morning to do his plant thing that hopefully also involves bringing Dean back something to eat.

He should be the one out there but Dean can't tell one plant from another and keeping an eye around the top of their pit is the best use for him.

The company's shit though.

“You prayed to me,” Lucifer says two hours into the boring morning.

Boring is good. Boring means no monster attacks. Boring means no getting separated and having to try and find another angel.

“Desperate times,” Dean mutters. “You saw Cas. He barely holds it together on days he doesn't think you're dead. You must've done a real good job convincing him you're not an asshole.”

“I'm the only reason my brother is a functional person.”

“Sure, whatever.”

Lucifer scoffs. “Believe what you want.”

“I'll do just that.”

The sun's beating down on them from above when Cas returns with arms full like he just came from a Farmer's Market. There's some dried blood that trickled a path down his forehead. He found a canvas bag somewhere, or maybe he made it. Dean's not entirely going to judge him right now, even if he left Dean alone with Lucifer for hours on end.

“You find what you need?” Dean asks.

“I think so,” Cas answers. He sits down between the two of them and sets his bag in front of him, slowly pulling out small bundles wrapped in twine. He tosses one to Dean and Dean curiously loosens the twine and unfolds the large fronds. “Don't eat the outside,” Cas tells him, “that's just the vessel.”

Dean thanks a God he doesn't believe in that the fronds contain a plethora of small berries.

“You're the best, Cas,” Dean tells him.

Cas's smile is brief, but worth it.

Dean eats and watches curiously as Cas continues to pull things out, including a few rocks of varying sizes that make sense to Dean as he takes a cylindrical one and starts grinding various plants and other matter on a flat one.

“Purgatory's first doctor,” Dean jokes.

“I imagine there had been others in the past.”

“Yeah, slapped-together medicine before they get their heads chopped off. Not a lot of long-term teamwork going on here that I've seen.”

“Or there is,” Lucifer says, “but they only pick off stragglers.”

“Outnumber people. Cowards.”

Lucifer shakes his head.

Dean's finished his berries and the rest of his meats that he didn't eat last night by the time Cas has some concoction of paste gathered on one of the fronds and is looking at Lucifer with some hesitance.

“Get it over with, Castiel,” Lucifer says in way of permission.

Cas nods and lifts Lucifer's shirt and Dean looks away when Lucifer winces, but it isn't quick enough to miss the mottled blacks and purples marring Lucifer's side around the slashed skin, and he looks back just as fast.

“Shit,” Dean says, ignoring Lucifer's glare. “Cas, you got any water or anything we can clean that out with first?”

“I don't, unfortunately,” Cas says.

“It'll be fine,” Lucifer mutters.

“It looks infected,” Dean growls.

“I just need enough healing so that my body's natural response can kick in.”

“Oh, and it can naturally heal beast infections, right? Because it's doing so well with whatever that was.”

“Dean,” Cas says.

Dean gestures at the injury like it makes his entire argument.

Cas frowns.

“Put it on, Castiel,” Lucifer instructs. “If it gets me mobile, we can... worry about the rest when we've moved away from here.”

Dean makes a face in mockery but stays quiet as Cas seals the frond over Lucifer's side.

#spn fanfiction #ducifer #Dean Winchester/Lucifer #destiel #dean winchester #lucifer #castiel #fic: purgatorio

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bittysvalentines · 4 years

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Only if You Want To

From @bitty-smol

To @pastelle-pvnk

Rating: Teen (for swearing)

Hey pastelle-pvnk! I hope you like your gift, because I had a lot of fun writing it for you! (P.S. we should totes become friends because we have a lot of the same interests, so hit me up <3)

That being said, he was sure of at least one thing: he was in love with his coworker, Derek Malik Nurse.

He was not necessarily a willing participant in this. The revelation came as a shock to him and once the thought crossed his mind, it wouldn’t leave. No matter how many times Dex tried to forget about his unfortunate unrequited love, it would just come back full force.

It came like this: Nursey chirping him in the middle of a shift and then proceeding to eat shit while hopping the counter.

how am i in love with a man who can barely stand on his own two feet?

oh shit.

If anything, that should’ve helped the whole “in-love-with-your-completely-idiotic-coworker” thing, since Nurse was forced to take paid leave for a good month while his leg healed. Dex thought that not seeing him would lessen whatever he was feeling, but in retrospect it made it so much worse.

He missed Nursey. Like, a lot. Like, more than you should hypothetically miss a coworker, regardless of the crush you have on them.

That’s why, when Nursey finally returned, he couldn’t help the small tug he felt in his chest or the urge he felt to step out from behind the counter and hug Nursey as soon as he got close enough.

“Woah, Poindexter. Did you really miss me that much?” Nursey muttered against Dex’s shoulder.

Dex’s heart hurt.

“No, but I did miss you at register. Johnson kept telling the customers that he was only taking over until the main love interest gets back, whatever that means.” Dex folded his arms and looked over at Johnson who was currently staring at him and Nursey as if he knew something they didn’t.

“Yeah, well I’m glad to be back,” Nursey stepped back from Dex, “I didn’t think I would miss going home smelling like pastries, but turns out it grew on me. I’m gonna go say hi to Bitty and clock in.” Nursey turned towards Bitty’s office and started walking away.

“Um, Nursey!” Dex shouted, his hand coming up to the back of his neck as if he could cover the blush that was creeping up. Nursey turned slowly, his face blank.

“Yes, Poindexter?”

“I, um,” Dex met Nursey’s eyes with his own.”I did. Uh, miss you, that is.”

Dex’s blush couldn’t help but crawl up his cheeks as he saw the smile that spread across Nursey’s face.

“I missed you too, Dexy.” Nursey said, turning his back and heading back towards Bitty’s office.

Before Dex could let the “I missed you too” comment take over him he managed to call back “Don’t call me that, Nurse!”

Nursey couldn’t help but smile.

_X_

Nursey is in love. But then again, he always is.

Derek Nurse cannot remember a time in the immediate past where he was not waxing poetic about some person or another. His sister called him a “disaster bi” and like, yeah, he could agree with that. But something about Dex was different.

His dreams were filled with fiery red hair and pale, freckled skin. More often than not, he found himself writing poetry about a muse that hardly even gave him the time of day and when he did, it was to chirp him.

Maybe he was a glutton for punishment or maybe he was in that purgatory where life is just slightly shitty. Like, yeah, you can be in close proximity with the one you love, but they will never give you an ounce of reciprocation.

That’s why when he finally came back to work after the counter incident (“Nurse, the counter lifts up for a reason.” “Now that wouldn’t be any fun, would it, Dexy.”) he couldn’t help but take the hug that Dex was offering.

Fuck, he missed him.

And then Dex had said that he had missed him and-

Fuck, he was fucked.

After the hug, he found himself walking to Bitty’s office in a sort of daze, opening the door to find Bitty chatting away on the phone.

“Oh, I’ve gotta go, sweetpea. Nursey just walked back into the office,” Nursey took a seat in front of Bitty’s desk as he finished up the call. “Yeah, honey, I love you too. Bye.”

“So, how’s Jack?” Nursey asked, with a smirk on his face.

“He’s great. He just finished up teaching a class, so he called me before his office hours began to talk about dinner with his parents tonight.” Bitty said, smiling as he did.

Seeing Bitty and Jack’s relationship gave Nursey genuine hope for his future love life, as well as a model for how a healthy relationship should look. They had been together for at least three years now and on their way to many more.

“That’s great, Bitty.” Nursey smiled.

“Well, I know you didn’t come in here to talk about me. How’s your leg?” Bitty asked, standing up to walk around his desk and get a better look.

“Good as new,” Nursey said, bending his knee back and forth as if to prove his point.

“Oh thank goodness! You had me worried there for a second, Derek.” Bitty paused. “So uh, have you seen Dex yet?”

So, here’s the thing about being friends with your boss: they know far more than a boss should at any given time.

It also doesn’t help that a few work outings ago, when Bitty was watching a drunk Nursey (a job, lovingly titled Nursey duty), he ended spilling his guts to Bitty. It was quite cute, really, aside from the vomit that ended up on his shoes for his troubles.

“I have. Uh, seen him, that is.” Nursey stopped and looked at Bitty from across the desk. “He gave me a hug. It was… really nice.”

“That’s sweet, Nursey,” Bitty smiled, a small grin tugging at his lips.

Bitty finished giving Nursey the rundown of new recipes and products, but he couldn’t help but think that work at the bakery was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

_X_

Eric Bittle was no stranger to pining. Nor was he a stranger to emotionally constipated boys. He knew how to spot said boys from a mile away and he has made it one of his personal missions to help them as much as he possibly can.

Bitty’s love life had been rocky to say the least. He moved out of Georgia and straight to Providence, Rhode Island to pursue his baking career. He’s not exactly sure why he chose Providence, but as he stared at a map one day it just seemed… right (that and when he threw a dart at the map, that's where it landed). So there he was, enough cash in his pocket to rent out an old restaurant space and a whole lot of motivation.

Not a month after he had opened, Bitty had already become a staple business in the community. He had a solid group of regulars and found himself making more than enough to sustain his business and set himself up in a nice apartment.

He loved his employees, his customers, his job. He really just loved his life. So when all of a sudden Mr. Tall and Handsome walked into the bakery, Bitty knew he was gonna have a problem. He knew as soon as he had seen those bright blue eyes and, oh lord, that <i>butt</i>, that he had to get to know that beautiful man.

And so it turned out that his name was Jack Zimmermann. He was a history professor at the local university and an avid runner, as Bitty would come to find out.

He came in almost every morning during his runs and often times after teaching classes to grade papers and answer emails. It was in times like these where Bitty made it his mission to befriend Jack. Before long, he found himself talking with Jack longer and longer and even took it upon himself to make Jack his favorite pie after a particularly hard week at school.

It wasn’t until Dex brought it up that Bitty had even realized what was happening.

“So, like, are you ever gonna actually ask him on a date?” Dex had asked the day after Bitty had presented Jack with his pie.

“I don’t think I understand what you mean, William.” Bitty said, playing coy. He knew exactly what he wanted to do with Jack, but he wasn’t about to make one of his favorite customers (and people, in general) uncomfortable if everything went south.

“Dude, are you kidding me?” Dex said. “He’s smitten with you, I just don’t think he realizes it yet.”

So one confession and an ice skating date later, they were official. It didn’t feel like some big event though, it just felt like something had clicked into place. Like this was exactly how his life was meant to be.

And he just wanted Nursey and Dex to feel that too.

_X_

Once Nursey fully returned to work things got back to normal. Or as normal as they could be, he guesses.

He found himself working with Dex more and more often, whether it be opening or closing with him. It’s kind of nice, if he’s being honest. He couldn't remember a time when work was so fun.

Not to mention that he and Dex become a lot closer than before and dare he say it- friends, even. Sometimes after they closed they’d go out for drinks and when they’d open Dex would make Nursey his favorite salted caramel latte before the early birds arrived. They didn’t fight about dumb shit anymore, only the important things, like if pineapple belongs on pizza or not (Derek totally thinks it does).

While all of this is all well and good, Nursey’s feelings are only growing. He found himself staring at Dex more and more often and can't help but try to make him laugh every chance he gets.

Dex has a really nice laugh.

But that's besides the point. They're friends now and Nursey does not want to ruin that. Even if it does mean suffering through work or staying out much later before opening shifts than he should, just so he can spend more time with Dex. He can handle a little self-control.

Or at least he hopes he can.

_X_

Jack Zimmermann was a lucky man and he knew it. He had a job that he loved, teaching at a well-established university. He had amazing students who wanted to learn. He had a devastatingly handsome boyfriend (soon to be fiancé, if he plays his cards right) who loved him.

That being said, he knows exactly the kind of person Bitty is. He's got a big heart, sometimes to a fault. He wants to see everyone happy and Jack can’t be mad at that.

Which is why when Bitty tells him all about the plan he comes up with, he can’t help but go along with it.

He sends out an email to his students to let them know that class on the 13th is cancelled due to an “unforeseen emergency” and heads to the bakery per Bitty’s request.

It’s going to be a long night.

_X_

Unsurprisingly, Valentine’s day was one of the busiest days of the year at the bakery. They always ended up selling out of their chocolate strawberry creme pies and heart-shaped sugar cookies. Nursey and Dex started their shifts at the same time, as had become normal, neither looking forward to the rush that would inevitably come.

Nursey was taking orders and dishing up pastries, while Dex was making the drinks. They made a solid team and time seemed to pass so much faster when they worked together. When Jack came in around seven Dex was shocked to find that he had almost been working a full seven hours already, the hours flying by. He finally stopped to look at Nursey, who looked about as tired as he felt. His heart fluttered at the little smile Nursey gave him, before he turned back to take another customer's order.

“Jack, honey, what are you doing here?” Bitty said, as he came out of the kitchen. He was a mess, covered in flour from head to toe and smelling of chocolate from baking with it all day.

“Bits, I told you that I had made a dinner reservation for us at 8, didn’t I?” Jack said, coming around the corner to press a kiss to Bitty’s forehead.

As he said that Bitty couldn't help the look of shock that crossed his face.

“Oh sweet pea, I can't believe I forgot! I'm supposed to close tonight.”

Nursey and Dex exchanged a look between the two of them, before Dex made a resigned sigh and mumbled, “We can close if you need us to Bitty.”

With that, Bitty turned to the both of them with a smile wider than they had ever seen.

“Y'all would really do that for me?” Bitty was still looking at them with shining eyes.

“Of course, brah. It's chill.” Nursey spoke up, after a moment. “We want you to have your romantic date night so that we can live vicariously through you.”

“The night is still young,” Bitty sang as he brushed past the both of them, “I'll go grab my stuff from my office and then we can leave, honey.”

“So, euh, thanks for doing this you guys,” Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck as he did so.

“No problem, Jack,” Nursey said, “Bitty deserves a break anyways. He said he stayed late last night working on something.”

“Uhm, yeah, about that-” Jack started.

“Alright, sugar, let’s go,” Bitty said, as he came back from the office. He laid a hand on Jack’s arm and looked right at Nursey. “Close the doors right at nine and make sure to take the money back into my office. Don’t bother counting it tonight, I’ll do it in the morning.”

“Ready, Bits?” Jack asked, smirking and cocking an eyebrow at his boyfriend.

“As I’ll ever be, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said, turning back to Nursey and Dex. “Thank you boys, have fun!”

“Yeah, we’ll try,” Dex mumbled, bumping into Nursey’s shoulder as he turned back to the espresso machine to make a drink.

_X_

Luckily, the rest of their shift went by pretty quickly. All of the customers had cleared out around 8:45, presumably to spend the night with their significant others. They had cleaned the cafe area and were finishing up the kitchen, when Nursey went to the front to begin collecting the money and closing out the register.

“Lame Valentine’s day, right?” Dex said, walking up behind Nursey as he was putting the cash in the bank bag.

“Eh, it wasn’t too bad,” Nursey said softly, as he glanced back quickly to look at Dex. “There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be.” He whispered, turning around fully to face Dex.

“Derek…” Their eyes met and they stayed that way for a few moments, before Nursey broke the trance.

“C’mon, let’s take the money to the back so we can get out of here,” Nursey mumbled, brushing past Dex. He’s not sure if he’s getting warm because he’s embarrassed or nervous. It had sounded as though Dex was going to respond to his advance, but instead he just… hadn’t.

Nursey had been thinking so deeply about the encounter they had just had that he hadn’t noticed the giant red heart on the outside of Bitty’s office door. He did, however, notice that the normally plain office now looked as though Cupid himself had thrown up all over it.

There was a round table in the middle of the room, where Bitty’s desk usually sat, covered in a rich red table cloth, roses, champagne, and of course a strawberry chocolate cream pie. Next the the pie sat a note that read:

Dear Nursey and Dex,

It was clear to me that neither of you were going to make the first move, so let this be it. The way you look at each other reminds me of the way that Jack and I used to look at each other. How we still look at each other. Y’all have something so special and I just want you both to be happy. Happy Valentine’s Day.

Love,

Bitty

“Hey, what’s- oh holy shit.” Nursey turned to find Dex staring at the office with wide eyes. He looked like a wild animal trying to decide whether he should run away or not. “What the fuck is all this?”

“Well,” Nursey started, “It’s Bitty’s Valentine’s Day present to us.” He finished, chancing a glance at the other boy as he moved to take the note from Nursey’s hand to read it. Dex read the note, before taking a seat at one of the chairs seated at the table.

“Am I that fucking obvious?” Dex asked, running his hands through his hair.

Which is… Not exactly what Nursey was expecting to hear.

“What are you talking about?” Nursey could feel his forehead scrunching as he asked the question. He was really fucking lost.

“Oh c’mon Nurse, there’s a reason that Bitty did this. Apparently I’m shit at hiding my feelings and he wanted to pity me by giving me a little hope today.” Dex sighed, “You don’t have to go along with this Derek, I understand it makes you uncomfortable.”

Nursey just sat there dumbfounded, because- what?

“Dex, are you fucking kidding me?” Dex’s head shot up at that. “Did you even read the note?”

Nursey couldn’t help but to laugh. How is this his life? He crossed the room to stand in front of Dex, whose expression was still blank.

“He did this for the both of us, you idiot,” Nursey couldn’t stop the smile spreading on his face. “Apparently neither of us have been very good at hiding our feelings. Although in my defense, I was drunk when I confessed to Bitty. You’re just always in awe of my beauty, apparently.” That final jab was the one to snap Dex back to reality.

“Don’t flatter yourself too much Nurse,” Dex mumbled, crossing his arms and refusing to meet Nursey’s gaze.

“It’s okay Dex. I’m always in awe of you too.” At this, Dex finally looked up at Nursey, who was slowly uncrossing Dex’s arms. “Kinda hard not to be.” He whispered, taking Dex’s hands into his. They stared at each other for a few moments, both men afraid to look away.

“Did our boss just fucking matchmake us?” Dex whispered, rubbing his thumbs back and forth on Nursey’s knuckles. Nursey couldn’t help but laugh.

“I guess he did,” Nursey said, flicking his eyes down to Dex’s mouth. “So like, I know we both just became aware of this whole thing, but can I kiss you? I’ve waited so fucking long.”

Dex’s eyes widened and he began shaking his head.

“Fuck yes,” Dex said, stretching up to meet Derek’s mouth and covering it with his own. By the time they finished kissing they were both breathless.

“Okay, so,” Dex started, “I know that Bitty planned this whole thing for us, but-”

“You wanna take this elsewhere?” Derek finished.

“Only if you want to,” Dex said, looking happier than Derek had seen him all night.

“That’s alI want,” Nursey whispered.

With that, Derek couldn’t help but think that work at the bakery was about to get a whole lot more interesting.

#bv2020 #bitty's valentines #dexnursey #omg check please!

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solaceinprose · 5 years

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Dorothy in the Land of Monsters (Oz Revamped #1): A Review

My name is Dorothy Gale, and I think I might be dead. When my dog Toto and I got swept up in a twister, we landed in hell. A very colorful hell. Like a rainbow dripping in blood. Now it looks as though this dreadful underworld plagued with vampires, zombies, and shifters will be the site of my eternal damnation. They say this terrifying land called Oz isn’t hell or purgatory, that escape is possible, but first I must survive the journey down the blood-soaked yellow brick road to the only place in Oz where vampires dare not tread—The City of Emeralds. With enchanted footwear and the help of my three new friends—a friendly zombie, a massive shifter lion, and a heartless axe murderer of evil night creatures who also happens to be the hottest guy I’ve ever seen—Toto and I have a fighting chance to make it to the Vampire Free Zone. When we get there, I must convince the most powerful wizard in this magical land of monsters to send us out of this radiant nightmare and return us to the world of the living. They say he’s just as frightening as this monstrous land, that he detests visitors, and even the most horrifying creatures cower in his presence, but I must seek him out. And when I find him, I’ll do whatever it takes to make him send me home.

First, thank you to NetGalley for the e-ARC of this book for an honest review.

I really wanted to love this book. When I read the description, it immediately caught my attention. A retelling of Dorothy in the land of Oz, but with monsters? Sign me up. I did not love this book. I barely enjoyed it at times. This book took me entirely too long to read only to not finish because I couldn’t be pressed to pick it up. Don’t get me wrong, there were moments that shined in this book. The friendship between Dorothy and the Oz Trio was very well written. The descriptions of Oz were so vivid, I could see it in my mind. The world building, or the revamping of the world of Oz was done very well. That’s about all I can say good about this book. I had three major gripes about this book. First gripe is the use of SAT/ACT words when Dorothy is our narrator. Dorothy is supposed to be 17 from Kansas and hasn’t finished high school yet. Her school is very small, and I’m pretty certain they’re not the best school in the state of Kansas since it’s in the middle of everywhere. If the story was told in 3rd person omniscient, then I could understand the use of such words. But this is from the eyes of a 17-year-old girl, and I’m going to take a bet that she doesn’t really know these words. It sounded like the author had a thesaurus next to her the whole time and just wanted to fancy up the writing. It didn’t need it. The descriptions were good enough on their own, that using big fancy words just bogs the writing down. Also, the overuse of certain words like scintillation was aggravating as hell. The writing bogged this story down, and it appeared to be a clever way to disguise the lack of character development with Dorothy. My second gripe is the forced romance between Nick and Dorothy. Oh my Ozma, did these two annoy the ever living crap out of me. They’ve known each other for maybe a total of a month, if we take into consideration all the time they spent walking to Oz, the time they spent in Oz, and then heading to kill the Vampire Witch of the West, and the time Dorothy was trapped there. They had known each other less than that before Dorothy is all, “Oh I’m so in love with Nick!” Then he’s all, “Oh, I’m so in love with Dorothy!” Before we’re even 70% into the book, they’ve proclaimed their love for each other and how they will never love anyone else in the entire realms. Hold up, girly. You’re 17. You got your whole life ahead of you. Slow down for a second. There’s even a part after they return to the City of Emeralds (because Emerald City was too…plain?) that she refers to him as her husband. NO. NO NO NO NO. That’s not how it works, and they just became insufferable with their misery that he wants her to leave and she wants to stay and fight with him, and they’re just not meant to be together because they are both TOO STUPID TO FUNCTION. This romance wasn’t needed. Or better yet, this romance had time to grow. My third gripe was this book didn’t know if it wanted to be young adult or a new adult novel. There were moments that were not young adult appropriate, and all the talk about sex kind of left a bad taste in my mouth. We had a character flat out call Dorothy a place for Nick to park his cock, and I was so flabbergasted that this made it through an editor’s pen. It felt like the author wanted to make this an adult fiction but was trying to bank on the young adult readers, so she aged down Dorothy and Nick, but left all the inappropriate dialogue and scenes. I’m not a prude by any standards, and I love me some smut, but if this was written towards young adults, mainly teens, then the all the talk about sex, friends with benefits, having flings needs to be cleaned up a bit. That would also take out a lot of unnecessary scenes between Nick and Dorothy. Good Lord was there way too many of the same repetitive nonsense between these two. Okay, I have final gripe. That was Dorothy’s silver boots. These literally created plot armor around Dorothy, and soon because that all threats to her life became predictable, because of these boots. They created this armor that made her this badass of a warrior even though she hadn’t fought in her entire 17 years. Nothing was going to touch her, and the only time she didn’t benefit from the boots, they still protected her. She was never in any actual danger, so all the scenes with monsters and danger fell flat. If our main character isn’t at risk of dying, being hurt, or being turned into a vampire or zombie, then what is the point of having those fight scenes? The boots were too powerful, and it took away from the suspense and danger this book was trying to create in a land full of monsters. This book had a lot of potential, but it needs an editor that is going to be brutal to it and take out half of the unnecessary drama between Nick and Dorothy. Also there were a lot of typos, but nothing that took me out of the book. I didn’t need help with that, I stayed mostly on the outer edges of the book most of the time anyway. I didn’t finish it so I have no idea how it ends. I just couldn’t be bothered with it anymore.

GoodReads Rating: 2 Stars

#booklr #Dorothy In the Land of Monsters #Garten Gevedon #book review #book reviews #e-arc #arcs #netgalley #books #bookish #book lover #book nerd #book worm

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javocjovian · 5 years

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The Road So Far...

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Sarasaurussex’s Masterlist

• Bingos • Bangs • Holiday Events • Other Works • Art

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Bingos:

2019

A Supernatural Menagerie A collection of short smutty Supernatural stories! Mostly for Kink and ABO Bingo, plus a few requests. | Chapter | Title - Ship , Kink/Tag/Prompt | ʟɪɴᴋs | Ch 1 | Dress for Success - Destiel, Clothing Sharing | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 2 | Work, Work, Work - Sabriel, Rimming | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 3 | Bondage Therapy - Wincest, Bondage | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 4 | Fully Loaded - Sabriel, Breeding Kink (non-ABO) | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 5 | Two Feet Under - Sastiel, Footfetish/Breathplay | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 6 | Blood and Flesh, Mind and Soul - Mooseley (Sam x Crowley), Coming Untouched | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 7 | Sensory Overload - Sastiel, Scent Kink | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 8 | How To Make Sammy Sleep - Wincest, Domestic Kink | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 9 | Two Veils To Hide My Face - Wincest, Scent Marking (ABO) | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 10 | Wet Dreams May Cum - Debriel, Sleeping/First Times | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 11 | Getting To Know You - Sketch (Sam x Ketch), Friends to Lovers/Face Fucking | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 12 | An Angel and Demon In Us All - Meg!Sam x Castiel | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 13 | Exorcising Those Demons - Balthazar x Rowena, Fake Relationships | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 14 | Heaven and Hell - Megstiel, Squirting | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 15 | The Trap - Destiel, sub!Dean/Sex Pollen | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 16 | Ride ‘Em Cowboy - Destiel, Sexuality Crisis | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 17 | Ramble On - Destiel, Oral | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 18 | How To Train Your Demon - Dain (Dean x Cain), Caning | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 19 | Natural Born Leader - Calthazar, Societal Role Reversal (ABO) | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 20 | Whiskey and Spice - Dean x Ketch, Tattoos/Accidental Scent Bond (ABO) | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 21 | You’re Mine - Wincest (Demon!Dean x Boyking!Sam), Teasing | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 22 | Blueberry Pie - Wincest, Restraints (ABO) | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 23 | Down Boy - Wincest, Petplay | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 24 | It’s A Farcical Life - Sabriel, Sam Wesson | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 25 | Table Manners - Wincest, Voyeurism (ABO) | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 26 | Saving Grace - Castiel/Michael/Lucifer | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 27 | First Blood - Demon!Dean x Boyking!Sam, Bloodplay (Freespace) | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 | Ch 28 | BONUS | Dress For Success with Art by Purgatory-Jar! | ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ | ᴀᴏ3 |

A Close Shave | tumblr | AO3 | Square: Orgasm Denial Ship: Michael!Dean x Sam, implied Wincest Rating: E Word Count: 5,803 Tags: Orgasm Denial, Forced Orgasm, Aphrodisiacs, Multiple Orgasms, Edging, Teasing, Denial, Oral, Anal, Bondage Summary: Michael!Dean returns to his prisoner and has some fun. Part I not necessary.

Wherever I May Roam | tumblr | AO3 | Square: Roleplay Ship: Destiel, Cockles, Dean Winchester x Misha Collins Rating: E Word Count: 11,432 Tags: Angst, Hurt, Comfort, Heartbreak, Idiots to Lovers, Relationships, Emotional Sex, Realism, Condoms and Lube, Caught in the Act, Jensen & Misha & Dean & Castiel, Jared & Sam, Rejection, Arguments, First Time sex, Happy Ending, Fluff Summary: Sam and Dean get sent to another TV Land that’s slightly different than the last. In this version, Jensen and Misha are dating. Can Dean keep it together long enough to be rescued and avoid ruining his precariously platonic relationship with Castiel? (cue Sam laughing in the background)

Show Me Your Moves - sequel in progress | tumblr | AO3 | Square Filled: Neighbors Ship: Destiel (18yo!Dean x hunter!Castiel) Rating: E Word Count: 12,436 Tags: Top Cas/Bottom Dean, technically legal, age gap, enthusiastic consent, porn with plot, hand jobs, blowjobs, rimming, anal, fun positions, coming too early, multiple orgasms, cum licking, mentions of masturbation, lots of lube usage, horny teen Dean, mentions of abusive John, angst, apologies, Castiel is bad at talking, protective lil Sam, after-care, comfort, fluff Summary: While on a hunt, Castiel the slightly-OCD hunter keeps running into a cocky, sarcastic, drop-dead gorgeous eighteen-year-old named Dean Winchester. Turns out the kid is pretty good at punching ghouls, eating all of Castiel’s food, and getting dirty ;D Also appearing:sassy teen Sam (who volunteers at an animal shelter), Ellen and Jo, and a bunch of dogs. Mentions of John, Mary, Bobby, and Castiel’s angel family.

| SPN Kink Bingo Masterlist (ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ) | SPN ABO Bingo Masterlist (ɪɴ ᴘʀᴏɢʀᴇss) |

Bangs:

2019

Catch the Wind - Wincest Big Bang 2019 | tumblr | AO3 | WBB post | Ship: Teencest, Wincest, Wincestiel (at the end) Rating: E Word Count: 21,521 Tags: Flashbacks, Timetravel, Action, Angst, Hurt/Comort, John Winchester, OC villain, Choices, the Butterfly effect, Changing the past, Wound Care, Making out, Don’t wake dad, Guilt, Healing Sex, Threesome Warnings: Teenaged Wincest (Sam16, Dean20), canon level gore/violence, emotional parental abuse Summary: When a rogue angel Castiel once spared begins murdering angels on the West Coast, Sam and Dean help Castiel hunt the angel down once and for all. Along the way they find themselves in a place, they stayed in as teenagers. It brings back memories of Sam’s 16th birthday when he was being hunted by a delusional friend of John’s who was determined to stop the next King of Hell. Unbeknownst to Sam, Dean, or Castiel, the past and present are inexplicably intertwined, and sparing the angel in the past has unfathomable consequences for Sam and Dean’s future. Fate, chance, and redemption must all be confronted for the trio to move on.

Lost and Found - Supernatural Trope Celebration 2019 | tumblr | AO3 | STC post | Ship: Sastiel Rating: M Word Count: 12522 Tropes: Amnesia/Memory Loss, Reverse Sex Pollen, Deathbed Confessions Warnings: Mental Heath Issues, Mention of Suicide, AKF Summary: When Sam starts acting strange, Dean’s faith in his brother comes undone, and after a bad fight causes Sam to leave the bunker for good it seems impossible they’ll ever be able to reconcile. But Castiel suspects something more is going on. He finds Sam, only to discover his worst fear: Sam is not himself, and it might be too late to save him. Castiel enlists Rowena to help solve the mystery of Sam’s condition, cure him, and reunite the Winchesters.

Red and Gold - SPN Canon Big Bang 2019 | tumblr | AO3 | CBB post | Ship: Sabriel , Crowbriel (GabrielxCrowley), Crowsabriel (SamxGabrielxCrowley), background Destiel Rating: E Wordcount: 25,906 Warnings: Dub-con Summary: Back from the dead and acting strange, Gabriel finds himself in debt to Crowley. In order to free himself he must fulfill a contract by spying on the Winchesters, who are trying to shut the Gates of Hell. But after Sam catches Gabriel spying on him in the shower (naturally), the contract is voided and Gabriel finds himself enslaved to Crowley as payment. Sam figures out Gabriel’s deal with the devil and tries to help, but ends up caught up in it himself. Eventually, Sam and Crowley discover the cause of Gabriel’s strange behavior, and the unlikely trio of heroes and villains come together to save their favorite feathered frenemy from an even greater threat.

Black Mountain Side - Team Free Will Big Bang 2019 | tumblr | AO3 | TFW post | Ship: Wincestiel, Wincest Rating: E Wordcount: 7,792 Summary: Castiel gets injured on a hunt, causing tension between himself and Dean. Sam is forced to play mediator, but even he can’t predict how the night unravels. Held up in a shack in the mountains, the trio discovers how far they’ll go for each other.

Holiday Events:

2019

Chill Me, Thrill Me: A Supernatural Halloween Story Supernatural Trope Celebration (Halloween Edition) | tumblr | AO3 | Rating: T Trope: For Halloween, I’m Going as Myself Tags: Halloween Party, Costumes, Mystery, Monsters, Hunting, minor Sam Winchester/OC, Making Out, Humor, Holidays Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester get invited to a party on Halloween night, but they have no idea what kind of tricks and treats are in store for them.

What Really Matters Galentine’s Day Fic for @mrswhozeewhatsis | tumblr | AO3 | Ship: Castiel x Dean x Reader Rating: E Tags: Grace Healing, BAMF Castiel, Vulnerable Dean, Protective Dean and Cas, Bunker sex, Threesome, Dean in the middle, Sub Dean, Top Castiel, Power-Bottom Reader, Humor, Fluff, Smut Summery: Dean blames himself when you get injured in a fight. Luckily, you and Castiel know just how to bring him around.

2018

A Very Supernatural Christmas Party | AO3 | Ship: Destiel, Sabriel, mild Crowlthazar Tags: Christmas Smut, Destiel Angst (with a Happy Ending), Humor, Pranks Rating: E Summery: Gabriel and Castiel need dates to Metaron’s annual Christmas party.

Secret Santa Illustrated Fic | AO3 | Rating: G Summery: Crowley comes across a certain celebrity soul in Hell. Written for a fan.

Guess Who’s Coming to Thanksgiving Dinner | AO3 | Rating: G Summery: Sam, Dean, and the gang hit a roadblock on their way to Jody’s for Thanksgiving

Other Works:

Wet Dreams May Cum Debriel Creations Challenge @debrielcc | tumblr | AO3 | February Theme: First Times My Prompt: Sleep/Sleeping Ship: Debriel (Dean/Gabriel, Dean/Gabriel/Dream-Gabriel) Rating: E Tags: Somnophilia, masturbation, wet dreams, embarrassment, first time anal (Dean), hand jobs, prostate milking, wings, consensual, mild pain enjoyment, grace sex, grace bondage, induced sleep, bondage via induced sleep, soul fucking, dream control, dream sex, mind-reading, time-loop Summary: Dean has a wet dream about Gabriel, so Gabriel turns it into reality.

The Angel Who Would Be Human | AO3 | Ship: Gabrizar (Balthazar x Gabriel) Kinks: Shower Sex, Bath Sex, Blow Jobs, Sass Rating: E Summery: Balthazar becomes human for a week. Gabriel give shim a place to stay.

It’s Not Gay If You Don’t Hold Hands | AO3 | Ship: Mooseley, Destiel Kinks: So many. Crowley addicted to Sam’s blood, BDSM, Bondage, Shibari Rope, Cock Cages, Destiel Angst, Wing Kink Rating: E Summery: Set in an alternate universe following the conclusion of Season 9, Sam finds Crowley before he joins up with a newly awakened demon!Dean, and Castiel finds Dean before he can run off on his own. Note: This is my most popular SPN Fic from a few years ago, it’s an unfinished RP

Supernatural x Marvel Mini Bang | AO3 | Rating: T Summery: Mobster AU Crossover featuring the Family Business (Supernatural), the Avengers Assembly (the Avengers/Spiderman), and the L.A. Guardians (Guardians of the Galaxy). Also, Deadpool shows up uninvited.

»»———————————-　♛　———————————-««

Art:

Withheld - DeanCas Reverse Bang Art Withheld - DeanCas Reverse Bang Master Post

I’ll Always Be There - Wincest Reverse Art I’ll Always Be There - Wincest Reverse Master Post

Snowbound - Wincest Reverse Art Snowbound - Wincest Reverse Master Post

The Good, the Bad and the Fluffy - Wincest Reverse Art The Good, the Bad and the Fluffy - Wincest Reverse Master Post

»»——————————————-　♛　——————————————-««

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jarienn972 · 6 years

Text

The Inbetween - Chapter Three

Happy Wednesday! I've got Chapter Three of my @cssns story, The Inbetween, ready to share with you today, but as before, I am going to preface this chapter with a warning that it does contain a non-consensual spirit possession so for anyone bothered by such, skip to the second part of this chapter.

Once again, thank you so much to @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 for her wonderful artwork and to @kmomof4 and the rest of the @cssns organizers for creating this fun event!

AO3 FF.net Tumblr: Chap One Chap Two

Emma wasn't quite sure what to think when she felt Killian's body shudder against hers, the spasm startling her only a split second before his eyelids flew open. She felt his muscles tense as he tried unsuccessfully to sit upright so she placed her hand atop his chest and with a little gentle pressure, urged him to remain lying down.

"Easy there," she urged. "I wouldn't recommend trying to sit up just yet. You've got a nasty bump on your head and you're bleeding so, until I can heal you, you might want to take it slow."

"Slow?" Killian asked as he came around and Emma initially dismissed his tone as one of confusion, but that little nag in her gut was making itself known again, a sensation that only intensified with her husband's next statement. "I suppose I've forgotten the fragility of a physical body…"

"Are you feeling okay?" Emma asked quizzically, one eyebrow quirked in suspicion. "You must have struck your head harder than I thought…"

"The name is Jeremiah," came a voice from Killian's throat that definitely did not belong to the pirate - the accent and the pitch both dramatically different. Emma yanked her hand back from his chest, her body unconsciously reeling away in shock from this man who looked like her husband but no longer sounded like him. Unencumbered by her hand, the man calling himself Jeremiah bolted upright, apparently unaware or merely oblivious to the injuries Killian had suffered tumbling down the stairs.

"Killian - what the hell is going on?" Emma demanded, apprehension creeping into her voice as her eyes shot over to David. She gestured for her father and the three teens to stay back until she figured out what was happening. Why was her husband claiming to be someone else and why did he no longer seem bothered by the head injury that had him knocked out cold just minutes earlier? She wouldn't dare admit that she was a little bit frightened, but she absolutely needed answers.

Unbeknownst to her, across the room, Aiden had covertly pressed the Record button on his cell phone, praying that his battery would hold out long enough to capture some amazing paranormal evidence. He wasn't certain exactly what they were witnessing, but this was precisely what they'd come here to see and he knew it had to be documented.

"The Captain isn't in control of his faculties at the moment," the stranger who looked like Killian explained. "As I said, my name is Jeremiah and I've assumed control of his physical being so that I can speak to you, the living, once again so that I may plead for your assistance."

"You want my help?" Emma scoffed. "You take possession of my husband's body and expect me to help you? You really think that's the best way to go about this?" She may not have fully grasped what was transpiring, but she knew this wasn't Killian speaking and she'd be damned if she wasn't going to defend him. But who or what was she actually talking to?

"I'm afraid there was no other choice. My kind have waited a very long time to locate someone who could facilitate this conversation for us. The Captain's unique return to life after death made him the perfect vessel. Few had even been able to hear us before now."

"There are more of you?" Emma gulped, wondering which of them might become possessed next.

"Yes, there are several amongst our numbers," Jeremiah replied. "All of us forced to linger in this inbetween, unable to enter our afterlife because our hearts are being preserved by dark magic."

"Inbetween? Like some kind of purgatory?" Emma questioned, unfamiliar with the term Jeremiah had used.

"Purgatory would actually be a welcome blessing as it would mean we've at least passed into the realm of the dead. Our state is far worse - incomplete souls trapped in a horrid plane between life and death, gathered here in this mansion where we can draw on its magic and energy to sustain us."

The ghostly statement got Emma thinking. "You and the other spirits - you've been creating the weird lights and sounds that townspeople have been calling me about?" Emma asked, now beginning to understand the correlation.

"Yes. As All Hallows' Eve draws near, we are able to utilize the expanding magic this season brings to manipulate objects and materialize for brief moments. It has been our only means of communication with the living world since the Apprentice left us."

"The Apprentice - the old man - he knew you were here?" Emma asked for clarification.

"He did indeed. He didn't venture into the main house very often, but he was aware of our presence. He would sometimes speak to us, but he didn't possess the ability to assist us." Emma sat there as Jeremiah continued, slightly dumbfounded as to how this disgruntled spirit would believe that she could help them when the man who had known all of the secrets of this house - hell, the man who had known most of the secrets of the town - couldn't help.

"What makes you think that I'll be able to do anything for you?" Emma queried.

"As you are among the first to hear of our plight, we can at last divulge the truth. With the Apprentice, he could only gather bits and pieces of our stories, not enough to matter. He understood that he was in the presence of disembodied souls, but not why we are cursed to the inbetween…" Jeremiah tried to explain, but Emma interrupted to get to his point quicker.

"Why are you here?" she asked bluntly.

"We are all here because we passed on here in this realm, but without our still-living hearts," Jeremiah stated, not the answer that Emma had expected. Even David was so taken aback by the spirit's response that he chimed in to the conversation with his own half-statement, half-question.

"The Evil Queen took your hearts…," David said, trying to keep his tone even and nonjudgmental toward the Regina they now knew, but not without recollection of the atrocities she'd committed in the past. "Before the curse?"

Jeremiah nodded, gradually becoming aware of the strain he was placing on his host's body as he began to sense the faint trembling of Killian's extremities. "I was one of the Queen's guards before the curse. She made it common practice to remove all of her Black Guards' hearts so we would experience no pity nor remorse. She expected us to do our duties without emotion so collecting our hearts ensured it. When the curse brought us to this land, none of us was aware that we didn't possess our hearts until you, Emma Swan, broke that curse. When those memories came flooding back, we found ourselves victims of a new curse. For the twenty-eight years in which time was frozen, we were protected, but the moment that the Savior broke the Queen's curse, we were mortal once again and one by one, those of us now trapped here in the inbetween died. Without our hearts, all still preserved by the Queen's magic, we remain caught in this void - unable to cross over."

Emma sighed, recognizing the difficulty that they were going to face trying to complete this task. "After all of these years, do you think that Regina even remembers who all of those enchanted hearts belong to?"

"I believe she did return some of the hearts that she could identify a while back - when she was trying to show everyone that she could change and do good," David replied with a slight shrug. "But she and Cora collected so many, we might never know…"

"That's what I was afraid of," Emma frowned. "Where would we even begin?"

"We need to enchantment to be removed or the hearts to be crushed to release the missing piece of our souls. It's the only way we can free our spirits of this place," Jeremiah stated very matter-of-factly, but Emma immediately reminded him of an important bit of information he was either overlooking or nonchalant about.

"We can't just go around crushing all of the hearts in Regina's vault," Emma said firmly. "We don't know if those hearts belong to the living or the dead and I'm not going to put innocent lives at risk to free a few poltergeists. There has to be a different way…"

"We're going to have to talk to Regina,but we can't do that if we're all locked in here," David reminded the spirit. "We need you to remove whatever spell is keeping us here if you want our help."

Emma stared into the face of her husband, but made her plea to Jeremiah and the other ghosts. "If we agree to help you, we're going to need some cooperation from you. First, like my dad said, you need to drop whatever spell is keeping us from exiting so we can get help from friends outside of these walls. Second, I need you to stop draining my magic so that I can heal Killian. We need a little good faith from you, so, what do you say? Do we have an agreement?"

"We agree to lower the protective barrier, but we cannot allow you to heal the Captain just yet. It is only through his injured state that we can communicate with you," Jeremiah told her, but Emma wasn't going to relent on that request.

"I think you're failing to understand that if Killian dies, you're back to square one. I can see his body shaking with pain - you have to be able to feel that. He'll be useless to you if you push too hard and his heart gives out," Emma's voice was practically begging at this point, unsure how much strain Jeremiah's unwanted possession of Killian's body had already placed on him. "You said that Killian could hear you before. He'll still be able to hear you after I heal the worst of his injuries. If you want my help, this is non-negotiable."

The spirit inhabiting Killian's form contemplated her words for a few agonizing seconds, then at last, lowered his head in a nod. "Agreed." It was the only word he spoke as Killian's body fell limp. He collapsed into Emma's arms as she lunged forward to catch him before he struck the marble flooring again just as the dark shadow-like form of the spirit vanished, passing through a nearby wall.

Emma gently lowered Killian's head and shoulders until they were resting on the floor and brought her hands up over his torso as before, smiling broadly as the familiar glow of her magic illuminated the vestibule. She hovered her palm above his chest then swooped it up over his forehead in one rapid, circular motion, pleased to watch the swollen bruise at his temple disappear with her healing powers. She had no real expectation that Killian would wake instantly from his ordeal, certain that a paranormal takeover of his body had likely taken a demanding physical toll on him.

"Now what?" David asked as the glow dissipated, plunging them back into the murkiness of the flickering candlelight. "And what do we do about them?" He pointed to the three adolescents who had thankfully remained silent and out of the way in the midst of a spirit possession. They'd come here searching for ghosts and probably ended up getting a lot more than they'd bargained for.

"You go - take them home. Their parents have worried enough tonight," Emma instructed. "Then go wake up Regina. This is a mess she created so she can help sort it out."

"Agreed," David laughed, although there was a bit of a nervous vibe to the chuckle. He'd probably find himself staring down a fireball waking Regina at this hour.

"But we don't want to go home yet," Tyler whined. "This is exactly what we came here to see. You can't make us leave just when things are getting good…"

"We can and we are," Emma snapped back at the teen. "You are all going home and if I catch any of you back here tonight, I will have all of you arrested for trespassing and you can spend the weekend in my jail, followed by a month of community service…"

"Wouldn't that be up to a judge?" Aiden countered as he turned off the camera on his phone, hoping neither Emma nor David noticed, but Emma wasn't in any mood to argue and she'd already caught on to his attempted stealth.

"It would be, and I happen to know that Judge Broome usually sides with the mayor. Since your actions tonight are indirectly causing Mayor Mills to be awakened at nearly 3AM, a month of community service might end up being too light of a punishment…" The teens were going home, there was no fighting that, but she wasn't finished with them just yet. "I'm also confiscating your phones and that camera until I have a chance to review anything you recorded tonight. This isn't going on the internet."

"Hand 'em over," David said as the teens reluctantly did as instructed. He pocketed all of the devices, intending to take them to the station later that night, or maybe the next morning. "Okay, now come on, you three. Let's get you home now and we'll discuss any charges you might be facing in daylight. Emma, I'll be back as quickly as I can and with reinforcements."

"Thanks," she responded, worried that this night was going to grow even longer. What if they couldn't find a way to help these spirits? Would she and Killian end up trapped within these walls for eternity with them? That was a fate she didn't even want to consider as she pulled her husband closer to her, his head now resting on her knees until he awakened.

Per Mrs. Sprat's request, David deposited all three teenagers on her doorstep before making a quick call to a still wide-awake Snow with updates. Then, steeling his composure, he made the call to Regina, fully expecting her wrath. It took three attempts at calling her landline phone and another two to her cell phone before she finally answered, none-too-joyful to receive a call from Prince Charming at 3AM - but honestly, David wasn't feeling overly guilty at waking her. This did boil down to a disastrous mess of her creation anyway.

By the time he had pulled into the mayor's driveway ten minutes later, the sky was pouring down a bitter cold rain. He made a dash for the front stoop and rang the doorbell, shaking away some of the raindrops clinging to his skin and clothing as Regina swung open the door, frowning at both the sight of the rain and the dripping wet David on her doorstep.

"Get in here before you get any more drenched than you already are," she grumbled, taking a step to her right so he could pass.

"Thanks," David smiled at her as he entered, courteously wiping his feet on the mat so he didn't track in too much water. "Sorry to have to drag you out of bed in the middle of the night, but we've got an unusual situation going on that's going to require your help."

"Of course...because we never have any unusual situations here in Storybrooke at 3 in the morning...," she quipped, sweeping her arm in a gesture towards her parlor. "I suppose I should ask exactly what this unusual situation might be since all you mentioned in your call was that Emma and Hook were trapped in the Sorcerer's mansion."

"Well, at the moment, they aren't exactly trapped, but they're still caught in a rather awkward position," David clarified, but he knew his explanation was going to become less believable as he went on. "Let me start by saying that the mansion is definitely haunted."

"Haunted, really?" she scoffed. "You believe in ghosts now?"

"Until about an hour ago, I didn't," David replied while leaning against the arm of a black leather loveseat. "But after what I witnessed, there's no doubt in my mind that it's haunted…"

"Go on…" Regina remained skeptical, but there was something in Charming's body language that indicated he wasn't making this up.

"Okay, I'll start at the beginning, but I'll try to be as brief as possible. Emma got a call from Mrs. Sprat whose son and a couple of his friends went off ghost hunting and didn't come home on time. Anyway, Emma asked for some help searching that huge house, so she dragged Hook and I out of bed, and while we did find the kids, we also found something rather creepy. The mansion is apparently inhabited by a bunch of disembodied spirits who are trapped in what they called the inbetween because they died without their hearts. So, as you see, this is definitely your area of expertise."

"It's no secret that I've crushed a lot of hearts in my villainous past, but I tried my best to return those I could. I just don't know who all of them belong to anymore, but I also don't understand why it would have caused anyone to become a ghost. There were plenty of people we encountered in the Underworld whose hearts I had crushed…"

"Well, tonight, I watched my injured son-in-law become possessed by one of those spirits who had quite a tale to tell. One of the teenagers tried to sneak a video of the interaction on his phone, which we confiscated. Look at this - it's Killian speaking, but at the same time, it isn't…" David dug Aiden's phone from his jacket pocket and pulled up the four minute long video. The image wasn't really clear due to the minimal light, but Regina could still make out the form of Killian Jones, seated on the floor, Emma an arm's distance away. The sound had significant static, but the voices were distinct enough to make out and David was right, the words coming from Killian's mouth weren't his own. "The ghost told us that their hearts weren't crushed, just taken. What's keeping them here is their hearts remain magically preserved in your vault while the owners' bodies passed away."

"Oh…," Regina stammered, her eyes drifting from the phone screen to the hardwood floor beneath her feet as David sensed a flush of guilt overtaking her. After a pensive pause, she continued. "Never thought about that possibility, but how can we be sure that's really the case?"

"Regina, I have no reason to doubt the story," David stated. "Those teenagers and I watched as some black, shadowy figure pushed Hook down a flight of stairs, then took possession of his unconscious body so it could speak to us. The ghost even identified himself - Jeremiah, a former member of your Black Guard. Name sound familiar?"

"Possibly…," was her reply, but her actions said otherwise. "What exactly do you expect me to do?"

"Those hearts in your vault - is it your magic that keeps them glowing?"

"Of course, it is. It's a spell that my mother initiated decades ago and I followed along. I suppose that without the enchantment, hearts that belonged to dead persons would go dim."

"Is there a way to remove the enchantment? To undo the spell?"

"Maybe, but why should I?" she asked indignantly. "They're just spirits…"

"Because if these spirits can draw enough power from that mansion to enact their own protective barrier which trapped us inside, they could pose a threat to the entire town. They're obviously pissed off - I mean they did shove Hook down a flight of stairs, so we know they can affect things in the living world. Jeremiah said that as it gets closer to Halloween, they become more powerful, so - what if they leave the mansion? What if they possess someone else? Regina, the right thing to do is to help them find a way to cross over."

"Fine," she relented, David's argument convincing her. "I'll see what I can do to reverse the spell in the morning. I can probably find a way to lift the enchantment from the dead hearts…"

"Good. And since it's already morning, I'll go let Emma know that you're working on it."

"I meant morning - as in daylight, Charming…"

"I know, but I don't think we have that kind of time. Emma and Hook are still stuck inside that house with those angry spirits. She cut a bargain with the ghosts so they'd stop siphoning her magic long enough for her to heal most of Hook's injuries, but he was still out cold when the ghosts allowed the teens and I to leave. I don't think magical healing is particularly effective on concussions either. You and I both know that there is a lot of strange, powerful magic inside that mansion and these spirits know how to utilize it. I don't want to see anyone else I love getting hurt because you didn't get enough beauty sleep!" David halted his words there, realizing after they'd left his tongue that they might have been a tad too harsh. For a split-second, he was tempted to apologize, but instead, he held his ground.

Regina scowled silently at him for a moment while she decided how to respond. "You know that I've turned men into toads for speaking that way to me…" David swallowed hard at the possibility he'd crossed a line, but then Regina's icy stare softened. "But I get it. This town faces enough supernatural challenges on a daily basis so adding cranky ghosts to the mix is a particularly bad idea. I'll head down to the vault and start working on a reversal spell as soon as I get some coffee brewing. Hopefully, Emma can hold the ghosts at bay until I figure it out."

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff #cs ghost ff #the inbetween

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littleredroseonthevalley · 6 years

Text

An Opera on Separation - Chapter 13

Prologue | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | CH. 13 | Ch. 14 | Ch. 15 | Ch. 16 | Ch. 17 | Ch. 18 |

Summary: Emily’s relationship is on the rocks, but as far as Marietta Jones is concerned, the last word is still to be said on the matter. Will it be enough? Especially now that vultures roam to peck on the loves lost’s carcass.

Rating: T - Content not suitable for children. Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 1640

Notes: Today’s song, Kate Bush’s Suspended in Gaffa, holds a special place on my regard. I got third place back in 2016 with that on the SADF Cape Town Dance Open. So listen, and comment for my own sanity’s sakes, please.

Furthermore, I have another announcement. I placed Wildest Dreams’ sequel on temporary hold. I’m not sure I’ll finish it or if it’ll rot on the Purgatory, AKA my Documents folder, but the thing is I’m finishing a Chris fic, so...

The funniest thing is that I don’t even like The Freshman, and yet it seems to be everything I write about. I think that’s because the characters are so vain and unidimensional (they’re whiny millenials, after all), I have an easier time into molding them to suit my own evil purposes.

Enjoy.

Suspended in Gaffa

In the course of the following weeks, things seemed to settle with Emily, Queenie and Nathan.

They fell into a comfortable routine that allocated little time to pointless arguing between the three of them, and, not unlike every other morning, the young man was cooking breakfast, whistling while doing so.

“Good morning!” The youngest roommate walks into the kitchen, all smiles as often.

“Good morning, Emily!” He responded, in equal amount of cheerfulness, while flipping a pancake with a cheeky flair. “I’m almost done with your stack.”

She took a seat at the counter. “You’re on a great mood this morning.” She noted.

The blond took to an uncharacteristic move and chuckled heartily. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

“Any special motives?” The redhead probes, appreciative of the enjoyable and non-conflictive new mood of her housemate.

“No, nothing special.” The man answers, and after a while, continues: “I don’t know, I just have so much free time these days. I’m caught up with my movies and books I’ve been wanting to read for years. I picked up squash again with Mr. Hibert, down at 4B. And I’m cooking! I love to cook, but I couldn’t even eat right back when I was working.”

The young woman smiled kindly at him. “If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“I am very happy.” He nodded. “Today’s the last day of school, isn’t it?”

She shook her head. “Nah, the students get off today, but the teachers will have to wait until Friday to leave for the Winter break. We have exams and planning meetings to attend.”

“So you’re free this weekend?” He asks while settling the stack of pancakes in front of her.

“I have to grade the end-of-term tests for my students, but after that I’m completely free.” She responds. “And these pancakes are to die for!”

The fair-headed man smirks. “Thanks. And I was thinking of watching a stupid blockbuster on the big TV on the living room Saturday night. Would you care to join?”

The ginger tutted. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt if I didn’t finish it all on the first day of break. Sure, why not? Six works for you?”

He scoffed. “I’ll be sure to work it out on my busy, busy schedule.”

“Don’t you make a girl feel special?” She laughed of his comment.

The two of them continue to talk amicably until it was time for Emily to leave for school.

“Hello, Ms. Harper.” Marietta knocks on the door of the classroom while Emily got ready for lunch. “I wanted to have a word with you today. Could I walk you to the teacher’s lounge?”

“Of course.” She responded, wary of what could possibly be the subject of such conversation.

The two women walked out the room, Emily locked the door and Marietta begun to talk: “You see, Ms. Harper, I have been speaking with a few of your students about your classes.”

The redhead gasps softly in concern. “Is there something wrong? If there’s something I could do better, I would be more than happy to rectify my behaviour.”

The Caribbean woman laughed, dismissively. “Oh, no, not at all. Much the opposite, the students say they love your classes. I believe their words were ‘kind’, ‘patient’ and ‘smart’. You’ve made a great impression on them!”

Emily giggled in embarrassment. “They are great students, as well. I’m glad they like my teaching, especially for me being so inexperienced.”

“Experience is the one thing you can be sure it comes with time.” Ms. Jones smiles kindly. “Ms. Harper, I have to ask, what’s your plans for the next school year?”

“I’m not really sure.” She confessed. “I’m still trying to settle in New York and all the singledom and living with my mom again.”

The two educators reach the teachers’ lounge and take a seat over an unoccupied table.

The black woman, then, nods to the other’s declaration. “Well, I think you already know, but Mr. Smith of the English department is retiring in June. And the superintendent insists in sending the worse hires, we rarely take the long end of the stick with teachers around here.

“Which leads me to my question: would you be interested in teaching high school come August? You’ll receive a raise, of course, and you’ll have your own classroom. And…” She stops to think a little. “I guess those are all the benefits I can offer you.”

“But what about my GED classes?” The younger woman asks, concerned for them not having a Reading teacher in the coming year.

“That’s up to you. If you feel that you can handle the extra workload, then you can keep on teaching both levels. But if you prefer teaching high school only, you also may. The raise will be less generous, but you’ll still have enough hours to qualify for full-time.” The principal explains.

Emily, hearing that, smiles widely. “Well, then I’m in. I’d love to teach high school and GED classes next year.”

It seemed like a load got out of Marietta’s shoulder. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll contact the superintendent and inform him we’ll have a full English department next year, and you should talk to Mr. Smith about the transition.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The redhead nods.

“Moving on to lighter subjects,” The other woman smiles. “Who’s your Secret Santa?”

The white woman smirks. “Shouldn’t it be a secret?”

“I don’t do Secret Santa ever since a student thought it’d be funny to gift me a pair of lacy underwear.” She says, a hardness of an unfulfilled hatred shielding her eyes for an instant. “And I like knowing things before anyone else. Come on! Indulge a poor, old lady!”

Emily looks around to check if there was someone overhearing their conversation leans over and says: “Ms. Perth, from the Chemistry department.”

“She’s into cats. Try to find a porcelain statuette, she loves those.” Marietta responds and the two of them share a laugh.

It was then that Zig entered the room. He looked forlornly at Emily, who faced him with an equal expression of heartache.

Sensing the awkwardness, Marietta calls out: “Mr. Ortega! Why don’t you join us?”

He coughs. “I’m sorry, Ms. Jones, I just remembered I have to stop by the library to check on some books that arrived this week.”

“No, please, stay.” Emily stands up. “I’m already finished either way. Thanks, Ms. Jones, for your kind offer.”

She walks to the door, her perfume brushing Zig’s nose on her way out. He, then, occupies the seat left vacant by the woman.

“That was painfully awkward.” Marietta says, looking pointedly at the burly man next to her.

“Yeah, well, what can I do if she prefers to frolic around with her jailbait excuse for a husband?” He said, bitterly.

The woman rolled her eyes. “You can fight, for one. Last I understood, she made it very clear she wanted to be with you.”

“It’s useless.” He grumbles. “What frustrates me is that every time I am close to get the girl, down struts Nathan Sterling, the third,” The man sneers the filial name. “And messes everything up.”

“That’s enough, Zigmund Ortega!” Marietta hits with her fist against the table. “I forbid you to hold a pity party for yourself! You’re going to stand up, act your own age, and go after what you want right this instant!”

He looks disinterested at the older woman and drawls: “You got any ideas?”

“In fact, I do.” She fished a small slip of paper out of her pocket and shows it to reveal Emily’s name. “I rigged the Secret Santa. Congratulations, you drew Emily! Now go out and buy a nice present that shows her all your love and care. Now!”

Nathan was enjoying a nice cup of tea, brewed to perfection by his own two hands, while reading a light book. He was by himself at the apartment, and the tall floor made the traffic bellow sound like a soft white noise machine.

His peace, however, was soon to be destroyed by what seemed a wind gust running through the front door: “Emily hasn’t come home yet, has her?”

The man sighed. “No, Soraya, she has not.”

She smirked and pulled a small bunch of notes. “Here’s your cut for our little bake sale. The fatties loved your ‘fat-free’,” She used arrogant air-quotes. “chocolate croissants.”

The blond man laughed derisively. “Thank you, they flatter me with their voraciousness towards my cooking.”

“Speaking of which, how’s your Friday night?” Queenie walks over to the kitchen to grab a water bottle and Nathan trails behind.

“Nothing much.” He responds.

“Congratulations, then. You’ll win our TV back on a raffle I’m organizing.” The older woman smiles wickedly. “It’s for the poor children whose families can’t afford Christmas, see?”

“Of course.” He smirked and shook his head. “What about Emily, though?”

“Don’t worry about her.” She dismissed. “She’ll be on a Secret Santa party with the other teachers.”

Nathan grimaces with the thought and Queenie looks pointedly at him. “I know what you’re doing.”

He looks at her with his patented derisiveness. “What?”

“You’re trying to web Emily back with you.” The woman declared, hard and cold like steel. “I don’t know why, if you are competitive to the point you can’t see anyone else to be with what you once considered yours, or if you hate her and can’t stand to see her happy.

“What I do know, though, is that you’re not going to succeed. My daughter is trusting, naïve and good. But she’s not stupid. You’ve done some terrible things, Nathan, and you don’t get to come back from that.”

He scoffed. “You’re wrong, Soraya.”

“Am I? Am I really?” She smirked and left the kitchen.

Nathan, now alone, contemplates the glass full with water laying abandoned on the counter.

Queenie was wrong.

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An Opera on Separation - Masterlist

#an opera on separation #the junior #zigmund ortega #nathan sterling

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daydreaming-scribe · 6 years

Text

Stay a Little Longer

Archive of Our Own

Fandom: Harry Potter Series

Ship: Harry/Ginny

Rating: Teen and Up Audience

Warnings/Tags: Major Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Depression, Sad Ending

Summary: The War's left them all with scars. Some scars never heal.

Notes: So I wrote this despite having two unfinished stories that have not been updated in (over) a year, unless I’m mistaken. Judge me.(Happy endings are for chumps, read at thine own peril).

They are in the kitchen, like they always are in the morning. Sunlight streams in through the open window, carrying with it the cool breeze of fall and the bustling noises of Holyhead. He watches, arms folded, as she eats her breakfast. She stands in front of the counter, staring down at her oatmeal as she shovels it into her mouth. They say nothing. Of course, he’s made the effort to talk to her, from time to time, but it’s been about as productive as talking to a brick wall.

She finishes the oatmeal, placing the bowl in the sink and running it in water. She walks past him, not evening acknowledging him as she leaves for practice.

“She wants to talk to you, Harry.” Luna says encouragingly to him when he pops in to visit her. “She just can’t acknowledge you.”

“I know she can’t.” He responds flatly, running his hands through his hair. It’d been difficult, learning to respond calmly when he was seething with rage, but he honestly can’t bring himself to yell at Luna. Not when she’s the only one that still talks to him. “Can’t you say something? Anything?”

“I have, but unfortunately they think I’m all mad.” She responds. There’s a sadness in her voice, and Harry briefly wonders if she’s had to deal with this before. It’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility, as Luna’s seemed to have dealt with far more than any of them. She picks up immediately on how he slouches, giving her radiant smile. “Don’t give up hope, Harry. She’ll come around. Eventually, she’ll come around.”

She’s eating takeout for dinner, watching the telly in the dimly lit living room. The bustle and groove of nightlife is audible from the still-open window in the kitchen. He’s watching her from the opposite couch, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and her messy red hair.

“Not going to say anything, then?” He asks suddenly, his tone bitter and venomous and seething with rage. “Going to act like I’m not here?” It’s stupid, to be angry at her, but he can only feel resentment at her, because they’re both wasting away sitting in the apartment while there’s so much happening right outside their door.

She doesn’t respond, just continues eating takeout, watching the latest trashy episode of her program.

Hours later, he can hear her screaming into her pillow, crying and begging and pleading. Nightmares again.

They both have plenty of reasons to have nightmares. A War came and hadn’t left without leaving them with a fair amount of scars. The mountain of dead loved ones she had an impact on her nightmares, but the focus would always be her horrifying first year. The vague half-memories of what she was forced to do, the unspoken horror of being trapped within her own mind, had never stopped haunting her, nor would it ever end.

If he was stronger, he would wake her up, make her feel safe, make her feel comforted.

He isn’t strong, not anymore. He does his best to drown out her cries.

“You look like you’ve had a rough week.” Hermione comments, pouring water into the tea cup Ginny’s slouched over. Harry watches as Ginny gives her a dirty look.

“You’re as delicate as ever in social graces, Hermione.” The older witch looks slightly shame-faced, muttering a quick apology to the redhead.

“You’d rather her be blunt? You look like warmed-over shit, Gin.” Ron says, a comment earning a smack on the head from Hermione and has his sister reaching for her wand.

The three of them are hunched over the kitchen counter, spending an afternoon visit indoors and out of the heavy welsh rain. Harry’s lounging on the couch, away from them as usual. It made no point if he was any closer or farther, because he wouldn’t be involved in the conversation as it was.

“Maybe you should talk to a therapist, Ginny.” Suggests Hermione, as she places a hand on Ginny’s arm. “You’ve been through a lot as it is. It might be good to have some input. Someone to talk to about – ” She cuts herself off. “Just consider it.” A silence follows, filled only by the constant tap tap tap of the rain.

“I hate him.” Ginny whispers, her voice thick with emotion. Ron and Hermione still, not daring say a word.

They all know she isn’t talking about Voldemort.

He’s walking through the crowd at a party. It’s a post-game celebration for the Harpies, one of Ginny’s first victories. It’s also the first time he’s been in a crowded place since the end of the War.

For once, no one is paying him any mind, letting him weave through the crowd in an effort to locate his friends.

He finds Hermione and Ron in a corner, each thoroughly exploring the other’s mouth with their own. They both have fairly loose grips on their drinks, accidentally spilling some every time they shift slightly. He’d smile, if only it didn’t remind of how long it’s been since he’s kissed Ginny.

He moves away from his two oldest friends, not saying a word to either of them. Slipping back into the crowd, He passes old school friends – DA members and Gryffindors and his Quidditch team mates – without any acknowledgement that he exists. If he convinces himself hard enough, he can sometimes believe that it’s because they want to give him personal space.

He sees an open terrace across the main room, past the mass of bodies, most likely so the guests have an open space to apparate and disapparate at will. While he’s reasonably worried that he can’t find Ginny, he still finds the abundance of people overwhelming. There’s a tightness in his throat and he suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to be anywhere but in the midst of a sea of warm bodies and loud heart beats.

He makes his way out to balcony, and almost immediately wishes he’d stayed inside, or not come at all. Because some bulky halfwit has his arms wrapped around Ginny, and he’s seemingly trying to reach the back of her throat with his tongue.

It doesn’t last long, of course. As soon as Harry can fully recognize what’s going on, she pulls away from the stranger, guilt and confusion on her face, and disapparates with a crack.

When he comes back to the flat, she’s wrapped around the loo, shaking slightly. He doesn’t bring up the kissing, knowing that she won’t give him an answer anyways. It’s just another unaddressed problem in their relationship.

The communication issues aren’t just between him and Ginny. In fact, Harry doesn’t tell anyone anything. Luna is the only person he talks to, the only person he can get to talk back to him. The communication issues between him and everyone relatively close to him are just a symptom of his overall condition. The idiotic Purgatory he’s stuck in for Merlin knows what reasons.

Godric’s Hollow in the early hours of Christmas morning is as beautiful as it was when Harry first saw it with Hermione. Like before, he’s simply strolling unnoticed through the town. The only difference is that he’s with Ginny this time around.

She’s carrying a bouquet of flowers and a tiny parcel close to her chest, walking several paces ahead of him. Despite the snowfall, she isn’t heavily bundled, and as a result she gives a shiver every few steps.

They approach town square, and the obelisk that they can see from a far-off distance fades to reveal the statue of him and his parents. She places the flowers next to his mother’s statue, taking a minute to ponder the expressions on the three stone faces.

They continue further up the road, reaching Potter Cottage. While the ruins of the house are still intact somewhat, yet another statue dominates the scene. It’s of an adult Harry, or rather, it’s supposed to be him in theory, but the 20 foot tall carving has a ridiculous bravado in it’s face and pose that Harry never possessed a day in his life, nor does he possess it now.

Ginny obviously shares his sentiments, because she snorts in derision at the statue and sits on the bench at its base. She begins to unwrap the parcel, and tears away the brown paper packaging, revealing far more contents than the package’s size would suggest. The first item out of the parcel is a variety pack of Weasley Wizard Wheezes, most likely from Ron and George. Next comes a tin of Mrs. Weasley’s treacle tart, followed by several Quibbler magazines, a World War II Novel, and a hand-knit sweater.

“Good haul this year.” She comments, continuously digging through the parcel (clearly bearing an extension charm, courtesy of Hermione). She removes a few more items – a bottle of Firewhisky, some Chocolate Frogs, a Peppermint toad, a small folded piece of paper, and (surprisingly) a pair of Mars Bars. “Hermione said you liked these Muggle ones. Of course, it’s chocolate, so that’s not such a shock.”

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he watches her pour the Firewhisky into two glasses. She takes one, swirling the glass a tad and savouring the sharp scent of the drink, before taking a sip. The effect is immediate, and she relaxes slightly, no longer as bothered by the cold of a winter’s midnight.

She lounges lazily like a cat on the bench, sighing contently. The Firewhisky’s already coloured her cheeks so that they resemble a sunset more than anything else, and her fiery red hair spreads around her head like a halo as she lays down against the bench. It’s probably freezing cold, and he thinks of saying something to make her move, but knows she won’t listen.

“I like Teddy’s picture.” She comments, unwrapping the piece of paper. It’s a child’s crayon scribblings, showing a mass of stick figures around a Christmas tree, designated as certain people by the names placed under them. Harry’s drawn with Ginny on one side and Remus and Tonks on the other. “He definitely got your looks.”

Harry snorts at that, watching her place the picture beside the other gifts, at the base of the statue. She pauses for a minute, exhaling gently, before lifting herself off the bench.

“Everyone’s told me I shouldn’t consider myself your girlfriend anymore.” She says, grabbing only the Firewhisky bottle and the two glasses. “They might have a point, but I guess I’m too stubborn at times.” He’s silent, inspecting her closely. “It’s surreal, though. Even Fred was easier to handle than you.” There’s a pause, and she stares downward, at the front of the pedestal the statue’s on. “Merry Christmas, Love.”

She disapparates, leaving the mountain of presents to the right of the pedestal, beside the bench. Harry approaches the statue’s base. He’s looked at it dozens of times, every single time he and Ginny have been here. Every time, he hopes that the inscription has changed. However, as always, it’s the same:

Beloved Brother, Friend and Son, Savior of the Wizarding World, Loyal and Brave till the End

Harry James Potter

31st July, 1980 – 2nd May, 1998

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death

“I have to be here for a reason.” He decides measuredly, looking up at Ginny as she pens her review on the latest match. “Right?”

The only response is the constant scribbling of her quill.

“There has to be something that’s kept me here.” He continues. “I didn’t choose this, I didn’t run away from anything, so there has to be something – someone that’s made me stay here.”

Luna is the only one who sees him. And isn’t that a bitter irony, because when she tries to convince the rest of them that Harry’s still here, they nod their heads knowingly like Luna Lovegood of all people has started to espouse clichéd sentiments like they’re some profound philosophy on life, rather than take her statement at its face value.

“Did Dumbledore decide to bugger me over one last time?” He wonders. “Did he know that letting Voldemort kill me would trap me here the same way it trapped Voldemort over there?” He turns to back to her, desperately hoping for some recognition.

“Or am I still here because of you?”

She sets down the quill, holding the parchment up to the light to give it the once-over.

“Do you need my help? I’m supposed to help you, what, move on or something?”

She makes a face at something she dislikes, scratching it out and adding the correction beside it.

“I know that you want to move on. And it’s okay if you want to. I want you to move on, Ginny. I just need you to answer me.”

A second and third correction are made, the quill flicking as it scribbles in new words.

“You know I’m here, don’t you? You can sense it. Right?” He’s desperate now, holding back tears. He’s been stuck watching for so long, the prospect of watching forever is hellish. That Old-School Muggle Theology preaching of fire and brimstone have nothing on this, forced to watch everything pass you by, the people you love unware that you’re inches from their face. “Right?”

She places the parchment and quill down, pulling out her chair from the table. She is silent, as always, and pretty much indifferent to him. She’s older than him, her red hair streaked with gray and crow’s feet at her eyes. She still lives in this flat, alone.

“Ginny, please,” He falls to his knees. “I need you to help me. I need you to see me. I need you to let me go. I can’t be stuck here anymore – ”

She walks past him, slowly trudging towards her bedroom.

“Ginny.” He pleads, a whispered prayer.

Slowly, softly, the door closes shut.

#hp #my stuff #HarryGinny #hinny #harry potter #ginny weasley #hurt #depression #character death #fic

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twistedatheist85 · 4 years

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This is where I've chosen to come and heal; reflect, possibly, on how much I've hated the last 20 years of my life, up to this point. Everything is completely grand, now...on the outside. Inwardly, however, I struggle to let go of the hatred that I have for my past.

We all have our demons, our sufferings and skeletons...some of us know how to rid our heavy hearts, and stop the haunting memories. I'm one of many, without success...regardless of the therapy and medication. If not for 2 fears, that I have, suicide would have been an option at 25. I tried during my teens, just not hard enough, I suppose.

Not putting any effort into living, was just as bad as actively slicing my wrists wide open. That's where I headed; reckless and deviant behavior ensued. An 18 year old runaway with dyed hair; clubbing, heavy drinking, drugs, sex with the first good looking soldier that approached me, damned amazing music; punk, metal, hard rock...I saw Pantera before they became "famous"...from my blurry memory, it's where I went to escape the mundane. From Oklahoma, my dad got calls from Lawton police. My dad, captain of my home towns police force...THAT looked amazing for him. My world spinned out of control, and I was in love with the possibility of it all running into a brick wall.

I've never feared death... we're biological fodder for the Earth. There is no afterlife...the heaven and the hell are our own creations, as we move through each episode in our lives. We're all connected and at some point, we cross paths with people who help us create our heaven or our hell. I was raised catholic, so to my dad, this is purgatory. I've disagreed with this ideology since I was 12...old enough to question and reason...a forbidden trait for anyone in a religious family. So, the thought of dying never truly scared me...it still doesn't. If we're all lucky, we go quickly or silently. The brick wall, that I was so enamored with, was going to be my finest moment.

I'm thinking that I still live in a way that's not conducive to longevity. I drive an 18-wheel monster, for a living. The least affective job that I've ever had, was working in a call center...where was the adventure in that! There was NONE, other than wishing that the entirety of the eastern seaboard would drop off into the Atlantic, because there's some rude assed mother fuckers that live out there, and they get pretty mouthy when they're connected to a phone line. All my passed jobs have been pretty exciting, if not down right dangerous. Graveyard shift in a convenience store, civil process sever, taxi cab driver, high rise window cleaner, and now an over the road truck driver. In digression, I suppose I'm still in love with the possibility of an abrupt ending.

I suppose that the life that I led, prior to the birth of my first daughter, set the stage for what I'd endure for the next 20 years. All stemming from the want to be loved; a happily-ever-after ideology that I endeared in my grand parents. 56 years together, and it was truly until death did they part. I wanted that; so badly that I endured anything and everything.

The birth of my first, was a reprieve from that want. Even if her father didn't love me, I now had a tiny individual, that I held in my arms, that would love me. Even the infidelity wasn't as important as she was...my baby. At several points, in her early life, he could've walked out the door, and spared me the humiliation. I'd have found a way to make it; to support her and myself. But, he didn't... he was bold enough to lay his mistresses down in the bed that his new baby daughter and I slept in.

Everyone has a breaking point; no matter a person's tenacity, drive, or strength, we break... first to go are our minds. Being constantly told that I'd never make it without him and that I had a horse's unattractive smile, was enough to convince me that I hated him...emphatically, but that he just might have been right. Who was going to want a 22 year old single mother of a toddler? When he finally did leave, 8 years later, a horrendous relief came; my confidence rushed back into my head, although I kept telling myself that I didn't need anyone to help raise my, now, two daughters, and that I was perfectly capable of raising them on my own, I couldn't shake that endearing ideology of happily-ever-after.

I was alone... yet I had the love of two beautiful little girls at my side; keeping me busy, occupying my mind, and they had no idea they were trying to keep me in check. I still felt like death would've been a grand salvation...swallow a handful of xanax and I'd be free. I couldn't do that, though, he walked away... disappeared into his own little blissful sunset; he finally paid the last of his child support when my oldest turned 28.

I turned to friends, during that period...hoping to find a chill moment from the gaping hole that I had inside. A hole that sucks the life force out of anyone who has one. It's huge and it's hungry; devouring as much filler happiness as it can be fed. I fed it as much as I could; the life of all the parties that my friends held, the girls and I spending entire weekends at friends' houses, so they could have little play dates and I could drink myself stupid. That hole began to feed on me....again. Making sure the girls were cared for, of course (I was still reckless, but not cruel to my children), one friend often offered to keep them over nights, so that I could meet my knight in shining armour... she felt I deserved to be happy; I agreed, but never calculated the cost. So, I had to fill that gaping, fucking huge assed hole.

One after another; I tolerated mental and physical abuse, gas lighting, narcissism, shaming... but none were brave enough to finish me off. That brick wall was so close.

I now had 3 daughters; 2nd marriage was worse than the first... and well, the 3rd marriage, albeit a total of 17 months, was far worse than anything I could've imagined. The beatings were frequent, the demands were a set up for the next strike, and the crime he committed was a scott free walk away. Somewhere, in Alabama, there's a probability that he's raped again, and not been held accountable...because rape is construed as the fault of the victim. I've never been so close to death, as the day he found out I'd gone to the police about his crime. I tapped out, gave him what he wanted, and he left... but definitely not for good. He felt it proper come back and try and show me what he did to my oldest daughter. He still had access to our house; we were still married. Florida laws suck ass!

Moving passed my past... it's hard. Prior to this moment in my time line, it was hard to want to stay alive... hoping that I'd not wake the next morning. There are still days that are hard; days where I wish I'd just go to sleep and not wake up. I lie and say that I may be alone, but that I'm not lonely. That hole was never filled; all the therapy and medication in this country, have failed to fill it... to make me feel complete.

Do you know what it's like to want, so badly, that which you fear, so greatly?

I do.

#breaking #healing #fear #want #abuse #choices #paths #religion #living #death

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cass-trash · 7 years

Text

Blood Bath pt. 5 (Finale)

Castiel x Child!Reader

Summary: You escape from the bunker and run away from Castiel.

Warnings: blood, gore, death, mild language.

Word count: 1.7k

Blood Bath Masterlist

You jolted awake and leaped onto your feet, not bothering to put on any socks or shoes, you ran out of the bedroom you were sleeping in and down the hallway, your feet taking you in directions before your brain could comprehend. All you knew was you smelt something, and you wanted it.

Running out of the large metal door, you were already heading for the woods by the time you heard it slamming shut, no doubt making Castiel go berserk. You were so hungry. You continued running, your eyes darting back and forth to observe the environment as you ran and dodged trees and branches. Your feet had become dirty and were more than likely ready to start bleeding from not wearing any sort of protection. The flesh on your arms had become scratched from tiny twigs that had managed to get caught on you as you passed a withering tree.

You were close. Your nose was leading the way, your brain being clouded by the delicious smell. Suddenly, your feet stopped and your breathing seemed rather calm considering you had just ran who knows how far in a short amount of time. Picking up on the smell, your eyes narrowed as soon as you found what it belonged to.

Teenagers, four of them to be exact, sat around a campfire, even though it was still fairly light outside, beers in their hand as they talked and laughed together. You could hear their blood rushing, you could practically smell which one would taste better. “Hey,” One of the girls, a redhead with tiny spotted freckles across her face and pale skin, said, her eyes squinted in confusion as she looked at you. “A-are you okay?” She said, her voice ran smooth, like honey.

Your bloodshot eyes stared right through hers, you shook your head, she wasn’t the one. The other three teenagers looked over in your direction, two of them wincing at the sight of your battered up body. “What’s wrong sweetie? Where are your parents?” The redhead said as he stood up, bending her knees the slightest to make herself seem smaller. Normally, you would’ve flinched at the mention of your parents, but you barely even blinked.

“Don’t go near her, Nat, you don’t know where she’s been.” One of the boys said, a look of disgust on his face as he stared you down. He’s the one.

“Shut up, Mick.” She hissed, extending her hand out for you to take. You looked her up and down before your fingers wrapped around her index and middle finger, walking side by side with her until you could leap at the boy. “She’s not an animal.”

You couldn’t even recognise yourself as you grinned, your feet bringing you closer and closer to the boy who smelled like different types of cooked meat fused together as one. “Y/N!” You heard the familiar gruff voice of Castiel as he practically fell onto the ground near the campfire, his head rose as fast as lightning, his eyes locking onto yours. Everybody sitting on the chopped logs stared at Castiel awkwardly, confused on what the hell was going on.

“I-is this your daughter, sir?” The redhead asked, the grip on your hand tightening slightly. You frowned, trying to inch closer to the boy who was watching everybody with dark hooded eyes.

Castiel looked up at the girl who stared at him with angered eyes before looking back down at you, audibly swallowing. “Yes.” He lied, straightening himself out and dusting his trench coat off. “We were wondering the forests when she ran away.”

“You should really look after your daughter better.” She yelled, her voice echoing through the forest. “She’s all scratched and bloody, she doesn’t even have clothes that are clean. They’re covered in holes and dirt,”

“I-” Castiel couldn’t even get out a word before the girl interrupted him.

“You’re a shitty parent, buddy.”

The seraph suppressed from lashing out at the teenager and instead walked up to her with dark eyes, his eyebrows furrowed angrily. “Hand her over.” He growled, his voice straining to not raise.

You looked up at the two of them before yanking your hand out of the girl’s grip and leaping over at the boy. He dropped his beer bottle in surprise and tried to push you off himself, but you had already bitten into his neck, his blood gushing into your mouth before you swallowed it. “What the fuck!” One of the other guys yelled, running over to help his friend. The girls began screaming and running around the campfire, not knowing what to do to help them.

Castiel jumped into action and ripped you off the teen, his eyes widening at he saw blood drip down onto his shirt. “What the fuck was that?” He yelled, his hand instantly covering the bloody wound. “Screw this,” He growled as he ran out of the forest, his friends all following behind.

“Y/n,” Castiel murmured, his gaze lowering. “Why would you run away?” He asked, his voice full of disappointment. He was exactly disappointed in you, than he was in himself. You had gotten a taste of human blood and there’s no turning back from that, now Sam and Dean wouldn’t be able to heal you.

You turned to face him, blood smeared across your lips and around your mouth. “I-ca-can’t help i-it,” You growled, shaking your head. Castiel tried to stand back up but you had already leaped onto him, his back roughly connecting with the ground underneath him.

The angel held you back by your shoulders and watched in horror as your vampire side took over, you tried to bite at him but you weren’t close enough and settled for scratching, managing to scratch him a few times across the cheek. Blood quickly spurted out of his wounds as you continued to scratch at him, going for his neck, chest and arms. “Y-Y/n,” He whispered, trying to stop you. “Do-don’t make me hurt you,” He said, fear filling his eyes.

Castiel looked into your eyes and realisation hit him. You weren’t going to be coming out of this alive. You could barely hold yourself back at the moment, what would happen if you went loose on a whole town? He couldn’t let a hunter get to you, even if that meant he had to go through the pain of knowing he ended your life. “I-I’m sorry,” He mumbled, pressing his palm to your forehead.

You felt a hot temperature before everything went black, your limp body falling against his. He couldn’t kill you by decapitation, it was unnecessarily disgusting. “I’m sorry.” He repeated his words, his voice slightly quieter in shame and regret. He picked you up slowly and carefully as he walked back through the forest, replaying everything over in his head.

How was he going to live with this on his shoulders? He’s killed before, but you were just a tiny terrified child who went through so much in such a short amount of time. He laid you out on the bed once he reached inside the bunker, brushing strands of hair out of your face, he frowned at your semi-peaceful face, which still had blood all over it.

Deciding it was best to call the brothers, he slowly left the room, not wanting to see your lifeless form on the bed. “Dean-” He said, his voice sounding so broken.

“Hey, so we found the vampires and they ratted the dude who turned Y/n, but he’s not here.” Dean said, the sound of the impala door slamming shut. “We’re heading to the town they gave us, but he’s probably long gone by now.”

“Dean.” Castiel said, a little firmer this time. “She’s gone.”

“You lost her?”

“She’s dead.” He clarified, running a frustrated hand through his dark brown hair. He listened to the brothers panicked bickering, asking so many questions. Questions Castiel couldn’t bring himself to answer, especially not over the phone.

“I’ll see you soon.” He muttered, hanging up.

---

“Hey, buddy.” Dean said, gently slapping the angels shoulder as he walked past to sit down. “How are you feeling?”

“She was so scared, Dean.” Castiel shuddered, still disturbed by the whole situation. “I should’ve helped her.”

“Hey, you remember when you said you were going to become a hunter?” Dean asked, eyeing his beer bottle resting in his left hand. Castiel looked up at the hunter, trying to understand where he was coming from. “This is what it feels like. You have to make tough decisions, but you do what you believe is best, even if it hurts.”

“Does the pain ever go away?” Castiel asked, as if his best friend was some kind of wise old man filled with centuries of knowledge.

The elder Winchester shook his head, his eyes lowering to his lap. “No.” He answered truthfully. “It never goes away, but it can feel dormant at times.”

The angel frowned as his eyes travelled over to the hallway leading to the room where your body used to lay. They weren’t sure whether to salt and burn it, just in case, or to bury you beside your parents. In the end they decided to cremate you and bury the ashes, it took Castiel more than a few hours for him to leave the cemetery. He would’ve stayed all night if it wasn’t for Sam telling him they had found the vampire that did all of this to you.

He didn’t go easy on that vampire, and he definitely returned a changed man. Sam and Dean were on edge around him for a good few weeks after that. Even after all of that, he continues to place flowers on each three graves once a week. He would talk to your parent’s graves, telling stories of how strong you were, despite the horror you went through. He would thank them for raising such an amazing and powerful little girl, and he would apologise every single day for taking her life without giving it a second thought. Castiel started reading children’s stories to your grave, he’s read so many by now, the bookshelves in his bedroom inside of the bunker is filled with different colourful books with big bold writing, a silly cartoon picture usually showing on the front.

Castiel couldn’t bring himself to disturb your family’s peace up in heaven, and settled for staying down on earth to find a way to take your soul to heaven rather than keeping it in purgatory, promising you that he would never let another child go through what you did.

Blood Bath tags:

@morbid-apricots, @emilysimagenation, @moose-and-sqruille-lover, @emycakes4457, @sandmanland, @sprinkleofbooty, @its-a-novelist-girl, @teamfreewilllovesyou, @queenpammy13, @chibifishy, @tomlinsonlovers

Castiel tags:

@castiel-savvy18, @hey-um-misha, @kitkatgaming, @cryiner

Everything tags:

@1-more-internet-kid, @disappointeddinosaur, @unknown-chronicles, @marisayouass, @greenappleeyes, @nina-winchester4life, @fanboyswhereare-you

If you’d like to be tagged in a specific character/series story, feel free to send me an ask or a message!

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haughtbreaker · 7 years

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This is for @jaybear1701 who prompted this fic to me. Just a short one shot of some young wayhaught

"There is no way..." Thin and mousy haired, one teen nudge his friend, setting off a chain of nudges in the packed booth. "You ask her." He had the beginnings of a mustache that only teenagers thought were fashionable and he spoke with a slight southern drawl.

His closest friend, the captain of the football team scoffed. "She's hot… but have you seen her sister?" He shook his head, scrubbing his hand through his short cropped black hair.

"Sounds like a whole lot of excuses, if you ask me." Mousy hair nudged him again, sending him even harder down the line of bodies.

"Hey!" Nicole shoved back just forcefully enough to appear upset when she hadn't minded at all. Just aggressive enough to not appear weak, to keep her sacred bubble of safety and respect.

"Cut it out." Doc and Dolls, or Double Ds as she'd always referred to them, despite their nagging and rough housing, were never apart and had a tendency to let their obnoxious behavior interrupt a fun evening at Shorty's, the local pie shop that served mediocre food with out-of-date music piping from a rusted old jukebox against one wall.

Doc scoffed, any attempt at malice ruined by the fact that they'd been friends for a better part of a decade, since he moved up to Purgatory from Texas. "Make me." Having moved up to Canada from the US of A herself, neither she nor Doc had picked up the strange accent everyone else had.

"Shut up." A hiss came from the other side of the table, forms growing taller and a little more buffed. "She's coming." Nicole watched in disgust as he licked the palm of his hand, smoothing back his dark brown hair that was just long enough to curl against the edge of his ears. Pete could be pretty disgusting… hell all boys could.

It was so stupid, Nicole thought as everyone seemed to be preening. She'd been washing her hands in the bathroom when apparently the waitress had come by before, so she didn't quite understand what everyone was going on about. A group of 6 high school boys bracketing the one female player on the team, Nicole was used to their constant need for attention from every hot girl.

"You guys finally ready to order?"

Nicole barely heard the waitress who suddenly appeared. Waverly Earp. A junior unlike Nicole and the rest of them, she'd seen the girl around campus… as often as possible if she could admit it to herself. If there was anyone who was Nicole's kryptonite, it was all 5' 4" of Waverly Earp. It was like the adorable brunette in jeans cutoffs had an unspeakable pull on her, making her weak in the knees and heart.

They'd been going to Shorty's since junior year and she'd never seen the youngest Earp daughter working there. She couldn't help but wonder if it had to do with her sister, The personification of middle child syndrome, Waverly's sister Wynonna was no doubt a financial burden on their guardian, having been in and out of trouble with the law since their dad died a few years back.

As troubling as it was, it did nothing to curb the smile that danced across Waverly's face.

Nicole needed to find her cool, so she let every one order first. What was she going to order? The food really was bad, but she needed a reason to talk, to plead her case for… what exactly?

Hell if she knew.

Nicole didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse as she got to listen to each and every one of her teammates try to hit on Waverly. She winced with every attempt, watching with both disgust at the way the boys seemed to ooze their axe-scented charm all over the waitress, and pride as Waverly easily parried each advance, never unkind even as she pat Doc on the shoulder and declined his offer to come over for a game of poker. Nicole nearly laughed once or twice but kept silent and gathered her own confidence. They were her friends, but they sucked at flirting.

Finally, eyes the color of rich earth in the Spring landed on her and she swore she saw a smile grow brighter as Waverly saw her sitting here. "What about you, Nicole?"

Nicole felt her heart stop.

Waverly Earp knew her name.

"I…" Her voice cracked, not unlike her friends' voices had during those agonizingly long years of puberty. But she wasn't a teenage boy. Clearing her throat, she smiled. "Sorry. I'm not that hungry but…um," she sat a little straighter, trying to project the charisma that she'd worked years to perfect, "I'd love something sweet..." She could almost feel the eyes of the table turning towards her.

Waverly's smile ever so slightly pulled towards one side, a barely noticeable smirk appearing. "Well, you've come to the right place. We've got 15 types of pie, and just about all of them are worth trying," she paused for the barest of moments before continuing, "and I just wanted to let you know, we have the best darn chocolate ice cream in the town, churned by none other than yours truly."

Nicole rose an eyebrow. "You made it yourself? I don't think I've ever met someone who's made their own ice cream."

"It's great for building upper body strength." Waverly laughed a small nervous laugh, as if wondering why she'd just said that. "I mean… nothing like football or anything." She reached up to push a bit of her hair behind her ear, her smile sweeter than any pie could ever be.

Nicole swallowed audibly, wishing she could nudge the double Ds out of the way so Waverly could tell her all about each and every flavor. They may as well had been alone, just the two of them as the diner dropped away, creating a bubble of comfortable banter.

"Well, I can't let all that hard work go to waste. Can I get it in a shake?"

Waverly nodded, scribbling on her pad. "You sure can. Did you want to get a slice of pie with it?"

"Yeah." Nicole leaned forward. She didn't even like pie that much, but if it meant Waverly would stay even the briefest of moments longer, she would ask about every pie on the menu. "What's your favorite?"

Waverly chuckled softly, having been asked a million times. Normally she'd spout off whatever the special was, usually something that wasn't selling quite as well that day, but something stopped her. "It depends on the day of the week. Sometimes it's apple, sometimes it's pumpkin." She waggled her head back and fourth as if trying to decide. "I love banana cream pie but the chocolate cream is good as well…"

"What's your favorite today?" The words were suddenly so comfortable, Nicole decided. Talking to Waverly Earp was easier than she'd ever thought possible. "Like if you were to order a slice of pie right now, what would that be? Get me whatever that is."

Scribbling words on the pad, Waverly nodded, suddenly realizing she hadn't been paying much attention to the other players. "Alright." She gathered the menus, looking around the table with a smile that was just a hint muted in comparison to the one she gave Nicole. "I'll get that started for ya. You boys keep it down, all right?"

As soon as Waverly stepped away, Nicole nearly laughed when 6 heads swung her way completely.

"Dude."

"Nic…"

"Da fuck…"

Nicole laughed, fiddling with the small bundle of silverware in front of her. "Shut up." She could feel her cheeks burning with embarrassment. Being around Waverly and talking to her, despite her earlier fear, had been as easy as breathing, as natural as her heart beating. The moment their eyes met, without a courtyard of distance between them like there normally was at school, she'd sunk into a gentle pattern she hadn't known she shared with anyone else. Looking around to see jealous eyes watching her, she laughed again, scratching at the side of her neck.

She barely listened to them as they began to exchange rowdy comments back and forth, talking about the other girls in school who, according to their bruised egos, were a hundred times cuter than Waverly Earp.

Still they all sat a little taller, chests puffing out as Waverly returned, barely managing to balance a tray loaded with glasses. "Okay, two cokes…" She began to dish out the drinks, saving the last glass that was filled with dark concoction covered in a swirl of whipped cream, bright sprinkles and a cherry topping it off. That glass, Waverly reached over the table to first set down a square napkin and the glass on the corner of it. "Enjoy." Her eyes locked with Nicole's for a short moment before she winked and turned away, heading over to another table.

Nicole looked down at the drink, or rather at the napkin that sat between it and the table. Each letter and number written in obnoxiously cute form, Nicole let her fingertip brush over the phone number scribbled beneath an inviting Call me and a happy face.

There was no touchdown sweeter than a number scribbled across the cheap napkin. She had the most ridiculous urge to call her now. Preposterous since she could see Waverly across the diner, refilling a glass as she chatted with a customer. How soon would be too soon?

"Holy shit… did she just give you her number?" Dolls leaned over, looking at the napkin even as Nicole pulled out her cell phone. "You know you gotta wait like 3 days before calling right? That's what my brother always said. Can't seem too desperate."

Nicole snorted as she programmed the number into her phone, trying to reign in the giddy sensation that blossomed inside her as she keyed the name Waverly Earp into the contact screen. "You see Dolls," she spoke as she pulled up a text message, typing a simple note. "This is why you are still single," she smiled at him before hitting the send button. "And why your brother is still single."

From across the room, Nicole couldn't help but wonder if Waverly had her phone on her, because it was just seconds before those gorgeous eyes looked over at her even as she continued to speak to her customer. Nicole gave her a smile and she swore she could hear a soft laugh in Waverly's words as she talked about the pie.

#wayhaught #highschool au #wynonna earp #wefanfic #ficlet #prompt

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crossedbeams · 7 years

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Transitory - Trinity Ch.10

Genre: Casefile | Fandom: The X-Files x The Fall x Sreetcar | Rating: Mature | Setting: Circa 2012. Canon compliant | Chapters: 3/6 of Part 2

Trinity Part I

Chapter 1 - Perfume || Chapter 2 - Impression || Chapter 3 - Connection Chapter 4 - Delusion || Chapter 5- Confrontation || Chapter 6 - Post Mortem

Trinity Part I

Prologue - Purgatory || Chapter 1 - Animosity || Chapter 2 - History

This chapter is rated teen+ for a little sexual content. Also it’ angsty AF. sorry!

TRINITY: PART II CHAPTER III - TRANSITORY

Scully wakes up on hotel-crisp sheets after not nearly long enough. Her mind is racing but her body tells her it’s not morning yet. The clock is showing 11:15pm and she’s only been asleep for around four hours, the remains of a room-service salad drying out on the desk. Stella Gibson, with her brusquely dismissive, “You’ve been up at least 36 hours. Check yourself in, the Bureau will cover the bill, and we’ll discuss what happens next in the morning,” is staying two floors up.

The end of the afternoon had passed in a hurry of meetings and memorandums, an updated file arriving from the morgue complete with forms declaring that Scully’s late night examination had been totally by-the-book defusing Stanning’s fury from apoplectic to merely seething. He was biding his time, Scully could tell; smarting because Blanche Dubois had refused to speak to him when she’d finished with the sketch artist, affronted when Stella had gone straight to AD Gilmore to request approval to involve the Miami field office in their hunt for Jane Doe, his macho bravado growing louder with every small step the women of the taskforce took forward without his input. And it wasn’t that they sought to exclude him, Scully had realised as the day wore on, it was quite simply that he wasn’t willing to listen or participate until it suited his purpose.

When the police artist had come into the situation room with an e-fit sketch from Blanche’s description, Stanning had stood right next to them as Stella listed the databases she wanted it run against, he was well within earshot of Scully’s suggestion that they also check it against hospital staff records in the cities of interest. Short of profound deafness, there was no way he could have missed Scully’s subsequent explanation that most intravenous drugs capable of killing with the required speed and subtlety are controlled substances. and that access to such drugs makes it possible their perp is a medical professional of some sort. Scully could even have sworn that Agent Stanning had nodded his approval to extend their search parameters, but by the time they reached the last meeting of the day, Scully’s reiteration of those same suggestions to the gathered taskforce had been met with a unsubtle, definitely not under-the-breath, “Would be great if your little consultant would run this stuff past me before sharing with the room,” to Gibson, standing stonily at his side.

Scully suspects that Stanning’s hostility towards her has a lot more to do with Stella Gibson than Scully herself, but she hasn’t had a chance to ask what might be at the root of it. Things between her and the British detective have thawed as the day has worn on, the previous night’s unpleasantness put aside for now in the interest of furthering the case; Blanche’s clear preference for Scully has changed the landscape and they are both still adapting, Stella has made space for Scully’s ideas and investigative victories despite her instinct to hold all the cards. It’s imperfect but it is working.

Tomorrow will be another rebalancing, and in the honesty of midnight darkness Scully prays that she will be asked to stay, that Stella’s initial promise of partnership will be renewed and the day will carry her to the morgue to assist with processing, or to a crime scene, anywhere where she can work, help and be useful in the search for the truth. This case has burrowed its way into her mind and she feels that familiar itch of unfinished business, of injustice, her mind rejecting sleep in favour of going over the evidence. After all, the structure and strictures of investigation, of neatly typed reports and linked evidence is a much kinder and more familiar cause for insomnia than the choking misery of Mulder’s absence which has become her frequent bedfellow these last few months.

Trying not to count back the nights where she’s reached for him and found only a cold pillow, Scully flicks on the TV, hoping for some numbing background noise. Instead, she finds her own face.

The photograph is old, maybe as much as a decade. She vaguely remembers having it taken for a hospital ID on a day when her hair was at an awkward in-between stage after being on the run, and next to Stella’s pristine police portrait she looks like the scruffy younger sister. Clicking on the sound, she catches the end of a report identifying her as a possible consultant and speculating as to what could have brought two women from such wildly different backgrounds on to the suspected serial case. When they cut back to the anchor, Scully recognises one of the men from from outside the station, and she realises that, in absence of any official statement to the press, she and Stella are likely the closest thing anyone has to a story. She only hopes that- and then in a flash Mulder’s face is on screen, and it’s too late, the potted official history of their partnership laid out for the late-night news audience with the standard side order of ridicule and sensationalism. She feels a pang then, for the old days where they’d have laughed off the bad press over bad coffee, the marks on each of their bodies reassuring them that the truth they sought was valid and important, their scars an armour of proof that only the other could see or understand. It’s a fond memory, and it gives Scully the excise she has been pretending not to be waiting for. If her involvement has made the news, there is a chance it will make it to Mulder. She has to call. She pretends her heart isn’t racing at the thought of hearing his voice.

Scully calls their landline on autopilot. It’s the closest phone to Mulder’s desk and she knows that is likely where he will be. Late night calls are a staple of their relationship, or at least they had been back when they still talked, miles of telephone wire condensing to nothing under the magnetism of their connection, his voice in her ear more intimate than the touch of any man who had come before him. Even at the beginning, his sincerity, his fervour had stripped away her cynicism, if not her scepticism, and left her open and vulnerable to everything he was, everything that they became… everything they have lost.

He picks up on an inhale but says nothing, forcing her to break the silence. Again.

‘Mulder, it’s me.’

And she wishes she could see his face, because his ‘Scully?’ is a question she doesn’t know how to answer. It’s not a ‘Where the hell are you and why have you got my phone?’ It’s not a ‘Why haven’t you come home?’ It’s ‘Why are you calling me Scully?’ and she doesn’t know how to answer him.

She’d planned to tell him that she was assisting the FBI, not to worry and sorry she’d snuck out but he seemed busy. She’d thought perhaps she’d tempt him into the case, saying, ‘Please if you have any “Mulder hunches” call me because this guy is a sick fuck and I want to catch him’ and meaning, ‘I miss you. I miss us.’ But now frustration and loss and rage are fighting in her throat and, ‘Mulder I love you; why don’t you see me slipping away?’ is tangled up in, ‘Did you even notice I was gone?’ and ‘Why the hell haven’t you checked your phone in two days? I could have been dead in a ditch and you wouldn’t know, wouldn’t even care, you self-involved bastard!’

In the end, nothing comes out. And that’s what she tells him.

‘It’s nothing Mulder. I’m fine, I was just... Don’t worry.’

And he tells her goodbye and puts the phone down and Scully feels, just for a second, like she is nothing. That it has all been for nothing.

Mulder’s phone is heavy in her hand, one more thing of his he seems content to live without, and Scully lets it drop to the bed and get lost in the dark. He’d sworn they wouldn’t get lost in the dark, but it’s not the first promise he’s broken.

Determinedly swinging her legs out of bed, Scully drags workout clothes out of her luggage and pulls them on, transplanting the energy of her anger, the tension of her hurt into her muscles and as soon as her sneakers are laced she’s out of the door and headed for the health club. She skips the elevator, jogs down the ten flights of stairs and thanks God and whoever signs off Stella Gibson’s expenses for the Hilton and their 24/7 fitness centre.

The gym is empty and the music is off, but that suits Scully fine. She picks a treadmill by the window overlooking the pool for the distracting chlorine-fuelled fractals the water casts on the walls and ups the incline until she can feel her thighs start to burn. Mulder likes to run outside, to escape, but for Scully running has always been a form of punishment, penitence for that extra dinner roll, her legs pounding Hail Marys into the conveyor until her lungs burn and her mind empties. It’s not about getting anywhere or away from anything, it’s about staying the course. Tonight she will run until she forgets to feel hurt by what she’s left behind, until she forgets to be afraid of what comes next.

Ten minutes in and movement below catches the edge of her consciousness, figures intruding on the edge of her pool-rippled blank space. She keeps running, keeps gazing but they do not retreat, and Scully finds herself leaning in, observing the people below from her vantage point as if through a microscope.

There’s a familiarity to the arch of the woman’s back as she slips into the spa tub in a seal-black line. There’s a recognisable arrogance to the way she rises up on her knees and leans into her companion, to her dedication to her own pleasure as she slips the straps of her bathing suit down her shoulders in a public area, not caring who might be watching the sensuous skid of fingers down her now naked back. It’s not until the woman throws her head back, her lips tight with pleasure, that Scully realises why the stranger seems so familiar.

It’s Stella, her hair slicked back and dark from the pool. She seems as confident here, half naked and straddling someone in an empty jacuzzi, as she had in the boardroom. Scully hits the emergency stop on the treadmill, meaning to rush away, ashamed of her accidental voyeurism but as she is about to step back the scene below her changes. Stella rolls away from her partner to recline against the edge of the pool, and as she settles in a languid pose, somehow both soft and hard in one liquid pose, she looks up and notices her audience.

Scully freezes, still poised to run but now there’s a dare in Stella’s eyes, a wicked invitation to stay a little longer, to see how far things go, and Scully finds herself starting the treadmill again, a low setting, no incline, a feeble excuse to spectate Stella’s conquest.

Without relinquishing eye contact, Stella slides over to reclaim her partner, pulling them into her lap and arching her neck to give them access to the ivory swoop of her skin. A slight smile curves her lips when Scully eventually realises the body draped over her colleague is that of another woman. Scully is not surprised, there have been moments where Stella’s glance has skirted the edges of seductive, and remembering them now, wondering if she encouraged them, pins Scully more firmly in the sweet place between fight and flight. She runs harder, looking for another explanation for the heat rising in her cheeks and settling in places she will not acknowledge when Stella’s fingers dip playfully under the edges of the other woman’s bikini. She should leave. She doesn’t want this. Does she? Scully has never been a voyeur but the adrenaline coursing through her body from the exercise and the taboo of what she is watching is intoxicating. And so she keeps jogging, keeps making excuses and chalking up her shortness of breath to exertion.

A quarter mile later and the dark haired woman’s hands have vanished from view, the unfocused blue of Stella’s gaze giving Scully a pretty good idea of what they might be doing, though from her vantage point all she can see is bubbles. For a mad moment she considers going downstairs, some insidious voice in the back of her mind telling Scully that Stella wouldn’t mind, but even this much, even dragging her own lower lip into her mouth as Stella’s eyes finally snap shut and biting down to feel the corresponding tightness in her nipples and between her legs feels sinful. It’s a mix of sexy and sordid that without Stella’s gaze to hold her in place feels overwhelming, and as reason crashes in on this early hours insanity, Scully leaves. She doesn’t glance back to where deft fingers have now vanished inside bikini bottoms and definitely doesn’t acknowledge the ache between her own legs until she has reached the safety of her room.

Locking the door and dimming all the lights, as if that can hide the shameful desperation of her desire, Scully strips off and lets the shower head and her fingers finish what started ten floors down. It’s a technique she’s perfected in the months spent waiting for Mulder, a quick release so she can go to bed satisfied if not sated.

She remembers the first time, she’d put it off for weeks, unwilling to accept that yet another of their connections had failed, until her body was screaming to be touched, and then finally, desperately, Scully had crawled onto Mulder’s side of the bed, head deep in his pillow, and she’d touched herself pretending it was him. Afterwards she cried herself to sleep with loneliness of it, waking up alone with the evidence, before relocating to the shower where at least it felt more like an emotional ablution than a last resort. She tells herself the same thing now, that it’s a natural urge, a hormonal release, and has absolutely nothing to do with whatever devilish desire had kept her watching downstairs, and that the uncharacteristic act of watching has nothing to do with what is missing at home. Scully’s almost convinced herself of both lies by the time she crawls back into bed, and she drifts off to dreams of running, of following Mulder down a dark and endless tunnel, calling out for him to wait and then looking back to see Stella Gibson chasing behind, face bright with freedom and laughing as the gap begins to close.

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#txf #The Fall #Dana Scully #Fox Mulder #Stella Gibson #Tribity #My Writing #txf fanfic #crossover #red headed stepchild of my fic :p

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