#sorry for the massive tag rant by the way i really shouldn’t make myself out to be some kind of martyr because i’m not particularly neat
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Tagged by the wonderful @uintuva, here you go darling <3
AO3 name: Memories_of_the_Shadows
Fandoms: Naruto, One Piece, Sailor Moon, Dragon Age, Harry Potter, MCU, Hannibal, NCIS, Criminal Minds, Stargate, Bleach, YYH, Inuyasha, Ken Akamatsu universe, FFXV, Hellsing, Underworld, BTVS, RWBY, Teen Wolf, YOI!, Voltron, BNHA, Pokemon (these are in no particular order and I tend to vacillate between them at random times. More will almost certainly pop up and I’m positive I forgot a few)
Number of fics: 80 (published)
1. Fic I spent the most time on: And Now I See The Sunrise: my Isaribi/Hinata sentinel/guide fic which I adore
2. Fic I spent the least time on: oh, god, I’ve been writing for years and I used to specialize in drabbles. I have no idea but it was probably one of my shorter ones
3. Longest fic: Philomel’s Lullaby: which is abandoned and terrible but still counts I guess
4. Shortest fic: Mikata: because I’m not going to count my terrible teenage poetry
5. Most hits: The Apple Now Is Sweet: you heathens. (Link is NSFW, click at your risk)
6. Most kudos: Don’t Ask Why It Works, It Just Does: which, fair, I’m also pretty proud of that one
7. Most comment threads: Again, it’s Don’t Ask Why It Works, It Just Does
8. Favourite fic I wrote: I have to choose!? Agggh, idk, probably Alive and Burning Brighter (my rule 63!Tony Stark), or And Till They’ve Seen The Light (my rift stabbing da crackfic), or And Now I’ve Seen The Sunrise (since I gave it to myself for my wedding, I sure hope I love it XD)
9. Fic you want to rewrite/expand on: Ack, okay, I know I only ever post finished work, and it is finished so I won’t do this, but probably Just A Dream? I just love it but I feel like I could do better. And I did start a sequel for it but I couldn’t get through it.
10. Share a bit of a WIP or a story idea you’re planning on: Hah, you asked for it, here’s a bit from my massive Cullanders magnum opus that keeps growing and growing because these two are just made for angst (also, yes, I write in html, it makes publishing on ao3 easier for me):
“I’m sorry. It’s been difficult to leave the Gallows with all the upheaval. The Knight-Commander has become… more demanding of my time as well.” Cullen sighs heavily, then grimaces, his hand moving towards his chest before aborting the movement. Anders is uncomfortably aware of the many different ways people try to hide pain and equally aware of how difficult that can be. He doesn’t want to sympathize with a Templar, but Cullen would likely be more gracious about any healing than Fenris ever is. It might be okay. If Cullen really is hurt. “I fear… it’s not… in any case, things will have to come to a head soon enough. Neither the Grand Enchanter nor Meredith are willing to back down and, well, there is no one in the Gallows who is unaware of how precarious the situation is.”
Oh, Anders knows. For every mage he helps to escape there are three more that he cannot get to because the Templars come for them too soon, without warning. No one is safe. (And Anders sits here with one of the perpetrators practically <i>itching</i> to heal him. Void take him, he hates himself some days.) “So Hawke says as well,” he says instead, guardedly.
Cullen shoots him a look that is far too wry and knowing for Anders’ comfort but he doesn’t comment beyond a small grin, a cocked eyebrow. So Cullen has guessed who it is that is sneaking mages out through the basement tunnels. Maybe he isn’t as dumb as he looks. <I>And</I> he doesn’t seem inclined to say anything about it.
Maybe, just maybe, there is at least one Templar who Anders can trust farther than he can throw them without magic or Justice.
“You’re stiff,” he offers, instead of dwelling on such a revelation, something so counter to everything he has known since he was a child. “Let me see.” Cullen sighs, shaking his head.
“People would notice if I was healed, thank you though. It’s just… a training accident,” he says as though he doesn’t believe that it <i>was</I> an accident, although Anders will grant that it did probably happen during training. And with Cullen himself letting Anders off the hook for healing, that should be the end of it. He should let this go and revel in the fact that Cullen is uncomfortable and will stay that way for as long as the stubborn arse will take to heal.
“Just tell them you bribed one of the mages,” he says instead. It’s a plausible enough story--every Circle he’s ever heard of has those who do it, although Anders is fairly sure Cullen isn’t one of the ones who would--and one that most Templars will accept even if it’s scornfully. (Anders remembers a time when he was the one getting bribed, though he was threatened more often than not rather than bribed. Anders had come to the conclusion very early on in his studies that he wouldn’t willingly heal Templars unless he had a very good reason and a laxer curfew, more candles or blankets, or someone ignoring a dalliance simply aren’t good enough. He remembers Flora was vastly more popular with the Templars as a result. Anders couldn’t have cared less.)
Cullen groans a bit, that aborted move to hug himself appearing once more, and sighes. “Fine. You’re right. Just because I can’t afford the downtime right now, not with the entire city like an overfilled flour mill with some young idiot striking a flint in the middle of it.”
Anders stifles a laugh. Cullen normally gives Fenris a run for his silent and broody money, or is shyer and more bashful--though similarly, and <I>constantly</I>, offended--than Velanna whenever he or one of the Rose’s workers brings up something particularly crude. But every once in a while he shows his Ferelden farmboy side and Anders can almost forget that Cullen is everything he hates.
The wound is red with the start of an infection and poorly wrapped. Luckily, it was only a glancing blow, shallow enough that once Anders cleans it out and heals what he can it won’t even scar. Justice howls in anger at the edge of Anders’ perception and Anders mentally shoves him away.
“They should teach you how to field dress injuries in training, not magic you can’t even use,” he says lowly, maybe to distract from how warm Cullen’s skin feels under his fingers, from the wiry dusting of golden curls on his chest. Anders is surprised every time by how <I>human</I> Templars are. He probably shouldn’t be. Cullen sighes and pulls away.
“I don’t disagree that field dressing would be useful,” he says. Anders wants to get angry, wants to <i>want to</I> fight, but really, he’s just tired. Tired of political statements, of this arrangement they have, of still having to fear for his life and sanity. Anders didn’t ask to be born with magic. Nobody but the worst blood mages do.
(He’s seen a few of them, people who make deals with demons for magic because what they really want is <i>power</I> and they all think they will get away with it. Unscrupulous and bold, every single one of them think that they’ll be able to stop once they get the one thing they want, but there’s always another thing on the horizon that only blood magic and more deals can help with. All of them were caught eventually, and grouped with mages who have never done a single harm in their entire lives. Legions of power-hungry blood mages who thought nothing of selling another person into death or worse for the sake of fleeting dreams of power. And for what? A moment in time that they could try to satiate their greed. Is it any wonder that it’s mostly nobles who end up taking that path to power?)
“It’s done,” he says, instead of replying, instead of the rant that Justice is beating into his temples. Anders turns away and starts to gather up his things when Cullen blushes and touches his side.
“Thank you, Anders,” Cullen says softly, and it sounds so sincere that Anders has to leave without saying anything else at all. He needs to remember that Cullen is a Templar.
Not someone sweet and sincere, who blushes easily and listens well. Just a Templar. He’ll show his true colors soon enough. Five years is nothing against a lifetime of proof.
Ah, sh*t, I tag whoever would like to do this?
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Excerpt (tag)
I was tagged by @raevenlywrites -- thanks so much!! I love this idea!
So this isn’t really the last thing I wrote but it’s the most recent chapter of my wip. Most of this story (even though it’s only ten chapters) is about to be re-written for NaNo so I’ll share a good portion.
I refused to tell Mrs. Reynard what happened. She hounded me but I wouldn’t budge. On the way home I let myself have a good cry. By the time I was back at the farm, my voice was steady. Anger took over, but the sadness lingered. I’d never felt more homesick and I wanted nothing more than a hug from my parents. Particularly my father at this moment. Today it was made clear there would be no reasoning with Beatrice. I’d now become a plaything for her ego. I’m sure by running away I’d raised the stakes higher than ever but I wasn’t sure I cared. Whether she assumed I was after anything or not I didn’t know. All I wanted was to get by until Mrs. Barrow or George took me home. Funny to think I’d started to miss the old woman.
Laura was happy to see me. I felt bad that I wasn’t in the mood to play. While she might have helped keep my mind off things I was too tired. My original plan was to go upstairs and take a nap. Once I realized the time I decided against it. If I fell asleep, Beatrice would likely be home soon after. I knew there was no avoiding her but I was going to put it off as long as I could. Instead, I asked to go for a walk. Again I was made guilty as Laura wanted to come along. Mrs. Reynard told her to stay and help her with dinner which she didn’t take well. At this point I gave in and said she could come, however, Mrs. Reynard wouldn’t hear of it. I suppose she sensed how badly I needed time for myself.
I took a similar route as I had my last venture alone. Given the hour, I trusted myself to wander into the woods this time. I went beyond where Laura had taken me. My feet kept moving forward even when I knew I was starting to go too far. I couldn’t stop. The forest was beautiful and away from everyone. I wished to spend my days here instead of at school. I wished to sleep here instead of across from Beatrice. I wanted nothing to do with the girl. Her words to me today were unforgivable. My father gave his life to stop the Nazi regime and would be sick to hear someone accusing me of working for them. I couldn’t tell if she really believed this about me or if she was just showing off. Whatever the case, I knew I would forever resent her.
I felt bad, only for Mr. Reynard and Daniel, for my last words to her. I wasn’t supposed to know about his military life. Daniel told me in attempts to comfort and I nearly let it slip. No matter how strange I found it that Beatrice, at her age, did not know her father served in a war it was none of my business to be the one bringing it to her attention. In any case, I meant those words as much as she meant to hurt me with hers. I imagine Mr. Reynard would be furious, which is why I didn’t want him to find out. Beatrice’s attitude shouldn’t be his concern. He needed to focus on his work to support his family. Mrs. Reynard likely suspected something happened with Beatrice and I hoped no one would tell her. I wasn’t sure how much the other’s knew. My only hope was that my confrontation with Tommy might be assumed first.
I found a clearing what I could only figure was a half an hour in. The view I stumbled across could almost make the trials of the day worth it. I knew we were in the mountains but I hadn’t realized just how high and all that surrounded. In the middle of them all, far off in distance, was a lake. The sun was beginning to fall and hit the water just enough that it shined in its reflection. I climbed onto a boulder wedged in the ground leaving the forest behind me. Here I sat, watching the sun continue to sink behind the hills. I tried to focus on the colors of the sky rather than my conversations from the day. It felt good to be away from other people. As lovely as the Reynard family was, Beatrice aside, I was used to my own space. It's different with your own family but even still mine was small compared to theirs. At home I had my own room. George was about the same age as Eleanor so he was out of the house more often than not. My father was rarely home after the start of the war. Once he passed my mother took to her bed more days than not. Part of me enjoyed being part of a family again, much like it'd been for me when I was young. But I didn't belong here. This wasn't my family. And as long as Beatrice continued her nasty ways, there wasn’t any room.
My initial plan was to keep walking once I caught my breath. Yet, I felt better than I had in days here. I decided to stay longer. How could I leave this view? It was so different from home. I’d been to Germany, Austria, Switzerland, France (though I was too small to remember) and many places in England. Somehow American mountains were different. Not quite as massive but still beautiful. Best of all they were peaceful. I didn’t question what was going on in their valleys — if there were people hiding or preparing to invade. I guessed there might be houses or more farms. Hunters, too, most likely. Daniel and Mr. Reynard liked their game. Mostly because it put food on the table. At least that’s what I told myself. Then I started to wonder how long these woods stretched and if other people lived here as well. It was so empty, this town, it was unbelievable for someone so used to living near or in the city. Even the countryside had more hustle and bustle. Right now I didn’t miss the commotion. If I could, I would have stayed here until I was sent for back home.
I wished I brought my journal. It was the first time I really felt inspired to write anything down. I wanted to collect a couple of leaves I’d found lying around and keep them pressed. In my head, I started a story that went with my musings about who lived in the mountains so far off. I couldn’t remember the last time an idea hit me. Not a pleasant one, anyway.
My peace was disturbed when I heard rustling coming from the woods behind me. I rushed to my feet, almost losing my balance and tumbling over the side of the rock. I kept my eyes cast to the ground, expecting to see an animal of some sort. To my dismay, it was feet I saw emerge from the shadows. Of course, they belonged to Daniel.
Letting out an audible sigh, I asked, “Must you always come after me?”
“Yeah,” he said, “when you wander off into strange woods for hours at a time.”
“How can it be strange if it surrounds your property? And hours? Has it really been that long?”
“It will be dark soon. We’ve been worried sick.”
“I apologize…” I said, feeling guilty. “I didn't mean to cause worry. I lost track of time. It's beautiful out here.”
“It is but you should have waited for me or Eleanor to take you around. It's easy to get lost.”
“I know how to get home from here.”
“At night? We won't make it back before the sun fully sets.” There was an irritation in his voice I hadn't heard before.
“I said I'm sorry. I do wish you all wouldn't think of me as a helpless child. I'm used to being on my own. I'm not sure out to respond to all of this attention and concern.”
“You're gonna have to get used to it in my family. My mother gets nervous when we don’t show up on time.”
He reached his hand out to help me climb down from the boulder. I accepted, but let go as soon as my feet were back on the ground. “I don't know what more to say. I'll accept whatever punishment I receive.”
“You're not going to be punished. At least not after the day you've had,” Daniel said as we started walking into the forest.
“Who told you?” I asked, afraid Beatrice had said something after all.
“My mother.”
“Oh…”
“You don't look sick.”
“I needed the air.”
“Something happened at school,” he continued. “What was it?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“You have to tell someone.”
“And why is that?”
“Because,” Daniel said, “we all have a pretty good idea of who was behind it.”
I kept my eyes forward, hoping my lack of response would let the matter drop.
“Come on, Marjorie. You can tell me if Beatrice is giving you trouble. Any of us. At least my parents, me, and Ellie. We aren't going to be offended or angry.”
I stopped walking, turning to him again. “I am capable of fighting my own battles. Maybe I made the wrong decision leaving school today. I'm sure tomorrow will even more of a mess. But I will handle it be they Beatrice or Tommy or those other girls from my class. It's pointless for me to be there for the end of the year anyway. I wish I could have started next term where I wouldn't stick out so much. But even then I would be miserable because unless the war ends within a year I am stuck in school for four more when I would've been through in one at home. I wasn't going on to college. I was supposed to travel with my brother. He and I spoke of visiting America on our own. And now I'm here without him and I haven't heard a word from him even though he promised. He promised he would have a letter waiting for me when I arrived.”
I don't know what it was about Daniel. This was the second time I'd ranted to him, telling him more than I wished to let on to anyone. All I could figure was that he, in a way, reminded me of George. They were close in age and had a certain ruggedness about him. And they were both tall, George more still. Other than that their outward appearance was different. George had dark brown hair like my own while Daniel's was on the lighter side. As far as personality, Daniel was much more reserved, but I'd seen his wit. With Laura and Franklin, he joked as George would with me.
“Really?” was all he said in response.
“Really to what?” I asked, picking up an irritated tone of my own.
“The school thing,” he said.
“Yes, school is much different. I suspect if I hadn’t fallen behind at home I’d have learned everything being taught already. Maybe not in history as it’s more focused on America but you understand what I’m saying.”
“I never realized.”
“It’s not something you think about until you’re faced with it,” I said, beginning to walk again.
“If you’re really unhappy there I’m sure my parents can work something out. Finish your last year and then stay here and help out around the farm. We need as many hands as we can get.”
“I don’t mind the lessons, it’s…”
Daniel finished for me. “Beatrice.”
“It doesn’t matter. I anticipated as much. All of them.”
“Her friends are awful. I swear Beatrice would have turned out differently if she’d been in the class ahead or behind them.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t matter. Their fascination will die down.”
“Why won’t you tell any of us what happened? Not even my mother?”
“Because I don’t want to. It’s as plain as that.”
“But maybe my parents can do something about your arrangement? Fix the rooms so you had least get a break from her at night.”
“I'm tired of being an imposition. You don't have the room for me and I feel terrible about it. I know I never asked you all to take me in but I can't help feeling guilty. It's going to take a while for me to feel otherwise. I'm sure I'll keep singing the same song in the meantime. Everything in my life as changed. I'm not caught up yet.”
“I don't know how to convince you that the majority of us wants you here. When I got home Laura was pouting because she missed you. Eleanor is waiting to see how you're liking the book she lent you. My parents are genuinely worried that you got lost and that you're hurt. Not because you're their responsibility. They care.”
I kept my arms tight to my stomach. I appreciated the sentiment but he didn't understand that I could only take them as words right now.
Daniel nudged my arm when I failed to acknowledge him. “You okay?”
I shook my head. I was far from okay. This had been established and I wasn't about to pretend a small chat turned everything around. Was I better off than I had been when I left the house? Perhaps. Definitely better than when I left school. Still, I wished I were walking by myself. I didn't want the company even if it was good. Being around people made me feel strange. In New York, I noticed people from all around the world. No one looked at me funny when I spoke even though I'd only had conversations with Americans. It wasn't the teasing that bothered me. I really did find their insults childish and meaningless. It was the looks that got to me. I wasn't like the rest of this tight-knit town.
I tag (if you’d like) @throughwordsiescape @indecentpause and @firewritten
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Scoop! - Chapter 12
A/N: Merry Christmas?! Honestly, I’ve got no excuse for not updating in like… half a year? Except for moving to another city, starting a new job, life and friends in general… I don’t know how fast these updates will be now, and this one is shorter than the others. But it came to me, and I want you to know that I still think of Tom and Jo. I know where this is going, and I will finish it. For now, enjoy!
Home Cooked Meal
It’s a fast food world, running and a-gunning
Twenty four seven three sixty five, order it up and get what you like
Yeah, it sure is something
But here’s the deal, nothing’s real
It’s a fast food world, dying for a home-cooked meal
Home Cooked Meal by Granger Smith
Jo didn’t know how to put her emotions and feelings into words. Well, in general she did; she was a journalist after all. But this was different. She’d made a mistake, and she knew it. Okay, maybe she did find a word: shit. She felt like shit.
She didn’t even need Eva’s disapproving tone on the other end of the line to know she acted horribly.
“That was a shit move,” her best friend had told her on the phone the evening after Jo had spent the night at Tom’s. “That was a massively very shitty move.”
Jo had sighed. “I know.”
“Do you, though?” Okay. Jo had already known it hadn’t been the best thing to do, but she didn’t need Eva to tell her the obvious.
“Of course, I know. I didn’t want to sleep with him, it just… it…”
“If you tell me ‘It just happened’ now, I’ll come to London simply to strangle you, Josefine.”
“But it did.” It was true. She’d never planned to do any of this. Sex was not in the game for her. But it felt so very, very good.
“You did want to sleep with him, though.” It had been that voice, that slight disappointment in it that had done it for Jo. She’d felt like shit, miserable, and like the biggest traitor of all.
“I did. But I shouldn’t have done it. I should have gone home.”
“Jo, I hope you know that I’m not judging you.” At Jo’s snort Eva simply continued on. “I’m not judging you for having sex per se. I’m judging you – rightfully so – because you had sex with him. You should not have sex with him. It’s bad enough stringing him along as it is. But with feelings involved? I know you, you’re not the woman who simply has sex. You at least have to find them nice. So don’t tell me, there are no feelings. I might have to kill you for that.”
Silence. If Eva had hoped, her rant would be met with more than silence she’d been in for a disappointment right then. Jo hadn’t known how to answer any of that. Eva was right, basically. But it had hurt a little to have it thrown in her face.
“Are you done?” was therefore all that she’d said. “Or is there anything else I already know to come?”
“Jo,” Eva sighed, “you know I love you. I’m watching out for you. This is getting way over your head way too fast. I’m not even sure that you should write that article.”
Jo had hung up then. A few hours later, they’d exchanged texts, telling the other how sorry they’d been, Eva again trying to find out who that mysterious man was. Of course, Jo didn’t tell.
And so, despite Eva’s warnings, Jo found herself in Tom’s flat again, three days later. He’d invited her to a dinner at his place, wanting a cosy night in, before there was the press night for Saint Joan to be gone to. A night where they would actually meet, though Jo wouldn’t tell him that. If he was clever, he could figure it out all by himself – a press night for a play would surely be attended by the culture news reporter of the newspaper.
So, they met at his place.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered to her, as he greeted Jo by the door, before kissing her softly on the lips.
As much as Jo tried to stay sane, not going into giggly dating mode, Tom’s lips on hers did something to her. In fact, they did many things to her, butterflies in her stomach, increased heart rate, sweaty palms, just to name a few of the things. Oh, they also made her moan.
“It’s only been three days,” Jo answered as they parted a little, the smell of his cologne filling her nose, mixing with the smell of food. There were definitely tomatoes and meat somewhere in there.
“Well, I’ve missed you for three days then. You sure you have to work during the week?” he asked, leaning in, stealing another kiss from her. She let him do it a little too eagerly for her taste.
“I do have to work, yes,” Jo mumbled. “But it’s Friday now. You’ll have me all to yourself now.”
Finally – or not so finally – letting go of her lips, Tom took her hand instead and led her inside. “That sounds promising. We’ll eat first though,” he winked.
She slapped him playfully while following him inside. There the smell got stronger, but also ten times more delicious. “What are we having?”
“Besides the wine,” Tom started, pausing just for pouring two glasses for them, “we’ll have spaghetti Bolognese. Made it myself.” Jo raised her brows at the already more than half-empty bottle, and Tom chuckled seeing the look on her face. “Only used it for cooking, darling. I swear. I didn’t want to ruin dinner by getting drunk beforehand.”
“Wise decision,” Jo agreed before sitting down on the bar stool at the counter top. “So, Bolognese?”
“Yeah,” Tom answered and handed her a glass. “I got the recipe from my dad, actually. My mum says it’s the only thing he’s actually able to cook. She’s right. But it worked on her.”
“So, you’re trying to use it on me?”
Tom actually blushed at that. “Um, well.” The smirk was back in the next second. A quite impressive recovery. “Would it work?”
Jo laughed out loud. Despite the fact that she actually didn’t want it to work – really, she didn’t – she was a little curious to see what Tom could do in a kitchen. She knew that he loved to eat, she just didn’t know how good of a cook he could be. “I’ll tell you later, okay?”
By the looks of it, it did work out, Tom thought an hour later when all the plates were in the dishwasher (Jo had insisted on helping, only resulting in both of them trying to push the other one away, followed by a rather heavy make-out session), and they were sitting on his sofa together, each enjoying another glass of wine.
He could get used to that. Not that he wanted to scare her away by telling her that. They were merely dating, having had sex just that one time. It shouldn’t be that intense. But it was. It always was for him, that was his problem. The media frenzy wouldn’t have been that big over the summer, if it wasn’t often all-in for him. But again, he wouldn’t tell her that. At least not before the second bottle of wine, and honestly, Tom had other plans.
“So,” Jo started, and by the tone in her voice Tom wasn’t sure if he really wanted her to talk on. “I’ve been on twitter recently.” Well, he didn’t expect that one.
“Yes?”
“There are quite a few theories about you.” At Tom’s raised eyebrow she continued, looking up from where her head was resting on his shoulder – another thing he could get used to. “About your dating life.”
Tom hoped Jo wouldn’t feel his breath hitching. “I swear I’m not secretly dating Chris Hemsworth,” he tried to joke, but knew that he failed miserably.
“It’s not about Chris actually.”
Tom cringed. Yeah, he had a hunch. “Oh.”
“It’s nothing bad, really. I was just wondering…” Jo fell quiet.
Tom nudged her with his shoulder. She’s looked away again, but if it really wasn’t anything bad, she could still look at him, couldn’t she? “You were wondering?”
“People think it was Taylor with you in that restaurant on Tuesday. And I admit it feels a little strange. You know… being there with you, knowing the truth, knowing,” she blushed, “knowing what we did afterwards. And then having people think you used the service elevator to get in and out unnoticed. They’re kind of watching you like a hawk.”
He was silent for a moment. Huh. He always felt like this would be coming someday. Jo backing out because she realised that the paparazzi were too much. He just didn’t know it’d hurt this much. “You also said that you wouldn’t mind the paps. That… if it meant us being together, you wouldn’t mind having your picture taken.” He tried to hide the hurt in his voice, but even being a Golden Globe nominated actor, Tom wasn’t so sure he succeeded.
And he obviously didn’t, as Jo shot up from his shoulder, turning to face him suddenly. “No, no, Tom. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant… the fans. It’s so strange having people speculate you being with one person, basically carrying her out of your house in a suitcase, when there’s me sitting in your living-room after eating the greatest Bolognese I’ve ever tasted.” She stopped for a moment, then continued softly. “I don’t want this to be more than dating for now. And I don’t want to make any grant gesture or statement, that’s just not what this is at the moment. But I don’t want people to think you’re still with her either. If that makes any sense.”
He looked at her for a long moment, before a grin spread on his face. It was quite scary just how relieved he felt hearing Jo’s words. “I’m afraid I can’t make them think anything without literally snogging you out on the street. And even then there would be a bunch of them believing it’s all PR. Again,” he added. “But I really like hearing you talk like that.”
He cupped both of Jo’s cheeks with his hands, noticing the slight frown on her face. “What’s wrong?” Tom whispered.
“Nothing,” she smiled. “Absolutely nothing.”
The kiss that followed felt different. It was more and at the same time Jo held something back. “I really like you a lot, Jo. And believe me when I say that I’d much rather walk into a restaurant through the front door than taking the fucking service elevator.”
She laughed at that and nodded, her head still between Tom’s hands. He never liked her smile more than then.
Leaning in for a kiss he mumbled, “Will you stay the night?”
Jo nodded. And she did.
Tagging @devikafernando @itsliterallythis @justthelosersblog @avenger-nerd-mom @archy3001 @nuggsmum
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What’s In The Bag? (Part 1)
Summary: Sam finally finds out what’s in Amarus’ bag.
Characters: Amarus, Sam, Dean, Amber Ashley
Warnings:Language
Word Count: 1697
A/N: My first attempt at writing a story please let me know what you think.
Part 1
Ok, so how should I begin this? I have been around for a very long time and I have seen a great deal of many things come and go. I am, at heart, old fashioned. Some may even say eccentric.... er.. nevermind I'm getting side tracked. I tend to do that quite often, or at least that's what I'm told. I think most people just don't pay attention.
I've been told that I need to write a story about myself and how I've come to be in the current predicament that has been bestowed upon me. Personally, I think it's just the story of my life as it were, but then again, that's what I'm doing isn't it? Plugging away at these terribly small buttons or keys or, whatever. Why are they called keys anyway? They don't unlock anything. Or maybe they unlock everything. Never really thought of it that way. I fear that I'm losing your interest with my drabble but, I implore you to bear with me, for behind all the, some might say, silly, pointless, and often times randomness that is my entire existence there is an absolutely brilliant story full of mystery, suspense, love, loss, yada, yada, yada.
"Amarus, this sucks!" Sam stated as he painfully tries to make it through the about me portion of Amarus's newly formed social media account.
“Sam aren’t you the one who suggested that I should do all of this in the first place?” Amarus stated with a puzzled expression on his face.
“Yeah but….” Sam started before being interrupted by Amarus’s pointer finger pressing on his lips.
“Great! Then there's no reason why I shouldn't post this then.” He replied with a smirk on his face.
“Heya Sammy, Amorous.” Dean greets the two, walking through the door of the motel they’re currently residing in with a little pep in his step and a beautiful young lady accompanying him.
“Dude, you said that you were going out for a bit to track down leads on the Muskgraves estate.” Sam responds, grasping at the chance to get away from Amarus.
“What? I tracked down a few leads. As a matter of fact that’s where I met….. Amber right?” Dean turns to the girl with both fingers pointing at her.
“It’s Ashley” she replied with a scowl on her face.
“We had lunch together and as it turns out, Amber…”
“Ashley” she interjected.
“Ashley happens to be a tour guide at the Muskgraves estate.” Dean answers with a smirk on his face.
“Dean it’s almost midnight…” Sam begins to state the obvious.
“Yeah.” Dean answers with a grin on his face as Ashley begins to blush and hides her face with her hands.
“You said that you and Amber… I mean Ashley, sorry, we're having lunch together.” Sam continues.
“Sam, my dear boy. Dean is trying to hide that fact that he tracked down leads for about a hour or so which lead him to the closest watering hole, met….. Ashley, and they spent the remaining, oh I would venture to say, ten hours or so conversing amongst each other about how she just got dismissed by her significant other and drowning her sorrows in pints all the while Deanna here has been filling her head with flights of fancy leading her to believe that he is truly in fact God’s gift to women. Ah, lest I forget….” Amarus begins to rifle through his bag. “I went to the apothecary...er, pharmacy, and got the medicine that you requested.” Amarus pulls out a pill bottle from his bag with Valtrex written on it. ”The man behind the counter assured me that the nasty business should clear up in a few days oh, and Deanna? A personal suggestion…be more mindful in the future of where you're poking your popsicle my dear boy.” Amarus ends his rant with a childlike grin on his face. At which point Ashley begins to make her way to the door with a disgusted look on her face.
“Thanks, Douchebag!” Dean responds, quickly trying to catch up with the young tour guide.
“It was my pleasure Deanna.” Amarus replies as Sam hides his face with his hands.
“You take great pleasure in making his life hell, don't you?” Sam states, looking out the window at Dean pleading Ashley to stay. “You know she's probably our only shot at getting in there.” Sam states with a sigh.
“I could get in there.” Amarus responds rifling through his bag.
“What are you looking for now?” Sam states watching comically.
“My laptop!” Amarus responds perplexed.
“Well did you check the library?” Sam jabs, knowing that Amarus take great pride in the boasting of his bag of wonders.
“This is not the time for jokes or puns about my awesomely astounding bag. How would you know anyway you've haven't even seen my library or even asked about it. You know, I could have a moldy tomb or something in there. To be frankly honest, I don't even know what's in there.” Amarus responds harshly.
“There's a kraken in there.” Sam quips, at which point Amarus scoffs and disappears, his bag falling to the floor. Sam began to chuckle a bit knowing that he can so easily get under Amarus's skin when others cannot. Sam turns back to the window to continue watching Dean and Ashley and pauses for a moment looking at Amarus’s bag. A smirk grows on his face as he reaches for the tarnished buckle. “Finally” He whispers to himself reaching for the buckle.
“Holy fucking mother of what the fuck!” Sam screams trying to pull away from the bag but is being held in place by a giant tentacle. “What the hell? Dean?! Amarus?!” Sam yells for assistance as the slimy tentacle draws him towards the bag. The whole world begins to go dark the closer to the bag Sam gets drawn before there's just a void of nothingness. As Sam comes to he's puzzled by his surroundings. In front of him is a desk with one lone chair and some dusty scrolls and a few well worn books.
“Wha… where am I?” Sam asks himself, taking in the surroundings.
“Oh, my dear boy, why did you have to touch my bag?” Amarus states holding his head in his hands.
“Where am I?” Sam asked looking around puzzled.
“My library.” Amarus responds.
“How did I..” Sam started.
“You touched my bag without my permission.” Amarus cut him off clearly upset. “I only had one request when we met: Do not touch my bag unless you ask first.”
“Amarus seriously, where am I?” Sam asked gathering his wits.
“Sam you touched my bag. So my kraken did what it does best.”
“Transports people inside? That's kinda pointless Amarus.” Sam cut him off in a smart tone.
“No, the kraken was going to eat you. Thankfully, I decided that…. that wouldn't be the best of options for anyone.” Amarus responded with a smirk on his face.
“Your library?” Sam asked again.
“Yeah, books, tables, display cases, what did you think it was?” Amarus asked comically thoroughly enjoying Sams bewilderment.
“All of this is in your bag?” Sam asks starting to grasp the reality of his situation.
“Of course, where else would you keep things?” Amarus asked with a now serious tone.
“You know what…… nevermind. How do I get out of here? We don't have time for this. We have the Muskgraves case and Dean's dealing with Amb…”
“Ashley” Amarus interjects.
“Whatever, we have more pressing issues.” Sam continues.
“Pressing issues? The issue at hand here is that you're in my library.” Amarus responds now with his eyes skittering around the room.
“Amarus we have to go like right now.” Sam states not knowing exactly where to look. “Come on just zap me out of here.” Sam begins getting quickly frustrated with his predicament.
“Oh, of course! Just zap you out like I'm some magical genie that can do that.” Amarus answers walking off clearly very frustrated.
“Amarus, oh come on really? I didn’t mean it like that.” Sam replies watching Amarus continue down the hall. “How do I get out of here?” Sam asks himself aloud.
“Hey Sam,” Sam nearly jumps out of his skin after hearing the whisper from behind him only to find Amarus standing behind him pointing at a ladder. “Hey Sam” Amarus goads.
“Don’t you dare.” Sam warns.
“Need a ladder?” Amarus replies, laughing hysterically while starting back down the hall. Sam groans a bit at the terrible joke that he saw coming from a mile away and then oddly enough looks at the ladder, clearly seeing that he would need two or three of the 15 foot ladders to even reach the ceiling of the vast room. So he decides to look for a better solution.
Amarus’s library was a vast rotunda with several halls branching out with a massive tank in the center to house his kraken. While deciding which hall to start down first, Sam notices a bust on the desk with the lone chair.
“What is that?” Sam asks himself noticing a familiar pendant upon the bust. He quickly goes over to the bust and eyes the necklace upon the bust and quickly realising that it was the Samulet. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Sam says to himself while carefully removing it from the bust and placing it in his jacket pocket. “Well I’m not going to get anywhere just standing around.” Sam says to himself looking upon the several different halls that made up the library.
“Hall of the Winchesters?” Sam asks himself, beginning to head toward the hall when Amarus pops back up in front of him this time.
“Of all the halls in my vast library how did I know you were going to choose this one?” He states excitedly. Sam stares at Amarus suspiciously.
“Amarus, I’m a Winchester. If anyone would be allowed to enter the hall of Winchesters, it would be a Winchester, wouldn’t it?” Sam asks.
“Now’s not the time to be rational, Samuel.” Amarus quips with a smirk on his face. “Wanna go inside?” Amarus asks pulling the door open.
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